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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 3 years

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In Times Past

Character: Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

Summary: Bruce Wayne’s life doesn’t exist beyond the fake storylines he performs for the media and citizens of Gotham. Maybe the only person that can change that is someone who knew him before Batman ever even existed.

Word Count: 8,200+ [One Shot]

Warnings: Violence, mentions of sexual harrassment

A/N: As I teased before, this was inspired by this scene from Batman Begins.

Bruce could sense Alfred’s tension when he walked into the kitchen that morning. The man was not one to hold back his thoughts and feelings. It was both a blessing and a curse. But Bruce sensed it was the latter today.

Before Bruce could even get a sip of coffee in, Alfred tossed the Sunday newspaper in front of him.

On the front page was a photo of Batman, far too high of a resolution for Bruce’s liking. ‘BATMAN: SAVIOR OR MENACE?’ the headline read.

“A little too close for comfort, don’t you think?” Alfred asked with a hint of sass.

However, Bruce controlled his reaction.

“Not the first time I’ve been photographed, Alfred.”

“You’re dancing with the devil, Master Wayne.”

“So, what? You want me to lay down the cape because everyone in America has the ability to take a photo on their cellphone?”

“Of course not,” Alfred retorted. Though Alfred secretly wished every day that Bruce would say goodbye to the Batman. “I just thought perhaps you should be putting a bit more effort into Bruce Wayne’s life if you really want to throw Gotham off your trail.”

Then he tossed another newspaper. This one of Bruce Wayne, the other mask he wore.

‘Bruce Wayne Lights Up the Room at Charity Ball.’

Alfred points to the date…it was 9 months ago. And it was unfortunately the last time Bruce Wayne was in the press.

“You better start creating alibis, Master Wayne, or the dark web will start to putting two and two together…”

Bruce sighed. He knew Alfred was right. But he hated all that went with what he had to do. He’d rather face off with Gotham’s deadliest criminals than go galavanting around the city as the self-absorbed and reckless playboy persona that he’d created.

“There is a birthday party for Eaton Elliot next weekend. Naturally, being old family friends, you received an invitation,” Alfred explained. “Plenty of press will be there to note your attendance. Seems rather convenient."

Bruce recognized the name. It was the older brother of Thomas Elliot, a childhood friend that he slightly lost touch with. He’d see him or his parents at various events, and things were always cordial.

But it didn’t really matter how absent or quiet Bruce was when it came to maintaining such relationships. Everyone forgave such behavior when it came to saving face with the only living member of the Wayne family. Bruce could spit in the faces of Gotham’s elite and they’d probably thank him for it.

“Black tie affair, as always,” Alfred added as he slipped the invitation to Bruce. “Perhaps you could bring a date…”

Bruce glared up at the butler. “Dates make it harder to make a quick and quiet exit, Alfred.”

“Well, maybe that’s the point, Master Wayne.”

————

Just like he was on patrol or working on an op, Bruce had prepared for every single scenario. He made a plan that would be the most effective in the shortest amount of time. He didn’t want to torture himself any longer than absolutely necessary.

When Alfred asked him again if he was planning on bringing a date, Bruce had only replied with a mischievous smirk.

Because he walked in with a girl on each arm.

It wasn’t the classy or gentlemanly thing to do. And that was exactly the point.

Conversations paused, attention was turned, and flashes went off.

Bruce Wayne made his entrance.

He carefully fell into the groove of being the spoiled brat everyone had painted him out to be. It had been awhile since he played the part, but Bruce always found it easy when he was surrounded by these kinds of people.

Bruce made sure to slightly slur his words. He would get too handsy with his dates. He would rudely interrupt people to share his own useless opinion on whatever topic was leading the conversation. He never looked waitstaff in the eye.

But now it was time for the finale.

Bruce whispered a certain suggestion into the ears of his dates.

They shared a look that proved they were both game.

The three of them stumbled into a bathroom – one out in the open that most of the guests would be steered toward.

The kissing began and clothes were quickly shifted.

There was a split moment when Bruce wondered what this would feel like for a man who actually wanted to be in this situation.

The two woman managed unbuckle his belt, the clanking metal echoing in the all-tile bathroom.

But just as they unbuttoned and then unzipped his pants, Bruce’s cellphone rang loudly.

Right on cue.

“Ladies, ladies, ladies,” Bruce whined. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” his words stumbled out. “But I just have to take this call.”

“Aww. Brucie. You’re no fun,” one of the women fussed.

But Bruce gave off enough dominate energy that they didn’t try to fight him on it.

Hair disheveled, mouth swollen and pink, lipstick stains on his skin and his pants and belt barely put back together, Bruce stumbled out of the bathroom first.

The two women didn’t bother to stay back and spread out their exits, making it very clear what had just happened – or what it looked like just happened.

It didn’t matter that Bruce didn’t actually have sex with them, every woman in Gotham wanted to say they’d shared a bed with Bruce Wayne. His two dates would lie to save face and get street cred. Bruce hated that he knew that, that it was guaranteed.

Dozens of people, who were socializing near the bathroom, stopped what they were doing and watched with judgmental looks. Some men looked jealous. Some women looked disgusted and eyed the two women up and down.

Then there was the flash of a camera.

Bingo.

Bruce wouldn’t have to linger much longer now.

He played up being somewhat embarrassed.

But just as he put his phone to his ear to take the fake call that Alfred dialed, he saw the last person he expected.

It caused him to do a double take and freeze.

His focus fell for a moment as they made eye contact.

Why did she have to be here?

Why did she have to be one of his witnesses?

Why did it hurt so much to see how she looked at him as if he were a stranger?

And why did she have to look so god damn beautiful?

Y/F/N Y/L/N.

The Y/L/N family were another one of Gotham’s elite – well, they used to be.

Y/N’s father was once worth billions. But being born into wealth didn’t guarantee intelligence or the skills to properly run the family business. When Bruce and Y/N were in high school, Y/N’s father filed for bankruptcy and confessed that the family was about to lose everything. With the announcement, the press also exposed Mr. Y/L/N’s many lustful affairs.

What came next was a messy and brutal divorce that the media ate up.

Out of spite, Y/N’s mother remarried her ex-husband’s biggest competitor, maintaining her status and wealth, and making sure she still came out on top. It was the greatest revenge and even Y/N had to give her mother credit for the ingenuity of it all.

Bruce remembered how terrible it all was for Y/N, who was used as a pawn in her parents war against each other.

Having had enough of it, Y/N fled Gotham and chose to live with her eccentric great aunt in London and finished her last year of high school there.

But Y/N didn’t run away from Bruce. They emailed, texted, video chatted, called.

They had always been good friends.

The elites of Gotham always suspected the two would get married. But both Bruce and Y/N pretended to ignore such whisperings.

But when Bruce shifted his life, when he changed his life’s purpose, when he started becoming a vigilante…he stopped taking Y/N’s calls and he stopped returning them.

He told himself it was better that way. He couldn’t handle any distractions. Batman didn’t have time for personal relationships, so neither did Bruce Wayne. But more importantly, Y/N deserved someone who would prioritize her – even just as a friend.

Now Bruce needed to get actually drunk.

Putting the phone back to his ear, he broke eye contact and made a beeline for one of the bars.

“Did you forget to tell me about the guest list, Alfred?” Bruce muttered evenly to the phone, knowing that Alfred would easily be able to hear his anger and irritation.

“How was I to know who RSVPed yes or no…” Alfred bit back. But he knew exactly who Bruce was looking at.

Bruce frowned as he ended the call abruptly and asked for a whiskey.

“I don’t know, man. She’s not my type,” a man said to his friend.

The two of them were just a foot or two away from Bruce.

“What do you mean ‘not your type’? She’s fucking hot.”

“Don’t get me wrong, she’s beautiful. But she’s so stiff and uptight. Look, she’s had a resting bitch face all night.”

Bruce’s grip on his face tightened as he easily put together who they were talking about. It was moments like these that Bruce hated being lumped together with men like this.

“You’re an idiot,” the friend said with a laugh.

“Oh, yeah? Alright. If you’re so obsessed with her, why don’t you go over and talk to her?”

Bruce saw his window.

With a sloppy haste, Bruce turned right into the two men and just happened to spill his drink over the man who was about to make a move on Y/N.

Bruce laughed and spilled another drink on the bar as he tried to grab some nearby cocktail napkins. “Gentleman, gentleman…I so dearly apologize.”

Both of them were clearly annoyed, but then realized who he was.

Bruce gripped them by the shoulders and made sure his eyes were struggling to stay open. “I could be wrong…but it’s possible…that I have been over served.”

He broke out into a chuckle and both men forced their own laughter.

Bruce subtle glanced over to where Y/N had been standing. She’d disappeared.

He’d spared her…for now.

“I think it’s time I go home,” Bruce told them too loudly. “Do me a favor? Wish her congratulations for me?”

The two men looked at one another. “Congratulations? To who?”

Bruce frowned in confusion and looked around. “Isn’t this an engagement party?”

They tried to hide their laughter. “Wayne, this is a birthday party. For Eaton Elliot.”

Bruce’s brows shot up. “A birthday party? Look at that!”

Then he turned around, zigzagged his walk, and threw a wave over his shoulder.

But Bruce wasn’t that lucky.

Because when he made his way to the valet, he found Y/N waiting patiently with her back to him.

Her fancy dress and gloves seemed to do nothing to help protect her from the cold night.

Bruce could’ve left. He could’ve left her alone, gone back into the party, and made more of a fool of himself.

But next thing he knew, he was walking forward.

“Waiting for your car?”

Y/N didn’t turn to him, but it was clear that she heard his question and recognized who it had come from. “I didn’t drive. They’re getting me a cab.”

Bruce nodded slowly even though she wasn’t looking at him.

All charm had left his body now that he had quit the act. It wasn’t going to do any favors for him. He needed to do this on his own, as his real self.

Y/N finally turned with a slight attitude and Bruce was taken aback at how she was even more beautiful up close.

“What are you doing here, Bruce?”

He smirked. “I’m here for the party, of course.” He didn’t want to play the part anymore – not with her. But it was second nature at this point.

Her lips pursed at his response.

“Leaving so soon?” He asked.

Y/N sighed. “Between you and me, I’m only here as a favor to my mother. She wouldn’t get off my back about coming. I tried to leave sooner, but…”

One of the valets hopped up the steps. “I’m sorry, Dr. Y/L/N. It can take awhile to get cabs in the area at this time of night.”

Y/N gave him a sympathetic smile and opened her mouth to say she’d walk home.

“I’ll drive her home,” Bruce spoke before she could. Then he handed the valet his ticket.

Y/N looked at him with confusion and a bit of annoyance. “You really don’t have to do that.”

Bruce just gave her a look that said he absolutely did.

Then Y/N gestured back to the party. “You’re just gonna abandon your dates?”

The way she asked made it clear that Y/N had seen Bruce stumble out of the bathroom with the two of them. He also didn’t miss how she emphasized the plural.

“They’ll be fine,” Bruce told her.

He took a step toward her. “Let me give you a ride, Y/N.”

She took in a deep breath.

She knew she needed the ride. Only an idiot would walk home at this time of night, even if the walk to her apartment was a relatively safe one for Gotham standards.

Y/N just nodded.

A minute later, an Aston Martin drove up.

Bruce offered his arm to Y/N and helped her down the stairs before opening the passenger door for her.

He handed the valet a few bills, not even noticing they were all hundreds.

“Where to?” Bruce asked her.

“Oh, umm…” Y/N quickly gave him her address.

“I know you’ve been gone awhile, but you definitely shouldn’t be walking around the streets of Gotham at night.”

Y/N scoffed. “I’m aware. I moved back awhile ago.”

“Oh. I didn’t know…”

“Yeah. Well, why would you? It’s not like you kept in touch.”

The car filled with silence.

Y/N stared out the passenger window, looking at the skyscraper lights of Gotham

It seemed Y/N had no issue with staying silent for the whole car ride.There was nothing awkward about it for her.

But Bruce knew there were things he needed to say. “I’m sorry.”

This was the last thing Y/N expected and her head whipped to him.

But Bruce kept his eyes on the road. “For disappearing like I did.”

Y/N slowly turned back to the passenger window and said nothing.

Bruce didn’t expect to win her forgiveness. He would have to deal with that. But at least he could apologize.

“Y/N.” Bruce said it ever so quietly, like he was forbidden from speaking it. “This isn’t…I’m not…” Dammit. What was he even trying to accomplish right now? “Back there–”

“Back there?” Y/N interrupted his fumbling. “Oh, you mean the threesome you had in a bathroom at a party?”

Bruce’s jaw tightened.

Everyone bought his performance. Unfortunately, even Y/N.

Bruce pulled over and Y/N realized they were at her building already.

“You can say whatever makes you feel good, Bruce. Have at it.” Then she threw open the car door.

She put her hand on the handle to help herself out.

But she hesitated.

No. She wasn’t going down without a fight.

Y/N spun around to face Bruce, his blue eyes already waiting for her.

“You used to be kind. Strong and brave. You were better than all of them.”

And for the first time, Bruce really saw the damage he had done.

“Is that boy really gone?” She searched his eyes for the answer. “What is the act and what is the truth?” She whispered. “Huh, Bruce?”

He wanted to tell her.

Bruce had never felt the urge to expose his secret ever before.

But right now? Right now, he wanted to take Y/N back to the manor, drag her down to the cave, and show her all of his secrets – every single one.

But he couldn’t. And he knew that.

Bruce kept his face reserved.

His brow furrowed for just a second as he took Y/N in. All of her. Her eyelashes. Her lips. The styling of her hair. The dip of her neck.

“You became quite the woman, Y/N.” He told her. “And a beautiful one at that.”

Y/N blinked at the statement. Her mind desperately tried to decipher the hidden message in his words, in his actions from the night. But she came up with nothing.

She wanted to say that she knew he was using flattery to divert her attention from what she wanted to know. But it was also clear that he genuinely meant what he said as well. His eyes seeming to be taking in every moment of being in her presence.

If Y/N weren’t so irritated, she probably would’ve been more taken aback by his compliment, feeling vulnerable and almost embarrassed.

There wasn’t any point in pushing.

So Y/N took in a breath. “Thank you for the ride, Bruce.”

He just nodded. Then he watched her walk to the door of her apartment building. He probably lingered a few moments too long, but he couldn’t bring himself to once again put distance between them.

————

Alfred brought down food and an espresso to the cave.

When he looked up, Y/F/N Y/L/N’s face was on the giant screen.

“Working on a case, Master Wayne?” He asked with his usual sarcasm.

Bruce ignored the question. “She attended undergrad in Metropolis and then went to grad school in New York City.”

“Yes, I can see that…considering you have her student records exploited all over the screen,” Alfred responded with a smirk. “She’s been living in Gotham again for a few years, working as a psychiatrist. Even volunteers her services at Arkham – pro bono.”

That caught Bruce’s attention. He turned away from the screen to look at Alfred.

“I found no record of that,” he argued.

“Yes. Well, her mother is rather embarrassed by it. Thinks it gives the family a bad image. She insisted Y/N’s philanthropy was kept secret, even approved the NDAs herself.”

Bruce gave him a look, utterly confused how Alfred had access to such information.

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “Never underestimate the power of gossip, Master Wayne. Most family secrets cannot be found on the dark corners of the internet.” Then he smirked. “You would gain quite the knowledge if you didn’t turn your nose up at it.”

Bruce smiled at that and turned back to the computer.

“So, I take it that it was good seeing her?” Alfred pressed.

Bruce tensed at the question. “Not entirely. I’m certain that she hates me.”

“Hates you or hates the character you’ve so carefully created?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m just Bruce Wayne to her.”

Alfred opened his mouth to say more.

“Leave it, Alfred.” Bruce cut off before he could.

“Well, it appears I’m not the one struggling with leaving it alone, Master Wayne.”

Like many of Gotham’s elites, Alfred had humored the idea that Bruce and Y/N would make a marvelous couple. Like Bruce, Y/N didn’t let money and power sway her morals or damage her good and kind heart.

Alfred had always enjoyed having her over and listening to her and Bruce’s laughter as they caused trouble around the manor and entertained themselves.

But he also saw how her departure effected Bruce, no matter how much the teenager had tried to hide it at the time.

Maybe Alfred was an optimist or a romantic, but he still believed there was a chance for the two of them. But Bruce, quite frankly, would have to get over himself and his stubbornness.

————

Bruce was looking down at the city from yet another rooftop. It had been a quiet night. And he hated nights like that. It was always ended up being the calm before a storm.

“Batman?” Alfred spoke into his comms.

“Yes.”

“It appears there’s been a breakout at Arkham. The media hasn’t caught wind of it yet. But law enforcement has already been dispatched.”

“I’m on my way,” Bruce announced as he slid down a fire escape and made his way to the batmobile that he’d hidden in the shadows of an alley.

“Master Wayne…” Alfred knew to only use codenames on comms.

Bruce tense. “What is it?”

There was hesitation from the butler. “Y/N was scheduled to work a shift there tonight…”

Bruce said nothing. But his foot pressed the gas pedal down further than necessary.

—

Y/N was sitting with a patient when the alarm went off.

The people that worked there called them inmates, and corrected her every time she chose not to use that title.

Harleen Quinzel had been sitting across from Y/N for almost 30 minutes when they were interrupted.

“Oh, fun!” Harley clapped and giggled as the sirens filled their ears.

Harley and Y/N had formed an interesting relationship. The criminal seemed to like her and looked forward to her visits. She never threatened Y/N or tried to manipulate her.

Y/N believes she won her over by addressing her as Dr. Quinzel and often asking her professional opinions on trends and news in their industry.

Most people there only referred to Harley as if she was property of the Joker, no matter how many times Harley clarified that she wasn’t his anything anymore.

“Does this happen a lot?” Y/N asked her, trying to remain calm.

“Not enough, if ya ask me!” She laughed.

Y/N made the mistake of opening the door and seeing that the majority of the cells had been opened and prisoners were slowly making their way into the hallway.

“Not good,” Y/N muttered.

“Don’t worry, doc. I’ll protect ya! Us gals gotta stick together.” Harley said from behind her shoulder.

Y/N whipped around and looked at her and then at the table she’d been sitting at. “Dr. Quinzel! How did you get out of your restraints?”

“Oh, I’ve always been able to. I just leave ‘em on to be polite.”

Y/N sighed. No one had explained any sort of protocol for such a situation.

“Where the fuck are all the guards?” Y/N asked.

Suddenly the lights shut off.

“Yippy!” Harley cheered.

Y/N turned to her and softly grabbed her shoulder, but gave her an insistent look. “Harley, we need to get somewhere safe.”

Her face did dip to serious for a moment. “You don’t need to worry about me. But you’re right. Not everyone in here appreciates a shrink…”

To her surprise, Harley starts pulling her through the darkness with a purpose.

Y/N had no idea where she was planning on taking her. It seemed all the doors were in lock-down mode, leaving her stranded. If she survived tonight, she’d definitely be bringing that up to the board.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Y/N yelped at the sound.

Someone had either gotten a hold of a gun or security guards were opening fire.

Either way, it caused chaos to erupt.

Suddenly the dark hallways were being filled with a stampede of prisoners. Either they wanted to take down the guard who was shooting or they were getting an adrenaline rush at the concept of their peers attacking their wardens.

The crowd ripped the two women apart. Y/N was shoved up against the wall and her head slammed against the cement.

Y/N swore under her breath from the pain.

“Is that…No, it can’t be…”

A voice called out over the madness.

A chill went up Y/N’s spine. She’d know that voice anywhere.

The Joker.

He wasn’t one of her patients. All researchers and doctors were forbidden to speak with him – especially after what happened with Harley.

But that didn’t stop the Joker from knowing who Y/N was. He whined and whined about feeling left out. “All my pals get to chat with her and all I get to do is look!”

Now, Joker was free from him isolation.

Y/N suspected he was behind the breakout.

And he was going to make a slight detour. A detour that was doing whatever the hell he wanted to with Dr. Y/L/N.

Y/N didn’t even bother hiding her fear. With a new found strength and endurance, she started shoving her way through the mob.

“I hear you and my pumpkin’ pie have gotten close.” Then his smile dropped. “Too close, if ya ask me.”

Y/N ignored him as another prisoner shoved into her shoulder.

“I don’t appreciate you putting ideas in her head!”

Y/N stopped, realizing she had miscalculated her escape and had come to a dead end.

So she slowly turned around to face him, putting her back to the wall. “And what ideas are those?”

“Independence. Self respect. A life beyond crime and incarceration,” he spat.

Y/N realized he had his goonies flanking him, only making her odds that much worse.

“Those aren’t ideas. They’re a reality, a possible future,” she defended.

Joker didn’t like that answer one bit. He threw himself against her, once again slamming Y/N into the wall.

He gripped her chin roughly and smiled with his yellow teeth. “You know…she’s not the only doctor I’d like to break in. And in more ways than one, if you catch my drift,” he giggled.

Then his eyes raked over her body, up and down. His hands slid down her hips and the side of her legs until they got to the hem of her pencil skirt.

Y/N shoved him away with all of her strength.

But that earned her a slap across the face from him.

Joker gripped her waist tightly pressing her between the wall and his body. “I’m in charge now, doc. And I’ve got a few lessons to teach you.”

His hands grabbed at the buttons of her blouse and with one jerk, he ripped open her her blouse.

But before he could go any further, a few of his lackeys cried out in pain.

Y/N swore she heard the sound of objects whipping through the darkness.

She didn’t want to let herself feel any relief. But she hoped Harley had made her way back to her. She’d probably pack an even heavier punch once she realized Y/N needed protecting from her asshole ex.

But when Joker turned around and Y/N followed his gaze, Harley was nowhere to be found.

Yet three men were on the ground, unconscious.

“Well, well, well,” Joker muttered in amusement. “Has Batsy come out to play?”

Next thing Y/N saw was a shadow dropping down out of nowhere and taking out even more of Joker’s men.

Joker seemed to be prepared for such an interruption. Because he grabbed a knife from somewhere hidden on his body and ripped Y/N off the wall. He pressed Y/N’s back to his chest and put the tip of his knife to her throat.

“Come out, come out wherever you are,” Joker sang.

To Y/N’s shock, Batman stepped into what little light was in the hallway.

“Long time, no see!” Joker screamed so loudly that Y/N flinched. “Did you miss me, Batsy? And you came all this way to see little old me?! How very sweet!”

“Your attempted escape was a failure,” Batman stated. “There’s nowhere for you to go. All the exits are blocked. Arkham has been contained.”

“What a shame! I really felt this one was gonna work!” Joker laughed.

Batman took a step toward him. “It’s over, Joker.”

“You’re probably right,” Joker shrugged. “But I really wanted to have some fun with doc here. So, if you could give us some privacy.”

Batman’s eyes flickered to Y/N’s for a brief moment. “Let her go,” he warned.

“How about…no?” Joker laughed.

Just as Batman was about to make his move, Y/N grabbed the wrist of Joker’s arm that held the knife. She twisted it and dived in such a succinct motion that it was obvious Y/N had been trained.

Whipping herself out of Joker’s grip, she twisted Joker’s arm so roughly and quickly behind his back that he had no choice but to drop his knife from the pain.

Then Y/N was now facing him, and with one swift swing of her leg, she kicked him right in the groan.

Batman saw his opening and rushed forward, cuffing Joker in place.

While Batman neutralized him, Y/N stumbled for the knife that Joker had dropped, still not feeling safe and out of danger.

She looked around, realizing that the police had filtered in and apprehended all the escaped prisoners. Some were already locked back into their cells. Other’s were in handcuffs with guns being pointed at them in warning.

“Dr. Y/L/N,” his voice made her whip back around.

How the hell did Batman know her name?

She squinted wearily at him.

“You can drop the knife,” Batman told her quietly.

Y/N blinked and looked down at her hand, having forgotten that she even grabbed the knife. And she now had a vice-like grip on it.

Her hands were shaking when she dropped the knife and the clatter echoed in the hallway.

She eyed the Joker, not trusting any sort of weapon to be in his vicinity, despite being handcuffed now.

“He’s not going anywhere,” Batman noted, as if he could read her mind and hear the concerns she was thinking.

Police officers surrounded them now.

“Until next time, doc!” Joker sang loudly.

Batman stepped between him and Y/N, shielding her from even being seen by the lunatic.

Y/N eyed him, wondering if he did that on purpose.

“This way,” he directed lowly as he led her out of the hallway.

Y/N was surprised when he escorted her all the way out of the building.

Wasn’t this supposed to be Gotham’s Dark Knight? A disappearing act? An urban legend that some people still didn’t believe in?

When they got outside, there were even more officers. The night was flickering blue and red from all the patrol car’s lights still being on.

Commissioner Gordon was having a field day with Arkham’s warden, yelling at him about lack of protocol and no protection for the volunteers and workers that had gotten caught in the crossfire.

But finally, the reality of what just happened was starting to set in for Y/N. And she realized that her entire body was shaking.

All of a sudden, a blanket was wrapped around her shoulders.

She looked up to see that Batman had draped it over her. When and where he’d grabbed it, she had no clue. But the warmth was helping, so she didn’t question it.

“Thank you…for saving me back there.”

Was that a smirk on his lips? Was Batman amused by her?

Why was it so comforting when he was a mere stranger?

And his eyes, even when they were surrounded by a cowl and dark paint, they still felt familiar. Y/N had a similar feeling to deja vu.

“Looked like you had it handled,” he replied.

“Oh, I definitely didn’t. But thank god for those self-defense classes.”

They looked into each other’s eyes for a second.

“Make sure you get checked out by the paramedics,” he told her gently, but insistent.

It was far too gentle for his Batman alter ego. But she caught how it sounded like it personally mattered to him.

Y/N looked behind her, where the ambulance was.

But when she turned back around, Batman was gone.

Next thing Y/N knew, she was being surrounded by two paramedics and Commissioner Gordon who was careful not to push her by asking too many questions at once.

“Does he always do that?” She asked him in a daze.

“Do what?” Gordon asked.

“Disappear like that?”

Gordon smiled and nodded. “Annoying, isn’t it?”

———

“What’s the gossip of the privileged this week?” Bruce asked Alfred at breakfast a few days after the outbreak.

“Something specific you’re looking for, Master Wayne?” Alfred asked as he poured Bruce a big mug of coffee.

Bruce glared at him, knowing he was playing coy with him.

But he put his pride aside. “How is she doing?”

Alfred took pity on him. “She took some time off work. But seems to be handling it better than expected. Makes quite a bit of sense, doesn’t it? Her being psychiatrist and all.”

Bruce just nodded with a dazed look.

“You could always see for yourself…” Alfred added.

Bruce snapped out of his daze and looked up him questioningly.

“You could go see her,” Alfred confirmed.

“Alfred, don’t you start.”

“Start what, Master Wayne? Pushing you to form any sort of relationship?”

Bruce sighed and got up from the breakfast nook. He didn’t want to fight with him, so he’d made his exit before that happened.

“Batman has plenty of friends,” Alfred stopped him. “But what about Bruce Wayne, hmm? Who are his friends?”

“You saying we’re not friends, Alfred?”

“I’m all you’ve got, Master Wayne. And that’s my point.”

Before the discussion could go on any further, the doorbell rang.

The two men shared a look.

No one stopped by the manor.

Alfred made his way over.

Bruce figured he’d wait where he was. But the front entrance was too far away from him to overhear any conversation.

A few minutes later, Alfred walked in with an unreadable expression.

“Dr. Y/L/N is here, Master Wayne. She is waiting for you in the drawing room.”

Bruce opened his mouth to tell him to make an excuse and get her to leave. But Alfred was already disappearing, making it clear that he would do no such thing for him.

When Bruce walked into the drawing room, he found Y/N’s back to him as she looked at the family heirlooms and trinkets that were displayed on the shelved.

She was dressed casually, which caught Bruce off guard since he’d only see her in formal wear and professional outfits since their reunion. Her hair was in a messy bun and she didn’t appear to be wearing much makeup, if any at all.

“Hi,” he greeted softly, making her quickly turn around.

“Hi,” she replied.

Bruce stepped further into the room. But neither of them moved to sit in any of the many seats that surrounded them.

“I heard what happened. How are you doing?” He asked.

She nodded and shrugged. “Alright.”

“I’m surprised to see you here,” Bruce admitted.

Y/N ignored his comment and her eyes went around the room. “I missed this place,” she thought aloud. Then her eyes fell back to his, softening. “I missed you.”

Bruce was taken aback from her confession. Seeing as the last time they were together, she was rather blunt about how disgusted and disappointed in him she was.

The energy between them felt so different than last time.

To his surprise, Y/N stepped toward him. And she didn’t stop until she was at a proximity that most would call rather intimate.

There was a voice in the back of Bruce’s mind, urging him to close the last bit of distance and place his lips on hers. But he managed to ignore it. That didn’t stop his heart from beating faster, though.

Y/N stared into his eyes for a few seconds, almost like she was searching for something.

“I have something that belongs to you…”

Bruce waited, not sure what she could possibly have to give him.

But then she pulled out one of his batarangs from her coat pocket, offering it to him.

She had found it embedded in the wall when she had gone back down to grab her personal belongings that night.

Bruce kept his face composed. “I’m not sure I understand.”

But he grabbed it from her anyways.

“He’s you,” she whispered. “Or I guess…you’re him.”

Bruce let out a breath, “Y/N…”

She took step away from him. “Don’t lie to me, Bruce.”

So he shut his mouth and said nothing instead.

“I’ve been doing some research. Things started lining up,” Y/N explained. “The first Batman sightings were right around when we stopped talking. The more Batman was in the press, the less Bruce Wayne was. And when he was, it was never positive – like it was meant to be a distraction.”

Her eyes went sad. “I never understood how the boy I used to love could grow into the man I’m so disappointed in. It never made sense.” She paused. “But when you wonder if the man himself is the mask, it all fits.”

“I’m sorry.” Bruce hung his head slightly. “I couldn’t tell anyone. Not even you.”

“I’d never share your secret.”

“I know,” he answered instantly.

Y/N couldn’t hold back her emotions any longer. Her eyes welled with tears. “Bruce…living like this has its consequences.”

Bruce said nothing.

She stepped forward and grabbed his hand. “You can’t change the world on your own. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Y/N wasn’t giving him advice. She was offering him something.

Her trust.

Her secrecy.

Her love.

He shook his head, but gripped her hand tightly. “You would just end up in the shadows with me. And I…I can’t do that to you.”

“I’m stronger than you think,” Y/N defended.

“I’ve always known how strong you are, Y/N.” His jaw tightened at even the thought of being selfish. “You deserve more than what I can give. Gotham will always come first. That’s the sacrifice I made. That’s what is required. I can’t be what you need.”

Y/N studied his face, knowing that there would be no winning with him.

She nodded once, not even slightly hiding her heartbreak and disappointment.

Then she stepped closer and gave him a slow kiss on the cheek.

“It’s not a one time offer, Bruce.”

Bruce couldn’t move a muscle. He was rooted in place.

He heard Y/N have a short conversation with Alfred, then the door closed, and she was gone again.

———

Bruce Wayne was a fool.

Alfred could probably make a list, in seconds, with a hundred reasons why.

But, no, Bruce Wayne was a fool for believing Y/N would give up so easily.

Two weeks later, Y/N was at Wayne Manor again.

Bruce knew something was going on when Alfred didn’t seem surprised in the slightest.

In one of her arms was popcorn seeds, twizzlers, sour patch kids, and chocolate covered pretzels. In the other arm was a case of beer.

Y/N barely said hi to Bruce as Alfred helped her out of her coat and took the things out of her grasp so she was no longer struggling to hold it all.

“I’m here to use your theater,” she announced.

And with that, she walked right past Bruce like she owned the place.

Bruce looked at Alfred and silently asked, ‘What the hell is going on?’

“I believe you have a guest to entertain, Master Wayne.” Then he looked at the items in his hand. “And I believe I have some popcorn to make.”

Bruce still didn’t move.

“You successfully closed yet another case last night, it’s Friday night, and you have a beautiful woman who decided she wants to spend her time with you. Best you don’t keep her waiting, Master Wayne.”

Bruce narrowed his gaze as if telling Alfred they’d discuss this matter at another time.

“I presume you shouldn’t go empty handed,” Alfred added quickly and handed Bruce two beers from the case in his arms.

Bruce chuckled, but started walking away. “I’m surprised you even let this stuff in the house, Alfred.”

When Bruce reached the theater, Y/N had already started a movie.

He watched her a for a moment before she could realize he'd joined her.

Y/N looked like she belonged there. Even after all this time apart, she just burrowed herself a cozy nook in Bruce’s life.

It was something she had been able to do even when they were kids. When Bruce had his mood swings or his depressive episodes, Y/N didn’t scare. She just found her way to stay at his side without upsetting him further.

Bruce grabbed the seat to the left of hers.

They weren’t really seats, more like small beds. A dozen were placed in the theater.

A couple could easily share one, but Bruce wasn’t planning on even approaching that fine line.

When Bruce sat down, he didn’t look at Y/N. But she gave a shy smile at his joining.

It was a long movie – almost a 3 hour run time.

And Y/N almost made it.

Without only 30 minutes left, Y/N had fallen asleep. Meaning Bruce’s attention was now taken from the movie.

He got up and grabbed one of the many blankets in the trunk hidden in the corner and placed it carefully over her, before silently leaving.

This was not a one time thing.

These type of visits continued.

Bruce knew Y/N and Alfred had to be in cahoots together.

Y/N seemed to always come to the manor when Bruce needed her most.

Alfred would force Bruce out of the cave and moments later, the doorbell would be ringing.

On the bad nights, she wouldn’t make him talk. She wouldn’t ask questions or try to make him magically feel better. Sometimes she would talk – mostly about mundane things. She’d tell Bruce about her day or how her neighbor always left baked goods at her door or about the new show she started watching. Sometimes she wouldn’t say anything at all, just sit there silently and make sure he wasn’t alone.

Sometimes she would bring coffee and pastries.

Sometimes Bruce would just walk into the library and find her reading.

Sometimes she would sit and chat with Alfred as if he was the reason she was visiting, and not Bruce.

Bruce couldn’t sleep one night. Nothing specific was causing his insomnia. Just the overall weight of being so many people.

It was 3AM when Y/N texted him to open the door for her because she didn’t want to wake Alfred.

When Bruce did so, Y/N was standing on the other door in sandals and a slightly transparent coverup that barely showed the outline of the bathing suit underneath.

He said nothing, but his face clearly showed that he wanted to know why the hell she was there in the middle of the night.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Y/N told him quietly. Then she shrugged a bit,“I decided I wanted to go for a swim."

Whether she was lying for his benefit, Bruce wasn’t sure. But he followed her to the indoor swimming pool like a sailor would follow a siren.

Without hesitation, Y/N kicked her sandals off and tossed her coverup on the nearest chair. And the next second, she was diving into the pool.

Bruce smirked at her nonchalance, but made sure to hide it when she breached the surface once again.

“Doesn’t your apartment building have its won pool?” He asked.

Y/N smiled and tilted her head back to get her hair wet again and out of her face. “They put too much chlorine in it.”

Bruce crossed his arms, “I see.”

“Coming in?” She asked teasingly.

He shook his head.

“At least keep me company,” she requested.

Bruce glared playfully at her, knowing the game she was playing.

But he finally sighed and nodded.

He was in cotton shorts and a t-shirt. But he decided to sit on the edge of the pool and dip his feet in.

He watched as she swam around, looking as natural in the water as a mermaid. She had always loved swimming as a kid and it appeared not much had changed.

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” He finally decided to break the silence.

Y/N swam to him and crossed her arms on the edge of the pool to rest and tilted her head to look at him.

She shrugged, “The usual: stress, nightmares, insomnia, too much caffeine.”

Bruce’s concern spiked instantly. “Nightmares about what?”

She watched him for a moment, seeing how quickly her subtle comment triggered him.

“You’re not the only person who’s seen fucked up things, Bruce.”

An hour later, Y/N asked for a towel.

When she climbed out, she was taken aback by Bruce wrapping it around her shoulders and rubbing her down gently. It was innocent, but subtly intimate.

As their eyes locked for a prolonged time, and he seemed to realize what he’d done accidentally.

Y/N cleared her throat. “I should head home and let you try to get some sleep.”

“You could stay,” he offered. “I mean, we have plenty of bedrooms here,” he quickly added and saved himself a bit.

“Is that…what you want?” Y/N asked slowly.

Bruce knew what she was trying to ask. He didn’t trust himself to answer the way he should, so he didn’t answer.

“Let me drive you home,” he asked as they left the indoor pool and started toward the front entrance.

Y/N ignored the request until they were at the door. She turned to face him with a smug look, “I’m perfectly capable of driving myself. Thank you.”

She hesitated before kissing him on the cheek. “Get some sleep, Bruce.”

————

Months after Y/N’s visits started, Bruce was doing some research for a case on his tablet as he ate dinner.

“Margaret Caulfield’s engagement party is tonight,” Alfred broke the silence of the manor as he took Bruce’s finished plate.

Bruce looked confused on why he was supposed to care.

“Y/N will be there,” Alfred added.

But Bruce still didn’t understand what he was trying to say.

“Master Wayne, when you attend all those sufferable parties, what is the first question people ask you?”

Bruce thought for a moment. “When I plan on settling down, I guess.”

“Now imagine that, but magnified by about 100…and that is what Y/N’s experience is at those same parties. That young woman is one of the brightest people in Gotham and all those people care about is who will put a silly ring on her finger.”

Bruce leaned back in his chair, now understanding what Alfred was getting at. “I’m not her boyfriend, Alfred.”

“And you’ve made damn sure of that,” Alfred said a little too harshly.

Bruce watched him carefully.

“Y/N has fought off every one of your attempts to be a miserable recluse.”

Bruce opened his mouth.

“And don’t you dare try and tell me her efforts are wasted,” Alfred cut him off. “I’ve seen a change in you. And she has asked for absolutely nothing in return. She’d never ask you to pick her over Batman. Though she bloody well should!”

He wasn’t done.

“You’re not living, Master Wayne. And I won’t apologize for wanting more for you.”

Bruce just sat there and took it.

Alfred took in a breath, calming himself down. “There’s a suit waiting for you in your bedroom. I’ve decided I’m going for a evening walk.”

——————

Y/N didn’t know how many more champagnes she’d have to shrug to start feeling the buzz she so desperately needed.

Not even an hour of being at the party and she’s already been asked 15 times if she was seeing anyone. And when she answered no, half of those ended in them trying to set her up with someone.

As Y/N was trying to think of an excuse to escape, an old family friend approached her – a friend of her grandma’s unfortunately.

“Y/N, dear, let me see those hands!”

Y/N wanted to roll her eyes and snap, but she did as requested.

“No ring yet,” the woman teased, but she was also genuinely disappointed.

“That would be my fault, actually.” A voice said behind Y/N before she felt a hand on her lower back.

“Oh, Mr. Wayne, how nice of you to come!” The woman beamed. “Now, Y/N, why wouldn’t you tell anyone that you and Bruce are an item?”

“My fault again,” Bruce chuckled, “I’ve always enjoyed a good secret.”

Before she could ask more, Bruce smiled politely. “If you could excuse us for a moment.”

He steered Y/N to a private area of the party.

“What are you doing?” Y/N hissed at him. “The press are gonna have a field day. You and I will be every headline tomorrow.”

He smiled at her frantic concern.

“Why are you looking at me like that? I’m serious!”

Bruce captured her lips, silencing any further panic from her.

Y/N was completely caught off guard, but he wasn’t letting her go so easily. And soon, her hand went to the back of his head and she kissed him back.

Damn all the people who were probably watching them.

When Bruce finally let her pull away, he smirked at her dazed look and cupped her cheek.

She matched his smirk.

But then reality set in like a splash of cold water and she frowned.

“Am I – Is this your new cover?” She asked shakily, so scared that the answer was ‘yes.’

She could tolerate being Bruce’s friend for the rest of her life. But she wouldn’t survive being used in such a way. She couldn’t live in a fake relationship with a man she actually loved. She’d rather watch his sloppy persona with girls hanging off of him.

“No cover-up,” he muttered to her. “Just me and you – the real me.”

-----------------------------------------------------

I worked so hard on this 😩 Please let me know your thoughts.

#bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #batman reader insert #alfred pennyworth #alfred pennyworth & reader #batman fic #batman universe #dc #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne reader insert #batfam #batboys #batman x you #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne angst #batman angst

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timelesslords · 3 years

Text

baby, just say yes

Read on Ao3

Summary:

“Okay, then. Marry me.”

Annabeth waited a beat before rolling over to stare at him. His face was dead serious, but Annabeth still thought he might be messing with her.

“What?” she asked. It seemed the safest thing to say.

“Marry me.” he said, again, simply.

Annabeth never appreciated New Rome as much as she did on Sunday mornings.

They didn’t have class, homework could wait until later, there was no chance of a monster attack, and, best of all, Annabeth didn’t have to get up at the crack of dawn to slip out of the Poseidon cabin before anyone noticed she had spent the night. She and Percy could just lounge around together and be lazy for half the day, before one of them finally got up and made breakfast.

It was starting to get a little late, but Annabeth couldn’t bring herself to get out of bed. It was comfortable and Percy was there. Plus, they were deep into a discussion about the architecture of the city, which only made Annabeth happier and more unwilling to move.

There was one temple in particular that Annabeth had only seen photos of, but it looked incredible. It was Juno’s, which was unfortunate, because Annabeth would really love to sketch the ceilings for her design class.

“We should go see it,” Percy said, “It sounds amazing.”

“I wish,” Annabeth sighed, “But Juno loves to torture me. Nobody can go in unless they’re married.”

“Okay, then. Marry me.”

Annabeth waited a beat before rolling over to stare at him. His face was dead serious, but Annabeth still thought he might be messing with her.

“What?” she asked. It seemed the safest thing to say.

“Marry me.” he said, again, simply.

“Are you being serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be serious?”

“Uhh, I don’t know,” Annabeth said sarcastically, starting to count out reasons on her fingers, “We’re barely 21, we’re not even done with college, we’ve barely even lived together—”

“We’ve known each other since we were 12, college is dumb, and we’ve made it two months living together and we’ve barely had any problems, so—” Percy said, folding each of Annabeth’s fingers down with each rebuttal.

“College is not dumb.” Annabeth countered. It was his weakest argument, but unfortunately it was also her lamest reason.

“Okay, fine, college isn’t dumb,” Percy said, waving his hand dismissively, “but waiting to get married because we’re still in college is dumb. It’s not like we haven’t experienced the real world or whatever, we’ve been doing that since we were kids.”

“Yeah, but that real world is different than like, being an adult, with a real job and a real apartment and bills and—”

“How could that be harder than fighting in two wars and literally crawling through hell?” Percy asked, only he was grinning now, because he knew he had her. She hit him with a pillow in retaliation, and he laughed.

“You’re impossible,” she said, trying to sound mad, but it wouldn’t quite come out angry.

“You just don’t like that I’m out-logicing you,” Percy said, a little smug.

“You are not out-logicing me,” Annabeth huffed.

“Okay, give me one good reason why we shouldn’t get married, then,” he said. That dead-serious look was back on his face. Annabeth would have preferred him to be smug.

“Well, first of all, you don’t have a ring. What kind of lame proposal is that?” Annabeth said, knowing she was just stalling for time.

“Who says I don’t have a ring?” Percy asked, straight-faced. The look on Annabeth’s face must have been extraordinarily panicked, because he sighed, looking defeated.

“I don’t actually have a ring ‘Beth. You can put off your heart attack.”

“Oh thank gods,” Annabeth sighed, covering her eyes with her hands. That really would have been too much too soon.

“But I can get you a ring, so that’s really a non-issue,” Percy continued, undeterred, “Next reason.”

“Everyone’ll think I’m pregnant,” Annabeth grumbled, hands still over her eyes. That made Percy laugh.

“They’ll just assume that we’re crazy for each other and also madly in love,” Percy said.

“And also that you knocked me up,” Annabeth added, moving her hands to her forehead and looking over at Percy.

“In which case it would be my fault, and we would share the embarrassment equally,” Percy said easily, grinning.

“That’s not even how it works,” Annabeth complained, “It would be way more embarrassing for me. Even though it's not true.”

“We can print ‘Annabeth is not pregnant’ on the wedding invitations,” Percy said, because it was his turn to make her laugh.

“Yeah, that’ll shut up the rumors,” Annabeth said, trying to ignore how the thought of wedding invitations made her stomach turn.

“Okay, I concede that pregnancy rumors are at least half-way a valid reason. But I’m going to need at least one more,” Percy said.

“At least?” Annabeth protested, “Is my potential humiliation not enough for you?”

“Mm. Not quite. I’m sharing at least 25% of the embarrassment, so it cancels out a bit.”

Annabeth wanted to argue that 25% was too high a percent, but he had chosen the number well. It was, to Annabeth’s calculations, fairly accurate.

“Why can’t we just wait?” Annabeth asked. She hadn’t meant for the words to come out as seriously as they did, but she saw Percy’s expression shift from joking to sincere anyways.

“If you want to wait, we can wait. Forget I brought it up”

She knew he meant it, and she was really tempted to take up his offer and forget about it. They had talked about marriage before, in an abstract way, and Annabeth hadn’t exactly been opposed, but he’d never asked straight up either. She had been clear that she wanted to be with him for the rest of their lives, but they’d never discussed a timeline for when they wanted to do things.

But it had slipped out so easily, and so sincerely. He really did want this. The least Annabeth could do was talk about it with him.

“But you don’t want to wait,” Annabeth said, rolling onto her side to face him more directly. Percy shrugged with one shoulder.

“I love you. I want to be with you forever. Why wait?”

“If you want to be with me forever, why do it at all?” Annabeth asked. Percy frowned, little lines appearing between his eyebrows.

“What do you mean?”

Annabeth hesitated, unsure how to put her feelings to words. Marriage had always given her a kind of weird feeling, nervous and a little repulsed. She was sure a psychologist would have a field day digging up why, but she didn’t really care to know. It was only the prospect of doing it with Percy specifically that made it tolerable to her at all.

“I love you,” she started, slowly, “And I want to be with you forever. But why do we have to put this weird stipulation on it? Why can’t we just be with each other?”

“We could. I’ll be with you however you want to be with me,” Percy said, reaching out, and brushing a stray curl behind her ear. Annabeth tried not to sink too much into his touch. She couldn’t afford to be distracted now.

“But you want to get married,” Annabeth protested.

“Yeah. I do.”

“Why?”

To Annabeth’s relief, he didn’t look at her like it was a weird question. It would have been fair, it was a weird question. But he could tell what she was asking, what she was really asking.

“I dunno, I can’t really explain it,” Percy admitted, “I guess I just want to make that promise to you, that I’ll always love you and always be there for you, sick or healthy and rich or poor, or whatever the words are.”

Annabeth couldn’t help but laugh a little at the end of his statement, and his own lips turned up in a smile.

“You’ve already promised me all that, though,” Annabeth said.

“Yeah, but this time it’s official. Something bigger than just you and me,” Percy said.

And maybe that was it; the wrinkle that wouldn’t let her just dive in and say yes and get married at 21 like every other lovesick young adult. Promises. Because a promise made was just a potential promise broken and the more official it became, whether in a prophecy and a knife or a ceremony in front of all their friends, the worse the fallout would be.

“What’s wrong with just promising it to ourselves?” Annabeth asked.

“Nothing at all.”

“But you really want this,” Annabeth sighed.

“Don’t say you’ll do it just because I want to do it,” Percy said.

“But you really want it?” Annabeth asked. Percy took a second to answer, biting his lower lip the way he did when he was really nervous.

“Yeah. I really want it,” he admitted.

Annabeth studied his face, every earnest line marking his expression, right up to the crinkles in the corners of his sea-green eyes.

She tried to imagine being married to him, really tried. Not just in an abstract sense, but what it would look like, what it would feel like. To her surprise, it didn’t seem that different from what they had now. Maybe even better, in some ways.

They were already so much more than boyfriend and girlfriend, they had been for a long while. Soulmates was a cheesy word, but she did honestly and truly believe Percy was hers. And while the thought of actually getting married was a little horrifying still, the thought of being married to him was a little exciting. Having people understand, at least a little bit, what they meant to each other made her feel warm inside.

And he wouldn’t break his promises to her. He was the only one who had kept every single one, and a stupid piece of paper at city hall wasn’t going to change that.

“Okay,” Annabeth sighed, finally.

“Okay?” he asked, a hopeful smile creeping onto his face.

“Okay, I’ll marry you, you dumb idiot,” she said, unable to keep a smile off her face either.

Before she could continue, he leaned over and kissed her. She could feel how happy he was through his lips, and it was supremely difficult to break away, but she knew she had to or she would get lost and her stipulations would slip out of her mind, never to be seen again.

“I have demands, though,” Annabeth said, finally pulling back. Percy laughed, loud and earnest.

“I would expect nothing less.”

“I don’t want a big wedding. Actually, I don’t want a wedding at all,” Annabeth said, trying to suppress the shudder that crept up on her at the thought.

“Easy. We can elope. Next,” Percy said.

“Really?” Annabeth asked. She had thought that might be a bigger deal to him, but he just shrugged.

“I want to be married to you, it doesn’t matter to me how we do it.”

“Even if I say I wanna go to Vegas and get it done with an Elvis impersonator?” Annabeth asked, only half joking.

“Can we really?” Percy asked, his eyes flashing with excitement.

“Maybe? If we— okay, no, I have more demands, put a pin in the Elvis thing.”

“I’ve pinned it,” Percy promised.

“Okay. I don’t want a stupid gaudy ring, it's not practical, and diamonds are unethical anyways,” Annabeth continued. Percy nodded.

“No diamonds, got it.”

“I want to keep my last name, or hyphenate or something. And if I do change it I want to wait until we’re done with school.” Annabeth said. She was a little nervous about this one, but it didn’t seem to bother Percy.

“We could both hyphenate,” Percy suggested, “Jackson-Chase has a nice ring to it.”

“Chase-Jackson sounds better, but we can deal with the details of that later,” Annabeth said, waving her hand.

“Okay, I’m putting a pin in hyphenation order. Next.”

“I don’t want to send announcements or anything. People can find out when they find out,” Annabeth said.

“Okay, but we have to at least call my mom and Paul,” Percy said. Honestly it was impressive he had gotten so far without even a small amendment to her asks. “And Piper is going to be really pissed if you keep it a secret from her.”

“We can call your parents,” Annabeth promised.

“And Piper?” Percy asked, raising an eyebrow. But the thought of telling her best friend besides Percy was getting less cringe-inducing by the minute. Annabeth actually felt herself getting excited about Piper’s potential reaction. She would absolutely freak out in the best way possible.

“She can be our witness. If you’re cool with that,” Annabeth said. Percy grinned.

“That sounds great.”

“Even if I ask her to make it as irreverent as possible?” Annabeth asked.

“We’re getting married in front of Elvis, I’m not sure how it gets more irreverent than that.” Percy said.

“We put a pin in Elvis,” Annabeth corrected, “But I’m positive Piper can somehow make it even more irreverent if she puts her mind to it.”

“Never thought I’d know an Aphrodite kid so willing to ruin a wedding,” Percy said fondly. Then an excited look flashed across his face.

“Plus, she won’t be able to stop herself from talking about it, and then we won’t have to tell anyone.” he added. He sounded so triumphant Annabeth had to laugh.

“You’re right, that’s perfect. So, when are we doing this?”

The smile on Percy’s face faltered slightly.

“Are you sure you want to do this? Because we really really don’t have to.”

Annabeth hesitated slightly. In truth the idea still scared her a little, even with Percy’s promises that they could do it in the most goofy, non-traditional way possible. But his insistence that he would stand by her with or without getting married was the thing convincing her. If she asked him to drop it now, he would, and he wouldn’t bring it up again, even though it was a big deal to him.

And really, it wouldn’t be such a big deal to Annabeth as long as they didn’t make it feel so official. Breaking a promise you made in front of an Elvis impersonator felt much less disastrous than breaking a promise you made at city hall. But it didn’t even matter, because Percy would never break that promise anyways, no matter where he made it.

“I want to be with you. And you want to be with me,” Annabeth said, “It’s a little weird for me, but if you want to do it, I’m down.”

“Okay. Cool,” Percy said, letting himself smile again. It was so radiant it just about chased away every last shred of lingering doubt Annabeth had. Not to mention the few added advantages to being married that had popped into her mind in the last few minutes.

“Plus, we’ll get a better tax refund,” Annabeth added, and Percy collapsed into laughter.

“I love you so much, I don’t even care that you’re marrying me for the tax benefits,” Percy said, rolling over and kissing her again. Annabeth let this one last longer, let herself sink into it.

“We’re getting married,” Annabeth said breathlessly, when they finally separated.

“We’re getting married,” Percy agreed, grinning.

So, maybe the institution of marriage was weird and a little sexist in origin and reminded Annabeth of old prophecies and old promises. But that was in the past. Percy was the future, her future, and wanted to have every single moment possible with him.

They were going to go to Vegas, and hire a random guy dressed as a 50s rockstar off the street and have Piper make the whole thing as ridiculous as possible. And then they were going to live the rest of their lives together, maybe as the Jackson-Chases, (or if she had her way the Chase-Jacksons), and she would finally have a word to describe Percy besides “boyfriend” which had been woefully inadequate for years.

Plus, her rebate next year was going to be awesome.

Annabeth grinned. Maybe marriage wasn’t so bad after all.

#trying a new posting format just for funsies #percabeth #percabeth fic #percabeth oneshot #Annabeth chase #percy jackson #percy x annabeth #percabeth fluff #annabeth x percy #proposal fic #if Annabeth seems OOC it's because I'm ✨projecting✨#i wrote this completely forgetting about her something permanent thing i was just focusing on the abandonment issues lmao #i think this is a reasonable interpretation though? idk lol #my fic

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dracoladon · 3 years

Note

oh my god I absolutely ADORED lucid and born slippy, so the chance to prompt you with something is so so exciting!! as always, no pressure, but how about something about undressing each other? i've always LOVED the unlacing/undressing tropes in capri, and I bet it would be incredible applied to some lovely drarry. do with this what you wish!!!

sidjdjfnndkff thank you, and thank u again for this ungodly prompt. if there’s three things i love, they’re captive prince, drarry, and soft smutty tropes such as the one u hath so kindly bestowed upon me.

i accidentally made a fair few lucid references in here (prizes for all who can spot them, the prize is a poem about u as composed by me) so i suppose, if you’ve read that one and so wish, u can consider this part of the same universe. or smth ://

maybe i’m just hideously unimaginative when it comes to topics for my banter. anywho

rated e, 1732 words.

The thing about Draco’s work robes, is that they’re buttoned all the way up to the throat. Which, hm, doesn’t sound like an issue in and of itself. But becomes one, of sorts, when Harry is overcome by the need to unbutton them every time he lays eyes on pale, elegant throat, the column of it under stiff black fabric.

The thing is, that Draco looks so austere, so tightly laced, and the thing. Is. That Harry just wants to unlace him.

Draco is, of course, not austere. He’s in fact very, erm, flexible. Pliant. He told Harry once, when they first starting fucking, that his body reformed around Harry’s, and he liked the way he went malleable in Harry’s hands.

“I can’t do that with anyone else,” Draco said. Then frowned. “That didn’t make much sense.”

But the buttons. The buttons. The high-necked buttons. They give Draco a look of frigidity, that he’s not to be spoken to, touched (all in a very sexy, aristocratic kind of way, of course), and it’s so bloody hot that Harry’s taken to banishing his glasses and burying his head under a pillow when Draco dresses in the mornings, just to stop himself getting so hard he goes properly blind with it.

Draco asked him, the third time he burrowed under the bedclothes like a “demented ferret” (glass houses, Harry said), what he was doing.

“The buttons,” Harry murmured. “Want to undo them.”

“The buttons?”

“The buttons.”

“You sick, kinky twist, Harry Potter.”

Harry unearthed himself, at that. “Shut up? It’s not about the buttons, you horror. It’s about what’s underneath the buttons.”

“How touching.”

And then more teasing, and Harry had it up to here and said, “I’ll burrow again.”

So Draco sat next to him on the bed, robes all secured, and said, softly, but still smiling like a git, “Tell me, love. Why the buttons?”

“You’re just—they’re, you know. So—God,” and then Harry had reached out and rent the sides of Draco’s robes apart, the little cloth covered studs clattering over his polished walnut floors, and pulled Draco down on top of him, and fucked him right there until Draco was late for work, and later still because they’d had to spend half an hour charming the wretched things back into place.

Now, Draco says, “the buttons are still wonky from that little stunt you pulled.”

Harry can see only Draco’s legs (crossed over each other on the couch, back flat on the ground, because Draco feels it centres him to drape upended from the furniture at the end of a long day) from where he’s decanting the wine in the kitchen. “I’ve always been pants at tailoring charms.”

“Was that a pun?” says Draco, sounding pained. “I’m leaving you, if that was a pun.”

“But then who will do your bidding? Aerate your wine, iron your silk pants—”

“I’ll get a house elf.”

“—not finished, suck your brains out your cock, make you pasta with butter and cheese when it’s cold and you’re in a mood—”

“I’ll get a gigolo, too.”

“I still wasn’t finished,” Harry says, and Levitates the wine into the living room in front of him.

Draco says, “did you get the right glasses, this time?”

“You’re very funny,” Harry says, because after months of trying to educate Harry, Draco has finally accepted that his one true love is cheap beer, and sorted all the wine glasses he keeps at Harry’s flat into labelled little boxes. (‘This is a coupe, Potter. If you bring me red wine in it again, I’ll throw it at you.’ ‘These are for dessert wine — after dinner, before a good hard boffing.’)

“Why don’t you just go snag one of those fucking — sommiliars.”

“Sommelier.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, happy because Draco’s wearing his work robes and speaking French and looking all twisty, and it’s Friday night, and there’s wine and music from the record Draco put on, and Harry gets to untwist him.

“Did you know,” Draco says, arching his back into a luxurious stretch before rearranging himself right side up and plucking a glass from the air, “that Amantea is starting her own firm.”

“God. Really?”

“Quite. It’s a pro bono thing, evidently. You know she’s been on the exec’s for months about how they direct all their mandatory hours towards corporations, not, you know, people who actually can’t afford legal counsel.”

“‘Course.” Harry distinctly remembers being cornered by Amantea when Draco brought him along to last year's Christmas drinks — he was a decent few in, and Draco kept palming at him through his formal robes when no one was looking, and he thinks he may have agreed to some kind of public crusade in the name of her cause that he doesn’t remember the details of to this day.

“Merlin, that’s incredible. She’s just quit, then? Starting it from the ground up?”

Draco nods, sips his wine. “She asked me to come with her. Ford, too.” And then, into his glass, “Said yes.”

Harry chokes, and Draco smirks at him behind the rim while he expires into his Pinot. “Bastard,” Harry coughs.

“Mm,” Draco hums.

“That’s—fuck, hang on—that’s great, love. Draco, it’s brilliant.”

“Really?” Draco says, tangling his fingers in Harry’s. He can see now that he’s doing that Very Draco Thing where his eyes go a bit too wide and his tongue keeps darting out to wet his bottom lip. “Cause I haven’t quit yet.”

“Of course. I think it’s really, really incredible.”

Draco rolls his eyes, but his cheeks flush pink. “Any more of that, and I won’t go near your cock for a week.”

“I’m proud of you,” Harry says, smiling.

“Two weeks.”

He leans on his haunches, hooks a blond tendril behind Draco’s ear. “I’m so proud of you, Draco. Everything you are.”

“A month. A year! Harry,” Draco complains.

Harry snorts. Sits back. “Fine. So would you still be doing all the same work?”

Draco nods. “I’d still be a defence counsel. I’d just be, you know. Not getting paid. At least, not for a while.”

“Good,” Harry says. “We’ve got a horrific amount of money, between the two of us.”

“I’m glad you think so, because we’ll be living off your salary alone. What’s the going rate for darling of the Wizarding world?”

Harry walks his fingers over Draco’s knee, daubed in the heavy black wool of his robes. “Several million a year darling. Are you excited, then?”

Draco shuffles around so he can rest his back against the couch, keeping Harry’s palm pressed to his knee with his own hand as he moves. “Yes. Very. I love my job, but the fees they charge our time at are outrageous. I was always thinking, Mother and I wouldn’t have been able to afford that right after the war. Had we even been allowed a solicitor, but don’t get me bloody started.”

Harry thinks that’s Draco down to his bones. He gives cold little glares to people he doesn’t want to talk to, and shrinks in on himself like a turtle whenever Molly tries to hug him at Sunday lunch, and he’s selfish about stupid things, like letting Ron have the last of his chips at pub night.

And then he does things like drop lunch by Hermione’s office when he has afternoon meetings with the Wizengamot, or quit the job he loves so much, where he’s finally respected and secure, to work for free with Scary Amantea because he actually cares about the abysmal state of the Wizarding justice system, or rent out an entire Muggle theme park for Harry’s birthday, because he’d said, off handed, one night in Draco’s arms, that he’d always been left behind when the Dursley’s took Dudley as a child.

“You’re so nice,” Harry says.

Draco frowns. “Take it back.”

Harry says, “Won’t,” and gives him a good, slow kiss that tastes like wine. Wine from a proper glass.

“I have bad news, too,” Draco says into Harry’s lips.

Harry can’t think of how anything could be bad, wrong, when Draco’s mouth is so soft and so close, but he murmurs, “What,” anyway.

“No dress code, at the new firm.”

Harry pulls back, stricken. “No more buttons?”

“Less regular buttons,” Draco amends, and Harry places a protective hand over Draco’s clavicles.

“This is completely tragic,” Harry says.

“Dare I say, Potter, you’ll just have to make the most of them. While you can.”

Harry nods, leans down again, a hand either side of Draco’s hips, and kisses him again.

When he pulls back, it’s so he can get his hands on the reeling column of buttons that runs from Draco’s navel to his Adam’s apple.

There was a certain carnal appeal in tearing them off him that first time, but now Harry likes this. His hands on Draco, his mouth following. Pushing the silken studs through the loops, undressing Draco inch by milk white inch.

“Yes,” Draco says, as Harry licks and nips his way down every bit of skin he exposes. When Draco swallows, Harry feels the movement of it roll beneath his palm. When Draco’s legs fall open, Harry mouths at his hip bone as it shifts under his tongue.

Harry disrobes himself with slightly less worshipping finesse. Pushes the tailored cloth off Draco’s shoulders, helps him arrange himself underneath Harry, ankles clasped lazily at his back. Fucks him slow, and sweet, and two more times.

Really, Harry doesn’t know why the robes do it for him so utterly and completely. They look kind of like the type of thing a vicar would wear, which is also what Harry remembers thinking when he saw Draco in his dress robes at the Yule Ball (although now it’s more a very rich, very sleek sort of vicar vibe, and less of the fusty, I-took-a-celibacy-oath-at-thirteen-and-am- now-seventy-two thing he had going back then. With all the velvet. Draco looks much better in silk. Anyway.)

On that, it’s probably because it’s a reminder that it’s Malfoy who he’s with. Malfoy, not Death Eater, tormentor, but pale limbs, plush, pink mouth and naked vulnerability before him. It’s how far they’ve both come, and how Draco presents himself to the world — so far away from what Harry gets to see. What’s Harry’s. What’s theirs.

“Also,” Draco says, when Harry tells him this in bed that night, “I look positively indecent in black.”

#my writing #answered #theestarryknight #prompts #drarry

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startanewdream · 3 years

Text

Godfather duty

Summary: When James is surprised by Sirius and Harry coming home drunk four in the morning, he questions himself when he got too old for that.

For @theblueocean

Part of the Jily Lives AU

Rated M for mentions of underage drinking and some swearing.

Read on AO3 with all the correct italics, or below the cut:

_________

His eyelids feel heavy, but James keeps writing. He is almost finishing the first draft of the article for Transfiguration Today; it's due Sunday and he still has five days to finish it, but James is really anxious for presenting it. It's not his first paper for that magazine, but his article will be the headline this time, and he promised himself he would send them in advance as much as he could - and he still needs to send it to Minerva for her to read and review.

It feels a lot like he is back in school doing essays, but James doesn't remember being that excited back at Hogwarts - well, not about homework anyway.

He puts the final dot and lets the quill rest, satisfied. He will proofread in the morning, maybe even rewrite altogether from a different perspective, but it's done and it's a competent article, he knows.

Human transfiguration was always a point of interest to him.

He raises, stretching up and looking at his watch. It's past four in the morning already; he really lost track of time. He remembers Lily calling him to go to bed - and then he promised her he would go in a minute, which he clearly forgot.

He suppresses a yawn as he leaves the library, thinking only of sinking on his bed when he hears a sound coming from the front porch.

All his sleepiness is gone instantly, and he turns with his wand already raised, alarmed and with his instincts screaming even though it’s been months since the war ended; someone is turning the doorknob. The spell is almost leaving his lips when the door opens wide and he sees Harry's joyful face.

Harry is not alone; Sirius is with him, their arms around each other in a brotherly gesture and for a moment James has a flashback of himself with Sirius with that same easiness, both of them beaming happily and goofy; it's a memory of twenty years ago, of a night they went around Muggle London joining a pub crawl that ended up with James' mother finding them passed out in the middle of the Potter’s living room in Godric’s Hollows.

A lot of things happened that night - a flight from the Muggle police when they tried to climb Cleopatra’s Needle, an attempt to perform a serenade to Lily only to realize they were on the wrong street and throwing eggs at Grimmauld Place number twelve - but what he remembers clearer is the smell of the alcohol on him as he woke up next morning - and then the taste of it all as he threw it all up.

And right now Sirius and Harry have that same smell of cheap whiskey mixed with beer.

James blinks, confused. As far as he thought, Harry had been back from work hours ago - James was sure Harry had been sleeping on his bed right now.

It’s evident he was wrong.

‘Hi, Prongs’, Sirius says, grinning from ear-to-ear, sounding much steadier than James would have guessed from the smell coming from them. ‘Care to let us in?’

'What's going on?', James asks, worried, stepping aside to let them enter. Both of them are stumbling, but James has the impression that Sirius is supporting Harry more than the opposite.

For some reason his question makes them look at each other.

'What I said?', Sirius asks Harry as if they are sharing some old joke. Harry lets out of one of his rare carefree giggles. 'What d'you think we are doing, dear Prongs?'

'Coming home drunk in the middle of the night?’

‘Chill out, Dad’, Harry says, winking at him.

Chill out?

‘It’s four in the morning of a Tuesday - I thought you were home already!’

‘I had to work late’, Harry answers immediately, grinning. Sirius takes him to the living room, trying to help him on the couch, but Harry slides to the floor, falling on the carpet.

‘On a bar?’

‘It’s for work’, Harry insists, eyes open as if that was obvious.

‘It was a very important mission’, Sirius agrees. ‘Stealth. Mixing with locals. Spying on people’.

‘Oh, were there Death Eaters on that bar?’, James asks, rolling his eyes.

‘It could have been! Harry needs to know how to handle his alcohol!’

Harry giggles.

‘I handle it very well’, he says proudly, clapping his hands. ‘Tell him, Sirius’.

‘He won us money on darts. He even closed his eyes for the last shot. You would be proud!’

‘That you were letting my barely out-of-age kid bet on games?’

Sirius rolls his eyes.

‘Everything was under control, he won. Stop worrying, I was on godfather duty tonight -’

‘Between a drink and another, you mean?’

‘ - and I brought him home, right?’

‘Speaking of that’, James raises his eyebrows, now sounding openly reproachful. ‘How did you come home? Don’t tell me you drank and apparated’.

‘I would never!’

‘Or that motorbike - if you came here flying, I swear I will -’

‘Relax, Dad!’, Harry intervenes, now raising on a jump, ignoring how he tumbles in the process. ‘We got a cab. Eeeeeeverything under control’.

James watches his son go to the cabinet in the room, searching for something until he takes out a feather to doodle something on a parchment, not realizing it’s a grocery list.

‘I see the control’, he says dryly. ‘What are you doing, Harry?’

‘I am making a howler’.

‘What? What for?’

‘To howl, duh - hey!’, he turns to Sirius, his eyes sparkling madly. ‘Remus never sends letters - he only sends howlers!’

Sirius chuckles. ‘I howl too! Owoooooo!’

‘Hey, hey, you are going to wake up Lily!’

‘And?’

‘And maybe you don’t want her to see what you did to Harry - Harry, stop that, you are not sending anyone a howler’.

‘I have to tell Ginny I love her!’

‘She already knows, I am sure, you’ve told her’.

‘But I never yelled it!’

‘And she loves you more because of that, come on, give me that letter’.

‘I knew he wouldn’t let you send it’, Sirius says, his voice now smug. ‘Prongsie is old’.

James rolls his eyes.

‘Same age as you, Pads’, he remembers distantly, taking the letter from Harry, though now he realizes he didn’t need to worry. Harry’s letter is unintelligible and he doubts he could cast the spell to turn into a howler.

Harry pouts.

‘Sirius is right, you are square’.

‘What?’

‘We can never have fun’.

‘And you are so serious - more than me, haha!’, Sirius adds, now laying down lazily on the couch, his legs spread. James is about to complain that his shoes are all muddy and Sirius should take them out, but he stops.

Oh, Merlin, he is really getting a bit square, isn’t he?

‘I can be fun’, he stresses, making Sirius let out one of his bark laughs.

‘Yeah, years ago. Before you were a dad - no offence, Harry’.

Harry doesn’t seem to have heard him, which James considers a shame. Harry would surely defend him - he was a cool dad to Harry.

No, he is still a cool dad. The kind that Harry can feel at will to talk about anything, that supports Harry and that is always there for him.

Except that Harry didn’t tell him about working late tonight or going to a bar. Except Harry and Sirius didn’t ask for his company.

And if they did - he thinks of the paper he just finished and how excited he was for it.

He would have said no.

That’s not very cool of him.

‘I will take a flight!’, Harry declares, his eyes shining with this idea and for once James doesn’t feel satisfied with the mischievousness in him.

‘No drinking and flying’, James says sternly, and he decides that he will have to remain uncool for a little longer. ‘You - you stay here! Sirius - watch him. Better than you did so far, I mean’.

Sirius grimaces, evidently annoyed, but he sits next to Harry, who is now mumbling something incomprehensible, though Sirius seems to be listening to him with attention. James leaves them in the living room, locking the door behind him just in case, and goes to Lily’s office hoping she has stored a Hangover Potion. He is in no luck, of course; it’s been years since he and Lily even needed one - James believes it comes with the age knowing when to stop - and there was nothing in Harry’s latest behaviour that showed them they would need it.

For a second James almost considers waking up Lily, knowing she would make the potion in minutes, but he doesn’t want her to see the mess Harry is right now; it’s far better she hears it later than witnessing first hand. He grabs a small cauldron and the ingredients he will need and returns to the living room.

In the few minutes he was out, Harry and Sirius managed to make things strangely worse. There is snow in the room, that he sees Sirius casting from his wand; Harry is perfectly still, the snow making a sort of white hat on his head, his arms wide open and also covered in snow.

‘What -’, James tries to ask, but he just blinks at the weirdness on the scene.

‘Shhhh’, Sirius says, a finger on his lips. ‘Don’t distract him!’

‘What is Harry doing?’

‘Isn’t it obvious? Disguise training! He is a snowman!’

‘He is missing a carrot nose’, James notes, grimacing, and that makes Sirius turn his wand to Harry’s face. ‘I am joking!’

It’s too late; there is a flash of light and then there is a carrot on Harry’s face, replacing his nose.

‘Sirius!’, Harry complains, raising his hand to touch his new nose. His voice is muffled. ‘I can’t have a nose this big! How can I snog Ginny now?’

‘That’s your concern?’, James asks, half-amused, now taking out Sirius’ wand to make sure he doesn’t cast any more magic.

‘I will poke her in the eye!’, Harry says, moping, scratching the tip of his pointy nose thoughtfully.

‘I will transform you back as soon as you drink this potion, now lay still’. Harry sighs, sitting on the couch. Sirius sits next to him, patching him in the back as if he weren’t the one that turned Harry’s nose into a carrot in the first place.

‘Your nose matches her hair’, he says bracingly. ‘You will look beautiful together’.

‘I am not sure this is much comfort, Padfoot’, James notes, placing the cauldron in the fireplace and starting to throw in the ingredients. He could add something for the taste, but he believes the bitterness helps build character.

‘Well, I got him quiet, didn’t I?’, Sirius asks, pointing at Harry who is now sitting on the couch, still playing with his carrot nose.

‘You could have messed up so badly’.

‘I am not that drunk - I watched over your kid, no matter what you think of me’.

James shakes his head.

‘Letting him drink that much? He barely can stand - what if someone -’

‘The war is over, James’, Sirius tells him, sounding much grim now. ‘And like I said, I was there. Me, half-a-dozen junior Aurors and some seniors too’.

‘Unless any Death Eater threat would be a challenge to a drinking contest, I don’t think it would make much difference’.

‘Oh, Merlin’. Sirius sighs, walking to the drink cabinet and opening it to take a bottle of firewhiskey. ‘Here, drink this’.

‘What?’

‘You are sober, I hate talking to sober people when I am pissed. Sober people are boring’.

‘I am not boring’, James complains, pushing away the bottle that Sirius extends in his direction. ‘And I am past the age of being forced to drink to look cool’.

‘Then drink because it’s nice!’, Sirius says forcefully now. ‘Drink because you are alive! Drink because you are happy! Drink because for the first time in his life your son is properly pissed!’

‘That’s not a reason -’

‘That’s enough reason! He is eighteen! What age were we when we first got pissed?’

‘Seventeen’. Sirius raises his eyebrows, waiting for him, and James flushes, turning his attention to the cauldron. The potion is almost over. ‘Fine, fifteen - but it didn’t count, we weren’t thinking straight then’.

‘Yeah. Our first transformation’, Sirius remembers, but there is something heavy on his voice now.

‘What is the problem, Padfoot?’

‘Nothing’.

That makes James stop. He takes the cauldron out of the fire, to let the potion cool down, and turns to Sirius, watching him. Sirius’ eyes are watery as he always gets when he drinks, but he sustains James’ look for a surprisingly full two minutes before he sighs.

‘Fine, you are the problem’.

‘Me? You take my son out for a drink without telling me, return home four in the morning and I am the problem?’

‘Look at what you are saying! He is of age! He was with his friends - and his very trustable godfather! He was having fun for once in his life, instead of living that responsible life you want for him’.

‘Responsible?’, James repeats, dumbfounded. Nobody had ever accused him of wanting to do the responsible thing. ‘I am just being his father’.

‘Well, maybe Harry doesn’t need his father anymore’.

There is a long pause after that. James blinks, once, twice, very slowly, trying to understand what Sirius means by that, and it’s only when he reaches for the drink cabinet to get a glass for the potion, that Sirius moves.

‘Shit - I didn’t mean like that - sorry, James, it’s not -’

‘No, I get it’, James says, his voice forcefully steady. ‘Harry wants the cool father figure that allows him everything - and, well, Sirius “what’s life without a little risk” Black is perfect for that’.

‘Don’t be absurd - that kid worships the ground you walk upon -’

‘And yet he was with you, not me. I get it. I am a father, not a friend’. He offers Sirius a full glass. ‘Drink this, you’ll feel better tomorrow’.

‘No, I deserve the hangover tomorrow, but that’s beside the point. It’s my fault’.

‘I don’t think you forced Harry to drink’, James notes dryly, sitting next to Harry to help him drink the potion. Harry seems to be in another world now, but he obliges to James’ help without questioning.

‘No, that was all on him - I mean it, he’d make you proud, he won a drinking contest with Thompson and he is twice Harry’s size - er, not helping, sorry’. Sirius sits on the other side of Harry. ‘He was going to tell you we’d be out for a drink. And I didn't let him'.

'Why? Why would you -'

'Because I thought you would overreact. Worry too much about him. Don't let him have any fun'.

'I would not -'

'And because I thought he'd ask you to come’.

James blinks. Between them, Harry lays his head on James' shoulder, now watching Sirius with mild curiosity.

‘I would ask’, he agrees, a note of pride in his voice.

'Am I that bad company?', James asks in a low voice. Sirius shakes his head.

'Would you come with us?', he challenges. James keeps his gaze for a few seconds, but just like Sirius didn't lie for him before, he wouldn't dare speak anything but the truth.

'No, I had things to do today'.

'That article', Sirius scoffs. 'You don't talk about anything else'.

James frowns.

'It's really important - a chance of -'

'Getting yourself a name, I know, I know. But see -', his grey eyes are burning over James now, somewhat desperate. 'The Prongs I know would never care for reputation'.

'Sirius…'

'The Prongs I know would be honest with me'.

'I am - what are you -'

'I heard you and Kingsley, ok?', he blows off. 'Registering as an animagus? After all this time?'

There is another silence, broken only by the crackling fire.

'I was going to tell you', James says finally. 'I didn't think it was important - you don't have to register too -'

'That's not the point - you are breaking our trust -'

'It's just an entry on a list. It doesn’t change anything, I will keep our full moon nights -'

'When Remus has time, you mean?', he asks, sounding bitter now. 'He missed the last two, he'd rather stay home -'

'He has a kid now -'

'So do you and… you guys are getting old and responsible and too serious for me'.

'Nobody is more serious than you', James says, smiling at him, but Sirius just rolls his eyes and grabs the bottle of firewhiskey on the coffee table, taking a sip.

James extends his hand. Sirius raises one eyebrow, in disbelief, and his expression only relaxes a little when James takes a long sip of the firewhiskey. The drink burns his throat, infusing him with that weird dose of courage and a will to do something, but James just sighs.

'You are no less serious because of it', Sirius notes.

'I got serious - the war, the first one and then the second one and everything - and I think I forgot how to relax - but that doesn't mean… you are my brother, Sirius'.

'The annoying prettier baby brother?'

'You are older', James says, grinning, and after a second of hesitation, Sirius smiles too. 'You can invite me - I mean, we can do things together. Even if it sounds - or is - stupid'.

'Things together like… registering our animagus form?'

James rests against the couch, and Harry moves his head to rest more comfortably on his shoulders; James thinks he will sleep soon.

'You don't need to do it too - Kingsley already knows about you and he is the bloody Minister of Magic, isn't he? This was not about doing the responsible thing'.

'Then why -'

'I want the credit'. James presses his lips, before admitting something he didn't even share with Lily yet. 'I talked to Minerva - if I get back to my studies, get enough recommendation to be approved by the board, I could get her position'.

Sirius blinks, startled.

'Her position? You mean -'

'Transfiguration professor, yeah'.

He looks away now, feeling somewhat embarrassed. It had never really been an ambition - teaching was much more something Remus had always wanted to do than him; James had been glad to focus on his studies and develop new theories of transfiguration until then.

But ever since Minerva had vented that possibility to him a few weeks after the end of the war, when they were repairing one of the halls destroyed in the battle, that thought had been on his mind. He wasn't in a rush, but the idea of getting back to Hogwarts, this time as a professor, watching other students learn from him as much as he had learned from Minerva McGonagall… he couldn't deny that idea had taken root in his mind.

James always teased her that he had been her favourite student, but the fact was that she was his favourite professor and there was some part of him that wanted to impress her and prove himself good enough to replace her someday.

He waits for Sirius' response, but there is only a silence that doesn't seem good.

'I know it's huge', James mumbles. 'There are others far more capacitated than me, I am starting now to -'

'Shut your mouth, Prongs', interrupts Sirius, and James turns to him. There is a grin on his face. 'Being humble never suited you'.

James laughs softly.

'I wasn’t trying to', he assures him.

'I thought - I thought you had wanted to do the right thing. You know, registering just because you wanted to follow the law, as if… as if you were ashamed of what we did illegally -'

'Now it's you who needs to shut up, Padfoot'. He takes another sip of the firewhiskey. ‘Animagus at age of fifteen? I’m damn proud of it. Also, that’s the only thing that I have done that’s cooler than half the stuff Harry got into’.

‘Yeah, I suppose it’s hard when your son is a bloody hero’.

Harry chooses that moment to start snoring loudly, which sends James and Sirius into a fit of laughter. James raises, careful to let Harry sleep on the couch, and Harry doesn’t look remotely close to waking up.

‘I am glad you took him out for a drink’, James says, taking out Harry’s glasses. ‘I was just jealous - it should have been me’.

‘I am sure there will be another occasion’, Sirius says dismissively. ‘He will probably forget every embarrassing thing he did, you know how that works’.

‘Oh, he embarrassed himself?’, James asks, a glint of fun on his eyes. Sirius smirks.

‘That happy giggling Harry you saw? Just the last stage. He was all cocky at first - that’s how we got into that darts bet’.

‘Harry? My son? Cocky?’

‘Oh, yeah, he reminded me a lot of you’, Sirius’ smirk increases. ‘He was strutting and all’.

‘Tell me you took pictures of it’.

‘I would never’, Sirius declares, though James isn’t sure he believes him this time. ‘And then he got very… honest’.

‘That doesn’t sound good for that stealth mission’.

Sirius shakes his head.

‘If he was spilling out Auror secrets I would be happier - no, instead I had to hear about the time he and Ginny -’

‘Nope, nope, I don’t want to know’.

‘Well, me neither, I won’t ever use your Invisibility Cloak again, you can be sure. But anyway - that’s why he got here so drunk. I decided vodka was the only way to shut him up properly’.

Sirius looks so satisfied with himself and his choices, that James knows what he has to do.

‘It’s late’, he says pleasantly. ‘Crash here tonight’.

‘Oh, I think I will - I am not fit to apparate’.

‘Let’s go upstairs then’.

‘And Harry?’

‘Oh, look at him. He is sleeping so well, he can stay here tonight’.

‘If you are sure’.

‘Yeah, yeah, everything will be fine’.

_________

James has slept barely four hours when he wakes up with Lily’s cry. He puts on his robe lazily, waiting a few minutes to go downstairs; when he passes Sirius’ room, the door is already opened.

Good.

He finds them all together in the toilet next to the kitchen, and by the sounds coming out of there, his Hangover Potion wasn’t very efficient.

‘We were working late, Lily’, Sirius is saying, sounding properly desperate. ‘And we went out for a drink -’

‘It was a Tuesday night! He has to work in one hour!’

‘So do I - but you see, I’m his boss, so everything is fine! Also, I don’t think any of the boys will show up -’

‘Perfect’, Lily interrupts him, her eyes sending daggers in Sirius’ direction. ‘Then you can take care of him’. She sees James. ‘Did you know about this?’

‘Me? I was working late on my text, you know’, he answers, yawning and looking very innocent.

Sirius waits until Lily is out for the kitchen to turn to James, his eyes narrowed.

‘You knew she would be mad. That’s why you told me to stick around’.

‘If I knew how my dear wife would react to knowing you got our son pissed? How could I?’

Sirius grimaces as there is another retching sound coming from the bathroom.

‘Oh, you better go there and don’t forget to keep Harry hydrated’.

‘Watch it’, Sirius says, but he goes into the bathroom anyway. ‘I won’t ever show you the pictures’.

James shrugs, undisturbed.

‘That’s fine. Next time Harry gets drunk, I will be there’.

‘I won’t ever ever ever drink again’, Harry moans, hugging the toilet seat now, his face sweaty.

‘Oh, kid, we’ve all been there’, Sirius sighs, flushing down the toilet and helping Harry raise.

James grins to himself, glad that Sirius is doing his godfather duty once again, and leaves them alone.

#Eyes glistening #james and sirius #harry and sirius #James and Harry #just a bunch of drunks #and a dad dealing with it #James is not old come on #jily lives is a happier world

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chocolatecakecas · 3 years

Text

Baby Blues

Silence and Sound: Season 13 Destiel Fic Part 10

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

read on ao3

Dean had always associated the bunker with silence. The soft hum of the the ancient heating system, and the dull buzzing of the lights.

It was a far cry from the dingy motels with their paper thin walls and strings of seedy customers.

Or the years he spent practically living in the Impala with her ever rumbling engine, listening to the legos rattling in the vents, or kept awake by Sam's endless snores.

So he could appreciate the silence. He had always found it comforting, at least that's what he told himself.

But now, the bunker is bursting with noise.

Plates and cups clinking in the kitchen, cellphones ringing off the hook, the beeping of the oven timer, and the stream of constant conversation.

The sound of tiny feet pattering on the concrete, plastic wheels squeaking on the wooden floors, the clang of legos on the map table, and the distant sounds of Toy Story playing on the tv in the Dean Cav- living room.

Shrieks of laughter ring through the halls, both young and old. Happiness and love filling every corner.

But it's also filled with sounds of despair.

(read the rest under the cut)

Screaming matches in the kitchen, muffled arguments behind closed doors, desperate pleading in the garage after returning from a hunt gone bad.

Wails of pain from a scraped knee, the clang of legos as they are angrily shoved off the map table and sent scattering across the floor, the distant sound of a temper tantrum in the living room.

Broken shouts and muffled sobs ring through the dark halls during the early hours of the morning. Both young and old. Yet, love still fills every corner, but often it only fuels the sorrow, strengthening the blow.

But today, it's filled with laughter.

Cas, pretending to chase Jack, who's giggling like a maniac, up and down the halls. His little feet slapping against the floors, as Cas yells behind him (in his signature "silly voices" of course)

Sam and Eileen at the map table, laughing as she tells a story about her most recent hunt. She ran into Claire and Kaia due to a huge miscommunication on Sam's end (He's still getting the hang of the whole "Hunter HQ" thing), causing all three of them think they were hunting three different monsters. But it's alright because now the girls are coming for dinner later, (at Cas' invitation and Dean's insistence) since they drove all the way here for a hunt anyway. It wouldn't be a full family dinner, because his Mom and Bobby wouldn't be back from their hunt in Montana for at least another two days, but that just means they'd have to have another unplanned-planned "get together", so he definitely wasn't complaining.

And Dean stands in the kitchen stirring milk, cheese and Star Wars shaped macaroni in a pot, spoon clanking against the metal.

He listens to the sound of his little family, the people he cares about most in the world. He hears as the sounds of their lives fill up the halls, and finds it difficult to remember the silence.

He finds himself struggling to hear the soft hum of the heating system, or the dull buzz of the lights.

And he wonders if he misses it? Wonders if he misses the comfort of the silence? Wonders if it wa-

Something crashes into his legs, ripping Dean from his thoughts.

Jack giggles as he tries to hide himself from view behind Dean's legs. He shushes Dean with a serious look, showing that he means business.

So Dean looks down and throws him an exaggerated wink, zipping his lips for good measure, which sends him into another fit of giggles.

Dean gazes travels back up to see Cas hanging on the doorway, cheeks tinged pink, and a knowing smile on his lips. And Dean's heart definitely doesn't skip a beat.

"Hello Dean, you haven't happened to see our son anywhere, have you?" Cas asks dramatically, making his presence known.

Our son, that always makes Dean's heart soar.

"Hmm Jack? Why no, I can't say that I have! He definitely didn't come through the kitchen" Dean responds playing along.

Jack shuffles behind Dean's leg letting out a little giggle.

"Oh, so then you wouldn't mind moving away from the stove and walking over here to help me look for him?" Cas teases, stretching his arms out for emphasis. Dork.

With a grin, Dean goes to take an exaggerated step towards Cas, but Jack pulls on his leg.

"Daddy! You promised" Jack shouts in disbelief, hanging on Dean's legs.

"Sorry bud, but you were so quiet that I completely forgot you were there" Dean says with mock surprise.

Jack opens his mouth to retort, but Cas hums alerting him of his presence again. His eyes go wide, realizing he gave away his hiding spot, as Cas takes a big step forward.

And at that, Jack races from the room, with a shriek of laughter. Dean and Cas share a laugh watching him go.

God Jack is getting so big, 18 months. He's gonna be two this year, and Dean's heart clenches at the thought. Of course, being half angel he's developmentally "older" than two, but Dean doesn't like to think about that.

He turns towards Cas again, watching him fondly gazing at the now empty doorway.

And almost 10 months with Cas.

Cas' eyes finds their way back to Dean's, as they always do. So Dean stares back.

And it's this moment that Dean realizes just how human Cas has become, even with his grace intact. With his messy hair, his rumpled blue "dad" sweater and jeans, his mismatched socks, the soft smile on his face that crinkles around his eyes. And it hits him how far they've come.

It's been 18 months since that night wh-18 months since Jack came into his life. And a lot can happen in 18 months. You can fall ass backwards into raising a child, slow down a bit on hunting, start dating your best friend who’s been the secretly been in love with for years, who came back to life, and raise the child with him.

Something warm settles in his chest.

Dean refocuses on Cas, and notices a look he's never truly seen on him before. A look that says, "there's no place I'd rather be, than right here". Of course Cas has made it clear that this is what he wants, but he's never worn it so plainly on his face before.

It's contentment.

And it knocks the wind out of Dean's lungs.

It's been almost 10 months since Dean and Cas got their crap together.

And of course, it isn't easy. There's screaming matches, sleepless nights, petty fights, and more baggage between them than you would find in an airport.

But Dean wouldn't trade a second of it. And apparently, neither would Cas.

Because Cas is content. Here. With Dean.

Cas is actually happy here, with the little life they've created. This is where Cas wants to be, and this is where Dean wants Cas to be.

And in this moment Dean is rapidly realizing that it's all terrifyingly real.

And Dean's never felt this way in his life, about anyone or anything and he's, scared, but god it's the good kind of scared. And he-

He catches a slight dip in Cas' smile, which snaps him back to reality. His thoughts must have been clear on his face.

Shit that's not what he wan-

He quickly tries to convey the same look of contentment through his own features, giving Cas a smile. A real one.

And he must somewhat succeed because Cas' smile returns, but a question still lingers in his eyes.

So Cas parts his lips, most likely to ask Dean if something's wrong (Cas never lets him get away with anything), but Jack's laughter rings from the other room. So he huffs a laugh, and begins to cross the kitchen making his way to the other door.

But not before he places his hand on Dean's shoulder, and presses a soft kiss to his cheek.

Dean's heart swells. God that never gets old.

As he pulls back, he meets Dean's eyes again, leveling him with a look that Dean knows all too well. A slight smirk with a raised brow, that definitely doesn't make Dean's stomach flip.

It's his signature, "I know you Dean Winchester, which means we are definitely talking about whatever that look on your face was, later". And of course he always pretends to be annoyed that Cas can read him so well, but god if it doesn't make Dean's heart race a little every single time.

So Dean just gives a shit eating grin in return, and Cas' smile morphs into a smirk.

Then Cas is leaning forward, ready to capture his lips with his own, Dean happily following his lead.

But then, Cas pulls back at the last second.

And before Dean can even open his mouth, Cas gives a tight squeeze to his ass, and then he's bounding away through the door.

He hangs on the door frame for a moment, giving Dean a wink, and then he's gone, laugh ringing down the hall. Friggin tease.

"What a little shit", Dean laughs to himself, rolling his eyes fondly.

As he turns back to the pot on the stove, he hears Cas exaggeratedly wonder where Jack has gone, followed by the sound of Sam and Eileen joining in on the fun.

When he grabs five bowls from the cabinet, he makes sure to listen to the laughter echoing through the halls.

And Dean begins to wonder again.

Maybe he didn't find the silence of the bunker comforting, maybe he nev-

The laughter swells in the other room, feet stomping on the wooden floors. The love of his life, his son, his brother, his new best friend and hopefully one day sister-in-law. His family. Laughing together without a care in the world, on this lazy Sunday afternoon.

And well, Dean can't say he misses the silence much at all. In fact, he's actually quite content with the noise.

I just wanted to say thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who read, liked/reblogged, or left lovely comments on this story! I have not written in years, this fic happened by complete accident, and I never could have imagined the love it got! (I do love this little "universe" so maybe look out for some more baby jack in the future)💓 AND a very special thanks to @wormstacheangel and @smiledean who listened to me complain and yell about this fic every week💓💓💓💓

Tag list:

(As always,please let me know if you would like to added or removed!!💛)

@wormstacheangel @smiledean @shelikestv @chaoticdean @midnightwings-deancas @jellydeans @sunshine-jack @archervale @wikiangela @organicpurplepants

@writtendevastation @tkdwolf2012 @doemons-blog @rolling-stoned-girl @skylerkernaghan @shadowywerewolfqueen @the-cookie-navy @thelahatiel @thefantasyfiend @castielle-deanna @aestheticflyer26

@multi-fandom-imagine @x-mypeopleskillsarerusty-x @wellofwoes @becky-srs @multi-fandom-dark-lord @perfectkoaladream @castiel-for-lunch @it--hurts--to--become @bowtiesandneckerchiefs @dakiaty @feraldean @teamfreebees @keshetcas @hrh-princess-bea @martymar1963 @winchester-novak

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deathvalleyusa · 3 years

Text

day’s eye

Summary: In the eyes of a child named Daisy, Alfie Solomons is a thing of adventure books and mythical tales. As she grows he seems to morph to even more mythical proportions. That is, until Margate shows Daisy just how mortal and human Alfie is. ONE SHOT.

Characters: Alfie Solomons, Child OFC, OFC

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Language, S5 spoilers

A/N: Wrote this a while ago but only recently picked it up again. I had plans to write a fic about Nora (Daisy’s mom) and Alfie but this ended up happening instead lol. x-posted from AO3.

When one grows up without a father, people assume a terrible fate befell him. The War. An accident. Perhaps he had found himself in trouble with one of the many gangs that ran the streets of every city on British soil. His absence could be explained away.

When one grows up without a mother, death is often called upon as the excuse as well. Childbirth. Influenza. Beatings no one saved her from.

But in certain cases, the father is simply gone and the mother still lives and breathes. Daisy was one such case.

Her mother, a lovely woman named Nora, had dreams. Visions of a house, a garden, and a job to keep her steady. Daisy was a part of the vision, but not a part of the journey thus far. So at her grandparents cottage she stayed. Six years old, knowing her mum was somewhere else, trying her hardest.

The day Nora came for Daisy was one of excitement. Tears. Good-byes from her Papa and Gran, hugs that melted into her skin. A buzzing ecstatic feeling as they boarded the train, heading to a place called London.

"It's all new there for us, Daisy," Nora had said. Pretty in her makeup and burgundy cloche hat. "A life for us, eh? Me and my girl?"

Daisy was not expecting to meet a man that week.

At six, she'd met her fair share of men from her grandparents' village. Her mum had never brought around anyone other than her uncle Harry. So this man was something new entirely.

Daisy had thought he maybe had been a bear before he was a man. Towering and scruffily bearded, he was an odd one.

"This is little Daisy, then?" He had asked. Voice low, accent unlike the Liverpool one she had lived with all her life. He spoke with a curiosity and a kindness, deep blue eyes twinkling.

"That's her," Nora answered, beaming. "Daisy, this is my lovely friend Alfie."

He offered a hand. Daisy stared, then gave a glance to her mum. A supportive nod, and her tiny hand met his.

It was not unlike her grandfather's, or Uncle Harry's. Worn and slightly rough on the pads, work showed it's time through calluses and small light scars. It was warm though, gentle as he shook hers before enveloping it in another large hand. Daisy couldn't help but admire his rings and the small crown tattooed into his skin.

Like a man from the pictures, she thought to herself, giving a pleased smile. Like a pirate. Or a king.

One thing Daisy learned, as she spent more time with her mother and Alfie, was how much he spoke and how rapt her mother's attention was to his words. He spun stories, rambled about the folk about town. Posed hypotheticals at Nora who would answer after a long pause. Alfie would always include Daisy, posing the same questions or asking about life in a quiet village.

Years passed. Daisy, in her infinite child wisdom, came to understand some of the nature of Alfie besides his sweetness. That he was just as she had suspected, a pirate and a king. He terrified others, kept the men in the bakery in reverence of him.

She came to understand her mother as well. A woman with muted glamor, someone with quiet dreams that slowly seemed to materialize. She was not the princesses or damsels in the films or books Daisy consumed. No, she was something of a beautiful warrior.

Daisy thought of herself as an adventurer. No one feared a child of her age, and she had no one who needed her protection quite yet. Instead, she was a wily spirit, content with exploration during the day and a cozy home with her mother, and quite often Alfie, at night.

It came as no surprise at the age of nine when Alfie sat her down and explained he had asked her mother to marry him. Truly, it felt like a long put off event, and Daisy had just wanted it over and done with.

Alfie's laugh filled the sitting room when she told him.

"It's not always that simple, Daisy Bell," he said. "But I'm pleased, your mum expected you to take the news hard. Not sure why, but you are full of surprises, yeah?"

And so, on one afternoon that had gifted pockets of sun, Daisy watched as Alfie made her mother his pirate queen. Daisy, in turn, became a pirate as well. And with her new place as the daughter of a pirate and a king came new lodgings.

Not a ship, but a house with many rooms. A place for her toys and baubles, and a new wardrobe to hang the pretty things her mother liked to dress her in. Daisy quite liked to sneak into Alfie's study, staring at the little collections that lined shelves. On the occasions she snuck in while he sat at his desk, he'd call her over with a wave of his big hand. A sweet would appear, followed by a kiss to the head.

"Don't tell your mum," he'd whisper in gruff tones, "or she'll 'ave both of our heads for spoiling your dinner."

It was those moments she liked best, when the two of them would hold a small secret. Daisy knew Alfie and her mother had their own secrets, whispered under their breaths as if Daisy would pay it no mind. Talk of bread, of a man named Shelby. Nothing that ever reached her in her fortress.

And in that fortress protected by men led by Alfie, who as Daisy neared eleven, seemed more pirate than king, she thrived. Played with the other children, took pockets of Yiddish they taught her home to practice with her mother. Spent hours feeding treats to Cyril behind her parents’ backs. Tormented Alfie's men with silly games and questions they usually had no answer to. Ollie was her favorite. He had taught her to play cribbage in the moments where his time wasn't completely occupied with Alfie's commands.

There were long stretches where Alfie did not return home, only giving a phone call to calm Nora's nerves. Her mother would get whispered conversations; Daisy was given sweet words and a gentle good night or morning. Daisy contented herself with this, until one day Alfie did not return.

************

"He's gone to Margate," Nora explained, rubbing at her tired eyes. They seemed to grow more tired with each passing year. "I haven't heard from him yet, Daisy. Perhaps tomorrow we'll get a ring."

The call did not come. Daisy thought of terrible fates that befell kings and pirates. How easily it could happen to a man whose business kept him in hushed conversations. How her pa, dear Alfie, could be struck down in crossfire with the polished guns he kept locked in his study.

When a letter came, and with it a terrible wail from the beautiful mouth of her mother, Daisy knew she was right. Wished it not to be so; that there had been a terrible mistake and the news written was wrong. But sneaking a look at the letter when her mother had finally let it out of her grasp, Daisy found her worst thoughts had not been bad enough.

Alfie's wonderful handwriting lay before her. Asking forgiveness of Nora, then of her. A betrayal to the Shelby man detailed Alfie's demise. A desire to end a painful, cancerous existence that he had never spoke of to Daisy.

Another letter detailed his condition. Alive, but for how long would be up to him. Where he could be found in the winding streets of Margate.

With no noise, she returned the letter to it's envelope. Daisy took care to walk quietly, letting herself hang at the entry of her mother's room. For the first time in many years, she crawled beside her in the vast bed, letting a desperate hug melt into her skin.

On the eve of her twelfth birthday, the house with many rooms lay barren. Everything had been packed and sent to Margate, which Nora explained would become their new home. Daisy had seen her mother hold back tears as they locked the doors for a final time. Her house and her garden that had materialized out of her dreams since Daisy was very small was no more.

Camden Town had too much risk lying to the north to bring Alfie back even in secret. He was no longer a king, but a ghost of one. They were to follow the ghost, live in a haunted home by the sea.

In that haunted home, Daisy helped place Alfie's collections and her baubles on shelves. She ignored the moans from the guest room, which had become a makeshift hospital ward. Instead she practiced her piano and read on the balcony to avoid the noise. Wished that Cyril, wherever he had gone off to, was by her side to help her ward off the ghost that lived here.

Alfie haunted her, night and day. He haunted her mother more, once he became more coherent and spoke his rambling nonsense to her. More than once she had heard Nora's voice raised behind the oak door, and no reply from Alfie. Her mother was not an angry woman, but Margate in those early months had sparked like a flint and filled Nora’s glamorous face with a rage-fueled fire.

As time passed, Daisy returned to her schooling. New friends were found, and so was a sense of normal. Her mother’s anger had become smoldering coals, and she started to leave the house. Sometimes for pleasure, other times for business still left from Camden Town. Daisy wondered often if Alfie, who remained behind the closed door, envied their comings and goings. She wondered more if he missed her, months separating the moment she had seen him in a gauze mask till now.

***********

On an unremarkable Sunday afternoon, her mother had gone out for some air. Daisy had been left to her own devices, plunking out a song on the piano in the sitting room. A voice, one she hadn't heard in more than a gruff whisper in weeks, sang out:

"Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do!”

He was awake. Calling to her, it seemed, with a silly song he'd sing to tease since she was small.

"I'm 'alf crazy, all the love for you!”

Daisy rose from the piano bench, wood upon wood scraping quietly before feet plodded to the guest room she avoided. Now, though, the call from within was irresistible.

The door groaned silent as she peeked in, black curls slipping around her shoulders. There in bed lay the man she called father. A man in a pitiful state, but lucid.

"Daisy Bell, sweetie." he managed to crack a smile. "I'll cover up this nasty face of mine if you like, yeah, I just need to see that cherub one of yours."

She stepped in, trod closer.

"It's all right," Daisy remitted. "Will it always look like that?"

Alfie took consideration. "It won't always be as red, yeah, but it'll still look like a gnarled fucking tree. Maybe it'll smooth one day, but it's stuck, love."

"Then don't cover it," she said quietly. "If it's forever, I need to get used to it."

"Wise words from the mouth of babes."

"I'm nearly thirteen." A slight bristle shook through her voice, reminding herself of her mother. "I'm no baby."

"Is that right?" Alfie shut his eyes, heaving a grumbly sigh. A few beats passed, and he opened his good eye. Deep blue, like the ocean at night. Daisy sometimes sat on the balcony of their townhome and watched the waves roll in and out. Alfie's eye held no waves, just stillness.

"Well, if you're such a grown woman now, with wisdom and maturity beyond all our years, right, you'll fetch your dad a thimble of whatever Mum's got in that fancy bar cart she had to have, yeah? A secret between us grown ones, so I can partake of the earthly pleasures again."

Daisy's face hardened. "Mum says you can't."

"A biscuit then. With a strong cuppa." Noting her doubtful looks, he gestured to his face. "The tea to soften the biscuit so this old man can chew softly."

Daisy gave him a doubtful look, but obliged. Wondered how many times he'd asked for small tokens from the nurse or her mother and was promptly shut down. She returned, biscuits and tea in hand.

"You have my undying gratitude, Daisy Bell," he said.

He seemed quite happy, but Daisy couldn't tell if the biscuits or her presence was more the cause. As he dipped a corner of the biscuit into his tea, she thought how silly it was for a ghost to enjoy afternoon tea. She couldn't help an amused smile.

"What's that you're giggling about?" Alfie asked. His own mouth drew into a devilish grin. "You do something funny to these biscuits, ey?"

"No," Daisy replied, smiling wider. "It's a silly thought is all."

"I haven't heard silly thoughts in some time, just a nurse droning on and on about health and tablets. Indulge me."

For the first time in many months, Daisy felt heard again. Hands grabbed the wooden chair next to the wardrobe, scooting close to Alfie. She even let her forearms rest on the side of his bed, close enough to feel warmth not usually becoming of a ghost.

"Well you see," she started, "when we met when I was very little, I saw your rings and tattoo and thought of the men in the books my Gran would read to me. All while we lived in London, I thought of you as a pirate king."

"Is that so?" he chuckled, taking a sip. "Reckon you were a pirate princess then, weren't you?"

"Something like that." Daisy grinned before looking away at the wall. "After Mum got the letter and we couldn't bring you home… Well, I felt like you were a ghost. Like I've been living with a ghost this whole time in Margate."

Alfie didn't respond. Daisy had known he wouldn't; the wound on the soul was still as raw as the scar on his eye.

"But just now, seeing you eat,” she continued, “I found it quite funny to see a ghost eat a biscuit and enjoy a cuppa. All ghosts should be that funny, I think."

"Do you?" Alfie heaved a great sigh, then chuckled. "Better to be a ghost with a sense of humor and an appetite for sweets than a man who's lost both, yeah?”

Daisy nodded. The more she let what he had said rattle about in her mind, the more she came to understand the thankful truth of it. Though she mourned her pirate king, Cyril, and the house with many rooms, Margate and its ghost with his biscuit and tea had their own comfort.

She once again was a child who had a father with a terrible fate that had befallen him. A dozen excuses could be made for his absence but Daisy knew this time, at least, that in secret he still existed. The little secrets they shared had grown to one of great magnitude, like ones of novels and myths.

“I’ve missed you.”

Alfie, who had finished one of his biscuits, eyed her up with that twinkle she loved so dearly in the still dark blue iris. The cup clinked against the saucer as he set it on his lap covered by a blanket. Daisy felt the familiar roughness of his hand as it grasped hers.

“So have I, Daisy.” He gave her hand a squeeze, the feeling less ghostly than she had imagined. “Someday, I promise you, I’ll be out of this terrible fuckin’ bed and you and I can do whatever pleases your sweet heart.”

“That could be a very long time,” Daisy answered. “Is it okay for me to come back in? Will Mum be upset?”

Alfie took a pause.

“I don’t think so,” he decided. “And if she does get upset, it won’t last. The rotation of faces will do me good, yeah? That nurse sometimes makes me feel more ill by her presence alone, she’s got a particularly sour smell to match her face. The sooner I’m out of this room, the better I’ll be, I think. The sea air’ll do me some good, don’t you think?”

Daisy nodded again, vigorously. If Alfie thought the sea and the wisping salt against his face would help him be less a ghost and more a man, she would believe it too.

“We can go walking together,” Daisy suggested. “In the afternoons when I come home from school. And all day on weekends. Mum said she’d buy me a swimming costume for the summer, maybe we could swim—”

Alfie interrupted with his distinctive laugh, a near giggle unexpected from such a large man. The first time Daisy had heard it she had been taken aback, only to laugh along. Hearing it now was like a balm slathered on a skinned knee.

“We’ll start with a short walk, sweetie, then think about swimming in the next distant summer when these limbs can carry this old man easier. If I try to swim now, right, I might be swept away into the sea and some fantastical creature may happen upon me and drag me to its home in the depths. You believe in mermaids, love?”

“No.” Daisy sat back in the chair. “Not anymore.”

“Pity,” Alfie answered. “I saw one once at a carnival; pretty thing with a tail blowing bubbles under the water. If anything were to drag me out to sea, I’d choose her.”

“Stay on land, then!”

Alfie looked at her, quieted by her outburst. Daisy hadn’t meant for the words to leave her mouth so loudly. But all the talk of leaving once more sent her deep into a place of fear.

“I don’t want you to leave again,” Daisy tried once more in a softer voice. “I don’t want you to even try.”

“Then I won’t,” Alfie replied simply. “I’ll ignore all those siren calls I hear from the beach and stay right here, on your orders. You’re the boss, then.”

“Mum said she’s the boss now.” She shifted in her seat, wondered how cold the tea sitting on Alfie’s lap had gone. “Her and Ollie, she says.”

“Right then, you’ll just have to be my boss, won’t you?” Alfie shut his eyes. Daisy inspected his face, riddled with red scars and the patches of scaly rashes around his scalp he had explained as an affliction called psoriasis when she questioned it. He opened his good eye, giving her a quick smile. “Keep me in line and give me my orders to follow. First order is no following mermaids, got that love, what else should I heed from you?”

Daisy had never had that kind of power before, giving orders to an adult. The men at the bakery heeded her silly requests before, yes, but Alfie had always been the one to bark orders. As a child on the cusp of thirteen, it was an immense responsibility. She racked her brain, lips pursed as she ignored Alfie’s amused face, before settling on one.

“Get well fast,” Daisy finally said. “And don’t make Mum cross again, I’ll know if you do.”

“A tall order, that last one, but I’ll do my best,” Alfie grunted, tapping her hand before saluting her. “Yes ma’am.”

#alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons #peaky blinder fanfic #i love soft alfie fics ok bye

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liquid-luck-00 · 4 years

Text

Connections 4

Chapter 4

this is based on @thepeacetea daminette soulmate au

Masterlist *** First *** Previous *** Next

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Ever since dad and her moved to Gotham she was visited by Gotham’s Vigilantes every night before bed as they went on patrol. Every night without fail. Monday was Nightwing and Red Robin they would be on the opposite roof and wave before she fell asleep. Tuesday was only Red hood and he stood on her balcony and tapped the glass door tap, tap tap, tap. She quickly figured out it was Morse code ngt, or night, and then left. Wednesday was Red Robin and Batman they only paused and left after Mari waved at them, at least she hoped they saw her. Red Hood and Nightwing visited on Thursday and they always goofed around on the opposite roof until they made her laugh. Friday was Red Robin and he always told her to go to bed, well he put his hands together and then acted like he was going to go to sleep. Saturday was always Nightwing and he shot her finger guns and left. Every Sunday was Batman alone and he only paused a second on her balcony before leaving.

Gotham became her home the vigilantes, they were her heroes, was routine and a place where she felt comfortable. Marinette got into the normalcy of school that was Gotham Academy, and that didn’t have to do with the fact that everyone in school seemed to befriend her. Her best friend is and oddball and nothing could convince her otherwise.

The conversation of soulmates was introduced to her class today and everyone looked at marks on their skin or searched their hair or eyes. Most children knew that they had a soulmate but that didn’t stop their excitement at the news. This of course led everyone to ask one another about their marks and a girl next to her asked Mari if she had a soul mark too.

“I don’t think I have a mark. At least not that I know of” Mari frowned a little.

“Teacher” the girl chirped.

“Yes?” the teacher replied.

“what if you don’t have a mark, does that mean you don’t have a soulmate?”

The teacher took a moment to answer “Some marks only appear after you meet your soulmate, however a select few have an invisible bond that shares experiences and memories. Why do you ask?”

“She asked for me since I don’t have a mark.” Mari replied in a concise manner.

“Well we can’t do anything about the first but the second we can ask. Can you do things that you never tried or can’t explain how you know how to do things?”

Mari thought hard and two big things came to mind, no matter how she tried she couldn’t understand how she could fight with such certainty or know languages she had never heard. But the fact that they seemed so out of place put Mari on edge like she needed to keep this secret or else she’d be in danger. Slowly she spoke cautiously “I can speak another language I’ve never heard before”

The teacher smiled and responded “it is probably the language your soulmate speaks” that was all, and Mari gave a small breath as if she had kept the secret safe.

When Mari gets home, she prepares her overnight bag and a few other things as she is going to spend the next month with her brothers, second father, and her grandfather (Alfred). Dad was going on a European tour and would be joining them at the Wayne’s for thanksgiving. This meant that Halloween would be spent with three older brothers.

Once she settled into her room in the manner everyone left her to her own devices so Mari decided to ask Tikki a question that has been on her mind since class. Mari had always been good at being able to read people and having Tikki to confide in was a bonus. Tikki explained so much to her about the way that people may react and how people are connected. This led to them talking about the other miraculous gems and how they are used to maintain the world’s balance. Tikki had few words about her other half, Plagg, which was the kwamii of destruction.

“What does it mean that the two are two halves?” Mari was genuinely curious. She never thought that there could be another being that completes another outside of itself.

“Well this world is comprised of half beings. Every person has a soulmate that completes them perfectly, but the ladybug and black cat are special as the two holders are almost always soulmates of one kind or another.” Tikki responds with a smile.

“Are there different types of soul mates then?”

“Yes, there is. There are romantic and plutonic soulmates. You can only have one romantic soulmate but multiple plutonic ones.”

“How can I tell when I meet my soulmate?” she was genuinely curious, if she really did have an invisible bond then she might never know. She started to frown slightly and Tikki was watching her carefully as she decided what to say next.

The little god sighed deeply, and Marinette looked at her Kwamii. “I don’t say this lightly little bug. You have a soul of pure creation and that makes you a true holder of the ladybug miraculous because of that you are more than human. The Miraculous changes the holder depending on their affinity with the kwamii, and some changes affects is how they contact their soulmates. Little bug your connection to your soulmate will grow and when you meet them it will reveal itself. But know that the romantic soulmate is your true half and they will also be affected by my magic through you. As you grow you will be able to tell.” Tikki flew up and nuzzled against Mari’s cheek.

“Well guess we’re just going to have to wait and see aren’t we” Mari let out a laugh as she started to get up and leave her room to find Alfred.

---

Alfred was busy in the kitchen like usual when little Mari cane in.

“Hi Alfred, can I help you?” Alfred gave the girl a smile and a nod as he pulled out some ingredients for cookies.

“What is bothering you Miss Marinette?” he saw the girl shift from foot to foot and he couldn’t understand it. He knew something was on her mind but what was unknown.

“Alfred are you a holder?” Her voice shook slightly, and he couldn’t understand what she meant, and his confusion was evident.

“Miss Marinette what do you mean?” he was trying to understand this, but her emotions stayed constant, that is until there was a shift and she looked up at him.

“Alfred are you a holder of the Miraculous?” her voice held such conviction and certainty, but how does she know about the Miraculous. He didn’t answer and studied the girl before sighing.

“Well that explains why you are harder to read than many others, I had a feeling a Kwamii was in the manor but…”

A red blur flew out of Miss Marinette’s purse “You are one of Duusu’s birds, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I was”

“Was?” asked Miss Marinette. She was giving a small frown and looked at him.

Alfred sighed and got out a few more ingredients. “What is your preference little…”

“Tikki” stated the kwamii, “and cookies please” Tikki gave him a smile and he couldn’t help but wish Duusu was still with him.

“Very well. Would you help me Miss Marinette?” the girl smiled and started to help him bake. She kept looking at him with a sad look almost begging him to continue without pushing him. “I was the holder of emotion during World War II but two miraculous were stolen and lost Duusu’s the Peacock pin and the brooch of the Butterfly”

“Nooroo is the kwamii of transmission or empathy, Duusu is the kwamii of emotions” Tikki explained to the child, who nodded and continued to work.

“How were they…” Miss Marinette’s voice trailed off.

“I was injured in battle and Duusu refused saying I was a true holder and he would not leave. The officers took him from me, unfortunately they were taken during a siege on Paris. I miss my old friend. “

Tikki spoke quietly “Can you, can you sense him still?”

Alfred shook his head. “his Miraculous is not active, but something is wrong. I just wish I knew what”

Both Tikki and Marinette gave him a sad smile before descending into a hug. Little Marinette hugged him tightly and Tikki was hugging his cheek. That was when the timer went off. He gave a small chuckle and went to pull the cookies out to cool.

Marinette sat on the stool near the counter and he turned, but as he did Jason burst into the kitchen, little Tikki was gone again faster than he could blink.

“I thought I smelled cookies!” Jason walked over to the cooling rack and was about to grab a handful, Alfred gave an exasperated sigh, and Miss Marinette giggled catching Master Jason’s attention. “Hey there Pixie Pop” he gave the girl a smile as he grabbed two cookies and offered her one “Cookie?” At this Alfred left the kitchen to gather the others for dinner leaving the two laughing in the kitchen.

Miss Marinette is certainly going to be a presence in the manor, he had a smile on his lips as he searched for the rest of his family.

---

A week has passed since Mari arrived at the manor and she was starting to get curious. She would often notice how tired most of her brother’s were in the morning, Tim Tam specifically seemed to be a zombie and Blue wouldn’t smile during breakfast on Tuesday. And that seemed off to Mari, she was worried that there had to be something going on.

“Tikki I don’t know what is wrong, but they seem tired and quiet like they were up late?”

“Maybe they were working late last night, Tim is still in school and Dick works.” Tikki tried to reassure her but Mari wasn’t convinced. She knew something was going on and it was more than a hunch.

The next day Jason was Grumpy and was scowling into his breakfast. That was when things clicked, she took her spoon from her cereal and tapped it on the edge of the bowl. Tap, tap tap, tap. And she continued to eat Jay Jay looked at her funny and he didn’t stop til Bruce said something to him, he grumbled and continued to eat.

Mari left for school and everything seemed normal, but she felt like something was going to happen after school. And oh boy was she right but it wasn’t until dinner that it happened.

Jay Jay was quiet and that wasn’t normal, Dick was the one to break him out of his head “What no comeback Jay”

“Huh?” he looked around and everyone was staring at him. “Guess not.” He shrugged.

“Really that’s a first” Tim said with a smirk.

“What’s on your mind Jason?” Bruce asked and everyone was now looking at Jay Jay, and Jason was staring at Mari.

“Do you know?” he practically whispered. That got everyone’s attention and now they were hyper focused on Mari.

“I only figured it out this morning” Mari practically whispered into her plate.

“And what did you figure Marinette?” Bruce asked a calm mask on his face, but his eyes were cautious.

“Jay Jay is Red Hood, that means Blue is Nightwing, Tim Tam is Red Robin, and you are Batman”

It was silent until everyone heard a laugh. It was Alfred.

“You truly are a force to be reckoned with aren’t you, miss Marinette.” He gave a final laugh before he continued, “I am quite impressed it only took a week however.” Alfred gave a smile before chaos ensued.

---

Everyone tried to deny their identities, but Mari only seemed to resist the urge to giggle. Bruce only looked at the girl he considered a daughter and let out a sigh and smiled.

“clever girl” his words broke the statements of denial, but the quiet didn’t last, well not as long as he had hoped at least. Mari looked down and fidgeted with her bag the next moment a little red blob shot out and floated next to the girl.

“My chosen is more than just clever” and his boys descended into madness once again.

Dick was the first to regain his composure “What are you, a Bug-Mouse?”

Both Mari and the creature giggled and that snapped the attention of Tim and Jason. “Nope I and a Kwamii. Specifically, I am the Kwamii of creation bound to the Miraculous of the Ladybug. My name is Tikki a pleasure to meet you finally, Mari has told me a lot about you.” The creature, no Kwamii, bowed to them.

“What do you mean that Mari is your chosen?” Bruce asked and he looked at the Kwamii expectantly.

However it was Alfred who answered “ A chosen is the person who is the wielder of the miraculous and is thus imbued with the powers of the god they hold, Miss Marinette is the Holder of the Ladybug and is thus imbued with creation itself.”

“Why am I not surprised you already knew” Bruce shook his head and gave his butler a slight frown.

“You know what this means right!” Dick practically screamed. Everyone looked at him “What little bug is a little badass and if she is protecting Tikki that means she has to be able to protect herself. I can show her some gymnastics, oooh does this mean you’re a magical girl” Dick went off rambling.

“I lost him, and he is officially lost” Jason teased but it fell on deaf ears, “but he isn’t wrong” he shrugged and went to eat.

“Does Jagged know” Mari looked down and seemed torn. “He doesn’t.” she shook her head and looked sad as if lying was something she wished she never had to do. He sighed and then she answered.

“Since Alfred was a holder and you guys are heroes, I thought it was safe to tell you.” He gave Alfred a look and Alfred only seemed to smile at him.

“Well I don’t see why we cant train you” Mari looked up at him, “ But you under no circumstances can leave the cave” She smiled and jumped from her seat and ran to him, little Mari gave him a hug and thanked him. He could only chuckle at her enthusiasm.

This little girl is full of surprises and I doubt this is the last of them.

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Taglist🐞🦇

@thanks-captain-obvious @mandy989 @our-preciousss @readingismyoxygen @birdy912 @shifty-lesbian-retro-goblin @todaylillypads @laurcad123 @deamonangel27 @be-happy-every-day-please @fandom-trapped-03 @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @t1dwarrior-of-earth @saays-bitch @kawaiigiantjudgefish @k-poplunardreams @animegirlweeb @animezodiac707 @weird-pale-blonde-person @myazael @toodaloo-kangaroo @moonlightstar64 @miraculous-simmer7 @wannajointhecrabcult @blackmagicforever @iamabrownfox @inkattbi @i-wanna-be-a-ninja @justcourttee @consumeconstantly @abrx2002 @livelifeauthorstyle @certifiedbidisaster @dreamykitty25 @ironspiderstark @fantasyislive @ertyzeta @dast218

#damienette #miraculus ladybug #batfam #batman #maribat #soulmate #marinette #marinette stone #ml marinette #mlb x dc #dc x miraculous #dc x mlb #Connections AU #marinette x damian #damian x marinette

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theinfinitedivides · 10 months

Note

🪄?

aight ok so i have been screaming about this song since it dropped with the rest of the album on Friday but to those who do not know—Ben Howard has once again taken up residence inside my brain and i am biting and chewing and clawing every time this line comes on in Days of Lantana:

Maybe in a rare wind Maybe in a month of Sundays Maybe in a war I would still read the wrong signs But I don't mind it Being in the darkness baby To be by your side I would walk the Nile twice

(ask me about lyrics that i am not normal about pls and ty)

#inbox #q: allegoriesinmediasres #q: herawell #he is f*cking me up with this!!! f*cking me up!!!#highly recommend watching the live performance he did with Blogotheque bc that version also does things to me

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myfearless-love · 3 years

Text

The Wildest Place You Run (2/?) - Hold the Front

Thanks to everyone who commented on the first chapter or reblogged, liked the story written for @cssns! Here’s the next one; I plan on posting chapters every Sunday. Thank you to my awesome beta and artist @thejollyroger-writer! Check out her amazing art for the first two chapters! Enjoy!

Summary:

Vampires, Werewolves, Mages, and Elves. For centuries, they kept their existence a secret, but the constant rebellions against the strict laws of the Guild had led to a terrible tragedy. In an open clash, it became apparent to humans just what kind of monsters lived among them. Emma Swan loses the love of her life in the first battle of the war. A few months later, while still trying to process what happened, a mysterious and terrifying figure worms his way into her life. But the man is hiding far more terrible secrets than he reveals to her, pulling them both into a horrible situation...

Chapter: 2/? - Hold the Front

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Rating: M

Relationships: Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Read on: FF.net or AO3

Words: ~4.7k

Previous parts:

Ch 1

TW for this chapter: Depictions of violence and blood

"There was nothing you could have done," said Mary Margaret as she shook her head.

Emma couldn't even count just how many times she had heard this sentence from her. She wanted to believe her friend, but she never could. If she had been faster, if she had noticed the danger sooner… Maybe she could have saved Neal that terrible night.

It had happened more than half a year ago, but the screams still echoed in her ears as sharply as they had that night. The image of the pile of bodies, the blood, and the burning building was forever seared into her memory. But the most terrifying minutes weren't caused by these pictures. Neal's death changed everything…

He was a Hunter, just like her half-brother, David, with the difference that no elven blood flowed through his veins, any more than it did in hers. They both served the Guild and that was what caused Neal's demise. He and her brother were among the first to be called to the front lines…

The light of the full moon covered the entire clearing, and it danced on the mirror of the lake. The weather was relatively pleasant, a balmy breeze sailing through the early June night. It ruffled the fresh, green grass of the meadow, welcomely cooling down her hot face.

Lying side by side, they had been staring wordlessly at the sea of stars for some time. She really wanted to tell him, but she didn't know how he would handle it. She tasted the words a few times in front of the mirror in practice, but found none of them appropriate.

She just watched him, even now she could hardly believe he loved her. Just her. She'd never believed she was good enough to deserve anyone's love, but Neal still saw something in her. It was true, of course, that it took almost two years for their paths to cross (and her infatuation to be reciprocated), but in the end, her intuitions proved to be correct.

There was no one for her but Neal. Maybe the statement was slightly inaccurate, but the few people she'd been with left her within days, weeks, or months, saying they just couldn't learn to love her. She accepted it, because what could she have done? She loved them in vain…

She had already given up on ever being with Neal too, when what she had been waiting for finally happened.

He tore her from her contemplation. He turned on his side, propped himself on his elbow, and gently drew her to him. "What's wrong?" He brushed a lock of her fallen hair behind her ear and smiled kindly at her.

"Nothing's wrong," she whispered in response, snuggling even closer to him.

"Are you sure? You've been acting so… weird," he gently stroked her curly, long blonde hair and gave her an unwaveringly angelic smile. His brown eyes lit up brightly, the corners crinkling faintly.

At any given time, she could completely get lost in those orbs.

"Of course. Everything's fine," she assured him, though the desire to just tell him was burning her inside. But she still couldn't find the words and hesitated. How would he react?

"If you say so…"

His gaze drifted to her lips, and she could see his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. She didn't have to wait long, he slid his palm under her head and rolled over her in moments. His lips tasted hers gently. It was sweet, hot, and passionate all at once, gradually deepening until their tongues met. Suddenly, his body weighed on her. Although not at full weight, he still took her breath away.

It wasn't painful, but he wasn't exactly a lightweight, and the movement gave her a fright.

"Could you…" she moaned in a low voice, but he seemed to understand.

He braced himself on his hands, and she could finally breathe. "Sorry," he smiled apologetically.

"Neal," she finally managed to gather her thoughts.

"Yes?" He scanned her face curiously, his expression momentarily uneasy at the uncertainty he probably saw in her eyes.

"I…" she couldn't continue, she just stared at him, hoping he would understand.

"What's wrong?" His gaze turned suspicious.

"I… I'm… pregnant," she said, breaking eye contact and waiting with bated breath for his reaction. She knew for a fact that he loved her, but they were still so young and they never talked about it.

For a few seconds, he only stared at her with widened eyes. Her face immediately felt hot. It looked like it was the last thing he'd expected to leave her mouth. It must have felt like an ice-cold shower.

Then, to her greatest surprise, a wide grin suddenly spread across his face, and he opened his mouth several times, but no words came out. His instinctively gaze slid to her stomach, followed by his hands.

"You're not kidding, are you? How… How long have you known?"

"No, I'm not kidding. Not too long, I wasn't sure until this morning," she replied quietly, but she was already smiling from the huge weight that had fallen from her heart. She had to admit, she hadn't expected that reaction.

Neal still didn't quite know what to say, and Emma slowly sat up. But before she could prepare herself, he suddenly hugged her tightly.

"You have no idea how happy I am!" He grinned wider and buried his face into her neck.

"I think I can guess," she smiled, then hissed softly. Neal squeezed her too hard. "Relax, tiger," she laughed to herself, and he immediately loosened his grip.

"Sorry. Anyway, I had something planned for the two of us tonight," he remarked, but at the same moment, his phone began to ring."So…" Neal continued, ignoring the call, but she stopped him.

"Pick up. You can always tell me afterward, and it might be important."

"No more important than this," he insisted.

She shook her head disapprovingly, and without hesitation, she dug into his bag to pull out his phone, pressing it into his hands. The caller ID told her it was David. "If I know my brother, you better answer it."

Neal pursed his lips irritably but lifted the phone to his ear. "What?!" he growled at David on the other end, his tone irritated.

The answer clearly didn't lighten his mood, his face made her downright anxious.

"David… I just need half an hour! You can definitely hold the front until then," he almost begged, and Emma found that rather strange.

She began to sharpen her ears with interest.

"Neal! When this is done, you can do it in much quieter and more intimate conditions. We need you now! So get your shit together and get your ass in here!"

David raised his voice so much that even she could understand every single word.

Neal angrily ended the call and shoved the phone into his pocket. "We have to go," he announced in a grim voice, rising from the ground, helping her.

He idly dusted off his pants, delaying the inevitable as much as possible.

"What happened?"

"The newly settled Vampire clan and the new pack of Werewolves are wreaking havoc in the mall downtown. I need to get there… David and the others need backup," he confessed as he rocked from one foot to the other.

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's go!"

"But…" Neal's gaze shone with fear, and his restlessness had caught her eye, though Emma didn't understand what was wrong with him. Normally, he threw himself into fights like this, but now he seemed hesitant.

"Is there something else?"

"No. Come on, I'll take you home…" He lowered his head, took her hand and they walked back to the black Land Rover LRX parked at the edge of the clearing.

The SUV wasn't his own, legally it belonged to the Guild, but it had been on loan to Neal for some time.

"Neal, we don't have time for that, I'm coming with you," she stated in an authoritative tone, but he just shook his head.

"There are too many creatures there, they've gone completely nuts. I'm not taking you there!"

"Yes, you will! I'm not arguing with you, Neal. And besides, I have the gun David gave me yesterday," she added, trying to convince him. There was no time to waste.

"It's worth very little against them," he said, shaking his head.

"It's filled with silver," she lied easily, just so he would finally relent.

"Why are you so damn stubborn?"

She took that as his agreement, and started running, hearing Neal picking up speed behind her as well. She yanked open the car door and threw herself into the passenger seat. After buckling up, she rummaged in her bag to change the magazine in her Glock. Meanwhile, Neal put the key in the ignition and secured his seatbelt as well.

"Where did it happen?" she asked as they sped through the suburban streets.

"At the new mall. About six hundred people are trapped inside, and they're already being thrown off the roof deck," Neal replied.

The speedometer slowly moved to 55 mph. "Neal, slow down!" Emma hissed through her lips as she squeezed the edge of the seat with whitened fingers.

"You told me to hurry," he grinned, and she rolled her eyes. "What if I dropped you off somewhere?" He gave her a hopeful look, but she shook her head.

"I want to go with you," she declared firmly, and Neal punched the steering wheel in rage.

"You can't come with me! I won't let you, especially now that…" he paused in agitation, then his gaze landed on her, and he looked much more determined. "You're not coming. Period. Get out of the car."

He slammed on the brakes, and the car came to a stop in front of a 24-hour supermarket. He stared at her expectantly. Emma decided to switch tactics, pinning her gaze directly on his crotch.

"Emma, don't look at me like that."

"Then let's go, Neal!"

"No!"

At that moment, his phone started ringing again and David's name flashed on the display.

"Start the car!" she snarled angrily. "If David gets hurt because of us…" She didn't need to finish the sentence, Neal pulled back out onto the road again.

-/-

"You stay here in the car and wait for me. Don't get out unless there's a problem and-"

"Stop it, Neal. I'll be fine, I know how to shoot a gun and I've got good aim!"

"Neal, for God's sake, hurry up!"

Her brother, leaning over the railing of the roof garden, yelled down to them. Much of the three-story building was already in flames, and the glass walls of the first floor lay in tiny shards on the sidewalk, covering the several dozens of bodies that lay in front of the mall.

"Please, Emma, don't come after me. Promise me!"

Emma knew he wouldn't leave until she agreed. "All right, fine," she sighed.

"I'll be back as soon as I can."

Before she could say anything, he pulled his favorite Desert Eagle pistol out of one of his holsters and ran toward the building. She watched him go for a few seconds until he disappeared into the maze of shops.

She nestled uneasily in her seat, and her gun nearly slipped from her hands. Her palms were covered in sweat, and she was growing more nervous by the second. Her courage began to disappear into a bottomless pit.

After a few minutes, she heard a loud crash from her right. Trembling, she raised her gun and looked to the side. At first, she saw nothing, then she noticed a new body among the others. A young boy, probably ten or twelve, lay on the ground, his limbs twisted the wrong way, and a huge pool of blood already growing under his head.

Her stomach began to churn, and she was about to turn her head away from the gruesome sight when another body slammed to the asphalt, just a few feet from the car.

At that moment, she made up her mind. She shoved a spare magazine into her pocket and quickly jumped out of the vehicle. Without looking anywhere, she ran into the mall through one of the shattered windows of a store.

It was a simple, relatively insignificant clothing store, but dozens of women lay on the floor. All of them had had their throats slit open, they were dead, of course, and the floor was soaked with their blood. The cashier, clutching the register, still had a receipt in her hand.

Emma tried to breathe through her mouth and ignore the bodies. Over the years, she'd had the unfortunate opportunity to get used to them, but no matter how many times she encountered one, she could never be completely impervious to it.

She cut through the store and headed straight for the escalator. On her way, she avoided the fountain, its waters already glistening bright red.

When she finally arrived at her destination, she found that the escalator was out of service, so she took two steps at a time and ran as fast as her legs would carry her. Both the first and second floors proved empty, but the higher she got, the more the heat from the fire rose to an almost unbearable degree. She tied her sweater around her waist and stopped unsteadily before the last step.

The sounds of the brawl filtered out clearly, not even the loud crackling of the fire could drown them out. For now, the flames hadn't reached dangerous proximity, and luckily, the building was mostly made of non-combustible materials.

Roars, gunshots, crashing. Thunderous explosions. Frozen, Emma lingered at the foot of the stairs leading to the last floor, staring upward hopefully.

Surely everything would be all right. Neal, David, and the others would soon emerge at the top, with smiles on their lips as if nothing had happened. And they would go home safely.

A few minutes passed while she was idle. She had a hard time convincing herself to go upstairs. Neal and David would certainly be furious, but she'd taken their anger any day rather than their deaths. And besides, they would definitely benefit from a little extra help. If it could be classified as such.

She was one of the Mages, but a rather lousy one when it came to her abilities. She was only a low-level Seer, nothing more.

Clutching her Glock with both hands, she came up the stairs. The screams grew sharper and louder. Plenty of people could be stuck upstairs, but the path leading down seemed clear.

What were they waiting for? Why didn't they just run away and escape? Emma found it really strange.

She slowed her pace, confused by the humans' behavior. It just didn't feel right.

The cool, night air blew into her face as soon as she reached the rooftop. Most of the overturned tables and umbrellas were on fire, chairs broken into pieces. Most of them, ironically, were used by Vampires as stakes. They used them as weapons to kill the humans.

After only a few seconds, she heard an angry roar. "Emma, watch out!"

Immediately she spun around looking for the source of the danger. David was the one yelling at her, probably not without reason. She didn't have to search long, she immediately noticed the fully transformed, nearly six-foot-tall Werewolf charging towards her.

She only had a few seconds to react. Someone was calling her name again, desperation clear in their tone. She couldn't deal with that now, she would help them later… if she survived until then because if she missed, she was dead.

She aimed at the beast as best she could, right between its eyes. Her gun was already filled with silver bullets that would stop it. Assuming she hit it at all…

She pulled the trigger and the bullet hit the wolf, inches from her target, right in one of its eyes. He howled in pain and finally came to a stop. She took the opportunity to shoot half the magazine into the wolf.

She gasped for air, her heart pounding in her throat, and slowly she began to realize that the end of her life was a hair's breadth away. She didn't lower the gun, but still clutched it convulsively. The smoke burned her eyes, tears filled them to the brim, and she could see almost nothing. The wind wasn't helping either, carrying the gray mist right into her face. She gasped as if she had just run several miles and her lungs were thoroughly filled with smoke.

She forced herself to open her eyes and look around. She started stumbling through rubble and bodies, but so far she hadn't seen any movement, only heard the sounds. The battle was definitely not over yet.

She walked blindly for a few yards, but her fingers didn't slip from the trigger for even a second. She had to find Neal and David.

At last, she emerged from the cloud of smoke, but she could only blink her eyes, the world looming around her was quite blurry. Instinctively, she crouched against the barricade, for the hail of bullets was almost as thick as the cloud of smoke. A few of them were barely a few inches from her, and she curled up as best she could.

She tried to assess the situation and find her brother and Neal and the other Hunters she knew. Robin and Leo were only a few feet away from her and they both seemed fine. David, on the other hand, was dealing with a Vampire that was dangerously close to the railing.

He was having a hard time with the creature, she could clearly see that. Without thinking, she instinctively crawled towards him, pressing herself against the barrier the whole time. Silver bullets weren't worth much against Vampires, but at least they slowed them down, and the wounds caused by silver left a mark on their perfect skin.

When she was close enough, she fired three shots at the Vampire. She missed the first, the second lodged in his thigh, and the third slammed into his side. He let out a roar and staggered furiously on the bloodied, slippery floor. He lost his balance, toppled over, and finally, David managed to drive a stake through his already-dead heart.

David didn't even look up, he didn't seem to care where the life-saving shot came from, he immediately moved on to his next task.

There were quite a few Hunters here who she didn't recognize. Slowly but surely, they managed to push the Werewolves and Vampires back towards the flames.

Emma quickly wiped her sweaty brow and looked through the ranks of Hunters once more. Neal wasn't among them.

Her heart squeezed in her chest and she turned her head in alarm, but other than the cowering, screaming humans and corpses, she saw nothing.

She stood there confused and turned her head back around the place. There were no other Hunters she hadn't counted yet, every one of them was heading for the beasts.

A few raindrops fell on her face, the wind picked up, and an inhumanly loud rumble of thunder slit through her ears. Followed by a white light zigzagging through the black sky, blinding her for a moment.

"Neal!" her voice echoed like a hysterical scream, but no answer came.

When she opened her eyes again, a tall shadow unfurled from the cloud of smoke that covered the other end of the rooftop garden.

Immediately, she began to run, racing past the glass dome on the third floor. In the depths of the building, the flames grew larger and larger…

"Emma, stop! Don't!" Neal's voice came from the opposite direction, and she paused, turning away from the smoke and the shadow's owner in confusion.

To her surprise, Neal was standing barely ten feet away from her, shirtless. He never had a habit of showing off his body, no matter how nice it was. He had fine abs (not as defined as David's or Robin's), but now he was covered in blood and soot. Water dripped from him and thankfully, she didn't see any wounds.

"Behind you!" he called out to her.

His voice trembled with fear and he raised his pistol to fire, and for a moment it seemed he was aiming for her head. She turned, but it was too late. The elbow of the fast-approaching Vampire landed on her face.

For a few seconds, everything around her went dark, she felt like her face was going to split in two. She staggered, and suddenly the bloody ground came dangerously close to her face, and soon her head hit the ground with a thud.

She squinted her eyes for a few seconds, and when she opened them again, thankfully the world wasn't spinning in a crazy dance. But she couldn't hear anything. She knelt down and swallowed hard. It was as if a plug had been pulled out of her ears, the sounds returning in one fell swoop. She glanced back at Neal again.

He'd managed to wound the Vampire, but the beast didn't seem to be giving up. He swung his knee into Neal's stomach, wrenching the weapon from his hand, punching him in the face with it. Neal stumbled, but luckily, his legs didn't give out. The bloodsucker grabbed him by the arm, dropped the gun, and whipped out a roughly ten-inch-long blade. He aimed it directly at Neal's heart, but her boyfriend dodged the stab. However, the Vampire held him tight, so he couldn't completely avoid it, the blade digging into his shoulder.

At Neal's scream, her blood froze in her veins, and her hands holding the Glock trembled. Immediately, she took aim at the Vampire. She fired until the magazine was empty. Several bullets drilled into the beast's head and body, and quite a few missed him, too. But she got what she wanted, and the Vampire slumped to the ground. She didn't think he was dead, but she definitely put him out of commission for a while.

Quickly, she rose to her feet and ran to Neal, who was leaning against the barrier, trying to tear the dagger from his flesh. He was panting heavily, blood dripping in thick streams from his shoulder.

She dug out the spare magazine when she reached him and tried to slip it into the pistol, but her hands were still shaking too much.

Then, suddenly, Neal's gun went off. She looked over her shoulder in horror. Five fully transformed Werewolves were galloping toward them. Desperately, she tried to snap the magazine into place, but it was jolting too much in her hands.

She knew she would die if Neal didn't take them out in time, and with his injured shoulder, his aim would hardly be accurate. She tried to force herself to calm down, but the panic coiled in her stomach like an insidious snake. She was finished… They were finished.

Two more shots rang out, and one of the wolves rebounded with a harsh, deep howl. The Glock made a click, and the magazine was finally inserted. She turned to face the monsters. She tried to aim with a clear head, but it was much harder than ever. It wasn't just her life on the line. Hers, Neal's, … and the little one's.

Neal took out the second one with a single shot, and Emma aimed full fire at the one running in front, backing away in the process.

She hit him square in the shoulder, but it was like hitting him with a rock, even though her magazine was filled with silver bullets. Panic rose in her throat and began to thrust backward at double speed. Neal took out the ones closest to them, and she took aim at the ones left behind. If she could just shoot one of their eyes, maybe that one would stop.

She started firing again, trying to focus. But it was too late. They were barely three feet away from her, ready to pounce.

Her body completely locked down, she could only trust in her blind luck and Neal. That was it. Of the two, she had more faith in Neal.

The first wolf leapt up from the ground and nearly swept her away, but Neal's bullets dug into his front legs. He fell forward into the rubble with his muzzle foaming, his legs useless.

She immediately aimed at the next one. This time, she couldn't miss. But the beast was already in the air. It leapt over her head, straight into Neal. She didn't understand why Neal was holding back his power. He could fight off the wolf with his sheer magic, he was powerful enough to simply do so.

Meanwhile, the wounded wolf got up again, but this time his target was Emma. He probably thought the other one would take care of Neal. As she had previously planned, she aimed for the wolf's eyes, but she couldn't hit them. Then the beast was too close to her.

His teeth chattered inches from her throat, and his claws bit into her shoulder. He shoved her away, and she crashed into the barrier. Her side went numb from the force of the blow in moments, but she didn't even have time to comprehend her predicament, the wolf was already towering over her.

She was a hairsbreadth away from having his claws in her stomach as she put the gun to his throat and fired as many bullets into him as she could. The wolf howled, rolling back its eyes, but it raised its huge paw again, and this time it found its target.

Her breath caught in her throat from the blow, and a pained groan escaped her lips. His claws slowly sunk into her stomach, pinning her to the ground, and the wolf weakly opened its jaw, angling for her throat.

Help came from her right, three shots rang out, all hitting the wolf's side. He whimpered one last time and turned away from her…

"Emma, for fuck's sake!" David slid to the ground next to her and knelt down, trembling.

She wanted to ask where Neal was, but her mouth disobeyed. Her brain dulled, she began to go numb. Summoning her remaining reserves of strength, she put her arm around David's neck and forced herself into a sitting position. She screamed against the stabbing pain in her stomach and hunched forward.

"Emma, are you okay?"

It was the dumbest question Neal had ever asked her. But if he was able to ask and, judging by the approaching footsteps, he couldn't be in much trouble…

Her face was streaked with tears, and she tried not to faint. But David suddenly jumped up beside her and ran off.

"David…" she mumbled unintelligibly, then looked up at Neal.

He didn't seem to have suffered another wound. However, he looked immensely exhausted. He was pale and frightened, but thankfully he was walking towards her on his own two feet.

But he, too, stopped and turned his head to the side in surprise. What had they heard that she couldn't?

Finding it hard to keep her eyes open, she blinked shallowly at Neal. He started to retreat to the barrier, his rifle lying on the ground behind him. She forced herself to look back and a sharp cry burst from her exhausted lungs. One of the five Werewolves rushed at him.

The wolf's eyes were bloodshot and every inch of her trembled by his roar, his claws scraping the surface of the ground.

With all its might, it slashed at a helpless Neal. It all happened in a millisecond. The wolf's claws dug into Neal's shoulder, and the momentum pushed them over the barrier. They shattered the glass dome, tangled into each other, and fell into the blazing depths of the building.

#cssns21 #cssns 2021 #cs ff #captain swan #cs fic #killian jones #emma swan #emma x killian #once upon a time #cs au #captain swan supernatural #TWPYR #my fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #captain swan fanfic

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acnelli · 3 years

Text

A Favourite

My entry for Ron’s Chessboard Fest 2021.

Pairing: Ron/Hermione

Rating: T

Summary: Ron discovers a group chat that is discussing just how handsome he actually is.

Thanks to TheUltimateUndesirable for organising the Fest.

This prompt had been submitted by @accio-broom who also happened to be the beta for this story. Your help and suggestions are always so much appreciated!

@accio-broom got inspired by this post by @headcanonsandmore. So, thank you for the lovely idea! I wanted to write this ever since I saw this post and prompt 39 fit the bill perfectly.

You can also read this story on AO3 & FFN.

“Where are you guys meeting tonight?” Hermione asked as she and Harry cleared the table while Ron and Ginny set up the cleaning charms.

“George’s place this time,” Ron answered and swooped up some foam of the soapy dishwater to smear it across Hermione’s cheek.

Sometime after the war, the Weasley siblings established the tradition to meet up once a month. Just the six of them going out for a pint or simply getting pissed at one of their places. This resulted in another kind of meet up, consisting of the Weasley siblings’ significant others. Tonight, they would play a French card game which Fleur insisted on being a lot of fun. The rest of them simply agreed because most of the time, they ended up just talking and drinking anyway.

Playfully swatting Ron’s hand away, Hermione cleaned her face with a tea towel, placing it neatly back on the designated hook. Kreacher liked the kitchen to be spotless, and letting them cook for themselves every now and then at all had already been a huge compromise from Kreacher’s side. So, they always made sure to clean up after themselves; otherwise, Kreacher would immediately take over all kitchen duties again.

Ginny sat down on Harry’s lap when all the plates and cutlery were taken care of and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. She lifted Harry’s left arm to check the time on the gold watch the Weasley’s gifted him years ago.

“Ron, we should’ve left already.”

“Gin, you know every single Weasley is a notorious latecomer. Except for Percy, maybe. George will probably be not even out of the shower when we arrive,” Ron reasoned as he rummaged through the fridge for the sixpack of Muggle beer he bought to bring to George, “or taking a shite.”

While Ginny and Harry snickered, nodding their heads in agreement, Hermione just sighed and rolled her eyes. At some point, she gave up berating Ron about his foul mouth. It was a lost cause, and while she would never admit it out loud, she would definitely miss it if he suddenly stopped cursing. Mainly because over the years, Hermione gathered some exclusive knowledge about what to do for Ron to bring forth a particular choice of swear words.

Ron hardly censored himself, except when Teddy, Victoire and Molly were in the room. Not only would Mrs Weasley twist Ron’s ear off, Hermione definitely drew the line when children were present. She could’ve also lived without the image of George sitting on the toilet.

They heard the fireplace roar to life, and a few moments later, Audrey came into the kitchen, dressed in grey tracksuit bottoms, white trainers and an oversized blue shirt that sure enough belonged to Percy. Her outfit clashed with the fancy bottle of wine she held in her left hand.

Hermione looked at Ron, who she had to talk out of wearing his trackies tonight, and into a pair of nicely fitting jeans instead, along with one of his old Cannon shirts. He lifted an eyebrow at her when he saw Audrey’s casual clothes, but Hermione ignored it.

Audrey sat down with a heavy sigh. “I knew I’m too early. Why am I dating someone so over-punctual?”

“You’re not because Gin and I are leaving now.” Ron laughed as he gave Audrey a quick hug before kissing Hermione and wishing them a fun night. “Don’t do what I wouldn’t do.”

“I think we’re fine then,” Harry commented from behind Ron, where Ginny gave him a peck on the cheek before heading out of the kitchen.

As Ron turned around, Hermione pinched his arse, not ashamed to cop a feel as she gave him an innocent smile, and he rewarded her with his trademark lopsided grin. “Is this why you wanted me to wear these tight jeans? So, you could properly feel me up?” He asked as he leaned down to give Hermione another kiss.

“ROOON!” Ginny cried from the living room before he could properly snog his girlfriend again. He sighed and gave her a quick peck on the mouth instead.

“Actually, I wanted you to wear them so I can ogle you from behind.” She whispered before he went out of earshot. Ron didn’t turn around, but he gave his hips an extra swing before vanishing out of the kitchen.

“God, that was gross,” Audrey commented but winked at Hermione anyway, “How can you stand that every day, Harry?”

Harry was just about to give her an answer when they heard several people arriving via floo, and he settled for just rolling his eyes instead.

Accompanied by a cloud of some very nice smelling perfume, Fleur glided into the kitchen and right behind her appeared a tall, blonde man Hermione and Harry never met before. This had to be Charlie’s new boyfriend. Ron and Ginny met him last Sunday over at the Burrow when both Harry and Hermione stayed at home since they still had been recovering from a rather nasty case of the flu.

Fleur took Finn –as he introduced himself in a thick Swedish accent– directly with her from the Burrow where she put Victoire to bed and where Molly and Arthur happily watched over their first grandchild. Harry was secretly happy to finally have another guy in their round again. Not that he minded the company of Hermione, Fleur, Angelina and Audrey. Actually, he always enjoyed their monthly gatherings, but it was nice to not be the only rooster in the yard.

“I’m here, I’m here! I just wanted to stop by the store to grab some more Butterbeer.” Angelina said and put the bottles on the kitchen table. As always, they had a good variety of booze to choose from; Angelina’s Butterbeer, wine from both Fleur and Audrey, the Firewhiskey Harry bought yesterday, and some Cider Hermione picked up from her way home from work. It was way too much already, of course, but that didn’t stop Kreacher from making so much elf wine that they’ll probably never had to buy alcohol ever again.

As Hermione and Harry added some glasses and snacks, Audrey observed the table with a huge smile on her face. She clapped her hands in childish glee, grabbed a bottle of wine and started to fill Hermione’s wine glass.

“Fleur, explain that card game to us.”

*****

Ron was annoyed.

Because his dear brother was utter rubbish at calculating what would be the appropriate amount of booze for six people, they ran out of beer and whiskey after not even two hours. Due to his bad luck at rock paper scissors, he ended up going back to Grimmauld Place to get them some more beer and one or two bottles of Kreacher’s wine.

The moment he walked through the fireplace, loud shrieks and booming laughter sounded over from the kitchen. Ron planned to just quickly walk into the kitchen, taking what they needed out of the fridge and go back to George’s place. He stopped in his tracks as the conversation filtered through to the living room because he didn’t want his presence to be known just yet.

“…okay, okay, Hermione. Don’t look at me like that. I complimented your choice in men. Ron is a stilig karl.” Finn said, his booming voice carrying easily over to the living room. Ron didn’t know what stilig karl meant, but from what context he was able to overhear, Finn might’ve just said something nice about him.

As silently as possible, he stepped out into the hallway where he could hear the conversation better but would remain undetected by the occupants of the kitchen.

“I personally like his jawline, especially when he lets it go stubbly. It’s…,” Audrey snipped her fingers, “very tempting to touch sometimes. Remember Sunday afternoon after lunch? I kind of had to restrict myself from starring at his jaw when he listened to the Cannons game on the radio. Such determination.”

Ron was sure he was glowing in the dark as he felt the blush creeping up his neck, his face no doubt looking like a tomato. He expected many things, but he certainly didn’t expect to run into this kind of conversation.

“What does Percy have to say about you lusting over his brother?” Hermione asked, and Ron had to stop himself from bursting out into a laugh because he could practically see her narrowing her eyes.

“Oh, Hermione, don’t be such a prude. There is nothing wrong with admiring somebody else than your own partner. It eez only natural.”

Ron could not hear Hermione clear enough, but he thought he could hear her muttering something like ‘I’m not a prude.’

“Does somebody else has a favourite part of Ron they want to elaborate on? Or can we finally start the next round of cards?” Again, the red-head tried his hardest not to laugh when everyone just ignored Hermione’s sarcasm and, indeed, continued elaborating on the topic.

“His arse!” Angelina offered. From the way she was dragging the ‘s’ a little, he could tell she was already slightly tipsy. “Ron has a very nice bum. Do you guys train your arses in these weekly training sessions at work, Harry?”

Of course, this brought forth another wave of hysterical laughter, which only intensified when Finn told Harry to keep him in mind for these arse workouts. “Maybe I’ll learn something.”

When Angelina recovered from her giggling fit, she declared to Harry she too wants to sign up for that training then added, “But Ron had a nice arse before Auror training anyway.”

“And when did you notice that may I ask?”

“Hermione, it’s almost impossible to play Quidditch and not have a nice arse. Sitting on a broom for hours is no picnic for those muscles,” Angelina answered, unfazed by Hermione’s haughty undertone while Audrey let out something between a snort and laugh, resulting in a rather violent coughing fit.

“Don’t you agree, Hermione?” Angie asked innocently as she clapped the still coughing Audrey on the back.

All the ruckus must have summoned Crooshanks because the ginger cat ran towards Ron. He quickly picked him up and started to scratch him behind the ear, successfully stopping him from running inside the kitchen and surely disrupting the conversation inside. And a shame this would be, considering Ron really wanted to hear his girlfriend’s answer.

“I certainly agree,” Hermione said calmly, “Ron hated his hand-me-down jeans, but I always had been very fond of them. Especially, their tendency to hug him in all the right places.”

So much for these new tight jeans, she talked him into buying, Ron thought, not being able to stop the huge grin splitting his face. Running into this conversation certainly was a pleasant coincidence.

Apparently, the others didn’t expect Hermione to answer so smoothly because a chorus of approving whistles startled Crookshanks, and Ron almost dropped him when the cat clawed at his arm.

“So, you guys are mostly fond of his arse,” Finn mused, taking a quick swig of his beer, “which is understandable but did you ever notice his shoulders? Ron has the best kind of build; slim waist and broad shoulders without looking burly. Please don’t tell Charlie I said that.”

“Tall and handsome, just like my Bill,” Fleur agreed, Hermione giving an annoyed groan that did nothing to stop the French witch from elaborating, “but I say, Ron’s arms and hands are ze best thing about him. Of course, I hate he got zis scars in ze first place, but I think zey accentuate his arms and big hands rather nicely.”

“Well, Fleur. That surprises no one, I think.” Harry said, joining the conversation for the first time since Ron listened in.

“Don’t even encourage this, Harry,” Hermione whined, “How could find it not weird we lust over your best friend?”

Ron knew full well that Harry would tease Hermione, and probably him too, forever about this, so Harry’s next words weren’t too surprising.

“Well, actually…if I would play for the other team,” Harry obviously made a point to make a meaningful pause here, and Ron really, really wished he could see Hermione’s face right now, “…I mean, if we approach this in a logical manner…I have a thing for red-heads after all.”

The next outburst of laughter, surely about Hermione’s expression, sent Crookshanks in a frenzy for real now, and the bloody cat let out a loud wail and wriggled out of Ron’s arms, scratching the side of Ron’s neck before jumping down over his shoulder.

If not for Crookshanks loud entrance into the kitchen (why he would bolt towards the noise that scared him was beyond Ron’s understanding), Ron’s colourful cursing tipped off the others about his presence.

Well aware he had been caught, Ron followed Hermione’s cat into the kitchen, red-eared and shyly waving at everyone. “Hello…”

Before he could offer some kind of explanation, a furiously blushing Hermione jumped up from her seat, bolted towards Ron and without another word, took his hand and dragged him off towards the stairs. “Make sure to take good care of this new scratch on his neck, Hermione!” Audrey shouted after them, accompanied by the other’s laughter.

With a loud bang, their bedroom door shut, and Hermione immediately pressed Ron against it, showering him with kisses and roaming hands. Slightly puzzled but equally enthusiastic, Ron took Hermione’s face into his hands, deepening the kiss and enjoying the feeling of her body pressed up against his. As they finally came up for air, Hermione nudged him towards their bed, but Ron didn’t move from his place by the door.

“Hermione, you know they just said that to take the mickey, right?” Ron grinned at her and gave her a wink, “Riling you up is apparently not just my favourite past time.”

“You think they only said that to rile me up?” Hermione raised a questioning eyebrow as she took his hand and resumed her mission to get him into the direction of the bed. “

This time he complied, Hermione lying down onto the soft mattress and tugging on Ron’s belt, making him fall right on top of her. “Of course, you would think that,” Hermione whispered.

“Think what?”

“That the others just said that to rile me up.” Hermione answered, her hands slowly roaming up and down Ron’s back, “I don’t get possessive over nothing, you know.”

“If…you…say…so,” Ron murmured between the kisses he placed on her neck. He paused his trail towards that special place behind Hermione’s ear to look at her with an awfully smug smile. “I did not plan to wear them again, but I’ll gladly dig those old jeans out of the wardrobe. You know, for the sake of making you happy…and also probably Angelina.”

“Shut up and charm the door!” she said as Hermione let her hands wander over his jeans-clad arse, silently marvelling about its firmness.

As her hands and mouth wandered over his shoulders, his arms and his scars, and as his hands cupped her face and his blue eyes looked down at her with an expression that always spoke directly to her heart, she decided that every part of Ron was her favourite part.

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johnkrrasinski · 4 years

Text

𝐄𝐱𝐢𝐥𝐞

Chapter 5: Now I’m in Exile

full masterlist // series masterlist // commission open // support my work

Pairings: Dark!Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 8,310

Summary: Steve Rogers; a Hollywood A-lister and your clandestine occasional hookup. Best friends since childhood, but people change and friendships fall out. Now you were merely strangers with benefits. What happens when one day you stopped being his doormat to be a better man’s queen? The selfish Steve Rogers would not like it. How far is he willing to go to get his favorite possession back?

Warnings: smut, non-con/dub-con, dark Steve (in later chapter), angst, Steve Rogers is an asshole in this one, no redeeming qualities. (MUST BE 18+)

A/N: this series is dedicated to the lovely @belovedcherry who commissioned this story and developed the concept. thank you for being a friend when i truly needed it. i’m really glad that you trusted me to write this story for you. with all my heart, i sincerely hope you like it. this series will be updated every day.

The calling tone reverberated in your hand as the beaming grin on your face mirrored on the screen. With every passing second, your anticipation grew. You couldn’t control your fidgeting so you took a deep breath and-

“Hey, boo!” Natasha’s voice modulated.

You lifted your right hand to the front camera’s level, revealing the rose golden Cartier wrapped finger as it glimmered under the light.

“Oh my God! Did he…?”

“Mhm,” you nodded. “I’m engaged, Nat!”

Natasha put a hand over her mouth, “holy shit! Girl, I’m so happy for you! Congratulations!” the gaiety on her face was palpable, you could feel it through the screen. There’s a reason why she and Wanda were the first people you passed the happy news to. After your parents of course.

“Thank you so much! I can’t believe it. Eight months ago, I thought I’d be single forever but here I am…”

“Yeah, things escalated quickly for you! Now you are someone’s fiancee and seven months pregnant. It’s mind-boggling,” she spoke like a proud sister. “I’m beyond happy for you. Really, I am.”

“I know this is probably too soon but, will you be my maid of honour, Nat?”

“You know damn well there’d be no wedding if you didn’t ask me to. Hell yeah, I will!”

“Ah, yes!” you hurrayed in excitement. “Alright, I’ll catch up to you later, okay? I gotta call Wanda too.”

“Do whatever you want boo, it’s your day.”

You hung up the phone and went through your contacts list, then clicked the phone number under Wanda’s name. The excitement bubbled up in your chest as you pictured the smile on her face when she sees the new lustrous thing on your finger.

Eight months earlier…

“Hey, y/n. It’s me, Adrian. It was a pleasure meeting you last night. How is the dress doing?”

“She is going for a dry cleaner. It was lovely to meet you too, except for the drink-spilling stain of course.”

“Sorry about that. But it got me your number and I would’ve done it again if that’s what it costs.”

You smiled down at your phone under the warm glow of the morning sunlight. “You showed me pictures of your dogs and cat so it’s a win-win situation for us both.” Wink emoji.

“Perhaps you and I could chat more about my dogs and my cat over a cup of coffee?”

“Will you promise you won’t spill the coffee on my shirt this time?”

“You have my word.”

“I’ll consider it, then.”

“Next Friday, at 7 PM. Write that down on your calendar.”

“I didn’t even say yes.”

He sent an adorable picture of his pomeranian dog looking up at him with pleading eyes. “How can you say no to this face?”

“Say no more. I’ll see you next Friday.”

Two weeks after the date.

You regurgitated your guts out in the toilet bowl and held up your hair, trying not to let the vomit splotch a strand of it. This was the third time you had to run to the loo to spew the queasiness in your body. You felt dizziness clouding your head. What the hell is wrong with your body? This had been a daily occurrence for the past one week.

You sat on the toilet lid after everything you swallowed earlier was out. You recollected every food that had made its way into your digestion the past couple of days… Did you eat something inedible? Perhaps that ice cream in your refrigerator had passed its expiration date, but you only bought it three days ago at the grocery store and you swore it could still last for two more months.

Maybe that shrimp that you ate at the Chinese restaurant with Adrian last night was stale. Ugh, you’re gonna need to talk to Adrian about this but you didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Perhaps, it was just another sickness caused by an unknown bad food.

But you also retrospected the shift in your body for the past couple of weeks. Your period was late this month… It should’ve started three days ago, what is happening? Could it be…? Oh no, there’s no way. You and Adrian hadn’t even moved it to the bedroom yet, so that means… If you are, then… It must be… Steve’s.

Oh hell no.

You recalled, the last time you and Steve met up for your weekly (sometimes more) hookup appointment was the day after you and Adrian met up for a coffee, which was your very first date with him. You didn’t know there would be plenty more to come so you went to what you had planted your soles so deep in, which was Steve Rogers’s penthouse in the upper east.

He had you on top with your arse facing him because he enjoyed the view better than your face. You struggled to bounce yourself up and down on his massive size. He could be such a sluggard sometimes but a man like him would always get his way, and if he needed to fuck out some tension, then he’d use you as a masturbation aid for as long as he wanted.

His grip on your hips was ruthless, you knew it was going to cause some bruises tomorrow but you couldn’t care any less. Not when he was pulling you down this deep that you could feel him penetrating your womb. His grunts filled your ears with eroticism and you picked up your pace to help him reach his climax. You shut your eyes with your mouth hanging open as soft moans escaped through your lips. You clenched around him and you felt his cock throbbed, you knew it was coming. Literally. Your coil shattered just a few seconds before he released his seed deep inside you. He pulled out and went to the bathroom to clean himself up and left you rumpled on the couch.

He left to Atlanta the next day to shoot a new movie. Something about an organization reinforced by the Nazi during World War II, and how the Captain leads an elite combat unit to the battle against an organization called Hydra. You didn’t know that until you looked it up on the internet.

You hadn’t received another booty call for him ever since. He was probably sleeping with twenty-something-year-olds models in Atlanta though.

And you had made peace with the tragic reality you were stuck in. You had accepted the reality that you and Steve were like riding down a dead-end street. There was no making love on Sunday mornings and have brunch together afterwards. There was no settling down in a countryside house where your kids could run around barefoot on the front yard. There was no marriage vows and walking down the aisle in white for you.

But all that changed when you decided to take a pregnancy test and the result revealed that you were indeed pregnant. You took three more and the results were all the same. Fucking hell. What the hell are you going to do now?

You had to call Steve, right? He was the father after all. You couldn’t tell Adrian because he would despise you for sleeping with another man and possibly carrying his child and he probably would never want to talk to you anymore. He’d probably regret knowing you at all. And you didn’t want to send him away. You liked him, he was good for your heart and the more you explored him, the more mesmerized you become by his magnetic force.

You were distraught. You didn’t know what to do, you didn’t know whom to call, so you just sat there in the tenebrosity of your room, out of options and out of clue.

Eventually, you collected your nerves and you dialled Steve’s number. He didn’t answer. He told you once that he didn’t like being called unless he called you first so you never did, but this time, you had to speak to him. “Please, pick up…” you prayed while on the verge of breaking down completely.

You were directed to his voice mailbox.

“This is Steve Rogers and if I’m not picking up that probably means you shouldn’t be calling me.”

Beep. “Hey Steve, I’m really sorry for calling you this late but I really need to talk to you. Please, it’s urgent.”

Three hours later and there were still no callbacks. You had sent him twenty-eight text messages and his voice mailbox was full. If you waited one more goddamn second, you’d lose your mind. So you picked up your phone and bit the bullet and typed the words; “I’m pregnant and you are the father. Please call me back so we can talk about it.”

It was around 4.30 AM when you checked the time on your lock screen. You were fatigued; both physically and emotionally. You had to unwind from every quandary that impinged you today. It was a lot and you were at a complete loss, but you’ll figure it out tomorrow.

You didn’t sleep well that night, you kept waking up whilst it was still dark out, and you had to wake up at 7.30 tomorrow for work. You kept looking at the sleek device that was left unmuted on your bedside table in case Steve called back. He didn’t though. You only slept for an hour and you really wanted to take a day off but you’d lose your mind if you were left alone with your thoughts and no distraction. So you got out of bed, took a shower and prepared for work, with your thoughts filled with the future of this baby growing inside you and Steve. Why hasn’t he called back or even text at all? Does he really think so little of you?

The impulse to check your phone and call and text him every five minutes was adamantine. You tried to control the itch of sending him another text and voicemail but it failed until you read the words ‘not delivered’ in red under the last text message that you just sent. You tried to resend it over and over again and even tried to write a new message but it was the same result.

You moved to your call feature but after a single ring, you were diverted to voicemail. It took you a few seconds to realize that Steve had blocked you. You went to the last media to reach out to him and it was through his Instagram account. You didn’t even follow each other and you were certain that he received thousands of DMs and notifications every day from his obsessive fans. He had 39 million followers for God’s sakes, the hell is one message from you going to mean anything?

But you were despondent and you needed someone to go through this with, especially the father himself. You did it anyway without thinking twice and told him that you were pregnant and you needed to talk to him. You even sent a picture of those three pregnancy tests and attached it on your message. You couldn’t stop biting your lip and tapping your foot throughout the entire way to your work in the train. Man, were you really going to raise this child alone?

Three days later and still no signs of him attempting to return your messages. You had slowly accepted your fate that you were going to carry and raise this child alone. You still hadn’t told Adrian despite talking to him every day and it crushed your heart whenever you heard his elated tone. You could tell that he was really into you and he wanted to take this relationship further but sorrowfully, one way or another, you were going to have to tell him the secret growing in your belly and you were going to have to slaughter this exquisite potential. You wondered if the circumstances were different or you had met at another time or in another universe, would Adrian be the one you were meant to be with?

You made a promise to yourself that you were going to meet him tomorrow and tell him the truth. Delaying it wouldn’t make it any easier and it wouldn’t prevent the doom from happening. If anything, it would only elongate the hurt. So you picked up your phone after you cerebrated it on your mind and clicked on Adrian’s chat room; “meet me at the Drive Brew Cafe tomorrow? Got something I’d like to talk about.”

“Is it something really urgent or you’re just looking for an excuse to see me?” Wink emoji.

“Oh, stop flattering yourself. We really need to talk.”

“Usually, I’d ask a person the matter before I’d decide that it’s important enough for me to meet them in person but I’m giving you a pass.”

“Very generous of you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, y/n.”

You arrived ten minutes earlier than the time you both agreed to meet at. The cafe wasn’t too crowded, thank God, so you immediately ordered a cup of Machiatto for Adrian and a cup of hot chocolate to calm your nerves. After the barista called your name, you walked to the corner booth before anyone could occupy it first. You were going to need some privacy. You sat as your hands trembled from edginess. You couldn’t stop fidgeting and tapping your foot as the second passed by on the clock.

Exactly on 6.30 PM, a dashing brunet in a dark grey vest and rolled-up sleeves entered and you stood up to greet him. He just came home from work and man, it was impossible for him to ever look bad even for once, you were so lucky but life just kept finding a way to eliminate the people you cared about.

“Hey, you look good.” his British accent was thick. He kissed your cheek and embraced you with a warm smile.

“So do you. How was work?” You both sat on the opposite chairs of the booth.

“The ordinary. We had a meeting with a director of this historical film to get us to fund the project. How was yours?” The genuinely curious look on his face nearly changed your mind. Oh, how you wish you could hold on to this moment where you could still have him a little longer.

“Nothing new, just another day at work. This one’s for you by the way.” You didn’t know what more to say when your mind was cluttered so you stalled by passing over his drink.

“So, what’s so important that you needed to see me?”

“Adrian, you know, I really like you, right?” you took his hand in yours as you stared into his striking eyes. “And I’ll always be grateful that you were foolish enough to ruin my dress that night.”

He was perplexed. His eyebrows were furrowed. “As much as I enjoy your companion, I’m sure that you didn’t call me to meet you only to thank me for wrecking your dress, right?”

“Yeah, but um… I just, it’s been wonderful knowing you. And… Oh God, this is going a lot harder than I thought.”

He nodded. A dejected look on his face that you wished you could wipe out. “Let me save you the trouble… You are breaking up with me.” He didn’t say it as if he was guessing, he said it as if it was a declaration that he’d figured out before you could even formulate the words.

“Adrian… I’m pregnant. And you’re not the father, so don’t worry. I know when you first asked me out, this isn’t what you signed up for. So I’m setting you free. I’m sorry.”

You expected him to get up and walk out of the door, leaving you with your alienation but none of that was detected on his expression or his body language. “Who is the father?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“Adrian…”

“Don’t I at least deserve to know who my girlfriend is sleeping with before I even took her to my bed?”

Girlfriend. Huh. Well, that’s first.

“Steve Rogers.”

“Steve Rogers the actor?”

“Yes…”

He snickered. That drew a mystification out of you. “What’s so funny?”

“So you’re into the arsehole type.”

“…How do you know what kind of person he is?”

“The movie that we had a meeting about today? He’s going to star in it and I’ve met him a couple of times at some parties. Not the nicest guy, eh?”

“I don’t… I don’t know what to say.”

He sipped a bit of his coffee. “How did you get involved with a bloke like him?”

So you told him everything; the beginning of your friendship, the fallout, the moment he took your V-card in your dorm, and how years later, he still had you on a chokehold. He didn’t seem to mind one bit that the woman that he had been seeing had a history with someone. He’d dealt with much worse scenarios in his former dating lives. He wasn’t going to let other man’s neglected baby stand in the way of what could be something beautiful.

“I’m not walking away.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m staying. I like you and I know you feel the same way too. We are going to raise this baby together. No child deserves to grow up fatherless. I’m going to be its father.”

“Adrian, but…”

“No buts, we’ll get through this together. Now, let’s enjoy these tasty drinks before they get cold, yeah?”

So you nodded, too dumbstruck by the man before you. You drank your hot chocolate that was cooling down and let his presence soothe you better than the sweet drink on your tongue.

Steve went back to New York after spending nearly four months in Atlanta, shooting his movie. Man, he’d lost count on how many extras he had fucked in his hotel room but nothing felt as good as your pussy. He thought about your last text before he blocked you. You had claimed that you were pregnant with his baby. You must’ve lost your mind to think that he’d buy that shit.

So he picked up his phone, unblocked your number and pressed the call button. Three dial tones and a familiar voice answered. “Hello?”

“Hey baby, meet me at my place tonight.”

“Who is this?”

“Hillarious, y/n. I’m too fucking tired for jokes okay? Come here and suck my cock then maybe I’ll listen to your jokes.”

“Is this Steve Rogers?”

“Fuck yeah, it’s me, y/n. Who else do you think I am?”

A pause jammed the line. “I’m done, Steve.”

“What? The fuck do you mean you’re done?”

“I sent you thousands of texts and calls five months ago and you couldn’t even lift your fingers to answer.”

“I was in the middle of shooting, y/n. You know better than to call me while I’m working.”

“Oh, screw you, Steve. I’m pregnant and you didn’t even care? How much of an asshole can you be?”

“You were actually serious about that?”

“Of course you think I was joking. But don’t worry, it’s none of your concern now. We’re done. Don’t call me anymore.”

“Wait, wait! Y/N!” you cut off the line. “Ah shit.”

He tried to call five more times and you neglected every single one of them. In fact, you instantly blocked his number after the last phone call with him. You didn’t want to be associated with him anymore. You thought that Steve had forgotten about you since he blocked your number first so you never had to do it yourself. But of course, an entitled scoundrel such as he is would never stop taking and taking until you had nothing more to give.

It took you years of anguish, an unforeseen mishap and a beautiful stranger that ended up being the stupendous love you’d been looking for to open your eyes to the rotten core of Steve Roger’s heart. He ever only lusted for your flesh, he never gave a shit about you as a person.

You lived for the hope of it all, you cancelled plans just in case he’d call, and you never once suspected the pitfall, but you were no longer that foolish girl anymore. You had met a real man now and he led you to the path of love and happiness and Steve was no longer the most intrinsic thing on your mind.

Steve was going apeshit. He had never been rejected or denied before, he always had it so effortlessly. Especially by you. He thought he’d always have you by the palm of his hand, he thought whenever he asked you to jump, you’d always say “how high?”, he thought whenever you’d think about walking near to the door, you’d always turn around with a few sensual touches and sugarcoated words, but the renunciation that came out of your mouth sting like a bitch and he didn’t like his ego being trampled over.

He went to sleep later that night, dreaming about caressing you and kissing you as a lover would. Never once did he ever have such a dream about anyone before. Maybe he belonged to you more than he had realized all this time.

It was his fourth time this week of standing on the street of your apartment building after you returned his plenteous gifts that you certainly never even asked for or needed. Why would you? You could easily buy that necklace jewellery, that overpriced velvet dress, and those designer shoes with your own money. And even if you couldn't, your boyfriend could easily afford all those things for you too. But that motherfucker used his money to buy you shoddy gifts such as poorly designed accessories and tacky books and yet you happily accepted them? What a closefisted fool.

But who are we kidding? The sole reason why you didn’t accept those gifts is that you no longer cared about him. Those inducements didn’t work on you anymore. You were much happier with a better man now. What do you have to lose?

Rather than dwelling in self-pity and resentment, he hid in Range Rover in a black baseball cap and Tom Ford shades from the paparazzi and waited. Waited for her to come out. He had been religiously stalking every social media you had from another private account to track your activities. The last photo you posted on your Instagram was a picture of you and the scary college roommate of yours that he’d forgotten the name of. It was last Saturday.

“Always a delight to catch up with this one. Love you @natasharomanoff.”

under 281 likes and 32 comments. He scrolled through every single one of them and searched for any clue that might indicate your next move. Found one.

Wandamaximoff: “Don’t forget about me!! :(” so they are still friends apparently.

Natasharomanoff: “Same time next week? 💕”

“Absolutely,” you replied to the red-head.

Gotcha. He’ll be there.

So here he was, waiting for you to come out of that building to grab an Uber because he knew you weren’t so into driving. Except for that late-night rendevous of course, because he told you once that he’d hate for a single soul to know there was something going on between you and him. You were a secret and he’d like to keep it that way. Sooner or later, people are gonna talk and headlines are going to break the internet.

Two minutes later, you stepped out wearing a beige coloured cable knit cardigan and a grey jersey maxi dress underneath with a necklace around your neck. He couldn’t see it from this distance but the item had made a few appearances in some of your recent Instagram posts, and he already knew that you wore it wherever you go. It was an initial necklace of the letter ‘A’ in silver.

He hated the arising thought but he couldn’t help but think how ethereal you looked in your casual, maternal clothes. Perhaps even more than when you wore those petite dresses that always made you look uncomfortable whenever you wore them. You walked with grace and there’s this elegance that you just exuded without trying too hard. You could be wearing the most boring clothes or doing the most mundane things like looking down at your phone to text your Uber driver and you’d still look enchanting.

Man, how could he had been so blind all this time?

It shredded his heart even worse knowing that the growing fetus in your belly was his, but when that baby borns, another man would hold it instead of him and the kid would grow to learn that another man was its father instead of him. That motherfucker. He didn’t have any right in raising that baby. You were bearing his child. Not Adrian’s. You belonged to him. You always did. Fate had interlaced your paths long before you were given birth to this world. No one knew you better than him and vice versa. Not even that former roommate of yours or Wanda. Only him. He had to have you back. Whatever it takes.

He was so inflamed with debt and feebleness of his childhood that he turned into someone he used to loathe when he was younger. He strayed so far away from the path that his mom had paved for him to walk in and he wasted the one good thing in his life that kept him going when he had nothing. But he couldn’t turn back now, couldn’t cross out the mistakes that he did. The best he could do is make use of what he is capable of now and utilize it cleverly.

A scheme was formed in his head… He’d have you back in no time. One way or another.

Months went by and his patience emaciated. He had it all drawn out in his head but he had to be very careful. If he rushed or stepped on the wrong stone, he’d end up being decapitated and his career would burn to ashes. Especially with how the paparazzi and the media were always busting up his ass, like hunters with foxes. He couldn’t have that. He had worked too hard to see it all crumble beneath his feet.

He rejected all film projects and public appearances offered by his agent slash good friend, Sam Wilson. Sam was getting a little frustrated by Steve for being unreasonable. He was his most ambitious client, never one to say no to a good script and occasions that could advance his career and generate more profit for both of them.

But after he returned from Atlanta for his last movie, he had been shutting most people out. Sam was always his most trusted confidant, he was his agent, after all, it was his responsibility to make sure the client that earned him the most income was well in health and aptitude. But he was scratching his head trying to get Steve to open up to him.

Sick of Steve’s shortcoming, he called Steve and told him to come to the office.

“Fuck off, Sam. Why can’t you just talk on the phone?”

“Get your ass down here or I will come to your house myself.”

He groaned and hauled himself to Sam’s office, not in the mood for Sam’s garrulous nagging.

Steve knocked on Sam’s door and he saw Sam sitting in his usual black and white attire in his ergonomic chair. He had a frown on his face instead of his usual conceited womanizer charm. “What’s with the long face?” Sam asked.

“Nothing. I’m just worn out.”

“Cut the bullshit. Last time you got your ass to work was six months ago. What the hell is happening with you?”

“I just haven’t found any good script that interests me, Sam. And I told you, I needed a short break. I’ve been travelling nonstop for the past few years to shoot films and press tours, and now I just need to hit the pause button.”

“The Steve Rogers I know isn’t one to rest. He was power-hungry and always craved for more. You also rejected an Oscar potential role. Something’s going on and it’s deeper than just needing a break. C’mon, talk to me man. As a friend, not as your agent. Let me help you.”

It took him a few seconds to brace himself. He didn’t need to tell him the entire truth, he just had to ask Sam fora favour and then the Steve Rogers that made him millions would come back. “You know anyone who’s good at editing photos?”

“…What?” Sam was perplexed.

“Just let me know, Sam. You got any connections to editing experts? Hook me up.”

“What is fueling this?” Sam was bewildered. He looked at Steve like he had just grown two heads out of nowhere.

“Just trust me on this one, alright? You link me to a good editor and business will back as usual.”

“I know a guy.”

Your bachelorette party was fun. You, Natasha, Wanda and a few of your fellow colleagues were invited to the tea party at the garden of The Berkeley in London, which is the hometown of your fiance. You loved London and you always had such a good time whenever you paid it a visit with Adrian.

Now that the weekend was over, it was time to pick up little Nathan from your parents’ house. A beautiful baby boy was born three months ago and he was your parents’ joy. You never told them that the real father was the scrawny kid who used to lounge around on their couch every Wednesday afternoon when there was nothing much to do. Your parents loved Adrian as their own and it was all that mattered.

This baby is going to grow up with so much love from his parents and grandparents. From your chosen family who will become his aunties and uncles. He is going to be raised right in gentleness, affection, and sincerity. And it would never matter how he was conceived into this world in the first place.

You refused to leave this baby for more than five minutes but Wanda and Nat kept insisting that you needed some time for your own. One bachelorette party wouldn’t hurt. It’s only one weekend. Besides, your grandparents were obsessed with baby Nathan and they were going to take such good care of him while you were away, celebrating your single life with your girlfriends before you spend the rest of it with someone.

Now you were back home, you couldn’t wait to see your baby. You had been thinking about him endlessly in London and you missed holding him close to your chest. So you put on your coat and took your keys to drive to your parents’ house but you were stopped by a text message before you could open the door of your car.

“Enjoyed your bachelorette party?” An unknown number wrote.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Who the hell is this?” your thumb typed and pressed the send button.

“You know me. Better than anyone, just like I know you too better than your fiance.”

Your heartbeat quickened. “Stop texting or I will call the police.”

But before you could hit the send button, a picture of your face popped on the screen. But what disarrayed your mind wasn’t your face, it was the body. You were stark naked with your knees on a mattress and your ears teared up, and your lips were wrapped around a shaft.

What. The. Fuck?

“Got plenty more.” the unknown number threatened.

Another picture of you lying on the same bed, except this time you were on your back so your tits were clear cut visible and your mouth was parted slightly like you were moaning. A hand was wrapped around your throat and yours were pinned above your head by another one.

You were frozen in place and the warm autumn air descended into zero degree celsius. Your breath hitched and tears started brimming in your eyes. Who could have these pictures of you?

“I’ve got many more if you’re curious just how much of a slut you can be.”

“Stop. What do you want?” your fingers trembled.

“Meet me at the New York State Pavillon tonight, at 11 PM. Alone. Bring your baby. If you dare to report this to the cops, I will send these pictures to your fiance and post them on every existing site on the internet.”

The words didn’t leave any room for argument or further questions. So you drove to your parents’ house to pick up Nathan for the last time ever.

Adrian was working late tonight. He told you over the phone that a big project was in the work and so he and his team had to stay a little longer in the office to get it done as soon as possible. You were a bit relieved because that means, you could save yourself from whatever was bound to happen when you arrive at the abandoned historical world fair.

“Don’t forget to drink water. I love you.” You reminded him.

You wrapped Nathan in a blanket to keep him warm and you placed him in the infant car seat next to you. Your mind couldn’t stop flashing back to those pictures. Who could you possibly have done so wrong that they thought exaction would be the most fitting comeuppance. It took about 35 minutes via Grand Central Parkway which was the fastest route so you took it. Your mind also couldn’t stop asking questions, so many questions… But most importantly, who could this person be? Could it be… No, no way. You knew him. That was the last thing he’d ever do. Not because he wasn’t a nefarious person but because the world was constantly throwing themselves at him, offering him dollars and women.

He had too much in his plate to look over to yours and wanted to steal what was in it too. After months of not a single contact made, he must’ve had forgotten about you right? C’mon. This is ridiculous. But if it’s not him, then who could it be?

You arrived at Flushing Meadows a half-hour later and then you texted the number. “I’m here. What do you want?” you kept Nathan inside, fearing that whoever the culprit is might hurt him. So you stayed inside as consternation overcame you.

A few minutes later he answered, “step out the car and bring the baby.”

“Don't hurt my baby, please. Take me, but let him return safely to his father.”

“He will. Now, do as I say or I will publish these pictures.”

You trembled. You unlocked the door of your car and stepped out of it deliberately holding Nathan to your chest. You were careful to keep him from crying. The crisp air sent shivers down your spine. You closed the door and waited. Your eyes roved to all over the desolated site. Until it landed on those familiar blue eyes that held more ice than the air.

“…Steve?”

The man you used to know was different now. His face that used to be clean-shaven was now covered in a glorious beard that made him indistinguishable. His dusty blonde hair was slightly longer and he dressed in dark clothes that amplified the sinister atmosphere circling him.

You held Nathan closer to you with one hand behind his head, trying to keep him quiet. “Don’t be like that, let me see my son.”

“No. He’s not yours.” You spat.

He scoffed. “Say whatever you want, sweetheart but it’s my blood running in his little veins. In fact, I think we can take a DNA test and send it to your fiance, how about that? Also, how is Mr and Mrs. Y/L/N?”

“Leave my parents alone, Steve.”

“Are you going to cut that attitude of yours or do we have to do this the hard way? Either way, I don’t mind.”

“I’ll be good. Just please, don’t involve my parents.”

“Good, I know the good girl I knew is still somewhere inside you. Now, drop your phone to the ground and smash it.”

“…What? No! How am I going to-”

He furrowed one eyebrow at you and you instantly understood the peril if you repudiated him once more.

You took out your phone from the pocket of your coat and dropped it to the ground. You stomped it with your foot until the screen was cracked, but Steve wasn’t satisfied enough with its damaged state so he stomped it harder than you did until it was smashed into two.

He led you to his Range Rover that he parked in an empty street and opened the backseat door and you slide into it with Nathan still tucked under your neck. Then he closed the door and walked to the driver’s seat and drove away to God knows where.

“Where are we going, Steve? Nathan needs to sleep. He can’t-”

“Quiet. He’ll be home soon.”

You didn’t dare to ask more questions. The vacancy in his eyes that were reflected on the rearview mirror was petrifying enough as it is. You sat and stared out the window and think about Adrian. Was he home yet? Did he try to call or text you? What would he do when he realizes you weren’t home? You couldn’t help but think that this morning was possibly the last time you’d ever see Adrian. God, you missed him already. You prayed to whatever God was listening that he would save you and your son soon.

Please Adrian, please do something. I love you.

The soft hum of the engine made your eyes feel droopy. You tried your best to stay awake but it was nearing midnight and the jet lag was still encompassing you so the fight in you to stay awake resolved. You gave in to the lethargy with Nathan dozing on your lap.

You were woken up by a shake on your shoulder and you found Steve standing on the open door. “Get up, we’re here.”

In your still languorous state, you got out of the car hugging Nathan close. “Where are?”

The sounds of crickets saturated the ambience as only the faint glow of the moon illuminated the trees around you. There was nobody around except you and Steve -and Nathan if a three months creature counts-. You put two and two together… Did Steve take you into the woods?

“Steve, what are we doing here?”

He didn’t meet your eye or answered you but instead, he walked toward what looked like a mid-century modern wooded oasis perched on a sloping site and set on stilts. The trees blended with the wood side exterior and wraparound decks. You had no idea whose house this belonged to but it was enchanting.

“Go ahead.”

You approached the resident that was incandescent with yellow lights, giving you a little peek to the furniture inside. You hoped whoever owned this property wasn’t sleeping yet, it was literally in the middle of the night, what the hell was Steve even doing taking you to a stranger’s house?

“Steve, I really don’t think this is a good idea…” as you stood freezing on the terrace. “Can we go back now? I really don’t want Adrian to worry.”

He fumbled with a key and unlocked the entrance. “Get in.”

Your eyes scanned the room to make sure there was no one around that might bust your ass tot he police for breaching before you stepped in. Your eyes peregrinated to every corner of the interior, relishing in the smell of oak and firewood.

He then took you for a quick tour to every section of the house without saying anything that would actually straighten your befuddlement. The decorations were full of vintage and antiques. “You like it?” Steve asked.

“I mean… it’s lovely for sure.”

“Good, then that means we won’t have to redecorate.”

“Wait, wait… What?”

“I bought this house for us, sweetheart. I knew you’d love the cozy design and it’s a perfect place for Nathan to grow up in.”

“Steve, what the hell are you talking about?”

“We’ll work things out. I’ll stay here with you for the rest of the weekend and I’ll only leave when I need to work. You won’t have to worry about anything else, I’ll take care of it.”

“God, you are crazier than I thought. I’m going home.”

He stopped you by blocking the entrance door and glared. “You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

“Steve, get out of my way.”

“You are mine. That baby is my son, you hear me? This is where you belong.”

“I’m gonna call the cops.”

“With what? Your phone?” He derided. “You don’t even know where the hell we are.”

“Adrian’s gonna come looking for me.”

“No, he won’t. Because I’ve sent those pictures of you to him and to your boss, who is it? Tony Stark? And you don’t have any life to get back to. This is your life now.”

Your heart sunk. No, no, he can’t be. He promised he won’t if you did what he said, right?

“You’re lying…”

“I did. I sent it while you were snoozing in the car. Shit, I’d pay a million bucks to see the look on that asshole’s face when he realized just how much of a dirty slut his fiancee is… Well, ex-fiancee now.”

“Why would you- you promised you wouldn’t if I did what you asked me to.”

“Well, that agreement has changed,” he said it so nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just pulverized the life you had built for yourself, the happiness you had stacked on a shelf that took you years to collect; a great job, a loving boyfriend, an adorable baby.

You wanted to lash out, you wanted to smack him in the face but you were too wounded by what you just heard. If you returned to Adrian and your work tomorrow, would you still even have them? Would they even accept you at all? You knew better than trying to report a powerful man such as Steve Rogers to the cops, he could bribe them, he could get a qualified lawyer. He could also make you lose the battle you never wanted to be a part of even if you were the victim, he could easily paint you as the mentally unstable woman that wanted to blackmail him for money.

The media had never captured pictures of you sneaking out of Steve’s apartment. Steve never took you for a stroll in the park or Sunday brunch because that’s all you were; a secret. Steve never wanted to be seen with you and Steve never wanted to share you with the world for whatever reason. Steve didn’t mind being photographed by models and other film stars, but not you. And now, he wanted to keep you in this little vault or calaboose so that you’d never escape and the traces of your history would be erased forever from the world’s memory.

Because Steve Rogers was no longer the man you used to ride around the bicycle with during the summer or the scrawny romancer you used to know, but he was a selfish man, a man with enough ego and ego to completely metamorphosed himself into whatever he wanted to be, no matter how ruthless and perilous that person he is. And now here you were, a mere object for him to assert his powers on, and you knew it wasn’t because of his love for his son or for you, but simply because he always got his way. Always.

“Now you can stay here, accept your new life with me and raise Nathan together, or you can face the disgrace that your fiance and your boss see you as. You think he’s gonna let you come back to his house? You think your boss is gonna shrug it off and let you come back as if nothing happened? No. You’re dispensable, and one way or another, you’re gonna come back to me. Even if you don’t, I’ll find a way to make you.”

“Why me? You could have every other woman in the world… Why me, Steve?”

“Because you think that you can repudiate me… You can’t. You think you can take away control from me… You can’t,” he gritted. “Not a single person in the world can.”

The tears in your eyes fell the floor as your legs wobbled. “Now, let’s not keep our son awake any longer yeah? Put him to bed. And then… You can be the good housewife you were meant to be and perform your duties.”

So he led you to the nursery room and you put Nathan in the crib. You wanted to fight, you wanted to reach that door and run… Even if you don’t know where you were going, as long as you could escape from this maniac. But you knew better than running away to in the middle of nowhere at midnight, in the cold with your son. You also knew better than thinking that Steve wouldn’t do whatever he could to get you back under his feet… so what was the point in countering anymore? Men like Steve Rogers always wins.

After you put Nathan to sleep, he led you to the master bedroom and ordered you to strip. The routine revokes old memory. “Get on your knees,” he commanded as he sat on the edge of the bed, like a king waiting to be served.

You did as he says and stood between his spread legs. “Take off my pants.”

You unzipped it and pulled it down along with his briefs. “Good girl, now, open.”

You parted your lips, wide enough to fit him and circled your tongue around the tip. Just like you used to because he liked the buildup and you knew it better than anyone. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and tugged on it harshly then inched himself back deeper into your mouth. You hollowed your cheeks to accommodate his girth as he hit the back of your throat each time he went back in.

“Ah fuck, I’ve missed that sweet mouth of yours…” He picked up the pace and you looked up to him. His face contorted in pleasure while you were feeling anything but. You feel repulsed, you wanted to push him away but you couldn’t. He closed his eyes, relishing in the feel of your mouth around him and threw his head back.

He moaned as he controlled your movement faster, trying to get himself off. Your eyes teared up as you looked up at him, and his cock throbbed. He climaxed deep inside your mouth as he kept your head down so every drop that he had was spilled down your throat. He kept you there until he had no more to offer and then he pulled himself out. “Get on the bed, ass up, face down.”

You followed his command and waited until you could feel him kneeling behind you. “Just like old times, huh?” He chuckled. You could feel the tip of his cock nudging your clit and then he invaded your body through your entrance. “Shit, you’re still so fucking tight. Did that asshole ever fuck you at all?”

You didn’t answer but moaned instead as you could feel him stretching you like he used to. And no matter how many times he had fucked you, you never truly got used to it. Adrian’s face came in flashes; you recalled how he made love to you, how gentle he would be with you and how intimate your lovemaking session was, a stark contrast to how Steve would treat you. You also compared their sizes, Adrian was average compared to Steve. Whenever Steve entered you, it always felt like an intrusion, an unforeseen attack, rather than your fleshes weaving into one.

He retracted himself and then pushed back in brutally and you whined. He held onto your hips in a bruising grip, as he pounded into you because he was never one for a tender start; he only had wanted to get himself off and that was it. “Does he fuck you this good? Bet you think of my dick when he fucks you.”

Your body jolted every time he jerked himself forward and he groaned and grunted. He hammered into you relentlessly and incessantly, causing you to clench around him. The wetness made squelching noises as you could feel your impending orgasm approaching, forming a dam inside you that was ready to break any second now. He sped up and he screamed in pleasure as the coil inside you broke, you reached your peak at the same time and he buried himself deep inside you, spilling every drop that he had deep in your womb.

“Bet that British asshole doesn’t even make you cum, huh? And I know you always fake it to get him off you.” He sneered as he detached himself from you and got off the bed to clean himself off to the bathroom.

You laid there in the same position, feeling voidness creeping up your heart like you once were; unwanted and alone. Steve had stripped you of your pride, dignity and honour once and even after you managed to climb out of that pit, he found a way to drag you back down once more and locked you under.

And there was nothing else that you could do except accepting your fate as his perpetual prisoner, living under the corruption and unforgiving authority of Steve Rogers. You could only hope that once Nathan is grown enough, you could somehow sneak him out of this confinement to live a much better life and eschew himself from turning into the monster that his father is.

#steve rogers #steve rogers au #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers series #steve rogers smut #steve rogers angst #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #dark!steve rogers au #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve rogers series #dark!steve rogers x reader #chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans series #chris evans smut #chris evans angst

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dhrdrabbles · 4 years

Text

“It’s very kind of you to mind Teddy so often, you know.”

Hermione looked up to Andromeda in surprise as she got up from hugging Teddy after their trip to a muggle playground and some well-deserved post-playing ice cream. She had taken care of Teddy frequently since after the war – initially, she had mostly accompanied Harry on his duties as a godfather; but ever since Harry had to study for auror training, she made sure to compensate for her best friend. Every Saturday, Hermione and Teddy went on an adventure of some sorts together, sometimes with Harry, sometimes without him.

“It’s nothing, Andromeda”, she replied, unsure of why the older witch brought it up just now. “I love spending time with him, as I’m sure you know.”

“Of course. And yet you’re taking this extra mile to see him every Saturday.”

Andromeda sounded wistful as she turned her head towards the toddler who now sprawled across the sofa, exhausted. “I guess … I guess I’m being especially grateful since you’re not obligated whatsoever. If there was any family of his left apart from me…”

Hermione said nothing. She had thought about this as well – the tragedy surrounding Teddy almost as much as Harry. Andromeda was a brilliant grandmother to him, and yet the boy deserved so much more than one singular relative, one godfather and the godfather’s random best friend. This was one of the reasons Hermione had put so much effort into early childhood education ever since she entered the Ministry – children like Teddy should not be home-schooled all alone. They should get to know each other, form friendships early on and find themselves a second, non-biological family. Muggle-born children would finally be able to enter Hogwarts with prior knowledge of this parallel world.

“…thought Narcissa and I could maybe reinstate contact after everything that happened two years ago, but it seems I was wrong.”

Hermione barely caught that sentence, getting agitated about education all over again. “So your letter went unanswered?”

Andromeda shrugged, and rolled her eyes. “I thought she was past all of her grudges, honestly. But no, no reply so far.”

Hermione scoffed. Classic Malfoy arrogance – blood purity over family and all that. Narcissa’s blood prejudice had definitely not died with her other sister.

“I’m really sorry to hear it, Andromeda. Listen, I’ll head out – will see you next Saturday? If you want to, I can ask her son about the letter?”

“Draco? I didn’t know you were friends.”

“We’re not!” Hermione could feel her cheeks turning some shade of red and she did decidedly not enjoy it. “I mean, uh. It’s um, it’s really nothing. Work, you know.”

“I see.”

Hermione ignored the deepened laughter lines around Andromeda’s eyes at her stammering. Why was it that after over a year of being on the same team at the Ministry, after occasional lunches and after-work drinks, and sure, maybe after some dinners together and one or the other shared Sunday afternoon where she introduced him to the concept of ‘films’ (although she was not entirely sure if he was aware of the implications of a ‘movie night’), and after one horribly uncomfortable and yet very earnest apology on his part, it was still incredibly embarrassing for Hermione to admit that she sometimes, regularly, increasingly so, spent time with Draco Malfoy and enjoyed it?

“Are you sure this is fine?”

Malfoy’s anxiety was written all over his face if one knew how to read him. It actually helped calming Hermione’s nerves. Her heart rate had been unhealthily high all morning, thinking about the meeting between Andromeda and her nephew – and his almost-nephew. However, when she had met with Malfoy around the corner from Andromeda’s flat in an Edinburgh muggle neighbourhood, he had been fiddling with his ridiculously formal suit and made sure his hair was in place every few seconds. His features were as unimpressed as ever, but he was giddy. It made Hermione grin and while her heart rate barely changed, she still felt more at ease.

“It’s fine. She’s excited.”

“And the child?”

“Malfoy. Teddy is two years old. He’ll probably be unimpressed.”

He didn’t respond. Hermione rang the bell. Malfoy’s fiddling increased before he fell completely still, and Hermione saw him straightening from the corner of her eye. It took some effort on her side to not scoff at his ridiculous behaviour. He was meeting his estranged aunt – appearing all arrogant and stiff was not going to help. And yet, she had learned to recognise this as his coping mechanism when things got uncomfortable. It was just the worst coping mechanism imaginable if one had good intentions.

Andromeda took ridiculously long to open the door and once it finally happened Hermione had to laugh. Little Teddy was standing there, looking up expectantly. His face fell when he saw Hermione and he turned around. “Granny, just Auntie Mione!”

Hermione wasn’t sure how to respond when she heard Andromeda’s laughter from somewhere in the flat. “Well yes, little one. I said your visitor was coming with Aunt Hermione, didn’t I?”

Teddy looked back at Hermione who in turn now looked at Draco expectantly. She hadn’t realised he had gone into hiding behind her. When it became clear that he wasn’t going to speak anytime soon, Hermione turned back to Teddy.

“Hi Teddy! Are you going to let us in?”

The toddler didn’t respond or move. Hermione sighed and picked him up.

“Ted, we’ll have to go over your manners again. Letting guests wait at the door is not polite”, she joked, expecting Teddy to squirm in her arms as he usually did when being picked up against his will. But he didn’t. When she looked at him, she saw him drooling on her shoulder while staring at Malfoy. A look behind her told Hermione that Malfoy was equally shell-shocked – he eyed the toddler and didn’t follow as Hermione entered the hallway.

Andromeda came out of the kitchen with a tray of biscuits in her hands. “Hermione! It’s good to see you. And…”

She trailed off when she saw Malfoy who was still firmly rooted outside. Andromeda smiled faintly. “You know, Draco, everyone always says you’re the spitting image of your father and here you are, reminding me so much of Cissy when she was young. Do come in!”

Hermione turned to look at Malfoy who finally came out of his stupor. He entered but seemed to be very uncomfortable despite his aunt’s welcoming words. It took him some seconds and a very intent focus on his shoes as he took them off until he acknowledged Andromeda.

“Aunt Andromeda. It’s my pleasure to meet you.”

Andromeda seemed unsure how to react now as well. Hermione suddenly felt like an intruder, the moment being quite intimate. Now that she eyed the two, it occurred to her that not only had Andromeda been without her family for decades – Draco also barely had any close relatives and even less that were still alive.

Teddy, however, picked this very moment to start wiggling and complaining noisily. Andromeda eyed him briefly and then turned to Malfoy. “I told him you were coming and he got very excited. I guess he assumed you were a bit younger when I explained you were my nephew, though.”

Malfoy’s lips slowly curled upward. “Sorry to disappoint, then. Hello, Teddy, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Play?”

Hermione had to laugh then. Malfoy’s lips curled further upward. “Sure, I’ll play with you. You’ll have to show me all the toys you have to offer so we can pick the best one.”

His reply surprised Hermione, and, by the looks of it, Andromeda as well. The older witch raised her eyebrows as Teddy hopped out of Hermione’s arms and grabbed Draco’s hand, pulling him towards his room. Draco excused himself as he followed, leaving Hermione and Andromeda in the hallway.

The week after, Hermione picked Teddy up at Andromeda’s and they met Malfoy at Teddy’s favourite playground.

“Slide?”

Hermione was about to comply when Teddy let go of her hand and grabbed Malfoy’s instead, dragging him to the slide as effectively as a toddler could, his hair changing colours out of excitement. Malfoy seemed confused but followed, leaving Hermione a little lonely and lost in thoughts. It had never occurred to her that Malfoy could have been missing extended family up to the point where he went to a muggle playground of all things with his nephew. Yet, when she saw him with Teddy, she felt stupid for not considering it. Hermione watched Malfoy watching Teddy sliding and had to grin when he vehemently refused to slide himself. Teddy huffed and seemed to look for something, his eyes finally falling on her. “Mione, slide?”

“Slide, please. Or better yet, ‘Hermione, can we go on the slide together, please’”, she retorted, but walked towards them nonetheless.

“Please”, Teddy said, still struggling with the pronunciation of the word. Hermione quickly looked around to find that no muggles were close and levitated a giggling Teddy up the slide. She followed him up on the ladder and grabbed a still hovering Teddy into her lap. Another quick look around and she extended the slide before she pushed herself and the toddler down. Those small gurgles from his mouth were exactly why Hermione made sure all Saturdays were off and never hungover. She had to laugh herself as Teddy squeaked.

“Again!”

So they went again, Hermione being so immersed in playtime that she hardly noticed Malfoy’s gaze on them. After the fourth time down the slide Teddy trotted onwards and dove straight into the sandpit, where Hermione made sure he was surrounded by sandy animals and buildings that rebuilt once his chubby hands hit them.

“You’re really good with him, Granger.”

Hermione had been so focused on the sand elephants around Teddy, she had completely forgotten their new companion. As she turned around to face Malfoy, she found him a bit closer than usual.

“Harry and Teddy get along even better”, she replied. “But his auror training is quite demanding and he has to study on weekends until his exams next month, so I’m trying to fill in as much as I can.”

Malfoy chose not to comment on Harry. They fell silent again until Hermione changed Teddy’s sand friends into little ferrets to the boy’s delight. She heard Draco exhale sharply and turned to face him again, grinning. “Never gets old.”

“I’d say it does, witch.”

“I am just that, thank you very much.”

Draco’s mouth was open when Teddy squealed “Squirrels!”, his pronunciation going places this time, and Hermione had to laugh. “No, Teddy, they’re ferrets. Ferrets! See? They’re seem to look a bit weird, but they’re actually quite fun to play with.”

Teddy didn’t argue with her logic, having the ferrets running around him. Again, Hermione turned and found Malfoy’s hand on his forehead.

“Granger, you’re insufferable”, he murmured just loud enough for her to hear.

“You chose to come with me again this week.”

“Yes, for this fine young man here.”

“Of course. Any I’m glad you did.”

Falling awkwardly silent now, Hermione and Malfoy both looked at the ‘fine young man’ with his face full of sand and his hair all blue. He returned their gaze and suddenly stopped reaching for sand.

“Draco and Mione married?”

“What? Teddy, of course we’re not married! Why would you think that? We’re actually just colleagues and you’re relatives so it made sense to introduce you two and I’m glad you’re getting along so nicely! We’re further from being married that you could possibly imagine!”

Malfoy snorted.

The sound yanked Hermione out of her babbling and one look on Teddy’s blank face made her realise that she had just given a toddler the ‘just colleagues’ speech. She hid her face in her hands and groaned.

“Just colleagues, yes?”

“Of course, Malfoy! What else would we be?”

He was driving her insane. Hermione looked at Malfoy through her fingers and found he was still smirking. Some things would never change. At least Teddy was back at crushing ferrets – Hermione really, desperately wanted to join in at this point.

“What else, Malfoy?”

“Oh, I don’t know”, he replied, now joining her in her squat next to the sandpit. Hermione could feel his presence just next to her even without looking, her face still in her hands.

“In any case, I got all the ingredients for the ragout you talked about for our dinner tomorrow. Hope you picked a film.”

Hermione groaned again as Malfoy smirked even wider. So he had caught the implications of this whole situation the whole time. Her hands surely were not large enough for her to cover up every last inch of her burning hot face.

“In any case”, Malfoy said as they reached their apparation spot after dropping off Teddy for the week, “I can now see why you’re so invested in the Early Education Act.”

“You can? That’s brilliant! You see, I just think children need a social net that exceeds their biological families. It’s not about questioning all the traditions of early wizard education from home and I really don’t understand why Fawley keeps coming back to this argument, Malfoy. It’s just that this viewpoint remains elitist and I just find it completely unacceptable how such structural disadvantage remains embedded in wizarding law and not to mention what it is like for single parents and mothers in particular, so also from a feminist vantage point, I –”

“I get it, Granger, we’ve been over this at least twice this month”, Malfoy replied, smirking. “And I agree, as I did last time. I’ll see you tomorrow for dinner? Bring a film.”

Hermione nodded. Very obviously satisfied, Draco moved one hand to her chin. “By the way, I meant it. You’re impressive with my nephew.”

Hermione blushed again. This while situation now seemed a lot more intimate than it had before.

“And I haven’t really decided if you look ridiculous or very beautiful when you’re flushed. Will let you know tomorrow.”

Hermione had to close her eyes. She thus only heard Draco’s small laughter and jumped a little when she felt his lips on hers.

By the time she opened her eyes again, he had disapparated.

---

Author’s notes

Right, so I’ve been gone for six years. But not only has this whole Covid-19 situation given me a lot more time to read fanfictions, it also allowed me to reconnect with tumblr and finally the motivation to write something up. This far exceeds a drabble but I couldn’t seem to stop and while it’s been a short headcanon of mine for a while I still hope you all enjoy it!

#dramione #dhrtag #dhrdrabble #harry potter #hp #hp fanfic #draco malfoy #hermione granger

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whenihaveyouromione · 3 years

Text

When I Have You - Chapter 31

Read on Fanfiction.net or ao3 if you’d prefer!

Posting early due to me travelling :)

A/N: The 400 Galleons mentioned in this chapter equates to about $2000 US, for reference.

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Chapter 31

When Ron woke the following morning, the feeling of giddiness that had consumed him for the remainder of the party returned immediately. He had a plan now, and as he’d drifted off to sleep in the early hours of the morning, the plan had taken hold in his mind.

He could almost see every detail clearly. He could see the type of place he’d like to take her so that he could ask her. It would be romantic, and just the two of them. They’d be alone. He could see the type of ring he was going to get her. He had always had a vague idea, but it had taken a clearer shape right before he fell asleep.

Diamonds. Lots of diamonds. And he was going to get it engraved with something. What, he didn’t know yet, but he hoped it would come to him soon.

But the most important part was that he didn’t even feel nervous. Just excited, happy… he’d promised her months ago that he would ask her, and she’d promised him that when he did, she would say yes.

He knew what her answer was going to be, so all he needed to do was make sure he asked her in a way that she wouldn’t forget.

Rolling onto his back, he stared up at the ceiling and chuckled. Had someone told him even five years ago that he would one day be lying in a bed that he shared with Hermione, in a flat that he also shared with her, happy, relaxed, more than halfway through Auror training and planning the moment he’d ask her to marry him, he would have laughed at them. Not only was Voldemort causing destruction everywhere, he’d been utterly convinced that he and Hermione were never going to happen. Hadn’t they had many chances to get there, and something always went wrong? Lavender Brown, his own lack of confidence, wars, timing…

He laughed again, just as Hermione came into the room, still in her pyjamas, and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Something funny?” she asked.

Ron propped himself up against a pillow, watching her as she got herself ready for a shower. “You’re up early considering we had a late night last night.”

“You’re up late considering you insisted you have a lot of work to catch up on today.”

Was it just him, or was there something in her tone that suggested she didn’t believe his story about having work to finish? Harry — the idiot — hadn’t helped much when he had stated he thought Ron had completed everything.

“I need to be refreshed so I can concentrate,” Ron told her. He thought for a moment. “Let’s have dinner next Saturday.”

“What?” Hermione stopped rummaging through the wardrobe in search of something to wear and turned to face him.

“You and me, next Saturday,” Ron said cheerfully. “I’ll organise it.”

For a moment, Hermione didn’t answer. Then, she said, “Why are you trying to organise dinner for next week now?”

“Just agree, would you?” Ron said.

Hermione sighed. “Okay. Next Saturday.” She turned back to face her wardrobe, but Ron didn’t miss the smile that fell across her lips as she did so.

This was exactly why he needed to surprise her with a very nice ring.

When Hermione took herself to the bathroom, Ron pulled himself out of bed, groaning as he did so. He'd rather enjoyed the Muggle wine offered last night in the end, and it had all been free.

But he couldn't let that stop him from his plans today. He had three hours at best, based on previous lunches with Hermione's parents. Maybe four if his dad decided to ask ridiculous questions about kettles or refrigerators.

He had never shopped for a ring before, and he didn't know of any places that might sell one. Engagement rings weren't common in wizarding society, though he did know they existed. But where, he would have to find out.

He didn't recall any in Diagon Alley, but perhaps Hogsmeade had a shop. He hadn't really paid attention to what else was there when he'd been at school. Jewellery hadn't exactly been at the top of his list when he'd visited with the school, nor had he contemplated one day proposing when he was thirteen years old.

But he'd check Diagon Alley first, and if that failed, then he'd Disapparate to Hogsmeade and see what they had to offer.

A short while later, Hermione emerged from the shower and returned to the kitchen where Ron was dressed and making himself breakfast.

"Is there anything you want to do before you have to do your work stuff?" Hermione asked.

"What?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow, looking amused rather than annoyed. "It's lunch, Ron, so I'm not seeing my parents until midday." She paused, suddenly frowning. "Should I have given your parents more detailed instructions about arriving at Mum and Dad's?"

"What do you mean?" Ron asked, Summoning toast to his plate.

"Well… I mean, I told them to Apparate to the garden, but I forgot to mention it had to be precisely behind the hedge so as not to be seen…"

"They're not idiots, Hermione," Ron said. "They've been Apparating for longer than you or I have."

"I know that, but they aren't familiar with my parent's place. They won't know there's a hedge."

Ron looked at her for a moment and then shrugged. "I'm sure they'll figure it out. If not… well, what are the chances of someone watching the front garden at that precise moment?"

"There's always a chance!" Hermione said.

Ron shrugged again, biting into his toast. "Maybe you could go and get them right before?"

Hermione was thoughtful for another moment and then nodded. "I think I will."

"So that means you'll be leaving a little earlier?" Ron asked.

Hermione's eyes snapped to him, then narrowed. "It sounds like you want to get rid of me. Are you planning on inviting your secret girlfriend over?"

"What? No, I don't have —" He paused, now noticing the smile that had crossed her face. "Ha, ha."

“Well, you seem very keen to get me out of the house. I’ve never seen you more excited to kick me out. Normally, you beg me to stay.”

Ron stared at her for a moment, wondering if he’d been a bit over the top. Then, he said, “I just have a lot of work to do and want to get a head start on it. That way I’m all yours in the afternoon.”

“Well, I’ll leave by eleven-thirty and try to be home no earlier than two o’clock. Is that enough time?”

“Yes!” Ron said. I hope.

Hermione smiled. “Good. Now, back to my question: is there anything you want to do before I go?”

Ron returned her smile. “Just be here,” he said. “I love you.”

…

Ron had never been keener for Hermione to leave the house. Considering she’d already questioned him about practically being kicked from the flat, he didn’t say anything for the remainder of the morning. But he couldn’t help clock watching as the seconds ticked by much slower than usual. He tried to steal quick glances at the time when he thought she wasn’t watching, but she caught him on more than one occasion.

But finally, eleven-thirty came, and Hermione was ready to leave.

“Enjoy your… work,” she said, kissing him goodbye. “I can’t wait to hear all about it when I get back.”

“Won’t be anything exciting,” Ron assured her. “Have fun! Say hi to Mum and Dad for me. Love you.” He returned her kiss and all but pushed her out the door.

He hurried to the window to make sure she was on the street and he could see her Disapparate. When she was gone, Ron also left the flat.

He hurried down the stairs and into Diagon Alley himself. He had absolutely no idea where to start looking, but decided to turn left. He could at least come back and go the other way if he came up short.

Diagon Alley was very crowded, which was to be expected for Sunday at midday. People from all over Britain chose the weekend to do their shopping, and they all seemed to like to come here. Ron and Hermione found other things to do — most of the time visiting her parents, doing something with Harry and Ginny or visiting the Burrow, which then led to staying for dinner. It was a downside to living so close to the main shopping place for witches and wizards in London — they got sick of seeing too many people.

Ron ignored them today, however. In fact, he didn’t even feel irritated by them. What was there to feel irritated by? Nothing. He was deliriously happy that even bumping into George, who emerged from the joke shop, didn’t bother him too much.

George waved Ron over, who pushed through the eager children lining up to get through.

“Good business today?” Ron said.

“Always,” George replied, smiling. “May I ask where you’re off to?” he then asked. “If I remember correctly, last night you told Hermione you had work to catch up on.” He raised an eyebrow. It was as if he knew. Did they all know?

“Just having a break,” Ron said, as casual as he could.

“Before you’ve started?”

Ron looked away.

“You’re not sneaking off behind Hermione’s back, are you?” George’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

“What? Why do people keep… no, I’m not.” He turned his eyes back to his brother. George’s eyebrows were raised in a way that suggested he’d been joking, but there was still an element of genuine curiosity in his expression.

Ron sighed. “You don’t know anywhere around here that sells…”

“Sells what?” George asked.

Ron hesitated. He’d really had no intention to tell anyone about this — not even Harry.

“Engagement rings,” Ron said, lowering his voice as if the passersby actually cared what he was doing. Well, he reasoned, it actually was a possibility these days.

George’s eyes widened in surprise as Ron felt his face go red. Then, George grinned. “Well, that’s exciting!” he said.

“Is there a place around here?” Ron pressed.

George thought for a moment, and then nodded. “Yeah, I think so. Right near the entrance to Knockturn Alley. I don’t know what they sell exactly, but I’ve seen some things in the windows at times. The old wizard who runs it has been there for years. I sometimes hear my customers talking about it. He offers reasonable prices.”

“Alright,” Ron said. “Thanks.” He made to continue on his way towards Knockturn Alley, then paused, turning back to George. “And don’t mention this to anyone, alright?”

“My lips are sealed,” George said, grinning. “Good luck!”

“Thanks,” Ron muttered, suddenly not feeling anywhere near as confident as he was a few moments ago. What if this place didn’t have what he was after? What if the owner tried to sell him something dodgy, yet charge him a fortune? Ron wouldn’t have a clue whether or not he was being robbed of his money. But he was sure Hermione would be able to tell.

He reached the entrance of Knockturn Alley and looked at the shops surrounding it. There was a small apothecary reeking of unusual smells, a secondhand spellbook shop, and to the right, he found what he was after.

It was a dingy little place, right on the divide of Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley, and as he entered, he knew immediately that he’d not find what he was after in here.

Nonetheless, a smiling old wizard greeted him.

“What can I do for you today, Sir?” he said. He barely reached Ron’s shoulders and craned his neck to peer up at Ron.

“Er…” Ron looked around the tiny shop, his eyes scanning for any sign of rings. The only thing he saw was a gold one with a giant red ruby in the centre. He didn’t want ruby. “Just looking, thanks,” he said, and hurried away to a corner to peer at some bracelets.

They were nice enough, but he definitely didn’t want them.

He stayed as long as he thought possible so as not to appear rude, and then left. Once back out on the street, Ron wasted no time in Disapparating to Hogsmeade. It had been in his plans, and he had such little time.

Hogsmeade was also bustling with witches and wizards, many emerging from The Three Broomsticks a little drunk.

As it was a relatively warm day, many were stripped of their wizarding cloaks and lounging on seats or steps.

Ron wandered past them quickly, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of rings in shop windows. There had to be something somewhere. Whilst not a necessity, many wizarding folk still had engagement rings. Someone had to sell some somewhere.

After a little while of searching, he finally located a spot up a side alley behind Honeydukes. It was so discreet that he almost walked past it entirely had it not been for the diamond necklace that sat in the window.

His nerves were bubbling as he entered the shop, knowing that this was the exact place he was looking for. The Sparkly Stone had so much jewellery he simply stood there, entirely lost.

“May I help you?”

Ron jumped at the voice, turning to find a middle-aged witch with greying blonde hair standing behind him. She wore deep purple robes and a kind smile that told Ron she really did want to help him.

“Er, yes,” he said, now feeling extremely nervous. “I’m looking for an… engagement ring.” He flushed red, and he didn’t know why. There was something very real about saying it out loud in the shop that would give him the ring.

“Oh, I have many to choose from!” the witch said cheerfully, and she beckoned Ron to follow her over to a cabinet.

Ron immediately saw a large selection of rings, all different colours, shapes and sizes. Some sparkled, some even changed colour. Some were clearly enchanted, while others looked like plain old rings he’d seen Hermione’s parents wear.

He tried not to gape.

“Are you after anything in particular, Mr Weasley?” the witch asked. It really didn’t come as a shock to him that she knew his name; Ron had long gotten used to random people knowing it over the years.

“Um,” Ron said, staring at the cabinet. “Diamonds.”

The witch nodded and withdrew her wand from within her robes. She tapped the cabinet with it and all the rings that contained diamonds appeared on top of it.

“This is what I currently have. Does anything catch your eye?”

Now that Ron had far less to choose from, there were two that drew his attention. One contained three small diamonds, while the other was one large diamond.

“Those two,” he said, pointing them out.

The witch used her wand again and the others went back into the cabinet.

Ron studied them, but he already knew which one Hermione would prefer. The one with the single diamond was too big and too clunky and he knew she would hate wearing it (even if she never said so to him). But the other one with the three smaller diamonds was absolutely perfect.

He was about to tell the shopkeeper this when a thought occurred to him. This felt too easy. He’d been in the shop for all of five minutes. He’d only really looked at two rings.

“Can I see the other ones, too?” he asked.

The witch happily obliged, taking out each ring containing diamonds for him to look closely at. The others were nice, but he kept coming back to the three diamonds. That was the perfect one for Hermione; he knew it.

He swallowed. “That one,” he said pointing to it. “How much is it?” He’d have to go back to Diagon Alley to get money from the account. Hermione would notice, he knew, but again, his plan wasn’t to surprise her with a proposal. He’d surprise her with the ring. “And can you engrave it with words?”

“That one is four hundred Galleons. To engrave, it’s an additional fifty.”

Ron’s mouth fell open. That was an awful amount of money, and it was something he didn’t think he’d be able to afford. Not right now and probably not with Hermione coming at him with her wand for taking out so much money at once.

His heart sank. That one had been perfect for Hermione. Well, everything except for the price.

“This one is one hundred Galleons,” the witch said, taking out a much uglier ring, with much smaller diamonds. He’d passed on that one immediately. “Perhaps much more in your price range?”

Ron flushed. “What about that one?” He pointed to the one with the large diamond.

“Six hundred Galleons.”

Ron stared at her.

“We do offer the opportunity to pay off our items,” the witch continued, and Ron could tell she was taking pity on his dilemma. “Gradual, smaller payments over the course of an agreed amount of time.”

As quickly as they’d sunk, Ron’s spirits lifted again. “I can do that!” he said.

The witch nodded. “I can offer a repayment of eight Galleons a week for a year.”

Ron nodded. Eight Galleons a week was doable. “I’ll take it,” he said, beaming.

“I do have just one condition,” the witch continued. “Whilst I allow gradual repayments, I’ll not part with the item until it is fully paid off. I simply put it aside for no one else to buy.”

“What?” Ron said. “But I need it for next week!”

“You may pay for it upfront,” the witch said. “But I’ve had far too many people take off with items in the past having not paid for them, so unless you want to sign a magically binding contract — which does not make me look good as a business owner, forcing my customers into magical agreements — I will keep the item until it is paid off.”

No, he couldn’t pay for it upfront. He simply did not have four hundred (four hundred and fifty if he wanted it engraved) to part with. But he couldn’t wait for a year to get it. He was going to ask Hermione next Saturday. He’d already told her he had plans.

He looked back at the other rings. They were all hideous now. Uglier than they had been when he’d first laid eyes on them. Nothing compared to the one he’d chosen. It was the perfect one. He’d simply be disappointed with giving her any other one.

“Mr Weasley?” the witch asked.

Ron looked up at her. He so wanted to marry Hermione, he wanted to ask her. He wanted to call her his fiance. But the ring was important to him. He wanted her to like it.

He sighed.

“I’ll do the eight Galleons a week.”

The witch smiled. “Wonderful. I’ll require a ten Galleon deposit initially, and then eight from next week. You may send the money via owl post or directly from Gringotts.”

Ron nodded, all his excitement diminished. He’d have to cancel his plans for next week. He’d have to delay it for a whole year. He’d thought he’d be married to Hermione in a year, not just getting engaged to her.

As the witch hurried to the back of the shop with the ring in her hand, Ron couldn’t help but think bitterly about how Harry wouldn’t have had to worry about this. He would have just handed over four hundred Galleons like it was nothing.

Why couldn’t that be Ron? He was better off than he ever had been growing up, now with a great job, but not four hundred Galleons better off.

While he waited, he stared at the other rings again. He couldn’t bring himself to change his mind. They just weren’t right. This one was — even if it was costing him more than just money to get it.

…

When Hermione returned later that afternoon, Ron was sitting on the small bench Hermione had placed by the window, looking down at Diagon Alley below. He felt completely miserable. He had the ring, but he didn’t have it. And it was all because he couldn’t afford to pay four hundred Galleons straight up.

Why were the rings so expensive anyway? At least the good ones?

“Did you get all your work done?” Hermione asked, coming over to kiss him. She paused, seeming to notice his expression. “Everything alright?”

Ron looked at her, unable to even pretend to be happy. They were supposed to be less than a week away from becoming engaged. She probably knew that was where he went today and was expecting it. Instead, they’d have to wait another whole year. Because Ron was an idiot. And he couldn’t afford to get her a ring that she would like. Maybe he should have just gone with the cheaper one. It would have looked awful, and Hermione probably would have hated it, but at least they could get married.

“Ron?” Hermione said after Ron didn’t respond. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” he said, and he sighed. “It’s just… I love you. You know that, right?”

“Of course I do,” Hermione said, kneeling in front of him. “Ron, what’s happened?” She sounded worried.

“Nothing,” Ron said again, and he looked away from her. “I just… things didn’t really go according to plan today. We can’t do dinner next Saturday anymore.”

Hermione watched him for a moment. Even though Ron couldn’t see her, he could tell she was trying to figure out what exactly was going on.

“That’s alright,” she said after a while. “We can change it to the weekend after. I don’t mind.” She rested her hand on his back. Her touch was gentle, soft… loving. It warmed him, and when he looked back at her, he couldn’t help but smile just a little bit.

He’d marry her one day, at least. And in the meantime, did it really make much difference? A ring wasn’t going to change anything except perhaps stressing them out with trying to plan a wedding. It wasn’t going to change the fact that he loved her more than life itself, and that he would continue to love her, ring or no ring, married or not married. And she didn’t know for sure what he had done today, so when he didn’t ask her to marry him, she’d just assume she was wrong.

No harm done, except he felt like a complete buffoon over the whole thing.

“I love you,” he said. “And one day soon… we can have that dinner, alright?”

Hermione smiled back and nodded. “Whenever you’re ready,” she replied softly.

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