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theforgottenmcrmy · 2 years

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Birds of a Feather (Chapter 6/?) ||| Bradley Bradshaw

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Sam “Merlin” Wells’ Daughter OC

Warnings: Explicit Language, References to the Death of a Parent, Really Mild Angst

Word Count: 9,500 ish.

Summary: Breaking the hard deck? Openly taunting their instructor in a way that was borderline insubordination? Hell, Rooster was taking risks that even he had better sense than to try and get away with.

DISCLAIMER: Spoilers for Top Gun and Top Gun: Maverick ahead.

Masterlist /// Chapter 1 /// Chapter 5 /// Chapter 6 /// Chapter 7

A/N: As always, thank you to all of you who take the time to read this story and offer me your support and kind words. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and that you have a great rest of the week.💙

Chapter 6: Something in the Water

“... Welp, I think it’s time to call it a night,” Clara said after a few moments of awkward silence. The boldness she’d been feeling up until that point quickly began to fade in light of having rendered Hangman speechless- a feat which was one seldom seen. “I’ll see you all tomorrow morning.”

Though the majority of the group was still giving her and Hangman stunned looks, Phoenix was the first among them to break their silence, bidding her a farewell. “Have a goodnight, Parrot.”

Clara nodded with a shy smile and walked away, swearing she heard Hangman grumbling something under his breath as she did. She didn’t dare to stay any longer to know for certain what he was saying. After all, if Hangman was literally going to have her life in his hands, she thought it generally wise to avoid pissing him off too much in one day.

Even if it had been well-deserved on his end.

Clara quickly paid her tab at the bar, not bothering with a lengthy goodbye to Penny since she had a strong feeling the visit to the Hard Deck would not be the only one she had during the detachment.

She was outside for just a few moments before a wisp of air hit her side, indicating that someone else had joined her. She looked up, not surprised in the slightest to see Bradley walking beside her.

“You calling it a night, too?”

Bradley merely hummed in response. He seemed to be a little less upbeat than he had been during other parts of the evening, and Clara was beginning to suspect that being around Hangman was already beginning to take its toll on him.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” she told him, moving to head out into the dark parking lot.

“Wait,” Bradley called after her, placing a light hand on her arm to stop her.

Clara froze, the touch of his calloused hand felt almost like it burned her skin, despite his gentleness.

Bradley didn’t seem to notice. He frowned, his eyes scanning parking lot suspiciously. “Where’s your rental at?”

“At my assigned housing,” Clara explained. “It’s actually only a few blocks away, so I decided to walk here.”

“I’ll drive you home then.”

“Really, it’s fine,” she protested, taking another step out into the night. “It’s like a five minute walk.”

“Wait,” Bradley pleated again, his serious tone making Clara pause once more.

She was still painfully aware of the hand on her arm that had yet to fall back to his side as she looked up at him. The few lights right outside the bar’s entrance casted shadows upon his face, but she could still see his pursed lips and eyebrows furrowed together in a worried look. The lull of the ocean waves in the background wasn’t doing much for her in her effort to stave off the impending tiredness she had begun to feel, but it did set a nice ambience for the sudden moment truly alone they’d found themselves in.

“I know you can take care of yourself,” Bradley prefaced, sounding aware of how lightly he ought to have been treading. “But it’s late, and if you’re half as tired as I am, that alone is enough of a reason- let me give you a ride. Please?”

Part of Clara wanted to turn him down. Bradley was right- she could take care of herself. But the other part of her was touched by his genuine concern he conveyed. It was as though he was more worried about her because it was her, rather than anything else.

Plus, it had been a while since she had spent any decent amount of time in Fightertown. While enrolled in TOGUN, she’d gotten what she believed to be a good handle on who around could be trusted, and who she ought to simply avoid. But that had been a few years ago, and the faces around the area had more likely than not changed drastically.

“Okay.”

Bradley looked at her with uncertainty, almost as though he hadn’t expected her to agree so easily. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” she confirmed with a light laugh. “Now, let’s get going- before I change my mind.”

“The Bronco’s right over there,” Bradley said, gesturing in the general direction he’d parked his beloved vehicle. “Lead the way, Darling.”

Jake Seresin was more observant than people gave him credit for.

Though he was no stranger to the spotlight, there was one aspect of himself he didn’t mind others not giving him enough credit for. The longer people took to catch onto him and his more subtle habits, the more opportunities he had to gather information he could later use to his advantage.

When he left the Hard Deck, begrudgingly calling it an early night, if only to read those damn briefing notes that the obnoxious Parrot had drawn attention to, he was met with a sight that was very interesting.

Bradley Bradshaw and Clara Wells had been pretty inseparable during their time in Lemoore. Jake had been there, and he had picked up on that relatively quickly. Though they may have repeatedly denied any involvement with one another when asked about it, Jake didn’t take either of them to be the type to readily admit to that sort of thing anyway. They seemed to be just as serious about their careers as he was, even if they didn’t go about it the same way. Or take the same necessary risks.

So it wasn’t new to Jake to see the two act so friendly earlier in the evening upon their apparent reunion. And it wasn’t surprising to see that the two had split off from the rest of the group after Bradshaw’s little performance to chat amongst themselves for a few minutes.

What was surprising to Jake was to spot the two still together in the Hard Deck’s parking lot.

He couldn’t leave the bar as soon as he would’ve liked; he'd be damned if he let anyone else know just how much Parrot’s comments had irked him. So after Parrot and Rooster had been gone for a few minutes, he respectfully excused himself for the evening and followed suit. As he stepped out the front door and took a breath of the fresh night air, he paused immediately after hearing the familiar voices. He took a step back, hoping to avoid stepping foot underneath the bar’s bright exterior lights, and tried to remain out of sight.

Fortunately for Jake, the pair didn’t notice him leaving. He watched curiously as Bradshaw led Wells to his Bronco, before he opened the door to the passenger’s side for her very cordially. She laughed, and politely used the arm he offered to help herself up and into the vehicle.

“I like the shirt, by the way,” he heard Wells say.

Bradshaw shut the passenger side door before heading around to the driver’s side. As he walked, his head tilted backwards as he let out a bark of a laugh. “Thanks. Are you gonna try and steal this one, too?”

… Now that was surprising.

And definitely was information worth holding onto.

Bradshaw started up the Bronco, backed out of the parking spot, and in what felt like the blink of an eye, the two were headed off into the night.

Jake was left standing in the entryway of the Hard Deck, speechless and desperately trying to make sense of what the hell he had just witnessed.

The trip back to Clara’s assigned housing was a quiet one, save from her soft spoken directions. If it was a five minute walk, the drive had to have only been a minute or so.

Bradley was thankful that the USS Gerald R. Ford had departed from Miramar instead of Oceana for the most recent stint. Since he had already taken the cross-country trip in his beloved vehicle beforehand, and left it parked at the base, it was readily available for the special detachment. The Bronco was practically made for the West Coast: few things were better than taking a nice drive through the quiet suburbs after a night out with the cool breeze blowing from the ocean.

Although, the calming drive was arguably better when he was accompanied by another.

All too soon, Bradley was pulling into the driveway of the small bungalow, which didn’t look that different from the one he’d been assigned himself just a few blocks over. He put the car in park, and looked over at Clara reluctantly.

“Thanks for the lift,” she said quietly, reaching over for the door handle. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Wait,” Bradley requested, for the third time that evening. “... Can we talk?”

Thankfully, Clara looked unbothered by his request. “Sure,” she replied easily, dropping her hand and settling back into her seat. She turned to look at him expectantly. “What do you wanna talk about?”

Anything. Everything. Bradley hadn’t had a face to face conversation with her in months, and he’d been alone with her for maybe ten minutes total the entire evening thus far. There were many things he wished he could bring up, but he found himself constantly looping back around to the most pressing issue on his mind.

“So… you’re really flying with Hangman, huh?”

Clara’s face faltered a little bit. “Yeah, it seems that way.”

Bradley remained silent, unsure of how to condense his vast thoughts on the topic into an appropriate response.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she continued, “And I’m obviously not his biggest fan, either. But this is the job. I can handle it, don’t worry.”

It wasn’t Clara’s inability to do her job that worried Bradly; rather, it was Hangman’s inability to do his job safely that was the cause for the most concern. Seresin was a notorious risk taker, and while that had only ever meant sticking out his own neck, if Clara was going to be flying with him for a good portion of this detachment- and possibly mission- that made his risk taking ways all the more dangerous.

Bradley could tell, just by looking at the tired look on Clara’s face, that she had already given some thought to the matter. She knew what she was in for, and Bradley feared it. But he could tell she didn't want him to remind or hound her about it. So it was all Bradley could do to drop the subject and desperately hope that Hangman had enough sense to consider the heightened consequences of his actions from there on out.

“Was what Hangman said true?” he asked then. “About Slugger?”

Clara gave him a small nod.

He could tell by the sullen look on her face, and by her reaction earlier that evening in the bar after Hangman’s comments, that it was a sensitive topic still. While Bradley was curious, he wanted to be cautious, and he definitely didn’t want to push her too far. “When’d you find out?”

“Yesterday,” Clara laughed once humorlessly. “Just as we received our orders.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was. And I was completely blindsided by it too- makes me wonder how the hell Hangman managed to hear about it already.”

The naval aviator community seemed small more days than not, so while it was a little surprising, it wasn’t that far-fetched to believe that Hangman had gotten some inside scoop from someone over at Oceana.

“I don’t know if Slugger’s going to be able to carry on afterwards, or if she’ll request separation,” Clara continued, her eyes falling downward to the floor mats that Bradley knew he should have had cleaned by then. “But I guess it doesn’t matter… I just have to get through this detachment, and then everything will work itself out from there, I guess.”

Bradley couldn’t help but feel sympathy for her. Whatever Slugger decided, it would most likely result in Clara losing the partner she’d been flying with for years. And while it wasn’t as nearly a tragic loss as it could have been, it still was a loss, and would still mean significant change for her.

“Well, if you ever need to talk about anything, I’m here for you.”

Clara looked up from the floor, quickly rolling her head across her shoulders to peer over at him instead. “I know,” she replied quietly with a small smile.

A few moments of comfortable silence passed between the two. As Bradley looked at her, he swore he felt his heart wrench. The moment alone they’d finally managed to snag only reiterated to himself just how much he had missed her over the past few months. And just how royally screwed he really was.

“You know, there is one good side effect from the whole situation with Slugger,” Clara pointed out, breaking the silence.

He raised his brows, intrigued. “Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“It’s given me more to think about regarding my reenlistment.”

“Have you made a decision about that yet?” Bradley inquired, trying not to appear any more interested than what would be considered appropriate.

Clara gave him a look that suggested she caught on to his enthusiasm anyways. “Not yet.”

He was well aware of the fact that in a few months, Clara would have to make a decision on whether or not to reenlist for another 6 years. While his own reenlistment decision was still over 2 years away, Bradley couldn’t help but be interested in where Clara stood on the matter. She had made some comments to him in passing about it over the past year or so, but had never said anything concrete to indicate what she was leaning towards.

Bradley knew he shouldn’t have an opinion on the matter… but he did. He wanted her to stay, wanted her to reenlist. Clara was damn good at her job. Maybe Bradley was biased in thinking so, but maybe not- she’d graduated from TOPGUN just as he had, after all. She’d been selected for the special detachment, too. Biased thinking or not, Bradley was more than willing to argue that the Navy would lose one of its great assets if, or when, the day that Clara Wells decided to walk away ever came.

“The whole thing with Slugger has me thinking,” Clara elaborated, “I’m getting to the age where I need to start figuring all that out.”

Their thirties were right around the corner for both of them. His own birthday was just a month or so away. The changing decades had crossed Bradley’s mind more than once as of late, but apparently for different reasons than it had crossed Clara’s. Respectfully, he pointed out, “You still have time to make decisions about that.”

“Maybe,” Clara conceded, albeit a little reluctantly. “But the point still stands. For the longest time, I thought that the decision wouldn’t have to be made. I thought that without a doubt, when the time came, I’d reenlist, that I’d really want to buckle down and focus on my career. But…”

“But what?”

“I realized that if I were to walk away at this very moment, I don’t have anyone out there waiting for me. No kids. No family- save my aunt… No one special.”

A slightly less comfortable silence passed between them as they both processed her words.

“I don’t know if that’s something I can be okay with,” Clara confessed timidly. “... And since I don’t have anything like that yet, I’m wondering if I may need to actually leave the service. I may need to go out into the world and find it for myself, you know?”

Bradley could understand the sentiment of not wanting to be alone. Her father had already been gone a few years, and since he only had his grandmother left, he wasn’t in a dissimilar boat. But he just hoped Clara would never truly feel that she was alone, so long as she continued to let him be in her life in some capacity. For everything she had done for him over the years, he hoped to at least be able to offer her that.

“What if you could have both?” Bradley dared to wonder. “What if you could have a career and a family? … Or just someone to come home to?”

Clara scoffed, but it was lighthearted. She turned to look at him, with sadness, not anger, lingering in her eyes. “That’s a lot to ask of somebody.”

“Not for someone who truly understands what our line of work entails,” he disagreed, but lightly. Not for someone who understands all the hard work would be so very much worth it, if it meant to be with you.

“Well, If you’ve got any leads, send them my way,” Clara joked, effectively breaking some of the tension. “It’s getting late, and we’ve got an early morning.”

Bradley glanced at the dashboard, and grimaced. How the hell had it gotten so late?!

Clara leaned forward, wrapping her fingers around the door handle once more. However, she paused, and turned to look at him once again. “Brad?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you promise me something?”

“Anything.” He meant it.

“This mission… I need it to come first,” she told him seriously. “I know there’s history between us, and I know we’ve never really worked together before, but-”

“The mission comes first,” Bradley interjected full-heartedly, completely understanding the point that she had been trying to convey. Despite the conflicting feelings he felt about her wreaking havoc in his personal life, that was a concept he was more than willing to get behind.

Clara looked relieved by his response. She regarded him carefully for another beat, as if deciding whether to say anything further. But she must’ve ultimately decided against it, instead saying, “It really is good to see you again, Brad.”

“It’s good to see you too, Red Cross.”

She smiled at the nickname, a gesture that made his heart wrench again, before finally opening the door and hopping out. Bradley waited patiently, watching dutifully as she walked up the steps to the front door. It was only when she had gotten inside the house that he felt comfortable leaving and resuming the drive to his own assigned housing.

As the cool night breeze blew through his hair a few minutes later, Bradley felt oddly at peace.

He tried to ignore the ominous voice in his head that suggested it might be the only moments of peace he’d get for the entire detachment.

“Hangman, Parrot- I’d like to speak to the two of you for a moment.”

The feeling of being called out specifically by the Vice Admiral after the mission briefing the following morning was something akin to a teacher asking a student to stay behind after class. Or at least, that’s what it felt like to Clara.

However, she was determined not to let any discomfort show as everyone else left room to file out into the hangar, where their instructor for the training detachment would be introduced. Bob gave her a really brief sympathetic look as he passed by, as did Phoenix.

Clara couldn’t bring herself to make eye contact with Bradley much that morning. Something about the reality of the situation- namely the fact that they were suddenly in very close proximity, with the potential of going on a mission together for the first time ever in their careers- seemed to be finally sinking in. Besides, after their conversation the previous evening, she could easily imagine the look that must’ve been on his face upon hearing the Vice Admiral’s request.

Once everyone else had filed out of the room, led by Rear Admiral Solomon, the door closed, and Vice Admiral Simpson turned to them with a stern look on his face. Although, it wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary for him to sport such a stony expression.

“Thank you, I’ll make this quick,” the Vice Admiral promised, glancing between them. “I understand that your partnership for this detachment came as a surprise, and is not what either of you expected.”

Clara didn’t dare to do anything but keep her focus on Vice Admiral Simpson, but she could’ve sworn she saw Hangman turn his head ever so slightly towards her, as if to give her a look.

“However,” he continued, his tone shifting quickly and easily from one almost cordial to one with a sense of resoluteness that was not to be questioned by anyone with some wits about them. “This decision was reached by myself and Rear Admiral Simpson, with input from none other than Admiral Kazansky. This decision was also made following the direct recommendations from your respective squadron COs. As such, failure to give your best effort to operate in the capacity of which you have been assigned will be taken as indication of a lack of respect for all of us involved.”

Clara couldn’t help but feel increasingly nervous as she processed the seriousness of the Vice Admiral’s words. She wasn’t certain what had brought on this type of speech and specific conversation, but she couldn’t help but wonder if her and Hangman’s little scene at the Hard Deck the previous evening had been witnessed by more than just their fellow Patches.

“Understand this: the needs of this mission will come first. And while the two of you have been paired together for now, and are expected to perform to the high standards for which you have been trained and have demonstrated out in the field, the fact of the matter is this: one of you may get chosen for the mission, and the other may not.”

That was news to Clara. Though she’d been paired to fly with Slugger for almost the entirety of the previous missions she’d been on, she couldn’t recall a time where they’d both been selected for a detachment and then subsequently separated.

Though she was still coming around to the idea in general, Clara knew one thing with the utmost certainty: if Hangman was one of the few chosen for the mission, she sure as hell was going to give every effort to make sure she was chosen for it too.

The Vice Admiral’s tone eased up- but only slightly. “If either of you want any sort of chance to be selected for this mission, I suggest you find a way to be cohesive, and quickly. Let’s just say it will not hurt your chances for the two of you to find a way to work together.” He gave them each a hard look. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Good,” he declared. “Now, go rejoin the others in the hangar. You’re dismissed.”

Clara felt like she couldn’t get out of the room fast enough. She headed down the hallway towards the exit with decent urgency.

Hangman was right behind her, sporting a grin that suggested that he hadn’t just been technically called and subsequently chewed out. “Well, well, Parrot, looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us.”

Clara almost froze mid-step at his nonchalant tone. Almost. She settled for giving him an incredulous look instead. “That’s all you have to say?” she implored.

“Did you expect me to offer you some profound wisdom or something?”

The gears in her mind started to turn. “Someone must’ve seen us at the Hard Deck last night.”

“Clearly,” Hangman agreed, unhelpfully.

Clara came to a stop before the exit door. Through the small window, she could see that the rest of the group had already taken their seats. By the looks of it, they’d saved two seats at a table right up front for her and Hangman. Great.

She turned to her newly-dubbed partner. “Listen- the Vice Admiral’s right. We need to find a way to work together. I’m not going to blow my chances of getting chosen for the mission just because we can’t find some way to be civil with each other.”

Hangman’s brows furrowed, and placed a hand over his heart. “You wound me, Parrot,” he exclaimed, with mild theatrics. “This might be surprising, but I actually agree with you.”

That was surprising.

“Sweetheart, we can play nice ‘til the cows come home,” he continued, still sounding as though he was taking way too much joy out of their situation. “And when we get chosen for the mission, I’ll show you what it’s like to fly with the finest aviator the Navy has to offer.”

Normally, Clara would’ve felt tempted to scowl at his cockiness. But at that moment, she found it oddly reassuring. Hangman wasn’t one to be motivated by much other than his own will, so it was reassuring that seemed ready to play ball. At least for now.

“Besides,” Hangman said then, “You never know- I could teach you a thing or two that you could take back to Slugger.”

Clara opened her mouth to respond, but Hangman brushed past her, opening the door and walking out into the hangar in a flash.

Although she wanted to give him an earful for the snide comment, it was pointless. She wordlessly followed after him and walked out onto the hangar floor.

If there was one thing that gave her some comfort, it was that there was no fathomable way that the day could get any worse.

Pete Mitchell wasn’t expecting a warm welcome upon his introduction to aviators recalled for the detachment.

He was alright with that. The trainees didn’t have to like him; they only needed to adhere to the lessons and hopefully absorb the wisdom he had to offer.

… Though he certainly would feel better about the whole thing if they found it in themselves to try and at least try and tolerate him.

Pete knew his work was cut out for him as he walked through the hangar, headed towards the podium from which Warlock had just stepped down from. As soon as his name was spoken, he saw the less than thrilled looks that fell over the faces of many of the ones who turned around in their seats to watch him approach. The Vice Admiral’s stern look was almost favored over some of the other looks he received.

But if Ice had chosen him for this, Pete wasn’t about to let some disappointed aviators and a doubting Vice Admiral stop him from giving it a shot.

The F/A-18 natops felt heavy in his hand as he walked, but it served as a good grounding point to distract him from the particularly heated look he felt coming from a particular recruit seated at one of the back tables.

Pete fixed himself behind the podium, and his eyes scanned over the group of twelve aviators in front of him for the first time. As far as he was concerned, they were all sitting in enviable seats. Half of them would have the honor of being chosen for the mission. The other half would have some comfort knowing for certain that they’d at least live to see one more day.

Though he didn’t make direct eye contact, he saw the trainee shooting daggers at him from the back of the room out of his peripheral vision.

To his credit, Bradley Bradshaw at least looked professional, as he had a reputation of being. Even if he was a little too reserved at times. Upon a first glance, he didn’t look any more particularly bothered by Pete’s presence than the rest of his peers did. It was only because Pete knew what signs to look for that he realized he was being given a cold look by the young man at all.

Pete’s eyes worked from the back tables all the way up to the front, trying to place the faces with the names and callsigns he’d read in the briefing notes and seen briefly during his meeting with Cyclone and Warlock the previous afternoon.

His eyes fell to the table right before him, where a woman and a man were seated. Both of them had been at the Hard Deck the night before. He glanced at the woman, and immediately felt a pang of guilt.

It really was her.

Pete had had doubts about the woman’s identity the previous evening, but judging by her clenched jaw and the less than warm look she had in her eyes as she regarded him, there was no doubting her identity anymore. Now that he was certain of who she was, it was with a dull sense of dread that Pete realized that she must’ve known exactly who he was too.

…It was going to be a long day.

Better to get on with it, Pete chided himself internally, placing his hands on either side of the podium as he mentally prepared himself to address the group at large.

Regardless who any of them were, and their feelings about him, it was time to get to work.

It was time for them to show him what they were made of.

He couldn’t believe it.

He couldn’t fucking believe it.

There really wasn’t a word apt enough to describe the combination of vexation and disbelief he was feeling.

For all his effort in making sure his feelings regarding a particular WSO didn’t get in the way of his performance during the detachment, it was bitterly ironic for Bradley to discover he’d been entirely too focused on all the possibilities. As if Bradley didn’t have enough on his plate already, it figured that the universe would have yet another laugh at his expense by abruptly throwing the one person he didn’t care to see ever again back into his life. Even if it was to be for a short stint, it wasn’t going to be managed very easily, that much was for certain.

“Rooster!”

He kept his head forward, though his grip on the handle of his flight bag tightened as he continued to follow the rest of the group making their way outside. Great. They hadn’t even had the chance to perform a quick inspection of the aircrafts before proceeding with the day’s designated exercise, and he was already attempting to pull him aside.

“Bradley!”

He kept walking, his teeth grinding down firmer.

“Lieutenant Bradshaw!”

Finally, and with great reluctance on his part, Bradley stopped, and turned to address the man who had been beckoning him. “Yes, sir?”

Maverick’s facial expression was nearly indiscernible, largely in part due to the aviators he donned and the bright sunshine covering the rest of his face. “Let’s not do it like this.”

It seemed they were already doing it like “this”, or like something at least. One being singled out of twelve? Bradley could practically feel more wandering eyes falling upon the two of them standing out in the open with every passing second.

“Are you gonna wash me out?” he demanded, though he tried to make it sound as respectful as he could manage. Unfortunately, the older man did outrank him. For now.

“That’ll be up to you, not me.”

Bradley narrowed his eyes, wondering what the hell that was even supposed to mean. Regardless, he didn’t want to keep standing there as he tried to figure it out. “Am I dismissed?”

He knew Maverick had no choice, and thankfully, Maverick knew that too. “Yes.”

Something was off.

Natasha squinted, half from the blinding sun and half from curiosity, as her eyes wandered over to Rooster, who had been specifically called out by Maverick.

It was impolite to stare, and it’d be decently embarrassing to get caught watching them, but she can’t help but be intrigued. What could they possibly have to talk about? None of them had even gotten up in the air yet!

She heard shuffling beside her, alerting her to her WSO’s presence. Sure enough, she turned her head and was met with the sight of none other than Bob. Natasha flashed him a small smile and refocused on the inspection at hand.

“What’s that about?”

Despite being several yards away, Natasha could hear Hangman’s inquiry from the other side of his own assigned F/A-18. She made her way around her own aircraft subtly. She heard Bob right behind her, checking things off the mental list for the inspection as he went along too.

When Hangman and Parrot came into view, Natasha’s curiosity peaked further. She felt confident enough to say she knew both of them fairly well, so she also felt confident saying she had a pretty good feeling of how their partnership was going to fare. Despite what had to have been a friendly warning from the Vice Admiral earlier that morning, it seemed the pair were already on rocky water.

Parrot frowned at Hangman, who was taking way less care than Natasha had to make sure his ogling of Rooster and Maverick wasn’t obvious. “It’s none of our business,” Parrot admonished gruffly, “Let’s keep focused.”

“Jeez,” Hangman said, holding his hands up in mock defense. “Didn’t think you’d be so keen to get up in the air with me, Sweetheart.”

“I’m not,” Parrot disagreed quickly, not evening sparing him another glance. “Just want to get this day over with, is all.”

“You and me both.”

Natasha shook her head to herself and turned to make a quiet comment to Bob about the ill-fated partnership. However, when she saw the look on his face, which included flitting eyes that refused to look at her for any longer than a second, she decided to keep the comment to herself.

Her curiosity about Maverick and Rooster, and Hangman and Parrot, was temporarily set aside as she proceeded to dare and sneak glances at her WSO instead.

When the conversation with Maverick was concluded, Bradley turned, and headed towards his plane briskly. Natasha didn’t miss the way Bob glanced at Rooster with the same anxious look as he passed.

Did Bob know something?

…

Payback, Fanboy, and Rooster were chosen to take on the legendary Maverick in the dogfighting exercise first.

The rest of the group holed up in one of the rec rooms, listening to the happenings over the radio as they killed time. Natasha and Bob were positioned right by the radio, listening patiently for any indication of what they were going to encounter themselves soon enough.

They were somewhat joined by Parrot, who sat on one of the nearby couches. She was less obvious about her active listening to the radio though, as she pretended to be interested in the various photos and memorabilia decorating the walls instead. Natasha knew she was only pretending though; every time a certain Lieutenant’s voice could be heard over the radio, Parrot’s head turned ever so slightly to face the radio’s direction.

Hangman was seated beside her, but he busied himself with fidgeting with a model plane that almost certainly been used previously for teaching and demonstrative purposes.

“This guy needs an ego check,” Hangman declared, right after Maverick had finished explaining the rules of the dogfighting exercise.

Payback and Fanboy followed Maveric’s challenge with a friendly bet of two hundred pushups, and then the fight was on.

Natasha couldn’t help but notice as Parrot’s interest in the radio chat became less than subtle when Rooster suddenly went below the hardeck. In fact, from then on, she seemed to be clinging on to every word he said.

Natasha knew that something was going on between Rooster and Parrot, but the other young women’s piqued interest was another matter entirely. Despite her efforts to look distracted, she was nearly at the edge of her seat. And every time she turned her head in Natasha and Bob’s direction, her face suggested that she was not just fearing, but rather expecting something to go awry.

… It seemed like Parrot and Bob knew something Natasha didn’t.

Natasha looked across from her and towards Bob, but he was still sneaking glances at Parrot, as if gauging her reaction. So instead, she dared to look over at Hangman.

Natasha had half-expected him to be fiddling with the model plane still, but to her mild surprise, he was staring right at her.

Hangman’s eyes flickered between Parrot, Bob, and the radio, before finally landing on her once more.

The suspicious look on Hangman’s face told her that he had noticed Parrot’s specific interest in radio communication throughout the exercise as well.

…

Later, Natasha watched out the window as Rooster proceeded with the two hundred pushups he’d been given. Though it was admirable that he had taken the fall for Payback and Fanboy, she questioned why it had been necessary in the first place. Flying below the hard deck was not typical for Rooster, even if it had been on “accident”. He was the kind of pilot who was usually two, if not three, steps ahead of everyone else. He didn’t make mistakes. But this time, he had.

What was it about Maverick that had Rooster acting so out of character?

Clara was a little peeved, to say the least.

Just seeing Maverick, let alone processing the fact that he was going to be the special detachment’s instructor for the imminent future, was unsettling. From her deceased father’s tales of the legendary aviator, he had become something more akin to a ghost legend than that of an actual person.

But then she remembered that ghosts had more of an excuse to miss a celebration of life for their former RIO than an actual person would have, and the anger began to take up residence internally once again.

Speaking of anger, Bradley was in a rare form due to his own. Clara hadn’t seen him this upset in many, many years, and despite having been one of the calmest and clear-headed pilots she had ever witnessed first hand, Bradley certainly wasn’t acting like it.

Knowing what she knew about why Bradley was so bent out of shape, she could hardly blame him, but she worried about him negatively affecting his own chances of being considered for the mission if he didn't find a way to keep the anger in check. His anger-fueled gut reactions had already earned him a sizable round of two hundred pushups.

Clara thought she could at least try to push past her less than pleasant feelings about Hangman for the day, but on top of the unaddressed resentment she felt towards Maverick, and the quickly overwhelming concern she was beginning to feel about Bradley, Hangman’s usual annoying but tolerable antics were straight up incendiary.

For their first run of the dogfighting exercise, they’d been paired with Phoenix and Bob.

Clara was able to convince herself that everything was fine, at least from the point of hopping in the plane, taking off, and getting up into the air. And for the most part, everything was fine; her job in that regard was the same, no matter who was sitting in the front seat.

Hangman was pretty quiet throughout that time as well. Not a single one of them had managed to shoot down Maverick yet, and he was more than determined to take that metaphorical crown for himself. He was focused, and more serious than she expected him to be. He had his game-face on.

But once they actually got into the air, and Hangman’s unnecessary commentary began, so did the trouble.

“Hey Phoenix,” Hangman said, and Clara could hear the smirk in his voice. “Hows about we tell everybody that BOB stands for something? Other than Robert, I mean.”

“Shut up, Hangman,” Clara quipped, more than ready to get the exercise done and over with. She looked down at the radar, but saw no sign of their illusive instructor. A quick visual scan of the area confirmed just as much. “Bob, you see anything?”

“Nothing yet,” he replied.

“Don’t take the bait, Bob,” Phoenix told him, circling back around to Hangman’s jest. “Wanna know why we call him Hangman?”

“Oh, I know,” Hangman said then, apparently more than willing to supply an answer to his own stupid question. “I got it: Baby On Board.”

Clara rolled her eyes, offended on behalf of her friend and with her newly-partnered pilot in general. As his laughs filled the cockpit, she began, “Would you just-”

She was cut off when the plane was thrown to the side, and Maverick flew right past the pair of them.

“Shit!” Hangman exclaimed.

“Greetings, aviators,” Maverick could be heard saying over the comms. “Fight’s on!”

“Let’s go!” Clara encouraged Hangman, surprising herself when her words came out more supportive and less demanding. Maybe she wanted a hand in taking Maverick down just as much as Hangman did. She put on a game-face of her own as she quickly put eyes on Maverick up ahead.

“Copy that,” Hangman confirmed. “Alright, Phoenix, let’s take this guy out!”

He gave her an order to break right, before going the completely opposite direction.

What the-

“Where’s he going?” Bob asked.

“No, no, no,” Clara said to Hangman, frowning heavily. “This is a bad idea.”

“That’s why we call him Hangman,” Phoenix supplied to her WSO. “He’ll always hang you out to dry.”

“Leaving your wingman?” Maverick observed, sounding highly amused. “There’s a strategy I haven’t seen in a while.”

“He called you a man, Phoenix,” Hangman pointed out in a very juvenile manner. “You gonna take that?”

“So long as he doesn’t call you a man!”

Clara urged her pilot, “Hangman, get down there and get him off them!”

But it was of little use: she might as well have been on the ground, miles away, as her words fell upon deaf ears. It was extremely evident that Hangman had a plan of his own, and come hell or high water, he was going to see it through.

“For all you folks at home, this is how you bury a fossil.”

He attempted to maneuver to get Maverick in the line of fire, but it was moot. Before he could do so, Maverick successfully shot Phoenix and Bob.

As their curses flooded the radio, Clara cursed herself. “Seriously, Hangman?!”

But Hangman ignored her. The sudden turn of events into a one versus one scenario seemed to light a new fire underneath him, and he had become beyond reproach. It was clear he was not going to listen to anyone.

A few moments later, Maverick pulled up, and Hangman followed. Both he and Clara were blinded by the sun. Though Clara attempted to turn her head around and locate their instructor, she was unsuccessful.

Meanwhile, Hangman was grasping at straws, asking Phoenix for help locating him instead.

“I’m dead, dickhead,” Phoenix reminded him rather poignantly.

Bob added, “See ya in the afterlife, Bagman.”

Maverick shot them down shortly after.

…

The burn of two hundred pushups did nothing to soothe Clara’s rising anger.

There must be something in the water.

That was the only reasonable explanation Jake could provide for the events of the day. Everyone was in such a mood.

Though she had talked a big game about trying to get along that morning, Parrot wasn’t making it easy on him to hold up his end of the deal. It seemed he couldn’t make any decision without her voicing her disapproval.

He knew of her reputation to be particularly chatty over the comms, which had apparently played a role in her earning her callsign, and Jake also knew Parrot had never been particularly fond of him, but even he could tell she was in a particularly unpleasant mood that day. Maybe it had something to do with the talk from the Vice Admiral earlier. Maybe it had something to do with the two hundred pushups they’d been ordered to do. Maybe it had something to do with Rooster. Hell, it could even have had something to do with Maverick- Jake immediately noticed how tense Parrot got from her seat beside him when their instructor had been introduced that morning.

Even Rooster was off his game, which was already subpar to begin with. Typically, he was too cautious, and quite frankly, Jake was surprised he had gotten as far as he had in his career with his crippling inability to take any risks. But lately, Rooster’s behavior was way over on the other end of the spectrum. Breaking the hard deck? Openly taunting their instructor in a way that was borderline insubordination? Hell, Rooster was taking risks that even he had better sense than to try and get away with.

For their second, and thankfully, final, dogfighting exercise run of the day, he, Parrot, and Rooster were getting another shot at Maverick.

Jake watched the interactions between Rooster and Parrot as closely as he dared, which was technically pretty close. However, though he had seen them leave the Hard Deck together the previous evening, the two weren’t displaying any outright signs of affection towards one another. In fact, if Hangman hadn’t seen Parrot's obvious concern for Rooster earlier in the day when he’d hit that snag with Maverick during his first run, Jake probably would’ve been able to write off the entire thing altogether.

But there’d been several signs, and they all seemed to say one thing: something was going on. And since Jake seemed to be out of the loop, he decided to take it upon himself to get to the bottom of it.

“So, Rooster, mind if I ask you a personal question?”

“Would it matter if I did?”

Jake could hear the other man’s displeasure very clearly. This’ll be fun. “So, what’s the story with you and Maverick? Seems like he’s got you a little rattled.”

“Focus, Hangman,” Parrot warned from behind. “I’ve already done two hundred pushups thanks to you, and I’m not about to do more.”

“It’s none of your business,” Rooster snapped at him. “Parrot, you see anything?”

“Nothing yet,” she answered. “Wait…”

Rooster huffed, “Where the hell is he?”

“Been here the whole time.”

Jake’s jaw dropped as Maverick, who had apparently been flying right underneath them, maneuvered his plane up and around Roosters’, so that he was inverted above him. “Holllly shit…”

“See me now?” Maverick asked coyly.

Jake continued to watch in a stunned silence. Parrot must’ve been stunned too; for the first time that day, it seemed like she had nothing to say.

Maverick and Rooster exchanged a few more choice words, before suddenly, both planes went downward, spirling around one another.

“What is with these two?” Jake wondered out loud,

Parrot, purposefully or not, did not make any comment towards his remark. Instead, she said, “See if you can get in a good position to get Maverick.”

But that was a feat easier said than done. While Jake had been able to maneuver them into a good spectating position, the downward spiral their wingman and instructor were entangled in offered merely a 50/50 chance of him being able to hit Maverick if a shot was attempted. And while Jake was gutsy, he was pretty sure the Vice Admiral would severely disapprove of him taking those odds, even if it was only a training simulation.

“Why aren’t they stopping?” Parrot said suddenly.

Maverick and Rooster were still in a tight locked spiral, quickly falling towards the ground.

Jake scoffed, though his joking facade was starting to slip as he began to process the gravity of the situation unfolding before their eyes.

Parrot added, with decent concern, Jake would later note, “What is this, a game of chicken?!”

Honestly, that was what it seemed like.. “Well, technically, Rooster is-”

“Shut up, Hangman!”

Though Jake could hear Maverick and Rooster exchanging less than pleasant words once again, he was concerned with the more pressing issue: their planes were still very, very quickly barreling towards the desert ground. Jake glanced down at the controls, before warning them, “Hard Deck’s 5000 feet, fellas! You’re running out of room.”

“Someone pull up, damn it!” Parrot chimed in.

“Your strategy is about to run us into the ground,” Maverick said, directed to Rooster. “What’s your move?”

Thankfully, the two pulled up a moment later, with Maverick taking the lead.

“Come on, Rooster!” Jake encouraged, surprising himself. He began to direct the plane over towards them for backup. “You got him! Drop down and take the shot!”

“It’s too low!” Rooster disagreed.

Capitalizing on his trainee’s reluctance, Maverick hit the brakes. He came to an apparent stop in the air and Rooster soared past him. Maverick aimed, took the shot, and Rooster was toast. “That’s a kill.”

“Damn it!” Rooster cursed.

Jake shook his head to himself. “Same old Rooster.”

“Shut up, Hangman,” Parrot berated him. “Mav’s coming for us next!”

But with Rooster gone, it didn’t take long at all for Maverick to defeat them in a one versus one scenario for the second time that day.

At some point, Hondo took pity on them, or he just got tired of counting. Either way, he attempted to dismiss them.

“Alright, that’s enough.”

Bradley opted to ignore his offer. If the other two wanted to quit, fine. But he had earned himself those pushups, again, and he was going to see them through.

However, Hangman on the other hand didn't need to be told twice. He sprung up and off the ground with an ease that could only have been obtained by the Navy’s rigorous requirements for physical upkeep. He looked down at Bradley and Clara as he dusted off his hands.

“Well, this was a hell of a first day,” he commented airily. Then to Clara, he added, “I’ll see you tomorrow, partner.”

Bradley just knew that Hangman’s echoing of her words had to have riled Clara up, but she said nothing in response. In fact, she didn’t move to get up off the ground either, though she did stop the pushups and sit up on her legs folded underneath her.

Hangman walked off, while Hondo looked down at Bradley. “Rooster, that’s enough, man.”

Bradley ignored him once again, just as he ignored the slight burning sensation in his arms, which would have done four hundred pushups by the time the day was over and done with..

His eyes were fixed on the ground, but he heard Hondo give up on requesting him to stop, and eventually, the other man walked away. Bradley expected Clara to get up and leave as well, but she stayed put where she was.

A few minutes later, the push ups were complete, but Bradley felt no more satisfied with himself than he had before he’d begun. He rolled over to sit on the concrete, which was still warmed by the setting sun.

The two sat there in silence for a few minutes, before Clara said softly, “I’m sorry about Hangman.”

Bradley fought the urge to scoff. Of everything that had happened that day, Hangman was the least of his problems at the moment. He didn’t look up at her, worried he’d say something he’d regret as he continued to silently seethe.

“It’s been a long day,” she tried then, though with a bit more firmness in her tone. “How about we go get a drink? … Just you and me?”

“I’m not in the mood.”

Bradley could tell by the awkward silence that followed that his snapped response must’ve hurt Clara’s feelings a bit. On any other day, he would’ve apologized immediately and taken her up on the offer, but at that moment, he just couldn’t.

“Listen,” Clara said, more forcefully still. “I’m not exactly thrilled with the situation either. Did you think I liked showing up here this morning and finding out that Maverick, of all possible people in the damn Navy, was going to be our instructor?”

He didn’t bother to answer her redundant question.

“But we can’t change the situation we’re in now,” she continued. “And pulling shit like you did today, pulling shit like that-”

“Like what?” Bradley challenged, whipping his head upwards and meeting her eyes for the first time since their conversation began. He saw her hesitate, but Clara seemed angry too, and she wasn’t quite ready to stand down, despite the opposition he was giving her.

Her eyes narrowed at him. “You know like what.”

“I thought we agreed to put the mission first. What happened with that?” he questioned, not caring how suspicious he sounded. Bradley sighed, before adding, “Look, I really don’t need you preaching to me right now.”

Bradley practically heard her jaw snap shut.

“I had my ass chewed out by the Vice Admiral this morning for something I haven’t even done yet. I still might strangle Hangman by the time this detachment’s over, despite the very clear warnings I’ve received not to,” she told him cooly, sounding more angry than he could ever recall having seen her throughout their many years of friendship. “So, forgive me if I’m trying to make sure my friend doesn’t get washed out so that I’m not left here alone.”

Before he could even realize how stupid it was, Bradley snapped back, “Well, as your friend, I suggest that you worry more about yourself, and less about me.”

Clara opened her mouth to respond, but then she closed it. She rose off the ground just as swiftly as Hangman had just a few minutes before.

She took a few steps away, before throwing her head over her shoulder and grumbling back at him, “I’ll see you later, Bradshaw.”

No Brad. No Bradley. Just Bradshaw.

Fuck.

As Bradley watched Clara walk away from him and back towards the hangar, he immediately regretted the harshness of his words. No matter how angry he’d been, he knew that Clara was extremely low on the list of those who deserved to face his wrath.

Damn Maverick for making him feel this way. Damn Maverick for bringing back the anger from years long since past that he could’ve sworn had been erased. … And damn himself for letting Maverick get the best of him anyway.

Bradley was so lost in his own pity party, he failed to realize Phoenix had approached him.

“Breaking the hard deck? Insubordination? Are you trying to get kicked out?”

It had been a long day.

Alright, maybe that was an understatement, but it didn’t make the thought any less true. Though Bob was beginning to feel a bit worn down, he didn’t want to let it show. Just one stop on the way home, and with any luck, he could be back at his temporary new home in an hour or two.

However, Bob knew the day was about to get just a little bit longer when he ran into Parrot leaving base that evening. She had come from the women’s locker room, and though a good shower was typically enough to help lift anyone’s mood after a long day, it didn’t seem to do the trick for Parrot. She still had a crestfallen look on her face, and didn’t even look up to meet his gaze until he audibly greeted her.

It was the most upset that Bob had seen her all day, and he had a few good hunches as to why that was.

Bob knew something was going on between Rooster and Parrot- he wouldn’t have been that observant of a friend if he didn’t. After they first met, it didn’t take Bob long to figure out that whoever Rooster was, Parrot was clearly very fond of him, as she talked about him frequently, and always with the highest regard. And it seemed Rooster cared just as much for her, as the man later flew across the country to attend her graduation from TOPGUN.

Rooster’s surprisingly reckless behavior throughout the day must not have been easy for her to witness. Something about Maverick had him throwing his usually cautious nature to the wind, and he’d been unpredictable at best.

But in addition to that, Bob had his suspicions about a grievance Parrot may have had with their new instructor for the training detachment. After she returned to TOPGUN following her father’s funeral, Bob had taken her to the Hard Deck for a few much-deserved drinks, and of course, food. Though she had probably gotten too drunk for her own good, Parrot did mention a couple of choice comments about one Pete “Maverick” Mithcell not attending her father’s service. Of course, Bob recognized the name- you’d be a fool in the Navy not to have at least heard of the infamous aviator. The following day, once Parrot had sobered up, he asked her about it, and she felt obligated to inform him that once upon a time, her father and Maverick had actually flown together. Though she apologized for the outburst, and insisted her words were too harsh, Bob could still tell that some possible resentment for Maverick remained.

But Bob wasn’t one to jump to conclusions about anything, let alone about people. He’d take Rooster and Parrot’s opinion of Maverick into serious consideration, but he didn’t want to condemn the man just yet.

Seeing Parrot still upset, hours after the majority of the tension-filled events had passed, made Bob pause, and he suspected that something yet again was amiss. Plus, Bob wasn’t one to blatantly ignore a friend in need.

“I’ve got an errand I was going to run,” Bob informed her, the gears already beginning to turn in his head. “And it’s something I could really use your opinion on. Do you maybe want to tag along? We can even grab a bite to eat afterwards- on me, of course.”

Clara’s downtrodden look lifted slightly, as her eyes shifted from a look of bleakness to one of curiosity. She offered him a small nod and an even smaller smile in confirmation.

But Bob still considered that a win. “Come on, let’s go.”

Chapter 7

Masterlist

A/N: Thank you so much for reading!💙 If you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know!

TAGLIST: @gretagerwigsmuse @unluckymonaghan @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @roosterschanelslut @letusbewildflowers @roses-and-grasses @alanadetigy @caelipartem @fangirl-316 @owenniasstars @luckyladycreator2 @mell-bell @slayry @tallrock35 @actuallybarb

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 2 years

Text

To Love, To Have, To Keep

Prompt: Hey! I'm really pissed that there's such a thing as amatanormativity right now. Really, just so pissed. Can I have a Merlin fic where Merlin is just completely exasperated with his friends being like "guess I have to get married" and Merlin being like "NO YOU DON'T!!!" Specifically a scene with Arthur where he's sitting there like "I have to marry X-Princess. *sigh*" and Merlin is like "Here's an idea, just don't. You don't even have to marry Gwen!" and Arthur is like "If I don't marry this princess I don't have to marry Gwen either?? What kind of amazing world do you live in Merlin??" Basically everyone is aromantic/asexual but Merlin is the only one who's been like "actually I don't have to follow romance rules." - anon

so a bunch of y'all came into my inbox a while ago and said GIVE US AROACE REP and i said OKAY I'LL GET TO IT

(seriously tho sorry it's taking so long for some of these to come out, my backlog is SO long)

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none

Pairings: none

Word Count: 2131

It is a King's sworn duty to marry for the good of the kingdom, to have a Queen to rule beside him.

It is a man's duty to marry for true love, to have a woman to stand by his side for his life, and him by hers.

It is Merlin's duty to tell Arthur he's being a royal clotpole, and an idiot to boot.

“If you sigh one more time,” Merlin says, hands on his hips as he turns around, “I’m going to use you to dust off the shelves.”

“Threatening a King is treason, Merlin.”

“If making you do a measly fraction of the work most servants do every day is a threat, my lord, then Camelot is doomed.”

“Merlin!”

Merlin dodges the apple thrown his way, picking it up from the floor and dusting it off on his tunic. “What’s got you acting like a cow, then?”

Arthur glares at him. “You’re calling me a cow, now?”

“No, I’m saying you’re breathing like a cow.”

“That’s still calling me a cow!”

“Hey, you’re the one saying it, I’m just over here making comparisons.”

“To a cow!”

“You’re the one who’s taking it so poorly, really—“

“Merlin!”

Merlin bursts out laughing. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Arthur’s mouth twitch with the effort of keeping a straight face before he shakes his head and looks away, either back at whatever he’s sighing at or to keep Merlin from seeing him smile.

Merlin’s gonna go with the second one, if you don’t terribly mind.

“Go on then,” he says once he’s finished cackling, “what’s got you so wound up?”

Arthur sighs again. A jibe is just on the tip of Merlin’s tongue when Arthur looks up at him, his face drawn and dark, and Merlin sobers instantly.

“It’s a marriage proposal,” Arthur says with all the glory of a funereal march, “from one of the houses close to the borderlands. They’ve offered a substantial dowry, a portion of their men to train as knights, and a large portion of whatever trade comes into their ports.”

Merlin blinks. “That’s…more than last time.”

“Yes, considerably.” He sets it aside and scrubs a hand over his face. “And to think…my father used to force me into engagements for simple promises of loyalty.”

“Well, your father also got married to a troll, so…”

Arthur snorts. “Still can’t believe that happened.”

“I tried to warn you! You didn’t believe me!”

“You were the one with the mirror trying to look into her rooms at night, Merlin.”

“Yes, how do you think I figured out she was a troll?”

“Is that all you were looking to find out?”

“Yes,” Merlin says indignantly, “what else would I have been trying to find out? You said it yourself, a random woman comes into Camelot swooning all over Uther Pendragon—“

“Careful, Merlin, this is my father we’re talking about.”

“—and you expected me to believe it was genuine?”

“No, I told you that it didn’t surprise me.” Arthur sits back in his chair. “People have been trying to get close to the crown to curry favor for years. Especially with my father.”

Both of them make faces to indicate precisely what they think of that.

“Anyway,” Arthur sighs, sitting forward again, “I hesitate to think how fast I’d be walking down the aisle if my father had received this while he was still King.”

Merlin narrows his eyes as Arthur picks up another sheaf of paper and prepares to write something down. “What’re you doing?”

“Writing, Merlin. It’s where you take a quill, dip it in ink—“

“No, you prat, I mean what are you writing?”

“Letters. They form words, which form sentences—“

“You just received a marriage proposal, talked about Uther marrying a troll, and now you’re writing,” Merlin says, cutting him off, “what are you doing?”

Arthur looks up. He frowns. “I’m accepting, of course.”

No, not ‘of course.’ Not at all. What the bloody hell is he talking about?

“Do you…want to marry this woman?”

“No, not particularly,” Arthur sighs, “but we all do what needs to be done, don’t we? It’s hardly like I’m going to get a better proposal, we need more knights—“

“First of all, we don’t need more knights—“

“How would you know?”

“Since I talk to the knights and Leon says they’ve got all the men they need right now in training, they can’t take anymore—“

“And why haven’t I heard this?”

“Because he’s planning on bringing it up in the Council meeting later, but that’s not the point—“

“And since when are you telling me information like this? It would’ve been useful, you know, especially when—“

“And second,” Merlin says, raising his voice a little to talk over him, “you don’t have to marry her if you don’t want to.”

Arthur frowns. Then he bursts out laughing.

“Of course,” Merlin mutters, “he laughs when I’m not telling jokes.”

“Oh, that was a good one, Merlin,” Arthur says when he’s gotten over himself, “you should tell that one to Gwaine next time you’re at the tavern.”

“At the—“ Merlin shakes his head. Not getting into that now. “I’m serious, Arthur.”

“Alright, you can lay off, now, it was funny enough the first time.”

“As you’re so fond of reminding all of us, you’re the King. You can do whatever you want.” He motions to the letter. “That includes not marrying someone you don’t want to marry.”

Arthur looks at him. Then at the letter. Then back at him. “Do you know, Merlin, sometimes I can’t tell whether you’re serious or not.”

“I’m being serious now. You don’t have to marry her.”

“Of course I do!”

“Why? For a share of the things you were already going to receive? A slightly larger one? For ‘duty?’” He scoffs. “You know Morgana’s taking care of most of the things a queen would be doing anyway, your kingdom is running just fine without you taking a wife.”

Arthur sighs again. A smaller, sadder sigh. Then he puts aside the letter and steeples his hands. “I have to get married, Merlin. That’s what a King must do. It’s my duty, to the realm and to the kingdom.”

Merlin sets down the blanket he’s holding and turns to face him. “Putting aside how much your ass of a father messed everything up—“

“Merlin!”

“—do you think the kingdom is unhappy right now?”

Arthur stops. “What?”

“Answer me,” Merlin repeats, “do you think the kingdom is unhappy right now?”

Arthur frowns, glancing out of the window. There’s a steady stream of noise coming up from the square and courtyard beneath them. “…no.”

“They’re not,” Merlin says, quieter now, “they’ve been happier than they’ve been in a long time. They aren’t afraid to walk in the streets, they aren’t squabbling with each other over money or goods, they’re…they’re happy, Arthur.”

Arthur looks up at him as Merlin gets closer to the desk. There’s something very young in his eyes right now, turning his question into a plea. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“They’re happy right now,” Merlin stresses, “without you having to marry or do anything else. The things you’re doing now, the things you’ve done now, that’s what’s making them happy.”

Arthur nods, looking at the letter. He reaches out and slowly sets it aside. Merlin breathes a sigh of relief as Arthur nods once, twice, and a third time.

“Right. Then I won’t accept.”

“There we go,” Merlin mutters, striding back to finish fixing the prat’s bed. When the scratching of Arthur’s quill doesn’t return, he glances up to see him frowning into space. “What?”

“…does that mean I should propose to Gwen?”

Merlin blinks. And blinks. And blinks again. “How did we get here?”

“I shouldn’t accept that marriage proposal because—“

“Because you don’t want to.”

“—I don’t need to for the kingdom,” Arthur says, still frowning, “so I should…I should propose to Gwen, then, because…I need to do that.”

Merlin shakes his head, trying to clear it. “And why do you need to do that?”

“I need to get married, so—“

“Why do you need to get married?”

“Because I do,” Arthur snaps, looking at him, “I don’t expect you to understand, but I have to marry!”

“Does Morgana have to marry?”

That gets Arthur’s attention. “What?”

“Does Morgana have to marry,” Merlin repeats, “are you going to make her marry?”

“What? No!”

“So then why do you have to marry if you don’t want to if she doesn’t?”

“Because I’m the King, Merlin, a King needs a Queen.”

“Uther didn’t.” As soon as it’s out of his mouth, he winces. “Sorry.”

Arthur shakes his head—he’s forgiven. “A king has to marry, and—“

“Why?”

“Someone to rule with, Merlin, keep up!”

“Why can’t Morgana be your Queen?”

“I’m not going to marry my sister, Merlin.”

“I didn’t say that, I asked why Morgana couldn’t be your Queen. Mothers have ruled with their sons before, why can’t you rule with your sister?”

“Because—“

Arthur stops. Frowns. Opens his mouth again.

“Because when I get married, my wife is to be my Queen.”

“If.”

“What?”

“If you get married,” Merlin says, stressing the ‘if,’ “you don’t have to get married if you don’t want to.”

Arthur looks at him again, but it’s a little less sure now. That terrifying young thing is back in his eyes again. “I…don’t?”

Merlin sighs, setting everything down and coming back over to the desk. “No, Arthur. You don’t. The only reason you should get married is if you want to. Not for the kingdom—because you don’t need to—not for a Queen—because you’ve got one if you make Morgana Queen—but because you want to."

Arthur stares up at him, eyes flicking from Merlin’s left eye to his right.

“Do you want to marry Gwen? Not for any other reason than you want to?”

Slowly, so slowly, Arthur shakes his head.

“Then don’t.” He reaches out and pats Arthur’s shoulder. “Don’t force yourself to do what you think you have to.”

“S-so,” Arthur starts, and oh, oh, he sounds like a child, “am I just supposed to be alone?”

Anger at Uther and pity for this child race through Merlin’s chest. “Are you alone right now?”

“What?”

“In your life, Arthur, are you alone?” Before he can answer, Merlin rushes onward. “Because you aren’t, Arthur, you’re not alone. You’ve got your knights, men who are your brothers and care for you not because you’re their King but because they know the man you are. You’ve got Morgana, your sister who cares for you not because she has to but despite all the mess Uther put both of your through. You’ve got Gwen, who is a dear friend to you and has been for a long time. You’ve got Gaius, who is practically your father too, even though Uther did his damndest to stop him.”

He pauses, panting a little.

“And…you’ve got me,” he adds in a much smaller voice, “and I will gladly serve you until my last day.”

The ache of the confession leaves the room raw, beating like a heart, until Arthur swallows and slowly reaches out.

“I don’t want you to serve me.”

A bolt of pain. Merlin’s mouth dries.

“I don’t want,” Arthur says, struggling a little, “I don’t want you to serve me.”

He clutches Merlin’s tunic.

“I want you to stay with me.”

Oh.

“Of course,” Merlin breathes, “of course, I’ll—I’ll stay with you.”

“Good.” Arthur doesn’t let him go and Merlin doesn’t pull away. “If I’m not getting married, you’re not leaving.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of Merlin’s mouth. “I’d stay even if you did get married.”

“Even if I didn’t want to?”

“Especially if you didn’t want to.”

Arthur nods again. “Good.”

“Good.”

“Right.”

They both look down at where Arthur’s fingers are tangled in Merlin’s tunic. Arthur looks back up at him.

“So does that mean I have to tell Morgana she’s going to be Queen?”

“Oh, yes, you should do that.”

“Why can’t you do it?”

“I’m just a servant, you’re the King.”

“And as the King, I’m ordering you as my servant to do it.”

“I thought you just said you wanted me to stay with you, not serve you.”

“Merlin!”

#dragonbabbles #fic #bbc merlin #merlin bbc

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enviedear · 2 years

Text

bewitched my mind → draco malfoy

DESCRIPTION ⌙ in which draco malfoy becomes entirely bewitched with a girl who's never paid too much mind to him. he’s purely her’s, and yet, she has no idea. [warning for fluff and talk of food]

PAIRING ⌙ draco x fem!reader

WORD COUNT ⌙ 3.8k

hi all, i think this is one of my favorite things i've ever written. please enjoy it! gonna link a few songs that remind me of the vibes of this story.

i. ii. iii.

request here

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

you turn to the next page of your book, eager to meet the main character’s triumph. the scene is tense and utterly raw, causing you to forget your own setting.

you're no longer in hogwarts, instead, you’re fully consumed in the new world you’re reading of. you’ve long forgotten the faint music you put on and your rowdy friends having a faux duel on the grass around you. the two mates continue to circle to the tree you’re reading against— but they can’t knock your focus.

just as the climax of the story hits, the words on the page begin to contort and fumble until they’re gone, leaving blank pages. you flip through your book, confused.

“told you i knew the spell.” a brash and girlish voice speaks from your side.

you look up to find pansy parkinson, draco malfoy, and an awestruck vincent crabbe.

your friends stop in their tracks at the sight of the slytherin bullies. you however, glare up at the girl.

“can you put my book back to normal, please?” you ask, ears turning hot from anger.

pansy gives you a scowl before speaking, “what do you think draco? should we fix the little hufflepuff’s book?”

the blond doesn’t immediately say anything, just looks at you with eyes full of something you're unable to place before huffing, “merlin, pansy, fix her book. we’re not first years.”

the girl seems annoyed but complies and the words return to your book. you look to the blond boy, standing like a omnipotent god.

“thank you,” you say to him.

he gives you another once over before nodding curtly and walking to the direction of the road to hogsmeade, his friends following.

“that was— weird.” your friend, abbie says.

“beyond weird— since when has malfoy had a soul?” your other friend, laura laughs.

you roll your eyes at the two of them, “great help the both of you are. if malfoy hadn’t been feeling merciful today, i would have had to hex parkinson into the next year.”

laura giggles as abbie playfully shoves you, “piss off.”

the three of you resume your previous notions easily. you find yourself entranced in the words of your story, world around you becoming obsolete yet again.

days later, you’re in the library, on a mission. you're walking circles trying to find a book that can live up to the expectations the previous one has given you. you’ve inspected the right half of the library, and you’re beginning to think that maybe nothing will look appealing enough for you.

as you enter the next section, you’re greeted with draco malfoy and blaise zabini hunched by the window and speaking to each other in a hushed manner.

the pair look to you quickly and you freeze, somewhat terrified that malfoy may not be as merciful as he was previously.

“oh, sorry.” you say, rearing to turn in the other direction.

“l/n, right?” draco’s voice makes you halt. “you’re fine. blaise and i were just discussing—literature.”

you watch as zabini stifles a laugh.

“oh.” you pause, “have either of you read anything good recently?” you truly were eager to find something, anything. even if that meant asking malfoy.

"all yours draco." zabini gives the blonde boy a smirk before patting his shoulder and walking off.

draco glares at his friends’ retreating figure before speaking, “of course. i wouldn’t read something i didn’t find interesting.”

you nod, half-listening, and grab a book from behind him titled, 'the garden curse'

the spine of the book is dark and deep forest green with gold lettering carefully etched into it. it's thick with pages, perfect for getting absorbed within.

“have you read this?” you ask draco, genuinely curious.

he peers down, “i don’t read fairytales. they're unrealistic.”

you scoff, “why? what on earth is wrong with a good fairytale? and how can you say they're unrealistic when,” you gesture to the window outside. “we live in a world muggles can only dream of.”

“first, i highly doubt muggles could ever dream of a world this complex. and second, i find them boring. simply boring.” he grins.

“boring? draco, how?” you exhaust, eyebrows furrowed.

"they're all the same. the hero gets their lover, beats or outwits an enemy, and learns some valuable lesson that's really only meant for the reader. simply put, they're boring and unfeasible." he shrugs.

"that is not all they are— but even still, isn't it nice?" you ask, leaning into him slightly to place the book back onto the shelf.

"nice..." he trails off, watching you depart back from him, "yes— i'm sure it's nice to read something so simple, but i urge you to read the stories of those whose endings aren't happy or perfect. much more realistic."

you huff, "i'm not going to deny that those sorts of stories are more realistic and good in their own regard, but, fairytales can take you completely out of this world and into a new one."

"escapism?" the boy quirks a brow.

you roll your eyes, "all books could qualify as escapism— at least fairytales are interesting."

"okay, if you're so stuck in the mud about this, i'll read one. what's your favorite fairytale l/n?" he questions you, eyes burning with an intense sense of sincerity. he truly wants to know.

"well i dunno, i'd just be upset if you come to hate my favorite fairytale.."

"oh come on, show some guts! you just told me i'm missing out. i swear i won't come down too hard on it." he smirks.

you're pleasantly surprised by his promise and his care. you never would have thought draco malfoy could hold a tame conversation. maybe you judged him too soon?

"fine." you say. you swiftly remove your bag from your shoulder and begin rummaging through it, finding the creme hardcover you always keep on you. with a small and worried sigh, you hand the book to draco.

he looks it over, curious, "the princess bride?"

you hum, "i re-read it every year. i absolutely adore that book."

you watch the grey eyed boy scan the first page. his ring clad fingers are gentle against the pages, putting you at ease knowing that he'll take care of your prized possession.

"there's a bunch of markings in it, sorry." you bite your lip, suddenly too aware of the countless annotations.

"i could i add some as well? so you can see i actually read the book." he replies.

you nod, "be my guest."

he slips the book into his bag, "i'll find you after dinner and tell you my first thoughts. we could go to the astronomy tower?"'

a small smile tugs on your face, "the astronomy tower sounds nice, i'll see you then."

malfoy bids you farewell and you watch him saunter out of the library, his walk confident. you find yourself replaying the scene in your head, thinking giddily of the interest you spiked in him.

you truly hope he finds your favorite book enjoyable— you've never had anyone care enough to read it for you, and the idea of it has you gleaming.

working yourself out of your trance, you turn to the book you had been eying earlier. without much thought, you grab it and walk to check it out.

"you brought back the last one late. don't let it happen again." madam pince snides, wicked eyes glaring down at you.

if you ever wrote a story of your life, you'd make that woman the villain. the sheer amount of times she's withheld books from you for preposterous reasons is countless, and you're sure she's actually an evil being.

"i won't." you say, taking the book from the counter, ignoring the woman's gaze.

she huffs as a response and you walk quickly out of the library, ready to slip away from the world you're in now and into a new one.

├——— ✧ ———┤

between laura's music and abbie's complaints about her charms essay— you've not made it very far into your book.

"what's the wand movement for a fire making spell?" abbie asks, hands in her hair.

"verbal or nonverbal?" laura asks, turning her music down slightly.

"nonverbal." abbie says, biting her lip.

"flick and pull." you answer, closing your book.

the girl sighs and throws her head onto her desk, "i'm going to fail. i can't remember any of this."

placing your book down, you walk over to your friend, "well you're mixing up verbal and nonverbal— i have notes on each. do you think that would help?"

she nods, head rising to look at you.

shuffling through your bag you find the notes and hand them to her, "each group is separated— no more confusion."

"you're a lifesaver, y/n." she smiles.

"well miss lifesaver, my life is about to end if we don't get food soon— i skipped lunch to help dean thomas with his herbology homework." laura says, pointing to the clock, showing the both of you that it was mere minutes until dinner.

"were you helping him with herbology or helping him with getting his tongue down your throat?" abbie teases, sitting back in her chair.

"very funny— seriously, i need food. your essay can wait."

you chuckle, "it has been hours abbie, let's get food. might even aid in your cognitive function."

the dark haired girl below you rolls her eyes before rising from her chair, "well hurry up, i want to get this thing finished before bed."

the walk to the dining hall is filled with the three of you arguing over any and everything. your small friend group finds joy in teasing and disagreements— you're sure that at this point some might think you all secretly hate each other with the way you act.

in all honesty though, the three of you have grown past just dorm mates or even friends— you're sisters.

"you eat the same thing everyday." laura says, pointing at your plate.

"we have the same foods everyday." you reply, tearing into your chicken.

abbie steals a spoonful of mashed potatoes from laura's plate, grin on her face, "well, you hog the mash."

laura feigns a shocked sigh, "you thief!"

you roll your eyes and eat your food, thankful for the hot meal. the weather has drastically began to cool, causing you to swap your morning iced coffee for a hot tea— hogwarts' winters are simply brutal.

you get your fill of dinner and are halfway into a slice of pumpkin bread when you feel a sharp poke on your side. turning angrily, you meet abbie's wide eyes.

"y/n, i don't want to frighten you— but malfoy is looking this way, and with a smile on his face." abbie whispers.

you smile and turn to look at him, standing by the doors, "he's reading a book i suggested. i'm going to hang with him for a while— see you guys later."

your friend gape as you leave and greet malfoy with a smile.

"evening malfoy." you say, walking through the dining hall doors.

"evening, y/l/n. are you ready?" he replies, book in hand.

you nod and follow along beside the boy, ardent to hear his thoughts.

"well?" you ask, head nodding in the direction of the book.

draco shrugs, "humperdinck makes me want to vomit— but westley makes up for it enough. i like him."

"and buttercup?"

draco smiles, "despite her unfortunate name— she's a lovely character."

you grasp the railing, working up the steep astronomy tower steps. draco's ahead of you, long legs making the journey easier for him.

when you finally meet the top, draco hold a hand out to help you up, you oblige him.

"i'm not going to say i like fairytales yet. the book is okay— but i do like it so far." he says, taking a seat by the opening in the tower. you nestle beside him.

"i think you're downplaying just how much you enjoy it" you grin at the boy, eyes teasing. "by the end of this book, you'll finally be able to admit the truth."

draco furrows his brows, "the truth?"

you tilt your head, "that you like fairytales."

"oh— yes, maybe. depends on how good your book ends up being."

you stifle a laugh, "it will. i swear it."

"i'm not as confident," draco says, smirk tugging at his lips. "but i'm going to read here if you want to stick around."

you nod and grab your own book out of your bag, "i'll join you."

the two of you slip into the words on the pages in front of you. you enjoy your story, really, but your eyes seem to be more interested in the boy beside you.

you sneak small glances at him, admiring the way his eyes scan the page, stopping only to mark something of note. his plump and pink lips part ever so slightly at certain scenes, before he'll take his bottom lip between his teeth.

looking back down to your book, you wonder how you could have ever ignored someone so beautiful. the way he cares enough to do this with you is enough to tell you that draco malfoy is someone worth knowing.

"you have nice handwriting." he says, snapping you out of your trance.

you turn to him, "you're just being nice."

his grey eyes hold sincerity within them, "no, i'm serious. your handwriting is quite unique— i love it."

you smile, thanking him silently, before turning back to your book.

├——— ✧ ———┤

"the stars have aligned!" abbie yelps, shaking you from your slumber.

confused you furrow your brows, "what are you talking about?"

last night was the third time you and draco had met to discuss the book, and the two of you stayed up quite late. you enjoyed his company— admittedly more than you care to divulge. he had let you spark conversation about whatever was on your mind, and his listened with unwavering intent. he made you feel special.

your friend shoves a paper in your face, "i passed my charms essay! with your help of course, those notes really helped!"

you give her a small smile, "i'm glad, but how'd you get your score? it's saturday."

the black haired girl purses her lips, "i might have cried to professor flintwick at breakfast this morning— so i got it early."

you hear laura speak, "she had a full on tantrum more like it. i was so embarrassed to even be near her."

abbie turns her attention from you, staring daggers at the strawberry blonde, "well, you're dripping water everywhere."

laura shrugs, wet hair dripping around her, "there was only one towel left— you should have done laundry yesterday."

your friends continue to bicker, causing you to stifle a groan into your pillow. all you wanted was to sleep— but those two were making it extremely difficult.

accepting the fact that you're not going to get to sleep in any longer, you quickly get ready for the day, and head to the greenhouses.

professor sprout said you were always more than welcome to pay a visit— and you could use a good stroll looking at magical flowers.

the glass room is empty as you make your way inside, but you don't mind. with a happy sigh, you start caring for all the plants and taking notes of any issues for sprout.

you're inspecting the leaves of an umbrella flower when you hear a throat clear behind you. turning, you find draco, eyes tired but face holding that aristocratic expression he's so known for.

that giddy feeling comes back to you full force— and then it hits you.

you've grown quite fond of him. so fond you might even say that you harbor a crush on him. the thought alone has your stomach in knots— never in a million years would you have expected to have a crush on malfoy.

but as you look at him, clad in a slytherin jumper and black pants, you realize that you've always thought the boy handsome. it's only now, after sharing fleeting and tender moments with him, that you've been able to acknowledge the crush.

it's so easy love someone when you truly know them, and not the perception you have of them.

"hi malfoy, what brings you here?" you ask, placing your notes down.

he smiles at you, "finished your book— missed breakfast for it, but i finished."

his words send you into a small shock. of course you knew he'd eventually finish the book— but that means no more meetings. no more excuses to see him. your crush on him destined to stay unknown and unrequited.

your eyes widen, and you walk over to him, "what did you think? did the ending suffice? what about—"

the blond cuts you off with a chuckle, "i wrote down all my thoughts in the book. read it and find me in the astronomy tower after dinner."

"okay fine— but can you answer one question?" you ask, taking the book from him.

he quirks his head to you, eyebrows furrowed, "what question would that be?"

"would you ever read another fairytale?" you voice is soft and truly wondering.

"i— i suppose. though, i still find them unrealistic, but maybe you can change my mind after you read what i wrote." he replies, eyes staring into yours.

you give him a half smile, "how could i change your mind after i read what you wrote?"

he bites his lip, "you'll see. i'll meet you in the astronomy tower at ten."

and with that, he's walking out of the greenhouse, leaving you beyond confused as you stare down at the book.

minutes later, you're back in your dorm, eager to know what his annotated thoughts were. your dorm mates are nowhere to be seen, allowing for you to crack the book open.

all over the pages, next to your own writing— is draco's. crisp and perfect font.

you let your eyes scan over his words.

'i can't believe i'm reading this book for you— i hate fairytales. i already told you that, but i figure you should know again.'

'i think westley is an idiot for leaving. his perfect woman is right there— completely in love with him. i told you fairytales are unrealistic. i would never give up such love.'

'what a twist! he was alive the entire time— maybe he'll show that prince humperdinck the sharp end of his sword. i hate that man.'

his notes make you smile, but as you continue on, his writings morph from being about the book, to being about you.

'you're wearing a new jumper today. nearly choked on my pumpkin juice when you walked into the dining hall today. i truly hope you wear it to meet me tonight.'

'i'm up at three reading this damned book, just because it reminds me of you.'

'i know i said i hate fairytales— and that's still true, but you've fallen asleep on my shoulder and i think this may be the closest to a happy ending i'll ever know.'

you spend hours reading through his notes, eyes wide and heart fluttering. he spent so much time writing this for you. by the time you get to the last few pages, dinner is almost over.

you let yourself look back down at the book, at the very end, taking up three entire pages, sits a full on letter. it's addressed to you.

'y/n,

i assume that by now you understand i find you absolutely wonderful. although this book is the reason we began to talk, i've watched you from afar for a long time. i know you like to eat a slice of pumpkin bread after your dinner, that your potions book is always filled with bookmarks, that you walk in the middle when with your friends, and that your eyes sparkle like stars when you're deep into a book.

i know i've told you that fairytales aren't for me, and that's because i've accepted the fact that my fairytale can't come true. you've been the brightest part of my existence for a very long time. i suppose it started back in fourth year, i caught a glimpse of you reading by the lake. you started reading there everyday, and i became bewitched with you. entirely bewitched.

you looked so perfect— and i was confused as to why i'd never seen you before. i swallowed my pride and asked blaise for your name. y/n y/l/n, he said. i liked the way it tasted on my tongue. your name only added to the fire you had unknowingly lit inside of me.

i've spent years admiring you from afar, and the thought of this admiration leading to shared love is my ultimate fairytale. i don't expect you tell me you feel the same, that's unrealistic— just like the books you read. still, i can't help myself from hoping that maybe you'll surprise me and make me believe in fairytales, just as much as you do.

for your eyes only,

draco malfoy'

tears fall for your eyes as you take in his words, beyond what you ever could have expected. you clutch the book tight to your chest as you look at the clock, mere minutes until ten. the creme covered novel now takes on a new meaning of prized possession.

you dry your eyes before you're making your way out of the hufflepuff common room, rushing to the astronomy tower.

as you meet the end of the stairs, you catch a glimpse of the blond hair you've grown so fond of, sending butterflies to your stomach.

book still firmly in your grasp, you find your eyes looking straight into his cloudy grey ones.

"you said i could change your mind?" your voice is small.

draco sighs, carding his fingers through his hair, "a stupid notion, i assume?"

you shake your head, walking closer, "no, not at all. i told you that i love fairytales. but i never told you i've always wanted my own. i used to dream about multiple ways i could obtain one— and the entire time, you were there— waiting to deliver my personal fairytale."

you see his cheeks flush a tad, "i wouldn't say i'm good enough to be classified with the hero's in your stories, but i will say this, y/n, i think the world of you. i would read all the fairytales in the world just to see you smile."

"you said something about the thought of us together being unrealistic, but i'd like to argue that the only unrealistic thing is your belief that i could read that letter and not be entirely consumed with love for you. you, draco malfoy, make any fairytale romance seem minuscule." you're speaking with such conviction, trying your hardest to make him understand.

"you mean that?" he asks.

you grab hold of his hands, tugging him closer to you, "i most definitely mean that, malfoy."

he gives you a small smile, "i'm in awe of you."

you chuckle a little, inching your face closer to his. your eyes are questioning— hopeful. the boy leans closer to you, and that's enough for you. your lips capture his, kissing him with the same passion and conviction you spoke to him with.

his lips feel like heaven— maybe better, for you're sure heaven could never touch you as deeply as this kiss is.

he smells of vanilla and vetiver, and the scent envelops you. you're sure there's nothing as addictive as this man.

draco pulls away, hands resting gingerly on your shoulders, "i didn't think i could have been anymore enamored by you, and how wrong i was. i could be content, kissing you as the entire world disappeared around us," he lifts a hand to stoke your face, lifting your chin up to him, "you, my darling, are bewitching in all aspects."

you're truly certain now in your belief of fairytales. how could you not be, when your life has suddenly turned into one?

#—myfics !#draco malfoy fanfiction #draco lucius malfoy #draco fanfiction #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco x reader #draco x hufflepuff!reader #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy #draco fluff #draco malfoy fluff

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

Text

A new servant desperately struggles to understand what exactly Merlin is:

A cryptid? Arthur's boyfriend? Simply a dude? The court jester? Something else entirely? Who knows, certainly not the new guy.

The first time the new kitchen-hand, Tristan, saw The King’s dark-haired servant sprinting down the corridor, he couldn’t tell if the man was laughing or crying.

He was fast, faster than Tristan thought possible for someone whose arms were so full of laundry, but he politely steps out of the way, coming to the conclusion that he must’ve been late for something. At least... he did think that, until he turns the next corner to see three of The king’s most trusted knights peering out of windows and into random doors. Tristan freezes in the corridor, he’d heard that servants were treated extremely well here, but he’d only been employed for a few days and he didn’t want to risk anything by pushing past or addressing his betters.

One of the knights, Sir Leon, his brain helpfully supplies, spots him stood there, and his annoyed frown quickly morphs into a friendly smile:

“Pardon me, sorry, I don’t suppose you’ve seen Merlin around anywhere, have you?”

Tristan’s eyes go wide and the grip he has on his tray tightens, but he forces himself to take a breath and answer, trying his best to keep his voice even:

“Merlin is... The King’s manservant? Tall, with dark hair?”

Another knight pushes forward, he looks to be the oldest, with dark hair falling in an almost deliberately tousled way around his bearded jawline. His charming grin seems just a little too wide to be genuine, but Tristan isn’t quite sure if that’s because he’s about to take pleasure in punishing someone, or if he’s just being polite to a stranger:

“Yeah, yeah that’s him, seen him? Arsehole turned our shirts pink in the wash, and something tells me it was deliberate.”

Tristan gulps at the accusation and he takes a shaky step back, but before he can even think of defending the stranger that he now thinks must’ve been crying, the last of the three knights, a giant, if Tristan believed in such things, steps forward:

“Don’t worry, we won’t beat him too much.”

He says it with a grin and a quirk of his eyebrows, but once again the kitchen-hand can’t tell if it was cruel or genuine, if he was being sarcastic or not.

“Uh... yeah, he turned left at the end of this corridor, but I didn’t see where he went after that, I apologise.”

Sir Leon waves away his apology with a smile, looking to the long-haired knight with a raised eyebrow:

“The stables?”

The man grins widely, nodding his agreement as he turns his grin to the giant. Sir Leon offers Tristan another soft smile, murmuring his thanks before moving past him, elbowing the other two to prompt them in to thanking him as well. The three of them march down the corridor with almost vindictive smiles on their faces, and Tristan prepares himself to see a vacancy note, or possibly a funeral invite, posted on the notice board by the next morning.

When he passes a window that evening to see the King’s manservant being carried on the giant’s shoulders as five other knights pelt them with gloves, a grin on every face, he decides that... well... it’s probably best to just not to ask.

The next time he sees Merlin, a few days later, The King is also there.

This is the first time Tristan has been in Arthur Pendragon’s presence, and though the other servant’s all rave on about how awkwardly kind he is, he’s a bundle of nerves. Not even Cook’s stories about how often she whacks The King’s knuckles with a wooden spoon when she catches him about to pilfer something stops Tristan’s heart from racing.

The King was overseeing a few of the servants decorate the main hall for a feast, and whilst Tristan is certain that that’s not something The King normally does, he doesn’t question it, just thinks that maybe the other servants had been telling the truth, and he was a genuinely nice, but normal man.

Merlin stands at his side, and though Tristan can’t hear their conversation, the two of them are clearly bickering over something. The servant can’t help his curiosity, wanting desperately to move closer to find out what sort of things The King allows his servant to bicker with him about; luckily, the table right next to them has yet to be laid, so he moves towards it quickly. He doesn’t even glance at them, terrified of being caught out, but perhaps Merlin surviving the knights non-wrath the other day is encouraging him, and his steps don’t falter. Their words come in to focus, and he has to stop the confused, and slightly horrified, frown from spreading across his face:

“Arthur, I swear to the Gods, if you make me wear that hat again, I’ll piss in your wine and serve it to you in front of a crowd.”

The King scoffs just as Tristan shakily begins laying down the cutlery:

“That’s treason, Merlin.”

“Do I look like I care? Not only will I piss in your wine, I will not hesitate to push you over a balcony at the first opportunity. This hall is high up and it’s a long way down to the gardens. He drank toxic wine and turned loopy and tipped himself off a balcony and went splat! That’s what people will say. I’m not wearing the Godamn hat.”

Tristan has to focus extra carefully to stop himself from gasping; Merlin just threatened to kill The King... that’s got to be a death sentence. Pissing off some knights that he’s obviously friendly with is one thing, but threatening to kill The-

“Ha ha. Very funny. If you can’t tell, Merlin, I’m being sarcastic, I know you struggle with complex concepts like that.”

Merlin just rolls his eyes, crossing his arms as he says with no hesitation:

“My mind is more than capable of coping, My Lord, it’s your belt I worry about being able to cope nowadays.”

Tristan bites his tongue to stop himself from yelping and turns away so neither of them can see his horrified face. The King just makes an outraged noise in the back of his throat, and Tristan can hear Merlin snort in laughter at whatever expression Arthur was wearing to match such a noise:

“Go to the stocks. I want you there for three hours.”

Tristan lets out a confused breath; Merlin threatens to kill The King, and gets playful sarcasm, but he implies The King might be a tad overweight, and gets sent to the stocks for three hours? How is that-

“Yeah... no. Not happening. The feast starts in less than two hours and I still have to help Guinevere organise some stuff in the courtyard, do Gaius’ rounds for him, then put an extra hole in your belt and help you get dressed because, despite being a grown man, you’re still an idiot who’s incapable of putting clothes on in any sort of decent manner.”

Tristan finds himself relaxing a little. This seems to be the norm for them, but surely... surely The King had a line somewhere, and a servant just flat out refusing to be disciplined must be where it lies?

Arthur just scoffs, and Tristan angles his head in such a way that he can see him roll his eyes:

“Fuck off.”

Merlin grins, seeming to cast a suspicious gaze over the room to make sure no one was watching and somehow completely missing Tristan stood just there, before saying quietly:

“You love me really, you prat.”

With that, Merlin reaches up to yank at a lock of The King’s hair before hurrying off in the direction of the courtyard before Arthur can react. The King jumps slightly, clearly caught by surprise as an annoyed flush rises on his face, but Tristan just frowns in confusion when his shock gives way to a softly amused smile.

Huh.

The next few times Tristan saw Merlin made him fear for the servant’s safety. He was being taken on hunts by The King and his knights, that’s meant to be for squires, to learn the ropes and gain experience in tracking and riding.

He supposes it isn’t entirely unheard of for a servant to follow their master on a hunt, but with the way Merlin complains without pause, and The King in turn complains about his complaining, he thinks it would better for everyone if Merlin just... didn’t go. When he brings it up to another servant, a lovely woman named Guinevere who had helped him get unlost at least three times in his first week, she just laughs and smiles at him pityingly:

“I wouldn’t worry, those two have been like that forever, they’re practically inseparable.”

Tristan responds with a rather intelligent sounding:

“...What?”

Gwen laughs softly again, shaking her head and patting his shoulder consolingly:

“You’ll get used to it, they’re just... like that.”

She gives him one more smile before turning to wave the boys out of the gates and walking back to the castle as if this were the most normal thing in the world. Tristan supposes that it probably is.

The next time Tristan sees Merlin leave the city gates with the knights, Sir Elyan, Sir Mordred, and Sir Lancelot this time, it’s distinctly worse. Because he’d caught sight of the patrol rota last time he ran food down to the training ground, and he was certain that those three had a city patrol right about now.

Before he even has time to gape in shock, he hears Merlin’s pleading voice as he trails Sir Elyan like a lost puppy:

“Please, El, I promise to stay out of the way, I will do anything, but I swear to the Gods if I have to spend one more minute around that prat, I’ll hurl myself from the battlements.”

Swearing to the Gods and threating to hurl various people, including himself, from significant heights seems to be some sort of theme for The King’s manservant. Before Tristan can consider the implications of that, Sir Elyan turns to Merlin with a wide, teasing grin on his face:

“You know, I would’ve let you tag along for free, Merlin, but now that you’ve promised me something I feel the need to take advantage.”

Tristan tenses at that, a shot of ice spiking down his spine. He has keen eyes and sharp ears, he knows that Sir Elyan is the lovely Gwen’s brother, Sir Mordred seems to have an... odd worship for the servant, and he’s definitely picked up on the close bond between Merlin and Sir Lancelot, but is this where Camelot’s image comes crashing down in Tristan’s head? He knew that it was better here for servant’s than other Kingdoms, but there are always people who’ll take advantage of their position, no matter where you are. Merlin’s shoulders just drop and he asks in a sulking voice:

“What do you want?”

Tristan grits his teeth, moving his gaze so no one would catch him glaring at the knight as he tries to figure out a way to help, a way to get this virtual stranger out of being... abused, in such a manner. If he’d carried on glaring, he would’ve noticed Elyan’s soft smile and amused raised eyebrow:

“Next time you gather herbs for Gaius, bring back some more of those flowers that you got for Gwen. She said they added vibrancy to the house, whatever that means, but they make her happy, so...-”

Merlin just giggles and nods and Tristan relaxes, looking back to them with a confused smile on his face. That was... actually kind of sweet, he can definitely see the resemblance between the knight and his sister:

“-AND I want whatever Arthur’s having for dinner tonight, his food always looks way nicer than ours.”

Merlin lets out a faux annoyed groan, but then rolls his eyes and grins, nodding:

“Consider it done. Can we go now? I really don’t want to risk him seeing me and giving me some stupid chore to do.”

Elyan laughs and nods, and the four of them begin making their way out of the courtyard and into the city. Sir Lancelot finally joins the conversation, clearly amused as he says:

“You know it’s literally your job to do chores, right?”

Merlin turns to glare at him as Sir Mordred and Sir Elyan laugh, and Tristan only just hears his reply as the castle gates shut behind them:

“Fuck off.”

Tristan decides it would be pointless to bring this up to anyone again, he figures he’ll probably just get the same answer as last time.

The next confusing incident happens only a few days later. But Tristan supposes that at this point... it really shouldn’t be confusing. Gwen was right, he did just... get used to it.

He heard the steps pounding down the corridor before he saw him, but they were coming fast and hard, so he presses himself against the wall, holding the tray to his side to protect it as best he could as Merlin comes skidding round the corner.

He stops just long enough for Tristan to calm himself by spying the wide grin on his face, but he’s quickly sprinting down the hall again, laughing as he waves whatever it is he’s got clutched in his hands. The second set of loud, rapid footsteps stops Tristan from stepping away from the wall quite yet. Just a moment later, Sir Gwaine follows Merlin’s skidded path around the corner, though the heavier man overshoots slightly and he runs into the wall opposite Tristan with a crash and a deep groan.

The rebellious knight gives a wide-eyed Tristan an awkward nod before pushing himself off the wall and following Merlin’s blazing trail, screaming down the corridor:

“I warned you Merlin!! Don’t come between a man and his ale, now give that back you bastard!”

Tristan hears Merlin’s laughter grow louder, even from the two corridors away that the other servant had managed to race to.

He shrugs to himself, waiting for a moment to see if anyone else was going to come barrelling around the corner before sighing, and continuing his journey up to the visiting Lord’s chambers.

It was unusual, he thought, how quickly he’d come to terms with the fact that a servant was sassing The King and pranking the knights and inviting himself on various hunts and patrols that he really had no business on. Unusual indeed.

He’d learnt to ignore it. Or at least brush it off.

In the two weeks since Merlin had (presumably) stolen Sir Gwaine’s skin of ale, he’d seen the servant call The King a long list of imaginative insults (what the hell is a dollop head?), walk around with Sir Leon’s cloak on because he was a little chilly, accuse someone of treason (and somehow been right about it), and threaten to kill at least seven people; including, but not limited to: The King himself, The King’s already dead father, some stuck up Noble (though that was under his breath, Tristan just happened to be stood next to him), and Sir Percival.

And Gwen was... absolutely right. He's just... like that. He's Merlin, and that’s what Merlin does.

So when he turns a corner in a rarely used to corridor to see him pressing The King against a wall, snogging the life out of him, Tristan simply turns around and walks back the other way. Both of them look fairly happy with the arrangement, and they’d probably chosen this corridor for the exact same reason Tristan had: it was out of everyone’s way, and was unlikely to be inhabited.

He thinks it’s odd, how... un-odd he finds it. He absent-mindedly thinks that, with the way they acted around each other, he really should’ve seen this coming. A sudden thought occurs to him, and he ducks into a storage cupboard, laying his tray down carefully as he rummages through the boxes. He lets out a quiet “Yay” when he finds what he’s looking for, carefully picking up his tray with only one hand and nudging the door open again with his hip.

He walks back towards the corner he had just turned (and turned again) making a conscious effort to keep his steps quiet; he places the danger sign, usually used where walls had collapsed or windows had been smashed, in the middle of the corridor, a clear indication of “Do Not Enter”.

He nods smugly at his quick thinking and easy handy work before mentally planning the quickest route to the kitchens and following it hurriedly.

He casually wonders if he has time to circle around to the other end of the corridor so he could put another sign down before Cook gets angry at him for being late. Probably not. At least, not before they... finish up and move on. Hmm. He suddenly panics about the thought of them seeing the sign and knowing that someone had spotted them but... well. Hopefully they would just appreciate it and move on.

Yet again, he decides not to bring this up to anyone. He may or may not have overheard a few of the knights making some sort of bet, and he may or may not want to watch on with amusement as they fail to realise that all of them have already lost.

Tristan smiles to himself; working here had turned out to be rather entertaining, in the end.

THE END

I know it’s short, but I really didn’t know what else to add without it sounding like I was just repeating myself over and over😅

I hope y’all enjoyed it!!

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forthehpfanboys · 3 years

Text

Christmas Break

Pair: Draco Malfoy x Reader; he/him.

Summary: You liked Winter Break Draco. Unfortunately, he was replaced by Usual Dick Bag Draco who becomes ruthless. At least Harry is there to make you feel better.

Warnings: SMUT (MDI), jealousy sex, dirty talk, swearing, spanking, short mention of slapping and hair pulling, sir kink and degrading a tad- fluffy ending tho. I may have taken the kinks too far but ya know-

Notes: Requested by @the-offical-yn, who I must apologize too. A lot of my stories got away from me so I’m very sorry this is late- but um- enjoy getting railed by Draco guys! Yo, I made a shit plot for this. I’m so sorry if it’s baaddd.

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE~

For years, he had this twisted mind against anyone not a pure-blood or a Slytherin. He had zero shame with cussing out Gryffindor's, spitting at Ravenclaw’s during quidditch games and tripping Hufflepuff's. But, suddenly, just before Christmas break, he changed and there was nothing blunt about it. He would help Ravenclaw first years pick up their books if they stumbled on the fake steps on the moving staircases, tutor third year Hufflepuff's in Herbology after hours and helped a few Gryffindor students fix their potions.

Draco changed faster than water turns to ice in a freezer. It was almost alarming. Even Snape seemed to be concerned, probably more than others. The greasy git kept yelling at Gryffindor's (mostly the Golden Trio [mostly Harry]) about what would happen when he found out who jinxed Malfoy. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he changed, but everyone else could. To the day, infact.

It was just a few days before October, when it started. Draco was strutting down the halls, using Crabbe and Goyle as shields from the dozens of students who walked by him. They stood at his sides, knocking students out of the way, acting like Draco owned this bubble of space as they walked, but somehow, you slipped through. You were crossing in front of him, trying to hurry to class and ended up tripping over your own feet.

Your instincts kicked in and you tried to catch yourself, but instead you fumbled right into Draco, landing heavily against his side. He scoffed, shoving you off and getting ready to cuss you out when you began to apologize (even if you don’t like him) and gather your things off the floor. With your head tilted down you didn’t notice the Slytherin staring at you like you were a puppy. When you gathered your things, you scurried off, apologizing to more students as you went by.

Apparently, that day, he saw you tutoring a whole table of students, all houses included, and you were being so nice to them, so kind and your voice was soft and he heard you say “Hey, no! It’s ok! There is no such thing as a dumb question, ask away”. He had this urge in his chest to just be different, to be someone you would want to be around and be a friend, maybe even be more. It made him feel sick.

It took about a week to get your attention, then a quick growing friendship blossomed. Your relationship with Draco changed- just like he had. It changed from funny jokes, sassy remarks and late night games of exploding snaps to flirting contests, long hugs and what could be considered dates.

By December, you and Draco were dating without the official titles. Everyday, you two were growing closer and the relationship was growing more rock solid with every passing event. Soon enough, winter break was coming around and everyone was genuinely surprised when they saw the blonde Slytherin strutting through the halls during Christmas break. Usually, the pureblood went home to spend the holidays in a cabin in a warmer climate with his family.

And it was weird for everyone to see him not bragging and tripping students and spitting at kids. But for you? It was a blissful few weeks. Even the Golden Trio got a break. They were some of your closer friends, so Draco gave them a bigger break. The blonde even went as far as helping Harry during potions. It was terrifying.

Until Christmas break was passing and Draco went through another change, which was what you were going to confront him about.

"Malfoy!" You found him out in the courtyard, a teary-eyed (y/h) first year trailing behind you. The poor kid was shaking with fear and let out a sniffle. "You have some very good explaining to do!"

The blonde looked from Goyle to you, his eyes slowly dragging down your form before darting back up to your flaming eyes. His smile had dropped and was now replaced with a sharp frown. His nose scrunched up, his eyebrows furrowed and his arms crisscrossed over his chest.

“I don’t have to explain anything to the likes of you.” He sneered. He looked over your shoulder and locked eyes with the first year, who scooted over to hide himself better. He made a scoff and turned back to Goyle, shaking his head while snorting. “Look at this- he’s tryin’ to be a hero.” As if on a cue, his little posse of Slytherins broke out into laughter, forcing your face to heat up from humiliation.

“Seriously? Are you fucking five?” You called over the idiots laughter, which morphed into pathetic ‘ooh’s. “Draco, stop being a child and a douchebag and just apologize to the first year.”

“Why should I?” Draco stepped closer to you. His eyes, stance and voice all held a challenging undertone. He moved some blonde hair out of his face, but you didn’t miss how his eyes flicked down to your lips.

“Because you called him a mud-blood for bumping into you. Grow a pair, gain some manners and apologize to him.” You crossed your arms over your chest, putting on your best angry face. If Draco was pulling a prank, you were going to punch him, without hesitation. And how the hell did an asshole like this become a prefect??

“Oh, your right, I definitely should apologize when the kid bumped into me. But I think I have a better idea.” He brought a finger to his lips, tapping it in mock thought. Sarcasm and sass was radiating from him and it only served to piss you off more. “How about you fuck off and leave me alone, (L/n).” He smirked, turning to his posse and symboling them to leave with him for a dramatic exit. You took a deep breath, your hands balling at your sides.

“I’m sorry for him.” You turned around and put a hand on the kids back and gave him a soft push back toward the castle. “Go tell the head of the house, ok? I’m gonna keep talking to him.” When he nodded and began to walk out of the courtyard, you hurried in the direction Draco left in. You found him heading across the bridge, in the middle of his group, who were effectively taking up the whole span of the bridge. His laughter echoed in the hollow build, which only had your blood boiling worse.

So, you called his name again, effectively getting his attention. He turned so fast you thought his head would’ve spun all the way around like an owl. You stared into his now burning eyes, walking closer to him. You could feel the adrenaline mixing with rage in your veins. You weren’t thinking straight, but you didn’t care.

“Wanna explain why you're being an ass all of a sudden or are you just gonna insult me and strut off with your orgy party?” You glared at him, ignoring his irritated sneer. It was making your face red (or whatever hue, I wanna be as inclusive as possible) with anger.

“I don’t have to tell you a thing.” Draco was, naturally, turning defensive, even if he knew deep down how he was acting was wrong. Honestly, you couldn’t tell if he knew he was actually being an ass or not.

“Ok. I get it. You stay the fuck here with your friends and I’ll just leave you alone then. Merlin, why did I think you’d change?” Your face showed disappointment before contouring back to anger and frustration and aggression. You ran your tongue over your teeth, a frown etching across your lips. “My mistake.” You turned around, still going off pure adrenaline. You felt a hand grasp your wrist and immediately tugged it free with all of your strength. “No, I really don’t wanna hear it, fuck off.”

You didn’t look back, and you certainly didn’t hear him say anything. Of course it hurt, but you didn’t care at the moment. Your heart was thumping in your chest and all you felt was anger. He had the audacity to befriend you, say he really liked you for fucks sake, and then do a complete 180. You were grateful it was the weekend so you didn’t have to sit next to him in class.

You stomped through the snow, hurrying across the school grounds to the library (can you tell I have no idea what Hogwarts layout is?). You pushed open the doors and decided to basically hide yourself in an empty corner to try to cool down. After pulling the seat out, you sat down, slouching and resting your forehead on the table. You want to know what happened, why it happened

Was it his dad? Was it his friends? Was he jinxed or something? You let out a sigh of frustration. The idea of his dad convincing him to start treating people like trash again brought your anger back. You rolled your neck and ran your hands through it.

Pulling your wand out of your pocket, you waved it casually, summoning a book from one of the carts beside the isles. You didn't care what it was. You just wanted a distraction.

Luckily, for you, it didn't take long to get distracted. A few pages and more than a few dreadful minutes into your "reading", someone sat across from you. You looked over the rim of the book to see a smiling Gryffindor with big, round glasses slipping down his nose. He gave an awkward greeting while pushing his glasses back up.

"Hi to you too, Harry. This is a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?" You smiled, shutting the book and crossing your arms over it.

"Well, I just heard about the Draco fiasco that took place a few hours ago-" had it really been hours? "-and I wanted to make sure you were OK." Harry scooted closer to the table, his cheeks a soft pink.

"I'm fine, man. You don't gotta stress about me." You stretched your arms over your head while leaning back in your chair. You were trying to give the illusion of calmness and it was sorta working.

"Oh, good! I'm- I'm glad you're ok!" He began to fiddle with his fingers, digging at the nails nervously. "Because I also wanted to ask.. Um.. If you are free? Like this weekend? To hang out?" His green eyes barely met yours and, instead, opted for staring right over your shoulder.

"Oh, I'm n-"

"He's not free, Potter. We have plans covering every minute of the weekend. Scram."

Your smile faded as Draco's voice filled the small corner. You looked up, immediately catching his stern gaze. He was leaning against the end of a bookshelf, his arms crossed and one foot crossed over the other. He was clearly chewing on his tongue, not that he'd admit it. You gave him a glare, your arms crossing over your chest.

"But, Draco. I thought I canceled our plans." Your voice was condescending and it only fueled his anger. Harry, noting the weird tension, ducked out of there quickly, swerving around Draco and speed walking to a safer, less awkward part of the library.

"What the fuck are you doing?" The blonde hissed while taking long steps over to the table. He was still staring you right in the eyes. Draco moved the chair Potter was sitting in and put his hands flat against the table. He made eye contact with him.

"Why should it matter to you? I thought I was just being a selfish hero." You narrowed your eyes at him, daring him to make a move. You could feel the anger returning from earlier.

"I never said selfish. Why are you making this so complicated? I have a reputation to withhold, (Y/n)." His eyes softened a bit. He looked down at the polished wood before looking at you again. Draco tried to give you a smile, but you didn’t return it; you just tapped your fingers against the table top.

"I don't give a rats ass about your shitty reputation! You bully pre-teens and they actually fear you and you think that's a good thing? That's what you wanna leave behind when you graduate here?" Your face was turning a deep shade of (insert skin color please). He knew he fucked up, not that he’d admit it, and his soft eyes hardened again.

"Remember who's in charge in this relationship, boy." His hand snaked around the back of your neck, tugging you forward. Your nostrils flared as you released a sigh. Was he really pulling out the dominant card right now?

"I told you there was no relationship." you shoved his hand away, standing straight up and walking past him. You didn’t get far before he grabbed the hood of your robe and tugged you back. He guided you so your back collided roughly with the end of the book case he was leaning against.

“I know you can’t quit me like that, love.” The pure-blood spat out the pet name as his thumb and index finger roughly grabbed your chin and tugged your head up. “We both know I infected you like a virus- I know you're obsessed with me, sweetie.” A menacing grin spread across Draco’s pale lips when your jaw dropped open and your mouth fumbled to find words to combat him.

He moved his leg between yours, his hands moving from the scrunched fabric of your hood to your neck. He leaned in, planting a rough kiss to your lips while his other hand untucked your shirt. He pushed his hand under the shirt, rubbing the skin of your hip while he deepened the kiss. He managed to push his tongue past your lips and ran along yours.

Draco angled his leg to brush against your crotch causing you to jolt in the kiss. He pulled back, his tongue licking your teeth while pulling back.

“Told you.” He purred out. The hand on your neck gives you a squeeze around the neck while his icy eyes go from your lips to your eyes. He could read you like a book. You hated it. “Don’t be a slut, darling. Let’s head to my room, yeah?” He didn’t move until you nodded your head slowly. “Good boy. Come on.”

The walk to the common room was long, but the hand around the back of your neck was sturdy. It didn't take long for him to have you pressed against the wall of his prefect bedroom, chest first, your pants basically vanished from your legs and his hand wrapped around your hard dick.

“You’re such a whore, aren’t ya, baby boy, hmm?” Draco’s voice boomed in your ear as his fingers interlocked into your skelp. You couldn’t help but sob. The hand on your dick was going faster, but refused to slide over the swollen head. Your nails scraped down the wall pressed against your front and Draco pressed your cheek harder against the brick. “Been such a bad boy- using that dirty mouth to talk so poorly about me and to flirt with my anime. If you wanted a three-some you should’ve asked Zabini. But Potter? You know that’s a firm no, baby.”

He was tsking before biting down on the side of your neck, the grip he had around your cock only tightened to the point of painful. Tears of humiliation and pain gathered in your eyeline, threatening to boil over. Your legs subconsciously spread when he began to grind into the bulge of your ass, his hard dick prominent into your crack. He licked a strip up from the bite to your ear.

“You know very well what happens to slutty bad boys who flirt with sir’s enemy, right, baby?” He was growling in your ear again, his hand coming to a tight hold at your base. He let out a mocking laugh when your legs clamped shut and your hips tried to wiggle out of his grasp.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Draco!” You squeaked out, voice a few octaves higher than usual. It made Draco happy to hear your pathetic pleas, but his joy was melting away due to you still squirming in his grasp. He shook his head, tsking again. He tugged your hair, yanking your head back and forcing you to bow against his body. He gave you a firm slap against the cheek before cupping your cheeks together and forcing your lips to pout, his hand still in your hair.

“You know that’s not my name right now, kitten. Use the right one.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Your voice was weak compared to Draco’s, the obvious authority he had over you made you shiver. Abruptly, he pushed you against the wall, letting go of your hair and he was backing away from you.

“Not yet your not, kitten. Finish stripping then get your arse over here.” Draco spoke, sitting down on the bed, patting the top of his thighs. He smirked when you did what he said, tossing your shirt off into the corner and approaching him slowly. He reached out to grab your arm and tug you over his lap.

He used one hand to push your face into the mattress while the other ran over your right cheek. He loved watching your hips try to duck and avoid the cold silver of his rings. He let out a mocking laugh, his hands grabbing into your bum, nails digging into the skin to leave marks that had your back arching.

"Aw, baby. Is it too cold for you?" He laughed louder, feeling you nod against his left hand tangled in your hair. "Aw, poor baby. Wait until you feel them bruise your skin. Now, do you remember what you say?"

"Yes, sir." your voice sounded strained--like you were mentally preparing yourself for the bite of the rings, the puncture of his smacks. You were, in all honesty. He never held back during punishments.

"See? It isn't so hard to be a good boy after all, is it?" he patted your head before brushing your hair back. "Remember the safe system, darling? Good. Color?"

"Green, sir." your legs were clenching together and wiggling, but a swat to the back of the sensitive skin of your thighs made you stop. "I'm sorry sir."

"Good.. Now, how many does a horny little whore like you deserve, hmm? Ten? Fifteen?"

You knew what he was looking for.

"T-Twenty." You swallowed. The anticipation and degrading was making your head cloudy.

"Twenty? Well, you must've been really naughty, huh?" His hand ran to your lower back, caressing the skin before dragging his nails back down, leaving a trail of red marks down your skin.

You nodded your head quickly, biting your lip to conceal a moan. You could feel the pre-cum going down your hard dick, which was pressing into Draco's thigh.

"No response? Maybe we should add another ten then, since you wanna be so bad."

"I-I'm sorry, sir! Twenty is what I deserve." You said quickly, trying to turn back and give him the huge innocent eyes he always went weak for.

"No. Thirty seems far more fitting." He chose now to start the punishment with a raised hand and a harsh slap over the perfect curve of your ass. He watched the skin bounce and groaned, gripping the flesh again.

"One! Thank you sir." You squeaked out, back arching at the familiar sting of the hit. The cold silver of his rings colliding with your skin caused your toes to curl.

"Atta boy." he purred out, repeating the action on the other side.

“Two, thank you sir!”

By the tenth spank, tears were falling freely down your cheeks. By the fifteenth, your voice was breaking with each shout. By the twentieth, you were trying to crawl away. By the twenty-fifth, you were kicking your legs like a brat. Somehow you managed to count to thirty without losing track.

"You did so good, baby. Even if you were being a brat." Draco chuckled, running his fingers through your hair. His other hand rubbed your cheeks, trying to sooth the deep red (or whatever tint shows up with your skin, I wanna be as inclusive as possible) marks on your skin.

You let out another sniffle, propping yourself up on an elbow and wiping the tears off your cheeks. His hand ran up your sweat thighs, his palms rubbing the already sore skin of your ass once he got to it.

“Color?”

“Green, sir.” You turned your head to look at him. Your legs shifted, creating a shattering hyper awareness of how hard and how wet your cock was against his thigh. You caught his dirty smirk before he flipped you over. Suddenly, it was stoic and he was tugging your lower half back onto his lap. This time, Draco was sitting back on his calves, and he was steadily putting your legs around his waist.

“Good. Now,” he paused to lick his lips, “I’m going to fuck the brat out of you, got it?” His hands moved down your thighs before moving up to your pelvic bone. While you were responding with a polite, but breathless ‘yessir’, his hand was lazily wrapping around your cock.

He was still fully dressed, and the smooth fabric of his uniform pants rubbed against the sore spots on your ass. Your hips moved upward, trying to get more of his moving hand and less of the fabric against your bottom. You let out a breathy moan while his thumb idly swiped across the swollen head of your dick.

“That’s it.” He mumbled to himself over the sound of his zipper dropping. He mumbled a preparing, lubrication and cleaning spell, his hand still working you slowly. The blonde stuck his tongue out in concentration while pushing his own cock into your lubed ass. Draco let out a hum, his teeth clamping down onto his tongue. “Fuck yes. Such a good boy- my good little slut.” He let go of your dick and clamped his hands onto your waist and used the leverage to pull you down onto his cock.

You clamped a hand over your mouth, trying to muffle the cry as he stuffed his cock into you. You felt the wind knocked out of you. You gripped the sheets, whining pathetically. The head of his dick nudged against your sweet spot while he sat there, waiting patiently for you to adjust. It had been a bit of time since the last time you guys had fun sexy time. Your dick was literally throbbing, occasionally twitching, at the idea of him literally fucking you stupid. Your eyes were staring at the top of his four post bed, lost in your own thoughts when he began to move.

He tested the waters with the quick thrust, which yanked a moan from you. When you finally looked at him, you realized he was watching you intently, a menacing grin spread across his face.

“How’s your arse?” Draco asked, his voice condescending and cocky as he gave another thrust. His hand snaked around to your sore ass cheeks and gave one a tough squeeze, his nails digging in.

A cry left your lips, this time pain filled instead of pleasure. You planted your feet flat on the bed and tried to wiggle away from his grasp, which only made it worse.

“Sore, you dick!” You reached around, grabbing his wrist and trying to pull his hand away. “Ow! Let go, Draco!” You dug your nails into his wrist, trying to show him a small level of the pain he was causing but he just laughed, mocking your voice.

“Owie, it hurts! Take it, babe. You can do it.” He let go, his hands coming to hold your hips again before moving you at a punishingly rough pace. His muscular thighs rubbed against your ass, not that he cared. The pain was somehow starting to make the pleasure stronger. Soon it was filling your veins and fogging your brain.

Draco relished every moan, every gasp, every little sound you made. He listened to you whine out his name and it only fueled him more. He watched the sweat bead across your forehead and felt proud of himself.

“Atta boy. Gonna cum soon? Gonna cum completely untouched, like a whore? Hmm?” He purred out, leaning down to leave hickies across your neck and scratches down your chest. Your back arched pathetically off the bed while a woeful affirmative left your lips- but it wasn’t good enough for him.

“Say it.” He snarled, his voice too close to your ear to be that loud.

“G’nna cum, please.” You didn’t know what you were begging for, but your arms wrapped around his neck and pulling him closer. He shifted so he could rail you into the mattress and fulfill his promise.

“Please what? How can I help you if I don’t know what you want? What do you need, kitten?”

It was like he used the imperius curse on you. You bent to fit his mold and he couldn’t have asked for more.

“Please, sir. Please let me cum, please.” You whimpered, your toes curling in the air. Your ankles locked behind his waist and dug into him, effectively pulling him closer. His palm glided up your chest again and he gave you a smile.

“Course you can, love. Whenever you're good to go.” Draco didn’t ease up his hips, but his voice was softer and after a few thrusts hitting your prostate and a brush of his stomach against your weeping cock had you cumming. Your head tossed back and you didn’t bother to muffle the cry of his name.

It didn’t take much to follow you for Draco, it never did. He always thought one of the most beautiful expressions you could make was while you were cumming on his bed. That, and when he gave you candy and you smiled at him. He kissed every bruise he left on your skin before landing on your lips and laid next to you.

He pulled a sheet over the two of you- the room had gotten hot but he knew both of you were too tired to get cleaned and shower. He pulled you to his chest, kissing your temple.

“You did so good, baby. I love you.” He rested his chin against the top of your head, completely delving you in his shirt covered chest. He rubbed a hand down your back. Your boyfriend didn’t care about sweat.

“I love you too, Draco.” Your voice was rough and raspy. You planted a kiss to his cheek and nuzzled deeper into him somehow. “I miss you. The nice you- not the mean Slytherin you. He can suck my dick.”

“I know, I know. I’ll work on it. I promise.” Draco spoke between laughs. He hesitated, his mind bouncing between two questions he wanted to ask at once. “Do you want me to get you a bottle of water and we go take a bubble bath?” His voice was soft, but a massive grin spread across his lips when you nodded.

“Can we take a nap first?” You looked up at him with those big innocent eyes and gave him that smile he loved.

“Of course, dove.”

#hp x male reader #hp imagine #male reader #x male reader #draco malfoy smut #Ronny Writes #draco malfoy x male reader #Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #hp smut

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lxngbottom · 3 years

Text

Cramps. | N.L. (+ D.T & S.F.)

in which the reader is having a really bad period, so her three best friends come and check up on her.

warnings: pain, periods, bleeding, swearing, we know how it is.

i’m on my period rn, & these three boys are my fav characters so this is mostly to comfort me (and idk if you guys can even relate, but my periods get THIS bad) (edit: this was NOT supposed to be this long but oh well i love these three)

gryffindor reader! (but anyone can read obv)

—

somehow, you had managed to make it through the previous school day. but, the whole time your stomach felt like it was completely turning on you, and with every step you took, the bleeding was so heavy. you couldn’t even remember the last time you went through so many pads and tampons in one day.

on top of that, you were an absolute emotional wreck. and, that became apparent to neville when seamus laughed over tripping over your shoe lace, and you looked up at your three best friends with tears in your eyes.

“merlin, y/n! i was only messing with you! what’s wrong?” seamus furrowed his eyebrows at you, only for you to bend down and groan in pain as you attempted to tie your loose shoe laces.

“i can’t do it!” you whined, a tear finally escaping your tired eyes. you stood up, and sniffled, not noticing the genuine concerned looks plastered across the three boys’s faces.

and then, if things couldn’t get any worse, you felt someone tap your shoulder. you turned around to meet a terrified looking ron and harry, staring down at your legs,

“y-y-y/n... blood! t-t-there’s blood running down your legs!”

you looked down, and sure enough, there was a bunch of it. you automatically began to cry, and the sobbing only got worse as you realized that this was happening in front of not one, not two, but five boys.

“nev—neville... p-please give me your jacket...” you choked out, rushing as the blood seeped between your thighs. he did so quickly, tossing it to you, and your tied it around your waist before running into the nearest bathroom.

“why would you point that out?” dean asked ron, eyeing him,

“what?! would it be better for her to stay like that the rest of the day?” the ginger snapped back, still not putting two and two together. ron wasn’t exactly wrong, but his execution was awful.

the boys sighed, deciding that maybe waiting outside the bathroom would do you some good. but, unfortunately, as 15 minutes passed, you never came out.

“m-m-maybe someone should go and get hermione. or lavendar. or one of the parvati twins?” neville suggested, scratching the back of his neck. seamus shrugged, honestly clueless on how to handle the whole situation.

luckily, a saving grace skipped by, grabbing the attention of all of the boys,

“ginny!” ron called out, and she stopped in her tracks, “thank merlin you’re here!”

the look on her face was questionable as harry, ron, neville, dean, and seamus all stared at her.

“w-what?”

dean spoke up first, more than concerned, “y/n went in there. she—she had—blood running down her legs. and, she started crying...”

that’s all it took for ginny to nod her head, “okay. you guys go ahead. i’ll take care of her!”

they did so reluctantly, more so your three best friends. as ron and harry wanted to be away from the whole scenario as soon as possible.

and, that was the last they heard from you yesterday. today, they waited for you to come down from the girl’s dorm, but you never came.

they waited for you in the great hall, but again, you never came.

little did they know, you were curled up in a ball on your bed, sobbing from the excruciating pain that filled your whole body. this cycle was hitting you like a truck, and you’d wished that somehow you had been more prepared for it.

hermione had left you reluctantly that morning, never seeing a fellow girl having such a bad period before. you had cried all night, and you and her both had barely gotten any sleep. so that’s why when neville saw hermione drifting off to sleep during a shared class, he was absolutely baffled.

as that same class ended, the three boys caught up with hermione,

“hey, granger! where’s y/n?” seamus asked, and she rubbed her eyes.

“she—um—“ a yawn interrupted her response, “she’s in our dorm. she doesn’t feel well.”

neville’s mouth went agape, and he finally put two and two together.

“i wouldn’t go and see her, though. you guys embarrassed her yesterday. she told me all about ronald, and ginny, and seamus. she’s really upset, and... she’s just in a lot of pain. so, just let her be for a while.”

and with that, she left the three boys. they gave each other weird looks, mentally questioning each other.

you on the other hand at this time, were crying as you changed out your bed sheets for the second time that day. it wasn’t necessarily the most comfortable experience to have to explain to a house elf why you needed a bunch of new clean sheets.

dinner soon came, and even then, the boys expected to see you sitting with them, eating and laughing. but, you still hadn’t left that dorm.

so, neville packed some extra food, and the three made a journey to gryffindor tower, just to see if they could break the rules to make sure you weren’t dying. (of course, all three of them were convinced that you were on your death bed.)

they slipped past the prefect, climbing up the stairs to your dorm.

dean was just about to knock when they all heard your voice,

“stop, hermione! please! i don’t care that i missed my classes! i’ve been puking all day, bled on my bed, almost shit my pants four times, so, i really don’t care about snape and what he said about me! piss off!”

seamus’s lips curled, and the sound he let out could only be described as pure disgust. but, neville nudged him,

“she can’t help it. don’t be like that...” he whispered, still not sure if you were alright with visitors at the moment.

“well, i’m sorry! but, dean, neville, and seamus are all worried about you! they—“

that’s when they heard a blood curdling scream, and it sounded exactly like you. it made them jump,

“I WANT TO KILL MYSELF! FUCK!”

“don’t say that! it’s only for a few days, y/n! i told you i would help you with anything you needed!”

“then you can start by fucking off! go away!”

the boys looked at each other,

“maybe—“

“yeah—“

“later.”

they all mutually agreed, and ran down the stairs before hermione had the chance to see them.

they settled in the common room, deciding to do their homework until they knew it was a safe call to go and see you. they all worried about you tremendously, as they had never heard you talk to a fellow friend like that. you simple weren’t that type of person in their eyes. you had always been patient with people, so it was a wonder to them how you loved them so much.

they spotted ginny, walking up to the girl’s dormitories with a glass of ice cream in hand. they naturally assumed it was for you. and truth be told, when ginny entered with a sweet smile on her face, holding the cold treat, you realized you had never been more happy to see a weasley before.

as pathetic as it sounded, you cried to ginny while eating the chocolate ice cream. you sobbed to her about all the events of that day, and the day before. your crush on neville and how you believed he didn’t feel the same, the way that seamus chewed too loudly, and how hermione was too uptight sometimes. she simply listened, knowing that’s all she could really do.

finally, the three boys saw ginny coming down the the glass now empty, and they ran up to her,

“is she okay?”

“what’s happening?”

“can we go and see her?”

she chuckled and shook her head them, “she’s fine, you guys. calm down. i’m not so sure if she’ll want to see you guys, but you guys can sure try.”

they all three looked at each other, slightly terrified.

but, they sucked it up and made their way up again. of course, seamus couldn’t hold back from making a snide comment,

“i swear, if i get a book thrown at my head and end up in the hospital wing with a concussion, i’m blanking it on neville.”

“why me?!” neville scoffed, throwing his hands up in the air,

“because! you fancy her and are the most worried about her! she’s just on her period! is it really that big of a deal?”

before neville could answer, dean cut in, “yes, seamus. it is a big deal. maybe not to us, but to her it is. try bleeding out of your dick for a week while your inside are ripping apart!”

if you would’ve been present, you definitely wouldn’t hugged dean for that one.

they finally arrived, and they argued for a moment over who would be the once to knock on the door. it felt like they were stepping into a death trap. finally, neville agreed to do it.

he did so gently,

“what?” you asked, “who is it?”

dean and seamus eyed each other, definitely panicking.

“erm—it’s... us...”

you groaned, and looked down at your state. you were only in your bra and underwear, trash bucket in your lap, nausea getting the best of you... again.

but, you figured seeing your three best friends would bring you some comfort. this wasn’t their fault, and you didn’t want to take it out on them anymore.

“um... you can come in, but warning! i’m—“

before you could warn them, the door flew open,

“naked...” you breathed out, looking down at the trash can.

they all went wide eyed, and neville covered dean and seamus’s eyes with his hands, and closed his own.

“close the door, you gits!”

neville did so with his foot, still covering everyone’s eyes. you let out a small chuckle at the fact, and shook your head.

“you guys can look, you know. you act like we haven’t been best friends since first year.”

“b-b-but you’re—naked!” dean responded, through neville still keeping his own hand over the boy’s face.

you pursed your lips as you felt vomit climbing it’s way up your throat, “who—“

that’s when they heard it. the violent sound of puking. neville thanked merlin that his eyes were closed, because he probably would’ve puked too.

“who cares?” you breathed out, wiping the slobber from your chin. that’s when seamus took neville’s hand away from his eyes, and realized how you looked.

you looked unrecognizable almost. you looked exhausted, pale, and like you had just been hit by twenty cars at one time. your eyes were all puffy and red from crying, and your hair was definitely not put together like it usually was. makeup was smeared all down your face, makeup from the day before that you simply didn’t have the motivation to get up and wash off. but, seamus couldn’t help but notice your bra and underwear.

“you—“ he chuckled, “you have teddy bears on your undergarments, y/n?”

you clenched your jaw, and tightened your grasp around the trash can, narrowing your eyes at him. his eyes widened,

“kidding! i was only kidding! they suit you well!”

finally, dean shoved neville’s hand off as well, and neville opened his eyes back up reluctantly. neville and dean took in your state, much less of a laughing matter to them, as they were more of the calm friends.

“merlin, y/n... are you alright?” neville asked, approaching you slowly. you shook your head,

“i’m dying...”

the three boys gasped, and you looked at them funny, “i’m kidding... but i feel like i might...”

that settled their nerves a bit, the theory of you dying slowly fading away. you spit in the trash can, and set it back down on the floor. of course, seamus being the curious cat he is, looked in the trash can.

“don’t look at my vomit, finnigan! don’t you have any manners?”

he jumped back, and nodded his head.

“what are you guys doing here, anyway?” you asked, laying down fully on the bed, stomach and legs exposed.

“well—we know—you—you sorta—“

neville sighed at dean’s awkwardness about the whole situation, “we know you’re on your period. and, we know that you’re in a lot of pain. and, we just wanted to come and check up on you.” he glanced at the other two boys, “right?”

“yeah, definitely!”

“totally!”

you giggled at seamus and dean, “oh, what gentlemen. how could i ever thank you?”

seamus couldn’t hold it in. the comment just slipped from his lips,

“well, seeing you in your bra and underwear is thanks enough in my book!” he joked, nudging dean.

surprisingly, the only one who laughed beside seamus... was you. this surprised the boys, as you were sure that would earn seamus that book to his temple, or at least a smack to the face. but, it didn’t.

“see? i told you guys she’s fine! she’s laughing like she always does!”

neville seemed to look over at you for reassurance, just to make sure that seamus hadn’t crossed a boundary with one of his crude jokes. it was something that seamus had done quite a few times, without even realizing it, but it was simply because he didn’t know how to put a filter on. you knew at the end of the day that seamus wasn’t trying to disrespect you. plus, it was something you had go get used to, being one of his best friends and all.

at one point, the boys had eased into the floor, getting things for you if you needed it. seamus even asked why exactly girls even got periods, and you explained it to him in full detail.

“so... like—the inside of your uterus is actually tearing? i thought dean was joking about that!”

you shook your head, “unfortunately, it’s not a joke, finnigan. it’s very real...”

“well, is it this bad for all girls?”

“no, actually. some girls only bleed for a couple of days, and it’s very light. they can go without cramps, puking... lucky bitches!”

that’s when the boys fell silent, even seamus himself. until he raised an eyebrow,

“is it bad that i’m kinda curious? you know—to see how it feels to... bleed... down—there...”

dean furrowed his eyebrows, but neville nodded his head in agreement.

“well, boys... i can’t make you bleed out your dick for seven days straight... but, i can punch you guys in the stomach with full force and show you how cramps feel!”

collectively, they all disagreed, which caused you to fall into a fit of laughter.

“but—it can’t be that bad, right? i mean, everyone can get a stomach ache...” dean questioned, but unsure of what he had just said.

“let me put it to you like this, thomas. imagine the weasley twins sneaking a muggle laxative into your morning pumpkin juice...” you started, “but that stomach pain for a whole week.”

dean put his head down, finally understanding. no wonder you had talked about almost shitting your pants.

that’s when the door swung open, revealing a surprised hermione,

“y/n! where are your clothes?! boys are in here! and plus, they’re not even supposed to be in here, anyway!” she snapped, immediately storming over to your closet, and pulling out a random shirt, throwing it at you.

“but, it’s too hot! and, any tightness hurts!”

“i don’t care! i couldn’t imagine sitting around with ronald and harry with my—lady parts hanging out!”

you chuckled at her hidden shaming, quite used to it by now. “oh, whatever, granger! it’s the same difference as a bathing suit! lighten up!”

seamus and dean snickered at the look on her face, and the way she stormed out.

“she’s right, y/n. not about—you know, we don’t care... but, just—seamus will be talking about it for the rest of his natural life if you keep your clothes off any longer.” neville stated, standing up and taking his sweater off. he passed it to you, making sure not to touch you in anyway that would make you uncomfortable.

you smiled at the kind gesture. sure, it was a sweater, and you probably should choose the lighter t-shirt that hermione had snagged out for you. but, it was neville’s sweater, so, how could you refuse?

you slipped it on over your head, and pulled your hair through the hole. it was quite comfortable, and you were just the right amount of warm and cool. so, it worked out in the end. “thank you, longbottom. that was sweet.”

his face turned red at the small grin etched upon your face, but he shook it off and sat back down on the floor.

you all began talking again, not even noticing when seamus had gotten bored and ancy, and started snooping in your drawers. but, his eyes went wide at the sight of something in your drawer. he picked it up, and stared at it for a moment.

“uh... y/n...” he started, voice a bit shaky, “what’s this?”

he held it up, and you, dean, and neville all looked over.

“that’s a tampon, finnigan. i use it when i’m on my period so the blood doesn’t leak out.”

he took a beat of silence as he connected the dots, and his eyes seemed to widen even more,

“and... you have to put this where exactly?”

#harry potter #harry potter imagine #neville longbottom #neville longbottom imagine #neville x reader #neville longbottom smut #dean thomas #dean x reader #dean thomas imagine #dean thomas smut #seamus finnigan #seamus finnigan imagine #seamus x reader #seamus finnigan smut

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thesoftrainbows · 3 years

Text

Were the Marauders really that popular?

NOTE: I can go more into spoil-free details on my headcanons for them, you just have to ask :)

TW:// contains brief mentions of abuse, mental health issues, mild swearing, smoking, brief mentions of homophobia, racism, ableism, transphobia. I think that’s about it.

I’m writing this long-ass Wolfstar fan fiction and based on my personal headcanons, here’s the answer:

Yes and No.

In my fanfic, and the way that I always see them in my head, we have an Indian (Gujarat) James Potter who’s stupidly in love with a plus-sized, snarky Lily Evans.

We have a half-Japanese, genderqueer and gay Sirius Black who’s well known for being a blood-traitor ever since their second year, not to mention that they’ve been leaving people awe-struck every single time she feels like a girl and dresses in a feminine way. They’re also deaf in one ear. He suffers from panic attacks and childhood PTSD. NOTE: His family dynamic slightly changes to fit the story. They’re still from an abusive home, but there’s a lot more to it than just that. Sirius’ relationship with his parents - particularly her mother - will be brought up and explained.

We have a heavily-accented Welsh Remus Lupin, who’s scrawny and awkwardly tall that lowkey scares the shit out of everyone. He knits, but his scars and unpredictable aggressiveness that comes near full moons is enough to keep people away. He’s unlabebed but madly in love with Sirius. He’s also depressed, anxious, has low self-esteem, and daddy issues. Also, I made sure to bring up his relationship with his mother because I just love Hope Lupin and I just think she’d be an awesome mom.

We also have Peter Pettigrew, who’s known for his fierce protectiveness for his younger sister, Jess (she’s a Slytherin, btw). He also probably has black lungs with the amount of cigarettes he smokes daily - he’s the reason why so many people even got cigarettes. He comes from a home where his parents are constantly at each other’s throats, so he’s never been able to see what love is supposed to look like when it’s healthy, but he’s working on that with a special Fem!OC. He’s depressed, has low self-esteem, and is constantly looking for someone to love him and prove himself to.

As mentioned before, Lily Evans is a snarky, plus-sized queen. She’s also really fucking hilarious and has so many awesome prank ideas once she befriends the Marauders. She also befriends Regulus, and their dynamic is the absolute cutest. She likes the academic side of school, but it’s not the center of her world, leave that to James. She likes sneaking around with her friends at night just for the heck of it, she’s never been caught.

Marlene McKinnon is a trans woman who’s basically a lesbian version of Sirius Black. She was actually the fifth roommate of the Marauders’ until her third year. She’s always baking but Merlin save you if you piss her off or any of her friends. She’s one of the best Beaters and duelist Hogwarts has seen. She and Sirius are the definition of platonic soulmates.

Dorcas Meadowes is a chaotic bisexual and also a raging feminist and activist that a lot of people don’t like because she’s “hard to talk to”. She’s loud, and bold, and constantly holding meetings with staffs so that they can improve the school to make it a safer environment for POCs students (and staff, too), LGBTQ+ folks, women, and literally every other minority.

Mary MacDonald is a Korean ballerina who’s been on a violent streak ever since that group of Slytherins cornered her and...did some...things to her (it’ll be explained in the story, don’t worry).

SO. Yes they were popular, but not in the way this fandom usually portrays them. They’re very well-known because they’re such an odd group filled with every possible outcast you could think of. Some of them (James, Lily, Peter, and Mary) are liked, but the rest are either feared or hated. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a lot of people who genuinely like all of them and think them fun to be around, but Sirius, Remus, Marlene, and Dorcas are walking Change-That-They’re-Not-Ready-For and for a school that has so many homophobics, racists, ableists, and transphobics, it’s a struggle.

BONUS:

Regulus is a half-Japanese, Hemophiliac Slytherin baby. (For those who don’t know, Hemophilia is a blood clot disorder that causes spontaneous bleeding and also excessive bleeding when injured - a lot of European royals have historically had this as a result of inbreeding). He would meet his brother and friends in secret just so that they could preserve their relationship. Regulus actually loved the Marauders & Co. and vice versa. There’s more but I don’t wanna spoil too much. I just love him.

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comfortwriting · 3 years

Text

A Triwizard Baby Part 4 - F.W

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompt Masterlist

Fred Weasley x Fem Reader

Part 4 of my ‘Triwizard Baby’ mini-series, please read Parts 1, 2, and 3 if you haven’t already. Want to be tagged? Let me know!

Warnings: Swearing, Mention vomiting, and food/eating.

"Girls" you sighed, watching them finally stop jumping on their beds and dropping their pillows "There's something I need to tell you."

You and Angelina shared a glance, she knew and so did you - you were finally ready, to tell the truth. Hiding this - hiding the truth about you and Fred had caused you enough pain, and the longer you decided to hide this, the worse the pain would get.

"What is it?" Katie asked, already concerned, no longer giggly or excitable.

Staring and picking at your fingernails, you finally looked each of your friends in the eyes, your heart thumping in your chest with each breath.

"I'm ready to tell you" you sighed again "who the father is."

They all stayed silent except Matt's little sister, "who is it?" she asked quietly.

"Fred," you blurted out, unable to hide his name for much longer "Fred Weasley is the father."

"I've told you" Fred hissed "don't bloody speak to me!" he stormed in front of George, stamping his feet, furious his backstabbing brother would dare to even speak to him.

Fred was exhausted from sleeping in the room of requirement alone and no one to talk to, he was pissed off with his brother, frustrated that you weren't his and that everyone around him avoided him as if he had a curse. For the first time in his life, he left as if he had run out of luck.

George grabbed him by the arm "Freddie, please-"

"No!" Fred shoved George's grip off him "You're jealous, you always have been."

George opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't get a word in.

"You always have been, every girl I've been with, you've chased after when I'm done with them. You can't stand the fact I fucked her, and you've rubbed it in my face that you've knocked her up!" Fred's voice cracked "And I told you, I loved her!"

"Fred, I-"

"Do me a favour, Georgie, don't speak a word to me at the baby shower, unless you want a crib smashed against your stupid head!"

"Keep those eyes closed!" Angelina grinned, her hands covering your eyes as she walked you through the rented restaurant covered in banners, balloons, a buffet table and presents.

"I am!" you smirked, feeling slightly nervous, smelling the mouth-watering fruit juices and pies.

"Okay," Angelina smiled, removing her hands "open in three, two, one!"

Opening your eyes you looked across the huge room, your friends were all huddled together with party poppers, yelling "Surprise!" and pulling the string, confetti shooting across the room, Fred sat alone across the room, trying his hardest to show support and be happy for you, but his heartbreak was breaking through his persona better than he thought.

You were bombarded with presents for you and the baby: the new crib, clothes, socks, bottles, nappies, monitors, teddy bears, and blankets - you unwrapped everything which brought the biggest smile to your face and tears of happiness to your eyes.

Everyone made bets on whether you would have a girl or a boy, what time and day they would be born on, and how long the labour would be. Even you had to admit, you were having a good time and for the first time in a while, the smile on your face was genuine, not forced.

After hours of present opening, games, bets, and food, you and the girls cleaned up the confetti, empty plates and scrunched up wrapping paper. Fred slowly approached you and tapped you on the shoulder, turning around to look at him, your heart pained.

Tell him, everyone knows but him, just tell him!

"Freddie-"

"Y/N, can I have a moment?" he murmured.

The girls looked at the two of you standing in the middle of the room, they exchanged looks and nodded, leaving to give you both some privacy.

"I wanted to give this to you in private," Fred said softly, handing you a large faux dragon scale photo album "I ran out of time to wrap it, was up all night finishing it."

You stared down at the photo album and opened it, your heartbreaking with each turn of the page. Pictures of you and Fred throughout the years, followed by his little notes of when and where the picture was taken until you flicked to the empty pages, you stared up at him.

Tell him, now is a perfect time-

"Fred, please-"

"The blank pages are to fill with pictures of us and the baby," he said softly "that's if the father won't mind."

George entered the room again, not knowing his brother was still there.

"Y/N, I was thinking-" he stopped in his tracks, looking at his brother's face dropping.

"Congratulations, again." Fred walked away, pushing past his brother and out the door.

"They are Braxton Hicks, my dear." Madame Pomfrey waved her hand, helping you to your feet in the hospital wing.

Your hand rested on your bump "I'm sorry, what?"

After your little moment with Fred, your womb contracted and relaxed, disturbing your baby, causing it to lash out and kick against your tummy in discomfort from the contractions. You were frightened and sure you were going into labour and George rushed you to the hospital wing.

"Is she going to be okay?" George asked nervously.

"False labour pains" she replied "and if you go to the tournament tonight you'll be experiencing more of them!" she stressed.

"I can assure you I won't be doing backflips," you grumbled, "surely it will be safer for me if I sit down."

Madame Pomfrey held her nose up in the air, feeling slightly defeated "I can't stop you from going, but as long as you're sitting down and surrounded by a responsible group of friends, I don't see why you can't go."

"I'll take good care of her, I swear."

"Your brother couldn't!" Madame Pomfrey hissed "she's in this mess because of him, and I better not see you two back in here until that baby is ready!"

The loud band played along as everyone got seated high up in the stands, the girls on your left, and George on your right, you held onto his hand, still on edge from the sudden Braxton Hicks. You rested your head against his shoulder, Fred stared at the back of your head, his hands bunched into fists, regretting his decision to sit towards the back.

Everyone was on the edge of their seats, Fleur had failed, Krum evidently had too - now - it was between Cedric and Harry, the champion being a Hogwarts student was certain, but still, undecided whether that champion would belong to Hufflepuff or Gryffindor, like many others in the stands, your fingers and toes were crossed for Harry taking the win.

Out of nowhere, Cedric came stumbling out of the maze, covered in dirt, sweat, and blood, his shirt sticking to him and his hair ruffled, scratches across his delicate face. He crouched down, clearly out of breath, but so startled and shaken up that he was shaking and green in the face.

The crowd jumped to their feet, cheering for Harry and Gryffindor, holding their red banners and waving their flags in the air whilst Syltherin scowled and hid their faces in their hands.

"We need to go and see if he's alright!" Angelina panicked hearing Cho shriek, the girls got on their feet and hurried down the stairs, running out to Cedric who was now on his hands and knees on the grass, throwing up.

"Well, are you coming!?" Angelina asked George, holding out her hand.

George looked at you, he didn't want to leave you on your own and you knew it.

"Go," you reassured him "I'll be okay."

You watched Cedric gain the courage to speak, you tried to lip read but he was too far away for you to even make out a single word, but whatever he had said panicked the cheering girls and proud lads because now they were muttering, whispering and all appeared to be frightened and anxious, no longer in the mood to celebrate Harry's win.

Katie who didn't leave you behind shot a scowl at Fred who continued to stare at you, she moved closer to you whilst Angelina and George hurried back, horror across their faces.

"What's happened?" you panicked.

"It's Harry" George frowned "The cup, it was a portkey and he's gone, Cedric said-"

Angelina nudged George with her elbow, glaring at him and shaking her head "not now, George."

"No, what is it?" you demanded.

Just as George announced the news that the dark lord had returned, you felt major discomfort and a dull ache in your back and lower abdomen, along with the pressure that increased in your pelvic, you gripped onto your bump and winced.

"George!" you panicked "It's happening!"

The father of your baby watched as you went into labour, Katie and Angelina helped you to your feet as George hurried over to Madame Pomfrey, everyone around you started to panic and gave you all the room you needed to evacuate safely back into the hospital wing - the one place you didn't want to end up twice in one day.

Leaving you behind, George stared up at Fred who was sat as still as a statute, if you weren't going to tell him, George had to, he wouldn't allow his brother to miss the birth of his child.

George stumbled over to his brother and shook him angrily "I don't want to bloody argue but listen to me!"

"George, I told you-"

"You're the dad, alright!" George yelled, "She's having your baby, you need to get to the hospital wing now!"

"What are you on about?" Fred argued, not believing the word "are you seriously-"

"Think back to the party when you played truth or dare! Think for Merlin's sake!"

Fred shut his mouth and suddenly, his world began to spin so fast his heart could've stopped.

“I want you.” you breathed, pulling away from the kiss “I want you to fuck me like you do everyone else.”

“I want you too” Fred replied, taking your hand and fleeing from the party.

“Are you ready, Y/N?” Fred asked, pulling away from your breasts.

“Yes,” you breathed out, slurring slightly “I’m ready Freddie.”

The memories suddenly flashed before his eyes, the sight of your naked body beneath his, the two of you climaxing, Fred pulling out and falling into your arms, only to wake up the next morning in an empty bed that smelled of your hair and perfume. It reminded Fred that he had forgotten to put a condom on, George wasn't lying, he is the father of your child.

Fred's eye widened and he bolted from his brother, shoving everyone aside and sprinting for his life to the hospital wing, no one and nothing could stop him now.

The doors of the hospital wing swung open, laying in your bed, tears rolled down your face as the contractions worsened, Madame Pomfrey urging you to keep pushing. Fred pulls out a chair and sits beside you, holding your hand, comforting you, kissing your forehead and encouraging you.

You opened your mouth to speak: you wanted to say sorry, to tell him you loved him, you wanted to explain everything all at once, but you were unable to - the pain increasing, causing you to scream out, tears rolling down your face.

"Almost there Y/N, you're crowning!" Madame Pomfrey announced.

Fred planted another kiss on your sweaty forehead "keep pushing sweetheart," he said softly "you're doing so bloody well!"

Within a few moments, the sound of your babies cries rang out through the hospital wing, Madame Pomfrey placed the baby in your arms, encouraging you to sit back and relax - but you couldn't you still had the urge to push.

"I need to push again, "you cried, gritting your teeth "I'm not done!"

Madame Pomfrey's mouth dropped, causing her to take the baby from your arms and handing the newborn to Fred.

"What's going on?" Fred panicked, gripping onto his child, already feeling the protectiveness kick in.

"There's another baby..."

"She's having twins?!"

Fred held the elder newborn in his arms whilst the younger and smaller newborn rested in yours, both of them just like their father; a full head of ginger hair.

"They're yours." you croaked, your. throat sore from all the screaming and crying.

Fred smiled, tears forming in his eyes as he rocked the baby in his arms "I know, they look just like me... their hairs..."

"I'm so sorry, Freddie, I didn't tell you because... because I didn't know what to do, you're my best friend and I've had feelings for you since the beginning and I felt as if you didn't feel the same, I thought that me forcing a child upon you would... would ruin what we had."

"Of course I feel the same," Fred replied "I just didn't know if you did."

The two of you went silent for a moment, the twins sleeping - they were exhausted from being brought into the world earlier than expected.

"Do you still feel the same?" you asked Fred, staring into his pride-filled brown eyes.

He nodded "Yeah, do you?"

Everything you had ever wanted finally arrived, the children you were carrying - so eager and excited to meet, and the man of your dreams, finally on the same page as you - who had been in love with you for all this time.

You looked down at the baby in your arms and then back up at Fred, "I do too."

"Shall we have a fresh start?" Fred smiled "As parents and that."

You broke out into a light laugh and smiled "I'd like that, Freddie. I'd like that a lot."

There was another silence, it felt as if the world was sleeping.

"So, when can we make another one?" Fred winked.

"When we graduate from Hogwarts!-"

"Next year?" he raised an eyebrow.

"You didn't let me finish! We need to graduate, get stable jobs and have a house with enough room!"

"So next year then?" Fred smirked, still cradling the baby.

Your furrowed your brows, unsure whether or not he was bluffing.

"Okay then, since you're all confident, let's make a bet." You smirked back.

"If I win, we make another baby, if you win... we get married," Fred said softly as the baby opened his eyes and let out a cry.

"Alright," you agreed, taking your baby from Fred, trying to breastfeed "but what is your obsession with making another one?" you asked, "we've just had twins!"

Mr and Mrs Weasley were slowly approaching the hospital wing, George following not far behind.

"Yeah, which I've only just found out are mine!"

The hospital wing doors opened, Molly and Arthur standing in the doorway, staring at you, their son, and their grandchildren.

taglist: Taglist: @amourtentiaa @horrorxweasley @alwaysnforeverfangirl@reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @sebby-staan @onlyfreds@pandaxnienke @xmalfoyweasleyx @manuosorioh@cosmiccomicloverqueen @the-romanian-is-bae @fhhsposts@cavalinhox @purple-vodka-99 @simpforweasleys2@dracoismybabey @statellitespidey @xuminghaosworld @michael-loves-chickens @simpforweasleys2 @freddie-weaselbee @itsnottlilly

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cafeacademia · 3 years

Text

Love Between the Pages | Chapter 1

Blaise Zabini x Reader

Part summary: When Blaise is forced to attend the book club for a month for being caught up in Draco's bullying of the club, he finally has a chance to get to know the girl he likes, only now he's afraid that she's intimidated by him.

Warnings: Some bullying, Draco being Draco, mostly soft fluff though, lots of shyness

Word count: Approx 2000

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A/N: Hi loves!! Here's the first part to my first Blaise series!! I hope you all enjoy! If you'd like to be tagged, please click the link on my navigation post which is linked above!! Flash backs indicated with ***

“Detention!”

It was shouted harshly, at the top of her voice, shrill and full of rage as the three Slytherins stood in front of her, each looking decidedly guilty in their own ways. Draco stood up straighter, defiantly crossing his arms as he began to make the whole situation worse by arguing with Madam Pince. “You’re not even a real teacher, you can’t give us detention. My father will hear about this.” But while Draco went on and Theo attempted to appear like he was vaguely threatening next to his best friend, Blaise slowly blocked out the entire exchange, his eyes fixed on someone else, sitting on the other end of the library.

“That’s enough, Mister Malfoy, I will hear no more of this.” Madam Pince shouted. “You’ll all attend the book club as your punishment.” She asserted. “Book club?” He scoffed, “It’s hardly that bad.” “For a month.” Madam Pince interrupted him, making Draco and Theo look at her as if she’d grown an extra appendage. “A month?” Draco glowered, seething with anger.

But all while this was going on, Blaise had barely paid attention. He’d heard what she had said of course, but he was too distracted by a little Ravenclaw, sitting at the other end of the library. “Do you hear this, Zabini?” Draco asked, nudging his friend, the Slytherin boy quietly nodding and attempting to seem undistracted.

Why had Draco dragged him into this mess in the first place? All Blaise had been interested in was the pretty Ravenclaw he saw so often between the library bookshelves and somehow he’d been pulled into something so utterly stupid.

***

“What are you doing?” Draco asked, snatching the book out of Blaise’s hand. “Isn’t it obvious?” Blaise asked, raising a brow in annoyance as he took the book back from Draco and carefully pressed it against his chest. “You’re reading muggle novels.” “And?” “It’s for the mudbloods and blood traitors.” Draco spat. “And that’s why you’re not a Ravenclaw.” Blaise rolled his eyes. “You think this stuff is good?” Draco sounded genuinely confused. “They seem to.” Blaise nodded his head up towards the group that sat around a table, enjoying books together.

Draco glanced over at the group and while he didn’t know who they were, Blaise did. He’d seen you with your little book club in the library every week, but more specifically, he’d seen you in the library nearly every single day. If you weren’t studying, you were reading and enjoying a good book and judging by the books he had seen you with, you seemed to have a wide interest in a lot of different subjects and genres. Blaise was absolutely fascinated by you.

“Half of them are mudbloods.” Draco rolled his eyes. Blaise wanted to protest, he really did, but he knew it would cause more drama than it was worse by attempting to put Draco in his place. I was nearly always messy. “Let’s distract them a little, shall we?” Draco asked as he fished about in his robes for something he’d kept in his pocket just for the right occasion.

And that was when Blaise had been dragged into Draco’s shenanigans of throwing mini fireworks onto the book club’s table, Theo jumping in to laugh at them as they shrieked and scattered. But Blaise hadn’t laughed. He stood there, feeling like an idiot and an asshole, because you looked over at them with your book clutched protectively to your chest, a startled look in your eyes as you met his gaze. Fuck. Blaise was sure that whatever chance he had of ever speaking to you now was completely gone, especially as you gave him one last look before Neville Longbottom carefully tugged you and some of your group between the bookshelves.

***

“This is ridiculous.” Draco grumbled to himself as he entered the library the next afternoon, Blaise and Theo walking in behind him. Blaise looked up, searching the library for the little book club, his hands shoved in his trouser pockets in an attempt to seem relaxed, when really he felt rather pissed off. Stupid Malfoy and his stupid prejudice.

“Is this Madam Pince’s way of punishing them or us?” Hermione scoffed as she clocked the trio entering the library. Glancing over at Cho and Ginny, the pair gave you similar looks of discontent about the mere idea of having to spend just over an hour doing something you normally all found fun with a group of people that had just attacked your book club with mini fireworks. It seemed utterly backwards. “It feels like the latter.” Ginny muttered as the trio approached the table.

Discomfort settled over you, of course the three Slytherins intimidated you, you were shy and quiet and had never really spoken to them other than the odd interaction in class, and it didn’t help that Crabbe had made a point out of bullying you for being a muggleborn-know-it-all not long ago purely because of your blood status and house.

But while all three of the boys did intimidate you, there was something a little more intriguing about the tallest of the three. It hadn’t gone unnoticed that Blaise had at least somewhat of an interest in observing you and while others may find it uncomfortable, his gaze was not intimidating or offputting. In fact he seemed almost fascinated and you felt that the way he looked at you was warmer, much more than the way Draco did. But as you glanced up, only to catch his eyes and immediately look away out of shyness, you remembered that perhaps he wasn’t worth giving the time of day to. He had, afterall, been involved when Draco and Theo had thrown mini fireworks at your group the previous day and you didn’t recall ever seeing him trying to stop them.

But despite the way that Draco and Hermione clashed and the warning looks the boys got from Ginny while you scoured the shelves for a book to read, you slowly relaxed even with the initially unwelcome presence of the Slytherin boys.

Slowly as you began to explore the shelves, your fingers trailing over the spines of the books, discovering which title you might like to pick up this time for this week’s read, you gently pulled out an old copy of Jane Eyre. You weren’t expecting when you pulled the book off the shelf, to meet the eyes of Blaise Zabini, who stood, leaning back against the far bookshelf as he skimmed through the book in his hands, his eyes meeting yours only for a moment. You froze as soon as you saw his eyes on yours, feeling warmth blossom in your cheeks at the way he studied you calmly, his gaze gentle and soft as he looked at you, giving you the faintest hint of a smile before he looked back down at his book.

Blaise felt awful. You had looked so startled when he’d caught your eye through the bookshelves and he wondered if he intimidated you. He decided he couldn’t blame you if you were intimidated by him, he was friends with a group that were prone to picking on everyone. That combined with how shy you obviously were meant you were unlikely to approach anyone you weren’t comfortable with and Blaise felt even worse about the whole situation. What if you thought he was targeting you? Blaise knew he hasn’t exactly been subtle the times he had been gazing over at you on those afternoons in the library, those soft Thursday afternoons when the sun was in it’s golden hour, sending the most gentle and soft glow of warmth through the wobbled glass windows, casting a beautiful haze over you.

Blaise just hoped that attending the book club with you wasn’t enough to make you want to never speak to him full stop.

It was difficult for Blaise to admit though, that he was almost disappointed when the meeting ended, although he’d had quite enough of Granger and Malfoy’s hushed squabbling at one of the tables that Blaise had almost wanted to throw his book at them, though he wasn’t sure it was worth throwing his copy of Anne of Green Gables at them both.

But as he packed his borrowed book into his school bag, he caught you looking over at him from where you had been standing, a curious little look about you as you observed him, though you were quick to look away, a look of embarrassment on your features when you had seen he had noticed you before you began to walk away. “Wait a moment.” Blaise blurted it out as he quickly stepped into your pathway, startling you as you bumped into his chest and stumbled back a little, barely able to look up at him. “Merlin, I’m sorry.” He muttered, scared to touch you in case you didn’t want him to. “I just wanted to apologise for what happened yesterday, Malfoy was being a right git and I should have stopped him. I didn’t want to see you scared- your club scared.” He struggled to get it all out. While Blaise was confident, he was not the most chatty himself and apologising was not something he often found himself doing. Looking up at him, a little surprised at his apology, you just managed to look into his eyes for a moment before you focused back on the Slytherin green of his robe lining that was draped around his shoulders.

“Zabini, hurry up.” Theo drawled out as he leaned around the doorway to the library, Madam Pince shushing him as he lingered around the entrance. Blaise glanced over his shoulder at the boy dramatically leaning against the doorway before he turned back to you. “It’s alright.” You replied softly, a lot quieter than perhaps you had intended. You couldn’t hide your flustered reaction when you saw Blaise smile at the sound of your voice, his eyes lighting up and softening as he idly adjusted the bag on his shoulder. “I know the others are not interested in books but-.” “Blaaaiiise” Theo dragged out his name, the Slytherin boy in front of you sighing as he clenched his jaw a little. “Perhaps, would you like to read together?” He asked. Looking up at him, you smiled shyly, feeling rather flustered and giggly at the question, summoning all of your courage to respond to him. “Yes, perhaps.” You replied after a comfortable moment of silence. You wondered if he could tell he made you shy and giddy, or if it came off a little strange, but you supposed he wouldn’t be asking to read with you if he found you that weird.

And as Blaise gave you a quick goodbye, he walked off towards the exit, wearing a stoic face but on the inside, he was absolutely beaming. With three more weeks of the club to attend as punishment, there was plenty of time for you to hopefully warm up to him.

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