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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

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Secrets // D.M.

Request: CONGRATS BOO!!! Could I get a Secret relationship with Fluff 4 for Draco Malfoy pretty please at Hogwarts??? Also I was wondering if it could be with a Hufflepuff reader? (I love Hufflepuff x Slytherin pairings) THANKS AGAIN FOR DOING THIS BOO AND CONGRATS 💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛 - @herstory-study

Fluff 4: “Is that my shirt?”

A/N: The first of my blurb celebrations!! Thank you, lovely!! I hope you enjoy!! It could be argued that I got carried away but there’s a large chance I could end up writing full fics for each request 😂 Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Fem!Reader

Warnings: secret relationships, some kissing, some feelings, a whole lotta fluff, a cheesy ending and an abuse of commas and semi-colons

Word count: 2.7k

There were some aspects to History of Magic that could be classed as interesting; the witch-hunts of Salem, for example or even the brief study dedicated to the founders of the very school you sit in. However, there was nothing remotely interesting about hearing the tale of the Goblin wars for the sixth year in a row.

You tap the feather of your quill to your cheek; jotting down a sentence every now and then to make it look as if you are paying the strictest attention to whatever Professor Binns happens to be mumbling about in that particular moment. You fade in and out of daydreams; letting your mind wander back to two nights ago when Draco had snuck you back into the Hufflepuff common room – stopping every few so often to draw you into another laughter-filled kiss.

You startle when a piece of parchment falls onto your desk. Folded like a paper crane, you only knew who this could be from. A sly glance over the blonde-haired teenager who’s attention is most definitely on the pacing of Binn’s ghost confirms your suspicions.

You delicately unfold the piece of parchment; smiling to yourself as begin to read Draco’s elegant scrawl: “Meet me at the Room of Requirement? 7:30pm?”

Anticipation curls in your gut like a ball.

A brief glance is all it takes for you to confirm. A brief glance in your direction from Draco; a subtle nod from you and your plans for the evening have been wiped clear and replaced entirely with Draco.

The bell rings. You stand, gathering your things together and placing them in your bag. A slight brush to your side is the only contact with the Slytherin you’ve found yourself head over heels for. A slight brush to your side and it feels like every inch of you is on fire; a reaction that only Draco has the power to elicit from you.

The day passes by slowly now that you have something to look forward to. A day where short moments are stolen behind tapestries or on less traversed corridors. Five minutes each time between lessons where you can quickly whisper a hello before dragging him into a kiss by his green striped tie.

Keeping your relationship a secret was a mutual decision; the fallout on both sides being something neither of you could be bothered to deal with right now. Instead, you were happier hiding in empty classrooms where you could have your fill of the Slytherin Prince, and he could whisper sweet nothings in your ear without the risk of anyone overhearing.

There were times when it was stressful; when the week had been too long and there had been no time to see one another. It was only then that you questioned the secrecy of your relationship.

But when you came together after a long period apart; everything returned back to normal and a smile found its way back to both your faces.

Your excitement for the evening makes it almost impossible to eat; picking at the food on your plate as you think about finally seeing Draco tonight. From your position at the Hufflepuff table, you have an excellent view of him, and he knows it. All evening, Draco sends you subtle winks and smiles from his seat at the Slytherin table.

You clench your fist; your fingernails biting into the sensitive skin of your palm as you resist the urge to throw yourself across both tables to him. You resist the urge to simply kiss him in front of his housemates.

You resist it all; every single feeling and urge because you know that in a matter of hours, he would be yours for the entire night.

Instead, you send a flirty smile back to the blonde-haired teenager before returning your attention back to your meal.

-----

The Room of Requirement is located on left hand corridor of the Seventh Floor. You knew from how he rushed out of the Great Hall that Draco would beat you to it.

With a large grin on your face, you walk past the section of wall opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy three times. The entire time, thinking of Draco and how you’d like to see him.

On your third walk past, the large, ornate door appears. You don’t hesitate to pull it open and duck inside.

It’s never a different layout; always the same one that Draco imagines. A large, almost cavernous room with a grand fireplace that’s already lit and warming up the room. In front of the fire sits a couch big enough for an entire Quidditch squad but you know from experience that it’s perfect for the two of you to lie down on comfortably. A great bookshelf covers one of the walls; filled to the brim with ancient looking tomes and books, all there ready to read. You’ve taken advantage of such an offer in the past; reading to Draco after a particularly bad day.

Finally, pushed up against the furthest wall is a four poster bed covered in a thick, downy quilt and topped with blankets – both green and yellow to represent both houses. It was the cheesiest section of the room, and you had brought it up to Draco before – teasing him, but he simply shrugged and distracted you from further conversation.

You throw your outer robes on the bed, leaving you in your blouse, tie and skirt.

Draco remains seated on the large couch; his gaze focused on the flickering flames of the growing fire. Your arms snake their way around his shoulders; your hands trailing down his chest as you lean against the back of the couch. Pressing a small kiss just under his earlobe, you whisper, “I missed you today.”

Draco leans his head back, kissing the side of your jaw, “I missed you too.”

Letting go of him, you take a seat on the couch. In times like this, you never stray too far from the blonde-haired teenager, worried about how long it’ll be until you have a night like this again. An arm opens for you; you automatically press yourself into his side, inhaling the familiar scent of cashmere musk and roses. It was heavenly.

“How was your day?” He asks, voice quiet.

“It was boring until a note landed on my desk. Then it started to look up.”

Draco smirks, “How odd. Mine was taking the exact same route until someone responded to my note.”

You shift out of his hold; resting your head on your elbow that’s perched on the back of the couch. Your other hand pushes his hair back; pulling it out his eyes. He’s grown it longer over this year and stopped using so much product; it’s nice, more natural and a lot easier for you to run your hands through.

You open your mouth; trying to think of something to say but nothing comes to mind.

It doesn’t matter anyway.

Draco captures your lips in his. One of his hands settling on the back of your head whilst the other pulls you across his lap to straddle him. You smile into the kiss as your hands brace themselves on the back of the couch.

Breaking the kiss, you ask, “What was that for?”

He shrugs, “Nothing. I just missed you.”

“You’re missing me an awful lot.”

He kisses the underside of your jaw, “Can you blame me?”

You hum, “I don’t think I can. I’m missing you more too.”

“Then let’s not miss each other anymore,” Draco murmurs against your skin. Lifting his head just enough, he draws you in for another kiss effectively ending all conversation for the night.

-----------

You wake up tangled in the sheets of the four poster bed; Draco’s arm heavy across your waist.

As your eyes get used to the brightness of the room, they focus in on the clock on the beside table. Your eyes grow wide as you take in the time.

You’d slept through the lesson of the day already.

You launch yourself out of bed, shrugging off your pyjamas and rustling around to find your uniform.

“Draco!” You shout, pushing your arms through a shirt, “We need to get up, we’ve missed the first hour.”

Draco rolls over, groaning. Fastening your skirt, you kneel on the bed, “Love, we have to get up before the bell.”

He blinks his eyes open, grinning sleepily at you. Your resolve almost breaks then and there; happy to say to hell with it and get back into bed with him.

“I’m free second lesson,” Draco mutters.

You roll your eyes, kissing his lips briefly, “I’ll see you later?”

He nods, stretching his arms above his head, “I’ll see you later.”

Grabbing your outer robes and your bag, you rush from the Room of Requirement, fastening your tie as you bound down the stairs to Transfiguration.

“Where have you been?” is how you’re greeted by Miriam, your close friend and dorm mate.

You shrug, biting your lip knowing that there was no way you could lie yourself out of this.

Miriam narrows her eyes at you, “You never came back to the room after dinner and then you didn’t show up at breakfast. I was seriously worried. Where did you go?”

You look either side of you; checking that there’s no-one listening to your conversation, “Can you keep a secret?”

Miriam rolls her eyes, “Of course I can.”

“I was with Draco Malfoy,” You rush out in a single breath.

Miriam’s eyes widen and she pulls you to one side, “You were with Draco Malfoy? All night?”

You nod your head. Miriam puffs out a breath, “Well I didn’t expect that. How long have you been seeing each other? Tell me everything please!”

You laugh, “It’s almost ten months now, and I’ll tell you more at lunch, I promise.”

Miriam bites her bottom lip; glancing between you and the now open door to Transfiguration, deliberating whether it would be worth skiving the entire day to hear about your exploits with the Slytherin Prince.

She sighs heavily, deciding not to risk McGonagall’s wrath, “I want to hear everything at lunch – do not leave anything out, promise.”

Laughing once more, you cross your finger over your heart, “I promise.”

-----

Until lunch, Miriam sends you excited glances and knowing smiles. In between second and third period, she comments on the fact that she didn’t even think that you were seeing someone – not to insult you, but she just assumed that you holed yourself up in the library where you studied as late as you could.

Miriam practically bounces up to you when the bell rings announcing lunch. She keeps her questions to herself until you both take a seat at the Hufflepuff table, filling plates up with whatever took your fancy.

“So how did it start?”

You take a sip of pumpkin juice before beginning, “Over last summer, my family got invited to one of the many balls thrown by his parents. I don’t usually go to those things, but my parents asked me to join them this one time; I think they were worried because I’d spent too much time in the garden studying the plants. So I went with them and Draco’s father asked him to ask me to dance and it all stemmed from there.

“He sent me a letter the day after thanking me for an entertaining evening and wondered whether I would want to meet up again. I agreed and then from there it evolved into this.”

Miriam’s smile drops into a frown when she asks her next question, “Why keep it a secret? Was it his decision?”

You shake your head fiercely, “It was both ours. We were both equally as worried about the fallout from our families and our houses.”

“But surely if Lucius Malfoy asked Draco to dance with you, he wouldn’t mind?”

You tilt your head, thinking, “Perhaps not. He wouldn’t mind the blood status, but he might mind my being a Hufflepuff,” You shrug, “Anyway we haven’t gone public yet.”

“Ten months is a long time to keep this a secret.”

“It’s not like it hasn’t been hard and that there haven’t been times where I wanted to shout it to the entire wizarding world, but for now, it’s a secret.”

Miriam nods; the frown still expressed on her face. She reaches out her hand to yours, taking it tightly, “You’ve told me now though so that’s a shoulder to lean on should it get too much again.”

You beam at your friend, “Thank Merlin for you, Miriam.”

Miriam goes to reply but she’s distracted by someone approaching the Hufflepuff table. She lets go of your hand and nods her head to something behind you.

Turning in your seat, you find Draco patiently waiting. You smile at him, “Draco, how can I help?”

“I was hoping I could talk to you for a minute… about our last History of Magic lesson? You see, I didn’t take any notes and I was wondering if you had some.”

You smirk, “Why don’t we go outside? That way I’m not cluttering up the table for the others that are still eating.”

Draco grins, nodding at you understandingly, “Wonderful idea. Lead the way.”

Hoisting your bag on your shoulder, you send a wink in Miriam’s direction. She returns one with a laugh before beginning to eat once again.

Draco follows you from the Great Hall and to a less busy corridor. You lean against the wall with a smirk, “Now did you really want my notes, or did you already miss me?”

“More the latter than the former,” Draco admits with a small smile. He frowns though as he takes in your uniform, his eyes running up and down, “Is that my shirt?”

You look down at your clothing, only now realising that the shirt you had put on in a hurry this morning was indeed Draco’s. The arms being too long that you had to roll them twice before you could even start writing something.

You giggle, “I think it is.”

“I only wondered when I had to walk back to my common room shirtless.”

“No!” You shout, delighted at the thought of Draco running shirtless through the corridors.

Draco laughs, nodding, “I had my outer robes of course, but there was very little underneath.”

You clap your hands in sheer delight, “I’d give you back your shirt, but I’ve become awfully fond of it, you see.”

“Oh you have?”

Nodding, you say, “I have. It smells a lot like you which is great for when I miss you.”

Draco groans, throwing his head back, “If we weren’t in public, I’d be kissing you senseless right now. I didn’t realise how good you would look in my shirt.”

“Why don’t you?” You challenge.

Draco’s mouth drops open, “What?”

“Kiss me senseless.”

“Are you sure? We’ve kept this secret for so long,” Draco comments, a finger pointing between your two bodies.

You shuffle closer to him, “I’m sure. Ten months is long enough to keep you a secret, I’m happy to tell everyone now.”

Draco wraps you in his arms, not hesitating to kiss you. You gave yourself entirely to the kiss; pushing yourself off the wall and wrapping your arms around his neck. Your heart skips a beat when one of Draco’s hands starts to draw aimless patterns on the small of your back, sending heat rushing through your body. You sigh against his mouth before pulling away; repressing the urge to continue as the need for oxygen has become too great.

He presses one last gentle peck to your lips before grinning widely, “Are you really sure you want to go public?”

“Super sure. So sure in fact I’d make out with you again to prove my point.”

Draco raises an eyebrow, “Tempting but I say we go back to lunch. I think your friend had more questions.”

You grin at the thought of Miriam’s reaction to see you walking with Draco, “It sounds too good to pass up,” You hold your hand out to Draco, “Lead the way.”

It was all worth it when Miriam’s reaction to seeing you sit back down at the Hufflepuff table with Draco in tow was to spit out her pumpkin juice.

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

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrypotter289 @dreamer821 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @the-hufflefluffwriter @figlia--della--luna @bforbroadway @idont-knowrn @summer-writes @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @msmimimerton @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @iamobscuring

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @obx-beach @obxmxybxnk @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey

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ameliora-j · 3 years

Text

happier

word count: 825

warnings: angst, mentions of not eating, uh i think that’s all but pls lmk if i missed something

a/n: this is my first ever writing i’m posting pls be nice. i didn’t mention any characters but it’s based on the harry potter universe and it’s based off the song happier by olivia rodrigo. can be read as a gender neutral reader

----

we broke up a month ago

your friends are mine you know, i know

you've moved on, found someone new

one more girl who brings out the better in you

you stared longingly as you watched the boy you’ve loved for years laugh with a girl you used to call your friend. that used to be you. tucked under his arm and laughing as you ate.

it had been a month now and you still couldn’t even bear the thought of food. you pushed the lunch around your plate as you blinked away the tears. your friends were his friends. and now you had no one. you sat in a sad silence at meals, if you even went at all. he’s moved on... and now you have to as well.

at the sound of his laugh you pushed the plate away from yourself. giving up on yet another meal, you stood from the table and collected your things. silently, you walked out of the great hall and returned to your dorm. he’s moved on... you have to find it in yourself to do the same.

and i thought my heart was detached

from all the sunlight of our past

but she's so sweet, she's so pretty

does she mean you forgot about me?

the boy was still your potions partner. no matter how much you had implored the cold and emotionless man that you call a professor to just please let you sit anywhere else in the class. he wouldn’t let you. even when you told him the situation. even when you explained to him what happened. even when you broke down crying in front of the man, begging for him to just please move your seat. he just stared back at you indifferently.

now here you sat, watching the pair shamelessly flirting across the room. your heart stopped beating against your ribcage and your lungs refused to take in air as you saw a small paper butterfly fly across the room and land on her desk. that was your thing. you attempted to shake away the feeling of your heart breaking into millions of tiny pieces as you continued to stir the cauldron.

you moved to ask the boy a question, but you saw he was already in conversation with the new love of his life. the way he stared at her with so much adoration in his eyes shattered your heart even further. that used to be you. you breathed deeply, keeping the tears at bay as you spun on your heel and decided to get the valerian root that you needed on your own.

this was so stupid. now he has a new girlfriend and suddenly you don’t even exist anymore? what should you care though? you aren’t even together anymore. he can be in love with anyone he wants to be. just not her... merlin’s beard, not her.

and now i'm pickin' her apart

like cuttin' her down will make you miss my wretched heart

but she's beautiful, she looks kind

she probably gives you butterflies

you sat against a tree at the black lake, studying for your upcoming charms exam when you heard the unmistakable sound of his beautiful laughter. when you turned your head, there they sat. at your tree. talking and laughing.

you stared for a while longer, trying to find something. anything. a blemish. a scar. a flaw. but you couldn’t. she was gorgeous. everything you wished to be. everything you wanted to be. especially now that she was his.

nothing will heal your heart now. he’s replaced you. and you have to live with that. he was your everything. and now he’s nothing. beautiful strangers is all that the two of you had succumbed to after nearly three years together. you’d done everything together. he was your first everything. and now he’s nothing but a stranger. cutting her down won’t make him miss you. nothing will.

he’s not coming back. he never will...

i hope you're happy

just not like how you were with me

you love him enough to want his happiness. you need him to be happy. at least for you. if you can’t be happy, at least he can be.

a simmer of a smile graced your lips as you watched from a distance at the way he smiled with her. you hoped that she at least made him happy... just not happy like he was with you.

you hoped that nobody would ever make him feel the way you could.

i'm selfish, i know, can't let you go

so find someone great, but don't find no one better

they were good together. they looked good together. what else would you expect from the two people deigned the star couple of hogwarts. he found someone amazing. you could only hope that she wasn’t better than you were now.

a selfish hope... but a hope nonetheless.

i hope you’re happy but don’t be happier...

#songfic #harry potter x reader #draco malfoy x reader #ron weasly x reader #cedric diggory x reader #blaise zabini x reader #theo nott x reader #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader #james potter x reader #fred weasley x reader #george wealsey x reader #neville longbottom x reader #sour series

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bwbatta · 3 years

Text

three - all bets on

Abstract: Draco and you are just friends so doing him a favour and pretending to be his girlfriend wouldn’t effect your friendship, right?

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader

Warnings: lil bit of swearing, lil bit of angst, lil bit of jealous Draco

Word count: 3825

A/N: GET READY (this ones a big boi) taglist for this series is still open and so is a permanent taglist for my other work (HP or not!), so let me know if you’re interested in any of them!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Part 2 | Part 4

“(Y/N)”

A voice whispered loudly from behind you, trying to get your attention as you tried to ignore it.

“Psst, (Y/N)... (Y/N)!”

You were doing a spectacular job of ignoring the whisperer who desperately was trying to get your attention, but your patience ran thin when a sharp pain ran through your back.

“Ow!” you hissed, turning around with your eyes blazing “Did you just stab me with your quill?!”

“...It was really more of a poke to be completely honest”

You shot an angry glare towards the red headed boy who now looked quite sheepish.

“What do you want, Ron?” You asked annoyed

He shared a look with Harry who sat next to him and both looked hesitant to say anything, which of course only made you more impatient.

“Well? Are you going to ask me a question because I’d rather like to get this finished so I can leave to get dinner”

“Have you shagged, Malfoy?”

“Ron!”

Both Harry and you looked at Ron with varying expressions, yours was complete shock and Harry’s was a mix of slight embarrassment and curiosity.

“No, I haven’t shagged him” you narrowed your eyes towards the pair. “And even if I had, it would be none of your business”

“Are you sure you’re not being forced into dating him?” Harry questioned with a concerned look “We can help you if you are!”

“While I appreciate the help you’d offer, the answer is no. I’m not being forced into dating him” you sent the pair a glare “I’m dating Draco because I really like him”

“Well that’s a lie,” Ron scoffed “no one likes Malfoy”

“Well, okay, I agree that’s true” you shrugged “I actually love him”

“What?!”

Turning back round to finish your work, you tried to conceal the smile on your face as the two boys started pestering you again, trying to get your attention when suddenly a note landed on your desk.

The note was folded like a bird, and had been obviously charmed to act as such, as it jumped around your desk like a small robin would do.

Curious, you opened it up and immediately a smile spread across your face as you read the message.

“(Y/N),

Can I copy down your notes later? If yes, I adore you. If no, what do I have to bargain with this time?

Also fancy dinner in the kitchens tonight? I’ve got an idea.

Draco

P.S pretend this is a cute love letter or something to piss Potter and Weasley off”

Your eyes shot over to the blonde who was already staring at you with a grin on his face.

You sent a smile of your own back, nodding to him, signalling he could copy your notes later. Thinking quickly, you also went one step further and blew him a kiss.

Draco’s cheeks blushed a little but the look he sent you could’ve melted you right where you sat.

If you hadn’t known any better, you would’ve described it as true heart eyes.

But you did know better.

He was just acting.

It also seemed to do the trick as Ron stabbed you in the back again with his quill, breaking your concentration from each other. You whirled around again with a glare in place.

“Stop stabbing me with your quill” you hissed

“Is that note from Malfoy?” Harry asked trying to get a look at it

“It might be”

“What does it say?” Ron questioned

“Why are you so curious? Jealous I’m getting love letters and you’re not?” you sent him a smirk

“So it’s a love letter?” Harry asked slight disgusted at the thought of you getting one from Malfoy.

“Yes, it is. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get dinner with my boyfriend, who I love very much”

Picking up your books, you stuffed your papers inside your bag and stood up, making your way to the door where Draco was conveniently waiting.

The fact he was going to copy your notes later, meant as soon as he saw you pack up to leave, he jumped up, his own bag already packed, ready to join you down in the kitchens for dinner.

Harry and Ron sat watching you wander over to Draco with a grin on your face as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to your temple to rile up the two Gryffindor boys.

“Ready to go?” your fake boyfriend asked you with a smile to which you nodded, eager for food away from prying eyes and curious questions.

The two of you made your way down to the kitchens, talking about what you were hungry for and before you knew it, a huge plate of a roast dinner was placed in front of you.

“Oh my,” you practically drooled “look how pretty this is”

“I hope you have the same reaction when you see me?” Draco joked

“Unless you suddenly turn into a plate of food, it’s a no, sorry honey”

“Maybe not a plate of food, but I am a snack”

You did not address the comment, only sent him an amused look which he smirked proudly at getting some sort of reaction from you.

The two of you dug into your meals, chatting about absolute nonsense gossip you’d heard throughout the day. Apparently you’d missed Seamus Finnegan blowing up not only his own water goblet, but the rest of Gryffindor table’s, trying to turn it into Firewhiskey when you were in the Library.

Through a mouthful of roast potato, you suddenly made an exclamation like you��d suddenly remembered something, catching the blonde boy’s attention.

“Yes?” he asked amused at you trying to swallow your food quick enough to say something before you forgot your thought process.

“What was your idea you mentioned earlier?” you finally managed to ask. “The one you mentioned in your note?”

“Ahh” he began as he set down his knife and fork “I have an idea about something we can do to make people believe we’re a couple more?”

“Go on?” You asked curious, taking another bite of your food

“We could make out?”

Well, you didn’t expect that.

And the fact you were now choking on your mouthful, showed that perfectly well.

Draco patted your back as you trying to regain your breath. Finally able to swallow your food, you took a gulp of water to clear your mouth.

“Sorry” you muttered

“No worries, if I knew you were going to react like that I would’ve prepared you” he grinned at your embarrassment.

“Piss off”

You rolled your eyes at him before locking his gaze with your own unamused look.

“So?” He pressed

“Um... yeah, I guess that could work”

You fiddled with your sleeve as you tried to pull off an unbothered expression, when all you could now think about in your head was the fact you’d be kissing your best friend.

“Right?! That’s what I was thinking! No one would be able to deny we weren’t dating after we’d kiss in the Great Hall or something where everyone could see.”

“Yeah” you collected yourself and yanked yourself back into your confident persona “I mean, go big or go home right?! All bets on.”

“Exactly” he nodded in agreement “We do this and everyone will believe it”

You mirrored his nod and shot him a smile, hiding your nervousness immaculately. If there was one thing you could do, it was hide your true emotions.

“Yeah... everyone”

“Hey, when’s the potions essay due again?”

“Tomorrow”

“...Shit”

Hermione gave you an unamused stare as you sat across from her in the Gryffindor common room.

The witch had made you promise to study with her for the test Flitwick had set for charms, especially since neither Harry nor Ron felt it urgent to do so.

“Don’t tell me you forgot about it?!”

“Nope, it was totally intentional for me to leave an entire essay due to do the night before” you shrugged sarcastically causing Hermione to send you another of her stares.

To be completely honest, you probably would’ve done it last night if Draco hadn’t taken you to the kitchens for dinner. You two ended up staying there for the rest of the evening, partly for the instant snacks from the house elves, partly because you two just enjoyed each others company more than anyone else. You had to admit though, the pumpkin pasties were worth it.

“Well don’t come running to me for help when you need it” Hermione miffs “I told you to get it done as soon as it was set otherwise you’ll forget it, and look what’s happened? You’ve-”

“Forgotten it, yes okay, thank you. You getting a good view up there from your high horse?!”

“Don’t be silly”

Hermione went to say something else but was interrupted.

“Hey, (Y/N)”

Lee Jordan smiled at you effortlessly as you sent him a smile back, slightly confused as to why he was there in the first place. He looked slightly nervous when you looked closer, his fingers playing with the edge of his sleeve.

“Hi, Lee. You alright?”

“Yeah, I actually wanted to ask you something, if you’re not busy?”

“Go ahead, I’m not doing anything interesting”

An annoyed scoff from the witch sitting opposite you said different.

Lee’s eyes flicked between the two of you before they settled back on you.

“I actually wanted to ask you if you wanted to go to the next Hogsmeade weekend with me?”

You were confused. Surely everyone, especially Lee because of the twins, knew you were going out with Draco. It had been all anyone had asked you about for the past week.

“Um... I actually was going to go with Draco” you told him slowly “You know, my boyfriend?”

“Yeah but that’s not actually true is it?!” Lee laughed a little like the idea was preposterous. “I mean come on, you don’t actually like the guy, right?”

You bristled slightly at the way Lee spoke about Draco. Sure, the boy was an wanker to most of the Gryffindors, if not all of them, but he wasn’t a truly bad person.

Most of the way he acts is down to how he was raised by his parents, and after meeting Lucius one summer, you could understand why.

“Nope, I actually love the guy, which is part of the reason why I’m his girlfriend”

“You love him?!” Hermione jumped in, just as surprised as Lee

The tone Hermione used also didn’t sit right with you

“Yep, we’re super in love” you grinned at her unfazed, not showing any hesitation about the subject. “So as nice as your offer is, Lee, I’ll have to turn it down, sorry”

The boy looked taken aback as if he thought you wouldn’t turn him down.

“Right, well, okay. Sorry to bother you” Lee smiled at you which you returned before he walked away.

You were still slightly shocked that Lee had just asked you out, when it was pretty much common knowledge for everyone in the castle, that you were in a relationship.

It solidified the point that Draco and you needed to make it more convincing though.

Nonetheless you turned back to your study notes, hoping to put this from your mind, but before any more studying could be done, the notes were snatched away.

“Nope, you’re not doing anything else until you tell me what’s really going on”

Laughing slightly you rolled your eyes at the dramatics of your friend.

“Really?!”

“Really! And despite the fact you somehow think I’m stupid-”

“You’re far from stupid, Mione-”

“Shhh” she actually shushed you as you interrupted her causing you to snort under your breath. “You really didn’t think I wouldn’t pick up on how Malfoy just so happens to not make any more insulting comments towards me?”

“Like I’ve told you before, he’s not a bad person and it’s not a huge change-”

“Yes it is!”

You stilled slightly at the conviction in her voice, words dying on your tongue before you could even utter them.

“He used to call me a mudblood every time we were in the same room, (Y/N). Now he nods to me and actually acts like I’m not some piece of dirt on his shoe? Somethings up.”

You never thought the dynamic between the two was really that bad, so you found yourself not really knowing what to say. Hermione continued regardless of your silence.

“I know you don’t know how much he used to insult me, or torment me because regardless of anything, the boy absolutely adores you so much so he would bite his tongue whenever you were in the room. Though now he’s actively going out of his way to be civil with me, even when you’re not around? I don’t trust it.”

Again, you were at a loss for words. But overwhelmingly you felt like a terrible friend.

“Hermione... I didn’t know it was that bad between you”

“Well it is, or was” she shook her head as if to centre her thoughts. “Look, fine, don’t tell me what’s going on, just promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Careful of what?” you asked confused as to what she was talking about now.

Sighing heavily, Hermione grabbed her books and started to pile them up. Standing up she paused, letting her eyes rest on you as you could tell she was debating what to say to you.

“Just be careful you don’t get caught up in whatever game you’re playing too much”

With that being said, the witch turned and headed towards the Gryffindor girl’s dormitories, no more words said between the two of you. The ones last said being enough to linger in your head.

“Hey, Sweetheart”

You were surprised for a second which showed on your face before you quickly gathered yourself and sent a dazzling smile back to the blonde who had sat down next to you.

Hermione’s words had been on your mind since the previous night, enough to distract you as you were up, attempting to write your essay in the small hours of the night. You were exhausted, but somehow seeing Draco had made you feel just that little bit better.

“Morning” you replied, blushing slightly as Draco pressed a kiss to your temple (which was now becoming a normal thing for him to do), and wrapped an arm around your shoulder.

“You two are awfully cosy this morning” Blaise remarked as he took the seat opposite.

“What, am I not allowed to sit with my girlfriend for breakfast and show her some affection?!” Draco asked whilst grabbing a few slices of bacon from the buffet in front of him.

“Never said you weren’t” Blaise rolled his eyes at his best mate “just that you guys are disgustingly close”

“Aww thanks Blaise” you smiled at him innocently, clutching your coffee mug close to your chest, as he shot you a look which made you chuckle.

Pulling you closer to him, Draco leaned down to your ear to stage whisper loud enough so the boy opposite could hear.

“Don’t worry about him, he’s just jealous he’s single and doesn’t have someone to kiss in the morning”

“Alright, piss off you two. If (Y/N) wanted to go out with anyone I had hoped it would’ve been me, but I’ll live” Blaise joked as you chuckled along with him.

Draco sent his friend an amused look.

“Stop hitting on my girl, Zabini”

“Yeah yeah, I’m just joking” the wizard rolled his eyes at the Malfoy boy as the two of you shared a chuckle. This was until a prominent thought popped into your head.

“Oh, guess what happened last night?” you asked the blonde wizard who sent you an inquisitive glance as he took a bite out of a slice of toast. “Lee Jordan asked me out.”

At once, Draco’s face dropped it’s curious expression to form one of annoyance and agitation.

“What?!” he practically hissed. “Does he not know you have a boyfriend?”

“Apparently, he thought it was a joke” you told him, eyes quickly assessing his reaction.

Leaning into you and pressing his forehead to your temple, it would’ve looked couple-y to anyone else but it just meant he could whisper to you so no one else would hear.

“What did you say?” he whispered

“I said that I was your girlfriend” you whispered back, playing with his fingers of the hand wrapped around your shoulder. “I let him know I was taken, don’t worry.”

“But I am worrying (Y/N), he doesn’t know it’s a joke!”

“...Are you jealous? Offended someone else asked me out?”

“No! I just don’t like people asking out my girlfriend”

You turned your head so both your foreheads rested together. Resting your hand on his cheek, your thumb brushed over his cheekbone as his gaze met yours.

“I’m yours okay... for however long you want me to be your fake girlfriend” you caught yourself with an awkward chuckle. “I’m all in.”

Draco felt a smile creep up on his lips and he could help but take you in. You had this calming aura around you, which he felt like was almost soothing his soul just being next to you.

He found it addicting.

A cough from opposite the table caught your attention and both your eyes snapped over to Blaise how pointedly looked towards the entrance of the Great Hall.

Catching sight of Pansy entering the hall, eyes darting round, no doubt looking for the blonde boy next to you, you couldn’t help the noise of irritation which left your lips.

Draco smiled at the sound, enjoying the fact you were as annoyed as him when it came to the girl. He pulled you closer to him, slotting you under his arm as you wrapped your own arm around his waist in turn tucking yourself into his side.

“Bitch incoming” you muttered under your breath

Draco snorted under his breath before rolling his eyes at the smile Pansy sent him as she wandered over to the three of you.

“Oh Merlin” Blaise groaned as she took the seat next to him, opposite from you.

“Hi guys”

“Is there some reason you’re sitting with us?” you found yourself asking as the girl shot you a snide glare.

“I just wanted to sit with my friends, is that such a crime?”

“What friends?” Blaise muttered loud enough for everyone present to hear.

“Pansy, we’d rather eat without your face putting us off our food” Draco shrugged.

Pansy eyed the arm holding you securely to him with a look of envy and disgust, like it was disturbing her immensely.

“Oh Drakey, don’t be mean, where else am I meant to go?!”

“If you ask nicely, the pound might take you back” you joked which earned you amused snorts from both boys.

Any expression on her face, which was put on for politeness, dropped instantly and Pansy glared at you like looks could kill.

“So first you steal my boyfriend and then you insult me?”

“I wasn’t your boyfriend, I will never be your boyfriend” Draco sighed like the topic was getting old.

“And then,” Pansy continued, completely disregarding the Malfoy boy’s comment, “you think you can just play around with a rumour that you two are together, and everyone’s just going to believe it? Come on, I haven’t even seen you two kiss. This little act you’re putting on might just ruin that friendship of yours.”

There was no doubt about it, Pansy Parkinson was jealous, vengeful and relentless.

You knew convincing her would be the biggest problem of this whole plan but that’s exactly what you needed to do; convince her.

With this in mind, you sat up straight and looked her dead in the eyes.

“You don’t believe us because we haven’t kissed in front of you?”

“I think the fact that you two haven’t kissed in front of anyone proves you’re just faking it” she shrugged.

“So you want proof?” Draco asked with a scoff “That I would choose (Y/N), a decent, good human being, over you, to be in a relationship with?”

Pansy pulled an expression like her question was obvious.

“Alright, how’s this for proof?”

The arm wrapped around your shoulder changed and Draco cupped your face in the palm of his hand.

Brushing back a lock of your hair with the other hand, he took a brief moment to study your face, thumb rubbing softly on your cheekbone. Your eyes met his and the same determination was reflected within your own eyes at how much you wanted to show this bitch, that the boy now looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky, was yours.

Leaning down, Draco’s eyes never left yours, looking for any uncertainty, but found none. This gave him the confidence he needed and before you knew it, his lips were on yours.

You were certain your brain short circuited.

His lips were soft but determined, as the kiss you shared started slow, almost finding comfort in each other, before his other hand rose to cup the other side of your face.

That was when your heart really skipped a beat.

It was like a fire was burning in your chest, almost painfully as you put everything you had into this kiss with Draco, and everything around you drowned out except for the boy in front of you.

He was addicting.

Draco however, could hardly express how right this kiss felt.

He really hadn’t expected how your lips would’ve felt until he met them, yet this was better than he could’ve ever predicted. You were all consuming, you were perfect, you were everything.

Holding your face between his hands like you were the most delicate thing, he just sunk into the feeling of kissing you. It was almost like finding something he had been missing.

Like he had been missing kissing you.

Pulling back after what felt like forever, when it could’ve only been seconds? Minutes? Draco wasn’t sure. Time had completely escaped him.

His eyes met yours and it was like the two of you were lost in each other.

The fact that the two of you were so wrapped up in each other, you didn’t see how whispers spread through the Great Hall and soon everyone was watching the pair of you.

You didn’t see how the golden trio shared a look between the three of them, each concerned about you, and how wrapped up you were in Draco.

You didn’t see how Fred handed George five galleons, an obvious bet having been made between the two of them.

You didn’t notice how Pansy, filled with envy and rage, left the Hall in a strop, Blaise’s amused gaze following her.

You did however, notice how easy it was to get lost in the blonde wizard.

Especially his lips, and the way he whispered three words against them, not breaking eye contact with you.

“I’m all in.”

Series Taglist: (If you’re in bold I’m unable to tag you for some reason, sorry!)

@weasleytwinswheezes @azkabanlexi @streetfighterrichie @queen-of-the-coven @gdee703 @thatguppienamedbae @crumpets-are-better-with-jam @savcks @remmyswritings @thescarletknight2014 @w0nderr @heyiheardyouwereawildone36 @moonlightorbit @ceeellewrites @nicole-prz @depressedchilipepper @swiftlymoniquesblog @soshitan @pastel-skyline @sokkasdarling @thatdumbbitchxx @emmamarie7708 @idkatee @malfovs @fadesbrina @slytherinxraven @purplewcrld @lauren-100 @lulbabes @s4dthrills @dracoswhore007 @parkeroffline @lord-byron @its-chickenwing-450 @hales-a-bells @loonyslytherin

Draco Taglist:

@torchwoodoctor @crouchless @coldheartedslytherin @a-coffee-bean @ochrythum

#draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy headcanon #draco x reader #draco imagine #Harry Potter x reader #harry potter imagines #harry potter headcanon #Harry Potter #harry potter series #dating draco malfoy #fake dating draco #hogwarts #harry potter imagine #malfoy x reader

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konigsfaerie · 3 years

Text

Compass

Chapter One

Summary: Falling in love with two people isn't normal, but after fighting your way out of the TVA, you can't help but develop feelings for both Loki and Mobius. Hiding your emotions has never been your strong suit, and your resolve has been fading with each passing day you spend together at the compound.

Word count: 4,630

Loki looked across the common room to find Mobius rifling through papers, undoubtedly studying another timeline that would need to be fixed. Loki watched his hands turn the crisp pages, watched his index finger travel down to find a specific word.

He decided to break his gaze and clear his throat, shaking himself out of his daze. “Don’t you think we should take a break? We’ve been at this all day.”

Mobius looked up from the folder and raised a single eyebrow. “You mean I have been at this all day. You’ve been sitting there looking pretty while I have been isolating timelines we need to fix without so much as a lunch break.”

If not for his Frost Giant heritage, the blush on his face would be unmistakable. Suddenly words left him, so he decided to stare out of a window, his dark thoughts immediately returning.

He left who he used to be back in New York. The jealous god, the god who was angry at everything and couldn’t love anything simply out of fear. It seemed that all of the sudden there was too much love in his heart, the kind that made him feel the most guilty he had been in a long while.

Loki, Mobius, and you fighting through the TVA was no small feat, and even now there was no time to rest.

“Although I suppose we should check on y/n. She’s been cooped up in her office all day,” Mobius observed, pushing away from the desk and stretching his arms up. Loki noticed his torso as he stretched, the fabric revealing the slight V of his waist. There was that nonexistent blush again, the panging he felt in his chest.

“I’ll get her some food from the kitchen.” As Loki left for the kitchen, it was now your features that plagued his mind. Your soft skin, supple thighs, full cheeks, y/e/c. How could this be possible, to love two people at the same time? Just years before he would have destroyed an entire planet without thinking, and now every action he made, he’d run it over in his head before doing so just to make sure he didn’t say something wrong that could hurt yours or Mobius’ feelings. Although Mobius wasn’t exactly the most sensitive of the bunch, Loki cringed when he thought of all the terrible things he said to both you and Mobius when he first arrived at the TVA.

There were cooks of course, The Avengers Tower was huge with so many people coming in and out, but he wanted to make you food by his hand.

Your feelings for Mobius and Loki were… complicated at best. The passion you felt for Loki made your head dizzy, but the tender love you felt for Mobius made your heart ache. You ran a hand down your face, the guilt gathering up in the pit of your stomach again. How was this even possible? You loved them both, and while they probably didn’t even have a clue, you couldn’t imagine letting either one of them go. And if you lost both of them...

You heard a knock at your door, and you tried steeling your face into indifference again, but ultimately failed. “Come in!” Instead of indifference, you tried to look as happy as can be, providing a smile as bright as the stars.

As soon as you saw both of them come in at the same time, your face immediately fell. You tried to look away from their faces, your eyes pointing downward, pretending to do something you were working on before you were about to have a breakdown. You couldn’t actually be in control of your emotions when Mobius started acting all gentle and kind and Loki started a war of who could use the most sarcasm in one sentence. (Hint: He always won.)

“Is there something the two of you needed?”

Loki sat down in the chair in front of your desk, placing a covered dish in front of you, planting his feet on your desk, which he knew you absolutely hated.

“We can’t visit our favorite girl unannounced?” Mobius spoke, giving that little grin of his.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Favorite girl. Were you really… their favorite girl?

His excited smile faded. “Unless you’re busy… I don’t want to interrupt you.”

You slid a hand to Loki’s boots, roughly slapping his feet off the table and uncovering the dish. “No, I- Well, I guess I haven’t eaten all day.” Part of your job to create a new task force of Avengers to fix the timelines destroyed accompanied by Doctor Stephen Strange. He usually was in your office with you going over the candidates you thought would make a good addition to the team, but he was currently out convincing them to come back to the compound.

“Sorry. I should’ve brought food up to you a long time ago.”

Loki eyed you as you took your first bite into what had to be your favorite meal of all time. You started to shake your head at his comments, but instead you closed your eyes for a moment, letting a moan sneak past your lips. “This is so good! It tastes much better than what the cooks usually make for us. Who made this?” Usually it was all leafy green salads and juice the color of baby puke (doctor’s orders, and by doctor, you mean an overprotective philanthropist), but thank the gods, it was something actually cooked in oil.

“Loki cooked it for you,” Mobius said with a teasing smirk, but then his lips went into a pout. “While I eat this salad for the twentieth night in a row.”

A blush crept up on your nose and you giggled. “Guess I’m just that special.”

“Yes,” Loki remarked. “You are.” His eyes burned into your own.

The blush deepened into a shade of ruby red. Loki was always one for bluntness and didn’t always understand how humans communicated with each other. Yes, that was all it was. Just him reminding you how much he cared for you as a friend. The sentiment was new to him, after all.

You filled your face with more food, your eyes staring down so that you didn’t have to meet either of their pair of eyes. After finishing your food, you heard a bottle of alcohol thud on your desk. You laughed and gave a little shake of your head. “Don’t you know that the use of alcohol or other substances will hinder our training?” You mocked Tony, his strictness fueled by FRIDAY.

“Well,” Loki laughed. “I am not in training,” he continued, popping the cork off with his mouth. “Because I am already amazing.” He put the bottle to his lips and took two long swigs.

Both you and Mobius groaned, Mobius grabbing the neck of the bottle from him and doing the same. As he passed it to you, you thought that maybe this was a bad idea. You never really got too drunk unless you were “reveling” with Thor, but you were constantly afraid your feelings might slip out. One wrong look, and they might figure it out.

Mobius passed it to you, and you downed four long gulps. Maybe the alcohol would make you momentarily forget your feelings instead of bringing them to the surface. Immediately your head felt lighter as you passed it back to Loki, but instead of the smiles that were there before, two worried glances were presented on their faces.

Loki put the bottle down. “What’s wrong?” The concerned look on both of their faces made your heart thud in your chest. They really, actually cared about you. About what you thought, what you felt, if you ate, if there was too much on your plate. That was more than just being friends, right? When you were with them, you felt different. Lighter, safe, like nothing could really hurt you as long as you three were together.

“Nothing,” you defended, taking another bite of your food as the buzz you had started to ebb and flow. Trying to keep the tears springing from your eyes was no small task, but you couldn’t do this now, in front of them. You hated lying to them and you didn’t even know what excuse you could possibly make if tears started running down your cheeks.

But the truth was that you cried often. Late at night after hours of exhausting work, not only isolating timelines but trying to convince people with abilities to help your cause, usually wielding little to no results. After all that tiresome work, it wasn’t the universe or your collective impending doom you thought about; it was Mobius and Loki. How they take care of you, how it might feel to have Mobius’ lips on yours while Loki wraps his arms around you from behind and kisses your neck...

How long have you been looking at your empty plate without saying anything?

“Y/n? Sweetheart?” Mobius started, reaching for your hand across the desk which made Loki look at the pair of yours. Why did he call you that so often? Ever since coming to the TVA, even when it looked like he wanted to scream at Loki until he was hoarse, even when you joined forces with Loki and he couldn’t understand why in the world you would, he wanted to protect you. Both of them did.

It felt like your heart was just continually skipping beats. It was absolutely insane that one word was the thing that was finally going to undo you.

Sweetheart.

Our favorite girl.

Your eyes went back and forth between the two of their faces, your lip starting to wobble. Loki immediately got up from his chair in front of you, moving towards you and crouching down to your eye level. “What is it? What’s the matter, y/n?” His concerned blue eyes searched yours, his eyebrows knitting together in worry.

Mobius was hovering over you at your desk with that same look, waiting for your response.

There were lies you could tell, of course. I’m just tired. I miss my family. I want to piece this god-forsaken universe back together already. It was all true of course, but the real reason you lay awake at night with tears streaming down your face was because you were in love with the both of them and if you did anything about it, you’d lose them. And your heart could absolutely not handle that. They were everything to you.

You could only imagine it, which you did often. Their confused looks which would make you feel like the weirdest person on the planet, the neverending silence as they only talked to you about work. How could you possibly handle them not barging in on your space every night, not making you feel like the luckiest girl on the planet just to have friends like these?

Nevertheless, the tears came and the sobs started racking your body as they both came to your rescue, enveloping you in their arms, which only made you cry harder.

“Y/n-” Mobius started, but was cut short because of… that look you were giving him. The one that said everything, the one that also traveled to Loki. It was unmistakable. With them, you were an open book and your face were the words on the page.

Loki pulled away, but only to put a hand on your waist. Was he… giving you the same look? When you looked back over to Mobius, his hand was at your waist as well, his hand flying up to dry your tears. “Sweetheart,” he breathed.

As soon as your eyes fluttered, Mobius’ mouth was on yours, giving you the most tender kiss you had ever felt. His lips slightly pulled away as Loki’s finger hooked under your chin and his lips flew to yours. Back and forth you played this little game until your knees were threatening to buckle underneath your feet, both of them slightly rubbing your waist.

As you pulled back slightly, their lips finally pressed against each other. The kiss between them was more rough but just as loving.

You couldn’t believe this was happening. No, there was no way they felt the same things you did. Ever since spending time with the both of them in the TVA, the thoughts that plagued your mind were perhaps the darkest you ever felt. Not just because you knew without a shadow of a doubt whatever conclusion you came to you would get hurt, but because you might hurt them in any way. The love you felt for them didn’t seem natural, but it definitely felt it. But this…. They felt it too? Not only that, but they felt things for each other as well? For how long?

Suddenly you didn’t want to be cooped up in this office anymore so you grabbed both of their hands, locking their fingers with yours and started moving to the stairs that led to your room. As soon as you closed the door, Mobius was pushing you against it while Loki ran a finger down the length of your arm.

You didn’t need to say anything for now. Your faces said so much. Words might be necessary later, but now…

Loki nudged him over while his lips explored yours again and Mobius kissed your neck. A moan escaped your lips again, but this one wasn’t because of the pleasure of food, rather the pleasure of the two men controlling your every movement. Mobius’ hands were still pinning you to the door, and you couldn’t help it as your waist moved against Loki’s.

“Please,” you breathed. “I n-need-” God, it was hard for you to talk with Loki’s lips hovering over yours, the heat rising in you as you imagined all the marks Mobius was making on your neck, claiming you as his.

“What do you need, darling?” Loki whispered, moving to the other side of your neck. Mobius shoved his leg in between yours, your hips making quick work of him.

Apparently that was all the answer they needed. Mobius grabbed your waist, moving you to your bed as they both joined you and started on your neck again while Loki began slowly untying your top, testing to see if you were comfortable.

Usually you were shy around them, but you had enough of just fantasizing about them doing this. You would be perfectly happy if they decided to rip your clothes off and spread your legs.

“I’m tired of waiting,” Mobius snapped as if reading your mind, shoving your pants down as Loki threw your top onto the floor. They both beheld you in your matching lacy white bra and panties. They looked… hungry. Like they’d both been waiting for this, only now they realized all three of you wanted it just as much.

You swallowed as they stared into each other's eyes just a moment before taking each other’s shirts off. Even though you needed them to rip off all your underthings, you were nervous. They definitely had more experience than you, and Loki was a literal god who could get whatever or whomever he wanted.

As Mobius placed his lips onto yours again, his tongue teasing your own, you could feel Loki’s hands gripping your panties, sliding them down. He took in a breath, giving himself a moment to take you in. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, just before spreading you with two of his fingers.

“Mmm, fuck,” you moaned against Mobius’ lips, moving so that Loki had perfect access. All you wanted was his tongue on you, or even his fingers filling you up.

Okay, that’s not all you wanted, but it was a start. What you really wanted wasn’t just his fingers filling you up, but either - or both of their cock’s inside of you, hitting that one spot you really loved-

“Loki!” you gasped as his mouth connected with your clit, his finger easily sliding into you. You bucked against him, biting your own lip as Mobius slid down near Loki, giving him a kiss before removing his finger and sucking on it, tasting your juices. The look in their eyes when they looked at eachother - it was sending you over the edge already.

“Look at her, Loki,” Mobius observed. “She’s already wanting to cum on your mouth. Should we let her?” Was he teasing us? You were dripping at this point, coating his mouth with your juices, gripping the covers with your fists. The look in Loki’s eyes was feral as his tongue flicked over your clit and then swirled around it. The only answer he provided was a groan of pleasure from having his tongue play with your clit. He was waiting for permission.

“Not yet,” Mobius decided, grabbing a handful of Loki’s hair, pulling him back. Loki’s face was pure disappointment, which he soothed by licking his lips, tasting you again.

Loki moved towards you, his face hovering over yours. “You taste so good,” he whispered. “Do you want to taste yourself?”

You gave a nod, staring up at him and he gave you the most passionate kiss you’ve ever felt, his tongue enveloping yours. You sucked on it, moaning against his tongue as you savored yourself.

As you sucked on his tongue, you realized you were one-hundred percent more wet than you started off, and you couldn’t help but squirm as Mobius spread your legs ever father, his finger moving slowly up and down your clit. This was fucking agonizing. You didn’t want to be teased, you wanted them to take you right here on this bed.

“Good things come to those who wait, y/n.”

You stared at Mobius who was currently sliding a single finger into you excruciatingly slowly, a pleasured smile on his face, most likely because he knew how bad you wanted him, wanted the both of them to be inside of you.

“Please,” you begged as Loki started to unhook your bra, placing his mouth on your nipple. “I-I want-”

Mobius stopped pumping his finger in and out of you, joining Loki in playing with your nipples. “Yes y/n, tell me what you want and I may even give it to you.” Before you could speak, he slid his finger into your mouth which just made you buck your hips even more.

“Oh, is that what you want?” Suddenly, he grabbed Loki and started taking off the remainder of his clothes, finally sliding off his belt and undoing his pants, shoving them down with his underwear and exposing his cock. “Is this what you want? You need to be fucked?” You glanced at Mobius who was currently stroking Loki who tilted his back in pleasure. The sight was fucking angelic, and all you could do was speechlessly nod without abandon.

Loki was rock hard, probably from the moment he saw your glistening pussy. As you rose to your knees, you met his face as you pumped him with your hand, taking over from Mobius, exploring him. “Do you like that?” You wanted to edge him on. You wanted him to lose control, especially because you could see how much he was trying to contain himself. Mobius saw it too, which was part of the reason he was teasing the both of you so much. The other reason was because he wanted to see just how bad you wanted him.

No response, just another groan. You heard Mobius taking his pants off but was utterly focused on pleasuring Loki.

Suddenly you could feel Mobius’ cock against your ass, him coming behind you and feeling on your breasts. “Now tell Daddy exactly what you want.”

Fuck.

“Both of you. Inside of me.” You turned your head to look at him, biting your lip out of embarrassment.

Surprise lit his features. “Are you sure about that? I don’t want it to be too much for you… Yet.”

You nodded quickly. “I want both of you to fill me up.”

Mobius tore you away from Loki, pushing you face forward onto the bed, placing a hand on your stomach to prop your ass up. You took that as a clue to arch your back. “Good girl,” Loki remarked, moving you over momentarily to move under you. Loki started teasing you, placing his cock at your entrance.

“No, no more teasing,” you begged, letting out a little wine. “Please just… Please fuck me!”

“Isn’t she impatient, sweetie?” Mobius pondered, lubing himself up with something you didn’t recognize, then going to his fingers so he could stretch you out. From this angle, Mobius could control everything. He slid a finger into your ass which caused a moan to slip out. Honestly, this wasn’t a normal thing for you, but you had to have both of them. You didn’t want to wait or deny yourself any longer.

You bucked against his finger as he slid another one inside of you. It hurt a little, but in the best way possible. You could feel him stretching you out, taking his time, just as Loki rubbed himself against your clit. Loki’s little pants and quiet moans were only teasing you further, and even Mobius looked like he was losing his resolve to go slowly.

Words wouldn’t, or rather, couldn’t escape your mouth. You already felt so filled up with Mobius’ fingers pumping in and out of you, Loki threatening to slip inside of you. The feeling you felt was best described as… helpless. They were controlling your every move, how fast or slow you went, when or even if you would cum.

Mobius gave a look to Loki, silently giving him permission as he slowly slid his fingers out of you. “Are you ready, sweetheart?” Loki asked, his soft and wanting eyes staring up at you and pushing your hair behind your ear. “Would you like to feel me inside of you?”

“Y-Yes!” You leaned further onto him so that Mobius would have easier access to your ass and so that Loki could easily slip inside of you. His breathing turned ragged as the head of his cock teased your entrance, but you were tired of being teased. All those nights fantasizing about this, fantasizing about the looks they were giving you now. Never in a million years would you think they would want this too, but here they were, one under you and one on top, showing you how much they cared for you.

Even though Mobius wrapped his fingers around your hips, moving Loki’s legs slightly so he could have as much access to you as he needed, you slid onto Loki’s long shaft, sending shocks throughout your body. His grip tightened just as you could feel Mobius’ lubed cock slide into your ass.

Filled up is what you felt. You almost felt overwhelmed with it, but you could take it. You could take both of them as they started pumping in and out of you. You closed your eyes, almost feeling high, feeling like the universe was moving throughout your body.

Mobius couldn’t have possibly known your eyes were closed, but you felt one arm wrap around your waist as his fingers tightened in your hair. “Look at him pumping inside of you, y/n. Watch him fuck you.” His breath was ragged too as you moved between them, your hands tightening around Loki’s shoulders for purchase.

The moans coming out of you were loud, probably loud enough to wake the entire compound, but you didn’t care. They were stretching you out, filling you up entirely. You had never felt more loved than this exact moment. “Please-” you moaned. At this point, you weren’t sure what you were saying. You weren’t sure of anything, and you especially weren’t sure where you ended and Loki and Mobius began. “I don’t know if I can-” you started, pausing to look at Loki’s feral glance. You knew you were dripping with want, with need. You were wet, so wet, and so tight, and you loved the feeling of him inside of you. He was a god, and that almost all-powerful thing inside of him threatened to come out with every thrust, every new moan you made.

“What’s wrong?” Mobius asked, moving his hand from your hair to your chin, making you look at him. His eyes were almost glossed over, and he was still fighting his composure.

You shook your head, moving to buck back against him, which prompted him to move his hand back to your hair, controlling your every move, your every thrust. “I just don’t think I can-” Another shock rang throughout your body as they grew even more in sync with each other, picking up their pace. You felt totally dominated, and your mind was reeling from the fact that the two people you loved so much were fucking you into oblivion. The blush spread to your nose as you bit your lip. “I don’t think I can last long,” you moaned, rolling your head back momentarily as Mobius loosened his grip, kissing your soft lips.

Fuck, you saw stars. You were so close already, and his lips on yours didn’t help, his tongue exploring your own. His moans vibrated against your mouth as he grabbed a handful of your hair again, pushing you down to kiss Loki as he chuckled, some sadistic part of him enjoying seeing you on the edge. While you were usually so in control of everything around you, Mobius liked seeing you completely out of control, at his mercy.

Loki was close too. You could tell, because his grip was tightening even further on your waist, holding you completely in place while he slid in and out of you, his teeth gently pulling on your bottom lip. Through all three of your moans, you could hear the wet slap of his cock as he fucked you. He kept hitting that exact place you wanted him to, which made you cry out in pleasure. You were so glad they were both holding you, otherwise you didn’t think you could hold yourself up anymore.

Mobius’ hand moved from your hair to your throat, his grip tightening around you. Your eyes widened as any control you previously had completely disappeared along with your resolve to hold on. Your eyes squeezed shut for a moment as your pussy tightened around Loki’s cock, causing him to cry out in turn. Your eyes opened again, watching him shoot his cum inside of you. “Y/n!” He cried out your name as he reached for you, his hand tightening around your own.

“Fuck,” Mobius swore. Galaxies exploded inside of you as you gripped Loki’s other hand too, biting your lip as you felt Mobius shoot inside of your ass with a loud groan.

As your orgasm finally calmed, you felt the both of them slide out of you and let out an involuntary whimper. The feeling of being filled up, it was… everything. And now you felt empty. But as soon as they heard it, they came to your rescue, Loki turning over and pressing your face to his chest as Mobius laid down at your side, stroking your back and covering the three of you up.

“Better?” he whispered.

You nodded, moving your head to stare up at him, your lip wobbling a little. You felt completely exhausted, and the world felt like it was spinning around you, but as soon as you felt their arms tighten around you, you came back to Earth. He planted a small kiss on your lips, giving you a smile that made all dark thoughts completely disappear. You could see things in that smile, things that had been left unsaid.

“So much better,” you sighed.

#lokixmobiusxreader #loki/mobius/reader #loki x reader #mobius x reader #marvel #marvel fanfic #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #tva #my fanfic

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roger-that-cap · 3 years

Text

meet me in the gardens

summary: being the widow of a decently wealthy lord and sitting on a large plot of land automatically meant that you were a candidate for the program that you couldn’t say not to; the hosting. you had to sponsor a knight and keep them in your home for an entire year, which was troublesome enough on its own. but you never expected your knight to be a woman, and you certainly didn’t expect to have a full on illegal love affair with her, either.

warnings: i pulled this shit out through writer’s block, yeah that says enough, cursing

word count: 3.1k

this is part three!

Natasha Romanoff was more than pretty, and everyone that didn’t already have that figured out was starting to realize it. By the time her second week ended, you had seen her actually use her sword only once, but you only needed to see it one time to know that she was skilled with it. Unfortunately, the butcher didn’t get the chance to see her work with a weapon until he got too close to her and she showed him up close.

That gave you a laugh.

She was insanely strong, quicker than you could see sometimes, and as sharp as a whip. She was more impressive than you could have ever imagined, and she demonstrated it nearly every time you watched her without even trying. Even when she was doing simple things, you couldn’t seem to take your eyes from her. From the way that she held her utensils to the way that she was careful not to step on your flowers when she went past your garden, nearly everything she did made your stomach flutter with an emotion you had never felt before, and you couldn’t decide if you liked it or were annoyed by it.

You would never forget the feeling that settled in your stomach when you saw her from atop one of your horses, and you realized that somehow, she was even more beautiful when you looked down at her from just a slightly higher angle. She was still smiling from the rush of a practice fight with a skilled swordsman that was just passing through, and though she had to put in little effort, she won. You had witnessed the last half of it yourself after you rode back in.

You had watched her begin to stalk off with that same stunning look of soft pride on her face and your heart stopped when she turned on her heel and headed straight for you, practically high off of the fight. Your brain scrambled for words in that moment, and all you could think of to say before your time was up was “you won”, but she beat you to your humiliation. “You ride with two legs over?”

Your brows furrowed at her and her question until she gestured towards your horse with a slightly red hand, like it had been hit one time too many with the wooden sword. “What do you suggest I do?”

“Most ladies…” Before she could finish her sentence, she trailed off, like she had just remembered the way that your first talk about how women should and should not be. Her look of triumph had faded into a slightly hesitant one, and then you gestured for her to go on without caution. When she took too long, you sighed.

“You mean the way most ride with both legs on one side?” You drawled, and she nodded wordlessly. You thought that the rule was idiotic, yourself. Men, because they had pants, were supposed to ride with one leg on each side of the horse. It was seen as disgraceful and quite the opposite of modest for a woman to ride that same way, regardless of riding pants. “I think that’s idiotic. I could fall off much easier that way.”

“Wouldn’t want you to fall,” she said, and it could have been the way that the sun was shining at that moment, but you could have sworn that she was close to smiling at you.

“I wouldn’t particularly want to be mistaken as a man, either.”

“I think that I can confidently say that no one is ever going to mistake you for a man, My Lady.”

Dinner was fine meat and heaping piles of starches, and Natasha was in Pietro’s old spot. He was used to it by now, and instead of being upset about it, all he would do was laugh a bit and whisper something to Wanda that you could never quite catch.

“I hope you’re enjoying your time here,” you told the knight, who looked up from her plate of food. “How has your search been?”

You saw her frown a bit. “I haven’t found anything that strikes me quite yet.”

You almost cringed at that, because a voice deep in the back of your own mind was telling you that you had certainly found something that struck you. “Is the setting uninspiring?”

“No, not at all,” she said slowly, like she wasn’t even afraid of offending you. And she wasn’t, because she knew that you wouldn’t have been offended. “It’s just… I’m nearly there. Just not quite.”

“You still have months,” Wanda reassured her quietly, working on her turkey leg. “I’m sure you’ll succeed in your knightly quest by then.”

“I think so,” Natasha said, and you nodded at her encouragingly.

The rest of the dinner went swimmingly. There was little chatter here and there, and most of the talking came from Pietro, his jokes back to back and then he would be dormant for minutes at a time until he had cooked something else up for the group. There wasn’t the air of hostility that had slowly but surely been dissipating with each day that Natasha had been there. Finally, the thick tension stopped rolling out like it was being produced in a factory, and then, the four of you were just there. Just four people eating a nice meal together, with no setbacks.

Of course, that didn’t last long.

§§

You always bathed alone. To people who had been born wealthy, having staff- they would be inclined to call them servants- bathe you meant that you were important enough to be tended to. It gave people thoughts of importance, and it made them believe even more than they already did in the superiority that mattered very little after death. A man or woman who could not get their servants to wash them is no lord or lady, they said. But you liked to wash yourself. It was the few and final shreds of dignity that you had after your husband and the impossible year that you spent with him, and even though he was gone, you surely weren’t going to stop washing your own body. Not when you could hardly ever do it back on the farm. Not when you had two working hands just like anyone else.

However, there was one thing that you could never do by yourself, and that was putting on your corset, and then wiggling into the dress. Wanda volunteered for it once after telling you the significance of a lady helping another into her clothing,, and when she realized how utterly helpless you were, she offered to help you do it every day. You accepted the offer after trying to do it on your own again the next morning.

You had never known that there was a designated corset assistant for a lady. You knew that there were typically a few women that a lady had on hand, and you had started off with a few before you realized that you really only needed Wanda. But the woman that helped a lady into her corset was seen as the woman’s most trusted confidant and the closest friend that the lady had, and when you let Wanda dress you for the fifth time, you realized that it was true.

And there she was then, waiting right by your door to dress you for the thousandth time with her eyes aerated as you dried off, sighing and groaning at the way that you could already feel the corset trying to strangle your insides. You grimaced at the object while you held it up, looking at it strangely like you did every time you laid your eyes on one without fail, and you didn’t even have to say a word before she was crossing the room and helping you step in it. While she was tying you up, you did your hair for the day. Every now and then, your eyes would meet in the vanity and she would silently ask you whether or not she was tying it too tight. She never did. You gave her a kind smile once she stepped back after finishing with the first layer of your dress, and then there was a quick succession of knocks on the grand door of your bedroom.

You and Wanda shared a confused look. When there was another round of anxious knocks, you threw your nightgown over your shoulders, your heart rate starting to pick up. “Come in,” you answered, brows furrowed at the thought of something being so important for someone to interrupt your alone time. That hardly ever happened. A man with brown hair walked in, legs taking hesitant strides until he got to Wanda, who stepped in front of him before he could quite reach you. He was holding out a sleek, black box. Wanda took it from him and then handed it to you, and you thanked him softly and took it, and then opened it to see a letter and the seal that you would never forget.

Your heart stopped for a second.

Forgetting that you weren’t alone and that you were nearly indecent, you ripped the letter open with a huff and started to read it, and when you did, you nearly dropped it to the floor.

My Dearest Lady of Riverstone,

I have been trying to reach you with word of my intentions for quite some time, and have not been receiving any answers. Luckily for you and for our imminent future, I won’t need an answer. My question has already been given a positive response by the High Priest himself. I have asked for your hand in marriage, and now, after all of my waiting, I shall receive it. By the end of three cycles of the moon, you and I shall have met and married. I look forward to meeting my wife, and the soon to be Lady Rumlow.

The room was utterly silent. Even though you hadn't uttered a word aloud, Wanda and the brunet man who was frozen by the blank look on your face knew that whatever it was, was horrible. You had read it twice before a minute passed, and you almost had it memorized, but you couldn’t stop looking at it like it was growing dandelions straight from the paper. You took in a deep breath, exhaled, heard Wanda’s soothing voice from under a thousand layers of ocean, and then read it again just to make sure that it was right.

Of course it was.

The High Priest allowed Brock Rumlow’s “claim” for your hand. He overrode your obvious refusals with the power of the highest man of the land besides the king himself. If what he said was true, then you weren’t getting out of the marriage. There was no way you would.

A sob escaped your lips, and before you could put your head in your hands, Wanda was right by your side, disregarding the contents of the letter without even reading them to comfort you. The young man ran off at the first sight of your teary eyes out of respect for his lady, and he quietly shut the door after himself.

You were too busy catching your breath to hear the noises you were making. If you knew that the miserable sounds were coming from your mouth, you would have stopped them if you could. You sounded like a woman being drained of the very little she had left, and Wanda held you through it all. Your hands were shaking and the letter was crumbling in your fist, and you held it tight to your chest, subconsciously hoping that if no one else read it, that it made the contents of it completely untrue.

“I don’t want to.” You were only able to say it clearly one time, and then you were shaking your head and blubbering to yourself over and over again, the same few words spewing from your mouth like they were the only ones you had ever learned.

You didn't know how Wanda knew what happened, but she did. “I know, I know.”

You didn’t know how he got away with it, and yet, you did. Anything with the High Priest’s signature was practically law, and a man like Rumlow wasn’t going to back down if he had gone to such lengths to obtain a right to marriage. Three months. You had three months. And that was generous.

“How am I… how?” You whispered, drying your face even though you knew that your tears were about to come back at full force. “I can’t. I can’t do it.”

“You won’t have to,” Wanda insisted strongly, her accent getting thicker with the emotion that she was putting out. The twins never told you where exactly they were from, but you knew that it was far away. Maybe even from across the sea, but that had nothing to do with you. “We will find a way to fix this, do you hear me?”

There was absolutely no way to fix it, and both you and Wanda knew it, no matter how stubborn she was deciding to be. You were going to be married to a man that you had never even seen before, and everyone was supposed to be fine with it. You were not.

§§

The second that Wanda left you alone, probably to conspire with her brother, you ran out of your room. You made a beeline out of the side door and nearly stumbled over an overgrown branch, but you caught yourself and kept pushing, walking quickly and missing all of the flowers that you typically stopped to look at and care for. Tears were in your eyes as you trailblazer through your safe space, destroying it with negative emotions and thoughts.

The second that you got to the rose bushes, you fell flat on your butt and put your face in your hands knowing that you were far away enough from everyone for them to not hear your cries. Even if they did, you were at the point where you didn’t have it in you to care. You were being given away against your own will to a power hungry man, who would probably make you leave this place and have you carted off to his own keep. Something told you that Rumlow was worse than your late husband could have ever been, and that said something.

“Are you hurt?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at hearing a voice so close to you. When you realized that it was Natasha, looking at you with more than mild curiosity, you inwardly groaned. “I’m fine.”

“What’s got you worked up?” When you didn’t answer immediately, she cleared her throat, obviously uncomfortable with how distraught you looked. “Was the bathwater not warm enough for you, my lady?”

Your tears stopped for a moment and you started laughing, putting a hand over your chest as you leaned back a bit. “If only bathwater was the height of my problems.”

“Is it political?”

“It might as well be.” It was.

You were both silent for a moment, and then, she sighed. “You’re getting married, aren’t you?”

Immediately, the air was yanked from your lungs, and you nearly broke your neck trying to look over at her. “How?”

“I know that look in your eyes,” she said softly, and you could have sworn that it was the softest tone she had ever taken with you. “It’s the look of someone being backed into a wall. You’re getting married to a man you don’t know, aren’t you?”

“Damn you knights and your observations,” you snarled, but your heart wasn’t in it and you both knew it. “I would rather die than marry this man.”

She had a confused expression on your face, like she thought you were acting irrationally. “Why are you worried about it, then? If you send a refusal fast enough-”

“He’s been chasing me ever since my husband died, and now he’s got the approval of the Church.” You saw her eyes widen. “There’s no way to stop this now.”

“Oh,” she breathed out, and then she looked away. “I’m sorry.”

“He’s going to kill me.” You said aloud, and before she could tell you that you were being irrational, you kept going. “He’s had two wives, and one has never been seen again. The other was found with stab wounds in a forest, not even buried. He did it, I know he did. He’s an evil man-”

“Brock Rumlow?” Natasha asked, connecting the dots. Everyone knew about Rumlow and his wives. He was nothing short of a horror story. “Oh, fuck.” You didn’t even flinch at the language.

“He’s vile. I won’t live longer than a year-”

“Not if I can help it.”

You turned to look at her again, the smile on your face slightly condescending as you tried to gather yourself again. “What can you do? What can anyone actually do?”

“I’m here for a year,” she stated, and you nodded, an exasperated look on your face. “If you’re truly worried about him attempting on your life, I can be your guard for as long as I’m here.” She saw you open your mouth. “And before you ask what good that will do you, I can teach you, too.”

“Teach me to, what?”

“How to not get killed,” she said gruffly, and you frowned. “Defense.”

You looked at her for a long moment. “You’re not serious.”

“As serious as a murder.” She took a step closer to you. “I know that beneath all this anger, you’re really just scared. And upset. You don’t want to talk about it, I know that, but you should. It’s not good to bottle things up and wait for them to explode, trust me.”

You scoffed. “If I try to talk to someone, they will send me off and say I have some form of hysteria.”

“I won’t,” she said firmly, and you felt your heart beat nearly out of your chest. “You could spill your life to me for the next year, and then I’ll be gone. I’ll be like a journal you can trash. I wouldn’t tell a soul what we talk about, if you want to talk. And you could be the same for me. If you don’t want to learn to fight, you can at least speak.”

You considered it for a moment. “And then what?”

“After the year, we part ways.”

“What would you talk to me about?” The second question was so implied that you both heard it; we have nothing in common.

“Whatever comes up. We’ll just listen to each other, because god knows this kingdom hardly listens to women.” You gave her a long look in the silence, watching the way she watched you in return, and finally, she cleared her throat. “Do you accept?”

“No one can know,” you said quietly, and despite your lack of reasoning, she nodded. You both knew why. She took a step forward with an outstretched hand and you stared at it in the same way you did the first time she did it, but you took it quicker this time around.

“Every other night, I’ll meet with you..”

“Where, in the gardens?”

Her low laughter complimented the mood that set across you both. “Where else would we meet?”

****

here it is! the third part (that i am very nervous/not very pleased about)! comments and feedback are thoroughly appreciated! i’ve been really stressed out with work and school work lately and have not that much time to myself without staying up hella late, so i’m sorry if this = donkey’s ass. thank you guys for reading this 🥺

if you like the series so far, please remember to reblog! reblogging means so much to the people who do work of any kind up here. (omg not me begging for a reblog LMAO)

tags (you can ask to be removed or placed at any time!): @teenwonder @procrastinatingsapphictrash @fayhar @8plasma @slut-for-nat @dontmindmejustreading @swords-are-cool @200605chaeng @thescottishavenger @antidaytime @jenny-song @madamevirgo @natasha-danvers @drdarcy-lewis @blackxwidowsxwife

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #lgbt marvel #marvel fanfiction #my fics #natasha romanov x reader #natasha x female reader

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cosmiclatte28 · 3 years

Text

Casual Intimacy (Mark Lee x you)

a/n : it’s my soft hours I guess? I made this sweet Mark Lee imagine (well for me this is sweet. I want a boy like this... if you’re that kind of man dm me 😜)

fluff, no warning, no suggestive content but kisses, and just Mark being a wonderful man for you.

Happy Imagining Mark Lee as your s/o!

People often ask you how you can hold on to your “plain” relationship with your current boyfriend. You seriously do not like them bothering you about your relationship life, but you need to deal with it considering the fact that the man you are dating is the famous Mark Lee of NCT.

He is dorky in camera, and in real life too. You pray day and night to the angels to make sure Mark is not tripping on some random stone or bump a pole. Guess your prayer works, when you see Mark always smiling in front of the camera coping up and working so hard with his endless job.

You yourself work in a famous two Michelin restaurant in Seoul. You’re not going to lie, you met Mark lee on your duty. NCT was holding their debut birthday and you were appointed as the chef to cook for their meal that night. Apparently, Mark Lee was super fascinated by your dish and he requested you to come greet the team when your job in the kitchen is done. Your head cook lets you leave your station once desert is prepared and the plates coming into the washing room is clean.

That was five years ago, Mark Lee got love struck by your simple but attractive persona. His eyes couldn’t leave you as you answer their questions on the dishes and you congratulating them. They’re glad when they learn that you listened to their songs and followed their schedules, just that you don’t have much time to be like the other wonderful fans.

Mark Lee looked so intrigued on you and as you bow to them bidding goodbye, he just returned from the restroom. With his long legs trying to catch his other brothers, Mark happened to slip his number on a piece of tissue paper to your pocket and gave you a genuine smile plus a “thank you”.

You earned a good pay that night and even better, Mark Lee’s number.

Well, he isn’t your bias but come on who doesn’t have Mark Lee in their bias list? Want it or not, conscious or not, Mark Lee is always in the list. So, that night when you finish showering and eating a light midnight snack, you gave the number a shot.

You thought your message will never be replied, maybe Mark will have his phone in silent and only opened up messages from his contact list. You’re lucky when your notification bleeped and from that night both of you learn more about each other.

He kept your number under your name, plain business people say, you also thought maybe he wanted to call you for another dinner party. But the chats he had been sending was far from platonic business. It involves jokes, puns, memories of living in Canada (well you graduated from University of Toronto, but cooking is your passion), and even deeper like late night talks.

The relationship got deeper when Mark Lee called you one night, asking if he can meet you in the restaurant. He said he needed a good meal to write a song he was assigned for. You found no correlation between a good meal and writing a song, but believe it or not, Mark Lee came with one of the hottest selling song that month. Earning him a title of “King of Lyrics”

Since then, he called you again and again when he didn’t have the idea to write. You finally invited him over to your house when you got closer. Mark got to eat in your small dining table with a simple dish that was made with love and care that Mark said tasted better than any other dishes he ever had.

You laughed saying he is exaggerating, but Mark never exaggerates when he is with you.

“Be my girlfriend will you?” he one night asked after you teach him how to cook a proper egg. Despite him succeeding the challenge back in 2020, he still needs practice. He succeeded cooking eggs after knowing you for more than a year.

“Suddenly Mark? After you can make a perfect runny egg?” you giggle but nevertheless nodded your head.

His smile that night was even brighter than when he received any awards and praises. His eyes spark joys and emotions uncaptured by cameras. The world never knows how Mark’s true happy face looks like, but if his world is you, then the world knows!

For the first two year of dating, both of you are keeping it low. Dates happen in your house (your wage is enough to buy you a house). You always cook him foods, tried new dishes to him, earned a lot of complains on how the food is not “suitable for Korean tongue” which you always shrug off because he himself is a mix.

But thanks to his constant brave inputs, your dishes are perfectly blended and well known. News media and TV shows started to cast you in their weekend shows. You were offered a contract of a cooking show in a known broadcasting company.

Mark told you to go for it. He knew how happy you are about cooking, and his faith told him “if that is what was given for you, go for it.”

He was right. The internet loves you, they love your simple but tasty dishes. Your show was ranked the hottest that month, famous for helping college student eat a more delicious food.

NCT even did a special relay cam for it, each group were doing a challenge on following your recipes.

Mark was caught off guard on that live shooting day. His team consisted of him, Ten and Johnny.

And you may guess, things went wrong but in a chaotic fun way. When the three of them are together, they just speak in English and forgot all of the filters they should have.

Mark spilled his relationship when he accidentally said out loud “Of course I know how to do that, my girl has been teaching me that.” Mark boasted when Ten asked if Mark could make the egg benedict for their dish.

Johnny and Ten froze on screen, well the NCT members knew your relationship with Mark but they kept quiet. Mark realized what he has said was recorded and forever lives in the web. The comment section went wild and the fans are thrilled about the “mysterious girlfriend Mark has”.

He eventually spilled the truth on a press conference. You were there beside him when he faced the board director and when he sit in front of different mics and cameras flashes. No one knows but throughout the time, when your heart is beating faster than when you took your SAT and final tests, Mark Lee held on to your hand whenever you are answering a question directed to you.

The magazines are taking the favor of the rising topic, inviting you and Mark to take a photoshoot. When you were insecure about taking a picture with him (who has did countless shoots), he squeezed your arm when walking past you and gave a small proud smile as he went to change clothes while you start your personal shoot. No one saw that, but his quick reassuring squeeze boosted your confidence that day and the couple shoot was very nice! You could print that as your wedding pictures!

When the internet goes wild when they connect the theories and Instagram posts Mark and you both made (fans are the best in deciphering codes!), you now walk through the streets crowded by fans. All asking how is it like to date Mark, but not few also told you to screw off. One day when you both are going back to Canada for a winter break, the fans are crowding the way. You gulped when you have to walk pass them, but Mark looked so used to it. He just chuckled and landed a small hand on the back of your waist. With the manager hyung and bodyguard pushing to make way, you made it through the crowd with confident steps.

On the Christmas dinner, Mark was invited to your family dinner and vice versa. You had to attend their family lunch and to say you were nervous was an understatement.

“Mark, what if they don’t like me?” you asked on your bus ride to his house from the airport.

Mark laughed, he always laughed as his first respond, “Baby, it’s going to be okay. Trust me.”

You snorted, “You calling me baby is already suspicious, for three years we dated you “dude” me 70% of the time, “baby” was only like 10%”

He did the math, “Then what’s the remaining 20?%”

“You just call me “Bro” for the res of them.” You squeezed his cheek and planted a kiss there.

“I like it though, not too cheesy.”

He grew red. “Gosh I am having the Jaehyun syndrome. Why are my ears burning?!”

He was not 100% wrong, his parents were nice they grew fond of you especially when you helped his mother prepared lunch. Well you both arrived earlier and you decided to give a hand for the busy mom.

Mark sat next to you on dinner and when you were diving into a yummy Christmas pudding, his parents began asking you the “platonic questions asked to your partner”.

You almost chocked on your pudding when they asked “Are you seeing a future with Mark? Can you make our son happy and us too?”

You were not ready, you expected questions like where you work or where you live. They said “We can find all that answers in the internet, but not the answer to our question.”

Mark’s gentle kick from under the table by your side made you looked at him and he gave you that sincere smile only you have the privilege to see. He nodded slightly and shot his eyebrow to his parents side “Answer them… I am also curious of the answer.”

You grew red, it wasn’t the drink or anything, but his parent’s happy and relieved face when you nod your head and said “I am seeing a future with him, if I get both of your blessing.”

They love you and Mark was right. That night, you invited his family to join your dinner instead. The same question was asked from your parents to Mark and Mark was more than ready to marry you.

But your wedding bells did not chime that fast. He has his career and so do you, both of you just keep the stable relationship going on. Together facing the problems and obstacles in your relationship. Fights occur, bickering occur, threads of breaking up also happened once or twice… but both of you used that to build a stronger bond.

You always melt when Mark came home from a long day. After he showered and savored his dinner, he always ended up leaning on your shoulder in the big snuggle sofa both of you never regret buying. His head on your shoulder, his hand scribbling words to a paper and you whispering ideas to him which brought a big smile to his face.

Writing lyrics has been even easier for Mark, he blended your frustration with his, splattered some love words, and voila a masterpiece! People said his lyrics were relatable and both of you always keep it to yourself that “those happened in our life, no wonder it looked real.”

He always kissed you gently on your lips, tasting the faint cherry flavour of your lip balm. Mark’s lips tasted of medical lip balm, but you love it nonetheless.

You blinked and realized the flashing cameras in front of you. Oh right, someone from the hot magazine company is asking you a question.

‘Can you please repeat your question?” you asked politely to the lady holding out a mic.

She quickly nodded, “A lot of fans are wondering If you are still in a relationship with Mark. Mark was busy for the last months with projects and comebacks. And the interaction update from both of you are little to none. Fans suspected you were over with him, considering that Mark looked like he is the “plain” type in a relationship.”

You pressed a smile, hiding your urge to laugh out loud. Weren’t the fans always picturing Mark as their dream boyfriend? Why did they judge him as the plain boring type then?

You clear your throat and while looking through the crowds, you spot Mark Lee seated in the crowd with a mask and a hat, giving you a nod, and you turned your mic on.

“We’re still going strong; well I think love is not the type of grand gestures or explosive displays.” You started off and caught everyone’s attention.

“It’s made up of little things,” you felt your heart clench upon remembering all the small affections Mark always did to you. “It’s the little things Mark Lee did that say he is here, and he cared for me and that my life has intertwined so deeply into his that there was no need to think.” You take a pause to look at the audience.

Everyone looked impressed, but amongst them you catch one pair of gleaming proud eyes, the pair of eyes you’ve been waking up to for the last years, and the one you want to wake up to in the future years.

“It’s Mark’s casual intimacy that made us both stay strong and stronger.”

Applaud was heard through the room, you were holding your press conference because you were retreating from all the cooking shows and rumor has it you are going to marry Mark.

“Please pray for both of us, as we will be tying our bonds soon.” You leave the room after a bow and the man with mask and hat is already waiting for you outside the big crowded function hall.

His hand naturally makes its way to your waist and you never felt more sure to step into life with this man you love, Mark Lee.

“That was wonderful (y/n)~”

You smile, he did not dude you nor bro you nor baby you. “I love you Mark Lee,”

He leaned in for a peck behind the tinted black van window, “I love you most (y/n) Lee,” he winked and you rubbed your cheeks “Guess I have the Jaehyun syndrome now! Also I like it when you call me with that name.”

He quirked his eyebrow and smirked, “Don’t worry, you’ll be hearing that soon for the rest of your life.” He reached for your hand and kissed the knuckles.

“I met you thanks to your amazing handy work in cooking unforgettable dish.”

You rolled your eyes, “You were so amazed on my egg benedict Mark! How is that an unforgettable dish?”

He shrugged his shoulder, “I don’t know, something about you, cooking, and love made me this love struck and awfully amazed by simple things you did.”

the end

thanks for reading, put in comments for I’d love to interact with you on the story plot .. rant to me what you hate or like idc :D i want to talk with my readers! to thank you all for reading and spending some time here

omg i didn’t know if I made the right choice of making Mark Lee as this character, but I want it to be him.. I’ve been writing a lot of Jaehyun and Yuta fic and I guess Mark can be a refresher. Please let me know if someone else suits this better!

#mark lee x you #mark lee x y/n #mark lee x reader #mark x y/n #mark x you #mark x reader #mark lee #mark lee imagines #mark lee scenarios #mark lee oneshot #mark scenarios #mark lee fanfic #mark lee fluff #mark imagines #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 soft hours #nct fluff #mark fluff

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mellowswriting · 3 years

Note

Hey I saw your requests are open! I love the quarantine series! I’ve been on a Marcus pike kick lately and I’ve been super stressed about college and my work load trying to graduate😩 I’d love to hear your interpretation of Marcus when his girl is going through this cause you know he’s 💕that guy💕 - how he’d help you relax and everything... maybe even some smut if you’re feeling up to it 👀

Take a Break

pairing || Marcus Pike x Fem!Reader

summary || Marcus helps you relax after college stress

word count || 2,369

warnings || Explicit Sexual Content (fingering, praise kink, soft dom!Marcus, allusions to p in v sex), stressed out reader, Marcus to the rescue, domestic fluff, ‘good girl’, no use of y/n

a/n || As a college student who is also ready to explode from school stress, this was cathartic as hell to write. I hope you enjoy!

Masterlist | Join the taglist!

Your cursor hovered over the submit button. This research paper had been the center of your academic focus for nearly three months and had taken up the majority of your energy for far too long. Once that damn paper was submitted, you could breathe easy for a while and not have to see statistics and graphs in your sleep anymore. So you took a deep breath and hit the button, relishing in the relief that washed over you - for approximately three seconds.

There were still assignments to be worked on, textbook chapters to read and take notes on, and you just wanted to throw your laptop into the ocean instead. Fuck it all. In that moment, all of your progress and hard work and the finish line that was so damn close really didn’t seem to matter. You would rather hide under your blankets for the last month of the semester than even think about philosophy notes or biology tests.

But you couldn’t.

There was no way in hell you were going to let the last two years of hard work and a solid grade point average go down the drain, especially when you had a summer well on its way where you could relish in not having academic responsibilities. You rubbed a hand down your face with a frustrated sigh and put your textbook down on your desk - maybe just a bit harder than necessary, because the door creaked open a few moments later.

“How’s the paper going, honey?” Oh, Marcus. Your sweet, sweet Marus, who’s words were already making tears of frustration prick your eyes.

“It’s finished. I just turned it in.” You said, your voice devoid of the usual pride that followed a well-written assignment, and flipped open the book in front of you.

Marcus’s hands fell to your shoulders as he stood behind your chair and started rubbing, those strong fingers working the tension from your muscles. “What are you doing then?”

“I still have a ton of shit that needs to get done. Notes and a ton of reading, and I have to study -” You cut yourself off with a heaved breath. The stress was getting to you, you could recognize that, but it wasn’t enough to overpower the anxiety of impending deadlines, even if you still had plenty of time and wiggle room to get them finished.

Marcus paused. It wasn’t the first time he had seen you like this, and he wasn’t about to discount what you were feeling by telling you to relax or something else equally as stupid. “Okay, how about you come have lunch with me? You need a break. You can’t be productive when you’re burnt out. Maybe we can talk it out, help you come up with a plan.”

It took a moment for you to convince yourself that it was okay to leave your desk, to focus on something that wasn’t your classes for a little bit. When you nodded, Marcus smiled at you bright enough to melt some of the frustration. Unbeknownst to you, he had a little something planned.

If there was anything true in the world, it was that Marcus Pike was the best man the world had ever seen. The stress you were feeling had been building up for the past week, growing heavier with each moment that it went unchecked, and he could tell. It was obvious in the way you held yourself, in the way that all the sleep in the world didn’t help the tired look in your eyes. He knew he could do nothing to help with the actual classwork itself, but he could do whatever it took to ease the stress.

So the moment you essentially chained yourself to your desk, Marcus set about with his plan. First, he tackled the housework. He cleaned the kitchen and living room until they were spotless, grateful that your headphones blocked out the sound of the vacuum and kept his little project a secret. Then he cooked up your favorite meal and lit your candles in the living room, leaving the space warm and homey.

The surprise on your face was worth all of the effort. You buried your face in his shirt to hide the tears of appreciation that sprung into your eyes, your fingers fisted in the fabric as you tried not to full on cry at his sweet gesture. You sniffled a quiet laugh before you wiped the wetness away from your face.

“God, what would I do without you?” You pulled him close for a kiss, one he reciprocated eagerly. Those big, warm hands of his settled on your cheeks, thumbs rubbing sweet little circles against your cheekbones.

“I find myself asking the same thing everyday I get to wake up next to your pretty face.” He whispered against your lips and gave you one last kiss before he guided you to sit on the couch with your soft throw blanket tucked around your shoulders.

“Marcus… you didn’t have to do all this…” You murmured as he handed you a plate and settled in next to you with his own.

“Of course I did,” He rubbed a soothing hand up and down your calf. “Besides, this isn’t even everything.”

You captured his hand in your own. “I love you so, so much.”

“I love you, too.” Marcus chirped with a smile, lifting your joined hands to kiss your knuckles. “Now eat up, you need your energy.”

Never in your life had you felt more appreciated, more taken care of, and apparently this wasn’t all he had planned. He finished eating before you - you swear, that man practically inhales food - and he drew your feet into his lap to gently massage the arches. It didn’t take him long to ease the stress of the looming workload. Somehow, he always managed to find the perfect words to remind you just how capable you are and that you were on the right track.

You set your plate down on the coffee table and slid closer to Marcus’s side, all too ready to curl up with your lover and spend the rest of the day soaking in the bliss that flowed from him, but he was quick to stand and urge you to your feet. The moment of confusion dissipated when he led you to the bathroom, where he had laid out the makings of your favorite stress reliever - a bubble bath.

“Oh, Marcus.” You sighed as he began filling the huge tub, already stripping out of your clothes in excitement. “You better get in there with me.”

“But this is supposed to be about you, not me.” Marcus said with a small shrug.

“I’ll enjoy it even more if I have my man with me,” You purred, stepping into his space in only your bra and underwear to press a lingering kiss to his lips. The surprised hum he gave you made a little thrill fly through you. “Please, baby?”

“Anything for you.” Marcus smiled as he reached around to undo your bra and pull the straps down your arms, moving on to curl his fingers under the hem of your underwear and tug them down as well. He kissed your thigh when you moved to step out of them.

Marcus yanked his clothes off with no flair and stepped into the steaming bath, settling into the water so quickly that it damn near sloshed over the sides of the tub. He reached for you and you couldn’t help but smile. It was precious, the way he guided you into his lap amidst the bubbles and pulled you close against his chest.

Little kisses were peppered along your shoulder and up your neck, the heat already working at your sore back. Marcus’s hands slid up your belly, cupped beneath your breast to hold you close, and the combination of his presence with the heat and soft floral scent of the bubbles had your worries slipping into the background.

“I missed this.” You murmured as you melted against him, your head lolled back on his shoulder. It had been far too long since you felt peace like that. Marcus’s fingers rubbed soft patterns into your skin and you were in heaven.

“Me too,” He kissed your temple and you could feel the smile on his lips.

“Thank you, Marcus.” You looked up at him. He seemed just as relaxed as you felt, his head tilted back against the edge of the tub, eyes closed. “You make me feel sane in the midst of all this stress. I don’t know what I would do without your support. You’re such a good man.”

Marcus whined low in his throat. Your praise always did something to him, lit a fire in his belly and made him want to squirm with happiness. All he ever wanted was to make you happy, make you feel as cherished and loved as he possibly could, at least as much as you made him feel. Normally he was good with his words. He could wax poetic about how much he loved you and how he was the luckiest man alive with you by his side, but your sweetness left him dumbstruck.

Since his mouth couldn’t form the words he wanted to say, he used it to lavish your bare skin with kisses as he rubbed at your tense muscles, your skin slick with the soapy water. He could feel the small moan he worked from your body and smirked - he absolutely lived for those little sounds, the ones that told him he was making you feel relaxed and happy. Your hands slipped down his thighs that bracketed your body and began mimicking the circles he massaged you with.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one helping you relax, sweetheart?” Marcus teased despite the way his cock was slowly hardening at the small of your back, only provoked further by the light drag of your nails along his thighs.

“Can you think of a better way to relax?” You teased right back as you arched back slightly to grind against him, using your hands on his thighs to support yourself. Marcus inhaled sharply and you could feel the subtle way his hips pressed up to meet your movements. Need began to build low in your belly.

“Are you sure?” Marcus rasped and at your nod, his hands slipped around to your front, one hand settling low between your hips to firmly hold you against him, the other trailing down to cup your sex. Your low gasp made him hum, a dark tone that you recognized from those moments he took you apart piece by piece in the comfort of your bed. “Are you feeling needy, baby?”

“Always need you.” You spread your thighs, bracing your feet between the sides of the tub and his legs to support your desperate little grinds against his fingers. His middle finger curled to glide up to your clit but he didn’t give you the friction you craved, that damn tease. “C’mon, make me feel good. Please?”

The desperate quality your voice had taken on was enough to make Marcus moan against your neck, his tongue shooting out to wet his lips before he whispered in your ear. “I’m gonna make you come before I get you in that bed. A little reward for all your hard work, hm?”

Before you could even whine out your need for his promised reward, he finally began moving his finger against your clit and pleasure flooded you, leaving you to meet his movements with little circles of your waist. Marcus would usually tease you at least a little before delving in and drowning you in pleasure until your legs were shaking and your mind was left blank, but he seemed to be in a giving mood after all of your efforts. Every pass of his fingers over your clit had that tension pull tighter, your pussy tightening around nothing. You ached for something to fill you, his fingers, his cock, you didn’t care. The relief of pleasure after so much stress had your release building faster than you were used to, and your hands fumbled for purchase to keep you grounded to reality as Marcus worked you closer and closer to orgasm.

One hand clutched at his wrist, desperate to keep him right where you had him, and the other found itself buried in Marcus’s hair. He angled his head to give your better access, letting you grab at him to be your anchor, kissing up your neck and placing his lips right at your ear.

“Good girl,” He rumbled, chuckling at your sweet little gasp. “Such a good girl for me. You gonna cum all over my fingers, aren’t you? Yeah, you are. That's it.”

“Oh god, Marcus…” You gasp in that pleading tone that made something possessive bloom in his belly and he redoubled his efforts, taking your earlobe between his teeth and tugging slightly. “Fuck!”

Water sloshed over the sides of the tub with the intense way you jerked against him, your orgasm cracking through you like a sharp flash of lightning, arcing and splintering up your spine and leaving you wrapped in a warm haze. You trembled against his chest, your legs snapping closed around his hand as he slowed his movements until his fingers were completely still. The warm water eased you even further into that sweet headspace of your afterglow, made more sweet by the kisses and praise your lover pressed into your skin.

“You still with me?” Marcus murmured and you looked up at him with that dazed look he absolutely adored. At the sight of your pursed lips, he leaned down and kissed you, slow and languid as he let you find yourself again. Wandering hands helped ease you back down to earth, his strong hands working at your already loose muscles. “You did so good, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you.”

You whined quietly at his praise, curling closer for more kisses and affection, only to whine again when he pulled away. “Please?”

Marcus chuckled. “Fine, but I’m getting you in that bed in a few minutes. I’m gonna fuck you so hard you forget your own name.”

{Taglist}

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#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike fanfiction

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reidecorating · 3 years

Text

Like Ivy

Request: “Being able to see you smile, being in your vicinity, just that is enough for me.” and “Uh, here, this is for, uh, you.” I’m thinking something Christmas-y with Reid - Anon

A/N: I do apologise for procrastinating on getting this out, but I wanted to make sure it wasn’t terrible. Merry Christmas to all of you who celebrate it, my present to you is the longest fic I have ever written. I had so much fun writing it so I hope you guys enjoy reading it! Happy holidays <3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAUFem!Reader

Word Count: 7.7k

Summary: Best friends yearning & best friends pining - but make it festive. Entails Secret Santa, the classic penny behind the ear and waltzing.

Warnings: Fluff, proceed with caution :)

The Cathedral of Santa Maria. Spencer had finally put his finger on it. The small glass dome encasing a building, with doors small enough to allow entrance to ladybugs who may practice religion, adorned unmistakable timely Italian architecture and ornamented pine trees, all dusted with flitters of snow. For the past week, Spencer had caught sight of the trinket each time he wandered past where it sat, as one of the few other decorations surrounding the name plate displaying in gold Times New Roman ‘DAVID ROSSI’, on the often unoccupied desk. So, he gathered that it must be important. Filing away his final stack of paperwork for the night, a silver paperclip glistening in the artificial light, Spencer made a mental note to ask the man about it the next morning. Standing from his usual office chair slouch, he stretched his limbs, feeling a series of clicks in his back as he regained his posture, only to bend back down in reach of his satchel. He made his way home giving tight lipped smiles of encouragement to the few agents sprinkled about the room, working over time. Haphazardly, he pushed the arrow pointing downwards with a cardigan clad elbow. As if on queue, his phone buzzed to the simultaneous ‘ding’ of the lift.

I understand you’re nocturnal, but I hope you’ve gotten home by now! If not, text me when you do so, safely :)

He didn’t realise he was grinning from ear to ear until an aggravated looking bureau member from a floor above, evidently itching to get home, cleared his throat to gain Spencer’s attention. “Sorry,” he grimaced. Noticing the button for the ground floor having already been lit up, Spencer stepped inside and stood as far away, as was possible in the small space, from the rankled looking man and his briefcase. A dimple appeared on his cheek as he remembered you, two years, three months and seventeen days ago - not that he was counting - offering him cherry scented hand sanitiser from a small bottle, and, only after he’d nodded, gently grasping the tips of his fingers to steady his shaking hand as you poured the gelid liquid into his palm. The act was so pure he chose against telling you that while alcohol based hand sanitisers reduce the number of microbes on hands in some situations, they don’t eliminate all types of germs - making soap and water the most effective way to go. Since then, you occupied his thoughts in the same way ivy grew along bricks of long forgotten towers. In abundance, in the most beautiful way. He turned his attention back to the tiny mobile he was holding.

On my way right now. I have a date with microwaved leftovers at midnight, can’t miss it. Will do.

The next time his phone buzzed was when he’d dozed off on the way home, using the concave pane of a metro window as a shoulder to lean against. He waited until his feet landed on the uneven pavement of his stop to open it.

Tomorrow you have a date with a properly cooked meal, at mine. What is it that Hotch always says? That’s an order, not a request.

Spencer’s heartbeat quickened as he read what you had written, his brain immediately carrying variables in an effort to slow it down by convincing himself that friends make each other feel this way. However, when he counted the rose flush on his cheeks and nose whenever you were around, the looks you shared which said more than words ever could and the way you held each other nearer than the distance between the sky and the ocean where they met at the horizon after close calls and mentally grappling cases, it didn’t quite equate to being just friends. Dwindling leaves clinging to their branches shuddered as scissors of winter wind pruned the trees scattered about. Spencer’s pale hands slid into his coat pockets, hiding from frostbite. On the short walk to his apartment, he admired the twinkling lights on either side of the streets, feeling as if he were a plane which had just landed upon a runway in the night. Candy canes, reindeer and eccentric portrayals of Santa Claus glowed amongst bushes and on porches, making Spencer wish you were there to see them too. It wasn’t rare he found himself wanting to share everything he did with you. Pretty things made him think of you. Eventually reaching the familiar building, tiredly, he followed wreaths and holly all the way to his undecorated apartment door.

You? Cooking? I’ll bring a fire extinguisher. Home safe. Goodnight, sleep well.

He kept his promise, despite seeing the time was nearing to one in the morning and being doubtful you were still awake.

Hilarious :/ and I will, knowing you’re alive. Goodnight Spencer :)

Spencer coveted for nights when he could tell you goodnight from right beside you, perhaps with his hand draped around your waist while yours tugged at his hair. He wanted to fall asleep to the scent of your skin and whatever soap you’d picked up from the store that week, not the quiet hum of his vintage fan. His microwave beeped, acting as an alarm to return down to earth from the clouds, presenting him with far less than gourmet potatoes. Realising he would take your burnt cooking over this any day, he settled for a sandwich.

∗∗∗

“Did you know that snowglobes were invented in France. They were first introduced as ‘water globes’ at the Paris Expedition Fair in 1889, and, to no surprise, the first snow globe actually contained a tiny scaled Eiffel Tower covered in snow,” Spencer lectured, almost putting the two agents who had struggled enough to get out of bed, back to sleep. The days were slow. Annual leave for a majority of the bureau was looming nearer and files kept them busy as the jet gathered dust. “Glad to hear the French contributed something, other than their opprobrium of a language, to this world,” Emily complained, from her desk. “Well, baguettes… Croissants, parachutes… Aspirin-“ Spencer was halted by the unimpressed look on Rossi’s face, as he hovered on the edge of Spencer’s table, a bushy eyebrow raised in vexation. “What’s with all this talk of snowglobes, kid?” The older man squinted at Spencer, craning his neck towards this, the way he did to suspects behind the glass of an interrogation room. “Since you brought it up,” he smiled smugly, swivelling in his chair from one side to another. “What’s the story behind the Santa Maria sitting on your desk?”

“Yeah, the eighties have come and gone, Rossi, isn’t it a bit late for repentance?” Emily let out a sly smile, walking over to also lean against Spencer’s desk with a steaming mug in hand. “It was a gift from my grandmother, handmade, I take it out every Christmas to help get in the festive mood,” Rossi explained. “Also, that was very funny Emily but now… I can’t help but recall what Garcia told me about the time you got a little tipsy and licked peanut butter off J-”

“No one told me it was National Congregate Around Spencer Reid’s Desk Day today.” The three agents turned their heads in unison to find who the voice belonged to, Spencer’s breath hitching at the sight of you. You stood before them, an upturned magician’s hat in hand, semi-curious as to what the ending of Rossi’s sentence would have been if it weren’t for you interrupting. “Y/N!” Emily waved, flashing a smile. “You’ve taken an interest in magic and didn’t even think to tell me,” Spencer feigned a hurt look. “Spencer, I knew magic wasn’t for me after I did the card trick you taught me, wrong . Six times,”

“It was seven. Plus, the student is never as good as the teacher,” he suppressed a smile. “Or maybe the teacher just isn’t good,” you raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s a little hostile, someone didn’t get enough sleep last night,” Spencer defended himself, putting his hands in the air. His eyes held a glimmer of mischief as if to say ‘we know something that you don’t’ when they met yours. Emily’s jaw dropped. “That… Didn’t sound suggestive at all,” Rossi pursed his lips in concern, looking back and forth between the pair of furiously blushing agents. “Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t,” you winked at Rossi. Basking in the radiance of your laughter washing over him like the sun, Spencer chuckled along. “Anyway, what’s with the hat?” Emily questioned. “This,” you shook it by its brim, “contains the remaining names for this year’s Secret Santa, courtesy of Miss Penelope Garcia. I was just ordered to present it to you all. She calls it being her ‘little elf’ - I call it unpaid manual labour - but pick a name, any name,” you encouraged. You watched as Spencer’s tongue comically poked out as he eagerly concentrated on picking a name, elbow bent at a worrying angle. “I just want to say that every time I get a gift that isn’t alcohol, I’m slightly disappointed,” Emily turned to you as it was her turn to fish for a piece of paper. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you grinned at her. You watched Rossi’s expression as his eyes skimmed the name in his hands. “Oh, and Rossi, yes, there’s a budget,” you called over your shoulder, causing them to laugh as you gave them a wave. Slinking away from the comity of the bullpen, back to Mrs Claus’ lair, you retrieved the only remaining name. You paused in the hallway to double check if you’d read the glittery scrawl correctly. Spencer Reid. It was just your luck. You were prepared to engage in hand to hand combat with Garcia, seeing her office looming ahead. “Penelope. I hate you. I love you,” you kissed her cheek, placing the top hat on her curls, “but I hate you.” She recognised the tone, beaming at the implications. “Thank me later, beautiful!” She called after you as you rushed away to get started on completing the mountains of reports you had been avoiding thus far.

The day had come to a close, a headache making a home for itself in your head. Scanning the, now, mostly empty room, you caught sight of the back of Spencer’s uncombed head. Double checking that not enough people were around to be reprimanded by HR for misconduct, you inconspicuously made your way over to him snaking your arms around his neck and burrowing your nose in its crook. “Hi,” he chuckled, amused at the sudden affection, his unoccupied hand immediately reaching to grasp one of your wrists. Spencer had followed your strict, but coffee induced, orders earlier that morning telling him not to distract you unless, one, he was dying, or two, something was on fire, because you were determined to finish the numerous write-ups you had left until today. “Hi,” you mumbled into him. “Ready to go home?” You asked sweetly, arms still slung around him, pulling your face away to get a glimpse of his soft features. Your heart stopped for a little while, at the beauty of him. He was breathtaking. You refrained from tracing the small bump of his nose with your own, and settled for admiring the five o’clock shadow presaging a hidden jaw. The part of Spencer that craved domesticity was enchanted by your simple question, the word home resounding in his head, acting as an old film reel for projections of images of the two of you together; leaving work together, going home together. Little did he know that, as if through an unnoticed telepathy, just a few inches away, the same images occupied your own head. Coming home to an empty apartment had become tedious. You allowed yourself to give into your daydreams of returning home to Spencer - with Spencer. Spencer, with his warm eyes and words that drip like syrup from his tongue. You wanted nothing more than to revel in him filling your senses once the cologne from the day had been washed away, and hear him harp on about the history of mattresses, attempting to retain questions to ask him later in your memory bank, as you capitulate to sleep. “As a matter of fact, I finished most of what I had to do last night so I am ready to go… home,” he tested out the word, to which you had assigned a brand new connotation, feeling a flutter in his chest. You quickly rescinded your arms as you peripherally detected a flock of agents returning from what you assumed was an afternoon break. Spencer suddenly missed your body on his. Having already packed your things, feeling accomplished noticing that the pile of folders on your desk had shrunk significantly, you packed Spencer’s things to save him time, aimlessly throwing the strap of his satchel over his head for him once he had ungracefully shoved his arms into a blazer. “Hang on,” you gently pulled at his shoulders to meet your height, carefully fixing his tag and creased collar. The blush on his face, at the feel of your cold fingers brushing the nape of his neck, said everything he didn’t - save a meek, “Thank you.” You smiled at him in return. “Wait,” his eyes widened, “I need this,” he mumbled, reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a large black bag, decorated in gold intricacies. He didn’t explain it, but you knew that if Spencer had something to say, he would come out and say it, just all in good time. “Now are you ready?” You eyed the thing curiously, and glanced back at him. “Let’s go,” he motioned his arms in front of him, with a small nod, letting you lead the way.

Afternoon rays of sun fought their way through clouds, battling with the winter air to warm the people mingling outside as you made your way towards the crowded station. “Penny for your thoughts?” You asked, intuitively slipping an arm through his when the sun began to disappear altogether. Your cheeks grew warm as you realised your compromising position, feeling your heart rate return to its usual pace once he relaxed into your touch. “Hm?” He turned to look at you, letting his river coloured eyes unabashedly scan your face. “You look like your mind is far away,”

“What’s on my mind is definitely not very far away,” he said, quietly. That glimmer had returned. You noticed that the crease between his brows had disappeared, indicative that whatever thoughts were rattling through his brain, were good ones. You hummed a smile, content with his contentedness. “So… Hand it over,” he extended a palm a second later. “Hand what over?” You asked, genuinely confused. “A penny,” he said as if it was obvious. You blinked up at him, unfazed by the joke, as he bit his lip provokingly. All of a sudden he stopped walking, eyes still on you. “Just… Hold on a moment,” he whispered, squinting at you as he reached a hand towards your cheek. You remained still, thinking that Spencer had finally lost his mind. “Here it is!” He exclaimed, breaking out into a smile as he retrieved a one cent coin from behind your ear. “What!? You’re kidding! That was brilliant,” you beamed at him, eyes wide in bewilderment. “For a second there I thought you had gone crazy,” you teased. “Magic does that to people,” he nodded, satisfied with how impressed you seemed. “Ah, but alas, you gave me a very ambiguous answer, so I,” you snatched the penny from his fingers, “am entitled to a refund.” Spencer shook his head with a soft smile. “You might need to use that for the bus if we miss the next train,” he informed, hurriedly examining the watch on his upturned wrist.

No trains were missed, that day, the two of you arriving at your door in time for the six o’clock news. “Here, let me take your coat,” you offered, putting it on the small rack beside the door, placing yours adjacent to it. Spencer relished in the warmth of the place, setting his things down. “So, I’m thinking we get a proper meal in us, and then you can help me decorate this dreary place,” you instructed. He wanted to let you know that anywhere you are is far from being dreary, but something told him that was far too sappy, so he settled for a simple, “Sounds good.” He took in the familiar apartment, its walls embellished in old paintings snagged from secondhand stores and books scattered about on almost every horizontal surface, in a certain disorderliness that said, yes it’s messy, but everything has its place. “Also, I hope you know that you’re only leaving in the morning so make yourself at home.” It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for the two of you; you falling asleep at his apartment out of feebleness, him at yours, and more often than not, it involved discarded games of Scrabble as the two of you settled for debating the rules instead of actually playing. Lately, he’d been craving it more and more - and so had you. Spencer would never say no to that offer, but he was taken aback. “But I didn’t pack- I don’t have-“

“Eidetic memory is slipping I see,” you giggled at his flustered state. “I told you, I kept finding toothbrushes, sweaters and socks here every time you left, so I made a drawer full of your things, since you practically live here anyway,”

“An entire drawer? I didn’t think I was missing a whole lot,” he responded, nose tinted red. “I have to water my plants quickly, before I put dinner on, but feel free to shower,” you said, still laughing quietly. “Let me help cook, first. You need someone to disassemble the smoke alarm,” he raised an eyebrow at you. One ‘KISS THE COOK’ apron and half an hour of seasoning a chicken, spilling sweet potatoes and bumping elbows later, the two of you stood back from the counter, you boasting to Spencer about how nothing had turned to ashes, and him pointing out that the oven hadn’t been turned on yet. Soon after, you put the oven on high, humming an indistinguishable carol over the shower that could be heard running from the next room. A warm, tingling feeling overcame you.

By the time you had showered, Spencer stood serving - a well timed and flawlessly cooked - chicken, wearing mitts matching the baggy flannel pyjamas keeping him warm on top of the open oven. “Smells good,” you complimented, slightly startling Spencer. He stood at the small wooden dining table, mouth agape at the sight of you. He was sure his heart was a puddle. “I like your sweater,” he praised. You glanced down slightly confused, shortly realising that your sweater, with its much too floppy sleeves, reaching a little way above your knees, was actually his. “Oh, I’ll wash it and give it back to you at some point,” you said shyly. “I was wondering where it went, but don’t worry about it, the colour looks nicer on you than it does on me,”

“Nonsense, you know that’s not true.” Soon enough, you found yourselves digging in - not before you expressed your gratitude towards food that wasn’t charred for the first time in months. You sat across from each other, your reindeer sock clad feet occasionally tapping his beneath the table. Spencer’s heart was full, marvelling at you from where he sat, wishing this could be something he could experience forever, much preferring it over a stale sandwich. You watched him intently through your eyelashes, chin resting on your interlaced hands while he taught you about how the thalidomide scandal emerging from Germany led to safer drugs in the pharmaceutical industry, the lecture prompted by an article he’d read recently. It continued into getting the dishes cleaned up, his rambling only being interrupted by your intermittent questions which incited further tangents, or requests to pass the tea towel. His voice was a ruffled silken sheet, on which you would like to lay for eternity. Admittedly, you found it difficult to focus on retaining any more information than the odd date, due to being too focused on the way his lips moved to form every word he said, hopelessly enamoured by the overly enthusiastic expressions he made to match the tone of what he was saying. Eventually, he wandered towards the living room as you stacked away the final plate, butterflies still spurring in your stomach from when his fingers brushed yours as he handed it to you.

“Spencer Reid effortlessly navigating technology, Christmas miracles really do exist, huh?”

“Actually, I just remembered watching you choose music, instead of paying attention to the road, that one time you drove me to work,”

“I was most definitely paying attention,” you huffed out a laugh, slightly bashful at the thought of him remembering small things you do. “You hit the kerb four times! That was the day I vowed to never let you transport me anywhere,”

“I see your argument, and I raise you with the counter argument: the kerb hit me.” Sitting with his back against the couch, legs sprawled out over the rug beneath your coffee table, Spencer couldn’t hold back his laughter. After watching you disappear into the kitchen, he busied himself with reading the holiday edition of Reader’s Digest laying on the table. He recounted you telling him that you had accidentally drunkenly subscribed to it, and never bothered to cancel the subscription, the first time you’d caught him reading an issue. You emerged a short while later, with drinks in both hands. “Bonjour monsieur, on tonight’s menu, we can either open this Merlot or, drink Capri-suns like the sophisticated adults we are. Your pick,” you said, hiding the juice pouches behind your back and noticeably waving the bottle of wine in front of you. “I have a feeling it isn’t my pick,” he let out a laugh, “so just fill a glass with enough Merlot for two,” you were on your way to get a glass before he had the chance to finish. “Your wish is my command!” You called. Spencer put down his magazine once he saw you rushing towards him with a large glass of wine in hand. “Of course you opt for Christmas Jazz over Mariah Carey,” you teased, hearing the music he’d queued floating from the withering speaker in the corner of the living room. It was the kind of music that would play in the diner of an expensive hotel, you noted. “I can change it if you’d like?” He began reaching for your phone, when you halted him by grasping his arm. “No, it’s good, I like your taste.” Spencer grinned sheepishly, taking the glass from your hand as you sat down beside him.

Hours of conversation and decking the halls with tinsel later, with wine flushed cheeks and twinkling eyes you moved the furniture to cater for your very own dance floor. Carefully, Spencer placed a hand below your ribs, touching you like new glassware, lacing the other with yours. Your unfettered hand, replaced the weight of the world as it rested on his shoulder. You recognised the look on his face as he settled into the close proximity, it was the same look that painted yours when you admired him whilst he failed to notice. The soft glow of a lamp illuminated the man you held, making an indistinct halo of golden light appear above his unkempt hair. “I apologise for any damage caused to your feet,” you giggled, struggling to find a rhythm. “Here, follow my lead,” he looked down at your feet. “The Waltz?” Dazzled, you raised an eyebrow, a few seconds after recognising the box-like steps in unison. Spencer tried to focus on anything but your lips, glistening in the dull light, so close to his. “Mhm, I’m not exactly the most co-ordinated-”

“You don’t say?”

“That’s tough talk for someone I’ve seen fall up a flight of stairs,”

“That sounds made up, but as you were saying,” you laughed into his chest. “It’s simple because its a repeating pattern. Did you know that name of the dance comes from the German word waltzen, which means to turn, or to glide? Some say the dance itself comes from the folk music and dances of west Austria, but others debate that it’s a variation of the Volta, from the 16th century,”

“Interesting, makes sense to debate that though. I’m pretty sure volta means ‘a turning’ in Italian - although that’s mostly in reference to the turn of a new thought or idea in sonnets… I’m thinking of Shakespeare,” you chimed in. “Sonnet one-hundred and thirty being a classic example of that,”

“Of course you would know that,” you shook your head in awe, cheeks hurting from grinning too wide. The incandescence of the smile that hadn’t left his face all day was mesmerising, the honeyed expression tied together with the dimples on his cheeks and creases around his eyes. “What would you like for Christmas?” He mumbled, lifting a moment of peaceful silence. “If you pulled my name out of the hat today you’re going to have to be a lot more subtle than that,”

“Unfortunately not,” he pouted. “Don’t tell anyone I told you, but I have Rossi,” he whispered the words into your ear, neglecting that no one else was around to hear. “What do you get a man who already has everything money can buy?”

“A new wife,” you joked, causing him to scoff. He studied your visage as you pondered his earlier question, still swaying to the soft piano sounds. “Honestly Spencer, being able to see you smile, being in your vicinity, just that is enough for me,” you finally answered, tilting your head up at him. Spencer thought his knees would give way. He thought his knees would give way, and he would hit the ground with enough impact to implode through the earth’s crust. In reality, he only stumbled over his feet momentarily, regaining his composure before you noticed him slowly becoming unhinged. “If that’s the case, I wish I’d picked your name,” he managed to utter, breathlessly.

The music which continued to play was drowned out by the sound of steady breathing, you were too caught up in each other to pay attention to the world. Wordless, you looked into his eyes, his actions parallel to yours. “You look beautiful right now,” he sighed. “Of course, you always look beautiful but, you know.” You shook your head, refraining from averting your eyes from his. He wished you believed it, promising himself to never abstain from letting you know until you saw yourself the way he did. “It’s funny you say that, because I was thinking the same thing. About you of course,” you rushed out the last part, realising the potential for miscommunication. “I love seeing you happy,”

“Well, as long as you stick around, you’ll be seeing a lot of that,” he spoke lowly, on the verge of telling you about all the things he felt for you. You hadn’t realised, but you had unconsciously moved closer together. You could feel his warm breath on your skin, lighting a fire inside your lungs, as he took yours away. Spencer saw all of the signs; the signs that this was not usual for a friendship. Maybe, if it weren’t for his defeated battle with fear, and doubt, he would have told you by now that he had fallen desperately for you. Spencer knew there wasn’t a drop of insincerity behind any of the kind words you spoke into him, he understood that you were his person, but he found it difficult enough to comprehend that someone could feel this strongly for someone. So, the implausible idea that someone could feel this way about him, was one he was not even prepared to entertain. “Y/N? I, um,” he tried, wearily. You gave him a soft smile, both tired arms laced behind his neck now as his rested on your waist. He dropped his sword. Once again losing the fight against his unreasonable insecurities, changing his mind at the last second. “I need to give you something,” his demeanour changed and he vanished from your line of vision. Your heart sank, hopes of hearing him say that the love you had for him was requited, fallen. Before you got too lost in your head, he emerged from the doorway with the same black bag you’d been inquisitive of. “Uh, here, this is for, uh, you,” he tucked his lip beneath his teeth. “Spencer…” you trailed off as he handed it to you. You sat yourself on the carpet, patting the spot next to you for him to join. “I thought I should give it to you now, since I’ll be in Vegas for Christmas,”

“Spencer, you really didn’t have to-“

“Go on, open it,” he ignored your humility. You gave him a look as you opened it - it being replaced with a look of elation as you realised what it was. In your hands, you held a scarf, long enough to hit the floor, striped in all your favourite tones. “I had to ask my mom for help with the tassels, but-“

“You took the time to make this? For me?” You exclaimed. Without thought, you draped it around his neck to tug him closer to you, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug. “This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me, thank you so much,” you lauded, refusing to let go of him. “I think it was last winter, we were walking back to our hotel in Minnesota during a case, and you insisted that the both of us use my scarf to keep us warm, because you didn’t have one,”

“Ah, I remember that, except it ended up being one of the top ten worst disasters in U.S. history due to the height difference, and we both ended up falling face-first into the snow,” you giggled, recalling the way you had used up most of the hotel’s hot water afterwards. “Exactly,” he matched your expression, “seeing as you still haven’t bought one for yourself, even though we lose eighty percent of our body heat through our head and neck, I thought I would take matters into my own hands,”

“Well, I love it. You’ll have to tell your mother I said thank you and that I’m sending my love,” you finally dropped your arms from around him, out of fear of crushing his shoulders.

Once the zeroes had lined up on the twenty-four clock, Spencer sat where he usually resided on your bed, ardently admiring you as you folded away his gift. “Wait! Spencer close your eyes! Please!” You squeaked, immediately shutting the cupboard doors, realising your unwrapped present for him was hidden within. “Y/N? Is everything alright?” He asked, eyes now sealed shut. “I didn’t want you to see what I’d bought for Secret Santa,” you let out, too exhausted to form a coherent excuse. “We only got those names today - well, yesterday, now - so how did you manage to-”

“Shoot,” you cursed to yourself, knowing his unintentional profiling would lead him to the conclusion sooner or later. Spencer’s eyes slowly opened. “Okay, let’s say if, hypothetically, I had intended on giving you something for Christmas anyway, but then drawn your name today, would you, hypothetically, be able to act surprised when you receive it from me at work?”

“Hypothetically speaking, I would?” He squinted at you, stifling laughter. Your hair was slightly messy and your drowsy eyes were visible to Spencer even without his contacts in. He thought you just looked so adorable, wanting nothing more than to hold you and share your warmth. “Anyway, come to bed,” he beckoned, his voice gravelly, giving way for the day. Obliging, you shuffled towards your bed before sliding your cold feet beneath the covers. Spencer turned to face you, resting his cheek on an upturned palm. “Sorry for ruining the surprise,” you whispered, tucking the duvet under your chin, bright eyes looking through him. “You didn’t ruin anything,” he assured, treasuring the sight before him. There had been a shift in the air between the two of you. Spencer held the wine accountable, but he could sense that you felt it too, a level of intimacy that you had not quite reached during previous nights like this. “Come closer, I need to exploit your body heat while I can.” Spencer listened to your instruction, inching nearer to you, his heart rate so high he was sure you could feel it when you nuzzled your head into his chest. “Goodnight,” you felt his chest rumble. “Hang on, the night isn’t over yet,” you mumbled, “talk to me,”

“About?” He asked, amused by your grit to avoid sleep. “Anything you want,” you yawned. “You’re sleepy,” he stated, coaxing you into getting some shut eye. When you tilted your head up and continued to blink at him, he gave in. “Have you ever wondered why a lot of our most vulnerable conversations happen at night?” You nodded in response. “Well, a study done by the University of Colorado a couple of years ago concluded that natural light from the sun actually regulates your circadian rhythm, or internal biological clock, which standardises your sleep cycle. According to their study, this sleep cycle coincides with sunrise and sunset, meaning that if you regularly expose yourself to sunlight, your body enhances its internal clock to align more closely with the natural light cycle,”

“Based on that,” you contended, words slightly jumbled, “our circadian rhythm would vary between seasons, right? And yours would be different, since you’re a literal vampire, to say... someone who surfs down in Florida because of disparity in sun exposure?”

“Precisely,” he raised his eyebrows, “I’m impressed you’re still paying attention, you look like you’re already dreaming.” Spencer nudged your forehead gently with his own, causing you to breath out a laugh. “Alright, so how does all of that relate to being more vulnerable at night?”

“It relates in the sense that the rise and fall of the sun reflects in our physiological, as well as emotional behaviour. During the day, we’re a lot more active, and at night, we become more relaxed and receptive. Hence, since your mind is at ease, all the thoughts and emotions that might have felt jumbled up during the day become clear, making them a whole lot easier to express,”

“Mhm,” you managed, eyelids growing heavy. “Do you… have anything to say now,” you whispered drowsily, eyes now closed, “that you can’t say during the day?” Spencer couldn’t handle it anymore. He was already so fond of you but as his hand settled to rest around your waist, feeling your warmness, he believed his ribs could collapse from the way he felt inside. As you dozed off, gradually, winter became less cold in his arms and dreamscapes of his tea leaf eyes. “And, she’s asleep,” he whispered, minutes after silence, into your hair, “but to answer your question, yes,” his lips planted a chaste kiss on your forehead, “I love you.” Of course, unbeknownst to him, you weren’t asleep just yet.

∗∗∗

A couple of days went by, and as more time went on, the less certain you became as to whether Spencer had really even said the words, wondering if the whole thing was just a fatigue driven hallucination your lovesick mind had conjured up. Waking up beside him the next morning however, tangled in a warm cocoon of cotton and limbs, had left you feeling giddy, smiling like a fool with heart shaped eyes as he attempted to feed you the waffles he’d made - which the two of you gulped down far too quickly than sanctioned, to avoid being late for work. When you didn’t succeed, and the clock had beaten you by ten minutes, you both wrestled past evocative looks from the rest of the team for the remainder of the day, JJ even singing something about the two of you ‘sitting in a tree’ . The soft, shared, smiles and light brushes of fingertips when he handed you coffee in the mornings left you wanting to concede; let him know that you would walk on burning coal for him, the more logical side of you reminding you that professing your devotion to him over an open case file consisting of a double homicide, three days before Christmas, was far from ideal. Spencer wanted the kind of love only the poets could express. This had become evident the evening you took him to a midnight screening of ‘Un homme et Une Femme’. You recalled leaning into him to translate, catching sight of his welling eyes glimmer in the dim lit theatre. Believing his love should be celebrated, you decided to withhold the unsurfaced feelings a little while longer.

Later that week, you all gathered around the BAU tree, a small framed picture of Derek decidedly hanging from one of its upper branches after Garcia had to be heavily persuaded, and eventually bribed, to not place it at the top, arguing “But he’s my star.” Spencer snuck behind you, subtly placing a hand on your back to glide through and place Rossi’s gift under the tree. “I want to let you know that I’ve been practicing my ‘surprised’ face in the mirror,” he discreetly whispered against your neck, making you roll your eyes. “Okay super sleuths, I know we’re all itching to fly away for a break, but hold your reindeer, because we are yet to kick off our annual Secret Santa,” Garcia excitedly exclaimed, shuffling in with two large sparkling bags. “I thought there was a budget?” Rossi quirked. “Yes, sir,” she looked smug, “for you.” The team shared smiles at Rossi’s perplexed look. “So, who wants to start us off?” Garcia chirped. With that, the festivities were under way. You held tight an abnormally large heat sensitive mug, which you were sure would also reveal a promiscuous image once warm - a gift from Emily, who gave herself away by insisting it would help your caffeine dependency - watching as the others tackled ribbon wrapping paper. You threw an impressed look Spencer’s way, that glint of knowing something the universe doesn’t returning to your eyes, when Rossi opened a small portrait of what looked to be a Venetian cathedral, the Santa Maria to be exact. Once the banter and excited chatter had died down, everyone turned to the recipient of the final gift, neatly labelled Spencer Reid, enveloped in brown paper and tied with deep purple ribbon. Penelope looked as if she were about to pass out. Spencer’s shifting eyes landed on JJ as she mouthed a small ‘you’re up’, causing a smile to tug at his lips when he eyed you gazing at him with the soft look he adored. Your eyes lingered on his hands as they swimmingly untied the mauve knot and tore open the paper to reveal a large leather-bound journal. He examined the old looking thing, trailing his fingers along the convoluted golden details of the artistic interpretation of a moon calendar adorning its umber covers, partially covered by thin leather straps. His mouth was slightly agape, shaking a little at how well you knew him, clumsily catching the matching novelty pen before it slipped out of the wrapping and onto the floor. You had picked it up at a forlorn occult shop after it had caught your eye while looking out of place as it lay surrounded by large crystals. Knowing in an almost divine way that it should belong to Spencer, you had bought it. He couldn’t help but look at you briefly, communicating a silent gratitude. “This is amazing,” he ogled, “I love it.” Your heartbeat was in your throat. He was yet to find out you’d filled the first page for him.

Shouts of Merry Christmas, long hugs and season’s greetings were thrown around the room before, one by one, everyone slowly bade their goodbyes. While helping JJ clear away torn reds and greens of gift wrapping, you caught sight of Spencer, ears and cheeks scarlet, with his nose buried in his new, opened, journal.

“We are asleep until we fall in love," you looked up from Leo Tolstoy’s one thousand page book and recited to me, once. Since you walked into my life, I’ve been wide awake. You know that I’m never far away, but this is for the days you need to let out some of what you hold in, without saying it aloud.

I love you too, Spencer.

Spencer read and re-read the words until he was sure he could recite them like the Lord’s Prayer. It was commonly Spencer who remembered small details and remembered paltry quotations, but this time, it was you. Sitting in the glow of the afternoon sun, one October, he had been reading War and Peace, and couldn’t help but share the line with you as you sat across from him, chewing through a much smaller number of pages and reading a collection of poetry. The woman he had been so captivated by, admiring from afar that day - and all others, felt the same way he did. In disbelief, he began breathing manually. Making sure he was deciphering the cursive lettering correctly, he scanned the page again. While his eyes were definitely not deceiving him, they remained glued to one word. Awake. The havoc caused in his heart by the train of thought hitting him so brutally, rivalled only Gare Montparnasse. You must’ve heard his confession nights ago. It was the only explanation for the ‘I love you, too’. You most definitely were awake. Profiling tendencies overcame him. With his basic background of graphology, he could make out that the last line had been written in fresher ink than all the others, confirming his hypothesis. For the first time in a while, his mind was quiet, the uncertainties which fought to float in, unable to make their way through as if the thee simple words you’d handed him were a barrier for them. He needed to talk to you.

Walking quickly towards the elevator, an overwhelming wave of anxiety crashed over you. You had subconsciously been avoiding Spencer for most of the evening, second-guessing whether or not you’d heard him correctly, whether he’d even meant the words in the way you’d interpreted, wondering what you would do if this friendship were to ever end. However, a more hopeful side of you contended to quiet those thoughts. He had to feel it too. There was no room in which you hadn’t shared a longing look. The feather touches, and dancing. So badly did you want to believe that he thought this too. A slender arm appeared through the closing elevator doors, tugging you back to reality, causing you to jump before quickly pushing the open button. “Spencer! You could’ve lost an arm!” You yelped. “It’s okay, I have two of them,” he huffed. He avoided your eyes for a moment, before inhaling half of the oxygen in the small lift and turning towards you. “I wanted to say thank you, for this,” he held up the book, “it’s gorgeous, and sort of… exactly what I needed - and not just the book itself but what you wrote… inside it,” he nervously looked at you. “Did you- do you mean what you wrote?” His tone of voice syringed into you a drop of hurt. “Spencer, I never want you to think that I don’t mean it,” your let out in a shaky voice, gently grasping his elbow. You visibly saw his body ease, a smitten smile replacing the lip being chewed at. His throat bobbed as he gulped before he spoke again, heartbeat in his ears. “I want you to know that I’m in love with you, Y/N. I don’t want you the way I want a best friend, I want you in a-” he sighed, clenching and unclenching his fist trying to find the words, “I want you in a way that means I want to fall asleep beside you, and wake up to you the next morning, for as long as the sun rises. I want you. I want you - no, need you, the way the tide needs the moon to rise and fall, I want you-” he swallowed, furrowing his brows at his feet, “I want you, like this.” Hazel eyes fluttering shut was the last thing you saw. Large hands lightly caressed your face, one travelling behind your ear, brushing your neck to delicately tangle in your hair. After years of wondering, you finally knew what his lips felt like on yours. His nose bumped yours lightly as you tasted his soft lips, their slight chap reminding you that winter had kissed them first. Your hands wrapped around his wrists, before one settled on his tilted jaw and another hid in his chestnut hair. He felt warm, everywhere you touched setting electricity through him. Even after you pulled apart, his arms remained on either side of your face, holding you like you were fragile. His breath fanned over your face, as you shivered, the fluttering in your stomach unsubdued. The elevator had long reached the ground floor, causing the two of you to bashfully laugh concurrently. You thought to yourself that Spencer’s crimson flush and wide grin was a sight you would lose sleep to gaze at. “All this time, I’ve been missing out on that,” you teased, watching him shyly bite his lip as he waited for you to say something else. “I’m very glad you said all of that because I’m very much in love with you, Spencer Reid, and, if you’ll let me, I want to love you, the way people love in all the books you’ve lent me,” you told him. At that, he was sure his heart was yours, fearlessly. So, making afternoon plans and debating which train to take, neither of you really caring as long as you were in the other’s company, you finally stepped out of the elevator, oblivious to the mistletoe that was hanging within it, but more than mindful of what was to come.

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meliorist-midoriya · 4 years

Text

the meaning of “i love you”

synopsis: bakugou tries to learn the meaning of “i love you” long after it’s been told.

pairing: bakugou x reader

genre: fluff with a touch of angst and lotsa pining

warnings: brief hospital setting, mentions of injury, bakugou is bad at feelings™

glossary: Y/H/N - your hero name

word count: 4.3k

a/n: dedicated to @katsushimaa, the reason why this blog exists. in other words: HI YSSA IT’S YOUR ☀️ ANON (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:・ﾟ♡ update (1/6/2021): this fic is also read on peachy can’s youtube channel! this is with full permission and credit, and the only work with only this channel.

“I love you.”

Bakugou stared, speechless, as you confessed to him under the cherry blossoms, diplomas in hand. His throat locked and his tongue stalled as he wordlessly gaped at you. Around words? No, he didn’t even know what to say. The wind blew the petals off the branches, shocking him out of his stupor once they obscured his vision for one precious moment. He still couldn’t find the words to respond.

He didn’t know how.

All his life, he hadn’t cared for affection. Only victory. Anyone vying for his affections soon ran crying (humiliated, if they were lucky), the unread love letter crumpled in their fists as he moved on with his life without a care. But this, he couldn’t bear letting go.

Bakugou didn’t know how to hold on, either.

For the past three years, people came to know you as his other half. The one who kept him in line, yet helped lift him to even greater heights. The one who could withstand his withering glare with a smile. The one he kept by his side. For the past three years, your relationship remained ambiguous, this ambiguity becoming the open secret of your year. Too close to be just friends, yet not quite lovers either. A deeper connection that neither of you dug into, content with your dynamic.

Until now.

A part of him loathed that you were the one to make the leap when he didn’t even know what to say, but a little voice in the corner of his mind told him that maybe, just maybe, this would finally get his ass moving.

You smiled. Softly, slowly…

Knowingly.

He had to remind himself to breathe.

“You don’t have to answer me right away, I’ll wait for as long you need.”

And with that, you were gone. Bakugou was left staring at your back as you walked away from him and, as he would later discover, out of his life for the next two years.

“Hey, Bakugou! How are you holding up? Who knew Y/N took an offer in America? Did you know? None of us did.”

Ugh, Dunce Face. It’s been a month since graduation, and three weeks since you revealed you were entering America’s pro hero scene the day before you left. You’ve always been terrible at goodbyes…

Was that why you decided to confess at graduation? Because you knew you were leaving?

“No, I didn’t know, now fuck off.”

“Rude!”

The cherry blossoms have long since fallen, slowly unfurling verdant leaves replacing the pink blooms under the shining late spring sun. Of course, not even this beautiful scene could improve his mood when he was stuck on patrol with this idiot. Their agencies were working together, so he had no choice but to go along with it.

Once he gets his own agency, he swears…

“Bakugou-senpai!” A pair of second-years clad in the U.A. uniform called out to him, waving.

Ah. He recognized these two. Stuck to him like leeches after he spoke to Class 1-A as one of the Big Three, pestering him endlessly about all the crazy shit that happened his first year and asking him to mentor them. You were the only buffer that kept him from blowing up in their face.

“Ground Zero to you, extras!”

They laughed him off (these brats) and walked up, jokingly asking for their autographs. Kaminari took them up on it, shoving the paper in his face after.

After (admittedly very little) bitching and glaring, he snatched the notepad from Kaminari’s hand, signed it, and sent them on their way, letting his gaze linger on the pair as they elbowed each other and geeked out over the signatures they just got. In a brief flash of curiosity, he tried to imagine you two during your first year, walking back to the dorms after class, but something felt… off. The atmosphere wasn’t right, the image he tried to lay over the two students ending up washed out and misshapen.

An empty feeling sunk into his bones at the thought of having that same… disconnect with you.

“Ah, feels nice, doesn’t it?” Kaminari went ignored, Bakugou still staring at the retreating backs of the excited second-years. A devilish grin split Kaminari’s face in two once he followed Bakugou’s line of sight, “What’s this, Kacchan? Reminiscing over the old days already?”

Kaminari’s teasing tone ripped him out of his thoughts and Bakugou growled, shoving the blonde’s face away as he continued stomping down their patrol route.

“I won’t say it again, Pikachu, fuck off!”

Y/H/N DOMINATES HERO CHARTS FOR THIRD TIME IN A ROW

It took Bakugou a second to translate the headline from English to Japanese in his head, but he found himself smiling down at his phone once the words clicked. He expected nothing less, it was you after all. The U.S. Hero News logo faded away with the click of his phone locking, pocketing it as he swung open the door with a loud bang.

“Would it kill you to visit more, brat? And how many times do I have to tell you, stop slamming the door open!”

“Whatever, hag!” Bakugou snapped back, dropping the box of pastries on the counter before slumping into his seat at the dining table. Masaru looked up from his laptop and smiled at his son, something behind the mirth in his eyes that Bakugou couldn’t pick out.

“Someone’s in a good mood.”

Was he…?

Yeah, you could say that.

It’s been a little over a year since that day, and the both of you have paved your own paths in the hero industry since then. Bakugou finally, finally, after a year of busting his ass and making connections, went independent and started his own hero agency. Now, he only answered to himself (and, well, the Hero Public Safety Commission) and didn’t have to be held back by any hierarchy. An added bonus was that summer was always good to him (to villains? Not so much).

You? The headline spoke for itself.

“…I guess.”

“I’m glad. Your mother’s making your favorite for lunch, since this is your first visit ever since you opened your agency,” Masaru said, and there was that damn look again.

The soft clink of the plate being set down in front of him cut Bakugou off before he could question him, and the flow of the meal swept away any opportunity he would’ve had. He found himself silently watching his parents’ interactions as they unfolded in front of him. An easy back-and-forth, flowing smoothly from years of practice.

Bakugou nearly dropped his bowl as an old memory blindsided him. An image of you, offering him food in the U.A. cafeteria with a smile flitted across his mind’s eye.

He shoved another piece of tofu into his mouth before the thought had the chance to linger.

The rest of lunch went smoothly (as smoothly as it could with him and his mother in the same room), and he bid his goodbyes once the dishes were done and the end of his lunch break inched closer.

“I’m rooting for you, Katsuki,” The man in question shot a perplexed look at his father before shutting the door behind him. First, the weirdly knowing look, now this? Confusing old man...

He started down the path back to the agency for patrol, letting his gaze sweep over the bustling lunchtime traffic. Normally, he would’ve been keeping an eye out for any trouble since apparently, people loved starting shit when he was conveniently off duty. Instead, his mind wandered as he observed the people around him.

People watching, was that what this is called?

He found himself doing this more and more often lately, as dangerous as it was to let his mind wander when he was out and about. An elderly couple tottering their way out of the corner store with their arms linked, the married couple further ahead swinging their squealing child in between them, a young pair giggling like lovebirds on a honeymoon as they walked down the sidewalk. His eyes skipped over the other pedestrians and bounced from couple to couple, subconsciously trying to make sense of the three words that had stubbornly stuck themselves to his mind for the past year.

Normally, he would’ve brushed off the thoughts plaguing him for the sake of his work, but these just wouldn’t leave him alone. They left him in a confused haze, a void slowly eating a hole in his chest and leaving him feeling incomplete.

To top it all off, he kept seeing you, in every couple that passed his line of sight. Every time he saw you two instead of the couple on a date or the married pair holding their child’s hand, the void closed for a brief moment before expanding even wider the second the image dissolved, leaving him with only a deep sense of longing making a home for itself in the void. Except he had no idea what he was longing for. He knew you were okay, and that was enough.

Was it really enough?

It was like he was trying to cobble together a puzzle with no reference and some of the ends cut off, blindly slapping pieces together and hoping it worked out. Loosely forming ideas, certainties, what-ifs, all trying to be linked together by a single man that, as much as he hates to say it, had no idea what the fuck he was doing (and it would be a cold day in hell before he asked for help).

Shouts and screams snapped him out of his daze and he glowered at the villain crashing out of a nearby store. Sparks crackled and burst into blazing heat in his palms, evaporating the melancholy haze in his head to focus on the poor soul that had crossed his path.

The half-finished puzzle slunk back to the corner of his mind, waiting for the next time he would pick up the pieces and try again.

“I would like to get to know each other more, Bakugou-san. On a date, maybe?”

He paused mid-stride and stared at his colleague in barely concealed shock, who was too busy hiding her flushed face in her scarf to look back at him. He’s known this woman barely two weeks, then she suddenly hits him with this. Yes, he was caught off guard, sue him.

They were on a coffee run, for God’s sake!

“I mean, I know our agencies are only collaborating for this short time, but I think we could make it work, don’t you?”

Whatever else she was trying to say was cut off by a strong gust of wind nearly blowing the scarf off of her neck. The autumn chill the wind carried along with it wasn’t what made Bakugou feel oddly cold despite the scalding coffee in his hands, though. No, the chill had seeped into his being the moment she had opened her mouth, a certain dread at the thought of what would happen if he said yes.

If he said yes, he would lose you.

Suddenly, he was 18 again, diplomas in hand and wearing a uniform he had cast off long ago instead of his coat. He blinked, and he was back, still staring at the flustered woman next to him as the dying leaves fell around them.

Why? Why? Why can he only see your face? Why could he only see the pink cherry blossoms of a time past, instead of the blazing red leaves the wind had kicked up? He didn’t know the reason, he only knew that this wasn’t what he wanted.

“…No, I don’t.”

What did he want?

Walking into his office to see four people staring back at him with unreadable expressions was the last thing he expected today.

“Oh, Bakugou… I’m so sorry.”

What? Why was Mina looking at him like that? Kirishima, Kaminari, and Sero too. Did he miss something?

“Look, I just came in, so whatever the fuck happened, you need to spit it out, and you need to spit it out now,” He slammed his bag on his desk and glowered at the group staring at him with- was that pity? He didn’t need fucking pity! He needed information! What the hell was going on?

“It’s all over the news, bro.” He stared at Kirishima for a second, two seconds, the dots taking longer than they should’ve to connect.

News…? News…

He hasn’t checked the U.S. news yet.

Ignoring the foreboding feeling bleeding into his soul, he rushed to take out his phone from his coat pocket, nearly dropping it from his fumbling, and he pulled up the U.S. Hero News website as fast as his numb fingers would let him. That little loading bar was testing him, he swears-

Oh.

Suddenly the snow soaking into his coat and hair wasn’t so cold, compared to the chilling horror that froze him to his very core. The world stopped moving for this second, his eyes burning from how long he was staring at those little pixels spelling out his world crumbling.

Y/H/N CRITICALLY INJURED IN BATTLE. RECOVERY UNCERTAIN.

Almost immediately, his eyes zipped through the article, over and over and why were there no details? Did no one really know anything? He’d have to make calls, send emails, pull strings, there’s someone in the U.S. he knows, maybe they would-

“-kugou? Bakugou! Snap out of it!”

Was he being shaken? Oh. He was.

Suddenly Kaminari’s face was up in his and he almost headbutted him from the shock.

“Dude, we lost you there for a second. You read that article like twenty times! Are you okay?” He growled and actually headbutted Kaminari this time, glowering at him as he stumbled back with a bump on his forehead, “Should’ve expected that…”

“I’m fine. What happened was unfortunate, but there’s nothing we can do. Now get to work, we have a case to work on.”

“That’s… cruel, man. We all know how close you were with Y/N, don’t you think you should care a little more-” Kirishima shut up with a single glare, valuing his tongue more than whatever message he was trying to convey. Care? He did care! There were so many things that had to be done, and he had no idea how much time he had left. But this… this was his problem, and no one else’s.

“Maybe you should dry off and warm up first to make sure you don’t get sick…?” Sero waved in the direction of the locker room, and Bakugou shouldered past him wordlessly, snatching up his bag and ignoring the water stains it dripped into the carpet.

“Is he really okay…?” Kaminari whispered the moment he saw Bakugou turn the corner.

“I think we already know the answer to that.” Everyone in his office nodded in agreement with Mina.

This was going to be rough.

Several hours later found him in a hospital of all places, speaking with a doctor about one of the patients that was involved with the case his agency was tasked with.

Wait outside her room, they said, I’ll let her know that you need to speak with her.

Waiting was the last thing he wanted to do right now. Waiting meant he had to sit still, which meant that he had time to think. Waiting meant worrying. His mood was already sour from seeing all the happy couples cuddling up under the pre-Christmas snow on his way here. What would’ve usually left him with a gaping hole in his heart, instead made dread curl in his core and send a million and one what-ifs rattling around inside his head.

He needed to calm down, he couldn’t question anyone when he’s in a mood-

“Please, whoever’s listening, hear my prayer…”

Bakugou looked up at the sound of someone praying, his eyes stopping at the sight of a man kneeling at someone’s bedside with their limp hand clasped in his. The wedding bands on their fingers gleamed in the bright artificial light. He quickly cast his eyes back down to the linoleum at his feet, but it was too late, the headline running in his head for the hundredth time today.

The image of the man praying for his wife’s recovery kept playing in his mind like a broken record and, against his will, slowly changed to the image of you. Limp and wounded in a too-big hospital bed, connected to tubing and wires with too many machines beeping.

He felt sick, the dread climbing it’s way into the void in his chest and ripping it open to make a home for itself.

Of course he would hate seeing you in a hospital bed, just like he would Kirishima or anybody else-

No. This wasn’t the same.

He was scrambling for the puzzle pieces now, his mind going into overdrive to figure out if this wasn’t the same then what the hell was it?

“Ground Zero, sir? She’s ready to see you,” The physician pulled him out of his speculating and he nodded, clearing the sudden lump out of his throat and slipping into the patient’s room. A puzzle piece clicked into place the moment he saw her sitting up in her hospital bed, awake.

He wanted you to be okay.

He wanted you.

Bakugou found himself praying as he laid in bed that night.

The steady ticking of his clock roused him before his alarm did, a rhythmic metronome that dug into his eardrums and yanked him out of his deep sleep. Bakugou sat up with a groan, glaring holes into the damn thing like it had personally offended him for waking him up so early, mocking him with the time he was not supposed to be up at.

4:27 AM.

Wonderful.

Is going back to sleep an option…?

The restless energy that threatened to shake him out of his skin if he so much as held his breath was answer enough, and he swung his legs out of bed with a frustrated huff to go about his morning routine. An early start it is. The minutes passed as he went through the motions, coming back to his senses as he pulled out his phone while the coffee brewed and opened an app with practiced ease. Ease gained from opening it almost thrice daily for months.

He normally wasn’t a coffee drinker, but he would do anything if it pulled the void from his bones.

New hero, villain arrest, villain arrest, hero scandal, villain arrest, crime ring bust, hero scandal…

No news of you.

There hadn’t been news of you for the past four months, and Bakugou was slowly losing it. All the people he reached out to gave him vague answers or dead ends and only confirmed one thing: you were alive.

At the time, it felt like Atlas had taken the sky back to carry on his own shoulders so Bakugou could finally breathe, only to dump it back on him the moment his relief wore off and he started trying to fill in the blanks.

You were alive, but were you okay? Were you in a coma? Wounded beyond repair? Put out of commission?

He shut off his phone, cutting off his train of thoughts, and filled his mug before making his way over to the balcony. Calloused fingers slowly traced over the books neatly placed on the bookshelf next to the balcony window, the early dawn light bathing the titles in a soft glow. He paused as the sunlight glinted off of a certain title printed in gold. Another memory rose from the depths as he read the title over, this time from that hellish first year at UA.

He let it, this time.

“I don’t want to read some fucking romance story.” He spit the words out like they were foul, scowling into thin air as you walked beside him, the book in your hands.

“Come on, Bakugou! It’s really good! You don’t even know what it’s about!” A glance down earned him your puppy eyes, and he begrudgingly conceded.

“…What is it about, then?”

“It’s a story about a girl that had to learn what emotions were, and the one that waited for her.”

You had shoved it into his hands anyway, and he never found the chance to give it back.

A hesitant pause, then he slipped the book out of its space, wincing at the dust that billowed off of the cover. No harm in picking this up to read along with his coffee as long as it kept him from checking the news again.

His subconscious laughed at him as it picked up the puzzle again, slowly trying to piece it together as he opened the book to the earmarked page.

There was time for a quick read, right?

Wrong.

So, so wrong.

He ended up becoming immersed in the book, so drawn in by something about the story he couldn’t quite put his finger on, that he nearly ended up being late to work.

Nearly. Bakugou Katsuki didn’t do late.

He swung the door open right as the clock struck 8:50, brushing cherry blossoms out of his hair with a quiet grumble as he walked into his agency. He stopped short at the familiar (too familiar) sight of his friends grouped together, whispering to each other urgently.

“What do we do?”

“Just…tell him?”

“And get blown up because he decides not to believe us? Yeah, right!”

Secrets. Again. The last time this happened…

Nope, not going through that fucking song and dance again.

“Decide not to believe what?” They stiffened in shock and turned toward him with sheepish smiles. His scowl deepened, the scene reflecting one from this past winter too closely for comfort.

“H-Hey, Bakugou, what’re you doing here?” Kirishima, Mina, and Sero all groaned in unison as Bakugou cocked a doubtful brow at Kaminari’s godawful cover-up. He’d indulge him, for now.

“I fucking work here. What the fuck are you dumbshits doing next to the receptionist’s desk?” They floundered for an answer, and the receptionist himself stepped in with a polite, paper-thin smile.

“You have a guest waiting in your office, sir. I sent them in ahead of you.”

“That’s all you idiots-“ A pointed look, “-needed to say in the first place,” He resisted the urge to sigh at the people he begrudgingly called his friends. Fixing the bag on his shoulder, he turned on his heel to start in the direction of his office, “Probably that patient from the winter case again. See you.”

He made a mental note to give his receptionist a raise, especially since he had to deal with those idiots on the daily.

They watched him disappear into the hallway in stunned silence, Sero eventually breaking the silence to weakly voice the one question they all knew they were thinking.

“Who’s going to tell him it isn’t Mrs. Nakamura?”

The receptionist heaved a quiet sigh as he sat back down at his desk. He didn’t get paid enough for this.

“I already told you, Mrs. Nakamura, we’ll let you know if there’s any upda-” Bakugou’s words died on his tongue once he stepped into his office, his bag dropping to the ground with a dull thud that he didn’t acknowledge, “…You’re not Mrs. Nakamura.”

“I’m not.”

A soft laugh. How long has it been since he’s heard it last?

He watched as you slowly stood up from where you had been watching the cherry blossoms outside, not missing the slight wince and the bandages you were swathed in as you did so. It was the only thing holding him back from crushing you in a hug right then and there-

Wait, a hug? Since when?

Bakugou had the sense to get himself together and picked his bag up from off the floor, kicking the door shut as he did. Heart beating out of his chest, he walked over to meet you in the middle of his office. He felt the void in his chest filling, but there was something that was keeping it from completely healing over. He knew what it was, but how would he-

“You’re here?”

“I’m here.”

His head was spinning. You were here. You were more bandages than skin but you were here. You were okay. The weight lifted off of his shoulders again and, despite the relief flooding him, he managed to choke his response out, wincing at his tone.

“Why now?”

“Well, you probably saw, but I got my ass handed to me-” Bakugou couldn’t help the incredulous snort that slipped, tossing his bag onto the table. That’s putting it lightly, “-and my contract with the agency was almost over anyway, so I got sent home for the rest of my treatment and physical therapy.”

“That’s…good.” There were words he had to say. What were they, what were they? Hurry up you idiot-

“Um, I know this is sudden, but do you remember… at graduation…”

Of course you would beat him to it again.

“I remember, and I… think I have an answer.” His ears felt hot as you laughed again, but this time he saw the tenseness in your shoulders, wound up from nerves. A step closer (it felt right), and suddenly he was in front of you, nearly buzzing with anticipation.

“You think? Lay it on me, then,” You (tried) to give him a reassuring grin, the sight of you with the cherry blossoms outside painting an all too familiar image. His breath caught before he could get his words out, his heart beating the breath he would’ve used out of his lungs and no not again not now-

This time… This time he would have the words to answer.

“It took me two goddamn years to get this far, so you better fucking listen, and listen well.”

“I’m listening, Katsuki.”

How three little words could feel so foreign on his tongue was beyond him, but deep down, he had a feeling that it was right. Your brilliant smile after made everything worth it anyway, and he felt the longing void in his chest finally knit itself together. Another puzzle piece clicked into place, placed by your own hands this time. The picture was far from finished, but at least now he had you by his side to help him put it all together.

He still wasn’t entirely sure what love was, but he was sure of one thing.

He wanted to learn with you.

#from the typewriter #bnha oneshot #mha oneshot #bakugou oneshot #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki is bad at feelings #press f to pay respects for kaminari #ily yssa!

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pm-my-hubbies · 3 years

Text

Lani’s Crown | H.C.

Summary: Reader and Henry’s daughter has landed herself in a bit of trouble and needs to understand the importance they put into her hair.

Pairing: Dad!Henry x Black Mom!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

I knew this day would come and unfortunately, I hadn’t prepared myself for it. “Hey, don’t forget you gotta have that talk with Lani pretty soon,” my conscience would remind me as I stared in awe at a queen with a head full of kinky hair. Like the snap of a hypnosis’ fingers, the task would slip away from me and I would return to whatever I had on my plate for the time being. Apparently, this “talk” wasn’t at the top of my to-do list.

My eyes shift from the shoulder length hair on the right side of my five year-old’s head to the gapped up left side. Something tells me she was reenacting Halle Berry’s notorious transformation scene from Catwoman as it’s become a favorite of hers in the past couple of weeks. This idea prompts me to hold in the snicker threatening to fall past my lips because right now is not a laughing matter.

“I honestly don’t know what to say Ailani.” I speak. It’s not that I’m mad at my baby because that’s what she is: a baby. She’s still struggling to steady the handlebars of her bicycle when she rides and her tongue has begun poking out the side of her mouth as she attempts to loop her shoe laces together. She doesn’t know how special her hair is because I hadn’t told her. And even if I did, it’ll take her brain ages to digest the information.

“I’m sorry, Mommy. I didn’t mean it.” she whimpers.

“I know baby but... why did you go for the scissors? You know you’re only supposed to use them for cutting paper and when adults are around. What happened?”

Today had been a good day at the restaurant. As the manager of the small-staffed bakery not too far from Lani’s school, majority of the tasks outside of sitting behind the desk fell onto me two weeks ago when three of the employees decided “a mental break” was necessary (I would’ve been fine if I hadn’t seen one of them chugging down beer after beer when I went out for drinks with some friends on a Friday night). Garlic wafted up my nostrils the moment I stepped over the threshold into our home and I knew something was up as my husband was cooking my comfort meal. He didn’t say anything when I asked of our daughter’s whereabouts. A nod in the direction of our dining room that was connected to the living room was all I needed to know something had happened. Lani has already placed her crayons to the side of her paper on the dining room table and peeked up at me with solemn eyes.

“Charlotte and I were play—” she began.

“Wait, Charlotte?”

Lani bowed her head in shame. “Yes.”

God fucking dammit. “Lani, why would... why would you play with Charlotte after Mommy told you to not be around her anymore?”

Her head was still low but I managed to catch the next statement clear as day. “Because she said I could make more friends if my hair was short like her and the other girls.”

I felt as if I were on fire. My body burned with anger and once again, it wasn’t directed towards Lani. Charlotte was once the little girl you wanted your children to play with every single day. But after some time, her true bad habits made an appearance and next thing you know, you were constantly disregarding the ringing of your doorbell as she shouted for your child. To add on to her pest-like behavior, Charlotte’s parents could never recognize the wrongs in her actions.

I shouldn’t be surprised such words could come from a child’s mouth but I am. Maybe it’s because it’s been a while since I allowed another kindergartener to bully me and I assumed times have changed for them to not talk out of their asses. Yet, here we are.

“Ailani, can you look at me? Please?” I calmly asked.

My daughter finally picked her head up and it was in this moment that all frustration I felt for her former friend dissipated. Her round cheeks were wet with fresh tears, brown eyes the size of saucers.

“Oh Ailani.” I cooed, walking around the coffee table dividing us to plant myself on the floor next to her. I pulled her onto my lap, her face pressing against my chest as her body racked with sobs. “Shhh, it’s okay.”

“I hurt your feelings, Mommy.”

“You did baby but that’s beside the point. Your feelings are hurting right now and it’s landed you in some mess.” I explained. Internally, I was chanting to not let the waterworks flow.

Lani continued her moment of sadness at most likely destroying the pride I held for her hair. The left side was the only destruction, which left more on her head. Still, blades made contact with the kinks at an inappropriate time.

Eventually, her body ceased the shaking and all I could feel was the large gulps she took as she calmed down. I guess now was the time to talk to her.

“You did hurt Mommy’s feelings because I love your hair. But at the same time, Mommy never told you how special your hair is so you wouldn’t do what you did.” I began. “Most girls want a crown to look like the Disney princesses they see on TV. I was one of those girls but I only wanted the tiara to be like the other girls. Do you hear me?”

She nodded. “Mmhm.”

“Good. Your grandmother told me that I didn’t need a crown to be pretty or like other girls because I already had one with me that followed me everywhere. And that, my Love, is my hair. Sit up for a second.” My daughter did as told, straddling my lap with bloodshot eyes looking into my watery ones. I placed my hand in her hair to massage her scalp. “The thing about your hair and my hair is that it’s unique. It’s what makes us beautiful. Some days we’ll braid it and other days we can wear it loose. The best thing about our hair is that it’s like a magicians hat to people that don’t look like us.”

“A magicians hat?”

“Mmhm. See, the only thing you know about a magicians hat is that it’s the same one they always wear. And every time they reach into it, it’s something new they pull out that amazes the audience every single time. With you, people will always see you with the same hair style until you straighten it. And every time you straighten it, it’ll be longer than before and amaze people each time. And that, my Darling, is because people are idiots when it comes to us and our hair.”

The cutest of giggles escaped Lani’s lips and I couldn’t help but to grin at the sound I got out of her. “Mommy no!”

“It’s true Lani! A lot of people don’t know much about our hair except to tell us how to style it. Your dad’s an exception, even though he can be a little dumb at times.”

“I heard that!” Henry exclaimed from the kitchen.

I chuckled as I leaned to the side to respond with, “Mind your business!”

“Can’t do that when you brought me into it.”

I glanced back at Lani with a smirk on my face. “You know what, your dad is right for once.”

Heavy footsteps echoed throughout the lower level of our home as Henry exited the kitchen to enter the living room where Lani and I sat. He held a similar smile to the one I wore when mocking his correctness. “Is this how you discipline our daughter when I’m not around? Throw me under the bus?”

“Not exactly.”

“Goodness woman.” He chuckled, treading over to where we rested. He swung his legs around my shoulder to plop down behind me on the sofa and place his hands on my shoulders. “Everything good now?”

Although her original hairstyle was jacked up now due to the scissors, I continued rubbing my hands through her beautiful hair. “I think so. But before I tell you to go upstairs and start running your bath water, I want you to remember something: girls like Charlotte are not your friend.”

“Your mother is right Lani.”

My head tilted up slightly so I could toss him a smile of appreciation for backing me up. “Friends do not tell you to change how you look so you can hang out with them. They chose to be your friend and should deal with it. Do you understand?”

“I think so.” Although it was meant to be a statement, she answered it more of like a question.

“Can you try to repeat that back for Mommy and Daddy but in your own words?”

She rapidly nodded her head. “Um... Charlotte should play with me because she likes how I look?”

“That’s our girl!” Henry praised her with a pinch to her cheeks.

“That’s right. And if she tells you what to do again, you either tell the teacher or tell her to stop. Yes?”

“Yes.” She affirmed.

“Good. Now go run your bath water for Mommy and then I’ll be up to wash you before we eat dinner.”

As soon as she hopped off my thighs to disappear up the stairs, Henry wrapped his arms around my neck. His lips landed on my cheek for peck. “You handled that well.” He mumbled.

I gently massaged his forearms with my hands. “You think so?”

“Yes. I was expecting the worse. Yelling, maybe a pop or two.”

“Some people will think I’m the worst parent for restricting my daughter from doing such a thing as today but that’s the thing: she’s not their daughter. If she cuts her hair, I have to bend over backwards and find styles for her hair and I really don’t have the time for that.” I elaborated, a huff following right after. “She’s lucky she did this today because now, she has an excuse to see her auntie Marilyn.”

“Oh but your Saturday.” I wasn’t looking at him but I could hear the pout in his voice as he pressed another kiss to my skin but this time on my neck.

I deeply exhaled. “I know, I know. I’ll just reserve it for Sunday like we’re supposed to anyways.”

Silence filled the spacious room now. Within seconds, the faint sound of water hitting the hard surface of our bath tub upstairs interrupted the peace that had quickly formed between Henry and I.

“Now that I’ve given her the heart-to heart talk, it’s your turn to talk with Charlotte’s parents.”

“What? Why me?” He groaned like a child restricted to the confines of his home on a Friday evening.

“Because I can’t catch a case. That little girl pissed me off and I won’t be so nice if I talk to her parents. And even if I did play nice, they’d still say something. When it’s you, there’s less backlash.”

“I— dammit. You’re right.”

“Get to work Superman.” I playfully ordered as I stood up between his legs to stretch my cramped limbs. A giggle my lips as his hand lightly connected with my ass. I felt like a love struck high schooler all over again when I spun around to lean against his strong frame and place my hands on his pecs. “You’ve got some saving to do and for once, it’s not me.”

“Indeed I do.” He mumbled before leaning down to deeply kiss me.

#henry cavill #henry cavill imagines #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x woc reader #henry cavill x black reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x female reader

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maydaymadier · 3 years

Text

Time

[Disclaimer: I’m currently slightly more than halfway through the c2 finale and I’m going to try and avoid spoilers since well, there’s still like 3hrs of content to get spoiled on. Will likely crosspost to my ao3]

“Time, it takes time, not days or weeks or years. Time.”

Caleb Widogast was right, though to be precise it takes 100 consecutive days of inscribing a teleportation circle in the same place to make it permanent. Nicodranas was the first teleportation circle Essek Thelyss finished. 100 days of pounding sun and coastal heat felt fitting to start his time. He had his trepidations about better acquainting himself with Yussa, less so with Ms. Lavorre. The Nein asked why he needed to make a teleportation circle in Nicodranas, they already had access to Tidepeak Tower’s. ‘Yes, however, we will not have to give anyone advance notice to use our own.’

Jester made something of a habit of bringing him a new parasol or sunhat each time she visited, even brought him tinted glasses she found once. If he knew she was coming he’d make sure to wear one of them.

Each time he ran out of chalk he’d wrap himself in illusion and teleport himself to Zadash. Meanwhile, the stores in his towers grew dust-laden, his absence from the Dynasty more suspicious, and he bought his chalk from Enchanter Sol. The Mighty Nein were a family, regardless of any distance, and he had the means to make distance mean nothing. So Essek Thelyss carried on. And on the hundredth day, he stepped into a circle in Nicodranas and stepped out in the Blooming Grove.

He was invited in for tea, as expected, and accepted as was polite. The next day he found the spot behind the temple where the grass had been flattened by the circle delivering him and started his next hundred days. He ‘compensated’ for his intrusion with his floating meditative guard each night. Caduceus seemed to pick up on what he was doing faster than Jester had, by a thin margin. The remaining Clay children would poke their noses in once and a while, curious about their drow visitor they’d only met briefly before but they remembered him helping garden after Ikithon set the temple ablaze. They would offer him a plate at meals, he insisted on using his own rations in a strange dance of hospitality and being a polite guest.

At one point, after finishing the day’s circle he considered venturing through the Savalirwood to Glory Run Road, find Mollymauk’s grave. But it felt disrespectful to Kingsley somehow in a way he couldn’t articulate. If he were to be more dramatic it felt like an invasion of privacy to the rest of the Nein as a whole, intruding on a moment on a place where they were unknowing adversaries. So he kept inscribing circles in the grass and sometimes he found fresh chalk in his component pouch. On occasion, Caduceus found saplings and cuttings of Xorhasian plants on his windowsill.

On the hundredth day he stepped into the circle in the Blooming Grove and came out under Caduceus’s tree in the Xorhaus. He was far more careful with this one. The Xorhaus was sparsely used, bordering on abandoned at this point, more than ready for the Nein to inhabit it once again. Beauregard, oft accompanied by Yasha, used it the most for when they visited Rosohna on Cobalt Soul business. The Bright Queen had been more than amenable to working with the Soul once she knew they were dismantling the organization that had stolen the beacons.

Though it took three days before Beau realized he was working on making a circle on the roof, pruning away his extra time by trying to tame the garden, clad in his rose-patterned gardening gloves, what with his lackluster previous experience. She offered to go bring him chalk from his towers, anything else he might need that he’d left behind when he was posted in Eiselcross. He accepted the offer, to eschew suspicion, asking for some simple components that filled any wizard’s pouch. Sooner than later, soon enough Beau couldn’t knock the truth out of him (not that she needed to do that or would, he was growing increasingly susceptible to disappointed stares from his friends) he stepped into the circle in Rosohna and stepped out in Rexxentrum.

His skin crawled and felt like it would slough off with each passing day. He wasn’t so bold at this point to attempt and make a circle on Soltryce’s grounds but he did take pleasure in chipping away the next hundred days in the courtyard of Trent Ikithon’s now abandoned tower. It was a joy, absolutely cathartic tearing apart what little remained hidden away of the bastard’s stores. The most valuable and precious artifacts and components were hidden in ways only an archmage would even know about or know how to unlock. Malicious clumsiness might have gotten him to break an important, now inert, magical tool or two as he rummaged through the tower for chalk.

Though one day, he noticed an owl perched in a tree, watch him for an hour, disappear for a few minutes, reappear, so on and so forth for the whole day. He had a good idea who the owl was but she never watched him again after that. If she wanted to know what he was doing here, fine. It wasn’t like either could rat out the other without drawing unwanted attention to them both. So on the hundredth day, what little remained of Trent Ikithon’s personal study even more thoroughly destroyed, he stepped into the circle in Rosohna and stepped out.

Essek chipped away at the for now final circle under the watchful light of Pelor. Passively, the part of him that absorbed every ounce of knowledge, regardless if he cared or not, wondered what the connection may be between whatever the Luxon is and the Dawnfather. Just a fun little thought experiment to occupy him while he worked through the next hundred days.

By the end of Brussendar, with Highsummer fast approaching, he’d decided that he ought to have brought at least one of Jester’s hats. Though more importantly he’d decided that the thought was silly and any connection between the two deities must be entirely aesthetic. Nothing he didn’t already know but what else can a wizard do but overthink?

It wasn’t the same level of festivities he’d heard about with Harvest’s Close but Highsummer seemed to be the close second in Blumenthal. He sat, disguised in the shade of an oak probably as old as he was and simply watched from afar. Somewhere in the crowd, he saw a flash of copper. Tried not to think to much of it. Red hair seemed slightly more common in this corner of the empire. He caught the sweeping arc of a long, striped scarf being tossed over a shoulder. A leather coat dusting at the ground (though he had looked so good in purple).

Caleb Widogast stepped out of the crowd and sat under the oak with him, “I suppose a criminal always returns to the scene of the crime.” “I suppose I have,” Essek stared at his feet. Caleb offered him some sort of sweet roll wrapped in paper, “I was not talking about you.” He ignored the comment, “How long has it been? Since we last spoke.” “Four hundred and eighty-six days. About a year and a half to be informal,” he just set down the roll next to his hand when he didn’t move to take it. “I keep thinking one day it will have been enough time.” “Looking for the specific number will drive you mad. Are you just going to keep making circles across Wildemount until you feel that you’ve atoned?” Essek took the roll but only held it, “I know that I cannot make up for everything. What are you doing here, anyways?” “I have been trying to convince myself to visit. Maybe try to pay my respects if I can stomach it. The others had already told me what you were doing, but Astrid told me where you were going. Figured now was good a time as any,” his expression darkened, the reality beyond the afterglow of a hard-won victory whispering into both their ears. “I-,” Essek started. “Did you know I was from here before you picked it or did you just want to taunt Rexxentrum by hiding in their breadbasket for a while?” Caleb stared him down. “I knew.” “Alright then.” “I hope I have not intruded in some way by coming here.” “I suppose we were both curious about the echo. It’s right up your alley, prodigious dunamancer and whatnot,” Caleb glanced back up at the revelers before turning his attention back to him “I would not discount your own skill, you’ve picked up dunamancy quite quickly and with a level of skill I have rarely seen.” Maybe they can just talk about magic. “Danke.” There was an uncomfortable pause in the conversation.

“When do you think-?” Essek tried asking. “I don’t. I will not pretend to know when enough time will have passed for the past not to hurt us anymore, Essek. And counting it in teleportation circles will not make it go any faster,” he said, though with the crushing sadness to his eyes of a man who wished he were wrong. “I am trying to make it easier for us to see each other,” he said with easy authority. “It is much easier to see each other when we don’t run off to the four corners,” Caleb added on with a tired chuckle. “What are you implying?” Something caught between excitement and unease hit him. “I can stay. Help you finish the circle here, we can leave, make another. As many circles as we want. We can have the continent at our fingertips. Maybe even go back to what remains of Aeor in Eiselcross. Devexian couldn’t have been the only mechanical inhabitant. For all we know there is a city of automatons underneath the ice now,” Caleb got more excited and dreamy as he went on, the unbridled excitement of a mage faced with knowledge. “That sounds...nice...,” Essek trailed off, trying to sound as neutral as he could manage. “Do you want that, Essek?”

It felt like the word was tearing its way out of him, “Yes.”

#my post #critical role #mighty nein #cr fic #cr fanfic #essek thelyss #shadowgast #just a sprinkling of shadowgast there at the end #post-canon #Essek is Coping

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hotchley · 3 years

Note

Congrats on hitting 500! 🎉. Can you please do 2 from the fluff prompts for Rossi and the rest of the team?

Thank you! This is so bad because I do not write fluff well, but it was so funny (to me. Literally nobody else is going to laugh.) Umm... yeah. I wrote this in the car home. Ignore any errors, I didn't proofread.

Everyone is OOC. I had to do that to make it more fluff-like, just go with it.

2: what have you done to my kitchen?

Trigger Warnings: eating, food, food mentions, eating habits, birthday/birthday celebrations

read on ao3!

With hindsight, it probably wasn't the best idea the BAU had ever had.

At the time, it had been.

See, Rossi was always very concerned about the eating habits of the rest of the team. Which did make sense given that Reid was the best example. And that was because he ate three meals a day, everyday, at the same time. So the bar was below the ground.

He would bring in snacks, and then suddenly remember that his blood pressure meant he couldn't eat them, so Derek had to. He would accidentally make too much lunch, which would pull JJ away from her files. Apparently Hotch absolutely adored a certain food (he hated it) which always made Emily eat it. Aaron just took what he was given without complaining because Dave had far too much blackmail for him to risk his wrath.

So the team thought they could return the favour. Weekly cooking lessons- they weren't really lessons, a more accurate way of describing them would be Rossi's pretend cooking show the rest of the team watched- had become a tradition after the first one. They reached a point where Will, Beth, Savannah and the kids tagged along. Sometimes Alex and Kate would pop in, and they had a rota to dictate who would deliver to Ashley.

The first time Emily went had been an experience for everyone.

And even though they all knew that the many accidents involving Rossi's food were deliberate and always had been, they played along because it made him feel good, and it was a very lovely thing for him to do. He wasn't always good at showing his love the way it was needed, but with this, he always tried.

So as his birthday came closer and closer- although he kept denying it, not wanting it to become a big event- they decided how they were going to celebrate and show their appreciation for everything he had done at the same time. It was such an easy decision it was almost laughable.

They were going to cook for him. And not just a single meal. No, a feast, that the entire team, past and present, could enjoy. JJ and Morgan, as the most competent adults were making the mains, Emily and Spencer had been tasked with the sides because there was no way they could mess up a salad and Penelope and Hotch were sorting out desert.

It had been a perfect plan. Strauss was going to take Rossi out in the morning, and he would spend the day with her, Joy, and some of his other friends because apparently, he had those. Hotch would then turn up with Jack and take the spare key from wherever it was hidden- he wasn't allowed to say, and the rest of them would turn up after. By the time Rossi came home, everything would be ready. It might be a good time to place some emphasis on the had.

Aaron hadn't been able to find the key. Instead of waiting to see if someone else could get it, he'd thrown a rock through the window, climbed in and unlocked the door from inside. Unfortunately, Rossi's alarm was silent, so it was only the sirens came closer did he realise what was happening. And if that wasn't bad enough, Will was the cop they'd sent. He found it funny. Everyone whose name wasn't Aaron did.

He thought that would be the end of their problems. It was just a start.

His and Penelope's cake batter had gotten mixed up with one of the dishes JJ was making, which would've been fine, but they couldn't tell which one, so they'd both needed to start again.

And whilst that was happening, Derek had burnt his. Aaron had cursed Rossi for having an electric stove, which led to Jack politely asking what a "fudging mochafluffer" was. Emily told him what his dad had actually meant.

Emily had put a bowl in the microwave. She'd asked Aaron if it could go, and when he'd seen that it was just butter and chocolate- she was helping Penelope- he said yes, because he assumed she would've checked that it was a microwave proof bowl. She hadn't, and the bowl melted, leaving the microwave full of burnt chocolate and partially melted butter.

Spencer had somehow managed to avoid injuring himself, but that was all. He had been tasked with making salad. Vegetable salad. As in, a salad that contained vegetables. When Aaron went to help Emily determine whether a sauce was too hot- it was, by a large amount- he was covered in sprinkles. Jack's laughter identified him as the culprit.

Then, because of all the restarting and incidents and quantity of food they were making, they'd run out of dishes. After all, Dave was one person most days. Four, if Joy and her family came down. The most he ever had at one time was the team and family. Even then, only a few pots and pans were needed.

But because they were already running well behind schedule, they'd just tried to wash, dry and use alternative containers if they needed them urgently. With all six of them- and Jack- in the area, a few were dropped, and some didn't even clean in the dishwasher.

In short, the whole thing was a disaster. But as there was no clock in the kitchen, everyone assumed they still had time to salvage something. Anything, so Dave's birthday wasn't a disaster.

They didn't. Because as Aaron and Emily argued about why anyone would want to eat toasted lettuce- Emily's point was the lettuce had come straight from the fridge so putting it on the toaster would get it to room temperature, Aaron's was that he'd heard smarter things from Sergio- a key turned in the lock.

Erin walked in first, only realising what had been done in her absence when Dave walked through the door. He blinked. Then he rubbed his eyes. And then he pinched himself. When it became clear that he wasn't dreaming, he groaned.

"What have you done to my kitchen?"

And that was a good question. Every surface was covered in half-finished dishes, bowls, cutlery, food and other unidentifiable substances (Emily's cooking.) The six of them were a mess, their clothes completely ruined, and Aaron- who must have won the argument about lettuce- had some in his hair.

"Surprise?" Aaron said, completely deadpan.

"Dear me. Right, all of you, out. The spare bedroom has clothes for all of you. Get changed, and then we'll sort this out."

The team left, feeling terrible.

That feeling faded, because when they came back, Dave was eating one of their many not quite complete dishes. Straight from the bowl. But he seemed to like it! He actually liked it!

"We just wanted to do something nice for you," JJ said.

He shrugged. "I know. Erin kept checking her phone, so then I basically annoyed her into telling me. I know you've basically ruined my kitchen, but your intentions were good, and I appreciate the attempt. Truly. It was very sweet of you."

"Does this mean we get out of having to clear up?" Emily asked.

"No. We'll worry about that later. You must be starving, doing all of this since whenever it was."

"We started a bit later than planned," Penelope confessed.

"Oh I know. Very graceful dive Aaron. You do realise the spare keys are in the same place they've always been?"

Aaron frowns, then walks out, and reaches down somewhere the others can't see. When he comes back, his cheeks are flushed. "Oh."

"Indeed."

"Wait, you can't cook anything. It's your birthday!" Derek says.

"Whoever said anything about cooking?" Dave replies.

Right on cue, the doorbell goes. Dave takes the bag, giving the student on the other side a generous tip. He turns back, pizza in his arms. When he sees the shocked looks on everyone's faces, he shrugs.

"It's good."

Spencer laughs, and gets the extra paper plates out.

They sit in the living room, some of them on the couch, some of them on the floor, and Dave realises that despite everything- or maybe it's because of his broken window and messy kitchen- this has been the best birthday he's ever had.

It's a feeling only solidified when each member of the team takes one final slice of pizza without a single thought of anything other than enjoyment.

#hotchley’s 500 #tw eating #tw food #tw food menton #tw eating habits #tw birthday #tw birthday celebration

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subbing-for-clones · 3 years

Text

She Who Walks the Line Between Part 3

Maul x GreyJedi!Reader

Word Count: 2682

WARNINGS: blood, fluffy fluff starts picking up

PREVIOUS NEXT MASTERLIST

The few hours of sleep he was able to achieve were filled with nightmares that consisted of his memories returning. His life played out behind his eyelids charging his sadness, terror and his fury. Yet before his mind could plummet to unreachable depths, he sensed a calming presence in the back of his mind. A hand that reached out for him to hold onto. He had no idea that during his rest he became quite vocal and Y/N stood in his doorway using the force to ease him back into a relaxed state. Pulling him further away from the unseen dangers that threatened to pull him down and drown him.

He woke with a start, not remembering where he was. His first thought was why it didn’t smell like fire and burning fuels mixed with humid gasses. When he felt his legs shift under the blankets the events that took place yesterday flooded back to the forefront of his memory. He smelled the sweet sugary aroma of a plate towering with baked apples and honeyed meat sitting on his night stand but before he indulged his groaning stomach, movement from outside the window caught his eye. It was his savior.

Not covered in the same make of dress she wore yesterday. Today she adorned a fitted white cloth binding across her chest and beige trousers that bagged around her thighs but were tight just below her knees. Barefooted, she dual wielded white lightsabers in the Ataru style. Dodging quickly and lunging aggressively toward an invisible attacker. Gracefully she connected the two sabers so they appeared to be a single double sided weapon. Twirling them so quickly and dancing on her feet so lightly his eyes had trouble keeping up. She was working through forms he both recognized and ones he had never seen before. He could see a light glimmer of sweat slicked across her form catching in the early morning sunlight. She must have been training for hours already. Strands of hair falling out of the bun she had tied up to keep the majority of her locks out of her eyeline.

He took and ate the breakfast she prepared slowly, studying her through the glass with admiration. Obviously satisfied with her efforts she hung her now sheathed sabers from the gate and tended the goats and chickens within the pen. Despite her hostile training they were calm and trotted up to her as she passed through the gate. He watched her feed the animals and her mouth form words he couldn't hear, assuming they were praises as they danced around her.

~~~~~

The next two weeks were more of the same every day. You meditated and trained in the mornings before tending to your animals. You knew his eyes were on you while he ate the food you always left for him, always watching. You feigned ignorance and never mentioned that you caught him staring, surprising yourself with the fact that you kind of liked the attention. When you had finished your morning routine you would find him dressed in his room practicing the basic movements and exercises you assigned to him for his physical therapy. Satisfied he was actually doing them you would go shower and dressing in your usual slitted dresses that you preferred.

You would eat again together and continue helping him work his legs. After the first few days he joined you in your afternoon meditation followed by more exercises or flipping through one of your many books, light music always on in the background. The longer he was in your care the softer his eyes looked, the stronger his legs got and he came to be more comfortable in your proximity. You had both gotten used to one another's company. You had spent so much time alone on this planet you had forgotten what it was like to have a companion. A rather agreeable one at that. It was nice.

~~~~~

Now able to walk on his own with only the help from a cane he joined Y/N outside every morning. Still unable to train as she did, he practiced walking around the pen surrounded by the animals. He could see a smile grace her lips when he interacted gently with them. When she had finished, she strode over to him leaning up against the fence with her arms crossed and her brows furrowed.

"What is it?" He asked, honey eyes filled with concern that he had upset her somehow. He tended to revert back to the frightened apprentice she realized he had been at one point in his life if she wasn’t careful. Despite the fact that he had never one been the cause of even a slight frustration within her.

"I have to leave for a day or two, stock up on some things this planet doesn't have. I need you to stay here, I fear a storm is coming and I don't want to leave the animals unattended. Would you be alright with that?”

Sighing with relief he agreed and watched as she boarded her ship and took off.

The next day after she had left, he must have looked up to the sky every hour impatiently waiting for her to return. He ate much less without her, swearing to himself that it didn't taste as good if it didn't come from her hands. He did however keep up with his exercises and spent much of his free time with the goats and chickens. That night he had even more trouble falling asleep than he usually did; missing her company. After tossing and turning until daybreak he made a daring move, striding toward Y/N's room without his cane for the first time.

He had never been inside of it but he had caught glances after noticing she had been sleeping with her door open, starting a few days after his arrival. Sheer white curtains hung in front of the transparasteel panes that overlooked the garden. Like the rest of the house, not a single chronometer in sight. The need to keep time didn't really exist in this place, he enjoyed that small detail over the past few weeks. It was starkly different from how he was raised, every moment of every day planned down to the second. Even a slight deviation always resulting with a beating. He had to keep reminding himself that she was not his master. When he did forget she would always lend a kind reminder she was master of nothing and no one.

The pine-colored rug under foot was exceptionally plush and extended across most of the floor, the polished dark wooden flooring peeking out only around the edges of the room. A long desk was situated beneath the large viewport. Atop it lay several data-tapes and empty books. She must be copying the information by hand he assessed. Actual paper writing was extremely rare and her home was filled with paper sheeted books bound in various leathers. One of the books sat open with a pen resting on it, the entry was short but he loved seeing her handwriting nonetheless. Without lifting the journal, he stood and read the page entry, curiosity getting the better of him.

Maul- Day 17:

‘He is recovering faster than I had originally anticipated but I am also not surprised. He has to be strong to have survived as long as he did on his own in the condition he came to me in. Already walking on his own supported only by a cane by day 10. He is gaining weight slowly but is starting to look healthier. He will snap back quickly once he can walk on his own again, unaided by a crutch. His eyes aren’t nearly as blood shot and the lighter shade of color in his horns and nails indicates he is getting proper nutrients and that his hormones have balanced out.

His mind seems to be healing as well, I haven't asked about his memories but I know they come in the form of nightmares. He responds well to my attempts to calm him in his sleep. They still come every night but he has gone from an excessive number of fits to only two or three a night. He is still wildly unbalanced but the scale is starting to tip in the right direction. I have come to realize that I enjoy his presence. He seems to be more comfortable with small talk. I like his voice, alas my mind wanders.’

Maul hobbled over to her bed and hesitantly laid down on top of it not daring to mess up the bedding too much. Several realizations crossing his mind. One, she had actually come to care for him as he was starting to care for her. Two, he learned why she slept with her door open now. His hearts raced at the thought of her standing in his doorway calming him while he slept. Three, she liked his voice. He had always been scolded if he spoke unnecessarily, taught to be silent as shadows. But she liked his voice. He could smell her on her pillows, a sweet earthy scent that lingered in his nose. Very quickly sleep took him.

He awoke that evening as the sun was starting to set to the sound of thunder ripping through the sky. His belly growled, he had grown accustomed to several meals a day and his hunger had caught up to him. Being sure to straighten out the blankets on her bed he stood and made his way to the kitchen. Opening the cooler for the first time, he found a plate with a large cooked steak and a note.

‘You had better eat this before I return. You have to eat even if I'm not there. -Y/N’

He smiled at her sentiment. As usual with everything she made, it was like ambrosia in his mouth. The moment he finished eating he sensed the animals were distressed. Not bringing his cane he made his way slowly outside to the barn. The rain came down almost violently, lightning streaking across the now black sky while thunder crashed angrily.

He was soaking wet by the time he got inside to check the animals who were immediately calmed when they saw him. Sighing he sat in the middle of the floor and began his meditation to stave away his and their anxiety of the storm. He had hoped she wasn't flying in this but she was already away longer than she said she'd be. That didn't help the knot of worry growing in his belly.

~~~~~

When you came out of hyperspace and entered the atmosphere you realized you must have put the coordinates in a digit off. You were on the wrong side of the planet, jungle stretched out as far as you could see. This wouldn’t be the first time you had accidently come home in the wrong hemisphere. You sighed at your own antics. It was too dangerous to fly back out to space so you had to navigate through the storm down here. Your ship seemed to attract the lightning but you managed to sense it a split second before it struck, narrowly dodging the persistent bolts. Before long you could just make out the break that gave way to the grasslands. You started lowering out of the sky but were distracted to see Maul coming out of the barn. It was just a moment of distraction but an important moment, you didn't sense the lightning. You were struck and it killed the power sending you nose first straight into the soil with a loud crash. Your vision blacked out after hitting your head on impact knocking you unconscious.

~~~~~

No...NO... fuck.

Maul watched as the bolt hit her ship and she crashed out in the field. Eyes wide with panic he ran as fast as his new legs would carry, almost giving out several times before he reached the fallen ship. He raised his arms, using the force for the first time in weeks he opened the door and lowering the ramp. It didn't reach the ground due to the crafts hazardous angle. Force jumping inside he landed on his feet with a shocking pain that radiated through his torso. Snarling he made his way to the cockpit where he found her starting to wake up.

~~~~~

You felt strong hands on your arms gently squeezing, you sighed into the touch rubbing your head and your eyes. When they finally opened the first thing you saw were two brightly glowing golden orbs. Rubbing your eyes again, your vision fully returning, you realized they belonged to a very worried looking Zabrack. Who was covered in...straw?

Remembering what distracted you in the first place you burst into laughter. Hard, rolling laughter.

The worry on his face shifted into confusion. He slowly wiped the blood off your temple from where you hit your head. Then he lifted you bridal style and started walking out of the ship. Finding a new reserve of strength and determination he carried you all the way to your home. Although you stopped laughing you still giggled, picking pieces of straw off the back of his tunic. Finally realizing what you found so amusing he smiled, "the storm scared the goats so I meditated with them. I ended up falling asleep out there."

He now stood in the living room, still in his arms you replied, "I kind figured as much." You pressed your forehead to his for a moment, butterflies dancing in both of your stomachs. He set you down on the couch slowly and fetched a cool wet cloth. Tenderly, he dabbed at the cut. You watched him closely, a slight blush fanning across your cheeks. He was so soft, so careful in this moment, so near you, a stark comparison to the man who had first landed in your field not long ago.

He heard your heartbeat quicken and saw your blush, causing his face to deepen slightly along with yours. Quickly he stood, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck looking anywhere but at you. "I think you'll be alright," he stammered. "It's just a shallow laceration."

You also stood, inches from him. He was taller than you were, not by much, but it was noticeable when you were this close to his body. "I could've told you that but noooo you had to cast aside your cane and come to the rescue... Thank you." You batted your long eyelashes at him and he gulped, gaze not leaving your own this time.

"I have a present for you."

"You do?" He asked now distracted from your devilishly plump lips.

"Yeah, quick stop on Naboo, few broken necks, spines and bribes later aaaaaaand.." you reached behind your back unclipping a third lightsaber from your belt. Still rough where it had been sliced in half you presented it to him. "Tada!"

"You did this for me?" He asked slowly taking it in his hands. It seemed.. heavier than he remembered. But it was his.

"Yes I did,” you stated matter-o-factly. Now that your obviously strong enough not only to walk but to carry me across the field, like the damsel in distress that I was, covered in straw no less. We will start training together. But for now, I'm exhausted. It's the middle of the night and I've had a maker damned day." You took a chance and leaned up into him, pressing your lips against his cheekbone with your hands on his chest, holding them there for a few seconds you felt him go ridged.

Turning on the ball of your foot you wandered back into your bedroom. "Goodnight Maul." You called without turning to see his reaction.

He held the place on his cheek where your kiss landed just before, mind reeling and melting at the same time. "Goodnight Y/N," he murmured. Not leaving his spot.

#maul fluff #darth maul #star wars maul #maul x reader #jedi knight #sith warrior #star wars #grey jedi #star wars fluff #starwars au #x reader #starwars x reader #jedi reader #reader insert

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 3 years

Text

Mission of Mercy: One

“Where’s she headed?” Bucky asked watching the woman loading the back of her small SUV with a duffle bag and assorted odds and ends.

She was a friend of Sam’s, one from his days at the VA, Bucky knew, but he couldn’t remember her name. Sam had got her the gig with SHEILD. I guess he figured they all needed counseling. Or a team mom. Or whatever it was she did. Outreach, Bucky figured. Generating good PR.

“Looks like a mission of Mercy,” Sam said with a small, slightly sad smile. Bucky looked at him for explanation and Sam sighed, instantly looking sadder and a few years older.

“She’s a third generation Army Brat,” Sam explained. “Dad never came home from Desert Storm and Brother didn’t come back from… whatever the fuck he was doing. Mom was a VA nurse before she retired… So Y/N knows a lot of grumpy old fucks that don’t like to leave their houses. She makes rounds a few times a week still, for the people she’s known since she was just a kid. Friends of her dad’s, some cousins twice removed.”

Bucky exhaled slowly and nodded. That he hadn’t known. He’d never really paid that much attention to you. But now he looked again. You were packing down styrofoam coolers with what looked like milk, eggs, cheese, and assorted lunch meat. And you had a few labeled boxes of cans. A couple cases of beer… That made Bucky smile a little. And he could respect what you were doing.

“Y/N!” Sam called across the motor pool, “Who’s on your list?”

“Joe, Rocky, and Cooksy, at least for today,” you answer, “Mac and Wild man are still in the nursing home for rehab.”

“Joe, huh?” Sam said walking over, Bucky trailing after him looking confused.

“You wanting to go along?” you ask, smiling, tightening the ratchet straps that held the styrofoam coolers in place.

“That old man still owes me a rematch,” Sam said grinning.

“Rematch in what?” Bucky asked, catching a case of beer that had started to slide of it’s perch and slotting it carefully into an open space for you.

“Dice,” you snort, “Sam swears he cheats.” You give Bucky a smile of thanks and slot a small gift bag in next to the case and Bucky has to look away from you. His face feels hot and he feels like you’re looking through him. So he looks at your hands. Work roughened. Nails bitten to the quick. Useful hands. Not just ornaments at the ends of your wrists. Efficient.

“He Does!” Sam’s voice breaks through Bucky’s distraction and jolts him back to the world. Back out of his head. And for that, Bucky is momentarily grateful. And a scolding gasp from you immediately makes him too aware.

“Get off my bread you fucking heathen,” you grouse, only half playing as you give Sam a shove away from a bag.

“My bad,” Sam said, quickly, holding his hands up in surrender, “You got a minute though?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “Go get your stuff. I don’t want to wake Joe up before he’s ready.”

Sam gives you a grin and trots off and Bucky sighs, mentally trying to figure out what to do with the rest of his day. He didn’t want to assume he was going.

“Joe did intelligence work during WWII,” you tell him, “You guys can always swap some bullshit stories… If you want to come.”

Bucky looked at you. You aren’t looking at him, instead you’re leaning on the bumper of your car and looking somewhere not quite the middle distance, but at something, anything else. And he can’t decide if you’re nervous or just awkward. And he can’t decide how he feels about making you nervous. He was nervous. His palms felt clammy and the rolling in his stomach couldn’t decide if it wanted to be butterflies or hornets.

“Joe won’t mind?” Bucky asked.

“A friend of mine is a friend of his,” you say, and Bucky can see that the corner of your mouth is upturned in a smile. “He’s a cousin… kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“He’s a cousin of a friend of my mom’s… He used to look after me sometimes when mom had to run a night shift.”

Bucky nodded, “That-” he couldn’t decide if that was “nice,” or “Cool,” or “weird.”

“He taught me how to draw in three point perspective, gamble, and make a decent martini,” you say, and Bucky can hear the fondness in your voice. “Most importantly I guess, he never let me be a weirdo by myself.”

Bucky let himself chuckle. And when you chanced looking up at him, the rolling in his stomach decided it was butterflies.

You were smiling. The kind of smile that would be seductive outlines in red. But right now? With no make up on and your hair falling out of a haphazard ponytail? You looked like a kid about to cause trouble. And he wanted to see what trouble that was going to be.

Sam retuned before Bucky could formulate something flirty to say. Something that wouldn’t sound too dirty or too corny. Something that might make you swoon a little... though. As you swore at Sam across the motorpool telling him to hurry the fuck up, Bucky doubted very much that you had ever swooned in your life. But he could absolutely see that having a grumpy old man baby sit you had had some other amusing outcomes.

Swear words didn’t look like they fit you. Your mouth was too sweet looking and the words were too blunt and ugly. It looked like they would fit wrong and come out worse. But. The way you said them was so casual. As if you had never not said them. And that… For some reason, tickled Bucky. He likes smart girls. He liked girls with a temper. And listening to you bicker with Sam just… It definitely burst some more butterflies out of their cocoons. It was nice, Sam having to put up with a smart mouth instead of being the one to dish it out.

__________

The drive was fine.

Sam didn’t even complain about the music you played. A blend that gave Bucky whiplash and something of a headache behind his eyes. But. That wasn’t your fault. A lot of the music past his own time did that.

The Audio bombast of discordant sounds and coded meanings of the ever evolving slang was… a lot. So he mostly focused on the scenery. The cars. The people. The sky. The architecture. That helped. Some things about New York would probably never really change. There were more people now. Fewer dresses and more people in pants… And fewer roving packs of kids. But. It felt the same.

It wasn’t until he was standing on the doorstep. He and Sam looming over you like bodyguards that he noticed differences. The lack of washing hung out to dry. The consistent low hum of multiple air conditioners. The lack of kid noises. The lack of… community. The way everyone was together, and apart simultaneously.

But when the door swung open slowly, and Bucky was greeted by a little old man. One with thick glasses, a bald head, and stooped shoulders. A neck that made him look like a turtle… A sudden warmth washed over him.

“There’s my favorite ray of Sunshine,” he said, pulling you into an unembarrassed hug. The kind men in his time reserved for their mothers and beloved children. “And my second favorite pain in the ass!” he said, rasping a laugh as he clasped Sam’s hand in his.

“I moved up a spot,” Sam chuckled.

“Eh, the neighbor’s dog died last week,” Joe said, giving Bucky a steady, appraising look.

“Aww, Bear died?” you say sadly, “poor old man… How’s Irene doing with it?”

Joe turned back towards you and chucked you under the chin gently with a small smile. Bucky didn’t miss the tears that had welled up, and evidently, neither had the old man. “She’s heart broke,” he said, “But, she told me to tell you he loved the blanket and it made his last couple weeks more cozy.”

Joe stepped back and ushered you into the house, letting you pass him to go and quietly pull yourself back together, Bucky figured. The butterflies in his stomach catching a sudden chill.

“Who’s he?” Joe asked, arms folding across his scrawny chest as he straightened himself to his full height… or as close to it as he could manage.

“Winter Soldier,” Sam said grinning, clapping him on the shoulder before going to get the stuff you had for him out of your trunk.

“No shit?” Joe said, adjusting his glasses.

“No shit,” Sam answered, calling over his shoulder.

“Well Son,” he said to Bucky, “Come on in. I gotta add a bottle of Jack to my grocery list… it looks like I lost a bet.”

And Bucky can’t help it. He laughs.

In the Hall, just inside the door, Bucky can hear you rattling around. It sounds like dishes being done. And maybe a broom being used and Joe shakes his head. “She’ll make someone a nice wife some day, but fuck if I know what kind of man could handle her.”

Bucky wasn’t sure if that was for him to hear or just Joe Musing to himself out loud, but he smiled anyway and followed him inside. On the walls, there were pictures. Covered bridges, flower gardens, portraits… Presumably of people that the old man knew. Or had known. And the smell of dust and old paper. Decades of smoke from meals cooked and packs of cigarettes. It smelled like age. A sepia tone that mellowed and dulled all the colors around him. But somehow there was nothing harsh. Or forbidding.

“Will you sit down?” The old man groused, “I have a broad that comes in and does all that shit.”

“Then you’re paying her too much because she ain’t been doin’ it right, old man,” you tell him over your shoulder as you rinse a plate.

“Bah,” Joe said, flapping his hands at you. Clearly realizing that this wasn’t a fight he could win as he lowered himself into his spot at the kitchen table. “Siddown, son,” he said to Bucky, “Take a load off and let these stupid kids do the grunt work.”

“Kids,” Sam scoffed, putting boxes on the counter with an eye roll as he nudged you.

“I hear him,” you snort. “Careful old man,” you tease, “You’re cruisin’ for a bruisin and at your age, replacement parts are hard to come by.”

“Listen Heifer,” Joe said, eyes dancing behind his thick glasses, “If you wanna kick my old ass, you better pack a lunch.”

You shake your head, and pull the top off a styrofoam cooler, “I got your lunch meat and some eggs. That was it right?”

“Yup,” Joe said, “How much do I owe you?”

“A Dr. Pepper,” you answer over your shoulder, making Joe give you a stern look.

“Young Lady-”

“You’re not giving me money, ya old coot,” you say, more fond than scolding as you kiss the top of his bald head.

“The hell I’m not-”

“I’ll tell momma and she’ll have both our asses. Me for taking the money and you for payin’ me.”

“She’s got you there Joe,” Sam said, grinning.

“You shaddup,” Joe said grumpily, eyeing your back. And Bucky could see he was trying to gauge how likely it was that he could slip you some money without you knowing you’d been given any. Bucky grinned and Caught Sam’s eye before bumping the table with his knee to get the old man’s attention.

Once the Old man’s sharp eyes had fixed on him, Bucky glanced meaningfully towards the coat rack. Where your jacket hung so conveniently.And Joe followed his gaze, he grinned and touched his nose in acknowledgement.

“Don’t you fuckin’ do it,” you say not turning around.

And Joe made a silent “rats” gesture, before sticking his tongue out at your back

#Bucky Barnes #soft bucky #sam wilson #falcon #Winter Soldier #bucky fluff #Bucky x reader fluff #swearing

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philliamwrites · 3 years

Text

The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.3]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 7.7k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn’t help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

Chapter 03: Ties That Bind

Where war, and joy, and terror Have all at times held away; Where both delight and horror Have had their fitful day.

The happiest under heaven A king of powerful mind; A company so proven Would now be hard to find

Gawain put on a good cheer. ‘Why should I hesitate?’ He said. ‘Kind or severe, We must engage our Fate.’

[Sir Gawain and the Green Knight]

„Breathe,“ Hanneman says for the third time. At every tap of his pen against the table, you flinch as if someone is knocking right against the inside of your skull. “You have to feel the Crest, become one with it. Don’t think of it as an addition; see it as an extension of your very self.”

You exhale but it’s hard to focus after you’ve been sitting in the same position for nearly two hours and your legs keep falling asleep.

“Focus on it,” Hanneman continues. He starts to gesture with his free hand, an indicator that he’s just as frustrated with your lack of progress as you are. “Focus on the feeling that took hold of you when you fought the bandits. Imagine what you want. Ask yourself what it is you really want, and take hold of that picture.”

Well, first of all, you really want a sandwich.

For the past few weeks, you’ve been waking up before sunrise to attend private lessons with Hanneman to get a hold of your Crest’s power. Now the end of the month approaches, and still your body refuses to get accustomed to work at such an early hour, and more importantly without eating first. An hour ago, your stomach started growling, but Professor Hanneman has proved again and again to be very successful in ignoring factors that disturb his lessons. You continue breathing through what you consider hunger pains instead of the raise of new powers, but with the sound of screaming students outside and the occasional flapping of wings as Pegasus Knights fly by on their patrol, it’s anything but successful.

“Focus!” Hanneman chides again as if he can read your mind and knows exactly you’re thinking of the pheasant roast with berry sauce on the menu today.

“I’m trying,” you groan and slump into the chair, defeated. “But I don’t feel anything.”

“Hmm hmmm,” Hanneman hums and looks at you like you were supposed to understand what he’s conveying with that sound. “Maybe we’re looking at it the wrong way,” he says once you don’t follow up on his inexplicable sound. “Maybe we should stop thinking of it as a common Crest, but approach it like it is something entirely different.” He quickly notes something on his paper, then proceeds to flip through the open books he’s splayed out on his desk. “There is so little we know about the Crest of the Herald. I am much frustrated no one thought of studying it a thousand years ago!”

“I don’t understand. How can it be different?” Your first lesson solely focused on Crests. How they are thought to be power incarnate, bestowed upon humans by the Goddess countless ages ago. Today those who are descendants of Fódlan’s Ten Elites and Four Saints, who fought during the War of Heroes beside Saint Seiros, wear Crests, a sign of wealth and nobility.

“Well, one possible explanation could be that for whatever reason, the first Herald was different from his fellow warriors, the Ten Elites,” Hanneman offers, leaning back into his chair and looking a lot more interested in the conversation now. “The Goddess must have found him worthy of her power just as she found Saint Seiros worthy.”

“Then why wasn’t he a Saint?” you wonder. From your understanding, the Four Saints were special comrades of Saint Seiros, just as guided by the Goddess as their leader. What had made the Herald from back then different? “According to everything you told me, he sounds a lot like this Macuil person. Focusing on strategy and all that.”

“Saint Macuil,” Hanneman corrects you, but there’s no bite in his voice. “And yes, perhaps he was akin to the Saints, but that clearly wasn’t what determined the final decision to name him Herald.”

“Well, that’s just my kind of luck,” you mumble, but when Hanneman makes a puzzled sound, you ask instead, “And you’re sure I’m a descendant of him?”

“Most likely! You bear a Major Crest, which means the Herald’s blood runs strong in your body. After he disappeared, he might have settled down and started a family. Unfortunately, nothing is recorded about him after the War of Heroes concluded.”

“Then how come there was no one else in a thousand years who bore the same Crest?” You aren’t sure you fully understand how they work. Apparently, Crests grant special powers to those who hold them such as high aptitude for magic or enhanced strength. But you know better than anyone that the Crest of the Herald is special. It doesn’t simply give you a boon, it allows you to command the flow of battle. But is it really a blessing bestowed by the Goddess? You don’t remember a divine revelation or talking to a Goddess. Or did that maybe occur even before you were found by the Officers Academy’s students? Before your memory loss? You certainly don’t feel chosen by a deity.

“Trying to explain the Goddess’ whims would wield about the same result as asking this question,” Hanneman says. “Sometimes a Crest may skip generations. No one can say with certainty who will be chosen. If it will be the first or third born. That is why we must further study Crests! For example, why, unlike other Crests, has your appeared physically visible?” Hanneman mutters more questions under his breath and notes them quickly on his paper. It’s remarkable how enthusiastic he approaches the topic if it only didn’t make you feel like an experiment lying on a dissection table.

“I want to know so much more about the first Herald,” you mumble. “What was his name? Where was he from?” Why did he disappear and what were the costs he had paid for such a title. Only one month in and Lady Rhea already granted you an impressive room to reside. People treat you with respect and admiration even though you aren’t doing much besides wave at them on the streets or hold some conversations. If being the Herald only encompasses these tasks, you’ll gladly take on the role and speak to people. But that would be a dream too good to be true.

“We can only speculate,” Hanneman says. “Some believe the Herald came when Seiros needed him most. Our Goddess’ answer to her cry of help. Others believe he was simply a general who originated form a farmer’s family. Other, smaller sources talk about a prince from a far off land who passed through Fódlan and decided to stay. But in all cases, the Herald was a great asset to win the War of Heroes and save Fódlan from the tyranny of the Fell King.”

“Yeah, no pressure there,” you mumble, sinking further into your seat. Hopefully no one expects you to save Fódlan from evil monarchs. If yes, it certainly won’t happen on an empty stomach. When Hanneman releases you, there’s only one place for you to be. The Dining Hall is crowded at this time of hour. Students and faculty bustle everywhere, eager to get their favourite meal on a plate. Just like them, you are drawn in by the amazing smell of roasted meet and freshly baked pastries.

The only thing you can live without is how once you enter the room several heads turn in your direction, and a ripple of “Look, it’s the Herald” goes through the crowd, spreading like a wave. Or a disease, you think with a sour taste in your mouth as you move through the parting sea. They want you to acknowledge them but Goddess forbid you actually engage in conversation with them and they flee like you’re the Herald of Pest.

“Herald!” Well, not everyone escapes. Some seem to like living dangerous.

Edelgard looks straight at you from between the other students from the Eagle class sitting at a table, removing any doubt she means anyone else but you. Running from her would be a sign of defeat, so you drag yourself over to the Eagle table and give the round an uncertain smile. “Hello.”

“Herald, if you have time, please sit with us,” Edelgard offers but the look she pins on you doesn't give you any choice. The silence of her classmates speaks louder than words, and a quick glance to Hubert tells you that he very much would like for you to notsit with them.

“Sure,” you say lamely and sit opposite from her where Bernadetta quickly shuffles to the side to make room, and then further down the bench until she jumps to her feet and flees from the hall. It’s a miracle she’s out of her chambers in the first place, undoubtedly Byleth’s work.

“Did you manage any progress with Professor Hanneman?” Edelgard asks, carefully cutting her pheasant roast into small bite-sized pieces. She looks the complete opposite from someone capable of hacking away their enemies but you wouldn’t dare to underestimate her.

“It’s slow,” you admit, solely focusing on shoving potatoes from one side of your plate to the other so you don’t have to look at anyone. “I’ve only grasped the basics of how Crests work and the Herald’s is so different.”

“Research might prove more fruitful if you’d be called into action,” she says, and it’s difficult to determine if that statement is a simple observation or underlying critique towards Rhea’s decision to leave you out of the major education system. At least that’s something you’re sure of. Edelgard is difficult.

“Maybe. But chances are higher I get myself killed somehow on the battlefield.” You’re already dreading the approaching noon hours. Byleth has worked out a special training programme for you and the house leaders. So far there hasn’t been a day without aching muscles and bruises for you. Thinking of Byleth, you can’t help but ask, “So how’s Byleth as a Professor?”

Edelgard considers her plate with mild interest, but her index fingers start tapping against her cutlery. She has small, delicate hands. Cute hands. You gawk at them for two seconds before noticing Hubert starring daggers at you, and quickly avert your eyes to your cup of ginger tea like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Our professor shows knowledge in the most curious things,” he says, surprising you by joining the conversation. “I think the Adrestian Empire will benefit greatly from that.”

You aren’t sure how leading the class correlates directly to joining the Empire, but you don’t want to point that out. Hubert is still too much of a puzzle you’re adamant on not piecing together because whatever picture waits for you after the assembly might be one of horror.

“She really is one to look up to,” Edelgard agrees, but she isn’t looking at anyone, so it seems she’s saying it more to herself. You want to try and read more out of her expression, but distraction comes quickly in form of more students from the Eagle class. Caspar is the first bouncing excitedly towards the table, and still he somehow miraculously manages to keep his food from flying everywhere. “Herald!” he calls and slides right on the seat right next to you. “How’s the head situation going?”

“Caspar,” Linhardt chides and gives his friend the disappointed look of a parent that can’t bring his child to use a fork to eat. “Would you stop pestering the Herald with the same question every day?”

Linhardt hits the mark. It was nice in the beginning to have someone show so much interest in your wellbeing, but now you don’t know if the daily reminder how you fail to regain pieces of your past is rude or just Caspar’s naive politeness.

“Yeah well.” You try to stuff as much potatoes in your mouth as possible just to avoid talking about it. “Nothin’ yeff.”

“Herald, please try to keep your manners in check, will you?” Ferdinand comments because of course he catches you with your mouth full and sauce dripping from the corners. Unlucky for him, you don’t really care.

“Well, sorry.” Caspar frowns and scratches the remains from his plate. The two minutes you needed to finish your potatoes, he’s cleared his whole plate. “I just thought it might help.”

“Help to be reminded what’s missing?” Linhardt doesn’t look convinced. “I think the Herald knows so better than anyone.”

“Guys, drop the subject,” Edelgard intervenes. “Let us finish our meals now. Classes resume presently and I don’t want to hear any stomachs growling, understood?” The last part goes with a pointed look towards Linhardt, who answers with a lazy shrug while continuing to poke at his food, looking bored out of his mind. It lasts about three seconds before he brightens up and turns towards you while rummaging through his school bag. From that, he pulls out notes and a pen, and unceremoniously shoves them into your hands. “I have a question, Herald. Would you be so kind and look over these strategic proposals I’ve developed from the last lesson? I understand what you taught us were basics as we find them in the library. I simply took the time and applied those to the strengths and abilities of my classmates.”

You raise your eyebrows. “You did?” Up until now, you didn’t know Linhardt was paying attention whenever you gave the students your sorry excuses of lessons. You feel like you’ve seen him asleep far more than actually looking at the board or writing, so him presenting his notes to you now is more than a surprise. He has a clean handwriting, small letters that curl into themselves and forget to take a break between words. You squint at the sentences, trying to make them out. It sure doesn’t help that half of it is crossed out by what looks like a strategy sketch with little circles and everyone’s names filling out the space.

“This looks … elaborate,” you comment, unsure if you’ll ever be able to solve this enigma.

“No worries.” Linhardt gives a little smile. “Please give me your answer report until tomorrow. And feel free to correct me on anything I’ve done wrong.”

He’s probably done a much better job than you on your lesson notes, but you nod with a lopsided smile. “I will.”

“Oh, and while we’re at strategy talk,” Caspar jumps right in, “any good ideas how to take on a taller opponent?”

“A good kick to their shins?” you suggest.

“A dagger to their liver?” Edelgard says.

“Poison in their cup?” Hubert offers.

“You’re all animals,” Ferdinand says.

Linhardt groans. “I toldyou how to win in a fight like that, Caspar. Why won’t you listen to me?”

You don’t want to be part of the argument breaking out between them, so you turn away and try to see what the other students are doing in the dining hall. At the opposite end, Claude catches your eyes and waves like he’s been waiting way too long to finally get your attention. He points at Edelgard and flaps his arms like a chicken. He points at you and spreads his hands behind his head, forming antlers with his fingers. When Edelgard follows your eyes, his head whips around and he pretends to agree with whatever Lysithea just said.

“I hope you forgive Caspar’s enquiries,” she says, steering your focus back to her. She’s gently tapping the corners of her mouth with an embroidered napkin, and oh there they are again, her delicate fingers. You look away before Hubert catches you staring again and decides to put poison in your cup7. “I speak on behalf of everyone in the Black Eagle House when I say we wish for your full recovery to be soon.”

“If wishing would only get the job done, I might have something to work with by now.”

Edelgard doesn’t blink, her expression frozen. “Meaning?”

“I thought I'd come here and one of the Church's healers would just wave their hands to return my memories,” you mumble, scribbling a tiny Claude with little, evil horns on his head in the corner of Linhardt’s notes.

Edelgard looks at you like you've just insulted her whole noble lineage. “That isn't how magic works.”

You throw your arms up in frustration to emphasise that yes, that's the point. You don't know how anything works in this place, and you doubt Byleth's four pages of lesson plans are going to help.

“If no one comes to your aid, maybe it is time you take matters into your own hands.” You flinch at the scornful sound in Edelgard’s voice. Judging the expression on her face, she seems just as surprised about her outburst. She gets up abruptly and bids farewell with a curt nod, followed closely by Hubert as always. Her classmates look after her, each more puzzled than the next.

“Didn’t she seem … angry to you?” Linhardt thinks aloud, blinking into the empty space.

Ferdinand harrumphes. “She’s always like this. Please excuse her, Herald.”

You don’t think she’s done anything wrong, and yet she certainly doesn’t appear as always. Something about her last words strikes you as especially sharp; reproachful. Those weren’t meaningless words, but you don’t have any ways to decipher the message. A little voice tells you she isn’t wrong either. So far nothing has helped returning your memories—Manuela’s medicine, herbs from the Greenhouse, Hanneman’s spells. It seems like your brain has built defencive walls to repel any probing, which begs the answer to the question what is hiding in secret even more. But can you really do it on your own, like Edelgard suggests? It seems impossible.

With newfound doubt you finish your meal, saying your goodbyes to the now scattering Eagle students as they scurry off to their next lesson. Two hours are left before you’re meeting with Byleth and the house leaders, and since you agreed to look over Linhardt’s notes, the library seems a good next stop. You still want to go over the seven classical manoeuvres of war, especially since the students didn’t really grasp the remaining two last time, and it gives you a good excuse to look over them again as well. At the beginning, you thought there was nothing you could teach those children, not with experienced colleagues at your side who have participated in countless battles themselves. Who could have thought that talking about tactics and strategies came as natural to you as breathing. Well, Rhea did for certain, and even the students drink up your every word like it is a message from the Goddess herself and you her chosen herald. The irony of it.

But it isn’t only the students accepting your guidance. Something inside you changed in the last couple of weeks as well. When you started going through the books in the library, it was more stumbling and slipping on foreign terrain, but just in a couple of days, you moved through the matter like a fish following smoothly the currents of its native waters. It felt like home. Like building the foundation of a house from thousand variables, the result different each time but still the same: art. You build the art of battle, the last decision that will bring victory or death. You love every second of it. Which opens the possibility that it really isn’t your first time, but also more questions: Who taught you? What battles have you fought? How many of them did you win? Since those aren’t as simple to answer, you focus on fulfilling the first purpose, and hope that it will some day be enough for the students to survive battles.

If only it would end there. Your second duty isn’t as easy or pleasant, and it lies in wait for you everywhere, stalking you like a dark shadow with monstrous fangs.

“Herald.” A soldier gives a courteous bow, intercepting you in the Great Hall on your way to the library. “Pilgrims ask for you near the Entrance Hall. Please allow me to escort you.”

Immediately, your nerves tingle with nervous anticipation. This is the scary part. Meeting the people, seeing the hope in their eyes. You’d gladly send them back where they’ve come from, but some have travelled for multiple days, and denying them audience would be cruel.

“Don’t let me stop you from your duties,” you say, unconsciously tugging your clothes in order to appear presentable. “I will welcome them on my own.”

The soldier nods and bows again, his expression barely readable under the helmet before he disappears as quickly as he came.

Planning lessons is easy. You can find whatever you need in the library and work out the flow with the students. But nothing can prepare or teach you how to act like the Herald people wish for. Nowhere is anything written on the old Herald, how he talked to them and what promises he’d whispered when day broke. That is where you are on your own. Not even Rhea could answer that question. She only instructed that you see them, and remind them about their devotion to the Goddess—for she was the one who made it possible in the first place.

The Entrance Hall is emptier than usual. Most of the students are in class, and a handful of knights and soldiers might be at the advanced training camp Jeralt and Alois hold in honour of the Blade Breaker’s return. So spotting the pilgrims isn’t difficult. Especially with the Gatekeeper waving his arms in wide arcs as if fearing you might overlook him.

“Greetings, Herald!” His grin is blinding. “The pilgrims are waiting for you just at the at the foot of the stairs.”

“Yeah,” you say. “I can see them.”

“Oh, yes, of course! If anyone causes problems, count on me to help!”

“Thanks.” You answer his thumbs up with one of your own before moving downstairs. What a refreshing young man. Certainly good looking under his helmet. Byleth seems to like talking to him a lot as well.

Today’s pilgrims aren’t much different from other days. Old people are supported by their family members, who have brought baskets with sweets and flowers, presenting them at your feet.

“Herald,” they breathe in awe, bowing. No matter how often you’ve seen it by now, it still feels incredibly wrong.

“Raise your heads,” you tell them, helping an elderly woman up to hrer feet. She gasps at your touch, then clings to your hands. You try to swallow past the lump in your throat. “The Archbishop and I bid you welcome. The Goddess will smile upon your devotion.” Your cringe slightly when echoing Rhea’s words and wonder if any second the goddess might punish you by throwing lightning your way.

“We are blessed to finally meet you,” a younger woman says, taking the old woman from your hands—mother and daughter maybe? “Please accept our gifts, and may the Goddess guide you on your path to light.”

“She will answer your prayers and guide me so I can bring you peace,” you reply just so you can say something they might want to hear. Judging their delighted expressions this wasn’t the worst you could have said. Dorothea would probably be proud looking at your acting skills. Or point out your bad posture and how you’re avoiding their eyes. Dorothea would probably tell you how much you have to polish your acting skills.

“Bring us peace?” someone from the last row spits, pushing to the front. “You know nothing, the Herald will bring chaos and ruin!” A man in his forties looms above you, an ugly, padded scar crossing his face from one temple to his chin. A war veteran? They way he holds himself looks like he’s been beaten up once too much to get up again.

“You heathen, don’t you dare speak to our Herald like that,” the old woman barks, immediately doubling over in a coughing fit. Her daughter supports her, glaring at the man. “Go in peace, but go if you only came to talk ill about our Herald,” she says, clearly upset. "Doubting them is doubting our Goddess. How dare you."

“First I want to see the Herald do something! What if … if this one is an impostor.” The man turns towards the others, throwing his arms in the air. “Bring forward proof that you are not here to ruin our lands, but to actually serve in the Goddess’ name!”

This time his demand meets less resistance. Until now people were fine with seeing you and the Crest, but to want actual prove? You could easily threaten them and ask if they doubt the Goddess’ decision, but you’d rather leave that method to Rhea. You don’t want to sound like her. You don’t want to scare people. Yet admitting that you don’t really have a clue how to really use the Crest would surely support the man’s accusation. Diminishing the people’s trust in the Herald is the last thing you want, especially if it means facing Rhea’s scorn.

“I—”

“Herald!” A voice calls from the top of the stairs. When you turn around, Sylvain waves and jogs downstairs, looking like he’s been running for some time. “There you are. The Archbishop wants to see you.”

Oh no, has she heard of your failure already? Giving the choice of facing a group of doubting people or Rhea, you’d immediately go to the people. You give him a curt nod, unable to speak because you don’t trust your voice.

“I apologise,” you say to the pilgrims, clearing your throat when it comes out as a croak. “I will have something prepared for another time.”

“No, you do not need to prove anything to us,” the elderly woman says. “We will always believe in you. Please tell Her Grace we are constantly praying to our Goddess and thank her for sending you to us.”

“I will.” You squeeze her hand a last time. “Save travels.”

The man still glares at you, but without a chance to keep you present any longer, he turns away and follows the rest. You can’t wait to leave all that behind, and as you steel your nerves for what’s waiting for you in the Audience Chambers, you look up to Sylvain and ask, “Did Lady Rhea say what it is about?”

He looks over at you and blinks a couple of times, then seems to remember. “Ah ... yeah, about that. I lied.”

You stop dead in your tracks. “You lied?”

“Yup. I don’t know what Lady Rhea’s doing. But you looked like you were about to puke at those poor pilgrim’s shoes. As hilarious as that would have been, I wanted to spare you the embarrassment.” He stops now as well and smiles a boyish crooked grin. Sylvain knows exactly what to do with his face so girls fall over themselves to do him a favour, and boys grow jealous of all the attention he gets. Two weeks in, and you’ve figured out his game, keeping a respectable distance that wouldn’t birth the thought you’re avoiding him. In fact, this could be the very first time you’re actually holding a real conversation.

“Well, I … thank you? But I had everything under control.”

He looks like he doesn’t believe you. The gatekeeper you’re just passing looks like he doesn’t believe you. You press your lips into a thin line and dare any of them to disagree.

“Okay.” Sylvain shrugs. “But now we’re here.”

“Sylvain, what do you want?”

“Cutting to the chase, huh?” He crosses his arms behind his head. “Why do you think I want something?” Your raised eyebrows seem to be answer enough. Sylvain laughs a little helplessly and returns his hands back to his front, raised as an offer of peace. “I promise, I want nothing. Just a little talking. A little talking hasn’t hurt anyone.”

Something inside you wants to argue against it, but without a solid argument in hand, you follow him silently, wondering where his destination and intention lies. He belongs to the many students you can’t really read, nothing about his ambitions or goals. Sometimes he gives you this strange look through half lidded eyes, his gaze focused on your right eye—his interest in your Crest undeniable, and yet he’s been one of the few not to talk about it with you. It’s strange because whenever you come together, he looks like there’s something he’s dying to say. This time is no different.

He leads you to the wooden pavilion in the gardens, but instead of offering you a seat, Sylvain leans his slim hips against the table, half sitting on it. Seteth would be furious seeing this.

“How’s the Herald business doing for you?” he asks the one question you wouldn't expect from him. “Other than you having ‘everything under control.’” He has the audacity to air-quote. This isn’t a conversation you want to hold right now, leastwise with him. Sylvain must discern that you’re ready to bold from whatever your body is showing. With a quick step, he’s standing between you and the escape route, lazily leaning one arm against a column to uphold the illusion that you’re only having a pleasant talk when in reality his body stands between you and your freedom.

“Do you talk to the other faculty members like that as well?” you say through gritted teeth, crossing your arms. Sylvain blinks like he doesn’t understand, but you’ve seen this act before, followed by an eerily precise repetition of a subject to one of his classmates when he thinks none of the teachers pay attention. Sylvain is playing dumb and deliberately hiding a sharp mind.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to offend,” he quickly says, nothing about this crooked smile appearing apologetic whatsoever. “I’m generously curious. You’re holding up really good.”

“In comparison to what?” you demand, your heartbeat picking up. Is he trying to call you out on something? That you aren’t heraldy enough? But to your surprise, Sylvain looks genuinely surprised by your reaction.

“To nothing. In general?” He shrugs. “Back on the ceremony day, you didn’t look so good standing up there, and His Highness told us everything happened really uh … ‘suddenly.’’ More air-quotes, whatever they mean this time.

“If you mean I wasn’t really asked to become the Herald, then yes.” Your arms drop back to your side. “It was suddenly.”

Sylvain watches you for a moment, and again, there’s this look in his eyes; the need to say something he can’t. He kneads the back of his nape, avoiding your eyes. “All I’m trying to say is … having that Crest out of nothing is cool. Probably. And maybe terrifying? And just—”

You grow impatient. “Come on, get the words out, Sylvain.”

“A Crest isn’t just this nice letter of invitation to a privileged life. Just take care, is all I’m saying.”

And there’s another page to the book of surprises with Sylvain’s name on it. The immediate lack of response catches him off guard; it’s like he only notices now that the vital part to understand this conversation is missing: The source of his doubt towards Crests.

Sylvain’s body turns in a split second, his feet facing the direction he’s ready to bold towards, but this time you stand in his way and block him off. “Sylvain, are you okay?”

He blinks in confusion, then furrows his eyebrows in deep thought like you demanded he recites the Ten Heroes from memory or else fails classes. His face contorts with the effort of looking fine. “Why, yes! Just peachy. Why would you think something is off?”

“Because I have eyes in my skull.”

“Very pretty eyes, if I dare say.” His answer comes out like a fire spell, hard and fast, seemingly more instinct than anything else. He clears his throat and scratches his chin, loosing momentum. “Goddess, I am bad at this.”

“You are.” No need to sugar coat it. “If something happened, just say it.”

“Nothing really happened, I just—” He exhales audibly and stares into space for a long minute, before side stepping you without difficulty. “Actually, I remembered Professor wanted to see me after class. Something about extra lessons about eh. Horse riding. Yeah. I’ll catch you later, Herald.” He winks and bolds away, darting under your outstretched arm before you can catch him. For someone this tall, he’s surprisingly agile and fast, already disappearing behind a tall hedge towards the main building.

If that wasn’t the strangest conversation you’ve held with anyone, you don’t know what might excel that. Maybe it’s time you stop avoiding Sylvain.

The Training Grounds smells of sweat and oil. Many students and knights train, which is surprising at this kind of hour, the short break between afternoon and evening classes. You’d like to know what they’re working on, but Byleth doesn’t tolerate inattention in a classroom or on the battle field, and demands you do push-ups each time your eyes wander somewhere off. You hate her a little for that. For whatever reason, Claude has taken on the role of your partner in crime, and does whatever necessary to make Byleth punish him as well.

“What can I say, I like a good workout,” he said when you asked. He didn’t even try to hide his lie, looking as miserable as you felt. Probably hating Byleth a little as well.

It’s the fourth week of private training with her and the house leaders, and so far you can definitely say that you were not meant to fight on the field. You see how your opponent moves, you can somehow predict what they’re going to do next—but your body simply protests to act accordingly. You stumble, you fall, you need a second too long to get up and before you can do anything, a training sword is at your throat. Byleth always looks like she wants to facepalm her fist through her forehead. Or yours.

“Herald, this is not how you disarm someone,” she says, as always, and demonstrates it in one smooth, swift movement, as always. You blow hair out of your eyes, knowing you’re about to fail again. At least that gave Claude a reason to give you a new nickname, though if it’s better than the last is debatable.

“You gotta twist your wrist, duckling!” he calls from the other side of the hall, immediately drawing Byleth’s attention to him. He and Dimitri are facing off, both wielding a spear which should give Dimitri the upper hand. So far, he hasn’t landed a single hit on Claude.

“Keep your elbows in!” Byleth berates Claude. “Stop flapping them like some kind of chicken.”

Claude lets out a disturbingly convincing cluck.

You raise an eyebrow. “At least someone’s having fun.”

Byleth sighs. “He’s going to get himself killed sooner than later.”

“I don’t know. He’s managed so far, hasn’t he?”

“I’m not sure if it’s a talent or a fault.” She turns back to you and nods her chin towards the side. “Take a break. I’m going to see how the boys are doing.”

You nod, tensing all over because that’s where Edelgard is currently standing and picking out a training axe. You haven’t talked to her since lunch, and you can do without it for a couple more hours. She barely glances at you when you walk over, and instead checks out the edge of the wooden blade, turning it left and right.

“Is she as strict in the classroom as in here?” you ask, unable to go on in awkward silence. Edelgard hums, throwing a quick glance towards Byleth from under her long, white lashes. “She’s systematic and consistent. Capable in both fields. I have no reason to raise any kind of complaint.”

“That’s impressive.” You sure as heck still wouldn’t want her as a teacher. “Even though she’s been pushed into all this, she handles it like she’s never done anything else.”

“I think as a mercenary, she is used to changing approaches depending on the employer.” Edelgard is still looking at Byleth. Reading her expression is impossible, and you don’t want to point out that sticking a sword into thieves and bandits is not the same as teaching kids how to fight in a battle. Her head whips to you suddenly, and she considers the training sword in your hand. “Speaking of different approaches,” she continues, “have you considered that your field of combat might be magic?”

You have, so the answer comes immediately. “Chances are higher I set myself on fire.” You stare at her. “I didn’t mean it to rhyme.”

Edelgard ignores your last comment. “But you haven’t really tried it out, have you?” Your lack of response is answer enough for her, and she nods like that proves a point.

It’s complicated. You haven’t really tried it out because … the simple answer is, you’re afraid. It gets tricky once you try to search for the answer to that. There’s just a strange sensation when you try to use magic, like there’s a vast sea of possibilities and one step inside is enough to get you lost. It isn’t as bad with wind spells or white magic. You haven’t touched Fire spells because a crippling fear chills you to the bones every time you manage to nourish a small flame inside your palm—the complete opposite to Dark magic. When you tried a MiasmaΔ for the first time it felt strangely … secure. The rope tying you to a shore, it had felt like—

There’s a loud crash when the spears collide and Claude knocks Dimitri off his feet. The whole room is silent as everyone watches how Claude taps the blunt end of his practice spear against Dimitri’s chin. “Steady on there, darling,” he says with a smug grin. Dimitri flushes bright red, and pushes with more force than necessary the spear away, quickly climbing to his feet.

“That wasn’t bad.” Byleth quickly steps in before Dimitri can throttle Claude. “Dimitri, you rely too much on your brute strength. That’s a big disadvantage against someone like Claude. And you, young man,” she turns to Claude who’s been smiling victoriously, “are scheming too much and lose time to take action. In a serious battle, you won’t be as lucky as today.”

“Noted.” Claude whirls his spear from left to right, almost dropping it when Dimitri drills his elbow into his side. “But in a serious battle, I won’t be upfront. I’ll be hanging back nicely, and skewing my enemies with a myriad of arrows.”

“You can barely shoot three at the same time,” Dimitri grumbles, his cheeks still splotched with red specks.

“You wanna bet—”

“That’s enough, guys, save it for then next round.” Byleth ignores their sulky expressions and turns to you, raising a single eyebrow. The message is clear. What are you waiting for?

Your feet feel like they’re glued to the ground. Edelgard doesn’t hesitate at all. “Let’s go.”

She strides in the middle, training axe raised. It’s made out of wood, but you don’t doubt that she’s able to severe a limb from your body if she only tries hard enough—and what you know of Edelgard is that she alwaysexceeds even her own expectations. You grip your sword tighter. It’s a clear disadvantage, but better than anything else you can handle. Maybe it won’t be as bad.

The fight lasts for about seven seconds. The moment you raise the blade, Edelgard is on you and unleashes fierce strike after strike, the power behind each hit forcing you back. She doesn’t bat an eyelash when she easily disarms you, the wooden sword flying over your heads and the edge of her axe on your throat. Somewhere behind her, you hear Byleth sigh. “Again.”

The next hour is torture. Edelgard throws you to the ground, again and again. Byleth keeps telling you to get up, again and again. One might think they would cut you some slack, being the Herald and all, but it feels like Edelgard is so much more aggressive today because you’re the Herald. Or maybe it’s personal. Maybe she’s appointed you to be her sworn enemy, and won’t miss out any chance to make it as hard as possible for you.

This isn’t fun. Being watched by Dimitri and Claude, who whisper conspiratorially to each other isn’t fun. Luckily, Byleth notices them gawking and bellows them to focus on working on their stances. Right now, you’re thankful nothing escapes her eyes and she calls her students out on their bullshit. It doesn’t make your current situation easier though. Every muscle burns, just raising the sword is exhausting and your feet feel like they’re about to give out any second. This must be hell.

When Byleth finally ends lessons, you ignore everything and crumble to the ground, splaying your limbs out in all directions. Surely they can clean up without you, two hands less will barely make any difference.

A shadow settles over you. You know who it is, and don’t bother to open your eyes. “Go away, Byleth. I don’t want to hear how bad I am.”

“Personally, I think you have improved, Herald.” Your eyes snap open. Dimitri looks down at you, his forehead still glistening from perspiration. “But facing Edelgard as an opponent usually wields those results. Don’t let it bother you.”

You want to point out that he and Claude don’t seem to have as much problems as you, even though yes, none of them have defeated her yet in practice. He goes down to your level and sits beside you, and you hate how this all barely made him breath hard, like it’s just a stroll around the monastery whereas you’re trying to climb the mountains surrounding it.

“I think she hates me,” you blurt out. Luckily, most students have already left the hall, Edelgard included. Dimitri considers this a moment, and you don’t know what to make of his lack of immediate response.

“I doubt she hates you,” he finally says.

“But?”

“But she has a hard time warming up to people. Give her time. Once the ice is broken, you will see that her personality is one you’d like to have around.”

“Oh?” You watch him for a moment, but Dimitri doesn’t blush or look away. It was a heartfelt, sincere statement, which flusters you for some reason. No one should be that honest.

“Talking about breaking ice. Do you know if something happened to Sylvain?”

“Sylvain?” Dimitri raises both eyebrows. “Please don’t tell me he harassed you in some kind of way.”

“No, no, he just—” You finally get up from lying on your back, and try to explain it by frantically moving your hands. Dimitri still looks puzzled. “He said some weird things about Crests in general?”

“Hm.” Dimitri stares at your hands for a moment, then quickly raises his eyes back to your face. “It’s complicated.” Well, that answer is as good as none. “And I won’t go into details without his consent. I can only say that if he talked about Crests, in whichever way, his brother must have upset him again.”

“He has a brother?” Now you’re wide awake. Many students have siblings. You know of Hilda’s brother and Raphael’s sister. It shouldn’t surprise you Sylvain has one as well even though he’s never mentioned it before.

“Do you have siblings?” you ask, generously curious. As heir to a kingdom, it’s hard to imagine his parents would have settled with one child. But he hasn’t mentioned any sisters or brothers as well.

“Hmm, I have a step-sister,” he says, although very hesitant and you can see if someone doesn’t want to talk about a specific topic. He doesn’t return the question, which is kind of him and makes you wonder … maybe you have a sibling as well. Somewhere. Maybe somewhere in Adrestia or Leicester a younger brother or an older sister is currently looking for you, unrelenting in their journey to be reunited at last. The thought alone brings a flicker of hope alive. Maybe they'll come once word of the Herald’s return travels far enough.

“I guess as long as Sylvain doesn’t disturb classes or acts out of order, I would leave him to his brooding. I can tell out of experience, only Felix is capable of cheering him up.”

“Felix?” Your eyebrows rise to your hairline. “Are we talking about the same Felix?”

A smile forms on Dimitri’s mouth. “I understand why imagining that might prove difficult, but I assure you, Felix is one of the view exceeding in handling the mess Sylvain is from time to time.”

“Felix and Ingrid?” you guess, earning a nod from Dimitri. “Ingrid is a very nice girl,” you continue, picking at a loose thread from your uniform. “But Felix seems detests me. Every time he sees me, he looks like he wants to throw his sword at me.”

“That is—” Dimitri stops mid-sentence. “That might be not so far off from his true intentions.”

You groan.

“But I assure you it is for a different reason than you think. Felix is simply … difficult with people holding a commanding position.”

“He doesn’t seem to have the same problem with Byleth,” you point out. No, whenever he trains with her, he manages something close to a smile and accepts her guidance. Then again, she isn’t his teacher.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to make him consider his opinion on you during the Mock Battle. I as well am looking forward to how you will guide us.” Dimitri beams. You stare at him like he’s just lost his head.

“What?”

“The Mock Battle three nights from today?” Dimitri’s smile falters a little. “Have the Professor and Lady Rhea not told you yet? You are to participate in the Mock Battle as the commanding unit of the Blue Lions.” Now he’s pulling his eyebrows together in worry. “Herald?”

“I—” You jump to your feet. “I have to go.” Go far far away. Just yesterday you introduced the students to the tactic called Feigned Withdrawal, which involves staging a retreat in order to induce the enemy to abandon its position and plunge ahead in an attack. Dimitri abandons his position, getting up to go after you, but instead of turning back to surprise him with an ambush, you flee the battle and hope the enemy doesn’t pursue.

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