#i should not have any time on tumblr but i am somehow squeezing it in anyway

[archived-and-moving]

hey hi hello tobi! because you've been so sweet about the wings au, now that it's done and I'm doing dialogue prompts to tide me over for nanowrimo (they're on my blog), I wanted to offer you the opportunity of first pick if you'd like!

if there's something you like out of the lists I chose, or another idea you had, I'll focus on that one first! there is, of course, absolutely no pressure to do so at all. but I wanted to offer as a thank you :)

Quil I can't tell you how incredibly sweet this is!! My face really just went :O.

I would. Love to offer a prompt (this might take a minute for me to answer because I'm indecisive hold please. Actually this doesn't matter to you about that bc you're already reading this) But dude this is actually so cool!!

My brain is constantly plagued by previously mentioned wings au, so I think I want a prompt from one of my favorite dynamics that you write, Sophie and Tam.

Along w/ this prompt if it's chill:

“ jeez, i don’t even wanna know how you got that battle wound there; sit down and let me fix it up, won’t you? “

Seriously dude this is so cool, and I really feel like I should be the one thanking you! I haven't actually read the last chapter yet, (as all of my teachers have apparently coordinated to make each day of this week living hell) and I really want to save most of my comments as something I can actually leave on Ao3.

But to shorten it a little bit; thank you so much for making such a wonderful story. The twists were delightful, the characters and their interactions were fabulous, and I'm in love with the world you built that is everything and nothing like canon all at the same time. Thank you for making something so marvelous and being so kind when I told you about all the things I love.

I literally love interacting with you so much, (it always puts a smile on my face) and I cannot believe I was lucky enough to step into your brain for over a year. Thanks so much for the journey <33

[musings-of-a-rose]

Pairing: Lucien Flores x f!reader

Word Count: 5700+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: I know. We have 2 pictures and a one-sentence movie description. And yet, here I am, being a slut for this man’s characters. @rhoorl, this is for you!

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Lucien Flores Masterlist

Great. Another dinner party. I swear my roommate is trying to kill me. 

“Come on. It'll be fun, Decaf!”

“You know I hate that nickname, right?”

Claudia chuckles, reaching out to squeeze my arm. “Then stop being so-” she gestures with her free hand “-blah.”

“Ouch.”

Claudia sighs. “You know what I mean. Ever since Dan you just haven’t been..the same.”

I stiffen at the mention of my ex’s name. “He put me through hell, Claudia.”

She nods, placing her hand back on my arm in a placating gesture. “No, of course! He was an asshole! But you shouldn’t stop living your life because of him.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, exhaling loudly. “I know that. But I just…need some time. And having a dinner party every other weekend is not helping.”

She blows a raspberry with her tongue. “You know you love my parties. Besides, they help you loosen up.”

They don’t. I pretend to drink while my friends get drunk, eventually leaving when the party gets too much to handle. It’s not that they’re mean or anything. I just don’t enjoy being the only sober person in a room full of inebriated people. 

“And besides, Marcos specifically requested your famous tiramisu for dessert!” She gives me a pointed look, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. 

“I don’t-”

“We can go shopping tonight! Maybe Marcos can come over to uh, help.” She winks at me, and that smirk finally pops up.

“I’ll make the dessert but I’m not going. I mean it this time, Claudia.”

I sigh, looking at my reflection in the mirror as I smooth down my simple black dress. I say no and somehow I always end up going. How does she do that?

The doorbell rings and I hear the faint excited tone of Claudia welcoming someone in. I do one last quick hair check and force a smile on my face, taking a moment to look in the mirror to make sure it doesn’t look too forced before I head downstairs, closing my door behind me. 

“Decaf! There you are! Marcos is in the kitchen. Why don’t you help him with the wine he brought?” Claudia turns to put Marcos’s coat and umbrella on the coat stand, Marcos anticipating the rain that’s forecasted to come at some point.

“Wine isn’t really my-”

“There she is!” Marcos pops his head out of the kitchen, flashing me a brilliant smile. “Could you get the wine opener for me?”

Fake smile affixed, I nod. “Sure.” I follow him into the kitchen, turning to glare at Claudia over my shoulder who smiles and gestures towards Marcos before turning back to answer the next knock at the door. 

I grab the automatic wine opener from the drawer, Marcos smiling at me as I hold it up. “Thanks so much, D!” Well, at least it was better than Decaf. Even though I knew he knew where the opener was. 

“Of course. Do you remember how to work this thing?”

“I think so.” He takes the wine opener from me, gently brushing his fingers against mine in a not so subtle hint of flirting. He affixes the opener on the bottle and presses the button, watching as the electric opener does its thing.

It’s not that I don’t like Marcos. He’s attractive, nice, deep hazel eyes, and obviously likes me. He’s smart too, starting up his own bio med tech company with just an idea and a promise. I could be content with him, I guess. If it wasn’t for this odd feeling at the back of my brain about him, something I could never pinpoint exactly. Even so, I’m just not attracted to him no matter how hard I tried. And I promised myself after Dan that I wouldn’t settle just so I didn’t feel lonely anymore. 

“You look beautiful tonight, D. That dress fits you perfectly.”

I smile, knowing it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “Thanks, Marcos. How’s work? The prototype coming along?”

He smiles and launches into a long winded explanation of what exactly was going on as he follows me around the kitchen, helping me set the food on the table while Claudia pours wine and passes out hors d'oeuvres for the other guests - there are about 12 of us total. He’s cute when he talks so passionately, but again I don’t feel any connection. And the feeling at the back of my brain scratches at me again, but I push it down, putting another smile on my face. 

Dinner starts, an appetizer of vegetable soup ladeled into bowls. Claudia is every bit the chef her mother is and more, making even the simplest dishes delectable. When the roast comes, a recipe passed down several generations in her family, another knock raps at the door. Claudia looks around at everyone, mentally counting before looking at me, her eyebrows raised in a are you expecting someone? Question. I shake my head, Claudia starting to push her chair back but I stand, placing my napkin on the side of my plate.

“I got it, Claud.”

Conversations resume behind me as I leave the room, walking down the hall to the front door. A quick glance out of the peephole shows me a man, silky button up shirt with a print of random brushes strokes stretching across his broad shoulders as he puts a cigarette out on the front steps, pushing his shoe into it. I slide the lock back and crack the door open, his eyes snapping up to my face and the air rushes from my lungs when I meet his gaze. Dark brown eyes bore into mine and he cocks his head slightly to the side, smiling slightly. Oh shit is he wearing two chains?

“Good evening, miss.”

Oh shit I hadn’t said a word.

“Oh. Uh, hi. Can I help you?”

He smiles a little wider, tossing his thumb over his shoulder. “My car stalled and my phone is dead. Could I come in and call someone?”

I don’t entirely believe his story, but something in his eyes makes my brain go fuzzy and a warmth I haven’t felt in a long time start between my legs. 

“S-sure. Come on in.” I open the door wider and he smiles at me, nodding as he walks past. 

“Thanks. I wasn’t sure anyone would be home. Seems a lot of people are away for the weekend.”

“Oh not really. People around here don’t actually live here. It’s their second homes.” In fact, ours was Claudia’s parent’s second home. Which is the only way I could afford a place this nice. 

“Ah. That makes sense.” We stand in the entryway, his eyes scanning my face with that little smile still playing at his lips. It’s several long moments before I realize I’m the one who should be talking. 

“Oh! Uh, can I take your coat….” It’s then I realize he doesn’t have one, not even carrying one. 

He chuckles. “I think I’m good. But thank you for the offer.” The lights hit the chains around his neck and I swallow hard, wondering what it would be like to feel those chains smack me in the face over and over and-

Laughter erupts from the dining hall and..oh shit I never asked his name. 

I tell him my name. “But you can call me D.”

“What’s that short for?”

“I…don’t want to say.”

“That bad, huh? I’ve had some bad nicknames in my time.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. But my name is Lucien.” He extends his hand and I shake it, melting internally as I feel how large his hand his, how warm, and my brain wanders away on the thot train of exactly what I want those hands to do. Another round of laughter from the dining room breaks my trance and I give my head a little shake, dropping his hand. 

“Dinner party,” I gesture down the hall towards the dining room. 

“Ah. I thought you just dressed beautifully for fun.”

I can feel the heat in my cheeks and I glance away, tucking hair behind my ear before looking back at him. “I uh…you said your phone is dead?”

“Oh. Yeah.” He pulls it from his pocket, turning it to show me the blank screen.

“I have a charger. Come, I’ll let you use it and then you can come have some food if you’d like?”

“Oh I don’t want to impose.”

“It’s no bother. Really.” I let my hand rest on his arm, giving it a small squeeze. Who even am I right now?

His eyes flick between mine before he nods. “Lead the way.”

I yell to Claudia that I’m getting my charger and she doesn’t question it, diving right back into whatever story she’s telling as I lead Lucien up the stairs. To my bedroom. What am I doing right now? Before I can think further, I’m at my door, opening the handle and crossing to my night stand, pulling the end out of my own phone and extending my hand. “Here. Let me charge it for you.”

He hesitates a moment before placing his phone in my hand. “I appreciate it, D.”

I plug in his phone and open mine. “Do you have a preferred mechanic?”

“For what?”

“Y-your car?”

“Oh! Right! Uh sure. Can I just?” He makes to grab my phone and I let him, hiding a smirk when I notice that the tips of his ears are red. He taps away at my phone and holds it up to his ear, ordering a mechanic to his car.

“Hey, what neighborhood is this?”

“Destiny Falls.”

“Destiny Falls….great…thanks.” He taps the screen and hands me back my phone. “Thanks.”

I take the phone from him, feeling his fingers touch mine, a chill running down my arm and straight between my legs. “N-no worries.”

He stares at me for a long moment, his eyes moving down my body and back up. “You mentioned dinner?”

“Shit! Sorry! Yeah, uh this way.”

He follows me back out and down the stairs. I can feel his eyes on my ass and so I put an extra emphasis on my walk, an extra sway in my hips and I swear I hear a small groan coming from him. 

“Hhhm?” I ask.

“What? Oh, I uh, I’m hungry.”

I open the door to the dining room, Lucien following me in. Everyone turns their heads to look, Claudia’s eyes moving furiously between us both before she stands. “Who’s this, Decaf?”

I widen my eyes at her, willing her to never use that nickname again. “This is Lucien. His car broke down a couple blocks away and no one else is home. His phone died so he couldn’t call anyone. He’s going to wait here for the mechanic.”

Lucien holds up his hand. “Hi. Thank you for allowing me into your home.”

Claudia smiles, waving him up. “Of course! Are you hungry? Let me get you a plate.”

“Oh I don’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense! Decaf, could you get him a plate and a chair? Marcos, scootch down a bit and we can put Lucien’s chair at the end.”

I look over at Marcos, who’s eyes are narrowed at Lucien, a hard look in them. 

Men.

I roll my eyes and turn towards the kitchen, motioning for Lucien to follow me. “Come on. I need those hands.” It’s not until we’re in the kitchen when I realize what I said.

“So. You need my hands, doll?”

“I meant for the chair, but we’ll see if I can find another use for them.” What the fuck did I just say?

He chuckles, his eyes darkening. “I’m sure you’ll find me more than willing to help with whatever you want me for.”

Fuck, he’s looking at me and he has to know what he said. Lucien takes a few steps towards me, stepping inside the comfortable distance between strangers. Does he know that the heat between my thighs is almost unbearable at this point? I’m tempted to get him seated and go take care of myself before I get into trouble. 

“I-”

“Hey, D. Need any help?” Marcos had come through the door. I jump back, startled. Why do I feel guilty? I don’t owe Marcos anything. 

“Hey Marcos. No, I think we got it.”

“Here, Lucien. Let me show you where the spare chairs are.”

Lucien looks down at me and winks before following Marcos. “After you.” 

I make Lucien a plate of food and bring it out to the table, the conversation still moving forward. I set the plate down and go back to the kitchen to get him a drink when I hear raised voices from the back storage closet where the chairs are. I can’t make it out but they’re definitely arguing. 

Ugh, men. 

Then the storage room door pops open and Lucien exits, carrying a chair. The look on his face is hard, anger etching into his face, but then he sees me and it disappears immediately, giving me a smile. “Got the chair.”

He walks towards me as Marcos takes a moment to close the door. “Everything ok, guys?”

“We’re great, D.”

“Because it sounded like you were fighting.”

“Nope. All good.” Marcos’s voice was flat, not his normal charismatic, charming tone he uses to win everyone over. I don’t believe him but it’s not the time to press him. 

Lucien sits at the table and everyone starts asking him questions, his face animatedly answering all of them. The conversation pauses, everyone stopping to drink or eat or talk between themselves. Lucien shifts in his chair beside me, his leg brushing against mine and I gasp, trying to hide it as a small cough. But the twinkle in his eye tells me he heard me and knew exactly what I did. Not even the glare from Marcos at Lucien could ruin the mood for me. Lucien presses his leg into mine further, taking a sip of wine as he cracks a joke and everyone laughs, the ring on his pointer finger sparkling in the light from the chandelier. I can’t take it any more, the throbbing between my thighs is so intense I swear everyone can hear it. I need to get out of the room. 

“Excuse me. I’ll uh…I’ll go check on your phone.” I hastily stand, pushing my chair back. 

“Do you want help, D?” Marcos asks, halfway to standing himself.

“No! Uh, no. I can check a phone myself, thanks.” 

I walk calmly from the room, waiting until the door closes behind me before I take the stairs 2 at a time, closing my bedroom door behind me and pressing my back against it, feeling the coolness of the wood seep through my thin dress, but it does nothing to dull the ache between my legs. I sit on my bed next to my night stand, legs on the floor and put my hands over my face. Get it together. A quiet knock makes me jerk and snap my head up, moving my hands just enough to speak.

“Who is it?”

“Lucien.”

Shit.

“What can I do for you?”

“I uh, just need to check on my phone?”

Oh right.

“Come on in.”

As Lucien opens the door, I lean back slightly, placing my arms behind me and lean on them. Lucien gently closes the door and crosses the room, his pant leg brushing against my bare knee as he reaches for his phone and presses the power button, light shining in his face. I press my thighs together in what I hope is an inconspicuous manner.

“Only 15%. This phone takes forever to charge. Do you mind if I charge it a little more?”

“Not at all.”

“Thanks.” He sets the phone down and turns his head to look at me, his eyes flicking to my thighs that are currently jammed together so tight even water couldn’t get through them.

“Let me help you with your problem.”

I swallow hard. “P-problem?”

“Yes. Your problem.”

“I..I don’t have…” I lose all track of what I was going to say as his eyes darken, slowly raking over my body before landing on my own darkened gaze, smirking at me. 

“I’m an excellent…helper.”

“I..I d-don’t have a p-problem.”

“No?”

I shake my head, not even convincing myself. But then my voice catches in my throat as he gets on his knees in front of me, his fingers gently swirling a random pattern across my knees and lower thighs. My skin sears where he touches me, and I can feel how soaked I’m getting. He gently wraps his hands around my knees and slowly pushes them open, the cool air not doing much to cool me down. My chest heaves as his eyes move up my legs, his gaze disappearing under my shortened dress, honing in on where I need him. 

“I think I found your problem.”

“Y-yeah?”

He slowly slides his hand up my thigh, my breath coming out in little spurts the higher he gets. His hand disappears under my dress and then I feel him, his finger sliding up the middle of me still over my underwear and my hips jolt, immediately betraying all sense of logic in my brain, the side of me that’s screaming this is a stranger!

“Good news. I can help fix your problem.”

“Y-you can?”

“Do you want me to?”

I’m still propped up on my elbows, gazing down at this man who is kneeling between my legs, hand up my dress, rubbing tiny circles into my inner thigh with the tip of his finger, his eyes nearly black with lust, my logic side screaming at me to tell him no, to tell him to stop, to play it safe.

But I’m tired of being called Decaf.

“Yes.”

He smirks, sliding his hands up further, fingers pinching the fabric of my panties before he slides them down and off, tossing them behind him without looking. He gently places my legs over his shoulders, pushing my thighs open wider with his broad shoulders. 

“Show me,” he says it calmly, but it’s also commanding and I shiver.

I grip the bottom of my dress and pull it up over my hips, exposing myself to him. His eyes move to stare at my cunt, darkening the rest of the way. He moves his fingers to spread me and I gasp at his touch as he takes me all in. 

“Fuck!” I yell out as he quickly dips his head and licks up the center of me, his tongue curling around the bundle of nerves. My thighs try to jam against his head but he is so damn broad that all they do is weakly twitch against his shoulders as he works me open with his mouth, moaning into my cunt.

“Oh shit, oh fuck, I-” words tumble from me in an incoherent jumble. I feel one of his thick fingers swirling around my entrance before he pushes it all the way in, the cool metal of his ring brushing against my skin. My mouth is open in a silent scream, but then he pulls his finger out, adding another, his head lifted to watch as he fucks me with his fingers, the lewd squelches filling the quiet room.

He moves his head back down, gently sucking on my clit and my fingers fly to his head, twisting into his beautiful curls and gripping it as I moan his name, his fingers curling inside of me, slowly stroking at that spot. I can feel myself tightening, pulsing around his fingers as he pushes me closer to the edge. But then he pulls his hand out, his mouth leaving me and I huff.

“What the fu-”

He stands, undoing the buttons on his shirt before taking it off, tossing it on the floor. He’s not 6 pack fit but he’s trim, a small tummy poking out by his pant line that I desperately want to bite. His large hands work open his pants and before I know it, he springs free, heavy and ready.

“Take off your dress.”

It takes me a moment to tear my eyes away from him, nearly ripping my dress in half in my haste to rid myself of it. I unlatch my bra too, tossing it wherever it lands. Lucien pushes my legs open, settling himself between my thighs, pressing his chest against mine. I think he’s going to say something but then all words leave my brain as he pushes inside of me, splitting me open, hand clasped over my mouth as I scream into it, hands flailing around simply because I don’t know what to do with them. He burns me slightly from the stretch but I don’t even care. He bottoms out and just sits there a few moments, his own chest heaving with self-restraint. 

Without pulling out, he thrusts further in, pressing at a spot inside of me I didn’t even know existed. A whiny yelp escapes me before his hand clamps over my mouth again, his eyes finding mine as he continues this slow assault. He tentatively removes his hand, my mouth hanging open as jolt of pleasure radiates out from my cunt with every thrust of his hips. 

“Do you want me to fuck you into this bed, doll?”

I nod frantically, my hands gripping his ass in an attempt to move him faster.

“Tell me.”

“Please. Please Lucien, fuck me into my bed I-” he clamps his hand over my mouth again, his hips picking up to a rapid pace as he fucks into me, lifting my leg over his hip to change the angle. Then he somehow gathers my flailing hands in one of his large ones, pinning them into the bed above my head as he continues to snap his hips into mine, each thrust driving me rapidly towards the edge he had already brought me to earlier. The thin chains he wore brush against my face with every thrust, and I moan into his hand. 

And then I fling myself over the edge, each thrust of his hips carrying me further and further into this bliss. I’ve never experienced this, not in this way, not this intense, rolling waves of pleasure pulsing over my entire body. I feel his hand loosen their grip, no longer over my mouth and they squeeze my hips, flipping me over so quickly my head spins slightly. I bury my face in my blankets and moan as he thrusts into me, his fingers digging into my hips as he sets a rapid pace, pushing my back down to curve my ass up further. To my surprise, I feel one of his hands snake around me, finding my clit and applying the perfect touch, perfect amount of pressure as he drives me towards the edge again at a rapid pace. He pulls me up, my back flush against his chest, his arm wrapping around me to continue touching me while the other holds my hair tightly and I come, his name gasping from my lips as I feel his hips sputter against me, a mix of hard and soft grunts in my ear before he loosens his fingers, letting me drop back to my hands. 

He pulls out with a grunt and I immediately feel light, empty, and a little sore but in a good way. He looks at me and I point to my en suite bathroom, still trying to catch my breath. He disappears for several moments before coming back out, a wet washcloth in hand. He looks at me, still in the same position he left me in and moves behind me, pressing the cloth to my sensitive skin. I twitch and hear a low chuckle as he continues to clean me up. He helps me lay on my back, his finger tracing circles around my nippple before giving it a little pinch. 

“We better get back to your party.”

“My what?” I’d completely forgotten there even was a dinner party happening. He laughs, his hand resting on my stomach.

“Your dinner party. Surely your friends will wonder where you are.”

“Maybe. Or we could just stay here, naked, and see what happens?”

His eyes darken again and he leans forward, pulling a boob into his mouth and sucking on it. I gasp but then he drops it, sitting back up.

“As much as I’d love that, we should probably get back downstairs.”

I’m hurt, but he’s right. Soon enough my friends would send a search party. And I don’t want any of them to see this complete stranger, balls deep inside of me. Although if you asked me when he was actually balls deep, I wouldn’t have cared at all. 

Lucien dresses first and heads back downstairs, winking at me before he closes the door. I quickly rinse off, careful not to wet my hair before trying to fix it to what it was before. I smooth down my dress and hope no one notices the difference. I decide to check the power on his phone before I head down, just to give him an update, expecting it to not be any higher than maybe 20%. But when I light the screen up, my eyebrows furrow together. It was fully charged. Why did he lie? Was it just to fuck me? I wouldn’t have cared if his phone was fully charged. 

I take it from the charger and head back downstairs, sounds of laughter echoing up the stairwell. I sneak in through the back door, grabbing another bottle of wine on my way in as an excuse for taking so long. I realize I have no idea how much time I’d spent upstairs, but people were just finishing eating, so it couldn’t have been too long. 

I feel eyes on me, but none more than Marcos. His eyes bore into me, hardening the longer he looks at me. He glances between Lucien and me as I hand him his phone, a look of realization settling into his features. Before I can say anything he abruptly stands up, mumbling something about a cigarette break before heading out on the back porch. A moment passes and Lucien pats his pockets, asking Claudia if she thinks Marcos will let him bum a cigarette off of him. She smiles and tells him he definitely will. Lucien gets up and excuses himself, heading out the back door to find Marcos. 

Claudia keeps looking at me, her eyes narrowing but a smile forming, like she’s starting to piece together what happened. Before she can ask, I excuse myself, heading towards the backyard to find Lucien and Marcos. But when I open the door I hear raised voices coming from further in the backyard. 

“You need to fucking leave, Lucien.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you give me what’s mine, Marcos.”

“It’s not yours anymore, I told you that!”

“That’s because you fucking stole it from me, asshole!”

What the hell are they talking about?

“You say stole, I say borrowed-”

“It took me forever to find you and now you don’t even have the balls to admit you stole from me?”

“Fuck you!”

“No, fuck you!”

I hear the sound of fists landing and I close the last several steps, their fighting bodies moving into my view.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

They both stop, pushing back from each other and looking at me. Marcos tries to put on his normal charming smile, but that nagging feeling about him roars inside of me. “Hey, D.”

“Don’t hey me, Marcos. What’s going on?”

“Oh uh Lucien and I were just messing around, right?” He looks at Lucien who glares back at him.

“No. We were not. You stole from me.”

Marcos narrows his eyes. “And how could I have stolen anything from you?”

“You were my intern! You worked on my project and then you stole it to start your little start up!”

“Wait, what?” I look between them, confused. 

“D, he’s crazy. He’s just some guy off the street. You don’t even know him-”

“Oh she knows me plenty.” 

My jaw drops as Marcos looks between us. 

“Wait…did…did you sleep with her when you went to get your phone?”

I can feel my cheeks heating up but Lucien speaks before I do. “Yeah. I did. I fucked her good. Had her screaming my name. Begging me to fuck her.”

Marcos’s mouth opens and closes, anger flashing in his eyes and I can feel tears pooling in mine, a mixture of anger and embarrassment as Lucien continues to speak.

“Doesn’t feel good, does it Marcos? To have something you want so badly taken away from you? I knew the moment I saw you look at her that you wanted her. So I fucked her first. You take something from me, I take something from you.”

Marcos stands there fuming, looking furious at Lucien, but no longer even looking my way. “You can’t just come in here-”

“I can. And I came in her too.”

SLAP!

My hand stings with the force of contact but I swallow any cry of pain. Lucien brings his hand to his cheek, turning to finally look at me, an odd expression on his face.

“D, listen. Marcos isn’t who you think he is. He-” 

WHAM!

Marcos’s fist collides with Lucien’s face and he stumbles backwards. He rallies quickly, swinging for Marcos. I yell for them to stop but I may as well have been talking to the wall. The men fight, throwing themselves at each other, yelling insults that I can only halfway make out. But then Lucien pins Marcos to the ground, pounding on his face. I run up to him and grab his arm. 

“Stop!”

Lucien looks at my hand on his arm and then at me before glancing down at Marcos who had just passed out. He looks back at me, his face softening as he lowers his fist, slowly standing up with a series of tiny grunts.

“D, I’m sorry, I-”

“Did you just fuck me to get back at him?”

He’s quiet for longer than I’d like, and I hate the tears that start to fall. I’m not delusional. I know nothing would come of it. I didn’t even know the guy. But a part of me had held onto some idea that maybe it was something more, could be something more. 

“Not…not at the end.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He gestures to a couple of chairs. “Can I explain?”

I sit, I probably shouldn’t have but good decisions went out the window a long time ago. Lucien sits in the chair across from me, shifting his weight forward to be closer to me. 

“Years ago, I hired Marcos as my intern. His name then was Juan. He helped me with my research. I had a bio tech lab and was working on some ground breaking tech. But then one day, I come in and everything is gone. He’d stolen everything, all of my years of research just gone. And then I see his face being put up as the new man to watch in all of the science and tech magazines and I see it, my tech being claimed by this imposter.” Lucien spits on Marcos’s body. 

That explains the weird vibe I’d always gotten from him. He was a lying cheat. 

“So what about tonight?”

“Ah. Well it had taken me years but I finally tracked him down. And every time I tried to get close, to get him to confess he would somehow weasel out of it. But then I saw him connected to a social media post about a dinner party. I hired a PI to figure out where and I..well I knocked on the door.”

“So your car?”

“Isn’t really broken down, no.”

“Your phone was fully charged.”

“It was already at 87% when I first plugged it in.”

I sit with this information for a few moments. “So what about…me?”

Lucien’s face softens as he looks at me. “Then there was you. I didn’t expect to see anyone here I actually was intrigued by, but there you were. I pushed it aside to get to Marcos but then I saw how he acted around you, the way he looked at you, the pure desire in every inch of him. So I flirted and got close. You were hot and I figured I could fuck you to make him get super pissed. But then you took your dress off so easily and I could tell you weren’t really that kind of person and I just… lost myself a bit when I was inside you. By the end, I was hating myself for using you. I…I’m sorry.”

Well. There you have it. I was right about Marcos being too charming for a reason, a reason he had now confessed to, recorded on Lucien’s phone no doubt. I’m mad, I want to hit him but I also get it. And damn was he the best fuck I’ve ever had. 

I lean forward, curling my finger around the chains on his neck as I pull him closer. 

“Wanna go for round 2?”

General Taglist:

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[whumpinggrounds]

hi, excuse me, but I've just read your post on overused disability tropes you posted this late February and I thought it'd ask about one part of it- disability superpowers.

now, I don't disagree that superpowers that essentially eliminate the disability of a character aren't exactly great. take Daredevil, for example. in later issues he even gets the ability to discern the color of objects, somehow- which'd give him functionally better vision than my red-green colorblind, near-sighted brother who works as an astronomer! but what about the "opposite" of that idea: powers or abilities that specifically take advantage of certain aspects of a disability to function.

to give an example of what I'm referring to, there's this idea for a character I've been rotating in my mind for fun: there's this guy, I'd say mid-to-late twenties, somewhat hotheaded, lives in what any casual observer in our society would compare to Hell since the heat helps with his chronic pain. Say that, through some space rock falling on the corpse of his long dead ancestor or whatever, he gained the ability to essentially squeeze himself and whatever he's carrying through "cracks", such as the spaces between tiles in a mosaic or the center of the bathroom door from The Shining, and shoot out of another crack not unlike a portal, with one catch: squeezing through a crack pretty much rips apart his everything and builds it back up at the destination (fluids such as stomach acid don't spill out and come right back to where they were beforehand, since this is already a fantastic scenario and the alternative is Not Fun) which as you can imagine is. not exactly comfortable.

say he was still able to use this ability since he'd have higher pain tolerance (and prescription painkillers) compared to an able-bodied person. would that be an iffy concept?

of course, care would be taken to make sure the character part of the character is also good rep. I'd want him to be interesting!

although I should say that I'm able-bodied, and as such i apologize for any details i might've added or failed to add due to this. hope this ask finds you well!

Hi! Sorry I'm getting to you late; took kind of a break from Tumblr and am just getting back.

First thing I'll say is that I do not want to be in the business of telling people what they should or shouldn't write, or what they should or shouldn't read/watch/enjoy. My only goal is to give people tips and more generally, things to think about to help them critically create or consume media.

In terms of superpowers that exist because a person is disabled - I think it's a really cool idea! Disabled people can have abilities that abled people don't; that is a real life thing that does happen. To give one example, simultaneous communication (talking and listening at the same time) is pretty much impossible in spoken language, which is why it doesn't occur in any spoken language that linguists are aware of. In signed languages, this is not true, and information can be both sent and received at the same time. Or real-life Paralympian and double amputee Oscar Pistorius, who was initially prevented from competing in events for nondisabled runners because his prosthetics were thought to give him an unfair advantage. (No one come for me for talking about Pistorius, I'm really only talking about his running ability, not endorsing him as a person.)

As you've described, the trouble with disabled superheroes comes when their superpowers completely cancel out or negate their disability. This renders them both unrealistic representation (not always bad) and excuses writers and creators from having to properly represent the lived experiences of the community they're choosing to tell stories about (pretty bad, in my opinion). So, finally, we approach your question: Is it bad representation to write about a character whose increased pain tolerance, due to chronic pain, allows him to take advantage of a superpower that is extremely painful?

No, I don't think so!

You can stop here :)

I'm going to keep writing though, even though I dragged you through like three unnecessary paragraphs to get to this point.

As someone who has struggled with chronic pain, and knows and loves a lot of people who struggle with chronic pain, I don't think there's anything wrong with the idea. I think the experience of having increased pain tolerance and pain coping mechanisms is actually very realistic for a character with chronic pain! I'm including a few bonus thoughts here, which you can absolutely skip if you don't want to read them, but that might help flesh out the intersection between this character's chronic pain and his power-related pain.

What does each type of pain feel like, and how intense is it? If he's having a bad pain day, is he still able to use his powers? What effect does that much pain have on his mind and body? If he carries others with him, do they feel pain too, and what is their reaction and tolerance to that pain? What kind of coping mechanisms does he use besides having a high pain tolerance, and what does he do when these methods are not effective?

I am linking my own writing about my own chronic pain; feel free to use that as a resource! Or not! Thanks for the question, and happy writing :)

[alwaysmypearl]

It’s finally here: A Whole Chapter

This is a chapter from my (currently) unnamed AU about Haymitch going into the Quell with Katniss instead of Peeta. This is in Peeta’s POV! Tell me what you think, and enjoy my friends :) *sorry if it’s formatted a little weird- idk what tumblr did to it*

The cameras circle the arena. The sun beats down and makes the water below shimmer like diamonds. Surrounding the cornucopia and the circular tribute podium is wavy, persistent water. Katniss lifts her head from my shoulder, squeezes my arm, and softly gasps. I glance at the screen in time to see the cameras zoom on the faces of the tributes. Victor after victors face shows until the screen lands on one tribute who’s not a victor at all. It’s a child. She can’t be any older than 12. Her face is round and soft, light freckles splatter her cheeks as if she spends all day being kissed by the sun. Her dark brown hair falls in a long braid down her back. Her eyes are a piercing blue. They are large and terrified as they dart in every direction possible. I’ve never seen this tribute, but somehow- I know exactly who she is. She’s my child. Mine and Katniss’ child, to be exact. The child I have always dreamt of- until I stepped out of the 74th arena. Until I was crowned a victor. Until I realized that the odds were never in my favor, and any child of mine or Katniss’ had a standing reservation in the training center penthouse. Katniss stands to my right. I go to grab her hand, but she pulls it back like I burnt her. Her eyes meet mine, and though they’re watery, the tears do nothing to put out the fire that’s boring into me.

“Peeta! Do something! Are you gonna let them kill her?”

“Katniss, I-“

“No! You’re her father! You’re supposed to protect her!”

My cheeks are burning. Burning from the heat of Katniss’s anger, the embarrassment of causing a scene around the surrounding victors, and the shame of not being able to protect the life I helped create. The life I am responsible for.

“Katniss I can’t, you know I can’t.”

“Yes you can! But you’re just sitting there! You have to help her, Peeta.”

I can barely look at her. “Please sit down, Katniss.”

A look of recognition crosses her face, and she sits. She buries her head in my shirt, just like she did when she found out I lost my leg in our Ceasar Flickerman interview. I feel her body rack with sobs, and the dampness of her tears and snot soak my dress shirt all the way through. All I can do is swallow the lump in my own throat, and stroke her arm as the gong goes off. I can’t even watch. I squeeze my eyes shut as hard as I can, and Katniss sobs my name over and over.

“Peeta, no...Peeta...Peeta, please...”

“Peeta? Peeta, are you okay honey? Maybe you should go take a break? Peeta! Please answer me!”

Katniss fades from view as I realize it is not her saying my name, but Effie. She continues to jostle my shoulder as the world around me becomes clearer. Was I having an awake nightmare? It is not my child that appears onscreen, it is Katniss. She has gone into her second arena without me, and I have to keep her alive from the lofty mentor room I seem to be trapped in.

I turn my head towards Effie and run my hands down my face.

“I’m okay, Effie. Thank you. I just- went somewhere for a minute. I’m here. I’m okay. I don’t need a minute. I’m not leaving this room-I can’t.”

Effie’s eyes dart to the ground and she grabs my hand.

“It’s okay dear. I’m going to stay here with you too. I don’t usually watch with Haymitch...”

Her voice trails off at the mention of his name. I know she cares for him, I do. She cares for all of us. But there’s something about Haymitch- that’s probably a thought for later.

She waves at an avox standing on the wall to our left.

“Excuse me, can we get a glass of ice water for our mentor here?” The avox nods, and walks away. “Thank you!”

She waves in the general direction of the avox and faces back to me.

It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay. If I don’t continue to repeat that, I will fall apart. I will succumb to the burning that lives in my chest, and crash and burn until I am nothing but embers.

Wouldn’t that be fitting for the husband of the Girl on Fire?

But that’s what Snow wants. To break me. And even now, in the Capitol a year later, I still promised myself not to become a piece in their games. In Snow’s game.

The mentors watch the game from a broadcast room. It is split level and fully chrome, with the front wall of the room a floor to ceiling broadcast of the arena. Each District team has a small curved couch, with a coffee table in the middle. The coffee table is high tech. It has two small screens, so you can see the faces of both of your tributes at all times, plus their relative heartbeat and position in the arena because of their tracker. It also has screens where gifts for your tributes can be ordered.

The back of the room is where the upper level and Districts 1 through 6 are stationed. I imagine the higher level is necessary for all of the mentors to have a good view of the screen at all times. I honestly wish I didn’t.

Most of the mentors stay at their designated “stations”, but when the game gets boring they mingle and enjoy drinks together. Most of these people have been friends for years. They’ve taken me in as one of their own relatively fast. I have been able to strategize with them and get to know all of them within the few days we’ve all been in the Capitol. They pat me on the back, laugh at my jokes, and congratulate me on the baby and the marriage. Occasionally I see a look of pity fall across their eyes, as they remember that the odds have never been and are not in my favor.

I wish that Katniss and Haymitch were here.

I wish I wasn’t doing this all alone. I didn’t think I would ever have to. We have always faced the Capitol, the Games, the train, the nightmares- together. Being alone, being scared for Katniss (and Haymitch, I’ll admit), mixed with dwelling on our future, has created some gnarly nightmares and terrifying day dreams the past few days. Making Haymitch drop the marriage-and-baby-bomb during the interview didn’t help. Though the Capitol citizens are mourning a pregnant Katniss walking through the arena, I am mourning a life stolen from us.

The number on the screen is now at 5.

4...

3...

2...

1...

The gong sounds and Effie jumps as the avox places the ice water down on our table. I thank them as Katniss dives straight in the water, no doubt heading for the golden bow and arrows nestled in the cornucopia ahead of her. She can swim? How? I haven’t even had time to think about the possibility of her drowning.

There must be a lake in her woods.

She hoists herself onto the cornucopia, and reaches for the bow and arrow at the same time as Finnick reaches for a trident.

I hope she sees the token I gave to him in haste last night, but my thoughts are corrected as she loads an arrow in her bow and aims for him. She doesn’t trust him, but I want her to.

Finnick smiles at her on screen.

“Woah, there Girl on Fire. You wouldn’t shoot your ally this early in the game, would ya?”

Her brow furrows as her eyes meet the mockingjay necklace, that was originally mine, resting in the middle of Finnick’s chest. He smirks as he watches her connect the dots in front of him.

Effie is saying something about “How could you!” and “That was special for our team!” but I don’t pay her any mind.

“Your husband gave it to me. Kind of him, right? Hope you don’t mind that we’re matching.”

She scoffs and lowers her bow.

“He is kind. Not that you know much-“

Finnick interrupts her with a firm “Duck!” and as she does, he sends a trident into another victor that was tearing towards them.

“Grab everything you want and let’s get out of here!” Finnick yells as they begin to move about the small island.

Katniss sends a few arrows after Cashmere, Gloss, Enobaria, and Brutus. Though none of them find their mark, she successfully holds them off, and her and Finnick are tearing down a small strip of land towards a trapped Haymitch, still on his podium.

Katniss begins to rid herself of weapons, preparing to jump in and retrieve him when Finnick assures her he can. A scowl crosses her face as she watches him swim- I can tell she hasn’t fully resolved to trust him yet. But she trusts me, and that seems to be enough.

She pulls Haymitch onto the land with a groan, and he greets her with a quick hug and says, “Fancy seeing you here, sweetheart. Find any liquor in the cornucopia?”

Effie scoffs and Katniss rolls her eyes.

“Ugh, I miss Peeta. Maybe if you’re nice to me he’ll send you some.”

I miss you too. So much.

Haymitch groans. “Guess I’m out of luck.”

Once the full group is formed, upon the retrieval of a floating Mags, all four of them begin their trek through the surrounding jungle. Finnick carries Mags on his back, and Katniss continually checks on Haymitch as he slowly but surely brings up the rear.

I glance at her on the monitor on the table. She looks warm. Sweat lines her hairline, it must be humid in the arena. Otherwise, she’s glowing. Like always. Her heart rate is high, but coming down from the adrenaline rush of the bloodbath. Her voice breaks me out of my daze.

“Finnick?” He stops and turns to look at her.

“The vines are starting to grow up more as we walk. I’ll take the front and slash them with my knife. Can you take the rear and watch Haymitch’s back?”

Haymitch scoffs. “I’m fine, girl.”

She turns to snap at him. “Shut up, old man.”

I smirk to myself. My girl is the same anywhere. Even in an arena of murderers.

“There’s no reason I can’t lead. We’ll find a place to settle soon.”

Finnick seems slightly worried, but I’m not sure why. He promised me he would protect her, but I know she can handle taking the lead.

“Katniss, are you sure you’re okay? I don’t want you to over-exert yourself with the baby.” Finnick gives her his famous gleam. I feel the other mentors’ gazes land on the back of my head. I know she’ll be fine taking the lead, but he’s doing a good job reminding her of the baby angle. There is a small part of me that wishes she would stay sandwiched in between Finnick and Haymitch though.

However, that gleam doesn’t work on Katniss. She rolls her eyes and groans.

“I’m pregnant, not weak. I’m fine.” I can tell that she struggles to get the word pregnant out of her mouth, but knows she has to keep it up for the show.

She looks up to the sky with her hand resting on her abdomen. “We’re fine, Peeta! I am taking the lead whether the rest of you like it or not!”

I’m sure all of Panem is swooning at her calling to me from inside the arena, and I smile myself.

Effie gives her a small clap.

We watch Katniss trek though the jungle, slashing the vines down as the two men and Mags follow behind her. She’s looking for water and shelter still, she must be dehydrated now. Maybe I should send water.

As I touch the tribute gift screen to check the prices, I hear Finnick start to call Katniss’ name.

My head snaps up as Katniss’ knife slices into a vine, but a loud buzzing fills the air and she is blown back about 8 feet. A force field?

Effie gasps, and I immediately stand. Her name falls from my lips, and the mentor room is silent as the broadcast zooms into her unconscious face.

The flashing 102 of her heartbeat on my monitor turns to just a flashing pair of dashes. The monitor goes dark as I hear Ceasar Flickerman’s voice fill the room on the broadcast.

“Have my eyes deceived me, Claudius? We haven’t lost the Girl on Fire, have we?”

Lost. That word echoes in my head until unparalleled pressure fills my ears and blocks out everything.

On screen, Haymitch rushes to her side, while Finnick seems as frozen as I feel.

Haymitch cups her jaw with one hand and her shoulder with the other. He’s shaking her.

“Katniss! Come on girl, you can’t do this. Come on, sweetheart.”

The nickname shatters my chest into a million pieces. A troubled noise, somewhere between a sob and a groan of pain, tears up my throat and I fall back onto the couch.

The last thing I want is for the rest of the mentors to see me cry, but I’m hoping they’ll be understanding, considering my circumstances. It can’t be easy for them either. They’re all losing their friends. I’m sure they’ll excuse my display of pain over losing my wife.

The shattering in my chest comes to a head, and I can no longer hold any of it together. I sob into my hands and rock back and forth, hoping that will soothe whatever is happening in my body right now. The pressure, the burning- the distinct breaking in two.

I survived the Hunger Games, and yet, there is no pain to match the kind that radiates through my chest right now. I think dying on the riverbank feels like a paper cut in comparison to this.

I feel two strong hands force my shoulders up and interrupt my crying. Oak, the mentor from District 11. Another one of Haymitch and Chaff’s friends.

He leans close to my ear. “Look, boy.”

I glance to the screen as Finnicks lips lock with Katniss’.

He’s....kissing her? I watch her chest rise and fall. What is happening? I thought she wasn’t breathing?

His hands move to her sternum, and he presses into her chest with a distinct rhythm.

I hear Claudius Templesmith as I regain bits of my hearing.

“Ceasar, this is a first in Hunger Games history. Finnick Odair is giving Katniss Everdeen CPR!”

Effie gasps again and grabs for my hand. I squeeze hers back. I need something to tether me to the world anyway.

Oaks hands stay firm on my shoulders, keeping me in place to watch the screen, and grounding me here as well.

CPR. Must be some kind of medical technique to restart her heart. It has to work, right?

Haymitch calls out to her again. He is sitting across from them against the bark of a tree. He keeps looking into the air to will the tears that are forming back into his skull.

“Come on, sweetheart. Peeta. Prim. You gotta go home to them, girl. I bet you’re scaring that boy half to death.”

Haymitch is right. I feel like I am floating between the living and the dying, right alongside Katniss. Wherever she goes, I will follow. And right now, I’m not so sure we’ll both land on the side of the living.

I whisper into the air, talking to myself and not caring if Oak and Effie hear me.

“Stay with me, Katniss. You have to. Stay with me.”

Effie definitely hears me, and let’s out a strangled squeak in response. If I’m lucky, she’ll make it back to me and be able to finish the other half of our sentiment.

In the middle of Finnick’s next round of pulses, Katniss’ eyelashes flutter, and she takes a gasp for air.

Her monitor on the coffee table springs to life, and a bright red 42 flashes in places of the dashes.

I take my first full breath at the same time as Haymitch, Finnick, Effie, and the rest of the mentor room. The rest of the world, I think.

I feel myself float back into my body as Haymitch scrambles toward her and pulls her into his lap. Her head rests in the crook of his neck and I hear her take another large, gasping breath.

Haymitch clutches her braid like she could slip through his fingers any moment. He scolds her like a small child. “Dammit, don’t do that again girl. You scared the shit out of me. We lost you.”

A faint smile crosses her lips.

“What do you mean? I’m right here, old man. There’s a force field up ahead you know. I had to see if it was working.”

All four of them on screen give a breathy laugh and a sigh of relief.

Effie pulls me into a tight hug as I hear the rest of the room erupt in claps, whistles, cheers, and relieved laughter. They’re cheering for her.

I can’t help but smile as I finally allow warmth to refill my bones and piece me back together.

I stand and give Oak a hug as well. As I pull back, I shake his hand firmly, and he pats my arm.

“Your girl is a survivor. Don’t lose hope too fast, son.”

I nod and thank him. If Katniss is anything, she is a survivor.

I look back at the screen and stare at her face, wishing I could hold her. Wishing I could feel her face in my hands.

She looks up at the sky again as she crawls out of Haymitch’s lap and settles against a tree trunk. Her eyes blink slowly, and color starts to return to her face. I think she’s looking for me. Or at me.

“I’m okay, Peeta. I promise. I’m gonna stay with you. Always.” She blows me a kiss into the sky, and I pretend to catch it- though it seems a little girlish for the surly and strong woman I know. Maybe she’s a little loopy. Maybe she’s just glad she’s alive and needs some way to show me affection. I don’t care the reason. I’ll take it.

Effie giggles, and I smile as Katniss settles her heavy head against the trunk of the tree behind her.

“Oh, I think we should celebrate Peeta!” Effie squeals into my ear, and I bring her in for another hug.

“It’s not over yet, Effie.”

It’s not over yet. But my girl is a survivor.

[randomstarmuffin]

Hm. What’s this? I seem to— drop something— oh! It’s the number 6. On a rug. Arug. Interesting :39

Spotify wrapped inbox prompt! Accepting (...but if anyone else is interested please do not expect it to be quite this long it very well could be but I am not capable of making length promises you really cannot trust me)

6. “Adhd” by Truslow (39. “Tonight You’re Perfect” by New Politics)

aw, geez, not on the-- i just had that steamed... now look what you’ve done, there’s a big ol 6 on the carpet. are you happy??? (actually though, i’m going to need to know how you somehow wrote 2 numbers -- I am counting the number you hid secretly in the emoticon -- of songs which are NOT on my arug playlist, but which DO completely fit. howd you do that huh??)

Sorry, there’s a clear reason I don’t post fics to tumblr usually lol. Behold, something that FAR exceeds drabble territory:

    “Stop!”

Doug drops back on his heels, instantly obeying. He already felt a bit winded, but now his lungs constrict in a terrible little squeeze that has nothing to do with running up a staircase and hiding in a tiny alcove under the hush of night sky where only the full moon can see them.

Maybe he’s stupid, especially compared to Arthur, but he’s pretty sure even he couldn’t have misread such an obvious sign. An obvious, bright and shining KISS ME, STUPID sign in the, like, atmosphere or whatever: the way Arthur had been looking at him, in how close together they’d been, in the way the conversation had naturally petered out and Arthur had glanced at his lips and leant in and closed his fucking eyes and–

And put up his hands to push Doug away by the shoulders not half a second later.

Which, fine. Doug can roll with it, and it’s not like it would really bother him if Arthur had actually changed his mind or just realized he wasn’t into it or wasn’t as comfortable as he’d thought at first or whatever.

But.

But.

The way he won’t meet Doug’s gaze anymore, and the way his posture straightened up—not just to stop bending down toward Doug, but also in that stupid way he gets when he’s feeling awkward or like he has something to prove. The way his expression is stabilizing into that level, flat, stupid mask he tries so hard to keep up all the time, and for what? His real smile—a little lopsided, a little crinkly in the nose in a way that makes his glasses ride up ever so slightly, if you’re watching for it—is a much nicer, more welcoming thing. It’s gone now, though, as surely fallen away and lost as tree leaves in winter.

The problem isn’t that Arthur’s drawing a line about the attempted kiss. The problem is that Doug can see in his eyes that he doesn’t feel differently; he’s feeling what Doug’s feeling, and he wants it as badly, and he fucking won’t go through with it.

That’s what hits Doug like a punch to the gut. He’s not worth trying.

Arthur’s arms drop back to his side, and then seemingly feeling that wasn’t enough to dispel the awkward tension (it wasn’t), he clasps them behind his back, too, for good measure. What, was he worried Doug would try to hold his hands?

“We… We can’t– We shouldn’t be doing this. I should…” he makes an aborted gesture indicating he means I should be going.

And, man. Fuck this.

Doug laughs humorlessly. “Why? I’m not on your list of pre-approved suitors, or whatever you do in your fancy ass castle? Can’t be seen ‘consorting’ with the hired help?”

Arthur flinches a little. Good.

“Doug–”

“No, Arthur, you listen up,” Doug interrupts, crowding into Arthur’s space despite his half-baked attempts to back away. He jabs a finger into his royal highness’s chest, hard enough that with any luck he’ll be feeling it far longer than only while it rests there. “Save that shit for your subjects, or whatever the hell. Don’t fucking tell me what I should or shouldn’t be doing. You don’t get to decide that for me. Sorry if that’s not what you’re accustomed to.”

“I’m not–” Arthur grits his teeth, just slightly, barely visible in the pale moonlight, a tick of irritation even he can’t mask completely. He takes an ever-so-slightly shaky breath. “I fail to see,” he amends carefully, sounding no more put off than he is delivering the upcoming week’s weather forecast (and all the more out of place because of it), “the need for you to– to be– like…this.”

He steps back again, and this time pushes Doug’s hand away as well. In its absence, he pointedly does not rub at the spot Doug’s finger had been, despite the fact that Doug’s 90% sure he accomplished his goal of making it bruise.

“Like what, Arthur?”

“Like– Just– Agh.” The little noise of aggravation he lets loose would be more gratifying if he weren’t literally turning away at the same time. “I should hardly think I’d need to tell you that.”

Doug crosses his arms and follows right along, keeping the same amount of distance between them. There isn’t much room up here on the observatory’s top deck for him to really go anywhere, after all.

“Oh? Don’t underestimate how stupid I can be. Try me.”

“You’re not–” Arthur takes a breath. “Do not put words into my mouth.”

“Ha!” Doug crows, triumphant. “So don’t put them in mine either, asshole.”

“I– Hff.” Arthur runs a hand up the bridge of his nose, under his glasses, knocking them askew. “Just– Forget it, okay. I… Please, Doug. Just forget about me, we can– We can just act like nothing ever happened.”

“Like nothing ever happened,” Doug repeats. Slowly.

“Yeah—Yes. I will just… We can avoid… That is, if I leave first, you can just wait here for a few minutes before following so Volcanon doesn–”

“Fucking hell, Arthur. Seriously?! First of all, you do realize that pretending we don’t fucking know each other is ten thousand fucking percent more suspicious in a town with a fucking population of twenty fucking people! Which we showed up to together, at the same fucking time? What do you want me to say, I tripped and fell over and—oopsie!—lost my memory, too? Fuck.”

Arthur frowns at him, and for as happy as Doug is to get some kind of reaction, a silent little frown is not going to cut it.

“Is that it, then?” Doug demands. “Or what, are you firing me? How much do you want me to pretend I have no godsdamned clue who you are, exactly? Should I re-introduce myself? My oh my, would you look at that, a real bona fide prince, how very exciting!”

Arthur’s frown pinches in the corner. “Do you want to be fired?” he asks, seeming to surprise even himself a little with the question. Doug would actually have really gotten a kick out of it, if only he’d asked several minutes ago when they were still laughing and the mood hadn’t gone to shit.

“Don’t change the fucking subject.”

“No,” Arthur says. “No, I want to know this. You keep bringing it up. If that’s what you want, I won’t stop you–”

“Do you remember that thing we just talked about, where you keep putting damn words in my mouth?”

“–as after all, it’s not like you really…” Arthur blinks at him, trailing off.

Doug rolls his eyes. “So that’s a no, you don’t.”

“I simply,” Arthur says, grimace very briefly twitching across his cheek, “do not see the point in keeping up the—let’s face it—ruse, if you will, when that is clearly not what you want.”

“Oh? Then, tell me. What is it I do want, huh?” Besides a single measly kiss.

(Which he’s clearly not going to get. And it’s so stupid, so stupid, because it’s not like he was even planning to act any differently, after. Nothing had to change—nothing would have changed—if Arthur had just let it happen to begin with. A kiss isn’t really a big deal, even if Doug’s skin is still crawling with the retracted potential of one. But now, well…)

“I believe I was recently informed how distasteful it is to speculate on behalf of other people,” Arthur replies, snippy and over-enunciated. Good. Doug wants snippy.

(It definitely doesn’t tickle that missed-potential itch.)

“Yeah? Well surely they also ‘informed’ you that it’s different when you have permission, right? Go on, lay it on me. Tell me how it is, oh imperial scholar, oh ye of infinite wisdom who always knows best. Hit me.”

It’s gratifying that Arthur, of all people, looks for half a moment as though he might have been considering taking him up on it, literally. Of course, he would never, but it’s the thought that counts. Especially with Arthur.

“Mmn. If I had to speculate. I would say what you want, what you have been expressly complaining about in no uncertain terms since we left the capital, no less, is for me to ‘get out of your hair,’ as I believe you once put it. I fail to see the problem with fulfilling those wishes now, is all.”

“Hah. Do you.”

As though that weren’t ages ago. As though everything hasn’t changed since then.

As though Arthur doesn’t know exactly how little Doug had been hoping Arthur would ‘get out of his hair’ moments ago, huddled in that alcove. As though he doesn’t have eyes and can’t see how little Doug wants that now, either, despite Arthur’s best efforts.

And, really. It’s insulting and he knows better. He’ll have to try much harder than this.

“I merely wish to be conscientious.”

Doug snorts. “Sure. Call it what you need, buddy.”

Arthur opens his mouth, but falters at the last second before he can say anything more.

And Doug could almost scream, because he realizes a half second before it happens that he’s lost. That he’s lost Arthur, lost him to himself, to his thoughts and worries about every godsdamned thing except the one thing he ought to be looking out for: himself.

And not what he thinks that should mean, not how people see him and what they think of him and how his actions will reflect. Him.

Doug watches Arthur slam the door on himself, not for the first time, and, for the first time, wonders if Arthur even knows what that means. If he even knows what he’s doing to himself.

Doug’s been playing this part for a while now, pretending to be the sort of stalwart companion they both know he obviously isn’t. He would even say he’s been doing a good job of it, that it’s worked out well for the both of them, all things considered. And, fine, he can admit it—he was trying. He didn’t have to put as much effort into it, not when they’d already left the capital and there wasn’t anyone else around who could have filled the role even if Arthur had wanted them to.

But Doug had tried. And that’s not easy to admit because it is quite clearly contrary to his cause, but– How could he help himself when he’d caught a glimpse of what he could find behind the façade?

And where exactly had that gotten him?

Whether Arthur can see Doug’s turmoil, he can’t be sure, but either way he is unmoved to change his mind and continue talking. He takes a breath and with naught more than a prim nod turns gracefully on his heel and resumes his approach of the exit, neither too hurried as to betray frustration or anger nor too slowly as to betray hesitance or remorse.

Unbidden and despite the fact he’d known to expect this as soon as he saw the shift in Arthur’s expression, Doug scoffs, a sound of disgust and scorn and deeply unpleasant surprise.

And maybe some unpleasant surprise at the unpleasant surprise, too. Like… It’s not really that important. Doug doesn’t care that much about this. About Arthur.

And really, even though he does, what had he been expecting all this time? Why let it get this far? He knows what has to happen. He’s always known! He’s worse than Arthur’s being right now, if he really deluded himself into thinking he could have this and achieve his goal at the same time and everything would stay all hunky-dory. If he thought he could get this close and expect there to be no consequences.

Because now, as Doug watches Arthur rebuild his walls twice as high and twice as thick, he realizes he can’t do this.

Sure, he shouldn’t do this, he’s always known that, deep down. He let himself do this for far too long, it’s true. But all this time, it’s been because he could do it, because there wasn’t anything to stop him, because he could keep idly poking and prodding and being rewarded with more pieces of the puzzle.

But he can’t. Not anymore.

It’s not that he thinks those walls are insurmountable. Frankly, given enough time just standing here staring him down, Doug thinks it would be pretty easy to bring them crumbling to dust again. Not like it’d be the first time, after all.

And it’s certainly not that he’s seen a side of Arthur he finds repelling—if anything, he’s seen more evidence tonight that Arthur is capable of fighting for himself than not, which is… Well, not worth examining further, right now, however it might make Doug feel about him.

He can’t do this because Arthur is capable of being this person Doug can see, so clearly, who has so obviously been dying to get free, all this time, but he keeps choosing not to be.

And Doug is too in l–

He. Is too…involved to keep watching him do it.

If Arthur wants to keep doing this to himself, then, hey, that’s great. It’s not like it has ever once been Doug’s place to tell him what to do with himself. (Not like he’d ever listen even if he tried.)

But it is Doug’s place to choose what he does, and he can’t let his choice be to watch someone take everything they have to offer and smother it, over and over and over and over.

He’s lost too much. He can’t keep losing Arthur, again and again.

(If his revenge consists of getting rid of the people responsible for his losses, paying them back, giving them as good as what was got, how could that possibly figure in this? Who is he supposed to be mad at, if it’s all one and the same? What is he supposed to do about it?)

Much better to just be done with it than stand around and let it happen.

So, Doug watches Arthur retreat, chin high and immoveable and untouchable, as he’s done several times before. And he knows it’s not enough. There’s no finality in it, there’s only Arthur’s expectation—whether Arthur is aware of it or not—that eventually Doug will, once again, follow his lead, no matter how plentiful or loud his grumblings about it will be. He’ll still be there anyways.

And for just one second, Doug allows himself to imagine that things are different. That he can and will do just that.

Maybe it wouldn’t have to be just a daydream, hidden in a secluded area under the moonlight.

Maybe it’d be something they could figure out in concert, in harmony, more than the first draft of a melody only they can hear, something real and open and true.

Maybe it’s something they could learn to do together.

“Maybe it’s time to just admit it,” Doug says coldly, freezing Arthur’s retreating back in place on the stairs. Like this, they’re about the same height, and Doug appreciates how it makes boring holes into the back of that stupid, entitled, idiotic blonde head easier.

“…Admit what?” Arthur asks slowly when Doug doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t turn around.

“Admit that we’ve done all we can do for each other. We made it to Selphia, like you wanted—woulda been nice to have a head’s up there, by the way! And you already know I’m not really here because I cared about…attending to you, or honor, or whatever. So we’re good,” Doug replies dismissively.

Arthur still does not turn. “…We did achieve the first aim I intended to pursue, yes. And as I said, I will not stop you if you do not wish to retain your position. However, if you are under the impression I have accomplished everything I set out to do, you are mistaken.”

“No, you’re right,” Doug agrees.

Arthur is playing the specifics close to his chest, so Doug may not know everything, but he knows Arthur is clearly up to something when late into the night most nights, he can still be found pouring over records and receipts and maps and recovered journal entries by candlelight. Doug doesn’t really get where all of the documents even come from, but he knows there’s a kind of rhyme and reason to the haphazard way they end up in towering stacks on one side of Arthur’s desk, same as the so-called organization of his extensive collection of glasses.

What exactly Arthur’s secret agenda is isn’t important, though. The problem is and always has been Doug’s agenda. Selfishly, he hopes Arthur is clever enough to figure that out himself.

“But,” Doug continues, biting out the words, “as far as what you wanted—why bother pretending that it’s—that we’re—nothing when, clearly, it really was nothing. So. Later. It’s been real.”

Arthur turns around then, stricken. Doug has never seen such an expression on his face. Maybe he shouldn’t like the heady curl of pleasure he takes in having caused it, considering the circumstances, but oh, does he.

Maybe it’s not fair, when he’s decided to be this way not because he doesn’t care, but rather because he has all at once discovered he cares entirely too much. But that angry part of him—the part that wants to just grab Arthur by the scruff and wring him around until he realizes how stupid he’s being, the part that hates being so entirely consumed by something ultimately futile, the part that just wants to take all the things burning him up inside out on everyone, someone, anyone, around him if only so he isn’t the only one in flames—that part of him wants Arthur to hurt, too. Even if it isn’t fair. Even if he doesn’t figure as much to Arthur as Arthur does to him. (Even if, improbably, heinously, unforgivably—he does.) He should still have to feel something at Doug’s absence.

“No, no,” Doug says, deciding to screw it, to let that part of him take over, “Go on, now. Please, don’t stop on my behalf.”

Yet.

It’s petty, and it’s desperate.

But the other part of Doug?

It really, really hopes he does. Please.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur can’t stop.

Arthur would do a lot of things, ones he’d never really thought he’d have reason to, much less want to, on Doug’s behalf.

Just, not stop.

If he stops, he may never start again. If he stops, and admits that he—enjoys? Covets? Anticipates?

Desires, ardently?

—the time that he spends in Doug’s company, that he wants nothing more than to go back to that quiet, shining moment in the alcove across the observatory deck and freeze it and trap it in a jar and hold it close so he can live in it forevermore? If he admits that, he has to admit that there’s no purpose to what he’s seeking out, that finding it—finding her—won’t give him what he wants. That he’s spent all this time searching for something in the entirely wrong places.

That the thing he wishes for above all else wasn’t really anything special, that there wasn’t a deeper meaning behind it, that there wasn’t a reason he can point to. That it’s something one can just happen upon by accident. That there’s nothing to earn, nothing to prove, no epic quest required to win the right to glittering riches unimaginable.

That it’s incidental, and small, and plentiful, and common, and he’s spent so long chasing a dead end lead with such single-minded focus that he’d missed it every time it’s been right in front of him. Or if not it, then—the truth of it, which is something of equal, or perhaps even greater, import to him.

He can’t admit that. He knows it can’t be true. He has evidence, eyewitness testimony. It’s a pledge and it’s a duty and it’s a struggle and it cannot be easy or else how much time will he have wasted?

It’s difficult. Everyone says so. He knows it to be so.

But, says the errant little voice in his head, did you ever think to ask in which ways it should be?

Arthur can’t stop, and there’s a reason he’d had to beg Doug to do it earlier, to stop, instead of pulling away from that almost-kiss on his own.

Kiss. Had they really almost…?

Not that it means anything, necessarily. There are plenty of reasons to do something like that. Plenty of reasons that aren’t the only one Arthur can seem to conjure up, which is really more of a laughable non-reason than anything concrete or real.

He had simply wanted to.

They had been so close, and Doug had been right there, and that had been the only thing he could think—not even really think, truly. More like, he hadn’t been thinking, or couldn’t think, and had only possessed an impulse to do it, and… Well, and nothing else. Scarily, he doesn’t think he has a better justification to point to.

So, it’s– It’s good Doug had listened to him, that they’d avoided it. How unnecessarily complicated; how improperly had Arthur been willing to take advantage of someone he held a position of power over.

(…Technically. Sort of. Not that it means anything in practice. He thinks, if the mood were different, Doug would laugh himself to tears if he suggested this aloud, and say something about how Arthur wishes that were the case.)

Arthur doesn’t suggest it aloud. Instead, he meets Doug’s eyes, belatedly realizing they’re at height with his own, owing to his being on the steps. They catch on the moonlight and flash that fascinating striking silver; there’s steel in them, too, now, but also something else, molten and alive and demanding, all at once anvil and ingot and hammer alike.

If only Arthur could figure out which shape they’re being stricken into.

Something is different about this, as compared to every other time Doug has complained and threatened to leave Arthur’s “sorry ass” behind to be torn apart and eaten by palm cats on his own, that he has better things to do than babysit a “grown-ass” man all day.

(Are all of Doug’s insults ass-related, now that Arthur thinks about it? It’s not something to ponder on right now, but it’s hard not to consider all the same.)

Arthur really must be out of it, but either Doug doesn’t realize or doesn’t care that that’s the case, because he seems to take Arthur’s continued silence to be its own kind of answer. Something changes, a shift in his weight or a twitch in his expression, something Arthur can’t quite put his finger on but can’t help noticing all the same.

Doug blows an angry huff of air, and Arthur can tell he’s hesitated too long. He’d thought they could salvage this and just go back to how things had been, but he misstepped somewhere, and he just can’t figure out where.

He doesn’t exactly get a chance to mull it over, though.

Under his breath, almost like he doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but also sort of like part of him absolutely does, he says, “Figures you’d leave too. I guess that’s all you ever learned to do, huh?”

Arthur nearly doesn’t recognize the nasty voice lowly gutting him in an afterthought, pulling apart every single piece of his insides, sizzling as it cuts through him, but he doesn’t have time to dwell about the tone or the speaker when the words have seized him to the point of gasping for air.

It’s a swift, violent thing. For the way it dismantles every conscious thought and sensation in his body, if he had the slightest bit left of his propriety he’d almost say it was a mercy, such an expedient—such an accurate, precise—execution.

But he can’t breathe, doesn’t remember how, isn’t sure if he wants to, so how can he possibly be expected to respond?

But an assassin’s job isn’t to torture, is it? Get in, finish it, get out. Arthur still doesn’t know the whole story, but it may as well be the truth, too, for everything he does know about why Doug dropped himself onto his doorstep in the first place.

Regardless of how well-trained for it he is, Doug wraps this hit up quietly, short and to the point. And Arthur almost wants to thank him for it.

“Don’t worry,” Doug says, voice so close to Arthur’s ear and so very, very far away. “I’ll save you the trouble.”

And he shoulders past Arthur and just.

Leaves.

Arthur isn’t sure how long he stands there, feet on stairs at different heights, nearly-but-not-quite-by-a-step-or-two on the observation deck all alone, growing cold in night air. There’s a chill in it, absent of a breeze but rather of the type that merely sinks directly into your bones without any motion, the kind your body involuntary soaks up like a sponge. He doesn’t remember how Doug left, exactly, though he supposes, with no shortage of hysteria, that he must have used the stairs to do it.

(With no shortage of hysteria, he’s very briefly struck by the thought that he wouldn’t, technically, have had to do so, necessarily, but he shuts that off before he can picture how such an improvised exit would end. He can’t even think it.)

(Besides, how could he have done that when Arthur knows Doug had pushed past him on his way out?)

(He had. Surely, he had. Arthur can feel the phantom burn of his touch blistering his side. He hadn’t imagined that.)

(Right?)

Arthur is on the floor of the observatory deck, the Selphian observatory deck, and he isn’t quite sure how he got there, but all he can think is that this is what he wanted, this is what he asked for.

He’d been begging for this, to be alone, to have his legs collapsed out from under him (somehow, miracle of miracles, not on the stairs but on flat, solid deck, though he’s not sure when that happened, either). His knees, he realizes, sting from the impact of falling on them. He wanted… He wants–

He needs help.

It’s so simple. How he hadn’t realized before is impossible to know. He can’t do what he came here to do on his own.

But things had changed, hadn’t they. Without his noticing, without his permission, without his appreciation, Arthur had gained something he’d never once in all his 19 years had, and he hadn’t even realized it until it was gone. Someone who truly listened, and cared, and not because they were on a payroll, and not in spite of it. Someone who stuck around despite all-too-oft expressing frustrations about situations he’d put them in. Someone who hadn’t known him all his life, and hadn’t asked to hear about it, but had remembered anyway. A confidant.

A friend.

And maybe…

If Arthur hadn’t been so stupid, and blind, and senseless, maybe tonight he could have even been more. Maybe he already had been, and Arthur simply and foolishly had insisted he wasn’t. Hadn’t let him be.

Maybe, despite everything Arthur’s ever known telling him otherwise, maybe that fleeting moment, that moment-before-a-first-kiss, in which everything had felt perfect–

Maybe it really had been?

He struggles with it, but at least the air comes easier to breathe, now. Nothing that feels perfect ever really is. Arthur knows this. He’s always known.

Focusing on the basics always helps. Perfect is imaginary. It’s not real. By definition, it is untouchable and unquestionably impossible.

But.

But the stars shining in Doug’s silver eyes, iridescent in the moonlight. But the lingering echo of his muffled laughter, like a barrier holding out the rest of the world aside from just them two. But the gentle weight of his touch, branding Arthur’s forearm where he holds it.

Perfect is a fabrication, it is a standard to be upheld, it is expected.

Perfect is not something that knocks you so hard off your feet that you tear through the knees of your trousers, that catches you so unaware that you haven’t even realized you’ve fallen until you hit the floor.

Arthur knows this. He knows many things, and he knows this.

But.

Oh, but.

But he believes, for the first time in a long, long time—a startlingly, shockingly, quakingly long time—he believes tonight. He believes tonight had felt perfect.

Being nearly caught by Volkanon after assuming the head butler would have already been asleep, immediately after they’d stolen out of the castle with an assortment of documents even a visiting prince really shouldn’t have been privy to, which they’d filched from the castle basement and which had still been very much on Arthur’s person. Doug snatching his arm when he’d frozen stiff, quickly but discreetly dragging him away in the opposite direction. A near miss with Forte coming around the corner on patrol, Doug yanking Arthur back into the observatory stairwell just before the Dragon Knight could spot them.

Of course, it’s not like they’re fugitives. There would have been no reason for Forte to think anything amiss even if she had seen them, and as Doug himself has pointed out, it’s more suspicious to draw attention to the issue by pretending something obviously untrue. If they had just kept walking, no one would have stopped them from a pleasant if somewhat late night out strolling Selphia’s streets. Even Volkanon would have likely only had an exuberant greeting for them and asked how their night was going, none the wiser about what Arthur was concealing in his coat.

But had that mattered? Had it mattered that it had been unnecessary when Doug, face flushed with adrenaline, had started wheezing quiet giggles about the overreaction, had turned to Arthur, eyes bright, and said, “Race you to the top,” and taken off up the stairs before Arthur could stop him.

Had it mattered that they could have kept walking, when Arthur finally made it to the top (a bit more out of breath than he’d like to admit) and realized he couldn’t see Doug, and he’d wandered onto the deck apprehensively, halfway through quietly calling his name a second time when he’d been bodily tugged into an alcove he’d never once even noticed before. When he’d stumbled into Doug, who had been been right up against him, laugher still singing in his eyes and the crinkles in his face, and Arthur hadn’t been able to help himself from laughing too.

It hadn’t mattered. It hadn’t been anything noteworthy at all, in fact, not any part of the whole thing.

And it had been—wonderful. Exciting. Thrilling for no reason in particular, not due to any real danger, not for any reason Arthur could think to give. It had just been…unreal. Perfect.

And Doug—Doug had been perfect.

No, not just that—Doug had made Arthur feel perfect, too. And that’s nothing anyone’s done in… Since…

Has anyone ever?

Has he ever felt such a perfect, whole sense of belonging, such a perfect reason to just be, to screw all the other noise and nonsense and not worry about everything else around him and just be, there, in the moment, with someone else by his side? The way Doug, without even trying, had done tonight?

At least, before Arthur went and ruined it.

Ah.

Right.

What does it matter, what does it matter, for Arthur to realize any of this now? Doug already left. He isn’t there to help Arthur back on his feet. He isn’t there to tell Arthur if he should keep running, or if he should stand and fight, or anything else.

How unbearable, to only realize how far and fast and deep he’d fallen after he’d already absolutely screwed up his best chance to do something about it, tonight.

Arthur rearranges himself carefully, mindful of his scraped knees. Out of habit, he pats the pocket of his coat containing the documents that had gotten him into this situation in the first place. They’re still there, safe and sound. He sits leaning back against the observatory railing and tips his head to gaze at the stars above him.

Arthur sighs. What Doug had said—that last part, at least—that had hurt. And the irony of saying it and then leaving himself? With a clearer head, Arthur can now say that was far worse.

And isn’t that just something. People say these sorts of things about him, have said them since he was a child, and he’s never paid them much mind. Sometimes they sting a little, he can’t help that, but never any worse than a prick of the finger. But tonight? But when Doug was the one saying it?

The worst part is, Arthur isn’t sure if he was wrong—about any of it. About Arthur running away, about them having already done all they could do for each other? About Arthur putting words in his mouth and expecting things from him that he’d never promised?

And had he truly meant it, that there was nothing between them? It hadn’t felt that way. The fire in Doug’s eyes hadn’t made it seem so. But how can it possibly be, that someone as direct and shameless at Doug would lie so unflinchingly, now, after all this time?

Unless…all of it had been a lie?

Arthur knows that could be true. Hell, maybe it’s even likely, given what little he knows about Doug and how very much he doesn’t.

He just…doesn’t believe it.

The stars twinkle on, laughing at him, and the moon watches, still and silent and calm. The clear, cloudless sky itself offers no great insights—though it does remind him that there is supposed to be a storm blowing in sometime in the next few days.

Calm before the storm, indeed.

It’s a little silly, but Arthur doesn’t have any energy left to combat silly, so he mutters, “If you were going to send a sign, wish you would’ve been a little more clear about that,” at the sky.

Predictably, he does not receive an answer.

[kiraziwrites]

last lines meme

having stuck my head back up above the tumblr parapet, I saw that both @auntieclimactic and @praycambrian have tagged me in the Last Lines of your WIPs meme, so here’s a glimpse into some increasingly chaotic Scrivener files:

Stede’s too worn out and floaty to give it to Ed properly right now. Ed would happily ride him, if asked, but Ed’s knee has been acting up lately, and in any case, doing it this way strikes him as being of a piece with the act they’ve just completed, somehow: Ed breaching his skin. The thought of it sends a little thrill through him.

“This ain’t a bad start,” he says, squeezing Trent’s knuckles.

Trent’s never been a particularly touchy-feely kind of fellow: he’s cuddly with his daughter, of course, and he’s always enjoyed physical intimacy with his partners. But Ted draws an unexpected impulse out of him—for the first time in his life he’s downright handsy, and not just in proximity to sex. It’s got something to do with the way Ted responds to touch, to simple affection, like it’s water and he’s been thirsting for an eternity.

Jaime seems to take a sort of shy delight in showing her such tenderness, like a man carefully sounding out the syllables of a language he’s just beginning to speak.

“So.” He smiles. “It’s like that. It means I keep thinking about what we did—about what you did to me—and feeling it, and that’s a little bit strange and a whole lot sexy. I’m going to be distracted all day. I might have to pull you into a bathroom stall and fuck you in between some of the sightseeing excursions. That’s all.”

(from, respectively: the OFMD Stede gets a tattoo draft, yet another little Seraphinaverse vignette, the long Ted x Trent getting-together fic that I still hope to tackle and possibly even complete before S3 forecloses its plot trajectory, the penultimate chapter of Winter Should Have Meaning, which I AM going to complete this fall for the Finish What You Started 2022 challenge, and the stuck-but-not-forgotten kinky sequel to Hush, in which Jaime’s leather belt makes a significant reappearance)

Anyway, the eternal problem is that I have a bad case of decision paralysis about Which One To Tackle Next, but I hope most of them will eventually come to fruition! The challenge will provide a nice kick in the pants because sometimes a girl needs Structure and Deadlines to urge the muse to action.

I’m not sure who’s done this one yet, so I’ll tag @sdwolfpup @firesign23 @laiqualaurelote and anybody else who feels like joining in!

[majestyeverlasting]

Can you write prompt(s) 40 & 48 with Dad!Bucky x reader pls?

♡ Of course! Thanks for sending this request in! For the kids, I went ahead and used Jamie and Eden, who are in my Dad!Bucky x Mom!Reader fics. There's cute and funny family ~shenanigans~ in this piece (and Eden ends up duping Bucky). I hope you like it!

♡ Prompt 40: "There it is. There's that smile."

♡ Prompt 48: "Those are my pajama pants. They're literally slipping down your waist."

♡ To make a request for my One Month Tumblr-versary, check out my Fluffy Prompt List :)

No Such Thing as Winning By Default Tonight

The way Jamie and Eden greeted Bucky at the door always gave him something to look forward to, to cherish. They were bouncing on the balls of their feet as if it had been ages since they last saw him. In reality, it had only been a span of hours since he’d left that morning. And with sparkling eyes, they waited for him to take off his backpack and shrug off the leather jacket. You’d spent the day out with them, and they were ready to tell their father about everything. From checking out new books at the library, going to the park, and even getting snow cones.

As soon as Bucky finished putting his things in the closet, he scooped Eden up and kissed her cheek. And he pulled Jamie into a hug after giving him a fist bump—the gesture was something the boy insisted they started doing everyday because it was ‘cool.’ It was important not to forget the explosion fingers right after, because that’s what made fist bumps even cooler.

The kids talked a mile a minute as they told Bucky about their day—as if their lives depended on it. Hundreds of people had told him hundreds of things over the years and, yet, listening to their words—and yours—added a value to his life that he hadn't, or couldn’t find anywhere else in the world. A smile stretched across your face when he entered the living room with Jamie and Eden on either side of him. You were sitting on the couch with the laundry basket on the floor in front of you. Folding clothes that, admittedly, should’ve already been taken care of.

Bucky shot you a wink when your eyes met his, and you felt the smallest flutter in your stomach. After spending the day with children, you were glad to have some adult company again. It helped that he was particularly attractive in his unshaven state. “Hey, stranger,” you teased, affectionately. “How was your day?”

“Not too bad,” he said, draping his arms over the kids’ shoulders. “From what these two were telling me, it sounds like you guys went around the world while I was gone.”

That earned a laugh from you. “It feels like we did. I’m not moving for the next week.”

Jamie snorted. “But don’t you have to move? You can’t just stay still,” he said. “You’re moving right now to fold the clothes.”

You gave him a flat look, narrowing your eyes. Everyone else laughed. “Well, in that case, mister, how about you three come do it for me so I don’t have to move?” Your tone was playful.

“Uhhh... Dad can do it. I forgot how to fold,” he lied.

“‘Dad can do it?’” Bucky repeated, looking down at him in feigned disagreement. If you truly needed a break, or wanted any sort of additional help, he’d step in a heartbeat—he always did.

“Wait, I’m actually pretty good at it,” Eden spoke up, leaving her father’s side to plop beside you. “Do you want me to help, Mommy?” Without waiting for an answer, she picked out one of her shirts from the basket.

It was then that Jamie decided he was going to assist too. Instead of joining the two of you on the couch, however, he sat crossed-legged on the floor, and dug to the bottom of the basket in search of his favorite race car graphic tee. The way their brows furrowed in concentration was adorable. And because they were no longer glued to Bucky, he was able to lean down and press a kiss to your temple, hands bracing on the plush arm of the couch. Before he could pull too far away, you cupped his chin and directed his lips to yours in a brief kiss, sighing through your nose. You felt him smile upon hearing the kids’ quiet giggles.

Eden’s voice soon arose. “Hey, Mommy, look. Is this good enough?” Bucky pulled away and straightened back to his full height, clearing his throat and running a hand through his hair.

On Eden’s lap was a white shirt printed with pink flowers that she had folded. “It looks great, E. Put it on the stack of your other stuff.” You pointed to the clothes of hers that you had already folded.

What you ended up finding later that evening was that one of the kids had accidentally placed Bucky’s navy blue pajama pants in your sleepwear drawer. Considering he was off in the playroom with them, you decided to put them on to go get a reaction out of him. You paired them with a gray V-neck.

When you walked in on him and the kids, they were winning in what appeared to be a play fight. They hovered over him as his back was against the floor. A helpless smile budded on your face as you stood watching in the doorway. He tried to prop himself up upon noticing you, but Jamie growled and pushed chest back down.

“Do you surrender?” He asked his father.

A laugh bubbled up Bucky’s throat. “Yes, I surrender.”

“I don’t believe him,” Eden told Jamie.

“I do! I promise,” Bucky said. “I just wanna talk to your mom.”

They let him sit up, and you caught the way his gaze traveled up your body. “Hey… those are my pajama pants,” he said, pushing himself from the floor to go stand in front of you. “They’re literally slipping down your waist.” To prove his point, he attempted to pull them up to a more proper resting place on your hips. But they slouched back down a bit when he let go.

“No they’re not," you challenged with a smile. "They’re mine."

“Oh, is that right?” He let his hands come to rest on your hips, and in turn you wrapped your arms around his neck, gazing into his eyes. “They look good on you,” he said, voice low. And before you could register his intentions, he reached around you to squeeze your backside.

Bucky chuckled at your small squeak and dipped down for a kiss. He was gentle, and warm, and smelled woodsy. When he started to pull away, you thought it was way too soon. But, a second later, you realized it was because Jamie had started tugging on the back of his shirt.

You stifled a laugh at the way he rolled his eyes before turning around. “May I help you?” He asked the boy.

“Can we do one more round?” Jamie asked. “But this time you have to go harder on us.”

Eden came to stand beside her brother’s side. “Yeah! And Mommy can be on a team with me and Jamie,” she said.

Bucky looked back at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You up for that?”

You wrinkled your nose. “Maybe I should just watch. These pants probably make me wardrobe malfunction prone.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “You’ll be fine.”

That assurance is what landed you in a four-person play fight. Per Jamie’s request, Bucky does exert a little more effort. But he was still overly mindful that nobody got hurt in any other way. For the first few moments, you drew back and let Jamie and Eden make most of the advances on their father. They practically cackled every time he pinned them.

But he eventually locked eyes with you, and you knew he wasn't going to let you remain in the background of the action anymore. All you could do was squeal when he made a very direct advancement. Because you were already kneeling, it didn’t take much for him to force you the rest of the way to the floor. It happened so swiftly that all you could do was let out a surprised huff of laughter. Somehow he managed to capture both of your wrist.

“He’s got Mommy!” You heard Eden say. Then she came to your rescue by pushing his shoulder to divert his attention.

In the sliver of time before Bucky walked on his knees to get the girl, Jamie did a discrete signal to her that she nodded to. All it was was a quick swipe of his pointer finger down his cheek. And between you and Bucky, only you caught their quick exchange. It took a second for it to click that he had told her to fake cry. Or pretend to be hurt, at least.

As soon as Bucky gathered Eden into his arms, and lowered her to the floor in the most gentle 'slam' ever, she enacted their scheme. From her lying position, she winced and released a soft whine. There was no possible way that what he did could've caused any pain, but Bucky didn't even rationalize that. The only thing that rang in his mind was that he'd just hurt his little girl.

“Shoot! I’m sorry, babydoll.” He repositioned to sit in a narrow straddle, and coaxed her up to sit on his thigh. The tenderness of his voice made you want to tell him that she was fine. "What hurts, hmm?" She just continued pouting. Jamie put a hand over his mouth to hide either a smile or shock that it actually worked.

Bucky sighed as his eyes flickered over to you. All you could do was offer an expression that was likely a mix between neutral and guilty. Then he redirected his attention back to Eden and started pressing consoling kisses to her hair. When he noticed her beginning to smile, relief flooded through him. “There it is. There’s that smile,” he said. "I really am sorry, sunshine. Didn't mean to hurt you."

She craned her neck to look up at him. "Daddy..." she said, voice tentative. "I was just kidding..."

Jamie was quick to pitch in. "I only told her to so we could win by default or something. At least she's actually okay, right?" The hopeful edge to his tone made you bite back a smile. "Mom was in on it too." Snitch.

Bucky's mouth fell slightly agape, but he let out a small laugh a second later, shaking his head. "Wow," he breathed. "'Win by default,' huh? Give me a heart attack to 'win by default.'" In all fairness, it had been a somewhat mean trick. But nothing he couldn't recover from.

"I didn't even know if you were gonna believe me!" Eden claimed. She squealed when he suddenly laid onto his back, taking her with him. The sound of their mixed laughter filled the room, and the energetic buzz returned to the atmosphere.

Then Bucky made a proposal to your team. "You guys are gonna have to come save little miss from my arms if you wanna win for real," he said. "No such thing as winning by default tonight."

-

Previously fulfilled request: Cold Little Paws.

[avnkin]

Shake On It [ 2 ]

Author’s note: I was really in my harry feels whilst writing this so sorry about that lmao also I proofread this so many times and it still SUCKS ASS. I posted this entire thing earlier from my phone but tumblr deleted everything except the title so yeah I’m sorry if there aren’t italics and bolds on some of the words where they should be but i’m just to lazy to go through the entire thing and find them all again, maybe i’ll do it later but who knows. I do not own harry potter or the storyline/characters they are the intellectual property of J.K Rowling. (not my gif)

Word Count: 5.9k

Summary: There’s little to nothing Draco values more than his reputation so when he sees it slipping, he’ll do anything in his power to catch it.

Pairings: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader / Platonic!Harry Potter x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, foul language, asshole!draco and daddy issues lol

This is an AU so all the information doesn’t exactly line up with the HP storyline for example Voldemort hasn’t returned but still exists so little from Harry’s history changes but Dumbledore’s still alive.

After yours and Draco’s interaction the other night you’d strongly begun reconsidering his offer to accompany him to the ball, maybe he wasn’t as bad as you thought, I mean what’s the worst that could happen? So many things your anxiety was quick to answer, the most important one being that Harry and Ron would probably never speak to you again.

“Y/N are you even listening to me?” Hermione’s voice snapped you out of your trance, her blurry hand waving in front of your face, you quickly began blinking in an attempt to bring your surroundings back into focus, “sorry” you then muttered sending her an apologetic smile before gesturing for her to continue with whatever she’d been talking about.

“As I was saying, I need a cute date for the ball, who do you think will annoy Ron the most?” you were about to answer when a voice from behind you beat you to it.

“Annoy who the most?”

You rolled your eyes having a pretty clear idea of who it was, you reluctantly turned around your eyes immediately locking onto Draco’s who stood there in all his glory a smug smile plastered onto his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Excuse me who invited you to this conversation?” you retorted before turning back to Hermione who had an amused grin on her face causing you to lightly kick her from underneath the table, you didn’t want Draco putting two and two together and realizing you’d talked about him with Hermione.

“I was just wondering if you’d changed your mind about going with me to the ball” Draco cajoled causing your eyes to widen realizing you still hadn’t told Hermione about the fact he’d asked you in the first place.

You sent Hermione an an ‘i’ll tell you later’ look before twisting your body to face Draco’s who now had his hands placed in his robe pockets, his self assurance radiating off of him despite the fact you’d rejected him only days before, the boy had clearly never been told ‘no’ his entire life.

“No and I won’t be, so run along” you stated before making a shooing gesture with your hand which only seemed to have the opposite effect you’d intended it too, since he began to take a few steps forward, licking his lips as he looked you up and down.

“Yes you will” he stated matter of factly and it took all self control you had not to smack him right across the face, who did he think he was?

“Is it really that hard to get it into that tiny little brain of yours that there are girls alive who don’t like you” you practically growled missing how Hermione’s attention had drifted away from the scene unfolding before her and to the two figures who had begun making their way towards you.

“Yes because there aren’t an-”

“Malfoy find someone else to bother can’t you see she’s not interested” Harry cut him off as him and Ron now fully came into view, the two of them standing tall behind Draco whose attention had now shifted from you to them.

“Oh look who it is, dumb and dumber” chortles could be heard from the Slytherin table at Draco’s words causing you to roll your eyes, it was pathetic how they would lick up every single thing he did.

“Offers still there Y/L/N” Draco turned to you before he slowly started to ascend back towards the Slytherin table where he was greeted with numerous pats on the back as he squeezed himself in between Crabbe and Goyle.

“What a slimy git” Ron huffed as he took the seat next to yours, immediately beginning to scoop all the food in view onto his plate.

“What did he want anyways?” Harry asked resting his elbows on the wooden house table as he sat down opposite you.

“He asked if I wanted to go to the ball with him” you feigned disgust as you shook your head, hoping he would drop the subject, you’d never been a good liar and if anyone could see through you it would surely be your best friend.

“Just tell him you’re going with me if he asks again, then he’ll leave you alone” Harry suggested, Ron nodding along with him as he stuffed a chicken wing into his mouth.

“Yeah- yeah ‘course thank you Harry” you scratched the back of your head cringing at the obvious hint of disappointment lingering in your words which thankfully no one but Hermione seemed to notice since she reached her hand out across the table and laid it gently atop of yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

You gave her a small smile before your eyes began dancing around the Great Hall somehow coming to a halt on Draco’s figure, he had his chin resting in the palm of his hand as he engaged in conversation with Blaise.

No one could say that Draco Malfoy wasn’t handsome, rude and a prat? Sure, but unattractive no. He was the only boy you’d ever seen who was able to pull of such a hair color and as your eyes travelled along his sharp jawline up to his chiseled cheekbones you felt the uncontrollable feeling of heat rush up to your face as his eyes met yours.

He sent you a wink before turning back around, you mirroring his actions the feeling of butterflies swarming your stomach slowly melting away as you pushed any remaining thoughts of him aside.

-

The ball was only a few days from now and you and Hermione had decided to take a trip down to Hogsmeade in an attempt to shop for dresses, not wanting to repeat what had happened last year when you both had made the mistake of trusting your parents with your attires, the dresses they’d choosen had arrived the same night as the ball and you had been forced to show up in matching bright pink gowns since it had been too late to go and buy new ones. You’d been the laughing stocks off the school for a couple months after that, never again.

You cringed at the memory that would surely be edged into your mind forever but as you pushed open the wooden door that led into Gladrags Wizardwear you found yourself entranced with all the beautiful dresses littered around the shop.

“Have you decided who you’re gonna go to the ball with?” Hermione hummed as her fingers trailed over a blue gown that hung along with hundreds of others at the front of the store.

“Yeah I think I’m just gonna go with Harry, I don’t want to risk my friendship with either him or Ron by going with Draco” you sighed not feeling the need to hide your disappointment in front of her.

“I get that but if you really do like Malfoy you should just ease Harry and Ron into the idea of you two being together” Hermione shrugged in response before removing the dress she’d been looking at from its hanger and placing it into her arms as you continued browsing.

“How am I supposed to do that you know how much they hate him” you sighed as you lightly dragged your hand over the multiple fabrics that hung on the clothing rag next to you.

“You could dance with him at the ball” Hermione suggested, you nodded silently in agreement before coming to an abrupt halt as a certain dress caught your eye. It was champagne colored and made out of silk with a thigh high split running down the side of it, not the type of dress you’d usually go for but nevertheless you carefully placed it into your arms deciding their was no harm in seeing how it looked on you.

“Who are you going with?” you changed the subject not feeling like talking about Draco anymore, it was really killing your mood.

“Hero Finnigan asked me” your eyes widened at Hermione’s words. Hero Finnigan was in the year above you and was quite the heartthrob around school, he’d been known for having a new girl underneath his arm every week and it seemed that this time around it was going to be Hermione, much to your surprise.

“Please tell me you said yes, if anyone’s going to make Ron jealous it’s definitely him” you assured her, looping your arm with hers as you continued skimming through the store.

“Of course I said yes, I’m not that daft” she shook her head before continuing, “I don’t know though I-I guess I was just hoping that in the end Ron would ask me, but apparently he’s going with Lavender” her nose scrunched up at the mere mention of her name as she let out a heavy sigh.

Your heart ached for your best friend as you put an arm around her shoulder giving her a tight side hug, a subtle way of letting her know you were there for her no matter what.

“Enough about that let’s go try on our dresses and we can tell each other what we think” Hermione was obviously trying to distract herself but you didn’t feel like pressing the subject any further so you only nodded in agreement as you started searching for the changing rooms, it was a surprisingly big shop compared to how small it had appeared from the outside.

Once you’d finally found them at the far end of the shop you both entered separate rooms, simultaneously pulling the curtains shut shielding you from the watchful eyes of the other customers, although there weren’t that many.

You took one last look at the dress letting your fingers wander down the silky fabric before carefully removing it from its hanger and slipping your legs in between the opening.

Once you got it on, you weren’t able to reach the zipper on the back, no matter how hard you tried so you stealthily peeked your head out behind the curtain and seeing no one you began to make your way towards Hermione’s changing room hoping she could be of some assistance.

“Need some help with that?” a voice stopped you dead in your tracks, swiftly turning to see Draco standing there, a mischievous smirk resting on his lips as he took a step closer to you.

“Are you stalking me or something?” you shook your head, furrowing your brows once you noticed how his eyes weren’t meeting yours, instead they were trailing up and down your body, devouring every inch of you.

“Eyes up here Malfoy” you teased which made him finally look up at you, but instead of replying with a snide comment of his own he threw the suit he’d been holding onto a clothing rag nearby and slowly began to stride towards you.

You weren’t able to get a word out as he tenderly placed his ring clad fingers on top of your bare shoulders scanning your face for approval witch you granted by carefully nodding your head taking in a deep breath as you felt him begin to slowly turn you around.

You shivered once the cold metal wrapped around his fingers began to run down your arms, his fingertips then gently dancing down the small of your back in a painfully teasing manner.

You couldn’t help but let out a breathy sigh as he took a step closer to you his lips ghosting over your ear as he began to pull the zipper upwards causing you to almost involuntarily lean into him. As soon as you did his scent consumed you, he smelled of expensive cologne and spearmint, even better than you could have ever imagined.

He stopped as the zip reached the bottom strands of your hair, he thought for a moment before he carefully wrapped his hand around your h/c locks, twisting them gently around his fingers before letting them fall over the side of your shoulder, the tips of his fingers ever so slightly running across the side of your neck as he moved them back down to where he’d stopped.

You gently tilted your head, closing your eyes in content once you felt his hot breath fan over your neck, you leaned your head back at the sensation resting it atop of Draco’s shoulder, shivering once you felt his lips ghost over the sweet spot just behind your ear, one of his arms finding your waist as the other continued to work its way up your back.

Once you heard the faint sound of the zipper click as it reached its closing you slowly opened your eyes feeling him take an impossible step closer to you, your behind now pressed into his front as he trailed his hands down to your hips.

“You clean up quite nice Y/L/N” he breathed out as he began running his hands up to your stomach before finally reaching your waist where they abruptly stopped so that he could turn you back around, you let out a gasp at the sudden forced movement your hands clinging onto his shoulders to prevent you from falling.

You opened your mouth but no words came out as you were consumed by the feeling of his fingers digging into your sides, his lips mere centimeters from yours you almost unknowingly began to lean in.

He mirrored your movements but just before your lips could meet someone cleared their throat from behind you causing you to jump away from him, frowning at the sudden loss of contact.

Once your eyes met Hermione’s you quickly cleared your throat acting as if nothing had (almost) happened, she raised an eyebrow obviously confused at the scene unfolding before her.

You turned back towards Draco who was looking at you almost expectantly, “I’m going with Harry to the ball” you suddenly felt the need to tell him, hoping he wouldn’t get the wrong idea from the little moment you had just shared.

“Potter seriously?” Draco scoffed in return before making his way around you and Hermione, your eyes following his figure and as soon as he was completely out of sight you finally felt like you could breath again, staggering backwards into Hermione who quickly put her arms up to catch you.

“Oh I’m in trouble”

-

You’d decided to buy the dress you’d tried on in the store, even though every time you put it on you couldn’t shake away the feeling of Draco being pressed against you as his lips hovered dangerously close to your neck.... You shook your head in hopes that it would toss the memory out of your mind, you couldn’t be thinking about Draco right now, not when Harry was standing just outside the Gryffindor common room patiently waiting for you to get ready.

“Can you zip me up?” you turned your back to Hermione who quickly rushed to your side swiftly beginning to pull the zipper on the back of your dress upwards. As you closed your eyes you got momentary flashes off Draco’s ring clad fingers wrapped around your body and you tried with all your might to shake the tingling feeling you got away, but nothing seemed to be working.

“Okay do a little spin for me” you let out a laugh at Hermione’s words but nevertheless you began spinning around your dorm playfully, letting your hair fall across your shoulders as Hermione threw her head back in laughter.

“You look incredible” she complemented as you engulfed each other in tight hugs mentally preparing yourselves for the night ahead.

“Oh please, I’m nothing compared to you” you stated linking your arms together before the two of you began to make your way to your awaiting dates.

Once the door to the Gryffindor common room opened the first thing you saw was Harry engaged in conversation with Hero, you could tell by his uncomfortable shuffling that the exchange had been awkward causing you to let out a small giggle which captured the attention of the two boys.

Harry’s mouth hung open as he let his eyes wander all over you, from the thigh-high front split on the front of your dress to your flawless makeup and perfectly styled hair, he was speechless, if you two weren’t best friends he’d probably be tripping over his own two feet by now.

“Well this is certainly an upgrade from last year” Harry let out a teasing laugh as he bowed down to take your hand in his.

“Oh shut up” you feigned annoyance as you stood beside him, feeling goosebumps run up your arms as his hand came to rest on your lower back, leading the two of you towards the Great Hall.

“In all seriousness Y/N, you look amazing” Harry gushed as he pulled you into his side. An uncontrollable blush creeping onto your cheeks at his words as you let your head fall on his shoulder.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, Potter” you teased, the two of you letting out simultaneous fits of laughter as you followed closely behind Hero and Hermione.

After a moment of silence Harry suddenly spoke out, “Ron was going to ask her you know” the two of you shared knowing glances at his words, it was so painfully obvious that your other two best friends were head over heels in love with each other but neither of them dared to make the first move, either to scared of being rejected or ruining their many years worth of friendship.

“Figures” you shrugged a comfortable silence overtaking you as you walked over to one of the many rows of couples stood in front of the entrance leading into the Great Hall.

As the doors begun to open you excitedly smiled up at Harry but before you were able to move forward another couple had harshly pushed their way in front of you and you were immediately able to identify the mob of platinum blond hair.

“Excuse me” you rolled your eyes causing the two of them to turn their heads towards you, you couldn’t hold in your scoff once you saw who he’d decided to bring, Pansy Parkinson of all the people in this bloody school.

“Don’t start anything Malfoy” Harry warned before either of them were able to get a word out, it looked like Pansy was going to throw a snide comment your way but stopped as soon as her eyes met Draco’s, she let out a huff before reluctantly turning back around.

“You look dashing” Draco complimented, you could feel Harry tense up beside you and you snaked an arm around his waist in an attempt to calm him down, the last thing you wanted was to cause a scene.

“Shouldn’t you be telling that to your date?” you retorted gesturing towards Pansy who seemed to be strangely quiet, usually she couldn’t keep her mouth shut no matter the circumstance, but you weren’t complaining.

Draco didn’t respond instead he just shrugged his shoulders before turning back around his arm slipping down towards Pansy’s lower back, you felt the inkling feeling of jealousy begin to form inside you but you forced yourself to push it away giving Harry’s bicep a reassuring squeeze knowing it had taken all his might not to hex Draco then and there.

As soon as Draco and Pansy had left you two be you quickly pulled Harry along with you into the hall so you wouldn’t get trampled by the entourage of students crowded behind you who were also squeezing their way through the double doors.

You intertwined your fingers with Harry’s as you took in your surroundings. It looked even better than last year, snow was falling from the starry black ceiling stopping just a few feet above you, mistletoe’s and every traditional Christmas decoration you could think of were littered all across the hall and instead of the usual house tables there were hundreds of smaller silver ones, each having it’s own floating candle above them.

Once you spotted a decent place to sit you tugged onto Harry’s arm gesturing for him to follow you towards the table your eyes were set on, somehow along the way you managed to spot Hermione and you threw your arm up gesturing for her hand Hero to come sit with you and Harry.

It wasn’t long until the chair beside you was being pulled from underneath the table and Hermione placed her self atop of it along with Hero, you happily greeted both of them but all joy inside you seemed to fade away once you noticed Ron and Lavender heading your way.

Oh please no

Ron placed a chaste kiss on Lavender’s cheek as he pointed towards your table.

Don’t sit here

Lavender eagerly began to nod following behind Ron as they inched closer and closer.

Anywhere but here

Despite your silent praying Ron was now pulling a chair out for Lavender before taking a seat himself and as soon as he did an awkward tension filled the air. You grabbed Hermione’s hand from underneath the table giving it a reassuring squeeze noticing how she’d tensed up once Lavender had bitterly greeted her.

“Whose this then?” Ron could be heard from the other end of the table, you rolled your eyes at his tone, how did Hermione not realize he was jealous hell even Hero seemed to notice it as his eyes uncomfortably shifted between Hermione’s angered expression and Ron’s annoyed one.

“Hero Finnigan, and you?” he reached his hand out over the table and for a split moment your eyes had widened thinking Ron was actually going to sit there and ignore him but thankfully the ginger haired boy reluctantly reached over the table and connected his hand with Hero’s.

“Ron, Ron Weasely”

“Weasely, eh? could have guessed, I’m good friends with your brothers” Hero attempted to make conversation but Ron didn’t seem all to keen on it only muttering a “whatever” underneath his breath causing you to kick him from underneath the table, you gave him a warning glance to which he replied by throwing a small ‘piss off’ in your direction.

Before you could begin to scold him for his rude behaviour Dumbledore’s voice tore throughout the Great Hall preventing you from doing so although you had a feeling that if it hadn’t had been him it probably would have been Harry.

“Welcome students to our annual Jingle Ball, may I say you all look wonderful tonight” Dumbledore gingerly smiled, his wand lightly pressed against the side of his neck as he gestured towards the numerous students all dressed in their finest attires.

“We’ll start the evening with a three course meal prepared by our lovely house elves” claps begun to sound around the Great Hall which you quickly joined in on, smiling brightly once you noticed the numerous elves clumsily standing up from their seats and waving at the students.

“Once you’ve finished eating a band will be preforming for us and I hope that you and your dates will be joining me and McGonagall on the dance floor” laughter sounded around the hall at the last part of his sentence but instead of joining in like you usually would you found yourself draining out all noise as your eyes met Draco’s.

He’d already been looking your way and you couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on your lips as his icy grey eyes burned through yours, you felt like there was some type of force drawing you to him and you couldn’t do anything about it, even though your head was screaming at you that shouldn’t be developing feelings for someone as arrogant and cruel as Draco Malfoy your heart seemed to be having trouble following.

-

Once everyone had finished eating you were eager to get away from your table, somehow Hero and Ron had begun a full blown argument which you and Hermione had to quickly shut down by asking Lavender to take Ron somewhere else until he’d calm down, that boy could not control his temper if his life depended on it.

You’d managed to cheer Hermione up after the entire ordeal telling her that she should focus on herself for once and have fun, thankfully she’d listened and you couldn’t help the giddy expression overtaking your facial features as you watched her and Hero sway together on the dance floor.

“Care to dance M’ lady” Harry merrily bowed down in front of you reaching his hand out towards yours, you placed a hand on your chest in feigned surprise before gently laying your hand in Harry’s palm.

“Why, I would be delighted to” you attempted a posh accent unable to contain the giggle that fell past your lips as you let Harry lead you to the dance floor.

As soon as his arm had wrapped around your waist and the other intertwined with your hand another slow song began playing, most of the students were still digesting their food so their weren’t many on the dance floor, it was only you and Harry, Hero and Hermione and about six other couples.

You leaned your head on Harry’s chest letting him slowly sway you to the soothing melody of the song. “You know I love you right?” Harry mumbled as he placed a kiss on top of your head.

“I love you too, silly” you brightly smiled up at him, you both knew there weren’t harbored feelings for the other hidden behind those three words so you had no trouble voicing it to each other.

You tightly wrapped your arms around his waist continuing to slowly move around the dance floor. You knew how hard his life had been leading up to this point, losing his family, Sirius, and then Cedric he always had the inkling fear that one day he’d lose you or Ron or Hermione so you wanted to make sure he knew you weren’t going anywhere.

Sometimes silence speaks louder than words and you knew you were saying everything you needed just by being there with him, it felt like hours that you’d stayed that way wrapped in each others arms but soon students begun to make their way to the dance floor so you and Harry decided to take a short break, heading hand in hand back towards your table.

-

Unbeknownst to you whilst you and Harry had been in your own world gently dancing with each other for all eyes to see, Draco had been enduring pure torture over at his table.

“I can’t believe she choose Potter over you”

“That’s gotta sting”

“How’s it feel being the second choice”

“Hope you’re ready to do my homework for the rest of the year”

Was all he had heard for the last hour as he’d watched you and Harry dance with one another. No matter the threats he threw their way and menacing looks they just wouldn’t stop, he felt as if his power of being crowned the Slytherin prince was slipping away from him, since in his world losing to someone like Harry Potter was as low as you could get.

Then and there Draco decided he wasn’t going to endure it anymore he was making his move tonight no matter the circumstance.

-

“You know Ginny’s been eyeing you all night” you wiggled your eyebrows nudging Harry’s shoulder who awkwardly began shifting in his seat as he mumbled a ‘really’ in response to which you nodded.

“Go ask her too dance!” you stood up so you could force him out of his seat along with you, you subtly pointed towards Ginny’s direction who had swiftly looked away as soon as her eyes had met Harry’s.

“But what about you?” Harry frowned realizing you didn’t have anyone to spend time with if he’d leave since both Hermione and Ron seemed to be preoccupied with their dates.

“Don’t worry about me I’ll be fine! now go” you ushered him forward giving him a reassuring thumbs up as he began to walk towards her.

“You’re quite the matchmaker aren’t you?” Hermione had suddenly walked up behind you and you both watched in amusement as Harry almost fell over twice before he was able to reach Ginny who had happily agreed to dance with him.

“Where’s Hero?” you asked as you turned to face Hermione eyes wandering around the hall in an attempt to spot her date, “oh he’s just gone to get us some drinks, you’re welcome to join us if you’d like” Hermione offered but you shook your head.

“No its okay honestly I’m fine” you assured her, you did not want to spend the evening third wheeling your best friend and her date.

Hermione began opening her mouth surely to convince you to join them but stopped once her eyes landed on something behind you or rather someone behind you.

“Care to dance?”

You swiftly turned around to see Draco with his hand reaching out towards you, you tried your best to contain the smile that was so desperately gnawing at the sides of your mouth as you turned back to Hermione who was giving you knowing smile.

“Find me if you need anything alright?” you eagerly nodded at her words only turning back to Draco once Hermione had fully vanished into the crowd.

“One dance, that’s it” you attempted to sound serious but it came off in a more teasing manner as you let your hand fall into Draco’s.

“Agreed”

As soon as you’d reached the middle of the dance floor, Draco’s arm had snaked around your waist pulling you into him whilst the other intertwined your fingers. You let out a giggle as he began twirling you around, gracefully catching you back in his arms as both his hands moved to rest on your lower back.

“You’re quite the dancer” you complimented, without a doubt boosting Draco’s already large ego, “I know” he had replied with a knowing smirk, twirling you around one last time before pulling you flush up against him your noses bumping together since you’d already been looking up at him. You’d held the eye contact for a minute as you brightly smiled at each other before you gently let your chin rest on his shoulder as he slowly began swaying you from side to side.

As your eyes began dancing over the students you didn’t think anything could burst your happy bubble until your eyes found Harry’s who had a look of disappointment edged onto his features as he pulled away from Ginny who had frowned at his sudden dismissal as she watched him begin to make his way out of the Great Hall.

You cleared your throat as you uncomfortably began shuffling away from Draco who gave you a look of confusion as he watched you pull your hand out of his and back away from him.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry I can’t do this” you muttered before hurriedly turning around and squeezing your way through the crowd of students all huddled together on the dance floor, most of them giving you annoyed glances as you pushed them out of the way but you didn’t care all you wanted to do was find Harry. You couldn’t imagine how he’d felt once he saw you his best friend, dancing with someone who’d made his life a living hell ever since the first year.

Once you’d exited the Great Hall you frantically began looking around the empty corridors in an attempt to find Harry who’d stormed out here only moments ago.

“Y/N!” you heard Draco call from behind you but you ignored him, picking up your pace once you heard his nearing footsteps echoing around the empty hallways.

“Y/N please wait” you felt him grab ahold of your wrist swiftly turning you back to face him, his grip only tightening as you began attempting to pull your hand away.

“No! You can’t treat my friends like shit and then expect me to give in on whatever the hell you’re trying to do” you finally managed to rip your hand out of his grasp as you turned back around but he quickly ran in front of you placing his hands on your shoulders to keep you in place.

“Listen I’m sorry alright, bloody hell I just- I can’t stop thinking about you I don’t know how to explain it but I think I might-” he cut himself off hesitating to speak his next words unsure of how you’d react since he didn’t want to return to his friends with yet another failed attempt.

“You think you might what?” you crossed your arms over your chest glaring up at him as you watched his mouth open and close again.

“Fancy you” he finally let out, your eyes widening as you let your hands fall down to your hips. You took a few steps back until you couldn’t move any further the tall walls of the castle preventing you from doing so.

“You what?” you barely whispered and Draco took that as his chance to walk towards you placing both his hands on the wall next to you.

As you looked back up at him he slowly started to remove one hand from the wall so he could place it onto your cheek and just like he’d done in the store, he began leaning in until his lips were barely hovering above yours, you so desperately wanted to close the gap between you but a part of you was screaming to push him away and never look back, but as your eyes met his once more you couldn’t bring yourself to do it your heart taking control as he pressed his lips against your own.

Your lips continued dancing with each other at a normal pace until he’d moved to deepen the kiss swiftly wrapping his arms around your waist so you were able to loop yours around his neck, he pushed you even tighter up against the wall causing you to let out a gasp allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth.

You ran your fingers through his hair gently pulling on the strands on the back of his head before letting your head fall to the side as he began leaving kisses down your neck his hands trailing down your sides until they wrapped around your hips pulling you even further into him.

You gently blinked your eyes open as you pulled away from him, your lips undoubtedly swollen and your lipstick smeared but you didn’t care.

“No one can know about this, not until I talk to Harry” you breathed out leaning your forehead against his as you attempted to slow your heart rate by taking deep breaths in and out.

“Of course I won’t tell anyone” he lied, he’d gotten quite good at that after having to continuously lie to his father ever since he was a child, one particular incident that he would never forget was when he’d accidentally let one of the house elves go because he didn’t know that to free them they had to be granted an item of clothing and on a particularly cold night he saw no harm in granting the elf his jacket since it had been shivering beside him and when his father had barged into his room later in the night furious at his son’s stupidity Draco had lied and told him that the elf had tricked him into doing so and upon hearing this his father had tracked the elf down and casted the unforgivable curse onto him, after that Draco lied to his father about almost everything he did to ensure something like that would never happen again.

Amongst his peers he was powerful and feared but when it came to his father he was nothing, never good enough and always in the way. School was the only place he felt he was more than his father’s words so he knew that as soon as he would make his way into the Slytherin common room the first thing he was going to do was tell his friends that he’d done it, that you were slowly but surely beginning to fall for him, which put him right back on top. 

TAGLIST:

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[chudleycanonficfest]

Washing Machine Heart

Day 22, Story #2 is by @rosequartzstarswrites​

Title: Washing Machine Heart Author/Artist: rosequartzstars - @rosequartzstarswrites (Because of Tumblr settings, this is posting from my main blog, but it’s me!) Pairing: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley (and background Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger) Prompt: 5+1 Rating: T (only for some strong language and non-explicit insinuations) Trigger Warning(s) (if any): none apply! 

“I can’t believe I’m going through with this,” huffed Hermione, struggling to keep up the brisk pace Ron was marking on the sidewalk.

“You never believed you’d have to, did you?” Ron said gleefully, seemingly unaware of just how hard his long-legged strides were to keep up with.

“You never told me you were that good at chess!”

“No, more like you never thought anyone could be better than you at anything!”

Despite only having been friends, close friends, with them for a semester, Harry had already become accustomed to the constant bickering between Ron and Hermione, to the point even of endearment. Coming from the Dursleys’, arguments and rebukes were something he was used to, but the undertone of friendship with which Ron and Hermione faced off was a welcome change (and a very entertaining one). Still, he tended to side quietly with Ron, and this particular time was no exception: part of him was delighted at the prospect of seeing Hermione get a tattoo.

This had all started from a ridiculous bet, born of boredom in the lounge of their dorm building. Ron had eyed the communal chessboard, battered and chipped from years of usage, and challenged Hermione to a match.

Hermione had scoffed: “Only if you want to lose, Ron.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Ron had said, exchanging a look with Harry as a sly smile crept onto his lips.

“I’m completely certain.”

“Certain enough to bet?” Ron had prodded her.

The competitiveness that, before becoming friends, was all Harry had known of Hermione had flared up in her eyes. “I’m listening.”

“When you lose—”

“If I lose, and I won't—”

“When you lose,” Ron had reiterated, “you have to get a tattoo of my choosing.”

Hermione had smirked. “Game on.”

In Hermione’s defense, Harry thought, she hadn’t ever considered she might lose. There really was no way of expecting how good Ron had turned out to be at chess, especially since —Harry thought— Hermione had based her certainty on how abysmal his grades were, against her own straight A’s, in their proofs-based mathematics class, which relied entirely on strength of reasoning. But, as it turned out, Ron was actually a master logician, if only somewhat lazy at his math classes, and this he had proved by absolutely obliterating Hermione with the fastest checkmate Harry had ever borne witness to.

And that is how they had come to find themselves out on the streets of their little college town that night, wrapped in their scarves and their winter coats to battle the first of the December chill, walking to a tattoo parlor Ron knew in the area so Hermione could be forever reminded of her loss by a tattoo Ron would choose. And if Harry knew Ron well, and knew how much he relished teasing Hermione, the reminder would be a strong one.

“I didn’t even want a tattoo,” Hermione was mumbling, more to herself than at either of them. “I never wanted one— did you know that you might not be eligible to donate blood if you have a tattoo? I mean, not that it’s impossible, but it’s a factor against you, like your weight and your age. And my family has a history of needing transfusions— oh, God, what if my grandfather needs a donation, like, tomorrow? The three-month period of eligibility won’t have elapsed, and my father can’t donate, and– and–” She froze in the middle of the sidewalk. “Oh, God, have I killed my grandfather?”

“Relax, Hermione,” Ron said, throwing a fraternal arm around her shoulders and squeezing her half in an attempt to get her walking again. “You’re halfway across the country from home. You wouldn’t be able to fly out on such short notice anyway.”

Harry had to stifle a laugh at how Hermione gaped at Ron then, a billion other dire possibilities to worry about racing through her head now. Ron, however, was less successful at keeping down a chuckle. “I’m kidding, Hermione. Besides, a tattoo will make you look badass.”

“I don’t want to look badass!” Hermione squeaked shrilly. “I’ve never been remotely interested in looking badass!”

“Well, interested or not,” Ron said as they came up to a dark brick building with a neon sign reading LOVEGOOD’S flickering above the door, “it seems like you don’t have much of a choice, because we’re here.”

Hermione let out a noise that sounded somewhere between a gasp and a whine as she looked up at the storefront that, to her, was synonymous not only with her doom but apparently that of her grandfather.

“Ron, please?” she said meekly.

Ron, however, looked gleeful and would not be deterred. “A bet’s a bet,” he declared, grabbing her wrist and beginning to march her up the three or so stairs that led up to the door of the tattoo parlor from the sidewalk. Harry lingered behind for an instant, watching the backs of his two friends as they waddled up the stairs, smiling as he listened to Ron debate whether he would make Hermione get a skull or a sailor’s “Mom” arrow-pierced heart, and Hermione pleading shrilly with him not to do either of those things. Watching them, Harry’s smile widened. He was lucky to have them as friends, that much he knew, despite the short time he’d spent knowing them. Why he hadn’t found them his freshman year was beyond him— but now, now that he had these wacky outings and constant bickering to enjoy, he felt overwhelmingly lucky that they had found him.

“Harry, are you coming in or what?” Ron beckoned him. He had stopped on the topmost step and was still gripping Hermione, whose face was a mask of pure, crystallized terror.

“Absolutely,” Harry said, hurrying up the steps with a little hop. “This I’ve got to see.”

Ron pushed open the door to the parlor with a little too much gusto, and Hermione cringed at the metallic sound of the chimes above the door as they tinkled with the announcement of their entrance. The front of the shop, sealing off the rest with a counter that had seen better days, was empty, the backroom separated by a beaded curtain.

“Hellooo?” Ron called into the backroom, marching right up to the counter. “Is anybody here? We bring a very eager customer!”

Hermione began to protest, but just as she did, an employee came out of the backroom to stand behind the counter. Catching a glimpse of her, Harry felt as if the wind had been knocked out of his chest: she was stunning. She was tall and slender, her toned arms visible through the ripped-off sleeves of her vintage Hole tee, with a curtain of straight orange hair pulled back into a long high ponytail. Her bright brown eyes glimmered atop a button-like nose that matched her small, round mouth perfectly, the pale fine face finished by a spattering of freckles. Even before she had spoken a single word, Harry felt the confidence coming off of her in waves, simply by how she propped her elbows up on the counter and eyed their party somewhat playfully. He was frozen to his place with the sight of her, hoping his jaw hadn’t dropped as low as it had felt in the wake of his awe.

Upon seeing her, however, Ron had had exactly the opposite reaction. “Ginny?” he said incredulously.

“What are you doing here?” the woman —Ginny— said without any greeting, returning Ron’s frown.

“I thought you weren’t working today!”

“I’m covering a shift for Demelza, she had a gyn appointment today.”

“Well, if I knew that, I wouldn’t have come in,” grumbled Ron. The tips of his ears were beginning to pink, a sign Harry had learned to recognize as a hint of extreme emotion in his friend.

“Well, you’re here now, so… what can I do for you?” Ginny said. “I mean, you can’t possibly be the one getting inked, Ron. You’re too much of a wimp.”

“Shut up, or I’m telling mom you got your helix pierced. That’ll make for a fun Christmas greeting when we’re back home, I’ll wager.”

Then the similarity became apparent to Harry: the freckles, the aggressive red of their hair, the same glint in their eyes… Ginny was Ron’s sister. Somehow, he didn’t know whether that was something he should feel good or bad about.

“Tattletale,” Ginny said, swatting at him. “And it’s called an industrial piercing. Not that you’d know.” Only then did she seem to remark on the rest of the party.

“Harry Potter,” she said, and Harry gulped as she crossed her muscular arms over her chest and leaned back, surveying him. “Come to get a sixth tattoo?”

“A sixth— how do you know?” Harry said, befuddled. Out of all the opening lines he would’ve expected her to use, this had not been one of them.

“You can credit the rumor mill at school,” Ginny shrugged, still eyeing him with interest. “You’re a topic of interest. Or at least among the soccer teams.”

“Oh, am I?”

“Romilda swore you had a griffin tattooed on your chest, but I told her I’d heard it was a dragon. Much more macho, I thought.”

“Thanks,” Harry said dully. What else was he supposed to say?

“Don’t mention it,” Ginny gave him a conspiratorial wink. “And if I were you, I’d find out who on the boys’ team has been giving you the eye in the shower enough to count your tats. I bet it’s Ron.”

“It’s not!” Ron said angrily, the red from his ears bleeding out onto his cheeks.

“I bet it is,” Ginny mouthed to Harry, giving him another wink. “But it’s not you?”

“Pardon?” said Harry, for whom the ‘it-is-it’s-not’ exchange had grown somewhat confusing.

“For the tattoo?” Ginny said, and Harry felt like an idiot. “It’s not you who’s getting it?”

“No, ah, actually— it’s Hermione,” Harry was knocked back into his senses as he gestured toward Hermione, who had stood, utterly baffled, throughout that whole exchange.

“Hermione Granger?” Ginny said, and Harry was almost glad when she turned her gaze away from him and toward Hermione. “As in, Scamander Fellow Hermione Granger?”

“The one and only,” Ron declared proudly, happy to be back off a topic that bothered him (teasing Ron) and back on a topic that delighted him (teasing Hermione).

“I wouldn’t have chalked you up to the tattoo type,” Ginny said.

“Oh, she’s not,” Ron said, his face lighting up as if Christmas had come early.

Ginny’s eyes darted between the dismal face of Hermione and the cheerful face of Ron, her eyebrows rising as she took it in. “Okay, I’m not going to ask about whatever this is. What am I doing on you?”

“I’m designing it,” Ron said brightly. And if Harry had thought that Hermione’s face couldn’t get more desolated, he’d been wrong.

“Christ, Hermione, what has he got on you?” Ginny said, already opening a drawer on the counter to pull out a sketchpad and a pen.

“I’m such an idiot,” Hermione grumbled.

Ron pored over the sketchpad, shielding the paper from Hermione’s eyes as he sketched. When he was done, he handed it to Ginny with a quick flick of the wrist that, much to Hermione’s dismay, ensured she couldn’t even catch a glimpse of what was on it. Ginny looked over whatever it was Ron had drawn and then looked up at her brother with a frown.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Okay, then,” Ginny shrugged. She lifted the counter to open a gap through which Hermione could walk. “Follow me.”

Looking like a lamb led to the slaughter, Hermione looked up to heaven as if making one last, futile plea before scrunching up her nose and following Ginny through the beaded curtain to the backroom. Because yes, she hated the idea of getting a tattoo, but she hated the idea of letting Ron hold one over her even more.

Ron watched her leave delightedly, relishing in the jangle the beaded curtain made as it swallowed Ginny and Hermione into the backroom. “This is going to be good,” he said, rubbing his palms together. “Oh, this is going to be so good.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a sister?” Harry blurted out all of a sudden. He startled himself as much as Ron when he said it, though he was glad he’d been able to pare down the question from what was actually swirling around in his head: Why didn’t you tell me you had a sister that looked like THAT?

Ron looked at him and shrugged. “I don’t know. It never came up.”

“You told me about every other one of your five brothers, but not the sister.”

“Nope.”

“Not the sister that seems to be about our age.”

“Nope.”

“Not the sister that seems to be about our age and plays soccer.“ And is hot.

"Nope.” Ron paused and frowned. “She’s a year below us, anyway.”

“Oh, then that explains it,” Harry said sarcastically.

“It seemed like more of a second-semester-of-friendship revelation.”

“I see.”

Harry held the silence between them for a few moments more before he allowed the next question out. “She plays soccer?”

“One more of the long line of Weasleys that get athletic scholarships to Hogwarts College. Except for Percy— no, he was a disgrace, he got in on an academic grant.”

“The family disappointment, truly.”

Harry wanted to ask more about Ginny, but he held his tongue. His friendship with Ron was the most precious thing his sophomore year of college had yielded him, and he didn’t want to jeopardize it by prying further or making it seem like he had the hots for his sister. Even though he did. He suffocated that small voice at the back of his mind: he hadn’t even spoken properly to Ginny, just stood there like an idiot and let her quip freely about his tattoos— which, mind him, apparently were fodder for locker talk back at Hogwarts.

The buzz of the needle in the backroom as it started up brought Harry out of his thoughts, just in time to see a shit-eating grin appear on Ron’s face.

“I wish I could see her face right now,” he said gleefully, and Harry let himself stop thinking about Ginny to join Ron in picturing what Hermione Granger must look like seated in a tattoo parlor chair.

“It really wasn’t so bad,” admitted Hermione as they exited the tattoo parlor and went down the little steps back onto the sidewalk.

Despite his pretensions of malice, Ron’s nobility (which had never been in question, even despite his teasing) had shone through and yielded a considerably modest tattoo: a small, capital “R” in his own handwriting. Hermione, who had almost cried with relief after Ginny showed her the design, had chosen to get it on her left thigh, on the side and at the very top, right under her hipbone.

“Why did you get it there?” Harry asked as they resumed their brisk walk back to campus.

“It’s not a place you usually show. That means if a sleeve shifts or an interviewer sees, I don’t know, my ankle or something, they won’t notice it.”

“As if a tiny ‘R’ would disqualify anyone from a job, let alone you,” snorted Ron.

“Professionalism is a virtue, Ronald,” Hermione huffed, though her cheeks had gone red. “Besides, since that part of me is always covered, I’ll save myself from having to explain the story behind it to anyone that spots it.”

“Yeah, except the bloke that eventually undresses you and sees you in your panties. Try explaining what that 'R’ means to him,” said Ron. But Harry suspected Hermione wouldn’t have to: from how Ron’s eyes had widened and his gaze had lingered when Hermione had pulled down the side of her jeans ever so slightly to show them the finished product, exposing a sliver of her underwear, Harry could almost wager that Ron would be the bloke in question.

They walked in animated chatter for the rest of the way, the tattoo forgotten until Ron made a quip about Hermione now having crossed the gateway to joining a biker gang and Hermione going positively beet-red in the face with outrage. Then Harry, his hands in his pockets, simply smirked to himself and resigned himself to their bickering for the rest of the walk, knowing he was no longer needed in their exchange. Instead, he let his mind drift to Ginny. She hadn’t really spoken to him again, merely ducking out from the beaded curtain backroom and instructing Hermione on how to take care of her tattoo, saying only a general goodbye to the three of them as they exited the shop. There had been nothing in Ginny’s manner to suggest that she might be thinking of him as strongly, as irremediably, as he was of her, and yet there he was.

The main quad was mostly deserted, except for a few scattered groups of late-night library frequenters or sneaking couples, as the three of them crossed it to get to their dorm. Ron and Hermione didn’t stop arguing as they climbed the four flights up to their floor (the elevator, as usual, was broken), and only broke it off because Hermione reached her room before the boys reached theirs, slipping inside it and shutting the door before Ron had a chance to get the last word in.

“Well, that went well,” Ron shrugged as he and Harry kept walking down the hall to their room.

“You actually got her to get a tattoo,” Harry said with some admiration as they reached their door.

Ron grinned as he swiped the key card. “I may drive her crazy, but if anyone was going to get her to do something like that, it was going to be me.”

Ron pushed the door open and let them into their dorm room. He closed the door and, without taking off his coat, immediately flopped onto his bed— or, well, what could be seen of the bed under mountains of dirty or otherwise discarded clothes. Away from his mother’s chore-mongering for the first time, Ron had let himself go wild and go to the other extreme, but even Harry had to admit that the army of socks draped over the foot of his bed was beginning to smell a little stale.

“So,” Ron said, propping his head up, “no parties tonight?”

“Well, it’s a Wednesday,” Harry said.

“So what? There’s no party spirit around here?”

“Ron, it’s the last Wednesday before final exams. People are studying.”

“I wasn’t aware I was rooming with Hermione,” Ron grumbled. Harry had to admit she might have gotten to him a little. However, Ron’s irritation was short-lived, a grin appearing on his face again. “Wait, but we’re not people. We’re not studying.”

Harry surveyed the room and, despite his desire to throw in the towel for the night and have fun with Ron, felt a pang of dismay at just how much grosser it would be if they caved and did that (last time they had, they’d had a Pringle-eating contest, with devastating results for their sheets, which still had some crumbs). “No, Ron. We’re doing laundry.”

Ron groaned. “Jeez, now I’m rooming with my mother.”

“Okay, fine, you don’t have to do the laundry. I’ll do it for the both of us.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, go hang out with Dean and Seamus or whatever, see if you can get Hermione to do her second wild-card act of the day and make her stop studying to hang out with the guys.”

“Now I’m a man with a mission,” Ron said, perking up in delight at the prospect of teasing Hermione, or even seeing her once more that night.

“Just shove your clothes in the laundry bag before you go, won’t you? I don’t want to touch your nasty briefs more than I have to.”

Ron obliged, tossing all the clothes on and around his bed into his orange laundry bag and pulling the drawstring to close it. “I’ll update you on the Hermione thing,” he said cheerfully, hurrying out of the room and down the hall to the left to the room they’d left Hermione in.

Harry laughed to himself, wondering how long it was going to take Ron to realize why exactly he always seemed so eager to do anything Hermione-related, as he too threw his dirty clothes into a checkered drawstring laundry bag. Then, he hoisted one sack over each of his shoulders and opened the door using his ankle and leg to let himself out, his hands full with the laundry bags. He stifled a smirk as he passed Hermione’s room and heard the familiar bubbling sound of she and Ron rowing. If Harry knew her at all, he knew however much she might argue she’d be out of that room in an hour tops.

He groaned as he looked down the stairs, and rued the day he had been placed in the dorm with the shittiest elevator on campus. Resigning himself, he began to walk slowly down the poorly-lit stairs to the basement, where the laundry room was. However inconvenient this descent was, Harry was at least comforted with the knowledge that the laundry room would not be crowded, which would be the greater inconvenience once the elevator was fixed.

The basement was even dimmer, the white lights flickering and buzzing with electricity as Harry walked to the laundry room almost at the end of the hall. Sure enough, the laundry room was deserted, oddly quiet with none of the familiar hum and rattle of the machines as they worked. Harry knelt in front of a washing machine and began unloading the contents of the laundry bags into it, cramming them in so they’d fit because he sure as hell wasn’t shelling out quarters for two washers. When he’d made it all fit (which had involved the use of force to jam the door shut), he went to the shelf that held the communal detergent and poured it into the soap compartment. With that done, he dug out eight quarters from his pocket and inserted them into the washer’s slot, pressing the “Start Cycle” button when he heard the clink that let him know his quarters had been accepted. The washer rumbled slowly to life, jets of water trickling out as it began to spin in one direction and then the other, and it was a couple minutes before it was spinning at a hearty pace.

Rising from his crouch (he had always liked to watch the washing machine as it booted up to wash in earnest), Harry took the laundry bags and turned to head back upstairs, already thinking of what he might do to pass the time in the hour he had before he had to switch the clothes to the dryer.

He was so caught up in thinking of this that he didn’t see the person entering the laundry room at the same time as he was exiting, which ended in an awkward clash between them.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry blurted.

“No, it’s fine, I’m sorry too— Harry?”

Only then did Harry realize who he had bumped into, and only because she kept standing there did he believe it. “Ginny?”

She still wore her Hole shirt, but had discarded the ripped jeans, combat boots, and round-the-waist flannel he’d seen at the tattoo parlor. Instead, she wore frayed gray sweatpants and flip-flops, her hair pulled up from the long ponytail into a messy bun. She, however, somehow still managed to look almost unbearably beautiful. What’s happening to me?

“What are you doing here?” he asked, the only thing he could think of right that second. Spotting the laundry basket she was cradling, he added: “No laundry in your dorm?”

“No, yeah, there is one, but it’s always too crowded, it being a freshman dorm and all.” Harry nodded: his first year, he too had done entirely more laundry than he had to, and was thankful by the quarters he saved just by realizing he could wear a pair of pants more than once before they were dirty. “So I use the one here. Much quieter. I know Ron’s ID and password—”

“You do?”

“He gave it to me once so I could pick up his books from the library. And my memory’s great.” She gave him a half smile and looked beyond him at the laundry room. “Doing laundry?”

“No, I just like the ambience down here. The shitty lighting and bleach smell are really my style,” said Harry. Ginny laughed, and Harry felt a rush of pride at what was probably the first witty thing he’d ever said to her. “Need a hand?”

“I’d appreciate one, sure,” Ginny said, again smiling at him. Harry moved so she could walk into the laundry room, and watched her pick one of the washing machines that lined the wall. When she’d settled on one, he crouched down next to her and help her lob the clothes into the maw of the machine.

“Tattoo parlor let out early?” he asked as they placed the clothes inside.

“More like you guys came in really late. You were my last customers— I just cleaned up and closed after you left.”

“And you work there?”

“Sure beats a regular work-study, doesn’t it?” Ginny grinned. She tossed in a Tide pod that was left at the bottom of the basket, closed the door to the machine, and rose to find the quarters needed to activate it. “Oh, shoot, I left my wallet in my other pants—”

“I got you,” said Harry, digging for eight more quarters in his pocket. For once, he was glad of his bad habit of carrying an excess of loose change in his jeans, something Hermione already got on to him about (sometimes, like when she’d gifted him a money purse, not too subtly).

“Thanks,” Ginny said, picking the laundry basket up from the ground.

Harry listened for the telling clink and then pressed the button. The washing machine whirred to a start, but for once, Harry didn’t feel compelled to watch it boot up: instead, he turned to Ginny. “So how did you come to work there?”

“At the tat shop?” Ginny asked, hopping to sit on the top of the washer where her clothes were spinning. “My friend Luna’s dad, Xenophilius—”

“Gesundheit.”

“Shut up,” Ginny said, but the hint of a laugh was (to Harry’s satisfaction) visible on her lips again. “Anyway, Xenophilius owns the place. He set up in a college town because he knows college is the first time kids are truly free to make rash, impulse decisions.”

“Like getting a tattoo?”

“Exactly. And besides, all the college students love his New Age bullshit, they think it’s very 70s, so his shop is always full. He got a big boost after he started placing crystals in the shop windows.”

“He’s in with the kids, then?”

“Don’t tell him that, he’ll be mortified. But he’s great, really. A little eccentric, but great. He knows me from when Luna and I took an art class together in 10th grade, and he’s always complimented my art, so he helped me get my tattoo artist license as soon as I turned 18 and hired me.”

“Is Luna the girl with the shaggy blond hair and the weird glasses?”

“That’s her. Though I’m surprised you didn’t know her by her bottlecap necklaces. That’s usually what people comment on.”

“Does she work there too?”

“Yeah, though not as an inker, she’s useless with a needle. She designs a big chunk of the tattoos, though, both original designs and commissions or requests.”

“That’s awesome,” Harry said. He realized that was the first time through the whole conversation that he had stopped. He’d never hesitated on what to say next: conversation with Ginny had flowed easily, naturally, and he hadn’t had to think too hard to keep it going. Still, he was a little disappointed that it had stopped. Ginny, however, seemed to share in this, because rather than say goodbye and take her leave, she opened up a new topic.

“So how long have you and Ron been friends?”

“Er– since the start of this school year, actually.”

“Really? You’d think from how he talks about you, he’d known you forever.” Harry felt a flush of happiness at hearing that Ron talked about him.

“Well, I got him for a roommate this year, and we just clicked. Then it turned out we had a lot of the same classes. And we’re both on the soccer team, so it just got better from there.”

“It seems strange that you never crossed paths your freshman year.”

Harry shrugged. “I mean, freshman year is weird for everyone. I certainly felt like I was just bouncing from one place to another. I still hang out with a lot of the guys from last year, but my friends have changed. It makes sense— the first year, everyone is trying to meet as many people as possible, as if it’s a race, but by sophomore year you know more of what you want and what you’re looking for. In a way, I’m glad I met Ron now that I’m in a more stable place, now that I know my way around the college and have a better grip on things. I have a feeling he’s a friend I’m gonna keep.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear you’re sticking around the Weasleys,” Ginny said, and Harry felt a tingle run up his spine. Was she… flirting with him? “And Hermione?”

“Oh, Hermione’s great, Ron and I would be dead by now if not for her— I don’t know how I got through a full year without her.”

“But she’s very different from you guys, isn’t she?”

“Well— on the surface, sure, but not in the things that matter. The fact that she went through with the tattoo tonight when she could’ve kicked up a fuss and bailed out tells you all you need to know.”

“So what I’m hearing is that Scamander Fellow Hermione Granger is as much of a bonehead as my brother at heart?”

“Stubborn, is the word I’d use. And only when Ron’s involved, actually.”

Ginny smirked. “Idiots. They haven’t even realized it.”

Harry knew exactly what she meant. “You think it too?”

“Oh, I’d bet on it. Ten bucks says they’re together by the end of the year.”

“Hey, did our visit by the parlor today teach you nothing about bets? They can be dangerous.”

“But I’m betting against you, aren’t I?” The way she said you made Harry’s heart skip a beat. “Fine, not ten bucks. But I’ll bet you a load of laundry, how’s that?”

“Deal,” said Harry, taking Ginny’s extended hand to shake it. The touch of her palm, with its long, slender fingers, sent warmth coursing down from his hand and the length of his arm. They let go and dropped hands, and perhaps it was just wishful thinking, but Harry thought he detected a certain reluctance in Ginny as they did.

Harry leaned against the washer, his propped elbow almost brushing up against her thigh. “How about you? How’s your first year going so far?”

Ginny winced. “As well as you’d expect, I suppose. Lots of people still behave like it’s an extension of high school, and I’m very much over that. But as things go, I’m having a blast. Being on the soccer team certainly helps.”

“Congratulations on that scholarship, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Ginny said, her wide smile revealing a row of perfect, square white teeth. “You’re on a scholarship too, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. My aunt and uncle would’ve never paid a single cent for me to go to college, so it was the only way. But I’m sure they were glad to be rid of me anyway.”

“They sound like lovely people,” Ginny said sarcastically.

“I should introduce them to this Xenophilius sometime. My uncle Vernon would have a stroke just walking into that shop.”

“Well, if you ever swing by, you have an insider contact,” Ginny offered, and Harry loved the implication of something, even something as simple as an 'insider contact’, between just the two of them. “I’d be happy to arrange a meeting, especially for such esteemed patrons.”

“I might take you up on that, if I ever planned on seeing them again,” Harry said. The words came out a bit more harshly than he’d expected, and the second silence in their talk set in, brought on by the darker implications of his family situation. Desperate to break it, Harry cleared his throat and geared up to talk again: “So, do you have any tattoos?”

He was relieved to see the smile, that coy, almost lopsided smile, appear on Ginny’s face again. “Actually, no, not a single one.”

“Do you think you’d ever get one?”

Ginny thought for a second. “I might, if something meaningful enough came around. And only if I was 200% sure. But really, I feel like one tattoo would lead to another, and then I’d never stop and run out of room on my skin. So it’s more of a containment mechanism, really.”

Harry smirked. “Hm. Interesting.”

Ginny broke out onto a full grin as she watched him. “What?” she asked, but when Harry’s smirk only deepened, she shoved him playfully, her touch on his shoulders eliciting the same warm sensation as the handshake. “What, Potter, tell me! Why is it interesting?”

“I mean, since you work at a tattoo shop, and you’re wearing a Hole t-shirt, I just thought you might be the type—”

“The Hole tee? Oh, don’t tell me you’re gonna gatekeep it, like you’re the type of guy who’d be like 'name three songs'—”

“No, not at all. As a matter of fact, I don’t know a lot of music by Hole. I really only know who they are because of that one Fall Out Boy song Courtney Love was featured in—”

Ginny winced. “Not Fall Out Boy, please.”

“Why? What’s wrong with Fall Out Boy?”

“Harry—”

“I know they get a lot of shit, but really, their first albums are pretty good—”

“Harry, you’ve gotta stop right here, or you’re going to make me stop finding you so attractive.”

And just like that, there it was, out in the open. Harry felt stun: he felt his mouth open to offer a witty retort, but no words came out. Because the girlish grin had evaporated from Ginny’s face and turned into a different, more mature look, her eyes smoldering slightly and her mouth slightly pouted.

“What about you?” she asked, her words slower, as if she was choosing each one individually. “If the soccer team gossip is true, I know you have five tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, his voice having dropped as well. “Yeah, there were a few tat shops around my neighborhood where the rules were pretty lax.”

“What are they?” Ginny asked.

“The tattoos? Well, the first ones I ever got were my mom and dad’s birth and death dates, on my wrist,” Harry said, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt to display two small lines of numbers, in plain black ink, on his forearm.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ginny said softly.

“Don’t be, I was really small when it happened. But I still wanted to pay them homage. Anyway, I’ll not bore you with my family history right now.”

“But tell me sometime?”

Harry was ecstatic at the implication that Ginny wanted to spend even more time with him. “Yeah,” he said, smiling at her. “Yeah, I will.” He moved on to the second tattoo, shifting the other sleeve up a bit to show Ginny a small black paw print in the center of his wrist. “This was my third one. My godfather was the only person my aunt and uncle would let me see while I was growing up, and even then only because he threatened them. And he had this huge, black shaggy dog, I think it was a Newfoundland, that looked almost like a bear, named Padfoot. I loved that dog, and every time I think of the happiest moments growing up, Padfoot’s in a lot of them. So when he died when I was sixteen, I got this to remember him by. It seems like a tribute to my godfather, too, so I like it doubly.”

He didn’t need encouragement from Ginny to keep going. He raised his left leg and propped it up on the washing machine by where Ginny’s legs hung, rolling his sock down a bit to show a green, line-art tuft of grass snaking above his ankle. “I got this when I got the soccer scholarship to come here. I wanted something to commemorate soccer, seeing as it’s not only, y'know, my passion, but also what got me out of that damn house for good. But I thought something like a soccer ball or a net or even the pitch outline would be too cheesy, so I got a bit of grass, y'know, as in the field…”

“Tasteful,” Ginny nodded her approval, and Harry felt newfound appreciation for that tattoo. “That’s three down, Potter.”

“I’m getting there.” Harry brought his leg down from the washer and turned his back to Ginny, taking his hand up to the nape of his neck and using it to shift the hair there upward to reveal the back of his neck where it turned into his back. “Can you see it?”

“The little lightning bolt?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s the story of that?”

“That was my second one. To be honest, I was a little ink-happy after my first one, so a couple of weeks after I got it I went back and got this.”

“But why a lightning bolt?”

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted, turning back around to face her. “I guess it was just cool.”

“Oh, very,” Ginny said, and the edge in her voice let him know she was teasing him. “That leaves us with one, then. The emblematic chest tattoo.” Again, the playfulness disappeared from her face and was replaced by that strange look, the one Harry couldn’t really decipher but really, really liked. “Tell me, then, Harry— is Romilda Vane right?”

It was only because of the suggestiveness in Ginny’s voice and the permanence of that look on her face that Harry did what he did next. His movements slow, he pulled his shirt off over his head, setting it on the washing machine right by where Ginny sat. He heard Ginny draw in a breath and it hitch in her throat as she saw him, her eyes moving over his bare skin to spot the ink blot that had brought this all on. Curled above his right pec was a small, S-shaped dragon, colored in red and gold.

“I win,” Ginny said, her voice still husky, as she extended her left hand to touch the dragon with her fingertips.

“Are you going to tell Romilda?” Harry said, his own right hand settling lightly on Ginny’s thigh.

“No, actually,” Ginny said, her palm now coming down flat on Harry’s chest. Her other hand had also drifted to him, and she had placed it on Harry’s left side, right below his ribcage, as if to hold the side of his torso. “I think I’d rather keep this moment to myself.”

And then she was leaning in and kissing him, touching her lips to his first with tentative softness that turned into a stronger, more determined fire as the kiss deepened. With both of Ginny’s hands on Harry, and one of Harry’s on Ginny’s thigh and the other supporting the weight of the kiss against the solidity of the washer, they leaned into one another. Harry’s mouth sought out Ginny’s eagerly, overcome by the fiery feeling pooling in his stomach and rising up to his throat through his chest, by the fact that everything he’d thought about on their walk back from Lovegood’s was coming true much sooner (and much better) than he’d expected. He felt Ginny’s tongue nudge at his lips and opened his mouth to let her in, engulfing more of her lips with his as he did so. Ginny kissed passionately, her tongue meeting Harry’s even as her teeth dug lightly into Harry’s lower lip, making him kiss her more deeply. With her this close, he was invaded by the flowery smell of her hair, by the soft feel of her skin, by the low humming sound she made as she kissed him. And everything was coming together, making the fire in his chest grow, and it was a good kind of burn, better than whiskey, better than anything—

The loud ding of the washer as it announced it had concluded its cycle startled them, and they pulled back from the kiss looking a little dazed, that one upbeat chime having been all they needed to bring them reluctantly back into the real world. Still Ginny didn’t take her hands off Harry, and Harry felt less than inclined to move his from her leg.

“I should, uh, switch to the dryer,” he said, the only thing that popped into his mind there.

Ginny tightened her hold around his middle and moved her hand from his chest, wrapping it around his upper back to draw him closer. “Oh, let it wait,” she said, and then she was kissing him again, and Harry was finding that the dryer could wait for hell to freeze for all he cared.

The sleepy sound of the chimes above the door didn’t even make Ginny raise her gaze from her stats study guide, which she’d pulled out to make the best of the not-too-busy lull at Lovegood’s. “We’re almost closed,” she announced to whoever had come in.

“You can’t make room for one last customer?” a familiar voice said, and only then did Ginny perk up immediately.

“Harry!” she said brightly, shutting the stats book as it became all-but-forgotten. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to add one more tattoo to the five I’ve already got,” said Harry. “Think you can give me my sixth?”

Ginny didn’t even need to say yes, just opened up the lift-up counter door and disappeared through the beaded curtain. “Flip the door sign to 'closed’ before you come through, will you?”

Harry obliged and flipped the sign before following Ginny to the backroom. He sat patiently on the tattoo chair as Ginny milled about, getting the supplies ready.

“Y'know, you never did tell me the story behind your dragon tattoo,” Ginny commented as she went through the sterilization procedure for the needles. “Seeing as we were, um, otherwise occupied…”

The memory of the kiss flooded through Harry with the same fire that he’d held in his chest ever since, the flame growing to engulf his whole body just hearing Ginny mention it. “Should I tell you now?”

“I’d like to hear it.”

“I got it as a tribute to my old headmaster back home, Albus Dumbledore. Funny old man, and incredibly cryptic, but he’s the one that first gave me the idea of applying for the scholarship and helped me get all my grades and papers in order so I could make it here. We were very close, and he had this saying that he used to tell me whenever I ended up in his office for getting into trouble— 'never tickle a sleeping dragon’, he’d say.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Harry laughed briefly and shrugged. “Hell if I know. But it was his catchphrase. So after I graduated, I wanted to get something to commemorate him, so I got the dragon from his favorite saying. He came with me and got it too.”

Ginny turned to him and eyed him quizzically. “Your headmaster got the tattoo along with you?”

“I told you he was a funny old man.”

Ginny pulled a pair of black latex gloves over her hands and rolled a wheeled office chair over to Harry, the needle in hand. “So by what I’m hearing, you only ever get tattoos of things that are extremely meaningful to you, right?”

“That’s right,” said Harry.

“So, Mr. Meaning, what’ll it be this time?”

Harry smiled. He grabbed his shirt and pulled it slightly upward, just enough to uncover his lower trunk. He pointed to a spot on the left side of his torso, right under his ribcage— right where Ginny’s hand had been, where her touch had been burned into his skin. “Right here,” he said. “I’d like a little washing machine.”

[storytellerofuntoldlegends]

an icarus and his sun: chapter 3

A/N: seablings headcanon? seablings headcanon. (i adore jimmy and lizzie's dynamic, they're siblings ur honor. and joel makes a pretty great in-law tbh)

Warnings: arguing, flirting, teasing/banter

AO3 Link - Tumblr Masterpost 

-

Katherine was extremely serious about the “no weapons” thing. Not a single tool was allowed, not even shovels or hoes. She had everyone place their weapons and tools in specifically marked chests, assuring each of them that they could get them back after the meeting, and that her iron golems would protect them from any threats if they were to arise. Besides, the chests were just at the entrance of her castle, visible from the meeting table. They could easily rush to their weapons if need be. It didn’t mean anyone was less jumpy about it, though. And Jimmy was particularly antsy- Fwhip was practically glowering at the table, and while Sausage looked outwardly cheerful, there was an edge to every word he spoke. Jimmy couldn’t fight the paranoia that one or both of them had snuck weapons to the meeting, and was just waiting for the right moment to strike.

And then there was Scott. There wasn’t anything outwardly shifty about the winged elf, but… there was definitely… something. Jimmy wasn’t sure what it was, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off Scott. He was perfectly poised, as always, every hair in place and wings mantled. There was something elegant and serene about Scott as he listened to Katherine speak with a gentle smile. His gaze was focused on her, and Jimmy tried to search those icy blue eyes for any hint of malice. He found nothing but kindness, and that was what worried him. Surely Scott should be up to something… right? He had seemed so hostile the other day, but then they both apologized to each other… maybe he had nothing to worry about. But then there was that strange, soft yet calculating look he had given Jimmy, like he could finally start seeing the complete picture a puzzle would make. Was that something bad?

Jimmy’s thoughts were interrupted by Scott’s eyes suddenly meeting his, one eyebrow raised. Jimmy tried his best not to jump as he quickly looked away, focusing on Katherine. He could still feel Scott’s eyes on him, and absurdly, Jimmy felt like he was melting. Figures that Scott would have secret laser eyes or something. He wouldn’t even need a weapon, that was his plan all along. Surely that’s why Jimmy felt like he was going to implode, he definitely wasn’t embarrassed. Definitely. Thankfully, Scott’s eyes shifted away as Katherine spoke again.

“Now, there is one very important thing I wanted to discuss at this meeting. I don’t know if any of you have heard, but there are some new empires rising up. I think we should do our best to welcome the new rulers,” Katherine said. For the first time in the whole meeting, Fwhip looked interested. Somehow that scared Jimmy more than when he was grumpy and despondent.

“What would you suggest?” Fwhip asked, voice smooth and suspiciously charming. Jimmy didn’t like his tone one bit, but Katherine seemed to fall for it, beaming at Fwhip’s sudden interest.

“I would like to hold the first ever House Blossom Ball. All rulers will be invited, and it will be held in honor of the two new empires in our lands,” she explained.

“Oh that sounds wonderful!” Gem exclaimed, and excited murmurs of agreement circled through the room. But Jimmy felt uneasy. He did like the idea of a ball, dancing and dressing up fancy with friends sounded fun! But Fwhip’s excitement didn’t sit quite right with him, and there was the other issue of the two new empires. How did they know they could really trust them? Establishing a good relationship was important, yes, but was inviting them in so openly the best idea? Jimmy had tried being so open before, but look where that got him. A war over a disc, and a ravine on the outskirts of his empire. And now whatever was happening between him and Scott. Then suddenly, as if just thinking of him prompted him to speak, Scott brought up one of the very things that Jimmy was worried about.

“What do we know about these empires? Do you think we can trust them?” he asked. The excited murmurs stopped, something uneasy settling in the air instead. Katherine faltered for a moment, but kept her head high.

“The House Blossom Ball will hold the same rule as our meetings now do: no weapons. So unwarranted attacks will not be an issue. And not a lot is known about the other empires… they are just starting out, after all. One of them is in the jungle, and his empire can only be found if you are lost. The other empire seems to have sprouted up from nowhere, but its ruler has come a long way to settle here. In a way, both are lost. As the ten ruling powers in this land, I think it is our duty to welcome them so that they won’t have to be lost anymore,” Katherine said firmly.

“Poetic,” Fwhip said, voice a little overly saccharine for Jimmy’s liking. Katherine seemed a little put off by his tone as well, but didn’t comment on it. A determined frown came to Jimmy’s face. His skepticism be damned, he was going to support Katherine. He turned to her and smiled, reaching out to gently clasp Katherine’s hand, not unlike how she had after the last meeting.

“I agree with you, Katherine. Let’s help them be found,” Jimmy said softly, giving her hand a light squeeze before letting go. Katherine smiled at the touch, seeming grateful that Jimmy backed her up.

“Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with Jimmy,” Scott said dryly. Jimmy looked to Scott in surprise, expecting more of a fight, some clever retort or thought-out reason for why the ball couldn’t happen.

“Thank you, Scott,” Jimmy said, unable to keep a small smile off of his face. Scott’s nose scrunched up in irritation- and yup, there was the Scott he knew. Always looking at Jimmy with disdain or irritation.

“I was more supporting Katherine here than anything else,” Scott pointed out with a huff.

“But you specifically mentioned me…” Jimmy trailed off with a teasing grin. Scott’s cheeks tinted pink, just ever so slightly- but he still glared at Jimmy in frustration.

“Shut up,” he muttered. Jimmy grinned wider.

“Make me,” he teased, parroting Scott’s words from the last meeting. Sausage gasped, excitedly tapping Pearl’s arm as she shushed him and muttered something about how we had talked about this, Sausage.

“Well… we definitely have two supporters of the ball, any other thoughts?” Katherine asked, not-so-subtly changing the subject.

“I am absolutely in support, it sounds fun!” Gem replied, elbowing Fwhip. He jumped, and nodded in agreement.

“If Scott and Jimmy are going to be there, I definitely want to see what goes down,” Sausage chimed in with a grin. Scott and Jimmy both made an offended sound, but Pearl spoke up before either of them could say anything.

“And it’s a good diplomatic foot forward with the two new empires, Sausage. I think the ball is a lovely idea, Katherine,” Pearl said, offering an apologetic smile to both Scott and Jimmy for Sausage’s comment.

“I’m in too! I’d love a chance to dress all fancy and dance with Joel,” Lizzie added, linking arms with Joel and gazing up at him with a charming smile. Joel blushed a bit, and nodded his agreement as well.

“Well, since it seems like everyone else is going to this dance, guess I’d better show up too,” Pixl said with a nonchalant shrug and a grin. Katherine clapped her hands in excitement.

“Oh wonderful! I think I’ll cut this meeting short then, I have a lot of preparations to take care of, and I will send out the invitations soon!” Katherine said, rising from the table. The other rulers followed her lead, each of them bidding her goodbye before they went to their respective chests to retrieve their weapons and tools.

“I look forward to the ball, Katherine. I’m sure it’ll be a blast,” Fwhip said with a bow of his head and a cocky grin. Katherine beamed in response.

“Thank you! I’m glad to see you’re excited!” she replied, bowing her head to Fwhip as well. Jimmy still wasn’t sure how he felt about Fwhip’s sudden interest at the meeting… but then again Fwhip was only really Jimmy’s enemy. He and Katherine were on good terms, after all. He should trust Katherine’s judgement, even if he didn’t like Fwhip. He did, however, wait until Fwhip left to walk up to Katherine and bid her goodbye.

“See you later, Katherine! I’m excited for the ball, I’m sure with you in charge it will go great!” he said with a grin. Katherine laughed, blushing slightly.

“Aw, thanks Jimmy! And who knows, maybe the ball will not only forge new alliances with the new empires, but will strengthen or fix the bonds of the current ones,” Katherine said, glancing pointedly at Scott, whose back was to them as he looked over his weapons, before she looked back at Jimmy. She smiled not-so-innocently, and Jimmy’s face flushed in embarrassment.

“I- well, I dunno about that. But… maybe. Today’s meeting didn’t go too bad, right?” Jimmy asked with a hopeful smile. Katherine giggled.

“Right! You guys are really turning a corner here, I can feel it!” she chirped. Jimmy laughed, shaking his head.

“Whatever you say, Katherine. I’ll be off now,” Jimmy said, bowing his head.

“Bye!” Katherine replied, bowing her head too and offering a little wave as Jimmy left. He waved back, and was still smiling to himself as he met Joel and Lizzie outside. The two of them had their elytra on, and there was a smug grin on Lizzie’s face that Jimmy didn’t like one bit.

“What’s that smile for?” Jimmy asked with a laugh as he equipped his elytra.

“Oh, I was just thinking about how you couldn’t contribute anything to the first half of the meeting because you were making eyes at a certain elf,” Lizzie said with a teasing lilt.

“I wasn’t ‘making eyes,’ I was making sure that he wasn’t up to anything!” Jimmy spluttered.

“Sure you were,” Lizzie crooned, taking off before Jimmy got a chance to respond. Joel sighed, smiling sympathetically at him before following after Lizzie. Jimmy took off too, the conversation far from over, in his opinion.

-

Jimmy wasn’t quite fast enough to keep up with Lizzie, but she and Joel waited for him on the dock outside of his house. The three of them had often hung out and chatted on the dock, long before Joel and Lizzie had gotten married or even began courting. Their empires had been much smaller then, but the bond between the three of them hadn’t changed. Which was why Jimmy was (affectionately) furious with Lizzie for implying something about himself and Scott. He sat down beside her, feet dangling over the water.

“Explain yourself, right now,” Jimmy huffed, trying to put on an angry act but couldn’t really keep it up with Lizzie. She smiled far too innocently at him, and okay. Maybe he could manage a frustrated expression pointed at her.

“I mean, she’s got a point. Plus I heard about that uh- scuffle, you two had,” Joel said, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leaned forward to look past Lizzie at Jimmy.

“Ooh yeah, Katherine did tell us about that. You’d better watch out for those land boys, Jimmy. They’re trouble,” Lizzie said with a mock-concerned tone, but her playful grin gave her away. Joel shifted to look at Lizzie with an offended noise.

“Babe, I’m right here,” he said, near pouting.

“I know what I said. You’re trouble, King of Mezalea,” Lizzie teased.

“Like you’re any better, Ocean Queen,” Joel replied with a laugh. Lizzie giggled, playfully swatting at Joel's arm.

"You may be right, but this is about Jimmy’s troublesome land boy," Lizzie pointed out as she turned back to Jimmy.

"He's not my land boy!" he protested, face heating up slightly.

"Aww, that blush says otherwise!" Lizzie teased.

“He could be your land boy if you weren’t so busy trying to kill each other,” Joel chimed in.

“That’s exactly why he’s never gonna be ‘mine,’ he hates me, and I hate him! There’s nothing else going on!” Jimmy protested.

“Are you sure you two hate each other? You seemed pretty friendly at the meeting today,” Joel pointed out, voice a bit more gentle than the teasing tone it had been before. Jimmy sighed.

“That’s only cause Katherine insisted on us apologizing to each other when we uh. Fought. We’re only playing nice for Katherine’s sake,” Jimmy said sheepishly.

“Uh huh. Or you’re playing nice because you think Scott is pretty,” Lizzie teased, elbowing Jimmy playfully.

“I don’t think he’s pretty! I- I mean objectively he looks nice I guess but it’s more irritating than anything! How can a guy be so perfectly poised and elegant all the time, it’s annoying!” Jimmy spluttered. Joel and Lizzie exchanged amused, bewildered looks before looking back at Jimmy.

“Wow, you really do have it bad for him, huh,” Joel commented with a disbelieving laugh. Jimmy made an offended sound, opening his mouth to retort but was halted by Lizzie patting his arm comfortingly.

“It’s okay Jimmy, I’m sure Scott will come around and see what a sweet swamp boy you are,” she crooned, Jimmy flushing at the childhood nickname Lizzie always used for him.

“You two are impossible, nothing’s going to happen between us! And I’d prefer it that way!” Jimmy shot back with a frown.

“Methinks the cod boy protests too much,” Joel said dryly.

“I’m the Codfather, thank you very much,” Jimmy huffed.

“Hey, maybe if things work out really well, you’ll be a Codhusband,” Lizzie replied with a sly grin. Jimmy buried his face in his hands, trying to hide how bright red he was.

“Stop iiiit,” he whined. Lizzie only laughed, but threw an arm around his shoulders to give a small hug in apology. Joel reached around Lizzie to pat Jimmy’s back, and despite the teasing he had endured from them, Jimmy felt pleasantly warm and comforted all the same. Although to be fair, Joel and Lizzie always playfully teased him. But it would often end like this, the three of them nestled close together on the edge of the dock, watching the sun set over the water.

-

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[lovelylexipedia]

I would love a jackson avery x reader fic where the reader is pregnant and jackson is running around after her at the hospital to make sure she isn’t putting too much pressure on herself so he takes her to the on-call room for a rest and it’s really fluffy because he talks to her belly? i’m sorry if this was really long! welcome to tumblr!🥰❤️

Rest is For The Weak – Jackson Avery x Fem! Reader

Type: Imagine (2,200+ words)

Requested: Yes! by @elljmaybank

Summary: Expecting her to stay home, Jackson leaves his pregnant wife home alone to go to work. When he catches her at the hospital, he does everything in his power to get her to stop and relax.

Warning(s): Grey's Spoilers, Fluff (lots of it!), Protective Figure, minor Angst

Note(s): Reader is 30 weeks along with Jackson's baby. Thank you for the request! I really hope I did it justice. I kinda rushed it at the end, but I hope it's okay :)

———

I hear the bathroom door close slowly and scrunch up my face. I try to fall back asleep, but the small noises throughout Jackson and my's bedroom keep me from it. After a while, I let out a small yawn and open my eyes, blinking to adjust to the light coming in from the rising sun.

I make an attempt to sit up in bed, but my back protests, sore and achey. I let out a small groan and catch Jackson's face pop out from behind his closet's doorframe.

"Y/n, crap, did I wake you?" Jackson winces, taking quiet steps toward my side of the bed.

"No no no, my back is just killing me, this little stinker won't let me get comfortable. I tried reasoning with him, but he won't give." I groan again, laying on my right side.

Jackson sighs in relief and walks around the bed to my side. He kneels down and kisses me on the cheek, running a hand through my hair.

"Maybe he'll listen to me." He leans down to my tummy, removing the white comforter covering my body and lifting up my oversized pajama shirt. Jackson taps at my tummy and I giggle at the sight. "Hey, buddy," He whispers, "you gotta let your Momma rest... She's already cranky enough."

I laugh and roll my eyes, pushing Jackson's shoulder, and causing him to stumble over. "Okay, maybe no more talk time for you."

Jackson steadies himself with a chuckle and and stands up straight. He brushes off his dark jeans and zips up a grey jacket, fixing up the hood.

"I made breakfast and happened to have some left over. It's just some eggs and toast. I put it in a little container and left it on the island if you want it later." Jackson says as he makes his way to the other side of the bed to grab his keys from the nightstand.

"Thank you, you gonna be okay leaving me here alone?" I ask as Jackson walks over to the bedroom door.

"I don't know, are you gonna be okay alone?" Jackson replies sarcastically. I grin. "Alright, if you need anything, you can call me and I'll try to get here. If you can't reach me, try my mom."

"Okay, okay'" I say quietly, pushing myself up to sit up in bed despite the pain.

Jackson notices and frowns. He walks over again and leans down to kiss me. "Don't do anything too strenuous, okay? Just get your rest."

I scoot back against the headboard and nod, looking him in his bright green eyes. "Okay, I promise."

"I love you, Y/n." Jackson smiles, kissing me one last time before heading out.

I yell back an 'I love you' and wave as he leaves the room. I hear the front door shut a few seconds later and sit in silence. Every few seconds, I shift and scoot around, trying to find a way to ease the aches.

Jeez, bud, parenting better be less painful than this. I complain to myself.

After a few minutes of sitting alone with my thoughts, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. I set my feet down and push myself up, holding onto my belly with my free hand in the process.

I decide to take a few steps, wobbling here and there. After what feels like hours, I finally make it into the kitchen. The eggs and toast sit inside a clear plastic container and I nearly gag at the smell.

No thanks...

I take it upon myself to make myself breakfast. I throw out the toast and eggs in the trash can and ponder what to eat. I find a nearly finished bag of Corn Flakes and take a bowl, pouring the cereal and eating it like popcorn. After that, I snack on a frozen Pop-Tart and drink a glass of milk.

Settling myself on the living room couch, I flick through TV channels, bored out of my mind. Minutes pass by like hours and I end up falling asleep on the couch.

The nap ends after an hour and a half, when I suddenly feel a few sharp pains in my right side. I rub my stomach and lean my head back, trying to calm myself down.

You're okay, bud. You're okay, Momma's okay. We're okay.

I take deep breaths, trying to keep my composure. I grip the arm of the couch with one hand and force myself to stand. I stumble across the house, still rubbing my side and making small, calming affirmations to myself and the baby.

This is the fourth time this month...

I make it back to the bedroom and force myself to change into some baggier clothing. The pain subsides slightly as I begin putting on my sneakers. I groan, taking my set of keys and phone from the dresser in front of our bed.

I make my way around and out of the house, locking the door behind me. I force my keys into my pocket and dial my OB, Carina DeLuca.

"Y/n! What's going on? Are you okay?" Carina answers quickly, concern laced in her voice.

"I just wanted to come in... as a precaution," I say as I walk into the building's elevator. "I've been, getting these shooting pains for the past month. I just want to check if the baby's okay."

"Do you want me to make you an appointment?" Carina asks.

"No- I don't want Jackson to know, he might find out somehow. Could you just squeeze me in quickly?" I bite my lip, tapping my foot as I wait for the elevator doors to open at the bottom floor.

"Okay... Okay, I can try. Right now is perfect. Just tell the nurses up front it's an emergency and they should let you right in." Carina explains.

"Oh, thank you, Carina. You're the best. I should be there in a few." I gush, trying to rush off the elevator.

"Y/n, are you gonna be driv-" I hang up the phone before Carina can finish and try to rush out to my car.

———

"Carina, is he okay? Is my baby okay?" I ask urgently, looking between her and the ultrasound machine.

Carina continues moving the wand around where the pain would be. "He looks buono e sano, good and healthy, Y/n/n."

I let out a sigh of relief, laying my head back against the headrest. "Oh, thank God... But what could those pains have been?"

Carina purses her lips and removes the wand from my stomach, cleaning off the residue. "Could be stress, could be the hormones, different foods, your muscles could be constricting because they've had to work so hard with supporting the baby."

I shake my head. "Oh, I was so scared. I didn't want to go into early labor. Thank you for squeezing me in, I really appreciate it."

"No problem, amica mia. Now are you sure you don't want to tell Jackson?" She removes her gloves and I can feel her gaze from behind me.

"No, it's okay. I'm probably just gonna head home." I say, scooching off the examination table and grabbing my clothes to change back into.

———

I tug on my baggy shirt and put my phone in my back pocket, looking up to decide which way to go to get to my car.

Before I can even make a decision, Schmitt runs up, panting like a madman.

"Dr. L/n! We need Ortho. We got a trauma in, motorcycle accident, rider's right and left legs broken in 4 places each, right shoulder dislocated and left arm broken in two places."

He looks me up and down and his face grows red. "You're supposed to be on maternity leave, aren't you?"

"Doesn't matter now, Glasses. Let's go!"

Schmitt ushers me towards the trauma bay and adrenlaine rushes through me. The pain immediately evades my body and everything after is a blur.

I pull on a trauma gown over my loose clothes and tie up my hair into a ponytail. The patient is located in Trauma 1 and I rush in, finding Owem, Meredith, and Amelia already assessing the biker.

"Y/n! Shouldn't you be at home? I thought you were on maternity leave?" Amelia cocks her head to the side and I shake my head.

"Just back for the day," I say quickly. I turn to Schmitt, asking for reassurance, "So, what do we have here?"

He begins, "Multiple broken bones, bruising and cuts everywhere, he's practically roadkill."

"Well by the time we're done with him, he'll be just fine. Let's get an OR booked, order an MRI and page Plastics too!"

———

Jackson and I met when I transfered from Seattle Presbyterian a few years back. I was a 5th year and he was a Plastics fellow.

By the time I became an Orthopedics fellow, we had already established ourselves as the power couple of the hospital, despite not being a couple yet.

Wherever he went, I was likely to follow. Our cases were often linked and we spent a lot of our time together outside of the hospital as well.

When he first asked me out, it was during a surgery of ours together. We spent our one year anniversary watching over an ICU patient. He proposed to me in an empty OR after a successful surgery. I told him I was pregnant in the Attendings lounge. Our whole story was based in the hospital.

I wait outside OR 4, eyeing the elevator from the corner of my view. Any second now our motorcycle guy would be wheeled in and I'd get to scrub in.

"Y/n! Y/n!" I hear him yell from the elevator, trying to get my attention.

Oh shit.

Jackson jogs over to me, concern washed over his face. I frown slightly, feeling bad that he's so worried about me.

"Jackson, hi, um, how...how did you find me?"

Jackson ushers me into the scrub room and closes the door behind us.

"Y/n, you can't be working, remember? You're on maternity leave. Go home." Jackson grabs me by my shoulders, looking me up and down.

"Jackson, I am fine! It's just one surgery, it's not that bad-" I pull out from his grasp and cross my arms under my chest.

"'Not that bad'? Y/n, that surgery could take more than a few hours. You could barely get out of bed this morning!" Jackson's motions to the operating room, raising his voice and I sigh.

"Jackson, we will continue this conversation at home. Preferably, after I finish this surgery." I say stubbornly. I turn to leave and Jackson follows me. I spot Owen and Amelia walking toward us and smile. "Hey, where's the patient?"

Amelia sucks in a breath. "We're holding off on surgery. He's very touch-and-go, so we're holding him in the ICU until tomorrow."

The both of them frown at me and I nod sadly. "Oh, okay. Thanks anyway, you guys."

"Y/n. Let's go." Jackson says sternly, looking only at me.

"I hope it all goes well tomorrow."

———

My breathing steadies after I sit on the bottom bunk in an on-call room. Jackson shuts the door behind us and opens the shutter slightly, letting a bit of the setting sun seep into the room.

I keep my head down, eyes closed. Afraid he'll be angry at me.

We're silent for a few seconds, trying to figure out what to say to each other. He starts first.

"Y/n, you know that I love you, right?" Jackson kneels down in front of me, I can feel his gaze resting on me.

"Yeah," I mumble, slowly lifting my head so we can meet each other's eyes.

"And you know that I'm taking your maternity leave so seriously because I want what's best for you and the baby, right?"

I groan and nod, covering my face with my hands. "Yes."

"Is it wrong? To want you both to be stress-free and healthy? Look at me when you answer, please."

Jackson takes my hands off my face and holds them, kissing the the backs of them before I respond. "No, it's not."

"Carina paged me, she said you came in. That you were worried about the baby. She told me he's okay. That you're okay." I can see tears forming in Jackson's eyes. He bows his head down and still clutches my hands tightly.

"Please, just promise me you'll take these last 4 weeks off. Completely. No work, no stress. Just bed rest and someone waiting on you." Jackson pleads softly, searching my face for an answer.

I lean in and kiss him softly. I take my hands out of his and wipe his tears from his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I just miss being at the hospital, on my feet, ready to go wherever I need to be. This little guy just sucks the energy right out of me." I chuckle, holding Jackson close to me.

He kisses the top of my head and rests his cheek there for a few seconds. "Can I talk to him really quickly?" Jackson asks quietly, I'm barely able to hear him.

I let out a small laugh, remembering this morning. "Go ahead, but no Momma slander."

Jackson grins at me and we sit beside each other on the bottom bunk. He lifts my fresh navy scrubs up to the top of my belly and I hold them there for him. He taps again, lightly and clears his throat.

"Hi, bud. You doin' okay in there...?"

We stay there, taking turns talking to the little guy, excited for the day where we get to call ourselves parents.

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair 

Chapter 28: The Precipice

Summary: The bliss of blind optimism begins to dissipate

Read on AO3

Read chapter 28 on tumblr below the cut

Previous, master list, next

Jamie awoke the next morning to find Claire curled up against his back, one of her legs thrown over his and her arm draped across his chest. A content smile sleepily formed on his face as he came to the realization that he was the little spoon. As much as he didn’t want to disturb her— and he very much enjoyed this cuddling position and would have to keep it in mind for later— he thought she needed a little extra care this morning. 

Turning over with the utmost delicacy, Jamie tried to keep her limbs in position over him while he shifted to face her. Once he was face to face with his faerie, he could watch her expression as she slept. 

“Mo calman geal,” he breathed in barely a whisper. My white dove. 

She was so beautiful lying beside him, the early morning sunlight illuminating her alabaster skin. Her lashes were dark against her cheeks, and the curls of her hair twined around her face with abandon. He wanted to wake up every morning to the sight of his love like this. 

Leaning forward, he brushed his lips gently in the spot between her brows that was smooth with sleep. Moving along, he hovered his lips over her cheek before pressing the barest hint of a kiss along the cheekbone. 

She awoke slowly as he kissed her other cheek, murmuring something unintelligible and squeezing her eyes shut tighter against wakefulness. 

“Good morning, mo chridhe,” he whispered as he ended his exploration of her face with a quick peck on the lips. 

“Jamie?” she dazedly murmured. 

Her arms came up to wrap around his shoulders as her eyes fluttered open. 

“Hi, a leannan,” he said warmly. 

She pulled him closer and then rolled them slightly so Jamie was lying back and she could rest her head on his shoulder. 

“How are ye feelin’ this mornin’?” he asked. 

“Tired,” she replied, her voice hushed. 

“Tired? Ye’ve only just woken up. Could ye no’ sleep last night?” 

“I did. I’m just… tired,” she responded. The fatigue was apparent. She seemed muted somehow, speaking as though her head was underwater.  

This sent Jamie’s heart beating faster, and he lifted up his head so he could look down at her, studying every inch he could see. But to his knowledge, nothing seemed wrong with her physically, other than the fact that the sweet calm of sleep was dissipating, leaving her with a pallor and listlessness that made Jamie’s stomach knot. 

“And ye dinna ken why? Maybe ye’re sick?” he asked anxiously, “maybe ye’ve caught something?” 

He repositioned them, shifting so that Claire moved back to the pillow and he could brace up on his elbow above her. He placed a hand on her forehead, his thumb brushing over her brow, but found it cool. “Can ye tell?” 

Jamie held his breath, daring to hope that maybe she could simply heal herself as she’d healed him. Could faeries even do that? 

Shaking her head against his head, she seemed sad. “I can’t tell,” she answered softly, but couldn’t provide any more explanation, “I can’t feel anything.” 

“Maybe ye should go back to sleep, a leannan?” Jamie suggested, his anxiety mounting. He brought his hand up to brush his fingers down the side of her face. 

She gave another shake of the head, interrupting his motions. “I don’t want to. Can I just sit with you for a while?” 

His heart broke a little at her tentative question. 

“Of course ye can, my sweet one,” his voice caught a little on the endearment, “but why dinna ye jes’ stay in bed while I feed Adso and myself? I have time, I’ll be back before ye know it.” 

“I want to stay with you,” she insisted, the clinginess obvious in her voice. But instead of its usual feisty quality— the way she adhered to him with passion, as if every touch lit the fire inside of her— she seemed limp. As if the most she could do to keep herself by his side was ask. 

Jamie’s brow furrowed. He was really starting to get concerned about her. Studying her pale face, he traced a fingertip across her cheekbone. 

“We’ll stay then, a leannan,” he opted not to bring up his worries any further. Not when she was like this. 

Despite the words that had just left his lips, there was a lump in his throat and a tugging on his mind that he couldn’t ignore. They could only stay for so long… Jamie was supposed to go into work. To leave Claire by herself. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was only 6 am, and he let out a sigh. There was still plenty of time to take care of her before he had to leave. 

For the umpteenth time, he wished he could simply up and quit his job. Everything in his life paled in comparison to the consumingness of her. But he knew that this trouble would pass soon enough, and it wouldn’t be right to abandon his passion and livelihood simply because he wanted to spend every waking second with his lass. 

Claire was staring at him, her head tilted against the pillow as she watched this struggle play out on his face. There seemed a moment where her features darkened and her eyes fell. 

“I forgot about work,” she murmured, having correctly intuited exactly what was going on in his brain. Disappointment cast a veil over her normally open face. 

“I have time, a leannan. I always have time for you.” 

Jamie started to reach out, meaning to bring her into his arms again, but she shook her head. 

“Go on. You need food, and time to get dressed. Let’s go,” she said. 

Whether she was fighting it or not, Jamie would slow down. He shifted himself closer to her on the bed, cupping her face with one hand and sliding his other over her hip. He caressed up and down in long strokes, intentionally slow. 

“Ye’re the only thing on my mind right now, mo Sorcha. 

The look on her face made his stomach twist. Her eyes were downcast, not meeting his, and there was tension in the muscles of her cheeks, as if she was trying to hold a mask in place. She was quiet, and the only reply to his words was a shaky exhale. 

Jamie drew up so he hovered over her. Tilting her face up, he brought his lips to ghost a kiss over those beautiful pink lips. 

Even that didn’t seem to break the somber mood that trapped his love. Jamie felt excessively guilty as he stayed rooted in that position, staring into her eyes and cradling her face with both hands. He wished he could tell her he would take off again, that they could take a sick day together, and that he could hold her until she felt normal again, but he couldn’t say any of those things. 

“It’s okay, Jamie,” Claire murmured, turning those fatigued eyes on him full force, “let’s go downstairs.” 

*

While Jamie made breakfast, Claire wandered over to the kitchen table. He glanced over every few seconds to check on her, but she was so quiet. His concern amped up several notches when he looked over at one point to find she had laid her head in her arms where they rested on the table. Her eyes were closed and her breathing slow. 

Something was definitely wrong. 

Jamie turned off the stove and abandoned his parritch. He walked over to her and gently ran his hand over the back of her head, trying to shove down the worry that nearly made his hand tremble. 

Her response was to simply turn her head a bit on her arms, indicating she felt him, but she didn’t say a word. 

“Sassenach—” he started to say, but she lifted her head. 

“I’m fine. Just tired.”

“I dinna want to leave ye.” 

She did raise her head then, turning big honey eyes up toward him. Her lips caught the heel of his hand in a kiss before she spoke. 

“You have to go, Jamie. It’ll be good. I’ll go back to sleep, and I’m sure I’ll feel more like myself when you get home.” 

Jamie felt like a toddler about to have a tantrum. He was tired of this conflict every damn day! He hated going into work and leaving her here, but he hated leaving his company when he knew very well they needed him. He felt like he was being torn in different directions and that one day he would simply snap. 

Taking a deep breath, he shoved down that line of thinking. It wouldn’t do Claire any good to have him strung out over work. While she was sick, he would simply have to keep it together and make one decision at a time. And today, whether he liked it or not, the decision was clear. 

“Okay, Sassenach. But that doesna mean that I willna give ye my full attention now while I’m here.” 

She smiled a little at this, lifting her head enough to fix him with that whisky gaze. “Does that mean you’ll have your breakfast on the couch?”

Jamie rolled his eyes but felt his muscles ease at the relief of seeing that glimpse of her usual self. 

Recently, she’d begun to rebel against the kitchen table. The kitchen chairs were no good— she would complain. No good for snuggling, she meant. Even when she scooted hers as close as possible to Jamie’s, that was apparently not close enough for her. She’d begun a campaign against the table then, trying to get him to sit on the couch for meals where she could burrow into his side. Finding her incredibly distracting and a bit disconcerting to have a faerie trying to apparently jump into his skin while he attempted to have a meal, Jamie had stood firm on his policy. Meals were taken at the table. 

Only now, seeing that tiny spark in her eyes at mention of breakfast on the couch, Jamie never stood a chance. 

“You win, a leannan. Jes’ this once, I’ll have my parritch wi’ ye in the living room. Come on, then, lass.” 

And so he found himself on the couch, bowl held out in front of him and Claire glued to his side. It didn’t take long for her head to meet his shoulder and her hands to wrap around his bicep in a sort of half-hug. 

His heart skipped a few beats as she clung to him. 

“Yer hands are cold, a leannan,” he noticed.

She murmured an uncertain hmmm? but didn’t say anything more. Jamie decided to drop it. Clearly she was under the weather, no denying it, but he hoped that an actual day of rest would do her well. He simply swallowed down his parritch and tried not to think too much about what he couldn’t control. Claire was silent nearly the whole time, just breathing deeply against his side.

When it came time for him to run out the door, he was ready to cry and stamp his feet at the unfairness of adult life. He tugged his bag over his shoulder with more force than necessary, and had to resist tearing it off again as he returned to Claire where she lay on the couch. 

“If I have a second free I’ll run back to check on ye, alright, mo ghraidh?” he said after getting her tucked underneath a warmth blanket, an edge of urgency on his voice. The blanket was a poor substitute for his body, but he didn’t want to leave her with nothing. At least he could wrap his tartan around her, imagining his protection enveloped her. 

“Don’t worry, Jamie. I’ll see you when you get home,” Claire said, already settling down on the throw pillow with her eyes falling closed. 

It eased him considerably to see her already burrowing in for a nap, and he muttered a quick prayer over her in Gaelic before giving her one last kiss to the forehead. 

“I love you more than anythin’, mo chridhe. Be well,” he said in farewell. 

“I love you,” she echoed, her voice already laced with the slur of sleep. 

***

Murtagh Fitzgibbons Fraser was no babysitter. 

Sure, he’d spent nearly all his free time with Ellen’s bairns, but that was different. He was a hard man, used to solitude, and he most certainly did not take care of people. 

Only when Jamie Fraser had called him from work, his voice dripping with anxious concern, pleading with him to go check in on his lass to see if she was alright, Murtagh had somehow lost his mind and relented. Maybe it was something about Jamie’s story— how Claire was feelin’ ill but he’d forgotten to leave a cellphone with her so she could call if she needed something— or maybe it was just the obvious worry in his godson’s voice, but something had made Murtagh give in. He hated letting down the lad more than anything, so he had decided that he could manage a little look-in that was most certainly not anything more than that.

A short time later, he found himself unlocking Jamie’s house with his spare key and yelling a greeting as he stepped inside. 

“Claire? Lass? Jamie asked me tae check in on ye. Are ye alright?” he called. 

But he heard no answer. Figuring she was upstairs in the bedroom having a nap, Murtagh made his way upstairs, only to find all the rooms empty. 

“Lass?” he called again, “are ye here?” 

He worried for a minute that she’d left, made a run for it while Jamie was at work so she could avoid saying goodbye, but then he remembered the way the lass had looked at Jamie, spoke about him, and he knew in his wame that there was no way the lass had up and left. 

He checked the basement before making another round through the house, only to find no trace of the wee lassie. 

There was one last place to look, even though only someone out of their damn mind would go outside on a dreich day such as this one. 

He slid open the back door reluctantly, squinting out into the back garden. His eyes swept lazily across it, not expecting to find anything, but then his gaze landed on the shape of a figure laying on the ground in front of the wee patch of dirt that was a sorry excuse for a garden. 

Adrenaline flooded Murtagh’s veins, and he ran outside, cursing under his breath. 

By the time he got to her, dropping to his knees beside her, she was struggling to sit up, pushing up on her hands and shaking her head, looking disoriented. 

“Have ye lost yer mind, lass?” Murtagh burst out, reaching to help her sit up. 

She didn’t answer, just pressed her dirty hands against her face and swayed slightly. 

Taking in the sight of her, Murtagh realized Jamie had been right to call him. The lass certainly was ill. Her face was pale and drawn, and she looked damn near ready to keel over again. Her hand shook where it was lifted to her face, and she was blinking hard. 

“Come on, now,” Murtagh said, much more gently this time. 

She still didn’t say anything, but she didn’t protest either when he took her arms and laid it across his shoulders so he could lift her to her feet with a quiet “up ye get.” 

Her breath hitched the moment they were upright, and she sagged heavily against him, barely supporting her own weight. Like a sack of grain against him, the puir lass couldn’t even manage to hold on. 

“Ye’re alright,” Murtagh found himself saying to her as she struggled to stay upright, “let’s get ye inside.” 

Slowly, they made their way inside, Murtagh taking the majority of her weight and offering encouragements he didn’t know he had in him. She didn’t say a word, white lips pressed tightly together as her feet dragged. 

Once they had finally made it inside, Murtagh deposited her on the couch before grabbing a blanket and tucking it around her. 

“There ye go, that’ll be more comfortable than the dirt outside, I’d expect,” Murtagh said. 

By this time, he was used to the lass not saying a word. He thought maybe she was one who simply shut down when she wasn’t feeling well. Besides, she seemed like she was barely conscious, let alone coherent enough to have a conversation. So he was surprised when she murmured out a weak, “thank you.” 

“Ye’re welcome, lass,” Murtagh said, trying to sound gruff and uncaring, but the words came out gentle as her tone struck some chord inside him, “get some sleep now. Ye’ll feel better wi’ some rest.” 

He must have been losing his edge if one sick lassie could turn him into a mother hen. 

“Jamie?” she asked, her voice muffled by the blanket which she was pulling up toward her face. 

“He’ll be back when ye wake,” Murtagh promised. 

She closed her eyes then, seeming content with that answer, and Murtagh left her to head into the kitchen where he could call Jamie privately. 

The poor lad was rocked by his report, sounding over the phone like someone had punched him in the stomach, and he’d promised to be home right away. He must have broken every traffic law because it took him only 20 minutes to get home from the city. 

Jamie burst in through the front door, disheveled and wild with worry, and Murtagh found himself rushing over and shushing him so he didn’t wake the lass where she slept on the couch.

His godson had quieted immediately, and before Murtagh could give him the story, Jamie was pushing past him into the living room. 

Murtagh watched as the lad caught sight of Claire, his eyes filling with soft worry. His entire demeanor changed from wired to gentle as Jamie knelt down beside the couch, brushing curls away from the lass’ forehead so he could press a kiss there. 

Her eyes fluttered open at the touch. It seemed to take her a second to orient herself, but the second she realized who was with her, her whole face melted. 

“Jamie,” she breathed out. 

“I’m here now, mo ghraidh, dinna fash,” he said, more gentle than Murtagh had ever seen him, “go back to sleep. I’m here.” 

“Will you stay with me?” she asked. 

Murtagh felt like he was intruding on a private moment, but he couldn't seem to look away as Jamie pressed another kiss to her brow. “In jes’ a minute, lass. Hold on, jes’ a moment.” He kissed her again, as if he couldn’t bear the words coming from his mouth. “I promise I’ll be right back.”

She nodded, barely moving her head, and then closed her eyes again. Looking like the weight of the world was on his back, Jamie stood and turned toward Murtagh, gesturing toward the kitchen with a tilt of his head. 

“So you found her in the garden?” Jamie asked once they were both seated at the table. 

“Aye. She looked like she’d collapsed out there. Something’s wrong wi’ the lass, Jamie.” 

Jamie looked sad, his blue eyes— so like Ellen’s— were unfocused. His mind was clearly in the living room. Shaking his head, he admitted, “I ken. I’m scared for her.” 

“Take her to a doctor, lad,” Murtagh told him, “she needs help.” 

For some reason, this seemed to pain Jamie all the more. He looked down, fiddling with his fingers. Something was going on in that brain of his, but Murtagh had no idea what it was. 

“Dinna fash, I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Murtagh told him, “take some more time off, see her well, and call me if ye need anythin.” 

“Thanks, Murtagh,” Jamie said, nodding as if to convince himself of the validity of Murtagh’s assurances. 

“Dinna think on it,” he dismissed, “Now, go back tae yer lass.”

***

When Jamie closed the door behind Murtagh, he had to take a second to lean his back against it, pushing all the air from his lungs in a long breath. He felt like his head was whirling, his body thrumming as he came down from the adrenaline. The drive home had been a mad dash, and Jamie didn’t even remember half of it. Now, the quiet stillness of the house seemed stifling. 

He wouldn’t think about Claire’s suffering. He wouldn’t think about her laying outside the garden all by herself.. He wouldn’t think about her perfect skin marred by dirt as she tried and failed to push herself up… he wouldn’t—

The punishing flood of mental pictures burned in his brain and twisted his stomach in guilty turmoil. 

He was a fool. He was a damned fool for leaving her. He’d known she wasn’t well this morning, and he’d known she was far too stubborn to take care of herself and simply sleep, but he’d left her anyway. 

As he returned to Claire’s side to find her fast asleep, he was torn between cursing her for her foolishness in going outside and cursing himself for deciding to leave her. 

“I’m here, mo nighean donn,” he whispered to her as he pressed a long kiss to her temple, lips lingering as if his touch could erase the mistakes of the day. 

Part of him wished that she was awake, if only to comfort him that things weren’t as bad as they seemed. But she was finally resting, and if his kiss didn’t wake her, he wouldn’t disrupt her sleep. 

Deciding she would be better off in bed, Jamie slid his hands underneath her and gathered her in. He carried her upstairs, taking careful steps with his most precious cargo before settling her again in bed. She barely stirred— hardly reacted at all to the change in location. Her eyes remained shut and her face still. 

“Rest now, mo ghraidh,” Jamie murmured over her. 

He allowed himself one caress over her brow and one kiss to the top of her curls. And then he left her to her sleep. 

The second he sat down at the desk in his study, he felt himself deflate like a balloon. He buried his face in his hands and swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. 

The only sound filling the room was the clock ticking on the wall.

***

Next

[notarelationship]

In A Minute - Klaine Advent Edition: Day 5 orientation

For Klaine Advent this year I’m going to try to finish up a story I started writing in 2019, but never finished because of *waves hands around* everything.

It’s a fake-dating story called In A Minute, and you can read the existing 4 chapters on AO3 here, or on tumblr here.  I originally expected the story to be another 2-3 chapters (or maybe 2 with an epilogue), so it should work out in the end, provided everyone behaves themselves.

Each Klaine Advent entry this year will continue the story, chronologically, i.e., I won’t be jumping around (unless the story calls for it). The word counts for each are likely to be all over the place; some could be 100 words, and some are sure to be more. I probably won’t post every day, but I’m not planning on doubling up any words of the day, so expect one entry per word. I’ll probably update AO3 when I have what feels like a chapter’s worth of story.

Thanks to everyone for reading!

-

Klaine Advent 2021 Word: orientation (ish) Word Count: 651 Warnings: none

Previous: silence, ceiling, obligation, ancestor --

“Michelle, wait,” Blaine pleaded. “It’s such short notice, we’d have to pick a song, and rehearse, and what if the band doesn’t want us to do it? And we don’t even know if Sebastian’s and my voices even sound good together! What if we sound like screeching cats, or… or Sylvester Stallone and Dolly Parton?” Blaine could feel himself starting to panic. He did not want to sing a romantic duet in front of 200 guests - including many members of his family, with Sebastian Smythe. 

“Ooh, nice Rhinestone callout,” Kurt murmured to no one in particular.

“Don’t be silly Blaine,” his mother interjected. “I’ve heard you both sing, and there’s no way it won’t sound good. And as for the band - well they’re a wedding band for goodness sake, so I’m sure things like this happen all the time. And it would be such a nice thing to do for your cousin.”

Blaine looked at his mother and tried not to glare, he couldn’t help but believe that she had somehow maneuvered to make this happen. It would be just her style. Over her shoulder he could see Sebastian smirk.

 “Why don’t we pull together a short list of songs that Michelle and David like, and that we think we can handle, and we can email it to the band,” Sebastian suggested. “That is, if Kurt can spare him for a few minutes?”

It didn’t look like Blaine was going to be able to get out of this, at least not without making a scene, and he was determined not to do that. It didn’t seem right to do that to MIchelle. Blaine sighed and reached down to slip his hand into Kurt’s. “Kurt could join us. He’s in musical theater, and he used to be in the glee club in high school, and he has a pretty good sense of my range.” 

Sebastian’s eyes darkened for just a second, but he plastered on a smile and said, “Of course.”

Kurt squeezed Blaine’s hand tightly. Blaine knew Kurt had never heard him sing, and probably didn't have a great sense of Blaine’s anything. But he needed some support and Kurt was the only person at this wedding in his corner. Except maybe his dad, and he still hadn’t told Kurt about that conversation. What a long day.

Half an hour later they had a short list of songs that Michelle sent to the band, who responded right away to say they’d get back to her in the morning. They also confirmed that they had time to rehearse a song or two with her guest singers. 

“I’m not sure about a couple of those songs,” Kurt said, after they’d excused themselves from the group. Blaine could tell Kurt was dragging him toward the bar, and he wasn’t going to protest. “Your cousin and her fiancé don’t really strike me as the Troy and Gabriella type.” 

Blaine smiled. “Ah, but High School Musical is timeless Kurt.” 

“I think you mean ‘dated’ Blaine.” When they got to the bar Kurt ordered a glass of red wine and a gin and tonic for Blaine. 

“Am I hitting the hard stuff?”

“I thought you could use some reorientation after all that.” 

Blaine nodded. Kurt wasn’t wrong about that. “I’m sorry this has been weird.” Kurt looked at him confused, and handed over his drink. 

“What do you mean?”

Blaine shrugged. “Oh I don’t know, my mom, Sebastian, the nap thing.” Blaine was at a loss. It had been such a long day. “Everything?”

Kurt smiled. “Oh come on, a wedding isn’t really a wedding until there’s some unexpected drama; the groom hasn’t slept with any bridesmaids, or the best man -” Kurt winked, “That I'm aware of anyway. Michelle is barely even a bridezilla, and you warned me about Sebastian in advance. In fact, he’s the reason I'm here. It's hardly been weird at all.”

[mari-beau]

PARTNERS - A Rogue One Fanfiction

Written for Cassian Appreciation Week 2021 Day 4: Alliance Intelligence

(I know I missed Cassian Appreciation Week entirely with this one, but it got a little more out of hand than the quick scene tags and etc. Actually, tumblr posting etiquette question: At what point is a fanfic considered too long to post directly and should be hosted elsewhere and linked to? Or is inserting a ‘keep reading’ break enough?)

Title: Partners

Characters: Cassian Andor POV; Jyn Erso, Draven

Pairing: Cassian/Jyn

Words: 2633

Setting: Post-Rogue One, Canon-divergent (in that Cassian & Jyn live)

Summary: Cassian receives his first assignment for Alliance Intelligence after recovering from his Scarif injuries, but something is amiss with Jyn Erso. And something is gnawing at him as well...

Spoilers: Rogue One

Warnings: Our heroes have a little bit of PTSD/Separation Anxiety; Also it’s in a layered/nonlinear narrative format, which hopefully is clear/works.

“Where?” she asked. Was there a desperate edge to Jyn’s voice? Or did he just want there to be?

“You know I can’t tell you where.”

Cassian thought she would at least roll her eyes, if not spout sardonic criticism of Alliance Intelligence not even trusting their own people, not trusting those rebels who’d sacrificed everything for the Cause. But she surprisingly remained silent, pursing her lips and giving a little shake of her head.

“Are you allowed to tell me how long you’ll-” She swallowed, uncharacteristically vulnerable. “You’ll be gone?”

“I’m not sure.” Cassian wanted to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but he’d never seen her look so fragile, and he was afraid a single touch might shatter her.

“Okay.” Her response was clipped, even for her, and she just nodded her head, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I’ll be back, Jyn,” he said. And maybe he’d never actually said it outright, but maybe she needed to hear it. “I’ll never leave you behind.”

Again, she only nodded her head, repeating “Okay.”

He gave into the urge, placed a hand on her biceps and stroked her arm through the layers of her thick thermal jumpsuit.

“Are you-” he tried to ask her whether she was feeling okay, but she shrugged his hand off and bolted, leaving him to watch her fleeing back as she disappeared down an icy corridor, blinking in surprise.

…

Earlier…

“Medical informs me you’re cleared for active duty, Captain Andor.” Draven managed to make it both a statement and a question. Of course he was the head of Intelligence, a spy to his very core, working in vagaries. Except when he issued orders. Those were always clear.

“Yes, sir.” Cassian tried to stand at full attention, but the stance honestly put a little too much pressure on his bad leg. If it was just the artificial hip, he’d probably be sprier than he’d been before. But the deep tissue damage was going to take awhile, if he ever did regain the full musculature in his leg, the tendons and ligaments would never be the same. The fractures in his vertebrae and ribs had thankfully knitted back up and neither bothered him too badly. Even with the unrelenting cold of Hoth.

“I have your next assignment.”

Cassian nodded, accepting the datapad with mission specifics. He gave it a cursory glance.

Deep cover.

“Is this a solo mission?” he asked, but pretended to continue to study the information rather than risk revealing his insecurities to his commanding officer. “Or am I going to need a team?”

Maybe just a partner?

“It has to be you,” Draven said. “And only you. They’re your connections. Well, one of your alias’ connections.”

The older man hesitated, not dismissing Cassian, not continuing with the briefing, just standing, waiting. Cassian mustered the best impassive face he could before meeting his commanding officer’s gaze.

“You’re still one of the best agents we have, Andor.”

Cassian nodded his head in silent acceptance of the reassurance.

“When do you need me to leave?” he asked.

“Whenever you’re comfortable enough with the mission brief. But the sooner, the better.” Draven was still studying him intently, with more scrutiny than Cassian had even faced as an undercover spy. “You know where to find me if you have any follow up questions.”

“Yes, sir,” Cassian said, recognizing his dismissal.

Something twisted deep in his chest as he walked away.

He needed to find Jyn and tell her he’d be leaving.

…

That Day on the Beach of Scarif…

“Look.”

It sounded like Jyn’s voice. Was there an afterlife, then? And could Cassian have somehow been lucky enough to be with her there?

No. No, that couldn’t be the case. There was too much pain. If he no longer had a body, then why did it hurt in the way physical flesh only could?

“Cassian!” Jyn’s voice was more urgent and she was squirming in his arms, her hands tugging on the sleeves of his shirt. “What is that?”

He forced his eyes open. It was bright. So bright. Why was she confused? It was Death.

No. No, it wasn’t?

He squinted, blinking his eyes as he looked off toward the ocean, well, where the ocean had been, where the wall of destruction had… stopped?

Jyn looked at him in wide-eyed amazement. “Is that a-”

“Shield,” Cassian gasped, in utter shock himself. “The Empire must have installed an emergency shield to protect the facility.”

“How long?” Jyn was breathing hard, already scrambling to her feet.

“Against that blastwave? Not long,” Cassian said. “Maybe it has dispersed some of the explosive force already but…”

“Come on.” Jyn was standing, leaning down to tug at his arms. He felt like he was ten times the weight he’d ever been on any planet.

“There’s not a lot of time,” he said, hoping she’d understand.

“Which is why you need to move your ass.” Jyn squatted in front of him instead, shoving her arms under his armpits and basically hugging him, she tried hauling him to his feet, but he was dead weight. He hissed with overwhelming pain that was practically blinding, his legs refusing to function. They collapsed back to the sand in a heap.

Jyn got back up, wincing and holding her injured shoulder before she renewed her attempts to get Cassian onto his feet.

It was a herculean effort for his weary body, but he managed to grab her arm.

“Listen to me, Jyn.” She locked eyes with him, and the desperation and pain he found there stabbed him in the chest, hurting worse than his aching ribs. “You have to go. You have to leave me behind. There’s got to be others still alive out there. Find them, get off Scarif. Leave me here. It’s okay. I want you to leave me. Do you understand?”

“No,” she said. There was a ferocious passion in the depths of her eyes, the green gone all steel grey. Any argument he could possibly make, any plea for her to save herself would not be tolerated.

“You listen to me, Cassian Andor.” Her hands captured his face. Her fierceness took away what little breath he had. “We live together. Or we die together.”

This time when she grabbed him, somehow her small body managed to haul him up, maybe she’d somehow given him some of her strength, some of her unrelenting determination, because his legs held... mostly.

…

Present

Cassian found Jyn hiding in a storage room, sitting on a crate with her hands on her knees, doubled over, breathing in big, sobbing gulps of air. He could only stand there and stare in complete shock. Not even on the beach that day had he ever seen Jyn Erso so… such an emotional mess. Angry. Passionate. Vulnerable. Yes. All those things he had seen in her eyes. But this sort of tangible, physical reaction? It was jarring to witness.

And he hesitated. Never hesitate. It could cost lives, the lives of others, your own.

Rushing to her side, he dropped to his knees beside her, the hard ice floor’s impact mitigated by his thick thermal pants.

“Jyn, what is it? What’s wrong? Should I find a medic?”

He placed a hand on her leg, tried to get her to look at him, but she turned away, her breathing still disturbingly uneven, like she wasn’t getting enough oxygen.

“N-no,” she choked out. “Just- Just give me a m-minute.”

“Okay,” he said. “But I’m right here. If you need anything, I’m here.”

A sob escaped her, and then she gasped, continuing to struggle to breath, hyperventilating. Cassian just remained there, kneeling beside her, a previously unfamiliar agony tearing at him, watching Jyn suffer whatever it was she was enduring and unable to help her. But he’d stay there, by her side, forever, if she needed him to.

Her breathing gradually grew placid until she was taking deep, regulated draughts of air. And then those determined breaths evened out as well until she was finally breathing normally. And still he waited.

Jyn swore, wiping at her face before she turned to him, and oh, force, her cheeks were raw-looking with tear tracks staining her skin. There were dark circles under her eyes. She looked exhausted. As if she’d been awake, hunted, for a week. How did that happen in just half an hour or so?

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” Cassian asked. He wanted to know, needed to know, so, “Maybe I can help.”

She nodded but her eyes were bright, welling up with tears. This was Jyn Erso. It took a lot to make the woman cry.

“What is responsible for this? Did someone hurt you?” Cassian could hear his own accent thickening but didn’t care, becoming too agitated to focus on proper Basic pronunciations.

Jyn shook her head but said, “No. Yes… I… fuck. This is so embarrassing.”

“What is it, querida?” He took her hand and when she didn’t pull away, squeezed it, caressed her bare palm with his thumb, noting that her skin was getting cold and he should get her back closer to the core of the base where the temperature was more bearable. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

She nodded. And again, Cassian was struck by how vulnerable the woman was. She always had a deeply hurt portion of her soul, but she seemed incapable of letting it show, even to him. It wasn’t deluding himself, or an over-exaggeration. Cassian knew that her friendship with him was different than any other she’d had in her life. It was the same for him. They finally had someone they could trust wholeheartedly.

But he still held his breath, waiting for her to bestow that trust once again.

She looked down at her hands in his, then to his face, her weary eyes holding his gaze, searching for something.

“You haven’t realized it, yet, have you?” she asked. Cassian’s heart beat faster. Realized what? “Until your Intelligence briefing this morning, we hadn’t been more than an arm’s length apart since Scarif. And force, I’m having a fucking panic attack just at the thought of being separated from you. How ridiculous is that?”

Cassian’s mouth had gone dry. He swallowed and wet his lips before he could even contemplate speaking.

“It’s not ridiculous, Jyn.” Maybe he hadn’t realized why, but that uneasy feeling had been twisting his insides since he’d first left for his briefing. And now, now he couldn’t deny its cause.

Because Jyn was right. She’d basically dragged him bodily out of that massacre, off that cursed planet, held him as he drifted in and out of consciousness until he’d blacked out entirely, to wake up in the infirmary on Yavin 4 with Jyn sitting at his bedside, arms folded on the edge of his cot, supporting her head as she slept. And from there, she had been with him his entire recovery. She refused to leave the room when medical staff or droids checked on him, only turning her back to give him privacy. He hadn’t complained. He hadn’t objected. Even when she set up a bedroll in the corner of his quarters when he’d been released from the infirmary. Even when she wordlessly climbed into his bed to soothe his fitful, painful sleep, even when she helped him dress. And shower. And limp down the corridors to exercise his injured leg. And after he was basically as recovered as he was going to get, she stayed. Always by his side.

The memory that would always forever be seared into his existence slapped him in the face.

“We live together. Or we die together,” he whispered.

Jyn’s pupils dilated, her eyes fixed unwaveringly on his.

“I meant it,” she said quietly. “But I didn’t think…”

Her hand reflexively clutched at the front of her thermal jumpsuit, seeking the only possession she cared about, the only thing she had left of her mother, her father, the only thing she had that was her own, special. But hadn’t she realized?

She had him.

Cassian took a risk, slid his fingertips over her cheek, which was soft and smooth and warm against his doubtless chilled fingers. But she didn’t flinch from his cool touch. Rather, she leaned into his palm as he cupped her face.

“I know,” he said. And he did know, could see the knowledge of it in her eyes, as well. He didn’t much believe in the Force, and despite the kyber crystal perpetually around Jyn’s neck, she had had a hard life, was a survivor, with a practicality that ran so deep it had taken him, a heartless assassin to make her believe in hope again.

Sometimes, though… Okay, often, he felt like that blastwave had swept them away, disintegrated them on the submolecular level. And then somehow they’d reformed. But their atoms had been mixed up, and he was as much composed of her stardust as his own, and she of his.

It was fanciful. And completely unlike Cassian. The Before Cassian. But now, it was absolutely the way he felt. It was foolish to deny it. And from the way Jyn was looking at him...

He leaned in, his nose brushing hers, his lips feathering over hers as he hesitated, waited for any signal from her, acceptance, invitation, or rejection.

It was an exquisite, agonizing eternity.

But then Jyn sucked in a sharp breath, one of her small yet strong hands grabbing the front of his coat, the other the nape of his neck, fingers curling in his hair. She pulled him into her, her mouth crashing against, hard and hot, and needy. Aggressive and tender at the same time. An inextricable mess. It was how they were. It was who they were.

It was perfect.

…

A little bit later...

“You have concerns regarding the mission, Captain Andor?”

Cassian had managed to catch General Draven in the rare moment where the man was actually in his office, sitting at his desk, reviewing… who knew what… intelligence, battle plans… food reserves…

“I do, sir.”

Draven looked up. Cassian had never questioned an assignment before. He’d always been such a good little soldier-spy. Even though it had been costing him his very soul.

Still, even with the feeling of Jyn’s kisses freshly on his lips, the presence of her burned into his entire being, questioning orders made him nervous. Almost as nervous as allowing himself to have wants, a sense of self beyond what the Alliance had given him.

“Well, what is it, captain?”

“I need a partner.”

Draven frowned in thought. “If I recall… the assignment is best suited for a single operative.”

Cassian swallowed but looked his commanding officer straight in the eye. “Then I won’t be taking this assignment. Or any others for Alliance Intelligence. Not unless I can work with a partner.”

Draven stood, did a quick pace behind his desk before he fixed Cassian with a hard stare. “You would desert the Alliance over Jyn Erso?”

Cassian wet his lips. Revealing such personal, emotional aspects to himself was… entirely against his nature. Jyn did not count. She was simply an extension of himself.

“I would choose her.” Cassian held the man’s war-weary, hardened gaze that still somehow seemed to have an iota of softness about the edges. “I have chosen her.”

We live together. Or we die together.

“She’s my partner.”

Draven sighed, but inclined his head.

“I’ll update the rosters. Make whatever alterations to the mission outline you view fit.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I don’t know if you should be thanking me, Andor,” Draven said, but an elusive smirk flitted across his face.

Cassian did not hide his smile as he left, to find Jyn, and to tell her she was the newest member of the Alliance Intelligence unit.

[chuckbass-love]

Any interest in writing a fic where Chris cheats on his girlfriend/ wife and how they work through it. Also his family being involved in the fic.

I rarely see fics with Chris cheating, so of course i’ll write this. I just knowwwww Lisa would give that man child hell for it. I include lyrics from the song Battle Scars by Lupe Fiasco and Guy Sebastian, they are in italics.

I really hope you love this...

Disclaimer: My work is not to be posted anywhere else other than MY Tumblr, Wattpad and Ao3 without my permission. However, reblogs are welcome.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Cheating, angst and sad themes pretty much. 

Word Count: 5,836

GIF NOT MINE!!! Credit to @voyevoda-thejoy go check them out 💙

Get Through This

You strut into the kitchen of the house you share with your husband Chris, ready to make dinner for the two of you. It’s valentines day and you’ve not seen him for months. He’s been filming and as much as you were aware of what his job entailed, you still get upset whenever he has to leave. But after this project, he’s all yours and Dodgers for a while. You can’t wait.

He texted you to let you know that he’d be home in just under an hour, enough time to start on dinner. 

The table is set, you’re already in a sexy outfit, hidden underneath your silk dressing gown. He’s going to have the best welcome home gift ever and you just know he’s going to be all over you like a rash.

The pasta is cooking so you start on the sauce next, trying your hardest not to fuck this up. He sent god knows how many texts about how much he’s missed your cooking and you want it to perfect for him. He deserves nothing but the best.

As you’re stirring the sauce, your phone goes off, it’s Instagram and then next thing you know. You get a ton of Twitter notifications too. Way too many for your liking. 

You unlock the phone and check Twitter first, seeing as you have the most notifications for that. 

But once you open the messages that are all from the same account. You almost drop your phone at the images on your screen. 

Of Chris.

Kissing another woman. His hands around her waist. You feel sick, numb, broken and stupid. 

He’s your husband. 

Why is he doing this?

I wish i never looked 

I wish i never touched

I wish that i could stop loving you so much

You drop the phone on the kitchen counter and rush over to the sink to be sick. It’s not stopping, you can’t stop it. The thought of him with another woman that’s not you, the thought of him kissing or touching another makes you’re whole body turn cold. The puking continues as more questions and thoughts riddle your brain. 

‘who is she?’

‘why would he do this to you?’

‘how long has it been going on?’

‘how did it start?’

‘is there more to it other than kissing?’

You stand upright, taking a paper towel and using it to wipe your mouth as you try to keep the puke at bay. 

He’s going to be home soon. What the fuck do you even say to him?

You pick the phone back up to see if there was even a message attached to the pictures but there wasn’t. So you go to Instagram to check that, it’s a different account, with the same pictures.

Multiple people have these images. Multiple people know about his actions. What if they end up online? What about your family? His family? What if they see them too?

You try to calm your breathing, your heart is pounding. You can’t stop it, you grip onto the counter, one hand over your chest, as if that will somehow stop the feeling of your heart practically beating it’s way out of your chest. Like somehow it’ll make this all go away.

This robe is way too tight. You struggle to undo it, fiddling with it, your hands are shaky, your breathing turns more erratic. You turn the stove off, rushing upstairs seconds after and into the bedroom you share with your husband.

The same husband that you once trusted with your heart and life. The same husband that you never ever imagined doing this to you but then again, who ever thinks that their partner will ever do this to them? Exactly, it’s always unexpected. 

This has to be a dream, right?

This isn’t like him, this isn’t Chris. Or at least not the Chris you know and love. The Chris you married.

There has to be some kind of explanation right?

No. Stop this Y/N

Cause i’m the only one that’s trying to keep us together

When all of the signs say that i should forget him

There is no explanation for this. No explanation he could possibly give you for kissing another woman and possibly sleeping with her. He looks way too cosy for this to be just a kiss.

There’s more to this. 

You run into the walk in closet, ripping your clothes from their hangers in a panic. Tears fill your eyes and fall down your face. You can’t stop this, the feeling of hurt and betrayal, the pain that fills your body to the brim, drowning you. You feel on the edge of a tall building right now. Like the smallest of movements could happen and you would just fall to the ground. 

You change quickly before you pack everything that you can, everything that belongs to you, your clothes, underwear, toothbrush, skin care shit, make-up. The lot. You pack two suitcases and a duffle bag and that’s only the stuff you need right now. You can always get the rest if you need to. You can’t stay here any longer than you need to though.

But first, you need to face him.

“Honey?” you hear, the familiar Bostonian accent echos through the house as the door slams shut and all of a sudden, there he is in the doorway. 

“Something smells delicious, are you cooking?” he smiles, a fake smile no doubt. Bet he’d rather be with her.

I wish you weren’t the best

The best i ever had

I wish that the good outweighed the bad

You stand there, ignoring his question for a couple seconds as your gaze drops to the screen of your phone. You click on the images and slide the phone over to him. He walks closer “what’s this honey?” and he goes to talk again but soon stops when he realises what they are. 

“Baby, i-i can explain”

“Don’t even bother” 

He walks around the kitchen island to you and you move the bags out the way so that they are in his eye line. He glances over them “what’s all this? Are you leaving me? Please, don’t i can explain all of this?”

As hard as you try not to, you start to cry again. Through the blurred vision, you see him wipe at his face, is he seriously crying too? He’s the one that cheated.

“Don’t start acting like you’re the one upset here Chris. You did this to me, remember?”

“I didn’t mean for anything to happen, i got caught up. It’s no excuse but i really am sorry”

“How long?” you mutter through gritted teeth, not even caring how nasty you sound right now “it was only the once” lies. All lies.

“Don’t fucking lie to me”

He takes a step back, holding his hands up in surrender and as soon as he does, Dodger comes running into the room, jumping up Chris and trying to get attention. He bends down, fussing the excited pup that has clearly missed his daddy. 

“Dodge, boo boo” he coos, letting him lick his face. A sight that not even an hour ago would have made your heart melt, a sight that would have been filmed by you for sure and posted on your Instagram for his fans to see.

Once he calms the dog down, he stands up to look at you.

“Can we please just talk this over? Please. I want to sort this”

“What is there to sort Chris? You were with someone else. How many times did you see her? What did you do with her? Is she better than me huh? Can she give you things that i can’t? ANSWER ME DAMMIT”

He jumps at the change in your voice, the shouting. It’s not like you. You’re the most calm person he knows, the one person who he’d say if you were any more laid back then you’d probably fall over. But not this time. You really are mad, which rightly so. He’s hurt you like no one else ever has. 

The man who vowed to love you until death has cheated on you.

I wish i couldn’t feel 

I wish i couldn’t love

I wish that i could stop cause it hurts so much

You pick your bags up and shove past him as he tries to answer but fails. 

That’s when he grabs a hold of your wrist to stop you in your tracks.

“I saw her once only, it was on a weekend when i had a break from filming. It wasn’t anymore than that. I promise, i give you my word. It was just that once” he sighs, loosening his grip and letting your wrist go as you stand back to back.

“We just kissed at first, it was a one off kiss. She made the move on me, we were drinking, near my trailer, she was working on the set of the movie. She was assisting the wardrobe department. I kissed her back the second time she made a pass and it got a bit heated but i stopped it”

You feel sick again. Like you could vomit right now just from his explanation.

“Then the third time, i let myself get carried away. We went back to her hotel room and kissed some more, she got on top of me and we got undressed” he stops the story, hearing you sob the way you are right now makes his heart ache.

“We had sex. She started kissing my neck, she was touching me down there and I’m sorry, i’m so sorry honey. I didn’t, i didn’t mean for it to happen. i didn’t mean to lie for so long. She’s not better than you, no woman could ever be better than you” he turns around and so do you, the hurt in his eyes is clear.

“She can’t offer me anything Y/N. I want you, i love you. You’re everything to me. This has eaten away at me for months. I’m so sorry, please don’t leave me”

“Chris” you turn your head, unable to look at him right now. 

“Please, Y/N please” he takes your hands in his, squeezing them as if that is going to make you stay.

You just shake your head, ripping them from his grip.

“I can’t, Chris. I need to go” 

This is hard enough as it is and he’s making it ten times more difficult to leave. This man in front of you, isn’t even recognisable anymore. He’s not the man you married, the man you’ve been with for 10 years. The man you were so close to starting a family with.

That man is gone.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, i didn’t mean for it to happen”

He gets down on his knees, begging for your forgiveness, for you to not walk out of that door.

“I believe that you didn’t mean for it to happen and i believe that you love me but you still let it happen Chris and i just, i can’t be here right now” you pick the bags up and walk away from him but as you get to the door, you hear him crying, not just the regular kind. No. He’s screaming crying, like his heart has just been ripped from his chest, like he knows the mistake he made. 

But does that matter? Does any of that matter now? He still did it.

You open the door and slam it shut, leaving him sat there on the floor.

He knows that this is all his own doing. 

He didn’t mean for it to happen, he was intoxicated and it was all a mistake. He feels empty, without you here. Without your love, your kiss, your touch. He feels completely broken.

You on the other hand are breaking down, in the car, on the way to your sisters house, trying your hardest to keep your eyes on the road. It’s probably not the best idea to drive in your state but you had to get out. You couldn’t have waited around for an Uber. No chance. 

If you stayed any longer, your weak ass would have crumbled in front of him and taken him back. 

And you can’t let that happen right now. You have to respect yourself and your space. Regardless of how much he regrets it, he was still with another woman and that’s not right.

You pull up outside of your sisters house, unannounced. 

You knock the door with your shaky hand, trying to keep the tears back but they fall before she even answers and when she does. You sob, falling into her arms.

She squeezes you tight before breaking away to see your bags, it’s like she knows what’s happened without even needing to ask you.

She guides you inside, sitting you down before taking your bags and leaving them by the staircase. 

You don’t know how you are going to explain everything to her, this is not going to be easy.

--------------------

She rubs your arm as you finish talking, her husband strolls in with a cup of tea for you and you sit there hoping it’ll make everything suddenly become fake. Like it was a dream and you’d snap out of this daze. But you don’t. 

The first sip shocks you as the hot beverage burns your tongue. You’re definitely going to need something stronger.

An hour passes, you cry some more and eventually the tea turns to wine. 

One drink down and you’re rendering on angry now. You can’t control the constant switch in your behaviour because after the second glass, you’re back to the crying again. 

You get to your fifth glass and you’re slurring your words.

That’s when your phone rings, you hear the muffled ring tone so you search in your duffle bag to find it, pulling it out to find that it’s Lisa. Chris’s mother. 

“Answer it” your sister instructs, nodding her head towards the phone.

“Hi Lisa” you muster up the best fake happy voice you can “hi sweetie, is Chris back yet? Because we were all wondering if you wanted to come over for dinner, i’m making a cake for deserts and it’ll be nice to see him”

“Um, he’s back. He got back a couple of hours ago now”

“Are you both free to come by?”

“I’m kinda busy at the moment, you’ll have to ring Chris to see if he’s free” 

Your voice cracks at the end of the sentence, you pray to god that she doesn’t notice but of course, she does.

“What’s wrong sweetie? Where are you, i thought you’d be with him?”

“I’m at my sisters, um. I-” you can’t even finish, Alex takes your phone, raising it to her ear to speak to her for you.

“Hi Lisa, it’s Alex”

“What’s going on?” you can hear her voice despite it not being on speakerphone “it’s Chris, Y/N, received images of him with another woman, he admitted to her that he slept with someone else whilst he was away”

The line goes dead, she hung up. 

Alex, pulls you into her arms once again, cradling you as you let it all out. 

She doesn’t know how to fix you, she wishes she could magically take your pain away. But she can’t. This can’t be fixed by anyone else other than you and Chris. But even then, it would take a lot for you to ever forgive him.

Meanwhile back at your house, Chris is still on the floor. Dodger sits next to him, wagging his tail.

Then a door knocks.

He forces himself up and back onto his feet, dragging them over to go answer it and when he sees his mother, he knows. The look on her face says it all. She pushes past him, making her way into the living room. 

“Ma, i can explain”

“How could you do that to her, Chris. I raised you better than that. To even look at another woman like that is wrong let alone kissing and having sex”

“I know. Ma. It didn’t mean anything. She was nothing to me. I was drunk, i got carried away, i was missing Y/N so much”

“No excuses Chris, you’ve messed up. I can’t believe you. I’m so disappointed and confused. You’re a grown man, a married man”

“I know” 

“You need to fix this, prove to her that you love her and that it won’t happen again. Because right now, she’s at her sisters house, barely able to get her words out”

He looks down, not able to even give direct eye contact to the woman who raised him, the woman who taught him right from wrong. She didn’t raise no cheater or no quitter.

She raised a boy to a man who knew how to respect everyone around him, how to treat a lady, how to carry himself. A man who wears his heart on his sleeve and loves with everything in his body. A man who is sensitive yet strong.

“She won’t forgive me ma, i’ve fucked it. I can’t lose her”

“Right now, you need to give her space, let her breathe, but once she’s had that, she’ll have calmed down and maybe she’ll hear you out. But you need to work for this son, this won’t come easily. Remember what i’ve always told you?”

“Nothing good or worth fighting for, comes easy”

She leans in, opening her arms for her broken son, soothing him with ‘sh, it’s going to be okay’s’ and ‘i got you’s’

--------------------

“Could you ever see yourself forgiving him?”

You go to respond but you’re mind keeps on replaying all the things he said before you left, that he didn’t mean it and she meant nothing.

“I don’t know. I love him so much Al. He’s my husband. Of course i want to fight for this but i don’t know if i’m strong enough”

“If there’s one thing i’ve realised over the years, when it comes to you and Chris. There’s nothing the two of you can’t do. No obstacle that you can’t face together. He made a mistake which granted was wrong and horrible and there’s no doubt in my mind that he genuinely got caught up with drinking. But he loves you, i know he does. You just need to ask yourself if you could even try to move on”

Her words have you all in your head, wondering if you can. Could you?

He slept with her, he kissed her, saw her naked. Is that forgivable? He cheated, touched another woman, kissed another woman, undressed another woman.

You’re going to need a couple of days to think, clear your head.

Lisa makes her way over to your sisters place, not caring how fast she’s driving. You need her now more than ever. She might only be your mother in law but since you lost your own mom. She’s made sure to check on you more, spend more time with you. 

You’re her third daughter and she adores you.

“Oh sweetie, come here” Alex’s husband, lets her in and she sees your tear stained face. 

You grip onto her so tight, like she’s the only thing keeping you glued together.

“I went to see him”

You motion for her to continue “he’s not good. He’s in a bad way, i know he’s messed up Y/N. And believe me, he knows that too. He told me what he did, everything. He knows it was wrong and how mad i am at him, how upset i am with him. But he loves you, so much. You’re everything to him, he wants to work through it”

“I want to work through it too but i’m scared, scared that he’ll do it again”

“After how i just saw him, i’ve never seen him that distraught, he loves you. It was a drunken mistake and it didn’t mean anything to him”

“Nothing good or worth fighting for ever comes easy”

It’s her little phrase, if you will. She always says it, whenever one of us is upset or going through a hard time. Whenever we can’t find the strength, she comes around, speaking words of wisdom and easing us.

“I think what you need now is space. Think things over, he’s willing to wait until you’re ready to talk” 

She spends some time with you, talking it over with you and Alex. Going over the details of what he did is her way of healing you. You need to be able to talk about it out loud before you face him because if you can’t then you’re going to struggle when it comes down to it.

“He said he missed you so much, that’s why he was drinking and got caught up” more tears brim in your eyes “i love him so much Lisa” her sympathetic smile comes out “and he loves you sweetie, more than you know”

Maybe her advice is what’s best for now. You need space.

Eventually, she leaves, giving you a hug before letting you get some rest.

You get changed after a shower and head to the guest room to sleep. 

Tomorrow is just another day of thinking and crying.

---------------------

It’s been 2 full days now and as you lay in bed, preparing to sleep before the third day starts, you check your phone to find a text from him.

‘I know i should leave you to it right now, give you space but you need to know this. 

When i first met you, you came into my life at a time where i had pretty much given up all hope when it came to love, i was certain that i was doomed and bound to end up alone forever. And then i met you and everything fell into place.

I was certain from the first date, that you were the one. Sounds pretty cliche when i come to think of it, but it’s true. I just knew.

You weren’t like other women, you still aren’t. You don’t doll yourself up all of the time, you prefer to keep the natural look, which i also prefer. You don’t try too hard, you’re effortlessly funny and beautiful.

You’re sarcastic but serious.

Everything about you just made me fall deeper, i couldn’t stop myself and as scared as i was, i didn’t want to stop it. I was relishing in the feeling of how i felt around you. How happy and unstoppable i felt. Like i could achieve anything with you around. 

You are the only woman i’ve ever loved that quickly. Normally love takes time but with you it didn’t. I had no trouble. It was like loving you came so naturally to me, like it was second nature.

Whilst i was away filming, i missed you so much and it had only been a couple weeks, i didn’t want to bother you too much, which is no excuse for how i acted but even so. I let myself get carried away with another woman who at a time of loneliness, gave me attention. It wasn’t right, it was wrong, so wrong and it’s forever going to remain the biggest mistake of my life.

I never wanted to hurt you, but i did. I’m supposed to be your husband, you’re supposed to be able to trust me and yet i snapped that trust into a million pieces. I let you down, i made you cry, i made you question who i was and why you even married me. I made myself unrecognisable in your eyes and that thought alone, makes me sick to my stomach, it makes me angry. Angry at who i let myself become.

Because i wasn’t raised to treat women that way. 

But you know as well as i do that it was nothing but a drunken mistake, a mistake that for as long as you’ll let me, i’ll spend forever trying to make up for. 

You mean too much to me for me to let it go. You’re my whole world. You make me the happiest man alive, you make every day worth living to the fullest. You make me a better person.

Y/N, i love you, it was once and it will never happen again. I want to make this work. I’m not asking for you to forgive me right this second and run back to my arms but even if it’s just a talk at first. One step at a time, i’m here and i want to make it work.

I love you with all my heart, honey. I want you back. I want to prove to you that you can trust me. I want to try. Anyway, you should get some sleep, i’ll see you whenever you’re ready. Love you x’

You wipe away the tears that fell whilst reading his message.

He’s never done anything like that before, whenever you’ve had a fight, he’s emotional and apologetic and he tries to make it right but right now. You’re seeing a different side to him.

You want nothing more than to go back home now. Slip into bed with him and have him wrap his arms around you tight, kiss your forehead and whisper sweet nothings into your ear until you fall asleep but you can’t. 

Maybe in a couple of days.

-------------------

You sip at your coffee, staring into space, your mind going over everything that you want to say to him.

You’ve decided that today is the day. After 3 days apart, you’re going to talk to him. 

It’s time.

You snap out of the daze, thanks to Alex clicking her fingers and asking some questions about breakfast to which you decline. You can’t even think about eating right now. It’s the last thing on your mind.

“I think i’m gonna head out”

“Are you sure you wanna do this today? There’s no time limit Y/N”

“No, i want to do this”

She hugs you goodbye, letting you know that you’re welcome to return afterwards, an offer you accept. Even if this chat goes well, you can’t just sleep there tonight, you’ll still need more space.

You get into your car and let out a deep breath that you’ve held in for days, it’s been making you tense. A feeling you still have and can’t shake, it’s weighing you down. The stress.

It doesn’t take long to get back home. You park up and let yourself in the house, you spot the mail on the floor so you bend down to pick it up and as you stand, he’s stood there, in nothing but his boxers. He’s just woken up.

“I didn’t think i’d see you for a long time” he mumbles, looking down at his bare feet “yeah well, we have a lot to talk about” he nods, gesturing for you to lead the way to the lounge.

You both sit down after he makes you a drink. Neither of you really say a word, just sitting there in silence for a couple of minutes. 

But eventually he breaks it.

“I’m sorry. I know those words get tossed around a lot like they don’t mean a thing but they do to me and i’m so so sorry Y/N. I didn’t mean what i did and you didn’t deserve what i did. It was a mistake and i want to prove that it was a mistake and that i love you and only you”

“But how do you expect us to move past this Chris, to move forward?” a serious question that he looks dumbfounded by “i don’t expect anything Y/N. But to answer your question, i think that with time, talking and working together, we can do this, we can move forward”

“But how? How can that ever happen? And why should i agree to that?”

“Because i’m your husband, i’ve not acted like that lately but i am. I’m your husband and i love you and i swear to you right now that it’ll never happen again”

He glances over at you, resting his hand on yours and you hold it, letting him in a little.

“I love you too” 

Your way of letting him know that his wife hasn’t left him, his wife is still here. You’re still here.

“Do you want me? Do you want to work to fix this, to let me fix this?”

“I do”

You shock yourself with your response. It’s not the route that everyone would take. Most women would leave, never look back and do better. But this is different. You’re married to this man, you’ve spent 10 years building a life with this man, preparing to start a family. You can’t give up so easily. Even if it isn’t the way everyone else would handle it. 

After all though, even Alex said it. There is nothing you and Chris can’t get through.

You’ve had many ups and downs, more than a rollercoaster has but you pushed through. 

Like the time that you almost broke up after a year, because long distance just wasn’t working. You were both struggling. He was away filming for Marvel and you were living in London, getting your degree. 

Eventually though, you decided that you loved each other too much to throw it away. 

Or the time that your mom passed and you were turning your back on everyone who cared for you. Snapping at Chris way more than usual. You said some harsh words to him one day and he didn’t speak to you for days. He was mad. Hurt. 

And of course there have been more occasions where you’ve argued or had limits tested, buttons pushed. But it was always saved. This isn’t a lost cause now either, it can be fixed.

“I hope you can forgive me”

“I can’t promise anything Chris. But i can try to work it out”

He rests his forehead to yours, the pair of you sigh before he presses a kiss to your lips. 

A kiss that makes your body shiver, the fireworks are still there. His love, it’s still there. It might actually all be okay. Soon.

----------------------

* A year later*

You take a seat on the comfortable chair, for the last time. A mixture of feelings fill your body. Nerves, happiness, hope and optimism. 

“I understand that today is our last session, how do you feel these sessions have gone. Chris?”

“I think that they’ve gone well. They’ve certainly helped us. I feel that i’m slowly gaining trust back”

“How about you Y/N?”

“I couldn’t agree more. It’s definitely been a hard journey but a positive one nonetheless. It’s helped with getting a more in depth look as to why he cheated. I certainly feel more at ease with him now”

If someone would have suggested marriage counselling to you just weeks after Chris cheated, you’d have laughed at them and said no way. But you don’t know why you’d have done that when it’s seemed to work wonders for the two of you.

After that talk a year ago. You went back to your sisters, took more time for yourself and eventually he asked you out, on a date. He wanted to start over, spend time with you and get to know you as if it was the first time all over again.

But once you worked your way into you moving back in, Lisa suggested marriage therapy. And now you’re on your last visit. You definitely trust him more now than what you did before. Because you’ve had time to spend more hours together, more time off work to bond all over again. 

“Where are you at now, in your mindset?”

“I’m at the stage of trusting him again, slowly but surely it’s happening. I forgive him. I forgive his mistakes and i forgive myself too, for taking him back. Because i think for so long i beat myself up about it but i realise that i’m human, he’s my husband and to let him go would never have been easy. But i’m glad i didn’t, i’m glad i stuck with him and i feel like we’ve come out the other side stronger”

“I couldn’t agree more” Chris says as she turns to him, raising her brow as if to ask him the same question.

“I forgive myself too, for doing what i did and i let it go, i’ve stopped letting it weigh me down. We’re doing okay, it’s nowhere near where we want to be or how we used to be but we’re getting there, one day at a time”

The session eventually ends, leaving you feeling very weird. Like it’s the end of a chapter. 

The first proper start to the rest of your lives, after everything. 

And you’re feeling very positive about the future. As is he. You see a future, there are rainbows at the end of dark times and it’s possible. Anything is possible when you work together as a team.

“I love you” he says as you both get into his car, before he turns the key in the ignition.

“I love you too Chris”

“We’re going to be okay aren’t we?”

“We are”

---------------------

General Tag List: @deadlymistress24 @coffeebooksandfandom @chris-butt @holtzkinnon @mychemicalimagines @llamadelreyx @haus-of-bitch-talk @buckstaybucky @thewinchestergirl1208 @chrissquares @patzammit @adriannajackson @dummiesshort @cevans-fics @americasass91 @toni9 @aaliferouss @bradfordmyworld 

Just Chris & His Characters Tag List: @onetwo3000 @persephonequeenofthedead @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @rynabarnesrogers @princess-evans-addict @stxvercgersslut @chris-evanslover @bval-1 

[edie-k]

Greener Pastures (Lavender Brown/Mystery Character, Romione, Hinny, Deamus, PG-13)

Title: Greener Pastures

Pairing: Lavender Brown/Mystery Character, Romione, Hinny, Deamus, Past Lavender/Ron, Past Lavender/Seamus

Rating: PG-13 for language

Summary: At Harry and Ginny's engagement party, Lavender bemoans her single status to a mystery man.

Author's Note: Well, here's an obscure ship for you. Thanks to @adenei for her feedback and kind words!

*************

“I think that proves that for all the complaining I’ve done, Harry, I mean it when I say you are the only one I thought was good enough for my sister,” Ron said from the front of the room, to a chorus of laughter. “So let’s raise a glass to the newly engaged couple!”

From her seat at the bar, Lavender made a face and threw back the remaining contents of her tumblr. Parvati, who was seated next to her, joined the crowd in applauding and cheering Harry and Ginny.

Click below to read more or read at AO3

“That was a nice speech,” commented Parvati.

“Oh, just the best,” muttered Lavender, trying to catch the bartender’s eye.

Parvati shook her head. “I just spotted Adam’s sister. I wanted to ask her about what the expectations are for dress code and stuff at his grandmother’s. All Adam said when I asked him was ‘Whatever’s fine.’ We’re going abroad to meet an entire side of your family I have never met in all the time we’ve been together and you’re telling me whatever is fine.”

“Mmm hmm,” Lavender said, still trying to signal for a drink.

“Are you going to be okay if I-”

“Yes, yes,” said Lavender, sighing. “I’m fine. Sorry if I’m being a drag. Just… that news earlier and then all this… happiness. Go get the dish from Mara so we can go shopping tomorrow.”

Parvati squeezed her friend’s arm before hopping off the stool and wading through the crowd to find Mara. The bartender finally made his way over to her and began to mix her another drink without a word.

At least Adam was out of town on business for the weekend so Lavender didn’t have to third wheel with her best friend and her boyfriend. Because that would have been the only thing more depressing than going to an engagement party with your platonic best friend.

The bartender nudged the glass back to her and she nodded her head in thanks as he made his way back down the bar.

“Is this seat taken?”

Lavender glanced up and met the gaze of a man she’d never seen before.

“Uh, no, be my guest,” she said. “Although be warned that I am shitty company.”

The man chuckled as he sat down on the stool. “I highly doubt that but I’m game to find out.”

Lavender looked at him again. She didn’t recognize him, which was shocking because even though the venue was full, Lavender had thought she would know everyone here. Harry and Ginny were obviously incredibly popular so they had kept tight controls on who was included on the guest list.

The man signaled for the bartender and Lavender took the opportunity to give him a once over. The guy was huge - not in an overweight or bodybuilder type way. He was just tall and solid. Other than her first boyfriend, her preference was tall guys. She was 5”8’ herself and preferred to wear heels when she could so aesthetically, it was nice for her companion to have some height. Nice eyes, cute face. He had dark blond hair and was dressed in a dark blue Muggle button down shirt and black trousers with no robes. Since the war had ended, Muggle style had become popular with the wizards in her age group. Harry, who was raised by Muggles, was always more comfortable in that style of clothing and Ron, who she knew was dressed primarily by Hermione and Hermione’s mum, followed suit. And whatever that little Trio did, everyone else did and for Merlin’s sake, Ron Weasley was now a fucking fashion icon. Lavender took a big swig of her drink.

“It’s a nice party,” said the man. Lavender nodded as the bartender approached. “I’ll have whatever she’s having.”

The bartender made another drink before placing it in front of the man. He went to reach for his pocket when Lavender noticed a look of panic cross his face. Before she could say anything, the bartender waved him away. “Mr. Potter has the tab covered tonight.”

“Well,” he said, his face relaxed again. He turned back to Lavender. “Should we follow Red’s instructions and toast the happy couple?” The two clinked glasses. “It was a nice speech.”

Lavender snorted.

“You disagree?”

“I’d have thought his wife wrote it for him but there was too much swearing for her to have had a hand,” Lavender said. Then she wiped the palms of her hands down her face. “Ugh, ignore me. It actually was a very touching and funny speech. I’m just in an ugly mood and I have a bit of a history with Ron so I’m being mean for no reason.”

“You dated him?” the man guessed. She nodded. “Huh, he said in the speech that he’d loved his wife since he was 13.”

“And I dated him when we were 16 so…”

“Hence the ugliness,” finished the man.

“Hence the ugliness,” Lavender repeated. “I’m over it, really. Hermione and I shared a room for six years and are better friends now than we ever were at school. As for Ron, that was just some stupid school kid bullshit on both our parts. It’s more that I didn’t realize that my only opportunity to find love was going to be at Hogwarts. If I had known that, I’d have made better choices or… maybe taken Arithmancy to secure a better paying job to support my lonely life.”

“What do you mean?” the man asked.

“Everyone I know, they’re married or engaged or about to be engaged to the person that they dated at Hogwarts. Harry and Ginny dated at school, Neville and Hannah somehow started to date during our last year during the war. My best friend Parvati and her boyfriend dated our sixth year at Hogwarts and then he fled with his Muggle family overseas but they started right back up again when he came back to England. See that girl over there, the pregnant one?”

The man nodded.

“That’s Parvati’s sister. That’s her second kid cooking. She’s married to her prefect partner, Anthony. I guess technically, Ron and Hermione didn’t date at Hogwarts but -”

“He’s loved her since he was 13,” the man said amused.

“Yeah. I’m the only one that couldn’t make it out with a relationship intact.” she moaned, taking another drink.

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

Lavender took another long drink and contemplated his statement. “You know what? You’re right. Ginny, she also had a relationship that didn’t work out. Do you see that tall bloke over in the corner that she’s talking to?”

The man glanced in the direction Lavender was referring to. “Uh, yeah.”

“That’s Dean. He was the guy that Ginny dated before Harry. Now, do you see that cute little Irishman standing next to Dean?”

The man nodded.

“That’s Seamus. He was my ex-boyfriend before Ron. And now he’s Dean’s husband. Met in school, by the way.”

“Oh,” said the man, taken aback.

Lavender narrowed her eyes. “Do you have a problem with that? Because despite the fact that Seamus is just one more example of my inability to keep a boyfriend, I will defend those men and their amazing relationship to the death from any bigot that threatens it.”

“No, no!” the man sputtered. “I’m just… I went to an all-boys school and I knew gay guys but they all hid it and I’m just not used to people being open about it. It’s fine - more than fine. Good for them! I mean, hey, they found each other and are leaving more beautiful women for the rest of us, right?”

“Merlin, I wish I could find a beautiful woman,” Lavender moaned, burying her face in her hands. The bartender seemed to take this as a signal that she needed another drink and provided her with a refill.

“Oh, are you… interested in women?” she heard him ask.

“No,” she moaned. “You must think I’m insane.” Lavender put both her hands on the man’s arm that was closest to her. “I promise that I am not hung up on some school romance from five years ago. It’s just that, if you knew Seamus or Ron at Hogwarts… did you know Seamus or Ron at Hogwarts?”

The man shook his head.

“Okay, so if you knew them, you would know that they were both totally immature prats. After I broke up with Seamus, I thought he was the worst boyfriend ever. He was always running off to spend time with his mates, talking about Quidditch, no interest in spending time with me, dumb jokes. But then, then I dated Ron, who was even worse than him. The only thing he wanted to do with me was snog and I think that was some weird power move with Hermione or his sister… who knows. I have to be way more drunk to psychoanalyze Ron Weasley. Anyway, the last month we were together, he didn’t even try to hide the fact that he wanted to ditch me for Hermione but was just too much of a coward. And yet somehow, both of those idiots ended up married before me! And it’s not like they got married to some random person that they knocked up after a one night stand. Ron eloped with his wonderful, talented, brilliant best friend that he was in love with all through school and the entire time we were dating and Seamus… oh for Godric’s sake.”

Lavender paused in her tirade for a moment. “Seamus also married his wonderful, talented, brilliant best friend that he was probably in love with all through school AND the entire time we were dating. How am I just realizing that?” Lavender groaned, banging her head on the bar.

“Can wizards knock up other wizards?” asked the man. Lavender looked up at him and burst into laughter.

“Oh, thank you for that,” she giggled. “I was spiralling.”

“Uh, yeah, no worries,” said the man, shifting in his seat.

“It’s just that this dating stuff is really hard. The wizarding world is so small, you know? I think it’s why everyone locks in with their soulmate at school, ” Lavender commiserated.

“Have you ever considered dating like, outside the wizarding world?” the man asked.

Lavender shook her head. “How could I? It’s tough enough here. After all the Prophet spotlights on battle injuries and such, everyone knows how I got all these awful scars on my face but it still takes a certain type of man to look past them. And I’m sure there are Muggles that aren't shallow about them either but they would ask how I got them. How would I explain them to a Muggle? I can’t just say ‘Oh during a war at my school, a werewolf tried to rip me to shreds. But don’t worry, I’m not a werewolf although I have some side effects from it.’ They’d think I was insane.”

“Uh, yeah, that does sound a bit… daunting,” the man admitted, looking a bit pale.

“I mean, I’m still a catch. I’m funny, I have a great rack, I make excellent scones, and I’m amazing in bed.” At that comment, she heard the man next to her choke a little and she stifled a smile to continue on. “And even if I could get away with not explaining it to a man, once I meet his family, there’s no way. In my experience, mothers are always trying to find a reason to hate the woman that’s dating their special baby boy. I can’t imagine a Muggle mother taking very kindly to a literal witch with werewolf scars.”

“Yes,” sighed the man before giving a little chuckle. “I can certainly see that. And with all of the, you know, war stuff, I can see where you wish you had a school sweetheart.”

Lavender shook her head and drained the rest of her drink. “Seamus and Ron are just easy targets. I really am not hung up on them. This is about Don.”

“Who’s Don?”

“Don is my last boyfriend. We dated exclusively for eight months and he was so fun and thoughtful and generous. But he never said I love you. He kept telling me that he was too young to settle down and, I believed that he thought that. I really did. So we split in December because we wanted different things.”

“Ah,” said the man. “Seems sensible.”

“And then this morning, I see it in The Daily Prophet.”

“See what?”

“His engagement announcement,” she wailed, throwing herself on the bar again and almost upsetting her glass.

The man patted her on the shoulder. “Oh God, I’m sorry.”

“Do you know how long they’ve been dating?” Lavender asked.

“Eight months?” ventured the man.

“FIVE!” Lavender cried.

“Maybe he knocked her up?” suggested the man.

Lavender looked up at him and burst into laughter again. “Merlin, you’re funny. Why am I whinging about all these dolts I’ve surrounded myself with when I should get to know you better?”

“Yeah?” said the man with a grin.

“Yes,” she said. “I mean, if you want-”

“Of course,” he interrupted. “A funny, beautiful woman wants to get to know me better - the answer is always yes. I do need a refill. Do you want one? You’re not driving home, are you?”

Lavender giggled.

The man shook his head and looked embarrassed. “Oh, right, you wouldn’t be driving. You would uh - ”

“You must be a Muggle born. Do- I mean, I’ve heard others say that before. Those habits die hard.”

“Actually,” the man took a deep breath. “I’m a Muggle.”

Lavender’s jaw dropped. “How the fuck does a Muggle get invited to the engagement party of the Chosen One and a pureblood Quidditch player?”

“Well, Harry’s my cousin,” the man said. “My name’s Dudley.”

***************

“Do you see that over there?” asked Hermione, nudging Ron. He turned away from his conversation with Neville and Charlie to see what his wife was gesturing to across the room.

“Is that Dudley Dursley chatting up Lavender?” Ron asked, as his eyes landed on the sight before him.

“It appears to be,” said Hermione. “Merlin, they are really flirting. Should we go over there and say something? A warning or...?”

“Right,” said Ron. “Absolutely we should. Which one of them are we warning?”