That's my secret...

oliver-dash​:

He chuckled, nodding. “Yeah, I think I can manage that.

Oliver went inside the store, tossing up a hand to the couple behind the counter, trying to sink into the normality of all of this, trying to let the familiar smell of the store - slightly stale as if they had mopped with dirty water. But he still felt like his mind was a few steps behind his body. He moved quickly, slipping a bottle of absinthe into his jacket before grabbing Laya’s requested bottle and a six pack of beer out of the back.

“Who’s that girl you got in your truck?” The pretty blonde grinned at him from behind the counter. “New girl?”

“Yep.” He answered, giving the best smile he could manage as he handed over the cash for the drinks. “Been together a minute now.”

“Oh, well, that’s awesome.” She beamed at him. “Make sure you wear a condom, Oliver. I know where this kinda drinkin’ leads. We don’t need me babies havin’ babies.”

Laya exhaled deeply, taking a moment to look at the bed of the truck behind her. 

Oliver’s father was in that bag. He was in pieces, and finally Oliver could rest. 

But something felt….off. Laya felt sick. There was a cold shiver that ran up her spine, and as her eyes shined white she could feel him. She could feel Christopher Dash’s presence surrounding her. 

Worst of it was that she could hear him laughing. 

"Oh, wow." The girl said with a laugh. "She's impatient to get you back, huh?" "Yeah. Uh, thanks." He muttered quickly before hurrying out of the store, grabbing his bottles on his way out.

Throwing open the door and jumping in, Oliver looked at her with wide eyes. "What is it? What's wrong?" He asked quickly.

malfoy-allhailtheprince​:

“No, I… I know.” Draco smiled softly, looking over to where the two sat next to each other, lost in their own conversation. “They’ve just always been meant for each other. I mean, look at them.” She sighed, a sadness in her expression. “I’m jealous of them.” She said with a soft laugh, looking back at Laya before her expression dropped slightly. “I… I do want to thank you again, though. You… truly saved me tonight. I couldn’t have stopped him and…” she swallowed thickly, her eyes sad. “Stupid bastard took my first kiss.” It was obvious that this bothered her deeply, tears in her grey eyes.

Laya followed her gaze, smiling softly as Blaise and Pansy were talking, clearly very in love with each other. 

Gods, how she wanted that for the two of them, for Draco to look at her like that. She wanted to make Draco smile like Blaise was making Pansy smile. 

"That's what I... had been hoping for." She admitted, swallowing thickly. "I know - I mean, I'm sure I don't have to tell you - expectations on marriage and what not. My father wants to find a suitable match, someone who's reputation will benefit my family's, you know. But I... My mum and father got lucky. They were from notable, ancient families, but they love each other so much. They get so happy and excited to see each other, especially when my father's been gone for a bit. He hurries in the room and scoops her up by her waist and kisses her and she gets the biggest smile on her face."

Draco's smile had dropped completely, quickly reaching up to wipe away the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes. "And the only damn boy that showed any interest in asking me to the Yule Ball was doing it on a dare to try to get me naked. And he takes my first kiss, would have taken everything if you hadn't have shown up and I-,"

oliver-dash​:

As she fell, Oliver knelt beside her, moving to pull her hair back, away from her face, letting her get up what she needed to get up.

He knew this feeling well. He knew what was happening to her and he knew, from his own experience, that just having someone there would help.

As her breaths grew more shallow, as she began to sob and shake, Oliver didn’t try to tell her to breathe, or calm her. Instead, he pulled off his denim jacket and pulled it over her arms, giving her his jacket to cover her torn shirt.

He tore her shirt, just like Oliver had.

But Oliver hadn’t been trying to… he wouldn’t have. As much of a piece of shit as he knew he could be, he would never cause anyone else to go through that.

Sitting back, his back against his truck, Oliver carefully pulled her into his lap, winding his arms around her, rubbing her back.

“Get out what you need ta’ get out.” His voice was soft now, surprisingly gentle. “Cry if you need to. Scream. Whatever you need. I’ll be right here.”

And Laya did just that. As she sat, curled on his lap she had screamed and cried, her Phoenix form all but bursting forth, her wings coming up around them both to keep them both safe.

As she screamed, the pain from her Phoenix wailed loudly through her throat.

Then her light came forth. It was almost blinding, but as it came out it started to heal her, and heal anything that Oliver had been feeling in that moment. Her magic was quick to work, healing Oliver’s knuckles and any other new injuries he may have gotten.

But any pain that Laya was feeling, it started to ebb away inside of her, calming her, reminding her that she was safe now. As her cries dwindled, she whimpered, the light started to fade as well as the form that kept them both warm. She leaned on Oliver’s shoulder, her sobs nothing but hiccups now.

He knew what she was dealing with - the fear, the pain, the desperation to just make everything go away. So he did the only thing he had ever wished for - he just sat there, held her close, and hoped that she knew she wasn't alone.

As the sudden bright light came forth, Oliver paused, not at all sure what he was seeing. But as it surrounded them, Oliver realized that it was warm and gentle, comforting rather than painful. He watched, shocked, as it eased away his bruised and split knuckles, the fresh burns on his forearms.

Healing powers. She'd written about that in her diary.

And as soon as the light had appeared, it was dimming and Laya was falling asleep in his arms. He waited long enough that she was deep asleep, clearly needing it, before he lifted her in his arms, carrying her to his truck and carefully buckling her back in.

He wasn't sure where to take her right now, so he did the only thing he could think and drove back to his house, carrying her bridal style inside, and tucking her gently into his bed.

He was terrified as to what her reaction would be to his destitute home, his barebones room, the old threadbare carpets and peeling wallpaper yellowed by decades of cigarette smoke.

oliver-dash​:

Oliver sat on the bed for a long moment even after she was gone.

Had he seen… no. No, the fucking girl didn’t have wings. He was cross faded, still reeling from that bump of cocaine Ashleigh had offered him. He was seeing things.

But her sadness had been real. And it made him feel like shit. Even more than that, he hated himself for wanting her to come back.

What was going on with him?

Forcing himself to his feet, Oliver left the room and walked back downstairs.

“Hey, man!” Jackson, red-faced and stumbling, shouted at him from across the kitchen. “Who’d you have up there screamin’ like that?” “No one.” He spat before walking to Ashleigh, requesting another hit. The girl beamed as she poured some on her own finger, holding it up for him.

Feeling it hit his system, he took a step back, letting the pleasure flow through him once again, taking over the guilt and whatever else was going on in his brain.

Looking up, he saw Grace looking at him, leaned against the counter, pouting. “What’s that face for?” “You were upstairs with someone, weren’t you?” She demanded. “I didn’t fuck her.” That was true. Oliver walked forward then, pinning her against the cabinets, pleased to watch her shiver, her eyes wide with anticipation, her breath catching as he moved his hand up her skirt. “You still want me to fuck you?” “Yes.” She breathed, her pupils blown. She’d just done a hit herself.

Oliver dragged her her to the half bath outside of the bathroom, not wanting to go back to the room he and Laya had just been in. He knew he had to keep things normal with Grace, atleast for now, so he made sure to spoil her, sitting her on the counter and spreading her legs, bringing her to orgasm again and again just using his mouth and fingers, Grace making sure to scream his name loudly enough so everyone outside the door would hear.

When she was three deep, Oliver pulled her off the counter, bent her over against the sink, pushed up her skirt and slammed deep inside of her, fucking her hard and fast against the marble counter top.

He kept his eyes closed though, picturing Laya above him, rocking against him, whimpering and moaning his name, begging for him to make her cum.

He swapped her out for Grace, picturing her bent over the sink, grasping the edges as she cried out in pleasure, as her pussy tightened around him as she came. He imagined grabbing that thick ebony hair, wrapping it around his hand and jerking her head back, his eyes meeting the intense green of hers in the mirror. “Who do you belong to?” He asked aloud, the bathroom echoing with sharp slaps of skin on skin, the wet squelch of her dripping sex each time he pulled back. “You, baby.” She answered, voice trembling. But he pictured Laya’s full lips moving, moaning those words to him as he fucked her against the cold marble. “Only you.”

“Who do you belong to?” He demanded again, harsher this time, slapping her ass hard.

“O-oh, fuck!” She screamed, head thrown back. “You, Oliver! Only you!” Again, it was Laya, exposed plains of pale flesh, her green eyes glazed with lust and need, crying out his name as she raced towards climax again.

Laya was his. Only his. And she would know that with time. He’d have her screaming his name again like this, telling him that her heart, her mind, her body, every inch of it, belonged to him.

“Oliver!” Graced screamed sharply, grasping desperately to the counter top, flushed and weak-kneed. “Pl-please… I’m gonna cum again, baby…”

All of this and more.

He wouldn’t fuck her like this though. He’d have her on her back, her green eyes looking up at him. He wanted to watch her face as he overloaded her with pleasure, watch the hardened frown and furrowed brow smooth out in an expression of pure, complete pleasure. She’d beg him to make her cum again, to fuck her harder, faster, deeper. And when they were both spent, she would keep him close, winding her arms around him. She would whisper how she loved him.

Oliver had never cum harder in his life than he did then, in that bathroom, picturing Laya curled around him in his bed whispering words of love.

He would deal with that later. For now, he still had to last through the rest of the party without falling apart all over again.

Laya sneered at herself as she looked in the mirror. She couldn’t believe she was wearing a skirt today. She wasn’t completely sure why but….She actually looked kind of nice.

“Laya! You pretty!” One of the girls, Gabbie, had shouted as she rushed into the room.

Well, that changed her perspective. Laya picked the girl up, placing her on her hip. “Yeah? Well, you’re prettier!” The little girl squealed and giggled as Laya smothered her cheek in kisses.

She took a moment before heading out, playing with the kiddos, grabbing some snacks before she left. She was grateful that Nikki was still passed out as she left. She did not want to talk to her after the whole ordeal last night. She was upset about being tricked sure but, the blush on her face and the heat between her thighs told her otherwise.

The girl was, attempting to be deep in focus as she studied in the quiet of the shack. But her mind kept going back to last night. Back to how Oliver made her feel, how he felt. She was so wet at the mere thought of him between her thighs again.

But that wasn’t even the focus of his dream. She hadn’t said a word, hadn’t kissed him, hadn’t touched him. She wasn’t screaming his name, wasn’t begging him to fuck her.

She was just smiling at him, warm and soft, her eyes full of love. She took his hand, intertwining their fingers and pulled him closer to her, laying her head on his chest.

Oliver woke with such an ache in his chest it hurt to breathe. What the fuck was happening to him?

Something real. That was what she had said.

Is that what he wanted from her? For her to smile at him, kiss him just to kiss him, hold his hand? To love him without fear of being hurt or without wanting to hurt him in return? He had a track record, he knew. He had always tried to convince himself that his mother loved him. She would soften sometimes toward him, stroke back his hair and take in his little swallow face.

“I’m sorry I’m not a good mommy, Oliver.” She had whispered once. There had been a band tied around her arm, a needle in her other hand. Her eyes were far away. “I’m sorry your daddy is so mean to you. I’m sorry I don’t have the courage to kill you and take you away from all your pain.”

Oliver shook his mother’s voice from his mind, trying hard not to think about her. There were moments like that, moments like when she’d snuck into his room to wake him up, whispered she was leaving, kissed his forehead and was gone.

But there were so many more moments where she’d yelled at him, burnt him, grabbed him by his arm and dragged him back into his room. Moments when she had grabbed his face and shoved it into the mattress when he had wet the bed, only four years old, and felt the sting of urine in his eyes and nose and mouth. Moments when she screamed at she hated him, that he was here to suffer, that he deserved everything his dad did.

That voice was louder. It always was.

Would Laya do the same to him, leave him with two voices, one whispering that she was sorry, one screaming that he deserved his pain, and both making him feel equally alone? He needed to see her. Now. He didn’t have an excuse, not a real one.

But he showered anyway, washing the stink of last night off of him (another perk of his father not being here - scalding hot water), brushed his teeth, his hair, sprayed himself with cologne. He tugged on jeans that were actually meant to look distressed, boots, and a snug white v-neck tshirt that Grace always claimed made him look like a Abercrombie model. More than one of these thin tshirts from a pack of 15 had been ripped by manicured nails.

Was he trying to look nice to impress her? Maybe he was. But he would never admit it.

The drive was a short one, only minutes from his house. He felt a surge of relief when he saw her car parked there and climbed out.

He didn’t know what he was going to do, what he was going to say to her. Would he apologize? Probably not. Would he try to kiss her again? Most likely. Would that be well-received? Well, they would find out, wouldn’t they?

But as he approached the shed, he paused, hearing soft whimpers coming from inside, frustrated moans and gasps.

Was she in here fucking someone?!

The surge of rage he felt overtook any logical thought he might of had and stormed into the shed without hesitation, fully intent of beating the fuck of our whatever guy had his pencil dick buried in her perfect little pussy.

She belonged to him.

But then he froze, taking in the sight before him.

Laya sprawled on the couch, her cheeks flushed, eyes closed, head thrown back. Her skirt - had he ever seen her wear a skirt? - was pushed up carelessly about those perfect, rounded hips. Her nimble fingers disappeared into the fabric of her panties, the motion against the material making it clear she was fingering herself.

She realized then, taking a moment to look at herself, how much of a horny mess she was. She gasped again, removing her fingers from her pussy, readjusting her skirt to cover herself and pulling down her shirt.

But once he made sense of her words, he didn’t know how to answer.

I dreamed about you. You smiled at me and my chest hurt and I want you to smile at me again.

I can’t stop thinkin’ about you. You’re drivin’ me nuts.

I wanted to apologize for last night. You’re not a freak.

I think I’m fallin’ in love with you and I’m fuckin’ terrified.

But none of that would leave his lips. To be vulnerable like that… he wasn’t able to let himself be so.

So he stalked forward instead, taking her chin in his grasp, firm, but surprisingly gentle, and looked at her bright green eyes still clouded with lust. She hadn’t cum, she couldn’t make herself. She needed more.

She needed him. “Didn’t I tell you,” He started, voice low, husky, blue eyes raking over her, “that no one will ever be able ta’ make you cum like I can?”

He kissed her then, hard and slow, his tongue pushing between her lips. His free hand moved, pushing up her skirt, pushing the thin material of her panties to the side, stroking her slit. Fuck, she was so wet. Literally dripping with need…

He pressed two fingers inside of her, pumping them slowly, curling them upwards to press against the spot he already so intimately knew.

His words were true. Even just thinking about him between her legs wasn’t enough to send her over the edge. She got so close but it wasn’t enough.

She cried out, her head falling back as he plunged his fingers deep inside of her. It didn’t take more than a second before she came undone in that moment, her legs shaking, the girl griping at him as she screamed his name.

“Yes.” She responded to his words, moving to allow him access to her. She knew that she wouldn’t be able to reach her pleasure without him. Her body belonged to him, only him.

She was his. Every inch of her was his.

As she screamed his name, Oliver felt that same pain he did only the night before, his length throbbing so painfully, needing to breath, needing friction.

But not now. He needed to drive her to the brink of insanity. If he needed to stop by someone's house-

No. It hit him then. If he couldn't find his own release with her, then he'd take care of it himself. Because he didn't want to fuck anyone else. Not now, not ever again. He wanted her, her voice, her green eyes on him, that perfect, pale lithe body arching in pleasure as she gave in and screamed his name.

God, he was so fucked.

He could feel her squeezing around his fingers, throbbing, already hurtling toward her second climax and he slowed his movements, achingly, teasingly slow, just enough to keep her on the brink but not enough to send her over. He pulled back from her clit, kissing her inner thighs, biting and sucking the soft skin, marking her.

malfoy-allhailtheprince​:

Draco looked to her, giving a nod. “I… I can’t imagine that it wouldn’t. It has to have particularly powerful magic.” He opened the door, letting the two of them walk in past him. “Let’s get out of here, get settled somewhere new for a bit. Maybe we could travel back in a few days time when our trail has gone a bit colder.”

A sigh was released from the young girls mouth as she turned off her car, the stereo of the vehicle blasting metalcore. She plopped back into her seat, taking a moment before class to write an entry in her diary, wanting to get her thoughts onto paper.

It wasn’t a smart move to bring the diary to school, but she needed an outlet. The teachers and the staff at her school were no help at all when it came to assisting with the bullies, especially when it came their star athlete and head cheerleader, Oliver Dash and Grace Klein, the banes of her very existence.

Her first class, English, her favorite subject was spent being as far away from the boy as possible. He loved messing with her the most, always calling her the “goth freak”, wanting to correct him. The way she dressed was more punk than goth but whatever. It wasn’t worth the time or energy.

The thing that bothered her the most was that he wasn’t hard to look at. Hell, any time he had her pinned to a wall with his frame alone, she felt like submitting and she hated herself for it. There was one time he crossed the line, gripping her chin to make her look up at him, his hand going down to her neck. His buddies made sure she paid for the bloody noise she gave him. She was grateful for her healing ability, but that made the whole football team look at her oddly when she came back the next day with nary a scratch.

She didn’t know what he had planned, but she certaintly wasn’t about to find out, especially with his little friends watching the two of them so closely.

Finishing up her entry, she turned the stereo off and got out of her little yellow volkswagen. She knew how to get around the building, knew how to avoid being seen or heard. She kept her eyes down but her defenses up in case any of those fucks came to sneak up on her.

Give an a deep exhale, the girl having held her breath the entire way to class, she sat in the far back right hand corner from the door. Grateful that Oliver was, usually, late to class. Rumor had it he was always in the gym locker room having his way with a girl that gave herself so willingly to him.

Until seventh grade.

Oliver had hit his growth spurt fast and hard. He'd always been a tall kid, but over the span of just a few months, he towered over the rest of them. And he found an outlet quick - sports. The school sponsored him, so he didn't even have to ask his dad for a single thing when signing up. And he was good.

His long, gangly limbs filled out, his awkward preteen features matured into something much more attractive. His voice deepened. The money he received from doing manual labor on Mrs. Applewhite's farm gave him enough money to buy clothes that fit.

Suddenly, people seemed to want him around - inviting him to sit with them at lunch, to come to parties. They laughed a little too hard at his jokes, agreed with everything he said. Then Jennifer Barksdale and Casey White got in a fight in the middle of the hallway because they had both run up to him at once, begging him to take them to the Valentine's dance.

At first it confused him. Then he was happy - he had friends. But he didn't. He didn't really. And that was clear. No one asked about the bruises he still had so frequently. No one asked anything about him, his interests, definitely not his home life.

He knew if he lost any of it - his new looks, his athletic ability, all of this superficial shit he had managed to gain - he would be right back where he was.

And that made his angry. It released a rage in him that he had tried to lock up for almost all of his fourteen short years on this Earth.

And then Tyler Fletcher said something about his house.

Tyler had been on the ground before Oliver even realized what was happening, groaning, holding his busted lip as blood seeped like velvet ribbons between his fingers.

It had felt good. So, so good.

And the fear it seemed to inspire in the others was just as delicious, the respect it seemed to put on him.

Tyler had had to have stitches. And when he was back, he followed Oliver like a lost puppy.

These people didn't love him. No one did. But they respected him. They feared him. People who you love will still leave. But people who are terrified? They stay in their place.

Now nearly seventeen, Oliver had honed that idea. He was top-dog, the most sought-after girl on his arm, the rest of the cheerleading squad in his bed. (Metaphorically. Like he'd ever bring anyone home.) Everyone listened to him and, better yet, they obeyed. Or they ran and hid when they saw him coming.

He would die before giving up that power. He would throw himself into the interstate before he ever became that terrified little boy curled bleeding on a soiled mattress ever again.

Starting the morning off right - work outs, protein, a long, hot shower, then sneaking Amber Graves into the locker room so the red head could get on her knees for him before he had to start another day at this shit hole - Oliver now found himself, bag slung under his shoulder, forcing himself back into the main building to attend his classes.

The only reason he was still putting on his whole show of showing up to these stupid classes is because he had to pass. If he could graduate, he would get scouted to a good school and get the fuck out of this shithole town.

Opening the door, Oliver's eyes immediately landed on the girl in the back, digging through her bag, and immediately felt the familiar rage well inside of him.

Laya Nequam was the only exception to his tyrannical rule. She stood up to him, sneered at him, talked down to him. She made him feel small. And he would continue to punish her for it until she broke and started treating him the way she should - preferably begging him to let her put those dark painted lips around his cock.

She might be a giant pain in his ass, but that didn't mean she wasn't fuckable.

Sliding into his usual seat, immediately being pulled into the conversation by the other athletes that always migrated toward him, his sea blue eyes cut over to Laya's seat, a sneer pulling over his lips as she pulled out a book, opening it to the placeholder she'd stuck inside.

Beth felt like she might faint. Why had she volunteered for this? That was a silly question. She knew exactly why she had agreed to this. Three glasses of wine and teasing from Re’ and Kayla.

The studio wasn’t far from her apartment. Smoothing her hands nervously along her blue jeans, she went inside. Maybe she was silly for how she had done her hair and makeup. And for wearing a new lace bra and panties set. Blue... blue matching her eyes and black to match her hair. She probably would seem ridiculous.

Knocking gently, she was ushered in. There was a gathered group there waiting. Two at a time were taken back after signing release forms.

It was just an art project. It was just an art project.

From the moment she understood what the word meant, Beth had felt confusion in her life. Everyone had a word imprinted over their hearts. It would be the first word they heard from their soulmate. They would know it was their soulmate by the red heat that would show under the word, growing hotter the closer they got till they at last touched hands. In school everyone compared words. Some brought giggled, some created intrigue. Beth’s had always brought teasing laughter. The first word she would hear her soulmate say was “Smash”.

ivegotacondition-banner​:

Bruce accepted her kiss, a soft smile pulling at his own full lips. “I hope I can be.” He answered softly. “I really do… I feel this connection to you. It’s strange, but I’ve experienced stranger.” He gave a soft laugh. “I’m just glad that you found me too.”

From the moment she understood what the word meant, Beth had felt confusion in her life. Everyone had a word imprinted over their hearts. It would be the first word they heard from their soulmate. They would know it was their soulmate by the red heat that would show under the word, growing hotter the closer they got till they at last touched hands. In school everyone compared words. Some brought giggled, some created intrigue. Beth’s had always brought teasing laughter. The first word she would hear her soulmate say was “Smash”.

ivegotacondition-banner​:

Bruce felt a warmth in his chest as she spoke, so happy that him accepting her, that him being in her life could make her so happy. He moved, winding his arms around her and pulling her close. “You don’t have to thank me.” He said softly. “The fact that you want me in your life makes me so happy, Laya.”

From the moment she understood what the word meant, Beth had felt confusion in her life. Everyone had a word imprinted over their hearts. It would be the first word they heard from their soulmate. They would know it was their soulmate by the red heat that would show under the word, growing hotter the closer they got till they at last touched hands. In school everyone compared words. Some brought giggled, some created intrigue. Beth’s had always brought teasing laughter. The first word she would hear her soulmate say was “Smash”.

ivegotacondition-banner​:

Bruce couldn’t help his soft chuckle, shaking his head. “I’ve seen crazier things. I’ve lived crazier things.” He smiled softly before raising a hand, cupping her cheek and pulling her in for a soft kiss. “I do, Laya. I feel… well, it feels strange, jumping into something head first like this, but for the first time in a very long time, it just… it just feels right.”

From the moment she understood what the word meant, Beth had felt confusion in her life. Everyone had a word imprinted over their hearts. It would be the first word they heard from their soulmate. They would know it was their soulmate by the red heat that would show under the word, growing hotter the closer they got till they at last touched hands. In school everyone compared words. Some brought giggled, some created intrigue. Beth’s had always brought teasing laughter. The first word she would hear her soulmate say was “Smash”.

ivegotacondition-banner​:

Bruce was clearly surprised by that, brow raising at her words. “Soulmates?” He said, though he didn’t sound as though he didn’t believe her words. His tone was more of… relief. “You… I normally wouldn’t believe that, but I have… I have felt so drawn to you, more than any other person I have ever spent time with. Like… like I’ve known you so much longer than I have.”

From the moment she understood what the word meant, Beth had felt confusion in her life. Everyone had a word imprinted over their hearts. It would be the first word they heard from their soulmate. They would know it was their soulmate by the red heat that would show under the word, growing hotter the closer they got till they at last touched hands. In school everyone compared words. Some brought giggled, some created intrigue. Beth’s had always brought teasing laughter. The first word she would hear her soulmate say was “Smash”.

ivegotacondition-banner​:

Bruce listened closely to her, his brow furrowed. He didn’t think not to believe her. He knew things like this existed in the world - World War II soldiers changed by serums and frozen in ice; literal gods from different realms. Hell, men who changed into giant green monsters when provoked.

And he wanted to believe her, wanted to trust her. He didn’t want to lose her before he ever even really got her.

“I… Okay.” He stated softly, nodding, trying to take all of that in. “Okay, I… I mean, I believe you. I’ve heard stranger things. And I… I appreciate you trusting me with that. So…” He looked at her, meeting her green eyes. “But all of this… this isn’t something more, right? Your, what did you call them? Clans? They aren’t looking to infiltrate the Avengers Tower or find some way to harness the Hulk or anything? You’re just a girl who… happens to have some sort of… super human power?”