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weasleyreidstyles · 3 months

Text

Serendipity

chapter fourteen

summary: it was only meant to be a purely transactional relationship. he would help her strengthen her abilities in return for her getting his friends out of his father's nasty path. he didn't mean to fall for her, but loving her was the easiest thing in his dark world.

no use of y/n, but your general nickname is Meadow. all characters are aged up to be over 18.

pairings: mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw reader; platonic!slytherins x fem!reader; platonic!golden trio x fem!reader

warning(s): slightly suggestive, canonical violence, heavy mentions of blood/injuries, angst with some fluff at the end

series masterlist; previous part; next part

Hermione Granger was coined the smartest witch of her age for many reasons. Although brave and courageous at heart, she was wise and ambitious to the very marrow of her bones. It's how she noticed your changing affections for Mattheo Riddle, perhaps even before you did.

It started no earlier than October, when you no longer complained about your desk partner in Ancient Runes; when you'd meet up with her after the tutor sessions with bright eyes and a genuine smile, which she had not seen since the weeks leading up to the Department of Mysteries battle last summer. She knew what Riddle was like, but seeing the spark reignite in your soul began to change her perspective of him. Maybe he was inherently good after all.

When Harry told her and Ron what he had discovered about the two of you, she wasn't even a little surprised, but she was surprised that Ginny, too, was not in the least bit affected by the revelation. She watched in forlorn silence as Harry singlehandedly cut you off from them, despite everything you had done for him; everything you'd sacrificed. She had spent many nights berating him in the common room with tears in her eyes.

You were her very first friend at Hogwarts. You'd met on platform nine and three quarters in your first year and exclaimed that you absolutely adored the celebrity on the cover of the magazine she happened to be browsing through. Hermione had thought you were a muggleborn like her and was disappointed when you said you weren't. But she was elated to hear that your mother was just like her. You spent the entire trainride chatting about muggle affairs and your favourite books, and had both gotten up to help Neville find his toad which is how you met Ron and Harry.

You were the person she turned to when Ron first took to being a horrid nuisance to her. You were the person she went to for help finding out about Nicholas Flemmel and the Philosopher's stone. You were the person who wrote double the amount of notes in second year, while she was petrified, just so that she could have knowledge of all the things she'd missed out on in her absence. You were the one to subject yourself to Bellatrix Lestrange's cruciatus curse so that someone could help Harry fight of half a dozen Death Eaters by the arch in the strange room in the Department of Mysteries.

You were her sister and her best friend.

And she felt completely undeserving of all those years of sisterhood as she watched you traipse around the castle like a ghost for days, after the argument with Ron transpired outside the Hospital Wing.

She had slapped him so hard when they'd gotten far enough away from the sounds of your heart wrenching sobs. The sound had echoed so loudly through each of their ears, and she did not care about how Ginny had gasped in shock horror at her action. Or the way Harry flinched as Ron cradled his reddening cheek. It was well and truly deserved.

She did not speak to Harry or Ron for two weeks. Now she only offered vague, one-worded answers to their incessant questions. They acted as if they had done nothing wrong. It infuriated her.

Hermione wanted to find you and apologise profusely. As did Ginny. But each time they got the nerve to find you, you were surrounded by a guard of snakes. The Slytherin boys were extremely protective of you and it seemed that Mattheo no longer cared for secrecy; openly showing that you were his for all the world to see, though subtly enough that only those with keen eyes saw. Hermione saw.

You looked happier with them than you had ever been with any of your old friends. Hermione often wondered if you were meant to find them; wondered if she, Ron and Harry had been holding you back from your true potential.

She admired you. She loved you. She had to make this right.

She cornered you after an Ancient Runes lesson. A ballsy move, considering Mattheo, Theo and Pansy formed a protective wall of imposing doom behind you, like fallen angels promising retribution. She steeled her gaze, looked between all three of them, shot the true intentions of why she was doing this to their minds – she knew they were digging through her thoughts by the pin pricks in the back of her head. But not from you, never from you, although she would never hate you if you did.

"What do you want, Granger?" It's Pansy who speaks up first, her voice dark and promising unspeakable terror, if Hermione so much as said one thing out of line. She watches as you reach for the hand that softly brushes against your own and grip it with all your might; Mattheo's hand.

"I wanted to speak to you." she says directly to you. "Alone, if possible."

She can see the way Mattheo is about to rebute this.

"If not that's completely fine." its rushed and laced with desperation and you can see the emotions clouding your ex-best friend's face. The guilt and the longing. You want to hear her out.

You squeeze Mattheo's hand once before letting go and speaking to them all, without opening your mouth.

I want to hear what she has to say. You guys go ahead, I'll find you later.

Pansy's look of uncertainty is remedied by your insistence that you'd be fine, and Theo is a little reluctant but follows behind her. Mattheo is a silent and imposing statue of simmering rage at your side. And by the uncomfortable look on Hermione's face, you know he's in her head.

If she comes back crying, believe me when I say that you will regret it Granger. And if this is a farce to satisfy Potter's cruelty, he will pay for it too.

"Harry doesn't know I'm here. Neither does Ron. Ginny should be outside, she wants to talk too. I-if that's alright?"

"It's fine." your voice is softer than she's ever heard. Like you're wholly unsure if you can trust her word. It's a foreign and devastating feeling. And she hates it.

Mattheo's hand brushes your's before he reaches up and squeezes your waist affectionately, departing after Theo and Pansy moments later.

The classroom is blissfully empty. Now it's just you and Hermione, alone. The silence is tense and awkward as you each wait for Ginny to walk through the door.

She arrives moments after Mattheo's departure, steps slow and hesitant. But as she sees the two of you she releases a heavy sigh of relief and launches herself at you.

She's hugging you so tightly. Squeezing and squeezing until your arms, which are limp at your sides, instinctively wrap around her frame. She's mumbling apologies into the neck of your blue and bronze lined robe, body racking with subtle sobs, that you mirror as you melt into her embrace. Hermione joins you both after a moment and the three of you sink to the floor, twin tears streaking down your faces, apologies and words of love and hope echoing off the walls of the classroom.

Eventually the hug ends and the three of you are sat in a small circle between the desks, voices low and quiet as you listen to what the other has to say, all the while, Mattheo is a welcome presence in your mind, offering infinite reassurances as your heart races in your chest.

Hermione tells you how Harry and Ron seem like totally different people now. How she slapped Ron and did not utter a singular word to Harry until he apologised to her.

"Look I'm sorry, alright." he said one evening in the common room as she was researching for an upcoming essay. "Please talk to me, Mione."

"I'm not the one you should be apologising to." she mutters, not taking her eye off the words on the page. Harry scoffs as he sits down. "If you're going to bad mouth my best friend then go and find Ron. I don't want to hear what you have to say."

He rolls his eyes before he stands up and walks away.

Ginny feels terrible. She hadn't known it was you and Mattheo in the corridor until she heard his distinct low and raspy voice, too late. She wasn't quick enough in deterring Harry away from the space and she regrets it immensely. And the look on your face after Ron had shouted at you plays repetitively on her mind at all hours of the day.

Guilt errodes at your souls and all three of you feel the weight of it like you're being held beneath the surface of a very deep lake.

When the two of them finish explaining themselves, you inhale harshly before letting out a calming breathe.

"I can't say that your actions didn't hurt. Because then I'd be lying." you say, voice clouded in emotion. "I have been outcasted by everyone I thought I could call a friend. Even my own housemates don't speak to me. You didn't do anything to stop that, which really hurts."

There's a lump in your throat that continues to strain with every word you utter, eyes burn with the onslaught of more salty tears.

"I know that you don't trust them. And you have every reason not to. I understand that. But they have been here for me, when the two of you weren't. They've shown me what it means to be surrounded by kindness and safety and I love them all equally, no matter what has been said and done in the past. Yes they work for you-know-who. But they had no choice. You know who their families are, hell we fought most of them in June. They've been forced into this and I just want to get them out."

Ginny reaches over to squeeze your hand. You let her.

"I-" she pauses and looks at Hermione, who reaches over for your other hand. "We want to help you. In any way we can. We'll help you appeal to Dumbledore-"

"He already refused my plea for help." you say with a grimace.

Hermione gapes. "B-but he always says that-"

"-Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask." you say at the same time as she does. "Yes he said as much, and then followed with saying that they don't deserve to be helped."

"That's completely unfair." Ginny mutters. "If you were asking for anyone else he'd help in a heartbeat."

Hermione mumbles her agreement, face painted in complete disbelief at your revelation. She always believed that Dumbledore was a good and just man, but maybe she was wrong.

"We'll appeal to the Order." Ginny says. "Tonks' mum was in you-know-who's clutches when she went to the Order for help. And now she's effectively protected for life."

It's a good idea. It may work. But you have your doubts. The current members of the Order held their own prejudices, much like Voldemort's Death Eaters did.

"Tell your friends about the idea. Tell them that we'll try." Hermione says earnestly. "Nothing will ever justify our behaviour towards you, but let us make it right. Please. It's the least we can do for how badly we treated you."

What are they saying right now? Mattheo asks you, voice painted with curiousity.

They're going to help me keep you all safe.

And how, pray tell, will they achieve that? Mattheo sounds like he adamantly does not believe your words.

They have a way but I'm honestly not getting my hopes up until its more of a solid plan.

Okay, I trust you. How do you feel, love? His voice is a soft caress to all the corners of your mind. It's like he can feel the anxiety rolling off of you in waves.

I've got mixed feelings. I want to believe that they truely do mean what they're saying, but actions speak louder than words.

Even though you say that, Mattheo already knows that you'll forgive them. He may not agree with it because, in his opinion, they do not deserve your forgiveness, but he understands that you'd been akin to sisters for years before his family welcomed you into their circle with open arms. Of course you'd forgive them eventually; it doesn't mean that any of your found family would, though.

Hermione and Ginny watch as your eyes glaze over. It's obvious that you're talking mind to mind with Mattheo by the way your face heats with a blush and your face is alight with a soft, yet dazzling smile.

The three of you had once gossiped, in the cosy confines of the younger girl's bedroom, that Ginny's oldest twin brother was the perfect guy for you, but judging by your expression, they knew it then and there......Mattheo Riddle was your soulmate and you were completely and irrevocably in love with him.

An hour later, the three of you were sat under the shade of a willow tree that overlooked one of the beaches separating the Black Lake from the main courtyard.

It was as if there was never a blip in your friendship. Like old times. It felt normal. But there was an underlying feeling that everything was different at the same time. And the three of you had wordlessly accepted that fact.

"He needs to get rid of that stupid book." Hermione mutters dismally as you watch Harry and Ron stroll by, not sparing any of you a glance as they stare down at the battered Potions book in the former's hand.

"Still jealous that he's gotten better at potions than you? You're not top of the class anymore." You tease and she throws you a playful glare.

"Nevermind that. It's insidious." she says. "Just the other day he was asking if I'd heard of some kind of spell that was, quote on quote: 'for enemies'. It's completely ridiculous."

"I can't say that I disagree with you Mione." Ginny says grimly. "I overheard him telling Ron that he really wanted to test it out."

She shivers as if a blanket of cold was just thrust upon her. You're left bewildered. Harry seemed like a wholly different person and you didn't know what to make of it.

~∞~

A week later, you'd come to terms with the new state of your friendship with Hermione and Ginny; your Slytherin friends were weary at first when you told them of their plan to involve the Order, but it was Theo and Blaise who agreed tentatively to hear them out.

You tried to build a bridge between your two opposing groups, and it worked somewhat: Hermione had bonded well with Theo and Ginny found a kinship in Pansy's fierce spirit as well as Enzo's witty humour. Even Luna, who had accompanied Ginny one day to see you, had found solace in Blaise's quiet and calm nature.

Draco was the most alert by your insistence of them all speaking – he was weary that Hermione did not like nor trust him and she was uneasy around the boy who had called her unsavoury names for years. But even Hermione could see how worn down and tired Draco looked, and cut him some slack.

After another drooling day of school, you were lying in Mattheo's bed, clad in nothing but one of his dark tshirts as you lied against his chest, breathing in his alluring scent of cedar, musk and smoke. After completing your homework together, the two of you had nothing better to do than laze about, sharing languid kisses and slow, soft sex.

You were talking quietly to one another, sweet giggles and deep chuckles passing between you as you bathed in the serenity of each others' presence. Mattheo's hand was tracing circles against the back of your thighs, causing you to shift away with a breathy laugh.

"That tickles. Stop it." you say, mirth shining in your eyes as you playfully glare at him as his fingers dance across your soft, sensitive skin.

"Or what?" he challenges with a smirk that has you sitting up against his stomach, the ridges of his abs brushing sensually against your aching core.

Safe to say, your clothes ended up on the floor once more and the room was once again filled with your combined sensual moans and whines.

Later, you're cuddled against him again, tired and spent as you allow sleep to overtake you. But it never comes. Enzo and Ginny burst through the door in a panicked flurry.

"Ever heard of knocking, Berkshire?" Mattheo snaps, but at the look of alarm painting his friend's face, he sits up in rapt attention.

"What is it, Enzo?" he asks, using one hand to pull the duvet over your bodies to shield you from their averting gazes.

"It's Harry and- and Malfoy." Ginny says, breathlessly as if they'd run here. "They're dueling in one of the second floor bathrooms."

That statement has the two of you scrambling for your clothes as Enzo and Ginny leave to wait outside the door.

Uniforms shoved back on in a hurry, rumpled and creased from your earlier activities, the two of you follow behind the panicking pair as they lead you to Moaning Myrtle's floor. You hear the duel before you see it. Draco and Harry are throwing insults and curses back and forth in rapid fire blows. You would be mesmerised by the feeling of all the power that sings to you, if you weren't so worried and horror stricken at what you'd stumbled into.

Upon entering the scene you can't help but gape at the destruction. The porcelain sinks lining the marbled walls are cracked and broken, crumbling to the floor; pipes bursting with a never ending onslaught of spraying water that washes across the floor like tempered glass.

Your arrival distracts Draco momentarily as he turns towards the four of you, weariness clouding his light grey eyes. It's all the time he needs for Harry to surprise all of you with his menacing words as he casts the final spell, signifying the end of the harrowing duel.

"Sectum-sempra!" he shouts and Draco releases a pained yelp before falling to the floor as Ginny gasps in horror. Blood soaks the water around him, spreading out like slick oil against it as he writhes in pain. Slashes of blood saturate his white shirt, as if a knife had been hacked against his skin.

The room is a flurry of activity as Ginny starts shouting at Harry as Enzo and Mattheo pull out their wands defensively. But you pay them no mind, immediately going to Draco's side, trying your best to comfort him as you rip open his shirt to see the damage that Harry had caused.

His torso is caked in blood, gashes of skin torn open by the force of the spell. He's lying in a pool of it, the volume increasing with each passing second. Draco was dying. Slowly and painfully.

Moaning Myrtle appeared from the pipes screaming "MURDER IN THE BATHROOM!" repeatedly as you worked tirelessly, which was not helping the onslaught of overwhelming emotions that were bubbling to the surface.

It's okay. You're okay. You need to stay awake Draco. Please stay awake. You reassure him as you mumble a series of spells. He begins writhing more.

Episkey doesn't work.

Ferula fails to expell bandages large enough to cover the gaping holes in his chest.

Basic wound sealing spells are cast in vain.

You have tried everything you can think of. But nothing is working. Tears of frustration begin to slide down your cheeks.

"What's taking you so long?" Enzo shouts at you, drawing your attention away from Draco. Your breathing is panicked and uncertain and Mattheo tilts his head towards Enzo, a silent threat to watch his tone as he sees the slick flow of tears running down your face.

"I don't- nothing is working." you say breathelessly. "I don't know what to do."

Ginny looks horrified. As do Mattheo and Enzo. Harry only looks intrigued, no trace of guilt paints his face. You narrow your eyes at him.

"It's from that book, isn't it?" you accuse and he flinches at your icy tone. "The Half Blood Prince wouldn't be stupid enough to not know a counter curse. What. Is. It?"

He doesn't answer you fast enough for Mattheo's liking. Despite not understanding what you're talking about, he turns to the bespectacled boy with barely contained rage as he points his wand in the direction of the 'Chosen One'.

"Answer her, Potter!" he snarls and Harry snaps his head in Mattheo's direction, shooting him a glare until Ginny screams at him to answer you.

"Vulnera Sanentur." he says reluctantly, as if he was waiting to see how long the effects of the spell he cast would take place. As if he was waiting for Death to sink it's claws into Draco's soul.

Immediately you work on each of the gashes on Draco's torso and they begin to heal over for the most part, but he's still loosing too much blood.

"Someone needs to help me seal his wounds properly. I can't do it by myself." you say desperately and Enzo is immediately at your side, both of you mumbling the spell and casting your wands over the various wounds that litter Draco's pallid skin. Meanwhile Mattheo and Ginny stare at Harry as if he'd grown two heads, sharing a knowing look of understanding that Harry does not miss, nor does he like. He grits his teeth at his enemy and the girl he's infatuated by as Ginny, not so subtly, inches closer to Mattheo's side. Mattheo's eyes soften at the fear coating the younger girl's cerulean eyes.

No sooner than you'd entered the fray, Professor Snape comes gliding into the room, face livid, and pushes you and Enzo away from Draco's still writhing body. He performs the healing charm with practiced ease, going over each jagged cut, that you failed to heal, with graceful precision. If you weren't so overcome with emotion, you would've put the glaringly obvious pieces together.

The flow of blood eased rapidly and the wounds knotted together intricately as he repeated the spell, tenderly wiping away the blood that coated Draco's face. You knelt close to his side, reaching out to stroke his limp hand, which was alarmingly cold to the touch. You and Enzo were both covered in a mixture of blood and water which soaked through your uniforms, sticking to you like a second skin.

No sooner than he'd arrived, Professor Snape had Draco leaning against your side and was talking softly to the boy, who was barely conscious.

"You must go to the Hospital Wing. There may be some scarring, but if you take dittany immediately we might avoid even that. Come...."

With Enzo's help, he supported Draco across the bathroom, turning at the door to say in a voice of cold fury, "And you, Potter – You will wait here for me."

Harry, at least, had the gall to look ashamed.

You're still kneeling on the floor, staring at your blood soaked hands when Mattheo appears in front of you, taking your hands in his, paying no mind to the blood soaking through his trousers.

"You did good, darling." he says softly, so only you can hear, neither pay attention to how Ginny inches closer to you two, away from Harry's wide eyes. "So good."

"If Snape didn't turn up–" you don't want to finish the sentence, don't even want to think about what could've happened.

"If he didn't end up coming, you and Enzo would have worked tirelessly to seal Draco's wounds to the best of your abilities." he reassures you, having read the emotions as clear as day on your face. "Come on, let's go and get you cleaned up, yeah?"

You allow him to pull you to your feet and you're only reminded of his presence when Harry scoffs.

"Got something to say, Potter?" he snarls as his hand rests against the small of your back, at Harry who glares at Mattheo obstinately.

"He cursed Katie Bell. We all know it. He deserved what he had coming for him. I can't believe she willingly helped him after everything he's done to us. After everything you have done."

He spoke as if you were not standing right in front of him. You barely recognise the boy who you called your best friend for nearly six years. Harry had barely finished his sentence when Mattheo had left your side and launched at him, throwing punches and blows in Harry's face. That's not to say that Harry did not return the favour. Both boys' blood mingled with the softening pink whorls in the water. You and Ginny were screaming at them to stop; they did not acknowledge your pleas. The last time they fought like this was over a year ago.

The conduit around your neck crackles with energy and you fight the urge to break it. Instead you wrap a fist around it almost instinctively and draw out power that surges through the room, separating the two from eachother with little to no effort. They're both panting and glaring at eachother as they fight against the restraint of your power.

"That's enough." you say firmly, voice loud and commanding in the silence, wholly different to its usual cadence. Ginny is staring at you in awe, as Mattheo stares with pride. Harry looks at you with uncontainable fury and fear.

Because you're glowing.

There's a faint indigo aura surrounding your body that pulses with energy as you hold the two boys away from eachother. When Mattheo stops fighting you, you let go of the hold and watch as they slump in their spots on opposite sides of the room, both sporting matching wounds of split lips and bruised eyes.

"What the fuck are you?" Harry mumbles to himself, just as Snape returns to the bathroom. The professor looks at you in barely restrained approval before instructing you, Mattheo and Ginny out of the room. You each go without hesitation, leaving Harry at the mercy of a furious Snape.

~∞~

Parting ways with Ginny at the intersection between your two common rooms, Mattheo lets you guide him towards the Ravenclaw tower, which was closer to the dungeons that were on the opposite side of the castle to where you currently were.

He follows you silently, staring at you as if he can still see the faint glow of the indigo aura that surrounded you. He didn't think you could get any more ethereal. You prove him wrong every single day.

"Do you think Draco will be okay?" you ask quietly as you reach the polished bronze Knocker that conceals the entrance to your estranged common room.

"He's strong. I know he'll be okay." Mattheo reassures you, but he chooses not to tell you that Draco's fate will be far worse if he fails to fix the wardrobe that they'd been working on for the better part of half a year. All their fates would be far worse.

You breath out a relieved sigh in response, just in time for the Eagle to blink preternaturally at the two of you. You laugh softly as Mattheo shivers at the utter human-ness of the brass eagle.

'I can break. I can be clogged. I can be attacked. I can be given. I can be kept. I can be crushed, yet I can be whole at the same time. What am I?'

It only takes you a moment to figure out the riddle and Mattheo sees the exact second that the answer fills your head, even as his stays blank with confusion.

"A heart." You say and he swears that the eagle winks as the door swings open, paving way for the sea of eyes that stare at the two of you in horror.

You realise then that your still covered, practically head to toe, in Draco's blood, skirt and knee high white socks soaked through from the water, stained a light pink. Shaking yourself out of your haze, you grip Mattheo's hand and drag him towards the staircase leading to the girls' dormitories, ignoring the eyes that are burning holes into your skin as you retreat.

You wandlessly unlock the door that leads into your dorm room and watch as Mattheo stares around in awe.

"I've never been in here before." he says quietly and you turn to him with furrowed brows.

"Yes you have. Haven't you?"

It dawns on you then, that in all the months you'd known him, you had never consciously invited him into your bedroom. It had always been his common room; his dormitory or the Room of Requirement. Never your's.

"No. I haven't." he responds, laughing at the surprise that appears on your face as he casts his surveying eyes around your room. "It's very you."

"Thankyou?" you respond questioningly which causes him to laugh more, then wince as the movement of his laughter tugs at the cut that splits his lip.

Eyes full of concern you direct him to your bed and push him down by his broad shoulders to sit, ignoring the way his brows wiggle suggestively while you find a first aid kit to remedy his injuries.

He's still smirking when you return from the bathroom, green box in hand, which you place by his side as he guides you to stand between his parted thighs. The two of you bask in the content silence as you use a damp flannel to wipe away the dried blood that has begun to crust over his soft skin, mumbled apologies escaping your lips whenever he hisses if you accidentally catch one of his cuts with the fabric.

"You could easily wish these away with a bit of magic, you know. It's a thousand times faster." he says, hands caressing the backs of yours thighs as he looks up at you, but he makes no move to stop you or push you away.

"That feels uncaring." you mumble in response as you use a bit of rubbing alcohol against the cut on his lip. "Sorry." you say as he winces.

"It's alright, love." he mumbles, leaning his head into your stomach once you finished. "Potter can really throw a punch."

Your laughter comes out as a scoff. "Maybe. But you should've seen the state you left him in."

He smirks against the damp fabric of your shirt and you swat at his curly head when you practically feel his ego inflating.

"I did give him a good beating, didn't I?"

"You're so vexingly arrogant." you say with a soft laugh that has him leaning out of your stomach to stare at you again, a mischievous glint reflecting in his honey brown eyes.

"It's one of the many attributes of mine that you fell for though, isn't it Princess." he says with so much self assurance that you just have to roll your eyes, but it's difficult to hide your smile.

"Shut up." you reply as his arms reach up to wrap around your middle, bringing you into his embrace, but he cringes away at the feel of your still wet clothes.

"Let's get you out of these yeah? You're practically shivering." he says as he untucks your shirt from your skirt, affection and...and love overtaking his soft eyes as he stares up at you, quietly stripping you of your ruined clothes that he throws into a pile at the foot of your bed.

~∞~

"Thank you, Théo." you say quietly, almost in a whisper, after you're both fresh and clean from a shower, all wounds healed over with a bit of his magic.

"What for?" he asks you, just as softly, hand reaching up to brush a loose wisp of hair that had fallen into your face.

You don't answer him, not verbally at least, instead pressing a slow kiss to his mouth that he happily reciprocates, leaning in until he's hovering over you, trapping your body below his.

For protecting me. For defending me. For giving Ginny stability, despite how you feel towards her. I saw the way she gravitated towards you. Just...thank you. Your words have his mouth working harder against your's, causing a moan to escape you as his tongue licks against the seam of your lips, which part eagerly for him.

Always, sweet girl. I will always defend you and those of your friends who are worthy of defending. He replies before detaching his lips from your's, with retraint.

"Weasley could have easily let Enzo find us himself, could've even encouraged Potter to continue their duel. But she didn't; she watched a boy almost die, watched her friend heal the same boy who terrorised you all for years. She could've easily gone to Harry's defence, but she didn't. She looked to us for direction. Not him. That says a lot." he said aloud with a sigh, strands of his curly hair falling over his forehead, causing his eyes to twitch in irritation.

You used the tips of your fingers to coil the stubborn curls away from his face as he speaks, a new sense of admiration, trust and calm washing over you as you stare at your lover.

"It may take time for me to trust her, Granger too," he continues. "But I see how much she looks up to you, trusts you and vice versa. I can learn to forgive them for their wrongdoings. For you, my love."

"Thank you, Théo." you repeat as you bury your face into his shirtless chest, breathing in his intoxicating scent.

He smiles as he presses a kiss to your temple, unaware that today's events would spiral into something unfathomable that Mattheo Riddle should've seen coming from miles away.

~∞~

did i mention how much i love soft!matty😫😫 (in every chapter since they got together 😵‍💫😵‍💫)

i had to end it with some fluff because i'm sure you can guess what's gonna happen in the next few chapters lol

also thought id let you know that meadow's siphon powers are now fully manifested, she just has to learn how to control it (which we see briefly in this chapter)

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(striked out users are ones that i couldn't tag)

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#mattheo riddle x reader #serendipity series #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo x you #mattheo riddle #harry potter #pansy parkinson #ron weasley #theodore nott x reader #blaise zabini #enzo berkshire #ginny weasley x reader #harry potter x reader #hermione granger #draco malfoy #angst #flangst

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timotheechlamett · 2 years

Text

INNOCENCE LOST

Request: Going to a slytherin party ending w smutty smut everything in detail! I love you writing so much!

3.1K WORDS - to my anon, don’t ask me to drag some shit out cause I will. EASILY 😌

WARNINGS: graphic smut, loss of virginity, Regulus Black x Fem OC, soft/ mean dom!Regulus Black, praise, degradation, angst.

if i missed anything pls let me know, also did not proofread whatsoever. Requests are always open, I’ll write just about anything.

my entire inspiration goes to this gem + the ask

________________________________

“AND REGULUS BLACK CAPTURES THE GOLDEN SNITCH!”

Every house showed up to witness the brutal beating of the Slytherin v. Gryffindor game, and for the first time in years— Slytherin beat Gryffindor.

Quidditch matches were the least interesting thing to me, but I came to support to my brother.

A roar from across the stadium deafening all those around. I couldn’t help the proud smile that spread across my face. Eventually everyone made their way down the stands and back to the castle.

Me, Dani, and Val make our way to the Slytherin locker rooms waiting outside the doors for Evan.

“He’s gonna be so excited! I can’t wait to see his beautiful face.” Val gushes as she clutches her hands together, “Ew, please refrain from brother talk.” I scrunch my face at her comment, “I still can’t believe you actually find the vermin attractive.”

“Oh you’re just jealous you haven’t found someone yet.” She looks back with a devious grin, Dani snickering at the comment.

“That’s not true! I-I have someone in mind..” I trail off.

“Dreams don’t count Y/N, you have to actually pursue them.” Dani and Val look at me once again.

I furrow my eyebrows in a half-angry, half-embarrassed manner, “You’ll never get him if you don’t tell him.” Val points out, I turn the opposite way hyper focusing on the wall.

It was a never ending game of cat and mouse with him. We would both flirt to no end, even a couple over-friendly touches here and there, but nothing more than that. Hell, I hadn’t even been fingered until last year.

It was horrible.

Just as quickly as I turn my back Evan ventures to the hall, followed by Demeter, Lucius, and Regulus. Val and Dani give their congratulations to each as they drone on about the game.

Speak to him.

Say something!

I look up and my eyes meet Regulus’,’ eyes, “How does it feel to singlehandedly claim victory?” I smirk towards him, the corners of his lips pull into a similar smirk.

“Absolutely brilliant.” He bares his perfect smile, “Are you coming to the party?” He leans against the wall bringing himself closer to me.

“Oh you guys have to! We even invited all the Gryffindors.” Evan exclaims, we both turn our heads, “I know you aren’t much of a party person-“, He looks towards me then to Dani and Val, “I’’m hoping you two can drag her out for a night.”

They exchange a look, “We’ll be there.” they say in unison.

“I guess I’ll be there.” I let out a breathy chuckle, he pushes off the wall handing me the winning snitch, taking a quill from his bag and writing on a ripped piece of parchment. I feel the heat rise to my cheeks from the slight contact.

“I guess I’ll see you later then, little Rosier.” He hands me the scrap and walks towards the group of boys in the distance.

But the snitch-“

“Keep it!” He yells down the corridor.

When they were at a safe distance, “What does it say!” Val snatches it from me.

Dani shakes her head and snatches it back handing it to me, “We need to get ready now if we want to go,” She turns her gaze to me, “Especially considering this one,” She looks me up and down, “Needs work.”

“Why do I need work?” I put on my best pout, slipping the paper into my pocket.

“Come on!” Val pulls us towards my dorm.

——

Our shoes are loud against the concrete of the dungeon, I let them convince me to wear a daring outfit that Evan would absolutely disapprove of. My makeup done naturally with a little edge.

The vibration of the music seeping into my bones from a good distance. It was a miracle McGonagall hadn’t come by. I follow closely behind my friends as we reach the Slytherin common room.

“Password?” A voice calls.

We all share a look of confusion, almost panicked.

The note.

I step up to the painting, pulling the paper out, ‘Ad sepulchrumtum.”

“To the grave.” Val smiles to Dani, “That’s Slytherin for you.” Dani giggles out.

“I guess what happens tonight stays down here, right?” Val looks to both of us as the painting opens.

The music thumps through my ears as we make our way inside, flashing green strobes, smoke, and the smell of alcohol fills my senses as we venture deeper into the room.

“There’s Evan!” Val yells to us.

We follow her in a line, but not before stopping to get a drink on the way. Once we reach the corner they occupy, I tend to my drink gulping almost half down before bringing my eyes to meet the ones staring us down.

Evan envelops me in a hug pulling me off my feet, “Little sister! You finally came to party with the big dogs!” He twirls me before setting me down, “I make it my mission to get you absolutely plastered.”

I laugh crossing one ankle over the other to prevent my clothing riding up.

Why did Val insist I wear such a short skirt?

——

Evan brings shots over for everyone, I down mine quickly survey the room. Demeter making a fool of himself on the dance floor, Evan doubling back for more shots, Lucius animatedly explaining the quidditch match to some 5th years, finally my eyes cross Regulus.

Far too close to a 7th year, his top three buttons undone, onyx necklace hanging between the two sides of his collar. He takes a long pull from his drink before he looks up from her, sending me a wink.

Prick.

I couldn’t help the jealousy burning in my throat like bile.

I even spot Sirius Black and Remus Lupin in the midst of the snakes— Not that he’d turn down a party to begin with. James Potter and Lily Evans dancing nearby like their life depends on it.

I drag my eyes back to Sirius. His chocolate curls falling a bit longer than Regulus, he was slightly shorter than the younger heir, his eyes just as hazel, almost grey. They didn’t look all that different, but Sirius was a pompous ass, Regulus was more reserved.

Sirius’ eyes meet mine then flicker towards his brother, as Evan brings over the next ounce or two of Firewhsikey.

I tilt my head to the side and grin at the boy, throwing back the small vial of alcohol. If I couldn’t get Regulus’ attention one way, there was always another. Right?

Sirius weaves his way through the crowd stopping before me, the gaggle of snakes cursing him mentally as I pick up my original cup.

This is wrong.

Of course it’s wrong.

“You look quiet ravishing.” Sirius purrs.

“I could say the same.” I take another sip.

He glances at Evan, who’s unsurprisingly sending daggers, “Do you want to dance?” I turn his face towards me.

It’s too late.

“Absolutely.” He lets out coolly.

‘Cigarettes and tiny little bottles’

The music blasts above as I grip his hand from behind me, the alcohol drawing out my confidence.

Liquid courage the muggles say.

‘Just what you’d expect inside a new Balenciaga’

I turn to wrap my arm around his neck, swaying my hips to the music letting loose for once. I close my eyes before turning around and lacing my fingers through his.

I could feel his head faced towards where Remus was, who was wearing a scowl— Was he jealous? No. Why would he be jealous?

Out of the corner of my eye I see Regulus removes the girl off his lap, he pushes bystanders out of the way desperately trying to get to us.

“Well darling, it looks like we both got our way.” Sirius says in my ear with a smirk, we break apart and he goes to Remus. I decide its time for another drink.

Before Regulus can reach me I’m already halfway to the table full of alcohol. My fingers run over the various bottles, stopping on a bottle of Beetle Berry. I quickly pour 2 fingers for myself in a glass.

“A bit out of character, don’t you think?” I feel his presence behind me, goosebumps rising on my skin.

I turn to Regulus, “Says the boy with a blonde.” I deadpan, “You and Sirius though? Very odd couple if I say so myself.” He spits.

A smirk plays on my face, “Regulus Black, are you jealous?” I muse, taking a sip from my cup I turn to face him.

There wasn’t a hint of playfulness in his expression, if I was smart I would’ve been worried, but the alcohol I’d consumed gave me a copious amount of confidence.

“I don’t belong to you, Regulus, I don’t owe you anything”

“No?” He furrows his eyebrows, “No! You’re such a hypocrite! If I want to flirt with your-“, I feel his hand wrap around my neck, “Say another word and I’ll shut you up myself.” He warns.

I shut my mouth feeling the arousal course through my core, slipping through my folds, like fire consuming paper. He releases me and I look up innocently to meet his cold stare.

“Then why don’t you?”

He clenches his jaw, rolling his shoulders slightly, standing to his full height before taking my wrist in his grip and dragging me through the crowd. Before I can blink we’re in his dorm room.

“Get the fuck out.” Regulus sends a glare to the couple occupying the room. I hide my face by looking to the opposite of them, “Don’t get shy now, you were so bold.” His grip on my wrist goes to the back of my hair making me look up at him.

That same pulsing need bursts throughout me, I almost regret my actions.

“Undress. Now.”, I remove my shoes, top and skirt revealing my white lace undergarments, “Ironic considering you’re no saint-,” He pushes me to sit on the bed, his arms coming down to either side of me. He leans in centimeters away from my face, “I.said.undress.”

Hesitantly I bring my arms back to undo my bra tossing it to the side, afterwards sliding my panties off leaving them at my feet. I can basically feel my own slick running down my thighs at the experience.

Slowly he pushes me onto the mattress setting himself between my thighs throbbing cunt.

His hand comes up to drag a finger across my soaking folds, “Do you want him? Sirius?” He questions pulling a whimper from my throat, repeating the action.

I meet his eyes, “Why would I want Sirius when his brother looks better.” I almost whisper earning a sinister smile from Regulus, “Such a little whore.” He plunges a finger inside my hole.

“I-“ A choked moan leaves me as he curl his finger, adding another leaving me breathless.

“Regulus, t-this is new, I haven’t-“ I choke out and he stops completely, “I’m sorry.”

His expression drastically changes. His face softens, “This is your first time?” He inquires pushing himself to hover above me.

I feel the heat rush to my face, I avoid his eye contact as my eyes water from the uncomfortableness.

“Hey, hey, you don’t need to be embarrassed,” He cups my cheek, “You never need to be embarrassed with me.” He turns my head so my eyes meet his, maybe it was the alcohol wearing off or maybe it was true humiliation of my inexperience, fresh tears spill from the sides of my eyes.

“But I want you and I’m scared.” I say barely audible.

He strokes my cheek with his thumb, “You look so pretty when you cry.” He whispers bringing his lips to mine, softer than I thought possible. Pulling away he moves stray hairs from my face, “Do you truly want this?” He continues petting me, I nod my head too shy to say anything, “I need words, dove.”

“I-I want it to be you.” I say as his hand entertwines with mine, “I don’t want anyone else.” I whisper.

He lets out a deep sigh burying his face in my neck, breathing out a soft moan. He brings his face back up kissing me once more, softly, gentle, tenderly.

He travels down to my jaw, then my neck softly suckling, more carefully than before, down my chest and stopping at my breast. He takes my erect bud into his mouth swirling his tongue around, sucking lightly while his hand twists my free nipple gently.

I can’t help the moan that leaves me, bucking my hips up on instinct, he brings his hand down to my wet folds once more rubbing my clit in circles before entering a finger, still using his thumb still on my sensitive bud. He adds another digit going slower, his mouth returns to my nipple sucking a bit harder than before.

“Reg-“ I choke out.

He looks up, “Is this okay?” My soft whimpers almost drowning out the question, “Merlin, yes.” I breathe out.

He curls his two middle fingers up hitting my g-spot repeatedly, his eyes watching my every expression. Her moves his fingers faster inside me as loud wet noises fill the air above the distant music.

My moans uncontainable at this point, I can barely get out, “F-fuck that feels s-so good-“, my legs coil up into my body unintentionally, my head digs into the mattress as well as my nails. A brand new feeling emerging.

“Y’gonna cum for me?” He muses, I bite my lip to muffle my moans, closing my eyes in the process, “Look at me,” He brings his face closer to mine, “Look at me when you cum.”

Of all the descriptions, nothing could prepare me for the feeling of my very first orgasm. It was so close I could taste the sweetness, see the stars in my vision, feel my body turn to static. With one last thrust of his fingers I couldn’t help but grip his wrist, digging my nails deep into it as I came undone under his sight.

“Regulus-“ I moaned out like a spell, over and over, I could feel my wetness splash onto my thighs and the soaked sounds getting heavier as he continued to fuck his fingers into me. I could feel his member twitching in the confines of his pants.

After I came down he pulled his fingers out, my eyes closed before I could witness him licking my arousal off his fingers.

“Tastes so fucking good. So fucking good.” I pry my eyes open to watch the rest of the action, feeling myself get wet all over again.

He stands up removing his shirt, his toned body prominent, unbuckling his belt and pulling his pants down, leaving him in his underwear. I watch closely as he pulls the band down leaving him just as bare as me.

His size alone sparks fear in me again.

How would he ever fit?

Could he fit??

In the same breath my mouth waters at the sight of him. His tip glistening with precum, a dark shade of pink and almost throbbing.

“See something you like?” He teases settling back between my legs, I can only bring my head up and down in a nod.

“So sweet-“ He coos gripping my chin, “Are you sure you want to?”

“Yes.” I reassure meeting his eyes.

He hovers over me once more before bringing his lips to mine, using a hand to stroke and line himself up with my opening.

His lips don’t leave mine when he begins to push into my soaked core. Thee stretch is uncomfortable, a different type of pain courses through me as he pushes deeper inside me. Thick and long from what I could feel.

I wince slightly when he reaches halfway, “I know, just a little more.” He coils his fingers between mine again, his face hovering above my own.

“Gotta relax baby, you’re okay.” He strokes my hand with his thumb before bring his other to rub my clit.

He continues to bottom out as I focus on the new sensations, the feeling of him filling me to the brim by pure size, the euphoria of him paying attention to my clit, “Okay?” He asks.

“You can move.”

He slowly pulls out and thrusts back in, repeating the motion, it feels better with each thrust eventually leading me to grip the back of his head pulling him closer.

“Y’so beautiful, little dove. So perfect.” He kisses my neck again keeping his thumb in motion. I moan an erotic sound.

“Tell me-“, He groans, “Let it out, pretty little moans.” He sets his forehead against mine.

“F-feels so-so fucking goood.” I whine feeling my pussy clench around his cock, “So fucking good Regulus-“ Tears form in my eyes. The feeling of release building up.

He picks up his pace thrusting into me gently, but deep. Heavy sighs escaping his lips followed by a few involuntary moans.

“Taking me so well, such a good girl.” He plants a kiss to my lips, “Such a good fucking girl.”

At his words I feel the coil in my stomach tightening ready to burst.

“Fuck- Harder, please, fuck me.” I whimper gripping his hand tighter.

His strokes harder and deeper but more sloppy, his breath ragged and more audible, “Fuck- M’gonna cum, fuck-“

He thrusts even deeper hitting that glorious spot again and again, I cant help but cry out, incoherent babbles leaving my throat, “I- Feels so- Ah, fuck-“ I whine.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum-“ He moans.

“Regulus, Regulus, Reg- I-“ The coil wound so tightly it finally snaps, every single muscle spasming against my will, my hands travel to his back dragging red marks with my nails, I can only leave my mouth agape with the overpowering orgasm.

“Fuck you feel so good, so beautiful.” He whimpers.

With one last thrust I feel him twitch inside me, filling me so much I can feel his seed spill out from the sides of my destroyed pussy, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

He bucks his hips twice before stilling, riding out both of our climaxes, our breath heavy and short.

He keeps himself sheathed within me, peppering kisses across my face, neck, and chest. His hands come to caress me.

“I love you.”

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spiderlilyserendipity · 3 years

Note

can you write some taehyung nsfw thigh riding getting ruined by yeotan turning things from steamy to giggly/soft?

Thanks for your ask <3 This one is called Up The Wall.

WC: 1383

Genres: fluff, smut

Tags: dom/sub elements, dom!taehyung, sub!reader

(*Cis female reader*)

Taehyung has been driving you up the wall today and he knows it.

It started when the two of you went on a date to a five star restaurant earlier today. Dates with Taehyung are always at odd hours, either really early in the morning or very late at night to avoid anyone seeing you out together. You are always okay with that, understanding Taehyung’s career and appreciating the effort he puts in so you can have normal dates.

He even bought you a beautiful red dress for it, despite it only being a lunch date. He had booked a private room and ordered all your favourite dishes, along with a few new ones that you loved.

Then. Then. He started playing footsies.

He ran his leather dress shoe up your stocking-clad leg under the table. It felt scandalous to do in public, even if this was a private room. Worst of all, he put his cheek in his hand and watched you with a cheeky grin.

“Why aren’t you eating? Is it not good?” He had asked you.

You forced a smile and said yes. He gave you a boxy smile in reply.

Of course he did. Your boyfriend is the definition of cheeky.

After lunch at 11 AM, he took you to the movies. There was a new thriller movie out, but not many were going to see it because a more popular blockbuster had come out the weekend before. As such, you and Tae got into a midday show without anyone recognizing you.

You thought Taehyung’s teasing was over until he started playing along to scare you. You would be gripping his hand tightly in fear of the upcoming jump scare only for him to yelp beside you and scare you first. You almost got angry at him a few times until you saw how hard he was laughing, and the tears of laughter in his eyes.

So you let two things go. The footsies incident and the jump scares trick.

But then, the movie hit its climax, right towards the end and took you completely off-guard. You thought for sure the protagonist’s family would be okay if they had survived until now, but the villian got to them in a shocking way that had you jumping.

“Was it that scary?” Taehyung had mumbled in your hair, laughing at your cute reaction.

“It really was.” You whined, looking up at him.

His eyes were dark, even darker than they should’ve been with the lights off. He was no longer just looking at you, but looking all over your body. Your body pressed into his side, breasts pushing together. His eyes lingered down your cleavage, pink tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. HIs hand lingered on the thigh you had shoved up onto his lap in your fear. He thumbed over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, making you shiver.

It’s safe to say that now that you’re home home, you are ready to jump his bones.

“Okay, okay!” Taehyung laughs when you kiss him ferociously in the entryway, tipping his head back. He takes your hand and guides you to the living room sofa. “But we have to be fast. The producers said I have to be there by 4pm to record my part of the song.”

You glance at the clock. You have half an hour until Taehyung has to leave. It would take ten for him to shower after you had sex, which meant twenty for a quickie. That is fine by you.

“What can I do?” You ask, eyes meeting his. He smiles languidly at the intensity in your gaze, not worried at all by the time. His eyes work all over your body, hands tightening at your waist.

“Would princess like to use my thigh to get off?” Taehyung whispers in your ear. You tighten your hold on his shoulders.

“Please.” You whisper.

You stand as Taehyung gets his pants off. You take off your panties, and they glisten with pre-come. Taehyung’s eyes catch on, not missing a single detail when it comes to you.

Without further ado, you climb onto Taehyung’s thigh, making him coo at how needy you are. He hikes your dress up, exposing your ass to the cold living room air. You whine, rubbing your wet cunt against the firm muscle of his thigh. Taehyung’s hands knead and pull at your ass cheeks, guiding your movements up and down. On the outside, you’re in control. But both of you know he is the one who has control of how and when you get off. A control you gave him a long time ago, one you never want back.

Under his burning gaze and smirk, you feel the pressure in your stomach building like a coil ready to snap. “T-Tae.” You whimper.

Taehyung pulls the front of your dress down, making your bra-clad breasts fall out. He unfastens the bra singlehandedly and tosses it somewhere. His fingertips roll your nipple between them. His hot mouth works its way down your neck. You arch your back, pushing your breasts towards him. He laughs at your eagerness, licking at one nipple with tongue and just enough hints of teeth that it drives you up the wall.

“T-Tae. I’m almost there.” You whine, tightening a hand in his gorgeous brown locks.

“Hmm, really? Hasn’t even been five minutes, though.” Taehyung asks, pretending to sound truly confused. You groan, going faster. “Oh, that’s not very polite. What are you supposed to ask, princess?” He chides, sounding like he’s talking about cloudy weather.

“Please, please let me come, Tae. I’ve been good, please?” You ask, nearly crying.

But before Taehyung can reply, a bark cuts you off.

The two of you snap out of the scene, equally mortified to see Tannie at the edge of the carpet. His glassy eyes stare up at you. Still breathless, you put your head against his still-clothed shoulder and scream.

“We forgot his walk today, didn’t we?” Taehyung reads your mind.

“I just can’t catch a break today!” You complain against the fabric.

Taehyung’s deep laugh reverberates through him, making his shoulders shake. He pats your head lightly. “It’s okay, Y/N. I’ll make it up to you later.” He says, hooking a finger in the dress. He lets go suddenly, making the material snap against the underside of your breasts. You lightly smack his shoulder in frustration. He kisses your forehead, then guides your hips so you get off him.

“I know, baby. But we can’t ignore our puppy’s needs.” Taehyung explains, stroking his hands up and down your body in a gentle, nonsexual way. “How about this? We clean up together and take him for a walk, you bring him back home when I go to the studio, and I make it up to you later? Hmm, princess?” He coaxes you, cupping your face. You pout, knowing he has a point but not liking it. To sell his argument, Taehyung litters small kisses all over your face.

“You better. Or I’m kicking you out.” You say, half-serious. You think you deserve an award for the amount of self-control it takes to dismount Taehyung’s fucking perfect thigh. Taehyung giggles at how non-threatening your voice sounds with your face smushed in his hands.

“Yes, baby. I’ll make it up to you. You know you always come better when I make you wait, don’t you? Just give me a couple hours, I need to record that song.” He tells you.

“When you get home, your dick is mine.” You threaten dramatically like a movie villain. Taehyung laughs, helping you put your dress back on. “At least take the shower with me.” You insist, the only way you’ll let this terrible inconvenience slide.

“Of course, baby.” He says, leading you down the hall to the bathroom.

As the two of you get in the shower, Taehyung comes to stand behind you. “And then, I’ll let you come on my cock. As many times as you like, since you’ve been such a good girl today. Is that fair, baby?”

You groan, turning the shower on to cut his words off. But even the sound of the water can’t cut off Taehyung’s loud laugh. Kim Taehyung is really driving you up the wall today.

Both sfw and nsfw requests are open 🖤

#bts smut #taehyung smut #taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung x oc #taehyung x y/n #taehyung scenarios #taehyung imagines

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lyssismagical · 3 years

Text

dependent and fair

my first ever commission !! Thank you so much @wombatking I hope you enjoy!

tw for broken bones

taglist: @littlemissagrafina @spideyspeaches @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @misskirkstark @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester @emo-girl10 @hold-our-destiny @imalivebecauseirondad @spiderman-peterman @dykeragee @maryserrao @heeeyitskay @parknerandirondad @lilacsandlilies4 @loveliestdisappointment @joyful-soul-collector @justme--emily @genderfluid-and-confuzled @fallenstar07 @gyurolls @sdottkrames @you-did-it-sir @not-today-thx {Let me know if you wanna be added or removed}

If there’s anything MJ hates, it’s having to be dependent.

Living with only her father and her three younger siblings, she’s always been a caretaker, not someone to be taken care of. It makes her uncomfortable whenever she’s in a position where she needs help from others.

Her father works ninety percent of the time to singlehandedly afford four children, leaving her to do most of the parental things like cooking and cleaning and helping her siblings with homework.

When she gets together with Peter, they’re definitely a work in progress.

Neither of them know how to accept help, be taken care of, and they both like to take care of others. There’s a lot to learn, but they’re willing to learn together.

As a show that she’s learning to let him take care of her, she lets him take her out to dinner, his treat.

It’s not like either of them really have money to spend on things like dates in New York – neither of them have jobs. Peter’s a full-time superhero and MJ watches her siblings every evening, but May gives Peter twenty bucks, Delmar gives him another ten for cat-sitting, and a grateful civilian gave him fifteen.

Sure, they can only get the cheapest things on the menu at the decently nice Italian restaurant Peter chooses, the salad and the pasta without any add-ons, only water, and a shared dessert.

But they have a wonderful time, and that’s really all that matters.

They have to walk home from the restaurant, no leftover cash to spend on a taxi, but the night is warm with a gentle cool breeze, and Peter wraps his jacket around her shoulders and holds her hand, swinging between them as they walk leisurely through the streets of Queens.

MJ turns down the alley she normally takes on the way home from school, a decent shortcut to cut the trip in half. Peter stops her just as she gets her shoe into the first rung of the tall, black wire fence separating the alley from the street.

“Are you sure this is safe?” he asks. His hand has gone clammy in hers, nose twitching in the telltale way it does whenever his anxiety spikes. She can’t help the small, gentle smile that tugs at her mouth, a smile she normally reserves for only her little sister.

She tries to keep up an impassive, cold expression as much as possible. The idea of showing any vulnerability makes her shudder. But Peter’s always been so open, so genuine with everything he does, it makes MJ more open to trying.

“I take this shortcut twice a day,” she says, it really isn’t a big deal to jump a fence. Especially not when she has a literal superhero at her side. “It’s not a big deal, c’mon, we’re going to miss my curfew if we don’t take a shortcut.”

Peter makes a face, shaking the fence like he’s testing its sturdiness. And then he jumps, casually, easily, right over the fence.

“Show off,” MJ says, starting the slow, human, climb over the fence.

The one thing she didn’t take into consideration, however, is the pair of slightly heeled flats she’s wearing. It’s a little more complicated than her regular pair of old sneakers.

She slips and Peter can’t move fast enough to catch her before she hits the ground, ankle rolling and making an awful crunching sound, cursing under her breath.

Peter, however, does catch her before her legs give out, slowly helping her to the pavement.

“Are you okay? That didn’t sound good. Do you think it’s broken? I should call your dad, or my aunt, or maybe Tony. I should get you to a hospital, right? Are you feeling okay? I-”

“Woah, hold on a second,” she says, cutting off Peter’s rambles before he can devolve into panic when she needs him to level-headed. “Help me up. It’s probably just a rolled ankle.”

He keeps a strong grip on her elbow and waist as he pulls her up off the pavement, but the moment she puts any weight on her bad foot, she’s crumping into his chest, gasping in pain.

“Shit,” she goes like it’s any help at all.

“Let me call your dad,” Peter pleads, lowering her carefully back to the ground. “And then I’ll swing you to the hospital. Even if it’s nothing, I’d feel a lot better if you got it checked regardless.”

She lets out a huff, reluctantly nodding in agreement.

Peter steps a few feet away to call her dad, explaining the situation quickly but efficiently. He promises three times that he’ll get her to the hospital safely, and that he’ll call the moment they have news.

When he turns back to her, he’s already pulling his Spider-Man mask on.

“Up you go,” he says, lifting her into his arms bridal style. “To the hospital we go. Maybe, if we’re lucky, May will be the one to see us.”

“Go slow, okay?” She’s not nervous. She would never admit to anyone that she’s nervous of swinging with Peter. But last time she went, she puked the moment they hit the ground.

“Your wish is my command, princess.”

“Queen,” she corrects half-heartedly, shifting in his grip to make her ankle twinge a little less.

Peter grins, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Of course, my queen.”

She barely remembers the trip to the hospital or the wait to be seen by a nurse, she keeps her head tucked against Peter’s neck, blocks out the pain as best she can.

Before she knows it, she’s seated on the edge of a bed in a hospital room, Peter at her side, hand still in hers, a nurse coming in.

“Didn’t expect to see your name tonight, kiddo,” May says, offering a sweet smile. “Let’s get that ankle checked out.”

X-rays are taken of her ankle, May gets her a cup of water and a few snacks from the vending machine, and she’s told to rest until the imaging is done. When it is, she’s shown the photographs of a clear break in her ankle. Peter looks like he might cry when he finds out she broke a bone on their date, but he doesn’t say anything self-deprecating or guilt-ridden, just squeezes her hand a little tighter and presses his mouth to her shoulder.

May’s the one who wraps her ankle in a cast, gives her plenty of instructions, and then gives her a pair of crutches.

Peter’s hand gets clammier and tighter the longer it takes, and by the end, she’s a little worried she might’ve broken a hand bone too with how much worry is seeping into the grip he has on her. She stays entirely calm, almost careless the whole time, because she knows if she shows pain, Peter will probably fall apart. He’s seen enough hurt, enough breaks, enough injuries in his lifetime, she doesn’t have to add hers to the list of things he blames himself for.

And either way, she doesn’t need his sympathy or his worry. She’ll be fine. She doesn’t need him to look after her.

MJ’s dad is there by the time they’re done, and she doesn’t have to prove anything to anyone. She kisses her boyfriend goodbye and that’s it.

On Monday, she walks – or well, crutching – into school like nothing is different.

Peter’s waiting for her at her locker, empathetic frown on his face. He lifts his wrist, also bound in bandages.

“We match,” he says, lifting an eyebrow. “Patrolling mishap last night.”

“At least you heal in like two days. I’ve got to keep this on for like six weeks.” She struggles to balance her crutches and open her locker at the same time. Peter watches her carefully but doesn’t move to help her for now. She’s already irritable and he knows what buttons not to press.

She balances her books in her arms and then huffs in irritation when she realizes she won’t be able to carry them all and crutch to class without risking falling.

“Will you at least let me take those?” Peter says, already reaching to stack her books on top of his. “I feel awful. I shouldn’t have let you climb that fence.”

“I don’t need help,” she mutters. She doesn’t want to need Peter’s help. “And don’t coddle me. I made that decision.”

“Then let me carry your books because I’m your boyfriend and I like doing nice things for you.”

She rolls her eyes. “Just this once.”

For the rest of the day, Peter persists on doing nice things for MJ, completely unrelated to her injury, he says, like carrying her books and opening her locker and pulling out chairs for her. She doesn’t say anything, if only because she doesn’t want to make a fool of herself when she struggles to do it on her own.

By the end of the day, she’s beyond grateful for the help Peter’s given her without any expectations of anything in return.

It’s simple how nice it is to be taken care of.

She’s spent her whole life being the caretaker, and now, she’s been gifted somebody who will stop at nothing to take care of her.

She’s not exactly sure how she got so lucky, she doesn’t feel like she’s done a whole lot of good to deserve such wonderful karma, but she’s going to do everything in her power not to lose it that’s for sure.

They’re lying in Peter’s bed, door open with May’s voice drifting into the room where she’s humming in the kitchen, when she finally voices her thoughts.

“Thank you.” It’s not as elegant as she thought it would be, but it conveys her gratitude just as well, she can’t remember the last time she said those words.

Peter’s arm tightens around her waist, pulling her in without jostling her leg. “You don’t have to thank me for doing the bare minimum.”

“You put up with my stubborn ass, I think that’s more than doing the bare minimum.”

“I just wanted to help, that’s all. I’m sure you would’ve done the same if it were me.”

She pokes his injured wrist. “Except I didn’t.”

“I’m a superhero, Em. I don’t think it works exactly the same.”

And it doesn’t, he’s right.

He’ll help her take her books to class, find a safer shortcut, take her on a redo date, carry her up the stairs so she doesn’t have to try with crutches, help her in anyway she can throughout this.

And she’ll hold him when he wakes up with a cry of misery, nightmares of how he got his own injury plaguing his sleep. She’ll kiss his forehead and promise him that he’s okay, that she’s okay too, that he’s safe and sound with her. She’ll pull him close when the tears cease and hum to him, the same songs May does, until he falls asleep. And she’ll be there every time after the first too.

Relationships might not be equal. She can’t tend for his wounds because he heals at lightning speed, he doesn’t have to soothe any nightmares, she doesn’t need to help him with his family, and he doesn’t need to her worry about her every evening. But it’s fair. She’ll be there for him in any way she can, and he’ll be there for her in anyway he can.

“Thank you,” she repeats nonetheless.

“I love you,” he says.

She smiles, leans into his warmth the same way she’s been leaning into accepting his help. “I love you too.”

#lyss writes #peter parker #spiderman #michelle jones #petermj #peter parker/mj #mjpeter #spideychelle #spideychelle fic #may parker #ned leeds

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xxsmokeyy · 4 years

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ok so how about a story where (preferably bi) reader and levi both fall for petra and there's this competition between them as to who can win petras heart first but after petras death (or some other issue; your choice) they both mourn and bond with each other and realize that all those times they tried to outshine each other, they fell for each other instead

Levi x Petra x Bi! Reader (F) One Or The Other

genre: mild angst, fluff (healing)

summary: it’s a bit surprising that despite being rivals, both you and Levi have gotten through a lot together. before you know it, you’re already seeking refuge from one another.

tw: mentions of death

wc: 6,575

You know it’s a heck of a risk trying to aim for someone’s hand like Petra’s. She’s the entire definition of a dainty, lovely girl everybody admires, of course including you. Besides, you don’t even know if you stand a chance, not when there’s a tough guy your way.

Namely, Captain Levi.

Well, there’s another one named Oluo, but you don’t even think of him as a competition. Definitely not a threat as well.

“Hey,” you call the girl with strawberry blonde hair. She looks back at you with a smile and stands upright, wiping the sweat trickling down her neck. You watch as she tucks her hair behind both her ears to get rid of the stray fringes. Isn’t she just hot?

“Need help?” you ask, ready to give her a hand upon seeing her singlehandedly clean the stables.

“I don’t think Captain would allow that,” Petra says before petting the said man’s horse. “Am I right, big boy?” she talks to it, combing its black mane with her slender fingers. Adorable.

“One dick of a Captain we have, don’t you think?” you say, rolling your eyes heavenwards as the image of your superior passes by your mind. “Hmm, not really. I believe his austerity is right just the way it is,” she says in full decision. Of course. The one thing you don’t like about her is the way she worships the shitty Captain like some kind of noble man.

You let out a disappointed sigh, crossing your arms. “You have got to stop being a clean freak apologist, Petra. Unless you’re inlove with him or something,” you point out and take a step towards her, taking away the broomstick from her other hand.

She’s visibly spent to the bones, tending to the horses all by herself to meet the Captain’s regulations. He only always assigns one person per duty, saying soldiers should learn how to clean alone just as much as learning how to fight, which is an utterly dumb stance in your opinion.

When she blushes by your words, a small pang hits your heart. It’s just as you guessed.

Not that it’s not so achingly obvious enough these past few years, but it’s only gotten worse ever since the new 104th recruits joined the Scout Regiment. She keeps praising the dickhead in front of them whenever they ask about him, telling them a variety of stories stretching from way back, it’s ridiculous.

“I don’t!” She really doesn’t. She just idolizes him so much that it comes across as romance. People keep rubbing to her face that she’s inlove, though it’s definitely not what she feels.

Her denial nature and easily flustered reactions keep your spirits low, almost surmising with a conclusion that you had no chance at all if not for the fact that she never made romantic advances to him her whole stay in the army.

“You do,” you avert your gaze, not wanting her to notice the brewing jealousy in your eyes, else she might avoid you or act awkward if she finds out.

“I don’t!” she presses, accidentally pulling on the horse’s crest, forcing a neigh out of it. Petra apologizes to it like it can understand her. “If that isn’t definitely guilty, I don’t know what is,” you mumble under your breath, releasing another sigh as you start sweeping the scattered hay.

Once the Captain’s horse calms down, she faces you, hands on her waist, ready to explain her feelings in fine details. “Look—“

“Who said you can slack off?” Speak of the devil. Your conversation is given a good interruption when the dark haired man arrives.

Petra immediately fixes herself, fist slamming to her chest as acknowledgment of the Captain’s presence. “We weren’t, Captain! She just wanted to help me out,” Petra clarifies right away, voice firm and booming.

You feel the infamous pair of fierce eyes dart on you, and you briefly thank anything that first comes in mind for your current position, back facing the Captain so he can’t see your disgusted scowl.

You prep yourself and turn around, giving him a half-assed salute. “I just finished with the laundry. Thought I could give her a hand,” you say, tone almost holding no formality at all, “—sir,” you lazily add.

His brows twitch as he hears you out. Brat.

“I don’t recall telling everyone to work in pairs, neither of you understood that?” he pinpoints, staring you dead in the face. You’re not intimidated, though, not one bit. If you think I’m scared, you can kiss your own ass. “I insisted. In case you didn’t notice, she’s tired,” you inform, steadiness unwavering. What is even wrong with assisting someone? This merciless prick.

“Oh?” He walks toward you in strides, easily coming face-to-face with you in a span of seconds.

“Come to my office, Petra,” he orders without looking at her, and the woman gives you one last glance, then making off after giving him a polite yes. There it is. He’s about to show his true colors, you just know it.

“Cheap way to win her over,” Levi lowly spits at you, and you can feel his hot breath ghosting harshly over your face. “If you’re so kind, do it all over again,” he orders lastly, internally entertained by how your eyes shut close in fury, grip on the broomstick tightening.

As he finally steers to leave, you swear in your life you never wanted to hit someone so damn much it’d knock them out cold.

Levi heads back, footsteps fading into the background, and an exasperated groan leaves your mouth. You frustratedly throw the broom to the floor, startling his horse, which does nothing but make your blood boil stronger in your veins. Fuck him!

—

You lie down on the hard ground, even more deadbeat than the girl you opted to help. For shit’s sake, who knew this is what you get for volunteering to be of use? You can only imagine how the new cadets would have it hard once the Captain notices their mediocre cleaning skills.

It’s probably nearing curfew, you guess from the excessive appearance of stars in the skies, but your muscles are strained stiff you can’t come inside any time now. You were left with no choice but start from scratch. If you act up and not clean up to his standards, you’ll only get it way worse, so you decided not to push him further.

You sense someone approach you, and you strongly wish it isn’t Levi. He’s the last creature you’d like to see today.

Soft and familiar amber eyes greet yours from upside down, a petite body looming over you, and you couldn’t be anymore thankful. Petra gives you a sympathetic look before sitting down beside your laid form, keeping her hands behind her back.

“I told you,” she starts, “it’d be no good if Captain sees, but you insisted and he arrived! Now look at you, you’re absolutely exhausted, aren’t you?” she continues to scold, though it doesn’t strike you as a scolding. More of a concern, yes. A smile creeps up your lips.

“Just give me the bread,” you confidently say, and she sighs in defeat before revealing the pastry she had in hand. Your heart feels giddy as you sit up straight, taking the food she went out of her way to prepare. It’s like the tiredness just disappeared into thin air. What an angel.

Petra scrunches her nose as she watches you eat in speed. You cock a brow as you see her look at you like you’re— “Do I stink?” you frantically question and smell yourself all over. No way, you’ll definitely get points off now!

She giggles bubbly and shakes her head to dismiss your assumptions. “No, but you’re biting like you haven’t eaten in ages. That famished?” she asks once she’s calmed down.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks, unsure of what to think. She’s definitely an angel, especially when she smiles. You sigh for the nth time, “Obviously. Did you see how much of a bastard our Captain is? In all honesty, I’d prefer Hange as our squad leader,” you complain and resume to munching.

“I don’t know about that,” she says, gaze boring into yours. You tear your eyes off of her and stare at the horse stalls. “What did the old geezer make you do?”

“Nothing, just a bunch of paperwork,” she says truthfully. Oh, for all you know, he just wanted her all to himself. What an unfair move, using his authority to have her alone.

You angrily bite down on the bread, later realizing you’ve finished it. As she observes you, her eyes widen, suddenly remembering something. “I forgot your water!” she exclaims and rises to her feet, but you stop her before she can leave, grabbing her soft hand.

Your chest stutters involuntarily from the contact and you compose yourself right away. “It’s alright, I’ll get it myself. Go back to your room before Captain catches you,” you urgently say, not wanting her to get in trouble again. “Just help me up,” you ask to which she generously follows. You briefly wish the moment could last longer.

“You sure?” she quizzes when you finally stand up. Both of you heading inside, you nod and hum in agreement, “Thanks for the food.”

She gives you a smile as you both reach the halls, waving you goodbye before you part ways. Ahh, you feel all energetic now.

You walk to the mess hall, footsteps light and shallow. Judging from the dimly lit corridors, it must be a few minutes away from curfew. You just hope you don’t bump into some higher-ups. Hange’s fine, though.

As you push the door open, you regret it right away. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter unintelligibly. Aside from the raven haired man, the room is dead empty, a lone candle in a chamberstick providing dull light. Technically, he is the last creature you see tonight.

You have lost count of how many sighs you’ve released the whole day, all energy in your body draining once again. Steel eyes lock on you as you enter. There’s no turning back now. Well, at least Petra isn’t the one who found him here.

Levi cocks a brow as he watches you proceed inside, seemingly heading to the water jug. You stay quiet and take a glass, then filling it with water. As much as possible, you don’t want to converse with him.

He seems like he won’t let you succeed with that. “Done with the stables?” he asks, sipping on his tea.

“Yeah,” you curtly answer, not up for some bantering.

“Some goody two shoes you are,” he scoffs, ticking you off, but you refuse to let it show. You face him and lean your back against the counter. “Like you’re any better with your assholish attitude,” you sass him out, drinking on your water all the while remaining eye contact. You’ll show him.

“And you complain like the little brat that you are,” he rebuts.

“You’re just threatened that she might go for me behind your back when I just wanted to help,” you answer with a shrug, taking a few steps closer to the table he’s seated.

“Women like you like to play dirty.”

“You don’t know a thing about women,” you snide with a condescending smile, belittling the man before you. He can’t be one to talk about women when he treats you like shit. If there’s someone Petra might end up with, you sure as heck wouldn’t want it to be this guy.

He throws you a glare, piqued by your words before standing on his feet and and walking his way to you. You stay steady, unfazed by the intimidation he’s giving off.

“After all these years, do you seriously think you stand a chance?” he deadpans, which strikes straight to your feelings. He doesn’t have to emphasize that, you already know it, memorized it even.

“I don’t know, but it’d be just as much as a loss if she chooses you,” you say, slamming the glass you’re holding onto the table. After giving him one last glare, you turn your back on him, having enough of the senseless arguments.

He hates how you only ever treat him as a Captain in the battlefield, but not when you’re at ease. You always looked at him like an arch nemesis of the sort, not afraid to answer back at him like he doesn’t deserve your respect. He stressfully closes his eyes and massages his temples as you leave.

—

You sit on the bench, just in front of the Captain, who is currently beside your beloved Petra. Look at him making his moves. You roll your eyes discreetly, sipping on your fresh tea.

“What are you, on a diet or some crap?” Levi asks, finding Petra’s plate empty, bowl of soup halfway finished.

“No, I gave it to the girl you made run laps,” she informs, “she almost passed out, you know.” Right? you wanted to agree but decide to sit still and listen.

Levi doesn’t answer, and instead puts his own loaf of bread on her vacant dish. “Eat. We have an upcoming expedition,” he only says and sips on the liquid left in his cup. Petra’s cheeks turn into a feminine shade of pink, and you so wanted to pull her away from him. She exclaims a yes and starts munching. Great, I should’ve done that first.

You’re not about to put up without a fight, though.

“Dear Captain has to eat as well, don’t you think?” you sarcastically chime in, transferring your unmoved bread onto his plate. “Can’t have him thinned to bones when the walls get breached again,” you add, innocent smile downright infuriating to Levi’s eyes.

You desperately try to keep in your barging laugh to yourself as you watch him look at his plate disgustedly.

What do you say, Petra? I’m just as kind as he is, right? That show off.

Petra hums in agreement and nudges the Captain to eat, a string of hearty giggles leaving her velvet lips, alluring about a total of three people from the same table. You heart skips a round of beats as you watch her flash her toothy grins. Talk about an appetizing view.

Her giggles boil down as realization hits her. She gives you a mixed look of confusion and thoughtfulness, opening her mouth to speak and stop you on your tracks.

“But—”

You wave her off before she can shove her worries to you and prop yourself up, momentarily stretching your limbs in relaxation to then pick up your dirtied china.

“Don’t worry, Petra, I’m already full,” confidence brimming in your tone, you tell her and take your leave. But not without giving the Captain one last glimpse. It was even more appetizing to see him pissed.

Your other comrades only watch in awe as they see the unnamed rivalry uncover ahead of their eyes, your victorious smile determining the whose triumph it is for today.

How about that?

—

When you finish with dish duty, you head to the dining area once more to check if the sconce candles are extinguished, only to find them still lit and burning, with a side of holy bastard, as you like to call him. Of all people.

“Here again? What is this, your lounge room or something?” you mockingly ask and take a seat in front of him, wiping your wet hands on your pants. He ignores you.

You purse your lips out of observation. He must be a tea addict, having another one after dinner. “Are you always here every night?” you ask again, initiating a genuine conversation.

He finally looks at you and sets his tea on the table, a bit surprised by your question. “I am,” he answers. You nod, about to ask another question but he beats you to it.

“I’m removing you from the flank,” he suddenly blurts, taking you aback. What? Your rested face visibly loses composure as your brows furrow together.

“What do you mean? Is it because I shitted on you earlier? Oh please, do you think I’ll hit on Petra while on a mission?” you continuously spurt in one go, hackles slowly raising.

“It’s not about her. Erwin specifically asked for you to join his group since you apparently answered him right,” he remarks, completely calm. You are smart, that’s already a given that he knows, it’s just that feelings can get over the best of you that he doesn’t find rational.

Your ragged breathing upon taking him the wrong way steadies as you listen. “The Commander?” you confirm and he grunts his response. “Alright then, you better watch over her in my stead.”

Levi takes a glance at you, steel grey eyes holding an unreadable expression, which you find amusing and triggers a laugh out of you. It’s like his answer should have been already staring you in the face. Naturally, he’ll do that without you ordering him.

He can be cute at times, can’t he? In a funny way of course, you inwardly clear out.

Meanwhile, he thinks you’re out of your mind as you humor yourself. He’d honestly like it if you just leave him alone right now, which you eventually did, waving him goodbye.

The night before the expedition, you pay Petra’s room a short visit.

She answers the door within three quiet knocks. “Hey,” you greet with a smile and she offers to let you in forthrightly. “No! It’s fine, I just need a few seconds,” you dismiss.

“What is it?” she curiously asks, now face to face with you as you stand in her doorway.

“I won’t be with you tomorrow, so you better take care. Stick with Gunther, or Oluo. If possible, not with the Captain,” you whisper the last bit jokingly, but she ignores it and only questions why you’re separated. You explain the situation to her, leaving out the confidential details.

Petra nods, stroking her chin. You notice she’s already in her nightwear and is probably prepared to sleep, so you decide to return to your own quarters.

“Take care, alright?” you remind, eyes boring into her borderline gold ones. They were pretty and gentle, a pair you always adored through the years.

Petra wishes you the same and then a good night, strongly wanting to unite with you safely after the mission you could feel it deep inside you.

As you look at her, you‘re certain that you haven’t met a more loving person your whole life. Will there ever come a time that you’d confess to her? Probably not. If you’re being frank, you don’t think what you feel for her is that deep a love that you’d go out of your way to initiate a romantic bond. If nothing else, it might only be admiration, an attachment at most. You like her, that goes without saying, but there isn’t any room for in depth involvement, especially not in this line of work, you think.

The door to her room finally closed, you spin to get your own shuteye, only to see a familiar figure from a little distance.

The candlelights on the halls define the highest points of the man’s face beautifully, and you identify him without a hitch, dull grey orbs meeting yours.

“Let her sleep, and get your rest,” he briefly says before making off. Your eyes slightly largen from the lack of interaction, as opposed to the reprimanding you expected. Was he supposed to say his regards to her as well?

In all fairness, he didn’t go for your neck this time. Well, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Morning comes quickly, along with the falling into formation as sketched, the deployment of operation, and the arrays of discoveries you found in the progress. Everything happened quickly, and before you know it, the expedition is given an official beat to retreat.

You stand on the same branch as the Commander, waiting for his signal to flee after fighting off the wave of titans to defend the target. Three pair of your blades are blunted down to nubs from the excessive charges, and you think for a moment if you should replace them with new ones.

Catching your breath, you wipe dry your dampened skin and clothes. You watch as he idly chat with the Captain, instructing him to refill his gases. For what? I thought it’s over?

Levi listens to what he’s told, perceivably on his guard. Why is he even here? Where are the others? When you’re just about to call Levi’s attention, Erwin catches sight of you and the confusion resounding from your aura. He then permits you to break away from his flank and reunite with your own squad, and you gladly follow.

You first help clean up with the immobilizing equipment used on the spy, telling Hange to prepare for withdrawal. She passes the message onto the other soldiers, commanding them to bestride their horses to then get going.

You still don’t know where to find your teammates, so you stick with the higher-ups a little longer.

Since you’ll travel by horse from here on, you decide not to meddle with your gears anymore. You hop on the saddle and lightly yank the reigns to start moving, and with everyone else, you ride through the woods, thousands of questions ready inside your head.

A few moments later, you hear Erwin converse with Hange regarding the spy, about how they must still be alive and how they must’ve blended in by now. You feel the tension rising as you listen to his assumptions, trying to register everything he’s trying to come across with, and it all makes sense when you hear two consecutive thundering of little intervals.

You quickly turn around and swerve, shifting your weight to guide your horse back to where the booming sound came from. It’s the alleged sound intelligent titans make when they transform, and you know push has come to shove if you hear two of them.

As far as you remember, the key weapon was situated together with your squad, you being the only one left out, so you’ll find them where Eren is. You let your horse gallop in great speed, heart thumping loudly in your chest it’s almost deafening. Please, be safe.

It feels like decades have already gone by when you arrive at the terrorizing scene of carnage.

You put your horse to an abrupt halt and jump off, cold sweat breaking without control as you stumble upon corpses and corpses you achingly recognize, the life in their eyes strenuously extracted. Gunther, Eld, Oluo… Petra.

An immense vertigo hits your head, your field of vision blurring upon seeing them drained of consciousness. You refuse to accept the view, shaking your head like a child in utmost declination. It seems you’ve only followed behind the Captain, finding him looking at the same plight.

“Levi…” you helplessly call as if seeking for refuge and saving. But it horrifies you the most when you meet his dead gaze deprived of rest, almost exactly looking like theirs, striking violently at your heart. No, not you, too…

Streams of tears shed endlessly from the corners of your eyes, and Levi doesn’t know what to do. He’s beyond pained, watching the only comrade he has left on his team slowly break down due to the shambles. He can’t afford to be frozen by the fathomless torment he’s currently trying to overcome, nor does he have the luxury to stay by your side and console you.

He has no choice but to keep moving.

“Call the others for assistance and put their bodies on a carriage,” are the last words he gives you before taking his leave, wires zipping and clutching into the surfaces of the tree barks as he skillfully maneuvers with his gear.

You think for a second, is he that used to losing people? but you completely miss out on how he slashes the giant enemy in great anger, expertly cutting flesh like he’s never done before as if it’s his only chance to momentarily pour out his emotions, all the while trying to stay objective.

Your whole body weakens and you fall to your knees, getting a closer look at the dead woman before your sight. Your hand acts on its own, stretching out to painstakingly tuck Petra’s locks behind her ear like how she always styled it. Your lips tremble as you attempt to fight your threatening sobs back.

She has slipped out from both your reaches.

Since then, you limited your interactions to those that were only really necessary, because for the first time in a while, you feel utterly alone. Years of having the sweet girl by your side all gone into the dust, along with the overwhelming loss of your whole squad, everything is weighing you down.

Flashes of memories come at the most misplaced time every now and then, and you can’t handle it when it triggers in public, causing you to lock yourself up in your room, weeping in secret.

You can’t be any more thankful to your Captain for letting you wallow in your own way of coping. Most importantly, though a small part of you still doesn’t want to admit, you’re more than grateful he stayed alive all throughout the last of the mission, coming back home with you.

You still remember the hurt in his eyes that no matter how hard he attempted to conceal, still peers out. It was visible when you had no choice but to throw the bodies out of the carriages, bringing not a single fallen soldier back. It was visible when Petra’s father asked the Captain for his daughter, even going as far as spilling his plans of arranging a marriage between the two young pair.

It’s haunting you so much, you haven’t had an hour of sleep after arriving back even if there’s an upcoming operation. Despite it being against your will, you frequently wonder how he’s doing.

One night, you find yourself walking through the halls, unable to force your mind to just shut down and rest without stressing out for the uncountable time.

You don’t know why you’re fully decisive of where to go and who to find. You don’t know why you feel calmer every step further. You don’t know why you’re so eager as you push on the wooden doors of the mess hall. You don’t know why you already expected to see him there.

“Oh, look at the old geezer drinking his tea in the dark. Do you know what time it is? It’s past curfew,” you inform sarcastically, voice also forging a front to sound normal. It’s not yet past curfew, you just want to tick him off.

“You’re only four years younger, and it’s not,” Levi answers as he lets his eyes land on yours. It’s obvious you’re only trying to clown around, the exhaustion in your face giving away your crestfallen state.

“What? How do you know that?” you ask, scandalized.

“I recognize the time.”

“I meant my age?”

“Because I am your Captain, woman. Don’t push me,” he hisses and brings his teacup into his mouth, the hot beverage staining on his tongue just the way he likes it. Even more so that it’s the only thing he can rely on at the moment. That’s what he thinks.

You scowl and sigh. Fair enough.

You take a seat in front of him and he gives you an unreadable look, as usual. Does he feel intruded? All of a sudden, you feel shy, hoping you’re not bothering him.

“What? I won’t mess with you, I’m tired,” you argue upon seeing him stare you down like something’s off with you.

Levi studies your expression, finding your face a bit similar to his in a not so positive way. With a shallow sigh, he decides to let you be and do what you want.

You prop your cheek on your elbow and maintain eye contact. “How’s your leg?” you quiz, genuinely curious of his current condition. The bastard brought home an injury as souvenir, rendering him downright useless for the plans the Scouts had right ahead.

“Not good,” he says, earning him a hum in response. The longer he lets his glance stay on yours, the more he notices the little details in the way you presented yourself.

Tonight, you spared no effort in fixing your hair, still a bit messy from the tossing and turning earlier in desperate hopes to fall asleep. Your lips were dry and chapped, he notes to call you out for it later. For all he knows, you might be dehydrated already. Your eyes? Unquestionably racked with pain.

You rest your face on top of your overlapped arms and settle to find a comfortable position.

“Go to your room if you want to sleep,” he orders, which you only ignore. Does he seriously think you’ve been able to sleep these days? Because you’re sure as heck he can’t with those dark under eyes of him. “Your neck will only get stiff in that position,” he adds.

Something about the company he generously, though not obviously, offers makes your eyelids fall shut in ease, his baritone voice helping your nerves compose themselves.

“I said I’m tired, give me a break…” you gradually lose volume as you speak, slowly drifting off without knowing.

Levi clicks his tongue when you finally succumb to drowsiness.

It’s not like he doesn’t have any options left, but he couldn’t do anything as he stays all night to watch over you. Surprisingly enough, the company felt comforting that he can’t bring himself to leave.

Couple hours later, he’s still up and reading a book when he hears a soft whimper escape your lips. Levi takes a glimpse at you and is a bit baffled to catch sight of a lone driblet trickling from your lids.

Sighing, he feels inclined to wipe it away with his thumb in sympathy and does as his subconscious says. The moment his calloused finger touches your skin, he realizes that you were undeniably warm. So much for a brat like you.

When you wake up, you feel a heavy cloth wrapped around your soldiers. You check the surroundings and remember falling asleep in the dining, later seeing that the fabric is a tan jacket, a uniform. The familiar scent enters your nostrils, and you name its owner right away.

An involuntary wave of heat rises to your cheeks and you’re uncertain why. It’s Captain Levi’s.

It makes you contemplate out of nowhere, was it wrong to treat him like a competition?

Thinking about it, you kind of regret not being casual with him. Without question, you’re not really in best terms with him, having an eye for the same person for a long time, that should be understood. He’s an outstanding soldier, that you can admit, but you can’t exactly put up with his strict ways at times, some of it coming off as irrational.

Maybe you should really just accept the fact that he’s a great Captain nevertheless. Because even though you viewed him like that all this time, he’s still being considerate in some ways.

A small smile forms on your lips. You definitely should start warming up to him. He’s the only team you’ve got left.

—

Tray in hand, you enter the Captain’s room, not bothering with a knock. To hell with that, I’ve got a handful, if he complains about his privacy or some crap, I’ll shove this damn food to his face.

Yes, you decided to bring him his lunch after the successful-fail raid in Stohess District. Honestly, you’re damn tired to the bones, but you take it upon yourself to give Levi a short visit.

He gives you an annoyed stare, obviously not expecting your company, and you only roll your eyes. “What’s that?” he asks.

“Food. What, is your old age getting to you? Need some glasses?” you talk back, not up for his dumb question.

Things aren’t going so well for the Survey Corps, political stances going against your brigade, comrades dying one by one you’re not entirely sure if their death was in vain or not. It’s only a miracle the Commander found a way to nullify the consequences about to come your way. That’s why Levi better not raise your hackles bad or your brain will completely explode in front of him.

He ignores your sardonic jest and eyes the tray, primarily looking for the tea, if you brought one. You did. But he keeps his hands to himself for a while.

“It’s too early for dinner, and I could’ve gone to get my own food.” An exasperated sigh escapes your throat, hearing his argument.

“This is your late lunch, sir,” you inform candidly, taking him by surprise. True enough, you didn’t mean to be so observant, but you saw him skip lunch earlier before the raid. Heck, this isn’t even the first time he deliberately missed it. You know he’s still unwell and at a loss just as much as you are—maybe even worse, and that’s preventing him from taking care of himself.

Of course, he’s still your Captain whom you’re willing to serve, wholeheartedly, at that. Hence, you’re going to take care of him if he’s not doing it himself, whether he likes it or not. If even this guy leaves you, then you’ll probably arrive at the end of your wits.

With an exasperated sigh, you set his meal on top of the nightstand right beside his bed. “Are you enjoying being a useless Captain?” you cross your arms and quiz, having enough of his prideful attempts for rejection.

“Tch, you know full well I’m not,” he answers and averts his glance, looking outside the window and the dimming skies.

“Then eat your food and stop complaining,” you lastly command, real bossy and assertive that he’s on the brink of cocking a brow in question.

He falls silent. You were right, he won’t get any better if he continues to mistreat himself. Besides, it’s already you who went out of your way to prepare him food, he shouldn’t just let that go to waste. Finally giving in, Levi first grabs the teacup by its mouth and takes a sip, nose immediately scrunching in repulsion upon tasting the beverage. You might be trying to poison him, after all.

“This tea is shit.”

“I said stop complaining.”

—

A whole different wave of hurdles and complications just got overcome after the wall breach alarm got deemed false, and three new intelligent titans were revealed. Seeming as though those weren’t even enough, humanity’s key weapon got kidnapped as well. Naturally, a rescue operation was deployed to action, losing a ton more soldiers in the process.

Everything is starting to become overwhelming, you’re both physically and mentally exhausted, and emotionally. Everything is beginning to feel like a pain in the neck, as if the Scout Regiment didn’t have that way from the start.

It’s actually just as you guessed. When you went outside without a full functioning team and a Captain to follow orders from, you felt lost and misplaced. The novel experience was depressing, to say the least, moving forward without the ones you’ve fought side by side with through the years.

You can’t help but find yourself looking for a familiarity, a middle ground of the sort. Feeling like a storm is building up inside you for trying to suppress your problems all by yourself.

On the low spirited trip back, you eventually realize you needed someone. And who else is there aside from him?

You ride your horse back to the walls, aching for his presence. Anything that has to do with him, you want to see and feel.

It’s almost like vexing decades have passed when you arrive and return to the headquarters. You hop off your horse, movements slow and back hunched, aura visibly despondent.

Your half lidded eyes desperately scan the fields to search for that one person, comforting satisfaction taking over your entire body as you find him standing a few meters away from your form.

Funnily enough, he was waiting for you just the same.

Levi couldn’t decipher what shitty smile you tried to give him, it was only plain pitiful in his eyes that his guts are telling him to walk over to you and give you a welcome. He didn’t have to do it, though.

Because maybe you did the first step. Maybe you took big strides or maybe you eagerly ran to his figure to feel his warmth against your body. But nothing else matters when you reach out both your trembling arms to him, now wrapped around his sturdy body, locking him in an embrace you never thought you’d feel your whole life.

You slowly descend to a sobbing mess, completely abandoning the idea of you looking like a mere crybaby in his eyes. He’ll surely bring this up some other time, but damn that. All you know is that you needed this, badly.

It’s shameful, being fully aware that you’re slowly eating your words. Whenever you think of how you put the tiny distance between you and him, you just want to slap your palm across your face. In reality, he isn’t so bad.

You want to thank him for letting you free yourself and let it all out, but your awfully shaky sobs are hindering you from doing so.

Levi senses your exhaustion, and a whole other variety of intense emotions. You’ve been keeping some burden to yourself, too. It’s amusing to him in a way that you’re both similar in a lot of things. Especially in the bad habit of bottling oneself up, assuming it’d do any better.

Deep down, he’s glad you let loose and opened your walls to him. He cares for you, after all.

As you weep against his chest, lungs stuttering and eyes turning bloodshot, Levi allows his hand to pat your back, lightly stroking it to make you calm down.

It is, indeed, wordlessly reassuring, telling you that he was there. You never imagined that of all people, he had the ability to offer the exact solace you’re looking for, just with the simple gesture.

For once, he lets it slide that you’re all bloody, sweaty, dirty, filthy—name it—when making contact with him. He just doesn’t know that needed this as well. In fact, the entire time you were away, his foot mindlessly tapped in full expectancy of your arrival, waiting with bated breath. Not like he’ll admit that.

“Don’t you dare speak,” you threaten amidst your shaky hiccups, and he almost finds it amusing how you can still manage to act so tough in front of him when you’re already breaking down against him.

He secretly heaves out a sigh, the expression of relief escaping your ears, “Brat.”

Both of you stand there underneath the twilight to dusk horizon, ignoring how some of your subordinates watch you in shock, or how you’re not halfway the trouble yet, still utterly clueless of what lies ahead. Because right now, you were still together. You had each other, someone to lean on in this wretched mess.

Without the two of you knowing precisely why, both your hearts feel a tad bit alive.

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sunmoonandeddie · 4 years

Text

thanks for the memories

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3,002

summary: Bucky’s lived a long life.

warnings: Some h*ckin’ words. Angst with a happy ending.

a/n: So like. This is kinda short. At least it feels like it is. It’s also an idea from that fake fic ask meme I did. But I cried writing this. Let me know what you think!

Bucky took a deep breath as he came to a stop. The trek became harder and harder to make every week, but nothing short of death could stop him from coming. A bouquet of red roses hung from his hand. The same flowers he brought every time.

“Hi, angel,” he said, his voice cracking. It was the first time he’d spoken in a few days.

After all, his children and his friends were dead. He didn’t have the energy to make friends with the new members of the Avengers or anyone else. The most human interaction he got nowadays was when his grandkids called once a week to catch up.

But there was no one he wanted to talk to except for you.

It frustrated him, that he didn’t have the strength to make it more than once a week anymore. He used to come every day. Sometimes more. It was his favorite place in the world.

It had concerned Sam when he was still alive. But he didn’t know you. He didn’t understand like Steve had before he’d died.

And now here he was, finally catching up with all of his loved ones. His skin had wrinkled, his hearing had partially gone. His bones ached with every step he took.

The head stone in front of him didn’t give him an answer, but it didn’t need to. He could feel your presence even just standing here. It was the only place the voices in his head went quiet and he could just be.

Knowing that it would be a pain to get up later, he eased himself down onto the soft grass. His joints creaked painfully as he moved to rest against the head stone. Running his fingers across the weathered stone, he read your name out loud. “You know, I’m still mad that they didn’t give you my last name,” he said with a faint chuckle. “But I guess the government doesn’t recognize elopements in Austria.” The early winter wind brought a chill with it that went straight to his bones. Seasons nowadays just weren’t like they used to be. “Doesn’t matter. You’re still Mrs. Barnes to me.”

If he focused enough, he could picture you sitting next to him. You’d have that pretty green dress that you’d worn for him when all the soldiers and nurses got to go out dancing. Your hair had been perfectly curled, left unpinned for once. It was nice to see you out of your uniform.

“I wish you were here,” he said, tears springing to his eyes. “I feel so alone. Stevie’s gone, Sam’s gone. Nat’s gone.” He picked at one of the roses in the bouquet, tearing off the petals absentmindedly. “Even the kids are gone.”

His beautiful children. He’d never dated another woman, never got married. But after he’d retired as an active member of the Avengers and took on a position as a trainer, he’d finally gotten to settle down. The questions about his mental stability had been answered, and he’d been declared fit to raise a child.

It was then that he adopted Brienne, Alexei, Poppy, Mateo, and Eliza. His little war orphans. There’d been more that he’d fostered, giving them a home until they found their forever family.

It had been years since they’d died, leaving him with five more permanent holes in his heart.

Their children, his grandchildren, had all scattered around the globe, chasing their dreams and settling down. They all called at least once a week, visiting several times a year, but still.

“Sometimes I wish I’d never gotten that stupid serum,” he said as he looked out over the head stones that surrounded him.

He’d had to fight to have you buried in Brooklyn. You were originally buried in your hometown, but your family had agreed to have you moved to the city after he’d explained the situation to them. You were buried with the rest of the Barnes. His mother and father were buried in the plot to your left, and his sister, Rebecca, was buried in the plot to your right.

And when he died, he’d be buried right next to you as your husband.

“I keep asking myself why I survived the serum and you didn’t,” he murmured, his clouded blue eyes drifting up to the dreary September sky. You always did love the rain. You told him it brought new beginnings. It washed away the wrongs from before. “I think the only reason I’ve lived this long is for our kids. So I could find them and take care of them. Give them a home just like we always wanted to.”

“Bucky?”

“Yeah, angel?” He was sitting in a dirty cell with twenty other men, but he was only paying attention to you. You were being held in the cage right next to his, and the bars were far enough apart that he could slip his hand through to hold your hand. His thumb brushed over the little band on your left hand ring finger. It was covered in dirt and grime from being stuck in this prison for who knows how long now, the diamond unable to shine.

You hated it. You hated that your ring was dirty. And sure, it wasn’t much. Bucky had never had a lot of money, and he’d spent what he had on this little ring at a jewelry store in Vienna when they’d passed through a few months before.

It was there in Vienna that you two had found a little chapel and officially became a married couple, despite your families not being there and the priest not understanding English. Dum Dum ended up translating for them, and they’d left the church as Mr. and Mrs. Barnes.

“There’s gonna be a lot of kids without families after this,” you whispered, a melancholy in your voice that he only heard when you two were alone. You didn’t like the men seeing you upset, said it wasn’t fitting of a nurse. I’m supposed to be the one making all y’all feel better, Bucky, you’d said months ago when he’d asked why. The other men in the cell were asleep, and you’d finally been able to let down your mask.

He hummed, leaning his head against the cold bars, trying to get as close to you as possible. The sweet smell of your shampoo was long gone. “Yeah.”

“Can we… I think…” You swallowed as you tried to find the right words. “When you bring me home to Brooklyn, can we adopt a bunch of them?”

“Yeah?” He said, sitting up a little straighter as a smile tugged at his lips. The first in days. “You wanna have a bunch of little babies runnin’ around?”

And your smile was so sweet and so real that his heart just melted. “Wanna have a family with you, Buck.” You reached up to run your fingers through his greasy hair. “We’ll have a little house with a big yard and a porch, so we can watch all of ‘em run around. And I’ll finally get to meet Steve, and we’ll have him over for dinner every week.”

His heart swelled as the picture formed in his mind. He could see it so clearly. It was so close but so far away.

You two just had to survive this damn war.

“I’ll give you all the little babies you want,” he said with a warm smile. “We’ll singlehandedly raise all of Europe’s war orphans.”

The two of you froze as you heard the door opening. There were several sets of footsteps and the jingling of keys, and he knew what was about to happen next.

He could only hope that they were there for him this time, and not you.

“No… No, no, no,” you whimpered as you clutched onto his hand tighter than before. You were still so weak from when they’d taken you for the experiments the day before, and you knew it was only a matter of time before they came for Bucky again, but you just wanted to scream and kick and fight until they left him alone.

He’d already gone through the injections twice before you even went once. You’d seen how he’d changed. He’d come back bigger, more muscular. He healed quicker from the little scratches that came from sleeping on a concrete floor. He didn’t require as much food and water as before.

You, however… You just seemed to get weaker and weaker with each injection. No matter how much of his food that he gave you, it didn’t seem to help.

The group of men appeared before you, unlocking the cell to reach in and grab him. He didn’t bother to fight them, knowing that they would only threaten you to get him to comply.

But you clung to his hand, screaming at the men as you tried to hang on. The other soldiers were waking to your protests, growing more alert as they realized what was happening.

“LET HIM GO!” You shouted at them, your throat growing hoarse. Tears streamed down your cheeks, revealing your skin underneath the dirt that covered you. “STOP IT!”

If Bucky wasn’t so terrified of what was at the end of the hall, he would wax poetic about how you were still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen even while sobbing your eyes out.

The cry you let out when his hand was torn from yours was so guttural and raw it made several of the men flinch back. You were standing on shaky legs, your knees threatening to buckle the longer that you stood. Your arm was reaching through the spaces between the bars despite the fact that he was way out of reach and almost out of sight. “BUCKY!”

He kept trying to look back at you, wanting to savor the image of you so that he could keep it in his mind until this round of injections was over. He was happy to see Morita moving to comfort you, helping you back down to the ground to keep you from hurting yourself.

Maybe he’d think of your wedding day instead, and the way you sounded when you told him you loved him.

Yeah. That sounded better than thinking of you crying over him. He’d think of that.

Bucky wasn’t sure how long he’d sat out in the cemetery, drifting in and out of his memories.

He’d lived a long life. A good one, despite the fact that there were some pretty rough chunks.

The only thing that he regretted was that he wasn’t able to do more to help you. He hadn’t been able to stop those HYDRA dicks from injecting you with the serum. It had been too much for your body to handle, a stronger version of what they’d given him. They’d thought that you’d need more as a woman, according to Howard Stark.

Which was just complete bullshit. You were the strongest person he’d ever met.

He hadn’t been allowed to go home with your body. He hadn’t gotten to meet anyone from your family until after he’d broken out of HYDRA’s control back in 2014.

And now, over a century later, he was ready to rest.

Truthfully, he’d been ready for rest for a long time, but the serum had kept him from dying.

But he could feel the end coming closer. It was his time.

He didn’t even have the energy to get up and go back to his empty house.

A bit of sun broke through the clouds, warming his face. It was almost like a sign. You were there. You were ready to receive him with open arms.

He leaned his head back against the headstone, shivering as his bald spot rested against the cool marble. “Whenever you want me, angel. I’m ready.”

The next day, Jamie sighed into the phone as she climbed out of her car, heading into the cemetery. “No, he wasn’t at home. I told him I was gonna be coming today. Maybe he forgot.”

As much as she hated to admit it, despite the super soldier serum that had kept him alive so long, her grandfather was growing older. His strength had been the first to go, followed by his hearing. It wouldn’t be too much of a shock if he’d started to lose his memory, too.

God, she hoped not. As much as her grandfather loved her and her siblings and cousins, she knew that his memories of you were what kept him going. His loving wife, torn from him too soon, that wanted to create your own family with him.

And even though none of them had ever gotten to meet you, Jamie’s mom and aunts and uncles all said that you were their mother.

“I’m at the cemetery now,” she said as she headed for the Barnes’s family plots. Her cousin, named after you, was supposed to be coming to visit with her tomorrow. “I don’t—” She broke off as she spotted him, breaking into a run. “Grandpa?!”

Jamie could hear her cousin’s voice shouting through the phone, demanding to know what was going on, but she let it fall to the ground as she sank to her knees.

James Buchanan Barnes was dead at two hundred and fourteen years old.

He was resting peacefully against your head stone, the red roses he always brought hanging limply from his hand.

He looked… at peace. The tension that had always resided in his shoulders had dissipated.

He was at rest.

“Buck?”

Bucky hummed, his eyes still closed as he began to stir.

A familiar giggle filled the air. “Bucky!”

A giggle he hadn’t heard in almost two centuries.

His limbs felt heavy in the best way as he shifted, the mattress beneath him cool. The sheets twisted around him, keeping him warm without stifling him.

“My love…” A soft touch along his cheek, a caress that he’d dreamt about every night. Dainty fingers that used to be calloused from the hard work of war. “It’s time to wake up.”

Bucky’s eyes slowly fluttered open, the soft light of the room somehow not making him recoil in shock.

“There he is.”

His eyes popped open as he realized that you were leaning over him. The prettiest smile he’d ever seen was painted on your lips. Lips he’d spent hours kissing. “Angel? You’re… You’re…”

You simply nodded, shushing him as you urged him to relax. “I’m here. I’m here. It’s okay.”

“You look just as gorgeous as you did back in forty-three,” he croaked. The smile he was rewarded with warmed him down to his toes, calming his soul in a way he hadn’t felt since the war. He pushed himself up suddenly, blue eyes wide. “There was never anyone else. Only you.”

“I know, I know,” you reassured him, pushing his hair back. “I wouldn’t have been upset with you if there was. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy.”

“Couldn’t ever look at another gal that way,” he said, leaning his forehead against yours. “Not when I’d already found the love of my life. No one could ever compare to you.”

Your laugh was teary as you pressed your lips to his tentatively, almost like you were scared to. “I’ve waited so long for you. I’ve missed you so much.”

Bucky swallowed around the lump in his throat as his fingers threaded through your hair, pulling you in for another searing kiss. Neither of you noticed that you were crying until you tasted the salty tears on your lips. “I’ve missed you, too.” He sniffled. “All I ever wanted to do was make you proud.”

“Silly boy,” you whispered, nose nudging against his. “That’s all you’ve ever done. You gave me children even when I couldn’t be there to help raise them.”

His brows furrowed as he looked around the room, realizing that it was the master bedroom of his house in Brooklyn. It was decorated differently, but definitely still his house. “Is this…”

Nodding, you slipped out of the bed, holding your hand out for him to take. “I’ve been waiting for you here since forty-three.”

He took your hand without hesitation, allowing you to pull him out of the bed and out the bedroom door. A fondness creeped into his smile as he saw the photos lining the halls. Pictures of you and your family, of your children, of him. Never before seen photos of you with the kids.

“Come on, my love,” you said, already two steps down the staircase. Your eyes were bright as you stared up at him. “We’ve got people waiting for us.”

The fourth stair from the bottom still creaked, and it was then that he realized the body he was in. His hands were young again. His muscles didn’t strain with every step. His bones didn’t creak.

He was young again.

“Yes, you have your hair back,” you teased, reading his mind like you always did. Your voice was clear as a bell, the best thing he’d heard in decades.

His heart caught in his throat as you pulled him towards the back door, the sound of voices growing louder. “Are…”

Opening up the back door in the kitchen, you revealed all of his friends and family that he’d lost over the years. Alexei and Eliza were playing a pickup game of football with Sam, Peter, and the Howling Commandos. Steve was manning the grill, chatting with his father and Mateo about who knows what. Natasha was sharing a plate of fresh strawberries with Poppy. Peggy was standing off to the side with his mother, Rebecca, and Brienne like it was just a random Sunday.

There were so many others that he thought he’d lost over the years. Loved ones he never thought he’d see again.

His eyes pricked with fresh tears as your hand slipped into his, squeezing. A reassurance that you were there by his side.

And you’d never leave it again.

#bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction

1K notes · View notes

zzariyowords · 4 years

Text

alright, alright. i’m posting this in hopes that it’ll push me to finish the actual update.

here’s a 5 page worth of words I wrote out for the next update when I was so invested in my thoughts of meelo that I totally and completely forgot how the climax and ending was supposed to go and didn’t think of how this would rock the boat too much. i hope one or two people will get a kick out of this. maybe foam a little at the mouth like i did. i’ll consider it a piece of my AU’s AU lol

there’s like. A spoiler but it’s not much of a spoiler, I think. Also I haven’t looked at it or edited it in a while so there may be some mess ups.

____

They went back to drinking their tea until mid-sip, Revali asked, “Speaking of, why did you follow me up there in the first place? Was there something?” Immediately, Meezuli’s whole face tightened and it was clear that there was definitely something.

“I-Well, you know-” She was tripping over what should have been a simple question, averting her eyes from Revali until she gave an awkward smile and blurted, “I originally came up to punch you for upsetting Meelo.”

They both blinked.

Revali frowned, as his first reaction was to be insulted that she came to hit him, up until he thought about how shocked and sad Meelo looked after he overheard him and Teba. And then his stomach dropped the same way it did then.

He had just assumed, or rather, hoped, that Meelo left because he genuinely felt like he was interrupting, not because he was that upset. Stupid.

“I upset him that much?”

Meezuli ground her beak and nearly tossed her saucer onto the floor so she could slap her hands on her knees. “You did! And I wonder why. Maybe ‘cause you screamed about fucking Link in front of him, you idiot!”

“But why would he be so upset to warrant you to punch me?” Revali squawked back.

Instantly, Meezuli’s face went blank and she was quiet for a second. “Oh. Oh, you don’t know, do you?”

Revali folded his arms. “What don’t I know?”

“How Lo feels about you…?”

His cheek feathers ruffled. He scratched his face and looked away. “Well...I...I know that sometimes things got...Well, maybe a little intimate between us, but I didn’t that it-”

Meezuli ground her beak again. “That it what? That it didn’t mean anything?” She threw her hands up to grab onto Revali’s face and knocked on his skull. “For our Champion, you really don’t have anything knocking around in that giant head of yours, do you?!”

With what limited control he had of his face with Meezuli’s clutching onto him, he grimaced and spat, “Excuse me?”

As a response, Meezuli started to shake him and yelled in his face, “Meelo is head over heels for you, birdbrain! Totally nuts, bonkers, wacko over you!”

Every feather on Revali’s body stood on end. And his skin underneath it scorched.

He had known that there was something, but nothing that serious. Not serious enough that knowing what happened between him and Link would hurt him.

Revali was caught between feeling immeasurably guilty and inexplicably happy, knowing how Meelo felt. Knowing the real meaning behind Meelo's words when he told Revali how much he meant to him.

“Everyone in the village knows it. Except you, apparently!”

“For...For how long?” He hesitantly asked, his beak bone dry.

“Basically since the beginning! How could you not-” She released Revali, groaning, then balled up her fists. “Din Almighty, I want to punch you so hard right now.”

Revali tried to flatten his feathers, trying to get them to stay down, but he couldn’t. All he could do was think of Meelo. Think of how during all the nights Revali was thinking about Link, Meelo was probably thinking about him the same way. About all those moments that Revali brushed off to go back to thinking about Link, and much they probably meant to Meelo.

“But...I…”

Meezuli let out a guttural sigh, rolled her head. “Meelo was so upset because he’s so into you and lately really thought he could have a serious chance. Even when Link was here and you two were attached at the hip, both me and Teba told him he didn’t have anything to worry about. Because, you know, everyone in Hyrule knows he’s engaged to that stuck up fish prince. But then you-” She balled her fists up and groaned again, loudly, up at the roof.

“I thought you said you were on my side!” Revali spat, brushing down his crown.

She huffed, then waved her hands. “I am, I am. I just can’t help but be mad on Meelo’s behalf, okay?” Clasping her hands together, she went on. “But, because I know Meelo can get over this and you’re dealing with a lot more...I will try to be unbiased. And from my unbiased standpoint, I gotta ask this again.” Meezuli leaned in and pointed her hands at Revali. “How do you feel about Lo?”

Revali sputtered and had to work on flattening his feathers again.

“Is he just a friend to you? Did all that 'intimacy' you mentioned really not mean anything?”

She might've said that she would be unbiased, but the pleading look in her eyes said otherwise. It was intense enough that Revali had to look away and think, all the while brushing his cheeks to flatten the feathers.

Maybe it should’ve been a simple answer, but it wasn’t.

After all the time he spent with him. After all the gentle smiles and soft laughs Meelo gave him, it wasn’t easy.

After Meelo shielded onlookers from seeing Revali when he was torn after finding that old letter from his parents like it was the obvious choice.

After Meelo found Revali when he was falling apart from his visions in front of Medoh, using his taller frame and hand as an umbrella for Revali from the pouring rain, and held him tightly until he calmed down.

After Meelo tried to be brave at the ball, even though he was completely out of his element. And after they waltzed together, their bodies closer than ever, both ruffling up when they held hands, hips, and shoulders, breathing each other’s air. Even after Meelo snapped at Link for putting Revali in danger; It was wrong, but he had only done it because he cared so much for Revali.

After he took down a Grizzlemaw, almost singlehandedly, showing just how brave and bold he could be when given the chance.

After Meelo worried about it him all the time, fretting over his wellbeing constantly. Waiting by his bedside when he was with the doctor and always being there when he was hurt.

After Meelo never failing to be amazed by him. Always in awe of everything that Revali did, never ceasing to hang on his every word with stars in his eyes.

After always predictably puffing out his cheeks when he was mad or frustrated, stuttered and fidgeted when he was nervous, cocked his head slightly whenever he asked questions. His crest always gave him away and he was always so easy to read; he was always so expressive in the funniest and most adorable ways and it was one of the most endearing things about him.

After always being so thoughtful and gentle. Being surprisingly smart and cunning. Being headstrong in the softest way; never giving up even when it was hard, despite how he thought of himself. Generally being wonderful and perfect. Softening Revali and making him want to be a kinder person.

After all of that...It wasn’t easy. It was not easy at all to come up with an exact answer to how he felt about Meelo.

Especially after the night where they were so close to kissing. So close to Revali throwing away all the years of yearning for Link to start something new. He had wanted to kiss him so bad. To turn over a new leaf with someone else.

But that was the question.

If Link was out of the picture, would Revali even want to be with Meelo?

Revali had pulled away when he realized that he was only putting Link in Meelo’s place because he was so much like Link before the Calamity happened. And while still wanting a future with Link, it felt so wrong.

But if Link was gone, if Link never gave Revali the time of day, if Link was untouchable enough for Revali to finally give up, would that piece of him still...Still want to kiss Meelo? Did he only feel the way he did because of his likeness for the old Link and he was a stand-in, or was he so special to Revali while Link was still invading his head?

Should it even matter, anyway?

It was impossible to keep ignoring how Meelo made him feel. He felt himself blush around him, felt his heart skip beats and his stomach flop. Felt butterflies in every inch of his body. A future could be possible. A new future. He could be the key to moving on, to finding a new life far from all the pain of the past. Just like Urbosa said. Maybe that was what was meant to be.

But how could he? How could he do that now that he already dug his own grave, done what he had done with Link. Was this new future even possible with the past, with what could have been with Link, still plaguing him and refusing to let go?

Revali closed his eyes and rubbed his head.

“I don’t...I don’t know.”

Meezuli squinted at him and furled her arms. “Waddya mean you don’t know?”

“Alright, alright! Fine!” His eyes shot open so he could glare at Meezuli. “I admit it. I like Meelo. I think I might really really like him.”

Meezuli’s whole face widened into a gigantic grin that was too big for her tiny face.

“But it’s very complicated, Meezuli. Extremely complicated.” He pinched the bridge of his beak in exasperation.

And instantly her smile fell. “Oh, whatever.”

“No! Seriously. Listen to me,” Revali snapped. “I...I left this part out because I’m not proud of it and I doubt Meelo ever brought it up with you, but-”

Meezuli’s eyes were so wide and expectant that Revali had to look away again to finish his sentence.

“...Meelo and I almost kissed.”

“For real?!” She shrieked.

Revali grabbed her beak to clamp it shut. “Quiet! I don’t want all of Tabantha to know.”

When he let go, she clicked her beak a couple times before asking, “Well, why didn’t you? What’s the problem?”

“The problem is that no matter what I do, no matter what happens, I just can’t let go of Link. I still want to be with him. I still want to have a future with him-”

“You still want to bone him.”

“That could be said more eloquently, but yes!” He barked.

“Well, after all you told me, I can see why it wouldn’t be easy to shake off. Not everyone gets to spend a century dreaming about boning someone.”

Revali covered his face with his hand and let out a sharp groan before continuing on. “The point is, I pulled away because I realized that I wasn’t completely thinking about Meelo. I was thinking about Link, too. And I’m afraid that I only like Meelo since he reminds me so much of how Link was before the Calamity.”

“But that Link is gone, right? He’s a totally different person now, through and through, so that shouldn’t matter that he makes you think of someone from the past, yeah?” Meezuli said, drinking more tea.

“Again, it’s not that simple. As I said before, Link is regaining more of his memories and is becoming more and more like the person he was before. So, it’s almost as if the person I loved before is slowly coming back.”

Meezuli whistled. “Wow, yeah, this is a toughie.”

“You are doing the opposite of helping.”

“Okay, okay, fine. As your unbiased pal, lemme put this on the table.” She took a giant gulp of her tea and practically tossed the empty saucer onto the floor. “The thing is, Link is engaged to someone else. Before you even came back from heaven or wherever the hell you were. And to the prince of the Zora, for Farore’s sake! Teba’s right, there’s a lot of politics, that honestly I don’t totally get, involved. Things are weird enough between us and the Zora as it is without you, someone who’s already hated by those fish, messing it all up. It’s hairy stuff.”

“That sounds pretty biased to me, Meezuli.”

“I’m just listing the cons here, sir.”

“But Link said he would take care of that. That he would break it off so that we could be together. So that can’t even be considered a con because that won’t be an issue anymore.”

Meezuli gave him a flat look.

“What?”

“You can’t honestly believe that he’ll be able to do that, right? I think he just said that in the spur of the moment. There’s kingdom politics, then there’s that lunatic involved…”

“That’s another thing! Link wouldn’t have to deal with that wretched royal anymore-”

“Sir, that’s a pro for Link. Not for you. Yeah, Link should get away from him if he can, but that doesn’t mean he has to be with you instead.”

Revali set his head in his hands. That was...shockingly smart of Meezuli to say.

“You wanna know what I think?”

“What do you think, wise sage Meezuli?”

She gave him a snide look and then went on. “I think Lady Urbosa is right, too. You all need to move on and find new lives for yourselves. That’s the best thing you can do after all you’ve been through. Leave the past in the past. And I think that you should do that…” She sheepishly shrugged and smiled. “By getting with my number one buddy who is your biggest fan.”

Revali’s brow deepened as his feathers lightly ruffled. “You’re really pushing your Meelo agenda, aren’t you?”

“I told you, I can’t help it!” Meezuli laughed, despite herself. “I know, you’re still in love with that hero. But, that ship might have permanently sailed. And all that ship has done is make life harder for you. So, that’s why I genuinely think Meelo is your ticket to happiness. Even if you’ve fudged it up a bit.”

He scratched his face, thinking. “I don’t know.”

Maybe she was right. She probably was.

But she was really downplaying how in love she was with Link. It wasn’t something you could easily break off just like that.

Meezuli rubbed her chin for a moment, thinking, before snapping her fingers. “Tell you what. How about you think it over tonight and then in the morning you can go talk to Link in person about it, without all that romance getting to both of your heads. Really mull it over with each other. No secrets, just straight up. I’ll go with you, since I have letters to deliver in the Domain anyway.”

Revali wasn’t too keen on going to that place. He might as well walk into a Bokoblin camp with his arms bound and an apple stuffed in his beak. “But… shouldn’t you have left tonight?”

“Tch. I’ll just tell ‘em there was a storm. How are they supposed to know?”

He stared at her and she stared back, again with her massive, expectant eyes.

“For the love of- Fine. Fine! I’ll go.”

“Perfect! You can stay her tonight, too, since-”

“Yes. Thanks for reminding me. We can take Medoh, too.”

“Oh, geez. As long as you two can take it easy on me this time.”

Revali smirked.

“No promises.”

#eyes half closed #let's stink it up folks

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supremeuppityone · 4 years

Photo

Written for Klaroline Valentine's Day Bingo 2020 @kcvalentinesbingo

Prompt: Casablanca

Author’s note: This was inspired by Ricky Gervais’ 2020 Golden Globes monologue, in which he thoroughly pissed me off.

Warning: Potential triggers; implied assault survivor

Please review here.

Red. Everything was red. The rage sank into Caroline’s bones until nothing was left. From the uncomfortable murmurs of the rest of the audience, it was clear that she wasn’t the only one furious with Alaric Saltzman’s patronizing speech to open the Oscars ceremony.

“If you do win an award tonight, don’t use it as a political platform to make a political speech. You're in no position to lecture the public about anything, you know nothing about the real world. So, if you win, come up, accept your little award, thank your agent and your God and fuck off.”

There were so many things wrong with the washed-up comedian’s vile statement, that Caroline let out an audible gasp, not bothering to let her features settle back into a polite mask. Her agent was going to be pissed if the cameras happened to catch her now. But it was nothing compared to how pissed Katherine would be in a little while. As a nominated filmmaker, Caroline understood she was in a unique position to make a call for social change. And as one of the few female filmmaker nominees, it was her responsibility. She covertly took out her phone, typing a quick message to her staff, and then leaned back into her seat with a self-satisfied grin. Game on.

Her documentary focused on Congolese women who were taking back their communities torn apart by sexual violence. It was her honor to give voice to the warrior women who had created safe spaces for women — teaching them self-defense, providing legal representation, and fostering marketable skills.

She toyed with the orange and red bracelet, hiding a bittersweet smile as she recalled the way some of the women at the community center had attempted to teach her how to make the rolled-up paper beads. It was the day she shared her story with them. Her pain had been her own for so long. She’d nearly punched Katherine for telling her the bracelet clashed with her designer gown and that she should instead go with the loan from Bulgari.

The back of Caroline’s neck prickled as though she could feel the weight of someone’s stare. Casually glancing around the packed theater, her blue eyes widened when she realized Klaus Mikaelson was staring at her. Wildly famous, the dimpled British actor’s mantle must be overflowing with prestigious Oscars, BAFTAs and Golden Globes. Why was he staring at her? Again. Despite years in the industry, this was the first awards season her work had garnered enough attention to warrant nominations. And unwanted attention from A-listers.

A few months ago, she’d attended the Directors Guild Awards, slightly starstruck and still in disbelief that her work was finally getting recognition. She nervously was sipping champagne when someone insistently tapped her shoulder. Familiar with many of the more heinous Hollywood Gropers, she whirled around, ready to shred some wrinkled, self-entitled balls. She stopped short when she realized it was a skinny teenager who somehow managed to look even more nervous than she.

“Um. Hi! So, um I think you’re Caroline Forbes. Right?”

Caroline softened, assuming his painfully earnest demeanor meant he was an intern or one of the stage assistants. Her smile was gentle as she said, “Yes, I’m Caroline. What’s your name?”

Brown eyes went round with excitement as he took both of her hands in his, wildly shaking them up and down as he gushed, “I’m Henrik and I go to USC and we just studied you in my Defining the Feminine Narrative class!”

Flustered, she could feel an enormous smile spread across her face. It was rare that she encountered someone who knew who she was. Now what? Offering to sign something or pose for a photo sounded unbelievably pretentious. “Oh, wow. Thank you,” she finally said, “I had no idea.”

“I’m actually um, doing a research paper right now on your documentary about dowry-related violence in India,” he shyly confessed, hiding behind his long brown hair.

“Seriously?! I just started cataloguing some additional footage; trying to decide if there’s another story to tell. If you want to give me your email, I’d be happy to share my research with you. Maybe it will inspire you to create something amazing.”

Before Henrik could respond, an unexpected voice interrupted, “Impressive chat-up lines, little brother.”

Klaus stood there with his sexy dimpled grin that always spelled box office gold. And he’d been poured into that tuxedo. Damn. “Klaus Mikaelson,” he said, as though she hadn’t watched every movie he ever made, “and I had no idea Henrik was such a fan.” He put a companionable arm around the timid boy, telling her, “Henrik’s the true talent in the family. Thank you, love, for noticing.”

He eyed her with interest, and she immediately reddened, cursing her painfully white skin for making every emotion so obvious. “These ceremonies are so frightfully dull. Would you like to join us at our table, and then perhaps later, you and I could go for a drink?”

Damn it. He was one of those guys. Now flushed with irritation rather than embarrassment, Caroline replied, “You should ask Tatia. It’s only polite — since she’s your date.” Lately, the gossip sites had exploded with headlines gushing about the whirlwind romance between Klaus and the stunning supermodel, Tatia Petrova. Even if there was the chance it was a clever ruse to garner media attention, there was no way Caroline wanted any part of that nonsense.

Klaus flashed that dimpled smirk again, his accented voice amused as he said, “Tatia is more of an...inconvenience than a permanent fixture in my life. There’s only so much frivolous chatter I can tolerate. But I suspect that you would provide endlessly fascinating conversation, sweetheart. You’re starting to make a name for yourself with all those exotic travels and penchant for saving the world. There’s a light that shines in you; it sets you apart from the rest.”

He was seriously giving her the ‘you’re not like other girls’ speech. Dick. “Pass,” she said flatly, already starting to walk away. “But thanks for adding bad pickup lines to my ever-growing list of atrocities I need to save the world from.”

Thunderous applause interrupted her thoughts, bringing her back to the present. Where Klaus was still staring at her rather than paying attention to the clip they were showing from his nominated performance. His performance in the Casablanca remake had earned him the Best Actor nomination, with critics and media outlets proclaiming his work in the big budget production to be a crowning achievement in his stellar career. Despite her indifference to the original 1940s movie, she still eagerly went to see Klaus’ remake, and his performance as the expat Rick had left her breathless. His American accent had been impeccable, and she actually got a bit teary-eyed when he arranged for his onscreen love interest, Lisa, to board the plane to safety while he stayed behind.

Caroline could feel the heat rising in her cheeks the longer Klaus stared at her, irritated at herself for paying far too much attention to the gossip sites that announced Klaus’ amicable split almost immediately following their disastrous first encounter. She did not have time for Hollywood fuckboys. Even the ones with dimples. She had a world to save. Lost in her thoughts of burying her stupid crush on Klaus, she completely missed that he’d apparently won and was being herded offstage.

She leaned forward eagerly as her documentary category was called. Regardless of the winner, her documentary had garnered enough attention that a few months ago, she’d learned an anonymous donation singlehandedly funded the Congolese women’s charity for the next decade. It was rare that people surprised her. Maybe one day she’d learn the identity of the generous donor. While the vignettes played for each nominee, her heart giving a funny little tweak as she held her breath in anticipation.

“And the winner for best documentary feature is...Conflicted Hearts: Congolese Women Fight Back, by Caroline Forbes!”

The thunderous applause was deafening, and Caroline sat there in shock for several moments, unable to get her legs to move. When she finally managed to walk to the stage on shaky legs, she fervently hoped she hadn’t sweated through her Arcadius original. She cringed as Alaric grabbed her hand, pulling her toward him for a congratulatory kiss that she managed to avoid by jerking her head away. He should know better. Hazel eyes flashed as he angrily hissed, “Just smile for the camera and keep the whole ‘boohoo women bitching about a little flirting’ bullshit out of it. No one cares about your whiny politics.”

She burned him with her gaze, the oranges and reds of her gown a perfect backdrop for her fiery rage. Not bothering to respond to his unspoken threat, she stepped to the podium, pleased to be bathed in the stage lights, drawing energy from their warmth. “I’ve now been told twice tonight not to get political. It’s stupid to think I’m going to start following orders now. We’re some of the most fortunate people in the world. We have an extraordinary platform that allows us to reach millions. And it’s our responsibility to use it. We live in this world too and we should be working just as hard as anyone to make it better.”

The loud clapping sounded like vindication, and she hoped that the cameras were zooming in on Alaric’s face as it immediately purpled in anger. “My film is dedicated to the Congolese women who let me into their world, whose unparalleled strength gave me the courage to put into words my own trauma. They are warriors, and I hope that the anonymous donor who helped fund their women’s charity for the next decade understands the hope they’ve given to so many.”

Her smile was a vicious blade as she announced, “Thriving in front of my bullies is sometimes the whole reason why I get out of bed. I just started a charity tonight because I know I can’t be the only woman who’s been told to keep ‘boohoo women bitching about a little flirting bullshit out of it’. My organization will help women speak out about sexual harassment and assault in the workplace, providing much-needed legal assistance and support to help them overcome the personal and professional consequences that make it difficult to speak out. It’s called ‘CARE’.”

The standing ovation was immensely satisfying, but then she added, “And it stands for Condescending Asshats Refuse to Evolve’,” which had the theater shouting her name excitedly. Not a bad night.

As Caroline was ushered backstage, she basked as so many warm smiles and enthusiastic handshakes congratulated her, pausing only once to catch Alaric’s furious expression. She held his gaze just as fiercely, pouring out every viscous word she wasn’t ready to speak. But one day she would be.

Backstage, she nearly ran over Klaus. Flushed from his own win, he beamed at her while offering her a steadying hand. “Congratulations, love. Your win was well-deserved, and I don’t recall a more compelling speech. You’ve set a precedent tonight that undoubtedly will bring about much-needed change.”

She blushed to the roots of her hair, wishing she hadn’t worn the intricately plaited hairstyle so she could give her hands something to do. “Uh, thanks, and you too. Your work in Casablanca was amazing.”

“You saw my movie?”

Caroline was taken aback by his hopeful, pleased tone. “I’ve seen all of your movies. Everyone has.”

“I’ve seen yours too,” he confessed, ducking his head shyly. “Henrik is quite the fan and has all of your documentaries — even the one you created fresh out of film school where you exposed the hypocrisy of a ‘morality clause’ for beauty pageant contestants in your hometown.”

“Seriously?!” She gaped at him, unsure of what to say. She hadn’t thought about that in years. That documentary had gotten the attention of several groups, which eventually led to funding for bigger projects and more exposure to the causes that she was the most passionate about. “I had no idea that you’d...I mean, I’m flattered you took the time to watch my films.”

The tips of his ears reddened as Klaus replied, “Meeting you was a bit of a revelation for me. Your drive, your fearlessness at giving people a platform so their voices and stories can be told — it’s inspiring. It made me want to make some changes in my life, which I started doing several months ago.”

“I had no idea. I’m, uh, glad to have helped. Can I ask about the changes?”

“Maybe someday I’ll tell you,” he answered enigmatically. “In the meantime, I’d be honored if you would accept my donation to your CARE charity. I’m doing my best to be a reformed condescending asshat.”

#kcvalentinesbingo #uppity bitch fanfic #klaroline fanfic #klaroline aesthetic #aesthetic #klaroline #this one took an unexpected turn for me #writing has a mind of its own #klaroline does hollywood

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floralseokjin · 5 years

Text

;tdwa drabble | moments like these

you have to make the most of moments like these...

pairing | kim seokjin x reader genre | smut, lots of love, forever domestic words | 2,322

— set after ‘the devil’s family’ instalment and just after this muse ask 💕

author’s note | i’ve been having a lot of Feelings lately and i miss tdwa couple so much :( enjoy !!!

“Aren’t you going to cuddle me?”

You spoke into the darkness, back turned to your husband’s weight beside you. You’d been in bed for the past two hours, exhausted after your wild weekend of singlehandedly looking after the fittingly nicknamed Terrible Tae’s... Yet, you still couldn’t decompress and drift into sleep, flipping through your book and checking social media on your phone until you’d grown annoyed and switched off the lamp, willing yourself to sleep.

Seokjin had still been up and about downstairs, finishing paperwork from his business trip and probably having a night cap after being lumbered with the babies this afternoon while you bathed and had some quality alone time, moisturising your legs for the first time in five days. Ten minutes ago he’d crept into bed surrounded by darkness, under the impression you were fast asleep. You were not. You were waiting for him to wrap his arms around you and kiss your cheek. He’d been gone for two days and you’d missed him terribly—and not just because the extra pair of hands would’ve been helpful…

“I thought you hated me?”

He didn’t sound mad or hurt, in fact, you could hear the amusement in his tone, even picture the slight smile on his face. He knew you hadn’t meant the comment seriously, said in an exhausted and drained stupor. He’d definitely found it greatly amusing. You’d chanted the same when your contractions had almost torn you apart during the birth. However, being your husband and so finely tuned into your moods, he knew to leave you alone most of the evening, cooking his own supper and staying in his study as you nursed the twins to sleep and went to bed yourself. He was waiting for the go ahead just now and you’d given it to him loud and clear.

There was instant warmth as he snuggled closer and wrapped his arm around you, nosing the crook of your neck, the sound of his breathing comforting you. “I missed you.”

He hummed happily. “I missed you more.” A small kiss to your earlobe. “And the babies.”

You couldn’t help but push back into him, desperate to feel his mouth again. He kissed your jaw, shimmying his other arm underneath your body, pulling you close. Tighter. You clasped his hands in yours, wedding bands touching. Something warmed in your gut.

It was a foreign feeling these days, mostly because you were drained down to the bone, but Seokjin had been missing from your marital bed for two nights, and even though your eyes still felt heavy from lack of sleep this weekend, now you could feel a raw need begin to wake in you.

“Let’s stop the baby talk for a little bit.” You whispered, kissing his thumb. You felt him freeze for a split second when you ever so slightly circled you ass against his crotch. You understood he’d missed the twins while away, he’d been cooing over them all evening and of course you found it adorable but in the darkness of your bedroom, your husband pressed up against your body, talk of your children was the last thing you wanted. Not when you’d missed him in too many ways imaginable, for way too long.

He circled back, ever so gently, burying his face in your hair, inhaling with a sweet sigh. He kissed south, until he reached the nape of your neck, palms flattening against your ribcage, just under your breasts. “Mmm. You smell nice.” You made a slight noise in reply. It was all you could do. His voice was low and careful, like he knew something could possibly happen if he pressed. “I missed you.”

You arched into him a little harder when you felt his thumbs begin to circle your nipples. Despite however hesitant, the sensation was enough to set you on fire, flesh stiffening. Your reaction worked on him too, you could slowly feel him growing hard in his underwear as you rubbed up against him, tangling your bare legs together.

He liked that. Being as close as possible to you. One. He moaned lowly, your foot running up his leg. He found his way to your ear, whispering hopefully. “Can we?”

You were a whine, head turning to see his silhouette. “Seokjin, I need youuu.”

That was it. His lips met yours eagerly, kissing you with the same raw need you could feel ripping at your body. Of course you’d had sex after the babies were born, but those times were few and far between. What used to be multiple times a week in the early days of your relationship was now once a month if you were lucky. It was hard not to miss that type of intimacy however comfortable and possibly remiss you’d both gotten... Maybe an empty bed was the push you’d needed to be reminded...

You spoke with actions, Seokjin’s hands roaming you like he’d been gone for years, familiarising himself with every curve and dip of your body. You cupped his face, gasping as he dragged his mouth down your neck, tongue dipping into your collarbone. He was solid against your ass now, rutting into you.

You found the edge of his t-shirt, bunching it in your fist before being unable to restrain yourself, palming at his erection. He groaned, vibrations heating your skin and he quickly moved to push his underwear down around his thighs. Wrapping your first around the base of his cock you tried your best to jerk him, the flesh thick and hot, as he hooked his arm around your waist again, hand sneaking into your silk pyjama shorts to run his fingers along your folds, almost whimpering when he felt how wet you were. For him. No foreplay needed. Just hot, needy sex.

“I can’t wait to be inside you,” he rushed into your mouth, now dragging the shorts down your legs. You kicked them off as he cupped and squeezed your ass, moaning loudly into your pillow.

“Please,” you murmured, arching the flesh into him, feeling his cock between your legs. You were desperate. Almost beside yourself by the time you felt him rubbing the blunt head against your opening, readying himself before pushing inside.

He sunk slowly, savouring the feeling and groaning face first into the back of your head as he bottomed out. He stayed like that for a moment, enjoying the warmth of your connected bodies, holding you tightly, chest against your back, lips pressed to your hair.

It didn’t take long for those lips to find their way to yours, tongues entangled as he began to fuck you slowly. Back and fore, a deliciously beautiful rhythm that almost brought tears to your eyes. Making love with Seokjin was your favourite past time, you were beginning to realise how much you’d missed it. How much your tired body craved for it. How it injected you with fresh life, fire... passion. Made you feel younger, drifted you back to the past... It was impossible to describe how much you loved him. Impossible to describe how your devastatingly beautiful devil made you feel... even after all this time.

The moan that emitted deep from within your soul as Seokjin’s mouth found your neck might have helped vocalise a small fraction of your thoughts and feelings, but it would never be enough. At least not in your opinion. In his, maybe it was. He moaned just as intensely, warm tongue licking strips up your shoulder now, sucking red marks that would surely fade come morning.

You arched into him when you felt his hands ride up your cami, the warmth of his palms spreading through your body, curling your toes. He pinched your nipples suddenly and you whined, sensation burning red beneath your closed eyelids. You rutted up against him, hand reaching for him blindly. He squeezed you tightly. You always felt so safe against his large body. So small. So well looked after.

“Always so good for me no matter what, hm?” Your blatant neediness seemed to be having an effect on him. He squeezed his words out, strained and raw. No matter how gentle he felt or tried to be, he’d always have that dangerous mouth of his, and you loved it. You nodded with a mewl from your lips when he pulled at your nipples again. He whispered the next part. Gentle and loving. “And I always want to treat you right.”

One of his hands slipped down your stomach, fingertips pressing into the skin before he found his way between your legs, toes curling once again with the pressure against your clit and you turned to press your face into your pillow, muffling your moans. He kept thrusting, quicker, losing himself to the sound of you. His teeth sunk into your shoulder as if he was trying to control himself, growling lowly. They stayed there as he panted, seemingly desperate for you to cum too, yet it wasn’t long before he couldn’t hold back any longer, overcome and clouded.

“Fuck,” he groaned, head falling back, hands finding your hips as he held you down, stilling inside you as deep as he could get. You liked the feeling. Full. Of him. His flesh. His love. “You just feel so good.”

You could tell he had admitted defeat. You were his weakness after all. Always had been. “Where sh-should I?” He asked you, unable to stop pumping into you a few more times. Slower now, indulgent, edging himself. “Hand? Back?”

You hadn’t restarted birth control since the pregnancy and you both hated condoms with a burning passion so pulling out was the only option. Unless you wanted to get pregnant again, (which was a big fat no.) Sex may have been scarce between you, but every time you did end up fucking it was guaranteed something would end up getting soiled with Seokjin’s cum.

“Mouth.” The safest way. You were not having him staining your fresh sheets. You’d managed to change them today whilst Seokjin occupied the twins, not being able to stick another night smelling stale milk and spit up. However, maybe you just wanted your husband’s cock in your mouth and his cum down your throat... Both reasons sufficed.

He practically whimpered at your answer, sliding out of you instantly because no way in hell (ha!) would he be able to keep it together after that. He’d told you once, that finishing in your mouth was as close as he could ever get to heaven. Over exaggeration but perhaps not...

“You know how to fucking ruin me,” he muttered, sitting up to shimmy a leg of his underwear off so he could kneel over you freely. He was in a rush as he did so, fist tightening around the base of his cock as you rolled on to your back. The mattress dipped under your head with his weight and you opened your mouth obediently for his eager and aching length.

“Mmm,” you responded, no time for nothing much else because he was already slipping inside, taste against your tongue, lips stretched around his girth.

He was only able to withstand a few moments, pushed to his limit already and quickly he pulled out to jerk himself against your flattened tongue. You flicked it along the tip, catching him where he was most sensitive and soon enough there was that familiar almost soundless gasp, his seed dotting your sticky and wet muscle and sliding down your throat as you swallowed the load. There was a lot of it. He’d been desperate, no wonder.

He let out a long drawn out groan as the bliss subsided, forearm against the wall, face pressed tightly into it. “Shit. I’ve been storing that for weeks.” You giggled, kissing down his softening cock before you placed one at the top of his balls. He shivered, ticklish and moved away to cage you under his body, mouth finding yours tenderly.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close, insides still warm, hot for him. You wondered how long it would take him to kiss down your chest, make his way between your legs. You longed for his wicked tongue, your fingers wound tight in his hair. You were moaning at the sheer thought of it, Seokjin gripping your waist tightly, on the same wavelength, but then you both heard something that shattered your dreams.

You both froze at the sound of Taeoh’s whimpering through the baby monitor, dismay filling you instantly. You tried to push through but soon it turned to crying and you could no longer ignore it, moment well and truly interrupted. Ruined.

Seokjin pulled away and sighed slowly. “I’ll tend to him,” he smiled softly, pecking your nose as he let go of your hips. You watched him fight his underwear on, sitting on the edge of the bed as he ran a hand through his hair before turning to look at you. “There’s bottles downstairs, right?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed. Your eyes had adjusted to the dark, able to spot the exerted hue on his cheeks. “He could just need rocking back to sleep though.”

Seokjin nodded, leaning over to kiss you one last time. “I love you.”

You clung to him, not wanting to let go of the moment oryour orgasm but you knew you had too. “Better hurry up,” you sighed, breaking away. “Before he wakes Taeah.”

He jumped to it, your son’s cries getting louder, impatient. “I’ll see to them both. You’ve had a wild weekend.“

You scoffed a laugh. “Ended good though. I love you too, by the way.” You added with a grin. He smiled back, eyes sparkling in the moonlight before he made his way out the bedroom.

“Make me cum when you get back—!” You called quietly after him. He just laughed. You both knew you’d be sound asleep by the time he got back into bed...

#there was a nipple milk explosion the next morning and oc blamed seokjin's pinching lmao #it was a leak she's just dramatic.....#bts smut #seokjin smut #jin smut #seokjin fanfic #bts fanfic #floralseokjin:writings #fic:tdwa

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odderancyart · 5 years

Text

Retribution

Chapter 4

First

Last

On AO3

Summary: A late night, after yet another unfruitful day with no work, Detective Edge Serif receives a phonecall from the countryside. There seems to have been a murder.

Warnings: Murder, Violence, Swearing, vaguely referenced minor Past Abuse

Note: With a small visit from @itsladykit‘s Twist because I love him

Soon, Sir Razz and his brother move to leave the entrance hall behind, but before they can do so, the door shrieks as it opens again, making Edge wince. Insufferable noise. A skeleton peeks inside. Their skull is cracked, and they have only one eyelight, which is the colour of pure gold. They’re grinning as their eye sweep over the room before they look at Mr Ashton, who nods.

“Take in the bags, Twist,” he says, and the skeleton – Twist – salutes lazily.

“Will do, sir,” he replies cheerfully before plopping outside again. His accent is difficult to place, but it’s absolutely American.

Edge takes a step back as Sir Razz and Mr Ashton exit, quietly catching up with each other, and leans against the wall as he pretends not to listen. All in all, he doesn’t learn much: Sir Razz lets his brother know about what happened to his husband, and he finds out Mr Ashton had apparently taken an unplanned ‘business trip’ to Europe after refusing yet another marriage suggested by Mr and Mrs Ashton. The Ashtons certainly seems to be doing quite well, despite the state of the country’s economy.

In the back of his mind, he knows he recognizes that name. Ashton. It rings incredibly familiar, but he cannot place it.

He hears Sir Razz quietly scold his brother as they disappear around the corner, followed by Blue. Immediately after, Stretch reappears just in time for the doors to be thrown open and Twist, carrying multiple bags, stumbles in and drops them to the ground. Stretch winces, but Twist seems unbothered as he raises a hand and waves eagerly.

“Stretch! How’s it goin’, darlin’?” he asks, striding straight up to Stretch and throwing an arm over his shoulder. Edge raises an eyebrow from where he’s watching.

Chuckling, Stretch ducks out from beneath his arm and goes to pick up the bags. At least, that’s what Edge assumes he is doing, but then he just stands among them without actually doing it as Twist catches up with him again. He glances the way the others went, and then toward Edge, a question in his gaze. Edge shakes his head in confirmation that he’s not going to tell anyone what’s happening. But he’s not about to leave either, unless they ask it of him. Stretch nods back.

“Just fine, considering the circumstances.” He turns to Twist again, grinning, and his smile is sincerer than any other expression he’s worn. He’s relaxed. “How was Europe?”

“Lotsa fun, France has a lot o’ great bars, and Monaco’s got th’ best casinos, but ya didn’t hear tha’ from me. Mrs Ashton would freak if she heard ‘er son went ta casinos. If ya ever can get time off ya should come wi’ us, sweetheart, ya’d enjoy yerself ‘m sure.” His grin widens, and he winks. Edge hums in consideration. Well, Mr Ashton doesn’t seem like he cares a lot about societal rules then, if Twist, who undeniably was some sort of servant, was as friendly with him as it seemed. Twist turned around, waving toward him, and Edge waves back in surprise. “An’ who’s this gentleman, sweetheart?”

Stretch’s smile grows as he gestures toward Edge, straightening, and Edge hears his voice change from the easy, natural pitch he had when talking with Twist to what Edge can only describe as his ‘official’ voice. “May I introduce Detective Edge Serif. Sir Razz hired him to investigate the murder.” Then the official tone suddenly disappears again, and he smirks. “Private detective and lover of cats. Detective, this is Twist, Mr Ashton’s chauffeur and unofficial companion.”

“Th’ lil’ burglars?”

“Yep.” Stretch plops on the ‘P’. “Rascals got into the house again.”

“Good, the darlings deserve some love.” Without warning, he twists around and hoists two of the bags off the ground. “Welp, better get these up ta Slim’s room, my bro’s waitin’ fer me.”

“You’re not staying?” The disappointment is obvious in Stretch’s expression, and Edge can’t help but wonder what kind of relationship those two has.

Shaking his head, Twist smiles. “Nah. Haven’t seen Blackberry fer three months now, an’ Slim gave me paid time off ta go home an’ visit ‘im.”

“I ca-”

“Detective,” a rough voice interrupts, and all three of them twist around to see Inspector Fuente standing in the doorway. He’s frowning, but gestures for Edge to follow. Stretch immediately stiffens, the humour falling off his face, but Twist only nods his head in greeting without dropping his grin. “A word.”

Blinking, Edge nods goodbye to the two servants and follows the inspector out, bewildered. Their footsteps echoes between the walls of the manor. “I thought you despised my mere presence here, Inspector,” he says dryly, staring down at the stiff-shouldered policeman.

“Yes,” Inspector Fuente answers shamelessly, glaring at him. “But Doctor Gaster was an important man, and Sir Razz’s family even more so, and this case must be solved. Chief Commissioner Bennett telephoned me and gave me orders to cooperate with you.”

“I recognize his family name,” Edge comments, hiding his mixed feelings on the new development. On one hand, it would be great for his career if he solved the murder singlehandedly, but on the other, it will undoubtedly be easier with Inspector Fuente’s assistance. If nothing else, it is undeniable that a detective inspector is more experienced with serious crimes than he is. “Ashton, was it?”

The inspector lets out a surprised laugh, staring at him in disbelief. He stops mid-step before continuing to lead him upstairs. “Yeah. You don’t know who they are? Sir Razz’s father used to be governor of New York. The Ashtons are one of the richest, most influential families in the US. You can see why this case is of outmost importance, and why you can’t mess it up. You’ll destroy both our careers with one mistake, buddy. Be careful.”

Oh. Breathing in slowly, to fight down the heat threatening to rush to his cheeks, Edge nods. Yeah, that’s right, he remembers reading about him in the newspaper. Then he stiffens as Inspector Fuente continues. Digging his claws into his palms until pain flashes through them, he sniffs. “I will do my best, Inspector.”

“Guess that’s all I can ask. We’re here.” Inspector Fuente stops outside a dark door and pulls up a key from his coat pocket. The lock clicks as the door opens, and he gestures for Edge to come in. It’s a study, Edge realizes, with a wall covered in photos of the crime scene and the suspects, and a writing desk full of papers and a typewriter. There’s a table with two armchairs by the wall, and a bottle of sriracha on the table between them. The wallpaper is pale golden with flowers on it, and an enormous window gives a grand view of the moors behind the manor. In the distance, he spots a village with a narrow gravel road leading that way from the manor.

Stepping inside, Edge steps past the desk, glancing down on the many papers covering it. Reports, charts, and one paper that in cursive letters reads Dearest Mother. He averts his eyes from that one. Reading personal correspondence without a very good reason is quite immoral. Acting as though he hasn’t seen it, he steps up to the wall covered in clues. There are pictures of all the house’s residents, with threads connecting them to different papers.

Papyrus Safont, born July 25, 1903 in Sofia, Bulgaria. Moved to London, England in 1914 with mother Vitoriya Dobromir. Father: Unknown, likely Spanish. Siblings: none. Because of his surname, probably. Edge had known a Safont in school, and her parents were from Valencia.

Razz Gaster, née Ashton, born May 1, 1905 in Albany, New York. Mother: Angelica Ashton, née Nelson. Father: Henry Ashton. Siblings: Slim Ashton.

Blue Fontaine, born September 9, 1905 in Bath, Great Britain. Mother: Philippa Fontaine, née Marley. Father: Theodore Fontaine. Siblings: Clara Fontaine, Stretch Fontaine,

Stretch Fontaine, born December 28, 1906 in London, Great Britain. Mother: Philippa Fontaine, née Marley. Father: Theodore Fontaine. Siblings: Clara Fontaine, Blue Fontaine.

Blinking, he puts a finger over the unknown name. Clara Fontaine. Turning to look at Inspector Fuente, he taps a claw against it. “The Fontaines have a sister?”

“Yep.” The inspector sounds amused as he pulls out a drawer, picking up a file. As he flips it open, he reveals a photo of a skeleton in a knee-length dress leaning against a bar counter, a bottle of whisky in her hand. “Clara Fontaine, born 1899. She eloped the year before Sir Razz’s wedding and is now the owner of a Scottish tavern in Bibawik, Minnesota together with her Scottish lover, Riley Johnson. To my knowledge, the Fontaines broke all contact with her, except the odd letter and photo she sends. She is the Fontaines’ great shame. Sir Razz has never met her.”

“So she has nothing with this to do,” Edge comments, and Inspector Fuente shakes his head. Continuing to study the wall, he nods slowly, turning to stare down at the other. He crosses his arms. “Very well, I will work with you. If you stop coming with rude quips about my background, sir. I’ve worked the skin off my bones to get where I am now, and believe me. I am not going back to the factory.”

Inspector Fuente sniggers before nodding, putting the folder back in the drawer. He leans back against the desk, grinning up at him. “Fair enough. Just keep in mind I’ve solved murders before, kid, and you have not.”

“Don’t call me that, I’m thirty-two-years-old,” Edge growls as a faint feeling of nausea rises in him. Pale images of a suit-clad man leaning against his cane, telling him to ‘Stop screaming, kid, it’s not that bad,’ as he’s clutching his bleeding, half-crushed arm flashes behind his eyes. He raises his hand, placing it protectively over the remaining scars, and pulls his coat arm farther down. Never again.

“Huh,” Inspector Fuente hums, handing him another file. “Fine. Here’s everything you need to know, and the Chief Commissioner’s order. You better read it all.” He fishes up a keychain from his pocket. “An’ here’s a key to the crime scene and to this office. Knock before you enter. I want to hear your thoughts on the case this afternoon.”

“And I yours, sir.” The word tastes sour in Edge’s mouth. “This afternoon, then.”

…

Before he can properly discuss the case with Inspector Fuente, there are two more people Edge needs to talk with. Preferably alone, so he hopes he won’t be interrupting anything as he makes his way toward the tearoom, after asking Stretch for directions. Behind a half-open white-painted door, he finds Sir Razz and his brother sitting in a pastel green couch, in a colourful room that doesn’t at all fit into the aesthetic of the rest of the manor. Not in the slightest: its walls are pale yellow, and the furniture – from the tables to the elegant armchairs – is all in white, metallics, and pastels.

He knocks gently on the door with his knuckles, and the two look his way as Sir Razz stirs his white porcelain cup. Even from this distance, Edge can see it has roses painted on. Today, Sir Razz isn’t in a dress, but rather in a suit that appears as though it would have come straight out of a fashion advertisement.

“May I have a word, sir?” he asks as Sir Razz met his gaze, and after a moment, his current employer nods.

“Slim, leave us for a moment,” he says before waving for Edge to come in. As he and Mr Ashton pass by each other, their arms brushing against each other for a moment, Edge can feel the other study him. He calmly meets his gaze. He has no idea why the other seems to size him up like that, since he doubts he knows of his background, but it doesn’t much matter, as long as it doesn’t affect his ability to work the case. He is very used to people disliking him: he isn’t a very likeable person. It has never bothered him – the people scared off were not worth his time anyway.

Sir Razz gestures for him to sit down, and sips on his tea before showing that Edge is free to take his own. After a second of hesitance, he does. It seems rude to refuse. “My apologies that we have to serve ourselves, Detective. Stretch is busy readying my brother’s room.”

“It’s really no trouble, sir,” Edge replies, feeling oddly relieved as he takes the teapot between his hands and pours himself a cup. After smutting on the tea, hot in his hand, he shuffles in his seat before settling into a somewhat comfortable position. “I’d like to ask some questions about the case.”

“Of course.”

“Where were you at the time of the murder, sir?” He watches Sir Razz carefully to ensure he isn’t offended by the implications of the question. He really doesn’t want to get fired from this job. It’s undoubtedly the best one he’s ever had.

Sir Razz stirs his tea some more, the silver spoon tinkling against the cup, as he stares out the window thoughtfully. “In our bedroom. I was reading: I bought the latest Virginia Woolf the other day, it was published just last month. The Waves.”

“And when did you realize your husband was dead?” The question is blunt, but Sir Razz doesn’t as much as twitch. He meets Edge’s gaze without a hint of hesitation in his eyes.

“When Stretch told me. My husband usually worked late, so I never wondered if he didn’t come to bed until I was already asleep. So around… eleven PM, I believe, Stretch came rushing into my room, telling me that Doctor Gaster is dead. He had gone to check on him, as he always does before going to bed in the evenings and ensure my husband did not need anything beforehand. The Fontaines are something extra. None of my servants growing up were nearly as dutiful and loyal. Then again, they are so very British.”

Edge hums in acknowledgement. So Stretch had been the one to find the body. Interesting. He’ll have to talk with him about that later. “And how was your relationship with your husband, sir?” A risky question, but one that must be asked. Sir Razz raises his eyebrows.

“My husband was… something else,” he says vaguely, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. “I’m not going to deny we had our hardships, and it’s possible we got married too quickly. And admittedly, he had a sharp tongue, but so does my mother and I haven’t allowed that to bother me for years. But in general, it’s been safe and predictable. Wingdings did like routines quite a lot. He, too, was quite British.”

“Why did he come to America in the first place?” Edge can’t help but ask, curious. It seems odd for a nobleman to move to the only country he knows of that doesn’t have, or cares about, aristocracy.

This time, Sir Razz chuckles, and puts down his cup as it tinkled. “After the war, and after his doctorate, he decided he was tired of people valuing him for his heritage, and wanted them to care about his intellect instead – he was incredibly intelligent. His death is a huge loss for the scientific world. So he came to the United States instead, and bought Duskshire Manor.”

What a dream. Just leaving the place judging you for your birth to go live somewhere else. It is unfortunate Edge isn’t rich as hell and therefore can’t do that. “And no one else but you and your staff of three was around at the time of the murder,” he states, just to make sure.

Sir Razz nods. “Indeed. Which means one of us is the murderer and I truly can’t imagine anyone in my staff murdering my husband. They’re all incredibly loyal and kind people.”

“Just take a guess on who could’ve done it.”

After a few moments of looking thoughtful, Sir Razz sighs and leans back in the couch. “I’d say Stretch. Don’t tell Blue I said that, though, he’d be furious. And only because he was Stretch was the one who took the worse of Wingdings’ bad moods, and likely has since long before they came here to our country. Blue refuses to tell me, says it’s private, and I suppose I must respect that. Unfortunately.”

Well, Edge is happy to hear he isn’t the type to pry into his servants’ private life, at least. Nodding, he sweeps the contents of his cup and stands. “Thank you for your time, sir. I only need to speak to Papyrus now and then I have talked with everyone here, so if you’ll excuse me?”

“Of course.” Sir Razz gestures toward the door, before catching his gaze. His expression was unyielding. “And tell me the moment you figure something out, Detective. I don’t care if you have to wake me up in the middle of the night. Except if I’m in the bath, then send Blue to fetch me.”

“As you say, sir.” With a nod, Edge leaves the room behind, thoughts swirling inside his head. There was so much to figure out here. Whoever had committed the murder had basically committed the perfect crime. Almost. Because he knows he can solve it, and he will, and so, it’s not perfect.

…

Down the hallway, Mr Ashton sits in a dark red couch lining the wall, resting his head against the wall. His eyes are closed and his breathing even, so Edge lightens his steps as he walks past the other. Just as he passes by him, however, his eyes fly open and he straightens. Edge twitches in surprise, but turns around to nod. “Mr Ashton.”

The other stands up with one fluent movement, and grins, his gold tooth gleaming in the light from the lamps in the ceiling. In the back of his mind, the thought that the electricity bills can’t be cheap for the manor flashes by. ”Detective Serif,” Mr Ashton greets,, gesturing along the hallway. “Allow me to accompany you.”

“Of course, sir.” Surprised, Edge continues down the hallway, his footsteps joined by Mr Ashton’s.

They make their way the entire way downstairs, the other’s presence quiet and somewhat ominous, before Mr Ashton suddenly speaks up. “Have you solved many cases, Detective?”

The question is casual, but it’s obvious what he means. Can you be trusted? Edge can’t really say he doesn’t respect that. You didn’t trust just anyone if you had anything of worth in your skull. Smiling sharply at the other, Edge nods. His hands are clasped behind his back as they continue down yet another staircase, down on the ground floor. “I’d say I have, sir. Not quite anything of this calibre, but I have found missing people, and once two robbers, home in Deadford, as well as a couple minor crimes.”

Mr Ashton hums as they Edge leads them toward the entrance to the kitchen door. He holds his breath as it seems like the other is going to say something, but nothing. Well then. As much as he hates small-talk, sometimes it is necessary. “I heard you’ve been in Europe. How is the Old Continent?”

“It was a whoope,” Mr Ashton replies, smirking. A good time. Outside of the windows, clouds have rolled in again, painting the world grey once more. “Ever been?”

“No.” The word comes out short enough that the other raises an eyebrow, and Edge sighs as they reach the door leading to the basement. “Even before the economy crisis, I couldn’t have afforded even the ticket itself, much less the costs of living. Sir.”

“Ah, that’s a shame.”

“Indee-“ Just as he opens the door, a loud crash cuts him off, echoing through the tunnels beneath the manor. It’s immediately followed by a scream.

#underfell #undertale #underswap #swapfell #twistfell #uf papyrus #us papyrus #twist papyrus #us sans #sf sans #sf papyrus #ut papyrus #uf sans #my writing #noir detective #mystery #murder #detective

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lyssismagical · 4 years

Text

sweetheart, you look a little tired

Febufluff Day 19, 20, 21, & 22 – Safe and Sound, Butterflies, First Kiss, & Love at First Sight

Read on AO3

Peter’s eyes are drifting shut, swaying on his own two feet behind the cash register. He’s already been benched from actually making anything, so he’s stuck on taking orders.

“Parker!” one of his coworker’s shout from somewhere behind him. He jerks awake, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he yawns.

“Sorry, man. I’m awake, I’m good,” Peter says quickly, turning his attention to the next customer in line and taking their order. Thankfully, it’s a slow day at the café so he doesn’t feel as bad for not being a model employee.

As soon as the customer is through, another coworker of his, Betty, touches his shoulder and pushes a drink into his hand.

“Who’s this for?” Peter asks, looking over the cup for any name.

“For you, dumbass. A few extra shots of espresso to get you through the shift. On the house.”

Peter stares dumbly down at the coffee for a good few moments, not understanding, before he offers Betty a tired smile. “Thanks.”

She shrugs, turning back to her job. “Finish your shift and get some real sleep before your next one, alright?”

Nodding, Peter turns back to the cash register, sipping at his coffee. He’s never really liked coffee, especially now that all it does is remind him of the people he’s lost. His parents used to drink coffee practically religiously, and he remembers Sunday mornings would always smell like coffee and pancakes with his aunt and uncle. But he supposes now he doesn’t really have a choice but to get over it if he’s going to keep his head on his shoulders.

He’s currently working two part-time jobs. One at the coffee shop he’s at now, and another at a nearby restaurant where he’s a waiter. He also picks up odd jobs as often as he can, the extra cash helping to keep their heads above water.

The amount of work he does is already a lot, he barely has any downtime. Especially since he’s a single dad. His daughter is his pride and joy, the light of his life, but it’s tough, he can’t lie.

She’s three, and she’s everything, but between his two jobs and the odd jobs he has to pick up and singlehandedly taking care of a toddler? It’s taking its toll on his health.

He wouldn’t trade it for the world though. He loves her with everything he’s got, even if it means working eighteen-hour days or if it means staying up all night at her bedside when she swears there’s a monster under her bed.

“Excuse me?”

Peter jerks, eyes flying open as a flush immediately fills his cheeks. He quickly takes a gulp of his coffee and turns to the customer.

“I am so sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to, uh… What can I get for you?”

Peter tries his best for a smile as he looks up at the man, and holy fucking shit.

Harley Keener is leaning against the counter nonchalantly, a charming smile adorning his face. He’s holding his wallet, which is surprisingly old and worn, and is looking at Peter with raised eyebrows.

“Your number?” Harley says, smiling a little brighter and dimples show in his tan skin.

Peter, visibly flustered, fumbles for his own coffee cup anxiously, nearly knocking it over. “I, uh, I’m-”

“Kidding, darling, unless you want to.” Harley winks obnoxiously, licking his bottom lip. “I could actually go for a large black coffee. Thanks, love.”

Knowing he must look as red as a tomato, Peter rings up the price. “That’s, uh, three dollars.”

He pops open his wallet and pulls out a bill. “Keep the change, darling.”

And then there’s a one-hundred-dollar bill in Peter’s hand.

“I can’t- I can’t take this. It’s a three-dollar coffee.”

Harley’s smile falls a little bit, and he looks at Peter with confusion sparkling in his brown eyes. “You know who I am, right?”

Nodding, Peter tries to hand back the money. “Yeah, I don’t know anybody who doesn’t know you.”

“So, you have to realize I don’t need the money. I always give generous tips.”

“Generous is like twenty percent, not three thousand percent,” Peter says. He doesn’t mean to be angry, but it feels like a dig at Peter, not as a kind gesture. It makes Peter feel like he’s not working hard enough, like he’s failing his daughter if he needs to get charity from a rich man who throws around his money.

Harley shrugs and doesn’t take back the money. “Split it with your coworkers. I don’t want to carry around change.”

Peter tries his best to look polite despite being exhausted and upset and wanting nothing more than to pick up his daughter from kindergarten and take her home for a movie night.

“Large black coffee,” Peter tells Betty over his shoulder. “Is that all?”

“Yep, that would be wonderful, darling.”

As much as Peter wishes he was angry at the pet names, he can’t be. Harley Keener, son of Tony Stark, one of the most famous billionaires ever, is really hot. Tan with a mess of purposefully wild light brown curls and a wonderful smile that makes little dimples in his cheeks, and the prettiest brown eyes he’s ever seen.

Betty passes Harley the coffee over the counter with a knowing smile.

Harley sees it at the same time Peter does.

He’s too much of a coward so here’s his number.

“You’ve got a nice wingman back there,” Harley says, grinning at Peter. “I’ll call you, beautiful.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Peter doesn’t bother telling him he hasn’t had the money to pay his phone bill in a little over six months.

* “Daddy!” His daughter exclaims, racing across the schoolyard to him. As soon as she reaches him, he scoops her up into his arms, pressing a long kiss to her forehead.

“Hi, baby, I missed you loads,” Peter says, smiling at her. He ignores the tiredness that hangs from his very bones and his aching joints and focuses on the unfiltered joy in his daughter’s eyes.

June Parker was born when Peter was only eighteen. He wasn’t ready to have a child, but MJ and he decided that they could do anything so long as they had each other.

And then there were complications with the birth.

Peter doesn’t remember much from that night, one of the longest nights of his life, all he remembered is the doctors refusing to give him the baby when he was allowed into the nursery. He remembers the worry that almost had his knees giving out. They sat him down in one of the chairs and broke the news. And he sat there, and he cried until he thought his chest would cave.

And then they were tucking his baby into his arms.

“I missed you more!” she exclaims before launching into a detailed explanation of her school day.

He walks them home, a good seven blocks away from the elementary school, but it’s not like he has the spare cash to pay for a car, insurance and gas.

Eventually, they do make it home to their little apartment building, and Peter’s never been happier to peel off his sneakers and fall onto the couch, June immediately curling up against his chest.

“Do you work tonigh’?” June asks, a pout tugging at her mouth.

“Nope, got the night off, honey.” Peter doesn’t tell her that it’s because he looked dead on his feet last night and was forced to take a sick day to get some real sleep. Instead, he grins down at her, and lifts his eyebrows. “You know what that means?”

“Movie night!” she squeals, sliding off the couch and racing for the kitchen and their poorly stocked cupboards.

Peter laughs and drags himself to his feet. “Dinner first, June.”

He scoops her back up, sitting her down on the counter. “What do you want to eat?”

She pretends to think really hard for a few seconds like she hasn’t already made up her mind. “Mac and cheese!”

Shaking his head in amusement, he presses a kiss to her forehead. “Mac and cheese, it is then, baby.”

* He doesn’t sleep well again, instead making some decent money by reviewing and editing essays online and making sure June sleeps soundly despite the noise of the city, louder than ever.

And then he’s up early as ever to walk June to school and then head to the café for his shift.

“Wow, you look like you were hit by a bus,” Betty says. Not in a mean way, she’s one of the only friends he’s got. “You weren’t working last night, were you?”

“Not at the restaurant,” he says. He doesn’t need to say that he was working anyways. He doesn’t like sleeping anyway.

As soon as he takes up his position at the cash register, Harley Keener walks in.

He’s dressed immaculately as always, but there’s a frown on his face as he walks in.

“Black coffee again?” Peter says when he reaches the counter.

Harley falters for a second, eyes losing the spark of anger before it comes back with intensity. “I texted you last night. Like six times. And I called you too. Tony thought I was losing my mind over a guy at a café.”

Peter winces, opening his mouth to apologize, but there’s a bit of shame burning his chest. He doesn’t want to tell the billionaire’s heir that he’s too broke to pay for his phone bill, that’s why he couldn’t text back.

“If you didn’t like me, you could’ve at least been honest,” Harley says, genuine hurt flooding his eyes.

“I don’t even know you,” Peter says instead. But he does know that Harley’s pretty and he has hints of a southern accent from before he got adopted as Tony Stark’s kid. He does know that it’s been three years since MJ, that if he wants to get back in the game, he’s allowed to.

“You could’ve gotten to know me if you had answered your phone,” Harley counters easily, eyebrows lifting. He leans forward, closer to Peter, voice low. “Can I take you out for dinner, darling?”

Peter swallows thickly, mind blanking. All he manages is a slow nod, trying not to stare too blatantly. Harley’s so close to him that Peter can smell the expensive cologne on him.

Harley smiles, leaning back. It’s less of a cocky, arrogant, rich boy smile, and more the most genuine smile Peter’s seen, dimples showing and the corners of his eyes creasing.

“Perfect. I’ll text you?”

This is where Peter should’ve said something. Where he should’ve admitted that he didn’t have a phone plan anymore and that he doesn’t even know where his phone went, probably lost in their apartment somewhere.

Instead, Betty’s sliding a coffee across the counter to Harley who puts down a bunch of coins.

“Three dollars and sixty cents,” Harley says proudly. He’s grinning as he takes his drink. “Your twenty percent like you asked for.”

Before Peter has the time to say anything, Harley’s out the door.

* The rest of Peter’s day is busy enough to keep his mind occupied and away from thoughts of Harley. He works at the café, gets June home from school, helps her with her kindergarten homework, welcomes June’s babysitter, Ned, works at the restaurant, and gets home with just enough time to shower and get an hour or two of sleep before he’s taking June back to school.

He only realizes his mistake when Betty skips over to him. “How was your date?”

“Oh shit,” he says, jaw dropping. He stood up Harley fucking Keener. He runs a hand through his hair and leans back against the counter.

Betty’s expression falls, eyebrows crinkling. “What happened?”

“I just- I was working till three and I just- I forgot.”

As if on cue, Harley walks into the café, nonchalant, uncaring, sunglasses perched on his nose.

“Harley, look, I’m sorry-”

“Large black coffee, thanks,” Harley says, dropping three dollar bills on the table.

There’s a second where all Peter does is stare dumbly, speechless before he gets his head back. “I’m sorry, Harley. I swear I have a good explanation for this. It’s just-”

Harley shrugs. “You know I acted like I was a stupid teenager. I went home and I gushed to Tony about the cute boy at the café who was good at math and who got all flustered when I flirted with you and didn’t trip head over heels just because I’m Tony’s kid. And then yesterday, I went home and I wouldn’t shut up about how I got a date. And then you never picked up your phone. You never answered my calls. You totally stood me up.”

“I couldn’t pay for my phone plan,” Peter blurts, shame rolling in his stomach. “I should’ve told you sooner, I just- I didn’t know how. I wanted to go on that date, but I- I worked all night and I- I don’t have a phone plan anymore, so I couldn’t.”

And like someone flipped a switch, Harley’s smiling in relief, tugging his sunglasses off his face.

“In that case, when does your shift end?”

“You forgive me? Just like that?”

Harley shrugs, grinning brightly. “Course I do, wasn’t your fault. Plus, I really do like you, Peter.”

“I’ve got plans after my shift.”

“Like what?”

Peter tips his head to the side. “Before you really decide that you like me, you should know I have a daughter. I pick her up from school after my shift.”

And instead of confusion or disgust or anger or anything, Harley’s smile widens. “I know it doesn’t sound like a perfect date, but I would love to tag along.”

Peter can’t help the little smile that creeps onto his face. “I mean, yeah, sure, if you really want to. I get off my shift at two.”

“Perfect!” Harley exclaims. He grabs the coffee Betty left him on the counter. He turns away from Peter who expects him to head out, but he sits at the closest table to the counter.

“You do realize there’s still six hours until two, right?” Peter calls out.

“I have wonderful entertainment,” Harley replies, resting his chin in his hand and simply staring at Peter from across the room.

* They walk all the way from the café to the elementary school, joking and flirting and teasing each other, knocking shoulders and playfully pushing each other.

It’s fun. Peter hasn’t had fun in a really long time.

“Daddy!” June exclaims, racing towards them. She stops short when she sees Harley. She squints up at him for a moment before shrugging and lifting her arms for Peter to pick her up.

“How was school, baby?”

“Good! Miss A gave me a sticker for cleaning up!” she says, smiling brightly, little hands curling into Peter’s shirt.

Peter smiles proudly and kisses her forehead. “June, this is Harley, a friend of mine. Harley, this is my daughter June.”

June’s face scrunches up. “Daddy doesn’t have any friends.”

“Oh my god,” Harley says, trying to stifle his laughter. “Well, he does now. It’s nice to meet you, June.”

She giggles, hiding her face shyly in Peter’s chest, wide brown eyes looking Harley over as though she’s the one protecting Peter.

“Back to mine?” Peter offers. “As much as I’d love a regular afternoon hanging out, I’ve got a shift at the restaurant tonight, so I’ve gotta get dinner started early. You’re welcome to hang out.”

“You work two jobs?” Harley asks, tipping his head to the side, curls flopping across his forehead. “And look after your kid?”

It’s not said with any judgement, just curiosity with a splash of worry.

“Yeah. June’s mom passed away during childbirth,” Peter explains quietly, pressing a kiss to June’s forehead. “Just me and her now, so I’m trying my best.”

The grief is still there, but it doesn’t hurt so much anymore. He knew MJ for nearly six years, dated her for two years. He was going to propose after June was born, he didn’t want MJ to think he was only proposing because she was pregnant. He had to sell the ring not long after June was born to pay for diapers and other supplies, so he doesn’t even have it anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Harley murmurs, gently taking Peter’s hand and intertwining their fingers.

Peter offers a smile and points in the direction they have to walk. “You prepared for a seven-block walk?”

“You walk this every day?” Harley’s eyes go wide, jaw dropping. “Carrying her? Oh my god, no wonder you’re so fit!”

June giggles lifting her head to look at Harley. “Daddy’s so strong.”

“He sure is,” he agrees, grinning. “You want me to take her?”

Normally, Peter wouldn’t have agreed to give his kid over to anyone, but Harley’s been incredibly sweet and understanding over the past three days. So, he lets Harley take June and swing her up onto his shoulders, not even wincing when June grabs his curls, giggling brightly.

“Look, Daddy! I’m so tall!” she exclaims, little legs accidentally kicking Harley in the chest, but he just smiles, and holds onto her ankles.

“You sure are, baby, be grateful. This is probably the only time you’ll ever feel tall if you inherited my genes,” Peter laughs.

They walk the seven walks together, Harley never once complaining about June on his shoulders or having to walk so long, chatting about everything and anything. Harley’s more down to earth than Peter would’ve expected for Tony Stark’s son. He talks about his mom and his sister back in Tennessee, about how Tony adopted him when he was eleven so Harley could have the best opportunities he could.

And Peter talks about his own family. His mom and dad, and their plane crash, his aunt and uncle, and their car crash. About how he was living with MJ to finish his high school education when she got pregnant and he lost her too.

Harley’s sympathetic, but not in a pitying way, not in a way that Peter feels judged or uncomfortable. And it’s nice. Peter’s spent the past three years only really talking to a toddler and coworkers.

It’s just nice to have a friend.

June pulls out her colouring books when they get home, immediately racing off to the living room to turn on Paw Patrol and colour.

Harley sits up on the counter in the kitchen as Peter pulls open the fridge, sighing and rubbing his eyes when he realizes it’s pretty much empty.

“You wanna order in?” Harley offers, already pulling out his phone and wallet. “I can pay.”

“I’m not your charity case,” Peter says. He knows Harley’s only being nice, but it stings to think that June could be with someone like Harley, not living off boxed mac and cheese, and cheap snacks.

Harley lifts his hands in surrender. “I’m not saying you are. This is a date, right? I’ll cover dinner this time. You can get the next one.”

Lifting his eyebrows, Peter bites back a smile, butterflies filling his stomach. “Already planning a second date, Keener? A little presumptuous of you, isn’t it?”

Harley reaches out to grab Peter’s waist, pulling him into the spot between his legs, grinning carelessly. “Only if you want to, of course.”

“Let’s get through this one first before we start making new plans, hm?” Peter replies, a smile touching his face.

Sure, there’s a headache growing behind his eyes, one that’s been there for as long as he can remember. Sure, he’s exhausted and his feet hurt and he has another shift at the restaurant that night. Sure, he’s only known Harley for three days. Sure, Peter doesn’t feel good enough to be with someone like Harley.

But Harley’s looking at him like he hung the stars, grinning brightly like he wouldn’t want to be anywhere but here with Peter.

So, Peter leans in and presses a kiss to Harley’s lips. It’s been three years since he’s kissed anybody, but Harley doesn’t seem to mind because his hands lift to cradle Peter’s face, kissing back enthusiastically.

Until, “Daddy! Look!”

Peter pulls away, unable to stop the smile from spreading across his face and laughing at the terrible timing.

“Yeah, honey?” Peter calls out, turning to the kitchen door just as June barrels in, coloring book in hand.

“Lookie!” She says, giving him the book. It’s a picture of Sky from Paw Patrol, messily scribbled in with every color in the rainbow.

“It looks great, baby. Way better than anything I could do,” Peter laughs. “You want pizza tonight?”

She lights up, bouncing on her feet. “Yes please! Thank you, Mister Harley!”

Harley grins down at her, ruffling her hair. “Course, kiddo. Anything for you.”

And Peter believes him. In the hour or so that Harley’s known June, he’s been nothing but a picture-perfect guy to both Peter and June.

June shouts a quick thank you and then she races back through to the living room, leaving the two boys alone.

“Thanks for everything,” Peter murmurs, leaning into Harley’s chest. “You’ve been a really nice guy, so thank you for that.”

“You’re thanking me for being a decent human being?” Harley asks. But then he laughs and kisses Peter’s cheek. “Course, darling. I really do like you, I wasn’t lying earlier.”

“I really like you too, not for your money or for the title, but I like you.”

Something about Harley’s demeanor relaxes infinitesimally. “Thanks. Most people hear my name and they just want the minute of fame from knowing me, I guess.”

“Well, most people look at me and see somebody who’s not worth the trouble, so thank you for overlooking the fact that my life is a mess right now.”

Harley smiles, dimples showing in his cheeks, and runs his thumb over Peter’s cheekbone softly. “If you’d let me, could I pay for your phone bill. I wanna be able to text you and call you. This would be for me, not for you, obviously.”

Peter laughs, kissing Harley again. “For you, of course.”

* Peter gets home from the restaurant to find Harley still in his apartment with Ned. Harley had offered to babysit, but was understanding when Peter said he wasn’t sure if he trusted Harley alone with his daughter and Ned was already on his way.

Peter had expected Harley to head home after Peter left, but from the looks of it, Harley had hung out with Ned and June all night.

“Didn’t think you’d stay,” Peter admits, dropping onto the couch beside Harley. “You have a good night?”

“We watched a Barbie movie and ate way too much pizza. June told me all about school and you and everything.”

Ned leans over the back of the couch, yawning. “Gonna head home, Pete. Do you work tomorrow too?”

“Nah, took the weekend off, had some plans. Bye, Ned. Goodnight.”

“Night, Pete. Night, Harley.”

Ned heads out, and Harley immediately turns to Peter with a knowing grin. “Plans?”

“Yeah, you promised me a second date, didn’t you?”

“Me, you, and June should go to a park. Have a cute little picnic, fly some kites.”

Peter can’t help but smile. For their second date, Harley includes June without a second thought. It’s the sweetest thing in the world. Peter can’t help but slide into the space beside Harley, curling into Harley’s warmth, and kiss him sweetly.

“Sounds wonderful.”

“This is probably going to sound insane, and it’s too late for anything I say to be taken seriously, but do you believe in love at first sight?”

Peter thinks carefully, remembering the first time he saw MJ at school and the way his heart almost beat out of his chest, remembering seeing Harley three days prior at the café and the way he thought he was going to die on the spot.

“I think so, yeah,” Peter says, voice quiet. “Do you?”

“Saw you, falling asleep at the counter, and I swear to you, darling, I just knew. I know I was a bit of a jerk to you, but I just- Falling that quickly, never happened to me before, and I panicked a little bit.”

“Don’t wanna drop that word yet,” Peter says, shaking his head.

“Me neither, but I just know I really like you, darling.”

“I really like you too.”

Peter snuggles up closer to Harley, draping his legs over Harley’s lap and wrapping his arms around his neck.

“Comfy?” Harley asks, pressing a kiss to Peter’s temple.

“Mm, yeah.”

“Good. You’re safe and sound with me, darling.”

#lyss writes #febufluff #parkner #parkner fic #parley #harley keener/peter parker #harley/peter #harley keener #harley x peter #dad peter parker #coffee shop au #peter parker

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fairyshuuu · 6 years

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Fate

Genre: fluff Length: 1.3k Happy (belated) birthday, sister! This one is for you @gwaenchanhajagiya.

Six words. Your fate exists of, and is powered by six words, printed in thick, bold letters on your forearm. It’s been there ever since you can remember, loud, and somewhat obscene but beautiful nevertheless. Your mother has fourteen, painted in a delicate cursive on her small wrist. Your father has twelve, small, blocky letters slightly faded through hard work. The concept itself is, much like the meaning, too complicated for a lot of people, surrounded by lore and lies, and wishful thinking. A riddle, to tell you how to live the rest of your life in joy.

Many don’t figure out the answer later in life, after learning and seeing more, or never at all. Some riddles ask people to face fears to find the answer, or reach into yourself too deep, and those people often turn away from fate, choosing to live quietly in the shadows that cast when another finds their light. Everyone stays curious though. Wondering is silence, even after they give up trying. It comes with a question you’ve learn to both hate and love.

‘What do yours say?’. When you were a small child, that’s when the hurricane of enthusiasm inside would be released, proudly showing the letters carved into your skin to family or other children, who would do the same. Later in life, that’s when it starts becoming something to hate. When others start finding the answer to theirs, and when you don’t have an answer yourself. You’ve come to expect it though.

What would make eternity worth living?

When you are eleven, looking out through the window at the small white birds flying by, you think you have found the answer for the first time. If anything can make eternity worth living, it’s the sky, you think. You spend days, weeks, finding gratitude in that answer, making plans for a future you can’t even imagine yet. It’s, looking back, both childish and poetic, thinking bliss can be found in the thing that surrounds us at all times. Childish, because it isn’t something that follows a person wherever they go, instead struggling, finding leaks and pathways to flow through, when other emotions make way. Poetic, for if you were to choose, you’d wish happiness upon mankind above all.

For your twelfth birthday, you get to visit the sky for the first time, eagerly strapping on the belt as the plane takes off. Though the flight is quite long, you don’t sleep for a second of it, big eyes taking in the clouds below you, while the sun hits them, radiating it’s light all around. Your parents wanted to take a trip to the Andes before they were both too old to even consider it, so taking with the eager ball of passion and adventure that is you. You think that’s when you truly learn to appreciate the small moments that you’ll look back on when remembering happiness.

Some days, you still think your answer might be the sky, when rain comes down in truckloads and you run over to open the doors to your terras, letting the sound fill your entire apartment as you work. That, mixed with the sounds of cars and taxi’s driving by. When you run outside in giggles, tugging on your baby blue rain boots like a true New York wallflower, rushing over to carry your bright potted plants inside as your clothes soak in the water, making you shiver down to the bone. Those moments, that others might call wretched and unfortunate, are part of your eternity.

You are sixteen when you think you have found the answer for the second time. You’re young, and in love, crushing like most others at that time. He was tall and tanned, with one of the brightest smiles you’ll ever see on a person, and you think you’d like him to be eternity. His name is Kim Jongin, and he sits two desks in front of you, on the other side of class. He has the table next to the window, though he never drifts off into a daydream, like you do. Kim Jongin is a model student, which is why you like him. He seems more grown than other boys your age, and grounded steadily in reality, with strong ideas of what his future will look like.

Some days, you think back to that time and wonder what if, what if things would have been different. What if you would have tried harder, and had married Kim Jongin, how your future would have looked like. Would you have been a dynamic duo, making a name for yourself all around, or would you have become his sweet wife, who got to kiss two little head goodnight? Those days are still scary, and you still don’t like those days, since the idea of singlehandedly ruining your forever is always looming. Looking back though, you think Kim Jongin would have been a safe option, steady in both morals and lifestyle, but never the missing part of your happiness.

The third time you think you have found the answer, you are twenty two, driving to the airport. This time, you think the answer is work, something you throw yourself on fully, the child in you screaming in elation at the idea of doing something you love while getting paid. Journalism is the best of both worlds, since writing and traveling are all you want to do. You are young still, and giddy to explore the world, learning about others and yourself, and more things that bring happiness. Like the sound of children playing in the streets, excited giggles and the pats of little feet on the cement filling your small room through the window, while the white linen curtains wave back and forward. You pass through places at high speed, South Africa, Osaka, Mexico City, Paris, Sydney, Stockholm, Las Vegas, as you have the time of your life, and you learn to enjoy being alone.

Some days, you think the answer still might be work, days where you sink deeper into the bed, covered safely in warm blankets and a coffee in hand, hands drumming on your laptop nervously. Days where you wake up at four in the morning, with random ideas that need ways to get out and only can when you put them down on paper. Days where you turn up the heath in the apartment to warm your cold feet while you lay upside down in the couch, reading through words until they don’t make sense in your mind anymore and days where you proudly present your second book, dabbling in between excitement and stress.

The fourth, and final time you think you have found the answer, is Christmas night, twenty four years old. This day, you now see, is a special day. It’s not just any Christmas, though that in itself could make it special as well. It’s special, because that day you find the answer to your six words. It’s the day you bump into him, pink cheeks and wide eyes, as he apologizes profusely for spilling his hot chocolate on your ugly snowman sweater. It’s also the day you think back on now, and are the most grateful for, since it brought you all the irreplaceable moments that fill your days. Like the late night therapy moments, when you pull your fingers through his black hair, listening to his concerns and worries as his arms wrap around your waist. Like the quick kisses when he walks into the kitchen with his gold rimmed glasses, holding you to his chest while you cook. Like the nights you wake up to an open door, blankets pushed to your side of the bed, and the sound of soft melodies from the living room, his voice cutting through the silence.

And some days, you look at Jongdae, much like you are now, his parted lips and messy hair as his hands fist into the blankets after a long day, with the doors to the terras wide open and wet socks and a cup of coffee in hand, and can’t help but think why anyone would ever want to spend an eternity worth living any other way.

#exowritersnet #kpoptrashtag #exo chen #chen fluff #exo jongdae #jongdae fluff #kjd #exowriting #exo soulmates #exo au #soulmate au

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cycat4077 · 7 years

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Gods, I Love Her

Summary: Beyond the Wall the boys settle down and Gendry learns Arya is still alive. After the battle, he returns to Winterfell and finds her. ~Your cliche Gendrya reunion before episode 6 airs~

Characters/ships: Gendry x Arya, Jon Snow, Sandor Clegane, Beric Dondarrion, Thoros of Myr, Tormund Giantsbane, Jorah Mormont, Brienne of Tarth, Sansa Stark

More tags: Gendry’s POV, Gendrya reunion, the last few characters in the tags get only a nod really, Beyond the Wall, Winterfell, Jon Snow Still Knows Nothing

Links: AO3, FF.net, or more below the cut

Notes: Basically thought of and written over the course of 2 days. Forgive any errors, they’re all mine. This is my first Gendrya fic, so I hope I do them justice and you enjoy :)

It was a bone-chilling cold that had settled over the lands beyond the Wall. The wind crackled and howled through the trees, swirling up clouds of snow beneath a clear night sky. Ice formed on one’s breath as soon as it was expelled, building up one’s beard as well as on the furs covering the neck. Fingers and toes panged with pain as the damp cold seeped through fur-lined boots and into skin. If not for fire, one would surely perish by the unyielding harshness of winter.

The unlikely band of men huddled around the fire they had built to rest for the night. Tomorrow they would set out to capture a wight, but for now they shared the meat of a roasted rabbit amongst them as they laughed and told stories of their past.

The Hound, though skittish around the flames, tore into his rabbit leg with grateful ferocity. He was first to bring up the Stark girl. “So, Jon Snow,” he said in a mocking tone, “did that little runt of a sister of yours ever make it back North?”

“Who? Arya?” questioned Jon, pausing mid-chew.

To the mention of that name, the young blacksmith perked an ear.

“Yeah, the spiteful one,” affirmed the Hound.

“Apparently so. I received a raven from Sansa while at Dragonstone claiming that she had finally made a safe return,” announced the King in the North with pride.

The Hound chuckled in spite of himself.

“Why?” asked Jon.

“You mean that little rug-rat managed to stay alive?” interjected Thoros.

“What?” blurted Jon, turning to face him.

“She was quite the little devil,” added Lord Beric.

“You knew my sister too?” said Jon with a puzzled look.

“Aye,” answered Thoros. “She tried to take on our men singlehandedly.”

Jon shook his head in confusion, but understood an act like that was most certainly something Arya would have done.

“She stood her ground, threatening to kill each one of us. A lot of talk that little one was. In fact, she was trying to protect some fat boy and that bastard seated across from you,” continued Thoros, pointing at Gendry.

Gendry swallowed hard as all eyes turned to him. Jon looked even more perplexed than before. “You too?” he exclaimed.

“Yes, your grace,” replied Gendry. “Arya and I had been recruited for the Night’s Watch; she of course disguised as a boy. The Lannisters wanted my head and Yoren died protecting us, however we ended up being taken prisoner at Harrenhal until we escaped and ran into the Brothers, your grace.” Gendry said, nodding towards Thoros and Lord Beric. “I haven’t heard word of Arya since I was sold to Melisandre. I’m relieved she has found her way back home.”

There was a chorus of hums in agreeance around the fire. Then Jon spoke up to ask: “She disguised herself as a boy? How did you know who she was?”

“I figured out that she was a girl on my own, but I had no idea who she was. She trusted me enough to tell of her true lineage and I was ashamed for my casual nature around one of such a high-born family. I called her m’lady and she turned angry, pushing me to the ground in a fit of disgust.” Gendry smiled at the telling of this fond memory.

“Sounds just like Arya,” Jon smiled in return. “She’s never been one for fancy dresses or titles. Once she made Lady Catelyn furious by shooting an arrow straight past out younger brother’s head. She hit the target dead on, but ended up confined to her quarters for a week. Arya protested that she wouldn’t have missed, that she was too good a shot to ever miss. She only wished to show Bran the proper way to shoot a bow, never kill him. The only thing her grievances resulted in was making her mother impossibly more angry.” The King laughed and the Hound snorted. Thoros and Ser Beric, grinned widely while Tormund and Ser Jorah chuckled at the nonsense of the young girl. Gendry too couldn’t help a smile from spreading across his face, the anecdote painting a perfect picture of the girl he had left behind.

The Hound quickly spoke up, a piece of rabbit flying from his mouth only to sizzle in the fire. “That’s nothing,” he proclaimed. “When we travelled together, she was pure hell. One night we had stopped to camp under the stars. We had a small bag of silver and some weapons and a few loaves of bread. A thief had come by to raid us but I only found out after being awoken by a loud shriek from the man. The little rat had that Needle of hers pinned to his jugular with his arse backed against a tree. She was cursing at him and threatening to end him right there if he didn’t drop our supplies. I was scrambling to reach them, but she was too fucking fast. The bastard shoved his loot back at us and fucking shit his pants!” recalled the Hound through broken laughter. “I tell you, I’ve never seen a man run so fucking fast in my life, let alone from the threats of a little girl!”

The story had the rest of the men in stitches. Jon’s cheeks were rosy as he sat back and snickered. Tormund, despite never having met the Stark girl, erupted in a deep belly laugh that made his fiery red beard bob up and down. Ser Jorah neither was immune to the tale of such a fierce girl. And though Arya had threatened to kill them on many occasions, Lord Beric and Thoros both took a moment to laugh along with their comrades over the likes of Arya Stark.

But it was Gendry whose reaction was least obnoxious. The way the Hound had described Arya to them had awoke the fondness he had for her. They had endured so much together, yet somehow could still manage to make one another smile. She had trusted in him and he in her and it was a feeling Gendry missed terribly. Hearing the news that she had made it – she had survived even after all this time, filled him with such joy and relief. He truly missed her.

And so, as laughter filled the air around them, Gendry could only smile. He turned his head from the fire to his boots, replaying the memories in his mind before he muttered to himself, “Gods, I love her.”

~****~

His heart began to pump faster with each footfall that drew them nearer to the gates of Winterfell. She would be there and he would see her again…after all these years.

Gendry was tucked in the middle of their little travelling caravan, the King in the North leading the way home. When the great spans of Winterfell’s walls finally stared him down, he reveled in its cold, stony beauty. Snow peaked its trellises while blue-black smoke rose up like a breath from within. The Stark banners flew proudly through the icy wind.

With a holler from Jon Snow, the large wooden gates swung open revealing the belly of the great fortress. Within, Gendry could see men ducking in and out of massive stone arches, shuttling food and supplies to where they needed to go. Stable boys were guiding around unbroken fillies and colts, struggling to train them for the impending winter. A tall redhead clad is fine fabrics, cloaks and furs stood on tall steps, smiling at her half-brother’s safe return. And in the right-most corner of the courtyard sounded the song of kissing steel. A tall, broad woman in lavish armour was pitted against the tiny form of another nimble woman. The small one’s brown hair was slicked into a half-ponytail and she moved with lightening speed. Just as she was about to deliver her winning move, the tall woman stopped suddenly, straightened and lowered her weapon to her side. The younger woman stilled mid-swing, bewildered until she followed the line of sight of her sparring partner. She turned fast on her heels, heavy breaths halting as her face washed over with relief and joy. She dropped her thin sword and in the blink of an eye she was rushing towards the gates.

It was her, Gendry realized. She was there, alive and more than well. She had grown, no longer looking like the little girl dressed as a boy. She was now a woman and even more fierce a warrior than when they had last seen one another.

The King in the North dropped his packsacks, immediately opening his arms to embrace her. She jumped up, wrapping hers around his neck and closing her eyes tightly, as if fearful that he could slip away from her once again. He embraced her lovingly, gently swaying her to and fro. Jon must have whispered something in her ear, for she smiled against him.

Then she opened her eyes and saw him over the shoulder of the King. Their gazes locked and her demeanor immediately changed. Genry’s heart now thundered in his chest. He shouldn’t have been watching the two siblings share such an intimate moment, yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the one person he had missed so dearly.

Jon sensed a change in his sister and withdrew from their embrace with concern. Arya’s grey-blue eyes never left Genry’s as her brother spoke to her.

Every emotion was coursing through Gendry. Relief, joy, fear, and something that made his stomach lurch, urging one foot forward involuntarily. Arya shifted slowly, moving around her brother with a gate as agile as a cat. He could almost make out his name, silent on her lips as she began to approach him. She looked unsure and Gendry’s pulse throbbed not knowing what to expect. Her face yielded nothing but disbelief, for the last time she saw him she was certain the Red Witch was going to end his life. He felt ashamed for his ignorance. He wished he had listened to her, wished he had not chosen the Brothers over her. He knew his choice had wounded her, especially after all they had been through and with every swing he used to shape steel over the years, a little bit of this regret fueled the blows.

Arya continued to close the distance between them, her feet softly padding the powdery snow. At last, she was before him, gazing up into his eyes with an expressionless face. He wanted to tell her so many things but simply did not know how. Instead all he managed was “I’m sorry.”

“Shut up!” she spat, furrowing her brow. And then she threw her arms around his middle. She squeezed him fiercely, and he responded in kind, enveloping her in a tight hug and resting his head upon hers. A warmth overtook him, rising from his toes to his cheeks. For the first time he felt at ease; like he had finally found home. They stood like that for a moment longer, uncaring of the many eyes that had fallen upon them.

Finally, they pulled away from each other smiling as their touch lingered. Suddenly and before he had a chance to respond, Arya’s eyes narrowed, her lips crammed together and her nose scrunched as she threw her fist into his stomach. Gendry doubled with a loud ummphh, and looked back to her seeking an explanation. “That’s for leaving me,” she proclaimed, crossing her arms.

“Aye. I suppose I do deserve that,” he conceded.

“Consider yourself lucky! I am capable of far worse!” Her threat was more playful than spiteful as she tried to hide the grin forming upon her lips.

Gendry chucked. “Same old Arya, as fearless and as vengeful as ever,” he smiled.

She no longer hid her grin. “I’m glad to have you back.”

“As am I, M’lady.” Arya’s eyes widened and she raised her fist threateningly. Gendry laughed as he flinched to protect his stomach.

Notes: While I’ve read a lot of great fics featuring Gendry and Arya’s reunion, in my mind I don’t think the first thing she’d do is sock him. She’s mad at him for leaving, but he was her family and security in a time when nothing for her was certain. I don’t think Arya would have forgotten that, and as angry as she was at him, she still cared. So this reunion was probably a little more sentimental for both parties than what others might have written. I hope you enjoyed it none-the-less

#gendrya #arya x gendry #arya stark #gendry waters #got fanfiction #my fanfic #no spoilers please i haven't watched the leaked episode 6

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