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staycalmandhugaclone · 2 years

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The Vacation (1/4)

I shared a sexy blurg the other day, but felt it really needed a bit of before and after, so here's how that vacation starts. This is a section from a much, much longer fic that may or may not be fully shared, but the important info is that Crosshair went off on his own after season 1, and the OC (Alya) used to be with Hunter, but after getting captured by the Empire, she was pretty messed up and couldn't stay with him, thus began traveling with Crosshair. By this time, they've been working together for about a year, purely platonic (they share a bed for nightmare reasons and because I like cuddles).

Pairing: Crosshair x Female Original Character (Alya)

WC: 5.4k

Summary: After a perilous mission, Crosshair surprises Alya with a vacation, and Alya surprises Crosshair with feelings.

Rating: Explicit 18+, language, vague references to negative experiences in past relationship (kinda?)

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI. So much smut, fingering, some overstimulation, a touch of self-deprecation . Reference to negative previous relationship, but it's pretty vague. Even a bit of aftercare. It's a smut chapter to start more smut chapters. Seriously.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

I’d only just finished unpacking my supplies when I felt the ship rumble to life. The several weeks this job had granted us the use of an actual house had been… different. So many years had passed since that was a normal part of life. It was bittersweet to have had that again for such a short amount of time, but returning to the familiar rooms of the ship was its own comfort. The Event Horizon had become synonymous with home, and, despite the lingering desire to return to a life comforted by the routine of waking to the same atmosphere, the same view of sprawling hills or cozy neighborhoods, I knew none of it was worth trading the life I’d created here.

At the subtle lurch of entering hyperspace, I turned my attention down the hall toward the cockpit, just able to see a glimpse of pale hair around the headrest of the pilot’s chair. Last time we left before refueling, it was because I’d been recognized, forcing us to flee. The last job had been wrought with near disaster, but I didn’t think there was any threat of being reported, but the mere possibility set my heart racing.

“You… didn’t want to stock up first?” I felt the hesitation in my voice, testing his response before risking any theories.

“No.” He said nothing more, despite the several seconds of silence that followed.

“O..kay…” I muttered, studying him, searching for any hint of his motives. “Got us in lightspeed pretty quickly… Do you… already have a destination in mind, or”

“Yes.” He interrupted. Again, I waited, but his façade remained perfectly emotionless.

“Crosshair.” I finally grumbled, patience dwindling. Finally, the edges of his lips hinted at the beginnings of a smirk, and I let out a huff of breath. No danger – he was just toying with me. “Fine. Don’t tell me.” I stated indifferently and turned to leave the cockpit. His hand instantly darted back to catch my wrist, eyes rolling before nodding to the nav screen. My impatience instantly fled beneath the confusion.

“Alderaan?” The name left my lips in a question. “You found a job on Alderaan?” For the briefest moment, doubt touched those steadfast eyes and he turned back to the streams of passing stars dancing beyond the viewport, hand tightened briefly around my wrist before letting go.

“Figured we’d… ‘take some time’.” The way he said the words made me pause. Familiar. Why did… My lips parted in a silent gasp, heat flooding my chest. The planet of beauty. How many months – years – had passed since I’d asked him that – if he ever took time to enjoy the beauty of visiting foreign lands? “Unless you’ve had your fill of that planet. Just figured we hadn’t really stopped to… how did you put it? ‘Appreciate’ things like that.” I was silent a moment longer; stunned. “Or we’ll just”

“No-no!” I finally sputtered, lips pulling in a wide grin. “That… sounds perfect, Cross… Thank you.” I watched the back of his neck flush as he let out a small grunt. Forcing myself to ignore the flood of affection at the mere sight if it, I dropped lightly into the copilot’s seat, smile still plastered over my lips.

“I was only there for a few days – barely saw anything more than snow. Have you already chosen a place?” Knees tucking to my chest, I turned to find him watching me from the corner of his eyes, smirk once more just touching his lips.

“You could say that.” He nearly purred, and a quiet laughter escaped me.

“Mr Tough Guy vying for a vacation.” I teased, nose crinkling slightly.

“Figured we earned it after that.” He dismissed. My smile almost fell, but I forced it back. I wouldn’t let the memory of what had almost happened darken my excitement.

“How long were you thinking?” I asked, voice quieting slightly. He seemed to hesitate before answering.

“Figure we can leave if we get bored sooner, but… I booked a place for a month.” There was an uncertainty in his voice that I’d focus on soon, but… a month. He shifted slightly beneath my stare. “Never had more than a few days between missions,” He explained stiffly, “Thought I’d see what the fuss was about.” A month. No jobs, no fights. Just a month on Alderaan. With him. I thought my heart was going to tear through my chest.

“And what if it spoils you?” I asked coyly, a cheeky grin stretching across my lips. He cocked an eyebrow and glanced sideways at me. “What if you find you like that life so much, you never want to go back?”

“Then I’ll extend the rental.” He replied blankly, earning a fresh huff of laughter from me. I let myself lean back, gaze turning blindly to the blurs of hyperspace before me.

The breath caught in my throat as his hand crept up my side, fire seeping through my flesh in the wake of his lingering touch. I could taste the heat of him filling the air between us and let myself reach for him, fingers roaming up the sweeping planes of his tone chest, over the taut ridges of muscled shoulders, core igniting at the heat of bare skin pressing against mine. Letting one arm lock around my hips, holding me tightly against him, his other hand slid up my neck, clawing into my hair. I felt the eagerness of him, heard the tension in his faltering breaths as he strained for control; felt the paltry breadth of distance between us as I felt myself stretching up to find him, breath catching in a whimper as I breathed his name, and I burned beneath him. I needed to feel him against me; my hands on his chest, my legs around his hips.

Alya. My name on his lips. Alya, come on… open your eyes. His lips on

“Need to wake up.” My eyes flew open, chest trembling beneath rushed breaths, skin damp with sweat, and, when I saw him, when those weary golden eyes met mine in the darkness, I couldn’t help but gasp, shying further into the arm wrapped around my shoulder as though those few inches would erase the lingering heat from that dream. Instantly, he pulled away, straining to create some hint of distance between us.

“Just a nightmare, Alya.” He murmured, all weariness fleeing him. Lip caught between my teeth, I had to turn away, the memory of his touch still echoing over my skin, straining to force myself under control, to breathe. “Alya?” I couldn’t help but flinch, too eager to hear my name on his lips again… but the horror that stole over him left me floundering.

“Was it… was it about me?” He barely managed to whisper the words. I don’t think I’d ever seen that kind of raw hurt in his eyes before… not without a careful layer of anger, disinterest. No, this was just hurt. “I…” His lips shifted wordlessly, pulling even further from me, and my heart dropped.

“N- wait… wait.” I pleaded, letting myself turn into him. He didn’t move, body so impossibly still as he waited for me to touch him. I tried to speak, tried to form the words as my hands trembled in the miniscule space between us.

“It… was…” My fingers slipped over his jaw. “It was… about you.” I finally breathed, gaze locked on his as confusion settled over his face. My thumb trailed over the ridge of his cheekbone. “But it wasn’t a nightmare.” His frown deepened, struggling to make sense of my words, before his expression finally went blank. He didn’t move; didn’t speak, eyes burring into mine.

“Cross?” I felt so small suddenly, his name slipping from my lips in something too near a whimper, body trembling ever so faintly as I waited for some manner of response… some sign of what he was thinking.

Slowly, so impossibly slowly, his hands crept over mine, gaze never fleeing mine. Without a word, he leaned forward, and when his lips finally danced against mine I felt my heart lurch into my chest, fire tearing through me with such force, it wrenched a near silent sob of relief from my throat. So slowly, he kissed me, as though waiting for me to pull away, certain I’d refuse him if he but breathed too quickly, but I couldn’t think how to reassure him, body alight and stunned and desperate for every second of his touch.

His fingers slipped through mine, clutching my hands against him as his body swelled with a slow, deep breath, and I couldn’t silence the wisp of a moan from catching in my throat. As though that tiny sound had finally given him permission, he let himself reach for me, hands sliding up my arms, around my shoulders, tugging me closer to him. My fingers slipped through the soft velvet of his hair, lips parting as I begged him to kiss me deeper. Without hesitation, he slid his tongue against mine, wrenching another moan from me as that heat burst through my core.

I let my hands drag down his chest, savoring every shift of those powerful muscles as he pulled me closer, one arm looping beneath my head while his other locked around my back. My touch trailed lower, feeling the coiled muscles over his ribs seize with each stolen breath, fingers dancing against his spine as he slowly leaned over me, thrilled to find me all too eager to feel his weight press me into the mattress. Lower. I tugged impatiently at the bottom of his shirt, desperate for the heat of his skin against mine.

Panting, he pulled back, gazing at me drunkenly as his mouth worked silently over unspoken words for several seconds before letting his tongue dart over his lips. I felt myself reach for him, abs tensing to taste those lips once more, but forced myself to wait.

“Is this what you want?” He finally gasped. Jaw going taut as soon as the question escaped him. I could have sobbed from the warmth that shot through my chest. Nodding, I let myself lean up, lips locked into a smile as I kissed him. The air left him in something near a growl, movements growing almost frantic for the few seconds he let himself kiss me back before pressing his forehead to mine, forcing some whisper of air between us.

“Say it.” He nearly growled, pulling back enough to find my eyes once more. His hand reached up to brush over my cheek as I fought to remember how to speak, and I couldn’t help but melt into his touch.

“Yes.” I finally breathed. “Crosshair… yes… yes… I want this – I want you.” Instantly, his lips crashed against mine, tongue hot and desperate and torturous, forcing a whimper from me as I pulled once more at his shirt. That growl caught in his throat as he leaned back onto his knees just long enough to wrench his shirt over his head, launching it thoughtlessly across the room before he was on me again.

That split second I saw him, the way his muscles rippled from that simple, rushed movement left me writhing, legs shifting eagerly beneath him as a desperate moan caught in my throat, vanishing against his lips. My hands roamed greedily over his exposed skin, delighting in the scolding heat burning against me.

“Wanna see you.” He snarled, hand dragging down my side, pausing against my hip to let his thumb slip under my shirt. The fresh burst of desperation from his touch wrenched a fresh moan from me, and I had to remember how to nod; how to breathe.

“Please… fuck, Cross, please.” I gasped, hands clinging to him for a moment longer before reaching for my shirt, but he was already pulling at the buttons with an impatience I knew too well. Scowling, he glanced down for a mere heartbeat before wrenching it open, deaf to the clatter of metal scattering to the floor. And I couldn’t help but laugh, torso arching up against him, eagerly hunting his lips before letting my kiss trail down to his jaw as he focused on guiding my arms from the sleeve; his neck, savoring the feel of his pulse beneath my tongue, my teeth, body nearly caving from the low grown that rippled through his chest. He wrenched me against him, arms pulling me up to kneel before him as he wrestled with the fabric. A gasp tore through me from the flush of lust violently twisting and churning in me anew at the feel of his bare torso against mine.

Shirt abandoned to some nonexistent corner, he let his hands slide up my hips, my stomach and ribs, back around my shoulders until they tangled into my hair, forcing my lips back to his. I didn’t hesitate as he eased me back once more, body all too eager to obey his every hinted desire as he laid me down against the mattress. He didn’t wait before letting his lips roam, taking his time to press soft kisses against my cheek, my forehead, hands cradling my jaw, lips following down my hair line. I nearly cried out as his teeth snapped so carefully at the soft skin just beneath my ear, desperation growing, hands clawing at his back as shuttered breaths caught between my teeth.

“Tell me you want this.” He ordered again, voice almost hoarse. A moan sobbed from me as his tongue dragged against my throat before he sucked the skin gently between his teeth.

“I want this.” I whimpered. “Fuck, I want you, Cross… Please… ple” His hips ground against me, wrenching the air from my lungs in a desperate cry, arms locking around his shoulders as my back arched into him. Again, his teeth snapped at me, harder, nearly breaking me as every gasp left in a whimper, begging for him. I wanted to sob when his mouth abandoned my neck, kissing down my chest as his hands encircled my waist.

“Fu- ah… Cross…” The heat of his mouth hovered over my nipple, just letting his heavy breaths wash over it as he looked up at me, my arms locked around his head. His lips only just twitched up in a smirk as his tongue finally slid against that eager flesh, ruining me as I trapped him against my chest, head slamming back into the mattress, as my back arched, heels dragging absently atop the sheets. The instant I felt his hands shift to ease the fabric from my waist, I eager raised my hips to help him.

“Good girl.” He murmured against me, eyes dark as they took in how easily I came undone beneath his touch, tongue returning to torture my breast for just a moment longer before shifting to taste my ribs, my stomach as he pulled the shorts down my hips, my thighs, revealing just how desperate I was for him. He left one more kiss along the crest of my hip before pulling away. He dropped my shorts thoughtless as he stepped back, eyes devouring my exposed form.

Jaw parted, torso rocking with desperate breaths, I could only stare at him. Even in the dark, the play of muscles beneath lightly marred skin as he stood over me left me throbbing, begging for him to touch me as I looked up into the rich honey of his eyes to find him staring right back at me.

“So fucking beautiful.” The words sighed almost silently from him. Still, it washed over me like silk and, when his hand finally reached for me, when that feather-light touch finally whispered over my hip, up my stomach, fingers sliding between my breasts, up my throat; my jaw; when he held me like that, like I was the most precious thing he’d ever seen, it left me breathless. His thumb brushed against my lower lip like I was made of glass, half-lidded eyes studying my every movement, jaw tensing in anticipation as I opened my mouth, shifting just enough to hide the tip behind my lips, tongue sliding against his skin. His teeth snapped together, air fleeing him in a sharp, muffled groan.

I let my fingers whisper around his wrist, holding him against me as I slowly pushed myself up, slipping from the mattress to stand just in front of him as I sucked his thumb deeper into my mouth, eyes never leaving his. Scowl twitching over his lips, he slid his hands into my hair, drawing my lips back to his. I welcomed the kiss; needed it as though it were the only thing keeping my heart beating, savoring his taste even as my hands slid down the dancing muscles of his stomach before grasping at his pants. His kiss didn’t waver as I tugged at the fabric, effortlessly releasing the clasp with one hand, the other already pushing the fabric from his hips.

The growl that tore through his chest when I first touched him sent an inferno raging through every fiber of my being; burning, desperate. Wrist twisting slightly, I wrapped my hand around him, let my fingers treasure the heat of velvet skin around the throbbing length, memorizing that look on his face, head craning back as he merely allowed himself to become a slave to the sensations, expression twisted into something so near pain, hands clutching onto me; my hair; my shoulder, chest jolting beneath broken gasps.

The need in his eyes when he finally looked back at me left my knees weak. That growl still rumbling from his chest, he threw himself back at my lips, pushing me back until I collapsed against the bed once more, releasing him in that split second of falling. Before I could think to reach for him again, his fingers slid up my thigh, and nothing existed beyond that touch. His mouth slid back against my throat. He slowed just before he reached me, wrenching a desperate whimper from my lips.

“Please… Cross-Crosshair, please,” I begged, one hand locked around his shoulder while the other clawed through his hair. I could feel the smile on his lips as he finally touched me. A violent, desperate moan tore from my throat, mind vanishing beyond the gentle movement of those fingers as he toyed with me, sliding just between my lips. Slowly dragging over that impossibly sensitive mound before continuing along the throbbing flesh, skin already slick with my need as he worked his way back up to rub gently against my clit.

“Look at me.” He growled, movements never slowing. Body nearly shivering beneath his touch, I forced myself to open my eyes, to search for him. As soon as I found those eyes, saw the hunger in them, the lust, he slipped a finger inside me, and I sobbed beneath the violent wave of relief and need and pleasure that rippled up my core, gooseflesh dancing across my skin. I couldn’t help but writhe against him, thighs locking around his wrist even as every muscle begged for more. He toyed with me for mere seconds before slipping another finger in, and I collapsed to the mattress, pleasure bursting through me in waves.

“Look at me.” He ordered again, emphasizing it with a flick of his thumb over my clit and wrenching a sharp cry from me. Again, I forced my eyes open, instantly finding him. He began pumping into me, thumb continuing to work over that wretched bundle of nerves, sending a delicious need through me.

“Good.” He praised as I struggled to keep my gaze locked on him. Faster.

“Crosshair.” I whimpered, body growing violently desperate, nerves beginning to panic.

“You know how fucking good my name sounds on your lips?” He snarled, forcing himself even faster. My feet scraped against the mattress, back arching, coiled, pressure locking my muscles.

“Cro-Crosshair, I can’t… I… fuck, I can’t,” Words, whimpers, pleas gasped from me, “Cro-Crosshair!” His name screamed from my lips as that tension finally boiled over, rippling up my body in ecstasy even as I strained to escape him. His mouth locked over mine, devouring my whimpers as I seized against him; against the now gentle, slow thrusting of his hand, each careful movement just enough to reignite that mind-consuming dance of fire beneath my skin, until I was trembling, gasping against him, and he finally stilled.

“Do you still want this?” He asked, face hidden against my neck. Wrong. Something about how he asked felt wrong. Limbs still shaking, I reached for him, hands sliding over his cheeks to ease his gaze back to mine.

“You.” I corrected before even realizing what that wrongness was. “I want you.” Something in him seemed to quiet, and there was something so perfectly right about it. “I want you, Crosshair.” Without giving him a change to respond, I pulled him back against me, moaning eagerly at his taste. I leaned back, easing him down with me. He didn’t hesitate, hand slipping from between my legs as he rolled overtop of me.

I felt the dew of sweat beading against his chest, felt the incredible care governing his every movement as my thighs tightened eagerly around his hips. And, when he finally touched me, head just brushing against me, my back arched with a fresh whimper, hands almost clawing at him as my hips tilted desperately to meet him.

“Please,” I whispered between kisses, “Please, Crosshair,” words tangling between gasped breaths, “fuck, I need you… please.” He pulled back enough to look in my eyes, to see the raw truth in my words, and he slowly pushed into me. My jaw fell open in a gasp, that burst of nerves again rippling through every inch of my body. My teeth clicked together against a twinge of pain, flesh stretching around him, and he froze.

“Alya?” The worry in his voice, how gently he called me… I wasn’t expecting that, heart bursting as I looked up at him, emotions roiling from the ecstasy still coursing through my veins, I couldn’t but stare, tears burning as they pooled in my eyes. Something like horror crossed his face and he started to pull back, sending a surge of panic through me.

“Wait!” I gasped, hands darting to his jaw, fingers whispering over his cheeks. “It’s alright… I’m alright.” I promised, a soft smile pulling at my lips. “It’s alright.” I whispered again, already desperate to taste him once more. “Cross,” I breathed against his lips, “Crosshair, don’t stop.” I sighed, begging him to kiss me. Muscles seizing, he lost himself in my lips, hesitating only until another moaned “please” escaped me before pushing against me once more. My body shook with a violent gasp, nerves alighting from the perfect fullness.

Panting, he hid against my neck, clinging to me in his desperate attempt to maintain some degree of restraint as he slowly pulled out before burying himself even deeper inside me, movements slow, precise. Still, my back arched into him, whimper choking in my throat, hand burying itself in his hair. Again, he paused, face nuzzling against me, lips kissing absently against that sensitive skin.

“Please,” I sobbed, “Cross, please don’t stop… don’t stop…” His chest bucked and his lips found mine, only whispering against me.

“Don’t want to hurt you.” He breathed, hiding from the very threat of the words as he kissed me with a tenderness that left me reeling. Thumb brushing along his cheekbone, I tried to guide his gaze to mine, but, brows knit together, he turned purposefully away, jaw taut.

“Hey.” I whispered, taking the opportunity to lay my lips against his forehead, his cheeks, his lips until he finally looked at me. “I’m alright.” I promised once more. “I’ll tell you if I need you to stop.” My thumb trailed over his lips. “So please… Crosshair, please… I want you.” I started to kiss him again but held myself back.

“Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you ask for it.” He murmured, and I couldn’t help but beam at him. Movements still slow, controlled, he pulled out again, eyes once more studying me before pushing back into me. Gasping, I let my head sink against his neck. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, holding me against him as he fell into a tantalizingly slow rhythm, each thrust getting slightly deeper. Deeper. I could feel the nerves panicking. My hand locked around his hip terrified he’d stop even as I found myself terrified that he’d keep going; that he’d tear right through me.

“F… f-fuck…” I whimpered, spine arching into him. A grunt caught in his throat, and I felt that control finally begin to slip, getting just that much faster. My other hand darted to the sheets, fingers clinging to the soft fabric, hips rocking up to meet him even as that fear told me to run, that I couldn’t handle it; that it was too much, but that fear only made the promise of pleasure so much more potent. His hand found mine, untangling my fingers from the sheets to twine them through his own before locking my hand above my head.

“Cross!” His name tore from me in a gasp as he ground just that much deeper, thighs locking around his hips.

“Fuck, Alya… Keep saying my name.” He growled, hand tightening almost painfully around mine. My nails dug into his waist, nerves coiling, tightening from his every thrust.

“C-Crosshair, don’t… don’t stop,” I gasped. “Please… please don’t s…” I whimpered. Tighter. “Cross, I c- I can’t…” Sensing the panic seething through frantic nerves, he suddenly doubled his pace, each thrust sending bursts of fire up my spine, hips finally slamming fully into mine as he forced the entirety of his length into me. Abandoning his waist, my arm darted around his shoulder, desperate for something solid as my body seized on the verge of shattering beneath him, every gasp leaving in a rabid cry. Tighter. I was going to break.

“Cross, I can’t, I-fuck, fuck!” I sobbed. A violent cry erupted from me as I finally snapped, arms going numb, fingertips tingling as that wave of fire poured through me. Abandoning my hand, he gripped my hip with enough force to leave bruises, movements growing desperate as he rocked me even harder against him. My chest slammed into him, back arching violently, body panicking beneath screaming nerves even as my arms locked him against me begging for more. His movements grew desperate, face tucked into my neck as something like a whimper of his own caught in his throat. My hands clawed through his hair, every thrust forcing a fresh cry from my lips; too much. Too much. Nearly sobbing, I cried his name, begging for something I couldn’t name.

With a sharp, almost pained gasp, he wrenched himself out of me, body seizing for a few seconds longer before going still beyond the unsteady, shuttered gasps. Chest bucking beneath lungs starving for some taste of air, I could only hide beneath him, arms still clinging to his shoulders as my muscles tried to remember how to loosen. Hand slowly shifting from my hip, he pushed himself up onto his elbow, just lessening the weight of him against me. With only the sound of uneven breaths filling the room, he touched his cheek to mine, pausing a moment before he pressed his lips to the sensitive skin just beneath my ear, shifting almost lazily along my jaw, up my cheeks, delicately touching both of my eyelids, my forehead, before finally claiming my lips once more.

Even through the exhaustion weighing down on me, I lit up beneath that touch, hands eagerly reaching to cup his cheeks, fingers just whispering into his hair before sliding down his jaw as though that might keep him against me for just a moment longer before he finally pulled back, forehead resting gently against mine.

“Are you alright?” He breathed, refusing to look at me once more.

“Mhm.” I hummed absently with a weak nod, wanting nothing more than to sink into the mattress, hidden against his warmth, but that wasn’t enough. He slid his arm from behind my head and carefully caught my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting my gaze to his.

“Are you alright?” He asked again, and again I found myself smiling, fingers absently roaming over the sharp planes of his face for the sheer joy of touch.

“I’m fine, Cross.” I whispered, a small chuckle catching in my throat. His thumb shifted to wipe at the line of tears that had fallen from my eyes, and my grin grew. Without another word, I leaned up to steal just one more kiss before letting myself slip boneless to the mattress. When I looked back up at him, my heart skipped at the sight of that tiny smile on his lips. With a sigh, he settled beside me, arms absently pulling me to his chest as he buried his face in my hair. Warm. Safe. Like nothing else could possibly matter. Bliss. I felt bliss as I laid against him.

“We should clean up.” He sighed against my scalp, and I couldn’t help but pout slightly. The instant I heard that quiet chuckle ripple through his chest, I knew there was nothing I wouldn’t do to hear him laugh forever. “Come on.” He pressed, propping himself up on an elbow once more. “Think you can stand?” I pretended to debate it a moment before peaking at that still smirking face, and unable to fight back the grin, shook my head. He let out a forced sigh and slipped out from under me.

"Suit yourself." He called over his shoulder, started toward the door.

“Hey!” I tried to shout, but the effect was lost in the laughter I couldn’t quite bite back. Before I’d begun to push myself up, however, his arms slipped beneath me, hoisting me to his chest. That laughter escaped me anew, hands eagerly sliding around his shoulders and neck as he carried me through the ship. I scattered kisses absently over his neck and cheek as he walked, occasionally catching another taste of his lips until we finally stood in the shower.

Arm tightening around my shoulders, he gently set my legs down. I held my own weight for barely a second before my knees tried to cave. Instantly, he wrenched me against his chest, hesitating at the lingering giggle as I tried to convince the muscles to work. He let out a quiet scoff, lips resting briefly against my hair before letting me stand on my own as he turned on the water.

Neither of us said a word as the hot water washed over us. Twice, he lost himself against me, arms eagerly holding my bare form flush against him as he tasted my lips, and I readily gave in each time, nearly willing to take him once more despite the lingering ache, but he merely kissed me before turning back to guiding soap over my body. I kissed him as I worked his shampoo into a lather, hands incapable of leaving his body for more than a few seconds before searching for him again.

“Need to swap the sheets.” He mumbled against my lips as the water stopped. I hummed absently, sinking back into his touch thoughtless. That chuckle rumbled through his chest, and I felt the tremble it sent shooting down my spine. “Finish up. Then you can join me.” He added with a final kiss. I briefly tried to follow him but paused. Reluctantly, I spent a few more needed minutes in the privy before allowing myself to retreat back to his warmth.

The room appeared as though nothing had happened, but, if I looked for it, I could still catch the feral scent. Shooting him a shy grin, I slipped beneath the covers, perfectly aware that he’d stared at my exposed body the entire time. Warm. Instantly, I sank back into that perfect bliss as he pulled me to his chest. Heart flooding with affection, I nuzzled gently against him before settling in to sleep.

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#the bad batch #crosshair #star wars #star wars smut #crosshair x oc #crosshair smut #tbb smut #my writing

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copperdaisy · 11 months

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Yu-Gi-Oh! OC Week Day 1: Introductions

Fifteen hours later I'm back to post the actual prompt fill for day one. I actually sat down and completely scrapped all but the first line of this ficlet because I realized that I didn't like the original 1.2k words I had written for it. Whoops.

Anyway, here we go!

(@ygoc-week)

Day One - Introductions Word Count: 1, 716 Characters: Sanura, Mana, Mahaad Rating: G

When Sanura was a child her father often said that she possessed a nation's worth of curiosity. There was rarely a week where the hired help did not have to collect her from a tree or off a roof or out of a neighbor's field. The adults would scold her and she would vow to be more careful next time. She never promised not to do it again. The world was too full of amazing things waiting to be discovered for such binding words. Things like what the scuttling bugs were doing and where the pretty birds landed and what was buried by the soil and sand. Were the answers worth the risks undertaken to learn them? Sometimes. Were there easier ways to learn? Yes. Were those other methods half as satisfying? No. Knowledge was sweeter when she earned it the hard way. It was an opinion that shaped her life even as a wiser adult.

Not that she looked particularly wise at the moment. Standing at the intersection of three hallways, a frown on her lips and her hands planted on her hips, she studied each corridor in turn. Her amber eyes narrowed. All of them looked the same. Wide open spaces with high ceilings supported by giant pillars, lit by squares of sunlight streaming in from the gated windows set near the top of the walls. The only differences she could see were small variations in the reliefs painted on the columns. None of them were directions on where to go. Scrunching her nose Sanura clucked her tongue in frustration. What a predicament.

It was her own fault. A week was hardly enough time to memorize the sprawling complex that was the palace. The layout was designed to confound would-be troublemakers with its maze of near identical pathways. Honest souls getting lost was a necessary evil to preserve the security of the royal family. To her credit Sanura had not meant to wander into an unfamiliar sector. She had blundered into it while attempting to return to her own room using a shortcut one of the local girls had mentioned. Looking back on their conversation she was half convinced the girl had intended for her to get turned around. There was still friction between the new arrivals and the long established servants so it was not outside the realm of possibility.

Brooding over it was not helping her either way. Nor was standing there hoping for rescue for that matter. She had not crossed paths with anyone for a while. Strange; one would think that there would be a guard roaming on patrol. Maybe there was and she had just missed them? Then again, perhaps it was a good thing she had not been found. What if she was in one of the sections that was off limits to the rank and file servants? The guards would probably not be happy to find her if that was the case. She cringed at the thought of what might happen and gave her head a little shake, her long hair tickling the middle of her back. There was no good choice to be made but she had to make one.

Right; when in doubt she always turned to the right. Doing so had saved her from winding up in the jaws of an angry dog when she was seven and had become a habit in the years since. As she walked she began to craft an excuse to use if she were found. It never hurt to practice the explanation a few dozen times, just to be safe. While she had a genuine reason to be lost she knew that nothing sounded like guilt quite like tripping on one's words. The amount of times she had been grounded when she was younger had taught her that lesson. By the time she saw the next intersection she had found an excuse she liked. She just hoped that her phrasing would be good enough to get her out of potential trouble.

Sanura was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she failed to hear a pair of voices drawing closer. Upon reaching the intersection she turned right again and –

– immediately plowed into something solid and sharp. Her own momentum caused her to bounce back. Winded and startled she missed how she ended up on the floor, but end up there she did. It took a few seconds for her wits to return. When they did she found herself staring at the equally shocked faces of a man and girl. No one moved a muscle. Then, finally, the girl clamped both of her hands over her mouth to physically stifle an eruption of giggles, green eyes sparkling with mirth. The man beside her breathed a quiet admonishment before he knelt and offered a hand to Sanura. Sunlight glinted off the golden bands on his arm and she squinted against the glare as she accepted the help.

“My deepest apologies. Are you hurt?” The genuine concern in the stranger's voice somehow made the situation worse. He pulled her up without much effort and waited until she was steady on her feet then put a more polite distance between them. A groan caught in her throat as she got a better look at him. A man wearing that much gold had to be someone important. The large circular pendant he wore around his neck certainly implied as much. The long tines hanging from it must have been the something sharp she had run into.

“Only my pride,” Sanura assured him with a forced chuckle. Gods, how embarrassing. She watched his brows knit together as he looked her over and opened his mouth as if to say something before thinking better of it. He turned his attention to his companion instead to scold her for laughing. The girl straightened and lowered her hands to her sides, doing her best to rein in her amusement.

“Sorry, Master. Are you sure you're okay?”

“I'm fine. I should be the one apologizing.” Try as she might Sanura couldn't remember the eloquent excuse she had decided on. It had been knocked clear out of her head. Fingers tangling in the charmed belts looped around her waist she went with what she had. “I, uh. I got lost and it has been a while since I… ran into anyone else...”

She grimaced at her choice of words even as she said them.

“Oh! Are you new here? I've lived here almost all of my life and I still get lost!” That time the girl's laughter was directed at herself. Clasping her hands together she leaned forward and cocked her head to one side with an easy smile. “My name's Mana.”

“Sanura, and yes, I only arrived a few days ago. I was trying to return to my room using a shortcut someone told me about and ended up here, wherever here is.” The tension in her shoulders slowly eased, enough for her to shrug. A self deprecating smile twitched at the corners of her lips. “I must have taken a wrong turn.”

“Let me guess: someone told you to cut through the kitchen stores and take a left at the statue of Bastet, right?” Mana deadpanned, her expression falling into one of exasperation. “It was probably Kemat. She does that to all the new girls. She's so –“

“Mana!” The man interrupted her and Mana quieted with a squeak. Frowning at his – student? – he sighed and shifted his focus to Sanura again. “Arrived a few days ago… Are you part of the entourage the Prince's betrothed brought with her?”

“I am. I was supposed to be meeting with her after I retrieved something from my room but, well, I got sidetracked.”

“I see...”

“We can take you to her! She's with Teana right now,” Mana chirped, sounding excited by the prospect. Before Sanura had the chance to take her up on the offer it was shot down by her teacher, who shook his head and folded his arms across his chest.

“You have studying to do. I will take her.”

“Aww. Okay.” Mana's pout lasted for all of two seconds before she was grinning again. “See you later, Sanura! Don't take any more advice from Kemat!”

With that the brunnette waved and carried on in the direction she and her teacher had been traveling, humming a little tune to herself as she went. Sanura blinked and gave a half hearted wave in return, not sure what to make of her. The ensuing silence of her absence hung in the air before the other broke it by awkwardly clearing his throat.

“Shall we?”

The walk back to the kitchens was relatively uneventful and at first silent. It did not take long for curiosity to get the better of her. Thankfully the man was tolerant of her carefully asked questions. She learned that his name was Mahaad and that he was a magician. Mana was his apprentice; they had been on their way to the library when they met her. She also learned that he was one of Pharaoh Akhenamkhanen's advisers. He must have seen the apprehension on her face for he rushed to assure her that she was not in trouble, either for running into him or for getting lost. It was the earnestness in his tone more than his words that convinced her that she was not going to be tossed to the streets, or worse.

“Do you know the way from here?”

Sanura was almost disappointed to realize that they had reached the kitchens. There were easily a dozen more questions she wanted to ask him. She resisted the impulse to ask them all in a single rush. She had already taken up enough of his valuable time.

“Yes. No more shortcuts,” she answered. “Thank you. I'll be more careful next time.”

“It was my pleasure.”

Sanura bowed her head and let him take his leave, sneaking a glance at him as he walked past. All in all he seemed rather nice, if a bit awkward around the edges. Definitely one of the more interesting people she had met so far. Maybe she could convince him to answer the rest of her questions sometime.

After all, she hadn't promised not to get lost again...

#YuGiOh #YuGiOh OC #YuGiOh OC Week 23 #Copper's OC #OC: Sanura

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weirdstuffinthewoods · 1 year

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Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark

I'm awful at starting niche blogs, so I'm trying to stick to what I know and love. Something I know very well and love very much is this box set right here that I'm still mad at myself for getting rid of (I bought the 3-book treasury it's just not the SAME)

If you're a millennial of any age, you were probably traumatized by one or more of these bad boys. Alvin Schwartz sat down in the late 70s (book 1 was published in 1981!) and said, "you know what? I'm gonna scare the pants off a bunch of kids and they'll thank me for it later." And you know what? I kinda do.

I've spent a lot of time trying to find the root of my horror obsession, and I thought it was seeing the 1990 made-for-TV version of IT at a sleepover in 3rd grade, which resulted in two traumatic years of night terrors, calmed only by...reading the book it was based on? And then all of Stephen King's other works that were definitely not appropriate for a barely 9-10 year old? (For years, I'd skip the adulthood sections of IT when I read it because I found them so boring, so I had a half-finished story in my mind. Go figure.) But that wasn't it. I thought maybe it was finding the Informania: Ghosts and Informania: Vampires books at the Scholastic Book Fair and poring over them obsessively for years (more on this at a later date) but nope.

It was Scary Stories, Alvin Schwartz, and Stephen Gammell.

If you want some of the story surrounding these books, I recommend the Prime/Freevee documentary "Scary Stories". I remember none of it, but that's the ADHD and I can't help it.

From a quick Wikipedia search (they have never steered me wrong and this is a for-fun blog y'all), it looks like Alvin Schwartz is a folklore dude, which I aspire to be. He published multiple other kids' books of folklore aside from the Scary Stories trilogy, including A Twister of Twists, A Tangler of Tongues, but these were illustrated by a dude named Glen Rounds and I mean look:

A little weird, but not nightmare-inducing by any means. Although the amount of hair is concerning. American folklore gets lost in the shuffle a lot so it's cool for kids to see it. Then, a bit before 1981, he meets this fuckin' guy:

Who yes appears harmless but single-handedly molded me as a person with just some watercolor and pencil. Without his illustrations, Scary Stories wouldn't have the legacy they do today. Proof? The books were rereleased in 2011 with different illustrations. From the guy who illustrated the Series of Unfortunate Events books (Brett Helquist). I'm sure those were fine but like come on.

as compared to

Which one is a kid (ie me) going to cover with one hand while desperately trying to read the other page?

Stephen Gammell has a decades-long career which is briefly highlighted in this Bloody Disgusting article, excitingly enough. Before Scary Stories, he actually did another scary book series for kids which has some unsettling illustrations

and he did some historical illustrations for stuff like Thunder at Gettysburg and Terrible Things: An Allegory of the Holocaust which no I will not be looking up because I need to sleep tonight.

The article also goes on to mention how amazing Schwartz's research abilities were considering none of these stories were original- they were just collected from around the US and the world and compiled into a (not kid-friendly, no, but) kid-interesting version. There were also audiobooks (books on cassette? I guess?) for at least one of them so I assume all three, and I distinctly remember (I'll point to the exact stories later):

sitting:

-in broad daylight

-at the reading table in my classroom, probably 3rd grade too

-headphones on, volume up

-sweating absolute buckets because I was listening to this baby which ETSY SOMEHOW HAD

ARE YOU JOKING ETSY??? I'm okay though I don't need the nightmares back.

George S. Irving deserved every penny he got for this work and a whole lot more because that man scared the shit out of me. Also found out as I was reading his Wikipedia article that he played Heat Miser in The Year Without A Santa Claus. Well. The more you know, I guess.

Anyway, going forward, I'm going to go in depth on some of my favorites, and hopefully you come with! Send me questions or suggestions on stuff you want me to talk about or look at :)

Also yes I've seen the movie no I will not talk about it here but maybe later because it's been awhile since I saw it

#alvin schwartz #scary stories #scary stories to tell in the dark #stephen gammell

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spookybias · 3 years

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mammoth pansy aftermath ｡ han jisung

pairing: han jisung x female! reader (romantic). choi lia x female! reader (platonic). genre: fluff, humor. florist! au, college! au. warning: none. word count: 2.6k. note: mc is pretty shy here. this is for the fic exchange hosted by @cherryutas and @peachyunjae. thanks for hosting! i had fun writing this.

synopsis: a frequent customer at the flower shop you work at has you wrapped around his finger. the only problem? he buys a bouquet every day and you're not sure who the flowers are for.

for: @starlightjoong. hi, sol! i'm your 🎁 anon (who only spoke like twice ;_; gosh i'm so embarrassed). i'm sorry this took so long. i really wanted to do han justice in this fic so i ended up writing it twice, and when tumbr’s tag system started bugging out, i used that short amount of time to go back and rewrite it a third time >_< i just wanted to give you the best work possible. you seem like a really cool person, and i hope we can interact way more in the future. i hope you enjoy this <3

The guy with the neatly parted brown hair and oh so pokeable cheeks always stopped by your workplace―Pixies Pick, a residential flower shop located just a mere seven blocks from the college you attended, best known for their chalon supreme pansies and bachelor's buttons―thrice a week, around 4:30pm.

Same time every day, you thought to yourself, before feigning interest in a bag of soil.

This time of day was when the working florists faced the least amount of business, and it also happened to be the section of the schedule in which you and your coworker turned best friend, Lia, were the only employees. The lack of customers in need of assistance made it easy for you to stand in the corner of the shop and discreetly ogle the handsome guy.

Han Jisung reminded you of those popular, perfect boys that posed as the out-of-reach love interests in TV shows. You had only spoken to him once, just to say hello.

The thing about Han was, when he talked to people, he gave them direct eye contact. You didn't think you could manage to let smooth sentences stream out of your mouth while his syrup-tinted eyes stared at you.

Lia always did the talking, fishing out facts about the guy the way someone would catch sea bass in Animal Crossing. Although she did it because she loved you and knew how much you liked Han, she couldn't stop her right eye from twitching every time she caught sight of you and Han avoiding eye contact, only for one to look at the other when they thought no one was looking.

It was annoying, pathetic, and undeniably romantic.

Lia couldn't stand to play messenger anymore, and as you gestured for her to help your crush at the counter while you eavesdropped on whatever information she could harvest today, Lia decided to do something about this obvious but unknown mutual pining.

Lia sauntered over to the other side of the counter, directly across from Han. She sent you a good-natured glare before turning to Han with a smile. "What can I get you? Another bouquet?"

Yes, another bouquet. Han always bought a bouquet of romantic-looking pansies. Neither you nor Lia could figure out why Han picked up the assortment of flowers every time he stopped by Pixies Pick. You suspected he had a significant other, which made it much harder for you to find the courage to form coherent sentences around him.

Lia doubted it, though. Her and Han were both international business majors and shared a majority of the same classes. Lia told you that she'd never seen him act romantic towards anyone on campus, and she couldn't imagine him being in a relationship when he took time out of his week to come to the flower shop and drool over you.

Though, every time she tried to tell you that last part, you waved her away not wanting to get your hopes up.

Han let out a breathy chuckle, leading Lia to believe that he was both embarrassed by his own antics and delighted that he had become so much of a regular to shop’s florists. He nodded his head and smiled. “Yeah. Another bouquet please.”

“Okay, no problem, Han,” Lia replied with a forced smile. It wasn’t her intention to be rude, but she couldn’t help but feel aggravated at the apparent romantic tension in the room. She wished you and Han weren’t as awkward as you were.

Right as she turned to face the shelves of bouquets behind the counter, she noticed that you had moved in closer to the counter, spraying a pot of bachelor’s buttons with water.

Any passerby would truly believe that you were irrevocably dedicated to your job, but Lia knew you well enough to tell that you were much more invested in Han than you were in your duties. In fact, if a passerby cared enough and looked close enough, they would be able to tell just how poor your focus and aim with the spray bottle was.

The floor was getting more water than the actual flowers.

And with that, Lia really, really had enough of playing messenger. An idea came to mind. She faced Han once again.

“Remember when I said, ‘No problem’? Well, there is a problem.” Lia watched the way Han’s friendly smile faltered, and she tried to swallow the laugh that was crawling up her throat. “I don’t think we have the pansies that you usually get in your bouquet, but my coworker over there knows the best—”

Han shared a small smile as he pointed over Lia’s shoulder. “They’re right there. The really bright and pink ones. You know, the mammoth pansies? You handed them to be the last time I was here. I always get them.”

Lia tilted her head to the side. What she wanted to say was, “Shut the fuck up. I’m trying to help you date my friend.” But she was still a Pixies Pick employee who had no idea what Han’s reaction to that would be like, and she still desperately needed to keep her job that rarely made her do more than shuffle bags of soil and cut plant stems. So instead, she said, “Right. Silly me.”

Lia turned to the display of bouquets once again. She turned to her right, catching the look of suspense on your face. The exchange between the two was more than distracting, and it seemed that Lia’s abrupt mention of her coworker was making you lose braincells. She blinked twice, hoping that her vision was all wrong.

You were spraying the cash register with water instead of the flowers.

Oh boy, oh boy, Lia thought. You needed all the help you could get. She spun around towards Han. He furrowed his brows and pressed his lips together, trying to figure out why Lia was making the purchase so difficult today.

“Han, are you seeing anyone?” Lia asked. Her tone was similar to the way one would say two plus two equals four or fish swim the sea.

Han felt his cheeks redden. He worried that he had garnered the attention of the wrong person.

From her peripheral vision, Lia could see your head snap up. “Well at least she stopped watering the register,” Lia mumbled to herself.

“What?” Han looked around.

Your body froze in embarrassment when you realized he was staring at you.

“Hey, I asked you a question,” Lia demanded. “Are you seeing someone, yes or no?”

Han’s hands began to sweat at the uncertainty of not knowing what kind of situation his answer would put him in. “No. No, I’m not seeing anyone.” He gulped.

This was it. Your ticket in.

"You know what?" Lia questioned. "I just remembered. I'm not qualified to touch pink flowers. Pixies Pick employees need a special license for that."

Han chuckled uncomfortably. Was this a prank? He briefly looked behind, expecting to see some kind of camera crew. "You handed me those flowers a couple days ago―"

"That wasn't me," Lia cut him off through gritted teeth. "That was my twin sister. Fia."

As Lia and Han's conversation went on, you had moved closer and closer towards the spot of the counter they were both standing at. You figured Lia was buying time for you to step in and save the day, make conversation, and maybe shoot your shot with Han Jisung. Still, even as you stood a mere six feet away from the two of them, you had zero idea on what to do.

For a split second, you were completely and utterly jealous of Lia. She could talk to Han―no anyone―with ease.

"Actually, I-I think I'll just g-go," Han stammered, clearly confused by Lia's odd behavior. He stepped back from the counter, and that's when he saw how close you had gotten to the both of them.

"H-hey!" You greeted, flashing him a smile at full wattage. Then, for some reason, despite being so close to the guy, yelled out the word once more. "Hey!"

Lia shot you a weird look.

"Okay, yeah." Lia nodded and wiped a nonexistent drop of sweat off of her forehead. "I'm done here. I've done enough. Namjoon doesn't pay me enough for this." And with that, she sauntered away.

You took her place behind the counter.

"Hey," you breathed out. How many times had you greeted him? You couldn't remember. The only thing your brain could fathom at the moment was the fact that Han Jisung didn't have a significant other.

"Hi." Han scratched the back of his head, his fluffy, brown hair ruffling. He couldn't stop the big grin from forming on his face. He was actually talking to you.

"Uh, s-sorry about my friend," you apologized, your eyes casted downward. You let your hands rest on top of the shop's counter, but they quickly balled into fists. "She was just trying to help."

You were so nervous, but you weren't shaking. You weren't sweating either. You weren't doing any of the things you always pictured would happen on the day you finally got to speak to Han.

"Help with what?"

You squeezed your eyes shut. It was now or never.

"Whoa-" Before you could utter a word, Han's hands were on your clenching palms.

Your eyes popped open. "What are you-"

"-You're clenching your hands too much," Han spoke over your upcoming question. "Are you stressed out? Is that what Lia was trying to help you with?" He wasn't sure what the problem was or what the possibility of you being stressed had to do with the bouquet of flowers Lia was refusing to give up. He didn't care how logical your explanation was. He was just worried.

You picked up on the high level of concern in his voice. It was now or never.

"I'm not stressed at all." You opened your hands, causing Han to immediately let go and laugh nervously. "She was trying to help me talk to you. I'm- I'm so nervous sometimes. You come in here every day, and I just- I just wanted to get to know you. I've seen you on campus before. You're so funny and cute. And I just get so-"

"Whoa, wait." Han felt his ears warm up. "I think you're awesome. Every time I pass by you and Lia on campus, you're always talking about digital drawing, or some other thing I don't think I could ever wrap my head around," Han confessed. "Sometimes I had this idea to just use the fact that I know Lia as an excuse to talk to you. You know how I always yell, "Hi, Lia" from across the quad?"

You nodded, eagerly awaiting his elaboration―the rest of his confession.

"You're kind of the only reason why I yell from across the quad. Well, it's also because Lia always gives me her notes since I fall asleep in English, but it's mostly because of you," Han beamed. "I was always hoping that when she waved, you'd wave too."

You let out a small laugh. "I've actually been using Lia to learn more about you." You recoiled in horror. "Oh my gosh, that makes me sound like a stalker. I am so sorry."

Han was quick to lessen your worries. "No. It just makes you sound like someone with a crush." His eyes widened as soon as the words tumbled out of his mouth. "Not that that's a bad thing! I made it sound like a bad thing, right? Oh my goodness." He face-palmed.

Talking to Han had seemed unimaginable, but you had come to realize that it wasn't hard at all. You had never seen the guy of your dreams so flushed.

"No, I get what you mean." You couldn't help but giggle. "And you're not exactly wrong," you then mumbled. "Um, do you still want your flowers?"

"No," Han simply stated. "I have a confession to make. Well, a second confession. I-"

CRUNCH.

Han stopped and peered over your shoulder. You followed his gaze to see Lia munching on a bag of popcorn kernels.

"Sorry for the interruption. I needed something to eat while I'm entertained," she said gesturing to you and Han. She let out a strangled cough. "Our microwave is busted, so I'm pulling through. But I think I got one stuck in my esophagus." She coughed again. "Feel free to continue. I'll just be here."

The two of you faced each other again, giving each other a playful eye roll. Han shook his head, as if to say, "That's our Lia."

"So, what I wanted to say is- well ya see-"

You nodded your head, urging him to go on.

Han sighed. "I have like fourteen bouquets in my dorm room. My roommates are so tired of me bringing home flowers."

You blinked twice. "I'm not sure what you're getting at."

"I was just buying bouquets so I had a reason to come see you. I thought maybe one day you'd finally be at the counter and I could talk to you. But every time I came in, you'd be in the back watering flowers."

There was a sudden, strangled screech. The both of you turned back to Lia. She seemed to be coughing and laughing hysterically at the same time.

"Sorry, sorry," she choked out. "Last time I interrupt. Go ahead, guys. Finish up."

"Well," you started, "You already know that I was too shy to speak to you. You should also know that I always ran to the back when you came in. I thought- I thought it'd be easier to get to know you-"

"-through Lia." Han nodded, understandingly.

"Why did you always buy the mammoth pansies, though?" You couldn't help but feel curious.

"The first time I came in here, when I actually bought something I needed, you were staring at them really intently," Han shared. "I guess they just stuck with me because you liked them, and I like you."

You pinched your arm under the counter.

"Hey, I know this is random, but do you like boba?"

"Yes!" You practically shouted. A bit of embarrassment washed over you, so you lowered your voice. "Yeah, I do."

"Do you wanna go get boba tomorrow after your shift? If you're working that is. I'd offer for today, but I have to go clean up some dead pansies." He rubbed the back of his neck and cringed.

You couldn't help but smirk at the adorable action. "Sure. I'll be here tomorrow. We close at six."

"Cool," Han breathed. "Can I have your number?"

While the two of you exchanged info, Lia approached the both of you, her coughing fit long gone.

"I think you're forgetting something." She crossed her arms across her chest and raised one brow.

"What?" You asked.

"My invitation!" She almost screeched. "This," she waved her pointer finger between you and Han, "would have never happened without my existence."

"Lia, you can't come. It's a date," Han stated, passing you your phone. He blushed just a couple seconds after. "I mean, it's a date if you want it to be, ____. It's okay if you're not interested in it being a date."

"Oh no, I totally thought it was a date," you admitted. Then you quickly backtracked. "But if it's not actually a date, I totally understand."

"No, no. It's definitely a date. As long as you're comfortable."

"Y-yeah! I am! No worries!"

"Cool. This is going to be the best date ever. Wait, no. I made that sound really childish. I'm sorry."

"No worries. It wasn't childish at all. I think it will be the best."

Lia squinted her eyes at the two of you. "You guys are weird. And gross. And cute. I need new people to associate myself with."

thanks for reading! :D

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the-last-kenobi · 3 years

Note

I adore your qui gon and obi wan stuff so can we get a number 8 on the prompt list with obi wan and qui gon?

Absolutely!! I’m so glad you chose that one; I’ve loved every single prompt I’ve gotten but this one breaks the mold a little.

I hope this lives up to your expectations!

From this various prompts list.

When Qui-Gon Jinn set foot on the planet of Melida/Daan for the second time, he had a fixed set of expectations.

He expected to find the same war-torn, shattered homes and abused soil, the same decimated populations, the same stench of death. He expected to find the underground hideouts where the children hid from the wrath of their parents, and where the Melida plotted against the Daan and the Daan against the Melida. He expected to find a bruised and shame-faced former Jedi Padawan, ready to humble himself before the Council.

He expected to have to offer both comfort and stern reprimand to this child who, as much of a delight as he had once been, no longer deserved to be his apprentice.

And he did find some of that.

He also found fields of green grass, and abandoned fields of half-plucked vegetation and fruits.

A memorial garden.

A row of corpses covered neatly in cloths, lining the road, respectfully untouched.

Faded posters announcing committees and treaties and open elections, speeches and remembrance services.

A mural on a stone wall, somewhere between impressionist and abstract, of a line of children and adults, the children in the center. Towards the very middle, almost exactly so, was the image of a young boy with pale russet locks hanging an inch loose, and Qui-Gon paused, observing warily as if the image might come to life and attack him.

But it was only an image, and Obi-Wan Kenobi was only a wayward child.

And none of this is was going as anticipated.

The Jedi Master tried to recall what Yoda had told him before chivvying him out the door, but in truth he had not processed much of it aside from Obi-Wan’s name and the understanding that he had asked to be retrieved from Melida/Daan.

Why?

Clearly things had changed, immensely — and yet, in the background, the continued sound of bombs going off and weapons firing, and not a living being in sight.

Qui-Gon continued deeper into the core of the civilization, skirting the worst of the ruins but avoiding the main road in a passing effort to go unnoticed.

It did not last long.

“Master Jedi!” a voice hissed out suddenly, and Qui-Gon turned sharply to see a young man — maybe nineteen, at most — peering at him around the corner of the nearest building, pressed close to the wall. He gestured shortly and vanished.

Qui-Gon took a moment to cast out his senses. The Force bore no distinct warning, so he crossed the road quickly and ducked around the corner.

The young man was waiting for him. Up close it was clear that he was younger than he had appeared, perhaps seventeen, just emerging from the gangly limbs stage, and he was coated in dirt and grime — some of it oddly strategic, smeared across his cheekbones and the crown of his forehead, darkening and muting them. Dark hazel eyes considered Qui-Gon suspiciously.

“You were expecting me,” Qui-Gon stated.

The boy nodded. “I was. Obi-Wan said you would be arriving today, maybe tomorrow.”

A strange jolt ran through Qui-Gon. He had not said Obi-Wan’s name aloud himself, not since that day almost eight months before, and while he had heard other Jedi mention it, it was off-putting to hear this total stranger use it. So familiarly. Like he knew Kenobi well. Qui-Gon brushed the thoughts aside like so many cobwebs and spoke again: “Well, here I am. Where next?”

He did not say, ‘Where is Obi-Wan?’

For some reason, it would have felt like a confession.

The boy pressed his lips into a flat line, as if the Jedi had failed some sort of test. “…I’ll show you. Stick close to me and don’t do anything reckless. Stealth is our best ally right now. Only ally, really.”

Qui-Gon wondered what he was, then, since he was certainly not included in this mysterious “we.”

It was slightly insulting, and sharply painful, to be lectured on strategic maneuvers by what amounted to a child soldier.

Nevertheless, Qui-Gon followed him.

They wound their way through the settlement, bypassing craters where homes had stood and also far more intact buildings, still crisp and clean and bearing that unmistakable scent of newness.

These, more than any of the others, were painted with images of children and adults standing together, plastered with announcements, and more than one — many — almost all — featuring that flame-haired youth. More often than not he was framed closely by two others. Another boy, this one slightly taller and leaner with dark hair. And a girl, a little smaller, with bold waves and startling green eyes.

The boy with the dirty face turned his head to look at each of them, though he did not slow.

After what felt like a very long time, Qui-Gon found himself entering what seemed to be a cellar. It was dark and musty, but before he could question it, his guide went to a section of the wall and pushed, popping open a panel that sank away and slid to one side.

“This way,” he said unnecessarily.

In they went. It was a tunnel, low and long, and Qui-Gon had to stoop halfway just to move. The boy, several inches shorter, had less trouble.

A few minutes of breathless, blind stumbling later, and they reached a reinforced door.

The boy knocked slowly, then quickly; stopped, and then knocked rapidly again. “It’s me!” he called through the crevice. “He’s here.”

There was a grinding sound, and then the door swung open to reveal bright light. The boy slipped through without hesitation, but the Jedi Master was more wary, blinking and waiting for his eyes to adjust to the light before slowly entering the room, still bowed low from the tunnel.

When he rose, he was looking directly into the eyes of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The boy had changed, and yet was exactly the same.

There was no other way to describe it.

He had certainly shot up an inch or so in height. His Jedi tunics were gone; he was wearing a stained white tunic of much poorer cloth and simpler cut, over a pair of patched brown trousers and sturdy boots. His robe was still the one he had worn when he had first arrived all those months ago, but he had sewn the sleeves so that they did not dangle over his wrists or hang wide and loose; instead they were drawn closer, but not so tight that they impeded his movement.

His hair seemed more coppery red than before as it hung loose and untidy, coming to slightly ragged ends halfway between his jawline and his shoulders. Some of the baby fat had melted away, driven off no doubt by stress and hunger and emotion, and his cheekbones stood out a little too much.

But it was his eyes that struck Qui-Gon.

They seemed exactly the same.

Pale blue-green, wide and friendly and innocent, sweet as they had been on the day they met.

Unbearably naive.

Those eyes flickered with shock for a moment, and then the boy stepped forward and offered out his hand. “Master Jinn,” he said.

Qui-Gon blinked. Perhaps if he waited a moment, Obi-Wan would remember that Jedi bowed? But the boy merely stared at him with his hand extended, and so Qui-Gon grasped it and shook briefly before letting go.

The boy did not seem particularly bothered. He turned to the rest of the room. “You’re all ready?”

“Yes,” came a chorus of voices.

Freed from the strangeness of Obi-Wan and his gaze, Qui-Gon looked around. There were several others present — all humans, all young, all grimy. Maybe a dozen or so in number. The room he was in was spacious, a little low-ceilinged and plain. It had the air of a bunker, with bright lights that aggravated the eyes and dull walls and functional furniture. Most notably, the enormous table in the center.

It was spread with maps, fliers, announcement posters, detailed blueprints for buildings and machinery, tidy sketches outlining strategies and countermeasures. Qui-Gon’s keen eyes caught words like ‘anti-terrorism,’ ‘knowledge is courage,’ ‘long-range missile launcher,’ and ‘riot activity.’ And, half-concealed under a map of Melida/Daan’s entire surface, a flat holo of three people. Obi-Wan. The dark-haired boy. The girl with green eyes.

“Master Jinn,” Obi-Wan’s voice broke into his observations.

They were all watching him with various degrees of mistrust.

Qui-Gon straightened his spine, and then forced himself to relax a little, trying to radiate comfort and honesty. Even without force sensitivity, they would be eased somewhat.

“Yes, I’m listening,” he assured them.

Kenobi exchanged a quick look with the boy who had guided him here, and the youth shrugged. “He was quick enough and he listened to what I said, but he’s like most adults. Thinking more in his head than paying attention, didn’t even ask my name.”

Qui-Gon started. He hadn’t, had he?

“I—” he began, but the youth cut him off with a dismissive gesture.

“You didn’t ask,” he said. “I’m not sharing now. I’m sure you’ll hear it eventually.”

Obi-Wan nodded as if this were perfectly reasonable. “Master Jinn, are you prepared to take all thirteen of us back to Coruscant?”

“What?” Qui-Gon demanded. He glanced around at the others, who looked even less impressed than before. He felt so unexpectedly out of his depth. What was this place? “I — no, I’m returning you to the Jedi, to the care of the High Council.”

“No,” Obi-Wan said placidly. “You’re not. I’m sure Master Yoda had his reasons for sending you—” the slightest emphasis on the word ‘you’—“but you are here to escort myself and the other twelve to the Core to appear before the Senate. That’s why you were assigned such a large ship. We’re going to make an appeal on behalf of Meldan.”

“Meldan?” Qui-Gon echoed.

“Our planet,” one of the others, a curly-haired, fierce-eyed woman of about twenty-two said. “Obi, are you sure about this? This isn’t at all what you said we could expect.”

“Master Jinn is an exception to many rules,” Obi-Wan told her; as he turned his head to look in her direction, he briefly seemed to change, the tension in his shoulders easing and his face alight with mischief. Then it was gone. He turned back to Qui-Gon, and beneath the veneer of professionalism could be glimpsed a strange aura of… something Qui-Gon couldn’t determine or define.

Their eyes met again, and silence fell for a moment.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan decided. “Yes, this will work. If any Jedi will help ensure you catch the attention of the Senate, it would be Master Jinn. Master Yoda also told me that Master Adi Gallia will be your official patron, which is good; she spends most of her time handling the political side of Jedi affairs.”

“Then we should go now,” said a small boy of no more than nine. “Let’s go!”

“Not just yet, Jocco,” Obi-Wan said soothingly, turning a gentle smile on the child. “We’re not quite ready. We’ll leave in about an hour.”

“Right,” Jocco said, nodding. “Okay.”

Obi-Wan smiled again. “All right, everyone. We have meals to eat and supplies to pack, so let’s keep together and keep organized. Sarai,” he nodded at the curly-haired woman, “and my friend,” a nod to the bitter-eyed nameless guide, “please bring Master Jinn up to speed. Master Jinn,” he added, glancing up from where the smallest children were flocking to his side and clinging to his hands, “I will see you in an hour.”

He left, surrounded by children both far younger and several years older than him, like adoring chicks following their mother, or maybe more like an honor guard. The contrast was both ludicrous and oddly touching.

“You listen to him,” Qui-Gon commented to his tight-lipped companions. “Even though he no longer carries the authority of a Jedi.”

“I haven’t seen any Jedi authority yet,” snapped back his unnamed guide. “Just three Jedi who came, two who left, and one who stayed.”

“It was not our mission to stay,” Qui-Gon replied calmly, tucking his hands inside his sleeves. “Though I can see what compelled him to.”

“Oh, can you?” said Sarai. She folded her arms tightly and assessed him, her lip curling. “I don’t think you see much past the end of your own nose.”

“Petty insults will get us nowhere,” he replied, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of said nose. “And it won’t help you when you speak for your people before the Senate.”

“Me?” an amused smile curled her lips. She looked as if all her suspicions had just been confirmed. “I won’t be speaking, not primarily anyways. I don’t have any governmental authority behind me, I’m just a secondary representative.”

“Same here,” said the young man.

“Governmental authority…? Then who is your speaker?” Qui-Gon asked, slightly bewildered.

“Are you blind?” said the young man. “Obi-Wan is the leader. Since the other two were assassinated, Obi-Wan is our only head of government.”

The next time Qui-Gon laid eyes on his former apprentice, it was mere minutes before their agreed departure time.

The children — Melida, Daan, none of them older than sixteen, aside from former Melida Sarai and former Daan who still refused to share his name — were all gathered next to a large reinforced bay door next to a small fleet of speeders.

Obi-Wan had one arm draped around the shoulders of a ten-year-old boy, murmuring instructions to him, and carrying the little toddler girl on his hip. She was playing with his hair contentedly, unbothered by the preparations going on around her.

If it had been strange to see Obi-Wan before, with his air of sameness-yet-differentness, it was doubly so now.

Knowing what he now knew.

Knowing that Obi-Wan Kenobi had accomplished what he had set out to do and reunited the Melida and the Daan with the help of a few middle-aged adults from both sides and the constant aid of his two companions, Cerasi and Nield. Knowing that he had been fairly elected alongside Cerasi and Nield as the Triumvers — the three Heads of State — of the newly named Meldan.

Knowing that they had been in the midst of Reconstruction both physical and emotional when a radical had betrayed them, murdering innocents gathered for discussions. How Cerasi had been murdered in her bed. How Nield had begun drumming up a military force, only to be assassinated — by a friend of the peace or a foe, who could say? How Obi-Wan had seen all his allies either killed or turn away, and had gathered all he could and retreated below ground, holding tight to his ideals and the legislative power that now backed him.

Knowing how he had continued to sow the seeds of freedom and diplomacy even as the people left above ground resorted again to violence. How he had nurtured genuine friendships among his people, even after having been betrayed.

And here he stood, not even fifteen, making children laugh and reassuring people older than him as he attempted to carry them to freedom and hope.

A government of war-veteran children, led by a former Jedi Padawan.

Qui-Gon watched as everyone was paired up, older teens with younger children, two to a speeder, until at last there was only one vehicle left and only himself and Kenobi still standing.

“I’m afraid I’ll be piloting,” the boy told him. “I’m familiar with the route.”

Qui-Gon swallowed away a bitter taste and merely nodded.

Obi-Wan swung himself up behind the controls, and Qui-Gon moved to sit behind him, and despite everything, despite knowing Obi-Wan’s history over the past eight months, despite being determined not to regard him as his Padawan ever again, it still felt wrong to sit behind. To let the child lead. To let the child sit behind the controls where any decent sniper would aim.

“Stick close and keep low!” Obi-Wan called out.

“Love you Obi!” the same tiny girl cried out from somewhere behind them on another speeder.

Qui-Gon didn’t know what he expected, if he expected anything at all in this strange parallel universe he had wandered into. Nevertheless, Obi-Wan turning his head to grin at the girl and calling back, “Love you too, Cler!” still surprised him.

And then they were off.

The children were clearly well trained, experienced. They seemed to know this back route by heart, undeterred by the semi-light of dusk, and keeping behind outcroppings of rock and trees as much as possible.

Obi-Wan glanced around periodically to check on the others, and every so often one of the others from the back of the parade would speed up to match his pace and give him the all-clear before falling back again.

The breathlessness of the moment settled somewhere in Qui-Gon’s chest. If he could put aside the emotional toll it was taking to sit behind his former student and see him not as a Jedi but as a war-tried planetary ruler, it was easier to be caught up in the rush. The fate of thousands depended on this race for freedom.

The former Jedi Master and Padawan maintained their lead, a slight gap between them and the others.

This served them all well when a blaster bolt came out of nowhere and struck Obi-Wan in his right shoulder, missing his chest only because he sensed it at the last second and twisted away.

There were screams from the smaller children; the older children reacted immediately, scattering their small fleet and engaging their weapons.

“There!” Qui-Gon cried, pointing to a ridge on their right where glimpses of people moving could be seen. His other hand was holding Obi-Wan upright.

“Are you all right to keep piloting?” he shouted.

“For a little while! Hold on, I have a plan!” Obi-Wan shouted back.

“Is it a good plan?”

“Hard to tell until I’ve done it!”

For a second it felt like it had been a year ago, or even better, both of them on the edge of adrenaline and serenity, grinning.

Qui-Gon ignited his lightsaber and deflected two more blaster shots, calling out warnings to the others within earshot.

A speeder went down.

A girl and boy were thrown several meters, crushing in the dust, clinging to one another as they rolled to a stop. On another speeder, Sarai yelled “Here!” and pulled up alongside Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, while Jocco stood up from behind her and leapt.

Qui-Gon’s heart shot to his throat.

But as he extended a hand and caught the child with the Force, Obi-Wan was already doing the same thing, drawing Jocco safely onto their speeder. Sarai, meanwhile, swung her speeder back around and parked it in front of the fallen one, shielding the injured two from view. She stood up on the seat and raised a blaster in each hand, lips twisted in a snarl. “Over here you bastards!” she screamed. “Like shooting at children? Give it your best shot!”

“She’s insane,” said Qui-Gon.

“She’s my second in command!” Obi-Wan laughed. “Now get ready! You’re taking the wheel!”

“What?”

Qui-Gon turned his head just in time to see Obi-Wan launch himself off of the moving speeder with reckless grace, executing a Force-augmented leap to land neatly on the ridge. “Kenobi! What are you doing?” Qui-Gon bellowed.

The boy didn’t respond. He had a blaster in his good hand and dropped out of view, directly onto the heads of the people concealed behind the rocks. There were yells; red light flared as weapons went off in rapid succession. Sarai took advantage of the distraction and urged the other two onto her speeder. “Go!” she said.

As soon as they were off, one of the other speeders erupted from the tree-line and swooped in front of her, slowing down enough to allow her to jump aboard behind two smaller children. “Good job kiddos,” Qui-Gon heard her say. Then she looked up at him. “Come on, we have to go!”

“But—Obi-Wan—” he said helplessly.

As he did, Obi-Wan reappeared at the crest of the ridge, a smoking hole in his trouser leg and a bloody furrow over one eye. He looked directly at Qui-Gon and mouthed, ‘Go! Take the others and run, now!’

Then he was gone again.

A pained look crossed Sarai’s face, but she glanced at Jocco sitting on his lap and smoothed it away at once. “He knows what he’s doing,” she said. “Now come on!”

They sped off, trailing dust and a broken wreck, following in the wake of the other speeders far ahead of them.

In the distance, the ship gleamed in the low light, a beacon for them to follow.

The others were waiting for them when they arrived, arranged defensively around the ship, protecting their only mode of transportation. The nameless boy was standing front and center, an adapted blaster rifle in his arms, looking ready to kill anyone who got too near. Jocco ran straight to him.

Sarai helped the other two down and began loading everyone onto the ship, which opened at Qui-Gon’s command.

He and the boy with the rifle waited.

And waited.

The sun set in earnest, and darkness fell.

And still they waited.

“Can you make your appeal to the Senate without him?” Qui-Gon said suddenly.

The young man whipped his head around to look at him. “What?”

“Can you make your appeal without Obi-Wan?”

He sneered. “In his absence, legal responsibility falls to Sarai and me. But it’s not the same.”

“No, it’s not.” Qui-Gon agreed.

There was a brief silence.

“Can you pilot this starship?”

“What?”

Qui-Gon did not repeat himself this time, and the young man’s eyes widened, his grip on his rifle slackening. “You… you want to stay. You want to stay and search for him.”

“You need to leave,” said Qui-Gon quietly. “Can you pilot this starship?”

“My name’s Radan,” the young man said brusquely, extending a grimy hand. “And yeah, between me and Kieln we can figure it out pretty quickly.”

“Good,” said Qui-Gon shaking his hand firmly. “As soon as you exit your first hyperspace jump, contact Master Yoda, it’s all programmed into the system. Tell him what happened.”

He looked again to the shadowed horizon, to the dark smudge several kilometers distant that was the stone ridge where he had last seen Obi-Wan.

“Tell him,” he paused. “…Tell him I am going to stay with my Padawan.”

Radan paused halfway up the ramp, turning to look back, a look of concern crossing his young face. “Even if he’s never going back to the Jedi?” he asked.

Qui-Gon hesitated.

“I suppose we’ll have to wait and see, won’t we? Obi-Wan is capable of making his own decisions.”

Qui-Gon turned back towards the horizon, towards Obi-Wan.

“But I will not leave him again.”

#ugh this boy #someone hug him he’s hurting #sir please your life is in mortal peril sit down #obi wan kenobi #qui gon jinn #qui gon and obi wan #master & padawan #jedi apprentice #melida/daan #padawan obi wan #my writing #star wars #star wars fic #tw injury #tw blood #tw reference to child death

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20moonchild21 · 3 years

Text

𝗦𝗲𝗵𝗻𝘀𝘂𝗰𝗵𝘁 [𝗯𝘁𝘀]

⇉ 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 16

[pairings]

JK x female!oc, Bunny!JK x human!female!oc, Jin x female!oc, Leopard!Jin x human!female!oc, Jimin x female!oc, white Tiger!Jimin x human!female!oc, Taehyung x female!oc, black Tiger!Taehyung x human!female!oc, Hobi x female!oc, Fox!Hobi x human!female!oc, Namjoon x female!oc, Wolf!Namjoon x human!female!oc, JK x Jin x Jimin x Taehyung x Hobi x Namjoon xfemale!oc

[warnings]

none

[words]

4.0k

[author]

A little late but here it is! I already had saved the draft, but I somehow forgot to upload it yesterday. I am sorry.

In case I will forgot again to upload punctually, I want you to check out @starlightauroras-writes and her story Inferiority Complex. She is so talented in writing, so leave her a lot of likes and comments!

I also wanted to say that I am not a lawyer! I just wrote how I imagined it in my head, so please, don’t blame me😅I tried really hard. If you like this chapter anyway, feel free to leave a like or comment. It would make my day!

Stay healthy and safe!

Mꨄ

[chapter 15 ||| chapter 17]

„Okay, how does this look?” All the boys looked up when Hope walked around the corner and into the living room.

It was the day before Hope would start her first day of working and right now, the boys were all helping her with choosing the right outfit for that special day. She had started with some simple dresses, which had left Jimin’s open in amazement.

He had always thought of her as a beautiful girl, but seeing her in those dresses that had hugged her waist and chest perfectly was a picture he would never forget again. When he had looked from side to side, he had spotted the other boys making the same faces as him.

Right now, Hope walked into the living room, wearing a black, tight trouser, combined with a white blouse and a black jacket. Jimin felt like she was walking in in slow-motion. In his eyes, everything she was putting on her body was fitting perfectly.

“Wow.” He whispered under his breath, as the girl stood in front of them and in front of the large mirror that was hanging next towards the front door.

She was turning her body from side to side, sliding her hands over her shirt and trousers from time to time and knitting her eyebrows together. Jimin absolutely adored those small habits of her, like she would chew on bottom lip every time she was concentrating, or how the cringes would form on her forehead when she was thinking about something really hard.

“Hope, you look amazing.” Jungkook stood up from the sofa and walked up towards the smaller girl.

When he reached her, he took her left hand, lifted it up and just twisted her around. Hope began to giggle, before she fell against the bunny’s chest and placed her hands there. Jimin should probably feel jealous or hurt while watching that scene in front of him, but he didn’t. Not even when the younger boy bent down and pressed kiss towards the girl’s cheek.

By now, he was so used to Jin and Jungkook that he almost saw them as his brothers as well. He just felt that somewhere deep down, there was a deeper connection between them. The white tiger wasn’t quite sure what the connection between them was, but he was sure that the other were feeling the same way.

Jimin didn’t realize that he had been spacing out, until his brother beside him slightly nudged his arm.

“Close your mouth, or you will catch flies while staring at her.” He joked, before he was throwing his arm around the smaller boy’s shoulders and pulling him closer. “How cute. You were drooling over her again.”

“Like you.” He joked back, poking Taehyung’s side, who’s cheeks were slightly redden now.

Taehyung had gone through a major change since the both of them had been living here. He had been a grumpy boy in the beginning, but now, he was a normal boy. He would show more physical affection to him but also to the other two hybrids and even towards the girl.

It made Jimin happy to see his brother’s transformation but also his own. He was not the shy, and shaking boy anymore. The white tiger had learnt that he actually was a pretty physical person. He loved to hug and cuddle with other people, showing them how much he liked them and how thankful he was. He was thankful that Hope had taken them in, that Jin had given him his trust from the first

night, and he was thankful that Jungkook had given him and his brother a chance to live here.

He even had found his passion for music and dancing a few days ago when Hope had given him her MP3 player. It was amazing what his body was able to do and how to move to the beat of the music. If he would ever have the chance to lean a profession, he was sure that he wanted to do something with dancing and singing.

His gaze fell on the girl once again. When she had come home yesterday, she had pretended to be sad when actually she got the job she had ever wanted. Now, she had a real chance to change something in this world and maybe, just maybe, Jimin could someday make his dream come true.

“Are you nervous, Hope?” Hobi’s voice pulled him out of his mind.

The white fox had wrapped a fluffy blanket around his shoulders and was now sitting crossed legs on the couch. Jimin had noticed that Hobi was a pretty curious and open minded person. He never seemed to be scared to ask questions, and he would always listen to every little detail he was told.

“To be honest, yes.” Hope drove one of her hands through her thick hair, before she let herself sink down onto the corner of the sofa. “I mean, it is good to be nervous, isn’t it? I should be worried if I wasn’t, but I am also a little bit scared that I won’t do a good job and that maybe –“

“You will be the best lawyer girl, Hope.” Jimin pushed Taehyung’s arm off of his shoulder moved closer towards the girl, before he took her left hand. “I know it.”

“Yeah, you will.” Jungkook sat down next to her other side. “You will safe all Hybrids who need help and then the world will be a better place for everyone.”

Jimin didn’t miss the red shade that was now covering her plump cheeks. She pushed a strand of her almost golden hair behind her ear, while she started giggling slightly.

“But please, don’t bring all of them here with you.” Tae mumbled, as he was still laying on his back with his eyes closed.

By now, the girl’s giggles had turned into a real laughing, and as the corners of her mouth went up, Jimin could only stare at that beautiful pair of dimples that were now forming on her cheeks. Automatically, he started laughing along with her.

In that moment, Jimin realized how lucky he had been. Of course, there had been hard times for him and his brother in the past, but he knew that from now on, his life was heading into the right direction.

“You must be Ms. Carson, right?” The brown haired woman smiled widely at Hope, as she stretched out her hand. “It is so nice to finally have amplification to our small team. We need every possible support. I am Laura and I will show you around today.”

Still overwhelmed from all the new surroundings and people, Hope carefully shook the woman’s hand.

“Hello, Laure. Please, call me Hope.” She politely answered and let go of Laura’s hand.

Laura was a taller woman with wavy brown hair that fell over her shoulders and chest. Her smile was authentic and bright, and Hope immediately felt a heavy weight falling from her shoulders. The fear that she would not get along with her new colleagues had held her wide away through the previous night. But now, as she already had met a few people, she knew that she would not have to worry about anything.

“Okay, Hope.” Laura turned around and started walking down the hallway with Hope walking beside her. “Firstly, I want to show you the building a little bit. You will be confused, but I promise that you will get used to it in just a few days.”

Together, the two girls made their way from door to door, looking into different rooms and sections of the company. The building was located a little bit outside the city of New York in an older building, but that didn’t change the fact that inside, it looked exactly like Hope had imagined it.

After the reception and waiting area, Laura first showed Hope alle the meeting rooms where they would hold their weekly conferences, but also important customer talks or presentations. All the meeting rooms were completely surrounded by glass windows, so you could see right inside without hearing anything.

When they kept walking through the hallways, Hope suddenly spotted that one of the 4 meeting rooms was currently used by a smaller amount of people. Hope watched with wide eyes, how one of the men bent over a sheet of paper at the desk, pointing his pencil onto it. He was talking to a woman, who was standing next to the table and was looking at the sheet of paper as well.

But what fascinated Hope the most was that when the woman took a step to the side, she could actually see the reason she came here for. Opposite of the man in the black suit and next to the woman was a Hybrids boy sitting. The boy was carefully listening to what the men and woman were explaining to him, because he had his golden ears up in hight in the air.

From his body expression, Hope could see that there was still a hint of fear in his eyes. While he had one of his eyebrows cocked up, he also had wrapped his slim, long tail with the fluffy tip around his calve.

“What you are seeing there is one of our newest cases.” Hope just noticed that she had stopped walking when she saw Laura walking back towards her with a small smile on her face. “Adam Neil is a lion Hybrid. He wants to lawsuit against his adoption in court, because his owner locked him up in the basement for a few days. It took him a while to finally talk to us but now, it’s going forward for him.”

Hope didn’t miss the bitterness in Laura’s voice as she talked about the lion’s case. Her eyes were fixed on the boy, as Hope’s curiousness grew more and more. She wanted to ask more questions about every little detail of the case, but Laura had already started walking again.

They took turn after turn until they reached another section. Down the hallway, there were several doors on either side. Most of those doors were closed, but some were also opened so Hope could peak inside. The rooms weren’t big, but inside, they all had a desk and many book shelves.

“Those are our offices.” Laura pointed her fingers from door to door, as they kept walking down the hallway. “We do most of our paper work in here – and believe me, you will have a lot of paper work to do – but we also have private talks with clients here. You will have your own office once your trial period is over. Until then, you will help out in my office.”

“Wow.” Hope whispered, before she quickly walked up beside Laura. “This is amazing. I can’t wait to finally have my own cases.”

Laura looked down at the smaller girl with a slightly smirking expression.

“You remind me of myself, when I was just starting here.” She laughed and took another turn into another hallway. “I came from university and couldn’t wait to go in front of the judges. I can see how passionate you are, Hope. We need people like you, who want to defend our clients until the last second. May I ask you where that passion is coming from?”

Immediately, a large smile formed on Hope’s face. It was the though at her boys who were currently waiting for at home, but also the memory at her mother who raised her to be that open minded person she was now.

“I – my mother taught me that we all are equal.” She said and looked up at Laura. “She worked in the hospital and saved some Hybrids during her career. It made me so proud, and I just wanted to do the same things as her. I just think that we are living in a crual world, you know? People say that they changed their minds, but they also torture living beings at the same time.”

This time, it was Laura who stopped in her tracks. She turned around in one smooth movement and looked down at the blond haired girl with wide eyes.

“You are really mature for your age, but I like it.” She said, before she carefully walked closer and laid her hands on Hope’s shoulders. “You will fit perfectly in here.”

Both girls continued their tour through the building. The next section was a very special and rare among all companies for Hybrid rights. The company had built a small, separated building next to the main house, that was just meant for the clients to live in. If a Hybrid would decide to accuse someone or lawsuit someone in court, his owner would probably not welcome them back home with open arms. The company provided them a bed to sleep and something to eat while they had to wait for their verdicts.

Hope had seen all kinds of Hybrids walking around in that building. Some of them looked at her in a scared way, other were more open and asked her what she was doing there. Every time Hope had told them that she was a new addition to the company, the Hybrids’ eyes would began to sparkle with hope. Sadly, they couldn’t stay as long as Hope wanted to stay, because they had a strict schedule.

“Okay, we are now coming to our last section. In those rooms, there are the interrogations are taking their places.” Laura explained, before she turned around o face Hope directly. To the smaller girl’s surprise, her face was now worried and strict. “We have all kinds of cases there. The ones who came willingly, but also the ones who have to. For the papers, every Hybrid has to deliver a statement, but as you know, most of the judges doesn’t care about that. Like I said, it’s just for the papers.”

Laura pushed open a new door and lead both of them into a totally new room. The room looked similar to the reception room they had passed in the beginning of their tour. There was also a reception and many, different doors on every side of the room.

“We will also start our work here.” Laura told her, as she showed the lady at the reception her ID-card and walked towards a big shelf with many different folders. She grabbed one of them and shoved it into Hope’s arms. “Here. Our long-time and hardest case. He was accused for aggressive behaviour against state authorities. He had been here for almost two months now, but unfortunately, we don’t know anything about him, because he refuses to talk to us. His court date is in 30 days, and if we don’t get his statement, he will go straight to jail for several years.”

Hope’s heart was racing in her chest when she opened the folder with the Hybrid’s information.

Name: Kim, Namjoon

Date of bird: 12th September 2026

Breed: Mexican Grey wolf

Origin: Seoul, South Korea

Accusation:

Illegal abidance without a registration, resistance to state orders, aggressive behaviour against state authorities

Hope’s eyes fell onto the picture that was pinned at the top of the file. It showed a picture of an actually beautiful, young man who looked pretty tiredly and powerless into the camera. Immediately, Hope had the feeling that she should protect that boy from everything. The way his emotionless eyes were looking into the camera made it clear that he had already given up.

“What are we going to do with him?” Hope carefully asked but never took her eyes off of his picture.

“The same procedure as every day.” Laura dryly answered, before she walked towards the last door at the end of the room. “We will try to talk to him. If he answers, we can finally take a step forward and if not, we will do the same tomorrow.”

Hope closed the boy’s file and walked with confident steps towards her new college. She was determined that she would help this boy at all it would cost. She took a last, deep breath, as Laura pushed the door of the interrogation room open.

The room was decorated decent with only a table in the middle, a small cupboard and some flowers. It didn’t look intimidating though. On the other side at the window was a boy standing. He had his back turned towards both woman and was not turning around when they entered, his grey, fluffy tail was waving slowly from side to side.

Even from the distance, Hope could see that Namjoon was pretty tall and muscular. The grey jacket he was wearing was falling over is broad shoulders and over his baggy pants.

“Good morning, Namjoon.” Laura calmly said towards the boy, who had suddenly stopped to swing his tail around. “I brought a guest with me today. This is Hope. She is working with us from now on, and I hope you don’t mind her being here with me.”

Hope took another step further inside the room, with her eyes still fixed on the only boy here. Namjoon took a few deep breaths, before he slowly turned his head around. Hope held her breath when his sharp, dark eyes met hers for the very first time. For the split of a second, they just stared into each other’s eyes like there was nothing else around them, before Namjoon moved his eyes up and down her body an turned back to look out of the window.

Laura let out a small sighed of frustration. She gave Hope a last glance, before she sat down at the table. Hope on the other hand didn’t sit down. She guest that Laura and Namjoon had in some way a connection to each other and after all, Hope should just watch.

“So, how have you been, Namjoon?” Laura tried again, talking directly towards the boy.

The room fell in silence for a few minutes. Namjoon completely ignored both woman who were still looking expectedly at the tall boy. He just kept looking out of the window, his tail slightly moving through the air. Hope could see the sadness in his deep brown eyes. He looked so tired and powerless, but not because he didn’t sleep, more because he had mentally no energy left.

“Okay, Namjoon.” Laura sighed again, before she opened up a small note book. “You know I will have to ask you the same questions as always. I would love to see you cooperate with us, so we can help you.”

No reaction. It seemed like Namjoon was blocking out everything Laura was telling him and Hope already knew why. Laura was a nice and calm woman, but her strategy to get him to talk was completely wrong. At least when it came to the wolf Hybrid. How could he possible trust Laura, when he had absolutely no emotionally connection to her?

It was something Hope had learnt in the last few months. The process of trusting someone, especially when someone had been hurt and betrayed so many times, needed more space and much more time. It was not enough for Namjoon to gain trust in someone who would only spend two hours a day asking him questions.

“Hope.” Laura turned her head towards the blond haired girl. “I will go and get the three of us something to drink. Do you think you can stay here alone?”

Hope quickly nodded her head, and Laura headed out of the room, leaving the wolf and the small girl alone. The tension in the room seemed to grow with every passing second. The girl knew that she had to be really careful with what she was saying and doing. He should know that she was someone he could emotionally trust.

Slowly and with small steps, Hope walked around the table and over towards the large window. Standing there with a certain distance to Namjoon, the small girl leant her hands onto the window sill and looked outside. It was obvious that the tall boy was yearning for freedom. Of course, he was practically free to do everything while he was living here but after all, he was also like a prisoner who was waiting for his last day to come.

“You are wasting your time here.” Namjoon’s deep voice suddenly filled the silence in the room. “They have sent many psychologists here to get me to talk. I don’t need this.”

Hope turned her head to face the boy to her left. Though he had sent his words into her direction, he was not looking at her. His grey and white ears were standing still on top of his head, while he was now wrapping his tail around his right leg.

Hope knew this gesture by now. Jin would always wrap his long tail around his left leg when he felt embarrassed or shy, while Jimin would always do it when he was scared or insecure about something.

“I – I am not a psychologist. I am a lawyer.” She almost whispered, as she turned her head away from Namjoon. “I just finished my university degree. That’s why Laura brought me with her today.”

From the corner of her eyes, Hope saw how Namjoon turned his head to look at her side. He looked at her for several seconds, before she could suddenly head him sniffing the air a few times.

“Your scent is – quiet unusual.” He stated and this time, it was her who turned her head.

A small smile formed on her lips. She knew exactly what he was referring to when he mentioned her scent. Living together with 5 male Hybrids who wanted to cuddle as often as possible, left the girl covered in all of their scents.

“Our home is pretty hectical.” She laughed, before she lifted her gaze and met the boy’s eyes. “I live together with 5 Hybrids. All of the boys – they literally stumbled into my life, and it just clicked with us.”

Hope paid especially attention to use words like our home, together or us, to show Namjoon that she didn’t have any intentions to harm anyone. The tall boy on the other hand was now looking at her with wide eyes.

“You adopted 5 Hybrids?” He mumbled under his breath.

“No.” Hope replied calmly. “Just two of them. Jin and Jungkook have been living with me for several months now, but Jimin, Taehyung and Hobi have only been with us for a few weeks. We all are still getting used to each other, but yes, I – I also want to adopt them someday.”

Hope didn’t knew if it would be the right choice to tell him about how they all had ended up together, but he needed to knew where her passion to save Hybrids was coming from.

“I – I kind of rescued them.” She started talking again. “Jungkook and Jin came from a really bad home. Their owners had much money, but didn’t care about them. I found Jungkook by accident, and when he told me about his brother, I had no other choice than getting him out there. Later, I met Jimin. He and his brother needed help, so I offered them to stay with me and the boys. Hobi came to us a few days ago. He recognized Jin when we went shopping together. I saw and I still can see their suffers and I knew that they are safe with me. But I also know that thousands of Hybrids are not that lucky. That’s why I am here for.”

Both adults were now looking deep into each other’s eyes. Maybe Namjoon would not trust from one second to another, but he now had enough time to think about what she had told him and after all, he already spoke to her. That was a good sign.

“I am not here for the papers or to tell you some psychical stuff, Namjoon.” She said again after a few seconds of silence. “I know how hard it is for you to open up. I went through it more often than I would like, but I will defend you in front of the court, whether you talk to me or not.”

[Inspirations | Recommendations]

@starlightauroras-writes

@wishesunderthestars

@agustdakasuga

@ditttiii

@angelicyoongie

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wildlyglittering · 3 years

Text

A Love for all Seasons Part 1 (Winter)

I said that I would write a piece for Nessian Month to be posted each Sunday so here is the first!

I’d hoped to have this up earlier but hey ho. I ended up scrapping 8,000 words of something that I’d previously done and re-wrote this in a day. It’s barely edited so I can only apologise for dubious quality and numerous spelling errors.

I asked for prompt requests and this one is based on ‘modern au, Nesta as a ballerina.’ You’ll probably see that it’s not entirely modern au because I just can’t write modern au - sorry!

I’ve decided to link all 4 prompts received together as a 4 part series. Not all other sections will be as long as this one. Probably. I mean, I’ve not written them yet so....

***

Velaris at Solmas was a magical time and Nesta wasn’t thinking metaphorically – Solmas was literally a magical time.

Solmas was a blend of both fae and human traditions and, as a time for celebration, this meant spirits were up and magical shields were down. Active magic rippled through the air as did the leakage from those who had magic but never used it.

No one truly remembered when the lines between fae and human’s merged and there was the possibility the fae had decided to adjust the truth in collective memory to make it seem like they had always been part of the city.

Perhaps they had. Perhaps they hadn’t. Not a human amongst them could tell and not a fae amongst them would.

As centuries passed, or decades - no one was quite sure after all, the fae evolved to blend in. They shed talons, claws and teeth, and moulted wings and shimmering skin.

That wasn’t to say a good deal of them didn’t have remnants of their previous lineage; there were still those who had wings and those who were always followed by a mist. Some slipped from human form like their flesh was a dress.

There wasn’t a fae who didn’t have some magic, however small. But then, so did Nesta and her sisters, Feyre and Elain.

At some point in their collective past, the fae decided they liked the humans and vice versa and so romantic liaisons were not an uncommon occurrence. Despite a few differences, both species were compatible and that was how magic managed to bleed into some human veins. As Feyre said, they were human but with ‘added spice’.

Sometimes all that magic, especially at this heightened time of year, was damned irritating.

That morning Nesta had been in a café, reading her book when a lady biting into a gingerbread man had to stop on account of her baked good starting to scream.

Then, when she’d left to make her way to the ballet, she’d been caught in a snow flurry where the snowflakes took the form of small fairies and danced around her. She’d slapped them away, ignoring their outraged cries.

The walk which should have been ten minutes from her favourite café down into the theatre district ended up taking forty after some enchanted horses pulling sleighs decided to protest and caused a blockage across three streets, causing numerous detours.

When she finally reached the theatre, the peace of her day shattered, Nesta stormed into her dressing room and slammed the door. “Fucking fae.”

Nesta didn’t hate the fae. Technically, you couldn’t. Anytime anyone had a negative thought there was a haze which descended over people’s minds to remind them how much they loved the fae and how pleased they were to live beside them.

The magic in her blood meant the haze was a pithy little thing which Nesta mentally told to shove its pleasantries up its non-existent asshole leading it to drift away, pretending it wasn’t offended.

No, she didn’t hate them but she found them so inconvenient.

Nesta had settled at her dressing table when her door opened following a knock. A head peeked round, long ruby-red hair streaming downwards. One of the fae Nesta did like.

“Nesta?”

“I’m here.”

“Viviane said she’s going to turn a portion of the Sidra into an ice rink later, fancy coming? I might also take an ice-dive. Good for the pores!”

Gwyn, the production assistant at the Velaris City Ballet Company was fae but was classified as a water nymph. Nesta had only discovered this when they took a trip to Adriata the beach city the previous year for a ‘hot girl summer’ and she realised Gwyn had a set of gills accompanying her lungs.

Nesta met Gwyn’s eyes in the mirror and raised an eyebrow.

“What? I can’t help myself; you know that. I take it the ice-rink is a no?”

Nesta shook her head in response as she began on her hair but smiled. Despite herself she really did like Gwyn and Viviane, and a lot of the production company too even though the company was riddled with nepotism and bias.

Few humans managed to win a place in the ballet. Arts and creative pursuits were hard to break into when you were auditioning against fae. The only reason Nesta was as successful as she had been was because of that drop of magical blood.

She reached for the headdress resting next to her make-up. The Solmas production was The Nutcracker which their performance director, Eris had choreographed and screamed over for weeks.

“Tchaikovsky was a close, personal friend of mine,” he’d bragged. “He was fae of course, well – half-fae, but then no one can be perfect.”

Nesta had rolled her eyes and ignored Eris’ glare, not at all intimidated since they both discovered she immune to glamours and spells.

Nesta hadn’t been able to score the prima ballerina role for the production but then she hadn’t for years. How can a human compete with fae who spun in the air and flew on invisible, gossamer wings?

She’d auditioned for the role of Sugar Plum Fairy and wasn’t offered the position on account of the actual fairies also auditioning. If Nesta had managed to win the role then she wouldn’t have lasted a week before a surprise accident befell her, regardless of the amount of protection charms she wore.

The role she had won suited her fine, the dance being one of her favourites – the Illyrian dance. The steps weren’t complex but the performance was all about attitude and frankly, Nesta had that in spades.

When she’d been offered the dance, Gwyn took her aside in the corridor, a frown on her face. “Are you sure you want to perform this Nesta?”

“I know what you’re going to say, the dance should have gone to an Illyrian and you’re right – it should have. I’ve been trying to petition Eris for years now about Illyrian ballerinas but he’s always up to his typical high-fae purist bullshit.”

Gwyn had given a nervous laugh and looked around them, making sure Eris wouldn’t somehow leap out of the wall at the comment. It was a fair suspicion; he’d done it to performers before if they had any critique of him to say.

“Just do the dance cultural justice.”

Nesta swore she would.

On the scale of species hierarchy, full humans remained at the bottom. They were aging mortals with no magic and poor immune systems. The fae laughed themselves silly at the concept of chicken pox and the common cold. However, it didn’t mean every fae species was revered.

High fae like Eris were basically royalty while lesser fae were their middle-class cousins. Nymphs were considered useful and the majority of other fae fell someplace in between.

Illyrians were almost a side step from the hierarchy.

As a species they were immortal, eternally youthful and ripe with magic as powerful as some of the high fae. Some of their bodies were like machines with what they did with them and they would have been able to perform ballet for days on end without breaking.

They also had those vast jet-black wings which were terrifying and enthralling at the same time. It was a shame Illyrian Air didn’t do well, but then there were far too many customer service issues.

The only reason they weren’t on par with the high-fae (in the eyes of the high-fae) was that they weren’t elegant enough. They moved with a violence underneath the surface of their flesh like their blood was fire.

They also had complex histories which no one understood because Illyrians refused to discuss anything about Illyria and their heritage with anyone who wasn’t an Illyrian.

She once asked Feyre about them to be told Illyrians had spent their entire lifetimes being looked down upon by other fae so when those same fae demanded Illyrian secrets, they refused to comply.

Feyre had said, “Cassian told me, ‘Why should we give them anything when we have to fight for everything,’” and Nesta conceded he had a point. Possibly the only point Cassian had ever had but a point nonetheless.

Why was she thinking all this now? Why was she thinking of her baby sister’s stupid friends? She knew very well why.

Gwyn had stepped into Nesta’s dressing room. “Isn’t tonight when your sister and her friends are coming to the show?”

Yes, that was why.

Gwyn leant against the wall, in Nesta’s line of sight in the mirror and Nesta shrugged keeping her voice nonchalant. “Yes, unfortunately.”

It wasn’t unfortunate Feyre was coming, Feyre who loved anything to do with art and ballet but Nesta wasn’t looking forward to the rest. Rhys, Feyre’s half high-fae, half Illyrian boyfriend had all the arrogant superiority of the high-fae and the volatility of the Illyrians with none of the manners.

Nesta was painfully aware Rhys didn’t like her.

The rest of the group were also non-human with Feyre seemingly abandoning humans completely, preferring the exclusive company of Rhys circle of fae friends. Elain was the opposite, living outside the walls of the city in her cottage, wanting nothing to do with fae at all.

Feyre had told Rhys a bunch of stories from their childhood and Rhys didn’t quite comprehend how human sisters worked, didn’t quite comprehend how complex their relationship had been.

The spit of magic in their blood had made things all the more difficult as humans were not the best containers for magic. In Nesta’s eyes what made it worse were all the tattoos Feyre had inked into her skin; amplifiers mostly.

Anger had been born from Nesta’s worry and her worry was from her love.

Feyre understood the root cause of Nesta’s peevishness even if she didn’t like it but Rhys saw disapproval and returned it in kind.

At the thought of some of the attendees Nesta’s heart started doing something change, fluttering away like it was a bird trapped in a cage. She remembered when Ianthe, one of the ensemble, had shown them the pet bird she’d brought.

“Isn’t it lovely?” she’d said, her eyes glittering as her fingernails grew sharp. “Such a pretty pet for me to love.”

Nesta remembered the poor thing desperately trying to fly out of its cage, smashing its wings and beak against the bars.

Ianthe ended up eating it. She’d sobbed she hadn’t meant to but she hadn’t grabbed her protein bar that morning when she’d left her apartment and she was starving.

They couldn’t help it; it was in their nature to consume. The fae were like locusts that way, consuming land, lives, birds. Hearts.

Gwyn’s smile at Nesta’s response stretched into one which took up most of her face and Nesta refrained from shuddering. Nymph embodied the gentle and the harsh of their element. Water nymphs had the ability to be as tranquil and soft as summer rain or as vicious and deadly as a shark in deep water.

“Uh-huh. Will Cassian be attending?”

“I don’t know, probably.”

“Are you nervous about doing the Illyrian dance in front of Illyrians?”

Yes. Terrified.

“No,” she said, “I’ve done my research.”

Eris’ choreography for the dance was lazy and aggressive, rooted in his high-fae misperceptions of Illyrian culture. Nesta convinced Eris to let her put together her own steps and when he let her, not giving a damn about the dance, Nesta sought out the sole Illyrian choreographer in Velaris - a woman named Emerie.

At least the dance would contain authentic steps, she’d just never performed it in front of any Illyrians who weren’t Emerie before.

Gwyn’s grin was still wide.

“Oh, go away would you,” Nesta said with a scowl. “I need to focus before the matinee.”

Gwyn laughed at Nesta’s scowl and Nesta knew Gwyn understood Nesta’s words were harsh but her meaning wasn’t.

“Fine, fine. I’ll see you later, my little witchy dancer.”

Nesta glared at her friends departing back. I’m not a witch, she wanted to say, just a human whose great grandma caught the eye of a high-fae and had at it.

The matinee performance went well. Performances at the Velaris City Ballet Company always went well. The city made it so, drawing in an audience like moths to lamplight.

For all its splendour, Velaris was ancient and small. What was once a human village at the base of the mountains with the Sidra River running wild aside it, grew in population and glamour once the fae came pushing through the veil.

Human technology and fae magic combined to turn the place into something unique which rippled out to other human towns and dwellings but Velaris remained the first and the original.

While other cities grew, Velaris kept its quaintness. Old buildings built from red stone were covered with trailing ivy which bloomed with different flowers depending on the inhabitants’ moods. Rooms would change their size and shape according to the number of people within and wallpapers would shift when required to become something new. A piece of furniture could be a chaise longue in the morning and a mahogany dresser by nightfall.

Outside was no different. The cobbled side streets were slightly off kilter and you could look back, having walked up a steep street only to realise the path you’d walked was now heading a different direction and upwards, not down.

The ballet house was one of the oldest buildings and contained concentrated magic the way a bottle contained liquid. It also meant, much like liquid, if the bottle was shaken then there would be spillage.

Truth told; they’d had some difficulties with previous performances.

The first performance of Sleeping Beauty had left the majority of the audience passed out in their red velvet chairs while thickets of thorns grew up from the stage floor, encompassing the dancers. Nesta had to hack through several vines to reach her dressing room to grab her apartment keys.

The Snow Queen last Solmas followed suit. Viviane had been their prima ballerina that year and was in her utmost element. That had been the worst winter Velaris had ever experienced with uncharacteristic heavy snowfalls and biting frosts. The less said about the temporary missing children and ominous women in sleighs, the better.

Aside from when Eris turned actual rats into human sized dancers and the whole city was put into a three-day long lockdown while fae exterminators went to work, The Nutcracker was going fairly well.

Magic whirled the audience through each act and they heard and tasted and smelt everything being shown to them. Music would drift into their ears as performers danced fluidly across the stage. Some of the audience sobbed, overcome by the magic which sank into their skin.

The experience took some time to get used to if you were human. The first time Nesta had performed ballet in Velaris she was dizzy with nausea and slick with sweat. Now she even managed to use some of her own dormant abilities to counter the effects, or even to add in some of her own.

Before the evening performance began, her phone beeped with a message from Feyre.

Can’t wait to see you dance! Catch up with you afterwards!

Nesta groaned. She’d agreed to go for a drink at the in-house bar with Feyre and the rest but now she wished she was going straight home.

The stage melted away from the dance before hers into Nesta’s scenery as she waited in the wings for her cue. She eyed up the boxes, knowing Rhys had sponsored one for Feyre but didn’t have a clue which one.

The Illyrian dance had a sparse stage, to demonstrate the Illyrian steppes but the painted backdrop was one of Ramiel, the revered Illyrian mountain. Despite the sparsity, the set pulsed with a dry heat; the scent of crackling wood fire and spice filling the air, the sensation of warm winds tickling her skin.

When the music started, she danced on, determined to prove to Illyrian eyes in the audience she would do it justice.

Nesta drew on the same magic which ran in Feyre and Elain’s bones, the same magic Feyre had permanently etched on the surface of her skin. When Nesta leapt, she cast imaginary wings on her back which carried her further forward and higher. When she pirouetted, she was spinning on ice. Her arms were graceful and her legs sharp.

Nesta formed herself into a blade of dance as she undulated her hips and curved her spine. She swore the heat under her skin caused the air to burn around her.

She finished to rapturous applause and resisted eyeing up the boxes again although she wanted to know if any particular hands were clapping.

In the wings Gwyn was waiting and handed her a towel and Nesta realised she was glistening with sweat, droplets highlighting her cleavage.

“Very nice,” Gwyn said, clapping. “A small fire broke out in one of the stalls.”

Before Nesta said anything, Eris walked by with a low whistle. “Great performance, Nesta. I now have a raging boner.”

The women shrieked in disgust and Nesta threw her towel at him. “Animal.”

Eris grinned, “You know it” and his eyes shone as he caught the towel. Nesta made a mental note to ask Elain for more rowan to put around her dressing room door.

Nesta watched the rest of the performances from the wings until curtain close. Usually she never dawdled, always wanting to remove her costume and dress into civilian clothes as quick as possible but tonight she took her time, idly drawing out each minute until she couldn’t avoid her fate forever.

Audience members with children, fae or human often left first, clearing the way for those who wanted to remain behind in the theatre bar. When the fae discovered alcohol a new set of problems arose. Regardless of what species you were, once you were drunk you did stupid things.

The bar was below ground level and took up a vast amount of space. Overstuffed seating was positioned around tables in compartments, each draped with their own set of thick, crimson red curtains with gold tassels. If the occupants wanted privacy, then they had it.

Nesta shimmied past groups; fae, human and mixed, who laughed and clinked their champagne flutes, none recognising her as a dancer they’d watched earlier.

Feyre was likely to have a private booth booked along with the theatre box as Rhys had so much gold he likely melted it down and bathed in it. The last time Nesta met up with Feyre, her little sister had been wearing a diamond encrusted corset top.

Ahead of her stood two figures, both leaning against the open fronted bar and deep in conversation. Cassian and Azriel. No one was able to miss them even if they tried to blend in. Illyrians were known for their size and their wings and not exactly known for their love of ballet.

Almost as though he sensed her arrival, Cassian stopped talking and turned, strands of his black hair falling from his messy bun. Her eyes met his and she felt how she always did whenever they glanced at each other – a little bit anxious, a little bit horny and a little bit excited.

Nesta was worried if she opened her mouth, a thousand butterflies would float upwards from her stomach.

The look on his face, one she couldn’t place, slipped into something familiar as she drew nearer. Cassian smirked at her and followed it up with a slow, obvious glance from head to toe.

“Hello, Nesta.” He drawled his words, husky and deep. His voice was a baritone which always had her itching to dance across his words. Illyrian magic wasn’t the strongest but those who wielded it were.

What Illyrians wielded their magic for was anyone’s guess but if she had to, Nesta would have guessed it was for making panties drop if the turning heads of the crowd and little sighs was any indication.

There had been occasions where she too was driven with the need to show him more skin of hers then he deserved, to beg him to lay her down and cover her body in honey before licking it off with rasps of his tongue.

Must have been magic.

“Cassian,” she said with barely a nod and turned to his companion. “Azriel.”

Azriel nodded back a polite hello while Cassian leant against the bar directly facing her, wearing a grin as sharkish as Gwyn’s. She was like a lamb on the ground being circled by a taloned beast.

“Interesting performance.”

Azriel coughed at Cassian’s words, spluttering on the beer he was drinking and Nesta frowned, heat flooding her cheeks. Was he mocking her?

If he was, she wouldn’t give his smugly handsome self the satisfaction of getting to her and instead she ignored his words asking who else was here and where her sister was.

“Feyre, Rhys, Az and me. Amren came to watch the ballet but didn’t stay for drinks.”

“And where’s my sister and Rhys now?”

Cassian jerked his head over to the direction of the compartments. “They’re having a private ‘conversation’ behind closed curtains.”

Nesta’s face twisted in disgust. Fucking fae. Always fucking.

“Why didn’t Amren stay?”

“She never sticks around after The Nutcracker. Says it’s derogatory and insulting and she only comes to refill her well of rage.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, what was it she said Az? That the performances were brimming with cultural appropriation?”

The heat on Nesta’s cheeks turned into furnace. It wasn’t as though Cassian explicitly referred to Nesta’s performance but his words had to crawled under her skin. Feyre’s fae friends weren’t fans of Nesta’s, not after Rhys had spilled to them everything Feyre had told him.

For a group so ancient, they acted like spoilt human teenagers. Nesta would take the high road and try and find dignity in silence.

The bartender brought out another beer for Azriel and a glass of dark liquor for Cassian. A glass of wine from the Rosehall vineyard was handed to her and she was surprised someone had the foresight to order for her before she arrived, and with her favourite drink.

“Did you not like it then?” Nesta asked after taking a sip, her voice light. Azriel coughed again and this time Cassian shot him a glare, his rough-hewn face growing solemn before sliding into his more casual expression.

“There were some authentic Illyrian steps involved which is impressive. Didn’t realise old Eris had it in him.”

“It wasn’t Eris,” Nesta said, “It was me. I found an Illyrian choreographer in the city and she taught me some steps.”

Cassian’s face stilled for a moment, motionless like stone before letting out a roaring laugh which reverberated around the bar. The lesser fae behind him jumped and splashed his drink on the counter, quivering in fright.

“Well, that explains it!”

Nesta’s flesh prickled, her skin chilling in the overly warm bar. Goodness knows what she’d been dancing. Some dance of self-mockery probably. Her throat was burning and she didn’t understand whether she was upset because she thought Emerie liked her or upset because Cassian had seen.

Nesta’s fingers clenched the stem of the wine glass and she took a gulp of her drink, downing almost half as her hand wavered and her eyes watered. Cassian immediately stopped grinning.

“It was a beautiful dance,” Azriel said from her right and she turned to him, his face serious. “Other performances of The Nutcracker have the Illyrian dance as the violent, hostile war dance. Yours was the best one I’ve seen. Cassian liked it very much.”

Nesta whispered her thanks, looking between the Illyrians standing at either side of her who were now glaring at each other. She was out-flanked next to their bulk and she wished her sister was done doing whatever the hell she was doing so Nesta could say her hellos and goodbyes and get out of there.

“There’s only one Illyrian choreographer in this city,” Cassian said, his voice softer as his fingers trailed around his glass rim. “No other Illyrian would ever bother with this place.”

Nesta looked around the theatre at its gilded gold décor and red curtains but somehow knew Cassian was referring to Velaris as a whole. Illyrians never came to the city to visit, let alone live.

She glanced at him and found his smile was gentler and his hazel eyes, which always bordered on lascivious, were kinder somehow. Perhaps he hadn’t meant to mock her, perhaps he realised his raucous laughter had hurt.

He had no reason to care if he’d hurt her feelings and she shouldn’t have cared either but there had been a sting to his words which sunk deeper than she’d liked. She wasn’t opposed if he wanted to soothe over his words.

But she wasn’t about to let him know that. Instead, she fixed a bored expression onto her face. “Oh,” she said, looking into her glass as she swirled her wine around, “and who would that be?”

Cassian, still leaning against the bar, mirrored her by looking into his own glass before taking a sip.

“A friend of mine from the old country moved here a couple of years ago because her attempt at bringing ballet into the township was less than successful. You know her human name as Emerie.”

Cassian was still leaning against the bar, now looking into his own deep amber coloured liquid before taking a sip.

Nesta’s head snapped up to find Cassian now looking intently at her. “Yes, that’s her.”

“Figured,” Cassian said with a chuckle and took another long sip.

His mood seemed less jovial than before, more pensive and Nesta glanced around to discover Azriel had gone from her side. She looked around the crowds but didn’t see sight of him. How she lost an Illyrian of his stature she didn’t know but when she whipped her head around to the booth Cassian gestured towards earlier, the curtains were still closed.

She didn’t even have it in her to be irritated. The whole night was a wash-out and because of the stupid enchanted horse incident earlier closing streets, she was now adding additional time to her walk home.

“Well, then,” she said. “It’s been a long day and I’m tired; I have another two performances tomorrow and I want to head out and avoid any festive idiots.”

Cassian stood upright, alert and facing her, his glass sloshing the liquid violently as he placed it back onto the bar a little too hard. His wings flexed. “You haven’t seen Feyre yet.”

“If Feyre wanted to catch up with me then she wouldn’t be playing hide the fae penis with her boyfriend right now.” Her tone was sharp and she glared at Cassian. “It doesn’t take much to say a quick hello to your sister.”

Did Nesta care if Cassian thought her rude? Not a fucking bit. Despite Elain living an hour outside the city and Feyre only living on the other side, a journey which took less than a minute travelling by Winnow Express, Feyre was the sister Nesta saw the least.

“If she comes out at any point,” Nesta continued, “tell her I’ll call her.”

It wasn’t a lie when she said she was tired. Two performances a day took it out of her let alone when magic clung in the air at Solmas and let alone the fact that Nesta had used a tiny amount of her own as some kind of performance enhancer.

Whatever energy reserves she had was depleted, the glass of wine making her feel like she’d drank the entire bottle.

Nesta didn’t bother saying goodbye to Cassian, just left her empty glass on the counter and spun around.

Being a ballerina was on her side as she wove through the crowd and up into the foyer which was blissfully empty. Sadly, the world outside the doors was not so much and Nesta took a breath before wrapping herself in her stole.

The statues guarding the entrance waved her a goodbye, one with a human Santa hat adorning its head and the other with a fae garland wrapped around its waist. Nesta rolled her eyes. Human and fae decorations were put on everything so management could say they’d met their Equal Opportunities criteria.

Nesta stepped onto the pavement and looked down the street of the theatre district.

She couldn’t deny Velaris at night was beautiful.

History books stated the first fae who settled in the city were night dwellers and while they were able to survive in the sun, it was under the starlit sky where they thrived. So, the stories went that they made the night spectacular.

The ink black sky was painted with whorls of galaxies and splashed with stars. At first glance everything appeared white but when Nesta looked closer it was clear they were silver and gold and the purest, palest blue.

Feyre had once told her fae eyes saw more colours than humans and the stars were a multitude of colours – the rainbow and beyond. One of Feyre’s tattoos was designed to allow her to see what the fae saw.

The theatre district was still buzzing with humans and fae alike. Because of the nature of the city, it was usual for the streets to be filled until the early hours of the morning and after any performance in the theatre district there was no time for relaxing.

There was always residual magic left over from the ballet. The ballet theatre was the largest of the theatre buildings and so the magic started strongest at the end Nesta now stood before dissipating the further away you walked.

Snowflakes and flowers alike drifted down from the empty, cloudless sky. The Waltz of the Snowflakes and the Waltz of the Flowers often combatted against each other for prominence in their audience’s minds and refused to give in to each even after the show was done.

Thankfully, the Land of the Sweets didn’t involve themselves in this battle. They had done one performance many weeks ago and when chocolate rained from the sky it was delightful. Boiling hot coffee? Not so much.

Nesta navigated her way though the cobbles and crowds as petals landed in her hair and snowflakes melted on her eyelashes. She heaved a sigh of relief when she made it to the end past the gathered individuals who spilled out of the smaller theatres and theatre bars.

She turned left to go into a side street and stopped, almost tripping over her own feet.

Leaning against the wall, silhouetted against the streetlamps and fae lights was the hulking shape of an Illyrian.

“What are you-? How did you-?”

Cassian laughed as he used his elbow to propel himself from the wall and stride towards her. “What am I doing here and how did I get here so fast?”

“Well... yeah.”

“Wings,” he said, jabbing his thumbs in the direction behind him. “They come in useful from time to time. I thought I would fly you home.”

Nesta eyed up the wings behind him, remembering all the news reports of Illyrian Air. “No thank you, I like the walk.”

“Ok, then I’ll walk with you. Make sure you get home safe.”

She frowned. Nesta had lived in this city all her life and despite the occasional fae related incident which was brought on by personal vendetta, unavoidable prophecy from birth or magic spell gone wrong, Velaris was a safe place.

It also helped that Nesta had that splash of fae blood herself and a glare which froze bones. Literally. There had been an incident with an ex-boyfriend but she’d filed an explanation with the police and it was never brought up again.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I don’t need babysitting.”

“I know you don’t but I’d still like to walk you. Please.” The last word was said so softly she almost didn’t hear it but she caught the imploration.

Cassian stepped further into the light of a streetlamp, a few pale pink petals falling from his shoulders, desperation in his eyes.

Nesta sighed. “Fine, but I’m on the other side of the Sidra. The quickest route is over Mermaid Bridge.”

Cassian paused for a moment, “Mermaid Bridge? There won’t be any actual mermaids on it right?”

“Not at this time of year, the water’s too cold and they travel south.”

“Thank god, one of my ex’s was a mermaid. They are terrifying.”

Nesta shook her head, not able to imagine a creature of his size being scared of anything. They started walking in companionable silence. The further away from the city centre they strode, the more the crowds thinned.

Some shops remained open, including the café Nesta sat in earlier and groups had gathered around tables to laugh over mugs of frothy hot chocolate which overflowed with cream. Cinnamon, gingerbread, and candy cane scented the air.

As they walked, humans and fae alike paled when they crossed paths with Cassian and many darted out of his way. One lesser fae flattened himself against the red brick wall while another gave a quiet yelp and ran down an alley.

Nesta glanced up at Cassian but either he was pretending he didn’t notice the running onlookers or he didn’t care.

“What do you do?” she asked. She knew nothing about any of Feyre’s friends in any detail. “For that matter what do any of you do?”

Cassian laughed. “Rhys has a lot of inherited wealth, Amren trades precious stones – we think from the old dragon mines, and no one has a clue what Azriel does. I’m a bounty hunter.”

Oh.

“Caught anyone I’d have heard of?”

“Heard of the Tooth Fairy?”

Nesta grimaced, quickly swooping her tongue over her teeth. “Yes.”

“He was one of mine. So was the Bone Carver, the Weaver and Lanthys.”

Nesta’s eyebrows shot up. “Lanthys? The gold miner? What did he do? Wait, I don’t want to know. He asked me out once.”

Cassian glanced over at her; his own eyebrows raised. “Yeah? Did you say yes?”

Nesta pulled a face. “Good grief, no. He kept sending me telepathic dick pics. It’s bad enough being sent dick pics across dating apps.”

They approached Mermaid Bridge, which was, as Nesta said, devoid of the creature it was named for. Lights twinkled on the other side of the city, the residential side where Nesta lived. There were shrieks of delight further up the river in the dark and Nesta wondered if Gwyn was ice-diving next to Viviane’s ice rink.

Cassian coughed. “You’re on dating apps?”

“Not many, I thought I’d give them a go. My sisters are busy, I only have a few friends and I need something other than work in my life.”

“Yeah, I understand. ‘All work and no play’ make Cassian a dull boy too. The play part of life is fun,” he looked at her from the side of his eye and winked.

Nesta felt the blush spread across her cheeks and she willed it down with whatever force she had left. She wasn’t a virgin so she wasn’t about to start blushing like one.

They climbed the steps to the bridge and walked across. Of all the bridges which connected the two halves of the city, this was Gwyn’s favourite. Nesta’s human eyes couldn’t pick out the colours at night but in the day the railings glittered gold and shimmered with turquoise gems.

“Do you date?” The words slipped out before she stopped them. “You mentioned a mermaid ex so....”

Cassian’s laugh was more a breath and he started to smooth down non-existent knots in his hair. “Yes. Well...no. I did but work is busy and I’m sort of interested in someone and I guess until I purge them from my system, I’m not interested in anyone else.”

“How long have you been interested in them?”

“A while.”

“Why don’t you ask them out rather than eradicate them from your options?”

Nesta wanted to slap herself in the face. Or pitch herself off the bridge into the black, ice-cold water. Even as she was speaking, she wanted to not be but it was as though her mouth and mind had fallen out and no longer wanted anything to do with each other.

Cassian shrugged, “I guess. They just never struck me as someone interested in dating fae.”

They came to the end of the bridge and Nesta looked upwards at the sky. On this side of the river without the city lights, the stars were clearer to her eyes, more defined. One shot across the sky.

“You should go for it,” Nesta said, “you might be surprised.”

“Maybe,” Cassian sighed. “She’s kind of intimidating though.”

“You’re over six foot tall with massive wings and can use magic. I’m sure you’re more intimidating.”

“Me? Nah, I’m sure she thinks I’m an oversized bat.”

Nesta cringed. Those had been her words once a couple of years ago when she was first introduced to Feyre’s new friendship group and the Illyrian’s within. She didn’t think they’d heard her say it but then again, fae hearing was something exceptional along with fae sight.

The streets they walked were now quieter, the hustle and bustle of the inner-city gone. The chill settled in easier on this side of the river and Nesta knew she’d wake to frost across her window panes in the morning.

They were silent until they reached her apartment building, halfway up one of the steepest lanes. It was a small four storey which wasn’t spacious or modern but it gave her brilliant view across the river and Velaris and most importantly, it was hers.

“This is me,” she said, stopping outside the steps leading to the red entrance door. “Thank you for walking me back.” It was on the tip of her tongue to invite Cassian in for coffee but she held back.

He smiled, his eyes warm and shining. “Honestly it was my pleasure.” He leant forward, the sheer bulk of him covering Nesta and for a moment she thought he would kiss her but instead he took her slim fingered hand in his larger one and brought it up to his mouth, kissing the back of her hand.

“Goodnight,” he said, “I hope you have a good Solmas Day when it comes.”

Cassian was no ballet dancer but he sure moved like one, letting go of her hand and swivelling to face the direction they’d walked in from, marching down the slope of her street while Nesta stared at his retreating back.

He was clad in black and would have easily blended into his surroundings if not for the red jewels he wore at his wrists.

Nesta gaped down at the back of her hand, her mouth open. She still felt his lips, warm and soft, on her skin.

“Wait!”

Cassian turned back to face her, tilting his head.

“I’m sorry if my performance in the ballet was offensive. I know Azriel said it was beautiful and that you liked it but if that was a lie to save my feelings, it’s ok. I went to Emerie because I wanted to make it authentic. I should have left it alone.”

Cassian smiled but it wasn’t mocking. He took a few steps back up the street towards her. “You know I said Emerie was a friend from the old country?”

Nesta nodded.

“She’s a really good friend. I like her a lot. She’s no nonsense with a great heart. I was trying to set her up with Rhys’ cousin Mor and in the process we got talking about dating and relationships and she asked if there was anyone, I was interested in. As it happens, I discovered this evening that she knows the person I was talking about. I’m sure she saw this as her opportunity to do some matchmaking of her own.”

“Oh,” Nesta said, her throat dry.

“Yeah. I also happened to tell her in one conversation I would be watching The Nutcracker this year on account of it being Solmas. So, there you go.”

The butterflies were flittering in Nesta’s stomach again and Cassian’s words were taking shape in her mind and building a story. “The steps Emerie taught me for the Illyrian dance – was that an invitation?”

Cassian’s smile stretched wide and he tilted his head back and laughed, the dark column of his throat shining in the starlight. “Oh yes, a very specific invitation. Emerie must have had the day of her life when she pieced everything together.”

The flittering in her stomach was now pooling in her chest. This type of conversation should have her fleeing up the steps and racing through the foyer until she threw herself into her cold bed to hide under the covers.

Nesta wanted to know what she’d inadvertently done without meaning to. Not that she minded whatever it was she’d done.

“What did I dance then, Cassian?” Her voice was lower than usual and rich like the overflowing cream in the café.

Cassian’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his hazel eyes were almost black. “The dance you performed half naked on a heated stage was most definitely an invitation, Nesta.” He smiled at her again, soft like before but there was something behind it. Suddenly he was a wolf and she the lamb again. He was all claws and teeth and animal.

A shiver of anticipation ran through her. Her pulse beating in her throat, drawing Cassian’s eye.

“Oh, Nesta,” Cassian said, his voice almost a growl. “You performed an Illyrian dance of seduction.”

74 notes · View notes

gukvante · 4 years

Text

money shot

— pairing: jeongguk x reader

— genre: slice of life, non-idol au, smut

— rating: nsfw

— words: 1.3k+

— note: i love reading camboy/girl aus so i figured why not write my own? also, a disclaimer, i do not own the picture of jeongguk used in my banner. happy reading further <3

— warnings: explicit/detailed sexual intercourse, (slight) voyuer!reader, (slight) exhibitionist!jeongguk, cum eating (very light), masturbation (m and f), strong language

— summary: you decide to tune into your favourite camboy’s stream.

masterlist

musclebunny_97 started a livestream

You had just finished cleaning up your room when the notification came through. Your body jolting in excitement as you dived onto your bed.

Making yourself comfortable against your pillows, you scramble to open up your laptop. Logging into your account, you set your laptop down as you watched the site load.

“Hello, princess.” ah, Jeon Jeongguk, your favourite camboy.

Jeongguk was sat in front of his computer, staring straight into the camera. He wore a tight black tank top, paired with light grey sweats. His long hair was pushed back with a few loose strands framing his face.

“I think I’m gonna do a relaxed stream tonight.” Jeongguk announced. He brought a hand up to push his hair back, the action drawing attention to the many tattoos that littered his arm.

“Why am I doing a relaxed stream?” Jeongguk hummed before adding, “Uh, well . . . I had a pretty heavy gym session today so I’m kinda tired.” Jeongguk continued to read some of the comments aloud, chuckling every now and then.

He leaned back in his seat, resting his hands on his thighs. The material of his sweats straining to stretch over his muscular thighs. Licking your lips, your tried to catch a glimpse of his bulge but to no avail.

“Is everyone here?” He asked, leaning forward. “Yes? Yes! Okay!” He clapped his hands together.

“I know we’re doing a relaxed stream today, but I thought I’d make it interesting by coming up with a little game.” Jeongguk wiggled his eyebrows at the camera. “Nothing too heavy though,” he added.

The comment section was flooded with comments encouraging him to continue as well as expressing their excitement. All of them eager to know what he had in mind.

“I was thinking that the highest tipper gets to choose when I cum,” Jeongguk smirked at the camera. “I might even end up moaning your name.” He winked.

Jeongguk laughed as the comment section went crazy. A small smile creeped its way onto your face.

He leaned back again, this time stretching his arms and lifting his hips slightly. The action highlighting the outline of his thick cock.

Reaching down, he pulled his tight tank over his head. Jeongguk relaxed back into his seat, trailing a hand over his strong chest.

Moving lower, he allowed his hand to slip over his abs and down to his throbbing length. He started palming himself through his sweats, letting out a low groan.

The sound drew a soft moan from you, your hands slipping under your shirt to pinch and pull at your hardened nipples.

Jeongguk slipped his sweats off, his boxers coming into view. The material stretched, trying and – failing to conceal his girth. Jeongguk leaned back again, stretching his arms behind his head and thrusted his hips up towards the camera.

“Mmm, you ready for me, baby?” Jeongguk teased. He let out a breathless chuckle before slipping a hand down to play with the hem of his boxers.

hotbabygirl85 tipped $20!

“Ah, thank you for the tip, babygirl.” That seemed to encourage everyone else as the tips came rushing in.

littlemxnster tipped $100!

Jeongguk palmed at his length a bit more before hooking his fingers in the band of his underwear. Lifting his hips, Jeongguk made quick work of pulling his underwear off.

His cock sprung to life, slapping against his defined stomach.

It was long and thick, a prominent vein running up the underside, topped with pink tip. His cockhead drooling precum.

Jeongguk wrapped his long fingers around his base. Something about the way his tattooed hand gripped his length had your pussy dripping.

“‘m so hard.” Jeongguk groaned. He squeezed the base, slowly dragging his hand up his throbbing length. He brought it back down again, maintaining a teasingly slow pace.

He spent some time languidly stroking his cock, his breath hitching every now and then.

Reaching down, you pulled your soaked panties from your body.

Your eyes were glued to the screen as you brought two fingers up to suck on them.

Taking those same fingers, you brought them down to rub tight circles on your clit. A soft moan left your lips, your eyes drooping.

Jeongguk was staring at the camera now. His hand sped up, his hips bucking as he squeezed the tip.

A whimper left your lips as you applied more pressure to your clit while simultaneously squeezing one of your tits.

“You want me to fuck my fist?” Jeongguk chuckled and threw his head back. “Only if you promise to play with your sweet pussy.” He retorted.

Your fingers slid from your clit down to your twitching hole. Your fingers slipped right in without protest. You sighed in relief of finally being stretched out.

You watched as Jeongguk continued to stroke his girthy length, his pace gradually increasing. Eyes glued to his cock, you tried your best to match his speed.

A loud moan ripped through your throat as you brought your other hand down to rub your clit. Your cunt was gushing, your slick dripping onto your sheets as your fingers continued to fuck into your spasming walls.

It was Jeongguk’s turn to moan loudly. Bracing his feet, he lifted his hips to give the camera a better view of his cock.

You mouth went dry, he was fucking into his fist now and his thrusts were relentless.

He threw his head back, growling. The gold chain he wore swishing around in time with his thrusts. He skin was glistening, as his arms and thighs flexed.

Your mouth fell open as your orgasm approached, your cunt clenching and fluttering around your fingers.

“I–Fuck! I-I’m gonna cum!” Jeongguk moaned out. “Fuck–! Gonna cum s-so hard.” He growled.

As if on cue, the tips came rolling in faster. Everyone fighting to be the biggest tipper.

A small smirk played on your lips as you reached over to press enter. You sat back again and watched as Jeongguk’s eyes widened slightly.

jeonsgirl tipped $1000!

“I want you to cum with me, right now. - y/n”

The comments erupted, a lot of them complaining that the amount was too high and they couldn’t beat it.

Giggling to yourself softly, you resumed, matching up your thrust with Jeongguk’s. Jeongguk groaned out again. His thrusts sloppy as he announced once again that he was about to cum.

You moaned out again as you hooked your fingers to rub against your sweet spot. Panting, your thighs began to close as the coil in your stomach tightened.

“I’m cumming – !” Jeongguk bit his lip as his free hand gripped his balls.

“F-Fuck! Y/n!” He growled out as hot spurts of cum shot from his twitching cock. You watched as his cum landed all over his heaving chest and tense stomach, a stray shot landing on his cheek.

You jaw fell slack as your orgasm washed over you. A loud moan of Jeongguk’s name ripped through your throat as your hips stuttered.

Fighting to keep you eyes on the screen, you watched as Jeongguk squeezed his tip one final time before falling back into his chair.

Pulling your fingers out, you watched as Jeongguk tried to control his breathing. He chuckled again, a bit winded before addressing his audience.

He smiled at the camera, one of his long fingers coming up to wipe the cum off his cheek. He winked at the camera before sucking his own cum off his finger.

Leaning over, he got closer to the camera. “Until next time,” he smirked, his tone playful. Then the video went black.

You sighed out as you fell back on to your bed. A smile took over your face as you replayed what had just happened in your head. A loud ding pulled you from your daydreaming.

Lifting your head, you located your phone. It was a Venmo notification. Confused, you tapped on the notification. A giggle leaving your lips as you read the attached message.

Jeongguk deposited $1000 into your account

Naughty girl ;)

Just then, your phone began to ring. The caller? Well, none other that your boyfriend.

Jeon Jeongguk or better known as musclebunny_97.

#jeon jungkook jeon jungkook smut sub!reader sub!reader x bts bts smut jungkook oneshot jungkook smut jungkook x reader jeon jungkook x rea

172 notes · View notes

blu-eh · 4 years

Text

after school summons

[AO3]

or: Danny gets summoned. He doesn’t like it.

It starts with a tugging feeling in his very core.

Danny Fenton pauses. If there’s one thing he’s learned in the last year, it is not to ignore random things that are definitely ghostly in origin. He has just enough time to place his pencil on the desk from where he had dutifully been doing his homework—for the first time in two weeks, mind you—before his vision goes white, he hears a snap, and suddenly he’s not in his room anymore.

For a moment he’s weightless, lost in the feeling of falling. Then, his body jerks and he has just enough time to think, oh fuck—before he’s slammed to the ground hard. His knees buckle under the unexpected weight and he goes down, clumsily, and trying not to throw up what little he’d managed to eat between homework packets.

“Ow,” Danny says.

He lies there, just for a moment, taking in the cool concrete underneath him. He tries to steady his breathing just enough so his mind can process what the hell just happened in the last thirty seconds. He’s still blinking stars from his eyes when he hears the hushed whispers echo around him and a heavy pair of footsteps approaching him. All in all, very bad signs when mysterious (and somewhat painful) things happen to you suddenly.

A gruff, questioning voice asks, “A child?”

“Oh, man,” Danny says, because that definitely does not sound good. Then he forces himself to his knees and looks up.

The first and foremost thing Danny notices is that he’s not alone. He’s on some sort of altar or platform, elevated a foot or so above the ground. A couple feet away, a group of no more than a dozen people surround him in a semi-circle, faces all covered by tattered cloaks. Another cloaked figure, dressed in much more formal robes with gold trimming, stands on the platform a mere couple feet from where Danny is. They all seem to be staring at him, waiting.

Danny hastily gets to his feet. He shifts a little into a sloppy fighting stance, just in case things were to get messy.

The dimly-lit warehouse room and the head covers don’t give him much to work with in the facial feature department, but he’s pretty confident that none of them are ghosts. Mostly from the fact that none of them are glowing and/or ranting about how much of a pain in the ass he is, but it still pays to be wary. Especially when Danny’s situations tend to quickly dissolve from bad to oh my god there are ghosts lose in Amity Park and also he maybe-sort of-possibly died in the process.

Which brings him back to his next brilliant deduction; he’s definitely in ghost form. He definitely was not in ghost form before this. His ghost form is rather obvious considering he sticks out like a glow stick in darkness of the warehouse. He doesn’t even feel the need to check his hair color, this time, but that’s more due to the fact that he doesn’t want to take his eyes off the weird people who managed to summon him from his bedroom and forced him to change into his ghost form.

(He desperately hopes that they hadn’t seen him change—weird warehouse people are not people that Danny generally associates with secret keeping.)

“Is this a cult thing?” Danny asks before any of them can speak. He takes in white line that surrounds him, and the red liquid (which he very much hopes is not blood) used to paint runes and symbols that circle him, and their weird cloak-like robes, and says, “This is definitely a cult thing. Oh my god, did you summon me? Seriously—”

Before this, he hadn't even known he could be summoned. It's just the little ghostly things learned via accident, sometimes, that truly take the icing on the cake.

There’s a tiny spark of anxiety in his gut, but honestly there’s a large difference between humans threatening him and ghosts threatening him. On one hand, he’d take weird cultist over Skulker’s lair any day. On the other hand, pure white walls and experimentation tables aren’t super high on his to visit list either. Worst comes to worst—before they sacrifice him to some ancient gods, more likely—he puts on his scary face (and maybe adds a couple of explosions) and slips out before they even notice he’s missing.

“Silence, creature,” the robed man snaps. Danny zeros in on him and immediately deduces him to be leader from vibes alone. Also the gold trimming on his robe, which very much screams leader of weird cult that summons ghost kids.

“I—okay, you know what? That was just rude,” Danny says. He points to the white line that surrounds him, “Is that cocaine?”

Danny has a feeling he doesn’t want to know the answer to the mysterious red liquid and painted symbols, so he doesn’t ask.

“It’s salt,” one of the other cloaked figures answers, like it should be obvious.

(It’s not actually obvious, and actually leaves Danny with more questions than he started with. Mostly in the realm of how did a group of cultists summon him with salt. He knows salt is supposedly an anti-ghost measure, but Danny is pretty convinced it has little to no effect on him considering the amount of Nasty Burger fries he’s consumed haven’t taken him out yet.)

“Salt,” Danny repeats. He pauses, then awkwardly tags on, “That’s good, I guess, because drugs are bad. Uh, don’t do drugs.”

A cultist quietly, and a little slowly, answers back, “We, uh, don’t.”

“Right,” Danny says. His eyes catch another section of weird in this already weird, cultist warehouse. At the base of the platform sits a variety of bones, so fresh that some of the muscle still clings to them. “Are those bones? Oh my god, did you sacrifice someone? That’s not cool! Murder isn’t cool!”

“Those are goat bones,” another follower says.

“Oh,” Danny says. “Well, I mean, that’s still fucked up on a variety of levels, but I guess that’s better than murder. Unless it's considered goat murder? Uh.”

For a second, there’s silence. The nature of the interaction is so awkward and oppressing that he almost goes invisible just to save himself the scrutiny of these random people and get the hell out of dodge. His curiosity is the only thing that holds him back—that, and the fact that he’s not quite sure if any of these people are secretly hiding ecto-weapons.

Danny very much does not want to be shot tonight.

He looks around the room, eyes taking in every inch of the sparsely decorated warehouse. There’s nothing that immediately grabs his attention, nor anything that really screams danger but it pays to be suspicious of his surroundings in his line of work. A few of the cultists notice this, and start shifting awkwardly as Danny looks over them as well.

Then, Danny’s eyes flicks back to the lead cultist and he says, “I’m going to be real honest here and say that I have no idea what the heck is going on.”

The leader makes no inclination that he acknowledges any word that comes from Danny’s mouth. Instead, he brings an old, wrinkled hand up to his face, like he’s thinking about some complex problem. The leader circles Danny once, then again, and Danny feels something inside him defensively coil like a spring.

He tries not to be bothered when people treat him as something lesser—it’s not, exactly, uncommon for him to encounter. He dealt with being shoved into lockers long before he died, anyways. It doesn’t stop his shoulders from tensing just the barest amount.

Instead of showing this, he brings his feet up to his chest and crosses them mid-air, and fakes a yawn for good measure. A few of the other cultists gasp in wonder and fear. The leader simply stops his prowling and turns to face Danny.

“So this is the fabled Ghost King,” the man says, like he expected better.

Danny feels he should almost be offended if it isn’t for the tiny detail that these cultists—who summoned him by using salt and goat bones—assume he is the ghost king. “…Did you seriously confuse me with Pariah Dark?”

The man pauses, and asks, “Pariah Dark?”

“Yes! He’s like fifteen feet tall, has a huge sword, is a pain in the ass, and has, like, an entire ghost army. I have, I dunno, pre-calc homework in my bag. We are not the same.”

Some of the followers in the background shift uneasily. Danny bares his teeth in their direction, just to see them squirm. A couple take worried steps back and Danny fights off a satisfied grin.

Hey, poke a bull and get the horns. In this case, summon a ghost-teenager and get the ecto-powers.

(He’s slowly becoming more and more aware that these people have no idea what they’re doing.)

“I see,” the leader says. From his tone, he definitely does not see. “It doesn’t matter. Our book summoned the King of Ghosts and that is you, so you will do as we tell you and your pain will be lessened.”

“I am still not the Ghost King,” Danny tells him. “And no thanks. I’ve already used my yearly cult sign up and I can’t say I’m thrilled to join another. If you’re going to hold an initiation ceremony, at least decorate a bit first. Uh, not counting the goat bones and salt, of course.”

“You have no choice,” the leader snaps and steps a bit closer to him. Danny merely raises an eyebrow. “We are the Followers of Infernal. We have summoned you to serve us. You are bound to our will and bound to our grace, as the book foretold. Now bow, demon, for we are your new masters.”

There’s a very large portion of Danny Fenton that is convinced any good karma he held in life did not pass with him during his death a mere year ago. An even larger portion of him is convinced that these guys are no more serious than the GIW is. Danny does not tell the cultists this.

Instead, he squints and says, “Alright. I definitely failed US Government, but I’m pretty sure that’s not legal. Don’t you guys need like, a permit to summon undead beings of mass power?”

“It thinks it’s funny.” The leader’s face is mostly hidden by his robe, but Danny can imagine the sneer there from his tone alone.

“Trust me, I’m not the one who’s a joke right now,” Danny says. He looks back over at the dozen or so followers and grins at them. They don’t seem too keen that he’s not following their master’s orders and bending to their will. He turns back to the leader. “What’s in it for me?”

“What?”

“If I follow you and stuff, what’s in it for me?”

The leader pauses, then says, “You will be spared of punishment.”

“Hmm, that’s not good enough,” Danny says. He angles his body so he's once again looking at the followers and points at one in the middle. “Hey, you! With the cloak. No, not you, the other dude. To the left. Yeah! You. What do you have to offer me?”

The follower looks so startled that he cowers for a second. Then, seeing as he hadn’t been reduced to a pile of ashes from Danny’s gaze alone, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out something small and silver. “Uh, I have a paper clip, your ghostliness.”

“A paper clip,” Danny repeats. “Yeah, sure, fine. Whatever. That sounds neat.”

“You’ll submit to us?” the man sounds so hopeful that Danny almost feels bad for being a jerk. Then, he remembers that they summoned him out of his nice, warm bedroom at ass-o’clock in the night and feels significantly less amounts of pity.

“No, dude, I’m not being your sack of potatoes for a paper clip. Man, you guys are stupid.” Danny rolls his eyes and floats just a bit higher. The other followers shuffle around again, uncomfortable. In front of him, the leader remains impassive as ever. “Where even am I?”

“The lair which you will spend the rest of your afterlife,” the leader says.

“Okay, this is definitely a warehouse, firstly. And secondly, dude, I meant what state.”

“…Wisconsin,” the man allows because of course everything terrible happens in Wisconsin.

“You chose the worst state to have your crappy lair,” Danny tells them. Now he has to fly a couple hundred miles home and hope he gets there by morning, all the while avoiding his creepy, obsessed arch-nemesis. He wonders if Vlad is even aware there’s a ghost-obsessed cult in his home state. Probably not. “Nothing good ever comes from Wisconsin. You can take that as, like, ghostly wisdom or something.”

“Hey,” one of the cultists says, offended. “The Packers are in Wisconsin.”

“Nothing good,” Danny repeats, firmly.

“Enough of this nonsense,” the leader says. “It’s trying to distract you because it fears control. Briar, bring me the orb.”

“Yes, sir,” one of them says.

The followers mutter to themselves and teeter around in their positions. The woman who spoke, on the end, bows and scurries off. Danny watches as she runs through the darkness of the warehouse, footsteps echoing around them, until he can no longer see her among the darkness.

“Hey, if they already listen to you then why do you need me?” Danny asks. The leader doesn’t answer, so Danny floats a bit on his side and puts his arms behind his head. “What kind of orb are we talking about, anyways? Like one of those Spirit Halloween ones? Or is it more like orbeeze? I can’t saw I’m super excited from your ominous it fears control statement, but—"

“Silence, beast,” the leader says.

Danny huffs. “I’m just asking. No need to be so snippy.”

The man ignores him which, rude. Danny’s just about to see how far he can test this guy’s patience when Briar comes back, just as quickly as she had disappeared. She jogs through the warehouse and up the steps of the platform. Danny can’t see her face, but from the way her hood moves to glace at him every so often, he figures that she’s probably nervous. Specifically about him lounging around in a circle full of salt.

“Father Johnathan,” Briar says and bows. In her hands is a glowing, silver orb. It really did look like a generic orb one would find in a Spirit Halloween. “The orb.”

“Your name is Father Johnathan?” Danny asks. He eyes the orb for a second, but doesn’t feel the tingle of ghostly energy from it, so he ignores it. He turns right back to the leader, not able to keep the grin off his face. “Your name is really Father Johnathan?”

Father Johnathan gently takes the orb in his hands as Briar scurries off towards the rest of the followers. Then, he sighs and says, “Yes, creature, my name is Father Johnathan and I shall be your new master.”

“Oh my god,” Danny says, positively gleeful. “I meet real life Papa John and he summons me with salt and threatens me with a Spirit Halloween orb.”

“Laugh all you want,” Papa John says. The nervous air shifts into something a bit more predatory. “You will not be laughing much longer.”

The cultists break into applause and talk amongst themselves loudly. They shift forward, eagerly, as if they want to watch the spectacle up close. They’re only a foot or so away from the platform when Papa John waves at them to halt.

Papa John holds up the orb. It swirls, the silver fog inside consolidating and then dissipating. Something inside it starts to glow the barest amount.

Danny pauses, just for a second, and watches it. There's still no tingle of ghostly energy coming from it. If he hadn’t already thought these guys are a joke, he definitely would’ve been a tad more nervous. As it stands, he thinks nothing of it—no ghostly energy means no control over ghosts.

(Unfortunately, he knows the feeling of ghost-controlling objects quite well. It’s not an experience he’s eager to repeat.)

The orb glows brighter, and brighter, swirling more furiously. The chatter of the cultists picks up to the point where they’re almost shouting, jeering at him. Papa John draws closer and closer, orb outstretched. He holds it through the salt line and touches it to Danny’s chest. The shouting from his followers almost becomes unbearable.

And then….nothing. The orb stops glowing. The fog inside stops swirling. It simply dies in Papa John’s hand.

“Was that supposed to do something?” Danny asks.

Papa John touches him with the orb again, a tad more forceful, so Danny assumes it was supposed to do something. From the panicked whispers around him, it definitely was supposed to do something to him. Danny’s honestly not sure if the outcome is due to him being a halfa or these guys being a joke.

(He’s willing to bet it’s the latter.)

“I think your LED batteries died,” Danny tells him. “Or maybe you mixed up your Spirit Halloween orbs. Better luck next time.”

Papa John stops furiously pressing the orb to his chest and if Danny could see his face, he has no doubts that Papa John’s expression would be livid.

“You will obey us,” Papa John says.

“No,” Danny says. “I won’t.”

“You will—”

Danny swings his feet down so hard that he cracks the very ground he now stands on. Dust kicks up around him as he stands tall, even though Danny’s at least two feet shorter than the leader in front of him. His eyes burn a brilliant green and he crosses his hands over his chest in an effort to look intimidating. The cult thing is interesting and all, but it's late, he still has homework to do, and Jazz has definitely noticed him missing by now so it's probably better to end this before they can get another object from a Spirit Halloween and try that instead.

It works, if the half-step back from Papa John is anything to go by.

“Listen,” Danny says, flatly. “Get a hobby and leave me alone or else you won’t like what I’m going to do.”

He makes his form flicker and the temperature drop in the room, just for dramatic effect.

Some of the followers in the background shift uneasily. A couple take panicked steps back. More than a few look ready to bolt for the door and leave this cult business behind forever.

Danny takes notice and stares at them, smiling wide enough that they could see his slightly-toothy grin. He makes sure his eyes flare, just a touch, and says loudly, “Boo.”

To say the cultists are startled would be an understatement. More than a few stumble back, a couple falling onto their asses. One trips on their robe and is sent tumbling. Another one yells and cowers. Papa John has no time to reign in the situation before two scatter completely.

“Peace!” Papa John shouts over the chaos of a dozen panicking followers. Those that remain do settle down enough to hear his words. “Stand down, there is nothing to fear. It is only trying to scare you into letting it free. It is trapped whilst it remains in the circle.”

Danny snorts. “I can leave any time I want.”

“You cannot leave here, demon—”

Danny raises one single eyebrow and dutifully steps out of the summoning circle.

The warehouse erupts into chaos.

The cultists are yelling now, but this time there’s only because of fear. They scatter over each other, running and tripping over their obnoxiously long cloaks. A couple trample the goat bones to the point where several loud snaps are heard over the pandemonium. It only adds more fuel to the fire as less than a dozen people scramble to get as far away from the platform—and subsequently the ghost-kid—as possible.

“Do better than a paperclip, next time!” Danny calls out to them. They only seem to run faster at the sound of his voice.

Papa John is the only one who doesn’t run. He had stumbled off the platform and away from Danny the second that Danny made it over the salt line. However, in the disarray, he had been knocked to the ground, his orb lay broken at his feet, and his robe’s hood had been yanked off and left on the ground beside him. He sits, frozen, but Danny doesn’t know if it’s from shock or from fear.

Danny takes a step closer to him.

“How…?” Papa John whispers. He’s not looking at Danny—only his old, wrinkled hands. He’s bald, with brown eyes. He looks like nothing more than any generic old man that Danny would see at a grocery store on Sunday afternoon. “We followed the book. We…we took every precaution the book said. We were supposed to have the perfect slave, bound to our every word. We…”

“That didn’t work out too well for you, huh?” Danny says and crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s ‘cause you forgot the dunce cap when you decided to be the class clown.”

“Please,” Papa John says. “Spare me.”

There’s something wrong about this—seeing a human beg for his life at Danny’s feet. Danny doesn’t want to be feared. He never has wanted to be feared.

He presses his lips together and takes a single step back. Some part of him, though, knows that he desperately needs to make his point clear to avoid another situation like this (likely with more weapons, next time).

“I warned you,” Danny says softly. His voice echoes around the warehouse. The man below him shivers in terror. “Do not summon me again, or I won’t be so nice next time.” He pauses, just for a second and can't help but tag on, "Papa John."

He lets his threat linger and hopes the man takes it seriously enough that he won’t get summoned again. Then, the cool strings of invisibility wrap around his body and he disappears from sight. Danny takes one look at the man left on the floor before he shakes his head and shoots up into the Wisconsin night sky. He doesn't hear the shouted response of it's Father Johnathan from several hundred feet below him on the warehouse floor.

Danny waits about all of thirty seconds before he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone.

"Jazz? Hey, yeah, I'm fine. Yes, seriously, I'm fine but you are not going to believe what I just went through—"

#me mentioning my love for spirit halloween no less than five separate occasions #anyways #my fics #danny phantom #i Attempted to mention every single ectober week 2020 in this fic so like. lmao #ectober #ectober 2020 #ectober week #ectober week 2020 #phan phic #phic #tw drug mention #there are no actual drugs but i do reference a drug by name so this warning applies

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uwuwriting · 4 years

Text

Kenma, Kuroo and Nishinoya finding a pregnancy test

Request: mmmkay, so quarantines got me watching an unhealthy amount of anime, so could i please request kuroo, kenma, and nishinoya finding their fem SO pregnancy tests hidden in their shared bathroom? Thank you! love your writing i cant get enough!❤️❤️❤️ - anonymous

Another pregnancy request? YES PLEASE I LIVE FOR THESE. THEY WATER MY CROPS AND CLEAR MY SKIN. It don’t matter for which fandom it is, a pregnancy and/or domestic request is always a good one. If i get carried away it’s not my fault I can’t help it. Love yaa.💖💖💖

rules

warnings: fluff mainly, maybe some sprinkle of angst on Kenma’s but nothing major

Kozume Kenma

-You two have been living together for 3 years now.

-Being in a happy relationship since your third year of high school and then going to the same university, your lives were bound to one another.

-You weren’t married and it didn’t really bother you.

-Your friends would jokingly call you Mrs. Kozume and Kenma never denied it, he would usually just wrap an arm around your waist and bring you closer to him.

-So when you discussed kids it was a shocker.

- “I know we are not married and all, if you want to do that first that’s fine I have no problem with that it’s just that....have you seen how Hinata is with his little girl?”

-You had seen how happy Hinata was with his daughter.

-She was a few months old but he was so deeply in love with her.

-And you had seen how Kenma looked at them interact.

- “Okay let’s try, but no vlogging our journey or some shit!”

-You hadn’t seen him agree to something so fast in your life.

-That was about a year and a half ago.

-It has been a hectic ride and a disheartening one at that.

-You had a miscarriage earlier last year and after that you hadn’t managed to conceive again.

-At first you panicked, believing that after that misfortune something broke inside of you and you wouldn’t be able to have a child after all.

-But Kenma, being the calm one in your relationship, took you to a doctor who said that your body was just in shock and you would be able to carry a child.

- “Just give your body some time to rest.”

-It has been five months since that and now you are standing in the middle of your bathroom staring at the pregnancy test in your hands.

-Positive.

-You wanted to squeal and cry at the same time, maybe laugh a little.

-Kenma was setting up his computer to start a stream.

-One that he and 99.9% of his fans had requested to see you in.

-You had been in Kenma’s videos multiple times both on stream and on YouTube.

-Placing the pregnancy test in the cabinet near the sink you walked out and went to Kenma.

-You would tell him after this, give yourself time to control your excitement.

-The stream was going well, you were answering questions *some of them had been asked before but you answered none the less* and giggling along side Kenma as he started telling the story of your failed date at the zoo.

-A monkey had tried to take the flower that he had given you and it bit you in its attempts to take it.

-At some point Kenma got up and went to the bathroom and you were left alone with the fans showing them some of your favorite pictures.

-While you were enjoying the stream Kenma was having a heart attack.

-He had opened the cabinet to get some tissues you stored there and came face to face with the pregnancy test.

-The positive pregnancy test.

-You were pregnant? AND DIDN’T TELL HIM?

-What if it ended like the last pregnancy?

-Oh god he wouldn’t be able to pull out of there this time.

-Your laughter rang through the apartment and reached his ears, breaking his train of thought and bringing him back to reality.

-Walking slowly towards the room his saw you with your back turned towards the door talking to the camera at his fans.

-Right he was on a stream.

-It didn’t matter.

- “Y/N...this is real right?”

-Turning around you saw him in the doorway, head hanging low looking at the stick in his hands his hair framing his features completely.

- “Kenmaaaa I wanted it to be a surprise!!!”

-The chat was on fire as Kenma closed the distance between you hugging you tightly before he placed you in his lap and announced that you would be welcoming another Kozume in the world.

- “And no I won’t be vlogging anything!!!”

Kuroo Tetsuro

-He married you right after he finished university.

-You had known each other since your first year of high school but began dating during freshman year in university.

-Kuroo now an esteemed doctor loved calling you by his last name, it felt unreal.

-It didn’t long for him to start imagining an even more domesticated life with you.

-You worked at the same hospital as a nurse and you usually could be found in the kids ward.

-You were always great with kids, making the laugh and helping them stop crying.

-What did it for him was when you were helping at the new born section and you were cooing at a baby, looking so soft and happy holding the small human that he wanted to have a baby right then and there.

-He saw you again there helping a mother feed her baby and it felt just right.

-On the ride home he popped the question.

- “I saw you having fun in the new born isle today.”

- “Those babies are just too cute, Tetsu!!”

- “Yeah, seeing you got me thinking what our kids would look like.”

-He was trying to play it cool, but you saw right through him.

- “Real smooth Tetsu.”

-Little did he know though that you had already taken three pregnancy test this morning all coming out positive.

-You had left them on the bathroom counter because you were already late.

- ‘I need to hide them, make it a surprise.’

-The drive to your shared apartment was full of laughs and Kuroo’s poor sense of humor.

-It was dad jokes.

-He was practicing his dad jokes.

-Surprisingly he didn’t pressure you on the matter of kids.

- “We’ll talk about it later.”

-He had a small pout on his lips but he soon changed the subject.

-Arriving home you went to place the groceries but you didn’t balance them right and the milk carton fell on Kuroo.

-There was milk everywhere.

-On the floor, on Kuroo, some of it was on you, on the counter.

- “Way to go kitten....”

-He made his way to the bathroom to throw his clothes into the washer and wash his hands.

-Then he noticed the three sticks on the counter.

-Curiousity killed the cat.

-And Kuroo is cat.

-He has been a cat since high school.

-Looking at the sticks it took him some time to realize what they were.

-His eyes widened at the realization.

-Why didn’t you tell him???

-He was panicking ever so slightly, his breathing becoming erratic.

-Well he wanted to start a family with you didn’t he?

-After a few minutes of breathing exercises he still couldn’t decide if he should start jumping up and down from his giddiness or panic some more.

-You on the other hand had juts finished putting the things away and mopping the milk off the floor.

- “What is he doing in there?”

-You know how I said that you wanted your pregnancy to be a surprise?

-And how you wanted to hide the tests before he found them?

-Yeah you forgot and because you were dumb it took you some time to put two and two together.

-Sprinting to the bathroom you flung the door open coming face to face with a wide eyes Kuroo holding the test in his hands.

- “Surprise?”

-He looked at you, opening his mouth and then closing it not being able to find the right words.

-Then he was hugging you.

-He was lifting you off the ground and laughing/sobbing in your ear.

- “Thank you thank you thank you thank you.”

-Now you were sobbing too.

-The rest of the night was spent with you on the couch surrounded by blankets and snacks, while Kuroo did everything.

-He made dinner, he helped you undress and put on your PJs, all in all he wouldn’t let you lift a finger.

-He’s just so damn happy he can barely contain it.

-Next day at the hospital he was bragging to everyone and their mothers about your pregnancy.

Nishinoya Yuu

-Em he’s baby?

-Like literally.

-Living with him is like living with a five year old.

-And god forbid Tanaka comes to visit.

-Now you’re babysitting two five year olds.

-Anyways.

-Noya our sweet sweet libero here, wanted to marry you since high school.

-He even proposed while you two were in your third year.

-They had just won a very difficult game and he was on cloud 9.

-You had gone down to congradulate them on their win and give a few victory smooches to your boyfriend when you were tackled to the floor by a very sweaty Noya.

- “Y/N BABY DID YOU SEE ME????”

- “Yes I did, babe.”

- “I’M SO HAPPY I COULD MARRY YOU RIGHT NOW!”

-Awkward silence.

-He didn’t even look sorry after he said it.

-It didn’t sound like it slipped either.

- “What I am going to marry you so why don’t we do it now?”

-Fast forward five years and he truly kept his promise.

-You two share a nice apartment and are living a happy life.

-Not a peaceful one.

-Peace is not an option with Noya.

-Come on...

-You two hadn’t really talked about children but you knew he was great with kids.

-You saw how he got whenever your nephew and niece came to visit.

-He would be so playful with them but simultaneously protective and careful which was surprising because well he was Nishinoya.

-So when you started feeling sick one morning your first thought was to take a pregnancy test.

-You see Noya em likes to feel free....if you know you know.

-When the test came out positive you were both excited and nervous.

-What if he didn’t want kids?

-What if he left?

-Noya would never leave you and he would insist you went through every difficult situation together as team but you weren’t in the best state of mind at the moment.

-You were drawn out of your thoughts when his voice rang through the apartment.

- “Babe, Tanaka is here could you get the door?”

-Leaving everything as it was in the bathroom you went to open the door.

-your brain was running on autopilot.

-You had no brain cells to spare at the moment okay??

- “Heyyyyy Y/N how are you?????”

-And so the game night the two of them had planned began.

-You were making dinner waiting for Tanaka’s girlfriend to arrive so you can talk about your little revelation.

-And yes Tanaka has a girlfriend who is indeed Kiyoko.

-As you were cutting some vegetables, Tanaka stood up and went to the bathroom and at the same moment the door bell rang.

-Not even two seconds passed before you heard screeching form the bathroom.

-You had opened the door and were greeting Kiyoko when you remembered the state you left the bathroom in.

- “YUU HOLY SHIT WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME YOU BASTARD?”

- “TELL YOU WHAT YOU IDIOT?”

- “THAT YOU’RE A DAD WHAT ELSE?”

-Le silence.

-Kiyoko was looking from your stomach to the pregnancy test Tanaka had thrown at Nishinoya.

- “I’M A WHAT???????????”

-Chaos ensued.

-Noya was talking frantically with you and asking you about when you found out, why you didn’t tell him etc while Tanaka was being scolded by Kiyoko for ruining your surprise.

-It was a very eventful night to say the least.

-But a happy one nonetheless.

TAG TEAM AY: @brattyquirks @the-arcana-fan-fic @angelwritings @reinyrei @axerrri

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1littleshippergirl1 · 3 years

Text

Something Odd

There was something odd about her neighbors.

Gladys Barlowe prided herself on knowing just about everything that went on within the bounds of the neighborhood. Why, Mrs. Keperna, who lived just down the road, was getting up there in age and yet none of her children made much of an effort to visit. But those girls had been a bad sort; they'd gotten into much trouble in their youth. She'd told Ingrid it was a bad idea to let them go out to that dancing club. It was bound to corrupt them and it did, rest assured.

Oh, and the Irmagards next door were having marriage troubles. Yes, indeed, it was quite a shocking revolution. She'd overheard shouting going on between them and glass shattering. Why, she had jumped a mile in the air when that happened! It was a toss up whether or not they would stay together or file for divorce. Privately, she'd said to the other ladies of the neighborhood came for a visit to sip on tea and enjoy some freshly baked biscuits, if it were her and her husband, they would never have been so inconsiderate to everyone else and aired their dirty laundry for all to hear. Had they no decency?

Her husband, Mervin, was less enthusiastic whenever she relayed anything she'd found out to him. Yes, Dear, he'd say. Or, mhm. Or, that's nice. She'd huff in frustration whenever that happened. So caught up in the sports section newspaper or television, he was! He had the nerve of wagging his finger at her once, insinuating her to be a gossip fiend. She was hardly such; they'd lived in the neighborhood ever since they'd gotten married, watched as people passed on, moved on and new faces appeared. They were one of the longest remaining home owners there. She had a right to know who was living nearby. Besides, what was the harm?

But, back to her neighbors.

She couldn't put her finger on it on what made them stand out to her. They didn't look that different than any of the other families that were around. It started out as a feeling, one she couldn't shove to the side and forget about, no matter how many times Marvin told her she was being paranoid. She wasn't. This was real, that feeling. She just knew it. She only had to prove it.

So, she did the reasonable thing and began to subtly watch them.

It was the house that was directly across the street from her, the one with the rather unflattering paint job and the red-headed man with his two daughters. They'd been there for about thirteen years now, back when it was originally just the man, his wife and only one of their children. She wondered whatever happened to that wife of his-Andria? Alana? Audrey, perhaps. Oh, yes, that must have been it. Gladys distinctly remembered a woman with blonde hair living in the house at one point and then she just disappeared! Their marriage must have soured. Poor thing. They were quite young, by the looks of it

(Marvin had told her it was none of her business when she'd planned on bringing over a casserole, with the intention of asking about it).

That woman, Audrey, was a little more cold then her husband was and the way she dressed was just plain awful. Those colors and her complexion-just what had she been thinking? Well, Gladys wasn't completely up to date on fashion these days either but still. Even she knew there were just certain things you kept in the back of your closet after turning thirty. She wasn't judging, of course.

Her husband, on the other hand, was much more friendly. Always smiling and waving to her when they happened to be outside at the same time. That wasn't an issue. She and the ladies from her book club agreed he was such a nice man. There were just occasions where she saw strange things; like that one time when she witnessed him throwing a cape over his shoulders when it snowed and a pointy hat, like a witch would wear.

It threw her for a bit of a loop, it did, at first. He might have been into that fad all the teenagers and young adults were into, where they dressed up as fictional people and used the convention center for all of them to get together. What a strange thing to do with one's time. Did he go to those events held at the local convention center, too? Oh, they were outrageously expensive, according to the flyers she'd seen posted on a bulletin board at the grocer's. Not to mention, he was raising two growing girls, who had needs that should've come before a silly hobby.

And speaking of his girls..

They were quite pretty. One of them, the oldest she reckoned, had taken right after her father. She was his spitting image, right down to the dreary clothes and atrocious looking glasses. The other was more so of her mother, appearance wise. She, too, wore glasses that were slightly big on her face and dressed without any fashion sense.

Like she said, they were pretty, but they could've looked magnificent if she just had a few minutes with them.

Those two weren't around very often, peculiarly enough. She saw them in the summertime and on occasion, if she looked out her window and if the curtains were open, they were home for Christmas but not any other time. That began shortly after they'd turned eleven. It started out as the oldest leaving and the younger one was still there but then it was both of them!

Just where did they go? Well, they weren't attending the local secondary school, that was for sure She'd casually asked Mrs. Thorp, who had a son going there, if she'd seen them around but they weren't there. That was odd. Unless they didn't go there because they were going to some exclusive school for gifted children. That must be it, wasn't it? What other explanation could there be? Truthfully, she never would've guessed those two would be prodigies. They never struck out to her like that. Weren't prodigies supposed to be all quiet and depressed? Those girls were rather lively from what she'd seen of them. Of course, they might just be an exception.

A thought crossed her mind and she wondered what the red-headed man did for a living. She hardly ever saw him leave the house. He didn't even have a car, for crying out loud! How did he get anywhere? Did he wake up in the early hours of the morning to walk back and forth to work? He couldn't have been poor; these houses cost a pretty penny. The few times she did see him, he wore casual, comfy clothes that gave no clue to his occupation, whatever that may be.

What if he was in some sort of governmental work that was highly confidential? Or perhaps he and his daughters were in the witness protection program! That made a great amount of sense. Why hadn't she considered that before? It might provide an explanation as to where that Audrey woman had gone. Oh, what if she'd been killed? Had she and the red-headed man gotten caught up in gang activity prior to the birth of their daughters and one of those members had found her and finished her off? Oh, the man must have been devastated! And now he was left to raise his girls on his own. What a terrible thing.

Didn't he have any family help? She was sure he did. She'd seen some red-headed folks in his living room once-she'd been outside watering her garden when a man standing in front of the window caught her attention. He was younger than the man who lived there by a few years and oh it was just awful, he was missing an ear! Her hand had flown up to her mouth, the hose dropping to the ground. What on earth had happened to him? A work related accident? An animal attack?

There were a couple non red-heads that came over to the house as well. A man with unkempt black hair had come around. He had the strangest looking scar, she'd noticed with curiosity as he stepped out of an old, beat up car. And then there were two separate women as well on occasion. One with hair that reminded Gladys of a rat's nest while the rest of her seemed well put together. The other had such nice hair. A cross between silver and blonde. It must have been from a box. It certainly didn't look natural. She'd assumed one of those women had to have been involved with the man. Why else would they have come to him? She dearly hoped he wasn't seeing them both at the same time. He wasn't that kind of man, was he? And to do that with children around. Very disgraceful if he was.

Gladys sat at the kitchen table of her home, sipping delicately on a cup of tea with slightly pursed lips. In all her years of knowing of the man, she had not yet once had a proper conversation with him. She didn't even know his name. And her curiosity was getting the better of her; she had several questions needing to be answered that couldn't be done by a simple, quick chat. No, she would need a reasonable reason to go over there.

She supposed she could bring over a late housewarming present. A batch of cookies, perhaps. Yes, that sounded splendid. The children would enjoy them and she could get the man to talk. Surely he wouldn't be so rude as to merely take the cookies and push her out of the house?

"How do you think this looks?" She asked her husband, presenting him with the china that contained the cookies. She'd put a red bow on top for decoration.

Mervin was doing a crossword puzzle. His eyes barely even lifted up. "It looks nice, dear."

"Oh," she scowled, "you didn't even see it!"

He did look up this time, unimpressed. "It looks the same as any other time-what's with the bow? Did you take it out of the Christmas container?"

"So what if I did?" She straightened herself up. "I want it to look nice."

"For who, exactly?"

"Our neighbors," she said. "The ones across the street. You know, the red-headed man and his daughters."

"Gladys," Mervin said warningly. "You leave those people alone."

She shot him a look, miffed. "I'm bringing them cookies."

"You're being nosy is what you're doing," he pointed a finger at her accusingly. "I know what you're up to."

She made a noise from her throat. "I'm not up to anything!"

"Oh, yes you are," he got up out of his chair. "You're going to go over there and use the cookies to get information. I'm telling you, Gladys, leave the man alone."

"You're not the least bit curious about him?" She said, taking a quick glance in the direction of the window. "I've never seen him speak to anyone in all the years he's lived over there."

"No," he said flatly. "If he wanted to speak to us, he would have by now. He doesn't need you going over there to bother him. You remember what happened with the Kremps, don't you? You remember being tossed out of the house and Mrs. Kremp threatening to hit you with that pan of hers?"

Gladys adjusted her dress primly. She vaguely recalled it. But it hadn't been her fault. The woman had simply overreacted to an innocent question. How was she supposed to have known that the ugly vase on the mantel contained the ashes of her father?

Mervin folded his arms across his chest, sighing heavily. "Don't go causing any more trouble."

"I'm doing no such thing," she was offended he thought so little of her. "I'm just going to ask a few questions."

"Gladys-"

"Don't you ever wonder what happened to that wife of his?" She cut him off.

"No. But they likely got divorced, if anything."

"Not divorced. Murdered," she revealed.

His eyes widened in surprise. It was about time he finally reacted, She thought with satisfaction "She was murdered?" he said in disbelief.

"Well," she shifted and his expression turned into a glare, "I can't say for sure that's what happened, but I have reason to believe the man and his daughters are in the witness protection program."

He inhaled, shutting his eyes as if praying that he was given more strength. "What?"

"Now just listen," she advised. "No one really knows much about them, do they? They don't talk to people and we don't even know his name. His wife was around and suddenly she disappeared! Now, I think they must have been involved in some illegal gang activity and one of those gang members must have come back to finish her off!"

"Do you know how mad you sound right now?" Mervin snapped.

"I'm not mad, I'm serious."

"And that's what scares me," Mervin muttered. Louder, he said, "I don't want you going over there, do you hear me? You're not going to say a word of that nonsense to him!"

"It's not nonsense-"

"Oh, you're right. It's worse," he scowled. "When is this all going to stop, hmm? When am I going to get peace?"

She harrumphed. "You're not even listening to me!"

"I'm the one not listening? You're the one not listening to me! I'm trying to save you from getting your lights knocked out. I'm warning you, Gladys. Don't do it." He gave her one last look. "Now I'm going back to my puzzle and I'm keeping an eye on that door!"

"Yes, dear," she said pleasantly. She stayed put like he asked, until he went to the bathroom that is. Then she quickly grabbed the cookies and bounded out the door and across the road. When she came to a stop on his front porch, she smoothed down her hair and dress.

Hmm, she noticed his door was ajar. Did he know? Perhaps not. Well, there was no harm in going in a bit. "Hello?" She said cheerfully. "Is anyone home?"

No one responded but someone was there. She heard noises coming from inside. There were people talking. Three in fact. The man and his daughters, she realized she had never heard their voices before.

"Can I show you, please?"

"I said no, Molly. You know the rules."

"It'll be quick! And no one'll know. I won't tell anyone."

Tell anyone what? She frowned.

"And what if someone sees?"

"I told you he'd say no."

"Oh, shut up!"

"Girls, stop arguing."

"Please, Dad? Please!"

"I already told you no. Especially with the windows open. What if someone saw you? I'm in no mood to deal with it today. The department has enough reports already."

What department? What reports? What did he not want to deal with? She stuck her ear in as far as she could.

"Don't worry, if someone sees, we'll just call Uncle Harry. He can take care of them."

She gulped. Take care of them? Surely she didn't...she didn't mean that kind of take care of. She couldn't have. No. That was preposterous.

Oh, my. What if...what if the man was still involved in the gang? What if they were doing illegal activity in the house? Were the girls involved too? Was that what she wanted to show him and he was afraid of getting caught?

There was a pause.

"Quickly. And don't think you'll be doing this all the time."

She decided on going in. She had to see what was going on. For the good of the neighborhood, of course. She had to know. Inhaling, she braced herself and burst into the home and came to a halt in front of the kitchen.

Just as a textbook magically turned into a chicken. And the girl! She...she was holding a stick-

The man and his daughters froze. Gladys stammered, pointing a shaky finger at them.

"You...that..."

She fell flat on her back in a faint.

Molly stood over her body, peering down at it through her glasses. "Is she dead?"

Percy rubbed at his face tiredly. "No, honey. She's just fainted."

"That's good," Lucy said from where she sat on the countertop. "What was she doing here anyway?"

"I have no idea," he shook his head.

Molly was still peering down at her. "Dad, can I take a picture? I've never seen a muggle faint before."

"No, Molly."

Percy sighed and began to write a letter to the Accidental Muggle Reverse Squad.

#Harry Potter #percy weasley #lucy weasley #Molly Weasley #hp next gen #harry potter fanfiction #percy weasley fanfiction

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headcanonsandmore · 3 years

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Hermione and Veronica ‘Ronnie’ Weasley

Summary: A Romione WLW AU, with Hermione and her best friend Veronica 'Ronnie' Weasley, the sweet redheaded girl who... well, who Hermione finds herself very confused about.

This fic was inspired by a similar AU scenario fic by @hillnerd. As with everything Hilly does, her fic is amazing, but hopefully my fic doesn’t look too bad by comparison.

Read on FFN. Read on AO3.

~~~~~~~~~

Hermione Granger had a problem.

Well, not so much a problem. More of a…. confusion. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

And it had to do with her best friend. Veronica “Ronnie” Weasley.

Ronnie was funny, sweet, kind, and athletic. Over six foot tall, with a mane of long red hair and a mass of freckles, she immediately caught the eye. The boys couldn’t help but notice her, and many of the girls either admired her or felt jealousy towards her. Hermione had lost count of the time she’d seen Dean and Seamus staring at Ronnie from across the common room. On a few occasions, she’d even seen Neville blush after Ronnie had smiled at him.

Not that Ronnie noticed any of this. The redhead had always felt lacking, either to her older brothers or to her younger sister Ginny. Ronnie was, like all her siblings, good at schoolwork, but she had never felt like she could stand out. She had confided to Hermione that, even if she had done well, no-one would ever think much of it, since her brothers had all done it before.

And then there was Ginny. Ronnie’s little sister was about almost a foot shorter, and with more of a nervous energy than that of her older siblings. Hermione had often wondered whether the Weasleys all had a set amount of passion, and that those of a shorter persuasion tended to be more on-edge than their lankier siblings. Granted, this theory didn’t necessarily explain why the short Charlie was so relaxed, while the taller Percy was the exact opposite. Maybe the Weasleys all just reacted differently to their circumstances.

Ronnie was not an intense person. In fact, Hermione found her almost supernaturally relaxed and affable. More prone to telling a chuckle-inducing joke as opposed to an over-the-top prank that was the preferred tactic of Fred and George.

Hermione preferred Ronnie’s way of doing things. Hermione liked a lot about Ronnie. Even if Ronnie personally thought her own matey-ness with people made her unattractive, Hermione couldn’t imagine why such friendliness and kindness could be considered unappealing.

To boys, of course. Yes, just to the boys.

Hermione had the distinct impression that Ronnie felt lacking compared to her little sister. Maybe it was Ronnie’s lack of interest in “girly” things, or her seeming-inability to act with “decorum” (as Hermione’s parents would have put it). It was common for Ronnie to wear a pair of hand-me-down school trousers instead of skirts because, as she herself put it, she hated having to worry about whether people could see up her legs.

Hermione always found herself flustered whenever Ronnie joked about this. Ronnie did have very long legs after all.

She had been friends with Ronnie for years, ever since the Halloween of first year. They hadn’t exactly gotten along before then but, since the incident with the troll, they had become firm friends. It was nice being friends with someone else in the girls dormitory; Lavender and Parvati had never really clicked with Hermione. Ronnie was the first female friend Hermione had ever had.

And then third year had happened.

The two of them had fallen out over their pets. Crookshanks and Scabbers had never gotten along and, at one point, it had looked like Crookshanks had eaten Ronnie’s rat. It had been really lonely not speaking to Ronnie for all that time.

But they had become friends again, and things had settled back to how they had been before.

Well, not exactly.

Ronnie had always been a good friend, but Hermione hadn’t understood why she had missed Ronnie so much when they weren’t speaking. She certainly hadn’t missed Harry in the same way, which was even weirder considering that Harry was a boy.

Hermione had missed Ronnie’s smile, her laugh, her beautiful red hair, the way she would throw an arm around Hermione’s shoulders as they walked to class, the way she would bound up to her and hug Hermione tightly, and the way she would stretch out in the common room so that Hermione couldn’t help but notice her-

Yes, she had certainly missed her friend Ronnie. The same friend who made butterflies appear in Hermione’s stomach whenever Ronnie smiled at her. The same friend who began to inhabit Hermione’s dreams in ways she was becoming very confused about.

Hermione had hoped that… whatever this was would disappear over the summer holidays, and she could just enjoy her friendship with Ronnie with no extra complications.

No such luck. Fourth year had just made everything even more confusing. Harry and Ronnie hadn’t spoken for a while after Harry’s name had appeared in the goblet of fire. Hermione had desperately tried to patch things up between them but, in the end, they had worked it out themselves after the first task.

It was good for them to be a trio again. Although Hermione, Ronnie and Harry had always been a bit unusual. Parvati and Lavender had always been giggling over it, asking both Hermione and Ronnie about which of them Harry was dating. Hermione had always rolled her eyes at this. To her, Harry had always been like a younger brother. Like all younger brothers, he was always getting into mischief and being annoying, but he was her brother nonetheless.

Ronnie had always laughed her head off whenever this question was proposed by Lavender and Parvati. Harry was “her best mate”. End of. Nothing more to say.

But… well, as the Yule Ball approached, suddenly Ronnie stopped laughed and started blushing, avoiding Hermione’s eyes.

‘It’s none of your business,’ she had mumbled, her ears flashing their tell-tale pink.

Hermione had felt her heart slowly sink, although she tried to avoid thinking about why.

Sure enough, the day before the Yule Ball, Hermione had asked Harry about who he was taking, and the boy who lived had blushed scarlet.

‘Er… I asked Ronnie.’

Hermione dropped the book she was holding. The two of them were in the library.

‘What? You mean… you…’

‘I-I don’t know, okay!’ Harry stammered. ‘It’s just… I needed a date for the Ball and Ronnie’s my best mate, so it made sense.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yeah.’

At that moment, someone tapped Hermione on the shoulder. It was Viktor Krum, the Durmstrang champion.

‘Excuse me, may I have a vord?’

Harry looked at the Bulgarian suspiciously.

‘Yes, it’s fine,’ Hermione said, leading Krum away into the next aisle of bookshelves. ‘Which section are you looking for?’

‘No… I… er…’

‘Krum?!’

Ronnie’s face looked horrified. It was several hours later, in their dormitory.

‘Well, it wasn’t as if I was going with anyone, so why not?’

‘He’s eighteen, Hermione!’ Ronnie said, urgently. ‘He’s way too old for you!’

‘He’s not dating me, Ronnie,’ Hermione replied. ‘He’ll be more like a chaperone than anything else. Besides, it’s just one ball. It’s not like he’s asking to marry me.’

‘I should think not!’ Ronnie’s face was strangely angry. ‘You’re too good for him.’

Hermione felt her cheeks blush.

‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Er, congratulations about you and Harry, by the way.’

‘You… you know about that?’ Ronnie asked.

Hermione nodded, wondering why the mood suddenly felt so tense.

‘Yes, he told me earlier. It was nice of you to go with him.’

‘You think so?’

‘Yes. I think you’ll have a great time.’

Hermione hoped that her voice didn’t sound as falsely-cheery as she suspected.

The Yule Ball was something of an event. It was interesting hearing from Viktor Krum about what Bulgaria was like, but she found herself distracted. Possibly due to the fact that Ronnie and Harry were sat only a few chairs down the table, and kept giggling over stuff. Ronnie was wearing a very lacy dress that Mrs Weasley had only managed to get third-hand; since Ronnie was so tall compared to most girls, her clothes had always been a bit… well, difficult to acquire on a budget. The dress was a few inches shorter than her normal summer shorts were, and Hermione had got the distinct impression that Harry was trying not to stare too much when they had walked through the crowd with the other champions and their partners.

Hermione probably would have enjoyed the dancing too, except that she kept looking round to see what Ronnie and Harry were up to. Ronnie’s hair was long and had a sweet flowery scent that seemed to follow it around the room. Her smile was wide as she danced with Harry, and the way she kept laughing made it difficult for Hermione to concentrate on her own dancing. Why was she so distracted?

‘Vould you like a drink?’ Viktor Krum asked, after a very fast song had finished.

Hermione nodded, and he left for the buffet table.

At that moment, Hermione noticed that Harry and Ronnie were walking towards the balcony area.

Deciding to catch up with them, Hermione darted between several other couple, and poked her head out through the curtains.

Her stomach turned to lead.

Harry was kissing Ronnie on the mouth, and Ronnie was kissing him back.

Stumbling backwards through the curtain, Hermione pushed through the crowd and began to make for the exit. However, she bumped into Ginny and Neville.

‘I’m… feeling a bit unwell,’ she mumbled. ‘Could you tell Viktor Krum that I’ve had to leave?’

Ginny and Neville nodded, but looked concerned and a little confused.

Hermione didn’t stop hurrying until she had arrived back in her dormitory. She washed her make-up off, changed into her pyjamas, and climbed into her four-poster bed.

She had started crying before her head even hit the pillow.

‘So… yeah.’

‘Bit weird, but… well, that’s it.’

It was the next day. Harry and Ronnie were talking to Ginny about what had happened. Hermione was eating her breakfast without looking at any of them.

‘So… are you two dating?’ Ginny asked.

Ronnie laughed nervously.

‘No; but… well, we’re gonna see how things change. If it’s not our cup of tea, we can stay friends instead.’

‘Yeah,’ Harry said, cheerfully. ‘Take a bit more than kissing for us to stop being best mates.’

‘Yeah, but…’ Ginny said, her eyes darting to Hermione and then back to Ronnie. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Er, yeah,’ Ronnie said. ‘H-Hermione, what do you think?’

Hermione blinked hurriedly.

‘Oh, I’m sure you two will be very happy,’ she said, a little too cheerfully. ‘I hope you don’t me being a third wheel, then. Anyway, we need to get to first period now.’

Harry nodded, and stood up.

Ronnie remained sitting, looking at Hermione with a slightly confused expression on her freckled face.

Ginny gave a sigh, and went back to her breakfast.

The next few weeks were not fun for Hermione. Ronnie and Harry had always been a duo and, now that they were sort-of together, Hermione had never felt more like a third wheel. Even though both of them were clearly trying their best not to exclude her, she couldn’t help but feel miserable.

And that wasn’t even getting into the way her heart would thump painfully whenever she caught Ronnie looking at Harry.

It was ridiculous. Hermione couldn’t be jealous! What was there to be jealous of? Harry was like a brother to her, so it clearly wasn’t that.

No, it was something else.

It was Ronnie.

Hermione was in love with Ronnie.

She tried to not think about this. Which normally would have been difficult. But luckily, they were both helping Harry about the second task, which took up a lot of time and mental headspace. And their coursework was so time-consuming that Hermione barely had time to think about her feelings for Ronnie.

Could girls even fall for each other? Hermione had read about that sort of thing happening, but she never would have imagined that it would happen to her.

The day before the second task, she (along with Ronnie) were helping Harry with his preparations for the second Triwizard task, when the Weasley twins arrived.

‘Ronnie, you and Hermione have got a message from Professor McGonagall.’

‘What?’ Hermione asked, confused. ‘She can’t seriously ban us from helping Harry, can she?’

‘No, she just wants you and Ronnie to go to Dumbledore’s office.’

Hermione exchanged confused glances with Ronnie.

When they arrived at Dumbledore’s office, they were not the only confused people there. Cho Chang was also there, plus a young girl speaking in fluent French who was presumably Fleur Delacour’s little sister.

Dumbledore explained about what the second Triwizard task was, and how it would include all of them. Each of the champions would have a hostage, who would be in an enchanted sleep at the bottom of the great lake. The hostages would be perfectly safe underwater, and would return to normal once they were brought back to the surface of the lake.

‘Professor,’ Hermione asked, raising her hand. ‘I don’t understand; why has Harry got both me and Ronnie as his hostages? And where is the hostage for Viktor Krum?’

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow.

‘Miss Granger, you are Mister Krum’s hostage, not Mr Potter’s.’

Hermione’s eyes widened in confusion. Viktor Krum? She was his “the person he would miss most”? Why? She’d been to the ball with him, but that was it. She hadn’t really spoken to him much since, aside from apologising for leaving the Yule Ball early. Why was she his hostage? Surely, he had friends from Durmstrang that would be a better pick?

Hang, on. Ronnie was Harry’s hostage. The person Harry would miss most.

So, that meant Ronnie was…

Hermione felt her heart sink. She couldn’t even look Ronnie in the eye, but she felt the redhead tense next to her.

Maybe Harry and Ronnie will become a full couple after he rescues her in the task, Hermione thought, miserably, as she slipped into unconsciousness from the sleeping spell Dumbledore had casted, I guess there never was any hope for me…

The next thing Hermione knew, she was treading water in the middle of the great lake. Viktor Krum was pulling her towards the shoreline. Her uniform felt heavy and sodden.

‘Where’s… where’s Harry and Ronnie?’ she asked, as Madam Pomfrey bustled them over to a tent nearby. ‘Haven’t… haven’t they come back yet?’

Madam Pomfrey patted her hand in sympathy, and tutted under her breath, as if she’d quite like a word with the person who came up with the idea for the second task.

A portion of pepper-up potion later, plus some warming spells, and Hermione was stood on the shoreline with Cho Chang and a very worried-looking Fleur Delacour. The French girl’s hostage was still down in the lake. Cho had put an arm around her.

‘They’ll be fine,’ the Ravenclaw was saying. ‘The judges won’t let any harm come to- oh, hello, Hermione.’

‘Hello. Have… have Harry and Ronnie got back yet?’

Cho shook her head.

There was a shout from the crowd, and Hermione looked round. Three people had just surfaced in the middle of the lake. Hermione could see a mane of very familiar red hair. Dashing past Viktor Krum (who seemed intent on chatting to her about something), Hermione wade into the shallows of the water. Fleur Delacour and Percy Weasley joined her.

‘I’m fine, Harry,’ Ronnie was saying, as Harry helped her towards the shore. The two of them were stood awkwardly in the shallows. Percy had stopped fussing over Ronnie, and had gone to find them some warm blankets, followed by the Delacour sisters.

Harry leaned forward and kissed Ronnie on the lips.

Hermione felt her heart sink and, turning away, she walked out of the lake, ignoring Viktor Krum’s renewed attempts at conversation, and left for the castle. People looked at her in confusion as she pushed past. She was glad that she had been given the pepper-up potion, as the February wind whipped through her.

Before she knew it, she was lying in her four-poster bed, crying her eyes out. She had somehow managed to close the curtains around her before she broke down completely. When was she ever going to get over this? She had no “claim” on Ronnie; after all, Ronnie liked boys, Ronnie liked Harry. And, next to Harry, why would Ronnie possibly look at Hermione? A bookworm. A girl. Just the best friend.

‘H-Hermione?’

Ronnie. Oh, god, Hermione thought, she can’t see me like this…

‘G-go away, Ronnie.’

‘What, and leave you miserable? Not on your life.’

‘I’m-I’m fine, Ronnie. J-just a bit exhausted from the task.’

‘Did… did Krum do something to you?’

‘No!’ Hermione exclaimed, pulling back the curtains of her four-poster. ‘Of course not! He’s barely even held my hand! What… how could you…’

‘W-well,’ Ronnie said, her ears turning pink. ‘You were “the person he would miss the most”, after all.’

Hermione stared at her for a second.

‘I don’t see Viktor Krum like that,’ she said, earnestly. ‘He’s… well… like a chaperone.’

‘He fancies you.’

‘You mean like Harry fancies you?’

Ronnie looked as if Hermione had slapped her.

‘You… you saw him kissing me, then?’

Hermione nodded.

‘Is that why you’re crying?’

Hermione mentally cursed. Her cheeks were still wet with tears.

‘I’m… I’m very happy for you both.’

‘Don’t insult my intelligence, Hermione,’ Ronnie said, hotly. ‘You’re clearly upset about it. What, you fancy Harry or something?’

‘What? No!’ Hermione said. ‘Harry’s like a brother to me! Why would you-’

‘Well, what’s your problem, then?!’ Ronnie exclaimed, coming to stand barely a few inches away from her.

‘Don’t be… it’s… well…I-’

‘Hermione, what is it?’

‘It’s not Harry that I fancy, Ronnie; it’s you!’

There was a deafening silence.

‘I… I shouldn’t have said that,’ Hermione mumbled. ‘Sorry, forget I-’

‘No, what do you mean?’ Ronnie asked. ‘Do… do you mean that?’

‘Y-yes,’ Hermione whispered. ‘I’m sorry. I know you don’t see me like that. I’ve ruined our friendship-’

Hermione stopped talking. Because Ronnie had suddenly leaned forward and was kissing her on the mouth. Hermione’s brain seemed to disengage. Ronnie’s lips were soft and delicate as they pressed against Hermione’s. The redhead’s body heat felt like a warm fire against her, despite how little they were touching.

A few seconds later, although it could have lasted for hours for all that Hermione knew, Ronnie pulled away slightly.

‘Do… do you really mean that?’ Ronnie whispered, her hands tender as they interlaced with Hermione’s. ‘You… you really fancy me?’

Hermione nodded, feeling very confused.

‘Yes. Ever since… actually, I don’t know when. But… why…’

‘I… I fancy you, Hermione,’ Ronnie said, softly. ‘I… I thought you didn’t feel the same way.’

‘You fancy me?’

‘Er, did I not just kiss you? Would have thought it’d be a giveaway…’

Hermione giggled.

‘Okay, I believe you. But how-’

The door opened. Harry poked his head through.

‘Everything okay?’

‘Yeah,’ Ronnie said, cheerfully as she held Hermione’s hand. ‘She’s okay. And so am I.’

‘Cool. And… did you both…’

Ronnie nodded.

‘Fantastic!’ Harry said, grinning. ‘I’m so happy for you two!’

‘W-wait, what?’ Hermione exclaimed, utterly at sea. ‘Harry, did… did you know?’

‘I guessed. Besides, me and Ronnie work better as friends anyway.’

‘You… you two aren’t a couple?’ Hermione gasped, looking between them both. ‘I thought… after you kissed at the lake-’

‘You are one daft maid,’ Ronnie chuckled, pecking her on the cheek. ‘But that makes two of us, eh?’

Hermione smiled, as she held Ronnie’s hand. Maybe, on occasion, the best friend did get the girl. Even if they were also a girl, too.

~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading, everyone! Hope you enjoyed it!

#romione #ronmione #wlw!romione #femme!ron weasley #veRONica weasley #harry potter fanfiction #romione fanfiction #romione fanfic #tw: food mention #alternative universe #harry potter au #romione au #au #ron x hermione #hermione x ron #ron/hermione #hermione/ron #what if harry and ron went to the yule ball together?

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whatanoof · 4 years

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Cold Hands and Warm Bodies

Merry Christmas! This is a Secret Santa gift for @autumnleaves1991-blog!

There’s a sequel now!

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Whiskey x Reader

Word Count: ~4.7k

Content: fluff, dancing, swearing, oral sex(female receiving), rougher sex, fluffy, smut, there’s a part at the beginning where Reader rejects a man’s advances but it doesn’t get past name-calling

A/N: I liked the idea of a lonely Christmas in a new city turning into something much better through unexpected events, especially since so many are going to be celebrating with less people than normal due to the pandemic. The music referenced is Gasoline by Halsey from her Badlands album.

Your parents had begged you to not complete the move over the holidays, surely it could have waited a couple of weeks so that you could celebrate with your family. But you were decided, and the timeline of your new employment was not up to you. Staying in LA for Christmas wouldn’t have benefited anyone. The confidential nature of your job meant you couldn’t talk about your job with your family, and that’s all that families really want to know besides if you have a boyfriend yet. This left more rumors flying between the aunts than bullets around a battlefield. At this point, you’re pretty sure that your own mother thinks that you’re a prostitute.

Alcohol is an easy option to curb loneliness. The drink burns on the way down, but you savor it. It’s been cold in the new city, and you haven’t been able to shake the chill since moving. Your current choice of atmosphere is the bar closest to your house, leaving you with the freedom to slam as many drinks as would let you forget how alone you are at the time of year when no one should be alone. You don’t have to drive home this way. But now, inside and looking around at the excessive Christmas decorations, you begin to wonder if this was the best way to avoid the holidays.

There are Christmas wreaths all around, draped over as many surfaces as possible. Mistletoe hangs near the corners of the cleared section of floor, and you wouldn’t be surprised if some of those corners were soon occupied by drunk dancers. Lights dangle over the bottles behind the bar, and the bartender is wearing a Christmas elf headband. And to top it all off, most everyone inside has a partner, making you stick out like a sore thumb. Your sole point of luck is that the bar isn’t Western based.

“Well, hello good-looking.”

The moment is shattered by the stranger’s arm around your shoulders, pulling you too close for the small amount of liquor in your body. The brunette man smells like spearmint, but his breath clearly reveals his state of mind.

“The name’s Grey. Now, I heard a little birdie that told me that you’d be coming home with me tonight.” His grin appears genuine, but something glitters in his eyes that sends an icy distrust through your gut.

You turn away. “No thank you.” Better not to give him any attention, drunks are never reasonable if you let them believe for even a second that they have a chance.

“Now that’s not very kind. I was being civil, and you rebuff a poor man who just wants a warm bed tonight. May I at least get the lady’s name so that I can address her properly? Where’s the Southern hospitality? ” You catch a concerned look from the bartender, though there’s no need to worry. This isn’t your first rodeo.

“Nonexistent, Grey.” You grab his wrist, yanking it off of your shoulder.

For a blissful second, the contact is gone, then it returns, and now his fingers are digging into your bare skin. His hands are cold. The handheld taser in your pocket is burning, and you reach for it as he snaps, “Now, there’s no need to be a bi--”

“Hey now,” The new voice is sudden, but there’s a distinctive Southern drawl to the baritone voice that sends pleasant tingles down your spine. Now that is a voice that you could listen to the rest of the night. “The lady said no. And last I checked, Southern hospitality doesn’t apply when said person isn’t Southern.”

The arm around your shoulders vanishes and you slowly reach for your bag. Angry voices echo behind you, but you’re too preoccupied with leaving to worry yourself with the brewing argument. Goddammit you had only come for drinks, and now you might have to duck out before a fight starts.

But the angry voices lower and the normal barroom din returns. You slowly release your bag to rest once again at your feet, and a new man appears on the stool at your elbow.

“Good evening.” It’s the rumbling voice of your faceless Southern gentleman.

He saved you, but that doesn’t mean you can trust him. Feigning disinterest is more difficult now, but you take a sip of your drink and focus hard on how the light from the glass catches the amber liquid. “Thank you for stepping up. Doesn’t happen often.”

“Unfortunately. Mostly for the men if you end up pulling that taser.” The casual observation catches your attention.

You turn and finally look your gentleman in the eye. Oh. You weren’t prepared for him to be so-- gorgeous. That’s really the only word you can summon to your scattered brain at the moment because, damn. Dark hair brings out darker eyes that glimmer warmly in the lowlights of the bar despite the cowboy hat. A mustache accents plush lips. Tan skin and bold features draw you in, and you don’t want to stop looking except he clears his throat and you realize that you’ve been staring for much longer than the appropriate time.

“Is there something on my face?” Your eyes dart back up to his face and you’re struck by how unfair it is that someone can be so effortlessly attractive.

“N-- no!” Stammering, really? Dammit you’re a full grown woman, pull yourself together. “How-- how could you tell I’m not from around here?”

He beckons a finger to you, and you lean in. “I am an undercover operative working with an American based agency that deploys me worldwide to handle top-secret missions.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning back to take him in again. The jacket over the tight shirt shows his athletic build rather well, and you wouldn’t be surprised if it were true, “Really?”

“No. It’s the accent.”

You laugh and roll your eyes. The pleased smile spreading over his face matches the one sneaking over your own. “You’re right, I just moved here.” A thought strikes you, “What are you doing alone in a bar during the holidays? No family or friends to visit?”

“None left that mean enough.” The statement is casual enough, except there’s a tension in his voice that makes you hesitate. “And I could ask you the same thing. What motivates a lady to move to a new city, all alone at Christmas?” The tension passes and he waves at the bartender, who immediately turns and starts making a drink. He’s a regular here, apparently.

“A job,” You swirl the remnants of your drink lazily before finishing it, “I’m starting tomorrow.” The last dregs slip down your throat, and the burning buzz will last for now.

“Ah, a beautiful woman and a hard worker. It’s too much for my heart.”

“If that alone is too much, then this is going to be a short evening indeed.” The subtle innuendo doesn’t fly over either of your heads, and you don’t miss the smile spreading across his face when you flirt back.

“I think I may surprise you, darling. We’re both willing to work for what we want.” His drink arrives, and he takes a sip. Heat pools in your core at the implications. “If this evening is going to continue, may I have the lady’s name so that I can address her properly?”

You hum low in your throat in response. You’ve never brought a man home at the first meeting, never allowed flirting to be anything more than that on the first night. But something’s different about this one. In a split second decision, you give it to him.

He repeats the syllables after you, rolling them around his tongue in a way that sends a thrill through you as you wonder what else he can do with it, “Gorgeous. George, another drink for the lady, on my tab.”

You tilt your head back, catching his eyes, “And may I then have the gentleman’s, so that I may know the name of my fearless knight in… shining leather and spurs?”

He laughs, “Jack Daniels.”

“Jack Daniels, like the whiskey brand?”

“Something like that.” His grin is mysterious and seems a little too practiced, but that’s fine with you. You smile back anyway. Your drink arrives, and you raise the glass to Jack as you take a sip, though you find that the burn of the whiskey doesn’t leave you with the same satisfaction.

A song starts playing in the background, and you straighten up and glance over your shoulder at the dance floor. “Wait, I--”

“--love this song.” You both finish the sentence together. You look back at him hopefully, and he looks at you with a bit of a challenge in his eyes.

The stool scrapes across the floor and he rises, extending a hand to you, “Would you care to dance, sweetheart?”

“Depends. Are we going to square dance?”

“Only if you want to, darling.”

“Yes to the dancing, no to the square dancing then.” You accept his hand and walk with him to the center of the dance floor. Your drinks remain abandoned at the bar.

The bassy thrum of the music and crooning vocals keep your hips undulating against his, but Jack has other ideas. He hasn’t let go of your hands, and your arms are crossed over your chest when he draws them up and over your head. Your arms extend and you spin, meeting his eyes as you grasp his hands.

The alternative pop song doesn’t translate perfectly to the style that he brings, but you can hardly complain. Around you, people are grinding against each other, but a small space clears for him to sway and turn with you. It’s surprisingly fun compared to what you knew of night dancing in a bar.

The tempo slows and you step inside his reach so that your back is against his chest.

‘Are you strange like me?

Lightin’ matches just to swallow up the flame like me?’

His breath catches hot and heavy in your ear as you press back into him, savoring every breath and drop of sweat that is your effect on him. The verse fades, and you allow him to lead once again. The melody swells in your head, drowning out everything around you until it’s only him and you. But this time the lyrics make you wonder about the man holding your hands.

‘Well, my heart is gold and my hands are cold.’

The music ends with a crescendo and a final spin, and you’re left panting as your gaze locks with Jack’s. He’s holding you firmly, one hand on your waist, and your bodies feeling like they’re steaming in the chilly air. The spell breaks with a single glance upwards from him.

“Well that’s a fine addition to an already wonderful night.” There’s a tinge of amusement in his voice, and you follow his gaze.

The mistletoe hangs directly overhead. You glance down, a thrill of nerves running through your body at the intensity in Jack’s stare. Something must have shown in your eyes or body language, because he relaxes and loosen his grip on your waist.

“Only with your permission of course, darling.” He’s fighting it, but disappointment clouds his tone, and he withdraws. “I understand if it’s not something you wan--”

You cut him off by snagging his collar and pulling him close. The surprise on his face gives way to a smirk as you quip, “Don’t mind if I do, cowboy.”

Then his lips are on yours and you’re melting into him. The bar fades into the background and you lose yourself in a man that you had met three hours ago. He tastes like your drink. Tingles spread through your body as he deepens the kiss, warming you to the tips of your fingers.

Then you’re being pressed backwards until you hit the wall, hands instinctively flying up to tangle in his already messy hair. Something soft and firm brushes your fingertips, and you snag it on instinct, lifting Jack’s hat to plop it on top of your own head. He breaks the kiss, a soft smile spreading over his face when he pulls back to look at you.

“Do I make a good cowgirl?”

“Looks better on you than me, darling.” He kisses you again, hands sliding over your waist down to your ass, and you don’t think that’s a lasso pressing up against you. A low moan rumbles out of his throat, and you stifle a whimper at the sound. He chuckles, “Want to get out of here, cowgirl?”

“Yeah.” Lust boils in your stomach. You can’t seem to tear your eyes away from his kiss-swollen lips that part ever so slightly so you can see his tongue flick over them.

“Got any friends to notify of your immediate departure?” His breath ghosts over your skin and his dark eyes flick up from your lips to meet yours, warming your body as you lose yourself in the deep brown.

“No, too new to the city.” You whisper back, the noise of the club fading into the background while a wave of heat crashes over your body, swelling between your legs.

“Your place or mine?”

---

Funny enough, Jack didn’t bring a car either, but he doesn’t explain and you don’t question it. You don’t regret walking the short five minutes to and from the bar, especially when Jack pulls you close to his side as you walk. You’re just passing under the bridge on your street when he stops walking.

“Stop, do you hear that?” You instantly freeze, eyes darting around for any perceivable threat. There’s too many potential hiding places, the shadows of the bridge supports could hide a man of any size and--

“Listen closely…” He hums the tune from the bar and steps away, tugging you forward a couple of steps. He pulls you back into him, and you’re able to hear the melody through the vibrations in his chest.

‘You can’t wake up, this is not a dream.’

You find your rhythm. The tempo picks up, only a shadow in your mind as you sway to the invisible beat. He matches you easily, and the two of you move with an unpracticed ease out from beneath the shadow of the bridge into the streetlight glow. The melody swells, and you laugh when a breeze ruffles your hair. You sing the last line to him.

‘Well, my heart is gold and my hands are cold.’

You end up back in his arms, breathing hard and smiling up at Jack. His fingers slip down to interlock with yours, “I can help with that.” You should be freezing, but heat throbs under your skin in time with your racing heart.

He leans in, but just before his lips touch yours, you whisper, “Jack? We’re here.”

His eyes shift over to your front door briefly, then back to you. He grins. “Nice place.”

---

You laugh as you stumble through your front door, your back hitting yet another wall when Jack pins you to the side of the living room. Heated kisses trail down your neck and a muscled thigh slides between yours. You shudder at the contact against your clothed pussy, your heartbeat throbbing between your legs fiercely.

“Jack, bed’s that way.”

“Oh sweetheart, that would be the end goal for sure.” Hands support your rear, and you fold your legs around him. You’re vaguely aware of him walking you towards the door that you indicated, but you can’t bring yourself to pay attention when he’s licking into your mouth and he’s so close and so warm and right there for you to enjoy. He lays you gently on the bed, legs dangling off the edge.

“You want this?” The question is so starkly unexpected that you blink and sit up for a moment. He’s standing there between your legs, hair disheveled and shirt half unbuttoned. His pupils are completely lust-blown and his shoulders are heaving with the heavy breaths he’s taking, and you’re struck with the thought that this is the first time someone has thought to ask. But you’d have to be half-dead to say no now.

“Yes.”

And then he’s undoing your pants and dropping to his knees in front of you. Warm breath ghosts over your exposed skin after he gently peels your pants off. You squirm as large, warm hands rub over your inner thighs. “Beautiful.” But he is too, with the way he glances up at you from between your legs. He’s absolutely beautiful, as he carefully pulls your panties to the side and drags his tongue through your folds.

“You taste better down here, sweetheart.” He immediately concentrates around your clit, tracing lazy circles around the sensitive nub and you forget how to breathe.

Your hips roll against his face, trying to gain more friction than what he’s giving, and you whimper as his mustache leaves a tingling trail on your skin. The heat pooling within your core is begging for more, and you’re close to doing the same as he continues to patiently taste you.

“Gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. I’m going to make you feel so good, darling, you’re going to be screaming my name.” A thick finger rests against you, gathering your wetness and continuing to massage against your clit while his tongue finally dips to press against your entrance. You flutter in response, a whine scraping against the back of your throat. His tongue presses deep into your core, and you clench around the insistent pressure.

“Ja-Jack I’m go-gonna--” The words refuse to come smoothly, but he seems to sense your urgency. His tongue returns to your clit, sucking and kissing the flesh while his finger slips into your pussy.

“Come, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” Every flick of his tongue against your clit pulls another whine from you. Fuck, something inside you snaps and then heat is burning through your body. The wave crests, and you dimly hear a choked moan when your floor muscles convulse and heat drips from you.

He continues to taste you long after you’ve stopped convulsing, while the light fades from you vision and you regain feeling in your limbs. And you understand something. He’s tasting you simply to taste you, giving for the sake of giving. You know why you allowed it to get past the flirting stage.

“You doing good, darling?” He climbs up over you and kisses you, lips molding to yours like they were made to. He tastes like you.

You can’t respond, don’t want to when it means pulling away from this moment right now. The only thing you want right now is to stay like this, to stay in this perfect warmth, where the only thing you know is that he’s kissing you and you’re floating on the sheer feeling of being able to give because you feel like it.

Then he shifts, and you feel his erection brush against your thigh. And your gut tells you it’s his turn now. You move your leg, bringing it up between his thighs. It bumps against his length, and he tenses, pulling away and dropping his head to the crook of your neck. And you take the moment to flip the two of you, straddling his hips.

“Give me a second, darling, have to find a condom.” His arm reappears from the edge of the bed with his wallet, but you stop him.

“I have an implant. Are you clean?”

“Last checkup, yes. And I haven’t been with anyone since.”

You smirk, “Well then I see no need.”

He exhales, arms going behind his head as he grins up at you, “I’d have to say, as enjoyable as that just was, seeing you like this?” He shakes his head, “Best part of the night.”

“It’s about to get better.” His dick is velvety hard between your thighs, and you can’t help grinding down on it just a little.

“I’ll believe it when I feel it.” He groans, head falling back against the pillow.

The challenge floats in the air, and you grab both it and his length in a single moment. He’s going to be saying your name soon. Notching it at your entrance, you sink down in a single motion. He drags against your insides so perfectly, fitting to you and filling you so completely. Your back arches at the burning stretch, but all you can focus on is Jack’s groan when your butt meets his hips, how his body seizes under you, and how his hands fly to clutch at you.

But his cock inside you isn't enough, you need more contact, need to know that he’s right there with you. You grab his wrists and drag his hands up to your breasts, relishing the moan that escapes him as he squeezes them.

Your name echoes through the air, followed by his gasping breaths as you raise yourself off of him and sink back down. The heat starts building inside you again. His hips jerk up into you, seemingly unintentionally. “God, fucking perfect. Feel so good around me. Not gonna last, not after earlier, please sweetheart.”

You grind down onto him, finding your rhythm again. The fire inside of you is constant and overtaking you. It swells on its own without needing anything else besides Jack, who’s looking up at you like you’re the only star in the sky.

“You look so good bouncing on my dick, cowgirl, but I’m going to have you under me, squirming for me while I get you to keep making all of those cute noises. I’ll be-- fuck!” His breath catches and his hands dig into the flesh of your hips, and a voice in the back of your mind tells you that you’re going to have bruises tomorrow. You can’t seem to bring yourself to care.

You fight to retain your own rhythm, but it’s unsustainable, and your screaming muscles wear down in the face of Jack’s strength. They give out, and you’re caught in the rhythmic slapping of skin as Jack takes over.

“Ja- Jack! Fuck!” You can’t organize yourself enough to think, let alone acknowledge him while he continues to drive up into you. The ragged cries ripped from your throat lose all coherency. It’s too much, and the orgasm rising through your body is taking your mind with it. A hand detaches from your waist and presses directly against your clit, rocketing you further towards your climax. “Jack!”

“Come on sweetheart, I know you’ve got another in you. Let go. Let me take care of you.”

Your own orgasm hovers at the edge of your mind, but you shove it away in favor of tripping his. His breaths are coming heavier now, and his hips continue to slam upwards into yours. He’s going to outlast you at this rate, unless--

A hand grips your neck just enough that you register the pressure, and he drags you down against his body. The world flips around once more, and then you’re underneath him instead and his arms are planted on either side of your head as he-- fuck. The pace increases, no it must multiply by some large number because your body is shaking with every thrust, and the headboard is slamming against the wall and you’re glad that you don’t share these walls with anyone else. Your cry is muffled by his mouth, but the new angle causes him to drive up against something inside you that you swear makes you see a corner of heaven.

It spikes with a fury, driving you over the edge as you clamp down around him. Your body seizes, arching against Jack as the shockwaves claim your body. You’re rocketed somewhere high above the clouds for the second time tonight, and all you can really comprehend is how happy you are that you brought him home. And through the haze, you faintly hear him purring in your ear, “Good girl, pretty girl, gorgeous. Gorgeous.”

He keeps fucking you through your high, and you need him to cum. You need him to feel the same bliss that you do, and you know how to do it. The idea barely crosses your mind before your body accepts it, and your floor muscles clamp down almost of their own volition. He falters, and a gasp is the only sound you hear before he’s coming. His hips piston out and in one last time, and then he’s spilling deep inside you.

When the light fades from behind your eyes, you feel yourself being shifted. Your combined juices trickle down your leg as he pulls out, and your back is pressed against his chest. You drift, blinking in and out of consciousness. You feel him rise from behind you and then hear the sound of running water. He returns moments later, and there’s a damp cloth cleaning between your legs before he’s back in bed behind you, arms locked around your waist and pulling you close. His fingers intertwine with yours over your belly, and as they brush against the skin of your stomach, you realize that they aren’t cold anymore. He drags the comforter over your bodies.

The world around you is dissolving in a haze of exhaustion, but his voice rumbles through the fog. You’re so comfortable and warm, and by all rights you should be asleep. But you force yourself back to the world of waking, enough to hear him thanking you as he plants slow kisses along the back of your neck. The delicious warmth of his skin against yours draws you farther under and stifles the confusion at the statement, and you finally surrender to the exhaustion pulling at your body.

---

Your phone alarm wakes you the next morning to an empty bed.

Realistically, you shouldn’t have expected him to be there, shouldn’t have hoped that it could have been more than a one time thing. Right? You’re a certified badass, a top-rated handler at Statesman Distillery who has guided multiple agents and friends through life and death scenarios. You deal in realism and pessimism. You have had one night stands before, none of which led to any kind of connection. You don’t need emotional connection to function. This shouldn’t be any different. Right?

Except you know how you normally feel after one night stands, and this isn’t it.

You’re on autopilot as you shower and dress for your first day. All you can think about is the warmth of his hands as they ran over your skin, his smirk as he caught your eye, mouth glistening with your release. His quiet ‘thank you’ last night as he curled his body around yours before falling asleep. If you could have had a say, you would have wanted more than one night. A second chance, maybe, but it’s not like you get many of those these days.

Statesman Distillery is across the street from last night’s bar, and the brisk air helps to clear your head and prepare you mentally. As soon as you walk through those doors, you’re Agent Seltzer, not a girl pining for a man whom you barely know beyond his name. You hesitate under the bridge on your way to work. The music echoes in your ears and chest. You keep walking.

The receptionist directs you to your new office. Top floor, third door on the left. It’s roomier than your last one, though now you’re at HQ, not the LA branch office. A woman meets you at the elevator. She is slight, but her steely composure and short cut hair give her an air of maturity and ability.

“Good morning and Merry Christmas, Seltzer.” She’s holding a basket with a label that reads ‘Happy First Day!’ “I’m Ginger Ale, the head overseer of the base-side handlers, and I’ll be giving you the basic acclimation on your first day. Sorry that it had to be a holiday, but an impending crisis in Chicago has just taken a turn for the worse. The mission briefing has been sent to your tablet.”

Your brow furrows slightly, and she continues as if she could read your internal question. “This isn’t usually my job, but it’s the holidays and most of the other agents trained in onboarding are on leave. We’re throwing you into the deep end on your first day, unfortunately, but your superiors at the LA branch assured us that you would take to it naturally.”

She sets the gift basket on your desk, and you notice the largest item in the basket is a bottle of the famed Statesman whiskey. You idly take it out and study the label. “Interesting first day gift.”

Ginger shrugs with a faint smile, “That’s directly from your assigned field agent, Agent Whiskey. He gifts those to his new handlers.”

“Any reason why?”

“He--” She seems to start to say something, then stops herself, “It’s an early apology. He’s experienced, and he operates as he sees fit. He burns through handlers faster than a hot knife through butter.”

The challenge floats above your head at the explanation, and you take it. “I’m assuming that I will get to meet Agent Whiskey before our official briefing?”

“Yes,” Ginger checks her watch, “In about… two seconds.”

“Sweetheart.” The voice is achingly familiar, and memories of last night crash over you like a heatwave. Second chances, hm?

Part Two if anyone cares for it

#pedros12daysofchristmas #smut #fluff #agent whiskey #kingsman #statesman #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #ginger ale makes a cameo and is a tired badass

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pleasantanathema · 3 years

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Graves into Gardens | Reiner Braun x Reader | Chapter Eight

Chapter 8: The Things We Leave Behind

Pairing: Reiner Braun x Fem!Reader [now with a dash of Erwin x Reader]

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only)

Warnings: Modern AU, spoilers up to season four, slight manga spoilers (only by including characters met later), captivity, mentions of death, violence enemies to lovers, angst

Word Count: 4.7k

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Erwin,

I don’t have much time, but it’s me—I’m alive. I’m safe. I don’t know why, but I am. They want something from me here, tried to pry into me for information about The Scouts, but not much else. I’ve given over as little as I can, but enough to keep me alive for now. But it’s strange here, even some of the warriors know something is going on below the surface of what we know. You can probably tell by the email that I’m using that I’ve found a strange semblance of refuge with Reiner. He’s the one who has given me the multitude of files I’ve attached this email. He claims most of this intel he gathered he never gave over to Marleyan officials. He also says he can be of help to Paradis, that Pieck and the others can too. I don’t know how much of that is true. To be fair, I don’t know what’s true at all anymore.

There are files here on Zeke Yeager, apparently put together by warrior members who have become wary of him. Dig into them, figure out what you can. Don’t worry about me, I’ll find a way home. And, for the love of god, please sleep. I know how you get.

Don’t respond to this email. No one knows I have sent it.

Always.

Erwin read the words for what felt like the thousandth time, the black lettering practically bleeding into the screen by this point. His heart had dropped when he sat down in his office this morning to find something sitting in his personal email folder, something branded with the last name of a traitor. His mind had raced into the darkest depths, assuming it was pictures of torture, a letter filled with malacious laughter, an autopsy report. But it was you, you were alive, you’d found a way to reach him.

He had to keep his hand over his mouth as he grinned. You were so capable, so resourceful and rather ingenious. He’d had his doubts, but on the forefront of his mind, and his tongue, he’d said and knew you were alive.

He’d stayed in his office with the door locked for hours in the morning as he poured over the information, brows twisting in both delight and disgust as he began to make sense of the documents crafted by the wary warriors. They were impressive, to say the least, and quite frightening.

Every single urge inside of him was screaming to respond, even as he printed out the rather massive amount of documents you’d attached. He made copy after copy, blue eyes dancing like they were overcome with madness as familiar and unknown faces and information landed into the tray of the printer.

He carefully separated the files by paperclips, prepping for them to be dispersed.

You were so good. So brilliant. He’d have you home soon enough.

The cumbersome stack of papers was too much for him to carry just under one arm. The one he’d lost was burning, itching like it should be able to wrap around the bundle.

Erwin marched out of his office and into the bustling workspace, clearing his throat to the room.

“Scouts! Emergency meeting in the conference hall immediately. Drop everything and meet me there.”

Every head in the room snapped toward him, all chatter silencing. They all stared at him like he had three heads; the last time they’d had every scout in the same room was when he’d pronounced you missing nearly two weeks ago. He knew they were worried that this next announcement was of a death, of war.

“Now!”

The bustle picked up again immediately, every soldier, assistant, and intelligence officer scurrying to make it down the hall.

“Springer,” Erwin caught the young man by the shoulder as he tried to brisk by him, “there’s a stack of papers in my office. Grab it and bring it with you.”

Erwin continued in his stride toward the small auditorium, taking his known place down in front at the white boards. He could hear indiscriminate whispers behind his back as he took his time setting up a display. There was a small cork board off to the side of the room, littered with headshots of the Marleyan warriors. He cursed the face of the girl who took his arm as he pulled it to the front.

“Miche,” he called over his shoulder, knowing the towering blonde would be nearby, “Come help me.”

“Sure thing boss.”

It didn’t take much time to direct, and before long he had all the warriors lined up on the large board in front of the room. He took his own time to place the picture of your face in the center, fingers brushing over the heavy red letters of Missing that were etched over your features.

Levi saddled up next to him, never one to fall into the crowds.

“Erwin, what is all this?”

“I got an email from her this morning.”

Levi didn’t have to ask. If there was ever a “her” in Erwin’s vocabulary, he meant you. You were all over his mind, more so than ever before.

“Care to share? Or was it a love letter?”

It was an unspoken truth that he’d become involved with you within the last year, and given his rather...emotional response to your disappearance, he was sure everyone was now well aware of your entanglement.

“A love letter full of promising information.”

“Tch, sounds about right. Did she give you all that?” Levi tilted his head toward Connie, who was struggling to keep the giant bundle of printed documents from sliding off the podium.

“She did. It’s time to get to work.”

Erwin didn’t even wait for the room to settle. There was no time to waste. He turned toward the confused, anxious crowd, took note of how they were all staring at him like lost children. There weren’t that many left after the attack on Shinganshina all those years ago, his scouts had either been killed off or left the ranks entirely. Recruitment had become more of an issue than it ever had been before as well. There was only a gathering of about thirty before him—the size of a small classroom, all piled into the front seats and awaiting instruction.

“I received word from our missing captain this morning.”

A shocked gasp filled the space, one of the younger girls—last name Blouse or Braus, he never could remember—literally jumping from her seat.

“She’s alive?!”

He held up his hand to calm her, to direct her to sit back down.

“As far as I know, yes. She found a way to email me this morning to let me know of her safety, and also supply us with a vast amount of Marleyan intel. Now, we need to unpack what we know.”

Erwin motioned to Springer again, wrist flicking toward the still unsteady mountain of papers.

“Hand those out, they should be sectioned by paper clips so everyone can have a copy.”

“But, Sir, I—” I just spent all that time wrestling with those papers, is what he knew he wanted to say. Springer did what he was told anyways, scratching at his short hair as he hurriedly began to divvy out the printed intel.

“We’ll start with what we do know.” Erwin took a few long strides back toward the large board, feeling his empty shirt sleeve rustle by his side as he used his remaining arm to point toward the faces that had been lined up for him.

“Of course, we’re all aware that former Scout members Braun, Leonhart, and Hoover were infiltrators sent by Marley to uncover our anti-Marleyan operations. They are members of the Warrior Unit run by this man,” he placed his index finger over the person of interest, “Zeke Yeager. And there are other members of the unit as well, Galliard, Finger, and Grice. There are also candidates for this elite military squad, Udo, Zofia, and the younger Grice and Braun. It is important to note that one of their former members, Marcel Galliard, was killed by none other than our missing captain in question.”

“Yeah, yeah, we know all this!” Kirstein chimed in, “We don’t need the history lesson.”

Erwin couldn’t help but grin.

“It seems a history lesson is exactly what you need. In those files that were sent to me, you’ll learn that all these warrior members and candidates are, historically, from Eldian bloodlines.”

“Eldians? You mean...like us?” Historia tilted her head, thumbing through the pages in her lap.

“Yes. Now if you did pay attention in history class,” he narrowed his eyes at Jean, “you would remember that about four hundred years ago, there was a mass immigration of Eldians into Marley in the face of a mass famine here. However, due to Marley’s very strict borders and even stricter control on their governmental processes, it was never truly known to us what became of the Eldians that marched across their border. We knew they had been separated into internment camps, but it also seems that they have been weaponized and trained into being nearly the entirety of their military ranks. And this unit, The Warriors, are the premiere and elite squadron of the Marleyan military. And their motives toward Paradis have been largely unknown. Until now.”

Erwin took a pause, letting all this information sink in before starting again.

“Now, we know that Zeke Yeager has been working with our elite right below our noses with the hopes of changing the status quo for Eldians in Marley.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

Eren sat forward, elbows on his knees as he stared at all the faces on the board. It was no secret that Zeke Yeager was his long lost step-brother, sired by his father before he escaped the Marleyan border to find a better future in Paradis. As far as Erwin knew, the young man had no connections to his step-sibling, only saw him as an enemy force to be reckoned with.

“Yes, and no. Because, according to the files you’ll find penned by one Pieck Finger, it seems his plan is quite unseemly.”

“I don’t understand all this data and graph shit,” Miche admitted, eyebrows scrunched together as he licked his thumb to continue perusing the pages.

Captain Hange stood then, making her way to the front without Erwin having to beckon her to.

“These are...these are blood samples, DNA testing,” she mused, pencils stuck in her ponytail as she paced the floor before Erwin, “genome analysis, to be specific. Like they were looking for something specific in all these samples.”

“And they were. Did you get my request this morning?”

“Oh yes, of course, sir!” Hange scrambled back up to her seat, pulling out a manila envelope and then returning to hand it to him.

Erwin motioned for Miche to tape these new documents on the board as well, one next to your photo, the other now next to a photo of Historia Reiss. Then Erwin picked up some pictures that would be unfamiliar to his scouts, placing them above your head.

“These are the parents of our missing scout,” he called over his shoulder as he took an unfortunately slow time to place the photos, the lack of two hands starting to become quite bothersome. “They were Military Police members, killed in action about ten years ago. However, the information within the files on Yeager reveal that before Braun and the others infiltrated our ranks, there were other imposters sent on a reconnaissance mission within the MPs. It is cited that those infiltrators killed two people they were targeting, and I believe it to be them.”

He could tell he was losing their focus, quite a few eyes glazed over as they tried to make sense of all the new pieces being added to the growing wall of puzzles. He felt like a madman stringing up red threads, but he was almost certain of his conclusions.

“Why...why do they matter?” It was Armin who spoke this time, normally the quiet one during meetings who soaked up information like a little yellow sponge.

“Historia,” Erwin called, “does the name Fritz mean anything to you?”

The small girl sat to attention, blue eyes shining.

“Of course, they’re another noble family, like mine. Err, or the were, before…”

“Before they were killed about one hundred years ago. However, I’m inclined to believe that our missing scout’s mother was the last remaining of the Fritz line, having donned a new name for safety and falling into government positions to hopefully remain unnoticed.”

He took in a deep breath, once again letting a pregnant pause settle into the heaviness of the room.

“Which is why…” he waved his hand over the graphs next to your face and the photo of Historia on the board, “thismatters. It’s been a long standing belief that elites, that royalty and those that have been elected president in our country, are somehow different. Almost appointed by the gods themselves because of their special blood. You know, it’s the whole issue that many take up on the fact that they see our governmental system as more of a monarchy than a democracy. But the truth of the matter is, you nobles do have different blood and genes than the rest of us. These graphs show that here.”

“Well that’s very elitist of you.” Levi cut in, standing with his arms crossed near the door.

“Perhaps. But I had Hange do a genome map between Historia and…” he sucked on his tongue, still finding a bit of pain to say your name out loud, “...and her. My suspicions are correct. Based on the startlingly similar genetic patterns, our missing captain is of noble heritage, and I’m inclined to believe that Zeke Yeager knows this.”

“And that’s important because it makes her more valuable,” Armin had his face in his hands, “does she...does she know this?”

“As far as I know, no. No she does not.”

“And you of all people would know.”

Erwin wanted to snap back at the snide comment that came from Eren. If he wasn’t such a good soldier, Erwin would have him on fucking patrol duty after this.

“Commander,” Armin looked sweaty, pale, “It says here that Yeager’s plan is to reinstate Eldian supremacy through uh… a means of genetic mutation. Do you know what that means?”

“No, Arlert, I don’t. And I don’t know exactly what his plans are for our scout that’s being held hostage. Which is why you’re all here. From this point forward, every ounce of your time will be spent reviewing these documents and dissecting what it could all mean. As far as I can tell, Pieck Finger hasn’t quite connected all the dots yet either. So now it’s our job to do so.”

All the heads in the room were nodding, everyone undoubtedly becoming antsy from all this news.

Erwin knew there was more to say. He had debated printing out your email as well, but he wanted to keep the knowledge that Braun and some of the warriors were possibly willing to help stop whatever was happening to himself. He knew that if he even breathed the words that traitors were offering aid, too many would be against it, too many wouldn’t believe it. That would have to be something he pondered on his own.

“Where do we begin, sir?”

Mikasa sat up straight and on the edge of her seat, like she was ready to spring into action.

“First, I think we need to dig deeper into just who was planning to meet with the Warrior Unit the day the captain was captured. We still don’t know who they were, or what was happening that warriors actually had to be present for it. Also…” he looked pointedly toward Levi, “we need to do more investigating on the day she was shot. We still don’t know who shot her, or why. It could have been an assassin looking to annihilate that Fritz bloodline.”

Levi nodded, “On it.”

“Everyone else, get to work. Get out the red tape and string if you need to, and all meeting rooms are now open to place questions and findings onto the boards. Nothing is useless; all knowledge about this situation is powerful and paramount. This could be the beginning of a nightmare, but perhaps we can stop it before it happens.”

He watched everyone leave, all with hurried steps and papers shuffling within their hands. Hange stuck around behind him, rather bewitched by the DNA findings taped to the white board.

A little voice cleared their throat next to him, making him look down. Historia stood before him, eyes downcast and her toes pointed together like she was nervous.

“Commander… I…do you have a moment?”

“Of course, what’s on your mind?”

He watched her glance toward Hange, then toward the door, and back to him.

“Would you like to grab a cup of coffee and speak alone?”

“Yes,” she quickly breathed, happy that he picked up on the fact that whatever she had to say, it must need to stay quiet.

━━━─── • ───━━━

It seemed that Historia’s nerves were still getting the better of her as she sat in front of his desk. Erwin had always been told he was rather imposing, so he hoped she wasn’t apprehensive to just be speaking with him alone. Her hands were clenched around a mug of coffee, knee bouncing in her seat.

He’d poured himself a cup as well in the break room, having already drank it before even reaching his office. Your worries had been correct: he wasn’t sleeping much, and after what you’d sent him today, he didn’t know how you ever expected him to sleep again without knowing the truth of what was happening.

“Commander…” she took the deepest breath, eyes closing for a moment, “do you...you don’t believe in myths, do you?”

It was an odd question, one that had him pressing his lips together as he looked for an answer.

“I suppose not. Though, it would also depend on the myth; some of them hold truth to them, as they were stories attempting to cope with the unknown.”

“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” she scoffed, looking everywhere in the room but at him.

“Why? Are you here to give me a mythology lesson?”

“Have you heard the one about Ymir? And the nine titans?”

“That old tale?” He chuckled, remembering pictures in books he’d read as a child of towering beasts, “The one about how there used to be giant people, titans that roamed the lands before humanity came along?”

Historia twisted her lips, looking down at the floor.

“Yeah. That one. Did you ever know her full name?”

“Her? As in Ymir? No, she was just the goddess Ymir in all the books, gods don’t normally have last names.”

“Well, she did. Because she was human. Her last name was Fritz.”

Fritz. Like your possible ancestors. Historia had earned his attention now. He sat up behind his desk, fist unknowingly clenched in his lap.

“Commander, I don’t know if this is true, but when I was a little girl, my older sister, Freida, she used to tell me all these stories about titans and how we, nobility, are descendants of gods and of...of titans.”

Erwin was trying to read her face, but the young woman just seemed full of fear, trepidation.

“Historia, I’ve heard all the propaganda about the noble families being descendants from gods. And if I offended you with my remarks in the meeting then I apolo—”

“No, no,” she cut him off, “no, that’s not what I meant. I know that my family...that the other nobles and elites have twisted all these myths to give themselves power, but what I’m saying is that it’s true. At least, I think it is. We have all these books back home in my estate that explain this true history about how people used to live in a world of titans thousands of years ago, that there were mindless titans, but also titans controlled by humans… humans that were titans. And I’m just saying, if this was true…”

He was starting to put the pieces together now. The genetic mutation. The bloodlines. No wonder her thoughts had led her to this conclusion.

“You’re worried Zeke Yeager believes in these old stories, that his plan is to bring back titans?” He posed it as a question, wanting her to finish her thoughts instead of him imposing on her.

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying. I don’t know how, but if there was some way to do it, our missing captain, if she’s actually of royal blood, like me, he might want to…” she set down her cup of coffee, finally looking up at him with eyes that shone with wisdom he’d never acknowledged before, “Zeke might want to experiment on her. Or maybe reveal her heritage and try to bargain her back to the elites. I don’t know, I just didn’t want to say this in front of everyone because they might think I’m…”

“Crazy?”

“Yeah,” she huffed, “thanks.”

“Thank you, Historia. You’ve given me something to think about.”

“But you think I’m crazy.”

He dared not to insult her outloud, but it was the side he was erring on.

“I appreciate you being willing to tell me this. It seems I have some mythology to study up on. Actually, if you ever get the chance to get your hands on one of those books you spoke about, I would like to see it.”

She stood then, leaving her coffee abandoned on his desk.

“Of course, Commander.”

He could tell her spirits were defeated as she left his office. But, nonetheless, he took the coffee she left behind as his own, settling back in to continue reading into the files you’d sent to him.

But his mind couldn’t even register the words anymore. He was so tired, and now, knowing that you were indeed alive, he was filled with nothing but thoughts on how to get you home. It would be a suicide mission to try to send a squad into Marley to rescue you. He also knew that asking the elites, even the President, to act on his behalf would probably be met with a negative outcome since they were in connection to Zeke Yeager himself. It all seemed hopeless, but he knew you were working to get back as well. Between the two of you attempting to reach the same goal, he knew, eventually, he’d have you back again.

━━━─── • ───━━━

His home was quite lonely without you.

He felt the emptiness of not having you at the Scout Headquarters, but more so he felt it when he finally drug his tired body to the apartment he lived in across the city.

It felt like a small cataclysm erupted whenever he opened his front door, all the emotions he kept at bay suddenly budding to the surface of his composure. Your shoes were still by the door, so small next to the ones he took off.

Signs of you, of your absence, were everywhere. Your coat on the back of a chair. Your favorite books still spread open and marked to forgotten pages in the cozy chair in the living room. Wine only you liked still remained chilled in the fridge, your body wash and shampoo still lined the edges of his shower. He hadn’t even washed his sheets since you left, hadn’t dared to touch the side of the bed you slept on, like the mattress was still full of your ghost when he reached out for you at night.

Even though you had your own apartment, he couldn’t remember a night he’d spent without you in the last few months. You’d become inseparable, seeking refuge in each other’s bodies against the cruelty this world had dealt you. You accepted him for who he was, even when he felt like half a man.

There were still words he wanted to say to you; there were still echoes of your voice all around the apartment, your laughter ringing in the support beams, the sounds of your moans still staining his headboard.

There were so many things you left behind, him included.

Erwin poured himself a drink before settling into the couch, not even bothering to undress from his work clothes. He needed medicine for his mind, needed to try to drink and find clarity in the too many thoughts thumping in his head.

You were noble. Of all fucking things.

He took a very long sip at that realization, almost reveling in the burn the whiskey left behind in his mouth. He could still taste you on his tongue sometimes, still feel the pressure of your lips against his if he closed his eyes. All those times he thought he was kissing something divine, perhaps he was, if Historia Reiss had any merit to her little bedtime stories.

The thought made him laugh. Titans. Mythological creatures. If there was one thing he knew, his enemies weren’t trying to bring things that never existed back to life. Historia was right about one thing though: you could be a powerful bargaining chip for Zeke. If the elites were holding out on something, all he had to do was dangle a pretty, royal plaything in front of their noses as bait.

He pulled your email back up on his phone, eyes scanning over all the words you sent.

You’d found a strange semblance of refuge with Reiner. Of all people. Erwin could still remember how much the two of you would fight when you were both soldiers, how you were adamant to take on the hulking man yourself when it came to battle.

But he also remembered how startlingly well the two of you worked together. It had been the two of you who had stopped Marcel Galliard, it had been Reiner who was the first to appear at the hospital steps when news of your potentially fatal injury had been called over the radio. The man had been panting, Bertholdt too, both of them having run as fast possible from their patrol circuit to check in on your status.

Erwin always assumed it was because Reiner was sweet on you. Boys had always been taught to tease the girls they liked when they were younger, perhaps he’d just carried that on into adulthood, practically throwing stones at you to get your attention.

Not that he could blame him. Erwin had always wanted your attention, but had kept himself restrained for professional reasons. But after Shinganshina, after Zeke showed the true force of the Warrior Unit as a warning, Erwin had quickly pulled you from the front lines. He claimed it was because your cleverness would be better served in intelligence work. Truth of the matter was that he wanted you safe. He wanted you working with him, in his sight, every day.

And now you had completely slipped through his fingers.

He’d cursed out loud when the scouts returned and revealed that you’d been captured. He even unfairly chewed out Jean for being reckless enough to get his vertical movement gear tangled with yours, but he knew the fault rested in his hands. You’d offered to go, and he’d let you.

He let you go, and now he was reeling in the ash and smoke of the damage left behind.

With a finished drink, he let his mind wander to that place he tried to keep it from. He was wondering where you were, wondering exactly what you were doing. Until tonight, he imagined you were left under lock and key, but now he knew you’d gotten yourself into some situation in order to access Reiner’s email. Perhaps he truly was helping you.

Some of your words ran through his brain again: I don’t know what’s true at all anymore.

Erwin honestly didn’t know what was true anymore either. In a matter of hours, he’d pieced together information the intelligence unit had been trying to uncover for years. He was steps closer to figuring out whatever truth there was Zeke Yeager’s madness. He was steps closer to keeping the whole country safe from a disaster its own elites had their fingers in.

But he still felt so far away, so far away from you, from himself. He felt like he’d never actually fit the puzzle together, felt like he’d let you down.

All he still knew was that he loved you, even if he never actually spoke the words to you. He loved you, and he had some kind of dying hope that you felt the same.

Next Chapter

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