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giftofwonder · 4 years ago

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The Tomb (Dabi x f!Reader) - Part Six

A/N: As always, thank you all for the love and support. I appreciate all of your feedback and hope you like this part. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, just let me know!

WARNINGS: Cursing/Swearing

TAGLIST: @mikasackrmann @missalicebaskerville @liitlesushi @bonemarroww @winchescumberholland @mira-mirach @babayaga67 @iiashleysykes @orenjineki @badbitchfor2dmen @tsukki-uwwu @jamaisvusbitch

Christmas was two weeks away, so you spent much of your time teaching Dabi about your world, hoping that when he was around your family, nothing would seem amiss. You figured everything would be fine as long as he had a general understanding of most things, though you doubted they’d believe he was a reanimated corpse from ancient times, anyways.

He had handled himself just fine with your team at work, even befriending a few of them. However, the topics that were brought up mainly revolved around the tomb or daily life, and Dabi at least was a bit more familiar with the culture there than here.

Your story would be that he worked on your team and was rather new. He had a vast knowledge on the ancient times, and so you had met while calling him in to help deciphering artifacts and old text.

By this point, he had a decent enough inventory of topics he could speak on fairly well. It wasn’t great, but your parents only knew the basics of conversation in the language, so hopefully you could pass it off as communication errors and use the excuse of language barriers to translate for him.

In the meantime, though, you tried to teach him as quickly as you could. Television helped a lot, he spent a good amount of time flipping through channels and trying to absorb what he saw, asking questions as he went.

While he did that, you kept yourself busy buying him Christmas presents. You had explained the holiday to him, and he had seemed happy about it, though he knew he wouldn’t be able to reciprocate much. You had stashed the gifts for him in your spare room, excited for his first Christmas.

You let him decorate the house with you, and you were glad to see him having fun with it. You had been very entertained when you plopped a Santa hat on his head and he looked in the mirror, seeming almost offended by it. But moments later, he was running around the house with it on, continuing the tasks you had given him without a care in the world. He had even thrown out a “Ho ho ho!” when he brought you garland from the other room, but he had stomped away, his face flushed, when you had doubled over laughing at the unexpected catchphrase.

On Christmas Eve, you had dressed him up in warm clothes and dragged him from the house and into town. Dabi was adjusted to the cold from the desert nights, but he was still thankful for the warm layers you wrapped him in.

He hid the bottom of his face in a scarf, the rest of his damaged skin covered other than under his eyes. He felt better that way. When he was alone with you, he felt confident. You looked at him like he was perfect. Flawless. But the stares he got when he left the house made him uncomfortable. It wasn’t fear like he had become accustomed to, but rather pity and sadness. He hated it.

You led him to a horse drawn carriage they had set up in the town square. Since it was Christmas Eve, it wasn’t too busy out, and you were thankful to be able to get in quickly.

You climbed in first and Dabi made himself comfortable at your side, his arm wrapping behind your back to hold you close to him. He thought the small lights that decorated the trees were beautiful, making them look like they were full of stars, as was the pond that reflected them, that the carriage circled. He had never felt so relaxed. He spent his whole life fighting to survive, but the time you were in seemed like it held no real threats or danger.

The society he remembered had crumbled and the world had moved on. It satisfied him to know there had been change.

As the ride came to an end, Dabi got out and helped you down. You held hands as you pulled him over near a small cafe stand and grabbed you both some hot chocolate. You had learned that Dabi loved it, and aside from wine, it was a very requested drink with him.

You passed by small shops in the town square, Dabi was looking at the world around you while you window-shopped. You had finished all of your shopping, and the food to bring to your brothers for Christmas dinner was already made.

You felt Dabi still and his grip tightened on your hand. Your attention was dragged away from the shop windows and you saw his eyes wide in amazement.

You followed his gaze to see what had surprised him when you began cheering, excitement bursting though you.

“Look Dabi! It’s snowing!” You exclaimed while throwing your hands up, all but skipping out into the snow and giving a little twirl.

Dabi laughed at your childlike behavior, but followed you out from the covers hanging over the store fronts to feel the snow on his skin. He held his hands out, feeling the frozen droplets against his warm palms. You hummed as you spun around, your tongue peeking out to catch the snowflakes on it, and Dabi felt his chest tighten, something he noticed would happen now almost every time he looked at you. You stopped spinning and your eyes landed on him, bright with mirth, as you grinned.

Dabi wasn’t very sentimental, really. He had very few times in his life that he would consider carefree. However, these small moments with you, full of joy and warmth, he would forever keep in his heart.

You ran to him and hugged him, pressing against him as you babbled on about luck and a white christmas. While he wasn’t completely sure of what you meant, he could see that you were happy, so he figured it must be good.

You finished the walk home, getting inside and tugging off your coat to replace it with a soft knit blanket that you threw over both you and Dabi as you sat together on your sofa. The silence was comfortable, and you relaxed into his side just enjoying being with him, until you glanced up and saw the clock on your wall. You decided that you had waited long enough.

“Hey Dabi, you remember how I told you that you give gifts on Christmas?” You asked, and he nodded.

“Okay, good! I’ll be right back, you wait here!” You said giggling as you flung the blanket off of you and sprang up from the couch to run upstairs.

Dabi sat, still cozy underneath your blanket, waiting for you. A few moments later, he watched you come back down the stairs, pretty and colorful bags filling your hands. You sat them on the ground at his feet. His eyes were wide as he realized all of these were the ‘presents’ you had mentioned, and that they were probably all for him. His eyes flicked to your reddened face.

“Is it too much? It’s too much, isn’t it?” You groaned, your hands cupping your cheeks in embarrassment.

Dabi shook his head at you, a smile reaching his lips that he couldn’t stop.

“Is this...all for me?” He asked, his voice barely a whisper.

You nodded eagerly, pulling gifts from the bag to sit beside him and push into his hands.

You watched him as he held the gifts, twisting and turning them in his hold, admiring the paper and ribbons that decorated them. You had definitely went a bit overboard, but your family didn’t exchange presents, so you weren’t too concerned with the cost. Beyond that, it was Dabi’s first Christmas and you wanted him to have a good time. He didn’t have a lot of possessions, coming to your world with nothing, and he usually wasn’t overly accepting of gifts on a normal basis. You had tried many times to get him to pick things out for himself, but he would always shrug it off, saying he was fine. He only really asked for things he needed, and those requests were rare. But this was a holiday, an occasion where you were meant to give and receive. Surely, he would allow you to spoil him just this once.

He started opening the gifts, working his way through the pile, holding each item delicately as if it were porcelain.

At the end, you took and discarded all of the wrapping paper, taking it to your trash can in the kitchen. When you turned around, you found Dabi standing close behind you.

“Did I do okay? Do you like them?” You asked hopeful, but nervous.

Dabi pulled you to him and kissed you deeply. His hands held you firm against him, the action warming your heart and making your stomach flutter.

He pulled back slightly to whisper a “yes” and “thank you” against your lips before leaning in again.

You hoped the dinner with your family would go just as smoothly.

__________________________________________

The next morning, you woke up alone. You rubbed your eyes and groaned, pushing yourself out of bed and going to search for Dabi.

You found him at your kitchen table, hunched over, blocking whatever he was doing from your view.

“Good morning.” You mumbled, walking closer as his head whipped up to look at you over his shoulder.

“Stay there.” He demanded and faced forward again.

You were too groggy to argue, holding up your hands in defeat as you leaned against the door frame, watching his back as you yawned.

A few minutes later, he stepped to the side and turned to stare at your face. He looked apprehensive but excited, and you held a poker face as you stared at a torn up trash bag, some scraps of wrapping paper, and a discarded bow in a pile on the table.

You looked at him, but his expression hadn’t shifted, other than the small hint of worry that had appeared.

You looked back at the table and stepped forward, glancing down at the mess and furrowed you’re brow, the gears turning in your half asleep and foggy mind. Was this...a present?

You looked to him from the side and then reached for the gift, pulling the pile apart. You found one of your picture frames face down on the table, but when you picked it up and turned it towards you, you saw he had replaced it with a photo that you two had taken shortly before leaving the excavation sight.

It was a picture of you sitting on the steps of the tomb. You were laughing, with Dabi behind you, his arms around your waist and his chin plopped on top of your head, shooting a goofy grin at the camera.

Your gaze softened at it and your thumb stroked the glass over his face as you smiled gently. Dabi sighed in relief at your reaction, the tension leaving his shoulders as he relaxed, glad that you were happy with it.

He didn’t go into town without you. Between too many unfamiliar things and the language barrier, it would be too hard for him he figured, but after you had given him so much last night, he wanted to give you something in return.

One of the diggers you worked with had developed the photo and given it to him on the day of your departure, and he had held onto it, waiting for a good time to give it to you.

You turned to him, pulling him into a hug as your head rested against his chest, holding him tight in your embrace. You leaned up to kiss his nose, and then brushed your lips across his cheek.

“Thank you, I love it.” You whispered in his ear, and he felt his heart speed up as blood rushed to his cheeks. He closed his eyes, pressing himself tighter against you. His nose burrowed in the crook of your neck, and he kissed your skin softly.

__________________________________________

Soon you were both getting ready, and then loading your car to head to the family dinner.

Dabi noted how sour your mood had become, the way your shoulders were tense as you drove, knuckles white gripping the steering wheel.

“You don’t want to go.” Dabi commented. It didn’t sound like a question, but you answered anyways.

“No. Well, it’s not that. It’s just...weird, I guess. I’m excited to see them, but at the same time, it’s always like I’m an outsider. Which, I get it. I’m gone a lot. But it always just feels awkward. Plus, everyone is coming this year, so I just know something is going to happen. When everyone is under one roof, there’s bound to be at least one argument. Hopefully, this year they get off my back about marriage at least.” You finished with a laugh. Dabi nodded.

“Youll be able to tell them that soon you’ll be my wife.” Dabi agreed, his tone very matter-of-fact, but his words still made you flush.

“Yeah, I can tell them that.” You said softly, your expression tender.

__________________________________________

Dabi was glad when the car finally came to a stop. Driving made him nauseous, and he hated that it was so frequent here in this time.

You grabbed the food from the backseat, and made your way up the street to your brothers house, Dabi following behind. He stood off to the side, nervous hands pulling at his sweater as you knocked on the door. You heard muffled yelling and a second later, your brother answered, throwing open the door to step out and pull you into a hug.

“Well, look who finally decided to come for a visit. About time you got here. Everyone’s inside. Oh, and I brought my friend too, the one from college who always thought you were cute.” He laughed as he pulled back, only then noticing Dabi standing off to your side.

“Oh, uh...who’s this?”

“Dabi, my fiancé.” You smiled, your head tilting to the side as you beamed and your brother choked.

“Your WHAT?” He gawked.

“You heard me, didnt mom tell you I was bringing someone?” You laughed, lifting a brow skeptically.

“No...but I mean...he’s so....really? HIM?” He asked, looking Dabi up and down, his face grimacing.

“Yes, him.” You sneered back, stepping beside Dabi, bracing the food in one hand so the other could reach out and grab his, intertwining your fingers together.

Your brother looked between the two of you before he sighed and rubbed his face. He offered a greeting to Dabi, and you informed your brother about the language barrier. He groaned out a hello so Dabi could understand, and then quickly turned to go inside.

Dabi’s nerves were shot. He couldn’t understand the verbal interaction that had just taken place, but he already knew how it went. The body language and facial expressions were enough to tell him exactly what your brother thought of him, and he anticipated he’d get the same reaction from the rest of your family.

He was torn between wanting to leave before it got worse, and the desire to march you inside and bend you over the table, giving your family a show while rubbing it in their faces that he was who you wanted, just to spite them.

He was torn from his dilemma as you squeezed his hand, your finger rubbing his knuckles in both an apology and an attempt at comfort, as you led him inside. He clenched his jaw, but allowed himself to be pulled along behind you.

The rest of your family greeted you, running up to get hugs and kisses, telling you how much they had missed you and how beautiful you looked. One by one, you saw their expressions falter as they noticed Dabi behind you, all offering similar reactions to the one your brother had given. They were just so rude. So unapologetically rude. You felt the anger stirring in you, but tried to calm it, hoping it was just from shock, but that the rest of the evening would get better.

After the awkward greeting with your family, Dabi had found a seat by himself, and your brothers cat had immediately climbed into his lap. He said he’d be fine while you dropped the food off in the other room, shooing you away while his gaze wandered down to the cat, a lazy grin on his face. You figured it would be okay, as your family seemed content to avoid him, so you gave a weak smile and nod, telling him you’d be right back, before heading out of the room. You made your way to the kitchen, setting the tray of food on the counter. You sighed, trying to force the negativity from you as you took a moment to just breathe. A hand rubbed your back and your head quickly turned, seeing your brothers friend behind you.

“Don’t beat yourself up, babe. It can only get better from here, right?” He offered, his tone nonchalant.

“Hello to you to, Keigo.” You sighed, stepping away from him, trying to put some distance between the two of you.

You folded your arms across your chest as you stared at him, leaning your hip into the counter. You didn’t have anything against him, in fact, he was probably the only friend of your brothers that you had ever gotten along with. But, he was a shameless flirt, and as charming as he could be, you just weren’t in the mood to deal with it right now.

“Your brother didn’t mention you were bringing a date. I’m not going to lie, I’m a little crushed.” He pouted, putting his hand over his heart.

You rolled your eyes, pushing yourself off the counter and heading for the door.

“Well, guess that’s how it goes. You win some and you lose some, right?” You shrugged. Just as you reached the door, about to push it open, he called out.

“Hey, if you change your mind or your...whatever he is, doesn’t work out,” he started, sauntering up behind you until he was pressed against your back, “just know I’m here.” He finished, his hot breath sweeping across your neck.

“Don’t hold your breath, bird brain.” You scoffed, pushing open the door.

Keigo chuckled behind you, following you out as he muttered the word “feisty”. You held back the urge to roll your eyes again as you made your way over to Dabi.

He looked up and smiled as you approached.

“At least someone here likes me,” he commented as his hand stroked the cat sleeping peacefully in his lap.

__________________________________________

Dinner was tense. Your father and his wife stayed silent for the most part, making offhanded comments to themselves, casting quick glances between you and Dabi.

Your brother and Keigo tried to make small talk with the family, pretty much ignoring Dabi entirely.

Your mother just gawked the whole time at him, flinching every time their eyes met.

Your step father and half-siblings were really the only saving grace.

Your stepfather tried to talk with Dabi using the bits of the language he knew, and what he couldn’t say, he asked you about. How you had met, work, your plans. Dabi was thankful for him. Your half-siblings lacked boundaries, asking Dabi a lot of things he couldn’t understand, but they chatted away to him without a care in the world. When they noticed his confused face, they’d pull imagines up on their phones or try to gesture things to him. He was just as lost, but he’d smile and nod just to get them to continue, welcoming the distraction.

Eventually, Dabi asked to go to the bathroom and you pointed him in the direction. You offered to go with him, but he shook his head, telling you he would be right back.

The second he was gone, everyone’s eyes were on you.

“What?” You asked, your mouth full of mashed potatoes.

“Look, we all know you’ve been away from home, you’re single and lonely, I’m sure. And I know I’ve been pressuring you for a while to be with someone, but, you know, it doesn’t have to be just anyone.” Your mother said dryly, taking a sip of wine.

“Me being with him has nothing to do with you.” You frowned, not liking where this was going.

“Come on, sis. Keigo’s got money, he’s got looks and charm. Rumor has it that he’s great in bed, too.” You brother threw out with a wink.

“You date him them.” You shot back with a glare.

“He came all this way to see you, and you’re not even gonna spare him a glance?” Your brother chided, with Keigo awkwardly waving to you from beside him, a lopsided smile gracing his face.

“Why would I? I’m with Dabi. He makes me happy, and he’s a good guy. I get that you guys are shallow, but he’s who I want.” You sneered, anger boiling inside that you were struggling to hold back once more.

“Oh come on. You want HIM? I can hardly look at him, I don’t know how you could stand waking up every morning to that.” Your fathers wife chimed in.

“I don’t really care what you can and can’t stand looking at, you frigid bitch.” You snapped, seeing red.

Your father raised from his seat.

“You will not speak to your mother that way, and you will stop this foolishness. You are not going to continue playing around with that boy. Send him back to wherever he came from, because it’s over.” Your father spoke sternly.

“First of all, that lady isn’t my mother. I hardly even know her. Second, Dabi isn’t going anywhere.” You said, rising from your seat as well.

“You will not be with him. I will not allow it. I forbid it!” Your father yelled, his face red as the veins stood out on his forehead and neck.

“Like hell you do! I’m going to marry him and there’s nothing you can say or do to stop me!” You yelled back.

“You’re not marrying that boy and that’s final!” He growled back.

“I can and I will! I’ll be damned if any of you are going to tell me how to live my life!” Your fist smashed down onto the table, shattering your glass beneath it as you shouted.

“If you don’t stop this right now, consider yourself disowned!” Your father spit out, his heated gaze on your face. The rest of your family was quiet, shooting glances between the two of you.

“Well that’s fine by me! If you really cared about me, you’d want me to be happy.”

“I do want you to be happy. We all do. That’s why I won’t allow you to throw your life away on that charity case.” You father said, rubbing his temples.

“You don’t even know him! You hardly even know me!” You called back exasperated, unsure if you wanted to laugh or cry. You were in hysterics, waving your bleeding hand as you spoke. You mom stood, drawing your attention away from your father as she gave her opinion as well.

“Honey, I love you and I want you to be happy. You’re my baby and I want what’s best for you, but that man...Dabi...he’s just so...so damaged. I just can’t understand why you are so dead set on being with him.” She spoke softly, but her tone sounded like she was scolding you and you hit your breaking point. You screamed.

“Because I love him!”

You had failed to notice that Dabi had returned, paused in the doorway listening. On your last sentence, you had unknowingly yelled in your second language, providing Dabi with the only words exchanged that he could understand.

He didn’t know what was said before, but he could guess. He decided then that he hated your family. Partly, because they had judged him so harshly, but also because he’d never seen you so worked up. So angry.

You turned away from them and your eyes landed on Dabi. You marched from the table, grabbing his hand as you led him outside. He couldn’t lie, he felt a twisted sense of pride. You’d fought for him, challenged your family for him. You had bled for him. It was the first time you had said you loved him.

You wanted him just as much as he wanted you. He would burn the world to ash if you asked him to. You were his, and he was yours. In his life, he had never known love, but he knew it now. It was you.

__________________________________________

The drive home was silent. You had shifted from anger to something else. Disappointment? Maybe. Sadness? A bit.

You were hurt. Stunned by the cruel reactions from your family. You imaged some friction, sure. But not like that. This was something else entirely.

What was supposed to be a happy day had turned sour, and you were bitter.

When you pulled into your driveway, you shut off the car and just leaned back and sighed, closing your eyes. You felt warmth on your thigh, and cracked open an eye to see Dabi resting his hand there for comfort, while he blankly stared out the window at the snow covered ground.

“I’m sorry.” He said, his voice low. The silence had given him enough time to think on it. His pride fading when he realized your relationship with your family, that was already strained, was now probably permanently damaged because of him.

“No, don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong. I’m sorry. I am so sorry, Dabi. You didn’t deserve any of that.” You said, voice cracking as you rested your hand atop his.

He looked at you and saw the tears in your eyes, along with the few that escaped down your cheeks. He wondered how many more you would shed for him. Because of him.

You got out of the car and made your way inside. He followed you to the bathroom, and you climbed into the bath together, where Dabi just held you for a while. He had no real experience comforting someone, but he figured if he was going to try for anyone, it was you.

When you got out, you both put on pajamas and headed down to the living room to watch a movie.

When it ended, you untangled yourself from him and the blanket was quickly thrown off of you as you pushed yourself up from the couch to stand, a faint “oh, i almost forgot” leaving you as you scurried off.

You returned a moment later holding a small rectangular box, much like the ones he had found in your room that held your jewelry. You held it out to him, a small smile painted on your face. He took it carefully and you plopped down beside him on the couch again.

You leaned into his shoulder as his hands roamed over the box.

“It’s another Christmas gift.” You said softly. He paused.

“No, you’ve already given me enough.” He said holding the box out to you stubbornly.

You gently pushed it back towards him.

“Open it.” You said.

He sighed, pulling off the lid to stare at the contents of the box with confusion.

“I don’t know what this is.” He said, picking it up and inspecting it.

“I’m pregnant.” You whispered, hiding your face in his shoulder. His whole body stiffened, his eyes glued to the white stick he held in his hand.

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chatonne-rousse · 4 years ago

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Zibeline

Happy birthday, @tsuki-chibi! This one’s for you. 😘

A Christmas gift exchange story with unintended (though not unwelcome) consequences.

Read it on Ao3.

This is not the first time it’s happened. It is, in fact, not even the fourth or fifth. It’s like he has a sixth sense or the fine-tuned hearing of a fellow feline, that leads him straight to them.

Often, it’s just one cat, skin and bones and scrounging in an alley for restaurant scraps. Sometimes it’s an entire litter, abandoned and alone, mewing frantically in search of a savior. Once in a while, he finds their mom there, too, ragged and worn and tired from life on the streets.

It always ends the same way.

Chat Noir knows the location of every animal refuge in Paris, their hours, and the names of each employee and volunteer he’s met so far. Several have even set up crates in a secure area for the cats he brings after closing. It’s amazing that it hasn’t made the news in all these years, but somehow, Paris’s own black cat has humbly and quietly saved the lives of dozens of the city's neediest felines.

Tonight, Ladybug accompanies Chat Noir to the SPA to drop off a one-eyed senior tomcat they came across on patrol. His solitary eye is cloudy with age, one ear torn from a long-ago fight, but he purrs contentedly in Chat’s arms, his demeanor as gentle as the hands that hold him close.

Once the cat who’d been affectionately dubbed Pirate upon his discovery is safe and secure in the little pen, Chat sends the rescue a quick email from his communicator to let them know about who they’ll find the next morning. Baton returned to his back, he crouches down for one more scritch behind the old grey tabby’s ears.

Ladybug is used to this, well aware after several years of partnership that her own kitty’s heart is a fathomless well of kindness, but it never stops warming her heart to see it. Without thinking, her movement mirrors his, reaching out to scratch behind his leather ears, her gloved fingers tousling his hair. His faux cat ears twitch, and he glances up at her, grin radiant even in the dim light of the refuge foyer.

“Okay, cat whisperer, let’s go. It’s almost midnight.”

He nods, still grinning, and turns back to tell his new friend goodbye.

“They’ll take good care of you here, Meow-seur Pirate, I purr-omise. Cat’s honor.”

Pirate meows his appreciation as Ladybug fondly rolls her eyes.

One hand kiss, one ‘sweet dreams, Buginette,’ and one chilly swing across rooftops in the crisp December air, and Marinette can finally crawl into the warmth of her bed and curl up against her cat pillow to go to sleep. The feline theme suddenly seems so prevalent in her life that she can’t help the snort of laughter she muffles behind its ears.

Tikki zips over to hover in the air above the bed. “What is it, Marinette?”

“Cats, Tikki. Everywhere. Cats.”

They share a giggle as the kwami settles down on the pillow to rest.

“You like cats, don’t you?” she asks. “I’ve seen a cat in some of your family portrait sketches.”

Marinette can feel her face heat up. “Tikki!” she admonishes, before trailing off into laughter again. “I love all animals! Well, almost all of them. But no one loves cats like Chat Noir.” She sighs in mock exasperation. “Give a guy fake ears and a tail and suddenly he’s a magnet for strays.”

Silence falls in the darkness of the loft, sleepy and comfortable, before it’s broken by Tikki’s tiny voice.

“You know, I think it has less to do with his miraculous and more to do with his heart.”

Marinette smiles against the pillow. “I think you might be right, Tik.”

********

Even if Père Noël no longer visits, Christmas is still exciting when you’re a teenager. If nothing else, there’s a two-week break from school to look forward to, and Marinette is counting down the days until she can shelve at least one of her many commitments, albeit temporarily. Alya, on the other hand, is living for the class gift exchange.

“I hope I get Nino this year,” she whispers excitedly, dumping her bookbag on the table and sliding into the seat beside her best friend.

Marinette’s brows furrow in confusion. “Why?”

“So I can give him something awesome and win Christmas, obviously.”

“But...if you give him a gift in class, what will you have for him on the actual holiday?”

Alya wiggles her eyebrows suggestively and gives her a sly smile.

Marinette laughs and elbows her, ears burning, just as the boys walk into the room. Nino gives a quick wave and Adrien settles into his seat with a soft smile toward the girls behind them.

“Damn, Sunshine. I hope you spend the holiday break sleeping. You look like you need it.”

Adrien leans back toward Alya, blond hair brushing Marinette’s desk. (This does not go unnoticed.)

“I think we all know that’s not going to happen,” he replies with a wry smile.

Alya pats his shoulder consolingly. “Truth.”

********

The morning slides by, and Ms. Bustier ends the lecture early before they break for lunch. She leans against her desk, holding a bowl in her hand and shaking it gently. It takes a long moment and a deliberate clearing of her throat for the students to focus on her instead of packing up their bags. She smiles kindly at them once she has their attention again.

“I’d have done this at the end of the day, but not every student will be with us in class then, so we’ll choose our gift exchange recipients now.” Adrien ducks his head. He hates when people make concessions for him, but at least Ms. Bustier is thoughtful enough not to draw further attention.

She starts up the stairs, shaking the bowl again, beginning in the back row this year. “You decided by class consensus earlier this week that your gifts would be €20 or less and no bigger than a shoebox.” Nathaniel takes a slip first, his face unreadable as he folds the paper again and lays one hand atop it. Shake, shake. “We’ll have the exchange on December 21st, during our holiday party in the afternoon. You may bring your gift in the morning and I’ll keep them all in a safe place until it’s time for the exchange.” Rose chooses, followed by Juleka. Both seem pleased.

As more and more students choose a slip from the bowl, the room buzzes louder with whispers and murmuring among friends.

Ms. Bustier’s voice cuts through the chatter again. “This is a secret gift exchange, so remember, do not share your recipient’s name. No trading. We’re all friends here.” If she glances quickly at the back of Chloé’s head as she says this, no one says a word.

Marinette waits her turn quietly. In three class gift exchanges, she has never pulled Adrien’s name, nor has he chosen hers. So much for ladybug luck. All she really hopes for at this point is to not choose Lila. She doesn’t want to break Ms. Bustier’s rules, but if that happens, she’s totally trading with Alya.

The bowl shakes near her ear, and she reaches up to blindly choose a slip. Slowly, carefully, she opens the folded paper, and suddenly all she can hear is her pulse roaring in her ears. Because there, in Adrien’s familiar script, is the name she’d given up hoping to receive.

She looks up just in time to see Adrien’s ears pinken and his shoulders scrunch as he hastily refolds his own paper slip. Marinette wonders for just a moment who he’d chosen before her brain kicks into holiday overthinking mode.

She’d rethought many of the gifts for his next several dozen birthdays, repurposed them for other friends or dismantled them to their raw materials and created something new. But a portion of the chest in her room still holds gifts meant just for him. She could choose one of those, or she could make something new. She could create a gift or purchase an item somewhere. Perhaps she could knit a hat or gloves to match his birthday scarf. Oh, the possibilities are endless!

A nudge in her side shakes her from her swirling thoughts and returns her to the din of the steadily-emptying classroom.

“Ready for lunch, Mari?” Alya asks. Nino and Adrien are looking at her expectantly, too.

“Oh. Sure! Yes! Ready for anything. Soup?”

A beat of silence.

“You heard the girl!” Nino says, slapping one hand on the table and standing up. “Let’s go get some soup.”

Alya just pats her on the back and shakes her head as they pack up their bags.

********

Soup actually turns out to be a good idea today, even if Marinette has no idea why she said that. The four friends huddle around a table in the warmth of a nearby cafe, full and relaxed and reluctant to return to afternoon classes. Adrien startles suddenly when a calico cat jumps into his lap and meows loudly, demanding pets.

Nino backs away a bit, but Adrien simply melts.

“Hello there, pretty girl!” he coos. “Do you want scritches? I can do that.” The cat twists her head, showing him exactly where she wants to be scratched, and he happily complies. Marinette can hear the cat’s contented purr from across the table. “Oh, you like that, don’t you? Yes, you do.”

Alya has her phone out and recording, but Adrien doesn’t even notice. This is the first time they’ve seen this cat at this particular restaurant, but she's definitely not the first resident feline to find them while they ate. Or shopped. Or hung out at the park. Adrien attracts cats like Chat Noir, and loves every moment of it.

“And here we see the Cat Whisperer in his natural habitat, among his harem,” Alya narrates the video as though it’s a nature documentary, and Adrien snorts with laughter before looking up, a sheepish half-smile lighting up his face.

“I just really like cats,” he says, and looks back down at the kitty. She abruptly headbutts his chin, making his teeth knock together with an audible clack. He stares at her for a moment before throwing his head back and laughing, rich and joyful, but loud enough to scare the cat from his lap. She trots over to the counter and stops to groom herself.

Adrien, still chuckling, brushes fur from his pants and shakes his head in fond amusement. “Cats.”

The proverbial lightbulb flashes on above Marinette’s head, the stirrings of an idea so crazy it just might work.

She has an executive assistant to email.

********

It’s shockingly easy to get permission for something so important.

“Do you think Nathalie even asked Mr. Agreste?” Marinette wonders aloud to Tikki above the whir of the sewing machine. “I can’t imagine she didn’t, but…” she trails off, shaking her head. Adrien’s household is a web of very strange relationships she has never quite understood.

Tikki hums and shrugs a tiny shoulder. “If Nathalie said yes, I guess the answer is yes.” She flies from her perch on Marinette’s shoulder to sit on top of the sewing machine; Marinette promptly releases the pedal and meets her kwami’s gaze.

“I’m glad she did, but the longer I think about it, the more I wonder if this is a terrible idea.”

“You still have a few days to decide,” Tikki reminds her.

Marinette nods before she catches a glimpse of the clock on her computer and jumps up in alarm.

“Gah! I’m late for patrol! Again!”

********

Chat Noir is waiting quietly at their appointed meeting spot, knees pulled up to his chest and tail dangling down the opposite side of the pitched roof. He unfurls like a night-blooming flower when he hears her land nearby, legs flopping to the roof, arm raised to wave at his partner, tail animated and alert. His bright smile makes Ladybug smile in return as she plops down next to him.

“Sorry I’m late, kitty. I lost track of time.”

“It’s okay, Bugaboo.” He bumps her shoulder with his own. “I knew you didn’t forget me.”

“As if I could!” she laughs, bumping him back.

He’s still smiling, but silence descends over the pair after a moment.

“You okay, Chaton?”

“Yeah, just thinking. Our class is doing a gift exchange for Christmas and I’m having trouble deciding what to get for my...my person.” He glances at his partner, but she only nods in response. “I got one of my friends this year. Not that they’re not all my friends, but...she’s special.”

“Special, huh?” Ladybug asks, a teasing lilt coloring her voice.

“It’s not like that,” Chat rebuts. He breathes a laugh, but his smile turns impossibly soft as he looks out over the lights of the city. “We’re friends, but she’s...I don’t know. There’s no one like her. She deserves a gift as beautiful as she is.”

Ladybug blinks once, twice, caught off guard by the tenderness in his voice. If she didn’t know any better, she might think the feeling in her chest was jealousy, but that can’t possibly be right.

His words catch up to him when he looks back at her again and frantically waves his hands between the two of them. “Oh! Not like that!” he repeats. “I mean, like, beautiful on the inside. Her heart.” He holds a clawed hand to his chest, and Ladybug quirks an eyebrow.

“Okay, she’s beautiful on the outside, too. But it’s...really, it’s not like that. She doesn’t like me that way, and I…” he trails off. “You know.”

Ladybug takes pity on him and tucks her hand in the crook of his elbow, patting his forearm indulgently as the inexplicable knot in her chest loosens a little. “Yeah, kitty. I know. Maybe I can help. What does she like?”

Patrol is forgotten for the evening as two superheroes take the time to simply be two friends chatting about Christmas above the city they protect.

Some of his ideas need to be reined in.

(“It’s just a skein of wool!” he gripes.

“One of the most expensive in the world, Chat! Don’t you have a spending limit?!”)

Others are nixed immediately.

(“You are not buying her an embroidery machine!”)

Finally, he decides on a pool of several items that might work - he's leaning toward tickets to a fashion show, and Ladybug is only a little bit envious of Chat's 'very special classmate' - and settles back on his hands, relieved.

“What about you, Bug? Your class does this every year, too, right?”

She nods in assent. “Yep. But I already know what I’m getting him.”

Maybe he hears it in her voice, or maybe he’s just returning her earlier tease in kind. “Ooooh, him? Did you draw Mr. Mystery Crush’s name this year?”

Ladybug doesn’t answer, but her blushing cheeks do.

“Well.” Chat clears his throat and starts over. “Well, what is this lucky guy getting for Christmas from Paris’s favorite bug?”

She turns to him with a grin. “A cat.”

It’s his turn to be left speechless with his own twinge of jealousy.

“Before you ask, I already got permission from his family. Sort of. Well, I...the bottom line is that I got permission. I’m going tomorrow to the SPA to choose one for him. I’ve already called and made sure that I can bring it back without a problem if he doesn’t like it, but I can’t imagine that happening. Chaton, I’ve never met anyone else whose love of cats rivals yours. It’ll be perfect.”

After a long moment of silence, Chat seems to come to a decision before he stands and bows gallantly to his partner. “It would be my honor to accompany you to the shelter tomorrow to choose a feline fur-ever friend for your friend. I am the chief cat-bassador of Paris, after all.”

Ladybug looks up at him and thinks of how he cradled Pirate in his arms the other night on the way to the refuge, the calm, gentle way he whispers to tired mother cats, his delight in being approached by the everyday cats of Paris out for their evening strolls before returning home for the night. It has less to do with his miraculous and more to do with his heart, she hears Tikki whisper from the back of her mind.

She takes his hand and lets him pull her up before wrapping her partner in a hug.

“It would be my honor, kitty.”

********

And that’s how Marinette finds herself at the SPA just before closing on a Saturday afternoon, suited up as Ladybug and accompanied by Chat Noir, to adopt a cat for her friend Adrien, who happens to be a teen supermodel.

She thinks distantly of how she once said she was an ordinary girl with an ordinary life and wonders what in the world she was thinking.

The staff at the shelter are friendly and positively bubbling over with excitement to have Ladybug and Chat Noir in the facility to adopt a cat instead of simply dropping off rescues. Chat is eating it up, and Ladybug can’t help but smile with pride. He’s ridiculous, but in a dozen lifetimes, she could never find a better partner.

They make their way to the cat room amidst the distant sound of barking dogs from the other side of the shelter. She knew to expect it, but the look of absolute delight that crosses Chat Noir's face as he walks in the room is like the first rays of sun after a week of rain - brilliant, bright, and beautiful.

A cacophony of cat vocalization fills the room as they walk the rows of cage enclosures, from tiny mews to hearty meows. Little paws extend through the bars when they approach, and Chat tickles their toe beans or brushes their soft fur with his own clawed fingers. It's all a bit of sensory and emotional overload, so Ladybug purposefully brings her mind back to the task at hand, turning toward a shelter employee.

"I'm thinking of a relatively young cat, but not a kitten. Calm and friendly."

The employee nods. "We have a few that I think would be perfect for you." She smiles warmly toward Chat Noir, who is currently holding a giant ginger tabby who'd been roaming free in the room. "He's rescued several of the cats housed in this room right now. We're so grateful for him." She leads Ladybug to a bank of cages to the left, swinging open the door of an enclosure at eye level. "I've been calling this fellow Sable, but your partner was a bit more creative with naming when he brought him to us."

The label on the cage reads: My name is Zibeline. I'm super happy to be here instead of on the street! I was brought to the SPA on 14 December. I am about 8 months old, fixed and up to date on my shots. I'm a little shy, but I love treats and cuddling and I'm good with kids. I get along well with other cats after proper introduction. Are you ready to take me to my forever home?

Ladybug's heart twists. She can't choose the very first cat she sees, can she?

"Oh, you found my Zibby Bear! Hi, buddy!"

Chat Noir resituates the ginger tabby cozied up in his arms and reaches out a hand over Ladybug's shoulder to scratch Zibeline under the chin. The cat extends his neck and purrs happily.

He turns to the staff member. "He looks amazing. I knew there was a gorgeous coat under all that matted fur."

"It's true. He's like a brand-new cat."

A few moments later, Ladybug finds herself sitting cross-legged on the floor, dangling a little mouse with a bell in it over the head of a deep brown Burmese mix, falling more and more in love every time the cat turns his big yellow eyes toward her. He's active and alert but still mellow and sweet. As soon as she tucks the little toy behind her back, he climbs into the space between her crossed legs and settles his front paws on her knee. She looks up at Chat Noir helplessly, and he and the employee both laugh.

"Well, that was easy," he says. "Is The Zibster the one?"

She nods, running her gloved fingers gently through the cat's thick sable fur. She can't wait to pet him with her bare hands when they get home.

The staff member leads them to the front desk while another volunteer prepares the impending adoptee for his freedom ride. As they walk, Ladybug notices a large posterboard full of photos on the wall just outside the cat room door. "Thank You, Chat Noir!" is spelled out in die-cut letters across the top. Some photos are of cats looking out from their enclosures, some include Chat Noir himself holding either cat or crate. She does a quick count by fives and is astonished at the number she comes up with.

"Chaton, you've rescued 32 cats?"

His cheeks heat up, but his smile is soft. "At this shelter, yes."

Ladybug swallows quickly around the lump in her throat, changing tack to cover her sudden surge of emotion. "And do you give all of them ridiculous names?"

"Hey, I'm an excellent cat namer, thank you very much."

"What does Zibe-whatever even mean?"

He laughs. "It means sable - it's a little animal like a mink. My mother had a long sable coat that I remember her wearing to big, fancy events when I was little. Zibby's fur reminded me of that when I found him. Er, well...I thought it would once he was cleaned up."

"Why not name him Sable?"

Chat spreads his hands out in a grand gesture. "Well, I'm a learned gentlecat who speaks four languages, Buginette. Also, I already named one Sable last year."

Ladybug just shakes her head and laughs. This dork is truly one of the best people she's ever known. Perhaps she's luckier than she thought.

********

Monday morning dawns bright and lovely, a cold, crisp Winter Solstice to mark their last day of school before the long holiday. Marinette wakes to a shaft of sunlight across her bed from the skylight above, illuminating the deep chestnut fur of her temporary companion purring against her side. She can't resist reaching down to pet him, rousing him from sleep. He lifts his head with a questioning "mrrr?" before he closes his eyes again.

"Do we have to give him to Adrien, Marinette? I want to keep him." Tikki looks up at her with huge blue eyes, and she almost, almost decides to just give Adrien the forest green beanie she knitted for his 28th birthday. But she doesn't have time for a pet, her parents are busy with the bakery, and, well...this is already Adrien's cat, even if he doesn't know it yet, and she can't take that away from him.

"Sorry, Tik," she says with a yawn, sitting up and scooping the cat into her arms to help him down the ladder to her room. "We'll just have to swing over and visit him at Adrien's sometime." Her cheeks flush at the thought.

She preps a small gift bag with the supplies she purchased with her €20 - a little bag of catnip-infused toys, a shaker container of treats, and a bell collar embroidered with brightly-colored fish. Adrien doesn't need to know that the shelter waived the usual €150 adoption fee, nor that the neon green litter pan and carrier were thrown in for free as well. She has a feeling those were a donation by a certain masked black cat, but no one mentioned it outright and she didn't ask.

She kisses the little cat on the nose with a reminder that she'll be back for him later, opens her purse for Tikki, and sets off for school.

********

The class is abuzz with excitement. They've slogged through a morning of last-minute assignments and a pop quiz that brought groans from the students until the teacher said they could use their notes. Lunch was spent trying to get each other to give up the secret of who their giftee was, but none of them would budge. Marinette had made a quick trip across the street to "pick up something she forgot" just before the lunch break ended.

Finally, finally, it's time to return to homeroom for their Christmas party. Nino's phone plays a curated playlist of holiday music that provides a cheery background the students' chatter. Ms. Bustier's desk and a little table set up next to it are filled with snacks and treats. Red and green macarons decorate a silver tray, and a bowl filled with berry punch sits next to it, little splashes marring the smooth surface of several adjacent cookies. Marinette snags those for her own plate and slides the tray a few inches away before going back to her seat.

When everyone's plates are left with only crumbs, the teacher finally gets their attention. Nino turns the music down but not off, and everyone scrambles to get their gifts for the exchange.

Marinette sends a quick text to her mom before setting her phone on the desk beside the little gift bag. Adrien, she notices, holds a simple envelope in his hand, tapping it nervously against the desk.

Gifts are given to squeals of delight, oohs and aahs and one "whoa, rad!" from Alix.

When Sabine Cheng peeks in just as Nino is digging into his gift bag, Marinette excuses herself for a moment before returning with a carefully-ventilated shoebox. Okay, it held a pair of her father's giant shoes, but Marinette still followed the gift-giving guidelines. Sort of. She settles back in her seat, the contents of the box making a loud scrabbling sound, followed by a plaintive meow.

Every eye in the classroom is suddenly on the second row.

"Why don't you give your gift next, Marinette?" Mrs. Bustier says, eyes focused on the now-wriggling box.

Marinette slides the box forward on the desk toward Adrien, who is already turned in his seat, eyes wide. His gaze flickers to hers, to the meowing box, and back to her.

"Joyeux Noël, Adrien."

Chloé huffs at the look of wonder on his face as he brings the box into his lap, but no one else makes a sound.

Slowly, reverently, he begins to lift the lid. After just a few centimeters, a tiny black nose nudges into the open space, followed by one little paw covered in deep brown fur, then a second, before the cat pushes the lid up and off and climbs Adrien's t-shirt like a tree. His hands wrap gently around the cat's body and hold him close to his shoulder. Oblivious to the class going crazy, Alya filming the moment in shocked glee, and Ms. Bustier remarking to no one in particular that she thought they'd been told not to give living creatures as gifts, Adrien simply buries his face in the cat's fur.

"I thought you'd like, crochet a blanket or something, Mari," comes from somewhere behind her. Across the aisle, she hears, "Or bring a cake or madeleines or, I don't know, not a cat!" And, predictably, "Giving a cat as a gift is utterly ridiculous." But none of that matters. The world narrows to Adrien's shaking shoulders and the beautiful chestnut cat sniffing at the hair above his ears, making no move to wriggle free of the hands that hold him firmly but gently in place. For several frantic moments, Marinette is gripped with the fear that she has made a horrible mistake here.

When he finally raises his head, Nino surreptitiously passes him a tissue and pats him on the back while he reluctantly hands the cat to a squealing Rose, the first of many in a long line of cuddles in the cat's immediate future.

Marinette couldn't have said whether she was breathing or not before Adrien's eyes meet hers, but she's distinctly aware of the moment her breath catches. Where she thought she'd see the same joy he'd displayed during his many feline encounters over the course of their friendship, she finds something different. Gratitude mixes with a tinge of sadness, but behind it is something profound that makes her feel exposed and comforted all at once.

He blinks, his brow furrows, and the moment is gone.

"Marinette, I...well, my father..."

"Oh!" she exclaims. "I got permission. I can show you Nathalie's email if you'd like." She reaches for her phone, but Adrien stops her with a hand over hers.

"You're amazing, Marinette," he says, voice painted with the same wonder that shines in his eyes.

Alya is making a sound like a whistling tea kettle behind her still-recording phone. It takes Nino asking, “So, mec, what are you going to name your new little dude?" to truly bring them all back to the moment. The three sets of eyes in Nino's immediate vicinity snap to him, but the rest of the class looks to Adrien for his answer.

He rubs his neck and glances at the floor before answering. "His name is, um...Zibeline."

"Ziba-what now?" Kim asks, and half the class laughs.

"It means sable," he says quietly. "His fur reminds me of a coat my mom had that she'd wear to fancy events when I was little."

Max pipes up, “Adrien is correct. The sable is a type of marten found in the forests of Central Asia." He looks down at his phone for more info. "In fact, its scientific name is Martes zibellina. Zibeline is a little-known term in both French and English used to describe the sable or an item with sable-like qualities."

"Well, it's a very fitting name, Adrien. I do hope you enjoy your new pet." Ms. Bustier gives Mylène a pointed look, gesturing toward Adrien with her head, and the cat is reluctantly returned to his new owner. "Next year, please, no live animals in the gift exchange."

Alya nudges a malfunctioning Marinette, who nods absently. "Got it, Miss," Alya answers for her.

Marinette hears none of this. Her heart pounds in her ears, drowning out the class, their teacher, Alya. She stares, transfixed, at Adrien's bare hands holding Zibeline, trying and failing to reconcile that those same hands, previously gloved in black, had scratched the cat's chin two days before at the shelter. It can't be true that the same doofus who makes incessant cat puns and throws himself toward danger with a smile, who finds and saves the most vulnerable cats and kittens in Paris and has loved her for literal years is sitting in front of her now, cradling the cat they adopted together and looking back at her with those big green eyes she's seen in her dreams since she was thirteen. Right? Right?

Except...he can. He is. She sees it with perfect clarity as soon as she allows herself to truly believe it.

Less about his miraculous and more about his heart, indeed.

She's brought back to the moment when a crisp white envelope slides across her desk.

"For you, Marinette."

(Oh, even his voice is the same. How did she never realize?)

Inside are two tickets to a fall preview fashion show in early January, just as she knew there would be, just as she and her partner had discussed at their chilly rooftop meeting point on Friday night.

"Thank you," she whispers, finally meeting his eyes and finding a guarded hope that makes her heart ache.

Well, that won't do, she thinks.

Ms. Bustier wraps up the gift exchange, thanking the students for their participation and wishing them a very happy holiday. The class moves around them, students getting more snacks and punch, Christmas music turned up again to party volume for the last few minutes of the day. Alya and Nino get up together to refill their drinks, leaving their two seatmates and one cat.

There's a beat of silence between them.

"Beautiful on the inside, huh?"

Adrien's eyes widen in relief and he hides a laugh in Zibeline's fur. "I'm pretty sure I said inside and out."

Marinette giggles helplessly as a giddy glee spreads through her. "You did. And then you picked out your own Christmas gift." She reaches out to pet the cat but Adrien goes one step further and presses Zibeline into her arms. The cat settles happily, propping his paws on her forearm before laying his head on top of them.

"I love him, Marinette. Thank you."

Her breath catches in her throat again. Ostensibly, he’s talking about the cat, but his eyes speak something slightly different, with a weight that compels her to respond in kind.

“You’re welcome. I...I love him, too.”

His answering smile is pure, radiant joy. It makes her heart beat a little out of rhythm, and she clutches Zibeline just a bit closer, grounding herself in the feel of his thick fur. For a moment, Marinette is stunned by the wave of emotion that rises in her chest, a sudden vision of limitless possibility that makes her feel as powerful and determined as she does wearing her spots.

As he slides from his seat to refill his plate with likely-forbidden snacks, Adrien gives her a cheeky wink and leans in close enough that she can smell his familiar cologne. “That embroidery machine is still on the table, by the way. Seems like a super gift for a girlfriend who’s beautiful inside and out, doesn’t it?”

Marinette sputters as he saunters away, her ears and cheeks burning.

“Well, well, well,” Alya drawls as she sets down her drink. “Three years and two dozen failed schemes, and it turned out all it took to make something happen between you two was a cat.” She pops an entire macaron in her mouth and chews thoughtfully. "You won Christmas, by the way."

"I thought the competition was between you and Nino?"

Alya shrugs and points at Zibeline. "No one can beat that." After a long swig of punch, she reaches over to scratch the cat behind the ears. “Girl, I hope you like cats, because in a few years, this one’s going to be yours, too.”

Marinette looks down at the cat in her arms, then back at her best friend, and all she can do is laugh.

“Don’t worry, Alya. I love them. I always have.”

#miraculous ladybug #fan fiction #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste #I'm trash for reveals #happy birthday chibi!#my writing #of course there are cats involved

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sunlithope · 3 years ago

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hw task 10: wardrobe

describe your muse’s aesthetic in five words or less.

Unremarkable; forgettable above all else.

does your muse spend a lot of time on their outfit and appearance? how long do they spend getting ready in the morning?

Usually around forty-five seconds, and most of that’s waiting for enough water to fall in the shower. If he didn’t have superspeed, he would still only take around twenty minutes at most; he doesn’t have many clothes, they essentially all go with each other, and they’re all laid out very neatly. His biggest time expenditure is taking a longer shower every few days (five whole minutes instead of thirty seconds) because he’s paranoid about his downstairs neighbors thinking he doesn’t shower.

does your muse consider the way they dress to be trendy? would other people agree?

Clark and his Ma designed his entire wardrobe to convey a message, and that message is “wow is this guy boring.” He isn’t noticeably unstylish, he isn’t noticeably stylish; he just isn’t noticeable. If other people bothered to look at him, they’d probably agree.

how often do they buy new clothes? are they the type to keep a outfit for years or replace it after one wear?

Clark lost his entire wardrobe on arrival except for the suit (and the Suit) he’d been wearing, so he’s been doing a fair bit of thrifting. Once he’s got a modest wardrobe together he replaces items only as needed. He’s gotten quite good at small repairs like sewing buttons (having to rip off your shirt several times a day helps give occasion to practice), but it’s the rare piece of clothing that lasts more than two years without getting stained, ripped, or torn somehow in the course of his day.

is your muse the type to accessorize? how much?

He typically carries around a beat-up messenger type bag with essentials in it (see below), and of course the glasses almost never leave his face. Back home in the wintertime he’d occasionally show one (1) scrap of personality by wearing a scarf or two that Ma knit for him over his Unremarkable Winter Jacket, but the scarves didn’t make the trip. He misses them.

how much time do they spend on skin care/makeup/grooming?

A few minutes to heat-vision off stubble every few days. Clark considers himself lucky his hair doesn’t grow quickly, because if ‘shaving’ is a little tricky, haircuts are a whole entire Mess. One time in high school he accidentally gave himself a mullet and almost burned the house down because he couldn’t figure out the right angle for the multiple mirrors to get to the back of his head.

if money and societal expectations were not a concern would your muse dress differently than they currently do? if so, how?

If fashion wasn’t one of his most important tools in keeping his secret, he wouldn’t mind experimenting a little more. ‘Experimenting’ for him would be wearing some actual bright colors, or letting himself outside his apartment in a t-shirt that actually fits for once. He does have a few casual comfortable items but they’re all for staying in. As for money, it’s a pretty big limiting factor - he doesn’t earn a lot, and he absolutely needs the privacy of a single, so almost all of his small salary goes into affording that. As a result most of his clothes are from thrifting.

would your muse wear the same outfit two days in a row if they knew they wouldn’t run into any of the same people?

No, he’s regular about rotating through his clothes. You could be forgiven for thinking he’s wearing the same outfit, though, since all his outfits exude similar vibes. (’meh.’)

have they started dressing differently since arriving in washington? was the transition difficult? do they prefer the clothes here or back home?

Much to Clark’s irritation, it’s been difficult to find clothes that are ‘his’ size secondhand - clothes just large enough to conceal his build, but not so large that you can tell it’s on purpose. So unfortunately, right now a fair few of his shirts and one suit jacket actually fit him properly.

Clark’s bag has one large pocket with his work tools - reporter’s pad, pencils and pens, laptop, voice recorder, press pass, wallet, and water bottle (for show). The side pockets have a LOT of just-in-case items. Three handkerchiefs, a suspiciously extensive first aid kit complete with ibuprofen, insulin, and antihistamines, two prepaid visa cards with 25 dollars apiece on them, about fifty dollars in small bills, a burner phone sewn into the lining, chargers for his phone, the burner phone, iphones, and androids, an external battery pack, flashlight, a little sewing kit, a glasses repair kit, and two small bars of Emergency Chocolate (Tony’s Chocolonely, and miss him with the dark stuff, Clark is Team Milk all the way). Yes, all of these items have backstories as to why he’s carrying them.

top center picture with grey suit from Lois Lane & Superman in “Glasses,” written by Jeff Loveness, pencils by Tom Grummett, inking by Cam Smith, coloring by Adriano Lucas, lettering by Tom Napolitano, middle left panels showing casual to disguised from Superman: Birthright #3, written by Mark Waid, pencils by Leinil Francis Yu, inking by Gerry Alanguilan, upper left and middle right publicity stills from Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, bottom middle and bottom right open source stock photos, dialogue from Superman: The Movie (1978), Kryptonian cipher font from kryptonian.info.

#hwtask10 #long post tw #food tw #(small food mention at the very end)#this is so many words to say clark kent's wardrobe is SO boring #unflavored yogurt man #offbrand wonder bread aesthetic #beige paint drying style #the edgiest his style gets is the three folds of his pocket square at formal galas and even then one of the folds kinda droops #me defending him from the fashion police: your honors i love him #musings: clark kent

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consumedkings-archive · 4 years ago

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WITCHING HOUR, a sequel.

chapter one: genesis

word count: 5.8k

rating: m for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop, tags will be updated accordingly.

warnings: naughty language, religious blasphemy, cults amok, massively canon divergent (if you’re here then like...you know), body horror and horror in general, brainwashing, manipulation, you know the drill. john is himself, and thus: deserving of a warning. in this chapter specifically, brief mention, in passing, of mass suicide.

notes: hi friends! yes, i'm aware that this is a week early. i apologize. i wanted to get this chapter out while i had the thoughts in my head; not a lot of exciting stuff happens, most of it is just... setting things up for where we're going and where we're going to be, but i hope that you enjoy it nonetheless! thank you, of course, to my beta reader @starcrier; this chapter was in a lot rougher shape before she got to it. if you have the chance, please check out her writing--she is just absolutely incredible!

and thank you to everyone who did me the GREAT blessing of reviewing and supporting ancient names. i really can't believe i'm out here!! with people interested in what i have to say about this fucking nutso canon-divergent universe i am building! gosh i just hope y’all enjoy it. fun stuffs to come.

summary: —to fall like a wounded animal into a place that was meant for revelations.

there are many injustices that john seed will tolerate. the betrayal, and subsequent departure, of his wife and child is not one of them.

or: elliot honeysett just wants to live her life in quiet seclusion, and there's no way in hell that's happening.

“This is a very old story.”

It was cold, and dark, and the night stayed cloudy and moonless. As Helmi picked up the gun clasped between the two corpses, she glanced furtively in the brunette’s direction. Her gaze was impossible to read, the severe lines of her face accented only by the dim, flickering light of the neon sign; Kajsa had always looked like this, though, sharp like broken glass was, reflecting only and not taking anything in. Protected.

Helmi lifted her gaze back to the dead pair at her feet, up to the neon sign that blinked The Spread Eagle, and then down and stopping at the words written in dried blood on the paneling.

WRATH, DO YOU WANT TO BLOOM IN ME?

“You and me,” Kajsa murmured, and now it was her turn to watch. “Them. Eden’s Gate, and the Mother. All of it has happened before and will happen again.” She sighed, as though it troubled her, the dark arch of her brows pulling together to knit at the center of her forehead. With the only source of the light being the bar’s sign, her skin was an eerie, pallid red-and-blue, darting and worming across her expression. “We’ll turn this world into winter, Hel. The two of us.”

Helmi watched her for a long moment. “Kajsa—”

“Douse them.” She stuck her hands into the pockets of her sweater, turning and stepping over the two other dead bodies they had dragged from where they had been propped up against the wall. “I want this place in ashes by sunrise.”

“Yes.”

Kajsa didn’t wait for her to begin walking to the car, idling still a safe distance away. Helmi preferred it that way. For a few minutes—and that’s all it would take, really, to unlatch the canister lid and toss the gasoline over the bodies, against the paneling of the wall, atop the roof—she could turn her brain off, forget the way Kajsa’s eyes see straight through her, forget the bodies of her brothers and sisters as she tossed the match on them and watched the flame eat through the fuel.

Hungry. A beast. Like me, Helmi thought absently, as the flames licked at the sky, reaching reaching reaching. Watching them felt like watching the souls of her brothers and sisters reaching for the stars, carried away in wisps of foul-smelling smoke. She wondered, do they feel it now? Do they feel the sting, the burn? When their bodies haven’t been given to It, do they feel it all after?

“Come, Helmi,” Kajsa called from the car. “We have a long drive ahead of us.”

They had been at it for hours, this methodical and clinical extinguishing of bodies. Every spot that they had agreed and picked out on the map in such an instance was now blacked out. Burned. Their brothers and sisters had done what was expected of them, and for that, they would not be forced to rot—they would be turned to charcoal, to ash, only blood and bone spent.

Her feet carried her back to the car as the flames began to devour more than just flesh, crawling along the rooftop of the Spread Eagle and popping in the still, quiet night. Kajsa’s hand came up to her face and cradled her cheek, fixing her with those eyes: dark eyes, shades of gray and glassy, like a shark.

“Ingenting under solen är beständigt,” she said, the pad of her thumb brushing across Helmi’s cheekbone. For a second, the older woman almost looked like—well, looked like something, an unknown flicker of emotion crossing her face—but then it cleared.

Hel watched her curiously, waiting until the hand against her cheek dropped before she said, “I know, Kajsa.”

Kajsa nodded. Only once, short and brisk, the gesture as sharp as the lines of her face. “Make sure you do not forget.”

I won’t, Helmi thought, but did not say. Kajsa had never believed words before, and she would not start now. Helmi would just have to show her that she had not forgotten.

She looked back; the singeing of flesh fizzing in the air, the crackle of devouring flame whispering to her. A cleansing fire. Their bodies weren’t given to The Father, but they had given in another way, with their lives—in a way that still mattered.

“Kajsa,” Hel said, bringing the woman’s attention back to her, “do they feel it, still? The fire, when they’re gone?”

“Perhaps,” Kajsa replied, jaw absently working something wadded just in the hollow of her throat; words she wanted to say, and could not. Or would not. It was always hard to tell, with Kajsa. “It’s not for us to know. The after belongs only to the dead.” The dark-haired woman opened the driver’s side of the car, pulling her gloves off of her hands and tossing them inside. “Get in the car, Helmi. I want to keep track of that interloper.”

Interloper. The kinder of the words that what remained of them had been using for John Seed and his merry band of fuck-ups and patience-testers. Heretics, zealots, apostate—

The list was unending. Helmi wished she could run out of disdain, but she knew that she would not be able to. Sorrow and mourning for those they had lost came in absolutes, in fixed amounts, but the bitterness persisted. She swung into the passenger side of the car, shutting it against the smell of burning skin, and exhaled slowly through her nose.

Kajsa pulled the car away from the sight. Hopefully it would be just as the harbinger wished—by sunrise, Hope County would be leveled by fire and flame, nothing but ash and ruined structure left. If the scraps of Eden’s Gate didn’t try and douse it out. If they didn’t continue to interfere.

She glanced out the window to the sky. The tires of the car hit the highway, and Kajsa clicked the cruise control on, and as tendrils of smoke clung to the stars, the clouds parted and the light of the new moon filtered down. Just a sliver of her light, but cold and cruel and reliable all the same.

“It’s pleased,” Kajsa said lightly.

Hel made a low noise of agreement, closing her eyes as she leaned her head against the glass. “Are you?”

“Not yet,” the older woman murmured. When Hel glanced over at her, her eyes were fixed on the road; the headlights switched off, and in the far distance, she could see the tail lights of another vehicle glowing red as blood in the darkness. Seed, Hel thought through the haze of her exhaustion.

“But very soon, I will be.”

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One Week Later

“Are you warm enough? Where’s your scarf? Elliot?”

The door was only inches away, and yet—somehow—she’d managed to not make it out without the barrage of questions that typically accompanied any of her departures. Taking in a soft breath, Elliot closed her eyes for a moment, leaving her hand on the door handle.

“I am sufficiently bundled,” she promised, turning to regard her mother, standing in the foyer. “I don’t need a scarf between the front porch and the car.”

“Scarf, please,” her mother murmured, deigning to set her martini glass down in order to pluck it off of the coat rack. Elliot watched the movement curiously—not because she had never seen her mother set aside an alcoholic beverage before, but because these days it seemed more often than not that she was beginning to slow down on them; a thing which Elliot never thought she would see. Part of it might have been the sudden upheaval of having her grown, child-carrying daughter and dog suddenly move in with her, and part of it may have just been, well, time—but either way, she didn’t think she could ask.

There were some things that were just better left unsaid.

“Okay,” Elliot relented tiredly. “I’ll wear the scarf.”

“It’s not just about you anymore, bunny.”

“I know, mama.”

“So wear the scarf—”

“I am,” she insisted irritably, making a great show of flinging the scarf around her neck. I know it’s not just about me, something prickly inside of her said, I fucking know, it’s never been about me, and it’s especially not about me now.

Scarlet eyed her for a moment, wary. This had been happening a lot more now, too—these odd, lingering looks her mother had begun to favor her with. It was the same way Sheriff Whitehorse had looked at her, and the same way Burke had looked at her that last time before she—

Well.

Forcing her tone to lightness, Elliot said, “Happy?”

“Hardly,” her mother replied tartly. “No reason to be spending time around horses in your delicate condition. And you’ve been so irritable as of late—”

“It’s supposed to be good for anxiety.” Elliot glossed over the additional barb blithely, years of muscle-memory kicking in now.

“Getting some sleep would help your anxiety.” Jab, jab, duck, her mother’s tell-tale movements, skittering across their conversation like so many little spiders. It had been so long before this that she’d nearly forgotten what it was like to be engaging in a constant verbal battle with someone who was supposed to love her.

That wasn’t necessarily true, either. She had plenty of experience ducking and parrying verbal punches from someone who claimed to love her, as of late.

“I don’t—” Puffing out a sharp breath through her nose, Elliot passed a hand over her face. Sleep had not been her friend, not before and certainly not now. Too many strange, unnerving dreams about handsome, blue-eyed men with flowers blooming out of their eyes for her liking. “I’m not taking medication that’s not prescribed to me, mama. Sorry. But it’s like you said, it’s not just about me anymore. Right?”

Scarlet picked up her martini glass, waving her hand as she turned to head back into the living room where the fire still glowed warm and hungry in the hearth. Yes, there was nothing she would have preferred more than to give in to the despair and apathy welling up inside of her, curl up under the blankets in her bedroom, safe and tucked away in a perfect bubble; but she couldn’t, because stronger than that apathy was an uneasiness, anxiety that vibrated just under her skin.

Not safe, it told her, during the day when she was trying to relax and at night when she was trying to sleep. Not safe, not us.

That was the real gut-punch of the whole thing. Before, the paranoia, the anxiety, the hyper-sensitivity—they had all been things that served a purpose. Her body had been ready for constant assault because she had been under constant assault. But now? Now, she was in bumfuck-nowhere Georgia, with no bills to pay, no job to maintain, only one task: be healthy, for baby. Be happy, and healthy, and do it for baby, because that was her only responsibility. She could no longer function as a single autonomous unit because she was not, by all intents and purposes, a single. Autonomous. Unit. And yet?

And yet.

And yet, the off switch was broken, somewhere in her brain. Broken, or locked behind bars, or somewhere that she couldn’t reach it. Her brain still liked to think she was under constant assault. And if Scarlet’s verbal fencing skills were anything to go by, maybe it was a fair judgment of the situation.

“...standing there for?” Scarlet asked from the couch, her voice filtering in through some strange fuzziness that had erupted in her brain.

“Just—thinking,” Elliot managed, forcing a smile onto her face. She could tell it fell flat from the way her mother regarded her, but she cleared her throat quickly and glanced at Boomer, waiting patiently by the door. “You gonna take care of mama, Boomer?”

“He certainly will not.”

“Protect the homestead.”

“Elliot—”

“He can’t come with me to the barn,” Elliot informed her mother primly. “He’ll be well-behaved here, I promise.”

Her mother’s lips pressed into a thin line. It was something that couldn’t be argued, Boomer’s manners, and so finally she said, “Just don’t be gone long, then.”

Nodding, Elliot opened the front door and slipped out, keys clutched in her hands. The first snowfall of the winter had hit; it was still fresh and powdery, crunching underfoot, and by the time she was carefully pulling out of the driveway, she had nearly forgotten about the strange static fuzz rattling around in her head.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Elliot lifts the glass of champagne to her mouth. Here, John can see the wedding band on her finger—gold and simple, for now. He’d promised her something nicer after things quieted down. She’d said, of course, that she didn’t need anything nicer; she was happy with the one she had. With him.

He thinks that she has never looked so beautiful, bathed in the romantic glow of fairy lights, hair pinned back and the white of the wedding dress dappling lace across her skin. And wearing the ring, of course.

I love you, he wants to say, but cannot. I love you so much, he wants to say, but does not; he watches her set the flute down on the table and he opens his mouth to say it. He has to tell her—she has to know, all of those things he had said, he didn’t mean them. He loves her. He has to tell her so that she can know.

John reaches for her and opens his mouth. She lets him take her face, lashes fluttering closed; when he tries to say it, when he wills the words out of his lungs, he is choking, choking, choking, the sickening scent of flowers rushing over him and he heaves.

The petals spill from his mouth. They tumble to the ground between them. You’re mine, he wants to say, I love you, but the petals choke him on their way out, billowing out from his lungs and tripping on their way out of him, blowing out in gorgeous baby-soft puffs that leave his throat shredded from the inside out.

His hands find her shoulders. He clutches her, because he can’t breathe—there are too many of them, these flowers, each labored attempt at breath making it worse. He’s choking, and Elliot grabs his face with her hands as he struggles to keep his eyes open.

She shoves her fingers into his mouth, packing the petals against the back of his throat, and he can’t breathe, and she says—

“I told you that you couldn’t have both.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

John jolted awake, the sound of the alarm on his phone echoing in the tight space of his car. The dream lingered, stuck somewhere in the back of his throat and on his ribs like a heavy meal yet to be digested. It took a few blinks for him to really gather himself, remember where he was, who he was, what it was he had been doing. It felt like he could still taste the petals in his mouth.

Wicked devil, he thought tiredly, the image of Elliot looking down at him—wretched, and unyielding, as he choked to death—burned behind his eyelids. Even in my dreams, you’re ungrateful.

On his way out of Hope County, he’d dropped the Eden’s Gate truck for some poor shmuck’s sedan. It certainly wasn’t the kind of car he was used to driving in, and not for long periods of time, but he couldn’t risk a cop tagging his plates and finding out that the car was owned by him.

Not that he thought news of what had happened in Hope County had reached anyone yet. The government had their hands full as it was, he was sure—if the news on the radio had anything to say about it, anyway—so he imagined that the extraction of a few “criminals” out of Hope County, Montana had hit the backburner.

Passing a hand over his face tiredly, John tossed the book he’d fallen asleep reading onto the passenger seat and shut the alarm off on his phone. The book joined a collection of others, the titles including but not limited to Unconditional Parenting, The Whole-Brain Child, and other such riveting pieces, set to guide him along the path of parenthood.

He had been in Weyfield for three days; finding Elliot’s ancestral home hadn’t been hard, considering there were only a handful of houses that said rich by their exterior, and fewer less of those that looked to have been constructed so many years ago. In fact, the house that he had narrowed down looked the epitome of a wealthy Southerner’s ancient household; big front columns binding the two-story structure together, a sweeping front porch, and what he could only assume was a painstakingly-maintained garden when it wasn’t covered in a healthy foot of snow.

But more than that—more than the house, and the snow, and the stupid, shitty car he’d been living in for the last week—was Elliot.

His sleep schedule was fucked up because her sleep schedule was fucked up. He’d only caught glimpses of her through the windows, on occasion, and as much as he wanted to go charging into that house and demand she come back to Hope County with him, John knew he had to go about this very carefully. Elliot had willfully left him to be arrested, and she had willfully lied to him, and she had willfully and spitefully informed him of her pregnancy, and that meant that there were too many factors for him to think he could just breeze in and out. He was going to have to be diligent about everything—and that meant learning as much as he could before she figured out he was there.

It made him feel psychotic. It made him feel like a madman, but he supposed that was to be expected. That’s amore.

He had figured out precisely three things since his arrival in Weyfield: Elliot was staying with a woman he could only presume to be her mother, she had yet to make any friends, and she wasn’t sleeping. Every single night—or morning—she was up, moving around on the second floor and sometimes the first. It was nearly Christmas, now, which meant that she had to be at least nearly five weeks. What was she doing, up and about all hours of the night?

Now, watching Elliot haul herself into the jeep, bundled up and puffing hot air onto her hands, he thought, where are you going without the beast, huh? Haven’t seen you spend a second away from him.

John watched the car pull carefully out of the driveway and then head down the road. He’d been parked beneath the cover of a snowy row of cedars, the air inside as cold as outside by the time he’d woken out of his tenuous sleep. Now, as the sight of the dark Jeep disappeared down the residential lane and turned onto the street that would take her out to the country, he turned the key in the ignition.

The car came to life with a shuddering groan. It took a few tries to dig himself out of the fresh snowfall, tires skidding and the orange light reminding him—time and time again—that the tires were having a hard time. Thanks, you piece of shit, he thought tiredly, finally pulling out of the little ditch and setting off down the road. He let a few cars go ahead of him before he turned down the same street Elliot had, driving until the houses became fewer and fewer and it was more pastureland; three cars ahead, he saw Elliot pull down a long drive that wound for an eternity until a...barn?

A fucking stable?

“What the fuck,” he said under his breath, sighing. He should have known—of course she’d find some reason to spend her afternoon around stinking animals. Was that safe for her to be doing? Being around horses?

He pulled a slow u-turn and found a turn out at the top of the hill—close enough to see when she was leaving, but not close enough that he could be seen if she was pulling out. As soon as he shut the car off, the engine ticking as it cooled, John settled back against the seat and let out a long, suffering breath.

Well. He supposed that she should have been grateful she wasn’t leading a particularly exciting life, but he wouldn’t have minded something a little more exciting than this. Something more than staying holed up in her mother’s home—something which he was sure she did not enjoy, if the way she had spoken of her mother before had been any indication—or the occasional walk down the lane with the hound.

It didn’t matter, in the end. Once he felt confident he knew what was going on, once John had figured out what exactly he was up against when it came to fetching Elliot from this Stepford nightmare of a back-water-nobody-town, he’d get a couple of extra resources gathered and snag Elliot hook, line, and sinker.

But first, he would just have to wait.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was pretty easy to find a place that wanted someone to come and brush their horses for free. Elliot had called around to a few places at the behest of her doctor, who had been displeased when she explained no, she did not want to speak to a therapist, but yes, she would take the suggestion of seeking out other avenues of emotional healing.

I’m going to be frank with you, Miss Honeysett, the doctor had said, her voice stern, you can’t keep going the way you are. Stress is bad for babies, let alone post-traumatic stress.

Elliot had fervently nodded her head and explained that yes, she understood, and yes, she would make sure to find a place to relax and destress. And that was how she ended up here the first few times, and now standing in a stall, bringing a brush slowly over the shiny gold coat of a palomino that stood by idly while she fumbled herself through the motions. She had spent a lot of time around horses before, back when she was a kid—back when her grandfather still had his own little mini stable. After he’d died, the horses had of course been sold, even though Elliot had begged her mother to let her keep just one of them.

“They’re racehorses, Elliot, not show ponies,” her mother had snipped, all those years ago. “What are you going to do with a racehorse?”

Run, she’d thought then. Run and run and run, as far as he’ll take me, and we’ll camp out under the stars and then we’ll run some more until no one can find me ever again.

That had been a dream, of course. Now she only had her two legs to carry her wherever she wanted to go, and they had served her pretty well.

“Been around horses before?” someone asked lightly from the stall door. “Before the last couple of times you’ve been here, I mean.”

Elliot’s gaze flickered, snapped out of her thoughts—out of that girl she had been so many years ago—and landed on the same young woman that had gone through all of her paperwork and given her the run-down. Her name was...Sarah? No, it was something else. Something with an S. She was pretty; dark honey-blonde hair swept up into a ponytail, her face pretty enough to be woman and round enough to make that woman look angelic.

“A long time ago,” Elliot admitted sheepishly, her fingers braided into the palomino’s mane as she worked the kinks out of it. “When I was little.”

“Ah,” the woman said, smiling. “It’s sort of like riding a bicycle. How come you aren’t riding?”

“My doctor said not to.” She paused, because that sounded suspicious, and then said, “And anyway, I’d be making a fool out of myself.”

“Everyone makes a fool out of themselves the first time around, even after a long time. But of course, we want you safe,” the blonde replied somberly, but a smile still ticked the corners of her mouth. When she shifted, Elliot could see that her name tag said Sylvia W. “Hey, you’re Honeysett’s kid, aren’t you?”

Ellliot stifled a groan. She had made it through precisely two interactions without someone bringing up her mother in the entire time that she’d been back in Weyfield, and she had been hoping to make this a third. Glancing over at Sylvia’s curious expression, Elliot managed out as politely as she could, “Yes, that’s me.”

“Your mama called,” Sylvia explained amusedly. “Wanted to make sure you got here without problems.”

I’m twenty-six. “Ugh.”

“It’s cute, but she’s...” Sylvia’s gaze flickered while she tried to come up with a word. And then: “Strong.”

A quick, sharp laugh billowed out of her, unexpected, because the idea of someone calling her mother strong was absurd—not because she wasn’t, but because so many other words came to mind before the word ‘strong’ did. Elliot stifled the second laugh that tried to bubble up out of her, and Sylvia grinned.

“Take it that’s not the first impression people get of your mama?”

“No, Sylvia, it certainly is not.”

“Via is fine,” the blonde corrected, not unkindly. After a second, of quiet introspection, she continued, “If you ever wanna get out of your house, my brother and I go to that bar in town—you know, the uh.... Wild Rose? They do trivia night every Thursday. Winner gets fifty bucks.”

“Wow,” Elliot said without thinking, “a whole fifty dollars? To split between the three of us, huh?”

Via flashed a grin. “I knew you had a sense of humor.”

The words caught something funny in her chest, hooking into her all of a sudden. Reminding her that once, she had been funny—once, she’d had friends. Once, she’d had this kind of rapport with—

Shut the fuck up, she thought to herself, viciously, if you wallow every time you think about that fuckface you’re never going to get anywhere.

“So?” Via prompted. “What do you think? Want to be our third?”

“I’m—that’s really nice of you,” Elliot managed out. “I think this week I’ll have to pass. If you think my mama’s strong over the phone, just imagine her in person and five drinks in.”

The blonde grimaced. “Fair enough. But, invite’s always extended, alright?”

“Thanks, Sy—Via.” Elliot corrected herself, earning a quick, playful wink from Sylvia before she disappeared down the hall to resume her duties. She finished brushing the old brute; on occasion he’d twist his head back to bump the dark velvet of his nose against her side, reminding her that he was there and appreciated her.

She finished up the last of the brushing and then dumped her things in the bucket before she carried it out. The last few times she had been here had passed in much the same way—and now that she thought about it, hadn’t Via offered the trivia night thing to her before? Or was she just imagining things?

“Need sleep,” she murmured to no one in particular, depositing her bucket and brushing her hands against her jeans before sliding her coat on. When she had signed herself out on the sheet and stepped out into the late afternoon, the sun had already gone down; it left the world terribly blue, the sky blue and the snow blue-tinted, like someone had slapped a dim neon light over the sun.

Elliot puffed a hot breath of air out, fishing around for her keys and unlocking the car. As her gaze swept absently over the landscape, she spotted a car parked at a pull-out just up the hill. From where she was, it was hard to see—perhaps nearly impossible—and she wouldn’t have noticed if—

If she wasn’t so concerned about seeing a face that was too familiar. Burke, even, would be an unwelcome addition to her life in Weyfield. She tried to stuff down her paranoia; someone was surely just parked while they were sending a text, or making a phone call, or...

Or, they’re watching you, something inside of her said. She ducked into the driver’s side of the car, cranking the heater, but no amount of hot air washed the voice away. Maybe they’re watching you and waiting to arrest you. Or, maybe it’s—

But it couldn’t be. Because the Seeds were in Federal custody, and that meant they weren’t her problem anymore.

Elliot pulled out of the yard, and then carefully onto the highway, checking her mirror every now and then as she drove the short distance home. Just to be sure. Just to be safe. Someone else pulled out of the stable yard, behind her, and then cresting over the hill came a car that might have been the same one that was parked, and maybe wasn’t, because she hadn’t been able to see the make and model, but if it was, then she would have to make some extra turns on her way home, and...

“No,” she said, firmly. “It’s no one. It’s nothing. Just traffic. Other people live here too, you idiot.”

The remainder of the drive was spent forcing herself to keep her eyes on the road and only checking her mirrors when polite driving protocol called for it. After all of that fussing she’d done, she was the only one pulling down the road to her house, and even when she waited in the driveway for a few minutes, nobody followed. No headlights. No strange, dark cars. No monsters to haunt the corners of her vision.

“You’re late,” her mother called from the kitchen when she stepped inside, shaking the snow out of her hair and shrugging out of her coat.

“Traffic,” Elliot lied without thinking. God, had she always been such a wretched liar? Surely not, right? “Smells good, mama.”

“I should hope so. I slaved over it.”

Elliotshot her mother a dry look, taking a bowl out of the cupboard and beginning to scoop the stew Scarlet had made into it. Boomer waited patiently in the doorway of the kitchen—no dogs allowed rule vehemently obeyed—and when Elliot picked two pieces of bread out of the basket on the counter, still warm, her mother said, “How were the horses?”

She paused in the doorway. The stairs to the second floor, and the subsequent peace and quiet, were just there. “Good,” she replied after a moment, inching toward the doorway. “Polite. I—made a friend.”

Scarlet looked up from the book she’d been reading, eyes narrowing. “A horse friend?”

“No, a—a person!”

“Mm.” Scarlet looked back at her book. “Just be careful who you associate with, Elli, you never know who has a reputation here.”

“But you do.” Elliot’s foot hit the first bottom stair. “I’m relying on you to watch my back. Thank you for dinner.”

Before her mother could ask her where she thought she was going—“Taking food up to your room, Elliot? What are you, nine?”—she had fled up them, Boomer trailing after her until she had the bedroom door safely closed and locked with a breath of relief sweeping out of her. Every interaction was like that; wondering if she was going to make a misstep, drag herself into an argument that she didn’t want to have and which she would only be able to escape if she acquiesced and admitted that her mother was right.

Splitting one of the pieces of bread in half, she tossed it to Boomer and kicked her shoes off. He chomped happily, tail brushing against the floor. Elliot ate her dinner with the dim, low volume of the TV playing in the background, until half of her soup was gone and she had curled up under the blankets. It wasn’t until the Heeler burrowed into the blankets next to her, pressed against her side, that she finally felt the dredges of exhaustion begin to pull at her.

The sleeping pills her mother had given to her sat on her bedside table, still untouched. I don’t need them, she thought, shutting the tv off and the lights with it. I don’t need them to sleep.

I’m just fine.

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Night fell heavy, quiet and cold. By the time the late hours had passed and early morning was beginning to roll around—the kind of early where the world still slept—Elliot found herself standing in the hallway.

She blinked tiredly. She was still in her jeans; she’d neglected to change. Her hands were on the banister, and below her the living room stretched, long and only dimly lit, effused by the glow of the night lights peppered throughout the house. How did she get here? Had she slept walk? What had woken her?

Slowly, and then all at once, the sound of static drifting from the cracked door of her bedroom registered in her brain. The television was on; that must have been what had woken her. Elliot stood for a minute longer, trying to collect herself, trying to see if she was still dreaming, and then pushed the door to her bedroom open.

Boomer was snoozing quietly on the bed still. The telvision’s channel flickered static once, twice, and when Elliot reached for the remote, the static flipped again and the screen went black.

Not powered-off black. Just—a black screen, still backlit, empty.

White text blinked onto the screen.

HAVE YOU BEEN HAVING STRANGE DREAMS?

Elliot felt her stomach flip. The text blinked out, and then blinked back on, and then stayed. Her heart thudded aggressively against her rib cage, demanding—out out out, it said, desperate for a reprieve from this sudden chill spilling down her spine. She reached blindly, no longer sure where the remote was, when the text blinked again.

HAVE YOU BEEN HAVING STRANGE DREAMS?

No, she thought furiously, even though she knew it wasn’t true and that it didn’t matter. Whatever kind of strange late-night programming this was—and that’s what it had to be—wasn’t going to give her a response and certainly wasn’t waiting for one. She would just need to—

HAVE YOU BEEN HAVING STRANGE DREAMS?

Elliot’s fingers gripped the remote and she pressed her finger feverishly, missing the power button once, twice, and then a third time before she finally hit it and the television clicked off. Her hands were shaking; her whole body was shaking, and she quickly crawled back under the covers until Boomer was whuffling, tired and inquisitive, against her face. Her fingers knotted in his fur and she closed her eyes tight.

Even when they were closed, she saw the words, burned behind her eyelids. The inner strength to stay like that only lasted for another few minutes before she grabbed the bottle of sleeping pills and took one, swallowing it down dry and then dropping the container back on to her nightstand.

She would sleep. She would sleep, and forget about the strange commercial, and she would get her fucking life together.

In the morning. After sleep.

No strange dreams, she thought, not for me.

Not anymore.

#fic: witching hour #my writing #far cry 5 fic #john seed/f!deputy #fc5 fic #john seed x f!deputy #ch: elliot honeysett #ch: john seed #i really do be out here dropping the first chap a week ahead of schedule #i'm sorry #my posting is unreliable #i can never stick to a schedule #pls forgive me #otp: death keep off; i am your enemy

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thewildomega · 5 years ago

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Star in the Sand (Sir Crocodile x reader) Soulmate AU

Summary: Everyone has a soulmate, one person that destiny saw fit to pair together, two halves to a whole. What happens though when a person goes almost half their life without finding that said person? What happens when a person has no one? Well they give up hope.

Finding his way to a small island he sighed and looked over the tiny town with a stoic expression, puffing on his cigar. "Go see about finding us a place to stay." he spoke to the man behind him without turning.

"Yes sir." Bonez said before walking past him towards the town.

Glancing around he let out a sigh and decided to go walk around and see what this place had to offer. He planned on keeping a low profile, not wanting the marines to be on him again so soon. He would have to start looking for a new crew, Bonez alone wouldn't be enough. Finding a small bar he headed inside and groaned at the occupants. Taking a seat in the far corner he ordered a glass of whiskey and then settled himself back, smoking and watching the people for anyone who might fit the bill. He sat there for a few hours, until all the light left the sky and night settled in. Finishing off his glass of his drink he dropped a few bills on the table and stood. There were a few men that had caught his attention but he would have to think on the matter. Walking down the street he glanced around to the different establishments, looking for the inn that Bonez had came to tell him about earlier.

"here..."

Furrowing his brows at the whispering voice he stopped and turned his head to glance towards the little raggedy hut. There looked to be only a small amount of light coming in through the stained glass windows. The wood that made the building was old and it looked as if it would fall down any second, the slate roof sagging at an odd angle. Turning his attention to the barely readable wooden sign in the tall grass he saw the words 'Physic readings.' Huffing out a puff of smoke he turned and started walking again.

"Crocodile..."

Snapping his eyes back to the hut he narrowed his eyes. "Who is there?" he asked. When the door opened with a creak he lifted his chin and stared with distrust.

"Come and the things you need the most will be revealed."

Growling in the back of his throat he took a deep breath, he was going to turn away, he wanted to turn away but he couldn't, his legs seemed to be moving for him. Dipping his head to fit under the door he stood tall and heard as the door slammed shut behind him. He was on high alert, this was by no doubt a trap. Looking around the inside he saw it fairly bare other than the small table placed in the center of the room with two chairs on opposite sides of it and a black candle burning in the center. Before he could say a word the chair closest to him pulled out.

"Sit."

Taking a deep breath he walked forward, the old boards creaking under his feet. Pushing out his coat he took a seat in the chair, not sure if the thing would hold up to his weight. "Alright I am sitting, now what?" he asked, his voice full of annoyance. When no one answered he growled, "I don't have time for this." he grumbled and went to stand but the candle flickered out, leaving the room in complete darkness. Stilling he listened, waiting for an attack.

"Don't be so impatient young man."

Suddenly the candle relight and when he looked in front of him he saw an old woman sitting int he chair in front of him. She was dressed in a hole ridden cloak, her grey hair a mess around her. There was a grey cloth tied around her eyes with blood staining it where her eyes would be. Her old skin was ridden with wrinkles and glancing to her hands he saw long and broken nails hanging from each finger. She was a ghastly sight, that as sure.

"It is rude to stare boy." the woman said in a hissing voice.

Slowly raising his eyes back to her face he saw her cracked lips in a firm line. "What is it you want from me?"

"It is not what I want but what you need." she told him.

Huffing he rose one of his brows, "I doubt you can give me anything I need." he told her.

"No I can not give it to you, it is something you must find on your own." she told him. Placing her hand on the table she opened her palm, "Give me your hand."

He didn't move, he wasn't stupid but the longer she looked at him the colder he became, a bead of sweat rolling down the back of his neck. Gritting his teeth he slowly lifted his hand and placed it in hers. She was quick to flip it over, turning his palm upward. Next thing he knew her other hand was moving a knife of sorts towards it and he panicked. Going to pull his hand away he found he couldn't' move, couldn't turn to sand, and his eyes went wide as she brought the knife down, not again. To his surprise she didn't cut it off and deep slice to his palm was all that occurred, his lip twitching a little at the pain. Watching his blood fill his palm her grip on his hand stayed strong while she placed down the blade and grabbed a bowl with different things already inside. The smell was disgusting and he watched as she lifted his hand to dump the blood in his palm into the bowl before releasing it. Pulling his hand back towards him he looked at the deep cut and grunted. Lifting his eyes back to her he saw her now mumbling something incoherent. When then contents started smoking he frowned and knot his brows. The red smoke drifted from the bowl and started to circle him. "What is this?" he asked.

"You have two weeks." the old woman spoke.

"For what?" he asked. the smoke now seeming to engulf him. "Two weeks for what?!" he yelled. He couldn't see a thing, a strong wind blew his hair out of place and muffled any noise.

"Find your star."

Suddenly the chair and floor under him opened up and he was falling. Blackness surrounded him. Trying to turn to sand nothing happened and he started to panic. Falling downward he saw a flash of light and then landed on something on his back, a sharp pain in his head before everything went black.

..............................

Chopping the onion you listened to the music playing from your phone and sang along to it in your head. Lifting ht cutting board you dumped the onions into the skillet, scrapping the remaining pieces that had stuck to the board inside. Adding salt and pepper you moved to grab the garlic when a loud crashing came form the living room. Snapping your eyes to the room you let out a scream when you saw what it was. What the hell?! Taking a few steps over to the man that had smashed your coffee table you saw his eyes were closed, the back of his head resting against the bent iron frame of the shattered glass table. Covering your mouth with your hand your eyes snapped to the ceiling, expecting a hole to be there but there was no such thing. Looking back down at him you noticed he was massive, huge, he had to be at least seven feet if not taller. swallowing thickly you carefully moved over to him, side stepping the glass that covered the floor. Seeing a large gold hook in place of his left hand you furrowed your brows. Standing over him you scanned his body, grey pants with black boots and a black button up shirt, a green scarf like thing tucked into it. Moving your eyes up to his face you saw shoulder length black hair adorned his head with a few strands in his face. There was a long, thin scar that went the hole way across his face and suddenly you stiffened. This guy looked just like Crocodile from One Piece. Was he some kind of cos-player? If so he did a hell'a job with his outfit and prosthetic. Still though what was he doing in your house? How did he get in here? Seeing blood on his palm and a few drops under his head you furrowed your brows. Bending over you gently shook his shoulder, "Hello?" Nothing. "Hello." you said again. Moving your fingers to his neck you felt a pulse and let out a sigh of relief, at least he wasn't dead. You needed to call the police... but what would you say? They would never believe you if you told them this guy, that you didn't know, fell from the ceiling and crashed into your table. They already didn't like you, no doubt they would think you pushed him. Sitting your lip you stood and moved over to the stove to turn off the burner before looking back at him.

Grabbing the broom you quickly swept up as much of the glass as you could for now. Moving behind him you pushed your arms under his and lifted him up some. Trying to somehow get him off the mangled frame of the table you tried lifting him but lost your balance and dropped him, a small grunt leaving him as he fell limply to the floor. "Whoops." you muttered. Deciding it would be easier to just move the frame you untangled his limbs from it and lifted it up, carrying it to the other side of the room for now. Going back to him you rolled him from side to side while you swept up the glass around and under him. Grabbing the fur lined coat you balled it up and carried it outside so you could shake off the glass before laying it on your armchair to be taken care of later. Knowing there was no way you could lift him onto the couch you grabbed a spare blanket and laid it under him before rolling him back onto it. Glancing to the gold hook you knit your brows, should your remove it? No, it wasn't a problem right now. Moving to your bathroom you grabbed the first aid supplies you needed and went back to clean and bandage his hand, seeing him flinch a little when you patted the deep gash with alcohol. There was only a small cut on the back of his head and a large bump but you couldn't do much about that. Once you were done you brushed back his hair and checked his breathing. It was steady so that was good. Covering him with the throw from your couch you nodded. Standing you moved back to the stove and turned your burner back on. Hopefully he would wake up in a little while and then he would just go without giving you any trouble.

............................

Turns out he must have hit his head harder than you had first thought because he was still exactly where you left him when you woke up the next morning. Gnawing the corner of your lip you looked at his, what you assumed was, still sleeping form. Okay you would give it a few more hours and if he wasn't up by then you would call the police. Making your coffee and boiling a couple of eggs you grabbed the laundry basket and moved outside to hang them out. You had taken the liberty of washing his coat, seeing as it had glass all over it. It was extremely heavy when wet but you managed to toss it over the line with the rest of your clothes to dry. Okay laundry is drying, what's next.... trash.

Snapping his eyes open he shot up and looked around to try and figure out what was going on. Looking around the strange home he saw he was laying on the floor, well on a blanket that was on the floor but still. Another blanket was over his legs and pooled around his waist where it had fallen when he sat up. Feeling something on his hand he lifted it up and saw it had been bandaged. But by who? Where was he? Standing he felt his head throb and groaned, rubbing the back of his head to feel a large bump there. Brushing back his hair he looked around the home again and noticed things that he had never seen before. There was a large black thing on top of a a shelf with books lining the shelves. He could smell coffee in the air and something citrus. Listening for the owner of the home all that met him was silence. Taking quiet steps around something caught his eye out the window and he looked out to see someone doing laundry outside in the yard. Narrowing his eyes he moved towards them.

Unpinning the sheets on the line you froze when a large, dark shadow showed behind the swaying fabric. Unpinning the next pin you lowered it and revealed the mystery man. He was so freaking big, massive. Yep he definitely had to be taller than seven feet with his shoulders at least three across. He was staring down at you with a hard, uncaring look. Wow this guy was good. "You are awake." you said.

It was a woman, a small woman. Her hair was long and a reddish color. She had soft features and two sea blue eyes looked up at him, not a hint of fear or ill temperament there. "Where am I?"

Raising your brows you tossed the sheet into the basket with the other items and looked back up at him. "At my home." you told him.

"And how is it I got here?" he asked her.

Sighing you moved down the line to grab the next item, "You tell me, I was cooking diner last night when you quite literally fell into my living room."

"What do you mean I fell into your living room?" he asked and saw her point towards a pile of bent metal.

"I mean you appeared out of no where, smashing my coffee table. I guess you hit your head on it pretty good or something because you were out all night." you told him. "So now I'll ask you, how is it you managed to do that?" you asked calmly.

Frowning he looked at his hand and then at the woman and narrowed his eyes, "This is all just some trick. You are her, that witch, that old hag!" he growled and saw her brows furrow together, annoyance now filling her eyes.

"Might want to think about laying off the alcohol or drugs or whatever you are on." you huffed. Grabbing the last item of clothing you tossed it into the basket and lifted it up onto your hip. "Your coat is over there, take it and leave." you told him, going up the stairs. "Oh and your welcome for taking care of you and not having you arrested." you called back as you left him outside. Moving to your couch to drop the basket on it you went to the fridge to take out something for dinner. "Psychopath." you mumbled under your breath.

Growling when he heard the door slam he raised his hand to grabbed his coat but nothing happened. Frowning he tried again but still nothing happened. What the hell was going on? Marching over he snatched his coat off the line, tossing it over his shoulder and noticing the clean scent that came form it, she had washed it? Glancing back to the small home he felt a strange pulling but let out a huff and shook his head before heading down the path. Getting to the end of it he looked down and saw what looked to be black rock on the ground. Moving his foot to it he tapped the surface and found it solid. He had never seen anything like this before. Stepping out onto it he looked left then right, seeing nothing but trees in both directions. With a heavy sigh he moved into the middle of it where a yellow line was painted and started walking. He had been going for what had to be close to a hour now when he heard a noise. Looking behind him he saw something coming towards him with two lights in the front. Knitting his brows he stood there but then it let out this loud sound and swerved around him at a fast speed. Confused he heard it again and just did turn in time to see another one like before, only bigger coming towards him, this one not looking like it was going to go around him. Just managing to hurry off the black surface he watched as the thing went by,

"Get out of the road you fucking idiot!" a man yelled.

Gritting his teeth he tried to yet again use his powers but nothing would happen, not even a speck of sand leaving the ground. Panting he looked around, not knowing where he was. Feeling the start of rain he looked up and then around him at the trees. Turning his head back towards the direction he came he took in a deep breath before walking back the way he came. By the time he got back to the home the sky was almost completely dark and he was soaked. Glancing back towards the bent pile of metal he tried to think back on what had happened. He remembered the old woman, then he was falling. Sighing he moved up the steps and looked through the glass pane to see the small woman at the stove, cooking he would presume. Brushing back his wet hair he raised his hook and knocked three times on the door. Seeing her turn towards him, he noticed her shocked look before she finally moved over to open the door. She said nothing and he dipped his chin the tiniest amount, knowing he had no right to ask anything of her. "I would like to apologize for earlier, it was very rude of me." he said, the words tasting strange on his tongue. Seeing her eyes soft he raised his brows, "I don't understand any of this." he said, motioning his hand out around him. "I..I don't know where I am or how I got here." he admitted.

Looking over the dripping stranger you felt something pull at you and furrowed your brows. He looked tired, his wet coat hanging heavily on his back and the front of his shirt and pants clinging to him slightly. It was bad to say but he kind of reminded you of a wet puppy. Sighing you opened the door and stepped back to allow him inside. "Can you take your shoes off, I don't want mud all over the house." you said in a soft voice.

Doing as she asked he removed his shoes and left them by the door. Turning back towards her he saw her gone and furrowed his brows.

"Come on, let's get you out of those wet clothes."

Following her voice he went through a room with more books and a small desk with a strange thing sitting on top of it, pictures moving across the screen. This place was getting weirder and weirder.

"Here you go."

Looking to the woman he saw her holding out a pile of clothes and raised his brows.

"They aren't going to fit you properly but they'll have to do while yours are drying. There is a bathroom with a shower through there." you told him, pointing to the room to his right.

"These are your clothes?" he asked, looking over her tiny frame and knowing there was no way in hell he would be able to fit into the clothes.

"No, they are my ex boyfriends, he left them here and I haven't thrown them out yet." you shrugged.

Nodding he took the clothes from her and moved towards the bathroom. Looking for a candle or light of sorts he saw the woman come beside him, touching something on the wall before a bright light filled the room. Looking up to the ceiling he rose a brow and saw her walk away. Shutting the door behind him he set the clothes on the vanity and looked around the small room. There was a tub and shower, toilet and the vanity. It wasn't high class but it was functional. Removing his hook he placed it by the clothes and started to remove his wet ones. Figuring out the shower he stepped inside and huffed when he noticed the shower head only came up to his mid chest. This was going to be an annoyance.

..........................

Hearing the bathroom door open you finished platting the food and saw him walk around the corner. "Here you must be hungry." you said, placing the plate on the table along with silverware and a napkin. Moving to grab a glass you filled it with water and added it to the table as he walked over. The clothes as you imagined were too small, the lounge pants coming up to his mid calf and the t-shirt clinging to his frame that you could now tell was muscled. The large golden hook was still on his left hand and you furrowed your brows but didn't say anything.

Looking between the food and her he felt his stomach clench, he hadn't eaten a good meal in few days but still.

Raising your brows you crossed your arms over your chest, "It's not poisoned." you told him and saw him look to you with slightly narrowed eyes. "If I wanted to kill you I could have easily done it last night when you were laying unconscious on my living room floor." you told him simply.

Breathing out he pulled out the chair and sat down before lifting the spoon into his right hand, leaving his hook resting on his leg under the table. "Why are you helping me?" he asked in a deep voice, looking to her as she moved about the kitchen.

Washing your bowl and spoon you took a deep breath, "I don't know." you answered honestly.

He watched her for a moment longer before beginning to eat the hot soup, feeling it warm him up more. As he filled his belly he heard her moving around the house. There was a thump and then the sound of a rumbling before she walked back out.

"You clothes are drying, it won't take long." you told him. Noticing his bowl almost empty you looked to his eyes, silver, almost white eyes. "Do you want more?" you asked.

Nodding his had stiffly he saw her bring over the pot and fill his bowl again with the beef soup. "What is your name?" he asked as she moved away.

"Y/n." you answered, setting the pot back down and moving to fix yourself a cup of tea. "And you?" you asked as you turned back towards him, leaning back against the counter.

"Crocodile." he said once he had swallowed his food.

Raising a brow you looked at him with a bored look, "Yes I know who you are cosplaying as but what is your real name?"

Narrowing his eyes he looked at her, "I told you my real name, My name is Crocodile."

"This isn't funny, I am being serious."

Growling he slammed his hand on the table, "And I am being serious girl, I am Crocodile." he said in a deep voice. Watching her set down her cup and walk away he straightened his back, ready for her to attack him. When she walked back in with a book he furrowed his brows.

Standing at the opposite side of the table you flipped through the manga until you found what you were looking for. "You are trying to tell me that this is you, that you are this Crocodile." you said, moving the book in front of him so he could see it.

Looking down at the book he saw the pages were filled with black and white drawings. When his eyes focused on one that looked very similar to him he furrowed his brows. "What is this?" he asked.

"This is a One Piece manga." you told him, letting him take the book and flip through the pages.

"This is Alabasta." he said.

"Yeah that's when Luffy and Croc... you fought for the last time." you said.

Quickly flipping through the book he saw the whole fight and everything play out before his eyes. It was all here, every word said and everything. "This can't be real." he said in a low voice.

"Exactly, you can't be him because he is a made up character, he's not real."

"How many times must I tell you that I am the real Crocodile." he growled, glaring at her.

"You are crazy. Don't get me wrong you pull off the look well with the clothes and scar and fake hook but this is ridiculous." you said, growing tired of this game. "When you clothes dry I will drop you off..." You didn't get to finish your sentence as you were slammed up against the fridge. Looking to the huge man you saw him glaring down at you.

"I will say this one last time woman, my name is Crocodile. I was formally a Shichibukai, one of seven warlords of the sea, a pirate." he growled down at her. Raising his hook in front of her face he saw her eyes drop to it. "And I can assure you that my hook is not a fake."

Looking over the hook as he placed it to your throat you frowned and then moved your eyes up to his you furrowed your brows. "I don't understand." you said in a softer voice.

It would be so much easier to just kill her, God she had annoyed him enough but he couldn't. It was like his brain and limbs weren't working together. Looking into her blue eyes he felt the rage inside of him calming down. "Nor do I." was all he said as he stepped back.

#sir crocodile #Sir Crocodile x reader #one piece #Soulmate AU #Crocodile x reader

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certifiedskywalker · 5 years ago

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Little Bit of Hope - Diego Hargreeves

Diego takes a night off after Patch chews him out and threatens to put him in a jail cell. He’s in a sour mood when he meets you, but you’re just so sweet you might just change his frame of mind.

Totally based on Bastille’s song ‘Those Nights’. Give it a listen HERE

Diego traces his thumb along the neck of the chilled beer bottle before him. The pad of his fingers collect the condensation, wiping it around in the hopes of distracting himself from his thoughts. Diego had his bad days; where he had more bruises than skin; where he was too late so save everyone; but he hadn’t had a day like this one in a long time.

Not only did every inch of him ache and the ‘bad guys’ get away, but Diego had also left the scene of the scrap with mortally wounded pride. Detective Patch had threatened him with jail time if he dared to intervene with another investigation. Something about the flames of fury in her eyes and the steam coming out of her ears reminded Diego of Reginald. He had backed down and out of the scene as quickly as he could with haunting memories on his heels.

His thoughts drove him to the nearest bar so he could stew in his nightmares before drowning them out in alcohol. Diego’s mind already felt a bit hazy, even with his third beer sitting on the bar before him. The sour taste twisted around his tongue as bitter as his memories.

The worst thing was that he had no one. Patch had made certain that any of his acquaintances inside the police department were put on a loose form of lock down, rendering Diego’s friends, essentially gone. He hadn’t spoken to his family in years, accept for stopping in to check on Mom; but she couldn’t drink with him. That was what he craved: someone to drink with, talk to, someone to understand him.

His dark eyes scan around the bar in search for that someone. When no one came into his sights, Diego turned around on the stool so the bar counter dug into his back. He let out a hiss as he winced at the feeling. Right when he was about to lean forwards for relief, a blur crossed his vision and caused the hairs on his arm to rise.

“You okay?” Diego turned at the soft voice. He met a pair of eyes he had never seen before but drew him in nonetheless. You blinked at him a few times before he replied.

“I-I, yeah. Have we met before?” You gave him a smile, the sweetest smile Diego had ever seen as you shook your head.

“I don’t believe so,” you replied, extending your hand to him, “I’m Y/N.” Diego’s hand seems to have a mind of its own. Every atom in his being, the nerve endings in his fingers all drawn to you by some unseen form. Whether it was chemical or magnetic, Diego wasn’t going to fight it as his hand grasped yours.

“Diego.” The moment his name leaves his mouth, Diego swears he saw your eyes widen. He could only imagine his looked about the same as he took in your form. You were stunning, beautiful, and it wasn’t just the alcohol heightening it.

“Well, Diego, not to be blunt but, you look like shit,” you gestured to the dark bruise on his cheek. He let out a chuckle and grabbed his drink. After he took a large swig of beer, Diego turned back to you.

“It was a rough night,” he quipped, dark eyes meeting your gaze. You looked at him through your lashes and Diego felt mind go white. All he saw and thought about was how your eyes trailed up and down his body; and how his eyes were doing the same.

“Looks like it,” you said slowly, loving each word before letting it go. Diego nodded and watched as you ordered yourself two shots. While the bartender was pouring them, you looked back at him. “So you came to a bar to lick your wounds?” “No, I came to a bar for a little bit of hope?”

“Hope?” you questioned with a quirked brow. “That’s a hard thing to find in the bottom of a bottle.” Diego smirked, half-hooded eyes staring at you as softly as he could.

“Not looking for it in a bottle,” he rasped suggestively. You held his gaze as the latent content of his words wrapped around your mind like a scarf. The bartender placed the two shots before you and you slammed one down quickly. The other remained untouched until you pushed towards Diego. He eyed the small glass before looking back at you.

“Maybe it’s in the shot,” you jabbed with an amused smile. Diego let out a breathy laugh and grabbed the shot. The liquor burned going down his throat, but the kind of burn that sent the fires in his bones alit once more.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” he flirted, setting the glass on the counter. You laughed at that and stood from your stool. Diego’s hawk-eyes closed in on you as you leaned towards him. He could smell the lovely perfumed body wash you used, but you didn’t linger near him long enough for him to decipher the scent. Your voice and breath in the shell of his ear was much too distracting.

“Maybe I could help you find it,” you whispered lowly. The tendrils of your voice lulled Diego into a bed of softness. A warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time flooded his senses and he didn’t care if you were his future or a mistake. Diego knew that he just needed you.

So he let you help find that little piece of hope he was looking for. He let you help him find it right out of the bar and into a cab, then up the stairs to your flat. Your hands were all over him and his couldn’t help but grasp at you like a lifeline. Dragging him up the stairs, it didn’t seem that you would get your flat fast enough. You pulled at Diego’s t-shirt and it took all he had not to do the same as the stairwell came to an end.

After what felt like two minutes too long of fiddling with your apartment keys, you were both inside. Diego kicked the door shut behind you with his heel and you were instantly on him. Your lips tasted like the shot, hinted with lime and whatever chapstick you had put on in the cab. Sweet; your lips were a sweetness Diego had never tried before.

His hands went to your waist and pulled your flush against him as your hands embarked on their own mission. Your fingers skirted up and under Diego’s shirt, grabbing the hem of it as they went. Lifting up until the skin of his torso was exposed, you marveled at his chest. The muscles rippled under the skin which was tan, except in the places where purples bruises bloomed with a fury.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Your voice was timid. Slowly your eyes trailed up from his chest to meet his dark eyes. Diego’s mouth parted, kiss-swollen lips eager to be pressed against your skin as he leaned towards your neck.

“Yes,” he whispered, the word falling from his lips like a prayer. “More than sure.” Your head fell back as he peppered the sensitive skin of your neck in sloppy, open-mouth kisses. It was all the convincing you needed as you led Diego back towards your bedroom.

It seemed that the sunlight cut a perfect path across the floor of your bedroom. The rays highlighted your body as you slipped a large shirt over your shoulders. Diego watched from your bed as you dressed, tugging on shorts that were nearly hidden by the length of your top. He propped himself on his elbow, taking in every inch of your now covered skin.

You must have felt his eyes on you, because you turned to face him with a cocky smile. “Good morning.”

“It is,” Diego replied, not missing a beat. His flirtation was enough to tempt you back towards the bed. You settled on your side and beamed down at him. In a wave of foregin contentment, Diego rested his head in your lap. You smiled at the sight and ran your fingers over his scalp. A hum rose up from Diego’s throat and he did nothing to stop it.

“Did you find that hope?” You asked teasingly and Diego chuckled.

“I did, thanks to you,” he replied sleepily, “you’d make a good detective.” You laughed and shook your head.

“I think I’ll leave the searching to you,” you purred and Diego’s eyes blinked open. His dark eyes met yours but he wasn’t as relaxed as before. His eyebrows knitted together in slight worry, an expression you hadn’t seen from Diego before.

“As long as I can find you again ...can I?” He was asking permission and Diego silently wished for you to say ‘yes’. After years of working alone, thinking no one would give him a chance, he couldn’t bear the thought of being isolated again. You curled your bottom lip between your teeth as you stared down at Diego.

“I think you can,” you replied and Diego started to sit up.

“I-I don’t w-want to push it, I jus-” You cut Diego off with a kiss. Your lips still were sweet like the night before. The sensation sent a shiver down his spine.

“Shh, stop,” you mumbled against his lips, “you’re not pushing anything.” A devilish smirk played on Diego’s lips as he pressed another kiss to the corner of your mouth. You felt his hands pushing lightly, telling your body to sink into the covers once more and you didn’t have the strength to fight back; you didn’t want to fight back. You were willing and Diego was tired of fighting too.

#diego hargreeves #diego #hargreeves #diego hargreeves imagine #diego hargreeves imagines #diego hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves fanfic #diego hargreeves fanfiction #tua #tua imagine #tua imagines #tua fanfic #tua fanfiction #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy imagine #the umbrella academy imagines #the umbrella academy fanfiction #the umbrella academy fanfic

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victoriareyloficlists · 4 years ago

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18/11/2020 Additions to Reylo Fluff

These fics have been added to the Fluff list located here.

Sweet Home by Violetwilson (AO3 2018 Rated E Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Honestly, she only came to Waffle House at two AM to pick up Finn and Poe and maybe order some pancakes. Maybe. But what was she supposed to do when she found a hot businessman with a broken car in the parking lot? Not invite him to sleep over at her place until the town's only mechanic sobered up?) A Child and a Mortgage by AverageEpaulet (AO3 2020 Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: It was bring your child to work day. Whoever came up with that bright idea had a special place reserved in hell for all Ben Solo cared. He loved his daughter, more than anything, but that didn't mean he liked flaunting her around like a trophy with ”Got laid at least once” engraved on it.) I Still Do by merrymercy (AO3 2020 Rated M Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: 'Remember when you had a huuuge crush on me?That was so embarrassing for you.'' Drunk Rey greets her husband.) We'll tell our kids we met at Starbucks by M1ssJess (AO3 2020 Rated T Complete, 2 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey goes on a date with Poe but ends up spending a much more enjoyable night with his roommate Ben.) Clumsily Yours by Hellyjellybean (AO3 2020 Rated M Complete, 3 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey is injured at work. She is shocked when her boss Ben Solo carries her to his car and takes her to hospital much to her embarrassment. He is over-bearing and over-protective of her during her stay and Rey doesn’t understand...although it is sort of sweet in a way...could it be that the big bad executive Ben Solo actually likes her?) Go And Catch A Falling Star Chapter 46 by Ayearandaday (AO3 2020 Rated G Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey's familiar, Kira, usually hates other people but keeps escaping to go visit her neighbor Ben, could he have his own secret?) Goodnight Moon by LittleAndikin (AO3 2020 Rated M Complete, 2 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben's 3 year old daughter Lily won't go to sleep without listening to the library's podcast reading of Goodnight Moon. When she's in the elevator with her father & a neighbour, she recognises Rey from her voice as the person who reads to her every night.) Where's my wife? by AverageEpaulet (AO3 2020 Rated M Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey dresses up as Ben's favourite TV character while he's out for drinks. But she's underestimated drunk Ben's loyalty.) Crisis: Girlfriend by perperuna (AO3 2018 Rated G Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben had been in love with Rey for over a year when he asked her to go with him to his ex’s wedding as his date and ‘girlfriend’.) Go And Catch A Falling Star Chapter 11 by Ayearandaday (AO3 2020 Rated G Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben asks his father for help with the classmate that has been frustrating him. ) Pining and Puzzles by greywilde (AO3 2020 Rated E Complete, 2 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey finds scraps of paper in the washer as she's doing her laundry, and her roommate Ben is acting strange about them.) Threads by Hellyjellybean (AO3 2020 Rated M Complete, 2 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben Solo is a cantankerous boss known for throwing away any gift his underlings give him. When newbie Rey decides to knit everyone a scarf for the start of fall, she's warned that Solo will not appreciate it. Everyone is surprised when he shows up the next day wearing it.) Go And Catch A Falling Star Chapter 35 by Ayearandaday (AO3 2020 Rated G Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben is always suspicious about his mother's matchmaking. This is how he fell for it again.) About You by LadyBrettAshley (AO3 2020 Rated E Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: An eight-month dry spell drives Rey to create a Tinder account. Already stressed about work, she finds herself exceptionally discouraged after her first date is a flop, and her neighbor, Ben, won't stop harassing her for being on Tinder in the first place. That is, until Ben makes her an offer she can't refuse...) In Bloom by Celia_and (AO3 2020 Rated E Complete, 4 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: The flowers that bedeck her skin don’t lie. Ballet dancer Rey is in love with her partner, Ben. But the years go by and his skin stays resolutely, devastatingly blank. He doesn’t love her. But when his hands are on her body, she can pretend.) How Not to Break Up by LadyBrettAshley (AO3 2020 Rated E Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Nothing means more to Leia than her Annual Pumpkin Carving extravaganza. That’s why Ben asks Rey to keep their recent breakup a secret until after the party. After a carving-related accident, Ben comes to her aid and it turns out... they may not have to tell anyone they broke up at all.) Only Make-Believe by Hartmannclan (AO3 2020 Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey is in a car accident, so best friend Ben races to the hospital to be with her. What happens when she wakes up with amnesia and believes they are married?) would you be so kind? by youcarrymeaway (AO3 2020 Rated E Complete, 3 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: An au where Ben accidentally hits Rey with his car, and also falls in love with her a little.) urgent caring by blessedreylo (AO3 2020 Rated E Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: ben meets rey on a visit to the local urgent care, and somehow keeps finding ways to see the cute girl behind the front desk (hopefully not losing an appendage in the process). ) What if I want to kiss you tomorrow? by Hellyjellybean (AO3 2020 Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben needs to share Rey's bed for the night, but does he want to share more than a bed with her? ) Go And Catch A Falling Star Chapter 45 by Ayearandaday (AO3 2020 Rated G Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: From childhood to adulthood, Ben is practiced at catching a clumsy Rey.) Close Enough to Kiss by Somewhere_overthe_Reylo (AO3 2020 Rated E Complete, 2 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey's daughter comes with her to take a final exam. Dr.Solo ends up being soft for babies.) a tale of baseball and broken elevators by Zoa (AO3 2019 Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey has sprained her knee. The elevator in her building is broken. She lives on the sixth floor. Her neighbor, Ben Solo, has arrived in the nick of time to help, but there's one problem: she hates him.) Lizzy Solo by Hellyjellybean (AO3 2020 Rated M Complete, 3 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Its bring your kids to work day and little Lizzy Solo meets Rey for the first time. "Are you the same Rey that my dad told Uncle Hux he was half in love with?") a night under the stars by blessedreylo (AO3 2020 Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Grandma Padme's retired life mostly takes place at the local senior center. When it comes time for senior prom, she asks Ben to go with her. Padme introduces him to senior center employee Rey, for whom this is the first prom she's ever experienced.) Go And Catch A Falling Star Chapter 5 by Ayearandaday (AO3 2020 Rated G Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben reluctantly helps his friend Kaydel pick up lingerie. In the dressing room, he runs into his intern Rey as she's trying out some items.) Wrong Number, Right Guy by greywilde (AO3 2020 Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Grandma Padmé texts Ben to invite him for dinner and reminds him he can bring his apple pie but she's mistyped his number and texts a stranger. Rey texts back to let her know she has the wrong number but Padmé invites Rey to join them anyway.) Anything You Need by SuchaPrettyPoison (AO3 2020 Rated M Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben knows women don’t come to him for his lacking social skills and awkward nature; they want to see if he's big all over. He figures why not finally use his assets to his advantage and (try to) flirt with and impress trainer Rey by working out in only biking shorts?) say it with a braid by reylo_mo (writermo) (AO3 2020 Rated T Complete, 2 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: An AU where hairdresser Ben loves to style actress Rey’s hair in braids for events. There’s even a particular type he always goes for.One day Leia texts to ask him why he hasn’t brought his fiancée over for dinner. Thing is... he’s been giving Rey Alderaanian wedding braids.) I'm going to teach you (all about love) by Trish47 (AO3 2020 Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: When Rey's imposing roommate lands a position teaching kindergarten, she spends the year celebrating his victories and cheering him up in equal measure. It just so happens that Rey discovers her favorite method for doing so: kissing him.) You Make Me Weak by Hellyjellybean (AO3 2020 Rated E Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey decides to faint to get her boss's attention.) to climb steep hills by galvanator (AO3 2020 Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: No one really talks to the new girl who sits in the back of the class. She’s been here a month but kids are afraid of her and teachers are too overworked to be able to solve a problem like Rey. No one really talks to the new girl - except for Ben. A childhood to adulthood love story.) When Love is Like Pulling Teeth by CaliforniaQueen (AO3 2020 Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Han sends Rey his favorite mechanic to pick up his son Ben after a dental operation. High on meds, normally arrogant and cold Ben becomes quite the chatterbox.) Go And Catch A Falling Star Chapter 30 by Ayearandaday (AO3 2020 Rated G Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ex-military Ben doesn't expect anyone to wait for him in the airport. And yet...) Go And Catch A Falling Star Chapter 2 by Ayearandaday (AO3 2020 Rated G Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey constantly needs librarian Ben to help her get books from the top shelf.) Rey is Tired by mcloveproductions (AO3 2020 Rated T Complete, 2 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey Niima is tired. Tired of college. Of her shitty interning job at Plutt's garage. Ben is also tired of the job he just quit. When he meets and pretends to be Rey's boyfriend, maybe that'll be the answer to their problems.) Go And Catch A Falling Star Chapter 30 Sequel by Ayearandaday (AO3 2020 Rated G Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey is attracted to morons. Ben assumes she doesn't like him and tries to apologize for his feelings.) Go And Catch A Falling Star Chapter 18 by Ayearandaday (AO3 2020 Rated G Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey asked for something to keep her warm for her birthday. Poe decides the best present he could get is Ben.) Go And Catch A Falling Star Chapter 24 by Ayearandaday (AO3 2020 Rated G Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben is absolutely terrified of the dentist. Luckily, Rey is by his side.) The Prince of Alderaan & Me by lalaitskelcey (AO3 2020 Rated T Complete, 5 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey’s daughter steals popcorn from the prince of Alderaan, and a clip of it goes viral, much to Rey’s dismay.) Go And Catch A Falling Star Chapter 20 by Ayearandaday (AO3 2020 Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Meddly Mama Leia only wants her son to find his love and give her pretty grandkids to spoil. That's not too much to ask, right?) By Hand by Celia_and (AO3 2020 Rated G Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Socially anxious Ben visits the same cafe every morning, and he’s fallen for sweet waitress, Rey. Every day he writes down a lovely thought about her, folds into a boat, and leaves it behind to be swept into the trash. He doesn't know that Rey has kept every single one.) I Don't Wanna Live Forever by MotherofScavengers (AO3 2020 Rated E Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Love goddess Rey has been tasked with finding love for Kylo, her friend and god of death. After centuries refusing any of the suitors she suggests, Kylo finally names the only person he would ever be willing to marry: Rey herself) Find Something You Like by ekayla (AO3 2020 Rated G Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey is playing hide and seek in IKEA with Rose and Finn. She hides in a wardrobe. Ben is in need of new furniture. He finds a lot more than ample suit space when a freckley brunette nearly gives him a heart attack jumping out of one of the shop floor examples.) i found love where it wasn’t supposed to be, right in front of me by Lutrosis (AO3 2020 Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben’s the sweetheart nanny to Rey’s twin daughters. When her new boyfriend is frustrated that he’s lower on her list of priorities than her children, he dumps her. Rey texts Ben and comes home early to find her kids tucked in, and Ben, ready with ice cream.) An Open Invitation by monsterleadmehome (AO3 2019 Rated E Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey has a crush on her boss's son, Ben Solo. Ben is head over heels for Rey. They hang out all the time--he cooks her dinner, they cuddle on the couch. But he can't work up the courage to ask her on a real date. Rey thinks they're already dating and wonders why Ben won't kiss her.) Rocky Mountain High by reyloanne (AO3 2019 Rated M Complete, 11 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Pro tennis player Ben Solo suffers a season-ending injury in the finals of the US Open, prompting a personal crisis that leads him back home to Colorado. He just may find more than he was searching for along the way in the form of a pretty park ranger named Rey.) that's where you take me by blessedreylo (AO3 2020 Rated E Complete, 2 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Single dad Ben asks his daughters nanny Rey to live with them during quarantine so she can help take care of her while he works remote. Lots of domestic proximity and mutual pining ensues.)

#reylo #reylo fanfic

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myfeetkeepdancing · 5 years ago

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A Winter Wonder | Peter Parker x Male!Reader

Word count: 4742

🎄 Enjoy the upcoming holidays! 🎄

_______________________________________________

Everyone has their season. For some, the unbridled sun and heat waves crashing down onto our bare skin are the best days of the year. Others prefer the spring, the start of something new. The transformation from the gray, cloudy days into the brighter ones. Where warmer, brighter tints arise in mother nature's palette of colors again.

And then there was winter. A white Christmas is often said to be a cliche. We hope it happens every year. And that one year, when it really happens. It's magical. You're gaze fixed upon that white sky. Watching as the heavens slowly coated the world in a blanket of snow Feeling the flakes touch upon your warm skin. And the cold air picking at your exposed skin. A content sigh fans out as a foggy cloud in front of you. Straightening your collars and tucking on your gloves, you carefully make your way down the white covered steps. Here and there a few imprints from previous pedestrians. You can't help but smile at that crystalline crunch as you plant your feet into the untrodden fresh snow. Further down, the pavement was almost cleared of snow. The usual crowd working their way downtown. You double-check the time on your phone before you make your way down the street.

Christmas decorations are everywhere across the city. From the enormous tree in the center square, littered with twinkling lights and colorful decorations. The small market stands with sweets and drinks. Families spending their time ice-skating. Browsing shops and buying presents. As the Christmas songs finally find their place in the time of year. It's a peaceful and wonderful time.

Making your way past all the shops and malls, you end up at the usual meeting point. Walking down the snowy path, you eye that familiar bench. Peter wasn't there yet. Your eyes immediately turn to the sky in between the tall buildings. Perhaps you could see him swinging in-between. But to no avail. You turn around, taking in the stunning view across the park. Other then a few people walking their dog. It was idyllic.

Then that familiar trickle, a glowing feeling, radiating from one of your nostrils. You feel the warmth running down to your lip. Undoing your glove, you unwrap the wrinkled tissue from your pocket. The taste already on your tongue. You can already trace the first drop falling from your lip. Creating a stark contrast in the snow. Dabbing that one nostril, you stare at the sight of the red-stained snow. A sigh escapes your lips. Seating yourself on the nearby bench, you clench the tissue around your nose. In an effort to halt the bleeding. Each season also has its downside.

The squeaking sound of boots moving through the snow wakes you. "Y-You alright?" A familiar voice calls behind you.

"Peter!" Raising yourself to your feet. "I'm fine." You swing your arms wide open. Peter hesitates for a moment, looking at the blood on the floor. Then checking for a sign of blood coming from your nose, before pulling you into a tight hug. Encased into his embrace, you feel his arms squeeze around you. Peter was the only one that could give such satisfying hugs. So strong and passionate.

"It's so good to see you again!" Peter happily exclaims. Holding you close in his strong arms. Lifting you up from your feet out of excitement. "I've missed you!"

"I missed you too." You smile from ear to ear.

"Got one again?" Peter leans in and carefully studies the blood coming from your nostril.

"Time of the year." You shrug your shoulders.

"C' mere." Fully concentrated, he wets a piece of the tissue. And cleans the remains of dried blood around your nostril with great care. "Much better." He smiles. You can't help but smile back. That glow on his face. It's heartwarming.

"So, what happened to you?" Tilting your head ever so slightly. Inspecting his right cheek, a light red mark up graced his otherwise flawless skin. "Looks like you got hit by a car."

Peter chuckles as his gaze falls to the floor for a moment. Shaking his head. "I- eh…"

"You know what." You dive forward, grabbing a handful of snow. "Put some ice on it!" Tossing it into his face.

Peter, in response, puffs and blows, wiping his face clean. Laughingly throwing back the remains towards you as he almost tumbles over the bench.

You hunch forward, dodging his throw. But as you come back up, Peter reaches out for you. A massive ball of snow in his left-hand closes in. "Please! No!" You plead before he grabs you by the collar. Giggling as he drags you in. There was no chance you were getting out of that punishment. You squirm and thrash about as the ball of snow sinks it's way into your neck. Peter laughs hysterically as he looks onto you jumping around, trying to get the snow out from your jacket.

"You made your point." You puff. "But, that blush ain't masking it, Pete." You chuckle. Lightly slapping his cheek with your gloved hand. Still cold from the snow.

"Ouch." He winces away from your touch, protesting sarcastically. "That hurts."

"Oh, shut it. You'll regenerate that in no time." You remark with a smirk on your face. "Now…" Wiping the layer of snow clear from the bench. "Normal people would have chosen a warmer spot to meet up. Especially at this time of year."

"Normal people." He chuckles. "Not us." Peter seats himself beside you, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Just look at it, isn't it beautiful?"

"It's gorgeous..." Your attention gets drawn to a winter wonderland in front of you. The tall, imposing trees were now burdened with a thick layer of snow on their branches. The vibrant green grass hid away by a white frosting. Like an empty canvas, waiting for the artist's brush. The pond is frozen shut. Creating a mirror-like surface. Only a gentle breeze of snowflakes dwindling down to earth. Bringing a peaceful harmony to it all. "So, how'd you get that?" Tapping at your cheek.

"Well, I… Eh." Peter hesitates for a moment. "You know, with the w-winter and all that." Judging by his reaction, you know this was going to be good. "The cold temperatures and such..." He grins for a second, shaking his head. "I-...I crashed into a brick wall when my webs didn't connect." He smiles at you with a confessed expression. Lips pressed together. Somewhat ashamed of his action. "Damaged a fire escape in my fall."

You can't help but laugh at his story. You've known Peter long enough to laugh these moments off. Peter, of course, followed. "I'm sorry for laughing… But-" Wiping the tear rolling down your cheeks. "-you really need some winter-webs." Bellowing into laughter again.

Peter looks up, his mouth falling open. "(Y/N)." He calls out. "That's it!"

"Yeah, well. Who knows..." You chuckle as you regain yourself. Shaking the funny thoughts from your head. Trying to focus on your eureka moment. "If you think about it-" You both start rambling about the concoctions, listing different reactions and arrangements of chemical ingredients. Peter attentively nods along to your train of thought. Proposing different options and enthusiastically adding on to your ideas. Onto that scrap of paper, left in your jacket, you begin scribbling the formula. It's a symphony of ideas coming together. It flows so smoothly from the mind. As the pen flips from hand to hand. Allowing each other time to write their ideas down. Propose new things. You both gaze at the scribbles before realizing the nostalgia. You look up, giving each other an excited smile. Spotting that innocent sparkle in Peter's eyes.

"I think we're onto something." He says. "We need to test it!"

"For sure!" Handing him the folded piece of scribbles. "Now, what's left are the ingredients."

"I can fix that." As he notes it down in his phone. "I still don't get it how you didn't get into MIT." He sighs defeated. "You'd fit right in. I know you would!"

"It's what it is, Peter."

"No, it's just not fair! You-"

"Peter!" You call out, trying to get his attention again. "How's the heating in your suit?" You subtly try to change the subject. "Last time we were here, icicles dangled from your nose." Peter's face was now full of color, his nose and ears burning bright red. A vibrant smile stretched across his face.

"Mister Stark was really impressed by your work." His eyes lit up, locked with yours. Full of adoration and pride. "He did do a double-check of course. Didn't want me to burn to a crisp."

"Neither do I. But how about you?" You continue. "Do you like it?"

"I love it." He pauses. "No more chilly winds. No more runny noses. It's great!"

"Good." You nod. "Good…" And search in the pockets of your jacket. "Still got that Spider-Man scarf?"

"Of course." He chuckles. "I'm never letting that go."

"It looked so fluffy. Shame you didn't wear it."

"I'm just glad she didn't knit a sweater."

"Would've worked better than the scarf." You joke. "Alright, are you ready for this?"

Peter shifts on the bench. "So..." Leaning in, as he whispers. "What'd you manage to make out of it?"

"You're not gonna believe your eyes."

"Show me." He wiggles closer towards you...

"Check this out." You turn over your wrist and bring up your new gadget.

"That small?!" Peter's eyes widen. "Awesome!"

"Here it goes." Putting the button like thing on the inside of your wrist. You both tentatively watch in silence for what's about to happen. But nothing does. You both jump back as a puff of smoke erupts, letting it fall to the floor as metallic bits spew from the opening onto the snow. Little sparks mark the end of its life.

"Was that supposed to happen?" Peter asks, looking up at you with big eyes. Questioning your tech.

You squint, giving him a disapproving look. "What do you think, Peter?"

"I'm sorry." He apologizes. "But I'm sure we can make this work. Say, how about we do one of those weekends again? I for sure can't work on it in Mister Stark's lab."

"Does he know?"

"No, and let's keep it that way." Peter looks over his shoulder as if he expects someone listening in on him. "What do you say." He hunches closer to you." I help you fix it, if you help me with my 'winter-webs'." Awaiting your reaction. "C'mon! It's been forever!" Pushing you against your shoulder.

"Hell yeah!" You slap him against his shoulder. "I'm in!"

"Awesome! How about the days of Christmas?" He quips before you get a chance to say anything. "Spend it with us!" His eyes sparkled with excitement. Innocent puppy-like eyes stare at you. "Ooh, then we can do presents for each other!" He instantly adds on.

You can't help but share the same excitement. "Yes, please!" You clap your hands together. "Then, I don't have to babysit my awful nephews."

Peter jumps up. "Alright!" Balling a fist as a way of showing his victory, followed by a happy skip. "I'll let May know."

"Hey!" You try to call him back as he suddenly darts off. "Peter!" Picking up the mess from your failed gadget.

He stops dead in his tracks. Laughing and mumbling to himself. "I'm sorry (Y/N)." He says, walking back to you. "I... got carried away. Got so many good ideas." A huge smile on his face got you wondering what got him all worked up. If it had to be that good, you sure had to come up with something that could match his.

"Well, hot cocoa is that way.." Pointing backward over your shoulder. "Let's start with that. You owe me one." Straightening your collars, and tucking your hands in your pockets as Peter catches up with you. "After all, I'm freezing."

"You did that to yourself, dumbass." As he darts his cold hand in between your collar and neck out of nowhere.

"Peter!" You shout, running a few paces ahead.

Since you were separated last year at the end of school. You each were forced down your own path. Peter got into MIT, and you somehow didn't. There were a lot of discussions about it. The expectations for your parents. The advice from school. What you wanted.

Nevertheless, it didn't change a thing. Peter was devastated. And so were you. But life went on. It had to. But without your best friend. Without your equal. Without your lifeline.

And time pushes people apart, forces you to grow up, and requires you to evolve and be more serious with life. Almost like sucking the fun out of things. Preparing you for real life.

But being together. There was something relaxing and calming about it. Being with Peter, everything looked brighter. Better. Less daunting. More fun. Time to be yourself. And times like these really felt like a relief. Joking around, messing with each other. Spending time at the local arcade hall. Sharing a meal. Falling in those pointless nerdy conversations at the cinema, while standing in front of posters. To a point, you completely forget to pick a movie at all. Just rambling about anything. Singing along to a song together. There was so much in common. It's special. And you begin to realize that once you were forced apart. Your friendship was special. Where would it end...?

"(Y/N)?" A voice wakes you from your moment of reflection. "You want some more, sweety?" You pull your gaze from the plate in front of you. A mess of mindless mushed ice-cream laid in front of you. As Aunt May brings up the dessert platter.

"N-No, thank you, I've had more than enough." You politely waved her away. "Can you hand me that, Peter?" Pointing to the whipped cream beside him. A grin spread across his face.

"I thought you'd never ask." He happily comments. He brings up his other hand, which was encased in a metal like glove. At the fingertips, a blue like hue beamed outward. The plate of whipped cream slowly started moving upward. You both giggle and wonder at the fantastic piece of tech you two managed to rebuild.

"Boys." May sighed as the plate slowly hovered it's way over to you. "No more tech at the table. If you're finished, you-..."

Peter cocked his head towards May. Losing his concentration over the plate. "-can do the presents?!" He finishes her sentence. Causing the plate to obey the laws of gravity again. Followed by a clatter of shards and whipped cream splattering across the table. None of the three around the table were spared. A moment of silence followed. As you locked eyes with Peter, biting his lower lip. May sighed deeply, giving Peter a judgemental stare. "Sorry…May." He quietly apologized.

"Go change." She points towards his bedroom. "Both of you."

Giving you a smiling glance, Peter jumps from his chair and makes for his room. You sit in silence for a moment. Taking the napkin, wiping away the spots of cream from your face.

"So, what'd you ask for?" May asks as she starts piling up the plates.

"Nothing special that I'm aware of."

"Hmmm." She hums. "I have to say, I haven't seen him this nervous for Christmas. Like… Ever. Are you sure?" She asks, questionably frowning at you.

"I don't know…" You intended to help her clean the table. Collecting leftovers and such. But get pushed away immediately.

"Go." She waves you away with a smile." Go, do your presents. Something has Peter busy. It's too quiet in there." Wiping the whipped cream from her forehead with the towel.

"Peter?" You ask, going headfirst around the doorframe into the room. Looking around, nothing seems out of the ordinary. Peter was nowhere to be found. You make your way to your backpack, just to make sure your present was still there. From the bathroom, you hear the tap running and the sound of a toothbrush. It's been a while since you last visited Peter's room. Walking around the room, you take in the various posters. Some things have changed. But you haven't taken the time to take it in. The stack of new comics. Little tech bits and bobs he collected over time.

You fiddle a bit with his black and white Kodak camera. A stack of incredible images lay beside his desk. If only people would know who really took them. Carefully lifting the corner of the Iron Man poster, you admire the growing collage of newspaper clippings of Spider-Man. Peter is proud of what he does as Spider-Man. And he has every reason to be so. But for a long time, he couldn't share his experiences with anyone. He also wouldn't. The things that he saw and helped to prevent. Still, he isn't the type of person that would boast about it either. In the end, not even to you. But you could sense how proud he was afterwards. When you would congratulate him on his recent success. He just glowed. So you couldn't resist collecting little clippings for him to put up on his wall. A way of showing his achievements. But also that the things he does, had an impact. And if only for a very small audience, they still deeply appreciated his work. A small inset picture draws your attention. Your eye is being drawn to it. Like spotting a coin on the sidewalk. It's a clipping from last year, at about the same time.

Then you eye his drawer. You knew exactly which one to open. You concentrate on the noises coming from the bathroom. But by the sound of it, he wasn't coming back yet. So you rummage around the drawer. With a satisfied grin, you pull out the Spider-Man scarf. You can't help but sniffle as it looked so wrong on so many levels. The colors and patterns. It's hilarious. Winding it around your neck, and seating yourself comfortably on the desk chair. You grab one of the comic books lying around. And patiently wait for Peter to return. Only a few pages in, the bathroom door swings open. Peter appeared all tidied up, clean, and smelling fresh. Full of confidence.

"You wanna go?" Holding the door to the bathroom.

But before he has a chance to respond, you let the comic fall forward and shoot a web from your wrist.

"No…(Y/N)." He giggles, pacing towards you. You missed entirely. A string of web dangled from the ceiling. Peter utterly unimpressed by your actions. "Gimme those..."

You pout your lips, giving him a disappointed look. "I was hoping to at least find this wrapped." Tugging on the scarf. What followed was the inevitable tickling punishment. His strength was no match against you. In no time, Peter's strong arms had you squirming in his grasp. Removing the scarf and web-shooters from your defeated body.

"Alright, gimme a moment to freshen up." You blow and puff, catching your breath after the tickle fight with Peter. In the bathroom, you take a moment to change your shirt and tidy up. To your surprise, you find spots of cream literally everywhere. Even on your trousers. After a good clean up, you return to his room. A nervous flutter had your system scrambled. What if he didn't like your present? It kept circling in your mind. What if...

"Look!" Peter shoots up from his bed. "It's here." Handing you the comic he was reading. "I found it!"

"You can't convince me, Peter." Brushing his comic aside as you walk by.

"C'mon, (Y/N)!" He protests, flapping the page to and through. "I'll stop talking about if you read it."

"And admit I was wrong?" You quip as you look back over your shoulder. "Never…"

"Ooow…" He sighs. Falling backward on his bed.

"So, about the presents-" Taking your bag on your lap. Feeling a flutter of nerves. "May said we could open them. And eh… I...I've been-..."

"W-Wait." Peter interrupts. Nervously pacing up and down the room. "Can I-... go first?"

"Uhm, sure." Setting the bag beside you, you perch yourself upright on his desk chair. "Go for it." You give him a reassuring smile.

"C-Can-..." He stutters. "Can you… like… c-close your eyes?" He asks with his hands hidden behind his back, rocking back and forth on the heels of his feet.

"Okay." Closing your eyes and await his instructions. "I can do that."

"Please… (Y/N)." He mutters nervously. "Don't be mad. I've..."

"Peter, how can I be-..." But a waft of warm breath tingles your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. Your heart skips a beat. And your breath stocks in your throat along with the words. And before you were able to register what was happening. Your lips connect with something soft and warm. A hint of mint and freshness fills your senses. In an involuntary response, you pull away slightly, inhaling a small breath of surprise. And find yourself being drawn into it. Not only by both hands clasping onto either side of your head. But also a sudden spark igniting within. A craving. A desire. A pair of hands take the side of your head. The thumbs slowly caress your cheeks. Pulling you deeper into a slow and tender kiss.

A sense of relief. It's happiness that washes over you. You want Peter close to you. More than ever before. With your eyes closed, you reach out for his figure. Letting your fingers ghost along his body, from his torso down to his hips. Through the fabric of his clothing, your fingers lightly brush his rippled muscles. You feel his lips tremble against yours, as you reel him in towards you. Gasping a little as he throws his leg over one side, seating himself on your lap. A warm sensation shoots through your body like you never experienced before. A euphoric warmth of pure joy and bliss. His lips moving in perfect sync with yours. Kissing you slow and gentle. Your hands hold onto his hips, drawing him closer to you. Resting Peter on top of your pelvis. His fingers slide towards the back of your neck, intertwining with the end of your hair. Loosely playing with your it, as he holds you. Your lips dancing in sweet harmony. Your hands slide up and down his spine. You feel his lips curve into a smile. You both fall into a small chuckle.

As a soft moan falls from your lips as your part. You open your eyes, Peter's forehead resting against yours. You look up and lock eyes with his. Peter gazed at you with big heart eyes, sparking with tenderness and love. You watch breathlessly as his eyes studied yours with silent intensity. A blush colored his cheeks. Followed by a genuinely sweet smile, you wish never would disappear. His smile was one of happiness growing. You couldn't do anything else but return the smile. His lower lip quivered as a exhales a shuddering breath. "I love you." He said softly, before closing his eyes. Trying to hide the tears welling in his eyes.

"Peter..." You whisper, trying to get his attention. At the same time, you try to fight the tears as well. Swallow the lump forming in your throat. "Hey…" Your voice cracks. As you hold his cheeks in the palm of your hands. "Listen to me." Softly caressing his cheek with the pads of your thumb. He slowly opened his eyes, trying to blink away the tears welling in the corner of his eyes.

"I love you, Peter." Pressing your lips on his. "With all my heart."

A small tear rolls down his cheek. His cute smile still widespread on his face. "Hey...What are those tears for?" You ask, holding him close to you. Wiping away the rolling tear down his cheek.

"Tears of joy." He chuckles, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "You make me so happy." He sniffed softly, his nose all runny. "I love you (Y/N)." His eyes turned watery again, so you wrap your arms around him. Pulling him into a tight hug. Peter's head buried in your neck. "I love you so m-much..." He snickers into your ear.

"Pete… Stop." You sniffle, rubbing his back. "You're gonna make me cry as well."

"I'm sorry." Wiping his nose clean with the back of his hand. "It's the nerves." He chuckles.

"I gotta admit, Peter. You got balls." You compliment him with a kiss on the lips... "I couldn't understand why you would brush your teeth…"

Simultaneously, you both shoot back up and glance up at the sound of slow clapping coming from the door. May stands there, giving you both a look of approval. "Merry Christmas." She beams. "I've seen those heart eyes for such a long time." As she comes forward. Peter and you share a quick moment of eye contact. Not sure what was happening next. But May leans in and kisses you both on the forehead. "I guess you don't have to fight over who's going to sleep on the couch tonight, after all." She rubs your shoulder. "I'm really happy for the two of you. You two deserve each other."

In silence, you both watch May walk away. Peter's arm was wrapped around your neck, his other hand on your chest. Your one arm was wrapped around his lower back. The other hand on his hip. A lovely position. So calm and serene. Watching May leave the room. You turn to each other again. You both smile with the sense of relief, knowing that May approved of the relationship. But are then shaken up by a metal sound. "You two will definitely not be touching these kinds of things in a while." May jokes as a metal glove gets tossed through the door.

"Have fun." She gives you a wink before pulling the door shut. You can't help but chuckle for a moment. And listen for movement coming from the other side of the door. The grin on your face stretching.

"Is she gone?" You whisper, keeping your gaze locked to the door.

"I don't know." Peter murmurs back.

"But, can't you sense it with your tingle?"

"Only your heart racing like crazy." Pressing a kiss on your temple. "Hey..." Cupping your chin with one hand, making you turn your gaze to him. Kissing you very gently on the lips. "I didn't get it… What'd she mean?"

"Peter…" You chuckle. "It doesn't matter." You let your fingers brush past his cheek and hold the back of his head as you press your lips onto his. "Because you made this the best Christmas ever." And end by planting a soft kiss on top of his nose. "Thank you."

"You're everything to me (Y/N). The months that I spend away from you…" He blushes. "Have been the hardest. You complete me in every way. I don't want to be without you. Ever." He pauses for a moment, looking at you with those heart eyes and a cheesy smile. "Will you be my Christmas present?"

"Absolutely." You wholeheartedly agree. "My present wasn't boyfriend worthy anyway." You whisper.

Peter's eyes widen as his mouth falls open slightly. "Boyfriend." He giggles, spinning the desk chair around. The world fading away around the two of you. There were only the two of you. Nothing else. Now you understand what all those love songs are about. Happiness and joy. Bliss. Finally together. Wrapped in each other's arms. With a thump, you land onto his mattress. Warm and cozy underneath his sheets. Captivated in his full embrace. Cuddling, snuggling, and spooning.

"Can I unwrap my present?" He whispers in your ear, followed by a brush of his lips on the nape of your neck. While ghosting a finger along the hem of your shirt.

You roll onto your back, allowing Peter to bury his face into the side of your neck. Kissing you gently. As you rake your fingers through his fluffy brown curls. Bringing your lips to his ear. Quitely whispering to him. "If it were up to me, you and I wouldn't be laying here wrapped in the first place." Peter chuckles softly, his breath fanning across your collarbone, as his hand slowly caresses your waistline. His lips meet your jawline as he rolls on top of you.

"Never leave me (Y/N)."

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x male reader #peter parker x male!reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker #peter parker imagine #tom holland peter parker #peter parker tom holland #peter parker oneshot #christmas oneshot #spiderman x male reader #spiderman x male!reader #male reader #male!reader

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raspberryfanfics · 4 years ago

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Six—NTmonth Day 15

Day 15—Witches and Warlocks

I’m late but you don’t care and neither do I. I burned out during the first week. So here’s another Harry Potter crossover. This can be a standalone but feel free to read part one!

Part 1 on FFn

Six on FFN

—

It's quiet outside. Quiet apart from a few familiar hits of a couple of owls, breaking the cold silence with weary conversation. Yet a figure draws out of the shadow and the hooting halts for a moment, curious of the strangers walking along their path.

The person wears a long tan wool trench, though bulky, does nothing to hide an elegant figure as when she walks, her lean legs, looking taller with the pleats on her grey pants. Her leather loafers look new. Maybe she often cleans them, though it wouldn't come as a surprise if she is good enough not to get them dirty. Her hands are gloved in black. There's a scarf of red and gold wrapped tightly around her neck, the only article of clothing with colour. Her footsteps are nearly soundless but even so, the soft clicks that are made command attention among the owls, her presence powerful.

One owl hands on the black lamppost, talons scraping onto the metal as he silently folds his wings. The woman glances up and examines its shape, brings up the crook of her elbow as if placing it onto a tall counter. The bird lands on her forearm, dipping his head in greeting.

"Ah, it's you, Kaiten. It's been quite a while, hasn't it?" her voice is calm and deep, though the deepness comes from her slow calmness rather than her actual voice. Yet it is effective. Her voice makes her seem more mature than she looks, a soft face with large eyes, colour indistinguishable under the glare of the darkness, and hair tied into two buns at the sides of her head.

Kaiten hoots in greeting. There is nothing tired around his ankle, she notices.

"Are you here alone?" she smiles, "I expected him to be with you, though it could be that you are meeting him here. I am, as well."

Her words almost seem to bring the anticipated footsteps of him, his heavier, but are just as intimidating and as confident as hers. She slowly turns around and focuses on the person she has been expecting, or expecting her.

He's dressed similarly to her. However, his trench is navy rather than tan and it's unbuttoned, revealing a black vest under a white button-up that seems to shine in the dark. While her shoes are pebbled, his are smooth and glossy and reflect every bit of the light. His scarf was of the same material, a thick knit, but the colours were of blue and silver rather than red and gold. Perhaps the most distinguishable difference is his long black hair flowing down to his waist, tied into a very low ponytail with a silver band. His bangs reach his collarbones and they drift in the wind, resembling a ribbon rather than the messiness that hair usually reacts under the breeze. Though her dark eyes were hard to say much about, it is easy to see that his eyes are silver, and they stare into hers.

She stays still, holding his gaze, face without any expression. The woman doesn't allow herself to feel much at the contact. Her chin tilts down in greeting, as he does the same. As he was the one who has requested their meeting, she waits for him to speak first. She is looking for a direct answer to why she is meeting him, now, in the night, in the break they have had from speaking.

Instead, he looks at the owl, who's snowy feathers start to resemble his eyes when one looks closely and quirks the tip of his eyebrow, almost amused.

"It has been long since Kaiten has not tried to terrorize a sorcerer in his path,"

"Perhaps he likes me," she says, untying the sash of her coat and taking out a series of seeds, allowing him to eat from the palm of her hand. "Or perhaps he recalls that I carry food in my pocket. I fed him well."

He nods. "Is Bō—"

"Bō passed a couple of years back. Murdered while carrying classified information." the woman explains, nearly emotionless. However, there is a glance of sympathy in his eyes that she does not miss and confuses her, however, she does not let it show.

"It has been a while, Miss Long,"

She gives a bitter chuckle. "Are we already past the point that we cannot address each other by our first names?"

She purposely leaves out his name, not knowing what to say. She'll allow him to decide whether he wants to continue calling her by her last name or her first. So she waits for him to walk up to her before pacing with him along the cobblestone path, weaving through turns and intersections at a moderate pace. His skin looks warmer under the orange glare of the lamps but she knows of the usual paleness, resembling porcelain rather than sand. Yet her attention focuses more on the lack of accessories on his hand apart from the Hyuga crest on his middle finger and a silver swirl on his pointer.

She hasn't seen that ring before, not on him at least. Perhaps it is another crest. But she has seen it on other people and he isn't the type to engage in trends. What's more important is that there is no ring on his ring finger, which doesn't come as much as a surprise considering that he was on the newest Witch Weekly's Britain's Most Eligible Bachelors. She knows he is still officially single. Just like her.

Of the past six years, she has made four Britain's Most Eligible Bachelorettes on Warlocked Magazine and he has made all. In a strange way, it bothers her that he has remained single all these years while she has had a good handful scattered everywhere and was in a serious one in the years she didn't make the magazine. It nearly feels like he has been faithful to her, but there are far more reasons to disprove his faith.

"I'm sure you have heard of the Akastuki's rising," he starts. She nods. Since the organization started to murder people in every corner of the world, that's all the witches and wizards have been speaking of. Few people do not know of it.

"There is an order looking to defy the ministry and to rebel against them. Tsunade herself is leading it. So far, Naruto, Sakura, and Shikamaru, a few professors, and Hinata are in. There are more, but we're still recruiting. He pauses "We need you, Tenten."

She freezes. Tenten does not respond. The idea sounds like a hopeless school club but appealing nonetheless. Yet there are too many things, things she would not have thought of when they were still young that keep her from really considering.

"I'm not sure you do," she says, but she wishes so in another way that has nothing to do with the order.

"Tenten, you're the youngest witch to ever be appointed Head Auror. They say you've put 200 in Azkaban. You're more powerful than you know."

"You need my title, not my power," she says instead. "Isn't that right, Neji."

He shakes his head. "You're extremely talented—"

"I am. I am Neji, but most of the people you just told me about are better at magic than I am. They were qualified to be Aurors. Many Aurors are better than I am. I only hold the position because the minister or magic needed a drastic change. How well do you think my name and power will work when I am in Azkaban? You don't need me. You've put far more people in Azkaban than I have."

Neji Hyuga is a member of the Wizengamot. He's a part of the jury who decides on the new laws of the wizarding world and also of the results during a trial. Tenten is the head Auror, a position that is usually handed out to people in their forties, the youngest before her in their mid-thirties. Neji, on the other hand, was offered the position at twenty-one, while most Wizengamont members were at least sixty, nearly retired. It was inevitable that he would be the Cheif Warlock very soon.

He speaks of her power highly, as if his position is not much higher than hers. But their power difference was not always so drastic.

In the over four years that they had been dating, they had been going along similar paths. Both went under the three years of Auror training and made it out with high grades, his better than hers of course. He was good at everything, better at everything except for transfigurations. But a scout found him, found his calmness, his level-headedness, his intense demeanour as the perfect candidate for a Wizengamot member, despite being so young. Not to mention that his name happens to be filled with history, probably the purest of the country. Almost disgustingly so.

"We don't need your name. The organization is secret. We need your power, your position. It will be easy for you to know the details of criminals and feed false information to the ministry. You are in charge of recruiting both the trainees and the Aurors. Your intuition is astoundingly good. You can spy without the need of being subtle or cautious. Do you not understand?"

"I understand my power," she says. "But you know just as well that power will not win a war."

Neji nods. Clouds clear, revealing a moon similar in colour to his eyes. Yet the weather remains cold, the streets remain desolate. The area provides an almost nostalgic setting. It could be nostalgic.

She, Neji, and Lee, a former classmate who is now a professional Quidditch player, used to sneak out of their homes, or orphanage in Lee's case, and play. They were teenagers by the time they met, so it was mostly to play wizard's chess and Gobstones in the parks or wander into muggle stores where they'd explain the use of items to Neji.

And the winter where all of them were finally seventeen, they'd duel in the forests, able to use magic. They'd rescue frozen cats and heal injured birds, would feed stray dogs scraps of food they'd steal from the butchers. When they began dating, they came here on dates, showing him hot chocolate, then ice cream. Yet after the massacre happened near the town, a reputation developed for dark things happening and the area deserted.

This place was good for one reason: secrecy. Their history allowed them to use memories as place names and times. Here, it was convenient. It was not for nostalgia. Tenten barely spared second glances to the cafes and ice cream shops they had gone to.

Won't you join anyway?

She said nothing, unsure.

"Tenten, your righteousness surely cannot fail you now."

He was answered by a sharp how of wind and the slicking of their shoes.

"Forgive me that I do not want to participate in an order that will start a war."

"That's awfully hypocritical coming from a witch who makes money off of conflict."

"Do you not also make money off of conflict, Neji Hyuga?"

"I am trying to end the war, Tenten Long."

"How do you not think that it is what I am trying to do as well? I am neither the best nor the most experienced Auror. I am more progressive than half of them combined. Do you know how hard it was to get this promotion? While you diddle daddle in meetings and recruitments, I'm cautiously watching every action of the blood-supremacist Aurors and firing them. I'm slowly imposing more guidelines to control the brutality and the hate crime our own are committing. Less extreme measures. The new recruits have been screened so tightly that any unnecessary accounts of violence or hateful comments do not make it. But everyone is watching me. Those old members of the Wizengamot will use any excuse to get me out of power. They'll throw in a violent head who allows the uses of the unforgivables. I'm trying to end this current war, not stop the upcoming one."

Neji's face hardens. "I cannot see how someone as noble as you are so afraid of joining the order."

Tenten scoffs. "I'm not noble—"

"You know why you made Head Girl in our seventh year but didn't make Prefect?"

She recalls how he was both Prefect and head boy. And she made has wondered. She wasn't the smartest or the kindest or the most anything. Tenten had asked him countless times why he thought she had made head girl but he would never tell her.

"You were good. You brought out the best in everyone. You did what you believed was right and would make sure others would do so. I had heard Professor Yuhi say to Professor Hatake that you were the role model that all Gryffindor should aspire to be.

"She didn't," Tenten can hardly believe he potions professor would say such a thing about her. It seems all too much.

"You know I wouldn't lie about that, Ten."

She can only let her heart ache at the sound of the name he used to call her, but should not have much more meaning. She can only wince and stand her ground. "

It's been six years, Neji." she whispers as her voice drowns among the trembling leaves and rain dripping off roofs.

Tenten has held off on thinking about them since she got his owl. It has been all too much now. Six years ago, they were freshly graduated from the Auror academy. New recruits sent on easier cases. Maybe half a year later, they had gained the trust of many seniors and they were partners, developing strategies, blending together like dance partners.

She still remembers how loving him felt. It was too good, impossible, almost.

They were twenty-one. They had been dating for four years and she thought it was possible that he'd even propose. Even now, she doesn't blame herself for thinking so. He had consistently disappeared more and more. He stuttered to her more. And the chemistry wasn't gone. He couldn't have been cheating. He wouldn't ever.

But one day, he just left.

She woke up and half his stuff was gone, mostly pictures, even of them, his scarf, his favourite robes, and obviously his wand. He didn't show up to work. She was told that he resigned and she was offered to either have a new partner or to work alone. And she chose the latter.

Tenten had sent her owl to deliver countless letters to him, pouring her heart out, begging him to come back home, to work with her again, to tell her why he was gone. But he never wrote back until she found his name in the daily prophet, announcing his new position as the new Wizengamot member. She wrote to his work address and her reply only explained how he got the position rather than why he left her. And it was completely professional, not an ounce of emotion.

She had never followed Witch Weekly magazines until then, hoping for glimpses of the guy who ghosted her and broke her heart. Even now, she still isn't over him, her first love, likely her only. Tenten wonders if he still cars about her the way he did when they were seventeen.

He cast his first Patronus, the spell he could not master because it used one's most powerful memories, after their first kiss over the top of the Ravenclaw Tower, a place she should not have been. He had snuck her there. His Patronus took form as a falcon, resembling his serious and strict demeanour, intimidating and sharp.

She wonders if his Patronus has changed form, as Patronuses sometimes do to resemble one's personality. Hers has. Every time she mumbles those incantations, no matter which memory she uses, a swan spills out from her wand instead of a leopardess. It's a bird, like his. Maybe it's because she will never get over him, will always belong to him in her heart.

"Tenten, you can't possibly be naive enough to believe that this can be solved without war. It's either that or you just don't want to do anything I ask of you. The order is asking, not me."

"So you don't care about whether or not I join. Following someone's orders without a second thought of doing what you'd like to yourself," she spits out bitterly. A flinch reaches across his body. Her words may have reached deeper than she would have thought.

"Of course I agree with their course of action."

"Well, of course, you do. You always just obey rules, never bend or break them. And of course, you're a part of the order and have enough respect that even if your name leaks out, your job is secure. You still have enough money to sustain yourself for another century."

His face hardens and his adam's apple, shadows crossed deeply over his neck, bobs slowly. "I do not follow every rule—"

"One instance, Neji," she says, controlling her voice despite the way she wants to scream at him. Gravel shakes behind her.

"Ravenclaw tower. I shouldn't have snuck you—"

"That's shit, Hyuga. You snuck me into your common room and that's the only rule you've ever broken? You've never done anything. Not to sneak socks and scarves for the house-elves. To let the first-years drenched because they were lost, use the prefect baths. Stealing ingredients from the potions cabinet because some muggle-borns couldn't afford it. But no, the worst you've ever done is put a Gryffindor Head Girl in the secret Ravenclaw tower so you could kiss her into submission for the rest of her life. Tell me, did you leave me without saying goodbye because your uncle told you to or because you didn't love me. I bet it's both."

"Tenten!" he yells. His voice quivers like the leaves, he shakes with the wind.

"Dammit, Neji!" Tenten has her wand out now. She doesn't know why but she feels vulnerable and whenever she feels vulnerable, she has her wand out. "Deny it! I dare you to deny it!"

"I—I cared, but—" he doesn't muster out much after that.

"Yea, I thought so," she swallows, wraps her scarf tighter. There's a spell on it to protect her from the cold but it still feels freezing. Neji won't look at her. He won't deny or admit anything. She can only ask one thing of him. "Cast your Patronus."

The man freezes, his fists form into tight balls. She catches his every movement, analyzes his movements as she does to a suspect. But she can read suspects. She can't read him.

His lips, pale but still red from dryness, press together. Wind pushes by him, almost trying to rip through this trench coat, to unravel his scarf. His eyebrows knit but his face appears to be the only thing that moves. He doesn't reach for his wand.

"Cast it!"

He slowly shakes his head. Neji's voice runs deep. "I cannot."

Tenten bites her lips and trembles, just slightly. "Six years. It's the first time you've reached out to me in six years and still, it's not an apology. I—I just need to see if—if it has changed."

"I haven't been able to cast a Patronus in—six years, Ten," he says. "Not even a wisp."

She can't move. It's like she's petrified. Had he been broken too?

Tenten swirls her wand in a circle and yells. "Expecto Patronum!"

A silver ribbon of light flows from the tip of her wand, it starts to dip into the ground, forming into a puddle until shapes weave together into a swan. It starts to fly, around her, around him, and slowly goes into the forest behind them, exploring. Everything around them is dark, greys, blacks, but her swan is a glow of warm blue light. It makes him look lovelier, the colour of her Patronus now the colour of his eyes, glued onto it.

"Tell me why—" her voice cracks abruptly. "Why for the past six years, I've been casting a bird that represents everlasting faith instead of a leopardess that's supposed to represent fierceness.

His gaze is focused on the figure cast of her happy memories, ones surrounding memories of him and Lee, bittersweet, but also marvellous. "Every memory I had used to cast a Patronus doesn't bring me joy anymore. I cannot feel anything but guilt and regret now."

Even though she wants to say he deserves it, he deserves constant sadness, depression, six years is a long time. It's more than the time they had been dating. And he's been on all six issues of Britain's Most Eligible Bachelors—

"You bastard," she nearly sobs. "Why the bloody hell did you leave me?"

He starts closer to her. "I was wrong. You were right. You were always right. It was my uncle. I was afraid of being disowned and I thought I'd be nothing, that I would have nothing but not having you—god, Tenten, it's so much worse than I would have ever thought."

She grabs his coat collar. She knows he expects her to kiss him but she takes his wand from the pocket of his sleeve, a move they practiced when they were working together. It's usually unexpected. The feel of his wand, elm, unicorn tail, a smooth finish that's much neater than hers, still sits strangely familiar, though the stun she shoots misses barely.

Her next movement consists of taking a black wand from her own sleeve, ebony phoenix feather, and she throws his back into his hands before turning back to their unwelcome visitor. She had sensed him there, behind Neji, finally finding an opportunity to attack.

Curses, dark ones, shoot at her. Tenten reflects them with the flick of her wrist but even then, she can feel how powerful the dark arts are within him. The gravel littered across the ground lifts and she transfigures them into sharp blades fo steel. With a large wand movement, they shoot to him at a rapid speed. This attack continues, the rocks becoming knives, twigs becoming daggers.

A particularly nasty curse comes towards her and she doesn't know how well she can deflect it. She has always been better at attacking than defending.

The glow of capable blue light form around her and it isn't her spell. The shield stops even her movements. It's Neji's charm, one of the biggest and strongest ones she has ever seen. It's his clan's specialty: defence and his cousin perform them so well and she doubts that he will have a single scar after the war from magic.

The force of his shield is so strong that it knocks back the dark wizard. Tenten snaps back into focus. Through the shield, she sends a series of stuns, transfigured objects, and they move close to him, Neji shooting defensive spells as offensive ones. It's a pattern of attacks that Tenten has forgotten. Only her muscles move practised precision, using their enemy's unfamiliar to the environment to her advantage. Neji disarms him and Tenten binds him with Auror ropes.

Her pants of breath are muffled by the howling wind. Yet she can tell that Neji is also out of breath from the wispy puffs of perspiration. She strides up to the man and lifts his hood. She quickly flips back the pages of the blacklist and she recognizes him. He's Kabuto Yakushi. He's a powerful dark wizard, skilled healer, and a killer of countless of her coworkers.

Had neji not been with her, she doubts she would have been able to deflect him alone. As the same for him. Even had it been any other Auror alongside her, she knows that she simply wouldn't be strong enough.

"Well, I have to say, the show you put on was convincing," KAbuto says calmly, his glasses resting at the tip of his nose. "Caught me off guard for a moment. That's pretty rare, but nothing to think otherwise from the Head Auror and a Wizengamot member."

"Yakushi," she says, her voice cool like a snake. A smile quirks at her lips. "We've been looking everywhere for you,"

Neji glances at her. "You know him?"

Tenten nods. "He's one of the most wanted wizards in the blacklist."

"You better bring him in quickly, then," he replies.

Tenten flicks her wand and he goes unconscious, head falling back. She puts him in a sheet of paper, a spell she has invented inspired by extension charms for backpacks. Then she hands the paper to him. He knows how to use them. Neji looks very confused.

"You can interrogate him within the order."

His eyes go wide. "But—"

"I'm in. I'll join. We won't get as much out of him as you will. But you better owl me, Neji. I won't let you chase enemies by yourself. I have six times your experience."

He smiles, then it falters. "Is that how you knew he was there?"

"He followed you. It's just something you tune into being an Auror for so long."

Because even though he'd be better at many things, defence against the dark arts still being one of them, there were some things he just couldn't pick up without practice.

"Was it all just for show?" he asks.

She shakes her head. "The easiest way to lie is to tell the truth. I can't fake a Patronus."

He pulls out something from his pocket. It is the silver ring with the same engraving she had seen others wearing, he included. "The shinobi order ring. It's yours to have."

Tenten stares at it for a couple of seconds. She slides it onto her middle finger, then smiles ina bittersweet thought. He notices her smile, he always notices the little things.

"What is it?"

"Before we broke up, I—" she pauses in consideration of telling him. Tenten stares into his silver eyes, curious. The wind makes his hair drift like a silk curtain, he looks like a painting. She decides to let the confession go. It's been a while. He should know. "I thought you had avoided me those years back because you were going to propose.

Neji is silent. She can see a hint of his blush even with such minimal lighting and to know that his face is red makes her smile, despite the anxiety in revealing her hopes to marry him.

"I would have, had we had more time, had Hiashi—I'm—"

She interrupts his stammering, however adorable it may be. "It's ok. I just hoped."

Tenten kisses him on the cheek slowly. His face is warm, her lips are cold, but she only allows herself a brief moment of lingering before turning away.

The end of the alley is still cloaked in dark shadows but she feels that it looks just a bit lighter. It is, maybe it is getting brighter. She sees a wisp of white, more ribbony in texture and flowy, yet stronger in opacity compared to her Patronus. Tenten holds her breath as the animal slowly comes up behind her—it's also a swan.

Tenten feels its proximity. The swan provides her with warmth, curiosity, intrigue. These feelings are not the feelings she is used to his Patronus feeling like. Usually, they are simply of content and tranquillity, sometimes even an exhilaration that makes her stomach tumble and makes electricity flow through her body. It's cast with a different memory, though cannot imagine which one.

"The first time we met. On the train. You bought me a chocolate frog even though you only had enough money for one. The person on the card was Tsunade, you told me she was your hero." he explains. "It's the only memory of you I don't feel guilty about. I'd like to try again. I—I would marry you any day. I would wait forever."

He pulls off the Hyuga Crest from his finger, presses it into her hand. It's heavier than anything she's ever held.

"I will," her voice comes out as a whisper. It feels too soon, but she has been ready to marry him since she was 17. "But me wearing this crest will really piss off your uncle.

"That's the intention,"

Perhaps even in the six years they had been apart, the two had been completely committed to each other already.

#nejitenmonth2020 #nejiten fanfiction #nejiten au #nejiten #neji #tenten #raspberryfanfics #raspntmonth20

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imagineclaireandjamie · 6 years ago

Note

Any HRH coming soon? Absolutely in love with this fic and these two. Your writing is out of this world and I can't wait for where this story is going, it's SO SO SO SO GOOD.

This is my submission for the One Quote, One Shot challenge by @notevenjokingfic and @balfeheughlywed. The quote assigned to me (@missclairebelle) was: “Leave, then,” he said, jerking his head toward the door. “If that’s what ye think of me, go! I’ll not hinder ye.” Happy reading!

Her Royal Highness (H.R.H.)Part XX: Cuffed

It was Sunday night.

The weekend was behind Jamie and Claire (along with all of the possibilities those short hours held).

For another five nights, the cabin was behind them.

When he’d left her (fingers tangling in her hair and holding her face within inches of his, the fronts of their bodies melted together until all that separated their hearts was skin and clothes and bone), he’d whispered, “We should talk about what comes next.”

Alone as the hollow bong bong bong of the grandfather clock just outside her bathroom announced the arrival of ten o’clock, Claire sank into the bath (feeling utterly boneless) and closed her eyes.

She ached everywhere.

Between her legs where Jamie’s hips had lived throughout the preceding forty-eight hours.

Deep in her belly where a new emptiness had taken up residence.

Along the centerline of her shoulder blades where she had winched herself up from the sleeping bag on their impromptu camping trip as he closed a hand over her breast, his mouth a molten, sucking thing at her throat.

At the base of her skull where his parting words echoed (residing like an unwelcome companion to her every thought).

What comes next…

These parts of her. She knew they would continue to burn, to feel like they had been pulled taut long after dawn came and she again was the Queen, not Just Claire.

She didn’t just know that these incidental aches would remind her of their time (those precious, disconnected hours where they had blissfully lived without answering to another), she hoped that they would.

A reminder. A brand. A place for Fraser to dwell under her skin, close to the bone, twined together with the nerves and veins and vessels that made her human.

Relishing the promise of weightlessness in her bath, she lazily watched as she willed her arms to go limp and bob up from beneath the placid lavender-scented surface.

“I love you, Jamie Fraser,” she said, taking in a mouthful of milky-white bathwater. It was the first time she’d said it aloud in the bounds of her own room, in the palace where she lived for a portion of the summer. The emptiness in her belly filled (just for a moment), her heart skipped (just for one-half of one beat). She let her mouth rise up from beneath the water, drew breath, and whispered it again. “I love you, Jamie Fraser.”

Smiling to herself, she perched her feet on the edge of the tub and sank until her entire head was underwater.

She had never known it was possible to smile while screaming.

The next morning, the palace was alight with a flurry of activity as her staff prepared to depart for Balmoral.

It was the traditional second leg of the Crown’s summer in Scotland.

She was ready.

For the change in her environment (salted air and open places).

For the change in pace (the unending liveliness of Edinburgh left behind, stables where it would not be unusual for her to wander off for a ride throughout the day and disappear onto the grounds, more casual clothes, fewer official duties).

For the opportunity to put to good use the corridor between her staff’s living quarters and her own (nights in dressing gowns, trying and failing to hold back laughter as she pawed her way down dimly-lit hallways with Fraser, grabbing greedily for his waistband).

It was just as she finished gathering the things she wanted from her desk on Monday morning that Mrs. Fitz furiously blew into the study with a newspaper clutched in her hand.

“Yer Majesty,” she breathed, her voice reedy from exertion. Claire looked up from the handful of correspondence (from said Colonel) that she was banding together with a floral-printed silk scarf, nodded. Mrs. Fitz winced as the door swung shut, slamming behind her. “Colonel Fraser isna here… he’s been– weel… he’s been…”

Nonplussed, Claire asked, “Where is he?”

“Jail, ma’am.”

If given a hundred opportunities to guess where Colonel Fraser was, she was certain she would never have guessed the answer. With a spinning head and dropping stomach, Claire’s mouth tried for words, her soft palate becoming that of an infant (an obstruction in the process of trying out new sounds).

“For… what?” she managed, tripping over her words and resting her trembling hands on the edge of her desk as she rose.

Mrs. Fitz held up the newspaper, adding, “Ye need to ken somethin’ else.”

Claire took the folded paper from Mrs. Fitz and scanned its contents quickly.

It was a moment that Claire would come to think of as her death.

The article was lengthy, accompanied by photographs.

An official state photograph of Claire with Frank at the announcement of their engagement (her smile tight to her own eyes, back ramrod straight beneath his hand).

A snapshot taken of Claire by Frank in Norway (one she remembered him taking by virtue of the fact that she was seeing the photograph in print). She was cocooned in a chunky woolen knit and denim and sitting on a mountain of pillows reading in front of a fireplace.

A portrait of sorts of her ring, onyx and diamonds (one that sat in the palace museum open to the public in London along with various bits of ceremonial regalia in the service of the Crown over the years).

A grainy image of the ring next to the insignia of the local police force and two rulers (the word “RECOVERED!” beneath it screaming up from the page at once like both a howl of pain and nails on a chalkboard).

“What is this?” Claire asked, knowing as she clutched her ring finger and realized for the first time that the ring was gone.

“Ma’am, I… they… have him.”

Like a leaf in the earliest gasps of autumn, the news clipping drifted down down down until it came to rest on the desk.

“The police. He was arrested when he arrived home… from dropping ye off last night.”

The questions, exclamations, profanity scuttling around in her head fought with her lungs for airtime. The only thing that came out, though, was a choking gasp, like food gone down the wrong pipe or grief that became too much for a body to shelter. It sounded like his name.

Suddenly, she realized that screaming “I love you” underwater was not at all like the feeling of drowning inside yourself while standing on dry land.

Jamie.

In decidedly less accommodating quarters across the city, James Fraser was contemplating the fact that he had spent many nights in a German war prison.

This, with its butter-yellow slivers of sunshine, watery, lukewarm tea, and scratchy blankets, was nothing.

Bowing his head, he sighed.

After saying goodbye to Claire (his heart, his reason), he had not even made it to the door of his flat before his hands were wrenched behind his back and secured in handcuffs. His wrists stinging from the overly-aggressive slap of metal, he asked what it was that the officers (three of the local police force’s finest and three uniformed palace guards) believed he had done.

A ring had been stolen from the Queen’s private collection.

His mind whirled, the denial spilling easily (truthfully) from his lips as his head bowed (a ring? the Queen’s private collection? when? was it found?). One officer shoved Jamie’s head low and folded him into the backseat of an unmarked, nondescript black car. The insult hurled at him by one of the officers of the Queen’s guard (“ye piece of shite, ye’ve no loyalty”) coincided with his decision that under no circumstances would he ask to speak with Claire.

Oh Christ, Claire. Certainly, she would know that this was a lie, right? A misunderstanding?

The night was long, and he did not manage to sleep more than a wink or two. His bladder ached shortly before dawn, and he took a piss in the small silver portable urinal on the corner desk. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he shook his head. His weekend of stubble had seemingly devolved into a fully disreputable-looking shading along his jaw.

“At least ye look the part if ye’re in the clink,” he mumbled to himself, finishing and setting the urinal back on the desk. “And now ye smell like piss.”

In the amber haze of lost time, a day coiled around and around outside of the jail until the sun was high in the morning sky. Inside the jail, as he sipped the watery tea and ate a bowl of gritty porridge, he composed a letter to Claire (in his mind only, for he was in want of a pen and a scrap of paper). He spoke to the walls, counting the painted bricks, and found in the truth what he hoped he would be able to say to her (he didn’t take her ring, had no clue what ring had been stolen, he would give anything to see her, to explain).

Based on the angle of sun cutting through the small window, he presumed it was around midday. It was then that the metal-on-metal scraping clunk in the pass-through got him to his feet. Though he had been in jail for less than half a day, Jamie knew what role had been preordained for him. He turned, took three awkward steps backward to the pass-through, slipped his hands through the small opening, and winced as the cuffs slapped closed over his already-bruised wrists.

Two minutes and a long walk down a damp hallway later, the guard deposited Jamie in a sparse room with a desk (an uneven, wobbling thing with one too-short leg), a morning edition of the day’s newspaper (disassembled into various sections and reshuffled together in an uneven, ragged manner), an abused collection of paperback books (though missing their covers and title pages, Jamie could tell that they were the type of classical literature he could quote from memory), a telephone (he could not think of a single person who he wanted to speak with who he knew how to contact; the only person he wanted and needed to speak to was beyond unreachable), and a mismatched set of hand weights on a rubber mat.

“Ye’ve got an hour, Fraser.”

Jamie offered a lame smile and held his breath until the barred door to the room closed.

Seated, he paged aimlessly through a few books, his attention catching only long enough for the titles to register and immediately fall out of his brain.

He did a few bicep curls with the heavier of the two weights, and then turned to the newspaper.

He read a story about a man in London who was sentenced to death after eight bodies were found in his Notting Hill home. He read about a series of science fiction novels being made into a multi-part television program. And then he found what was ostensibly the first page of the newspaper.

His eye was drawn to the headline first (RECOVERED!).

And then the photograph – the ring with its onyx and diamonds.

Claire’s ring.

The photograph did what the mere mention of the ring had not. It brought the mental image of it sitting on that bathroom counter to mind. His heart sank. He had not seen it on her hand since, had not felt the cool metal of it resting heavily on his chest as she slept or watched her wrench it back onto her delicate finger before returning from the camping trip.

He rose and dialed the number without thinking.

And when his sister answered on the third ring, he fought the instinct to weep.

“Jen,” he breathed, all the air evacuating his lungs.

“Mallaichte bas!” Jenny hissed. “I’ve been callin’ ye nonstop. Maggie found a ring at the cabin, and the police called. I tried to–”

“I’m in jail,” he interrupted. “They think I stole it.”

Against the silence of the line, he swallowed, used her Christian name, bowed his head against the wall.

A denial would mean that the ring was there because she had been there. Save the truth (a sordid, torrid tale), there was no good reason for the Queen to have been there (in that damp ramshackle cabin with the tilted porch adjacent to a town that barely warranted a dot on a map of Scotland). And he could not do that to her – to expose her to the shaming of a country (her country).

“Aye,” Jenny confirmed, a whisper. “They think that ye stole it, that ye stashed it at the cabin.”

“Do ye think I stole it?”

His eyes closed as he waited for his sister’s response. For some reason it mattered to him (deeply) that his sister not think him a thief, that he had someone who could hear the truth, not judge him.

“I ken ye are no’ a thief, brathair, which means she was… there… in the cabin. And there’s precisely one reason that I can think of her being there wi’ ye, for the sheets to be mussed in only one bedroom as they were.”

Jamie sank a thumbnail into a sliver of missing mortar between the bricks, watched the surface crumble beneath the slightest pressure.

“I didna steal it, Jen, and she’s in a bad situation if it was there, she canna be runnin’ around wi’ me –”

“What will ye do?” she broke in, knowing in her gut that her brother (the noble, self-sacrificing one who refused to let his niece go without new shoes for the fall or his nephew go without a book to read by the lake) already had a plan. He had called to see if he could fill in a blank, to figure out what had gone sideways and how. And now he had a plan.

“I’m going to tell them that I took it at the state dinner where it…”

A breath. Another. The feeling of a heart cracking, of the nebulous promise of forever evaporating.

“It’s where it started, ye ken. A dinner. I found her, and I…

“Oh, Jamie,” Jenny sighed, her voice taking on the tone he knew his sister reserved for barn kittens and her own bairns. “Ye love her, don’t ye–”

“The ring. I’ll say I took it. That she didna ken.”

And that was that.

He was going to confess.

Hours later, Jamie had penned a lengthy statement about his theft. Idly, he wondered if it could be considered treason when it was property of the Crown. Had he confessed to something more than snagging something shiny? He folded the pages, tucked them into an envelope, and sent them away with the guard to transmit to the court. In the morning, he would see a solicitor and a magistrate. He would try to make this as easy as possible for her (for his Sassenach Queen, his Claire, his everything). His confession would mean there was no statement from her necessary. All that was required would be an official notice from whoever wrote such things that her staff had trusted the wrong man, and that there was no remaining threat to the property of the Crown.

The Crown Equerry would be but a fading memory, an empty position to be filled by some other mildly-competent horse lover.

He was settling onto his back, his legs crossed at the ankles and his hands behind his head, when the hollow crack of a baton sounded down the hall. “They tell me that ye’ve got a visitor, Fraser,” the jail guard said gruffly, plainly disgruntled that his evening of lounging with feet up on a desk had been disrupted. “Some sort of special case, but they dinna tell me anythin’, just that ye’re to come up. Come suit up.”

For the second time that day, his hands were cuffed, and he made his way down the long hall. He was transferred to the custody of two members of the Royal Guard. His heart began a Titanic-like descent to the bottom of the icy ocean of his stomach.

Claire.

It was a pipe dream, he thought, but when he entered the room she was in the corner. Her back was to him and her head tipped back, loosely pinned curls falling to the back of her sweater.

“Uncuff him,” she demanded before turning on her heel, eyes like kindling ready to spark. As one of the guards began to stumble for words, she snapped, “Immediately. I did not stutter.”

“I dinna have the keys, Yer Majesty, I-”

“Find them.” The guards turned to one another. “And you will leave to do so.”

“Ma’am, are ye sure–”

Claire squared her shoulders, crossed her arms over her stomach. “If you do not leave this instant I will have both of your jobs.”

As though connected to one another by a string, both guards nodded and left them. It was only a moment before one was back with the key to free Jamie from the handcuffs.

Claire nodded, raising her chin towards the door until the guard stepped through the threshold.

“And the door. Shut it. Do not enter again unless expressly authorized to enter after knocking by me.”

When the door clicked shut, Claire’s face melted and she took two steps, firmly planting herself against his chest and winding her arms around him. “Oh Christ, Jamie. Are you okay?”

He fought the urge to embrace her, to draw her close and inhale the soft elderflower and bergamot scent that lingered like springtime in the gentle indentation where her shoulder met her neck. He remained limp in her arm, one hand traveling to the back of his neck. He swallowed, made an anemic attempt to pull back from her ferocious embrace. “Ye’re no’ wearin’ the ring that I stole–”

“Do not dare joke right now, Fraser,” she snapped, holding him tighter, kissing him on the jaw. “We are going to come clean. I am going to get you out of here. I have my staff working with the police on it.”

Pulling back, she smoothed a hand over his jaw, tested the stubble just above his chin with her thumb.

“You have no clue how hard it is for even the Queen to get someone out of a Scottish jail. Your kind are brutally stubborn, Fraser.”

He fought the urge to smirk, to agree with her, to joke back that it was what she loved most about him. Humming, he let his nose nudge a curl from her temple, to allow his hands to rest at the small of her back just where her flesh started to swell up into the familiar curve of her arse. “Claire, we canna ‘come clean,’ to use yer words.”

He watched the delicate line of her throat as she swallowed, the gentle lift and fall of her collarbones under the exhalation before she finally said, “What?”

“I canna do that to ye. To make loving me a scandal.”

“Jamie…”

Her voice was tremulous, tears transparent in their threat to rim her lower eyes, to fall down those round cheeks.

Jamie said nothing.

The first tear fell, then the next, and a third, and then her chin trembled as she pursed her lips.

He had expected tears, expected her to cry. He was no fool. He knew that the love she felt for him was infinite in an unbounded, inarticulate way, that the threat of losing that love would devastate her. But he also knew that the love she felt for her country was ancient, a blood right that existed for her long before either of them had existed as an abstract longing in their parents’ eyes, before their parents and their parents’ parents had been conceived or born. He had fought for Queen and country, put his life on the line for it.

“Fraser… stop.”

With the flat of his thumb, he collected tears and wiped them away, fighting the urge to kiss her where the wet tracks made the powder on her cheeks disintegrate.

For her part, Claire felt the whimper building in her guts, fighting to come out so that the world could know that this was her second death of the day, that she was losing everything. Instead, she squared her shoulders, shook her head. “You cannot possibly be ashamed of me, and you cannot possibly think you’re doing me a favor.”

“We are no’ ready to be public–”

“–we would never be ready to be public, Fraser.”

“I’m no’ the type that ye can marry, and I–”

“You are wrong. You are precisely the type that I can marry. I love you.”

“I couldna do this to ye, to subject ye to rumors. That ye carried on an affair, that ye came to that cabin to fuck me. Your reputation would be ruined, and–”

She started to laugh, her body wracking against him as she started to cough. “You don’t love me. Is that it?”

“Don’t be daft,” he muttered, shaking his head as he used a word he had adopted from her vocabulary. “It’s got nothing to do wi’ how much I love ye, Claire.”

“And yet you do not want a life with me, a life for us to make our own?”

“It’s to protect ye, Claire. Ye canna be the leader that we need if the noise of me drowns ye out–”

“You will not even try then? To make a life with me, to try to exist in the world I have to live in. You do not want to fight for us?”

“Ye ken that’s no’ it. I canna make it any clearer for ye, Claire. I canna let ye walk away from yer entire life for me.”

“Oh, you have made it abundantly clear, Fraser.” She straightened the edge of her cardigan, shook her head. She opened her clutch and dabbed carefully at the tears on her cheeks. “You are a coward.”

He pulled back from her, shook his head as he bit down on his lower lip. “Leave, then,” he said, jerking his head toward the door. “If that’s what ye think of me, go! I’ll not hinder ye.”

It was the parting glance that she gave him that finished him off – a once over with defeated eyes, glowing amber and storming with anger, disappointment, heartbreak.

“Goodbye, Fraser,” she whispered as she took her clutch under her arm.

“Claire, I…”

His voice faded.

She was already gone.

#crookedfestivalalmondknight #one quote one shot #HRH #Her Royal Highness AU #jamie x claire #Part XX #;mod kate

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bugaboowritings · 5 years ago

Text

Are You A Superhero? - Not So Miraculous AU

Doing What A Superhero Would- Walking a Kid Back Home in a Chilly Winter Night

“Are you a superhero?”

It was a simple question and honestly one that would be laughed at, but she wouldn’t even dare to do that. Not when that question brought back a feeling she thought died a while back.

What do you do when you have no powers? You kick ass in a Ladybug mask, of course! All as you keep it a secret . . . well, try to at least. It was a secret before some kid saw you . . . .

—-

Her ears tingled as she went from hearing the loud sound of smashed glass to the serene silence that snow brought into the air as it falls and packs down on driveways and window shutters. Her senses had to readjust while the sharp air dove into her warm lungs and her shoes felt hot and heavy as the frost crunched under her weight. It felt a bit anticlimactic, she just escaped having a knife to her throat and now she was surrounded by the calm, dancing snowflakes.

A chill came up her spine.

“Are you a superhero?”

Her hand hovered over her belt before she stopped herself a millisecond before pulling out something with a trigger. Like if a pin coated with poison poked her spine, Marinette stood paralyzed.

It was a child.

A kid on the concrete sidewalk with a backpack over their small shoulders.

She didn’t think anyone would cross this part of town. Wait, no- Marinette knew that no one would cross this street for the minutes she planned on staying. She has been scouting the area for weeks and no one passes here during the morning, night, or noon. Not a single car or a single piece of trash. Not a drunk or a lost bystander. No one wants to walk on this side of the city. Especially at breaking dawn.

No one expect the awful people in the abandoned building behind her. Still- they never left the building unless some black van pulled up on Tuesday at 8:15.

Luckily, it was 7:30.

Meaning no witnesses.

No worries.

No danger.

No innocent people in danger.

However, even with all the precautions, Marinette was spotted leaving the crime scene. Her eyes swept the street back and forth, ready to jump away into the darkness if anyone else came along. Her heels were ready to push her back- Yet, she stood there as the kid with the big bug eyes stared right back at her.

Paralyzed and surprised.

Marinette could only imagine what the kid was thinking, watching a stranger lurk in the streets of Paris. Especially as the day dipped down and hues of purple and oranges brushed across the winter sky.

For a split second, they seem like they were two worlds crashing into each other. The kid’s naive nature drew a sharp contrast to Marinette’s fists and mask. Her face was grown and her features were sharp while the kid still had baby fat on their cheeks. The kid wore color layers as she sported sable color-palette with touches of red. Yet, even with their differences, they both felt their face get scrapped and the warmth thinning from their body as the wind blew a little harder.

They both need to get out of the cold.

Marinette’s hair and ears froze stiff as the snow settled gently on her black hair. Forming a little white halo, serving as a contradiction to what she really was. The heat she had before died in the palms of her hands. The adrenaline from punching and wrestling feather-out in her breaths that fog up the air.

Leaving her system in nice, long dragon breaths.

“A superhero?” Marinette whispered as her teeth pulled down her lips. Tasting her lip balm and feeling it stick to her tongue and teeth. She hasn’t heard that anyone call her that in like forever.

“You know, like the ones from the comic books?” The kid repeated. Shuffling their feet together in what seems like an early form of anxiety, but the kid’s eyes didn’t leave Marinette’s. Deep and pearly eyes that wouldn’t leave until they got an answer.

The child had to be around 6 or 7 years old. Honestly, Marinette couldn’t really tell with all the colorful layers they wore. Even with their stacks of scarves protecting their lips and nose from the chilling wind, a little slip of skin showed that the bridge of their nose glowed bright red.

A superhero? From a comic book?

Mari tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, swallowing the words that clouded her mind.

Her- A superhero?

God, that sentence brought back something she thought crawled in a corner and died. Her blue eyes glanced back at the kid with the oversized backpack. Whatever their age, they were definitely too young to remember her. Too young to wake up to the reports of a cat and bug jumping over roofs and swinging off and over towers. Too small to scream and jump up and down when they spot a girl in red and black spots. Too much of a baby to understand that she and her partner were the reason the world still stood. Too little to be wearing her out-dated merch. Too green to even remember who she was.

And definitely too young to call her a superhero.

Little sniffles brought Marinette back to reality, snapping her out of her thoughts as she proceeded her answer. Her senses came back to her, waking up from the numbness of the winter cold and cutting off the memories that swelled in her chest. Overwhelmed by the small moments on rooftops she treasured, only to remember that they were gone. Reminding herself where she was now and who she was now.

Anything, but a superhero.

Marinette bit her lip a little harder, scolding herself for not saying anything. She was most likely scaring the kid just by standing there and saying nothing at all.

Honestly, who wouldn’t be?

You see a woman walking into an abandoned building, only to come out with blood from the other guy on her knuckles.

Who wouldn’t be scared?

Her eyes clicked down to the child on the sidewalk.

Yeah, but this kid didn’t seem a bit terrified.

The kid’s face remained emotionless or look like it. Their hat covered their eyebrows so Marinette couldn’t really tell what they were feeling even if she wanted to know. Marinette’s eyes trace the lines of their face, not helping herself when she saw the pattern on the hat was definitely crocheted and then the scarves around their neck were knitted. Then the gloves on their thin fingers were hand-me-downs due to the style and color. Those same gloves were used as tissues as the kid occasionally brought their hand to face to wipe their nose after sniffing a few times. Their dark blue jacket puffed up around their shoulders and stretched over their thumbs, another sign that the kid had layers on layers under.

It brought this sort of warm feeling in her. Reminding her how her father would rummage around the closets just to find her “one more thing” before she went outside to play in the snow. Then how her mother would pull that stiff beanie over her ears and kiss her forehead. Sending her off when they open the front door and let the cold breeze in.

That warm feeling brought cold water down her back.

It’s late.

Too late for someone this small to be out here alone at night. Especially here. Judging from the clothing, someone at home would definitely be worried. And if they waited any longer than the child would definitely end up with a nasty cold, even with all those layers of jackets.

“What makes you think I’m even one?” Directing her mind back to their question at hand. Not helping the stressed chuckle that slipped her lips as she crouched down to their height. Hoping that her small laugh would put the kid at ease. Even if she looked over her shoulder and tensed up as another gush of wind pushed up her hair.

She needs to get this kid out of here. Quickly.

Inside of the building behind her was the unconscious group of human-organ traffickers, all tied up and ready for the police to come to handle the rest. Knowing that around 8:15 PM, a black van will pull up expecting anything but handcuffs. Marinette knew that she was safe, but this child?! She knew she did her job and a good one so the criminals inside were definitely out cold, but the last thing she could ever do is leave someone out here with them nearby.

Or was that all a dumb reason to have a chance to direct this kid home? Or to hear them call her a superhero, just one more time. A title that seems to bring a sense of nostalgia and-

The gears in Marinette’s brain spun a little faster as she thought over the real problem in front of her.

Why is this kid even here? Where are their parents? And-

“You fought that guy that was hurting the owner of the corner store.”

“I-,”

The store robbery. The unexpected rescue that almost blew her cover. Chat chewed her out for that and was his trump card whenever they got into fights for that whole week, but she knew that if she didn’t jump in - he would have instead.

“-And now too.”

“Now?”

“Yeah, right now.” The child repeated, shaking their head with a grin. Their little gloved hand reaching up to adjust the wool on their mouth.

“You’re dressed like a superhero. With that mask, boots, and red superhero armor. You even got a cape!” The child exclaimed. Pointing eagerly at Marinette’s outfit. Her boots were a little out of place to brush it off as her daily shoes. Her superhero ‘armor’ was nothing but the protective padding around her torso and shoulders. The cape was just the silhouette of her trench coat. It’s oversized so it did give a cloak feeling to it.

Marinette pulled the belt of her coat a little tighter.

“I- Look it’s late and you shouldn’t be here,” Marinette huffed. Nodding her head towards the nearest bus stop.

“Did you get off at the wrong stop or are you lost?”

“I’m walking home today. My Dads are at work and told me to wait for them-but ... I couldn’t really stay at school so I decided to take the bus.” They stumbled over their words, getting really quiet before they opened their mouth again- but Marinette already got the picture.

“Come on then,” she sighed, tucking her own scarf over her face before reaching out her hand. Before she could ask, a pair of small fingers curled around her palm. Feeling those hand-me-down gloves not doing any good as the fabric felt thin and light. Unconsciously rubbing them between her thumbs to warm them up.

“Let’s go before your family gets scared, okay?”

“Okay.” The child answered before grabbing her arm a little tighter.

——-

“Your teacher sounds nice.”

“Ms.G is mean at times though.” The child added, correcting Marinette’s statement as they kicked the stone under their shoes. Hopping over the black gum on the sidewalk before adding the fact Ms. G yells when the other kids don’t listen to her during recess.

Marinette hummed again. Letting the kid speak to fill the chilly air and silent between them with the story of their day. Asking short questions to get them to speak more and more until they reached the kid’s home street. This one-sided conversation help pass time a little faster and put the kid at ease. Once getting there, Marinette couldn’t help but notice it seemed a bit familiar. Maybe it was because of the decorations and ribbon hanging from the windows and doors.

Another chill ran up her neck, the cold nipped her skin a little more before she tugged on her coat a little tighter, feeling the padding on her belly rather than the squish that her jeans would cover. Fumbling with her buttons before she sighs another cloud into the air. Keeping her hand entangled with the kid’s before she drops down to their height.

“There, by the light post, is that your house?”

The kid looked up and with a crooked smile- nodded. The pom-pom on their hat bounced before quickly thanking her. Telling her that she just had to meet “Dads” so they could show them that they got home safe thanks to her.

But Marinette brushed off that invitation. Explaining how she has to get home too before someone starts worrying for her.

It pained Mari to have to let go of the kid’s hand even though she just met them some minutes ago. It seems to hurt a little more when they asked for her name and she couldn’t answer. So she did the best thing she could do, she played the superhero role.

“It’s a secret.”

“I can keep a secret.” The kid responded coy.

“Yeah well, it’s a superhero secret and if I tell you then my identity would be in danger.”

The kid’s face lit up much like the light decorations around the neighborhood.

“So you ARE a superhero then!”

“Ha, sure.” Marinette smiled. Standing up to her full height before motioning them to start walking to their door.

But the kid didn’t move away but just step a little closer.

“So what is your superhero name, then?”

“I-“ Stumped on what to say next before it hit her. It all seems like an old memory, a classic case of deja vu. Except for this time, it wasn’t a blond wearing leather asking.

“I’m Ladybug.” She beamed, cocking her head to the side- letting her bangs slide over, giving the kid a better look at her mask.

It took four tries to get right, but it became the perfect mold of her face with patience and practice. Slipping easily on and staying on. It was even red and spotted too, much like the old gear she had back in high school.

“Ladybug…” the child repeated. Chewing the name in their mouth before accepting it.

“Thank you so much, Ladybug! I’ll promise that-“

Then she was gone. The woman that just walked them home and to safely had disappeared into thin air. All without a trail of snow prints to follow.

Before the kid could call her out, the front door opened. Quickly feeling the warm lights cover their back as two sets of arms pulled them near.

“God, you had us so worried!”

“Where were you?!” A red-head shouted, alternating from pulling his child close and yelling on how scared they were.

“Dads! You will never believe who I met?” Exclaimed the child, ignoring their parents’ shouts as they went on explaining the lady that walked them home and save them when that robbery happened last week and who-

The child threw their hands up and around, it was quite cute to watch. Marinette couldn’t stop the small chuckle that leaked from her coral lips as she watched the ‘show’ from the rooftop. Noticing how the kid’s parents seem confused, angry, and then relieved and then back to confused when the kid said her name.

“-then I got home thanks to the help of Ladybug! She saved me and she-“

“Ladybug?”

“Yeah, Ladybug! She was wearing this mask and had this coat and then she had this superhero armor over her clothes!”

The parents pulled their kid in the house and even with closed doors, Marinette could still hear the kid boast about her.

The kid with the bug eyes couldn’t stop gushing over the red bug.

Wait, until the cat hears about this.

#ml #miraculous ladybug #miraculous the tales of ladybug and chat noir #my writings #lee writes #fic #ml fic #marinette dupain cheng #a short drabble #my writing #my fic #no so #miraculous au #ml au #au #happy holidays #aged up #aged up au

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