#although his streak is longer than mine just a bit
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gofishygo · 10 months ago
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dark siren! ghoap x reader
notes: kidnapping, initially just ghost x soap
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siren! soap likes to collect the pretty human artefacts that have washed into the open ocean. books that had been weathered down by tide, necklaces with rhinestones plucked out through rough currents, sometimes old toys- bits of them, that he broken and melded to match the mines in darker parts of the ocean he had yet to explore. darker parts, where siren! ghost had came from. now, he- both live a simpler life than before- hunting below the surface with the other, drawing on delicate cuttlefish shell and drying coral with the edge of his claws. he is no longer forced to think about them. the ships that poisoned his waters, the fishhook that impaled the side of his head with a starburst scar, humans.
(of course he still does.)
because in recent times, he finds himself.. almost eroding, chipping away with the march of time. and although he likes to sum it to no longer reeling the rush of missions, the adrenaline of fights where sailors ended up entangled in algae on the sea floor, he thinks- knows that he is missing something.
(when he was decades younger- still johnny, he would disassemble the smaller fishing boats and their engines- pick apart until there was nothing but gear and wood and oil, until all he could see was the simplest parts of such a complex machine, and he would always know exactly how it had sunk years before humans would ever realise. he could have saved them, knowing what they had needed before they, themselves had.)
and he is restless, tapping against both rocks and relics, despite how ghost weaves his fingers between his. spends his late nights rummaging through waterlogged pages in a dry cavern, eyes lingering for a second too long on any depiction humans- soft faces, smooth and unscaled skin, legs that he could snap and shatter within a moments notice. he hates these things, the only animal that he has wished to drive extinct. hates what he suspects he thinks about the almost docile statures in those books. but, though he has never been out of the water, has never seen grass paddocks and forest thickets and gardens firsthand, he suddenly feels like he is a sunflower, neck arched up proudly to the surface, face longing for the warmth of the sun and the dampness of freshwater in solid earth, and silently, with clandestine embedded into his thoughts- the touch of a human who has never seen the coldness, roughness of an ocean full of sirens, who has only ever lived in places that he imagines in his dreams.
but ghost, he grows on him, continues to grow on him like barnacles crusted onto the find of whales and scared into wharfside rocks- gripping onto his sides- intense, crushing, but with near unbearable loyalty. he knows that the siren would do anything for his best interests- even if he is not fully aware of his own, yet. only needs to kiss the younger, taste the saltwater of soap’s lips on his, to know the words that soap does not yet know how to say.
and the next time ghost sees soap on the shorelines, there is no trinket or inanimate gift in his hand- not a sand dollar, sea glass, not even the tiny sculptures that the people of the wharfside cities make. it is soft, and moving, sobbing into his shoulder, tears creating crystalline streaks over marred flesh, and it is beautiful. it is a human, far prettier than those inked, stone cold faces he has fought, with shiny eyes and babbled cries instead of violent claims of violence, sleazy and crooked teeth. soap thinks it is the sweetest thing ever, wants to keep it tucked under his fins, knows that ghost thinks so too.
“please, won’t ever go to the seaside again, ‘ll be good, move far out from here, into the mainlands- never bother your home again, please, promise-“
and for the first time, johnny sees what ghost does- knows exactly what this poor, terrified creature needs. he scoops you up, all kicking and screaming, hand cupping the side of your face. kisses the crown of your head so gently- and then you disappear under the tide.
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middleearthpixie · 3 years ago
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After the Fire ~ Chapter Thirty-Four
Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a grievously wounded Thorin is brought back to the kingdom of Erebor, which is still mostly in ruins. Although he’s survived the wounds he received at the end of Azog’s blade, his recovery is far from complete. Grief, regret, anger, all are making his journey that much more difficult and the physical recovery isn’t quite the most difficult challenge he faces.
Jasna Stoneham is no stranger to loss, as she is a survivor of Smaug’s wrath upon Esgaroth. When she is asked to help the dwarves healers of Erebor, her instinct is to say no, but she needs the job, and so agrees to it. However, no one told her that of all the patients, she would be responsible for the king himself, Thorin Oakenshield. 
Unfortunately, the road to recovery isn’t necessary a smooth one, but if there’s one thing Thorin will learn, it’s that Jasna is just as stubborn as he is and for every step back he takes, she is there to push him three steps forward. And Jasna will soon find out that there is a gentle, softer side to the dwarf king, one that very few people have ever seen and one he fights to keep hidden from her as well. But like his recovery, that is also easier said than done. 
The Elder Council convenes

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Jasna Stoneham
Characters: Jasna, Thorin, Balin, Thadrid, Nafas, Dåin, Skalmar, 
Warnings: Morning sex 
Rating: T
Word Count: 3,581
Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @immortal-dreams @knitastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc
If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!
Previous chapters can be found here. 
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There was something to be said about sleeping in the king’s bed. It was soft. It was comfortable. 
It had Thorin in it. 
Jasna lay on her side, propped on her elbow, as she gazed down at her king. He lay on his back, his silver-streaked black hair fanned beneath him, and his jaw was just slack enough that when he inhaled, he snored softly. She smiled at the sound, remembering the first time she’d heard that same sound, when he was in the infirmary.
And now I am in his bed. She smiled, reaching down to trace along the silvery threads in his beard. It was mostly dark, almost as dark as the hair spread across the pillows, but on the right side of his chin, there was a predominantly silver patch. The hair was soft, but bristly, and it baffled her how that was even possible. She’d noticed his beard was not nearly as long or elaborately decorated as the others’ and she wondered about that. She’d been in Erebor and around dwarves long enough to know they took great pride in their beards, in their hair, and while she knew their customs regarding hair ornamentation, she wasn't quite as schooled in their beards. 
“Bored, mesmel?”
His whisper floated up to startle her and she still her hand. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered back. “I didn't mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t, actually. I was getting there on my own.” His eyes opened and he turned his head toward her, his blue eyes heavy-lidded and sleepy even as he offered up a smile. “Have you been awake long?”
“Only a few minutes.” She resumed her tracing. “Why is your beard so much shorter and without any adornments?”
“I used to wear it longer.” The linens rustled as he eased up onto his side to face her, sliding a hand beneath his pillow. “But when Smaug came, I got a bit too close and the heat from his breath singed it off and I lost what ornaments I had in it as a result. So, I left it that way, as a reminder, a bit of a memorial perhaps.”
“Will you keep it this way?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t really given it much thought. Erebor’s mine—at least for now—and it’s getting back on its feet. I’m to be married soon,” he smiled at her as he said this, “and will have a family of my own, if Mahal wills it, so perhaps I can let go of the past to a certain degree.”
“A family, dwarf?”
He smiled. “A child a year, I think.”
“Bite your t-t-tongue,” she told him with a laugh. “I am not having a baby a year. You’re mad to even joke about it.”
The linens rustled once more as he eased himself over her and she smiled, easing her arms about his neck, and when he came flush against her, he murmured, “But the way one gets children is something I think we both enjoy.”
“Be that as it may,” she whispered back, “I am not having a child a year.”
His lips brushed hers. “We could get started now. On that family, I mean.”
“Thorin!”
He offered up an innocent grin. “What? I just—”
“Thorin?” A knock accompanied Balin’s voice. “The delegates have all arrived.”
Jasna’s gut kinked sharply and Thorin let out low growl as his head fell forward into the curve of her neck. “I’ll be there in a minute, Balin,” he called, his voice somewhat muffled.
“Thorin?” Another knock. “Are you in there?”
Thorin swore softly beneath his breath as he slid from her and into his trousers. “Do not move. I’ll be right back.”
She sighed softly, swallowing hard as he padded out of the room. The council would convene soon and they would call her before them. What if they heard her stutter and decided she was far too stupid to be allowed anywhere near the throne? Or the king, for that matter? 
“You need only concentrate on your words,” she muttered to herself, sinking back into the pillows. “Speak slowly and you will be fine. You’ve dealt with Mr. Templeton. Surely no dwarf can be any worse. You won’t have any trouble.”
Or so she tried to tell herself. The truth was, she was terrified she would cost Thorin his throne, cost him his kingdom.
Her mother’s words echoed through her head as she lay there, staring up at the dark stone ceiling of the king’s chambers. If that should happen, Thorin could very easily resent her for it.
He came back into the room, looking far more serious than she’d seen him look in a long time. “Thorin, wh-what is it?”
“I have to go and greet the council members.” He sank onto the edge of the bed with a soft sigh. 
She sat up, scooting over to let her hands come to rest on his massive shoulders. The muscles beneath his skin were tense, and without thinking, she curled her fingers against that muscle, kneading it to loosen that tension. A heavy sigh bubbled to his lips and he leaned into her kneading, his head falling forward as he whispered, “Oh
 that feels nice
”
She smiled, kneading the muscle more firmly now. “B-b-but is it helping?”
“You have no idea, mesmel.”
Heat wafted from his skin, and she slid her fingers down over the scars along his right shoulder. “How did you get these?”
“Blades. Before I faced off with Azog, there were quite a few orcs between me and him. And some are from past battles as well—orcs, trolls, goblins, Men.”
“You’ve been busy.” 
“You have no idea.”
She smiled and swept a kiss over the longest of the blade scars. Then moved toward the middle of his back, then to the warg bite scars. And with each pass of her lips, his breathing grew a little more ragged, a little smokier about the edges. 
“Jasna
” he breathed, covering her hand on his right shoulder with his. “Oh, love
 what you do to me
”
She smiled, kissing him again. Hearing his breath hitch, feeling how it quickened, the way his fingers tightened about hers were all so heady to her. She slid her other arm about his midsection, her fingers sliding through the hair curling away from his chest, as she moved inward now, toward his neck. His head lolled to the side as she moved up and when she reached his ear, he whispered, “I do so love you, you know
”
“I love you, too, dwarf,” she whispered back, bushing her lips over his ear, smiling as he moaned softly. 
“Mesmel,” he breathed, his voice low and husky, “we don’t have time for—oh, Mahal, that feels so nice
”
“Do you wish me to stop?”
“Not at all
”
She smiled against his skin, nipping him gently before brushing her lips across his shoulder once more. He twisted to catch her about the waist and tugged her astride him, sighing into her mouth as her thighs settled on either side of his hips. He pulled her flush against him, wrapping his arms about her as his lips seized hers in a fiery kiss that left her head spinning. 
She wound her arms about his neck, her fingers threading into his thick hair. Instinct took over as she rocked against him, sighing into his mouth at the sensations rippling though her where their bodies met, where his hardness ground up into her softness. 
His hands slid along her sides, cupping both breasts to fondle at the same time, his thumbs slipping slowly about her nipples. His tongue slipped between her lips, hot and silken, to glide along hers, to tease it. He drew it back into his mouth, gently sucking at it to fire her blood further. She melted against him, skimming a hand down over his solid belly, to the waist of his trousers. The button slipped easily through its loop, the fabric parted, and she eased her hand into his trousers, into his heat. 
The breath left his body in a heated rush as she stroked him slowly, let her fingers just graze along his sleek male flesh. Her fingers curled about him as she caressed him from root to tip and when she guided him to her, he moaned softly into her mouth as she slowly sheathed him. 
“Jasna,” he whispered as she rocked against him, “oh, amrĂąlimĂȘ
”
She linked her fingers at his nape and leaned away to meet his heavy-lidded, azure-eyed gaze. “I do love you,” she whispered, rolling her hips toward him once more.
“And I, you,” he growled back, a smile playing at his lips. 
The fullness of him inside her spurred her to move faster, to arch her hips to send him deeper. He shuddered beneath her, his hands tightening on her hips, moving her a bit faster against him. She obliged, leaning in to capture his lips once more in a fiery kiss. 
He met her easily, but little by little, her control slipped away, her body spurring her to move faster, to ride him harder. His fingers bit into her, moved her faster still. His breath came in harsh blasts against her, her name rose to his lips in a husky growl and they peaked together, his climax feeding hers. As she sank against him, he once more wrapped tender arms about her, pressed a kiss into her temple, and whispered, “AmrĂąlimĂȘ
”
She smiled, breathless as she pressed her cheek into his soft hair. “AmrĂąlimĂȘ, Mr. Durin.”
He just held her, cradled against his chest, as he slipped from her and their breathing slowed. Pressing a kiss into her temple, he whispered, “I’m going to be late now, you realize.”
“Am I supposed to apologize, my king?” She lifted her head to meet his gaze, shaking her head as she added, “For I am n-n-not about to.”
“Oh, no, not at all.” He gave her a gentle squeeze. “But, I do have to go, mesmel.”
“I know.” She eased down from his lap, smiling as he tightened his arms about her to pull her to him once more. “Thorin, you have to go.”
“I know, but I like how you feel against me,” he looked up at her, his eyes soft and tender, his voice low and gravelly. His fingers danced along her back, up toward her shoulder blades and then back down to her hips. “You are so very beautiful, Jasna. Do you know that? I am a lucky dwarf, to call you mine.”
Heat flooded her at the emotion in his voice, swirling in those beautiful blue eyes. Never did she think any man would ever utter sentiments like those, never mind someone like Thorin Durin, who outwardly seemed so hard and gruff. 
She curved her palms against his cheeks. “I am the l-lucky one,” she murmured, smiling as she added, “I will m-m-marry a k-k-king.”
He chuckled softly. “That remains to be seen.”
“I’m still the l-l-l-lucky one, Thorin. Whether you are a king or not.”
He slowly rose, but didn't release her. “I should go, but I have no desire to leave you.”
“I need to get to the infirmary,” she told him. “I can only imagine the look on Óin’s face, sh-should I tell him I’m late because I was making love with you.”
“Tell him anyway. I’m curious as to how badly he blushes.”
She chuckled. “I think he w-would rather not th-th-think about it.”
He reluctantly let her pull away from him. “You’re probably right. I know the answer, but, let me escort you back to the infirmary?”
She shook her head. “As much as I would like to say yes, I don’t think it would be wise.”
He sighed softly. “I knew you’d say that.”
“You know me well, dwarf.”
He leaned in and swept a teasing kiss across her lips. “I will find you later, mesmel.”
“You know where I’ll be.”
Balin was still in the corridor outside Thorin’s chambers when Thorin emerged, leaning against the wall, looking more than a little perturbed. 
“I thought you’d gone back to sleep,” Balin remarked, pushing up and away from the wall. “The delegates are waiting and you will not win any favor by making them continue to wait.”
“I had to get washed and dressed and they’ll get over any irritation at my tardiness.”
They made their way back above and into the War Room, so dubbed because it was where all military maneuvers, both in war and peace time, were planned out. The room was empty, the long rectangular table of obsidian refinished to an almost mirror-like polish, with new chairs set about its perimeter. It was there that he’d plead his case for changing the archaic laws and hope Jasna could win over a notoriously hard-hearted faction of dwarves. 
“You look nervous, laddie. Are you?”
“Of course I am,” Thorin admitted, moving to his chair at the head of the table. “They will determine my fate and I am powerless to do much about it.”
“If anyone will win them over, as I’ve said, it’s Miss Stoneham.” 
“I hope so.” Thorin tugged out his chair and sank into it. “They should have been here last eve, to see her with Wyn’s widow.”
“I heard she was of great comfort to her.” 
“She was. I saw it. Óin confirmed it. She has a gift. And I—”
“Cousin!” Dáin’s boisterous voice rang out, bounced off the obsidian and jade walls around them. “What the deuce did ye drag us all here for because I canna believe for a moment it has anything to do wi’ a woman!”
Thorin stood, moving around the table to embrace his cousin. “I wish I could tell you otherwise, but it does, actually.”
“What?”
“Do you remember the woman working in the infirmary with Óin and Narnerra?”
“Aye, of course I do! She took care of my thumb and showed me what a jackanapes Ormir is. What about her?”
Leaning against the table, Thorin clasped his hands and let them come to rest against his thighs. “I’ve fallen for her, is what about her.”
“Fallen for her, eh?” Dáin’s blue eyes glinted with mischief beneath his heavy rust-colored brows. “Are ye tellin’ me, that hard heart of yers isna so hard now?”
Grinning, Thorin nodded. “I am. I wish to marry her, Dáin. I will marry her. I just need a little legal matter cleared up in order to do so.”
Dáin’s smile faded. “Ah
 the law regarding who the king can and canna marry. Well, ye know ye can count on me ta vote in yer favor. The lass is more than worthy as far as I’m concerned.”
“Thank you, Cousin,” Thorin said softly. “I appreciate that.”
“Ah, but isna me ye have to convince. I’ve met the lady. I know how highly in regard she is held here. But
”
Thorin sighed, nodding. “I know. The others don’t know and might not be so open-minded.”
“Exactly. But, we’ll want to speak wi’ her, too. She knows that, right?”
Thorin nodded. “She does. And she’s nervous.”
“The stammer, right?”
“It worsens when she’s nervous,” Balin broke in softly.
“And when she is frustrated,” Thorin added. “Both of which feed off one another and I won’t be allowed in when they wish to question her.”
“I can be here, though,” Balin told him. “And I will be more than happy to remain with her as long as she needs me to, if she wishes to have me here at all.”
“I appreciate that,” Thorin told him. “And I can ask her.”
“I’m sure Óin or Narnerra will also be willing to sit with her.”
Thorin nodded. “Again, I’ll speak to them and to Jasna. The decision is hers in the end.”
The door opened again and six more dwarves filed in. Thorin did not know their names, but as each one entered, they bobbed their heads and greeted him with the respect due his title. He pushed up and away from the table as the others took their seats and all just looked up at him. 
Dáin also skirted the table to sink into his chair and Thorin glanced over at Balin, then cleared his throat. “Thank you all for coming and welcome to Erebor. As you know, I’ve petitioned the council in order to amend dwarven law regarding the marriage of royals to non-royals.”
“Skalmar of the Ironfist clan, Your Majesty. May I?”
Thorin nodded. “Of course.”
“Good. Now, we understand what you wish us to agree to, but what we are curious about is why you wish to amend this. It is my understanding you were to marry a Miss Shael Whitbow of Ered Luin.”
Thorin nodded. “I know many thought that, but the truth of the matter is that she and I were never a couple and never formally betrothed.” Thorin held Skalmar’s stare easily. “And I’ve met someone else I wish to marry instead. Only, she is not of dwarven extraction.”
Skalmar’s eyes widened. “And what is she?”
“She is of Man. A woman who at one point lived in Esgaroth, but now calls Dale home. The daughter of a florist and a fisherman.”
“When did she relocate to Dale?” another dwarf asked. And at Thorin’s pointed look, the dwarf’s cheeks grew ruddy as he added, “Thadrid of the Stonefoot clan, Your Majesty. I beg your pardon.”
“She and her mother relocated in the days following Smaug’s destruction of Dale.”
“I see,” Thadrid replied calmly. “I assume you mean, when you and your kin unleashed the dragon prior to the Battle of the Five Armies?”
His gut curdled a bit at that even as he nodded. “I do, yes.”
“Your Majesty? Nafas of the Blacklocks clan.” He waited a beat. “So, you mean to tell us a woman whose home was destroyed as a result of your actions, has found her way into Erebor and has also found a possible way to the throne?”
Thorin bristled at the insinuation, but remained outwardly calm. “If you suggest she did so with an ulterior motive, allow me to disabuse you of that notion.”
“So, how,” Thadrid broke in, “did she come to be here?”
“Our healers, Óin and Narnerra, requested extra help following the battle, as we were overrun with casualties. There are very few trained healers between here and Mirkwood or here and Rivendell and there was no time to request aid from either kingdom. Miss Stoneham was a medical student with enough knowledge to make her an asset and so Óin asked that she join us.”
“I see.” Thadrid exchanged looks with Skalmar. “And how was she supervised amongst the dwarves?”
“You would have to ask Óin or Narnerra,” Thorin replied easily, “As I was one of the dwarves under her care. I was, and my nephews were as well.”
“So, this daughter of Man,” Nafas said, “was left in charge of the entire Durin royal family?”
“In charge? No.” Thorin shook his head. “She remained under Óin’s watchful eye, as she is still in training. But, as you can see, even if she had been left in charge, I stand before you almost entirely healed. Kíli and Fíli have also been discharged from the infirmary. Fíli currently is working with Miss Stoneham now to regain full use of his legs. I daresay if Miss Stoneham had ill intentions toward any of us, she had ample opportunity to act upon them. More than once.”
“So, tell me,” Skalmar said, “how did she come to be more than a healer to you?”
Thorin smiled. “I spent quite a bit of time in her company and over time, I’ve come to know her. And I know I can trust her with my life, because I have. She has proven herself time and again.”
The dwarf council members began whispering amongst themselves and Thorin sighed softly as he moved back to his chair. “I know the law was written to protect our people from outsiders and I understand why it was written. But, I find if archaic and rather offensive, since being of Man, or of any race not dwarven, does not by definition make a soul unworthy. She has saved countless dwarven lives with her skills and just last eve, offered comfort to a dwarrowdam who’d just lost her husband to an accident in the forces. She is kind and gifted and gentle and generous and would be an asset to our people as their queen. And all I ask is that the law be amended to allow the king to use his own judgment in choosing his mate.”
The whispering continued for several more minutes, then Skalmar looked up. “We would like to speak with your Miss Stoneham.”
Thorin nodded, his gut curdling even more at the tonelessness of Skalmar’s request. “Of course. Excuse me.”
He moved to the door and with a soft sigh, stepped out of the War Room. As the door closed behind him, he leaned against the wall, closing his eyes as he offered up a silent prayer to Mahal to allow him to choose the woman he wished to marry, and to have the council see why she would be a fine queen for Erebor. 
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wondernimbus · 5 years ago
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two sworn enemies pt. 2 — draco malfoy
pairing: draco malfoy x female!reader
summary: maybe being fancied by draco malfoy isn’t so bad, after all.
requests are closed for now. please refrain from plagiarizing my work!
click here to read pt. 1!
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"Why is it so bloody cold?"
[Y/N] is decked out in full winter apparel; a knitted Gryffindor sweater, ear-muffs, and a scarf that she has half of her face buried in.
Sitting in the Quidditch stands with the rest of her friends, she grumbles, "It's not even a Gryffindor match. We don't really have to be here freezing to death."
"Well, it's common courtesy," says Hermione, but she's just as cold as [Y/N] is; there's bits of snow stuck in her hair and the tip of her nose is pink.
Ron snorts loudly. “We’re here to watch Slytherin lose," he says matter-of-factly, still in the process of smearing streaks of blue paint across his cheek.
[Y/N] watches him, nose scrunched. "Well, aren't you the Ravenclaw fanatic."
He gives her a grin and holds out the small tub of paint. "Want some?"
She bunches up her lips in thought, then reaches out to take it. Annoyingly enough, Ron pulls back at the last moment, grinning wider than ever, and says, "Or d'you want to show support for your boyfriend Malfoy? Hermione, why don't you turn this green—"
[Y/N] dives over Hermione and Harry to smack Ron round the head, only for the pair to hold her back and push her into her seat.
Exasperated, Hermione huffs, "Honestly, Ronald, will you stop bringing that up?" She glares at him. "You know fully well [Y/N] doesn't like it."
Ron (and Harry, although he isn't as boisterous about it as the redhead), thinks that the "blond ferret" taking a fancying to her is one of, if not the most hilarious thing to have ever happened in history. Annoyingly enough, Ron has made it a habit to tease her about it every chance he gets—this one being one of them.
"If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought Ron fancied Malfoy with how much he talks about him," grins Harry. This earns him a smatter of blue paint across his face; Ron had flicked it at him.
With one last eye-roll, [Y/N] tears her gaze away from Ron and digs her nose further into her scarf. It really is very cold; snow is falling from the sky, seeping into her clothes, some landing on her hair and on her face. Thankfully there's not so much of it that the players on the pitch wouldn't be able to see around them, but still—[Y/N] imagines that it'd be a lot colder for them, having to fly around the stadium with the cold wind whipping at their robes.
There’s a buzz of loud chatter hanging in the air as conversations from all around them overlap over one another. The entire stadium is slowly filling up; students trickle into the stands, a majority of which have adorned themselves with blue accessories as a show of support to Ravenclaw. One side of the stands, however, is entirely green. Through the snow, she can see a big serpent-shaped balloon hovering over the Slytherin side.
"They’re coming out!" someone exclaims.
Sure enough, when [Y/N] looks down at the pitch, players from both teams have appeared and congregated at opposite ends of the pitch. Slytherin and Ravenclaw; whichever house wins will play Gryffindor for the house cup. Most bets are on Slytherin, but [Y/N] would have to be dead before she is caught anywhere supporting them.
"Look, it's [Y/N]'s boyfriend," gushes Ron.
More out of habit than anything, [Y/N] shoots the redhead yet another brief, scathing look. Draco Malfoy is there, even though he's nowhere near being her boyfriend, pale face set into a stoic expression of calm as he stands with the rest of his team, one hand on his broom and the other on his hip—and this specific image has her thinking back to what happened two weeks ago on this very same pitch, except the stadium was empty and it was only the two of them on the grounds; when he'd confessed to liking her.
As if Malfoy has somehow heard her thoughts over the noise of excited chatter coming from all over the stands, he looks up, eyes sweeping the seats in search for someone before finally, they land on her.
When he meets her gaze, [Y/N]'s breath isn't knocked out of her chest, nor does she start blushing madly. But she doesn't burn red with annoyance, either. All she does is stare at him, eyes narrowed, watching as his lips split into a wide grin and he raises his hand to wave at her.
She rolls her eyes, but thankfully—thankfully, the scarf tucked around her neck, reaching up to her nose, conceals the smile that tugs at her lips.
"May I ask everyone to please find themselves in their seats before the match begins," McGonagall’s voice echoes around the stadium, giving [Y/N] a reason to break eye contact.
She tears her stare away from Malfoy’s, inhaling a deep breath through her nose, feeling oddly exhilarated.
But this isn't anything new. That slight feeling of breathlessness, that unfamiliar sensation tickling at her stomach whenever she spots a certain someone in the hallway; she's been feeling it a lot lately, and though the cause seems to be pretty obvious, that is another thing she'd have to be caught dead before doing: admitting that she reciprocates some of Malfoy’s.. peculiar feelings.
"And they're off!" Dean Thomas announces. [Y/N] watches as the players soar high into the air until they're mostly level with the stands, a blur of blue and green robes rapidly zooming around the pitch. Slytherin is already in possession of the quaffle; not a surprise, considering Ravenclaw isn't exactly known for their exceptionally talented Quidditch team.
Malfoy, meanwhile—[Y/N] tells herself that the way her eyes dart around the pitch in search of a certain platinum blond is because she wants to watch the game properly and not for other reasons.
She spots him hovering somewhere above the rest of the players, face screwed up in concentration as his gaze moves around the pitch in search for the golden snitch. He looks even paler in winter, set against a backdrop of a cloudy sky and snow—
[Y/N] jars herself out of her thoughts and blinks, side-eyeing her friends (specifically Ron) to make sure they hadn't seen her.. observing the Slytherin seeker. (Not like it matters; it's not as though she fancies him, but Ron would certainly take it the wrong way.)
"Go Ravenclaw!" Ron practically screeches, waving his Ravenclaw banner in the air—when did he get that? "Kick Slytherin’s arse so Gryffindor can crush you in the finals!"
[Y/N] snorts. "Have it all thought out, don't you, Ron?"
"Go on and cheer for your Slytherin boyfriend, [Y/N], no one's stopping you," says Harry, grinning. She turns to face him, mouth open in disbelief, and lets out a quick breath of incredulous laughter.
"So, Harry," [Y/N] says, suddenly deadpan. ”I see you've chosen Ron’s side."
Harry snickers, then shrugs.
"Oh, Malfoy’s seen the snitch!" someone shouts from beside them. [Y/N] turns back to the game to see Malfoy zooming down the pitch, clutching the front of his broom as he swerves past Slytherin and Ravenclaw players alike in pursuit of the tiny golden ball all the way on the other side of the stadium, where [Y/N] and her friends are sat. He has the upper hand—Ravenclaw's seeker is only just now starting to fly after him, but she's a good distance behind and Malfoy is gaining speed.
"He’s gonna catch it!"
"Ravenclaw's even worse than I thought," grumbles Ron, slumping down in his seat.
But just as Malfoy passes by them, somehow, despite the fact that he is in pursuit of the bloody golden snitch and on the brink of securing victory for his team, he slows down just the tiniest bit, and then, in true Malfoy fashion—theatric as always in his displays of affection—he catches her eye and yells “This one's for you, [Y/N]!”, a grin on his face before he hurtles down the pitch, stretching out his hand towards the fluttering snitch—
"Malfoy’s got the snitch!" Dean Thomas screams into his microphone. "Slytherin wins!"
[Y/N] stares, feeling oddly warm despite the wintry weather, as Malfoy spins around in mid-air, triumphantly holding up the snitch for the rest of Hogwarts to see.
"Blimey," gapes Ron, wide-eyed, staring not at the Slytherin seeker but at [Y/N]. "That was—"
[Y/N] looks away from Malfoy to meet Ron's gaze, maintaining indifference. "He’s quite the charmer, isn't he?" she mutters, and hopes that her friends will think that the blush on her cheeks is because of the cold and not because of something—someone else.
But that's ridiculous. It is because of the cold, isn't it?
"It may be Malfoy," says Ron slowly, shaking his head, "But you can't deny that was bloody romantic. Felt like I was watching something out of one of those Muggle films."
"Yeah, we'll have to ask him for tips," says Harry, and starts laughing when [Y/N] rolls her eyes in response.
—
Malfoy may have stopped sending her Howlers, but that hardly matters because he has found every other way to pester her.
This includes consistently yelling out her name and shouting random pick-up lines every time he spots her in the hallway, as well as sending people to do her bidding—no longer first-years, but Crabbe and Goyle, who show up at random intervals everyday presenting her with a batch of different pastries. She always sends the pair off, but only after Ron and Harry accept said pastries for themselves.
"Blimey, this is heavenly!" gushes Ron, taking a passionate bite off of his second red velvet cupcake. "You sure you don't want a bite, [Y/N]? Hermione?"
[Y/N] offers him an exasperated smile. "No, thank you, Ron."
"Don’t thank me, thank your boyfriend."
The four of them walk into the dingy Potions classroom. Snape is nowhere to be seen, but it's only a matter of time before he swoops in all bat-like, so [Y/N] and Hermione quickly take a seat at their regular desk, right next to Ron and Harry.
"Have you done your homework?" asks Hermione, pulling out an assortment of parchment from her bag.
[Y/N] hums in response. "I doubt mine is half as good as yours, but hopefully I’ll scrape an acceptable."
"Oh, you're a good student, [Y/N]. Don't bring yourself down."
"Hard not to when I’m sitting next to the brightest witch in our year," she nudges Hermione’s shoulder, smiling. Hermione huffs, rolling her eyes, but it's clear by the pleased look on her face that she doesn't hate [Y/N]'s honest flattery as much as she lets on.
[Y/N] drums her fingers on the desk to pass time, not quite paying attention to the students filtering into the classroom. Or at least not until one of them calls her name and drawls, "Is someone sitting here?"
[Y/N]'s head snaps around to see none other than Malfoy, gesturing to the desk to the left of hers and Hermione’s. "Mind if I,” he pauses, grinning, "Slytherin?"
She purses her lips into a thin, tight line, inhaling deeply as she fights to keep her cool. Yes, there are times when Malfoy's gestures have her questioning her own hatred for him, but this—this is not one of them.
"That," she says, voice mostly level. "Is your seat, Malfoy. I don’t see why you have to ask me."
Which is a lie. [Y/N] knows why, of course. To get her attention. To woo her. But part of her wishes that Malfoy would realize that everything he is doing, from the overbearing pick up lines to the cupcakes to his constant public declarations of love, isn't something that [Y/N] thoroughly enjoys. Does she want him to stop yelling at her in the hallways? Yes. Does she want Crabbe and Goyle to stop bumbling up to her everywhere she goes (outside of the girl's bathroom is one example) offering cupcakes and pie and tarts? Yes. But does she want Malfoy to stop trying entirely?
Maybe not. Maybe part of her wants to give him a chance. He does seem to truly hold feelings, judging from his confession back at the Quidditch stadium, unless he's a terribly good actor.
And it wouldn't just be him she'd be giving a chance, either. Perhaps she'd also be doing so to herself. Because, over the past month, it's baffled her how quickly her feelings for him have shifted. Or maybe it's not a change of feelings, but rather realization that under all that sneering and pureblood prejudice, Draco Malfoy is a boy.
An annoyingly attractive one.
But there is so much more that [Y/N] dislikes about him. His snootiness. His arrogance. His lack of consideration for other people's feelings. He may be tall and lithe and undeniably handsome, and he may have very soft-looking platinum blond hair and stormy grey eyes like dark clouds, but he is also a prick. And that wins over everything else, no matter how.. visually pleasing he is.
So when a paper bird flutters in front of her halfway through the lesson, when Snape’s back is turned, [Y/N] hesitates. She knows fully well who it's from, despite not having to look to the side and meet his gaze.
From beside her, Hermione whispers, "Get rid of it, before Snape sees."
Exhaling, [Y/N] snatches the paper bird and quickly unfolds it.
She doesn't know what she's expecting to see, but it's certainly not the words "meet me at the Astronomy tower after dinner" scribbled across the parchment. And with a drawing of a face blowing kisses, no less.
[Y/N] sighs.
—
[Y/N] has no real feelings for Malfoy, so succumbing to his mysterious evening request at the Astronomy tower shouldn't mean anything.
Scratch that: it doesn't mean anything. Not to her. (Or so she tells herself.) This is a chance for her to tell Malfoy to sod off and to stop courting her. And for good, this time. No matter what that annoying little voice inside her head tells her, she can't possibly even consider the idea of actually giving in to him. (And to herself.)
So she's going to put a stop to it, once and for all.
"I’m going," she decides over dinner, slamming her palms down on the table.
"Going where?" asks Harry.
"The Astronomy tower," she replies resolutely.
"What, to go star-gazing?" Ron snickers. [Y/N] glances at him and realizes, quickly, that telling them had slipped her mind—she'd been far too preoccupied with her own conflicting thoughts.
She shifts in her seat. She doesn't necessarily need to tell them, does she? It's not as though it's important enough to share. And besides, Ron would only badger her about it. Mercilessly. [Y/N] can already picture him in her head, talking about Malfoy and snogging under the stars and Merlin-knows-what-else.
"Nevermind," says [Y/N], taking a bite out of a muffin and looking away. They don't need to know; it's not as though it's important.
—
After [Y/N] has walked up all of the stairs to get there, only taking one or two shortcuts, she's out of breath, but she creeps into the Astronomy tower anyway. It’s mostly dark save for the faint moonshine filtering in from the open sides, and, well—there he is.
Malfoy’s arms are crossed over his chest, his back mostly turned as he stands dangerously close to the railing, looking out over the dark landscape. Dim light catches on the side of his face, illuminating the grey of his eyes.
The curve of his nose.
Pale skin.
White-blond hair.
[Y/N] finds herself staring, one hand on the doorframe as though for support, brows furrowed in the middle in a slight frown as she watches him.
He looks lost in thought. Even from a few feet away, [Y/N] can see the far-off, distant look in his eyes. Like storms brewing behind dark clouds, she thinks to herself. It’s a quiet little whisper in the back of her mind that has her heart doing odd little flips inside of her chest that she never knew it was capable of.
But then she blinks.
This is the last thing [Y/N] needs. To see Malfoy stripped of his arrogance—to see him as he is, bathed in moonlight, glowing, almost. To look at him and to see a boy with eyes like molten silver and nothing more—it's the last thing she needs to convince herself that she doesn't feel something for him that isn't hatred.
No, she doesn't need this.
She turns around, breath caught in her throat, and starts walking down the steps. Accidentally, stupidly, her foot catches on a metal step and a loud clang echoes around the silent tower.
[Y/N] pauses, eyes wide.
"[Y/N]?" Malfoy's voice says. He can't see her. It’s too dark, and [Y/N] is too far down the steps.
She swallows. But instead of dreading what could come, she finds herself waiting, half-hoping that he'd check the staircase, that he would see her and—
And then what?
[Y/N] rushes down the steps, ignoring the loud noise her footsteps make on the way. This is the last thing she needs.
—
[Y/N] doesn't like Malfoy.
[Y/N] doesn't like Malfoy, and she is determined to make that clear. (Both to herself and to her friends, although the former seems to be taking a lot more convincing.)
"What is there to like about him? He’s nothing but an annoying pain in the arse who has an overwhelming amount of pride and arrogance simply because of his blood—which is not only something that he never rightfully earned but is also something that shouldn't even bloody matter, except he thinks that it does solely because he is an absolute nutter who has nothing better to do with his life other than leech off of his parents' money and shove it in other people's faces."
Ron meets Harry’s gaze from across the table, who seems to be trying very hard not to laugh. Swallowing down a forkful of pancakes, Ron looks back at [Y/N]. "I’m sorry," he begins slowly. "But remind me again why we're talking about Malfoy?"
"I’m not finished, Ronald," [Y/N] snaps, shooting him a dirty look. Ron raises his eyebrows. "As I was saying before someone so rudely cut me off, Malfoy is a nasty little git who finds joy in making other people suffer. he probably has tiny puppies locked up inside his basement just so he can laugh in their faces and revel in their misery because he is that horrible of a person—"
Harry lurches with poorly suppressed laughter.
"An absolute terrible excuse for a human being! He basks in other people's humiliation—mine, for example!—and I would much rather snog the Giant Squid than ever actually consider his—" She pauses, gritting her teeth. "Odd.. requests."
"It’s not like he's asking you to murder house-elves," Ron mutters.
"Something that I would rather do than date him!"
"[Y/N]!" Hermione gasps, looking genuinely offended as she, for the first time since they'd arrived at the Great Hall for breakfast, looks up from the homework she's rushing to finish. (As if her five pieces worth of parchment aren't enough—Flitwick had only asked for three!)
"Sorry, Hermione," [Y/N] says, offering her an apologetic look that she only half-means. This quickly turns into a fierce look of challenge as she swivels back around in her seat to face the redhead sitting next to her. "Honestly, since when have you started defending Malfoy?"
Ron blanches. "I’m not defending him!" he says indignantly, setting his fork down on his plate. "It’s just.. yeah, it's a bit odd that he's declaring his undying love for you out of bloody nowhere, but he's stopped badgering us, hasn't he? Nasty little ferret hasn't said a word to Harry for weeks! And that goes for me and Hermione, too!"
[Y/N] narrows her eyes at him. "So you think it's great that he's stopped annoying you at the cost of my suffering?"
"What suffering!" Ron exclaims. "He’s been treating you like a bloody princess!"
"Oh, why don't you just snog him yourself, then, if you think so highly of him?"
Ron’s jaw drops in shocked offense.
"Alright, that's enough!" Harry announces, reaching over the table to shove the two apart from each other. "Why doesn't one of you switch seats with me before you end up strangling each other?"
"I don't know, Harry," [Y/N]'s lip curls. "I might have to hold Ron back before he goes running off to his ferret prince—or should we just let him? Merlin knows he'd love to, won't you, Ronald?"
Ron’s teeth are gritted; his eyes dart around the food on the table as though looking for the most effective weapon. He seems to be choosing between a green apple and rhubarb pie.
Thankfully, Ron never gets to take his pick. The bell rings, saving everyone in the Great Hall from witnessing what could have possibly been a brawl between friends. "Come on, let's go," says Harry quickly, relief evident in his tone of voice as he ushers the pair to their feet. "Wouldn’t want to be late for class."
—
[Y/N] doesn't like Malfoy.
[Y/N] doesn't like Malfoy, but why does she find herself staring at him whenever she comes across him in the hallway the next day? Why, when Malfoy meets her gaze, does she look away and pretend to be immersed in something else?
And why in the bloody hell, when Malfoy playfully winks at her during Potions class, does she find it very, very hard not to smile?
She walks out of the dungeon classroom in a hurry with Ron, Harry, and Hermione, not wanting to spend a minute more in Malfoy's presence; she doesn't particularly enjoy being suddenly hyperaware of every move he makes, every little glance he sends her way when he thinks she isn't paying attention. It’s as though something in her system has gone awry. Is that why her heart feels like it's about to hop right out of her chest? Is that why she can't stop wondering what would've happened if she'd stayed at the Astronomy tower?
"Hey, wait up!” Harry calls loudly as they walk up the stone steps leading away from the dungeons and into the main hallway, which is bustling with students.
[Y/N], who had been walking far too fast in front of the three, looks back over her shoulder and sees that they're a few feet away. She stops, seemingly flustered, and waits for them to catch up.
"You look like you've wet your pants," says Ron.
"I’m not you, Ron," she retorts.
"Oh, can you two please stop bickering for once?" says Hermione, exasperated.
From behind the three, Draco Malfoy emerges from the potions classroom and begins walking up the stone steps. [Y/N]'s hands clench into fists at her side as she discretely presses her back to the stone wall at her sides.
The blond doesn't even as much as glance at Ron, Harry, and Hermione as he passes by them on the steps. [Y/N], however—once Malfoy has reached the step below the one she's standing on, he pauses, no less than two feet away from her, and quirks an eyebrow.
"What?" [Y/N] scowls, trying not to look at the strand of blond hair dangling in front of his eyes.
Malfoy’s gaze dances over her face. "Was it you?"
She meets her friends' eyes over Malfoy's shoulder. Ron and Harry have their eyebrows raised; Hermione looks concerned. [Y/N] takes a moment to compose herself—tries to force her heart back into her chest—before she folds her arms across her chest and looks at the Slytherin. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"At the Astronomy tower," Malfoy says, and moves up one step so that he's standing on the same one she's on. A foot away. "I heard someone last night, while I was waiting for you."
Oh, Merlin.
"You came, didn't you?" he presses on.
"No," [Y/N] lies, and hates how defensive she sounds. She shifts a little on her feet, her eyes skirting away to look at a random spot behind Malfoy. "I was.. at the library. Doing things of actual importance."
There’s a slight pause as Malfoy's nose wrinkles. "Must’ve been someone else spying on me, then," he finally says through a scoff, but [Y/N] knows disappointment when she sees it. He rolls his shoulders back and puts on his signature smirk, inclining his head towards her as he takes another step up the stairs. "Better hurry and give me an answer, [Y/N]," he tells her, grinning. "Before one of my admirers get to me first."
[Y/N] watches as he walks up the steps and disappears into the hallway.
"The library?" a voice says incredulously. She turns back to Ron, whose face is scrunched in disbelief. "No, you weren't! We were waiting for you there and you never came."
[Y/N] folds her arms across her chest indignantly but doesn't respond, instead walking up the stone steps.
"Malfoy said he was waiting for you at the Astronomy tower," says Hermione slowly as they trail after her; [Y/N] speeds up her pace. "Is that why you mentioned going there during dinner last night?"
[Y/N] emerges into the main corridor first. "No, I didn't."
"Yes, you did!" bursts Ron, sounding downright triumphant.
"Congratulations, Ron, you don't have the memory range of a teaspoon, after all," [Y/N] mutters, looking around. Malfoy is walking down the hallway a few feet ahead of them, Crabbe and Goyle at his side.
Ron ignores her. "I bet you did go. I bet you did spy on him—" And then he gasps, looking as though he's unearthed the secret of life. "Merlin’s beard, you really do fancy him, don't you?"
[Y/N]'s footsteps falter. Ron, Harry, and Hermione stop right with her.
Hermione is the only one who doesn't look stunned out of her mind. Looking between the two boys, she rolls her eyes and scoffs. "Honestly, is that so hard to believe?" says Hermione, frowning. "I understand that it's Malfoy and he is a prick, but [Y/N] is perfectly entitled to fancy whoever she likes." She turns to [Y/N]. "It’s fine, [Y/N], you don't have to feel guilty about it. Anyone would catch feelings if someone started doing such sweet things for them, even if it were someone like Malfoy."
"Blimey," says Harry, breathless. "Which part sealed the deal, [Y/N]? The pick-up lines? Or was it the cupcakes?"
[Y/N], who had been opening and closing her mouth like a fish blown out of water, finally stops trying to find words that just aren't there and instead drags her palm across her face in frustration. "I don't.." she says, sounding defeated, but really—now that she's faced with such confrontation, it's easier to admit to herself that maybe.. maybe she does fancy Malfoy.
Ron’s lips have split into a jubilant grin. ”I called it!" he says, smacking Harry's shoulder. "Bloody knew it!"
Hermione reaches out to rub [Y/N]'s back. "Don’t feel too bad about it, [Y/N]. I sort of knew—you looked at him differently after he confessed to you on the pitch."
[Y/N] sighs, realizing that no amount  of denying it will convince her friends. Or herself.
She does fancy Malfoy.
Properly acknowledging it—finally admitting it to herself—is oddly relieving. She’s been keeping her feelings cooped up inside of her chest despite the fact they are so much bigger than her, and now that she's letting them burst free.. now that she's coming to terms with them..
Well. It’s not the worst feeling ever.
Ron is still beaming, looking as though he's won the lottery. And apparently, in a way, he has: "Fred and George said it'd take you a month longer to give in. I said it'd take you less—guess I’ve won myself two galleons!"
[Y/N]'s mouth falls open. "You bet on this?"
Ron raises his eyebrows, as though surprised to hear that she didn't know. "Uh, I and the entire bloody castle."
Struck by a sudden burst of both annoyance and confidence, [Y/N], scowling, detaches herself from her friends and strides down the hallway towards Malfoy, full of intent. He hasn't noticed her yet; his back is still turned, but she catches up to him easily. And when she does, she unceremoniously bumps her shoulder into his and grabs his hand, quickly interlacing her fingers through his.
"What the hell—"
Malfoy, obviously taken aback, tries to pull his hand away, sneering, until his gaze lands on [Y/N].
"Keep walking, Malfoy," she says scathingly, not quite looking at him.
Baffled, Malfoy stares at her, then down at their hands, which are now tightly interlocked between them. [Y/N] scowls resolutely at the hallway ahead of her.
And then Malfoy laughs, more out of disbelief than amusement.
"Keep walking," [Y/N] repeats, this time turning to look at him, fighting to keep her gaze indifferent. The last thing she wants Malfoy to know is that there is an onslaught of tiny little butterflies rampaging in her stomach and a tingly feeling spreading from their hands all the way up her spine and into her heart.
Malfoy’s lips tug up into a wide grin—a real one, [Y/N] thinks. Not an arrogant smirk or a deprecating sneer; one that she can't ever recall seeing. But now that she has, she finds herself wishing he'd do it more often.
[Y/N] tugs him along as she walks, feeling the stunned stares of her friends boring into her skull from behind. (Ron is going to have a field day about this.)
"So," Malfoy begins, and she doesn't have to look at him to know that he's still grinning down at her. "Changed your mind, haven't you?"
[Y/N] rolls her eyes; she doesn't fail to notice the way that the students they're passing by are staring at them, eyes wide, whispering to themselves. "Isn’t this what you wanted?"
Malfoy shrugs. "Among other things."
She side-eyes him, muttering, "Does that include snogging?"
He makes an amused sound at the back of his throat. "You said it, not me."
[Y/N] has to grit her teeth to stop the corners of her lips from tugging up. They turn a corner down the hallway, disappearing from both their friends' views (assuming they haven't followed them). At this thought, [Y/N] takes a brief glance over her shoulder—and sure enough, there's a redhead peeking out of a group of very confused Ravenclaws.
Cursing Ron Weasley inside her head, she turns her gaze back ahead of her. ”I have Charms class next."
Malfoy raises his brows. "And what do you expect me to do with that information?"
"Walk me there," says [Y/N] briskly.
She can practically feel the surprise radiating off of the blond next to her. A moment later, he throws his head back in a loud laugh. "And you want me to be late to Transfiguration? It’s all the way on the other side of the castle."
[Y/N] hums. "Can’t even do that for the girl you fancy?"
There’s a beat of silence. His grip on her hand falters a little as he says, voice still nonchalant and yet at the same time holding an undeniable sense of sincerity, "I could if I knew she wasn't leading me on."
"She isn't," [Y/N] says, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.
Malfoy is staring at her with his brows pulled in together just slightly at the middle, giving off the impression that he's trying to decide whether or not she's being serious. He slows down his pace until he comes to a full stop, urging [Y/N] to halt alongside him until they're standing in the middle of the hallway, oblivious to the stares following them and the redhead a mere few feet away.
"How do I know this isn't a prank?" says Malfoy, lip slowly curling as he narrows his eyes at her, the first few traces of suspicion etching itself onto his face now that the whole ridiculousness of the situation has finally sunken in. [Y/N] can't blame him; her antics—suddenly marching up to him in the hallway, grabbing his hand and walking with him as though they've been doing it for years—all of it is uncalled for after having ruthlessly turned him down so many times before. But [Y/N] can't delve into a discussion of her conflicting emotions—at least not right now—so she hopes, at least for now, that he will take her word for it.
She clears her throat.  "Well," she begins, looking down at their hands; Malfoy’s grip has gone slack. "If I wanted to hold your hand, I’d do it because I wanted to. Not because I wanted to get a rise out of you." She lets her gaze go back up to his, brows rising in familiar challenge. "I don't stoop that low, Malfoy. You’ve been in love with me for years—shouldn't you know that by now?"
There are a few seconds in which the blond standing before her still looks at her with a scrutinizing gaze, lips set into a thin, hard line and his eyes swimming with conflict that [Y/N] wouldn't have been able to see from afar, but sees in perfect clarity now that she's standing a mere foot away from him. But then, after what feels like ages, Malfoy nods, slowly, frown smoothing out into an expression of—could that be relief?
"I will be late for Transfiguration, you know," he says, lips quirking up into a grin.
[Y/N] laughs. (A real one, Draco thinks to himself.) This time she doesn't try to stop herself from smiling; just lets her lips do so of their own accord. It feels nice. Freeing. "Better just one of us than two, don't you think?" she says, mirroring his playful grin. "And besides, Goyle can stand in for you. You two do have quite the resemblance."
"Oh, sod off."
And it really is very odd, because everything about this shouldn't feel right; they've been enemies for the longest time, and a year ago, [Y/N] would have been revolted at the mere idea of ever coming close to Draco Malfoy—but it does. That is, it feels right. Like they've been this way for ages and this playful, harmless banter is the most natural thing.
Draco isn't perfect—Merlin, does he have a long way to go—but if he means to stop being a prat as long as [Y/N] is at his side, then she is willing to venture into whatever has formed between them.
And if this little bond is going to involve any more of this—this being her and Draco exaggeratedly swinging their arms between them as he walks her to Charms class with their fingers still intertwined, snickering, waiting for one of them to start complaining about their arm sockets hurting—then maybe it isn't the worst thing ever, after all.
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dontjudgemeimawriter · 3 years ago
Text
Belated Flufftober Day 8: Shooting Stars
Here’s a snippet for Flufftober— although October has now passed, I’m now going back and trying to do the ones I missed. Today’s prompt is Shooting Stars and comes from @flufftober’s prompt list. I’m using the characters from Syndicate. These scenes are non-canon and written simply to practice with lighter content. Let me know if you want to be tagged in future responses for this event!
--
“Did you hear there’s supposed to be a comet tonight?” Raymond asked. His gaze had wandered upwards, looking at the night sky. He sat down, hands buried in his jacket pockets, on the edge of the top part of a skylight.
“How would I hear about that?” I followed his gaze, up at a sea of stars.
“I don’t know. I did. Some classmates mentioned it.”
“I don’t really
” I trailed off, distracted as the stars swam in front of me. When I focused on a star, they almost seemed to fade away and disappear, only to pop back the second my eyes wandered.
“Don’t really?”
“Don’t really pay attention to that stuff. Cosmic events.”
“Doesn’t help commit murder, huh?”
I swallowed, looked at him. He said it nonchalantly, without looking at me. I didn’t answer him, but I did move to sit next to him. I looked down through the frosted glass of the skylight, only seeing vague splashes of color through it. The comment and my lack of response seemed to hang in the air, awkwardly. “Yeah, I’m not a werewolf, Raymond.”
He chuckled. “Is there a moon tonight?”
I’d spotted it earlier, in the opposite direction. “Over there. Waning crescent.”
He laughed again, meeting my eye. “Terran.”
“What?”
“You just said you don’t pay attention to cosmic events, but you know if it’s waning or waxing?”
I grinned, seeing the irony. “It goes from right to left.”
“What does?”
“The moon.”
“What, it’s orbit?”
“No,” I laughed. “The light. The reflection of the sun. If the light is only on the left side it’s getting darker.” I didn’t know how better to explain it, but he was grinning at me.
“Okay. Got it,” he grinned, his gaze returning to the sky, but mine stayed on him, the profile of his face in the dim light, his lingering smile. “Do you know the constellations?”
“I know what constellations are,” I said, exaggerating, but very happy for him to tell me more, and he raised a finger, but of course it was hard to tell where exactly he was pointing.
“That bright star with the square under it is Lyra,” he moved his hand, “and there’s Ursa Minor. And up there,” he leaned far back to point directly overhead. “Is the Pegasus.”
I followed where he was pointing, seeing nothing but stars. “I know what a pegasus is. What are the others supposed to look like?” I certainly didn’t see a pegasus, either.
“The Ursas are bears. I don’t remember Lyra. And I don’t really see the images or anything. I just learned about which was which.”
I leaned back, too, and lay down on the skylight. After a moment, Raymond joined me, laying next to me and staring at the sky. “And you don’t know how the moon works.”
“Shut up,” he reached over to lightly shove my shoulder, then suddenly sat up. “Did you see that?”
“What?”
“Shooting star. Or the comet? I don’t know. One of those.”
“Isn’t a shooting star a comet?” I asked. “It’s not really a star.”
“No, I mean
 I don’t think so. Not necessarily. Shooting stars are smaller I think.” He lay back down.
“I missed it,” I said.
“Well maybe it wasn’t the comet,” he said. When he’s laid back down he was a bit closer to me, his arm against mine.
I stared at the sky, then glanced at him, then back at the sky, because he kept looking captivated and I couldn’t decide if I wanted to see what captivated him or simply watch him like that. When I looked at the sky, I searched he stars, trying to remember where the constellations he’d pointed out were. For a split second, there was a streak of light. “There!” I exclaimed, raising my hand to point, but of course it was long gone.
Raymond followed my gesture anyway. “Missed that one,” he said. “Was it the comet?”
“Comet’s gotta last longer than that, right?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe.” He was quiet again, and this time I kept my concentration on the sky, wanting to see it if it happened again.
“At least we both saw something,” Raymond said after a little bit.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“Thank one of them was the comet?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
He looked my way, raising one eyebrow. “Want to keep watching?”
I found myself smiling. “Sure.”
--
Flufftober Tag List (Ask to be +/-)
@puzzleddragon02
@sleepy-night-child
@drippingmoon
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buckyownsmylife · 5 years ago
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off to the races - harry styles smut
the one where harry was your boss and now that he’s not...
Warnings: former work relationship, harry is known for sleeping around in this one, reader finds it hot and likes it rough, sir kink, smut in general
A/N: okay, so I ended up diverging from the original request because technically, she’s no longer his assistant... but the idea of hierachy is right there! Also, I ended up changing the requested daddy kink for a slight sir kink - not usually one I particularly enjoy, but for this one, it just seemed right đŸ€·â€â™€ïž
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Harry’s P.O.V.
Such a pretty little thing. Been trying to get her in my bed for months, ever since she joined the company, but she swears she could never “sleep her way to the top”. I promised I wouldn’t promote her, she still didn’t budge.
I wasn’t greedy enough to fire her just to have her.
That’s why when the holiday celebration rolled around, I made sure to take her as my plus one, introduce her to Henry, praise her and talk her up. I knew his competitive streak would make him offer her a job. I knew she’d take it.
Because as much as she tried to deny it, she felt it too. That undeniable pull. That attraction that ran deeper than the physical, but was definitely dominated by it. And God, what wouldn’t I give to dominate her.
“Mr. Styles?” The way she tilted her head as she found me on the other side of her front door was way too fucking endearing. I could just eat her up whole. She was wearing a robe, I noticed - I knew it was late, perhaps maybe too late for a social visit, definitely too late for a social visit to a former employee, but I had planned this carefully.
“Forgive me for the time, you know how difficult it is to pry me away from work
 And with you no longer there, I think this is going to become more and more common for me.” She nodded, adjusting the light tissue to make sure that it wouldn’t show more than she wanted - more than what was proper, but she bit her lip at the same time, her eyes running me over until they found what I was holding.
“Ah, yes, this is why I came. I have something to give you in celebration for your first day in a new company. May I come in?”At my question, she startled, jumping away from the door and motioning me in despite playing with her fingers after I was already there. I raised an eyebrow as I patiently waited and that seemed to snap her out of her reverie.
“Would you like to sit? I-I’ll get us some glasses.” I looked at the sofa but turned my attention back to her, widening my stance as I stood blocking her from the rest of my apartment. I knew I stood towering over her, but that was precisely my intention. I wanted to make her feel small, at least in the physical sense. The difference in our heights had always been one of the things that attracted me to her.
“I’d rather have something else to quench my thirst.” She knew what I meant. It was obvious, but especially for someone who knew me as well as she did. But I could see that she still held some hesitation, some reminiscence of the time when she wouldn’t do this.
So I upped my game.
“I can smell you dripping all the way from here,” I noted, grasping her by the waist so I could have her body as close to mine as possible. “And you don’t work for me anymore. So can I please, *please taste your pussy?”
The question made her shiver, and although she couldn’t meet my eyes, there was a nod. That was more than enough for me. So I held her by the back of her neck and pulled her up to meet my lips, while I fumbled with the silk covering her body until I could press my hand on her navel, wiggle my way between her legs.
“Fuck, darlin,’” I whispered as she desperately tried to catch her breath. “Have I always made you this wet? Did you have to struggle with this all day during work? Answer me.” My grip on her jaw tightened as my voice lowered, and although she gasped, I knew she was pleased with my dominance.
“Y-Yes, you made me wet all the time.”
Y/N’s P.O.V.
“I fucking knew it,” he whispered just before he caught my lips with hers again, swallowing down my moans and whimpers with a far too talented tongue that so easily made my knees weak. “It’s only fair, sweetheart. I was always pretty fucking hard for you.”
It was that confession, paired with two fingers that parted my lower lips for a thumb to find, that had me finally breaking out of my control from the pure need to have the man that held me so easily in his arms.
“I know.” I watched his eyebrows shot up as he was faced with the realization that all of those times he thought he was being so inconspicuous, only to call one of the random girls in the department to help him sort his “problem”, I was fully aware of the entire situation.
“You do?” There was a smirk in his lips now, replacing the surprised expression. It was clear that he liked it, he liked knowing you were aware of everything, including how hard he fucked your coworkers, now conscious that he was thinking of you the entire time.
“Hmh.” He looked about ready to devour you now, but just before he could, something made the predatory expression in his face fall, replaced by something soft instead. It made my head tilt to the side in curiosity, but he didn’t leave me hanging for long.
“You have to tell me if something is too much, okay?” His tone was so soothing, it was the only thing that stopped me from laughing at the silly preoccupation that had clearly decided to burden him out of the blue.
“Mr. Styles
” I ran my fingers over the lapels of his suit, hoping to give him the best sultry gaze I could muster while I whispered the words I’d been waiting to say for so long. “Do it like you always do. I’ve heard the other women you’ve fucked around the building. I want you to treat me just the same.”
I could tell he had stopped breathing, and when my fingers slowly inched under his work shirt to find his abs tense to the touch, he actually shivered. “I may not work for you anymore
” I stood on my tiptoes to say the last part of the sentence, making sure he knew that I meant every part of what I said. “But you can boss me around as much as you like.”
Before I could even comprehend what had happened, Harry had taken off my robe, stripping me and revealing my naked body to his hungry gaze. Then, he had me on the sofa, surprisingly not securing a spot by my side, but instead opting to remain standing, still fully dressed, towering over me.
“Be a good girl and spread your legs.” Despite the overwhelming desire that I felt to be absolutely and completely *ruined by the man before me, I was still inexperienced enough to feel somewhat self-conscious about following his order without any sort of hesitation. Thankfully, he didn’t hurry or seemed impatient as I slowly opened my legs and jutted my hips up, offering my most private part to him.
But perhaps I’d been too quick to judge, because as soon as I’d obeyed him, he knelt before me and pulled me down towards himself with a particularly harsh grip on my hips, until they were completely out of the couch.
“Put your legs on my shoulders.” That was all the warning I got before he delved right in to lick me, warm tongue suddenly everywhere as I wiggled under his hold. Immediately, I understood why every single woman he ever slept with was desperate to have another chance with him.
Harry’s P.O.V.
She was delicious. Sweet and creamy and everything I’ve always imagined when I licked into all of those other employee’s peaches. And fuck, every single sound that fell from her lips was just music to my quickly hardening cock. I wanted to bury myself in her, but first I needed to have her cum dripping from my chin. I needed her to cum for me.
So I raised one of my hands that had been otherwise occupied with her fantastic ass and slowly dragged a finger through the same lips I was licking, making her gasp and whine, much to my delight. “Do you think I can fit two in here?” I asked, already forcing two of my digits in. The moan she let out was downright pornographic, better than anything I’d ever heard before, and I just had to tease her.
“What? Does that feel good?” Skipping slow and gentle altogether, I started forcefully plowing my fingers while curving them inside her tight channel, all the while still licking around them and sucking on her little clit. In seconds, I had her cumming already, and I hummed in delight at the wave of her sweetness that invaded my mouth. “Delicious,” I commented when she finally stopped squirming, letting me pull away to bite on the inside of her thigh. “Could eat you all day.”
A whine was my sign that she would oppose to that project, and I had to laugh when she begged, “Please, just fuck me, sir. I need your cock in me.” Hearing her address me the same was as she did during work fucking *wrecked me. Never before had anyone done something similar - always too eager to try to fabricate a connection that just wasn’t there. And while there definitely *was something between us, hearing her address me like this, especially now that she didn’t have to, only made me even harder.
“I need it too, kitten.” My hands roamed all over her body, stopping on her breasts for a while to pull on her nipples before I finally managed to force myself away to work on my pants. And then I was easing myself into her, mouth open to release out-of-breath pants as I struggled to keep some semblance of control.
Y/N had thrown her arms over her face, covering it from my eyes, and I knew it was because she was suffering as much as I was to keep still while we both adjusted. Smiling, I captured her wrists to pry them away so I could see her again, before mocking, “Don’t be shy. I know you can take it.” 
She didn’t like that. She was determined to let me know just how eager she was to take every inch of me, and that much was obvious not only in the fire in the eyes, but also by the way she started to writhe underneath me.
Chuckling,  I gave into what we both wanted, starting to fuck her roughly and curling my hand over her neck, cutting off the air just enough to get her complicit once more. “I know, I know,  darlin’. I was only messing with ya.”
She clawed at my still clothed chest, holding onto my shirt as I filled her over and over again, paying attention to every little sound that escaped her beautiful lips. God, she was so fucking tight. And when I picked up the movements, fucking her rough and dirty, just like she told me she wanted, it didn’t take long at all to have her thrashing desperately, her orgasm reaching her like a freight train.
“You cummin’, sweetheart?” I asked, holding onto her neck a bit more tightly just to feel her pussy clench around me. At her answering groan, a stupidly satisfied smirk painted my lips, still incapable of believing this was actually happening. “Who’s fucking you this good? I’m gonna let you breathe, but only if you scream my name when I do. Do it. Fucking scream it.”
Y/N’s P.O.V.
I cried out his name as stars took over my sight. I had no doubt my neighbors heard it, but in that moment, it was impossible for me to care about anything other than the feeling of Harry’s cock as he brutally pounded me like he was trying to prove to himself that he hated me.
“Fuck, kitten. If you weren’t so adamant in keeping me away, I could have made you scream like that in the office, had everyone know you were milking my cock so good.” The thought of my coworkers hearing the sounds of our frantic fucking only served to leave me wetter, especially when his hand trailed down my body to find my clit engorged and throbbing for him.
“Just another one, darlin’,” he pleaded when I tried to wriggle away from him, too fucking overstimulated to take the added attention to my little bud. “Just wanna feel you cumming one last time, c’mon, milk my cum, cum with me.”
And so I did.
When his body fell down on the couch next to me, I looked down to see his cum dripping down my thighs, making me shiver as the realization of what we’d just done finally settled over me. I’d fucked my boss. I let Harry finally fuck me.
“Come here.” Strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me on a warm lap before I could spiral even further down my madhouse of worries. “Just gimme a few minutes, huh?” My look of confusion must have been obvious, because upon looking at me he just chuckled, squeezing me tighter against his chest. “You didn’t seriously think I was done? I still want to fuck you, sweetheart. This hasn’t nearly helped fulfill my desire for you.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I resorted to remain cuddling my former boss, our legs entwined over my sofa as I listened to his heart beat right under my ear. I could get used to this.
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angry-geese · 4 years ago
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At Dawn’s Break III
PB!Dio Brando x Maid!Reader, Jonathan Joestar x Reader (platonic)
Warnings: none! sfw, mention of death, but nothing too graphic. Mostly plot. Not the healthiest relationship dynamic. Technically yandere Dio but its very tame
Notes: Part One- sfw, Part Two- nsfw, Part Four - nsfw
This has been in my drafts for so long I’m so sorry. I do have a friend helping me edit my ao3 stuff so there might be some grammatical differences between that and the stuff posted here but i'll try to keep it as consistent as possible- story-wise its still the same.
In the coming months, word would arrive of your father’s death.
Sad wasn’t the right word for it. The man was old, sick, and frail. He fell ill and never recovered. Things like that happen. It was expected. His passing was quiet, happening in the early hours in the morning. You had grieved his death long before it actually happened. Your love for him was more out of a sense of duty than anything else. He was never a proper parent, the harsh expectations of life were thrown upon you rather young. At nineteen you were left as the sole guardian of your siblings. Some nights you would scream about the unfairness of it all, others you would wallow in your pity. The constant "sorry for your loss"s infuriated you. It would not bring him back. It would not fix this hole you've dug for yourself. It did nothing to justify what you've gone through. The world wasn't going to stop spinning just for you to feel sorry for yourself.
So you returned to work.
Your meetings with Dio grew fewer and further apart. Your conversations were short, ending with arguments. What he could dish out, you threw right back. Often you found yourself bitter and frustrated with him, leaving much space between the two of you. It wasn’t that you loved him any less, but he wasn’t exactly understanding in this matter. Neither of his fathers- adopted or biological- could he stand. Putting it plainly: Dio was awful at comforting people. Sympathy was not one of his strong suits. Going to him for comfort was out of the question.
Your life was soon after consumed by the mundane nature of work. The repetition of it you found soothing. It was nice to have a routine. Even if Dio wasn’t there for you, it was. The head maid took notice in your sudden interest in work, and blamed Dio for your lacking efforts. You just nodded and kept your head down.
Mr. Joestar would soon fall ill. Due to his old age, it didn’t come as a surprise to many. Very few questioned it. He was older, but seemingly healthy at the time. He fell sick overnight with the flu, which soon turned to pneumonia. It was not looking like he would recover. His coughing fits could be heard from across the manor. Much of it reminded you of your own father, so you often stayed away, only coming around when it was asked of you.
It makes you wonder if Dio feels the same sense of duty to his father. Probably not. He does not understand family ties in the same way you do. He was very attentive when Mr. Joestar fell ill, often providing medicine for him. If you were called to help, he would go in your place. It feels false, like a mockery of a doting son. Yes- he's providing for his father, but it feels like an alien trying to copy a human. Like a robot trying to replicate human love. It’s not out of any kindness in his heart. What he feels isn’t love. Sometimes you don’t think he’s capable of it. But if he did love something, it was power. He’d never admit it, but it was also you. Having you so consumed with grief enraged him. It was a childish want for attention that he found hard to conceal. He never took out his anger on you, finding himself afraid of turning out to be like his birth father driving his mother into an early grave. Often he thought about how easily he could force your hand, make you chose between him and your family. Deep down he didn’t want to toss out an ultimatum. You had just as much of a bite as him; unstoppable force meets immovable object. In no way he saw that ending well. Others had noticed the growing distance between you. People talked- as they did- rumors spread.
“Y/N.” Jonathan’s voice startles you.
“Mister Joestar, how-”
“Call me Jonathan.”
You cringe at the interruption.
“Jonathan.” You say. “How can I help you?”
“Will you take a walk with me?”
He guides you out to the garden. Winter has left it scraggly and barren, washed out in cold, white light. A few wilting leaves cling to the trees. Only a handful of rooms are lit within the house. It feels personal, being dragged through the place where you spent so many of your nights with your lover. Calling him that feels strange. Lover seems like too innocent of a word.
Over your time at the Joestar estate, there isn’t much you know about Jonathan. Dio talked of him. Often. It was never good, though he had a way of exaggerating things. By now you’ve learned to take it with a grain of salt. Your meetings with the second Joestar son have been few and rather brief. He seems sweet, albeit a bit naive and too engrossed in high society to talk with the likes of you. The girls in the kitchen swoon over him, although he’s sweet on a neighbor girl. Erina- you’ve heard of her. She’s been over for dinner before.
"How are you?" He asks.
"Fine, I suppose." You say, a bit irritated with the small talk. "What is it you need of me?"
"I heard what happened," absentmindedly he picks at his nails, "and I wanted to give my condolences. I imagine this situation is... unpleasant for you."
"I manage." You say. "But I doubt that's what you brought me out here for."
He nods. "I wanted to ask you something."
"Then ask away. I'd be happy to answer."
“You’re close with Dio, aren’t you?” He asks.
“A bit. Why?”
While you’re almost certain he knows, it feels easier to lie. You were not the star-crossed lovers that Jonathan and Erina were, the type of partners that made the girls you work with swoon and wish for such a thing, the type of love people write books about but fail to recreate. Your relationship was more out of a mutual agreement than it was proper love, but you suppose it was there. The two of you were angry, scathing people who were capable of god knows what. Together you could be terrifying.
“You two seem to spend quite a lot of time together.” He says. “Have you noticed anything strange with him?”
“No.” You say. “I haven't noticed anything like that."
"He's awfully attentive with father..."
"It's bizarre." You say. He laughs.
"I'm heading to London in a few days- to the university. Father's medicine hasn't been working, and I want it to be examined." From his coat pocket he produces a small green bottle. it's familiar. Dio has one quite like it.
"Do you need anything while you're away?" You ask, wishing to get back to your work. There was laundry that needed to be done.
"No," he says, turning to you, "thank you for your time. I should get going."
Before you can leave, he stops you.
"I know it's no business of mine, but my brother is bad news. You're a sweet girl and I don't want anything to happen to you. Dio is capable of things you couldn't even imagine."
"You're right. It is no business of yours."
He gives you a quick goodbye before leaving you alone in the garden.
Over time, Dio has grown more serious about keeping you close. He has a malicious, possessive streak to him. Your recent distance has only brought that out more. There is no talk of marriage- his adoptive father would never approve- but he talks of the future. Often. For you, the future meant work. To some extent, you could live with that. You never knew what it meant for him. He jokes of world domination.
You’re not quite sure you want to rule the world, but you do want to get out of London.
You stop just under the apple tree. It’s sickly and sad looking. The last of the fruit has fallen off and rotted. A few wilting leaves cling onto the branches. Jonathan gives you a quick goodbye, before returning to the house.
The door to his room is open. A lantern is lit, though the curtains are drawn shut. There’s no need to knock, you’re the only person who will walk in.
“Sit with me, pet.” Dio says.
Maybe the nickname has grown on you. It no longer draws out the same reaction of disgust and discomfort. Time has softened your hard outer shell. He opens his arms and instinctively you go into them. His chest feels unnaturally cold, but being so close to him makes you feel safe. The smell of his cologne is familiar and comforting, you find yourself leaning in closer. You allow yourself this one moment of weakness. He rests his chin on top of your head.
“I don’t have long,” you say, “I must get back.”
He pulls you closer. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”
“Jonathan came and talked with me earlier.” You say.
You could almost swear you heard his heart skip a beat. His grip around you loosens, allowing you to shift to face him. His expression is unreadable.
“Yes.” He says. “I figured he would.”
“Why?”
You almost ask what he’s done.
Accusing him of something would only make him shut down. You already have a guess. The entire conversation leaves a bad taste in your mouth. It’s a constant unease and discomfort, more than it is outright pain. He's scheming- as he does- but more importantly, he hasn't told you about it.
“My brother doesn't believe in my ways.” He says. "I would never do anything to hurt father. It's no fault of mine that he won't recover."
"Then tell me what was in the bottle." You say. "As of right now, Jonathan is on his way to get that 'medicine' tested."
"I never gave any of it to him."
Jonathan won't see it that way. The authorities surely won't be as kind as his brother. And if he gets caught- what then?
"So you give it to someone else- so some unassuming person is killing him."
Dio doesn’t respond. Do you really expect more of him? He’s proven to be capable of many things. You’ve long since learned he wants to be the sole heir to the Joestar estate. It was a given. Power is something he craves. As much as he jokes about world domination, there's always a serious tone behind them. In the beginning, it just seemed like his nature; he was always collected and intense. Some truth must have been behind them. He makes no attempt to hide that. But this...
Murder is a bit too cold-blooded for your tastes. Morally you don’t have the high ground. You don’t find yourself above much, but you'd like to think you're above murder. If its what you need to do to survive, you believe you'd give it a pass, but as the time comes you're less sure of it. Mr. Joestar gave Dio an opportunity that doesn’t even come once in a lifetime for many. It feels like a slap in the face, just adding insult to injury. This feels like betrayal in the purest sense of the word. While you aren’t close to his father, you have a bit of respect for the man. His death would not cause you the same grief as your own father’s, but you would be sad.
But he is old, and not all old people recover from illness.
Most of the estate would go to Jonathan upon his father’s death. Really, this seems short-sighted. As the younger son, Dio isn’t entitled to all that much. But getting rid of his brother might be easier said than done. Part of you is angry for how little he’s thought this through. Truly, you expected more from him. With as much as he schemes, you had expected a better plan.
Your reaction isn’t quite what he expected. Anything but blind love and acceptance is seen as betrayal to him. To you, everything that could go wrong, has gone wrong.
If he fails- if- there is no recovering from this. If he is caught, many signs point to you as an accomplice.
Silently he exits, leaving you alone in his dark room.
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andraaste · 4 years ago
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I am not your enemy - Lance fanfiction part 10
Well finally, chapter 10 is here sooner than expected ! Happy reading my friends 💕
Chapter 10 : You are very far from the account, my beautiful
- I've been doing quite a bit of research on the powers of aengels and dragons since the other night, and there is something I would like to try. But for that, you have to trust me a minimum.
- All right, tell me what to do.
Without warning, Lance grabbed my hand and held it in his, this one made slightly rough by its semi-transformation. He had no say in letting me understand what he was waiting for. Closing my eyes, I focused on the now familiar tingling sensations of the contact of his skin against mine. The latter, still weak, ran through my fingers with a pleasant feeling. It was soft, almost natural, as if my palm had only waited for this contact to finally feel completely itself.
Locked in the cold huge cage of his tanned hand, my fingers began to vibrate slightly as the comforting warmth of my powers began to roam my arm. One against the other, our palms seemed to constantly counterbalance two radically opposed temperatures, struggling to find a happy medium. Strangely, I felt soothed by this sudden contrast akin to a duel of fire and ice. It was a reflection of our interactions, at Lance and me.
Complex, yet intense.
When my light finally diffused through our fingers, I felt its quiver slightly as it gradually grew more confident. I visualized it penetrating his skin, running through his muscles, up to his arm. Exactly like his ice had done on my body two days earlier.
A slight breath escaped his lips, which made me open my eyes again and, for a moment, I couldn't take my gaze from the smile that marked his face.
A proud smile, and above all sincere.
I couldn't stop my lips from echoing his. My powers thus awakened, I felt fully myself, and it was powerful, exhilarating. My light took on vividness, of a color with equally warm hues, marking the skin of the dragon in multiple streaks similar to mine, like a multitude of beams of light. I could see my energy pouring into him, running through his veins, marking every one of his pores.
Suddenly, his ice mingled with my heat. The fine lines of lights that ran through his arm multiplied into new ones in bluish hues, these seeming more vivid than mine. With astonishment, I discovered them running through me in turn. Slowly, as if trying to perfectly marry those already existing, mingling with dissonance on my pale skin.
I was totally hypnotized by the spectacle that presented itself to me, so much so that it took me a while to notice that Lance had loosened his grip to come and let his fingers run languidly over my wrist, thus tracing invisible shapes against my skin. Several shivers ran through me under his slow movements and I wasn't sure he himself noticed what he was doing. Closing my eyes for a moment, I focused on the gentle, yet sure, movements the dragon made. So, as with Leiftan, I thought I felt an emotion that was not mine. A light feeling, close to admiration. Confused, I opened my eyelids and looked into his blue eyes.
Lance hadn't taken his eyes off me.
He suddenly understood what had just happened. Pulling on my wrist, he pulled me closer to him, bringing his lips to the hollow of my ear.
- Who allowed you to enter my head, little human ? he whispered to me.
His voice, both sweet and teasing, sent a shiver running down my spine. So I could feel his breath against my neck and knowing him so close to me made me both nervous and languid.
- It's you who is far too easy to read, I had nothing to do with it.
His weak laugh, with much more hoarse intonations than usual, grabbed all my attention.
- How did you do that ?
- I don’t know how to explain it. It happens to me sometimes in Leiftan's presence since we fought together, but I didn't think it was possible with anyone else.
The dragon imperceptibly contracted its jaws at the hearing of the aengel's first name.
- I see. Again, it's probably because of this exchange of powers, he told me, pausing a little before resuming, a slightly more sullen tone. So does that mean you feel his emotions ?
- It happens sometimes, yes, I answered him innocently.
He let out a much less jovial laugh as he leaned on the dresser behind him, his back arched slightly in my direction. Never breaking the link between our skins, he nonchalantly put his hand that still held mine on one of his thighs, his palm up, leaving me free to withdraw it if I wished.
- I guess he's still overflowing with sweet feelings for you.
I gave him a heavy look, which he answered with a vague shrug.
- Don't look at me like that, you had to be blind not to see what he felt for you. I remind you that I spent a lot of time with him and I can assure you that he only had your name in his mouth.
It’s true that Ashkore and Leiftan had been allies, there was a time.
I realized that, when he behaved so relaxed around me, like a moment ago, Lance sometimes managed to make me forget this tumultuous past that we shared. And I had to admit that these moments, however fleeting they were, were sometimes pleasant.
- Nothing ever happened between Leiftan and me, his feelings have always been one-sided and to be honest, I think he felt that much because I was like him. What's more, I was with Nevra at that time.
My interlocutor observed me for a moment without saying anything.
- Andraste, you can believe me when I tell you that he fell madly in love with you the moment you arrived. It's not just a matter of race, although I can understand that it sounds appealing. I myself was curious as to why you were so important to him, but I came to understand that he was just really infatuated with you. On the other hand, I'm intrigued that you still feel his emotions if this phenomenon dates from the battle, he added.
I pondered his words. Leiftan's feelings for me troubled me, I didn't know what to think.
- I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe spending the last few years together in the Crystal has brought us closer together, who knows ?
Lance winced slightly at hearing the theory that didn't seem to please him much, it seemed.
How was it possible that I could feel their deepest emotions, and most importantly, why didn't they seem to feel mine in return ? I didn't understand a thing. I had convinced myself that this was the result of our aengel powers, but why was this also happening with the dragon ?
Our conversation having distracted me, I realized that my light still continued to shine weakly on his skin, running under the sleeve of his top. And it was... simple. Without any effort to provide. I then remembered a detail. During our training several days ago, when my powers had reactivated as anger had risen in me, their color had turned whitish, totally cold. While at this precise moment, the latter shone a much more orange hue, pouring a pleasant sensation down my muscles. Did my emotions interfere with the process ?
Catching me off guard, Lance pulled on my wrist and pulled me even closer to him. So brought together, I could make out every detail of the scales that dotted her neck and jaw, they bewitching me with their almost unreal shades.
- I don’t hide from you that I don’t hope that it’s the case, he said to me in a deep and low voice, making my heart beat a little faster without me knowing why.
- And why is that, exactly ?
His gaze became more penetrating. He raised an eyebrow as I leaned in a little more, until I in turn came to press my lips close to his ear.
- Oh by the way, if you could stop calling me "little human" when you light up the room with my powers, I added lower.
I felt his lips widen against me as he slid a hand through my hair to reposition it behind my ear.
- A human with two or three powers, at most. I wait a little better to be blown away.
Angered, I pulled back to slap him on the shoulder with my free hand. Lance rubbed the affected area before laughing frankly at my daring.
- You are easily offended.
- And you should avoid letting your guard down in my presence, you know that I tend to get carried away a little.
- I thought I noticed it, indeed. But I guess I tend to like it myself, he said with a mischievous sneer.
We stared at each other for several long seconds, a silly smile stuck on our faces as our hands seemed unwilling to let go. Positioned in this way, our bodies standing far too close to each other to remain conventional, I felt strangely relaxed. And when his eyes suddenly drifted lower, peering down at my mouth with some undisguised curiosity, I found myself wondering what would happen if our lips met. If the simple contact of our skin had such virtues, what would it be in the face of more privacy ? I had the impression that each of my emotions was heightened tenfold in his presence, and like an addiction, I had this impression always wanting more, never to be entirely satisfied.
Lance seemed to recover and I was surprised to see his scales slowly resorbing.
- We're going to stop there for tonight, he said softly as he began to regain his human form.
His skin finally returned to its usual appearance and quickly, no more draconian attributes marked Lance's body.
Cautiously letting go of my hand, he let his fingers run along my skin until only emptiness caught up with me. The broken link, our powers diminished in liveliness, descending the lines drawn on our respective skins in the opposite direction, to the tips of our fingers. Disappearing totally, I felt a cold suddenly embrace me as the warmth of my light and the coldness of his ice no longer caressed me.
I was cold for the first time since waking up, and I felt that as I left Lance's coolness.
The dragon leaned a little more against the edge of the dresser and observed me for a moment without saying anything, as if lost in an internal reflection that he didn’t seem to want to share with me. Suddenly, he raised an arm and came to rub a loving hand through my hair, catching me totally off guard.
- Well done, Andraste. I had my doubts you'd make it, but ultimately I'm impressed, he told me as he slowly pulled his fingers away from my scalp, pouting mockingly.
I crossed my arms, an eyebrow raised in annoyance.
- You really don't have any hope in me, actually.
His soft laughter echoed again as he finally pulled away from his prop. Leaning over me once again, his large figure towering over me completely, he whispered to me, like a secret :
- If you knew what I think of you... you are very far from the account, my beautiful.
(Chapter 11)
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writeforfandoms · 4 years ago
Text
Far Across the Land 3
Find my masterlist
This will be Ezra x f!reader x Frankie after a few chapters.
Finally all three of them in the same place! Let’s see how this goes. 
Warnings: Swearing, this gets a bit steamy at the end but nothing explicit. 
Taglist: @astroboots​ @loversandantiheroes​ @fandom-blackhole​ @pedrocentric​ @beskarprincessjenny​ @sarahjkl82-blog​ @cannedsoupsucks​ @liviiii98​ @seasonschange-butpeopledont​ @princessxkenobi​ @thirddeadlysin​ @sunnydunnydays​ @pbeatriz​ (As always please let me know if you want on or off this ride!)
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The pilot’s door on the helicopter opened and a figure hopped out easily. Frankie looked just the same – still wearing that same hat, still a little scruffy around the jaw and upper lip, still with the big brown eyes. And he still smiled when he saw you.
You left Ezra behind for the moment, jogging over to throw yourself at Frankie in an enthusiastic tackle-hug. He laughed quietly as he caught you, holding you close for several long moments.
“Hi sweetheart,” he said, finally pulling back a bit.
“Hi Frankie.” You grinned. “You’re looking good.” You took a half-step back, leaving your hands on his shoulders, to take him in. He was looking good. He looked healthier than last you saw him, happier, more relaxed. “But you still have the fashion sense of an old Earth trucker.” You reached up to tap the end of his hat with a grin.
Frankie grinned at you. “And you still have the fashion sense of someone living out of a pod,” he teased right back.
“I mean, you’re not wrong.” You finally took a full step back. “Thank you for doing this. Really. I wouldn’t want anyone else here with us.”
Ezra finally stopped next to you, and Frankie’s gaze gravitated to the other man. Having them both here was a little startling, actually, and made you realize how similar they were. They were close in height. They both had dark hair (although Ezra of course had his little blonde streak). They both had some facial scruff, although Ezra’s was shorter. They were both, actually, very attractive men.
Not that this was a new thought. You’d noticed how attractive Frankie was within minutes of meeting him, and hadn’t needed much longer than that after meeting Ezra.
“You must be the pilot I’ve heard about,” Ezra said, extending his hand with a friendly smile. “Pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Ezra.”
“Ezra.” Frankie grasped his hand. “Pleasure’s mine.”
“You have any trouble with anything?” you asked Frankie, finally looking at the helicopter. It looked big.
Frankie shook his head, briefly tipping his hat back to scratch at his forehead. “Nah, no problems. Santi helped out a bit.”
“You mean butted in,” you said, grinning.
“That too,” Frankie admitted easily.
“We should start loading up before it gets any later,” Ezra said, looking at you. “I would like plenty of time to scout an appropriate camping spot near enough the dig site.”
“Alright.” You turned to head back to the pod, both men following you. “You seen good camping spots while you were out doing recon, Frankie?”
“How do you know I was doing recon?” Frankie asked, somewhere between impressed and teasing.
“Please. Of course you’re doing recon. You won’t let me go in somewhere blind.” You smirked, though neither of them could see it.
Frankie huffed a laugh at that. “Depends on where you want to dig,” he answered. “But there are good spots, yeah. We’ll find one that works for you both.”
“We are still a fair ways from the dig area marked on my map,” Ezra piped up. “It may take some time to find an adequate place to stop.”
“That’s fine. Long as I know where you need to be, I can get you there.” The quiet confidence in Frankie’s voice made you smile.
“Ez, why don’t you and Frankie start with the chemicals?” you suggested, glancing back at the two. “I’ll start with our stuff.”
Ezra nodded, letting you go in first. It took the three of you a while to get the supplies all transferred from the pod to the helicopter and set up to both Ezra and Frankie’s satisfaction. Frankie made sure you were strapped in before he got the helicopter off the ground, staying quiet and letting you and Ezra take in the view first.
“Holy shit,” you muttered into your headset. This planet wasn’t well populated, and right now you were having a hard time understanding why. The mountains rose in front of you, faintly blue and shimmery, dotted with silver-green trees and shrubs. The sky was nearly cobalt.
“There are minerals in the soil here,” Ezra told you, grinning at your reaction. “That is what causes the mountains to sparkle so. Worthless, but pretty.”
“Very pretty,” you murmured, eyes wide. “I don’t think I’ve seen trees that color.”
“No,” Ezra agreed. “An uncommon color, certainly, though I’ve seen something similar on another planet.”
“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, still entranced.
Ezra hummed. “It certainly is impressive,” he agreed, though he winked at you. You huffed and swatted his arm.
“Not much further,” Frankie advised the two of you.
“I’ll assist in finding us a spot on which to make our base,” Ezra offered, patting your thigh. “You enjoy the ride, starlight.”
You hummed your acceptance of that. Between the two of them, you were in very capable hands.
“There,” Ezra said at length, pointing to something you couldn’t quite see at your angle. “That spot looks fairly well sheltered, and large enough for our purposes.”
Frankie nodded, and the helicopter dipped and turned a little. Ezra sat rather abruptly next to you, and you grinned at him.
“Tomorrow we can start digging,” you murmured. “We’ll get set up tonight, have some food, and call it a day.”
Ezra eyed you, clearly debating whether or not he wanted to argue. Then he shrugged. “As you like, starlight.”
“First day on a dig is a lost cause, Ez, you know that.” You shook your head at him. “Besides, we’re not on a schedule. We’ve got lots of time.”
Ezra huffed but didn’t argue. Frankie got the helicopter set down with only a little bump, and you unbuckled eagerly.
“Wait a minute—“ Frankie started, scrambling at his own buckles.
You ignored him this time. There was nothing up here, you’d seen the landing site clearly. He was just being a worrywart. So you popped the door open and hopped out before either of them could stop you, moving to the center of the space and turning in a slow circle to get a good look. Ezra really had picked a good spot – it butted up against the mountain, with a few trees on the far side helping to provide cover and stability from two directions. The clearing was easily large enough for the helicopter and camp set-up. You’d have to find a water source, but you’d seen some around so you weren’t too concerned about that.
“Sweetheart, you have to stop jumping out ahead of me,” Frankie scolded, stopping next to you.
“I’m fine, there’s nothing here,” you said, still greedily drinking in the view.
“She does have a tendency to move ahead despite good sense,” Ezra drawled.
“Look, I’m fine, we all saw there was nothing here,” you pointed out. “I just wanted to look. I do, in fact, know what I’m doing.” You shot both of them a displeased look.
“Of course you do,” Ezra agreed. “Which is why I have long since stopped trying to rein you in.” He shot Frankie something of a smug look.
“What do you think? Tent there, supply crates there?” You pointed to your intended spots. “We can have a fire there, when we want.”
“That’ll do,” Ezra agreed. The two of you headed back to the helicopter to start unloading, and after a minute Frankie joined you.
All three of you were quiet as you unloaded and set up camp. You and Ezra got your tent up in record time, and you popped over to help Frankie with his, even though he had it under control. Frankie got the helicopter covered up with a tarp, and soon enough camp was all set up.
“Not bad,” you mused, standing back a little bit and looking over everything. “It’ll do.”
“Certainly there are fewer trees than we’ve grown used to,” Ezra commented.
“I’m never taking another job on that damned moon,” you growled. “Never.”
“Which one?” Frankie asked, joining the two of you.
“Bakhroma’s green moon,” Ezra told him. “A veritable gold mine for harvesting aurelac, but as inhospitable a host as ever I’ve seen.”
You shook your head. “This is much nicer,” you said firmly. “Should be pretty easy harvesting, too.” You glanced at Frankie then. “What are you planning to do while we’re digging?”
Frankie shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Pope gave me some homework,” he joked. “I’ll keep myself entertained.”
“He did what?” you asked, caught between offended on Frankie’s behalf and terribly amused.
Frankie waved your question off. “He was joking,” he explained, though something in his eyes betrayed him. Some glimmer of doubt, maybe. It made you suspicious, but you chose not to push. For now.
“Well, you can always tag along and watch us work,” you told Frankie with a grin. “Might be boring, though. Tomorrow is teaching day.”
“You haven’t done this before?” Both of Frankie’s eyebrows shot up at that, and he glanced quickly between you and Ezra.
“Not first hand,” Ezra said with a little shrug. “Although the method is not so different from harvesting aurelac. Fortunately for us, these white gems should prove no major challenge.”
“White gems? I thought you were harvesting more aurelac?” Frankie continued to look between the two of you.
“You didn’t tell him?” Ezra asked, looking at you, clearly a little surprised.
“It didn’t come up,” you defended with a shrug. “Besides, I decided I’d rather not advertise what it is we’re here for. Not that I don’t trust you, Frankie, but Santi sometimes has a big mouth.”
“You’re not wrong,” Frankie acknowledged with a wry little smile. “Although I don’t think he would have said anything, for your safety if nothing else.”
“Fair,” you murmured. “Still.”
“What are these white gems?” Frankie asked.
“They’re similar to aurelac in how they’re harvested, but they’re smaller. Super shiny. Pure white.” You shrugged. “I’ve only seen pictures of them. They’re really popular in jewelry with the rich folks back in actual civilization.” You smiled wryly.
Frankie nodded slowly, glancing between you and Ezra again, considering something. Then he shook his head. “Dinner?” he suggested instead.
Dinner ended up being somewhat quiet. Ezra of course was regaling you with a tale in between bites of his dinner, something to do with one of his first times out harvesting as a youngster. You were only half paying attention, admittedly. It was a story you’d heard before, and you were more interested in watching the two men.
Ezra, of course, was perfectly at ease, waving his hand (and fork) around as he spoke to emphasize his words. His shoulders were relaxed, posture easy. He glanced at you every so often with a little smile, the one he reserved just for you in company. Soft and fond and quiet enough not to go noticed by others.
Frankie, on the other hand, was much quieter, more withdrawn. He sat a little stiffer, limbs held in close to himself, gaze flickering all over. You knew he was keeping an eye outside of your little camp, just in case, and observing you and Ezra both.
After dinner you insisted on stretching out on the ground with both of them, settled comfortably in the middle, and looking up at the stars.
“Any familiar faces, Ez?” you asked, teasingly.
“Almost certainly,” Ezra agreed, indulging you. “Though the constellations here are unfamiliar, I am quite certain I’ve seen some of these stars before.”
“What about you, Frankie?” You looked over at the pilot, smiling.
“Been to a couple,” Frankie answered slowly. “Know of a few more.”
“Hmm.” You smiled and turned your head to look up again. “Sky here is nice. Kind of a different blue. And much clearer than last time I was on an actual planet. The green moon does not count.”
Frankie chuckled quietly, and Ezra snorted. But neither of them contradicted you, and an easy quiet fell over camp. You could faintly hear some kind of insect buzzing away, and something that sounded like a bird, but far away. All new nighttime sounds to get used to.
“It’s getting late,” Ezra finally said, sitting up. “We should go to bed, as I suspect we shall have a long day ahead of us tomorrow, starlight.”
“Yeah, alright,” you agreed, only a little grumpy as you also sat. Ezra stood and held out a hand to you, helping you to your feet as Frankie clambered up to his feet with a soft groan. “G’night, Frankie.”
“Night, sweetheart.”
Ezra nodded to Frankie and slung his arm around your shoulders, guiding you into the tent you two were going to share for the duration of the job. The tent was nicer than the inside of the pod, in your opinion. It wasn’t huge, but it was spacious enough. And, best of all, you had one big nest set up in the middle for you and Ezra, with plenty of pillows and blankets for comfort and warmth. From what you’d read, this planet could get pretty cold at night, depending on the season.
You and Ezra both got ready for bed quietly, and he was quick to pull you down into the nest with him, pressing kisses to your throat.
“Ez,” you started, gaze darting to the tent wall, beyond which was a stack of crates and then Frankie’s tent.
“Yes, my starlight?” Ezra murmured, his lips barely leaving your skin long enough to form words. He nipped gently at the spot just behind your ear, and you bit down on your lip to stifle a sound.
“What are you doing?”
“If you have to ask, I’m not doing a good enough job.” Ezra lifted his head enough to smirk at you before diving back for your throat, finding a sensitive spot and setting his teeth to the skin there.
“Fuck,” you hissed, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “Ez, we shouldn’t, Frankie’s right there.”
“You intend to make me wait for stands for you, starlight?” Ezra asked. “Cruel and unusual punishment from you for a crime I am not aware of.”
“It’s not a punishment,” you argued, keeping your voice down. “And I’m not saying no for this whole job, there’s no way we wouldn’t. Just
 maybe not tonight?”
“Or you can be a good girl for me and be very quiet,” Ezra purred. His hands settled on your hips, thumbs rubbing slow circles over your clothing.
You swallowed at that, eyes wide. Oh he was pulling out the big guns already. Fuck.
“No clever retort?” Ezra murmured, slowly dragging his hands up your ribs, stopping just below your breasts. “No lashing of your sharp tongue?”
“Ezra
” You blinked up at him, breathing and heart rate already picking up speed.
“Just relax, starlight.” Ezra’s lips curled in a smirk as he lowered himself a little more, his hips pressing flush up against yours. “I’ll take care of you.” He kissed you again, nipping gently at your lower lip, his hands sliding up under your shirt. You didn’t end up voicing any more protests that night.
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goffilolo · 4 years ago
Text
Revival of Midoriya Izuku: Chapter 4 "My depression may be chronic, but my ass is iconic"
I bet you didn't think you were ever gonna see an update. well neither did I. What can I say? writing with a broken hand is a struggle.
Link to the fic on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16929483/chapters/81090403
Izuku’s first day of high school was interesting, to say the least, or it would’ve been if he actually went to school instead of spreading mayhem amongst UA’s first years. Shinjuku Metropolitan has been rather lenient in regards to his attendance or lack of thereof, thanks to whatever bullshit Shin wrote to the school on his behalf to ensure that the faculty would accommodate his ‘condition’. Which is just fancy wording for ‘I got a get out of school card’. Truth be told, this is probably the best thing that the doctor has ever done for him since Izuku was nowhere near ready to return to mainstream education, not after everything that has happened in middle school. The last thing he needed were looks of pity and guilt-induced niceties from people who otherwise had no problem laughing at his misfortune.
So instead Izuku has decided to spend his time productively - if you could count tormenting your ex-childhood friend and having an accidental family reunion as such.
Uncle Shouta always had a bit of a mean streak to him, although it never really felt as such when Izuku himself interacted with him. From what little of his childhood he could remember that didn’t involve trauma and discrimination, his uncle was a somewhat kind, but grumpy man. He believed in a brand of tough love - that somehow did not correspond with the way his mother raised him in the slightest and went above and beyond for things and people he held close to his heart. Sure they haven’t seen each other since Izuku was 4, but if his uncle’s empty threats from today’s Quirk Apprehension Test are anything to go by, not much has changed.
Which brings him back to now; sitting in an empty classroom that he does not belong to - a school that he does not belong to, writing down his ever-so-detailed notes about the quirks he will only be able to admire from afar. Not much has changed , indeed.
It almost feels like a betrayal. Almost , being the operative word, because he has no reason to cling onto the things that he no longer cares about - should no longer care about, for they had died along with him that day on the roof, and were properly buried within the four walls that Izuku called his own during his stay in the hospital.
But well...looks like today Izuku is in a mood to dig up old corpses.
Metaphorically, that is.
“God, you’re still here!”
“Kacchan we’ve talked about this” he replied, rather dramatically “God is dead and all that’s left is me”
Kacchan clearly did not appreciate his superior sense of humour, if the lack of response is anything to go by. “No seriously, why are you still here?”
“I could ask you the same”
“I actually study here you fuckwit!” the blond exclaimed in his ever explosive fashion “Besides I had to come back and get my change of clothes since that demonic pet of yours was sitting on them when we were all leaving for the test”
“Huh, that actually reminds me...where’s Bandit?”
“Oi, don’t change the subject you shitty Deku” replied Bakugou, as he kicked one of the chairs over towards the desk that was currently occupied by Izuku and slumped down in it in a way that would perhaps appear as non-caring to absolutely no one “I didn’t know your uncle was a pro-hero.”
Ah, so that’s what he was bothered about.
“That makes the two of us”
“Wait, really?!”
“Honestly Kacchan! Did you really think that IF I knew my uncle was a pro-hero that I would be able to ever shut up about it?”
“No way in hell!”
“Exactly!”
Well, now that the topic of his uncle has been cleared up, there wasn’t much else to talk about, at least not much that wouldn’t result in collateral damage or a Bakugou shitshow 2.0. Both of the boys were well aware of it of course, but let it never be said that either of them could be stopped by things like common sense, especially when it came to avoiding conversational land mines.
“So...what are you scribbling over here?” asked Bakugou in a rather poor and possibly the most awkward attempt at establishing small talk that has ever been known to man and sheep kind alike.
“Ok, no! That is not happening” snapped Izuku, who very much saw where this was going and was having none of it “We are NOT having a civil conversation!”
“Why the fuck not?!” replied the blond, his anger as booming and apparent as his quirk.
“Because that is not something we DO Kacchan!” shouted the teen, banging his hands against the desk, his notebook long forgotten.
“Well, maybe we should?!” exclaimed Bakugou, who was quick to anger, yet quicker to notice his ex-friend’s unusual mood as he tried to make an effort to de-escalate the situation.
“Oh? Should we really? !” sneered Izuku, feeling the kind of anger and disdain he hasn’t felt in a long time, not since that fateful day in the ward.
“That’s rich coming from you” he continued as he stood up form the chair, unable to keep still in his fury as he circled the classroom “All you ever did was shout at me, insult me and throw baseless accusations at me left and right for god knows how long, but suddenly YOU want to have a conversation with me? Isn’t it enough that we kinda talked about our feelings that one time when I was still stuck in the psych ward?!”
Honestly, what do you expect Kacchan?” asked Izuku, feeling raw and hysteric and all kinds of wrong, spilling his metaphorical guts to his ex-bully/friend “That we will just start having normal conversations like nothing ever happened, act like we’re friends or some shit? Because let’s be honest, we haven’t been friends for a very long time, that ship has sunk long before I even attempted suicide! ”
“Don’t you think I know that?!” screamed Bakugou, feeling equally angry, but mostly out of his depth in the situation. He expected Deku to possibly mock him for his awkward attempts at small talk. What the blond didn’t expect was for him to snap, in a way that was somewhat familiar but not quite, as even the few times they’ve spoken back when Izuku was in the hospital or when he got released, his tempter felt controlled in a way it was not at the moment. Katsuki wasn’t sure what exactly triggered such a strong response, but he was not looking forward to having another fight, at least not one initiated by him.
“I’m not trying to pretend it didn’t happen” he explained “I just want to move forward. I’m not the same asshole I was last year and neither are you, so I don’t want to be stuck on how things used to be ! It makes me feel like I’m going nowhere.”
“Ok! Fine! You wanna talk?! Then let me fuckin TELL you something! You asked me what I was ‘scribbling’ over here?” exclaims Izuku, as he stomps his way back towards the desk and snatches his notebook, waving it aggressively in front of Bakugou “IT’S THE SAME STUFF I’VE BEEN SCRIBBLING THE ENTIRE GODDAMN TIME!” he screamed “Those quirk analysis notebooks you used to mock me for? It’s another one of those because as it turns out  I still AM the same asshole I was last year! Now then, can YOU tell ME how many of those I’ve had?”
“Thirteen
” mutters Bakugou, feeling like he’s walking into a proverbial trap.
“Good boy, you can count! Now, can you tell me what number does it say on this one?” sneers Izuku sarcastically as he points once again at the notebook in question.
“Is this a trick question? There’s fuckin nothing on it”
“EXACTLY! And you want to know why?” screamed the distressed teen, no longer feeling angry, but tired and vulnerable, unable to stop himself from having a conversation he didn’t even want to be a part of “Because these notes used to serve a purpose, a purpose I no longer have. Hero Analysis for the Future , to be exact. But guess what Kacchan
” he whispered, no longer looking at the red eyes that used to bring him so much pain “...I no longer have a future
”
The blond hung his head in shame as he listened to his childhood friend break down in tears while hiding his face behind the very notebook that started their argument, all the while Trash Bandit who woke up due to their screaming was trying to get his owner’s attention with pathetically quiet ‘baaah’s.
“You have the right to be angry with me, after all this shit I put you through” stated Bakugou after what felt like an endless silence broken only by Izuku’s stuttering sobs. He never thought of himself as a coward, but at this moment he could not find enough bravery to sit face to face with the crying teen.
“I KNOW that you shithead-” replied Izuku as he shakily tried to take a breath in between the sobs “-but what good is that gonna do?! You’ve actually admitted that the way you treated me was wrong, hell you even voluntarily went to therapy! You’re basically going through a whole-ass redemption arc and what do I do? * sob * I’m still stuck in the past and I can’t let go of my grudges, which isn’t doing me or you any favours. I’ve told you to get your shit together, and this is exactly what you’re trying to do and instead of being h-* hic *- happy for you I’m mad-”
His rant broke off as he took another breath with tears still rolling down the freckled cheeks despite the boy’s best efforts. Izuku slumped down in his seat and with shaking hands he took out a cigarette and lighter from his backpack that was still hanging by the hook on the side of the desk. And although putting the cigarette in his mouth was relatively easy, lighting it was another matter. As Izuku grew more frustrated with the quiver in his hands, so did Bakugou. The blond became impatient as he grumbled “give it here damn it” much more quietly and gently than he normally would’ve done as he leaned forward, all the while grabbing the other teen by his shoulder with one hand, as he used to the other to quickly light the cigarette with a small explosion. Izuku’s flinch at the sudden but familiar noise and heat did not go unnoticed.
To say that Izuku was shocked by his ex-friend’s action would’ve been an understatement, but he was pleased nonetheless. If anything it proved his point that Kacchan was trying to be nicer to him, even if the attempts were somewhat awkward. The freckled teen, feeling only marginally better, leaned back in his chair facing the ceiling as he continued to blow circles of smoke up into the air, trying to regain his original train of thought.
“You’d think they would have a fire alarm in here or something” mused Bakugou as he stared at the disappearing circles.
“Hmm” replied Izuku, absentmindedly “You’d think”
The silence has once again stretched between the 2 boys, although this time it felt less oppressive in its need to be filled. Bakugou was happy to wait for Deku to finish what he started, it was the least the blond could do seeing as he was at fault for the current state of things between them.
“I’m so fuckin angry...” stated Izuku as he crashed the burnt out cigarette against the desk, which Bakugou conviniently ignored seeing as the desk was his. “I’m so fuckin angry-” he repeated despite his tone and words not matching at all “-because this proves that you could’ve gotten your shit together this whole time” he continues while gesturing vaguely between the two of them.
“You could’ve stopped this bullshit and apologised to me!” exclaims Izuku in a tone that is half resigned and half accusing “You could’ve spared me the misery, and yet you didn’t. I feel like I’ve suffered for nothing-”
“You did!” interrupted the blond.
“What?”
“You’ve suffered for nothing” clarified Bakugou “There’s literally NO good reason for you to have gone through even half the shit you did”
“I dunno about that Kacchan” teased Izuku “I’m pretty sure the reason is sitting right in front of me”
“I said no good reason damn it, don’t go around twisting my words you fuckin Deku!”
And Izuku couldn’t help but break out in laughter, because he was pretty sure that this was the first time ever that Bakugou had made a joke at his own expense and this moment was going to live in his brain rent free from now on.
“Oh God, Kacchan-” he wheezed, trying to stop himself from laughing “You were right, you really aren't the same asshole that you were last year!”
“I sure fuckin hope not” replied Bakgou who was just as close to laughing “Otherwise I would’ve had to demand refund for all of those shitty therapy sessions”
“Look at us Kacchan” said Izuku, his laugh now subdued “We’re still a fuckin mess”
“I guess we are” agreed the blond as he stared down at his friend’s notebook in a thoughtful expression.
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After the truthfully embarrassing heart-to-heart with Kacchan, Izuku wanted to do nothing more than sink into the void for the next eternity, or at least until he gets his reminder text that he’s running late for yet another therapy session. Unfortunately neither of these options were viable seeing as he was on a self-appointed mission to catch up to his uncle. The boy hoped that uncle Shouta would still be somewhere on the premises seeing as his ugly-ass sleeping bag was still in the classroom. Izuku used that to his advantage as he gave the sleeping bag to Bandit who promptly sniffed it and began to follow the scent of a premature-midlife-crisis. Who knew that sheep could make such good hounds?
Bandit had dutifully led their owner through an ever inconvenient maze of corridors, which eventually ended with the two entering the teacher’s lounge like they had every right to be there (which they kinda did, shoutout to Nedzu!). As expected, Izuku’s uncle was in the lounge, surrounded by fellow members of staff as they tried (unsuccessfully, at least by Izuku’s standards) to get any information out of him regarding his class this year. Uncle Shouta for the most part looked like he’d rather be doing anything else and so Izuku has made an executive decision to insert himself obnoxiously into the situation.
“In my humble opinion-” he said, as he sat down next to his uncle, while Bandit jumped up on his lap “that Mineta kid should’ve been expelled. Like, we get it uncle, he has potential ” continued Izuku, as he spat the word distastefully “But how far is that potential gonna get him when all he does is harass the entire female population, like every other mediocre straight guy with self awareness of a sea cucumber?”
“A sea cucumber? Really?” asked uncle Shouta, sounding like the unimpressed bitch that he is.
“I mean don’t get me wrong” he continues, completely ignoring the unnecessary commentary “Straight people are already embarrassing as they are, but this guy is on another level, the kinda level that usually leads to a straight jacket, am I right?! Hah- I just made a pun!”
“The little listener does have a point, Shouta” replied Present Mic.
“Also, did he just say uncle ? Shouta, is there anything you’d like to tell us?” asked Midnight, you know, like a traitor.
“No”
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It wasn’t until they walked past the gates of the school that his uncle finally stopped in his tracks to voice at least a portion of the questions that have been bubbling in his mind since the impromptu family reunion with his nephew.
“Izuku” says Shouta, with as much concern as an uncle-who-you-haven’t-seen-in-almost-a-decade is allowed to voice “What the fuck?”
“Look, I heard that question far too often in my lifetime, mostly from my therapist, so you’re gonna have to be a bit more specific” replies Izuku sounding like the unimpressed bitch that he hopes to evolve into through the sheer power of genetics and generational trauma.
“Look kid-” says the hobo looking man that has the privilege of being related to Izuku as he puts his hands together, takes a deep breath and prays to whichever God he believes is not yet dead for some guidance on how to handle this “-as much as I’d love to elaborate on the sheer amount of confusion I am experiencing right now due to your questionable way of life, I do actually have to go on a patrol so this conversation is gonna have to be postponed. In the meanwhile give your mother my regards, and I’ll hopefully see you in the near future when you decide once again to wreak havoc in my classroom.”
“No” replies the freckled teen in a total disregard for other people’s prior engagements, thus truly earning his title of a problem child.
“What do you mean no ? Izuku, I have a job to do!”
Instead of replying, Izuku has decided to simply pull a pro-gamer move, by quickly taking out a familiar pair of handcuffs from the side pocket of his backpack, cuffing one side to his uncle’s hand and the other to his own. That on its own is probably not particularly impressive, however it is the speed of the action that has earned it the title of a pro-gamer move, which Izuku is quite proud of. His uncle on the other hand is definitely less so, looking at his cuffed wrist like it has somewhat betrayed him.
“Please tell me you did not just do that”
“I did not just do that”
After wasting about 10 minutes of his life on fruitless struggle of trying to get the handcuffs off like an untrained dog trying to chew off its own leash, Aizawa Shouta; the underground hero Eraserhead, the infamous Erasure Hero has slumped in defeat, internally swearing to himself to one day get revenge on his unruly nephew.
“God, I am so going to have a talk with my sister about this” he says, as if a threat of authority had any meaning to the green headed teen.
“Yeah, no shit, that’s the whole point, we’re going to my house now” replies the teen, completely disregarding any attempt at ‘ an adult asserting their authority ’ over him.
“I still have to go on a patrol tonight” repeats Shouta, as if it was somewhat relevant.
“That sounds like a you problem”
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malfoymanortings · 5 years ago
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lavender and velvet //part one
SUMMARY: she had her fathers eyes, his aristocratic looks, her grandmothers spite, her mothers heart, but the one thing she didn't have was the love of her father that her god brother received. juliet black finally meets her father who has already decided who his child is.
PAIRINGS: to be decided.
quite frankly, this idea will not leave my head. juliet has begged me to write her story, so here we are. now, sirius is slightly out of character for this, as if he really did have a child i would like to think he would want to do better than the parents he had. but, thats just not what this imagining will look like. hopefully you guys like it! if, by chance, you would like to be added to a taglist for this story, let me know xx
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“I want to meet him,” Juliet said quietly, looking down at her hands. “I deserve as much, don’t I?”
Remus paused. “Of course. I just
 love, he isn’t-”
“I don’t have very high hopes for him,” interjected Juliet, scoffing slightly. “He’s been out for two years now. He hasn’t attempted to see me once.”
“Jules, you have to understand,” Remus placed a hand on her shoulder, his face seeming to age years within that moment. “It hasn’t been easy for him.”
“Right, ‘cause it’s been so easy for me.” she said the words under her breath, not wanting to fight with Remus again. 
They had been fighting far too much lately. The cause of it was her father. The man who had fathered her years ago before being locked up for a crime he didn’t commit. When he finally did get out, it took two years before he thought of seeing his daughter.
“It hasn’t been safe enough for him to see you,” Remus pressed on, crossing his arms behind his back. “With the ministry still believing he was responsible-”
“For the Potter’s murders, it was too risky for him to come see me until everything was settled with the order,” Juliet recited, rolling her eyes. “Yet he saw Harry third year, didn’t he?”
Remus sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “Juliet. We are not having this discussion again.”
“Perfect, that means I can have it with him.” Juliet said decisively, walking over to the fireplace. “Let’s go.”
“Now?” Remus asked, pausing in his pacing. 
“What better time than the present?” 
“Well, Harry just got there-” Remus cut himself off, wincing as Juliet’s temper flared.
“Harry’s there, yet I can’t go meet my own fucking father?!” she yelled, fists clenched at her side. “Fuck this.”
Juliet turned, grabbing a fistfull of floo powder. She tossed it in, ignoring Remu’s protests, and spoke clearly.
“Grimmauld Place!”
She arrived in a flurry of green flames, with no one around. She could hear voices down the hall of the unfamiliar place, and she faltered in her step slightly. She felt out of place, although she shouldn’t. Her father lived here. This was her father’s house. 
It should have been her home.
A door opened somewhere, and footsteps sounded loudly through the hallway. Remus poked his head into the sitting room, where Juliet stood in front of the fireplace feeling rather out of place.
“Come on, then,” Remus motioned for her to follow, his tone kinder than it had been before.
“Professor Lupin!” Hermione came out of nowhere, Ginny following close behind. “It’s good to see you.”
“Hello, Miss Granger,” Remus grinned, and Juliet was the only one to notice it was off. “Lovely to see you again.”
“Jules!” Ginny shouted, running towards her friend. Juliet opened her arms, engulfing the beautiful redhead in a hug.
“Hi love,” said Juliet into her hair, pulling back to examine her friend. “You’ve grown, haven’t you?”
Ginny gave her a funny look, laughing. “Juliet. It’s been a month since I saw you last. I doubt it’s possible I’ve grown since then.”
Juliet shrugged, looking past her to where she could hear more voices grow louder. Fred and George appeared then, twin grins on their faces as they hurried over to greet Juliet.
“There’s our favorite serpentine girl,” Fred grinned, ruffling her hair. “Good to see you.”
George slung an arm around her shoulder, pressing a kiss to her temple. Before pulling away, he put his lips near her ear. “Calm down darling, it’ll be fine. He’s in the kitchen with Harry and mum.”
Juliet nodded, giving him a quick squeeze back. George and Fred were well aware of Sirius being her father. She had confided in them on more occasions than one. Those two and Ginny were her closest friends out of the Weasley family. 
Ron appeared next, Harry beside him. From behind the pair, came a man with her eyes and her smile.
Juliet took in a sharp breath as she examined the man she had hurt over all these years. He had shoulder length brown hair, wavy and streaked grey with age, and a neatly trimmed moustache. His cheeks were hollow, his features aristocratic like her own. He had tattoos peeking out from the edges of his buttoned shirt, and walked with a slight limp.
He was Sirius Black, the man who had only existed for her in photographs.
“Dad,” Juliet breathed, walking towards him. 
Sirius looked as though he had seen a ghost. He looked to Remus, and back to Juliet. He watched her as she walked forward until she stood in front of him, and he hadn’t moved. 
“That’s Juliet, pads,” Remus said from behind them. “Your daughter.”
“My daughter,” Sirius said, the words sounding foreign in his mouth. “Of course. You take after your mother in looks.”
“I’ve been told I’m a Black through and through.” replied Juliet, feeling a little awkward standing in front of him. She was waiting for a hug, for something, but nothing happened. He just stood there, staring at her.
“Well, hopefully not,” Sirius cleared his throat, forcing a chuckle. “The lot of them were dark wizards, straight from Slytherin house to the Death Eaters.”
Juliet felt her cheeks flame, and she felt deflated. “I’m in Slytherin.”
Sirius paused, clearing his throat again. “Erm, right. Harry mentioned that.”
She felt her anger grow again. She tried to fight it, but it bubbled over the lid she kept concealed in. “Of course you did. Instead of meeting me for yourself, you would rather hear second hand from Harry. God forbid you put effort into meeting your daughter.”
“Now, that’s not fair,” Sirius raised his hands, backing away from her. “It wasn’t safe for me to be out in the public yet- it still isn’t.”
“That didn’t stop you from sending letters to Harry though, did it?” Juliet bit out, balling her fists up and digging her nails into her palms. She was dimly aware of the others leaving the room, Remus and Harry the only two left behind.
“He needed me,” Sirius defended. “He had no one but those muggles, I’m his godfather-”
“You’re quite literally my father,” shouted Juliet, shaking her head. “I needed you too, and you were never there.”
“Juliet, that’s not fair,” Remus interjected, placing a hand on her shoulder. “He was in Azkaban, he wasn’t able to be there due to no fault of his own-”
“I know the story, Remus,” snapped Juliet, glaring at the man. “But when did he break out? When Harry’s safety was at risk. Not for me, not for you. Only for Harry. I apparently wasn’t worth the risk or the attempt.”
“Juliet, I-” Harry began, but she quickly cut him off. 
“Harry, stay out of this,” chastised Juliet, holding out a hand. “For once, this isn’t about you. This is about me.” she looked at Sirius, who merely looked back at her with a heavy look. “This is about what I did. What Molly did. What Remus did. What you didn’t.”
“Juliet, I’m sorry,” Sirius tried again, running a hand through his hair. “But Harry needs me now. You have all those people behind you, and he only has me. He’s got to deal with Voldemort. He needs someone to confide in.”
“Like a father,” scoffed Juliet, turning away from him. “Even though you’re supposed to be mine.”
“Juliet-” Remus was quickly cut off by Juliet.
“I want to go home.”
“Well, that’s the thing,” Remus looked uncomfortable now, and gave her an apologetic glance. “You’ll be staying here for the remainder of summer. I have things to do for the Order, and it’s not safe for you to be unprotected at home any longer.”
“You’re fucking joking.”
“Language,” reprimanded Remus, once again looking older than his years. “I’ll pack your things and bring them here. Please
 try to get along.”
Juliet raised her middle finger to Remus, turning back to Sirius. “So, do I get a room? Or are they all reserved for Harry?”
Sirius narrowed his eyes. “That’s no way to act. Of course you get a room.”
Juliet laughed at his words. She thought it was funny, how he had so easily cast her aside for Harry, and yet now seemed to be attempting to parent her. She refused to let him do so. It was all or nothing, and he had clearly chosen nothing.
“Kreacher,” Sirius called behind him, and with a crack a scraggly looking house elf appeared. “Show Juliet to her room.”
Kreacher gave Sirius a dirty look, glancing over at Juliet appraisingly. He grumbled to himself, only a few words audible.
“Kreacher will show master’s brat to her room
 blood traitor
 Gryffindor
 filthy
 mistresses house..”
“Without the commentary, you dirty thing.” Sirius rolled his eyes, turning away from the house elf. 
Kreacher glared at Sirius, before walking up the staircase. Juliet followed, not bothering to cast a backwards glance towards her father. It was obvious he had no interest in her. Why should she care, anyways? She had gone by fifteen years without him just fine. She would be just fine.
“Dirty Gryffindor..” Kreacher muttered, pointing a crooked finger towards an open door. “Sharing with the other dirty blood traitors, nasty Gryffindors.”
Juliet scoffed, crossing her arms. “Kreacher, is it? My name is Juliet. And, I’ll have you know I’m not a Gryffindor, I’m a Slytherin. The superior house, if you ask me.”
Kreacher paused at that, his mumbling ceasing. He once again eyed her appraisingly, this time without dislike. “Kreacher apologizes to Miss Juliet. She is not a dirty filthy Gryffindor like the rest of the brats..” again, the decrepit looking house elf trailed off in his thoughts, wandering down the hallway wringing his hands.
Juliet sighed, and stepped inside the room. She could tell from the items inside, that Hermione and Ginny already had claimed the two beds. 
“Kreacher?” Juliet called, poking her head out of the room. 
Kreacher turned, eyeing her again. “What does young mistress want?”
“Is there another room,” she paused. “Or another bed?” 
“Kreacher can make another bed for mistress,” Kreacher hobbled back over, stepping into the room. With a snap of his fingers, another bed appeared, identical to the others in the room. 
“Thank you.” 
Kreacher looked shocked at her words, and he nodded to her before wandering back down the hall. 
Juliet sighed, sitting gingerly on the bed. She plopped backwards, staring at the ceiling. She expected to feel mad, or sad, but instead
 she felt nothing.
“How are you holding up, love?”
She turned her attention to the doorway, where George stood leaning against the doorframe. She shrugged, and the ginger haired boy came into the room, sitting on the bed next to where she lay.
“I think you two have just got to get used to each other,” he said quietly, taking her hand in his. “It’ll all work itself out, in the end.”
“Ever the optimistic, huh Georgie?” noted Juliet, moving so that her head rested in George’s lap. “Tell me about your summer so far.”
As George launched into an explanation of the different joke shop items he and Fred had been experimenting with, Juliet listened intently. He wove her fingers through her hair as he spoke, and Juliet found it was easy to let of her tension as they conversed.
Fred slipped in the room at some point, and began explaining their plans with George. Their voices calmed her, and she felt more at peace with the two of them in her presence.
Even if her father didn’t want her, she had her boys. They wanted her.
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wiypt-writes · 5 years ago
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Stark Spangled Forever
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A Very Rogers Christmas. Part 3- From Head To Mistletoe
Summary: It’s Christmas Eve and Steve has a little accident in the bathroom. Once the trauma is dealt with the Rogers family head off to visit Pepper and Morgan before coming home to settle in and wait for Santa. And Steve’s hell bent on unwrapping one particular present early

Warnings: Language, smut (NSFW, 18+)
Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark
A/N: The final part of my Stark Spangled 2020 Christmas special- A Very Rogers Christmas.  I hope you all enjoy and thank you for your support when my other blog was flagged as obscene. Next year SSB will be ‘relaunched’ through the new blog, and I will take the time to change anything that I didn’t quite like. I look forward to seeing you all there. But for now, I leave you with this hot mess and wish you all a VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS. Thank you for being as invested in Stark Spangled as me.
And to my Evangers
 @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ , @icanfeelastormbrewing​ , @southerngracela​ and @ohthankevans13​ I would NOT have got through 2020 without you. This one is most CERTAINLY for you girls. I love you 3000.
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Steve groaned as he heard Rori's angry voice from the landing.
"Jamie, tell Stark to stop chasing Erica!"
"He's a dog!" Jamie responded. "It’s what they do, they chase cats."
"Well, stop him!"
"How?" Jamie's voice was punctuated by laughter. "It isn't like I make him do it!"
"Hold still." Katie warned Steve and he let out a sigh, his hands gently smoothing up the back of her thighs as she concentrated on ensuring the lines of his newly shorter beard were neat.
"Sorry, Doll." He muttered, watching her face as she concentrated, her green eyes following the trimmers as her right hand steadily guided them across his left cheek. "Listening to them argue is setting my teeth on edge."
"Baby, I only have the other cheek to neaten, then you can go and tell them both off." Katie stepped back to admire her handy work. "I was kind of hoping their Christmas Eve boxes would have kept them quiet for a little longer."
"Well," Steve turned his head to peek into their room where Harry was sat in the middle of their large bed, looking at the activity book he had gotten in his, "worked for him."
"Always does." Katie chuckled. "He's so well behaved compared to those reprobates."
They watched him for a moment or two before Katie reached up and moved Steve's face sideways so she could start on his right cheek, giving him a soft kiss as she did so. "You look incredibly handsome." She practically purred and Steve grinned, feeling his cheeks and neck grow warm as they always did when she looked at him the way she was doing.
Seventeen years and she could still turn his insides to mush with a single look.
"Yeah?" He asked, her lips still brushing his as she nodded. "Even though I've shaved the beard?"
"Well-" she kissed him again, "-technically you trimmed it, not shaved it. It's just shorter. But yes, I'd still find you devastatingly good looking without it, as you know."
Steve grinned, turned his head to allow Katie to finish and just as she had raised the clippers it all went horribly wrong.
There was a yell again from the landing and a moment or two later the door to their bedroom flung open, causing Steve to whip his head round.
"STEVE!" Katie cried out a warning but it was too late. As Steve turned his head to look at Rori as she barrelled through the door to their bathroom, he managed to catch his cheek on the clippers and he heard Katie gasp. He froze, looked at his wife and then stood hastily up to glance in the mirror and gave a groan. A large chunk of his beard was now completely missing from his right cheek. And he could tell as he looked at it that no amount of trimming was going to save it.
"How many times do I have to tell you?" He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he turned to Rori and she swallowed, eyes growing wide as she registered the tone of his voice. It was deep but quiet, the voice he always used when he was pissed off. "You knock before you come barging into mine and your mother's room, Aurora."
"I'm sorry." Rori blinked, the use of her full name not passing her by. "But Jamie-"
"Don't wanna hear it."
"Yeah, but he-" "What did I just say?" Steve’s voice rose in volume as he glared at her. "I'm not interested in whatever stupid little argument the pair of you have got going on. It stops now. You understand?'
Rori stared back at her father, her face positively mutinous and Katie hastily turned away before she burst out laughing at the fact they were stood in identical poses, arms folded, feet apart as they engaged in the silent stand-off. Whilst Rori undeniably looked like her, she had so many of her father's mannerisms, all the kids did to be fair, and her middle daughter was a perfect blend of both the Stark and Rogers sass and stubbornness.
She was a nightmare at times but at others amusing as hell.
As Katie busied herself straightening a few bottles on the bathroom side she heard Rori give an exasperated sigh.
"Look, I'm sorry I barged in here okay? But Jamie really is being a pain!"
"Right now you're being a pain." Steve shot back somewhat childishly. "A huge pain in my ass."
"Language!" Harry chanted as he looked over towards his father, and that was it, Katie couldn't hold it any longer and she burst out laughing.
Steve turned to her, arching an eyebrow and she shook her head. "I'm sorry, Steve, but..."
With a groan Steve rolled his eyes. "I'm gonna go speak to Jamie, then I'll come back and sort this out." He gestured to his face before he turned and headed out of the room, calling to Jamie as he went. Less than ten minutes later both brother and sister had been told to quit it, Rori was in her room with the cat whilst Harry had wandered into Jamie's room and settled on a bean bag by his elder brother to watch Back To The Future. Flossie had, miraculously, slept through the entire scenario and 
well, she was mourning the loss of Steve's magnificent beard he had sported for so many years.
"I can’t believe it." She whined. "Stevie, I wanna cry.”
Steve rolled his eyes, whilst he had to admit it wasn't exactly what he had planned, he wasn't as bothered about it as her. "It'll grow back.”
Katie eyed him shrewdly, cooking her head to one side. He'd come back from the barbers yesterday with a shorter cut than he had sported in a long time. It reminded her a lot of how he had used to wear it when they first started dating. Short on the sides, slightly messier on top. Coupled with his now smooth face, she had to admit, it did make him look somewhat younger, although you could still see the odd fleck of grey here and there spattered in his dark, blonde locks.
"You know, if I didn't know any better I'd say you were having some some kind of midlife crisis" She looked up at him and he snorted. "Although you gotta admit, babes, you're a bit late to the party age wise so to speak."
He stood up with a shake of his head and glanced at the mirror. He hadn’t seen that reflection in a very long time.
“Bucky’s gonna have a field day when he sees this.”
“Well, lucky for you he’s away with Jen and the family for the holidays so you won’t have to face him until New Year, same goes for Sam. Morgan, on the other hand
”
“She’s seen me without a beard before.” He shrugged before he turned and headed into the bedroom.
“Not for a while.” Katie followed him as they both left their room and headed onto the landing.
“Yeah, I know but surely it-“
He was cut off by a loud scream and then the sound of crying which erupted from Harry as he stood in the doorway to Jamie’s room.
“Hey.” Steve frowned and made his way over towards the toddler “Buddy, what’s
”
But Harry continued screaming and he backed away from Steve, running into Jamie’s room and hiding behind his big brother who looked at him, then to his dad, a puzzled expression on his face. Steve glanced at Katie who was also frowning as she made her way into Jamie’s room and crouched next to their son who was gripping onto his brother’s sweater for dear life.
“Harry? Baby boy, what’s wrong?” she asked him softly, smoothing his hair back.
“That man!” he cried, his voice wracked with sobs “Who...where’s Daddy?”
“Oh, Honey!” Katie chuckled, picking him up. “That is your daddy!”
“No!” Harry screamed, shaking his head and burying his face into her neck. Steve stood dumbfounded in the doorway of Jamie’s room, absolutely stuck for words. He felt awful and completely helpless as Katie tried to soothe their son but Harry wasn’t having any of it.
“It is Harry!” Jamie spoke, looking at his brother who glanced at him, then to Steve and then continued crying.
“Steve, sing the song.” Katie spoke suddenly as she was hit with an idea. “The one you always use to sing him to sleep.”
“Erm
” Steve cleared his throat, before he gently began to croon the song he’d sung to all of their kids as young children. “Would you like to swing on a star
” his voice croaked a little, as he found the pitch to the Bing Crosby song, “carry moonbeams home in a jar.  And be better off than you are. Or would you rather be a mule?”
At the sound of Steve singing Harry stopped crying and peeked across the room at him, his hand fisted in Katie’s hair, his cheeks tear stained, but his expression was almost curious now, not fearful.
“A mule is an animal with long funny ears, he kicks up at anything he hears” Steve continued as Katie rocked Harry a little in her arms, nodding to Steve as he tentatively walked into the room. “His back is brawny but his brain is weak, he's just plain stupid with a stubborn streak. And by the way, if you hate to go to school. You may grow up to be a mule”
Harry studied Steve a little more, his sniffles subsiding slightly.
“Or would you like to swing on a star, carry moonbeams home in a jar, and be better off than you are, or would you rather be a pig?” Steve was just wondering how many more verses he was going to have to go through but thankfully, at that point, Harry gave a hiccup and held his arms out towards him. With a smile, Steve took him from Katie and held him securely, looking at him as he reached up and squished Steve’s cheeks with his little hands.
“Hi Daddy.” He whispered, wrapping his arms round his neck and Steve chuckled a little in relief, one large hand falling to the back of his son’s head as he kissed his cheek which was wet with tears.
“Hey, pal.”
“What’s going on?” Rori appeared, Erica in her arms, purring loudly as she scratched the kitten behind her ears.
“Oh, nothing.” Katie looked at her, “Harry got a little upset that’s all.”
“Why?”
“Because I shaved my beard.” Steve explained before he snapped playfully at Harry’s finger which was prodding his nose.
“Well, what did you do that for?” Rori scoffed.                  
Steve looked at her as she gave a dramatic roll of her eyes before she spun on her heel and left heading back to her room. Steve turned to Katie and Jamie, the pair of them stifling laughter.
“Anyone got a seven foot block of Ice I can take another seventy year nap in?” he grumbled.
**** As was tradition on Christmas Eve, they celebrated with Pepper and Morgan. This year it was Pepper’s turn to host so just before 11am they all piled into the car, the roof rack packed with presents and made the hours trip upstate to the lake-house, Emmy and Peter set to meet them there.
As they walked up to the house, Katie carrying Flossie, Morgan came out to greet them stopping dead as she looked at Steve.
“Huh.” She mused, taking in his clean shaven face.
“Yeah, yeah, get it over with, Moo.” He rolled his eyes.
“I’m not laughing.” She shook her head seriously, looking at him from dark brown eyes the exact same as her fathers, the familiar Stark nose accentuating her face. With a sad sigh she walked over to Katie and lay her hand on her Auntie’s arm. “I’m so sorry for your loss. That beard, well it must have been hard to take.”
At that Katie burst out laughing as Steve let out a groan as he spotted Emmy doubled over on porch, howling.
“Did you tell Em what happened?” he looked accusingly at Katie who shrugged.
“I may have mentioned it before when she called.”
Steve rolled his eyes as they trudged inside, stomping their boots on the mat to get rid of any excess snow, a wave of loud chatter hitting their ear the minute they did. The room was warm, fire blazing and dotted around stood Rhodey, Happy, Pepper, Peter and his Aunt May. Greetings and hugs were shared, Happy taking the opportunity to coo over Flossie as she was much bigger than the last time he had seen her some months ago, and Katie hugged Pepper tight, accepting the glass of champagne that was passed to her.
As was the usual tradition, Pepper had laid on a glorious buffet which went down a treat. And once the food was eaten, Jamie and Morgan both wrapped up and headed out to give Gerald the Alpaca some of the vegetable trimmings that Pepper had saved for him. The younger kids settled in front of the TV to watch a film, Emmy and Peter both happily choosing to sit with them and Katie took a moment out of the wonderful madness to watch as Steve was actively engaged in some discussion with Rhodey, both men laughing and joking. With a smile she then turned her attention to Happy who had his arm looped around May, the pair of them chatting to Pepper as she topped their glasses up with a bottle she plucked from the fridge.
It had been this way for almost seven years now, how they spent Christmas Eve, and whilst Katie loved being surrounded by this patchwork, extended family, she couldn’t help but notice the huge Tony shaped hole.
A hole which, like the one he had left behind in her heart, failed to get any smaller as the years passed.
With super stealth skills that Natasha would have been proud of, Katie silently made her way from the room, grabbing her jacket and headed out, her feet crunching through the layer of snow that lay on the ground as she walked across the lawn and down to the small jetty from which they had laid Tony’s Arc Reactor onto the lake the day of his funeral.
She always felt a sense of peace being here, like there was some part of Tony still present. And to be fair, there was. Said Arc Reactor had sunk to the bottom of the lake once the wreath had rotted. But it was more than that, it was the only place she still felt truly close to her brother and she understood why. It was because this was where he’d gotten everything he’d ever wanted, a daughter, a wife, a home
the very things he’d sacrificed his life for.
With a sniffle, Katie stood at the edge of the small jetty and sighed, looking out over the partially frozen water. “Merry Christmas, Tone.” She whispered, wiping her eyes as her tears trickled slowly down her cheeks.
Back inside the house, Steve looked around for his wife only to notice she wasn’t there. Knowing instantly where she would be, he excused himself from the conversation and grabbed his coat, making his way down to the lake. Sure enough, he saw her stood at the end of the jetty, but before he could cross the snowy lawn towards her, he spotted Jamie and Morgan making their way back from Gerald’s little hut. Jamie stopped, spotting his mom and he turned and said something to Morgan, who nodded, and the pair of them trudged towards her. As Jamie reached his mother he gently slid his arm round her waist, and she turned towards him, dropping a kiss to his head, her arm draping over his shoulder. She then smiled at Morgan, her other arm looping round her niece and the three of them stood still for a moment, Katie’s cheek leaning on the top of Jamie’s head.
Steve gave a little smile, once more the pride and love welling in his chest at how damned thoughtful and willing to look after Katie his son was. As a cold wind whipped against his cheeks he took a deep breath and let it out softly, where it fogged in the air in front of him.
“Merry Christmas Tony.” He said gently before, satisfied Katie wasn’t alone, he turned round and headed back inside.
****
They stayed at Pepper’s until just early evening, when Katie suggested they head home as they still had a few things to do before they got the kids settled and tucked up for the evening. Rori opted to ride home with Emmy and Pete, much to Jamie’s delight, and at just gone five they headed back where the usual Christmas Eve chaos began. In true Rogers-Stark tradition, everyone had a new pair of Christmas Pyjamas to wear, as purchased by Katie, and once showers and baths had been had they all dressed in them and met in the den, Emmy and Peter roaring with laughter at Steve’s which bore the slogan ‘you Jingle my bells’. Rori’s were sparkly and pink, with a unicorn wearing a Santa Hat, Jamie’s were a replica of an Elf Uniform, Harry’s had a huge Christmas pudding on the front, Flossie’s little romper made her look like a reindeer and Katie had gotten Emmy and Pete matching Santa and Mrs Clause ones.
Once the tradition of singing a few carols around the piano was done, Rori insisting Katie played ‘Santa Baby’ three times,  they moved into the living room, the adults with a glass of wine or beer, kids with a hot chocolate and then began the usual discussion about which film they were going to watch.
“Do we have to?” Jamie groaned, as Rori demanded The Muppet Christmas Carol.
“I thought you liked this one?” Katie looked at him as she stood in front of the DVD rack.
“Yeah but we’ve seen it like a thousand times already this year.” He sighed. “Can I go watch It’s a Wonderful Life in the other room?”
“Erm
” Katie took a deep breath and Steve could tell she was trying to keep her face from falling at the fact Jamie didn’t want to sit and watch with them, which would break their tradition for the first time, and he gave a little cough and leaned towards Jamie who was sat on the chair next to the couch.
“Let’s watch The Muppets, and when they’ve all gone to bed you can stay up with and we’ll watch your choice.”
“Really?” Jamie looked at him.
Steve nodded “You keep telling me you’re older now so, well, you can stay up a little later. Just don’t mention it, okay?”
“Sure.” Jamie grinned, before he cleared his throat. “It’s okay mom, I changed my mind.”
Once the film was on, Katie settled down on the sofa, tucked under Steve’s arm as he pressed a kiss to her head, her hands lightly trailing shapes over his arm which was crossed over her chest, holding her close to him.
They laughed and sang their way through the movie, the only movement being Pete and Steve taking it in turns to keep the adult’s alcohol supply topped up and once it was done Rori jumped up, grinning and exclaiming loudly that it was time to leave the treats out for Santa.
Katie and Steve both headed into the kitchen where Katie handed Rori the large plate that Steve had painted years ago, which identified spaces for each separate item, and now sported Flossie’s name alongside the other four and with a loud instruction for Rori and Harry to calm down, Steve handed, Harry a carrot before he grabbed a mince pie and a bottle of beer for Santa- well, he can’t have milk in every house, that just gets boring- and he made his way into the living room where Rori placed the plate down in the middle of the coffee table and they set about arranging the treats.
But Rori wasn’t happy.
"Daddy it's wrong!" "What’s wrong?" Steve looked at Rori and she pointed to the plate.
"There's only one carrot."
"Yeah, for Rudolph."
"But what about Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen?" Steve blinked as she dropped her hands to her hips, giving him a look so reminiscent of the one Katie shot him when she thought he was being a dumbass. "It isn't all about Rudolph, Daddy" "Well, we haven’t got any more carrots, Princess." He pondered "You think the reindeers would like broccoli?" "Don't be ridiculous." Rori shot back but at that point Peter interjected "They do, Titch. I left it one year. They ate the lot" Steve didn't miss the way Emmy looked at Peter as he nodded seriously to Rori, his eldest daughter’s eyes wide with pride and love and he bit back the smile threatening to spread across his face. "It’s true Rori." Jamie added, playing along. "They like most veg." "Ooh, okay! I’ll go ask momma for a selection." She exclaimed, running out of the room. Steve turned to Pete, clapping him between the shoulders "Nice one Queens." He then shook his head "Why the hell is leaving just one suddenly a problem this year?" "Yeah that might be our fault." Emmy grimaced a little "We watched the Christmas Chronicles earlier at Auntie Pep's" "Figures." Steve sniffed. "I suppose I should be thankful she's being so kind. She does love animals." Jamie snorted "Yeah go tell that to Mom now little miss Diva is in there demanding half the veg prepped for dinner tomorrow." Steve groaned "Ahh shit, Honey!" He quickly exited the lounge and headed to the kitchen in time to see Katie stood, frowning as Rori hastily explained the issue. "So I need some broccoli, and cauliflower and...erm...what else is there?" "Potatoes, cabbage, green beans and sprouts." "Yeah. Sprouts!" Katie looked up at Steve, mouthing what the fuck is going on and he snorted as she shook her head and moved to the pans on the stove. She pulled a few pieces of each veg out, placed them in a bowl and handed it to Rori. "Thanks Momma!" She grinned, carefully carrying her precious reindeer food from the room. "Nine reindeer huh?" She looked at Steve as he laughed and crossed to room to give her a kiss. "Reckon you just saved Christmas Eve, Mrs Rogers." "Hmmm." She grinned, her arms sliding round Steve's neck. "How fast do you think you can get them into bed?" Steve arched an eyebrow as his hands landed on her hips. "Why? You got plans?" "Yes." She deadpanned, causing him to chuckle. "We got another film to watch with Jamie first." Steve's fingers flexed against Katie's hips and she gave a sigh. "I forgot about that. God, why does he have to keep growing up?" she grumbled, and Steve laughed as she pressed her face into his chest."I wish I'd known last year it was gonna be the final time he believed in Santa." "Well, I'm kinda pleased that the fat, sack carrying bastard doesn't get the credit for all our hard work with at least two of them." He shrugged causing Katie to snort. "The amount of effort we go to only for him to take the plaudits takes the piss." "Steven Grinch Rogers." Katie looked at him as she pulled away. "You sound like Tony."
"Well, he didn't always talk crap." Steve smiled and Katie grinned as he gave her another soft kiss. Together they left the kitchen and headed back to the lounge where the kids were now dotted about. Harry was sat on Emmy's knee looking at a book, whilst Rori was busy prodding at her tablet showing something to Peter. Jamie was snuggled with Stark and Erica on the chair and Katie had to smile, the kitten had taken a liking to her rescuer, much to Rori's irritation. "Okay kids." Katie clapped her hands. "It’s getting kinda late and I'd hate for Santa to arrive and not be able to come in so..." "Bed time!" Harry grinned, jumping up and off Emmy's lap, the young woman scoffing indignantly. "If only you were this enthusiastic about going to sleep all the time."  Steve mused, swinging Harry up into the air, smoothing his hair back, planting a kiss to his cheek. "But we don't get presents all the other times when we wake up." Rori shrugged. And Steve couldn't really argue against her logic.
***** Jamie fell asleep halfway through It’s A Wonderful Life, and when the film finished Steve gently woke him up where he stretched and let out a yawn before he rubbed his eyes, coming to. He stood up and bid them all a good night, and by the time Katie went upstairs to tuck him in, he was once again crashed out.
Steve, Katie, Emmy and Pete then all settled in the kitchen as it was the furthest part of the house from the bedrooms. Katie pulled a charcutteri board from the fridge as Steve cracked open the Asgardian Bourbon for him and Pete, Katie and Emmy remaining on the champagne. With Christmas songs playing in the background they played a few games of Go Fish, which grew louder and more competitive the more drink they consumed. Eventually, when Pete claimed the last game, Steve tossed his cards down with a disgusted grimace.
“Outrageous.” He shook his head, laughing as Emmy nudged him hard in the ribs.
“You’re such a sore loser, dad!” she scoffed and he looked at her, arching his eyebrow.
“Carry on and Santa won’t be leaving you anything tonight.”
“He isn’t anyway.” Pete grinned, “She’s firmly on the naughty list.”
There was a pause as Steve turned his head slowly to look at him and Pete flushed furiously, recoiling in his seat as he realised what he’d just said as Katie tipped her head back, letting out a huge laugh.
“Aaaaand that’s our cue to leave.” Emmy stood up. “Come on Pete, you fucking moron.”
“Language!” Steve shot out, pointing at her and she replied by flipping him off.
“See you in the morning.” She smiled, giving both her parents a hug and a kiss before she headed out of the door, Pete simply smiling sheepishly as she tugged him behind her and across the garden to the cabin.
And then it was time to set out the presents.
Katie began to clear the table as Steve headed out to the garage to retrieve the gifts from their hiding place, setting them out in the lounge into separate piles before Katie came in with the smaller items she’d hidden in the under-stairs storage for the stockings which were hung over the hearth. Half an hour or so later they stood back to admire their handy-work, new bikes for Jamie, Rori and Harry taking centre stage on their piles, whilst Emmy and Pete’s gift was a little smaller, as keys to an apartment in London didn’t really take up much room when all was said and done.
“I can’t believe it’s Christmas already.” Katie sighed, looking around. “I mean this time last year we were getting ready to have Floss, and when I think back about everything that’s happened since then
”
“It’s been a heavy year.” Steve nodded, his arms wrapping around her as he hugged her from behind. “But we made it. You’re amazing, you know that.”
“Team effort.” Katie leaned back into him, “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Steve gently moved one hand and reached up to sweep her hair away from her neck. His fingers softly brushed her skin and she gave a little shudder as he dropped his head, his lips kissing softly beneath her ear.
“Gram mo Chroi
” he whispered and she let out a soft sigh, his lips kissing up to her jaw line before she turned and ran her hands up his chest, bringing them to rest on his shoulders.
“Still?” her eyes were bright a she peered up at him and Steve smiled, nodding, knowing full well she was referring to the first time he’d said those words to her on Christmas Eve some seventeen years ago.
“Til the end of the line, pretty girl.” he dropped his head to give her a kiss, one hand on her hip, the other cradling the back of her head as he held her to him, his mouth locked on hers. Soon she felt both of his hands on her back, then they slowly slid down her body, cupping her ass.
“So, about those plans you had
” he muttered against her lips and she smirked, pulling back a little.
“Thought you might fancy unwrapping one of your gifts early.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah
” she grinned. “I mean I’ve been a very good girl, Santa.”
“That’s debatable.” Steve’s smirk grew even wider. Although the sooner I can get out of these hideous pyjamas the better!”
“You know they’re gonna have to go back on after, right?” she laughed as she reluctantly untangled herself from him so she could turn off the lights on the tree and the garland over the hearth. “None of that lot are knocking tomorrow morning before they come in to wake us up.”
“Remind me again why we have no lock for the door.” Steve asked as he took her hand and they walked up the stairs before they took a quick peek in on their kids. All four were sleeping soundly, Stark curled round Jamie’s feet, Erica round Rori’s head on her pillow.  As Katie gently pulled the door to Rori’s room shut, she turned to Steve who pulled her back towards him, his hands sliding down and grabbing the top of her thighs, hauling her off her feet, causing her to giggle.
“Now, where were we Mrs Rogers?”
“Debating whether or not I’m on the naughty list.” She grinned, her legs locking around his waist.
“I think that’s a given, Doll.” Steve smirked, kissing her as he carried her into their room. “When it comes to being naughty, you’re very good at it.”
Katie let out a chuckle as he dropped her onto the bed, wasting no time as he stripped her bare, before he dispensed of his own pyjamas, falling over her, his hands running through her hair as he looked at her.
“You’re beautiful.” his lips ghosted hers, noses bumping and she smiled against his mouth.
“You’re not so bad yourself.” She whispered before he kissed her again, deeply and slowly, the desire and love flowing between the pair of them was evident as Katie let out a soft whimper, her back arching a little into the kiss which broke a moment later as Steve trailed hot, open mouthed pecks across her jaw line to that spot below her ear. He watched carefully, Katie’s facial expression forming into the one he knew so well as she sighed, his mouth dropping down her neck to her collar bone, his teeth gently grazing over the skin.
His hand trailed down her side, tracing the curve of her hip, the pads of his fingers barely touching her but it was enough. She started to clench her legs together as she bucked her pelvis up and his other hand gently reached up, curling around her jaw as he turned her head back to look at him.
“Patience.”  He instructed, his voice a deep, quiet chuckle. Her eyes widened and she swallowed, a whimper escaping her mouth as he kissed her again, his tongue sliding over her lips before it tangled with her own, grazing the roof of her mouth. He broke the kiss again, but this time their mouths stayed pressed together, each breathing the other’s air as his hand moved down over her stomach and gently parted her folds. Katie moaned as he softly ran his fingertips up and down across her slick, his touches soft, teasing nowhere near enough to satisfy her at all and he knew that. He kept his strokes feather-light, just enough to keep exciting her, coaxing more and more wetness from her as his mouth moved down her neck, sucking at the hollow before he moved then to her breasts. His tongue lapped at her nipples in turn, teasing them to hard peaks slowly, as his fingers were working her and she trembled underneath him, the subtle touches not nearly enough.
“Steve
” she let out a choked whisper of his name that was almost a sob. “Please.”
At that he pushed one finger inside of her, curling against her spot, his thumb gently stroking over her clit. Katie’s back arched violently off the bed and he moved again, his mouth back on hers. She responded by kissing him back, and as the kiss grew in intensity so did the pace of Steve’s fingers.
This was torturous pleasure for Katie, Steve just toying with her as he wished. The fire was burning in the pit of her belly, but it was like the low, dull burn of an ember which was waiting to burst into flames. And it was driving her wild. But, as always, he knew just how and what to do and sensing that she was reaching her limit he picked up the pace a little, inserting another finger insider her as he continued tracing circles on her clit. Her back arched off the bed again, and her core tightened before she gave a strangled, low groan which died in her throat as a wave of pleasure washed over her, her legs growing stiff a little before she stilled, her breathing deep, breasts heaving in the dim light of the lamp.
Steve didn’t give her a second’s reprieve. His mouth was back on hers, both large hands cupping her face with a strong grip as he rather unceremoniously nudged her legs apart with his knee. As Katie bent her legs to accommodate him he shuffled forwards, and she reached down with one hand, grabbing at his solid cock, guiding it to where she needed him most.
He slid into her easily, his hands gripping into her hair as he rest on his elbows which were planted either side of her shoulders. His thrusts were deep, slow, controlled, each roll of his hip forward brushing against that spot inside of her. It felt so fucking good that Steve was in no rush for any of this to end, enjoying the fact he was loving his wife in a way only he could. Their bodies were moulded together in the most intimate of dances, Katie’s moving slightly with Steve’s as his hips drove into her, lips pressed together in a barely there kiss, mouths open, as he pressed his forehead to hers.
“So good,” He whispered. “Always so good for me, sweetheart.”
Katie sighed back, it was all she could do as Steve gave a small whimper, his head pressing further to hers as her hands slid up his back, tangling in his hair. As her nails dug lightly into his scalp, Steve tipped his head back a little bit and gave a harsher thrust into her making her cry out a little, her hands tightening around his blonde locks.
He repeated his action, barely pulling back an inch, rolling into her as opposed to thrusting and she felt the familiar, tingle brewing in her belly and upper thighs before with a final silent cry she bucked underneath him, her walls clamping down on his dick as she came, her entire body going rigid before she sagged back underneath him, utterly boneless.
Steve picked up the pace a little, chasing his own release, his mouth back on hers, his groans gathering volume as his hips increased their momentum. With a dirty grunt, which he stifled into the crook of her neck, he came hard, and the world felt like it was completely tipping on its axis as his hips slowed to a stop and he dropped down, pressing his weight onto his wife.
Neither of them moved for a while. The room was silent bar the deep, ragged breathing from the both as they lay still. Katie could feel Steve pulsing inside her as the final throes of his orgasm subsided before he lifted himself a little, his mouth seeking out hers as her fingers danced down his neck.
The kiss was soft, his hands once more cupping her face, thumbs softly stroking over her cheekbones as he pressed his forehead to hers, his nose gently sliding against hers as he pulled away ever so slightly to look at her.
“I love you,” his hands brushing her hair off her face as he kissed her again, enjoying the feeling as her lips curled into a smile against his, “from your head to your mistletoes”
At that she burst out laughing, her head falling back further against her pillow as she looked at him, her eyes shining as she shook her head slightly.
“Your dad joke game is strong, old man.” She snorted before she moved her hands from where they had been stroking the nape of his neck and cupped his face in the pads of her fingers. “I love you too, jingle balls included.”
At that Steve gave a bellow of laugher which she hastily stifled beneath her hand so as not to wake their children. As his chuckles subsided, he gently wrapped his fingers around her wrist and kissed her palm.
“Merry Christmas, Sweetheart.” He smiled, letting go her arm as he dropped his head.
“Merry Christmas, Soldier.” She whispered, before his lips captured hers once more.
93 notes · View notes
heavenlyhaechan · 5 years ago
Text
The Road Not Taken
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Pairing: Kevin x Gn!Reader 
Genre: exes to almost lovers, angst, fluff
Word Count: 2k 
Warnings: mentions of alcohol, alludes to explicit content, not a happy ending
Rating: PG 
Note: Based on ‘tis the damn season by Taylor Swift. Look for the lines inspired by the Queen’s Gambit.
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The cafe was the same as it’d always been. Big windows looked out onto the wet street, sacks of coffee beans lay along the back wall, their sweet aroma filling the air. You breathed in deeply, letting the smell fill your lungs until your body forced you to exhale. 
You ordered a plain black coffee at the counter, turning to lean against it as you waited. A baby looked at you in the curious way babies do, and you returned their stare. Their hair stuck up in curls that bounced around as they giggled. You smiled, averting your gaze as you heard the bell on the door jingle. 
His hair was longer than you remembered. It threatened to fall into his eyes as he surveyed the room, eyes that froze the second they landed upon you. For a moment you were tempted to try and hide, abandon your unmade coffee and run as far away from here as you could. But he was already making his way past the cashier and the cases of baked goods, only slowing down when he reached you.  
“Kevin Moon,” you said as he came to a stop in front of you. He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. 
“It’s been a while,” he replied. 
“I like your hair.” 
He thanked you as you turned to accept your coffee from the barista. 
“Where are you staying?” he asked as you took a sip of the dark liquid. 
“My parents house.” 
“How long?” 
“Two weeks.” 
He nodded again, fingers playing with the silver chain of his necklace. 
“Aren’t you gonna order?” you asked after a moment of silence. 
“Oh yeah. Wait for me?” 
“Of course,” you said, but in your head all you could think was: did you wait for me? 
“You still drink that bitter stuff huh?” he asked as he walked you back to your parents house. 
“You still drink that glorified milk huh?” you shot back. 
He made an indignant sound as he held his coffee cup close to his chest. “How dare you disrespect my latte like that.” 
For the first time in what felt like forever, a genuine laugh bubbled up in your chest. Soon enough you were both laughing, high on the cold air and the nostalgia of each others company. It felt so natural being with him, laughing with him, like four years hadn’t just gone by without a word from either of you. 
“So what are you up to these days?” you asked when you’d recovered. 
“Well I’m a uh, teacher. For first graders.” 
“Oh?” you said. “You went through with it huh?” 
“Yeah,” he laughed again, quieter this time. You remembered how easily laughter had always come to him, as well as the days when it had come easily to you too.
——
Thursday morning you sat up in your childhood bed to find the world outside coated in a thin layer of snow. By the time you made it downstairs for breakfast it had begun to fall again, the wind sending white flurries of it dancing across your parent’s lawn. 
At eleven o’clock you answered a knock on the door, only to find Kevin standing on your porch with a navy blue beanie pulled over his hair and a sled under his arm. 
“Are you serious?” you asked in place of a greeting, trying and failing to hold back a smile as he nodded enthusiastically. 
“It never snows here, so we are obligated to take advantage of it!” he said as he quirked an eyebrow at you comically. 
You didn’t need any more persuasion than that. 
Half an hour later the two of you stood at the top of a hill in your neighborhood park, surrounded on all sides by people twice your age. Not that Kevin seemed to care. A flipped coin resulted in you sitting on the front of the sled with Kevin behind you, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. 
The butterflies that were conjured at the feeling of his chest pressed against your back (albeit separated by quite a few of layers), were blown away as he sent the two of you hurtling down the snowy slope. You didn’t know whether to laugh or scream, so you did a bit of both. It was over in a flash however, as the two of you came to a smooth stop at the bottom of the hill. 
“Again!” you shouted elatedly, laughing as you pulled Kevin to his feet and started back up the incline. 
Once, twice, three times you repeated the process, until on your fifth run your luck ran out and you were sent toppling off the sled as you reached the bottom of the hill. You lay still for a moment, trying to catch your breath, before you realized the position you’d landed in. Kevin hadn’t let go of your waist once, resulting in the two of you falling onto the snow covered ground in a pile of limbs, your cheek pressed to his chest. 
“Are you okay?” you asked as you scrambled off of him hurriedly, blaming his newfound blush on the cold. 
“Yeah, are you?” he asked as he sat up slowly. 
“Yes, you’re good landing pad.” 
“Glad to be of service.” He looked around for a moment before laying back down and shouting, “Snow angel!” His arms and legs moved sporadically in the snow, sending you into another fit of laughter. 
——
The next week was spent both with and without Kevin. During the day you would go explore art galleries, cafes, and parks, or just go for a drive in the old truck he’d had since you were seventeen. At night you would spend time with your family, trying your best to pretend that your mind wasn’t elsewhere. 
New Years Eve arrived sooner than you would’ve liked, as it meant your trip was coming to an end. That night Kevin showed up on your doorstep yet again, this time carrying a bottle of champagne. 
“Might I uh, steal you away from your parents for a bit?” he asked when you answered the door, his smile as big and lopsided as ever. You found that you couldn’t help but smile back. 
——
“This is it; home sweet home,” he said as he closed his apartment door behind you. It was small but cozy, with little bits of Kevin everywhere. Boxes of beads were spread across the kitchen table, and some of his students drawings were pinned up on the white front fridge. 
As Kevin went to get some glasses for the champagne, you found your eyes fixating on the piece of art hung on the far wall.
“Do you like it?” he asked as he set a pair of champagne glasses down on the kitchen table. 
“Yeah,” you said, although honestly you weren’t sure. The piece sent a strange sense of loneliness streaking through you. 
“It’s mine.” he said. “I made it I mean.” 
“I didn’t know you were an artist,” you said as you ripped your eyes away from the piece and moved to where he stood at the table. 
“I’m not really,” he deflected, lifting his hands to gesture towards the bottle of champagne. “Shall we?” 
——
A few glasses of champagne later you found yourself laying on Kevin’s couch, legs resting on his lap. His hands tapped an unfamiliar beat on your thighs, the beads on his bracelet creating a makeshift song. 
“You know, this isn’t technically champagne,” you mused, your fingers playing with one of the couches loose strings. “It’s just sparkling white wine,” you continued, lifting your head to look at him. 
“Is it now?” he said to show he was listening, his eyes not straying from where his hands rested on your legs. 
“Yes,” you sat up properly now, your head spinning a bit as blood rushed from your brain to the rest of your body. You watched the clocks hands tick the seconds away, counting down to midnight. 
——
It was 11:57 when he asked you if you still liked his hair, the words heavy with meaning. His breath ghosted across your lips as you pondered for a moment, leaning forward to twist a lock of his pitch black hair between your fingers. You noticed then that his eyes had glazed over, although whether it was because of the champagne or the close proximity you weren’t sure. 
“Yes,” you said finally, and he smiled. 
“Can I kiss you?” he asked this time, leaning just a hair closer. 
“Yes,” you said again, barely loud enough for him to hear. 
Four years had passed, but he tasted the same; like that peppermint gum you’d loved in high school, with remnants of coffee from the place down the street. You wondered if you tasted the same, if deep down you were still the same naive school girl that he’d watched leave all those years ago. 
You thought back to the last kiss you’d given him before you’d left, and realized that this felt exactly the same. The only difference was that this time you thought you might finally drown in your guilt. 
But then you felt his teeth dig into your bottom lip and you stopped thinking anything at all. 
——
You awoke to the scent of him on your skin and in your lungs, the warmth of his presence permeating your very being. You were enveloped in it, and for a moment you wished you could stay there forever, wrapped in the warmth of his blankets.
But no. You rolled onto your stomach, not wanting to look him in the eye as your mind grappled with the conflicting bitterness of the truth. Goosebumps rose on your skin as he trailed his fingertips over your bare shoulder, up to your cheek, before coming to rest in your hair. 
“I’m leaving tomorrow,” you murmured finally, not wanting to disrupt the peaceful atmosphere of the morning. 
“Wow,” he said. “Time flies.” 
A few moments passed, and part of you lit up with the hope that he might ask you to stay. But then the warmth of his hand left your head, and the warmth of his body left your side. You kept your face buried in the pillow, eyes screwed tight against the tears that you felt rising in you. You could feel the strain in your throat as you forced yourself to hold them back.
“Why didn’t you,” he started and then stopped as his voice wavered. A moment passed, and the another, and then another, until you thought he might have decided to leave it alone. But then he began again. 
“Why didn’t you keep in touch?” 
The question felt like salt added to an already aching wound. You forced yourself to think back to the day you’d left. You’d been eighteen then, ready to get out of your hometown and explore the world. Ready for new adventures in unfamiliar cities. And that’s exactly what you’d found. 
Nevertheless, you’d promised Kevin that you’d keep in touch, keep whatever it was the two of you had back then alive. In this you had failed. You’d been too wrapped up in your luxurious new life, meeting luxurious new people and seeing luxurious new places. 
“I did at first, I just-” you stopped yourself when you heard, more than felt, your voice crack. What good were excuses anyway. 
“Yeah,” you heard him sigh. “At first.” The bed moved underneath you as he stood up. You opened your eyes then, only to feel any lingering hope that you had left being ripped away as you watched him turn towards the door. 
“I’m going down the street to get breakfast,” he said, but you knew what he really meant was: you better be gone when I get back. With that he left the bedroom, his bare feet making so little noise on the hardwood floors that it was like he was a ghost. 
You wanted to call his name, ask him to stay a little longer, but that was too selfish even for you. You couldn’t ask him to wait for the same reason you knew he wouldn’t ask you to stay. 
——
As you stood in the airport saying goodbye to your parents a strange wave of deja vu washed over you. Four and a half years and almost nothing had changed, except this time he wasn’t here to say goodbye. 
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927roses-and-stuff · 4 years ago
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Miracles in Gotham: Chapter 7: A Brewing Storm
A/N: So, with Season 4 of Miraculous Ladybug officially starting, this is a reminder that this fanfic is non-compliant with any events after Season 3, even with the added lore in canon. I know this is also a crossover so that’s to be expected, but because this fic is also dealing with Miraculous lore, I feel the need to put this up. Please don’t comment about canon disproving any of the material here, because I am already fully aware of the fact. I don’t really care for the show anymore, and the only thing keeping me in the fandom are the fanworks. Like many in the Maribat fandom, I discovered the more vast lore of DC through this, so there is a mix-up of canon from different worlds/universes (e.g. Young Justice, New 52, and Prime Earth), I just don’t care enough to discern which wiki I’m getting my info from.
That said, thank you to everyone who is taking the time to read this fic, and I hope that you like it. An extra thank you to everyone who has given this a kudos, bookmarked, and/or commented. I appreciate you all so much.
Also, shout out to jackmand1, Sp8cefluff and BenRG who commented on ways to open the box (getting Bunnyx to get the tablet before Hawkmoth, and asking the box to open), which is all mentioned in Marinette’s diary entry.
If you want to see more, follow: #miraclesingotham or ask to be added to the tag list.
Tag list: : @northernbluetongue @zerotosiki @spicybelladonna @my-name-is-michell @legendaryneckjudgestudent @lokiifriggasonn @iloontjeboontje
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Dear Diary,
There’s still no luck with the Miracle Box. After we tried Chat’s idea of dropping it from the Louvre using the chew toy as a pressure point, we tried hitting it with our weapons (didn’t even make a dent!), Chat asked the box to “please open don’t close up on us like my dad did” (we had a talk about that but he didn’t want to delve too much into it, and it didn’t work), the kwami tried phasing through it (thank god kwami don’t get concussions), and we even tried contacting Bunnyx, but goodness knows where she is and after Chat Blanc, I didn’t really want to see her anyway. We gave up sometime in the early morning, and now it’s shoved in one of my luggage carts, ready to bring to Gotham tomorrow. I hope it doesn’t trigger any of the airport security.
In better news, it’s been a few days since Chat and I officially introduced our new Ladybug and Bee to the scene. For the most part, I think they’re doing well- better than I did when I first started, anyway. It took a bit of time for Luka and Kagami to get used to the new set up, but Chat and I were there to help them, so it wasn’t too bad. Luka, or Bleu Acier, took a while to get used to the yoyo (who knew Luka had a fear of heights?), but he’s gotten used to it...after we had to convince him he wasn’t going to splat into the pavement or anything like that. Kagami, who decided on the name ShĆ«yƍ, had to adjust to short-range fighting and not using Venom too soon, but she managed to navigate the top and cause a lot of damage to the akumas that we dealt with in the last few days. I think Hawkmoth has some idea that Bustier’s class is on the move because we’ve had an akuma attack every day so far. I’m hoping it’s just Hawkmoth becoming more desperate, although hopefully Bleu Acier and ShĆ«yƍ threw him off a little bit. As of right now, I’m using the Snake Miraculous as Couleuvre, so it’ll be easier to-
One moment, Marinette had been settled comfortably in her chaise, and the next, a large crash through her bedroom walls threw her across the room, her back hitting the wall hard enough that she felt pain upon impact. When the world around her gained focus, she spotted a large woman-like figure in front of the hole in her wall cackling. The woman’s glassy skin that was translucent, yet she could also see a muddled reflection of her own face. Upon her head she wore a heavy silver crown adorned with gems that was reminiscent of her skin and a white, flowy dress that trailed behind her from the waist. In her hand was an open contact mirror that contained no reflection except for her own blue-bell eyes.
“Marinette Dupain-Cheng! I am Mistress Mirage! Soon, I will show you the darkest parts of yourself, the secrets you hide behind your so-called truths!” she bellowed, her voice echoing in Marinette’s ears. In the background, she could barely hear her parents’ muffled screams and bangs against her bedroom door.
“Who-” she hissed, trying to balance herself and stand up. “What did I do to you?”
As far as she knew, she hadn’t angered anyone in the last hour she had been home for lunch.
Mistress Mirage zoomed towards her, her face shoved near into hers, her burning cold fingers choked her. Marinette backed into the wall, grabbing onto Mirage’s marble wrists, a pain shooting up her spine. Marinette could only struggle in place, her legs kicking listlessly, as the glassy, bright green emeralds Mistress Mirage had for eyes stared into her very being. The longer she stared into the empty gems, trying .
“Your weaknesses, your darkest secrets will be mine, Dupain-Cheng.”
Her voice, tinkled within Marinette’s mind, and she watched as the woman’s glassy skin shifted and soon she was faced with a kaleidoscope version of herself, blue sapphires glinting harshly, her breaths now ragged and shallow.
“Wha-” Marinette tried taking a deep breath, but Mirage’s fingers tightened their hold. “Why?” she managed to weakly choke out.
“Doesn’t it bother you?” Mirage’s voice, no longer bellowing nor echoing, but now a whisper right in her ears, sounding eerily like her own. “That you aren’t enough? That you will never be enough?”
Marinette shook her head, trying to ignore the voice as it taunted her endlessly.
“What are you hiding, Marinette?”
“Why do you hide from the world?”
“How pathetic. You claim to hate liars,” Marinette felt Mirage’s fingers tighten around her. “But aren’t you a liar too?”
Tears stung the corner of her eyes. She didn’t know what was going on- Mistress Mirage wasn’t saying anything incriminating. If it were any other situation, she could brush off these accusations, but as Mirage continued to taunt her in her voice, doubts and fears, both new and old, she usually ignored were brought to the forefront of her mind.
‘I’ll fail as a Guardian- I’m not enough.
I’m abandoning my city to find a man who might not even be alive.
Chat Noir will never trust me again.
My parents want to send me away.
Why doesn’t Alya believe me?
Alya would’ve made a better Ladybug.
If Tikki could see me now she’d be disappointed.
What a failure I turned out to be.
“What a failure you turned out to be.”
Mistress Mirage’s emerald eyes glinted gleefully, a wide smile cracking into the glassy expanse of her skin. Her voice echoed Marinette’s thoughts and Marinette repeated her words as much as she could, her breathing becoming more shallow. Mistress Mirage couldn’t actually read any of Marinette’s secrets, however, she could read her psyche, a doubtful, anxious little thing, and she only said out loud what Marinette had already been telling herself to make her putty into Mirage’s hands. A neon violet butterfly appeared over her face, reminding her of her duty to get the Miraculous.
But for now, she had Marinette in her grasp. Once Marinette was in her trance, shaking slightly and mumbling nonsense as tears streaked down her cheeks, Mirage grabbed her and headed to the Trocadero, when three figures- black, steel blue and honey yellow- surrounded her in the middle of the street. The two new heroes stiffened at the sight of the girl in her arms. Chat snarled at Mistress Mirage.
“Marinette!” Chat yelled, rushing forward with his baton at Mistress Mirage. “What are you doing with her?!”
Mistress Mirage smirked. “If you want her, you’ll have to give me your Miraculous.”
She leapt out of the way only to stumble beside ShĆ«yƍ who held her yellow top- flatter than Queen Bee’s with a long, black handle- the tip poised to the side of Mirage’s ribcage.
Before ShĆ«yƍ could enact Venom however, Mirage turned and kicked the bee heroine away from her, holding out her compact mirror, creating a wall of mirrors that trapped ShĆ«yƍ on the other side. She rearranged Marinette in her arms, ignoring the silent struggles of the bee thumping against the mirrored walls and swearing at her.
Chat Noir extended his baton towards Mistress Mirage. However, she jumped and landed on top of the baton, sending Chat sprawling through the air. Bleu Acier attacked at the same time. Mirage was quick and held out her compact to the two heroes, entrapping them in their own mirror dimension. The butterfly outline appeared again, and Mirage set off. She had special plans for Marinette.
Within the mirror dimension, Bleu and Chat were trying to navigate their way around crystallized walls which reflected everything around them. They had tried to find ShĆ«yƍ, only to realize she was a reflection, then had almost been driven over by a car that had then disappeared.
“What is all this?” Chat muttered, nudging his surroundings. “It’s like, some of it are just reflections, but some of it is real.”
Bleu Acier nodded. “The reflections have to come from somewhere, so the real objects and people are in here somewhere.” He looked up and pointed a little ways forward. “Look, you can see our reflections.”
“Hope they’re getting my good side,” Chat quipped. “We have to get ShĆ«yƍ and Marinette soon.”
Bleu Acier blinked, as he caught his yoyo when it hadn’t rebounded against a wall. “Do you know her personally?” He asked. He hadn’t been aware of Marinette’s close relationship with the Parisian heroes.
Chat gave a stiff nod. “She’s worked with Ladybug and I a few times. I met her when we fought Evillustrator.”
“So, do you and Ladybug often have civilians fight for you?” Bleu frowned. He scanned the area, and turned left.
“Only when we really need to,” Chat scoffed. “It’s not ideal, but it’s just me and m’Lady and sometimes we need help.”
Bleu could sense a resonating low, flat tone emanating from Chat. “That’s horrible. You guys look like you’re still kids.” Chat shrugged in response. As they walked onwards, investigating every inch of the way, Bleu noticed a figure dressed in a black and yellow-patterned fencing uniform, wearing a striped domino mask, thumping against a transparent wall. “Chat, look.”
Cat’s eyes widened at the sight. “ShĆ«yƍ!” he yelled and rushed forward, only to be trapped in a corner with several reflections of the bug-themed heroine. Chat’s breath quickened. “ShĆ«yƍ! Can you hear us?!”
ShĆ«yƍ’ perked up and looked around. “I can! But where are you?” She shouted, her voice vibrating through the air.
“Shit.” Chat stared at his hand, before clenching it and turning towards Bleu. “I think we might need that Lucky Charm now.”
He nodded. “Lucky Charm!”
A bright red object with black spots dropped from the sky followed a series of chimes. Bleu Acier’s eyes widened as he held up the wind chime, eight hollow tubes ringing against the slapper in between, the clear, steady ringing piercing all around them. The wind chime was half the size of his torso, so fortunately, it was lighter than it looked.
It was a curious thing Ladybug had noted, that most of Bleu Acier’s Lucky Charms were sound or music-related.
“Well, this blows. You going to chime a pretty tune there, Bleu?”
He held back a chuckle. In the week he and ShĆ«yƍ had been working with Chat and Ladybug, he had grown to appreciate Chat’s humour and the jaunty tune he associated with them.
“Maybe,” he said. Raising his voice, he addressed ShĆ«yƍ. “Can you hear this?!” He asked, shaking the wind chime from its hanger.
They could see ShĆ«yƍ’s reflection moving around, her eyes closed in concentration. “Sort of!” she answered, echoing slightly. “Are we able to use Chat Noir’s Cataclysm?!”
Bleu stared at Chat who was staring at his hand in deep thought. “Probably! We just need to make sure I’m not using Cataclysm on something real!”
“Maybe it is not my place to say as your junior, but this is not the time for hesitation!” ShĆ«yƍ yelled back.
A beep echoed in Bleu’s ears. “We should hurry. I only have four minutes.”
Chat nodded. “Alright!” He looked around, scanning nearby walls until he found a reflection of himself- a sure way to make sure he hit the mirror. “Cataclysm!”
The walls around them crumbled in seconds, revealing the world around them. Chat smirked, and they scouted for ShĆ«yƍ who met them in the middle.
“Why did you not use Cataclysm in the first place?” ShĆ«yƍ asked, when they reconvened.
“I didn’t want to accidentally use it on the wrong thing,” he said, flexing his fingers. “Come on, we have less than five minutes. Don’t use Venom until you receive my signal.”
ShĆ«yƍ nodded.
Chat turned to Bleu Acier and pointed to the wind chime. “Keep that on you and look out for opportunities.” He turned around and headed off. “Let’s go!”
In the end, Mistress Mirage was defeated quickly. In their absence, she had grown arrogant, and the three heroes found several clones of Mistress Mirage atop the Palais de Chaillot, a crowd having gathered at the bottom. Each clone had a Marinette bound in front of them, at the edge of the roof, standing listlessly. Despite this, Mistress Mirage was not prepared for the ambush of the three heroes. Bleu’s wind chimes were used as a distraction for the real Mistress Mirage while Chat and ShĆ«yƍ attacked from behind.
“ShĆ«yƍ! Use it now!” Chat yelled, as he grabbed Marinette and set her down on the ground below, and allowed the paramedics to deal with her.
“Venom,” ShĆ«yƍ muttered. She dropped beneath Mirage and her top, stabbing her opponent beneath her ribcage. “Gotcha.”
Mistress Mirage froze mid-air, one leg in the air and both hands outstretched. Chat’s eyes widened when he didn’t see her holding the akumatized object. Chat pounced back onto the roof, ignoring the second beep from his ring. He noticed the satin sash that was wrapped around her waist.
“ShĆ«yƍ, the akumatized object is the mirror she carries around. It should be in her sash,” he said, his cheeks tinged pink. “Can you- uh-?”
ShĆ«yƍ nodded. “I do not understand your need for modesty at such a time, but it is commended.”
Chat’s cheeks reddened further. “It’s just polite! I don’t want to be touching anyone without their consent!”
ShĆ«yƍ took out the compact mirror that had been tucked into the sash just above her left hip. She tossed it to Bleu Acier who quickly broke it and captured the akuma.
“It’s just the principle of it!” Chat squawked as the trail of tiny red ladybugs flowed throughout Parisian skies.
She snorted. “I understand. I was just teasing.” She turned to nod at Bleu then at Chat. “You two are close to de-transforming. I will bring both victims home.” ShĆ«yƍ then grabbed Lila, who had been the akuma and was now disoriented, and jumped down to retrieve Marinette.
When Marinette had woken up from the akuma attack, she had been escorted home by ShĆ«yƍ, who had fussed over any injuries she may have gotten before eventually leaving with a pack of honey macarons. Marinette smiled. Chat had made a good choice with Kagami. After, she had endured cuddles and hugs from her parents who were now even more determined to get her out of Paris.
Later that evening, after reassuring her parents and making sure the kwami were okay. She headed off to patrol where she had to answer for her absence, and where Chat had regaled how they did. Marinette smiled, knowing she made the right choice. After the patrol, which had been less of a patrol and more of a small goodbye ceremony, she returned home and recorded the events in her diary, slowly anticipating the trip.
The next day, she had just made it to the airport an hour before boarding. Everyone had gone through the usual airport processes and she was the last to arrive with her passport and airplane tickets in her carry-on shoulder bag. When she arrived to the waiting area where her friends were (with Adrien’s bodyguard nearby playing on his phone), she was met with a lot of mixed reactions.
Alya had rushed over and hugged her, frantically asking if she was okay. Several classmates had joined her, like Rose, Juleka and Mylene. She hugged them back and reassured them that she was alright, and wasn’t going to jump off roofs anytime soon (though she didn’t remember that from yesterday anyway). They then moved on and Alya asked her a question that stopped her in her tracks.
“Why were you arguing with Lila yesterday, anyway?” Alya asked, leading the two of them to sit down.
Marinetter furrowed her eyebrows and frowned. “What are you on about? I’m not talking to Lila at all.”
Alya frowned. “She told us that’s why she was akumatized yesterday. Apparently you called the mirror she got from Bruce Wayne as a birthday gift, fake.”
Marinette forced herself to not roll her eyes. “What? Why would I care about anything like that? She’s lying!”
Alya frowned even more. “Lila said you’d probably say that. Why can’t you two just get along?”
“Alya, you’re the one that believes Lila has a lying illness. Why don’t you believe me when I say she’s lying and that I didn’t even see her at all yesterday outside of class?” Marinette tensed. How petty did Lila think she was? How petty was Lila?
“She did get akumatized yesterday. Her story matches the events,” Alya said. “Marinette, you’re my best friend. That’s why I want to know why you did what you did.”
Marinette snorted. “And I’m telling you, I didn’t do anything. Is this what the whole class believes? That I’m so shallow that I would akumatize Lila over something as trivial as a mirror?”
Alya blanched. “No, of course not. We’re just saying you two had an argument and Lila got upset enough to turn into an akuma. We’re not saying it was intentional on your part or anything.”
She sighed, her shoulders sagging. “Look, my version of events is that I went home for lunch, was in my bedroom, got attacked by the akuma, and was out for it until that Bee hero ShĆ«yƍ brought me home. Believe what you want, but don’t expect me to apologize to Lila for something I didn’t do.”
Marinette stood up and was about to go before she was stopped by Alya grabbing her wrist. She looked back and watched as Alya looked down at her clenched fist, biting her lip.
“I,” Alya sighed. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but I’m not saying I don’t believe Lila either. Either way, both of you were the victims yesterday. I’m sorry I was asking you stuff like that.”
Marinette frowned and sat back down. She wasn’t sure what was happening between her and Alya. Alya had been spending more time with Lila, even ending up as her seatmate on the plane and her roommate for the hotel. It made Marinette uncomfortable that they were becoming so close, considering who Lila was. But, Alya was a good person- she just wanted her friends to get along, and it’s not like she could force Alya to cut off her other friendships, even if it was to manipulative lying rats like Lila. That had to be on Alya’s terms. All Marinette could do was be there for her and hope she’d return the sentiment.
She forced a smile. “You’re forgiven.” Alya looked up and smiled, reaching out to hug her. “Now, let’s hang out for a bit before we’re stuck in a plane for twelve hours.”
Alya smiled back. “Yeah! By the way, did you hear that Jagged Stone knows Bruce Wayne?”
And just like that, they had spent the rest of the hour waiting to board the place. The plane that would take them to whatever was awaiting them in Gotham City.
A/N: So that's the end to the first arc I guess, if I intentionally have arcs lol. The rest of this fanfic will be in Gotham. Thank you again for joining me this far and I hope you continue to read it!
Other notes: Bleu Acier is based on the Steelblue Ladybird, with Bleu Acier meaning Steel Blue. ShĆ«yƍ has three meanings in Japanese, but here, it’s used to mean self-discipline (because that’s something I associate with bees and hard workers). Couleuvre is just another way to say snake in French because Marinette sucks at names.
P.S. I don't hate Alya. In fact, I think we often brush over the fact that Alya is fiercely loyal and in the show, doesn't have all the facts so she's not too suspicious of Lila.
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spiders-hth-is-an-outlier · 4 years ago
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Possibly a big ask to get just out of the blue but: what are your Supernatural season opinions? Which one is your favorite? Least favorite? Did you watch long enough to have showrunner opinions? If yes, which showrunner is your favorite and which is your least favorite? If no, which season that you haven't seen most tempts you to get back in the Supernatural trenches? Answer exactly as many of these questions as you want to. Carry on.
You know, I am not sure how long this Ask has been sitting here, because my Tumblr notifications are borked -- I hope not long? If long, I apologize, I wasn't ignoring it on purpose!
Okay, so I have more than the average number of Supernatural opinions, probably, but I'll try to keep this to a dull roar! Inside Me There Are Two Wolves: one of them believes that only the original five seasons of Supernatural are worth defending in any way, the other really, really loves seasons 11 and 12. The Kripke Era had a lot of problems, particularly in its treatment of women as bodies without agency and its treatment of Black men as literal predators, but also for all its flaws, it had a kind of coherence and narrative drive that comes from being the product of a dude who obviously cared about it and had something to say. Taken on its own, seasons 1-5 are a brutal and compelling story about the traumas of being men in a universe that's been absolutely destroyed by its Fathers: on almost every level, it's about these abandoned and brutalized boys discovering that their entire reality is the product of an abandoning and brutalizing God, populated by authority figures who are universally demanding and arrogant, but also completely fucking useless. It's quite literally about Sam and Dean trying to hang onto their souls and their own agency when everyone around them wants them forced into shapes formed by conflicts that fell into place at the beginning of time. It's hard to remember, but back then even the Lucifer plotline was about that! It was about the damage fathers inflict on sons! Things were about things, in the Kripke era!
Then we get to the Gamble era, and. Woof. I actually -- don't hate 6 and 7? Like everything Sera Gamble touches, those two seasons are kinetic and memorable and funny and weird and hit some really, really great emotional beats. There are Some Problems, but Gamble was saddled with a pretty dire job, trying to find a way forward after everything about the series really had effectively wrapped up in Swan Song, and I think she did an okay job. People got mad at her for killing Castiel, but you know, damn, I give her this: that was a storyline. Like, this character who was fresh out of the cult he was raised in becoming disillusioned by how messy normal life is and deciding that maybe people need better authoritarianism instead -- the way he's driven to take too many risks by the fact that he's abandoned and desperate -- Crowley as a legitimately scary villain while still being charming af -- and the tragic resolution of Castiel being torn apart by both his hubris and his heroism. It's actually really good. I understand why people didn't want what Gamble was serving up -- and I'm able to like it because it was undone later, you know? -- but she really did commit to a full season of character arc and saw it all the way through to an earned ending, and I gotta respect that.
I genuinely hate seasons 8 and 9. I think everyone is a dick, particularly but not exclusively Dean, to the point where I just find it a bummer to watch. I mean, you get Benny, and I love Benny. You get, I dunno, bits and bobs of decent episodes, but overall they are very fucked up seasons in my opinion. So Carver era is on thin fucking ice with me, but I do think you start to get a rebound in season 10 with the Mark of Cain stuff, although I wish they'd managed to keep Cain around longer. All the really good Claire stuff starts happening, which is nice because Claire, but also because for once the show is really letting itself go back and deal with the mess these protagonists leave behind them constantly. Castiel and Claire have maybe the most interesting non-Winchester relationship on the show. Oh, and Rowena shows up around here too, right? Love her. So the back half of Carver, 10 and 11, are starting to really gain traction for me. The world is building outward, secondary characters are starting to be genuine characters in their own right, the politics of Heaven and Hell get a little richer and more interesting. The show is really starting to feel like it takes place in a universe, which is great because we love the Frigging Winchesters, but they shouldn't be the only thing going, right? We have 15 seasons to get through! Season 11 is basically bracketed by what are probably my two favorite Supernatural episodes: Baby and Don't Call Me Shurley. (I think I'm the world's only living Metatron fan; I fucking love that little dude.)
Dabb takes over in 12, and I really, really, genuinely love season 12. I fucking love Mary. There are so many episodes I adore -- Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox is a special favorite of mine, and I remain pissed off that the Banes twins never made it to recurring status, bluntly that feels wildly racist to me -- probably the best three-episode streak in the show is Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets to Regarding Dean to Stuck In the Middle (With You), three just almost perfect episodes. So I was poised to really love the Dabb era. I wanted to! My body was ready!
And I do really love the first chunk of season 13, the Widow Winchester arc. Obviously I'm a romantic, love that for me, but it's just also really good? The acting, the writing, the psychological complexity of Dean wanting Jack to be Bad so he has an outlet for his anger and Sam wanting Jack to be Good so he can retroactively parent himself and raise a Lucifer-tainted child who isn't crippled by self-loathing. Billie's great, and it looks like she's going to start being one of the major powers of the universe. Unfortunately -- with the occasional exception of this or that solid episode -- that's kind of the end of Pretty Good Supernatural. Season 13 kind of unravels; season 14 always feels like it's looking for itself (which is a bummer, because I wanted very much to care about Michael); season 15 is, idk. Idk about any of it, it's all pretty pointless. I feel bad complaining on some level, because the show's been on for like fourteen years at this point! It's kinda justified in feeling a little worn out. But the reality is that the later seasons systematically undo all the expansion that had excited me earlier -- the Wayward Sisters crew pretty much vanishes when the spinoff isn't picked up, Naomi and the angels stop doing anything, Crowley's gone, Mary's gone for much of it. We're just kind of futzing around with monsters who don't seem to matter (very much including Lucifer, who hasn't mattered in ages) and a lot of Jack, who. I try not to shit all over, because I know he's a popular character, but I find him just ungodly boring. Everything in the last two and a half season just feels like it's headed nowhere in particular, and also it bored me. The Empty deal is just sadness porn; it doesn't have any resonance or meaning in terms of Castiel's character, it's just him agreeing to die for his kid, which is okay, it means he's a loving dad, which he is, but there's no conflict there, ergo no real drama. It's just mean; it happens because it'll make us sad, and no other reason. Rowena is the only strong secondary character left, and her ending also doesn't feel particularly relevant to her, it's just a generic Sacrifice to Save the World. Everything just feels like they're autogenerating plotlines, rather than letting the actual needs and drives of the characters shape the narrative. So while I have this weird split personality with Carver where I either hate what he's doing or I love it, most of the Dabb era is just. There. It doesn't make me feel anything except kind of tired and embarrassed. Which is a bummer, because I have an inexplicable fondness for Dabb, probably just because of how much I love s12. I wanted to love his seasons! I did love his first season! I feel like maybe something happened when the CW rejected Wayward Sisters? I know that was kind of his darling, and it feels like maybe losing that kind of sucked the joy out of him, and he's kind of checked-out by the end. That's genuinely just my guess, however.
That's Professor Milo's Intro to Supernatural Studies, don't forget to fill out your course survey on the way out!
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knitting-gay-nerd · 4 years ago
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I Will Stand in the Dark for You
Turn Week 2021 | Day 2: Favorite Historical Event/Location
The Mutiny of the Pennsylvania Line, starting at about midnight January 1, 1781, Jockey Hollow
The following is a dramatization from the perspective of Temperance Wick, who, according to New Jersey legend, ran into some rebelling Continental soldiers just after midnight during the Mutiny of the Pennsylvania Line, tricked them so that they couldn’t take her horse, and hid him in a bedroom in her house. It is of course not historically accurate, for several reasons that include the presence of my original character Henrietta Wick, the mention of a nonexistent Dr. Kemble, and the fact that Tempe’s midnight ride likely never happened.
This is directly related to my fanfiction, All Done Up in Blue & Gold, although you do not need to have read it to understand this, and it contains the mildest of spoilers, as this will be from Henrietta’s point of view in the story itself.
This is over 3,000 words. Enjoy!
Mother’s labored breathing unnerved me. It was clearly audible even from the doorway, where I stood. Whatever this fever was, it had taken a toll on her. We had gone for the doctor, our brother-in-law William Leddel, when she first fell ill, but he told us that she would eventually recover and simply to take care of her as we normally would. She had become bedridden only days after Father’s funeral.
Her condition was not improving, but remaining stagnant. Father was not yet dead two weeks, and it seemed Mother might follow him into the good Lord’s arms before long.
“Tempe.” Henri’s hand rested, palm up, on Mother’s forehead. She looked at me, concern clear on her face, her brow knit together and fear shining in her widened eyes. My stomach wrenched itself into a knot. “Get Dr. Kemble.”
I straightened bolt upright from my position leaning against the side jamb of the doorway. “What’s wrong?”
“She’s burning up, worse than before, and she seems delirious. Get him now. Hurry!”
“Shouldn’t I get William? He’s been looking after her, and he’s our brother in law—“
“Kemble’s closer. Go!”
“Should you be looking after her? The baby—“
“I’m fine, Tempe! Go! Do you want to lose Mother as well?”
“No, of course I don’t!” I snapped back at her, tears pricking at my eyes. I ran, pulling on my outer clothes as quickly as possible, then running along the path through the snow to the barn to saddle Colonel.
I clicked my tongue, leading him out of the stall. “Come on boy. Ready for a nighttime ride?”
He nickered at me, nuzzling my shoulder. “We’re all business tonight, Colonel. You’ll do me proud, I’m sure.”
I kept up a meaningless chatter as I tacked him up, from his bridle to finally tightening his girth. It was a distraction for me as much as for him. Then, I led him out of the barn to mount.
“Allons-y,” I whispered. I knew he couldn’t gallop all the way to the doctor’s house, and it was dangerous to gallop, especially because Colonel was cold and the ground was frozen. However, it was imperative to reach our destination with as much speed as possible, and the doctor would have a fresh horse ready to visit Mother. We proceeded at a walk, until he was warm enough to trot.
Only the Pennsylvania Line was camped on our land this winter, but their New Year’s Eve festivities were loud and raucous as I traveled through the woods. Thankfully, I was not set upon by any drunken soldiers, but I could hear their singing and see their fires from the road. It was late, almost midnight. Mother is dying, I thought. I urged the Colonel into a canter, pushing the limits of safety given the conditions.
A few moments later, I realized that a canter was too leisurely for the gravity of the situation. Mother was dying. If ever there was a time to throw caution to the wind that streaked past me as I rode, it was now. Fuck caution, I thought. Mother would hate that that word even came to my mind. She would call it “unladylike”. Henri and I both had disappointed her in that regard. It can go to hell and reside with Lucifer himself.
I kicked Colonel’s sides, forcing him into a gallop.
The wind whistled in my ears, only the beating of my heart louder than it. My eyes watered from the cold rush of air. Colonel slowed to a canter as we reached town, only a few men in varying degrees of drunkenness milling on the streets.
“Whoa,” I called as we reached the doctor’s house. I swung down from the saddle, tying Colonel to a post. I scratched under his mane, whispering, “You did so good, boy. Thank you.”
I rapped on the door. No one answered. I knocked louder, then yelled, “I need help! Please!”
“Hold your horses, young lassie, I’m coming!” A female voice called out. After a moment and a bit of fiddling with the latch, the doctor’s maid opened the door. “What do you need, Miss?”
“My mother is severely ill. We’re afraid she might be on death’s threshold. Where’s Dr. Kemble?”
“Oh, Miss, he came home not an hour ago, drunk out of his wits. He’s not in any shape to come, and I doubt he’d be of any help.”
I sighed. “Alright. I’ll go the other way and get Dr. Leddel, then.”
“Before you go, what’s wrong with her? I might be able to offer some advice.”
“She’s in a right fever, burning to the touch and seeing things that aren’t there.”
“If you’ve any dogwood or tulip poplar bark, make a tea and get her to drink it, if you can. It will bring her fever down some. She might have to sweat it out.”
“Thank you.”
“Your mother is in my prayers.”
“Keep my sister in them as well. She’s with child, and we’re the only ones left to take care of Mother.”
“I will. God be with you!”
“Thank you.”
I mounted Colonel and urged him into a trot. He was tired, but we still had a distance to travel to reach the house Phebe and Dr. Leddel lived in. It was in the opposite direction of Morristown, on the way to Mendham. Dr. Leddel was my brother-in-law, but Mendham was farther than the doctor’s house in Morristown.
With any hope, however, we would get back home in time and the remedies Kemble’s maid had given me would be unnecessary.
We proceeded through the woods at a trot. An uneasiness came over me as I approached the point where I could hear the soldiers when I was going in the opposite direction. It was much quieter than it had been then, although not enough time had passed for their celebration to die down so completely. Just then, a shot rang out, with shouting following it. Colonel shied. He wasn’t used to gunshots, as he had never been trained to ignore such sounds. Once he recovered, I urged him on into a canter, a bleak attempt to escape whatever was happening in the camp.
I relaxed once I could no longer hear the commotion. We slowed to a trot. Despite my relative calm, Colonel remained alert, his ears pricked in the direction of the woods to our left. Rustling came from that direction, but I ignored it, assuming it was an animal. Even a few minutes later, Colonel was nervous, strange behavior because he was usually a sure horse in the woods.
Colonel’s ears swiveled, facing behind me.
“You! Stop!”
“We’re taking your horse.”
I urged Colonel on faster.
A man called out, “Continental Army. We’re commandeering your horse.”
I stopped. The man who spoke last came up to Colonel’s head and took hold of his bridle. “Get down.”
“What is the meaning of this, gentlemen?”
The brown eyes of the man who held my horse’s bridle met mine, and I was shocked by how young he looked. He was at least five years younger than me, to be certain. His dirty blond hair was in a rough queue, with strands falling out near his face. His face was thin, and he looked hungry. Yet, he had somewhat of a commanding air about him, and the two men who followed him to my side seemed subservient to him. “We’re marching on Congress to get the money we’re owed. Our bounty’s up, and we’re done. We’re barely fed and never paid for three years now.”
“Then you’re not Continental Army and cannot commandeer my horse.”
“That was only to get you to stop. Now, dismount, and we’ll be taking him. Don’t forget, we have muskets.”
“You don’t want Colonel. He’s just been at a hard gallop over to Dr. Kemble’s house. He’s too tired to make it far enough to be worth your while.”
“You think you can trick us with that? He looks fresh to me!” One of the other men said.
“Shut it, Kip, this lady probably knows more about horses than you. Please dismount, ma’am.”
“Alright, sir. Would you please help me down?”
He smiled at me. “Of course.” As he moved his hand from Colonel’s bridle, I felt a pang of regret for what he’d gone through. He was just a boy, and, if he’d been in the army for three years, he had spent most of his teenage years starving in winter camps, fighting in battles, and marching along the road. No one deserves that life, especially not someone so young. What I did not regret, however, was what I was about to do.
I turned Colonel’s head towards home and kicked his sides. Shouting erupted behind me, but we were already at a run, and far ahead of where they could catch up to us on foot.
We kept up the gallop until we reached the house. They wanted Colonel, they wanted to take him and march with him to Congress to demand their pay. No. Colonel was mine, and if they wanted him, they’d have to go through me. I couldn’t get William now, but we had to have some dogwood or tulip poplar bark that could be brewed into a tea. Now, how to hide Colonel

They recognized me, they must have. I didn’t tell them who I was, but they would follow me home and put two and two together quickly enough. Where could I hide a horse that they wouldn’t find him? The barn would be the natural place to look; I couldn’t put him there. Not only would he be found right away outside, he would have no protection from the weather, should it start to storm. He needed somewhere with a roof, at least, preferably walls

That’s it. The house.
I led him inside, where his shoes clopped against the wood floor. Henri ran from Mother’s bedroom.
“Temperance Wick! What is that horse doing inside? And where is Dr. Kemble?”
“Dr. Kemble is drunk in his bed at home, and Colonel is inside because the soldiers are rebelling and tried to take him. I can’t very well hide a horse in a barn where they will look first!”
“You will be the death of me! What shall we do about Mother now? We can’t ride out to Phebe’s with the soldiers in mutiny!”
“Dr. Kemble’s maid told me to brew her tea with dogwood or tulip poplar bark. She said it should help with the fever.”
“Of course! That’s what Mother used to do for us. There should be some in the cellar. Daisy!”
Daisy hurried from the kitchen. “Yes, Miss—why is Colonel inside?”
“The soldiers are mutinying, and it’s the only way to keep him from being commandeered,” I answered.
“Yes. Boil some water. We need to make dogwood tea for Mother. It should help her fever. Prepare more wet cloths as well. Tempe, find the dogwood bark in the cellar.”
“What about the soldiers?”
“I’ll take care of them. While Daisy brews the tea, you can keep watch. I’ll load a shotgun and stand guard at the door. Daisy, you can take care of Mother?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Good. Get the field hands first. They can use the other shotguns and stand guard at the north and south. Tempe and I will stay inside and watch from the house. Go.”
Daisy went off to find the few male servants we kept around during the winter to haul wood and perform miscellaneous outdoor tasks. “Tempe, after you get the bark, you can use Father’s pistol. I’ll get it and the shot.”
“All right.” Colonel snorted. “What should we do about him?”
“I don’t know; you’re the one who brought him inside! Find a place for him. You’re right, we can’t keep him in any of the outbuildings, that’s where they’ll look first. I’ll get the bark while you hide him, then I’ll get the shot. Father’s pistol is in his study; get it after you hide Colonel.”
I nodded, and Henri went into the cellar. I took Colonel’s reins and led him through the house, thinking of a good place to put him. Eventually, I led him into a bedroom, pulled the feather mattress off the bed frame, and led him onto it to soften the sounds of his hooves.
“Alright, boy. Stay here.” He nuzzled me and nickered. I scratched underneath his mane. “And try to stay quiet.”
I left him in there, closing the door behind me. This was a most strange night, even among years of strange days and nights. I entered Father’s study, a room that hadn’t changed much since his death.
The books he and Henrietta loved so much sat on the shelves, exactly where they had been before. I too had read some of them, but their reverence far surpassed mine. Though there were not many in retrospect, they were plenty to entertain and teach us.
I walked to the desk, where his pistol lay. I was much faster at loading and a much better shot with the pistol than the shotgun, so it was better for me to wield it and for Henri to have control of the shotgun. I picked it up and returned to the parlor, where Henrietta was commanding our defense, a veritable general, though one pregnant and clad in skirts and petticoats.
At this point, Isaac and Jeremiah, the two men we had sent Daisy for, had been brought to Henri. Daisy herself was presumably brewing the tea for Mother, after which she would tend to her. Henri was giving the men instructions.
“Jeremiah, you go to the north, and Isaac, you go to the south. The men could be here any minute. Do not confront them, but if they attack you, do not hesitate. If one of you hears a gunshot, run to help the other. Tempe, there are three men, correct?”
“Yes.”
“So you’ll likely be slightly outnumbered, but we trust you. Go, and may God be with you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Thank you. Good, you’ve got the pistol. Go by the window and watch, and keep a keen ear. It’s dark outside, so we’ll likely hear them before seeing them is feasible.”
“God willing, they won’t come, or if they do, they won’t see Isaac or Jeremiah.”
“They threatened you, a lady, so we can’t expect that they’ll leave them alone.”
“I’ll be ready.”
“That’s all we can be.” She nodded at me, and I left for the back of the house. She took her stance, her shotgun pointed at the door. I stood by a window, my pistol cocked, trying to breathe as quietly as possible and listening intently.
I stood there for what felt like hours. It was surely only a few minutes, but they dragged on as I listened and waited. The candles lighting the hallway flickered as the silence continued.
Henri broke the silence, saying in a low voice that carried through the mostly silent house, “I hear them.”
“Aye,” I responded.
A moment later, their voices were audible on my side of the house.
“Where could she have gone with that horse?”
“Why do we need it? Can’t we just march with everyone else?”
“Shut your gobs, we’ll check the barn and outbuildings and get going. Whoever’s in the house, it’s not worth messing with them, they’re probably armed.”
I waited a moment, then peered out the window, cupping my hands around my face so I could see. The mutineers were walking through the snow towards the barn.
“Henri. Henri, come here.”
“No, we need to maintain our positions.”
“Fine, they’re going to check the barn and other buildings, then leave. I think we’re safe. They said it’s too dangerous to try the house.”
“Alright. We’ll stay here until they’re surely gone.”
Silence fell again. I tried to keep my focus on the task at hand: defending my home from traitors, but my thoughts wandered. I thought about how these men were driven to this point by neglect and hunger. I thought about how my mother was on her deathbed as I stood by the window with my late father’s pistol. I thought about how my sister, pregnant with my brother-in-law’s child, was left responsible for taking care of my ill mother and defending our home, as I, feeling as helpless as I did as a child, tried not to get in her way. I thought about how Father was gone. I thought about how broken I felt inside, and wondered if Henri felt the same. I thought about how and why the thought of being left alone scared me, even though I didn’t want to fall in love or marry anyone. I thought about how desperately I longed to be happy with someone, though not in love with them. I thought about how I didn’t want to be in love, and didn’t know if I could. I thought about how I was expected to marry, expected to have children, expected to be happy with only that. I thought about how little I wanted, and how much I wanted at the same time. I thought about how much I could have, and how little I could have. I thought about how broken and divided I was, and how broken and divided the world was.
“They’re gone.”
I relaxed, not even realizing how tensely I had been holding my breath until I released it. I unloaded the pistol and placed it on a table, next to Henri’s shotgun, and together we hastened to Mother’s bedroom. Daisy stood from the chair beside the bed as we entered.
“She drank the tea, and her skin is cooler to the touch. I’ve been applying cool compresses to her forehead as well. She’s sleeping now.”
Henri placed her hand on Mother’s forehead. “You’re right, of course. Thank you, Daisy. You can tell Isaac and Jeremiah they can come back inside now.”
Daisy curtsied slightly, then hurried off.
I staggered to the chair and collapsed into it. I closed my eyes.
“Tempe, are you alright?”
“Tired.”
“You should go to bed.”
“You’ve been taking care of her all day. You should sleep first.” I opened my eyes, and hers, wide, blue, and sincere met mine.
“Mother’s better. We don’t need to stay up with her anymore.”
Suddenly, tears welled in my eyes, and I started sobbing. “Thank God. Thank God!”
She came around the bed, wrapping me in her embrace. “All is well. All is well. Come, let’s get you to bed.”
Still crying, I muttered, “Thank God we're safe. Thank God Mother is improving. Thank God, thank God, thank God.”
As we walked, she asked me, seemingly as an afterthought, “What did you do with Colonel?”
“He’s in the bedroom James used to have.”
“He’ll be safe there, so we shall leave him until morning. It’s been a long night, for him and us.”
Henri led me to our room, where she helped me undress and get into bed.
As she tucked the covers around me, I whispered to her, “You’ll be a great mother.”
The last thing I saw before I fell asleep was her smiling, and the last thing I felt was her kiss on my forehead. The last thing I heard was her telling me, “Goodnight,” then sighing. A wave of love, for her, for Mother, for Father, for everyone I had ever loved, washed over me, and I fell asleep, surrounded and covered by a feeling of safety and love.
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bitchin-beskar · 5 years ago
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Rating: T (This rating will be increasing to an M in the coming chapters)
Word Count: 8.2k
A/N: Whew. This took longer than I was anticipating, but I’m pretty happy with the result! This is a ClanLeader!Din AU, inspired by @magichandthing​‘s amazing artwork, and also inspired by the 2017 remake of Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. This will be a multi-chapter fic, and while I hope to get the next chapter out in a week or so, I make no promises! I hope you guys like it! Comments/Reblogs are more than welcome, it makes me so happy to know what you guys think!
Tags: @chibi-liz05​
If you want to be tagged in any future chapters (or any other works) just let me know!
“Will you open the stall today?”
You look up as you hear your father’s voice calling from outside in the garden. You wipe your hands off on your apron, the streaks of white flour maring the blue fabric. Stepping out into the sunlight, you see your father standing by the door, his medical bag slung over one shoulder.
“One of the children in a nearby village is sick, so I can’t go into town today. Will you go in and open up the stall for a little while? I promised some of the children that I would have new toys for them today, but I likely won’t be back before sundown.” 
“Of course, Papá. Go! I’ll be fine.” He grins at you, kissing your forehead as you step forward to hug him. “Be safe!” You wave as he climbs into the speeder and drives off in the direction of the neighboring village.
You head back inside to clean up the mess in the kitchen. You were going to spend the day baking, but now that you’ll be in town, you’ll have to save the baking for tomorrow. After you quickly clean up, you grab your father’s toy satchel, filled with all of the new wooden toys he’s carved for the children of the village, and head into town. The walk isn’t far and it’s nice out today, the suns shining down, causing the morning dew to shimmer on the leaves of the trees and the blades of grass. 
You stop along the path to pick a few wildflowers, tucking them into the pocket on your apron. Old Nan loves them, and you figure she can put them in a small vase in her home, or on display at her stall. She mostly sells knitted things, but occasionally she sells jam and honey, and she’s always willing to trade some with you for a few pretty flowers. 
As the village comes into view, you see a few of the children running about and playing in the fields. You wave, and they come running over excitedly. The children of the village love you and your Papá, unlike most of the adults. They love the toys your Papá creates, and they don’t mind that you prefer reading and baking to finding a husband. Children do not judge others for their choices, their innocence bright and refreshing. 
“Miss! Miss! Are you going to open the stall?” One of the children, Atleah, gasps excitedly, her little hands clutching at your skirts. She has many little toys and wooden gadgets from you and your Papá, and she always wants more. “Please, please, please open the stall! Eddarth said you had new toys!”
The boy standing next to her, her brother Eddarth, grinned unashamedly. You smile softly, pressing a hand against the soft hair on Atleah’s head to calm her. “Is Eddie telling tales?” You remark aloud, and you fight back a giggle as Atleah frowns. “I cannot remember if there is anything new for me to put at the stall
” You trail off, and Atleah tugs you along behind her as she practically drags you into the village, towards the marketplace. 
“But Miss!” She protests, tugging on the straps of your satchel. “Miss, you have the toy bag, so that must mean you have new toys!” She reasons, expression pleading, and you’re unable to keep up the facade.
“Oh! I do remember! Papá made a few new toys, some speeders and ships I believe.” Atleah squeals in excitement, and doubles down in her efforts to drag you to the stall. You’re laughing by the time you arrive, surrounded on all sides by excitable children. They wait impatiently for you to open up the stall, unlocking the cases and placing your wares out on display. 
Atleah immediately finds the toy she wants, a small replica of a sand crawler, complete with little Jawa figurines. You’d lived your whole life here on Roon, but your father had grown up on a moisture farm on Tatooine, and the children loved to hear stories of a planet covered in sand, so unlike the planet they’d been born on. 
You allow the children to pick their toys, bending down so each one can whisper their secret into your ear as payment. You watch amused as the children settle in the grass not too far from your stall, already coming up with games that they can play with their new wares. 
The children were usually the only ones to visit your stall, although occasionally adults would come to request your Papá’s medical skills for their families. The adults of the village didn’t like you or your Papá all that much. You were tolerated, but that was about it. You knew what they thought of you, that your Papá had allowed you too much independence, that you’d never settle down and become the good little housewife that was expected of the women in the village. They thought your Papá a touch mad, a little crazy because he preferred to make toys and gadgets all day, instead of using his skills as a medic to become rich. 
Old Nan wandered over to your stall, one of her knitted shawls wrapped tightly around her bony shoulders. She was half blind, but she enjoyed holding your Papá’s toys in her hands, feeling the carvings and details with her old fingers. As she approached, you pulled the bouquet of wildflowers out of your apron, tying them together with a spare piece of string. 
“Oh, dear girl, you shouldn’t have.” Her voice was warm, filled with affection as she accepted the flowers from you. “You spoil this old lady so.” She gently brought the flowers to her face, breathing in the scent.
“I like to think of it as a fair trade,” you offered, grinning. “A beautiful bouquet of flowers for a beautiful woman, in exchange for a little bit of delicious honey and jam.” Old Nan swatted at you playfully, her lips pulling back over her teeth in a delighted grin.
“You’re such a charmer, dear girl, how have none of the boys in this gods-forsaken village swept you off your feet?”
You’re about to answer when a large hand slams down on the wooden surface of your stall, startling the both of you and knocking some of your Papá’s creations over. 
“She likes to play hard to get, spinster. Isn’t that right, my treasure?” 
Glaring at the hulking figure before you, you straighten the toys he knocked over. “I am not your treasure, Gallan. I do not belong to anyone, least of all you, and I never will.” You smack his hand away as he tries to touch you. “And it is rude to refer to your elders in such a manner. Apologize.” 
He grunts an apology that both you and Old Nan know isn’t sincere, but you take what you can get. “I don’t understand why you keep turning me down, treasure,” he drawls, grinning even as you grimace. “There’s no finer husband on all of Roon than myself, surely your fool of a father can see that. It’s only a matter of time before he agrees to give me your hand.” 
“I am not a possession to be bartered for, Gallan. My Papá has agreed that I do not have to marry if I do not wish it. And even if I did wish to marry someone, it wouldn’t be you.” Turning so your back is to him, you attempt to begin a conversation with Old Nan, hoping Gallan would just leave, but he is not so easily dissuaded.
There is suddenly a tight grip around your wrist, and Gallan roughly yanks you back, spinning you around so you’re facing him. You tug uselessly against his grip, cringing back as he runs a finger down the side of your face. 
“You’ll give in to me eventually, my treasure. There’s no other woman in the village who can compare to your beauty. I won’t accept anyone else as my wife. You will be mine,” he all but growls, bringing his face closer to yours. You try to turn away, but his grip is too tight. You know none of the other villagers will step in to help you. With the exception of Old Nan, they all love Gallan, and many of the women are jealous of the attention he lavishes on you, unwanted as it may be. 
“Let go of me!” Your voice is loud, angry, but he only laughs as you try to escape him. “Gallan, let me go!”
He laughs mockingly. “Who’s gonna make me?” 
“She said to let her go.”
Gallan is startled by the harsh voice behind him, and he whirls around, unfortunately dragging you with him. Standing in front of your stall is a Mandalorian. Your eyes widen in shock. You knew there was a Mandalorian covert not far from the village, but they rarely ventured into town. When they did come to buy supplies, they came in twos, and never the same ones as before. You thought it might have something to do with diversion tactics, never allow the enemy to know how many are in your command or something similar. You knew the Mandalorians were a warrior race, so it wouldn’t surprise you. 
Your Papá had traded some medical supplies with the covert a couple of times, so you’d seen some of them the few times they’d appeared on your doorstep, but almost never in the town square or marketplace. You did not fear the Mandalorians, like many of the other villagers, but even you had to admit the one in front of you was intimidating. 
He–well, you assumed it was a he, it was hard to tell–stood close to six feet tall. His armor was made of beskar, gleaming silver in the sunlight. It covered his chest, back, arms and legs, and where he didn’t have armor, he had thick canvas fabric leaving his skin completely covered. He had multiple blades strapped all over his body, along with a pistol of some sort holstered at his side. He had some type of contraption on his back–in addition to the weapon that looked to be some kind of long range rifle–and it looked to you as though it was a jetpack. His arms were crossed and his helmet gave nothing away, but you could tell by the tilt that he was focused on Gallan, not you. 
“You have no business here, Mandalorian,” Gallan spat, his grip tightening around your wrist, and you winced as you felt the bones creak under his grip. “Go back and hide in your dingy, damp little caves. No one wants you here.” Gallan had a sneer on his face, and you wondered how any of the girls in this village could find this man handsome. 
“I believe the young woman wants you to let her go.” The Mandalorian did not move, and he certainly did not sound at all intimidated by Gallan. “So let. her. go.” 
Gallan’s grip slackened just enough at the hidden threat in the Mandalorian’s voice that you were able to yank your wrist free. Cradling your quickly bruising and sore wrist to your chest, you rubbed the tender skin as you backed away from Gallan. Emboldened by the presence of a Mandalorian, you spoke once more. “Leave, Gallan. Do not speak to me again.” 
He looked you up and down, a lewd, lecherous grin stretching across his lips. “I’ll be back, treasure. One of these days, I’ll wear your father down. Make no mistake, you will be mine.” You glared at him, angrily watching him leave, before turning to your savior. 
Before you could speak, the Mandalorian stepped forward, holding his hand out. “May I?” He asked, when you didn’t move. Blinking, you placed your hand in his, watching as he inspected your wrist. “Did he hurt you?”
Old Nan grumbled, and you started, nearly having forgotten she was there. “That boy has got some nerve,” she huffed, shuffling forward, uncaring of the big, hulking Mando. “Grabbing you like that. How many times has he done that, dear child?” 
You sighed. Old Nan was perhaps the only adult in the village who didn’t dislike you or your Papá, and while she may not have approved of Gallan, she was the only one. Everyone else seemed to think you were blessed to have his attention, or some other such nonsense. “He seems to think I am his property, just because he’s decided I’m the prettiest girl in the village,” you grumbled to Old Nan, and she tutted disapprovingly. “He’s never been all that violent, just
 aggressive in his affection, if you can call it that.” 
You had a feeling the Mandalorian was looking at you incredulously, although with his helmet you couldn’t know for sure. “He nearly dislocated your wrist.” He finished inspecting your hand before lowering it slowly. “This has happened before?” You nodded.
“He’ll leave bruises on my arms from grabbing me too hard, and once he shoved me against a wall so hard I had a bump on the back of my head.” 
Old Nan gasped, and you winced, you’d forgotten she hadn’t known about that particular incident. “Why?” Her voice was quiet, and she had tears in her eyes. 
“Um, well
” You trailed off, grimacing. “I may have
 laughed at him when his mogo threw him while he was trying to show off.” Old Nan snorted, trying to stifle a grin.
The Mandalorian shook his head. “He should not have harmed you, even then.” You shrugged, fiddling with one of the toys your Papá had carved. “How much for those?” This Mandalorian was giving you whiplash with the way he seemed to jump from conversation to conversation. 
“Do you mean the toys?” You asked, and when he nodded, you eyed him up and down critically. “Depends on who they’re for. I’ll sell them to travelers and tourists, but I have a bartering system set up with the village children. Why?”
He sighed, and the harsh static of his vocoder crackled with the noise. “Will you come with me?” He raised his hands up, palms facing you in a gesture of peace. “No harm will come to you, I swear. Bring the toys.” You contemplated for a second, before the pieces fell into place. You nodded, and after you placed them carefully in a satchel, he began to lead you out of the village, but not before you bid Old Nan good day. You walked at his side, relishing in the fact that for once, the villagers were staring, but it wasn’t because of you. 
As you began to leave the village behind, he stopped, before turning his helmet towards you. You stopped as well, and waited for him to speak. “May I blindfold you?” You weren’t all that surprised by his request. From the little you knew of the Mandalorians, you knew they were insanely private. While you knew of the existence of the covert, you knew very little about it. You had no idea how many Mandalorians there were, although you suspected at the very least there were children, due to his request about the toys. 
Nodding, you watched as he produced a strip of black fabric, and you allowed him to gently wrap it around your face, covering your eyes and causing your vision to go dark. “Can you see anything?” You shook your head. “I’ll need to fly us there. May I
?” You could hear the unspoken question in his voice, and you nodded. You were nervous about flying without being able to see, but it would be rude to refuse now. 
You felt one of his arms brace against the small of your back as his other slid beneath your knees, pulling your legs out from underneath you as he stood, cradling your body in his arms. You can feel your face heat up under the blindfold, even though nothing he’s doing could be considered inappropriate or indecent–unless you considered that it was customary for husbands to carry their wives from the altar to their homestead in such a manner, and you’d never imagined you would experience it–although if your Papá saw you now you were sure that he’d have questions.
He’s about to take off when you think of something. “What should I call you?” As he stays silent, you elaborate. “It doesn’t have to be your actual name, but I feel rude just referring to you as Mandalorian.” 
You don’t think he’s going to answer you, but then he speaks, just before activating his jetpack. “Din. My name is Din Djarin.”
You don’t have a chance to respond before the jetpack fires up, and then you’re airborne. You clutch at Din’s armor as best you can, although with how tight his grip is, you’re pretty confident you won’t fall. The wind whips your hair around your face, and you tuck your chin, turning your face into his chest to protect your skin from the harsh, biting cold from being so high up.
The wind combined with the noise of the jetpack makes it too loud for conversation, so he flies in silence, although admittedly not for very long. You can feel the change in the wind as you begin to descend, and before long, your body is jolted as Din lands with a soft thud.
He gently lowers you to the ground, and you’re somewhat surprised at the gentleness of his movements, in spite of his size and the bulky nature of his armor. Once you’re standing on your own two feet, you sway slightly, disoriented due to your blindfold and the–admittedly short–flight. His hands on your arms steady you for a moment, before turning you and gently leading you forward. 
You stumble along next to him for a few moments, but then he pauses, and slowly the fabric is removed from over your eyes. You blink rapidly as your eyes adjust to the dim lighting surrounding you. You’re underground, or at least, it looks like you are. The walls are some kind of smooth stone, and the hallway stretching out in front of you is lit by gas lanterns hung from the ceiling. The lanterns are the only source of light, but it doesn’t feel dark and oppressive, like you imagined a cave might feel. The walls and floors are clean of any moisture, and you feel a vicious sense of pleasure that Gallan had misjudged the Mandalorian covert’s home so spectacularly. 
“Are you alright?” You turn to look at Din, and with your eyes still adjusting, it takes you a moment to find his helmet, so that you could look at him.
“Yes, I’m fine. This is where the covert stays, I take it?” 
He nods once. “I’ll be taking you straight to the children. The adults will likely be cautious, but the children less so.” 
You shrug. “It’s a dynamic I’m used to,” you offer as you begin to follow him down the hallway. You think you hear Din say something, but his voice is too quiet to make out any distinguishable words.
“I need to warn you,” he says, pausing before a huge metal door, turning towards you. “Inside the covert, things are a bit
 different. We wear our full beskar out in public, but in our home, we’re more
 relaxed.” 
You nod, before fear grips you. “Wait, do they know you’re bringing me? I don’t want you to get into trouble, bringing an outsider into your home–” Din cuts you off with a chuckle, his leather-covered palm resting squarely in the middle of your back.
“Sarad’ika, calm down. I wouldn’t have brought you here without making sure it was alright with the Clan Leader, don’t worry. He knows you’re coming, and he’s fine with it.” You nodded, your heartbeat calming slightly. But then you paused.
“Wait, what did you just call me?” 
Din chuckled once more. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad. It’s just what the others call you. One of the clan members saw you with a flower crown one day, and so the children began to call you Sarad’ika. It means little flower.” 
Nodding a little distractedly, you watched as Din opened the door. The covert had a nickname for you? You could count on one hand the number of times you’d met a Mandalorian, so you were a little shocked to learn they all seemed to know who you were. 
As you followed him into what turned out to be a large circular room, your eyes widened in shock. Near the ceiling, natural light streamed in, basking the weathered walls in warm sunlight. There was a large common area in the middle of the room, with tables and chairs and rugs of all shapes and sizes. There were multiple doors lining the walls, some open, some shut. Din led you into the middle of the room, towards a small group sitting on one of the rugs. When one of the beings turned, you could see that it was a child, no older than Atleah or Eddarth, wearing a beskar helmet. You heard the gasp as the child saw you, and you were suddenly surrounded on all sides by children, not unlike this morning in the village.
“Sarad’ika! Sarad’ika!” The children chanted as they surrounded you. One child tugs on your hand, leading you towards the rug they’d just vacated, pulling you down to sit with them, and the one adult Mandalorian, who had stayed seated. The children are wearing clothes similar to the children from your village, which makes sense you suppose. But the adult Mandalorian isn’t wearing full beskar, like Din is. She has her helmet on, but she’s wearing a pair of leather trousers and a soft-looking tunic, with her arms completely bare all the way up to her shoulders. She has tattoos covering every inch of exposed skin, thick black lines in sharp patterns that stand out against her bronze skin. She nods to you as you sit, and you think you hear her chuckle when one of the children plops down in your lap.
You feel the air rush out of your lungs as the child falls into your lap–sweet heavens the child is bigger than they think they are–but you hide it well. The helmet tilts up at you, and the sweet, innocent voice that floats out is only slightly marred by the vocoder.
“Sarad’ika, did you bring the toys? Din said he was gonna ask!” 
Even though you can’t see his face, you can imagine the expression on it clear as day, pleading, bright-eyed and hopeful. You tap your chin thoughtfully, and look around at the other children all waiting eagerly. “Perhaps. But I can’t just give toys out for free you know. They’re going to cost something.” Your words don’t deter the children at all, if anything they seem even more eager.
“How much?” 
The question comes from a little girl to your left, her small hands resting gently on your thigh. You smile. These children are no different from the others you’re used to. It’s nice to know childish innocence and wonder are universal.
“Oh, you can’t buy these toys with just any money.” You lean in conspiratorially, and the children are captivated. “I like to deal in secrets.” You can tell the children are confused, so you continue, your voice low. “In order to buy one of my toys, you must first tell me a secret about yourselves. Something no one else knows.” 
There are gasps all around, and you can tell they’re excited. “I’ll go first, so you know how it goes,” you offer, and the children shuffle even closer. “Sometimes, when my Papá is asleep, I’ll get up and dance around the kitchen and pretend I’m a queen in a fancy dress at a grand party!”
There’s giggles all around and the children begin to tell you their ‘secrets’ one by one. Braan, the little boy in your lap, likes to draw the constellations from memory. Tehra, the little girl on your left, likes to use sticks as staffs and pretend she’s battling invading armies. Quantra and Quentyan, twins, like to sneak to the kitchens some nights and try to wheedle snacks out of the cooks–which only works every other day or so, they inform you–to bring back to their friends. Cleolyta likes to design different styles of armor, and Nekhan loves to balance different and oddly shaped rocks to make the tallest–and coolest looking–towers. 
As the children tell you their ‘secrets’ you pull toys from your satchel, allowing the children to take the ones that draw their attention. Within just a couple of minutes, each of the children are holding wooden toys carved by your Papá’s hand. They’ve quickly become distracted by the toys, and most all of the children move off a little ways to begin playing.
“Secrets are an interesting form of payment.” 
You look up at the Mandalorian who spoke to you, seeing the woman with tattooed arms has moved closer, and is now sitting directly across from you. It’s hard, you realize, having a conversation with someone when you can’t see their face. It’s difficult to judge emotions, and you hadn’t realized just how much you relied on facial tics and expressions until now. 
She continues, since you haven’t responded. “Do you normally deal in non-traditional forms of currency?” 
“Only with the children.” You’re making a conscious effort to not fiddle with your apron, to not show your nervousness. “Tourists and visitors from other villages have to pay in coin.” 
“Why?”
You shrug. “Not all of the children in my village have the spare coin to be able to purchase frivolous things such as toys. By bartering with secrets, they are still able to receive toys, without feeling as though they’re just being given handouts.”
“Hmm.” 
The Mandalorian is silent for a moment, before she speaks again. “I never thought I’d see the day we allowed an aruetti into our covert. Many of the others were against allowing you to come. They can’t go against the Clan Leader directly, but they weren’t exactly subtle about their displeasure.”
You don’t know what aruetti means, but you can guess it’s not something nice. Din had told you not to worry, that their Clan Leader had given permission for you to be here, but if everyone else didn’t want you here, it would probably be best if you just left–
“Not me though. It’s nice to meet someone outside the covert. I’m Jeyenha, Jeyenha Torrva, but everyone calls me Jeye.” 
Your eyes flick up to stare at the visor in front of you, before falling to the outstretched hand. You cautiously place your hand into hers, unsurprised at the firmness of her handshake. Her sudden mood shift is a little startling, but you don’t have any other choice than to run with it. 
You offer your own name back, and the two of you sit once more in silence, observing the children playing around you. It’s enjoyable, watching them play so eagerly with your father’s little wooden creations that you’re once again surprised when Jeye speaks.
“Your wrist. What happened?” 
Her helmet is tilted down, focused on your hands, which are folded in your lap. You look down, unsurprised to see how dark the bruise has already gotten, the individual finger marks clearly visible. You wince, already wondering how you’re going to hide this from your father. 
“Some shabuir in her village doesn’t understand the word no, apparently.” 
There’s a quiet thunk as Din sits down next to the two of you. Even sitting, his armor makes him look huge, almost to the point of being comical. 
“What?” Jeye’s voice was a low hiss, emphasized strongly by her vocoder. “Someone in your village did this?” 
You nodded slowly, surprised at the venom in her voice. “There’s a man in my village who’s determined to make me his wife, and he doesn’t care that I don’t wish to marry him.”
Din scoffs. “Saying he doesn’t care about your wishes is an understatement. He acted like he could force you into marriage, like he would do so even without your father’s blessing.”
When you don’t say anything, Din falls silent. Jeye leans forward, placing her hand on your knee. 
“Sarad’ika–”
Din barely finishes saying your nickname when you look up, tears in your eyes. “He could. Gallan is one of the richest men in the village. The villagers don’t respect me, and they only barely tolerate my father because he’s a decent medic. Soon Gallan’s going to tire of hearing no, and there’s not one person in my village who would be willing to try and stand up to him.” You brush roughly at your tears, laughing bitterly. “They’ll likely drag me to the altar themselves, all while saying it’s such a blessing that Gallan would even pay attention to me.”
Din growls, the leather of his gloves creaking as his hands form into fists, and Jeye breathes a quiet “No
” at your words. You take a few steadying breaths, shaking your head. 
“It’s not happened yet, and I doubt it’s going to happen soon. For right now at least, Gallan respects my father enough that he’ll wait for his blessing, although my father would likely die before doing so. The best I can do is keep my head down and try to convince him that one of the other women in the village would make a better wife.” 
It’s clear that Din and Jeye don’t know what to say. You doubt that a Mandalorian woman would allow a man to speak to her the way Gallan speaks to you, and you doubt a Mandalorian man would ever try and claim a wife against her will. 
“You’re welcome here,” Jeye offers suddenly, and you look at her, confused. “I’m sure Din, or Paz, or one of the others wouldn’t mind bringing you here whenever you aren’t busy in your village, and it would decrease the amount of time that mir’osik could hassle you.” 
Before you can say anything, you see Din nodding solemnly. “If bringing you here every day stops him from pursuing you, then I’d be happy to do it.” 
You feel tears well up in your eyes, but for a different reason this time. These two wonderful people are offering you an escape, offering up the security of their home so that you might be able to feel safer. “I–I don’t know what to say
”
“Say yes, Sarad’ika. Just say yes.” Din’s voice is insistent. 
You find yourself nodding, before you’re struck by a stray thought. “W–Wait, would your Clan Leader be okay with this? I don’t want to impose or cause any more trouble, and–”
Jeye holds up her hand to stop your rambling, chuckling. “Don’t worry about him.” She seems to glance at Din for a moment before continuing. “I can’t imagine he’ll have any problems with you staying. But it’s getting late, you should be headed back.”
You hadn’t realized it, but as you look up at the ceiling, you see the dusky pink light indicative of the sunsets on Roon. Your Papá would be home soon, and he’d worry if you were gone for too long. Din stands, and offers you a hand, pulling you onto your feet. As you say goodbye to Jeye, you find yourself excited at the prospect of returning. You think you might have made two new friends, and you honestly feel more welcome in the Mandalorian covert than you ever did in your home village. 
***
Over the course of the next few weeks, you find yourself spending hours of nearly every day in the covert. Your Papá was cautious at first, and he insisted on meeting Din, but after Din assured your Papá that you weren’t in any danger, he was more understanding. Your Papá knew how frustrating it could be for you in the village, constantly having to deal with snide insults and veiled barbs about anything from your body, to your manners, to your personality. The covert became an escape of sorts, and while you really only ever talked with Jeye, Din, and the children, it was much better than spending your time in the village.
You’d not met the Clan Leader yet, although both Din and Jeye assured you that he was fine with your presence. Din always acted strange whenever the Clan Leader was brought up, and you couldn’t for the life of you figure out why. 
You also never saw Din as relaxed as Jeye, although you attributed that to the fact that he had to leave the covert to pick you up and to take you back to your home. The beskar armor seemed too heavy and cumbersome to be taken off and put back on multiple times a day. 
And even though you tried to avoid it, you couldn’t deny your growing attraction to Din. Even when he wasn’t carrying you in his arms to bring you to and from the covert, he always seemed to be touching you, whether it was a hand against the small of your back, or on your thigh when you were sat next to him, or even just gently brushing against the wrist that Gallan had bruised, although the bruise had long since faded. You slowly grew accustomed to his touches, although you still felt as though your face was on fire every time he did.
You couldn’t tell if he knew what he was doing to you–damn helmet–but you assumed he could. He always seemed to touch you even more whenever you got flustered, almost as if it was a joke, or a game. One time, when he was guiding you into the covert while your eyes were blindfolded, he’d laid his hand against the side of your neck, his thumb pressing gently, but firmly, into your spine where your head met your neck. You swore you felt a jolt of electricity shoot through your body at his touch, and the man had the gall to ask if you were alright, all while his other fingers pressed into the skin right above your collarbone. You’d nodded jerkily, and his thumb had begun to rub soothing circles against your skin. It had felt so good, you’d almost whimpered when he removed his hand.
Despite the firm touches and the subtle flirting–because seriously, what else could it be–you managed to not make a fool of yourself, and you grew to like your new routine. Din had become a protector of sorts, and it made your insides feel light and floaty, the way you felt the first time Din flew with you. Life was good. Gallan left you alone, your Papá continued to carve toys, and for the first time ever, it felt like you’d found somewhere that you were wanted. So, of course, everything had to change.
It was about a month into your visits to the covert that this change happened. You were in the kitchen one morning when you noticed that there was a Mandalorian walking up the path to your home, but it’s not Din. You dry your hands and step outside, an anxious, gnawing feeling in your stomach telling you that something’s wrong. Din has been the one to pick you up every day, and you’re terrified something’s happened to him.
Before you can even open your mouth to voice your concerns, the Mandalorian is speaking. “Everything’s fine, Din just had some business to attend to, so he sent me.”
You cock an eyebrow, a little wary of how fast this stranger assessed your emotions, but you’re grateful nothing appears to be wrong. He stands there, silently, and you get the impression he’s waiting on you. You duck back inside the house to grab your bag, locking the door behind you. The Mando in front of you is just radiating this awkward energy, and you feel bad. You’d grown so used to Din, you didn’t really know how to react to a different Mandalorian. 
“Um, so
” You trail off, grimacing at how awkward you sound. “Do I just–” You stopped yourself, shaking your head. “I’m sorry. What’s your name?” 
The Mandalorian was silent for just a moment, but then he answered. “Paz.” 
Your eyes widened, recognizing the name. “Oh, Din and Jeye have both mentioned you before. It’s nice to meet you.” 
Paz shook his head. “Of course they did.” He chuckled. “Jeye is my wife.” 
Your jaw dropped. Whenever Jeye had talked about Paz, she’d never mentioned that he was her husband. You were so going to give her shit for this. 
After Paz finished laughing at you, he tied your blindfold and scooped you up in his arms, taking off into the air. The entire flight, you couldn’t help but compare Paz to Din. Paz was a good deal bigger than Din, although you weren’t entirely sure how that was possible. His arms were big and strong, like Din’s, but being carried by Paz didn’t set butterflies loose in your stomach. You tried to ignore it, but your brain refused to stop trying to compare the two men. 
You were tense the entire ride to the covert, and you nearly sighed in relief when the two of you touched down. Paz set you on your feet, leading you into the cave system. He removed the blindfold when the two of you were standing in front of the main door, and he let you adjust to the lighting before he pulled the door open.
As he led you into the main room, you were surprised to see a large group of Mandalorians gathered where you usually sat with Din and Jeye. You were even more surprised when Paz suddenly stepped in front of you, his arm out slightly, keeping you behind his considerable bulk. You gently touched the back plate of his armor, silently communicating your confusion. 
“Stay behind me.” 
You suck in a breath, fear gripping you as you try to make yourself smaller behind Paz. You’re not sure what’s going on, and you don’t want to take any chances. You take a small measure of comfort from the fact that Paz is built like a goddamn tank, and that he could easily protect you if things turn violent, but you hope it doesn’t come to that. You can hear all the raised voices, but it takes you a moment to make out any distinguishable words, everyone is yelling too loudly. 
“SHE’S A DANGER TO OUR TRIBE!”
The booming voice cuts through the others, and you barely peek around Paz’s arm to see a Mando you’d seen a couple times before–one who always seemed to be glaring at you, despite the fact that you couldn’t actually see said glare–toe to toe with another Mandalorian. 
“She poses no threat to us.”
The other Mandalorian is calm, although his voice is hard with anger. With a start, you realize that this must be the Clan Leader. His chest is bare, although he’s adorned with multiple beaded necklaces. You can see a thick fur cape draped across his shoulders, but it’s his helmet that truly catches your attention. It’s made of beskar, like all the other Mando’s helmets, but attached to each side are two thick ivory horns, coming out and curving around towards his face, ending in wicked sharp points. He’s taller than nearly everyone else in the group, and his stance is commanding and powerful. 
“LEAVE HER WITH HER OWN TRIBE. WE DON’T WANT HER HERE, SHE ENDANGERS US, OUR WAY OF LIFE, OUR CHILDREN–”
You squeak when the Clan Leader moves, his bare hand coming up quickly to wrap around the other Mando’s throat.
“You think I would endanger the children?” His voice is cold, emotionless. “Do you truly think so little of me? After everything I’ve done for our tribe, every battle I’ve fought, you still think you have any right to question me?” His voice isn’t rising in volume, but you can hear his mounting anger. “I am the Clan Leader. What I say goes. If you don’t like that, we can take this to The Pit.”
Paz sucks in a breath, and you’re about to ask what The Pit is when a hand lands on your arm. You whirl around, your whole body tense, but you relax somewhat when you realize it’s Jeye. Paz looks at her, and they seem to have a silent conversation before Paz nods, and Jeye takes your arm, leading you back and through one of the doorways behind you. 
She gestures for you to stay quiet for a moment, before leading you into a room you’ve never been in before. There’s a fire pit in the center of the room, with separate areas sectioned off with curtains for cooking and eating. She leads you further in, around one set of curtains, and your eyes land on the large bed that dominates the space. She gestures for you to sit, and once you do, she sighs deeply.
“What was that?” 
You’re ashamed at the way your voice shakes as though you’re scared, because you’re not. Not really. It was unsettling, seeing the argument, which you’ve realized by now was about you, although hearing the Clan Leader defend you so vehemently left a warm feeling in your belly. 
Jeye sighs again, and begins to pace. “Some of the tribe still has reservations about you being here. We’d thought they’d gotten over it, but apparently not all of them have. Doric decided that today was a good day to confront Din about it.”
You look up at Jeye in confusion. “I didn’t see Din in there. Is he okay? What happened? Is the Clan Leader mad?” Your voice is growing more frantic, as you imagine what could have happened to him. 
Jeye stops pacing, her helmet turned towards you. “Wait, what? You
 you don’t know? Din never–” Jeye scoffs. “No, of course he hasn’t told you.” 
“Told me what?” 
There’s silence.
“Jeye. Din hasn’t told me what?”
There’s more silence, and you open your mouth to repeat yourself a third time when she speaks. 
“Din is the Clan Leader.” 
Your mouth snaps shut, your eyes widen comically. You open and close your mouth, trying to find the words to say
 something, anything about what you’re feeling in that moment, but all your traitorous brain can focus on is how heart-stoppingly attractive Din looked without his armor on. 
Before you can say anything, you hear the door open. Your eyes fly to the opening in the curtains, and lo and behold, there’s Din. He pauses, clearly taken aback that Jeye is here, but he doesn’t speak. Jeye nods twice, once to you and once to Din before she brushes past him and leaves the room, not staying around to try and explain the bombshell she’s just dropped on you.
Din stands in the gap between the curtains, just staring at you. You’re trying to look at his helmet, but his current state of dress is extremely distracting. His chest is golden and tanned, marred here and there by scars of all shapes and sizes, but it doesn’t make him any less beautiful. You can’t help but notice the trail of dark hair on his abdomen, leading to his belt buckle, which prominently features a Mudhorn, the signet of his clan. He’s wearing canvas pants, tucked into a pair of sturdy boots with a fur trim, a fur trim that matches the one on his cloak. His gloves cover his arms up to the elbow, but they’re tight enough that his muscles bulge through the fabric. 
You can feel your face burning as you take in the Mandalorian before you, so unlike the one you’ve gotten to know for the past few weeks. The small infatuation you'd been harboring only grows as you look at Din now. He moves into the room, and you marvel at how he can move silently, despite his size. 
He stops in front of you, his gloved hand coming up to grasp gently at your chin, pulling your face up so that he can look at you. Lacing your hands together in your lap seems like the best course of action, because otherwise you might just reach out and touch him, just to see if he’s real, and you’re not sure he’d appreciate that. 
Din’s thumb rests against your cheek, stroking softly as his helmet is tilted down, looking at you. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.” His voice is quiet, apologetic, and you wonder how come you didn’t recognize it when he was arguing with the other Mando. “I promise, most of the tribe doesn’t feel that way.”
You grin, or at least, you try to. “So, when you kept saying that the Clan Leader was fine with me coming here–” 
Din nods. “Truly, I am more than fine with you coming to the covert every day.”
You snort, your own hand coming up to rest against Din’s, which has moved to cradle your cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
You turn your face into Din’s palm, placing a gentle kiss against the warm leather. You hear his sharp intake of breath through the vocoder, so you do it again. 
“I–I didn’t want you to treat me differently,” he offers, taking your hand and pulling you to your feet. He was standing so close, and now that you’re standing, you’re practically chest to chest. “I wanted to get to know you, without you feeling
 obligated to treat me like a leader.”
“Why me?”
The words leave your lips before you can stop them, and you feel your cheeks heat in embarrassment. You look down, your hands absentmindedly fiddling with the worn fabric of your apron. 
Din’s hand reaches out and gently grasps yours, and you can’t help but notice that his hand can easily encompass both of yours. He curls his fingers under your chin, bringing your eyes back up, forcing you to look into his visor. 
“You’re so strong, Sarad’ika.” His hand slid from underneath your chin, his palm moving to cup the side of your neck, his thumb gently resting against your beating pulse. “When I saw you arguing with that shabuir in the village, even though he could easily overpower you, you weren’t afraid.” 
The intensity in his voice is doing funny things to your stomach, the feeling of butterflies increasing in strength so much so that you’re worried if you open your mouth they might escape. Your skin tingles where his hands are touching you, and you’ve never felt this before, with anyone. 
“I–I’m sorry that my presence has caused trouble–” You quickly plow on, stopping Din from brushing aside your apology. “I know you said it’s okay, and that you’re fine with me here, but I know not everyone feels that way, and I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”
He sighs, and it’s very hard to not look down and watch the way his chest rises and falls with his breathing. He moves his hand so that he can intertwine his fingers with yours, bringing your combined hands up to rest on his chest, directly over his heart. You suck in a breath, and his thumb gently presses against your pulse point, slowly dragging back and forth over your skin in a soothing motion. 
“I don’t care what they think, Sarad’ika. They know I would not needlessly endanger the tribe, for them to even suggest such a thing is unacceptable. There will always be those who do not like me, but they are few, and their voices are not as loud as it would seem.” Din gently leans his head down, careful of his horns, and rests his helmet against your brow. “I informed the tribe of my intentions. They will not dare to protest your appearance here, not now.”
Your brow furrows in confusion, although you are enjoying having Din so close. “What are your intentions, Din?”
He chuckles softly, and you can feel it reverberating through his chest. “Is it not obvious, Sarad’ika? You’ve come to mean so much to me over these past few weeks, and I will confess that I do not want to let you go.”
Your heart is racing at his words, and you feel unsteady on your feet, similar to how you felt after your first time flying. 
“I know that Jeye has explained how our tribe works, and that the Clan Leader is held responsible for the continuation of the tribe.” You make a small noise of agreement, and wait for him to finish. “In times of peace, it is
 customary, that the Clan Leader takes a riduur, a spouse.” Your mouth goes dry, and your eyes widen. 
“Sarad’ika, know that I am not asking this of you lightly. I understand that you may wish to say no, and that is your choice, and I will respect you no matter your decision.” Your breathing is shallow, and your heart is beating so fast that you’re not sure you’re going to survive the next words to come out of Din’s mouth. 
“But if you’ll have me
 I would take you as my wife.”
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