#I could easily picture them going on adventures and getting up to mischief | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theonewiththefanfics · 3 years

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Best Friends My Ass (one-shot)

Synopsis: Being in love with your best friend whom you’ve had since childhood can be tough. Being in love and being dumb can make it tougher. Meet the Reader and Harry. They’re the latter. And everyone’s fed up.

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: fluff, maybe little bit of angst, tiny bit smutty, but not a lot

Warnings: swearing, two idiots pining for one another

Word count: 7524

Even when Harry was little, he’d known he’d have an odd path in life. Just because it was odd, didn’t mean it’d be bad, but it would make him absolutely stand out in the crowd. When Y/N was young she didn’t see herself having any extraordinary adventures. Sure, she’d travel and explore the world with its secrets, but she didn’t have any plans to draw the attention of the masses. That was until Harry’d come into her life. They were both young, still kids in that tender age where childhood crossed into teenage years, when they met. For Harry, it was like one of those scenes in the movies where the pretty girl walks into a room and a billion fans make her hair look like the wind is sweeping through it, and her eyes glisten like gemstones. Also known as the 'love at first sight' scene. For Y/N, it was hard to keep her breakfast down as she walked inside the classroom, twenty pairs of scrutinous eyes on her, trying to figure out if the new girl was a predator or prey. Luckily for Y/N, the biology teacher wasn’t a total witch and didn’t make her present herself to the class, and just pointed to the free seat next to a curly-haired boy. Luckily for Harry, that free seat was right next to him. With a sigh, she dropped her heavy backpack beside the chair, giving the boy a shy glance, and was surprised to see a genuine and large grin right back at her. It wasn’t the kind people gave when they had bad thoughts. It was the kind people gave when they were truly excited and wanted to give a good impression. Y/N’s chest grew warm at the thought she might actually make a friend that day. And she did. “I’m Harry.” He extended his hand for her to take, the grin never leaving his face. She gave him a big, relieved smile. “I’m Y/N.” Ever since then they were not only lab partners in classes they shared (which was biology, physics and math), but also in mischief. Together they managed to enrage Anne, annoy Gemma and absolutely horrify Y/M/N, and whenever one went down, the other made sure to go down as well. So when a few years down the line, Harry had told Y/N about his idea to audition for X-factor she wasn’t surprised one bit. “I mean, as long as you don’t trip and break your nose on stage, you’ll be fine.” For that, she received a slap on her arm from him. “I’m just saying!” Y/N defended herself. “You’re great at singing, Mrs Aberdeen certainly thinks so, you don’t have two complete left feet, and you’re alright to look at.” That for the first time since the decision and application had been submitted, made Harry smile. He loved how easily Y/N was able to lighten the mood, to take his thoughts away from the bad, and just erase them with her wit and smile.

“Besides.” She nudged his shoulder with hers and then intertwined their fingers. “I, Gem and our Mums will be right there for you. Won’t even blink until the end of the performance.” With how her insides trembled in excitement and fear for her best friend, it truly seemed to Y/N she hadn’t blinked at all on that fateful day. Her breath hitched when the judges were talking. She couldn’t even remember what they said, all of it turning into white noise. And then he got through, and Y/N screamed so much she was sure she’d blown out Anne’s eardrums, and had hugged Harry so tightly she was afraid she’d broken a rib. But with his victory also came a fear, because, for the first time in Y/N’s life, she was terrified as to where she’d stand in Harry’s. Since day one it’d been secure, but now, with the newfound fame of X-factor and who knows what kind of an amazing future, she didn’t know if he’d throw her to the curb, simply forget about the mundane friend from high school or maybe use her for something. But it wasn’t like that. Not one bit. After insane hours of rehearsals, Y/N was one of the three people he always called. It was her, his Mum and Gem. Always. And he loved to listen to her speaking of what was happening at school, how the lessons were, which teacher turned out to be hooking up with which. As much as Harry knew he was made for the extraordinary, he loved the ordinary Y/N brought in his life. She was his safe harbour. But what he never agreed with were her own thoughts she was meant for a simple life, so he took it upon himself to bring a little bit of eccentricity in hers, as he explained how he’d gotten united into a band with four other boys, now going by ‘One Direction’, and it was his mission to join his newfound friends with the most important friend he'd had. “This is Y/N,” Harry introduced her to the guys after one of their late-night practices, one where they weren’t being filmed. “If you do anything that even mildly upsets her, I’ll kill you in your sleep.” The slap against his arm made him let out an ‘Ow!’ while the rest of the boys laughed and welcomed her with open arms. In a weird way, Y/N became part of the band. She didn’t sing or play any instruments, but she was always around, gave her input on songs and setlists. That kind of closeness made all of the fears and doubts about losing a place in Harry’s life disappear. She was his personal hype-man while at the same time knocked him down a few pegs whenever the fame started to get to his head. She was there for his highs and lows, for the break-ups and break-off in the band, and watched as he ventured into a solo career as much as she could with school and all, but when summer break rolled around it was like Harry couldn't get rid of her even if he tried. Not that he wanted. Sharing the success and happiness with his best friend was one of the biggest rewards he could have. And Y/N would never admit it because it’d boost Harry’s already elephant-like ego, at least that’s what she said, but she kind of liked the attention she received because of him, especially because most of it was pleasant. Had she been terrified that being known as Harry Styles best friend would make people think she was just a gold-digger, seeking fame and leeching it off from him? Yes. And there were people like that. But ninety-five percent of what people said on her social media accounts was actually nice, some even said ‘thank you’ that there was a person like her in Harry’s life to keep things real, and most importantly – cared about him through it all. Harry also saw those comments; he loved to read about how people saw just how much Y/N cared, and it kind of stirred something in him. He didn’t know when exactly, but it was around the age of twenty-four for him and twenty-three for Y/N when he started looking at his friend in a different light. And it bloody terrified him. He didn’t know if she felt the same, and the thought of putting his heart on the line like that only for the possibility of it being crushed was the scariest thing ever. He did, however, have an inclination as to what incident had prompted them to surface. The feelings that were. It was a night after a party. Y/N was on winter break from her master’s at uni, which meant he used every opportunity to spend time with her. The hangover was real, I mean it’s what you got by mixing vodka, tequila and beer into an empty Sprite bottle and chugging it. Harry stumbled over sleeping bodies on his way to the kitchen in search for some leftover pizza he was sure he and Y/N in their drunkenness had ordered, as well as to make two cups of black coffee. He knew she hated the taste, but cold junk food and bitter coffee always did the trick with her. That was when he’d found her. Although he’d woken up in Y/N’s room, she hadn’t been next to him. Instead, as it turned out, she’d gone on a food search sometime before him and had passed out on the couch, a Cookie Monster onesie on her body, but most importantly his signature pearls around her neck. And one of her hands even rested against her collarbone, as if scared someone would take them away from her. That’d been the first time his heart had flipped in his chest at the sight of her, but most definitely not the last. He did however keep this change in his emotions to himself. He wasn’t really sure what it was, so it would be unfair to dump that on Y/N and have her figure it out for him because he didn’t know where she stood on her own, let alone do the work for him. Luckily, despite the tornado of feelings, their friendship didn’t falter, and when his Vogue cover came out, he was incredibly nervous for people to see it, but especially for those who mattered the most to him, like his Mum, sister and Y/N. Especially Y/N, for her opinion had become the most important one outside his blood relatives. After all, all his thoughts went to – if we dated, would she be as proud of me as she was of me as a friend? Her support meant the most because he was away in the middle of filming; he had no way of getting physical comfort, so all of the messages, calls, social media posts and FaceTimes was the world to him, especially when Y/N sent a picture of herself with three copies of the magazine, two beside her head as she laid on her bed and one clutched to her chest, which she also posted on Instagram with the caption ‘Can’t hug you for real right now, so this will have to do. When I do get to you @harrystyles, I’ll crush your ribs with my love. And that is a threat.’ Then the comments came in from the rest, and one stood out more than the others. Bring Back Manly Men. At first, he felt odd about it. It didn’t really bother him, but at the same time, it made him sad. He knew that he was seen as somewhat of a controversial figure, as he painted nails, wore frilly blouses and now full-on dresses, which were all typically categorized as feminine things, but he never understood why a nail colour or the shape of a shirt suddenly became exclusively for just one gender. Which is why he was so grateful to have Y/N in his life. “I mean, anatomically speaking, men should be wearing dresses and women trousers. It’s you who have all the dangly bits,” she said through a bite of food. “The Scots have been onto it since the beginning.” Harry threw his head back in a laugh, shifting an arm behind his head. “So I assume your favourite pic is the one in the kilt?” “Well, it did remind me of that awful punk phase I had back in school with all those safety pins, only in a more tasteful way, but no. My favourite one is you in that brown, grey off-shoulder jacket thing.” “Why?” Y/N wiggled her brows at him. “Shows enough of your cleavage but leaves enough for imagination.” “Of fucking course.” Harry snorted, shaking his head. “Objectifying much?” “What? I’m not going to deny that my best friend is a sexy beast.” He wouldn’t say it out loud, but when she called him her friend, it made his heart clench in a painful way. Harry had been trying to be a bit flirtier around her, but given his open nature as it was, Y/N hadn’t seemed to notice it, nor had she seemed to notice how he looked at her while she was frowning at her computer screen. Harry’d had relationships with some women who could be considered the most beautiful in the world, but if he’d had to say, in his opinion, who’d receive that title, it’d be Y/N. The way she snorted when she laughed too hard, the way small crow lines had already appeared next to her eyes from how much she smiled and the way her forehead creased when she was concentrating. It enthralled him to no end. He could read her life’s story on her face, how she’d lived and thought and experienced, unlike so many people he met who couldn’t move a muscle. Though the reason she was so concentrated in that moment was because thousands of people had tagged her in a tweet of a woman, she’d heard of for the first time in her life (because Harry had been trying to keep that one off her radar), and what she saw made all the blood boil in her body more than any other hate comment had. Without hesitation, Y/N atted her and tweeted “Bring back manly men. Please! Millions of people would let him raw them WHILE WEARING THE DRESS. I mean you tried, so I’ll give you the gold star you so desperately want, but that was pathetic.” At that same moment, a notification popped up on the screen of Harry’s phone. He only had notifications on for one person, and when he saw what was written, he gasped, looking at Y/N. “You did not just do that!” “What?” Y/N shrugged biting down on the chocolate bar she’d been savouring for the last half hour of their conversation. “I just said what everyone was thinking. Besides what the fuck does ‘bring back manly men’ even mean? Go chop some wood? Fight a bear in the Siberian woods? Have your ‘friends’ stab you to death at a political meeting?” “You’re a menace.” Y/N winked popping the last bit of the chocolate in her mouth. “Only to those who dare go for the people I love.” His heart fluttered at the last word, but all he could do was mask it with a large grin and shake of his head. For another hour they spent talking, Y/N kept hyping Harry up, tried to get as many plot details of the movie he was filming, while he avoided as many spoilers as possible and attempted to steer the conversation somewhere else, but when that happened, Y/N jumped onto his music, which he had told her all about. In fact, there wasn’t a music video made without her approval, and neither would his next one be. “You’ll fly out to see me film for ‘Treat People With Kindness’, right?” Y/N sighed, giving him a sad smile. She hated disappointing Harry. “I’d love to. But you know with everything going on, I don’t think I’ll be able to.” “Phoebe Waller-Bridge will be in it.” She gasped, in real excitement. “Well, why didn’t you say so from the start?!” “So that’s what this friendship has come to. I’m just your gateway to celebrities?” “Harry you’ve always been just my gateway to the people living in LaLa Land.” But she let out a small breath much like she’d done before. “I really do want to come, Harry. You know that; I miss you like crazy. But Phoebe or no Phoebe, I don’t think I can.” Harry bit his lip nodding, but he still needed to try one more time. “Is there anything I can say or do to get you here?” “Get me a private jet and a quarantine mansion?” “Deal.” “Woah! Wait!” Y/N pretty much jumped up from her position in bed. “That was a joke! Harry Edward Styles, I swear to God, if you try an –“ But with a giant grin, he just blew Y/N a kiss and ended the call. She was quite terrified if she was being honest, that Harry would do what she’d asked. He already had once. It'd been around Christmas time while she was still in First Year at uni, and she’d seen a glistening necklace at a jewellery store display. She hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even uttered a word, but just seeing the sparkle in Y/N’s eyes, was enough for Harry to make the decision and gift it for her. When the next day, around five AM her time, she got a call from Harry’s manager Jeff, she was ready to rip both of them a new one, an e-mail with a plane ticket popping up in her inbox. “I swear I’ll poison your drinks when I see you,” she’d grumbled, but couldn’t hide the excitement as she threw everything she could in the suitcase. “And no one will find your bodies, mark my words, Azoff.” He snorted. “Yeah, tell that to the FBI agent listening in on this call.” “Fuck. Gave myself away,” she said softly, giggling right after. “You know he’s stoked beyond belief.” Jeff piped up. “He literally jumped out of the bed this morning, and during the dance rehearsals he didn’t miss a step.” That made Y/N’s heart warm. “Well, you can tell him to curb it a bit. Otherwise, I’ll just stay at the fucking mansion – which, by the way, it was a joke, Jeff! I’m pissed enough he’s spending money on me as it is, let alone such a chunk on the plane, you didn't have to get me an actual mansion.” “You know, for you, he’d give away all of it.” “Yes, well, he might need it for his funeral, if he keeps spending it on me and on shit like this.” The man shook his head but didn’t say anything else. He wasn’t the only one trying to drop hints to Y/N that Harry felt something more, but he’d leave it to the man himself. He didn’t need to possibly ruin everything, and have her decide not to come. His client was nightmare enough without her around, because Harry was like day and night when Y/N finally arrived on set for ‘Treat People With Kindness’. To say he enveloped her in a hug would be an understatement as he didn’t let go of her for ten solid minutes, having grabbed her by the underside of the thighs and sat down on the ground just so he could prolong the feeling of being with Y/N. The fact that she’d actually gone for it and hadn’t scolded Harry too much for spending that insane amount of money, for having brought a small piece of home to LA with herself where they were filming, made him now fully acknowledge the true extent of his feelings, especially as she didn’t pull away from their embrace, rather hid her face in the crook of his neck. I mean, in the end, he did have to let her go because everyone had to get back to shooting, but not before Y/N had stripped the meticulous jacket from him, and went to have a glance at herself in the large mirror, one of the costume designers playing along and adjusting the clothing on her body, as if she was going to be the one performing. Harry felt someone slide up to him and he looked over to his left, a smiling Phoebe standing there. She nudged his shoulder with hers. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?” He nodded, looking back over to where Y/N was still looking at herself in the mirror, wearing the heavy jacket as if it was nothing like it was made for her. “I’m a cliché, I know. But I can’t help it.” “Of course, you can.” She squeezed his side. “All you gotta do is tell her.” But it wasn’t that easy. Comparatively, getting Y/N to appear in the video was easier than coming to terms with the fact, all they’d ever remain would be friends if he didn’t do anything. Yet the shoot for the video ended as quickly as it had started, and Y/N needed to fly back to the UK to defend her PhD paper, and Harry had to go back to filming ‘Don’t Worry Darling’, thousands of miles stretching between them once more. And Harry was a romantic, he couldn’t confess over FaceTime. Besides, he wanted to make it a special evening for her, plan something out, rather than risk a shitty connection cutting him off mid-word. He hated it though. It’d been almost four years since Harry had realised his feelings had developed from just friendly into romantic, and still, he hadn’t said anything. Even the people who’d never met Y/N in person like Florence Pugh saw what was going on. But unlike the cast and crew of ‘Treat People With Kindness’ who had to deal with his pining for maybe a couple of weeks, it’d been almost half a year for her at that point. Did she just want to call Y/N and tell her how Harry felt? Sure. She’d had enough of him coming into her trailer only to fall down onto her pillow and whine. But it wasn’t her place. So instead, she was going to figure out a way to get Y/N to the set and make him tell her himself. Getting Harry’s phone away from him should’ve been the inspiration to the next ‘Mission Impossible’ script though, because it took her literally a whole day to fish it out from his coat's pocket, and she only had about ten seconds to find Y/N’s number (which wasn’t that hard given how it was the number with literally hundreds of calls next to it) and put it in her own phone. Once their filming was done for the day, Florence rebutted Harry’s invitation to a movie night, saying a massive headache was coming on, so he wished her a good night and with slumped shoulders went to sulk on his own. Which is why she practically sprinted to her own trailer to finally call Y/N An unsure ‘hello?’ greeted her ears before she responded. “Hey, this is Florence… Pugh.” That stunned Y/N into silence for a few seconds before she spluttered out a greeting and said ‘hi’ as well. “Not to be rude, but how did you get my number?” “Stole it from Harry’s phone. Look, he’s miserable. Keeps moping around, and I can’t take it anymore. Last night I found him crying in his pillow with your shirt over it.” “What? Why?” “Because it didn’t smell like you anymore.” Y/N’s heart broke. “Why didn’t he tell me anything? We just talked, and he said he was fine. God, that man is so dumb sometimes.” “Is there any way you could find a way to get here?” Florence asked biting down her lip. She heard Y/N sigh at the other end of the line. “I’ll – I’ll try and figure something out. Have to know what’s going on at work, I mean it has been like two months since the video, so maybe…” She was more so talking to herself, but then remembered about Florence. “Listen, can I give you a message when I find out if my boss will let me?” “Of course!” The actress was excited about the possibility of Y/N getting here, as long as it got Harry out of his depressive mood. “Oh, and I’ll need to know what kind of restrictions are on set. I’ll figure something out with flights and quarantine, but I have zero clue as to what’s it like where you’re filming.” Florence waved her off, even though she couldn’t see the motion. “Leave that to me. Just get your ass over here before the guy cries himself dry.” It was a struggle though on all three ends – Harry was still moping, because not only had Y/N’s shirt lost its smell of her, but homesickness was hitting full force, Florence was getting more and more desperate as she attempted to take his mind off of things, but nothing seemed to work, and Y/N was trying to get on any possible flight to Harry while arranging two tests and an AirBnB she could self-isolate in for two weeks while attempting to set up her work from afar at the same time. Two days after Florence’s call, Y/N sent her a message ‘Flying in tomorrow at 4 AM. Don’t tell Harry. He’ll feel even shittier cause I have to stay alone in quarantine. First test came back negative.” She sighed in relief at the message and immediately texted back ‘i’ve got you a set pass ready, just need a picture. selfie will do. also, masks are mandatory on the lot, so bring those.’ Immediately Y/N sent a thumbs up, and a picture of herself she didn’t absolutely despise to be used on the ID card. All that was left was to pack. And spend two weeks in an attempt of not going crazy with anticipation before seeing Harry. Those two weeks turned out to be worse than the two months between the music video shoot and going to the filming lot. Because throughout then, Y/N knew her only access to him would be through FaceTime, but to be about twenty minutes away from the man without the ability to touch him was pure torture, but at least Harry seemed completely oblivious to the change in her surroundings. As they still continued on with their calls, not once did he mention her background, or how the paintings suddenly had managed to switch positions or the fact that Y/N didn’t even own paintings. She was sure she could’ve been missing an arm, and he wouldn’t have mentioned it with how tired he looked. “Have you even slept, Har?” “Not really,” he groaned, getting more comfortable in his bed. “We’ve had a bunch of early shoots and then late nights, ‘cause we need to get the continuity for the scenes, and then the day’s full of Zoom calls, and well, I can’t not call you.” Y/N scoffed, scolding him. “You know damn well I won’t be offended if we sacrifice a couple of calls for you to get some proper sleep.” “I know, but I will.” Y/N sighed, knowing in a way it was her fault. She could tell him she no longer was hours of time zones away, but rather watched the same sunset and sunrise as him, but she also knew Harry, and he would be unable to stay away from her until her quarantine was over. She was quite happy she’d sat through the fourteen mandatory days, because when she got on set, even though Harry was usually good at keeping his composure during a scene, despite the mask, he’d recognise Y/N anywhere, and all of the lines flew out of his head. “Jack?” Florence’s hand came to cup Harry’s cheek, trying to bring him back on track. “You alright?” But he didn’t even care about improvising to get out of the flub as his lips were split apart by a grin, and he dashed away, a loud ‘CUT!’ ringing throughout the set, but Harry already had Y/N in his arms, spinning the girl around. “Best friends my ass,” Florence murmured as she went to the two. Harry was speechless, Y/N’s face in between his hands as he looked her up and down. “How are you here? What? Why?” “Thank Florence.” Y/N gave an attempt at motioning to the actress with her head. She set the whole thing up.” Harry’s head whipped to his scene partner. “You knew Y/N was here for two weeks and told me nothing?” “Your brain short-circuited when you saw her! You wouldn’t be of no use on set at all if I had.” Harry scoffed, throwing an arm over Y/N’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get away from this meanie.” But as he walked away, he looked over his shoulder and mouthed a grateful ‘thank you’ to her. All Florence could hope for was that he’d get it together and confess, but it didn’t seem like he was in any sort of a rush. Y/N was set to be there for three weeks, but the thought of the woman leaving without knowing how Harry felt, leaving him in a sea of his own heartache, made her miserable, especially after a night they’d all spent together. Harry really wanted Y/N to get to know the people he worked with so he invited the ones closest to him for a movie night, during which he himself had been the first one to actually fall asleep, of course. For most of it, as ‘Westworld’ ran on in the background, he spent curled up in Y/N’s lap, his head resting against her chest with her fingers weaving through the shortened locks. She had to get used to the length, motion automatically wanting to go on longer than it was possible to. Soon enough, the soothing motions lulled her to sleep as well, their bodies leaning into one another and perfectly fitting together. As tired as Florence was of seeing Harry, a person who’d become her friend now pine for someone so hard, it was absolutely heart-melting to watch the two interact. Everyone could see Y/N had the same feelings as Harry did for her, only she hid them a bit better. A little, but not by a lot. No friends acted the way those two did around one another. Sure, people could be touchy, but not like that, not with such intimacy behind the motions. She felt like she was being a little creepy as she pulled out her phone to take a picture, but it was too cute not to. A loud noise from somewhere outside set made Y/N shoot up straight, and Florence held her breath as she clutched onto her phone, having swiped it accidentally into video mode and filming the whole thing. “No,” Harry whined, a hand reaching up for Y/N and grabbing at her elbow. “Come back. ‘S too early.” She just nodded, grumbling something unintelligible but possibly along the lines of ‘don’t make me throw hands’ before laying down and snuggling into Harry’s chest. Florence let out a large sigh of relief and decided to get some sleep as well before their annoying four AM alarm woke them up for set. This time it was the other way around, as Y/N whined for Harry to ‘come back and keep her warm’. Florence watched as Harry slipped out of Y/N’s grasp, but not before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead and a whispered a promise to ‘see her when the Sun’s up’. The second the trailer door was closed, she slapped his shoulder, and Harry gasped in shock. “What'dya do that for?” “Stop that! Stop that stupid dance!” She stomped her foot on the ground. “I’m sick and tired of watching you watch her with that dumb longing expression on your face. I can’t take it anymore. Why do you think I went through all that trouble to get her here?” “I told you I would!” She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look, I know it’s not my place or anything, but she does like you. A lot.” Harry threw her an uncertain gaze. “And how do you know?” “Because that woman spent two weeks in self-isolation just to see you! She’s gone through how many of those awful Covid tests just to go and visit you! She’s dropped everything for you, has supported you through so much, and never fails to boost you up.” “That’s what friends do.” “No.” Florence shook her head. “That kind of loyalty… that’s what people in love give. I haven’t talked to my best friend in like a month. What’s the longest you’ve gone without speaking to Y/N?” And with that question, she left Harry to ponder not only his feelings but the girl’s he was in love with as well. Because if he had to be honest, the reason he’d been dragging everything out, the reason he’d stayed pining for Y/N for years on end was that he tried to write everything she did off as something a childhood best friend would do. The truth was more terrifying than anything because once that came to light, it’d change everything, and Harry didn’t know if he was ready. He wanted it, desperately so if it meant Y/N becoming someone he could love freely and openly, but not if by the end of it, she'd disappear from his life, leaving a hole the size of his heart in his chest. His thoughts were cut short as someone knocked on the ‘Hair&Make-up’ door, and an assistant let in a pouting Y/N. Well, he couldn’t’ see the pout behind the mask, but he definitely knew it was there, making a smile come on his own face. She plopped down in an empty sofa and crossed her arms. “I was cold.” Harry snorted, wanting to shake his head, but didn't as to not ruin the hair stylist’s work. “You’re always cold.” “And you’re a living furnace.” “ ‘S that why you like cuddling? Leeching off my warmth?” The same assistant who’d let Y/N in handed her a cup of coffee, which she was ready to kiss the woman for, but opted for a ‘thank you’. “We’ve established I only use you to get to other celebs. What makes you think I wouldn’t use you for those sort of things.” For a moment, the trailer settled into silence, as Y/N enjoyed her morning coffee while the crew kept doing their own work. “It’s so weird,” Y/N piped up, eyes racking up and down Harry’s body. “Don’t even wanna really look at you like that.” He let out a mock gasp of hurt. “What d’ya mean? Am I suddenly repulsive to you?” “No!” she let out a laugh. “It’s just odd seeing you without the tattoos. They’re such a huge part of you, even the dumb ones. Can’t really imagine you any differently.” “Would you love me any differently without them?” The question was bold, even though he knew she did love him, he had to start making moves. “No,” Y/N shook her head. “I don’t think so. I believe I’d be a different person then as well, but I’d love you all the same. As long as you’d do the same with me.” Harry nodded looking down at his hands then back up at her, catching her eyes through the reflection in the mirror. “Don’t think there’s a dimension out there where I don’t love you.” “I mean that is a bold statement,” Y/N said, sipping on the remnants of her coffee. “What if I’m like a weird, cat-skinning psychopath in one dimension? Would you love me even then?” “Jesus Christ, Y/L/N, do you just normally come up with those gruesome scenarios or is it a hobby?” She wiggled her eyebrows, standing up and throwing away the paper cup. “There’s a reason I have a VPN and clean my search history. I’ll see you in your trailer?” “Yeah.” Harry nodded and smiled. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.” The next half-hour he kept hyping himself up, about how he was actually going to do it, but Florence intercepted him right as he was turning down the way his trailer stood. “How are you gonna do it?” “I – “ Harry huffed and placed his hands on his hips. “In the beginning, I had like a whole romantic outing planned, but… I’ve dragged this on long enough, so I think I’ll just tell her.” “Okay, good.” Florence nodded and slapped his shoulder in approval. “And if I don’t hear that trailer rocking, I will throw you in a ditch.” Harry’s eyes widened at the statement, fully knowing she meant her words, but she was already half-way down the track, blond hair swishing behind her back. It was then or never. Slowly he opened his own trailer door as if it was Y/N’s place not his, but by the looks of how she’d sprawled out on his bed, she had made herself right at home. Just like she’d done it on the first day of school, but just with his heart. “Hey!” She smiled looking at him. “You ready to film?” “Yeah, but umm… I kind of wanted to talk to you beforehand.” Y/N’s brows furrowed at Harry’s serious tone, so she sat up, nodding. “Sure. Is everything alright?” “It’s nothing bad, at least I hope you won’t take it in a bad way... I’ve actually been wanting to tell you this since that winter’s break party you had while doing your masters...” He let out a small chuckle but seeing Y/N’s eyes widen in a panic he stopped. “Oh, God,” she moaned. “You have a kid! Oh my God.” “What? No!” Harry spluttered. “Why the hell is the first thing you assume that I have a kid?” “I don’t know!” She was now standing facing him completely. “We’ve never had secrets between us, especially for as long as you’ve apparently kept them, what am I supposed to think? Maybe one of the girls you hooked up with got pregnant, and you’ve been hiding the fact you’re a baby daddy because you know I wouldn’t be able to keep the fact I can be the cool drunk aunt to myself.” All of that came out as is she’d prepared it ages ago. “Well, no.” Harry shook his head stepping closer so he could be chest to chest with Y/N. “I’m not anyone’s baby daddy. At least I don’t think so, but umm... when that moment would come... when I have a kid...” He looked up at the ceiling and sighed before lifting a gentle hand to cup her cheek. I wouldn’t want you to be the drunk aunt. I um...” There goes nothing. “I’d kinda like if you were the mom.” “Of course, I’ll be the Godmother!” Both of them said at the same time, making the other’s brain stumble over the words said. “Wait, mom?” Y/N’s question was breathless. “Like donate my eggs or some shit?” “No like, I’ve been in love with you for close to four years, and I wanna try and build a future with you, where you’re more than just my best friend.” “Oh.” That was all that managed to escape her mouth as he fully opened his heart, and Harry couldn’t lie – it shattered. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it was more than that. “That’s...” Y/N huffed sitting down on the bed. “That’s a lot to take in Harry. Like a lot.” “I know.” He sighed and sat down next to her. “Which is why I’ve been pushing this away for as long as I could, but... it was time. It wasn’t fair to you or me to keep on living like that. Look.” Harry took her palm in his. “Whatever you want us to be, we’ll be that. I - I mean I’ll be heartbroken if you say you don’t feel the same, but no matter what you tell me now, I won’t let you leave my life. I love you, and I’m in love with you. This is your choice which way you chose to go with.” Y/N shook her head, interlacing their fingers and finally looking up at him. “I don’t want you to be heartbroken. It’s the last thing, I’d ever want to see you like. And umm well, if it takes me using the pair of ovaries I have to admit I’ve been in love with you too to change that, I guess I’ll have to say it. I’m in love with you too.” Harry’s eyes glimmered with unshed tears of happiness, as he looked at Y/N like she’d hung the stars in the sky. Not that it mattered. He always looked at her like that. “You mean it?” “Yeah,” she chuckled, wiping away a few stray pearls from her own cheeks. “I guess I always thought I’d end up the drunk aunt in your life, so that’s why I thought you’d ask me to be whatever future child’s Godmother. But I love you, and I’m in love with you too.” “Can I – “ Fuck, Harry was too giddy for his own good. “Can I kiss you?” And when Y/N chuckled, nodding he swore he already was in heaven. “Yes, please.” At first, the touch of his lips was gentle, almost afraid, but the second he pressed them to Y/N’s, and she gasped at the sensation, it became full of lust as passion, years of pent-up pining and angst and just plain old stupidity surfacing and morphing itself into a steamy make-out session. In a split second, she was sprawled out on Harry’s bed, his toned body leaning over hers and teasing hands moving along her sides, making her squirm and ache for more of his touch, but she wasn’t the only one who wanted to explore a body with a new mindset of what was possible. As Y/N moaned from Harry’s tongue invading her mouth, her hand couldn’t help itself as it slid down his chest, and her finger flicked against the button of his trousers. “Can I touch you there?” Y/N whispered against his mouth, and Harry eagerly nodded. “Please. Been dreaming about this for literally years.” Smiling, she allowed him to continue and explore her mouth with his tongue, intoxicated on one another’s taste. In fact, Y/N was so far gone just from the kiss, she forgot how a fly worked and needed Harry’s help to open it. “Get back here,” she grumbled as he chuckled, having leaned up a bit to make it easier for her to get the offensive piece of clothing off. “We’ll see how you fare with a bra.” “Oh, I’m an expert.” His hands trailed to her shoulder where he snapped one of the straps against her skin, making her yelp. “You do not want to do that when my hand is an inch away from your dick.” But the threat had no merit to it, as she dipped her palm behind Harry’s boxers while his mouth went to soothe the sting and leave a little mark on her skin, which he’d get to admire later on. The second, Y/N wrapped her hand around his cock an involuntary moan escaped into the air, as she gripped him. Fuck, she couldn’t wait until he was inside her, because, and it might sound a little cliché given how they were best friends who’d fallen in love with one another, but she was one hundred percent sure, he was made exactly for her. But no matter how much she twisted her hand or how gently or roughly she rubbed the tip, he couldn’t get hard, and Harry was on the verge of tears, which Y/N saw and instantly pulled away, cupping his face. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “Fuck, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” “Hey!” Y/N cooed. “None of that. It’s alright. Shit happens.” Harry nodded understanding that she was right, but he still felt shitty and well, he felt insecure about it. “I just. Fuck. Usually, when I think of you, I’m hard in like a second.” And although all Y/N wanted to do was smirk and tease him about the fact that he thought of her while wanking himself off, that wasn’t the right moment. “I promise, you turn me on, you do." He sniffled. "This had never happened before.” But Y/N wasn’t offended or sad, and her laugh wasn’t mocking or trying to hurt him. “Harry you’re dead tired.” She cupped his cheek with one of her hands, and if he’d been ice cream he would’ve literally melted. “You had to wake up at four in the fucking morning and won’t go to sleep until two the next day. Let yourself rest a bit.” “But,” he whined and then huffed. “But I wanna love on you. Wanna show you just how crazy I am about you.” “And you will. You know I’ll always hold you to your word. But this won’t be fun for either of us if mid-fuck you suddenly collapse on me asleep. I don’t need to go to the A and E and explain the broken nose is because my boyfriend decided to take a nap while shagging. A nap on my face.” But Harry hadn’t really heard anything she’d said after Y/N mentioned the b-word, a dopey smile on his face. “I’m your boyfriend? You really want me like that?” “I mean I would prefer if you were Phoebe…” Harry pinched her side, making her squeal before tackling her in a hug. “Shut up!” And that’s how the two fell asleep (and were woken up twenty minutes later by an assistant in a panic given how Harry was supposed to be on set in five minutes) – wrapped up in one another’s arms, smiles on their faces, and no longer best friends, but lovers.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue @im-squished

Harry Styles tags: @sarcasticallywitty15 @breezykpop @girlboss99 @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist @alliyjane @sirtommyholland

A/N: I loved writing this so much :)

P.S. my tags are always open

P.S.S. I don’t take requests, sorry. Also, please don’t repost my story on other platforms (wattpad etc) without specific written permission.

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startanewdream · 3 years

Text

Come fly with me

Summary: In which Ginny can't help but follow her stupidest ideas and Harry is just happy to spend some time with her. Fluffy moment, set during Half-Blood Prince.

Read on AO3 if you prefer or below the cut:

________________

That's one of the stupidest ideas Ginny has ever had, but like all of her stupid ideas, she is too stubborn to withdraw.

Harry is walking at her side, throwing glances at her that mix challenge and exasperation with just a touch of concern. For someone that she knows has a bit of a saving-people thing, he seems to be enjoying this situation too much.

Of course he does. He has already done it - twice - and survived.

Sometimes it's not easy when your boyfriend has a hero-complex that got him into too many adventures. Especially if you are someone who also loves taking risks.

'Do you know how to do this?', Harry asks, and she loves that the worry in his voice is directed at helping her, not stopping her.

'I've done it before', she says nonchalantly, hoping her voice doesn't betray any fear. 'Part of it at least'.

Well, she is telling the truth. She had already met Buckbeak - or Witherwings, if she must -, but then it had been on a room with the door opened behind her and with Sirius holding the hippogriff, so she never felt in danger then.

Of course, now the situation is completely different.

They reach Hagrid's hut and the hippogriff is there, quietly patting the grass, looking even a little bit bored. He looks like he will enjoy some flying, but still, looking at his sharp talons, she thinks of how Fred and George will laugh themselves to death when they hear she died trying to tame a hippogriff.

No, they will laugh when they hear she died because she couldn't resist proving herself to Romilda Vane, of all people.

'Just be respectful', Harry is reminding her, and she nods in concentration. She remembers Sirius telling her to bow down politely and wait for the hippogriff to do the next move. She takes a deep breath and starts walking forward; but then a thought comes to her mind and she turns back sharply.

Without hesitation, she takes the three steps that separate her from Harry and kisses him fully in the mouth.

If he is surprised, Harry doesn't show - he seems always available for a good snog, more at ease with public displays of affection than she ever thought he could, as if all he thinks all the time is of kissing her too.

It was supposed to be her kissing him, but Harry easily gets the upper hand; his hands hold her face gently, his fingers caressing her cheek as his lips move over hers softly and demandingly and Ginny is out of breath when she breaks apart.

Nothing unusual. Kissing Harry always draws away all breath and worries from her body.

'Wow', she sighs, smiling happily, for the first time that afternoon less worried about facing a hippogriff.

'Wow', he repeats dazedly, as if he wasn't the one to kiss spectacularly his girlfriend. 'What was that for?'

For a moment she thinks of saying it was like a last kiss - one for if things went wrong - but then Harry might take that too serious.

'Good luck', she says instead, winking at him, and then marching resolutely to the hippogriff.

Buckbeak still looks menacing, but kissing Harry always brings light and an added touch of his bravery to her, so Ginny breathes slowly and bows to the hippogriff, keeping eye contact with the beast's yellow eyes. Looking at him causes a sudden wave of longing for Sirius, who had been so nice to her - he too understood having some darkness stuck on your head sometimes.

Perhaps Buckbeak remembers meeting her before or perhaps she is able to pass on her respect because after a few seconds he bows down to her and she advances with a smile to caress his feathery head, until she touches his back.

Her heart beats faster, but it's adrenaline, more than fear, and she thinks of the first time she ever flew when she was seven. She could do it then, she can do it now.

'We could ask a saddle for Hagrid', Harry says coming at her side, after just bowing to Buckbeak.

'Did you need one?'

'No, but I was smaller'.

Ginny scoffs.

'I am not that bigger than you were at thirteen, Harry. If you did it I can do too'.

Harry throws her an amused look, but he just nods. He is probably thinking that in the list of every crazy thing he ever did, at least she is asking to repeat one of the less dangerous.

It's not because he has already done it that she wants to do too. Well, it kind of is, but not really. It's all Romilda Bloody Vane's fault.

Ever since Romilda asked her about the tattoo on Harry's chest and Ginny told her it was a dragon, Romilda had been annoying her, insisting she was wrong. Apparently Witch Weekly has an article describing a hippogriff, and despite the fact that Ginny already saw Harry's chest - and is very much in a position to deny any tattoo -, Romilda didn't believe her.

'I bet you never even saw a hippogriff before. You could never fly one into sunset like Harry did, so dreamy -'

McGonagall had appeared then, stopping Ginny from hexing Romilda - she couldn't afford detention, not when it would lessen the time she had with Harry - and Ginny was left fuming for the rest of her classes, unable to even say Harry had flown during morning daylight.

And that was why she had dragged her boyfriend to Hagrid's hut right before dinner, explaining quickly what she intended to do. Harry had agreed quite easily with her - he always enjoyed good mischief and even more if it involved some time alone with her.

'Hey, Buckbeak', she says reassuringly to the hippogriff. 'We will just go for a flight, ok? No biting or making me fall, what kind of a Quidditch player I would look like then?'

She is not sure if he understood her, but the hippogriff nods slightly, his head inclined to her. She touches his head again, with fondness, before sitting on his back. It's not very comfortable and she looks helpless at the feathery head, wondering where is supposed to hold; before she can decide it, however, Buckbeak takes flight and she grabs his neck hurriedly.

After the first three seconds of panic, she lets out an exhilarating cry. Buckbeak has gone up faster than she could on her broom, and there is something beautiful in the way his wings are spread, in the balance of the flight. It's not like how she feels on a broom - she likes to be in control - but it has some freedom too. She had never flown outside the Quidditch field on Hogwarts before and now they are gliding over the Forbidden Forest.

She looks down and she thinks she sees the small dot that is Harry looking in her direction. A sudden thought comes to her and she smirks.

'Hey, Buckbeak', she says, bending down to talk to him. 'What do you say we take Harry on this flight with us?'

Buckbeak makes a sound that looks like agreement before he slides toward the ground, with Ginny trying to hold on to his neck and not fall over his head. It's exciting, though, so she is laughing uncontrollably when they land softly.

'Ginny! That was -'

'Come on!', she says grinning, offering him her hand. 'Come fly with me'.

'You know we could do it on a broomstick, right?'

Buckbeak makes an indignant sound.

'Look, you are offending him', she says playfully, stroking Buckbeak's neck. 'He is just playing, Buckbeak, you are much more friendly than any broom'.

The hippogriff makes a happy sound now.

Harry raises his brows at her.

'Making friends?'

'We and Buckbeak get along very well. Now come on, it's a beautiful sunset out there'.

There is the slightest hesitation in Harry, that seems to disappear the minute he sits behind her, and his hands close over her waist instead of holding on to the hippogriff. Ginny lays her back against his chest and Harry breathes in slowly - she knows he is feeling her perfume, as he likes to do. She can hear his heart beating faster even before the hippogriff takes flight with them.

It's different being well above ground with Harry, feeling his body close to her, his lips occasionally pressing a soft kiss on her neck that cause goosebumps that have nothing to do with the cold air. Even Buckbeak seems to know this flight is supposed to be softer. He soars slowly, taking them towards the lake, where they have a gorgeous vision of the sun setting behind the mountains, bathing the sky in pink and orange and red, while the lake reflects the Hogwarts castle.

'How did you know about hippogriffs?', he asks her in a low voice. She bits her lips before answering.

'Sirius taught me', says Ginny, glancing at him for his reaction. Harry smiles with just a little touch of sadness.

'Of course'.

She hesitates, wondering if she should say more, but she thinks Harry would like to hear.

'Sirius always told me that he wished Buckbeak could be out there flying again'.

'He would be glad then… he escaped Hogwarts once on Buckbeak's back, did you know?' She nods and Harry chuckles easily. 'I think it's the kind of adventure he and my dad would have approved'.

She takes his hand, entwining their fingers, and Harry raises their hands to press a soft kiss on hers.

'At least Buckbeak is free now'. There is a short pause. 'Luna once told me that people we love are just waiting for us - like behind a veil, and we will see them again. Do you think it's true?'

She never thought about it, but then again death isn't always threatening her as it seems to happen with Harry. Still, when she thinks of Harry, she is always amazed at the way his eyes are flashing and shining and so obviously impressed by the fact he is alive. She cannot picture a world in which his heart isn't beating, in which his eyes aren't sparkling with the possibilities.

But since none of them is immortal, one day - in the distant future, she hopes - they will all be gone. And then… it cannot be just this. There's got to be more.

'Luna is usually right. She is of the smartest people I've known'.

He nods solemnly, and she feels another wave of affection for him, for the way Harry obviously cares for Luna too.

'I hope wherever he is, Sirius is seeing this too', Harry whispers. 'It's amazing'

Harry sighs, and Ginny wonders when was the last time he stopped to see the sunset - if he ever did it at all.

She glances back at him. There is a wondrous expression on his face as he takes the view, as if he is surprised he gets to see such a spectacle of nature; he looks so pure and endearing.

And then Harry looks at her, their eyes meeting, and the wonder in his face doesn't change. He looks at her softly and - if she dares to think of it - in love.

He opens his mouth, his eyes not leaving her, but no sound comes out. His hand raises to touch her face, putting behind her ear all the strands of hair that escaped her ponytail, with such tenderness that she thinks she doesn't really need him to say what he is feeling.

It's written on his eyes and it's a reflection of what she feels.

She doesn't know who moves first - at this point, after weeks of dating, she and Harry's thoughts are usually in synchrony - but then they are kissing, fifty feet above the ground, the cool wind blowing around them, soaring in the air on the wings of a hippogriff.

Her hands cup his face and Harry's hands are buried in her hair, holding her neck to keep her close to him and a part of Ginny thinks it's risky what they are doing, none of them holding on to the hippogriff. Any change in the wind, any movement, and they might fall.

But Ginny thinks she has already fallen.

The sky is already purple and greyish blue when they return to the ground. She strokes Buckbeak's head once more, thanking him for the ride, and she turns to Harry with a grin that he matches without even thinking about it as if he cannot resist her joyfulness.

'So', she begins, taking his hand and looking mischievously at him. 'How do you feel about flying on a Hungarian Horntail now?'

#hinny #drabble #missing moments #harry and ginny #ginny weasley #harry potter #hinny fanfic #t: fanfiction

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peach-the-owl · 3 years

Note

How about a scenario with each of the M9 where the child calls them Mom or Dad.

Yes… just yes 😊

You call them Mom/Dad

Child of the Nein (Mighty Nein & Child!Reader)

Jester

You and Jester were shopping and causing some mischief around Zadash, nothing crazy of course. Something caught the corner of your eye, a doll dressed up like a warrior was sitting proud in the window display of a toy shop making your eyes sparkle with excitment. You run over to Jester and tug at her dress while bouncing in you feet.

"Mommy! Mommy look! Can I get that doll please?" You say without a second thought, pointing towards the shop. Jester looks at you astonished for a moment, this was the first time you’d called her mom. You give her a confused look when she doesn’t respond right away and watch her press her hands together as if she were about to pray and a large smile stretch across her face.

"You think of me as your momma?" Despite the smile Jester sounded like she was about to cry. You tilt your head to the side confused, had you said something wrong?

"I’m sorry, should I not-"

"No no, don’t be sorry." Jester quickly cuts you off. "I’ll happily be you momma!" She picks you up and places a few kisses on your cheek and forehead before placing you back down and taking your hands in hers. "Now let’s go get you that doll." With that you both practically skip over to the toy store. You were really glad you got to meet Jester, she was everything you wanted in a mom, especially compared to your old caretaker, whatever happened to them? You didn’t know and you didn’t care anymore because now you had someone who actually loved and cared about you.

Nott

You’d accidentally called mom once before but Nott had easily accepted the roll, having already seen you as her own child. Afterwards it came a little easier to refer to her as such but only when you’re in towns or cities on a small break between adventures. It was kinda funny in a way how it was easy to call her mom in such domestic places but once you were on the road again you'd go back to calling her by name. Nott didn’t mind of course, adventures were intense with little time to think about names and/or titles so it wasn’t much of a surprise that you would do this.

Caleb

Caleb has always tried to distance himself from others, scared to let people into the shell that is his life and yet you had still managed to find a way in. At first he’d brush it all off finding an excuse for why you were just tagging along with him, but over the years he began to warm up to you, seeing as you were his only loyal company besides Frumpkin before you’d met the rest of the Nein.

"Hey, Caleb?" Your little voice pulls him away from his daydreaming. "I want to show you something, I’ve been practicing really hard." He shifts a bit so his full attention is on you. You take a deep breath and pull a cocoon from your bag, Caleb’s taught you a lot now it was time to put it to the test. There’s a slight glow and flash Caleb watches as you body shifts and turns into the form of a cat, your cat form pads over to him and hops up for a closer look. With a quick gesture of his hands the spell wears off and you quickly change back to yourself, you stare up at him with a large smile as he gives you a proud look.

"If that was your first time successfully casting Polymorph you did wonderfully, I’m proud of you." He kneels down and places a hand on your shoulder, a small smile placed on his features.

"Thanks!" You beam at him, giggling a little. "But that’s because I’ve got you as my teacher papa." The word sorta slipped out without your knowledge, effectively shocking him. You happily skip off to tell everyone what you just accomplished, leaving Caleb still kneeling down in deep thought.

You’d called him papa, you saw him as a father figure, someone to look up to and depend on. You looked at him the opposite of how he saw himself, and had done so without a second thought or regret. "I don’t deserve this." He mutters to himself as he watches you skip over to Jester and Nott to tell them of your accomplishments.

Caduceus

You let out a huff, confused and conflicted on what your thoughts were doing, was this supposed to be a good thing or a bad one. Caduceus walks into the little inn room seeing you huff around a little.

"You alright? You’ve been huffing around a lot." He stares at you concerned. You look up at him and he could now see the slight gloss that glazed over your eyes, he kneels down and you instinctively walk into his waiting arms. "Would you like to talk about it?" He asks calmly, you nod after a moment.

"It’s been so long since the last time I saw my family and…" You hold back a small sob, "and I can’t remember what they look like anymore. Is that bad? I’m I a bad kid for forgetting my own family?" A few tears spill over but Caduceus catches them.

"Tell me, do you still know their names?" You nod your head. "Can you still remember the lessons they taught you, or maybe the games they played with you?" Again you nod. "Then you haven’t forgotten them, so long as you still have memories with them you haven’t forgotten them. You’re not a bad kid, far from it."

"Thank you papa." You pause, having caught your own words and look up at Caduceus. He looks surprised at first, but that quickly turns to a gentle smile and he places a soft kiss to the top of your head. You didn’t think much on it before but you had to admit every time you tried to picture your father in your head all you could see was Caduceus, and honestly that wasn’t so bad.

Fjord

Being back in Port Damali always left a nice yet uncomfortable feeling to you, it was where you were raised with the beautiful open sea but the conditions you were raised in weren’t exactly ideal. Which is why you were always greatful when Fjord had agreed to take you with him all that time ago. You find yourself walking along the beach, old habits die hard I guess, not that you minded. You hear someone come walking up from behind and look over at Fjord as he approches.

"Brings back memories doesn’t it." He says, taking a seat on the sand, you join him.

"Yeah, it felt like so long ago… time's weird when adventuring." This earns you a chuckle.

"It sure can be. You know we could recreate that scenario, I could pretend to be unconscious and you aggressively poke me with a stick." He jokes, now getting a chuckle out of you.

"That’s stupid," you playfully push his shoulder. "Don’t be ridiculous dad." You quickly place a hand over your mouth once you’d caught what you just said. Slowly you turn to look at Fjord who’s staring right back, a look of astonishment on his face.

"Did you just call me dad?" You didn’t notice the smile that started to form on his face.

"I’m sorry, I just sorta slipped out, I didn’t mean t-"

"You see me as your father?" He cuts you off a bit, his voice filled with joy. You turn to face him again, seeing him giving you such a caring and joyful smile.

"Well, yeah… I-I guess. You were the first person who treated me so nicely and you took me along with you, it just… felt right to say." You admit a little sheepishly.

"Then by all means, don’t let me stop you." Fjord then pulls you closer to him and stands up with you in his arms, as he places a gentle kiss to you temple. You were glad you had decided to take that beach walk all that time ago, meeting Fjord was by far the best thing to ever happen to you. As for Fjord he was happy to give you something he never had as a child, a father to look up to and depend on.

Beau

Another day another training session, kicks and punches being thrown every which way, thankfully you had the stamina to keep up with Beau. It could be a little tiring but it was necessary to keep your reflexes sharp, then you get punched in the jaw, not too hard that it'd break but enough to leave a bruise later.

"Don’t go drifting off into Lala land. Keep your eyes on the enemy or else that’s going to happen again." You give her a thumbs up and make sure you dodge the next attack she throws at you. When your training is finally over you take a seat and rub at your jaw a bit, feeling where the bruise was forming. "Here, this’ll help." Beau sits down next to you and hands you a healing potion and a cup of water.

"Thanks mom." You say nonchalantly.

"What did you just call me?" Beau asks in surprise. It takes you a second to actually register what you just said, you go stiff when realization sets in.

"Ummm, n-nothing I just said thanks." You look away to try and hide your embarrassment.

"I’m falling for that (y/n). Do you seriously see me as a mother or something?" Beau asks, genuinely curious to your responce. You let out a sigh.

"Yeah, kinda." You finally admit. "It’s just that even though I know you don’t care much for stuff like this, you treat me better then my real parents ever have… guess I just started projecting a little." You scratch at the back of your head and look away from her a little, feeling embarrassed to finally admit to all this. Beau places an arm around your shoulder and pulls you in closer to her side.

"I’ve never claimed to be good at this, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care. I like you kid, you got a good spirit to you. So if you want to see me as a sort of mother figure then sure I’ll take it, and if your parents somehow found out and don’t like it that’s just too bad for them." She puts on a goofy smile and ruffles at your hair, making you relax and laugh a little at her antics.

Yasha

One of the few things you liked when it was just you and Yasha traveling alone was the number of flower fields you managed to come across, Yasha’s love and collection of flowers had passed over to you. You spend hours looking through the wildflowers until you found a good handful of them that you and Yasha would then braid into each other’s hair (if your hair is long enough), or sometimes you’d just roll around in the grass. It wasn’t much but these little moments were nice temporary distractions from the troubles that weighed you both down. After putting in the last flower to Yasha’s braid she stands and looks at you.

"How do I look?"

"You look like and angel mama." She body stiffens and her breath hitches a little at your words.

"You-you called me mama." Hearing her say it out loud made you realize your mistake.

"I’m sorry, it just slipped out." You apologize, now feeling bad for the slip of your tounge.

"No, i-it’s ok. Just surprising." She kneels down and gently pulls you in for a hug which you return. "You know…" Yasha starts but let’s her words drift a bit before continuing. "Zuala and I had always wanted a child."

"You have?" You look up at her with big, curious eyes at the mention of her deceased wife.

"Yeah… and I always thought if we did, they would be a lot like you." You smile and cuddle into her more as she tightens her grip on you a bit, as if the second she lets go you’d disappear from her. You stayed like that in the field for who knows how long, just savouring each others presents.

Molly

Taverns, where you can get all the latest gossip, at least decent meals and loads of entertainment from drunken idiots thinking they're some big hotshot, and music one can never forget the music. Taverns were also a place where sketchy individuals would prey on poor unsuspecting souls, which is why you were always super careful and alert to the people you would interact with. Some said sketchy individuals had just asked you "innocently" to join them and see something cool in the alleyway, you had to hold back a laugh at these armatures, did they really think you for an idiot just because you were young? Well that wasn’t going to stop you from having a little fun of your own.

"Before we go, I should really ask if it’s ok." You say faking your own innocence, except yours was much more convincing as you make your way over to the bar where Molly was flirting with one of the locals. You tug on his coat to get his attention, he gives you a quick side glance. "Hey papa," now you had his full attention as he whips around to look at you with a shocked expression. "Those men over there say they want to show me something cool in the alleyway, can I go?" You ask still playing your little game as you point to the now nervous men. It still took Molly a second to register your words but once it clicked into his head what was happening he gives you a sly smile.

"No no, you stay here while your papa has a chat with them." He say loud enough for the men to hear, he stands and the men dash out of the tavern. "Armatures." He mutters, sitting down again.

"Aww, are they really your child? They’re such a cutie." The woman Molly had been talking to coos at you. You give her a smile.

"Well it was-"

"Yes they are." Molly cuts you off, picking you up and placing you on his lap. You look at him a little confused and he pokes your nose, then he goes off making up a story of how he found you and took you into his care. You playfully roll your eyes at his tall tale that the woman and now a few others were eating up unaware of all the contradictions in the story. Behind all the exaggerations and using you as a chick magnet there was genuine affection Molly had towards you, a part of him liking the thought of you being his kid, even if it wasn’t by blood.

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just-a-poor-boy-queen · 3 years

Note

Warning for NSFW and dirty talk.

Part 35 of Jimercury Kid series

Despite being fifty-one years of age, Freddie still had a sex drive that a teenager would be proud of.

Which made it all the more frustrating when he came home from the studio after a long, tiring session and wanted nothing more than to be taken to bed and suitably ravished by his husband so he could forget all his worries and grievances for a few uninterrupted hours.

But with children came responsibilities. Usually by the time Freddie arrived home, Jim had already picked Khaleel up from school, helped him with his homework, played with him and prepared his dinner, on top of working in the garden all day. Naturally, the Irishman would be exhausted, and sex was the last thing on his mind.

Freddie tried to be understanding about the situation. Jim was a hard worker and dedicated hours of his time to both the garden and their son, so the singer felt he didn’t have any right to begrudge him for being less than enthusiastic about intimacy. But his own biology betrayed him; that constant primal need to fuck and be fucked was achingly present, tormenting him day and night.

In his younger, more reckless years, he would have simply sought out a temporary bedmate to alleviate this problem. But those days were long over; he loved Jim and was fully committed to him. Which was why he was now sitting alone in the master bedroom, staring down at the bottle of lube in his hand and wondering how much time he had before Jim returned from the school run.

He couldn’t pinpoint when exactly he had decided to take this idea forward, but he knew it had something to do with the giant bulge straining against his zipper, begging to be let out. It had been two weeks since he and Jim had slept together, and lately Freddie had resorted to taking matters into his own hands (quite literally.) Living with a seven-year-old made it difficult to get any alone time, so he took this opportunity by the horns and pushed his sweats down to his knees, pulling out his half-hard cock and squirting a generous amount of lube into his palm.

He leaned back against the headboard as he gently began to massage his throbbing member, unable to think of anything other than his husband and all the things he wanted Jim to do to him. He thought of Jim pinning him to the mattress, trailing kisses along his neck, gently suckling at his throat as he thrust in and out of Freddie like a hungry animal. He thought of Jim beneath him, nails scraping against the skin of his back, breathing hot air into his ear as Freddie took control for the night. Watching Jim’s face flush and his pupils dilate while Freddie bounced on his dick, riding himself into oblivion.

As the early waves of pleasure washed over him, Freddie reached up and gently pinched a nipple, rolling it between his finger and thumb. He tried to imagine Jim behind him, one hand up his shirt while the other tended to his leaking cock, whispering the filthiest words into his ear until the Persian was a sobbing, squirming mess.

‘Jim…’ he couldn’t help but whisper desperately under his breath. ‘Jim, Jim.’

As good as it felt, it wasn’t the same. No matter how hard he thought about his husband, how well he pictured him in his mind, it wasn’t the same as Jim physically being there. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t bring himself over the edge; every time he felt close to release, his brain held him back.

After a while, his arm began to ache and he sighed in frustration, realising this was a futile effort. He opened his eyes, only to be greeted by a figure standing in the doorway and he yelled in surprise.

‘Jim!’ He spluttered, grabbing a pillow to cover his nether regions, ‘haven’t you heard of knocking?’

‘And interrupt this show?’ Jim grinned. ‘No chance.’

Freddie felt his cheeks singe. ‘How long have you been standing there?’

‘Only about five minutes.’ Jim stepped into the room, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. ‘Khaleel’s started on his homework in the kitchen and you’re far better at maths than I am, so I came up to find you. But clearly you’re preoccupied with other things.’

‘You ass.’ Freddie grumbled, trying to play off his embarrassment. His cock was still painfully swollen, pressing up against the pillow in a desperate search for friction.

The smirk on Jim’s face didn’t falter. ‘So, you think of me when you’re jerking yourself off?’

Freddie looked appalled. ‘Of course I do! Who else would I be thinking of?’

‘I don’t know. Burt Reynolds?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Freddie crossed his arms defiantly, but quickly dropped them back to his sides when Jim cocked an eyebrow. ‘Okay, maybe a few times. But mostly I think of you. You’re my husband, for God’s sake.’

Jim’s eyes glittered with unusual mischief; he rose from the bed and walked over to Freddie’s side, taking hold of the pillow, and moving it away from the Persian’s crotch. ‘Shift over.’

Freddie frowned, confused, but moved over without complaint, allowing Jim to sit down next to him and lean back against the headboard. The Irishman spread his legs and patted the space between them; it didn’t take Freddie long to realise what he was asking.

‘Darling, Kenny might call for us.’ He said uncertainly, even as he lowered himself between Jim’s legs, allowing his husband to tug his jeans down further to his ankles.

‘Phoebe is there if he needs any help.’ Jim murmured in his ear, taking up the lube that Freddie had abandoned and squirting a large helping into his hand. ‘Don’t worry, this won’t take long.’

Freddie still wasn’t sure, but as soon as he felt Jim’s firm grip on his cock, all he could do was hum softly and let his head fall back against the Irishman’s shoulder, closing his eyes as those familiar pangs of pleasure returned.

‘What were you picturing in that pretty little head of yours?’ Jim began pressing soft, warm kisses against the crook of Freddie’s neck, revelling in how the singer moaned and bucked in response. ‘Were you thinking of me fucking you? Ploughing into you nice and deep?’

‘Mmm…’ Freddie bit down on his bottom lip desperately, resisting the urge to scream. He thrust harder into Jim’s fist, cheeks pink from the effort.

‘You love it when I fuck you, don’t you?’ Jim nibbled Freddie’s earlobe, smiling as the Persian shivered and whined in response. ‘You love lying there on your hands and knees, arse in the air, your little hole desperate to be filled with my cock.’

‘Jim.’ Freddie practically sobbed, so close that his whole body was trembling. He wasn’t sure how Jim always managed to make him come undone so easily, but he fucking loved it.

‘Do you remember Live Aid, Freddie?’ Jim carried on, undeterred, his voice a mere whisper. ‘Remember me standing backstage while you strutted about onstage, showing off that gorgeous body of yours? Do you have any idea what I wanted to do to you in that moment?’

Freddie was beyond words. He just shook his head, desperate for Jim to keep talking.

‘If I had my way, I would have marched you off that stage, taken you to the dressing room and fucked you so hard you couldn’t remember your own name. The rest of the band would have been on the other side of the door, wondering what was going on, but they’d just have to wait because I’d be too busy filling your greedy hole. You’d be moaning so loudly, everyone in that stadium would know that the great Freddie Mercury was being fucked and he loved it-’

With a strangled cry, Freddie came into Jim’s hand, the tears in his eyes spilling down his cheeks as he was overwhelmed by his orgasm. He collapsed against his husband, gasping for air as Jim gently cradled his jaw and tilted his head back for a sweet kiss.

‘God, I’ve missed you.’ Freddie panted against the Irishman’s lips.

‘I’ve missed you too.’ Jim kissed him again. ‘So fucking much.’

OMG SO FUCKING HOT🥵

I absolutely loved this, my god. It's such a wonderful use of the prompt. I mean, their sex life must be pretty... dry, even with a seven year old lol who could barge in at any time in their bedroom (or other places, you know, if they get a little adventurous😏). So I really don't blame Freddie for getting some solo action. But lmao, ofc he can't get off without his husband.

And damn, Jim! The dirty talk was... oof. I mean... wow. Oof. Yeah, wow.

Also lmao, Freddie admitting to thinking of Burt Reynolds made me cackle hahahaha. But of course, he thinks of Mr. Reynolds only a few times. His own 'Burt Baby' (that's apparently an actual nickname that Freddie had for Jim), his husband, is enough to fuel his fantasies😌

I love this so much, darling. So fucking hot!

(More drabbles by writer anon)

(All the parts of this series can also be found under the tag #freddie and jim and their baby on this blog)

#ask response #jim hutton #freddie mercury #anon writing #freddie and jim and their baby

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tatiana-starwalker · 2 years

Text

Character Intro ~ Tatiana Starwalker

Let's introduce the fire student, shall we?

This is a long post of lore I came up with on the spot last night, but we're vibing !

"How did they get here?" you ask? This. This is how. Haven't drawn them yet but I'll get to it eventually :3

wizzy has gender in it. good for them !

Tatiana Starwalker isn't Tatiana Starwalker. Not if you're looking for the original.

Their mother/creator/caretaker was a seamstress - Scarlet Dreamdust, a life wizard that moved to Dragonspyre after graduation - one struck down and contained by bereavement of her child: one that was meant to be a diviner, one that was always said to be destined for something more, one that was meant to be alive and well and happy. Not dead from a childhood illness right before going into magic school.

Being so desperate to have Tatiana back, Scarlet did everything she could to try and return them to the world of the living. This ended in creating a facsimile that was perfect and alive in every way that the "real" one was, using magic to seal the deal and let the construct talk and walk and operate itself.

It was not the same.

The facsimile was overconfident. The facsimile could dance and sing and cast with all due theatrics. The facsimile was a stranger. A stranger wearing the carefully-painted face of her own child. She knew she could never be happy with it as soon as it came to be. But, of course, she couldn't bring herself to destroy it.

So there it sat. A reminder of grief and an ever-shattering heart.

A few years passed, and the time came for this new, Not-Tatiana to study magic. They chose pyromancy, and then they were encouraged to move out. "Live a better life", she said. "Get used to Wizard City, it's nothing like Dragonspyre", she said. "Get used to the cold", she said. "I can't face you anymore", she didn't. In the months that followed, she moved into the outskirts to herself and her loneliness, taking her business with her. She hasn't been seen since.

The Tatiana you're thinking of, however, is having a great time.

They know they're a construct, tend to excuse themselves at mealtimes under any excuse to do their maintenance, and are well-aware that some magic just doesn't impact them properly. Technically speaking, they're not exactly alive, you know?

If anything, they're more glad that they chose the fire school just so they didn't immediately turn into a pile of ash in a scuffle. You could even say it influenced their decision.

As far as personal style goes, Tatiana tends to dress far removed from expectations, though this is just what they know to do. They're comfortable in the identity and name they're forging/stealing/bending for themselves. After all, no one has expectations of Tatiana Starwalker outside of Dragonspyre. And even inside, the expectation is that they're deceased. They know that. And they know that their creator couldn't look at them without desperation and melancholy and glancing at the pictures of the person in the pictures on the wall.

But now, at least, they know how to do their own maintenance and paintwork, it chips rather easily when adventuring around, and it's hardly sightly, having to put your face back on. Some have even called it "unsettling" or "weird".

They know Rowan Duskhaven because they were in the same school year, and were less than social members of their year group. They tended to get up to shenanigans together, even if it was mostly Tatiana causing problems. They fell in love, neither quite sure when to pinpoint the italicised "oh", but neither minding that. They just worked it out.

Now, to say that they didn't get up to any mischief is just frankly wrong. Tatiana's brand of nonsense was imitation of other people, or copying homework from Rowan when other people asked for theirs just because it would be fun; Rowan was just vibing, actually. Ignore the fact they're still learning their Necromancy magic to this day.

Neither were into sports ball or competitive activities or getting in people's way, but Tatiana graduated and the necromancy school... imploded. And after that, they searched for them. Up and down, every area of the Spiral inch by inch, with the sheer focuspower of the automaton that they are, because as grief created them in the first place, they couldn't grasp the idea that Rowan Duskhaven wasn't alive. They had to be. They just knew it. And eventually, they found them!

Something about learning more magic while people are trying to wreck the Spiral? They don't care. They're just happy to see their beloved again! All this "hero" nonsense is giving them a headache, so at least they're with their beloved!

As far as domestic nonsense between them go, though, they did get up to some mischief in their time in Ravenwood. Rowan is the only person other than Ambrose and Dalia that knows that they're a construct for a start. Not because its a secret, but more because Tatiana assumed people clocked them immediately when they just didn't, and the staff had to know because of "health concerns".

Rowan only found out because they were hit with a wayward spell during practice, and were confused about why Tatiana was... laughing and wasn't in pain and didn't need medical help immediately. It was met with Tatiana gently holding Rowan's wrist and knocking their hand against their cheek with a knowing smile. They know they're made of artificial materials now, at least, and they certainly won't forget it.

Pair that incident with the fact that they absolutely insist on climbing through Rowan's window instead of using the door, and you just have such an unknowable vibe and energy that manifests itself as Feral. They're a pyromancer for a reason, see, and this is why. They're generally more brash, and a lot more destructive than their overwhelming amounts of energy will let you know. Most of their problems, after all, are solved by either whacking them or setting them alight. Often both, for good measure.

#wizard101 #wizard101 oc #wizzy fandom #wiz101 #wiz101 oc #🎠 } bel speaks #🌀 } spiralposting #🖼️ } Tatiana Starwalker #🥀 } Rowan Duskhaven #they're just my beloveds <3 <3 <3 #also yes the young wizard can be a construct as a treat <3 #it's about the ✨ parallells ✨ with their creation and malistaire's obsessive grief #also the young wizard can and should be spicy. don't have to be human to vibe yk?#human-passing is fine too.

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qwanderer · 3 years

Text

Loki in the Hall of Mirrors

This story is complicated. Not, like, as a plot, not particularly, but philosophically and thematically. It's got that great play of hero against villain that I love about the Loki story in general and that makes it all so divisive and messy. And I love it even more than I did on first watch.

The first time I watched the desert landing scene, I was like, "Wait? What happened to Allspeak?" because the people who live there don't seem to understand him. But on the second watch, I realized it could be a lack of context, rather than a break in translation. These people probably have an even chance of knowing nothing about Norse myth. Like, what if an alien came up to you and said "I am Boogle of Bofgar, I carry a burden"? You would still have questions like "What the hell is a boogle and why are you carrying your shit here?" So the basic dynamic of Allspeak is probably still functioning, and Loki probably understood their questions, but he was still trying to figure out how to answer when he got distracted by the TVA people.

It could even be an innate psychic ability rather than a magical one, as he seems to understand everyone in the TVA, including the man who can't be fluent in all languages like the field agents because he has never heard of a fish and the seemingly nonverbal robot. (Which of course makes me want Loki talking with Dum-E and the other shop bots! But I digress.)

Okay. I want to start talking about the next-level manipulation shit the TVA are pulling on Loki here. Time, as they say, moves differently in the TVA, and one might even assume that they can avoid having to deal with more variants at once than they can handle. And yet we see them dealing with exactly two other troublemakers during Loki's onboarding.

The first, I'm going to call little echo man.

Little echo man is incredibly annoying to Loki, because he does and says everything Loki might find himself inclined to do and say if he wanted to be difficult. Little echo man does these things in little annoying undignified ways, making them look silly and petulant. Little echo man protests and questions and pushes back, in his business suit and his long dark hair and pale skin, and clearly thinks everyone should treat him as important even though every indication is that he is an annoyance and an afterthought.

Perhaps he's a plant, and perhaps he's just a variant of an annoying but predictable regular they see who they lined up at the same time on purpose. But he is on purpose. Everything he does screams directly at Loki, "Don't do this."

We'll get to the second convenient intersection later.

The most obvious layer of manipulation is simply the beraucracy. They put him up against a series of obstacles which he needs to deal with to get anywhere else, and nothing he does can get him past those obstacles except compliance. All of these obstacles have personality, but they are not personable. They treat Loki like a bag of trash they have been tasked with taking to the curb. Annoying, distasteful, but ultimately routine. His silver tongue isn't going to get him anywhere because these people simply don't care.

I think a lot of these he just goes along with to see where it gets him, since at this point he still believes he has his magic in reserve. But the fact that he steps through the robot fryer even though he thinks he might be a robot without knowing (as others have pointed out, he spent thousands of years as a frost giant without knowing it, and he's recently spent time in the control of the being who shaped Nebula) is a testament to how deep they've already got their hooks in him.

They treat the robot fryer like it's routine, but come the next obstacle, they kill little echo man like it's routine, too. Because he didn't comply.

Loki is slowly being ironed flat to thread into their compliance mill.

And then - I love this, because it reminds me of one of my favorites among the multiplicity of Lokis, GoS!Loki - they put this line in as punctuation between the impersonal, compliance, don't phase of their manipulation and everything that comes after it.

When he's set before the judge, someone actually paying some attention to him, this is his chance to use his silver tongue on someone who will listen. But, although the judge listens, she treats him the same as all the other obstacles have - like listening is a distasteful chore she would like to be done with.

So it seems like the perfect moment for a dramatic escape. Except his magic is gone.

"It's not your story," the judge says. "It never was."

That hammers in all the worst things Loki has ever believed about himself - that he stands in the shadows of others, that he will never have the central place he was raised to desire, that he is, and always will be, a villain to be vanquished rather than a person with choices and agency.

Enter Mobius.

Mobius is a big echo.

He draws all the attention in a room. He is everything that Loki wishes to be - he is powerful, informed, prepared, in control. Capable of charming the judge. And most importantly, he is actively interested in Loki.

At this point in Loki's journey - both in the show and in his life - that has to be irresistible.

So Mobius is in a perfect position to wrap Loki right around his pinky finger.

He listens to Loki without shutting him down, the way all the obstacles have. When Loki tells Mobius he's going to burn down the TVA, Mobius suggests a couple of places he might want to start. One concrete, small, mischievous. One an indication that he's open to Loki doing larger, more significant things here in the future.

He shows Loki his own past and future - but carefully edited, to paint a particular picture.

So many echoes, so many reflections - Loki is in a house of mirrors. Lost, disoriented. Distorted one way, then the other. Magnified and examined.

Loki snarks, and Mobius comments, "Makes you sound smart." Affirms Loki for that little mischievous bit of personality.

Mobius shows Loki some of the most terrible things he's done, and questions them. Pushes Loki away from them. Then changes direction before he can get too heavy-handed, to basically fangirl over the DB Cooper adventure. That's mischief. That's good. I like that.

Punishes him for a small infraction, just to remind him who is in control and that even looking threatening could be seen as a problem.

I think it was at about this point that I got hard reminded of the dynamics of the show White Collar. It's a buddy cop show on a basic level and sometimes the relationship can be very sweet, but sometimes Peter spends one too many times reminding Neal that he can send him back to prison any time he wants and the power dynamic shows its messed up edges.

Mobius is part of the machine, and the machine is doing terrible things to Loki, but I have at least a sliver of hope that the relationship could gain more balance - more genuine balance, not based on the faux freedom that Loki has gained by the end of the episode. There's something to be said for making changes to a system from within that system, but for that to be meaningful change, Mobius would have to change as a person.

Anyway, this current nastily powerful Mobius pushes Loki as hard as he can, and then is conveniently interrupted by the actions of another variant, leaving Loki alone with his remote.

It could easily have been on purpose. The only thing Loki learns by escaping that room is that the TVA is more powerful than any force in the universe, in his experience.

Let's talk about the other Loki variant for a minute. It took me until the second viewing to realize the symbolism of leaving a small child the only survivor in a place of worship, then giving her something to turn her blue.

Odin said he found Loki in a temple, in the aftermath of a battle.

It's actually frighteningly easy to imagine how a distraught Loki could get to a place where he feels the need to genuinely burn down the TVA, and kill every agent in it. Because the TVA put certain clips in his little future show, focusing on the death of his mother, the way his own actions affected it, and the futility and brutality of his own death at the hands of Thanos.

They don't show him the destruction of Asgard, his own role in helping save the evacuees, and the way Thanos decimated the population of that transport before it could even reach Earth. They don't show him the devastation of his home or his capacity to do good.

A Loki who knows that the power of the TVA exists and that he has the capacity to be Asgard's heroic savior would do anything to get that power and save his people.

But we haven't met that Loki yet. I'm sure we will, and it's going to be exhilarating.

This Loki is being taught the importance of control over little things, and so when he gets his collar off and onto that guard, he toys with her, just to see that he can. They have been toying with him and it's oh so satisfying to turn the tables. But it's still compliance in its own way, the petty little mischief that Mobius has been steering him towards.

Loki has been given just enough freedom, just enough choices, that it seems like his own choice to watch the rest of the slide show and come to the obvious conclusion - there's no "out" to go to. His life has gone on without him, and ended. And there's really no point in his trying to fix it. No putting things back the way they were.

So he admits to Mobius - the person who has listened hardest, probably, besides his mother - he admits that he is small and scared and lashing out. That he doesn't know what to do.

Of course, this is when Mobius introduces the task the TVA has for Loki - to take down his other self.

Oh, I can't wait for the next episode! I want to know where this is going.

(I've popped in some panels from Loki: Agent of Asgard because it's my favorite and the show is giving me feelings about it.)

#the loki show #the loki series #agent mobius #loki #loki meta #spoilers #loki spoilers #loki show spoilers #aoa #gos!loki #marvel

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fluffymcu · 4 years

Text

Letting Loose

Part SEVEN

This series is TICKLE related.

Series Summary: You’re the little sister of the one and only Captain America. You’re also the youngest girl on the team, so that automatically makes you the avengers’ little princess. And they spoil you as such. They have become your amazing family and you don’t know where you’d be without them. This series will show random adventures and fluffy events in the daily life of the reader and her family, along with an unexpected turn later on as you read.

A/N: I’m so excited to be writing this series! This is my first time writing one and I’m a bit nervous but I hope it all goes well. :) The first few chapters will be about random events, not really following a timeline until Chapter 9. Hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 2,653

Previous Next

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You were woken up by Peter slapping your face lazily with his hand. You groaned and stirred in your sleep and open an eye up to see what he wanted. He was half asleep too, just patting your cheek and telling you to wake up. “What?” You hummed, your morning voice cracking a bit. It wasn’t light outside, so you knew it was early. But then you realized why he was waking you up. “Oh.” You said, perking up and sitting up on your bed. “Ok, come on let’s go.” You threw the covers off you and went to your bathroom to brush your teeth before going down to see the guys off. They were leaving for their mission today and you wanted to see them and wish them luck.

Peter slid off the bed, lingering on the floor for a few seconds before shooting himself up with a huff and pulled on his shirt on the floor that he took off in the middle of the night. He waited for you to finish up in the bathroom before following you out to the window room, which was the room that you had to go through to get to the backyard where the Quinjet was. You saw Nat, Bucky, Wanda, Tony, Steve, and Sam when you came in, and you both smiled and said good morning.

You went to give Nat a hug, squeezing her tight. “I’ll miss you. I’ll see you in 2 days.” You smiled. Nat rubbed your back affectionately and agreed. You moved onto Wanda, giving her a tight hug as well, her kissing your cheek and smiling at you. “We’ll come back soon.”

Lastly you went to Bucky, him lifting you up and kissing your cheek, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. “Have fun at the movies ok? You’ll tell me all about it when I come back.” He said, giving you a sweet smile and put you down. You watched as they walked outside towards the Quinjet and left, disappearing into the sky.

“Alright then. That’s that. You kids do what you're gonna do and get everything done before noon.” Steve said, patting you back and leaving to his room. You grinned at Peter excitedly. Steve had explained to you that morning that he was allowing you both to skip school today and do something fun to take our minds off the mission, which is why you were now going to go watch a movie that was coming out in the theaters with the team. You were basically jumping in place right now; You hadn’t gone to the movies in quite a long time with everyone. There weren’t many movies that caught their attention but when it did, they would make plans to go see it.

----

You and Peter worked to get what you needed to get done; laundry, dishes, homework, etc. It was about 11:30 and tony suggested that everyone had a snack before leaving. “Get something light to eat to hold you until after. Not anything too heavy cause we’re going out to eat later.” He said. Everyone ate a granola bar and you ran upstairs quickly to put on an outfit. Once the clock hit 11:45, you all were out the door.

Since it was Steve, Tony, Pepper, Sam, Pietro, Peter, You, Clint, Bruce, and Thor, you all had to take the van to the movies. It looked a bit extra, but to transport a big family like yours, it was necessary.

You and Peter sat in the back, in the last 2 seats. They were all separate seats, one on each side on the van. The van was a twelve-seater, so all of you fit perfectly. Everyone buckled up and Clint started to drive towards the theater. Since the compound was a bit secluded, it took a while to get to the city but it was a good pass time to listen to music and talk about Star Wars with Peter. There was traffic as you got closer to the city, so you and Peter took your seat belts off to face each other fully. You were sitting facing him with your leg tucked under you. Peter went from Star Wars, to explaining the physics of the multiverse. You smirked as he talked, loving when he would geek out like this. While he was going on about it, you leaned back and brought your other leg up to rest in across the van, on his lap. He probably didn’t even notice since he was so into what he was saying so you laid your head back against the glass, nodding at what he was saying. You weren’t as sharp as him when it came to multiverse physics or quantum stuff, but it was still interesting to hear what he had to say. After a minute, Peter was calming down from his nerd high and you giggled lightly, shaking your head. “What?” He asked, a small smile on his face.

“You are such a nerd.” You hummed. You meant it with love of course, but apparently Peter didn’t take it that way today. He gasped and put his hand to cover his heart, feigning offense.

“What'd you just say?” He asked, a hint of mischief clear in his tone. You sat up a bit to look at him right. You were about to explain that you were kidding but the only thing coming out of your mouth were giggles as he grabbed your leg that was on his lap and scratched his nails under your knee. That was an extremely ticklish spot you had and you squealed, pulling at your leg. You brought your other leg from under you and put it on the floor to get more grip to pull. You began to laugh louder the longer he stayed in that stop so you tried to use your other leg to kick his hand away. “Plehehehease!” You begged. Peter however, saw this as an opportunity to grab your other leg. “Please what? Get your other leg too? Of course!” He teased. You felt your cheeks heat up and you laughed, slumping more and more in your chair. Peter was now having a firm grip on both your feet and squeezing right above your knees.

You threw your head back and fell to your side, desperately trying to get your legs free. Tony turned behind his seat to look at you both and smirked, chuckling at you and Peter’s insatiable need for games. “Peheheheter! Quihihihit it!!” You hiccupped, shrieking when he moved off his seat and got closer to dig into your sides. You were now trapped, since you were laying on the seat on your back, not having anywhere to go with another seat blocking the front and Peter towering over you at the side.

This made it almost impossible to defend yourself as peter dug his digits into the middle of your belly. He laughed along with you, switching up to your ribs, scratching his index and middle finger at your upper ribs close to your armpits. “Tickle tickle tickle!” He teased in a babyish voice, knowing you could never stand being teased like that. Your face was practically scorching as you fell into silent laughter. Peter laughed at how a few little teases could make it that much worse for you. He grinned widely as shook all his fingers into your ribs. You arched your back violently, shaking your head side to side. “Are you gonna take it back?” He asked, not stopping his attack. You couldn’t form any words, so you just nodded frantically, mouthing for him to stop. Luckily, peter did, helping you sit up and sit in his own chair. You let out an exhausted sigh, melting onto the seat and resting your head on the window. Peter chuckled and sat back in silence, giving you moment to recover. He knew you meant it with love; you would always say that when he would go full nerd on you. But since peter was kind of an impatient person, he got bored easily. And when he got bored, he usually found it most entertaining to torture you whenever he wanted.

Fortunately, traffic had finally loosened up and you got to the theater 10 minutes later. You all hopped out of the van once you parked and made your way into the theater. Many people there were a bit surprised to see almost the entire Avengers team in a movie theater. You received quite a few stares from people, and a few fangirls who asked tony and your brother to take a picture with them. After things settled down, Steve took you to the snack bar to get you some candy. You got a cherry Icee with Nerds candy and gummy worms. Everyone got their own snacks after and got their tickets.

-----

You all made your way to the assigned room and took your seats. You sat next to peter and thor, trying not to eat all of your snacks before the movie even started. The movie was funny and entertaining, eliciting a lot of laughter from everyone in the theater. You all left as soon as the end credits started rolling, since you all were very hungry now. “That was a good movie.” Thor chuckled, everyone else nodding in agreement. “So where are we eating at?” Clint asked. Everybody shrugged and stood in a circle in a secluded corner of the theater lobby.

“I kind of want seafood.” Bruce hummed.

“Ehh, I say pizza.”

“That’s too repetitive. We eat pizza all the time. I say burgers.”

“Burgers sound good, that’s a good post-movie food.” Tony chuckled. You all agreed on burgers, finding a good burger place a few blocks away from the theater. “This place also serves pizza do those who want that.” Clint cheered at that and you made your way back to the van and drove to the restaurant.

----

The place was nice, not too crowded and it had a nice patio to eat outside. It had a really nice vibe to it; almost as if it wasn’t located in the middle of NYC.

You followed everyone inside the restaurant, lining up at the counter to be seated. There were a few people in front of you, waiting for their seats. Peter, Clint, Pietro, Pepper, and Tony took seats at the benches while Bruce, Thor, Steve, you, and Sam were standing in line. You were standing behind Thor, Steve standing behind you. He had his arms wrapped loosely around your shoulders, swaying you gently side to side. You were letting him sway you, daydreaming about random stuff and assignments that were due soon, listening to the mixed, loud chatter of everybody in the restaurant.

It was taking longer than expected to be seated, and everyone was growing hungrier and more impatient. Your hopes were lifted when you saw the waitress come your way, but were slightly disappointed by what she said. “Hello, I'm so very sorry for the long wait, we’ll be ready with your seats in 10 minutes. We just had a small setback but now we’re back on track.” She said with a smile. The team nodded with a grateful smile and sat up a bit in their seats. You leaned back into Steve again and he put his hands on your shoulders, absentmindedly massaging them. He added a bit of pressure, squeezing close in between your neck and shoulders, causing it to feel weird. Ticklish. You coughed, shrugging your shoulders up a bit to show your discomfort.

Steve smirked and continued, massaging closer to your neck. It started to tickle a lot more so you giggled and whined at him, trying to step away but he kept you in place, increasing his speed. “Steheheve!” You growled. He chuckled and started to flutter his fingers in your neck all of a sudden, making you squeal loudly and recoil. You bent over a bit towards the floor to get your neck away from him, and stepped away, accidentally bumping into Thor. He turned around out reflex and looked away again when he realized it was just you. “Stop!” You scolded.

“Stooop!” Steve mocked, wearing a big smirk. You tried to give him a death glare to get him to back off but you apparently didn’t look intimidating enough since Steve grabbed you back and held you in a loose headlock, using his other hand to poke at your belly. You face was hidden by your hair since you were bent over, and you tried curling in on yourself more to protect your belly. You bit your lip, trying to contain the laughter that wanted to explode out of you so bad. Steve chuckled evilly, changing his technique to pinching your waist, going all the way up and down your torso. You broke out into giggles, reaching behind him to push at his back to get out of the hold.

Steve ‘tsk’ed and brought his hand under to pinch at your armpits, immediately making you bring your arm down. You started to blush profusely as you started to realize people were probably watching you be embarrassed by your brother. You laughed loudly when Steve scribbled his finger in your belly button, sliding his hand under your shirt. You let out a high-pitched squeal that was almost too high for anyone close to hear, but Steve laughed when he heard it. You desperately slapped at his hand and wiggled around enough to free yourself.

With a loud pant, you pushed yourself away and kept him at arms length. Steve giggled your messy hair, looking like you just got in a fight with a bull. “God, you’re so embarrassing!” You whined in between your residual giggles. Steve let you get away and you ran over to Tony, snuggling up to him. Tony wrapped an arm around you and sighed, resting his head in the wall and closing his eyes.

A few minutes later, you were all called over to your table, eager to eat. You sat next to your brother and across from Peter. Pepper was sitting on your other side, next to Tony. You ordered your food and you were playing iMessage games with Peter while you waited for your food to arrive. You grinned when the waiter placed your burger on the table, thanking him and digging in. Since Steve’s burger hadn’t arrived yet, he was constantly stealing your fries. It took a lot of self control to not growl at him for taking his 10th fry. You were fine with sharing anything, as long as it wasn’t your gummy bears, ice cream, or fries. But you stood strong and let him take the eleventh. Finally, he stopped and you thanked the higher force up there in the heavens that he did.

In the next few minutes, everyone had their food, quickly digging in. You were thankful for this event today, because it took your mind off the mission that Bucky, Nat, and Wanda were on. By the time you had all gotten home, it was night time. Only one more day after this and they were home.

You spent the rest of the night in Steve’s room, cuddling with him while he read his book. He had a record player in his room and some soft 40’s music was playing softly in the background. Although you mostly had modern music on your spotify playlist, you really enjoyed the old music that he would play. It made you feel a little nostalgic, but it was a good feeling. It didn’t take long for the music and Steve softly rocking you side to side to make you fall asleep. He smiled faintly when he saw your sleeping form and laid you down next to him. It was then when he realized it was late, and turned off his lamp to go to sleep.

#ticklish!reader #tickle fight #avengers tickle #marvel tickle #tickle fluff #peter tickles reader #peter x reader #steve tickles reader #avengers #marvel

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broccoliboix5peepeeman · 3 years

Note

Req: Shōto moves from the big city to a small town where he meets & befriended by a local boy, Izuku. Together they experience memorable summer filled with beach outings, bike ridings, festivals & fireworks. But a dark secret about Shōto's past & true identity threatens to destroy their friendship.

Thank you for the prompt! 😊

When Shoto first moved to Izumo, he didn’t expect his life to change forever…

Well, that was a slight lie - after all, the entire reason he had moved away from his home in Tokyo was to get away from the stifling environment and constant pressure his father put on him. He had even tried to mask his identity, going by Shoto unless it was for important documents, in which case he'd use his mother's maiden name; he had also dyed his hair a rose pink to get rid of the red and white that stood out like a sore thumb. When he moved to his new home though, he had expected to live out his life quietly and alone, knowing that it was better than the alternative.

He changed his mind.

When Shoto moved to Izumo, he didn’t expect his life to change for the better. He didn’t expect to meet a local boy with fluffy green curls, constellations of freckles dusting his cheeks and a shining smile that instantly made him feel weak at the knees.

Midoriya Izuku.

Their meeting had been an accident - one that shouldn’t have happened - but Shoto was so glad that it did. He had been returning from the shops, both hands full of groceries, when he had spotted him running towards him.

His green hair bounced with each step and a bright smile was plastered to his face that was filled with mischief. As he ran past Shoto, he winked. Before he could spontaneously combust in response though, someone suddenly shouted and Shoto turned his attention to another boy, who seemed to be chasing after the first. His face was covered in mud.

'Damn, Deku! I'll kill you!' He roared. 'Get back here!'

At that moment, Shoto made a decision. He shouldn't meddle, he knew that - he didn't know the context behind this - but something told him to just go for it. Was it because the first boy had winked at him and was actually quite cute? Maybe… But he wasn't about to admit that.

As the angry blonde ran past him, Shoto timed it just right; he stuck his foot out to the side for the boy to trip over.

The instant he went flying, feet completely leaving the ground, Shoto sidestepped into a narrow alleyway to avoid being caught. He never saw the aftermath of his… Intervention, deciding to remain in his hiding spot for at least five minutes before venturing back out onto the sidewalk.

By the time Shoto made it back home to his small cottage, the ice cream he had bought had half melted, but he had no regrets.

He had just finished putting the shopping away when there was a knock on the door, which turned out to be none other than the boy who had winked at him earlier. His hair was slightly damp with sweat and his face was flushed.

'Hi!' The boy began. 'I'm Midoriya Izuku! You might not remember but before-'

'No, no. I remember quite vividly.' Shoto interrupted, leaning against the door frame. 'I'm Shoto.'

'Shoto…' Midoriya spoke softly, before a grin made its way onto his face. 'It's nice to meet you! I just wanted to say thank you for earlier. Kacchan can be a dick sometimes. He said something about my mum's weight so I put a spider down the back of his shirt and shoved some mud in his face so I could get a head start. That's why he was chasing me. I don't know what would've happened if he had caught up to me so yeah… Thank you.'

Shoto blinked a few times as he processed all of that - Midoriya could speak rather quickly.

'It's no problem.' He eventually shrugged. 'It was quite entertaining.'

'I know right?!' Midoriya exclaimed with a laugh. 'I looked over my shoulder just as he flew like 3 metres. I only knew it was you because you mysteriously disappeared before he could spot you.'

Shoto allowed himself a small smile as he watched Midoriya wipe away a stray tear.

'Well, from what you've told me, it sounds like he deserved it.'

Midoriya nodded slightly, before going silent. Shoto watched as he seemed to consider his next words, rubbing the back of his neck and shuffling on his feet.

'I haven't seen you around before. Are you new to Izumo?' When Shoto nodded, he continued. 'Well, if you want, I could give you a tour? I know we don't know each other that well and you're probably busy, but… Yeah, it's up to you though! I'd totally understand if-'

'I'd love to.' Shoto smiled earnestly. 'Give me five minutes and I'll be good to go.'

'Awesome!'

The more they got to know each other, the more he came to realise just how kind and brave Izuku was, with his own fair share of scars and the inability to leave Shoto alone even if he tried. Every day held an adventure and Shoto found himself enjoying every moment of it.

Ever since that day, the two of them had been joined at the hip. Initially, Shoto had been reluctant to allow a stranger into his life, never having much luck with friends due to who his father was. It was different now though. Not only had he forsaken his old life and now lived in a place where no one knew him, but the friend in question was Midoriya Izuku, who seemed to slot himself into Shoto's life so easily, it was like he had always been there.

His once empty house was now filled with memories. Photos of him and Izuku were scattered across the walls, commemorating their various hiking conquests, cycle marathons and charity runs that Izuku had convinced Shoto to take part in. That wasn't all though, some pictures were more casual, like the time they went to that bubble tea shop that also sold bubble slush that Shoto had quickly become addicted to, or the time they were chilling at Izuku's house and his mum, Inko, had wrapped him in a tight hug that ended up with Shoto crying, or even when they went to that summer festival wearing matching kimonos and danced together.

Life was impossibly good and Shoto loved it. When he was with Izuku, he was truly happy. He couldn't picture living without him.

As the months came and went though, Shoto knew it wouldn't last. He knew eventually he'd have to tell Izuku the truth about who he was and potentially face losing him forever.

It was a terrifying thought, but his friend deserved to know. He just hoped Izuku could one day forgive him.

☀️🌙

'It's so hoooot!' Izuku moaned, collapsing onto their shared beach towel and spreading himself out along the material. The two of them had decided to spend their Sunday at the beach, before Izuku started his new job the next day.

When Shoto said nothing as he calmly sat down next to him, Izuku poked an eye open to look at him expectantly. 'I said, it's hot, Sho-chan!'

'Is it really?' He deadpanned. 'I couldn't tell.'

'I hate you.' Izuku pouted.

'You love me and you know it.' Shoto replied easily, albeit he chewed on the inside of his cheek as he waited for his best friend's response.

'Hmmm.' Izuku huffed, before both of his eyes shot open and he smiled brightly at him. 'I guess I do.'

Shoto felt his face flush terribly at that, but before he could overthink it, Izuku suddenly jumped up and removed his top. He tried not to stare as his friend's surprisingly muscular torso was exposed, and instead focused on an interesting shell next to him.

'Sho-chaaaaaan!' He looked up to find Izuku staring at him, a bottle of sun cream in his hand. 'Can you rub my back, pretty please?'

'So needy.' He quipped, holding out his hand. Their fingers brushed as Izuku passed him the lotion, then his friend moved to sit with his back to him.

Shoto's hands shook slightly as he popped open the cap and squirted some onto his palm, before reaching out to rub it onto a freckled back. Izuku's skin was surprisingly soft, even with the scars that were scattered across his body. The warmth his friend radiated was also quite overwhelming, but Shoto wasn't sure if he was imagining it or not - after all, he was feeling rather flustered himself.

When he eventually finished, he tapped his shoulder and Izuku shuffled around to look at him.

'Your turn!' He announced, taking the sun cream from Shoto.

'You haven't done your face and chest yet though.'

'You're hopeless, Sho-chan.' Izuku sighed, before patting him on the head affectionately. 'But it's okay. I forgive you.'

Shoto didn't know what he meant by that, so he just shrugged and removed his top.

☀️🌙

'Izuku.' Shoto finally muttered, clutching his towel close to his chest. They had just been for a swim in the sea, hoping it would cool them down slightly. When he had initially suggested the idea, Izuku had dived into the water straight away, and when he eventually resurfaced, he had called out to Shoto, a bright smile on his face, before splashing him playfully. The salt water had stung his eyes a little, but Shoto had still smiled back and matched Izuku's laughter.

Now though, smiling was the last thing he wanted to do. After all, he had decided to finally tell the truth. He couldn't keep going on like this, enjoying Izuku's friendship whilst hiding who he was. It wasn't fair on his friend.

'Yeah?' Izuku finished drying his hair and looked at him curiously. When he noticed Shoto's worried expression, he stepped forwards and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. 'You wanna sit down?'

Shoto swallowed heavily and nodded. He allowed himself to be guided to the beach towel by his friend and they sat down facing each other.

'Okay…' Shoto whispered, more to himself, before exhaling heavily. 'Izuku, I want to start by saying that you mean so much to me and that you're the best thing that's ever happened to me.'

'Nawww, Shoto-kun!'

'That being said,' He continued before he could get distracted. 'I haven't been completely honest with you.'

When Izuku tilted his head to the side in question, Shoto sighed. No point beating around the bush. 'My real name is Todoroki Shoto. My dad is Todoroki Enji, you might know of him, he's that dickhead politician that-'

'Yeah, I know about him' Izuku laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck. 'My dad used to be a supporter of his policies, not that he's ever been around to realise that his son is part of one of the communities he actively hates on.'

'Sorry about that.' Shoto muttered. 'For what it's worth, I don't agree with him. When he found out I was…' Bite the bullet, Izuku won’t care. 'When he found out I was gay, he wasn't too pleased.'

'Shoto-'

'It's fine, Izuku. I've always hated him.' He shook his head. 'My old man is the reason I moved here. I had to escape while I could. I've been using my mother's maiden name and I dyed my hair so no one would catch on. I wanted to get as far away as possible and make a life here, before eventually bringing my mother here to live with me. The bastard put her in a hospital, but me and my siblings have been working to get her discharged, and we reckon she'd be happier in a place like this.'

He paused for a moment, considering his next words as he bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut. 'I couldn't keep lying to you, Izuku. You're my best friend and I just… I'm sorry, I hope you can one day forgive me.'

Silence fell over them then, but Shoto didn't dare open his eyes. He didn't want to see the look of betrayal in Izuku's eyes, as selfish as it may be. He couldn't bear the idea of looking up to find his best friend gone.

Suddenly, a warm hand came to rest over Shoto's own trembling ones, soft to the touch and grounding him enough that he could look up to meet shining eyes.

'There's nothing to forgive.' Izuku almost whispered, sincerity in his voice that was so undeniably Izuku that Shoto wondered how he could ever doubt him. A reassuring smile graced his face. 'You're not your father, Shoto-kun. He's a cruel man, while you're nothing but kind. I understand why you kept your name a secret, I just hope that the Shoto I had the pleasure of getting to know was the real Shoto.'

'It was.' He let out a bashful smile when Izuku's own only grew. 'With you, I am myself entirely.'

'Then I'm glad.' A calloused hand squeezed Shoto's own affectionately. 'Because you also mean the world to me and to lose you would be… I couldn't-’ He sighed. ‘It would be heartbreaking.'

'I don't deserve you.' Shoto shook his head with disbelief. Before he could stop himself, he continued. 'I have something else to admit.'

'Your sister's not the prime minister, is she?' Izuku giggled.

'No… She's a teacher?' Shoto tilted his head to the side, confused.

'I'm just kidding, babes. Go on.' His friend playfully shoved him, and Shoto tried not to think too hard about being called "babes", even if it was a jibe.

'Okay, so remember how I said you're the best thing that could ever happen to me?' He began, focusing on Izuku's hand still covering his own. 'Well, it's more than that. I've never felt this way about anyone before, but when I'm with you, I never want it to end. You've made me smile more than I have in years, and every time you smile, life seems a little brighter by it. You're beautiful, both inside and out, and I can't imagine a life without you.'

He looked up to find Izuku staring at him, tears streaming down his face as he rubbed circles into Shoto's hand. A few months ago, he would've been worried at having made his friend cry, but now he knew better. Crying was a good thing with Izuku.

He exhaled shakily. 'I- I like you, Izuku. So, so much.'

Before he could comprehend what was happening, his friend suddenly leapt forward, wrapping his arms around Shoto's shoulders and tackling him to the ground. His back hit the sand with a muffled thud, but he hardly cared, returning the hug as Izuku nuzzled into his neck.

'I like you too!' He mumbled, tears dampening Shoto's skin. 'We'll be okay, promise. Todoroki won't be able to touch you here. I won't let him.'

'Izuku…' Shoto's throat felt tight as he rested his head back, not caring about the grains of sand burrowing into his hair. 'This can't be real.'

'Why not?'

'Because you're perfect.' His vision blurred and Shoto shut his eyes to prevent any tears from falling. 'This can't be real.'

'Is it real if I do this?' Izuku lifted his head up to look at him, before bringing his hand forwards and pressing his fingertip to Shoto's nose. 'Boop.'

Shoto crossed his eyes to follow the digit, eliciting an amused giggle from Izuku that was surprisingly contagious.

'That helps thank you.' Shoto laughed, his nose feeling strange as it was squished.

'Hmmm, I'm glad.' Izuku whispered, finally removing his finger to cup Shoto's cheek instead. The two stared at each other and Shoto tried to commit every feature to memory, from the spots of emerald in his verdant irises to the way the corners of his eyes crinkled with mirth.

He watched as a tongue darted out of Izuku's mouth to lick the bottom of his plump albeit slightly chapped lips. 'What about if I do this?'

Izuku leaned forward then and captured Shoto's lips in a quick kiss. He gasped upon the contact, and when Izuku pulled away he found himself chasing the feeling needily.

Izuku's cheeks were dusted pink and he sat up. 'Sorry, I should've asked first- Umph!'

Shoto sat up enough to link his arms back around Izuku's waist and pulled him down for another kiss. It was awkward - Shoto had no idea what he was doing and he assumed his friend didn't either. It was okay though, they could learn together.

'Izuku.' Shoto murmured against his mouth. 'I really am glad I met you, and I'm sorry for lying.'

Izuku rubbed their noses together before pressing a quick peck to his lips.

'It's okay really.' He whispered. 'I trust you.'

They spent the rest of the afternoon curled up on that beach towel together, and when they arrived at the Midoriya household for dinner that evening, holding hands, Inko was nothing but delighted.

Yes, Shoto had moved to Izumo to escape, but he hadn’t expected to love life quite as much as he did right now.

#i dunno if i'm happy with this but here we go :')#hope you enjoyed!#AgarJelly writes #tododeku #todoroki shoto #midoriya izuku #bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #quirkless AU

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lov3nerdstuff · 4 years

Text

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 6.3}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4.9k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

For the very first time when stepping onto the Hogwarts Express, Robin felt old. The majority of students was younger than her, and it made her painfully aware of how this was the second to last time she would ever feel the happiness of returning to Hogwarts. Luckily that only did little to taint her current excitement, and she mentally patted herself on the shoulder for being at the station so early. Most of the train was still empty, and thus Robin picked a cabin that promised the least walking traffic. Gosh, she couldn't wait to be back at school… as pathetically nerdy as that was.

"Robin!!!" Cas beamed the very second she opened the sliding door, and already had Robin wrapped in a tight hug before she could say hi in return. It was only then that Robin noticed just how much she had missed a simple hug. The luxury of a comforting touch was hard to come by these days, especially since the one person whose touch she craved the most stayed at a constant distance. But hugging Cas was lovely in its own right, and no less overwhelming in the sudden affection. Robin's eyes watered in an instant, but not enough to form real tears. God, hugs were nice…

"Hey Cas." She finally said, once the girl had let her go and now took the window seat that wasn't already occupied by Robin herself. For a few minutes they chatted about the postcard Cas had sent her, and then the entire process of being hugged was repeated as Jorien joined them in their compartment. Robin didn't mind in the least, she baked in every bit of affection she got.

"Your hair has gotten so long!" Jorien remarked, addressing Robin once they had gotten comfortable in their spaces for the long ride. Soon enough, the landscape flew by outside the window, and the sun blinded Robin enough to be a bother.

"I forgot to have it cut over summer the year." She shrugged in return, crossing her legs on the seat. "Perhaps I will do it myself at some point, I'm quite good with a knife by now."

"Don't you dare!" Cas intervened immediately. "It looks amazing just like that! All lush and bouncy and messy… You really don't know a thing about what looks good on you and what doesn't, huh?"

"Thanks." Robin replied flatly and rolled her eyes, which only made Cas groan in return.

"Come on, I didn't mean it as an insult! Your style is perfectly alright; it suits you well with all that… chromatic elegant grungy-ness. But you could use some help with the implementation of that style."

"I didn't even know I had a style in the first place." Robin shrugged and wrapped a loose curl around her finger only to release it again a few seconds later. Her hair almost went down to her waist at this point indeed, but if Cas thought it looked good… oh well. She could still cut it later in the year if it started bothering her. "I just wear whatever I like, usually."

"Which is perfectly alright." Jorien added in with a pointed look at Cas. "Not everyone thinks that school is a fashion show."

"Duh…" Cas rolled her eyes with a huff, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I'm just trying to help. Maybe get Robin a little more male attention this term."

"Yeah, no, we are not having this conversation." Robin said before they could go any further into that direction. "So tell me… what did you guys do over the summer? Anything exciting?"

"What's even more interesting is what you did over the summer." Jorien smirked at Robin with just a little too much mischief in her eyes, but at least she was going along with the change of topic. "Melissa told me that she saw you in the newspaper!"

"Who's Melissa?"

"A classmate of ours." Cas sighed, finally letting go of her feigned pout. "She's become somewhat of a friend recently."

"Good!" Robin smiled, looking at the two girls sitting opposite to her with a hopefully encouraging expression. "I'm glad you're making friends other than me at last! Perhaps your peers are finally grown up enough to be real friend material."

"Don't distract from the question." Jorien cut in, and Robin sighed. She'd taught her too well. "Were you in the Daily Prophet or not?"

"I was indeed."

The two girls' eyes lit up in an instant. "Tell us all about it! What did you do, win some prize for your presumably amazing OWLs? Get arrested for thinking too fast? Cure some deadly disease?"

"Close." Robin laughed, and before she could think better of it, she pulled her locket out from under her shirt to summon up the rolled up picture she had put in there when she'd first cut it out of the newspaper. With a soft smile, she looked down at it for a moment, then handed the photograph to the two girls.

"Now that is a lovely outfit you're wearing here! But… wait a second… Is that Professor Snape standing behind you?!" Cas asked incredulously after a few seconds of staring at the picture. "Did you meet there by coincidence or something? Because in comparison to all the old men, you and him actually stand out quite a bit."

Robin bit her lip to keep from laughing. They indeed were by far the youngest in the picture; and it was close to impossible to miss them even in a group of over forty people.

"The picture was taken at a conference about potions, which we attended together this year." Robin explained, and went to store the picture back in her locket once Jorien had done her fair share of staring as well. "No coincidence about any of that. We went together on purpose."

"Boring…" Cas sighed, and leaned back in her seat. "I wouldn't dream of spending time with a teacher outside of school, nor to spend more time on potions than I have to. But I know you're crazy enough to enjoy both, so nevermind. Anyway, what else did you do during the holidays?"

"I had coffee with a friend, occasionally." Robin smiled to herself, thinking back to Friday. How they'd made the best pasta she's ever had, without any magic at all. How they'd just sat in the open window in the dark living room, listening to the rain drumming on the stone tiles of her patio while a chilly wind contrasted the warmth of the tea in her hands. How when he had left, it had been late enough to say until tomorrow.

"Uuhh…" Cas wiggled her eyebrows in the most ridiculous manner. "That kind of friend, yes? Your smile is such a tell."

"Not even close to it, Cas." Robin quirked an eyebrow at her in return, with an expression entirely humored and entirely feigned; no need to turn into a blushing mess in front of them. And except for the overall existence of such, her and Snape's Friday meetings had been painfully appropriate indeed. Still, they had a silent agreement that it would be best not to mention them to anyone. "We are not even on a hugging kind of level in our friendship, which is perfectly fine though. We talk about books a lot."

"Was it the same friend who gave you the bracelet?" Jorien inquired pointedly innocently, motioning to the three pieces of jewelry Robin still wore around her wrist every day.

"The very same. I don't have friends other than you and him."

"Why do you never talk about him if he's your only real friend? Besides us, I mean… but we're different." Cas frowned. "Will you at least tell us who he is?"

"It wouldn't help you even if I did… You don't know him at all." Robin said, thanking the English language for allowing her this equivocation.

"Is he in Slytherin too?" Jorien tried inquiring in a careful tone, with a curious expression she couldn't quite hide.

"Yes. No. Not exactly." Robin replied and rolled her eyes at herself. She should just shut the questions down immediately; this was coming dangerously close to a place in her mind she didn't want to speak of. But they would never stop asking if she shut them down now. Not like this.

"Not exactly? What's that supposed to mean?!"

"It means that he isn't a student at Hogwarts anymore." She said truthfully. "He graduated long before your first year even started."

"Darn it…" Cas groaned and rolled her eyes. "So that's why you never hang with him during the school year."

"Wait a second, if he graduated before we ever came to Hogwarts, how did he know that I was the right person to give you that bracelet last year?" Jorien frowned, giving Robin a highly questioning look. The girl really was too smart for her own good.

"I talked to him about you, silly!" Robin replied easily enough, as if it was the most obvious thing in existence. Always telling the truth was only difficult if one didn't practice it. "You've been my roomies for a while now, did you seriously expect me not to mention you?"

"Right… that makes sense." Jorien sighed, and her desire to question Robin disappeared along with her frown. "Anyway, what else is new?"

"Got me some new robes. Just because the school says we need black robes doesn't mean we all have to have the same boring students' robes they sell in Diagon Alley, eh? Also got dress robes for the new year's ball at last… you'll be positively surprised by those." Robin shrugged with a smirk, and now the sun finally bothered her enough to make her summon the small round sunglasses she had recently acquired out of the backpack next to her. As soon as she'd pushed them up her nose, the layer of darkness brought an immediate relief to her sore eyes. Who cares if it would get her some weird looks; not everyone could be a worshipper of the sun. "That's about it for me and my summer. What's new with you guys?"

_______________

The best thing about being in sixth year now was that Robin only had to take the subjects she actually cared about. No more history of magic, no more astronomy, no more divination… school was way more fun without those redundant classes. With the list of courses she wished to attend already being fixed, it had been ridiculously easy to set up her schedule on the first day of classes, and the week had started off relatively smoothly.

Professor Morgan's jaw had dropped quite literally when Robin had sauntered into his classroom on the first day of defense against the dark arts class, sitting down in her usual spot and looking indifferent to him as ever. Honestly, she couldn't have cared less if he was upset that she was continuing his class. She was here to learn, and if he couldn't be professional beyond his hatred for her, then she would just have to do the same thing she'd done since first year: study for herself and ignore Morgan as much as possible.

Other than that, Robin loved the courses she was taking; N.E.W.T. level classes were a lot more demanding in their magic and assignments, but still no real challenge to Robin no matter how much she'd hoped they would be. They were fun though, and the assignments were actually enjoyable to complete most of the time.

Outside of classes, she continued working on her handbook whenever she could, adding details and new information on a daily basis, and somehow she'd also ended up adding little drawings or clippings she'd been able to get her hands on to the correlating pages. By the middle of October, Robin felt like her project had finally reached a presentable state, and while she wasn't nearly done in her own eyes, the thick journal she had used was almost completely filled up by now. It was only then, on a lovely bleak Saturday, that she finally decided it was time to show her work to Snape at long last.

Saturday meant that Robin first of all spent a good while after breakfast tutoring Cas, Jorien, and Melissa (who somehow always tagged along with the two of them now) in transfiguration. When they moved on to potions after that, a few other third years overheard that Robin was very much knowledgeable in the subject, and they reluctantly asked if they could join the class. The shy request made Robin smile to herself, and she graciously agreed to accept them as her students for the day. In the end, they needed to move to a bigger room, for Robin ended up with sixteen students of various houses who wanted to listen to her going over the last month worth of third year potions class.

So really it was only after lunch when Robin finally had the time to find Snape in his office. Just out of a spree, she actually knocked before she entered for once, then however continued on in as usual, without waiting for a reply.

"Hey…" She smiled at him while she moved over to the side table to drop her backpack on her chair. "What are you doing?"

"Inflicting terror and remorse, one idiot at a time." Snape sighed in a pointed tone, and Robin had to chuckle. It shouldn't amuse her so much that he was so annoyed with his students… but after three hours of tutoring, she was simply amused by the fact that he looked just like she felt.

"Ah, same old then." She grinned, and was just about to grab her secret project out of her backpack to proudly present it to him as a hopefully welcome distraction, when he muttered something under his breath, subconsciously, followed by a quiet sigh that was almost plaintive even. Perhaps… this wasn't a good time. Robin let her notebook drop back into her backpack and turned around to look at him instead, sitting down on the edge of the small table.

Snape was bent over some parchment on his own desk with a deep frown on his face, looking partially annoyed, mostly frustrated and entirely done with whatever it was he had to do. Robin could practically feel the stress radiating off him, and it strongly supported her decision to lay off with her plans of showing him her project for now. Presenting him with more research and books surely wasn't something that would better the situation, which in return was all Robin could currently think of doing.

"Can I do anything to help you?" She asked first of all, raising her eyebrows in a hopeful expression when he looked up at her for a few short seconds.

"Not unless you want to suffer the same slow death by utter nonsense that was forced upon me with these second year essays." He replied in an annoyed tone, frowning back down at the desk and aggressively scribbling an overly large Dreadful on the parchment in front of him. Robin found that she pitied Snape just as much as his students in that moment, and she knew that for everyone's sake, she would have to come up with something other than chocolate cake.

"Alright, come on." She said determinedly, then pushed herself off the table and brushed imaginary dust off her black jeans. "There is something way more important to do than grading second year essays right now."

"And what would that be?" He raised an eyebrow at her in return, but already dropped his quill on the desk so abruptly that little sprinkles of ink dusted over the next essay paper as well as his hand.

"Going for a walk with me." Robin grinned as she summoned a jumper out of her backpack and then moved to put it on over her henley shirt. The second one she owned now, thanks to the positive remarks she had gotten for it. "I want to show you something."

Admittedly, that something probably wouldn't impress him nearly as much as her handbook would, and Robin had never really considered showing it to him in the first place, but somehow the little sprinkles of black ink on his pale skin had convinced her that it might be worth a try. What she wanted to show him was neither related to potions nor to anything else in that regard at all, it was practically useless but for its potential to delight with its mere existence. So really, all Robin hoped for was that he wouldn't be mad at her for dragging him outside for something as pathetic as that. And still, a part of her couldn't wait for him to see it. With a grin, she motioned for him to come along as she made towards the door.

Snape didn't even try to protest as he rose to his feet to go along with her plan, keeping his eyes on her with a subtly curious frown. Meanwhile Robin wondered when exactly she had reached a point with him where she could just burst into the room and suggested something like this, and he would drop what he was doing in an instant to go with her. Alright, she would do and had done the very same for him as well, but that was different! He just could've told her to scurry off and stop distracting him from his work. But he hadn't, and that made her heart swell in the most pleasant way as she sauntered out into the hallway, where he soon followed before locking the door.

Together they made their way through some of the most desolate corridors and passageways, avoiding as many people as possible until they arrived under the blindingly white sky at last. A chilly wind, swaying trees and the smell of impending rain greeted them, wrapping around Robin's senses like a silken sliver of liquid calm. A perfect day for a walk, and an even more perfect one for what she wanted him to see.

"Lead the way then." He said as they gained a distance to the walls of the castle. "Or is there no precise destination you wish to go?"

"Not really, no." Robin chuckled in return and crossed her arms over her chest for some warmth. It wasn't freezing, but her jumper was barely warm enough. "It's a spell I want to show you."

"A spell that requires us to leave the castle?"

"You'll see, believe me. But other than that, I simply wanted to take a walk and you looked like you could use some air as well."

He returned a quiet hum in acknowledgement, perhaps agreement even, and they continued to make their way down the hill in comfortable silence. It really had been a while since they had taken a walk like this, just for fun. A while long enough for Robin to forget if they had always been walking next to each other so… closely. It was quite distracting to feel his presence next to her on a constant basis, scorching her entire right side and making her skin crawl. But then again, the mere fact that he was here with her was quite delightful on its own.

For a while they aimlessly wandered through the landscape, sometimes following the paths and sometimes straying away on purpose, through the trees that were torn between an early winter's desolate death and a late autumn's colourful beauty. When they finally found themselves on the shore of the black lake, the place that seemed to hold an inevitable gravity on Robin, the October chill was already sitting deep in her bones. But so was the calm.

"Perhaps we should return to the castle before it starts to rain." Snape remarked, but made no attempt to turn around as he stood with Robin on the waterline, overlooking the mildly crinkling but ever vast surface of the lake. A black mirror.

"I still want to show you that spell." She replied easily, smiling to herself as her eyes lifted from the deep dark grey of the water to the almost blinding greyish white of the sky above them. "I merely had to wait for the right moment."

"And when would that be?" He inquired with a layer of curiosity in his tone, as a crashing thunder rippled through the bubble of serenity that surrounded them.

"Now." Robin replied with a soft smile, then she pulled her wand out of her sleeve and pointed it up at the sky. All she heard for a few seconds was her own breathing, her own heartbeat, and the faint lapping of water at the stones beneath her feet. Focus… Breathe. "Lux obscurius."

The white sky, blinding in its cold brightness. A black lightning, a bolt of utmost darkness, cutting through the white and splitting time for a broken second. Veiling the world in darkness. And then, light again, accompanied by absolute silence. The drowning out of every sound, every noise absent and gone for the duration of this negative of thunder. A heartbeat later, the wind whispered again, the water rolled over the pebbles, and Robin let out the quiet breath she had been holding. A perfect lightning of darkness, a perfect thunder of soundlessness.

"It's quite useless, is it not?" She chuckled nervously after a moment, turning to look at Snape with a small frown and a weak half smile. Damn his enigmatic expression, damn his silence; she had no idea what he thought. "I was just experimenting. Again. It really isn't anything special, it's just-..."

"It is a piece of art if I have ever seen one." He interrupted her, holding her gaze with the barest hint of sincere awe shining through the intricately woven layer of burning emotions Robin couldn't separate into graspable strings. A layer that she only now understood to be the very same as his facade of neutrality. "You should show it to someone who is capable of being moved by such delicate beauty."

"I believe I just did." She replied with a small smile, and his brows furrowed into a frown that was more defense than accusation. Robin understood that he didn't want her to know… but she wanted him to understand that she knew anyway. "You are bleeding emotions, you know… Out of invisible wounds that are unfathomable in their origin to me, but still I can feel you bleeding like you saw the crimson on your fingertips when I did."

For a moment he just stared at Robin, and she in return observed how his chest rose and fell with every breath he took. It was a calming sight, intimate and distant at once. They still stood on the shore, still tempting fate to open up the skies in an orchestration of water, sound and wind. But for the moment, time was frozen.

"You are so very receptive of some matters, and yet so very blind to others. Why, pray tell, do I fall into the former category?" He finally inquired without any spite, and Robin realized just how much she had hoped that he wouldn't just shut her out entirely. Relief drowned that spark of fear before it could root.

"Because I care to look, and you allow me to see." She replied easily, confidently almost, in the knowledge that it was true what she said.

"That's ridiculous... I most definitely do not!" He scoffed with a sullen look, but as Robin quirked an eyebrow at him in doubt, he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "Fine, perhaps I do. Unintentionally, I should say. What you are supposed to see is annoyance, and occasionally anger."

"Anger is the only emotion that doesn't make you vulnerable by showing it." She shrugged, offering him another small smile that hopefully portrayed understanding rather than disregard of what he was saying. "And the more vulnerable you feel, the more anger comes pouring out of you. Always lashing out, before anyone else has the chance to hurt you first. It's only self-preservation, really. I tend to do the same."

"How do you do it?"

"What?"

"Knowing."

"As I said, I care to look." Robin's smile widened a little, and she shrugged one shoulder. "And you let me see."

"Don't get me started on what you let me see." He huffed, but there was undoubtedly a spark of humor in his voice, now made room for by the vanishing defensiveness. He didn't deny her statement, not again. "For example, I can always tell when you so desperately try to hide your wish to disagree with me in class."

Robin's lips parted as they curled into a large smile, then she had to laugh after a second of surprise. "Well, at least I try not to be an insufferable know-it-all in front of the entire class!"

"You are quite insufferable as it is, but you do know a lot indeed. Next time you want to disagree with me, humor me by trying, will you?"

"You know I'll succeed anyway."

"We should have to see about that." He quirked an eyebrow at her with a not-smirk, clasping his hands behind his back just as the first raindrops ruffled the surface of the lake.

The wind picked up as well, blowing Robin's hair into her face despite the ponytail she'd put it into, but she kept on smiling even as heavy pearls of water hit her lips, her neck, her lashes, each one a beautiful reminder of how intensely and desperately alive she felt in that moment. Sometimes the world ended with a bang, sometimes with a whisper. And perhaps it was reborn the same way.

A bright flash cut through her vision, lightning followed by a deafening thunder, and hell broke loose at last. In an instant the rain doubled in speed, faster and louder and stronger and colder, but Robin only closed her eyes as she smiled up at the sky to let the rain pearl down onto her face. The water soaked through the fabric of her jumper in an instant, stinging her skin in a sodden cold, but it held nothing against the pleasure of raw passion that tided through her at the same time.

When Robin opened her eyes at last, an entire legion of dark lightnings surged through the sky in a web of black ink, hitting the world in a display of brutal fragility. Soundlessness, inevitably drowning out the rain and the wind, as loud in its silence as a crash of thunder in its noise. Then it was just the rain again, putting everything into perspective as Robin finally lowered her gaze from the skies to look at Snape.

He still seemed to be mostly dry, standing under the faint glow of his umbrella spell, and he observed Robin with an expression that, for him, looked almost sincerely happy. The sight squeezed Robin's heart in pure adoration, and she couldn't help but smile while rain dropped down from her lashes and onto her lips.

"You are insufferable." He mused with a small smirk and the most obvious teasing expression.

Robin chuckled in return, shaking her head to herself as she crossed her arms over her chest to at least keep some of her warmth. By now, she was entirely drenched. "What did I do this time?"

"For one, you showed me one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen."

"The spell?"

"Passion." He said without the slightest hint of discomfort, as if it was just another easy fact, and that one mere word set Robin's skin ablaze and her heart under electricity. Damn…

"But…" He added before long, and Robin got the impression that he finally caught on to what he had said. "You are also entirely sodden, and I have to return you to the castle somehow before you turn into an icicle. So get yourself an umbrella before I take pity on you."

"Sure, as soon as you tell me the spell to do so." Robin smiled, giving him a small shrug while she leaned her head to the side. Really, they taught spells for turning animals into drinking cups at school, but not how to conjure up an umbrella. Education… Ironic.

"Perhaps another time." He replied with a hint of a smile as he took the one remaining step to stand next to her, then he wrapped his arm tightly around her shoulders at last.

Robin let herself be pulled close more than gladly, under the dry space of the umbrella and into his side. A moment later the water melted off her skin, fading from her clothes into a thin mist that was blown into the wind and disappeared altogether within a few seconds, leaving her dry enough to bask in the warmth that radiated off him. Gods, he was warm indeed… and his touch still heavenly as ever. She smiled down at the path beneath her feet then, and leaned into his side just a little bit more than she had to as they made their way back towards the castle. If he noticed at all, he made no attempt to protest.

______________________________

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inkrabbit · 3 years

Text

A Day at the Beach - Dan x Richard

I don't wanna talk about this. It's currently 3:20am and I was talking about this pairing in my little group chat. It's shit, because it wasn't planned at all and I'm tired, but here we are. Y'all aren't getting a summary, either.

Word count: 3,034

Mersea Island, Essex

It had been a long time coming, operatives saying how they wanted to go an actual beach and maybe spend the night. Anything to get away from the chaos in London, saying they all needed a vacation of some sort. Of course there were some operatives who were reluctant to agree to the idea, saying they didn't feel comfortable leaving when there was still so much to do, but they finally came around when harassed enough, agreeing to spending one night before they had to come back home.

So here Richard sat in the back seat of the car Lorcan had “borrowed”, music blaring and the man spouting outrageous tales. He see Dan in the passenger seat, a smile on his face as he shakes his head. He's entertaining his friend's stories, and also glancing down at his phone to make sure they're still on the right track to the beach.

“She fuckin' made boxty and then threw it at me!” The time Richard tunes in, he's completely lost, brows furrowing as he catches the end of the statement. Boxty? He catches Dan laughing, and he can even see Jeremy's lips curl into a smile, the younger man having been seated on the other side of the car.

“Did you still eat it?” Eat it? He wondered what kind of food it was. Maybe it was just an Irish thing?

“Of course I ate it! Not gonna let that go to waste!” He knew this was going to be an adventure in itself. He had seen Lorcan's energy in the safehouse more times than he could count, the man always pestering someone and trying to find a drinking buddy.

He could never really forget the first time the older man had approached him, a friendly smile on his face as he started a conversation. Nothing too big, just asking how he was settling in with the group and if he had any problems. Even if Richard had any sort of bad blood with the other operatives, he wouldn't make it known. But when the Irishman had offered him to go drinking, he nearly choked on his coffee. It had been so long since someone had left him speechless, and his hesitation was enough for Dan to walk over and shoo his friend away. He told Richard to ignore him, that Lorcan's innocent little invitation was more trouble than it was worth considering the man would get lost easily when drunk and wander off like a child. Richard would never admit it, but a small part of him actually liked the idea of spending time with DedSec.

Maybe that's why he was here now, stuck in a car with the group's trio and headed for the beach. Back then, he would've cringed at the thought of being seen with any of the operatives, but now? Well, it wasn't so bad. He supposed they grew on him, their friendly banter and family-like connection. Did he long for that normal lifestyle? Where he had people he felt like he could finally confide in and converse with? Or perhaps he just his old life before Zero-Day and DedSec came into the picture, working his job at SIRS and indulging in the odd party Emma Child threw, though it was normally all business. Emma... He had tried to forget her name and her existence, a pang of guilt always cementing itself in the pit of his stomach. Back then, he believed what he was doing was right, and to this day he still did. But did he have to go that far?

The rest of the drive to the beach is filled with stories from the other men. Lorcan tries asking Richard for some stories of his own, but he declines. What would he tell them, anyway? His mind drew a blank when the request left the man's lips anyway. He tries to listen to the chatter now, wanting something else to focus on while they got closer to their destination. Lorcan spoke of mischief he got into when he was younger, and Dan shares his own story of being picked up by the police trying to hotwire a car. He notices how Jeremy stays quiet, and when one of the men ask him why, he simply tells them. “Didn't have the happiest childhood. I stayed alone.” Fair enough. Richard found himself actually understanding. After his father's passing, he threw any sort of social life out the window and locked himself in his room.

When the car finally stops, the sun is high in the sky and Richard is stretching his limbs, feeling his joints pop. It felt good to stretch, and the cool breeze coming from the ocean was heavenly. It had been so long since he had been here. The last time he had gone to a beach was with coworkers who had suckered him in to tagging along. It was funny how history repeats itself, but could he even call DedSec his coworkers? He supposed so, he did work alongside them ever since they had released him from that makeshift cell. Seeing everyone exit the cars, bringing out coolers and everything else is a pleasant sight. It's almost surreal. After everything that's happened, the group finally looks... normal.

He follows them to down to the sand, everyone picking out a spot and laying down their towels. Franklin had been nice enough to set Richard up with his own little spot, just a bit away from everyone else. He appreciated it. The group had made him a tiny bit nervous, still worried they would eventually snap and lash out at him. He takes a seat on the towel, legs crossed as he watches the others. Some are starting up a game of volleyball, while others are making their way into the water. He notices some of the operatives stay behind. He can see Franklin and Edmund chatting away, occasionally sharing a small kiss or nuzzling the other's cheek. It wasn't often he saw people so affectionate with one another, especially in the group.

A little farther away, however, he can see Dan sitting on a towel, legs crossed and hunched over a book. It's a surprise, to say the least. The once cheerful face is replaced with nothing, the stoic expression seeming so foreign. Glancing back at the ocean, he can see Lorcan picking up Jeremy and tossing him back into the water. He assumed Dan would've joined them, or at the very least, Jeremy would've been the one sitting out.

He spends the day relaxing, finally laying down on the towel and basking in the warmth of the sun, the cool breeze occasionally sending a shiver up his spine. He wonders what the little beach cottages will look like inside. He knew some operatives had grouped together to save money. He wasn't exactly sure who he would be staying with, having stayed out of the conversation and assuming he wouldn't even accompany the group at all. Maybe he would ask when time drew near?

Some operatives had come up to check on him, and Rebecca had even invited him to play volleyball with them. It was sweet that they tried to include him, but he declined. He still felt awkward partaking in activities with them, weary tension thick around the group (or was that all just in his mind?). He still watches them, however, taking this time to get to know their quirks. The way they move, how they each have a unique look while concentrating. It was amazing how they all seemed more open when they weren't cramped in the safehouse.

As the sun slowly starts going down, he agrees to help Dan make a bonfire. He had collected the stones, forming a decently large circle and using the wood brought back. Lorcan had become antsy, pouring some whiskey onto the wood and using his lighter to start the fire. It wasn't something Richard would do in a thousand years, but it had worked and warm air made him feel better. He sits in the sand with his legs propped up, elbows resting on his knees as he takes in the soft chatter of the group. They're all telling stories, ranging from jobs they've done to crazy antics they've gotten up to in the past. Franklin tells them some tales from Albion, while Edmund settles on a fight he had somehow won after taking to tabs of acid. Richard zones out here and there, focused on the fire and crackling wood. He almost doesn't realize how long they've been sitting there until a chill runs up his spine and a few operatives are saying goodnight. He joins in in wishing them farewell, and finally pays attention to the rest of the stories told.

One by one, the group around the bonfire slowly dwindles as people retire for the night. By the time the moon's high in the sky and the air's becoming more chilly, Richard is only left with the Irishmen. He had seen Jeremy's head droop here and there, eyes lidded as he listened to Lorcan's drunken rambling. It's not long until the younger man is finally standing up, stretching his limbs and saying goodnight to the three. Lorcan follows right after, whining about how he didn't want to be locked out for the night. He assumed the two were sharing the same cottage.

His eyes flicker to Dan. He hadn't been as talkative as he was in the car, staring into the fire and only occasionally joining in the conversation. The silence is almost deafening between them. For some reason, it felt odd. Had he gotten used to the chatter of the group?

“What were you reading?” Richard finally asks, catching the man's attention. He looks at him, just for a bit, until he raises the book and shows him the cover. The Ghost Map. Ah, some London history. He smiles at it. “Didn't know you read.”

“Little hobby I picked up,” he responds, setting the book back down. “What about you? You read?”

“Here and there. I've always been busy with work,” he confesses. When was the last time he had actually finished a book? He couldn't remember. “Was that your plan? Just to read?”

“Ah, pretty much. Not feelin' too energetic today.”

“I assumed you would've been swimming the others,” This pulls a reaction from the man. He lowers his gaze, hazel eyes staring at the fire.

“Don't really like the others seein' me scars,” Richard raises his eyebrows at this. He wasn't aware of any scars, never seeing any on the man. Then again, he normally walked around with a jacket on, and he even wore a shirt all day while out. “Don't like seein' 'em meself. Just brings up bad memories.”

“How did you get them?” He regrets it as soon as the question leaves his mouth, but Dan doesn't give him a chance to take it back.

“Prison, mostly,” he confesses, “Some from the army, but only a couple.”

Right, he was still on parole if he remembered correctly. He had skimmed through Dan's file, curious about the headstrong man, but he didn't want to admit it. He swallows thickly, but curiosity gets the better of him.

“Why? I mean, why be sent to prison?” There's a pause, but it doesn't last long.

“Beat the shite out of my lieutenant,” Well he wasn't hiding anything, that was for sure. He wasn't sugarcoating it either. “Nearly killed him. Then while in prison, I ended up killing an inmate for bein' a cunt.”

“And that added on to your sentence?”

“Aye, by a year. Used to read all the time after they moved me. Fought so many people there they had to keep me by meself.”

“Christ, you were that bad?”

“Sometimes it was to defend meself, sometimes I was defending someone else. Hated the fucks who picked on smaller inmates.”

“You... really protected other inmates?”

“'Course. 'S why I protect London. I'm just... happier doin' this.”

Well, he hadn't expected that. He never really considered why Dan had fought so much, but he managed to get some stories out of him. Abusive childhood with a father who didn't accept his youngest son. He supposed Dan had just gotten into the habit of protecting his younger brother from their father. He couldn't say he shared the same experience, but he does finally tell his own stories. A neglectful and overbearing mother, how he had lost his father at a young age and hid away from the world. He even tells him about his own time in the navy, and the man looks surprised when he mentions his own prison sentence.

He's not sure when, but the two of them have finally moved closer together, knees brushing against each other as the fire finally dwindles out. It felt nice to talk, and he was pleasantly surprised at how open Dan was. Any question he asked him, the man would answer with no hesitation. What books he read, what music he listened to, how well he did in school, anything he could think of. In return, Dan would ask him questions as well. What the navy was like, if he truly liked SIRS, what he went to college for. He had hesitated at first, but after a few questions, he finally felt relaxed enough to answer without having to think so hard.

When he finally starts to yawn, the two agree to go to bed. Putting out the fire, they walk across the beach, Dan confessing they would be sharing a cottage together. Apparently the group had agreed both would do well together, seeming to have a mutual want for their own space. The inside is nice and cozy, and Richard decides to let Dan take a shower first. He sits down on the bed, rubbing his eyes and stretching. It wasn't an eventual day, but he would admit it was nice to get out of the safehouse. He had been trapped in there, even after his release, sleeping awkwardly on the couch. He was honestly excited to finally sleep in a normal bed.

Richard's almost surprised when Dan exits the bathroom, his shirt gone and his scars showing. Some were older than others, and he was surprised when he noticed a scar in almost the exact same spot he had one. On the left side of his torso, just missing any organs. Dan doesn't even look in his general direction as he runs the towel through his hair in an attempt to dry it. Standing up, he decides to leave him on his own and take his own shower.

The steam hits him and sends a shiver up his spine. The water in the shower is still warm as his feet make contact with the droplets, hand gripping the silver lever and twisting. The water feels amazing, and he takes just a bit longer than normal as he relishes in it. The silence, the warmth, the feeling of the water hitting his skin. For the first time in a while, he finally feels truly relaxed, his eyes slipping shut. The only thing that makes him move in the exhaustion that finally hits.

Turning off the water, he steps out of the shower, drying himself off. He buries his face in the towel for a bit, his mind buzzing. It was all still so surreal. He felt like any moment he would wake up from a dream, still trapped in his cell with no way out. Looking up, he's almost relieved to still see the bathroom door in front of him. He runs his hand through his hair in an attempt to smooth it out after he's finished getting dressed. Setting the towel on the counter, he flicks off the lights and opens the door. To his surprise, Dan is already laying in bed and fast asleep. He tries to be as quiet as he can as he walks over, admiring the man in the dim light. His arm is hanging out of the blankets, his face in a slight scowl. Slowly reaching out, he runs a hand through the man's damp hair, watching his features relax. It amazed him at how similar they were, at least with their past. Pulling back, he crosses over and sit on the edge of his bed, rubbing his face with his hands.

“You ever touch me without me permission again,” Dan suddenly grumbles out, “and I'll break your fuckin' hand.”

“Oh, stop being a child,” he scoffs, though a small smirk crosses his lips. “I'm sure that's the first time in a while you've gotten any sort of affection anyway.”

There's shuffling and Dan finally sits up, staring at him. There's a look in his eyes, challenging and confident.

“Ya wanna touch me so bad?” he purrs out, “Come and give me a kiss.”

He's stunned, throat running dry as the Irishman holds his gaze. He's grinning, but it's not joy. Oh no, he's grinning because he thinks Richard is going back down. And he might have if he still wasn't upset with the attitude he had to endure during their meetings before Zero-Day was stopped. No way in hell he would let the man have something else to bring up.

Pushing himself off the bed, he crosses over once more. His actions are quick, worried if he took his time, he would change his mind. He grabs the man's face, fingers running through his beard as he bends down, pressing his lips against his. It doesn't last long before both pull away, and Richard laughs at the horrified expression on Dan's face.

“I'm not one to turn down a challenge,” he tells him softly, patting his cheek before returning to his bed. He slips underneath the covers and lays on his side, listening to the soft rustling noises. He's not expecting it when Dan finally gets up, grabbing his shoulder and turning him over.

“Ya wanna fuckin' kiss me, at least do it right, ya idiot.”

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luffles424 · 4 years

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Lucidity (5)

☼ Pairing: BTS x reader (no pairing this chapter)

☼ Genre: vampire!BTS, succubus!reader, smut, fluff, angst

☼ Count: 3.3K

☼ Warnings: referenced smut (between Jikook and MC)

☼ Summary: You’ve spent years jumping from country to country, starting countless new lives. Crafting new lives is as easy as breathing for you, lies flowing easily and people are charmed with a simple bat of your eyes. When you meet a witch who offers the idea of opening a supernatural club, using your powers combined with hers to ensure safety to those who enter, you decide to join her in an adventure that is entirely new to you. But your new life in Seoul is drastically changed when you’re forced to face something you’ve spent centuries hiding from. But just because you might be running for your life again doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun along the way, right?

☼ a/n: I’m sorry, I did say the angst was coming though. Promise it’ll get better though. Next chapter will be back to some good ol smut with someone new 👀👀 As always, let me know what you think! My ask box is always open ~ 💙💙💙💙

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Previous

You stare at your laundry basket, the clothes inside it taunting you. You’ve washed your clothes more times than you could possibly count. You’ve never been surprised, even when technology made the whole process easier. Puzzled or confused sure, understandable when things changed. But you adapt, you always do. But you’ve never been surprised, at least until now. When your laundry basket sits here half full of clothes that are definitely not yours. You tug them out, sorting the entire basket into yours and not yours. There’s actually more here that aren’t yours.

You feel a little beside yourself as you start looking through the clothes, noting the large, plain white and black tshirts and massively oversized sweaters ranging from black to pastel. Pieces of clothing that are actually very familiar to you now that you’re looking closely at them. Familiar because you remember taking them off of their owners. But that doesn’t explain why they’re still here. Why didn’t they take their clothes with them?

You sit heavily on your bed, one of Jungkook’s shirts still clutched in your hands, mind racing. You never had people over to your house, especially not often enough to be able to have their own clothes here. Jungkook had been an anomaly. Something about him made you not even think before you brought him back here. Maybe that had been a mistake. You went to other people's houses or to a hotel. Your apartment was your safe space. It feels so bizarrely domestic, having others in your space so casually. Something you haven’t really experienced in this capacity since-

You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of those thoughts. Nothing good will come from thinking about that now. It’s in the past and it’ll stay there. It’s stayed there for this long and you don’t need to think about it anymore. You were fine. You look back to the shirt, a fond smile coming unbidden to your lips. This was actually one of his favorites, he claimed that it was the coziest and he liked wearing it to the airport because it helped with long flights. You told him how you doubted it was that comfortable and he proved you very wrong when he immediately stripped it off to put on you instead. After, he’d fucked you while you wore it and only it. It might be your favorite now too, just for a very different reason than his.

You still doubt the validity of his statement about it being the coziest, you have much softer sweaters sitting in your closest. At least that’s the reason you give as you glance around your empty room before slipping your tank top off and putting his sweater on. It’s merely to test how it feels without the distraction of Jungkook. The sweater still smells faintly of him, and maybe a little of sex, but it’s mostly him and it makes you feel warm and safe. Happy in a way you choose not to look too deeply at.

You grab your phone off your dresser, taking a picture of the pile of clothes sat on your bed and send it to the newest group chat with the boys, Jimin now added.

You: *1 image attachment*

You: Do I look like your maid?

A glance at the time tells you that they’re in practice right now and so you set your phone down and go back to laundry, sorting your clothes, and only your clothes, that need to be washed. You get the first load going, stopping by the kitchen on the way back to grab yourself a glass of wine. You take a long sip when you return, picking up your phone to see you have a few texts waiting for you.

Kookie: NO! that’s not why we left them :(

Jin: what he means is

Jin: we were going to wash them sometime when we were over

Jin: but I can see that you found a much better use for them 😏😏

Kookie: what are you talking about???

Minie: You mean you don’t see it?

Kookie: see what?? what am I missing??

Kookie: guys?

Kookie: I can SEE you guys reading these and laughing!

Kookie: tell me!

Minie: say please baby boy 😘

Kookie: only noona can call me that!

Kookie: please 🥺

Jin: look in the mirror

The chat stops there, but you are also confused by what they’re talking about. You scroll back up to look at your picture, looking in the mirror like Jin said to. Embarrassment warms your face as you realize that you’re completely visible in the image, wearing nothing but Jungkook’s sweater.

You drop your phone to the bed, covering your face in embarrassment even though no one is around to see you. They’ll never let you live this down. Your phone buzzes, startling you and you stare at it as it continues to buzz, meaning you’re getting a call, not a text. You hesitantly pick it up, looking to see that you’re getting a Facetime call from Jungkook. You contemplate not answering, but you know he’ll just keep calling until you pick up, despite the fact that he has practice.

You sit on your bed, taking a deep breath and chugging the rest of your wine before swiping to answer the call. After a moment your screen is filled with not just Jungkook, but Jimin and Jin’s faces squished into frame as well. You immediately laugh at the way they continually try to push each other out of frame, seeming to have not noticed that you answered yet.

“So did you call just to make me laugh?”

All three freeze, glancing at Jungkook’s phone to see your amused smile staring back at them. Jin grins back.

“Did you need a laugh? Cause if so I’ve got a joke-” Jin’s cut off by Jungkook slapping a hand over his mouth.

“This is my call.” He pouts. “No one wants to hear that. Go away.” His attention turns back to you and you see the way his eyes drop like he’s trying to see more of you and if he just moves the right way he can. Well you assume he wants to more so see more of what you’re wearing, not necessarily you at the moment. “You look good noona.” He murmurs with a small pleased smile.

You huff. Who knew he could be so possessive of someone who wasn’t his to have? “I only have this on because I need to do laundry and have nothing else to wear.”

Jimin perks up then, eyes screaming mischief as he smiles oh so sweetly. It sets you on edge. “I’ve seen your closet and I know that’s not true.”

You pause. You had no idea when he had seen your closet. He’s only been in your bedroom once and there wasn’t exactly time for him to peruse your closet enough to know you’re lying and that you’ve got more than enough of your own clothes to wear.

You scoff. “When have you ever been in my closet?” All three smirk at you. “What?”

“You’re awfully defensive about this.” Jin comments casually and you tense up.

You glare at them. “You know what,” you grin evilly, if they’re going to be this way then fine. Two can play that game. “I actually have someone here, so I’ve got to go. Bye.” You coo, hanging up on them before they can get another word in.

Your phone immediately starts ringing again, but you drop it to your bed with a sigh. You catch sight of yourself in the mirror across from you and your eyes drag over your frame, at Jungkook’s sweater and the way hangs from you. It’s warm, but not the warmth you crave, his scent still clings to the fabric and you’d rather bury your nose in his neck where it’s most potent. You’d rather have one of them here.

You blink, sitting up straight as panic seizes your heart. It’s been centuries since you’ve actually wanted a specific person around you. Especially in such a setting, you realize that the thought that had crossed your mind had nothing to do with sex. You wanted one (or honestly all of them) over just to be together in the same space. No expectations, just companionship. Your mind races, trying to pin down when this happened. When had they gotten so under your skin? Glancing at the pile of clothes next to you then back to yourself in the mirror, you practically rip Jungkook’s shirt off your body like it burned you. It lands on top of the pile and you take a few steps away like it’s going to attack you. It lies there and it feels like you’ve been slapped in the face. How could something so innocuous mean something so dangerous.

You wrap your arms around your middle, feeling sick. The pile represents something terrifying, you can’t afford to let them get this close to you. The fleeting thought of they should’ve listened to Joon crosses your mind. You grab one of your own shirts before leaving the room in search of a box. You have to fix this before it’s too late, put a stop to it. Something in you feels like it’s already past that point. You shouldn’t have started it to begin with.

It takes you a few minutes of searching but you manage to find one tucked into the corner of your office. Box in hand, you go back to your bedroom and set it on the floor by the bed. You stare at the pile of clothes, unable to bring yourself to do what you need to do. Your vision blurs and you blink rapidly to clear them of the sudden tears, letting out a slightly hysterical laugh at the ridiculousness of crying over some clothes. You try not to think about how it has more to do with the boys who own those clothes than the clothes themselves.

You take a deep breath, this is what’s best for them. You repeat that mantra as you methodically fold and place each item of theirs into the box until your bed is cleared of the boys’ clothing. You kneel beside the box, gently touching the sweater on top, it’s the one you’d been wearing just a little bit ago. You feel your resolve start to crumble but you shake your head, repeat your mantra again. You’ve been alone this long, you’ll be fine. You always are.

But you just can’t tear your gaze from the sweater, and in a moment of weakness, the only one you’ll allow yourself, you snatch it back out of the box and stuff it under your pillow. Your rational mind questions who you’re hiding it from.

You move to your closet and get dressed for your quick errand. You gather the box, tucking your phone into your pocket, carefully ignoring the multitude of notifications you’ve received since you hung up and consequently had your epiphany. As you go to leave your apartment, you pause at the lock.

Nothing you do will work if they can still get into your apartment. And you don’t want to move, you like this apartment and moving is a hassle. Those are the reasons you allow yourself, only those. Logical ones, not something rooted in dangerous thoughts and feelings. You double back into your apartment, depositing the box on the couch as you make your way back into your office to dig through the drawers in search of the instructions on how to reset your lock.

Once you finish, staring at the flashing blue light signaling that your fingerprint has successfully been programmed, you feel regret churn in your belly. Their faces the first time they try to enter only to be denied access flashing through your mind. But you can’t think about that, you can’t afford to because you know you’ll cave if you think about that. What’s done is done. You grab your box and leave, heading for your club.

Ari is in the office when you get there and she’s surprised by your sudden appearance. Her gaze drops to the box, frown marring her features.

“What’s going on?”

You set the box on the ground by the door, nudging it a little with your foot. “Jin, Jungkook, or Jimin will be by sometime soon for this. Can you make sure they get it please?” You studiously ignore the questioning look she’s giving you.

“I mean, yeah of course. But is everything okay?”

You nod. “Yeah, for sure. I just need to get this to them and this is the easiest way.”

Ari looks completely unconvinced. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

Guilt claws at your throat. She’s always been so understanding, even when you try to keep her at a distance. “I know.” You mutter quietly. The words feel like ash on your tongue.

Ari doesn’t press though. She just turns back to her computer. “You know where to find me if you need me.”

You stand there a moment longer. Should you? Maybe telling someone else would help. But then you think of Namjoon, the look of utter disgust and hatred he gave you. You couldn’t have Ari or the other’s do that too. It hurt enough that Namjoon did it, you’re positive you wouldn’t be able to handle that from more people. No, this would be something you have to carry yourself.

You murmur a quiet thanks to her and leave. In your car, you send them a text.

You: There’s something for you at the club. Ari’s got it. Just let her know and she’ll get it for you.

After that, you shut your phone off and drive home, struggling to hold back tears. You don’t want to see what they have to say. You didn’t even bother to read the texts that you had missed. Just sent your message and closed the chat.

In the elevator, you see your reflection and laugh at yourself, you look like you’re going through a breakup. You tell yourself that you’re definitely not. None of you were ever together. You don’t do that. You can do casual. Casual is safe. You won’t stop seeing them, they’re still fun to be around. It’s just not going to be dinners and movie nights and surprises. Just sex and feeding. Maybe dancing at the club but that will just be foreplay. You won’t let them come to your apartment either, not anymore. Hotels or their place only. You can’t let them into your space again.

You sit heavily on your couch, staring at the blank TV screen, lost in your thoughts for a long while until there’s a pounding at your door. You know who it is even without supernatural hearing. You knew they’d come once they saw the box. You had just wished they’d given you more time. You hear them try the lock and the resounding denial the lock gives them when it no longer recognizes their fingers to grant access is somehow worse than the silence.

It’s deafeningly quiet for a long moment before they’re all talking over each other. Begging you to let them in, they don’t understand what’s wrong, just talk to them. You wish you could tell them that it’s not that easy.

You remain silent, hand coming up to stifle your sobs when their calls get to be too much. They don’t stay too long after that, you assume that your attempts to stifle yourself were useless. Jin is the voice of reason. You hear him tell them that it’ll be okay. That you just need some time and they should respect you. Everyone needs some time alone sometimes. He ushers the other two out of the building. It just makes you sob harder.

You get a blissful week of peace from the boys. You assume that’s all Jin was able to manage because Jimin and Jungkook sandwich you on the dance floor a week after the clothing incident, effectively scaring off the man you had been dancing with. Not that it was really any loss, he didn’t have a good rhythm, more interested in grinding against you than dancing with you.

They don’t say anything, something which you’re grateful for, instead the three of you move to the music together. Their hands move over you like you’re something precious, like if they move wrong you’ll disappear in a puff of smoke. You tug them closer, Jungkook in front and Jimin behind, letting just a little lust slip out. Not enough for them to fully notice, but enough for them to stop handling you like that. You can’t handle them when they touch you so softly. Their hands grow bolder, far rougher and you let a groan out which only seems to encourage the way their hips and bodies move against you.

Jungkook’s lips ghost along your neck and Jimin’s brush the shell of your ear. “Wanna get out of here?”

You nod, leading them from the dance floor, taking a deep breath of fresh air once your outside. You’re reminded of the first time Jungkook sought you out. You steel yourself to not let this end the same way. You hail a cab, giving the address for the nearby hotel that you have a permanent room at. You ignore their looks of confusion when you arrive, bypassing the desk and getting onto the elevator. Once inside, you tug Jungkook in for a kiss to distract from the questions that you know are on the tip of their tongues. You release him to do the same to Jimin and Jungkook plasters himself to your back to mouth at your neck while you kiss Jimin. You quickly herd them to the room, intent on keeping the distraction going. Lucky for you, they’re very easy to distract.

It’s still dark out as you slip from between them. Neither stirs from their sleep and you silently dress yourself. You try not to think about their reactions when they wake up in the morning and you’re not there.

Another week later and Jin finds you at your favorite cafe. He looks mad when he finally spots you and you’re tempted to bolt. His eyes narrow at you like he can read your thoughts and you reluctantly stay put. He’s probably faster than you anyway. He sits across from you and the silence is tense. You hate that it’s your fault that it’s like this. You miss when it was easy silence between you. But it’s for the best.

Finally he sighs. “Can you at least give me something to tell them? Did we do something wrong?” He doesn’t look at you. He looks afraid of your answer.

You fidget with your coffee cup. What could you say? That you saw how close you were getting and that absolutely terrified you? That you don’t do relationships? That Namjoon was right and they should’ve listened? Nothing sounds adequate enough. You stare at your coffee like it will give you the answers you want.

Jin sighs again. “They’re still young. They don’t understand the shit that you can go through over centuries. If you just need time, tell me. I can come up with something to tell them that isn’t the truth… If that’s what it is.” He glances over at you and you want to cry at the kindness and understanding you see in his eyes.

You swallow. You hope you can lie to him. “Yeah… I’m sorry. I just panicked a little. I just need a little time to be more comfortable. We can still have sex and feed. Just…” You trail off.

“Just not more?” He finishes for you and you nod. “That’s fine. I’ll get them to cool it. We’ll just come by the club if we need you then. But feel free to call us if you need us too. We’ll be there.”

He gives you a small smile as he rises and leaves. You hate yourself for lying. You hate how understanding he is. How he’s still willing to do so much for you when you’ve tried to shut them out. Most of all, you hate how much your heart aches as he walks away like this is the last time you’ll see him.

#magicshopnet #bangtanarmynet #thebtstown #btsguild #kwritersworldnet #bts smut #bts vampire au #bts angst #vampire bts #bts au #bts fanfic #lucidity au

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voidwaren · 4 years

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hey guys, pandemic brain is a bitch so this week we have the first 6k words of an ENTIRELY self-indulgent Sterek royalty AU that was originally an outline for a profic before I went, “you know what. fuck that. make it fanfic.” and did so.

may or may not be what I’ll be working on for NaNoWriMo this year, since I’ve never done fanfic before and have also never once won.

also: ignore the fact this basically starts off in exactly the same formula as Oak and Mistletoe. I am a one-trick pony. yeehaw.

Stiles met him on a balcony bathed in moonlight, shedding glitter and confetti and the half-melted snowflakes that made their slow descent from the sky above, and he realized—before he’d even opened his mouth, before the man had even noticed Stiles was there—that he’d do anything to meet this man again.

The night was alive with the sounds of a party. Lights of every color, food from every land spilling from the kitchens on glittering trays, people laughing and dancing and forgetting their own names beneath the pull of one too many glasses of pearlescent sparkling wine. It was a night of excitement, of merriment and of occasional debauchery. And it was a night Stiles wished he could skip.

Crown Prince Stiles hated parties.

It wasn’t the people he hated. Not the music or the merriment or even the dances he spent months learning properly before each event to make sure he knew all the steps and didn’t trip over himself in front of a hundred or more people. It certainly wasn't the lavish spreads of food that Stiles had made himself sick over many a party before, because that was the best part.

No, the thing Stiles hated about parties was the fact he always had to act like someone he wasn’t. It was the fact he had to dress up in clothes that restricted his movements, the fact he had to waltz around a room with a woman or man whose title he couldn’t care less about and try his best to keep them entertained, the fact he had to act like the proper son of the ruling monarch of the kingdom trussed up like the very same kind of people he used to swear he’d never become, powdered nose and everything. All because of a position he was born into and a title he had no choice but to inherit when the time came. It made him feel like a liar. It made him feel like a fraud, even as he walked around as the person people expected him to be.

Stiles hated everything about it.

It wasn’t like this a few years ago. Hell, a few years ago Stiles had been the picture of mischief among the court, causing all sorts of trouble during the balls and the weddings and the town celebrations, to the point where people came looking for him in the thick of it all asking for him to take them away before they drowned under the pressure of the titles they never asked to bear. And Stiles would do so willingly, easily, taking their hand and leading them on great moonlit adventures through the castle and along the streets of the city in the dead of the night, with nothing but the stars and the creatures of the night to guide them back home at the end of it all.

A few years ago, Stiles had been exactly what he wanted to be—untethered, wild, and uncaring of who would see. He’d been happy, carefree, and so very much alive.

Then his mother had died of an illness that ravaged the city, and reality had come crashing down around his ears. He was the only child of an aging king who refused to separate himself from his people even for the good of his health, and he had to start acting like it.

And, so, he did. The Stiles he had been died with his mother, and there had never been a reason to bring him back to life again.

He was miserable because of it, even as he nipped a chocolate-covered strawberry off a passing tray on its way into the ballroom and stuffed it into his mouth, shedding chocolate all over the carpet below.

“If you get that on your suit, we’ll have a murder on our hands come morning,” a grave voice said from Stiles’ left, and Stiles startled hard enough to nearly rip the curtain he was hiding behind from where it hung.

“Lydia,” he said around the half-chewed strawberry still in his mouth. The woman in question glared at him, then reached out and dusted the shoulder of his red and black party coat. Stiles quickly swallowed. “You’re supposed to be in the ballroom already.”

“I was on my way there when I found your mask” —she paused only long enough to hold the mask in question up in the same hand she already held hers in— “sitting outside your quarters, still in the wrapping paper, and realized I was going to have to find you first.” She narrowed her eyes, and her gold-dusted eyelids sparkled with the movement. “You weren’t planning on hiding all night, were you?”

“No,” Stiles said immediately, sounding about as unconvincing as one possibly could. He winced.

“It’s Scott’s birthday, Stiles. You can’t be a no-show at your best friend’s twentieth birthday party!”

“Sure I can,” Stiles grumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Lydia actually cringed, then whipped a handkerchief from her decolletage with her free hand and started scrubbing his skin of potential chocolate remnants. Stiles allowed her, if only because he knew fighting it would be futile. “It’s his birthday, no one will notice if I happen to not show up.”

Lydia didn’t deign that with an answer. A smart decision on her part, because even Stiles was fully aware he couldn’t not show up to a party being held in his own castle, regardless of who the party was for. It was just plain rude. Someone would definitely notice, and then his name would be in the papers for weeks afterwards, and not for any reason the king could be proud of. Not to mention Scott himself would probably be put out.

“Two hours,” she said instead. “Just two hours. That should be more than enough for everyone to see you and try to worm a dance out of you. Then you can go back to lurking behind the drapery and stealing food. I won’t even make you sign any dance cards.”

“One hour,” Stiles tried to bargain, but that was quickly shut down with nothing more than a raised eyebrow on Lydia’s part. Honestly, who here was the prince and who was the duchess? Because, somehow, Lydia always seemed to outrank him despite reality being otherwise.

“Enjoy yourself,” Lydia said firmly, handing over his mask, and then she vanished in a swirl of shimmering pink skirts and golden lace. Stiles looked down at the mask and had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. He wasn’t surprised—what else would he have been? —but predictable was never a good look on Lydia.

Tonight, Stiles wore the face of a fox.

Not a traditional fox, mind you. That was for the lower ranking individuals currently fawning around in their heavily-decorated clothes and overly-perfumed hair. No, Stiles wore the face of a black fox marked with streaks of red around the ears and muzzle. A unique design, with his sigil hidden in the swirls of fur at the forehead, of a creature people still associated the prince with even years after he stopped acting like one.

Stiles kind of hated how much he liked the damn thing.

“Dammit,” he muttered to himself as he disentangled his limbs from the drapery and emerged into the hallway that led into the ballroom. The guards standing on either side of the entrance watched him, one with an apologetic look on her face. He’d asked them not to say anything with a finger to his lips when he’d first dove behind the heavy fabrics, but Lydia had found him anyway. Using a quick hand gesture, he told them he knew it wasn’t their fault, and the apologetic guard relaxed. The other simply continued watching him.

And with a great sigh, Stiles slipped the mask on and tied the red ribbons tight, then walked through the doors into the throngs of people hidden behind the face of every animal imaginable.

The center of the room was a swirling mass of innumerable colors, all twinkling under the glow of the countless lights with both the glitter most chose to wear to costume parties such as this and the sparkling confetti that floated down from the rafters, spreading itself to every corner of the room and deep into the clothing folds of every patron beneath it. Fast-paced music threaded through the air, mixed with chatter, laughter, and the occasional singing voice as Stiles passed through the layers of people and tried to find the man of the hour. He hadn’t seen Scott since that morning at breakfast before they’d both been whisked away to get ready for the party, and, as a long-standing tradition from when they were young, Stiles owed the birthday boy the worst dance he could possibly have of the night. Stiles was ready to scuff some brand new leather shoes, pop a few buttons straight from their silk-lined waistcoats, and then hide from Lydia’s wrath for the rest of the night.

But Scott was nowhere to be found.

Not willing to drop the hunt so readily, Stiles nestled himself into a corner between two of the food tables—one filled with a rainbow of pastries that Stiles made a mental note to ravish later, the other a sea’s worth of crustaceans and fish and other unnamable things, some of which still gurgled in their shells—and tried to remember what it was Scott was wearing that night. Stiles hadn’t been present for the arrival announcement of the visiting crown prince, too busy sneaking around the curtains just outside the room, but he’d heard it happen, so he knew Scott was already there. He also knew Scott’s preferences when it came to his clothing, so a wolf mask was the key point in Stiles’ search. The only problem was: a wolf was a very common mask choice, and Stiles didn’t know what about Scott’s would be the aspect to set him apart.

A crown, possibly? Scott typically hated wearing his crown to parties, claiming it was difficult to dance when he spent a large amount of time worrying it would slip from his head and embarrass him, so that was probably out of the ruling, unless it was etched directly into the mask itself.

His sigil? Would it be that easy to see a double circle, likely hidden somewhere within the design of the mask itself, without staring the mask-wearer directly in the face? Would Stiles have to dance with every wolf-faced masculine figure just to find the person he was looking for?

His eyes scanned the crowds again, and he felt his gall slowly seep down to his toes. There were dozens of masks even vaguely resembling what could be a wolf—Stiles would be there all night.

He suddenly wished he had thought to ask Lydia before she’d left, assuming she’d even tell him in the first place. She probably thought keeping him on the blind hunt would make him stay at the party longer.

God, he really didn’t want to be there. It might have been a birthday party for his oldest and greatest friend, but it was never fun for him unless he could cause a little trouble.

Nabbing a flute or something pink and bubbly from a tray to his right, Stiles downed the thing in one gulp, stifled the consequential belch that tried to force its way back up his throat, and meandered his way to the other side of the room. Still, there was not a Scott to be seen. There was a Jackson, though, loitering by the unmistakable figures of Stiles’ father and Queen Melissa of their sisterlands, Scott’s mother, dancing together in place on the direct outskirts of the fanfare. Setting his empty glass aside, Stiles locked in on his sights and crept his way over.

Years of sneaking around the castle and poking his nose exactly where it didn’t belong meant Stiles had a relatively good track record of getting to the place he wanted to be without being seen, even in plain sight, and not even Jackson, who had technically been trained specifically with Stiles in mind after growing up as a page under King John’s reign, noticed Stiles sneaking up on him until Stiles was pulling the ribbons of Jackson’s dragon mask free.

Jackson started with a hissed curse, his hand flying up to keep the mask on his face, and in the same motion reached behind him and grabbed Stiles by the upper arm with his free hand.

“Your Grace,” he growled in his Jackson way, loud enough to be heard by Stiles’ dad and his not-a-date-just-a-frequent-guest. Luckily for Stiles, they seemed distracted enough in each other not to notice just yet.

“I’ll put it back on properly if you come with me.” Using the grip Jackson had on him, Stiles quickly maneuvered the both of them back into the shadows of the ballroom before Jackson could give much of an answer. Once safely out of view of the parents, Stiles smacked Jackson’s hand off and motioned for him to turn around.

“What was that all about?” Jackson asked as he complied. There was a note of bitterness to his tone, but that was Jackson for you. Growing up, he’d never been Stiles’ biggest fan, especially not when Stiles’ crush on Lydia had become painfully obvious to everyone who so much as looked his way, but he’d softened to Stiles as a whole after the loss of Queen Claudia when they both were sixteen. Having been the one with Stiles when the news broke, first with the onset of the illness and then her eventual death, he’d been one of the few people to see firsthand just how much a person like Stiles could break, and Stiles was pretty sure Jackson never recovered his full dislike of the crown prince in question after it all had been said and done.

Plus, Jackson had been the one to win Lydia over when they were eighteen, and, while the relationship hadn’t lasted, it had also helped to lessen some of the sour feelings on his end.

Stiles didn’t answer immediately as he tied the ribbons tight, then patted Jackson on the shoulder to signal he was done. “I can’t find Scott,” Stiles explained. “I also don’t really want to be here.”

Jackson scoffed. “Yeah, and what else is new? How long did Lydia tell you to stay this time?”

“Two hours,” Stiles admitted sourly. Jackson laughed. “I was hoping you could cover for me if I happened to suddenly vanish from the party?” he tried hopefully, doing his best to make his eyes look puppy-dog-like behind the confines of his mask.

“Hell no,” Jackson said without missing a beat, then quickly tacked on, “Your Majesty.”

“Come on, Jackson! Please? I’ll come back, I just want to go somewhere else for a little while.”

“And have Lydia breathing down my back for allowing it? I don’t think so.”

“I could order you to, you are my personal guard,” Stiles pointed out, but Jackson just looked at him in that way that told Stiles he was raising a single eyebrow behind his mask. Stiles sighed dramatically. “What’s the point of the title if no one listens to me anyway?”

“Plenty of people listen to you,” Jackson corrected, smacking a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “Just not me, and especially not tonight. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I see a fine looking set of specimens waiting for a man such as me to show them how a real dance is done. Have fun finding Scott.”

Stiles made sure his responding scoff was accurately disgusted as Jackson turned and walked off to meet a pair of identical figures in the crowd, one of which Stiles distinctly recalled writing his name on Lydia’s dance card a few parties ago, leaving Stiles glowering to himself alone. Stiles debated marching up and inserting himself into the situation just to be an ass, but quickly rethought the action before he could execute it and get himself stuck in a conversation he didn’t actually want to have.

“May I have this dance?” a voice asked before Stiles could find his way back to the dead fringes of the party instead, and Stiles turned to find Allison smirking at him from behind an owl mask. A quick glance around told him Scott was not with her, and if Scott wasn’t glued to her side like he normally was, that meant he was being forced to dance with some of the other partygoers who had shown up specifically with Scott in mind. Which meant Stiles was certainly not going to see him anytime soon, unless he wanted whoever Scott was dancing with being passed off to him the second Scott spotted him without a partner.

“Absolutely,” Stiles agreed, holding his hand out for Allison to take. She smiled brilliantly as she took his hand in her white-gloved one, and off to the dance floor they went.

Allison was, by far, a much better dancer than Stiles was. Only surpassed by Lydia (and only in some dances, at that), she was swift in every movement and seemed to almost float around the dance floor, even in a dress that looked heavier than she was, made of layers upon layers of feathers and fabric with names Stiles couldn’t guess if he tried. She looked like she belonged in her creature of choice, elegant and deadly if she chose, if the legend of her familial background was to be believed. Beast hunters up until a settlement dozens and dozens of generations back, Stiles typically chose to not believe, but he had seen Allison shoot an arrow straight through an apple exactly as Jackson was taking a bite out of it without doing much more than scaring the shit out of him, so maybe it wasn’t all a myth.

Allison’s bright brown eyes met his as the song changed pace suddenly, picking up to an even faster rhythm, and he only just caught the twinkle in her eye before her hand tightened in his and she took him over completely.

She was so much a better dancer than Stiles (and Scott, though Scott rarely surpassed anyone’s dance skill, so he often wasn’t counted in the first place), that every time Stiles did dance with her, she always somehow managed to lead him without ever taking the position to do so. And she did so by using a pressure method via her fingertips against his shoulder and hand, where her hands were positioned. It had taken Stiles a number of dances to catch onto her antics when she started coming to other courts and stayed for parties, and then a few years on top of that to perfect his understanding of her puppeteering, but he was to the point now where he unconsciously moved in time with her ministrations and didn’t even have to pay them any attention. It made her the easiest person for him to dance with, and he actually kind of hated how much time Scott got to spend dancing with her at these things if only because Stiles rarely got a break where he could dance and not have to constantly make sure he wasn’t about to flatten someone’s toes.

(But they were promised to one another, declared by Scott one day when he was sixteen that he would take her hand when she came of age at twenty-one, so Stiles couldn’t complain as much as he would like. They were four years into their seemingly-never-ending honeymoon period, so they kind of deserved each other at this point.)

“After this song ends,” Allison whispered in his ear as they pulled close and turned, “head for the balconies. I’ll cover for you if anyone asks where you went.”

It took Stiles an embarrassingly long moment to understand that she was giving him an out to escape, at least for a little bit. He couldn’t get much of anywhere by going to the balconies, unless he wanted to climb onto the rooftops or get lost in the gardens before returning to the party again, but it was something.

“I could kiss you,” Stiles replied giddily. Allison flashed him a wide smile.

“I appreciate that you could and yet would never,” she responded sweetly, and Stiles couldn’t help but give a genuine laugh. Friends was all they’d ever be, and neither of them had ever cared to make their relationship anything more. Allison was a fantastic friend. Stiles was lucky to have her, and Scott was luckier still to be promised to her.

True to her word, Allison pulled them close for the closing bow as the orchestra played the last note of the dance, then twisted on her heel and pushed Stiles smoothly in the direction of the doors to the garden balconies in the back before he’d even thought to take the step himself. Stiles, far less graceful even than any singular part of Allison on its own, stumbled a bit as he was thrown into motion, but caught himself quickly and hurried his way over to the doors. He thought he heard his name being called faintly over the sound of the next series of dances starting up, but he ignored it and continued on, twisting around each group of attendees as he met them and hopefully not treading on too many dresses and exposed shoe points as he went.

His mask felt hot against his face, the painted leather slipping along his nose as the heat of the room started to feel unbearably stifling, and the second he broke over the threshold of the opened double doors his fingers were already up and pulling at the ribbons that held it in place. It slid down easily, and he tucked it neatly under his arm as he moved into the shadows of the romantically-lit area and found his way to his favorite foothold, hidden by a large ivy growth, that he’d gone to so many times before. The climb required no thinking on his part; he pulled himself up easily in practiced motions that would give his father a headache if he knew. The gardens below stretched beneath him until, finally, he’d found his favorite haunt.

The autumn air was cold on Stiles’ face when he twisted himself up and onto one of the balcony alcoves, and a fine layer of snow was starting to make its way down from the gloomy sky above. Once used for lookouts, archers, and other war-related things, the alcove Stiles had found his way to was connected to a heavily-locked and incredibly dusty war room that had not seen use in centuries, nevermind Stiles’ lifetime, and was now used solely for decoration. Stiles, personally, liked to use it to stare down at the town, as it overlooked the edge of the cliff face that the castle was built into. He never understood why his father didn’t just move the war room and let Stiles have it as his own, but he had a feeling it was precisely because of Stiles’ love for a balcony that he could easily fall to his death from that his father had said no enough times for Stiles, who rarely gave up on anything, to finally let it go. Yet another reason to never let his father know he often scaled his way along the other balconies from his room to get there in the first place.

As it was a balcony alcove to a room that was never used, there was only ever Stiles who occupied it. So, to say he was startled nearly out of his skin when another figure emerged from the shadows of the alcove’s corner would be to put it incredibly lightly.

In fact—Stiles had very nearly screamed. He definitely let out a very unmasculine noise, though he would never admit to the fact if questioned about it at a later point in time. Unfortunately for him, that would be the thing to alert the other figure to his presence in the first place. Which was a shame, he would later think when he ran this encounter through his head over and over again like the action could bring a kind clarity the memory of the event itself simply did not have, because, for the split seconds before Stiles had made his presence known, the man had looked perfect where he stood in the shadows, and Stiles had been immediately infatuated with the sight of him.

But, of course, Stiles could not have nice things, and it was usually because of his mouth. Now was not an exception to the matter.

Stiles let out his noise, and the man startled out of the shadows and into the moonlight like he was expecting a fight. Stiles, though trained to defend himself if need be, did nothing more than scramble back on shoes that slipped dangerously on the snow-slicked stone beneath their feet. The man stopped abruptly, his eyes darting from Stiles’ face, down to his clothing, and back up again. And then, all at once, he relaxed completely, looking strangely put out that it was clear Stiles was not here to fight him. With a sigh that sounded suspiciously disappointed, the man in question turned his face away briefly as if expecting someone else, and that was when Stiles got his first good look at his surprise guest.

He noticed the ear cuff first, flashing in the light of the moon. Made of some kind of golden metal, it sat on the whole curve of his outer ear, nearly obscuring the ear itself completely. It flashed again as the man turned his face back, his features pulled into a completely different expression than they had been in just before, and Stiles found himself staring directly into a pair of cloudy green eyes.

Stiles had no idea who this man was, but he found that he desperately wanted to know. It was like a tugging sensation from somewhere behind his heart.

Silence stretched between them as neither moved, marred only by the faint noises of the party down below, and then Stiles realized something.

Whoever this man was, he wasn’t dressed for the party. Except for the golden cuff he wore on his ear and the thin gold chain around his neck that disappeared into his shirt, he was free of flashy adornments and heavy finery usually worn to parties such as the one being held tonight. In fact, he seemed rather underdressed considering the weather, in nothing but dark pants, a shirt, and a deep red waistcoat hanging undone from his torso. His moonlight-washed hair was unstyled, hanging around his face in that way Stiles’ hair also did when he ran his fingers through it at the end of the night after he’d washed all the grease from it. The man had either attended the party and left immediately, or he hadn’t gone at all.

He seemed just as surprised to see Stiles on that balcony as Stiles was him, too, his eyes drifting slowly down to the mask Stiles held clutched in both hands and narrowing. It made Stiles want to hide the thing behind his back, like he’d just been caught doing something wrong.

“It was hot inside,” he explained quickly, then had to refrain from slapping his hand over his mouth for saying anything at all. He wasn’t sure where the knee-jerk reaction to explain himself had come from exactly, because this was his homeland, and he was the prince of it. Whoever this man was, he didn’t rank above Stiles on his own turf.

And yet, here he was, feeling an ever-increasing need to keep the strange man standing before him, completely underdressed for the snow that was falling around them, from thinking Stiles was weird for being on the roof when a party was happening elsewhere.

Unsure of his actions, Stiles looked away, directing his gaze over the curb of the stone railing. The town below lit up with lights strung from rooftops and streetlights, a sign of the upcoming festival to celebrate the arrival of harvest season, where there would be markets every night and dancing in the squares, with the largest celebration with a potluck at the very end. Scott always had the best birthday out of all of them, because it kicked off the season, taking place what was usually just a few days before the town celebrations started. He’d have a big party, and then he’d continue to celebrate with the townsfolk of both his land and Stiles’, as they were sisterlands and shared the same traditions. Stiles, having been born in the spring, didn’t get to have quite the same experience.

“Do they know you’re gone?” the man asked quietly, his voice nothing like Stiles was expecting from looks alone. Stiles turned his attention back embarrassingly fast all the same.

“Do they…?” he repeated in confusion before he realized what the man was talking about. “Oh! Oh, no. I mean, probably? Someone’s likely noticed. But I don’t think they’re paying attention to where I am, really. It’s not my birthday.”

Shut up, Stiles, Stiles thought frantically. Lord, please, shut up.

The man’s brow furrowed. Stiles took the moment to admire his eyebrows, which were well-suited for his face. Stiles was pretty sure the man could hold conversations with them, if he tried. He could absolutely look menacing, with just the right expression. Stiles knew he could find himself easily terrified of this man. He just had that look about him.

And then, as Stiles was admiring, it occurred to him that he’d never seen this person before in his life, despite him standing right on the rooftop of where Stiles lived. Which, considering who Stiles was, shouldn’t be possible.

How had he never met this person before? Did he climb onto the roof from below? How did he get past the guards?

“Why aren’t you at the party?” Stiles blurted out before he could stop himself, then winced. Strike two. What was wrong with him? He hadn’t had that much to drink, had he?

The man eyed him warily, then seemed to come to some kind of a conclusion and sighed. “You have no idea who I am.”

Stiles frowned in turn. “Should I?”

He looked thoughtful for a moment, the moonlight washing his features out until he looked nearly a ghost, those cloudy green eyes narrowed. “No,” he said finally. “I guess you shouldn’t.”

Stiles opened his mouth to ask the obvious question, then, miracle of all miracles, thought better of the action and shut it again. Surprise flashed in the man’s eyes, and Stiles could swear the corner of the man’s mouth quirked up, but he knew he had to have imagined it. Because the man’s mouth seemed permanently set in a frown. He hadn’t smiled once, and he had a very strong frown. The man turned his face away again, but Stiles couldn’t stop looking at him.

The moonlight caught off the ear cuff as he turned again, catching Stiles’ attention easily and giving him a better view of its overall shape. Covering the entire curve of his outer ear, the cuff the man wore was shaped like a curling line of crescents and circles in a pattern that tickled some vague part of the back of Stiles’ brain without any true recognition to show for the efforts. He’d seen the exact pattern before, he was sure of it, but he couldn’t place where or when, or what kind of meaning it could hold. It was a curious design, all the same, with smaller chains of gold hanging in loops from the bottom, some kind of bead or gemstone nestled in each center. The entire thing was also, Stiles noticed, studded with the same kind of gemstone that glinted with the light, though the strong tint of the oncoming full moon made everything seem too washed out to really tell any true color.

It was a strange thing to see, even on a night like this. Ear cuffs were found in other lands, but ear jewelry didn’t often extend beyond earrings in Stiles’ land. In fact, adornments in general usually came in the form of necklaces, rings, and makeup and rarely extended beyond that, and Stiles had never thought to question the reason why something so obviously stunning had never become popular in his, or Scott’s, realm. Even Allison’s kingdom, known famously for their silver jewelry and intricate designs, did not show any favor towards such specific things.

Until now, apparently, because Stiles couldn’t think of where else the man could have climbed up to the alcove from if not the party or the town. Though, if something like that was becoming popular, Stiles felt like he would have heard Lydia talking about it at some point. It was very possible she had and he’d simply not listened, however. Stiles’ attention was a fickle thing.

“Are you from town?” Stiles heard himself ask. He was starting to understand why his dad winced each time Stiles opened his mouth, because, right now, he’d soder the damn thing shut if he only had the chance. “Did you climb up here from the streets?”

A soft huffing sound met his unfortunate inquiry, and it took Stiles a moment to realize the man had just laughed.

“No,” he replied quietly, eyes still on the town in question. “I came from inside the castle.”

That stumped Stiles. So he… had come from the party? How had he gotten himself in such disarray? Stiles might not have been paying the best attention to the comings and goings of the event, especially considering the size of the attendance, but he’s pretty sure he would have heard someone say something if someone had shown up in the state the man was in. He stuck out like a sore thumb.

Unless he’d gained his current state somewhere between the party and the balcony, which meant he must have done something relatively quick to become that way.

Stiles felt a heat crawl up his neck, swift and relentless, as an idea of what the man might have done occurred to him. The war room was empty and supposedly locked at all times because of its disuse, but Stiles had never actually bothered to check that. At least, not since he’d learned to climb to the balcony instead of going through the room itself, and that had been years ago.

Quickly, Stiles walked over to the large double doors that connected the balcony to the room and wrapped his hand around one of the huge handles. It barely budged an inch beneath the pressure he exerted on it, and even less when he tried with his weight added onto the attempt.

Locked. Absolutely, undeniably locked.

Stiles twisted back around. The man was watching him again, those eyebrows drawn together in bewilderment. He still stood at the railing, not having moved an inch except to face where Stiles now stood. Very rarely did Stiles feel any kind of embarrassment for his actions, but something about this man and his strangeness kept the embarrassment coming in waves. Stiles prayed his face, definitely red at this point due to the man’s reaction, couldn’t be seen too well in the dark of the small overhang of the doorway.

“How did you get up here?” Stiles demanded hotly. He thrust a finger at the door handles. “These are locked.”

And, to Stiles’ utter shock, the man actually smiled.

It was by no means sunny, and maybe not even a true smile, but his lips were undoubtedly pulled back from his teeth in at least a smirk. “As you suggested before,” he said simply. “I climbed.”

“From—where?” Stiles spluttered. “Who are you?”

Instead of answering, the man merely tilted his head as if pondering Stiles’ question. He met Stiles’ eyes again, rendering Stiles slightly more dumb than usual with their strange color, and then, in one fluid motion, he bent at the waist in a bow.

“Thank you for your time, Your Majesty,” the man said, taking one last glance up from beneath his lashes to meet Stiles’ eyes.

And then he backed up, turned the same corner he’d emerged from, and was gone.

Stiles watched the empty air for a shocked heartbeat. One quickly became two, then three, and then he was tripping over himself as he launched at the space the man had left behind in a desperate scramble to catch up. Unfortunately, his shoes, more equipped for dancing than any other kind of foot movement, slipped on the slick stone floor and he went sprawling instead, knocking his chin hard enough to rattle his teeth and stun him momentarily. His mask went flying, smacking against the ground and skidding a few feet away.

Stiles groaned as he hauled himself up again, clawing his way to the side of the balcony railing where the man must have left, only to remember, with a shock, that this was the side that met the cliff face. There was no way down but a sheer drop to the rocks below.

A white noise started up between Stiles’ ears as he stared down the drop, the disappearance and the lack of a body below not adding up in his brain. A cold wind blew past briefly, rustling his stiff collar against his cheeks and bringing him back to himself enough for him to twist at the waist and look directly up. The action brought no more clarity than the previous one had, and the cold feeling of dread started up in the pit of Stiles’ stomach.

The man was gone. Completely, utterly gone.

#I somehow already have 12k written for this #and I'm not done #Sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #royalty AU #WIP Wednesday #work in progress wednesday

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chrysalispen · 4 years

Text

the smile that you gave me

A gift I wrote for a valentine’s day exchange in my writing discord <3

===

The night sky.

Constellations you know all too well from your own astrology lessons, as viewed through the ornate windows, brace the scintillating spires of the Tower like sprays of diamonds upon black satin. You would never have thought to be so enamored of something so mundane. For a land so nearly swallowed by eternal Light, the return of healing darkness is like a balm over its extensive wounds.

You’re sitting at a small balcony table watching the comings and goings of Crystarium folk (although the pace of their activity is decidedly more sedentary this time of the evening) and enjoying the sight from your vantage point. Across the table sits a familiar face, one that appears curiously unchanged by the passage of time- at least at a glance. There is a careworn look about him that even his physical form, languishing a world away, did not seem to have when last you glimpsed it.

Thancred, your oldest and dearest friend - more than your friend - with whom, in a sense, you have been truly reunited at last. You could think of no one else with whom you’d rather share a quiet evening, and so- here you are.

But he looks… ill at ease, you note. Nervous, in fact, and ever so slightly awkward the more he attempts to mask his anxiety.

Initially naught more than part and parcel of your penchant for casual observation - honed over what has become years of habit - the thought is so jarring that it nearly brings you to a dead stop mid-conversation. Surely not, you think at first. Surely just a flight of fancy, but the fine thread of a tremor you first detected in his voice has not passed. It lingers even within the casual meandering of inconsequential small talk, and you find yourself taken aback for a slight handful of seconds when you realize that you are the cause.

You remember your first meeting with this man - a chance encounter beneath the Sultantree - and his gentle but constant prodding to get you to (eventually) knock upon the door of the Waking Sands. You recall plenty of other things too: his easy smile, his confidence, his wry humor, the friendliness laced with the obvious interest that he barely bothered to hide as his dark brown gaze swept you from tip to toe.

Thancred, nervous? Around you?

But the thought, once it has crossed your mind, won’t leave you, so even as you smile and laugh you find yourself searching for other context clues. His hand rests a few ilms away from the small box of chocolates he’d brought along, but it keeps drifting towards the empty space between the edge of the table and his knee. That, you realize, is the place where his gunblade would normally sit braced against a table leg or an empty chair. No doubt all the better for him to be ready at a moment’s notice, in case of a sin eater attack.

Or even some other, older call to arms: be they Garleans or primals. Old habits die hard.

Musing upon this for a moment or so, your own gaze trailing back to the stiffness in his limbs, and understanding dawns upon you. What with the rather hasty nature of your own arrival, you hadn't really realized how isolated Thancred has been, in part because of the strange way time flows across the Rift. Truth be told, even were it not for that, it just hasn’t felt as though there’s been time for what has at times seemed a rather frivolous pursuit in the great scheme of things. Norvrandt has been in a state of emergency for so long that the chance to slow down and take a breath, take any personal moments for yourselves, let alone time for prolonged intimacy, is both exhilarating and intimidating.

You can only imagine how he must feel. As time is reckoned in the First, it's been five years since he arrived, after all- and he’s been alone for a great deal of that time. All the smooth words and playful rejoinders that used to flow as easily from his lips as water in a mountain spring probably feel farther away than ever.

Perhaps somewhat on impulse, you reach across the table, ignoring your half-finished dinner, and cover his hand with yours. It’s warm and its weight is comforting, his skin ever so slightly rough to the touch.

The gesture catches his attention, those soft brown eyes flaring just slightly, giving you for the moment the impression of a startled doe- not that he is anything so innocent. You chuckle to yourself aloud at the imagery, and beneath your light and encouraging touch you feel some of that tension flow out of him.

“Did I say something?” he asks. His grin is warm. It’s still not what it used to be; it lacks the cocksure edge that you remember from your early adventuring days. But maybe that isn’t such a bad thing.

“No. I was just thinking,” you choose your words carefully, not cynically but with the desire to put recent events aside for the nonce, “how very handsome you look tonight.”

He rewards you with a blush at the tips of his ears, one that is surprising and most becoming. You can’t help a soft laugh, one which he answers in kind, his dark eyes twinkling-

-and ah, you think, there it is. The mischief that you remember. It hasn’t left him entirely, not yet.

Absent the others, or any present and immediate dangers to overcome, Thancred seems more like his old self, and you cannot but wonder if it’s at least in part due to your presence. You would like to think so.

You relax at last, then, and so does he. The evening proceeds apace with wine and long conversation as the two of you, in a sort of subconscious and mutual accord, discuss everything except Scions business- and little by little you find that you have yourself fallen into old (and very comfortable) habits.

Opportunity presents itself in due course: he takes your arm and asks with a certain cheekiness if he might walk you home. You agree, with a flutter of anticipation settling low in your belly.

You had been hoping it might come to this, after all.

~*~

You had heard once upon a time, an anomaly amongst the many rumors garnered from eavesdropping, that Thancred could hold his breath for upwards of ten minutes.

It had seemed improbable, to say the least, so naturally you had to ask him if it was true. With a wide and decidedly devious smile that spoke of pure sin, he had said he might be willing to indulge your curiosity. It was your turn to flush, then, as you realized why that was a rumor in the first place. Certainly it had naught to do with swimming (as you’d rather innocently assumed, at first).

But you were not without certain skills of your own - so you had countered, with a smirk and a remark to that effect. That was the first night you had him, and he had made good on his word. Then, and many times since.

After all that’s transpired in the last five weeks, it might as well have been five years in truth, upon Source and shard alike. But perhaps that is immaterial, for you have him again at last: pinned against the mattress of your well-appointed guest bed in the Pennants, his fine dress shirt still on but half-unbuttoned. You can feel your smile as you kiss him, pressed sweetly against lips that are still as soft and supple as you remember.

His hands rest upon your thighs, still clad in the new leggings you’d purchased for this occasion, and the warmth of them radiates through the thin fabric. It’s passing strange to you, feeling such mortal warmth from a body that is technically little more than a projection - not unlike the Ascians against whom you and your companions have battled for so long.

But the man beneath you still casts his thoughts elsewhere, even while he lies in your bed. You can see his interest in lightly flushed cheeks and dark eyes perhaps slightly wider than usual, but you can also sense his hypervigilance, that readiness to spring into action, and you pause to ask if aught is amiss.

His snowy brows lift and you watch a parade of emotions make their way across his handsome face. Surprise, followed by guilt, followed by that smile flickering back to life like embers that have not quite cooled- but this time the tilt of it is lopsided. Self-deprecating. Sheepish.

“I should have known you would notice,” he says, and you murmur your agreement, trailing the path of your lips to the corners of his mouth as if to capture the words with your tongue. You sense he has more to say so you withdraw, only an ilm or two, enough to give him space. “It’s- … so much time has passed. For me, that is. I-”

Whatever he had meant to say trails off in a frustrated sigh. You sit up and he props himself up on his elbows in turn, to study you. Regret for time gone and time wasted lurks in the darkness of his eyes, ghosts that you know all too well. They rest uneasy when they rest at all.

You say nothing, only wait.

“... Five years. And I’ve thought of almost nothing but Minf-... Ryne, for most of it.” You do not remark upon the correction, for it is made without any rancor. Whatever resentment he bore for the situation appears to have passed. “You needed my strength, and I… was too wrapped in my own problems to notice until it was almost too late. How can you sit here and....”

“Seduce you?” you supply helpfully.

Alarm, or something like it, darkens his features, and you grin at him, a smile that widens the longer he stares at you. You don’t really know why you suddenly find yourself laughing, but something about the moment feels so absurd you just can’t help yourself.

After a minute or two of confused silence, Thancred joins in, and the sound of your combined mirth breaks the tension at last.

You press your lips to his again. And again, and again, until guilt is the last thing on his mind or yours. He’s pretty as a picture disarmed thus, with his half-lidded smoulder and the return of that flush, blooming like spring roses across the apples of his cheeks. One of his hands pets your nape from where it has tangled in your hair.

“I brought you chocolates,” he says weakly, chuckling. “For Valentione’s.”

The chocolates in question sit neatly on the long table where once the Exarch had supplied you with an army’s ransom of sandwich baskets, a few ilms away from his longcoat which he had draped over the wooden surface. You idly wonder what he must have said to the artisan, or if he had explained anything about the Eorzean custom at all.

“I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten about-”

You stifle his attempts at further explanation with another kiss: this one much longer and deeper, your tongue gently but firmly seeking past parted lips to entwine with his. His hand twitches, grasping on instinct for purchase before cupping the back of your neck and slipping beneath your collar.

Eventually you emerge, taking in night air and savoring the taste of red wine and tenderness.

“Are you certain?” he whispers. Both hands now linger at your hips, toying with the hem of your shirt.

You answer him when you gather handfuls of fabric and lift, tossing the article of clothing in the vague direction of the table before returning to the warmth and surety of his touch.

Tomorrow is the Empty. Another foray into the unknown, and more questions. More uncertainty. Very likely, more danger- that is just the nature of things as a Scion of the Seventh Dawn, these days, and he knows the way of it as well as you do. But tonight belongs to a long-overdue reunion, to a warm bed shared beneath the diamond wheel of the stars, and to a connection that has surpassed the boundaries of space and of time.

An ardor of a thoroughly mortal sort- and all the sweeter for its transience.

#chrysalispen writes #thancred waters #thancred x wol #valentione's 2020

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rompierkaltain · 4 years

Text

Bedtime Stories

Parenting isn’t easy, and Jude knew this even before her first child was born. Now, her children are well into their childhood, and at times they’re a lot to handle, yet Cardan somehow manages to reel them in every time. It’s infuriating, really. Okay, maybe it’s a little cute.

so i confess i get baby fever too easily, so it was only a matter of time before i wrote the jurdan children, and i was inspired to write this after i remembered cardan has a copy of alice’s adventures in wonderland. so enjoy this fluffy little family piece as much as i enjoyed writing it :)

I love my children, I do. Oren, at six years old, is the spitting image of my husband, though he’s much kinder than Cardan and I ever were. He’s quieter than his sister, and he’s always been quite attached to me, but he has my tendency to barrel into situations without giving them much thought. As a result, it leaves him getting into trouble with some of the palace staff. Rayne, on the other hand, has my softer features, with her walnut eyes and round cheeks, but Cardan’s mass of curly dark hair cascades down her back. She’s the picture of innocence, but my daughter is all her father. While only three, she already has the same sinful smirk that I know means mischief whenever Cardan directs it at me. She’s an outspoken child, sharing her every thought, which is both entertaining and embarrassing. My little Rayne insists on attending revels with Cardan and I, and the entirety of Elfhame is besotted with our daughter. Unfortunately, that gives her quite the audience to share stories that should be kept behind closed doors, as I am not very keen on the whole kingdom knowing “Mommy and Daddy said I wasn’t planned but that I’m the happiest accident that’s ever happened to them.” I could barely stand the sex jokes I was on the receiving end of the rest of the night. Cardan doesn’t mind as much, but he’s always been more open than me about his sexual endeavors. Still, he knows how uncomfortable I can get, and he subdues the talk as best he can.

After that revel in particular, as we were walking back to our rooms, I jokingly said, “Perhaps our second child should have been planned,” and Cardan, laden with our sleeping daughter in her absurdly poofy dress, had responded, “Oh, but life with Rayne is just so much more interesting.”

I can’t argue with that. Rayne, for all her theatrics, is the happiest little girl and the light of our lives. Cardan, in particular, is wrapped around her little finger.

This isn’t to say that Cardan loves Oren any less than he loves Rayne. As our firstborn, Oren has a tendency to make Cardan and I feel warm inside, because he was our first experience in raising a child, and he made our hearts double in size the day he was born. He requires as much attention as his sister, but he isn’t as vocal about it, and he’d much rather wriggle his way into our bed than be the center of attention at some courtly event. We devote time between our children equally, but it’s much easier for Cardan to spoil Rayne, and she indulges him to the point where he probably dotes on her a little too much, but I can’t bring myself to intervene when I know it makes him so happy to see our daughter’s face brighten at something he did for her.

Before Oren was born, Cardan and I knew we needed to have a serious discussion about what fears we had about being parents, since neither of us had ideal childhoods. While there were uncertainties, we knew for sure we didn’t want our child or any future children to grow up in the ways we did. So if Cardan wants to spoil our daughter a bit, who am I to stop him? He loves Rayne more than his own life, and he wants to make sure she knows it. Though she is only three, the affection we show her will impact her as she gets older.

Still, sometimes, my children like to test that affection, and tonight is one of those nights.

“Mommy, why do I have to take a bath?” Rayne pouts, her little arms crossing over her chest stubbornly.

“Because, Rayne,” I sigh, “you are covered in mud from playing in the garden, and you can’t sleep in your bed like this, or else your sheets will get all muddy.”

“Daddy’s muddy, too, and he still gets to sleep in bed,” she huffs. I have to keep myself from rolling my eyes at her.

“Daddy also took a bath when you two came back inside, while you have been like this for several hours,” I remind her. Sometimes, I swear she argues with me because she thinks it’s fun, similar to someone else I know.

Eventually, I get her in the tub, though not without some more pouting on her part. She plays in the water with a scowl on her face, unwilling to admit that she actually enjoys her baths, when Oren pops his head into the room nervously.

“Mommy, will you read me a story before I go to sleep?” he asks, almost guiltily, and my heart aches at saying no to him.

“Not tonight, sweetheart. Mommy has some work she has to finish, since someone put a pause to what I was doing when she decided to get all muddy,” I say, looking pointedly at Rayne. My wicked little girl has that devious smirk on her face, not even attempting to look embarrassed. We match eyes for a minute before I stick my tongue out at her and she giggles.

“You’re silly, Mommy!” she titters, pointing a chubby toddler fist at me. I smile at her, grabbing a towel.

“And you are a clean little princess once again,” I respond, lifting her out of the tub and wrapping the towel around her. She continues laughing, and internally I’m dreading putting her to bed with how much energy she still has, but her laughter must alert her father, because Cardan walks past Oren into the bathroom, ruffling our son’s hair as he passes.

He’s grinning widely as he squats down to Rayne’s level. “Is that my Rayne Drop? I couldn’t tell earlier with how dirty you were.”

Rayne thinks he’s being funny, so she responds around her giggles, “It’s just me, Daddy!”

“I don’t know, my Rayne Drop would never get her dress so dirty,” he teases, reaching out to tickle her. This sets her off again, and while she’s distracted he turns to face me, a soft smile on his face. “Hello, Jude, dear,” he greets, kissing my temple, and I relax into his embrace. “I’ll put them to bed,” he says, his breath tickling my ear, and my body sags in relief at hearing that.

“Thank you,” I whisper. He kisses me quickly, releasing me to stand up. He gathers our dripping daughter into his arms and ushers Oren out of the room with them.

When all is finally quiet, I press my face to the cool rim of the tub, breathing out deeply. Since becoming a mother, I haven’t had many moments to myself, and I cherish them when they happen. After a few minutes, I force myself to get off the floor, and my feet pad through my and Cardan’s rooms, fully intending on collapsing on our bed as soon as I’m close enough. I didn’t realize how much the day has caught up to me, and my head hurts thinking about the stack of papers on my desk. That’s a tomorrow problem, I resolutely decide.

However, when I reach the bedroom, my family is gathered on the bed, huddled together as Cardan reads to an eager Oren and an indifferent looking Rayne. “‘If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?’” he reads, and Rayne looks up from the book to her father’s face skeptically.

“Daddy, this Alice girl does not make much sense,” she concludes, and I can’t help the snort that escapes me. They all look up when they hear me, and the sight is quite comical.

“Mommy!” both of my children exclaim in unison. I push off the doorway and join them on the bed, entering their huddle.

“Hello, my darlings,” I say affectionately, running my hands over both of their heads. Normally they’d relax into it and begin to drift off, but it appears Cardan has them riled up over this book. He continues reading, with Rayne cutting in every so often and Oren quietly fuming that his sister is interrupting his bedtime story.

“I don’t get it,” Rayne says once Cardan finds a place to stop reading.

“I liked it,” Oren says, irked at his little sister. She doesn’t pay him any attention, but Cardan notices and smiles at his son.

“Then tomorrow I’ll continue reading without this little chatterbox,” he promises, and this pleases Oren enough to brighten his mood.

Cardan walks them to their rooms, and I hear Rayne’s voice until the main door of our rooms is closed. I fall back against the pillows, my body finally unwinding after a long day. Cardan is back in our bedroom not five minutes later, and I raise my eyebrows at him in surprise.

“How did you get them down so fast?” I ask, pushing myself up onto my elbows as he relieves himself of his stiff clothing. He smiles as he sinks into bed with me, his arm immediately winding around my waist.

“Oren went to bed on his own. Said he was a ‘big boy’ and didn’t need to be tucked in.”

“Hmm,” I hum, unconvinced. “Wonder when that started, since he’s had me tuck him in for the past week.” Cardan unabashedly grins as he nuzzles my neck.

“That’s because you’re much better at going to bed than I am,” he jokes. I shove his shoulder, smiling myself.

“And Rayne?” I question, changing the subject.

Cardan looks at me cheekily. “I told her if she didn’t stop talking she might lose her voice. She decided to go to bed after that.” I laugh at him.

“That is a total lie!” I say, jabbing my finger into his chest. He rolls his eyes, taking my hand.

“It was not. I told her she might lose her voice, which she could, but it’s very unlikely that she’d lose her voice only from talking.”

“If you keep talking, I might have to make you lose your voice,” I retort. My eyes are drooping, and I just want to go to sleep in my husband’s arms. His eyes soften as he regards me.

“Whatever you say, Jude, dear,” he replies, blowing out the candle next to our bed, plunging our room into darkness, and finally letting me succumb to sleep.

Maybe my family drives me up the wall sometimes, and maybe I wish I had more moments of peace and quiet, but somehow I wouldn’t have it any other way.

#the folk of the air #tfota fanfic #jurdan fanfic #tfota spoilers #jurdan #queen of nothing spoilers #the queen of nothing spoilers #qon spoilers #tqon spoilers #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #if queue love me let me go

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