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shurisneakers · 3 years

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harmless (v)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, ghosts, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, rats

Word count: 2.3k

A/N: why did i like this chapter sm someone explain. anyway!! y’all are so passionate about these two i love it mwah

if you have any ideas for future inventions/evil plans, lemme know! i might actually end up using them

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

He dislikes the subway.

Other than his other valid reason to have disdain for trains, the subway is dark, it’s shady and he’s sure he’s seen rodents fight to the death here on several occasions.

Still, he’s following you down the stairs of the station, watching as you whistle along to the song blasting through your headphones. There’s a backpack swung over your shoulders, hands stuffed into the pocket of your hoodie and converse doing a skip every now and then. There’s a bandana that’s tied across your face, acting as a mask to hide your identity.

He realises that you’re dressed like a commuter. Were you going to dress the part every single time?

You walk along with the crowd. He follows, a few feet away.

Until you stop. He abruptly stops too, leading someone to walk right into him.

“Watch it, dumbass,” they hiss with the courage of someone who has no idea who he is. He ignores them.

He looks on as you dig around your backpack and pull out a roll of paper. A poster, he realises soon when you peel off a layer from the back and press it to the wall.

Was it legal to put up posters in the subway? He wasn’t quite sure.

He observes as you turn around and continue down the path. He waits a few seconds before trailing up to the poster.

Volunteers needed!

If you’re interested in being turned into a ghost for a couple of hours, this is your chance! Should be okay with being on camera so that we can make money off of taped paranormal sightings.

Paid opportunity. You get to pick your outfit. Randos don’t apply.

He yanks the poster of the wall before continuing down the same place you did.

He finds another poster along the way. He doesn’t hesitate in pulling it down. You were advocating to kill people.

He knows he’s going in the right direction because more posters creep up along the wall.

The both of you are on the platform by now but to him, something changes about the placement of the posters. They were growing in frequency, the distance between them decreasing as they were situated close to each other.

He pauses in front of the next one, hand hovering over the paper.

All it reads is ‘STOP’.

He furrows his eyebrow, pulling it down before peering over at the next one.

‘TAKING’, is all that it says.

It doesn’t take him very long to make his way through all the posters in the hallway.

‘THESE’

‘DOWN’

The train’s arrived by now but a quick scan over the crowd and he knows that you haven’t entered. That, and he knew that you were too dramatic to leave without a trace or a small conversation with him.

‘DICKHEAD’

Tasteful, he thinks.

“It took effort to make them, stop ruining it,” you whine from the end of the hallway. It’s empty, given that rush hour was over a while ago.

Even though the mask covers half your face, it’s obvious that there is mischief etched under it. The twinkle in your eye is telling.

“You’re literally killing people.” He holds up the poster. Not the ‘dickhead’ one. He pockets that for later.

He knows there are a few minutes before the next train arrives and more people flood the station. The eccentricity of today lay in the lighting from the incandescent lamps and acoustics of the platform. It made his voice echo like a movie scene.

“I very much am not,” you huff.

“You’re turning them into ghosts. That’s what a murderer does,” he says pointedly.

“Well, only if you keep saying it like that. You’re making me look bad.” You cross your arms across your chest. “What are you, Fox News?”

A scurry next to him earns his attention. Two rats nibble at a piece of fallen food. He wonders when they’ll starting brawling.

“Explain this.” He waves the poster around. He isn’t taking it too lightly he hopes. If it’s actual murder then it’s going to be an issue.

You pull out a black cylinder, slightly bigger than a pen. He can’t really see any more details, but you hold onto it like a wand.

“I’m turning them into ghosts. I’ll post videos of them doing stupid shit. I get famous and then boom, cash money.” You rub your index finger and thumb together. “I’ll give you a share if you volunteer.”

“You’re not explaining the death part.”

He can feel it. You’re about to start derailing.

“Winter Soldier, the ghost story. Literally.” You grin, yanking down the mask from your face to prove it. It pools around your neck. “That’s so funny, c’mon, it’d be amazing.”

It’s been years since he’s heard that. Never in this context.

“No,” he says sternly, “and I’m going to have to bring you in if you’re going to kill people.”

The rats were ignoring everything that was going down like the hardened criminals that they were. They had probably seen worse. He can’t stop paying attention to them.

“I’m not killing them, bro.” You raise your hands in exclamation. “I’m just moving some molecules around, some frequency shit. They’re alive, just ghosts.”

He’s always been one for science. Straight As throughout high school, attended science conventions as a hobby, alive even at 100 through some mad experimentation, definitely seen some weird shit during his lifetime.

But this doesn’t make sense.

“No,” he repeats. “Give me the thing.”

“Fine, I’ll show you.” You roll your eyes. “Since you have absolutely no faith in me.”

He does a quick review of his surroundings.

No one’s around, which is good.

But that just leaves him in front of you, which is bad.

“Don’t you even thin-” he starts, muscles tensing as he shifts into a defensive stance.

You whip out the little pen thing from beside you but before he can react you turn around and duck.

The click of a button releases a bright light, small but intensely stronger than the fluorescents in the station.

He reels back, feet carrying him away from where you’re crouched. His eyes quickly look down at his body.

Nothing’s changed.

He lifts his hand to check, runs it over his face. Still alive. He thinks.

“Behold,” you declare, “Ghost rat.”

He looks to where you’re pointing. The two rats from earlier were still nibbling on their food but something was off about them.

He could see the faint outline of the tiles on the wall behind them, almost like they were... translucent.

You aimed at the rats, not him. He doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or annoyed at the fake threat.

He watches as they move. They don’t look hurt or injured.

“Cool, huh?” you say smugly.

He can’t stop staring at them.

“Bring them back.”

“They’re fine, look how abstract it is.”

“Bring back the rats.” He can’t believe this is what his life has come to.

Bucky Barnes, Rodent Protector.

You aren’t fazed by his indifference, instead wonder filled eyes gaze at the animals. “Astral mice, sarge. Embrace the miracle of modern science.”

“You killed them.”

“They’re alive, they’re just ghosts.” You raise a finger to point. “Look, they’re still eating. Biological functions are still taking place.”

Which was true. But still. He doesn’t know what is going on.

“Bring them back to... non-ghost alive.”

“You sure you don’t want one? That one kinda looks like you.” One hardened glare after you realise the answer. “Jeez, alright then.”

You dig through your bag before pulling out a matte black replica of your current invention.

“Sexy colours, right?” You hold them up. “I modelled them after your arm.”

He looks down. Sure enough the gold and black matched his cybernetic limb. It was oddly flattering.

“Say thank you, Y/N, for letting me be your muse-”

“Un-ghost the rats.”

“Ungrateful,” you narrow your eyes at him.

Still, you comply with his demands, ducking down to their level again.

A click of the button, a bright light and the rats are back to normal. Non-transparent normal.

“Okay, give me that.” He takes a step towards you.

“Nuh uh.” You pull your arm back. His mouth twitches at your response; what are you, five?

The black one is stuffed back into your bag but you wave around the gold like a threat.

He sighs, making a pass for it. In a second his arm is twisted and shoved against his back, forcing him to spin so that he’s facing away from you. His eyes widen.

What the fuck?

“Now we’re having a good time,” you whisper into this ear.

He swiftly turns around, grabbing your wrist to rotate his own out of your grip.

“Since when can you fight?” he asks.

“Are we getting to know each other now?” You raise your leg to give him a semi gentle kick in the side, using his momentary distraction in blocking it to give him a knock on the head with your free hand. “This is so romantic, sarge.”

There’s a low rumble in the distance and he knows the train would soon start pulling into the station. It was still a distance away, but his heightened senses warned him that it wouldn’t take much time.

He groans. How much longer would he have to go at this?

He could easily win this fight and he knew it. But something in him itched, pulled him back from doing it.

He blocks another attempt at his head. “Stop that.”

You grin. “You know what’d be fun?”

He knows you’d reply even if he didn’t encourage it. The lights from the train light up the tunnel around the corner.

“This.” You don’t give him a second to recover before you flick your wrist away from him.

The device flies out of your hand and right onto the track. The both of you watch, you in glee, he in horror, as the train runs right over it, unleashing the brightest light he had ever seen. His eyes shut instinctively before it blinds him.

He forces himself to pry open his eyelids, look at the damage caused.

The train, sure enough, is translucent. He can see the posters on the other side of the platform through the carriage, through various people holding onto the poles for support or seated on the seats.

“Ghost train!” you cheer. He’s mortified.

“Fuck no,” he mumbles, yanking the backpack off your shoulder. He rummages through it, looking for the gold version.

“You lookin’ for this?” you ask nonchalantly, holding it up in your hand like it isn’t the solution to stopping a bunch of ghosts from wandering around New York.

“Turn them back.” He gives you a chance.

“Do it yourself, coward.” You grin, holding it above your head. The train is going to stop and he needs everyone to be alive and non-ghost before they leave.

He doesn’t wait this time, instead turning to you. The thing is still held in your grip above your head. He rolls his eyes, doing a quick assessment before grabbing your free hand, tugging you closer and plucking the device out of your hand before you have the opportunity to retract it.

“Great, now figure out which button to press.” You’re dangerously close to him. He can feel your hoodie brush against his tactical jacket. “Also if you wanted to be all pressed up against me, you could have just asked.”

He furrows his eyebrows, letting go of you as you give a loud laugh. He looks down at the device. It has several buttons, littering up and down the side. Each look the same.

The train’s slowing down.

“They’re both the same device; this version is not a magical solution to the other one. If you press the wrong button then both of us are going to be fucked.”

The last carriage is getting closer.

“Say I win this round and I’ll fix it.”

There’s a gleam in your eye. He knew this was exactly what you wanted.

He wishes he was as stubborn as Steve, just run through each button until the right one worked.

“You win this one.” He hands it back. He wasn’t like Steve and judging by the number of items the idiot jumped out of planes without a parachute on a daily basis, Bucky was glad about it. At least Bucky did it sporadically.

“Yay, two each for the both of us, then,” you say, taking it from him and twisting, eyes running down the sides. “Close your eyes, old man, or else your cataract’s gonna get worse.”

Right as the train pulls to a stop, you press down on the button before throwing it and the blinding light that emanates from it. It lands on the top of the train right as the doors open.

The passengers start stepping out. Some of them are looking at their hands and legs in a little disbelief, most just push through the crowd to leave.

He can’t see through them. It’s a good sign.

He turns to look at you but you’re not there. Instead, the weight of the small device weighs down in his pocket.

The sound of a thud on glass draws his attention.

He looks up at the train. The window of the carriage in front of him has a bit of fog on it. You trace a heart in the condensation and blow him a kiss before pulling your mask back on.

The train starts moving, leaving him alone in the platform again with your invention.

He lets out an exhale, wandering outside to grab a sandwich before waiting to catch the next train to go home.

Later in the evening, he catches hold of a bit of tape and the ‘Dickhead’ poster finds a place on Sam’s door.

He doesn’t appreciate it.

So now it’s tucked away in the shelf of Bucky’s bedside table along with a freeze ray, a ghost-inator, and some discount Pym Particles.

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 3 years

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too soon to tell, chapter t w o

You dropped your bag in the foyer of Harry’s house after work on a Thursday. It was quiet--he wasn’t home yet and you’d keyed in knowing that you’d have some time to yourself.

You felt a vibrating in your pocket when you shrugged off your coat, your visible reflection told you it was a FaceTime call, Alyssa’s name danced across the screen until you slid your thumb to answer.

“Hello, hello,” you greeted, walking to find a seat on the couch.

“Where are you?” She furrowed her brows as she took in your surroundings.

“At Harry’s--he’s out, though.”

She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “I will never get sick of you lounging in his house when he’s not there.”

You rolled your eyes at your old roommate’s antics--she’d always been the number one supporter of your relationship and when you texted her earlier saying you needed advice, she promised to call on her lunch break.

“I’m not lounging,” you informed with a shake of your head. “I just got out of work, we’re having dinner tonight.”

“Mr. Popstar isn’t too busy?” She teased, aware of the tension both of your schedules had been causing.

“Apparently not.”

She forked a bite of food into her mouth, the sun was shining through the window behind her, the walls of your old apartment were redecorated now with the art of your replacement. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“Sort of,” you leaned back and let out a breath. “I mean, it’s all connected--”

“What is?”

“I’m getting to it,” you made a face at her through the phone. “So--don’t freak out, okay? Cause I don’t even know if anything will come from it and Harry doesn’t know yet.”

She nodded and gestured with her hand for you to get on with it.

Knowing Alyssa, she was already jumping to conclusions in her head. You were pregnant, you were engaged, you quit your job, you had a huge fight with your sister. No, no, no.

“I interviewed for a job in LA...and I haven’t told Harry because all our friends have been so excited about us being in the same spot again but--”

Her eyes went wide at the mention of a US city, she did her best to hold back her smile until it faded when you said: “I don’t know. Something feels off between us.”

“Off between you and Harry? More than just being busy?”

“I’m probably overthinking it but,” you looked around his living room. Pictures of his mum, his sister, his cousins--even his manager--were tucked in frames and placed on shelves. There wasn’t a trace of you in his house except for the toothbrush upstairs and the key on your keyring.

“It feels like we’re not moving forward. And we’ve both been busy, like I’ve told you, but since we don’t live together sometimes we go days without seeing each other and it’s fine, I get that he’s busy, obviously, but--”

“But you want to move in with him.”

“Well, I don’t know--I did, sort of, I think--but then I heard about this job in LA and it sounds amazing but Jessie just moved here and no one will shut up about how great London is.”

Alyssa offered a sympathetic frown and repositioned the bowl in front of her to get another bite. “What’s the job?”

You almost didn’t want to tell her, sure she’d get excited and eager to have you back in the same country. You winced a little, bracing for her reaction. “S’with E! News,” you shrugged. “It’d be on-air.”

“Shut up! Are you serious?!”

“Yes m’serious,” you rolled your eyes. “But I haven’t told any of them because you know how they are.”

She nodded, “Jessie will not want you to take it.”

“God love her, but of course not. And Harry spends time out there, so it might be okay, but it’s not like I could ask him to go with me.”

“Why not? He’s famous, Y/N--he belongs there.”

“It’s too soon,” you whined. “He’s not my fiancé and we don’t live together, so--I don’t want to make it weird.”

“But you love him,” she reasoned.

“Yeah, but s’been weird lately!" You tried to drive home the point. "He’s made no mention of moving in and we’ve been dating for a year and a half, I’ve been in London for over a year now. He’s not even mentioned it, Alyssa, I swear. He’ll say things like ‘one day we can go on vacation,’ and ‘what should we do for Christmas?’ But he’s made no concrete plans to actually have a future with me.”

“Maybe he doesn’t think you’re ready.”

“Maybe he’s not ready,” you volleyed.

“Maybe,” Alyssa shrugged. “But you won’t know if you don’t ask him.”

“But if I ask him and he’s not on the same page I’ll look like an idiot and he’s busy with the album and now I’m thinking about moving to LA and--”

She watched you, waited for you to say more, but you were out of words. You changed gears.

“Maybe we’re just not meant to be long term.”

“Oh come on,” she groaned. “Not this again.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Your whole ‘we should have left it in New York’ shit.”

You lifted your eyebrows to demand further details.

“You were freaked out in the beginning that you’d move back there and it would be weird.”

“And?”

“Was it weird?”

“Not at first, I guess. But I mean, come on---don’t you think we should have taken some kind of step forward by now? Even just mentioning the idea of moving in together?”

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “Maybe it’s different with someone like him.”

You rolled your eyes--what if that’s what you were sick of?

People always said that: it’s different because of his job, it’s different because he’s on the road, it’s different because he’s famous.

Of course it was, and that was fine, for a while. But what if Harry’s job always got in the way of feeling normal? What if you couldn’t have a real wedding because of it? What if you could never send your children to summer camp because of it?

Were you willing to sacrifice your own future to live an unconventional life with someone just because you loved him?

“When will you hear back about the job?”

“Dunno--talked to them last week on Monday and they said this week at some point. S'been a while, so hopefully soon.”

You’d been keeping busy, trying to avoid your personal email at all costs and also making sure that Harry had limited visibility of your screen at all times.

“Do you want it?”

You thought on it for a second. Being offered a job at a company like E! would certainly be an ego boost, but the mere thought of having to explain to all of your friends that yes, you’d been back in London for 18 months and now you were packing up and moving even farther away than before wouldn’t be easy. That seemed to be the one certainty in the whole situation: no one would take it well.

“I don’t want to leave everyone here, especially Harry--but I also don’t want to be stupid and think that this relationship is going somewhere if it’s not.”

Alyssa nodded and let out a sigh. “I get that, I mean, of course you have to do what’s best for you. But I’d hate to see you not be with him just because things are hard right now.”

You leaned your head back on the couch and sighed. You didn’t want to break up with Harry. If anything, you wanted to move forward and move in with him and do what you’d always imagined: have a good job, have a few kids, try to be happy.

But what if you’d been naive enough to think you could have all of that with Harry and what if this is how you were finding out that you couldn’t?

Were you still stuck in your teenage fantasy of marrying the boy you'd long been crushing on?

She watched you for a second before she reassured: “you’ll figure it out.”

You smiled, glad you’d called Alyssa if only to have someone talk you off the edge a little bit. You missed waking up one room over and her love for basketball games and New York 99 cent pizza.

“Well it’s not like I have to make a decision right now,” you said. “I haven’t even heard back from them. For all I know they could never reach out again because I bombed my interview.”

She rolled her eyes at your self-deprecation and offered a few final words of encouragement before you hung up and promised to catch up soon.

Ever since you’d left, Alyssa had taken it upon herself to keep you up to date on the ins and outs of New York. New restaurant? She’d send you pictures and a 200 word review. Crazy subway rats making the news again? Articles and video proof would be sent your way in a matter of hours.

She’d gotten a new roommate to fill your bedroom and apparently things weren’t always peachy between them. Peyton was quiet and shy--according to Alyssa. She was up every morning at 6am and in the shower at 6:30. She did yoga in the living room and hated it when Alyssa left empty beer bottles on the coffee table.

Alyssa was starting to lose her shit, swearing up and down that she needed to either pull the trigger and move in with Owen or find a new place altogether. It was my apartment first, she’d say. She should leave, not me.

It had been hard that year to leave the city you’d grown to love but harder to leave Alyssa and Carly and the things that made New York feel like home. It was also, in hindsight, hard to leave the place where you and Harry reconnected and built the foundation of your current relationship.

You heard commotion from the front door only a few minutes later when you rummaged through Harry’s kitchen for a snack.

“Hi,” he called from the other room, a close-lipped smile when you stuck your head around the corner to greet him.

“Hi! How was the photoshoot?”

“Good,” he nodded, watching as you stuck your hand into a box of crackers. “What time are we meeting everyone?”

Right--Thursday also meant dinner somewhere downtown with everyone in tow.

“7pm--but Jessie said we should try to get there early since it’s a new place and no one’s ever been.”

He nodded in acknowledgement of your words but seemed distracted, like his mind was somewhere else and his body was the only thing tying him to the room.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, looking back up at you. “Just a busy day and a busy week.”

You nodded, unsure if he wanted to say more or if you were supposed to have more of a reply than a simple nod of your head.

You’d both been stammering out awkward sentences and trying to dance around the elephant in the room for a few weeks, but now, under his gaze, you felt more uncertain than before.

“Are you okay?” He turned the question around and watched you closely.

“Yeah,” you shrugged, moving to sit on the couch.

“You seem--off.”

You didn’t know what it was. Could he possibly sense the tension in your shoulders as you waited for an email either way? You got the job! We regret to inform you…

Or was he just aware that you felt awkward since it had been almost two weeks since you had any considerable amount of alone time and even longer since you were able to have a date night that wasn’t interrupted by Jeff or Erica or someone who needed something from him.

He took a few steps closer towards you, a look of concern etched on his features. “What’s wrong?”

The words were on the tip of your tongue when he looked at you, eyebrows lifted as he waited for you to spit it out.

“I guess I feel like we’ve been distant.”

He pushed his head forward, almost like he hadn’t expected that to be the issue. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, caught off guard by his pushiness. Maybe you shouldn’t have brought it up.

“You don’t know?” He pressed.

You broke eye contact with him for a minute, wondering why you had to state the obvious. “Well, you’re busy all the time, Harry.”

He let his shoulders rise and fall in defeat, looking around the room in frustration. “I told you that finishing the album would be busy.”

“Yeah, but you forgot to mention that you’d also be busy when the album is done once promo starts and then tour,” your voice was quiet, not so much angry as you were upset.

You were tired. You wanted nothing more than to spend a night on the couch with him and only him, tell him about LA and about the sudden itch you felt to see more of the world than just London.

But with Jake and Adam always around and Bryn and Jessie, too, paired with interruptions from Jeff and Erica--it felt as if there was no hope for a private or honest conversation.

He came to sit closer to you on the couch now, took your hands in his. “I know my job is a lot, okay? I know it’s annoying that I don’t necessarily get weekends off or have a typical schedule, but once the album is out and the promo is done I’ll have a bit of a break before the tour. We can go on vacation somewhere, just us.”

It sounded nice, maybe a tropical island or a cabin in the woods. But before you could nod in agreement the thought of Los Angeles popped into your head.

His album was due out in December, promo from now through the New Year, some time off in February and March for both of your birthdays and then tour. You had no clue where you’d be by then.

Would you be in LA? Would you be in London? Would you be stuck in this same spot on his couch with decision paralysis and a crushing sense of uncertainty about the future?

He knew you were over-thinking and tilted his head. “What?”

You blew out a slow breath of air, twisted a ring on your finger and then looked up at him again.

You didn’t even have a chance to be more honest, a buzz on your phone on the coffee table in front of you both broke the room in half, the name of the woman you’d spoken to was in bold next to your email icon. You reached for it quickly, Harry’s brows furrowed when you pulled it close to your chest so he wouldn’t see.

“What’s that?”

Hi Y/N, thank you so much for your patience over the last few days. We would love to offer you a position with NBC Universal - E! News as an on-air correspondent in our Los Angeles headquarters.

You looked up at him quickly, cheeks red and heart racing.

“What’s happening, are you okay?”

“I got a job offer,” you said quickly, still holding the phone close to you.

“What?” He smiled, “why didn’t you tell me you were looking? I didn’t even know--”

“It’s in Los Angeles.”

His smile faded instantly, he blinked a few times like he must have misheard you. The leather of his couch felt cool beneath your legs, a clock on the wall ticked and for a second, you wondered if he could hear your pulse as loudly as you could.

He pulled his eyes away from you but then quickly scanned over your face. “Are you taking it?”

“I don’t know,” you said honestly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Silence, words filled your brain and crawled up the back of your throat, desperate to be said out loud, in real life, instead of just circling in your head.

Because I don’t know what we’re doing or if we’re moving forward. I don’t know where I want to live. I don’t know if I can stay in London forever. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.

Only the last part made it out between your lips. “I don’t know.”

“Y/N,” he stood up, more angry now as he looked around the room and scratched at the base of his neck. “This kind of feels like a bombshell to drop on someone.”

“I was going to tell you--but we haven’t had a second alone, I just didn’t want to have to tell everyone before I knew what was happening.”

“You didn’t even tell me you interviewed,” he said.

“The last time I saw you alone we got interrupted by Erica three times in one conversation.”

“Probably for a good reason--”

“But you seriously can’t even put your phone down lately when we have dinner, even when everyone else is there!”

“I can’t help it that my work is insanely busy right now!”

“I don’t want to fight with you,” you said this quickly, voice higher than usual and a heat on your skin that he normally didn’t provoke, at least not in a bad way. You stood from the couch and put your hands on your hips. “I don’t know what I’m going to do and I don’t even know if this job is right for me and under no circumstances are you allowed to tell anyone. Especially Jessie.”

He rolled his eyes at that.

“What’s the eye roll for?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Everyone just got back and now you might leave and--”

“I said I don’t know if I’m going to take it.”

He was quiet at that, clucked his tongue in thought but then disappeared upstairs to shower and change.

The car ride over was awkward, he asked how your day had been and you told him you talked to Alyssa, he bristled when you admitted you told her about it.

It wouldn’t be the end of the conversation, you were sure of that. You’d likely end up at his for the night and he’d apologize for being busy, you’d apologize for not telling him and maybe, you hoped, he’d ask you to stay over.

When you greeted Adam with a hug, you ignored Harry’s sour mood and opened the menu in front of you.

“My first dinner as a Londoner,” Jessie smiled, shimming her shoulders in excitement when Bryn looked over the specials across the table from you.

“This is on you, right? New job, new salary?” Jake teased.

“Maybe if I hadn’t just bought a whole new bedroom set,” she rolled her eyes.

“How’s everything with you?” Adam eyed Harry, his question veiled to avoid too many details in public.

Luckily, Harry’s ability to go out in public in London was similar to that in New York. As long as a private room or a table in the back was requested, he could typically get away unscathed if dinner was less than 2 hours and if he had his back to the dining room.

“Fine,” he shrugged, eyes still down at the drink menu.

“Fine?” Jessie leaned forward, her tone insinuating that she didn’t believe him. “You’ve been working really hard all summer and now all you say is ‘fine?’”

He glanced up at her, lips in a forced smile. “S’all good, Jess--just tired.”

Bryn gave you a look, one that asked what stick is up his ass?, before she changed the topic.

“Let’s not tell our server how fit she is tonight, yeah?”

Jake let out a snort of a laugh and sipped at the water that had already been brought to your table. “Alright, you thought the one last week was just as hot as I did.”

“I did,” Bryn agreed seriously, “but I didn’t offer my number unsolicited. How do you know she’s even straight?”

“She’s got a point,” Jessie chimed in. “Remember when you asked that girl to dance in the club when her girlfriend was right there with her arm around her?”

“I thought they were just mates!” Jake defended.

“You also have the worst radar for gay women ever,” Bryn nodded.

“When was this?” Harry asked, the hint of a smile on his face when he watched Jake adjust his napkin on his lap.

The words came out of your mouth without thought. “You weren’t here--you were in LA.”

He met your eyes when you replied, nodded, and then leaned back in his chair, effectively bowing out of the conversation without saying another word.

You weren’t trying to be short with him. You looked over to Jessie, who undoubtedly sensed the tension, and offered a smile. “How’s the flat?”

“Good,” she nodded. “Glad that all my furniture got put together without any scratches,” she reached over and patted Adam on the shoulder.

“We’re not children, Jessie, we can handle some furniture.”

“You broke my dresser when I asked you guys to move it into another room,” Bryn reminded, a look of confusion on her face at Adam’s retort.

“Only because it was already half broken and a piece of shit,” Jake said. “I love you, Brynnie, but that dresser was already knocking on Heaven’s door.”

Harry let out a laugh at that, another memory that he had missed while on a trip to a studio somewhere north of London. He excused himself to the bathroom after you placed your orders, and once he was out of earshot, Jake leaned down and looked at you.

“What’s going on with him?”

You forced a cheesy grin and blinked a few times. “He’s just grumpy.”

“‘Bout what?” Bryn asked.

“Guys,” you leaned back in your chair, hoping you didn’t have to say too much. “I can’t tell you every single thing that happens in our relationship.”

“Well, when it affects us I think we have the right to know,” Jessie shrugged, playing the typical we don’t like when our parents fight card.

“It’s not affecting you,” you shook your head, eyed her seriously over your glass of Pinot Noir.

Adam shrugged, a smirk on his face let you know he was trying to rile you up. “He’s grumpy at dinner and we’re all here and we’re all aware of it. We don’t like tension between you two.”

“Alright, leave the woman alone,” Jake waved them off. “As long as everything’s alright.”

“It’s totally alright,” you nodded, wondering when you’d gotten so comfortable lying to them. “He’s just busy with the next phase of work.”

With Harry’s album yet to be announced, you couldn’t sit around in a London restaurant and divulge details--even if you were all acutely aware of the work he’d put in and the upcoming announcements and events.

Adam let it go. “How’s work for you, Smalls?”

Another shrug of your shoulders, “s’good--I told you all about my November cover story, right?”

“Yeah,” Jessie sipped a glass of Cabernet. “But you said you didn’t know who it was going to be with.”

“Well, s’cause I had to drop the bomb on him first,” you nodded in the direction of the bathroom. “I’ll be sitting down in a few days with Ms. Gigi Hadid,” you lowered your voice and leaned forward to say her name.

Bryn’s eyes went wide, Jake grimaced.

“How’d he take that?” Adam asked.

“He’s not thrilled,” you admitted. “But I’ll talk with his team about what to avoid specifically, I guess. Her team will probably have a list of off-limits items too.”

Bryn let her elbows rest on the white tablecloth. “Yeah, but, you can’t just ignore the fact that she’s dating Zayn.”

“I also can’t just barge in and stir shit up,” you said.

Harry pulled his chair out next to you and sat back down. “Who are you stirring shit up with?”

Everyone chose to be quiet now--Adam looked down at his phone and Jessie reached for her wine again.

“Just telling them about my cover story,” you admitted, watching his face for a reaction.

He nodded, a tiny smirk in your direction. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t stir shit up,” he said, reaching to put a hand on your thigh beneath the table.

Those were the moments that made you feel less panicky--the realization that he was still choosing you and even when the tension was high and the mood was low, he’d reach over and remind you that yes, he cared. Even if he was late to dinner or distracted.

Which is why, when you got back in his car that night and headed for his house, you were surprised when his mood shifted again.

“I’ll just drop you at yours?”

“Oh--yeah, sure.”

“Did you want to come to mine?” He looked over at you like he hadn’t expected any resistance to sleeping separately.

You were quiet for a second--not if he didn’t want you there. “No, it’s fine.”

“I can’t read your mind, Y/N.”

“You don’t have to,” you said quickly, a prickly tone to your words when he made an unreadable face.

He drove in silence for a few minutes, closing in on your neighborhood when the street lamps disappeared for the sake of suburbia.

Eventually he cleared his throat and that sent you over the edge.

“What do you want me to say, Harry? Do you want me to apologize for interviewing for this job?”

“No,” he said simply. “I just don’t know why you thought you didn’t need to tell me about a huge decision like that.”

“It wasn’t a decision until today when they offered it to me.”

“Just seems like something you talk to your boyfriend about.”

You looked over at him in the dark of night, the glow from the dashboard didn’t help you see his features as he turned left onto your street.

“Well, sorry that we didn’t have the opportunity to talk about it between your work schedule and Jessie moving in and group dates--”

He slowed down on your street, put his flashers on when he stopped in front of your building. “I don’t want to keep secrets from each other,” his voice was softer now. “I don’t want to not know what’s going on in your life. I did enough of that for two years when we weren't talking.”

You sighed at this, the sentiment broke whatever anger was lurking inside you and when you looked up to see him, you wondered if you should ask him.

Are we ever going to move in together? Are we ever going to get engaged?

You figured the lead up to his sophomore album wasn’t the best time for that conversation. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and you climbed the stairs to your flat alone.

A few days later you sat nervously in a conference room and watched as beads of sweat formed on the water glass in front of you. Tyler had brought you in, offered you a breath mint, and promised you’d be fine. When you asked him if the whole room was hot he said it was just you and your nerves--but the droplets of water that raced towards the wooden conference table begged to differ.

You’d gotten email after email this morning: one from Jeff with the rules he and Harry had come up with and eight from Gigi’s team with requests for snacks, topics to discuss, topics to avoid, lunch request, arrival and departure time, and a few extra regarding booking her photoshoot the next day.

A text lit up your screen when you tried to smooth your your hair in the reflection of your screen.

Jake Newcomb (10:42am): In case you’re wondering what to get me for my birthday, a video of Gigi Hadid saying she loves me would be perfect!

You ignored his text and felt a pang of disappointment in your gut, you thought it would have been Harry with words of encouragement.

He was fine with you doing the interview, he seemed to come around to the idea when he met with Jeff and had a chance to mark some things as off limits.

So far, his list was as follows:

Don’t publish anything too negative about anyone in the band (if she says anything negative about anyone in the band)

Harry and Jeff got to listen to the taped interview

Harry and Jeff got to read the article before you sent it off to your editor and could make suggestions to cut things if they felt it necessary.

It seemed silly, but you’d long been used to the lingo of contracts and riders and ground rules for things like these. You knew both Harry and Jeff trusted you, in fact, Jeff was now choosing to see this as a good opportunity for press before the announcement of Harry’s album.

Your biggest concern, truly, was not looking/sounding/acting like an idiot in a room alone with Gigi Hadid. Your second biggest concern was conducting a unique interview and writing a unique article.

You knew that Naomi and Tyler were nearby for support if needed, Tyler had already walked by the conference room three times to see if your subject had arrived and likely to make sure you hadn’t sweat through your blouse. You thought the commotion in the hallway was him until you saw a group of busy-looking people with cellphones and sunglasses.

“Hi,” you stood from your chair, extended a hand in her direction and offered your best professional smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Gigi, thanks for doing this interview.”

She seemed hesitant at first, smiled a little and shook your hand. “Happy to,” she said. She turned over her shoulder and locked eyes with the woman who seemed to be the most in-charge of the group. “I’m good,” she nodded.

They hustled out quickly, you stood frozen in place and watched as she took off her coat before sitting in the chair you’d pulled out for her. Once the door was shut behind her posse, she let out a sigh that bled into a frustrated laugh.

“I could never do an interview with all of them just loitering around--wouldn’t that be so weird?”

You nodded, mirrored her smile and had to remind your body how to move. Left foot, right, breathe, sit in the chair.

You weren’t really one to get star struck, but then again, you didn’t spend too much time with celebrities that weren’t Harry or his close friends. You certainly never sat down with a model like Gigi to have a conversation that could be as awkward as this one.

She checked her phone quickly but then put it face down on the table. “I am happy to do this, I know it might feel weird for us to be hanging out--but boys are stupid anyway.”

You smiled at this, immediately relaxed when she leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs.

“Did you also get a whole list of things to not talk to me about?”

She stifled a laugh and rolled her eyes. “Zayn can be a man of few words but,” she looked down at your phone on the table. “Off the record--he had quite a bit to say when I told him you were doing the interview.”

“Off the record,” you laughed, “Harry did too. But how is Zayn?”

“He’s good--thinking about getting back in the studio at some point to start working on a new album, he’s been writing a bunch. Harry’s doing the same I assume?”

“Yes, yeah, he’s been really busy.”

“I know things might not have gone great between all of them at the end, but I don’t want this to be awkward for us.”

“Me neither. You can say as much or as little about the band as you’d like.”

She nodded, you figured it was time to give your pre-interview spiel.

“So, I’ll record us in a few seconds, you can obviously say ‘off the record’ if there’s something you don’t want me to include, but I like my interviews to be like conversations, basically. I’ll send someone on your team the recording when we’re done and a typed transcript. You’ll have 48-hours to look over it and revoke any statements that you don’t want me publishing or to clarify anything. After that I’ll write the story, send a final copy to your team before it gets finalized here, again, 48-hours to look it over and request any changes but at that time we don’t have to approve the requests. This is all in a document somewhere that someone probably signed for you--I’m sure your team is used to it, they know what they’re doing.”

You reached forward and pressed a few buttons on your phone, she watched until you looked up and told her: “It’s on now, so we’re recording and today is September 10th, 2019.”

She smiled like you were old friends. “Where do we start?”

“Is there somewhere you want to start?”

She leaned her head to the side. “We can jump right to it--”

“To what?”

“Oh come on,” she laughed. “Us talking about One Direction will make headlines for weeks.”

“Yeah,” you shrugged. “It’s funny that us just sitting down together will be a big deal, right? As if we’ve got nothing better to talk about than them.”

“Sexism at it’s finest,” she admitted.

“Do you find that a lot in your industry?”

She thought on this for a second, looked out the window but nodded. “It’s unavoidable, in a lot of ways. I think there have been a lot of changes over the last few years to at least move us in the right direction, but we’ve got a long way to go.”

“How would you want to see it change for the better?”

“Well, I’d love to have more privacy about my love life, for one,” she caught herself, looked to you quickly as if she felt bad. “Off the record, we can talk about it here, it’s fine. It’s different to talk about it with a woman, number one. And you’re you, you get it.”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” you offered.

“No, I don’t mind. Unless you plan on asking me stupid things like how amazing is it to be dating someone as handsome as him or do I find that his job overshadows mine, we’re good. We can be back on the record, too,” she looked down at the numbers on your phone, eyeing the ticking of the recording clock.

“But do you know what I mean? No one asks guys questions like that--or they’re different, at least. People just want to know everything about your relationship when you’re a woman and they view you in the context of who you’re sleeping with.”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I get that.”

She smiled, “it’s hard to date someone famous, isn’t it? Lots of rules around it.”

You were surprised by the genuine look in her eyes, despite her own status and contracts and income, she seemed to be acknowledging that the two of you shared a unique experience and were now brought together under strange circumstances.

“It’s definitely hard for me--but, isn’t it easier seeing as you also have an assistant and a manager and people to, I don’t know, facilitate things? Not to invalidate how hard it still is.”

She laughed at that, “Yeah, in some ways, probably. He’s really private though, which is good for us. We focus on ourselves and do our own thing most of the time.”

“Right--you seem pretty private about it for the most part.”

“Yeah,” she shrugged, reflecting on your words for a second. “I think to me it feels weird that my relationship status can make so much news, you know? Modeling is my job and obviously that’s not your typical nine-to-five but--I like to focus on my work and when male journalists are continuously obsessed with my love life, I find that weird. I mean, you get that, right? I’m sure it’s no different with Harry.”

You bit your lip, embarrassed at how she’d managed to turn it around. She was right--you’d been getting more and more annoyed with how much your relationship with Harry was dictating your life--and for some reason, you admitted this to her.

“People are much more interested in me because I’m dating him--but they’d be just as interested in you even if you weren’t.”

“Would they?” She tilted her head to the side, another rise and fall of her shoulders as she looked around the room. “I get what you’re saying, but sometimes it feels like dating him gave my career a huge boost. I don’t know, maybe I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, I totally get it. I feel the same way. I was building my career in New York and it was going well and I was writing fun stuff and making a name for myself and then I started hanging out with him and--”

“Everyone started to care more about you?”

“Exactly.”

You thought about the headlines, the articles, the pictures in tabloids that undoubtedly helped your name spread like wildfire through London and New York. You had to ignore it, most of the time, reassure yourself that you were a good journalist and a good employee and the good things in your career were not just a byproduct of the boy who slept in your bed.

She smiled knowingly, her lips in a thin line when she looked down to the tape recorder, almost like she felt guilty for steering the conversation in a different direction.

“Sorry,” you cleared your throat, sitting up straight. “Back to business.”

The conversation bled into more normal things: the upcoming fall fashion week, how she manages self-care when she’s busy jetting from city to city, and, try as you might, the two of you wound your way back to your commonalities a few times: sexism in your industries, life as young women dating famous men.

You thanked her profusely at the end and promised that Tyler would be in touch to confirm the date and time for her corresponding photoshoot later that week. She draped a Versace leather tote over her shoulder and seemed to float out of the office with a posse of beautiful people behind her.

You stood--still awestruck--in the hallway and watched as the elevator doors slid shut.

“She’s prettier in person,” Tyler said from beside you, a notebook in hand as he stared at the air she’d once occupied. “I didn’t know if that type of thing was possible but she’s definitely one of the prettiest humans I’ve ever seen.”

“She was nice,” you turned around to see Naomi behind him, also eager for more details. You headed back for your office in a trance, they scurried behind you as you thought aloud. “I mean, I didn’t think she’d be rude--but I didn’t know what to expect with the whole band history stuff.”

“Did you talk about that?”

“Less about the band and more about--” you blinked a few times and sat down at your desk, “sexism, what it’s like to be a woman dating a famous man and how that affects your career.”

Both of their eyes went wide, a smile tugged at Naomi’s lips when Tyler put a hand over his heart in shock.

“I’m sorry, so you’re telling me that you just had a heart to heart with Gigi Hadid about sexism and your boyfriends and--”

“I guess so,” you shrugged, just as surprised as they were.

You gave Harry fewer details that night over FaceTime as you brushed your teeth. He was somewhere in New York, disappointed that he’d miss Jake’s birthday dinner and celebration, but he promised to make it up to him when he got back.

He lifted a cup of tea to take a sip, light shone through the window behind him on your screen and he scrolled through emails on his laptop.

You spit into the sink, an ocean between you.

“Have you thought at all about the offer? You have to tell them by tomorrow, yeah?”

You nodded, wiped at your mouth with a towel and then crossed your arms. “I can stay, I mean--if you want me to.”

He made a face at that, leaned forward and furrowed his brows together. “Of course I want you to stay, Y/N, but I don’t want to be the reason you pass on something important."

You were quiet for a second, uncapped lotion before spreading some across your forehead.

"I'm sorry I didn't react well when you told me. I'm proud of you and it sounds like a phenomenal opportunity...I don't know, it's just the timing of it--"

You cut him off, “well none of this is ideal timing, Harry.”

“Do you mean with my album?”

“I mean with any of it,” you said truthfully. “The album, the job offer--”

“Well the album existed before the job offer,” he trailed off.

Only a matter of seconds and a handful of words had managed to get you elevated and angry and ready to fight. That was happening more easily, these days.

“So what am I supposed to do? Always come second? Make every decision in my life based off of your career and your music?”

“S’not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that--I dunno--I thought you knew what you were getting into.”

Quiet, your hands gripped the counter in your bathroom. Your bare feet were on the floor and you wondered why you were trying so hard to make everything work if things were only getting harder.

“That came out wrong,” he shook his head, the look on his face let you know he wanted to take it back.

“No, it didn’t." You let out a sharp laugh. "I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Take the job,” he said quickly, like he saw you reaching for the button to end the FaceTime call.

“What?”

“Take it. If it’ll make you happy, take it.”

“And what about us?”

“We figure it out,” he shrugged. “We try.”

You sighed, unsure what to say.

"It's Los Angeles," he said. "Not Antarctica."

You blew air between your lips, looked up at him for a second. The curl of hair that dipped onto his forehead, the way his mouth pulled up in the corner like it always had.

“I love you, Y/N. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

His words didn’t offer any relief and you spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, tossing and turning and wondering how on earth you were supposed to make a decision.

Leaving him in London felt stupid. A few bumps in the road and you were ready to jump ship?

But staying and hoping for a ring or a shared address felt even stupider, somehow. You couldn’t pass up a dream job and hope that things would go well for your career if you weren’t going to work for it.

A few hours of rest came after 3am, your morning coffee was a tad bitter and the clouds in the sky seemed to match your mood. Maybe you should have spent more time thinking it over, talking it out, even calling your mum or Katie for advice.

But you couldn’t have told everyone about the job offer without a certain answer, and unfortunately, the person you wanted to talk to the most didn’t seem like he could be impartial.

You’d been upset, you’d been feeling disconnected from him, but that didn’t erase all of the good times and the happy memories you’d made, right?

Naomi and Tyler locked themselves in your office for lunch on Friday, they promised that they’d never tell your boss and they swore they supported you either way. Tyler used an expo marker to make a pros and cons list of staying in London and Naomi came up with a points system for each bullet on the list.

You stared at it, looked at the names of all of your friends, your family, your favorite cafes and restaurants in London. At the very bottom of what had become a long list of reasons to stay was his name.

And on the other side, Tyler’s poor drawing of an engagement ring sat beside a big question mark.

You didn’t know what the future held for you and Harry, and maybe that was okay. You didn’t know what would happen when you packed your life into a suitcase and moved to New York, but you’d survived to tell the tale.

They were quiet, eyes darting from the board back to you as they waited for you to say something.

You sighed, Tyler shifted on the couch in your office and Naomi smoothed out her blouse.

“I can’t take it,” you said.

Tyler’s eyes went wide, “really? You’re staying?”

“I can’t leave,” you shrugged. “I can’t leave him behind and leave my friends and start all over in a new city right as I’m really finding my groove here again.”

“Okay, I know we said we’d support you either way but I would have been fucking pissed if you went,” Tyler admitted, moving closer to wrap his arms around you.

You laughed, let him squeeze you before Naomi joined in.

“Me too,” she confessed, a smile on her face when she pulled away. “But I would have at least faked happy for you.”

You bit back the doubt and second-guessing, used their excitement to fuel a regretful email.

Thank you so much for the opportunity, but after careful consideration I cannot accept this position due to the geographical location.

Your thumb hovered over the small blue arrow, a wave of panic flooded through you when you hit send, like somehow, something inside of you knew that everything was about to change.

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beatleszeppelin · 3 years

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You're A … Inexperienced Ch. 4

Chapter Summary: You spend every waking hour of the next day hoping for Daryl back, you don't know if you'll be mad, sad, scared or happy when he returns. But when you are notified of his return, and you find out he's hurt, things go a bit further, or should I say a base further?

Category: Friends to Lovers, Mild Smut, just a good ol’ time

Paring: Daryl x reader (second person)

Warnings/Includes: General Walking Dead grossness, Smut, swearing, use of weapons, non-graphic hunting, mention of past child abuse, (let me know if you see anything else)

Word count: 2.5k

Chapter 4: I trust you.

“Carol,” You yelled getting her attention.

She smiled back, a sympathetic look, but endearing and all knowing. “I heard what happened last night with you two.”

“Did he tell you?” The inquiry slipped immediately from your lips.

“On his way out he did,” the corners of her mouth pulled back into a smile, and she patted your shoulder.

“Out?”

“Went on a run, early this morning. Daryl stopped and talked to Carl and I on his way out the gates.”

“What did he say happened,” You begged, wanting to know the true reason he’s left you high and dry last night.

“Not very much, most was implied.” She held her arm out, guiding you to a near by table. You both sat together, and pried on the other’s interactions with the elusive conversationalist.

From what you gathered, he left this morning in a hurry, and he left mad. Mad at himself for fucking it up with you, whatever he thought it was. He didn’t tell anyone what he was doing in detail, but he didn’t take much water and nearly no food. He should be back today, based on Carol and Carl’s sleuthing.

But the day went on, and lunch and dinner came and went, and he didn’t make an appearance through the gates. You took the day off from whatever tasks you were supposed to do at the farm, with the animals, and crops, to instead take over a full day of gate work. You didn’t read a book, or draw stupid little pictures in the margins of other peoples papers that were left. You looked out, on guard, watching the shadows change on the road ahead.

Sometime after the shadows left, and the ground turned fully dark, your eyes fell heavy from the lack of sleep you had been allowed the night before. So you turned in. Sleep didn’t come easily, thinking of Daryl out there, mad at himself. He could have run away, he could have left for good. He could be out there hurt, or worse. The thoughts wracked your head, until you woke up the next morning, you don’t remember falling asleep, but you must have sometime early this morning.

You got up and dressed with no effort, for maximum efficiency. The first place you hit was the gate, it was a shift change, so you spoke with Carol on her way in.

“Do you know anything, has he come back yet?”

“You haven’t seen him yet?” she asked as if his whereabouts were seemingly obvious.

“No, I didn’t even know he was back, where is he?” You begged.

“He showed up at the gates late last night. He’s in the infirmary, he got hurt on his run yesterday,” She said, without too much concern, but it didn’t stop you from walking to him, but she did add, “he’s fine, by the way,” while you were still in ear shot.

You walked to him, but by the time you noticed you were running. You couldn’t tell what you were feeling as you braced yourself to see Daryl in whatever state he may be in. You were mad at him for leaving, but happy about his return. Sad that he felt the need to leave in the first place, and scared about his injuries.

You opened the door to the infirmary, walked into the rows of cells and stark white bed sheets that have so regularly been changed. Your quick lope took you to Daryl’s cell, the one that you heard Hershel’s voice and quite grumbles coming from. His monotonous pained breathing served as a compass, guiding you directly to him, without any consideration to which direction your feet were moving.

You stood on the other side of the bars, seeing into his room much like he must have seen into yours just a few nights ago. Hershel was tending to bandages wrapped around Daryl’s abdomen. There was no blood, though. His bare chest was wrapped up, around his ribcage and over his shoulder. He lay on his side, another wrap encasing his knee, was propped up with a throw pillow someone must have retrieved on a run.

As he lay there looking up to you, you stand in the doorway, sorting through the files in your head of possible things you could say to him.

“Welp, I’ll be back to see you later, and remember to take it easy on your body. No strenuous activity.” Hershel picked up and saw himself out, patting you on the back as he left.

Seconds long pause lingered over the heads of both of you, but was broken when you simply asked, “What the fuck?”

“‘m sorry,” he tucked his chin down to his chest.

“I really don’t care if you’re sorry right now, I just want to know what you did, and maybe why?” You said genuinely.

“Didn’t mean to hurt you, an’ when I did, just thought I should leave, always better out there.” He mumbled.

“What do you mean hurt me? You thought you hurt me. Look at you, laying here all wrapped up,” You couldn’t fathom him leaving because he thought he did something wrong, when what hurt you most was the fact that he had left in the first place.

“I knew what you’d wanted, but it didn’t happen, an’ I thought you’d be mad about it.”

“No, I wasn’t mad about whatever happened while you were in my cell, I was mad about everything that happened after. I didn’t want you to leave.” You paused for a breath, “I thought you left because of something I did, and it turns out you did. And what did you mean what I wanted?”

“Well,” He raised his chin, and his eyes kept darting in between your and the floor. “You wanted to fix me, but you can’t change the unchangeable.”

You felt disheartened, his words hurt, not because what he was saying was with mal intent, but because this is what he genuinely thought. He thought that you wanted to sleep with him to fix him, to some how change this broken man that sit before you, but he couldn’t be more wrong. He wasn’t broken, not to you, not to anyone here but himself. “I don’t want you to change; I just don’t want you to have only bad memories.”

“What if we try again, an I still don’t like it?” He said, voice breaking.

“We only try when, or if you want to. I’m always down.” You said, finally walking into the cell, and siting on the stool Hershel was on before.

“And what if I never want to…”

You cut him off, “have sex?”

He raised his head, and then nodded slowly.

“Then, we’ll never have sex, and I will be happy being with you, because you are my friend, and I love you.”

He reached out and grabbed your hand from you lap. And he simply held on to it.

“I do have one more thing to ask of you,” he looked, “how did you get hurt?” His face turned red again, he cleared his throat. “Was out, on my bike. Just riding. I was mad, at myself, at the world, so I was going fast, yeah?” You nodded. “I saw a walker, I tried to stop, but I’s on a patch of sand, and I slid, and fell off.”

You laughed and shook your head, then you pulled your hand out of his for a second, and he subconsciously reached out for it again feeling the emptiness. You grabbed the blanket from his bed, and draped it over his his body, stopping just before the curve his waist. You were scared to touch his bandages, not knowing how much pain he was in. You sat back down, and took his hand in yours, and his shoulders visibly dropped at the connection. “So what did Hershel say?”

He brushed his hair down into his face with one hand, you quickly undid this gesture by pushing all of his hair back behind his ears. “He said I’ve got a dislocated knee, from where the bike fell on me, and I slipped a rib, probably from sliding.” You smiled at him, sympathetically, causing him to bashfully add, “t’s nothin’ bad though.”

Days later, maybe a week, when Daryl could walk (with assistance), you took him out on a makeshift date. You planned where you would take him, a field, outside the walls, with a pond right next to it.

You drove his bike, he sat behind you holding on to your waist, one leg bent, with his foot flat on the pegs, the other straight out, as to not bend his hurt knee. You rode around for a while, you thought he needed it, before circling back to where you wanted to take him. “This is it,” you said as you arrived to a flat spot of land, encompassed by weeds that danced in the wind.

“What’re we to be doing here,” he asked hobbling off of the bike, he’s normally so comfortable on.

You pulled a blanket and some bread and jam out of the saddle bags on the bike, that he was still leaning on, as a crutch. You laid it down. And set the food on top. Then you walked back about ten feet to where Daryl leaned, and slowly eased his arm over your shoulder, seeing as to not hurt his ribs. Then you helped him walk over to where you planned to spend the day with him. You dropped his arm, and it hit his side with a wince.

He held his side, and not so gracefully slid his leg out from him, so it wouldn’t catch any weight on his way to the ground.

“What does it feel like?” You gestured to his leg once he had hit the earth.

He shrugged, “Dunno, like it’s tight when bent, an’ hurts anytime ya put weight on it. Can’t use crutches neither, cause those’d hit ma ribs.”

“You really fucked yourself up didn’t you?”

Breathily, he laughed.

You ate, breaking bread with your hands and passing the jam jar between you. The pond

was enchanting, just as the lake that you bathed in before was. This was safe, though. It was close to the fence, and you each had weapons at the ready.

“Been thinkin’,” Daryl said, with a mouth full of bread.

“Yeah, what about?” he caught your attention with his tone.

“Said, we could try again, right?”

“Right.” you replied, instantly knowing what he was talking about.

“What if, I know… What if the part that I don’t want ta… ‘s there anythin’ else?” He said chewing on his lip to mumble through the words.

“What?” You said scrunching your nose up.

“The whole putin’ yer,” he mumbled so you didn’t catch all of the words, “jus doesn’t feel right.”

“So you’re talking about trying stuff up until the second or third base, not going all the way?” You asked trying to understand.

“Yeah, somethin’ like that.”

You scooted over to him on the blanket, and held your hand up to cup his face. Once you did, and he eased into the touch, you ran your thumb over his cheek. Your fingers were spread, to make room for his ear, under his hair. You looked at his eyes, and he looked everywhere but yours. You leaned in, stoping for a second to whisper, “First base,” and then went in for a soft kiss. It wasn’t quick, but it didn’t last long before he bit your lip, the way he always does his own. Pulling back a little you said “Check.”

You unbuttoned your shirt, but left it on, billowing open in the light breeze. You let him have his fun, as you watched him, poke and prod you in likeness to a child studying a bug. He grew more and more comfortable with the actions, as he encompassed your body with his hands like a sightless person would use a walking stick.

As his hand fell down over your shoulder, your bra strap slipped down, causing him to freeze and wait for your cue. You just unhooked it, and slid the other strap down to match. He withdrew his hands, and started chewing on his thumb. “Would you like me to take it off, I mean it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

He nodded, thumb still in place.

You slipped it off through your shirt sleeve, and watched him take his vest off, and lay it down on the ground. You then helped him pull his shirt off over his head, which you and Carol have been taking turns helping him do, since his accident.

“I would say second base has been accomplished, what about you?”

He sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth and mumbled an “mmm hmm.”

“Wanna try third or shall we wait for another day?”

“What exactly is third?” He asked.

“Hand stuff.” You said blatantly, awaiting his reaction.

He thought for a second, nodded, and said, “trust you.”

His words made your stomach bubble, it was excitement and it made you feel like you were about to throw up. You pushed those feelings down, and hooked your fingers in his belt, pulling him in for a kiss. This time, unlike previously, you didn’t lead it. His lips met yours and neither of you moved without the other.

You did however take the lead when you reached down and rested your hand on his leg. You slowly moved your hand up, and his breath hitched. “Are you okay, does something hurt?” you paused.

“Nah, just needed a sec, good now, though.”

Through his pants, you felt that he needed no time to get ready, so you got straight to work. You undid his button on his pants, unzipping as well. He halted all movement; focusing on breathing and staring at your hand slowly working itself up and down. He shut his eyes tight, and moved your hand.

“What, was that too much.” You asked, needing him to tell you what he wasn’t liking.

“It’s a lot, if you touch me ‘gain, I’m gonna…” his face was red and he grabbed his dick tightly.

“Open your eyes,” you coaxed.

“Can’t need to concentrate.” “If you need to, just do it. I’ll take it as a compliment.” You said moving his hand away. “May I?” You asked.

“I trust you.” He said barely above a whisper.

You finished him off in a matter of seconds, his pants were down mid-thigh, and you pulled his rag out to clean him up. He pressed his index and ring finger to the bridge of his nose, acting as a shield from his bright red face; he radiated chagrin.

As his heart pounded, and his breathing was still accelerated, he leaned on you, and whispered “I trust you, and I love you.”

And you could have spent the day there in that position, with him breathing heavily into your neck. And his arms were wrapped tightly around your waist. And although you got home later that day, and went to your separate sleeping quarters, that doesn’t mean this was the last time, it was only his first.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x you #awkward daryl #twd #twd fanfic #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfic #fanfictions #fanfics #this chapter was fun #first time for him #first time for me writing some thing like this #just a virgin girl writing about a virgin boy

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ladyeliot · 3 years

Photo

Welcome Seaville. Chapter One. [T.S. / J.H.]

Series: “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong”

Prologue

Pairing: Tony Stark/Justin Hammer x Fem!Reader / Best Friend Steve Rogers

Summary: 1987. The exchange term is over, so you return to your hometown, Seaville, just before Christmas. The reunions with friends, the first day of school, everything goes back to the way it used to be.

Warnings: Insults, piques.

Word Count: 3465

A/N: Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

December 1987

It would have been enough to say that this was just another ordinary Christmas in the small Maine town of Seaville, but it was not. The Christmas lights were brighter, the streets were more beautiful under the clear splendour of the moon, and the wind brought a sweet smell of sea salts that gave you a pleasant sensation. You peered through the passenger window and let the east wind envelop you and welcome you home again. Seaville was welcoming you in its entirety and you were leaving it.

It had been just four months since you had left the coast of Maine to head off to fulfil one of your many dreams, to spend a term in the French city of Paris. Nothing in your life could have compared to that singular experience, and you even hoped to return next year having been accepted to the University of Paris, but, equally, nothing could compare to the love you felt for home.

"Please roll up the window," your father insisted. "I don't want you to spend the whole Christmas holidays with the flu."

And of course nothing could compare to your dear father.

As you rounded the corner into your little residential area you could almost smell the sweet scent of hot chocolate and puffy clouds that your father had promised you when he picked you up from the airport. You got out of the car so quickly that you barely paid any attention to the bundle of suitcases your father was trying to pull out of the boot without any help.

As you had predicted, as soon as you turned the lock and opened the door, the smell of cocoa filled the whole house. You allowed yourself a few seconds to take in the view, the fireplace lit and adorned with the three corresponding boots, the Christmas tree in place, without the star on the top, as that was your job, and the coats sorted on the hanger by colour. All the same as always.

"Don't worry, I can manage," your father said almost breathlessly as he climbed the porch steps.

You laughed and grabbed one of the three suitcases that were blocking your father's path. You both closed the door behind you and followed each other into the kitchen as if it were tradition. The chocolate was still warm and the clouds had dissolved, just the way you used to like them. The conversation with your father went on for so long, explaining to him everything you hadn't wanted to tell him over the phone, or through letters, a method your father had forced you to maintain, for we should note that his job was as a literary writer, although he sometimes resorted to writing a few newspaper columns to make a little extra money.

The point is that the little family had been talking for hours on end, not realising that midnight had already passed, and that tomorrow you had to go to the institute to settle bureaucratic matters due to your return.

"Bonne nuit, chérie," your father said in a chaste French accent, kissing your forehead.

"Bonne nuit, papa," you smiled back, preparing to be reunited with your room.

Your room, which you had not yet had the pleasure of entering, was as usual, oblivious to the fact that your father had changed the quilt on your bed so you could sleep warmer. You flopped on your back on the bed, but just as a memory came to you, you quickly got up and went to the window. What your eyes beheld brought a laugh and a sense of relief and happiness, how could you not have noticed it before?

By chance of life, you were lucky enough to have discovered true friendship in the person who lived right across the street from you. When you and your father moved to Seaville, due to your mother's death 10 years ago, you chose that quiet residential neighbourhood to settle down and raise a small family. You met Steve Rogers on your first day of second grade, and from the moment you discovered you lived across the street from each other, a beautiful friendship was forged.

For ten minutes you couldn't take your eyes off the window of the house across the street, right next to yours. A large light blue cardboard covered the whole space and a few letters in capital letters decorated it with "Bon retour". Obviously you had kept Steve constantly in mind during your term away, long phone conversations and a few postcards proved it, but during the flight back you were afraid that he had forgotten about the day you were coming back, a rather stupid fear. So, with the comfort that gesture had brought you, you decided it was time to go to bed and get some rest, as the next morning was a long day ahead.

The sunbeam fell incessantly on your face, the curtains could barely block its power, you had assumed that you were not a good early riser, but that morning you woke up in a good mood, not even the strong smell of charred toast was going to take it away from you.

"Wow, nice smile," your father notified, offering you a plate with two pieces of toast blackened under raspberry jam.

"Thanks!" you took the plate and took his usual seat. "I'm looking forward to seeing Steve, and catching up with Natasha. Although I hope they've got things to tell me too. What are you doing today?"

"I have to finish the chapter of the book to hand in to the publisher," he sat down next to you. "And I also have to go to the mall to pick up a gift."

The smile on your face that morning widened, there were only two days left until Christmas, so it was obvious that the gift I was supposed to pick up would be for you. Even though you had everything planned, and had brought some presents from Paris, you still had to buy the last detail for your father.

Just then the front doorbell rang, and you realised that time had run out on you when you noticed that you were still in your pyjamas.

"Shit!" you exclaimed, taking the last bite of toast and heading upstairs. "I'll be down in five minutes!"

Just as you disappeared your father headed off to greet his visitor. You could hear Steve's voice as you hurriedly went about getting dressed, combing your hair and getting your backpack ready for class, not forgetting to grab two rolls of film to develop, but when you heard his laughter you couldn't help but laugh too, even though you had barely heard the reason for his action. You rushed downstairs and from the third step practically threw yourself onto Steve's back in a laughing embrace.

"Have you grown up? No way, let me see you," Steve scoffed receiving your customary punch on his shoulder.

"Hey, nice cartel," you arched an eyebrow pointing to his house.

"You think so?" your friend asked. "I'm glad you liked it. I spent three poster boards until I was proud of my work. "

Steve's sincerity did nothing but thank you for the small detail he'd had for you. But time was passing and you still hadn't left the house.

"Come on, guys! You're going to be late for class," your father informed you, offering you your lunch bag. You took it with a kiss on the cheek and ran after Steve, who was waiting for you by your bike in the garden. That morning you couldn't keep a smile off your face and Steve couldn't take his eyes off you.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" you said getting on your bike.

"You're so happy. It's not normal to see that smile at eight o'clock in the morning," Steve's comment made you laugh a little.

You both set off in the direction of the school, it usually took you ten minutes to get there by bike if you cycled at a leisurely pace, but you were still able to catch up. On the way Steve was interested in the photographs you had taken during your stay in the European city, as you had sent him some of the ones you had had time to develop. Photography was a way for you to escape, your mother had dedicated all the years of her life to the art, and perhaps it was an incentive for you to admire her.

"It's different, Paris inspires me, it's so romantic and bohemian that it's very easy to get carried away," you explained. "That doesn't mean Seaville isn't, it's... different."

Steve listened attentively to your every word, possibly one thing you both had in common was a sensitivity that you only showed when you were both alone.

It didn't take you long to realise that the school was nearby, as the amount of cars queuing at the entrance informed you of your arrival.

"Welcome back," said Steve as he entered with you through the main door leading to a long corridor lined with lockers.

You both headed towards your locker area, you didn't know why you expected anything to have changed, but everything, literally everything, was still the same.

"There you go again! Have you been deported?" that voice, which you hadn't missed, made you roll your eyes. "I had hoped that you would have climbed the Eiffel Tower and let yourself plummet. But here you are, again."

"I had hoped that one of your absurd inventions would have exploded and you would have been shot to pieces with them," you shot back with a sarcastic grin. "But not all dreams come true."

"And I had hoped that being a senior in high school you two could get along," Steve interrupted. "But I see that's impossible."

A wide wry grin on Tony's face competed with yours, but you added a snip and he countered by trying to bite your finger.

"Lovely welcome Tony," Natasha joined the group hugging you from behind, depositing a kiss on his cheek. "Wait, do I smell Parisian perfume? You haven't turned into one of those French repipes have you?"

You were grateful for Nat's presence, who was your ally against the daily struggle against Tony, for after all Steve was a neutral lynchpin in the battle. Nat shook Steve's hand and when he went to greet Tony he tried to give him a kiss on the lips, which resulted in him getting punched in the arm. The bell rang, breaking up the group, depending on which subjects you were in.

"Meet me later in the cafeteria and continue to catch up?" you commented to Steve who was going the other way with Tony.

"As always."

You gave him a parting smile, but your gaze met Tony's who blew you a kiss in the air, causing you to squint and grimace.

"And we're still catching up?" repeated Nat with a quizzical arch of his eyebrow.

"I've got a lot to tell you, and I hope you've got a lot to tell me..." you arched an eyebrow.

"It all depends on the present you brought me from Paris," replied your friend, winking at you.

You laughed, but the two of you parted ways just inside the administration offices, where a long morning of tidying up awaited you.

After two hours of filling out forms and making photocopies of the documents you had brought from the institute in Paris, you had become quite an expert. You had hoped to have an hour to spare before lunchtime to escape to the developing room to develop the film, but that seemed impossible. When the bell rang, you had barely had time to approach the room and put the film in your locker, which you had been assigned to since sixth grade when photography had become your obsession, so you made your way to the cafeteria and found your friend sitting at your table, right next to the big window overlooking the football field.

"Where were you? I was waiting for you to start eating together, but this pizza... it was tempting me," Nat took a bite of pizza like there was no tomorrow.

"If I tell you I've been reading absurd, meaningless documents all morning..." you snorted sitting down across from her and pulling out your sandwich. "If I knew that, I wouldn't be going to Paris."

"You know that's not true," Nat arched an eyebrow drawing a smile from her. "You would have gone to Paris even if you had to repeat one more grade in high school."

"Anyway, I need an update," you began, turning serious. "Has anything interesting happened while I've been away? Anyone new? Anyone who's been stirring things up?"

"New? No, anything interesting? Neither. This Seaville Murph, there's nothing going on here," Nat shrugged finishing his slice of pizza.

"I'll look for the bright side. At least I haven't missed anything," you shrugged.

"I guess you could go away for ten years and when you came back everything would still be the same," Nat looked around. "Where are the boys?"

"I'll bet you five bucks they're on the football field," you commented. "By the way, have you written the application for Brenau yet?"

"It's practically finished," your friend reported. "I'll go over it during the holidays and send it off in January. Are you ready to move to Paris next year and drive the Parisians crazy?" Natasha winked. "You haven't been hiding some movie adventure from me all this time?"

"Oh! Of course," you said wryly just as Steve and Tony made their big appearance. "Now that you mention it, as I was strolling the first evening in the Luxembourg Gardens I heard a sweet melody in the background and headed for it. There was a man playing the saxophone and I stopped to listen to him for a couple of minutes. I was so absorbed that I hardly noticed that a boy had stopped right next to me until he said 'Ne pensez-vous pas que Paris a un charme particulier?' Then I looked at him, he had the most beautiful green eyes I had ever seen," you paused your story to make a false sigh. "Then we strolled until late at night, and we met every evening so that he could show me the most beautiful corners of the city. I think those were the most romantic months of my life."

Three pairs of eyes stared at you showing completely different feelings. Natasha, who was sitting opposite you, was holding back her laughter, Steve, who was standing holding his tray next to Tony, looked completely confused by what had just happened and Tony was arching an eyebrow somewhat curiously at the story. At this point neither of you two could hold it in and started laughing, snapping the boys out of their trance.

"What was that?" asked Steve sitting down next to you. "Is that true? Because it would annoy me if you hadn't told me."

"Come on! He's pulling your leg," informed Tony jokingly and taking his place next to Nat.

"Wait how are you so sure my story isn't true? Couldn't I have my romantic history with a Parisian?" you rebutted somewhat indignantly at his certainty.

"Was he blind?" Tony arched an eyebrow.

For your part you squinted, just as Tony got a jolt of shock after getting stomped under the table by Nat because of his comment. Steve's change of conversation made it easier to keep the argument from escalating, but something always happened to spoil civilised conversations. A few minutes later, Tony was struggling with the Ketchup sachet which he couldn't open to spread on his burger, such was his desperation that when he took a bite of the sachet, it burst causing the sauce to hit your dress. Nat's eyes along with Steve's widened in anticipation of the contest between the two of you.

"You're an idiot Stark!" you quickly grabbed a couple of napkins Nat offered you so you could remove the sauce before it left a mark.

"At least it matches your dress," Tony interjected, holding back a laugh.

Cursing through your teeth, you headed for the food counter with the intention that some cook would have one of her magical ideas to make the stain go away. Tony followed you without letting go of his burger, even though Steve and Nat advised him to stay quiet and sit down.

"Come on Murphy! It's hardly any different from the red fabric of the dress," he said stepping up beside you, and knowing how much you hated it when he called you that.

"How many times have I told you not to call me Murphy?" you said scrubbing the stain with soap and water.

"It's your name," she shrugged nonchalantly. "It's not my fault your parents decided to name you that."

You bit down hard on your lip so you wouldn't have to blurt out all those things that were running through your mind, and put on an act in the middle of the cafeteria. You were lucky that at that instant someone appeared and diverted Tony's attention.

"Ready for Stark debate class?" Justin Hammer, with whom you shared a few classes introduced himself to you.

"Of course Hammer. I can't wait to see you try to put your meager vocabulary together in one sentence," Tony took a bite of his burger, causing sauce to smear his mustache and chin.

"Come on Tony, you've got a lifetime to be an idiot why don't you take a day off?" Hammer smiled slightly.

You couldn't help but smile at the comment, to which Tony noticed and became uncomfortable.

"Hammer, everyone has the right to act stupid for a while, but I'm not really the one abusing that privilege," Tony took another bite of his burger. "So fuck off."

Justin Hammer had gotten what he wanted, and his success was grounded in a half-smile as he walked away, leaving Tony frustrated. Within seconds he turned to you, so you gave him a raised eyebrow.

"You don't abuse that privilege?" you asked, referring to what he had just said to Hammer. "Please, Tony..."

Your smile faded just as Tony dipped his finger into his burger, and, bathed in what little ketchup he could get his hands on, rubbed it all over your right cheek.

"You're despicable!" you exclaimed wiping your cheek.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

"Don't thank me for the insult, it's always a pleasure," you cocked your head to the side and widened a fake smile leaving him alone, returning to the table.

The doorbell once again brought the lunch hour to an end. Tony followed you and jumped on Steve's back with the burger still in his hand, while you and Natasha gathered up your bags and belongings.

"Hey, what are you doing this afternoon? I thought we could all go to Barry's and catch up," you suggested to Natasha as you headed towards the lockers.

"I've got dance class, and I guess since it's the last one before Christmas it's going to run until dinner time," she lamented.

"Did someone say Barry's?" Tony slowed his pace and interjected into the conversation.

"Sounds like a good idea to me," said Steve. Barry's at 7pm?

"Nat's got dance class," you commented, opening your backpack to put your books in your locker.

"Guys, I know I'm a one-off, but you can go without me, don't worry," Natasha shrugged. "We can meet up tomorrow."

"Okay, but tomorrow you have to come with me to the mall, I'm still missing a present for my dad," you leaned in front of her.

"That means you already got mine," Tony winked at you, you hated his sudden mood swings.

"Yeah, a single ticket to the farthest place on the planet," you said, cocking your head.

"You know you'd miss me," he cut you short and you nudged him.

Oblivious to Tony, you added, "So I'll see you at Barry's this afternoon, and it's okay if you don't show up Stark."

"Believe me it's the last thing I feel like doing, but where Steve goes I go."

Taglist Open (DM) - @ravishingreid

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rosemaidenvixen · 3 years

Text

A Secret’s Worth

Chapter 17: Jim

Ao3

Content warning: Things get pretty intense in this chapter in a lot of ways. I can't be detailed without spoiling the events of the chapter, so I'll put more the general warnings in the tags. If you want more specific warnings you can click the link above and go to the Ao3 page where I’ve posted the spoiler filled warnings in the bottom notes. And if anyone feels like I didn’t tag/warn about something that I should have please let me know. This is your warning, here be dragons, proceed with caution.

There was a stain in the carpet, from coffee if he had to guess. A dark brown spot glaringly obvious against the beige. It looked just big enough for his hand to cover.

“Jim, are you listening?”

He jerked his eyes up from the floor towards the desk in front of him.

“Sorry what was that?”

Her lips turned downwards into a tiny frown “We were discussing your goals Jim,”

“Oh, right….” he drummed his fingers against his knees.

A goal. Jim had still been trying to think of one when he zoned out looking at the carpet.

Couldn’t do any kind of job or college, those weren’t happening for him. She’d said their goals could be as long term or short term as they wanted, so maybe--

“My goal is to buy my own Vespa,” Jim said, giving himself a mental pat on the back as he did.

Owning his own Vespa. Nice, realistic, normal. A good, solid goal that no one should look twice at.

The frown melted away into a wide smile “That’s great, do you have anywhere you want to go in your Vespa?”

His face blanked, stomach dropping no less than two inches.

Stupid.

People wanted cars and Vespas and stuff because they wanted to go places in them. Unlike Jim who was never going to leave his hometown.

“Ummm…..not sure, all the places I normally go I guess,” he forced his voice to stay even despite the squirming in his belly.

Her porcelain smile remained fixed in place “I think that sounds like an excellent goal, but how about you try to think of a more long term goal before the end of the school year?”

Jim nodded along, digging his fingers into his jeans to distract himself from the hot, fluttery feeling sweeping over his entire body.

Was she suspicious? Did she pick up on how he wasn’t actually planning on going anywhere? Was she going to call Dorrie the second he left her office?

“Ok, long term goal next time, I can do that,”

Beaming at him, she pulled a packet of papers off the top of the pile sitting on her desk “You don’t have to use the guide to pick a goal, but if you have trouble thinking of one these should give you some ideas, now do you mind sending in the next student on your way out?”

Jim forced himself to stand up slowly and not just bolt out the door “Ok, no problem,”

“Thanks, have a good spring break,”

He managed to smile and give a half hearted ‘You to’ as he accepted the papers and stepped out of the office. Heading down the hallway back to the main waiting room, the jittery feeling crawling through his muscles diminishing but not completely going away.

It never did.

Glancing around the waiting room, he spotted the next person in line.

“Eli, you’re up,”

Eli fumbled with the magazine in his hands before popping up out of his seat “Oh, thanks Jim,” he grabbed the magazine along with a stack of others from the floor before rushing down the hall. Jim craned his head to try and read the cover before Eli vanished around the corner.

Keep So-Cal Weird.

Jim rolled his eyes as he exited the main office. At least his goals wouldn’t be as weird as Eli’s. Although quite frankly he’d rather live in a world where they didn’t make freshmen discuss their goals with the guidance counselors.

It wasn’t like Jim didn’t have enough on his plate already.

He had no idea if guidance counselors and social workers talked to each other on a regular basis, but he had to play it safe and act like they did.

Especially since he was like 99% sure that all the teachers knew. He knew that Strickler knew, and he was pretty sure that Strickler had told all the other teachers. So it was more like he was 99.999% sure they all knew, and the 0.001% was just him kidding himself.

So now he couldn’t even come up with some kind of goals to give the guidance counselor without his anxiety going through the roof.

Jim all but threw his bag into the locker and slammed it closed with much more force than was needed, unable to stop himself from getting worked up.

This past month had been the absolute worst of his entire life.

It had started when he’d walked in on Dorrie and Charles going through their house and it hadn’t really improved since.

When he and his mom had gone over their game plan that night after the initial panic it hadn’t seemed all that bad. Be extra vigilant about making sure that no one saw anything weird and otherwise pretend that everything was normal. If they kept on top of it the investigation should fizzle out to nothing.

Simple enough.

And the first week hadn’t been all that bad, tense but not bad. Week two had been nerve wracking but doable. Week three was when he really started having trouble sleeping, and it wasn’t like he got tons of sleep to begin with. That snowballed to him starting to forget late night meals and nod off during the day, having to work even harder at keeping up the act during school.

Although if Jim was honest with himself he forgot most of those night time meals on purpose.

On top of that, week four was when he developed a stomach ache that wouldn’t go away, not to mention learned that his hair was falling out. Now it was the end of week five and Jim couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t stressed out, dead tired, and constantly felt like rats were chewing on his insides.

Grimacing, Jim pressed a hand to his stomach as he turned and headed to the cafeteria. Feeling sick and exhausted all the time sucked, but that was nothing compared to the everpresent, unrelenting, blood curdling dread.

The fear that he’d somehow let something slip. That right at this moment someone was coming to arrest his mom and take him away. All because of something Jim said or did.

Forget walking on eggshells, this was more like crawling through a minefield.

Every second that Jim was outside his house he had to be on guard; keeping himself under complete control at all times. Making sure that anyone watching, teachers, nurses, other classmates, wouldn’t see anything worth reporting. No outbursts no meltdowns no nothing.

As far as anyone else knew the Lakes were a normal, happy family. And Jim had to act like it.

But after five weeks he knew that was a hell of a lot easier said than done.

Jim couldn’t be sad or scared or angry any more, even about regular things. With so many people watching he couldn’t afford to let them get the wrong idea. So regardless of what he was actually feeling at any given time, he forced himself to stay calm, plastered on a happy face, and continued along like everything was fine.

But he wasn’t fine. Underneath his plastic smile Jim was coming apart at the seams.

He felt like a nerve with all the skin and muscle ripped away. Exposed to the cold air and completely vulnerable, ready to go off at the slightest touch.

Constantly keeping himself under control in front of all the teachers and every other adult in school was was bad enough, even without--

Jim stopped short as he stepped into the cafeteria, instantly spotting them sitting at a corner table. Five weeks ago the sight would have been somewhat soothing, now it was enough to make his heartbeat triple and intestines knot up.

Pulling in a shaky breath, Jim forced down the sudden bout of nerves.

He was in the middle of school in the middle of the cafeteria surrounded by other people. Now was not the time to lose it.

Five in. Hold for five. Five out.

Repeat

After a minute of deep breathing the full body shivers finally diminished to a much more manageable fluttering in his chest. Confident that he’d successfully gotten his emotions under control, Jim raised a foot and slowly resumed his approach.

Jim had been going back and forth about doing this for weeks, but this morning cinched it.

He was doing this. Today. Right here right now. Even if the idea of doing it felt like standing on the edge of a cliff.

Because the worst part of the past month hadn’t been constantly being on guard or always being tired and nauseous. It was not knowing who’d he had to be on guard from.

A month ago, when he’d walked in on CPS in his house, Jim instantly knew one of his friends had blabbed.

While his immediate response had been to call Toby and demand answers, it didn’t take very long for Jim to shift gears to shoving the thought into the back of his mind and keeping it there. Couldn’t do anything to change it so there was no point to shoving his foot into that hornets nest. A with the way things had blown up when their problems with his mom first came out, forcing the issue might put him on the odds with all of them, and cost Jim the one part of his life that didn’t actively suck right now. The only thing to do was let it go.

So Jim let it go.

But as the weeks went by, despite how much he actively tried not to think about it, small doubts kept sprouting up in the back of his mind like weeds.

Did Mary really mean it when she asked how he was doing or was she fishing?

Was Toby trying to be helpful by offering to help carry groceries in or was he looking for a chance to spy inside the house?

His heart shot up into his throat, pounding as he closed in on the table.

And while Jim knew it had to be one of the four of them that called, he still had no idea who it was. That meant he didn’t know who it wasn’t either.

So as much as he tried, as much as he wanted to, Jim could never completely relax around any of his friends.

It was bad enough being on edge with every single adult in his life, but not knowing which one of his friends had stabbed him in the back, and worse not knowing if they were waiting to do it again…..

Jim stopped in his tracks, table just inches away. The four of them chatting away, his presence still unnoticed. Heartbeat hammering in his ears.

This was going to be ugly but Jim just couldn’t take not knowing any more. One way or another the truth was coming out today.

“I know one of you called the cops on my mom, so who was it?”

The four of them practically jumped in their seats before whirling around to face him. Claire was the first to find her tongue.

“What?”

Her eyebrows were knitted together in confusion. An expression shared by all the others sitting around her.

Somehow that made the lump of coal sitting in his ribcage smolder hotter even as his heart was threatening to beat out of it.

One of them knew exactly what he was talking about. One of them was only pretending to be confused.

“A month ago someone called CPS on my mom and I know it was one of you,” he made a show of narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms “So don’t try to deny it,”

They all turned and looked at each other, shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

Jim stood his ground, mouth set into a firm line and prickling doubts shoved down into the bottoms of his feet. There it was, the accusation out in the open. Whoever it was might try to deny it, but Jim knew it had to be one of the four of them, and he wasn’t going to let them weasel their way out of--

“Jim….” Toby spoke slowly, briefly meeting his eyes before looking away “We….all did,”

His heart stopped.

For a moment Jim wasn’t sure how to respond, wondering if he’d actually heard Toby correctly, then the world slowly started to turn again and the words sank in.

“.....you what?”

“It’s true,” he snapped his gaze over to Darci, she flinched but didn’t look away “After we tried...talking to you, the three of us went to my dad and showed him the photos,” she glanced over to Toby at her side “It was only after that we learned Toby also talked to someone about--”

Jim whirled on Mary “I thought you said you deleted those?!”

“I-- uh-- umm…” she squirmed in her seat “I....made…...copies,”

Jim’s jaw fell open, unable to form words.

Out of all the possibilities, all the theories and ideas he’d had on who might have called, he’d never even dreamed that they’d all been in on it together.

His head was spinning, insides frozen and a roaring sound in his ears. Both hands rising up and fisiting through his hair, in a distant part of his mind he knew he shouldn’t be doing that since it was still falling out.

Just when he’d thought there couldn’t be anything else. That life couldn’t possibly throw anything worse at him--

Things became worse than he ever could have imagined.

He was faintly aware that the four of them were glancing around at each other from across the cafeteria table “Ok,” Claire laid both hands flat in front of her palms down “You have every right to be mad at us, but…”

Jim tuned her out, he couldn’t bring himself to pay attention to whatever Claire was saying when his world was going to pieces right now.

He thought that when he figured out who had been the one to call CPS he could call them out for lying and get the rest of the group to back him up. That he’d figure out who he could actually feel safe with and finally be able to fix at least one part of his completely messed up life.

But it hadn’t been one of them, it had been all of them. They’d torn his life apart and kept it a secret. They lied to him. Every day. For over a month.

Heat shot through him, flooding through his whole body until it felt like every ounce of blood in his veins was boiling.

It was his friends all along. All of them. They threw him and his mom under the bus and then they lied about it.

All the fear, all the worry. His inability to sleep or keep food down, the fact that his hair was falling out.

It was all because of them.

For the first time in weeks Jim wasn’t scared, he was pissed as hell.

“I can’t believe you guys!”

They all jerked back, eyes wide, shocked at the volume of his outburst.

“All of you knew about this,” Jim felt nails stabbing into his palms from the force he was clenching his hands “And you lied to me about it for over a month!? How could you!?”

He was spitefully glad to see them all flinch and look deeply ashamed at that.

“Look Jim,” Toby started to speak “I know you must be angry, but--”

He shriveled into silence under the glare Jim gave him.

How dare he. How dare he try and pretend like any of this was ok. The girls he could sort of see, but Toby was practically family. His mom had done more for Toby than anyone else would have in the same situation.

And Toby had still sold them out, with Claire, Darci, and Mary giving a helping hand.

Jim slowly turned to glare at each of them, the heat rushing over him blazing even hotter as he saw their pained faces and slumped shoulders.

Had they had secret meetings talking about this without him, had they laughed, snickering about being able to keep him fooled for so long.

Somehow a cold dribble of guilt managed to seep in past the white hot fire in his belly.

Even as blindingly furious as he was, for both himself and his mom, deep down Jim knew that wasn’t true. The reason they made the call was because they felt they had no choice.

They hadn’t done this as a joke, they were worried, they’d done this because they were scared for him. They’d done this because they wanted to help.

But despite knowing that, despite knowing that he was taking this too far and was going to regret everything he was saying as soon as he cooled off, Jim was too angry to care.

“I told you guys. My mom. Doesn’t. Hurt me.” he got louder and louder with every word, until he was practically shouting, the raging inferno inside him demanding to be set free “Don’t you get it? She could get arrested because of this, I could get taken away. Did you even think about that at all!?”

Toby shot up out of his seat with a bang, cutting off Jim’s tirade. Glancing up at him out of sheer reflex, he saw that Toby had the edge of the table in a whiteknuclekd grip, every muscle in his body taut and trembling, eyes sharp as knives.

“No Jim. You don’t get to do that.” his voice was cold and harder than steel, harder than anything he’d ever heard coming out of Toby’s mouth “You don’t get to drop bombs like your mom locking you in the basement and expect us to pretend like everything’s ok. And you don’t get to act like we’re the bad guys for trying to help you,”

Jim found himself taking an involuntary step back. He’d never heard Toby this angry. Ever.

Prying his hands free, Toby stomped around the table towards him, Jim pinned in place under his molten gaze “You don’t get to talk about lying when you were the one who’s been lying all along. When you’ve been lying to me for years!”

“Tobes I--”

One look from Toby shut him up.

“But now you want to play honesty hour? Fine, we’ll play honesty hour. How did you really get those scars on your ankle?”

The bottom fell out of Jim’s stomach, taking every remaining drop of anger with it.

“.........what?”

“Well?” Toby stopped two feet away, green eyes boring holes into him “Go on, tell me, where did those scars come from?”

Jim couldn’t do anything but gape at him. The rehearsed answer, they came from a fox bite, sat in the back of his throat withering.

He couldn’t know. It was impossible. Only two people in the world knew the truth. The act done in the dim of the early dawn in the middle of a remote forest.

Don’t worry sweetie, it's a sterile blade. A few quick cuts and a bandage on top should get you all the shots you need, no questions asked.

There was no way for Toby to know, but the look in his eyes told Jim that he did.

“How-- how--” he struggled to get the words out “How do you--”

Darci gingerly slid out of her seat to come stand next to Toby “Ok let’s all just take a deep breath and relax for a second,” she glanced over, her expression cool and professional, no longer holding any trace of guilt “Jim, I’m sorry we lied about what we did but I’m not sorry for doing it,”

“Darci’s right,” Mary stood and approached, Claire at her side “And we all agreed, what’s going on with your mom….that’s not ok, and we couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. I know your mom was probably really messed up when your dad walked out, but that doesn’t mean--”

The words hit him like a fist to the gut “How do you know about that!?”

Mary shut her mouth, cheeks pink.

By now everyone in the cafeteria was turning and looking at them. And who could blame them with all the yelling. Jim knew that this was exactly the type of scene he needed to avoid, but all the emotions boiling up in his chest were too enormous and tangled and turbulent for him to make space to care about their audience.

Claire took half a step forward “Look Jim, I’m sorry we lied to you about reporting your mom, that was messed up and we shouldn’t have done it, but...” she inhaled, drawing herself up to full, regal height “But we wouldn’t have had to report her behind your back if you had just let us help you in the first place,”

“Yeah, you don’t get to talk to us about lying,” he spun back towards Mary. Hands on her hips, eyes narrowed into diamond hard points “If you had been honest with us from the beginning we wouldn’t have had to lie about anything,”

Toby stepped to the front of the group, arms folded in front of him “To more tricks or lies. We need the truth Jim. The whole truth, about everything. The scars, the basement, your curfew,” his expression was granite, voice flint “Right here, right now.”

Jim staggered back, furiously glancing at each of their faces. Claire and Darci were stern and unmoving as statues, while Toby and Mary were full on glaring daggers into him.

How was this possible? How did they know all this?

He couldn’t get enough air, chest tight as he shrunk under the weight of the four sets of eyes on him.

What else did they know? If they knew about the scars and his dad and the basement, what else did they know? And how close were they to learning….the rest?

The one tiny, microscopic flicker of hope Jim had was that he knew that they still didn’t know about….his real secret.

If they did they sure as hell wouldn’t be quiet about it.

But how close were they to figuring it out? They’d figured so much out already, it was probably only a matter of time.

And if this was how they responded to everything else, how would they react to learning that Jim was really a--

Icy daggers twisted in his gut.

He couldn’t do this anymore.

He needed out now.

Jim turned and bolted, running out of the cafeteria as fast as his legs could carry him. Barely aware of his friends’ shouts from behind him. But he couldn’t outrun the panicked screaming in his skull.

They knew about his mom locking him up, they knew about how his dad left, they knew how he really got the scars on his ankle. Sooner or later they would figure out that Jim was the monster all along and when they did--

Throughout the years ideas of what would happen if people learned about his transformation had always flickered at the edge of his thoughts. Jim had done his best to force them out of his head and keep them from taking full shape, but now every horrible, twisted thought he’d had over the years surged to the front of his mind and refused to be buried.

If anyone learned his secret it was only a matter of time until the government found out, and when they did they wouldn’t just let him run free. Jim’s blue form was an unknown; wild, dangerous. At the very least they’d lock him in a cell and throw away the key. Or maybe they would send him off to some secret lab to get dissected and analyzed piece by piece.

His breath became choppy and ragged as he raced down the hall.

Or maybe Jim was too dangerous to leave alive at all, maybe they’d drag him away for a long drive into the desert that ended with a bullet to the back of his skull.

And his mom--

A jagged lump spouted in his throat.

Would they lock her up to? For keeping his secret as long as she did. But she hadn’t broken any laws, maybe they’d just leave her alone? But then would they even tell her what they did with him? Or would she be left sitting alone in their house not knowing what happened to him while Jim sat in a prison cell, or got chopped to pieces in a lab, or rotted in an unmarked grave.

He could barely see the lockers rushing by him as heat built up behind his eyes. He was trembling all over now, blood rushing in his ears and scream building in the back of his throat.

Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it together.

Jim was going to break down, he knew that. But he couldn’t let it happen in the middle of school. Not now, not again. Had to get out, go home, get somewhere safe.

Right now his secret was still under wraps, and the only way for Jim to keep those horrific ideas from becoming reality was to keep it that way.

And that meant not having another public meltdown.

Ignoring the sound of the bell, signalling other kids to start streaming into the hall, Jim scrambled up to his locker and started fumbling with the lock.

Despite his badly trembling hands he managed to get the locker open and pull his bag free, but in his haste to grab it the bag started slipping from his grip. Jim just barely caught the side in time to keep it from falling, but in doing so accidentally pulled the bag open, causing everything inside to spill out.

Jim could only watch in horror as textbooks clunked to the ground, papers scattering all over the floor, pens and pencils rolling in every direction. Insides curdling as he stared at the mess.

Why now? Why today of all days? On top of everything else--

His eyes stung.

Why couldn’t he just get a break?

Trying and failing to force himself through his breathing exercises, Jim got down on his knees and struggled to gather the contents of his bag.

Somehow his efforts to gather the papers just spread them even more, the task made impossible by how badly he was shaking all over, breath coming in quick, quivering pants, teeth digging into his lip until he tasted copper, a storm roiling just beneath his skin.

He squeezed his eyes shut, grabbing a textbook and clenching his fingers around it so tight they hurt.

Get it together. Get it together. Get it together.

“Oh my god are you crying again?”

Jim froze, inside and out, eyes shooting open to stare down at two of his pencils and the textbook he’d just grabbed off the floor. Familiar snide, smarmy voice coming from behind him.

“Dude he totally is!” Seamus said with a laugh “This is too good,”

Jim couldn’t move, nerves paralyzed. Every drop of emotion he’d had to deal with today, shock, anger, fear, and guilt, surging through him.

“Awww what’s the matter baby?” Steve jeered “Do you want a bottle?”

Seamus and Logan’s laughter echoed in his ears. From the corner of his eye he saw the traffic around them slowing as other people stopped and stared. He couldn’t feel his fingers any more, curled into rigid claws around the edges of the book.

And just like that Jim was done.

He threw his textbook against the lockers as hard as he could, unleashing a thunderous boom into the hall.

“Fuck off Steve!”

Steve, along with Logan, Seamus, and everyone else milling around in the hallway behind him, froze “What did you just say Lake?”

“You heard me Steve,” Jim growled, stomping to his feet “Fuck. Off.”

Normally he would never lose his cool with Steve, the guy just wasn’t worth it, but after everything that had happened today, everything that had happened over the last month, he just couldn’t take it any more.

And Steve thought he was such a hot shot; popular, spot on the basketball team, grades good enough to keep it but not so good to be considered a nerd. But Jim knew a lot more than Steve thought he did.

Recovering from his surprise at Jim’s outburst, Steve gave him his best sneer “Alright Crybaby you got about ten seconds to get down on your knees and apologize before I break your--”

“Oh can it Steve, like you have any business calling me crybaby when you were the one bawling in the locker room about how your daddy couldn’t come watch your big game!” Jim practically spat the words.

The smug look on Steve’s face vanished, eyes going wide and the color leeching from his skin “Wha-- how-- how did--”

“Since you can’t seem to figure it out I’ll spell it out for you, your dad doesn’t give a shit about you or your basketball games! And if you really want to make him happy go play in traffic so he doesn’t have to pay child support!”

A hush went through the crowded hall. Semus’s eyes were bugging out and Logan looked absolutely petrified; Steve himself was wearing the most hang-jawed expression Jim had ever seen.

More and more people were gathering around now, drawn by all the commotion. Jim knew it was bad to be drawing this kind of attention, especially after the stunt he just pulled on the cafeteria, but the dam inside him had burst and it felt so so good to finally let it all out.

Let someone else have the rug pulled out from under them. Let someone else feel exposed and vulnerable. Let someone else have their deepest darkest secrets thrown back in their face.

Let someone else be afraid for once. Someone who actually deserved it.

“Face it Steve you’re not special,” Jim’s voice practically dripped venom “You’re just some moron who thinks that if they dribble a basketball good enough they can get an even bigger moron to give two shits about them. It’d actually be funny if it wasn’t so pathetic,”

Even as he said the words, felt the thrill of finally being able to take Steve down a peg, a tiny trickle of guilt managed to creep in. For saying something so horrible, so wrong. That no one deserved to hear, not even Steve. But what little guilt he had was easily drowned out by the massive ocean of vindictive glee he felt now that Psycho Steve was getting to experience a tiny piece of what it was like to be Jim Lake.

The crowd around them was deathly quiet now, everyone stunned into silence by Jim’s words. Shocked that he actually went there. With one exception.

Steve’s face had gone from ghost white to purple, the veins in his neck bulging, hands balled into fists as his sides “You’d better shut your mouth Lake,” his voice was soft but dangerous. Everyone, even Logan and Seamus, nervously edging away from him.

Unfortunately for him Jim just didn’t care anymore.

“Or what?”

He stepped forward, unable to resist poking the bear “You gonna punch me in the face or something? Well go on, do it! You’re only mad because I’m right!”

Another rush of spiteful satisfaction coursed through him when Jim saw the purple flush on Steve’s face darken even further at his words, so much that he didn’t even care that some of the onlookers had started to pull out their phones.

“Well what are you waiting for? Hit me, punch me, it’s not gonna make a difference. It’s not going to change the fact that you’re a loser who’s life has fucking peaked!” he jabbed a finger into Steve’s chest, getting right up into his face “That the only thing you have going for you is a spot on the basketball team. And after that all you have to look forward to is a dead end job at the gas station and at least two divorces!”

Steve was practically quivering with anger now, nostrils flaring, teeth clenched so hard he was surprised they hadn’t cracked, but Jim could still see the flash of genuine hurt in his eyes “I’m warning you Lake--”

“Because that’s all you’ll ever be, a loser! Maybe the real reason your dad left was because he finally figured out how much of a loser you really--”

The blow took him by surprise, more than it probably should have. A dazzling flash of pain in his temple that snapped his head back into the lockers with a deafening bang as more pain flared in the back of his skull. Hot stars danced in his vision, the world around him spinning,.

Jim vaguely registered that he wasn’t on his feet anymore, felt the linoleum under his back, the cool metal behind his shoulders and neck. Dimly heard the panicked shouts coming up from around him, even though he couldn’t make out the words.

Blinking past the throbbing pain in his skull, and the warm trickle of something in his eye, Jim’s sight cleared just long enough for him to see Steve’s face, twisted into a mask of primal rage, and another fist rapidly approaching.

#tales of arcadia #Trollhunters #A Secret's Worth #fanfic #rmvwrites #jim lake jr #claire nuñez #darci scott #toby domzalski #mary wang #language #violence #death mention #dissection mention

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thefossilwhale · 3 years

Text

i filled out this super cool button character profile by @extraordinarymage for sabrina! thank you for making this, it was a lot of fun to fill out <3 the bulk of it is under a cut and oh boy is it long !!!

Short, Quick Reference

Name: Sabrina Wiseman

Pronouns: She/her

Sexuality: Bisexual

Love Interest: Kent

Main personality trait: Confidence

Secondary personality trait: Morbidity

Relationship with Nick: Full of love, haunted by unaddressed guilt and frustration. But mostly full of love.

Nickname for Nick: Saint Nick (used sparingly)

Resentful or accepting?: Slightly resentful

Main strategy (interpersonal, insightful, innovative?): Insightful

Ethical or expedient?: Expedient

GENERAL

Name: Sabrina Larkspur Wiseman

Nickname(s): Sab, used by anyone; Sabby, only Nick and Sally; and, of course, Button for Nick.

Birthday: I think I made her an October Libra for the purpose of a template I did months ago, but I’m not sure! No concrete birthday yet, I’m always very slow to nail down details like this.

Age: 20

Pronouns: She/her

Sexuality: Bisexual

Hair color + style: Blonde. A little past shoulder length, sometimes wavy. Usually a middle part. For Aeon, tied back in a bun.

Eye color: Blue, entirely because of the section of Frank O’Hara’s “Meditations in an Emergency” that goes, “My eyes are vague blue, like the sky...”

Height: 5′5

Piercings: Multiple in each ear, but a couple have started to close.

Tattoos: None yet! Sab likes the idea of a tattoo but is worried about finding the perfect design, whether she’d end up hating it, that the pain might be greater than she expects and she’ll look like a baby in front of her tattoo artist. I’d like to think she eventually consults Sally and/or Glitch to come up with an idea that she falls in love with, but I haven’t come up with what that would be!

Clothing style: Mostly solid colors, not a lot of patterns. Nothing super bright, but a fairly varied mix of pastels, neutrals, dark colors, black. Partial to denim skirts and sweater tops. Ankle boots. Likes a good turtleneck. She’s bolder when it comes to formal wear, and especially loves suits. Big fan of silk and satin.

Since she has a pretty accurate face claim, I’ll link some gifsets I’ve rb’d for appearance ref if you are so inclined.

STATS

I’m always adjusting minor things and swapping scenes around, but these are from my most recent Sab run! Most scores hover somewhere around these values.

Personality:

Confidence: 53%

Humor: 5%

Morbidity: 22%

Resentful: 57% | Accepting: 43%

Strategy:

Interpersonal: 12%

Insightful: 50%

Innovative: 10%

Ethical: 43% | Expedient: 57%

KEY DECISIONS:

What is Nick’s nickname and why?: Saint Nick, used very rarely. It’s a joking reference to the time she thought Santa was an evil Ment out to ruin Christmas, and a point about Nick overdoing it with the cheer. “Saint Nick” is usually code for “I know you mean well, but please mind your own business.” Otherwise, she just calls him Nick.

What is their favorite type of cookie (and its name and why?): Salted caramel chocolate chip! No special name.

What was their initial reaction to Sally hugging them, as kids?: She just froze. That could just be me projecting adult Sabrina onto her childhood self; I don’t imagine that she was as uncomfortable around strangers or quite as cautious back then. But that’s what I’ll stick with.

How did they ace the ASE test?: The in-game option she takes is “My entire life has revolved around strategic avoidance,” but the one about being just plain smart also sounds like her. If Sab has the chance to thoroughly (over)prepare for something, she will do it. Her mind blindness also has her constantly (over)analyzing situations. So, hard work and relentless anxiety!

Did they manage to win their first assignment? How?: Yes, by having Sally block the door. I’ve headcanoned some slight differences in how it plays out, which I wrote about in-depth here. To summarize, Sab thinks of blocking the door as a desperate last resort, not a clever loophole, and she pushes back against Rosy’s praise because she wishes she could have done it the “real” way. Rosy goes from being impressed to being annoyed that she’s willfully missing the point.

What was the primary emotion Button felt during the Aeon bombing (love, gratitude, etc?): Guilt. She feels very guilty about how much Nick has given up for her in general, but I think that in the moment, it’s on a smaller scale. The fact that Nick was on the phone with her when it happened, coming to her rescue like always, becomes emblematic of their whole relationship for her, and she really fixates on that.

Who drove them home from the hospital from and why?: Glitch. Sab responds to her initial text with “Are you sure?”, and is relieved when Glitch takes that as “Yes, please.” She doesn’t relish the idea of being around someone more connected to her family or Nick at that point.

How do they feel about Nick riding around in their mind?: Worried, at first. Just because it’s so unknown and absolutely insane. After seeing Doctor Amari, she’s excited! Sab is thrilled to be a Pollard Five and intends to take full advantage of it. I am not looking forward to seeing how she reacts when that’s taken away from her.

Why did Button agree to do the undercover mission?: To prove she still deserves to be an MIV. Sabrina feels stupid and reckless for putting herself, Nick, and Aeon in this position, but she knows she’s smart, and she hasn’t worked this hard for nothing. She wants to prove what she could do with a normal Pollard Score and make herself too valuable to give up even when she’s back to Zero.

Told Glitch about your mind blindness?: Depends on the playthrough. I’m constantly going back and forth on whether Sab meets Glitch for coffee or wanders the city with Nick in her second chapter 5 slot (after trying to track down Kent). If she does meet Glitch, though, she absolutely tells her; with how touchy Sab is about privacy, she couldn’t stomach not warning Glitch that Nick could hear everything they said.

Figured out K’s secret?: Nope. She finds enough of the clues to be given the “I knew it!” option in-game, but she didn’t actually put it together. Sab is too angry and embarrassed by learning that Kent is an AMO to find any reason to interrogate it. “The random guy I met before school just happens to be a jerk” is a perfectly sound explanation to her.

Found Noh’s clues?: Not at the metro station. Sometimes she sees the Vengeance brooms in chapter 5 (again, depending on the playthrough), but that’s it.

ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP:

Love Interest: Kent

Why them?: Sab feels an immediate kinship with Kent after learning about the NPO program. It’s kind of funny how quickly he moves from the least sympathetic position in her eyes (Ment who got past me and read my mind without my knowledge) to the most sympathetic (non-powered child of a prominent family aiming a league above where he “belongs”). A lot of new respect for his competence. Her fate is sealed when she realizes that his kindness at the hospital wasn’t him trying to make up for some wrongdoing, but just him being very sweet. (She had scoffed over “You needed help.” But now she’s like, “Oh. He meant that?! Fuck.”)

As they spend more time together, Sab realizes how weirdly similar they are in other ways, too. And she starts to feel safe/secure around him in a way that she’s extremely not used to. Growing up surrounded by Ments, Sab has a lot of issues about being too much, too difficult, needing to “be worthy” of love. So someone like Kent who is not a Ment, who has no “obligation” to care about her, and whose judgement she trusts implicitly? Being around him and being loved by him mean a lot, and I think will go a long way towards helping her reflect on her other relationships!

What are their first impressions of each other?: Okay, there are like 3 first impressions with Kent. First: he’s tall and handsome and secretly adorable, and they have similar career goals, so she’s drafting a five-month plan to woo him and get his number. Second: he’s a lying, self-obsessed loser who owes her many explanations. Third: oh no, the first impression was true! And he’s been continually, selflessly kind to her in spite of her overt hostility. Scratch the five-month plan, because the crush was only fun when it was entirely superficial; now she really, really likes him and that just sucks.

We know that Button makes a good impression on K by stopping for their dogs, but apart from that... I mean, the “we confused each other” from chapter 7 is very apt. Sab has lots of shifting personas, and Kent sees pretty much every one within 24 hours. The prevailing impression before everything gets cleared up is probably just that she cares a lot? About everything? Her stopping for the dogs, how seriously she takes the first assignment, the way she seems so deeply affected by something he said or did that morning. It’s a rare side of her to meet first because she usually pretends to be above everything.

What feature does your Button find most attractive in their RO (ex. appearance, personality, etc.)?: Probably his composure. And his... steadfastness? The way he seems unruffled by anything, his soothing presence. She really admires that about him and finds the calm contagious.

What do they do to spend time together?: Going on drives together! Kent driving while Sab plays songs she thinks he’ll like, talking or not talking. Cuddling on the couch while reading their own separate books. Museum dates. Walking the dogs together.

Do they argue? How do they handle arguments and disagreements? How do they make up?: I imagine that the first month or so of their relationship would be difficult, just because they’re both bad at expressing themselves and not used to relying on other people. Kent kind of negates a lot of Sab’s impulses to get defensive or hostile, so instead of arguments, I think there are more likely to be awkward periods where she’s just stewing in something without addressing it. Most of their fights would be, like, one of them becoming really distant for a concerning number of days until the other tries to awkwardly check in on them.

What does their future look like?: Uhh some random lore: I think eventually they do get married, despite neither of them caring that much about it. Sabrina would be excited to have something to plan, and she knows it would make the people around her happy. They have a long engagement; there’s never really an “official” proposal, just an acknowledgement that yeah, they’ll get married one day, and then eventually they get rings. The engagement is almost Sab’s favorite part, honestly. She likes planning and showing off her ring and calling Kent her fiancé, a lot of fanfare on her part for a wedding that ends up being very modest and chill.

OTHER RELATIONSHIPS (Feel free to go in depth!)

Relationship with Nick: When I first started developing Sab, I thought that with as difficult/prickly as she can be, her relationship with Nick would be worse than it is. Never bad, but certainly strained, with more jealousy/resentment on her side. However, she rejected this. She is resentful, but never towards Nick—she internalizes the negative parts of their relationship so they manifest as guilt instead. And that’s the problem, not resentment. Sab thinks he’s overprotective, but that doesn’t make her angry; it just makes her sad. She wishes things were different and he didn’t feel so responsible for her, but she also doesn’t know how she could manage without him taking on so many of her burdens. So, guilt! So much love, but always looming guilt.

Having Nick in her head has helped. It’s added a new kind of guilt (“I’m a horrible person for being so giddy that people can’t hear my thoughts even though that requires my brother to be in a coma”), but getting inside Nick’s head for once and really feeling his love for her changes things. Makes her feel way more secure, I guess? It’s easier to see her brother as human person, a friend who loves her, rather than a perfect selfless paragon who sacrificed everything to raise her, which is an important shift.

There are also Things happening with self-presentation in the fact that they’re both models, and flirts, and pretend to be shallow. And the ways that they’ve responded to vastly different expectations. And selflessness versus selfishness. But I have no idea how to talk about that yet.

Relationship with Father: Strained and distant. Sabrina doesn’t necessarily blame him for leaving, but she hates how he’s handled it. She’s incredibly frustrated that John insists on keeping them in this miserable limbo of uncomfortable visits, even though moving away was (to her) a tacit acknowledgement that she and her parents are better off without each other. He’s trying to force a relationship that Sab thinks is ultimately harmful for everyone involved. For Nick’s sake, she’s willing to grin and bear the visits, but it never works because John can obviously tell it’s an act. He pushes her, she gets defensive, and so on to infinity.

Relationship with Mother: Like with John, Sab doesn’t resent Hope for the incident itself, or for leaving afterward. It was terrifying, and the idea of being around Hope makes her panic—but she thinks of that as just another irrational anxiety symptom, and she’s trying to work through it. What she does resent Hope for is letting it get to that point at all. Sab is incredibly bitter that Hope will suffer silently to the point of almost killing her (during the incident) and potentially herself (with the BRS), while Sab has no choice but to be completely open. Especially because they’re so similar in that way—she’s almost jealous. “Oh, so your silence is allowed to almost kill me and it’s ‘nobody’s fault’ but I can’t pretend to enjoy a single lunch with Dad without him calling me out for lying?”

And even though she doesn’t hold the incident itself against her, Sab is very hung up on “Why are you never quiet? Why are you always there?” She knows, on some level, that this was not a Personal Judgement against her. But because Hope keeps so much quiet, this is the only honest expression of her mother’s feelings that she can remember! It would take a lot for Sab to believe that Hope was really, genuinely interested in reconnecting with her, rather than just pretending to love her "enough” this time because to do otherwise would reflect poorly on Hope as a mother.

Relationship with Sally: Besties <3 Sally is the only member of the Wiseman inner circle that Sab doesn’t have complicated feelings about. They both have hidden morbid streaks that they bring out in each other, and can laugh about. They both have competitive streaks that work well together because they’re always on the same team. And their wants/needs from the relationship complement each other well, I think. Sally has always felt valued because she’s useful and not because she’s loved, while Sab has always felt smothered by love/care without feeling like she genuinely adds value to other people’s lives. So it means a lot to both of them that they’re able to help each other practically, while also genuinely loving and supporting each other outside of that.

Relationship with Gray: Full of trust and genuine care, but predicated on distance. Sab loves him a lot for being so careful not to cross any boundaries, physical or emotional, with her. She’s grateful that he’s there for Nick in a way that she doesn’t feel she can be. But "I like Gray because he doesn’t push me and is good to Nick” means that any hand he extend makes her defensive, because she’ll either view him as an emissary of Nick or start to panic because their normal routine is being disrupted (she doesn’t tell him about Hope in ch 3, for example).

They get along very well in a friend-of-a-friend sort of way, and bond over being cautious counterparts to Nick. Also, Sab never had a crush on Gray, but she is not immune to tall superhero and thinks it’s fun to fake flirt with him. (You know Isabela’s “You have pretty eyes” routine from DA2? Sab does that to Gray when conversations steer towards things she’d rather not talk about.)

Relationship with Glitch: I’m really excited about these two! They click from the start, and Sabrina feels immediately comfortable around Glitch, which makes her feel distinctly uncomfortable whenever she catches herself. Externally, they have pretty different personalities, but they’re both perceptive and... socially manipulative? aware of their self-presentation?... in ways that they both pick up on right away. So it’s a lot of conversational maneuvering and trying to figure out what the other’s game is, while also genuinely enjoying each other’s company.

Relationship with Kent/Kenna: I could go truly insane here. See the romance section above instead.

Relationship with Kim: Sab wants him to like her sooooo bad. He’s one of the only people to ever really get through to her, re: my headcanon conversation after the first assignment. Authority figures tend to treat her as special, whether that’s negatively because of her mind blindness or positively because she’s such an overachiever. She had no idea how to respond to that not being the case (and didn’t handle it well at first), but chapter 6 solidifies her respect for him.

It also turns Rosy’s opinion of Sab around; he was impressed by her in class but left his office thinking she was self-absorbed and naive. But the bombing is a reality check, and her response is very measured and practical in a way that surprises him.

Relationship with Lev: She doesn’t mind the comparisons to Nick or the “maybe one day they’ll fix you” comments as much as you might think. They aren’t her favorite, but she prefers that sort of thing to the inspirational platitudes belied by coddling that she got from her family growing up. Sab has fond memories of Lev and is grateful that he’s always been kind to her, but doesn’t have any particular feelings apart from that.

Relationship with Clarence: Holds a grudge against him for causing a scene, making her late, and generally being a jerk. But she can’t fault him for being right, after what happened! Mostly she just wants to avoid him, but she’ll be thrilled to lord her success over him if/when she proves herself.

Relationship with Dean Branham: Like Rosy, another authority figure that Sab desperately wants to impress. But without the personal investment she has in Rosy’s validation, more “Oh, this person is in charge, so I should make her like me!” Despite Nick’s and Rosy’s reservations, Sabrina doesn’t really have a problem with being “strongarmed” or manipulated into cooperating; for now, she figures Branham was just doing her job and respects her tactics.

Relationship/attitude towards Ments in general: Mostly just uncomfortable and wary around them. Sab doesn’t want her mind read, and she figures that no Ment wants to be forced to read it either. So she has a pretty strict “no Ments” rule for close personal relationships (excluding Nick, Sally, and Gray, of course. But only Nick really counts because he’s the only one who can hear her thoughts whenever she’s nearby). Not out of hatred or resentment, just because she knows it will be easier for everyone in the long run.

Do they have any other important relationships, past or present? (Relatives, friends, etc.?): Not many, but yes! Sab dated around a lot in the 2 years before Aeon (more like year and a half, because she completely shut it down once she was more focused on preparing for the MIV program), but there are 2 relationships that were formative/important for her. A high school sweetheart, and someone Sab met through modeling. She doesn’t keep up with her high school ex, but the model is her best friend outside of Sally and Nick, and they still keep in touch! I’m still developing them/the relationships, and I’ll probably post more about them someday. They’re fun!

PERSONAL BIO

Describe their personality: Confusing and contradictory. She has two main modes that confuse people who meet both (e.g., Kent). She’s either cold, stuck-up, and sometimes hostile, OR she’s charming, frivolous, and sometimes flirty. Mode 1 is tense but stoic and inexpressive; mode 2 is seemingly relaxed but very posed and insincere. Mode 1 is for when she feels uncertain or has no agenda apart from “get to point B”; mode 2 is for when she’s more comfortable or trying to manipulate someone. Her actual personality is a bit closer to the second, but she doesn’t pretend not take things seriously or hide when she’s annoyed.

Strengths: Analytical, methodical, detail-oriented. Very driven and hardworking. May not always act like it, but does have social skills/charisma; a great liar, if you can’t read her mind. Unfailingly loyal and loving to her favorite people, so so so warm and affectionate and supportive if she really loves you. Very perceptive.

Weaknesses: Way too proud. Can be petty and vindictive. Self-absorbed (she doesn’t mean anything by it, but it’s hard for her to see past herself sometimes). Stubborn, hates being wrong. And... emotional isn’t the word, but strong negative emotions can really cloud her judgement. It ties into her being proud, petty, and stubborn; if she’s really upset about something, she can cling to that emotion instead of re-evaluating it or moving forward.

Phobias: From this ask about the phobias that are planned to show up in-game, there are a few that I could see fitting Sab, but I want to wait to see how they’re implemented before I fully commit. Which is very metagame-y, I know (and I am very metagame-y about IF), but “fear of X” is so broad that it really does depend on when/how it manifests in the text.

That being said, agoraphobia is almost a lock; crowds do make Sab very anxious if she can’t keep track of everyone within a certain distance, and if she can’t leave when she starts feeling antsy. Claustrophobia is a maybe. The choice that triggers it (in chapter 4, about hating MRI machines) suits Sab, but I’m not sure if she hates MRI machines because she hates tight spaces, or if it’s more related to her general anxiety about hospitals, medical tests, etc. Which she definitely has!

What activities/club did they do in school?: She avoided anything group-oriented as far as possible. She took piano (maybe violin?) lessons and did recitals, but wasn’t in orchestra. The one exception was maybe National Honor Society or some equivalent, which she would have joined for her resume’s sake. And I think she would have tutored!

Where do they escape to when they need space?: A little used library corner, where she can people watch without being seen/heard.

How do they feel about/cope with their mind blindness?: Sab hates it but tries not to dwell on it. She knows that it’s no one’s fault, and she mainly just tries to... minimize it? Drown out her thoughts, limit her contact with Ments. And, least healthily, very rigidly managing herself. Because there’s so much of her that exists outside of herself, without her control, she tries to either filter or completely suppress everything else. Part of why she got into modeling, she can perform and be perfect and have total control over the final product of her body in the photographs for whatever campaign. Some Day This Will Be Better. But definitely not where she is in current canon.

How has your Button changed since the Incident with Hope?: Developed many new anxieties and disorders and syndromes :) She also became way more self-conscious, as in literally conscious of and way more tightly monitoring herself, what she’s thinking, what she’s expressing, how she’s sitting, etc. Less emotive face, more rigid posture.

If they weren’t an Aeon student, what would they be doing?: Sab would have beaten herself up forever if she “proved everyone right” by avoiding Unity/Ments entirely, so she’d want to stay in the family business somehow. She probably would have ended up doing scientific research on mental agility. Maybe even working for Mirrortech or some other biotech company, which I imagine would have been an interesting conversation to have with the family.

RANDOM FACTS:

Zodiac sign: Like I said, I assigned her Libra months ago for the sake of a template. But I don’t know enough about astrology to commit. Libra or Leo, probably.

Hobbies: Music, reading poetry, “cooking” (i.e., sitting on the counter and not helping while Nick makes dinner)

Likes: Watching other people (Nick) play video games, dressing up, taking long showers/baths, dark chocolate with caramel, back hugs

Dislikes: Being patronized, hot weather, going to the doctor, driving, doing anything she is not good at

Type of bedsheets: Bamboo.

Drink of choice: Cucumber mint lemonade! For hot drinks, some kind of caramel coffee. For alcohol, she refuses to get drunk because she’s terrified of having even less control of her mental broadcast, but at home/around people she trusts she’ll have a glass or two of wine. Doesn’t know enough to be picky, but doesn’t like it too sweet.

Favorite food: Probably some pasta dish Nick makes with asparagus and tomatoes and a lot of garlic.

Favorite color: Like a light turquoise!

Favorite music: Music to her was another mind-shielding tactic before anything else, so she tends to like upbeat-ish electronic/pop stuff. Catchy and repetitive, and/or with lots of personality to drown out her own thoughts. On the other end of the spectrum, she does have a soft spot for crackly, lo-fi, old or old-sounding slow songs—something about fuzzy recordings simulating a weak telepathic signal.

Favorite season: Hmm, spring and autumn are both good. She likes either side of winter.

Anything else you’d like to share: My heart and a long, fulfilling marriage, with anyone who reads all this 💍

#wow this is so long. insanity luv lit ral insanity #this was super helpful for articulating certain things about sab's character so it's already done its job #pls do not feel pressured to read Thousands of words about sabrina my beloved. but if you read all or even some of this <333 a kiss for you #why am i embarrassed to overshare about my own ocs on my own blog. i live here #oc: sabrina wiseman #also this was very much a stream of consciousness deal but i tried to go back and make it comprehensible. good luck all ye who enter here

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winter-turtle · 3 years

Text

House Of Wolves - Chapter 4 - Winterturtle - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

Chapter 4: Letting Go Of What I Once Believed

There were only a few constants in Peter’s life – dingy rooms where he slept, the shoves that he’d learned were tad too strong to be considered playful, the compliments that weren’t really compliments…

Oddly enough, he’d come to accept the bracelets as another constant in his life. The bracelets that weren’t there anymore. He couldn’t claim that they provided comforting weight since they barely weighted anything, but he felt strangely naked without them.

The next morning, Peter counted exactly two plates on the table when he entered the kitchen. Right. No breakfast waiting for him anymore.

With his professional cooking skills, he made himself a bowl of bland cereal before seating himself at the table. Aside from the crunching of the cereals and the occasional words his parents exchanged when they showed each other something on their tablets, the room was quiet.

They paid their son no mind.

“So… you came for me,” Peter began awkwardly, not really knowing where to begin. He wasn’t in a talking mood after he woke up. Thankfully, he’d been ignored for the rest of the ride and then he used the aftereffects of the sedatives as a reason to retreat into his new room.

The weight of what he’d done kept crashing into him full force.

“Of course we came for you,” Mary said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Do you really think we would’ve left you there to rot? You are out little Spider!”

“Well, you left me there and then didn’t show up for five weeks,” Peter replied in a tone that he hoped sounded nonchalant and kept his face carefully blank, not wanting to appear that he was talking back.

Richard shrugged. “That was all part of the plan.”

“Plan?” Peter repeated.

“Oh, Peter,” Mary laughed “for such a smart boy, you sure can be stupid. Come on, I thought we raised you better than that.”

Peter pressed his lips in thin line, willing himself not to react to the jab. That could end badly for him very quickly.

“We’re not suicidal,” Richard continued, “we know that fighting the whole team of those heroes wouldn’t end well for us. That’s where you came in play.”

“You saved yourselves by leaving me there?”

“Don’t interrupt,” Mary scolded. “We have a client that offered a very nice sum for the plans of the compound. And what’s the best way to get those than to get them from the inside?”

So this was all just a stupid plan to get the blueprints and some inside info? For some reason, the thought of being used without his knowledge as some disposable pawn made the something nasty stir in Peter’s chest. “And you haven’t thought of, I don’t know, letting me in on the plan so I would’ve known what I was getting into and what was expecting of me?”

Dangerous waters. He was entering dangerous waters by talking like this, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Your behavior had to be authentic,” Richard said.

“I could’ve pretended.” Danger. Stupid. Shut up. “And besides, how could you possibly know that they would let me roam the building? They could’ve left me locked in a cell or had me shipped off to Shield.”

“Watch your tone,” Mary shot Peter a warning look, which made Peter grind his teeth in response. “Firstly, you’re not as good actor as you think. Your skills might work on random passerby or security guards, but not on a group that has several spies. And secondly, we knew because, well, look at yourself,” she gestured to Peter’s face. “You don’t exactly look dangerous with that baby face. That’s one of the reasons you wear that mask. All innocent and redeemable.” She gagged. “If you won’t grow out of it soon, we’ll have to do something about it. Maybe a nice scar or something. Maybe on the cheek or over the eye…”

Peter didn’t like that idea at all. If his mother wanted a scar that would stay visible, it would have to be deep and held open until it healed. The thought of the pain made his eye twitch.

“A scar like that will remove our advantage. He’ll look suspicious.”

“We could use make-up.”

“Will you dedicate the time to it? Because I seriously doubt that he’ll be able to cover it properly.”

Mary dragged her hand down her face, letting out weary sigh. “I guess you’re right.”

“They have feelings. They care,” Richard smiled as if they just weren’t discussing the pros and cons of mutilating Peter’s face, “and that’s their weakness. I bet that after they failed to get information on us from you, they thought they could “reeducate” you or change you or some other sappy shit and make you turn on us.”

Peter’s silence was the answer on its own.

“Wait, they really told you all that crap?”

“They did,” Peter admitted. “I knew they wanted something from me when they changed their behavior.” Peter put on displeased scowl. “Do you really think that if I’d believed them, I would be here right now? I played along to get nice things, that was all.”

Liar.

Richard nodded. “Good. And see how nicely it worked out? After we saw you on that roof, we gave it a few more days before coming to pick you up.”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat. Nobody was supposed to know about what happened on the roof except him and Mr. Stark. “You were watching the whole time?”

“We did,” Mary said. “I have to say, it was amusing to watch the Merchant of Death himself give you his hoodie. You had him eating from your hand!” she giggled. “He’s gone soft for some random kid. That’s hilarious.”

“So, where all have you been?” Richard asked.

“The cells, obviously, I almost made it to the exit while I tried to run away, then the living quarters I believe, the communal area, the gym, the roof and Mr. Star- I-I mean Stark’s workshop.”

“Mr. Stark now, huh?”

Shit. Peter didn’t like the glint in his father’s eyes. He shrugged, not letting the desperation to cover up the slip-up show. “Force of habit. Being polite gave me nice things too.”

“Well, you better unlearn that,” he spat back. “It looks like their manipulation tactics was at least somewhat successful if you got used to it.”

“What? That’s not- I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Well, to me it seems like you fell for their sweet words!”

“I didn’t!”

“I bet you believed them when they said that you can be better!”

Yes.

“I didn’t! I swear!”

Liar, liar.

“You are one ungrateful brat, you know?”

“What could they give you anyway?” Mary joined in. “You would be nothing without us. We made you strong.”

I didn’t ask for it.

“Where you would be without us? What you would be without us? Huh? Tell me. You might remember that much.”

Normal.

Peter remembered. It was hard to forget when it was drilled into your head since you could remember. “Nothing,” he said softly. “I would be nothing without you.”

“All that training we put you through—”

“Kid, that’s called abuse.”

“—it was all to make something out of you!”

Peter was tired. He didn’t wan to listen to any of this anymore. He needed some alone time.

There was only one way how to get it.

“You’re right,” he said, his head bowed, “but I wouldn’t be here if I believed them,” he repeated. “I’ll do better. I promise.”

All was quiet for a moment.

Richard sighed harshly and sliding a laptop towards him. “Go make yourself useful and make those plans. You better not become more trouble than you’re worth,” he grumbled, then gave Peter’s chair a kick. “Get out of my sight. And don’t expect any food until those plans are complete, nice and detailed.”

Peter wordlessly stood up and with the laptop under his arm, he headed out of the kitchen.

“Oh, and Peter?” Mary called out after him, making Peter stop in his tracks. “One more question – back on that roof… you had a perfect chance to kill Stark. That would be nice for your first time. Imagine that, killing Iron Man,” she said with a dreamy smile, “way to make a name for yourself. Killing one of the Avengers would get us so much recognition and power, more that we already have. So,” Mary looked at him intently, her happy demeanor gone “why didn’t you go for it?”

Now this was the time where Peter was incredibly glad that nobody could see his every thought on a display like in that book he’d read. “He didn’t have his suit on,” he said, his voice even. “He is just a regular man without it. It would be too easy. I want a challenge.”

Liar, liar, liar.

Mary contemplated the answer before humming, seemingly satisfied with what she heard. “Nobody would have to know that he didn’t have his suit on, but okay. I see your reasoning.”

Peter let out soundless exhale.

“You’ll get your chance soon.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Now scatter,” she waved him off as if he was some annoying bug.

Peter clutched the laptop a little harder. Grateful to be released, he headed to the roof.

Tony had no idea how many times he’s watched the footage. He was pretty sure he’s learned everything there was to know first five times he played it, but what else he could do?

Absolute hopelessness – that’s what he felt. Some part of his mind still refused to believe what had happened.

Where had he gone wrong?

“Tones,” Rhodey softly said.

Tony didn’t turn around. His eyes remained glued to the screen. “Look,” he said as he paused the footage Friday had so diligently searched for since that night on the roof. Tony zoomed on the figure in the middle of the road. “He’s way younger here, but there’s no denying it. It’s him.”

Even if the hood was hiding most of the kid’s head, there was just a split-second frame where a part of the face could be seen.

Rhodey walked closer, leaning over Tony’s shoulder. “There is… a resemblance.”

“That’s not all,” Tony said and let the rest of the footage play out. He did his best to push back the memories that got brough up by the sight of the alien army. “See?” he asked. “The kid could’ve left that couple behind, but he went out of his way to save them.”

“Tony—”

“He said he didn’t save anyone and yet this proves otherwise. He could’ve stayed where he was, he could’ve run, he made himself that opening, but he didn’t!”

“Tones—”

“He had to have a reason for running, right? He couldn’t just up and leave because he felt like it, there has to be something—”

“Tones—"

“I just don’t understand what I did wrong! I though I have—”

“Tony!” Rhodey said, forcefully cutting Tony off. Immediately after that, his face took on a look of sobriety and pity. “Fury is here.”

And with just those three words, Tony deflated. He knew what was coming next.

“Hey.”

Peter glanced up at Richard, then returned his attention back to the screen in front of him. “Hey.”

Richard casually leaned on the wall near Peter, far enough so he couldn’t see the screen. “What a view, huh? I bet you missed it back in that jungle.”

Peter watched the horizon and nodded, because as much as he wanted to deny it, he did miss the city.

“How are the plans going?”

“Good.”

Another long stretch of silence.

“About earlier… I’m sorry if you took it the wrong way. We were just worried. You know we care about you, right?”

Were you? Do you?

“Yeah.”

“Full sentences.”

“I know you were worried,” Peter sighed. Time to use the magic words. “I’m sorry.”

“Great,” Richard said and went to the door. He turned around before he passed the doorway. “Peter?”

Peter wordlessly looked up, locking his gaze with Richard’s.

“You did alright out there. Here,” he said and threw small bar at him. Peter caught it with no real effort. “For you,” Richard finished.

“Thanks.”

When Peter couldn’t hear his father’s footsteps any longer, he opened his hand. A tiny chocolate bar sat innocently on his palm. For a long moment, Peter didn’t do anything. He just stared.

To be fair, he didn’t expect his parents to come to him only an hour later. Usually they took way longer. Every time he got yelled at, one of his parents would show up, say some sweet words, Peter would apologize and the circle was complete.

The routine was back.

But this time, he knew better. He’d learned.

Or did he?

Were they really that bad? They took care of him his whole life. It was thanks to them that he had his powers. But he didn’t want them in the first place. He got hurt more times than he could count with them. The Avengers didn’t hurt him. Well, at least not intentionally.

“Kid, that’s called abuse.”

Was it abuse?

No.

Yes.

They said it was for his own good.

Was it?

Yes.

No.

Maybe?

They said sorry for yelling.

They always said sorry and then did it again.

Peter set the chocolate aside and reached into his sock for the small disc he’d snatched from the workshop. He began to absentmindedly flip it, repeating the action of tossing, watching it spin in the air and catching it.

He glanced at the screen, seeing that the only thing he’d done was a very detailed plan of the roof… pretty much useless unless someone wanted to be a dick and steal every third pole from the railing.

The screen went dark. Peter returned to the tossing and when he looked at the horizon next time, the sun was setting.

Peter let the disc rest on his palm. Why did he take it in the first place? He could’ve snatched anything else – a gun, a bomb, plan to some secret weapon… so why the tracker?

“I don’t know,” he whispered under his breath as he looked at the tracker between his thumb and index finger. “I don’t know.”

Peter slowly increased the pressure. The tracker began to blink.

“Oops,” he said despite the fact that the action was fully intentional.

He didn’t know.

He went back to the flipping.

“All I’m saying is that all of this could have been avoided if you had let us handle the situation from the beginning,” Fury said as he paced the common room where all of the Avengers were gathered, sitting on a sofa with heads down, taking the scolding like a bunch of little kids.

Frankly, Tony was getting tired of it. “Fury—”

“Don’t Fury me,” the director snapped. “You tried to domesticate a villain—”

“He was just a kid that didn’t know any better—”

“—and look how it ended up. You loosened his leash, left him roam the compound and left him in your lab unsupervised where, mind I remind you, is technology that can do much wrong if it fell into wrong hands. Who knows how many information he’d gathered? Or what he stole? Seriously, you didn’t think of checking if something went missing?”

“Friday is looking through the inventory. If something physical is missing, she will notice.”

“Oh, because that will do so much good with him gone,” Fury’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “And need I remind you that he apparently confessed to murder from what I heard?”

“I don’t think he really killed someone,” Sam intervened.

Fury opened his mouth, but before he could let out a single sound, Natasha spoke up. “He didn’t.”

Those two words were said with so much confidence, Tony took them as a fact.

Fury’s head cocked to the side. “Oh? And how would you know that?”

“While we were in the gym, I gave him plenty opportunities to strike. I exposed my back to him since he warned us about that, placed myself in vulnerable position… yet he didn’t attack. Just empty words. Then I made a show of my arms buckling and he caught the bar so it wouldn’t crush my throat. You didn’t see the look in his eyes. He was scared. Plus,” she said, looking off into distance, “he doesn’t have the eyes of a killer.”

All was quiet as the team digested the information. Not even Tony knew the whole story.

“That was pretty reckless,” Clint said, breaking the silence.

Natasha snorted. “Please, do you think that I would place myself into a dangerous situation if I wasn’t sure I could handle it?”

“But he still ran away at the first sight of his parents,” Bucky said lowly, his head bowed. “It was going so well, but if I know something, it’s that two weeks isn’t enough time to get rid of lifetime of conditioning if exposed to...”

“To the abuser,” Steve finished.

Fury sat down, letting out long, tired sigh. “And now all three of them are God knows where.”

“Boss,” Friday spoke up, “I have completed the check.”

“Well?”

“One item missing.”

Tony tensed. “What is it?”

“An emergency tracker, prototype three.”

Tony’s eyebrows knitted together. Prototype three was the kind of tracker that could be activated without an outside power source. On the other hand, it was untraceable unless the person possessing it activated it.

Why would the kid steal that particular thing?

“What would he do with a tracker?” Steve voiced Tony’s inner thought.

“Maybe he didn’t know what it was?” Sam tried.

Tony thought back to their lab sessions. Had he told the kid about the tracker? He didn’t remember. But if he did, then why-

“Tracker activated,” Friday said, making Tony’s heart race.

Tony brought up a holo-screen where a red dot was steadily blinking in abandoned block in Queens. A grin slowly spread across his face, his soul leaping with hope. “I believe it’s time to suit up.”

Peter kept flipping the small disc until the sky turned black. Not a star was in sight.

A shiver run down his spine, but Peter sure as hell wouldn’t go inside to get a jacket or a hoodie. His parents would ask about his progress on the blueprints and he really didn’t need that right now.

His parents…

The hours alone allowed Peter to do something he’d never thought of before in the presence of the two adults. He allowed himself to feel. Memory by memory, Peter carefully catalogued every single emotion that came with it. Bitterness, fear, frustration, worthlessness, anger… those prevailed. The lack of positive feelings only fueled the flames of anger.

Thankfully, he could always fall on the calming repetitive action of flipping the disc before he could get overwhelmed.

The hairs on his arms stood up, but not because of the cold. Peter stood up as well. There was no one coming from the inside, so that meant-

They were here.

That was good, right?

With tiny smile on his face, Peter returned to his previous spot. All he could do was to sit and wait for the shitshow to unfold.

Boom.

Or not.

Against his better judgement, Peter abandoned everything on the roof and followed the source of the small explosion to the lower levels. More crashes and pops that suspiciously sounded like guns going off could be heart, but Peter was persistent and pushed forward.

Peter’s spidey sense flared up, warning him about the bullet approaching his head. He jumped behind the wall in the last second.

“Wait, stop, that was Peter!”

Mr. Barnes. And by the sound of it, there were also-

“Peter, are you—”

Whatever he was about to say next was cut off by an explosion that shook the whole floor. Cracks began to appear under Peter at the same time as he heard the floor under the Avengers fall. Peter didn’t have enough time to get to his feet and run to where the floor was stable. A chunk of concrete under his feet disappeared, and if it wasn’t for Peter’s stickiness, he would’ve fallen.

The concrete kept crumbling, not allowing him to get proper grip to crawl up, to get to safety. He caught a glimpse of what was underneath him and doubled his endeavors. This floor wasn’t the only one that was falling apart. At least four other floors were completely gone as well.

He finally got to stable part of the floor and pulled himself up. Doubled over his knees, he took in his arms that were both covered in deep gashes and superficial scratches.

“Don’t just stand there. Come on!”

Peter didn’t need more prompting. He stood up straight and ran after his mother. “What was that?”

“The defense system,” she said. “What, did you think we left the buildings where we stayed in unprotected?”

“This was everywhere?!”

“God, can you stop asking stupid questions already?” Mary snapped. “Yes!”

No, Peter couldn’t stop asking stupid questions because he didn’t believe this was stupid question! Every single place they were staying at was riddled with bombs and they hadn’t bothered to tell him? What if he’d accidentally set one of them off? He could’ve been blown to bits!

Peter kept glancing over his shoulder, half-expecting to see someone to run after them, but saw no one.

An electric discharge went off somewhere ahead, followed by a loud clang of a suit. No, Peter thought as he rounded the corner. If his lungs haven’t required the extra oxygen, he would’ve let out a sigh of sick relief. That wasn’t Iron Man’s suit lying on the floor, but War Machine’s.

Richard was at their side in an instant, giving Mary a quick peck on the lips. “Don’t dawdle!” he barked at Peter as he turned around and ran.

“Won’t you finish him off?” Mary asked.

“No time. We have to hurry; the whole damn place is surrounded by Shield. Stark’s suit is disabled, Barton is trapped in one room, but Wilson is still circling somewhere outside.”

“Three of them fell through the floor.”

“And what happened to him?”

“He almost fell through the floor too.”

“Idiot.”

They entered a vast room where the weird helicopter thingy was. Peter, silently putting the lid on his bubbling anger, almost didn’t notice when his parents stopped dead in their tracks.

“Looks like this is the end.” Mr. Stark, albeit a bit roughed up and bloody and with a single gauntlet, standing in front of their escape vehicle. “You might want to stop running. I disabled the thing and now we just have to wait for other to get here.” His eyes met Peter’s. “Hey, kid.”

“Hey,” Peter replied quietly.

“Well, looks like your chance came earlier than we thought,” Richard said and gave Peter a slight shove forward. Almost like he was hiding behind him. “One gauntlet will have to make do for you. There is no such thing as honorable fight when it comes to the likes of him. So, go, Spider. Kill him.”

After a brief hesitation, Peter began to advance. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t go against direct orders when his parents were present. But he already went against those. He took a step forward, then another. Mr. Stark wasn’t moving. Instead, he kept looking at him with so much sincerity and softness, it sent Peter’s emotions into overdrive.

Peter stopped within leaping distance. “Please, fight back,” he whispered.

“No,” Mr. Stark replied.

“Please.” He felt his face crumbling.

Mr. Stark’s eyes softened even more. “I won’t fight you, Pete. You deserve better. You are better.”

Was he better? Could Mr. Stark claim that after knowing him so short?

“I don’t know,” he said almost inaudibly.

“This is taking too long,” Richard grumbled. Peter heard a safety going off and he didn’t have to turn around to see the gun aimed right at Mr. Stark’s chest.

Before Peter knew what he was doing, he was moving.

Bang!

The shot echoed in the room and the next thing Peter knew, he was lying on top of Mr. Stark. He heard something rolling on the ground. The tracker. Not feeling any pain, Peter pushed himself up but still stayed in front of Mr. Stark, his eyes searching for the blinking tracker that came to a stop at his mother’s feet.

Deafening silence followed.

Explaining why he saved Mr. Stark was one thing, but he had no idea how he’ll explain this one.

“You,” Mary said lowly before realization her face contorted with fury. “You called them here.”

Another shot went off before Peter had a chance to open his mouth. He cried out as the bullet hit his arm, sending droplets of blood flying.

“Peter!” Mr. Stark was on his knees, the charging gauntlet raised. Richard threw another short-circuiting device to them and the gauntlet shut down. Peter heard Mr. Stark mutter a curse under his breath as Mary advanced.

“You betray us like this? after everything we’ve done for you?”

This was it, wasn’t it? He was hurt and Mr. Stark was out of his suit. They had weapons. But-

Peter was a weapon as well.

And his parents were only humans… unlike him. Peter wanted to laugh. All this time spent in fear of them, only to realize that all this time, he could’ve easily fought back.

“This is your last fuck-up.”

Peter leaped into action. The shock on his mother’s face as he kicked the gun out of her hand was so satisfying, it almost made the pain in his arm disappear. Peter didn’t waste a second. He spun around and kicked Mary right in the chest, sending her flying into the wall. She slumped down, unconscious.

His spidey sense tingled, warning Peter about another oncoming shots. He closed his eyes and let his sense guide him towards his father who was trying and failing to land a single bullet on him.

When he heard the click of empty magazine, he lunged forward. Richard’s arm went back. Peter knew him well enough to know that he was getting ready to punch him. Well, too bad for him. Peter roughly gripped Richard’s wrist with his injured arm, his other hand closing around his throat and pinning him to the wall.

“No more,” he hissed as years of something that was buried deep inside of him came to the surface. He squeezed harder. “No more.”

Richard weakly gripped the hand around her throat, fruitlessly trying to pry it off. Peter’s eyes narrowed. Seriously? He felt respect… no… no respect. Fear. He felt fear for him? It would be so easy to snap his neck right now. Based on the fear in his father’s eyes, he realized it too. Good, Peter thought.

A hand landed lightly on his shoulder. “Peter.”

Peter didn’t turn around.

“Kid, don’t do this.”

He deserved it.

“Pete,” Mr. Stark said softly, “I know you’re not a killer. I know you’re angry for what they did, but if you do this… there will be no coming back for you.”

Peter squeezed his eyes shut, then released his father and took a step back. His hands were shaking.

“Good, good. You did the right thing.”

Peter couldn’t tear his eyes from Richards’s coughing form. There were footsteps approaching. Too many. Too loud. The arms returned – one on his shoulder, one on his back.

“Let’s get you out of here.”

Peter gladly let himself be steered away.

The place was a mess. The Shield agents were running around coordinating the search, marking the damaged parts and tending to the wounded.

Tony himself had his hands full with a certain spider kid. “You’re okay. You’re okay,” he reassured.

“But are you okay?” Peter asked.

Tony chuckled. “Come on, give me some credit. I can handle myself outside of the suit too.” For good measure, he gave the kid a slight shove.

Peter winced. Ah, that was right. There was still a bullet lodged in his bicep as a courtesy of his mother. “We better take care of that.” Before Tony could get attention of some medic, the kid reached into a nearby first aid kid, pulled out a pair of tweezers, set his jaw, took a deep breath and shoved it into the wound. Small grunts were escaping his throat as he pulled the bullet out.

“What are you doing?!” Tony called out at the same time as the bullet clinked on the ground and new wave of blood rushed down Peter’s arm.

“Had to take the bullet out,” the kid forced out. “More pain if it healed.”

Tony helped to ease him into sitting position before he could fall. He sprayed the wound to numb the area and stop the bleeding. The relief showing on Peter’s face was instant. “You’re so reckless. I swear you’re trying to get me into early grave when you act like this. And nobody would know a thing because it was natural—”

“I’m sorry.”

Tony cut off the lecture, taken aback by the sudden shift in Peter’s mood. Peter gaze was pointed down, not meeting Tony’s eyes. Gently, Tony placed two fingers under Peter’s chin and made tipped his head up. “Hey, I’m just joking. I’m not accusing you of anything. And besides, worse things have tried to put me to grave. They all failed, so I think I can handle one reckless teenager.”

“You’re not mad?

“Nope.”

“I ran away.”

“But you called us.”

“I didn’t have to.”

Tony reached into the kit and pulled out a bandage. “But you did and that’s what matters. Now sit still.” He was aware of the kid’s eyes on him as he worked. When he was done, he gave Peter another onceover. “Nothing else hurts? No other injuries?” Peter made a move to test his arm. “Nope,” Tony said and lowered the injured arm back. “Let that rest. So?”

“No. Nothing else. Just this.”

Sighing in relief, Tony stood up and offered Peter a hand. Peter accepted.

Fury walked over to them, Hill right behind him with a familiar pair of bracelets in her hands.

“What?” was all Tony managed to say. He watched as realization and acceptance flashed across Peter’s face. “Hold on, is this necessary? He helped us catch his parents!”

Peter brushed his uninjured shoulder against him as he approached the two. “I still ran.” He turned his back to Hill and extended his hands behind him, allowing her to place the bracelets on him.

Tony turned to Fury. “He’s not dangerous. He didn’t kill anyone.”

Yet again, Peter didn’t give Fury the chance to respond. “Even if I didn’t kill anyone, I still did a lot of bad things. One good deed won’t erase those, Mr. Stark.” The kid snorted, self-depreciating smile on his face. “God, I either did the best thing in my life or the worst mistake.”

“Kid…”

“It’s okay!” Peter said. The cuffs clicked together, the pull on his arm making him grimace. “I deserve it.”

“You little rat!” came a woman’s screech. Several agents were escorting – or more like dragging – Richard and Mary from the building towards the waiting cars. “You should have died in that experiment!”

“Just you wait!” Richard yelled. “Not even where you’ll end up being locked up won’t protect you from us,” he said once he noticed Peter’s cuffed hands.

“Don’t listen to them,” Tony said softly.

Peter shrugged. “A lot is going on in my head, so I’m kind of numb to everything right now. But… a small advice,” he turned to Fury, “I would keep them separate. It will make planning their escape harder. Plus, if the escape turned out to be impossible, they won’t be able to take the easy way out.”

“Easy way out?” Fury echoed.

“They’ve got something like a kill switch somewhere in their bodies. Theirs are interconnected, so they have to be together to activate it.”

Fury nodded. “Hey!” he shouted at the agents. “Separate them.”

More indistinguishable screaming and cursing and promises of revenge followed. Peter was seemingly unbothered by them.

“Hold on,” Tony said warily, “you said that theirs are interconnected. Does that mean you have one in your body too?” Please don’t say yes. The thought of the kid having a ticking time bomb in his body this whole time, and maybe his whole life, was unsettling. Please don’t say yes…

Peter nodded.

“Where?” Tony choked out.

“In my right ankle. It can be only activated by a set of moves and… well, when you get captured, it’s your hands that get bound. Not many people think about legs.”

“So all this time you could’ve taken the easy way out?” Fury asked. Peter nodded again. “Then why didn’t you?”

Peter contemplated the answer for a moment. “It’s only for situations where death is the only acceptable solution. They said they would come for me. They kept their word and…” he paused, something akin to a resignation setting on his face, “I don’t want to die.”

Maria placed her hand on peter’s shoulder. “We’ll get that out of you as soon as we can.”

Peter nodded for the third time, but this time, Tony caught something like a gratitude in his eyes. No wonder. Tony would have been grateful too if he was in the kid’s situation. He was yet again reminded of how much Peter’s been through in his short life. Just a kid, raised to kill and to kill himself if needed.

Maria began to lead the kid away, but Tony had to do one more thing before that could happen. “Wait.” He wrapped his arm around the kid, giving him gentle squeeze. Just as during their first hug, the kid stiffened under his touch. Tony was about to pull away when he felt something he hasn’t dared to hope for.

Peter melted into the hug.

The kid’s shoulders fell, his forehead resting on Tony’s collarbone. Tony ran one of his hands up and down Peter’s back. “You’ll be okay,” he whispered. “I promise.”

“Okay,” Peter whispered back.

Tony let go and watched as the kid willingly went with Hill to one of the waiting cars.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Fury shook his head in amusement. “You really domesticated him.”

Tony smirked. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

As it turned out, the Shield’s cells weren’t as nice as the Avengers’. They were smaller and the clothes weren’t as soft, but Peter did his best not to complain. He’s lived in worse conditions before.

Two loud knocks made him look up. The slate in the door opened and a tray was shoved inside. “Food.”

Peter jumped off the bed and went to retrieve his lunch. Prison food wasn’t anything extra, but at least he was getting enough.

“Hm?”

There was something on the tray that didn’t belong there. Peter reached for the package and carefully peeled off the brown paper, revealing a book. The Ask and The Answer. A delighted grin spread across his face. He never got to read the other two books in the trilogy since the whole situation went down.

It wasn’t hard to figure out who sent him the package.

“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” he whispered, opened the book and dug into the food.

The interrogations happened every other day. Peter answered every question he could, but he still felt bad that he couldn’t answer all of them. His parents – who were in the facility somewhere too, though he never saw them – kept more things from him than he’d originally thought. The names of their clients, sure, he never knew those, but as it turned out, there were about five other computers and twenty passwords he didn’t know about.

He'd contemplated asking them to let him try to get into those, but in the end decided against it. He could imagine how that would look on him.

And as promised, his kill switch was taken out. Peter let himself truly relax since he didn’t have to worry about the thing randomly malfunctioning anymore.

He wasn’t allowed to see Mr. Stark or any other Avenger. Still, every once in a while, he heard the familiar erratic heartbeat behind the one-way glass in the interrogation room.

The third book arrived the day after he finished the second one, along with the first one to keep the collection complete. With nothing better to do, Peter began to read the whole thing from the beginning.

If Peter counted correctly, today was exactly the month since he got here. More books kept coming, but the room was starting to get to him. He felt like he was going crazy. The interrogations also got more sporadic, so he didn’t get to go out that much.

Oh well. He’ll have to get used to it since this would be his life now.

The door opened.

“Wow, you look like you drank sour milk.”

Peter was on his feet impossibly fast. “Mr. Stark!” He stopped himself before he got too close. He didn’t need to get tackled because he seemed like he was about to attack.

Mr. Stark opened his arms. “The one and only. Now don’t let me wait.”

That was all the invitation Peter needed. He launched himself into the man’s arms, burrowing his face into his chest.

“Missed me?” Mr. Stark asked, amused.

Peter soaked in the warmth. “Eh, just a bit.”

“Lies. Everybody misses me a lot when I’m not around. But fear not, that’s about to change. Let’s go.”

“Where to?” Peter asked, dissatisfied that the disappearance of the hug. He trailed after Mr. Stark, hesitant at first, then jogged to catch up and glued himself to the man’s side.

“To the compound of course!”

Peter’s head tilted to the side. “The compound? But I—”

“Got moved into the brand new rehabilitation program for underage villains. It took quite a lot of paperwork and arrangements to get it done, but nothing we couldn’t handle. Your cooperation and good behavior helped too. Those,” he pointed to Peter’s bracelets, “will have to stay on though. No tampering with them, but we can get you a ladder to your hammock.”

“And my…”

“Lifetime in jail for them.” Mr. Stark ruffled his hair. “You don’t have to worry about them anymore. They won’t be able to touch you from where they’re going.” He wrapped his arm around Peter’s shoulder. “So, what do you say. Ready to go home?”

Home. Peter liked the sound of that. He smiled, all of the tension leaving his body.

“Yeah. Let’s go home.”

#marvel fanfiction #tony stark #peter parker #villain peter parker #irondad #spiderson

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kettle-on · 3 years

Text

This one did not go as well as I hoped, but then I always think that when I'm about to post a chapter.

If I knew how to write it, there could be optional smut at the end of this one, but I have zero confidence (or imagination) when it comes to that, so apologies but no, there's none here.

You'll just hafta make it up yourselves

(Still, this chapter does have one of my favourite little bits so far!)

attn: @jessm78 @coincidence-ithinknots-blog

Previous Chapter

Chapter 6

“There’s something almost kingly about waking up alone,” declared John Cleese as he and Eric made their way to the morning room to start the day’s work. They had both set out early, Eric having slept quite poorly, perched atop his typewriter, and John unusually well-rested.

“The peace and privacy and space,” he continued, “Yes, I think it sets one up rather well for the day.”

“If you say so,” Eric abided with a small smile.

Before recently, Eric’s preference was to fall asleep with a girl beside him and by the time he’d wake up in the morning, she would be long gone. Thus went the final years of his previous marriage, rocky and uncommitted – his “asshole years” as he’d come to refer to them. As all things tend to do, marriage seemed like the right idea at the time, but the seductive adventure of fame was more than Eric had bargained for.

“How are things with you and Connie, anyway?” he asked his now strutting friend.

In fact, none of the visitors had seen any sign of John’s wife Connie Booth for months. The two had never been particularly candid about their relationship, but other than seeing her on the television in late-night repeats of Fawlty Towers (of which plans for a second series were now rumoured), she remained mostly unseen.

“I’m not going to talk about it,” said John with finality.

“Oh come on, John.”

“No. I’m not going to,” he repeated, stroking his mustache.

“Not even to advise your old pal?”

They had reached their destined room, and John set to work immediately rearranging the cushions on the sofas and armchairs.

“Eric, you’ve just spent Christmas in the West Indies with a beautiful woman. You don’t need my advice.”

“I just don’t want to mess up again,” Eric confessed heavily, plopping his curled copy of the script onto an end table. “All the shit from before. Is it really worth going through that again?”

“Why? God! Don’t tell me you’re marrying Lyn again,”

“No! No, obviously I mean Y/N.”

“And? She’s a very nice girl, so what’s the problem now?”

Eric was baffled, and searched his hands for an answer.

“Eric, every relationship is a new start,” John began, suddenly soulful. “Every marriage is a new set of conditions and variables. You know that. Y/N comes with entirely different features and functions, and even you - you’re different to what you were before. You’ll be different every time. Except for some things, of course. You’ll always be an ugly, greedy bastard with a smart mouth and no sense of occasion.”

“Cheers,”

“But you’ve come a long way - I’ll say that for you. Anyway, what does Y/N have to say?”

“I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it.”

Raising his eyebrows and lowering his chin, John gave Eric his famously unimpressed face, “Well that’s your first problem. I can’t imagine what’s stopping you.”

“Can’t you?” asked Eric, looking up from under his fringe.

Against the wishes of the house staff, lunch was taken later in the day (“teatime” as Terry Jones insisted) on a folding picnic table on one of the many lawn areas around the lot. With the addition of a cotton table cloth and wooden bench seating, Mr. Brown the butler couldn’t refrain from voicing his distaste. Eric and Michael doubled up with charm to convince him to leave it be.

“See how nice it looks with the rhododendrons all around us!” Michael demonstrated.

“Yes, and you needn’t worry about the table cloth; I’ve pulled it off the bed,” added Eric in jest before abandoning Mr. Brown altogether, and they strutted arm-in-arm across the grass to join the others at the table.

Their camaraderie extended even as far as the last piece of fresh olive bread left in the basket. Sat side by side, Eric and Michael were mirror images, their arms reaching into the basket in the middle of the table, when their knuckles collided.

“Oh! Sorry - ”

“Sorry - ”

“You have it.”

“No no, please. Take it.”

“No, I’m fine. It’s yours.”

“Well, only if you don’t want it.”

“I do want it, but only if you’d rather not.”

“Oh, you have it then.”

“Don’t you want it?”

“Yes, but you - ”

They were cut short by Terry Gilliam’s arm of God reaching between them, grabbing the piece of bread, and aggressively gobbling it up.

Afternoon chat was considerably more relaxed and domestic than evening party topics. At this time of day, rockstars and millionaires turned into normal people who were content to discuss the shapes of teabags, and revisit childhood moments of blowing on a blade of grass between their thumbs to make it whistle.

Y/N felt most at ease here. She shifted slightly and propped her feet up on the bench opposite, next to Eric’s side, the table cloth gently covering her toes. Before long, she felt the familiar comfort of fingers around her ankles. Eric was always dutiful to show he was never out of reach.

He was already looking at her when she raised her gaze to him, and his smile grew. From time to time, they’d share a moment like this one - at home in each other’s eyes, unspoken declarations of attraction, of love and affection.

“What are you trying to send that’s costing you 8 dollars?” Eric’s voice cut their silent exchange as he cordially re-entered the table conversation.

Terry Jones seemed to be unsure as to how shocked he ought to be at a recent postal charge.

“Why not just hang on to it and take it back with you – it’s only another ten days,” suggested Eric.

“Well I’m hoping I’ll manage to forget about it, and it’ll be great surprise when I get home,” Terry just about managed to explain before his conviction crumbled into resigned chuckles.

Before long, plates emptied and glasses were refilled from water jugs and wine bottles. Across the table, Eric and Y/N’s eyes met again, exchanging a look of “let’s go be alone somewhere.”

Laying a small paper down on the table, Eric began to manufacture an expertly rolled spliff, and only then did Y/N notice… both of his hands were occupied, and yet her ankle was still being stroked. Shifting her eyes, she caught sight of Michael, peering over his glass at her with impatient eyes, his other hand out of sight. Noticing he’d been found out at last, he lifted his head in exaggerated confusion, darting around and attempting to look elsewhere. Despite herself, Y/N stifled a giggle.

“Coming?” Eric asked softly with a smile as he rose from the bench, and Y/N quickly withdrew her now tingling ankles.

The grounds at Heron Bay included paths perfect for meandering afternoon strolls without straying very far from the main house. This afternoon, Eric and Y/N chose the garden route, passing a tidy swimming pool, and over a small bridge toward the far end of the beach. Clasping hands, their arms swung gently between them as they walked.

“I wonder if I’ve taken enough photos of this place yet.” said Y/N when they stepped off of the bridge. “I don’t ever want to forget how beautiful it is, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to remember all the details.”

“We can always come back, you know,” said Eric. “I wouldn’t pass up another few weeks.

“What about you?” he asked and gently pulled her toward him, wrapping an arm around her back as if they were to start dancing. “Are you having a wonderful time?”

“Wonderful!” replied Y/N with a wide smile.

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm!”

“You sure?”

His tone was not doubtful, but the slight furrowing of his gentle eyebrows showed concern. But what was he getting at? Was she not convincing?

“Well I… I guess I’m not really used to being away from home for so long. Especially not somewhere with table service, and a tennis court, and dinner with The Rolling Stones. It’s, um… it’s a lot. But it’s wonderful!”

They continued their stroll along the beach hand-in-hand as before. The mood was once again slow and easy and peaceful, though Eric seemed ever so slightly more pensive – a typical development when “partaking in grass,” as he liked to describe it.

“Have you been talking to Michael?” he asked suddenly.

“Michael?” Y/N repeated.

“He’s great with this sort of thing.”

What sort of thing? she wanted to ask. She still felt uneasy asking Eric to repeat himself or clarify something, as if querying him was proof that they were somehow not in sync like he believed they were. But hadn’t they just had a moment of silent connection earlier?

Stupid, silly girl. She smartened up. Just speak. But just as she opened her mouth, Eric spoke again.

“So have you fallen in love with him yet?”

“What?” Y/N was breathless.

“Everyone falls in love with Mike Palin at some point,” he explained with one of his cheekier smiles.

“I uh...” she faltered, whether from the suggestion or from Eric’s grin, she wasn’t sure. “I don’t think so, no.”

Eric took a long pull on his gradually disappearing joint and nodded.

“Give it time,” he said with confidence. “You’ll see.”

They soon came across a small secluded bower, lightly shaded by swaying trees that dotted the coastline. Here they would pause for a while, away from disturbance, with only the ocean to meet them.

Y/N sat between Eric’s long legs, his arms at either side of her, resting on his knees. She leaned back into his warm chest and he kissed her ear. It seemed like a long time since they had last been alone together – work on the film script had taken over the day time, and famous visitors kept their nights busy and bustling. Y/N pondered the photos she had already taken, and how even the best ones couldn’t capture this current bliss: the warmth of the sun and the ground, the waves hushing in the near distance, the earthy and fiery smell from Eric’s quality cannabis, and his long and loving limbs around her.

After several minutes of comforting silence, Eric spoke:

“So,” he blew out quickly, “what do you think about getting married?”

Y/N turned on her spot to look at him, feeling her heartbeat quicken.

“I think you’re a little too stoned to be proposing right now.”

“I don’t mea-…” he began, cutting himself off with laughter. “I’m not proposing, I just wanted to know your thoughts on it. I guess Ricky and Penny got me thinking, and… and I was just… thinking.”

Y/N kept a focus on him. He wasn’t used to stumbling over words, but now… what was she going to say?

“And I’m not stoned,” he managed to get out through breathy nervous laughter.

“Well, I think…” Y/N turned her gaze to the surrounding trees, and tried to consider her words carefully.

“I think a lot of people these days do it for the wrong reasons, or they think they have to. I look around and see so many marriages falling apart that it kind of takes the romance out of it.”

Eric gave another few nods as he took a final drag.

“If I get married,” said Y/N, “I’m going to have to really want to stay together, y’know? And not just give up when something gets tough. Otherwise what’s the point?”

“Well, there’s money,” suggested Eric sarcastically, and he stubbed out the remains of his joint on a nearby rock.

“Money…” Y/N repeated. She slowly turned to face him again.

“Yeah, marry for money, and then split with a nice settlement.”

“What a great idea,” she said, meeting his hazy expression.

“You think so?”

“Mhmm,” she hummed, and her lips hovered above his. “Sounds sleazy. I like it.”

“Yeah, it suits you.”

They kissed slowly, with no rush or anticipation. Herbal sweetness lingered on Eric’s lips, and Y/N delighted in their soft encouragement.

“Hmm. So, how much money you got?” she asked with pretend seriousness, back to playing the game after their make out.

“Well…” he began. He spoke slowly but animated. “I’ve got… ninety-thousand pounds… in my pyjamas.”

“Oh yeah?” She knew where this was going.

“And I’ve got forty thousand French francs in my fridge…”

“Oh no,” she groaned and dropped her head onto his bony chest. Eric was infamous for bursting into song, particularly ones he was quite proud of having performed for Python.

“There is nothing quite as wonderful as money -,” he began the silly song, bouncing his knees and shoulders as he sang, and snaking his arms around her waist.

“Fuck off, you capitalist!” Y/N protested, though she couldn’t help her laughter.

She was only just able to silence him with kisses, but their shared laughter continued as they lay on the soft ground, rolled over together, and made themselves more comfortable for an afternoon romp.

#it's been pouring with cold rain here for weeks #so this fic is really becoming an escape for me #barbados fic #monty python fanfic #eric x michael x reader #eric idle fanfic #michael palin fanfic #jenny's writing

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btssmutficslovingfan01 · 3 years

Text

Friendly Encounters- Chapter One

𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: A friend challenges you to go out of your comfort zone and talk to one of the cute boys at the café. However, after attempting to flirt with one of them, they reveal that they are in a relationship with each other. It’s fine, though, because you’re all friends now!

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒: Romance

𝑅𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔: Fluff

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Domestic Yoonmin, fluff, Jimin is literally too good for this world, barista boys, swearing, mild language, lots of character development, realistic insecurities, Jungkook makes a bad decision.

𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈: 6k+

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔(𝓈): Jimin x Yoongi x Reader

Masterlist

Author Note: This story is available on my archiveofourown as well so go check it out!

⇤Prev | Next⇥

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“Do it.” Your friend pushes you towards the incredibly adorable busboy as he passes by your table.

“No, it’s stupid.”

“Y/N, I dared you. Now you have to do it.” You roll your eyes.

“That’s not even how dares work.” You lay back in your chair, eyes drifting over to the two handsome men who now stand talking at the cash register.

“Okay, fine, if you can’t have a conversation, at least get his number! I’ll go for that cute barista over there with the sleepy eyes.” How can eyes be sleepy? You shrug as she confidently strides to the counter to order another drink. Jasmine has always been the type of girl to tell people what she’s feeling in the heat of the moment. You had no idea where she got her confidence from, it just happened one fine summer day in sixth grade.

You’ve been best friends ever since you moved into the house across the street, along with Jaehyun and Jungkook. They are the non-identical twins that go to your school and the four of you were a group all through middle school. Things changed after highschool, Jae started hanging out with the wrong crowd and he moved out after saving up some drug money.

Jungkook, on the other hand, is still a sweetheart, protecting you and Jasmine as if you were his sisters. Sometimes you wonder how you even became friends with this meth-head of a girl, but then you realize you’re the same, you both are crackheads and that’s why you’re best friends. You sometimes doubt your friendship when she tries to push you out of your comfort zone. You hate opening up to people, and Jasmine knows it.

Yet, she still tries pushing you towards trying new things and being more extroverted. Your mind is already buzzing with a million different ways this can go wrong, but you’re surprised when the waiter approaches you with a smile on his face. I wonder if he’s truly happy or putting on a fake smile for the customers. You think to yourself. Sometimes you like to look at people and try putting together a life story for them. It helps your creative juices flow, as an amateur writer.

“Can I get you anything else?” He asks with a refreshingly soft voice for a man. You’re a bit taken aback by his melodic tone, and how freaking adorable he sounds with his Korean accent. You can’t tell what dialect it is, because his English flows very well.

“Actually…” You look over at Jasmine, who gives you a thumbs up as she sips her Pink Drink. “Can I have your number?” The man’s eyes widen momentarily and his gaze flickers up to the barista at the counter.

“Oh...Miss I’m very flattered but...see that man over there?” You turn around and face the barista who is busy on his phone at the moment.

“The sleepy-eyed one?” You ask, knowing full well where this is going.

“Yeah, him. Um, that’s my boyfriend.” Your smile falters for a moment but you feel a sudden sense of relief. You were afraid he would actually flirt back and possibly be a douchebag but he is exactly what you hoped he would be. A decent person who won’t cheat on his partner.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Your reaction makes him raise his eyebrows. Normally girls would sigh or be sad that he’s taken/gay, but you’re the first one who’s ever reacted like that. “I mean, sorry. My friend just forced me to ask for your number because she wants me to make friends and step out of my comfort zone, and now I’m...sorry just nevermind.” You trail off, cutting off your pointless rambling as the busboy wipes your table slightly.

“Hm, you’re interesting. You know what, just for that attempt, I am going to give you my number.” He winks at you, sliding you a piece of paper. Did he always have that paper with him? You laugh as he walks away and Jasmine bolts back to your table, excited to hear the juicy details.

“You did it!” She screeches, making half of the people whip their heads around to stare at you. You blush and sink in your seat when you see the adorable busboy speaking to his boyfriend. Just when you’re about to tell Jasmine what happened, you see the sleepy-eyed man look at you with a glare. You bite your teeth and suck in your cheeks as Jasmine starts talking about her encounter.

“Too bad, though. The sleepy dude just waved me away saying he already has a boyfriend.” She folds her arms. You stretch your legs, yawning a bit as you listen to your friend. “What? Am I boring you? Anyways, tell me what happened with the cute blue haired dude!” You giggle to yourself as your friend expected something more out of the interaction.

“Jasmine, he’s gay. And they’re-” You gesture to the two men talking behind the counter. “Together.” Jasmine sighs. You simply shake your head, flipping your hair to one side.

“Well, I guess my luck with men hasn’t changed. But at least they’re cute.” You giggle as your best friend sighs dramatically and then you move onto discussing other topics, like school.

Just as you’re about to exit the café, you realize that you didn’t ask the cute busboy for his name. During the whole five minutes that you talked to him, you didn’t even introduce yourself?! Great job, Y/N. You turn around, reaching for the piece of paper in your pocket to find that he indeed did write his name down for you. Jimin. What a beautiful name for a beautiful boy.

As you climb into the jeep that Jasmine’s parents bought for her 16th birthday, her phone rings, and she turns to you, puffing out her chest. You wiggle your eyebrows at her and then you both laugh after the awkward moment.

“It’s Jungkook.” She throws her phone at you, switching back to her “serious” persona.

“Whoa, what happened between you two for you to act this way?” You give Jasmine the stink eye as she caves under your pressure. She’s acting weird—weirder than usual.

“Nothing, just...ugh.” She clicks her seatbelt in and starts backing out of the parking lot.

“Jasmine, if you don’t tell me I’m gonna jump out the window. And we both know I’m not bluffing because I’m actually really short and this window is huge.” Her eyes widen in panic and her hands start shaking on the steering wheel.

“You see…..um ....Jungkook and I may or may not have gone all the way after a deep conversation about relationships.” I gawk at her, unable to process her words.

Sure JK is a flirt, but he never would’ve moved past touching, seeing how he’s practically scared of girls. There was even a point in your middle school lives where Jasmine believed he was gay and started calling him her “gbf.” Yeah, that wasn’t greatly received by your homophobic class of 2020.

“Bitch, you did not.” You slap the dashboard, shaking your head in disbelief. You can see guilt written all over her face but what’s worse is the fact that you had a crush on him for the longest time and she had no clue about it.

It’s not her fault, but sex can change a lot of things for different people. And you know despite whatever bullshit Jasmine tells you about it being a ‘one-time thing no feelings involved’ type deal, you know things are going to change between you, Jasmine, and Jungkook.

You don’t know how anyone will react, since you’ve never been in this situation before. You just know that your best friend, without even knowing it, broke your heart in two. Including Jungkook’s, who is probably crying by himself at the moment.

Your silence is enough to shut her up, as she stops talking mid-sentence and plays an EXO song on her phone, hooked up to the lavish quality stereo system which is connected to her fancy Jeep Wrangler, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine but you assume that’s from your gut, twisting in disgust planning for revenge with Jasmine. She has no regard for feelings when it comes to sex, and you’re more worried about your other best friend at the moment.

“Drop me off at JK’s place.” Your command makes her flinch, and then her eyes widen when she digests what you said.

“You aren’t going to tell him that I told you, are you?”

“Of course I’m gonna talk to him about it! While you’re over here thinking about how to end your friendship, that boy is probably breaking down in tears right now, or worse, binge eating and watching soapy K-dramas all alone!”

You slam her car door shut, stepping out with your red converse basking in the sunlight. It’s so bright out today, a little bit chilly but otherwise nice. Too bad Jungkook’s having a rainy day. You knock on his door, and his brother opens the door.

“Hey baby. Wanna join me and my buddie-”

“Yeah, nice to see you too Jaehyun, is Jungkook home?” You ask, pushing past him and his stoner pals on the couch.

“He’s upstairs.” There’s not much that needs to be said when you walk into his room.

As expected, he’s lying in his bed, blankets wrapped around his entire body, forming a cocoon of some sort as he distracts himself from the real world, again. It’s like every breakup ever, as you have seen him do all sorts of crazy shit while being heartbroken. He’s dated so many people, but none of them were his close friends. This time, it’s different, and you can tell he’s hurting more.

“Did you see Jasmine?” Is the first thing he asks when he sees you.

“I was with her earlier and she told me some stuff happened between you guys. And now I’m here for you. Tell me what you need.” Jungkook slowly rises, and you can see his hair standing straight up from the static, and his normally bright eyes are colored red from crying, his cheeks are red and puffy, and he looks exhausted. Drained, in fact.

“I made a mistake. I started kissing her first, it was like the time after my breakup with Madi-” He cuts himself off. You shiver, beginning to remember his touch. You hadn’t slept with him, not in a sexual context, anyway. He only kissed you, and his hands slid down the small of your back, tracing circles with his thumbs. You can feel the strange sensation creeping up on you, and then it hits you like a wave.

Jungkook is no longer the little boy that you once knew. He’s a grown man, and he can take care of you if you let him. But, you’re not that type of person. You would never take advantage of him, especially when he’s so vulnerable. “I promised myself I wouldn’t let it get in the way of our friendship, but after that night I knew we could never be just friends.” You take his clammy hands in your soft ones, kissing his fingers gently as tears threaten to spill from his eyes again.

“It’s okay, let it out.” You spend a good chunk of your time cuddling with him, and for a moment you imagine what life would be like if you actually started dating, but alas, he is too in love with your best friend. That’s how life is for you, you’ll always be a side character in a love story, and when it comes to love, guys always pick Jasmine. Guys talk to you because they see that you are friends with Jasmine. Girls invite you to sleepovers to ask you what you know about Jasmine, and worst of all, she stole multiple crushes from under your nose. But they were never truly yours to begin with.

After arriving at your house after a long day spent consoling Jungkook, youlop down on your bed, scrolling through some texts.

༻• The Next Day, at Your Local Highschool •༺

“Jungkookie, are you feeling any better?” You make your way to your best friend but then you overhear him speaking to some people.

“Oh yeah, she was the best in bed, don’t let her tough smart-girl act fool you, she was amazing, so submissive for me.” You hoped they were talking about someone else, but when you stick your head past the lockers, checking for a split second, you see that it was none other than your sensitive friend who was speaking to a group of younger males.

“Wow, you’re so cool, Hyung. I thought Y/N was the hardest girl to pin down.” Wait, what?! You resist the urge to storm out, eavesdropping a bit longer to see if you misheard things.

“Yeah boys, she came to me while I was playing Overwatch in my room and then she offered. Just straight up asked if I could fuck her.” You slam your fist against a locker and then you clench your teeth, about to confront him when the bell rings.

It’s 5th period. You don’t have a class because you have a release period. You instinctively check your phone, making sure you didn’t miss any important texts or calls before running out. You don’t know who to trust, or who to go to, as you lost your two best friends within the span of less than 24 hours. People suck.

Then you get a text, as you park your car in front of the coffee shop.

You don’t text back, hoping to surprise him. You forgot to ask him about his work hours but you assumed he worked part-time everyday or something. As you walk up to the counter, you see him standing there, with a bright smile on his lips and crescent-shaped eyes.

“Ah, what a surprise! Hello, valued customer.” His playful attitude is enough to light up your day.

“Hey Jimin. Sorry for dropping in but I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go, c-can we talk?” You stutter, not realizing you were slurring your words together. Jimin nods, obviously worried about his new friend.

“What happened yesterday?” He takes you to the back of the café, an area where there are less people and you have more privacy.

“You know the friend that was here with me yesterday?” He nods, allowing you to grip his hand and squeeze it for comfort. He’s a really kind person, letting you open up to him without judgement. “She slept with another good friend of mine and ghosted him. And yesterday I went to his house and we talked about it and he cried on my shoulder, but today…”

You feel tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “...He was talking about what a good lay I was, lying about sleeping with me to a group of underclassmen.”

Your breathing is uneven as Jimin stares directly at you, keeping his gaze strictly on you. You feel naked, exposed, and vulnerable. But his reassuring smile makes you feel a little bit better. Just a little bit.

“Hey, break’s over, get out there.” You see the same man from yesterday, the guy who Jimin claimed was his boyfriend. He looks like the polar opposite of your mellow friend, with a darker aura radiating from him.

You feel like a deer under a lion’s gaze, as he closes in on you, backing you into your corner, making you feel even more vulnerable than before.

You only hoped he wouldn’t try to chase you away, as yesterday he gave you a very uncouth glare, displaying his annoyance with your friendship with Jimin.

You hope with time he will be able to accept you and possibly become a friend of yours as well, but for now, you can only run with your tail tucked between your legs. Just as you’d been running away from your so-called best friends in school.

You were even considering running to Jaehyun and trying one of his edibles, since he had offered a generous amount of times; it would only be courteous of you to finally accept and try it, as you’d been hearing “don’t try it, don’t try it,” your whole life.

You don’t care anymore, and hopefully under Jimin’s wing you will be able to learn about true friendship.

“Aren’t you the girl who asked for Jimin’s number yesterday?” His surprisingly solemn tone catches you off guard, as his eyes tell another story. Maybe that’s just the way he is, physically a very intimidating person but on the inside he might be a fluffy kitten! Okay, maybe not a total kitten, but still squishy. Why else would Jimin date him? He has to be a decent person, unlike all the people you called your friends.

“I am, thanks for noticing. Is there anything you wanted to tell me?” You try to sound as non-threatening as possible, holding your breath, waiting for an answer. You hoped Yoongi didn’t see you as a boyfriend-stealer, nor a generally annoying person.

“No, just wanted to ask you if you need anything else, an iced coffee, some tea...pink lemonade?” His lame attempt at cheering you up makes you crack a smile after a while.

“Maybe some water? I’m a little bit thirsty.”

“Coming right up,” After filling up a glass with water, he slides into the seat across from you, whipping out his phone and humming a tune of a familiar song you recognized from the radio. “I’m on break. This time of the day, things get a bit slow.” You nod in understanding, respectfully keeping your legs crossed and your arms folded in your lap, not wanting to show any sign of weakness.

“What song are you listening to?” You ask, hoping to make some small talk.

“Uncomfortable by Chase Atlantic. It’s my go-to after a stressful day.” You shift in your seat when you hear that name. You absolutely adore that band, and the lead singer’s vocals are absolutely heavenly. You could go on for hours, but you don’t want him to know that yet.

“Oh, that’s...cool I guess.” You try not to jump

up and down in joy as that’s a lesser known band and not very many people know about them.

“Do you know this song?” He leans forward, sliding you his phone and showing you the cover of an old album, one you recognize to be “Don’t Try This,” and the song is GREENGREENGREEN. Their song titles are a bit questionable, but they are true works of art, so you can let it pass.

“I suppose I’ve heard it once or twice…” You trail off, watching how the curve of his smooth lips turn upwards, and carefully, you watch how he mouths the words.

“All I see is green yuh

Moving on your seat yuh yuh yuh

All I see is green, All I see is green, All I see is green.” You smirk, slowly singing the next part.

“It's green where the grass grows

Let the cash flow

You can keep your head high, keep that ass low,” You laugh, the man across from you grinning at how weirdly you sang the lyrics.

You and Yoongi continue listening to Chase Atlantic songs together late into the evening hours. It’s around seven in the evening and the air is cool and humid.

“You have amazing taste in music, I’ve never met anyone else who listens to Chase Atlantic with such passion! Jimin’s an Alec Benjamin person but I always tell him they have similar music styles…” He trails off suddenly, worrying you with the pace of his cutoff. “Listen, I had a lot of fun talking to you. And at first I really didn’t get why Jimin wanted to get to know you better but now I see what he saw. You’re cool, Y/N.” You’re more surprised he remembered your name.

“Thanks Yoongi.” You share a moment of silence, just smiling at each other as Jimin makes his way back to your table.

“It’s time for me to clock out, we’re closing soon.” He slides into the seat across from you, next to Yoongi, and you watch as Yoongi expertly sneaks his arm around his boyfriend’s shoulder, and you feel small fireworks bursting in your heart. It’s not a weird feeling of jealousy, per say, but rather you feel mellow. You like seeing them together. You like this.

“Feels like just yesterday I walked in here and you gave me black coffee instead of an iced vanilla mocha because you were distracted by my sexiness.” Jimin girlishly flips his hair, and the three of you share a laugh before the lights start flickering.

“What’s going on?”

“Looks like there’s something wrong with the power. Jin!!! Did you mess with the electrical again?!” Yoongi runs back inside the kitchen, making sure everything is fine.

“We’re good, just a minor fix,” you hear the voice of another man from inside. You and Jimin exchange worried looks as the lights stay on for a total of 1.032342352 seconds and then they just turn off completely.

“Dammit, stupid thunderstorm outside caused a power outage through town.” You heard Yoongi cursing from the kitchen before he opened the door and stumbled outside back to you.

“Well, when are the lights gonna come back on?” You ask, clutching onto the table as you sink back on the wooden surface.

“News reports say power lines are under service and will be back in function in an hour.” Jimin shows you the article, making you shiver from the thought of spending the night at the café. You most probably won’t have to do that, since your car is right outside and you can just drive home. But do you really want to face your neighbors after a really tough day of school? No. Your bets are that they will probably try to infiltrate your home, failing are trying to “make it up to you.” You’ve lost any trust you had in them before, Jungkook and Jasmine really screwed up this time.

“It’s cold, isn’t it?” Jimin sounds steady, but you can faintly see the outline of his striped shirt and how his muscles contract as he shivers right in front of you. You admire him for putting up the dauntless act, but it doesn’t help as the sound of his teeth clashing give it all away.

“Here, take my jacket. I’m not that cold.” You offer him your coat and he hesitantly slips it over his shoulders. He doesn’t wear it, afraid of stretching out the expensive material and risking threat or wearing it out.

“Thanks.”

“Hey guys, can you come in here please? We need help with the door.” You and Jimin carefully make your way to the pantry, which is at a door at the end of the kitchen. You’d never been inside one in a restaurant, but you assumed it was the same as your school. The kitchen was the darkest room, but thanks to the dim lighting from Jimin’s phone, you safely arrived at the end of the path.

“What are you doing now?” You see a second man, taller than Yoongi and Jimin combined, holding a large box.

“We’re just taking this inside. This stuff is smelly, so we make sure they stay sealed in the pantry until we need them,” The older man has a charming smile, and you can already tell he is a gentleman. He looks a little bit older than you, but you can tell by his mannerisms that he’s a bit older. “And hi, I’m Jin.” He introduces himself, winking at you as he walks past, with Yoongi rolling his eyes at the lame flirting attempt. You thought it was cute.

“Coming through! Move over babe.” Yoongi warns Jimin, who holds the door open while you watch over his shoulder, making sure he doesn’t fall back. Not that you will be of any help.

“Oh crap, I think I forgot something in the kitchen!” You and Jimin make your way into the pantry, shrugging at the way Jin quickly left his post.

“So...what’s exactly in the box?” Your curiosity seems to know no limits as you keep asking questions, over and over again. Yoongi and Jimin, however, find it amusing.

“Vinaigrette. All the same type, same brand.” Yoongi dusts his hands and walks back to the closed door, wrapping his fingers around the cool metal knob before turning it….to find that it doesn’t open.

“What’s wrong, hyung?” Jimin asks, wrapping your jacket around him more tightly. You sigh at his adorable pout. But of course, you try to ignore their moment, focusing on your phone instead. Your battery is at 8% already, and you need to save as much power as you can. However, you also need to distract yourself.

“It won’t open.” You stand up. You’ve hated small spaces since you were a little girl and you refuse to get stuck in a food pantry with two insanely attractive men. What if you run out of oxygen? It’s not them, it’s you.

“Whoa, are you okay?” Yoongi notices your mini panic attack, as you pant heavily, now looking for some sort of opening to crawl through. You need to escape.

“I need to get out!” You shudder as the dim lighting of your phone suddenly disappears. Your phone just died. What the fuck are you going to do now?!

“We’re fine, we just need to call Jin,” Yoongi knocks on the door, and you all stay quiet to hear any feedback. What you didn’t know was that Jin had gone out to run errands and he wouldn’t be back until much later.

“Let me text him.” Luckily, Jimin’s phone has enough power to send one text. Jin replies quickly, telling Jimin that he’ll be back in half an hour, maybe even later because of the horrible weather.

“Looks like we’ll be stuck here for awhile.” Yoongi sits down on the floor first, making himself comfortable between two flour bags. You and Jimin make yourselves comfortable on the floor, shrugging as you snuggle into some things but the lights are off so you have no idea where you’re sitting. Your eyes are adjusted to the darkness, so you can see the faint outlines in the pitch darkness.

Then you think of all the things that happened today. How you overheard Jungkook telling people lies, and how heartlessly Jasmine let go of him (even though he partially deserved it), and all of the lies and betrayal. Jasmine has cheated on a lot of her past boyfriends, but for some reason you thought she would treat Jungkook differently. And Jungkook just cares about fitting in. You wish you could forget it all and go back to being friends, but you are just so, so sad. They broke your heart. You don’t know if you can trust anyone else ever again. You silently sob, hoping they wouldn’t notice.

But your stupid sniffles give you away.

“Are you..crying?” Jimin asks after a long silence.

“No…” You wipe your tears and turn to his voice.

“Tell us what’s wrong.” Yoongi’s warmth creates an almost suffocating feeling in the air as your breathing falters and you feel very disconnected from your environment. You can’t even tell if your eyes are open or not because of how long you’ve been trapped. It’s driving you mad. The only thing keeping you sane are the two men sitting in front of you...or behind you. You can’t tell anymore.

“I just want my friends back. And I want to believe that everything will be alright but lately...everything’s been horrible! Life just keeps throwing one obstacle after another and I just want to believe that everything will be okay but it isn’t! My best friend slept with my other best friend and now everything’s weird between the three of us, and my other friend decided to tell everyone that we’re screwing. I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING! Everything is spiraling out of control and I can’t do shit,” You breathe heavily and silence follows, as the boys allow you to catch your breath, not inputting anything just yet. “Thanks for letting me rant. I just needed to let that out, I guess.” You bite your bottom lip, and you can smell the anticipation in the air as the boys wait for their turn to speak.

Oh wow, now you’ve robbed them of their words. Aren’t you the best friend ever.

“Can I say something?” Jimin waits for a moment before dictating his thoughts, “It sounds like you were just thrown into a random mess that had nothing to do with you directly.” He says, earning a cough from Yoongi. Luckily, the sleepy-eyed man is kind enough to cough in his sleeve (ugh corona) and he says, “I agree with Jimin. And that guy sounds like a bitch boy. I’m pretty sure he’s one of those coconut headed e-boy wannabes. Or just a plain fuckboy.” You scrunch your nose. “Jungkook isn’t like that.”

“Oh, with a name like that he’s bound to have a talent. Maybe he dances really well? Lemme guess, he’s a really good singer but is as shy as a goat.” You didn’t know goats were shy. Yoongi seems knowledgeable, so you don’t question him.

“He’s a good singer, alright, but he wants to be a progamer when he graduates.” You reveal it to them, all of a sudden going off on a tangent about your childhood crush and best friend.

“It sounds like you guys are close,” Jimin whispers in a hushed voice, so quietly that you almost miss him. “And from what I can tell, he’s insecure and wants people to think he’s cool. So he used you, as stupid as it was, I think he’s worth fighting for.” You feel a sudden lightness in your chest, like you just confessed something you felt guilty about. It’s as if he’s in your head, and he understands exactly what you’re going through.

“Jimin and I actually got together because of a misunderstanding in the first place, if he hadn’t fought for us, who knows where he might’ve ended up?” You can’t see what Jimin does exactly, but you assume that his face is scrunched up into a cute cringe of sorts, anything that man does is adorable.

“My parents would’ve forced me to become a pastor. They aren’t exactly the most open-minded people...coming out to them was the hardest thing I ever did. And luckily, Yoongi was with me all through the process after they disowned me and threw me out of the house. I guess I lost my biological family but I ended up with something even better.” You feel your lips turn upward, the first feeling you’ve experienced since sadness. You feel hopeful, and happy that the two men can freely be together without judgement from those around them.

You feel slightly jealous as well, since their relationship worked out and yours with Jungkook are in shambles. Maybe it’s not too late to fix this, but seeing as he hadn’t even sent you as much as a “Good morning” text, you decided it was better to leave him alone for now. The darkness is not only making you blind; it’s making you unempathetic. You do feel a bit of fear though, as the sense of not knowing what else might be in here with you is overwhelming and you literally want to curl into a ball and cry. “Your breathing is heavy again...are you okay?” Yoongi’s voice soothes you as you slowly recover from the mini-panic attack. You don’t know if you can take it anymore.

“Sorry, I’m just a little claustrophobic.” You hear some shifting as Yoongi makes himself more comfortable.

“Oh shit, I forgot about Jin,” Jimin pulls out his phone, as it vibrates with a text. Your vision is blurry, but you can see his face with the help of the dim light from his device. “Jin said he’s running late in traffic. We might be stuck for a little longer.” You snap, reaching for the closest thing to you, standing up on your two wobbly legs.

“I can’t do this! I’m going crazy, I need to get out! Anything...away….can’t breathe!” You start taking deep breaths, slightly embarrassed at showing the two boys you barely know your weak side. Of course, they are absolute sweethearts about it.

“Honja jjujeo anja

Saenggag man keojyeoga

Eonjebuteo neon nal apeuge haessdeonga

Neo jochado moreujanha,” He slowly makes his way behind you, snaking his arms around your shoulders in a very intimate manner.

“Neodo apeujanha 'cause you’re mine

I just want to blow your mind

Ireohge neon tto meoleojyeo man ganeunde,” You close your eyes and sink into his embrace, swaying in a movement that could only be described as heaven. His voice is heaven.

“I want you to be your light, baby

You should be your light

Deoneun apeuji anhge

Nega useul su issge

I want you to be your night, baby

You could be your night

Ibami neoege soljighal su issge…” He trails off, leaving you feeling speechless from listening to his honey-like voice. The song is also new, something you’ve never heard. You clap, astounded by his vocals.

“That was amazing!!! Thank you so much for doing that.” You can almost picture the cute blush on his cheeks as you praise him, but you aren’t going to let him know that.

“No problem.” As you both share a moment, Yoongi finds a supposed way out.

“Look, there’s a duct back here. Should one of us go through and see if they can let the others out?” You and Jimin share a look of suspicion but you volunteer anyways.

“I guess I’ll do it. Seems logical.” You get to your hands and feet, and Jimin gives you his phone, tenderly. There’s a gentleness in his eyes and through the blinding light of the flashlight on his phone, you could see his pupils dilate slightly. For a moment, it’s just you and him, as the rest of the world fades to black. You snap out of your daze when Yoongi coughs into his arm again, and you prepare to crawl into a dusty duct that’s been closed for decades.

You eventually find an exit, and you’re surprised at how long Jimin’s battery life was. It was only at 49%, despite him using his phone for half the time you were together. He must’ve charged it to the full 100%. You find a screw loose on another duct, opening it with ease and slipping into the kitchen. And then when you shine your flashlight, you realize your location.

You quickly run to the locked door and find that opening it from the outside is a piece of cake. The two men are thankful, but they still complain about the power. Jimin texts Jin that all of you got out, and he just tells you to go home.

The time is about 9:41, 2 hours later than you’d hoped to go home. Nonetheless, you had fun spilling your heart to these two wonderful men. You’ve never felt so close with a pair of strangers, but you can tell these two will become an important part of your life very soon.

༻• At your House •༺

“Where were you?” Your mother yells as you walk through the door, and you put your bag on the floor, flopping face down on the couch.

“I was at a café but then there was a power outage and I got stuck in a food pantry.” You nonchalantly tilt your head upwards at your mom, as her look of anger changes into one of worry.

“How did you get out?” She asks, bringing you a cheese sandwich. You plug in your phone upside down, but it’s okay because you can see the logo pop up after a minute.

“I crawled through a duct. It was fun but dusty. Oh, sorry for not texting you. My phone died.” She raises an eyebrow.

“Y/N...is there something you’re not telling me?” You fold your arms, whining like a baby. “Was there someone else with you?” You nod, not wanting to tell your mom in detail. “Okay, I’m not gonna ask any more questions. But earlier Jungkook came by, he wanted to talk to you in person. After he left, Jasmine dropped by an hour ago, saying she wanted to see you too. Did something happen between the three of you?” You sigh, turning right-side up on the couch, resting your head on your mother’s shoulder.

“Mom, can I please just go to bed? I don’t feel so good.” Instead of pestering you to tell her, she complies with your wishes, leaving you alone to go into the kitchen.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, I started renting the top floor of our house to two nice young men. They’ll stay with us, and we can get money.” You raise your eyebrows at her, not believing her fully. Your mom was never the type of person to do that. You had suggested it in the past, but she had never fully gone through with plans before. Especially big ones.

“And why did you agree to it?”

“Because they are so charming, Y/N, when I put the ad up, they immediately responded, saying that they’d do all the housework and help cook, and take care of the house as if it was theirs, even though they are paying to stay in one room.” You grab your backpack and make your way upstairs. After finishing your nighttime routine, you tuck yourself in and retire for the night.

You wake up with the sudden urge to pee. So, you run to the bathroom only to find a very unexpected sight. The same man with the crescent shaped eyes when he smiles is standing in your bathroom, brushing his teeth.

“J-Jimin?” He turns his head, looking at you with wide eyes.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?”

“I live here!”

“Me too!” Dear God, what has your mother done?

#jimin #yoongi #jungkook #reader #cafeau #barista #bts #yoonmin #yoonmin x reader #Poly #fluff #cute #high school

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softjeon · 3 years

Text

Falling for you | Pt. 3

• Pairing: Jimin x Namjoon • Genre: fluff, nsfw-content | Rating: Mature | Christmas!AU / Curse!AU • Words: 12k | AO3 • Disclaimer: mentioning of blood, accidents, alcohol

written with @cassiavioletblue

↳ Everyone told him that love was the highest aim, that it was what completes you and made you happy…but he was never lucky like that. It just took a piece of him and left scars on his heart every time. He was done with that. He had given up on love a long time ago so he should stick to it or else not only he would be affected.

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It was a beautiful winter evening; a crisp cold breeze blew around him when he hurried into the massive building again, shaking himself as if he could get rid of the cold like that. With a smile, and a nod towards the doorman, Jungkook went up to Namjoon’s apartment. In his head, he went through their ‘to-do-list’ again, making sure he wouldn’t forget a thing.

“Merry Christmas!” He yelled happily, when the metal doors opened, and he walked in with an even bigger smile. “Or almost Christmas!”

Namjoon just looked up briefly, not really bothered by Jungkook's vocal proclamation of his love for Christmas because he was used to it. “What’s up with you, you don’t even have your reindeer antlers on yet.” He commented dryly - which was not something he had made up. Jungkook did actually own a pair of small, velveteen, light brown antlers that were fixed on a small headband that was decorated further with bits and pieces of dried wintery flowers and moss.

The headband easily vanished under his fluffy hair and so it looked as if the antlers and flowers were sprouting from his head. He’s head business partners who didn’t know Jungkook do a double take on him and then carefully ask if he was a hired actor in some winter play.

“I knew you liked that one!” Jungkook laughed happily, as he joined Namjoon at the kitchen table. “I should get you a pair as well. You’d look so cute in it.” Placing a few folders in front of Namjoon, he leaned his chin on his hand, blinking at his boss dreamily. “Reaaaally cute.” He cooed, before adding a little more seriously. “Those are the ideas from your team for the summer designs.” They were always two steps ahead of the others and while it was Christmas they were already planning their summer releases, the decorations for the stores or the color schemes. Namjoon was a perfectionist.

When Namjoon took the folders without even looking at them, but kept doodling on his tablet, Jungkook leaned in a little more. “What are you drawing?”

“Nothing!” Namjoon flipped the tablet shut so quickly he hit himself on the hand with it. Initially he had started a design for a new couch, but his mind had used ‘couch’ as cue to wander into different territory… like how Jimin had fallen asleep in his arms completely and how he had wished he could stay like this all night but had to get up because of the driver and the fact that he just couldn’t stay there without having been invited by Jimin before. So, he had moved carefully to the side, inch by inch until he could place Jimin down softly and then had walked into the bathroom on his tiptoes to get rid of the waste and get a soft, damp towel to clean Jimin up. Jimin was apparently a heavy sleeper because he hadn’t even woken up, just sighed comfortably and curled a little tighter on the couch. Namjoon had placed the blanket that they had been laying on in the beginning but had fallen down somewhen over Jimin’s body, amazed by the fact that he could wrap Jimin up in it completely. The younger had looked so soft and tiny curled up there on the couch that Namjoon had leaned down and stolen one last, sweet kiss.

Then he had left the apartment with heated cheeks….

Somehow his hand had started to transfer those memories onto the screen, and he had started to draw a person onto the sketch of his couch - luckily not detailed enough for it to be recognized as Jimin.

Jungkook leaned back, confusion written all over his face when Namjoon reacted like that. The other always shared ideas with him. When Namjoon got up, he hurried after him, a million and one questions on his mind. And he couldn’t wait to squeeze the answers out of his boss or snatch his tablet away. There was definitely not ‘nothing’.

…

Jimin took a deep breath but no matter how many times he did, his heart didn’t seem to calm down. He had spent twenty minutes worrying and wrecking his mind whether he had a fever dream or if it really happened – but the bruises around his hips (and his shin, from where he had slipped) showed the truth.

He had slept with Kim Namjoon.

The Kim Namjoon.

His boss.

Hayoung’s Boss.

A curse slipped from him when he pushed down the button of the elevator. He still had a job to do and even though it was only a couple more days, Jimin was really worried. Couldn’t he just stick with the invitation for the Christmas party? Or spending Christmas together? Why didn’t he just marry him right away? Jimin groaned, hating his thoughts for spiraling so fast, making him even more nervous.

What if this was just a onetime thing for Namjoon? No big deal, where he just moved on? Jimin bit his lip. The ring of the elevator sound signaling that he was on his level. When he walked in, he could hear faint noises coming from Namjoon’s office and Jimin’s heart skipped a beat. Quickly, he turned around, putting his own belongings aside to get out the cleaning supplies.

“Oh, I need your signature for the check.” Jungkook’s voice startled Jimin effectively and he hit his head on the cupboard lightly, when the younger one came out of the office, followed by Namjoon. Neither hadn’t seen him yet. “It’s for the Christmas party. I booked a karaoke machine and ordered all kinds of Christmas shaped cookies. You should really come this year. It will be even better than last year!”

“I actually might...” Namjoon murmured, trying to ease himself into it and hoping that Jungkook wouldn’t yell at him in surprise right away. He was focused on holding Jungkook clipboard with the check while singing and walking at the same time that he only saw Jimin when they were pretty close. He froze up. He hadn’t expected to have Jungkook by his side when he’d see Jimin again. Should he pretend that nothing happened so that Jimin and he had the option to talk later in peace? Did Jimin even want to talk about it?

Jungkook, always quick to pick up on mood changes of his boss eyed him warily. What was even more suspicious though was that Jimin behaved strangely as well. “Is... everything okay?”

Jimin was all ears, when Jungkook made it sound as if Namjoon hadn’t been at the Christmas party the years before, remembering their conversation in the elevator. He was still rubbing the back of his head, when they both stared at each other, a little too long for it to seem normal.

“H-hi,” He finally managed to say. “I’m cleaning the floors!” Jimin was about to smack himself hard for that stupid statement, when all of them knew he was there to clean. His cheeks were red and hot, and he quickly turned around to fill up the bucket with water, glad for some distraction.

“Yeah...that’s...kind of obvious?” Jungkook looked back to his boss who seemed still securely rooted to the floor and back to Jimin who was blushing brightly. “Oh! Uhm, boss, I’m really sorry but I just remembered that I forgot something on the second floor. I’ll catch up with you later?” He patted Namjoon on the back, hoping it would encourage him to do something other than standing around silently and then he hurried back to the elevator. It was really difficult to fight the instinct to look over his shoulder to see what they were doing or to hide in the next office to listen in on them.

“So, is this your first year or…” Jimin filled the water up with some soap to clean. “The Christmas party…” His voice was quiet, a little unsure as he turned around to look at Namjoon – only for a few seconds before he averted his gaze again. Taking the filled bucket, he placed it on the kitchen floor, glad that there was his job that he still needed to do and kept him busy.

The Christmas party. That’s what Jimin was curious about. Namjoon wasn’t quite sure if he felt disappointed or relieved that they weren’t talking about what had happened between them. “It’s not the first year, no, Jungkook organizes them every year.” He answered vaguely, leaving his part in it deliberately out of it.

“You said that” Jimin leaned his head aside, “I just wondered if you were going for the first time this year. He made it sound like that and…” He looked down, shrugging his shoulders, “And it made me curious if you want to go for a different reason this year.”

“It’s... yeah, I kind of... I haven’t been there before. Thought I’d let my people have a fun night without their boss, but... Jungkook’s been asking me to come so often now I figured I should attend at least once.” He carefully straightened his tie because lying made him nervous and he needed to do something with his hands.

“Oh,” Jimin had expected a different answer. Something to do with him and Jimin gave him a quick smile before they were back to staring at each other like before. There was the kitchen counter between them, enough space to not feel closed in but Jimin felt it, nonetheless. His heart was racing. “D-do you want to…like talk about what happened?” He awkwardly held onto the stick of the mop.

Namjoon swallowed hard and his heart stumbled as it skipped a beat. “Only if you want to talk about it. I mean... I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, we can... talk here or in my office or we can just...” He didn’t want to pretend it never happened because it did and he was so glad that it happened he would deal with ten times the awkwardness just to be able to remember the taste of Jimin’s lips and the feel of the younger’s skin against his. “Whatever you need...” He finished quietly, careful that no one who wasn’t supposed to hear them could accidentally overhear what they were saying.

Jimin breathed out, putting the cleaning supplies aside, as he stepped a little closer to Namjoon. He looked up at him with a shy smile. “I liked it,” It rolled quickly over his tongue, making his cheeks blush even more. “D-did you like it?” Jimin pushed a string of hair out of his face and behind his ear. “It’s only a few more days until Christmas and...when Hayoung is back...I know we talked about Christmas and the party, but....I’m not sure if it was just us joking because of the situation or because…” Jimin didn’t dare to ask if there was more, if Namjoon felt the tingling feeling inside his stomach too and if he wanted to explore what else there was. He really wanted to know, the curiosity making his heart flutter.

“So, you’d still want to cook for me on Christmas?” If Jimin’s would have been sex then he had no reason to still try and get to know him. A comfortable warmth spread through him at the thought of not being alone on Christmas and even better, spending it with someone who’s company he’d immensely enjoyed so far. “Yes, I liked it a lot. I’d like to repeat it some time. After dinner maybe.” And in a bedroom, staying the night, cuddling... there was so much he suddenly wanted.

“For you?” Jimin raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he pouted his lips. “I thought I’d be cooking with you.” He blushed at Namjoon’s words. It sounded like a date and a lot more than two people just spending time together. And he couldn’t wait to do so.

“Oh, well.. then I have to warn you, I’m not used to people standing in my kitchen while I’m there, I might accidentally run into you.” Or pour something over Jimin’s shirt so that he would have to undress. “Do you have a special menu that you like to make on Christmas? Then I’ll make sure to get all the ingredients.” At the moment his refrigerator was pretty empty.

“I’ll think of something tasty,” Jimin winked, soothing over Namjoon’s arm fleetingly before turning back around to get his supplies. He still had a lot to clean.

…

Downstairs, Yoongi walked in the office complex with confidence, not even answering the security who asked for his name or who he was there for. His gaze fell onto the numbers appearing on the board over the elevator and he smiled. When the metal doors opened, Yoongi didn’t step aside but walked in without looking up, bumping right into someone.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Jungkook immediately apologized out of reflex even though the other had run straight into him without looking. When he finally did Jungkook was sure he had never seen him at the company before. He would have definitely remembered a face like that, soft and pale but with eyes so dark and burning they reminded him of coals after a bonfire when the glimmering heat still lingered. He shook himself out of his daydreams, a little confused as to why he had lost his focus. “May I help you? This is Kim design. I don’t think you’ve got an appointment here.” He would know because he would have put it into Namjoon’s schedule.

“Oh, you may…” Yoongi’s eyes changed from surprise to a pleasant expression. The young man he had bumped into was the prettiest human he’d ever seen. And his voice sounded like honey, the sweetest tone he ever heard. “Oh, I sure have an appointment.” He smiled pointing at Jungkook’s book that seemed to be a calendar. When the younger lifted it, still adamant on not knowing about an appointment, he tapped the cover twice, leaning in just a little. “Are you trying to tell me Mr. Kim forgot our appointment and isn’t here? I’m pretty sure we have an appointment. Why don’t you look?”

Jungkook swallowed down his remark that there was no way he had an appointment because otherwise he would know - but he had learned pretty early on that smiling and doing what Namjoon’s business partners wanted was the better decision if he didn’t want a grown man in a suit yelling at him. Not that the other was wearing a suit...

He carefully eyed the man’s clothes, something dark and shimmering hidden under his coat that looked pretty interesting. Too bad he would have to send the other away in a moment. As requested he opened his calendar with a smile, opening the page for today and pointing at the space for right now. “As you see there’s..” His voice faltered. There was an entry. In black ink. For right this moment. Jungkook stared at it in total disbelief. He could have sworn that the space had been empty five minutes ago and he also knew that he had never ever heard the name Min Yoongi before. But apparently he must have because it was written in his own handwriting. “I’m… I’m... so sorry Mister Min, I didn’t... I must have confused the dates...” He stuttered, still staring onto the page as if he couldn’t trust his own eyes.

“I know, I know it’s pretty late for an appointment but I’m a busy man.” Yoongi grinned, pushing down a button, then another one before pressing almost every single one of them – because he wasn’t quite sure which floor his office was and also he loved peeking.

He hooked his arm under Jungkook’s almost gasping out loud, when he felt the muscles strain against the suit, but he could restrain himself from groping the younger more. “You can call me, Yoongi or love. Babe is fine, too. Whatever you prefer.” He winked at the startled Jungkook, nudging him slightly. “Relax. If you keep me company until Namjoon arrives I’m sure I’ll have a great time, Jungkook.”

Jungkook tensed up right away. Yoongi wouldn’t be the first businessman to try and flirt with him like that but he could always count on Namjoon to make sure that people who overstepped the line would not stay with the company. “I’d like to keep it professional, Mr. Min as I’m sure Mr. Kim would prefer.” He furrowed his brows when he realized that Yoongi knew his name without him mentioning it. He must have told the other when they had spoken about his appointment? It made him feel crazy that he really couldn't remember it at all!

Yoongi furrowed his brows, giving Jungkook a little more distance. “Oh, no…I’m not really a business partner like that.” He chuckled softly, reaching into the pocket inside his jacket. “I’m more of a… consultant. I help Namjoon with decisions on his business or his life. Whatever he needs me for.” He was happy with his quick lie, taking out what seemed to be a simple stack of cards. “You really don’t have to be professional with me or have to be afraid.” When the doors opened again and they arrived at the office, Yoongi began to shuffle his cards delicately. “Tell me Jungkook, do you believe in magic?” He turned around with a warm smile, walking a few steps backwards.

Jungkook definitely knew one thing: Yoongi was…special. He had never heard of Namjoon asking someone for advice about his business and he was pretty sure Namjoon would never let someone mess with his personal life and yet there Yoongi was, talking about Namjoon as if he knew him inside and out, joking around and playing with cards. “I.-. I like the thought of it being true..-” he confessed before he could stop himself. Somehow the words poured out of him without his permission so he quickly added. “I can distinguish between dreams and reality of course!”

Yoongi hummed, drumming his fingers on his cards. “That’s good.” He walked ahead as if he knew right where he needed to be, just taking the route down to the biggest office he could find before walking in and letting his instincts lead him. There was a conference table right beside Namjoon’s office desk, so Yoongi took a seat, motioning for Jungkook to follow him. “You can call him, if you want…” His eyes were piercing right through the youngers and yet, they were warm and inviting, placing the cards out in front of them.

Jungkook hesitated, drawn in by the beautiful cards. He had placed them front down on the table as if he were ready to pick one, like a fortune teller ready to tell him his future. “What do you need them for if I may ask?” The backside of the cards was decorated with intricate symbols, some highlighted in a shimmering golden color.

“I need them to answer your questions.” Yoongi leaned his head aside, liking how the younger was intrigued, finally following him, and sitting down at the other end. “Or usually Namjoons, but he isn’t here right now.” He sighed deeply, letting his fingertips hover over the cards. “Do you want to try?”

“You help Namjoon make choices by using your cards?” Now he was hooked. “He never told me any of that! How long do you two know each other?” He leaned forward reaching out but then withdrawing his hand. He had heard that touching the cards just for fun before actually asking a question would mess them up. “I’d really like to... but I don’t have any questions at the moment. At least none that the cards can answer.”

“I help in many ways.” He winked, before Jungkook hesitation made him raise an eyebrow. Leaning his chin on his hands, he locked his eyes with the younger. “Tell me your questions if you’re comfortable with them. Maybe I can answer them anyways.” Yoongi didn’t even mind that Jungkook had completely forgotten to call Namjoon, yet. He enjoyed their encounter way too much.

Jungkook chuckled, “I can but I don’t think you can answer them. I’d like to know if the Christmas party will work out and everyone will have a nice time. I would like to know if Kim design will have a great year again next year and if Namjoon will finally be able to take a bit more time for himself instead of working all the time. I’d like to see him smile more often...” Did he really tell all that to a man he had just met for the first time? His cheeks blushed as he kept his eyes trained down on the cards.

“You really care about him, hm. He really is lucky to have you because he needs more people like you.” Yoongi began to mindlessly push the cards around, sorting them differently, putting a few back into the stack of cards. “I can ensure you; your Christmas party will be amazing. I heard Namjoon talking about it. He really wants to come this year, I think. Do you feel like he’s changing?”

“I do. And I really hope he does.” Jungkook cocked his head, “Not really changing, no, but there is something different about him. I think he might have finally found something else to put his heart onto and instead of being completely consumed by his work he starts to see past it. There are so many more reasons to get up in the morning than just because your work schedule tells you to. I feel like he’s finally starting to get a glimpse of that.”

“You are right,” Yoongi nodded, adding the reason ‘Jeon Jungkook’ as another one on his own list, because that man was the sweetest, kindest person he’d ever talked to. He could feel the warmth and passion radiate from him, the positivity that was surrounding him. He wanted nothing but to make all the people around him happy and Yoongi could feel it resonating within him. But there was something else that made him worried.

“You said he found something…you’re not really talking about a hobby, right?” He didn’t really look at Jungkook, as he turned around three of them. There was a wheel of fortune, but it was reversed, and it was making Yoongi bite his lip, while his eyes flickered to the next card. All of them seemed to be upside down; the second card was showing a hermit and the last one was the chariot. “Oh…”

“What is it?” Jungkook leaned over to get a better look at what Yoongi had picked. To him all the cards looked really pretty but he knew that they could all have different meanings, a pretty picture didn’t necessarily mean a good thing and the other way round.

“I’m not sure what they are referring to exactly…it’s not clear, but this one…” He pointed at the wheel of fortune. “Turned upside down like this, it means someone is losing control. And this one, the hermit, it kind of stands for isolation and loneliness. While the chariot emphasizes the lack of control again. It seems as if Namjoon is quite directionless. Or he will be.” He took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose, mumbling something about him telling Namjoon so as he shook his head.

Jungkook shook his head in denial, getting out of his chair. “It’s not fair to read Namjoon’s cards when he isn’t even there and I’m sure the reading would be way better if he was present. Or there was a mistake. Namjoon is fine. I’ll… I’ll get him for you now. Sorry for stalling.” With that he went out the door to call Namjoon - and explain to him why he had an appointment that late that he hadn’t told him about before.

Yoongi looked after the younger, sighing softly as a smile stole it’s way on his lips. He turned around another card, the smile turning brighter when it showed the symbol of the sun. Flipping the card back around, he pushed it towards where Jungkook sat before and began to collect the rest.

…

Carrying the laundry, Jimin crossed the living room again, when his eyes flickered over to Namjoon who was deeply immersed in his work at the kitchen table. When their eyes met, he accidentally stumbled over the end of a rug, giggling the embarrassment away before vanishing into the laundry room.

Just when he was gone the telephone rang and Namjoon picked it up automatically. On the other side of the line was Jungkook, explaining very sheepishly that there had been a mishap and he had forgotten to tell him about the appointment his consultant had made. Namjoon was quiet for a moment. “My what?” There was absolutely no one that deserved that title. He had consultants when he tried working with different materials or when he was trying a new marketing strategy but right now there was no one like that who he needed to meet up with.

“Your consultant? Or...or friend I think. Yoongi?” Jungkook sounded small, the mistake still nagging him and Namjoon’s bewildered reaction aiding further to make him contrite.

“Yoongi… he’s at the company? With an appointment? Right now? And you... you talked to him?” He felt like he had ants running all over his skin. This was the third time Yoongi showed up when normally he only came by like once a month at most. Had he told anything to Jungkook? About the start of the company? “Okay, you can.. you can get off early tonight. I’ll be there in a second.” As much as he hated the thought of leaving Yoongi alone at the company he figured that the other could walk to wherever he wanted anyways with his magic and he rather kept Jungkook away from him. Who knew what kind of deal Yoongi would try to make with the younger.

Opening up the dishwasher, Jimin began to sort the clothes, quietly humming a song to himself. He was lightly dancing, singing a little louder. Leaning back down, he got out another shirt, when Namjoon’s sudden enthusiasm to get up and to his office startled him effectively and he shot up, hitting the back of his head on the edge of the cupboard. He yelped in pain, blinking his eyes because for a moment he saw nothing but a few spots dancing around in front of him.

“Jimin?” Namjoon froze at the younger’s outcry of pain. “Are you alright?” When he didn't get an answer right away he immediately went into the laundry room where he saw Jimin rub the back of his head. “Did you hit your head? I have to get back to the office, but I can get you some ice first. Please don’t hurt yourself again while I’m gone, can you do that?” He teased him a little.

Jimin hummed in response, the pain too evident on the back of his head. “I’ll try not to.” He wondered why Namjoon had to run to the office out of a sudden again but promised that he wouldn’t hurt himself anymore. He was almost done with cleaning anyways, although he had hoped to stall his time a little at the end with Namjoon.

Only when Jimin was taken care of did Namjoon call himself a car. On the ride he was fidgety, trying to calm himself down and not rack his brain about why Yoongi was there, what he might want and what he could possibly do to make him comply.

Yoongi was bored out of his mind, staring at the wall as he swirled around in Namjoon’s chair. He had tried out every single one in his office but this one turned the smoothest.

That's how Namjoon found him.

He was a little out of breath because he had walked as fast as he could to get there (without actually running because running would mean he was desperate and Yoongi might see him with his… third eye or something) “Are you having fun? I hope you didn’t make Jungkook ask me here just because you wanted a new chair.”

“Oh, there you are!” Yoongi came to a halt, motioning for Namjoon to take a seat as if it was his office and not the other way around. “We had an appointment, right? It said so in his calendar. That’s why I’m here…” Leaning over the desk, he let his gaze wander around. “I really like what you made out of our deal, Namjoon. Are you happy with it?”

“You can’t fool me, Yoongi. And please don’t mess with Jungkook again, the poor boy will double check every appointment now and blame himself for it when we both know that it wasn’t his fault he had no idea of that ‘magical appointment’. If you want to talk to me you can just call me.” He took a breath, trying to find a hook in Yoongi’s statement but there was none. “Yes, thank you, I’m happy. Why, do you want to terminate our contract?” He had often wondered how or when it would end - and what would be the consequences. It wasn’t like he was being lazy and letting Yoongi do all the work in his company so even without magical help he should be fine... right?

“Where would be the fun in that?” Yoongi pursed his lips, getting up to look at the designs that were hanging on the pinboard of Namjoon’s office. “I just wondered…you really made a lot of what I gave you. You build an entire empire and dare I say, I couldn’t be any prouder.” Yoongi turned around waving Namjoon off, “Oh no, please. I’m fine. I don’t need to terminate anything. I’m just feeling sentimental this Christmas.” The witch sighed deeply, taking out the three cards he had picked earlier and giving them to Namjoon. “They were turned upside down. I like you, Namjoon and sometimes I worry…if this is really what you wanted.” He patted the other’s shoulder, passing by him.

Namjoon took the cards. There were pictures on it, and he knew that they were probably tarot cards but other than that he had no idea what they were supposed to mean. He only realized that Yoongi wasn’t just walking around in the room than out when there was silence. He turned and Yoongi was nowhere to be seen.

“Wh…wait! What does that mean? What do you want? Did you just call me here to give me those cards? Am I supposed to do something with them? I’m not magic!”

A/N: Happy third Advent! We hope you enjoy this little story until now :)

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shurisneakers · 3 years

Text

shut in [11]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, anxiety, ptsd, abuse

Word count: 2.7k

A/N: just to clarify, there are 14 chapters and an epilogue!! also you guys are so nice, thank you for letting me know what you think about this <333</p>

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!!

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Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

The wait was taking a toll. It was clawing at you from the inside, and paired with the occasional flare your anxiety gave, everyday was like spending time in an hourglass that was steadily filling up.

Sam helped; making sure the both of you ate after spending hours planning out and revising every detail, introducing you to the world when you spent too long indoors.

The constant rap of your finger against the table and pen tucked behind your ear was the position you found yourself in more often than not. Different scenarios listed themselves on a sheet of paper so you could go through the process of elimination, sorting each loophole out with proper backup.

Going to New York, 3rd floor of 32nd Street, only cash-

“I’m goin’ on a run.” Sam poked his head in from the doorway to the kitchen. “I’ll be back before Ransone calls.”

“What?” you mumble, not paying attention. You scratched out another implausible scenario, leaving you with many more to go. Everything had to be perfect.

“Going out. Be back soon,” he repeated.

It still took a minute to register but you found yourself shaking your head once it did. “No, don’t.”

“Why?” he straightened up, no longer leaning on the wall. “Something wrong?”

“It’s not safe.”

“I checked the cameras. No one’s out there,” he sounded confident but you couldn’t shake the feeling of skepticism around the situation that was beginning to return to you. “I’ll be careful.”

“You could be careful by not going.” You shouldn’t have to explain this to him. “It’s not safe.”

“Nothing’s changed yet-”

“They have.” You whip around to look at him. “Things are different now. We don’t know what’s out there.”

You both know that he had already been seen once. Who knew how many people were waiting forty feet away from the house? Risking his life for a jog was ridiculous.

“I can handle a 20 minute run,” he challenged. “I’m not even going that far.”

“You’re being reckless.” You could see the rebellious streak he had warned you of before making an entrance. Though you found his spontaneity endearing, the rashness that accompanied it you weren’t fond of.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It is, Sam,” you exclaimed. “We can’t fuck up the plan with you dying.”

He looks at you with his head tilted and annoyance on his face. A wave of tense silence washes over the both of you and only then do you realise it’s the closest thing you've had to an actual argument before.

“Is that really what this is about? The plan?” he questioned, arms crossed over his chest.

You hesitated.

“What else would it be about?” You know he saw it, the brief moment you took before you answered.

“I’m going for a run,” he said decisively. It stung more than it should have. “But I’m not going far. I’ll circle the house.”

That eased it, somewhat. You would prefer if he didn’t at all, but you were at peace with the compromise. A middle ground.

You nodded, looking away from him. He left soon after, but seeing him run past the window every now and then made you feel better.

Your mind replayed what he implied. You knew what he was saying, you weren’t completely dense. But you would never let emotions get in the way of work.

It had never worked out well for you before, not while you were still stuck with the organization. Like always, you could feel the familiar ache build in your chest, faces you prayed to forget flashing in your mind.

You exhaled, forcing yourself to not relive it again. You were thinking an awful lot about it for someone who supposedly didn’t care about it.

Stupid Sam with his stupid cute face and stupid good heart. Fuck him.

____

“Y/N.”

“Ransone.”

You nodded at Sam who was standing beside you with a glass of water in his hand, leaning his body weight on the table.

“Wilson there with you?”

“No, he isn’t.” Lying to him had become a habit by now, even though you were well acquainted with the consequences of doing so. “What’s the update?”

“We think we found them,” Ransone reported.

“Found who?”

“The people who shot at you.”

Your body tensed.

“Who is it?” you asked slowly, peering at Sam through the corner of your eye.

“Serpentine,” he said coolly. Sam scoffed, taking a small walk in circles to calm himself down. “Trying to establish themselves at the top again. Went for one of you but we don’t know which, found both of ya instead. Killed Pierce then waited for you to show up.”

Your eyebrows quirked up. You could see the muscles in Sam’s jaw tighten.

“How’d you find out?” You place your hand on his, urging him to calm down. He visibly softened, closing his eyes and letting out a silent exhale before nodding for you to continue.

“People talk. You know that Y/N,” Ransone sounded bitter.

“Not personally, no,” you mumbled.

“Well, they do.” The way his tone shifted back to normal like the conversation you just shared didn’t happen almost gave you whiplash. “That’s all on our end. What’s happening there?”

“Nothing. No updates.”

“Y’know, I’m surprised you haven’t killed him yet,” Ransone commented. “He tends to get… mouthy.”

“I don’t see him much,” you lied blatantly, ignoring the insult to Sam even though you wanted to retort.

“That’s a good thing. Can’t have you getting attached now, can we?”

You barely looked at Sam, only zeroed in on the fact that his thumb was absentmindedly tracing circles onto your skin while he paid attention to what Ransone was saying.

“I’m not.”

“I’m sure you’re getting sick of him,” Ransone chided, pushing this conversation far longer than you wanted him to. “After this I’ll make sure you never have to see him again, don’t worry.”

“Why?” Your eyebrows knitted together. You wondered if you responded too quickly.

“I’ll have him stationed somewhere else. Away from you at all times. Won’t have to interact with him again.” He was doing it again. Ruining any fucking form of a relationship you could have. “You can thank me later.”

“That won’t be necessary,” you bit back. He knew what he was doing. He was drawing it out of you.

“Well I thought you’d be more grateful consideri- oh,” he stopped abruptly. “Unless you’re already attached to him.”

You pulled your hand away from Sam who only looked concerned about where this conversation was heading. The sudden chill that took its place didn’t make you feel any better.

“Oh, Buttercup,” he laughed pitifully. “You know it would never work. Don’t you remember all the others?”

You didn’t say anything. Only folded your arms together and forced yourself not to go down the path he was trying to drag you to. If you hung up now he’d only take it as a confirmation.

“You two shouldn’t have been friends in the first place. Your lives would have never intersected if this didn’t go wrong.” You hated how he was pointing out things you had overanalyzed time and time again.

You hesitated for a second, forgetting the fact that you knew he was preying on you on purpose.

Because these were thought you’d already had. Thoughts of whether you were growing on him only because you were stuck together. Of course if he was forced to co-inhabit a safehouse for this long with anyone he’d like them.

And as much as you despised to even think it, Ransone was right. How would it even work once you got out?

It couldn’t.

And you wouldn’t let yourself even consider the possibility that it might because it was just wishful thinking at best. The line between friendship and something more were merging together so fast, you weren’t even sure they existed anymore.

“He doesn’t care about you, Y/N. I’m sure he’s charmed his way into making you think you’re important to him, but you’re not,” he sounded sympathetic, almost like he was patronizing you. “You’re just his way out of there, honey.”

Sam opened his mouth, ready to launch into a tirade. You held up a finger to silence him, praying that he wouldn’t do something stupid. You couldn’t lose the only communication you had with Ransone over this.

“I wish it didn’t have to be this way-” What a truckload of horseshit.

“I’ll send you my location,” you broke in, words faltering. “Just have someone come get me.”

“If that’s what you want.” You could tell that he was barely hiding the joy he had gotten out of completely fucking with you.

“Don’t look for me directly. I’ll come to you. Just have someone ready to bring me back.” You couldn’t bring yourself to look at Sam. You had too much going through your head at the moment, things that had specifically to do with him.

“Are you sure? Someone can be at your doorstep within an hour, you know that.”

“I need time to sort some things out. I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”

“As you wish.” You wanted to smack him.

“Bye,” you say shortly, trying to wrap it up.

“Y/N,” he cut in before you could end the conversation. You wait for him to continue, not saying a word. “I’m sorry you had to hear it from me. I just didn’t want you to get hurt.”

You roll your eyes and hang up, not letting him get another word in. The minute you got a second to breathe, everything he said began crawling its way back into your head.

“What the hell was that?” Sam fumed.

“I don’t know.” It was the truth.

“That wasn’t a part of the plan.” You want to tell him to calm down because you had never seen him this infuriated before.

“I don’t know,” you repeated, feeling more drained by the second. You fucked up by talking to him for so long, you knew it.

“That sick, abusive piece of shit,” he continued furiously, but you only looked down, tuning out his droning.

It was fucking humiliating to think that you could have a normal life. It just wasn’t possible. You were in too deep. Staying here with Sam only confused you, made you long for things that weren’t attainable.

“He’s right,” you utter quietly, effectively shutting him up.

He stared at you incredulously. “What?”

“He’s right.” You pushed yourself away from where you’re leaning on the table.

“About what?”

“You know what, Sam.”

“No, I don’t,” he retorted, “He said a lot of shit so I’m going to need you to specify.”

“I’m going to take a nap.” Your head was spinning; you didn't know how to tell him. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Don’t run away from this conversation,” he sounded annoyed, rightfully so. “Tell me what he’s right about so we can talk this out.”

“About this,” you relented, spinning around to look at him. “Us.”

“He was just trying to get into your head, Y/N, like he always does,” Sam exclaimed, letting his arms fall beside him.

“This could never work, Sam. We’re friends because we see each other every single day, constantly.” You gestured back and forth between the both of you. “What happens once we get out? When you’re not stuck with me twenty-four-seven?”

He knew what happens to people when they get too close within the organization; he had first hand experience with Riley. They never survived long enough to tell the story themselves. They were ripped away from you, time and time again. It was so tiring to start all over from the beginning, every single time and for nothing.

You didn’t want it to happen again, not to him. You just wished he’d believe the other anxieties you deemed less important than this, and dropped the topic. Another death is not something you’d be able to handle.

“We deserve a bit more credit than that, I think,” he said defensively, taking a step toward you. “If our relationship was built solely on proximity then it wouldn’t affect you this much. We’re beyond that.”

“Well, what if we’re not? What if we realise we only tolerated each other because we didn’t have a choice?” you fired back, crossing your arms.

“Speak for yourself,” he huffed. “I would never let that dictate my choice.”

He sounded so confident, so assured that it wasn’t circumstantial. How could he be so sure?

“I don’t get you,” you whispered. “I can’t figure you out.”

“What don’t you get?” He looked like he was on the verge of pleading. He stopped right in front of you, a temporary barricade between you and the hallway.

“Why you treat me the way you do.”

He looks taken aback for a second. “Did I do something wrong? Did I upset you in any-”

“No,” you interrupt him, realising that it didn't sound the way you wanted it to. “Why you’re so… good. To me.”

He doesn’t say anything in return and you can’t even look at him, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

You had tried for so long to figure out what his motives were. Every time he did things that went beyond common courtesy, your gut would scream at you to find a hidden motive. No one was ever this nice to you unless they were put up to it. You’d had enough experience to realise this.

When you couldn’t find anything it only confused you more. You had shoved it away a while ago after he never displayed any other reason. You let yourself believe it for once.

But it was back; the incessant need to know everything. It was gnawing at you along with everything else because Ransone knew exactly what buttons to push. There had to be something.

“Y/N,” he called out softly. You felt his hands on your shoulders, urging you to look at him.

“It’s stupid,” you murmur, trying to ignore the fluttering in your heart.

“It’s not. And I need you to look at me when I say this,” he says slowly, drawing your attention to his face. “I care about you. More than you think I do. You’re not some means to an end. He’s wrong and I need you to believe me on that.”

He waits for it to set in. You get why he wanted you to look at him now. There wasn’t an inkling of deceit in what he was saying. You had seen him lie, seen him try to bluff his way out of a petty situation. It wasn’t this.

He cared about you because he wanted to. Not because he was forced to; whether it was because you lived together, or because of something else.

There was so much more you wanted to ask him but nothing got past your throat. It was too heavy. You needed help.

There was barely any distance between the both of you. You could feel his breath, skin tingling from where he was holding you.

You unconsciously move in, drifting towards the warmth he radiated. Your hands find a place on his sturdy chest, and you let his heartbeat tether you.

His eyes close when you lean your forehead against his, forcing himself to control his breathing that was threatening to get away from him.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, forehead pressed against his, trying to make your peace with what he said.

You want to kiss him, much stronger than the last time you had the same thought. Just to see what it’d be like.

You instead pull away gently. Your hands still rest on his chest. You need time to figure out where your head's at.

“I trust you.” Is all you can say, not tearing your eyes away from him.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, letting it linger there for a second and you revel in the flips your stomach does. “I trust you.”

But for now, maybe you can be content with where you are.

Next part

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dimitribelikov · 3 years

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The Belikov Chronicles: The Tasha Conundrum Pt.2

✶ This one got pretty long. I even ended it quicker than planned, so hopefully it’s not too overwhelming. Admittedly, this installment deals less with Tasha, and more about Dimitri’s feelings towards Adrian. **There will be a Pt.3 and probably a Pt.4. ✶ notes : All dialogue is straight from Frostbite, chapter 15. The rest is mine, based on characters written by Richelle Mead. ✶ warnings : some language ✶ ships : romitri ✶ Part 1 can be found here | more one-shots featuring my version of Dimitri can be found here

My argument with Rose the day before had left me in such a darkened state, that I had completely forgotten about my original mission to check in with the guardians and find out more news on the Strigoi attacks. It was just as well, though. I knew there wasn’t going to be any big revelations unless someone where to come get me. I ended up spending the evening in Tasha’s company. Over dinner, she went on and on about her radical ideas for reforming the Moroi’s views on defense. Usually I ate her passion up with fascination, but I couldn’t help but find myself distracted. I mean, Adrian? Really?

Yet as soon as the vampiric morning came, I had only one thought on my mind as I left my room: to find Janine Hathaway to go over the tragedy that had happened and the ensuing arguments that had unfolded in the Moroi meeting. Janine was someone that I had always looked up to, and she seemed a bit more forthcoming with information than others. Surely with her, I could get a better grip on what was going on in our world. I knew that I could also provide some insight for the guardians into the Moroi side of things via Tasha’s conversation at dinner.

I was a one tracked mind, striding through the hotel’s hallways with no other worry in my head, let alone the fight with Rose. Until I heard her very voice from an open door. Damnit. Even in the wake of such important matters, her voice was able to bring me to a screeching halt, curiosity replacing my earlier determination.

I paused, wondering what she was doing in this wing of the resort. Almost immediately I realized that the open door belonged to none other than Adrian. Again?! Thoughts of her staying the night danced through my mind, but I pushed them out right away.

“I just want to know what’s going on here,” she demanded of her audience.

Sure enough, when I stood just behind her and was able to take in the scene of Adrian’s room, it looked as though Rose had just arrived. Further puzzling was the appearance of Lissa there. Surely Adrian couldn’t be that much of a scoundrel, I thought. Then again, with the stories I’d heard, I wouldn’t put it past him. “Me too,” I said, announcing myself. I could hear the short tone in my voice, but was careful to keep my expression neutral as I studied every detail of the room.

Rose had turned to regard me with a surprised look, and though I loved the victory of catching her guard, I couldn’t help but notice the cloud fo perfume that surrounded her. Had she actually gotten dolled up for the Ivashkov loser?

My annoyance deepened at the thought and I invited myself in, clinging to the one weapon I had: my authority. “Male and female students aren’t supposed to be in each other’s room.” I’m pretty sure a younger me just rolled his eyes and made a gagging sound at the lame “adult speech”.

“How do you keep doing this?” Rose demanded of Adrian, ignoring my recitation of the rules.

“Do what?” he replied. Ugh, that fucking grin. I wanted nothing more than to smack it off his face!

“Keep making us look bad!”

“You guys are the ones who came here.”

Adrian’s reply snapped me back into the argument. The two, innocent, young girls were visiting his room unescorted? I was beginning to sound like my old headmaster, but I didn’t care. “You shouldn’t have let them in. I’m sure you know the rules at St. Vladimir’s.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have to follow any school’s stupid rules,” Adrian replied. I couldn’t believe he had the nerve to actually argue this. In that moment, the girls might have well not even existed. All I cared about what putting the rich brat in his place. Somewhere in my head, a logical voice was reminding me that the Moroi were above me. They come first. I shouldn’t be so harsh in my judgement of him, but I just couldn’t help it.

“Perhaps not. But I would have thought you’d still respect those rules.” Gross. Now I definitely sounded like my old headmaster. Before I could worry about that too much, though, Adrian fired back. And he hit below the belt.

“I’m kind of surprised to find you lecturing about underage girls,” he said cooly.

I froze, feeling anger grow at the audacity with which the Moroi spoke back to me. Under that anger, though, there was fear. What had he’d heard? Clearly that had to be a dig about me and Rose, but I’d been so careful. Surely no one else knew a thing. Right?

“Besides, nothing sordid was going on,” he continued. “We were just hanging out.”

Yeah. Hanging out. Alone in his room. Nothing sordid about that, I thought sarcastically. “If you want to ‘hang out’ with young girls,” I replied, taking another small step towards him. “Do it at one of the public areas.”

My anger was unexpectedly side tracked when Adrian laughed. There was something about that laugh that didn’t sit right with me. My suspicions were confirmed when he went off, rambling about the oddest things. It wasn’t a normal way to win an argument, that was for sure. My head tilted as I studied him, wondering if he was actually as unhinged as he sounded. Just how dangerous is this guy?

Finally he wrapped up the odd soliloquy by actually agreeing me. Though hearing Adrian admit that he was a bad influence didn’t earn much sympathy from me, I was grateful that the discussion was over. It had taken a turn into dangerous territory with a near accusation about me and rose–– and then whatever that was.

Lissa, Rose, and I took our exit into the hallway, starting the walk back into the lobby. “One’s marked with life, and one’s marked with death,” he had said. It was lunacy and I shouldn’t put too much thought into it, but I couldn’t help but feel a strange sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“That was . . . strange,” Rose had said.

I couldn’t even be mad anymore. The odd turn in Adrian’s demeanor had cast a sobering spell over us all. “Very,” was all I could manage.

Stepping out into the hustle and bustle of the lobby woke me up from my tumultuous thoughts. I knew I couldn’t let Rose simply leave without trying to warn her. Whether I was jealous or not (and I adamantly promised myself that I wasn’t), I was her mentor. It was my job to steer her clear of danger and this situation was no different. “Rose. Can I talk to you?”

I saw her exchange a look with Lissa, but mercifully, the princess left us to our privacy. We moved to the side of a room, avoiding the groups of Moroi who were hurriedly checking out in the wake of the new attacks. Alone with Rose, I could feel my emotions begin to spike again. The jealousy of seeing her with Adrian, the protectiveness of needing to be a good mentor for her–– and now the scent of whatever perfume she’d gotten her hands on. She’d never worn any in the time I knew her, but the crisp, sweet fragrance toyed with my imagination.

Quickly pushing such thoughts away, I tried to figure out how best to tell her what was on my mind. I was still mad about her accusations the previous day, but this wasn’t about me. This was about her. “That was Adrian Ivashkov,” I said, trying and failing to keep the disapproval from my voice.

“Yeah, I know,” she replied quickly. I wonder just how much she knew about him.

“This is the second time I’ve seen you with him.”

I was sure I could detect annoyance in her eyes, and knew I was losing her attention. “Yeah. We hang out sometimes.”

My stomach dropped as my eyebrow arched. That was the second time I heard that phrase used. I wasn’t oblivious to Rose’s reputation at the Academy, but I also felt that I knew her better than that. Sure, I’d caught her in a very compromising position with the Zeklos kid once, but she’d seemed to have learned from that. Or at least taken the lesson to heart in a mature way. Yet I wasn’t sure that there existed a world in which “hanging out with Adrian Ivashkov” could be anything innocent. “You hang out in his room a lot?” I asked, sounding more accusing than anything else.

I knew Rose too well, though. She wasn’t one to simply take a lecture and peacefully leave. If she felt backed into a corner, she fought. While that was usually something I admired in her, in this moment, I was worried about what rebuttal would come.

Apparently, even my worst guesses weren’t nearly as bad as what she actually came up with. “What happens between him and me is none of your business.” It wasn’t lost on me that she did a near perfect impersonation of myself the previous day. Shit, she’s good. Logically I knew that she was just trying to get back at me for the Tasha thing, but I couldn’t help the sudden assault of mental images of Rose and Adrian that bombarded my mind. Thanks to my guardian training, I was able to keep it all hidden from my expression.

“Actually,” I retorted, not missing a beat in my scramble to gain the upper hand. “As long as you’re at the Academy, what you do is my business.” Checkmate!

Rather than ending the argument there, however, it only ramped up, each of us firing back in quick succession. We were a good match for each other in the ring, and clearly that sparring spilled out into other areas of our life.

“Not my personal life. You don’t have any say in that.”

“You’re not an adult yet.”

“I’m close enough. Besides, it’s not like I’ll magically become an adult on my eighteenth birthday.”

“Clearly.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Was she actually blushing at that? “I meant––”

“I know what you meant,” I cut her off, not wanting to travel down that road right now. Adrian’s borderline accusations still bothered me. “And the technicalities don’t matter right now. You’re an Academy student. I’m your instructor. It’s my job to help you and to keep you safe.” I idly wondered who I was trying to convince more, her or me. “Being in the bedroom of someone like him . . . well, that’s not safe.”

I hoped she understood what I was trying to convey. I didn’t want to fight. Our argument the previous day killed me, but I wasn’t going to let her self-sabotage herself, either. Rose had the potential to be great. Perhaps even one of the best. I wasn’t going to let a spoiled, rich, royal ruin that for her.

“I can handle Adrian Ivashkov,” she muttered. The sudden mental image of those two in a sparring ring did much to lighten my mood, but not enough to derail me from on the topic at hand. “He’s weird–– really weird, apparently–– but harmless.”

Well that was hardly true. Adrian might not be a killer or anything, but he certainly one of the least harmless guys I knew. What happened to Mason? Why wasn’t she with him? I actually like that guy.

A thought occurred to me just then. This whole time I’d justified myself not being jealous because I was okay with her being with Mason. Yet Mason was absolutely harmless. He was safe. It was obvious to anyone in the same room as those two that he was completely head over heels for Rose, but I never saw the same passion for him in her eyes. Her being with him never seemed like a threat–– ignoring the fact that I had nothing to be threatened with since I’m not even in the equation. I can’t be. It wouldn’t be right. But throw someone like Adrian in? Hell yeah I was suddenly threatened. Rose deserved better than him, but I knew how easy it was for him to get his way with that cocky grin.

Fuck. I really am jealous.

“Speaking of personal lives,” Rose said, mercifully cutting off my traitorous train of thought. At least, I thought it was a mercy until I heard what she was getting at. “I suppose you were off visiting Tasha, huh?”

My own personal revelation weighed too heavily to allow me a quippy, or even scathing, retort. “Actually, I was visiting your mother.”

“You going to hook up with her, too?” At least one of us was on their argumentative A-game.

My mind was too much of a mess to truly react to it, though I had to admit, it was a pretty good line. “No, we were looking over some new data in the Drozdov attack.” After that, any signs of jealousy or mentions of Tasha and Adrian were forgotten as we spoke about the Strigoi problem. Though the heaviness of the situation pressed in on us, I was glad that Rose could set aside our pettiness and take the real problems to heart. I kept calling her a young girl to Adrian, but she truly is mature beyond her years. That didn’t counter the fact that she’s underaged and shouldn’t be anywhere near that jackhole, but it reminded me that she’s more than just a student. One day soon, we’d be working side by side, and I looked forward to that. I may be assigned as her mentor for now, but as we spoke about the Strigoi threat and Moroi politics, I knew that Rose is more than that. She’s my equal. It felt right to divulge the guardian’s knowledge of the Strigoi’s whereabouts to her.

“Why’d you tell me this, anyway?” she asked eventually. “This is guardian stuff. Not the kind of thing you let novices in on.”

I paused, turning over the words in my head. Our heated emotions were gone, and in the wake that followed, I thought back to the way I had been treating her lately. I thought of her as my equal, but I didn’t treat her that way. I wanted to change that. “I’ve said some things . . . the other day and today . . . that I shouldn’t have. Things that insulted your age. You’re seventeen . . . but you’re capable of handling and processing the same things those much older than you do.”

“Really?” she asked. The look of hope that kindled in her eyes melted my heart then and there. This was how I liked her best, full optimism and void of the anger that always seem to follow her.

I nodded, feeling the hint of a smile on my lips. “You’re still really young in a lot of ways–– and act young–– but the only way to really change that is to treat you like an adult. I need to do that more. I know you’ll take this information and understand how important it is and keep it to yourself.” I was man enough to admit when I was wrong, and my recent treatment of her had been just that. Surely it wasn’t too late to set things right–– and hopefully steer her away from certain disaster.

A moment passed between us. Looking into Rose’s eyes, I could swear that I could hear her thoughts. She wanted to be the kind of person that I wanted to treat her as. I think on some level, we both understood the burden that our futures carried as the last Dragomir princess’s guardians, but we were also both looking forward to carrying it out together.

That moment of peace was short lived, however, when a familiar voice greeted me. “Dimka!” With those two syllables spoken by Tasha Ozera, I felt the mood instantly shift between me and Rose.

to be continued . . .

#vampire academy #dimitri belikov #rose hathaway #romitri #adrian ivashkov #vampire academy fanfiction #ᴏɴᴇ sʜᴏᴛ ✶ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇʟɪᴋᴏᴠ ᴄʜʀᴏɴɪᴄʟᴇs

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malarkay · 3 years

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To Walk With Dreams and Darkness: Chapter One

Summary: The year: 1982. The place: Brixton, London, England. Piper is a normal 11-year-old kid trying to enjoy the summer holiday with her foster brothers, Aaron and Finn. But when a stranger shows up bearing an acceptance letter to a place called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, she’s swept away to a magical world, one that is just beginning to heal from a brutal, decade-long war. There she will make new friends and new enemies. And she just might find herself a part of something bigger than she ever imagined.

Chapter 1:

Minerva studied him with a tight-lipped look of disapproval. "I trust you aren't planning on delivering this letter dressed like that."

Arygyn made a show of looking down at his outfit, a deep aqua robe trimmed in red, with billowy sleeves and metallic gold feathers embroidered around the cuffs and high collar, "Not colourful enough?"

Minerva's stern façade didn't crack. "I see that your time away from us has not granted you any more maturity. Or humility."

"I know how terribly disappointed you'd be if it had," he said, grinning at her.

She went on as if he hadn't spoken. "Given the circumstances of your resignation, I had foolishly assumed you'd be on your best behaviour to prove to the Headmaster that he made the right decision in inviting you back."

"Oh? And what do you know of the 'circumstances of my resignation'?" he asked airily.

"Need I remind you that I am Deputy Headmistress of this school? There aren't many secrets the Headmaster keeps from me. Do you think I don't know what prompted your departure?"

That sobered him up. "Minerva," he began, but she held up a hand.

"What's done is done. We cannot change the past. We can only strive to do better moving forward."

He felt his face flush. He wasn't easily embarrassed, but Minerva McGonagall had always possessed the rare ability to discomfit him, even as children.

"Back to the matter at hand, I took the liberty of choosing a Muggle outfit for you to wear on this assignment." She nodded to the folding screen that blocked off a small corner of her office.

He walked behind the screen to discover a brown tweed suit with a white button-down shirt and matching brown tie.

"Minerva, no!"

His protestation was met with a soft noise of amused satisfaction from her.

Grudgingly, he changed into the suit. Emerging from the privacy of the screen, he frowned at her as she smiled in open amusement now. "I think you forget something," she pointed out, her gaze flicking up to his hair.

He sighed, retrieving his wand from the inner pocket of his jacket and pointing it at his head. "Colovaria!" He looked at the mirror she had hanging on the wall, watching as his hair and beard faded from their glorious green and purple to his natural dirty blond.

"Well, I hope you're happy," he said, carding his fingers through his hair self-consciously.

"Oh, you have no idea," she responded, holding out an envelope sealed with the Hogwarts crest in red wax. "I won't keep you any longer. This letter is already late."

~*~*~

"I'm not sure this is a good idea."

"Aww, c'mon, Piper! They're bullies! They deserve this!"

Piper frowned. Finn, one of her foster brothers, had a point. The gang of older kids had caused them nothing but grief since they'd known them, constantly picking on them for no other reason than the fact that they were younger and smaller than them. And now here they were, clowning around in the corner shop while their bikes laid unlocked and unattended outside. Still….

"I know they're bullies, but we're not thieves."

She looked over to her other foster brother, confident that he would back her up. But he was staring at the bikes with a mischievous gleam in his green eyes. She nudged him with her elbow to get his attention. "Right, Aaron?"

"Let's do this!" Aaron said with finality, and Finn pumped his fist in the air, certain that the matter was settled with Aaron on board with his plan.

"I can't believe you two!" she hissed.

"What's the matter? Do you not know how to ride a bike or something?" Finn challenged.

"Of course I know how to ride a bike! Probably better than you! I…" she stopped abruptly when she noticed his triumphant grin. "Finnegan Fletcher! I will not be goaded into going along with your stupid plan!"

"God, Piper, why do you always have to be such a goody-goody?"

"I wouldn't have to be if you'd stop being such a screw-up!"

He mouthed her words mockingly back at her, and she was about to really lay into him when he suddenly grinned. "Hey Piper, guess what?"

"What?" she spat at him.

"Too late," he said, punctuating his words with a pair of finger guns. She looked to where he was pointing. While they were busy bickering, Aaron had gone and nicked one of the bikes, mounting it. Finn laughed and ran over to do the same, and she had no choice but to follow or be left behind to deal with the consequences.

She glanced through the glass door of the shop as she took a bike, making sure no one had noticed them. Luckily, the two leaders of the gang seemed to be embroiled in an argument of their own, which wasn't an uncommon occurrence. They were a brother-sister duo, a pair of upper-middle-class kids in their late teens who tried to cultivate a working-class punk image but couldn't quite pull it off. Nonetheless, they had managed to amass a following of half a dozen townies who followed them wherever they went. It was their bikes that she and Aaron had been sure to pick. She wasn't sure who Finn's belonged to.

"Let's get out of here before they figure out what's going on," she said.

"You don't have to tell me twice!"

With that, they pedalled like mad all the way home. Between their front garden and their neighbour's was a tall privacy hedge with a large hollow spot in the centre. It had made for a great little secret hideout when they were younger, and it was the perfect place to stash their contraband bicycles now. With the bikes hidden, she began walking up to their house when she spotted the white sedan parked out front and froze in her tracks. "Um, guys, was Ms Davies supposed to visit today?"

"No, she's not supposed to come until Monday," Aaron answered.

"They know about the bikes!" she yelped. She wheeled on Finn and poked him hard in the chest with a finger. "This is all your fault! What if she's here to take us away from the Wrights because of this? We'll be separated and never see each other again!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Aaron cut in, putting a hand on Piper's shoulder. "Piper, calm down! There's no way they know about the bikes. It's only been twenty minutes."

"Well, she's here early for some reason, and that can't be good," Piper said, worrying her lower lip with her teeth.

"What if she is here to take one of us away?" Finn asked, sounding worried now. "Not 'cause of the bikes, but just because."

"There's no reason to think that," Aaron said confidently.

"No reason to think that? Mate, when was the last time she ever came for an unscheduled visit?" Finn pointed out.

Aaron opened his mouth to answer, but he must have realized he didn't have a good response because he closed it again.

"Listen, standing here and worrying isn't going to do us any good," Piper decided. Taking a deep breath, she marched up the walkway to the front door before she lost her nerve. Pushing open the door, she was greeted by the sight of her foster mother, social worker, and a tall, suited man she had never seen before sitting in the parlour sharing a pot of tea.

"And that," the man said with a dramatic flourish of one hand. "Is how I narrowly avoided getting expelled from H-ah, Saint Cyprian's, myself!" He had a flamboyant, lilting way of speaking that didn't fit his stuffy appearance. She and her brothers stood gaping in the doorway as Agatha Wright and Florence Davies burst into scandalized laughter at his tale.

"Oh my," Agatha said, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin. "Well, I don't expect our Piper will be getting into such mischief. She's never been any trouble."

"Speak of the dickens!" the mysterious man said, eyes falling upon the trio. Putting his teacup down, he stood and swept over to them. "Piper Cochran, I presume?"

She nodded hesitantly, and he gave a bow that was every bit as dramatic as his earlier flourish had been. "I am Professor Skeelur, and I represent Saint Cyprian's School for Gifted Children."

Beside her, Finn giggled and nudged Aaron. "Is it just me, or does that sound like something straight out of the X-Men?"

"You two strapping lads must be Aaron and Finnegan!"

Aaron grinned, and Finn puffed out his chest. No one had ever called them strapping before, certainly not skinny little Finn. "Yes, sir," Aaron answered for them. "If you don't mind my asking, why are you here?"

"I don't mind at all. I am here to offer Ms Cochran here a spot at our school. You see, her excellent marks make her just the kind of pupil we look for."

Piper's eyes lit up. "Really? I've never heard of this school. Is it here in London?"

"Scotland, actually. It's a boarding school."

"Oh," Piper said, her face falling. "Sounds expensive."

Ms Davies spoke up from her spot on the sofa. "The school covers tuition, room, and board. Money's no issue. And should you choose to attend, you'll receive the stipend the Wrights receive for your care during the time school is in session, for school supplies, and anything else you might need while you're away."

Piper looked hopeful, "And I'll get to come back here when school isn't in session?"

"Of course," Agatha said, beckoning her over and pulling her into a hug. "You will always have a place here. You know that."

Professor Skeelur clapped his hands together, bringing their attention back to him. "Now, there are a few details that need to be discussed before Piper makes her decision. Is there somewhere that Ms Davies and I can speak to Piper privately?"

Agatha nodded. "She has her own room; you can speak in there."

Piper led them to her room. The professor shut the door and then, much to her confusion, he pulled a pale, slightly gnarled stick from the inside pocket of his jacket and pointed it at the door. "Sanctum impervius!"

"Now then, we can speak freely," he said, turning to her. "I must confess that I wasn't entirely honest with you back there. There is no Saint Cyprian's. I'm here on behalf of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Smile, kid! Your life just got a whole lot more interesting! You're a witch."

She frowned.

"Is this a joke? Because if it is, it's not funny." She had actually been stupid enough to believe that she had gotten accepted into a good school. She should have known better.

"Piper," Ms Davies said gently. "It's not a joke."

She scoffed, and the professor – if that's what he really was – added, "And I can prove it."

"What are you going to do? Pull a rabbit out of a hat? Saw Ms Davies in half?" Piper asked sarcastically.

If anything, her mockery just made his grin widen. "You misunderstand. You're not going to be learning parlour tricks. You're going to be learning real magic. Like this! Well, not exactly like this. There aren't many witches and wizards who can do this. But it'll give you an idea."

He stepped back, giving himself room, and then…well, then she couldn't quite believe her eyes. He began to warp and shift until suddenly the man was gone, and in his place was a bird. It had iridescent blue-green feathers, a red underbelly, and a tail over twice its body length. It launched itself into the air and flew around the room.

Ms Davies gasped. Piper could only stare wide-eyed as the bird landed and transformed back into the professor.

"Close your mouth, kid. You'll catch flies," he told her. "Do you believe me now?"

"I'm dreaming," she decided.

Professor Skeelur stepped forward and delivered a sharp pinch to her arm.

"Ow! Why'd you do that?"

"To help you decide if you're dreaming or not. And what d'you know, it looks like you aren't!"

"So, you're really a wizard?"

"Yes."

"And I'm a witch?"

"Yes."

"And is Ms Davies a witch?" She looked curiously at the woman she thought she had known for half her life.

"No," Ms Davies said.

"She's a Muggle."

"Oh no, what's that?" Piper asked, wondering if her social worker would transform into some strange creature now, too.

"I don't have any magic," Ms Davies explained. "But you aren't the first case I've had who ended up being magical, so this didn't come as a complete shock to me. At least, not until he turned into a bird. I haven't seen that before!"

"Does Agatha know?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"The fewer Muggles who know about us, the better," Professor Skeelur explained. "We have pretty strict laws against revealing ourselves unnecessarily."

"But what about other people like me? Don't their families know?"

"Well, yes. Most Muggle-born children's immediate families are told."

"Then why can't Agatha, and Robert, and Aaron and Finn know? They're my family."

Professor Skeelur took a moment to consider her words, then shrugged. "Well, if you consider them family, then I suppose you can tell them if you want and if you think they can keep it to themselves. I leave that decision up to you. Oh! I almost forgot."

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope, handing it to her. She looked at the front, finding her name and address written in green ink. Flipping it over, she saw that it was closed with a wax seal. Snapping the seal, she pulled out the letter within. The first sheet of paper was an acceptance letter that rehashed what the professor had already told her. The second page was a list of school supplies she would need.

"Work robes, dragonhide gloves, pewter cauldron, a wand," she read aloud before skimming over the rest of the list, eyebrows raising. "Where am I supposed to get all this?"

"Diagon Alley."

"I don't know where that is."

"Well, of course you don't. That's part of the reason I'm here."

"You'll take me?"

"Yes. This very afternoon if Ms Davies doesn't mind driving us. I'd Apparate us there, but you're new to magic. I don't know how you'd respond, and frankly, I'd rather not have you getting sick on me."

Piper nodded. She didn't want to get sick on him, either.

When Ms Davies agreed, they told Agatha that she had accepted her spot at the school and that they were off to purchase school supplies, and then the three of them piled into Ms Davies' car. She drove them to Charing Cross Road, and the professor led them into and through a dilapidated pub and out into a back alley.

Taking out his wand, he tapped a series of bricks and, to Piper's amazement, the wall rearranged itself into an archway, revealing a whole new world beyond.

"Wow," she breathed.

Their first stop was to Gringotts Wizarding Bank, where Professor Skeelur and Ms Davies helped her set up an account and get her stipend money exchanged into wizarding currency. She tried not to stare too hard at the bankers, who the professor told her were goblins, during the transaction. She didn't want to be rude.

"Where to next?" the professor asked once they left the bank.

"Back near the entrance was a shop with a stack of cauldrons outside. I need one of those."

The professor nodded and led the way to the shop. He ended up negotiating a reasonable price for a display model that had no flaws other than a darker patina that suggested that it had been sitting there for some time.

Next door, they purchased a set of brass scales and a telescope before heading to the apothecary across the street to pick up a set of glass phials.

They passed a shop called Quality Quidditch Supplies that had a large window display showing off brooms, an odd assortment of balls, and protective gear. "What are the brooms for?" she asked.

"Flying, of course."

She stopped walking and stared at him before bursting into laughter. "You're telling me that witches actually do fly around on broomsticks?"

"All the time."

"Why haven't we ever seen any, then?"

"I told you, we're cautious about not revealing magic to Muggles."

They stopped off at the stationary store, where she purchased some quills, ink, and a pack of parchment rolls, along with some notebooks. Next came Flourish & Blotts. Stepping into the store, Piper felt her pulse jump. It was the most glorious bookshop she had ever seen in her life. The store was two stories tall, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves ran along the perimeter of each floor. Smaller bookcases and tables stacked precariously high with books dotted the first floor, and even more books surrounded the checkout counter. The shop was large but was so cluttered that it felt cosy, warm, and inviting.

She slowly worked her way around the shop, perusing the books. There were hardcover and paperback books that were no different from those you'd find in a regular bookshop. But there were also ones bound in what Professor Skeelur claimed was dragon hide, as well as books bound in silk. There were giant books she could barely lift and tiny books with print so small she couldn't read it without a magnifying glass.

Eventually, she came across a section of second-hand textbooks. She carefully selected the best cared for ones she could find. In line at the checkout counter, she picked up a copy of a book called The Tales of Beedle the Bard. She flipped through the pages and asked, "Is this a book of fables?"

Professor Skeelur nodded, and Piper added it to her pile. "Aren't you a little old for children's stories?" he joked.

"Well, in the Muggle world, you can actually learn a lot about a culture by reading their fables. I imagine it's the same with the wizarding world. And I want to learn about you. About us."

The professor smiled a genuine smile and excused himself. After a moment, he came back with another book, this one titled Hogwarts: A History. "I think you'll like this one, too. I'll buy it for you."

"You don't have to do that," she told him.

"Of course I don't, kid. I want to. You're welcome."

She grinned as they paid for her books and reluctantly left the shop.

Next, they stopped at the professor's behest at Cranville Quincey's Magical Junk Shop shop. "All this stuff of yours is getting heavy," he complained. "Even split between the three of us. And by the three of us, I mean mostly me. Don't think I haven't noticed that I'm the one doing all the heavy lifting here."

He set down the bags he had been carrying, the ones with her books and cauldron, before searching through the small, cluttered shop. "Luck is on our side today!" he said, as he yanked a battered leather steamer trunk free from where it was wedged between an old wardrobe and an armchair that had seen better days. He checked the price tag and, satisfied with it, paid the shopkeeper and ushered them back outside.

Once out in the light of the sun, the trunk looked even less impressive. It was beyond beat up, with tears in the leather, a sagging lid, and a broken latch.

"Thanks," she said with as much politeness as she could muster.

Professor Skeelur smirked. "Nothing a little spit-shine won't fix."

"Please don't spit on it. It's been through enough."

"Piper!" Ms Davies said reproachfully.

But Professor Skeelur just laughed it off. "Watch and learn, Little Miss Sassy Pants!" He pointed his wand at the trunk and said, "Reparo!"

The trunk began to mend. The tears in the leather closed, the latch realigned itself and firmly reattached to the trunk, and the structural integrity of the lid was restored.

"Wow!"

"Oh, I'm not done." He pointed his wand again. "Installare rotae!"

The trunk rose a few centimetres off the ground. She looked closer and discovered that it was because locking wheels had been added to each corner of the trunk.

"Capacious extremis!" Piper watched but didn't notice anything different about the trunk. She looked at him quizzically. "Extension Charm," he explained. "It gives you more room on the inside. Now then, what's your favourite colour?"

"Blue."

"Colovaria!"

The dull brown leather of the chest transformed into a deep, royal blue that really made the brass fixtures pop.

"Wow…." She was getting a lot of use out of that word today.

"How do you like it now?" he asked smugly.

"I love it!"

"Good. Now pack your things away, and let's continue. We still need your robes and your wand."

They went to a second-hand robe shop next, where she found three sets of school uniforms and work robes in good shape for half the price the professor said Madam Malkin's would cost.

All that was left was her wand. The professor led them to a little shop toward the end of the street. "Ollivander," the professor told her, "is the best wandmaker in all of Britain. If there's one area you don't want to skimp on, it's your wand." Ms Davies elected to stay outside with her trunk so that things wouldn't get too cramped inside.

Ollivander's was a small, dimly lit shop. The air was stuffy and smelt faintly of dust. Shelves lined the wall behind the counter, each one stacked high with long, narrow boxes.

Behind the counter was a man with unruly white hair. Piper assumed he must be Mr Ollivander. He had his back turned as he searched the shelves, running his finger along a row of boxes before choosing one.

Setting it on the counter, he opened the lid, taking out a wand and offering it to the only other customer in the shop, a dark-haired girl her age.

"This one is blackthorn and unicorn hair, 11 inches, fairly flexible. A very loyal combination. Once the wand bonds with its owner, it's very unlikely to be won by another. Good for duelists."

The girl gave the wand a wave. When nothing happened, Mr Ollivander took the wand back, setting it aside with others that formed a small discard pile on the counter.

The man resumed his search of the shelves, choosing another. "Birch and phoenix feather, 12 inches, unyielding. Phoenix feather wands favour your family. Your father and grandmother were both chosen by them. Give it a try."

Piper looked up at Professor Skeelur. She wanted to ask him what the man meant by the wand choosing people, but he had his attention focused elsewhere. She followed his gaze to where a woman stood silently off to the side. She was an older, aristocratic woman dressed in black, Victorian-era clothing. Her long, sleek hair was either pure white or platinum blonde; Piper couldn't tell which. Her eyes were an icy blue and just as cold as she stared back at the professor with a level of antipathy that he matched.

"No?" Ollivander's voice drew her attention back to him and the girl. "Let's try this one. Elm and phoenix feather, 10 inches, pliable."

Again, nothing seemed to happen when the girl waved the wand, and the man added it to the pile of rejected wands.

Ollivander scanned the shelves, stroking his chin. A full minute of silence stretched out before he chose another box.

"Yew and dragon heartstring, 12 inches, rigid."

The girl perked up the moment the wand touched her hand. She raised the wand, and Piper jumped as a shower of silver sparks shot into the air, bathing the room in a ghostly glow before fading.

"Excellent!" Ollivander exclaimed. "I'll box this up for you."

The woman stepped up to the counter to pay for the wand, and the girl turned, finally noticing that they weren't alone. Casting a surreptitious glance toward the woman, making sure her attention was elsewhere, she walked over to them.

Face to face, Piper was able to get a better look at her. She was of a similar height to Piper with a pale, heart-shaped face and, unusually, deep violet eyes.

"What are you doing here?" she asked the professor without preamble.

"Hogwarts business."

"Oh," the girl said, disappointment apparent in her tone. "I thought perhaps..." her eyes cut to Piper, and she elected not to finish her sentence. Instead, she studied Piper, eyeing her from head to toe and back again. "You're Muggle-born." It wasn't a question.

Piper nodded. "And you're," she hesitated for just a moment, realizing she wasn't sure of the proper terminology, but took a deep breath and ploughed on ahead anyway. "Witch-born."

Beside her, Professor Skeelur coughed, pressing a fist to his mouth. By the way his eyes sparkled, she could tell his cough was covering laughter.

The girl laughed outright, not bothering to hide her amusement. She stuck out a hand, "I'm Lark Cyclonis."

Before Piper could introduce herself, the woman was at Lark's side, slapping down her offered hand.

"Merlin's beard, Anarchis," Professor Skeelur said heatedly. “Is she not allowed to make new friends?”

"Don't be absurd, Arygyn. Befriend a Muggle-born? Out of the question.”

Piper's jaw tightened. Unlike when Lark had said it, Anarchis' use of the word 'Muggle-born' was filled with disdain. She was no stranger to that tone. She had heard it often enough from people who couldn't keep their opinions to themselves when it came to her living situation or heritage.

Professor Skeelur narrowed his eyes at the woman, and when he spoke, his voice was as cool as hers. "Why don't you just use the word we all know you really want to use?"

Anarchis sneered. "Watch your tongue with me, boy. This is precisely why you are to have nothing to do with this family. I don't need you teaching Larkspur how to be a disrespectful blood traitor."

"Grandmother, please," Lark's voice was tight, her face carefully blank.

"Not another word," Anarchis snapped at her. She handed Lark the bag with her wand before gripping the back of her neck. "Now come along. We still need your books." Without another glance at either Professor Skeelur or herself, the woman marched the girl out of the shop.

Piper crossed her arms as she watched them go. "Good to know I'm not good enough for some people in this world, either," she said, aiming for a light tone, but the lump in her throat got in the way.

"Kid," Professor Skeelur said, putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing. "Anyone here who thinks you're not good enough isn't worth knowing. Now let's get you your wand."

She nodded, giving him a weak smile.

He walked her up to the counter. "Mr Ollivander, this is Piper Cochran. She'll be starting her first year at Hogwarts this fall."

"It's nice to meet you, sir," she greeted him as he peered at her with luminous, silvery eyes. If it weren't for Professor Skeelur and that awful Anarchis woman both having blue eyes, she'd seriously be starting to wonder if odd-coloured eyes were the norm in this strange world.

"The pleasure is all mine," he replied. He walked around the counter with a tape measure in hand. "Now, let's see what we're working with."

He released the tape measure, and it went to work on its own. It measured her height, the length of her arms, wrist circumference, palm width, the distance between her eyes, and a dozen other nonsensical measurements. A quill jotted down the information for Ollivander as he asked her about her dominant hand and when, where, and at what time she was born.

By the end of it, she wasn't quite sure if he meant to sell her a wand, tailor her school uniform, or write up her astrological chart.

He walked back around to the other side of the counter and searched the shelves, speaking to her as he went. "Each wand has its own unique personality," he explained. "The different wood types and wand cores have certain characteristics they bring to the table, with each individual tree and creature adding their own flair. Length and flexibility each play their parts. And, of course, the personality of the wizard the wand bonds with is the final ingredient. When you put all those pieces together, you get a wand that is unlike any that has ever existed or will exist again. The choosing of a wand is one of the most important moments in a young witch or wizard's life."

Plucking a box from the shelf, he turned and smiled at her. Opening the box, he offered her the wand within. "Grapevine and dragon heartstring, 11", swishy."

She took the wand and, having watched this process play out with Lark before her, gave it a little wave. Nothing happened, and Ollivander took the wand back, placing it back into the box before setting it aside. "You see, the wand chooses the wizard. If the wand decides you're not a good fit for it, it will refuse to perform for you or will perform poorly. You can use another's wand in a pinch, but neither you nor the wand will reach your full potential that way. Here, my goal is to match you with the perfect wand. I hate wasted potential."

"How will I know if a wand is a perfect match?"

"Oh, it will let you know. Now then, try this one on for size. Alder and unicorn hair, 13 inches, supple."

Again, she tried waving the wand, and again nothing happened. Nothing happened with cedar and unicorn hair or aspen and dragon heartstring, either.

As the pile of discarded wands grew, Piper began to wonder if Professor Skeelur had made a mistake. Maybe there was another Piper Cochran out there somewhere who was the real witch, waiting on a Hogwarts letter that would never come because it had been handed to her imposter, instead.

"Maple and phoenix feather, 12 and a half inches, reasonably supple."

Piper took the wand, and a feeling of warmth spread through her. She waved the wand, and a glowing ball of blue light shot from it, flew around the perimeter of the shop, and right out the window.

Ollivander smiled, "An excellent wand! And an auspicious start to your new life as a witch. Both maple and phoenix feather are highly prized. For a wand of such calibre to choose you tells me that you can achieve greatness. But never rest on your laurels. Maple demands an adventurous and innovative spirit in its owner, or it will languish."

"Really?" Piper breathed. "You aren't just saying that to make me feel better about myself?"

"Why would I do that? I take my craft very seriously. If I believed you to be a mediocre witch in the making, I'd simply say nothing at all," Ollivander said matter-of-factly.

"What about that last wand you sold?"

"Yew and dragon heartstring? Why do you want to know? Taking a shine to wand lore already?"

"Just curious."

"Well, it's a powerful combination."

"More powerful than maple and phoenix feather?"

Ollivander hummed as he mulled the question over. "I would say so, yes. Phoenix feather will excel at any task you put it toward. But it's also stubborn. It makes you earn its excellence. But I find that those who are chosen by it are up to the challenge. Dragon heartstring possesses more brute strength and is easier to work with, but that isn't necessarily a good thing. You're more likely to accidentally blow yourself up with a dragon heartstring wand."

She laughed but stopped when she realized neither Ollivander nor the professor was laughing with her. "You're serious?"

"Quite. There's a reason magic requires so many years of schooling and why underage wizards aren't allowed to use magic outside of school. As for the wood, yew is rare and powerful. Some would say..."

"Dark," Professor Skeelur cut in, and Ollivander frowned.

"Yes, some would say that. Yew's reputation has been unfairly maligned over the centuries. I was going to say that yew is bold. It's attracted to the strong, the resolute. It appreciates a certain level of audacity in its owner. None of those qualities are inherently evil. Does that answer your question?"

"I think so, thank you."

Ollivander smiled again. "If you're still interested in wand lore after your fifth year, come see me. I might be persuaded to offer you a summer apprenticeship."

Grinning, she thanked him again. He packaged up the wand as she counted out the money she owed him. "Your wand registration number is printed on a card inside the wand box. Don't lose it. You may need it someday, especially if you ever plan to travel to the states. They have strict permitting laws over there."

She thanked him for a third time, and Professor Skeelur smirked at her as they left the shop. "Look at you. Your first day in the wizarding world, and you're already getting job offers."

Her smile didn't fade for the rest of the day. This was going to be fun.

~*~*~

A/N: Okay, who made it this far? Really? Great! Scale of 1-10, how interested are you in continuing to read this?

#storm hawks #storm hawks fanfic #storm hawks piper #arygyn the skeelur #cyclonis

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

THE HUNGARIAN HORNTAIL

Harry sighed deeply as he turned to his chapter, knowing he was praying for a miracle just for one good thing to happen this chapter.

The prospect of actually talking with Sirius was all that sustained Harry over the next fortnight,

Sirius was still waiting for that moment where that could be said with a smile on his face, like Harry talking to him should cause, not a life line because the rest of the world was being so bad to him.

as it was the only good thing in sight. The shock of what had happened to Harry had started to wear off, and he was now left with the sickening fear of realizing what was about to happen to him. The first task kept creeping closer, like an animal about to pounce.

Harry couldn't help a shiver, feeling that description felt a little too close to real.

He'd never felt more nervous about anything in his life, not even his last Quidditch Cup game.

"Good times," James muttered absently, trying to push past the moment he realized how few of those Harry really had.

He couldn't even think past the date of the first task, like his whole life had been leading up to and would end then.

Lily groaned as her eyes flickered to her son, unbelieving that she couldn't even call him out on over-exaggerating that. If she didn't know better she'd be terrified for his life as well. She did know better and she still was!

He didn't know how Sirius was going to help with that,

"Talking it out will still help," Remus tried to say with some comfort, though it came out too wobbly to work.

but even the thought of a friendly face was some comfort. Harry wrote back to Sirius instantly, agreeing on his choice of date and location. Then he and Hermione spent some time hashing out plans on how to get rid of any stragglers that decided to linger in the common room that night. They settled on the idea of using Dungbombs, though hoped it wouldn't resort to that as Filch would skin them.

"Nah, he'd probably just blame the twins," Sirius finally found something real to smile at again. "You're not as much of a problem as you seem to think. I'll bet you'd get away with it."

In the meantime, life became even worse for Harry within the confines of the castle,

"How is that possible?" Lily balked.

"I still believe it," Harry sighed, not needing a memory to know that could get true for him.

for Rita Skeeter had published her piece about the Triwizard Tournament,

James opened his mouth, a pitying look in place, but clearly trying to comfort Harry. Talk of the Tournament was better than he was fearing, but Harry blurted the whole thing out first.

and it had turned out to be not so much a report on the tournament as a highly-colored life story of Harry.

Then his head flopped back against the couch, and he had to fight every impulse he had not to cover his ears and sing loudly so as not to hear what Harry said next.

The front page had been of the picture of Harry, while the article itself (even continuing on separate pages) had only given one mention of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students, misspelled, and Cedric hadn't been mentioned at all.

"Would actually feel bad for him under normal circumstances," Remus sighed.

"Still wish it had been over him than Harry," James scoffed.

"Or even Krum," Sirius agreed.

It had been out for over a week now, and Harry still felt humiliated every time he thought of it. Skeeter had gone into great details of thing's Harry had never said in his life, let alone while talking to her.

Harry had the unnatural look of someone who'd eaten a live fish as everything in that paper came back to him, none of it pleasant.

Such quotes as he took strength from the thought of his parents, and wasn't ashamed to admit he still cried over them.

James and Lily felt some terrible minglings going on inside them. How they half-wished that was true and Harry did think about them more, but were almost pleased none of this ever did cross his mind as it would only hurt more. For Rita to be saying any of this without it having anything to do with Harry, though, possibly pushed her up on level with Snape right off the bat.

Harry was planning on not pausing to see reactions to this for as long as he could, trying to get through this waste of paper as quickly as possible.

There was still more, as Skeeter had gone above turning his 'er' like answers into falsehoods: she'd interviewed others about him too,

Remus was listening to all of this in an almost detached way, his mind flickering to where on earth he was in all of this. Sirius had never mentioned him in his mad attempt to get back into the country. Could he have possibly come across this article, and believed it? That would hurt him, to think Harry had opened up to this Skeeter woman like that. What would he and Sirius be thinking about all of this?

the paper having stated that Harry had found the love of his life at school.

"Did I miss something?" Lily demanded of nothing. "Who on earth is claiming to be your love?"

A colorful look was brewing on Harry's face, made up mainly of disbelief at the nonsense for this part.

His close friend, Colin Creevey,

"Stalker," Sirius corrected, "as even if he isn't following you this year, he still knows where you are at all times."

had been saying that Harry was rarely seen out of the company of one Hermione Granger,

"He's rarely seen without Ron." James rolled his eyes. "Do people think they're around snogging?"

"You guys were the ones making fun of me for this earlier," Harry reminded, happy to see them laughing this off, but unable to stop himself. "Why are you mocking this now?"

"One," Lily pointed out, "because you've made it very clear she's just a friend, and we believe you."

"Even without the text," Sirius snorted.

"Two," Lily kept going, "this Skeeter woman is being a right something to be talking to anyone but you about your love life, and publishing it. She needs to find something better to do with her time."

Harry gave them an easy smile of thanks, actually feeling a bit better as he kept going now.

a stunningly pretty Muggle-born girl who, like Harry, was one of the top students in the school.

Harry rolled his eyes at that, finding yet another exaggeration. He most certainly was not top, average at best. He could name five other people in every class who tried to give an answer as often as Hermione.

Starting the morning of the paper's publishing, Harry had been living nearly constantly with people quoting the article at him in sneering tones.

"I feel like that instance with Malfoy may become a recurring thing," James sighed.

"Can't say I'm not looking forward to that part at least," Sirius shrugged, "at least it's more entertaining."

He heard many cruel comments such as asking if he needed a tissue on the way to class, or mocking him for thinking he was one of the brightest people around.

As one voice called out for Harry, he finally lost his temper and turned on the spot to start yelling

"Can't imagine how long it took for that to happen," Lily groaned, finding her son to usually be so mild mannered, it must have taken a lot for him to reach this.

about how he'd just got done crying about his mum and he was off to do some more!

Harry couldn't get that out with nearly the same volume or contempt as he had before, not with his mother in the room and giving such a horrible flinch at that declaration.

It was Cho, who was looking surprised at Harry as she said he'd dropped his quill.

"Oops," Sirius winced for Harry's flabbergasted face.

Harry felt red coloring his face as he apologized.

Cho quickly added on as she handed back the quill that she wished him luck on Tuesday.

Harry felt his hands start to shake slightly, as he in no way wanted to read out his first task happening in less than a week, yet he was probably the best to be doing so. Then again, he'd probably be more happy if this book just skipped over the whole event.

Harry just stood there feeling stupid.

Hermione was taking on some comments of her own,

"Oh, come on, pup," Sirius pouted when he realized the topic had changed. "What was your response? Cho's clearly taken an interest back in you. Work with that."

"I didn't answer," Harry muttered, as embarrassed to admit this to them as he had to Cho, "just walked away."

They were all disappointed to hear that, talking about Harry's love life, of a girl he actually liked, was far more fun than that Tournament.

but she hadn't yet started yelling at innocent bystanders;

"Which I'm honestly disappointed to hear," Remus smirked, "as we know she can be quite good at it."

"Could have put a few more Malfoys in place, and with practice could even have gotten away with some," James agreed.

Pansy in particular loved to mock the fact that anyone had called Hermione pretty, stating she looked more like a chipmunk.

"Don't know what she's laughing at," Lily raised a sharp brow, "as at least that's a cute animal. Wasn't she the one described as an ugly old dog?"

Harry just shrugged as he said, "Pansy never caught my eye in looks, so," he trailed off to indicate he really didn't have much to say before moving on.

Hermione kept herself together well as she muttered to Harry to ignore them all.

"Got to give that girl endless credit though," Lily smiled warmly. "She's grown a lot from that little first year who ran off crying."

"I blame Harry for that," James snickered, "doing everything she's done will give anyone confidence."

Harry couldn't ignore it. Ron hadn't spoken to him since he'd told of what their detentions would be, and as they had that the same day as the article came out, Ron had spent the time pickling rat brains in the same stony silence as ever. That paper had seemed to cement to Ron that Harry was enjoying all of this.

"How could he?" Sirius seethed, any good mood they'd had snatched back away at once. "He more than anyone should know about Harry on those subjects!"

"Search me," Harry muttered bitterly.

Hermione was furious with the pair of them as she tried to force them to talk to each other,

"Can only imagine how exhausting that would be," Remus winced, thankful he'd never had to live through an argument that bad. At least when the Marauders fought, they made it up to each other quick enough with a prank or two. Even at their worst, they hadn't had a dividing friend.

but Harry refused, saying he'd talk to Ron when he apologized.

"Completely reasonable," Sirius agreed.

Snapping that he hadn't started this, it was Ron's problem!

Hermione tried to remind Harry that he missed Ron, and Ron missed him.

"Then he should admit it rather than acting like a toddler," Lily snapped.

Harry disagreed at once that he didn't miss anything about him, but that was a downright lie.

Harry's shoulders sagged a bit as he got that out, still wishing he hadn't admitted that, aloud or otherwise.

Harry enjoyed Hermione's company, but she spent too much time in the library or reading. There was much less laughter when Hermione was his only friend.

She was still spending her free time trying to help Harry with the Summoning Charm, to which Harry seemed to have developed a block for. Hermione insisted it would do him good to learn the theory of the spell.

"What's with all this fascination on Summoning Charms?" Lily asked, even the smallest distraction was taken with gratitude at this point. "It's not the only spell you learn that year, and you're so far in Flitwick should have started your class in on something else even if you hadn't caught up."

"It was Hermione who kept reminding me about it," Harry grumbled, still unable to shake this odd feeling like he'd be grateful for it. "I'd never outright been able to not do a spell. At least before I'd always managed a small version of it along with the rest of the class by the time we'd moved on. She wouldn't let it go that I hadn't been able to get this one even a bit."

The two of them ended up spending lunch in the library, usually joined by Viktor Krum.

"Maybe he just likes to read," Sirius rolled his eyes.

Not at the same table, but usually a few rows away poring through his own stack of books. Harry wondered if it had anything to do with the first task.

"Not sure what he'd find in there," Remus said in surprise. "Even trying to go off of previous Tournaments won't help him much; they change them every time."

Hermione did not appreciate his presence, not that he bothered them, but because his entourage were usually nearer to them giggling the whole time.

"Can't blame her for that though," James scoffed.

She angrily grumbled about how he wasn't even good-looking; everyone was just interested in him because he was famous.

"Most likely true," Lily rolled her eyes in agreement.

No one would look twice at him if he couldn't do that Wonky Faint thing.

"Oh, come on, Hermione," Sirius protested at once at the same time James declared:

"Now, there's no need to take your agitation out on the sport!"

Lily had to fight down the urge to repress a giggle at their outraged faces of Hermione's mispronunciation, which only increased in difficulty as Harry clearly sided with them as he kept going.

Harry quickly told her the correct term, Wronski Feint, not only for the impulse for people to get their Quidditch terms right, but he felt a sharp pang as he imagined the look on Ron's face when he heard Hermione saying Wonky-Faints.

"Don't need to imagine that," Remus smirked, "I just saw it first hand."

It was not a pleasant thing to be happening, but the more Harry dreaded the arrival of Tuesday, the more the clock seemed to double in speed for the approach. Harry could barely contain his panic the closer it came.

There was a collective sigh in the room, all of them wishing for the hundredth time they could stop hearing about this, all of them knowing they wouldn't.

The Saturday before it was a Hogsmeade visit, and though Harry was looking forward to going he asked Hermione if she planned on going with Ron?

"Ron seems to have replaced you two with Dean and Seamus," Sirius sniffed. "So I think he's just fine."

Hermione hesitantly said she was hoping they could meet up with him,

"Not happening," Remus snapped at once.

but Harry shot down the idea at once, and then decided he'd be wearing his Invisibility Cloak out.

"Can't believe you haven't been wearing that around the castle just for a reprieve," James shrugged. "I used to do that a fair few times when I didn't want to be spotted, and you've been living that recently."

Harry nodded in agreement, wishing he'd thought of that sooner.

Hermione grudgingly agreed, muttering about how she hated talking to him under there.

"You get used to that," Sirius waved off.

They set off for the village, and Harry felt more free than he had in ages. No one even glanced at him, and though some were sporting Cedric badges, they weren't quoting that article at him anymore.

"Good to know they don't do that twenty-four seven," Lily seethed.

Hermione wasn't enjoying herself as much, as she complained that she was getting some odd looks for seemingly talking to herself.

"And?" Remus raised a brow, "you'd think she'd do that more often. I know I do, have to get intelligent conversations from somewhere from time to time."

"Love you too, Moony," Sirius rolled his eyes.

Harry suggested she stop talking as much, and Hermione ignored the jab and asked him to take the cloak off; no one was going to bother him out here. Harry spotted someone who would: Rita Skeeter was coming out of the Three Broomsticks ahead.

The four of them felt a bone deep shiver at the last time Harry had been in there, hoping that feeling would go away soon.

They walked past Hermione without even glancing at her, and Harry waited until they were out of sight to point out she was staying in the village.

"There needs to be restrictions on that," James scowled. "No one who's a threat to the children allowed."

"She's not technically threatening me," Harry reminded with a look that said he still agreed with his dad.

"Making your life a living hell should count," Lily huffed.

Hermione agreed she was probably sticking around for all of the tasks, and Harry felt another wave of molten panic trying to seize him again at the reminder. He and Hermione hadn't discussed this much; she probably didn't want to think about it any more than Harry.

"Neither do I," Remus muttered, "yet it keeps coming up."

Hermione instead suggested they go inside and get a drink, but when she didn't at first receive an answer, she snapped that he didn't have to wait around for Ron.

"I didn't need to see his face to guess at that either," Sirius nodded.

The Three Broomsticks was as crowded as ever with Hogwarts students and other villagers alike. Harry had to carefully weave through so as not to invisibly step on anyone while looking for a table. On his way he passed the twins, their friend Lee, and Ron all sitting together.

"Oh I bet they just love that," James rolled his eyes. "Their kid brother following them around."

"Guess Dean and Seamus don't want to put up with him either," Sirius agreed nastily.

Resisting the urge to give Ron a hard poke in the back of the head,

"You've more restraint than any of us," Remus sniffed.

Harry instead reached a table and was quickly joined by Hermione, who passed him a drink. Hermione sighed that she looked ridiculous sitting here alone, but at least she'd brought something to do. She pulled out her S.P.E.W. notebook.

"Is that still at three?" Lily asked with interest.

"She'd managed to add a few more," Harry admitted with an attempt at a smile, "but still very few, and none of them could be considered active except her."

Harry spotted his and Ron's names still on that list, and felt like it was a lifetime ago the three of them had sat around while Hermione had made them part of her group.

"When my biggest problem was Sirius, oh wait that's all the time," Remus huffed.

"I think Harry's been beating me out," Sirius protested without any real heat, honestly wishing he was the focus more than his pup; the kid needed a break.

Hermione was looking around the room thoughtfully as she suggested that she should try to get the villagers interested in her ideas.

"I doubt that'll work any better," James shrugged. "Really, I'm surprised she hasn't taken a hint yet."

"I doubt she will until she finds her own conclusions," Lily reminded, hoping she could hear those when they came about.

Harry agreed without interest, asking when she'd give up on this spew stuff? Hermione hissed back when house-elves were treated with the respect they deserved!

"The poor thing could turn into a ghost and not see that come true," Remus winced for her.

"Oh I'm sure she'll figure something out by then," Sirius waved him off.

Then she said that she'd been nursing the idea to find the school kitchens.

Causing bursts of genuine laughter from the three Marauders, as they hadn't heard a sentence like that since their first year, and it had quickly been corrected.

Harry told her to go ask Fred and George, then they lapsed into silence. Harry was people watching. Hannah and Ernie were a few spaces away swapping Chocolate Frog Cards, and Cho was near the bar talking to some friends. She wasn't wearing a Cedric badge, which managed to cheer Harry up considerably.

Indeed, Harry had a bright smile of his own in place at the reminder, now ignoring the others' continued giggling.

His mind cooked up the image of how he'd be feeling if his name hadn't come out of that Goblet. That he, Ron, and Hermione would all be sitting around as carefree as everyone else, wondering and gossiping about the champions. They would all be supporting Cedric, safe in the stands.

The smile slipped off all of them at once, having envisioned much the same thing back when this stupid thing had been announced. Why couldn't Harry's life ever be that simple?

He wondered how the other champions were doing. Cedric usually looked nervous but excited around his many fans. Fleur looked as haughty and unruffled as ever, and Krum was always seen around books.

"Fascinating," Lily rolled her eyes without any inflection, as she couldn't seem to care too much for them when her Hare Bare had to deal with so much more on top of their problems.

Harry thought of Sirius, and the tight, tense knot in his chest seemed to ease slightly.

Some of that jealousy finally returned to James when he heard that, wishing Harry would stop bringing that up. He was happy Harry had someone to talk to about this, he wasn't going to deny that, but did he have to mention it every five minutes lately?

At least he'd be talking to him tonight, assuming nothing went wrong as it so often did lately.

"Thank you for that absolute comfort," Remus groaned, crossing his fingers Harry hadn't just jinxed that.

Hermione spotted Hagrid, bending low and talking to Moody. Rosmerta was giving the ex-auror some dirty looks as she walked past for drinking out of his hip flask, seeming to feel it offended her mead.

"I can imagine why that would insult her," Sirius said with a fond smile.

Moody had explained for his class, though, that he only ate and drank his own prepared food, so that Dark wizards couldn't poison him.

"Least some things don't change," James agreed mildly. Moody'd been that way for years.

Harry watched them get up to leave and had automatically raised a hand to wave them goodbye before remembering that he couldn't be seen. He seemed to catch Moody's attention regardless though, as his magical eye hovered on Harry.

"Wait, what?" The three boys yelped in shock, sitting up a little straighter.

The two teachers made their way to Hermione's apparently alone spot, and while they both bent down to greet her, Moody murmured for Harry's ears that he was sporting a nice cloak.

Harry's wasn't the only mouth that flopped open in shock.

"I've never known anything to see past my cloak," James snapped at once, outrage clear on his features that something had penetrated his treasured object.

"What on earth is Moody's eye made out of?" Remus demanded of nothing.

"Good thing Moody wasn't ever in school when we were," Sirius scowled, "or we'd have been in a lot more trouble. We used that thing a lot more than Harry does."

"Well, have you ever tested it against things that can see through invisibility?" Lily asked. "That mirror saw through it."

The boys didn't look happy, but agreed they supposed they hadn't run the cloak against everything they could have. It was just disconcerting to realize otherwise.

Harry stared at him in shock as he realized Moody's eye could see through his cloak as well. Moody said as much aloud, admitting how it had come in handy a lot.

"Oh, I believe that," Sirius nodded.

Hagrid spoke next, keeping his voice low as he whispered to Harry to meet him at his hut tonight at midnight wearing that cloak.

"Why?" The four not reading demanded at once. They liked Hagrid enough, but no midnight meeting at his place had yet to end well.

"You're not going to like the answer," Harry seemed to mutter without realizing as he kept going.

Then they did leave, and Harry asked Hermione what the reason for that visit could be. Hermione had no idea, but reminded him he'd better make it quick or he'd be late for Sirius.

"And there's that," Sirius agreed with just a touch of snoot to his voice. "Hagrid can talk to him all the time at the castle. I'm a little more restricted."

"Still," Lily sighed, "it's not like Hagrid to invite Harry out after curfew, so whatever he's got to say must be important. Harry shouldn't just blow that off either."

"I think he can make both," Remus frowned, "so long as Hagrid hurries up whatever it is."

"Well, let's hope so," Harry said with huge relief, though not admitting the majority of that came from the realization there was no way his meetings with both Hagrid and Sirius could be crammed into the normal length of these chapters. Hopefully this meant he wouldn't have to read about his task after all.

Harry agreed the two would cut fairly close to each other, and he considered sending Hedwig to Hagrid with a note he couldn't make it, if his bird even consented to doing so,

"Oh yeah, that's still going on," James muttered randomly.

but as Hagrid had never asked him out after hours before, curiosity won out. When the time came Harry snuck down into the common room in his cloak to find a lot of people still awake, the Creevey brothers, for example, who had gotten a hold of some Cedric badges,

"Wow, what's a stalker good for if he won't even be on your side?" Sirius raised a brow while Harry gave him a hard nudge for that continued picking.

and were trying to switch them to Harry badges.

"Aww," Lily cooed. "Well, thank them for that. At least someone's trying to keep it fair."

Harry didn't look remotely pleased at the idea. That was all he needed: his name showing up all the more, but he couldn't deny he found the idea flattering at least.

So far all they'd accomplished was getting them stuck on the Potter Stinks spell.

"Some improvement required," Remus snorted.

He went over to the hole and waited patiently for Hermione to come through, opening the door for him so that it wouldn't apparently open on its own.

"Why would you bother with that?" James smirked. "We went out all the time under that. She stopped asking long ago what it was."

"She usually just seemed to assume it was someone who opened it, then closed it again from the inside just to annoy her," Sirius agreed wickedly.

"And I've never seen the students question it either," Remus said. In a school full of magic, not many people bothered to question such things as a door they thought might have moved.

Harry just shrugged, not having wanted to raise more suspicion than he had to.

Harry thanked her as he walked past, and on his way down noticed the Beauxbatons carriage was still lit from the inside. He ignored that for the most part and knocked. Hagrid flung the door open and Harry was a little startled to see he'd dressed up, wearing an artichoke in a buttonhole and having attempted to tame his hair again.

"Wonder what the purpose of Harry noticing the Beauxbatons carriage was lit up before was?" Sirius tried for a vague tone.

"Can't have anything to do with Hagrid's appearance again," James didn't even pretend at the same.

Harry asked what he was being shown, his first fear being the skrewts had produced more eggs, or Hagrid had somehow gotten his hands on another three-headed dog.

"Both terrifying options," Lily nodded in agreement, "but I'm hoping Hagrid will have something more relevant for you. Like a secret he'll finally let slip of what could be coming for the first task."

Harry blinked at her for a few moments, quite sure she was right, but didn't press it just in case.

Hagrid told him to keep quiet and to follow along under the cloak. They wouldn't be taking Fang; he wouldn't like this.

"That wasn't encouraging," Remus' brows shot up at once.

"Starting to get less fun," James agreed, his hand already wanting to mess with his hair with nerves.

Harry tried to warn Hagrid that he was in something of a hurry, but Hagrid shushed him as he walked off to the Beauxbatons quarters. Harry tried to ask what was going on, but Hagrid shushed him again and knocked.

"What is Hagrid up to?" Lily sighed, sounding more exasperated than curious now.

"When we find out, I'll let you know," Sirius snarked.

Maxime answered with a welcoming smile for Hagrid, asking if it was time? Hagrid gave her a 'bong-sewer' in greeting,

"Credit for trying," Remus snickered as both Harry and Hagrid had clearly managed to butcher the French word.

holding out his arm and assisting her down the steps. Arm in arm, the two took off past the paddock while Harry tried to keep up in total bewilderment.

"Same here, pup." Sirius was frowning and starting to get fidgety, possibly for no good reason, but this really was getting weirder by the moment.

Harry was wondering if all Hagrid had wanted to do was show off Maxime, but he could see her anytime: she wasn't hard to miss.

"You meant easy, dear," Lily corrected.

"What?" Harry asked, only slightly distracted.

"It's a meiotic reference to her height, so you should have said she wasn't easy to miss," Lily explained.

Harry watched her for a few beats before smiling slightly and turning back to the book.

Maxime seemed to have no more clue than Harry what was going on, as they entered the shade of the Forbidden Forest and she asked where he was taking her.

Hagrid promised she'd enjoy this, but she had to promise not to tell her champion as they weren't supposed to know.

"This does have something to do with the first task," Lily's brows shot up into her hairline now.

"If Maxime doesn't tell Fleur whatever it is, I'll kiss Sirius," James scoffed.

"Don't make bets you can't win Prongs," Sirius tried for his casual voice, but the joke was lost as they were all consumed with curiosity now.

Maxime flirtatiously agreed as they kept walking. Harry was getting impatient as he followed, checking his watch to make sure he wouldn't miss Sirius. If they didn't get on with this soon, he was going to go back to the castle and Hagrid could enjoy his moonlit walk with his date.

Harry was starting to get a prickling feeling up his spine though, knowing right now he would be quite glad if he didn't leave.

It was as they were rounding a bend in the forest that blocked the castle from sight that Harry started to hear the roaring.

Harry's mouth started to go dry; already anxiety was creeping back into him for whatever he was fixing to find out, and all humor was drained right out of the room as the others listened intently for what beast this could be.

Hagrid pulled Maxime into the thicket of trees, and while Harry hustled around to see what was going on, but quickly froze in horror as at first he spotted bonfires with men jumping around them. Then his eyes focused, and he saw the dragons.

Harry sat there with an expression he was sure he was also wearing at fourteen. Fear. How on earth was he expected to get past a living nightmare?!

His shell shocked reaction was a kindness compared to his godfathers though.

"No, no, no, no, no. No, no, no, this is not happening, I am done, no!" The second that bloody beast had seeped into his brain, that the mental image of what Harry was fixing to have to be put through really sunk in, he got to his feet and stormed for the stairs, muttering 'no' over and over again along with a few choice words.

The others watched him storm out, unsure what to say to him, let alone tell themselves in any attempt to feel like this could ever be okay. This was finally too much. Dragons!? The most powerful creature that existed, and they were going to send an individual person to try and, what? It didn't matter, the act of the task wasn't the point, dragons!

The baby began fussing, and Remus realized he needed a diaper change. He quickly darted up the stairs as well, leaving the three of them in more blank silence. No one seemed to know what to say. What could they say? At least Harry had survived whatever on earth he was fixing to combat, but it wasn't going to stop all of them from having a massive panic attack while it was happening, and most likely a flashback to what had happened to Sirius.

Some of Harry's shock seemed to wear off as he gave himself a shake, glancing at his two parents with an attempt at a normal smile as he said, "guess I owe Hagrid a thanks. Can only imagine that I would have frozen up if I'd seen that for the first time officially in the tournament."

"Yes, I guess so," Lily murmured her agreement. "I just can't believe, what are they thinking?"

Harry seemed to move unconsciously closer to his dad who was bouncing his knee in that agitated way he did. When James realized what Harry was doing he managed to still himself and bury that almost selfish glee that Sirius had temporarily vacated; otherwise Harry probably would have been trying to comfort him. He quickly kicked that feeling away; he was being a prick. Harry would want to try to get closer to someone he actually knew rather than a guy he'd only ever heard the name of.

His mental back and forth was cut off anyways by Sirius returning, along with Remus right behind him. Sirius was now holding the baby and the two were bickering long before they'd been heard.

"-I know he makes it out alright, don't see why I have to hear about the bloody incident! This is base torture, you know!"

Remus had his hand on Sirius' shoulder as he guided him back into the room, patiently reminding, "because I can guess right now that the chapters you decide to flake out on will have something important in them, and you'll badger us and try to reread it yourself anyways. This way is far easier; plus if you faint again at least I won't have to be the only one to deal with it."

"I didn't faint!" Sirius snapped at once as he threw himself into his seat with as much violence as he could while still minding his injuries and the baby in his arms. "I, I just-"

"You alright?" James asked quickly as he eyed Sirius with a lot more concern now: he hadn't realized he was going to get that bad.

"I'm fine," he snapped, keeping eyes only on the baby. "Let's throw you in the room with a fire-breathing dragon for Merlin knows how many hours and see you not remember it."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Remus kept at his calm tone. "You know the best way to distract a dragon is to get it in the eye. You'll pass that information along to Harry; whatever happens he'll be fine."

Sirius still grumbled a bit under his breath, still not quite able to shake off his memory, but at least it was now being overlaid by the advice Remus had given him about a dragon's weak spot. Surely Remus was right, he'd tell Harry that as soon as possible. It still wasn't that comforting. When that silence just kept laying thicker in the room, Sirius really did snap at Harry, "oh, would you just keep going."

Harry looked from Sirius to the others, but when no one else had anything to say he decided to do just that, if anything just because he was sick of the quiet.

Four fully-grown, enormous, vicious-looking dragons were rearing onto their hind legs inside an enclosure fenced with thick planks of wood,

"Wooden?" Remus demanded, now looking faint as well. "Who actually decided putting dragons behind a wooden enclosure was a good idea?"

"With any luck they're enchanted not to burn, and probably the easiest temporary pens," Lily huffed.

roaring and snorting - torrents of fire were shooting into the dark sky from their open, fanged mouths, fifty feet above the ground on their outstretched necks.

The longer Harry kept reading out descriptions, the more likely Sirius looked to lose consciousness all over again. Yet James kept waving him on frantically in a pleading attempt to get this over with.

There was a silvery-blue one with long, pointed horns, snapping and snarling at the wizards on the ground;

"Swedish Short-Snout," Remus muttered.

a smooth-scaled green one, which was writhing and stamping with all its might;

"Common Welsh Green," he pointed out again.

a red one with an odd fringe of fine gold spikes around its face, which was shooting mushroom-shaped fire clouds into the air;

"Chinese Fireball," he said for his ears alone since Lily was giving him an increasingly nasty look for constantly doing this when no one really wanted to know.

and a gigantic black one, more lizard-like than the others, which was nearest to them.

Remus didn't seem capable of getting that last one out, for which Lily was grateful, as his running commentary was leaning her towards smacking him next, but honestly she was more terrified still that just naming the beast was bothering him.

There were about eight wizards trying to handle each dragon, pulling on the thick chains keeping the too-large lizards on the ground that were hooked to their legs and necks. Harry couldn't take his eyes off of them, the one closest who was black with cat like pupils bulging with fear or rage he wasn't sure.

"I wouldn't blame a combination of both," James said weakly.

They were all making a horrible screeching noise. One wizard noticed Hagrid's arrival and warned him to keep back: he'd seen the Horntail shoot its fire at forty feet.

"Got the longest range of all the breeds," Remus agreed with a shiver.

Lily leaned in close and whispered, "I am going to strangle you for Sirius if you don't knock it off."

"I can't help it," he muttered. "Either I talk or I start screaming my own head off."

Lily pursed her lips for a moment before leaning back in agreement; at least he was whispering it mostly to himself.

Hagrid didn't pay the caution any mind as he whispered how beautiful they all were.

"I'm going to dismember him," Sirius murmured, keeping his fingers curled as tightly around his little charge as he could without hurting him.

Another wizard called that they weren't doing any good, and it was time to stun them. On the count of three, all the wizards pulled out their wands and shot darts of red lights at the beasts, who all froze in place with still furious open jaws. They landed with such force the ground seemed to shake.

"Considering they weigh more than several of those trees, wouldn't surprise me," Remus grumbled.

The dragon keepers started moving with purpose now as they secured the links more properly, and Hagrid asked Maxime if she wanted to move closer now. Harry followed them uneasily, and was surprised to spot the wizard who'd warned Hagrid to be Charlie Weasley.

"Oh joy, guess now we get to know what he meant," James groaned.

He greeted Hagrid in a friendly manner, explaining that the dragons should be good for now. They came in on Sleeping Drafts

"How did they even get them here?" Harry demanded without really wanting to know. "I seriously doubt they did what we had to Norbert," he finished with an expectant look at Sirius.

Sirius gave another hard shiver, but he really did finally seem to be calming down as he shot back, "Never doubt what I can do, pup!"

"Please quit winding him up," Lily grumbled, "I liked him better silent."

"Love you to Lils." Sirius rolled his eyes at her.

Remus actually turned to answer Harry. "Well, as Charlie said, they knock them out so they can't do anything stupid, but then they turn their packaging into Portkeys. However, well, you saw the results of them waking up in an unfamiliar place."*

"Why couldn't Charlie's friends have just done that to Norbert?" Harry demanded with a huff.

"Portkeys are monitored," Lily shrugged. "Any time the spell is used to create one, the Ministry knows about it, and it would have been a lot harder for them to explain that than just say running across a wild baby dragon."

Harry nodded in agreement but decided to move on, the quicker he got away from those things the better.

because they'd thought it would be better for them to wake up in the dark and quiet, but they clearly still weren't pleased.

Hagrid asked what breeds they were, his eyes on the biggest black one with reverence.

All five of them had looks of shock on their face at that. They knew how much Hagrid cared about them, so they did suppose seeing a fully grown one like this would be a dream come true, it was just mind boggling for this to be anyone's reaction!

Charlie pointed that one out as the Hungarian Horntail and listed off the others as well.

"So, Remus?" James asked in a too-high-pitched voice. "Which one should Harry pick to try and deal with?"

"None," Remus said at once with a drawn look, before receiving a smack upside the head and a stern look from his seat mate before quickly correcting himself, "err, I mean, any of them. Yeah, Harry's going to make a breeze of the lot."

"You're just so encouraging," Sirius told him deadpan. "How do you do it?"

Then Charlie spotted Maxime taking a closer look, and he scolded Hagrid for bringing her along: she'd tell her champion.

"Yes," all five of them agreed.

Hagrid didn't seem too worried as he said he thought she'd like to see it, his eyes still on the dragons. Charlie shook his head as he laughed about what a romantic date this was.

"Not really," Lily snorted, though she supposed if Maxime didn't agree with Hagrid's fascination, the romance was quick to die, so best get it out there now.

Hagrid quickly pointed out the number of how many there were, one for each of the champions.

"I gathered that, thank you," Lily shivered.

Asking what they had to do, fight them?

Sirius felt a little vomit trying to fly up his throat at the thought.

As far as Charlie knew, they just had to get past them.

"Get past them, eh?" James asked, who seemed to have developed a nervous twitch in his leg which wasn't going away. "That's nicer than what I was picturing."

"Is it going to be, like, timed?" Lily raised a curious brow as she tried at a guess. "You have to be in an enclosure with them for so long?"

"Please, I am begging you, stop," Sirius groaned. He was planning on ripping off his ears when the actual event came. He did not want to sit around speculating about it until then.

Mercifully, they heeded him.

The handlers would be there to make sure nothing got out of hand. For some reason they'd been asked to bring nesting mothers.

"I don't want to know why either," Remus balked, now fearing Lily's guess may be hitting home, and it had just become quantifiably more dangerous.

He didn't envy the poor soul who got the Horntail. She was the most vicious one: her back end was as dangerous as her front.

No one actually wanted to hear what Harry was fixing to describe. Even Remus, who knew what was coming, wasn't at all curious to hear a live description rather than a drawing.

Charlie pointed toward the tail, and Harry saw spikes protruding along it every few inches.

"Huh, wonder where they got their name from," James rolled his eyes.

Charlie's co-workers were bringing eggs to the dragons now, settling a clutch of cement-looking ones next to the Horntail. Hagrid let out a moan of longing.

"I will murder him if he even considers it," Sirius said with sincerity.

"I think that moan meant he was already thinking about it," Harry pointed out, though quickly tacked on, "but I'm sure Hagrid's learned his lesson."

"Nice save," James snorted, none of them honestly believing him.

Charlie noticed and warned Hagrid they were all counted.

"Was that sad that Charlie had to warn him?" Lily rolled her eyes.

"Charlie more than anyone knows Hagrid is likely to do it," Remus shrugged.

Then he asked how Harry was doing? Hagrid just said he was fine,

"No, he's not," Harry muttered mutinously. He was much farther from okay, thankful that the book had skipped the fact he may have pissed himself a little when he'd first caught sight of those things himself.

his eyes still on the eggs. Charlie hoped he would still be fine after facing this lot,

"Thank you, Charlie," James snarled, "as a trained dragon keeper, it bloody warms my heart to hear you saying that!"

he hadn't even dared to tell his Mum what he knew the first task to be, she was already having kittens about the boy.

Lily couldn't stop a noise, half pleased that Molly's mothering so clearly extended to Harry as he so sorely needed it, half agitated anyone else was there for her son when she should have been the one losing her mind in both times.

Charlie imitated his mother's tones quite well as he mimicked her saying how they'd let Harry into the tournament, he was too young!

"Well, there you go," Harry sighed, "finally someone who's as ticked about it all as you lot."

"And I thank her," James nodded in agreement.

Then Charlie kept going about how his mum had been crying about that article Skeeter had wrote, about how he still cried over his parents and she'd no idea.

Harry groaned in misery. That's all he wanted, yet more people thinking that of him. It hadn't even hit him yet that people outside of Hogwarts would have read all that stuff as well. Great, now he was the laughing stock of the whole world!

"What's she doing believing Skeeter's articles, anyways?" Lily demanded sharply, her tone perhaps a bit much at her own sting of replacement still present. "She knows just as well as we do what a fraud that woman is after all she wrote about Arthur."

"Maybe she didn't read who wrote it," James offered with an absent shrug, though none of them really believed this as Rita had made no qualms about keeping her name present and accounted for. Honestly, none of them had a real excuse for her, that was pretty bad of Molly.**

Harry had heard enough. Knowing the combination of dragons and Maxime would keep Hagrid's attention,

"Wouldn't be surprised if he'd forgotten you were there already," James rolled his eyes.

Harry turned and fled back to the castle. He wasn't sure whether he was glad he knew or not.

"There's the bright side," Lily sighed, pushing her hand through her hair as she thought it through. "Just imagine if you hadn't at least had time to prepare for this. Daring in the face of the unknown my arse, no one gets within yards of a dragon and doesn't know about it!"

"Doesn't seem rightly fair, though," Remus frowned as he thought about it. "Harry and, no one should kid themselves, Fleur now know, but the other two don't."

"What can you do, though?" James shrugged. "It's who you know, not what you know."

"You're terrible," Lily told her husband pleasantly.

At least the shock was wearing off. He could only imagine his reaction if he'd seen them for the first time in front of the crowd, he'd probably pass out.

"Wouldn't blame you if you did with foreknowledge," Sirius hissed.

He probably still would, as he was going to have to face a dragon with just his wand, which felt like nothing more than a flimsy bit of wood at the moment.

"Well, don't beat yourself into the ground, though," Lily quickly tried to tack on some encouragement.

"You lot admitted my best bet was to get it in the eye," Harry scoffed. "A rock could do that as well as a spell with good aim. I didn't exactly feel safe."

"He's getting cheeky," James smirked when Lily had no come back for that.

He had to get past the fifty-foot-long, fire-breathing dragon with everyone watching. How?

That set most of them into a bit of a panic again. What if Harry didn't figure this out? How badly could he get hurt before someone stepped in?

"Sirius'll tell you how," Remus reminded at once when he saw them all starting to freak out again. "I told him that ages ago. Once he starts breathing again that's the first thing he'll tell Harry to do."

"Not sure how much comfort that'll give him," Sirius snorted so violently he may have sent a little of his brains out with it. "Beast the size of Hogwarts? Ah, just poke it in the eye."

"You're exaggerating," James reminded.

While Sirius was distracted sticking his tongue out at James, Harry quickly kept on.

Harry continued running through the grounds, checking his watch as he saw he only had fifteen minutes left to make it back to his meeting with Sirius, when he slammed into something.

"You run flat into the bricks?" Lily muttered, distracted enough herself she knew she might have.

Harry fell to the ground and looked up in surprise to see Karkaroff.

"What's he doing out there?" Sirius snapped, straightening at once with narrowed eyes. He hadn't believed anything could distract him from dragons being around his pup, but a Death Eater did it.

"Nothing good," James scowled.

Karkaroff demanded to know who was there, but as Harry was still under the cloak he saw nothing. Karkaroff seemed to decide it must have been an animal, as he looked down at his feet like he was expecting to see a dog.

Causing a twisted sort of smile on all of their faces, as they'd love nothing more than for a certain Grim to appear right then and scare the bejeezus out of him.

Karkaroff pushed past the moment and then continued his way towards the trees Harry had come from, where the dragons were.

"Think he saw Hagrid and Maxime walking off?" Lily asked in surprise. "Got curious where they were going?"

"From where, his boat?" Remus demanded with a frown, "and even so, so what? What's it to him? I'm betting they've been flirting terribly since they met, what's it to Karkaroff for them to be out like that?" Then his face twisted as he realized he may not want an answer to that.

"He might have heard Hagrid talking earlier?" James offered, "telling Maxime he had something secret to show her. Karkaroff could just assume it had something to do with the Tournament-"

"Which he would have been right about," Sirius finished with a roll of his eyes. Even if that was true, it was pretty presumptuous.

Harry got back to his feet and entered the castle much more carefully now, his mind on the other champions. Harry had no doubt the other two heads of schools would share what they saw this night with their students, leaving Cedric the only one who wouldn't know come Tuesday.

"Oh yeah, nearly forgot about that," Remus muttered with some honest feelings of pity for the Hufflepuff. It didn't feel right, him being left out, but what could be done? Cedric just hadn't the resources like the other champions had of someone offering up the information. He'd be the only one facing this challenge blind, as they all should have been. Well, it would certainly be interesting to hear his at least.

Harry took all the stairs at a run once he was inside, still watching his watch as he only had five minutes left.

"You think Sirius will appear there instantly?" Lily asked.

"And freak out if Harry isn't there," James agreed.

He gave the password and slipped inside, looking around an empty common room. He couldn't smell anything, so everyone must have gone to sleep without the Dungbombs.

"Or the house-elves have cleaned up the smell already," Sirius shrugged.

Harry pulled his cloak off and sank into a chair, the fire the only source of light as he looked around. On one of the tables was the badges the Creevey boys had been working on, which now read Potter Really Stinks.

"I'm sure that's what they were going for," James snorted.

Harry glanced towards the fireplace again, and jumped. If he hadn't seen Mr. Diggory's head in the Weasley fireplace over the summer, he would have been sure he'd be losing his mind.

Lily couldn't help a little giggle as she thought about that moment, but Sirius would have calmed him down fast enough.

Instead he quickly knelt down to talk to Sirius. He looked different from the last time Harry had seen him, with sunken skin and matted black hair.

Sirius gave himself a little shake of unease, running his hand through his hair in agitation at the thought; it was by far the kindest description as opposed to other features that had been told. Then he scowled at his friends who were trying to subtly eye him with worry; clearly they hated thinking about him looking so different as he did, but they didn't have to stare.

Now he looked a little healthier, his face less lined and his hair much shorter and well kept, finally resembling the picture Harry had of him at the Potters' wedding.

Lily still didn't bother to hide her relieved sigh at that. She'd been worried that Sirius wasn't taking care of himself now that he was out of Azkaban, that he'd actually continue to get worse on his new found freedom and possible revenge seeking. This was a good mark of improvement.

Harry asked how he was, and Sirius quickly shoved past that and asked how Harry was doing seriously.

Harry defused any tension left from Sirius' description by laughing boyishly at his own mind's choice of words, causing the others to groan and mumble at him and Sirius who gave a happy smirk at Harry.

Harry tried to say he was doing fine, but the word wouldn't come out. Instead everything that had happened to him came pouring out, especially Ron and how he couldn't stand to be in the same room with him. He finished by blurting out he'd just seen the dragons and that he was a goner!

They all tensed like a spring to be released, considering his reaction when this had already happened to Harry, they were honestly terrified of this time and what he'd do.

Sirius watched him for a long time with eyes that had not yet lost the shadow Azkaban had given him, a haunted look. He hadn't spoken once while Harry talked, but now he quickly said that they could deal with the dragons in a few moments, he had to say something else first.

James choked, looking very close to like someone had just tried to blow his head off. The fact that Sirius didn't even flinch at the mention of there being dragons spoke volumes of what his time in Azkaban had done to him. What once had been his greatest fear was suddenly a passing comment. It gave him more of a spin then anything yet that his best friend could have such a radically different reaction: it almost made him feel like he'd lost his best friend to Azkaban and was now being forced to watch some replacement.

Sirius just sat there with his head cocked to the side as he realized the same thing James had, though somehow he still managed to grow more worried. He must have found something really bad to try and take Harry's attention away and not try and tell him a dragon's weak point.

He didn't have long, he'd broken into someone's house to use this fireplace and had no idea when they'd be back.

Lily sighed and gave an exasperated look at the ceiling, she almost wished he had just changed into Padfoot now and gone there in person. It felt less dangerous than that.

Remus felt yet another blow attack him as he wondered why Sirius couldn't have come to his place to do this, or was that being to kind? Did he even have a place? Was he so financially broke he couldn't even offer Sirius that? It's not as if Harry knew, so he couldn't bring himself to even bring it up.

Harry was shocked, asking what could be worse than dragons?

Sirius opened and closed his mouth with a great shudder, nothing like that even able to cross his mind now.

Sirius answered Karkaroff.

"What?!" They demanded, James' arm fighting down the impulse to grab Harry and pull him closer on instinct. They'd gone from having suspicions about him, to a confirmed panic that a person was a bigger threat to Harry than a dragon! They hadn't thought this day could get worse!

Still, Harry didn't let the shock last for long as he unenthusiastically kept going just to know what Sirius had to say about him.

He'd been caught as a Death Eater and had been in Azkaban with Sirius for a time,

There would not be a time where every one of them would hear a thing like that and not get a chill all over.

but he'd gotten out. Sirius was sure that's why Dumbledore had wanted an Auror at Hogwarts this year, to keep an eye on him. Harry asked how Karkaroff had gotten released, and Sirius bitterly said that he'd made a deal with the Ministry.

"I can see where you're coming from," Lily murmured, her nails biting into her palm and still unable to release a fist. Her brother being forced in there for a crime he didn't commit while Karkaroff was released because of a trade! A lot of someones were going to be hearing from her on the practice of all this.

He'd put some people into the prison in his place, and Sirius had heard the rumors that he'd turned his school into one heavily featured around the Dark Arts, so he couldn't be too repentant, so Harry needed to watch out for the Durmstrang student.

"Fair enough," Remus agreed. "Though they've hardly formed a friendship so far."

"I wouldn't know that," Sirius sighed as he raked his hand through his hair, suddenly beyond frustrated that he was forced to talk to Harry in the dead of night just to pass along information. When would they finally get to a time where they could just talk and relax like any resemblance of normal?

Harry asked if Sirius thought Karkaroff had been the one to put his name in. He'd been furious along with everyone else when it had happened.

Sirius pointed out he was a really good actor, the Ministry had believed him enough to set him free.

"Another point to Padfoot," James sighed as he rubbed furiously at his eyes from exhaustion, and not the physical kind.

Then Sirius added that he'd been keeping up with the Prophet

Harry flushed with renewed embarrassment about that stupid thing all over again, now a hundred times worse as he was dying to know if Sirius really believed all that, humiliated if he did.

and he'd found the article about Moody's attack right before he started working at the school.

Which gave Harry the small hope that Sirius wasn't too caught up at least.

Harry tried to interrupt, but Sirius quickly said he knew it had been reported as a false alarm, but Sirius wasn't so sure. He thought someone had actually tried to stop Moody from getting to Hogwarts.

"You seem fairly adept at the process of reading between her lines," Lily said in surprise. "You can't have had that much practice at it yet."

"I'm used to the Daily Prophet doing it in general." Sirius rolled his eyes. "They're better than Skeeter at it, but even they've been known to hold back, so it wouldn't really change with another name and more bull on top of the original." He finished with a shrug and waved Harry on.

Harry asked if Sirius really thought Karkaroff was out to kill him, and demanded to know why?

Sirius hesitated as he explained that he didn't like all of these things that had been happening, and the disappearances. Bertha Jorkins had last been heard of in Albania, and that had also been the last place Voldemort had been rumored to be. Bertha would have known about the Tournament.

"Because she was in the department at the time, of course," Remus blinked in surprise. They hadn't thought about her in a while; since this tournament they'd all but forgotten about her in light of other things, but Sirius had now brought up a really good point. It did explain some of Voldemort's comments before, but how on earth had he formed a plan around the Tournament? He didn't really have anyone to help him with this plan though...except that faithful servant at Hogwarts he'd mentioned. Now they had two likely candidates, Karkaroff and Snape...and he wasn't the only one getting a creeping chill up his spine as he finally realized who the culprit behind all of this was. Voldemort was behind this happening to Harry, so Harry would be lucky if the worst thing that happened to him was all the horrible attention he was getting.

Harry tried to brush off that Bertha couldn't have just walked up to Voldemort.

Sirius couldn't keep hearing this without a terrible growl building in his chest, as he knew quite well Bertha hadn't just walked into anyone. She'd been conned into it by a rat.

Sirius explained that he'd known Bertha in his youth, she'd been a few years above him, and she was an idiot. Very nosy, with no brains, and that was a terrible combination to have.

Lily felt her innards being twisted away in pity for that poor thing. Even if she never knew Bertha, it still felt terrible, this happening to her. Peter would know her the same way as Sirius was explaining. He'd have been caught, but concocted the scheme from all the times he'd managed to talk her out of anything at school. It felt terrible that his past with his friends just seemed to keep coming at the worst for Harry.

It wouldn't be hard to lure her into a trap.

Harry reached the conclusion that Voldemort was the reason he was in this tournament, that Karkaroff was helping him.

Sirius admitted he didn't know for sure. Karkaroff wouldn't go back to Voldemort unless Voldemort was all-powerful again, but whoever did do this to Harry was looking for a way to get him killed and make it look like an accident.

"Thank you, Sirius, there was my chipper thought for the day," James huffed.

Harry agreed it wouldn't be hard to pull off, the dragon would do all the work for them.

Sirius quickly tried to say something about that,

Harry tried to force himself to relax, sure that Sirius was fixing to tell him the same thing Remus just had, that Harry was going to live through this with their advice and everything would be okay.

that using a Stunning Spell would be a bad idea as their hides were too thick for just one spell to get through, but all it took was a simple- he cut himself off when Harry shushed him with a terrified look in place.

"Damn," they all hissed in unison. Why did that have to happen now! Whoever had decided on their midnight wanderings had the worst timing! Well, hopefully Sirius could just send his advice with the next owl, because he needed to get out of there now!

Harry could hear footsteps coming down the stairs, and he told Sirius to leave now! Sirius did just that, and Harry quickly got to his feet to block the fireplace as he glared at the stairs. If anyone caught him, the Ministry would be dragged into this, and Harry could be questioned about Sirius' whereabouts.

Sirius didn't look particularly concerned about that, trying to prove he wasn't going to get too worked up over a thing like this. Harry didn't even know where he was, so if his godson was somehow forced to tell through the Ministry, Harry couldn't really do anything bad. In fact, on the contrary, if they somehow forced Harry to tell all he knew about Sirius, he might be able to get some of the truth out. It had been so long, no one could believe that he was still Confounded. That charm wore off like any other, though since it was a form of a memory charm, it was always considered tricky. This was all worst case scenario, though: Sirius knew he'd taken the warning and vanished the moment Harry had said something.

He still didn't move when he heard the pop behind him which meant Sirius' disappearance. Harry was still glaring at the stairs for whoever had decided to take a stroll at this time and interrupt Sirius' advice about the dragons.

It was Ron.

"Oh," they all groaned, unbelievably relaxing back. As angry as they all were with Ron, he was still the best option for that to have been right then. Though it still didn't answer what he was doing.

He stopped when he spotted Harry, asking who he'd been talking to. Harry snapped it was none of his business, and what was he even doing down here? Ron began to say he'd noticed Harry wasn't in bed, but cut himself off with a shrug,

Lily realized Ron would have noticed Harry hadn't been in bed yet, had perhaps even been worried enough for a moment that his friend might need a friend and had tried to come down and talk to him. If the boys were going to make up, maybe Ron was finally starting to try.

declaring he was going back to bed.

Harry shouted at him for nosing around,

James winced and sighed for Ron; he hadn't meant to interrupt something so important, it had just been rotten timing.

not caring that it hadn't really been Ron's fault for walking in on something so important.

Ron snapped back with an insincere apology about how sorry he was for walking in on Harry practicing his next interview.

Remus snarled in outrage as he fought back the urge to curse someone who wasn't even here. How could Ron still be going on about that!?

Harry grabbed one of the Potter Stinks badges and chucked it at Ron, managing to hit him on the forehead. He stormed past him, snapping that maybe Ron would be lucky enough to have a scar there, that's what he wanted!

Harry read that with a haughty sneer in place, hoping he could finally get through Ron's overly large head how petty his problem is.

He expected Ron to do something as he walked past, half hoping he'd throw a punch, but he did nothing as Harry marched off to bed, and Harry never heard him come back up.

"Chapter's done," Harry huffed as he tossed the book to Remus.

HPHPHP

My Patronus is a Black Bear, one of my favorite animals and, gah, I couldn't be more happy about it! Let me know yours!

A couple of you pointed out that Sirius' great fear of dragons didn't make sense in regards to this chapter in particular, but I actually planned it that way. I wanted something really dramatic to show what a different person Sirius would be between while he was reading this and what he would turn into, and his contrasting reactions to the dragons news was just one of them.

*At least, that's my best guess for how they got into the country, let me know if you've got other ideas.

**I am not a Molly hater, but really, her believing Skeeter's articles after what all she wrote about the Weasleys really does blow my mind. The worst of the comments about her will be in this and one other chapter of this book though, maybe a few things in the fifth, so aside from occasional spikes of jealousy from Lily, I promise this will never get into bashing. Towards any character for that matter.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #GoF #Marauders #reading the books #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Jilly

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