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outofsstyles · 3 years

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a/n: This is by far THE MOST requested fic I’ve ever had and (a year later) it’s finally here!! First of all, sorry that it took me so long but when I first wrote Wildest Dreams I never intended on it having a follow up, but the amount of love I got from it was so overwhelming that I decided to put this together for you all :) I’m not gonna lie, I’m a bit nervous about it, considering the amount of requests I’ve had the past year, I know there’s gonna be a lot of expectations and I wanted to do something a bit different so it’s not too predictable lol. So yeah, as always, feedback is very much welcomed!! If you enjoy please reblog it to support my writing, it would mean the world to me <3

word count: 13.7k

warnings: none!

concept: It’s Evan’s birthday and he decides to do something a bit different.

Wildest Dreams: read part 1 here :)

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

In the last two steps, you have to use your leg to support the box as it starts to slowly slip down your fingers. This serves as a reminder to start exercising again now that the midterm is over — meaning that you should finally give in to Nia’s pleas to join her in the free week of Pilates classes she got when signing in at the gym, “Exercising is one of the best ways to relieve stress!” She would argue, to which you’d simply reply with something along the lines of: “So does binging another trashy reality tv show!”

Thankfully, no one seems to notice your struggle, sparing you the embarrassment of listening to their teases due to your difficulty in carrying one of the smallest boxes of the bunch. Nate barely glances at you once you finally reach the car to hand him the box, only shooting the longest smile you’ve ever seen coming from him—which somehow still manages to be probably the quickest when compared to any other regular person. His girlfriend, who stands with hands on her hips, entirely held his attention. Nia’s purple strands of hair poke out of her half-bun in every direction and her bottom lip has found its permanent spot between her teeth as her eyes fixate on the vehicle in front of her, barely blinking.

“Everything alright, Ni?” You prompt, trying to even your breathing. “Forgot something? There’s still time to check.”

“It’s not that.” She mumbles, shaking her head to break out of her thoughts. “My keyboard doesn’t fit.” Nia nods at the instrument lying on top of the car’s ceiling.

“Oh,” You say, frowning your lips as you take in her stressed figure. Clearing your throat, you attempt to blurt out a joke, “Maybe it’s a sign you shouldn’t move it and stay right here in our little flat with creaky doors.”

She breathes out a sharp laugh, finally looking at you as she drops her arms. “Don’t start.” She warns, “You promised; no crying today.”

“Don’t worry, I’m good at holding back the tears.” You give her a soft smile, pulling her smaller frame into a hug. The sudden reality of your best friend and roommate leaving you hitting you at once. “Gonna miss you, Ni.”

You feel her sigh into your shoulder, arms circling around your middle. “I’ll be ten minutes away.”

“Not the same.”

“I know.”

The two of you sway in silence for a moment, and you watch from over her shoulder as Nate attempts to awkwardly pick up the keyboard, almost dropping it on the sidewalk in the process. He grunts, the instrument tilting in his arms, and you giggle as you hear Nia sigh once more. Tightening your arms around her, you release each other as she turns to check on her boyfriend who holds the instrument as you would a newborn — except this one is half his size and hard as a wood plank.

He glances between the both of you, helpless. “Uh, where does this go?”

“You can put it with the other big boxes upstairs, babe. We’ll take them Sunday.” Nia says, moving to close the trunk. She looks back at him, calling back in a sing-like voice before he disappears inside, “Thank you!”

You lean back against the car, a playful pout plumping your bottom lip. “Am I only seeing you again on Sunday, then?”

“Nope, I’ll pick you up for Evan’s birthday — did you forget about it already?”

You have. “Of course not. It’s on — tomorrow.”

“Is it tomorrow?” Nia gasps, eyes widening. “Holy shit, tomorrow’s Friday.”

You nod slowly, just as shocked as she is about how quickly the past couple of weeks have flown by. Between piles of book reports and stress-tear-stained essays during midterms week, you also had to find some time to help Nia with packing boxes while searching for a new roommate for yourself. If you managed a five-hour sleep on these past days, that would have been a well-rested night. So you can’t really blame yourself for forgetting about Evan’s birthday when Nia herself had it slipping through her mind.

“This is an emergency,” Nia says, eyes focusing on a point beyond you and, you feel like, if you listen close enough, you can hear the engines inside her head working. “I’ll have come here earlier so you can help me with my outfit.”

You chuckle. “What even is the theme this year?”

“He didn’t tell me,” Nia says in a huff. “But, on the bright side, I don’t think this year he’ll do anything too crazy — he was too busy these last couple months with that short film I told you about, remember?”

“Evan doing something low key? That’s a first.” You raise your eyebrows, skeptical.

“I mean, I don’t know. I’m just guessing.” Nia shrugs, picking at her nails. “I’m only saying because he mentioned once he was only inviting, like, twenty people.”

Now, this is a surprise. “I’m glad I made the cut, then.”

It’s not a secret to anyone who’s ever had any kind of interaction with Evan that he’s fond of the dramatics of life — his bright-colored outfits with mismatching patterns being the first example that comes to mind — and that reflects as well in his events. Especially when it comes to his birthday.

To be fair, you’ve only actually been to two birthday parties of his so far — considering the invitation usually finds you because he’s close to Nia and sees you as some sort of extension of her. Nevertheless, they were both impactful enough that left a clear impression of how much he enjoys celebrating himself. Last year in particular you remember quite well. It was what he called “Evaney” themed; being a mix of himself and his favorite artist: Britney Spears. And, while you and Nia showed up as one of at least fifteen different variations of the Baby One More Time schoolgirl outfit, Evan pulled a perfect match of the Oops! I Did It Again red bodysuit that he got one of his fashion student friends to tailor for him, as well as freshly dyed beach blonde hair to suit it. He even went as far as photoshopping pictures of himself on Britney’s body and had them printed on posters hung on every single room of the house. There were even custom-made cups and napkins with them — two of them that Nia stole at the end of the party still sit somewhere in your kitchen to this day.

Another particular thing you remember quite clearly was that there were enough people crowded in his living room to fill up your entire apartment, as you recall. And that’s about how a typical event at his home is like — even on his friendsmas dinner there were much more than just twenty people eating turkey out of disposable hot pink plates. So, Nia’s information leaves you wondering what he could have in mind for tomorrow with such a limited list of people.

Before you can voice your wonders to her, though, Nate pushes through the entrance door again. You can tell he, much like you minutes ago, is trying to cover his heavy breathing. “I left it on top of those big boxes with a bunch of books in ‘em.”

“Brilliant! Thank you, baby.” Nia grins, wrapping an arm around his middle. “By the way, we just remembered Evan’s birthday’s tomorrow.”

“Is it tomorrow already?” Nate asks, and you hold back a giggle at the way his face scrunches in discontent. He hates going to Evan’s to a point that’s nearly comical. “Fuck’s sake.”

“And I think I’ll come here early so we can get ready together.” Nia nods towards you.

Nate grunts. “Do I have to go this time?”

“Of course, darling.” She rises to her tiptoes to pinch his cheek, to which he brushes it off.

Nate looks at you, and you only send him a tight smile in solidarity. The two of you share similar experiences with Evan, considering the only reason either of you even gets invited is that because you’re close to Nia, and she’s close to Evan. Although you like Evan, even if you’re not that close with him, you can still put on your social mask for a couple of hours and have fun at his parties. Nate, on the other hand, is likely the least sociable person you’ve ever met, and it’s obvious how uncomfortable he gets every time.

Nia seems to sense how tense he gets as well, because she steps in front of her boyfriend, finding his eyes with her doe-like ones. “I mean, if you don’t want to, then you don’t have to.”

He sighs, “Of course I’ll go with you.” He looks up at you. “Maybe this time we can actually count how many faces of his we can see from the couch.”

This time you don’t hold back a giggle. “I have a feeling we’ll have an easier time this year.”

“Hope so.” Nate taps on Nia’s back. "Let's go, then? Is everything you need in the trunk?”

“Yup.” She answers, circling the car and opening the door to the passenger’s side. Before entering, she gives you one last look. “Do you want me to bring anything for you tomorrow?”

“I’m good.”

“‘kay!” She enters, closing the door behind her in a click and leaning over Nate to wave at you from his window. “See you tomorrow! Don’t cry too hard tonight!”

“I won’t!” You wave back.

Watching as the car pulls back, before driving away and disappearing around the corner, there’s a light breeze that raises goosebumps on the exposed skin of your arms. You cross them under your chest, leaning back into the wall of your building, not quite ready to go back to your empty home yet. The seconds blend into minutes and you stand there The promise you made to Nia not even a minute ago already pooling in your eye, knowing you wouldn’t be able to keep it anyway, you let it tickle its way down your cheek.

A rougher gust of wind hits you and, this time, you turn to go inside.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

The days are still not long enough so that the sun can shine proudly at seven in the afternoon, but as spring just about rounds the corner there’s still a golden glow as the rays provide one last warmth before disappearing on the horizon. And that’s how the sky greets you once you step out of your building to make your way towards Evan’s house for his birthday.

As planned, Nia arrived at yours with plenty of time so the two of you could help each other get ready, a bag filled with clothes she’s just taken to Nate’s yesterday under her arm for you to help her choose. “I’m thinking something monochromatic tonight.” She said as she walked in, making you jump in your spot on the couch as you didn’t hear her using the spare key. “I’m just not sure what color.”

She ended up choosing red. There was an old box of red hair dye you found lost inside the bathroom cabinet after Nia left — along with two different brands of shaving cream, although those belonging to Nate — and, after presenting it to her, she decided to go all for it, taking it as a sign. Nate showed up just about an hour after his girlfriend, still in his work attire and barely batting an eye at Nia’s new hair color as she blew dried it. The only comment leaving his mouth being, “You look like a tomato,” before kissing her forehead and excusing himself for a nap while the two of you finished getting ready.

What neither of you realized was that Nia’s last-minute decision took more time than you predicted, giving you barely enough time to get dressed. To her, that wasn’t exactly an inconvenience considering she had an outfit ready to match any color she wanted — in this case, was a red-dyed denim two-piece. and a matching jacket that ended up discarded after she noticed it covered her newest shoulder tattoo (though you tried to argue she could just have Nate carry it so she could wear it considering she eventually would get cold at some point). To you, however, was more of a stressful task, seeing you hadn’t taken in mind to think of an outfit beforehand. So you ended up just going with the safest option that didn’t give you a lot of room to overthink, choosing to finish your makeup on the way so Evan wouldn’t have any of your heads on a plate for being late.

You’ve found that applying mascara on a moving vehicle is not the easiest task, as Nia holds your elbow to help you keep steady while talking nonstop with the driver about a topic you stopped paying any mind to about ten minutes ago.

“I’m loving our black and red moment, by the way.” She turns to you, loosening her hold as you finish the last coat. “You look like one of those hot businesswomen with your teenage daughter who likes to dress like an animated character.”

You laugh at her comparison, only now noticing the discrepancy between both your outfits. Without even realizing it, you also ended up going for the monochromatic look. Except unlike Nia’s, yours completely lacks any color. “That’s actually the best comparison you could make.”

“I know — You can take a left right here — Here, I have lip gloss.” Nia fetches a small tube from her jacket (that she ended up taking, after all), presenting it to you.

“Do you not have lipstick?”

“Are you not planning on smudging it later?” Nia wiggles her eyebrows, teasing. The hint behind her words makes you roll your eyes, snatching the lip gloss from her hand without bothering to give her an answer. There was about a month or so, just before winter rolled around, that Nia felt as if she had a mission to get you with someone. You suspect, knowing too well how her mind works, that she must’ve felt some sort of guilt for what happened during her film project last year. It was clear that her attempts came from a place of good heart, but this doesn’t mean that it made them any less annoying. However, after her plans to move in with Nate became more concrete, her cupid persona seemed to have disappeared, or so you’d thought. But now that there’s nothing else filling her mind anymore, it looks like she’s back at it, and you can’t help but snort. “What? I’m just saying-”

“You say a lot of things, most of them are incorrect.” You say, “I’m not smudging anything tonight. Not on a party with twenty people, for fuck’s sake.”

“Don’t say that before — right there! The big house on the corner!” Nia leans over the console, signaling to the driver where to park. It’s so sudden that you notice how he jumps just slightly from his seat, chuckling to yourself at how Nate snaps his eyes at her.

The front of Evan’s Victorian home is unusually quiet once you step out onto the sidewalk. So much so that, if it weren’t for the lined cars parked along the street and filling his driveway, you would’ve thought you’d typed in the wrong address.

The discrepancy is clear to you when compared to other gatherings Evan hosts in his house, but especially for his birthday. Last year, you could hear Toxic blasting from his place from the moment you turned on his street, and a small crowd gathered on his front yard — most of which you recall being comprised of people plastered out of their minds, particularly one semi-naked man who was using one lamppost as a strip pole while swinging a stuffed snake

That’s more or less the standard one could expect when invited to a party at Evan’s. So, to find the street as silent as any regular day is, to an understanding, odd.

“Are you sure it’s the right date?” You ask as the metal creak of the front gate mends with gushes of wind whistling through the air.

“Yup,” Nia says simply, walking in front of you. “You can hear the music inside, shush.”

You come quiet, listening in, and, surely, you can hear the faint keys of a piano coming from the other side of the stone walls, but it only brings up more questions to your head than answers. Evan seems like the last person on Earth who would listen to classical music. Deciding not to voice your question this time, you follow short behind Nia, kicking some loose stones on the gravel path leading to the front door.

There’s no need for more than a single knock for it to open almost immediately, revealing a lace-clad Evan downing the last bits of his wine. Without the barrier you can hear the music more clearly, the keys of the piano meshing in a peculiar way, not like anything you’ve ever heard in a classical song— at least not ten years ago when you tried to learn piano for a year before giving up.

“Look at my favorite people!” Evan says with his purple-stained lips, pulling Nia for a hug with the arm that’s not holding the door open while pointing at a spot behind her. “Did you greet Jonathan when you passed him? It’s his birthday as well.”

He points to a spot where a gnome statue sits in the dry grass, face painted in clown makeup. Nate’s voice comes from behind you, “Christ.”

“Nate!” Evan chirps, going straight for the man standing with a sharp smile and throwing his arms around him. “You know you’re my favorite grumpy, right?”

Nate only taps on the shorter man’s back, quickly moving to Nia’s side as soon as he’s free from the embrace. With that, Evan turns to you, hands finding your elbows as he takes you in, “And what have you been up to, bug? It's been ages.”

“You know… Books and… Stuff.” You chuckle, brushing it off. “Happy birthday, E.”

“Thank you!” He claps his hands together. “Now, c’mon, let’s get all of you started.”

Following him inside, you’re met with a glittery box standing right next to the entrance; rolls of tape seal it shut, and a hand-sized hole has been cut on top of the lid. You try to peek at what could be inside, but strings of colorful crepe paper are stuck to the hole, making it harder to know its contents.

Evan picks up the box, holding it to his side. “So, I need each of you to grab a piece of paper inside the box. There will be a number in it but for now just hold on, drink, and chat while waiting for further instructions.” His voice lowers at the end to give his words more of a mystery behind them.

Nate tenses in front of you and you have to keep yourself from chuckling at his desperate gaze moving from the box to his girlfriend as he moves uncomfortably on his feet. Nia, however, only gives him a pat on his back, barely looking at her boyfriend as she does a little dance in excitement. “Oh, this feels fun.” She says, quickly reaching her hand inside the box and retrieving a piece of paper. “Mysterious, but fun. What do you have in mind, sir?”

“Nothing too crazy this year, darling, you can relax — We’re all too tired.” He moves the box towards Nate, who reluctantly reaches inside. “Just something to mesh people together that won’t give me too much of a headache to clean tomorrow.”

“Smart.” You say, peeking at the box as it’s presented to you before reaching for a paper inside, quickly reading the number eight written on it before folding the piece between your fingers.

“Nice! As always, drinks in the kitchen. We’re starting in ten minutes!” Evan claps, hushing the three of you further inside.

Surprisingly, this time around there are no posters of his face in sight as you follow Nia and Nate to the kitchen. There’s a mild mash of voices coming from the living room — where the sound of the piano is the loudest, and you wonder if he got an actual piano or if it’s just a Bluetooth speaker —, but it’s not nearly as loud as you’re used to from past times. The lighting has been lowered to a buttery yellow; you realize once you enter the kitchen that feels too bright to your eyes in contrast to the hallway.

“Is there any alcohol?” You wonder out loud, and Nia glances at you with her eyebrows shot towards her hairline. “What? I’m just asking ‘cause everyone is unusually quiet.”

“There’s wine and — what are these guys right here?” She picks up one out of four plastic jars sitting on the kitchen island, reading the label stuck to it out loud, “Strawberry Mary — ooh, this looks fun.”

You reach for the other three to check their contents, but all have names similar to the one Nia now fills her cup with — fruity, yet mysterious: Lana Banana, Jenny Berry Mix, and Pineapple Suzan. “Did he come up with these?” You chuckle, reaching for the berry mix.

“It was probably Adam,” Nia says, and you frown. “That bartender guy? The one with the pet snakes.”

“Oh, yeah. I know him.”

The room comes quiet as you serve yourself, and only after you glance up you realize a tension lingering in the air. Nate stands awkwardly in a corner, eyes fixed on Nia as he moves his head around subtly. Glancing between the two of them, you notice how their expressions change as they keep their eyes locked, not a single word being uttered out loud. To you, it almost feels as if they are reading each other’s minds, and the heat of their silent argument becoming clear once Nate huffs, shaking his head.

Nia clears her throat, seemingly uncomfortable, shooting you a knowing look. It’s only when she gives you a toothless smile that you realize the silent question behind it. “Uhm, I’m going to check if there are any sweets outside.”

Beelining towards the doorway, you quickly make your way out of the room. The hallway is empty and, from where you stand awkwardly in the middle of it, you can tell Evan’s left his spot by the front door, meaning he’s likely gone to the living room where the rest of the guests are. You can hear them chatting, although like you previously pointed, the voices are much more controlled than what you’re used to, and that makes you oddly flustered by the thought of walking in alone.

Considering the limited amount of invitations this year, the chances of you knowing anyone are slim and, to add to your sudden nervousness, most of the people from Evan’s closest circle of friends are — like himself — inexplicably intimidating. This is mostly because it feels like this unspoken competition that everyone has settled with each other, to subtly brag about your success whilst simultaneously pretending to be impressed about the other’s accomplishments. And for you specifically, considering you’re not part of this artist clique that they lock themselves into, it feels particularly tiresome to be part of those interactions.

So, you opt to wait for Nia, pretending to admire one peculiar painting hanging on a wall opposite to where the doorway leading to the living room stands. Every so often, you catch yourself glancing over your shoulder one way or the other, either towards the kitchen to check if your friends are joining you, or to the doorway where the rest of the guests are in. At one point, the voices get louder, joining in a laugh before tangling together in a mess of noise you can’t make sense of. It’s after a minute that you hear footsteps coming from the living room, making you freeze on your spot, carefully turning your back to whoever’s about to catch you avoiding the party, and focusing on the piece you’ve been staring at for the past five minutes.

The painting you first thought was just random strokes of earth tones abstractly put together you now realize it’s a man and it doesn’t take you more than a second or two to recognize Evan’s side profile in a peach shade. Your hand claps on top of your mouth as you fight the urge to laugh. The sound comes out muffled, but it stops as you hear the footsteps falter as they turn into the hallway. Keeping you back to them, you listen as the wooden floor creaks as whoever was approaching makes their way back. You peek to catch sight of who it might be, but all you make out is the shadow of mustard corduroys turning the corner.

As if on cue, Nia and Nate finally appear from the kitchen, thankfully neither appearing to be sour after the talk in the kitchen.

“Finally.” You say, still feeling giggly from your finding. “Nate, you have to check this-”

“Okay! Let’s start, then. Do we have everyone in the living room?” Evan’s voice interrupts you as he calls out. Nia guides you along with her to the living room. And, as soon as the three of you enter, Evan nods at you, before continuing, “Now that all the bunnies are trapped, we shall begin!” He laughs, clapping his hands together before motioning vaguely to everyone. “Before I explain what I have planned, I want to pair you all. So, I’ll call out the numbers that each of you picked when you arrived, so everyone can find their pair.”

You frown, confuse yet curious about what Evan’s up to as he calls out the numbers. Now that you stop to glance around the room, you note how there are more people than you’d expected. It’s still not nearly as many as previous parties of his, but it still feels like the room is nicely filled, maybe just a dozen people above twenty. And amongst them, there’s quite a few you recognize as they pair up together — like Georgia, the first one to be called, whom you spent a good half of the New Year’s party with, or Taylor, who gets paired with Nia (you remember him particularly from a film festival that Nia had been part of — he produced and directed a short film comparing the second wave of feminism to the wildlife in the Amazon Rainforest, and Nia couldn’t stop complaining about how bad it was for the entire week after).

It’s when Evan jokes with someone on the other side of the room, however, that you see him.

He’s tucked in a corner, right next to the bookshelves, arms crossed under his chest in a way that makes his tattoos pop out of his biceps, something you notice even standing on the opposite end of the room. His smile is subtle as he watches the scene in front of him, but it’s still enough for a dimple to poke at one side of his face -- it’s barely there, but you’ve seen it up close enough times that you notice those details. His hand holds a drink, but you pay no mind to it because what calls your attention is the mustard corduroy hugging his hips, the same one you watched run from you not only five minutes ago.

He laughs, and you avert your eyes, mouth still hung open. You wonder if anyone will notice if you leave.

But, as though he could read your mind, Evan calls the number written on that sits crumbled inside the pocket of your jacket. “Where are my number eights?”

You step forward and, like a magnet, your eyes glue on Harry as he raises his hand.

Shaking your head in disbelief, you have to fight against an urge to shut your eyes tightly as the regret of having left your room at all tonight becomes almost overwhelming. All you expected for the night was to forget about book reports and endless essays piled up on your computer, to relax, maybe drink a bit more than you should while watching Evan’s friends dancing with a taxidermy beaver or something of sorts (that was on his friendsmas party two years ago). Instead, here you are on what feels like the first day of class dynamic your teacher has imposed to make everyone interact with each other. And, suddenly, the long pages of (insert boring book) don’t seem that bad right now.

And to make matters worse (because the universe just likes to add a little more spice to your tragedies) of all people standing in this living room you just had to be paired with the one with whom you had a fling-like relationship six months ago.

It’s awkward before he even approaches you, the tension making you fidget in your spot anxiously, barely being able to shoot a tight smile his way.

The last time you saw Harry was through the rearview mirror of a car, standing on the sidewalk like an abandoned puppy with his tail between his legs. Though you admit you let your dramatics take away when you turned away from him to leave, the feeling behind it was genuine. You were upset. He had led you on, after all, made you think he wanted to have something more just to ignore you for months and, later, appear with a redhead under his arms and call her his girlfriend. So, yes, it wasn’t the best note to leave on.

But despite how you left the last encounter, the spark of nervousness that shoots through your stomachs right now doesn’t come exactly because of his presence, but more so for the awkward nature of this encounter. At the time it happened, you avoided any activity that had the slight possibility of seeing him again like the plague. You were hurt, and you were mad — though the second part was more directed at yourself than at him. But that was six months ago. After all, as much as you felt enchanted by him and as much as those two weeks you spent together were nice, that’s all that it was: two weeks. Yes, you were sad and, yes, maybe you shed a tear or two while watching Love, Rosie with Nia afterward, but that passed as quickly as it came.

That is, until now.

“Your hair is shorter” This Is all you blurt out when he stands in front of you again.

“It is, yeah.” Harry runs his hand through his hair. The strands that last time you saw him, curled around his jawline, now peek just under his earlobe. “Did it myself, actually.”

“Really?” You take a big gulp from your drink, gaze going anywhere but meeting his own. “Found yourself another talent.”

“Another?” You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“I mean, besides acting.” You grin, holding the cup to your lips and sparing him a glance. “Suppose after your debut you’ve gotten yourself busy with casting calls”

“Of course” Harry laughs. Now that you’re closer you have a better look at his dimples as they pop out, as well as the constellation of freckles hugging his nose, and the mole right under his lips. You avert your eyes again. “I’m set to be the next Bond, in fact”

“Oh, wow.” You raise your brows, grinning at the brim of your cup. “I can see it.”

He turns to you, “Can you?” You peek at him. "Why is that?”

This is exactly what you were afraid of all those months ago after last seeing him. The entire reason you ran from any possibility of seeing him again afterward. You can still remember clearly how much of a flirt he is, even when he doesn’t mean to be. It’s not a secret that Harry’s a charming man. His words are like honey, and when he uses them just right, you know is enough to have you melting. And it doesn’t help how well you seem to click together. Even now, you still feel it by your impulse to flirt back, to look him in the eye, and get just close enough to feel the scent of his cologne. Do all that just to turn away in the last second. Tease him the same way he did you. But you don’t do any of that, of course, because you’re as petty as you are bitter. So, instead, you click your tongue. “Don’t get too comfortable, Harry, bet your girlfriend wouldn’t be happy about that.”

He chuckles. “What girlfriend?”

This time you turn fully at him, brows shooting up not in defiance, but surprise. “Yikes.” You say before you’re able to hold back.

“Yikes.” Harry still holds a smile when he repeats it, head falling as he lets out a — nervous? — laugh.

A question pops into your head. One that lingered in your mind for a good while now, but comes back a bit louder now that you have the information that his relationship was short-lasted after all. It’s a short one, but one that requires a long answer, you suppose. What happened? You think. But you don’t dare to voice it, you don’t want to have this conversation with him. Whatever the explanation is, it’s not going to change anything. So you just avert your gaze back to Evan, who now calls for everyone’s attention again.

“I know you’re all dying to know what this is all about. So, I’m going to explain it all.” And with that introduction, Evan dives into a monologue you only pay half mind to. It’s hard for you to focus on the words rapidly leaving his mouth as you can feel Harry glancing at you every so often from the corner of your eye. You listen in to Evan describing himself as a feisty kid and mention his love for drama, and then you feel the ghost of Harry’s arm bumping against yours as he sways on his feet. You try to pay attention to the story being told of the events leading up to this birthday party, and then you have to hold yourself back from meeting Harry’s eyes once you feel them at the side of your face once again. He makes a comment under his breath that you don’t quite catch, and you’re about to question him before Evan’s voice comes in an even higher pitch. “I wanted tonight to be exactly that: chaotic. I didn’t want anything to quite make sense, and I didn’t want to think much, if I’m honest, last year of film school is taking a big chunk of my functioning neurons and m’dad’s whiskey collection is taking the rest of them.”

There’s a collective laugh that takes place and, once again, Harry’s eyes peeking at you. “Everyone can relax, it’s not one of those murder mystery parties, as I’ve heard some people guess — for fuck’s sake as if I have the time and patience to plan something like that.” He says with a sip directly from a wine bottle you just now realize he’s been holding. “It’s a scavenger hunt, you have a partner and an envelope with clues. Each pair will find something related to moi and after it’s all done, we’ll eat burgers and talk about me for the rest of the night.”

“Sounds easy enough.” Harry mumbles.

Evan claps his free hand on his wrist, hushing everyone. “So off you go, c’mon! I’ll be hungry in an hour.”

“This is gonna be…” You start. “Interesting.”

“Interesting is a great word to describe it.”

“Well, let’s try to do this as quickly as possible, then.”

The side of his lips quirks up. “On a rush?”

“This is not exactly a comfortable position to be. I think you get it.” You say, fidgeting on your feet. You wait for a second for him to say something so you can start the activity, but he doesn’t and you realize there’s a piece missing. “Do you have an envelope?”

Harry nods, reaching for his pocket where the envelope sits folded in half. He swiftly opens it, taking out a card.

“Well?” You prompt, “Read us the first clue, Bond.”

There’s a smile that Harry fights against at the nickname and you’re not sure due to the dim light, but you think there’s a hint of a rosy tone on the apple of his cheeks. “An activity that grows lives and ruins manicures.” He reads out loud, pausing for a moment before laughing to himself. “I know this one.”

“Grows lives?” You frown. “As in, a pregnancy?”

Harry shakes his head, leading the way towards the corridor. “As in, gardening.”

“That’s a very weird way to put it.” You say, following him. “Does he garden?”

He walks into the kitchen, greeting two people you don’t recognize who are searching for something — their clue, you assume — inside the cabinets. “No, but his sister does. There’s a greenhouse in the back.”

You simply hum in response, muttering a quick thank you as he opens the door for you that leads to the back garden. The greenhouse is not unfamiliar to you from the outside, there have been a good amount of summer gatherings in his back garden for you to know of its existence. But you’ve thought nothing more about it. If you’re honest, you never really paid much attention to it. If anything, you assumed he used it as storage at most, never taking Evan as someone who enjoyed gardening. Though now you know you were right, you've also learned that his sister lives with him and you wonder why he’s never mentioned it before.

The curiosity inside of you wants to question Harry about it, to ask him what else he knows you don’t. When you think about it, there’s a lot you want to ask him about. Not just regarding Evan, but also regarding him. You wonder what he’s been up in the past six months if he ended up adopting the kitten he’d told you about back when you were still filming or if he read any of the book recommendations you wrote on his notes app one particular night the two of you chatted for longer than the moon could hold itself up in the sky. The part of you that begs for you to say something on the short walk is so strong you have to physically bite your tongue to be able to hold back.

You don’t have to hold for long, however, as Harry takes it upon himself to say, “So,” He starts, clearing his throat, “How- uh- how are you doing?”

Somehow, his words click something inside of your mind. They remind you of why you shouldn’t let that curious part of you win. The sole purpose of it not falling for his charm. You shake your head, “We’re not doing this.”

“Doing what?” He frowns, his steps faltering for a second.

“Small talk.” You answer, focused on your goal. “We’ll just solve this thing as quickly as possible so I can go back home and finish my Euphoria marathon.”

“Right.” Harry nods once, and you can’t help but notice the way his lips quirk down, the frown not leaving his face. You can’t lie and say it doesn’t make your stomach drop the slightest bit to see you’ve upset him, but you have to remind yourself how much he’s upset you, too.

It’s protecting yourself, you think. After tonight, you don’t have to see him ever again.

Inside the greenhouse, you’re greeted with a mix of scents you’re not prepared for before stepping in. The space is compact, with a single corridor narrowed with garden beds on each side. Dozens of branches and leaves tickle you as you walk in, most of them belonging to different flowers that, despite the chilly weather that still lingers outside, are already blooming. It’s a blend of colors, bright reds, and ocean blues, soft purple petals kissing pink and yellow ones.

“We should look for gloves.” Harry’s voice startles you, chuckling as you jump a bit.

“Huh?”

“Gloves.” He says. “I think whatever we’re looking for has to do with the gloves, ‘cause he mentioned manicure.”

“That makes sense.” You look around. Many gardening tools are piling under the tables that hold the garden beds; watering cans and empty pots. You look between bags of fertilizer and drawers filled with shovels. There’s so much stuff to look through that, at one point, you sit back on your calves, glancing around, lost.

You hear Harry leafing through as you’re doing, feeling his legs brushing against your back as he passes by and you stop, watching him from your spot on the floor. He’s got a concentrated look on his face, bottom lip worried between his teeth as he scans through the walls before he opens another drawer. That’s when his gaze falls, catching yours. You quickly turn away, pretending to go through another pile of empty pots and blocking the sound of a chuckle coming from his spot.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the clicking of ceramics and the opening and closing of wooden drawers. That is until you hear from Harry, “A-ha!”

You look up again, seeing him move to the back where few pairs of gloves hang on the wall — so obvious yet still hidden between raincoats and summer hats. “Right under our noses.” You say, getting up.

Harry searches inside the gloves, tongue trapped between his teeth. “Bingo!” He says, pulling out two tiny bottles from inside one pair.

“What is it?”

“Liquor.” He grins, peeking at you from under his lashes before ripping a piece of paper attached to it. “It says ‘one for each, now get to clue number two.’” He holds up one bottle, offering it to you, to which you take it. “It’s chocolate flavored.”

“Of course it would be a drinking game.” You open it, feeling the artificial chocolate scent braid with the alcohol. “Christ.”

“Don’t smell it, or it’ll be worse,” Harry says, downing his with one quick tilt of his head. “‘S not that bad, actually.”

You mimic his action, letting the drink swiftly burn its way down your throat. Unlike Harry, you can’t help but scrunch your nose at the taste. “You’re a fucking liar.”

Harry only giggles in response, taking the empty bottle from you and placing it back inside the gloves, along with his own.

And then again, silence. You turn to the flowers to find some comfort.

A family of tulips glances back at you, their petals in a full red, it’s the kind of beauty you’re scared to ruin if you touch, so you just rest your hand on the wood. “They’re beautiful.” You only notice you say it out loud when Harry hums back in agreement.

“They are.” He says quietly but somehow feels loud by how close he is. “Tulips are my favorites.”

You stop, brows raising incredulously at him. “No, they’re not.”

“What?”

Cursing the universe for playing with you like this, you can’t help but laugh at the situation. “It’s just- they’re my favorites, too.” You look at him. “My nan used to plant them when I was little.”

“That’s sweet.” He says, smiling and you nod. “The red ones represent true love.” He points. “And the purple ones represent royalty.”

You blink at him. “Do you just look up tulip facts in your free time?”

Harry laughs. “Yeah, basically.” He looks down at you, and you can’t help but notice how the greenery around brings out the shade of his eyes. “I worked at a flower shop for a tick.”

“Really?”

He nods. “For eight months. My favorite part was writing on the store board every morning.” His face lights up as he recalls his experience. “I used to write silly stuff like, ‘one day I’d like to meet tulips.’ The old ladies loved it.”

You shake your head, breathing out a laugh. “You’re dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Why’s that?”

Because you’re sweet, you want to answer, because when I think I won’t get charmed by you again, you hit me with tulip puns. Your lip finds its spot between your teeth, you’d be damned to give him the satisfaction of hearing you tell him that, so, instead, you shrug. “Because.” You can tell he wants to dig more by the way his lip twitch up, teasing a smile, but you just nod towards the door before turning away from him and heading out.

There’s a distinct change of temperature when you step outside, and it’s only when you do that you notice the greenhouse was heated. Thankfully, the night is not too windy as it would get a week or two ago when winter was still insisting on making itself present, but it’s still chilly so that it makes you hug your jacket closer to your body. Harry also notices the difference, as you hear him wince as he steps out from behind you — unlike you, he’s not wearing anything to protect his arms from the cold, which only makes it harder for you to not ogle the tattoos hugging his skin.

“So, what’s next?” You prompt.

Harry reaches for the card again, taking it from its spot on his pocket before reading the second clue. “‘Not feeling too creative to write this one, it’s on the third tree on oak.’”

“I mean, at least we don’t have to think too much on this one.” You say, “Oak Street is the one to the left, right?”

“Yeah.” Harry sighs. “Can’t believe he’s making us go out on the streets.”

You start to make your way back towards the house. “Too tired for a stroll?”

“‘S cold,” Harry says, scrunching his nose. “Here, there’s a side gate.”

He guides you through a gravel path to where the black gate stands, hidden between bushes and branches. Strings of fern hug the bricked fence and the surrounding grass is high enough that it tickles your calves through your tights, making you believe this path has probably been left unused for at least a couple of months now. This information brings out an extra worry for you, as you take a better look at it, noticing how the gate is closed shut to the fence.“Is it open?” You wonder out loud.

“Shit, I don’t think it is.” Harry huffs under his breath. “But, I mean, we could easily jump it.”

You stop, turning to glance at him as the suggestion leaves his lips. He stands there, hands on his hips, examining the gate, tongue poking out as he frowns. After a second, he meets your eyes. “What? It’s not that tall.”

“I suppose.” You say, looking back at the fence that ends just below your shoulder length. It would be easy enough for you to climb it with a boost, however, “I’m wearing a dress.”

“Oh,” Harry scratches the back of his neck. “Let’s just go inside-” He turns back.

“Wait,” You stop him, not sure if it’s the slight amount of alcohol in your system already making you more adventurous, you train your gaze at the gate, analyzing it again, before looking back at him. Squinting your eyes, “You have to close your eyes.”

He laughs, “Are you sure?”

“It’s not that high.” You shrug. “But I need your help.”

“Of course.” He moves next to the brick wall, kneeling before it and nodding towards you. “C’mon, step up.”

Hesitantly, you glance at his thigh stretching his trousers, a sudden wave of insecurity hitting you. “Are you sure you can lift me?”

Harry simply puts his hand out in a silent request for you to hold. “Of course.”

“No peeking.”

He shuts his eyes tightly, chin meeting his chest as he looks down. And then you take his hand, feeling his fingers lock in a firm hold as he helps you use him for support. You hesitate again before using his thigh as a step, “Wait, I’m gonna ruin your trousers.” You worry, but Harry only shakes his head, still keeping it facing the ground, the strands of his hair falling above his eyes in a makeshift blindfold. When he doesn't feel you stepping in still, he encourages you with a squeeze in your hand.

You attempt to do as quickly as possible with your dress clinging to your legs, tightening your hold to Harry’s hand to step on his thigh. Once you let it go, you can still feel it lingering behind your back as you use your arms to boost yourself up the wall, sitting on it for a moment before jumping to the other side with a huff.

“Can I open them?” You hear Harry’s voice calls from the other side, and you smile, nodding even though he can’t see it.

“Yes!”

And then his face appears as he stands up in a jump, grinning at you. “See? Easy Peasy.”

“I feel like a teen sneaking out.” You say, and you instantly give another meaning to your words as Harry boosts himself up. This time, you certainly don’t hold yourself back from staring at the way his muscles flex at the movement, the tattoos on his arms stretching, and his shirt rolling up. He makes it look so easy, so effortless, barely taking five seconds until he’s jumping in front of you.

“That was fun.” He puffs, patting his trousers lightly.

“So, how are we finding the tree?” You ask, taking a quick glance to where his hands brush on the fabric of his trousers. “Should we read the clue again?”

“I know which one he’s talking about,” Harry says, nodding to the left before beginning his stride in that direction. You follow him, trusting his words as the two of you turn the corner where Evan’s house is located.

The street in question is much calmer than the one you were just in, with no cars coming or going from the residences — that stand much closer to one another, you notice, giving the whole street more of a narrow feeling to it --, which is not exactly odd, but certainly is a contrast with the main street that Evan’s home faces, that one being more lively with people either coming home or leaving it to enjoy their Friday night. The sudden lack of background noise makes the walk to your destination a tad awkward, as none of you make an effort to strike a conversation. Instead, you resort to silently observing the surrounding area as you walk alongside Harry, noticing how the trees here bend over the sidewalk, their naked branches slowly but surely growing back the leaves they lost months ago — it makes you wonder how beautiful this must look during the peak of springtime, their full branches blending together, making a ceiling of flowers.

“Here.” Harry stops abruptly, making you almost bump into his shoulder, as you were too busy with the scenery you’ve made in your own head. “‘S this one.”

“I thought it said the third one.” You frown, looking back and noticing the way you’ve passed way more than just three.

“This one is the third.” He says, motioning to a small birdhouse stuck to its trunk with a number ‘3’ painted to the front in blue. “It’s a bit of an inside joke,” Harry chuckles to himself. “Now I get why the bastard wanted me to have this card.”

You look closer at the tree, trying to see if there’s something attached to it besides the birdhouse, but there’s nothing. Before you can question it, Harry opens the front of the tiny house, retrieving two tiny bottles from inside of it, similar to the ones you found in the greenhouse. “Oh, no.” You say, laughing. “Did he just put liquor inside a stranger’s birdhouse?”

Harry shakes his head, “This is not a stranger’s birdhouse.”

“Huh?” You frown, glancing back to the house where you stand in front of, its front completely dark, showing that no one must be at home. You point to it over your shoulder. “Do you know who lives here?”

“Yeah,” He starts, offering you one bottle. “I do.”

Your brows shoot up in surprise, glancing back and forth from the house to the man standing in front of you, an amusing grin growing on his face. “You live here?” You ask, “This is your birdhouse?”

“It is, yeah. In fact, I was the one who built it.” He gives the birdhouse a small pat.

You can’t help but let your mouth hang open for a second. “That’s-” You pause, not sure which word to use. Impressive? Amazing? Hot? “That’s nice.”

Harry smiles, and the two of you stand there for a moment, admiring his work in silence. You suck your bottom lip in, keeping yourself from inquiring further.

Being presented with how little you know about Harry only peaks at your curiosity at what had happened last year in your brief experience with him. When you were with him it felt as if you’d known him for months rather than weeks, but looking back at it now, you wonder if your infatuation fooled you into thinking the two of you were close. Maybe that’s why you were so upset at the premiere after all because all that did was prove to you how much you didn’t know him at all. No matter how many sleepless nights you spent together sharing bits of your lives, it wasn’t enough for you to get to know him.

It’s only when a car turns into the street that you break away from your thoughts, looking up at him and clearing your throat. “We should take this back to Evan’s.” You say. “I’m not sure how it would look from an outsider’s point of view to see us downing these tiny bottles in the middle of the street.”

“You’re right,” Harry says. “Should we read the last clue while we’re at it?”

“Sure, yeah.”

He reaches for the card inside his pocket, presenting it to you. “You do the honors this time.”

You take the card, brushing your thumb over the words before stopping for a second to read them out loud, “You’ll find your prize behind the words of buried legends.” You snort. “That’s so corny.”

“Words of buried legends,” Harry repeats, letting out a hum. “Bet he was feeling quite poetic when he wrote this one.”

“Maybe because it has to do with poems.” You peek at him, a slight raise to your eyebrow. “‘Words of buried legends’? like dead poets and stuff?” Upon reading it again to make sure, you mumble, “He really made this card especially for you, huh?”

“Makes sense.” Harry agrees before nudging you playfully with his arm. “Look at you with your literary mind!”

“Could’ve used some better wording but I’ll let it pass.” You giggle, shrugging as you hand him back the card. As you do so, you notice there’s something written on the other side. “What’s in the back?”

Harry’s brows meet. “Huh?”

“In the back of the card, something’s written on it.” You nod towards his hand as he’s about to pocket the card again.

Harry turns it around, reading it with a chuckle. “Ice breakers.”

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.” Your mouth drops open in amusement. “Well? Go on, then. Break the ice.”

Harry makes a show of clearing his throat before reading the question as an announcement, “What celebrity do you think you could pull on your best day?”

“Is this the actual question?” You squint your eyes at him and he turns the card to allow you to read it as well. Surely, the same question reads right on top of it and, as you take a glance at the ones below it, they’re not that much better. You shake your head, “God, I have no idea.”

“I know mine.”

“You didn’t give a single thought on that one.” You say. “This should be good.”

“Jennifer Aniston.”

“Jennifer Aniston?” You stop on your tracks, raising your brows at him. “You know she was married to Brad Pitt, right?”

“Ouch.” Harry makes the theatrics of putting a hand on his heart, head falling dramatically to the side. “Right where it hurts.”

“I’m not saying you’re bad-looking, but he’s Brad Pitt.” You emphasize with a laugh, pushing him playfully as you keep walking. “Like he is the male beauty standard. Personified.”

The front of Evan’s feels more vivid than it was when you first walked in hours ago, the lights inside seeming lighter and the curtains having been pulled back, showing people wandering around on the inside. You walk past another pair crouched in front of the bushes that line next to the front gate that creaks as you open it.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Sure, let’s hear yours, then, sweetheart.”

“Ew, don’t ever call me that again.” Your nose scrunches and your face grows hot, but you attempt to shake it off, stopping to think of the question. “Huh, on my best day? I think… I don’t know, maybe Drake?”

“Oh, no!” Harry’s hands cover his face as he shakes his head into them. “I feel like that’s the most basic answer anyone could ever give to this question.”

You gasp. “Did you just call me basic?”

Harry holds the front door open for you and, before he’s able to give you an answer, you bump right into Nia. She instantly blurts out your name, as if she’s been expecting you to appear. “I’ve been looking for you!” She says, sparing Harry a glance over your shoulder before pulling you slightly to the side. “Do you think we could talk for a second?”

“Sure.” You hold out the word, looking at Harry before focusing on your friend again. “Did something happen?”

“No, no, nothing happened. Just—” Nia starts, locking your arms as she guides you back outside, pulling you to a corner a few steps away from the front door. “How are you? How's it going?”

“I’m fine. Why?” Your brows knit together at her interference and you wonder if it has anything to do with her conversation with Nate.

“I’m talking about-” She looks over her shoulder, clearly checking if anyone is listening in. Even after making sure that there’s no one there, she still lowers her voice. “When I saw he was your pair, I wanted to rescue you right away, but fucking Taylor pulled me with him and I didn’t get the chance.”

Oh. “Oh.”

“Is it too awkward?” She keeps her inquiry, holding your hand close to her chest. “We could ask them to switch so we can do the rest together, I’m sure Evan’s too plastered to notice.”

“Nia, I-” You smile as you come to realize that she pulled you aside just to check if you’re uncomfortable, having witnessed first-hand your whines and cries over Harry last year. “It’s okay, really. It’s not that bad, surprisingly.”

“Really?” Nia blinks, taken aback. “I- What happened?”

“Nothing.” You reassure her with a squeeze on her hand. “We’re just chatting, it’s not that awkward.”

“Okay.” She nods and nods, before falling serious again. “But if anything happens you just have to scream for me and I’ll be right there, okay?”

“Okay.” You say, pulling her for a brief hug. “Thanks, Ni.”

The two of you return inside just as Taylor brings up his brother’s hair sculpture collection that’s being exhibited at a local gallery — a subject you already have been the victim of hearing for about an hour during New Year’s and, by Harry’s face, he seems as helpless as you did back then. Nia doesn’t waste a second before pulling her pair away, “Let’s go, pal, those clues won’t solve themselves,” she shoots you a look over her shoulder, pushing Taylor towards the living room and you chuckle.

“He really is one of a kind, that man,” Harry says with a sigh before meeting your gaze. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, just lady talk.” You brush aside. “Let’s find those poets, shall we?”

“We shall.” Harry smiles, looking around for a second before guiding you down the hallway, turning just before entering the kitchen where a staircase. This is a way that — like the greenhouse — you’ve never been to. Still, Harry navigates so casually as if it were his own home and, to some degree, you suppose it is. You follow him up the first flight of steps, stopping just before turning into the next one where a door you never really noticed before stands. Harry rests his hand on the handle, turning to you before saying, “There’s an office hidden right here.”

You watch as he opens it, motioning for you to walk in first. And, indeed, the inside of it is an office, just a bit smaller than the living room on the opposite side of the house. Two bookcases that go from the floor to the ceiling mostly covered the wall, only leaving a single space in the middle for a dark wooden cabinet. In front of it, an L-shaped desk takes up the middle of the room, most of it is filled with files and paper stacks, as well as two computers lying asleep. For a moment, you just stand by the doorway, admiring this room you’ve never known of its existence, your eyes quickly sweeping through the bookshelves completely packed with dark cover books of all sorts. “Do you think this is where it could be?”

“Probably, yeah.” Harry nods, turning on the lights. “I don’t know where else he could have any poetry hidden.”

You move towards one bookshelf, the one closest to the door, reaching to brush your finger through the spines perfectly lined. “But look at the size of these, we’ll take forever to find anything in here.”

“Those big ones are mostly law books, I think,” Harry says, opening cabinets at the other side of the room, right next to where a white couch stands. He turns to look at you, “His sister’s a lawyer, this is her office.” Harry says, “But Evan’s got a corner right here where he keeps some of his stuff— like books of sorts. It’s the only place I could think of.”

You hum, not knowing exactly what to respond to this information.

“You can go through the ones on that side, it could be there as well.” Harry nods towards a cabinet right next to the door where you came from, and you nod.

The first two cabinets are of no luck, both being mostly filled with boxes full of children’s books and old toys — some of them mixed with more stacks of paper, but those, instead of having long texts, have drawings of all kinds from what you could gather in a glance, from child-like scribbles to actual sketches. You can hear Harry going through drawers on the other side of the room and, upon closing another empty cabinet, you peek at him, watching his broad back flexing under his shirt as he moves around. Averting your eyes as swiftly as you looked, it’s still enough to bring warmth to your cheeks.

Finally, you open the cabinet at the very bottom of the shelf. On the top, there are piles of DVDs, most being different variations of Barbie movies, but, right at the bottom, you find books. You don’t stop to check their genre at first, simply moving them away until you stumble upon a small box, the top of it marked with the word ‘prize’. “Found it!” You call back, taking the box away from the pile before setting the books back in place again. “Under Rupi Kaur? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure she’s very alive.”

“Don’t tell Evan that,” Harry says as he crouches next to you, taking the box from your hands. Inside, there are, as expected, two tiny bottles like the ones you found before but, what calls both your attention, is a small bag of sweets lying in the middle. Harry takes it, “Oh, those are nice.”

He hands it to you and you open it, quickly shoving a jelly candy into your mouth before nodding. “Yeah.”

“So…” Harry starts, peeking over his shoulder, “Do you want to go back there?”

You glance at him, his eyes hovering above yours, lips twitching up just barely. “Uh… Maybe not right now.” You answer, “Unless you feel like sharing our Jellies with other people.”

Harry only laughs, shaking his head as he sits back and you do so too, right next to him. He reaches for his pocket, presenting another tiny bottle, the one you found inside his birdhouse, “We still got these.”

“Right!” You fetch your own out of the pocket of your jacket.

Harry opens his, holding it up towards you. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” You say, mimicking him.

Both of you down your drinks, the liquid tasting bitter, like medicine on your tongue, the only reminder of alcohol being the burn as it slides down your throat. You rest your head back on the cabinet behind you as the two of you fall into silence once more. A part of your mind is already beginning to swim around the space inside your head, and you decide to not take the last drink just yet, laying it next to your leg. Though you’ve only had the equivalent of two shots, you realize the long break you’ve had from drinking for the past couple of months -- which wasn’t exactly an intentional choice, but more like the result of your lack of free time -- is showing itself to have been enough to make you more of a lightweight.

And even though the night so far has been strikingly surprising in terms of how comfortable you felt being around Harry again, it doesn’t mean the questions you’ve been carrying since last year have gotten any quieter. They’ve only gotten louder. More persistent, even. The curiosity you feel to know what happened is almost suffocating now. And you’d be damned if you let a drunken mind stop you from having this conversation.

You glance at him from the corner of your eyes, only watching the back of his head bobbing along with the music -- still the piano -- that comes faintly from behind the closed door. Your lips part, feeling the question form right at the tip of your tongue, but not knowing how to voice the words. Will it be awkward? You think so, but what if it ruins the night? Tonight, that’s been so oddly refreshing. A night that only served to remind you how you became so infatuated with him in the first place.

But you know you won’t be able to let go of this ich inside your head unless you bring it up. And you want to, you do, but as you take too long to think of the right way to do so, Harry decides to break the silence, murmuring next to you, “That’s a good one.”

Your brows knit together, trying to make out any trace of familiarity within the song that’s playing, but you don't find any, which only leaves you even more confused. “Do you like classical?”

“Love,” Harry says simply, his eyes closed as he moves his head with the piano keys. “Especially this one. One of the greatest works from one of the greatest contemporary composers: Billie Eilish.”

Your lips fall open, “Shut up. Is she playing this?”

Harry laughs, a full one, that brings a grin to poke at your lips. “I mean, as far as I’m aware, no. It’s a version of her song — listen in.” He points to his ear, nodding with the melody as he sings along, “So you’re a tough guy, like it really rough guy.”

You shake your head incredulously, “Of course he’s playing classical versions of pop songs!”

“Did you really think Evan had a taste for Chopin or Debussy?” Harry asks both dimples poking on his cheeks.

“I think at this point I’d believe anything you tell me about him.”

Both of you laugh, the air surrounding you light and warm, before falling quiet again. This time, however, you simply stare at each other for a beat. You watch his eyes, with their almost hypnotizing jade shade, glancing between your own. He rolls his lip between his teeth, nibbling at it. This is the closest you’ve been to him all night, and the details on his face only feel like a reminder of your doubts. Like the nostalgia you feel with a bittersweet memory.

“Should we-“ You stop, the words falling from your lips before you can think about them. “Should we talk about the elephant in the room?”

You half expect Harry to frown, to play dumb, and question you the meaning behind your words. For a second, you even expect him to shake his head, to get up and leave the room. And, for some reason, you kinda want him to do so. To finally break the mask of the nice, sweet guy he’s been putting on all night and allow himself to play the role of cold prick you put him on for the past months.

But he doesn’t do it. He only gives you a short smile. “I was thinking about how to bring it up.” Harry’s gaze falls to his lap for a beat as he scratches his nose. “We should, yeah.”

You nod, more to yourself than to him. This is it. The moment to ask what you’ve been waiting for for six months now. You decide not to think much anymore, allowing the question to roll freely, “I don’t really know how to word this better but- pardon my French- what the fuck happened?”

Harry chuckles, but not an amused one. It’s more of a dry, nervous laugh. “How cliche is it if I tell you I was really fucking stupid?”

“Pretty cliche.” You say, “But also pretty true, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry for that.” He looks up, eyes meeting yours again, his own softening upon seeing you. “I really am.”

“Thank you for apologizing.” You smile a little, “But I think I deserve an explanation.”

“You do.” He speaks quietly before clearing his throat. For a second, he doesn’t say anything else, just takes a sharp breath, focusing on his fingers that play with the hem of his trousers. “I- Uhm- I know this might come as a surprise, but I’m not very good at letting people down.”

“A bit, I guess.” You try to humor, but your tone doesn’t show it. You sound quiet, hurt.

He peeks up at you, and continues, “Jess- the girl you met at the premiere- she’s lovely and all, but- how do I say this- we were never really supposed to be together.” Harry sighs, “I didn’t like her like that.”

You frown, “Then, why did you?”

“A couple of months before we met- before Evan even mentioned the film project to me, one of my mates kept insisting that I should meet his sister.” He pauses, “That was Jess.”

“I figured.”

Harry nods, “As I said, she’s a lovely girl, really nice, but we just- didn’t click like that, you know?” You hum in agreement, ignoring a small twist in your stomach when he repeats the endearment term. “But I guess she really wanted to try it, and, for months, I just kept pushing and pushing, cause I thought maybe with time I could bring myself to feel the same way.” And then again, another humorless laugh, “But- spoiler alert- I couldn’t and I should’ve just told her that.”

Your mouth hangs open for a beat before you decide against saying anything. It’s clear as you watch him explain that the entire situation for him felt more complicated than you’d ever considered. Not once did you think about the possibility of him being caught in a twist of his own decisions, and not once did you regard his feelings with the whole situation. In your bubble of gloominess, all you could think of was how he played you and used you for a bit before moving on to the next girl that fell for his sweet talk.

Looking at him now, however, his head low and brows set on a permanent crease, lips frowning down, you can feel the internal conflict pooling out of his pores. You’re not sure if it’s exactly a look of remorse that he gives you, but it sure seems close to it.

Harry huffs in what feels like frustration as he keeps recalling the events, “But all my mates kept taking the piss, pushing me to ask her out and then, in the middle of it, I met you.” He finally smiles a bit, and you have to look down to hide the warmth that spreads on your cheeks, “And we-uh-” He shrugs, “I mean, we clicked, didn’t we?”

“I think so.” You say, just above a whisper.

“I think so, too,” Harry says, holding your gaze with his own. “And when I was with you I let myself forget about that, forget about the pressure to be with someone else, I guess.” His lips fall again, eyes meeting his lap, “But when we came back, there wasn’t much running away from it anymore. The night we got back I met that friend of mine and, I’m not sure if he said anything to Jess, but she asked me out.”

“And you said yes.”

“I said yes.” He repeats, shaking his head, “I shouldn’t have, but I said yes.”

“So you just dated her? Even if you didn’t like her like that?” You say, trying to understand his thought process. Even if his words tug at your heartstrings -- which you try to not think about right now -- you still can’t help but feel a bit for the other girl.

“I thought I could- I don’t know, I thought with time maybe I could-” He stumbles around with his speech, before finally letting out a sigh, “I don’t know what was going through my head, to be honest. I was a prick.”

“At least you can admit to it.”

“I was a prick to both of you.”

You fall quiet, hoping he takes your silence as an agreement. When he doesn’t offer anything else, you speak up again, “Did it work, though?” He frowns, and you clarify, “Letting time force feelings into you?”

“I found very quickly how hard it is to develop feelings for someone when there’s someone else on your mind.” He says, and you bite back a smile that wants to spread on your lips.

“It’s very easy to say that now.”

“I know.” He agrees, “And I wish I could’ve realized that earlier, before even bringing you into this mess.” Harry reaches for your wrist, which lies on top of your lap, giving it a gentle squeeze. “For that I really am sorry.”

“I know you are.” You reassure, turning your hand to find his, squeezing it back. “And what happened to Jess?”

“She was rightfully upset when I told her.” His thumb brushes against your knuckles, moving the rings on your fingers around just slightly, and it’s almost enough to distract you from his voice. “We broke up a day after the premiere.”

“Ouch.”

“But it’s fine now, she’s got a boyfriend now who actually cares for her the way she deserves,” Harry says.

“That’s nice to hear, at least.”

“It is, yeah.”

You look down at your hands locked in your lap, squeezing his one more time before letting it go with a sigh. “You really made a big mess, huh?”

He chuckles, a guilty smile poking on his face, “I did.”

You nod, finally reaching for the tiny bottle left forgotten next to you, opening it. This time you only take a sip, but it’s still enough to end half of the liquid inside. You click your tongue, “I’m glad we talked, though.” You look up at Harry again, who’s already watching you, giving a small tap on his thigh. “It’s nice to have closure, you know? To give it a conclusion and wrap with a nice little bow.”

Harry rolls his lip inside his mouth, “Is this a conclusion, then?”

You raise your brows, “Is it not?”

“I guess it could be.” He shrugs one shoulder, leaning closer to you just barely, eyes trained in yours. “But I’m hoping that, after today, maybe we could start over?”

You laugh, scrunching your nose at him as you shake your head. “Not a start over, no.” You poke his side, “You’re not getting away that easy.”

“You’re right.” He says, still not budging as he frowns his lips. “But I wish it didn’t have to be an ending as well.”

“Is that so?”

Harry nods, you can tell his eyes hold a shyness that wasn’t here a minute ago, but at the same time -- as paradoxically as it seems -- there’s a boldness as well, one you’re more familiar with. “Maybe we could chat again. This time with fewer ice breaker cards and more bags of sweets.”

You smile, rubbing your chin as you pretend to ponder about his suggestion. “That does sound very promising.”

“I really do think we clicked.” He drops his playful tone as if wanting to make sure you feel the sincerity behind his words. “Wasn’t just saying it.”

“I know.” You say, “And I think so, too.”

His smirk grows, and he doesn’t offer anything else to say, but you can tell he’s holding something back. With the silence, you suddenly become too aware of the way your arms brush together, and how his knee bumps against yours. You notice how his eyes fall a bit from yours, so quickly you could’ve imagined it, but you choose to not think so. If you lean forward, you know he will too, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. You’re not letting yourself make the first move.

Surely, you’re aware these thoughts are a direct result of the alcohol sweeping through your mind, testing how much of your pride you’re willing to ignore. There’s no questioning of the wall that you built all those months ago after walking out of this very house with this very man on your tail blurring out apologies. It still stands, tall and strong, and you're not letting sweet words mixed with a drink or two pull it down. Not that easily. But at this moment, looking at his stupidly beautiful face with his stupidly beautiful eyes so close to you, you feel like maybe you could peek through a window, or open up a door — just a creek, just to have a sample of what it would feel like if you were to pull it down.

“Do you want to go back?” Harry asks again, this time more quietly, this time his question has a different implication than it did before.

You're quick to shake your head, voice quiet, “Not yet.”

The corner of his lips quirk up and you raise your brows, silently daring him to ask what he’s been holding. You see his hand moving from the corner of your eyes, but you don’t break your gaze from his, not even when you feel his fingertips moving so gently against your cheekbone, brushing your hair away from your face. Harry leans closer, again just barely, and again, you stay still, only smiling softly in encouragement. Now, you’re stuck in your own silent conversation; both seeking the same thing but not making the move to achieve it -- either for pride or apprehension.

“I’d really like to kiss you right now,” Harry whispers finally, eyes moving down again, this time slowly, making sure that his intentions are clear.

“Do it, then.” You tease.

Harry breathes out a laugh, his hand caressing its way down to your jaw. He rubs his thumb against your cheek, a feathery touch, taking another second to look at you before pulling you in. Your eyes fall closed, as you focus on your senses, and allow yourself to peek from that window, or creek that door open just a bit, to have just this moment to remember when you first got lost in his touch.

First, it’s the warmth of his breath tickling your cupid bow, making your hold your own breath in anticipation. Then, the tip of his nose, gentle against your own, and you can’t help but lean in a bit more when you feel the ghost of his lips on yours. But he pulls back, just so slightly, hoping to have you reach for him again. Except you don’t, knowing what he’s trying to do.

“Uh-uh,” you shake your head, pulling back just a bit to look him in the eye. “You don’t get to tease me.”

Harry huffs out a laugh, “That’s fair.”

This time, there’s no teasing. Still, he goes in just as slowly as he did the first time around, curving his lips around your bottom one so softly it almost makes you lean in again. His kiss is cloud-like in a way that makes you a bit dizzy and when he presses his lips harder, you have to refrain from letting out a dreamy sigh -- still too stubborn to give him the satisfaction. It’s when you feel the tip of his tongue poking out to lick at your bottom lip in a silent request, that you pull away completely.

It’s your turn to smirk now, licking your lips before announcing, “I think we should go back now.”

#harry styles #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine

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dizzydancingdreamer · 3 years

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Everything, Everywhere | The Mikaelson Boys

Hello Lovelies! I circled back to my element and wrote a more traditional Mikaelson Boys fic. Did I reuse the theme of a ball? Yes, I am a weak and lazy woman. Did I make the fic completely implausible and touchy? You know I did, they’re vampires and I will let them touch whoever they want (with consent of course). Anyway, it’s honestly just a cute, kinda steamy romance. I altered some of the points from the universe but you have to squint to see where. You know, my entire gambit. You could use this as a prologue for my other fic, Big Decisions, but this is more than fine as a standalone. Anyways, I hope you are all doing well and that this story brings you joy! Until next time <3

Description: Y/n is part of a founding family and gets invited to a Mikaelson ball. Somehow she manages to enamour three of the brothers. They soon discover she has a few secrets that they’re more than willing to indulge.

Pairing: Fem!Reader x The Mikaelson Boys

Warnings: Kudos to me I think there are none

Word count: 10k (oops)

Tags: Fluff, smut if you squint (more like nudity)

“Are you heading home this weekend?” Lily twirls a strand of blonde hair between her fingers, “Mama told me there’s an event.”

Your best friend lays on your bed as opposed to her own, her legs dangling over the edge. Her eyes are closed, probably halfway to being asleep. It’s been this way since the two of you left for college three years ago, always more in your space than her own. You’re lucky that way, you have a best friend who would follow you across the country if you wanted her to. Honestly, you would do the same. Luckily, though, you decided on only two hours away away from home. Just far enough to find your footing. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

You smile softly at her, swiveling in your chair, “what event? My parents haven’t said anything to me.”

Your family is a founding family, just like Lily’s is. That’s how the two of you became best friends, it was practically destined. You were babies at the same time and your parents brought you to every meeting together. You were inseparable long before you can remember.

Lilly yawns, curling her legs to her chest, “I think it’s some sort of ball. I’m not too sure, I think we got invitations,” Lily rolls her eyes as if the concept of a hand written letter offends her very being, “and they probably just forgot or assumed I would tell you. Isn’t your mom, like, the head of the committee now?”

You nod at her, closing your own eyes for a second, “yeah she’s always got something going on. I swear she forgets she even has a daughter half the time.” You let your mind drift to the other half of the conversation, “Invitations? That’s exciting.”

You don’t have to look at her to know that she’s rolling her eyes again. You crack an eye open anyway just in time to glimpse her do that very thing. You giggle lightly, shaking your head.

Always one for theatrics, “careful, Lil, your tomboy is showing. What would your mother think if she could see you up in arms over a silly, little note, hmm?”

She scowls at you before letting the grin crack through, flipping her middle finger up at you and mouthing bite me.

You lean your head back against your chair, “I’m not even sure if mama wants me to come. She hasn’t said anything about this to me. She called me yesterday and it didn’t come up once. Maybe I should just stay here.”

“Not true,” Lily curls her fingers at you, beckoning you to join her on the bed, “she’s just busy these days. Remember how she was when we were little?”

You move to the bed, curling next to your best friend, “you mean how she was always around? She went from helicopter parent to too busy to text me back.”

You yawn, closing your eyes and letting the lullaby of sleep on your limbs sing a little louder. Lily cuddles closer to you, almost gone herself. You wish you could hold onto these moments. These fleeting minutes of comfort in your best friend’s arms. It’ll be gone all too soon. You almost don’t want to fall asleep. Laying next to her feels like the calm before the storm and you want to soak up as much of it as you can. Your heavy eyelids, however, have other plans.

“You’re coming. If I have to go then so do you. I’m sure this weekend will be different,” her voice is the last thing you hear before you drift off, “I can feel it.”

* * * * * * * * *

Sure enough, when you pull into your parent’s driveway after dropping Lily off at her own house, your mother bursts through the door, a wide smile on her face. You let your own smile drown the nerves you’ve been fighting for the last three hours, practically falling out of the car to get to her. She wraps you in a hug, her familiar honeysuckle and lilac scent trickling around you.

“I missed you, mama,” you whisper against her shoulder and she squeezes you tighter for a second before letting go.

“Oh honey,” she crinkles her nose at you, her face the picture of serene joy, “what’s to miss? I’m always right here. I, however, missed you so much.” She leads you into the house, her arm around your shoulders tight, “Tell me all about everything!”

You suck in a breath as you enter your house, letting your shoulders sag as you pass over the door frame. You’re home, finally. You glance around quickly at everything you’ve missed for the last few months. You glance at family photos, most of which include Lily, and the random trinkets your parents have collected over the years. There are a few new ones and you make a mental note to look at them later.

You settle on a stool at the kitchen counter, leaning your head in your hand, “you first, mama. What’s this about a ball? And an invitation, hmm? You’ve been holding out on me.”

Her eyes widen, telling you everything you need to know. She forgot. You really aren’t that surprised. It makes you feel better, at least the reason she didn’t tell you wasn’t because she didn’t want you to attend. Lily was right, you’ll have to let her say I told you so when you see her next.

“Oh shoot,” she snaps her fingers, rushing to the foyer, her voice floating to you as she turns the corner, “I’m so sorry honey, it completely slipped my mind. I barely had a chance to glance at my own invitation,” she comes back into view, now with two envelopes in her hand, “here you go!”

She hands you the envelope and you almost gasp at how luxurious the paper feels in your fingers. The cardstock is definitely of the more expensive selection and you blanche. Who on earth could be sending this? You read your name on the card drawn in an elegant script. Handwritten. You had been joking with Lily when you thought that but now, looking at it first hand, it almost offends you as well. You could never write like that.

You open it carefully, making sure to not taint the red seal. You’re pretty sure your heart would collapse if that happened. This has to be one of the most beautiful things you have ever touched. You pull the equally luxurious note from the envelope, your eyes dancing over the paper.

Please join the Mikaelson Family this coming Saturday at seven o’clock for dancing, cocktails, and celebration.

Your heart stops. This coming Saturday. Saturday. As in today Saturday. You whip your head up to stare at your mother, your mouth falling open.

“Mama,” this time your eyes widen, “this is tonight!” you hiss, your brows shooting up, “I can’t attend this! There’s no time, it’s two in the afternoon already!”

She rolls her eyes and for a moment you picture Lily and how she would call you dramatic. You can practically hear her voice. Just wear jeans you princess. You scoff at imaginary Lily. You can’t attend a ball in jeans, not that that would stop her at all.

“You can and you should attend,” she places a finger under your chin, drawing your eyes to meet hers, “the Mikaelson’s are new to town and have invited us. It’s only polite that we attend. Besides,” she winks at you and your cheeks flood with heat, “they are quite the handsome bunch. Perhaps you can end this dry spell? Give me some grandbabies?”

You choke at her words, pulling your face from her fingers with burning skin, “oh my god, mama! I’m almost certain you should not be condoning grandbabies! Besides, I have nothing to wear so I highly doubt I’ll be the one pulled from the crowd. Reproduction rates are looking slim, I am sorry to say!”

She laughs, her eyes crinkling, and you can’t stop yourself from joining her, “alright, alright. No grandbabies. Yet. However, I’m not so sure how you can be so certain when you haven’t even looked at what I picked up for you. I quite think you’re going to change your mind, honey bunch.”

Your laughter stops abruptly as she leaves the room for the second time. You hear her jog up the stairs and your interest is officially peaked. She never jogs. What on earth has she done? You rack your brain, trying to picture what she’s going to show you now. You don’t have much time to sit on your thoughts, however, because soon you can hear her feet on the stairs again, still jogging, now humming a tune you can’t place.

When she comes back into view, your mouth falls open. In her hands is a gown. No, not just a gown. In her hands is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. It’s a black, sequined number with a full skirt and a slit that looks like it will rest a touch lower than your hip. The straps keeping it on the hanger are thin, almost nonexistent, and the bodice has a deep but modest dip. When she moves it sparkles like a diamond, catching the sun rays pouring in through the kitchen window. She holds it up, letting it flow to its full effect in front of you, and you gasp, your hands flying to your mouth.

You can feel the tears prickling at the edge of your vision and you silently scold yourself for being so emotional, “mama, where did you get this? It’s too much!”

Her smile falters, minutely, but you still see it and curse silently, “you don’t like it?”

You stand quickly, your eyes wide, “no! That’s not it,” you take the dress from her, afraid it’ll disappear if you don’t touch it, “this must have cost a fortune is all! How can we afford this?”

It’s true, the dress looks like a million bucks and probably costs as much. You’re a founding family, sure, but that doesn’t instantly equate to old money. It doesn’t even mean new money. Your family has never struggled to get by but you also know that something this extravagant would have definitely set your father back a pretty penny. You don’t want your family to waste their hard earned money on something this frivolous, even if it is the most stunning thing you’ve ever laid your eyes on.

Your mother’s smile returns to its full brilliance and she shakes her head, “it didn’t cost me a thing, honey, don’t worry. Mrs. Jackson down the street owed me a favor and I asked if she had anything particularly pretty laying around. She pulled this from her closet. She also told me to let you know that it’s yours if you would like.”

You hug the dress tiger to your chest, your mouth gaping further, “I can keep this?”

Your mother giggles, bobbing her head up and down quickly. She looks like she’s ready to start jumping. You don’t blame her, you’re half a second away from doing the same thing. You could scream from how ecstatic you are.

“Come, honey,” your mom grabs your hand, dragging you up the stairs with her, “I think it’s high time we start getting ready for tonight, don’t you think? You have some Mikaelson’s to wow!”

* * * * * * * * *

When seven o’clock rolls around you’re standing outside the biggest mansion you’ve ever laid your eyes on. Its white pillars taunt you, each one large enough to hide your body. Twice. You’re alone, spare the people around you milling in and out of the large doors. Your mother had dropped you in front while her and your father went to park the car. Never before in your life has a house made you feel this small. This alone. You pull your shawl, a sheer black number, around your shoulders and shrink slightly.

A hand lands on your shoulder and you jump, spinning around quickly only to be greeted with Lily, whose face is twisted from the laughter pouring out of her. She clutches her stomach from the force, wrinkling the red satin dress she’s wearing. You take a moment to admire how much it suits her. It’s a little bold for your tastes but she wears it like no one else could. Her hair is twisted on the top of her head, a few curls falling to frame her face. She looks amazing, not that you had any doubts.

You lightly smack her shoulder, finally letting a few giggles loose, “you scared me you idiot!” You turn your eyes back to the mansion, swallowing the lump of nerves growing in your throat, “take a look at this place, will you. It’s huge! Have you ever seen a house this big? What could someone possibly need a house this big for?”

“Yeah it’s something alright,” her eyes drag down the hulking facade before meeting yours once more, a naughty smirk now on her red lips, “and I’m sure the inside is even nicer! Let’s go!”

She grabs your hand, all but dragging you over the threshold. Light pours over you, catching the sequins on your dress and making it sparkle delicately, something that would usually make you squeal however your attention is currently elsewhere. That elsewhere is the dual grand staircase in the center of the room. It’s encased in pillars, the feature leaking in from the exterior of the mansion. It’s bronze railings are strung up with thousands of twinkling lights. The staircase is easily the focal point of the foyer.

But not because of the lights.

Lily digs her nails into your hand, pulling you to a screeching halt, “are you seeing what I’m seeing right now?”

Her eyes are glued to the same place that yours are, dragging up and down the staircase with little care to whoever might be watching her little show. You choose a less outright form of gawking, opting to look all around the room while still making little glances at your main focus.

“Yeah, Lil, I think I am,” you gulp, your eyes training on three sinfully gorgeous men, “mama said they were handsome but this,” you let the end of your sentence drop, not having nearly the vocabulary to explain the Mikaelsons.

In total, there are five people on the staircase. Four men and a woman. Each one is gorgeous in their own right. You mull over the woman first. If you thought that you looked nice before you left, that’s pretty much gone now. She’s absolutely stunning. Her blonde hair lays in a sheet over her shoulders, winding almost to her base of her spine. She wears an emerald gown, one fitted to every dip and curve of her body like it was spun by Aphrodite herself. You have to look away, she’s the kind of pretty that makes you feel like you’re not worthy of seeing it.

Your eyes travel to the man next to her and your mouth goes dry. He’s tall. That’s the first thing you notice. If you were next to him he would easily tower over you. Not just because of his height, though. You shift your focus to his arms and the way the sleeves of his tux hug them tightly. You have no doubts this man could rip you in two if he wanted to. He stands at ease, his eyes wandering the faces of those closest to him as he lifts a hand to smooth over his brown hair. At least he doesn’t look to be in the killing mood.

Behind him is a man with blonde hair. Even from across the room it looks softer than silk and your palms itch to run through it. He leans against the railing, a glass of champagne loose in his fingers. His eyes are on the others but he has the appearance of a man who is a thousand miles away. Your heart hurts at the thought but you brush past it. You don’t know him and you’re most likely wrong. Still you give him another brush over, wishing slightly that he would crack even a hint of a smile.

You shake your head, moving to the man at the top of the stairs. He’s alive with something fiery, speaking to the others with animated hands and laughing hard. You can’t hear him over the crowd around you but, gods, you wish you could. It’s probably nothing important but, by the looks of him, he could make anything sound special. He throws his head back laughing, his brown hair flopping wildly. You can’t look at him for long either but not for the same reason you couldn’t look at the woman. No, you can’t look at him because you’re afraid if you look any longer than you’ll be sucked in forever.

When you look at the last man you shiver. It’s not the kind of shiver that makes you feel exhilarated though, it’s the opposite. Your blood runs cold when you look at him and, when his eyes meet yours, you look away instantly. You can feel his eyes burning into your back for a few moments after and you hate it. Unlike the rest of them, this man makes you feel ice cold.

You tug on your best friend’s hand, desperate to get away from the man, “come on, Lil, let’s go find the champagne.”

Lily’s eyes light up at the thought, instantly taking the lead on this new expedition, “girl you read my mind!”

You take one last glance towards the staircase as she pulls you into another room, momentarily catching three pairs of brown eyes before scampering around the corner. Your cheeks are hot when you’re finally out of their vicinity. You hadn’t realized how heavy the air around them had been. Now that you can’t see them your bones feel marginally lighter. Something nags at you though, a loss of sorts. You rub a hand over your chest, massaging the ache away.

Lily pushes a cool glass into your hand, lifting her own to her lips. You follow suit, breathing in the sugary scent before letting the sweet bubbles flow down your throat. They pop, soothing your flaming chest.

“Shit,” Lily breathes, “everything about this screams money. The invitations, the house, this damn champagne. What’s next? A pool of synchronised swimmers?” Her eyes wander the room, her fingers tight around the glass, “I’m not used to this Great Gatsby level of wealth. It’s making my head spin a little. This is my parent’s scene, not mine.”

You nod lightly, her words everything you’ve been dying to say. It’s magnificent but you’ve never felt more out of place. Not even the founders day balls are like this. At least Mrs. Lockwood has the good sense to cater to the modesty of the town. Before you can answer, however, a voice joins your conversation.

“My apologies, my brothers like to go overboard when throwing parties. It’s not quite my taste either, a little too stuffy if you ask me.”

You spin around to the sight of the woman from the stairs and your heart pounds hard in your chest. She’s even more beautiful up close, like a Van Gogh masterpiece. Her voice is accented and smooth, impossibly so. You feel like a peasant in her presence but her smile is light and it helps to soothe your nerves a touch. When you look at Lily, though, her cheeks are beet red and her eyes are wide.

“Oh my, I am so sorry! I didn’t think anyone would hear me besides,” she nudges you lightly, the smile she’s plastered on her face sheepish, “this one here. It really is gorgeous. Perhaps university has lowered my standards.”

You watch Lily fumble her words and you don’t blame her. This girl seems like she was made to insite insecurity and you mean that in the very best of ways. Despite her slight enthusiasm, though, Lily’s eyes flow over the woman slowly. You can tell she’s interested. By the way her stares are being reciprocated, you would say she isn’t the only one. You smile at that.

The woman laughs, her eyes filled with mirth, “your standards aren’t low, this party is just a nightmare. I’m Rebekah, one of the many Mikaelsons you will surely encounter tonight,” she looks over her shoulder, her eyebrows furrowing slightly, “and it looks as though you’re going to get the immersive experience.”

You, too, look over her shoulder and your heart stops. The three men from the staircase, the ones who didn’t make your blood run cold, walk towards you slowly, stopping here and there to welcome guests. The tall one catches your eye and you freeze, a deer caught in the headlights. He says something to the other men and they join in looking at you. You swallow hard, your insides doing somersaults at the sight of them. A deer caught in three headlights, it would seem.

You look back at Rebekah, your eyes blown wide from the panic rising in your chest. She isn’t looking at you, her eyes still locked on your best friend. They’re in the middle of a conversation that you haven't been paying attention to. You tune back in just in time to hear Lily ask about the gardens behind the house. You scrunch your nose. What gardens?

“Yes, they’re marvelous,” Rebekah leans towards Lily, a glint in her eyes, “and much less crowded. I could show you around them if you’d like?”

Oh no. No no no. You can see the gears turning in your best friend’s head and the smile that blossoms on her face. You know what’s about to happen and for a moment time stands still. She’s really going to do it, isn’t she?

She looks over at you, tossing you and apologetic squint before meeting Rebekah’s wondering eyes, “I would love that! Lead the way.”

You watch in slow motion as your best friend wanders away, once more looking over her shoulder to mouth a quick I’m sorry. You roll your eyes at her, murmuring a silent you owe me. You close your eyes briefly, tipping the remainder of your champagne into your mouth. You set your glass down as the alcohol swirls in your stomach, adding a kind of weightlessness to your movements. You embrace it, your eyes scanning the ornate walls. What the hell are you going to do now?

A breeze swirls around you, a myriad of spices hitting your nose just as a honeyed voice breaks your daze, “this house was built in the seventeenth century. As a matter of fact, those are the same walls. I do apologize, we’re a little slow when it comes to modernization. I know it can be a lot to take in, if you need another moment to confront them I do understand.”

You turn quickly, your cheeks hot to the touch, and you find yourself inches away from one of the men from the staircase. You bite your cheek, you really need to figure out their names. Up close you see that you were right about him, he does indeed tower over you. You have to bend your neck significantly to make comfortable eye contact. You almost wish you hadn't, though, his dark eyes flooding your chest with butterflies.

“I think I’ve had my fill of the walls but thank you for your consideration,” you pull your wrap tighter around you, clutching it like it's the source of magic that is helping you keep your composure, “and for the history lesson. This house is beautiful.”

He smiles widely, an action so doused in beauty that your head spins, “thank you, it was my father’s. I am Elijah, I don’t believe we’ve met before,” his eyes flit across your face and you can feel the blush begin to creep down your chest, “something which I’m beginning to understand is a terrible misfortune on my part.”

Your heart pounds painfully, your throat dry. This man clearly has a deep grasp on words and knows exactly how to use them. You wonder for a moment to what extent. What would he sound like in a more intimate setting? What words would he use when no one else could hear him?

Your eyes widen, your chest burning at the thought, “I’m y/n. Perhaps you’ve met my mother, Mary-Anne?” you glance around, trying and failing to locate your mother, “She’s around here somewhere, she has a hand in most of the happenings around town so it wouldn’t surprise me if you do know her.”

Elijah’s carmel eyes fill with recognition, “ah, yes, I believe I’ve seen her in town. Never you, though.”

Though he doesn’t ask, the question is clear in his tone.

“I attend university out of town,” you clutch your chest lightly, your fingers curling around the top of your dress, “I’m actually only home for the weekend. My mother was adamant I attend this evening.”

Elijah tilts his head, his eyes flitting quickly to where your fingers slip down your dress. When he looks back at you his eyes are a touch darker than before. Your heart pounds harder as well and you bite your lip slightly, thankful your mother didn’t make you wear lipstick.

“I see. I suppose that means we must give you a night to remember,” his eyes linger on your mouth for a moment and the heat that was swirling in your chest sinks lower.

“Indeed we shall, brother,” a voice from your left pulls your attention.

You’re greeted with the blonde from earlier, the one who looked like he was on another planet. Standing in front of you now he looks much more aware. His eyes, a touch lighter than Elijah’s, skim down your dress, lingering on the high slit on your hip before meeting yours again. You suck in a breath but there is no oxygen to be found.

“I do hope my brother is giving you a proper welcome,” his eyes flash, a cheeky smile tugging at his lips, “I wouldn’t want you leaving here tonight without a proper taste of the Mikaelson charm.”

The way he says the word taste, the way it rolls of his tongue, is positively sinful. It hits you straight in the stomach, spreading like poison through your already airy body. It anchors you to the ground, to him. You glance at Elijah who’s already watching you like a hawk. You feel naked under his gaze but, for some reason, it isn’t a wholly unwelcome feeling. You actually kind of like it.

You smile lightly at him before turning back to his brother, “I think he’s doing a marvelous job. His introduction skills, however, need a little bit of a touch up.” You giggle at the glimpse of his furrowed eyebrows from the corner of your eye, “Too much talking about walls for my liking.”

“Ah, there you two are,” a third voice joins your arsenal of men, standing on your right and piercing you with a voice accented enough to make the gods fall to their knees, “hogging all the pretty girls tonight, are we Klaus?”

You meet the eyes of the third man, the one who made laughter look like a gift, and your heart sings. He grins at you, his eyes, much like his brothers’, a warm brown. Having all three of them this close to you is more intense than you could have imagined. They make the room feel smaller. Intimate. You’re not sure if you want to run away screaming or move closer to them. They’re magnetic, you’re just not sure if being pulled in or pushed away.

He takes your hand, an action that sends your heart into overdrive. His eyes light up, as if he can hear every rapid beat of your pulse. You scold yourself inwardly. Don’t be stupid, y/n, that would be impossible.

“I’m Kol,” he brings your hand to his lips, laying a kiss that renders your knees weak against your knuckles, “it’s a pleasure.”

Your heart thunders at the feeling of his lips against your skin. You feel like a schoolgirl, dizzy from the slightest touch from your playground crush. His lips are warm and soft. Is this how princesses feel? God, you need another drink.

“So,” Klaus steps towards you, his eyes swirling with something barely contained, “what’s this I heard about us giving you a night to remember?”

Your heart stops on the spot and you almost choke, not missing any of the implications behind his tone, “I have to head back to school tomorrow is all,” you breathe, trying to play off some of the heat swirling under the surface of your skin, “please, don’t let me keep you from the rest of your guests. I’m sure there are quite a few more important people than me here tonight.”

Elijah chuckles, the sound piling on top of the many other ones you’re already holding tight to, “the guest list is merely a formality, it would really be my pleasure to show you around.”

He holds his hand out to you, his eyes warm but challenging. You swallow thickly, a string of indecipherable emotions rushing through your chest, circling your lungs. You know it’s just a gesture so why does it feel like something more? Why does the thought of taking his hand feel like stepping into the rest of your life? You take a breath, squaring your shoulders and slipping your hand into his. Bring it on, destiny.

“Wait just a moment brother,” Kol’s fingers slip around your wrist, dragging down your palm until your fingers are locked together, “stealing her away from me so soon? I’m not sure I can let you do that.”

Elijah and Kol stare at each other, something wild brewing in their increasingly dark eyes. You tense, feeling like the rope in a game of tug of war. This doesn’t feel like a game, though, this feels real. You’re not a rope to be fought over, you get to decide what and who you want. Even if that’s all of them.

You squeeze both of their hands, drawing their attention back to you, “I’m sure this house is big enough for us to all comfortably go for a tour.”

Elijah’s eyes widen, dragging over you once more as if seeing you properly for the first time all night. He, like his brothers, lingers on the most delicate parts of you for just a few moments longer than he should. It’s a hole in his armor, a hint past the gentleman front. You want to leap at it and pull until all that’s left is the darkness swirling beneath his surface.

You glance at Kol who meets your eyes head on, a toothy grin already on his face, “marvelous, darling. What a great idea.”

He begins pulling you, and by default Elijah, out of the room but you halt, feeling a tad off. You look behind you at Klaus and sigh, your heart heavy. He stands tall but you catch his eyes and the way they glance at your hands, both of which are still being occupied. He squeezes his hands into fists, shoving them in his pockets. You tilt your head, pouting slightly at him.

“Mr. Mikaelson, are you coming? Time is of the essence,” you nod your head toward the foyer, a coy smile on your lips, “we can’t can’t afford to waste any now.”

His face lights up instantly, walking towards you with flames dancing behind his eyes, “time isn’t real, love. Tonight we have as much of it as we want. As much of it as you want.”

You swallow hard. You want it all.

Kol pulls you towards him, twirling you slowly, making your dress spin around your legs like a ribbon, “where to first, darling? What do you want to see?”

Your hands land on his chest, your cheeks flushed and legs wobbly from the spinning. His other hand goes around your waist, his fingers squeezing gently, his thumb pressing into your side in a way that makes you want to draw his body closer to your own. Your thoughts from before ring through your head. He makes everything sound special. More than that; he makes everything feel special.

“Everything,” you can’t tear your eyes away from his, you don’t want to, “show me everything please.”

He leans down, his forehead inches from your own. You can feel the heat rolling off his body even through his tux. It’s luxurious and mingles with the last dregs of the champagne. When combined with his scent, a nutty blend of cloves and cinnamon, you feel lightheaded.

“Very well, darling,” his eyes flit to your lips, “everything it is.”

An arm snakes around your waist, pulling you away from whatever mischief is brewing beneath Kol’s honey eyes. He tilts his head at the person who grabbed you, his aura turning from playful to down right frosty.

You turn away, breaking the hold of one Tyler Lockwood. Your ex. You squint your eyes. If you were a cat, your hackles would be raised. You wouldn’t claw his eyes out but you would be damn close. Memories from your senior year pour through your mind, twisting your gut painfully. You blink them away. Contrary to Klaus, you don’t have time for this.

“Tyler,” your voice courteous but cold, “what is it?”

He doesn’t catch your tone or, if he does, he doesn’t act like it. He reaches towards you again, no doubt to pull you into a hug, but you back away. Unlike with Kol, you don’t want to touch him. You definitely don't want him touching you. That part of your life is over.

“Y/n,” his voice is light, happy, “I didn’t know you were back! Mom didn’t say anything. How have you been?”

The atmosphere around you thickens. You don’t have to look at the Mikaelsons to see that their shoulders are tense. You feel them take a step closer to you, surrounding you with some much needed warmth.

You clench your jaw, forcing a smile on your face, “yes, well, I didn’t know if I was going to be home this weekend or not. University and all, I’m sure you understand. I’m fine, thank you.”

He nods enthusiastically and you grind your teeth slightly, wishing the floor would just swallow you whole. You dart your eyes to the side, briefly skimming Klaus as he rolls his eyes. Lily would be proud. Kol and Elijah don’t look amused either. You’re not sure how you know but you have to get them away from Tyler as fast as possible. The air drops another few degrees and you shiver.

“Oh well, no harm done!” Tyler steps closer to you, “say, how long are you in town? We should grab a bite at the grill.”

You drop your fake smile, your heart stinging slightly, “sorry, Lily and I are heading back tomorrow morning.”

You feel the boys once again tense, as if they don’t like the information you just shared. You don’t have time to think too hard about it though before Tyler closes even more space between you, grabbing your hand. You flinch back, hitting something hard and warm. The smell of pine trees, a whole forest of them, swirls around you as a hand circles your waist.

Tyler scrunches his brows, his smile slightly faltering, “tonight, then? I would really love a chance to talk. Catch up a little.”

You almost laugh. He just isn’t giving up. He can never make it easy for you, can he? The hand on your waist squeezes and you look over your shoulder, your heart stuttering. Elijah is staring at Tyler, something swirling under his irises. Whatever it is looks untamed. Not in the good way, like how he was looking at you earlier. No, whatever he’s feeling right now is dangerous. Time to go.

“I really can’t, my night has been spoken for. Maybe next time, Tyler,” you turn to Elijah, “Elijah, did you say that you saw my mother looking for me? Would you mind showing me to her?”

Elijah’s eyes sparkle, clearly taking your hint, “indeed, she was right this way.”

He pushes you gently, blocking you from Tyler as he leads you out of the room. You can hear Tyler call out to you but you keep walking. Two other sets of footsteps join you, Kol grabbing your hand and twining your fingers together once more. When you break into the foyer you let the anxiety that had been building drain. That was more exhausting than you would like to admit.

Elijah leads the four of you silently to a room off to the side of the foyer. He pushes the large mahogany door open, ushering you in before shutting it again. The smell of ink and old pages hits your nose and your mouth drops open at the sight. You’re in the biggest library you’ve ever seen. It’s like something out of The Beauty and The Beast, the ceilings high and the walls lined from top to bottom with shelves upon shelves of books. You break away from the boys, your fingers itching to touch what is no doubt an impressive collection of history.

You hear a chuckle behind you but you don’t turn, your fingers skimming an older looking manuscript. Upon closer inspection the handwritten inscription on the cover reads Vonya i mir. Your heart stops and you quickly pull it from the shelf throwing all common courtesy out the window. This can’t be what you think it is. You flip it over in your hands, taking care not to crack the spine too much. Lev Nikolayevich Tolstoy.

You whip your head up, meeting three curious glances with wide eyes, “this is War and Peace! Like, the original manuscript. This is,” your heart pounds, your eyes glued to the yellowed pages in your hands, “this is history. I can’t believe I’m holding this.” Your heart stops, “Oh my, I should not be holding this! This belongs in a museum! What am I even doing, holding it like it’s nothing.”

You set it carefully on a desk behind you, looking apologetically back at them. Your cheeks heat rapidly. It’s very much not like you to go into a stranger’s home and start groping their collectables. You pull your lip between your teeth, lowering your head.

A hand gently grabs your chin, “you didn’t mention you’re a classic literature major, love.”

A small smile toys on Klaus’ lips, his thumb skimming over your jaw. Your heart stutters when he says love, warmth spreading through your chest. You reluctantly move your head from his hand, turning to motion at the manuscript.

“That’s because I’m not. I am a history major, with a focus on Russian culture. I’ve read War and Peace more times than I care to admit,” you smile lightly at the book, thinking about the hours you’ve spent pouring over it, “never in Russian, though.”

You glance back at Klaus, your hand flying once more to your bodice. He studies you carefully, his head tilted to the side.

“And what do you think of it? Do you prefer the war or the peace?” He steps towards you, his words filling the almost nonexistent gap between your body and his.

Your breath catches. He’s close enough to touch and, gods, do you ever want to just reach out and pull him against you. First Elijah, then Kol, now him. You’re really gunning to end that dry spell in one night and three ways aren’t you? Heat creeps up your neck, your ears flaming at the thought.

“You can’t have one without the other,” you glance over his shoulder at Elijah and Kol, both of whom are hanging on to your every word, “war is inevitable but peace,” you look back at Klaus, “peace is fundamental.”

Klaus brushes a strand of hair from your cheekbone, sending shivers racing up your spine, “fundamental to what, love?”

His voice is low, his accent wearing down any reservations that you had at the beginning of the night. Your mother’s voice rings through your ears. Give me some grandbabies. She had clearly been joking but your body clearly has no concept of satire, heat pooling between your legs at the thought of making those babies. You close your eyes, sucking in a deep breath. It does nothing to quench the heat. You’re in the thick of it now and there is no escaping the white hot fire growing inside of you.

You sink your head into his hand, “happiness.”

An arm hooks around your waist, spinning you into a pair of spiced arms. Kol. You crack your eyes open and, sure enough, you’re correct. You shouldn’t have been able to guess that already. You’ve known them for no longer than an hour. This is insane. He lowers his face towards yours and your heart slams against your ribcage, his lips inches from yours. You swallow hard, your hands finding the lapels of his jacket. Instead of kissing you, however, he rubs his nose against yours. Oh. That feels nice.

“What makes you happy, darling?”

You laugh softly, his question catching you off guard, “I’m not sure, to be honest. I haven’t had many opportunities to find out.”

“Well then, If you could do one thing that you think would make you happy what would you do?” Kol lifts a hand to your face, his thumb, like his brother’s, skimming your jaw.

You don’t have to think about it, the answer is on your tongue as soon as he asks the question, “I would leave this town,” you glance down, the truth of your statement making you feel all too guilty, “and I’m not sure that I would ever come back.”

His thumb stills and you hold your breath. Perhaps you should have answered with something a little less full on. You haven’t even told Lily that you want to leave and never look back so you honestly have no idea why you just divulged one of your greatest kept secrets to three men you just met. Maybe because it doesn’t matter. Who are they going to tell, right? But no, that doesn’t feel right. You didn’t just tell them because. You had a reason, you just can’t put a name to it.

“I see,” he draws his thumb over your lips, an action that both surprises you and steals the air from your lungs, “and where would you go?”

Again, your answer is effortless, “everywhere, Kol. I would go everywhere.”

Kol smiles, his eyes lighting up with his grin. Your heart skyrockets, fireworks shooting through your chest from the slightest tilt of his perfectly red lips. They look soft; perfectly kissable. If only you had half of his self-assurance. What you wouldn’t give to run the tips of your fingers over his lips.

His hands draw back down your sides, “what was going on back there? You didn’t seem pleased to be speaking to that,” Kol clicks his tongue distastefully, his accent thickening, “boy. Is he the reason you want to leave?”

You pull back slightly, your hands tightening on his coat. How are you even supposed to answer that? The story is a long one and there are very few enjoyable moments to lighten it. Tyler is not the reason you want to leave but you surely wouldn’t be doing yourself any favors by staying for him either. He’s part of a long past, one you’re not going to tell them about. Not today, anyway.

“It’s a long story,” you gently remove yourself from his hold, “one that I assure you none of you would care to hear. But to answer your question, no. Tyler has nothing to do with me wanting to leave. That’s entirely my own, for better or worse.”

He nods, the understanding clear in his honeyed eyes, “in that case, darling, tell me something else.” He pulls you back to his chest, “Do you like the stars?”

* * * * * * * * *

They left the party. Their party. They just up and left the party that they were hosting. You’re shocked. You were shocked when they dragged you out of the mansion and you’re still shocked now, laying on a blanket a few miles away with your mouth hanging open. You hadn’t thought anything of it when Kol asked you about the stars. You thought he was continuing with his little game of twenty one questions. You didn’t think he was serious! Who the hell just leaves the party they’re hosting?

Elijah shuffles his hands through your hair, pulling pins from it left and right and letting the hardwork your mother put into it fall. Yes, indeed you’re laying across the lap of one of the most eligible bachelors you have ever come in contact with, your face pressed against his warm thigh. Your fingers are wrapped around a bottle of the sweet champagne from earlier.

“You know,” you murmur quietly, your eyes locked on the spray of stars above your head, “when you host a party, it’s usually expected that you attend. Running away is frowned upon.”

He laughs and you can feel it through your entire body. It awakens the butterflies sleeping in your chest, sending them fluttering to your guts where the beating of their tiny wings create an inferno so large it sets you on fire from the inside out. You always wondered what it would feel like to be burned alive. You would have never guessed that it would make your toes curl.

“I thought that was what you wanted,” he drags his fingers through your scalp, the final blow to your once styled hair, “to run away. Here’s a start.”

You rub your cheek against his thigh, your face heating when he tenses at your action, “we’re pretty terrible at this running away thing then,” you hum, pulling yourself to your knees, “we only made it five miles. If I focus I think I can still hear the music. We’re lousy escape artists.”

A breeze blows over your shoulders and you shiver, your thin shawl doing nothing to veil you from the night. You’re just thankful it’s still warm enough to be outside at this time of night. Soon the nights will be getting colder and you won’t be able to do this. It’s one of the many reasons you long to move away. A pair of hands draws over your shoulders and you shiver again, this time from something entirely unrelated to the elements. You smile lightly. Maybe not. The Mikealson’s have more than proven that they are a force of nature.

Klaus’ voice is like ocean waves in your ear, cresting your skin with every low syllable, “well this is just the beginning, love. How far we go is up to you.”

He’s joking, of course. He has to be joking, right? You turn to look at him, seeking out his eyes in the darkness. They burn into yours, no hint of humor anywhere on his face. His gaze pierces through the night and your breath catches, your heart pounding at all the possibilities of what he meant. You bring the bottle to your lips, using the cool liquid to stall while you gather your feelings.

Kol takes your hand, bringing it to his mouth, “So, darling,” he kisses one of your knuckles, his lips like heavenly fire, “how far are we going?” Another knuckle, another kiss, “what is it you want?” He nips lightly at your fingertips and you gasp, the feeling akin to tiny zaps of lightning against your skin, “where do you want to go?”

Your head is spinning, the champagne settling once more over your bones, “I wouldn’t know where to start. There are too many places,” you swallow hard, “too many things.”

Klaus’ fingers toy at the straps of your dress, skimming down your arms with them in tow, “the first place that comes to mind, love. What is it?”

Elijah pulls you towards him, his hand sliding up the slit on your thigh and curling around your hip. His fingers whisper over your bare skin and you tighten your hand on the bottle. Not out of fear, though. No, you use the bottle to keep your hands busy. If your hands were empty you can’t be sure where exactly they would be. On who they would be.

Elijah squeezes your hip and you gasp again, this time louder, “New Orleans,” it’s the first place that comes to your mind, “I want to go to New Orleans.”

Time stills when you finally answer the question. You can hear the wind rustle through the trees and crickets chirping in the distance. Three smells, each of their own element, wrap around you. Klaus’, like water, pouring over your back. Kol’s, like fire, burning up your arm. Elijah’s, like earth, sliding down your hips. You, the air, curl around each of them, pulling them close with your very essence.

And then, with a far off howl, time unfreezes and Klaus rips the straps down your arms, “New Orleans, hmm,” He sweeps your hair back, his nose skimming down the side of your neck, “a woman after my own heart. When shall we go?”

You laugh, the sound breaking through the almost reverent atmosphere, “we can’t just leave, Klaus. You have to plan things. I can’t just drop everything and run to New Orleans.”

Kol pulls your arm through the strap, furthering the tantalizingly slow process of peeling the dress from your body, “but you want to, darling. Am I right?”

His lips find the crook of your elbow and you almost moan, “of course you are but it’s not practical.”

Elijah tugs at your hips again, pulling you onto his lap. Kol and Klaus move with you, clinging to you like shadows. Kol’s hair tickles your arm, the soft strands brushing against you as his blazes a trail of open mouthed kisses up your arm. Klaus nips the back of your neck, his fingers wrapped in your hair and pulling lightly. It should feel wrong, you know it should, but by god how could something this ethereal possibly be wrong. Your body feels like it’s made out air and for the first time you’re free to breeze wherever you choose.

“Neither are we. It’s simple,” Elijah leans down, grabbing your jaw and steering you to meet his eyes, “would you like to go, y/n?”

Your heart stops when it hits you that they’re dead serious, “to New Orleans?”

It’s dark but you can still make out the smile on his face. It says it all, his words only reaffirming what your brain has been screaming at you.

“Not just New Orleans, darling, everywhere,” Elijah murmurs, his lips just in front of yours, his peppermint breath fanning your face delicately, “do you want to go everywhere?”

Just like that, your heart restarts, a rush of adrenaline spreading over your bones. Very rarely in life are you presented with the opportunity to go everywhere. You can’t even fathom what everywhere means. Surely there isn’t time to go everywhere, right? You suck in a breath, one that makes it feel like before this moment you were never truly breathing at all. Who cares if there isn’t enough time, you think to yourself.

You slide your arms around Elijah’s neck fast, nodding your head furiously in lieu of all the words that refuse to form a coherent sentence. You tangle your fingers in his hair, the strands like silk against your skin. You don’t take your time to admire it, though, you just yank his mouth to yours, smashing your lips against his and hoping it says everything that you can’t.

His hands squeeze your hips again and this time you don’t hold back, moaning into his mouth with the force of the tropical storm building under your skin. Your dress feels much too tight all of a sudden, the sequined material biting into your flesh. You shuffle, pulling your other arm from the strap before wrapping it back around Elijah’s shoulder, your fingers digging into his back through his tux jacket. That needs to go too. Now.

“Darling,” Kol’s husky voice whispers against your skin, his face buried in the other side of your neck, “as beautiful as you look right now I’m about half a second away from ripping this dress off your body.”

His words barely register but you catch the important parts, peeling your lips from Elijah’s just far enough to utter, “please don’t rip it, it’s the prettiest thing I own.”

His hands, which are curled around the back of your bodice, stall momentarily, “well that won’t do, now will it?” He muses, his mouth skimming your shoulder with each word, “New Orleans is fine, you won’t need many clothes at all I’m sure. But Paris will demand more of us, darling. We’ll have to fix this.”

Your heart shudders, along with your body. Paris. Surely now he’s joking.

He opts instead to use the zipper rather than tearing it apart, his knuckles softly skimming your bare back as it becomes exposed to him. Inch by inch, cool air wraps around your skin. When he gets to halfway, his mouth begins following his hands. He nips at the bumps of your spine, biting down harder when he gets to the base. Your hands, which are still on Elijah’s shoulder, tighten as flames roll through your body.

Klaus’ hands slip around you, tugging this time at the front of your bodice and pulling it down to reveal your bare chest. He pushes the fabric down your stomach, trailing his fingertips over your ribs as you arch into his chest, a string of incoherent praises falling from your lips. You’re pretty sure you murmur his name somewhere in there though, because his chest rumbles against your back and, before you know it, he pulls you up to your feet.

“Klaus, what are you-” your words are cut short from the night, swallowed instead by lips which taste too much like oranges and rum for you to even consider trying to repeat yourself .

His tongue slips into your mouth, his hands flying into your hair, pushing it away from your face and using it to tilt your head to an angle that makes you see stars. The cold air sweeps over your breasts and you shiver again. It doesn’t last long before a pair of hands are sliding up your exposed sternum and over your chest, cupping your breasts. Kol’s cinnamon musk furls in your lungs as he pulls you into his now bare chest. His skin is hot against yours but you wouldn’t expect anything less from the flame made man.

Klaus detaches from your lips, pressing them once more against your swollen mouth before moving down your neck. He pulls your skin into his mouth, his tongue swirling over the dip in your throat. He courses a river down your front with his mouth, stopping to leave little love bites all over your collarbones and shoulders before heading south. He falls to his knees, shrugging his jacket off before pressing his lips to the valley between your breasts.

You moan, loudly, and thread your fingers through his hair, tugging him harder against you, “god, you’re too good at that,” you roll your head against Kol’s shoulder as Klaus lips flow over your skin, finding your nipple between Kol’s fingers, “we should not be doing this.”

Another pair of hands, the last pair, pulls your face to a pair of lips, the last pair of lips, “Is that what you think, darling? Do you want us to stop?”

Elijah’s lips skim over yours as he speaks, sparks igniting with each touch. You don’t have to think about his question.

“No,” you press your mouth against his assertively, “please don’t stop. Never stop.”

With that Klaus pushes the rest of your dress off your body and, well, the rest of the details of that night remain between you, Kol, Klaus, Elijah, and the stars.

* * * * * * * * *

You lean your head against the cool leather of the seat, your eyes closed as the wind whips your hair behind you. You’ve never ridden in a convertible before but, much to the trend of Mikaelson fashion, it’s luxurious. Elijah slings his arm around your shoulders and you smile, cracking your eye open to glance at him. His hand is on the wheel, his eyes focused on the road ahead of him. He looks peaceful. Happy. He looks over at you, tossing you a wink before turning back to the road. Butterflies flutter through your chest and you welcome them with open arms.

You glance in the rearview mirror, your grin growing when you see two sleeping men. Kol is leaning back, his mouth half open as soft snores fall from his mouth. You giggle quietly. Last night must have exhausted him. He wears his slacks still but now, instead of his jacket, he wears a wine colored hoodie. His hair is mussed and you swallow thickly, thinking back to how it felt between your hands.

You move to Klaus, shaking your head slightly to defuse your slowly heating skin. He, too, no longer wears his jacket but, unlike Kol, he only has a t-shirt on. His arms are folded under his head as he leans against the seat. His body is relaxed, his legs spread in front of him. You yawn looking at him, fighting the urge to crawl over your own seat and into his lap.

“Are you tired, love?” Elijah’s voice mixes with the wind, floating over you like music.

You meet his glance for a moment, smiling sheepishly, “yes but it’s nothing.”

“You should try to sleep,” his voice is slightly concerned, his eyes slipping over your bruised skin before turning back to the highway, “we still have about seven hours before we’re even in Louisiana.”

You stifle another yawn, pulling the sunglasses on your head over your eyes as the sun breaks over the trees blurring past you, “not yet, Eli. I don’t want to miss anything. I’ll sleep when we get there.”

You hear your phone beep from the bag at your feet but you ignore it. That’s another thing that you’ll wait until the Louisiana state line for. Instead you lift the book on your lap, your fingers skimming delicately over the words on the cover. Vonya i mir. Your heart warms as you open it to the first page, settling into the leather seat. Elijah looks over at you and chuckles, the sound even more musical than last night. This is going to be the easiest seven hours of your life.

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ficsilike-reblogged · 3 years

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Sweetest of Exiles - Two

A/N: The response to this little story has been insane! Thank you all so much for your kind words, it means the world to me. I hope you continue to like this very self-indulgent fic that has grown to be one of my favorite things I’ve written (even if most of it was written while sipping sprite+merlot).

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x F!Reader (no Y/N), Oberyn Martell x Pero Tovar, Pero Tovar x F!Reader

Warnings for this Chapter: MORE MAGIC!, Angst, blood and a bit of gore, not super-descriptive smut, Oberyn sometimes uses sex to make people smile. And it works. I once again wrote and “edited” this while sipping wine. All mistakes will probably not be edited. If you want to read more about Oberyn being in love with love, check out @pettyprocrastination and her wonderful hc’s about our favorite prince here!

Word Count: 7.6k (oops)

(banner by my darling @starlight-starwrites)

CHAPTER TWO: The Prince

Oberyn was only slightly amused when he heard the unmistakable sound of Pero grumbling (growing steadily louder) and a feminine reply (remaining calm and level, much to Oberyn’s delight) carry on for nearly the entire night before reaching a crescendo of an annoyed huff and a slammed door.

It would seem few people would actually sleep that night.

“She sounded pleased to see you.”

“Shut up, princeling.”

Oberyn only laughed.

When the sun came up the next day and the small company was ready to depart the ruined castle, Oberyn found himself beside the Magistrate, Orestes, as they set off toward Myr. Pero was leading the caravan while the lady—to whom Oberyn still hadn’t been formally introduced—was sequestered away in a carriage they had found in the castle’s stables. Orestes had muttered something about that it was one of the carriages of their original traveling party but no one seemed to care much. All of the men in their company kept their distance from the small carriage, strangely wary of getting too close.

All of it was so odd to Oberyn. He did not seem to feel what the other men were feeling. The all-too-brief glimpse he had stolen had proven she was a woman—beautiful and bloody—but not some formidable monster to fear.

If anything, the prince would have described her as delicate. Beautiful, obviously, but delicate.

A sudden shout from the back of the company had almost everyone turning to see a wave of fire encase the last standing spire of the castle before bleeding into the rest of the ruins. Oberyn’s dark gaze caught movement from the carriage; a hand slipping back into the shadows behind the curtains, skin dripping with something-

“Strange, is it not?” Orestes asked, looking at the fire. “Perhaps one of the men left a torch burning.”

Oberyn hummed an agreement but did not forget the strange sight of her hand slipping away just as the fires reached its crescendo. “Tell me about your lady, Magistrate. I have not had the pleasure of being introduced, yet.”

And Orestes quickly did, regaling the prince with tales of his time in Qohor and how Lord Ollo had been kind if not cold but his daughter was warm and welcoming and always ready to host him for a meal at their manse in the forest. “But it seems that the people of Qohor know very little about them aside from their names and how much power they can wield and how much gold they kept. They whisper that her mother was a sorceress, devoted to the god of Qohor and trained in Asshai. Gifted in magicks and all things arcane.”

“Have you not met her?”

Orestes shook his head. “Dead before I came to Qohor. And no one seems to be willing to speak of it. Tovar has met her, to my knowledge. My lady has told me that her mother used to bring him sweets after running around the forest outside their manse, gathering kindling for her hearth.”

“She spoke to you of Tovar?”

“Briefly, only a handful of times. Truly, until I met him, I did not make the connection of her childhood friend Pero and Tovar. She seems to guard their time together like a secret.”

“As does Tovar.”

Orestes turned his head to look at him, dark brows knitted together. “Does he not speak of her? If I held her notice for even a moment, I would never stop speaking of the time I basked in her attention. For it truly is a gift.”

Oberyn had to keep himself from smiling at the sound of unadulterated awe and obvious adoration of the magistrate’s voice. It was almost pathetic. But it was refreshing to know that at least someone was completely aware and proud of their feelings. Not that Oberyn was disappointed in Pero…right?

“She truly is someone to be treasured.” Orestes sighed and Oberyn bit back another laugh. “But, you said you have not been introduced? I thought surely Tovar would have made introductions. Then again, I thought I had hit my head when I first saw you together—seeing double.” He laughed. Oberyn did not. “May I introduce you?”

Oberyn easily found Pero’s form through the crowd and sighed. Stubborn man. “Yes, I would like that very much.”

The pair slowed their horses’ pace to flank the carriage and Orestes knocked at the carriage door as it rumbled along the old road. The half-torn curtain across the window slid away and the woman leaned her head out, greeting them with a smile. She looked far better than she had the last time Oberyn had seen her. Gone was the blood and the swelling had left her face—truly, if he did not know what state she had been found in, Oberyn would have just thought her a bit tired from her travels. Curious.

“My lady, I hope we have not disturbed your rest.”

“Of course not, Orestes. You know I welcome our little chats.”

Orestes cheeks bloomed with a blush and he ducked his chin for a moment. “As I treasure yours, my lady. But I would be remiss if I did not introduce you to Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell.” Orestes waved a hand toward him as he said her name, calling her The Lady of the Dark Wood.

Strange, Oberyn thought. Petal suited her much better.

She leaned a little further out of the small window and smiled at him. “You are far from Dorne, my prince.”

“You know of my country?” He asked. It was rare that someone from Essos knew much of Westeros aside from a few of the cities and trading ports.

Her smile widened and she looked radiant. “Only from my books. I would love to hear more, if you are welcome to the idea.”

“I am always happy to tell others of the beauty of my home.”

“Perhaps we could compare our homes,” Orestes interjected, his eyes narrowed just a touch as he looked at Oberyn before turning to smile at her.

She hummed, acknowledging Orestes, before her eyes cut back to Oberyn with some unspoken twinkle in her gaze. “I should like to hear of your home when we make camp.”

And she made good on her easily-dismissible comment, searching him out when they made camp that night. They were still a day’s ride from Myr Pero had commanded they stop for the night, not wanting to ride in the dark (and then the man all but disappeared with a handful of other men to search for something to hunt for the evening meal.)

She slipped from the carriage as the small band of men made camp and even helped one of the younger ones stabilize one of the poles on the muddied ground that surrounded them. The boy gave her a half-tilted smile in return and then hurried to finish the work for his tent.

Oberyn smiled as she approached, looking near-ethereal despite the bloodied wrappings around her arms and legs, peeking out from between her fine gown. He had just about finished setting up his tent and—just for a moment—lost his concentration as he watched her come closer. And the rope in his hand suddenly slipped from his grip, and the grounding stake scratched against his palm and tore at his skin.

The tent’s wall flapped in the wind until he grabbed it again and quickly righted the stake.

“Are you hurt?” Without waiting for his answer, she took his hand with a hum rumbling at the back of her throat. “It is not too deep.” Her dexterous fingers slid over the wound and he bit back a small hiss of pain. Blood oozed and she did not move her gaze from the wound as her fingers carefully bracketed the cut. “You will heal.” She pressed the small bit of blood between her thumb and forefinger, swirling it around to coat her skin, almost absentmindedly. Circling, circling, circling until it was only a thin coat of crimson on the pads of her fingers. A long breath pushed out from between her lips. “Most interesting.”

“What is?” He barely noticed that the sting from the wound lessened as soon as she pulled back.

She looked up at him and then wiped his blood against her skirts with a small smile, revealing nothing. “I hope you do not mind if I came to you before camp was settled.”

“Of course not, my lady. I am sure your company is much more pleasant than my brothers in arms.” He fastened the last tie on the tent and then held the flap back for her, silently inviting her inside.

The furnishings were a little grander than some of the other men’s belongings, but still probably far less than what she was accustomed to, if her fine dress (and Orestes’ constant blathering about her home) indicated. But she settled on his small, elevated bedroll without hesitation and patted the blanket next to her.

“I am sure you have many stories of your adventures. I hope you do not mind if I hoard your time for the evening.”

Oberyn couldn’t help but smile as he sat beside her after making sure the tent flap was tied open, allowing her to keep her propriety. He glanced down at his hand to see the cut seemed…like it had been healing for a handful of days already. He had seen stranger things—had read stranger still during his time at the Citadel. But this—she—was something to behold.

“But it seems you have stories to tell me too, my lady.”

Her smile widened. “You’re a bit more observant than your companions.” She leaned forward and, just for a moment, Oberyn caught a glint in her eye that made him think of a caged lion. But then it was gone. “What would you know?”

They spoke throughout the night, only leaving each other’s sides for a moment to retrieve a bit of food to sate their hunger, before retreating back to his tent. (Oberyn noticed how she, ever so briefly, sought to find Pero in the crowd and found nothing but unfamiliar faces before she turned back to him.) They spoke of everything—of their childhoods, their cultures, their parents, of their losses. But Oberyn knew she was waiting for him to ask the question he had, biding his time. And he noticed how she would easily skirt around Pero’s presence and absence in her life.

His dark eyes flittered down to the wound on his hand—now almost completely healed. When she caught him looking at it, she smiled over the rim of the wine jug she had produced from the depths of one of her trunks in the carriage.

“Ask, my prince. I know you want to.”

“How?” He asked simply.

Her smile widened and she handed him the jug. “You must be more specific. That question has many answers.”

Oberyn huffed, fighting a smile, and held up his hand. “The Maesters of Westeros have long said magic was all but gone from the world. It died with the last dragon, they said. And here you are, alive and well.”

She laughed, a light sound that had him laughing, too. “I am not magic incarnate, my prince. But it is true, most magic has been tied to dragons, to the wills of men who eventually shunned it for other things. But there are a few who have been blessed by they who watch.”

“The gods,” Oberyn said, knowing what she was saying. He took a quick gulp of wine before setting the jug aside, wanting to focus on her and the glint in her beautiful eyes.

She nodded and then reached out to take her hand in his. “Every gift comes with a price. Mine has been paid in blood and it requires constant recompense. I have touched your blood. You have paid a price. I must give you something in return.” Her smile was gentle as her finger traced the healed wound. “You have a great love ahead of you, my prince.”

He chuckled. “Oh? Have the gods found someone who will tame me?”

“Not tame you. No, no. They will never stifle or control you. Theirs is a gentleness to balance your wrath.”

“When will I meet them?”

She shook her head and pulled back her touch, leaving a cold spot on his skin. “I cannot see dates or years. I simply…see what I am allowed.”

“Have you seen Pero?”

Her answering smile was small—she did seem fond of smiling. “I have. Often. Even without the blood price, I would see him in my dreams. I dreamt of him the night he left, you know. And the night before he came again. A quiet comfort, to be sure. I had been selfish in year before, calling on the blood to show me his face, just show me his face, so I could know that he is well.”

And, just for a moment, Oberyn thought of a love-struck woman trying to catch a glimpse of her lover’s face in a crowded ballroom. But then he remembered what she had said—what Pero had said. “He left you?”

“Yes.” She said it so simply and it seemed to echo in his chest. “In the middle of the night. The day before my nameday, too.” She hummed. “A cruel present, my father called it.”

“Did he ever-”

“Tell me why? No. And he scarcely met my eye last night and then…” her words died on her tongue. “I am suddenly just a child again. Hoping for the boy I love to notice me.” The next laugh she let out was filled with bitterness. “Did he ever…speak of me?”

And Oberyn was nothing if not honest. “He did not, my lady.”

“Call me Petal. I know you think it suits me more.”

“You do not let the Magistrate call you Petal.”

“No. I do not.” She reached out to him and Oberyn readily placed his hands in hers. “But that can be our little secret, hm? Now, ask me anything. I know you have more questions running through your mind, and they do not involve Pero.”

“True. I do want to know everything about you. But I would be remiss if I did take the chance to ease your heart’s burden.”

“My heart is not burdened, my prince.”

“Call me Oberyn. And do not lie to me.”

She sighed but did not pull her hands from his even as she glanced away from his gaze. “It is silly to think of one person for so long and to know it is not returned or reciprocated. I tried to have him tell me why, last night. Why he left, why he did not care to tell me where he was going. And I only received his ire in return.”

“I do not believe it is ire, Petal,” he said, smiling at the sound of the nickname on his own tongue. It sounded right. “He is a stubborn man. Years of this life may have stifled that heart you knew as a young girl. But I promise you, it is still there. And it beats for you.”

“But are you certain, Oberyn? He has changed so much.”

“As have you, I am sure. But will you deny that your heart has not changed? At least when it comes to our shared companion.”

She shook her head, a smile starting to tilt up her lips once again. “I will not lie to you.” Her hands squeezed his. “You know, when we were children, Pero and I would spend almost all of our waking hours in the forest outside my home when my mother did not insist we attend lessons. The forest is almost always filled with mist and cloud—but that day, the sky itself seemed to want to seek the shelter of the trees. Pero would always count down between rolls of thunder, telling me he would know the exact moment the first bit of rain would fall. It was his gift, he said.”

The tent’s opening was suddenly filled by a dark figure.

Pero looked at him and then at the woman beside him. His dark eyes narrowed for just a moment but even as his face settled into a practiced apathy, Oberyn still saw the hardened gleam in his gaze. “I see you two have been introduced.”

“Join us, Pero,” she said with a hopeful tone. She held out a hand toward him. “I was just telling Oberyn of our time together in the forest—that time when we were caught in the rain-”

“It seems you have told him all that he needs knowing, my lady.” And while there was heat to his words, Oberyn heard the unmistakable hurt in his lover’s tone.

“Pero,” she said, “please.”

But he stepped back and disappeared back into the shadows of the camp.

“Oh,” was all she said before her hand slowly fell back down into her lap.

The sound of her own hurt stabbed at his chest and Oberyn quickly took his hands in hers and kissed her knuckles. He would have words with Pero later. But now, he would leave her alone. Not when he knew she felt so rejected. He would have her smile again. “Do not let him sour your mood, Petal. Am I not able to make you smile, too?”

She smiled, small, but it was still a smile. “I do believe you could rend smiles from stone, Oberyn.”

“Tell me more of Pero. Tell me anything you deem me worthy of knowing. Unburden your heart, at least for a moment.”

And that was when she finally pulled from his grasp and stood, walking to the tent’s opening. “Pero is…moonlight.” She hummed and angled her face up to look at the sliver of the moon. “It is lovely but untouchable.”

“There are stories about the moon being a man—a god—who loved a woman so much he came to this mortal plane to be with her.” Oberyn walked to her side and looked up at the moon, too, trying to see what she saw in that little ball of light.

“I think I’ve heard that myth. It ends sadly, doesn’t it?”

“Not all myths end poorly. Some are tales of hope, requited love, filled with joy.”

“I suppose that is true.” But her gaze did not move from the moon. “I suppose kissing a god would make an unhappy ending worth it, right?”

And she looked near ethereal in that soft light, so beautiful. And the prince always loved beauty. “Tell me, have you ever kissed a prince?”

“There are no princes in Qohor.” She turned from the moon to smile at him.

“Is that a ‘no,’ Petal?”

She laughed. “It is.”

And then Oberyn moved forward and pressed his mouth against her smiling lips. And she tasted so sweet—with a bite of something metallic—as he was able to lick into her wondrous mouth and her hands tugged at his tunic. Eager. His hands gently cupped her face and pulled her ever closer, letting her fall into his lap with another laugh against his mouth.

She was intoxicating.

Her fingers pushed into his hair and tugged just at the base of his neck, coaxing a moan from his throat. He only broke away to catch his breath, knocking his nose against hers and listening to the melodic tone of her breathless giggle. And then she was the one pressing forward to steal another kiss and then another and another.

And the prince would deny her nothing if it meant she smiled at him like that again. But he needed to know. “I am not him, Petal.”

“I know,” she whispered against his mouth. “And, tonight, that makes it all the better.” And she kissed him again.

His hands circled her waist and squeezed, just for a moment, before he reached out just enough to untie the last string on the tent’s flap, closing them off from the rest of the world as her mouth moved against his with ease.

Gently, ever so gently, he pulled at the laces of her grown and set it loose as he held her gaze.

“You may walk away at any time, Petal. Do not feel obligated.”

She shook her head and curled her fingers into his tunic, pulling him forward just a single step. “I am not obligated. I know you and I wish to know you.”

With that express permission, Oberyn took care to undress her slowly, carefully, like she was something holy, something—someone to be treasured. And she was. In the dim light of the tent, he marveled at her soft skin, the breathy sighs that slipped by her lips, and the decadent warmth she exuded as he sunk into her, letting his own sigh escape his mouth. She was magnificent. Her hips undulated in slow, smooth movements and his hands curled over her warm skin, needing to keep her close, to continue to feel her delicious cunt envelope him until he was truly spent.

“You are sublime, Petal.”

She gasped against his mouth as his grip tightened and he took control of her movement, hands tightening around her hips as his hips pistoned, faster and harder and then she was keening against his kiss-swollen lips and he felt her shake, felt her tight channel squeeze around his cock before a cry broke her lips. She threw her head back and his teeth sank into her skin, still chasing his own high. Again and again, his hips slammed into hers and then he was pulling out—just in time. He spilled across the skin of her thighs and stomach, painting her like some obscene canvas.

He leaned down to slant his mouth against hers and felt her smile against his lips.

“Oh, you make such pretty noises, Petal.”

“As do you, my prince. It has been a pleasure of my life to know I’ve caused them.” She gave a breathless laugh as his fingers swirled against the mess, rubbing it into her warm skin like a salve. Another happy sigh slipped by her lips as she reached up, fingers tracing across his chest. “I hurt you.”

He looked down to see four perfectly carved tracks over his heart. “It is nothing, Petal. A badge of honor.” Oberyn leaned down to steal a kiss against her pouting lips. “I will heal.” He murmured it against her lip and laughed when she huffed. “Now sleep. Or would you like me to tire you out?”

Oberyn woke with a start. The last thing he remembered was falling asleep with Petal curled over his chest and a bit of sweat cooling on his skin from their third bout of fucking—it had been peaceful and beautiful and wonderful. Waking up to find her crawling over his waist was and settling her weight on his stomach was not an unwelcome surprise but-

She did not look right. Perhaps it was the early morning light filtering in through the folds of the tent but her beautiful eyes were clouded, near milky, and then her clammy hands were grasping at his face, fingers pressing into his cheeks. “Lions and dogs on the wall and blood on stone.”

“Petal,” Oberyn whispered, gazing up into the unnatural depths of her eyes. “Petal, please-”

“The sun screams and is snuffed out.”

He reached up to grasp at her hands and let out a shuddering breath and her eyes shut. “Petal.” She felt cold under his hands. “Look at me.”

Her eyes opened and they were their usual, beautiful shade again. “The sun,” she said. “The sun…”

Oberyn wrapped his arms around her as he sat up on his bedroll, letting her shake in his grasp. “Where did you go, Petal? Tell me.”

She shook her head but sighed as his lips skirted down her shoulder. “You paid the price, my prince. And I gave what was paid for.”

“That was not like before—you were gone. Someone else took inhabited your skin.”

She shook her head. “The higher the price, the stronger the gift.” Her fingers tapped against the marks she had left on his chest.

“Is it always visions?”

She shook her head. “No. Not always.” Her head moved just enough to press another kiss against his shoulder before she stood and grabbed her discarded dress from the tent floor.

The casual way she said it had him thinking of her bloodied hand slipping back between the shades of the carriage just before the ruins were taken by fire. Not always visions, indeed. Oberyn watched her dress for a moment before rising and helping her tighten the lacings on the back. “Tell me. Why does your god demand such high a price?”

She turned to him as he finished and smiled. “I do not question him. He has given me a wonderful, fearsome gift and I will be welcomed by him with open arms when he calls for me.”

Oberyn had heard of the Black Goat worshiped in Qohor. A terrifying, dangerous god of death that some maesters called a demon. A god of death: strong and unwavering. “Why would you spend your life worshipping the end of it?”

“Death begets life begets death. Why should only one be worshipped? A good death is its own reward, is it not?”

Oberyn smiled and let his finger trail down her arm and grasped her hand in a soft grip before raising it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “You speak as a warrior, my lady.”

“I am sure you have found most women are warriors in their own ways, my prince.” Her eyes sparkled with some unspoken jape before she pulled her hand out of his grasp.

He grabbed at the silken trail of her skirts like a besotted boy and let the fabric slide across his hands as he watched her leave, surrounded by the first rays of sunlight.

Pero was quiet as Oberyn urged his horse to his side.

“You disappeared last night.”

“What did she tell you?” Pero asked in return, tactlessly dodging Oberyn’s unanswered question.

Oberyn glanced back to see the familiar carriage still at the rear of the traveling party with Orestes keeping pace beside it. “She told me how you were her dearest friend and confidante during her childhood. She told me how you encouraged her gifts despite you not entirely understanding them.” Oberyn paused, watching the barest traces of emotions flicker by Pero’s features. Joy, sadness, fondness, despair—it was all there in the subtle ticks of his brows and the pull of his lips.

“Her father sent me away—three weeks to the day after her mother disappeared,” Pero bit out, hands tightening over his reins.

“For what reason?” Oberyn asked.

“He gave no reason. But he did not need to—it was obvious enough. I was a poor nobleman’s thirdborn son and she…”

Oberyn watched Pero’s face fall for just a moment before he looked away.

“It is of no consequence. She is safe. I have seen her smile again. That is what matters.”

Oberyn had to stop himself from groaning. “Truly, Pero, you are more dramatic than a mummer.”

“Hold your tongue, princeling-”

“She loves you—loves you still. Anyone with eyes can see that.” He paused. “Except for the magistrate, it seems.” Pero huffed but that did not deter the Dornish prince. “Truly, and for someone I trust implicitly to see things I cannot when I have my back turned, you are blind.”

“Enough, Oberyn!”

“No! She cares for you—cares for you even after you treated her poorly and refuse to meet her eye like she is some dirty urchin who attempted to steal your coin.”

“You spend one night with her and suddenly you are her confidante?” He hissed in return. “Just because you have been between her legs does not mean you know her. She is far more than you could ever hope to imagine.”

Oberyn reached out and grabbed Pero’s tunic, hauling him close before he could take his next breath. His horse whined at the sudden jostle of its saddle. “Do not speak of her like that. Do not speak of me like that. You are angry; at yourself, at the world, at the gods. But you do not have the right to shun her gentle smiles and company nor tell me I have used her like a woman in a brothel. We sought each other’s company when you spurned us.” Pero pulled out of his grip but Oberyn did not stop. “She asks for you, about you, every time. You have told me that no one is worthy of her attention or affection—but she has made it abundantly clear that she wishes to have your affections in the way you have garnered hers. She loves you, Pero. Loves you still. Do not run away for her again.”

But Pero only urged his horse faster, setting off toward the city finally coming into view. Oberyn only watched him go with a sigh and turned back to the rest of the company, telling them to ready for their entrance into the city.

Myr was beautiful—but it had been beautiful the last handful of times Oberyn had visited the city with the Second Sons. The city smelled of fresh earth and fresh linens and ink and filled with shining white stone structures and the bazaars were teeming with people selling their wares. Orestes was quick to show them to the ornate stables near the gates, making sure to loudly proclaim that their steeds were to be taken care of as if they belonged to Orestes. The carriage was also carted off and stored, Petal’s trunks quickly carried away by a small fleet of servants.

The Magistrate was instantly greeted like a prince or a king and quickly lauded by the crowds as they stepped out of the stables and closer toward the center of the sprawling city. Oberyn watched Orestes reach out a hand for Petal and she took it with a small smile, letting him pull her along into the crowd toward a large, gleaming building that had bits of greenery trickling up toward the carved windows. A villa, he supposed it was called.

The rest of the company followed Oberyn up the half set of steps and largely ignored the guards posted at the entryway who looked confused at their presence and waffling between barring them entry or simply standing aside. The inside of the villa was just as ornate as the outside, filled with carved columns and opulent stonework. The tapestries and carpets the city was famed for covered the walls and lined the halls and everything smelled of the dye Oberyn knew the Myrish artisans used to create a distinct shade of red.

It was not unpleasant, but a strange smell to be sure.

Orestes seemed uncaring that a group of mercenaries had come into his home and continued to point this or that thing out to her, telling her how much he paid for it or how it was made. And Petal, for her part, did seem interested in the words coming out of the magistrate’s mouth. Her easy smile never faded or turned strained and he heard her ask a question or two in return. Always a perfect lady.

Oberyn found himself smiling when she did, catching her eye when she turned and winking and delighting in the small laugh he earned every time. But then his mood was somewhat soured by the fact that Pero had quickly fallen to the back of the group, as if trying to keep as much distance as possible from Petal.

It hurt him, to see her rejected so openly. Even as Orestes had them all settled into the numerous guest rooms his villa provided and made sure they all had steaming tubs of water brought in for baths, Pero never once tried to slip away to try to find her. He stayed with Oberyn in their shared room, inspecting and re-inspecting his weapons while waiting for Oberyn to finish his bath. Orestes had invited several other magistrates for a celebratory dinner and to show his appreciation to the small mercenary company he had employed—and heartily paid already.

“Are you going to speak to her tonight or continue to sulk like a scolded boy?”

Pero’s head snapped up and he scowled. “I am not sulking.”

The prince only hummed and rose from the water. He felt Pero’s familiar gaze trail down his back and tried not to smirk—knowing the view was being appreciated—and grabbed the fine linen provided to dry off. “You are. And if you do not at least try to speak to Petal tonight, I will have to take matters into my own hands.”

Pero stood, setting aside his weapons and started undressing to ready for his own bath. “Oh? Is that a threat princeling?”

Oberyn wrapped the linen around his waist and turned to face his lover. “Yes.”

When dinner, a veritable feast, was called and everyone was escorted into a large hall, draped with red fabric and gilded statues of snarling lions, Oberyn made certain that Pero was seated beside his lady. This earned him a brief side-eyed glance from the magistrate but Oberyn paid him no mind—he had dealt with far more and was not afraid of the nobleman. He was too busy taking care of the hearts of two people he cared about—the magistrate could pout.

He watched her eyes light up as Pero took his seat and she slowly, ever so slowly, started to pull conversation from the taciturn man while largely pacifying the magistrate with simple answers or anecdotes in response to his longwinded questions or stories. The other magistrates tried to gain Oberyn’s attention but he was too busy trying to guess what the pair were saying to each other from the other side of the room. But he was happy when he saw Pero’s face almost seem to shudder before his lips pulled into the briefest of smiles, aimed only at her as she turned to her plate to stab at another carrot.

“Prince Oberyn, they say Dorne is filled with the finest mounts the world has ever seen. Sandy steeds, they’re called, no?”

“Sand steeds,” Oberyn corrected without looking at the man beside him. “And yes, they are the best in the world. Can run for a day, a night, and another day without faltering.”

“Surely not!” The man guffawed. “Not horse can-”

Oberyn’s head finally snapped to the side at that. “Perhaps the horses on your continent tire easily, but I assure you, the Dornish do not.”

The man at Oberyn’s side looked like he had been slapped. “I meant no offence, your grace.”

“Then take care with your words. I am a lenient man but I may not be so next time you speak out of turn.”

The man’s face somehow paled to a color similar of curdled milk while his neck became a violent shade of scarlet. “O-of course.”

Oberyn, satisfied, turned back his favorite show continue to unfold.

Just before the last course was served—some sweet dish Oberyn only half-enjoyed—Pero smiled again. And Petal smiled with him.

Oberyn could not help his own answering smile from spreading across his face.

The festivities—if Oberyn could even call them that with the level of boredom he had endured for politeness sake—had lasted long into the night and most of the revelry had moved from inside the villa to the sprawling, marbled pools that dotted the grounds. Some of the company took part, never willing to turn down free food and wine, but Oberyn was content to watch everyone else (mostly) enjoy themselves. Petal, unfortunately, had been drawn back to Orestes’ side after the meal had finished and Pero had pouted like a child in the shadows for a moment before taking a plate of food and walking back to his room. The magistrate paraded her around like a prized trophy, making all of his guests wonder at her presence—Oberyn thought, just for a moment, if Orestes even had an inkling of who the woman on his arm was or could become with the right push.

For a few moments, Oberyn entertained himself with a pretty servant girl before letting her go back to her duties after another servant spilt a large jug of wine across the floor and caused a fuss. But during the distraction, Petal managed to slip away from Orestes’ side and met Oberyn in the shadows. He handed her the chalice of wine he had and smiled when she took a large gulp.

“Your magistrate seems fond of you.”

“He is fond of seeming like a hero even you and your men were the ones to rescue me.”

Oberyn plucked the chalice from her hand and polished off the rest of the wine. “I do believe you might have rescued yourself, Petal.”

Her eyes sparkled in the low light and she smiled. Her fingers tugged at the simple belt of fabric around his waist to bring him forward just a few steps, closing the distance between them. Her lips brushed against his and he could taste the wine on her smile.

“You are a good man, my prince. I want you to know that.”

He leaned into her, stealing her breath as he licked into her mouth for just a moment. “And you have another good man waiting for you in our chambers. I shall keep the magistrate busy.”

She hummed and kissed him again before slipping further into the shadows of the villa in search of her moonlight.

Oberyn watched her go with a sigh before plucking another chalice of wine from a servant’s hands and quickly drinking it down. Pero would thank him later, he was sure. And as the moon continued its rise into the starry sky, Oberyn entertained and distracted the magistrate and his guests with stories of Dorne and the sellsword company’s exploits across Essos. Whenever he saw Orestes’ eyes start to wander, looking for his missing companion, Oberyn would start another story and make sure Orestes’ cup was filled. And soon—but not soon enough, in Oberyn’s mind—almost everyone had retired for the rest of the night, needing to sleep off their overfilled stomach or partake in a bit more of a carnal delight in the quiet of their chambers.

Oberyn smiled as he started to find his way toward his chambers and witnessed a few servants taking advantage of their lack of duties to kiss each other slowly in the darkened hallways. A quiet reprieve, well earned.

The halls twisted and turned but Oberyn eventually found the door to his and Pero’s chambers and slowly pushed it open, hoping to not disturb anything that might be transpiring. But he let out a disappointed sigh when he only saw Pero sleeping on the large featherbed. His discarded (and empty) tray was haphazardly placed on the bedside table. At least he was consistent.

Oberyn shed his tunic and slipped beneath the silken blankets, smiling when Pero turned toward him, seeking warmth.

“Where is she?” Pero murmured without opening his eyes.

“Did she not come see you?” Oberyn asked with a frown.

“She was only here for a moment.” The words were slurred on his tired tongue, eyes still not open. “Said she would come back…” The words drifted off and were punctuated by a hearty snore.

Oberyn sighed and pushed his head against the overstuffed pillows. Difficult. They were both so difficult.

For the second time in just as many days, Oberyn woke with a start. But now it was not the welcoming warmth of a woman’s thighs bracketing his own that woke him from sleep.

No. It was the quiet scrape of metal on metal, of hurried footsteps of someone striving to be quiet. Sounds which only meant danger.

Oberyn swept aside the blankets and stood, walking over to the window to see a group approaching, dark hoods and cloaks obscuring their features. One by one, the group moved almost-silently into the villa. Their weapons were drawn and ready; strange, foreign shapes he had never seen before with long handles. Oberyn looked to Pero to see him with his swords already in his hands despite his lack of armor.

Oberyn grabbed his own sword and they both ventured out into the dark hall. Soft sounds of a struggle grew louder and louder with each step they took. A door to their right suddenly burst open and a half-dressed nobleman ran out into the hall. A quick glance into the room showed the bodies of another man and the pretty servant girl Oberyn had kissed only hours before. The hooded forms they had spied earlier had filled the room while more were stalking silently down the hall—they cut down the nobleman before he reached the next turn of the hall.

Oberyn and Pero both turned just in time to skewer a pair of hooded men who were slipping up behind them.

“We have the girl. It is not your life we want,” one of the men said in a strange, strained accent. “Lay down your weapons and you will not be harmed.”

Someone—a woman—yelled and their eyes were drawn to her—to Petal—once again in the arms of a man who meant her harm at the end of the hall. But her eyes were not the glassy, tired eyes he had spied only briefly back in the castle ruins. These were alight with…something. Something dark.

There was a short shout and then the unmistakable thud of a body hitting stone. She stood over the corpse, blood dripping from a small wound at her shoulder and more pooling beneath her feet from her would-be kidnapper. It glimmered like black ink in the moonlight.

She moved like water, skirts lifting and pulling as if invisible waves had surrounded her. Slow and steady—deadly, like a rising tide. Words poured from her mouth in a language he did not understand and sounded shrill to his ears.

Pero’s hand on his arm kept him from moving forward.

“She needs-”

“She knows exactly what she is doing, princeling.” Pero’s dark eyes flittered over to her and looked almost…soft and sad. “Let her do what she needs.”

Her hand raised toward the group of men. Their slow steps stopped.

“The demon,” one of them hissed.

Her fingers uncurled, knuckles pointed and skin tight.

One stupid man took a single step toward her, blade held out in front of him. And then the words came again and the man froze, foot hovering over the ground. A terrible scream wrenched its way from the man’s throat. His face purpled. Blood started to spill from the corners of his eyes, his mouth, his ears.

“It was you! You did this!”

“Demon!” another shouted.

Oberyn didn’t understand and he could not take his eyes away from the man starting to convulse in front of him, like some sort of morbid mummer. The convulsions grew faster and faster and the screams he let out grew more and more pained until his chest split open like an egg and blood came rushing out. It sprayed over her dress and she walked forward, hand still outstretched. More words he did not understand tumbled on her tongue and the hooded men took a collective step back. But it did not help. One by one, each one of them started to shake and fall. The blood beneath her feet almost seemed to ripple with a heartbeat—her heartbeat, Oberyn surmised. She truly was a woman to be feared and loved. Sublime.

Shouts in Ghiscari soon filled the air. They were quickly snuffed out by the crack of ribs and spines, of bodies hitting stone.

Oberyn looked to Pero to see him quietly watching this woman, a strangely soft look in his eyes. He saw all of her. But maybe he always had.

There was another noise behind them and Oberyn turned, ready to fight, but only saw Orestes, still in his sleeping clothes. The magistrate stared at her with wonder in his eyes as soon as he stepped out into the hall. “You wondrous being. I always knew you were-”

A zealot’s body falling to the ground at his feet and the sudden gush of blood spattering against his skin quickly halted any other words on the magistrate’s tongue.

Two guards, tired and confused, seized the last handful of zealots and disarmed them. They could face punishment for their crimes here in Myr. Perhaps that would make everything easier for Orestes to explain away.

But that did not matter.

She did.

The hall grew quiet except for her labored breathing and then her knees hit the blood-covered stone.

“I want to go home,” she whispered. And even covered in blood, and having just slaughtered the men who would have harmed her for their own gain—she looked delicate. Not fragile—never fragile. But delicate. “Please, Pero. Take me home.”

Pero nodded immediately and sheathed his swords. He bent down to her and hoisted her into his arms, uncaring of the blood she trailed across his tunic. “I’ve got you, Petal. I’ll take you home.”

Oberyn watched Pero walk away with his Petal, heading toward the stables, and he only just caught her looking over Pero’s shoulder. With a bloody finger, she beckoned him to come along.

He could not say no.

#oberyn martell x reader #pero tovar x reader #oberyn martell imagine #pero tovar imagine #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones #asoiaf #the great wall

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elliewritessometimes · 3 years

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hello! me n @mattieswheelers wrote another fic!! tiff is the most incredible writing partner and i- i just love them???? thanky so much for writing with me you are a stunning writer aaaa (y'all there will be a second chapter stay tuned fdhhddh aLSO we are posting this on ao3 it will be there at some point)

in other news: this was originally a request!! @notsomightymightytiger it may have taken me uh- a good couple of months but here is your fic!!!

for reference, these numbers apply to these tropes: first kiss/flowers of romance/blind date

LOVE YOU KIERA AND TIFF AAAAA HOPE YOU LIKE

tw: swearing, alcohol and drunkenness but not in an angsty farrah way just in a silly oops first date way, as per usual if there's anything at all you want me to tag let me know :D

---

Eva thought she was doing perfectly fine without a romantic partner. Her life was normal, one filled with work and friends and scrolling through Pinterest.

Apparently, in the eyes of her best friend, this was not a normal life. Farrah had always been a bit extra, that one kid in highschool who always seemed to know where the best parties were, or who was known by name to the baristas at the local Starbucks, and by the ripe old age of 22, she believed that a romantic partner was crucial to living a fulfilling life.

Or, at least, that you should at least try romance once before becoming a hermit in the woods, especially if your name was Eva Sanchez.

(“Look, normally I wouldn’t be like this,” Farrah drawled, leaning against a counter, “But deep inside you are nothing but a useless gay at heart-”

Her phone buzzed.

“-and you haven’t dated anyone, like, ever, and if I have to be the only one constantly dragging you out to social gatherings, I’m going to die early. So do me a solid, will you?”

“Hey-!”)

Eva did not agree.

But, she was a loyal friend, and that was how she found herself sitting in an overly posh restaurant on some random blind date with some random person that she’d never even seen before. It would be an understatement to say she was a little bit nervous, but then again, whenever Farrah was involved, that was normal.

***********: hi sorry i got your number from the blind date place thing but uh are you the person at the table in the corner

***********: ???denim jacket ?? pride pin??

Eva smiled, glancing up at the door. There was another person looking a little lost in the entrance, very obviously trying not to draw attention to themselves, their phone held close to their face as they squinted around at the restaurant. They were pretty, dark hair pulled up into a loose ponytail, obviously not dressed for a restaurant as upper class as this one. Eva liked them immediately. Raising a hand, she waved in their direction, laughing as her date gasped dramatically, hurrying over and nearly overturning a tray of drinks on their way.

“Hello.”

“Look-” Eva’s date slumped in the seat opposite, one hand awkwardly held behind their back. “I dunno about you, but I certainly did not willingly sign up for this. You see, my friend wanted me to apparently live a more interesting life and stop relying on Tumblr as my only source of interaction with anyone, and my friend is very persuasive, so here I am.”

Eva raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, so I wanted to get that out of the way before we even introduce ourselves. I am here out of spite only, so, uh, I hope you’re not too desperate.” They paused, finally taking a breath. “Right. The more I think about this, the more embarrassed I get.”

“It’s okay.” Eva gave a noise which sounded suspiciously like a snort. “Let’s not think about it then. I’m Eva. She/her. It’s nice to meet you, unwilling datemate.”

They grinned. “Kate. She/they.” She gasped a little like she’d forgotten something. “Oh! I brought flowers. Chess said it would be romantic.”

Eva accepted the offered flowers with a blush. This date was going better than expected. Farrah was going to lose her shit when she heard about it. “Wait- You have a friend called Chess?? Like, the game???”

Kate rolled their eyes, casually snatching a bright pink cocktail off a passing waiter’s tray. “Duh. You didn’t really see me walk in this fucking posh ass restaurant in my flannel and converse and think I’d be normal, right?”

Eva laughed then, properly. It had only been a few short, chaotic minutes, but she was already warming to this mystery person and, God, they had good taste in flowers. Even if Eva’s nerd hermit brain did helpfully choose that moment to remind her that this particular bunch of flowers presented a meaning that translated almost exactly to ‘fuck you’. She wondered if Kate was aware of that. However, perhaps that was a fun fact for the second date.

“Hey, Eva?” Kate was slightly tipsy. Only a little bit! Really not that bad. Not at all. Definitely not too drunk for a first date. Shut up. “Hey! You’re- so cool.”

Eva giggled - she was equally as drunk, but not quite so intoxicated as to stop wondering why the restaurant hadn’t thrown them out yet. “Noooooo. ‘m a nerd.”

“Yeah, but a cool nerd.” Kate twirled the decorative candle between her fingers, drawing stares from disapproving patrons. The flame reflected in Eva’s glasses, making her just a little bit more smitten by the second. They enclosed their hand around the candle holder as best they could, standing up just a little shakily. “Eva-” It was like they got a rush from just saying her name. Eva thought it was endearing. “Hey- we- we should go…”

“Why?” She narrowed her eyes, also standing up, her long-discarded denim jacket slung over one arm, the other naturally slipping to link arms with Kate.

“....Arson.” Kate sounded entirely serious, still twizzling the candle in one hand. Eva blinked dumbly at her, mouth slightly open. They pressed a gentle kiss to the side of Eva’s mouth, giggling uncharacteristically at the motion. “I’m jokingggg! Don’t look so shook, my dude.”

Eva stuttered a little, letting Kate pull her finally out of the restaurant, marvelling at the fact she’d only known this incredible, crazy person for a matter of hours. Who knew where tonight would take them?

They found themselves in a park, gazing up at the stars, now dim in the reflections of the city lights. Kate’s phone flashed 11:46 in the dark, the lock screen filled with notifications from a contact who’s name consisted only of a chess piece.

Eva lay down on the grass, spreading her arms out towards the stars. “Do you ever think about life?”

“Sure. All the time. I’m alive, and so are you, and I think you’re really pretty. Does that count?” Kate flopped down beside her.

“I- I mean, yeah- um,” Eva tried not to sound flustered, thankful for the darkness that hid the color rising in her cheeks. “But like, life. Scientifically. Relatively.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, I totally do. Um. Do I?”

Eva laughed, turning her head slightly to gaze at Kate. Under the light of the stars, they looked… ethereal. And really, really, really beautiful. And-

Eva coughed slightly, turning back towards the night sky. “Just… think about it. I’m lying here beside you, on a giant marble that hurtles through space. Relatively speaking, our orbit and path are unique, and all around us, the other planets are… swirling in harmony, and we’re just. We’re just here to see it.”

Kate hummed. “You sound like those philosophical people, all ‘if a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to hear it, did it really fall?’ and ‘relatively speaking I am relatively here, and I’m relatively certain… blah blah blah.’”

“Huh. Do I?” Eva shrugged, putting her hands behind her head. “I dunno. I’m drunk. I think. Oh, no, I’m relatively drunk, ha ha- okay no, I’m just drunk.”

“You are,” Kate nodded wisely. “We both are.”

“Do you know what Albert Einstein said once?” Eva asked abruptly, closing her eyes. “He said, ‘When you’re courting a nice girl, an hour seems like a second. When you sit on a red-hot cinder, a second seems like an hour. That's relativity.’ And if that isn’t the most relatable thing he’s ever said, then, well- okay yeah I’ve lost my train of thought.”

“Wow,” said Kate. “Did Albert Einstein court lots of nice girls?”

“Pfft.” Eva rolled onto her side, laughing openly in Kate’s face. “Sure. Why not.”

They rolled to face Eva, curling up into a ball, softer than the 22-year-old had seen her all evening. “Not as nice as the one I’m courting right now.”

“Even though neither of us really wanted to be here earlier?”

“Yeah. Y’know, I’m fucking glad our best friends basically set us up. It’s very pog of them.”

“You did not just say ‘pog’. You did not.” Eva groaned into the slightly damp, slightly disgusting grass, listening to Kate cackle next to her.

“Shit, dude, my secret’s out. I’m just as much of a nerd as you.” She leant their head on Eva’s outstretched arm, burrowing into her side.

Eva paused then, draping her other arm around Kate, thinking quietly. It was stupid, really, that they were cuddling in the openness of a park at almost midnight. Dangerous, definitely, especially when you took in the candle still flickering far too close to Kate’s now loose hair. Some more sensible people, maybe Farrah’s sister, would say that it was stupid how close they’d grown in so few hours. But Kate and Eva weren’t sensible people, not really, and maybe this was completely normal for them. Nerds lived life differently. “We’re not like other girls… we’re nerds.”

Kate barked out a laugh again, pressing yet another small kiss to the top of Eva’s head.

Eva thought she might melt into a puddle right then and there.

God, she was so in love.

Kate looked up at the sky. “Y’know, for all your philosophical talk, you should be an inspirational speaker. Be on goddamn TedTalks or something, blow the crowd away with all that ‘the future’s in the palm of my hand!!’ bullshit.”

“Well,” Eva said, trying to sound completely sober (and failing), “I think all I could ever want is in the palm of my hand, right now.”

Kate paused for a moment, registering the fact that Eva had just cupped her hands around their face. “Wow. That was smooth.”

“Right?? I’m honestly impressed and I was the one who said it. Wait, is that hubris? Oh shoot, am I developing an ego? Or maybe I’m just drunk?” Eva’s head was seriously starting to hurt.

“You deserve an ego,” Kate nodded sagely. “You are so amazing. Seriously. You should have an ego. Dab on the haters and all that jazz, right? Right.”

Eva giggled, unable to take her eyes away from Kate’s. “What the shit?”

“Dude! Dab on the haters. ‘m fuckin’ right, and you know I am.”

“Mkay.”

“Lit.” Kate dragged her gaze from Eva’s, instead staring up at the stars. “If we weren’t drunk right now, I’d be kissing the hell out of you.”

Eva pouted. Apparently Drunk-Eva was limited to the facial expressions of a twelve year old. “Who’s to say you can’t kiss me now.”

“We’re drunk, Eva.” They waved their hands, casually flipping off the moon. “Consent.”

“If you think about drunk...ness. Drunkenness? Drunkness. Whatever.” She coughed. “If you think about it like maths, then because we’re both drunk, it cancels out, right? Like, drunk you minus drunk me equals zero drunks overall, yeah?” Pausing, she ran a hand over her face, watching Kate smirk and wriggle closer out of the corner of her eye. “What I’m saying is, yes, I give you permission to kiss me-” Kate leaned closer and Eva laid a gentle finger on their lips. “But only if I get to kiss you back.”

The two met in the middle, naturally coming together. Some might describe them as magnets, two poles attracted, unable to stay away from each other. Others might say soulmates, meant to find each other from birth. Or, just maybe, stars, gravitationally pulled together, ready to explode into another plane of existence, one so different from our reality that we can’t even begin to imagine the wonders that they’ll find.

However, this is reality, and somehow Kate and Eva are still grounded on our Earth, stars maybe, but ones made of ancient stardust no longer free to travel the universe. They found themselves pulling apart after two worlds collided, an unknown period of time passing as it happened. Eva’s fingers didn’t untangle themselves from their comfortable seat amongst Kate’s hair, the closeness making their noses brush, spouting giggles from both young adults.

“Well, that was fun.” Kate brushed hair out of Eva’s face, one arm still wrapped tight around her waist, pulling her closer as she shivered in the night air.

“Yeah?” Eva pressed her forehead to theirs. “Why don’t we try it again, huh?”

---

“I told you so,” Farrah smirked, picking at a freshly baked blueberry muffin. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Eva huffed, failing to come up with an argument.

Over by the kitchen counter, Mattie snorted. “I find it kinda funny that the single girl insists that love is the answer to anything.”

“Well- it’s not like I’ve never dated!”

“Suuuuure,” Mattie rolled her eyes, hopping off the counter and snatching a muffin. “Anyways, at least Eva has a significant other now. That’s the biggest victory, right? Other than the celebratory muffins, of course.”

Eva sighed. “Is it really that big of a deal that Farrah’s plan worked?”

“Yep!” Farrah grinned, taking a bite of muffin.

“Technically, my plan, but okay,” Mattie shrugged.

Eva almost dropped her muffin. “What.”

Mattie grinned, a devilish glint appearing in her eye. “Believe it or not, I am also friends with none other than the amazing Chess, and since her friend Kate- who is also my friend, by the way- was being a mopey mess around the same time as you, I just had to take it upon myself to play matchmaker! So I’d like at least 50% of the credit and reward, please and thank you.”

“I- what-” Eva sputtered, trying to come to terms with the new information. “Mattie- you- oh my God.”

“Oh my God indeed,” Mattie bit into her muffin and swallowed. “So anyways, you’re welcome for getting you a girlfriend.”

Eva stared at the younger girl, mouth slightly open and muffin hanging loosely in her hand. Farrah clapped a hand over her mouth as she wheezed through a mess of sugar and blueberries, earning herself a death stare from Eva. Phone in one hand, Mattie continued eating her muffin as though nothing had happened, the teasing look on her face only exaggerating as her phone pinged with a message. “Oh! Speaking of, Chess is outside-”

She was cut off as the door burst open, the handle crashing into Eva’s bookcase, knocking her alarm clock to the ground and presenting two dishevelled figures in the doorway. One of them, a tall student probably in their last year of uni, puffed out a breath, a hand tightly clinging to a much shorter student squirming angrily. “Before you say anything, I tried to prevent any of this happening. Wheeler, I’m blaming you entirely for this.”

Mattie only laughed, offering Chess a muffin with her free hand, “Dude, it was totally your idea.”

Eva tried very hard not to stare as Kate finally freed herself from Chess’ grasp with an indignant yelp. “Fuck off! Eva, babe, sweetheart, love of my life, tell me you didn’t fucking know about this beforehand or I will break up with you.”

“No! God, no! You know I didn’t want to be there just as much as you did.” She rested her head gently on top of Kate’s, arms draped over their shoulders. “Believe you me, I’ve also been sorely betrayed today.”

Farrah gagged across the kitchen. “Ew. We should never have set you two up.”

“Bitch.” Eva grinned affectionately at her best friend, batting Kate’s hand down as they sent a middle finger in Farrah’s direction. Conversations carried on for a while, Chess finally being introduced to Farrah, with a muffin being forcefully placed into her hand. Kate whispered to Eva for a second before going out to take a call. Eva smiled knowingly, leaning on the counter to address Mattie, “So…”

Mattie made a face as Eva raised an eyebrow in her direction. “What are you thinking, Sanchez, I don’t like that face.”

“I don’t know…” She feigned thinking, sticking her tongue out as Kate re-entered the room. “Maybe, a little thank-you gift?? Y’know, me and Kate were thinking just now… Seeing as you set us up so nicely, how about you try a blind date yourself?”

Chess and Farrah stifled a laugh in unison, choking a little on their muffins as Mattie’s eyes got wider in horror. “You didn’t.”

Kate smiled sweetly. “Yup! Tonight, seven thirty. It’s payback time, kid.”

“I hate you.”

#ITS HERE #AAAAA IM SO HYPED ABOUT THIS #fhsbdhsbdjs #tiff is the most wonderful writing partner i could ever ask for i love them so much heck #aLSO KIERA LOOKY #fhsbdjsn #caps tw #swearing tw #alcohol mention #Proper Tag Time™#we are the tigers #kate dalton #eva sanchez #kateva #chess watt #tiff (co author now we're a business)#kiera (yay for gay)

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lucy-sky · 4 years

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Thin Ice (The Mandalorian x Reader)

Oops, my hand slipped and I wrote The Mandalorian fic :’D

Summary: you accidentally fall through the ice on a lake and oh no, there was only one bed Mando has to warm you up.

Warnings: yes, it sounds weird, but NO WARNINGS, all is super innocent, it’s just pure self indulgent fluff and the only reason I wrote it is that I want cuddles, please don’t judge me :’D I mean... every strong independent woman deserves to lie in Din’s arms with her eyes closed and feel his breath on the back of her neck (it’s important!), right?..

Words: 2613; gif by me

Special thanks to @hdlynn for the encouragement :**

“Hey, wait! Can you like… Slow down a little?”

You were always impressed at how The Child managed to move so fast with his tiny legs - apparently all children’s superpower. The little one fell down into a huge pile of snow, but it didn’t upset him, only made him coo with excitement as he continued exploring this new and interesting place.

You didn’t quite share his excitement. It was cold, and as much as you found the snow really beautiful, you didn’t feel comfortable about it. It seemed like your lungs weren’t even used to this chilly, frosty air, so different from the warmth of your home planet.

“Well, y/n… you wanted to see the world, didn’t you?..”

You sighed and kept walking. You were responsible for the kid after all. Although you had to admit - you grew really fond of this little green bean, and you’d care for him even if you weren’t paid for that. You knew on the one hand it was mostly just an excuse - The Mandalorian would probably have managed to take care of The Child without your help, but… You needed a job, and he had a kind heart, that was it.

For ages you’ve been working in a cantina on a distant planet. You’ve never left this place before, but you didn’t complain. What you earned was enough to survive and take care of your old parents. It wasn’t always easy to work in a place full of drunken smugglers but you learnt to protect yourself. Steady customers knew and respected you. Mando was among them. He wasn’t one of the drunken smugglers, but he used to drop into the cantina from time to time. He was one of your favorite customers ever, always nice and respectful, you didn’t know his real name and haven’t seen his face but somehow you just knew you could trust him. You had really good conversations. Unlike most of the people you had to deal with every day, when he asked how the things were going, it felt like he really cared, not just said it for the sake of polite small talk. You knew he would help if you needed it… And one day you really needed his help.

You didn’t work on that night and didn’t know exactly what happened, only the stories from your colleagues… Ex-colleagues now… There was a huge drunken fight that led to a fire accident and an explosion. The cantina was destroyed and for now there was no money to fix it. You needed a new job, but couldn’t find it in a small place you lived. When Mando arrived on your planet again, he only found the ruins on the place of the cantina. But thanks to the stars you managed to meet him. You didn’t know who else to ask, and you didn’t even know what exactly to ask for… Maybe he could take you somewhere… anywhere… To some place where finding the job wouldn’t be that hard. You were smart and handy, could cook and clean, you were a fast learner… Mando had to take a moment to think it all over. He couldn’t just simply live you in such a desperate situation. From all he knew, you weren’t a kind of person who often asks for favors. He suggested sharing his bounty with you, but you didn’t agree to that.

“It’s a generous offer, Mando, but I can’t take it just like that. I’m not used to such gifts. I only get paid for the work I do.”

Mando was silent for a while. As you couldn’t see his face, you could only guess what he was thinking about.

“How about working for me than?” He finally said.

And this is how you got here, on this cold snowy planet, looking for the little green kid.

You agreed it was just a temporary job. You’d send a part of your salary to your parents and save the rest; once you collect enough money to start something on your own - you’d go back to your place. Not that Mando had something against you, absolutely not. He just didn’t want you to risk your life travelling with him.

“A bounty hunter’s job isn’t really the best one for a young woman like you,” he told you. “I know you’re brave, smart and can stand up for yourself, but… It’s not always enough.” You weren’t offended by these words as you knew exactly what he meant by them. You’ve never been helpless or timid, but still you used to lead a quiet and peaceful life that was far from a bounty hunters’ lifestyle. So you promised him not to take risks on purpose and just be his helper.

Your main responsibility was, of course, The Child. One of the reasons Mando decided on giving you this job was that you immediately liked each other. The Child was often suspicious of the people he didn’t know, but not with you - you gained his trust with surprising ease.

So far, you actually really enjoyed what you were doing and your new company. For sure you were curious about what Mando was up to when he was away. Maybe you were missing some great adventures? But you kept reminding yourself you weren’t here for this. You were here to help him out, not to be a burden or someone he had to worry about. You already owed him big time.

Yes, so far everything was fine...

...Sometimes though, you felt some strange vibes between you and him. Sometimes the silence between the two of you was becoming awkward. Sometimes you felt the urge to touch him, maybe like… Lay your head on his shoulder as you were sitting beside him… Show your affection somehow. Sometimes you thought this desire was mutual. As the days passed, you inevitably were becoming closer, and you wished you could just see his eyes, his expression when he spoke to you. You tried to chase away these thoughts because Mando clearly wasn’t looking for romance. Neither did you, initially… But sometimes you just couldn’t help it.

Anyway, right now Mando was away, and the kid for some reason was desperate to go for an evening walk, so you followed him wrapping yourself up in a parka. The cold wind and frosty air didn’t bring you much joy at all. The Child didn’t seem to care, all he wanted to do was exploring.

“Hey, kiddo! I said wait for me!”

Suddenly you felt something cracking underneath your foot. A gasp escaped your lips as you realized you were standing on ice that covered a surface of some lake or pond. And the ice didn’t seem thick enough to actually walk on it…

“Sweetheart…” you breathed out. The Child sensed the anxious notes in your voice and turned to you, tilting his head in confusion.

“Okay… now come here… carefully…” The kid obeyed and you felt relieved as you extended your hands to grab him. When you shifted a little, moving towards him, the thin ice cracked again, and…

Everything happened way too fast: you grabbed the little one and made a step back, when the icy surface broke underneath you. Instinctively, you pushed The Child away and he fell in a snow pile on the lake shore. You tried to grip onto something, but there was nothing except the cracking ice, and the lake was suddenly deep. One second and you got under water almost completely, you came to the surface flouncing and gasping for air, trying hard to get out, but the ice just kept breaking under your hands.

The Child looked scared, he was about to rush to you, but you stopped him.

“NO! STAY AWAY FROM THE ICE!!!”

The last thing you needed right now was the kid getting into the water with you. You needed to hold onto something, but you couldn’t find a thing. Panic started to overwhelm you. Suddenly The Child stretched his little hand out in your direction. For a second nothing happened, and then you felt like something was holding you, tugging you out of the water. Apparently the little one possessed some kind of a superpower… Maybe it was The Force, which you heard about from some visitors of your cantina?.. You weren’t sure he’d manage to lift you up from the water completely but he definitely was helping.

“Y/n!”

That’s when you heard the sound of a familiar voice.

“Mando! Careful!”

For a moment you got scared he might step on the ice as well, but he stopped right at the brim.

“Y/n, give me your hand! Come on!”

Clenching your teeth with a desperate grunt you jerked up from the water and managed to grab his hand. His grip was firm and tight as he pulled you out of the water into his arms.

“M-mando, I… Th-thank you…” you practically sobbed into his chest, your body trembling violently as he held you.

“I’m here, y/n, I’m here. All is fine now,” his voice sounded so soothing through the modulator, but as the adrenaline rush was fading, you realized how cold you were. Freezing, terribly cold. You’ve never been that cold in your entire life.

“Come on, let’s get you inside.”

──────── • ✤ • ────────

Thankfully, you hadn’t gone too far from the ship. The Child passed out in Mando’s arms on the way, and he had to put the little one in his crib before getting back to you.

“You need to take this off.”

Chattering your teeth with cold you fumbled with the zipper with no success - you could hardly feel your fingers, and you were still shaking. But The Mandalorian was here for you. He quickly unzipped and tugged off your wet and heavy parka; your sweater, undershirt, pants and boots followed.

“There you go,” he murmured, undressing you. It felt weird being around him exposed like that only wearing your damp underwear, but it certainly wasn’t the time to get shy. Your nakedness soon was covered with a warm blanket, as he wrapped it around your frame, rubbing your shoulders to warm you up. He took off his gloves and grabbed your hands in his, gently chafing your skin until you finally managed to move your fingers.

The realization hit you all of a sudden - it was the first time ever you touched Mando’s bare skin. You’ve been travelling with him for a while already, so you happened to see him without armor. The only thing he was always wearing in your presence was the helmet; other parts of the armor weren’t that important, as far as you knew. But you’ve never had a skin to skin contact of any kind… Until now. And that’s why this simple, innocent gesture felt suddenly intimate. Mando probably realized that too as he slightly drew away from you.

“I’ll… Get you something warm to drink.”

──────── • ✤ • ────────

Still wrapped in the blanket you curled up on your cot. It was slowly getting better. When Mando came back in a couple of minutes with some herbal tea from your thermos, you even managed to get into a sitting position. Your hands were still shaky though, so he had to bring the drink to your lips.

“Better?” he asked as you made a couple of sips.

“Yeah,” you nodded, curling underneath the blanket again. “I-I’ll be fine, really. There’s no need to worry.”

He tilted his head to the side, observing you. Somehow you could feel concern even without seeing his expression.

“You’re still trembling,” he stated, before stepping out of your sight. He didn’t leave the room though. You heard the metal clatter of beskar - he was taking the armor off, you guessed, and the memory of his big hand on yours flashed in your brain.

"M-Mando, you don't have to..."

"It's okay," The Mandalorian said quietly, as he reached the blanket. You shifted a little, allowing him to lie beside you, spooning you from behind. Wrapping his arms around you carefully, he pulled you a bit closer against his chest, and you flinched, wincing as you felt the cold steel of his helmet against the back of your neck. It seemed like the beskar has taken in the frost from outside - it was almost as cold as ice. Mando realized that too. You could hear him sighing through the modulator.

"Y/n..."

"Yes?.."

"I'm gonna take it off, but you must promise me not to open your eyes and not to turn your head in my direction. Will you do that?"

"I will," you breathed out. "I… know how it's important for you. You know you can trust me, Mando."

"I do.”

You wanted to tell him how grateful you were and how you actually cherished his trust and your… Friendship? Relationship? Whatever kind of bond you shared, but you couldn’t even put it into words. His closeness made you suddenly emotional, especially when you felt warm breath instead of cold metal against your skin. Your eyes were shut tightly and at that moment you were afraid not only to move but to breathe. Somehow you were scared to ruin the fragile intimacy of this moment as Mando enclosed you in his arms again.

“Try to relax, okay?”

His voice sounded foreign without the modulator; familiar, but still different, bare and exposed. You weren’t sure if it’s possible to use such words to describe a voice, but that’s how you felt. You loved the sound of it. Letting out a deep trembling sigh, you relaxed against his frame, finally feeling the warmth of his body through the fabric of his undershirt. All stress caused by the lake accident was slowly ebbing away in the comfort of his embrace, but there was something else that kept bothering you.

“Mando…” you whispered quietly, “I’m sorry…”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I failed you. My job is to look after The Child, and I failed and got in trouble. I… should’ve been more careful, I know…”

“Hey,” he cut you off, “Things like that happen sometimes, y/n. No one can be perfect. Even if you try hard, sometimes… Sometimes you just lose your footing on the thin ice.”

You heard him chuckling softly at his own metaphor; warm breath tickled the back of your neck.

“I was supposed to help, but only caused more problems instead,” you murmured bitterly.

“Y/n, stop that. You’re helping. A lot. And I…” he paused for a second as if pondering the words, “I’m really glad to have you around.”

This simple confession made your heart skip a beat. There still was a lot you wanted to tell him, to let him know, but you were lost for words. Although... maybe you didn’t have to say it, because he already knew.

“Thank you,” you just mumbled, “For everything, really.”

He didn’t answer, probably being lost for words as well. But you felt him nuzzling into your hair for a moment, a soft gesture full of unspoken tenderness, and it was enough.

“Sleep now,” he hushed, shifting behind you to find more comfortable position. You hummed in reply, already feeling drowsy as the warmth spread over you, calm and safe, cradled against The Mandalorian’s firm chest.

You wished this night to last longer, because you knew you wouldn’t find him beside you as you wake up. You’d find him already wide awake and fully dressed, with the helmet back on, ready for another adventure. But for now he was right here, closer than ever. Real, warm, human. And maybe it meant nothing at all. But it might as well be the beginning of something.

──────── • ✤ • ────────

Thanks for reading!

Hugs, Lucy

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #fanfiction #pedro pascal #fluff #lucy tries to write

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bellesque · 4 years

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Hi :) I had this idea, since I miss winter so much... could you maybe write a scenario in which Loki and the reader are in stark tower while it's raining or snowing? possibly getting a little cuddly and/or smutty? Thank you and by the way your fics give me lifeeee I literally could not survive quarantine without them

Blackout (Loki x Reader)

Rating: T

Word Count: honestly no clue i wrote this all on tumblr oops

Warnings/Tags: FLUFF, cuddles in the dark and thunderstorms that’s all it really is

A/N: i’m not really taking requests right now, but good golly miss molly did this idea make me soft i just had to. i hope you enjoy this little ficlet, and don’t mind the minor plot holes just shh we’re here for the fluff ok glad we’re in agreement <3

* * *

The entire city of New York is cast in a dull gray, so it’s no surprise that Stark Tower’s inhabitants are as gloomy as the world outside.

And that includes you.

You heave a long sigh, peering at the busy street and then skyward to the storm clouds that hang low. Every cab you hail drives past you with a sharp honk. You’re probably not going to make it home until after the storm. Shit.

“Mr. Stark says you can stay the night.”

Pepper Potts stands a few feet behind you, a gentle smile on her face. “He knows it’s hard to get a ride at this hour. Not to mention the storm warning has the whole city in a frenzy.”

You turn to walk back into the Tower with her. “Well, I’d be an idiot to refuse.”

Pepper lets out a short chuckle as the elevator dings. “Then it’s a good thing you’re not.”

Your room is next to Loki’s, she informs you before she leaves. Should he cause any trouble, you shouldn’t hesitate to let her or Tony know.

He doesn’t. Which is strange, for you at least, since every time you’ve been in the same room he’s always found some way to raise a little hell. Even when he isn’t wanted, he saunters in board meetings with a quip at the ready and a sly curve to his mouth. So it’s perfectly reasonable for you to have half your attention at the door, ready in case the mischief-maker comes barging in unannounced.

As your luck would have it, you’re in for a quiet evening.

You’re content to sit at the large windows of your room, watching the sky darken and the city lights flicker to life as the first huge drops of rain fall around it. It’s peaceful. Calming, even.

Until the windows rattle with the boom of thunder, and the fluorescent lights in your room flicker.

Your heartbeat slams against your ribs, a powerful surge of panic coursing through you. You’re a grown woman, damn it. You’re past the point of being afraid of a little lightning and thunder.

There’s a bright flash of white, a sickeningly quick crack of thunder, and a shriek, before the hum of the Tower goes dead silent and you’re in darkness.

Tony’s tech is powerful. There’s no way a measly thunderstorm is enough to kill the power.

Your eyesight adjusts to the change in lighting quickly, but you still stretch out a hand in front of you as you walk towards the door. Just in case there’s something in your way unseen to you. You barely make it three feet forward when a silky voice cuts through the quiet.

“Now, now, any further and you’ll find your hand on something you’ll not want to let go of.”

Quick as the thunderclaps before, you jerk your hand away. “Fucki — how did you get inside?”

“The door,” Loki answers. His silhouette is barely visible, but you can see and hear the amused smirk in his tone.

“I didn’t hear you come in.”

“It’s raining, in case you haven’t noticed by now.”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest, about to retort. But whatever you plan on saying slips away from you entirely as another bolt of lightning and thunder propel you forward and towards Loki’s chest.

“Shit,” you mutter, cheeks heating as his masculine scent envelops you, “I’m sorry, I — ”

“Afraid of storms, it seems?” His voice is nearly drowned out as the winds pick up and the rain falls heavier and more relentlessly.

You swallow, shame gnawing at your ankles. “I’m not giving you any ammo, Laufeyson.”

His chest rumbles with genuine laughter, moving against your hair. Why... why are you still standing so close to him? And why is he letting you?

Loki rubs his hands along the tops of your arms. “Oh, little one, you already have,” he sighs, a smile in his tone.

His hand clasps around yours, a soft touch that you welcome begrudgingly. Despite that, you can’t stop yourself from mumbling, “What are you doing?”

Another flash allows you to catch the quirk of Loki’s eyebrow. “Do you not want the company? Because I can go and leave you here, alone, in the dark, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

Thunder rolls overhead, less of a sickening crack and more like a lazy rumble. The clouds are moving farther away, but the downpour of rain is still heavy.

You’d definitely prefer company, even if that company is an unpredictable, unreadable God of Mischief.

As if sensing your resignation, Loki leads you towards the couch that sits in the center of the room. The only time he lets go of your hand is when he plops down on the floor — not on the couch — facing away from the window. By now you’ve adjusted fully to the darkness, and your cheeks burn once more when you see Loki’s legs splayed open and hear his hands pat his thighs.

“Come on. The storm outside is far more threatening than I am.”

“You sure about that?” you deadpan, limbs moving of their own accord as you nestle yourself between his legs and against his chest. His heartbeat is strong and steady behind you, and while thick drops of rain continue to pellet against the window and winds sway the Tower, being encased by another human — well, a humanoid alien, but now’s not the time to be choosy — is significantly comforting.

Loki’s arms come around you protectively, and whether he means for it to come off as such or not, the skip in your chest is unmistakable. “I suppose you don’t want to talk about this completely irrational fear of yours,” he murmurs, gently guiding your head against his shoulder.

You scoff. “It’s rational.”

“Really.” There’s that smile in his voice. He brushes your hair away from your forehead. “Do tell.”

“You’re mocking me,” you dodge. Your tone is close to accusatory, but there’s barely any real bite in it.

“Maybe I am.” His fingers thread through your strands, twirling his finger around the ends. “And if I’m not?”

“I don’t understand you,” you say under your breath. It’s a defense, your attempts at verbal attack. Your fingertips are tingling from the casual intimacy. You need some semblance of normalcy, if that’s even within your reach at the current time. Your tiny crush was never supposed to blossom the way it is now.

His chest rumbles with a short chuckle, and he rests his cheek against the top of your head. Almost... no, completely affectionate. “Must be difficult, trying to comprehend the mind of a god.”

What’s difficult is keeping your heartbeat in control. Who knows what kind of teasing you’d endure if Loki could feel its staccato.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask quietly. The rain has slowed somewhat — it’s still strong, and loud, but it’s not as roaring, deafening as it was earlier.

“Have you forgotten, mortal? You came to me. Practically flung yourself into my arms, you poor damsel.”

“Shut up.” You shove him lightly, allowing yourself the tiniest of smiles. He can’t see. It’s fine. He can’t know you’re smiling.

But as the rain continues to pour and you remain nestled against Loki, easygoing banter between you, you begin to hope the blackout lasts the entire night if it means even just one more hour being held by him.

* * *

Masterlist

If you like what I write, maybe consider buying me a coffee?

Loki Tag List (OPEN): @cheriesugarr @shiningloki

Want to be added to my tag lists? Check them out here.

#belle's drabbles #violetica #loki x you #loki x reader #loki fluff #this was inspired by the fact the power is so iffy where i live #I DON'T KNOW WHY #but hey at least something good came out of it #by belle #maybe the title is a reference to in the heights #and what if it is

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wovenstarlight · 3 years

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⭐️💫⭐️ \o/

(ask for author's commentary on a section of my writing!)

FDBJDKGLGFN OH SHIT I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO ANSWER.... uhhhhhh [frantically looks through fics] OH YES I HAVE ONE

ok so this is from fire-forged! the fic i wrote for sona about an ORV dragon AU! wherein hsy and kdj are raised by dragons and yjh is a royal knight out on an unknown quest. i wanna talk about yjh perspective in this scene

That’s it. In a fit of irritation, she reaches out when he comes near again, and she smacks his ear. He twists immediately, snapping at her fingers in a very non-human reflex. Then he freezes mid-bite, looking extremely confused. And. The eyes. The hair. The magic. Oh. That’s… that’s where she knows that voice from. “Han Sooyoung?” Yoo Joonghyuk has gone from confused to vaguely alarmed. It’s not very obvious, but she knows how to read his tone. (She never forgot.) “Are you crying?” “I’m fine. Listen, when—” She chokes on a breath. “How old did you say you were?” “Why do you—” He stares at her for a second. “I’m twenty-eight. Is there a problem?” He’s walking towards her now, a cautious look on his face. “Should I call one of the—” “No,” she hears herself say. “No, it’s fine. See ya around. My brother’s on his way. Tell him I said to be nice to you.” She turns and she walks away.

(discussion under the cut)

this part is when hsy figures out that yjh is 99% likely the reincarnation of her childhood dragon friend joonhyun, right. and i was very amused while writing this because hsy is canonically 2 years or so younger than yjh but here i made her at least a couple years older which means she has Eternal Noona Rights. and the concept of yjh being told to call her noona instead of Han Sooyoung (derogatory) made me literally lose it while i was writing this part

LIKE YOU KNOW HE WOULDN'T DO IT UNTIL WAY LATER AND HE'D BE REALLY MAD ABOUT IT THE WHOLE TIME it would 100% be noona (derogatory) because he just, talks like that. but aNYway the POINT was,

yjh was bitchy throughout this whole interaction because he's not been getting sleep from Plot Related Shit giving him weird dreams and also they'd been riding a fair while before they got here and he was all sore and achy, and on top of that hsy was (derogatory)ing at him with every word she spoke, so he was in a Bad Mood bad mood, yeah? not functioning at full capacity. so when he almost bites hsy he literally has a moment where he's like SURELY I WASN'T IN THAT BAD A MOOD and genuinely is about to apologize? with like, a not-quite-apology but you can tell he's a little regretful

AND THEN HSY STARTS CRYING ON HIM AND HE'S SO TAKEN ABACK THAT HE FORGETS TO BE POLITE AND APOLOGETIC AND JUST GOES "ARE YOU CRYING" in the worlds MOST incredulous tone

which, like, rude. and he's like Yeah my chances of being well received are dropping by the minute i should appear at least vaguely concerned for her wellbeing so he tries to approach her to calm her down but Oops she left!

yjh stews in his extreme confusion and vague regret and lingering irritation for like half an hour and then storms off back to the inn he's staying at in the village where ysa's dropped by and is convincing his party members to unionize. then kdj shows up within the next 10 minutes, having heard that He Made Noona Cry, and on TOP of that he also literally wasn't there when kdj came to find him, so like. kdj mad in the.... have you seen that post which is like "i love when it's busy at starbucks and the gay baristas get mean"? that sense

and i did mention like a few paragraphs later that he changed his name as a kid but to be entirely clear dragon'sblood!yjh is a trans guy

also also because you sent two stars technically,

Her dragon sister and brother begin swearing at her, both telepathically and out loud. Yeomryong tilts back his head and raises slow hands to slip off his mask. He’s crying, she realizes with a jolt, but he has a smile on his face as he stares up at her. He mouths something. It looks a bit like sister.

he's, uh. he's saying "i hate my fucking sisters."

[jazz hands]

#work: dragon's blood in my veins #answered #obstinaterixatrix #star.txt #its cause both hsy and uriel pulled this shit on him the first time they figured it out and he's like #Can You Bitches Show Off Without Almost Dying For FIVE MINUTES #hes laughing a little bit too! but hsy can't see it from that far up #she spotted the glint of his tear tracks which is how she could tell #thank you for sending asks im sorry it always takes me like a month to respond T-T #orv #han sooyoung #yoo joonghyuk #kim dokja #abyssal black flame dragon #thinking abt part 2 where its revealed how the fuck joonhyun got to be joonghyuk.... The Lore Is So Tasty I Can't Wait #yjh trans hsy cis with a question mark and meanwhile kdj's gender is like. dragon(query) ykwim

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pakchoys · 4 years

Note

on that note, do you have any edling fic recs? 👀

this would be a lot easier if i bookmarked all the fics i read. huh

i haven’t actively read any since the days when i consumed edling at a horrifying rate to ease the suffering of being fifteen. obviously there are the ones i wrote as noodlebunny on ao3, but those are a dumpster fire, good god

the ones i saved are probably ones you’ve read if you’ve spent any time on the edling tag at all, soooo……… can i interest you in some meagre edling dug up from my old fma files? it’s a modern au where ed adopts nina, alternatively titled Ed Fights A Twelve Year Old Then Meets His Future Boyfriend

Words: 1.6k

TW for implied child abuse

Edward watches Nina from a bench at the edge of the play park. He shifts his grip on his paper cup while Nina moves from the slide to the monkey bars. There was a time where he would have been up there with her, arms raised and ready if she fell; now that Nina’s seven years old, however, she’s a self-proclaimed big girl who can tackle the monkey bars herself. It’s good, seeing her so independent.

If only Ed’s heart wouldn’t plummet into his stomach every time she so much as slips.

It can’t be helped. Al calls him an over protective mother hen; Ed calls himself sensible, thank you kindly.

Nina clears the monkey bars without a hitch. From the top of the unholy metal playpark structure of death, she gives Ed a winning smile and a wave, sending her two braids flying. Ed waves back, adding a thumbs up for good measure.

His phone pings. Ed fishes it out of his jacket.

Al’s texted, Want to see the cat I saw on campus today??? followed by a string of cat emojis dispersed with hearts.

not really, Ed replies, a smile tugging at him because he knows Al knows he’s lying.

Oops, too late, Al says. The cat’s cute, sort of. Ed doesn’t really get the beasts, but Al’s crazy for them and so is Nina, which means it’s such a damn nightmare when Al encourages her.

demon gremlin creature, Ed sends.

He’s so preoccupied with watching the dots as Al types that he doesn’t hear Nina until she’s crying.

His phone is left abandoned on the bench as he sprints towards her, and oh god, she’s on the ground—what if something’s broken? What if she hit her head, what if—what if she’s hurt bad just because Ed couldn’t keep an eye on her, not for five damn minutes—what if they take her away—

Not until he’s stopping next to her does Ed realise that there’s another girl there too. She’s already helping Nina sit up, her crying has already beginning to taper into little sniffles.

“Nina,” Ed says gently, “Are you okay? Where does it hurt?”

“‘M fine, big brother.” She looks up at him through her tears, as stoic as a seven year old in yellow dungarees can be. Too brave, too willing to hide her pain. “I fell off the climbing wall. It’s just a scrape.”

He gingerly checks her knee over and, yeah, it’s just a sluggishly bleeding cut but there’s sure to be bruising. The plasters and disinfectant are all back at the apartment.

“Oh, here, I can help!”

In what Alphonse fondly dubs as Big Brother Panic, Ed had completely forgotten the girl who helped Nina up. She looks maybe a few years older than Nina, but she’s short and her black hair is in two massive buns so it’s hard to tell. Rifling through her pink backpack, she pulls out a box of plasters and antiseptic salve.

“You just carry that around with you?” Ed asks flatly.

The little girl, previously so sweet to Nina, shoots him a cold glare. “What’s it to you, shortie?”

“Wh—Hey! You’re like, ten! Shortie! Shortie?! I’m a damn giant next to you!”

“Yeah, next to me.” She rolls her eyes. “Not saying much, is it? And I’m twelve, so watch it, or I’ll cut you down another inch.”

Ed’s in half a mind to pick Nina up and nope the fuck out of here. ‘Roasted by a twelve year old’ wasn’t on his schedule. He does the roasting, dammit.

“Big brother, calm down,” says Nina. “You’re being silly.”

Oh, Ed woes the day this doe-eyed girl wrapped him around her little finger.

“Right. Sorry, kiddo.”

“Anyway, I’m Mei,” says the demon in the body of a girl with a pink backpack. “I’m gonna be a doctor someday, so I can help you out.”

“I’m Nina! This is my big brother, Edward. He’s grumpy right now but he’s really the best.”

“Hm.” Mei narrows her eyes at him. “We’ll see.”

He will not stick his tongue out at a child. He will not stick his tongue out at a child.

To her credit, Mei is efficient and gentle about dressing Nina’s cut. She’s got excellent bedside manner too, and by the end of it Nina’s tears are all gone and she’s warmed to Mei like a new best friend. Not all kids are good with younger kids, and Ed’s silently impressed.

“Are you out here alone?” Ed asks as he helps Nina up. Not that Central in the middle of the day is especially dangerous.

“Naw, I’m with my brother. He went to get us ice cream, and then I saw Nina fall down, so I came over to help.”

“Nice of you.”

“Yeah, I’m a nice person.” Mei shrugs her backpack on. “We can’t all be, I suppose.”

“Hey kid, is that supposed to mean something—“

“Big brother Ed, can we get ice cream?” Nina clings very suddenly to Ed’s automail arm, tugging enthusiastically. She’s always been casual about his prosthetics. It’s nice to have someone who doesn’t give it a second glance, even if that someone is a tiny child begging for more sweets.

“I guess so,” ponders Ed, pretending to debate it. “You have been pretty brave today. And it’s hot out. But try be more careful playing next time, okay?”

“‘Kay! Ice cream?”

“Sure.”

“Yay! You’re the best, big brother!”

Ed can’t help but notice Mei watching them strangely. He’s sure they must look strange and not related at all, what with Ed’s Xerxian complexion. Whatever.

“In that case, come meet my brother,” Mei says. “He’s probably waiting for me at the ice cream place. Havoc’s, you know the one?”

“We went there for my birthday!” Nina’s bouncing now. Ed’s whole arm shakes.

“Well, come on then. I have a feeling my bro’s gonna like you.” Mei looks at him funny as she says it. Ed does not like this child.

It’s busy out on such a sunny day. Ed gets a few stares at his arm, and he almost, almost regrets going out in a t-shirt. Then Nina holds his hand tighter, beaming up at him, and he breathes easier.

Now if only he could bring himself to wear shorts too.

“There he is,” says Mei as the ice cream place comes into view. “Ah, jeez, he’s shirtless again.”

“Wait, what?” says Ed.

Mei ignores him in favour of stalking up to a guy about Ed’s age, nineteen or maybe older, who is indeed entirely shirtless. Ed looks furiously away.

“Hey, you dolt!” Mei near-shouts, drawing looks from bystanders. “Put your shirt on in public! You’re so embarrassing, Ling, I can’t believe we’re related.”

“Aw, is my baby sister embarrassed?” Ling chuckles and ruffles her hair, wincing as his hand is slapped away. “It’s hot. I’m just airing out!”

“It’s public indecency, if you’re looking to get arrested again. Where’s our ice cream?”

“Oh, that. It’s a funny story, you know…”

“You ate it?! Again?”

“Ahahah…”

“Buy me another!”

“I would, I would! But that was the last change I had…”

“Ugh! Next time I’m going with Lan Fan and you can’t come.”

“Hey, hey, it’s not my fault you took so long! Chill!”

“I was helping out a girl with a cut knee, so don’t give me that crap.”

Ling seems to notice them, then. He pushes his floppy black hair away and gives Ed a winning grin, sticking his hand out to shake. Ed cringes; he’s gonna have to use his automail hand, and that makes people act so annoyingly awkward.

Ling just grips his hand without missing a beat, shaking firmly.

“I’m Ling!”

“… Ed. This is Nina.”

“Hiya, Nina!” Ling bends down slightly to wave. “Wow, I love your braids. Stylish.”

“Thanks!” Nina chirps, encouraged out of her shell by Ling’s friendliness. She’s not what Ed would call a shy child, but there was a period where she was so withdrawn Ed worried she’d never recover from what her bastard of a father did to her.

Tried to do.

“Your sister’s right,” says Ed to Ling. “You should put a shirt on.”

Way to make friends, idiot. So friendly and approachable.

Ling stares; Mei snorts. Ed contemplates his own terrible, off putting personality.

Then Ling waggles his eyebrows and says, “What, don’t like what you see?”

“Wh— Hey—!” He’s spluttering and bright red and say something! “No, it’s terrible! I hate it! Put a damn shirt on!”

Not that!

He doesn’t dare look Ling in the eyes as he briskly scoops Nina up, much to her indignation, and escapes into the ice cream parlour. He just knows the shirtless idiot is watching him.

“Big brother, can we see them again? They’re so cool!”

“No, they’re not, Nina. They’re the worst and we hate them. Pick a flavour.”

“But what about Mei? She doesn’t get any ice cream!”

“Too bad.”

Oh, no. He’s done it now. Nina’s eyes begin to water and Ed’s heart clenches, already knowing he’s done for.

“Hey, kiddo, I’m sorry.”

“If Mei doesn’t get any, I won’t have any. ‘S not fair if I’m the only one…”

Ed closes his eyes. His counts to three. He faces the facts.

“If that’s the case…”

—

Later, when they all have ice cream out of Ed’s pocket and stupid Ling is wearing a stupid shirt, Ed adamantly pretends not to hear Mei lean over and say,

“See, I told you my brother would like you.”

—

A/N: ED STOP CUSSING IN FRONT OF CHILDREN

#long post #fma #edling #my fic #child abuse tw #anon: fic recs?#me: no i but i do have this bs... im sorry #srry if the read more doesnt work on some vers idk what i can do

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twst-roses · 4 years

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Lover’s Games: Rook

#rose's writings #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland scenarios #twst #twst rook #rook hunt #red roses

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damonsbitchx · 4 years

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Florida Burn (P1)

Summary: This is kind of written like the beginning of New Moon, but Bella leaves Forks instead of staying and falling in love with Jacob. I don’t know how many parts I’ll make of this! My prompt image was pulled off of Pinterest. I also want you all to know I wrote this listening to “Possibility” by Lykke Li the absolute entire time. It made me cry while I proofread it because I read it out loud.

Characters: Bella, Charlie, Renee briefly on the phone

Word count: 3,385 (oops)

If you would like to be on a tag list send me an ask with the @ you want me to use!!

Prompt(s): The prompt is bolded but slightly altered in the fic.

Charlie helped me lift my damp, aching body up from the couch after everyone left. He weaved his arm around my waist and began to help guide me to the stairs. I glanced at the digital clock on the stove as we trudged past the kitchen, the green numbers read 12:38. I wonder how long I’d been out in the woods.

“You should change your clothes Bell,” Charlie suggested gently once we’d reached my room.

I nodded once, my blank face unchanging, my eyes focusing on nothing in particular around my dark room. I had no idea when I had finally stopped shaking but I was reminded by the shiver that rolled up my spine that forced me to notice how cold I was. I hugged my torso, dragging my feet a few paces forward to stand by the edge of my bed where I’d left my comfy old sweats. I could still feel Charlie’s eyes on me so I turned slowly and forced myself to look up at his face. His expression was furrowed with concern as he stood in my doorway without a sign of moving yet. I pushed my facial features into what I hoped was a smile good enough to convince him I was fine now and he could go to bed.

“Do you wanna talk about it, honey?” he asked, his voice cracking subtly at the end.

He better not cry. I shook my head once, redirecting my gaze to my sweats so I could grab them. I held them up to him with another one of what I hoped was a smile and began making my way back to the door frame. I walked past him heading to the bathroom and he didn’t say anything else. Once I was past him my face dropped blank again as I slipped into the bathroom and shut the door, flipping on the light so I wouldn’t fall or knock anything over. I heard Charlie’s socked feet pad across the hall to his room and then it was silent. I sighed heavily, glancing up at my reflection in the mirror, grimacing at what a mess I was.

I made haste in turning on the shower so it would warm up faster and also to give my brain less of a chance to process the events from the past 24 hours. I quickly began peeling my damp clothes off my body, shuddering each time more damp skin would hit the cool air raising goosebumps all over. As soon as I’d finished I launched myself into the shower, shocking my cold skin with the boiling hot stream of water. Then, I stood there. I didn’t move for a long time. I just stood under the warm spray of the shower, letting my skin soak it up like it was the Arizona rays of sun I once missed so much. My mind was vacant, my chest felt empty, my body felt heavy. At some point, I decided to sit down before I fell.

I’m not sure how long I was there, but the only thing bringing me back to a conscious level of existence was the feeling of the water beginning to get colder and sting my back. So, I shut it off and shoved myself up into a standing position again. I swiped a towel from under the sink, wrapped myself in it and turned to the cupboard to grab my bag of toiletries. I took extra care in brushing and braiding my hair, applying lotion, washing my face, brushing my teeth. Anything I could do to keep my mind occupied was necessary. Once I’d used nearly every item in that bag, even items I’ve never actually used except maybe once in my life, I dropped my towel and pulled on my sweatpants and T-shirt. Desperate to keep my mind occupied and put off whatever world of hurt was waiting for me, I wadded up my wet towel and clothes from earlier to take downstairs and put in the wash. The clock in the kitchen read 1:32 now. I was almost completely sure it had been longer than that and the disappointment made me frown. I sighed and shoved the clothes into the washer, turned it on, then trudged back up the stairs. I hesitated in my doorway for a moment, looking around my room as if I was searching for something, but I couldn’t think of what it was. Then, I climbed under my covers and positioned myself onto my back to see if I could sleep.

I was afraid that if I laid down everything would come flooding back to me, but it didn’t. I just laid there in the silence, in the dark, and I stared at the ceiling. My mind was more blank than ever, my body felt hollow inside, like just the weight of my skin made it cave in on itself. I felt numb and empty, tired but not enough to sleep. So I simply laid there waiting for the memories to catch up.

They didn’t have a chance before the dim light of the early morning sun began to shine through the wall of trees into my bedroom window that I hadn’t bothered to close. I faintly heard Charlie rustling around, probably getting ready to go fishing like he does every Saturday with Harry Clearwater. I shut my eyes when I heard him coming to peek in at me, pretending to be asleep until I heard the door click shut again. I pulled my eyes open and I half expected to see something new this time, but everything was still the same. It was dark and gloomy outside with a thick covering of clouds stretching over as far as I could see. I continued to lay this way for another indistinguishable amount of time. I listened to the sounds of Charlie moving things around downstairs, open and shut the front door, lock it, and then I heard Harry’s truck roar to life and drive away. I was alone.

I immediately felt a searing pain in my chest as if I’d just used hand sanitizer with a bunch of paper cuts on my hand. The burn worked its way up and stung my eyes. I only remember being so confused as to why I was about to cry. Nothing had changed, my mind was still blank, I hadn’t moved from the same spot, nothing had happened. My arms shot across my torso and squeezed tight as I turned over onto my side and scrunched up, thick sobs now ripping from my body. My body shook with tremors like earthquakes that forced the memories into my mind as I gasped and coughed for air. There was no one to save me now.

My life went on similar to this for a couple months. I was fine when I was around people, but when I was left alone the pool of magma would devour me. Although I eventually got better at managing the pain, some days were just worse than others. Some days my body would burn with anger. Anger at him for leaving me instead of staying and trying to make it work. Anger at myself for being so stupid and clumsy. Anger at Alice for not foreseeing me cutting my finger and preventing it, anger at Charlie for being so calm and accepting of my wallowing. Just red hot anger was all I could feel some days. Other days it was just deep blue and grey with sadness and shame, perhaps even depression. Some days the burn would come from shame for letting this affect me so deeply, despair for myself, despair for hurting him. I blamed myself the most, there were no questions about it. As time went on I could let myself think about more details before the right ones finally knocked me off-kilter again. I would think about my birthday, rake over every tiny little detail and imagine what I could have done, what I should have done, to prevent what happened that night. If I wasn’t so clumsy and stupid maybe they wouldn’t have left me. Maybe he would still want me.

That was the part that burned the wildest in the beginning whenever the thought crossed my mind, that he no longer wanted me. Those words he spoke that night paralyzed me for weeks after. I didn’t go back to school until midway through October when Charlie finally decided he’d had enough of my moping. Even going back to school burned my chest. He was everywhere I looked but I also couldn’t find him anywhere anymore. I would shove his biology chair deep under the table and sit right in the middle, but I could still feel the ghost of his gaze on me. During lunch, I’d sit at our lunch table by myself, but I never ate. Some part of me wanted to stay close to his memory, but the other parts of me wanted to get as far away as possible. I parked in their spot every time I’d come to school and after a while, my friends stopped trying to coax me back out of the hole I’d dug for myself because I brushed them off every time they tried. I knew they talked about me, sometimes I would hear them during lunch when they thought I couldn’t. Angela was always sympathetic and tried to defend my bubble I locked myself in when Jessica and Lauren would spit out snarky remarks about my moping. I missed her the most, but I was no good for her, she deserved a better friend than me. I wished I could tell her thank you for sticking up for me even after I’ve been such a bad friend to her.

Although I was pretty much useless at school, I still had to convince Charlie that I was okay. So, after a while when my thoughts didn’t hurt as much I found that I could at least go through the motions. I started hanging out downstairs with Charlie more and actually doing my homework. On weekends when he was gone during the day I would spend my time in my bed or sitting by my window and sometimes I’d read. On weekdays I would go to school like normal and I always made sure dinner was on the table when Charlie got home. My homework was always finished before I went to bed every night and I did it downstairs in the living room while Charlie watched whatever game was on TV. Those were the only things I found that I could use to occupy my mind with and, even then, small fragments of memories still found a way in through the cracks. I tried my best not to let myself fall asleep most nights because every time I did I would wake up screaming from my nightmare, but it wasn’t just a nightmare- not anymore.

It always started out the same. It was me laying in my bed at night like usual and he’d be there again, holding me. For a while, I would feel okay. He would press his cold lips to mine and smile, reassuring me everything was going to be better now, that he couldn’t stay away from me anymore. He’d tell me he really did want me, in fact, he couldn’t live without me any longer much like I seemed to fail at living my life without him. I dreamed that my life went back to normal because it was all I wanted. Only then, I’d be back in that forest again and he would look at me and scream that he doesn't want me, that he never wanted me. Then, he would retreat deep into the forest and I would sprint after him screaming his name.

“Edward!” I shrieked.

I’d be sprinting and gasping for the cold night air that would burn my lungs. The forest would be moving by me at an agonizingly slow pace, so I’d push harder and try to run faster to catch up to him.

“Please! Don’t leave me again,” I would sob.

And then just like that night, in my dream I would trip and plant myself into the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. Once I hit the ground my body would get heavy, like someone tied an anchor to each of my limbs and my waist, I couldn’t get up. The forest would be spinning and I would sob and sob, screaming his name and begging for him to not leave me until my eyes snapped open to the sensation of Charlie’s warm hand on my cheek. When I was yanked back into consciousness the screaming didn’t stop until I would realize the screaming in my dream was being unintentionally mirrored by my own voice. Charlie’s face was riddled with agony and concern for me every time, I could see that although I could barely make out his features as my eyes adjusted to my dark surroundings. He’d cradle my face in his hand as I tried to catch my breath through my gasping sobs.

“It’s okay Bella, you’re safe,” he’d say softly, wiping tears from my cheeks with his thumb.

This nightmare, this pain, was the only evidence I had left of his existence. I could tell Charlie didn’t understand why I couldn’t get past this. I didn’t even understand it myself. I didn’t understand how I’d come this far from the person I used to be. I liked who I used to be, I missed the sun on my skin. I missed my mom and Phil. I missed dry sandy beaches and wearing shorts and tank tops. Above all, I missed not being in pain and I missed myself.

So, one Saturday morning I caught my dad before he went out fishing, down in the kitchen.

“Hey, dad?” I began, lifting my eyes from the ground to meet his.

“What’s up, honey?” he asked as he spun around to face me from across the kitchen.

“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” I breathed, playing with my own fingers but watching his expression warily. His eyebrows furrowed as he watched back.

I knew this would crush him a little. He gazed at me skeptically but sunk into his chair at the dining table.

“Okay,” he spoke finally, peering up at me evidently intrigued.

“Well…” I began quietly, moving towards my chair at the table. “I was thinking about, um, moving back to Florida with mom and Phil.”

He looked slightly shocked, although he took a minute to process my words. Then, his features softened. “I think that’s a great idea, Bells,” he spoke finally, smiling at me in relief.

He swiftly closed the gap between us and threw his arms around me, hugging me firmly to his chest with a deep sigh of contentment and relief. It took me by surprise at first, but then I wound my arms around his waist and hugged him back. I felt a twinge of guilt in my stomach, but he seemed happy enough. When he finally let go after Harry cleared his throat loudly he looked at me and smiled again.

“I love you, Bells,” he gushed.

“I love you too, Dad,” I responded with a small smile. Smiling started to hurt less after a while too. He squeezed both my shoulders with his hands and spun around to pick up all his fishing gear. “I’ll help you book a plane ticket when I get home tonight!” he called as they ran out the door.

Then, just like that, I was all alone again. I started heading back up to my room to start packing my stuff before I felt too much of the loneliness seep back into the hole in my chest. Packing would be a perfect thing to keep me distracted for the weekend. I decided to start cleaning my desk first, although it was not very cluttered. I can’t remember the last time I’d sat there and done anything. I tried to do my homework downstairs around Charlie so that he could see I was okay, but also to avoid what happened to me when I was left alone. I worked on putting everything neatly in a box I’d kept from when I moved in here and decided to call Renee while I was cleaning to tell her the good news. I knew she’d been worried about me, sometimes I would hear Charlie on the phone with her while I was doing the dishes or my homework and I could only imagine what kind of state she thought I was in. Charlie thought he was being quiet enough but I’d had practice listening for talking that you wouldn’t normally have to listen for.

“Hi Bella, honey,” she greeted me in her bright Renee voice.

“Hey mom, what are you doing?” I tried keeping my tone casual and upbeat to show her I was okay.

“Oh, I’m just painting, honey, what’s up? How are you feeling?”

“I’m good, mom, I just wanted to call because I miss you and I have something to tell you.”

“Okay…” she sounded worried, her full attention turned to me. “What is it?”

“Um, well, I talked to dad this morning and... I decided I’m coming home.”

I heard a loud gasp and high pitched squeal come from the phone that was sitting on my desk a few feet away from me. I was glad I didn’t have it by my ear or I’d be half deaf by now. I huffed a small laugh at her reaction, carefully arranging more objects into the box from off my dresser now.

“Awww Bella, Phil and I are so happy you’re coming home!” she wailed, probably now crying.

“Yeah, mom, I am too,” I reassured her. “Charl- er, Dad said he’d help me buy a plane ticket when he gets home from fishing tonight.”

“We’ll go get your room set up right now! This is going to be so much fun, we’ll be a family again!” she squealed, definitely crying this time. I chuckled softly to myself.

“I love you, mom.”

I heard ruffling from the phone and then a crash and she was gone. Must’ve dropped her phone and hung up trying to grab it. That was okay, I told myself. Suddenly the whole left side of my body began to feel hot and the sun was in my eye, peeking out from the clouds and that was okay. I moved my desk chair in front of my window and sat in it, closing my eyes and soaking up the hot rays of my friend, the sun, whom I had missed so much since moving to Forks. I was comforted by the heat laying over my skin like a blanket. Then, I opened my eyes when a glare flashed over my eyelids that caught my attention. I looked around to see what it was, only to realize that if I moved a certain way the screen on my cell phone would reflect light into my eyes. “It reminds me of-” I began to think, but I stopped myself short to hug my torso at the return of the searing burn around the edges of the hole in my chest before I could even finish the thought. This burn was not comforting, this burn pulsed through my veins like venom, biting each cell it touched up and down my arms and legs, then it started stinging my eyes. I tried to focus on deep breaths but my lungs constricted each time I tried, forcing the air back out faster each time. I sat frozen in that chair, swallowed up by the intense burning pain shooting through my veins while the sun began disappearing behind the clouds.

What if moving to Florida was a mistake? What if I leave and he comes back someday looking for me? What if Florida isn’t what I thought it would be? What if the nightmares don’t stop? My head was spinning with doubt, but I wasn’t going to let myself be talked out of leaving. I needed to get out of Forks if I had any hope of getting myself back.

Taglist: No one because this is my first real Twilight fic lol

#New moon #my fic #twilight saga #twilight series #twilight #twilight imagine #bella swan #bella #charlie swan #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fic #writing #I cried proof reading this

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ellana-ravenwood · 6 years

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“Turn right, no the other right...oooh you turned left on purpose didn’t you ?!” - Tony Stark x Daughter!Reader

All hail fucking long titles ! Hum. Anyway. I thought I’d write some dad!Tony because I kinda like thinking about the damn Iron Man as a dad, and thinking how he’d be ya know ? (I already wrote two fics about it after all : “You’re a terrible father” and “Really, Peter, my daughter ?” ). So...Yeah, hope you’ll like it, and as usual, don’t hesitate to leave feedbacks and such :-) :

You can find my masterlist here : @ella-ravenwood-archives

__________________________________________________

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

You know those stories about how, when you’re about to die, you see your all life pass in front of your eyes ? It’s not quite true. At least not in your case.

Nope. Instead of your entire life, you just remembers moments. Small defining moments of pure...stubbornness.

As long as you can remember, you’ve always been ridiculously stubborn.

Your earliest memory is you, in a prestigious pre-school, being about three, and refusing to draw what the teacher was asking you to draw just because he didn’t say “please”.

Once he finally said an exasperated “please”, you answered : “That didn’t sound real” and crossed your arms, looking at him intensely, making him completely uncomfortable.

Just because someone didn’t say “please” while asking you to do something, and then said it but it didn’t sound real...you decided that you wouldn’t do anything he would ask you to do.

It lasted three days, before they dared to call your father in. Your dad took a few hours off of his busy schedule to come, worrying that something bad might have happened, only to find your tiny self sat in a huge chair in the principal’s office, arms crossed, pouting, and for said principal to say :

-She hum...Your daughter...Well...She refuses to do anything because she says her teacher is a “tyrant”. God only knows where she learned that word...

Your dad sunk down in his chair, and, face palming himself, rolled his eyes to the ceiling...Oh my oh my oh my. Of course you would...

Yup. Your earliest memory was about how stubborn you were.

Hell, apparently, even before this memory of yours you were already rather stubborn.

Your father told you stories about how, when you were a baby, you would cry (a sweet and rather small little cry) because you were hungry, but then, you’d refuse to eat if it didn’t arrive fast enough, as if to say : “Yeah I’m hungry right now but oops now it’s too late, I won’t take it...”, only to cry again once they would take the food away.

When you were one, you escaped your crib by climbing out of it, and arrived in your dad’s workshop, looking rather annoyed he trapped you there.

Any sort of park for kids or protection barrier received the same treatment...Hell, once, your dad decided to block the entrance to his workshop (those stairs terrified him, he was so scared you’d fall int hem) with two baby gates ! Leaving only a small interstice at the top and...he found you behind him a couple of hours later. He couldn’t believe his eyes, when he watched the security footage, and saw you climb BOTH GATES and squeeze through the hold on top of it.

If you wanted to get down in your dad’s workshop, then you would, and no one seemed to be able to stop you...Already so damn stubborn. How the Hell could you escape every single baby sitters’ (even Pepper) attention anyway ? Seriously, it took only two seconds of looking away for you to disappear.

Apparently as well, when you were two, your favorite dessert was chocolate fudge...however, one day, your dad bought one for you, and said something like : “I know you’re dying to eat it, come on little one, let’s get in front of an animated show and eat your favorite dessert !” and just because he assumed you wanted chocolate fudge, you refused to eat it...How dare he ?

At least, that’s what your dad said, because now, you hated chocolate fudge sooooooo...Wait, was it because one day, he just assumed you wanted some and it annoyed you ? No, you weren’t that stubborn, were you ?

Oh but you were.

It got you in enough troubles before. Like today.

Everyone told you not to go. Everyone told you to come back. And yet you went and...got shot out of the sky by a missile thrown by a hidden enemy.

Your suit (of course you’d have a suit, you created it yourself...like father, like daughter ?) took a lot of damage but...The crash is what broke you.

Quite literally.

And right now, only your stubbornness was keeping you alive...Though you felt that this time, it wouldn’t be enough. As you reminisced your worst moments of stubbornness, you can slowly feel the life slipping out of you...

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

Sixteen.

You were sixteen, when you almost drove your father completely crazy because of your stubbornness.

Sixteen.

Anthony Howard Stark couldn’t believe that his little tiny sweet baby girl was already sixteen.

Wow. Where has the year passed ?

He just didn’t expect time to go by that fast...And realized he had forgotten something rather important in someone’s life.

He didn’t teach you how to drive.

Now that it was legal for you to do so, he kinda had to...Even though you seem to not be bothered much by not knowing how to drive.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that you always took one of his suit to go places you wanted to (except school, you hated being the center of attention there, because it always brought vultures to you, it always brought people that didn’t care about you but your money and fame...so no suit to go there, just to run some random errands, or to let off some steam) ? Or maybe it was because you didn’t mind at all taking the bus to school, as you didn’t really had the regular fancy taste other rich kids have ?

In any case, you never seemed bothered that you were already sixteen, and never even got one driving lesson.

But your father wanted to give you the most normal childhood he could. He always tried. You came into his life as he was making the transition from harms dealing to “The Iron Man” and always been afraid that you wouldn’t grow up normally...

He tried really hard to give you a normal childhood, though it wasn’t always easy (the fame and money alone changed everything anyway). As long as you didn’t have the same childhood than he had, with a father that barely paid attention to you...And so your early years weren’t exactly “normal” (after all, one of your best friend was a 70 years old man who used to be a “popcicle” sooooo...), but at least, they were happy.

Well, if we forgot the fact that your dad could sometimes be very overprotective and intrusive...Which might be why you were so stubborn.

In any case, that morning, as Tony Stark was staring at himself in the mirror, suddenly realizing his little girl wasn’t so little anymore, he took a decision.

You had to learn how to drive. It was just a normal step that everyone went through. You had to learn how to drive...besides, it would give you even more independence, and he knew you loved that (he didn’t really like you hanging out in your or his iron man suits, because it was basically a living target, especially in recent years, so...a car would be good).

That morning, and without asking you first, he signed you up for some driving lessons. And oh he should have had asked you...

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

-...This is the seventh teacher (Y/N).

Your father says, a bit annoyed, arms crossed, standing in front of you.

You were sitting on the couch in the living room, and your arms were also crossed...Which meant only one thing. You were in your “stubborn ass” mode, and since your father’s arms were in the same position, he was too.

This would lead nowhere, both of you knew it, and yet...

You raise your eyebrows and turn to look at him, and, with a blank face that infuriates him you say :

-I have no idea what you’re talking about...Father.

Oh he hated when you called him “father”, and of course, you knew it, which is why you called him that.

-You know damn well what I’m talking about young lady.

-Nope. Refresh my memory ?

-Seventh teacher...?

-I mean, I have a lot of seventh teachers...that’s pretty vague. I’m in grade 11 you know.

-Seventh driving teacher.

-Oh. That. Meh.

“Meh” ? What do you mean “meh” ?! Your dad uncross his arms (one point for you) and put his fingers on the bridge of his nose, in a gesture you know oh too well. He always did that when you were being annoying on purpose. He won’t fall into your trap though, nope, he knows exactly what you’re doing.

You’re just trying to annoy him so much that he would drop the subject, but it won’t work...or will it ? He says :

-I know what you’re doing.

-Do you know ?

You ask, an innocent smile on your face, and oh yes he knows.

-So, let’s skip all the part where you’re being insufferably annoying...

You cut him off :

-That hereditary. From the father’s side apparently.

Your father grits his teeth and continues :

-Let’s skip the part where you’re being insufferably annoying and wants to make me mad just so that we don’t actually talk about the issue, and go directly to the point...What’s happening ? Don’t you wanna learn how to drive ?

-Oh so now you’re asking me.

-Uh ?

-You didn’t ask me when you signed me up for it.

Your father’s palm is on his face again, and he sighs deeply once more.

-Oh so that’s what it’s about uh ?

Of course it was. You hated when anyone took decisions for you...After yet another sighs your dad says :

-Alright, sorry. I should have asked you. Happy ?

-I’m not Happy, I’m (Y/N).

-...Come on.

-Yes sorry, that one was rather weak. And...Meh.

-Meh ?

-Yes. Meh. It’s not just that you didn’t ask me you know, it’s also that those teachers...they tell me what to do.

-...Yes, that’s kind of what teachers are for. They show you how to do things...And tell you to do it.

-Not in the right way.

-Not in the right...Now what are you on about (Y/N) ?

-They don’t tell me...nicely. They’re rude, they think because I’m your daughter I should know directly everything and it’s not...Well I don’t. So they loose patience, and it annoys me.

It wasn’t the first time it happened. People just assuming you were a genius too and therefor you would understand everything fast. You were indeed an engineering genius, just like your father (probably because you were born in it really), but just like him when he was your age, you weren’t good in everything. Evidently, driving was one of those things.

He looks at you, a softness in his eyes. Oh he understands. It wasn’t easy being Howard Stark’s son, always having to be up to some standards and understand everything, be good at everything...He could only assume it wasn’t easy being his daughter. In a warm voice he says :

-...Which is why you drive them crazy ? (Y/N), they

-Yes.

-Seven though...

-It took you seven of them to finally pay attention to it...

You say a bit sadly, though you’re trying to hide it, and your father winces. Lately, he has been very occupied with many things from his company and the Avengers, and it’s true he didn’t pay much attention to you. Hell, he barely saw you those past few months...it’s only when Pepper told him about the fact that she had to find yet another driving teacher for you, as he was coming home late, that he realized there was an issue with you...

When you were a kid he tried to see you everyday at least for an hour, sometimes bringing you along with him where he was going so that it was possible...but as you grew older, he just assumed you needed him less and...Well, seeing how you tried to grab his attention by making all your driving instructors quit, maybe you still needed him.

He sighs and comes to sit next to you. Automatically, you cuddle against his side, as you always did ever since you were a tiny one, and he wraps an arm around you.

-So...How are we gonna fix this ?

This was one thing you loved about your father. He would never leave an issue open, and try to find solutions. Maybe that’s why, even though you were extremely stubborn, he always managed somehow to make you listen to him ? Because he knew how to talk to you.

-I don’t know. Find yet another instructor with whom I’ll try to be nicer ?

He chuckles and shakes his head :

-I have a better solution.

You pull away from him and look at him curiously as he continues :

-What about I teach you how to drive ? And also, you try to be nicer ? And less like...me ?

-You ?

You ask, a bit suspicious.

-Yes, me.

-You’ll never have the patience. I really suck at parallel parking.

-Is that a challenge, daughter of mine ?

-...Oh it’s on.

You smile at each other and, ruffling your hair lovingly, your father hugs you before standing up and...what about you two have a “let’s build new suits” session right now ? After all, he has free time. Just for you.

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

Your dad instantly regrets his decision, suddenly understanding your instructors. You know it, of course you do. After all, he challenged you, he bet that he would have the patience and all.

Within the first hour your out for a drive, with the intention of him teaching you how to, you’re already driving him crazy.

It’s like your doing it on purpose (oh really ?).

He decided to start with the basics, and everything was going fine. You were driving around a suburban area, and doing good, until...

-Alright, turn right here. No right. The other right. Ooooooh you turned left on purpose didn’t you ?! That’s the third time already !

-No I didn’t ! You’re just stressing me out telling me to turn last second like that.

-It’s not last seconds, it’s way before the turn ! You need to anticipate if you want to be a good driver !

-Who said I want to be a good driver anyway ?!

And that’s when it started. Barely ten minutes in the lesson. The worst was that you really didn’t do it on purpose, it’s like your mind automatically did the opposite of what your father was asking you. Going right when he said left, and left when he said right.

But now ? Oh now you’re going to do it on purpose. It’s ridiculous, really, how fast you can get annoyed and your stubbornness can start to convince you to be like that !

Your father knows, as soon as he started to loose his calm, that it wouldn’t work...and oh it definitely doesn’t.

At some point, he tells you about how you should give priority to the people coming from the right because you missed one of those priority (there weren’t any danger, no car was coming, you just didn’t look), and oh you take it the wrong way. From that point and on, whenever there was a priority to the right, you would stop, even if you didn’t have to, and exaggerate looking to your right to make sure no car would come, infuriating your father so damn much...

When it was time to parallel park, he tried to stay patient, oh he really did but...he couldn’t help but think you were doing it on purpose. Just to annoy him. Whenever he told you to turn the wheel on one side you’d do the opposite or you would just not move at all and oh this wasn’t leading anywhere !

You got so frustrated that you got out of the car and started to leave...he lured you back with the promise of a warm cup of coffee at your favorite coffee shop, and that he would be more patient...

And truly, he tried. He really did. But you were so damn stubborn ! You had decided that you sucked at parallel parking and so, whenever you tried parallel park, you would fail miserably...But he knew it’s just because you somehow convinced yourself that you couldn’t do it !

To prove his point, he once asked you to park in a spot, without telling you you were going to have to parallel park, he just said : “park there” and...you parked perfectly. It was a spot against a wall, with a car in front of you, and you went in perfectly fine. You had just parallel parked without even noticing it.

When your dad pointed it out, you said that it wasn’t true, that it wasn’t parallel parking (though it was clear it was), and got all up on your high horse about how you couldn’t parallel park and he should drop it ! EVEN THOUGH YOU JUST PARALLEL PARKED !

But nope. You were too stubborn to decide you could do it. At least for now.

And that was with everything. For some reason you had decided that going from fourth to fifth gear was annoying, and kept missing the fifth gear to go directly on the sixth (of course your father’s...one of your father’s car would have a sixth gear), making the car jump.

Oh whenever you decided you couldn’t do something, it was almost impossible to change your mind ! And it’s yet another day where your dad was trying to make you parallel park, after two hours of trying, that he finally lost his cool.

You had to give it to him, he did stay patient for long...But Tony Stark wasn’t the most patient of men, and so one day, after weeks of trying to help you, he snapped.

-Oh you know what (Y/N) ?! I give up ! Fine ! You suck at parallel parking ! You can’t do it even though I’ve seen you do it countless times whenever I didn’t tell you you were going to parallel park ! Fine ! You can’t do it ! But to have your driving license you need to know it so I guess that means you’ll never be able to have your driving license uh ?

He got out of the car and threw his arms up in the air, beyond frustrated. And oh your snarky response made him sigh :

-Told you you wouldn’t have the patience to teach me. I win.

With a growl, he gestures for you to get back in the passenger seat and drove back home. That night, neither of you spoke to the other and Pepper sighed, guessing that both your stubbornness showed today yet again.

The next day, when your father came home, he found a note on the table, hand written by you, stapled on...your driving license. You had written :

“I passed my driving license today, and got it with every points possible. I parallel parked flawlessly. Don’t tell me what I can’t do. ...I love you by the way, thanks for the lessons, come give me a kiss good night. Love ya, (Y/N).”

...The eye roll your father made that night was his best one yet. Oh my God. Of course. Of course only when he lost patience and told you you wouldn’t be able to have your driving license you got it. Typical you. Just because he said you couldn’t parallel park, just because you wanted to prove him wrong...Damn stubborn kid.

Another eye roll and he was going to give you that kiss good night...Which made him smile. Even at sixteen, you needed that kiss good night...

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

You don’t know why the memory of your father teaching you how to drive is the first to come to your mind...Maybe because it showed the full extent of your damn stubbornness ?

Yes. You’ve always been very stubborn, but right now, as you feel your blood slowly leaving your body, you know even your legendary stubbornness cannot save you...

But you know who else is extremely stubborn ?

Your father.

When the agent of S.H.I.E.L.D that were with you told him you died on the battlefield, that they saw you falling. When they talked about the huge explosion, how there was no way you survived that...He didn’t listen.

When they told him that it wasn’t safe to go back for your corpse (he punched the man who told him that, you were alive, he wasn’t getting your “corpse” ! ...He couldn’t even think about that possibility without feeling his heart slowly breaking...) because some enemies could still lurk around and sneak attack him, he didn’t listen.

No. He didn’t.

Because after all, you weren’t stubborn for no reasons. Nope. You definitely got that from your dad. Your birth mom being unknown (she dropped you off at Stark Tower one day, with a note stating you were his...a quick paternity test later and Tony Stark decided that it was time to sober up, because now, he was a father, and had responsibilities...Pepper Potts helped a lot), everyone could only assume you took after your dad on that point.

You were a Stark. It was in your DNA to be stubborn.

And it was in his.

And so, going against everything told him that day, he went back for you.

Of course, the rest of the Avengers couldn’t leave him do that alone. Because there was a high chance the place still had enemies lurking but most importantly because...because if you were indeed dead, then Tony Stark would need all the support in the World to survive this news.

Hell, they couldn’t even imagine a World without you, your quirks, your quick wits and sarcasms, and your damn stubbornness...No, none of them could.

Not Captain America, to whom you always showed nothing but understanding, acknowledging his PTSD, and helping him understand the modern world.

Not Black Widow, that you came to call “Aunty Nat’ ” to piss her off (it made her feel old), but that secretly loved it.

Not Bruce Banner, that your smile always seemed to soothe and calm, that your laugh as a child inspired his greatest inventions. Not Hulk, that your stubbornness and glare kinda frightens.

Not Rhodes, with whom you grew up and with whom your favorite past time was to annoy the Hell out of your father.

Not Hawkeye, who still has to teach you so many trick shots and such, and also, you’re not done with that Lord of the Rings/Bilbo the Hobbit marathon !

Not...Not any of them. Listing the people that would miss you would actually take a long time. What of Happy, who often baby sat you when you were a little one and both your father and Pepper were busy ? Or what about Pepper herself, who raised you like her own, even before she got with your father ?

This is why they decided to follow your father, as he rushes through a dangerous war zone, albeit there wasn’t much hope about your survival but hey...if one could survive a blast that big, a hit that ended in a massive explosion...It could only be (Y/N) Stark, the stubbornnest of them all !

And so the Avengers launch to your rescue, followed by an army of Shield agents because...Well, (Y/N) Stark was worth a try.

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

You fight. You fight like Hell to stay awake. You’re not done yet. There’s so much you have to do !

But you can feel life running out of you, through the multiple wounds you have. Your suit took most of the blast but...Well, it was one hell of a blast !

Yes. You feel like your stubbornness won’t help you at all. Hell, it’s what got you in this mess in the first place. Everyone told you to pull back, but there were still people to save...And you got hit by a missile thrown by a coward.

Ha. What an unfitting end !

You slowly close your eyes, and for the first time of your life, you decide to surrender. There’s no point anyway. It’s just more pain and...

-(Y/N) ! (Y/N) BABY GIRL !

It’s your father’s voice, isn’t it ? This sparks a new wave of fight inside you.

When you hear the rest of the Avengers, you try to speak, but you can’t.

And when you hear the shield agents, you know you gotta fight ! Yes ! After all, they’re the one that told you to retreat, to leave the battlefield...You couldn’t let them be right about the danger right ?! You could die like they said you probably would if you stayed behind right ? Nope.

You couldn’t.

You were too damn stubborn for that...

Your father is here now. He opens his helmet and your met with his scared to death eyes. No. You couldn’t die here. You couldn’t let them be right, and you...you couldn’t leave your dad.

You smile at him, and manage to say a weak “hi daddy-oh”.

This makes you spit too much blood, and your dad tell you to not speak...Which makes you say :

-I’ll speak if I want to...

He cannot help, even in that terrible moment, to roll his eyes, and, a small smile on his face, he says :

-Damn stubborn kid.

You can’t laugh, it hurts to much, but you’re pretty sure you said :

-That’s me. Not worst than when you tried to teach me how to drive though...

Everything goes black.

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

-Damn stubborn kid.

You hear as you open your eyes.

Yes. Stubborn as Hell. So stubborn that while you should be dead, you’re still alive, because you fought to prove everyone wrong.

Damn stubborn kid, your father says, as he brushes your hair softly and lovingly with the tip of his fingers.

You can see his eyes are filled red and wet and...your dad ? Crying ? Impossible. And yet.

He almost witnessed his daughter die...For a few seconds, you were dead.

And for the first time in his life, Tony Stark thanked whoever was the one that decided to make you even more stubborn than him...because how else would you have survived ?

Who else, after the doctors said : “There’s nothing we can do now, she’s dead...” would have prove them wrong by making this flat dreaded line move up again. By breathing while she should be dead ?

Who else, out of pure spite (he was sure of it), would survive death ? Who else, just because someone said : “she’s dead”, would still be alive ?

No one else. Just you.

(Y/N) Stark. The most stubborn of them all.

His precious little girl...

Fin.

_______________________________________

...Awful. This was suppose to be just a funny story about Tony Stark teaching his stubborn kid how to drive, and it ended up being...this. Erf. I hate it when I start to write a story that’s completely different from what I initially had in mind. Sorry ‘bout that. I haven’t slept in 36 hours and still feel not tired so like eh. I don’t know why I’m saying this. MEH. As usual, I didn’t re-read myself, proofread or anything, because of reasons. The End.

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