Sunflowers
sunflowers
pairing: bakugou katuski x f! reader contains: enemies to lovers, fluff, mutual pining status: standalone, one-shot, completed wc: 17840
note: canon-compliant but i bend it; early childhood and then up to season 3. also cross-posted to ao3.
summary: there you stand at the beginning of the world, with you and your sunflowers; your lovely liar's smile.
The first time you meet Bakugou Katsuki, you are six-turning-seven, and you remember it well. Not just because it’s the first day of school, or even that it’s your birthday. Rather, you remember it because of him, and though you think you would rather die than admit it, there is some part of you⏤ a more rational part⏤ that can temper itself down to acknowledge the fact.
You remember it well, because that morning, your mother makes sure to doll you up extra pretty. She dons you in a frilled dress like it is your armor, taking extra care with your hair, its bows, and she does: so much that there is an extra skip to your step as you walk. You don’t just feel pretty, you know you are; a work of art atop a work of art. But you still make sure to say your thank yous to all the unfamiliar faces that compliment you with gummy smiles and a not-so-quiet, conspiratorial grin. “It’s my birthday!”
You remember the way your cheeks hurt from forcing the wideness of it, the way you think it has started to sound like a mantra. You remember smiling, nonetheless, at his friend, as he wishes you a happy birthday! in return⏤ you are smiling at his friend, and not him.
You remember it well, because the first time you ever meet him, he looks you up and down, clad in your careful curls and prettiest dress⏤ and dares to call you ugly.
If you were anyone else, you might’ve taken the words like a physical blow. Already, your new friends are tensing for the inevitable confrontation. “You can’t just say that to her,” Sueko says, her eyes already narrowing in a glare.
“And who the hell are you, extra?” The crimson-eyed boy scowls right back.
The other girl wilts a bit, but her glare remains set.
You decide, right there and then, that she is your new best friend.
You smile. If you were anyone else, you might’ve taken the words like a physical blow. But you don’t just feel pretty, you know you are; a work of art atop a work of art. So you only give him your kindest smile, because your mother told you to play nice in the morning, as she brushed out your hair. You make sure to give him a once over, glancing down, and then up.
“It’s okay!” Your eyes curve, ingratiatingly polite; ingratiatingly sweet. “Some people are just born blind. And stupid.”
“HAH?” His reaction is exactly what you hoped for, and it’s almost too easy. “WHO THE HELL ARE YOU CALLING⏤”
The slight quirk of your mouth is amused, but you only turn, pointedly, to your new best friend. “Any chance you’re free this weekend? Let’s hang out.”
She stutters an answer, eyes darting between you, and the blond you know is seething behind you, if the glare he’s practically boring into the back of your head means anything.
You tilt your head to the side. A little inquiry, a little push. “So?”
Hands slam down on your desk, cutting out her squeaked yes. You jump a little at the sound, your eyes widening⏤ both a little bit at the sound, and how close his face suddenly is. All of a sudden, you’re glad you didn’t call him ugly right back⏤ it would have sounded petty, after all, and almost certainly would have bit you right in the foot, considering how this crimson-eyed boy is so clearly not.
“I’m talking to you.” Well. You think, he’d probably be a great deal prettier if wasn’t glaring down at you, face contorted in what seems like half snarl, half scowl.
His friend adds, a little bit placatingly. “Bakugou-san’s not stupid. He’s really smart, actually, always been top of the class. He’s really cool!”
You note the way the class eyes him, the way the blond’s eyeing the door. He grunts. “I also have twenty-twenty vision.” His chin raises, arrogance in the set of his features, a bit calmer at the praise, but also a touch quieter, almost a bit wary.
The door opens. He glances back, just as a man walks in, old enough that you assume that he is your teacher.
It takes effort to keep the shit-eating grin from spreading across your features. “Are you sure?” You ask instead, completely straight-faced. ( You should really consider acting, you think. You’re practically a genius! ) You simper, a hand covering your mouth. “Could’ve fooled me.”
It’s almost too easy, you think, the way he explodes, literally.
“YOU WANNA FIGHT, EXTRA?” Miniature blasts pepper the table, and you might have thought it intimidating, if it’s not for the way your sensei is stalking over, looking almost as murderous as the boy himself. “I’LL KILL YOU!”
You coo a little, fearless with the backing of your newfound supporter. “You’re really scary. That’s illegal, you know.”
He opens his mouth. But then⏤ “Bakugou. Seeing as it’s the first day, you won’t be getting detention.” His mouth closes mutely. You grin a little at the way he’s being pulled away from your desk, fingers still clutching at the edges of it⏤ by the scruff of his collar, and somewhat like a dog, you think.
His eyes flash, a little bit angry, a little bit dangerous. He points one grubby finger in your direction. “She started it!”
The sensei also pins you with a stern look. “The next time this happens, the both of you’ll be staying after class to clean, as detention. Am I clear?”
You gape at both of them. It’s half genuine, half not. You think this verdict is a little unfair. The boy grins, smug.
A complaint is on the tip of your tongue, then you see the sensei’s expression: deadpan, tired, and unsympathetic. You sober up, frowning a little.
“Okay. Sorry, sensei. I’ll try.”
The crimson-eyed boy is still glaring at you, a little victorious, a little smug, but with a gleam in his eyes. This is war, they seem to say, silent and from across the room.
Little does he know, it has been, ever since the moment he decides to look you up and own, clad in your careful curls and prettiest dress⏤ and calls you ugly.
You blow him a kiss.
He jolts. The face he makes is obviously a frown of disgust.
The sensei straightens. You smile ingratiatingly, turning away.
This is war, his eyes seem to promise, and really, you can’t help but agree.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
Your revenge is served not even three days later, on a Saturday evening, and you think it is the sweetest thing you have ever tasted.
You have your father to thank for it, actually. The boy, whose name you learn is Bakugou Katsuki, is something of a mini celebrity at your school.
This means that the surface level things are easy to find⏤ he has anger issues, an explosive Quirk, and is smart, consistently at the top of the class. ( You frown a little when they tell you. These are all things you already know, and the only new information⏤ he likes spicy food⏤ isn’t helpful in the slightest. ) But this also means that, knowing his temper, there are very few willing to actively take your side, and much more openly against you. You are the new girl, the outlier, and though he can’t quite make you an outcast⏤ you and your horde of girl-followers ( bought with your mother’s fashion, your father’s wallet, and your pure, sunny disposition )⏤ he has enough friends, or rather sycophants, that will ignore you in the hallways, or mutter names at you.
The boy in question doesn’t, though.
He storms up to your desk the second day. You are chatting with your friends, as he slams his hands on the desk and snarls: “Fight me.”
Catching your pencil just before it falls, you frown up with him. “What ever happened to: hi, hello, how are you?”
“Hi, hello, how are you.” He sneers. “Scared?”
“No, and my answer is no.”
His scowl deepens. “So you are scared.”
“I’m a healer.” You lift your chin in outrage, affronted. “I’m not violent.”
“Nah. You’re just an extra.”
Internally, you seethe. First ugly, and now an extra. You have never been called such things in your life. You open your mouth, a retort on the tip of your tongue.
The sensei walks in.
It dies in your throat, Bakugou’s face splits into a shit-eating grin. He turns away, head held high; arrogant and condescending, having won this encounter by a mile.
Wrath boils in your ears, but you tamp it down, expressionless. Your pencils are carefully aligned, your notebook opened with just a little more force than necessary. Internally, you promise yourself, he’ll get what’s coming to him. You will make sure of it.
You get your chance soon enough on a Saturday evening, dolled up again in a dress your mother painstakingly picked out for you, your hair pressed into careful curls. Your father had told you: your family had been invited to dinner by a friend he’d met at work, and that they have a son in the same grade as you, in the same school.
You had shrugged. So long as there’s a chance their son would be willing to join your Anti-Bakugou Society ( consisting only of you at the moment ), you don’t particularly mind.
“Play nice,” Your mother reminds you now, as you stand before the door; your father knocking on it. There is a bouquet of sunflowers clutched in your hands, matching the color of your dress, and you only scrunch your nose up a little at her.
“I’m always nice.”
Your mother doesn’t get a chance to respond, because then there’s a⏤ Katsuki, get the door!⏤ along with an answering⏤ “SHUT UP, OLD HAG! I’M GETTING IT!”⏤ and then, you blink.
The name sounds rather familiar. The voice, too.
The door opens. You stare, wide-eyed, as a head of blond hair enters your vision, familiar and crimson-eyed.
He’s just as stunned as you are, as you watch, with no small amount of delight, as he takes one look at you, and then the sunflowers you hold in your hands, and sneezes.
Christmas has come early, you think. “Katsuki! This is your house?” You step a little closer, a sickly sweet grin on your face.
He dodges the sweep of your bouquet. A pity, you think, but you are successful: he only sneezes all the harder.
You raise an eyebrow. “Are you… by any chance allergic to sunflowers?”
Your mother gasps, tearing the bouquet from your hands. She had been the one to pick them out.
He doesn’t need to respond for you to know the answer: as soon as they’re taken away from his immediate vicinity, his sneezes lessen.
Your mother had been the one to pick them out, and you had disliked the way they looked. But you decide, there and in the moment, that they are your favorite flower.
He straightens. His nose is still red, and there is murder in his eyes. “Why the hell are you here?”
His mother sweeps in, pinching him by the ear. “You will not address our guests that way.” She hisses, before looking up at the three of you, apologetic. “I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to teach him manners, I swear⏤”
“No worries at all, Bakugou-san.” Your mother says, correcting herself at the other woman’s oh, just call me Mitsuki! She pinches your ear in turn. “This one is much the same. A righteous demon, she is.” You narrow your eyes a little at her.
The blonde laughs, and the way she ruffles her son’s hair is terribly fond. “That’s just part of their charm, I suppose.”
He hisses up at her. She hisses right back.
You love her, you think.
“Oh, where are my manners!” She straightens, blinking. “Please come in. Masaru’s in the kitchen, just setting up⏤”
Your parents walk in first, complimenting the decor. Mitsuki beams at them, and down at you. “Masaru tells me the two of you go to the same school,” She says. “Have the two of you met before?”
You say: “Yes!” at the same time he gives a flat, but resounding, “No.”
He glares daggers into the side of your head. You grin. “We’re in the same class, and he’s my best friend!” You exclaim, the lie rolling easily off your tongue.
“No the fuck I’m not.”
“Language, Katsuki!” Mitsuki reaches for his ear again, her face the picture of delight. “I’m so happy you’re finally making friends!”
“WE’RE NOT FRIENDS!”
She gasps, affronted, looking like she wants to tear him a new one. You smile. Your parents look on, utterly lost. “It’s okay, Mitsuki-san. That’s just how Katsuki-kun shows his love. I don’t mind.”
“Oh, you angel.” And from the look on her face, one might have thought she truly believed it. She whips around to glare at her son. He glares back. “I don’t know how she puts up with you, but you’d better treat her well.” You grin at him from behind, terribly smug, and terribly victorious.
She turns around, and your smile is pretty again, pleasant and soft.
Mitsuki coos at you. You think the dichotomy between the way she talks to the both of you is like heaven and earth. “Come over to our house more often. I’d love to have you over anytime!”
“HAH? WHAT⏤”
“We wouldn’t want to trouble you, Mitsuki-san.” Your mother says, assertively. She is shooting you the look, the one that means she knows what you’re up to.
“Oh, it’s no trouble at all!” She dismisses the statement with a wave of her hand. “Katsuki has few enough friends as it is.”
Your father laughs, ever the mediator. “We’ll have to invite you over next time as well. We live just down the street.” He brightens. “Actually, seeing as they’re classmates, they could maybe walk together in the mornings?”
Your mother’s grip tightens around his arm.
There is a wicked grin on your face. “I’d love that!”
The boy in question doesn’t even get the chance to protest, because Mitsuki’s already chirping. “It’s settled, then!”
You think: it doesn’t even matter if he emerges victorious in all the encounters you have after this, because when the adults turn, you get to stick your tongue out at him.
The look on his face is so quietly violent, so blatantly murderous, as you wave your still sunflower-smeared hands in his face, that you think you will remember the sweetness of this victory for the rest of your life.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
Your relationship does not change in the slightest after that.
Mitsuki invites you over to her house once a week, and your parents do the same. The adults do their own thing, and you do yours: trying your best to annoy the daylights out of your newfound nemesis, and he only does the same to you. You’ll make fun of his All Might merchandise, the ones displayed proudly in his room, and he’ll make fun of your Recovery Girl ones, the ones you have so painstakingly collected⏤ she’s not nearly as popular of a Hero. He’ll sneer: “So that’s why you used to kiss everyone you healed?”
You’ll sneer right back, cringing internally at the reminder of that phase, though you are still Recovery Girl’s number one fan. “My Quirk’s literally activated through touch. You’d be lucky if I poked you with a ten-foot pole, let alone heal you with a kiss.”
He’ll make a face. “Eugh. You wish, idiot. I’d never want to kiss an extra like you.”
The two of you have learned to act relatively civil with adults in the house. You smile up at him, sickly sweet. “Yeah. This extra is an idiot, and she definitely didn’t score higher than you on the last history test.”
By one point, but still.
He snorts, though you can tell the reminder irks him. “That’s only ‘cause you sucked up to sensei like, three classes in a row.”
You sniff in derision. “I did not.” Sure, it’s true: you’d definitely been a little more active in class, and answered more questions than usual, but you’d studied for it! You’d studied a lot!
He sneers back. “Did too.”
You have learned to imitate the murderous glare he likes to level you with, and the first time you mimic it, you grin a little as his eyes widen, stunned.
The two of you are civil for the most part, though, at each other’s houses. His mother would tear him a new one if she heard him acting anything but⏤ ( she has )⏤ and you think you like his parents too much to ruin your relationship over something as trivial as this.
School is a different story, however, as are your walks in the mornings. “Shut the fuck up,” He’ll snarl at you.
“But Katsuki-kun!” You’ll coo right back, using the tone you know he hates. “I haven’t even started talking yet!”
He’ll scowl at you. You’ll simper right back. He’ll speed up, and you do not slow, nor do you attempt to match his pace, because you know: if you slow, he will too. Always keeping that same distance, and if you speed up⏤ well, you’d tried that once. And you’d kept pace with him for all of two seconds, before he’d sped up in turn, until the both of you were practically sprinting to school.
You lose, of course. You have never run a day in your life.
( You start training right after. )
You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You flop on his bed, making sure to crinkle his carefully-pressed sheets, forcing him to his desk during one of your so-called ‘hangouts’ and ‘study sessions’⏤ Mitsuki’s words, not either of yours, but there are textbooks in front of the both of you, so that is good enough. You study harder than you ever have before, and rub every one of your small victories in his face, and he studies like a demon in return⏤ ( even though he’s never needed to study in his life )⏤ until the both of you are neck and neck, with perfect grades in every subject. You buy everything sunflower-colored, sunflower-shaped, and tack sunflower stickers onto every surface you can see, pinning some cute ones to your backpack.
( Your mother picked out the flowers, but you are the one that held them, and you were also the one to decide, there and then, that these were your favorite flowers in the world. )
You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You see his face more often than anything else, and he calls you an idiot when you tell him about the fictional boys you think are cute. Well, you don’t care. You tell him about them anyways, because you are bored and Kuroo-kun looked particularly stunning in the episode the other day⏤ only because you are bored and there is nothing else to do, or so you tell yourself. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ you don’t think you are, at least, because he has never confirmed it, even if he does seem somewhat tolerant of you; punches your pseudo-stalker in the face for you, and carries you piggyback on the way home, crying all the while.
“You’re ruining my shirt,” He grouses. “Stop crying. I’m literally more injured than you are.”
You sniff. “I’m not kissing you better.”
He snarls. “Come anywhere near me with your mouth and I’ll blow your face off.”
“You want it so bad it makes you look stupid.” You tell him, and he tenses beneath you, but you only press your cheek to his neck, and think, heal.
The pain of the bruises lances through you, and you feel the way he relaxes.
You droop. “Onwards, steed.”
“I will literally drop you.”
“I just healed you. I’m tired.”
“No one fucking asked you to.”
He doesn’t make good on his promise, though, and eventually, you sigh a little into his neck.
“What.”
“Nothing.”
“What, dumbass.”
You hum, a little absentminded. “You’re going to UA, right?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Oh, I was thinking of applying for the healer understudy openings.” You shrug. “Dunno if I can get in, though.”
“You will.” His certainty surprises you.
You smile. “Didn’t know you believed in me so much, Katsuki-kun.” Your head flops back onto his shoulder. “Will you still walk with me in the mornings, then?”
“After school, too. Even if you don’t get in.”
You shift to blink up at him in surprise.
He clicks his tongue. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look this uncomfortable.
“Who the fuck else’s gonna punch shitty stalkers for you?”
You don’t think you’ve ever felt like this before, like the sun cresting upon the horizon, lighting up like a dawn inside your chest. You laugh at the feel of it. “Are you sure you woke up on the right side of the bed today? Besides, you don’t even know where I’d be going.” You reach up to pinch him on the cheek.
He jerks away, the look on his face disgusted.
“Then I’ll teach you to fight.”
You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ he is tolerant of you, he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, he walks with you before school, and he walks with you after. He lets you flop on his bed, lets you push him to the desk, wrinkles his nose at you when you tell him about a boy that was cute, and calls your friends dumb when you tell him about something they said that was funny. You weasel his birthday out of Mitsuki, and get him that All Might merch you know he’ll like. There’s some Recovery Girl merch left on your windowsill the day of yours. He laughs when you try a bite of his food for the first time and cough instantly after, your face aflame. What the hell is this? You hiss, and he grins, telling you it’s real food, and that you’re just weak. He never calls you his friend, but he believes in you and your dream, and promises to walk you to and from school anyways, even if you do not attend the same one.
( That’s just how Katsuki-kun shows his love, you tell Mitsuki-san, once upon a time, and though you are not sure if it is love, you think: you do not mind it. )
This is how your relationship is, and how it remains, until the end of the second last year of middle school, right before the both of you enter UA.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
You are asleep at your desk when you are jumpscared awake.
“UA? That national school? Isn’t their acceptance rate really low?” Someone in your class is asking.
“That’s exactly why you guys are just extras!” You roll your eyes as the ash-blond jumps straight atop his desk. “I aced the mock test! I’m the only one at this school who could possibly get into UA. I’ll definitely surpass All Might and become the top hero!”
This is not the first time you’ve heard this tirade. Sueko nudges you, quietly. “Hey. Didn’t you say you were applying for one of their healer slots?”
“Oh, yeah.” The sensei glances down at his list. “Midoriya wanted to go to UA as well, right? And someone else…” You tense.
The class bursts into uproarious laughter, and it seems you are temporarily saved.
“Huh? Midoriya? No way! You can’t get into the Hero course by just studying!”
The green-haired boy stammers. “Th-they got rid of the rule! There’s just no precedent…”
You roll your eyes at the sound of familiar explosions. “Huh? Deku! You’re below the rejects! You’re quirkless! How can you even stand in the same ring as me?”
“No, wait! Kacchan! It’s not like I’m trying to compete with you or anything! Believe me!” He falters “It’s just that it’s been my goal ever since I was little! I won’t know unless I try…”
“What do you mean, unless you try? You’re Quirkless!”
You slam your textbook down with a little more force than usual, and the whole class turns to you in surprise. “He has a dream that he dares to try for,” you say, coolly and careful. “Isn’t that enough?”
“And what the hell would you know about that?”
Disbelief rushes through you, and you turn to look him squarely in the eye. The class tenses, and his own eyes widen. It has been a while since you’ve challenged him like this directly, whether in school or otherwise.
Sueko pipes up, unhelpfully, from beside you, as if he wouldn’t know. “She’s also applying for UA.”
You don’t get the chance to glare at her, because your sensei continues the thought. “Oh, yes, that’s right! You were the last student applying to UA! The healer routes are notoriously difficult⏤ how’s that coming along?”
“Ah, I applied to some hospitals for volunteering, but I don’t know if they accept middle-schoolers,” You laugh.
Your sensei nods, in support, but also a little condescendingly. “Well, it’s also a very difficult path, so don’t beat yourself up about it too much, yeah?”
The smile on your face feels a little bit painful, a little bit stretched.
You are distracted for the rest of that day. So out of it, in fact, that when the sensei calls upon you, his favorite student, you take all of five seconds to respond⏤ blinking, first, then glancing up, with a: “Sorry, what was the question?” You are so out of it that you bump your hip into your own desk as you move past for lunch, wincing at the twinge of it, and you are so out of it that you forget your pencil case when you leave after class, and have to go back to get it.
“Believe that you’ll be born with a Quirk in your next life, and take a last chance dive off the roof!”
You know that voice. You pause. But then, the blast of familiar explosions.
Before your hands, the door slams open.
You don’t know what you were expecting. Bakugou and Midoriya both, obviously, and you suppose you should have known his two lackeys would have been there, too. They turn from their face-off, and your glare is sharp and terrible. “So what if he’s Quirkless?” You snap, storming over to grab the green-haired boy by the wrist. “At least he has a dream. At least he dares to try. That’s more than I can say for the two of you.”
“Stay out of this,” The blond snarls, a warning.
You are not entirely a good person. You lie as you please, wielding the power of your mother’s fashion, your father’s wallet, and do things entirely for your own amusement, uncaring of the aftermath. You know Midoriya, or rather, you know of him, and how he is a frequent target of Bakugou’s scathing remarks. At first, you had assumed he’d just been one of the people that disliked you, but it had become increasingly evident that he was just one of the people that didn’t dare to brave the blond’s wrath. And you are not entirely a good person, because you just didn’t care. Not to talk to him, not to stand up for him, not if he hadn’t even tried to for you.
You are not entirely a good person yourself, but even so, you know that there are lines that should not be crossed.
You lift your chin, and say, quietly. “Apologize.”
“Hah?” He tilts his head. “And why the hell should I? Why the hell are you defending him?”
You feel incredulous. “What does that have anything to do with it?” You don’t see the way his eyes flicker down to where you are holding the green-haired boy, by his wrist. “There are things that you should never, ever, say to a person.” His eyes narrow, but there’s an irrational anger within you, a disbelief. “You’re literally trying to become a Hero. How can you, an applicant of UA, who hopes to become one of the best heroes in the world, tell someone to kill themselves, and not think there’s anything wrong with it?”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Little explosions are escaping his hands, in the uncontrolled way they do when he’s furious and unaware of them.
You think Midoriya makes a pained sound, what with the way your hands are clenching, angry and white. Heal. A sting pulses through you, and you drop his wrist, but your eyes are flashing. “You’re being an ass. Apologize.”
“You don’t tell me what to do.”
You lift your chin. “If you value our friendship in the slightest, then yes, I do.” The vehemence of your words stuns you a bit, and the blond recoils, as if he has been physically struck.
You think you have won, for all of a moment, and then he scoffs.
“Yeah, right. What friendship? The one you lied to my mom about and said that we had? That friendship? The one that doesn’t exist? Won’t exist?”
His sneer is not harsh, but the breath that leaves you is shaky.
You do not hear his next words.
( You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You flop on his bed, making sure to crinkle his carefully-pressed sheets, forcing him to his desk during one of your so-called ‘hangouts’ and ‘study sessions’⏤ Mitsuki’s words, not either of yours, but there are textbooks in front of the both of you, so that is good enough. You study harder than you ever have before, and rub every one of your small victories in his face, and he studies like a demon in return⏤ ( even though he’s never needed to study in his life )⏤ until the both of you are neck and neck, with perfect grades in every subject. You buy everything sunflower-colored, sunflower-shaped, and tack sunflower stickers onto every surface you can see, pinning some cute ones to your backpack. You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You see his face more often than anything else, and he calls you an idiot when you tell him about the fictional boys you think are cute. Well, you don’t care. You tell him about them anyways, because you are bored and Kuroo-kun looked particularly nice in the episode the other day⏤ only because you are bored and there is nothing else to do, or so you tell yourself. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ you don’t think you are, at least, because he has never confirmed it, even if he does seem somewhat tolerant of you; punches your pseudo-stalker in the face for you, and carries you piggyback on the way home, crying all the while. You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ he is tolerant of you, he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, he walks with you before school, and he walks with you after. He lets you flop on his bed, lets you push him to the desk, wrinkles his nose at you when you tell him about a boy that was cute, and calls your friends dumb when you tell him about something they said that was funny. You weasel his birthday out of Mitsuki, and get him that All Might merch you know he’ll like, and there’s some Recovery Girl merch left on your windowsill the day of yours. He laughs when you try a bite of his food for the first time and cough instantly after, your face aflame. What the hell is this? You hiss, and he grins, telling you it’s real food, and that you’re just weak. He never calls you his friend, but he believes in you and your dream, and promises to walk you to and from school anyways, even if you do not attend the same one. )
This is how Katsuki-kun shows his love, you say to Mitsuki-san once upon a time, but now, you know, because you have learned to read between the lines of his words; to understand him: that this is just how he treats liars who worm their way into his world, and how he tolerates them.
Your lip wobbles. There is a lump in your throat. But you will not cry for him, nor will you plead. Play nice, your mother chastises you once upon a time, because you are a willful child, vindictive in both your action and your speech, and petty enough to hold onto your grudges. She chastises you once upon a time, because you do not particularly care to cater to the feelings of those around you unless you feel like it; do not care to stand up for a boy who has done nothing to you, just because he has done nothing for you.
You are petty, yes. Vindictive, too. You may not be that much of a good person, and you are not without your own feelings, hypocritical as that may be. But you are trying, and you are genuine, or at least as much as you can be, as much as you ever have, and he⏤ he has just thrown all of that in your face.
“Fine, then.” You smile, and you are unfeeling as you lie. “I’ve never thought of you as a friend, either. Don’t talk to me again.”
The door slams behind you.
You do not hear his next words, so you do not hear him mean: not while you choose him, and not me.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
Katsuki is six-turning seven the first time he meets you.
It is the first day of school. You are seated at your desk, a crowd of adoring sycophants around you. “Happy birthday! You look really pretty today,” His friend says from beside him, and he looks you up and down. You are wearing a sky-blue dress, with your hair pressed into careful curls.
His cheeks warm. He thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, but he only grunts, looking away to the side. “Dunno. She looks pretty ugly to me.”
“You can’t just say that to her,” Your friend hisses. He doesn’t know her face.
He scowls at her. “And who the heck are you, extra?”
She wilts under the force of his glare, and he feels a little better, as if satisfied.
“It’s okay!” You smile. He blinks. Maybe he should call you ugly more often.
And then you call him stupid. And blind.
And the rest is history.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
The results of your hospital volunteer application are sent back the next week, and the first thing you think of, somewhat bitterly, is that at least now, you have a proper excuse for skipping out on your weekly dinners.
You have already skipped out on the first, pretending you feel sick.
Your phone is still silent. You have not talked to him since that day, not even to check up on him when you see the news, though your fingers itch to. You think of sunflowers: how you didn’t even like them, until him. You think of how your bag now feels empty without its signature pins, how you have thrown every scrap of yellow clothing into a pile in your closet, your sunflower-themed charms and notebooks tucked away.
Proof of life comes from your mother, and you do not turn on your phone.
You break your silence two days later, pushing your vegetables somewhat morosely around your plate. “My volunteer application was accepted. They’re letting me intern at the hospital.”
Your father beams. “That’s great news! You should’ve told us earlier! Honey, we have to eat out to celebrate! Oh, I need to tell Masaru⏤”
“I won’t be going to weekly dinners for the rest of the summer,” You cut in. Your mother’s chopsticks pause midair.
Your father blinks at you. “Surely the hospital isn’t making its interns work that much.”
“Well, I’m applying to UA.” You shrug. That much is true, but it’s also just so you can fill in your hours, work yourself down to the bone. “I’d like as much experience as possible.”
Your mother is watching you carefully.
Your father clears his throat. “Well, don’t work yourself too hard.” He says, jokingly, as he dishes another helping of food upon your plate. “You tell us if they’re giving you any trouble, alright?”
You force yourself to smile back. “‘Course, dad.”
( Your mother asks you, a week later, when you arrive home from your internship. “Are you still friends with him?” She has asked you a similar question once, years ago and late in the evening, at the end of the dinner party, your father drunken and half-leaning on her shoulder.
You give her the same answer you did then, and in the same way. Cheery, and without a hint of hesitation. “Nope!”
She is watching you carefully.
You excuse yourself, and she does not ask you about it again. )
It feels like the days never end, and yet summer passes by before you can blink. You banish all thoughts of blond hair and crimson eyes entirely from your mind, and truthfully, you do not have the mind to think of him much, anyways. You steal the pain of your patients and make it your own, smiling at the brightness of their faces as you heal one, then two, then several more. It tires you terribly so, and between your time at the hospital and pre-studying for the UA exams, you’re so fatigued each night that you fall asleep before your head even hits the pillow. You don’t even have the time to meet up with your friends. And before you know it, the last year of middle school is upon you, as are the start of your applications.
It is a whirlwind of things to do, so much that you feel you do not have the time to breathe, or even think. Katsuki’s been placed in a different class from yours, which comes as a relief in more ways than one⏤ firstly, that you don’t have to see him, and secondly, because you can let your grades fall just a little, and still come out as top of your class. Between your intern shifts, your mindless studying, the applications, the tests and quizzes and preparing endlessly for interviews, the thoughts of anything else vanish entirely from your mind. You do not feel the emptiness of your afternoons, nor much of your mornings.
About two months in, Midoriya Izuku is the one to seek you out.
There is a spoonful of rice halfway to your mouth, a textbook in your other hand. You notice him when a shadow falls over it, blotting the light out. You glance up, drawling. “Yes?”
“Can I… talk to you for a moment?” He ventures, nervously, a tray gripped in his hands.
You eye him a little strangely.
You haven’t seen him since four months ago⏤ you haven’t really been paying much attention, and even the reminder sets your walls of iron slamming up. He’d been shorter then, you think, and significantly more hesitant. The boy from back then would never have even dared think about approaching you like this.
He flusters. “I-I just! Another time is also okay, or if you don’t want to, that’s also okay⏤”
There he is, you think, a touch amused. “Can it be said here?”
Beside you, Sueko’s jaw drops. You can feel the stares of your friends boring into the side of your face.
“Y-yes?”
“Then make it quick.” You flip the page of your textbook.
He hesitates. “Is it really okay…? For me to sit here?”
Your eyebrow arches, high. “Since when have you been unable to sit where you like?”
Mutely, he sets his tray down, and sits.
You only flip another page. “You can either eat or talk.” You say, conversationally. “Lunch won’t last all day.”
Obediently, he takes a spoonful of rice, and swallows. “I just… wanted to thank you.” He begins.
You know exactly what he is talking about, and your throat tightens. ( You think of your backpack, how empty it feels, but your refusal to tack on your sunflower pins anyway. ) You shrug. “No need to thank me. I didn’t do it for you.”
“Even so,” Midoriya perks up a bit. “N-no one’s ever stood up for me like that before, and especially not to Kacchan… I-I’m really grateful, either way!”
You snort a little. Never would you have thought Midoriya Izuku, of all people, would stand here one day, thanking you.
“I think you’re a really good person,” He says to you, a little bit hesitant. It jolts you a bit, the genuine honesty of his tone, but what you are not prepared for is what comes after. “And I know Kacchan does, too.”
Your spoon stops halfway to your mouth.
“He still cares about you,” Midoriya says, a touch softer. Your friends are not looking at you, but you can still feel the weight of their gazes, their ears.
You say as you set your spoon down. “If you want to be friends with me, then you will never speak of him again.”
Midoriya watches you carefully, notes the finality in your tone. His gaze rises to a point above your shoulder.
He flinches.
He does not speak of what he sees, or of this conversation, ever again.
You do not turn, and you do not ask.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
The week of UA acceptances arrive, and you await your own with bated breath.
Your father laughs as you run out exactly at eight every morning to check, before he finally deigns to tell you that the postman usually delivers to your house around twelve. “I knew that!” You say, and he laughs at the obvious lie.
You stick your tongue out at him, but you still sneak out the next day at the same time, just in case.
But as it turns out, the postman is late. You know this, because Midoriya texts you late in the evening, after dinnertime, with his signature All Might emoji and a brief: check your mailbox!!!!!
You stop, your heart in your throat. You don’t think you are breathing.
He’s still typing, spamming your text messages with a thousand All Might emojis, each of them more despairing than the last. You do not know what this means. And then, you see his next message: I got in!!!!!
It turns out that you are not, in fact, breathing.
You feel like you are holding your breath the whole time you’re fumbling through your mailbox, dropping random letters haphazardly onto your doorstep. That one looks like it’s important, you think, distantly, and it gets dropped somewhere onto the growing pile at your right, scanning them all for a familiar logo, and⏤ you see it at the very bottom of the pile.
You thumb it open with shaking hands. Congratulations, it reads, and you scream.
( You think for one moment of sunflowers, how you can imagine exactly how he’d react, hear exactly what he’d say. )
Your father pokes his head around the corner. “I heard screaming. Everything alright?”
Your mother is smiling. “Mitsuki just called. Katsuki’s in.”
Your father is looking at you with wide eyes. You are grinning, there are tears in your eyes, and you are wordless in your delight.
Your mother laughs, soft. “I suppose two congratulations are in order.”
“Midoriya also made it, so make that three.” You correct, grinning.
Your father whoops. “THAT’S MY GIRL!” For the first time in almost a year, you feel light as a feather, like the world is spread wide before you, and you are a young god before it, your wings wide and at the ready.
For the first time in almost a year, you think, for one moment of sunflowers, how you can imagine exactly how he’d react, hear exactly what he’d say. You think of reaching for your phone⏤ ( and if you did, you’d see his icon that you’d purposefully wiped blank bubbling )⏤ but you don’t. You think of a boy with blond hair and crimson eyes that you have not looked at in almost a year, how you’ll brush past him in the halls, surrounded by your gaggle of friends, your uniform and makeup, your armor, and try not to note how he’s grown taller. For the first time in over a year, you think of him, and your heart does not feel like an empty cavity in your chest; you do not feel so hollow, nor do you ache.
Your heart only squeezes, a little tight, but.
You think you will be fine.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
You are delusional. You are not, in fact, fine.
You are standing in front of the classroom door. It spells the code of your class: 1A, in bold lettering, proportions inhumanly large. You are three minutes late, but it’s really not your fault⏤ you’d simply fangirled so hard over the fact that you’re finally getting to meet your idol in person last night that you’d barely gotten any sleep, and your mother had had to haul you practically out of bed and out the door, throughout the whole of your alarm.
You slide open the door. Instantly, you’re met with a sea of faces, and you steel yourself⏤ but then.
For the first time in over a year, you see him, and all of a sudden, you are painfully aware of the lack of yellow on your figure; your backpack entirely empty of its signature sunflower pins.
The smile is frozen on your face, and he looks just as shocked as you feel.
A voice drawls at your side. “You must be the healer,” You are glad for the distraction; the source a scraggly-haired man halfway through removing himself from a sleeping bag. Your sensei, you deduce. “You’re late.”
“Sorry, sensei!” You bow. “I overslept because I was fangirling too hard over meeting Recovery Girl today! I promise it won’t happen again!”
A wave of soft laughter ripples through the class, and over the din, you hear a⏤ she’s kinda cute!⏤ at the same time as a⏤ oh, I love her already.
“If I get hurt, will I get to see you?” A voice calls, and you turn to see a boy⏤ blond, and your heart stutters for a moment, but his shade isn’t ash, it’s golden. He’s grinning cheekily up at you.
“No flirting in my class.” Your sensei warns. “But yes, seeing as she’s 1A’s healer understudy.” He turns to you. “Recovery Girl’s waiting for you in her office. You know where it is?”
You nod cheerily. “Sir, yes, sir!”
“Good.” You turn at the obvious dismissal, shooting a wave at your green-haired friend as you do.
You leave the classroom with your shoulders set, your chin tilted high, your outfit your armor, and your makeup your helm.
You pretend like you do not feel the crimson glare that seems like it’s trying to pierce through the back of your neck.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
Recovery Girl likes you, and you feel as if you are floating for the whole of a day. Not even meeting Bakugou’s gaze the next morning can knock you from it, nor can the grape-haired boy’s leering from across the room. You can’t really dwell on them for long, either, not with the crowd of people aggregating by your desk. You blink up a little, surprised.
It’s not like you’ve made an effort to dress up especially pretty today, and you don’t think you’ve come off as incessantly nice. You are not the you from first grade anymore⏤ you don’t just think yourself pretty, you know you are⏤ but are confident enough in your own skin that you have stopped putting on airs; have allowed yourself to be as cold and sarcastic and dry as you want. Most of your girl-followers⏤ ( the ones you buy with your mother’s fashion, your father’s wallet, and your pure, sunny disposition )⏤ have only seen glimpses of you like this, and you can count on one hand the people outside of your parents who know you as you are.
Sueko, Midoriya, and of course, him.
You do not dwell on it for long. You are confident in your own skin, and though you would like some more friends, you do not wish to temper yourself to gain them.
You smile a little at the question the purple-haired boy asks, disliking the way his eyes are lingering at your chest. “You’re all welcome to drop by the clinic anytime you like. It’s what we’re here for, after all. Though, if you want a kiss to make you feel better,”
You pause a little bit for dramatic effect watching the eyes of several boys brighten just a bit.
“You’ll have to go to Recovery Girl.”
Your straight face is very well-practiced, but you do not hide the small quirk of your mouth as you watch their souls die.
An arm slings around your shoulder, its pink-skinned, pink-haired owner grinning at you. “I think we’re going to be best friends, you and I.”
You remember thinking the same thing about a different girl, when you are six-turning seven, and you hear the same genuinity behind it.
( You are clad in your outfit like armor, your makeup a helm. Today, you are exactly as cold and sarcastic and dry as you like, because you are confident in your own skin, and you do not temper yourself in the slightest. )
You smile up at her. “I think I’d like that!”
Her grin widens, but then, an older Hero walks in⏤ Cementoss, you think. You have made an effort to memorize the roster. “To your seats, everyone.” He calls.
You take out your notebook, neatly arranging your pens. New year, new you. You don’t have as many shifts at the hospital anymore⏤ you don’t need the experience exactly, as you’re sure UA will look good enough on your resume, but it can’t hurt. Besides, you enjoy working there anyways; the older nurses who help you out with a kind smile, the doctors who are almost always willing to answer a question. But the lessened shifts allow you to breathe, just a little, to settle back into a healthier routine; one no longer so bogged down by your thoughts.
Math transitions quickly into English. You think you prefer Cementoss’s teaching style just a little, even if Present Mic is more energetic⏤ a little bit too loud for your tastes, you think. The material is basic, seeing as it’s the unofficial first day of class, and though you’ve already pre-studied most of the content, you end up writing most of it down, anyways.
Lunchtime arrives. You balance your tray on your hands, walking side-by-side with Mina. Midoriya waves at you from his table, surrounded by an assortment of friends, and you nod back. “Let’s sit there!” The pink-haired girl points excitedly at a particular table.
You see several boys from your class, some more familiar than the rest. A head of ash blonde, crimson eyes that glance up to meet your own.
“Midoriya wanted me to sit with him today,” You say, a touch apologetic. “You’re welcome to join us, if you’d like?”
Her eyes widen a bit, and you note the glance, the observance. Her own smile is your mirror, just as apologetic, and just as assertive. “Maybe another time,” She says.
She knows what she wants, and she’s not afraid to say it. You like that about her.
You incline your head, eyelid pulling down in a wink. “Do let me know which one you like,”
She only laughs at you, her answering grin somewhat sly.
All Might steps into the room after lunch, and though you’ve never been one of his particularly die-hard fans⏤ you think of your sunflowers, how you make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours⏤ you can admit that in person, he stands a legend in real life. You are just a little starstruck, you think, as he smiles at you, and says⏤ “Do try to keep your injuries to a minimum, though not to worry! Our healer team will be here to assist you!”
You find yourself grinning a little as you respond, “Nothing fatal, though. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything about anyone bringing a dead person back to life.”
He booms a laugh. “Naturally! You are all Heroes! You should refrain from using lethal power whenever possible!”
He speaks too soon. The first teams are called up, and the matchup is almost comical.
Bakugou will be fine. You know this. You are not worried for him in the slightest⏤ not that you would, you tell yourself, a touch sardonically.
No. What you worry for is the state of your Quirkless friend, and you are right to worry. Bakugou seems almost angrier than you’ve ever seen him, and that’s saying a lot, considering how good you are⏤ how good you used to be, you correct yourself⏤ at getting on his nerves, though Midoriya seems to be holding up very well.
Your friend has grown, you think. He is not at all the same person he was over a year ago in that classroom.
But you are right to worry, because All Might is shouting into his microphone. “Young Bakugou, stop! Are you trying to kill him?”
No, you think, immediately, instinctively. You know Bakugou is many things, but he is not that. Never that.
You feel the force of that explosion from here. “This is supposed to be a class!” One of your classmates, red-haired and red-eyed, is saying. “You have to stop him!”
“He knows what he’s doing.” You find yourself saying. Somewhat cold, somewhat callous. There are eyes on you, surprised.
You shrug.
You don’t really know why you say it, either.
“Young Bakugou, the next time you use that, I’ll stop the fight, and your team will lose. To attack on such a large scale inside is inviting the destruction of the very stronghold you are supposed to be protecting. That is a foolish plan for both heroes and villains, and you will lose a lot of points!”
You don’t need to look at him to feel his teeth gnash in anger, but you still watch the screen, anyways.
Their clash is violent. You remember saying, once, that you dislike violence because you are a healer. But that is not entirely true, you think: you see the passion in their every movement, even as your green-haired friend receives the brunt of the beating, the callous elegance of it. The careful calculations, the years of training that you have walked alongside most of to witness.
“This looks bad!” One of the classmates from before seems to shout. “Sensei!”
You don’t dislike violence just because you are a healer. What you have always disliked is the senseless brutality of it, the cruelty of its aftermath. Not because you have to deal with it, but because sometimes, you can’t.
You look to All Might. He seems to be struggling with something.
“So long as it is not fatal,” Your voice is soft, but no less firm. “I can heal it.”
His mouth tightens, but you see his decision made in that moment.
You turn your attention back to the screen just in time to see Midoriya’s Quirk. Your eyes widen. It’s so sudden, so powerful, that you almost miss it; the blast entirely different from Bakugou’s own. So he was not Quirkless after all, you think, but all thought of that vanishes when you see the aftermath.
All Might is turning for you, but you are already running.
You see the two you are unfamiliar with first. “How is she?” You ask the blue-haired boy who stands upright.
“I’m fine!” She gasps out. “Just nauseous! But Deku⏤”
You hear the nickname, and you think you look a little strangely at her for it. You don’t dwell on it very long, though, because you’re already slipping past.
Then, you see him, and though your heart stutters a little in your chest⏤ ( your bag, empty of its sunflowers )⏤ you still look him in the eye. You are professional. “Are you hurt?” You ask, because he is standing there, still gaping, a little open-mouthed.
He turns that look upon you, and his eyes widen.
The eye contact feels slightly unsettling. You look away first. “Well. If you are, you can let me know.”
You kneel at the green-haired boy’s side.
A hand stops you, just as you reach out. They’re a little bit bigger than what you’re used to, a little bit more callused. “Wait,” He says, voice raspy, and you tense a little: both at the familiar and unfamiliar touch, and because it’s been so long since you’ve heard his voice. “You don’t have to⏤” He scowls, cursing. “Recovery Girl.”
You blink up at him, a little confused.
But then you see his eyes dart towards your arm, and then the green-haired boy’s, lying prone on the ground.
“I am a healer. It’s what I do.”
“That’s not what I⏤” He curses again under his breath. “The damn nerd will be fine. Does he even know about your Quirk?”
“Why would that even matter?” You are confused, and you shove his arm away. Your friend is still hurt, and he is keeping you from your job. Why do you even care? You want to say.
You bite your tongue, and think: heal.
Midoriya blinks awake halfway through. Your arm is covered in purple contusions, and he gasps, jerking away. “You⏤ your arm!”
They fade within seconds. You only reach again for it, feeling the crimson gaze burning into the side of your face, as you’re sure the rest of the class is too, from their camera screens hundreds of meters away. You stare straight ahead, and think, heal, even as your arm ripples in agony again, painted and purple.
You steal your patient’s pain, and you feel all of it, but you don’t show a thing. Because you are a healer, and that’s what you do.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
You are a healer, and that’s what you do, but the next day, Aizawa-sensei still admonishes you for it.
“Your records are very impressive,” He tells you first, and you straighten. You figure: he is likely a man notorious for his lack of praise, so you might as well lap it up while you can. “However, just because you have a very high pain tolerance, does not mean you do not feel pain. Am I correct?”
“Yes, sensei.” You dip your head.
“The lot of you hear that, right?” He addresses the rest of the class. “She’s a healer, and she can heal almost anything, save those who are already dead. That’s very impressive, and it’s very rare. Don’t let her become your crutch. She will not always be there, and though she might say she doesn’t mind your burden, others will. Whether it’s yourself, your fellow Pro Heroes, or the civilians you are trying to save.”
There is murmured assent from the class.
He turns back to you. “Heroism is also about knowing when to step back and let others handle the situation. It is okay to share your burdens,” He tells you.
You blink a little, surprised at the comments that are not really criticism at all. “I am a healer,” You state. “It’s what I do.”
He sighs. “You’re just as stubborn as your mentor,” He says.
You smile at this, chirping. “Thank you!”
“That was not a compliment.”
You sink into your chair a little sheepishly, but it’s like a sun has been lit in your chest, because you take it as one anyways, and you are grinning.
Lunchtime is a little strange today, for more reasons than one. Mina invites you again, but she doesn’t protest your decision, a knowing glint in her eye. But she doesn’t mention a thing, and you are grateful for it.
Midoriya is sitting with the same people as yesterday, and he beams, delighted, as you slide into the seat beside him. Iida and Uraraka nod at you from across the table, and you nod back.
Surprisingly, it’s the red-and-white haired boy across from you⏤ Todoroki, who breaks the silence. “My father says he would like to meet you.”
You blink. That’s certainly not what you were expecting. “Endeavour, right?”
He nods, his face deadpan. “Please decline.”
You choke a little bit on the bite of food that has just entered your mouth. Midoriya slides you a napkin.
You cough around it. “Wow, Todoroki-san. You really dislike me that much?”
He shoots you a strange look. “Not at all. Why do you ask?”
You’re a little confused. “Oh, that was a joke.”
“Apologies. I have never been very good with jokes.”
“Nothing to apologize for, and I was planning on declining, anyways. I’m going to intern under Recovery Girl for the rest of my life!”
“I will communicate that to him, then.”
Midoriya coughs lightly from your other side. You elbow him.
Uraraka giggles, but whatever she is going to say is cut off by the sound of the alarm. There has been a level three security breach, you hear.
“Trespassing,” You hear someone clarify.
You stare at the horde of gray-uniformed students crowding the hallway. You have never been a huge fan of crowds, especially ones as tightly-packed as this. Besides, you think, a touch dryly, that if there were an intruder, walking headfirst into a mosh pit like this would probably be the best way to get yourself caught up in a mass murder.
But you don’t get to voice any of these concerns, because then Uraraka is tugging at your wrist. “If we don’t get ourselves in there now, we’re never going to get our way out! Come on!”
You fall, weightless, and are carried away upon the sea.
It’s horrible. Internally, you curse the girl, and almost don’t even feel bad about it because yes, she’s like the sweetest person you’ve ever known, but she’s also reason you’re in the midst of a thousand wayward bodies right now, wrinkling your nose at the reek, and practically fighting for your life to keep your head above the throng. You are a healer, you think, a little despairingly, as you elbow someone so harshly that your own limb twinges. You are fighting a desperate battle, but nonetheless a losing one⏤ at least you are, until hands lift you by the waist and carry you forth; your savior cutting his way through the crowd with ease.
Your back hits the wall, and gratitude is on the tip of your tongue as you look up, but then you see him: ash-blond, and glaring at you with crimson eyes. “The hell were you thinking?” He hisses. “You don’t even like crowds.”
You hate the familiarity in the way he says it, as if he still knows you, and you hate the way he cages you in against the wall, his body larger than you have known, but how it still feels the same, pressed up against yours.
( You think of your sunflowers, how your bag feels strangely empty without them. )
It is the nearest he has been to you in well over a year. You hate the way he smells, like burnt caramel, and you hate the way your cheeks warm.
You want to say: neither do you, and you want to ask him why he even bothered to try and save you. You know he doesn't like you, not even in the slightest, not this liar who has wormed their way into his world; this liar that he tolerates. You think of a thousand witty remarks, ones that used to make his eyes light, the curl of his scowl somewhat harsh, but no less familiar, of giving voice to your outrage, to your feelings, and simply storming past.
You choose none of the above.
You still your features, the picture of calm, set the steel of your shoulders, and stare straight at a point above his shoulder. “Why do you even care?”
You do not look at him, so you don’t see the way he recoils, ever-slightly. The expression he levels you, half-bewildered, half-disbelieving, the rest a complicated mix of emotions even he could not decipher himself.
You don't see the way he opens his mouth, because then Iida is there and shouting.
You see your chance, and you don’t wait for his answer. You weren’t expecting one, anyways.
He doesn’t even have the time to reach for you, before you slip past, and are gone.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
You stand before the mouth of USJ, your heart in your throat.
You barely notice the weight of the device upon your wrist; a monitor that connects you to all the ones distributed amongst the class, because there are villains down there, you think, a little dumbfoundedly. Real villains, like the type you see in movies, and you feel almost ridiculous, out of place, as if someone will smack you upside the head and tell you: wake up! and that you are not in a story. And you are not, because you pinch yourself, and yes, this is real life.
You have never seen a villain yourself before, because you are a healer, and have only ever dealt with the aftermath of what they have done. You know the damage, the pain, the torture it can inflict upon a soul; the way sometimes, no one can ever fully heal them afterwards, not even you. So though you are a little wide-eyed, your thoughts blank, when the mist wraps around you, you don’t even think.
You lunge.
Crimson eyes widen, and he catches you, just one second before you fall into darkness as one.
You try not to think about the way his body feels against yours, how he is cradling you, the way his hand automatically wraps around the back of your head. You feel the impact in your bones, though he bears the brunt of it. Automatically, you reach up, and think, heal, but you don’t have the time to do much else, because then his eyes widen, and he’s shoving you away.
“STAY THERE!” Distantly, you think he is roaring at you, and another time, you might have protested that you could defend yourself. But the shock of it all is still settling in⏤ ( these are real villains, you think dazedly, and this is real life )⏤ and you are a healer, right now, you are nothing more than a civilian.
In the aftermath, you still stand, dazed. Bakugou and another red-haired guy from your class are panting, smoke curling from your familiar ash-blond’s figure, and you register, like the world is separated from you by a film: it’s over.
“Oi.” There are palms cupping your face, and you blink a little, startled, as crimson eyes boring into yours. “You hurt anywhere?”
No, you think, a little too stunned to speak; the harshness of his tone at odds with the gentle manner of his touch. But then you see a hint of blood trickling down the side of his cheek.
As if on instinct, you reach out for him. He jerks away.
Wow, you think, the lump rising to your throat instantly. You had not known he hated you this much, to the point that he is unwilling of even your touch.
“I am a healer,” You say, your throat somewhat tight. ( You think of sunflowers, your bag that is empty, your closet and its piled-up yellow. ) “You are hurt, and I am simply repaying a favor.”
You sense that he is watching you carefully, but your eyes do not rise to meet his gaze. You simply steal his pain, and you barely feel a thing⏤ even if his injuries were not so light, you think you are too numb to, anyways.
You move past, and he does not reach for you. The red-haired classmate⏤ Kirishima, you recognize, grins at you, saying that he is unharmed. He offers to escort you back to the front, but then, your wristband is beeping, a location upon it.
You straighten. You are still afraid, you recognize, but there is someone out there that needs help, and this is simply another obstacle you must overcome. You will not always be in your hospital, tending to those that manage to get themselves wheeled in⏤ and though there is fear in you, there is also an equal determination.
“There are people who need healing,” You say, and that is all you need to.
You are a healer, but that does not mean you are any less brave.
You are a healer, and this is what you do.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
You ask Aizawa, two days later, if he would be willing to teach you self defense.
( You remember a boy, back from what feels like eons ago. You, on his back, the sun in your chest as he offers to walk you both to and from school. You don’t even know where I’m going, you tease, and he only scoffs at you. Then I’ll teach you how to fight.
You think of your sunflowers, and your bag, empty of them.
Your throat tightens, and you make your decision. )
He looks a little surprised, and asks you if you are sure. He warns you that he will not be a lenient teacher, but you have seen how this man dove headfirst into danger to save his students; seen his kindnesses that are masked in the form of tough love.
You also know he likes you, at least a little bit. If he hadn’t, he would not have complimented you like that on the third day, would not have had the hint of fondness in his tone as he drawled, that wasn’t a compliment.
And even if he doesn’t, you know he will be at least a little lenient.
You had been the one to heal him, after all.
You are wrong.
You hate running. Always have. You started training, years ago, but that had been entirely out of spite, and in the wake of it⏤ ( your bag, empty of sunflowers )⏤ you had stopped. You hate running, always have, and you have no time, you’d told yourself, nor the energy⏤ but really, you hate it because it reminds you of him.
Now, you hate it for a different reason. You hate it because Aizawa pushes you, hard, until your lungs are gasping for air, your knees and legs trembling⏤ you think, somewhat sourly, that none of your healings had ever prepared you for this. You have healed all manner of wounds, cured a variety of diseases, but that does not change the fact even back when you were running, you had not put everything you had into it, and that now, you are trembling, bones soft, muscles even more so, somewhat like a deer.
You heal fast, though, you always have. You would not have been able to heal without it⏤ Aizawa knows this, which is why he pushes you hard. “If you hadn’t been so dedicated to medicine,” He tells you, “I would’ve told you to go the Hero route instead.”
You shrug. The thought has never occurred to you. Your mother is a doctor, and as soon as your Quirk had developed, you had never thought about anything else. But you don’t get a chance to voice it, or even to thank him, because then he’s hauling you up by the arm.
“Break’s over,” He informs you, a signature shit-eating grin on his face. You think you’re beginning to hate the sight of it. “Back to running.”
You sigh, before dutifully acquiescing.
Schoolwork is easier, at least, though between your sparse shifts at the hospital and Aizawa’s daily after-school training, you are pretty much spent. You don’t even register Mina chatting excitedly beside you about the upcoming UA sports festival that Aizawa has just announced⏤ you only think, a little despairingly; more work.
You glance up at your pink-haired friend’s surprised exclamation, and you see: a crowd of people, so many that from your vantage point, it seems like it’s the intruder incident all over again. A scoff, vaguely familiar⏤ “They’re obviously scoping out the competition, small fries. We’re the group that made it out of the villain attack.” Someone protests, telling him to play nice⏤ no, you think. This is him being nice. “Out of my way, extras!”
“I came to see what the famous Class 1-A is like, but you all seem pretty arrogant. Are all the students in the Hero courses like this?”
You see: a head of purple hair, mussed, and you think⏤ wow, he could be Aizawa if your sensei’s hair was shorter, purple, and he were using his Quirk.
“Seeing something like this makes me disillusioned. There are quite a few people who enrolled in general studies or other courses because they didn’t make it into the Hero course. Did you know that?”
You didn’t, but he only continues.
“The school has left those of us a chance. And based on the results of the sports festival, they’ll consider our transfer into the Hero course, and vice versa. Scoping out the competition?” He scoffs. “I, at least, came to say that even if you’re in the Hero course, if you get too carried away, I’ll sweep your feet out from under you.” His eyes flash, chin raised high. “Consider it a declaration of war.”
You sigh a little internally at the theatrics. “Excuse me, coming through.” You call. You ignore the way the ash-blond tenses a little as you walk up beside him, and you smile politely at the crowd; your uniform your armor, and your makeup your helm. You can do damage control just fine. “I’m class 1-A’s healer, so I don’t have a bone to pick with you really, but,” You cock your head. “All we did was fight off and survive a villain attack. I’m not sure how that’s arrogance. Have any of us gone out of our way to bother you?”
You are sure your classmates haven’t, because though you have not known them long, you are observant enough to tell that they are good and entirely dedicated to the path of Heroism. And you are right: he is wordless in the face of your diplomatic tone, the maturity of it all.
But then⏤ a laugh, somewhat mocking. You think you recognize the voice, and you do: it’s class 1-B’s understudy, standing in the middle of the crowd. You have not talked to her much, thinking her quiet, but it seems that really, she just dislikes you.
“That’s so rich of you to say,” She says, with a scoff. “Sucking up to Recovery Girl all the time, parading around like you own the place, all because you went viral and people started calling you The Best Healer of our Generation.”
You blink⏤ you remember Sueko mentioning it once, you think, after one of your co-workers, one of the older interns had started making videos of you, with your consent. You had not put much thought behind it, and you hadn’t the time to, between your many hours and the boneless weariness that had been so constant in your life after.
“Get off your high horse,” She snarls, a vehement finality to it, as she scans you, up, and then down.
You don’t know what to say, because honestly, you had never thought of yourself that way; had not thought of any others thinking of you that way. There are cries of outrage from behind you, you hear, distantly, as if you are underwater, but you are still stuck on the way she scans you. As if you are less than what you are, reduced to the painted trim of your nails, the makeup on your face, less than what you are and undeserving. As if it does not matter that you go to the hospital more often than not, your features clear, your hair pulled up, and lose yourself in your work; the agony of your patients, healing them and then some more until your bones ache with the ghost of their pain and you drop dead to your pillow, your phone turned off.
You are silent not because you are hurt, exactly⏤ you do not know this girl, and she does not know you⏤ but because you are so stunned. You don’t know what to say, because you have never thought yourself reduced to just this, less than what you are and undeserving. Distantly, you hear the cries of outrage, you feel yourself, adrift amidst an ocean, your hands clenching. You don’t know how to start, or what to even say.
But he does.
“She doesn’t use social media,” He starts, and yes, you don’t, but how does he know? “It obviously wasn’t even her recording the videos, you fuckwit, and it says in the account biography that it’s owned and run by a friend.”
You are staring at him, your heart held like hope in your throat. ( You think of your sunflowers. ) You don’t understand why he is saying this, why he is stepping in for you. ( You remember making fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You remember finding that you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ he is tolerant of you, he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, he walks with you before school, and he walks with you after. He never calls himself your friend, but he believes in you and your dream, and promises to walk you to and from school anyways, even if you do not attend the same one. )
He does not look at you, nor does he pause, and though there is anger in his voice, you think he is holding himself back. “High horse?” He laughs sardonically. “Get off yours. She’s already ten times the healer, hell, the Hero, you’ll ever be.”
( He doesn’t call himself your friend, but he still stands up for you. )
You don’t know what sort of expression you’re making, but it has to be ugly, something complicated, not exactly bewilderment nor gratitude or simply hope but some combination of them all; like something in between.
“And what would you know? What are you, her guard dog?” She snarks back.
And finally, you find your voice.
“He does what he likes.”
You are still watching him, and you see the way his hands clench, and then unclench.
( You think very briefly of your sunflowers, and you think that you will always miss them. You can heal any wound on this earth, save the fatal ones, but you cannot heal the hole he has carved into your heart; not the one from this boy who knows you, every facet, both the good and the bad. You have never needed to hide the unsavory parts of yourself from him; after all, your very relationship was built upon a lie. You think a part of you has always loved him for it, will always love him for it⏤ this boy who is not your friend, has never been your friend, but still knows you, stands up for you, and believes in you, in all of you. And, you think, even if he does not care for you, there will always be a part of you that always cares for him. )
You turn to level her with a cool stare.
“He’s right,” You say. “I don’t use social media, and before you call me a liar, just listen.” You add, as her mouth opens.
( Your mother is a doctor, and when your Quirk develops, you know you want to go the same route. You have never even considered anything else; never even thought of being a Hero, until your sensei tells you that he might’ve pushed you for it, had you not already been so dedicated to the path.
And you will not pretend like you have been good every step of the way⏤ you are not that much of a good person. Your mother tells you to play nice, because you are a willful child, vindictive in both your action and your speech, and petty enough to hold onto your grudges. You are not that much of a good person, you have never particularly cared to cater to the feelings of those around you unless you feel like it; do not care to stand up for a boy who has done nothing to you, just because he has done nothing for you.
You are grown now, better now, you know, but some elements of you still remain. You still wear your outfits like your armor, though it is not your hair but your makeup that is now your helm, you take time with your appearance and you take care of it every morning. Your volunteering at the hospital was not born entirely out of unselfish intention⏤ firstly because your mother said it was what you should do, and second because you thought the experience would look good, especially since you were applying to UA. But⏤ )
“I don’t know why you applied to UA, but I know why I did.” You say, simply. “It was because I wanted to become a healer, and this is one of the best places in the world to do it.” You straighten, jerking a finger at the ash-blond beside you. “We all went through the same application process. Take him, for example. He’s arrogant, he’s loud, and he always gets on your nerves. But that doesn’t make him any less passionate, or any less of a Hero. It doesn’t matter, because if you’re determined enough, strong enough, you’ll eventually rise to the top.”
You are the center of attention, but you have never been so aware of a singular set of eyes, burning straight into you.
You continue. “I don’t know who you are, or what you want to be, but that goes for the rest of you, too.” You jerk your thumb back to your classroom. “There’s a green-haired boy in there that everyone thought was Quirkless, including himself. But he had a dream that he dared to try for, and look where he is now.”
You look at your fellow intern, the class 1-B one.
“I don’t use social media for a variety of reasons, haven’t for a long while, and I won’t pretend like all of them were good. But ever since I started volunteering at the hospital, whenever I think about it, I think: every second I spend scrolling the internet could be another life lost. Someone I didn’t save, something I didn’t learn that could’ve helped someone in the future.” Your shoulders are set, and you lift your chin high. “You can think I’m a liar all you want, but I would hope, as a healer, you would be at least able to understand this.”
She is mute, and you look at the rest of the crowd, wearing your outfit like armor, your makeup, your helm.
You raise one eyebrow. “Anything else?”
Silence is your only answer, and you shrug.
“See you around, I guess.”
The crowd parts mutely before you, but then your wrist is clasped in a hand⏤ you think, very briefly, of sunflowers, but then you turn, and it is Mina grinning up at you, several others from your class in tow. “You’re so fucking cool,” She tells you, bright and genuine.
You are not that much of a good person, never have been, and, you think, you are not entirely sure if you ever will be. You will never be entirely unselfish, free of your precociousness, your pettiness, your occasional lying habits, and all the other thousand-and-one flaws you could find in yourself, if you really tried.
But you are growing. You are the same you that you were before, and you are also different.
You grin at her. “I know I am,” You say.
You are not that much of a good person, but you are growing, just as much the person you were before, as you are someone new.
You are a healer, you are yourself; this is who you are, and this is what you do.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
His mother calls him out on his sulking, barely a week in.
“Did something happen between the two of you?” She frowns, and his heart clenches painfully in his chest.
“S’fine,” He snarls. “Keep your damn nose out of my business, old hag.”
For once, his mother does not take him up on the challenge⏤ he almost wishes she would. He’s been itching for a fight, to get it out of his system somehow, but she’s always been able to read him⏤ just like you.
Mitsuki waves the phone in her hand. “Her father said she won’t be joining us for weekly dinners anymore⏤ she’s started volunteering at the hospital, and just won’t have time.” She states, plainly, and without judgment. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you, or if you’re still friends, but you were probably a little shit like usual, so get off your ass and go apologize.”
Apologize. That damned word. He hates it. And he’s considered it, but then he remembers: you, your face, the way it had crumpled, and then the way you’d sneered, don’t talk to me again.
He has always been able to tell your lies from your truths, and it stunned him in the moment, because it had not seemed like so much of a lie.
And it’s not. He sees the truth of it, a week later, when you skip out on your weekly dinners, accept your volunteer position, and cut the whole of him from your life, just like that. He sees the truth of it, on the first day of school, as he waits by your intersection and is almost late because you aren’t there, as he scans his class for your face and finds you absent, when you pass him in the halls and don’t even bother to look up. He sees the truth of it two months later, when that damned nerd stands at your table, a tray in his hands, and you allow him to sit. His heart is in his throat, clenching around something painful, there is smoke rising from his hands⏤ Deku looks up instinctively, flinching, and you do not even bother to turn.
( You and your sunflowers, the way you smile like the sun when you find out he is allergic, and go out of your way to plaster sunflower-themed things all over yourself, and he’s not quite sure if they are your favorite flower, or you do it just because you hate him. But then he gets to know you, slowly and over the years, a thousand-and-one forced interactions until he finds, one day, that he is not reacting so sharply to your barbs, uncaring that you flop onto his bed and muss up the sheets, unminding of your chatter, your studious, stupidly competitive nature, the way your eyebrows knit a little when you focus on a more difficult concept, or how you’re grinning as you annoy him, rambling about anything and everything; your fictional crushes.
You say you want to be a healer, and the first thing he thinks is: that’s stupid, why not a Hero?⏤ but your eyes are determined as you say it, there is a fire in them, and he sees that bleed into the way you do things; the way you act. You never call him your friend⏤ you have, once, very clearly a lie⏤ but he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, promises to walk you to and from school, even if he does not know which one you might go to, promises to teach you how to fight. It’s stupid, he knows it is, the way he tenses when you joke that you want him to kiss you so bad because he’s imagining it. And then the guilt after, when you press your cheek softly into the curve of his nape, feeling the dried-out tracks of your tears, the way you shudder as you steal his pain⏤ barely-there, but he feels it, anyway. )
He looks at you, properly, fork crumpling in his hand. “Yo. You’re staring.” One of his friends nudges him, gently, and he forces himself to look away.
( You, the sunflowers you bedazzle yourself in, your bag absent of them, and the way you never wear anything yellow ever again. )
He’s angry at you, at first. It’s unfair, he thinks, the way you seem to carve him completely out of your life, with all the practiced precision of a surgeon, that he spends almost all his time thinking about you, and that you do not do the same for him. You don’t want to talk to him, you’ve made that abundantly clear, and that’s fine⏤ he has his pride, and he is not going to beg you to stay. Not when you chose the nerd over him.
But then you stand in the doorway. You look like you did the first day, clear-eyed, but older. Your eyes widen when they catch sight of him, ever-slight, but he’s never missed a single expression on your face, and he does not miss it now. All of a sudden, he wants to talk to you so badly that it hurts⏤ he sees the bags under your eyes and wants to tell you to sleep, the bone-weariness with which you carry yourself, your step absent of skip.
But then, your gaze drops. He sees your bag, absent of its sunflowers.
He feels as if his gut were a stone, heavy and damning.
He remembers: you have never once thought of him as a friend, and he will not beg you to. He will respect your space, your wishes.
And yet. You stand by the entrance, the day of that first class, fierce and silhouetted by the sun. Are you hurt? You ask him, and it feels as if he were floating, stuck in a dream.
He takes too long to respond, and you give him a once-over, clearly discerning he is fine. You kneel by the damn nerd’s side, and he feels the absence of your attention like a physical thing, but even that is secondary to the horror he feels when you reach the other boy; his arm painfully bruised and almost a terror to look at.
He wants to say: you don’t have to do this, you don’t have to hurt yourself. There are other healers in the building, and don’t you have a mentor? You raved about Recovery Girl all the time, there’s no reason you should be taking his pain for yourself. And the nerd will be fine⏤ anger clenches at him, then, because if the nerd knows about your Quirk and still allows you to hurt yourself for him⏤ “Why does that even matter?” You ask him, and he hears the ghost of what you don’t say: why do you even care?
He does. Of course he does. He always has, even when you giggle to yourself about something so blatantly stupid, even when you are an entire pain in his ass.
But then he thinks of you, your bag empty of sunflowers, the way you have not worn yellow since.
His arm drops back to his side, and he says nothing more to you, just as you’d like.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
You have always disliked crowds, but so has he.
He is watching you when it happens, sees you lingering hesitantly by the exit. You’ll be smart about it, he’s sure⏤ he’s hotheaded, yes, but that doesn’t mean he’s stupid or blind. But then⏤ brown-haired cheeks tugs you by the wrist, forcing you into the throng, and he thinks: what the fuck?
He knows it’s stupid, and that you won’t thank him for it, but he dives after you, anyway.
He forces his way towards you, watching as you elbow someone particularly hard with a surge of pride, before he’s holding you and marching away, towards the wall, towards free space, trying not to think about how you feel in his arms, how you feel with the whole of you pressed against him. He needs to say something, anything to distract himself, so what he says is: “What the hell were you thinking? You don’t even like crowds.”
Your cheeks are a little flushed, and you are staring at him. He feels his own warm in turn, and he feels like a kid again, heart like a sun in his chest.
Your features still. Your mouth flattens, and you are cold as you say what you did not only a day before. “Why do you even care?” You ask.
He does. Of course he does.
But you do not ask this question in hopes of an answer. Your gaze slides past, and then you go with it, refusing to give him even the time to reach for you.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
When the mist envelops him, the first thing he turns towards is you.
His eyes widen⏤ you are already in the air, lunging at him, and he barely has the mind, the presence of thought to catch you. You fall as one, and his gut lurches⏤ he wraps himself around you, shielding your vitals, your head from harm, and gladly takes the brunt of the impact. He has all of a second to check up on you, to feel you pressed against him, know that you are safe, before he catches sight of more villains behind. “STAY THERE.” He shoves you into a corner, setting his back to you⏤ and when they are done, you have not moved an inch.
He sees the daze of your eyes, the shock, and cups your cheeks anyways, trying to ground you. “Oi,” He says, harsh, but also soft. “You hurt anywhere?”
You blink up at him, and then at the red he barely feels sliding down the side of his cheek.
He jerks away. He doesn’t want you to touch him, not to heal him⏤ he’s strong, he’s fine, he can deal with it, he doesn’t need you to steal his pain. Not when it’ll hurt you.
“I am a healer,” You say, and his heart clenches again at the sound of your voice, and again when you tell him: “You are hurt, and I am simply repaying a favor.”
He hears the steel in your voice, lets you touch him.
He would give anything to curl into your touch, even if for the rest of your life, your relationship is just like this: he, the dog, and your favors, the bone. He wants it, so long as you will keep on touching him like this, and yet he also doesn’t want it, because he cannot bear to be the one causing you such pain.
He is angry beyond words when the extra starts laying into you like she does, and you simply stand there, bearing the brunt of it all.
He’s watched the videos, seen every single one. Seen how hard you work inside of them⏤ the comments talk about how beautiful you are, but all he can think of is the tired pallor of your face⏤ but what’s more is that he knows how hard you work outside, too, and who is this girl to even talk about you like that, when she doesn’t know what it’s like to take the pain of another, and make it into your own? His tone of delivery is quiet, no less than lethal, and he speaks with every ounce of pride he has in you and the person that you are.
You are watching him, he thinks, and he thinks, somewhat dizzily, that this is it. You’ll chew him out in front of the crowd, call him out on his bullshit, tell him to stop speaking about you, speaking for you, that you hate him, that he’s stupid, anything and everything of the above.
But you do not.
You only rise, and he thinks that you are not at all the girl he has known before. Some parts of you are the same, entirely unchanged, but you have grown⏤ so much that it takes his breath away. You have always been coolly elegant in your deliveries when you mean it, but this⏤
He thinks: it is okay if you never want to talk to him, if you don’t care one bit. It is okay if you choose never to wear yellow again, your bag remaining empty of its sunflowers, it is okay if you carve him entirely from your life.
He will respect your wishes, and watch from the sidelines, basking in the radiance of you: the healer, the girl, and simply everything that you are.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
You should not be here.
You feel terribly out of place in this darkened room, with a crowd of familiar villains before you, disoriented and groggy.
If it were not for the ash-blond by your side, you think you might’ve started hyperventilating. You are quiet as you wake. You notice: his hands are bound, but yours are not⏤ they know you are a healer, you think, and they do not fear you.
You feel, rather than see, crimson eyes slide to yours. You blink up at him.
And then, his eyes flicker up.
You see the resolve set firmly onto his face. You know him, likely more than he does himself, which is why you know what he will say.
He says: “I’ll listen. I’ll consider working with you, so long as you make sure to leave her out of it.”
No. The word clangs into you with a force, a viciousness. You jolt upwards, so fast your head spins⏤ no. You know he won’t. He is a Hero to the core, and you know this, because you have decided early on that you will remain a step behind him always, even if he does not care at all for you, there and ready to steal away your pain. You have decided: you will see him live out all of his days, full of glory and entirely unscathed, victorious, and you will not watch him burn his life away like this, tucked away in a corner of this world, quietly and without a sound.
He lies to protect you, and you decide there and then that it isn’t worth it. You know him, have spent a thousand and one days getting to know him, just as you know that his bluff will be called before long, because though Bakugou Katsuki is many things, you have always known him to be a terrible liar.
You aren’t, though.
You straighten, and rasp. “No, he won’t.”
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
He watches you straighten, watches you drawl, and he feels a terror like ice creeping up to his throat.
Your lips are pulled into your liar’s smile, soft and lovely under the candlelight, but then⏤ “Katsuki’s going to be a Hero,” You tell them, and his heart stutters because when was the last time you actually called him by his name?
“Shut the fuck up,” He tells you.
You ignore him.
“Trust me when I say, this guy’s like, the biggest All Might fan you’ll ever see. Well, actually, maybe not the biggest⏤ Midoriya’s collection is insanely impressive, but you get the point. Did you really see his actions at the Sports Festival and think that was your opening?”
You stand, a smirk on your face, and he wants to tell you to shut the hell up again, to just stop talking, but⏤ you turn, you flash him a grin, and it’s like he’s six again and seeing you for the first time. You see him, in a way no one else ever has, in a way that assuages all the criticism he’s seen since, narrowing his world down to these things: you, and your unwavering confidence in him. Your lips are pulled into your liar’s smile, you are scared and terrified and pretty much everything in between, but he hears your words, hears your truth.
“Newsflash, losers. He’s wanted to be a Hero ever since he was a kid, and nothing’s ever going to change that.”
His heart swells so tight he thinks it’s going to burst. You, in this moment, like you still care, that he’s not alone in this, and that he cares for you more than anything else in the world, loves you more than you will ever know.
You do not need to say anything else, because there is a knock on the door⏤ pizza delivery, someone calls, and then the door opens; All Might in the flesh. The heroes⏤ and then you are scrambling for him, your fingers fumbling with the knots, but he simply jerks his hands apart, tearing the fabric, and reaches for yours.
You still a little, surprised, flinching back a bit, but his heart is singing⏤ you care, he thinks, somewhat dumbly, like a mantra bouncing around inside his head. He barely registers the rest of it⏤ he emerges by the ruins of a building, your hand still in his, piloting the both of you around the villains who try to keep you. Shitty Hair, calling down at him from the fucking sky⏤ what the fuck? but then he’s calling for you, and then there is you: looping your arms around his neck, knowing, instinctively, what he means.
His chest warms like the sun, ethereal and glorious.
You blast together into the night. His hand lands upon another one, similarly callused, and then he’s curling his other around you, latching you to him. Your head is settled in the crook of his neck, and you don’t protest it in the slightest, only untangling yourself once you land.
You don’t reach for his hand once you do, but that’s okay. His heart is singing.
He snarls at the others in his usual manner, and you assert yourself with your own. He follows you as you walk, a step behind. The others leave you at the police station, their own parents plenty concerned, and he doesn’t mind it in the slightest⏤ he gets to walk you home, after all.
You are silent as he does. He walks a step behind, and does not prod you.
You stop. He does, too. Your hands ball up into fists. He watches, waiting.
Finally, you whisper. “Why the hell’d you do it?”
That is not at all what he’s expecting you to say.
“Hah?” He’s never been good with his words, always more combative than means. Particularly with you. Especially with you. “Cause I wanted to, dumbass. The hell do you want me to say?”
You whip around and slug him instantly, punching him square in the gut.
He barely bends from the force of it. You clutch your fist, teary and glaring.
“Fuck you,” You hiss. “Fuck you, Katsuki. You don’t just get to pretend like you care when you want to, whenever it suits you! You don’t get to⏤”
He’s stunned into silence. He’s the one that’s pretending like he cares about you?
Your mouth opens and closes, so angry that you cannot quite find the words. “You don’t get to just fucking try and sacrifice yourself for me! What the fuck!”
He steps closer, disbelief lighting a second sun in his chest.
You lash out. “Stay away from me!”
He catches it in his hand, and you try to fucking headbutt him. He dodges that, too, and then he’s pulling you into him, as tight as his heart feels.
You stiffen. Frankly, he doesn’t give a shit, not when he’s figured out how you really feel.
“I’m sorry,” He rasps into your ear. “I care for you. I’ve liked you since we were fucking six, and you shoved your stupid fucking sunflowers in my face. I was angry. I’m sorry. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll have me.”
You do not move. Do not breathe, and for all of a second, he thinks: this is it.
And then, you crumple.
He can count the number of times he’s seen you cry on one hand, but you weep into his shoulder now, a year’s worth of repressed emotions wrung out of you in an instant. You melt into him so perfectly he feels as if he was made for you, the weight of you so perfect and familiar in his arms. “You’re so fucking stupid,” He thinks you are saying though it’s somewhat unintelligible, between your sobs and the way your voice is muffled from being pressed into his chest.
He chuffs in your ear. “Feel free to add blind and ugly to the list, if you’d like.”
You laugh, broken and teary, but then your arms rise, and you are wrapping them around him.
He thinks: it’s okay if the world ends right then and there, so long as he gets to hold you; just like this; just then and there; just for a moment longer.
( He thinks of you and your sunflowers, your liar’s smile. How your face had lit up in absolute delight at the sound of his first sneeze, and how you’d stepped forward to thrust it further into his face, a wicked grin on yours all the while. How you lie your way into weekly dinners, and he’s furious, swearing he won’t talk to his parents for the whole of a month⏤ but then you’re there, in his room and making fun of his figurines.
You say, somewhat disinterestedly, that you think you remember a new All Might one on the market. He caves, and his vow lasts only a week.
He thinks of you and your sunflowers, your liar’s smile. How he had always hated the sight of them before you; a young god faced with his one mortal weakness, but as time went on, he learned how he did not quite mind the look of them on you. He thinks of you and your sunflowers, your liar’s smile; soft and lovely under the candlelight, scared and shaking and terrified but still believing wholly in him, just as he does you.
He thinks he has loved you since forever. )
Absent-mindedly, he presses his mouth to your hair.
And in the light of the dawn, pink-streaked and painting you awash in sunflower yellow, you look up at him, and smile.
bc i need to rant about this fic: afterword
More Posts from Whydoyoucare866 and Others
Shinsou with his hair down ‼️
[3:47 PM] Sakusa Kiyoomi
Writing side smut stories is way easier - trying hard to break out of this writer's block for the two ongoing stories.
Warning: smut, Omi is a virgin; on an Omi rush
.
Kiyoomi was not only an extreme germophobe but also an extreme rule follower.
When he injured his right wrist from a terrible fall after a last-second spike, it resulted in a fracture that required his wrist to be put in a cast.
“You need to refrain from all activities, even cleaning. You’ve put too much stress on your body and need to rest,” his primary provider instructed, aware of his extreme cleaning hobby.
He was ordered off the roster for the next six weeks before his next X-Ray appointment.
His day couldn’t get worse…
Until he got home and saw an unfamiliar face in his home.
“Who the fuck are you?”
She cocked her head and raised a brow, “I am your temporary cook and cleaner, Mr. Sakusa.” She reminded him that his cook and cleaner, Mrs. Kikuchi is on vacation for the next eight weeks and she is the temporary replacement.
“Oh,” he uttered, remembering that he was going to have a new person filling in. “Sorry, I had a rough day… can you get me something to eat?”
The frown on this person’s face shifted into a smile, “absolutely, what would you like?”
“An omelet, light on the salt and make the egg slightly runny.” He is suddenly reminded of how it took Mrs. Kikuchi weeks before finally getting his request right. Kiyoomi prepared himself for an overly-cooked omelet.
Five minutes later, his eyes widened at the pretty omelet before him. That was cooked perfectly, just like how he wanted it.
He eyed her suspiciously, not knowing why, before taking a bite.
He groaned.
Groaned.
Fuck, this is delicious! He thought, devouring more of his meal.
He struggled to eat with his non-dominant hand but was too hungry to care.
“Would you like for me to cut your omelet for you?”
Kiyoomi blinked, shocked at her question before answering, “y – yes, if you can?”
Y/n nodded and reached to cut his food for him.
His eyes dart between his food and this woman he’s only known for twenty minutes. He can’t remember the last time he had his food cut up for him and can’t figure out why he was feeling hard from the simple non-intimate gesture.
He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat.
“Can I get you anything for you to drink?” Y/n asked with a smile that had a hint of satisfaction behind it.
His heart rate increased at her smile, and he stuttered, “o – orange juice, please.”
.
This woman was maddening.
Not only did she turn him on and made him horny almost 24/7. She also made him frustrated because she wanted to go out after her shift.
“It’s raining.” He argued, gesturing to the window blurred by the heavy downpour. “It’s too dangerous to go out.”
She called his name, his fucken weakness, and prayed she doesn’t look south cause he felt his cock twitch to life.
“It’s just raining, I’m just going out for my friend’s birthday and I’ll be back.”
After two days, Y/n was staying in his home, with him, in the guest room.
Unlike Mrs. Kikuchi, who came to his house every morning for her shift, Y/n stayed with him since he was going to be home for six weeks for recovery. He calmly, yet desperately begged her to stay with him, giving her the excuse that he’d need her more since he would be home more frequently.
Kiyoomi went as far as making a mess and dirtying himself and his home for Y/n to take care of, just to have her in his presence.
“Yes, I’m aware it is raining, Y/n, and it’s not safe to go out.” He blocked her in with his left arm. “If – if something happens to you…” I wouldn’t know what to do, “I’ll – I’ll go hungry…”
Her mouth curved into a smirk, “Sakusa Kiyoomi, are you only using me for my cooking skills?”
I want to use you and let you use me in anyway way possible, he wanted to answer. Sexually.
“No…” he breathed, his breath heavy. “I just don’t want you to go,” he answered honestly.
Y/n’s fingers touch the bottom of his shirt before lightly trailing up his chest. “Your actions… some might think… you are implying something…”
“Like?” He whispered.
Her fingers suddenly gripped the collar of his shirt and tugged him forward until their lips were mere centimeters apart. “That you want me.”
Kiyoomi’s eyes glance between her eyes and lips and suddenly the anxiety of her leaving him disappeared and replaced with confidence. And horniness. “I do.” He breathed against her lips, “I want you, Y/n. Fucken badly.”
“I can tell, I can feel you.” His bulge was pressing against her belly.
Y/n pressed her lips lightly against his in a soft kiss, to gage out his reaction.
Like a starved and hungry man, he lunged at her, his left hand pressed behind the back of her head as his lips eagerly moved against hers.
Her hands rested at his waist and Kiyoomi groaned, he was ticklish and it felt weird to have someone hold his waist. But he loved it. Only Y/n’s touch. She pulled him against her until he sandwiched her against his kitchen wall.
“Fuck, your lips… taste so good,” he murmured, “I wonder how your other lips… will taste…”
She burst out laughing, her arms wrapping around his waist. “Kiyoomi… you never fail to amuse me.”
He wasn’t sure if her comment was sarcastic or not, but he didn’t care.
“Please,” he begged, just begging for anything.
She looked up at him, his dark eyes pleading also. “You want to taste my other lips?”
“I want to taste all of you.” He knocked his forehead against hers, “don’t go, stay with me. So I can please you.”
Y/n groaned, “how can I say no?”
“Say yes that you’ll stay with me, you won’t regret it.” He pulled her to his living room and forced her to take a seat on his expensive couch. He manhandled her until she was bare and naked in front of him, and he kneeled before her with her legs spread wide.
Y/n can sense the hesitation from him. “Second thoughts?” she half teased and was half serious. If he was regretting it, goodness, it would be an embarrassment for them both.
Kiyoomi shook his head, eyes set on the sight of her bare pussy before him. “I…” he choked, “I… actually haven’t done this before.”
Y/n’s eyes widen, “what?”
His tongue slips out to moisten his lips before biting down on his lower lip, looking slightly guilty. “I’ve never… actually… seen a naked woman before…” Y/n’s surprised look made him blurt out suddenly, “I’m actually… a virgin still.”
“Oh…” her voice emphasized on the word. “I would… have never guessed that.” When he looked disappointed, she quickly added, “I don’t mean it in a bad way!” she corrected. Y/n sat up and cupped his face, “Kiyoomi, you are gorgeous. Don’t think I haven’t seen you prancing around shirtless with your sweatpants hanging off your fucken hips. I would never have thought you were still a virgin.” His eyes stare deeply into hers and she’s unsure he got her message. “Being a virgin is okay, there’s nothing to be ashamed about it.” She rubbed the tip of her nose against his. “We don’t… have to do this… please don’t feel pressured to do this.”
He shook his head, pulling away from her gasp and looking into her eyes with determination. “Teach me how to please you, teach me how you want to be pleased… I’ll do it. I’ll learn…”
“Kiyoomi, how did you take care of yourself all this time? I’m sure… you had times when you needed some relief… right?”
His cheeks flushed, before he muttered, “don’t laugh, okay…” when she nodded he answered, “I get off with a sex doll.” He waited for her to laugh at him, to embarrass him.
But she never does.
He peers up at her, not realizing he looked away.
She looked at him with sincerity and caution, “are you sure, positively sure you want to do this?”
He nods.
Y/n let out a shaky breath and leaned back, widening her legs. She used her hand and spread her pussy lips, “see how I’m wet here?” Kiyoomi nodded. “You want to arouse me, get me wet like this, which… you did.”
“I did? How?” He looked up at her like a schoolboy genuinely curious.
“By begging me to stay in tonight, it was fucken hot,” she smiled brightly and then tapped her finger against her clit, “this is the –“
“Clit,” Kiyoomi answered in a whisper.
“Correct,” She relaxed against the couch, “now, touch me, you can graze your fingers against my pussy until you’re comfortable.”
His fingers glide against her pussy, coating his fingers. He pressed this finger pad against her clit, circling it. “I’ve seen… porn where… they do this… do you… like it?”
Y/n hummed. “When you’re ready, you can put a finger inside me.”
Kiyoomi gently inserted a finger and glanced up at Y/n who grimaced, watching his finger slowly disappearing more into her hole. “Am I hurting you?”
She shook her head, “no… feels good.” When his finger was knuckle deep, Y/n instructed him, “you can move your finger in and out if you’re ready.”
He does as he is told, pumping his finger gently in and out of her.
“When you are comfortable… you can add another finger.”
And he does, his forefinger and middle finger are both pumping in and out of her.
“You feel so… soft… and warm…”
Y/n’s hand gripped her knees, keeping her legs spread wide for him. She felt her eyes rolling back at just the feeling of his two fingers and she wanted more. “You’re not so bad yourself…” she murmurs.
She was becoming wetter by the second as he fingered her.
“Can you… take three fingers?” he asked cautiously.
Y/n opened her eyes, “if you want?”
He nodded eagerly and Y/n smiled, giving him the green light.
Kiyoomi inserts three fingers, quickening his pace. “Can… I also use my mouth?”
Y//n tensed, “I haven’t showered yet.”
“So?” he questioned.
“You’re not grossed?”
“With you, no?”
“If you want to.”
“I do,” he smiles before giving kitten licks to her clit.
Her back arched against the couch at the contact of his hot tongue. Seeing her reaction, Kiyoomi shifted his mouth and suckled the little nub hard until Y/n was wreathing against him.
He’s seen how men do it in porn videos and mimic it.
“God, Kiyoomi!” Y/n shouted.
Her pussy began tightening around his three fingers and he lift his mouth, “are you… close?”
She nodded, her cheeks flushed. “Yes… make me cum with your mouth and fingers.”
His eyes remained connected with hers as he suckled her clit and continued to pump his fingers.
“Am I doing a good job?”
“Yes! Yes, Kiyoomi… so good… so good for me.” She gripped his hair, “faster, I’m so close…”
Aiming to please, Kiyoomi brings out her orgasm. She shudders against his fingers and mouth and aside from volleyball and cleaning, he has never felt such satisfaction before.
When Y/n comes down from her high, Kiyoomi gently slips his fingers out and notices her wince.
“It’s okay… just your fingers filled me fully and I feel empty now.” She assures with a smile. She sat up and saw the mess she’d made on his leather couch. She looked at his crotch, he was hard against his jeans. “Should we… take care of that?” She nods at his bulge.
Kiyoomi’s cheeks blushed. “We don’t have to…”
“I want to, but I want you to want it too.” Y/n said sternly.
He nods, “God, I feel so silly.”
Y/n grabs him by his chin and gazes directly into his eyes, “not silly at all. Now, do you want to do this?”
“Yes,” he answered in a heartbeat.
Y/n smiled, “good, I’m happy to hear that. It seems like you’ve watched porn, is there a position you want to try for the first time?”
“Here,” he answered quickly, “how you just came in front of me. I want to have sex with you right here.”
“Okay,” Y/n answered, leaning back. “Take off your clothes then.”
He stripped so fast and was naked in seconds. Y/n couldn’t take her eyes off his cock that was standing proud and ready.
Kiyoomi reached for his jeans, fishing out a condom. He swiftly and smoothly slid it on and looked at Y/n, as if waiting for her permission.
Y/n was nibbling nervously at her lower lip, “I haven’t had sex in a long time but I’m ready whenever you are.”
He touched her pussy, feeling her wetness from moments ago. His eyes drop to her breasts, which he has neglected. Kiyoomi reached with both palms and fondled her breast.
A soft moan escapes her lips and Kiyoomi dips to take a perky rosy nipple into his mouth. He suckles and nips before switching to show the other side the same attention.
“The other day when you wore a low-cut shirt… it took everything in me to not push you against the fridge and suck your tits.” Kiyoomi leans forward and kisses Y/n, “let’s take it slow and easy?”
“Okay,” Y/n nodded and tensed when she felt the intrusion of his cock. She felt him pause and she exhaled, relaxing her body, slowly feeling more of him until he was fully inside her.
For a moment they savor the feeling of just being one. Kiyoomi’s body loomed over hers as her body curved against his leather couch.
“God, this feels good, so good…” he murmurs. His head drops against her shoulder. “Can I move now?”
“Yes, yes Kiyoomi.”
Hooking his arms around her body, he began thrusting his hips. His hips began moving faster by the second when he got the rhythm down. He felt Y/n’s nail dig into his shoulder blades and that encouraged him.
“Yes! Yes!” Y/n’s legs wrapped around his waist, wrapping him closer.
His thrusts were becoming so deep that it was shifting his couch, scooting back with each thrust. He unwound his arms from around her and grip the back of his couch while continuing to thrust into her. His Y/n.
Now that he had a taste of a real pussy, there was no going back.
“So good… fuck… so good,” he cooed repeatedly, pounding into her heavenly pussy. “Best pussy ever…”
Y/n looked up into his eyes, a smirk on her lips, “but it’s the only real pussy you’ve had so far?”
Kiyoomi mirrored her smirk before his left hand snaked into her ruffled hair. He gripped the roots of her hair and growled, “the only one I want.”
The smirk on her lips disappeared and he smashed his lips against hers in a hungry kiss.
.
Y/n couldn’t believe the stamina that this man had. However, given that he played professional volleyball for a living, it made sense that his endurance was exceptional.
Even with sex.
He wanted more and more.
They fucked on many surfaces, the coffee table, against his glass window, on his kitchen island…
“E – enough…” Y/n pleaded, her arms trembling as her grip around his neck was slipping from their body sweat. He currently is carrying her, his strong arms supporting her from underneath her knees, making her spread wide and at his mercy, as he bounced her on his cock while standing.
They have used condoms littered all over his place. She didn’t know where he was pulling these condoms from, like had a magic bag full of them somewhere near.
Without withdrawing, Kiyoomi walked over to his kitchen counter and set Y/n at the edge. Slowly, he pulled out and his soft cock slipped out. The tip of the condom was full of milky white cum.
That was the last condom he had.
His breath finally calmed as he gently pushed Y/n’s head back to stare down at her. “Sorry… I got… carried away.”
Her lips curve upward into a tired smile, her eyes barely open. “Yes… you did.” She gently smacked his arm, “can’t believe you were carrying me with your injured arm.”
Kiyoomi shrugged his shoulder and looked at his cast, “it didn’t hurt.”
They laughed in sync before Kiyoomi pressed his forehead against hers. “Do… do you want to spend the night in my bed? With… me?” his voice was full of anxiety, waiting for her answer.
“I don’t want to be anywhere else.” . . .
>>> @queenelleee @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @cloud-lyy
zach justice is so fine man
oh my fod i didnt like akaashi but i just read genius by @honeekyuu and im actually feral i don’t think ive ever needed a man so badly im gonna die
[11:16 PM] Sakusa Kiyoomi
It's been a while since I last posted about Omi-Omi. Happy (belated) Valentine's Day!
Warning: mild angst but reconciled and happy smut (18+)
.
Kiyoomi set his gym bag in the usual spot of his apartment. Tonight, his home felt unusually cold and empty.
Switching the lights on, he is met with two floating balloons and a bag with red and pink hearts printed all over it.
He let out a chuckle and grabbed the bag, pulling out the tissue paper that was stuffed inside. He found all sorts of chocolate inside, his favorite chocolates.
Happy Valentine’s Day, jerk.
Y/n
Kiyoomi released a deep sigh. He and Y/n had gotten into an argument two nights ago, he couldn’t even remember what it was about. But it was 48 hours of silence from Y/n, 48 hours of emptiness.
The phone line rang repeatedly until it went to her voicemail.
He’s sent her three texts and they were left unread.
“C’mon…” he whispered, pacing around his place. “Pick up, please…”
A click came from the other line and he exhaled, “Y/n, thank goodness, where – “
“Hi, this isn’t Y/n but I’m her coworker!”
Kiyoomi frowned, and growled, “where is Y/n?”
“We are at a company dinner and she’s here… a little intoxicated…”
Kiyoomi could hear mumblings in the background, “… who is it…”
“Where are you guys?” he asked, heading to the shoe rack to put his shoes on.
He heard muffling but couldn’t hear clearly.
“… don’t tell him where I am…”
“… he’s mean and I don’t – I don’t wanna see him right now…”
His heart dropped.
“Hi, hello? Are you still there? Omi? Is this Omi with a white heart emoji next to your name? The Omi that is mean?”
“Yes,” Kiyoomi answered defeatedly, “this is Omi.”
“Look,” whoever this person on the other line whispered, “she keeps saying you are mean and she doesn’t want to see you but I secretly know she does, women to women, she wants to see you… we’re… we’re at the XXXX restaurant.” She paused before whispering loudly, “come get your girl!”
.
Kiyoomi’s strides were only half their usual length, and he inserted a two-second pause between each step. Y/n, with a gloomy mood, followed four feet behind him.
Arriving at the restaurant, he discovered her sitting sadly at the end of the table, all alone. Her colleagues were accompanied by their partners, but Y/n was left by herself. Kiyoomi felt a lump of guilt in his throat; he should have been there with her.
Their most recent argument stemmed from this issue. Y/n had requested him to cut short his training if possible for one night, but he declined, emphasizing the priority of his training.
“I’m simply asking if you could leave an hour earlier, or even thirty minutes early to make it to dinner, if it’s feasible. Can you not even manage that?” Her voice was tinged with angst.
“No, you understand how important my training is. I can’t simply leave early for something like this.”
Something like this…
Now, he felt the full weight of guilt engulfing him.
He halted and glanced back, noticing that Y/n had also come to a stop, gazing into the distance. Following her gaze, he spotted a small shop with claw and capsule machines.
He is reminded of his snarky comment about her liking such stupid things.
Walking up to her, he waited until she looked at him. “Let’s go,” he said jerking his head towards the shop.
Her cheeks were still rosy from the alcohol, her eyes weren’t as lively as they should be. “No,” she grumbles, looking away with a pout. “It’s just stupid stuff,” she attempted to walk around him when he caught her wrist and began tugging her towards the store. “What are you doing?”
He ignores her question and tugs her gently along until they get to the change machine. Stuffing a few bills inside to exchange for tokens. “What would you like?”
She looked at the handful of tokens and then his eyes, and with a weary tone she asked, “why are you doing this?”
“Because you like it and it makes you happy,” his tone is gentle and careful, “and I want to see you happy.” He puts a handful of tokens in her palm. “Go, show me what makes you happy.”
Still pouty, she closed her fingers around the token and walked around him.
Kiyoomi smiled to himself, knowing deep down she was excited.
.
“Are you satisfied with your wins?” He stared at the bag full of plushies and capsule toys.
Y/n nodded, restraining a bright smile on her lips. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Seizing the opportunity, Kiyoomi extended his left hand, asking, “can you hold my hand?” He let out a quite breath when she placed her palm in his. They walked side by side in silence.
“Where are we going?” she asked quietly.
“Let’s go grab some junk food at 7/11 and... my place?” He prayed she would come over but instead, she looked at him as if he had two heads. Chuckling, he knew why she was looking at him weirdly. He was completely against eating any junk food, let alone anything from a convenience store. “A little junk food won’t kill me.”
“It might make you sick though?”
“Shh, don’t jinx me like that.”
.
Sure enough, it did make him feel sick.
All he ate was a cup of instant ramen, and within less than an hour, he started experiencing stomach churning.
“I told you,” Y/n scolded, yet concern was written all over her face. She quickly ushered him to lie down on the couch.
If it meant for Y/n to nurse him and show him affection again, the stomach ache was worth it.
He groaned, “it hurts…”
Digging through her purse, she tried to look for her pill box. “Here, take this medication. It’ll help with the tummy ache.”
He accepted the small pill and popped it into his mouth, taking it down with water. He grabbed her hand, “rub my tummy like you did that one time.”
Y/n hesitated, staring at him suspiciously before reaching to push his shirt up to reveal his abdomen. She ignored the ripples of muscles and put pressure on a certain area of his body.
Kiyoomi groaned, feeling instant relief.
She reached for his hand and placed it with hers, “when you have a tummy ache, always press this pressure point.”
She was about to stand up when he stopped her. Panicking he asked, “wait, where are you going?”
“I’m just going to make you some rice soup.”
He still pouted, watching her walk away to his kitchen.
A few minutes later, she returned with a bowl of steaming contents. “Bland, just the way you like it,” she mentioned, taking a seat on the edge of the couch. “How is your stomach feeling?”
“It’ll feel a lot better if you do it…”
Y/n scoffed and slapped his hand away, “you’re such a baby.”
“Correction, I’m your baby…”
Y/n narrowed her eyes at him, “who are you and what have you done to Kiyoomi?”
Kiyoomi’s lips turned downwards. “Omi…” he corrected quietly. When she doesn’t respond he bites his lips nervously. “I’m sorry.”
Her brow raised, and she looked at him as if she didn’t comprehend what he was saying.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, louder this time. “I have been a jerk and insensitive to you… I have not been compromising and mean to you and I’m sorry,” he bowed his head. “I don’t want you to be mad at me anymore. I’ll do better, I promise. Please don’t leave me.” His voice cracked at his last part of his sentence.
“Leave you? Who said I was leaving you?”
“But you didn’t want to see me?”
Y/n frowned, confused. “When did I say that?”
“Earlier on the phone, I heard you telling your coworker that you didn’t want to see me…” very quietly he added, “that hurt my feelings.” He felt childish but he wanted to be honest.
“I didn’t want to see you is very different from I’m leaving you,” Y/n clarified. She sighed, running a hand through her hair before reaching for the bowl of soup. She blew to cool the spoonful of soup before bringing it to his mouth. “I said that I didn’t want to see you because I knew I would give in and forgive you.”
He swallows the soup before asking, “please forgive me?”
“I saw your face so I already forgave you.”
He couldn’t ignore the cheering in his mind. “Do you really mean it? You forgive me for being a jerk?”
“Yes, you jerk.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“But you called yourself that too?” Y/n countered, shoving a spoonful of soup into his mouth. “Eat and feel better.”
Kiyoomi smiles, “… kiss me, that would really make me feel better.”
The corner of her lips tugged upward, “you sly jerk…”
He sits up, bringing his face close to hers. “Please, a kiss?”
She pecks his lips.
He pouted, “that’s not a kiss.”
“Yes it is, my lips touched yours.”
He blinked and then frowned, “that was hardly a kiss…”
Y/n raised a brow, challenging him, “then what’s a kiss to you then?”
And he showed her.
He cupped her face, tilting it before pressing his lips against hers. As soon as she gasped, he slipped his tongue in, meeting hers in a tango.
“Omi…” Y/n breathed, pushing him away to catch a breath.
His lips continued to her jaw and down her neck. “Please Y/n…” he begged, tugging at her tucked-in dress shirt. He pulls away and looks at her with dark pupils, waiting for her consent.
She launched at him, knocking him onto his back once more. Her mouth moved hungrily against his as she tugged at his clothes.
“I’m not going anywhere…” he chuckled.
“You will be if you don’t take help take our clothes off…”
Their clothes lay carelessly on the ground seconds later.
Y/n raised herself and straddled his lap. She rocked her hips, gliding her pussy along the length of his cock.
Kiyoomi hissed loudly as his hands gripped her hip tightly, nails digging into her hip bone. “Don’t –“ he choked, “don’t tease me…” He didn’t miss the smirk on her lips.
Having enough of not being inside of her already, Kiyoomi flipped them and shifted her underneath him. His hand found one of hers and threaded their fingers together, clasping tightly. He searched her eyes and she answered by lifting her hips.
“Haa, you’re going to be the death of me,” he sank his cock into her sweet pussy.
He waited a few seconds, savoring the intimate bond. Kiyoomi peers down at her before pressing his forehead against hers and without breaking eye contact, he whispers, “I love you.”
He doesn’t express those three words as frequently as he ought to, but he can observe the way her eyes illuminate when he does. “I love you, Y/n…” he repeated, rocking his hips slowly but deeply. “I know I don’t say it often enough for you but you are my everything… and I never want to be without you again…”
Y/n released a soft whimper and cupped his face, connecting their lips. “I love you too, Omi…”
It was soft lovemaking.
Each rock of his hips was gentle with care, with love.
“Let’s cum together?”
Y/n nodded, tightening her arms around his shoulders and soon their bodies trembled in release.
Kiyoomi pulls Y/n up and they sit down, still connected very intimately. He reached for the bag of chocolate, took a piece, and unwrapped it before placing it into her mouth. Then, he helped himself to a piece as well.
“Thank you for the chocolate,” he murmurs.
Pressing a kiss to his cheek, she whispered, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Omi.”
. . .
E/n: Going back to Teo now...
>>> @queenelleee @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @cloud-lyy
Petrichor [12]
![Petrichor [12]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/7697418ec5ad806a21efac6c4f7608a2/15159244cae23727-c2/s500x750/719190ccde5f6633c2a1d1c0a3ab99500c060e04.png)
Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader (little bit of fwb)
Words: 12,719
Chapter Warnings: Swearing, angst, blood, violence, canon violence, manipulation, gunshot wounds, mentions of drug use, drug use, reader is fed the fuck up, description of withdrawal (kind of??)
Summary: ❝Pylades: I’ll take care of you. Orestes: It’s rotten work. Pylades: Not to me. Not if it’s you.❞
Gotham is home, not just for Jason but for you, too. And now that you’re both finally back home, together, you’re ready to see where this next chapter brings the two of you. He’s your best friend and you’re his. And you both might want a little something more with being back home, the place you both feel most comfortable. Surely, nothing could possibly go wrong now.
A/N: I really do just love angst so much lmao You can add yourself to the tag list below, ask me to be tagged, or you can follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary and turn on notifications if you prefer that!! I love feedback, I swear it keeps me posting on a weekly basis 😭
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![Petrichor [12]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/62e62202ac21cfa7179030bbf959103d/15159244cae23727-20/s500x750/8502ac0db409d8f2c8520abc0a9982a911f60df3.png)
The next day Jason is with Crane. Jason is still reeling from last night. Dick knows pretty much everything now and that wasn’t a part of the plan. Jason thinks it’s only a matter of time before Dick shows back up and destroys the entire thing. It’s only a matter of time before Dick ruins everything all over again. And he thinks about you and how mad and worried you were. It’s all growing a bit too heavy for him, even with the drug. But, he pushes Crane anyway.
The sooner they get this plan in action, the better. The sooner Jason can take care of Dick, the better. But, Crane isn’t having any of it. Crane wants to go through with his plan but he’s also not telling Jason a single thing about it. It’s like Jason is just a piece in his game, a pawn. Doing all of the bidding and only knowing what’s going on when he actually needs to in order to do Crane's bidding. But, Jason shakes that thought off because Crane cares about him. Crane wouldn’t be just using him. Right?
“I met that girl of yours.” Crane states, getting tired of Jason’s pestering about going after Dick.
“I heard.” Jason quips, his voice snippy and harsh.
“She is a handful, isn’t she?”
Jason knows what he’s doing and he won’t. He can be as high as Crane wants him to be but he still has a line. And that line is you. It is always you. Anyone but you.
“I can handle her.” Jason states.
“Can you? You can fight better than her. You've had the training. But, like Dick Grayson, she walked away from last night.” Crane lets out a wistful sigh. “And she threatened to kill me.” Crane looks to be hurt as the words leave his lips. Jason knows better than to think someone threatening Crane's life would hurt his feelings. “Doesn’t it bother you that her and Bruce didn’t kill the Joker for you?” Crane asks and Jason’s eyes land on the floor. “I mean,” Crane lets out another sigh. “That maniac killed you and they couldn’t be bothered to kill him for you. Sam is at least a killer now but not for you. I, though, I brought you back.” Crane gives Jason a sinister smile as he places a hand on his shoulder.
Jason hates it because Crane makes a point. Bruce couldn’t even bend his morals for him. Bruce said he was his son and he took him in, he let him be Robin. Bruce was supposed to protect him and everyone else. But, then he couldn’t even kill the Joker. He’s not asking him to kill Two-face or The Riddler or even Crane, but he should have killed the Joker for him. That’s the part that hurts. And you turn around and starts taking out lowlives but you didn’t even hit the Joker first. Not even for him and you've been wanting his blood on your hands since your mom died. But, somehow, that wasn’t enough for even you. Jason, though, does know someone killed him. And he knows what you said about what him dying did to you. He thinks that person just beat you to it. Bruce though, even Dick. Dick could have killed him, too and he didn’t. No one that claims to care about him at all killed the Joker for him and none of you brought him back. Jonathan Crane brought him back from the dead. Not the people who care bout him.
“This isn’t about her. It’s about Dick.” Jason shakes his head because you're still the line. Despite it all, you're the line he won’t cross.
Jason knows, under the haze of the drug, you would have brought him back from the dead if you knew how. And if it were something you knew he'd want. You would have fought and chewed into fate and the Reaper with nothing but your bare hands just to bring him back. You would have killed the Joker if someone didn't beat you to it. After everything going on, you're still the one person who hasn't given up on him.
You're the line.
“See, that’s your problem. It’s not just about Dick Grayson. It’s about all of Gotham and your girlfriend is a part of that.”
“Okay.” Jason states, unsure where else he could possibly be going with this.
“She’s going to be a problem, just like that older brother of yours.” Crane warns as he turns back around as he walks into the little office building. “She’ll come after me eventually and then I bet she’ll come after you, with Dick Grayson at her side.”
“She’s not a problem.” Jason defends.
You could have killed him last night. If the first knife would have missed, you would have had a second one already in the air on its way to his jugular. If you want someone dead with a knife, you're more than capable but instead, you didn’t. You've had opportunities to kill him and fight him at full force but you don’t. You aren’t the problem, no matter what Crane says.
“Isn’t she? She still wants you to join their side and turn me in, the person who has helped you the most. Haven’t you thought about her using you? Her fear drove her to you and now she’s lost. She doesn’t know who is without you because she got to try to fix you and distract herself from it. You got her to live in that fancy mansion.” Crane says and Jason, right about now, is pretty glad he left out more about you.
Crane pushes sometimes for more information but Jason deflects and pulls information about anyone else he can. Jason won’t let Crane target you. That’s not how this partnership is going to work. It doesn’t matter. Jason Todd doesn’t make very many promises, but he made a promise to you and he’s not breaking it. You don’t break your promises to him.
“She’s not using me. I can get her to join our side.” Jason states, his voice growing more annoyed.
“Then why haven’t you?”
“That wasn’t part of the plan.” Jason lies.
“If I told you to give her the drug and help us, would you?” Crane asks, his brows slightly furrowing with the question because he’s already pretty sure he knows the answer.
Crane doesn’t know you already took the drug. Crane also doesn’t know the real reason Jason burned down his lab. Jason told Crane he was just covering his tracks after Hank. He knew Dick would be digging deeper and he might find it. That isn’t actually a complete lie, that’s probably what would have happened if Dick didn’t already find it. But, the real reason was that he didn’t want you going back and making more of it and taking it. He feels the comedown and sure, while he’s high or when he’s desperate not to feel that way again, it feels worth it. In those moments it always feels worth it but you were always better with dealing with your shit than he was. He doesn’t want you involved with Crane and he doesn’t want you addicted to the drug. You deserve better.
He’d never give you the drug. He’d never ask you to work alongside Crane.
“Yeah, she would do it. She’s just as fucked up as I was.” Jason lies through his teeth, shifting his weight to his right foot.
Crane nods his head but he met you. You're not scared, not in the way Jason was. He can tell you have her own issues but you're not like Jason when Jason showed up at Arkham. “Maybe she’s not who you thought she was.” Crane sighs. “You should really be focused on taking care of her with Dick, if that’s your goal that is.”
“No.” Jason states firmly. “Not happening.” Jason scoffs. “She’s not a fucking problem. She fights with Dick all the damn time and she fought him last night with me. Nothing to worry about.” Jason shakes his head, still a little confused what that was even about.
“Oh, I’m not worried.” Crane states. “You are. If you don’t take care of her, you’ll always be stuck here. You’ll never be able to get to your full potential because you’re too worried about what she’ll do. Maybe what she’ll think of you. Though, I have to say, she is not pleased with you over that Hawk fellow.”
“And she still fought Dick for me.” Jason urges. “Clearly, she doesn’t have that big of a problem with it.”
“I’m just giving you my advice. You want to be fearless but you’re still scared of what she’ll do and what she thinks of you.” Crane tsks.
“I’m not taking care of her. I want to go after Dick. Look, we know the drug works. I’m exhibit one.” Jason states, trying to deflect from you. It can’t be you.
“You’ll see, my boy.” Crane states.
The night before rings through your head like a migraine you can't quit. You and Dick got back pretty later, or rather early in the morning. Dick was instant he could take care of the gunshot wound on his own. He'd done it before, apparently. So, that left you to your room alone and sleeping didn't come too easy.
You could have had both of them but Dick just wouldn't listen and Jason doesn't listen and you're too damn loyal to him. If it were anyone else, you could have thrown a knife to injure them and you would have had him and then could have gotten Crane. But, it's Jason and you don't want to hurt him even if hurting him could bring him back and end up being for his own good. You just won't take the risk. And it sucks. And then you almost got shot because Jason and Dick can't work out their problems like normal people with an actual conversation. You're stuck in the middle of the two of them and you don't even know how the hell that happened.
And then there's the way Jason looked at you when you asked him to come home.
The drug must have been wearing off because he looked scared and for the life of you, you don't know why he would be so scared to come home. Yes, he killed Hank and that's bad but everyone attacked Gar while possessed and moved on from that. Gar killed people when he was being controlled. Jason is killing people while he's manipulated and drugged. None of them have attempted to do anything about any of the people you've killed. Dick just let Bruce walk right out after killing the Joker. Jason shouldn't be scared to come home and you feel horrible he clearly does. Getting him back just got a lot more difficult it seems and you're starting to second guess where you should stand in all of it.
You walk into the Batcave where you find Gar and Kory, looking to be researching something on the Batcomputer. You're best guess is they're trying to track down Jason. That's the only thing anyone is doing these days anyway.
"There you are!" Gar yells with excitement and relief as he rushes to you.
Gar's been worried. You and Dick went off without an explanation and didn't come back last night. Neither of you could even be bothered to answer a phone or keep the phones on for that matter. Kory hadn't heard anything and neither did Connor. He's relieved to see you're okay, even if you're looking a little out of it.
"Oh, yeah, hey." You let out a sigh as Gar brings you in for a hug.
"Where were you last night?" Kory questions. "And where is Dick?"
"And what happened?" Gar asks as he pulls away.
You furrow your brows, looking between them as your heart misses a beat. "W-what do you mean?"
Have they really not seen Dick? You might not have slept long or well but Dick is still, somehow, usually always awake. At least here like maybe the manor is haunting him in its own way. But, Kory and Gar are watching you expectantly and you worry maybe something went wrong with the whole gunshot thing.
"I don't think it's some coincidence you and Dick disappeared yesterday and stopped answering your phones." Kory crosses her arms.
Your jaw opens and closes a few times. "Uh..I mean...yeah..." You offer a yikes expression, squinting your eye slightly.
"Explain, now." Kory states sternly.
"Well, uh, you see...you haven't seen Dick or...heard from him?" You ask slowly.
"No." Kory grows more annoyed by the second.
"Not since he dropped Dawn off." Gar offers, hoping you get to the point soon.
You suck in a breath as you tug your sleeves over your hands. "Uh, yeah...so Dick got, uh shot. But, he was fine."
"So, you just went to bed?!" Gar asks.
"And you didn't think to come get me? Or any of us?" Kory demands.
"He said he had it and he's been shot before. I wasn't gonna argue with him."
"Since when? You argue with him all the time." Gar shakes his head in disbelief. Of all times you aren't going to argue with Dick, it's when he's shot. He could be bleeding out somewhere.
"Yes, I was not in the mood last night." You defend your stance as regret starts to chew at your stomach.
Kory lets out a groan. "And where did you last see him?"
"In the living room? Before I went to bed." You state but before you start giving up more answers, the one and only finally makes his way into the Batcave. "Oh, thank fuck." You let out a breath of relief.
"What happened!?" Kory asks quickly, immediately rushing over to Dick who's a little unsteady on his feet.
You and Gar watch the two of them and you can't help the grin that comes to your lips. Rachel made jokes about the two of them and said she thought it was weird but they'd be cute together. You get it now. Kory ran to him in the same you would have if it were Jason. Dick is clearly the idiot between the two of them.
You eye Gar. "Bet you ten bucks it'll be Kory to close the deal when she gets tired of waiting for him to get his shit together."
"I'm not gonna bet on that." Gar whispers with a soft grimace.
"Because you'll lose?" You raise, offering him a smirk.
"Yes." Gar chuckles. "I don't know if Dick is capable of having that conversation unprovoked."
You nod, rolling your eyes. "Batboys." You let out a sigh. "Okay, I give Kory a month."
"Four, tops." Gar sticks out his hand and you shake it with a soft laugh before you and Gar follow Kory and Dick to the medbay.
Dick takes off his shirt and reveals a gunshot wound on the upper left side of his chest. You furrow your brows. It looks nasty and his entire chest is covered in blood, most of it dry but some of it still looks fresh. Kory shakes her head, grabbing the supplies to stitch up the wound. Gar and you watch for a few minutes, mostly grimacing at the sight of it.
"Dude, that looks horrible." Gar scrunches his nose.
"Five inches over and we'd be burying another body." Kory says as she starts addressing the wound.
"Dude, seriously?" You huff. "You said you'd take care of that." You roll your eyes. You wonder how he could be so dumb. And reckless. It's not like it's a cut or a scrape. It's a literal gunshot wound close to his heart.
Kory stops what she's doing to look at you, Gar nearly snapping his head at you. Dick just glares at you, looking more annoyed than usual.
"What?" You ask, looking between all of them with wide eyes. "What'd I do now?"
"Let him go to bed with a gunshot wound and not tell anyone." Gar mutters under his breath, making you snap your entire attention on him. That's uncharacteristic.
"I'm not gonna force someone to let me help clean up their wounds." You mutter right back, earning a glare of disbelief from Gar. "Okay, unless it's Jaon or you." You snip back. "Sorry." Your eyes widen, looking between the three of them.
Gar keeps his stare on you. You're supposed to be friends and you're not looping him to anything anymore. You and Dick go off to fuck knows where and Dick almost gets killed. They're trying to find Jason since he went dark and you two can't be bothered to work as a team with the team. It's ridiculous. You're supposed to be a family.
"Explain." Kory warms, looking between you and Dick.
"It's nothing." Dick states, watching Kory stitch the wound.
"Nothing?!" Kory yells. "You two went off last night without a word! We deserve an explanation."
Dick pauses and you're not about to be on Kory's bad side. If Dick wants to piss Kory off, that's all on him. You do not want to do that. Kory is usually very nice but you have a feeling being on her bad side could get ugly. Plus, it's Kory.
"Jason's working with Jonathan Crane so we kidnapped him and took him to the cabin to lure Jason there. Then Jason and Dick started fighting and I helped. And then a helicopter came and Dick got shot." You explain simply.
The room falls silent for a few seconds as everyone looks between you and Dick. Kory wants to know why everyone who manages to get involved with Bruce Wayne ends up being some of the most reckless people she's ever encountered. Gar is piecing together everything you've told him and now he's even more frustrated. You and Dick went after Scarecrow and decided you could take him on and Jason on your own without any issues. You both didn't even have a backup plan. And Gar is realizing you not only took Jason's drug, but if it's Scarecrow, it was probably something he designed. You took a drug Scarecrow designed and knew that. Then neglected to tell everyone that piece of information.
You both could have died last night and everyone is supposed to just be normal about that. After everything.
"Wow, thanks." Dick quips.
"I'm not gonna disobey Kory. That's all you." You shake your head as you cross your arms over your chest but you can feel Gar's eyes still boring into you.
"And whose side were you even on last night, by the way?" Dick questions.
"You two morons almost fucking shot me!" You yell. "I was on your side. Hello? Do you not remember that and then you got the first swing on him. I was with you guys until you two almost shot me."
"That was Jason." Dick argues. "He pulled the trigger, not me."
"Because you grabbed his arm! It was aimed at you originally, not me." You let out a scoff.
"Enough." Kory warns, growing tired of the back and forth. The specifics of the fight last night don't matter right now when she's trying to fix a bullet wound that could have been fatal. She is so sick of losing people. "Barbara's responsible for this?" Kory asks.
"One of her snipers is, yeah." Dick answers.
"On her orders, I'm sure." Kory states. "Maybe I should go and have a word with her."
"I think there's been enough bloodshed for today." Gar adds in. "That was way too close, man." Gar's voice is soft but drenched in worry.
"I almost had him." Dick defends.
"No, I had him." You protest. "I had a knife ready to go. He never would have done it. I could have gotten him just fine but then you had to take the damn gun and I almost got shot." You pause for a second and if Dick would have just trusted you, maybe you really could have gotten him back. "We almost had him."
"Neither of you are listening!" Kory yells, looking between the two of you. "You scared us. Going out on your own, getting shot. It's not okay."
"I didn't want to put you guys at risk." Dick says. "She was here when I got the call. She's the only one that ever got through to Jason before. That's the only reason she went." Dick states calmly while Gar looks back at you as if waiting for you to explain why you didn't at least tell him.
"I'm not dragging you into it." You look to Gar as you shrug your shoulders.
"Oh, bullshit, guys." Gar spits and he's sick of this.
"Excuse me?" Dick questions.
"Dude, Hank blew up!" Gar yells. "Dawn left us forever, and Jason went dark. You're killing people!" Gar looks at you. "This family is dying and you two go out alone and Dick gets shot?" Gar yells before he starts growling lowly, his entire face turning green while his teeth turn into fangs. "Do you even hear the words coming out of your mouths!?"
"Gar?" You question slowly as your eyes grow wide. You've never seen him this upset before.
"Gar!" Kory yells, trying to snap him out of it.
"Hey." You stand in front of him, putting your hands on his cheeks. "Hello?"
His eyes land on yours, refocusing his attention and the fire in his bones starts to calm. The green fades from his face as his fangs start to retract. He's so upset and hurt and terrified for the lives of the people he cares about most, he didn't even realize he was starting to transform and Gar doesn't lose control.
"What?" Gar asks, his eyes scanning your face.
"Take ten." Kory states and she also feels like they're starting to lose everyone.
"Come on." You offer your hand to him as you turn around to walk away. Gar joins his hand with yours. "Don't do anything fucking insane without looping me in." You look over your shoulder at Dick, sending him a glare before you turn back around. "You were turning green." You whisper to Gar as you walk hand-in-hand across the Batcave.
"Because you guys could have died last night! I'm sick of losing this family!" His voice is panicked this time.
Gar might wear his emotions on his sleeve, but he is also very good at controlling his emotions. He never just loses control but he is today and it has you feeling even more guilty than you already were. Dick has Kory and Babs. You have Gar and Molly. Conner didn't really know Hank and he doesn't really know Jason. Gar, though, he knew Hank and was friends with Hank. Jason is his best friend and yet everyone has someone besides him. Everything has been a mess and Gar is the one left trying to fix everyone and help everyone but who helps him?
"Come on." You tug him along with you until you reach the living room. You let go of his hand and take a seat on the couch. "Yell at me for it. Go for it. You're scared and mad at us, fine. I get it. So, yell about it. I'm not gonna tell you to take ten. Turn green, turn into a tiger, go for it." You say with ease while Gar just stands in front of you, growing confused.
"What...? But I...I don't know..."
"Look, if you need to yell, do it. I deserve it and Dick does, too. You let me bitch to you for months. So, yell about how you're scared. I'm not gonna be hurt or mad. If it'll make you feel even a little bit better, do it. You take care of all of us, all the time. Take care of you." You offer and it's true. If he needs to yell about it, he should. You're not worried about him turning into a tiger. Gar deserves to let everything off of his chest. He always lets everyone else vent to him.
Gar's eyes narrow slightly. "This feels like a trick."
"It's not. I'd yell at Jason sometimes. He just kind of let me and then he'd yell at me. It was never that we were really yelling at each other, but just yelling. Because we were scared or mad. It usually helped. So, go for it." You shrug softly. "I do deserve it though so ya know."
Gar lets out a breath and decides he'll take the opportunity. He is just scared for all of you. Losing Donna was really hard. And losing Jason was worse. He was close with Json and that sucks. And now he's back and he's dark, working with a maniac. Hank is gone, there's no getting him back. Gar just can't lose more people and he's pissed that you and Dick don't seem to care how any of them feel about it. You're supposed to look out for each other to make sure you don't get blown up or beaten to death but Dick and you just go off on your own without a word.
"I'm just mad at you guys and I'm scared you're gonna go out there and get yourselves killed." Gar groans. "We had no idea where you guys went. You guys left and didn't loop us in. We're supposed to be a team and I know you're between teams but we're at least supposed to be friends! Jason is my friend, too! I want to be on his side. But you guys aren't telling us anything! I don't want to lose any more people."
You're tired of everything and you're tired of keeping secrets especially when Gar is looking at you desperate for answers. He says you're between teams right now but what if you don't want to be anymore? Jason is going to do whatever Crane is putting him up to and Dick is going to off and do his own thing anyway. Nothing you're doing has been working anyway. Maybe you're tired of being the one in the middle.
"The call about Crane came in and we left. I was with Dick and I don't think he would have looped me in if I wasn't already there. You're my friend. You're right. And that's why I didn't tell you." You state. "It's just...I wanted to protect you, I guess. I, uh, I've been dodging Molly's calls and texts, too because of it. I'm with you, I'm sick of losing people. So, I didn't tell you."
"Okay and I get that but this is what we do." Gar urges. "We help each other and we help other people even when it's dangerous. It's dangerous but you and Dick still go out there alone. At least if we're all working as a team, we have a better shot of making it home."
You chew the inside of your cheek and you think your heart might stop beating soon. "I fought him, ya know? And I know what that was like because even though I was high, I'm sober now and I remember every detail. And it fucking sucks that happened. I didn't want that to happen to you. I don't want him to have a bigger reason to target you." You shake your head and you shrug slowly and weakly. "He's not your fight, Gar."
"Yeah, he is." Gar urges. "Why wouldn't he be? He's my best friend."
"Because I owe it to him." You nearly yell. "I owe it to him to fucking save him because he saved me more than once and I never fucking told him. I missed it. I will never forgive myself for it. I have to save him this time."
"You don't have to do it alone." Gar's voice nearly breaks and he desperately wishes that's something you would understand. You never have to do this stuff alone. That's part of being a team and a family. "He's our friend. He's our family. We weren't here and that sucks! But he's not just yours to save. What if you can't do it alone?" Gar asks. "You're up against a freaky drug, Jason who I don't think you could really fight if you had to, and Scarecrow!"
"I know." You nod your head. "I don't know, okay? I know I can't do it alone. I'm sorry. I really am." You suck in a breath. And you're realizing you do a lot of things alone. It's as if it's easier to do them alone and only disappoint yourself, risk your own life than drag other people in the middle of it. "Really, I'm sorry. I was...scared if I tell you then you have to tell Dick and what if that got Jason killed, ya know? I don't know. I'm sorry though."
"You can tell me." Gar says. "I know you're worried about him but you can tell me and I won't tell Dick." Gar stresses. "Not if there's a risk it'll get Jason killed again."
"I know." You nod. "I'll try harder. I'm really sorry, Gar." You let out a breath. "I'm, uh, I'm gonna stay out of it today and take a breather. Might head to Excellent Gotham later, just so you know." You offer a soft smile.
"It's okay." Gar nods his head and offers a soft smile back. "You're going to be able to do that?"
"Yeah, I think better when I take a step back and I need to find a way to not be in the middle." You let out a soft chuckle. "While not doing it alone. But, if something happens..."
"I'll let you know." Gar's eyes widen. "Thank you." Gar clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "That did help a little actually."
"Told you." You laugh softly as you get to your feet. "Want some food now? Yelling really works up an appetite."
"Yeah okay." Gar chuckles as you get up. "Oh! I can tell you about Blackfire."
"Blackfire?" You quirk a brow.
"Kory's sister. She was kind of tapping into Kory's head and she attacked me yesterday so we went to find Blackfire. Some scientist was holding her captive." Gar states excitedly.
"Um..." You stutter. "Well, we already have so much in common." You laugh softly. "But yeah, no, please explain literally all of that." You say eagerly as the two of you make your way to the kitchen.
Jason and Crane are standing in the washing area of an operating room, watching as the surgeon and the nurses prep a kid for something. Jason isn't sure why Crane made him come here. He said he wanted to show Jason something. It's important he understands what's going on and Jason's part in all of this. If Jason were being honest, he thinks Crane is full of shit this time and he just wants to get out of here. This feels wrong.
Then it gets worse.
A woman comes in holding a sword and starts slicing up the surgeon and nurses. Jason's eyes grow wide as his breathing stops. Blood sprays over the walls and window right in front of Jason. A nurse backs against the window with her hands up and begs for her life only for the woman to slice her, too. This isn't right. Why would Crane do this? They're doctors. They're helping some kid live and Crane has this woman come in....and kill them. She takes something with her before looking at the window and offering Crane a nod. Jason questions if all of that bloodshed was for that one thing. She didn't have to kill them. But, she did.
"You are expendable. If you're not happy here, you are replaceable. Remember what I said." Crane says as he faces Jason and that's when Jason realizes this whole thing might be to help Crane, but the show was a threat.
Crane is withholding the drug from him today. Jason finished the inhaler and then Crane refused to give him more until they came here. He's withholding it on purpose, let Jason's fear kick in just enough to keep him in line and make him desperate. And it's working.
He's scared again.
He's scared he'll end up like the surgeons and nurses. He's scared Crane is the one who's going to turn on him. Red Hood is supposed to be the face of the whole plan. That was the point of creating that alter ego. Crane wants Jason to get rid of you and just do whatever he says, when he says it. He wants him to divert from the original plan while telling him nothing about what's actually going on. He can't do that. That is his line.
Crane can try all he wants but no amount of drugs or manipulation will get him to cross that line. He might believe Crane sometimes about you, maybe he has a point sometimes. But, he won't kill you. You could have killed him at any point but you don't. You could have pushed him off a roof but you didn't. When Jason gets desperate he thinks of that because you're the one that stood on that ledge with him despite your fear of heights. You're the one that talked him down that day no one else and he owes you something for that alone. He won't go after you. He doesn't fucking care what Crane has to say about it, he won't do it.
The more he thinks about it, the more mad he gets. Crane thinks he's expendable, just like Bruce. But he's not. Why does everyone think he's so fucking expendable and replaceable? Why is nothing he does enough? He turned on all of his friends for Crane. He killed Hank for Crane. That's not enough to prove he's not replaceable and expensable? It's infuriating. He'll prove Crane wrong. If Crane wants to get to you, he'll have to go through him first. If Crane wants to wait to distribute the drug, that's a Crane problem, not a Jsaon problem. And he knows exactly what he can do to prove Crane he's not expendable and he can be trusted.
Later that night, you find your way to Excellent Gotham. The other Titans have been busy trying to locate Crane and Jason. You kept yourself busy with a scrapbook page while they did their own thing. It's not really all that nice distancing yourself alone. You figure Excellent Gotham at least provides dinner and you can talk to Tim, someone who doesn't know everything that's going on and doesn't come with the feeling of guilt. If Tim wants to talk about who the Titans are and Batman and Robin, that's fine, too because it's what you always did. Before everything. It'll feel normal anyway. At least Excellent Gotham is a good distraction and lets you take the breather you need. If you're going to be any help, you need the step back. You're too close to it all.
So, you stand at the counter with Tim on the other side as a large smile consumes your face, a take-out counter resting open in front of you.
"Okay, okay, why Bruce Wayne? Like, okay if Dick were Robin, how does that make Bruce Batman?" You question as Tim leans against the counter.
There's a genuine smile splitting your face as you point at him with your fork before going in for another bite. You've been here a few hours, checking in with Gar every so often, a way to try and keep your word to him. And this is helping. You might be in a heated discussion about who everyone is but it feels normal. It doesn't feel heavy anymore. It's just a normal conversation with a friend and it doesn't feel fucking sad. It just feels warm.
You don't remember the last time you felt warm.
"He's rich." Tim scoffs, a grin plastered across his face. "And why else would he let Dick go out there?"
"Unless he doesn't know. Bruce is a busy man. Dick being Robin doesn't mean Bruce is Batman and that's if Dick is Robin." You argue with a laugh. "And that means you'd also be wrong about Jason."
"No, no, I know I'm right about Dick and Jason." Tim pauses, the smiling falling. "Is...is that okay to talk about? Jason?"
"Yeah." You nod with a soft smile. "I, uh, I like talking about him."
"Okay well," Tim picks right back with enthusiasm. You find it amusing how into this he is. Especially since he's right. "He has to be Robin. He has the same fighting style. He walks the same way, how do you explain that?" Tim raises. "And Robin 1.0 and Robin 2.0 share the same height difference as Jason and Dick." Tim states. "If they're the Robins, Bruce has to be Batman."
"Unless!" You yell with a laugh, flinging your fork around. "Dick recruited Jason because they're brothers! Like I said, Bruce is busy. What if Batman is just some guy? Like Kick-Ass. Doesn't have to be some rich guy and maybe he's recruiting kids." You argue and truly, you're only defending Bruce because you think it's funny. And Dick would kill you if you outed fucking Batman.
"Batman can be Batman because he's rich." Tim laughs. "Uh, where has Bruce Wayne been? Where has Batman been? They disappeared the same time!" Tim laughs.
"Bruce is on business! Maybe there's a Justice League thing!" Your laugh reverberates through the restaurant. This feels like home. "How the fuck would I know where Batman is?" You put your fork back in your food. "And that's still assuming Dick is Robin! He's not. Explain Dick having a stick up his ass. Robin is more free-spirited!"
"Sorry to interrupt this very important conversation." Mr. Drake states, walking back to the counter. "But Tim, where is Stephen? Get him on the damn phone and find out where he is. Or you're stuck here all night."
"Shit." Tim mutters, checking his phone to see Stephen's shift started an hour ago. "Okay, hold on." Tim says. "And we'll continue this." Tim laughs as he calls Stephen on FaceTime. "Where are you, man? Your shift started over an hour ago."
"Priorities. My girl's parents are out of town. I'll be there in a second." Stephen says through a grin.
"Seriously? I could have plans." Tim protests.
"What plans?" You snort. "You're here with me arguing about Batman."
"Whatever. Just hurry up." Tim says as he hangs up and three men walk into the restaurant.
Tim is about to start talking all over again with even more enthusiasm and proof but he gets a look at your face, eying the men as they walk further into the restaurant. Maybe you’re just paranoid but they look like they’re up to something. It’s that their walk is steady, determined, but careless. Their eyes don’t land on the menu or Tim or Mr. Drake. They’re pointed at the register. And that’s when you see the reflection of metal sticking out of the last guy’s waistband. He looks to you and then it starts.
The throbbing kicks in like a freight train. It’s an armed robbery and they plan to go out swinging. You’re quick, rushing to Tim as they pull out their guns. Gunfire surrounds and encompasses the restaurant as you tackle Tim to the floor behind one of the counters.
Tim leans against the counter, ducking his head with every echo of a gunshot. His eyes are on you as you take a breath, as if to be debating what you’re going to do. And Tim knows you knew this would happen. You were running to him before they had their guns pulled. And his thoughts are confirmed when you look back to him with fury in your eyes.
It’s been less than five seconds but it gives you enough time to gather yourself. It’s all you need. These people are not going to walk in here and murder the people you care about. They picked the wrong restaurant on the wrong night during one of the worst months of your life.
You lift your hoodie, pulling a knife from the belt around your waist before you pop up from behind the counter.
“Ya fucking missed, assholes!” You yell over at them as the knife leaves your fingers, connecting with one of the guys’ eyes, embedding itself deep into his skull as he drops to the ground.
The throbbing starts again from the side and you duck down just before a shot comes your way. You take another deep breath before grabbing another two knives and throwing one, hitting one of their jugulars. The last one still standing locks eyes with you, his gun pointed right at you. He has this…grin, one you almost swear you’ve seen before but you’ve never seen him before this. His breathing is steady and he actually looks relaxed while you have your arm ready and aimed with a knife, right at him.
His pupils are blown.
And then your heart sinks because Crane is free on the streets and these guys came in here completely fearless. This one finds the whole damn thing amusing. Maybe he’s just high on something else, or maybe you’re right and Jason and Crane have moved to disruption. Excellent Gotham wouldn’t just be a coincidence.
“Give me the money and it’ll be over.” He says so easily you nearly roll your eyes.
“Kiss my ass.” You throw the knife, hitting this one in the arm with the gun.
Then you throw another one, hitting him just below the eye. He drops to the ground in a hard thump, leaving the restaurant a glass and gun-shelled mess. The smell of gun metal seeps into the air while an eery and dense silence consumes the place.
Tim calls your name not ten seconds after the last man drops. There’s panic in his voice, a sense of dread. You rush right over to him where he’s against the food counter now, his dad leaning against the side of it. Blood seeps through Tim’s hands are he tries to hold pressure on the wound. You kneel down, seeing Mr. Drake breathing heavily. Your eyes scan over him, quickly running over the crash course Jason gave you in gunshot wounds once.
“He’s been shot!” Tim yells, desperation in his eyes as he looks to you, silently pleading for help. He knows you're Bluejay. He can only assume you've had some sort of training in this. More than he's had.
You can feel the lump in your throat grow and the spinning of your head. Blood never really bothered you and it didn't with Dick. But, it was mostly dry with him earlier and this, right now, is fresh and active. Your bones feel like they're going to vibrate through your skin and your teeth grind together, trying to push every thought out of your mind that isn't first aid.
You have to help.
“Okay, move.” You urge as Tim pulls his hands away. Your hands are shakey as you lift Mr. Drake’s shirt, seeing the wound oozing and you think you might prefer knife wounds instead of gaping holes. “It’s gonna take the ambulance ten to fifteen to get here,” You rush out. “So, we–”
“Is that…?” Tim asks, cutting you off as his eyes are on the window. He only even looked up to see if he saw someone for help or Stephen but instead of help, he just saw one person.
Jason Todd.
You look up just in time to catch a glimpse of him before he turns around. This cannot really be happening right now. Jason Todd is supposed to be dead. It was all over Gotham City News. Bruce's newest adoptive son was killed in a freak accident. This is going to be a lot harder to explain to Tim and you want to explode. If he's here, you're right.
Why the fuck would he be here and why the fuck would he target the place you frequent?
“Okay, keep pressure.” You look to the door, seeing Stephen rush in. “Stephen, call an ambulance and grab some towels!” You yell as you get to your feet. “Stay here, hold pressure with the towels. I’ll be right back.” Your words nearly slur together as they come out as fast as your mouth will let them.
You rush outside where you see Jason, his back facing the open windows of the restaurant. You can’t believe this. Of all the things he could do, of all the damn people in Gotham he could target, he really came for you. For your friend and his family. You can’t fucking do it anymore. This is insane. If he wants to go after Dick, fine. Sibling rivalry bullshit taken to an extreme. But this? This is targeting innocent fucking people.
“Jason!” You seethe as you approach him. “What. The. Fuck!?” You scream, nearly vibrating from the anger coursing through your veins.
But then Jason faces you.
The anger washes away as your mouth opens, looking for words. There are dark circles under his eyes, a hollowed expression of the charism that used to radiate off of him. Maybe it’s the dark lighting but you swear the green in his eyes is pale, his skin is pale. He looks like a shell of who he used to be. He’s been acting like it but now…he really looks the part and you’re getting the idea that something really bad is happening.
Jason’s eyes are wide, tired, and exhausted but wide as he sees you come to a dead stop a few feet away from him. Why are you here? You’re not supposed to be here. You should be with Dick and the other Titans. He didn’t see you inside of the restaurant. Not before the gunfire or after. How did he miss you? It can’t be you. He just wanted to show Crane he was right. He wanted to prove he could do this. He chose Excellent Gotham on purpose, a way to show Crane it’s a threat at you without being a real threat. He knows you went to Tim for help. You weren’t supposed to be here.
Jason questions your name, closing the rest of the distance between the two of you.
His hands immediately come to your face for just a second and they send a chill down your spine. His fingers are like icicles and they're clammy, completely different than how they usually are and it breaks your heart. He keeps his right hand on your cheek, while the other hand goes to your waist. His eyes scan you over quickly, desperate to make sure you weren’t hurt in the gunfire. He didn’t take the drug again yet, he was saving it for after. He’s scared. Panicked. Desperate and guilty. You have blood on your hands and on your clothes. Can’t be yours. Not you.
Please not you.
“Are you hurt?” Jason rushes but his voice is weak and fragile, echoed in pain.
You eye him and you’re stuck between wanting to punch him and wanting to kiss him in hopes to make it all better again. He’s slipping so far away from you and you’re scared how far he’s willing to fall. Crane is doing something to him. He has to because he didn’t look like this last night. He didn’t even seem like he cared this much last night. Right at this exact moment, he feels like the old Jason. And you nearly get sucked right back into his gravitational pull.
“What…” The venom is gone from your voice. “What is he doing to you?” You ask, your hand comes to to his face. Not him. Not again.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Jason’s voice breaks.
“You know I’m always here. I was hanging out with Tim. Jason…what the hell is he giving you?” You look him over and you notice him favoring his leg. You haven’t seen him much since he’s been back from the dead but this is the first time since that first day you’re noticing it. You always notice it.
“Are you hurt?” Jason asks again and he can feel his heartbeat in his throat. He wants to spit his own heart right onto the ground in hopes it’ll stop the pain in his chest.
“No. I’m fine. It’s not mine.” You urge, catching him glancing at your free hand. “Jason, what is Crane giving you?”
Jason shakes his head, dropping his other hand to your waist. He misses you. He’s been so damn high all the time, he’s been able to ignore the longing in his chest. The one who always swore was his heart searching for yours. He could ignore it with ease but Crane has been keeping the drug close to his chest and this batch isn’t very good. He can feel it more tonight. It’s wearing off quicker. He can feel the worry for you and the care and the fact he fucking misses you. And the guilt for everything that’s led you both here.
“Same shit.” Jason grits his teeth. “You took it, you know.” He hates the words leaving his lips because they sound bitter and angry but it’s not at you. He just wants you to be okay and he wants to get the fuck out of here.
“No.” You shake your head, your voice soft. “Are you sure it’s the same drug? Jason, you look…is he withholding it from you?” His skin is cold and clammy under your fingers and his hair is flatter than usual.
You’ve seen it, what withdrawal looks like. You saw it on the streets and that’s what Jason looks like. Why would Crane do that? He’s insane and he doesn’t actually give a shit about Jason but Jason has been doing all of his bidding. You figure Jason is here with the drug. That’s why he just stood here while Excellent Gotham was attacked, he probably gave it to them. Surely, that has to be part of the plan. But, if that’s the case, then why does Jason look like he’s been thrown headfirst into withdrawal? And why would Crane be doing this?
“Stay the fuck out of it. I have it. It’s the same shit. It’s fine.” Jason grits his teeth. He wants to break. He wants to lose it for the first time since that first day on the roof with you. It feels like it’s been months since and it’s only been a week. And you look at him with worry and fear and you have always had a way with getting Jason to breathe. But, he can’t afford that right now. Not you. “Please.”
"It's fine?" You spit. "You look terrible, Jason. It's not fucking fine."
"Yeah, it is." Jason removes his hand from your waist and digs in his coat pocket, pulling out a full inhaler. "Fine." He wiggles the inhaler for you to see, the liquid sloshing around in the clear canister.
After all of that, he's going to wave the drug around as if it's fucking easy. He's going to stand here and pretend like it's all fine and well when he almost got you and Tim shot? He's actually lost his damn mind now. If he's going to stick with Crane despite everything, fine. You've stuck by his side since day one all those months ago. Fine. If it's going to be like that, fine because you can't take it anymore. You love him more than anything on this planet but this is not fucking fine. He's not fine and he has got to realize that.
"Fine!?" You shake your head, eyes bugging out of your head in disbelief. "Get off me." You shove his hand off of you as you take a step back. It's not fine. None of this is fucking fine. He's not fine. That drug isn't fine. Working with Crane isn't fine. Doing what he just did isn't fucking fine. It doesn't matter what his reason is. "You...you just got Tim's dad shot. Do you know that? What have the Drakes ever done to you?" You look at him with disgust. "You could have gotten Tim shot, my friend. You could have gotten me shot!" Your voice cracks as you yell at him, your arm flying out to the side. You might be worried about him but you're not going to let him almost kill your friends because you're worried about him.
"That wasn't the plan!" Jason screams in desperation, his words clawing at the hope for you to believe him. "You went to Tim, didn't you!? I know you suck at figuring out codes! Tim is a genius. I just wanted to scare him!" Jason defends his stance, leaving out Crane wanting Jason to target you. If you knew this was a fake threat, maybe that'd be worse.
"Bullshit! Bull-fucking-shit! You gave them the drug! That's why you're here! You did this! You knew what would happen and you did it anyway!" You bark back. "You just wanted to scare him!? Then do it your damn fucking self, Jason! You just didn't want the blood on your damn hands so I couldn't blame you! But you did this!" You point a finger at him and Jason isn't sure he's seen you so mad and...disappointed.
"You weren't supposed to be here! I didn't think they'd shoot anyone!"
That's not a lie. He didn't think. He just did it. He knew they'd go in there and rob them. Maybe they'd have to close down for a little bit. For safety. He didn't think about anything else. Thanks to the drug Jason claims is helping him and curing him.
You don't fucking get it. It doesn't matter that you weren't supposed to be here. That's a load of shit anyway. You're always here. Tim and his family are innocent, regardless on if Tim helped you or not. He doesn't know anything, not for sure. Jason's reasoning is flawed and it's cruel. It fucking hurts.
"Tim is my fucking friend! I don't care I wasn't supposed to be here! You....fuck." You let out a desperate groan, tilting your head back. At some point, enough is enough and he isn't even taking responsibility for this. You just can't do this anymore. You look back to him, eyes turning glassy. "I was fucking fine with you being a crime lord or whatever, taking out those fucks hurting people. But this?" You point at the restaurant. "These are innocent people! Hank was innocent! Dick is innocent! I can't fucking stand here and watch you kill innocent fucking people! And innocent fucking people that I care about and that care about me!" You say it all so quickly, you barely register what it would mean.
No no no no no. He fucked it all up. Like he always does. He just ruined it all. Everything is gone. Everything is going to shit. It's all messed up. He did all of this. How did he even get here? You can't walk away from him. You always swore you wouldn't. Please, not you, too.
You're all he has left.
"What's that supposed to mean, huh?" Jason asks, jerking his up quickly as he tries to give the question some bite.
You let out a heartbroken laugh that's mixed with a cry as you look to the sky and hope a blackhole will open up just to swallow you whole. You have no choice.
You have thrown him life preserver after life preserver, and all he ever had to do was hold on and you'd reel him back to safety. But, all Jason has done is chew right through them and wonder why he's still drowning. You can't keep trying to save someone who doesn't want to be saved. He was always your lifeline but you were clearly, never his.
"You win, Jason." Your voice is defeated as Jason's brows furrow. The lump in your throat grows so large you can barely get the words out. "You win. I can't do it anymore. I'm done. I can't." You shake your head as a tear falls down your cheek. The words taste like blood-covered glass, killing you with every cut and slice.
If you're always on his side, then what he's doing can't be that bad. If you're always on his side, defending him, why would he ever stop? You've tried everything else to get him home and none of it is enough. And it is killing you, knowing this is it. There is one last option because something's gotta give. Maybe if he hits rock bottom, having no one, maybe it'll turn him around. It's the only thing left to do because begging him doesn't work, loving him doesn't work, fighting him doesn't work, arguing doesn't work. Nothing else works and you hate it because you don't mean it, not even a little bit but you have no other options and you're devasted by what he is right now.
So, you say the one thing you can't take back.
A last-ditch effort, knowing he may never forgive you.
"I'm giving up on you. You get what you always wanted. I can't do it. I have tried and tried, but I can't do it anymore." You give him a tired shrug as you dodge his eyes.
If you see the heartbreak in his eyes, you'll take it back and you can't do that. If Jason always has you on his side, why would he turn things around when he hasn't yet? You could have died two nights in a row. He is actively targeting the Titans. You can't meet his eyes because he is targeting innocent people. It might be under Crane's control but, until he gets clear of him and gets clean, this has to be on Jason. Jason has to be the one to deal with the consequences and you will never forgive yourself for it.
Jason's world stops. Not you. Not another person. Why does he always do this? How did he even get here? You were never supposed to be involved. He should have included you from the start. He almost rips the inhaler from his pocket and hits it, right in front of you, anything to get rid of this pain in his chest. It's as if his heart just exploded through his cage, shattering every bone on its way out. How are you doing this?
You're all he has left.
Jason shakes his head, fighting back tears of agony and anger. "You're just like everyone else." Jason's voice cracks.
You knew it was coming but something about it makes you want to burst into tears.
"No." You shrug because he should know how badly this hurts you, too. This is the last thing you want to say to him, ever. "I'm not. I am not like everyone else. Don't ever say that shit again. You have done this. You came after my friend. My innocent friend, Jay." Your voice cracks as you try desperately to hold back your sobs. "All you have done since coming back from the dead, is hurt me." You pause, taking a ragged breath and Jason's face falls. Is that true? "And I have done everything to protect you. To be by your side. And you have done nothing but hurt me. So, no. I am not like everyone else. You just gave me no choice, Jay." You're quick to wipe a few tears away as your voice is weak and soft, lacking all fire and bite it had just seconds earlier.
He can't do it. He could try to make up for this. He could try to explain. He could just quit. That would do the job just fine. But, he doesn't. The heartbreak kicks in with anger and he just wants to be spiteful just like he always is as if fighting the person is going to change their mind. He knows it won't change yours but he does it anyway because he's hurt and the hurt has nowhere to go besides the open and cold air of this soulless city.
"You swore you never would but look at you now!" A lump grows in Jason's throat. "You said you don't break promises. Crane was right about you." Jason sneers as he closes the distance between you, looking down at you but he's not threatening or intimidating. You see the heartbreak in his eyes. You will feel guilty about this in every life you live.
Jason Todd has always deserved better.
"Okay." You shake your head slowly. "Sure, Crane doesn't know me. But you do. You know me. And you know I'd never be giving up if you left me another option. But, sure, believe Crane. Fuck it, right?" You scoff and all you want to do is cry. Or break every bone in your body because maybe that would be less painful. "I'm sick of losing my family." Your voice is quiet, barely a whisper. "All I ever wanted was you. And you died." You shrug your shoulders, keeping your eyes on him. "And all I wanted was you." You say quietly and Jason wants to shatter, his breath catching in his throat as his vision starts to go blurry. "And still, all I want is you but...I don't know what else to do."
You can see your breaths mixing together in the winter air between you. Everything led you both here and all you both want to do is take it back. The winter air chisels at your face and hands, hacking away at every hope you could have had. Jason's eyes are locked on yours, dissolving into heartbreak and you think this is what hypothermia must feel like.
But, Jason is too scared of what will happen if he does take it all back. He's still under Crane's manipulation. He's too stubborn. And you're terrified what will happen if you back down. If you back out of it, who will he target next?
"So, that's just it? I didn't mean to hurt anyone in there. It's not my fault." Jason huffs and the anger starts to evaporate as the heartbreak comes in the form of agony and devastation.
"Sure." You nod and you don't want him to feel like he's trapped with Crane. You have to give up because that's your option. But, you can offer him someone else and maybe that'll be enough. This all boils to Dick anyway. "The same way your drug isn't Crane's fault. Look, I'm done. I can't do it. Dick though, he believes in you still. So, if you want to come home, call him. Don't contact me. If you get clean, then you can. Until then, don't call me. Don't text me. Nothing. And stay the fuck away from the Drakes, Molly, and Gar." You try to hide the quiver in your voice but Jason catches it.
"Please, don't walk away." Jason says softly and you nearly collapse into the ground. His words are like knives aiming right for your heart. How does he do that?
You rest a hand on his cheek. "I can't leave it like that so, I'll always love you, Jay but...I want the old you back." You nod as your hand falls from his cheek. You turn around, going to leave him but you hear Jason take a few slow steps after you before they stop.
Jason's voice cracks as he says your name, his version becoming so blurry he can't see. "I...I'm sorry." Jason says quietly, looking to the ground as a tear falls from his eyes. "Don't...please," He looks back up to you. "Don't give up on me. I have a plan and it's all gonna work out. This was just an accident."
You swear he's never going to forgive you for this. This is the hardest thing you've ever done. Even if he understands one day, he'll never forgive you and it's the hardest pill to swallow.
"Yeah, I'm sure it was." You nod softly. "I can't save you. You don't want to be saved, not yet. You have to save yourself, now, Jay. And for what it's worth, I..." You pause watching tears come to Jason's eyes. "I love you, Jay." You nod your head as you sniffle. "And I am so fucking sorry I couldn't save you. From Deathstroke, from the Titans, from the Joker...from Bruce. And from Crane. I'm sorry I was another person that let you down and I'm really fucking sorry I'm walking away." You shake your head as you lick your lips. "But I don't think you'll get it through your head if I'm in your corner. I've tried everything to stay." You suck in a breath as a few tears fall from your eyes. "I tried to stay for once because being with you was worth it to me. But I don't think it's helping you so...get clean and we can talk. The second you get clean, I'll be here." You nod once as the ambulance finally starts to arrive. "Those are for us. You should leave." You turn back around and head back inside of the building, leaving Jason in the cold.
How could he fuck up this bad? He just wanted to show Crane he was right. He just wanted to prove himself and instead, he's the one standing out here all alone. Guilt and shame gnawing at the last good parts of him. And he just can't do it anymore. The pain and the fear and guilt and everything about it. It's too much and too heavy and maybe he's a little spiteful. So, he puts the inhaler to his lips and takes a hit.
They said it was a skinny batch but he didn't realize it would feel like this. It's numbing a lot of everything but not enough and it all still feels too heavy. When things get heavy, he always went to you but he just fucked that up. It's his fault it's heavy. This is all his fault and you're supposed to be on his side but you're not. He's all alone again and all he has is Crane. It's not supposed to be like this. How the fuck did he even get here?
All he wanted was to be somebody to someone. To be enough.
Back in the restaurant, the paramedics are getting Mr. Drake into the ambulance, rushing him off to Gotham General. Tim watches with sad and hollowed eyes, his hands are covered in blood and his shirt is soaked. You squeeze your eyes shut, looking away before you shake it off. You can't lose it over Tim's dad. That's not fair.
"Do...do you need a ride?" You clear your throat as the ambulance drives away. "I have my bike. I can take you." You offer with a steady and firm nod.
"Uh...yeah," Tim looks at his hands, something lost in his voice. "That...that would be great. Thanks."
"Of course." You nod, reaching down for this hand. Your hands have been covered in blood enough times to almost seem normal. "Come on."
The two of you head outside to your bike and you wonder how you're supposed to explain this. Dick talked to you months ago, when you first came to the tower. It was all about vigilante life and what it entailed. It would be making hard decisions but knowing those hard decisions would be for the greater good. It's not killing people because enough people hurt and kill innocent people enough. Vigilantes, heroes, don't do that. It was about keeping the identities of everyone a secret to protect yourself and them. You've never had much of an issue keeping secrets.
You hold your own close to your chest, lock them away where even you forget they exist sometimes. But, those secrets aren't these. Those secrets only ever hurt you, only ever made you feel alone. These secrets that you're forced to keep hurt everyone you care about. They hurt Molly because you couldn't tell her about Bluejay or Robin or Jason or Red Hood. You and Jason would bail on her and you'd both would show up riddled with bruises and aches and pains. It hurt her because it worried her. It hurt her because Jason died and she never got to know him as Robin, the part of him that meant the world to him. She only got to know a portion of him.
But telling Molly meant telling her about Dick and Bruce and the other Titans. It wasn't your secret to tell because it would out all of them. And she still doesn't know he's alive because telling her means leaking something Jason wanted to keep a secret and that's going to hurt her even more.
This hurts Tim because his dad was just shot and he just saw Jason Todd who's supposed to be dead. Now, he's going to think his friend is lying to him about your boyfriend being dead. Lying about an alter ego is one thing, lying about someone dying is cruel. Even if you weren't close.
And it hurts Gar because Gar ends up in the crossfire of everything. He's the one up worrying when you and Dick don't come home. He's the one scared for what Jason is going to do because you couldn't tell him about the drug in order to protect Jason and keep his secrets for him. And then there's Jason.
You can't tell Jason what's going on with the Titans because of Crane. You can't tell him everything you want to desperately scream from the rooftops. That you're sorry and you don't mean it and it hurts you, too. You can't tell him you're scared Crane is going to snap and kill him. It'll drive the wedge further between you. All of these secrets are piling on top of each other, slowly building to the tallest building in Gotham and it's only a matter of time before the whole thing collapses. All it does is hurt everyone you care about. That doesn't seem very heroic.
"Here, take my helmet." You offer the helmet to him once you reach your bike.
"Uh, no it's okay." Tim shakes his head. You're driving.
"Put the helmet on." You say sternly as you mount your bike, sending a glare to Tim.
Something about the look you give him makes Tim grab the helmet. "Right, okay." Tim nods and puts the helmet on before he gets on the back.
"Hold on." You state before Tim holds onto your waist.
You drive to Gotham General, pulling up to one of the entrances without blocking the ambulance entrance. Tim gets off and takes off the helmet, handing it back to you. He knows you know something. And if he's being honest, he's annoyed you didn't tell him. You aren't that close but...his dad just got shot and Jason fucking Todd knew about it. It was a hit. He stood outside and did nothing. Why wouldn't his own girlfriend know he's alive and planning a hit? You have acid generation and combat clairvoyance while also being an excellent marksman. Tim swears it can't be some coincidence you were there tonight.
"I'm really sorry about your dad." You state softly, holding the helmet on your thigh.
"Thanks." Tim looks back at the hospital. "That was Jason Todd outside, wasn't it?"
You nod softly and you know you can't deny that. Tim saw him "Yeah."
"I thought he was dead." Tim questions as his voice holds hints of venom, something you haven't heard before.
"Yeah." You nod again and you hate yourself for tonight. For everything. "Don't, uh, don't tell anyone. It's a long story." You hang your head, dodging the look Tim is surely giving you.
"You knew?" Tim scoffs, looking at you with annoyance and disappointment. Why the hell would you let everyone believe he were dead? "He faked his death or?"
You look back to him and all this sucks. You're sick of lying and hiding secrets. It's tiring and lonely. It's so fucking lonely.
"No." You shake your head. "He, uh...he really, uh...he really died." You suck in a shakey breath before you shake your head quickly. "I-I can't tell you anything else." You let out a bitter scoff. "That's shit and I know that. I'm sorry."
"Did he target us because of you? Because of the Titans?" All Tim wants is some clarity. There had to be reason. Tim helped you with a code. That's what it was.
"Not a Titan." You sigh with exhaustion, lacking any and all fight you'd normally have with the statement. "I don't know why." You lie but you're sick of this. Keeping these secrets is making you out to be the bad guy with everyone and you're not. You're just trying to protect everyone you care about so, you're not going to tell him in so many words but you're not going to cover it up either. "Um...yeah...maybe it was because of me but uh...I, uh, I never...I never thought he'd figure it out or....or come after you. I should have left you out of it."
Tim nods bitterly and he wants to understand but his dad could have been killed. "That code, it wasn't a murder mystery thing, was it?" Tim asks and you just suck in a breath, not offering him anything else. Technically, you aren't lying and technically you aren't telling him anything. He already knows. You don't need to so he nods. "I saw what you did. You knew they were going to start shooting. I was right."
You shake your head, looking to the sky and it's gloomy as always but it looks like it might snow. You scoff looking back to Tim. "I saw the guns."
"Bullshit, you know," Tim gestures a hand to you. "You're supposed to be a hero, like Batman and Robin but..." Tim shakes his head.
"Fuck Batman." You mutter as your jaw clenches.
"You're supposed to help people." Tim says sternly.
The lump in your throat grows and you bite your cheek so hard the taste of iron floods your mouth. It's not supposed to be this hard. And why does helping people have to be so black and white? Good and bad? It's not. Whether anyone likes it or not, the guys you want to target and take out permanently and the guys Jason was going after, that was helping. Making sure they can't hurt anyone else ever again. That's helping. Dick thinks he can help all of the Titans and he fucks up sometimes which gets people hurt, but he still helps. Sometimes people get hurt and that sucks but does that really make everyone else irrelevant? Does that really make everything else wrong? Or the motive and reasoning?
Helping people shouldn't be black and white, good and bad, morally good and morally evil. There needs to be a grey area because you have people like the Joker who needed to be killed for the greater good of everyone in Gotham. And you have people like Jason who isn't in his right mind and is being manipulated but should still be helped. It sucks Tim's dad got shot and you will regret going to Tim for help forever, but you're helping him by not telling him anything, even if you want to and even if he doesn't see it that way.
"I am literally begging you to please go inside and leave this alone, Tim." You force the words through gritted teeth. "I can't fucking tell you anything else, okay? I want to. If it were up to me, I'd fucking tell you what's going on but I can't. It's not my shit to say." You look to the ground and then back up to Tim, rolling your shoulders softly. "So, I'm sorry." You shake your head, giving up and cluing him enough. Technically, you're not admitting to anything, just admitting that you know what's going on.
"You just confirmed it." Tim says softly. "I'm gonna figure out what's going on and--"
"Tim! Please, go be with your dad. Trust me." You practically beg him because if he digs into this, what's going to stop Jason from actually going after him? Tonight might have been a threat or whatever, but at this point, you don't know if he would actually go after someone like Tim. You need him to just take what you're saying and understand it.
"That's my dad."
"I know and I know it sucks. I get it which is why I'm telling you to go be with him." You say softly as your voice cracks.
Tim nods softly, understanding why you're saying it. "Thanks for the ride."
"Just...text me about your dad, okay?" You ask. "I'm really fucking sorry."
"I will." Tim nods because he's beginning to think maybe this isn't on you. He might know who you are but you aren't as cut and dry as Batman and Robin always were. You're more morally grey and maybe it is more complicated because it involves Jason. You look terrified. "Thanks for saving me."
You nod quickly. "Of course." You say softly. "Good luck." You suck in a breath, popping the helmet on and taking off.
prev. chapter
series masterlist | masterlist | tag list
A/n: I still promise reader and Jason get a happy ending lmao This just had to happen lol but I do make up for it a little bit next chapter (pretty sure it's next chapter)
Tag list: @fairyofshampoo // @italiana-20 // @jasontoddsmentaldisorders // @purplerose291 // @lovelessamai // @makaelaseresin // @lenidaslenchen // @mayfieldss // @ghostkingblake // @im-done-with-this-im-out // @velvetskies // @lilylovelyxo // @cryinghotmess // @yesimwriting // @vivian-555 // @stainedstardom // @baebeepeach // @legend-o-zelda // @harleycao // @somehow-lovable-trash // @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx // @deyja-the-duck // @jasontoddslover // @captainmarvels-blog // @totallynotkaibiased // @scarlovesyou // @whydoyoucare866 // @littlemeowmeow1000 // @ginger24880 // @septixtrash // @kplatzman // @urmomsgayforme5
hello!! i invite you to go follow me on tiktok and instagram!, i post cool (kinda) edits like this one, the user is @batmanssonsgf in both of them
Hi! I loved the first part of your Jason story. I noticed in your authors note that you said you might make some mistakes because English isn’t your first language (which always amazes me when people write in their not first language, especially as someone who only speaks English). Anyway I was wondering if you’d want mistakes (which I haven’t noticed any so far, just in the instance that it could happen) pointed out or not? Either way is fine and I’m really hoping not to be offensive or anything in anyway which is why I wanted to ask. 😄
sure as long as its not in a rude way! and its okay, you’re not being offensive, i actually want the what i write to be readable and understandable!
The Hero's Mission
Request: None
Requested By: Nobody
Prompt: “You're the hero, huh? I guess that makes me the villain."
Pairing: Tom Riddle x Gryffindor!OC/reader
Summary: The death of The Boy Who Lived requires the need of the Time Turner to change Tom Riddle for the better, saving dozens in the process. A Gryffindor has a different plan in mind, however.
Warnings: mentions of death and murder
A/N: Sorry for the wordcount. Not sorry for the Tom Riddle.
Word Count: 13K+
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He really did it.
Voldemort killed Harry Potter.
The world seemed to have screeched to a halt, everyone staring in disbelief at the dead boy.
The Dark Lord cackled. “I’ve done it! I killed The Boy Who Lived!”
Red flooded my vision. I pulled out my wand, marching forward. Just as I raised it to cast a spell, my arm was grabbed and I was dragged back into the castle. I fought against it, turning to point my wand at whoever had a hold of me.
My eyes widened and I stopped. “Professor McGonagall,” I breathed out quietly.
“Albus only wanted this used if absolutely necessary, but I believe this is the only way,” she said, letting go of me and reaching into her robe.
I blinked at her in confusion. “Professor?”
She pulled out a chain, a tiny sand-timer dangling from the bottom. Looping it around my neck, she looked me in the eyes. “This is a Time Turner, allowing you to travel back in time. You’ll need to return to the year 1945,” she told me. “There is a young man there by the name of Tom Riddle.” She looked back to where the battle had taken place, the sound increasing. “He will become Lord Voldemort.” Her gaze turned back to me, holding a shine of sternness, as well as concern. “You need to go back and change him for the better. It will save many lives.”
“Professor, I can’t-”
“You must, Miss King. There are no other options.”
“But why me, Professor?”
She regarded me for a few moments. “You will know, dear.” Her eyes dropped to the time turner. “The protection charm around that has been taken off, allowing you to go back more than five hours. Take it and turn it backwards fifty times. That should take you back to the right year.”
The noise got louder.
The Headmistress turned to me. “Hurry, dear.”
I nodded, grabbing the time turner. I began to spin it, counting up to fifty. Once done, I looked up, staring at the castle wall in front of me.
It was similar to the wall I had been in front of before, though this wall was intact and clearly newer. It possessed less scratches and burn marks.
Students walked past me and I quickly realized I stood out like a sore thumb.
Muttering a quiet “multicorfors” I waved my wand over my garments, making them look appropriate to the time period. I stuffed my wand back in my robe, looking around.
Where to start?
A group of students walked by me.
I quietly slipped into step a few paces behind them, looking around casually in an attempt to not seem like I was obviously following them.
They unknowingly led me into the Great Hall, sitting down at their tables.
I stopped in the doorway, looking around for the Gryffindor table. Spotting students wearing red ties, I strode over, trying not to seem suspicious. Sitting down, my gaze raked over the room.
The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables were behind me, the Slytherin table in front.
I scanned the Slytherin table for anyone that looked suspicious or evil.
Finding nothing out of the ordinary, I frowned, about to pause my search to eat, when my eyes landed on a boy seated amongst the Slytherins.
He was sitting up straight, talking with the people around him. He had a lean figure, dark hair that fell over his forehead on one side and features that looked- at least from where I was sitting- like the perfect blend of soft and hard.
I stared at the boy for a few moments, completely sucked into his demeanor and appearance.
He was talking to the people around him, looking at one of his housemates. His expression shifted slightly and he lifted his eyes, his focus landing almost instantly on me.
“-looking at?”
I whipped my head to the side to face the girl sitting next to me, grateful for the interruption. My cheeks coloured slightly, no matter how much I tried to fight it. “Me? Nothing, I was just-” my eyes, quite without me telling them to, drifted back to the Slytherin table for only a fraction of a second.
They didn’t even have enough time to focus on anything.
“I have an idea…” one of the girls, sitting across from the other, said. She smirked as she stabbed something with her fork.
“What?” I recoiled. “I was just getting used to my surroundings,” I said.
It was technically half true.
“I thought I didn’t recognize you,” the other girl said. “Are you new to Hogwarts?”
I paused. “Yeah.”
“What year are you,” she questioned.
“Seventh year.”
“It is a bit unusual for someone to join Hogwarts so late in their schooling,” the other said.
I cleared my throat. “Well, I was transferred from a different school…..” I trailed off before quickly introducing myself.
“Nice to meet you, King. My name is Margaret,” the girl sitting diagonally from me spoke. She nodded her head to the girl sitting next to me. “This is Joan.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Joan greeted.
I nodded. “The pleasure is mine.”
“Class will be starting soon…” Margaret informed. “Do you have your books?”
I faltered. “Uh…no, I-I don’t.”
“You can borrow ours,” Joan assured. She nodded her head at the brunette across from her. “Margaret and I always sit next to each other. You could sit with one of us, if you wish.”
My eyebrows furrowed. “How many students can sit at a desk?”
“Two.”
I turned my head to Margaret.
She went on. “You can sit with Joan. I will find another seat.”
“Oh! No- I can’t.” I lifted my hands. “I would hate to split you two up.” I shifted my gaze between them. “Is there an empty desk behind you?”
“There is.”
“Then I’ll sit there.” I shrugged. “No worries.”
They gave me confused looks.
I frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“You…” Margaret trailed off.
“You say things in a most unusual way, King,” Joan said.
I pursed my lips.
Oh yeah.
“I… apologize,” I said, though it sounded more like a question.
They smiled.
“Come. Let’s head to class.”
I followed their lead, standing with them.
A lot of other students were rising to their feet as well, presumably also heading to their classes.
My gaze drifted once again to the Slytherin table, seeing the boy already standing, scanning the crowd.
His eyes met mine again.
I quickly snapped my head back towards my classmates, wincing slightly at the pain my neck had received for it. Following their lead, I stubbornly kept my gaze intentional, only allowing it to drift to the halls of the school, so familiar and yet so strange.
“Our first class is Potions,” Margaret informed.
I grimaced behind her back, quickly wiping the expression away when Joan turned around to face me.
“It is taught by Professor Slughorn,” she added.
I nodded, taking in the information.
The girls pushed the door open, stepping through.
“We usually sit here,” Margaret informed, gesturing at a desk in the middle of the room. She turned to me. “Are you certain you would not prefer to sit with one of us?”
I nodded. “Positive. I’ll just sit behind you.”
“Here.” Joan reached into her bag, pulling out a book and handing it to me. “Use this. Margaret and I will share.”
I accepted the thick book, making a mental note of the fact that Potions textbooks seemed to stay about the same size, even decades apart. “Thank you.” Sitting down behind them, I placed the book on the desk before leaning forward. “What page are we on?”
“Three-hundred forty seven,” Margaret whispered back.
I thanked her, turning to the correct page, guessing that the book was probably close to seven hundred pages. Looking up, I noted that this class period was shared with the Slytherin house.
Once everyone was seated, Slughorn started speaking.
“We are picking up from where we left off last time.” His gaze raked across the classroom. “Chapter-” he paused, his eyes landing on me. A confused expression formed on his face.
I did my best to keep sitting tall, my leg bouncing anxiously.
“Do we have a new student?”
All eyes in the classroom turned to face me.
I held my head high, determined to not cower under the weight. I kept my eyes locked onto the man at the front of the class. “Yes, Professor.”
He hummed. “Curious. I was not informed we would be getting a new student.”
“A mere mistake I’m sure, Professor.”
“Most likely. What is your name, then?”
I introduced myself, eyes unintentionally shifting downwards slightly towards the dark haired boy seated at the front of the class.
He, like everyone else, was already looking at me.
I quickly raised my eyes to Professor Slughorn again.
“-sit with Miss King for her first lesson? In case she needs any help?”
The boy turned to his teacher. “Of course, Professor.”
With abject horror, I watched as the boy collected his things, walked towards the back of the classroom, and sat next to me.
I looked back to the front of the class. “Professor, this really isn’t necessary-”
“The Head Boy will willingly assist you if needed, Miss King,” Slughorn said. “If you get along well on your own, should he so choose, he may return to his own seat.”
I held in a sigh. “Yes, Professor.”
“Good.” He turned his back to the class to look at the chalkboard behind him. “As we were talking about in the last class…”
I ran a hand through my hair, reaching for my quill to start to take notes. My hand closed around nothing and I lifted my eyes to look at where my quill was supposed to be, only to get a foul reminder.
I wasn’t where- or rather when- I was supposed to be.
I had no supplies.
Deciding I would rather try to memorize what Slughorn was saying instead of asking the boy next to me for anything, I folded my right arm on the desk in front of me, staring towards the front of the class.
“You might want these, Miss King.”
I turned to the soft noise on my right.
Merlin, even his voice was lovely.
At closer proximity, I could better make out his features, greedily noting that everything- his eyebrows, lips, nose- were perfect.
His dark green eyes were staring down at me, shifting between my own.
Before I stared too long I- with some effort- pulled my gaze away from him to look at the parchment and quill he had slid towards me.
My eyes widened slightly.
“It seems, Miss King…” he trailed off and I could hear the smirk in his voice, “it was good luck that I was sent to sit next to you.”
I lifted my head to look at him.
He was, indeed, smirking. His green eyes shone with kindness and just a hint of mischief.
“Thank you,” I said, grasping the quill and beginning to write as I tried to focus on what Slughorn was saying.
Merlin, that didn’t stop my leg from bouncing, though.
~~~~~~~~~
Class ended and I stood, handing the quill back to the Head Boy.
He looked up at me, still sitting, his gaze dropping to the object.
“Thank you for allowing me to use your quill,” I said, holding my notes at my side.
The boy lifted his gaze to meet my eyes. “You may keep it,” he said as he stood, forcing me to now look up at his tall frame in order to meet his eyes. He slung his bag around his shoulder. “I have more.”
I nodded once. “Thank you.”
The corner of his mouth pulled upwards. “You are welcome, Miss King.”
“Come on, King,” Joan said, grabbing my arm. “Our next class is this way.”
I gave one last look at the Head Boy, nodding my head again to signal a ‘farewell’ and a ‘thank you’ before allowing myself to be led out of the classroom.
~~~~~~~~~~
“This is Transfiguration, taught by Professor Dumbledore.”
I faltered in my steps, stopping in the hallway.
Professor Dumbledore.
It had been so long-
“...you alright, King?”
I blinked back into reality, looking over at Margaret and Joan’s concerned faces. “Uh, sorry.” I offered them a crooked grin. “Go on; what were you saying?”
They talked, but I didn’t listen. As we strode into Transfiguration class, my eyes instantly made their way to the front of the room.
A man was sitting behind a desk. He had long white hair and a very welcome face.
“Professor Dumbledore,” I breathed out, relieved to see someone familiar.
To see the man that had been killed.
“Yes, that’s him,” Joan said.
“Here is the book for this class.” Margaret handed me a textbook, which I accepted, though not really paying attention.
“Thanks,” I managed to get out before sitting in the only open seat; next to a Ravenclaw. My eyes stayed locked onto the Professor as he began teaching.
~~~~~~~~~~
“And this is the Common Room,” Margaret said, leading me through the portrait of the Fat Lady.
I smiled slightly at the familiar face before being pulled in.
The room, though possessing some similarities to the Common Room in my own time, had notable differences.
The arrangements of the furniture were different, the furniture having a far older style than what I was used to.
“It’s very nice,” I said, observing the room.
“Our rooms are up these stairs,” Joan said, gesturing. “Do not attempt to go up the stairs to the boys’ dormitories. They are charmed.”
I nodded. “It was the same way at…” I paused, “my other school.”
Margaret turned to face me. “Where were you before you transferred?”
“Uhh…it was very similar to this, but it was a small school,” I bluffed. “You probably wouldn’t have even heard of it.”
They nodded, satisfied.
I let out a small breath of relief as they began to move around the room, introducing me to my other housemates. I greeted them all, smiling.
“Follow us,” Joan said, walking towards the stairs. “We will see if we can find your room.”
“Did Headmaster Dippet say which dormitory was yours,” Margaret asked.
I froze, eyes wide. “No…no, he didn’t.”
“Oh dear. This may be a problem.”
“I can go ask him,” I said, realizing that I had yet to officially announce my…transference, anyway.
“We will go with you.”
“No!” I shot my hand out before quickly retracting it and lowering my voice. “No, it’s okay. It’s getting late, and I don’t want you out past curfew.”
“But do you know the way,” Margaret questioned.
Assuming Dippet’s office was in the same location Dumbledore’s was, I nodded. “I’m sure I’ll find it.” I began backing up towards the door. “If I’m not back before you girls go to bed, have a goodnight!”
“You as well,” they said, waving.
I turned, exiting the Common Room.
Alright. Time to find Dippet’s office.
I began walking through the castle, making mental notes of the differences and similarities between this Hogwarts and mine. As the duration of my walk lengthened, I began to wonder why I was even doing this.
I didn’t need to sign in to Hogwarts. I didn’t need to take notes in class. And I certainly didn’t need to start forming attachments to young men.
I didn’t have time to be distracted, no matter how gorgeous that distraction happened to be.
I had one job to do.
I had to find Tom Riddle.
I had to kill him.
“Miss King.”
I jumped at the sound of the voice, whipping around. I couldn’t make out who was approaching me, since the castle was getting dark as evening came upon it. Pulling out my wand, I held it out in front of me. “Lumos.”
A light shone at the end of my wand, illuminating the boy that stopped in front of me.
My eyes widened. “Merlin,” I breathed out.
It would be him.
The Head Boy raised an eyebrow, cocking his head. “Curfew has begun, Miss King. I do not wish to take points away from you on your first day, but-”
“I’m sorry,” I interrupted.
He closed his mouth, looking over at me.
I could see a flicker of surprise, and possibly annoyance, in his eyes at being cut off. “I was just on my way to see Headmaster Dippet,” I explained.
The Head Boy’s expression shifted, becoming more curious. “Oh?”
“I realized he never told me which dorm was mine,” I said.
The boy didn’t need to know that I hadn’t actually been accepted into Hogwarts yet.
That would have been very suspicious.
“I see.”
A beat of silence passed between us.
“Then let me escort you. If any other Prefects find you alone, you likely will lose points.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
The Head Boy pulled out his wand and flicked his wrist slightly, a light appearing on the end of it.
My eyes widened. I hadn’t heard him cast ‘lumos’.
The boy gestured and began walking.
I fell into place beside him, increasing the speed of my steps to keep up with his longer strides.
We walked in silence for a few minutes before the boy broke it.
“Why have you transferred to Hogwarts so late in your wizarding career,” he questioned.
“I have a job to do,” I replied without thinking. My eyes widened as soon as the words were out of my mouth.
He turned to look down at me, regarding me curiously. “What is the nature of your job?”
I floundered for a realistic response. “My parents just thought that the school I was previously at wasn’t preparing me well enough for a career.”
“A career?” The boy was silent for a moment. “Most witches your age hope for marriage out of school. There are few who wish to work.”
“Well…” I pursed my lips. “I guess I’m one of the few.”
The boy hummed. “We’re here,” he said. He turned to look at the gargoyle. “Strawberries.”
The gargoyle spun, revealing the staircase.
I looked over at the Slytherin. “Thank you.”
“I’ll wait until you’re done.”
“That’s really not necessary-”
He smirked. “So you keep saying. But as I said, if you want to avoid losing points, I will need to accompany you.”
I looked at him for a few moments before nodding, heading up the stairs. Once at the top I looked around, noting that the office was very similar to Dumbledore’s. “Headmaster Dippet,” I called out.
A man with long white hair and a short white beard and mustache emerged from behind a pile of books. His eyebrows furrowed. “Yes?”
“My name is King, sir,” I said. “I was transferred to Hogwarts today.”
The Headmaster sat down at his desk. “It is very late in the day to be transferring, Miss King.”
I swallowed nervously. “It was a late decision, sir.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Very well.” Pulling out a quill and parchment, he asked “what are your parents’ names, dear?”
I froze, trying to remember the names of my great grandparents. “Edward and Dorothy King, sir.”
He nodded, writing the names down. “What school did you transfer from?”
I listed the first school that came to mind. “Beauxbatons, sir.”
He nodded again, writing some more. “That’s a good school. Why did you transfer?”
I fisted my robe sleeves as my leg began to bounce. “My parents thought I would be more suited here.”
He looked up at me, saying nothing.
I pursed my lips. “Professor?”
Reaching into his desk, he pulled out more papers. “I see you have already been sorted into Gryffindor…”
“Professor Dumbledore, sir,” I said. “He saw me earlier…”
The headmaster hummed. “He made no mention of it to me.”
“Probably just an oversight, sir,” I said quickly, beginning to sweat.
Merlin, who knew trying not to be caught in time travel would be so difficult?
“Probably. Very well, Miss King.” He reached over his desk, handing me a piece of paper. “This is your dormitory room.” He stepped around the desk, leading me back down the stairs. “I will show you to the Common Room-”
“There’s no need for that, Headmaster.”
We both turned to the voice, seeing the Head Boy standing right where I had left him: in the middle of the hallway.
“I already volunteered to take Miss King back.”
“Ah, Mister Riddle,” Dippet said, clearly pleased. “Excellent.”
My eyes widened and I nearly choked on my own saliva. All the blood drained from my face and my heart began to beat erratically in my chest.
Dippet placed his hand on my back and shoved me gently towards the tall boy.
I simply stared up at him, at a complete loss for words.
There was no way-
“Hurry along, Mister Riddle,” Dippet encouraged. “I’m sure Miss King would like to go to bed at a reasonable hour,” he said, smiling before turning back towards his office.
“Goodnight, Headmaster,” the boy- Riddle- said.
“Goodnight, children.”
Once the gargoyle closed, the boy looked down to meet my gaze.
I didn’t think I had moved in the last two minutes.
Let alone breathed.
“Are you ready, Miss King?”
I finally blinked. “Riddle?”
He stared at me, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Yes.”
I opened my mouth again, my voice wavering. “Tom Riddle?”
His eyebrows furrowed further. “Yes.” He looked at me curiously. “Why?”
“I…” I trailed off.
What was there to say?
The silence stretched on and he narrowed his eyes at me.
I blinked at him.
His eyes widened and he leaned back slightly, standing up taller than he had been before. “You’re the hero, huh? I guess that makes me the villain.” He lowered his head, stepping further into my space.
I took an instinctive step backwards. “You should already know you’re the villain,” I muttered, amazed that I was able to speak, let alone say something so bold in my current state.
“You’ve come to kill me,” he whispered. “Tell me…where…exactly…are you from?”
I took another step back.
“If you don’t tell me, I can still get the information,” he insisted darkly.
“Stay out of my head,” I warned, with more strength than I felt.
“Everything alright here?”
Tom and I turned towards the voice, seeing two Prefects standing in the hallway.
Tom turned his body mostly towards them, moving away from my space and returning to his full height. “I was escorting Miss King back to her Common Room. She just got her dormitory direction from Headmaster Dippet,” he explained casually.
My eyes widened in horror at the speed in which he effortlessly swapped personalities.
“Very well,” one of the Prefects said.
“Enjoy your trip,” the other said with a wave as they walked away to continue their routes.
When they were out of sight I broke into a full sprint down the hallway.
I had no plan. My body was moving purely on instinct.
Where could I go that would be safe?
I didn’t have time to think.
He could easily catch up.
Running through the halls, I turned a corner and was promptly whipped backwards. I fell into a chest, trying to rip my arm free of the hand that held it.
Tom’s long fingers and firm hold were making it difficult to break his grip.
“Let go of me!”
Tom lowered his head. “Be quiet.”
“No!” I went to reach for my wand, but Tom’s other hand shot forward, fingers wrapping around my wrist and keeping both of my arms in his hold. I struggled against him, but it was no use.
“Why are you here to kill me,” Tom demanded.
I continued pulling against him.
“Answer me, witch!” His eyes flashed red, his face contorting into one of anger.
I froze, chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath. My wrists hurt and my body was tired from fighting against his hold. “Because you’re a monster,” I spat. “Because in my time you’ve killed countless people,” I panted, glaring up at him. “Because I have to stop you.”
Tom said nothing for several moments, studying me closely.
I defiantly met his eyes, knowing he could use Legilimency if he wished. He already knew half of it, anyway.
“Am I the most powerful wizard in your time?”
I glared. “No.”
“Who is,” he demanded, his hold on my wrists tightening.
I lifted my chin, looking at him proudly. “Dumbledore.”
Rage flashed across Tom’s face. “Impossible.”
“It isn’t.” I stared at him, unwavering, even though I felt like my heart was being squeezed. “You’re going to lose…Voldemort.”
He stared at me, his chest rising and falling harder and faster than it had been.
Then he smirked, an aura of confidence washing over him.
“If I am truly going to lose, why did you come back in time to stop me?”
“To try to reduce the number of deaths,” I half-bluffed. “Just because you get defeated in my time doesn’t mean we should let you get away with all those murders.” I glared at him. “I know I’m too late to prevent the deaths of Myrtle, some of the other students around here, and even others, but what I can try to stop, I will.”
“So you’ve come to kill me.” Tom raised an eyebrow. “Did you really think you would be able to?”
“That wasn’t my mission.” My eyes narrowed at him. “It was just the one I chose.” Reeling my leg back, I swung it forward, kicking him in the shin.
He doubled over.
I kneed him in the nose.
He let out a yell as blood began to run down to his chin, his hands loosening enough in surprise that I managed to wiggle one of mine free.
Grabbing my wand as fast as possible, I aimed it at him. “Stupefy!”
He shot backwards, back colliding with the castle wall before he hit the ground.
Walking over and rolling him onto his back, I held my wand as his throat. I looked at him, his unconscious body laying on the floor.
Kill him. Do it.
My grip on my wand tightened. Foolishly, my eyes raked across his softened features.
Even as blood trickled from his nose, I couldn’t help but think the annoying thought that he was breathtaking.
The two sides of my brain fought each other.
Now’s your chance! It would be such a pity to destroy something so beautiful. Avenge all he’s done!
I ground my teeth together, hand shaking as I pointed my wand at him.
Save the world! Save your friends!
Don’t destroy him! Do what you were told to do!
End it!
Do the right thing!
Ending him is the right thing! Stop him from causing harm to others!
Murder is never right! Change him to become a better person!
You can’t change him! He’s too far gone!
You don’t know that!
I let out a yell, jerking my arm towards the wall alongside Riddle.
A flash of light emerged from my wand and struck the stone.
Parts of it crumbled, falling alongside the unconscious boy.
I stared down at him for a few moments, heaving breaths.
I had to go.
He could wake up at any moment.
Giving him one final glance I ran towards the Common Room and didn’t look back.
Announcing the password I rushed in, sprinting up to my dorm. Opening the door as quietly as I could, I sped in, hurrying onto my bed. I sat on it, hugging my knees to my chest as I stared at the door.
I couldn’t afford to sleep.
He might come for me.
~~~~~~~~
I shakily made my way to breakfast the next morning, creeping around every corner to make sure Tom wasn’t there. I sat down at the Gryffindor table, only a few students in the Great Hall this early. Having had no sleep, I decided I would at least get something to eat and try to work through my thoughts.
Now that I hadn’t killed Riddle, what was my next plan?
Should I try again to kill him? He would definitely be watching me, now. He knew that I knew.
Should I try to convert him? Easier said than done. He’s already committed crimes, and I already attacked him.
Merlin, what did I get myself into? Why didn’t I just kill him when I had the chance?
No, I scolded myself. You did the right thing.
Even if it was for selfish, and admittedly, stupid reasons.
Alright. Tom Riddle was alive. I allowed Voldemort to live.
I could only hope I wouldn’t come to regret it.
In my time, the situation couldn’t get much worse anyway, so what the heck? Might as well see where this takes me.
I pushed the eggs on my plate around with my fork, being hungry and yet not possessing an appetite.
“Miss King.”
My head shot up, gaze locking onto a pair of green eyes.
“Riddle,” I greeted coldly, my throat tight. “How’s your nose?”
He glared as he sat down across from me. Ignoring my question, a smirk formed on his face as his gaze scanned me. “Did you sleep in your uniform, King?”
I frowned, mentally cursing myself for forgetting to cast a glamor charm. My clothes were quite wrinkled. “I didn’t sleep, actually.”
“Is that so?” A crooked grin formed on his face. “And why is that?”
I lifted my gaze to meet his eyes. “You’ve killed for less.” I left it at that, knowing he understood the subtext.
He hummed.
I raised an eyebrow. “Why are you here?”
“For information.”
I let go of my fork, letting it clatter slightly as it connected with my plate, and crossed my arms. “About what?”
“My future.” He inclined his head towards me slightly. “You.”
“There’s not much to tell.”
“Oh, I think there is.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “If you came to kill me, why did you not do so last night? I was unconscious…” he trailed off, sitting more upright. “You had the opportunity.”
I regarded him silently.
What was the best way to respond?
I was never very good at figuring out what to say in delicate matters like this.
It was made even worse by the fact that what I said could drastically impact the lives of countless people, myself included.
“I couldn’t,” I finally said.
Tom raised an inquisitive eyebrow and sat up even straighter.
He clearly had not been expecting that.
“And why not?”
I looked towards the doors of the Great Hall to avoid him using Legilimency on me again.
I did not want him using anything to his advantage.
“I somehow managed to convince myself that you were capable of saving.” I allowed myself to look back at him. “That you were worth saving.”
He stared at me silently, keeping his expression very guarded.
“You’re a very bright wizard, Tom,” I said. “Powerful, too. In the right place, you could do great things.”
“I will do great things,” he insisted.
“You will do impressive things,” I corrected. “But they will be evil.” I sat up straighter. “For your own selfish end.”
His eyes briefly flashed red and I saw his face twitch as he tried to control his expression. “It’s natural for me to look out for my own interest,” he said, voice slightly tense.
“At the cost of everyone else?” I rolled my eyes. “How typically Slytherin.”
His eyes narrowed. “And I suppose it’s very Gryffindor to run headfirst into something without actually planning it out.” He scoffed. “Is it also a Gryffindor trait to retreat out of their task so foolishly when their opponent was helpless before them?”
I felt my anger boiling up. “I spared your life!” I whisper-yelled, conscious enough of the few other students in the room. “The noble thing to do.”
“Because you are so focused on being noble, aren’t you?”
“I don’t send giant snakes to do my killing for me, you miserable boy,” I hissed.
“They weren’t worth my time.”
I slammed my hands on the table, pushing myself to my feet in a hurry as I glared daggers down at him. “I should have done the job!”
Riddle stood as well, towering over me as he snarled back. “If you had any brains, you would have!”
The room fell completely silent.
My chest took in air at an irregular rate, and I noticed Riddle’s breathing was also unusual.
We refused to look away from each other.
“Your ‘perfect boy’ image is slipping, Riddle,” I whispered, raising my eyebrow challengingly. “Tread lightly.”
“I was about to give you the same warning.” His eyes narrowed and he leaned closer. “You do not want to make an enemy of me, King.”
I met his eyes, a determination and fury flowing through me. “You were my enemy before I got here.”
Tom’s jaw clenched.
The doors to the Great Hall opened, students beginning to flood in.
Riddle cast me one last glance before turning and making his way over to the Slytherin table.
I let out a relieved breath, plopping back down on the bench. I watched Tom as he sat down, being joined by his housemates.
They all talked animatedly around him, but Tom seemed…distracted.
“Hello, King.”
I turned, seeing Margaret and Joan. “Good morning.” The words sounded tense, bordering on rude, to my own ears.
Margaret followed my previous line of sight. “Looking at the Head Boy again?” A teasing smile formed on her face.
I crossed my arms, scowling. “I resent that.”
“Hopefully she’s studying the enemy.” Joan turned to me. “You had better be coming up with ways to win the House Cup this year,” she remarked. “Slytherin’s won the past several years because of that boy,” she said, nodding towards Tom. “Everyone loves him.”
I looked back over towards the dark haired boy. “How... lovely,” I sneered.
The girls shared a look.
“Did you manage to find your dormitory alright,” Margaret asked. “We never saw you.”
The blood began draining from my face as the memories from last night came back. “Yeah. It’s not with you two, though. By the time I got back from Headmaster Dippet’s office, everyone was already in bed, and I got up early.”
At the sound of a few claps I turned my head to the right to see the Headmaster trying to get everyone’s attention.
I thanked Merlin for the distraction.
“Good morning, students,” he greeted. “Normally I don’t want to interrupt your breakfast, but I believe some point adjustments need to be made.”
My eyebrows furrowed.
“Last night one of the Prefects found Tom Riddle with some injuries,” he began.
All of the color drained from my face and my blood ran cold.
“Our Head Boy was walking back our newest student,” he gestured at me, announcing my name.
I felt faint as all eyes turned to me.
“Riddle has brought it to my attention that when he was walking Miss King back to her Common Room, a troll attacked them, injuring Tom and breaking the wall.”
I was certain the astonishment on my face was evident. Eyes wide and eyebrows to my hairline, I stared at the Headmaster in bewilderment.
“The Head Boy is certain that Miss King chased the troll out of the school while he was indisposed, saving everyone.” Dippet smiled. “For her bravery on her first evening at Hogwarts, saving the Head Boy and the rest of the school, I award Miss King with fifty points.” He began clapping, everyone else following his lead.
I whipped my head around to look at Riddle, the only one besides myself not clapping, meeting his eyes in confusion.
“I needed to give them some reason for my state you so rudely put me in,” a voice in my head said.
The voice was proper, smooth, yet stern, and so clearly Riddle’s.
I ignored the clapping, keeping my focus on the Slytherin. Why didn’t you tell them the truth?
“If I had told them the truth, I would have had to tell them why you attacked me, wouldn’t I? I could have lied, saying you simply lost your temper or felt that I threatened you, but questions about me would arise, wondering what I would have done to warrant such a response from you.” Tom sat up straighter in his seat, arching an eyebrow as he kept his eyes locked onto mine. “You pose no threat to me. You can’t tell anyone what you know without sounding like a deranged lunatic, especially after being here for only a day.”
I struggled to think of an appropriate response.
A hand on my back and a voice right by my ear had my head turning to my left, seeing Joan and Margaret smiling at me.
The connection between Riddle was broken, a sharp twinge in my head causing me to wince slightly.
“Why did you not tell us?” Margaret asked excitedly.
“I…” I trailed off. Looking down at my plate I hesitantly lifted a forkful of eggs into my mouth to buy me some time while I thought. I forced down a gag at the unwanted food. “I didn’t think it was important information,” I offered weakly with a shrug.
“It’s most definitely important,” Margaret insisted. “You saved the Head Boy.”
I grimaced at the thought, looking back down at my plate.
“The entire school,” Joan corrected, eyeing her friend.
Margaret looked over to the dark haired girl. “Well, obviously, but the Head Boy was more immediate.”
I lifted my gaze, keeping my head down, to look at the Slytherin table.
Tom was staring in silence at his own plate. Unlike my shuffling of the food on mine, he simply looked down at his, his arms crossed and resting on the table.
What was he thinking about?
Was he thinking of killing me? Would he decide to kill Dumbledore, since I told him that he was the most powerful wizard in my time? Was he plotting a murder of someone else? Was he actually thinking of changing?
I put my elbow on the table, holding my forehead in my hand.
Merlin, this was too much.
“Are you well, King?”
I turned to the girls. “Just a headache,” I excused.
Technically, one was beginning to form at the number of questions and stress of it all.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Margaret said.
“Hopefully it goes away soon,” Joan remarked. “Potions will be starting in only a little while.”
I groaned. Here I was, supposed to save the Wizarding World, needing to attend class.
As if I needed more problems in my life right now.
Rubbing my forehead, I sat back up and ate a little more.
Did I want it? No.
Was I going to regret not eating? Yes.
Managing to get through half of my breakfast, I stood with everyone, making our way to Potions. As I took my seat, accepting Joan’s book, I made a mental note to buy some textbooks since, apparently, I would be here for a while. Flipping to the page we left on last time, I went to pull out some paper to take notes on, but paused.
I mentally added parchment to my shopping list.
The noise in the room got louder as more students filed in, taking their seats.
At the sense of someone sitting beside me, I turned, eyes widening at the figure there.
Oh, yeah.
I had been so concerned about avoiding Tom Riddle’s possibly murderous intentions I had forgotten that he sat next to me in Potions.
Though, I did recall that he didn’t have to.
“Miss King,” he greeted, passing me more parchment as he kept his eyes toward the front of the class. His gaze remained there, even as he asked “do you still have the quill I gave you?” He finally turned to look at me.
I nodded.
He turned his attention to Professor Slughorn as the man began writing on the board.
My eyebrows furrowed. I leaned towards him slightly. “What are you doing?”
He glanced at me. “Preparing for class.”
I rolled my eyes. “I meant sitting here.”
He smirked. “Only to keep up pretenses, Miss King,” he insisted quietly. “It casts a good image for the Head Boy to assist the newest student.”
I scoffed, sitting upright again and turning back to my own book. My eyes roamed the page, pretending to be interested in the words. “Everything’s all about pretenses with you,” I mumbled.
I didn’t bother looking at his reaction.
~~~~~~~~~
I made my way into Hogsmeade, treading the streets slowly.
Merlin, I really had no idea where I was.
The shops all looked so different from my time.
My heart tugged slightly and I frowned.
My time.
How long was I going to be in this cursed place?
However long it takes to do something about Voldemort, I reasoned with myself.
Letting out a huff, I kept walking, peeking my head into shops to see what they were.
“Looking for something, hero?”
I turned at the sound of the voice, seeing a blond standing on the sidewalk.
Tom Riddle stood slightly in front of him, towering above the boy.
The blond smirked at me.
My eyebrows furrowed, my questioning gaze unintentionally shifting towards Riddle.
Tom nodded his head towards the boy. “This is Avery. He’s one of my friends.”
I gave him a disbelieving look, cocking an eyebrow.
Tom lifted his head slightly, tilting his chin up a little in defiance.
I turned to look at Avery. “I’m not a hero.” I crossed my arms. “Whatever Riddle said, it’s not true.”
Avery raised an eyebrow at the accusation.
Tom’s expression remained stoic, but I could see his features harden slightly.
I sighed. “Look, could you just tell me where to purchase some parchment and textbooks?”
“You don’t know,” Avery asked incredulously.
“I’m not exactly from around here.” My eyes drifted to Tom before turning back to the blond.
Avery chuckled darkly. “You could just look around and find out for yourself. Get more acquainted, you know.”
“That’s what I was doing before you interrupted,” I retorted.
Tom nodded his head towards a store, clasping his hands behind his back. “I believe you’ll find your desired things in there, Miss King.”
“My desired things, huh?” I scoffed, beginning to walk towards the building. “I doubt it.”
~~~~~~~~~
I sat in the library, scratching my head as I stared down at my Transfiguration textbook. I wasn’t focusing on the words, though.
I was trying to figure out how to get through to Riddle.
I didn’t want to seek him out, but I had to do something. I couldn’t just wait around for things to happen on their own.
But how does one get through to a psychopathic murderer?
“You’ve been staring at that same page for ages.”
It took a few moments for me to realize that I was the one being spoken to. Looking up, I locked eyes with my guest. My stomach caught in my throat. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business, Riddle,” I muttered, looking back down at my book.
He sat down across from me. “I understand; Professor Dumbledore is such a dull teacher.”
I lifted my head to look at him, a glare crossing my features. “Professor Dumbledore is an excellent teacher. He’s an excellent mentor and an excellent man.”
Tom sneered. “I would have sooner compared him to a vulture. He’s always watching me.”
“Gee,” I deadpanned at him, “I wonder why that is.”
His eyebrow twitched upwards; in challenge or annoyance, I couldn’t tell. “There’s no evidence of anything I’ve done.”
“Maybe you just seem evil to him.” I crossed my arms. “He’s a good judge of character.”
Tom smirked at me. “Unlike yourself.”
I looked at him in silence for a few moments. “I can judge someone’s character.”
“Perhaps, but you must not be very good at it.” He pulled out a book, flipping to a random page to feign studying. “You left the Dark Lord alive, remember?”
A pang of guilt and rage rushed through me. “I told you why.”
“But I don’t believe it.” He lifted his head to look at me. “Gryffindors are noble, but they’re also headstrong. If they make up their mind to do something, it takes a lot to get them to change their mind. And what could be more noble than avenging the deaths of so many?” He leaned forward. “So. What made you change your mind?”
“You’re so smart.” I leaned forward in my own seat, narrowing my eyes at him. “Figure it out.”
Tom stared at me for a few moments before letting out an incredulous chuckle and sitting upright. “Surely you wouldn’t let something as mundane as physical attraction sway you.”
My face broke into a harsh heat and I leaned back in my seat. Having no response, I simply scoffed and averted my attention to another student searching the shelves for a book.
Tom continued to stare at me in silence.
I could feel my face getting warmer at the attention.
The awkward prolonged quiet wasn’t helping, either.
I took a deep breath, trying to fight off the sweat that had formed a thin layer over my skin. I practically willed my cheeks to lose some of their red color.
Merlin, they rivaled a Weasley’s hair.
Turning my glare towards the Slytherin sitting across from me, I crossed my arms. “You didn’t kill me, either.” I nodded my chin towards him. “I know your secret. I’m a threat to your cause. I could expose you for what you really are.”
“You can’t expose me, remember? No one would believe you.”
“Dumbledore would.”
His confident smirk was replaced by a frown, his eyebrows pulling together. His form tensed, sitting more rigid than before. He looked to the side. “Dumbledore is a fool.” He met my eyes again. “He can’t do anything to me.”
“So you keep saying. But I’m not convinced.”
Tom’s eyes narrowed at me. “Are you trying to get me to kill you?”
“No.” I shrugged one shoulder. “Just trying to figure you out. You said you were keeping me alive for information.”
“A true statement.”
I leaned forward. “Then use Legilimency. Read my mind and find out all you want to know. Then you would have no reason to keep me alive,” I challenged.
Tom’s eyes shifted between my own. “It’s too easy.”
I rolled my eyes, sitting upright again. “Sorry, I didn’t know that taking over the world was a sport to you.”
He regarded me silently.
When the silence stretched on, I looked back down at my textbook. “What are you doing here, anyway? Are you following me or something?”
“Don’t be absurd.”
I glanced up at him before returning my attention to the page in front of me. After rereading the same sentence eight times I huffed, closing the book and staring in annoyance at the cover.
Transfiguration: Third edition.
I chewed on my lip before stuffing the book in my bag and standing, marching out of the library.
~~~~~~~~~
I steeled myself, knocking on the door.
“Come in,” a voice from inside called.
Pushing open the wooden door, I stepped into the office. “Professor Dumbledore?”
“Ah, Miss King.” A small smile appeared on the man’s face.
Merlin, I almost cried at the sight of it.
“Please,” he gestured, “have a seat.”
“Thank you, Professor.” I sat down in the chair facing his desk.
“What can I do for you?”
“Professor, I was wondering…” My leg began to bounce. “I was wondering what you could tell me about… about Tom Riddle.”
Dumbledore’s eyebrows rose. “What would you like to know about Tom?”
“Anything useful.”
Dumbledore cocked an eyebrow at me.
My leg bouncing increased speed. Surely, I could tell Dumbledore what was going on? In my time he was dead anyway, so it wouldn’t have an impact later?
It was flimsy logic, but it was all I had.
I huffed. “Professor, I’m from the future. I was sent back from the year 1998.” Reaching into my robe, I pulled out the time turner to show him.
His expression remained mostly impassive as he simply looked at the object before lifting his gaze to me. “All but two time turners in the world only take the wearer back at a maximum of five hours.”
“This one was altered by the person who sent me back,” I explained, trying to be as vague as possible.
He didn’t need to know everything.
I fisted my altered uniform roughly, twisting the fabric in my hands. “Professor, I was sent here to change the past. To save everyone that Riddle kills. But I’m not a hero.” I let out a humorless chuckle. “I’m starting to wonder if I’m even a Gryffindor.”
“Why would you not belong in Gryffindor?”
I lifted my eyes to meet his. “I had the opportunity to kill Tom Riddle, before his acts got too carried away…but I didn’t. I cowered out of it.”
Dumbledore hummed. “Oftentimes, killing is the easy solution. Especially if Tom becomes as bad as you say. It is simple to end someone that would cause so much harm.” He looked at me meaningfully, with a warm smile and a kind look in his eyes. “Sometimes it takes more bravery to spare a life.”
I bit back tears and nodded. I cleared my throat. “What should I do, Professor? How do I change a killer?” I moved in my seat, sitting on the edge of the chair. “How can I get through to him?”
“I do not know everything about Mister Riddle,” Dumbledore informed. “He grew up in an orphanage. His mother died when he was very young. His father abandoned him.” Dumbledore clasped his hands, resting them on the desk. “There must be a reason that you specifically were sent here, Miss King. Use your judgment. Find your own way.”
I sighed, looking down and nodded. “Thank you, Professor.” I stood and exited the office.
My own way, huh?
~~~~~~~~~
What the frick was my way?
I briefly considered the option of holding my wand to his throat, demanding he fix his mistakes or I’d kill him, but I quickly reasoned that wouldn’t work.
No matter how much I wished it did.
I had been in 1945 for a few weeks, but it felt like I had been here for a number of months.
And I was making no progress.
My grades weren’t even very good, since I had other things on my mind. I had never been a good multitasker.
Merlin, I was seriously doubting Professor McGonagall’s choice in sending me back.
I had no idea what I was doing.
Alright, then. I’d wing it.
I stood from the chair in the Common Room, making my way to the door.
“Curfew starts soon, King,” Joan warned, looking up from her book.
“I know.” Without looking back, I pushed the portrait open and closed it behind me, making my way to the dungeon.
I never liked the dark, and this part of the castle seemed to soak it all up. Thankfully, I could still see. Reaching the door to the Slytherin Common Room I paused.
I didn’t know the password.
And with curfew starting soon, Riddle might not have even been in the Common Room.
I chewed my lip.
Thankfully, the door swung open on its own.
I froze as a figure walked out, not sure if I should be relieved or not. “Avery,” I greeted.
The blond looked up at me, his steps halting. “Hero?” He raised a judgmental eyebrow. “What are you doing at the Slytherin Common Room?”
“Looking for Riddle.”
Avery watched me for a few moments. “He’s inside. He’ll be starting to patrol soon.”
“Can you get him? I need to talk to him.”
Avery thought for a few moments before retreating into his Common Room. He emerged shortly after, Riddle in tow.
Avery walked down the hallway, doing whatever it was he was going to do before he saw me.
Tom closed the door behind him, looking down at me in a manner similar to Avery’s.
It was different, though.
Tom was studying me. Trying to figure me out.
He raised a silent, questioning eyebrow at me.
I suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable in my own skin.
I cleared my throat. “Can we talk?”
His other eyebrow rose in surprise. “I’m going to begin my rounds soon-”
“I know; Avery told me.” I looked up at him. “But I need to either sort this out or go home.”
Tom’s expression shifted ever so slightly. “You would go home? Even if your goal was unaccomplished?”
I shrugged one shoulder. “If I can’t do what I was sent to do, there’s no point in hanging around a time that isn’t mine, is there?”
Tom regarded me silently for a few moments. “No. No, I suppose not.”
I gestured at him. “Especially with you graduating soon, I’m going to lose a lot of contact with you.” I cracked a small smile. “Unless I apply for a job at the same place.” I tilted my head, my smile growing. “But I kind of doubt I’d get it, since I would only have about two months of proof of my existence, so…”
The corners of Tom’s mouth raised slightly. He nodded, looking down the hallway. His gaze drifted back to meet my eyes. “Walk with me.”
I fell into step beside him, needing to jog a little initially to catch up to his long paces. Once I settled into a rhythm that would keep me next to him, I relaxed, turning to look up at his side profile. “Do you like being the Head Boy?”
He turned his head to look at me, a confused expression overtaking his features. “What?”
“You heard me.”
He raised an eyebrow, looking forward again as he turned corners without much thought.
I figured he must have memorized his paths at this point.
“It gives me power, but also responsibility.”
“So, yes and no?”
He looked down at me. “Did you come to talk to me about something as dull as this?”
I shrugged, turning my attention forward as we rounded another corner. “I just wanted to talk to you about anything.”
He kept his expression guarded. “Trying to discover my weaknesses?”
I frowned as I thought for a moment. “Not really.” I looked up at him. “I don’t think your feelings on your Head Boy duties are particularly useful insights into the darkest parts of your mind,” I admitted.
His eyes flickered down to me very briefly before looking ahead again. “Was there anything else?”
I pursed my lips. “I didn’t really have anything in mind.” I looked back towards him. “Just…tell me about yourself.”
A skeptical look overtook Tom’s features as he continued to stare ahead, resolutely not looking at me. “You’re trying to get me to reveal something.”
I could see it behind his eyes, though.
Vulnerability.
“Tom…” I sighed, looking up at him.
He finally looked down at me.
I frowned. “You’re far too cynical. Is it so hard to believe I just want to get to know you?”
Tom raised an eyebrow. “You did try to kill me.”
“And I haven’t for almost a month now,” I reminded.
Tom’s eyes shifted to the floor for a few beats before he looked forward again. “I still don’t trust you.”
“Nor I, you.”
~~~~~~~~~
I tugged at my hair, looking down at my Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook.
“Is something wrong, King?”
I looked up, seeing Tom sit across from me. “My grades are slipping because I’ve been a little…preoccupied.” Pursing my lips, I let out a small huff. “And Defense Against the Dark Arts was never one of my strong suits,” I remarked, gaze returning to my book.
“Well, fortunately it’s my best subject.” Tom stood, moving around the table to sit next to me.
I felt heat creep up my neck at the proximity.
He placed his hands on the table, his robe sleeve brushing mine, looking over at the pages I had flipped open. “What have you been struggling with?”
Merlin, how was anyone supposed to think with Tom that close, let alone focus.
“Uhhh.”
Tom looked down at me, his green eyes peering into mine.
My breathing picked up, chest rising and falling at a faster rate. I studied his face for a few moments, gaze dropping briefly to his lips before quickly averting my eyes to stare down at the textbook.
King, what do you think you’re doing!? Pull yourself together!
I forcibly cleared my throat. “Uhhh,” I repeated, my voice even weaker than it had been. I let out a strained chuckle, holding my head in my hand. “Merlin, Tom.”
“Are you alright, King?”
I looked over at him, only to turn even redder at seeing the smirk on his face.
“Should I take you to the healer?” His eyebrows quirked upward almost mockingly. His features shifted, feigning concern. “I don’t believe that shade of red is normal. Or healthy.”
I glared, the expression holding no actual anger, and swatted him in the arm, looking back to my book. “I hate you.”
He let out a breathy chuckle before pulling the textbook closer to him so he could see it better. Gesturing at it, he looked back at me. “What’s confusing you?”
An affectionate smile graced my features.
I didn’t even have the thought to gasp in horror at the action.
~~~~~~~~
“No, that’s purely a defensive spell.”
I furrowed my eyebrows, scratching down a note as I took a bite of toast.
Tom sat next to me, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice.
“I think some of these spells should be more versatile,” I muttered, finishing writing and sitting upright.
“Unfortunately, we cannot decide.”
I looked up at Tom. “Bummer, really.” I huffed out a sigh. “I guess we just have to focus on what we can control.”
Tom’s gaze dropped slightly.
I could practically see the gears turning in his head.
“Indeed,” he said.
I blinked at him for a few moments before pointing at a sentence in my book. “But, does-”
The sound of the doors in the Great Hall opening brought my attention to them.
I sighed as students flowed in. Looking back to Tom, I frowned. “I wish there was somewhere private we could meet. We aren’t in the same house, so we can’t even both be in the same Common Room.”
Tom hummed. “The library is only available for certain hours, as well.”
I nodded, pursing my lips. “I’m sure we’ll figure something out.” Closing my book, I looked back at Tom as I put the textbook back in my bag. “Thanks for all your help.”
Tom chuckled briefly. “It’s a wonder you made it to seventh year in your time.” He stood from the Gryffindor table, looking down at me. “I can only assume that magic has gotten even more complex in future decades.”
“The style of writing is different.” I sent him a crooked grin. “Less pompous, if you ask me.”
He scoffed. “Less professional, you mean.” He turned around, returning to the Slytherin table.
I smiled at his back for a few moments before returning to my breakfast.
“How are you, King?”
I looked up, seeing Margaret sit across from me. “I’m doing well, how about you?”
She smiled. “I’m ready for the day. Our finals are in only a few weeks, but I feel prepared.”
Groaning, I put my head in my hand. “Don’t remind me. This Defense Against the Dark Arts stuff is killing me.”
“You seem to be doing better in class,” she remarked, pouring herself a cup of pumpkin juice.
I smiled softly, the image of Tom Riddle appearing in my head. Clearing my throat, I looked up at the Gryffindor. “It’s a miracle, Margaret.”
~~~~~~~~~
“I’m ready to go to sleep,” Joan remarked, heading back to the Common Room for the evening.
“It has been a long day,” Margaret agreed, readjusting her grip on the books she held to her chest.
“I’ll probably be up for a little bit,” I admitted, running a hand through my hair with a huff. “I need to do more studying.”
“Miss King.”
The three of us turned to the voice.
I involuntarily smiled at the sight of the Slytherin. Nodding in greeting, I managed to wipe most of the smile away. “Mister Riddle.”
My housemates were looking between us suspiciously.
Tom turned to the two girls. “May I borrow her?”
They exchanged glances before nodding at the Head Boy.
Tom smiled. “Wonderful.”
I looked at the girls and waved. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
They waved back before continuing to head towards the Common Room.
I turned back to Tom, raising an eyebrow and smirking slightly. “Borrow me?”
He smirked back. “It worked, didn’t it?”
I shook my head, chuckling. “What did you need?”
“I wanted to show you something.” He gestured for me to follow him, which I swiftly did.
I didn’t even realize I no longer had trouble trying to match his pace.
“I found somewhere I think we could meet,” he said just quietly enough so that no one but me could hear. “I had read something about it and began to research.” He turned a corner, stopping in front of a wall. He stared up at it. “It’s called ‘The Room of Requirement’.”
My eyes widened.
Of course!
“Brilliant, Tom.” I turned, seeing the familiar door begin forming on the once-blank wall.
Once the door had fully appeared, I walked forward, opening the door and stepping inside.
I paused, looking around.
“Is something wrong?”
My gaze raked the room. “It’s just different from my time.” I chuckled, observing the couch and two chairs surrounding a small table.
A fireplace sat a few paces away, filling the room with warmth. A red rug covered the floor, a bookshelf in the corner of the room.
I chewed on my lip. “I suppose it’s for a different use, though.”
“What do you use the room for in your time?”
The voice was so close I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
I looked over my shoulder, seeing Tom standing behind me. My gaze raked his features. I forced my voice to remain steady. “Practicing spells.” I drew my gaze from him to look around the room again. “It’s usually much more open than this.”
Tom hummed before moving from behind me to stand by the small table. “I thought this would be a good place for us to study,” he remarked casually, running his hand along the back of a chair.
I watched the action before lifting my gaze to meet his eyes.
He met mine at the same time.
“It’s very cozy in here.” I walked towards him, sitting down on the couch. “I might do more sleeping in here than studying.”
Tom sat down next to me. “I will not let you sleep.” He looked over at me. “Not with the end of the semester so close.”
I huffed. “Right.” Sighing, I pulled my school bag off my shoulder, dropping it on the floor next to me as I pulled out my DADA book and set it on the table, turning to the right page. “Now… where were we?”
~~~~~~~~
“Correct.”
I sighed out in relief, leaning back against the familiar couch, running my hands along my face.
“You really are doing quite well,” Tom said from beside me.
I let out a short chuckle. “Only thanks to you.” I dropped my hands to my lap, looking over at the Slytherin. “There’s only one week left until exams.” I scooched forward on the couch so I could better reach the table, looking down at my textbook. “With all of this new information, my brain may explode.”
“I think that is unlikely.”
I chuckled as I turned to look at Tom, only to freeze, my breath catching in my throat.
He was looking down at me, a warm glint in his eyes. A beautiful glow was being cast on part of his face from the fire, contrasting the dim lighting of the rest of the room.
The sounds of the crackling embers filled my ears. The smell of wood flooded my nose.
A warmth overtook me as I looked between Tom’s green eyes.
My heart twinged.
I gasped slightly, looking away. My eyes wide, I held my head in my hands as I tried to calm my breathing.
This can’t be happening.
“King?”
I felt the couch shift as Tom leaned closer to me.
“Are you alright?”
I looked over at him, meeting his concerned eyes. I let out a tiny quiet, albeit strained, laugh. “I’m alright, Tom.” My gaze dropped to his lips, lingering there for far longer than I had intended, getting caught up in mentally tracing their shape.
I briefly wondered how they’d feel.
I groaned, falling sideways on the couch, my hair splayed out on the cushion. I hid my face in my hands.
What in Merlin’s name was wrong with me?
Sighing, I turned, lying on my back as I stared up at the ceiling.
He’s the Dark Lord, he’s the Dark Lord, he’s the Dark Lord, he-
I closed my eyes.
The Dark Lord would never help the woman sent back to kill him with her homework.
My eyes opened, seeing Tom looking down at me.
His face was contorted into one of confusion as his gaze raked my form before meeting my eyes again. He quirked an eyebrow.
I chuckled, sitting up again.
“Is everything okay?”
I smiled at the Slytherin. “Yeah.” My gaze drifted between his curious eyes. “It is.” Slowly, I reached my right hand up.
His gaze went to it, watching for a few moments, before his eyes returned to mine.
I carefully placed my hand on the side of his face.
He took in a sharp inhale, eyebrows pulling together and eyelids fluttering.
I gently rubbed my thumb over his cheek, reaching my left hand up and placing it on his shoulder.
He stared into my eyes with so much emotion I could barely stand it.
I leaned forward slowly, watching him intently for any indication of rejection.
He swallowed hard as I got closer.
When I was just a few inches from him, I met his eyes.
They were large, looking alarmed, but I didn’t find any dislike.
I slowly closed the gap, my eyes fluttering closed unintentionally the moment our lips met.
Merlin, his lips felt so perfect against mine.
My hand on his shoulder shifted, dragging across his back to cradle the back of his head. My fingers threaded through the hair, loving the softness.
A tug on my waist brought my attention to the weight of his hands on my hips.
I broke the kiss slowly, desperately needing air, and rested my forehead against his. I continued to play with his hair as I panted for breath, my eyes still closed, afraid that if I opened them the moment would be gone.
For the first time in a long while I could finally hear Tom’s breathing, nearly as ragged as mine.
I felt a gentle nudge against my lips and kissed back, my right hand taking place at the back of Tom’s head to replace my left hand, which had traveled down to Tom’s left shoulder. My arm laid completely across the back of his neck and shoulders, pulling him towards me with such force I fell backwards onto the couch, Tom following.
I opened my eyes as I pulled away, looking up at him.
He panted from above me, eyes drifting between my own.
Shifting my right hand, I brushed some of his fallen hair out of his eyes. “I think I love you,” I whispered.
His eyes widened and he froze, his breathing seeming to stop altogether.
But perhaps it did.
As much as my head screamed at me that this was Voldemort, the Dark Lord, the killer of dozens, it didn’t feel true.
I could never feel this way about Voldemort.
Tom Riddle was a different person. He shared the same anger issues, hurts, wishes for something better for himself, but he wasn’t so malicious.
“It’s okay,” I whispered, cradling his jaw again. “You don’t need to say it back if you don’t want to.”
Tom’s wide eyes searched my own, as if in disbelief of what he’d heard.
I chuckled, reaching both arms around his back and pulled him down, laying him on top of me.
He tried to use his forearms to support his weight, but I forced his entire body onto me, enjoying the fullness of his presence.
Letting out a content sigh, I wrapped my arms around him, rubbing his back. I turned my head, placing a kiss on his temple before we stilled, just listening to the sounds of our own breathing and the fire, feeling nothing but each other.
~~~~~~~~
Tom hadn’t spoken to me since yesterday.
While he normally would spend some time eating breakfast at my table before most of the students came in, he marched straight to the Slytherin table, an expression on his face that I had never seen on him before.
He didn’t look quite confused or angry, but he didn’t look happy or sad either.
The best guess I had was that he was trying to figure out what to do after our last…interaction.
To be fair, hearing those three dangerous words from someone not from your own time sent to kill you would probably send me for a loop.
I slowly ate supper, doing some thinking of my own.
I had caught him looking at me multiple times today, but that was hardly surprising, or even helpful in finding out what was going through his brain.
It was doing little to calm the anxiety that had seemed to settle in my stomach and reside there all day.
“King?”
I looked up, seeing Margaret and Joan looking at me expectantly. “Sorry, what?”
“What are your plans after you graduate?”
I let out a small chuckle at the irony, looking back down at the food on my plate. “I’m not sure.” My gaze lifted to find the Head Boy. “I guess that depends.”
Margaret caught it and she gasped, clasping her hands together. “Are you going to marry Tom Riddle!?”
My fork slipped out of my hand, clattering against the plate as my eyes widened. “Shhh!” I narrowed my eyes at her. “Merlin, Margaret, people can hear you.”
She grinned sheepishly. “Sorry.”
After a beat of silence, Joan looked over at me. “Well? Are you?”
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I don’t know.” My leg began to bounce and I brought my hand down, placing it on top of my knee in an effort to stop its movements. “I don’t know what we are.” I looked over at him. “I don’t know if we can.”
Can you marry someone from the past?
“We didn’t think you and Tom were that close,” Joan admitted carefully. “I know that you would often disappear, but we didn’t know why.”
“He’s helping me study for the upcoming exams,” I said, gaze dropping back to my plate.
“Is that all?”
I glanced over at Margaret. “I don’t know.” Putting my hands on the table, I stood. “I’m going for a walk. I’ll see you both later.” Stepping away from the table, I marched out of the Great Hall, not once looking back.
~~~~~~~~
I simply had to ask him.
Two days had gone by without anything from the famous Slytherin.
I sat at breakfast, trying to figure out when the best time to approach him was.
He didn’t even come into the Great Hall early like he usually did, instead coming in surrounded by his followers amongst the flood of other students.
“Attention, students,” Headmaster Dippet spoke. “Your final exams begin today and last throughout the week. To avoid cheating, only one house at a time will take their exams so that everyone can have their own desk.” His gaze raked across the tables. “Your schedules are posted on the classroom doors. Now,” he gestured, “enjoy your breakfast. And good luck.”
I ran a hand through my hair as he sat back down.
Alright. Approaching Tom before our exams was out of the question.
Maybe I could catch him in the hallway.
I then had the thought that talking to the most famous boy in school about our love life in the middle of a likely-busy hallway was not my best idea.
After class, perhaps?
He might have Head Boy duties, or something. He’d probably run off to his Common Room as soon as he could, anyway.
Merlin, this was giving me a headache.
Sighing in temporary defeat, I pulled out my textbook to begin studying for my first test.
Maybe focusing on something else would clear my head.
~~~~~~~~
By Friday I was determined to track this man down, even if it meant breaking into the Slytherin Common Room.
It had been a whole week since we had spent that evening in the Common Room.
Merlin, it just was my luck that the first person I broke down walls for, confessed my feelings to and was intimate with would be from fifty years ago, and it just would be Lord Voldemort- the man that I had been sent to kill- and of course he would avoid me at any possible cost afterwards.
You couldn’t write this stuff.
As soon as I handed in my test for grading- briefly noting that there was no way I did as well as I would have liked given my mental state- I sprinted out of the classroom as quickly as I could, making a beeline for the Slytherin Common Room.
If I had to wait there for hours, I would see Tom Riddle.
He couldn’t run forever.
And so, I waited.
Because it was Friday, the last day before graduation, there was only one exam today in order to give the teachers enough time to grade everything.
Tom wouldn’t be long.
I waited outside their door for two hours, at some point sitting down because my feet were beginning to hurt from standing on the stone floor. At the sound of voices, I looked up, rising to stand.
Tom, naturally, led the pack; taking up the front.
He looked away from one of his followers, eyes landing on their door before his gaze drifted to me.
I don’t think I had ever seen Tom Riddle look nervous before.
“King,” he addressed in a false sense of calm.
I could hear the slight waver in his voice.
Cocking an eyebrow, I resisted the urge to cross my arms. “Riddle,” I replied in a cold tone.
He let out a harsh, silent breath, glancing away briefly before meeting my eyes again. “What are you doing here?”
“Hunting for snakes.” I allowed my arms to cross. “They tend to hide when they get scared.” I tilted my head, narrowing my eyes. “You haven’t seen any, have you?”
Whispers broke out amongst the Slytherins behind Tom.
He looked over his shoulder, wordlessly silencing them with only an expression. Turning back to me, he faltered for a moment.
I had clearly caught him off guard.
He was getting sloppy.
I mentally patted myself on the back.
Surely if Tom was going to end up as Voldemort he would have kept alert, right?
At his prolonged silence I raised an expectant eyebrow.
“What’s the wait for?!” Someone from the back yelled.
I looked towards the back of the group before meeting Tom’s gaze again.
He huffed, rolling his eyes slightly. Looking back to me, he finally found his voice. “We were going to celebrate the end of the year…” he trailed off, hoping I would get the message.
If he thought I was going to succumb to his not-so-subtle hint to leave, he had another thing coming.
I scoffed. “You’re not.”
“We’re not?”
“You’re not.” I nodded my head towards the group behind the Head Boy. “They can do what they please.” I looked back to Tom. “But you owe me a conversation and some time.”
He watched me for a few moments.
I refused to back down.
Tom sighed, nodding. He gestured for the rest of his housemates to go in, quietly announcing the password.
When we were finally alone I remained silent, wanting him to crumble a little under the dread of what would come out of my mouth.
Frankly, I didn’t even know what I was going to say.
After a few moments he cleared his throat, drawing his shoulders back and holding his head high to stand to his full height. He looked at me, raising an eyebrow, but I could see the flicker of fear behind his eyes.
I waited a few beats before asking the first question. “Do you realize how horrible this week has been for me?” I scoffed. “Merlin, Tom, we graduate tomorrow- I worried I would never see you again.”
His gaze dropped to the floor.
I crossed my arms, suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious. “Look, if you regret it- if you regret me- then you should have just come out and say it.” I looked to the wall, terrified of meeting his eyes.
Silence stretched between us, feeling so suffocating I considered leaving to get some fresh air.
But I couldn’t. Not now. Not when I finally had him.
“I don’t.”
It was so quiet I barely heard him. I finally turned my head to face him, meeting his gaze. I eyed him, trying to find any indication of a lie. Finding none, I continued. “Why are you avoiding me?”
“I needed some time to think.”
I tried to swallow the lump that formed in my throat, but was unsuccessful. “And?” I managed to croak out.
He grew silent again.
If I didn’t know any better, I would say he was toying with me intentionally.
My eyebrows pulled together as I searched his eyes. “Tom?”
He took a deep breath. “I want you to stay.” He straightened his posture again. “I want you to stay with me.”
I swore my heart stopped.
Time seemed to halt around me.
I opened my mouth, trying to respond, but I found I had no idea what to say.
Did I want to stay with him? Could I stay in a time that wasn’t my own? Was he completely cured of his evil endeavors?
I blinked away my thoughts, squaring my shoulders. “And your…plans for the future?”
He went silent, though he held my gaze. “I never had anyone love me before,” he finally settled on saying. “I didn’t think I was capable of the feeling, myself.” He took in a large, shaky breath, but kept his eyes on mine. “I’m willing to give up my aspirations for you.” His eyebrows quirked up in vulnerability. “If you’ll have me.”
I was rendered completely and utterly speechless. All thoughts of an appropriate response fled my brain. I looked down, trying to think, when I caught sight of his hands at his sides. I lifted my head to meet his gaze. “And the Horcruxes?”
He grimaced. “I haven’t destroyed them, yet.” He lifted his hand to look at the ring that hugged his finger. “I’m not looking forward to it.”
“It’s going to hurt,” I confirmed, walking towards him to look at the ring. Reaching my hand out, I stroked the gem, making a mental note that he let me. I lifted my gaze to meet his eyes. “That’s what happens when you split your soul apart.”
He sighed, nodding.
I clapped my hand on his chest good-naturedly. “Be glad I caught you when you’ve only made two. I imagine it hurts worse with each split.”
Having nothing to say, he simply nodded again.
I chuckled, holding his large hand between both of mine. “So…” I grinned up at him, “you’ll get a good job because you’re so smart, I’ll get the best job I can, being in a different time and everything, and we’ll go from there.” I gently patted the top of his hand. “How does that sound?”
He smiled. “It’s a start.”
I chuckled, stepping completely into him and wrapping my arms around him.
His arms came around me, settling on my low back.
I let out a small laugh. “How on earth did I do this?”
Tom pulled away slightly to look down at me. “Do what?”
“Tame the Dark Lord.” I chuckled. “I still don’t know what Professor McGonagall was thinking. I have no idea how this worked.”
Tom thought for a moment. “By being yourself, I suppose.”
I hummed. “Sounds flimsy.”
Tom huffed a chuckle and I grinned, looking up at him.
Reaching my right hand up, I once again cradled the side of his face.
He closed his eyes, leaning into it, before he opened them to look down at me.
We both leaned forward, meeting in the middle, and our lips connected, slotting into place.
My heart danced in my chest as I ran my hand through his hair before pulling away to look up at him. “I love you.”
He smiled down at me. “I love you, too.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/n: Holy moly, this is so long. 54 pages.
This was actually really hard to write. Trying to make Tom Riddle redeemable is easier said than done. I got stuck multiple times when writing this, trying to figure out how to best progress in a way that was realistic and moved the story and their relationship forward in a believable way. He's also so nuanced that I reworked a fair number of his lines to try to sound as much like him as possible.
I went back and edited some things multiple times because I noticed that I was writing King coming at the problem from a Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff way, so I had to try to adjust it to make her more firmly Gryffindor. She still has moments of traits from other houses, but that's normal, so.
There's a couple things in the story that I didn't outright say, but wanted to share anyway:
-Tom WAS following King (in Hogsmeade, the library, etc.) to keep an eye on her, because she DID defeat him and could have killed him if she wanted. While he never admitted it, he did view her as a threat.
-Dippet's password being "strawberries" I made up/guessed, because Dumbledore had started a rumor that Dippet had planted strawberries on the castle grounds, likely meaning the Headmaster was fond of them.
-Doing some research, I found that Abraxas didn't actually go to school with Tom, but Avery was one of the few Death Eaters that were confirmed to.
-Tom reacting so strongly to physical affection just made sense to me. Especially growing up in an orphanage, that boy is definitely touch-starved.
-Tom avoiding King to think also seemed fitting, since he was new to love and he had to battle between a woman and all of the plans he had been crafting for years. I think it's realistic that he would have tried to give himself space and time to weigh his options, and even not wanting to seek her out to tell her.
-Tom didn't see an issue announcing the password to the Slytherin Common Room in front of King because it was the last school day, so she couldn't use it after they graduated, anyway.
Anywho. That was a lot. Hope you enjoyed. Make sure to let me know what you thought! I'm curious if you thought I did our dear Tom Riddle justice.
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