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potterverse-united · 3 years ago

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In Loving Memory

A fanfic in which Snape and Harry actually talk it out a little and start to understand each other...

Rating: G / K

Summary: Harry has never really liked Halloween... for obvious reasons. A certain professor isn't really a fan either. Perhaps some healing is in the cards for both of them, after a trip out to a small village in southwest England. Takes place in second year, but it could honestly be any year at Hogwarts.

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A/N: I haven't written fanfic in forever, but I just watched every single Harry Potter movie in one day a couple days ago, and it sent me into a relapse of my 13 year old self's Harry Potter obsession (not to mention that I now live in Orlando and have been to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter like 6 times in the last couple weeks). Oh man if my roommates ever find this they're gonna know exactly who wrote this…

O-O /*

With a flick of his wand, Snape slammed the door to his office shut, locking it beyond the hope of any student's best alohomora charm. He set out at a brisk pace toward the castle's entrance, glad to be escaping the merry cheers and shouts emanating from the Halloween celebration taking place in the Great Hall and, frankly, all throughout the castle.

As he turned a corner, he nearly tripped over a pair of legs and a stack of books. Idiotic, really. You would think that students would have the common sense not to sit where they could easily become a tripping hazard, but Severus had learned not to be surprised when 'common sense' was absent at Hogwarts.

A Ravenclaw, he expected. They were book smart, sure, but other than that, they could be incredibly dense, clumsy, and shortsighted. Or maybe Granger, though he imagined she was probably off getting roped into trouble with Potter and Weasley, perhaps with Hagrid and some illegal creature involved.

He had not expected the scrawny boy with round glasses and a lightning bolt scar on his forehead to be sitting in this dark hallway, far removed from the rest of the student body.

"Potter, I figured you'd be milling about and enjoying the festivities with your rowdy little friends," Snape spoke with a sneer. "What's a second year Gryffindor like yourself doing inside on Halloween night?"

Harry looked up, caught off guard by his professor who seemed to be wearing a heavier traveling cloak and carrying a crate full of items he couldn't quite see.

"I was, sir. I just… Well, Halloween isn't exactly my favorite night, professor."

Snape's head tilted back, eyes piercing through Harry's as if assessing the veracity of his excuse before, unbelievably, softening.

"I see," he answered. The potions professor pressed his lips together, the corners of his mouth slumping downward slightly, almost imperceptibly. "I'm not too fond of it myself." He shuffled the items awkwardly in his arms, turning to walk away.

"Are you going somewhere, professor?" Harry asked. After what had happened the previous Halloween, Harry wasn't sure it was the best idea for professors to leave the students unprotected, but Snape must have a good reason if he was. At Harry's words, he froze.

"As a matter of fact, I am," he answered in his drawling voice, turning back to look at his student. "I have business outside of the castle."

Harry nodded and shifted his attention back to the Transfiguration assignment he had been working on, expecting that his professor's patience for such an idle conversation had long since worn off.

Snape, however, continued to stare at the young boy, seeming to consider his next words very carefully.

"Perhaps you'd like to accompany me, Potter. My destination happens to be one that you may wish to visit."

"Sir?" Harry sat, confused.

Any hesitation Snape had shown at his initial offer was quickly covered by what could only be described as impatient certainty. "Come along, Potter. Unless you'd rather stay here staring at a blank roll of parchment?"

Blinking in surprise, Harry promptly gathered his things and trailed after the flowing cape of Severus Snape, down the hall and out of the castle.

O-O /*

Harry had to walk twice as fast as he usually did to keep up with the deceptively fast stride of his professor. They traveled down the lane a while, Snape charging ahead without so much as a glance back at the castle where students' delighted screams and laughs could be heard from half a mile away.

"I could help carry that for you, sir," Harry offered, seeing his professor struggle with the bulky items in his arms.

Snape's instinctive refusal died on his lips as he glanced down and met the wide, truthful eyes of Harry Potter. Eyes that could only remind him why he was bothering to drag the kid along with him on his yearly pilgrimage in the first place.

He nodded jerkily, not used to accepting help from anyone, much less the son of James Potter.

"Hold this," he said, transferring a large wreath of white flowers from the top of his overflowing box into Harry's awaiting arms.

Harry eyed the wreath curiously. Whatever he had expected the professor to be carrying, this certainly wasn't it.

"Where is it that we're going, professor?" he asked, shaking off the momentary confusion that had held him back from where Snape was walking ahead of him.

Snape made no move to meet Harry's eyes as he responded. "We are walking to the edge of the castle grounds, from which point we will apparate to a village in the southwest of England."

"Southwest England? Am I allowed that far from Hogwarts during the school year?" Harry asked curiously, wondering now if this was some ploy to trick him into breaking some serious school rules and getting sent home.

Snape's lip curled in a slight smirk at Potter's uncertainty. "As long as you stay with me, the headmaster can have no objection," his answer came, with an air of finality.

O-O /*

Apparation proved to be tougher to stomach than Harry was expecting, but his lack of an appetite at the Halloween feast served him well in that regard. Snape's firm grip on his arm helped stabilize him as their feet met the slightly damp soil of a small, sleepy town.

"What is this place?" Harry asked, turning his head like an owl to take in his new surroundings.

His professor looked down at him, a flash of concern and… something else behind his dark, inky eyes before it was easily masked by practiced impassivity. His gaze turned to the town in front of them.

"Godric's Hollow," he answered, seeming to lose himself in the line of small cottages and the old church standing silent in the middle. His voice was quiet, even softer than his usual reserved intonation, and there was a faraway look in his eye, like he was seeing more than Harry could see in front of him. "It is the birthplace of Godric Gryffindor, the invention of the Golden Snitch, and…" Snape paused, glancing down at the boy. "You."

Harry sucked in a shuddering breath.

"So that means…"

Snape gave a small nod, breathing out a sigh.

"Yes. This is where it happened."

Harry's knees suddenly felt like jelly. Snape must have recognized this, as he placed a firm, guiding hand on Harry's shoulder and led him through the quiet, leaf-covered street without another word.

As they neared the back of the church, Snape began to speak. "I had assumed you would have been brought here to visit by now. Twelve years of age, surely someone would have shown you where you're from." A kind of sadness formed in Harry's eyes, and Snape had to look away. "From your reaction, I can see I was incorrect in that assumption."

Harry nodded.

Severus clenched his fist, suppressing quiet rage at Petunia Evans who, looking back now, Snape should have realized would be unlikely to share fond memories of her sister with her nephew.

As they walked, Harry couldn't help looking at the streets, dimly lit with a warm yellow light. Bedroom lights in the small houses flickered out one by one, and he imagined that in each one, loving parents were kissing their children goodnight as they drifted off into content sleep.

This is where he would have grown up. A peaceful, happy life. A mum and a dad.

If, if, if.

Harry had long since learned that such thoughts only brought pain, but on the anniversary of their deaths, it was harder to push back those feelings. A deep sense of melancholy settled itself in his heart, pressing inward. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes before the brisk autumn breeze blew across his face and dried them all up.

So lost in his musings was Harry, that he didn't even notice where Professor Snape had led them to.

The man stood, unmoving, gazing over rows and rows of tombstones in a fenced-in cemetery next to the church. Harry came up alongside him and felt his breath catch in his throat.

"Would you like to visit their grave, Harry?" Snape all but whispered, calling his student by his given name for the first time, possibly ever.

The boy looked up in shock, realizing now what was before him.

"You mean they're in there?" he asked, though perhaps he should not be so surprised.

Snape's lips twitched in what was his attempt at a comforting smile. He gave a nod. "Come, I'll take you to them."

O-O /*

Harry walked in a daze as Snape led him through the meandering rows of graves. Graves of magical and muggle folk alike. Eventually, the professor came to a stop in front of an unremarkable tombstone, though the names engraved on it held more weight than any of the muggle residents of this village would ever understand.

It seemed there were others who had already been to visit, as flowers and letters adorned the site, no doubt thanking the couple for their heroic sacrifice and continuing to mourn their tragic end.

Somehow, it had never occurred to Harry that his parents were buried somewhere. That he could go to a place and stand not a meter away from where they lay in rest. Until now, all they had been were names and a story. A few shared memories, but other than that, nothing but words. Knowing that they were once here, physically present, made the loss seem all that much more profound. And for the first time, Harry could imagine what it would feel like to be wrapped in his mother's arms, for his dad to ruffle his hair playfully. They were real, even if they weren't here anymore. They were real.

Harry swallowed back the emotion, bringing himself back into the present. At some point, Snape had knelt to the ground and was now brushing leaves and dirt off the top of the tombstone. He turned his head, nodding to Harry. "Come, Harry, help me with these flowers."

Cold, muddy water seeped through the knees of Harry's trousers, but he couldn't bring himself to care as he sank to the ground and held the white floral wreath limply in his hands. There was something about being here, doing something to honor his family, that soothed the pain in his heart.

Snape set out a bundle of white calla lilies, tied up with a small black bow, and motioned for Harry to hand him the wreath. After adjusting it to his liking, he stood and admired his work.

Harry was at a loss for words. Following his professor's example, he stood and gazed down at their names once more.

James and Lily Potter.

He could understand, now, why he had been invited along on this trip. In fact, he was incredibly grateful beyond words for such an opportunity. He had never expected for something like this to give him closure, much less for it to come from Snape.

But there Snape was, silently paying his respects to his mother, and Harry couldn't even theorize as to why.

"Sir, I—I don't understand…" Harry spoke, breaking the somber silence that had settled on the graveyard.

Severus didn't need to guess what Harry was wondering about. It was only natural for him to want to know.

Though Severus would infinitely have preferred to keep his connection with Harry's mother a secret, he knew it would not have been fair to Harry. After all, he had had so much time, comparatively, with her, and Harry so little. Though certainly her son deserved it far more than he ever did. The world could be cruel.

And Severus could not deny his part in that cruelty all those years ago. It was his fault that Voldemort sought out Lily and James. His fault that Harry wound up an orphan. It filled him with immense discomfort now to be standing there, guilt heavy on his shoulders, with the one person who suffered most from what happened that night.

"You are, no doubt, wondering why I would come here, to this graveyard," he spoke, nodding at the tombstone and leaving no room for denial.

Harry looked to his professor, awaiting an explanation.

Snape stared straight ahead at the engraved names, taking in a deep, unsteady breath. "Your mother Lily was my very best friend in our first years at Hogwarts. My only friend." His look was somber. "It only seems right to come here and pay my respects when I can."

For a moment, Harry swore he couldn't breathe.

Snape, of all people? Aside from learning last year that it had been Snape trying to protect him and protect the Stone, the potions professor was notorious for not having a kind or gentle bone in his body. He was impatient. Unnecessarily harsh on his students. Hateful. Every thing he had seen tonight, however, called every preconception of the man's character into question.

"F-friends, sir?"

A humorless smirk crossed Snape's features as he looked down at the young child. "Yes, I suppose my dealings with you would make such a thought unimaginable. Unfortunately, your father and I never got along." Now that was an understatement. "Once again, my assumptions of you may have been too hasty. I was foolish to believe your aunt would outgrow her childish contempt for the wizarding world."

"You knew Aunt Petunia?" Harry asked incredulously, finding this whole situation more and more unbelievable by the second.

Snape let out a disdainful laugh. "Perhaps one day you will know the whole story, Potter. But for now, I'll say that if your aunt treats you at all like how she treated Lily when we were children, then your mother would be rolling in her grave."

Harry pursed his lips. He was still not used to people caring what his home life was like, but he supposed that his parents would wish it a little better than it was with his aunt and uncle.

The belltower on the church rang out across the dampened street, chiming half past 11 o'clock at night. Snape bent down to collect the letters that rested against the stone, shuffling them into a neat pile and placing them in a wooden box.

"Here," he said, handing the box to Harry. "I believe these ought to belong to you."

Harry felt his eyes again welling up with tears as he accepted the gift. "T-thank you, professor," he stammered, clutching the box tight.

"There's a lot more where that came from, believe me," Snape commented as he packed up the boxes he had brought. For the first time, Harry was seeing a different side of Severus Snape. He was witty in his remarks—when he wasn't trying to be cruel. He could almost imagine the boy he once was, who held his mother's friendship.

"More, sir?"

Snape nodded as if it were obvious. "More than a decade's worth, now. The rest are in the possession of the headmaster, though I suspect he will return them to you if you should ask."

Harry wanted to speak, but no words would come out. It was overwhelming, everything that had happened in the course of a couple hours. Being here, now, he had a backdrop in which he could imagine his life before. A mental picture of what had happened. It somehow filled a gaping hole in his heart that he hadn't realized was there, while tearing it to pieces at the same time.

"I'll be at the gate, when you are ready," Snape announced, stepping away from the gravestone. Before Harry could argue, he was gone, and Harry turned back to the engraved names of his mother and father, alone with them for the first time since that night eleven years ago.

"Hello," he said, awkwardly, not sure what one was supposed to say to his deceased parents. "I guess I want to say thanks," he continued, "for, you know, saving me." A chilly breeze swept past the grave, causing Harry to shiver. He wiped the dampness from his face, sniffling softly. "I wish you were here."

There he sat for several more minutes, allowing the tears to fall as they may, before heading back to the entrance of the cemetery.

O-O /*

Snape watched from afar as the boy sat alone by the grave. He looked so small against the backdrop of large tombstones and overgrown trees. Much too small to have experienced all the pain which he had in his short life.

He sighed. For ten years he had carried on this tradition – returning to Godric's Hollow on this most miserable of nights. Never forgetting the night eleven years ago that had changed his life forever. He considered it in some ways a form of penance, self-punishment for his stupid, thoughtless actions that brought about the death of the one person he truly cared for. It was about reliving the pain, allowing himself to feel it deeply, in his bones.

But now…

Seeing Harry here, his first time in the village since that fateful night…

Perhaps it was about healing. Growth. Like Albus' blasted phoenix metaphors, perhaps it was the beginning of a new chapter in the aftermath of what had happened.

It was time he passed on the tradition. Gave it to its rightful owner, the son of Lily and James Potter.

Oh, yes, he would still visit her grave. But it was time he stopped this selfishness. There was one who needed these visits more than he did. And it was the boy he had sworn to protect. He couldn't change what he had done, but he could change what happened next.

Healing – yes.

It was about time that everyone start to heal.

O-O /*

Just a little reminder down here to leave a comment and reblog!

I could be convinced to write a follow up chapter with Harry seeing his old house for the first time, just saying 👀

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #severus snape #severus snape fanfiction #godric's hollow #lily potter #james potter #jily

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moonlightsbeams · 4 years ago

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Dragons Make Surprisingly Good Girlfriends - Act 1 Part 4

Our bard and prince have come together, searching for the princess stolen by the dragon. But does the princess want to be found?

Dragon Prince Bard Princess

Dragon Prince Bard {Princess}

Marinette is so full of love, she just doesn’t know what to do. From very early on, she knew that she loved everything. From warm bread from the kitchens, to her Papa’s big strong arms, to the older maids who taught her how to sew.

When she first met the heir of the bordering Tsurugi kingdom, Marinette didn’t care that Kagami was reserved and stiff. She just saw the potential in a new friend, and she was determined to befriend her.

From that moment on, they were inseparable. Marinette would travel to Tsurugi and Kagami would come visit so often that her maman would tease that one of them should just move to the other kingdom. Marinette would respond that it would have to be Kagami, because she loved her parents too much to leave.

One night, the constellations hidden by dark rain clouds, her parents knock on her bedroom door. Marinette puts the dress she was working on aside on her bed, and goes to hug her Maman and Papa.

Squeezing her Papa tight she notices that his arms hang loosely around her, as if he’s afraid to touch her. “Papa, what’s wrong?” she sweetly asks.

Tom can’t look her in the eye, so Sabine gently takes her hands in her own. “Marinette, sweetheart, we need to talk.”

Marinetye sits down, her parents settling down on either side of her. “Sweetheart,” Sabine begins, a sad look on her face. “First off, your father and I want you to know we love you very much.”

Marinette only nods, unsure of her mother’s intent.

“You are aware that our kingdom is on very shaky terms with Agreste, right?”

Marinette nods again, remembering how when Dupain-Cheng was the kingdoms of Dupain and Cheng, before they were merged by her parents' happy marriage, that Dupain and Agreste were constantly on the brink of war. Things had cooled down, but after the untimely death of King Gabriel’s wife, the tensions had gotten worse.

“Your father and I recently met with King Gabriel and he as well wanted to mend the rift between our kingdoms. And thus we came to an agreement.”

“Oh Maman, that's wonderful! I know how much this has been bothering you two!” Marinette cheers, a sincere smile spreading across her face.

Tom stiffens, and Sabine gently squeezes Marinette’s hand. “You see darling, King Gabriel had a.. Term that he refused to budge on. Without this term, he wouldn’t sign the peace treaty and we risked all out war with him.”

“Maman, I’m not sure I understand.”

“You see, in order for peace to be established, he wanted a marriage between the two kingdoms. His son, Adrien is 21, just about your age.”

Her world instantly shatters.

Marriage?

She didn’t even realize King Gabriel had a son.

And she’ll be stuck with him forever, just to settle some old feud. She didn’t get a choice in her own life.

“Marinette, we hope you know how sorry we are, we never wanted you to be forced into this position, I hope you know your maman and I had no other choice.” Tom pleads, but Marinette doesn’t respond. She can only think of how much she has lost in an instant, and the tears overtake her like a tsunami, ugly sobs shaking her body.

She needs Kagami. Kagami would know what to do. Her calm, strong Kagami who always knew how to deal with a bad situation.

“I-I’m g-going to s-s-see Ka-ka-kagami.” She stammers through her tears. No, Marinette. Be assertive. She takes a deep breath, in through the nose, holds it for three seconds, out through the nose. Something Kagami taught her. She stands up, and faces her parents. “Now.”

“Darling, it’s far too late to leave now,” Tom starts, but Sabine places a hand on his shoulder.

“You may go.”

Marinette nods at her mother, rushing off to get the servants to get her carriage. Tom stands to chase after her, but Sabine grabs his arm, shaking her arm.

Marinette doesn’t see her parents quietly crying into each other's arms, regretting the pain they caused their daughter.

Kagami had turned into a dragon.

Thinking about it, delicately clutched in her claws, Marinette isn’t scared. She knows she should be terrified, dangling in mid-air, but she isn’t. She knows Kagami would never hurt her. But the awful look in Kagami’s eyes when she transformed looked like Kagami was in such terrible pain.

Kagami’s beautiful rich brown eyes, as warm as the chocolate muffins she stole from the palace kitchens, were unrecognizable. When Kagami seized, her fingernails sharpening into claws, scales replacing her skin, wings and a tail bursting out of her back, Marinette was most unnerved by the fact that she couldn’t see her friend in her eyes. When Kagami’s pupils sharpened and the brown bled away into a sickly yellow, Marinette feared that she had lost Kagami.

But the yellow eyes turned to her, and with the gentle firmness that Kagami always had, picked her up.

She hoped her friend was still in there.

Kagami had turned into a dragon.

But the yellow eyes turned to her, and with the gentle firmness that Kagami always had, picked her up.

She hoped her friend was still in there.

“So. First step of reinventing ourselves- we’ll need new names. Or at least code names. It’s less likely for someone to draw a connection between the name Marinette and me, you most definitely will be recognized in your own country.” Marinette decrees, pacing around the tower. After some exploration, they found a trapdoor leading down into a cozy room, fitted with a bed, a kitchen, some assorted chairs and tables and a staircase that led to the ground. When they wondered why this tower was there, Kagami teasingly suggested it was for a princess held captive, earning an amused glare from Marinette.

“What if we just switch names?” Kagami suggests, earning herself another glare.

“Seriously, ‘Gami?”

“Why not? Our parents could just have named us after princesses. Happens all the time.”

Marinette just shakes her head. “‘Gami, even if I had an entire week I could not name all the problems with that idea.”

Kagami groans, slumping in her chair. “Do you have a better plan?” she asks.

Marinette opens her mouth, but closes it.

“Mm, that’s what I thought.” Kagami stands up and stretches. “Until we can come up with codenames, we should attempt to get money to buy supplies. And clothes. Unless you want to make us new clothes?”

Marinette’s eyes widen and she shoots Kagami a surprised look. “I don’t think I’m that good yet…” she says, but Kagami just shakes her head.

“Marinette, you’re too humble. I’ve seen you make beautiful dresses, I’m confident you can whip something up.”

Marinette begins to mutter to herself about tunics and cloaks and leggings, and stops, realizing something. “Hey, ‘Gami?”

“Yes?”

“Where are we going to get money?”

Marinette can see the worry contort Kagami’s face, so she goes to her side, and squeezes her hands in her own. “We’re going to figure it out, okay? We’re in this together.”

Kagami forcefully blinks away some stray tears, and whispers, “What did I do to deserve you, Marinette?”

“Oh, Kagami,” Marinette whispers back, pressing her forehead to Kagami’s, “You exist.”

And they stay like that for a while.

The two stumble into a town, careful to keep their heads down, fiercely clutching to one another’s hands. And although it cost them more hours of daylight, Kagami insisted on picking a town further from their tower. And although Marinette agreed with the notion of safety, walking the many miles in heels was very painful. She put on her mental list to get herself and Kagami some sensible boots.

Kagami gently tugs Marinette into a jewelry and fine goods shop, dumping all of their royal jewels in front of the eldery shopkeeper, opening the beginnings of haggling their price. Marinette felt slightly guilty, selling off the beautiful and very expensive pieces, but she hadn’t worn any important ones when she left, so she supposed it was okay. As Kagami calmly and politely asks the shopkeeper to up his price, Marinette’s eyes are caught by a glint of red.

Gently releasing Kagami’s hand, she goes to investigate. She finds two red masquerade masks, and reaches out to one. The rich red velvet is spotted with black dots, a simple black lace trim and seems to fasten with a darker red ribbon. She idly remembers the one masquerade ball she attended in the Bourgeois kingdom many years ago, and how the masks were much more flamboyant and jarring. She scrunches her nose remembering how she was constantly sneezing because of the feathery mask her parents picked out for her.

“Ma- maid!” A call comes from behind her. Marinette whips around to see Kagami. Marinette merely raises an eyebrow, and goes back to examining the mask.

“So that’s the story we’re going with?” Marinette asks, gently teasing her friend.

“I- I forgot, okay?”

Marinette snorts, and shows Kagami the mask. “I think it’s exactly what I need.” She turns it over, and then turns back to Kagami. “‘Gami, where’s the money?”

Kagami blinks at Marinette a few times, before glancing down at her own chest. “Our money is...secure.”

Marinette discreetly glances down at Kagami’s bodice, which is considerably more lumpy than it was before. Kagami shifts uncomfortably, and jingles softly.

Marinette sighs. “I’ll find us a bag.”

When she comes back with a dark red pouch, she spots Kagami inspecting a rich red mask, patterned with scales, an overlapping yellow and black lace trim, also having a red ribbon dangling off it to hold onto the face. Marinette can’t quite tell the material, but she can tell instantly how much Kagami loves it.

“Let’s get it,” Marinette says, sliding up next to Kagami. “We need disguises, and the masks are perfect to do the job.”

Kagami looks like she wants to object, but Marinette presses a finger to Kagami’s lips. “No buts. You know I’m right.”

Marinette places the items in front of the shopkeeper, only now realizing his incredibly short height. “How much?”

The man just shakes his head. “No price. I will not miss the pouch. Besides, I have had the masks for far too long, I will be happy to see them be used.”

Marinette furrows her bow. “Monsieur, are you sure? The mask's craftsmanship is very nice, I would hate to take them off your hands for no money.” The shopkeeper makes eye contact with Marinette, and his eyes twinkle with countless mysteries and stories. “If you insist, I will trade you my wares to know your names.”

Marinette sucks in a breath. This was a problem. They really needed the masks, and the gold couldn’t stay in Kagami’s bodice forever, but they didn’t have names yet-

“Ryuko.”

Marinette whips around to look at Kagami, calm and collected as always. “My name is Ryuko.”

The elderly man nods. “A powerful name indeed. And you, my dear?” he asks Marinette.

Her eyes flicker to the mask she picked out for herself. “Ladybug. I am Ladybug.”

The shopkeeper smiles. “A warrior’s name. My wares are yours. May you both bring good into this world.”

A warrior? Maybe strong Kagami, trained in the art of fencing, but Marinette? Was she really a warrior?

Kaga-, no Ryuko, bows in thanks to the shopkeeper. “We will.” She fastsens her own mask on, grabs the pouch, and turns to Marinette. “M- Ladybug?”

Maybe Marinette is not a warrior, but Ladybug could be. She picks up her mask, and deftly ties it around her face, tying a messy bow at the back of her head. “Merci, monsieur. I hope we can.”

Ladybug extends a hand to Ryuko. “Are you ready to go?”

Ryuko laces her fingers through Ladybug’s, squeezing her hand tight. “I am.”

“Then there is nothing holding us back.”

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfic #lukadrigaminette #lukagami #lukanette #lukadrien #adrigami #adrinette #marigami #kagaminette #luka x adrien x kagami x marinette #luka couffaine #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #adrien agreste #Kagami Tsurugi

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theycallmebecca · 5 years ago

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Hey - congrats on the milestone! I love your writing. I'm so excited that we get to have MORE of it. Can I please get "My dog thinks you're cute too" with Steve Rogers please?

This story is number #20 of 25!!! I’m so closed to being finished with these drabbles and then it’s back to working on the Chris and Ellie series! Since Tumblr can sometimes be a brat about links, I will reblog this post with a link to the masterlist, prompt list and tags.

Title: Brooklyn

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Rating: G

Warnings: n/a

Prompt #: 20 - “My dog thinks you’re cute, too.”

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

Steve spotted the dog when he was running one morning, but thought nothing of it. There were houses within a few miles of the compound and he figured someone’s dog had just escaped, but would find its way home.

Then he saw the dog again, a couple days later. Coming to a stop, he called for the dog, but it disappeared into the bushes.

The next morning, he grabbed a couple hot dogs from the kitchen and took them with him on his run, but he didn’t see the dog. The next day, however, he did.

“You want some food?” he called to the dog. He tore off a piece of the hot dog, that he’d kept in his fridge overnight, and tossed it towards where the dog was hiding.

It took several pieces of hot dog, but he finally got the brown and white dog out of the bushes.

“Who do you belong to, buddy?” he asked as he fed the dog another piece of meat. The dog wasn’t wearing a collar, but it was obvious he was used to people. Taking the piece of roped he’d brought along, Steve made a loop big enough for the dog’s head and was pleasantly surprised when the dog let him put it around his neck. “You know I’m trying to help you, don’t you?”

Based on the dog’s gentle disposition, Steve picked the dog and laughed when it licked his face. “Let’s go find your owners,” he told the dog.

Two hours later, Steve was back at the compound with the dog, now christened Brooklyn, on a proper leash. The vet he’d taken her to, hadn’t been able to find a microchip and hadn’t been able to match her up with any missing dog reports. When Steve had learned that the dog would go to the pound, he made the decision to take her home with him. No man, or dog, deserved to spend their life locked up.

It was only meant to be a temporary situation, but after three weeks with no one reporting a missing dog that matched Brooklyn’s description, Steve had to make a decision. He hadn’t planned on getting attached to the dog, but she really hadn’t given him a choice either. She’d become his shadow and had become something of a mascot around the compound.

——

Moving to the Avengers Compound for work had been a blessing and a curse. It had been the opportunity of a lifetime for you careerwise, but you’d had to give up a lot. Including leaving your two dogs with your parents back home. You went back to visit them as often as you could, but it was a five hour drive both ways, so you didn’t get to do it very often.

The first day you met Brooklyn, you thought you’d been hearing things. But then the brown and white dog rounded the corner and came into the office you shared with four other people. She came to see each of you, but seemed to sense that you needed a little extra attention.

You slid onto the ground and she practically crawled into your lap. You laughed and petted her, softly praising her. You were so lost in the experience that you didn’t realize that Steve had come into the room until he spoke.

“I was wondering where she’d wandered off to,” Steve said.

Looking up, you saw that he was smiling down at the two of you. You’d been formerly introduced to Steve Rogers when you’d interviewed, but it hadn’t been until a couple weeks ago, when you’d met Brooklyn, that you’d met him in a less formal setting.

Steve held out his hand and you accepted it, after Brooklyn had gone to her master’s side. He helped you up with ease and you thanked him.

“You had to leave your two dogs behind, right?” Steve asked.

You nodded your head, while masking your surprise that he remembered that fact.

He glanced down at Brooklyn before saying, “Until a few months ago, I wouldn’t have understood that connection, but now that I do. If you ever need to spend some time with Brooklyn, my door is open.”

“Really?” you asked.

He nodded his head.

“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind,” you told him.

——

Steve didn’t think you’d take him up on the offer and then one stormy night, there was a soft knock on the door of his apartment. When he opened the door, he found you standing there in sweats.

“Do you mind if I come in and cuddle with Brooklyn?” you asked. “My dogs hate storms and I didn’t realize how much comfort I got from comforting them.”

“Absolutely,” Steve replied, stepping aside to let you into his apartment.

Brooklyn was sitting on the sofa and he could hear her tail thumping excitedly as you made your way to her. You nestled yourself into the corner seat and Brooklyn all but crawled into your lap.

That was the first night the two of you spent in the privacy of his apartment. It eventually led to you joining them for walks and other outings as well. Brooklyn served as the common thread between the two of you, but eventually the two of you found yourselves becoming it friends.

Then one day, about six months after that stormy night, Steve realized that he had feelings for you. Feelings that went beyond friendship. He wasn’t sure how to broach the subject with you, but the advice he got from his friends didn’t seem right and he decided to trust his gut.

The moment finally came when the two of you were on a walk with Brooklyn and it started to rain. Laughing, you guys found protection under a large tree, to wait out the rain.

“I like you,” he blurted out.

“I like you, too,” you replied, biting your lower lip.

“No, I mean I -”

“I know what you mean, Steve,” you said, placing your hand on his arm. “And I mean it the same way.”

“Really?” he asked.

You nodded your head.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

“Please,” you said with a giggle.

His first kiss was gentle and brief. But you wrapped your arm around his neck before he could pull away. The second kiss was a bit longer, but still brief. Not by choice, however, but because Brooklyn was trying to shove herself between the two of you.

Looking down at the dog, it was evident that she was happy with the new developments.

“I know I think you’re cute,” Steve said. “But I’m pretty sure it’s safe to say my dog thinks you’re cute, too.”

“I find you two cute, too,” you replied as you reached down and rubbed Brooklyn’s head.

133 notes · View notes

glassbangtan · 6 years ago

Text

Noise of the Jungle {Park Jimin}

Words: 9k

Summary: You joined I'm a Celebrity purely to experience something new, to give yourself a new challenge. But what you don't expect is to be sharing the jungle with Park Jimin himself.

Genre: fluff – I'mACelebrity!au

Warning: nothing

Notes: masterlist – I was sanding slats of wood whenever I got this idea so here you go :):):)

---

There was a spider crawling across her face.

A spider. A genuine, full-grown arachnid was just casually making its way across her face, and she was forced to sit back and let it do its thing.

Every single camp mate was curled in on themselves as they watched the spectacle take place; Hyuna was laying down on her back, trapped in a glass box with an unbelievable amount of insects crawling around her body. The insects ranged from beetles, to centipedes, to spiders – and eventually, as the big finale, rats.

Hyuna screamed. Instinctively, you jerked your legs up from the floor, pressed your knees into your chest and hugged them tightly, trying to block out the sound of her mortified cries for help. The rest of the campers were cheering her on, reminding her of the meals she would be winning the camp whenever the siren finally went on to signal the end of the Bushtucker trial – you were fairly certain that Hyuna couldn't even hear them over the sound of her own shrieks.

Dony and Cony are standing on the sidelines, as they always did. Dony had one of his flashcards up to cover his horrified expression, gazing into the box as if it wasn't his idea to toss Hyuna inside of it and make her suffer for the sake of her own food.

You knew what you were going in to whenever you had agreed to take part in this show; it was something different. Your music career had been doing exceptionally well, but you were in need of something else, something that would challenge you more than sitting in the studio and producing music often did – but this was something else entirely. This was beyond what you had ever thought you would have to see, and it was horrifying you.

The siren went off whenever the twelve minutes was finally up.

“Let me out of here!” Hyuna screeched, slapping her hands against the glass lid. The rangers emerged from behind the cameras, busying themselves with undoing the screws and helping the girl out. Hyuna groaned and cried, standing up and shaking the remaining insects off her before she hopped out of the glass box, whirled on Dony and Cony and pointed an accusing, trembling finger in their direction.

“You could have killed me!” she exclaimed. “Surely it's a safety hazard to let rats into an enclosed space with a human being!”

Dony and Cony merely grinned at one another, ushering for Hyuna to step closer to them. Despite the anger radiating off of the singer, she made her way to the side of them, still shaking centipedes off the front of her bright red shirt.

Your knees were still bunched up to your chest, arms still wrapped around them as you continued to glare at the box in which Hyuna had just emerged from; the insects were still squirming around inside of it. The rangers had long since replaced the lid, but you could still see the rats scarping up and down the length of it, the mere sight of them enough to make you forget about your hunger – your appetite was suddenly completely banished.

“You did incredibly well there, Hyuna,” Dony said, placing an arm on the trembling girls waist. “And you also managed to get twelve meals for all twelve members of camp. How do you feel?”

Hyuna spoke through jittering teeth, the shock of the ordeal she had just went through finally masking over her anger. “G-Good. I'm hoping we'll eat well tonight.”

“You will. You most definitely will,” Cony assured, before turning his head oh-so-dramatically to the camera. “But apart from the meals you have just won for the camp, we also have another surprise in store for you all. That's why the entire camp was called out for this Bushtucker trial.”

You blanked, letting your feet clatter back to the ground. “Please no.”

You weren't entirely sure how many more of these surprises you would be able to take – you had only been in the jungle for a few days, and already your hands were shaking with hunger, and you hadn't had a proper nights sleep since the first day you arrived. You were still young, meaning you were always at the bottom of the list when it came to deciding who got the hammocks back in camp – it was always the elders, who insisted on their backs hurting, despite them being no older than 40 years of age.

Cony chuckled at your words, winking in your direction. You rolled your eyes and folded your arms over your chest, preparing yourself for the worst.

“If you have seen the show before,” Dony explained, “you will know that we always get a camper who comes in late – it's tradition. This year, nothing has changed. There will be a thirteenth camper joining you all – but this person will only get to eat if one of you endures another minute in the box.”

Hyuna froze. You, along with the eleven celebrities surrounding you, all fell silent as Dony's words settled upon them. Your heart pounded in your chest. You glanced over at Hyuna – the poor girl was already traumatised enough. She had her arms wrapped around her middle, her fingers clenching at the material of her shirt as if she would fall apart if she let go.

You swallowed the golf ball sized lump that had been lodged in your dry throat for days.

“Who's the new camper?” Jackson asked from beside you.

“You'll find out whenever the Bushtucker trial is complete,” said Cony. “Hyuna can go back into the box, or another camper can take her place.”

“Why should we put ourselves through that for the sake of a person we don't even know the identity of yet?” Krystal spoke up.

“That's a cynical way of looking at things,” Hyekyo said. “Everyone deserves to eat.”

Hyuna was still trembling. “I can go back into the box if none of you guys want to do it – it would make sense for me to-”

But you cut her off before she could finish her heroic statement.

You stood up, waving a dismissive hand in her direction, silently telling her not to worry. She looked at you with wide eyes. You approached her, gently placed your hand on her shoulder and pushed her towards the seat you had once occupied.

She stumbled a little from the tremble in her legs. Jackson, with his eyes still placed on you, quickly stood up and led her the rest of the way to the seat.

You stood beside Dony and Cony as if it were the most casual thing in the world, as if your heart wasn't beating out of your chest at one million miles per hour. You hadn't even entered the box, and already your knees were beginning to feel like jelly. You wanted to curl up and hide away, but there were cameras trained directly on you; you needed to make an impression, and what better way to do such a thing than to take on the task that everybody else was dreading?

“Is this an offer?” Dony asked, nudging you.

You swallowed. “Let's just get it over with.”

Dony and Cony went on to read the rules as you were led over to the glass box by the rangers. They handed you everything they thought you would need – goggles. That was all. They were about to toss you into a box full of rats and insects, and the only piece of apparatus they thought to give you was a pair of lousy, one pound goggles that didn't even fit your face that well; they continually slid down your sweat drenched nose, the summer heat doing little to help.

You could still hear Dony and Cony talking as you lowered yourself into the box. Your lips were clamped together so tightly that they started to fuzz with numbness. The centipedes and the beetles were crushed beneath your body, and you had to physically restrain yourself from screaming at the top of your lungs whenever you felt a rat trail it's long, ridged tail over your foot.

You were so tempted to say I'm a celebrity, get me out of here, but you refused to let the words cross your lips. You kept them clamped, gently laying back in the box with your hands crossed over your chest – one minute wasn't so bad. You could do it.

“Go on, Y/N!” your fellow campers yelled, but their voices were muffled by the glass.

You heard the siren blare, signalling the start of the minute you had to endure.

You kept your breathing steady – well, tried to. Every now and then, your lips would come apart and you would let out a little whimper of fear, before quickly snapping your mouth closed whenever you saw a cockroach skitter across your chest. They smelled awful. They felt even worse, crawling up your arms and nibbling on the skin, showing you absolutely no mercy whatsoever.

God, whoever this camper was better savour their god damn food tonight.

The minute did not feel like a minute. Far from it. You were counting the seconds in your head, though you were fairly certain you had been stuck on the number fifteen for quite some time now – an hour must have passed before the second siren finally went off and the rangers were rushing to get the lid off the top of the box.

As soon as the lid was pulled off, you gasped, lurched forward and all but tumbled straight from the glass confines; there was still insects on you. They were still there, trampling up your arms. They were going to embed themselves in your skin. You would have to get surgery to get them out of your bloodstream, but what if they diseased you before then? What if you didn't even get a chance to eat the meals you had been granted, because you had suddenly dropped dead from some-

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N,” Dony and Cony called. You looked up, panting. Everyone was smiling at you. All eleven of your fellow camp mates were stood on their feet, giving you a standing ovation in the same way they had done for Hyuna, but you felt very far from accomplished.

You stood up on trembling legs. Hyuna was immediately by your side, grabbing your arms and helping you steady yourself – it was like a kind of sisterhood, the two of you bonding over the fact that you had both endured the same hell.

“Our new camp mate is going to love you,” Cony exclaimed. “Are we all ready to meet him?”

Him?

The only person who replied was Jackson, giving a tiny little “Yeah.” Dony and Cony seemed to think the lack of enthusiasm was good enough, as they immediately both span on their heels in a synchronised twist; the palm leaves were pulled to the side, and no other than Park Jimin from Bangtan Sonyeondan walked out from behind them.

If your knees weren't weak beforehand, they most certainly were now.

A gasp sounded from the crowd. Jackson started cheering, yelling out the word “Bro!” in his usual, overexcited fashion. He threw himself towards the new camper, but you could barely move. Suddenly, the bugs that had been nipping at your skin were no longer present as you stared at the black haired man who had just emerged from seemingly nowhere.

Everyone else rushed over to greet him, grinning from ear to ear – of course they all recognised him. Everybody in Korea knew who the boys of Bangtan Sonyeondan were at this point, and you would be a fool to say otherwise – sure, you were popular. You had won award after award for the music you had put out over the last few years, had a good few records to your name, but the level of fame that Jimin and his friends had shot to in the past five years was nothing you would ever be able to comprehend.

You stood as far back as you could, trying to stay out of the frame of the cameras; you didn't want them catching your shock right now. You didn't want the footage to go out tonight, and for everybody on the outside to think you had some grudge against Park Jimin purely because you refused to go over and greet him in the same enthusiastic way everyone else was.

But you were much too nervous to go over and shake his hand right now.

Because you were young – as everybody in camp so desperately enjoyed to point out – and you were a fan, and seeing one of your idols in front of your face right now was beyond what your young, immature brain could manage.

But then his eyes were meeting yours, cracking through the swarm of fellow celebrities who had swarmed him.

Your breath hitched. You tried to look away, ducking your head down to the floor, pretending to busy yourself with the insects crawling up the front of your shirt, but it was much too late for that now. Curse Park Jimin for his quick reflexes, for not even giving you a moments notice before he decided to look up at you.

He was standing in front of you, holding out a respectful hand.

You shyly glanced at it, took it in your own and shook it carefully.

“You must be the girl who's just gotten me my meal for the night,” he said. He was smiling. In the copious amount of fancams you had watched of him over the years, you had not once noticed the slight overlap of his two front teeth – until now.

“Yep!” you said, a little too chirpily. “I'm Y/N.”

“I know,” he said. “I heard your new single a few days back – you're really good.”

You didn't know quite how to respond to that, which was stupid saying as you had been receiving comments like these for nearly five years now. You always bowed, smiled, blushed, got all flustered to show your gratitude, but when it came to Jimin – who was still slowly shaking your hand – you found yourself merely staring at him.

Please say sike.

Jimin grinned at your silence. His eyes rose into crescents, his slightly puffy cheeks reddening.

“Aw, cute,” he chuckled. “Well, I'm Jimin. Thank you again for – uh – going through that for me.” He grimaced then, looking down at your shirt. Ever so gently, he dropped your hand and plucked at the material, brushing a single cockroach off of your stomach. “I think you'll be using the shower first tonight, eh?”

You smiled shyly as a response. Jimin smiled once again, turned to the other campers and threw himself back into the praise that your awkwardness stopped you from giving to him.

---

Gingerly, you tapped the spare shirt against the ends of your soaked hair, trying desperately to dry it after the quick and, quite honestly, uncomfortable shower you had just sped through.

A string of curse words left your mouth, mixing with the sound of the croaking beetles and the buzzing of the flies around you. You and the other celebrities had only gotten back to camp a few hours ago, and already the sun was starting to set. You could hear the anticipated murmurs in camp, people talking to Jimin, about Jimin, and more importantly, about the food you had won today.

But you had somehow managed to weasel your way out of their company to get a shower. Hyuna had done the wise thing and got in the shower as soon as you had arrived back at camp, but you had forced yourself to wait a little while – and now you were regretting it.

There was no way in hell that your hair was going to be dry and presentable before dinner arrived, meaning you would have to walk back into camp looking like a busted mattress.

You groaned and threw the shirt back against the rock you were sitting on – there was no point. Who in the hell were you trying to impress? Everybody at home was well aware that the jungle was hardly a place for a woman to be looking her best; nobody would be surprised if you suddenly decided to show up looking like you had just risen from the grave.

With that thought in mind, you stood up, brushed your hair over your shoulder and-

“Jesus, Mary, Joseph!” you cried out whenever you spotted the shock of black hair appearing from behind a palm leaf.

Jimin smiled sheepishly, wincing at the volume of your voice. “Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you.”

You clasped a hand to your chest, well aware of just how much of a state you must have looked right now. “No, it's okay. I was just being jumpy.”

“Well, I'd expect so. You did just lock yourself in a box with a bunch of insects.” Jimin stood up on the rock alongside you, gazed out at the showers you had just emerged from. You flushed, took a single step back in your attempts to put some distance between the both of you.

He sighed breathily before his eyes clipped back onto your own, as if he was only just realising you were still standing there. “Dinner's arriving soon. The others were telling me you were here, and I didn't think it was right to start without you.”

“I was just showering,” you said. “You don't have to worry about me.”

“Yes, I do.” He laughed again. It was a sound he made often, though you weren't complaining. “I basically owe you my life at this point. I'm only eating tonight because of you.”

You raised a brow, folding your arms over your chest. “I'm sure somebody would have given you something to eat if I'd have failed.”

“Ah, but you see, that's where the complication comes in,” he said. “You didn't fail, which means I have a life debt to you. I'm hoping I can build on it – starting by warning you about dinner.”

You chuckled, flushing as Jimin smiled down at you. It was a common joke amongst Jimin's fans to call him short, and yet he still managed to look much taller than you. You two couldn't have had much height difference, but with you instinctively cowering away from him and him standing with his usual confident demeanour, it was difficult not to look tiny in comparison.

“You know,” Jimin continued when the two of you finally jumped down from the rock and started back towards camp, “I'm still not all that used to this whole thing – having cameras around me twenty four seven.”

You raised a brow. “Why do I find that slightly hard to believe?”

“It's true!” he exclaimed. “Sure, I have cameras on me sometimes, but I always have some time to myself.” He glanced up at the weather barrier above, which held a number of cameras that were currently documenting your every move. “Now it just feels like I'm being watched constantly.”

You followed his gaze up to the dangling cameras, frowning. “You have a point. It is a bit creepy, isn't it?”

He chuckled. “Creepy is a pretty good word to describe it, I think.”

“You get used to it,” you said. “Until you'd pointed them out, I'd kind of forgotten they were there at all.”

“Makes you kind of nervous to say what's on your mind, doesn't it?” he asked.

You nodded slowly. It definitely did.

Being a celebrity, you were used to having the cameras pointed in your face. With the paparazzi and the fan-content you were expected to put out there on a constant loop, it was very rare that you had time to just sit back and relax on your own. You had people to entertain, a reputation to keep up, a job to withhold that demanded non-stop content from you.

You were aware that your music alone would never be enough. You could come out with four albums in the space of a year, and still people would expect to see behind the scenes clips of the music videos, people would still expect you to be tweeting selfies constantly, people still said you were neglecting your fans whenever you took more than a week away for yourself.

But Jimin was right, of course. The cameras here, you were unable to escape them. You had to be on your constant A-game.

You and Jimin arrived back in camp not two minutes later. Jimin moved out of the way, allowing you to clamber through the leaves first; he laughed whenever you fumbled within the plants, getting trapped in their vines before you freed yourself and stumbled into the main camp area.

“There you are. I thought you'd drowned in the water,” Jackson said. He approached you, flicked a leaf out of your hair before his eyes travelled behind you to where Jimin had just appeared. “Ooh, he join you in the showers, did he?”

You very nearly choked on your tongue. You heard Jimin let out a nervous laugh, a squeaky sound that was much too cute for the current situation; you had the sudden urge to turn around and swat him, tell him to stop being so unnecessarily adorable.

Jackson didn't even let you deny the accusation before he was nudging your arm playfully and sauntering off over to the hammock he had stolen off of Leeteuk.

“You've met Jackson before, I'm assuming.” Jimin's voice sounded from over your shoulder, startling you.

“Yep,” you replied. “I see him at ISAC every single year, and he never fails to piss me off.”

Jimin chuckled. “Same here. Come on, let's go sit down next to the fire. Maybe your hair will dry quicker.”

---

You weren't sure where the night went, or where your nerves had went, but by the time you were curling up in your uncomfortable sleeping bag, they were basically non-existent.

Dinner had consisted of beef, rice and an assortment of vegetables that had filled your stomach very well. By the time you had reached the bottom of your bowl, you were groaning and leaning back against Jimin's shoulders, wincing every time his body shook with the familiar laughter.

All throughout dinner, the camp was jumping around and joking. It was one of the best nights the lot of you had been able to have since you had all arrived – the first full set of meals, the first time it had been cooked with barely any hassle, and it was all a meal you were familiar with – everybody was happy. Everything was good.

You weren't even bothered to be sleeping on the ground again. You curled your knees into your chest, burying your face in the quilt of your sleeping bag, inhaling the scent of pine and grass that was surrounding you. Jimin was a few feet away – you could see his bare feet poking out the bottom of his sleeping bag, him grunting and hissing as he tried to get comfortable.

You giggled, and he fell silent.

“Y/N?” he whispered. “Are you still awake?”

You perked yourself up on your elbow, glanced over at him to get a good look at just how bad he was struggling. His black hair was a dishevelled mess, his eyes like beams in the darkness. You couldn't help but smile at the sight of him – the sleeping bag he had been provided was bunched up around him a little too tightly, his thick thighs and broad shoulders doing very little to help him get comfortable.

“Of course I'm still awake,” you whispered back. “You won't be quiet.”

“That hardly seems fair,” he scoffed. “How do you sleep in these things?”

“It's easy.” You clambered out of your own sleeping bag and crawled towards him. He reached a hand out, gently touched your own to signal that you had reached him.

Ever so gently, you pushed his shoulders and forced him back against the ground. With the lanterns glowing around you both, you could just barely see him raise a dark eyebrow, could just barely make out the small curve of his lips as he glanced up at you in amusement.

“We only met this morning, Y/N. You need to take me on a date first.”

You swatted his forehead. “Sh, or else I'll leave you to toss and turn all night.”

“It'll only keep you awake.”

“Sh!”

Jimin giggled, tucking the quilt over his mouth in his attempts to stifle it. You could barely hold back the 'aw' that emerged from your throat, which caused Jimin to abruptly stop laughing and glare at you. You smiled at him nonchalantly, tugged the quilt out of his hands and started to push the bedding underneath him.

“This is how I usually do it,” you said.

“This is so embarrassing,” Jimin grunted. “You're literally tucking me in.”

“You were the one complaining!”

“Yeah, just for the sake of it! I didn't think you'd show up and start reading me a bed time story!”

“Oh, fuck your fragile masculinity,” you grumbled. “I'm stopping you from getting back pains. You can thank me later.”

With that, you continued to tuck the quilt underneath him. “Anyway, this is what I do. Tucking the quilt underneath gives you more padding from the floor – it's a really good way of doing things.”

“Not like you're tooting your own horn or anything.”

You rolled your eyes and scrambled away from him, suddenly noticing the chilly night air nipping at your bare arms. You jumped under the covers of your own sleeping bag, pulled the quilt up to your chin and engulfed yourself in the warmth of it, humming in content.

Jimin rolled over so the two of you were facing one another. There was a smile still plastered upon his face, his eyes not once leaving your own. You were both chasing sleep, the exhaustion from the day dawning on you, but you didn't quite want to close your eyes right now.

“You need to go to sleep,” he said, matter-of-factly. “You might get drenched in insects tomorrow, and you need all your energy for that.”

“Not again, Park Jimin,” you replied. “Today was the first and the last time I lay in a pile of insects and get eaten alive by rats.”

“They weren't biting you.”

“You weren't even there.”

“Yeah, I was behind the leaves. I saw what happened. You're being dramatic.”

You glared at him. “It felt like they were biting me – the insects definitely were.”

Jimin chuckled, surprised you by reaching out and gently trailing his fingers over the bare skin of your arm. You very nearly jumped away from his touch, your senses enhanced in the darkness.

His fingers trailed directly over one of the many places you had been bitten earlier on, sprinkling it with goosebumps.

“I can see that,” he said, voice groggy. “And you did it all for me, didn't you?”

“I'm a hero,” you chuckled, nudging his hand away. He grinned at you, tucking them back into his sleeping bag.

And the conversation continued just like that. The way he spoke to you was addicting. The way he made constant eye contact, the way he very rarely brought up the work you did because he was seeing you as something more than just an artist, or a celebrity. Sure, you were both currently on a show called I'm a Celebrity, but there was something about the way he spoke to you which made you feel like perhaps you weren't – just for a moment, you were normal again.

The night drew on until Leeteuk woke up from his place in his hammock. He barked at you to go to sleep, and you both broke into a fit of giggles before abruptly realising that it was, indeed, getting very late – you would be exhausted in the morning, but you couldn't find it in you to care.

----

“Would dogs wear trousers just on their front legs, or would they wear them on all their legs?”

You looked up from the bundle of clothes you were washing. The water dribbled over your lap, making you hiss and flinch back.

“What?” you demanded, looking up at Jimin who was sat in front of you in a similar position – the two of you had been assigned to washing up duty, meaning you were spending your afternoon perched on uncomfortable rocks, dipping other peoples underwear into a stream.

“Well, think about it,” he said. “Would it not be a little uncomfortable for them to be wearing trousers that go right around them? Like, how would they walk? They'd be so stiff! They wouldn't be able to chase sticks or anything!”

You blinked.

He looked up at you through his eyelids, and there was not a single hint of humour in his expression – he was dead serious.

“Jimin,” you said softly. “Sweetie. Darling. Please do not take this the wrong way, but – what the fuck?”

Jimin grimaced, dipping Hyuna's shirt into the stream and rubbing at the fabric hastily. “I don't even know. I think the jungle air is getting to me. How long has it been since I got here?”

“Two weeks,” you replied, before abruptly realising that you had perhaps answered the question a little too quick. “Or – I don't know – maybe less than that.”

Jimin grunted. “I've been on wash duty three times in the space of two weeks. I've seen Leeteuk's underwear more times than I'm comfortable with.”

You giggled. “Same here. In case you forgot, the camp seem to think we work well together.”

“Well, we do,” he replied. “I just wish they'd think we work together doing – I dunno – cooking duty or something.”

You very nearly scoffed at the mere suggestion. “We would wipe out the entire camp. Every single celebrity would be sent home with food poisoning if they ever trusted us for cooking duty.”

“I'll have you know, my hyung was a very good chef. He taught me a few things before I left for the jungle – prepared me for it.”

“Seokjin?” you questioned.

Jimin nodded. An abrupt look of forlorn crossed his features. You watched the way his eyebrows dropped, the way he tugged his bottom lip into his teeth and started to nibble on the skin. He went back to scrubbing at the shirt in his hand, tapping his foot idly on the rock he was leaning against.

“Do you miss them?” you asked.

Jimin didn't even look up. The question was bound to come up eventually. “Yeah. A lot. I've spent nearly every single day with them for the last five years – it feels a bit odd not having them around me.” He met your eyes. “What about you? Who do you miss on the outside?”

“A lot of people,” you replied. “My parents, my friends – my fans,” you hastened to add, with a quick wink to the nearest camera.

Jimin scoffed, nudging your leg playfully. You grinned and turned back to him.

“Just a lot of people,” you continued. “It's hard being away from home.”

“Definitely.” He sighed deeply. “Man, I didn't mean to bring the mood down. I'm just so sick of washing other peoples clothes.”

“So am I,” you agreed, tossing the shirt behind you now that you had done what you could with cleaning it – if Jackson ended up getting fleas or tics, you refused to be given any blame. “I wonder if Leeteuk's started cooking yet. I'm-”

“Yah! Y/N! Jimin! Where are you?” Krystal's voice came out of nowhere. Jimin let out a startled “Ooh!” before spinning around to look over his shoulder.

“Over here!” he called back.

Krystal emerged from behind the leaves, wincing as she blew a piece of dust out of her mouth. “The letters from home arrived – everyone's reading theirs around the fire if you wanna come and see.”

Your heart jumped. Jimin whirled around to look at you, excitement gleaming in his eyes, but neither of you paused to say anything to the other – it was like you were communicating telepathically as you both jumped away from the stream, bounded past Krystal and started sprinting back into camp. You could hear Krystal squealing as the water from the stream slapped her in the face.

Camp was bustling with excitement. All around you, your fellow camp mates were clutching peach coloured envelopes close to their chests; already Taehee had started crying, clutching desperately to Jackson's shirt as her letter lay discarded on the log beside her.

You walked directly over to Leeteuk, grabbed your letter from his grip and ripped it open without a seconds thought – you didn't care that the cameras were currently beaming down upon you. You didn't care that you were bound to get emotional – in your hand was the first piece of contact you had gotten from your family, and you would be damned if you wasted a single second before reading what they had to say.

As soon as you saw your fathers handwriting, it was like the camp had suddenly dissolved around you.

You gorged yourself on every word, losing yourself in the sweetness of what he had written. You could almost imagine him saying it to you now, as if he were directly in front of you, telling you how proud he was of you, how proud he had always been of you. He went on to describe how he and your mother, along with your two younger sisters and your younger brother, had watched every single episode of I'm a Celebrity that had aired. You could imagine all of them huddled together in the living room, laughing at your stupidity, your little brother taking great pleasure in mimicking the shrieks you had let out a number of times by now, startled by some insect or another.

The first tear dropped onto the page before you had even reached the end of the letter.

You quickly wiped it away, sniffling. You were yet to look up, but you could feel Jimin's presence beside you, his own letter in his hands. You could see him trembling in your peripheral vision.

You reached the final paragraph of the heartfelt note your father had written to you; of course, it was just like your father to leave the letter on a happy, sarcastic note that would leave you flushing.

Oh, and tell that Park Jimin man to keep his hands off of you. I want you sleeping at least eight feet away from him. I don't want my grandchildren being conceived in the middle of the jungle on television.

Despite the flush taking over your features, you choked out a laugh. You covered your mouth, gently folded the note and tucked it into your pocket. The tears were rolling freely now, and one look around the camp told you that you were not the only one who had been completely floored by emotion.

Jimin himself was also crying, though he seemed much more embarrassed by it than you did. Whilst you had merely covered your mouth in your attempts to pull together some sense of dignity, Jimin was groaning and running his hands down his face, letting out the word “Really?” as if scolding himself for feeling anything at all.

And you weren't sure why you did it, but you did it anyway. You reached out, plucked his hands away from his face and wrapped your arms around his middle, tugging him into a hug that you hoped had some form of comfort to it. He didn't stiffen in your grip, didn't pull away. He buried his head in your hair, and you held each other as the tears of pure happiness slid from both of you, yours losing themselves in the fabric of his shirt whilst his own dripped into your hair.

---

The weeks flew by quicker than you could have ever comprehended, and before you knew it, you were officially a part of the last four remaining contestants on I'm a Celebrity.

Evictions had started shortly after the letters had arrived at camp. The public started to vote for who they wanted to leave, and the camp grew quieter and quieter. The Bushtucker trials became more complicated, and your hunger was getting more and more difficult to cope with due to the lack of people actually being able to see them through to the end.

But now you were in the final four, and you could happily say that it had all been worth it.

You were joined by Jackson, Hyuna and, of course, Jimin. This season of I'm a Celebrity would go down in history – never before had the final four consisted of only idols. Usually, actors and actresses, hosts and people alike would be seen amongst them, but not this time. This time, it was purely idols that made up the final remaining episodes of the show.

The four of you were huddled together on the logs whenever Cony and Dony made their descent into camp; despite this being the very same routine that you had been through for nearly two weeks now, your heart never failed to skip a beat whenever you saw them wading through the trees towards you – it meant one more person was leaving, and it could be you at any given moment.

As much as you hated to think of it, it could very well be Jimin as well, and for some reason, that thought stirred your stomach up a great deal.

“Good morning, celebrities!” Cony and Dony exclaimed.

“Morning,” you all cheered back, trying desperately to ignore the buzzing tension surrounding you.

“How are we all this morning? Our final four – it's nice to see you're all looking lively.”

“I feel like death, to be honest, Cony,” Jackson grumbled.

Cony and Dony merely laughed, but you understood exactly where Jackson was coming from – you had seen him suffering with hunger pains for nearly an entire week, with him insisting on giving the remainder of what little food he had to everybody else – he wouldn't take no for an answer unless you physically sat with him and force fed him his spoonfuls.

“Well, as you all know, we have one final eviction until the final episode,” Cony continued. “The public have been voting to see who they want to become the ninth person to leave I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here.”

He glanced down at his cards, and you knew it was time. Without thinking about the cameras, you reached out and grabbed Jimin's hand; he didn't pull away. In fact, he almost seemed to relax at the contact, as if he had just been waiting for you to reach out.

“In no particular order,” Dony said. “Hyuna. . . It's not you.”

Hyuna heaved a sigh of relief. You all smiled at her, unsure whether a congratulations was in order or not.

Was it good to still be stuck in this place?

“Jackson . . . .It's not you.”

Jackson simply nodded, his hands winding around his stomach.

“Jimin . . .”

Your heart pounded in your ears. This was it – the final decision. If it wasn't Jimin, it would be you, and you would be leaving this place once and for all. You could imagine your warm bed, your mothers arms, your siblings jumping around you in the way you had missed so much – but then again, you looked over at the man beside you and felt a sudden sense of dread at the idea of leaving him behind.

“It's not you.”

Jimin did not celebrate. His grip tightened on your hand, and you could have sworn he was trying to pull you closer to him, because he knew what this meant. You both did.

Jackson and Hyuna were already standing up. Hyuna had her hands clamped over her mouth, her eyes swimming with tears as she snatched your hand out of Jimin's and forced you to stand up. She wrapped her arms around your shoulders, letting out a wail of despair.

“Y/N, please gather your stuff, say your goodbyes and meet us back at the tower as soon as possible,” Dony ordered, before the two stalked away to leave you to say your goodbyes in peace.

Jimin was still seated on the log after you had hugged Jackson and Hyuna furiously, wiping away your own tears. You meant them, as well. They were not put on for the sake of the cameras, were not exaggerated for any reason – you truly were upset to be leaving these people behind.

It was impossible not to get close to them all after nearly two months of living with them. You had said goodbye to so many campers beforehand, but being the one that was being waved off felt a little bit different.

You turned to Jimin and gave him a wry smile. He looked up at you, and for a second, you were sure he wasn't going to stand up to say his goodbye; he was going to stay seated, not say anything to you.

But then he arose from the log and he was wrapping his arms around you so tightly that you feared you may very well burst from both love and the tightness of his grip. Nevertheless, you didn't complain or try to pull away – in fact, you tugged him closer and nuzzled your head in the crook of his neck.

You didn't realise you had started crying again until Jimin pulled away and gently ran the pads of his thumb over your cheeks, gazing down at you with glazed eyes of his own.

You sniffled, tried to hide your face but to no avail.

“Look at me,” Jimin whispered, low enough so the cameras nor Hyuna or Jackson could hear. “Look at me, Y/N.”

You did so, lower lip wobbling.

“You did so well,” he whispered. “I can't wait to see you again when I get out of here.”

It was that promise, the promise that this wasn't the last time you would see him, that truly gave you the strength and courage to pack up your things and say goodbye once and for all.

It was Jimin who escorted you to the bridge. Jimin and Jimin alone, because Hyuna and Jackson insisted that you two – more than anyone else – needed a private and formal farewell.

You hugged him one last time. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, a kiss that you knew would drive the public absolutely wild, before you said, “Win for me, eh?” and left him standing there.

Before you reached the tower, you could hear his booming voice behind you. “EAT A LOT OF FOOD FOR ME, Y/N!”

You giggled and yelled back, “I MOST DEFINITELY WILL, PARK JIMIN!”

----

Of course, social media was blowing up as soon as you entered your hotel room.

You didn't take a single glance at your phone until you had eaten, said hello to your family, had a proper shower and gotten out of your sweat stained clothes. You didn't want to stress yourself out with the catching up of it all until you at least had a moment to fix yourself up from the ordeal you had just escaped from.

You had a fairly good idea of what to expect when you at last looked at your social media.

With your little sister, Lele, sitting beside you, her head leaning on your shoulder, you finally opened up your Twitter account. Immediately your phone lit up, vibrating in your hand on a non-stop loop as tweet after tweet came through. The show itself was on the trending list, with some people saying the show was rigged for kicking you out, and others merely saying that they would miss your lively presence amongst the final contestants.

But most of what you saw were screenshots consisting of no other than Park Jimin.

You flicked through them, feeling your heart clench at the sight of him – it had only been a few hours since you had left camp, but you missed him more than you could care to explain or understand. The pictures being sent to you weren't making the situation any better.

Most of the pictures were screen-grabs of Jimin during the moments after you had been announced as the one who was leaving. Whilst you had been immediately dragged out of your seat and into Hyuna's arms, Jimin had remained seated, looking glum, and not a single person on Twitter had missed his expression.

There was a video of him only seconds after it had been announced that you were leaving; after you were dragged out of his grip, his head had immediately dropped, an action you hadn't seen him do whenever you were actually still there.

It was enough to break your heart.

You continued to flick through the tweets, reading as many as possible before your head started to pound with the unnatural light.

@KirstyMacdode: Did y'all see Jimin's face whenever it was announced Y/N got voted off :'( My boy is heartbroken!!!

@Y/NForever: smh, you're all fools for not voting for Y/N.

@L/NTERMS: how some ARMY's can really sit there and say Jimin will be happy to see Y/N leave the jungle when he's clearly distraught is beyond me. It was obvious that our girl made Jimin so, so happy during their time together. If you can't see that, just take a look at the trending page and then tell me I'm wrong.

@Kim_Taehyung: So sad to see Y/N go!! Would love to see you one day and personally thank you for keeping our Jimin-ie sane xD

You bit down on your bottom lip and set your phone down beside you.

Lele stirred at the movement – you had almost forgotten she was there. You looked down at her as she slowly came back to consciousness, rubbing the exhaustion out of her eyes and glancing at you sceptically.

She saw your expression and knew immediately what you had been doing.

“Mum told you to stay off Twitter for a little while.”

“I just had a little peak.”

“And you saw all the tweets about you and Jimin, didn't you?”

She sat up straight. You didn't need to reply – it was obvious that you had. Though Lele was only fourteen years old, she still had a way to make you feel like the younger one just by the way she glanced at you with that eyebrow raise that she had mastered so well – you remembered her as a toddler, the way she used to pull that very same face whenever she knew someone was lying.

“Oh, Y/N,” she sighed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Those pictures of Jimin are . . . Something else, aren't they?”

“People are blowing it all out of proportion,” you grumbled, but even as you said it, your voice cracked.

Lele raised her brow once again. “Are they, though?”

“Of course they are! Jimin and I are-”

“Awk, just friends, yeah. I've heard it all before.” She waved a hand dismissively. “I'm not saying anything suggestive here, but I watched the show. The camera could not catch a single frame where the two of you were not basically glued at the hip – and the amount of times he rested his chin on your head-”

“He was just happy to be with someone shorter than him.” You giggled to yourself, unable to hold back your amusement at the memories.

“See, there you go!” Lele suddenly exclaimed, making you jump. “You're literally blushing just thinking about him! I've only ever seen that shit in dramas-”

“Oi, watch your mouth!”

“But it's true!” She groaned, jumping up and shaking your arm roughly. “And don't deny that you like him, too. Everybody saw the chemistry.”

“Lele, please get off of me.”

“Not until you admit the truth.”

“There is no-”

She started tugging on your arm even harder. You were fairly certain she was trying to rip the limb from its socket.

“Lele!” you cried. “Stop!”

“Admit you like Jimin.”

“Lele-”

“Do you want me to show you a compilation video of you two sleeping next to each other in the jungle, or do you just want to admit the truth now?”

Your eyes widened. “A compilation-”

“Oh, there's millions of them,” she said, already reaching into her back pocket for her phone.

You slapped her hand away before she could grab the device, immediately flushing red. “Fine! Fine. I like Park Jimin.”

As Lele's face morphed into one of excitement, you felt the nerves rising in your throat – that was the first time you had admitted it out loud. In fact, with the emotions it triggered within you, you were fairly certain that it was the first time you had admitted it to yourself at all.

It felt so wrong, and so right all at the same time. You remembered the weeks you had spent together, the nights where it would be a tad bit too cold, or the sleeping bags would be a tad bit too uncomfortable, and you would both say fuck it and curl up together, claiming it was for warmth and nothing more.

But now that you thought about it, you had never actually gotten all that cold during your time in the jungle. You just enjoyed the feeling of Jimin's arms wrapped around you.

Lele was talking, babbling away like an excited teenager, but you were no longer paying her any attention. She had triggered your brain to start thinking, to start remembering, to start planning, and before the night was out, you had made your decision.

---

Jimin won.

Of course he did. With the nations love for him, plus the ninety three votes you had sent in, it was almost a guarantee that he would win. Nobody expected any different.

You tugged on the hem of your red dress, biting down on your lower lip - being back in the jungle this soon was something you hadn't been expecting, but you didn't feel the same type of nerves as you had done whenever you had first arrived all them weeks ago – now, it was more a sense of excitement, as misplaced as it felt. You should have been nervous at the idea of seeing Jimin again, especially in this state and with the news you were bringing him.

If you could even call it news.

Maybe you would make a fool out of yourself on live television. Maybe he would see you, standing at the end of that red carpet, and he would just completely blank with the confusion – perhaps he only saw you as somebody to latch on to in the jungle, and you had misdirected your own feelings completely.

Maybe you would make a fool out of yourself, but you would never know unless you tried.

And so, whenever the sirens wailed and you heard Cony and Dony yell, “Park Jimin, you're a celebrity, get yourself out of here!” you felt nothing but that buzz of excitement – the excitement that came along with the unknown.

Your breath was nearly knocked out of you whenever you looked down the carpeted bridge and saw Jimin making his way towards you.

The fireworks went off behind him. He was wearing a crown of leaves upon his head, the customary accessory for somebody who had just won the title as king or queen of the jungle – he was beaming. His red shirt was stained, and he was wearing a pair of beige shorts, his black hair a mess, but you wanted nothing more than to run to him, to hug him and tell him how proud you were of him.

He didn't see you until he reached the middle of the bridge. He was still grinning from ear to ear as the paparazzi snapped his picture, but his smile faded as soon as his eyes laid themselves upon you.

That was it. That was the final straw, the snap of the string.

You were shoved past the photographers and threw yourself into Jimin's arms before anybody from the crew could stop you. Jimin grunted as your chest slammed into his own, his crown falling off his head, but neither of you cared.

He wrapped his arms tightly around your waist as you let yours explore his shoulders. Your head was nuzzled in the crook of his neck, and the world around you was completely blocked out for the time being.

“You're here,” he said in your ear, sounding almost breathless. “God, you're here.”

“I'm here,” you confirmed. “You won, Jimin! You won!”

You pulled away, kept your hands on his shoulders. You could barely feel your face from smiling so much, and Jimin was smiling right back at you with the exact same enthusiasm.

It happened naturally, before you could really comprehend what was going on. It was as if it was a must, as if the two of you had just kind of come to terms that a kiss was the final thing you needed to do to seal the deal right now-

So that's exactly what you did.

You leaned in at the same time, his hands coming up to cup your jaw as your own wound around his shoulders. Your lips pressed against his. The crew behind you screamed and cheered, and the paparazzi even took a moment to pause with the shock; but then the flashes were going off all over again, capturing this oh-so-special moment, and neither of you could find it in you to care.

Even though you had the entire world watching you, it felt like it was just you and Jimin – it always did just feel like it was you and Jimin when you were together. He just had that skill to him, the skill to make you feel like the only person that mattered, the only person in his mind at that moment.

And this time, it was no different. His hands glided over your jaw, pulling you closer and closer until you genuinely had to pull away for fresh air.

He let his hands fall away from your face and he wound them around your waist, pushing the small of your back so you were stumbling even closer to him.

“We couldn't have waited until I'd at least had a shower first?” was the first thing he said.

You chuckled, pressed a soft kiss to his nose that had him scrunching up his face and tugging on the ends of your hair playfully. “No. No, we could not, Park Jimin.”

“To be fair,” he said, “I was going to kiss you whenever I said goodbye to you on the bridge, but I backed out last minute.”

“Weak. You won't survive the winter.”

Jimin rolled his eyes, that playful smile tugging on his perfect lips before he leaned in and kissed you again.

Whenever you pulled away, you only had one thing left to say to him before you would pass him on to the awaiting press and his family.

“What is it?” he whispered, his lips brushing yours. He could tell you wanted to say something.

You looked into his eyes and smiled shyly, before you stood on your tippy-toes, pressed your mouth to his ear and whispered, “Congratulations, King of the Jungle.”

191 notes · View notes

squirenonny · 7 years ago

Text

Child of the Night Sky

Ships: Established Shallura and Klance, vaguely implied Hunay Rating: G Warnings: Implied/Referenced Character Death

After a mysterious signal leads the paladins to an uninhabited moon, an intruder appears in the Black Lion's hangar.

Oddly, Black doesn't seem to mind.

[Read it on AO3!]

Commission fic for @confused-bird as part of their next gen AU. Find out more about the AU and the characters here!

Shiro stood on a barren ridge overlooking a sprawling valley dotted here and there with scraggly brown plants. The landscape had the feel of an old western, painted in sepia tones, the thin air tinged yellow near the horizon. The castle-ship sat a little over a mile behind him, gleaming silver spires unnaturally crisp against the backdrop.

“Where exactly did this signal come from?” Shiro asked, reaching out to steady Lance as a section of loose gravel crumbled underfoot. The weak sunlight reflected off his visor, which was sealed against the moon’s oxygen-poor atmosphere.

The clatter of keys echoed in Shiro’s ear. “Ten feet, maybe?” Pidge said. “Seriously, you guys are right on top of it.”

“Yeah...” Lance exchanged looks with Shiro, then spread his arms to encompass the barren valley. Nothing larger than coral-like plants lived on this moon; even the air remained stagnant around them. “I think there might be something wrong with your scanners, Pidge. There’s nothing here.”

“I’ll run the scan again, but I’m telling you, you’re there.”

“Nothing personal, Pidge,” Shiro said, placing a hand on Lance’s shoulder to quiet him. “We just want to be sure.”

They grunted, then fell silent as they worked. It was pure chance Green’s scanners had picked up the signal in the first place. A single burst of Quintessence, too weak to reach beyond the edge of the solar system and so quick the castle’s main scanners had flagged it as unremarkable.

“Don’t let your guard down,” Keith said, his voice clipped. “This could still be a trap.” Shiro didn’t have a visual on the bridge, where Keith, Pidge, and Coran were gathered to help direct Shiro and Lance, but he imagined Keith was wearing a hole in the floor pacing behind Pidge’s station. He’d wanted to bring the lions on this expedition, but Lance had draped himself over Keith’s shoulder and whispered something that made Keith flush and grudgingly agree to hold off on the heavy firepower, though he’d promised to come get them in Red the second things got sketchy.

Pidge’s frantic typing slowed. “You know we don’t actually know Lotor’s involved, right?”

Keith snorted. “Better to assume the worst,” he said. “Hunk, Allura, you still there?”

“Hear you loud and clear, buddy,” Hunk said. “Allura’s schmoozing up to the locals, but we’re two minutes from Yellow if you need us.”

“Good.”

Shiro’s eyes went to the dusty red crescent that dominated the sky. Hunk and Allura had remained on Dovrura while the others took the castle-ship to the larger of the two moons to investigate the anomaly. Allura had been concerned for their safety, but she trusted her team. She trusted Shiro. So as much as he wanted to ask her how the talks were going, he forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

“We don’t know what this is,” he said evenly. “That's why we're here. And we are being careful, I promise.”

Lance grinned in the direction of the castle-ship, as though Keith could see him out the window. “You heard the man, samurai. We’ll be fine—unless Lotor’s found a way to weaponize pebbles.”

Keith was quiet for a long moment, then laughed softly. “Fine,” he said. “But you owe me a massage when you get back.”

Shiro forced a smile for Lance, who remained at the alert, his bayard tapping against his thigh. The fact they’d encountered nothing overtly hostile on the trek out here wasn’t as reassuring as it should have been, when the anomaly looked so much like the dimensional rift the team had encountered while Shiro was gone and the energy signature of Lotor’s ship.

“Okay,” Pidge said after a time. “I double-checked the scans, and I was right. You’re standing literally on top of the origin point.”

Lance met Shiro’s eyes, then glanced pointedly at the dusty rock underfoot. “Secret bunker?”

“The castle’s not detecting any sizeable cavities in the area,” Coran said, “But if it’s small enough we might not be able to pick it up at this range.”

“Right,” said Pidge. “Shiro?”

“Way ahead of you.” Shiro took out the portable scanner Pidge had given him and set it on the ground. Three small legs immediately extended from the base and dug into the ground to stabilize the device. But five minutes later when the device finished its scans, it showed nothing new.

Pidge sighed. “Well, I guess that’s it, then. Lotor didn’t build anything here.”

“I still don’t like this,” Keith said.

Shiro smiled. “Noted. We’ll keep an eye on the scanners just in case the anomaly crops up again, all right?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Good.” Shiro clapped Lance on the shoulder as the younger man dismissed his bayard. “In that case, we’re gonna head back. See you soon.”

The rough terrain made for slow going, but Shiro and Lance made it back to the castle without incident. Keith and Pidge were waiting in the entrance hall when they arrived, Pidge seated on the staircase with their computer, Keith pacing nearby. He stopped when he caught sight of Lance and made a beeline for him, tension melting away.

“So. Back to Dovrura?” Lance asked, lacing his fingers with Keith's.

Shiro nodded. “I’ve left Allura at the mercy of politicians for long enough, I think.”

Pidge snorted, not looking up from their work. “Please. She’s got the entire planet rallying behind Voltron by now, just watch.”

“Yeah...” Shiro bit down on a smile, ignoring the look Keith and Lance shared. As though they had room to talk, when it had taken less than fifteen seconds for Lance to coax Keith into leaning back against him—Keith’s arms crossed over his chest, one of Lance’s draped over Keith’s shoulder. Shiro met them pointed look for pointed look, then connected to the bridge comms. “Whenever you’re ready, Coran.”

“Roger that! Just another tick and--”

An insistent chime interrupted Coran, and Shiro tensed. Not for the alarm itself, but for the rumble that started in his feet, raced up his spine, and settled in beside his heart. The others didn’t hear it—but they wouldn’t have, any more than he would have heard the call of the other lions.

“What was that?” Pidge asked.

Shiro was off running before Coran had a chance to check what had triggered the alarm. Keith straightened, Lance called Shiro's name, and Pidge yelped, fumbling their laptop as they surged to their feet. Shiro didn’t slow for any of it, just raced for the elevator.

“There’s an intruder!” Coran cried. “Down in the Black Lion’s--”

Shiro silenced his comms with a thought as the elevator door slid open. The lights were at half power, but they flickered on at his arrival, illuminating Black, who crouched in her usual spot at the center of the hangar, her voice vibrating in the air in a mix of confusion and wariness. Her chin rested on the ground, and a figure stood before her, hand on her nose.

Another light turned on, hitting the stranger like a spotlight. They gave a start, snatching their hand back from the Black Lion’s nose, and spun to face Shiro. They wore an opaque mask that reminded Shiro vaguely of the Blades’ suits: it was molded to the stranger’s head, with a luminous slit at the level of the eyes and a slight bulge over the mouth that might have been an oxygen mask or voice modulator of some sort. The rest of their attire was similarly matched black, white, and gray armor; slim-fitting and flexible like Allura’s battle suit.

The stranger’s hand dropped to their hip, and Shiro moved on instinct, hand coming alight. He charged toward the intruder, low to the ground, as he’d learned to do in the Arena. Assume the enemy is stronger than they appear. Make them fight for every hit. Most importantly, strike hard and fast. The longer a fight went on, the more chances you had to die.

The stranger froze, just for an instant, as Shiro approached. It was impossible to gauge emotion with that mask of theirs, but their hand lifted away from their hip and their spine went stiff, as though they hadn’t expected a fight.

The moment passed, and the intruder dodged back, footwork light and quick as they led Shiro around the hangar, slapping his arm aside with a palm to the inside of his elbow when his strikes got too close. They were obviously used to close-quarters, and they showed a wariness for his arm that suggested they’d seen it in action—or at least heard tales of what it could do.

Yet for all their skill, the intruder made no move to strike back at Shiro. They made a sound once, like they wanted to say something, but the word stalled in their throat, and they had to retreat as Shiro came in for another pass.

Black rumbled a warning, and Shiro shot a glance her way. The intruder had come here for her, a fact that would have been concerning in its own right even without the fact that Black had dropped her shields. She hadn’t opened up, but would that have lasted? Could this person have hacked the lion somehow, implanted a line of code that made Black think of them as a friend?

Shiro shifted, careful to keep himself between the intruder and the Black Lion as they danced across the hangar floor.

“Wait!” the intruder said, holding up their hands as a space opened between them. “Please—I don’t want to fight you.”

“I’m sure you don’t.” Shiro feinted to the left, then spun around, reaching out with his cybernetic hand for a nob near the jaw of the stranger’s mask. Shiro’s touch melted the electronics inside the control node, causing the mask to flicker and vanish. The intruder gasped, eyes going wide, and stumbled backward, reaching up with one hand to check the controls. They snatched their hand back at once, wincing as sparks snapped at their fingertips.

Shiro himself stood frozen, searching the stranger’s face. For the space of one heartbeat, he thought he recognized them—their short, dark hair with pale bangs; the piercing eyes; the stark red line across the bridge of their nose that curled up toward the outer corners of their eyes.

They were… human?

No.

Shiro stopped breathing.

With a roar, Allura was there, her staff flashing in the hangar lights as she swung. It cracked against the intruder’s head. Shiro cried out in horror, lifting one hand toward them, but he was too late, and the intruder dropped to the floor.

Allura barely spared them a second glance before she crossed to Shiro, grabbing his chin and forcing him to meet her eyes.

“Shiro,” she said. “Shiro. Are you all right?”

Shiro blinked, his gaze drifting back to the fallen form behind Allura. “Fine,” he said. “Are they okay?”

Allura frowned at him, then at the intruder. Hunk had knelt beside them—Shiro hadn’t even noticed the Yellow Lion’s arrival in the commotion.

“Holy--” Hunk clapped a hand to his mouth. “Guys.” He squeaked as the elevator door opened. Keith charged out ahead of the others, sword in hand.

“Shiro! Are you okay? What happened?”

“Guys,” Hunk repeated, breathless.

“Fine,” Shiro said. “What is it, Hunk?” Shiro paused long enough to kiss Allura’s cheek, meeting her eyes and willing her to see that he was okay, then hurried over to Hunk and the stranger. One look at the crumpled form, and at Hunk’s pale face, told him he been right.

Hunk reached out as though to touch the stranger’s red facial markings—not just under their eyes, but a small vertical band on their lower lip, as well—but hesitated at the last minute as Coran joined them, his usual calm disrupted at the sight of the stranger.

“Quiznak!”

Allura turned, grip on her staff tightening as she did so. “What?” she demanded. “What’s wrong?”

“Not… wrong, exactly,” Hunk said slowly, staring at Coran like he expected the man to shatter at any moment. “It’s just… They’re Altean.”

What followed was ten minutes of chaos. Everyone crowded around the intruder, exclaiming with varying degrees of shock, suspicion, and excitement as Coran numbly confirmed Hunk’s assessment. The stranger’s ears were a bit shorter than Allura’s or Coran’s, their facial markings not quite so brightly colored—but the scanner in the med bay confirmed their Altean heritage.

Allura had insisted on restraints, though she’d seemed to be fighting herself on the matter, and Coran had put the stranger into a cryopod to clear up a minor concussion. That left them twenty dobashes to figure out how to approach the situation—and to theorize about their presence on the castle.

“Well, obviously they’re the source of that weird reading earlier,” Pidge said, pulling up the data from the med scan on their laptop. They’d all relocated to the rec room, though so far only Pidge, Hunk, and Lance had taken advantage of the couch. The others stood or paced the room, tension thick in the air.

Hunk leaned over Pidge’s shoulder, frowning. “I’m not seeing anything like the anomaly here.”

Pidge pursed their lips. “I know. Maybe they have some kind of magic. You know, like Haggar’s?”

“Yeah, or they could be working for Lotor,” Keith said. “I don’t trust them.”

“The first surviving Altean we’ve seen?” Allura asked. She had one arm wrapped around her midsection, the other hand hovering near her mouth so she could worry a hangnail. Shiro edged closer to her, placing his hand in the small of her back. She smiled weakly at him. “I suppose it’s possible, but… Lotor’s father destroyed our entire people. Why would they work for him?”

“They may not have a choice,” Keith said.

“I suppose...”

Lance kicked his feet up onto Hunk’s lap, crossing his arms behind his head. “Maybe they’re from the Mirror Universe.”

“Mirror Universe?” Shiro arched an eyebrow. “The other reality?”

Allura shivered, her eyes fluttering closed. “I hope not.”

“I doubt anyone could have made it over here without Voltron, anyway,” Pidge said.

Hunk glanced toward Coran, who stood at a computer terminal along the wall, monitoring the intruder’s status remotely. He seemed not to notice the conversation going on around him.

“I don’t know you guys,” Hunk said, tearing his eyes away from Coran. “You’re all assuming they’re an enemy. But Black was cool with them, right? Maybe we should give them a chance.”

There was muttered dissent at that, but Lance looked thoughtful and Shiro couldn’t help but think about Black’s distress when the stranger had gone down. It had been her prodding more than anything that got the intruder to the med bay for a scan.

Coran’s computer beeped, and the others immediately turned toward him, the same silent question etched into every face.

“They’re coming out of it.” Coran switched off the computer and turned, pasting on a smile. “If it’s all right with you, Princess, I’d like to speak with them first. Alone.”

Keith looked like he was going to argue, but a glare from Lance stopped him. Allura nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Alright, but if they try anything, we’re handing them over to the Blade.”

Keith nodded once, satisfied, and Coran’s smile turned strained. But he acquiesced and left without another word. Allura put up a feed from the med bay on one wall, and Shiro rubbed her back as Coran appeared there, catching the intruder as they fell from the pod.

“Easy now,” he said, steadying them with a hand under their elbow. The stranger reached for their head, but the handcuffs pulled tight. They froze, eyes flying open.

Allura stiffened.

“I don’t think they’re dangerous,” Shiro told her in a low voice. “They weren’t trying to hurt me earlier when we fought.”

Allura pursed her lips, still staring at the video feed, where the intruder had finally lifted their head, staring at Coran in shock.

“I’m terribly sorry for all this,” Coran said, guiding the stranger toward a seat against the wall. He crouched down like they were a frightened child rather than a grown adult. “I’m afraid you gave us a bit of a fright back there. We’ve got a number of enemies who would have reason to infiltrate this ship.”

The intruder dropped their eyes to their wrists, tugging half-heartedly at the restraints. “Believe me, I know.” They smiled wryly as Coran’s brow pinched in confusion, then leaned back in their chair until they were practically lounging. “So what do I need to do to convince you I’m a friend?”

“You could start with a name,” Coran said.

The smile twitched wider, and the stranger’s eyes drifted skyward. “My name? Aeron í Allura Altea.”

Allura jerked away from the screen so violently Shiro had to take her by the arm before she tripped over the step behind her. She’d gone ashen, her eyes wide with shock that quickly turned to outrage. She turned on her heel, wrenched out of Shiro’s grasp, and stalked toward the door.

“Allura…?” Lance asked, sitting upright on the couch as she passed. He shot a look at Keith, who in turn looked at Shiro, who frowned and followed after Allura, the other paladins falling into step behind him. A hundred questions crowded his mind, and he didn’t dare ask a single one as Allura jabbed the button for the elevator.

You trust this person, Shiro thought in the direction of his lion. Don’t you?

The Black Lion didn’t answer.

Aeron í Allura Altea.

The name echoed in Allura’s ears with each step, a mockery of all logic, a slap in the face for someone who had lost her entire people. They finally discovered the existence of another Altean and this was how they presented themself? With taunts and brazen lies? Claiming a name they could not possibly hold?

The elevator ride down two floors to the med bay was interminable, not least of all for the anxious silence of her friends. Allura crossed her arms and leaned away from Shiro’s tentative touch, and when the door slid open, she stormed out of the elevator, down the corridor, and into the med bay. Coran still knelt before “Aeron,” one hand on their arm in a paternal gesture that stoked Allura’s ire.

Aeron looked up, eyes darting to Shiro before returning to Allura and locking there. They began to rise, mouth open to spew further lies, but Allura jabbed a finger in their direction.

“You,” she said sharply, “are not Aeron í Allura Altea.”

Aeron’s gaping mouth snapped shut, and something flashed behind their eyes. “I am, though.”

“Impossible.” Allura crossed her arms. “Where did you come from?”

“The Castle of Lions.”

Allura’s shoulders hitched toward her shoulders, a shout building in her throat. Coran smoothly inserted himself between Aeron and Allura, his eyes sharp with suspicion though he maintained the same warm demeanor he’d had since Aeron awoke. “Funny,” he said lightly. “I haven’t seen you around before.”

“Well, no. I haven’t been born yet.”

Shouts of surprise and incredulous questions burst out of the gathered paladins, but Allura hardly heard. She took a single step backward, head spinning. Time travel. Time travel? It made no sense—and yet that name. Aeron í Allura Altea.

Aeron, child of Allura of Altea.

Her child.

“Impossible.”

Her voice was barely a whisper, indistinguishable in the roar of voices, but Aeron looked at her and smiled as though they’d heard. A moment later, they huffed at the continuing furor and raised their hands. “One at a time. One at a time!” The room slowly quieted, and Aeron settled back in their seat. “Thank you. Now, who wants to start?”

Pidge leaned forward, eyes shining, but Keith was faster.

“Do you really expect us to trust you?” he demanded. The lights on the thigh of his armor were glowing, an unspoken warning that he was ready to summon his bayard—and from Aeron’s grim expression, they knew it.

“It’s the truth.”

Keith’s face darkened. “You really expect us to believe you’re—what? A time traveler? Seriously? Lotor probably sent you to steal the lions.”

“Which is why I’m here,” they said dryly. “Lionless.”

“I never said you were a good thief.”

Aeron rolled their eyes. “There’s no need to be rude, Uncle Keith.”

Keith choked on air, his eyes going wide as Aeron grinned—a brief moment of devious glee, quickly smothered. It reminded Allura all too much of herself. Of having to grow up too quickly, of snatching joy when it came, of constant awareness of the face she presented to the world.

“No.” Allura shoved aside the questions and formless desires creeping into her mind and forced herself to think rationally. “Time travel isn’t possible.” She hesitated in the face of Aeron’s fathomless stare and glanced to Pidge and Hunk. “Is it?”

Pidge spread their hands helplessly. “You tell me. Our scientists theorized that it's possible with wormholes—we just can't create a stable one. Or travel through without getting ripped apart.”

Hunk nodded thoughtfully, tapping his chin. “Yeah, but you’ve obviously got that figured out. We use wormholes like, every day. And space-time is pretty flexible, guys. If we can travel across the universe in two seconds, there’s no theoretical reason you couldn’t also travel back in time.”

“Except for the issue of temporal navigation,” Coran said. He paused, smoothing his mustache. “Or vortex monsters.”

Lance’s eyebrows shot up. “Vortex monsters?”

“Urban legends,” Aeron said. “Early Altean experiments with time travel were universal failures. Nothing ever got to the point in time it was supposed to reach, regardless of which direction it was traveling. Some people said there were creatures that hunted the timestream and ate anything that ventured outside the normal current.” They lifted one shoulder. “But I made it, so I’m betting it was more an issue of the proto-time-travelers missing their marks by a few light years. Or a few millennia.”

“Right.” Shiro held up one hand and shook his head. “Sorry. Even assuming time travel is theoretically possible, what proof is there that you traveled back—how long?”

Aeron scanned the room, their gaze resting on Shiro for only a fraction of an instant before it continued on to Pidge and Hunk. “Judging by how young you all look? I’d say about thirty years.”

“Uh-huh,” Keith said. “Sure.”

Lance planted his palm on the side of Keith’s face and pushed him out of the way so he could sidle up to Aeron, flashing a smile. “So what’s future me like? Dashing? Famous? How big’s my fan club?”

“And how did you end up here?” Pidge added. “Does someone really invent time travel in the next thirty years?”

Aeron averted their eyes and scratched the back of their neck. “I don’t actually know how I got here. But I have pictures from my time if you...” They trailed off, glancing down at the plain white medsuit they wore. “Correction: I have pictures in my armor… Where is my armor?”

Coran retrieved the armor from a storage compartment, ignoring Keith’s protests. Aeron took the breastplate and fished out what looked like a white echo cube. A flick of the finger brought up a digital menu, and a holographic image appeared in the air above Aeron’s hands. For a moment, Allura thought it was an image of her mother—tall, stately, a glimmer of a smile hinting at political savvy.

A chill raced down Allura’s back as she realized it wasn’t her mother. It was Allura, aged by several decades, with lines at the corners of her eyes and strain weighing down her shoulders.

“Ohmygosh!” Pidge lunged forward, stars in their eyes. “Is that derived from the holoprojector on the bridge?”

“Augmented with Olkari tech?” Aeron asked. “Yeah. Pretty neat, huh?”

“The colors are so crisp!” Pidge bounced on their toes as Aeron twirled the cube between their fingers. The image of Allura flickered, replaced by one of a young girl, dark-haired and gap-toothed. She was sprawled across the Red Lion’s paw, beaming at the camera. Then she was gone, and the older Allura was back, this time with a young Altean man—her son?

Allura closed her eyes, seeking calm. “You could have faked those,” she said. “You could have--”

She broke off as Lance gasped. Allura opened her eyes and found herself looking at a wedding photo. Oh, the details were off, but she could still see the Altean traditions at the heart of it: the colored motes of light that gave the scene a soft aura, the clusters of crystals dotting the rafters of the old atrium at the heart of the castle.

“Is that…?” Hunk glanced from the smiling couple, dressed in dark suits of an unfamiliar cut, fingers interlaced and matching smiles on their faces, to Keith and Lance.

Lance’s hands covered his mouth, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, and he reached out blindly for Keith, who looked shell-shocked, his eyes riveted to what very much looked like a picture of their wedding day.

Keith licked his lips, tearing his eyes away from the holo with obvious effort. “Allura’s right. These prove nothing.”

“Okay.” Aeron tapped the holocube, and the image vanished. They tilted their head to the side, eyes sliding almost—but not quite—to Shiro. “There’s one more thing I can show you.”

“And what’s that?”

“The black bayard.” Aeron held out their hand, and a bayard appeared. The paladins stiffened, Keith automatically summoning his own bayard. Shiro held out his hand, pressing it against Keith’s chest.

After a moment’s pause, Shiro stepped forward, held out his hand, and summoned his bayard. “Pidge, can you tell if that’s the genuine article?”

“Sure,” they said. “Just give me a few minutes.”

Aeron’s bayard was real.

Shiro had to hear it twice—from both Pidge and Coran—before he could wrap his head around it. The bayards were ancient, complex devices inexorably linked to the lions. The thought of there being two black bayards was incomprehensible, and that along with Black’s reaction to Aeron cinched it. Aeron was, impossibly, telling the truth.

Hunk was the last to cling to his skepticism, rambling on about how someone might create a forgery that could fool all their resident tech wizards. He mentioned Quintessence modulation and pocket dimensions, but Shiro hardly heard him. Nor, it seemed, did Keith, who stormed forward and snatched Aeron’s bayard out of Pidge’s hands. A familiar sword appeared in a flash of light, indistinguishable from his usual weapon. Keith’s scowl deepened.

“It’s real,” Aeron said, sounding bored. They looked vaguely irritated by the debates, but had been remarkably patient, all things considered. They glanced now at Keith, gauging his reaction. “I promise, I’m not lying to you.”

“You’re from the future,” Shiro said, numb.

Aeron glanced at him, then quickly away. “Yes.”

“And Allura is…?”

“My mother? Yep.”

Shiro’s eyes lingered on Aeron’s facial markings, and the scar across his own nose prickled. “And...” Shiro cleared his throat as every eye in the room turned his way. Every eye, that was, but Aeron’s. “What about your father?”

Aeron stiffened, a scowl darkening their face. “I’ve probably said enough already. Spoilers, right? Don’t want to screw up the timeline.”

The flat dismissal felt like a slap to the face, and Shiro was too stunned to do anything but nod and say, “Sure.”

Was he… not Aeron’s father? He and Allura hadn’t talked much about the future, but the thought that they might not be together—might not even be on good terms—hurt more than Shiro would have thought possible.

Shiro didn’t have long to consider the possibility. As Coran removed Aeron’s restraints, Allura turned and stalked from the room. Aeron watched her go.

“You know...” Hunk pushed his fingertips together as he edged forward with Pidge. “I know we said no spoilers and all, but tech is an exception, right?”

“Yeah,” said Pidge. “We have to figure out how you got here if we’re going to send you home.”

Aeron blinked several times, then chuckled, but Shiro didn’t stay to hear their reply. Instead, he followed after Allura, following the soft, quick beat of her footsteps, which led him to the elevator. He caught the door as it began to close.

“Are you okay?” he asked, joining Allura inside.

She smiled, but it was strained. “I’m fine, Shiro,” she said, leaning into him. “It’s just a lot to take in.”

“I know.” Shiro wrapped his arms around Allura, a lump rising in his throat. “I know. But, hey! Looks like your kid ends up becoming the black paladin. That’s something to be proud of, right?”

Allura pulled back, a solemn expression on her face. Her kid. Not theirs. At least Shiro wasn't the only one upset by that. “Shiro…”

“This doesn’t change anything,” he said, stealing a kiss. “I’m here to stay. I promise.”

“So… exactly how many pictures can you fit on that cube thingy of yours?”

Lance tried not to fidget as Aeron looked at him, one eyebrow arched in near perfect imitation of Shiro’s Dad Face. Lance hadn’t yet pinned down what the deal was between them—Aeron had made a conspicuous effort not to be left alone in a room with Shiro, but still watched him across the room when the whole team was gathered together. Maybe Shiro wasn’t their dad, maybe, but Lance was positive Aeron had known him growing up.

So what had happened?

“Are you asking me because you’ve suddenly developed an interest in tech,” Aeron asked, “or because you want to know more about the future?”

Lance’s eyes widened. “What? Me? Pssh. I don’t care about the future.”

“Uh-huh…” Aeron glanced around the room, which was empty except for the two of them. Coran, Pidge, and Hunk were all busy working out theories for how to get Aeron home, Shiro and Allura were on the bridge, and Keith had spent most of the last two days on the training deck—for no particular reason, of course. Definitely not because he was freaked out by the wedding photo.

Wedding photo! Lance couldn’t believe it. He and Keith were married! At least… he thought they were. He was pretty sure, and as giddy as that made him, he couldn’t tell what Keith was feeling. He’d been trying to figure out how to broach the subject with Keith, but when he came up blank, he’d decided to go fishing for more information.

“Sorry.” Lance rubbed the back of his head. “I shouldn’t have--”

“Okay,” Aeron said.

Lance blinked. “What?”

“Okay. Just—don’t tell my mother.”

Lance snapped his mouth shut and nodded hastily, leaning forward. “My lips are sealed! You-- What--?”

Before Lance could formulate a question, Aeron had pulled out their projection cube. A hologram appeared in the air between the two of them. Lance and Keith, now middle-aged, smiled at the camera. Each had an arm around the woman in braids between them, who flashed a charming smile at the camera as she fired off finger guns. Lance held a much younger child on his hip, though she seemed to be trying her hardest to wriggle away. Her dark hair was escaping her pigtails, and she was missing a tooth.

“That’s Rose,” Aeron said, pointing to the woman in the center. “She’s a few years older than me, tough as nails. My brother’s only a year older than her, and he took it on himself to try to reign her in.” A smile tugged at Aeron’s lips, and they bit down on it. “Can’t say I made his life any easier, to be honest. At least I knew better than to try to imitate daddy before I had any training.”

“Oh, no.”

“Yeah… I’m pretty sure she would have taken the Trials at age six if Uncle Keith let her. Anyway, she’s my red paladin. Sometimes I want to strangle her, but I don’t know what I’d do without her.” Aeron flipped their hand, then pointed to the girl hanging off Lance in the picture. “This little cutie is Claudia. Now, look. We've all played The Floor is Lava, but Claudia raised it to an art form. Not sure how much longer she can persuade people to let her climb all over them, though.”

Lance laughed, tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. He had a family. He had a husband and two beautiful daughters, and there they all were, smiling so bright their joy was infectious. “Hey, Aeron? Am I… Am I good dad?”

Aeron’s smile softened, and they flipped over to a different picture, one that showed Keith holding a tiny bundle. He seemed awestruck, handling the baby like she was made of glass, while Lance kissed the side of his head.

“You’re a great dad,” Aeron said. “Both of you. There’s been fights, sure. Lots of big personalities in your family, and Rose was the definition of a rebellious teen. But at the end of the day, Rose and Claudia both know you love them. Rose still calls home every day, you know. Don’t tell her I told you, but I think she’s a little homesick.”

Lance’s vision blurred, and he blinked furiously, trying to memorize the image of him and Keith with their daughter. “Thank you,” he whispered, smiling at Aeron. “Really.”

They switched off the projector, nodding. “It’s family,” they said, as though that explained everything. Lance frowned, but Aeron only shook their head and stared down at the cube in their palm, blinking back tears.

Things were awkward between Allura and Aeron for the first few days. Aeron spent most of their time with Coran—and often Hunk and Pidge—trying to work out the mechanics of time travel. Allura had hung around the fringes of these conversations enough to have heard all the theories: mineral deposits on Dovrura’s moon, Quintessence flows in the system, odd energy signals coming off the sun. The castle in Aeron’s time had been nowhere near Dovrura, so it was likely they’d been pulled to this system by the castle-ship itself.

The intervening days had done wonders for the awkwardness Allura had first felt around Aeron. It was still surreal, of course. Even when she was able to forget, for a moment, that they were a time traveler—and her child—they were still the first Altean she’d seen from this universe other than Coran and Haggar, and she found herself tearing up at the oddest moments.

Aeron was considerate, though, and they avoided talking about the future. They talked instead about Aeron, about Allura and Coran, about Altea of old. Aeron had grown up on stories of their people’s planet, and they were hungry for more, and Allura found it liberating to talk to someone who felt that same intangible connection to the past.

By the end of the first week, Aeron had settled into the castle routine. They theorized with Coran and Pidge and Hunk, they talked with Allura about the past, they snuck off with Lance—and both got cagey when asked what it was they did when they barricaded themselves in the rec room. Even Keith began to warm to the new arrival, though it was usually Lance who enticed him to be social. The mice found Aeron to be a particularly comfortable perch, and Allura was saddened, if not surprised, to realize Aeron had never met these mice—or if they had, they’d been too young to remember.

The only one Aeron hadn’t connected with was Shiro.

He poked his head into the bridge now, hesitating for a moment when he caught sight of Aeron. Pain flickered across his face, but he covered it up as Aeron turned toward him. Allura’s heart ached. Shiro didn’t want to push Aeron, and Allura understood that, but she’d seen the way Aeron looked at him when his back was turned. They’d all seen those looks. Even now, the quiet conversation between Hunk, Pidge, and Coran petered out as Aeron caught sight of Shiro and stiffened. They gaze dropped to the floor, and Shiro shied away.

“Sorry for interrupting,” he said, forcing levity. “I was looking for Allura.”

Aeron stood, rubbing the back of their neck. “That’s fine. I should probably go.”

“You don’t have to--” Shiro began, but Aeron waved him off.

“I’m meeting Lance soon anyway. It’s fine.”

Shiro watched them go, and Allura felt another pang. She stood, approaching Shiro and wrapping an arm around his waist. “You should talk to them.”

He frowned at her. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Hunk piped up from the other side of the room. Pidge eeped and ducked their head when Shiro and Allura turned. They clearly didn’t want to seem like they’d been eavesdropping. Hunk was less bashful. “Have you seen the way they look at you, dude? I don’t know what’s going on there, but they want to talk to you.”

“Who wants to talk to who now?” Lance asked, strolling in with Keith.

“Aeron wants to talk to Shiro,” Hunk said.

“Oh.” Lance chuckled. “Well, yeah. Is there such a thing as dad-pining? Cause holy quiznak, it’s worse than when you were trying to work up the courage to ask Allura out. Ow.” Lance’s smile vanished as Keith smacked the back of his head.

Shiro crossed his arms. “You’re imagining things,” he said flatly. “And what are you doing here, anyway? Aeron just left to look for you.”

“Me?” Lance asked.

Keith frowned. “I’m pretty sure they were heading for the training deck, actually.”

Shiro pursed his lips.

“Go,” Allura said, giving him a gentle nudge.

Shiro opened his mouth, then hesitated. “I don’t know...”

“Go. Trust me. You both need this.”

Shiro stared at her for a long moment, then sighed. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll give it a try.”

Shiro found Aeron on the training deck, sparring with a gladiator. Watching them fight was mesmerizing. Their grace and power reminded him of Allura, though at the moment Aeron was fighting unarmed. Shiro hadn’t yet seen the form the bayard took for them; he didn’t think anyone had. Aeron preferred to train in private.

When they executed a flawless takedown, stealing the gladiator's sword and running it through—the exact move Shiro had taught himself in the Arena—Shiro understood the wish for privacy.

“Not bad,” he said, entering the room as the castle reclaimed the damaged gladiator. Aeron stiffened, spinning around with a guarded look on their face. Shiro held up his hands. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to surprise you.”

Aeron turned away, wiping sweat from their brow. “It’s fine,” they said. “Someone looking for me?”

“Just me.” Shiro hesitated just inside the door, searching for tact. But he’d been tactful for the last week, always giving Aeron an out, always deferring to whatever wall it was dividing them. Suddenly Shiro found he just wanted answers. “Am I your father, Aeron?”

Aeron lifted their head, eyes wide and wild. “Are you…?” They licked their lips. “I told you, I shouldn’t say too much about the future.”

A flare of anger tightened Shiro’s jaw, and he forced himself to breathe through it. “Please, Aeron. I’m just trying to figure out what I did to make you hate me.”

That, finally, got a reaction out of them. They stared at him, lips parted, and pain crept into their expression. “You didn’t do anything.”

Shiro closed his eyes. “Clearly I did. I… I don’t know what. If I—if I left you and your mother, if I let the team down, if...” If the things I did in the Arena finally caught up to me, Shiro thought. “I don’t want to believe I would do that to you—to anyone. So, please, if Allura married someone else, it’s fine. I just need to know.”

Aeron was still staring at him, their lips pressed together so the stripe of red across their bottom lip stood out. “No,” they said. “She—you are my dad.”

Relief loosed the vice around Shiro’s heart, but cold dread flooded in soon after. “Then...”

“I’m sorry.” Aeron breathed out a ragged breath and made a break for the door, head ducked so Shiro couldn’t read their expression. “I can’t.”

“Wait!” Shiro lunged after them as they fled, catching their arm. “I don't understand, Aeron! If I'm supposed to be your father, why are you avoiding me?”

They whirled, and Shiro was stunned into silence by the tears tracing paths down their cheeks. “Because you died!”

“What?”

Aeron pulled out of Shiro’s grip, wrapping their arms around their midsection. “You died,” they repeated, softer now. Their breath hitched, and they swiped at their eyes. “The last time I saw you, you were dying in my arms, and there was nothing I could do to save you.”

Shiro’s mouth ran dry. He stumbled forward, off-kilter, and reached for Aeron before he had time to think that they might not want his comfort. The instant his hand came down on their shoulder, though, they fell into his arms and clung to him like—well, like he was all they had left of their father.

“I’m sorry, Aeron,” Shiro whispered, pulling them closer. He felt their knees give out and lowered them both to the floor, never giving up his hold on them. On his child. The child he’d left fatherless.

The knowledge left a sour taste on his tongue, and he couldn’t bring himself to ask for more details. A morbid part of him wanted to know everything—when it had happened, how, whether his death had meant anything. There was a thought of changing things, but it faded quickly into the rush of emotion. Who was to say the future could be changed?

So he said nothing, just held his child as they cried and told them everything was going to be okay.

Aeron breathed in the crisp, recycled air of the Black Lion’s cockpit. Her steady presence settled into a familiar place in their mind, and for a moment they could almost forget she wasn’t quite the Black they knew. Thirty years wasn’t much to a Voltron Lion, but the death of a pilot—the death of Aeron’s father, who had been so closely bonded to Black that his death had left deep scars—was not something that could be ignored.

Eight years had not dulled the ache of loss.

That day was burned into their memory. A diplomatic mission, one of the first Aeron had been allowed to participate in… Even now, they didn’t know what had gone wrong, whether deception on the part of the locals or a Galra plot. They just remembered the explosion. Coran had been caught up in the blast, and Aeron’s father had gone in to save him. Aeron followed, and only narrowly avoided being caught in the building’s collapse.

Funny, how being back here with Shiro could make them feel like a child again.

But he’d been there, as earnest as ever, every line of his body speaking to concern for their happiness, every word dripping with a desire to make things right. Aeron’s father had poured everything he had into his family.

They'd almost forgotten how much they'd missed him.

They felt lighter now that they'd told him, though slightly embarrassed by their breakdown.

Black rumbled reassurance, and Aeron smiled. It had been Shiro’s idea to take Black out for a spin, and Aeron had been afraid Black would refuse, as she’d refused to open for Aeron when they first arrived in this time. But she’d welcomed them, and the flight had loosened knots Aeron hadn’t even realized they’d been carrying. Their father was dead, and they dared not hope that would change, but if nothing else, they had at least found closure.

An alarm startled Aeron out of their thoughts. They spun the Black Lion around, scanning the stars, and spotted spotted it at the edge of the system: a Galra fleet. Heart pounding, they hailed the castle.

“Paladins, to your lions! Galra fleet incoming!”

It wasn’t until Keith jumped on the comms with a curse that Aeron remembered they weren’t in their own time. For a moment, they panicked. They’d never been into battle without Rose at their side, without their brother back on the castle-ship to provide support. They couldn’t—they couldn’t do this.

“Shiro.” Aeron faltered, bit their lip. “Dad. I’m going to hold them off until the others are out here, then I’ll trade places with you and you can--”

“No.”

Aeron hesitated. “What?”

“No,” Shiro repeated. “You’re already out there, and you’re just as much the black paladin as I am. You can do this, Aeron. I trust you.”

Mingled pride and grief stirred in Aeron’s chest, but they nodded, pulling out Black’s wing-blades as the Galra fleet formed up and headed toward Dovrura. Ships burned around them, and Black roared in Aeron’s head as they held the line. In moments, the Red Lion was there, arriving in a swirl of flame. The castle’s lasers joined the fray with pinpoint accuracy, knocking down ship after ship as the other paladins fell into formation.

Rose and Myhrin weren’t here. The rest of Aeron’s team wasn’t here. But their parents were, and these people were--or would be--Aeron's family. When they needed someone to take a shot, Lance was there; when they asked for scans of the battle cruiser, Pidge had them ready before the words were fully out of Aeron’s mouth. They flew in tandem with Keith, and Hunk caught a shot from their blind spot.

They cleared out the fleet quickly, Allura called out a warning as the battle cruiser began to charge its cannon, the barrel aimed directly at Dovrura.

“We can’t let them get that shot off,” Aeron called. “Everyone together now—form Voltron!”

They didn’t expect it to work. There were always hiccups when you added someone new to the formation. It took time, and it took a willingness to be open with each other—something Aeron just couldn’t bring themself to do, not when they knew so much about these people’s future.

But in a way, there was nothing new about this. Aeron knew Keith and Hunk and Lance and Pidge. They knew a version of them, anyway. And the other paladins knew Aeron’s parents. There were thirty years between them—but what was thirty years to Voltron?

The bond took root, and Aeron directed them toward the battle cruiser.

“Keith! Form sword!”

Power surged as the sword materialized. Hunk and Lance pivoted, and Keith sliced through the barrel of the ion cannon. Pidge latched onto the cruiser as Voltron drifted past, and they pivoted again, Keith reversing and bringing the sword up from below.

It sliced cleanly through the cruiser, leaving two halves drifting, the shredded shields flickering once, twice, before the power failed entirely.

Stillness returned to the system, and Aeron breathed a sigh of relief.

“That was some fine flying, everyone,” Shiro said warmly. “Good work. And Aeron—thank you. You’re team’s lucky to have you.”

By the following morning, they had the solution they'd been hunting for. However Aeron had ended up in the past, it had left an impression. A path they ought to be able to follow home. All they had to do was reopen the portal. To that end, Coran and Hunk had adapted the teludav technology, and Pidge had programmed it based on the energy spike from Aeron’s arrival.

“It’s going to take a lot of Quintessence to power this thing,” Pidge warned. The team had gathered at the point where Aeron had appeared, helmets sealed against the thin atmosphere. Aeron glanced at Allura.

“Well, what do you say, Mom? Together?”

Allura nodded and they stepped up to the device Hunk and Coran had built. It didn’t look like much; just a small silver cube with a single pedestal rising from the top. Allura laid one hand atop the pedestal, Aeron placed their hand over hers, and they both channeled their Quintessence into the device.

A ripple appeared in the air, then split into a milky blue portal tall enough to walk through.

“I guess this is it, then,” Aeron said, turning back to the paladins. Hunk sniffled, then surged forward, lifting Aeron off their feet. They wheezed, smiling despite themself. “Oh, come on, Uncle Hunk. I’m gonna be born in about seven years. That’s not so long.”

Hunk laughed, and as he pulled back, Pidge took his place. Keith and Lance were next, and Aeron pressed a small disk into Lance’s hand as they broke apart. Lance frowned, looking down at the device, and Aeron winked.

“A little memento,” they whispered, too quiet for even Keith to hear. “For when you’re homesick for something that hasn’t happened yet.”

Lance’s lip trembled, and he squeezed Aeron tight enough to force the air from their lungs. “Thank you.”

Aeron smiled, squeezing Lance back. By the time they parted, Coran was there, his smile sorrowful. Aeron’s breath quickened, and now the tears came. They remembered Coran as a pillar of their childhood, as good as a grandfather to all the paladins’ kids—right up until the day he died.

This version was virtually unchanged from the man Aeron had known. Not so many wrinkles, perhaps, and not yet any gray in his hair, but the same kind smile. The same ready hugs and gentle prodding that made Aeron spill everything.

He alone of anyone in this time had heard the full story of his death, and Shiro’s. Aeron hadn’t meant to say anything, and even now they told themself it wouldn’t change anything. But maybe…

Maybe.

Aeron clung to Coran, burying their face in the curve of his neck. “I’m going to miss you,” they whispered.

Coran sighed. “As will I. But we’ll see each other again, Aeron.”

“I hope so.”

Then all that remained was saying goodbye to their parents. Allura and Shiro stood together, radiant with pride and affection, and Aeron felt their tears spill over. Aeron focused on breathing and surged forward to hug them. Blinking against the tears, Aeron folded Shiro’s fingers over another projection disk, this one containing a picture of Aeron with their parents and brother.

“Don’t forget to have me, okay? And Myhrin, too.”

Allura laughed, then held out a necklace. Aeron recognized it as belonging to their grandmother; their mother wore it nearly every day. Their eyes widened. “I can’t--”

“Take it,” Allura said. “I want you to have a piece of me, whatever else happens.”

Aeron said nothing, just nodded, clutching the necklace to their chest, and stepped backward toward the portal. They got one last look at the team, happy and whole and hopeful, before they stepped out of time.

The castle was just the same as Aeron remembered it, albeit quieter. Med kits in every room—added after Rose’s... eventful childhood. Old finger paintings permanently emblazoned on the walls. The familiar sigh of the ventilation system, and the hum of Quintessence running through the conduits.

Aeron stepped out of the portal into the Black Lion’s hangar, unchanged down to the jacket Aeron had left draped over a chair. They went looking for their team, a corner of their mind irrationally convinced they’d come back ten thousand years too late, and everyone they’d know was long dead.

Voices in the distance led them to the rec room, where they found a crowd. Not just the other paladins, but many of their parents as well. Keith and Lance had claimed a corner of the couch; Hunk and Shay and the Holts were huddled by the wall, talking in low tones.

But it was Rose, pacing by the door and chewing on a fingernail, who noticed Aeron first. She stopped, mouth dropping open.

Then she shrieked, loud enough to shatter glass, and sprinted toward Aeron. “You big, stupid jerk!” she cried, slamming into them and spinning around. “Do you have any idea how worried we were?” Rose pulled back, punching Aeron in the shoulder. “You’re not allowed to do that again.”

Aeron chuckled, rubbing their arm. “Sorry,” they said, beaming as everyone else streamed forward to join in on the group hug. “I’m home now, though.”

A hand settled between Aeron’s shoulder blades, warm and heavy, and they began to turn, only to freeze when a familiar voice said, “You’re right.”

Aeron forgot how to breathe. It was only then that they spotted Coran across the room, smiling into his hand. There was gray in his hair, more than Aeron remembered, but his eyes sparkled mischievously as he came forward and put an arm around Allura’s shoulders.

Aeron turned.

“Dad?”

Their voice came out small, tears streaming down their face, but their father only smiled, pulling them against him. “Welcome home, kiddo.”

#voltron #vld #shallura #klance #next gen au #time travel au

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