#i’m losing my absolute mind over the lack of news for this book

[syl-stormblessed]

spell that manifests Alecto the Ninth news. like to charge reblog to cast

[melancholymetropolis]

PillowTalk

plot: A normal breakfast takes a steamy turn.

pairings: Aizawa Shota x Pregnant!Reader

genre(s): Marriage of Convenience AU; Shameless Smut

warnings: MUTUAL PINING. former boss/assistant. mansion in the middle of the woods. stay-at-home wife (kinda). CEO husband. ROLEPLAY. reader is a book nerd. chasing. lowkey beauty & the beast au. toxic ex. library sex. PIV SEX. rough. table top. mentions of voyeurism + masturbation. pet names (princess, little wife, beast, prince charming etc) light breeding. teasing. Aizawa is a simp for his wife. y/n is a dirty -talker. BOTH OF THEM ARE REALLY HORNY FOR EACH OTHER

w.c: 4.4k

Aizawa Shota lowered the newspaper from his view and lifted the coffee cup to his lips. He took a hefty gulp of the cool drink and I felt myself squirm in my seat. 

My kinda-husband was simply too hot for words and I was beginning to lose my mind. His dark hair was pulled into a messy bun at the back of his head, but a few (selective) strands framed his face. He decided to grow out his facial hair a bit, sporting a deviously dark five o’clock shadow. The white dress shirt framing his chest was seconds away from breaking at any sudden movements. The black suit he wore was tailored to his body perfectly— framing his butt and thighs gorgeously. Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones or the lack of pleasure I had acquired in recent months— I wanted him. I wanted him badly. 

I wanted my fake husband to toss me to the table and devour me, just like how he did our breakfast.

I wanted him to mount me like the sexual beast I knew he was and pound me into the table.

I wanted him to ruin other—

“How are things?” He asked, snapping me out of my reverie. 

“Uh. . . what things?” I asked absentmindedly. 

His black eyes flicked onto my face, taking in my flushed expression. “Are you hot? Do you want me to turn down the thermostat?”

Oh, I am hot. Hot and ready for you to slurp me like—

“N-No,” I stammered, bringing my iced tea to my lips. I took a slow sip before setting the glass back on the table. “And everything is fine! The doctor said my blood pressure and cortisol levels were not as high as before and were leaning toward normal. She also told me to start drinking okra water and to work on my breathing, since I reaching the end of my trimester.”

Aizawa nodded. “Seems to be all good news. I am happy to hear it.”

“Well, there is only good news because of you and your support,” I said sheepishly. 

The statement was very true, if it weren’t for Aizawa I probably would’ve been dead by now. That was not an exaggeration whatsoever.

We didn't marry for love, nor was this union arranged. It was a simple matter of convenience. I was his secretary and he was the CEO of the company. I was already engaged to another man prior, but he left me mere weeks after I had fallen pregnant. My fiance cleared our joint account and fled the country. Leaving me with nothing. I was forced to consider going back to the united states and sleeping in my childhood bedroom with a newborn.

Aizawa, out of the blue, presented the possibility of a marriage between us. He would pay for everything. The medical bills, food, car payments, baby supplies— all I had to do was manage the house staff: sign off on repairs, oversee their daily tasks, and inform him of anything out of the ordinary. He was basically paying me to be a housewife, without the strenuous duties of cooking, cleaning, and tending to the kids. Plus, Aizawa suggested I get a night nanny so I could rest a little better.

The deal sounded a little too good to be true. But, given the two years we spent working together, I knew he was trustworthy. I took the leap and ended up living an absolute fairytale life for the past 5 months. I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Although, deep down, I wished we explored a little past our new normal.

Maybe even find ourselves entangled in the sheets and trying out all kinds of positions.

I’m pretty sure I can still get my leg over my head if I really tried. Giving him enough room to dig deep in me and rearrange my guts.

"You don't have to thank me every chance you get," a small smile stole his face. "In fact, I should be thanking you."

"Oh really?" 

The smile widened and the brunette adjusted his position in the chair. His arms crossed against his broad chest and the buttons strained from the action. The muscles in his forearms flexed underneath his rolled-up sleeves. His biceps bulged a little against the cotton fabric. The longer I looked at him the wetter I felt the seat of my panties become. If he kept being so absentmindedly attractive, I would soon find myself sprayed out on my bed, fingers probing my slick walls, wishing he were on top of me.

Damn, I have it bad.

“Y/N!” Aizawa said in a raised voice. 

I blinked several times and cleared my throat. “Y-Yes?”

“Are you sure you okay?” He asked, leaning forward. 

“Yeah! It’s just the. . . hormones!” I blustered. “You know, all those raging, sweaty hormones that make it hard for me to focus.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are sure it's only the hormones? And not some other factor?”

“Uh. . .” I stammered. 

Aizawa, suddenly, rose from his seat and walked around the round table. His eyes never left my face and a smirk was forming on his lips. He appeared next to me in an instant. He pressed one hand on the table and another on the back of my chair. Aizawa leaned forward until our faces were mere inches apart. 

“I heard you the other night,” he stated, a certain hunger in his eyes.

“What are you talking about?” I gulped.

“You cried out for me,” he said, plainly. “Begging me to. . . how did you say it? Oh! ‘Split you apart with my thick dick’.”

The realization hit me like a sledgehammer. It had been the night he had come back from a run around the block. He was shirtless and the shorts were low on his hips. His sculpted v-line was on full display, along with his sensual muscles. He was breathing so heavily, panting and mewling from the strenuous exercise. He claimed to have “overdid” it this time. He ran at full speed for the last few blocks and all the way up our long driveway. His long hair was, again, pulled into a messy bun, highlighting his sharp jaw and rugged features. 

He looked so hot. So fuckable. I wanted to mount him like the stallion he was and ride him into the sunset. 

". . . Oh," I murmured, turning away from him.

"'Oh' is right," he chuckled. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop but you were so loud and luscious that I couldn't help myself." Aizawa leaned forward, his lips brushing against my earlobe. "And saw you too. Your door was cracked open just for me to see."

Shivers ran down my spine and my womanhood throbbed. His hot breath was caressing my ear, whilst his mouth did the same. His body was so close, yet he wasn't laying a finger on me. The temptation was swiftly sending me over the edge. I hated the slow, seductive game he was playing. I knew the ending would not be in my favor. He wasn't the type of man to spread me open like a Thanksgiving feast, nor was he the type to treat me like an animal. He wanted me begging, weeping for his touch. Despite the rather x-rated thoughts running through my mind at the moment, I couldn’t allow myself to succumb to his game so easily. 

“Who knew you were such a little perv,” I giggled, lifting my mug to my lips. I took a small sip of the hot tea and hummed sweetly. “But, I guess, if I was holed up in my office for 40+ hours a week I’d be a little… frustrated as well.”

His fingertips brushed against my arms, tickling me the same way a feather would. “You are playing with fire, little wife.” Aizawa groaned and gripped the back of my chair. “Ever since that faithful night, I have not been able to think straight. Seeing your legs shake and your toes curl, while you work yourself with that sparkly pink toy—” He sucked in a breath and released the back of my chair. He pushed his body away from mine. 

Immediately, I rise to my feet and turn to face him. The brunette placed a significant distance between the both of us. His breath was labored and his hand was balled at his side. There was an oblong shape intensely prominent near the zipper of his slacks. The member was only semi-hard and I could already tell that was quite massive. Probably bigger that the sparkly pink dildo I had in my nightstand, certainly thicker that the toy as well. 

My assumption was right. 

He did have a long, thick dick.

“I like to think myself a patient man,” he started. “A respectable man. I tried my best to keep my distance from you and to give you all the space you need to grow. To heal from whatever happened before our union. I never wanted to force myself or my desires onto you. I never wanted you to think you owed me anything because we were simply married and living together." Aizawa’s brown eyes bore into mine, just as the morning light gracefully captured his face. It gave him an ethereal glow. Made him look even more beautiful that he already was. “I promised myself that I would not touch you or make any advances toward you until I have obtained your explicit consent. However, being near you, feeling your luxurious presence and capturing your delicious scent, while trying not to press my mouth against that gummy pussy is pure agony. ”

Aizawa was so eloquent with how he spoke, sounding like a pure gentleman. Up until that last bit. 

“So, from what you’re saying,” I said, tilting my head to the side a little bit. “The beloved prince charming I married 5 months ago is gone? And he was preplaced by a horny, insatiable beast?”

A smirk pulled at his lips. “That’s not exactly true, princess. Charming was always a beast, at least during the night. It took a very special lady to set him straight by morning.”

I hummed once more and pulled my braids into a messy bun. I hiked up my dress and gave him a smile. “Where is the closest soundproof room in the house?”

“A few doors down,” he replied. “It’s the library.”

I took off in a swift jog toward the room, turning my head back to say “You can’t catch me, you fearsome beast.”

His laughter was explosive. “Are we roleplaying, princess?” Aizawa shouted after me.

I was already halfway down the hall, the double doors of the library were swiftly approaching. “Only if you want to,” I shouted back. 

“You cannot hide from me, young damsel!” He boasted, as heavily footsteps came stomping my way. “I will capture you one way or another!”

I giggled at the sound of his “beastly” voice and proceeded to quicken my pace. “Please do not harm me, furocious beast. For I am innocent in this matter.”

I have no idea what possessed me to put on this whole act.  Maybe I was watching too much Bridgerton or reading entirely too much erotica, but the idea of being chased by a massive man, just to be savagely fucked in the library was exhilarating. The book nerd in me was jumping with joy.

I pushed through the library doors and sped over to the nearest flat surface. A wide table with several wooden chairs surrounding it. I shoved the chairs aside and hopped right on the table. Anticipation ran through my veins. The big, hulking man burst through the room with a loud grunt. The smile on his face was undeniable. My little charade had done its job perfectly: it had taken us out of earshot of the bustling maids in the house and eased the thick tension between us. Aizawa’s playful mood was igniting something within me. Something I didn’t recognize. It had been a while since I had seen him actually enjoy himself. His smile was so wide and genuine that I thought he was a different person.

Not the stressed-out, sleep-deprived spouse that I often avoided.

But the bubbly, fun husband that I always wanted.

His immediate acceptance and active participation in my game showed me that there was a chance. A chance for us to have a real, authentic marriage. A union where we love and cherish each other.  One where I didn't have to question whether or not he felt the same way.

“Sweet, delicate princess,” Aizawa groaned, inching close to me. “Please allow me the opportunity to voice my desires without prejudice or ridicule.”

I looked away from his face for a moment and tapped my chin. “Fine, you may.”

“I want you. In every way possible,” he confessed, closing the distance between us. “I have wanted you from the sheer moment you opened your heart to me. From the moment you started staying up a little late to have dinner with me, or when you made it a point to pack me lunch on a particularly long day. When you made Sunday nights my favorite time of the week and got me addicted to Outlander.”

“Since when were you into Outlander?” I asked in disbelief,

“Since you started screaming at the TV, cursing out Sir Jack Randal,” Aizawa chuckled. “I never heard you use so many curses in a single sentence.”

“I still can’t believe he did that to Jamie,” I grimaced.

Aizawa nodded in agreement but carried on with his statement. “You have been the object of my desires and the capturer of my heart for months now. I go to sleep dreaming of your big brown eyes and beautiful smile. I hear your sweet voice in my mind all day long and wish I could spend every moment with you.”

I reached out to grab his hands, which he gladly handed to me. I brought them to my thighs and allowed them to hike up my skirt. The beige fabric lifted from its place at my ankles and exposed the bronze skin underneath. Aizawa settled at the small space between my thighs and gently placed his hands at my sides. His brown eyes bore into mine. The older man looked at me like I was the only woman in the world. Like nothing else mattered but us at this exact moment. His gaze was so pure I could almost cry on the spot. 

I hooked my arms around his neck and started to lean closer to him. My eyes fluttered closed and my lips slightly parted. He captured my mouth moments later and his arms swiftly wrapped around my plum form. Aizawa moaned against my lips as if marveling at the sensation. His mouth danced across mine gracefully, following my lead and patiently waiting for the next step. 

My hands were in his hair and my thighs rested against his hips. I gently rolled my damn center over his semi-hard front. The lust was quickly growing the long he kissed me and soon I  wouldn't be able to contain it. The confession had provided me with all the information I needed— our feelings were mutual. He wanted to give this fake marriage some authenticity and turn it into a real one. I was beyond excited.

I tore my lips away from his searing embrace and whimpered as he dragged a tongue along the side of my neck. 

"Take me," I gasped, clawing at his back. "Right here. Right now."

The brunette lifted his head from my neck and immediately started fumbling with the buttons on my blouse. Seconds later, he exposed the lacy number underneath and growled at the sight. His skilled fingers undid the finicky clasp in the back, exposing the plump mounds to his eager eyes. 

"Your breasts are so full and round," Aizawa groaned.

His thumbs gently ran across the pebbled nipples and a hiss left my lips. 

The older male immediately paused his actions. "Did I hurt you,  princess?" 

A blush flickered on my cheeks as I sheepishly looked away. "No. . . They're just really sensitive."

"Well, I'll try to be more careful with them," he stated, lowering his body until his face was directly staring at the bosoms. 

His hot tongue tenderly flicked the right nipple several times before giving it a long seductive lick. Shivers ran down my spine as he kept giving sloppy kisses to the sensitive bud. The seat of my panties was drenched. My arousal practically glued them to my lower lips. My legs were vibrating with anticipation. The hot mouth moved over to the left nipple and I thought I ascended to heaven. Aizawa moaned as he sucked on the breast. He was enjoying the lewd act and it was intriguing to see. 

He released the bud and a long string of drool connected the two as he pulled away. He brought his lips to mine and gave me a mind-numbing kiss. His fingers dipped between my thighs as we made out. He pressed two fingers against the wet area and started to rub small circles right at the top of the slit. My poor clit was already throbbing from the foreplay and it seemed to pulse after that action. I moaned against his lips and pulled away. The area was so wet and sensitive that I knew it wouldn't take long to push me over the edge. Especially after he gave my nipples such delicate care. 

"What a cute face my little princess is making," he purred, pressing his forehead to mine. "Looks like she wants to cum."

I nodded, keeping direct eye contact with the seductive man. "I do, you beast. I want to cum all over your pretty cock and gorgeous face. Will you let me?"

The older man groaned and removed his hand from my panties. "Coming on my face is just gonna have to wait until our next rendezvous. I'm afraid if I don't slip into that dripping wet pussy I'm gonna burst. And we wouldn't want that, right?" 

"We sure wouldn't," I said absentmindedly rubbing my baby bump. 

Aizawa smirked before slowly unbuttoning his dress shirt. He threw the cotton garment aside before fiddling with his belt. His eyes never left my face and that seemed to make his actions even hotter. He pulled his pants and boxers down in one swift motion; leaving the thick, long member to spring free. 

My eyes widened at the sight. He was certainly bigger than I imagined. Definitely bigger than my ex, who could barely last 5 minutes without busting. Aizawa was indeed a patient man, a kind man. That was the only reason I could gather for why God would bless him with such a beast. Maybe I too was God's favorite, since he allowed me to marry such a good man. 

Not only was he fine as hell, tall and rich— his dick was big. I had no doubt I had hit the lottery in the husband department. 

"Are you okay, princess?" He asked. "Would you like to take a breather?"

"I breathed enough," I shot back. "Come take these panties off and pound me with your long, thick dick." 

Aizawa chuckled and hooked his thumbs under my waistband. He pulled the cotton panties down my plump legs and tossed them to the side. He aligned the head of his cock with my womanhood and just before easing himself in, Aizawa paused and gave me a final look, as if to ask me ‘are you sure?” I nodded immediately and widened my thighs a little bit more. The thick member sunk right into me with little resistance, on account of how wet my womanhood was. Pregnancy amplified all my bodily functions to the hundredth degree, including how soiled my underwear became anytime I saw something that appealed to me. Or, anytime I saw my husband.

The brunette helped me lay flat on my back against the table and adjusted the position of my legs. He hooked my limbs over his forearms and continued to push into me. I gasped when every inch was nestled into my greedy pussy and my eyes fluttered closed. I placed one hand above my head, gripping the edge of the table and the other underneath my belly. I braced myself for impact. Aizawa started off slow, rolling his hips against my pelvis gently. I could feel every inch inside of me. The slow thrusts softly pushed against my sensitive spots, causing me to squirm and wiggle underneath him. 

"Can I move a little faster, princess?" He grunted, tilting his hips a little bit. 

"Please move faster, beast," I panted, digging my nails into the table. "I cannot take this teasing any longer." 

Aizawa took a firm hold of the table and chuckled quietly. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

 The older man’s hips gradually began moving faster against mine. At first, my little mewls remained relatively uninterrupted by the change. I pretended to be disinterested in the movements, rolling my eyes and telling him to move faster. To fuck me harder. Informing him that I was displeased by his treatment, Aizawa’s persistent behavior of treating me like a delicate flower was starting to frustrate me. I was a woman above anything else. This pregnancy had almost everyone in my everyday life view me as fragile. Something that could easily be broken with little force and it struck anger in my being. Since my body is sturdy enough to grow an entire human being, I was pretty sure it was strong enough to handle some power thrusts from a man.

“Come on, beast,” I teased, a smile kissing my teeth. “Don’t tell me this is all could do? Some half-hearted pumps and expected me to be satisfied? I thought you were more of a savage than this.”

Without a word, Aizawa started to snap his hips against mine harshly. A good portion of his force was colliding with my body and it made my heart sing. My breath was caught in my throat and my legs started to tremble. I rested my body on my elbows and looked into his dark eyes. He was already looking at my face. The smile on his lips was stirring something within me. Almost like he knew I wouldn’t last long or I couldn’t handle the power of his thrusts. There were two words lingering on his tongue that I was dying to hear him say. Something that would definitely send me over the edge.

The man towering over me tilted his hips once more and a squeal shot out of my mouth. My back fell right back onto the table and I raised both arms above my head to grip the edge. The plush head of the cock was hammering the underside of my cervix, a very sensitive area deep within my cunt. My body started to tremble in response and my breathing became hollow. Pressure started to build in my abdomen and a pool started to form. My walls started to pulse against his massive cock and I couldn’t string together a single thought. My body started to tingle and my mind started to blur. Drool spilled from my lips as my eyes started to roll back. 

The orgasm was slow, deep, and damning. My body twisted and contoured into various weird positions as I rode the hot wave. I said my husband’s name like a prayer, chanting it over and over again. I begged him not to stop, to keep going, to take me to heaven. And he did just that. Aizawa kept his hard, sharp pace. He continued to drill that girthy dick into my snatch like he became addicted to the feeling. My body completely succumbed to the pleasure, not wanting to do anything else but relish in it. It wasn’t long before another orgasm began to build and my legs started to tremble all over again. 

“Fuck!” I cried, arching my back against the table. 

“Come on, princess,” Aizawa cooed. “Give beasty another one. I know you have it in you.”

The older man’s hips started to sputter and twitch, indicating to me that he was next to reach his peak. But, like the respectable man he was, Aizawa continued his sickening pace. Eventually, my eyes gradually opened and I took in the scene before me. A hulking man with rippling muscles and a gorgeous face was looming over me. Drilling his cock in me at a record pace with a smile on his face. He held my legs nice and wide in a seductive ‘v’. He was watching my every expression, movement and taking in my sounds. Aizawa was fully invested in pleasuring my horny, pregnant self and I was grateful. I never wanted this moment to end. I wanted to feel the weight on his body forever. I never wanted to part from him. I needed to be with him as long as humanly possible.

The second orgasm was harder than the last. It tore through me like lightning and forced my toes to curl. My eyes were wide open for this one. I watched Aizawa lean forward and gather me desperately. He held me close and proceeded to rut into my creamy pussy. He pressed his hot mouth to mine while his hips trembled and spasmed. His head fell on my shoulder when the pleasure became too great and he couldn’t hold out any longer. Hot cum shot into my awaiting womb, gradually filling me to the brim. Aizawa’s slow and rhythmic thrusts made the feeling even more sensual. It was as if he was fucking the semen into me, hoping to make me pregnant all over again. 

I never thought I’d have a breeding kink, but his actions convinced me otherwise.

Soon, it was nothing but our labored breathing filling the library. Our bodies were still one and his chest was still pressed against mine. My fingers were slowly running through his hair while his arms were tightly wrapped around my back. It seemed like the older gentleman had no intention of letting me, even though we were both sweaty and panting. It made me feel special.

“Is this okay?” He asked, breaking the silence. “Me holding you like this?”

“It’s fine,” I replied with a sigh. 

“Okay. Just let me know if I am crushing you or the baby.” 

“Alright, Aizawa,” I giggled.

Suddenly, he lifted his head from my shoulder and pressed his forehead against mine. 

“That’s not what you’re supposed to call me, princess,” he acknowledged. “I am your husband, not some stranger on the street.”

“Than what am I supposed to call you then?”

He thought for a moment. “I think Shota would be fitting.”

“Shota?”

“And Beast/Charming on special occasions,” he said with a wink.

----------

a/n: there are hints in the story letting you know what kind of fic I'll be posting next. let's see who can guess it before sunday.

Also, a little update, I will be posting FULL SMUT SCENES from this point forward. So get ready for 2k - 4k worth of filth. Good luck going to sleep at night.

Finally, let me know if you would like to be added to my official taglist. I will be alerting you everytime I upload!

bye for now!

[letters-from-dekarios]

[[This neatly folded letter stands out amongst the chaotic aftermath of last night’s revelries with the tieflings.  It sits on top a book of poems written in Elven.]]

Gale,

Since our provisions were already lacking before the party, I left early to see what else I could buy from the druids.  However, while I was going through my things, I remembered I meant to give you this book.  I found it somewhere in that destroyed village, so some of the ink may be smudged and stained.  But you’ll find most of Ardenvarn's words remain legible.  While it didn’t help me regain any memories, some of the ballads were familiar to me.  I think I enjoyed this one in the past.  And I thought you might be in need of new reading material.  

I hope you accept it as part of my apology for anything I might have said at the party last evening.  I fear I might have overstepped boundaries yet again as I did when we channeled the Weave.  I never would wish to make you uncomfortable and should’ve considered my words and actions more.  

I enjoy your company and value your friendship.  You’ve also been an amazing teacher with your late night history lessons on Faerunian history.  With my particularly vile affliction and past actions, I know I am not deserving of your trust or patience, and I am incredibly grateful that you’ve chosen to stay with me.  I do not expect anything of you, much less for any reciprocation of interest.  Just know that I am appreciative of all the kindness that you’ve shown me thus far.  

After this whole adventure of ours is over, I hope that we might keep in touch, but, between our moment in the Weave and last evening, I would understand if you might prefer space.  I swear by my oaths that I will respect any decision that you make in the matter. 

Kaylen

Sweet Kaylen,

Truly, I thank you from the absolute bottom of my heart. From the depths of my soul, I cannot express how deeply grateful I am that you thought of me in such a way. You will be happy to know that I have begun reading this lovely thing, and every notation reminds me in some way of you. If you’d indulge me, perhaps I can share my thoughts on these poems one day.

Refrain from offering apologies, my friend. I’ll have you know I rather enjoyed that little adventure of ours. It is not every day one gets to experience the Weave in such a light. Mystra is a complex Goddess, holding her power in the palm of your hands is not an easy feat for someone untrained. It paves the way for such feelings to become prominent, and, well, I cannot deny that it wasn’t unwanted.

You can rest assured knowing I am in the least bit uncomfortable by that night. Our joyous connection within Mystra’s embrace is one to be celebrated, not apologized for. You are quite the scholar, picking up my little tricks very quickly. I was rather impressed.

I am ever thankful that, despite our current situation, I was placed with a group such as this. Save for the vampire, I’m still deciding my opinion on him. With you as our grand, fearless leader, I am ever inspired to continue in our perilous adventure. You may believe you’ve given us, or me, no reason to trust you, but believe when I say you’ve proved time and time again that I have every reason to place my confidence in you. In fact, I’d rather you than myself. Which is quite a thing for me to say! I often find myself a little too proud, it’s nice to be reminded of the extent of my abilities now and then.

Kaylen, I’d rather no one else but you have their interest piqued by my quirks. I am honored to have such a place in your mind, and the invitation for more… in-depth lessons with the Weave remains ever open, if you’d ever take me up on them. It is only by the kindness you showed me upon our initial meeting that I can extend the same towards you, do not forget that.

I would be fooling myself if I said I’d wish for space. During this mess, and after, I’d hate to lose whatever this may be. You are the light that provides me with a purpose to continue on, Kaylen. Swear by your paths to stay ever close to my side, instead.

Thank you, sincerely, again for this book. I will treasure it until my last breath. That is something I will swear by.

Your magical companion,

𝑮𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒌𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔

text reads: gale dekarios

[ceilingfan5]

22 (Hey I love you and still very much do want to marry you but I need you to elaborate on these last few amazon purchases with my credit card?) w blupjeans please :O!!!! thank u <3 -ise

“Hey, Bear?” They’ve been on the phone for at least an hour now, and there’s been pleasant silence for a solid chunk of it, Lup working on a project and Bary idly re-reading the same page over and over in the text book he’s meant to be approving or denying for use in his class next semester. On the one hand, it sure does have many words inside, in a particular order. On the other, his mind is entirely elsewhere, and it may as well be word salad with a noticeable lack of ranch dressing. 

“Huh?” he says, incredibly intelligently, genius level, Nobel prize and a half, tell the news, et cetera and so on. So big-brained he lugs the thing around in a wheelbarrow and can’t see because the implications of that, physically, are horrifically comical. Jesus, what kind of flesh nonsense crimes would have to be committed to manage such a thing? Now, maybe if he carried it around in a backpack…no, that’s still pretty awful. 

“Bear,” Lup says, a multi-pack of the amused flavor and the getting-at-something flavor, which is a bit spicy, honestly. “Back to the planet, hon, reel your ass in and turn your gravity boots on.”

“Click click woosh.” Barry shakes himself and tries to focus. It’s easy to daydream about other things, one big thing in particular, if he’s gonna be real with himself here. He keeps spinning the roulette wheel, or maybe one of those things that makes the different animal noises, and, swish, moooo, he’s thinking of a white dress and a veil and rice from above, and swish, baaaaa, he’s back to a number with far too many digits and its place on a check he’s going to have to write, and swish, quack quack, it’s the tin cans after a limo, the Just Married :) he can’t wait to write…How can a guy focus on the here and now when the most important event he’ll ever be a part of is looming? 

“One more time, paging Doctor Bluejeans, you’re needed back on the planet, Doctor Bluejeans?” Lup snickers. “Hey, come on. You’ve been in the clouds a lot lately.” 

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot of clouds up there, and, you know, as clouds go, they’re pretty fluffy and inviting and, uh, up, there. What’s, what’s the thing?” He knows she can’t see him, but his cheeks burn and he rubs his neck anyway. 

“Listen. Listen. Listen.”

“Listening, I prommy.”

“Stop letting Taako teach you slang, I swan to John. But uh. Hey. I love you and still very much do want to marry you but I need you to elaborate on these last few amazon purchases with my credit card?” 

Barry freezes. Had he…did he…what? He didn’t think…But…oh dear. 

“Your credit card?”

“That’s what the numbers business do say. On the bank’em cruncher and everything. Several dollars, my fucking beloved, and, uh, Barry, Bear Bear. Barrold. Barty Juhbullgens.”

Barry is sweating whatever comes after bullets. Very quiet armistice, maybe. 

“Should I put you, my fuckin’ betrothed, on blast, right here, right now, to an audience of you and moi, or do you, are you aware of my uh, confusion on this front?” 

“Um,” Barry says, throat dry, dry dry. 

“Too late. Trendy Watermelon Inflatable Pool, $57.95. Fuckin’, 1,000 Bright Colors Ball Pit Balls Crush Free with storage bag, of COURSE. $99.04. Entire Gallon of Fake Blood, $24.98. Burritos Tortilla Blanket, X-Large, $34.99. Fort Builder Kit, $35.99.”

“Um. I, um. I, I, um. In, in my defense,” Barry pushes up his glasses. “I thought I was using my card. And just your Prime, I’m so sorry, incredibly remorseful,”

“I’m not worried about the money, doofus, although I would appreciate you taking care of that, but no. No, uh, my question is more on the order of what the actual fuck.”

“Um,” Barry says, swallowing. “If I said honeymoon prep, would you believe me?” 

There’s a beat. 

“You know what,” Lup says, before absolutely losing it and laughing so hard she almost asphyxiates. He can practically see her smile, all screwed up and wiggly, trying to hold in the mirth like she’s trying to keep marbles in her armpits. “Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

[hurricane-heatt]

FIRSTLY i do not know how i hadn't seen your ao3 before now and i'm losing my MIND i'm about to read it all bc i just read casualty of you and now i'm SCREECHING secondly... the fic writer questions: 11, 4, 30, 49! x

FIRSTLY AWAHHHH THABK YOU SO SO MUCH!!!! i hope u enjoy <3333

secondly gonna stick these answers below the cut!!! just because i started rambling ehe

11- Are you partial to a certain character/pairing or are you more equal-opportunity? If you are partial to any character/pairing, why do you think that is?

oh absolutely pairing-wise it will always be sebmark for me… i think i am just entirely struck by the different phases of their relationship? 2009 is an entirely different vibe to 2013 who is an entirely different vibe to 2017 and that makes fic writing them sooo fun for me its never a chore to write sebmark. beyond this teammate rivalries are just absolutely compelling to me i think the dynamics and intricacies are so so interesting, especially gaining more insight on that from marks book was just eeeee i loved it (fuck u helmut marko for everything you ever do). personality wise too they both suit each other well in terms of rpf and they dynamics that i’ve always written and like writing.

character wise i love writing seb. i rlly hope i do him justice because i just love his voice and his humour and his mannerisms. he’s my love ever and i love him so any pairings with him in i am always heart eyes over.

4 - What detail in [insert fic] are you really proud of?

i’m gonna take this as any fic i’ve written so! i think anything in good men die too verse i am hugely proud of. i did a bit of research for crush about street racing (a lack of in thoroughfare which i often get annoyed about but oh well) and so i think i got the car types right. either way it sounds professional so shrug!

an unreleased fic i have a bit of detail on is my siren!seb fic, its entirely unfinished but i did some research about mythology surrounding mermaids and sirens and think it’s pretty good in that!!!

30 - Have you ever written something that was out of your comfort zone? If so, what was it, and how did it affect your approach to writing fic thereafter?

oh boy most of my ot3 fest fics (i have three fulfilled hopefully! haha 3) were quite a new experience. i won’t spoil a ton but writing threesomes is hard man. lots of limbs

49 - What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

ehehehe. its a another fucking sebmark au! heir to father’s business seb nearly gets assassinated and his driver mark (annoying, gets in the way, keeps making fun of him) saves his life and thus is made his bodyguard in order to protect him. he hates mark already but this really pisses seb off, a constant shadow. also it’s called bad for business yes like the sabrina carpenter song

it’s going to be my first multi chapter and i’m anxious as balls about it and i really kind of hate the tone at the minute so it needs reworking. first chap is basically done but want three written before i post anything just for my own sanity. but here’s a little snippet of them winding each other up

+

Why has Britta put the medicine on the top shelf, for fuck’s sake, she knows he’s not that tall. He gets on his tiptoes, but the box is pushed further back by the tips of his fingers, rather than grabbing it.

“Let me, Mr Vettel.”

And then, the lean body of Sebastian’s driver against the back of him, reaching up to the shelf with zero effort. His fingers dash against Sebastian’s, and it’s a much more successful retrieval, bringing down the box of pills to his height.

Sebastian turns, putting his back to the countertop, the bare skin under his hoodie just brushing the cool marble. He’s close enough that he can smell Webber’s cologne - sharp. Masculine. Like the rest of him, ever predictable.

Webber takes a short step back, probably assessing how abnormally close they were. He puts the box into Sebastian’s open palm. The pills shake inside upon impact. He’s pleased, but through gritted teeth, like a dog finally being allowed a treat.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

+

so yeah!!!! i rlly hope i do finish it and get it out because the idea has been brewing for months.

thank u so much for all the questions and ofc the love for casualty of you <33

[skrittkicking]

🎇🦊iovitus >

🎇 (sparkler) - If your oc had the chance to start their life over again, what would they change, if anything? How would this change them and the people around them? Would their lives be better or worse? Would they change anything in the first place?

i’ve answered a question similar to this in the past before, but i absolutely don’t mind retreading my tracks or elaborating on stuff! i think if presented with the opportunity to go back and change or start life over again, iovitus would not take it. it seems contrary to their entire being, seeing as they’re so stuck in the past and essentially refuse to move on, but iovitus does really love the people they surround themselves with nowadays and would not have met them had they still been in the legions. they have a lot of remorse and regret for the things they did, violence they committed, people they hurt etc but, well, that’s legion life! especially considering their specialty in the legions, they’d likely continue to hurt and be hurt ‘till the end of their days. now, though, free from the shackles of the legion, iovitus can do almost anything they want – all without putting themselves and the people they care for at risk. they learned a lot after their expulsion, and ssssort of became a better person? they’re a lot nicer, that’s for sure. they still fall into their old bad habits every now and then, and continue to lie to pretty much everyone around them.. but they’re not killing other charr in the name of the blood legion or whatever anymore so thats cool i guess

 its hard to say if their life would have been for the better or worse, because they left the legions at the height of the charr civil war. if iovitus had continued to stay and fight they’d probably end up losing more and more people around them. the war doesn’t last forever, however, and iovitus’ warband wasn’t involved with any of the orders nor did they spend any time doing elder dragon shenanigans, so they’d have nothing to worry about in that sense. so, like, things would still suck while the war was ongoing but then they’d suck less after it was over. i’m not entirely sure where iovitus would have ended up if they stayed with the legions – most likely, they’d work as a free agent and refuse to join another warband for a long time till their loneliness gets the best of them. regardless, though, the love they feel for their current friends & family would hold them back from trying over!

🦊 (fox) - How intelligent is your oc? Are they a mastermind pulling all the strings? Or are they more dim-witted with a big heart? If they are smart, what do they use their intelligence for? To create? To get ahead? 

iovitus is quite intelligent! they’re not super duper book-smart, but that’s not to say they’re stupid; they’re just smarter in different ways. before they were expelled from blood legion, iovitus’ warband was a spec-ops unit that served as a sort of jack-of-all-trades, meaning they had to be very adaptive and learn things quickly. they had to think on their feet very often, modifying themselves and their situation accordingly. iovitus enjoys problem solving and thinking things over, easily imagining themselves in the places of others and figuring out how they personally would work through the issue at hand. this eagerness to resolve problems falls short when it comes to iovitus’ own personal complications, though. they’d rather just ignore them till its too much to bear or rears its ugly head, literally or otherwise. they’re also very emotionally intelligent, more so than most charr are – they can read others and respond appropriately very well, though they don’t really think of themselves as an empath (for lack of a better word), it just comes naturally. iovitus’ smarts come in hand with their current occupation as a mercenary alongside their cousin, thinking up solutions for things and proposing new ideas where others might have not. they aren’t the type to use their intelligence against people and/or manipulate them, though they do lie often. it’s not something they actively think about, it just happens. iovitus is also good at altering their behavior/personality to mold better with others, though this takes a bit longer as they’ve got to get to know the individual(s) better first. they just want people to like them :(

[ultyso]

Considering you already made a long post about Lawtsuda I’ll go ahead and ask how you feel about Lawlight instead (love your art!)

Some days I really like it others I’m a little more eh about it. I’ll go into detail about both:

I personally enjoy Lawlight in the Drama, the most. They felt extra fruity and shippy to me personally. Now why I like that adaptation more than the anime/manga? They moved them closer in age, Light already being in college. Just a little weird to me with the pairing when Light is still in high school. The drama I like because the subtle little kiss on the cheek, the way Light dodged outta having to be handcuffed, the flirtatious looks they continuously give each other, the playful little banter they always are having. AGHHHHH. It’s just good stuff.

Now on for the general!

Like I mentioned in my Lawtsuda post, I like pairings where it’s a give and take. It is no different with Lawlight. They both cure each other’s boredom, they bring thrill to each other’s lives because finally they met someone on the same wave length as them! Light also I feel brings out the sillier side to L, which I find amusing ^^ As for the reverse, I think L just brings Light a sense of comfort and more openness that he hadn’t had as much before. (Cause he’s so incredibly gay)

In the story, I don’t think anyone (yes even my Lawtsuda shipper heart can attest) can match how in sync and strong their bond is. They fit together with each other perfectly. Also them both being great at tennis, both having similar level of intellect to always have engaging conversations, both engaging in their mind games. They just genuinely seem to enjoy being in the other’s company too if you ignore all the Kira stuff. The L Change the World movie’s book with L absolutely moping about Light not being around and WEARING his watch for a sense of comfort! As L was close to dying, he went to LIGHT’S HOUSE ahhhh. Him hoping they will meet again in death to walk in the nothingness together like ughhh. He’s so poetic with him. Then there’s Light who is just absolutely losing his mind after ridding of L. The immediate regret, the extra hate to Near. The bittersweetness of it all! L was his equal but he had to get rid of him for self-preservation. Yet he cannot SHUT UP about L. Always on his mind. That things would have been better if they were still togetherrr. Then the creators saying if Light wasn’t Kira that they’d probably still work together. Aghhh they just have to be apart of each other’s lives!!!

Light always showing his concern for L is always 🥺 Even if it ends up leading to fights cause their both stubborn af, it’s cause they love each other okay? :,,,)

Even though L is a notorious liar, it still seems sweet when he seems a little sad at Light being Kira because he’s his first friend. Ahhhhh. Light, I feel, has brought L out of his shell a lot on the case and gehshsjsjskks

Also the fanart? GORGEOUS? The memes of them? HILARIOUS. But fanfics? Eh I’m not actually that into it. There’s enough ig in canon that tickled my fancy enough with the pairing that I don’t really feel like the fanfic would bring about anything that doesn’t feel kinda repeated? So I don’t really read them 🙈

Now why it gets EH. It’s just talked about so much I guess it kinda just bores me sometimes. Like we get it. It’s great. What’s new? 🙈 It feels silly but sometimes when I just see Lawlight over talked about it just kinda looses my interest. When I rewatch/reread stuff tho I still like it and definitely feel they had something going there. Also I personally don’t like Light as much. So I’m just not as big a fan of shipping him with L in just that regards. When I wanna do fanart/fics of my fave ships, I like it more when I like both characters equally. Feels kinda one sided for myself ig otherwise lol (which is why partly, Lawtsuda, even with its lack of canon content, intrigues me more.)

Overall I feel a pretty solid ship ^^

(All pairing opinion asks are solely my own thoughts on a pairing. If you like/dislike it, power to ya. We all have our faves and dislikes ^^)

[mead0ws06]

it says go ahead and put anything. So I’m putting anything.

I believe that as we grow older we hide within our flaws instead of chipping at them. We lose the desperation to become a good person and instead focus on simply being and going through the check boxes. I believe that we should never be understood absolutely because then we’d never surprise others, and isn’t that always a nice feeling. When you’re left alone you don’t owe anything to anyone and instead are left with the influence they have had on your way of thinking yet they are not physically there. I went to a bookstore today and saw the poetry book my English teacher let me borrow. I almost bought me a copy and instead I bought a manga instead, Bungo Stray Dogs Beast vol 3. Akutagawa’s sister believed him a selfish man yet all he wanted was to be better, yet his mind is a haunted place and didn’t allow him to see past his own anguish and rage. Atsushi is run by fear, something so strong it runs his entire life. I think rain is a way to remember how small we actually are, and thunder is to help us remember we have a heartbeat and it can skip when faced with Mother Nature. I make Playlists that I promise are going to be good quality and then stuff it with songs I found myself listening to, and I put them in not because it was accurate but because I wanted to listen to it in a new light. I own more books now than I ever have in my entire life. I wax poetry but only in the dead of night when I feel like I’m breathing recycled blood and I spit it out onto my notes app, which blinds me when no one else has eyes on me. I fall in love with characters and see them as myself to gain understanding of who I am and to feel less lonely in the world. If someone wrote that character, they must understand that character, therefore if I ever were to met the author maybe I could see if they would understand me, even if I never spoke a word to them the knowledge of the Maybe is good enough. I crave to talk endlessly to my friends yet feel as if I’ll be eaten alive by my own flesh and walls if I so much as utter a word about passion and love. I’m proud of being 5’9 even if I’m just barely making it to that height. I have a pixie cut and I love my wild curls. Cats just had a liter of kittens in my barn, the mother being pixie and the kittens being mulberry, magnolia, and ceder. I feel different to others how I see the world, how I understand and feel about challenges because I’ve been facing them since before I understood what family was. I was so desperate for love when I was in middle school that I screamed my affections at anyone who will listen, now I see the notifications and all I can feel is my own breathing and not others hearts. I’m 17 and struggling with the idea that I’ll still be unsure of who I am and what to do when I’m an adult. That I’ll still be wearing headphones to block out others on a long car ride, that I’ll still lack social grace and run up to my room whenever I get home without placating others like a good adult is expected to do. I consume stories with the infatuation of someone finding their first love over and over. I can analyze stories for hours yet can’t find it in myself to brush my teeth. I used to think my middle name was gorgeous now all I see is it’s common, and I laugh. I’m a straight A student and can’t will myself to study for my permit test.

[littlemisspascal]

The Infinity Cube Part 20

Main Pairing: Marcus Pike x Female Reader

Word Count: 3400+

Series Summary:  When you play with a strange cube, you’re transported out of your current reality with your boyfriend Marcus into brand new ones starring alternate versions of your boyfriend who look and act entirely different every time. With each encounter, you start to wonder if you’ll ever make it back to your real universe?

Warnings for the chapter: language, Devil!Dio deserves a warning for being Devil!Dio, making out, inspiration from Star Wars Rebels + JLU, references to previous chapters, fluff + angst, 

Author Note: One year later and here we are, the final chapter. I’ve had this ending in mind from the very beginning and I can’t believe it’s finally over 😭💜 I want to thank every single reader of this series, seriously y’all’s support has meant the absolute world to me and gave me the motivation to keep writing this crazy roller coaster. Fingers crossed y’all enjoy it and also be sure to keep an eye out for an epilogue coming soon 👀

Special shoutout to @beecastle​ for talking me out of losing my sanity several times and helping me cross the finish line 💗

PART 1 / PART 19

Gif by: @nicolethered

You find yourself looking up at a large, solid white house draped in ivy vines with circular windows and, if you squint enough against the blinding afternoon sunlight, a rooster weathervane on top of the roof. It’s a nice place, charming in its own unique way, but whose it belongs to and why you’re standing in front of it are two questions you lack the answers to. 

Despite being in an unknown location, you’re not afraid. There’s no hint of tension in your muscles or anxious thoughts spinning circles in your head. Instead there’s only a numbing sort of calmness, a sense of certainty telling you you’re in the right spot. 

You’re thinking about walking up the front porch steps and knocking on the door, but then, as if reading your mind, it swings open and an impatient Dio appears in the doorway, looking down his nose at you.

“Finally,” he says, enunciating every syllable with a punch of passive-aggressiveness. “Took you long enough. I’m starting to get gray hairs, Specs.”

Eyebrows lifting, you do a double-take of your surroundings, then look back at Dio, expression still bitchy.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, more confused than fearful. “Where are we?”

“Oh, right, duh, where are my manners?” Dio makes a show of smacking himself in the forehead. “Welcome to my own little corner of hell. Yes, yes, I know it’s beautiful so stop staring and get your ass inside.”

After huffing out an incredulous laugh, you obey, finding the inside of the house to be just as pretty and solid white as the outside. White walls, white floor with a white rug, white furniture and accessories all elegantly arranged. You stand in the living room, thinking it looks as if Dio copied a page out of Better Homes & Gardens, and the thought is so absurd it has you rubbing at your nose to conceal a smile.

“I asked if he robbed Pottery Barn,” a voice chimes in from behind.

You whirl around, finding a woman sitting in a chair nestled in the corner. One look at her face has your heart freezing solid in your chest. It’s quite possible your brain has stopped functioning too, because there’s no way it can be her, that she can be here with you in the same space.

“Stranger things have happened.”

Your eyes widen. “Can you…?”

“No, I can’t read your thoughts,” she says, mouth curling up with a smile. “Our face, however, is an open book. We’d be absolutely shit at poker.”

It’s so easy, so casual, the way she confirms who she is. And you would have laughed at her remark if your brain wasn’t too busy exploding.

You’d seen a photo of the thief and his dear, saw she wore the same face as your own. Still, being here together, looking at her as a real, living and breathing person, a carbon copy of yourself, is so fucking bizarre.

Dearheart, in contrast, seems calm and composed, expression almost serene. It occurs to you then with a bright flash of clarity, she’s finally free. After countless cycles of temptation and heartache and endless waiting, she’s no longer a prisoner of the cube.

Your eyes well up with tears before you can stop them, chest constricting with emotion, and a sob escapes your throat. It catches up to you all at once—you solved the Infinity Cube, the long journey has finally finished, you can go home. It’s all finally over.

Dearheart stands up and throws her arms around you, uncaring of how you immediately bury your face in her shoulder, sobs wracking your body with every gasp of breath. Your hands grab fistfuls of her shirt, finding comfort in her physicality, in her quiet shushings and murmurings.

“You did it,” she tells you over and over again, squeezing you tighter, and there are tears in her voice now too. “You saved us.”

You don’t know how long the two of you stand there, hugging and crying, but Dio’s patience only lasts so long before he’s pointedly clearing his throat.

“As much as I love witnessing touching moments,” Dio starts, completely unaffected by the twin glares directed his way, “we three have much to discuss.”

Although you hate to admit it, you know Dio’s right. You scrub at your burning eyes and wipe away the residual tears clinging to your cheeks. It’s actually more than a little embarrassing, being the one being comforted instead of offering it to Dearheart. Swallowing harshly against the thick lump in your throat, you manage to croak out, “Start talking, Dio. Why are we here exactly?”

Dio drops down onto the couch, arms casually stretched wide over the fluffy white pillows. “The cube brought you both here, back to where it all began.” He smiles then, a wide thing with too many teeth. “I never said congratulations to you Specs, did I? Welcome to the finish line, you clever girl.”

“I didn’t do it alone,” you reply, thinking of Javi’s help and of Dearheart’s hints along the way. You turn to look at her, finding her already staring back. “That was you, right? Marie Shaid and the book?”

“Not entirely. With my magic, I can’t create matter out of thin air, only alter how people perceive it. The book was real, in that universe, at least. All I did was make you see it a little differently,” Dearheart says. Her gaze falls to her hands then, turning them over palms up and wiggling her fingers. You swear you glimpse little sparkles of light leaping between the digits, almost like firecrackers. “That trick nearly drained me of my magic, but I had to get your attention somehow.”

You stay quiet, staring at her hands still faintly glowing. It makes sense she has magic—after all, the thief had also possessed it and Dearheart is from the same universe. Still, actually witnessing it up close is enough to send your head spinning. Just when you thought there wasn’t much more the multiverse could surprise you with, it throws you Dio, his picturesque white house, and your variant with magical powers all at once.

“Be careful, would you? I’m still trying to get rid of the magic stains from your partner’s failed attempt to steal from me,” Dio gripes, but there’s mischief glittering in his dark eyes, indicating he knows exactly which buttons he’s pushing. “We don’t want a repeat of past mistakes now, do we?”

Dearheart’s eyes narrow, hands curling into fists, and your own tongue burns as if it can feel the scathing retort she’s about to unleash. You quickly intervene before any furniture or limbs end up broken. “Dio, we made a deal, remember? I solve the cube and you make sure everything goes back to the way it was.”

Dio smirks, and it’s the same little mean curl of his mouth you’d previously thought made him look like a cat who caught a canary. It bothers you now to see it just as much as it did then. “Of course I remember.”

A beat of silence follows. The kind of quiet before a bomb drops, before everything irreparably changes and what was familiar is gone. Lost forever.

Your alternate self must feel it too, this almost tangible fizzle in the air, because she steps closer, arms brushing. A touch that says: you’re not alone. Not anymore.

The Devil sits up, bracing his forearms on his knees while pinning you with his stare. “I have a question for you, Specs. And it might just be the hardest one you’ll ever have to answer in your whole life, but once you do, I’ll send you home. Both of you,” he corrects before you can argue.

“I don’t like this,” Dearheart mutters, and you tilt your head in wordless agreement. Unfortunately, as guests in Dio’s home, you don’t have much of a choice.

Exhaling a quiet breath, you ask Dio, “What’s the question?”

He studies you for a long moment, like he can see straight through to your fractured heart and tender soul, expression uncharacteristically blank. The seconds of quietness stretch on, each one adding to the weight pressing down on your lungs.

And then, “Do you wish to forget?”

Your heartbeat stutters. “Wh-what?”

“Not many can say they successfully fulfilled a deal with the Devil. You’ve…impressed me, Specs,” Dio says, and a beam of sunlight bounces off his silver star earring, as blinding as it is surprisingly beautiful. “So, I’m giving you a choice. Carry the memories of all your precious Brown Eyes back home with you, or leave them behind.” 

You’re uncomfortably aware of the two pairs of eyes watching you, waiting for your response. You turn the question over in your head for a second, thinking about how you feel, about your conversation with Javi. He’s already forgotten about you. Everyone you’ve ever met across the multiverse has had their lives reset, none the wiser you ever crossed paths at all. 

Is it really so bad to want that same blissful ignorance they have?

You make the mistake of glancing at Dearheart. One look at your face, and she already knows what you’re going to choose. One look at hers, and you know she’s okay with it. 

Somehow, that makes the small pang of guilt hurt all the worse.

“I’m sorry, I just, it’s…” You make a face at your tongue’s clumsiness, fumbling for a way to explain everything, how it feels like the memories will continue to fester inside of you until there’s nothing left of who you are. There’s just too many of them. You’ve lived too many lives.

She smiles, and it’s soft and devoid of judgment. You blink harshly against the burn of returning tears. “You don’t need to apologize or explain. I already know.”

“But—”

“You’ve done more than enough for me, Specs,” she cuts you off, gentle yet firm, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You deserve a peaceful life with the one you love. The life the multiverse intended for you.”

“You deserve that too,” you blurt out, impulsive yet sincere. 

Dearheart blinks with surprise, visibly taken aback for a second, before letting out a quiet laugh. “It’s hard to imagine it. A pair of thieves settling down together, living a quiet life. Then again,” she gives you a pointed look, one eyebrow arching up, “strangers things have happened, yeah?”

 It startles a laugh out of you. “Yeah,” you nod, smiling wide. “Yeah, they really have.”

“And I’ll hold onto them. Every single one,” she says, lifting her hand from your shoulder to tap her temple. “Maybe write a book or something.”

“Well, well, well, wouldja look at that,” Dio remarks, pitching his voice higher to reclaim the spotlight once more. He stands up, moving closer to stand in front of you both. “Everybody gets what they want and goes home happy. I thought endings like that only happened in fairy tales.”

“What are you going to do with the cube, exactly?” you ask, carefully watching his face.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little mind about it,” he answers flippantly, but the cracking of his knuckles does little to mollify you. “It won’t be a problem for you or your Brown Eyes anymore. That’s what you’re really asking, right?”

“And I’m just supposed to take your word for it?”

“You do you, clever girl.” He shrugs, looking like he could honestly care less about your poor opinion of him. “Now, let’s get this all wrapped up already. I’m a busy guy. I’ve got other souls to play with. Punishments to inflict. Deals to arrange.”

The tempo of your heartbeat accelerates, the realization that this is it buzzing through your nerves. “What–” your voice cracks under the weight of emotions suddenly springing to life inside of you. “What do I do?”

Dio chuckles, a genuine-sounding one, like you’ve just said something funny. Then, without sparing a second to explain himself, he licks a long, wet strip up the center of his palm, a strange symbol lighting up in the center of it, before he begins chanting in a language you’ve never heard of before, words tumbling out of his mouth rapid-fire in a low, steady stream.

Your whole body goes stiff, limbs held in place by invisible strings. You open your mouth to yell or curse at him, only to find you’ve lost your voice, just a weak gasp of air escaping your lips. 

“Don’t fight it,” Dearheart tells you, voice breaking through the thunderous sound of blood pounding in your eardrums. “Just breathe.”

It feels like you’re being torn apart from the inside out, all of your atoms burning one by one. A scream presses against the backs of your teeth, the taste of blood sharp on your tongue. You might be crying; you can’t really tell anymore.

Dio continues his chant without any sign of stopping.

“Breathe,” Dearheart says again, sounding so close it’s as though she’s inside your head, wrapped around you, holding your hand. “It will all be over soon.”

Her words are a balm against the worst of the pain, and something inside of you relaxes upon hearing them. You close your eyes, forcing yourself to follow her command and breathe. In and out, in and out, even as numbness starts to creep up your legs. Along your spine and abdomen. Inch by deadening inch.

Your senses are next to go. Dio’s voice fades away seconds before the floor disappears. And you’re left with the sensation that you’re floating in a sea of nothingness. A second passes, then another, and another, and then—

Then you’re falling.

~~

The room is full of open doors.

That’s the first thing you realize upon opening your eyes and regaining your bearings. Every direction you turn your head there’s dozens of doorways leading to unknown locations. The air is still, neither hot nor cold, and the entire space is as silent as a tomb. It’s…unsettling, to say the least.

A tugging sensation prompts you to start walking, even though you have no idea what or where your final destination is. There’s no sky here, no light source, but somehow you’re able to see the path in front of you clearly, each step sure-footed. 

Every doorway you look through when you pass them reveals glimpses of the same woman and man in different settings. There’s a sense of vague familiarity, a name sitting on your tongue you can’t quite recall. Sometimes they look happy, obviously in love, other times they’re fighting, spitting curses and crying tears. Their physical characteristics change, too, hairstyles and ages and the appearances of scars. For all the variations though, there is one single constant.

They’re always together.

In one doorway, they’re sitting on a beach, the woman leaning back against the man’s chest while she holds up seashells from a small collection pile for him to see. Whatever the man says about one of them makes her laugh, tossing her head back against his shoulder, and he hides his crooked smile by burying his face in her hair.

The next shows them with a little baby girl crawling across a carpet floor. She’s got a head full of curls and a pair of beautiful, sparkling eyes matching her parents’. The man is videotaping her, the widest of smiles on his face, while the woman watches from the sofa with an expression you can only think of describing as pure contentment. 

Another reveals them in an office arguing over a gemstone clutched in the man’s hands. The woman makes several attempts at grabbing it only for him to keep evading her reach, holding the item close to his chest as though it were his most precious treasure. You don’t know what’s going on, why the gem is the source of their strife, but you have the sinking suspicion their situation is about to go from bad to worse.

There’s a split-second you actually think about pausing—to do what, you’re not exactly sure. Yell at them? Reach through the door and take the stone for yourself? But then that internal tugging starts up again, more insistent this time, urging you to keep walking.

So you do.

The doors keep emerging from the blackness on either side of you, far more than you can count, and vanish just as soon as you pass them. This is without question the most elaborate dream you’ve ever had, but curiosity overrules your desire to wake up. If there is an ending to this, you want to see it through.

Eventually, after what seems like miles even though your feet don’t ache at all, you reach a fork in the road, discovering two doors which look different from the rest. On the left, light pours out of the open doorway, so much you can’t even tell what the scene is inside. On the right, a door which has been shut, offering no clues as to what’s on the other side of it.

Wary of the closed door, you approach the left one first, squinting against the brightness until you can make out the shapes of furniture and people. A green leather sofa. A massive fireplace. The man and woman are wrapped in a passionate embrace, kissing each other as if they’re starving for it, hands roaming over each other’s bodies. 

You must make a sound, a gasp or something, because the woman’s eyes lock onto yours as she exposes her neck for the man to continue lavishing with his lips. 

And then, as if it isn’t awkward enough already, she wiggles her fingers at you. At first you think she’s waving, or perhaps shooing you away, but then the door abruptly slams shut like it’s got a mind of its own, causing you to leap backwards with a yelp. 

“Curiouser and curiouser,” you murmur, blinking at the now-closed door.

The only option left, whether you like it or not, is the other door. Nervousness twists a knot in your stomach, growing a little bit bigger with every approaching step. There’s nothing outright scary about the door—it’s literally just a door. Rectangular piece of wood with a brass knob. But the unknowing of what awaits you on the other side has your hand hesitating. After all you saw on your walk here, the possibilities are endless.

Okay, okay, okay. Stop overthinking things. You can do this. It’s no big deal. Just turn the knob. Just. Turn. The—

You tilt your head, a faint sound tickling at your eardrums. Your brow furrows, recognizing it to be music playing, and then your eyebrows climb up your forehead in disbelief when the lyrics click within your brain. That’s a One Direction song. And it’s coming from behind the door.

As if reacting to the beats of the song, the tugging in your chest starts to synchronize with it. Come on inside, it seems to say. Don’t be afraid.

You take a deep breath, pushing down your fears.

And you open the door.

~~

You may not look it—bobbing your head along to the One Direction song blaring from your computer, shamelessly mouthing the lyrics—but you take your job quite seriously. You’ve been an archivist for the FBI’s art crime division for a little over a year now, responsible for cataloging, organizing, and examining recovered museum artifacts with gloved hands and a pair of specially designed spectacles hanging from a chain around your neck.

It’s tedious work, no doubt about it, but if not for this job you never would have met your boyfriend, Marcus, aka the man of your dreams. And for that mere fact alone, you wouldn’t trade this life for any other.

“Hey, Specs, you ready to head home?”

You look up from your computer, locking eyes with Marcus standing in the doorway. He’s dressed in his usual dark blue suit, but after a long day’s work his dark hair has been ruffled by restless fingers, striped tie hanging undone around his neck, and overall looking eager to cuddle on the couch in your apartment and watch a Netflix documentary.

There’s something about him that looks especially beautiful today, you can’t quite put your finger on it. You’d seen him earlier at lunch, but the strange ache in your chest, heart overwhelmed by a sudden burst of adoration, makes it seem like it’s been years or something. God, he’s turning you into such a hopeless romantic it’s ridiculous.

Turning off your computer, you go to him, greeting him with a kiss on the lips, soft and tender, a little teasing nip at the end promising more to come later. You nuzzle your nose against his before pulling away to grab hold of his hand, loving the way his fingers immediately intertwine with yours. He really is perfect.

And he’s all yours.

“Yeah, Brown Eyes,” you say, smiling and pulling him along. “Let’s go home.”

[swordgayist]

cultural appropriation in ATLA (hinduism edition)

i’m sure there’s already a ton of posts about this, but whatever, i’m still making one idc. 

ATLA’s cultural appropriation, everyone knows about it, the white people don’t speak about it, and the asian and indigenous people get ignored. we know the cycle. but i wanted to come here and highlight some of the most prominent examples of ATLA abusing hinduism, as i am kinda sorta hindu (i was raised in a hindu household, i go to chinmaya mission, that kinda shit). i might forget some things so keep that in mind.

this is gonna be divided into 3 main sections, since there are different ways that they disrespect hinduism that i don’t wanna lump together.

and i’d say i know a lot about hinduism but that doesn’t make me an expert, obviously, so if other hindus have anything to add and/or correct then please do !! and if anyone else wants to share how their cultures were appropriated then please do that as well !!

so let’s get started shall we?

appropriating hinduism

1) the avatar

we’ll start with the most obvious example: the avatar itself

i know that there are parts of the avatar mythos that are taken from other cultures as well but the idea of the avatar itself is primarily from hinduism.

basically in hinduism, the term dashavatara refers to the 10 reincarnations of lord vishnu (the god of preservation), with avatar(a) meaning form or incarnation in sanskrit, and das(a) meaning ten. it was said that whenever the world was out of balance, lord vishnu would come down to earth in a certain form to restore balance. Each reincarnation is considered a different life with a different story. the avatars of lord vishnu are often considered the saviors of the world.

so basically, the central idea of the show and the actual name of the show is largely based on hinduism.

2) chakras

many different indian religions have a concept of chakras (chakra meaning wheel or circle in sanskrit), but hinduism is the one that primarily preaches the system of seven chakras, the version used in ATLA.

chakras connect the physical body to the ‘subtle’ body (referring more to the spirit and the psyche) by connecting parts of the body to aspects of the mind. the idea is that through different forms of steady meditation you can manipulate the different chakras and allow the pure flow of energy through the body.

the whole idea of chakras on ATLA is that aang has to unblock them all to let the cosmic energy flow through him so that he can go into the avatar state at will. so yeah, pretty much that whole idea was taken from hinduism.

3) terminologies

these are just a few terms that were taken from hinduism. i’m pretty sure there are more that i can’t think of right now but yeah.

“agni” kai 

i’ll be honest i don’t know where the ‘kai’ part is from, i don’t think it’s from hinduism but if it is well fuck me i guess.  ‘agni’ in hinduism is the god of fire, so the creators used it in ‘agni kai’, the name for a firebending duel.

“bumi”

this is in reference to the hindu word for ‘earth’, which is bhoomi. this is also in reference to our goddess of earth, bhoomi devi. also this doesn’t really bother me but i wonder if the creators knew that bhoomi is a name typically used for women (as are most hindi names ending in ‘i’/‘ee’).

in general, concepts like having multiple complex gods (the spirits) who are capable of good and evil and the reincarnation cycle are prominent in a lot of asian cultures, including (and arguably primarily) hinduism.

mocking hinduism

now we get into the mockery of hinduism in ATLA, because it is very much there.

1) whoever the fuck that baboon guy in the spirit world was

now what the fuck was this.

i mean i wouldn’t say this is the most egregious example of them making fun of brown people but lord why did this even need to be there? this random guy from the spirit world has an indian accent ? and is fervently chanting ‘om’ for some reason, and it’s clearly meant to be seen as comical. also portraying brown people as monkeys....... really.

2) combustion man/sparky sparky boom man

when rewatching ATLA in 2019 i actually had no idea that this was a thing, because the last time i had watched it was as a kid and i didn’t finish it.

so lord was i in for a surprise when i saw...

now... now what.

if you didn’t know, combustion man’s ‘third eye’ is designed to replicate the hindu god of destruction, lord shiva. right down to the vibhuti on his forehead (referring to the three line markings around the third eye).

in hinduism, lord shiva’s third eye is used to reduce people to ashes, though as far as i can recall, not very frequently. the primary significance of the third eye is that it represents the ability of higher spiritual thought and higher consciousness.

the ATLA writers take the ACTUAL significance of the third eye, throw it out the window, and then take its destructive abilities to make a super duper cool and dangerous new firebending technique.

and if that wasn’t bad enough, the actual person who uses this technique, and is meant to emulate a GOD who is PRAISED, is a scary, burly, half metal man who is a villain and an assassin. not to mention the design of his facial hair replicates that super duper scary “terrorist” depiction of brown people, particularly of muslims, that white people are so thoroughly terrified of for no reason. 

this is a parody of a god, and they portrayed him as this terrifying, maniacal fucking assassin who, along with p’li, the combustion bender from LOK, is constantly referred to as a “third-eyed freak”. i’ve made this analogy before and i’ll do it again, this is like making jesus into a hitman.

now onto my favorite example...

3) guru pathik

ah, this motherfucker.

i don’t really have any problems with him as a character, i mean hell, must’ve taken a fuck ton of patience to handle aang’s “why would choose cosmic energy over katara” bullshit.

but we all know it, we see it plain as day, don’t even try to deny it.

“guru” literally just means teacher or guide, so i don’t really know why pathik needed to be referred to as “guru” so distinctively from aang’s other teachers and guides, but that’s just extremely trivial compared to all the other issues with this character.

first of all what is this character design? what is he even wearing? if they’re trying to replicate the clothes of swamis and priests and stuff this is already wrong, realized people don’t dress like this. and why the fuck does he have an indian accent? and why was this indian accent done by a non indian (brian george)?

once again, the poor but extremely heavy indian accent is clearly meant to be mocking, if it wasn’t, they wouldn’t’ve gone out of their way to get a non indian person to DO an indian accent, and instead they would’ve just gotten an actual indian person to play the role. 

and oh yeah, the onion and banana juice. because hindus just eat weird shit right.

whether it’s actually weird or not, the show certainly portrays it as weird. and as far as i know no hindu actually fucking drinks onion and banana juice.

ironic because brown people can absolutely destroy white people in cooking. but i digress.

i know what you’re all waiting for. because the guru apparently didn’t have enough fun with guru pathik, so they just had to come back to him in book 3:

where do i begin.

so this is obviously john o’bryan’s super funny and hilarious depiction of pathik as a hindu god.

usually when a god has multiple arms it’s to carry an array of things, from flowers to weapons to instruments, and one hand is typically free to bless devotees (ie. goddess durga and lord vishnu respectively):

but of course white people see this as weird and so they make fun of it, hence guru pathik having multiple arms just flailing about aimlessly (save for the two that are being used to carry the aforementioned onion and banana juice).

then there’s the whole light behind pathik’s head which is usually depicted in drawings of hindu gods to show that they are celestial.

also what the fuck is he holding? is that supposed to be a veena? because this is what a veena looks like:

and i assume the reason this was added was to mock the design of goddess saraswathi, who carries a veena:

but that right there in the picture of pathik looks more like a tambura than a veena. 

and it also just kinda looks like a banjo?

but i guess the animators just searched up “long indian instrument” and slapped it on there. actually no, that’s giving them too much credit, they probably didn’t search it up at all. 

and then the actual scene is pathik singing crazily about chakras tasting good or something while playing the non-veena and it’s all supposed to be some funky crazy hallucination that aang is having due to sleep deprivation. just some crazy dream, just as crazy as talking appa and momo sparring with swords or tree-ozai coming to life.

our gurus and swamis and sadhus and generally realized people are very respected in hinduism, they’re people we look up to and honor very much. and our GODS are beings that we literally worship. and the writers just take both and make caricatures out of them for other white people to laugh at.

4) other shit

before we move to the next portion i just wanna mention there are also smaller backhanded jabs that i can’t really remember now, but one example was when zuko was all “we’ll be sure to remember that, guru goody goody”. or when a character would meditate and say “om” only when the meditation is supposed to be portrayed as comical or pointless. or in bitter work when sokka was rambling on about karma. small things like that. but moving on.

south asian representation, or lack thereof

now i finally get to the “losing” hinduism part. by this i mean the lack of actual representation there is of south asians (the region where hinduism is primarily practiced) despite the fact that hinduism plays such a big role in the show’s world design.

i think it’s safe to say that broadly the main cast consists of aang, katara, sokka, zuko, toph, azula, iroh, mai, ty lee, and suki. 

a grand total of none of these characters are south asian. the writers don’t even attempt to add any south asian main characters. 

there are characters with dark skin, like haru and jet, but a) they’re not confirmed to be south asian and don’t have any south asian features or south asian names, b) they’re side characters, so they don’t count as representation, and c) even if they were south asian and main characters, jet wouldn’t even count because he’s portrayed as a terrorist.

the ONLY truly south asian character we get is fucking guru pathik. so yeah. not representation.

i don’t get how the creators of this show rip off of hinduism (among many other south asian cultures they rip off of), mock indians, and then don’t even have the decency to HAVE a main character who is south asian.

i’ve never gotten a chance to compile all this, and this definitely isn’t all the creators have done, but i hope this was somewhat informative.

[luminnara]

It’s Been a Long, Long Time | Ch 6

Summary:  When HYDRA had their prized asset, the Winter Soldier, they did something no one ever thought was possible: they gave super soldier serum to an omega. With the sole purpose of tending to him during his ruts, she spends decades living in HYDRA facilities, denied her humanity and her life. Now, years later, Bucky Barnes has his mind and his own life back...and the last thing he ever expects is to see a familiar omega again. Bucky/OC, a little angsty but mostly smutty/fluffy/romantic!

Part One | ... | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

Tags:  @kyrah-williams @oceanmermaidwitch @shawnie--jo @super-cape @ferxaniti @namjoonwatcheshentai @fandomsstolemylife00 @youngblood199456 @nightlygiggless @darlingely @ bluemoon-icecream @kaz11283 @jenjen8675309 @dollfacev8 @witchinpractice @mystical-b3ar @sukeraa

Bucky refused to leave the omega’s side while she stayed in the lab. Bruce had to stop him from trying to crawl onto the bed with her, and after about the third time, he convinced the super soldier to just pull up a chair like a civilized person and hold her hand while she drifted off to sleep again. Now that she was with her alpha, she had settled down for another nap, more interested in resting than answering any more questions so long as Bucky stayed and kept an eye on her. 

Steve had to admit, it was endearing. He had never seen his friend so absolutely enraptured like this. Whenever the omega, or Ten, as Bruce was still calling her, shifted in her sleep, Bucky’s eyes were snapping over to make sure that she was okay. Whenever she let out a little whimper, he was purring and stroking her hair. Whenever she seemed like she might wake up again, his attention was completely on her.

“So...sure you don’t remember her?” Steve asked, pulling up a chair. He had left for a few hours to work out, and after a lack of updates from FRIDAY, he headed back down to check on everything. They were exactly as he had left them, which was a good sign. At least nothing was getting out of hand. 

Yet.

Bucky shrugged, rubbing the back of the omega’s hand with his thumb. “I dunno. It’s...foggy.”

“Well, it seems to me like you’ve either got a history together, or she’s mistaking you for someone else.” Steve said. “Quite frankly, it’s hard to do the latter.”

“I’ve dreamt of her.” Bucky said quietly. 

“...what?”

“It’s not much, but...I’ve seen her face.” Bucky looked down at her. “I think that no matter how many times HYDRA wiped my memory, she’s always been in there. Kinda like the one constant that was always around, the one thing I could always count on being in the base with me.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Steve asked.

“Never knew if she was real or not.” Bucky sighed. “I thought...maybe she was just something my mind made up to fill some of the gaps. But she smells exactly like I remember.”

Steve sat back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched his friend. Bucky wasn’t snarling anymore, most of his attention trained on the omega while she slept. Now that he was close to her, he had calmed down significantly, though he still wouldn’t let Steve within five feet of her bed. 

“Just got off the phone with Tony,” Bruce announced, walking in. “He and Pepper will be back tonight. Pepper’s having some clothes and personal items delivered for our new omega friend here. They also asked about renovating a more permanent room for her, but I, uh...told them I wasn’t exactly sure what the situation would be.”

“She’s staying with me,” Bucky said immediately. 

“Now hang on, hang on,” Steve leaned forward. 

“Steve,” Bucky growled. “I want her with me.”

“Buck, you don’t even know her—“

Bucky interrupted him with a loud snarl, the omega in question whining and squirming in her sleep at the sound of it. 

He immediately shut up, brushing a thumb over her cheek and shushing her until she was sleeping soundly again. Fuck, he felt so stupid. What was wrong with him? She could have woken up, or been scared, or upset, all because he couldn’t keep his big mouth shut. She needed her rest, and he needed to stay quiet. 

Steve almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing. 

“Oh, Buck,” he shook his head. “You’re in deep.”

—

Amoretta woke feeling well rested, and it wasn’t until she tried to stretch and felt the tug of her IV drip that she remembered where she was. Opening her eyes revealed the bright lights of the lab, and as she started to sit up, a few faces came into view.

“Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty,” Bruce said. “How are you feelin’?”

She licked her lips. “Juice box. Now.”

“Way ahead of you. Had this one waiting as soon as you started waking up.” He tossed one to her and was pleased when her hand shot up to catch it. “Reflexes look good. Vitals are all reading normal. I’ll have to run another test to see what’s going on with those suppressants, but I’m willing to bet you’re metabolizing them fairly quickly now. How are you feeling?”

She pulled the little straw off the back of the carton and jammed it into the top. “Nauseous. Like usual.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Side effect of the suppressants?”

“Always has been. Other than that...I feel great, actually.”

“Well, as soon as these wear off, we can figure out something nicer and more modern for you. If you want to use them, I mean.” Bruce shrugged. “Your choice.”

She smiled. “Choice. I like that.”

“Hey, we’re all about independence here,” Steve said happily. He was glad to see she was awake, even though Bucky wasn’t.

The other alpha was still at her side, but, as of about half an hour ago, he was napping. Steve made a mental note to never let him forget the way he slept straight through the one moment he had been waiting for all day. 

“What time is it?” She asked. “There’s no windows in this damn place.”

“Just after dinner,” Bruce chuckled. “You slept most of the day. Bucky hasn’t left your side.”

She looked over to her soldier, smiling warmly at the sight of him sleeping. He was even snoring softly. “I haven’t gotten to see this in forty years.”

“Did you two, uh…” Steve cleared his throat. “Spend a lot of time together?”

The omega laughed. “You always this awkward around girls?”

“That’s not—“

“Relax, I’m just giving you a hard time.” She sucked on her straw. “But...yeah, we did.”

“So...you were just kept for his ruts, or…” Steve was so awkward it was almost endearing. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong. I think.”

“It’s okay. I know my lot in life.” She kept her eyes trained on Bucky as she spoke. “But if I’m going to answer more questions, I want to get out of this bed. And I want real clothes. Then I’ll talk.”

And so, only several minutes later, Bruce was handing her a sweater and some shorts he had grabbed from a little stash of extra clothing, and Bucky was startled awake by Ten stepping past him. She was finally free from all the tubes and cords that had been sticking out of her during her little hospital stay, and she was all too eager now to explore the tower.

She stood on wobbly legs, almost falling onto him when she tried to take a step. Bucky was up in a flash, ready to catch her, and as she fell against his chest, he wrapped his arms around her. Despite just waking up, he felt fully alert, completely ready to tend to his omega’s every need. 

His omega...he liked that train of thought. 

“We can head up to the common area. It should still be quiet.” Steve said, leading the way out. 

Bucky kept an arm around his omega’s waist as they followed, Bruce bringing up the rear. He wanted to be touching her at all times, constantly in contact so that he couldn’t lose track of her. His instincts were roaring to life, demanding that he do everything in his power to make sure that she was safe and in his line of sight. The elevator ride was tense and full of possessive growling, Bucky constantly shoving Ten behind him to keep her in the corner and as far away from Steve as possible, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief when the doors slid open and they could step out of the cramped space again. 

The common area was empty, thankfully, FRIDAY informing them that the other Avengers were all either working out or in their private quarters. 

“Good,” Steve said, heading towards the couches. “No interruptions. Got it, FRIDAY?”

“Understood, Captain Rogers.”

“C’mere,” Bucky mumbled, pulling his omega down to sit on one of the couches with him. Part of him was feeling a little sheepish and self conscious of his behavior...but the rest of him didn’t give a shit. The others could stare and shake their heads all they wanted, but he’d be damned if he let Ten slip through his fingers again. 

Or whatever her name was. 

Steve and Bruce sat across from them, making sure that they left as much space as possible between themselves and the new omega. Neither of them had ever seen Bucky behaving quite like this--he was on guard, hyper aware of everything around him. He made sure that she was pressed up against his side, an arm draped possessively over the back of the couch so that it was unmistakable that she was with him.

Christ, what had gotten into him? He couldn’t remember ever acting this way about an omega before. 

“So…” Steve cleared his throat, sitting with his elbows resting on his knees.

Bucky didn’t really like the way his posture made him lean forward towards his omega, but he could deal with it for now. “So.”

“What do you wanna know?” Ten asked, plucking at Bucky’s shirt. She seemed to be even clingier with him than he was with her, perfectly happy to be hanging off him or tucked up against his side. “You met my demands. I guess I’m an open book now.”

“I don’t want to overstep my bounds,” Steve said. “We just need to know as much as you’re willing to share.”

“Then ask a question.”

“...Alright.” he cleared his throat again. “You said HYDRA used you to help with Bucky’s ruts?”

Ten nodded, her expression remaining even and cool. 

“Could you tell us more about that?” Steve glanced at Bucky. “Were there ever any other omegas, or anyone we should know about?”

“There were omegas before me.” she answered. “When I first got to the compound, there were a lot of us. They kept us all in big cells, so everyone talked. People said things about how HYDRA was grabbing omegas off the street for their super soldiers, and how the one at our base was the biggest and scariest.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow at her tone. He wasn’t exactly sure what he expected her to sound like while she regaled them with her life story, but he definitely thought there would be a tad bit more apprehension in her voice. She seemed proud of herself, and more matter-of-fact than a lot of omegas would be while talking about their alpha’s previous partners. Or...whatever you called prisoners whose only purpose was to help during ruts.

“And I bet he was,” she sighed, leaning her cheek on Bucky’s chest and looking up at him adoringly. 

“Well, I don’t know about that…” Bucky said, an almost shy smile on his lips. And...was he actually blushing?

Steve was going to lose his mind. 

“You said the other omegas couldn’t handle it? That’s why you were given the serum?” he prompted, trying to keep them on track before he drowned in the sticky sweetness of her happy pheromones. 

“Right.” she turned her attention back to Steve and Bucky let out a quiet huff. “HYDRA didn’t really like to take care of us. And the soldier--I mean, Bucky--would wear them out. So...HYDRA would just kind of let them go. Or put them down, maybe. I never saw it.”

Bucky’s expression dropped. His blush was gone, and he almost looked like he was going to be sick as he listened to her talk.

“But it wasn’t his fault,” she said quickly, glancing between him and Steve. “I don’t think it was ever on purpose, you were just...demanding.”

He gave a groan, leaning his head back against the couch. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it, doll. I’d rather know what I did, at this point.”

She offered a small shrug. “I don’t really remember it being that bad, but I don’t think I ever met you before they gave me the serum.”

“That’s something, at least.” he mumbled, dragging a hand down his face. 

“Why you?” Steve asked. “Did you have any prior military experience, any ties to something the others didn’t?”

“No.” she laughed. “I never even got in fights before HYDRA.”

“Then why’d they use such an important resource on you, specifically? Not trying to take a dig at you, it’s just...well, omegas don’t usually…”

“I know,” she said. “Omegas aren’t supposed to be tough, right? That’s why they only ever let alphas become super soldiers.”

“That’s not what I…” Steve trailed off and then sighed. “Sorry.”

“I told you, they gave me the serum so that I would be strong enough to hold my own. It also ensured I would always be around, no matter how many years passed.” Her fingers found Bucky’s free hand and she took it, absentmindedly playing with the smooth vibranium knuckles. “Having me as a constant meant they could stop spending so much time and effort on always having a new omega around for him. Plus…well, I wasn’t really there, but I heard something about it once…”

“What?” Bucky asked. 

“They let you choose who was going to become your omega.” She said, looking up at him. “They gave you a bunch of scents, and you chose mine. I guess it was the only reason they didn’t, uh...humanely euthanize me.”

His eyes were wide. The thought of HYDRA killing his omega brought a low growl to his throat, his chest rumbling with the vibrations of it. “No.”

“Well, clearly they didn’t!” She said brightly. “My file said I was a kicker.”

“So they gave you, an already aggressive omega, the serum, but never gave you any trigger words or fished around in your brain?” Bruce shook his head. “Surprisingly sloppy, considering who they are.”

“It’s not like they ever sent me out into the world. I stayed in my cell all day, unless I was needed for a rut. Then I went and stayed in a different cell.” She sighed. “And if they ever needed to, they could just use the alpha to grab me.”

Bucky clearly didn’t like the thought of that. He made a frustrated sound, leaning his head back again. “Great.”

“It was never bad.” She let go of his hand, moving her fingers to cup his jaw. “You never hurt me. You wouldn’t. Sometimes, when I acted up, they would make you go retrieve me, because they knew you were the only one who could do it. If they didn’t send you, they would just knock me out.”

“So...that was it?” Steve asked. “Ruts, serum, cryo?”

“For thirty years!” She chirped. “The last time they froze me, they were freezing him, too. They always tried to keep us in cryo at the same time so that I could be thawed out and ready when he needed me. But...I guess they just...left me there?” She frowned. 

“See, that’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.” Steve said. “I didn’t see any signs of a struggle at that base. I’d say they left in an orderly fashion, but the fact that they didn’t take you along makes me think they were in more of a hurry than they made it seem.”

“Natasha might have a better idea,” Bruce suggested. “We can talk to her, try to figure out—“

“FRIDAY, open the damn door or so help me God I will rewrite your entire personality.” A voice interrupted from the other side of the door. 

“I’m sorry, Tony, but Captain Rogers asked me not to.” The AI said. 

“Well, is it an emergency?” The man scoffed.

“No emergency measures have been executed. No security breaches have been identified.”

“Then I’m sorry, but Captain Rogers does not outrank me when it comes to my own robots. Open the door, beautiful.”

She seemed to sigh. “Very well, Mr. Stark.”

Ten perked up, leaning forward slightly. She was watching the door curiously, tilting her head a little when she heard it slide open. Bucky rolled his eyes, grumbling to himself quietly and pulling her up against his side as another alpha strode in. 

“Really? Having a party without me?” the man asked, a smooth, casual air about him as he walked in and looked at everyone on the couches. When his eyes landed on the omega cuddled up next to Bucky, he stopped. “Ah, is this our new guest?”

“Go away, Stark.” Bucky growled. He didn’t like how long the other man’s gaze was lingering on his omega, not when there weren’t any scars on her neck to show who she belonged to.

“Always such a charmer, Barnes.” Tony said, flopping down next to Steve. “Lovely to see you, too. Care to introduce me to your friend? ….No, you’d rather just snarl and forget your words? I knew you were old, but I didn’t realize you were actually a caveman.”

“Tony,” Bruce groaned. “Don’t aggravate him. Please.”

“Why not?” Tony leaned back against the cushions, completely at ease and totally happy to be pressing every one of Bucky’s buttons. 

“Are you Tony Stark?” Ten asked, wiggling out of Bucky’s grip to sit on the edge of their couch. 

Bucky caught her around the waist before she could get very far, though, and dragged her onto his lap. He loomed over her, sneering dangerously at Tony as the other alpha flashed a smile. 

“Bingo.” he said. 

“I never thought I’d meet a Stark,” she admitted. “I always heard about Stark Industries, but I lived too far away from any big cities to ever get to see any of his exhibitions.”

“Ah. You’re from my father’s time. Of course.” Tony shot a pointed glare in Bucky’s direction. “Seems like Bruce left out a few teensy weensy important details on the phone today.”

“Well, it’s been, uh...an ongoing learning experience.” Bruce said sheepishly. 

“Lots of developments, huh?” Tony raised an eyebrow. 

“You could say that.” Steve said under his breath. “We came up here so Ten could be more comfortable while we talk.”

“Oh yeah? What’re we talkin’ about?” Tony asked. 

“They were asking about my time with HYDRA,” she answered, cutting in before anyone else could. “And with...Bucky.”

Saying his name felt odd. Her tongue wasn’t used to it, and her mind wanted to call him alpha, or Winter Soldier. Bucky just seemed so…casual, such a strange thing to call a deadly super soldier. When she heard herself, though, she decided that she definitely didn’t hate it. 

Bucky’s heart gave a little leap at the sound of his name falling from her lips. He wanted her to say it over and over again, in whispers and in screams, for nobody else’s ears but his. 

“...Buck?” Steve asked, pulling him away from his thoughts. “You, uh, kinda zoned out there.”

It wasn’t until Bucky looked at Steve that he realized his eyes had been trained on the omega in his lap. “Yeah?”

“...Is this seriously how you’ve spent the past day and a half?” Tony asked. “Steve, I’m sorry, and I’m sure you’re just trying to be as helpful as you can be, like always, but I think you should let these two get a room.”

Steve looked at him incredulously. “Tony, really? I’m trying to get to the bottom of why exactly HYDRA would abandon the omega they pumped full of super soldier serum. They can get a room later—“

“Yeah, uh, wonder boy? I don’t think your pal is gonna last much longer before he tries to rip our heads off.” Tony nodded towards a very disgruntled Bucky. “You can resume your interrogation tomorrow, Cap.”

Steve looked to Bruce for help, but he only offered a small shrug and stood, heading towards the door. “He’s right, Steve. They deserve some alone time.”

“But—hey!” Steve protested as Bucky picked his omega up, striding past the two alphas sitting on the opposite couch. 

“Thanks for everything, Steve.” Bucky said over his shoulder. 

Ten squirmed, peeking around Bucky’s arm as she was carried away. “Bye, Mr. Stark!”

“Don’t look at him,” Bucky growled as they walked out the door. 

“Did his father really make hoverboards? I heard once that Howard was promising hoverboards—“

“No.” He said flatly. 

“...oh.” She huffed, slumping against him. “Where are we going?”

“My apartment.” Bucky stepped into the elevator, his grip still tight around her. 

The omega perked up. “You have a whole apartment?”

He puffed his chest out a little. “Course I do. Gotta have a nice place for you, don’t I?”

“So I can stay?” Her eyes were bright and happy. “I can stay there, with you, all the time? Not just when you rut?”

He felt a sad little pang in his heart. When he spoke again, his voice was low and soft. “Of course, sweetheart.”

Then, his eyes widened as he realized what he was saying. “I mean, uh...i-if you want to, that is. I know it’s fast and all, and maybe...would you rather have your own room? Or I can stay on the couch—“

“Bucky,” she cut him off with a laugh, a soft hand cupping his jaw. “You’ve been my alpha for seventy years. I’d say we’re actually moving pretty slow.”

His expression relaxed again, lips stretching into a small smile. “Right. Yeah. You’re right.”

They spent the rest of the elevator ride in comfortable silence, Bucky rubbing his scent glands all over her hair. He wanted to make sure that the next time they encountered anyone else, she smelled exactly like him.

Like her alpha.

When the elevator came to a gentle stop at Bucky’s floor, the doors opened, and he stepped out in front of his apartment door. It opened for him, having already scanned his biometrics, revealing a small, but cozy, living room. 

He set his omega down on her feet, watching anxiously as she stepped into his quarters. Did she like it? Fuck, was it too small? It was too small. She probably hated it. Fuck, fuck, fuck...he had to salvage this somehow. 

“Well, uh…” shit, he sounded too nervous. He wanted her to think he was a strong, capable alpha. 

He cleared his throat for another start. “Welcome home, Omega.” 

Wait. That wasn’t right. Should he be calling her that? No, probably not, it sounded too possessive, too uncaring. He wished he just knew her fucking name, or something. 

“I mean…Ten?”

Shit, he sounded so stupid. He wanted to impress her, not...do whatever this was.

She just laughed, though, turning and looking at him with those eyes that sparkled like starlight. “Amoretta. My name is Amoretta.”

[songbirdstyles]

white wedding.

summary: your estranged aunt leaves you her estate in her will with the stipulation that you have to be married to receive your inheritance. luckily, harry is more than willing to help.

pairing: best friend!harry styles x reader

warnings: fluff, smut, angst if you squint.

song inspo.: white wedding - billy idol

word count: 13.4k

You weren’t too close to your Aunt Alice for the entirety of your life - there’s a picture, you think, hung in your parents’ house of her and some of your other family members, crowding around your bassinet when you were just a baby, her face turned up into a scowl amid everyone else’s gleaming grins, and it was a lovely foreshadow into your relationship with her. She sent you $10 on your birthdays and Christmas (an amount that your father had always scoffed at when he thought you weren’t listening - ‘she’s a goddamn millionaire,’ he’d hiss to your mother, ‘and the most she can spare her only niece is $10?’)  and you could remember, when you were 9, seeing her at a family reunion where she sat at a table pressed into a back corner and nursed glasses of wine during the entire event.

It goes without saying, you suppose, that she wasn’t the kindest lady. Your mother had told you how Aunt Alice cut off your father for some reason nobody could quite discern and, so, she never held a much larger place in your life than a mere branch on your second grade family tree project -

But, still. It’s rather difficult to regard the dead in such a negative manner so you try and focus on the good parts of your late aunt. Twice, she wrote ‘love u’ in your Christmas card. And, at said family reunion, when you walked over to her table to say goodbye before you left, she delivered a sloppy, strangely wet kiss to the side of your face that smelled distinctly of chardonnay (a scent you hadn’t quite been able to place until years later.) And - 

“Are you alright?”

Harry’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, gazing out the rain-streaked car window at the night sky with an odd air of sadness surrounding you. You had been trying to hide the slight dash of sadness you feel at the memory of your aunt by disguising it with a mask of sleepiness that has you leaning your forehead against the cold window, eyes squeezed shut. But Harry can read you like a goddamn book - like the back of his hand. It’s what best friends are for, you suppose.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, tilting your head away from the window to glance at him in the driver’s seat. And, the truth is, you are fine. It’s not as though you’re entirely too saddened with the news of Aunt Alice’s passing. She’d always had health issues, according to your parents, and you’re not sure what, exactly, has sealed her fate - you’re simply more confused by it all. “Well - when we were leaving the movies, I got a call from my dad. My aunt died.”

You can hear Harry’s sharp intake of breath and there’s a brief hesitation where you know he’s trying to gauge how you feel about it. “Oh,” he settles on, turning to look at you in the eye when the car rolls to a stop at a red light. “M’sorry, love.”

You shrug, glancing down to squint at your fingernails in the darkness of Harry’s car. You’d begun to pick at the baby blue nail polish he’d delicately applied the night before (they matched his, naturally) and it really is a nervous habit you should work on, but you can’t be bothered right now. “We weren’t close,” you admit, leaning back against the headrest. “It’s just weird, is all.”

“Are y’sad about it?”

“Not quite,” and it’s the truth. “She was wealthy, though. I think she wrote novels or plays or something - I’m not sure. And I was, apparently, her closest living relative that she didn’t despise.”

He clicks his tongue softly, making a left when the light finally switches to green, and his eyes shift back towards the road. “Left y’somethin’ in her will, did she?”

“Her countryside estate,” you confess, voice soft - it’s not the climax of your story but it certainly sounds like it should be, and you can see the confused crease in Harry’s eyebrows when you look up at him. “I looked the address up online, Har - it’s gorgeous, 6 beds and 7 bathrooms. I guess we had similar tastes in that regard.”

“Y’don’t sound too thrilled, for someone who jus’ got their dream house handed to ‘em on a platter.”

“There’s a stipulation in the will.”

“Ah.”

You smile tightly. “I’ll only inherit the house if I’m married.”

It’s something you’ll never understand. Aunt Alice never married and lived in that grand old house (your dream house) all by herself, and if you’d known about your role in her will perhaps you’d have argued it with her in person - the hypocrisy of it all, how goddamn unfair it was. And it’ll kill you - truly kill you - to see that house go to whoever her next closest living relative is who she doesn’t hate. Probably some third cousin twice removed, considering how great she was at cutting people off.

And Harry sits for a moment in silence, considering it. “Seems very - very - can’t think of the word.”

“Sexist? Unfair? Dumb?”

“All true,” he agrees, giving you a sympathetic smile, and it makes you feel the tiniest bit better, even if it’s just for a moment. “Barbaric, maybe.”

“I hate her,” you declare, crossing your arms over your hoodie-clad chest, and you most certainly don’t, but you’re angry enough to mean it in the moment. When your father had told you, you hadn’t thought about it too much - besides being confused by the entire thing, being left a house by a relative you hardly knew - but saying it out loud makes you angrier, squeezing your eyes shut. “Would you know she never married? How does that make sense?” “It doesn’t,” Harry repeats, and you glance out the window, lifting your palm to wipe at the cloudy stain your forehead had made against the glass - you’re just less a minute away from your apartment building, and you rip your phone from Harry’s charger and shove it into the pocket of your hoodie. “She left you time, right? T’get married? Tha’ seems only fair.”

You snort, ignoring the way his lips turn up into a smile at the noise. “She gave me a year. I mean, I’m 23 - I wasn’t intending on settling down for another couple of years.”

If you were less distracted, perhaps you’d see his responding silence for what it is - time to think, gears grinding in his head, as he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment building and leans over the center console to wrap you in a hug. Harry’s a talkative person and he’s only really quiet when he’s got something on his mind, but you’ve got something on yours too (probably more than he does) so you ignore it. And his soft murmur into your hair of ‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow for breakfast’ sounds every bit as distracted as you feel so you simply pay it no mind.

It’s easier that way, for now.

 --

 “I’ve been thinkin’ about your situation.”

You raise your eyebrows at Harry, bent over his plate of French toast as though he hadn’t spoken at all. His sunglasses are perched at the end of his nose so you can see his eyes - which, in your opinion, defeats the purpose of even wearing the stupid things in public. But, whenever you two go out together, he insists on wearing them, along with a grey beanie protecting his infamous head of curls from any wandering eyes, and the bizarre attempt at a disguise always makes you feel like you’re having breakfast with a burglar. 

“Not much to think about,” you shrug, popping a forkful of omelet into your mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “I was just mad about it last night, you know. Heat of the moment, sort of thing.”

“I’d be mad, too,” Harry tells you, and it’s getting more difficult to ignore the way his words send heat creeping up your neck, and you glance down at your plate of eggs with a small smile gracing your face. “Not jus’ heat of the moment, either. Really mad. S’bullshit.”

A second of silence passes, and you let his reassurance settle over you - simply having him agree with you on the stupidity of the entire situation makes you feel a thousand times better. Even if you don’t get the house (and you’ve already progressed into the last stage of grief over almost certainly losing it - acceptance) at least you’ll always have Harry, and maybe that’s enough.

But the house would be nice, too.

“What were you thinking about?” You question, lifting your eyes back up to meet his through his tinted glasses, and if there wasn’t the barrier between your gazes you’d be able to note the nearly shameful glint in his eyes as he digs into his stack of sugary sweet toast, doused with maple syrup and towered high with fruit. “About the situation, I mean.”

Harry begins to speak once more just as you reach over with your fork to nab a piece of banana, and he swats at your wrist as you pop the slice of fruit into your mouth. “Don’ steal my banana, babe,” he tells you, eyes narrowing in mock anger, and you roll your eyes at the name. “Anyway. S’not totally crazy, that you could get married in less than a year.”

Yes, it is, you want to reply back, but you can tell he’s ramping up to something important, so you rest your fork on your plate and furrow your eyebrows at him pointedly. Truthfully, even if the love of your life happened to be sitting in front of you, you’re not sure you could go through with marrying them, anyway. It’s such a heavy commitment and, God, you thought you’d have more time. Time to explore and experiment and not settle down (in your dream house) just for the sake of it.

“What if we got married?”

And that - is not what you were expecting him to say.

You’re not sure if he’s kidding or not so you give it a minute before responding in any capacity. Just stare at him, and he makes a point of hooking his pinkie in the center of his sunglasses and tugging them down his nose just a bit so you can see the absolute lack of amusement in his eyes. He’s all business, goddammit, as if he hadn’t just basically proposed to you in the middle of eating your fucking omelet.

But you can’t be sure he’s serious, and you also can’t be sure that the way your stomach flipped wasn’t because of a particularly egregious sip of chocolate milk and not the prospect of marrying your best friend. So you lean back, crossing your arms over your chest. “Are you kidding?”

Harry just shakes his head, grey beanie sliding up just a bit for one chocolate coloured lock of hair to escape the confines of the dumb hat. “M’being dead serious, babe. I’ll get down on one knee an’ prove it, too.”

“Don’t do that,” you beg him, reaching out to grab at his wrist when he makes to push himself out of his chair, and his wide grin only sends your stomach into another set of somersaults. “Jesus, Har.”

“Horrible idea?”

You don’t respond right away, grabbing your glass of chocolate milk and wrapping your lips around the straw. It’s a few seconds to process the request in all its glory - marrying your best friend, even if it’s just for show, is a lot. Sure, all you’d really have to do is head down to a courthouse (you could do it today, even - if you wanted to, and you’re not sure you do.) It’d be easier than searching hopelessly for the love of your life and arrange a wedding in less than a year, and you’d be able to walk the halls of your aunt’s gorgeous estate, decorate it how you please, and - ideally - your relationship with Harry wouldn’t quiver in the slightest.

Well, maybe that’s why you’re hesitant to begin with. Because it would quiver - or because it wouldn’t - or because it’s plain weird to marry your best friend. Even if it’s for a good cause (your dream home) and even if he suggested it in the first place, because he cares about you and wants you to be happy.

That’s sweet.

Maybe it would be a glorious fuck you to Aunt Alice in death. It isn’t as though anyone would know about the inauthenticity of the union but you would, and that’s all the revenge you need for her adding such a silly stipulation to her will, anyway. A marriage born not out of love, but out of need - sure, it’s not exactly how you wanted your life to go, but it’s better than watching the estate go to someone you’d never met before. You could get married and get divorced in the time frame she’d given you to find love in the first place and it would hardly be a blip in your life plans, and certainly not in Harry’s. It isn’t as though he’d suggest it if the marriage would ruin anything for him. 

Sure, you’d prance around family parties with him on your arm to sell your faux romance to your family. Only one or two, though, his arm around your waist, and it wasn’t as if your parents hadn’t already begun to question whether your close friendship with Harry ventured into something further. And, when it’s all said and done, when the house is officially in your name and you can begin shopping for furniture to make it your own, it’ll be easy to sell the divorce - he’s touring, you’d tearfully proclaim, and the stress was just too much on our relationship. And then you’d both be happy, right? For the most part, anyway. Still best friends with no hassle at all, and you get your house and he gets the popstar life without the settling down part.

When you’ve swallowed your gulp of chocolate milk, it’s nearly worrying how much you’ve thought about the proposal.

“It’s not a horrible idea,” you begin, eyes diverting downward to where Harry’s fingers are fiddling with a straw wrapper. “I mean, it could be pretty easy.”

“Very easy.”

“We just elope -”

“Could do it today, even -”

“I haven’t agreed yet, Mr. Styles - but we would elope, and then I’d get the house, and maybe I’d bring you to a family reunion, just to sell it, and then we’re divorced.”

He raises his eyebrows, glasses sliding further down the bridge of his nose until their purpose has been completely obliterated, and his eyes are on display for the goddamn world to see. “Unless we fall in love an’ live happily ever after - no divorce necessary, m’love.”

Bastard. Your stomach flips again but you just roll your eyes, picking up your fork and lifting a shaky bite of eggs up to your mouth. “Shut up.”

You’re almost certain you’ve made up your mind but you still make a show of thinking about it, slowly chewing on your omelet and focusing your gaze on a paper napkin resting on the ground beside Harry’s chair. It’s almost too easy, the entire process, and maybe that should make you nervous, just a little bit, that the idea of marrying him feels so relaxing. But - well - if you had to choose anyone in the world to marry in order to fulfill a stipulation in your aunt’s will, it would have to be Harry.

He’s looking at you eagerly when you look back up at him, and you’re not sure why he’s so excited about it - not like there’s anything in it for him - but it’s something you’ll think about later.

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this,” you tell him, watching the way his grin spreads across his face like wildfire, and you can’t help yourself from smiling, too, “but I am.”

In seconds, Harry’s reaching across the table, grabbing your hand in his larger one, and just the way your heart jumps at the feeling of your palms pressed together should certainly have you rethinking your enthusiastic yes. But then he’s picking up the straw wrapper he’d been fiddling with, and it’s twisted into a makeshift wedding ring, and he’s sliding it onto your ring finger with a wide smile like a fucking puppy -

God. You’re in too deep already, and you’ve only just agreed.

 --

 For the record, you’d rethought your decision many, many times since agreeing.

You’d drafted out the text for Harry for when you inevitably will change your mind - a block of words confessing to him that you’d reacted too quickly and you think it would be best if you simply forfeit your inheritance, but you can never quite gather the guts to do it. And every time you copy and paste the note from your notes to your text thread with your best friend, something always stops you -

The photos of the house from the real estate website you’d seen it on.

Harry’s wide grin as you accepted his offer.

FIngers delicately sliding on an engagement ring made of a paper straw wrapper, and the next day when he’d shown up at your door with an actual, real engagement ring.

Naturally, you hadn’t sent it. You’d deleted the note entirely, too, embarrassed with even looking at your words of defeat sprawled on your phone screen. Sometimes, though, you wish you had fucking sent it. Nearly two weeks after accepting the proposal that still hasn’t progressed from feeling like an absolute fever dream, you’re sitting with Harry at Aunt Alice’s funeral, his arm hooked around the back of your chair and the other clutching a glass of wine that he’s hardly taken two sips of.

You’re on your second glass already, and it’s barely been an hour. You’d signed the guestbook and hooked your arm with Harry’s and introduced him as your fiance to exactly one of your great-aunts, and you’d been so nervous that Aunt Shirley could see right through your faux-engagement that you’d practically downed your glass the second her back turned. 

“This is so weird,” you confess to Harry, shifting closer to him so no one else around you can hear. Not that there is, per se, anyone else around you - not many other people are sitting down, but you and Harry were one of the first people to arrive, so you’ve given yourselves a pass to sit down for a while. “Isn’t it weird, Har?”

“S’only weird if you make it weird,” he murmurs back, and you would roll your eyes at how maddeningly calm he is if you weren’t desperate to keep up your pretense as loving fiance to the funeral goers whose wandering eyes may turn to you two. “And, babe, you’re makin’ it weird.”

Your lips spread into a smile and you lift your glass of wine to your lips, taking a small sip before bringing it back down to your lap. No matter how many times you scream at yourself, internally, that nobody knows you’re not engaged and to calm the fuck down, you can’t stop your leg from bouncing up and down, showcasing your nerves in the most outward way you possibly could. “Wonder when my parents are getting here - should’ve texted them and told them separately. Did you tell your mum?”

“Told her the truth,” Harry tells you, tilting his head into yours in a way that feels so natural you swear you could stay this way forever. “You’re not tellin’ your parents the truth?”

“Bless my mum,” you sigh, “but she can’t keep a secret to save her life.”

Harry exhales a soft laugh, eyes darting around the room full of people before landing back on yours, and your gazes lock for just the briefest of seconds before he’s glancing down at your lap. “Y’don’t have t’do this if you’re uncomfortable, y’know. We can jus’ say - the pressure of m’job was too much.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you tell him, which is true. You’re nervous, for sure, but he could never make you uncomfortable. “And, ironically enough, that’s my excuse for when we divorce.”

Your voice drops to a near breath on the last word and Harry’s head drops back with a bark of laughter that’s entirely too loud for the setting you’re at but you can’t bring yourself to reprimand him. “Always talkin’ ‘bout our divorce,” Harry breathes, tilting his head closer to yours so his mouth is close enough to your ear that you can feel his breath, hot against your skin. “What if we fall in love, babe? No divorce then. Don’ y’want us t’live happily ever after?”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” you roll your eyes, even if you’re almost positive you will (or already have) and shake your head at Harry’s resulting chuckle. “Been best friends for nearly five years, haven’t we? If we were going to fall in love, I reckon it would’ve happened already, Har.” 

“You’re right,” he agrees, voice oddly soft and sounding just sentimental enough for you to narrow your eyes suspiciously at him - but before you can question him further, his eyes dart down to where your leg is still frantically bouncing up and down. “Bloody hell, love - bouncin’ your leg so much. Y’look like a nervous wreck.”

“Thanks,” you begin, and whatever else you’d been meaning to say dies in your throat as Harry’s arm shifts from around the back of your chair and his hand comes down firm on your leg. His fingertips brush your knee and his palm lays soft against your thigh, just high enough to gently brush the end of your black dress and you wish you could control the way your stomach flips again and again like a fucking gymnast.

It’s to keep up appearances, you tell yourself. So people don’t think I’m so nervous. But it feels so nice, so natural in a way you hadn’t expected, feeling his hand resting on your thigh like it belongs there, fingertips drumming against your knee which most certainly isn’t bouncing anymore.

Your eyes flit up to his, narrowing them ever so slightly as if to sniff out his intentions, and out of the corner of your eye you can see two familiar figures walking in the high arched doors of Aunt Alice’s service. Your parents break off from each other nearly the second they enter, your father skirting off to greet some of his cousins and your mother’s eyes scan the room filled with relatives before landing on you and Harry.

“Mum’s here,” you tell Harry, pushing yourself to stand, and the feeling of his hand dropping off your thigh is a sensation you absolutely despise. He stands soon after you, adjusting the cuffs of his black button down shirt, and for the first time since the funeral began, you can see the beginnings of nervousness creeping upon him. A light pink flush works its way up his neck to his cheeks and he brings his hand up to run through his hair, inhaling a shaky breath. “You look nervous, Har. You’ve met my mum before.”

“S’different. Now we’re engaged.”

“Not too different.” You hook your arm with Harry’s, patting his hand with yours, and he gives you one grateful fleeting grin before you begin walking over to your mother. She’s bent over the guestbook, scribbling her name with the feather pen resting beside the log. You stop walking when you’re just a couple paces behind her, waiting for her to turn around and see you two - and your voice drops to a hushed tone as you reassure Harry. “I think she already sort of thought we were dating anyway - so she won’t care too much.”

“Wait - she did?”

“Hey, mum!”

 --

 You’re getting married in a week.

And, sure, you’d known that the entire process would move quicker than you could imagine but it still feels surreal and you still reckon you haven’t thought it through enough. It’s worsened (or, in some way, bettered) by the absolute adoration your family had immediately adopted towards Harry after meeting him just a few days ago, your aunts pulling you aside at the funeral and the repast that occurred after and whispering in your ear about what a handsome man he is! 

Well, they’ll certainly be disappointed when, in a month or two, you pop in to the next family gathering and announce that you two had gotten divorced as quickly as you’d been wed. Harry will be your ex husband and, at that point, surely people would be suspicious at the speed of which everything had happened but - hey - you’ll have your house and your best friend and that’s all you really need, isn’t it.

Yeah.

Slowly but surely, you’re coming to peace with it, and Harry’s certainly making it easier by being so zen about it all. His nerves at the funeral had been just about eradicated because your mum loves him, which you knew, and your father had seemed positively overjoyed at the news of your engagement, but they’d both seemed rather disappointed at your decision to elope instead of spending the time planning a big white wedding. And you’d expected that, but you figure that, by the time your second marriage inevitably rolls around, it’ll be real (realer than whatever you’re feeling for Harry, because you’re still not sure) and your father will walk you down the aisle and you’ll be able to go shopping for a big gorgeous wedding dress like you’d always dreamt of wearing.

You haven't even bought a dress. The one you’re wearing now, staring at yourself in the floor length mirror propped against your bedroom wall, is one you’d purchased for your college graduation to wear beneath your gown - simple and flowy, falling to just about your mid-thigh, and the only redeeming quality for even being considered a wedding dress is its white color. Still - it isn’t as though it’s a real wedding, in the traditional sense, so it doesn’t make sense for you to spend too much on a gown you’ll don for a trip to the courthouse and then get sad whenever you look at it again, post-divorce.

No, you don’t think you like it. You’d liked it for your graduation but for a wedding (your wedding) you wish you had something just a bit nicer, and you want to strip out of it and change back into your jeans but Harry’s sitting in your living room, waiting for you to model the stupid thing for him, and you’d hate to disappoint him. So you inhale softly, run your hand down the fabric, soft beneath your fingers, and reach for the door.

Harry’s on his phone when you step out of your bedroom, slowly shutting the door behind you, his body looking strangely large where he’s perched on the small loveseat in your living room. Everything in your apartment seems too small for him - or just too small in general - and it’ll be a nice change to live in a house where you can hold gatherings of more than 5 people without feeling like sardines in a can.

“Har,” you call, reaching down to tug the ends of your dress just a bit further down your thighs as you step further into the living room, bare feet padding against the plush rug your parents had gotten you as a Christmas gift the year prior. “What do you think of the dress?” You can hear the click of his phone as he turns it off, dropping it on the cushion beside him, and heat creeps up your cheeks as his gaze turns to you - you should feel self conscious, the way his eyes roll up and down your body, drinking in every bit of your dress, but you fucking love it. Love the way his lips part into a small o and upturn into a grin, how he pushes himself to stand and close the distance between you two until he’s hardly two inches away from you, how he reaches down to pick up the end of your dress as though examining the fabric.

“Do you like it?” You question as Harry drops your dress, letting the fabric fall back down around your thighs. “Wasn’t sure if I did.”

“I love it,” he tells you, immediate and forceful and you can tell he means it with his whole chest - maybe you love it, too. “Y’look beautiful.”

“You don’t think it’s too simple, do you?” Maybe you’re fishing for more compliments but you allow yourself to do it shamelessly. “It was my graduation dress - remember?”

“I do remember,” Harry grins, tugging at the bottom of your dress, and keeping his hands busy is a nervous habit of his that you’ve grown to recognize from a hundred miles away, but you can’t think of why, exactly, he’d be nervous now. “Looked so pretty, walkin’ across tha’ stage. I was so proud.”

You smile, gaze dropping down to where his fingers are fiddling with the skirt of your dress, and you think you’ll wear this dress every single goddamn day if he reacts as positively to it as he is now. “You sound like my dad.”

His nose scrunches when you look back up at him, and your heart twists inside your chest. “Don’ make it gross.” You simply shrug, bringing your fingers up to drum against his shoulders through the fabric of his Fleetwood Mac shirt, his muscles flexing ever so slightly beneath your touch. “M’being serious, though. I love the dress. Y’make the prettiest bride on the planet - m’a lucky man, aren’t I.”

From the moment you walked out of your room you’ve been feeling heat burning your cheeks but it doesn’t stop you from gently smacking his shoulder. “Stop it - you’re gonna make me blush.”

“Looks like y’already are, Mrs. Styles.”

Should that name make your stomach as topsy-turvy as it does? 

You shake your head, smoothing your palms over the front of your dress to both eradicate the wrinkles that adorn the fabric and to wipe off the sweat cropping up on your hands. You don’t think you’ve ever been so nervous around Harry before and you can’t quite place your finger on why, but it’s getting more difficult to look him in the eye with your heart pounding as fast as it is. “I’m not gonna be Mrs. Styles for another week.” 

Harry exhales softly, fingertips tapping against your hip and you hadn’t even realized how close his hands were to that spot of your body - but it feels comforting, his touch on an oddly intimate part of you. “I can’t wait,” he says, and you can’t, either. “Makin’ me a very lucky groom, babe.”

Hearing him call you babe could make you go crazy if you focus on it for too long, so you don’t - and it’s hard to focus on much other than Harry himself as his head drops down, forehead pressed to yours, and oh God you can smell his fucking gum, and if you tilt your head up ever so slightly -

Is he going to kiss you? You think your heart will explode but you’ve never wanted anything more so you tilt your head up, just a bit, grip tightening on his shoulder, and you can feel his breath growing warmer against your face -

The sound of Harry’s phone ringing in his pocket snaps you out of your haze.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hands dropping off your hips, and your head drops downwards with a soft groan. It was so close. You could feel his breath against your face and how did that fucking opportunity pass you by? - “S’my mum. Fuck - m’sorry.” And you’re not sure if he’s apologizing for the call or what had (or, rather, had not) happened but it doesn’t matter.

One glance at the phone he’s tugged out of his pocket shows that he’s right - Anne’s contact photo smiles up at you and you give Harry a small nod, faking the smile you’re not feeling, before taking a step back against your plush carpet as he turns around, back to you, phone pressed to his ear.

“I’m gonna change,” you whisper to no one in particular. Harry’s head turns just a bit so you can catch the apologetic look on his face before he’s loudly greeting Anne, and you’ve never liked eavesdropping on their calls. So you turn and head to your bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind you and turning to stare at yourself, wide-eyed, in your mirror.

He almost kissed you.

He didn’t - but would he have? If Anne hadn’t rung him - would he have leaned down, breathing shaky, like how it always is when he’s nervous, and ever so gently pressed his lips to yours? And you would’ve known exactly how it feels to be kissed by him, whether it would be as dream-like as all the times you’ve dreamt of it. His hands on your hips, yours on his shoulders, bodies slotted together until your hands are roaming and you’re pushing him on to the couch, sliding into his lap and his hands would roam to your thighs -

It doesn’t do well to think about it now. You don’t want to get yourself too worked up about it - that doesn’t do anyone much good - and you don’t want to take too long to change. So you inhale a soft breath, smooth your clammy palms back over the front of your wedding dress, and you allow yourself one final glance in the mirror at the attire you’ll be donning in a week’s time before reaching around to your back, fiddling with the zipper until you can begin to tug it down.

 --

 You and Harry haven’t talked too much since you showed him your dress, and it’s probably not very great etiquette for an engaged couple, but you two have never been normal anyway.

He sent you a picture of the suit he’s wearing and it’s as every bit unconventional as your excuse of a wedding dress, and you told him that - how you would be a pair for the books, the opposite of what a regular married couple looks like. And you texted him just yesterday and asked if he would make you two a reservation at your favourite restaurant for dinner after the elopement (he always tended to get the nicer tables, and you don’t pretend not to know why) and he sent you back two thumbs-up emojis in response.

You’re getting married in three days, though. It would probably be best to talk about it with him before you cross that bridge but it’s never been one of your stronger areas, so you leave it be for now.

“Are you alright?” Your friend questions, tilting her head in so you can hear her against the thumping music of the club. Your friends had insisted on dragging you out for a bachelorette party the second they hard of your engagement and it would be out of character for you to refuse a night of drinks on them - even if you’d rather stay home and think about Harry and all the things you should’ve done when he was at your apartment. Getting drunk out of your mind does seem preferable to wallowing, though, now that you’re out and about and well on your way to getting smashed - so you turn to Olivia and nod once, a simple jerk of your head.

“I’m fine,” you tell her, reaching over to grab the cocktail Amy had gotten for you and bringing the straw to your lips. “Just thinking about Harry.”

Amy snorts from her spot across the booth, dipping her finger into her empty shot glass and licking up the droplet she collected. “Can’t believe it took you two so long to get together.”

“And I can’t believe you didn’t tell us about it,” interjects Olivia, reaching over to grab your glass out of your hand and taking a sip of your drink. “How long have you two been together again?”

Fuck. You’re in the grey area between being tipsy and being drunk and you can’t remember how long you and Harry had claimed to be together. Was it a year or two years? You think it’s a year - you’d wanted to go as low as possible with your answer. Did we say six months? That seems too low. “I’ve liked him since I’ve known him,” you answer instead, which is absolutely the truth, and Amy and Olivia are both too drunk to ponder about your evasion of the question. “Loved him, even.”

Your fingers brush against your phone, sitting on the table face down, as your friends playfully swoon - the last time you’d texted Harry was to tell him you were going to the club, and you hadn’t checked to see if he responded. It’s always been a habit between the two of you to text where you’re going, in case something happens, which seems oddly barbaric at times but you’ve always appreciated it.

“You’re so lucky,” Amy informs you, reaching across the booth to intertwine your fingers. She gets sappy when she’s drunk and you can tell from the distinct crack in her voice that she’s mere seconds away from bursting into tears and professing how much she loves you and Olivia - you don’t ever quite enjoy being around to see that. “I mean, really. You and Harry - we always knew it would happen -”

“I should call him real quick,” you mumble, watching as her eyes water over, and Olivia rolls her eyes with a grin as she scoots around the other side of the booth so Amy can throw her arms around her. You grab your phone and push yourself out of the booth, maneuvering through the crowd of people until you’ve reached the bathroom.

It's a single stall and the club is small enough that you only have to wait a minute or two before a thoroughly shitfaced woman stumbles out of the bathroom, a piece of toilet paper stuck to the bottom of her shoes, but she’s gone before you can point it out to her. You brush it off with a shrug and shut the door behind you once you’re inside the bathroom - it smells like Febreze and mint soap, and the scent of the mint reminds you of Harry’s breath and you really need to call him, don’t you.

You’re scrolling through your call log before you can wonder if calling your best friend who you’re in love with while you may be quite drunk is a bad idea - the phone is ringing just as you begin to - and he’s picked it up just when you realize you’ve made a mistake.

“Hey, babe,” Harry says from the other end, voice crackling with the poor reception in the club. He sounds groggy and raspy and you can tell you’ve either woken him up or he’s trying to go to sleep, and you don’t actually know what time it is, you realize. “What’re you up to?”

“I’m at a club,” you tell him, and you can hear his soft exhale of air and you can practically picture the slow smile spreading across his lips. “I’m out with Amy and Olivia - they wanted to take me out for a bachelorette party or something - s’kinda dumb, I dunno -”

“Are y’drunk? S’just, you’re slurrin’ a lot -”

“I’m tipsy,” as you sit back on the closed toilet seat, fingernails digging into your thigh. You don’t actually know what you’d called him to say but four days without talking to Harry seems like it’s setting some sort of record and you hate it. “Just wanted to call because - um - well, I miss you.”

For a second you think the call may have broken up - you can’t hear much beside his soft breathing, and you pull the phone away to check if it’s still connected. But then he sighs softly, and you’re quick to press your phone back to your ear. “I miss y’too, m’love - ‘course I do.”

“That’s sweet.” You hum softly, kicking your toes against the tiled bathroom floor. “I thought you might be mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Dunno,” you shrug. “That’s why I was confused. But you haven’t texted me much.”

You can fucking sense him rolling his eyes. “Well, y’didn’t text me either. I thought you were mad at me -”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about what happened the other day,” you interject, and you know you wouldn’t be telling him this if you weren’t teetering more towards being drunk instead of tipsy, “and I really wanted to kiss you, you know. I mean, I thought you were going to - and then it didn’t happen.”

“Well, m’mum called.”

“Would you have done it if she didn’t?”

There’s a pause for only the briefest of seconds before Harry says, “‘Course I would have.”

Your heart flutters inside your chest and you lean your head back against the wall, nails digging further into your thigh and it’s difficult to hold back the grin that threatens to split your goddamn face in two. God, he would have. He would have kissed you - does he love you like how you love him? It seems fucking unreal, like something you’d dream up in your deepest sleep. You’d never thought Harry would ever feel the same way, even as you got a fucking marriage license together and planned out the dinner you’d eat after your elopement and -

You can’t think of a single other one of your friends who would fucking marry you for any reason, house or no house, life or death. And who would you do it for? Not Amy, not Olivia, even if they asked you nicely. It’s a commitment - a huge one - one that you wouldn’t be willing to do for anyone.

But you’d do it for Harry, in a heartbeat. You know you would. You’d have the fucking dress on before he could finish asking, and isn’t that what you had done, really? He hadn’t had to convince you much at all. You’d been willing from the get-go.

“Really?” Your voice is barely a breath, a soft exhale of air, reeking of the giddy joy you’re feeling at his proclamation. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Y’know I never lie to you.” Harry sounds nearly offended at the mere idea. “You are m’fiance. Comes with a code of conduct.”

You roll your eyes, and just then there’s a loud knock against the door - you jump violently, phone nearly slipping from your grasp. For a minute you’d forgotten you’re in a club bathroom and you know you’ve been here far too long to be appropriate - you’ll give yourself just one more minute to talk to Harry. “What about when we get divorced? Gonna lie to me then?”

“Always talkin’ about the divorce,” he murmurs, and his voice sounds so full of adoration that you’re nearly overwhelmed by it. “D’you have such little confidence about the strength of our relationship?”

If it were up to you, you’d be with Harry forever - but you can’t tell him that, not yet. “It’s not as though it’s a traditional relationship, you know. I don’t think most marriages that began for the sake of a house inheritance last too long,” you smile, feeling heat burning up your face even if he can’t see you. “Just generally speaking.”

“Hope y’got the statistics t’back that one up -”

Another louder knock shakes you again, and you jump up as though someone had set you aflame. Your phone nearly slips out of your clammy grasp once more and you clear your throat, lowering the device to your shoulder and calling, “Just a second!” to whoever’s waiting impatiently outside. You raise your phone back to your ear and clear your throat again. “I’ve gotta go, Har. I’m in the bathroom at the club - been in here a bit too long.”

“Aright,” Harry says, and you can hear soft shuffling from the other end, audio still crackled by the reception. “Breakfast tomorrow?”

You tilt your head to the side, scrunching your nose up before remembering he can’t see you. “I think it’s tradition for the bride and groom not to see each other before the wedding, isn’t it?”

“Now you’re a stickler for tradition?”

“I’ll see you at the courthouse, Har,” you tell him, before pulling the phone from your ear and hanging up. For a second you can’t move, staring down at Harry’s contact in your phone with a giddy grin that surely makes you look like some child in a candy store - and, in a way, you are - and it’s only a third knock at the bathroom door that has you scrambling out the door, giving an apologetic grin to the girl waiting impatiently.

 --

 Being married - for the record - doesn’t feel too much different than before.

There’s a shiny ring on your finger that Harry had bought, and when you glance across the table where he’s sitting, clutching his menu, you can see the similar wedding ring on his left hand - it’s simplistic and small and contrasts with the rest of his clunky rings and it makes you feel strangely warm inside when you spend too long looking at it. And, even after you and Harry had talked at the club, your ‘post-elopement’ dinner doesn’t feel entirely different than all of the other dinner dates you’d shared before the entire situation began. It’s familiar and sweet and his ankle is hooked around yours under the table, forcing a permanent heat onto your cheeks.

Harry rests his menu on the table, fingertips drumming against the laminated paper, and you similarly drop yours to look at him. “Think m’gonna get the spaghetti.”

It’s a testament to the slight air of awkwardness surrounding you both that the only thing he can think to talk about is the food he’s getting - but you’ll play along. “I like the raviolis,” you tell him. “Think I’ll get those.”

He hums softly, pushing his menu further into the table. “Can y’believe tha’ we’re married? I can’t. Seems so weird.”

“Doesn’t feel that different,” you disagree, toes tapping against his ankle beneath the table. “It’s not like we didn’t go out for dinner together before we got hitched.”

“We’re playin’ footsies under the table, babe.”

You grin down at your napkin, resting on your lap on top of your wedding dress. “Be careful or I’ll kick you, Har.”

His ankle tightens just a bit around yours beneath the table and you could watch that small smile spreading across his face for the rest of your life. “Y’wouldn’t dare - don’t y’love me?”

Yes, you do, so you resist the urge to unhook your ankle from around his and deliver a swift kick to his calf - just rest your palms on the table, scratching lightly at the rustic wood of the table. It’s hard for you to even pretend to be mad at him when all you can think about is how much you want to climb over the table and straddle him - as his wife you suppose it isn’t an insane thought, and you’re nearly certain he’s feeling the same way. Hadn’t he told you he would have kissed you if he hadn’t been called by Anne? Maybe you’ll get a chance to do it again - later. You’ll never give up the opportunity again.

“When d’you get t’move into the house?” Harry questions, leaning in just a bit in his seat. 

“A few months, I think.” You shrug. “Reckon I’ll start redecorating before then, though. I’m already looking at furniture - I’ve gotta save up for most of it, though. Might sell my apartment before then.” There’s a pause, and then you shrug once more, picking at a crack in the table. “I’ll probably move back in with my parents.”

Harry’s eyebrows are raised when you glance up at him, fingers paused in their drumming on the menu. “Are y’kidding? We’re married. You can move in wit’ me.”

“I can’t ask you to do that -”

“Not asking, are you? Even if we didn’t just elope at a courthouse, you’re still m’best friend. Can’t have you moving in t’your mum’s basement.”

You smile softly, flattening your palms against the table and craning your neck to examine the ring - proof that it had really happened, that you’re really married. It still doesn’t feel quite real, no matter how many times you and Harry casually talk about it. “Was gonna live in her attic, actually.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’ll pay f’the furniture, too. Don’t look at me like tha’ - s’our house. Needs t’be ready f’when we move in.”

You hesitate, trying poorly to conceal the way your grin is arching further upwards at the mere prospect of what he’s hinting at. Living with Harry? Jesus, even if you weren’t in love with him, living with him sounds like an absolute dream, only made better by your feelings for him. And picturing walking through an Ikea, searching for furniture, feeling his arm around your shoulders as you two look online for decorations - if heaven were a place on Earth, it would be your Aunt Alice’s estate, soon inhabited by you and your husband. “Well, we’ll talk about it, alright?” you land on as your response. 

For a moment, neither of you say anything, and the silence isn’t as stifling with awkwardness as it had been before. Then Harry reaches over, resting his hand overtop of yours, fingers instinctively intertwining, and your heart nearly splits itself in two - he initiated it, holding your hand, and maybe you shouldn’t feel so surprised but you can’t fucking help it. Your scalp is tingling and you swear your eyes are going to bubble over and his hand feels just as soft and beautiful as you’d expected - as you’d always dreamed of.

You’re not sure when, exactly, there would ever be a better time to tell him than now, so you clear your throat and squeeze his hand and confess, “I’ve liked you for a really long time, Har.”

Sharing your feelings isn’t necessarily your strongest spot but you’re feeling egged on by absolutely everything, and the way Harry brushes his thumb against your palm encourages you to continue. “I mean - since we met, basically - but I never told you. Never thought you would like me back.”

“I did,” he interjects, and you look up at him with furrowed brows. “Liked you back, I mean. Clearly - hope y’didn’t think I’d run off an’ marry anybody this fast.”

“I just thought you were being nice.”

“You’re silly, then.”

“A real idiot,” you proclaim, rubbing soft circles into the back of Harry’s hand, and you swear you’ll never let go unless someone fucking rips you away. “Guess I should’ve figured it out, then - seems like we did everything in the wrong order, right?”

Harry snorts, a noise that draws the slightest attention from an older couple sitting at a table beside you, but neither of you pay them any attention. “Get married first, fall in love second.”

“I was already in love,” and you’re not sure why, exactly, you had said that but it feels right and true falling off your tongue so you decide, pointedly, not to regret it.

There’s no hesitation when Harry responds, voice laced with the authenticity you’re so desperately craving - “Reckon I was, too.” You barely get a minute to process that and how it’s making your stomach do flips and turns like an Olympic medalist before he’s standing up, fingers still interlocked with yours to pull you up with him. “How d’you feel ‘bout a sleepover tonight?”

“A sleepover?”

He barely looks at you as he fishes through the pocket of his dress pants to pull out his wallet. “Not like we haven’t had them before.”

That’s true - you’ve slept over at Harry’s house so many times, it’s like a second home to you - but you have a distinct idea that, based off of your previous conversation and the wedding rings shining on both of your fingers, this sleepover will be just a bit different. 

“Skipping out on the reservation, then?” you question, squeezing Harry’s hand as he tosses a $50 onto the table - a significant overkill for your lemonade and his Coke but you suppose he’s feeling rather generous today. “I am rather hungry.”

“We’ll eat at my house,” he insists, leading you through the maze of tables with a grip that’s so tight, you wonder if he’s having the same qualms as you are about never letting go. “Y’like pizza, don’t you?”

 --

 You’ve been in Harry’s house more times than you can count, but it’s never been like this.

His hand is still firm in yours and it’s a feeling you adore - even if his palm has gotten clammier with every second, every step you took closer to his front door, and you can practically smell the nervousness rolling off of him. It’s not unlike the worry that’s overtaken you because you’re not quite sure what he’s expecting - only know what you want to happen and you pray to any god above that your desires align with his.

The sound of Harry shutting the door is the only crack of noise burning through the otherwise thick silence surrounding you. Neither of you had known what to say and the car ride was taken in comfortable silence, hands clasped and heads bobbing to soft music playing on the radio, but being in his house is different - there’s no music, no excuse for Harry to keep his eyes off of you, nowhere to lean your head and pretend to be resting your eyes while your heart uncontrollably thumps against your chest.

In ways, it’s better. Most ways, in fact.

Slowly, you turn to face Harry, fingers drumming against the back of his hand. His breathing is heavy and his eyes never leave yours, and you’re reminded remarkably of trying on your dress for the first time in front of him and your position hadn’t been too unlike this one - maybe now you can do it right.

It feels entirely natural, tilting your head up until you can easily slot your lips to Harry’s. They’re soft and plump and he kisses you back with a vigor you hadn’t quite expected - deepening it before you have the chance to react, his free hand that’s not clutching yours roaming to your neck and you can’t ignore the way your stomach flips at the feeling of his hand on your throat. But then his hand keeps moving up, palm pressing to your cheek in such a sweet gesture that doesn’t at all match the intensity with which he’s slipping his tongue into your mouth - your hand lands on his waist, gripping the flowy material of his dress shirt, pulling his body as close to yours as you can get.

You only pull away to catch your breath, grip tightening on his shirt to ensure he won’t move away - you need him close to you, need to feel his body against yours - the bulge near his thigh that you can feel against your pelvis, hardening with every second that passes.

“Why’d you move?” Harry questions, voice soft and vulnerable and you can’t help but lean up and land another kiss to his mouth. 

“Had to breathe, Har,” you murmur, smoothing your hands against his waist and the wrinkles you’ve surely created in the fabric. His fingers brush the edge of your jawline and you can feel your skin growing goosebumps beneath his touch.

He simply hums in response, ducking his head down to kiss you again. It’s sweeter this time, soft and fluffy but you don’t want that now - God, you want his hand around your neck and his knee between your thighs but perhaps that’ll have to wait for another time. You’re needy for just about anything you can get and if that’s sugary sweet kisses, a touch so gentle you could trick yourself into believing it isn’t there, then you’re more than grateful.

Harry’s teeth dig into your bottom lip, hard enough to have you moaning into his mouth and your nails dig into his through his shirt - the resulting whine into your mouth has you smirking against his lips, pushing your hips further into his. It’s the clearest way you can think of to tell him that you need him beyond kisses and touches.

“Jesus,” he breathes and you can feel his cock, twitching against your thigh and it’s a sensation you never thought you’d be able to experience outside of your deepest dreams - it feels twice as good as you’d imagined. “Gonna make me go crazy, babe.”

That’s exactly what you want.

“Hey,” and you pull away from him, his forehead dropping against yours, his breath still hot on your face, “don’t we have to fulfill the tradition of consummating the marriage?”

He laughs, a loud exhalation of air rather than his true barking laugh, but you smile anyway at the sound. “S’not the middle ages - no one’s expecting us to, if y’don’t want to.”

“Of course I want to.” Harry’s hand slides backwards into your hair, pulling the strands into a ponytail and tugging and your resulting moan has him smirking like a smug bastard against your lips. “God, Har. I really want to.”

It seems that that was the exact response he’d wanted - you get one last lingering kiss to your lips before Harry’s pulling away, hand falling away from your hair and other still interlocked with your own. You don’t have a second to question where, exactly, he’s leading you but then he’s tugging you through the foyer and down the halls and up the staircase you’ve grown to know so well - the trek to his bedroom has never seemed so viciously long until now, but by the time Harry swings open the door, you feel as though you’ve been walking for hours instead of barely a minute.

“On the bed, babe,” he directs you, all raspy tone and dominance lacing every last syllable and you can’t ignore the gush of arousal you can feel rushing straight to your core. It’s the stuff that makes up dreams, really, his fucking voice, and you know just the four simple words would be enough to get you off for years from now. “C’mon.”

You wouldn’t dream of disobeying - your footsteps are nearly completely silent on the carpet as you walk over to the end of Harry’s bed, pushing yourself up to sit on the plush duvet, sinking into the mattress that feels like an absolute cloud compared to the rock you’re used to sleeping on. For a brief second, he doesn’t move - just stands and stares at you, chest heaving through the baby blue dress shirt that your needy grasp had wrinkled. Then he moves, shutting the door with a barely perceptible click before making his way over to you, gazing up at him with heat blazing in your eyes.

Perhaps you’re expecting him to push you onto the bed, to fulfill the dominant tone he’d held before, so it is a bit of a surprise to see your best friend (your husband) dropping to his knees before you, fingertips ever so gently trailing up and down your calves.

The bedroom is so silent, save for your panting breaths and Harry’s shaky ones and you reckon he may be more nervous than you are - you’d expected him to handle all of the confidence between you two but his fingers are shaking as he pulls off your heels, resting them side by side on the carpet at the end of the bed. Chills crop up over your skin as his gentle touch roams up your legs, landing on your knee, and your breath hitches in your throat as the man you’ve loved for nearly 5 years leans in, lips landing a soft kiss to the top of your calf.

This isn’t what you had expected - him fucking worshipping you, on his knees - you’d never pictured it in a million years. And maybe it’s proof of the difference between him and the other guys you’d been with - your ex-boyfriends and flings had always been worried about their pleasure, never paying you any attention, and Harry couldn’t be closer to the end of the spectrum. Your entire body feels warm beneath his watchful gaze and touch, how he brings one hand up to snap firmly when your eyes flutter shut. 

“Look at me,” Harry directs, and despite the slight strain in his actions, his words still hold a never-faltering dominance that he’d had before. “C’mon, babe. I don’ want you to look away from me - can y’do that?”

It’s a task that’s easier said than done, but you nod anyway, swallowing thickly as Harry redirects his attention back to your legs. His hand, resting delicately on your left knee as though you’d break if he put too much pressure, slides down the length of your leg until he’s grasping your ankle, kneading the soft skin in his grasp while his lips linger at the top of your knee.

Using his grip on your ankle, Harry hoists your leg up onto the bed without warning, your toes digging into the end of the bed - uses his other hand to push your thigh outward so you’re on display for him like a goddamn feast and his smug grin proves that he can see just how wet you are, soaking through the white lace panties you’d chosen for the occasion. Heat blooms up your cheeks as he presses an open mouthed kiss to your thigh, teeth grazing your soft skin, and then he gives a dramatic inhale and - that’s -

You reach down, bracing both palms on the side of his face and forcing your husband (husband!) to look at you in the eye. He looks confused by your interjection and apologetic and that isn’t what you were going for but you hadn’t expected him to want to eat you out - most guys didn’t.

“You don’t have to do that, Har,” you murmur, giving a pointed glance to your lap that he’s been eyeing like it’s his dessert. “I won’t be mad.”

And Harry looks almost offended by the prospect of not wanting to, like you’d insulted him - “I want to. D’you not want me to?”

“Yes,” you reply, your voice hardly above a breath, and when he begins to pull away you continue. “No! I mean - yes, I want you to.”

He grins, wide and toothy and reminding you of exactly why you’d fallen for him in the first place, and you settle back into your spot on the bed with your nerves almost completely eradicated. He wants to - he’s not doing it because he feels obligated - it’s already a step up from any other guy you’d ever been with.

Fingers trail up your thighs as Harry’s lips close around the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, cheeks hollowing as he sucks a deep purple hickey, and you lift your hips just a bit so he can hook his fingers in the waistband of your panties and begin to tug them down. The crotch area is practically dripping with your arousal and it takes a bit more force to tug it away from your cunt but once they’re gone, Harry grabs your ankle again and straightens out your leg, making it easier for him to tug the offending material down your body and toss them away from the bed before resting your foot back on the edge.

You can hear his shaky breathing as he pulls his lips away from your thigh, thumb smoothing over the mark he’d left as if to prove it exists. You’d get it fucking tattooed if you could - to forever commemorate this experience - his mark in such a secretive place, just a breath away from where you need him most.

“Jus’ - jus’ tell me if y’want me t’stop,” Harry tells you, eyes interlocking with yours once more, and you jerk your head up and down once. “Lean back f’me, then - not too far, jus’ a bit - still need t’see you.”

So you lean back, propping yourself up on your arms, a barely reclined position from how you’d been sitting before. It’s easier to see him as he grabs the hem of your dress, tugs it up just a bit, but when you lift your hips so he can pull it out from under your ass he doesn’t comply - well, perhaps he has other plans with it, doesn’t want the dress to come off just yet, and you can respect that.

The time it takes for Harry to duck his head beneath your dress, tongue flicking against your overly sensitive folds, seems like fucking years even if it’s hardly a second, but when he does your hips instinctively jerk forward into his mouth. His eyes are flashing when he looks up at you and you breathe out a stream of apologies, heart thumping in your chest, fingernails digging into the comforter beneath you. “Don’ move,” he directs, and you nod again and again and you don’t stop until his lips close in around your clit.

Your head drops back with a low moan as Harry’s teeth graze your clit, cheeks hollowing as he sucks the sensitive nub like it’s what he was born to do. The bottom of your dress covers the top of his head so you can’t see what he’s doing - you have no idea what his next move is and it makes the pleasure rolling through your body that much better.

“Fuck - fuck, Har -” the only two words you can think to moan roll off your tongue like a mantra, your back arching upwards despite his warning not to move but he doesn’t mention it - just drags one hand up, fingertips light and dancing on your thighs until he can splay his forearm across your lower stomach, effectively pinning you to the bed. Your hand moves from digging into the sheets to digging into his scalp, tugging at the loose strands of hair that smell ever so slightly of gel and it makes your heart swell to imagine him putting product in his hair for the elopement - but before you have time to dwell on the sweetness of the sentiment, that talented tongue is licking a thin stripe up your folds before flicking your clit and you’re brought back to reality. “Fuck.”

“Feel good?” Harry mumbles, muffled where his face is pressed firm to your pussy and the vibrations of his words reverberate against your clit, sending a chill up your spine, and you let out a low whine at the sensation. 

“Yes,” you breathe in return, tugging at his hair just a bit, the strands forming a makeshift ponytail like he’d done to you before. “Feels so good, Harry, god -”

His head pulls back just a bit, hem of your dress dropping to just the tip of his nose so you can see his eyes - smug and glinting and you’re sure that, if you could see his mouth, those lips would be upturned into a smirk and practically dripping with your arousal - but he goes back in just as soon as he’d pulled out, burying his face in the apex of your thighs and you collapse back against the bed with a shout.

Whatever order he’d given you to maintain eye contact disappears. It isn’t as though you can see his eyes anyway, and you couldn’t stop yours from rolling back into your head if you tried. Ecstasy rolls through your body and, God, you know you’re close already, thighs tensing under where Harry’s palm kneads the soft skin, hard enough that you’re sure you’ll see bruises tomorrow. Your cunt clenches and flutters around the emptiness you’re yearning to get rid of and your back arches up again, Harry’s restraint on your torso not enough to stop it now, and you’re so fucking close.

“Harry -” you moan, digging your fingernails into Harry’s scalp and relishing in his responding moan to your clit - “gonna cum, Har -”

He doesn’t say anything - but you can feel his tongue continuing its work, up and down your folds and circling your clit and that’s response enough. Your hips jerk into his face, back arching as you grasp his hair tight enough that it has to fucking hurt but then you’re cumming and -

“Oh, fuck!”

Your voice is high pitched, cracked with a desperate sob right in the middle of your words before you’re holding Harry’s head to your pussy, his tongue working your clit like he was born for it, his low moans muffled against you. The hand previously holding down your torso slides up your body until he can shove his hand into the top of your dress, tugging it down so your chest is. He plucks at your nipple before grasping your tit, full in his palm, and the added stimulation prolongs your orgasm, hips rolling against Harry’s working mouth.

You can’t see straight when Harry pulls his head out from the bottom of your chest but when your vision focuses you’re beyond thankful. His chin is glistening with your arousal, tongue poking out to lap at the moisture on his lips and he dons that shit-eating grin you’ve grown to know so well. You usually see it when he wins a board game or when you’re celebrating something - seeing it on his face after he’s finished giving you the best orgasm you’ve ever gotten is certainly different but not unwelcome by anyone’s standards.

There’s a second where all you do is lie back and catch your breath - staring up at the ceiling above you, chest heaving as the aftershocks race through your body. Harry, meanwhile, pushes himself to his feet, muttering a small groan about God, m’fuckin knees and gettin’ too old for this, aren’t I?

Lazily you hold your hand out towards him, wiggling your fingers, and he reaches out to interlock your fingers again. “How was that?” he questions, voice soft and almost insecure and it’s a sharp contrast from the dominance he held before, but you know it’ll come back.

“I think you’re a natural at that, Mr. Styles,” you tell him, squeezing his hand in reassurance as you pull him closer to you until his knees hit the bed and he’s forced to collapse on top of you, grin cracking onto his face. “Gonna undress me?”

“‘Course,” Harry murmurs, leaning down to place a brief kiss to your lips, but before you can lift your head to deepen it he’s rolling off of you, shifting onto his side and shuffling upwards so his head rests on the stack of pillows. You raise your eyebrows at him - it isn’t as though he can take your dress off from that position - but, as though he can read your mind, he raises his hand and pats his lower stomach pointedly. “Climb up, babe.”

For what seems like the millionth time today, you can feel heat pulsing in your cheeks but you hope it doesn’t show - just sit up, swing your legs around so you’re straddling Harry, hands on his chest and gazing down at him like the God he seems to be. His hair is splayed out on the pillows beneath him, bottom lip tugged between his teeth, and you can’t help yourself - lean down to land your lips to his again, and this time both of you allow it to deepen. His hand starts at your cheek like it had before but you reach for it, fingers wrapping around his wrist and maneuvering it downwards until his palm is wrapped around the column of your throat, and he squeezes once experimentally.

You moan softly, hips rolling against the pointed bulge in his dress pants, and Harry’s eyebrows raise. “No fuckin’ way,” he breathes, squeezing again just to hear the way your breath catches. “Gonna be th’fuckin’ death f’me.”

You’re fine with that, and you reckon he is too.

You reach behind you, tapping along your back until you can reach the zipper. You’ve only tugged it down an inch or two before Harry’s free hand replaces yours, dragging the zipper down as far as it can go before reaching for the bottom of the dress. It’s gone in an instant - tossed off the edge of the bed, to be worried about later - and you can feel his fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra before it comes undone, and then you’re naked.

You’d expected yourself to feel more embarrassed, or perhaps just nervous, and maybe it’s the effects of your previous orgasm but you’re feeling surprisingly calm - or maybe it’s how Harry looks up at you like you’re some sort of goddess sent from above, as though he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

It does wonders for your self esteem, truthfully.

“Gonna undress me, then?” Harry questions, hands smoothing up and down your thighs, eyes drinking in every bit of your exposed body on top of him.

You hum softly, pinching at the soft material of his shirt. “I don’t think so - want you to fuck me in your fancy clothes.”

“Well, if I’d known tha’ was an option -”

“Do you want me to put the dress back on?”

“No!”

You grin down at him before rolling your hips over his again, and it’s the last thing you manage to do before his grip lands on your hips and he’s flipping you over - your head lands dangerously close to hitting the headboard but it’s worth it, seeing him above you, fully clothed, pupils lust-blown and wide.

It hardly takes a second for Harry to undo the button to his pants and the sound of the zipper being undone is like music to your fucking ears - you spread your legs, letting him slot his body between them and oh, you can feel the tip of his fucking cock it’s right there and -

The first movement, Harry pushing himself inside of you, has you throwing your head back against the pillow, the moan coming from your throat mixing with a cry. He’s big - certainly bigger than you’d ever expected and bigger than any guy you’d been with - feels like he could split you in half if he wanted to but he stops, hands smoothing up and down your body, and you make a point of reaching for his hand and interlocking your fingers.

You’ll never grow tired of holding his hand, you think. Not for a while, anyway.

“How’re you doin’?” he questions, voice strained, and when your eyes shift back to him you can see the droplets of sweat beaded on his face. “Jus’ - jus’ tell me when, alright?”

“When,” you breathe almost immediately. You hadn’t needed too much time to adjust but you need him to move - you’re so pent up and you know it won’t take long to take you to your second orgasm but, God, he needs to fucking move. “Please, Har - please, fuck me.”

It doesn’t seem he needed much more encouragement than that. With one final move of wrapping his free hand firm around your neck and giving another small squeeze, Harry pulls out agonizingly slowly until just the tip of his cock remains in your heat. Just as you open your mouth to beg him to move again he slams back in with a force you hadn’t anticipated, your body rocking backwards of its own accord with the weight behind the thrust.

It’s exactly what you’d needed, though - fast and rough and his hand, cutting off your airflow just a bit, just enough to have you quivering beneath him. The low groan that rips out of his throat, reverberating through the humid bedroom has you pushing your hips up to his, trying to deepen where he’s buried inside of you to the hilt but you’re not sure how much deeper he could get. Feels like he could split you in half with every desperate thrust, every rut of his hips into yours and yours back into his.

“Oh - god - m’fuckin’ good girl, so tight around m’cock -”

Another rush of arousal gushes straight to your core with his filthy words and your head falls back into the pillow with a high whine, nails digging into the back of his hand as his other one tightens grip around your neck. It makes every desperate moan and cry that much airier and you can tell Harry likes it, staring down at you as his hips pound yours with absolutely no mercy and you don’t want any, anyway. It’s the subject of every single fantasy you’ve ever had about him, rough and hard and the sound of skin slapping skin overpowering your needy noises.

You’d never dreamt it would feel so good.

“Oh god, Harry!” Your eyes are rolling back into your head as your free hand trails down your stomach, shaking fingers focusing on your ignored clit and beginning tight circles around the nub. The jolts of pleasure that run through your body are - god, fucking amazing and you know you’re close, hardly need anything else to tip you over the edge. “Gonna - gonna cum, Har -”

It’s a testament to, perhaps, the long-growing tension between the two of you that his head drops backwards with a cry of me, too in a tone that’s so desperately vulnerable and it’s exactly what you’d needed - the reminder, in the midst of the rough thrusts and desperate moans, that this isn’t a one time thing. If you both allow it, it’s the rest of your life, just like this - and, God, you’ll allow it.

Your cunt clenches around your cock as you cum, eyes rolling back into your head and body spasming beneath him. In the midst of it Harry pulls out and you don’t get a second to question the sudden emptiness before you feel a familiar warmth hitting your lower stomach, and you open your eyes in time to see your husband, hand working at his cock as ribbons of cum spurt onto your stomach.

(You think you could cum again just from the sight but - well, you’ll hold back.)

His breathing is choppy and desperate, broken occasionally by a needy moan until he’s finished and he collapses on his back beside you, hands still intertwined with no intention of letting go. Nothing needs to be said - not yet - not for a little while, where you’ll talk about it more. 

A little while ends up merely being a minute or two before Harry swings his legs over the edge of the bed, hand still clasped in yours, and makes to stand up - it’s only your tightening grasp on his hand that forces him to stop, glancing behind him to look at you.

“Don’t,” you plead, throat already feeling sore and voice raspy. “Just - another minute, alright? Then clean up.”

He hums softly but you know he won’t resist the prospect of just a brief cuddle - one of the few things you hadn’t done often when you were just friends, because you knew that, if Harry held you as close to him as he is now, lips pressed to your forehead, you wouldn’t be able to resist telling him how you felt about him.

Doesn’t matter now, though. And his arms feel so warm around you, clammy palm still pressed to yours like a fucking couple in middle school but you wouldn’t dream of letting go. It’s all so - so peaceful, lying with him and listening to his heartbeat as you rest your head to his chest, listening to his heartbeat thumping as fast and hard as yours is.

And - well. Barely a month ago you were convinced your Aunt Alice was the worst woman in the world - a hypocrite and an asshole, set out to taunt you by lording your dream home over you and snatching it away when you couldn’t find a husband in time. But now? Feeling Harry, landing soft kisses again and again to your forehead, you figure she’s not so bad, after all.

[bigboomboi]

Kindered Sparks

This is my entry for @gg9183’s soulmate collab - Oof, I was almost late for your birthday ( I know that I'm technically no where near late, but I put this out so much later than I would've rathered. Sorry, I'm a Virgo, mate.) Anyhoo! Happy Birthday! And congratulations on your amazing Milestone! Thank you for organizing this collab too and allowing me to be apart of it! Honestly, I love soulmate pieces so much, so I was so excited seeing this prompt (I'm excited to read the others as well!) My friend helped me put together an idea for a SM connection and I really enjoyed writing it, hope you do as well :) Happy reading!

Fem!reader x Denki Kaminari

Soulmates au; People are born with a dream realm connecting them to their Soulmate. Warning; harsh language, Hurt/comfort, pretty fluffy, cursing. Implied readerxfemale relationship. BakuKiri relationship (I got bullied last time I didn't say that was a pairing, so, just being safe)

Word count; 4.6K

“Another lonely night in this stupid world.” Y/N grumbled staring up at her dreamy night sky.

A sky she was supposed to share with someone else.

In this wonderful, bittersweet world, you were tied to another person. Destiny decided from day one of your birth who you’d be with for the rest of your life and then set you in a special plane of existence only accessible when you fell asleep, once you turned the ripe age of fifteen. The kindred-plane.

A place specially made for you and your soulmate to meet each night when you fall asleep. It was a place to get to know each other without the prying eyes of all those around. A shared dream land you could even decorate and make your own. It was your partner’s and your safe space.

It was a place you guys could explore together, where your imaginations combined like an amazing world of minecraft. Some people made completely different lives in their heads at night. Others used it to see their long distance lovers. Hell, there was a blog story sharing what sounded like a whole scripted tv show where a woman’s soulmate had set off to save her from an uncompromising kingdom.

Sadly though, your shared safe space could be destroyed in a matter of moments. It wasn’t unheard of for your soulmate to reject destiny’s plan and divide your dreams. You could absolutely reject your soulmate and quite literally lock them out of your dreams. All presence of them would disappear from your dreams within a few nights, sometimes even faster, and you’d be left alone with only your creations.

Of course, being divided from your soulmate hurt. But something hurt much worse.

Your soulmate being unintentionally stolen from you. A divide where you lose your soulmate despite neither saying they’d like to divide. A situation where your soulmate dies.

Y/N sighed at the reminiscent of her once was soulmate. So sweet and kind, someone Y/N fully imagined meeting one day in the daylight. Yet, now at the sad age of seventeen, Y/N had no dreams of ever seeing her soulmate ever again.

She only had the one year of memories they made…

“Class, This Y/N. She will be joining our class for her final year of hero training, treat her well.” Aizawa introduced her to the class of 3-A.

“Thank you, Sensei” Y/N bowed slightly. “Nice to meet you all.”

Not even a moment of silence was granted before the class erupted in questions. Half about her quirk, the other half about where she was from. A few off hand questions about why she transferred. All a mess.

“Enough!” Aizawa shouted, hushing the entire class. “You all can get to know her later, on your own terms. For now, Y/N please take your seat.”

Y/N nodded and scurried back to the only free seat in the back. Between a pretty pinkette and sweet looking round faced brunette. Before she was even seated, Aizawa began his lesson.

Y/N quietly sat through the classes of her day, ignoring the judging looks aimed her way, as the new girl. She could hear the quiet whispers going around, speculating what type of person she was and tried to ignore those as well. She was well aware of the fact that she appeared very off-standish.

Dark eye bags, complete resting bitch face that quite literally screamed ‘I will stab you with a pencil if you speak to me’, earbuds tucked into each ear and a hunched over form that could rival Quasimodo. Thankfully, the aura she set into place actually warded off her new classmates for several days.

Up until a week later in the common room where her bubble was invaded.

She didn’t look up at the person sitting next to her and subtly tried to turn up her music. She felt the presence of several others join her and they all stared at her silently until finally, the pinkette she sat next to on her first day, plucked her book from her hands. Y/N slowly looked up at her dully and raised an eyebrow.

She reached out for her book, but the girl pulled it back out of her reach. She tried again, reaching forwards further, but the book was yoinked by a strip of tape, pulling it across the coffee table. Gritting her teeth slightly, Y/N stood up to reach across the table and the music in her ears paused.

The girl had unplugged her headphones.

“You just have no regard for personal belongings of others, hm?” Y/N sighed, sitting down.

“We just want to get to know our new classmate!” The pink girl grinned. “I’m Mina!”

“Hi, Mina. Now give me back my shit.” Y/N tried to grab her phone, only for someone behind her to tug her ear buds away. “Seriously?”

“We’ll give you back your things if you let us get to know you.” Mina smiled.

“Or, you could just give it back.” Y/N tried to grab her earbuds from the bright blonde behind her.

“Nope.’ He said, a grin on his face as well. “I’m Kaminari Denki, nice to meet ya, beautiful.”

Y/N sighed and rolled her eyes. “Or, I could just take my stuff back.”

“You could but there’s five of us and one of you, good luck.” A bitch faced blonde mumbled, flipping through her book.

“Fine. Here’s one thing about me.” Suddenly she appeared behind the bitch blonde and snatched her book. Another one of her appeared behind the one who taped her book away and grabbed her book mark. Two other Y/N’s came into existence on opposite sides of her seating couch to grab her phone and ear buds. All while the original Y/N sat in her place. “Don’t touch my things.”

“Woah, you can make multiple you’s!” The redhead gasped excitedly. “That’s so manly!”

“That’s so cool! They feel so real!” Kaminari said, poking the side of the one near him. It yelped and swatted his hand.

“They are real! Don’t poke me, I’m ticklish!” Y/N snapped, rubbing her side.

“Woah, can you feel this?’ The tape one reached out to pinch the clone’s arm.

Y/N’s other clone smacked him with her book. “Yes, I can feel that! Ow!”

“So your quirk is duplicating yourself? Boring…” Bitch face rolled his eyes, another Y/N appeared behind him and swatted the back of his head.

“My quirk is omni-replication. I can create continuous versions of myself and others. But they can act on their own.” Y/N sighed, bringing herself her book.

“Woah, make another me!” Kaminari grabbed her arm.

“G-Get off of me!” Y/N shoved him away, ignoring the literal spark between them. “I can’t make one of you now!”

“But you just said-.” Mina tried.

“I have to know your ins and outs. Otherwise I’d just make a weird melty blob of you.” Y/N sighed. “I need to know more about you guys before I can make you. I need to know you, how you fight, how your quirk works, I need to know how to play the game before I can participate.”

“So, what I’m hearing is…” Mina smirked. “You need to get to know us to succeed.”

“Oh god…” Y/N groaned. “I have no choice in this do I?”

“We have a specialty of making friends with people that don’t want to be friends.” The red head threw his arm over bitch face’s shoulder.

And thus a new friendship was born.

“Bakugo, why do you keep moving my pillow in our dreams, it’s so not manly.” Kirishima whined.

“Neither is the massive rock sitting in the middle of nowhere, dude.” Bakugo argued.

“It’s not just a rock.” Kirishima mock sniffled. “It’s a boulder.”

Y/N snickered at the reference that earned the kind redhead a smack to the back of his head. “Are you delivering pizza on it?”

“Yes!” Kiri grinned.

“No! Don’t encourage him!” Bakugo shouted.

“Aye, don’t shout at me. Your boyfriend is a literal rock, he’s encouraging himself.” Y/N laughed, throwing a fry at him.

“Oh yeah, what trash has your soulmate cluttered in your dream world?” Bakugo argued back.

Y/N’s laughter silenced and immediately her lips curled into a scowl. A light switched on and they remembered the one rule they had set in place. No one talks about Y/N’s soulmate. Or lack thereof.

“Bakugo!” Mina snapped.

“Shit, I didn’t-.” Y/N didn’t give him the time to apologize and stood up from the lunch table.

“Wait, no, Y/N! He didn’t mean to!” Kaminari grabbed her arm.

She flicked him in the forehead and pulled away. “No, it’s fine. You guys talk about your soulmate shit, I’m going to the training field.”

“Wait, Y/N, really!” Mina tried. “It’s just, we’re so used to casually talking about it!”

“I don’t care if you guys talk about yours, but you know I don’t have one, so we don’t bring up mine!” She huffed, before taking a breath. “You know what? Never mind.”

Y/N ignored her friend’s protest and stomped out of the dinning hall. She rushed to the training area, stopping by the locker room to change and grab gear, briefly.

Activating her quirk she began fist fighting her clone, taking her anger out on herself. Very early on into her friendship with the group she told them she didn’t want to talk about the soulmate shit. At least not her own. She told them she didn’t have one, leaving them to believe she never did.

They were incredibly understanding after they found that it upset her. So much, to the point that she copied Kirishima to punch himself when he kept asking. After that ordeal and several days of being ignored, they respected her wishes of not bringing it up.

She knocked herself down and punched herself in the face. She turned off the connection to the clone so she wouldn’t feel the pain herself. Disconnected clones only had a few minutes to live really and faded away with enough damage. Once that one faded, she created another in its space and continued pounding away.

“Stupid soulmate bullshit.” She huffed each word with a punch. “Stupid divide rule.” Another clone. “Stupid. Fucking. Erg- Everything!”

Y/N beat her final clone to death and didn’t bring a new one out. She sniffled, the tears she’d been holding back for years now finally breaking her dam. She hated the horrible lonely feeling she had been surrounded by for so long. She missed out on so much sleep, just to avoid going to her dream world. She set alarms to wake her up every hour or so to stay away from it and at this point, she was losing her mind.

She cried more thinking back to the last time she had been in her kindred-plane. She’d avoided it for a few days before exhaustion actually hit her like a bus and made her sleep. This time her plain little dream seemed to have adopted new items in her absence.

A bundle of comic books, a guitar, even a really, really big pikachu plushie.

Not that they were placed anywhere in particular. The guitar was outside of the little home she had reimagined, laying haphazardly on the ground. The pikachu was placed in front of a tree, facing it and the books were strewn across her loveseat couch. It was like her dream realm had become a lost and found for thrown away items from other planes. Which, honestly, Y/N could believe, as she didn’t use it so much.

She wished she could just give away her realm and dream of nothingness.

“Y/N?” She jumped, hearing her name and quickly wiped away her tears, ignoring the way they stung her open knuckles.

“Kaminari, I’m not really in the mood to talk.” Y/N muttered.

“Okay, that’s fine. We both know I talk enough for the both of us.” He joked, coming to sit in front of her.

Y/N turned to look away from his seating and ignored him, but he set off into a spiel about a new game he got. He did what he did best when one of his friends were upset, he talked. And normally that worked, but minutes into his yabbering, she started crying again.

“Hey, no! No crying! Crying is sad!” Kaminari tried.

“I am sad Kami!” She snapped. “I am really fucking sad! Everyone gets to have stupid fucking soulmate but me! And all because mine fucking died!”

Kaminari immediately paused his frantic attempts to calm her. “Huh, I thought you said you didn’t have one?”

“I don’t because she died! My god damn soulmate died literally months after meeting each other damn it!” Y/N yelled, sinking her fingers into her hair. “And now my kindred-plane is empty and lonely and shit keeps getting piled into it like a fucking trash can!”

Kaminari was silent for a moment while she cried. He slowly crawled over, closer to her and pulled her into a hug. This wasn’t a moment for talking randomly and he knew that. So they sat for the rest of the lunch period in silence, save for her soft hiccups.

After that, somehow, Y/N started talking to her friends the next day. She rationalized that it wasn’t their fault she was sensitive about the subject, they didn’t deserve the aggression. So with a tense apology, she was back to sitting with them at lunch and hanging out.

Y/N was determined to not let her disrupted dreamland destroy her outside reality.

“Okay, really?” Y/N blinked at the ugly rug that appeared draped over her bookshelf. “How the hell did you even get there?”

She tugged it down and stared at it in disgusted contemplation. “Guess you get to go in front of the fireplace…”

Y/N walked towards the warmth and paused, noting that it felt like it took a few more steps than usual. She looked around and found that the picture she carefully centered on the wall was no longer centered. Was her house getting bigger? More and more shit was popping up out of nowhere and her place felt spaceyer…

“What the actual fuck universe?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows and laid down the new rug.

An odd whooshing noise sounded behind her and she turned around to see a lamp fizzled into existence, a hand accompanying it this time. Y/N fumbled over own feet trying to hurry and grab it. Someone was putting shit in her realm and she was about to find out who.

Actually she wasn’t.

The moment she grabbed the hovering wrist, it was like she had rubbed her socks across her new rug a million times and then touched an outlet. The hand shocked her, hard. She yelped and fell backwards on her butt, accidently taking the lamp down too, except when it fell apart it fell backwards toward the floating hand and disappeared from her plane.

Y/N gasped sitting up out of her bed, the shock kicking her out of her own dream. “Ow, what the hell?”

Y/N looked over at her clock, finding that it was five in the morning. She sighed and climbed out of her bed, grabbing her ear buds and phone. There was no school the next day, it was Saturday so she aimed to sneak down to the common room and spend her day dead on the couch, fighting off sleep again.

Not ten minutes after snuggling into a comfy spot on the couch, it dipped slowly as someone sat on the other end of it. She looked up from her book, to find Kaminari on the other end. He held up a bag of doritos in exchange for her company.

“What are you doing up?” She asked, pulling out her ear buds.

“Got startled awake by something in my dream world.” He answered, holding the bag out to her.

“Ah, that sucks.” She hummed apologetically.

“What about you?” He asked carefully.

Y/N snorted. “Kami, you know I don’t sleep.”

“Yeah, I know, but you’ve been up for the past few days.” He sighed, remembering seeing her in the kitchen at three am. “You’re going to trash your health if you don’t sleep.”

“Eh, it’s alright.” She crunched on a chip, before yawning. “Plus, you stay up every night gaming, bite me.”

“Gladly.” He winked. “But seriously, a lonely dream realm can’t be all bad.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, wondering if he was going to continue this topic of conversation. And he did. “I mean mine’s pretty lonely and I think it’s alright.”

“What?” She furrowed his eyebrows.

“My kindred-plane has but just me since like, forever, and I don’t think it’s that bad.” He shrugged.

Kaminari didn’t have a soulmate? That didn’t make sense, he’d tell them about all the adventures he’d run on in his dream. “You said you were helping some Jill girl fight zombies and stuff, just the other day.”

“Yeah, Jill Valentine. From Resident Evil.” He laughed. “I figured out a long time ago that I could just make her up in my dreams if I played the game until I fell asleep. She’s not my soulmate-.”

“You don’t have one…” Y/N whispered, sitting up.

“Nope, never did.” He offered her more chips, but Y/N just looked at him with sad eyes.

She cried in his arms about her soulmate dying and it turned out he never had one in the first place. “Don’t look so sad, Sunshine. It’s okay.”

“Denki, you don’t have a soulmate. That shit sucks.” Y/N flailed her hands.

“Yeah, but at least I didn’t get attached to mine and then they died. That sucks even more.” Kaminari argued.

Y/N slumped back against the couch. “This soulmate business is quite literal shit.”

“Yeah, but other people are pretty happy with it, so it’s okay to me really.” Kaminari hummed, nonchalantly. “Plus, no one can yell at me for my taste in decorations. That can really make or break a relationship ya know.”

Y/N laughed. “Oh yeah, totally. If my soulmate tried to decorate our space with half the shit that seems to appear in my room I’d have to throw hands.”

“Stuff appears in your dream?” Kaminari asked. “What, like, someone’s statue of Scooby doo?”

“Kaminari Denki, please tell me you don’t have a statue of Scooby doo in your kindred.” She tried not to laugh.

“No!” He said quickly. “I have a statue of Scrappy Doo.”

“Oh my god, no, you don’t!” She gasped.

“Yep! There’s a pond in front of my house and he’s in the dead center of it.” He grinned proudly. “And he looks amazing there.”

“Oh I bet he does.” Y/N snickered. “Bet he pulls the whole place together.”

“As a matter of fact he does.” Kaminari declared smugly. “What about your plane? What’s one big special thing you’ve got in it?”

Y/N hummed and thought for a second. “There’s a really big oak tree just behind my house and it’s covered in string lights, with a small ladder up the trunk. There’s a flat area in some of the branches so I can sit up there and read.”

“That sounds beautiful.” Kaminari said, fondly. “I have a tree kind of like that in mine too.”

“Does yours have a massive Pikachu in front of it?” She taunted, laughing.

She just barely missed the furrowing of his eyebrows before he answered. “I’m not entirely sure, I think, I’d have to take a look. I hope I do though, otherwise, I’d have to come steal yours.”

“Absolutely not! He’s my friend!” Y/N gasped and shoved at his leg. “Stick with your Scrappy Doo statue.”

Kaminari smiled. “Fine, fine. But if I don’t have a Pikachu in my dream, you owe me.”

“Mmhm, sure.” Y/N grinned.

For the next few months, Y/N and Kaminari grew closer, having bonded over their lack of soulmates. While they grew closer, not only did Y/N become happier, her kindred-plane seemed to get brighter, despite all the random things finding purchase in her realm and the fact that it was still growing. It was nice, she didn’t hate spending the night there anymore. She didn’t run into the disembodied hand anymore, but that was okay.

With what was happening in reality, she wasn’t too bothered by her dreams anymore. Instead, she focused on her friends, they were a wonderful reminder that life didn’t go to complete shit. For the first time, she actually let these people get close to her and drag her out of her hole she kept herself in.

… And out into the living room to watch the boys yell at each other over Mario Kart.

Y/N cursed and pushed Kaminari’s face away from her own as he laved his tongue across her cheek. “Denki, I swear to god if you don’t stop licking me, I’m going to bite you!”

“Ooh! Promise?” He flirted, smirking. “What else are you gonna do with that mouth?”

“Hurt your feelings, Sparkler boy.” She laughed, squishing his cheeks.

Kaminari threw himself into her arms, taking her to the floor. “So mean, I thought you loved me!”

“Oh yeah, she totally loves you with the way she made you beat yourself up today.” Bakugo snickered.

“Yeah, dude, she used your quirk against you better than you.” Kirishima pipped up.

“Hey, hey, clones don’t get fried when they use their ultimate! They just disappear and another one pops up!” Kaminari argued in defense.

“Jesus, Denki, you’re heavy!” Y/N shoved at his body, half heartedly. “Get off, you loser.”

“Uhg, fine, only because I have a race to win.” He rolled off her, to grab his switch controller.

“Oh thank god, I was going into the light for a second there.” Y/N gasped, dramatically.

Kaminari pinched her leg in retaliation. “Hey, I’m not that heavy!”

“Your head is though.” She stuck her tongue out.

“So mean.” He pouted as she turned to lay her head in his lap.

Y/N giggled as she pulled out her phone, to scroll through Tumblr for a fic to read. Moments went by before a snapchat notification popped up. Tapping on it, she found a common message from Mina.

‘You guys are too cute.’- Pinkiepie

‘We’re just friends, Mi.’-Y/N

A snap picture appeared in their feed and she tapped it open. There she was laying in Kaminari’s lap and there he was looking down at her, sweetly. ‘He’s giving you major heart eyes.’- Pinkiepie

‘Stop taking pictures of people, it’s stalkery.’- Y/N

‘That’s why you took a ss.’ -Pinkiepie

‘Oh fuck off.’- Y/N

‘Oh come on, just give him a chance, neither of you have sm’s so your not stealing him from anyone.’- Pinkiepie

‘You’re*’- Y/N

Y/N sighed and looked up to Kaminari’s face above hers. It apparently hadn’t been uncommon knowledge that Kaminari was Soulmateless, probably why the group had been so confused as to why she was so upset about it. It was normal to them, because it had always been Kaminari’s story.

Would it be so bad to make her own soulmate? Most divided soulmates stayed by themselves for the rest of their lives, but would it be alright if they didn’t?

“Oh, guys! I meant to tell you; I think I actually do have a soulmate!” Kaminari blurted into the air.

His admission quite literally derailed the entire room. Bakugo drove off the map in Mario Kart, Kirishima completely looked away from the game and Mina choked on her spit and her eyes flew to Y/N who paled significantly.

Sero was the only one who appeared unaffected. “Guys, he’s probably just saying that to throw us off, he’s in last.”

“I’m gonna blow you up, you put me in fourth with your little stunt.” Bakugo threatened.

“No, I’m serious!” Kaminari argued. “Over the last few months my dreams have been changing and stuff. Like it was making room for another person. My house is super spacy now, new decorations have been showing up for no reason, like there was a vase of flowers on the floor near my door, and my curtains changed colour, they’re a cute lavender colour now. Plus there’s a really big pikachu next to a beautiful oak tree in my yard.”

“Woah, dude, really?” Kirishima paused the race and turned to his friend.

“Yeah, totally.” Kaminari nodded, subtly looking down to meet Y/N’s wide eyes. “I was super confused for a while.”

“Holy shit, you’re serious.” Sero laughed. “Have you met them yet? Or are they just leaving surprises for you?”

“Well, I’ve seen her a few times, but I haven’t got the chance to talk to her yet, she wakes up pretty fast.” Kaminari shrugged.

“That’s so good Denki, I’m so happy for you.” Mina said softly as Y/N sat up.

“Me too, Denks. But speaking of waking up, I’m tired, so I’m gonna go take a nap.” Y/N hummed, yawning.

“Okay, see you later, Y/N.” They all chimed as she walked away.

“Yeah, see you later.” Kaminari called, carefully.

Y/N tried her best to contain herself and all but ran to her dorm. Along the way, her phone buzzed, no doubt a message from Mina. Once she was in her room, she flew to her bed, never had she been so eager to fall asleep before.

She quickly responded to Mina, ensuring her that she was alright and actually wanted to sleep. Y/N even sent her a reassuring picture of her smile with a short caption ‘I’m off to go see a Pikachu.’ After that, it didn’t take long for her to fall asleep, but it was too long.

Y/N blinked open her eyes, finally appearing in her kindred-plane and spun around, trying to identify things in her dream house. She hurried to open the door and looked over to her tree, with the ever so famous Pikachu there. She turned and jogged in the opposite direction for the one thing she needed to see to make sure she was correct.

There it was. Scrappy Doo. In the middle of her pond.

Y/N jumped up and down, squealing to herself. It was happening, oh my god, it was happening. Now she just had to wait.

And wait she did. She had run back to her tree and climbed up to sit and await her soulmate. The soulmate she actually had again. Someone to share her dream world with again.

She had a soulmate.

Quietly for the next hour, Y/N sat and read one of her books, waiting almost patiently for him. She’d made it through the third chapter when a voice startled her away from the pages.

“Sorry, I couldn’t fall asleep for the life of me.” Kaminari said, smiling.

Y/N bit her lip and grinned. “I thought you missed my cue for a bit there."

"No, I was just a little too excited to fall asleep." He crawled up into her tree nook. "You see, I suddenly got a new person roaming my world almost like, uh, a forever person or something. What's it called?"

"Mm, I don't know. Kinda sounds like you've got a soulmate there, Denki." Y/N whispered as he came closer.

"Fucking finally." He muttered, leaning forwards to connect their lips.

But before he could make contact he ran into her hand first. “But, really, we are going to have to talk about your decorating choices.”

“Yeah, yeah, we can talk about that after this.” Kaminari chuckled and moved her hand to kiss her.

[lxngbottom]

Hiii!! First off love your writing!!! Second I was hoping we could get a part two to cold night? Sweet luv ya!!

A Cold Night. | N.L. (Part 2)

in which neville tries to make up for what happen at the yule ball.

warnings: swearing, just a tad bit of angst!

i honestly didn’t expect for anyone to actually want a pt 2 to this but once again, you ask i deliver!

PART 1 HERE!

—

it had been a whole week since the night of the yule ball. one whole week of the silent treatment from y/n, and neville felt like he was losing it.

he couldn’t even put into words the guilt that remained sitting in his gut. especially when he would look at her from his seat in one of their shared classes, and she would shoot daggers right into his soul. it was truly killing him. and, he wished he could fix it.

“y/n, will you please get in a better mood? i’m trying to focus, and i can practically feel the anger leaking off of you!” hermione exclaimed, tending to the plant that sat in front of them. y/n simply rolled her eyes at her friend,

“sorry that my emotions are distracting you from cutting... whatever this is!” y/n aggravatingly stated, flicking the mystery plant in front of them, “what in merlin’s beard are we even supposed to be doing anyway?”

hermione huffed and narrowed her eyes at her friend, “were you seriously not listening to sprout? we’re supposed to be carefully trimming the leaves off of this—well... i forgot what it’s called.”

y/n didn’t respond to her, just simply looked over at neville who was going around, helping others around the greenhouse with their assignment. she clenched her jaw, still remembering the yule ball mishap. she didn’t know why, but she still felt so spiteful over it.

why couldn’t neville ask her to the yule ball? was it not obvious enough that she fancied him? or was he truly just that oblivious?

why couldn’t it have been her that night?

“merlin, i have absolutely no idea what i’m doing...” hermione admitted, slamming the trimmers down on the table. y/n chuckled from hermione’s failed attempt at having an attitude, and shook her head.

just as y/n was feeling some sort of relief from her angst, the root of the problem came strolling along to their table. he was visibly nervous as he glanced at y/n for a second, and then at hermione.

“h-hey guys... do you need some help?” he asked, his voice soft.

“actually, yes! we would—“

“piss off, longbottom.” y/n cut hermione off, and hermione’s jaw dropped. the girl scoffed, and neville simply nodded his head in defeat, and walked away.

hermione hit y/n’s arm, and y/n let out a yelp, “ow! what was that for?”

“we needed his help! why would you do that?”

y/n rolled her eyes, “we don’t need his help! we can figure it out on our own!”

y/n picked up the trimmers, and started observing the plant harshly, studying the leaves and where they were growing from,

“if you make us fail this assignment... i’ll never speak to you again, y/n.”

—

turns out, hermione and y/n did end up failing that assignment. and, if things couldn’t get worse, hermione cursed y/n’s name for making her average drop, which was always quite annoying considering y/n knew that hermione would never fall from her class rank, as she was at the top.

fortunately for the two girls, professor sprout had blessed them with a makeup assignment. it was a simple essay that had to be written, about the properties of any plant of their choice. but, it needed to be four to five pages.... at least.

y/n sat in the library, multiple herbology books scattered in front of her. she bit down on her thumb, staring at the blank parchment. she had no idea what plant would be the easiest to write about, and quite honestly, even if she did, she didn’t know how to describe it. neville had always assisted her in times like this, especially when it came to herbology, but that wasn’t an option.

she huffed, and glanced out the window. she saw students in small groups, talking and laughing. she envied them, as she wished she could not only be free from this dreadful essay, but as well, that she could actually speak with her friends.

“y/n?”

y/n whipped her head around, and spotted a nervous ginny weasley standing a little ways away from her designated table. she rolled her eyes, looking away from the ginger. she knew it was probably unfair to be angry at ginny, but she couldn’t help the spitefulness that she had pent up.

“i know you’re angry at me, but... can we talk?”

y/n bit down on her lip in aggravation, and turned her head once more, “what is there to talk about, weasley? i think i’ve made it pretty clear to you and longbottom both that i want the two of you to piss off.”

truthfully, ginny and y/n had never been super close, as ginny was in a year below all of y/n’s friends (herself included). but ginny would be lying if she said that it didn’t hurt her feelings to know that y/n had a grudge held against her.

“i know. but, i need to tell you something. so please... you don’t have to talk, just listen.”

y/n thought about it for a moment, knowing that ginny wouldn’t stop pestering her if she said no, so she motioned for ginny to sit down in front of her. the girl did so slowly, setting her bag down on the table quietly.

“you deserve to know what happened, y/n. that night—“

“i fucking know what happened, weasley. trust me.”

ginny sighed, “no. before the ball. the truth about neville and me, and why he even asked me in the first place.”

that’s when y/n’s thoughts began to take ahold of her.

did ginny and neville kiss? were they official now? what was ginny about to say that could possibly shatter y/n’s heart more than it already had been?

“neville and me... we’re just friends, y/n. strictly friends!” ginny informed her, her hands hitting the table lightly. “and... the only reason he even asked me is because i didn’t have a date, and neither did he.”

y/n scoffed, “well, i didn’t have a date either. you two weren’t the ones that ended up going alone and sitting by themselves all night!”

y/n hadn’t realized it, but thinking back to that night had caused tears to form in her eyes. she could only remember the jealousy, and the sadness from seeing them two on the dance floor together, seemingly having the time of their lives.

“yeah... because neville wanted to ask you.”

the statement sparked interest in y/n’s chest, and she narrowed her eyes at ginny,

“w-what?”

ginny sighed once more, and glanced around for a moment, “y/n... the only reason why neville asked me is because he wanted to ask you. but, you know how he is... he was afraid that you had already found someone. and, i’m honestly surprised that you didn’t. you know, you being pretty and all...”

y/n’s lips parted as she tried to process the information.

neville wanted to go with her?

“you—you’re lying...”

ginny shook her head, “i’m not! i would never lie about something like this. he told me himself. before, during, and even after the ball. you don’t even know how guilty he felt when you ran off crying.”

the thoughts running through y/n’s head were going at a pace that not even she herself could keep up with. she glanced down at her books, and then back up at ginny, and began to hurriedly collect her belongings.

“where are you going?” ginny asked, her eyebrows furrowed.

“i-i have to go find him! i have to apologize for being such a bitch to him this last week! mind putting these books up for me?” y/n asked, shoving her stuff into her bag.

“uh, yeah... definitely! go find him!”

y/n flashed a small smile at ginny, taking her by surprise. she began to walk off, but suddenly stopped and turned around as ginny began to close her abandoned books,

“ginny,” y/n called out, and ginny looked at her, “i’m sorry.”

ginny smiled at her, “it’s alright, y/n. just go and fix it.”

y/n nodded once more, and stormed off before ginny could say anything else.

she began to search, and search hard. she considered every place that neville could be, as he was one to hide away from the world when things felt too stressful.

y/n spotted seamus and dean in the hall, and ran up to them,

“oh! hey—“

“do you guys know where longbottom is?”

the two boys looked at each other, questioning looks etched upon their faces,

“uh, no. we haven’t seen him since earlier today. why?” dean told her,

“um... no reason. thanks for letting me know. i’ll see you guys later!”

and with that, she stormed off down the hallway. seamus and dean looked at each other once more,

“girls...” seamus huffed, and shook his head, dean agreeing with a chuckle.

y/n made her way to the greenhouse, more than sure that neville would be there. but, when she peaked in, he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. it truly began to worry her, and she had to take a few deep breaths before she continued her search for the gryffindor boy that she adored so much.

as she stood against the wall for a moment, she realized one more place where he could’ve been.

she was running all over the place, trying to get to the destination as fast as she could. she pushed passed people, muttering small apologies to them as they scoffed from her “lack of manners”.

finally, she arrived. and, when she began to slow down, she spotted the boy. she took a breath of relief before continuing to walk.

he stood in the lake, pants rolled up to his knees, staring at the plant in his hand. just like he always did. and usually, y/n would be sitting under the tree that sat right next to the lake, listening to his small lessons about the qualities of the new found plants.

neville heard footsteps approaching, and he looked up to see a panting y/n, gasping for air.

“y/n? are you alright?”

she didn’t respond, only threw her bag down and put her hands on her knee caps in an attempt to catch her breath from all of the running she had just done.

“fine... just... winded...” she responded in between heavy breaths, feeling as if she could puke.

neville stepped out of the lake, slowly approaching the girl, plant and dirt still in hand. “well... why are you so winded?”

y/n finally fully stood up, and wiped the little sweat that had formed on her forehead. she glanced up and down, observing how he looked. he always looked so adorable at times like this. it made her realize how much she had actually missed him.

“to—to find you. i couldn’t find you anywhere, so... well—never mind that. it doesn’t matter.” she quickly shook off her verbal thoughts, and lightly smiled at him. “i talked to ginny...”

his eyes widened a little, and he coughed awkwardly as he set the small water plant down on the ground, “you did?”

she nodded, “yeah... is it true?”

he looked at her, his cheeks beginning to flush. he knew exactly what she meant.

“yeah... it—it is true. all of it. i’m sorry i didn’t—“

that’s when y/n did something she had dreamed about doing ever since they were 12 years old. she walked up to him, grabbed him by the collar, and forced their lips together in a gentle kiss.

neville was taken back for a moment, but slowly leaned into her. his hand came up to her cheek, and he brought her closer, as he had waited for this very same moment since the first time they had met.

the two pulled away, breathless, lips swollen and pink. neville removed his hand slowly, only to find that he had smudged dirt onto her face.

“um... you got some dirt—“

she giggled, and wiped it off with her sleeve. he smiled at her, taking the moment in.

she then fixed his collar, a bright smile on her face,

“we can save the “i missed you’s” for later. i have a herbology essay to write, and i have no idea how i’m going to get it done.”

[moonbaby26]

Title: The Village

Pairing: Loki x Goddess!Reader

Summary: Story set nearer the Viking Age. You were a Greek sea goddess who crossed paths with the god of mischief. Continuation of previous chapter. Loki returns again, this time manipulating you into becoming involved with infighting between mortals. Yet with some goals of his own fulfilled in the end results. Guest appearance in this chapter by the god Eros.

Warnings: *Smut near the end of the chapter* Beginning and end of smut is marked in red within the chapter for those who wish to skip it.

Chapters: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Taglist: @rosaline-black , @lawfeys , @loveableasshole , @insanitybyanothername

My Masterlist

——————————

It was a little over three weeks later before anything else had happened. But you’d tried very hard to remain reasonable with your daydreaming in the time between. Because Loki owed you nothing after all.

It would have been far easier to write off your experience with him as just brief acts of lust that any two beings could experience. Yet, you’d found yourself thinking just as much about those quiet hours sitting beside him with a book in your hand as you did that very physical night in the cave together. The parts were equal in your mind. You desired to have both again, because all of it was him.

The real surprise was still there though when word finally reached you that he’d again returned to the ocean’s edge. You could not take a moment for granted. And you wouldn’t, even as each time he came you found your excitement only grew. That warmth that rose through you at just the sound of his name only came quicker and lasted longer every time.

Yet today had also been the first where he hadn’t called from that southern beach where you’d met all the times previous. This fourth meeting actually came in the north. From the lands you would have more associated with the legends of his family to begin with.

Even though the bifrost could open wherever he asked it to you supposed, your curiosity still swelled predictably as you stepped out of the icy waters onto these more foreign black sands. It was rocky, and the sky only grey above as you first saw him standing there near the water’s edge.

And you did stare, seeing his normal black and green leather now replaced with golden armor and a flowing emerald cape. He was in full adornment this time, including that horned helmet you’d only seen in artists’ renderings from the books you’d studied before.

It suited him well, though making a stark contrast between the two of you you were sure as you only stood before him barefoot and dripping wet in one of your usual dresses.

“Are you off to battle?” You asked in genuine question, still taking that view in.

He just smirked though, seeming to be staring at you as well. “Don’t you ever get cold running around so uncovered like that?”

“I feel the cold, yes. But it doesn’t harm me.” You answered simply, though still looking at him expectantly as he’d ignored your own question.

He just turned after another moment though, beginning to walk back up the bank. “I’m only here on an errand for Father. Normally this foolishness would be something I’d decline. But with Odin and brother both off battling in Alfheim, it left Father no choice but to send his second option of course.”

You were already walking as well then, following him without even being asked. He made it all sound so uninteresting though. And if he didn’t even want to be here, then why would he have called you as well then?

A path cut between the cliff face that edged the shoreline, and before you could ask anything further, you were surprised to see a large mortal village coming into view further up the path. You stopped immediately, hesitating at the sight.

But he noticed as you did so, only looking back at you tauntingly as he paused as well. “Don’t tell me you’re shy now?”

What was he planning to do? You tried to keep your contact with mortals limited save for whatever your own father asked you to do, as directly interfering in the wrong ways could sometimes lead to serious consequences. You honestly shirked the attention, often not even letting them lay eyes on you unless you were under the guise of something else.

“Are you planning to make yourself known to them?” You asked a bit incredulously.

“Well of course. How else should they know who to thank when we’re done here?” He answered as if it was only the most obvious thing in the world before he just continued ahead without you.

His stride was so confident. Not a trace of feeling out of place at all even as you couldn’t bear it any longer, transforming yourself into an osprey just to fly nervously along up above him before you could be seen.

Yet he didn’t seem surprised, only a slight smugness in his expression as he glanced up at you briefly in your new form.

That was before the mortal soldiers erupted out at the edge of the settlement anyway. Their yelling brought Loki’s attention back to the path, and you circled in the sky, trying to interpret the words.

Their tone was so much gruffer and faster, harder for you to translate in realtime.

But Loki’s elegant, almost indifferent tone of response you understood far better as he only answered back in that same Nordic tongue.

“Unleash those arrows upon me, beasts, and you’ll find them quite wasted. Are you really so inept as to not recognize your own savior now standing before you?”

With that, he extended out his arms in a grandiose gesture of self importance. Yet the movement proved to be more than just empty posing as you then saw all their arrows fall to the ground as writhing snakes.

The illusion was extremely convincing, even these burly men startling in surprise at the sight.

“Sorcery!” One of them called, though rightly looking no more trusting at the revelation.

“What clan do ye hail from? State your purpose here, sorcerer!” Another said.

Even from this distance, you could see the brief look of exasperation as Loki rolled his eyes. “Has my brother really been away from Midgard so long that you now fail to recognize the house of Odin at all? Such disrespect.”

It was only the mention of Odin’s name that brought an all new nervousness to the men’s body language.

And that edge of newfound fear clearly pleased Loki. “Oh, now things are finally coming together! But seeing is believing, isn’t it boys?”

In an instant then, there was not just one of him, but multiple as replicant images of Loki suddenly surrounded the men. His voice echoing as it came from each, “Odin the Allfather has answered your prayers, I, Loki, god of Asgard shall spare your clan and this village from your enemy’s approach.” His cold smirk returned. “But I require your full allegiance in return of course.”

The fear was really evident in their faces then, but in your own mind you doubted the duplicate images were anything tangible. They likely couldn’t harm the men, only the real Loki could. But the trickery was sufficient as in your surprise, you saw the men fall to their knees one after the other.

And the most genuine grin you’d ever seen on Loki’s face spread instantly at that. He actually chuckled, an honest, happy sound as the men’s heads also bowed.

“Forgive us, Loki, god of mischief.” The oldest looking of the men spoke humbly then. “No one here has laid eyes on a god of Asgard in our lifetimes. We only know the legends our ancestors have taught us, of your victories at Odin’s side across the nine realms. Our loyalty does still lay with you, son of Odin.”

“Finally, a wise man speaks.” Loki answered, still pleased before continuing. “You must be the clan chief. Listen to your elders, boys. And remember it was only Loki who came here today. Not Odin, not Thor. Me. That should be noted in your carvings from now on. Those little hammers embellished on your shields gave you no help today. Mjolnir hears not your pleas.”

And still circling above in your bird of prey form, it was only then that you did notice those emblems on their shields as well. It was clear no details escaped Loki.

“Thor forgets you, too occupied in the happenings of the other realms, but I, merciful as I am do not.”

You may have sighed at that, if you’d been physically capable anyway. He was clearly enjoying this now. But out the corner of your vision, something else caught your eyes as you turned sharply back into the wind.

Sails. Large white sails approaching over the ocean’s horizon. You suddenly remembered Loki’s comment then about sparing this place from their enemy’s approach. But now your nervousness only returned full force as you swooped back down towards him.

Did he really plan to interfere in a coming battle here? Maybe he had permission to do so, but you absolutely did not!

You chirped sharply, but realized quickly he could not understand you in this form. Not like the nymphs could. He seemed amused though at your evident agitation as he offered his forearm. You landed awkwardly on his arm, talons closing around the armor there as you spread your wings to maintain your balance.

He leaned his face in slightly though, speaking only to you in your native Greek. “Was it that many boats then? They’re only marauders. I’m sure your father won’t mind if you kill a few. All you’d need say is that these Norse folk had shown you hospitality, and then these other fools attacked. What else were you to do? And regardless, I’ve already promised our protection to them.”

Our? Your eyes stared holes into him at that. You had promised nothing. This was beyond ridiculous. Yet even in your annoyance, you knew deep down that there were still rules of etiquette that had been bred into you. Ones that couldn’t be ignored when it came to dealings with other gods. If he told them he would do something, while expecting your help to make it happen, and then you let him fail...it could only make them lose further faith in all your kind.

Which even Zeus himself would have admitted that lack of respect as a worsening problem with every successive mortal generation. They believed less and less.

“If you let their boats reach the shore, they’ll happily kill every last man and child on this soil. Only the younger women would live, albeit would they really wish to once they’re sold off like livestock?” Loki added, almost chipper even in those dark words.

You gave the side of his helmet a good, harsh peck, making him turn his face away in reflex before you finally took flight again.

God of mischief indeed. What were you really getting yourself into if you only kept showing him that you were here for whatever use he saw fit?

Though you had somewhat told him that hadn’t you? Back on the beach that day. That whatever kind of relationship he desired with you, you would address the needs as you came to them. You’d more meant in the sense of possibly becoming closer than friends of course. More like that night in the cave. But this...what in Gaia’s name was this?

You pumped your wings hard, then flying back over the sea as you neared the boats and quickly counted them. How many would you have to destroy in order to break their morale?

The quicker you could get this done though, the better. Any kind of prolonged battle may only attract more onlookers, increasing the chances of you having to explain these uncomfortable motivations with your father soon.

Tucking your wings in, you dove suddenly, the only difference between you and a real osprey being that as soon you hit the water, you didn’t surface again. You regained the form of a woman once more, sinking beneath the boats even as you raised your arms towards them.

It took real concentration, especially when your emotions were still all over the place. But the previously calm seas did eventually start to churn. As you clenched your fists, the whirlpools began to tighten around first one, then two, then three of the longships

That should be well enough you thought to yourself. Even from below you could hear the wood snapping as the hulls began to give. Once the boats listed past the point of no return, the masts began to snap as well, the large canvas that was the sails crashing down to the water below and billowing out.

The sunlight cut through the fabric, making the strangest shadows as you swam back from under it. You noted that these men were fairly capable swimmers as well as the fallen began to make their own ways back to the surface.

You left their survival to chance, not trying to pull them any further down, but not helping them either as they swam for rescue towards the remaining boats.

The nymphs that had followed you to this shore also kept things hands off, merely watching in a mix of awe and confusion from beneath the water. But you didn’t have time to explain, only nodding your acknowledgement towards them. They would have to wait.

But you weren’t sure what you were really going to tell them either as you only changed back into the osprey then, breaking the surface before you flapped hard enough to leave the water entirely. You simply glided back towards shore once you caught the wind again.

Loki now stood expectantly on the beach, far more men than you had seen earlier gathered behind him. Dumbstruck expressions graced all the mortals faces as that prince of Asgard only offered you his arm once more.

You landed on his forearm again, making sure to fluff your wet feathers hard enough to throw some seawater on him. Just because you’d done what he’d wanted didn’t mean your frustration was at all over. Conversations would definitely be had.

But he only smiled even as that bit of cold water ran back down his neck and beneath his armor, further annoying you before he whispered then. “Quite a performance. But don’t act as if I won’t be rewarding you later. The day is still young.”

Yet you could only ponder the meaning behind such words, as you were then the one who had to endure several more hours of the village’s praises for Loki instead.

When the marauders had indeed retreated, fading back from sight, all the mortals had come out to rejoice. The ones who had witnessed it all firsthand, recounted the events with excitement again and again to all those others who came to listen.

You’d ended up in their mead hall, candles burning in the dim structure as it filled with the smell of cooked meat and the raucous noise of the townspeople. Men, women, and even the children all filled the hall in celebration.

Loki of course sat at the head of the long feast table as the guest of honor, quite comfortable you thought in their most ornate chair as you only perched on one of its armrest beside him. In the candlelight, the shadows danced around the edges of his face and helmet.

Even in this bird form, you thought he caught you staring at him a few times though. But what else did you have to do? You couldn’t speak, and you still didn’t want to reveal your true self to these strangers. You kept hoping he’d have his fill of the attention at some point, where you’d finally be able to leave again.

But that was wishful thinking surely. Though you did put your attention back to the mortals as the clan chief had made his way to the both of you.

He bowed respectfully, “Prince Loki, I wished to inform you that I have spoken to our carpenters and they believe the building you requested could be finished within two months time.”

Your confusion may have even translated through your body language then as your head tilted and your feathers ruffled. The what?

But Loki didn’t add any elaboration to the subject, only seeming pleased. “Good.” He said simply.

And before you could show any further displeasure at being left in the dark, you saw that mortal leader then looking at you specifically with curiosity.

“If it is not too much a question, prince...” He started, yet treading carefully. “I have heard the stories of the Allfather and his ravens Huginn and Muninn. But I did not know you too possessed a bird, and of such ability. What is its name? It’s quite beautiful.”

His words were unexpected, but the greater surprise was the feel of Loki’s fingers then down your neck and back, physically petting you as if you really were just some adored companion.

You startled, chirping as you turned your head to nip his hand in reflex.

Loki only grinned once more though, moving his fingers out of your reach just as quickly. “Oh, she’s quite proud. Which she should be. Father’s birds are only spies. This bird you see here is...” Loki gave you a sly look, as if teasing that he would reveal you in that very moment. But he didn’t, just glancing back to the man instead. “I call her Kærr.”

Who? You stared. So he was just making up names for you now? And you didn’t even recognize the word as you racked your brain to try and remember a meaning for it in the Norse words you’d read.

But you couldn’t. It could mean fool for all you knew. Little fool who just followed Loki, letting themselves be used in all the dumbest ways.

——————————

At last, the festivities had finally begun to wane and Loki had stood. The mortals all praising him once more as he’d made some speech about needing to return to Asgard, but now being a protector of this town as long as they kept their loyalty to him.

You were truthfully tired by now. Not so much physically, but mentally from the run of emotions you’d had to deal with in silence over the last several hours.

It was fully nighttime when he’d finally walked out of view from the village, now deep in some dark forest, probably heading towards wherever he planned to reopen the bifrost.

When you were confident that no mortals had followed though, you at last landed on the forest floor in front of him, changing back into your true form of a woman.

“Start talking. Now.” You breathed. The anger you’d wanted to express earlier though just sounded like exasperation. But you had so many questions.

He paused, the bits of moonlight that broke through the tree canopy, now glinting white off his armor as he grinned.

“You do have patience, goddess. But I didn’t ask you to trap yourself in the form of a bird all day, let’s remember that firstly.” And he only walked closer to you at that, seemingly all too confident that you wouldn’t attack him just in spite now. “Secondly, I did this for the both of us.”

“For us?” You asked incredulously.

“Well you were too shy to take proper credit of course, which again, not my fault. But I told them this town was under our protection-”

“And you’ll just go back to Asgard and leave me to deal with it! If a god goes back on their word, you know how that makes us all look. I didn’t ask to adopt a village today!”

Yet he was unbothered even as your voice rose. “You’ll do wonderfully. Don’t pretend you don’t have a weakness for these creatures. I’ve seen how you pity them. Consider them your new pets, my gift to you.”

But you scoffed, still so disbelieving. “You’re mad. And really, did Odin even send you here? Or was that more fantasy as well?”

Yet the more flustered you got, the more amused he started to look. “Well, the village leader’s great, great, great something or other ancestor actually was a friend of my Father’s. They fought side by side once. But no, Father doesn’t know I’m here. He’s in Alfheim, as I said.”

But Loki knew it’d give you more inclination to go along with things surely if Odin’s name was attached. Didn’t he? “And the marauders?” You asked as your questions only continued.

He just smirked. “That probably would have happened on its own eventually. There’s a lot of bad blood there apparently. But I’m not as patient as you. That did need a little goading.”

You sighed. “Which you provided I’m sure. Did you pass word to them that this village was preparing to attack them?”

“Oh, something like that.”

“Okay, but why? They say you like chaos, but I haven’t seen you do anything yet that wasn’t for a reason.”

“I already told you. This is for us.” He only reiterated.

“And I still don’t believe it. What building was that man talking about making? A shrine to you? A temple?”

“A house.” He corrected.

“A...what?” You stared.

“Well, not what I’d consider a real one. It had to be quite small unfortunately, or else it’d take them a year or more to build. But nearby, up on this hill actually is where it will be. I told them we’d need a place to stay when in the mortal realm. And if they kept it well maintained, our protection would continue.”

You were finally silent for a few moments then, thoughts spinning furiously. Madness was right. Did he really...did he really plan all this for just this reason? “So, is that why you did all this?” You asked at last.

“I’d prefer not to just meet in wet, muddy caves for the foreseeable future if it’s all the same to you.” He answered with a little air of haughtiness returning.

But you weren’t ready to trust yet. Not where it really counted. “And should I be flattered? Or is there a ‘house’ like this in every realm for you?”

For those words though, even in the moonlight you could see a greedier look come into his eyes as he tilted his head, examining you once more. “Hmm. That’s new. But as fetching as jealousy is on you...you’re wrong. My only other bed would be in Asgard. And I don’t waste my time trying to fill it.”

Jealous? Is that what he thought? You opened your mouth as if to retort, but realized anything you could think to say in defense would only make him sound more correct.

“This is ridiculous.” Was all you finally said. Not knowing how to really express anything further.

“And what else would you really have done so important today if I hadn’t come?” He smirked, reaching a hand out.

He held your chin lightly then, making you realize how close he’d really moved to you in the time you’d been talking.

“You already forgot what I promised didn’t you?” He asked more quietly then.

Your look in return said that you clearly had before he just continued.

“Your reward.” He spoke, before leaning in to kiss you.

You tensed, but didn’t pull away. Such arrogance you still managed to think though, him acting as if his touch alone would erase every negative feeling and upset of the day.

But life was now more complicated than you’d ever known before. Even if this didn’t make everything alright and forgiven...you didn’t want him to stop either as you eventually returned the kiss, leaning further into him. After his hand let go of your face, you felt his arms slide around your waist next, pulling you to him tightly.

It wasn’t as fully desperate, as hungry as that night in the cave. But there was still a clear need there, tasting him all over again as he kissed you again and again.

“I have to return to Asgard.” He breathed eventually though, yet looking at you with body language that didn’t at all match his words as he hadn’t loosened his grip at all. “But speak up, goddess. Would it be more insult just to leave, or to only be quick this time in taking something we both want?”

“Are you, are you asking me...” You were trying to catch up with his thought process. It was late in the night, and he’d already been gone from his kingdom all day. He may be lying still, but it was very possible he had already overstayed whatever time he’d intended to be here. Especially if Odin and Thor really were in another realm right now. Loki’s absence would only be that more evident to his people. So he was about to leave, but he wanted to know if you wanted him to...jump to the finish before he left you?

“Why is it so hard for you to say?” He pushed, moving his hips against you slightly to further his intention.

“I will not be your whore, Loki. That much must be understood.” You replied. Not angrily, but still serious enough to show your sincerity in that statement as you found your voice again.

Yet he just laughed, a genuine one at that. “Just when I think you can’t surprise me any further...you go and say something so foolish.”

But he’d already grabbed your wrist before you could slap him, then continuing. “Calm your temper. I only laugh because you keep assuming so much. If there’s a whore here tonight, it would only be me of course.”

The resulting confusion in your eyes only seemed to encourage him too as he smiled again. “I know it’s not just fucking you want. And there will be more time later to explore that. But gods, woman, I left an empty throne sitting there in Asgard today just for a chance at this. How else could that not make me a whore tonight?”

You really didn’t know at this point, if all his words were only meant to manipulate you further, or if he was actually being truthful right now.

“You make my head hurt.” You grumbled at last, just running your hand down the armor on his chest until it reached his waist.

“You make my...well, I think you can assume what part of me hurts right now.” He just smirked at your resulting expression, his hands starting to bunch up your dress a little. “What? Too crude? I could change into a woman just as easily you know, if you rather something a little different.”

“I thought you said you wanted to make this quick.” You retorted. As in your mind, working up a woman to full arousal would be far more time consuming if your own body was any indication. While men were up and ready at a moment’s notice weren’t they?

“You imply that I can’t have you trembling just as fast then?” He said, seeming to accept the challenge when you didn’t stop him from further raising your dress.

* SMUT STARTS HERE

*

*

You’d only expected to feel one of his hands back between your legs next. So when he abruptly dropped to his knees in front of you instead, you were truly shocked.

You felt his hands on your bare waist, keeping your dress bunched up and out of the way as he glanced back up at you briefly, a wicked look in those blue eyes. How someone could look so predatory, even while on their own knees, you did not know.

All you could do was gasp as you felt his mouth meet your opening roughly, sucking you before his tongue quickly flicked out, so much like a snake against the sensitive flesh.

It was so surreal really, the cool metal of the horned helmet also brushing and scraping against your skin as its master moved obscenely in his attempts to unravel you.

Reflexively, your hips also tried to squirm away from his pressing mouth, so sensitive to the roughness as he went back to sucking what was already becoming swollen. But he’d allow none of it. He only gripped you harder, fingers digging into your soft bottom to keep you against him.

He was going to win. How this had even become a contest, you were not sure. But pride or not, your legs were already feeling like jelly. He would win.

“Loki,” You pleaded, nothing to really brace yourself against as your own knees started to bend.

But he didn’t stop, no. He only pressed even faster at your desperation, tongue flicking and probing over and over, mouth sucking for what felt like ages. But you knew it really couldn’t have been that long at all. Embarrassingly short even before you shuddered harshly, the orgasm cutting through you.

Even in those little aftershocks though, you could feel his teeth as he smiled against you. But he didn’t let go of you, helping you stay upright even as he stood back up himself. “Was that fast enough for you?” He taunted lowly, lips still clearly wet in the moonlight from you before he moved you almost gently backward.

Your back found a large tree trunk behind you, the bark gladly smooth as it helped further support you while he pushed your dress back upward again.

Your eyes met again as you felt him abruptly slide into you at that. He was still fully dressed, but at some point as he’d stood, he’d opened just his pants, that hard flesh now fully sheathing back inside of you before he began to thrust.

It was steady this time, slower, but still forceful as he watched your expression every time he reached that deepest point.

“Do you think you could get used to this?” He asked, breath still a bit labored, likely just from his own arousal.

You knew your own heartbeat was still pounding in your ears, so you could only imagine that his was now doing much the same as you kissed him again.

The taste was strange, still the remnants from you of course, but you didn’t mind it.

“I could.” You did answer though when you pulled back slightly again.

But you didn’t know how this would really work. Would you just keep meeting here now whenever he wanted to see you? The mortals would make some sort of cabin? Room? What have you, for you to stay in? Is this really what he wanted? Wouldn’t he only grow bored of the novelty eventually?

Either that, or one of your families may end up intervening. This couldn’t be kept just to the two of you indefinitely. Heimdall already knew of you of course.

There were still so many questions.

Yet he only seemed focused on the here and now as he finally shuddered against you as well and you felt that tell tale wetness of his cum overflowing slightly down your thigh.

His hands ran up under your dress still, not seeming to want to let go even as he continued to watch you as his own orgasm dissipated.

“...It may be a while before I can return. The mess in Alfheim I don’t see as being resolved soon.” He spoke after a few more moments, breaking the silence.

And he did slide back out of you then, covering himself back within his pants once more after his hands finally let go of you to let your dress also fall back down around your legs.

*

*

*SMUT OVER

He continued though, not leaving your side just yet. “Father’s already been gone over a week now, brother too. Technically putting the kingdom in my care for now. I used the excuse of those marauders attacking this village with old connections to Father as a reason to come check on Midgard today. I don’t quite think Mother believed my motives either. The two of you would likely get along well in your odd combination of suspicion yet fondness for me you know.”

Fondness he said. That was some kind of word for it. But you weren’t sure it was the right one. “If you’ve never had much interest in my world before, then yes, I’m sure anyone would be doubtful.” Of course he’d never spoken of his mother to you. Maybe eventually you could learn more. But not tonight as you realized time was finally up.

As he pulled away, his hand only brushed yours gently, that green cape moving behind him as he walked away. “Goodnight, goddess.”

There was a clearing in the distance, evidently carved earlier from the bifrost as he stepped into the opening and called up to Heimdall.

It was only at that moment though that you remembered one more thing. You yelled out to him suddenly, so he would still hear you at this distance. “Wait, what does Kærr mean!?”

But even from this far you could still see his smug smile spreading before the light of the bifrost overtook him and he was gone.

“Dammit.” You said to no one. This would cause you a whole new trip to the library on Olympus you were sure. All for one simple word.

——————————

It wasn’t until days later that you did make it back to Olympus though. You’d had to apologize to a couple of the nymphs, asking them to keep an eye on that town for you. Your apparent new charity project that Loki had left you with.

Now in the library you’d been pouring over the few more detailed Norse language texts you could find. It’d been much easier the last time you’d been here, when you’d just been trying to learn the gist of Asgard’s history and the very basics of their language. Trying to find the definition of one specific word however proved far more tedious.

But you did finally come across it.

Kærr: Dear, of great value or excellence, precious, beloved-

And you couldn’t read any further, a strange emotion flaring as you’d exclaimed, “Oh, bullshit!” instantly closing the book back shut, then sitting there a moment as this new information settled over you.

He had to be kidding. Just a flippant joke to him surely. And yet, why did it bother you so much? You really had expected the name to have some sort of negative definition, some kind of taunt or insult that he’d be able to laugh about later whenever it’d finally dawned on you.

But this was far worse. It was cruel if he didn’t mean it. Yet...somehow maybe even crueler if he did. Because what were you supposed to do with this knowledge? What could you do?

“Hello, stranger.” A soft voice called as you heard footsteps approaching though.

You looked up in time to see a bit too beautiful god pull out a chair across from you, just sitting at your library table as well then with a friendly smile.

“Hi, Eros,” you said reflexively, still sounding a bit not yourself. He was just your cousin after all, well cousin once removed anyway.

But when he didn’t say anything immediately back, just giving you a sort of sympathetic look instead, the real threat of his presence hit you at once like a lead weight as your eyes widened a little.

“No...no, no, no.” You said quickly, lowering your voice as you leaned in towards the god, not knowing what other ears may be listening. “Eros, I literally just met him. Four times total!” You counted out four fingers from your hand, waving them in front of him for emphasis.

He tilted his head. Yet only answering gently, “Cousin, I sensed you as soon as you arrived here. Are you okay?”

You sighed, but knew you could trust him to keep this revelation to himself. It was part of his job frankly. “It wouldn’t matter would it? I mean, I know you haven’t met him. But he’s not going to feel the same. I’d think at most it would be some kind of possessive thing. He is...well, he’s very self important. Honesty is also not a preference of his.”

But to this Eros just smiled. “No one is perfect, especially among our kind. I can tell you with full certainty though that the biggest lie ever told is when someone claims to not desire love. I’ve seen the hearts of the cruelest dictators all the way to the homeless peasant in the street. They all beg me for it deep down. Even if they can’t always admit it to themselves.”

You rested your elbows on the table, just looking down again. “But that doesn’t mean he’d want it from me necessarily.”

“Love is never a given. It wouldn’t be so valuable otherwise. But you can’t lose hope too soon just because you’re new at something. You need to see it through. That’s the only way to ever find out.”

You looked back up at him wryly, knowing it would be foolish not to accept a little relationship advice from the god of love himself. But as he’d said there was no guarantee this would end up working either. “So if everything goes horribly wrong, I can just blame you, right?”

He shrugged, a bit of a wise ass himself to be true. “Might as well. Everyone else does.”

——————————

(Continued in next chapter here)

[too-gay-for-marvel]

one of us

a/n: I LIVE! listen. listen. yall know me well enough at this point to know that i make no promises about posting more stuff. i might post something in a few months. maybe next week. lets spin the wheel of fate and see what happens, shall we?

Request:  hi!! do you think you could write a prequel of sorts to i don’t need a hero? it’s one of my absolute favorites and i was wondering if you could write something angsty for the mission where the reader gets shot protecting wanda? <33 thank you!!

Word Count: 2546

Warnings: swearing, canon-typical violence

Pairing: Wanda x Reader

She hated you.

Wanda Maximoff absolutely, unquestionably, without a doubt hated you. There was not a single thing about you that she didn’t hate, from the stupid cocky look on your face to the way you refused to be of any help. You were supposed to be an ally now, not a nuisance.

And yet there you were.

Sitting across from her at the table and shooting her a look that made her want nothing more than to throw some magic right at your face. If she was lucky then maybe it would even knock you on your ass and she could wipe that stupid smirk from your face. It would almost make this meeting with you worth all the hassle.

“Does everyone understand their jobs?” Maria asked, bringing Wanda back to the table and forcing her to pay attention.

“Blow shit up and have fun doing it?” You asked even though that most certainly wasn’t your job and you knew it.

Don’t let them out of your sight. Maria’s voice rang in Wanda’s mind and, after a silent look, she gave a nod of affirmation. It didn’t seem as if you had noticed, and that gave Wanda a feeling of superiority. Technically it wasn’t a competition, and she already knew she was better than you, but to know that she could scheme about you in front of your face was something that gave her more joy than she would ever openly admit.

The meeting concluded without a hitch. You had even admitted - rather begrudgingly - that you were to do nothing other than keep the attention off of Wanda and Sam. In Wanda’s mind, that was a good start; you usually argued until you were blue in the face.

But with you agreeing, all Wanda had to really worry about was the upcoming mission. And whether you would keep to your word or not.

----------

By all accounts, and much to Wanda’s and Sam’s surprise, the mission had been going well. You had launched fireworks on one end of the building to cause a commotion while they had snuck in through the back. She had used her powers to distract the few guards left inside, and within minutes they had found what they were looking for.

In fact, the mission had been going so well that Wanda had been on the verge of asking if you were okay. There was no way you could have behaved for as long as you had, not without a proper motivation. But right as Wanda had lifted her hand to start her comms, an unusually loud explosion sounded off, quickly followed by guards running and yelling.

Heading in their direction.

“I knew it was too good to be true,” Wanda mumbled to herself.

Only seconds after Wanda had muttered her lack of surprise at the situation, the same guards she had heard appeared in the hallway behind them. Directly between them and their exit.

Of course, she heard Sam think. Very loudly.

It turned, very quickly, into an all-out brawl. Unlike you, they didn’t exactly aim to kill; if it was avoidable then they would. But that didn’t mean there weren’t still plenty of bodies lying on the ground, continuously making it harder and harder for them to leave.

“To the roof,” Sam ordered during a short lull in the fighting. “We can get an emergency evac from there.”

And before Wanda knew it, they were once again fighting and trying to make their way up the stairs. It wasn’t the most difficult thing in the world, not with her powers and Red Wing. But that didn’t mean it was easy either.

“Leaving already?” You asked over the comms, causing both Wanda and Sam to roll their eyes at the lack of seriousness in your tone.

“Just get to the roof,” Sam replied shortly, refusing to say anymore on the matter.

“When I’m ready.”

Wanda swore if she hadn’t promised Bucky not to kill you, she would have done it then and there.

It didn’t take long after that for Wanda and Sam to make it to the roof. He told her he was going to fly around and scope a potential landing, and Wanda agreed to hold down the fort until he came back. They both ignored the fact that you were nowhere to be found.

In typical Avengers fashion, the guards came back not long after Sam had left her alone. She wished she could have been surprised, but when it happens nearly every time, it loses it’s shock factor.

But this one was worse than usual; Wanda was, unfortunately, feeling overwhelmed. She knew the horde would run out of bodies eventually, but would that happen before or after Sam showed up? She had no clue, and that was something that terrified her.

Needless to say, she got her answer when an entire army made it up to the roof.

“That’s my cue,” your voice came over the comms, a little too cheery for the situation, but Wanda wasn’t going to answer. At that moment, she hoped you burned along with the rest of them.

An explosion rocked the building underneath her feet, sending more panic racing through her veins. Fucking idiot, she thought, you’re going to destroy the building with us still in it! More explosions followed suit.

“You’d better hurry, Sam, Y/N is gonna blow the building,” Wanda spoke clearly, but rushed. As terrified as she was, she knew it would do no good if Sam didn’t even understand her.

“Just a bit longer, I’m almost there.” She didn’t like that Sam sounded more panicked than her.

“Need a hand?” Your voice came through again, but it was drowned out by a roar that grew increasingly louder.

It was a missile. A missile that was going to hit the roof. The roof that she was standing on.

“Just move!”

Wanda was too transfixed by the missile heading her way to notice someone running toward her. Someone who quickly wrapped their arms around her waist. Her body tensed as her feet were lifted off the ground and she was suddenly launched off the side of the building right as the missile hit the spot where she had previously been standing.

Wind rushed past her ears, along with something that sounded like a scream. She couldn’t tell who it was coming from. The trip to the ground took only a moment, but felt like it was never going to end. Well, not until she forcefully met the ground, that is. The air was knocked out of her lungs and the person on top of her didn’t help.

“Get off me,” she grunted as she pushed the person off and sat up. Only when she was up did she notice it was you, new scratches on your face and blood dripping down your ears.

“You stupid Avengers, always in the way,” you mumbled just loud enough for Wanda to hear. Or maybe it was just muffled because of the deafening ringing in her ears.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Wanda shouted, pushing herself onto her feet and watching as you did the same.

“What do you mean, what was I thinking?” You shot back. “You were the one who didn’t move!”

“I didn’t need your help.”

“You almost got hit! By a missile!”

“And yet you were the one who launched it!” Wanda stepped forward, her finger jabbing into your chest as she talked.

“I saved your life!” You shouted back, throwing your hands up in indignation.

“You pushed me off a building!”

“Don’t criticise me! No one else was helping!”

“I didn’t need help from some wannabe hero!”

“I’m not trying to-” you were cut off by the sound of a gun, and your eyes widening. You both looked down to see a dark red spot near your hip, growing larger by the second.

You hit the ground before she could catch you.

Wanda looked past you to see one lone guard, his shirt still on fire and his skin singed beyond recognition. His arm was still up, gun pointed where you had previously been standing. She didn’t have to bother with finishing him; he collapsed, his body slowly burning.

She crouched down immediately, her hand moving to the spot on your hip. Her hands went to press on it; something she had learned from Maria and Natasha, something she hadn’t thought she would ever really need to know.

You groaned ever so slightly when she pressed harder, but aside from that you were silent and still.

“Coming in hot,” Sam said. She didn’t bother looking up, but felt the wind from Sam and the evac landing behind her.

Sam was quick in assessing the damage. He picked you up and carried you to the quinjet, getting you stabilised for the trip back. Wanda thanked the gods that it would be a short trip.

She hoped you would be okay.

----------

Technically, it wasn’t the worst injury someone had come back from a mission with. Tony always came back with multiple contusions, sometimes broken bones if he had been careless. Natasha and Clint were always a mess, having been absorbed in trying to keep the other safe. Hell, you had come back with worse injuries.

So why this one had taken so much out of you, Wanda had no idea. All she knew was that it had been four days and you were still unconscious. Even the doctors couldn’t understand why you hadn’t woken up. Sure, trauma could keep someone in a coma, but you had seen much worse. So why this one?

“Time for food.”

Bless that man.

Wanda looked up from her book to see Clint leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. A signature look for him, she realised. But she noticed, strangely enough, that he did not come with food. Extremely rude.

“Making me scavenge for myself now?” Wanda teased as she closed her book.

“You could say that,” Clint shrugged. “You gotta get out of here for a few hours, Wanda.”

So that was his purpose.

“Not yet,” she answered simply.

“They haven’t woken up yet, won’t wake up while you’re gone.”

“You don’t know that-”

“-Wanda,” Clint interrupted, “they’re not waking up. Get some food, take a shower, maybe a nap. It’ll be fine.”

She looked over to you and just stared. Your face hadn’t really changed since they had gotten you back to SHIELD. No sounds, no movement, nothing. Maybe there was a new crinkle between your brows, but nothing to really indicate you were going to wake up. No matter how much she wanted you to.

Damn you for making her worry about you of all people.

And damn Clint for being right.

“Two hours.”

“Make it five,” Clint shot back, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Three.”

“Four.”

Damn him.

“Fine. Four. But not a minute more,” Wanda sighed. But, and she hated to admit this, Clint was right; she needed some time to recover. She hadn’t even left herself recover from the mission, instead coming straight to the medical ward with you.

Clint nodded once and waited for her to leave before heading into your room. Sweet of him to take her place while she was resting. It would at least give her some respite to know that someone was watching you while she was gone. Now she just needed to take care of herself and get back.

Well. Maybe after a bath.

----------

“Wanda wake up!”

Not the best way for anyone to wake up from a nap.

Wanda shot up out of bed and tried to blink the sleep out of her eyes. She was sure she looked like an absolute mess, and she could feel the knots in her hair. Oh god she felt terrible. Two hours was not enough time for a recovery nap. They better have a good reason for waking her up.

“Good, you’re up,” Clint huffed from the doorway. “Y/N’s gone.”

Okay. Pretty good reason.

She didn’t bother brushing her hair; didn’t even bother changing into clean clothes. It was fine though, she had slept in her mission clothes anyway. What was one more day, right? Besides, it gave her a bit of comfort that she at least wouldn’t be running through the hallways half-naked.

It was, for lack of a better word, pandemonium in the halls. The assumption was that everyone was looking for you; and that assumption was correct. If you hadn’t been such a damn nuisance to SHIELD in the past, maybe they would’ve just let you go.

So really, this was all your fault.

But that didn’t stop Wanda from making her way to where she felt she knew you had gone. There was no proof, but it was a feeling. A feeling that was similar to when she had known whenever Pietro had gotten into trouble. Not quite as strong, because nothing could beat twintuition, but it was still there.

And it was right.

Wanda didn’t know what to really expect you to look like after a few days of rest. But you looked a mess sitting in the dark cell. You were still in your hospital gown, and the gauze was still wrapped around whatever wounds you had sustained. The worst part? You sat curled up in the corner.

“Y/N?” Wanda stepped closer to the cell, but was met with a beeping sound that she was terrifyingly familiar with.

A proximity bomb.

She jumped back and waited for the explosion that never came. Instead, the beeping stopped, and you continued to sit in the corner. Her eyes searched for the bomb, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to find it. If you had hidden it, then you would be the only one who could get to it.

“Everyone is looking for you,” Wanda whispered, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Leave me alone.” Your voice was hoarse, and you let out a series of painful-sounding coughs.

“They’re worried about you.”

“They can worry about themselves,” you shot back, “I’m fine.”

“Y/N,” Wanda urged. She didn’t like seeing you like this. She hadn’t cared for you much, hadn’t even liked you, but this… this wasn’t you. “What happened?”

And then you turned. She could see the bruises on your face, the bags under your eyes, a look on your face that she couldn’t quite place. But your eyes… your eyes pierced through her soul in a way she hadn’t thought possible.

“You fucking heroes happened,” you replied, your eyes never leaving hers. “Couldn’t fucking leave well enough alone, had to bring me into all this fucking mess.”

“Y/N-”

“You wanted me in this fucking cell, now I’m here.” Wanda could tell you were running out of breath. “So leave me the fuck alone.”

With that you turned and stared back at the wall, your back to her. She couldn’t go to you, couldn’t help you. That bomb of yours would blow the both of you up if she got closer. And she just knew you were finished talking to her. You had made your decision, and she would just have to accept it. It seemed the team was right.

You would never be one of them.