#In need of a little midday pick-me-up? You’ve come to the right place. There’s no denying the overwhelming joy that cute baby animals bring

[veerpal-8279]

[puckinghischier]

Jersey Talk

nico hischier x fem!reader, jack hughes x platonic!reader, luke hughes x platonic!reader

summary: reader finds herself engaging in a lot of jersey talk

notes: part 3 of my lil unnamed nico series!! i loved writing this part and hope you enjoy it as much as i do 🥹 also, i didn’t really proofread so ignore any mistakes. and just a disclaimer, i don’t claim to know everything there is to know about any of the players mentioned in my writing, so if there’s inaccuracies on timelines or personality traits, just ignore them and assume it’s for the plot 😌

p.s.!! i’m thinking about starting a tag list for this/any of my writing i post so if you want to be a part of that, let me know!!

part 1, part 2, part 4

[6.4k]

You absolutely love how foot travel friendly New Jersey is. Coming from an area where foot travel is virtually nonexistent, the change is a welcomed one. You appreciate being able to simply grab your favorite totes, your headphones, and make the fifteen-minute walk to the small corner store. Surely in the winter you’ll feel differently about the five-block trek, but hopefully you’ll have your car by then. For now, the comfortable Autumn air makes the walk enjoyable. The fresh air, the beautiful buildings, and the surprising friendliness of the strangers you pass on the street make you feel like you made the right decision in relocating your life to the garden state.

Luckily this grocery run was fairly light, only needing to pick up some essentials until one of the boys gives you a ride to the larger chain grocery store on one of their upcoming off days. You really just needed the ingredients to make dinner tonight, making good on your promise to be their personal shopper and occasional chef in exchange for a place to live. You even stopped in a small bakery about a block from your apartment and picked up a few assorted pastries for a sweet treat later, knowing how much Luke loves his dessert.

As you walk into the apartment, courtesy of your shiny new key Jack gave you last week, you see both him and Luke on the couch, each with one hand on an iPad held out so both could view the contents on the screen. You assume they’re watching game film, preparing for their game later in the week against the Rangers. Your assumption is confirmed when you hear the unmistakable sound of sticks slapping against pucks and ice coming from the iPad in question.

They’re both so engrossed in the game film on the screen that they have no clue that you’ve even walked through the door. You make your way to the kitchen to unload what’s in your hands, putting away what little groceries you bought. Once you’re finished in the kitchen, you make your way back out into the living room, wanting to catch up with your roommates on how their midday practice had gone. As you walk towards the living area, rounding the loveseat adjacent to the sectional where the boys sit, Luke catches your moving figure from the corner of his eye. His body jerks slightly, clearly startled until he notices its only you.

“Oh my god you just scared the shit out of me,” you hear him exhale, holding his hand to his chest.

You just chuckle as you see Jack whip his head up, confused as to what Luke was referring to until he saw you sitting down, tucking your feet up under your legs to get comfortable.

“When did you get home? Have you been here the whole time?” Jack asks, pausing the game film and sitting the iPad on the small coffee table in the center of the room.

“No, you two were just lost in hockey land when I came in. I went to the corner mart a few blocks down to get stuff to make dinner, then put it all away before coming in here. Thought I’d give you guys a few more minutes before I came in here and interrupted,” you replied, resting your chin on your hands that are placed on the arm of the loveseat.

“Well, you have our full attention now. What’s up?” Jack leans back into the couch once again, stretching his arms above his head.

“Just wanted to talk to my boys. See how practice went today. Figure out how you guys are going to fare against the Rags,” you throw in a small dig at their biggest rival team.

“The Rags? Since when do you participate in hockey talk?” Luke chimes into the conversation, laughing slightly at your attempt to assimilate into the world of hockey.

“Since I overheard a conversation at this cute little bakery down the street. While I was waiting in line there was a man in front of me with a Devils hat on and the guy working the counter was asking him about his thoughts on the game this week. He was talking about how much he wishes ‘the boys can pull their heads out of their asses and beat the damn Rags’ and I thought it was funny. Figured I should probably adopt the local vernacular if I want to fit in around here. You know, participate in the Jersey talk,” you recall with a shrug of your shoulders.

The two brothers let out a little chuckle at your story, amused at your attempt to insert yourself into their world. The two of them and Quinn taught you a lot about how hockey is played and the rules over the years, but their hope of you fully getting involved in all of the aspects of hockey and the fanbase quickly dissolved. They would sit and force you to watch reruns of games with them over the summer at the lake, and you would sit there and whine because of how badly you wanted to go out on the boat or drive the golf cart down to the local ice cream shop, not listening to a single word the trio would say to you. Once you made the decision to move in with the two youngest brothers, you figured you should probably put a little more effort into the whole hockey fan experience, considering you would likely be attending games on a regular basis.

“Well, we’ve been preparing for the Rags, so that old man in the bakery can rest easy knowing we’re working our asses off, which our heads aren’t in, by the way,” Jack speaks, correcting the stranger’s statement.

“Yeah, we’re doing really well, actually. We keep splitting the team up and forcing one half to mimic the Rangers and some of their techniques, so we’re actually getting really good at stopping them from getting the puck into our zone. Plus, our goalies are putting out some insane stops during practice, so I really think we’ve got this in the bag,” Luke adds, excited to showcase their hard work.

You’ve noticed that practices must have been hard for the boys this week. A lot of naps and ibuprofen consumed. You haven’t really seen much of them, if you’re being honest. They’re usually gone by the time you wake up in the mornings and so tired by the time they come home that they go straight to the couch or their bedrooms and fall asleep. By the time they wake up from their naps you’re usually already cooking dinner, at least getting to chat a bit while you cook. After finishing dinner they’re back to the couch, watching game film or heading back to the arena for various events and strategy meetings. They go to bed fairly early, considering all of their early morning starts, so evenings are usually spent in your room by yourself watching tv or catching up with your friends back home. You suppose you should get used to spending time by yourself, though, knowing you’ll be here by yourself more often than not during the season.

They had a game in Boston a few days prior, leaving you with your apartment to yourself for the first time in the two weeks you’ve lived with them. They were only gone for one night, but it was definitely lonely. You really haven’t been here long enough to have an abundance of people to call up anytime Jack and Luke were unavailable, so you had passed the time by exploring the area around your apartment complex a little, finding the perfect park to go sit at to soak up some much-needed sunshine. You couldn’t hide your excitement when the two brothers returned home the next evening, though. You got up from the couch and ran over to the door, ready to greet them and ask them all about the game (you had watched it on tv, but you really just wanted to talk to someone after a full day with no one’s company but your own), but you were greeted with tired eyes and frowns, despite their win the previous night. You simply gave each of them a hug and then sent them off to bed, knowing once they got some sleep they would be up for conversation.

This is why, right now, even though you have zero knowledge of what preparing for a rival hockey game consists of, you’re taking in every word the two have to offer about the subject. You’re just happy to have a few uninterrupted minutes to sit and talk with them.

“Good! That’s great! Really…good,” you say, giving a thumbs up and awkward smile after failing to come up with a better response to Luke’s statements.

Luke just laughs, appreciating your attempts at interest in their jobs.

“You’re coming to the game, right? We put back a ticket for you, but if you can’t make it that’s okay, too. Got you a pretty sick seat, though. Glass seat, right beside the net,” Jack reveals, raising his eyebrows a bit, as if trying to convince you.

“Of course I’ll be there, I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” you exclaim, a little offended at the mere thought you’d skip out on such a big game for them.

“You won’t be disappointed, I swear. We’re gonna kick some major Rags ass,” Luke adds, excitement showing at the idea of you being in the crowd.

“The real question here shouldn’t be if I’m coming to the game or not. It’s whose jersey am I going to wear?” you throw out, poking fun at the two.

“Pshh, c’mon that one’s a no brainer. You’ll obviously wear mine, I’m your favorite,” Jack waves off your words, fully confident that you’ll agree with him.

“I don’t know, Rowdy. I feel like plenty of people will have 86 jerseys on. It is Moose’s rookie season, maybe I should wear his so he feels included.”

“Yeah, dickhead. You have a whole arena full of people wearing your number, she should wear mine. We all know it’s the better number anyways,” Luke retorts.

Jack rolls his eyes, opening his mouth to fire back an insult at Luke, but he’s cut off by a knock at the door. You look over at the two boys to see if they know who might be at the door, but both of their faces mirror your confused look. So much for your uninterrupted time with them.

“Did you guys invite someone over? Or should I be worried that there’s a murderer standing on the other side of our door right now,” you ask.

“Well first of all I don’t think a murderer would knock on the door. They would probably pick the lock or something. Isn’t the whole point of murdering someone to do it when they don’t see it coming?” Jack responds, standing up. “Second of all, it’s probably just Nico. I had mentioned watching game film together at practice earlier and he told me he’d see how he was feeling later. Kinda forgot about it, if I’m being honest, but this is around the time he wakes up from his post-practice nap.”

You sit up a little straighter when Jack mentions his teammate and captain. You hadn’t seen him since your first night in town about two weeks ago. You’d caught little bits of information about him in passing from both Jack and Luke, but tried to keep your questions about him to a minimum. The two of you were still practically strangers, not having had any reason to communicate after that night. You assume he’s been as busy as Jack and Luke, coming and going far more than you. Still, you’re surprised you haven’t even run into him once. You figure his captain duties keep him far busier than even Luke and Jack.

You hear the front door open and then two sets of voices making their way down the short hallway. You look over to see Nico in a hoodie and sweats, a hat hiding his long hair. You think back to that night at the bar when his hair was uncovered and he was having to push it out of his eyes for most of the night, wishing you could catch a glimpse of the brown locks right now. The two were continuing their short conversation from the door, so Nico had yet to acknowledge you or Luke yet. You look away, starting to pick at a loose thread on your socks, knowing you needed to avert your eyes before you were caught staring.

Unknown to you, Luke had already noticed your stare, observing how fixated you were on his captain. You look over to find Luke staring at you, an undecipherable expression on his face. You give him a puzzled look, as if to say ‘what?’ and he responds by simply shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders a bit.

“Oh, hey you two. How’s it going?” Nico’s voice pulls you from your silent conversation with Luke, noticing Jack was no longer next to him.

“Hey, man. How was your nap? Your shoulder okay?” Luke asks him, adjusting his body slightly on the couch to make room for Nico to sit down.

You turn your head to look at Nico once again, a small hint of worry surfacing. He doesn’t look injured? His arm isn’t in a sling or anything, and he’s not holding it in pain. You watch as he sits down to see if even the smallest wince makes its way across his face as his back comes to rest against the plush cushions. If he’s in any sort of pain, he’s not letting it show in his actions.

“Yeah, perfectly fine. Don’t give yourself that much credit, kid. You don’t hit nearly as hard as you think you do,” Nico chuckles, taking his hand and tapping Luke on the knee a few times.

“Trying to hurt your captain before a huge game, Luke?” you speak for the first time since Nico entered the apartment. “Maybe I should wear Jack’s jersey on Saturday.”

“I knew it! See, my jersey is clearly the better choice, Moose. Sucks to suck, huh?” Jack interjects with a grin, walking from the direction of the kitchen, glass of water in hand.

“Now c’mon, Y/N, that isn’t even fair. It was an accident!” Luke cries out. “We were running drills and I was trying to stop, but I misjudged and ran into Nico. He didn’t even hit the glass that hard, you heard him!”he argues, looking between you and his brother.

“All I’m saying is, it won’t look good if the rookie is the reason the captain can’t play against public enemy number one. Then you’ll become public enemy number one, and I can’t be caught at a game wearing the new public enemy’s jersey. I’m already a newcomer, I can’t tarnish my reputation this early,” you hold your hands up in defense.

“What have I just walked into?” Nico asks, eyes darting between the three of you.

“Well, right before you walked in, we were talking about which jersey Y/N was going to wear to the game on Saturday. I told her the obvious choice was mine, but she decided to spew some bullshit about there being too many 86 jerseys already, so she should wear Luke’s since he’s new and needs to feel included,” Jack uses finger quotes around the last part of his sentence.

“Well, she has a point.”

“See! Even Cap thinks so! That’s it, you’re wearing my jersey, Y/N. Cap’s word is final,” Luke leans back, taking in his assumed victory.

Your mind wanders back to Nico’s words he spoke to you at the bar a couple of weeks ago, wondering if Luke’s statement includes those words, too.

“Maybe I should be fair and not wear either jersey. Just go down the roster and pick a random name and then buy it,” you joke, watching the brothers widen their eyes like you just told them you ran over their childhood pet.

“That’s…not even funny. How dare you even joke about something so important,” Jack stares at you, seriousness painted on his features.

“C’mon, Y/N, that’s just…that’s just cruel,” Luke emphasizes the last word dramatically.

“I think you should do it. In fact, I have a spare jersey I think you can wear,” Nico adds, looking at you with mischievous eyes.

“Oh, well that actually sounds lovely, Nico, thank you! What better way to show my support at my first Devils game than sporting the captain’s jersey?”

Jack and Luke both turn their heads to glare at their captain sitting between them. If looks could kill, the poor Swiss man would be six feet under right now. The Hughes brothers don’t play around when it comes to their jerseys. You remember when you had gone to one of Luke’s games while he was playing for Michigan, wanting to buy a Michigan jersey in support, but the gift shop had run out of Luke’s number once he announced his contract with the Devils. You knew you could have simply asked him for a jersey, knowing he had several lying around his dorm room, but the trip was supposed to be a surprise.

You were forced to buy a random jersey with some lesser known last name on it, because you still wanted to show up in Michigan attire. You don’t even remember whose name and number it was, but you remember the look on Luke’s face when he saw you during warm ups, going from pure joy to disgust in seconds. He skated off, going to the locker room briefly before returning with a yellow Jersey that he then threw over the glass to your seat, motioning for you to put it on. You just laughed and did as you were told. You’ve had similar arguments with both Jack and Quinn over threatening to wear a teammates jersey over the years, but you just like to poke fun at how protective the three are over you. Jack explained to you that they want you to wear their jersey’s because it shows their teammates that you’re to be left alone, knowing the reputations of their fellow players.

“Cap, please don’t make me kick you out of this apartment right now,” Jack looks at Nico with complete seriousness.

“Maybe I need to work on my body checks in practice tomorrow, Cap,” Luke tries to threaten.

Nico simply laughs, shaking his head at the sudden unity between the two bickering brothers.

“Alright, chill out you two, all jokes. Unless…” You trail off, standing up.

“No, no unless. You’re wearing one of our jerseys, preferably mine. Hey! Where are you going, this is serious!” Jack yells after you as you walk towards the kitchen.

“Unless you want to starve tonight, someone has to start making dinner. Plus, I have some jersey shopping to do,” you say, hearing Nico’s laughter ringing out once more as you enter the kitchen.

———————————————————————————

“Hey, Nico! Are you staying for dinner? I need to know how much pasta to make!” you shout from your spot by the stove, having just sat down a large pot of water on the hot eye.

You walk over to the cabinet to grab the box of pasta and a couple jars of sauce, waiting for an answer from the living room. You decided to go with just simple spaghetti and salad tonight, not really in the mood for having to prep a ton of food and spend an hour and a half cooking. Jack will probably complain about the amount of carbs he’s consuming, but he’ll get over it. As if he doesn’t burn enough calories from practice and his personal workouts he does on a daily basis. Luke will just be happy to have something that isn’t chicken, seeing as that’s all you made for the first few days of your new living arrangement, trying to stick to the meal plan Jack had the nutritionist send you.

After the third night of some form of chicken and vegetables, Luke was quick to inform you that no one on the team follows the meal plan so strictly. You also learned that Jack is going through some phase of eating nothing but chicken or steak and brown rice, Luke revealing that’s what the two mostly lived on during the weeks leading up to your move. You had told Luke he should learn to cook for himself, and then he wouldn’t be forced to eat what Jack or you decide to make if he doesn’t like it, but he had rolled his eyes and told you “this was the agreement, right? We won’t let you pay rent, so you told us you would contribute by cooking. So really, I’m just helping you fulfill your roommate duties.”

You still don’t have an answer from the three in the living room. You figure they’re too busy with game film to hear you, so you decide to just make enough for Nico, too. You can always pack up the leftovers and have them for lunch the next few days if needed. You dump what you think to be the proper amount of pasta for four people into the pot once it reaches a boil, then work on pouring the sauce into a pan to let it heat up. You cheated on the salad, too, deciding to just buy two bags of salad mix, dumping the bag into a large bowl and adding the small packets of toppings. You’ve just dumped the now done pasta into the colander in the sink, turning to put the pot back onto the stove to cool off a bit when a voice causes you to nearly drop the hot pot in your hands.

“It smells delicious in here,” Nico announces his presence, walking through the doorway towards the fridge.

You settle yourself before setting the pot down safely on the stovetop before speaking. “You know, I really need to get on ordering those squeaky shoes if I want to avoid a heart attack by 25.”

Turning your body, you see Nico hunched over looking in the fridge, arm reaching towards a water bottle before raising up, flashing you a smile.

“Nah, even if you buy them I wouldn’t wear them. This is like, our thing now. Me sneaking up on you, you getting mad, me getting a good laugh out of it,” he stands back at his full height now.

“How comforting that you find enjoyment out of my jumpiness. Such an admirable trait to have,” you grumble, taking the pasta from the sink and transfer it into the pan filled with sauce. “I was going to ask if you wanted to stay for dinner, seeing as it looks like I made enough to feed the entire team, but I think I’ll just leave you to fend for yourself. See how funny that is.”

This earns another laugh, Nico moving to lean against the counter opposite of you, watching you try to combine the sauce and the pasta without making a giant mess.

“Why don’t you just put it back in the pot you cooked the pasta in. You’ll be able to mix it easier.”

“Because apparently that would have been too easy,” you step back and huff, wondering why you didn’t think of that before you created an overflowing mess of sauce and noodles.

Nico makes his way over to you, placing his hands on your shoulders to move you out of the way. He picks up the pan and dumps the contents into the pot sitting next to it, not spilling a single drop.

“There, now you can mix it easier and it won’t spill out over the sides and cause an even bigger mess,” he states, placing the dirty pan in the sink behind you.

“Okay, captain chef, next time you’re cooking dinner, since you clearly have more kitchen skills than me,” you tell him, making your way across the kitchen to collect plates to sit on the table.

Nico just chuckles as he watches you grab the plates, sitting one in front of each chair around the small dining table that sits in the kitchen.

“It smells so good in here, please tell me its almost done,” Jack enters the kitchen, Luke trailing behind him.

“It is, just finished actually,” you look up, Nico carrying the pot of steaming pasta from the stove to the table, careful not to drop it.

“Rowdy, grab the salad over there by the sink for me while I grab some forks for everyone,” you move towards the silverware drawer, walking around the Swiss man in your kitchen, having to turn your body slightly as he steps back from the table.

“Well, I better get going, my leftovers aren’t going to heat themselves up,” Nico announces, starting to make his way out of the kitchen.

“Cap, are you crazy? Do you not see how much food Bouy made?” Jack places the bowl of salad next to the pot of pasta, taking his seat at the table.

“Jack, I’m being so serious right now, if you keep using that stupid nickname for me I will sneak laxatives into your protein shakes.” You take the seat across from Jack, Luke falling into the seat to your left.

“Well, as long as it’s okay with Bouy, I’d love to stay.” Nico walks back over to the table, taking the seat next to Jack, smirking while avoiding eye contact with you.

“I know where you live, so the threat extends to you too, Cap” you glare at Nico.

The rest of the meal is mostly filled with talk between the three hockey players, you chiming in here and there, until Jack shifts the topic of conversation to you.

“So, what’s the update with your new job? You have everything lined up and ready to go?”

“Yeah, talked to them earlier today, actually. They said they’d have my office ready in about a week, so I should be starting not long after that.” You shrug, not wanting to bore them with the details of the corporate scene in New Jersey.

“Where are you going to be working?” Nico asks, genuine interest present in his tone, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

“I got offered a position with a small publishing company not too far from here, actually. Mostly independent, up and coming authors, but still exciting,” you reveal, perking up a bit at the opportunity to talk about your passion.

“Was super worried I wasn’t going to be able to use my degree after college, seeing as the market for English lit degrees isn’t too wide unless you want to teach. At least, that’s how it is back home. After I graduated and Jack offered the spare room here, I applied to a few positions here in Jersey and a few in New York, willing to make the commute if needed. Only heard back from one place, though. And it just so happened to be a thirty-minute drive from here, so I accepted and started packing,” you explained.

“It was meant to be. The gang back together once again,” Jack beams.

“Well, the gang minus Quinn. The fucker just had to end up in Vancouver of all places,” Luke grumbles, still upset the oldest Hughes is so far away.

“Lucky for us I can work remotely if I ever need or want to, so this summer at the lake we can all be together again,” you try to cheer Luke up, knowing how much he wishes the three brothers could have played on the same team while making their dreams come true.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Jack celebrates. “This is going to be the best summer at the lake house yet. We’re all grown, most of us legal drinking age, but don’t worry, we won’t tell if you won’t, Lukey,” Jack winks over at Luke, knowing the underage drinking rule has never really applied in the sacred space of the lake houses, “and we’ll all finally be there together again after, what, like 6 years?”

“It’s been awhile, at least that long,” you try to think back to the last time everyone was there together.

It was the summer before Quinn got drafted. Quinn had signed to play hockey at Michigan a few months before everyone was set to arrive at the summer oasis. You remember being so proud of him. You couldn’t wait to finally see him and congratulate him in person, knowing how hard he had worked for it. You figured things would stay the same for a few more years, expecting him to come home every summer for the next four years before moving on to the NHL. You had no clue that he would be drafted only a summer later and that it would be the beginning of the end for the summers of fun at the lake house.

“Nico, you should come up this summer! It’s always such a good time!” Jack pulls you from your reminiscing.

“I mean, maybe. I’ve been talking to my parents about flying home during the off season this year, since I didn’t make it over there last year. But I could probably come for a few days, at least,” he shrugs his shoulders.

You try to picture Nico at the lake house, hat covering his hair, swim trunks and a t-shirt covering his body. You picture him lounging on the boat in the sun while Jack takes everyone out for a midday ride, finding a secluded spot somewhere on the lake to stop and swim for a while. You picture him trying to wake surf, wondering if he’d be instantly good at it or if he would end up wiping out in the water. You picture him sitting around the fire at night, a light hoodie on to the mask the chill that never fails to make an appearance on Michigan summer nights, the glow from the fire illuminating his face just enough for you to admire him. You picture him with a slight sunburn on his nose, tan skin glowing from being in the sun so often.

You must have been lost in your thoughts for longer than you realized, because you came back to the conversation with several calls of your name from the seat next to you.

“Are you even listening to us anymore? Or do you really not want Cap coming to the lake house?” Luke looks over at you, slightly waving his hand in front of your face.

“What? No,” you say, looking around at the expectant faces surrounding you. “I mean, no I don’t care if he comes. It would be fun, yeah. If he can make it, of course. You heard him, I’m sure he’s excited to see his family.”

“I’m sure I can work something out. Have the best of both worlds. These two have talked about the infamous lake house so much I’m curious to see if it really lives up to all the hype,” Nico leans back, nodding his head towards both Jack and Luke.

“Then its settled! Cap is coming to Michigan this summer!” Jack cheers, throwing his arms up in celebration.

You laugh in response to Jack’s excitement, noticing that everyone seems to be done eating, plates clean and glasses empty. You stand up and start to take some of the dishes to the sink, setting them in there before walking back over to the table.

“Since you’re in such a good mood, I think now would be the best time to tell you that you and Luke have dish duty tonight.” You clear the last of the dishes off the table.

You watch Jack’s face fall, while Luke’s does a sharp turn in your direction. You turn your back to them to walk back over to the counter, opening the cabinet below you to find Tupperware to store the leftovers in.

“On that note, I better get going. Have some laundry I need to get done before practice in the morning,” Nico stands, bringing over a few stray pieces of silverware you seemed to have missed.

“Oh, no you don’t, Cap. You heard her, she cooked, we clean,” Jack turns to look at his captain as he makes his way to the sink.

“No, I said you and Luke have dish duty tonight. Nico’s name was never mentioned. Guests don’t do the dishes, Jack. I know Ellen raised you better than that.”

“Nico is hardly a guest. He’s over here all the time!” Luke chimes in, opening one of the drawers by the sink, grabbing a towel to dry dishes with.

“He doesn’t pay any rent for the apartment, therefore he’s a guest. Just accept your fate, you two. You’ll survive, I promise.” You hand the pot you just emptied to Jack, taking the food in your hands to the fridge a few steps away.

“You don’t pay any rent, and you’re not a guest,” Jack mumbles, hands covered in soapy suds.

“Exactly! That means I don’t do the dishes, either. I knew you’d catch on eventually! And they say you’re just a pretty face,” you shut the fridge door, looking over at Jack with an amused grin.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” Jack whines.

“C’mon, man, you walked right into that one,” Nico adds, laughing at his teammate.

Jack glares at the taller man. “I thought you said you were leaving, that you had laundry to do or some shit.”

“I am, I am,” Nico throws his hands up in defense.

“I’ll walk you out, Nico. Leave the children to pout while doing their chores,” you jest, walking toward the kitchen’s exit.

“Thanks for dinner, Y/N. Ten times better than whatever I would’ve found in my fridge,” Nico says as you pass through the living room.

“Anytime, Cap,” you use his title, blaming Jack and Luke for the new habit. “After all, I owed you for rescuing me from sleeping in the hallway.”

This earns another one of those laughs you love to hear fall from his mouth, smiling to yourself as he follows you down the small hallway towards the front door.

“I feel like you definitely had to put in more effort on your end of that deal,” he steps through the door you’re holding open.

“I’ll just wait until you owe me a favor, then I’ll make sure to cash in some extravagant request,” you joke, leaning against the door as he stands in the hallway.

“I’ll be eagerly awaiting the day.”

Nico takes his apartment key from his pocket and unlocks his door, opening it and stepping inside, turning around to face you once again, his stance mirroring your own in his own doorway.

“So, I’ll see you at the game on Saturday, then?” He stalls a goodbye.

“Yep, I’ll be there. Still deciding which brother I’m going to piss off,” you reference the earlier argument over whose jersey you’ll wear.

“Oh, that reminds me-“ Nico says before propping his door open, leaving you alone in your doorway, confused as to where he could’ve gone.

After about a minute of you standing there, wondering if he was going to come back, he returns, holding a red jersey in his hand.

“Here, figured there’s no sense in you going out and buying one if you really wanted to mess with their heads.”

He hands you the jersey, stepping back into his doorway. You unfold the jersey and notice the big black C on the upper left corner of the jersey. It was a solid red jersey, the team’s symbol in the middle, two black stripes on the forearms of each sleeve, more black accents on the shoulders of the jersey. You look up at him, a little surprised.

“I- I can’t take one of your jerseys, Nico. What if I mess it up, or spill something on it? I’ll just wear one of the ones I have. This looks too nice to risk it,” you attempt to hand the jersey back across the hallway.

“No, I insist. I think it’ll be fun to mess around with them a little. Especially Jack, since he seemed so convinced you were going to wear his. They’ll never even see it coming,” Nico refuses.

You run the idea through your head for a second, thinking about how it would be a funny little dig at the boys. You also think about the implications of wearing a jersey that doesn’t belong to one of Hughes brothers. It’s harmless, though, right? Nico said it was just a fun way to get under their skin. ‘Don’t jump to conclusions, Y/N’ you think to yourself, trying to kick your habit of creative narratives in your head.

“Okay, but if I end up getting kicked out of my apartment I’m knocking on your door to sleep on your couch,” you finally agree.

“My door’s always open for you.”

You look back down to the jersey in your hands to hide the blush that appears on your face at his words. You know you’ve only known him for a short period of time, tonight being the first real chunk of time you’ve spent in his presence, but Nico is making it really hard for you to keep your feelings for him casual. You’ve always had a habit of getting a case of the heart eyes fast, but you’re trying to be normal, for once.

He’s likely just being his normal, personable self and you’re letting every smile and joke go to your head, placing more meaning on them than is warranted. There’s just something about him, though. He’s extremely attractive, for one. But it’s more than that. From all that you’ve learned about him through Jack and Luke, and the easy conversation that has flowed between the two of you from the moment you first spoke to him in the hallway, you can’t lie to yourself and say you’re not drawn to the Swiss captain.

Your mind circles back to the idea of wearing his jersey this weekend and what Jack and Luke will think. What if you seriously hurt their feelings? What if it affects how they play because they’re mad at you? What if they ignore you the whole game? You know the two brothers love you, but you also know how petty they can both be when mad.

“Stop overthinking it. I can see you getting lost up in that head of yours. It’s a harmless joke. They’re not going to freak out on the ice or anything. And if they do, I’m in more danger than you are,” Nico reassures you, pulling you from your thoughts.

“You better at least score a goal if I’m risking being homeless for you,” you tell him, looking back up at his face.

“How about I do you one better. If you promise to wear my jersey, I’ll score a hatty for your first ever New Jersey Devils hockey experience,” Nico offers, his eyes flashing with something you assume is delight at a challenge.

“Well then you better work on your slapshot tomorrow morning, Captain. I’ll be holding you to that Saturday night,” you take the bait, knowing how difficult a hat trick is to pull off.

“No need, I know I’ll have the right motivation night of to get it done,” he winks at you, causing your stomach to fill with butterflies. “And if I don’t, consider it your IOU for that extravagant request you might need one day,” He responds, crossing his arms and shrugging his shoulders, the nonchalance of his body language making you hope for his failure, just so you can think of some ridiculous task for him to perform.

“Thanks for the heads up, I’ll get right to brainstorming,” you respond, trying to prevent your thoughts from spiraling yet again.

Nico lets out a small laugh, standing up straight and placing his hand on the handle of his door. “Think hard. Let me know what you come up with. Have a good night, Bouy, see you Saturday.” He shuts the door before you can berate him for using the nickname you hate.

You walk back into your apartment, door shutting behind you, going straight to your room to hide the jersey before either of the boys see it. You think back on the entire interaction, a smile on your face at the possibility of being able to have Nico do anything you ask him. As you’re walking past the kitchen you hear Jack’s voice.

“Luke, am I stupid or did Y/N call me stupid earlier?” he recalls your earlier comment about him being ‘just a pretty face’.

“Think about how you worded the first part of your question and you’ll have your answer,” you hear Luke respond as you make it past the kitchen unnoticed, making you stifle a giggle so you won’t be discovered.

Oh how you loved being back with your boys.

[deathsplaything]

Location: Sugar Pot backroom Timing: Current, midday then at nightfall Parties: Alistair (Ft. Melody and Tommy) Summary: Something unthinkable happens, and Alistair must do something even worse. A necromantic ritual to bring back the dead is performed. Choices are made. Content Warnings: Child death tw, parental death tw, ritual sacrifice

“Mo ghaol cha'n fhaigh thu bàs.”

It was supposed to be a normal day at the Sugar Pot. Melody had left to go pick up Tommy from school, and Alistair could handle the slower end of the day with little trouble. There were no customers at the moment, so they were simply reorganizing the jars around the store so labels were facing outward for their ease. That’s when the door rang and they heard ragged breathing. “Alistair, he’s… you have to help him.” It was Melody, she was sobbing and could barely get her words out. Their heart sank, knowing that could only mean one thing. “Please, it was a drowngr,” Melody spoke through racked sobs, already heading for the back room. “Mels…” Alistair was at a loss, quickly waving their hand for Brutus to follow them into the back room. “What’s the damage?” They finally asked after closing themselves into the back room with Melody, Tommy, and Brutus. It was cramped, but Alistair couldn’t think about that. All they could think about was how the closest thing they’d ever had to a son was dying. 

Melody was beside herself, putting Tommy down in the center of the spell circle and letting out a sob. He wasn’t conscious, he wasn’t breathing. Her baby was dying or already dead and there was nothing she could do. That’s when she stilled. There was something that Alistair could do. “Alistair, you have to bring him back. You have to.” Melody pleaded, grasping at the necromancer’s hands as realization dawned on their face. “Mels, I�� you know what you’re asking me to do, here,” Alistair spoke, voice pleading. 

Melody was asking to take Tommy’s place. She was begging him to sacrifice her to bring their child back. While Tommy wasn’t his biologically, he was in every other way that counted. Alistair would sooner sacrifice himself than let Melody do it. Melody was their everything. When they had nothing, Melody had come along and saved them from themselves. When they’d lost Mikael, she was right there to help pick up the pieces that had left Alistair shattered. Now she was asking them to say goodbye to her, say goodbye to the life they had built. 

“Mels, I… you can’t ask that of me.” Their voice cracked as they spoke, tears threatening to fall as they dealt with the implications of her request. “If Tommy’s gone, then I’m already gone.” She whimpered, pressing her forehead to Alistair’s. “You have to do this for me. I… he’s my boy. He needs to live. He’s only twelve. He’s… Alistair, you have to.” Alistair closed their eyes, then slowly nodded their head. Melody would never forgive herself if her son died and she did nothing, knowing that she could bring him back. “You have to, Al.” Melody pleaded once more time as she watched them nod their head. 

Alistair knelt over Tommy’s body and felt for a pulse. Nothing. A sob wracked their body as they realized what was happening. Tommy had been killed by a drowngr, and now Melody would sacrifice herself to take her son’s place. They were losing someone important to them all over again. When they needed her most, she was there for them. But now, she needed them. And they knew that they needed to do this. “Mels, I… know that I love you, okay?” Alistair spoke, turning their head in the direction of Melody.

Melody let out another sob, knelt beside Alistair, and pulled him into her arms, letting them both cry in each other’s arms as they cried for what was to come, and what could never be. “I love you too, Al.” She spoke between sobs, squeezing them tightly. “You’ve been everything to me. But Tommy is more. He’s… he’s our son.” She spoke, pressing her forehead to Alistair’s and pressing a kiss to their lips. A sob escaped Alistair’s lips as Melody pulled away. Alistair rubbed their hands together, letting out a frustrated cry before turning to their ingredients cabinet. Lycoris Radiata petals, also known as a corpse flower. “We have to wait until sundown,” Alistair told her, voice hollow and far away. “You need to get something important to him, really important to him.” They walked back over to Melody, squeezing her hands tightly. Alistair had never talked about the necromantic ritual to Melody before, and they’d not practiced it in so long. But it had to go perfectly. Any small mess-up could ruin everything, leaving them without Tommy and Melody for the rest of their days. “I need to prepare.” That was all they said as they continued to gather ingredients for each point of the pentacle that Tommy was laid on.

Melody knew better than to interrupt Alistair when they got like this, but she also knew that this was going to be the last time that she’d be with them. So she took their hands again and then hugged them tightly. “Thank you.” She murmured into their ear, which earned her a shuddered sob from Alistair in return. “I know this is hard for you, but he matters more than anything else in this world.” She spoke, pulling away so she could look at Alistair, who looked shattered all over again. “I know.” They spoke in reply, squeezing her hands just as hard as she was squeezing theirs. “I know, but it still hurts. It always will.” 

Melody gave a sad smile, then nodded her head, her mind was made up. “I’ll be back soon. I have to get his baby blanket, it was his father’s.” She frowned, thinking deeper. There was something else she had to get, and that was her will. She’d had it written knowing the danger of this town, and the will left Alistair as Tommy’s legal guardian, she had no other family to take him in, and Alistair was family. She pressed one last kiss to Alistair’s cheek before departing, leaving Alistair alone to care for Tommy and prepare the ingredients. 

Corpse flower petals on the top point, grave dirt on the right point, black copal incense burning on the bottom right point, full moon-charged water on the bottom left point, and coal to represent fire on the left point. A spell taught to them by his mother to open their senses to magick and promote success. It was different for every practitioner, though their spells of this magnitude, in their mind, needed offerings to the death gods they practiced under. They sat in front of the spell circle until sundown in a meditative state, only breaking from it when Melody returned at sundown. It was time to prepare for the ritual. 

Pulled from the cabinet was an obsidian dagger, ornate in design, yet simple. Sharp. Deadly. This was the very tool Alistair would use to end Melody’s life, and in turn, bring back Tommy. There was only one chance to get this right. Alistair took the blanket and set it ablaze, letting the ashes scatter around in a circle around Tommy’s prone form and spell ingredients. 

Melody watched somberly, hugging herself tightly as Alistair flitted around the room like a specter. Ingredients here, words spoken there. By the time they were done, the sun had set. Alistair spoke a few words in a language that Melody couldn’t understand, and then a hand reached out toward her. It was time. Alistair held her hand tightly for a moment, lost in their own world of spellcraft and ritual sacrifice. “Mo ghaol cha'n fhaigh thu bàs.” My love for you will not die. Alistair spoke to her before bringing her to the center of the spell circle, a powerful green smoke coming from the incense that burned on the right point of the star. “I will never forget what you’ve done for me, for Tommy. For us.” And with that, they pressed a kiss to her lips and dragged the obsidian blade across Melody’s throat Melody tried to gasp for breath, legs giving out under her, and Alistair held her aloft as the blood poured from the wound and onto Tommy’s body. A sacrifice, like for like. One spellcaster to save another. A mother sacrificing herself to save her son.

Standing for a long moment with Melody firm in their arms, a weak hand stretched out and touched Alistair’s cheek, smiled weakly, then fell down to her side. Melody was gone. Alistair set her down gently and began to pull from the ether, the tether between father and son forming to bring Tommy back from death. Tommy’s chest began to rise and fall, but Alistair didn’t stop, not there. The tether was pulled from their very essence, feeling a bit of life drain from their very being before cutting their palm with the blade and drew a sigil onto Tommy’s chest, then onto their own. A seal that would bind them together. Alistair could not see the sigil turn from blood to black, but could only trust that it was there. That it had been done correctly. They needed this to be done correctly. Any emotions they felt for the situation would be dealt with afterward, but they couldn’t let it interrupt the ritual now. 

They knelt beside Tommy, waiting. After what felt like a lifetime, a small hand reached out toward Alistair. “Al?” The boy croaked, and Alistair instantly fell apart at the sound of Tommy’s voice, pulling him close to him and hugging him tightly. “It’s alright, you’re back now.” He murmured to the boy, who clung to the necromancer with all his might. “Where’s… where’s Mom?” He asked, looking around and letting out a cry of agony at the form of his mother’s body on the ground, throat slit. “No, you… she couldn’t. You didn’t.” Tommy shook his head fiercely. “A mother’s love knows no limits,” Alistair spoke softly, and Brutus who had waited in the corner of the room finally walked over to Tommy and plopped himself into his lap, and the boy hugged the dog tight and cried. 

Alistair felt a tear run down their cheek, but that was all they allowed to flow. They took the discarded rag and tied it around their hand to stop the bleeding. They had to tend to Melody’s body. They couldn’t rest until it was over. With the ritual complete, they rose to their feet. There was much to do, and now they had the most important person in their life to take care of, their son. They would do anything to keep Tommy safe.

“Tommy, I’m so sorry,” Alistair murmured, kneeling next to the boy and wrapping his arms tightly around the boy he’d come to love as if he were his own. Tommy continued to sob, eyes peering out to look at his mother’s lifeless body, then quickly squeezed them shut again. “I’ve got you,” Alistair promised as Tommy once again clung to them. “I’m going to give you the world and then some.” They promised, squeezing the boy as tight as they could. “I swear to you, I won’t let anything separate us.” They pulled themselves away enough to look the boy in the eyes, and Tommy nodded his head, eyes filled with tears. “I loved your mother,” Alistair told him, carding a hand through the young boy’s curly blonde hair. He looked so much like his mother. “I will always love your mother, just as you will.” Tommy let out a choked sob and pushed his head into Alistair’s chest. 

There was no undoing what had been done. There was no convincing a drowngr to stop in its tracks just as much as there was no convincing the knife that had cut across Melody’s throat to undo itself. Slowly, Alistair held Tommy tight in their arms and rose to their feet, walking out of the back room. Away from Melody, away from the sugar pot. Away from the dastardly deed they had to perform. It was late, the streets were barren as the necromancer walked with Tommy in their arms, Brutus by their side.

[powerfulscribbles]

In Need of Aid - A G/t Elden Ring fic (1)

Prologue | Chp. 1 l Chp. 2 | Chp. 3 | Chp. 4

Chapter 1: Celebratory Apéritif

->Read the chapter on ao3 (registered users)<-

Chapter summary: A few hours before the awaited meeting, Valyssa has a nice chat with Patches over some food and drinks.

Warnings: Drinking.

This story is soon to contain g/t stuff, so if that's not your thing it's in your best interest to click away! Thank thee kindly~

Words: 2k~

~ ° ~ ° ~ ° ~ ° ~ ° ~ ° ~ ° ~ ° ~ ° ~ ° ~ ° ~ ° ~ ° ~ ° ~ ° ~

~Limgrave, Murkwater Cave. Midday. 3 hours before the meeting.~

The sound of little bells ringing echoed in the dim cave, causing the bald merchant in leather armor to look away from the iron greatshield he was polishing, and towards the entrance to his cave.

He then placed it down on the side, going to sit by the small makeshift bonfire to welcome the arriving customer. He didn’t have to wait long before the rustling of swift footsteps and the clanking of heavy knight armor became louder and louder.

The girl ignored the group of highwaymen hanging out outside the entrance to inner part of the grotto, and so she peeked inside before walking right in.

“Hey Patches, it’s me again” she greeted the seated man.

“Ha! You’ve come again friend, back to Patches’ Emporium! Need anything?”

“Oh no no thank you, I’m not really here for shopping today” the Tarnished woman said, her gaze focused on her bag as she sat down next to the bald merchant, who furrowed his eyebrows.

“No? What brings you here then, pal?”

She chuckled with glee, her jade-like eyes shining bright for a second, as she sat down beside him. Then she quickly pulled out some flasks of booze and some cooked delicacies out of her bag, consisting of a bowl with pieces of pickled turtle neck and exalted flesh inside.

“We’re celebrating something special today! You want some?” she prompted as she sat down before him and handed him a flask.

“What? Hold on, hold on lady! I appreciate some drinks and the food, but what are we celebrating, specifically?”

“Hehe, a great victory!”

“Oh yeah? Tell me more then, I’m aaall ears!” the man prompted, finally accepting a flask and picking up some slices of meat.

“Actually, first thing though: where did you get all this stuff?” he asked while he removed the cork of his bottle, and sniffed its tip suspiciously.

“Oh, don’t worry! I bought the drinks from Kalé the merchant, and I’ve made the food myself! It’s safe to eat I promise, there are no ‘secret ingredients’ of any kind.”

“Alright then, you’ve convinced me. Plus I know the guy, he’s as good as bread. And he provides the best supplies in all of Limgrave!”

“But not as good as yours, of course” Valyssa said with a hint of irony, which made the man chuckle.

“Of course, hehe. Your words though, not mine!” Patches laughed, raising his arms in a defensive manner.

He then chugged down a nice amount of alcohol. “Anyway, you were saying?”

“Well, for starters, the demigod Godrick the Grafted is no more! And I’ve claimed his Great Rune!”

The untethered Tarnished was flabbergasted, and shifted a little in his usual squatting position.

“Really? You don’t say!” Patches exclaimed, his smirk widening. “And I can see it in your eyes, you’re not kidding!”

“Hehe, I’ve never been more serious!” she said with a sweet grin.

“Well then, my men outside are going to be so excited to hear the good news! If I have to bet, the word is already spreading among the Lands Between!” he continued.

“And that’s not all! Do you remember that dark, lumpy shackle you sold me like a week ago or so?”

“Oh yes! How I could ever forget that weird rock!” he said with a snicker. “Did you find out what it’s for?”

Valyssa giggled, nodding with her head.

“Even better! It helped me defeat yet another powerful foe outside Stormveil Castle! How great is that!”

“Really? Another one? And who might have that been?” the man asked.

She shrugged.

“He introduced himself ‘Margit the Fell Omen’, and basically wanted me to stay clear from Godrick’s domain. Called me ‘foul’, talked about how futile my own ambitions were, and what not” she said, then took a sip from her own flask.

“Hm, never heard of this refined gentleman. What did he look like?”

“He was around, uuuh… 13 feet tall? With dark grey skin, wearing a ragged cloak of fur and swinging a staff like his life depended on it. Oh, and he had curved horns growing on the right side of his face and spikes at the end of his massive tail, as well.”

“By the gods, that sounds like a big brute, eh? And he was guarding the main gate to the Castle?”

“From the looks of it, yes. I feel like he didn’t actually die though. He vanished in a cloud of golden dust, saying I should be afraid and that he’s not going to show no mercy the next time around, etcetera etcetera. Stuff like that.”

Patches scoffed at that.

“These big old fellas all say that, like they’re going to come back stronger than before and what not. It’s mostly just a bluff to scare off Tarnished like us, so we’re constantly on edge about anything.”

“Mmmmm yeah, it might be…” Valyssa said, snacking on some bits of pickled turtle meat.

What’s an Omen, anyway?, she thought to herself.

Patches took one more swig from his flask.

“So, how’s the feeling?” he then asked.

“Mh?” She raised her gaze from her bowl to look at him, her thoughts interrupted. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve killed a demigod, how does it feel? To squash one of these Lords under your boots, to throw them in the dust like they deserve?”

Valyssa looked pensive for a bit, her lips tightened in a thin line before releasing some tension.

“Mmmmm, it’s hard to describe, but it’s definitely a unique feeling, to say the least? You feel like you’ve accomplished something much greater than you, and with that you’ve began to approach the table with the bigger players now. You know what I mean?”

Patches shrugged with an amused smile.

“The hell I know. Hunting down these cuckoo demigods isn’t really my thing. I just tend to look after my own stuff after all.”

“Mmmm, I guess it makes sense for you, yeah” the vagabond knight said, drinking more from her bottle.

“You did have that enchanted shackle in your shop though, the one who trapped Margit on the ground a few times” she pointed out. “How did you even come across such a thing?”

“Val, trust me on this one. If only I had known it was so special I would’ve given to you in a heartbeat. It’s not like I needed it anyway.”

“Oh yeah? Like that chest you ‘bequeathed’ me?” she asked with an amused tone, crossing her arms with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, unlike that chest, really” he said, his faint smile quickly into a smirk. “How was your trip to Mistwood? You’ve never brought it up after that!”

“Oh it was absolutely fantastic, being surrounded by ferocious Runebears was definitely my biggest dream to achieve. It was so fun, I couldn’t even teleport to the closest sight of grace!”

“See? It wasn’t so bad then! And you’re still in one piece, so it all worked out for the better!”

“Pfffft- Fine then, you trickster” she said playfully, giggling softly as she lightly punched his arm.

“Back on topic, I have no dang idea where that shackle is from. One of my bandits probably saw how gleamy it looked and must have gathered it somewhere around here, thinking it was worth something. I don’t know. I’d ask them if only they understood what I’m saying!” he said, shrugging.

“Oh it’s fine, I was just curious, to be honest" she clarified.

“And nothing wrong with that! I’d ask the same thing, if it were me” Patches reassured her, patting her shoulder a couple of times.

“Yeah, you might be right. Sometimes though, I feel like there’s so much stuff that I can’t grasp at yet, and it’s unreachable to me for now. For example, I don’t know a lot about this world and it’s frustrating. I’m supposed to feel guided as I pursue my objectives, but I really am not that much. And sometimes I wonder what, or why I’m doing this for. Hunting the shardbearing demigods, I mean" she continued, her rust-colored bangs covering her eyes as she looked down gloomily.

Patches listened to his fellow Tarnished without saying a word, nodding a couple of times as she explained.

“This is why I hope this meeting I have later will clarify some doubts off my mind” she said, slowly getting up.

“A meeting? With whom?”

An innocent smile made her way on her face.

“Do you know that white mask guy, the one that usually stands outside the Stranded Graveyard?”

“Mmmmm… Oh yeah, I remember that dude now. I never spoke it him, he always looked like he was on a mission or something. Waiting and waiting patiently for someone to come to him.”

“I can see why you think that. But I assure you he’s been nothing but helpful and encouraging since the very start.”

Patches took a sip out of his bottle and swallowed, letting a hum as he finished.

“Alright then. And what business do you have with him?”, he asked looking straight at her.

“Oh, nothing too important. He left a message by his usual spot, and requested a meeting at a so-called ‘Rose Church’ in the western side of Liurnia of the Lakes. Do you know where that might be? Sadly, I haven’t explored the region at all beside the very first area beyond Stormveil”, she explained.

“To be honest with you, I was thinking of setting up a shop in Liurnia in the following weeks. Despite that, I have never heard of that church before, not even once” he exclaimed, raising his hands with a defeated expression.

“Mmmmmm, that’s okay. I don’t even have a map myself, and I take it that you either don’t sell one, or you have it but you’d prefer not to separate yourself from it. Knowing you it’s the second option, more likely”

“Exactly! I’ll be needing it in the future, so unfortunately I just can’t hand it over to you. So I’m afraid the only way to find out is looking for the church yourself, my friend!” he said with a sly smile.

She smiled back at him.

"Yeah, that’s what I’ve been planning to do in case I didn’t find any more info about the location of the church. I have a few hours to spare, it should be enough to scout the area with Torrent."

“Actually, I think I should be on my way now. I wouldn’t want to be late.”

“Fair enough, love. You try to stay safe on the way there, alright?”

“Heh, I’ll do my best” Valyssa chuckled, putting her half-empty flask of booze and the bowl back in her bag.

“Well then, thanks for the good company and the refreshments, friend! Hope to see you again soon!” the bald merchant said, waving at her.

“Goodbye for now, Patches” she waved back, and disappeared from the exit of the cave.

The woman sighed as she walked back out, and soon found herself by the shallow Murkwater river again.

He could have at least lent me his map…

She let out a huff.

It’s going to be okay. A church shouldn’t be too hard to locate in a mostly marshy area, on horseback.

And I guess I could ask Thops if he knows where it might be. He’s been at the Academy in the past, so he should be more familiar with Liurnia and its surroundings.

The faint sound of splashing water interrupted her train of thoughts and made her turn around quickly.

Footsteps in the water. Someone is getting closer.

And they’re not exactly doing their best at being quiet about it.

And so she spotted him.

100 feet behind her, a dark-clothed man was dashing straight towards her.

His black robe, embroidered in gold, was coordinated with a hood adorned in the same fashion, and a sort of red cape hanged from his neck down to his back.

In his hands, a pair of jagged daggers, coated in blood from the sharp tip to the hilt.

The whole figure was tinted in crimson red, flagging him as an invader.

“Well… You don’t look friendly” she whispered with a sigh, unsheathing her Lordsworn’s greatsword on her back and getting into a guarding pose.

I don’t exactly have time for this, but I really can’t back out now.

Back to the Prologue | To Chapter 2

[squirrelno2]

For the anon from this morning, the opening of my one and only Witcher fic, wherein Marilka adopts Geralt whether he likes it or not. (i have no idea if this is relevant or not but i haven't yet made it through season two so like. a lot of this is more informed by the fanworks that came out of season one and maybe a little of the game than any worldbuilding the netflix show did) Someday I'll get to the rest of this but for now have this little snippet:

Marilka should have stayed back. She should have let the crowd rise up in useless defence of her, driven the witcher out, and gone about her petty nothing life in Blaviken until she was grey-haired.

But the witcher – But Geralt had saved her, and then Master Irion who she’d always looked up to had turned on him. Hadn’t he been grateful? Wouldn’t he have been forced to face the Shrike if Geralt hadn’t come?

It was the realisation that she did not matter to Master Irion the way he did to her that carried her out of Blaviken and on the road after Geralt of Rivia.

She had to guess at where he’d gone, but she knew which road he’d taken out of town. With what she could pack while her father looked the other way slung over her shoulder, Marilka scrambled down the road until she saw his white hair glinting in the sun.

“Geralt!” she shouted.

He stiffened in his saddle and glanced over his shoulder. Marilka put on a burst of speed, determined to show him that she wouldn’t stop following. It worked, as he pulled his horse to a stop.

“What are you doing?” he demanded as Marilka reached him, panting.

“Getting the hell out of Blaviken,” she said. “I’m coming with you. I could – I could learn from you.”

“By the sound of things, you know plenty about killing,” he said coldly, turning away. “And I know you’ve seen enough of it, too.”

“Nobody ever taught me how to save someone, though,” she said, grabbing at the horse. The mare twisted, lashing out with her teeth, and Marilka jerked back. She noticed with satisfaction the alarm in Geralt’s eyes as he tugged on his horse’s reins.

“You of all people should have noticed I’m not the one to teach you that,” he said.

“You saved me,” Marilka said. “Master Irion didn’t.”

He tightened his grip on the reins. Slowly, his gaze found hers. Marilka forced herself to meet those haunting yellow eyes unflinchingly. She’d need to be good at that for this to work.

“You were the one who told me to leave.”

Marilka blinked, taken aback. Was that hurt in his tone?

She’d been planning a business transaction, really. An apprenticeship. He’d caught her interest in the first place for what he could tell her.

But now she wondered why he’d humoured her.

“Everyone else would have been happy for you to stay, at least until they could stone you to death,” Marilka said.

He growled under his breath, looking from his horse to the road ahead back to Marilka.

“You’d have to keep up,” he said.

“What, walking? Have you ever actually met a human?” Marilka demanded.

“Roach isn’t magic,” he said irritably. “A horse tires faster carrying two.”

“You’re just hoping I’ll get tired and leave,” she guessed.

“You should,” Geralt told her. “What you saw in Blaviken… it’s not unusual.”

“And I’d see it in Blaviken if I stayed,” Marilka said. She wasn’t one to back down from an idea. “I’ll walk until we can find a horse I can ride.”

He growled under his breath again, but when he started his horse down the road once more and Marilka followed he didn’t say anything to her.

Around midday, Marilka nearly fell on her face into the dusty road. Her feet ached and her sides were sore from the constant walking. She’d never needed to go beyond Blaviken before. She’d never realised just how much of the world lived in between places, or how much work it took to walk there.

“You should go home,” Geralt said, surprising her. She’d honestly expected him to ride on while she picked herself up.

“Too far now,” Marilka said, trying to sound cheerful. She’d made the right choice. It had to be the right choice. “Either you’re stuck with me, or you leave me out here to die.”

She wondered what she’d die of, and if it would be interesting. It was a game she often played with herself, but now memories of the blood in the square and the knife at her throat broke into her mind, teasing her with the very real possibilities.

With a growl, Geralt dismounted his horse and grabbed Marilka by the elbow, pulling her off the side of the road and pushing her towards a rock.

“Sit,” he said. He turned back to his saddlebags. After a moment, he turned around and marched back over to her, dropping something in her lap. Jerky.

“Eat.”

Marilka picked it up hesitantly, watching him. He looked away, over his horse’s back, like he was pretending not to notice what she did.

“You knew the Shrike?” she said. “You liked her, I mean. Saw it in the way you two talked. Like friends.”

“Witchers don’t make friends,” Geralt said.

“So you fucked her, then?” Marilka asked. Geralt choked on air and whipped around to glare at her. The look of outrage reminded her a little of her mother, actually. Marilka tore off a piece of jerky with her teeth to avoid the thought.

“S’what people usually mean when they say they’re not friends,” Marilka said through a mouthful of dry, too-salty meat. She grimaced after she swallowed, moving her tongue around to try and get rid of the tang of the salt. She’d lived through winters, she knew it made things keep, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.

“That’s not – I met Renfri the same day I met you,” Geralt said.

“Why did you fight her?” Marilka said. “Pretty obvious you like her more than you like me.”

“She threatened you,” Geralt said. “You think I shouldn’t have fought her?”

Marilka touched the place on her throat where the steel had met her skin, then pulled her hand away when she saw him looking.

“Never heard of anyone choosing a stranger over a friend,” she said, shrugging.

“Maybe that’s why witchers don’t have friends,” Geralt said. “You really should go home.”

“You can’t make me,” Marilka pointed out. “You’d die if you tried, probably. Or get more blood to your name. And if I die, the Shrike died for nothing.”

“Her name was Renfri,” Geralt said, so quick it had to have been an accident. Marilka blinked. She thought about the way he’d plucked that brooch from the woman’s body. Before she could respond, Geralt spoke again.

“I’ll get you somewhere safe. A city. You can find some kind of apprenticeship. Then we’re done.”

Not what Marilka had hoped, but far better than she had expected. No matter what, it meant she was leaving her father and Master Irion and fucking Blaviken far behind her. “Where are we headed?” Marilka asked.

In the first town they came to, Marilka expected Geralt to take off. Instead, he went into the inn with her.

“Two rooms,” he said.

The woman froze as she registered his presence. Marilka stepped closer to Geralt before she even realised it. She knew what most people thought of witchers. The rare times Geralt had spoken to her the last few days, he’d mostly informed her of the reception that awaited him across the Continent.

But this was… worse than she’d been told to expect.

“Get out,” the woman said in a shaking voice. Chairs around the room shifted, and as Marilka glanced around she realised there were more than a few grown men standing stock-still, glaring at them. One by the stairs, two at the door, three more scattered around.

“Just a room for the girl, then,” Geralt said quietly. He shifted, and Marilka was reminded of the square in Blaviken. She took a step back, trying to ignore the memories of bloodied corpses on the ground.

“The one you stole?” the woman snapped, her voice cracking. “I know who you are, witcher. Everyone in town has heard what you did in Blaviken.”

“He didn’t steal me,” Marilka snapped. One of the patrons, a woman, pulled at Marilka’s arm, and she twisted away frantically. More people came forward, trying to tug Marilka away from Geralt.

“We’ll get you safe, love, don’t worry,” the first woman said. Marilka tried to look back at Geralt. Would they take her back to Blaviken? To her father?

“Geralt,” she begged.

“Let her go,” Geralt said.

“What could a witcher want with a child?” one of the people snapped. “What, are you keeping her to kill later?”

Marilka dug her heels in, going limp to slow the woman who had her arms now. When the woman stopped pulling to adjust, Marilka slammed her foot back on the woman’s instep. She shrieked, her grip loosening, and Marilka darted for the door.

She wasn’t leading Geralt into another fight. She wouldn’t cause another bloodbath.

She slammed the door open and pelted down the road. If all those people were so convinced she was in trouble, surely they’d follow her? Marilka didn’t dare glance back to find out. She heard shouts from behind, and that had to be good enough.

But Marilka couldn’t run forever, especially after a long day of travelling on foot. As she reached the outskirts of the town, she left the path and darted for the trees, hoping to find somewhere to hide. She jumped to grab a low-hanging branch, scrabbling for purchase against the twisted tree trunk and pulling herself up. There were hoofbeats coming her way. Marilka swallowed, looking around for something she could use as a weapon. She should have grabbed some rocks.

“Marilka!”

The horse and rider were Roach and Geralt. He looked dishevelled but not hurt, and nothing seemed amiss with Roach. Marilka looked past him towards the road, her heart still in her throat. She could hear shouts still, coming closer.

“Marilka, get down,” Geralt said. “We need to go.”

“I made things worse for you, didn’t I?” she said.

“Marilka,” Geralt said again. He sounded… gentle. She looked down into his eyes.

“Come on,” he said. “We’ll find somewhere that hasn’t heard of Blaviken.”

“And if we don’t?” Marilka asked.

“Then I guess you’re stuck with me,” Geralt said. The townspeople were getting closer, and Geralt glanced over his shoulder. Marilka took a deep breath and scrambled down from the tree. Her hands stung from the bark.

“Come on,” Geralt said, offering her a hand. “It’ll be better if we both ride Roach.”

She accepted his hand. Marilka tried to sit apart from him. After her panic, she didn’t want him to think her a scared child. But sitting awkwardly behind the saddle, it was just easier to hold on to him, and Roach was moving fast enough Marilka was a little afraid she might fall off.

Geralt stiffened at first, but he didn’t push her off. The ride was silent.

“Why not let them send me home?” Marilka asked finally. They’d ridden through the forest and the sun had set. Geralt brought Roach to a stop in a clearing and dismounted before he answered.

“You didn’t want to go,” he said to Roach’s muzzle.

“Thanks,” Marilka said. She slipped down from Roach’s back. Geralt steadied her with a hand on the shoulder, then busied himself caring for Roach like it never happened.

“You remember how to set up camp?” he asked. He looked up. “Sorry it’s not a room.”

“I’m not exactly here to stay in shithole towns that look exactly like the one I left,” Marilka said. She did remember what he’d shown her the past few days, and set about starting a fire. She wasn’t sure, but the look on Geralt’s face might have been a smile.

[jinglerat]

once more to see you (part 1)

Fandom: TLoVM, Critical Role

Pairing: Percy x Fem!Reader

Word count: 830

a/n: I've finally given in and written a Percy x reader fic. Reader is a chronomancy wizard with a couple levels in artificer. Shout out to Taliesin and his funky little clockmaker.

this is gonna be a multi part thing. might be a little slow burn. but i'll try to keep it a decent length. i hope you guys like it >.<

---

Agreeing to have Vox Machina stay at your manor for the next fortnight may have been the wrong move.

But you volunteered your residence at the last council for the dignitaries of the realm, and Creekside Manor is the most reputable dwelling in town. You just didn’t know that Vox Machina would be this rowdy. At the moment, it seems like your workshop in a separate shed from the manor is the most peace you can get in your home for the next two weeks.

You stand for a moment beside your sundial on the way to the workshop. It’s still not properly installed as it’s almost night time but the marker says it’s two hours after midday. Installing a sundial does not come as easy as the other parts of horology. You’ll have to reinstall it tomorrow. For now, your workshop is calling your name. You grin at the thought working on your current project and walk a little faster, leaving your sundial for now. Time to do some actual work.

—

You always look forward to the quietude of the kitchen at this time of night. However, as you’re making your way back, it looks like someone left a light somewhere in the kitchen. Unlocking the door, you make an effort to walk in with a lighter gait than usual. Perhaps one of your guests has come knocking around in the kitchen looking for a glass of water. You were right in the assumption that it is a member of Vox Machina, but he looks more like he’s about to cut a deal with a mercenary than someone who’s gotten up from their sleep for a drink.

You remember him from earlier when they arrived in town. He was one of the more prim members of the party. Something something de Rolo. You’ve heard about the tragedy of the de Rolos up north. He’s probably a relative, you think.

“Do you need anything from the kitchen?” you ask him. “It’s rather late. I thought you all would’ve retreated to your rooms to rest.” The candle on the table gives off enough light for you to see his expression. He does seem a little exhausted, judging by the exaggerated lines and shadows the candle brings to his face.

De Rolo offers a polite smile and says, “I asked your staff if there was any place I could work on my contraptions.” You quirk a brow, a little intrigued. He continues, “I have a couple of inventions that I’m currently working on and one of your staff told me that I should ask you about it.” By his tone, it appears that he’s just dispelled some sort of disbelief. His eyes look at your rolled up sleeves and you know there are some grease and soot marks on your hands that one wouldn’t expect on the Lady of Creekside. His smile grows just a bit. It looks nice on him.

“Ah, yes. I do have my workshop out by the back,” you tell him, pointing at the way you came in. You find that you’re a little curious about this man’s projects. Maybe even a little excited to pick his brain for a second opinion on your work. “It’s not too large a place but perhaps we can clear some space for you to work. Come by tomorrow morning and we’ll see what we can do.” You find yourself smiling at the man.

It is at this point that you realize that you aren’t as presentable as you were earlier today. You’re used to working until late in your workshop and walking through an empty manor that you normally don’t clean yourself of smudge marks and splatters before making your way back to your chambers. So much for propriety, you quip at yourself. “Do you need anything else, mister de Rolo?”

“Nothing more, your ladyship. Thank you.” He gets up, takes the candle, and makes his way to leave the kitchen but pauses at the entryway. “May I walk you upstairs?”

Alright, propriety. “Of course,” you reply, walking towards the warmth of the candle as if a bug to a flame. You make your way up to the hall where the bedrooms are, expecting him to stop at his door. You’re no damsel after all, and you’ve wound your way through your home without any light enough times that you can get anywhere with your eyes closed. And he is a guest of the Manor.

So it comes as a welcome surprise that he walks past his bedroom to walk you to yours. Well, I am the lady of the house, you think. Nevertheless, it is a kind gesture. “Thank you, Mr. de Rolo,” you smile warmly at the man.

“Please, you may call me Percival.” His expression has become unreadable with the candlelight too close to his glasses, making them opaque. But the polite smile from earlier returns to his face.

“Alright.” A beat. “I will see you tomorrow, Percival.”

PART 2 PART 3

[bensolosbluesaber]

Returning a Favor (Zemo x Reader fic)

TFATWS Ep. 4 Spoilers!!

Summary: When your old friend, Sam Wilson, needs your help in Riga you drop everything and go. You knew they broke Baron Helmut Zemo out of jail, but you didn't expect to bond with the villain. (AKA: I thought getting hit in the face by the Shield would at least leave a bruise. Here's how that would go down with a fourth person.)

CW: Blood, wounds, some creepy behavior (not from Zemo), a few Y/N inserts

No smut yet, just cute cuddles and taking care of each other. Maybe smut in the future though! Let me know if you want a Part 2 or added to a tag list for potential future fics! I think the reader can be any gender; I tried to write it that way and be inclusive, but please tell me if I messed up!

If you know me in real life, no you don't:) I write most of my fics on @aurora521 and write on AO3 and fanfiction.net under the same name. Please don't come for me about finding Zemo attractive.

Hope you enjoy!

---

Returning a Favor

Meet me in Riga. -S

That was the text you received from Sam Wilson, your old military friend, yesterday. And now here you are, outside the Riga airport walking toward Sam in traditional undercover superhero attire- a baseball hat and sunglasses.

“Thanks for coming,” he greeted. “We have a little problem.”

“Is his name Baron Helmut Zemo by chance?” You asked, following him to a jet black sports car.

You were very aware of just what type of trouble Sam was getting himself into since you, a SWORD agent, still had access to all kinds of classified information.

“See for yourself,” Sam muttered, gesturing to the back door of the car and climbing in the driver's seat himself.

You hesitated for a moment, then opened the door and slid into the back. And yes, Zemo was there, lounging back with legs spread. He’s wearing a long coat with fur lining, a deep purple shirt, black pants, and shiny leather shoes. He nods to you and smirks ever so slightly. Bucky Barnes, who you had only heard about but recognized immediately, turns from his spot in the front seat and smiles at you.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Y/N,” he says.

“And I you,” you respond.

Sam pulls out of the parking lot with a screech of tires. The ride is mostly silent, Sam and Bucky bickering occasionally. That made you smile, knowing that as much as Bucky annoyed Sam, this was the type of relationship he craved. Zemo watched you the entire drive, sizing you up.

The home they’re staying at is obviously the Baron's. He’s comfortable there, leaning against the counters, rifling through cabinets, lounging on the couch.

“So what am I doing here?” You finally asked.

The three men interact easily, and either Sam or Bucky is always watching Zemo. There’s no real need for a fourth person to get involved, at least not in your mind.

“Someone needs to babysit the Baron,” Sam explained with an annoyed sigh.

Zemo shrugged with a smirk so innocent it’s sinister. He’s still wearing that ridiculous coat.

“The two Avengers can’t handle him?”

“I believe your friends find it challenging to be around me,” Zemo answered for Sam.

“You shot a man in the head yesterday!” Sam snapped. “You antagonize Bucky at every turn. Forgive us for needing a break from whatever is happening in your fucked up head.”

Zemo tilts his head as if agreeing with everything Sam had just said.

“Anyway,” Bucky interrupted. “We have a lead on Karli. You can sleep off some jet lag while we’re gone, but starting tonight it’s your turn to keep track of him.”

You settled into a small bedroom. The moment your head hit the pillow, you fell asleep. At home it’s nearly ten at night; here it’s midday.

The trio is back all too soon, heralded by a slam of a door, and you force yourself to wake up to adjust to the time change as rapidly and effectively as possible. As you open the door to the living room, Bucky is stalking toward Zemo. He grabs the teacup from Zemo’s hand and hurls it against the wall.

“You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?” Bucky growled, staring at Zemo with an unnerving glint in his eyes.

“Take it easy. Don’t engage him,” Sam jumped up and grabbed Bucky’s arm. “He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing.”

Bucky’s face softened slightly. Zemo stops tilting his head.

“Let me make a call,” Sam says and walks away.

“You want some cherry blossom tea?” Zemo offers Bucky with a mocking tone.

“No. You go ahead,” Bucky hissed, and after a moment of staring, he followed Sam out of the room.

You had watched Zemo for that entire exchange, noticed the slightest flinch and hint of fear when Bucky had grabbed that cup. The moment the other two men are gone and Zemo thinks he’s alone, he pours himself another cup. His hand is steady, but he draws a sharp, unsteady breath.

You move out of the room, and Zemo looks up at you from his spot on the couch. Without a word, you walk into the kitchen, taking a roll of paper towels and carefully picking up the shattered glass.

“I can do that,” Zemo says, speaking directly to you for the first time.

His voice is calm, accent thick.

“It’s alright,” you answer, then gasp sharply as a piece slices your pointer finger from tip to palm. “Fuck.”

You set the bloody piece with the pile of glass and hold a paper towel to your hand. You used the other hand to wipe tea off the wall and floor before picking up the glass piled on a paper towel and placing it in the trash, carefully tucked in other garbage.

“Let me.”

Zemo’s voice behind you makes you jump. You eye him for a moment wondering if there is some ulterior motive, some way he could hurt you or hold you hostage. Nothing comes to mind, not with Sam and Bucky so close, so you hold out your bleeding hand. He clicks his tongue at the wound.

When he takes your hand in his, his fingers are soft and warm. He moves your wound under a faucet and lets water run, rinsing the blood down the sink. He squeezes the wound a bit, and you wince as it begins to bleed more.

“We bleed to clean our wounds. It is the body’s way of protecting itself,” he says and presses a towel to your finger as he shuts off the water. “Ironic isn’t it. The very thing meant to protect us from future danger, often kills us first.”

“I’m not here to debate the ethics of superheroes with you.”

“Hold that,” he lets go of your hand and opens another cabinet. “I know how I feel about enhanced humans. There is nothing for me to debate.”

Zemo takes your hand back in his. You watch his face as he works. He uses his mouth to remove the wrapping from a butterfly bandage. The bleeding has slowed, and he uses the bandage to pull your torn skin back together. The cut isn’t terrible, certainly not the worst injury you’ve ever had, but it will scar. He adds two more strips, then places an absorbent pad over it and wraps it all in gauze.

“When we get back, I’ll change that for you.”

“I’ll hope you don’t get killed then,” you offer with a grateful smile.

He doesn’t respond but gestures to you to join on the couch. You do, keeping what you feel is a safe distance between the two of you. Zemo hands you a cup of warm tea, but as you grab it, he doesn’t let go. Your undamaged fingers brush his for a long moment and he chuckles.

“Promise not to take after your friend James? I quite like this tea set.”

Your eyebrows knit together as he smiles at his own joke and finally surrenders the cup to you. That’s the last words you two exchange, and when Bucky and Sam return ready for the next part of the mission, they find the two of you sitting in silence sharing a pot of tea.

___

When the three men returned, Sam and Bucky held an unconscious Zemo between them. You jumped off the couch, the book you had been reading discarded, and let them lay Zemo down.

“What happened?”

“John Walker,” the two men answered in the same disgusted tone.

You leaned over Zemo, finally seeing the blood and bruise on his right temple.

“This one disappeared for a few minutes, shot Karli-”

“Didn’t kill her,” Sam interrupted, sounding relieved.

Much like Sam, you sympathized with Karli’s motives if not her methods. And much like Sam, you were glad she hadn’t died.

“Then Walker knocked him out with the shield,” Bucky finished.

There was no jab at Sam this time for which you were grateful.

“Which is the only useful thing he did,” Sam added. “Zemo destroyed the rest of the serum, so right now he’s above Walker in my book.”

You looked down at Zemo, blood had dripped down his face and neck, though most of it was dried now. His eyelids twitched as he slept.

“Are you two okay?” You asked as you walked toward the bathroom.

“Fine. We ditched Walker, but we’ll need to get out of here as soon as we figure out what to do with Karli,” Sam answered, collapsing on the couch with a heavy sigh.

You dampened a washcloth in the bathroom and on your way back to the living room, grabbed the first aid kit Zemo had used on you earlier.

“What are you doing? He’ll be fine,” Bucky muttered.

He was sitting next to Sam now.

“Returning a favor,” you answered as you knelt at Zemo’s side.

You dabbed at the drying blood with the cloth, wiping it off his cheek, out of his hair. Somehow the coat came out unscathed. Sam and Bucky were talking about something behind you, but you were entirely focused on the unconscious man.

Zemo had a handsome, aristocratic face, and he walked like royalty, like he was untouchable. This was evidence he wasn’t.

You moved to the actual wound next. The cloth was soft, unreasonably so. A large hand wrapped around your wrist, squeezing tightly. You inhale sharply and shift your gaze to Zemo’s hand then his eyes. When your eyes met his, he seemed to relax, releasing you and letting his hand fall at his side.

“Apologies,” he grunted, mouth twitching with pain.

“It’s alright,” you answer calmly, very aware that the other men had stopped talking and were fixated on a potential threat. “Turn your head please.”

You put a hand on his cheek and turned him to face you to get a better look at the wound that was still seeping slowly.

“The new Captain America might force me to reconsider my stance on superheroes. I would enjoy seeing Sam and James have a go at him,” Zemo said as you prod the wound.

You wiped the cut with antiseptic, and Zemo hissed a bit at that but said nothing. Then, just like he had done to you, you placed three butterfly bandages on the cut. It wasn’t deep, just long and jagged.

“You’re my new favorite,” he joked with a little grin.

You laughed and walked to the kitchen for some ice. There were no packs, so you grabbed a bag of frozen peas, wrapped them in a towel and set it gently on Zemo’s temple.

“I can’t have you dying when I need this changed tonight,” you said, holding up a finger.

When you turned around, Sam and Bucky had both stretched out on the couch. They both wore annoyed expressions that Zemo got a whole couch and they got one to share. Bucky bumped Sam’s foot with his own, much to your amusement and Sam’s annoyance. He kicked his partner back, and you decided not to interrupt their little couples spat. Instead, you move to sit on the ground.

Zemo grabbed your wrist again, this time gently. He tucked his legs up, folding them into a V, and motioned you to share his couch. And you did, sitting in the same spot you had earlier, this time near his feet still clad in shiny black leather shoes.

“Hey, you two,” Sam called. “What’s this cozy little couch situation going on here?”

“You two could have a cozy little couch situation too if you’d just talk to each other,” Zemo shot back.

He didn’t even look at Sam, just held the frozen vegetables to his face, eyes closed.

“Y/N?” Zemo asked after a moment. “Can you get me an Advil? Or better yet, some sort of alcoholic beverage?”

“I’m not your servant, Zemo,” you sighed but stood and poured him a glass of some expensive alcohol from a bottle with Sokovian writing.

He sipped it, setting it on his chest between sips as he lounged on the couch with you. Bucky was watching you out the corner of his eye, and you were watching Zemo. Every few sips he would grimace, his lips pressing together and chest catching. Then he’d relax, exhale softly and shift the peas back into place. Eventually you picked up your book and began to read again.

Sam left the room to take a phone call a few hours later and came back shaking.

“Karli threatened Sarah, my nephews. I have to meet with her. Alone.”

“I’m coming with you,” Bucky jumped in, already on his feet. “Walker will be there, and you can’t handle the Super Soldiers and Captain Propaganda on your own.”

Zemo was either asleep or doing a good job pretending beside you. The pea bag had been returned to the freezer. He’d discarded his coat and was now wearing only his black pants and a deep purple shirt with shoulder holsters.

“You got him?” Sam pointed to the sleeping man.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you answered, setting the book aside and watching them prepare to leave.

Both men donned their costumes, Sam strapping his wings on, Bucky ripping the sleeve off of yet another jacket so his metal arm could move freely.

“Call me- us if you need backup,” you shouted after them, knowing full well they would do no such thing.

“If we aren’t back in two hours, take his ass back to jail,” Bucky called back.

Baron Zemo woke up the minute the door slammed shut, which made you doubt he’d been sleeping at all.

“And now it is only us,” he said in that thick Sokovian accent. “I will cook us something for dinner.”

He moved into the kitchen, boiling a pot of water while you watched. You perched yourself on the counter near him as he searched through cabinets. When he noticed you, he paused and chuckled before returning to the cooking. You watched in silence, keeping a close eye on him when he picked up a knife and began chopping tomatoes from a can.

He handed you a bowl of thin noodles with a thick red sauce. It smelled delicious.

“A traditional and simple Sokovian dish, a comfort food you might say,” he explained and joined you on the counter. “I made enough for Sam and James. Call me an optimist.”

Zemo didn’t talk much, you realized, as you enjoyed the food in silence. It was delicious, a bit like pasta. Suddenly, the back door clicked open. You glance around nervously, realizing just how wrong this felt.

“They shouldn’t be back yet,” you say quietly. “And they wouldn’t come in the back.”

“My old associates must have found me,” Zemo jumps off the table, and you notice the same nervousness as when Bucky threw the cup. He cannot know about James or Sam.”

You can hear a single person strolling toward the kitchen in heavy boots.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Zemo whispered, and before you could even process the words, he was standing between your legs and pressing his lips to yours.

His movements are slow and careful, trying not to be invasive as he moves his hands to your back, sliding one up to the back of your head. You wrap an arm around his waist and slide the other hand up the front of his purple shirt, splaying your fingers across his chest. His lips are soft and warm as they move against yours. His hand keeps you from pulling away, not that you’d want to.

“I heard you were back in Riga,” a new voice chuckled. “I had to see for myself.”

Zemo pulls back, feigning surprise, but kept an arm protectively around you.

“And as you have undoubtedly noticed, I am quite busy,” he replied. “Perhaps you could come back tomorrow? I’d prefer not to discuss our business in front of…”

Zemo nods to you. You were staring at the man who you recognized from work files. He was a former Shield agent. When Shield fell, he used the chaos for his own advantage, working for neither Shield nor Hydra and killing anyone who stood in his way. You suspected, but couldn’t be sure, that some of your best friends had been killed by him. Fortunately, you had enough self-control not to shoot him. His mere presence made you tense and uncomfortable.

“Of course, Baron,” he grinned and look at you in a way that made you shift closer to Zemo. “I’ll see you tomorrow, noon. The usual place.”

He gave the two of you one last look and left with a wink to Zemo. Even when the other man had gone, Zemo’s hands were still holding you against him.

“We will have to be gone before noon tomorrow,” he said looking down at you.

For some reason, you were both still wrapped around each other.

“You know who he is?” Zemo said, a statement masquerading as a question. “I am sorry.”

Your face was only inches from him, and you could smell his cologne. Zemo used the hand on your head to pull you against his shoulder. You set your head there, face turned into his neck, and inhaled deeply. And there he sat and you stood, hugging tightly for no real reason except that no one else was there.

Zemo pressed a soft kiss to your head, and rather than protest you let his lips linger. Finally, his head fell on your shoulder. After a moment, he slid you off the counter, took your hand, and led you back to the couch. Without asking, the two of you settled together on the couch, so close your sides pressed against each other. He pulled a gun out of his shoulder holster, and you froze until he set it down on the table, smirking a little.

“I don’t make a habit of shooting people I’ve just kissed,” he chuckled and raised an arm for you to lean against him.

You raised an eyebrow at him, surprised at the forwardness. You shouldn’t be, after all, he had just kissed you and held you on the counter of his kitchen. Helmut Zemo made no sense to you, but in the end, you curled against him. He shifted to lay on his back, head propped on the pillows he was laying on earlier while you tucked yourself beside him, head on his chest.

Zemo wrapped an arm around you. You put a hand on his chest, fingering the purple shirt. He was warm and soft, and you had to remind yourself that you could not fall asleep while you are supposed to be watching him.

“Why are we doing this?” You whisper. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why are you?” Zemo turns his head toward you.

“I haven’t had someone to do this with in a long time,” you answer slowly, cautiously, knowing full well this was a man who could turn on you on an instant or hold onto information until the moment it was advantageous to him.

“Neither have I,” He replied. “German prisons don’t allow much physical contact. Besides, I hope that with enough time perhaps I may kiss you again.”

You tilted your head up to see a grin tugging at the side of his lips, lips that had been on yours a few minutes ago.

“Maybe with enough time,” you answer and brush a lose strand of hair out of his eyes, letting your hand trail over the bruise on his face.

He caged your hand in his, bringing your joined hands back to his chest and holding them there. You felt the rise and fall of his breaths and it soothed you. When they grew deep and steady and the tension seemed to fall from his body, you realized he was truly asleep, not faking like earlier. Soon and against your better judgment, you were dozing off in his arms tossing a leg over his so your limbs tangled together.

Your last thought before you fell asleep was how warm and comfortable you felt with Helmut Zemo, and how completely ludicrous such a thought was.

It wasn’t long before the door opening woke you, still secure in Zemo’s arms. You tried to move, sit up so Sam and Bucky wouldn’t see this little arrangement. You failed. Bucky came in first, stopping in his tracks as he saw the scene on the couch.

“What are you doing? Keep walk- what?” Sam ran right into Bucky’s back then froze.

Their eyes were wide as they stared. Zemo shifted awake beneath you, and you could imagine the smirk on his face. Bucky’s metal fist clenched, and Sam, ever the peacemaker grabbed his arm and opted for a more amicable approach.

“One of you better start talking.”

[hockeywhy]

caught in the middle (1); m. barzal

SYNOPSIS: For the sake of your friend’s wedding with Tito, you and Mat agree to maintain the facade of still being the happy couple everyone sees you as. But the act comes with its consequences, one more taxing than the other. WARNINGS: language. WORD COUNT: 11.2k A/N: I am so excited for this because it contains some of the tropes I enjoy seeing in fics, and I was dying to also put out some new content as opposed to only reposting my old writing. I wish I wrote this when I was still decent at doing the thing, but I hope that this is still an enjoyable read that makes you look forward to the next part! Title is based off Alexander 23′s Caught in the Middle which is such a good song and I really recommend. Sections in italics represent flashbacks. 

PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

“We’re getting married!” 

You gasped, bringing both hands to cover the lower half of your face as your jaw dropped at the announcement. It shouldn’t be so surprising – you would’ve bet even your most prized possession that this was bound to happen at some point eventually – but knowing this was actually now a sure thing sent a thrill through you. It didn’t take long for the shock to wear off and in place of it, your expression mirrored that of your best friend’s: the wide grin, the bright eyes and of course, the giggles of sheer excitement as soon as the news sunk in. Elise was glowing and next to her, Tito embodied the idea of what the world’s proudest man would look like. 

“Oh my god!” you gasped, and Elise burst into laughter, not hesitating to jump out of her seat at the same time you did so that the two of you could embrace. Among your squeals and giggles, you could faintly make out the sound of hands being clapped, then caught sight of Mat and Tito hugging. Over Elise’s shoulder and over Tito’s, you and Mat exchanged smiles and you couldn’t help the chuckle that left your mouth as soon as he winked at you. “Congratulations!” you said as soon as you broke apart, though the two of you still held hands. Immediately, your gaze fell down to her hand where a ring now rested, and you couldn’t help but wonder how you hadn’t taken notice of it earlier. “Just—when? How? Where? Who else knows?” 

“We don’t have a date or venue set yet, but we wanted you and Mat to be the first to know,” Elise informed you as soon as you took your seats again.

“We have a favour to ask from both of you,” Tito supplied. As soon as he said it, you felt Mat’s hand wrap around your own and the two of you exchanged a brief look during which he squeezed your hand gently, before diverting your attentions back to the soon-to-be newlyweds. 

Newlyweds. The immensity of the word sent a discrete shiver down your spine. 

“I can’t imagine asking this of anyone else: I want you to be my best man,” Tito directed at Mat.

“You shouldn’t even think of asking this of anyone else,” Mat responded immediately, and the two shook hands on it. You couldn’t help but think that if they weren’t as comfortable as they were now, they’d probably hug again, do their typical pats on the back or fist bump as they usually did, but Elise’s head now rested on Tito’s shoulder and Mat’s hand was so warm, so firm atop your own. 

“Be my maid of honour, please?” Elise asked. “I can’t think of anyone more suitable than you and Mat as best man and maid of honour. We’ll return the favour of course,” she added playfully. 

“I’ll hold you to that,” you warned without hesitating because after all, you had no reason to – and you knew Mat would agree with you. 

Although the two of you hadn’t touched on the subject yet, there was an unvoiced knowledge shared between you that eventually, this would also be you. Eventually, Mat would ask you and your heart would grow and your soul would warm, and you would say yes. Yes, yes, yes. 

As you all settled down to hear a replay of how Tito popped the question and Elise accepted the ring, Mat’s thumb began caressing the back of your hand. Though the gesture wasn’t a novelty, you couldn’t help but take notice of the way your heart fluttered each time he seemed to linger more on your ring finger. It wasn’t difficult to imagine a ring wrapped around it but neither of you were in a rush: you simply waited for the right time to take your relationship to a point in which it would become a forever thing, fully confident it wasn’t a question of ‘if’ but rather, ‘when’.

*

This was anything but the right time. 

You frown as you cast a glance down at the phone resting on your lap, eyes narrowing a little at the name which brought the display to life for the second time in the space of less than a minute. You click the side button twice, silencing the vibrations of it and from your side, your colleague leans in to whisper to you. 

“You can take it if it’s urgent. I’ll fill you in afterwards.”

“Thanks,” you whisper back. “I think it can wait until the meeting wraps up though.” 

Luke gives you a well, if you’re sure look as he leaned back in his chair and you flash him a grateful smile. 

Still, it is difficult for you to settle comfortably in your seat again and much to your chagrin, you find yourself crossing and uncrossing your legs as if the call had sent some sort of signal to your entire body kickstarting jitteriness you can honestly do without. Not long after you find some comfort and energy to draw yourself back to the present, your phone buzzes again – only once this time, indicating a message. 

I’m waiting for you in the lobby.

Fuck, you curse inwardly, locking the phone in frustration. As quietly as you can, you gather your notebook and work tablet then lean in towards Luke who met you halfway. “Have to run but let me know if I miss anything important.”

“At the current rate, I wouldn’t count much on it but will do anyway,” he states as quietly as he can and the two of you exchange sly, conspiratorial smiles before you excuse yourself quickly and very quietly while making a swift exit. 

Internally, a string of curses follow without a break in between, and you have to physically bite down on your lip out of sheer fear one might unconsciously slip out. If anyone would be in your shoes, though, they wouldn’t blame you for it. You are the type of person to stick closely to any plans and agreements made, so the fact that he just chose to turn up so unexpectedly doesn’t sit right with you. Not anymore, that is. Besides, you had both agreed to do this after your workday ended as opposed to midday and definitely not in this place. Now, you have to brace yourself for coping with a foul mood on top of whatever else the rest of the day would throw at you. 

“You’ve got a visitor,” Rachel announces quietly in a sing-song voice from behind the reception desk as you approach. She doesn’t bother masking the giddiness in her tone and you struggle to work up as genuine of a smile as you can when she nods her head towards the waiting area.

“Thanks, Rach.”

“Bet he must be so happy your redeployment to the Baltimore offices was cut short so quickly,” she coos. 

“Sure is. We’re still on for tonight?” you ask quickly in an attempt to drive attention away from the subject before she can try to lead into it too far for your own comfort at the moment. 

Rachel’s smile falters a little, her expression somewhat quizzical. “Don’t you want to postpone so you could spend some time with him? You only just got back yesterday, after all.” 

You swallow uncomfortably before shrugging. “We’ve got plenty of time to do that. So tonight, okay? I’ll catch you later.” 

“Your call. See you then, Y/N!”

You only had just a split second to brace yourself for what is ahead of you, so you draw in a breath then slowly exhale it as discreetly as you can while cutting your way across the lobby. Since agreeing to this meeting, you prepared yourself as best as you could, imagining every single scenario and devising the appropriate plan for it: from the way you presented yourself to what you said, you had a mental plan for everything including a few backups just in case. The only thing you hadn’t factored in, apparently, was how little was under your control and you hated that. Each step you take made you feel less and less prepared for what is ahead, and the thought rattles you. If you were swift enough on your feet, you could just about make a quick turn and dip into the hallway leading to the visitor restrooms. All you need is just a few more seconds. A little alone time for you to run over your lines in your head. 

Except—

Mat looks up at the same time you take a step sideways, ready to bolt towards temporary safety. His eyebrows rise a little as if surprised by the sight of you, but you refuse to appear outwardly deflated by the turn of events. Instead, you square your shoulders, tip your head back a little and arch an eyebrow. You can do this. You note he is dressed casually, and his hair is pushed back underneath a black cap. 

Unless there was a change in schedule, Thursdays were scrimmage days. 

Your jaw clenches ever so slightly as you recall that with so much ease. Then again, you basically built up a collection of information that was practically helpful or useful to exactly no one over the course of the past few years. It’ll probably take just as much or maybe more to replace that with something different, so you try cutting yourself some slack whenever you are willing to.

“I thought we agreed on five thirty,” you state coolly, pitching your voice at just the right tone to also express surprise.

Mat pushes up from the armchair, returning whatever magazine he’d picked up back on the nearby glass table. “Sorry, I tried calling earlier this morning to ask if we can reschedule but it went straight to voicemail.” 

Oh. You mentally curse yourself for not charging your phone as soon as you made it home from the airport the previous night or bothering to check the voicemail message you’d been notified of once it did begin charging earlier this morning at your desk.

“They rescheduled the viewing of the new arena for this evening, and I was in the area, so I thought I’ll drop by just in case,” Mat continues, throwing a cursory glance around the place though to you, it seemed more like a way of having a break from the eye contact. You don’t complain; you welcome that. 

You open your mouth, ready to berate his poor timing but even you could admit you carry some fault here too. Only a little. You bite down lightly on the tip of your tongue, before nodding towards the seats though you didn’t wait for Mat; you sit, deciding he could make up his own mind if he wanted to follow or not. 

“How was Baltimore?” he asks after a few moments of awkward silence while settling in the same armchair he previously occupied. 

“Mat,” you say, hoping it comes across as more of a warning than a plea. You can’t deal with small talk and a part of you thinks that’d make the entire deal even more difficult to go through with. He presses his lips together into a thin line and you take that as your sign to continue. “Elise told me she’d like us to be at the venue a day in advance of the rehearsal dinner if we can. I’ve already arranged my leave for that, so it’s not a problem for me. I’m planning on making my way there sometime tomorrow afternoon.” 

“We can go together then. I can pick you up after work.” 

“There’s no need—”

“Y/N.” The sharpness of his tone catches you off guard and you can swear Mat was equally surprised by that, though only for the briefest of moments. He slides forward a little in the seat almost as if he is more than ready to leave but Mat has  never been one to back down so easily and you doubt any of that changed during the course of the past three months or so. “You were the one who insisted we go through with this and I’m trying. I really am, but you’re not giving me anything to work with. So please. Let’s just put everything to the side, do what we need to do and then it’s done.” 

Done. Like it is a task, like it is something you needed to cross off a to-do list, scrunch it up then trash it.  

The finality of the word is so heavy that it feels as if it had managed to knock out all the air in your lungs. You and Mat were running headfirst towards a fork in the road, and deep down you knew that was truly it. If until now the two of you have been dancing around each other, playing pretend as if you were kids living in a world of fantasy, you know that eventually, you have to let light shine on the truth: whatever lay ahead, you and Mat could no longer walk the same paths. It is just a matter of admitting it not only to yourselves, but also to the people you were lying to. 

Lying for, you prefer. 

Defeated, you slump in your own seat a little, legs crossing and fingers tapping lightly against the back of your notebook. “Be at my place by two. I’ll have everything that I need ready the night before so we won’t need to wait around.” A pause, and then, “how’s Tito?” 

Mat lifts a shoulder in a casual shrug. “Excited. Nervous. It’s the only thing he talks about in the locker, outside of it, on ice and off ice. How’s Elise?” 

“Same deal with her. I never knew there were so many shades of blue before, but I’ve been proven wrong before.”

A pause follows that could easily be attributed to the group of people rushing into the building and allowing noise from the street outside to filter in while the doors were kept open, but you can tell there is more to it than that if you are to go by the shift in Mat’s expression. His expression changes and you find you can’t quite read into it or guess what could be going on through his head. You try not to focus much on the little voice inside your mind that was bothered by it but find it takes a considerable amount of effort to do so. Force of habit, you conclude. 

“You don’t say,” Mat finally responds. There is a hint of accusation in his tone. Or regret. Maybe both.

Your lips press together firmly, a light frown forming on your face but chose to let that slide. Not only is the lobby of your workplace the least suitable place to have an argument about the two of you, but you find that even those short moments of seeing Mat face to face months after you called it quits appears to take a toll on you. You feel tired, worn out and willing to be the first one to back down for once. 

It is cruel irony that a big red neon EXIT sign is visible from the corner of your eye.

You release a quiet, long sigh then stand up from the seat. “Well, I guess we’re done here? I do have another meeting to prepare for, so…” You trail off, already backing away a few steps.

Mat opens his mouth as if ready to say something else but promptly presses his lips together, deciding against it. He gives a swift nod of his head then stands up. It’s then you notice the two Styrofoam cups in front of him and the neon EXIT sign imprinted in your mind starts flashing temptingly at you. Mat is a step ahead. He holds out one of the cups towards you and you are ready to tell him off for it, but he cut in.

“Thought I wouldn’t drop by empty handed.” When you don’t make a move to accept it, his eyes briefly peek behind you. “Rachel’s all eyes this way, by the way,” he informs you and a brief glance over your shoulder confirms Mat hasn’t been lying.

As soon as you turn to look towards the reception desk, Rachel grins, waves quickly at you then turns back to her computer screen. Begrudgingly, you accept the cup of coffee and force a tight smile. 

“See you soon,” you say by way of greeting and didn’t wait to hear a response from Mat. 

It isn’t until you scan your pass to cross the security barriers and make a turn out of sight that you take a sip from the drink and almost immediately wish you didn’t. It’s your order to a T. The two of you even brought a coffee machine that would let you replicate it on days when you didn’t feel like leaving the comforts of your apartment, especially days when Mat didn’t need to get up early for practices or scrimmages or evening games. It stayed with Mat when you left and the memory left a bitter taste in your mouth, despite the gentle sweetness of the beverage. 

Without thinking twice, you throw the cup in the nearest trash can. 

*

As soon as your order is set on the table, you ignore the basket of fries and reach straight for your glass to take a long sip from the straw, letting out a content sigh as soon as you felt satiated enough.

“Long day,” you state in response to Rachel’s raised eyebrows but she seems to accept that by raising her own glass. You clink yours against hers, take a smaller sip then set it back down on the table. “What time do you think you’ll make it over to the hotel?” 

“Well, I was thinking of trying to get there by midday on the day of the rehearsal dinner but it’s starting to look more like late afternoon. I’m…” She trails off, and you can just about pick up on her hesitation and the way her gaze shifts over to the side momentarily as if avoiding something or considering whether to continue that. You move in your seat, peeling your back away from the plush backrest to lean in a little closer.

“You’re…” you trail off, voice peaking just a little into a question in an attempt to prompt her to continue.

Rachel takes a deep breath in, shoulders visibly drooping and when she looked back at you, she did so with a look that could only reflect…shame? Embarrassment? 

“Luke and I are sort of thinking of coming along together.” At the sight of your widened eyes, she quickly adds, “just as friends! We’re still working out through a few things and we’re taking it slow. As in, much, much slower than the first time around.”

“No way! That’s… Rach, that’s so good. I’m happy for you both, seriously.” 

You find that you truly believed that, though it wasn’t a surprise to you. You had introduced Rachel to Luke while she visited you in Baltimore and at the time, he worked with you there also. Initially, you didn’t think much of it - you simply invited her to come along to a few after work drinks and the two kicked it off easily that night. Very easily apparently, because as the night started coming to an end, Rachel prompted you to go ahead without her. Ready to say you weren’t going to leave her own her own, you shortly found out exactly why: you watched with plenty of amusement and fascination as she and Luke climbed into a taxi together and whizzed off to his place, undoubtedly. That was pretty much their start and continuation. Her visits to Baltimore were more frequent and though you were seeing her often enough, it definitely wasn’t as much as Luke saw of her. And you were fine with that. They fit almost perfectly and it only took a few more meetings for them to label themselves as a couple. 

Things began crumbling as soon as Luke had moved to the New York office just a few weeks before your own return. While he seemed fine with the idea of Rachel working in the same place, that wasn’t also her take on things.

“It’s weird,” she told you through the phone. “It just… It’s so weird. I’d be seeing him at my place or his and in the office? No thanks. That’s way too much for me, you know?” 

It made sense, of course, and though you rooted for them, you didn’t want to push her into something she wasn’t comfortable with. Yet, there was a tremble to her voice, a sort of uncertainty that made you think otherwise. It wasn’t that Rachel didn’t have any feelings for him - maybe she was simply shocked to see him walk through those glass doors one morning to pick up his brand new ID and claim what would soon become his permanent desk across from yours. 

“Thanks,” she tells you, pulling you back into the present. “But like I said, slow and easy does it. We’ve been talking more and that makes a huge difference.” 

“For sure. If communication isn’t the backbone of a relationship, I don’t know what is,” you agree and wasn’t that ironic? You’re hardly in the position of giving any relationship advice at all or saying what is good for one and what isn’t. Not anymore. Not when your own had fallen apart. 

Rachel grins. “You’d know. You and Mat have been together for… how long now?” 

You should’ve seen it coming a mile away. You swallow uncomfortably, take another sip of your drink and take a few fries just to buy yourself a little more time. “Maybe four years? Don’t really keep track of that anymore,” you said as casually as you could muster, lifting your shoulders in a shrug. 

“I think I’d stop doing that eventually too at the rate you two are going. Honestly, I would’ve bet anything you would’ve been the first to tie the knot. Actually, thinking about it,” she says, clicking her fingers in recollection, “Elise said the same thing to me the other day when we caught up on the phone. She went—“

You don’t really register her words. There is a low ringing in your ears and an uncomfortable draft sweeps in the locale as the entrance door somewhere behind you is being kept open, no doubt a large group making their way in; it sends shivers down your body, but really, you are pretty sure you can’t only attribute them to a brief gust of wind. After all, your sweater is keeping you sufficiently cosy and warm. In front of you, Rachel continues praising your relationship with Mat, talking about how anyone took a look at you both and would say, whatever they have going, I want it too and you are trying so, so hard to block out as much as you can of it. You can stop her, of course; distract her with whatever random topic and you know she’d go with it but your jaw is locked in place, teeth clenched uncomfortably. You blame that and the way your nails dig into the palms of your hands on the sting behind your eyes and the sudden heaviness weighting down on your chest. 

It isn’t so much the pain of your relationship ending that was rendering you in a state of daze, but the shame of what you and Mat agreed to do: pretend the two of you were still the happy couple Elise, Tito and everyone else thought of you as just to not spoil whatever luck they thought you’d be passing on to them by being their main witnesses. And then, once the event passes and they would return to New York from the honeymoon you and Mat would soon gift to them on their wedding day, you’d tell them the truth. Or part of it anyway. Definitely no mentions that the two of you were childish enough to play pretend; just a simple, clean break timed just perfectly with your request to be permanently redeployed elsewhere. Preferably, as far from New York City as possible so that you no longer have to walk the streets you once both did or yearn to once again visit that perfect pie place the two of you once dubbed your own.

“We’re not together anymore.”

The words stumble out of your mouth in a desperate now or never manner. Despite the anxiousness that came with the act, you find relief in it also. It feels freeing to be able to admit the truth to someone that isn’t only yourself though perhaps you should’ve thought of this more carefully: the idea of now needing to come fully clean to Rachel is somewhat daunting, mostly because of what she might say in response to the front you and Mat are trying to uphold. But for the first time in what feels like too long, you no longer feel like a fraud; like a person lying to everyone around them.

“Wait.” Rachel frowns, and it was obvious she doesn’t quite know what to do with that information or how to best process it. Her head tilts a little, palm idly rubbing against the side of her neck so you take the initiative to come across as unbothered by this as possible by leaning into the seat, legs crossing as you fiddled with the drink’s straw. “What? I’m confused. Didn’t Mat just drop by earlier? You two seemed okay. He was…fine when he came in. We didn’t talk much, sure, but he was all smiley and just…normal.” 

You laugh quietly and shortly. “It’s been a while now. Maybe two or three weeks before I left for Baltimore, I think. It’d be pretty worrying if he was still hung up about it. After all, we both agreed on it. And this,” you add, a little more disheartened and embarrassed. “This…thing we’re doing. We promised Tito and Elise we’ll be there for them on their big day and we will. But they had this… I guess, idea of us being an ideal couple. Whatever that is,” you continue more quietly and with a roll of your eyes. “He wanted to tell Tito, but I didn’t want to spoil Elise’s day, you know? So he agreed. Took some convincing because it feels so… Gosh, it sounds so stupid, doesn’t it? Pretending we’re still together just to spread some fake cheer around.” 

“Oh, honey…” Rachel whispers and you read the sympathy in her voice. Not that she makes it particularly difficult to take note of. “But… I thought everything was okay. Actually, way more than okay. Perfect, even. What…uh—“ She trailed off awkwardly, but you could easily fill in that gap.

What happened?

You bring the beverage to your mouth, this time drinking from the glass directly as opposed to using the straw. The mixer stings your throat this time around but the small ice cube you take into your mouth numbs it away pretty quickly. Slowly, you chew it to small pieces and speak only when you finish it.

“I thought long and hard about this the first few weeks after we called it quits,” you admit. “We always talked about what bothered us or if there was something on our mind, but at one point we just… We stopped wanting to compromise. When I was put forward for Baltimore, it was going to be a permanent thing. Mat was happy, sure, but I could tell he wasn’t being entirely honest with me, you know? When I called him out on it, he asked me well what about us? And I said we’d be fine. Baltimore isn’t a different continent. It’s not even a different timezone. He could come over when he had free time and if he didn’t, I’d always spend weekends in New York anyway. It’s Baltimore, Rach. Not fucking San Francisco or whatever. Eventually, he told me exactly what was on his mind: he couldn’t do long distance. Not even for a short period of time while I figured out if Baltimore is really what I wanted. Isn’t it a bit hypocritical, though?” You question, but it’s clear Rachel feels a bit awkward about giving her take on it right now, so you make it easier for her by responding to your own question. “I felt lonely too when he was on the road. I was worried he’d find someone different, someone much better while away. He never gave me a reason to doubt him, but a small part of me still thought what if. This happened right before he was on the road again, actually. We didn’t call, barely even texted those weeks and then when he returned, we decided it’d be best to break up. Didn’t take us a long discussion to get to that conclusion because at that point, it just… I don’t know. It felt like we didn’t have much to say to each other.”

Rachel presses her lips together, the frown still on her face and hesitantly, she asks, “who said it first?”

“I did,” you respond without hesitating. “He wanted a break while we work it all out but come on, Rach, a break? Look me in the eyes and tell me people really believe in breaks and they come back to each other as if nothing happened.” 

“I mean…” she trails off, pointing at herself by way of explanation. “Look at me and Luke, I guess.”

You shake your head. “Nope. Not the same thing, trust me. This was for the best, Rach. It’s much neater to call it quits. That way, neither of us will feel obliged to hold back if life puts something different ahead of us.” You pause for a moment, teeth biting into your lower lip. “They said they’ll always have me back there if I decide on it, so who knows. Once I wrap up the project their called me back for, I might just take them up on it. Not quite a promotion, but it’ll be a good sidestep and maybe a change of scenery is what I need.”

“And do you think it’s good? What the two of you are doing right now?” Rachel questions, not at all deterred by your weak attempt at trying to divert conversation to a more work related topic. “And I don’t mean it just for Elise and Tito’s wedding, but for you and Mat generally speaking. I mean… the two of you have been together for a pretty long time. Doesn’t it… Isn’t it odd?” 

“It’s not normal, that’s for sure,” you confirm. “But it’d be weirder for everyone if we were to tell them we’re no longer together given we’ve been asked to do what we need to do. Rach, promise me this stays between us, okay? Promise. I know how it sounds, I know how it’ll look but trust me on this, okay?” 

She fixes you with a sceptical stare, a look that holds yet more questions than certainty but eventually, she nods her head and relief washes over you at the gesture. “I’m sorry it happened, Y/N,” she offers, voice warm and sympathetic as she places a hand on the table palm up. “And I’m sorry you went through it alone.”

You smile softly and reach for it, returning the squeeze she gives you. There is comfort in the gesture, comfort in her words and you find yourself rooting for it, so grateful to have received it. “The worst part is over, but thank you, Rachel. “It means a lot.”

“Feel like carpooling with Luke and I?”

“I’m good,” you assure as you both relax back into your seats. “Elise wants us there the day before the rehearsal. I guess just to have some familiar faces around that aren’t just wedding planners, so Mat and I agreed to go together tomorrow. Promise I won’t lose my shit if our song plays on the radio,” you add jokingly and find yourself laughing along with Rachel. 

“What song’s that?” 

Too many, you think, although one in particular stands out to you. “Brett Young’s In Case You Didn’t Know.”

*

A tray containing an assortment of dishes is set on the table and shortly after, an ice cold pitch of sangria accompanies that. Eager to cool down, you reach for one of the empty glasses to pour yourself a drink but Mat’s quicker. He takes them both, filling your glass first before his own. You laugh to yourself and Mat grins at that, briefly looking towards you as he fills his glass. You’re about to take a sip, eager to both quench your thirst and cool down but Mat takes the initiative of initiating a toast by raising his glass a little, elbow resting on the table. 

“What’re we toasting for tonight?” You ask, imitating his pose by leaning forward a little. “To our first holiday together? To how perfect the weather’s been so far? To how I mastered paddle boarding way before you did?” 

Mat laughs, lowering his head as he did so but when he looked back up at you, he clinked his glass against yours and held it there. “To all of that. To one of the many, many holidays we’ll have together. To this moment right here, to us, to you.” He pauses and the strobe lights of the bar switch from dark blue to hot pink, and the way Mat stares at you in this moment makes your heart race inexplicably. “To how much I love you.” 

He takes your breath away. Draws it right out of your lungs and you feel heady. It’s the first summer with Mat, the first  I love you from him and it suddenly feels as if this bar is too small for the both of you. You love him, and he loves you too and the only thing you could imagine doing is jumping in his arms but there’s a table between you and sangria topped wine glasses in your hands, and he’s wearing a pristine white shirt that looks incredible against his tanned skinned and there’s a lot of people around (the majority significantly older than both your age and Mat’s combined) so you simply grin and carefully lean forward more, pressing a kiss to his mouth. 

“I love you,” you murmur against his lips and even if your voice is low compared to the loud, cheesy country music blasting through hidden stereos, you know Mat catches on to that. 

“I love you,” he says right back and before you pull away, he bumps his nose against yours gently, making you giggle.

You both take a sip of your drinks and you smack your lips together, content with the turn of the night. 

You and Mat had been dating for a few months, but this was the first time the two of you will spend back to back nights and days together without needing to rush somewhere. Of course, a part of you was anxious about it - while it was easy to spend a few hours together now and then, maybe even the odd night together, it was entirely different being together pretty much all the time. There were habits and quirks you each had that might get in the way, but your worries were soon put to rest. You and Mat had wonderful chemistry together, easily able to spend your time together but also still enjoy each other’s company while doing separate activities. You didn’t want to rush into things and you made no move to do so, but it was ever so easy to imagine what living with Mat would be like. And sure, you were well aware of the fact that it wouldn’t always be sunshine and rainbows; the two of you would eventually transition out of this honeymoon-type period of your relationship, but something told you life would Mat would never bore you. It’d never make you wish for anything different. 

“Give me a second,” Mat says and before you could ask him what he meant, he’s out of his seat and you follow him across the bar, a little confused. 

He makes his way past the bar, past the pool tables and stops in front of what is undoubtedly a jukebox. Curious, you arch an eyebrow and watch as he fiddles with finding the right amount of change before inserting the coins in the slot. It takes him a while before he finds whatever song it is he wants and it takes enough time for him to make it back to your table before the jukebox and sound system registers the request. You don’t recognise the first few notes at all, much less the accompanying guitar strings but you don’t have time to search your memory for a title. 

Mat stops by your side, holding a hand out to you. “Dance with me.” It’s more statement than question and under any circumstances, you may have felt a little awkward about doing this, but it’s the heat of the moment and your giddiness that pushes you to your feet, hand in Mat’s. 

The two of you are beaten to an emptier area in the establishment by two other much older couples that were closer to it anyway, and you find that gives you a bit more of a boost also. Mat pulls you to him, wrapping one arm around your waist while holding on to your free hand while you hold on to his shoulder with the other. Your fingers lightly clench and unclench the soft material of his shirt, lowering your head a little and you smile against the back of your hand. It’s so painfully cheesy and there’s nowhere near enough other people dancing along to the song but you love it much more than you thought you ever would. 

“Know what I’d invest all my money into?” He asks you suddenly.

You pull back a little, still swaying along with the song. “Cryptocurrency seems like a safe bet right now.” 

Mat laughs, that big hearty laugh of his that makes your smile wider and when it passes, he presses a chaste kiss on your forehead. “Well, I’m glad one of us has a good head on their shoulders, but no.” He shakes his head, then laughs again, shorter and quieter as if recalling your response. “A time machine. I want to stop time right here and right now so that we can be as we are for a little while longer.”

“Cheesy,” you joke, despite the warmth coursing across your entire body and the jelly-like feeling forming in your knees. “But perfectly understandable.”

“Eventually, we wouldn’t need it, but it’d be nice to have one for tonight.”

“Eventually? How so?” You question, then narrow your eyes a little, the gesture playful. “You plan on getting bored of me and breaking up?” 

“What!” He exclaims and pulls you in just that much closer. He lets go of your hand only so he could bring his to your chin, tipping your head back a little. “Never,” kiss, “say that,” kiss, “again.” The final kiss you share with him is a little longer and you take the liberty of bringing your hand to his chest, palm pressing against it to feel the thump of his heart against his ribcage momentarily. Then, slowly, you graze the tips of your nails along his exposed collarbone and peck his lips once more before pulling away. It’s then that the song’s name and artist comes to your mind, almost as an afterthought. From hidden speakers, Brett Young declares I couldn’t live life without you and Mat gives you a pointed stare. “Damn, he said it before I could.” 

“It’s the thought that counts,” you assure him. “Either way, I think I prefer hearing it from you, Barzal.” 

“I’m pretty sure I couldn’t live without you,” he recites and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a hug. He sways you both in a more exaggerated manner that makes you cling to him more out of habit than necessity. You’ve known you’d trust Mat with anything, but each day, he seems to do something that makes that thought solidify more and more in your mind. The comfort and safety that brings wraps around you like a warm blanket.

Be it the hot weather, the somewhat stifling interior of the bar, the sips of sangria on an empty stomach, the euphoria of the moment or all things combined, you nod quickly. And from somewhere in the depths of your mind, the very bottom of your heart, you respond with, “I can get used to this day after day. So don’t let me go, baby.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he whispers, tone full of care and love and warmth. He gives you his promise without hesitation and you know it’s bound to stick.

*

Your phone buzzes once. 

I’m downstairs. Need help with your bags?

You push up from the comfort of your couch and make one last round of your apartment to make sure you had everything you definitely needed from where it was placed. 

I’m good. Will be down in a minute, you text back but don’t pocket your phone right away. Instead, you stare at the screen for a little while longer, half tempted to scroll through the thread of messages. They’d provide a stark timeline of when things started going wrong and you would probably be able to see exactly how things changed between the two of you from the moment you suggested a mere break wouldn’t do it. But doing that would be like breaking a streak you had going for sufficient time to earn a pat on your back. The journey of getting to a point where you were sufficiently okay with being in Mat’s presence without any other company was a long one and the last thing you needed was to recall how it once was. 

You and Mat started out as friends after Elise introduced the two of you just a short while before he started his professional career with the Islanders. She talked about how the two of them met in school and how great of a guy he was; real down to earth, funny and incredibly ambitious - traits she also assigned to you, and therefore thought the two of you would get along great. She wasn’t wrong about it. You knew a little about hockey, going to games every now and then mostly whenever Elise dragged you along but you found that Mat made the game more enjoyable. He explained it to you in a manner that didn’t make you feel belittled or as if it should be something you already knew of, and didn’t mind explaining some things more than once. On the other hand, you introduced him to your own hobbies and the little world you created for yourself in a city as big and busy as New York. You showed him the more lowkey but homely establishments, including your favourite pizza place that - unbeknown to you at the time - would become yours and his, and even took him to a few student bars where you regularly beat him at pool while he showed off at darts. Occasionally, it felt weird to watch him unwind in such…normal places and ways while on other days, he shone on ice and was easily one of the best rookies emerging from one of the country’s most well known sports leagues. Yet despite that, you found that athlete Mat wasn’t all that different from Mat the person.

He never put a front and his genuine manner was refreshing to you, particularly during a time when you were still a college student and a good portion of the guys around were textbook frat boys. Being around Mat was comfortable and safe. You didn’t feel the need to speak a certain way or be a different person, and retrospectively, the way you felt towards him developed almost organically. You felt yourself gravitating towards him and were pleasantly surprised by the moments when he’d seek you out first. A day off here and a day off there until eventually, you found yourself spending much of your free time with him and vice-versa. 

Falling in love with Mat was easy. Being without Mat was difficult. But, thankfully, not impossible apparently. 

Convinced you packed everything you needed, made your way out with a duffle bag on your shoulder and a suitcase at your heels. 

True to his word, Mat was parked in front of your place and as soon as you pushed open the building’s door, he looked up from his phone and made his way over to you. The last thing you needed was to make the journey any more awkward or difficult for the both of you, so you didn’t argue when he took the bags from you to stow them away in the trunk. 

“Are you going across the country?” You ask, peeking into the trunk while he plays Tetris with the bags. 

“What?” He questions, evidently distracted by the task at hand but straightens up when you delicately place a hand on his arm, pushing him to the side a little. 

“You’d think you’re going across the country for like, two or three weeks rather than a couple of days,” you repeat. “Maybe put that smaller bag sideways? That might let the bigger suitcase fit.” 

He follows your guidance and sure enough, that does the trick: the suitcases fit perfectly in the trunk and you grin to yourself, triumphant. 

Mat steps back, closing the trunk and brushes his hands together. “Thanks,” he says and you nod, heading towards your seat in the front. He follows you inside just as you click in your seatbelt. “I don’t think it’ll take us more than two or three hours to get there if traffic’s as good as it was when I checked it a little while earlier. Got everything?” 

“Everything important that is. Everything else, I’ll just worry about and pull my hair out when we get there,” you tell him and you can’t help feeling proud for being able to keep conversation light and as normal as you can. 

After all, you’ve known life before Mat and you’re rediscovering it after him too. 

Mat laughs ever so quiet, and from the corner of your eye, you catch him brushing his hand across his mouth though he’s a few seconds too slow in trying to mask his smile. 

“I think I’ll need to fill up soon, but let me know if there’s anywhere else you want to stop along the way,” he tells you while pulling out of the parking spot. 

You nod even if he probably might not see it and take the liberty to scroll through radio stations. Mat doesn’t seem to be against it, so you continue switching to them until, a little frustrating that nothing seems to work for you, you connect your phone to the car and play one of your playlists. A mix of upbeat pop and an assortment of viral tracks fill in the silence for a while, and the act of singing along in your head takes your mind away from how it almost feels as if you’re sitting on needles. It takes a conscious effort on your behalf to remind yourself to loosen your shoulders and stop fiddling too much with your hands, and you’re glad Mat seems to be plenty preoccupied with driving. Once upon a time, he would’ve immediately picked up on even the most mild of your discomforts and tried to do anything he could to alleviate them. You don’t know how much, if at all, Mat changed during the time you spent apart but you want to think that you no longer wear your heart on your sleeve as much and your emotions are much more guarded, especially in his presence. 

Apparently, though, there’s only so much he can take with silence filled in by music because once he’s off busier streets, he leans in his seat more comfortably and you can tell he very briefly turns his head towards you. “Think they’ll like their wedding gift?” 

You direct your gaze away from the flashing scenery outside to Mat. “Absolutely. Who wouldn’t like it? Trust me when I say Bali’s been a place Elise always wanted to visit and I can’t think of a better time than now,” you assure him.

“If they don’t, it’s on you,” he says and it takes you a beat longer to realise he’s just joking so you huff out a laugh, relaxing back in the seat. 

“If they don’t, they can give one of the tickets to me and I’ll happily go there.” You cast a glare out at the scenery ahead, eyes narrowing upwards towards the overcast sky. “I don’t think summer will ever come at this rate. I’m starting to hate it here.”

“Doubt Baltimore was any better,” Mat points out.

“Hardly,” you sigh. “Maybe I’ll ask them to send me to Miami instead. That’d be much better.” 

Mat clears his throat quickly, shifting a little. “So, are you planning on going back to Baltimore or... Why are you back?” You catch sight of the frown forming on his face, and he quickly shakes his head as if trying to rid the hint of accusation from his voice. “That sounded wrong, sorry. But just genuinely curious. I thought a permanent move was on the table?”

“It was. Still is, but they needed me back here to wrap up a project. It was a pretty bad move on their behalf to send me there before we had that wrapped up nice and neat, bow and all, but I guess…” You trail off, shrugging a shoulder. “Guess we’ll see what’s next after that. They do want me back there, though. It just depends how long it takes for things here to fall into place.” 

“Fair enough.” Another pause, another moment for him to press his lips together in silent deliberation. He did that often, and you wonder if that remains a habit still. “Was it a promotion? I forgot, sorry.” 

“All good,” you assure, brushing off the apology. “Not a promotion per se, but a sidestep with just a slightly bigger paycheck. The office there is a bit smaller than the New York one so maybe there’s a higher chance of getting promoted sooner, but I don’t want to jump the gun on that yet. How did things work out for you guys this season?” 

The Islanders had a good season, making the playoffs but fell just short of making the semi-finals, you knew that. After all, you hadn’t removed the Islanders game and news alerts from your phone and you put that on your laziness. You wouldn’t shy away from admitting to him you still followed the team’s progression, but you preferred not to. 

“Could’ve been better but there’s lots to learn from it,” Mat tells you and there’s a trace of excitement and determination in his voice. “Next season will be even better, I guarantee.” 

It’s a staple Mat response, one he always gave if he felt a game didn’t end in their favour or he didn’t do as much as he thought he should have. Sometimes, it took him some time to accept it. Usually, it came to him after pushing himself in training, after going that extra step in the gym, after re-watching highlights or coach videos and always - always, you’d assure him that it takes a team to move forward, not a single person. Always, he’d kiss you and tell you he loves you and always, you’d spend those moments wrapped up in each other’s arms, more often than not with Mat’s head resting against your chest and your leg slung around his hip. 

“Plenty of time to lift that cup, Barzal,” you assure him. “Sure, the sooner the better but there’s always a right time for everything.”

“I hope so,” he agrees pensively, and lingers on that thought. 

You let him to it, directing your attention back to the view outside and only now and then picking up your phone either to switch songs or browse through a few applications. A part of you feels almost obliged to try and push for conversation but you avoid doing so. The last thing you need is to make it painfully awkward for the two of you and you figure Mat could always do that himself if he feels like it. So, you let your mind wander to better things - to the upcoming rehearsal and the wedding itself, to how good Elise will look and how Tito will be so proud to watch her walk the aisle towards him. You imagine their reaction to the gift you and Mat contributed towards and smiled to yourself, knowing it was a perfect pick for them both. 

You don’t think about telling Elise you and Mat had lied to them. You don’t think about passing this hurdle - the final one before you two will become strangers to one another. You don’t think about how the next time you might both see each other again, you’ll both have such different lives that for a brief moment, the surprise of it will knock the air out of your lungs before you remember: that’s him without me, and this is me without him. And you won’t be the first or the last people to break up, but a part of you is certain what the two of you had was unique and could’ve been grand. So much grander.

You become more alert to your surroundings when he starts slowing the car and you notice you’re pulling up into a gas station. As much as space allows you, you stretch out a little and Mat stops right by one of the pumps.

“Want something for the road?” You ask him, unplugging your phone and taking your card from your bag. 

“Hold on, I’ll come with you,” Mat tells you and it doesn’t take long for the refill to happen before you both walk into the station’s store, beelining for the snack aisles even if you have only two hours or so until you reach your destination. 

“Oh gosh, those are going to be a nightmare to clean up if you spill any in the car,” you groan quietly as he browses through the variety of Nerds flavours. 

“But they’re so good though,” he shoots back and flashes a smile that is nothing short of sly when he picks up two boxes instead of one. 

“Yeah, until the flavour runs out literally two seconds after you put them in your mouth. I mean, enjoy that but I’m different,” you boast and pick up a bag of sour candy. 

“You just like obliterating your taste buds.” 

He’s not wrong. Sour candy and spicy foods are your guilty pleasures, and have been for the longest time. You don’t try to look into how easily he recalls that because, you tell yourself, there’s nothing to look into. It’s a mere fact that anyone who knows you would easily recite. 

“You’re wrong and you know it, but admitting that is difficult so it’s fine, Barzal. No hard feelings,” you throw back, snickering as you head over to the fridges for a bottle of cold water. Instinctively, you grab another for him and instinctively, he takes your candy and the water to pay for them but you still tag along with him in the queue. 

“No shot. I like some spice but to the point where I literally can’t taste anything else? Hey, remember that one time when you made something… Can’t remember what it was but it was so…” He purses his lips and you laugh because yes, yes you remember it so clearly. 

“So good you ended up crying over it?” You offer. 

“More like, I wasn’t crying but it was so fucking spicy, Y/N, holy.” 

“You survived though, didn’t you?”

“I only did because there isn’t a thing you do I don’t like,” he says and then, seems to catch himself but a second too late. “Didn’t like,” he corrects quietly but the damage is done. 

You swallow uncomfortably, directing your gaze away from him but don’t hesitate to nod towards the outside. “I’ll head over to the car. I’ll text Elise to tell her we’re close.” 

“Y/N—“ 

But you’re already taking steps towards the exit and out of ear shot, making a beeline for the car. Your heart thumps rapidly and uncomfortable in your chest and find that pressing a palm to your left side doesn’t make it any better. You know it’s an innocent mistake and there are some habits that die hard, but the way he phrased it triggered your fight or flight instinct instantaneously and despite yourself, you leaned towards the latter. You enter the car and take the time to compose yourself as much as you could. The last thing you need is to have a conversation with Mat about this because you didn’t want to have it - it shouldn’t happen for the sake of avoiding making the situation even more uncomfortable. It was an innocent slip up, no doubt, and you should’ve braced yourself to speak of Mat in present tense as opposed to past tense in the presence of others but it comes to you harder than imagined. 

It’s odd how you both once knew so much about each other, everything even, and now the two of you are reduced to dancing around all that and making conscious efforts to keep your conversations as short and banal as possible. 

You try and busy yourself with formulating a message to Ellie, one that’s long enough to try and make you seem as busy as possible by the time Mat returns to the car, but every line you wrote, every mini paragraph going into dull details about the trip and where you guys currently are seemed like an overthrow. So, you delete that also and simply text her an OTW just as Mat sets the sweets on the centre console and the bottles in the cup holders. 

He doesn’t start the engine immediately and your mood quickly switches to frustration. Sure, you hadn’t handled it in the best way possible but trying to have a conversation about it wouldn’t make it any better. Or at least, it’s just something you didn’t want to have to think about for the remainder of the journey. 

But he does just that, because that is what Mat always did: he talked with you.

“I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable,” he begins, “I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did. It’s force of habit more than anything else.”

“It’s whatever, Mat, so just move past it. I did, simple as that,” you tell him neutrally. 

There’s something in that response he must have not liked because you pick up on his small huff and shortly after, the car starts and you’re both on the road again. This time, with silence between you and an atmosphere so heavy it makes you wish you weren’t speeding down an Interstate just so you could open the window and let some of the air in.

-

The hotel the wedding will be held at lies in front of you, sprawling and secluded and perfect for an event like this. Tito is already at the entrance and when he spots Mat’s car, he waves quickly while Mat quickly flashes the headlights before pulling into an available parking spot.

“There they are!” Tito says by way of greeting and you walk right into his outstretched arms, hugging him. “Can’t believe so much time passed since we last saw each other. What is it, two months? Three?” 

“Three,” you confirm once you pull away so that Mat could hug him also. “It’s good to see you too. Where’s Elise?” 

“She wanted to check on some small details and said she’ll meet up with you guys in a bit. So here I am, the welcoming committee,” Tito explained and when he and Mat stepped apart, he reached out to give you another short hug which you accepted. “So how was Baltimore? Don’t suppose you liked it all that much if you’re back so soon. This guy was happy about it,” Tito adds, nodding his head towards Mat who was already busy emptying the trunk. 

You press your lips together, displaying a small smile. “Baltimore wasn’t too bad but they missed me here, apparently. Can’t complete a damn thing without my two cents so here I am for now.”

Tito frowns, but the expression is very brief. “For now? We’ll need to talk more about that later so Barzy doesn’t mope around as much as he did back then.”

You throw a quick glance towards Mat but he’s looking away towards whatever interesting spot on the ground he found, pointedly ignoring you. “I’ll have a word with him about it later,” you tell Tito lightly and together, the three of you make your way inside, towards the reception. 

“I think Elise is in the room at the end of the corridor if you want to say hi,” Tito informs you and you jump at the opportunity. 

You follow the corridor, making a right turn and continuing along the dimly lit hallway leading to what the signs informed you to be Conference Room 1. The door is slightly ajar and you begin picking up on the buzz of activity coming from within and soon enough, you’re face to face with a spacey room boasting an array of flowers and various arrangements tastefully decorating tables and drooping down from the ceiling. No doubt, the effect will be lovely during the night when colourful neon lights can be turned on. You spot Elise easily: she’s in the midst of the room with what is undoubtedly the scrapbook of ideas she’d been carefully putting together since Tito asked her to marry him. Outwardly, she’s all smiles and laughter but you can imagine the amount of effort and planning putting all of this together and working with planners takes. 

When she spots you, she squeals in excitement, sets her book down and dashes across the room to engulf you in a hug, making you stumble a few steps back. 

You burst into laughter and wrap your arms around her, squeezing her with just enough force to try and communicate how much you missed her but not so that it was uncomfortable. 

“I missed you! You’re here!” She exclaims, stepping back to look at you in disbelief then hugging you again. “Oh my gosh, I’m so happy you’re here! Where’s Mat? Is he here too?”

“Of course he is,” you assure her with a laugh. “I missed you too.” You throw a curious glance towards the room over her shoulder, nodding your head towards it. “How’s it going? Need me to take over for a bit?” 

“Maybe later. Definitely later. Come on.” She wraps an arm around yours and leads the way out of the room, undoubtedly back to the reception area where you left Mat and Tito. “Please tell me Baltimore is off the table. FaceTime is fine, sure, but it’s not great, you know? I need the real deal next to me. Besides, I’m not sure if you heard, but Mat wasn’t Mat without you.”

“So I heard, but forget about us!” You said in a desperate attempt to try and steer attention away from the subject. “Tell me about how everything’s going. Are you still nervous about it? Because trust me, Elise - you have absolutely nothing to be nervous of. What I’ve heard of so far and what I’ve seen will make it the absolute best day, surely.”

“Of course I’m nervous,” she tells you and to demonstrate, she holds her free hand in front of you and sure enough, there’s just a slight tremble to it. “Please lend me some of those nerves of steel of yours, Y/N, I’d do anything to have even a small percentage of them right now.”

“Pft, as if. Those are all show, trust me.” 

“I’ll take even that. Oh, Mat!” She greets as soon as the two of you reach the reception area and Elise spots Mat.

Much like you and Tito, they hug and when she steps back, she immediately stands next to Tito who doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. They exchange a quick kiss and you smile at the happiness and bliss they’re clearly surrounded by. 

It’s the slight pressure on your lower back that makes you jolt a little on the spot and it’s then you realise Mat had gently placed his hand there to encourage you a little closer. It takes effort on your behalf to follow his guidance but you move towards him, though you wish you could physically wince at how undoubtedly stiff the two of you must look. Or hopefully, not greatly so because neither Tito nor Elise comment on it or shoot you any funny looks as the four of you engage in brief conversation, mainly surrounding the trip here and any other guests they expect to receive today. 

You don’t hang around much, though. Elise’s phone begins buzzing incessantly and she’s whisked away by the message received, but not before she fixes you with a pointed stare and demands the two of you have drinks later in the evening. Tito follows her also, even if he informs you and Mat that he feels as if he’s running around in the right places only because of Elise and the wedding planners, but you encourage him on by joking he could maybe turn a few candles on the tables this way or that for some extra oomph. 

“I can’t imagine how she does it,” you admit to Mat once the elevator doors slide shut soundlessly and the car begins moving upwards to your floor.

“Pretty sure it’s not that big of a deal to her, given what all this is leading to,” Mat tells you and you detect a hint of detachment in his voice. 

You don’t welcome it, of course you don’t, but you choose to not point that out to him. The last thing you want is an argument to break out the relatively okay mood the two of you have managed to hold, recent events that could be erased from memory aside. Instead, you simply stand back quietly, eyes glued on the red digital numbers aside until they come to a halt on the ninth floor where the elevator stops and you’re both left in a silent, dimly lit hallway. 

Mat has the key to the apartment Elise told you the two of you would be in and just before tapping in, he hands you your own copy of it. Up until this very moment, you hadn’t thought very much of the overnight arrangements. You were pretty sure you meant to ask Elise a bit more about them at some point but both your attention and hers were pulled in different directions and here you were, stepping into your place for the next couple of nights, Mat trailing a little behind you. 

You stop, arms folding across your chest and you feel Mat stop somewhere close behind you, looking into one room.

“I didn’t think this through,” you state neutrally. 

Ahead of you lay only one bed. 

[chokemeanakin]

Misunderstandings - Anakin x fem Reader (angst +fluff)

Masterlist

Thank you for the request @artiza-n ! 💕

Wc: 6.4k

Summary: Anakin and reader get sent to Naboo to guard Padme and Clovis during a debate and some misunderstandings ensue. Mostly jealous angst, some fluff at the end— happy ending bc we all need that right now.

Gif from @swprequels​

“I still don’t understand why they need both of us,” you grumble, rubbing sleep out of your eyes as you walk out of the cruiser. The day is hot on Naboo, but grey and cloudy with a promise of rain later. The humidity makes your skin sticky, worsening your irritation.

“Think of it as a vacation,” Anakin pulls the luggage from the transport cubby, setting it on the ground beside him. “You watch over Clovis, and I’ll handle Padme. It should be a breeze.”

“Exactly. Which is why I don’t understand why they need both of us.”

You had just gotten back from a long and grueling siege on Pontoon, another one of those vast, endless desert planets in the Outer Rims. You’d really much rather be sitting in front of an air cooler right now, resting your tired bones and trying to forget the taste of sand.

“These are two very important Senators, Y/n,” Anakin waved off your attempt to help him with the luggage. “If anything happens to them at this debate, the Senate will lose important advocates for peace and the end of this war.”

You knew this, of course you did. Not that you’d completely agree with his statement-- Clovis always seemed a little shady to you, his morals seemingly scattered all over the place. You guessed that’s why the Council sent you, a simple marksman, to guard Clovis while the beloved freedom-fighter Padme Amidala got the most powerful Jedi to ever exist. 

“Besides,” said Jedi nudged you, lips curling into a teasing smile. “Don’t you want to spend time with me?”

Of course you do. Between the war and separate guild or Council missions you’d both been sent on, neither of you had time to even breathe in the others’ direction for months. The only reason the Council was able to wrangle you onto this cruiser was because Anakin was going to be there. Not that you’d even be able to spend much time with him during the day, although you were aware that you’d be sharing a room in between the Senators you’d be protecting at night…

You and Anakin meet the Senators at the hull of the ship. They walk down the ramp side by side, heads held high and hands clasped in front of them. Their movements are smooth, like they’re gliding on water, and the heat doesn’t seem to bother either of them.

“Master Skywalker. Y/n. Thank you so much for being here, it is so courageous of the both of you to be looking out for us,” Padme stands before you, beautiful as ever in one of her many extravagant, expensive gowns. The headpiece woven through her hair sparkles in the midday light, the warmth of her eyes capturing the rays of the brilliant sun. “However, I must say that I hope your services are not needed. I’d much rather this debate go by smoothly than have any dangerous interruptions.”

“I can assure you, we’ll take care of any problems before they arrive. Leave the dirty work up to us,” Anakin returns her smile, charming as ever. 

Anakin shoots you a glance and then follows her away, carrying multiple bags of luggage in each arm as Padme shows him where to put it. For such a small woman, she seemed to pack heavy. Unfortunately, this leaves you and Clovis to stand alone together, an awkward stillness settling before you.

“Um, Anakin has your luggage,” you yawn into your arm, gesturing to his receding form with the other. “I’m Y/n, and I’ll be your bodyguard for this debate.”

“You?” Clovis doesn’t smile, instead he scans you up and down with hawkish eyes. “You’re such a small thing. What could you possibly be able to do to protect me?”

It’s not said unkindly, but it still irks you. Your eyes narrow and you bite back a nasty retaliation for the sake of diplomacy. “You’ll find I’m pretty good with a blaster. The best, actually, according to the Jedi Council. That’s why they have me work with the Generals in the war.”

“Are you a General yourself?” Clovis begins to walk, heading toward the senate building. You follow at his side.

“Not exactly. They offered me the title, but I declined. I’m more of a freelancer, and once the war ends, I’ll go back to taking odd jobs. Besides, there’s no use in having an army if I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Humble. That’s admirable,” Clovis’s mouth tilts into something of a smile. “I, myself, could never turn down an army. Or the status, for that matter. You could be holding a lot of power if you pushed your way with the Jedi Council, you know.”

“My way?” you questioned. “I just told you, I don’t have a way--”

“And that’s your flaw,” he mused, chin still pointed up, never quite looking at you. “How curious-- your Jedi counterpart seems to have stolen all the ambition.” 

You roll your eyes. You never had a thirst for power, or status, or influence, or any of that. Your power came from behind a blaster, when your focus was trained on a single target and your finger was glued to the trigger. One simple twitch of a muscle, and you could end a life from miles away. That was your power, and it was all you needed.

He is right about Anakin, you have to admit. He was always looking to be better, not just for himself, but for the good of others. You love that about it, in fact it’s one of your favorite qualities about him. Sometimes, though, you wished he could see that he didn’t have to try so hard all the time to believe he was enough.

The blast of cold air that hits you as you enter the senate building wrenches you out of your thoughts. It whisks away the perspiration that had built up on your skin, cooling your body and calming your mood almost magically. The sounds of your collective footsteps tap along the glossy marble floor, echoing throughout the empty chamber.

“Aren’t you going to ask what we’re doing here?” Clovis leans against his podium, marked with a nametag spelling his name. Next to him is your seat, and on Clovis’s other side is Padme, followed by Anakin on the end. A cold dread fills your veins, just now realizing how boring tonight’s debate is going to be.

You sigh inwardly, tracing the engravings of your nametag with the tip of your finger. “My job isn’t to ask questions, it’s to observe.” 

“Well, observe away,” he pushes himself off the podium. “Although I don’t think it will be very entertaining.”

He’s right. You sit in your seat, legs crossed on top of your podium as you inspect your nails. It’s been three hours since you’ve arrived, the sun is setting, and all Clovis has done is stroll around the debate room, muttering to himself and pondering through his position. You’re bored out of your mind. Pulling out your holocom, you wonder if Anakin’s situation is any better.

“Y/n?” he picks up a long moment after you send the call, and his face projects blue before you. It’s loud where he is, and his eyes are looking at something else.

“Where are you?” you question. He sounds like he’s a party, but you know that can’t be true. “Where’s Padme?”

“She’s with me,” Anakin tilts his head, signalling that she’s sitting in front of him. “We’re at a restaurant getting dinner. I was just going to ask-- did you and Clovis go somewhere to eat yet?”

You drop your legs from the podium and lean in close to the com, speaking quiet so Clovis can’t hear. “No, he’s barely said a word to me since we got here. He’s been walking around the debate room all afternoon, just talking to himself.”

“You think he’s nervous for tonight?”

“Maybe,” you spare a glance at him. He’s staring at the domed ceiling, as if he’s counting the pillars coming out of it. “Or maybe he’s just psycho.”

“Oh, Clovis knows what he’s doing,” a femine voice interjects. Anakin’s eyes shoot forward again, immediately smiling as Padme speaks. “His pre-debate ritual is long and gruelling-- I should have warned you. He’s simply getting into his headspace, that’s all.”

“How long does it usually take?” you mumble.

“It shouldn’t be much longer. Make sure he eats beforehand, otherwise he’ll be crabby during the debate. And trust me, you don’t want to have to handle a crabby Clovis.”

Both Padme and Anakin laugh at this, and you force yourself to smile along. “Yeah, I’ll go see what he’s up to now.”

“Good,” Anakin says, momentarily drowned out by an uproar of cheers behind him. “We should get going, too. Padme needs to get dressed for the debate. See you soon.”

Anakin ends the call, and you’re left wondering how exactly the topic of dressing Padme came up. 

Shoving down your irritation and self-pity, you pocket your com and stand from your seat. Clovis’s head whips toward you like you had pulled a blaster on him.

“What?”

“It’s getting late,” you stretch your arms over your head, working out the kinks and aches from sitting so long. “I was wondering if you were hungry at all.”

“I can’t eat before a debate,” Clovis looks almost angry for a second, and then he glances down at his watch. His expression smooths into one of urgency. “Ah, we should head to the apartments. It’s time to get ready.”

The night is still warm, and the sidewalk drips with a rainstorm that you missed while you were in the senate building. The fresh air is nice, though, and you breathe in the smell of sweet flowers and savory restaurant food. The grumble in your stomach is hard to ignore, but you know you’ll manage.

Clovis leads you all the way to his suite, the temporary apartment that sits in conjunction with yours and Anakin’s, and Padme’s on the other side. Staying in this apartment complex made more sense rather than finding separate housing units, as keeping everyone together would aid in ensuring their safety.

Padme’s mansion would have been a nice stay, you think, but these apartment sweets are also quite luxurious. You walk into the master bedroom to find a formal, dark blue gown laid out for you on the bed. Next to it is a rumpled space where you assume Anakin’s suit had been, but instead there’s a note and a box.

Padme wanted to get to the senate building early, so we’re probably going to just miss you. Too bad, I won’t get to help you into this sexy blue dress. Maybe I can help you out of it later.

You laugh softly, smoothing your thumb over the inked-on smiley face before finishing the note.

I’m not sure if you had time to get anything to eat, so I got you something while we were out. See you soon.

A

You don’t need an “I love you” scrawled into the paper in order to know he wanted to add it. That would have been too risky, and there was no way you’d be able to make an excuse if anyone were to find it. Still, you rip up the note and throw it in the trash before opening the box underneath. Your nose is instantly filled with the smell of food, still warm, and you sit next to the blue dress, digging in unceremoniously.

You scarf down as much of the food as you can and then store the rest in the fridge before getting to work on making yourself presentable. You have to look put together, yet not so much that you stand out. You slip a couple of silver clasps into your hair and do your makeup, opting for a bold lip color because you don’t have much time to do anything fancy with your eyes. You’re running short on time-- you know this because of the knock on your door, and then the irritated sound of Clovis:

“Y/n, we have to leave now or we’re going to be late. You know how bad it would be to arrive late to this event?”

You stand in front of the mirror, desperately reaching behind you to grasp at the zipper of your dress. It would be so much easier if Anakin was here to reach it for you, but you make due and quickly pull it up. The dress is form-fitting and flows down into a puddle around your feet. A bit long, as you opted not to wear heels in case something went awry, so you bunch the skirt up in your fists and jog to the door.

“My apologies,” you open the door to find Clovis, now dressed in a pristine black and white suit with his hair gelled back. “I was making sure I had my equipment all in order.”

Clovis ignores your excuse, eyes instantly moving to take in your figure. You could swear they blow open wide for a fraction of a second before he composes himself, clearing his throat and masking his approval with his usual grim expression.

“You clean up quite elegantly. Now, we should head to the lobby, the limousine is waiting for us.”

…

You’re not sure what the point of a limousine is, as the walk from the apartment buildings to the senate building is 10 minutes tops. Probably for formalities, you decide, as Clovis helps you out of the vehicle. The building that had been vacant only a couple hours earlier is now swarming with Senators, all dressed in lavish, extravagant gowns. Everyone is holding a flute of some sort of drink, and they congregate in small groups, making small talk before the debate starts. 

Clovis wastes no time with socializing, and beelines for his seat.

You hang back, searching the crowd for Anakin. Without heels, many people tower over you and it’s hard to focus with the deafening sound of chatter filling your ears. But you’re trained for this, have spent your whole life blocking out the unnecessary, so you hone into your patience and scan the crowd closer. 

There.

You’d recognize that head of golden-brown curls anywhere, even if it was tamed down for this event. He’s standing tall among the Senators, eyes gleaming bright as he engages a whole crowd of them in some wily story. He and Padme look at each other and laugh, his hand on her shoulder and her hand finding his waist. Your blood suddenly turns hot, and you push your way through the crowd to make it to them.

If you could, you would march right up and pull him away from all those greedy stares. They’re practically drooling all over him, and Padme’s hand is still on his waist. But you know better-- you can’t let anyone know you and Anakin are familiar, so you stand at the edge of the crowd, meeting Anakin’s eye.

You glare at his face, then at Padme’s hand, then back to him. His eyes narrow into a warning, extremely fleeting, and then he continues on charming the crowd. You know what he wanted to say-- it means nothing. It doesn’t stop the heat from blossoming in the pit of your stomach, the irritated glare you shoot Padme before looking down.

Way to stay under the radar, you think, slipping away from the crowd and deciding it’s better to keep your eyes on Clovis than get angry over a move on your boyfriend that was probably innocent. 

Clovis is sitting at his seat, still as stone, surveying the crowd before him.

“You nervous?” you take your seat beside him.

“Not at all.”

“Good. You’ve been preparing all afternoon, I think it’d be ridiculous if you still doubted yourself.”

“You… have faith in me.”

“Of course,” your eyes softened at the vulnerability in his statement. “You’re a powerful Senator.”

He huffed, the crack in his green eyes immediately cementing over. “I know.”

And, there he is. Back to being gruff and dismissive. 

It’s quiet for a moment longer, but you’re okay with that. Small talk is not an interest of yours either, and you’d much rather sip on the flute of drink that a servant had given you than join the crowd on the floor. 

Unfortunately, you have trouble wrenching your eyes away from Padme and Anakin, who are still surrounded by drooling Senators. Padme looks like an angel, dressed in a floor length gown spun out of gold thread that you’re pretty sure came directly from the sun. It shimmers and sparkles as she moves, standing out like a beacon of light among the rest of the room. She is radiant, with a matching headpiece that glitters like a chandelier, the jewels braided in and out of her chocolate curls. Even her makeup is minimal yet blindingly beautiful, with a gold shimmer staining her eyelids and cheekbones that reflect the warmth of her topaz eyes.

“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” Clovis murmurs next to you, so quiet you almost don’t hear it.

“Who? Padme?”

“I believe she’s taking quite a liking to the Jedi.”

Heat sparks in your blood again. The fact that even Clovis notices how handsy Padme is being… then again, it’s a known fact that Clovis and Padme have a history, and he could just be reading too far into things out of jealousy.

“You shouldn’t call him that,” you choose to ignore his concerns. “Anyone could be listening.”

“You see that smile? That’s the smile she only ever gave me. I wonder if she even knows she’s doing it…”

“Clovis, Anakin isn’t allowed to form attachments. You have nothing to worry about.”

“It’s not him that bothers me,” he admits. “It’s her. Look. Look at the way she leans into him when she laughs.”

You take his advice and… now that he says it, she does get a little too close for your liking. Every time Anakin finishes a punchline, the crowd erupts in laughter and Padme joins in, bracing herself by gripping onto his arms and grinning into his neck. He catches her, ever the gentlemen, but he’s smiling too.

It’s a little more than innocent, and you can’t tell who’s fault it is. But that doesn’t help the jealousy steadily rising in your chest.

“The debate should be starting soon,” is all you say, leaning back in your seat and scowling into your flute of drink.

The only thing keeping you rooted to the seat instead of launching out of your chair to rip Padme away from Anakin by the hair was the fact that you know you’re the one who’s going to be sharing a bed with him tonight-- not her. 

You’re just hoping he even makes it back to your bed. Or will poor Padme need help with something else that requires Anakin’s doting attention?

A bell rings just on time, signaling for the Senators to take their seats. Anakin leads Padme over, arms hooked around each other, and she smiles at you as she approaches.

“Y/n, you look wonderful,” she whispers, and then slides into the seat between Clovis and Anakin.

Your cheeks burn in shame. How can you harbor such awful feelings toward her when she was so sweet? But the anger is worsened by the compliment she had just given you-- it’s one thing to be drop-dead stunning, why does she have to be so kind, too? What are you to compare? 

After tonight, Anakin’s probably going to think you are so difficult-- always complaining, always tired, never as pretty or gentle or kind. You don’t have a laugh that twinkles like wind-chimes, or eyes that reflect the light like soft glowing pools of honey. If she is the sun, you are just a cold, hard, chunk of ashen moonrock.

The debate goes on for an eternity. You zone out for a lot of it, stewing in your anger and drowning in self-deprecating thoughts. A few times you’re brought to the brink of tears before you remind yourself you’re here on a mission, and throw yourself into scanning every nook and cranny for something that could be amiss. Eventually, a break is ordered.

Senators begin to rise from their podiums to stretch their legs, including Padme. She tells Anakin she’s going to the washroom, and your eyes zero in on the fingers lingering on his arm as she leaves. You stand as well, meaning to walk a little and stretch your legs, and Anakin follows you.

“Padme’s right,” he catches up to you easily. “You do look wonderful. Blue really is your color.”

You stop by the open window, breathing in the fresh air as you search his eyes for truth. Does he truly mean it? Does he look at you with that same light he had looked at Padme with? Or is he only saying it because he has to? Because he’s used to complimenting you because you’re his girlfriend?

“What? What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” you lower your gaze, picking at the marble stone engravings of the windowsill. 

“Y/n,” Anakin lowers his voice. He’s concerned now, picking up on how upset you are. “I said you look beautiful. What’s the problem?” “No, you said I look wonderful. It’s different than beautiful.” You mean to leave it there, but  can’t help but add, grumbling under your breath, “Padme looks beautiful.”

It’s immature. You know it as soon as you say it, but for some reason you can’t stop yourself. You just want Anakin to take more notice of how strong Padme’s coming on to him, to assure you that it means nothing. You know it means nothing, but you still need that confirmation.

“She does,” he says, and your heart drops. You look up at him, and he’s staring back with an intensity you can’t decipher. “She’s a Senator, Y/n, this is her debate. Of course she has to look beautiful.”

“She’s more beautiful,” the words fall from your lips and taste like poison.

“What’s this about?” Anakin’s voice is dripping in irritation. Once hearing it himself, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them, he speaks again in a softer tone. “Why are you comparing yourself to Padme?”

Gah, even the sound of her name coming from his mouth is like nails on a chalkboard. But you decide to do the first smart thing you have all evening, and take a lesson from him. You breathe deeply and bite down on your anger before answering.

“I’m not trying to,” you admit, eyes falling from his face to trace the exposed skin of his neck. “I just-- she’s flirting with you.”

“It’s harmless.”

“I-- I know. But…”

“It still bothers you. You’re jealous.”

“I have nothing to be jealous about,” even saying this, you can hear the lie in your voice. You repeat the statement, more to yourself, trying to believe it. He’s yours-- for now. He could just as easily be Padme’s. What if he wants to be Padme’s? 

“Look,” Anakin takes another grounding breath, then fits a finger beneath your chin, tilting it up to look at him. “I can see you’re trying to think rationally, so I’m not going to tell you that you’re being ridiculous. But… you’re being ridiculous.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

“You have to understand, I do not like Padme like you’re thinking. I--” he cuts himself off, eyes flitting around the room before leaning in close to whisper in your ear. “I love you.”

Goosebumps erupt all over your skin, making you shiver. His lips ghosting over your ear, the whispered promise of his devotion to you… suddenly, you feel very stupid.

“Okay,” you accept, and the bells ring again, signalling everyone to take their seats. You head on over with him, but not before putting as much heart into your next words. “I’m sorry for getting jealous.”

“It’s okay,” he gives you the first warm smile of the night, smoothing your hair down quickly before breaking off to take his own seat.

You sit next to Clovis, considerably calmer, replaying Anakin’s whispered “I love you” over and over in your head, the touch of his gentle hand in your hair. There was no need to make such a fuss, and honestly you were upset with yourself for ruining the night. You decide to make another smart decision for the night, and push away all of the negative thoughts to the deepest corner of your mind. No more, not tonight-- instead, you would focus on a way to make it up to him for being so ridiculous, and to thank him for being so patient with you.

It’s as you’re planning the rest of your night out, that you see Clovis’s knee bouncing under the podium. You know his time to speak is coming up soon, and his actions betray his mind. He’s such a liar. He is nervous.

“You’ve got this,” you tell him, reaching onto the podium to give his hand a squeeze. His palms are clammy, and he looks at you like you’ve struck him.

“I know I do,” he spits, but doesn’t move his hand from underneath yours. “It’s just pre-performance jitters.”

His next words are so quiet, you almost don’t catch them.

“It doesn’t help that I have two gorgeous women sitting next to me to witness this all.”

Now it’s your turn to look like you’ve been struck. You know he means for you to hear it, otherwise he wouldn’t have said it. Anakin seems to be thinking the same thing, as you can see him give Clovis a sidelong glance just as Padme takes the seat between them again.

“I-- um… we’re rooting for you,” you fumble. “No need to get nervous now.”

Clovis blows out a long breath, and then covers your hand that’s squeezing his palm with his other. “Thank you, Y/n. You’ve truly been so patient and accommodating this whole night. I must find a way to pay you back afterwards.”

“Oh, there’s no need--” your words are cut off as the delegates call for order, and then the debate resumes. You don’t miss the way Anakin’s back stiffens in his seat.

Clovis works up a nervous sweat in the minutes leading up to his speech, but when he gets up, he delivers it without a flaw. Everyone claps, and then Padme goes. You clap along once she’s finished, trying not to calculate if Anakin is clapping harder or faster for her than anyone else. He’s not… but you just had to be sure.

There never seemed to be any threat for the entire night, except for one instance. A young man stood by the door, eyes shifting around for a moment too long to be casual, and Clovis seemed to notice as well. 

“Where, exactly, is that equipment you were speaking of earlier?”

“There’s a strap on my thigh, and it holds my blaster to it. Look,” you pull your skirt back to reveal your leg up to your thigh, where the tip of your blaster peaks out. “See, nothing to worry about.”

It doesn’t even cross your mind that Anakin would notice, or that he’d even mind.

Finally, the debate ends, and the senate room is dismissed. You let out a long breath, ready to just get out of this dress and relax in the suite with Anakin now. However, you stand to leave your seat but Clovis is in your way.

“Y/n, like I said before… I must show my gratitude for your services. Please, let me buy you dinner.”

“Oh-- Oh geez… um.... I can’t,” your eyes flit from Clovis to Anakin, who’s standing behind him. He’s got his back turned, bidding farewell to the new friends he made, but you know for sure that he’s listening. “I really need to go to bed, we’re leaving early in the morning.”

“You can come to my suite, we can order room service. They’re right next to each other… besides, you can always just stay over at mine for the night. There’s room.”

That tone. Those eyes. You know what he’s insinuating, and it sure as hell isn’t just dinner. 

“Clovis, I’d love to, but I really can’t.”

“Oh. Okay.”

The green cracks of his eyes are hardening again, the soft daisies growing from them being wrenched out in clenched fists and stomped under a boot. You want to stop them from freezing over in that insufferable ice again, and decide it might be nice to humor him for a job well done tonight. After all, he was a lot kinder to you than you thought he’d ever be, and part of you likes being one of the few people on his good side.

“How about I walk back with you to the apartments? We can do that much.”

Clovis smiles, and holds out an arm. “I’ll take it.”

As Clovis escorts you out of the debate room, you turn to look back at Anakin. He’s ushering Padme out of the crowds, staring after you as you leave. He doesn’t smile, or wave, or do anything really. Except look angry. 

A sudden ball of nervousness forms in the pit of your stomach. Oh no. Offering to do this was a mistake, that much is becoming clear with every step you take with Clovis latched onto your arm. You can feel Anakin’s eyes burning into your back the entire way out of the senate building, until you’re on the streets of Naboo and he’s off in a limousine with Padme. 

Of course he’s going to be angry at you now. You were mad at him for allowing Padme to flirt with him, and now he’s going to think you’re making a move on Clovis to get back at him for it. Even though that’s not at all what’s happening… Oh how the tables have turned. 

You’re jittery the whole walk back. Clovis tries to make conversation, but you only offer him short, clipped answers. Really, you should have shut down his advances in the debate room. No matter that you pitied him for being rejected by Padme and yourself, you should have said no. You didn’t owe him anything. But here you are, and now you are going to suffer the consequences from Anakin when you get back to your room.

“Are you sure you can’t stop in? Not even just for a drink?” Clovis asks as you make it to the top of the stairs. You turn the corner, and Anakin is leaning against your apartment door, arms crossed, clearly waiting for you. 

“Uhh,” you unwind your arm from around Clovis’s. “I really can’t. Sorry.”

Clovis follows your gaze, and sees Anakin. His tone turns steely. “Is it because of that Jedi?”

“No, oh my-- no!” you feign the most incredulous expression you can, nerves growing more frenzied as you grow closer to your apartment door. “I really am just so tired. Please Clovis, I have to go.”

“Y/n, it doesn’t have to be like this--”

“You’re right,” a deep voice cuts in. “It doesn’t.” 

Anakin takes the arm that Clovis refused to let go of, and slips it out of his grasp. Thankfully, for Clovis’s sake, he lets him. Anakin pushes you behind him and stands before Clovis, towering over him by a couple inches. 

“It was a pleasure serving you and Senator Amidala. Hopefully we can work together again soon. Have a good night”

Each word that comes from his lips are dripping with venom. Clovis grows red in the face, and you can tell he’s trying hard not to retaliate. In the end, he decides to turn and stalk back to his own apartment door. 

Once it slams shut, Anakin turns to you. You meet his eyes with the most innocent expression you can put on.

“None of that,” he hisses, and steps past you to walk into the apartment.

“Oh, come on!” you follow close behind, closing the door and jogging to catch up with him. He’s standing before the bed, roughly loosening his tie. “Anakin, please don’t be mad. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Really? How am I supposed to believe that after what happened earlier?”

“Yes, okay, I admit I was jealous of you and Padme. But I got over it! I swear I wasn’t trying to get you back for it, I promise. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Anakin pulls the buttons off his shirt so hard, you’re afraid they might break. Suddenly, he is shirtless, and so very mad, and so very tall… and muscular… and… wow…

“You can’t even look me in the eye when you say that,” he argues, stopping to stand before you. You wrench your eyes away from his toned midriff and meet his eyes, which are blazing with hurt and anger. A warmth is rising in your veins-- a different kind than earlier-- but it’s beat out with something stronger. Guilt.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, trying so desperately to ignore the heat that’s radiating off his chest. “I really am. Clovis was just… kinder than I expected him to be--”

“Was he? Was he kind when he had you sit in silence all afternoon in the senate building? Was he kind when he refused to let you eat? When he guilt-tripped you into spending time with him?”

“That’s not exactly what happened,” you cross your arms and size him up. “And you’re not totally innocent either, you know.”

“Really?” Anakin cocks an eyebrow at you, sitting down on the bed roughly. He leans back on his arms, daring you to continue.

“You let Padme flirt with you, and you never told her to stop. You could have set some boundaries, told her to back off a little...”

“And you could have told me you were leaving with Clovis before gathering your skirts and skipping away,” Anakin bites back. 

“I wasn’t planning to! Anakin, please, both of us made mistakes tonight. Can we just agree on that?”

He frowns, eyes flickering over your still-dressed form. He motions for you to come closer and turn around, so you do. Gentle fingers work at the zip on your back, dragging it down to free you from the constraints. You remember the note he wrote from earlier, how he couldn’t wait to take the dress off of you, and grow disappointed at how the night had gone. This was not the context you had been expecting. 

The way his hands linger on your waist, you know he’s thinking the same thing.

“Okay. We both made mistakes.” You feel his soft curls against the bare skin of your back as rests his forehead against you. You hold your dress up in the front so as not to expose yourself. “I’m sorry for letting Padme flirt with me. I should have put an end to it-- I know it hurt you to watch.”

“It did,” you whisper. “But I’m also sorry. For getting so jealous even though you never accepted her advances, and for making it seem like I was trying to get revenge. It wasn’t my intention.”

A soft “it’s okay” is kissed into your back. His hands grip your waist, turning you in his grasp. He’s looking up at you now, hair mussed up and eyes wary. “You good?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

What were you guys doing? At the end of the day, it’s you and him. Padme is out of the picture, and so is Clovis. Everything is alright, and that fuss you both put up throughout the night was virtually pointless.

Looking into his eyes, the ones you love so much and could never picture yourself ever parting from, suddenly this whole thing seems elementary. How terrible, disastrous, and ironic this night turned out. Replaying the events in your head, you find a smile begin to crack at your lips. Anakin can’t keep a straight face either, the ridiculousness of it all beginning to catch up with you both. You begin to laugh, and he follows, burying his head in your stomach as you hug around his neck.

“We must be back in training school,” you giggle, feeling his shoulders shake beneath you. “How pathetic of us.”

“Ahh,” he groans, suddenly wrenching you off your feet and onto the bed on top of him. He nuzzles his face into your neck, pulling you as close to him as possible. “Let’s just forget this night ever happened. It was dreadful and embarrassing.”

“As far as I’m concerned, I was never even here.”

“Me neither,” he presses a line of warm kisses down your neck, stopping at the strap of your dress. “Let’s get this off. Do you still have your blaster on you?”

You pat the metal strapped onto your thigh. “Locked and loaded.”

“Well, gee, thanks for telling me. I definitely didn’t want to get my head blown off.”

“Safety’s on, wisecrack,” you help him shrug your dress off, kicking it from your legs and off the end of the bed. You unclasp the band from around your thigh and distribute the blaster onto the nightstand. 

“I’m the wisecrack,” you don’t miss the way Anakin’s voice deepens, attention suddenly captured by the bare skin of your body beneath him. His eyes follow the path his fingers are tracing up your leg. “Careful, or I’ll have to report that to the Council.”

“For what? Being right?”

“For creating conflict of interest on the job,” his fingers skim the soft flesh of your upper thighs, tickling their way past the curve of your hips, the dip of your waist, up and up and up… “It’s terribly naughty of you.”

His words are teasing and corny, but somehow the deeper insinuation of them still cause your cheeks to burn red. 

“Anakin,” your voice is hoarse, causing your blush to deepen. His long fingers cup your chin, keeping your lips ghost over his as his other hand pulls the silver clasps from your hair. “I need a shower.”

“I can meet you in there?”

You clutch at his shoulders, bringing him forward to close that gap between your lips. His mouth is warm against yours, pliant and soft and generous. It’s everything you’ve been yearning for all night, all this time you’ve been apart. The smell of him, taste of him, feel of him— you could never get enough. 

“I’ll save you a spot.” 

[mandoalorian]

Javier Peña SFW Alphabet

Because the world needs more soft!Javi.

Warnings: 16+. allusions to sex, depression mention, cigarettes mention, alcohol mention, food mention.

Masterlist

Reblogs appreciated!

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

So, Javi hates PDA. It makes him cringe. Javier can be pretty affectionate but only when you two are alone and spending private one-on-one time with each other. However, if he sees another pair of eyes on you, he can get protective pretty quick. He’ll guide you around with his hand placed on the small of your back, and he’s not afraid to slap your ass if it means he gets to assert his dominance.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

I mean, just look at Javier & Steve. Javi is an amazing best friend. He’s hilarious, and always jokes around, although most of the time, his humour can be quite dark and self deprecating. None the less, he’s super funny and never fails to make you laugh. He’s perfect to have around when you need to be cheered up. He’s also super supportive and will constantly look out for you. If you’ve fucked up and made a mistake, Javi will take the blame and have your back. You don’t even have to ask him. He really steps up for you.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

At first? No. Javi struggles to show his feelings, and he’s not the biggest hopeless romantic, as you might’ve guessed. He’s never really given out cuddles (or hugs for that matter), but if you’ve been together for a couple of months and you’re going steady, he doesn’t have an issue with getting into it. He learns to really like cuddles. Especially after sex.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

He has no interest in getting married. Never has, never will. He doesn’t see the point in a piece of paper from city hall to confirm that you two love each other. As long as he can feel it, in his heart, that’ll be good enough for him. But if you absolutely want to get married, he’ll allow it. It won’t be a big ceremony though. Maybe just a few guests and a store bought cake. He doesn’t like the fuss. He doesn’t cook, ever. He had a pretty bad diet that consists of snacking on chips at the bar or ordering take-out. He has a cleaner too.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Honestly? Javier can be pretty brutal. If you’ve hooked up just a few times and he’s lost interest, he’ll probably just not call you back. If you’ve been together a while, he’s gonna be really torn up about breaking up with you. He’ll be sulking and moody for a few days and you’ll know that somethings up. Then he’ll go distance and ghost you, hiding out in a few motel bars leaving you worried about where he is. When you find him, there’s a big fight and he snaps and tells you he wants to end it all. When he misses you, he’ll pick up a girl from the brothel who looks similar enough to you, and he’ll think of you while he fucks her. He feels gross about it, but it’s just what he does.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Oh Lord, Javier has the biggest commitment issues. He’s terrified, as we seen with Lorraine. It’s gonna take a lot for him to settle down. He tries to reassure you that it’s not your fault and it’s a problem he needs to work out himself. It might take Javi a few years of steadily dating before his commitment issues become resolved, but as long as you’re willing to wait for him, he’ll be happy.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He’s definitely rough at first — in every way you can imagine. But you teach him how to be more gentle and considerate, both with yourself and the people around him. He can be pretty blunt which can cause a lot of hurt sometimes. When he sees that you’re upset though, he will show a surprising softer side. He’ll wrap his arm around you and smooth out your hair, and he’ll lull you to sleep by whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

The first time you hug Javi, he stiffens up completely. He has no idea how to react. The last time he received a hug must’ve been from his mom when he was still just a young boy. He often gives you hugs though, especially when you’re seeking comfort. Javier has big strong arms and he holds you so right. He runs at your flesh in soothing motions and he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. You can always smell the honeyed scent of his cologne, and cigarettes, when he hugs you. But you wouldn’t trade the feeling for the world.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

You’re probably going to say it first... and that’s okay! Javier does love you, he knows that for sure. It’s just... it can be hard for him to actually admit it and come to terms with it (with his commitment issues and all). You assure him it’s okay and he can take his time. But he ends up not taking long at all. Once you tell him you love him, his whole world feels complete and it’s suddenly pretty easy for him to tell you that he loves you back.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

To be honest, Javi is pretty confident in a relationship. No woman has ever left him before. So, he doesn’t get too jealous. Besides, other men know better than to get too close to you because Javier isn’t afraid to throw a punch or two. He is, by nature, extremely protective, though.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

So passionate. A clash of tongues and teeth. He often moans into your mouth and the vibrations from that alone are enough to send shivers down your spine. When he kisses you, he struggles to keep his hands to himself. With Javier, kisses often lead to making out which often leads to sex. He loves to kiss you anywhere. Along your jaw, down your neck and the valley of your breasts. He’s a biter too (this is canon). He loves to nibble at your skin and give you little lovebites.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Surprisingly decent. Kids aren’t his favourite thing in the world, and he does his best to avoid them, but on an occasion where he finds himself with a child, he can handle them pretty well. Olivia Murphy loves her uncle Javi.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Weekdays are the worst because Javi has to head to work pretty early. Weekends though? You and Javier will sleep in until around midday, just lounging in each other’s arms and basking in the morning sunlight as it seeps through your curtains. It’s soft and sweet and almost always results in morning sex. You and Javi find yourself indulging in tired conversations and soft touches as you both fall in and out of sleep.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Javier will be drinking beer or whiskey and the two of you will mostly likely be on his sofa, watching a movie together. Fancy dinners aren’t his style but he likes to treat you to them now and again on date night. And trust me when I say you two will be going at each other until the early hours of the morning.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He’s an enigma to everyone he meets, and this doesn’t exclude you. It can be exhausting at first— how much he keeps to himself. He doesn’t talk about his childhood, or what he did at work today. He talks about very little. But once you express to him that you wish he’d be more open and vulnerable with you, he tries. He really does try. In the end, he’s a lot more confident and can talk to you about practically anything.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He has 0 patience, as we see on stakeouts. He gets angry and frustrated super fast. He’s not too loud and he’s rarely a shouter, but when he’s pissed, you’re sure to know about it.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

It’s going to take him about three years for him to remember your birthday. But he remembers the exact shirt you were wearing the night you and him met. He forgets your mom’s name, but he remembers the brand name of the perfume that’s displayed on your dresser. Point is, he remembers very menial and silly things about you. Sometimes, he’ll bring up a random fact about you that he’s remembered and it’ll truly surprise you. Even though he struggled to remember the important things, you find is so endearing how he remembers the smaller and finer things.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

The first time you and Javi slept together, something just hit him like a ton of bricks. He’s slept with plenty of women, that much is clear, but with you, it was different. Right from the start, something felt different, and he couldn’t quite place his finger on what it was. Truth be told, it terrified him... this unknown feeling. But it excited him too, and only spurred him on more. It takes him a while to realise, but that feeling was love. That was the night he fell in love with you. And so for that reason, yours and Javi’s first time is his favourite memory.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Very protective. There’s no reason to elaborate. Due to the nature of his job and the shit he sees on a day to day basis, he makes you his number one priority. If anything ever happened to you, he couldn’t ever forgive himself. So he’s constantly at your neck and call. Anything you need, he will provide.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Javier is pretty low maintenance. Like I said, he will occasionally take you out for a meal at a fancy restaurant, but this is usually for anniversary dates. He’s taken a liking to going to the movies with you, and he also loves to go dancing with you in nightclubs. Javi’s job is well paid and he has a surprisingly good eye for jewellery. He always picks you out the most beautiful diamonds. You worry about him spending too much on you, though.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Smoking. You don’t like the smell of it. And when he has one too many beers. He tries to cut down though, for you.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Yeah, he looks after himself. He keeps himself well groomed. He even has a little toothbrush he uses to comb his moustache.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

He really, really would. Say you and Javi have had a big fight and you are both spending some time away from each other... he’ll be really struggling. You’re always there to ground him and make him feel safe. He never realised how much needs you until you’re not with him anymore. He’d probably cry himself to sleep, but he’d never tell anyone.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

He has a vision. It’s a pretty distant vision, well into the future. But once he retires from the DEA, he’d love to take you back to Texas and show you his fathers farm. Maybe even have a farm with you someday. A suburban house with a white picket fence and dog. It’s the last thing you’d expect from Javi, but in a sense, he craves the normality of it all.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Uh, he doesn’t like drugs? DEA agent and all. He doesn’t like the rain because it ruins his hair and he hates the way his colourful shirts stick to his skin. You tell him it’s sexy, though. He doesn’t like big events where he has to see and interact with a bunch of people.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He snores so loud. For the love of God, he needs to see a sleep therapist or some shit. Thankfully, you grow used to it, but you don’t know how he doesn’t wake himself up!

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[pascalpanic]

Burning The Midnight Oil (Javier Peña x gn!Reader)

Summary: Javier has been burning the candle at both ends. He just needs some rest. Luckily, you’ve got your husband covered.

W/C: 3.4K

Warnings: oh boy um. language, non sexual nudity, brief sexual jokes/innuendo, lots of talk of sleep deprivation bc that’s a plot point here, brief mentions of alcohol and guns (maybe once each), mostly talk of food/eating, eating meat/pork (Javier does, not reader) otherwise I’d say it’s fluffy for the most part

A/N: ☄️ anon, god bless your soul for this idea!! I really love it so I banged it out in one night and here we are!!

You haven’t seen your husband in days. You know he’s exhausted, only ever showing up at home when you’re off at work. It’s a terrible situation, the only contact you’ve had with him being at odd hours over the phone.

The DEA has been all hands on deck this week, requiring their men to be there at all times unless they’re at home and sleeping; even then, they only get about six hours off at a time, many of them too wired to sleep. Javier only gets to come home every other day, usually during the middle of the day. He’s been staying up for a dangerous amount of time, in your opinion, leaving you just about ready to find the heads of the cartel and beat their asses yourself.

During the work week, you can’t complain. You have no right to. You knew when you and Javier had eloped and married that the man’s job was a baggage you’d be forced to carry as a couple. You normally didn’t mind, but when it goes into the weekend, that’s when you get mad. Not just that you don’t get your husband at home with you, but that he doesn’t get to be home. He deserves it. Javier hardly relaxes during the weekends, and essentially does not relax on weeknights until he’s fallen asleep with his head on your chest.

Saturday found you running errands, expecting Javier home by midday at the very latest. Returning home with a pep in your step and finding no Javier there, your mood and smile fell instantly. It’s Saturday; your husband should be home. They should be letting them go home, you thought angrily as you took your anger out by chopping the vegetables to go into your dinner. Surely Javier will be home by dinnertime.

Nothing. 6 P.M., 7 P.M., no Javier, just a dinner growing cold and your heart sinking. You knew Javier had got his break yesterday, and had been in the apartment while you worked, but a slightly rumpled bed was the only evidence he was even there.

At 8, you walk to the phone and dial the DEA office, specifically Javier’s extension.

Your husband picks up and his voice wrecks your heart. “Peña,” he mumbles, his voice crackly. It sounds like his morning grumble after a long night of sleep next to you.

“Javi,” you coo, heart breaking. “Baby, when are you coming home?”

Javier perches on the edge of his desk, phone tucked between his cheek and shoulder. “Fuck, cariño, I don’t know,” he admits, rubbing his face. “I just woke up, I got an hour nap in the break room office. We have to keep going. We’re so close, I can tell.”

You understand his desperation, but you know exactly what he looks like now, a stubble growing thanks to his time away from home, his eyes bloodshot and drooping. His hair is probably messy and his shirt is probably all wrinkly; you’re absolutely certain he’s holding a mug of the sludgy black coffee the office brews. He’s most definitely the picture of exhaustion, and even though you can’t see him, you know your husband. He is a wreck. “I can let Saturday slide, but you’re coming home tomorrow, I don’t care how long. I need to see you and you need to be taken care of.” “I’m doing just fine,” Javier shakes his head and you can hear a flick of a lighter as he’s most likely lighting a cigarette.

“You’re not, and don’t try to pull that card with me. I know you. You’re a disaster; I can tell from your voice. You haven’t eaten and you haven’t slept and you can’t deny it. I want you home as soon as you can tomorrow, you got it? Don’t you even fucking dare try it, Javier Fernando Peña.”

The full name: ouch. He sighs and exhales the cigarette smoke, then takes a sip of his coffee before answering you. “God, I fucking love you,” he chuckles softly. “Okay.”

Another sign of Javier’s exhaustion: how easily he gives in. Javier is a stubborn man, but over your years together he’s learned that you’re just as hard to budge. When both of you are set, neither of you can be moved. Your sarcasm and wit and willpower was what drew him to you in the first place; Javier could never have a compliant, submitting partner. He’d be a mess. He needs you to ground him, he knew and still knows it. It’s why you’re married now.

“I love you too, handsome. Call me before you come home, okay baby? I want to be awake for you,” you say, a soft smile on your face. Your voice is much warmer, less jagged and rough.

It’s the way you always get Javi, the thing that makes him melt the most: when you’re snapping one second and gentle the next. God, he fucking loves you. You understand him, you don’t question him when he comes home and doesn’t speak. You read him and then you hold him, and all of his fears dissipate with his calming breath. “Okay. I love you,” he repeats again, more earnest and purposeful. He wants you to know it; he worries you haven’t felt it in the past week. It’s also another sign of his exhaustion.

“I love you too, Javi,” you remind him as you chuckle and stand. “Don’t fall asleep on the job. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Javier groans and cracks his neck after hanging up, sliding the typewriter back to the beginning. Just a little longer, he tells himself, then he gets to come home to you.

-

The phone rings around 5 in the morning, waking you from a restless slumber. The sun is just starting to rise, making the sky lighter and colorful from its previous midnight blue. Knowing Javier would be calling, it was impossible for you to sleep fully, leaving you in a dozing state more similar to a daydream than to any form of REM.

“Hello?” You answer with a groggy voice, hoping it’s Javier. Who else could it be, at this hour on a Sunday morning?

“Hey, dulzura,” Javier sighs into the phone. “I’m packing up my shit now. We didn’t get Escobar, but we got one of his big guys late last night. They’re bringing in some Search Bloc guys and giving us tomorrow off.”

You nearly cry in relief at his words, making a noise between a sigh and a squeal,  heavy and happy. Javier laughs softly at your noise of relief, allowing himself to smile. His vision is hazy from the lack of sleep, but he’ll be cognizant enough after this last cup of coffee kicks in. “Get your ass home, Javi,” you tell him with a voice just as sleepy as his own. “You got an ETA for me?”

There’s a moment of silence as he looks at his watch. “5:45.”

Your eyes haven’t even opened yet, and you finally let them as you look at the clock. That’s soon, really soon, and it makes your heart speed up a little as your body forces you awake. “Great. I’ll see you then. Drive safe. If you’re too tired-”

“Steve will not be driving,” he cuts you off with a grumble. It makes you giggle a little, his adamance that Steve could never possibly do something better than him, more competently.

“Just reminding you. I’ll see you,” you tell him and hang up before he can make another sarcastic comment.

He’s glad you hang up so fast. He doesn’t have the brain power for a classic witty retort.

-

Javier goes to unlock the apartment door about half an hour later, but finds that his keys aren’t necessary: you’ve left the door unlocked for him.

He’d be ashamed to admit it to anyone but you, but it really does happen: Javier’s eyes water as he walks inside to the smell of cooking, the stream of soft light through the kitchen window, the sound of soft Sunday morning music drifting from the radio.

You’re at the oven, cooking, and turn when you hear a noise, grinning to see Javier. “Hey, handsome,” you squeal and rush over, wrapping your arms around him.

Javier buries his face in your hair, throwing his arms back around you. You smell fresh and clean, so soft in the fluffy robe he bought you for your birthday a few months ago now. You’re surprised to feel warm water drip from his eyes to your neck, and you pull away with a frown, cupping his face. “Are you okay, love?” You ask, wiping the tears from his eyes.

He nods. “So tired,” he admits and swallows hard. “So glad I’m home. So lucky I have you.”

You have a feeling he doesn’t have the energy to kiss you. Instead, you press your forehead to his and squeeze him tight in your arms. “Okay. I cooked breakfast. You need it. Why don’t you go take a shower?” You ask, breaking away and rubbing his arms.

He shakes his head. “My arms feel like lead. I don’t know if I can even wash my hair,” he admits, his voice a low rumble from his chest. “Just let me sleep, baby.”

“I’ll come with you, then,” you offer, already unbuttoning his shirt and working it off of him purely for comfort. You know your way around your husband’s body by now. You could unbutton his shirts blind; in fact, you have. “Come on, cariño,” you murmur and pull him along to the bathroom by the side of an unbuttoned shirt.

Once in the bathroom, Javier blinks and squints at the bright vanity lights, overwhelmed. You turn on the shower, the bathroom filling with warmth as the water heats and steam fills the air. Even in his tired state, Javier loves to undress you. He tugs the belt from your fuzzy robe, sliding it off your shoulders and tossing it on the counter. You then strip off your respective clothes, and you’re the first to step into the stream of the warm water.

Javi doesn’t have to say anything; you can tell his thoughts from your gaze. His eyes rake your body, taking in the sight of his most beloved person on the planet in all of your naked glory. He climbs in after you, and you grab a bar of soap and get to scrubbing, covering all of Javier’s body with the cucumber-scented suds. He leans his head back against the shower wall, loving your warm hands and the hot water. If he wasn’t standing, if his back wasn’t aching so hard, he’d fall asleep here and now. He’s never been more blissful.

You rinse his body then work his shampoo into his thick hair, your fingers scratching his scalp and massaging his head. “You’re the fucking best,” Javi mumbles sleepily. You just chuckle and work the soap into his hair, stripping it of the grime and cigarette smoke of the office, until he’s wiped clean, ready to start anew.

Later, you wash yourself and let Javier enjoy the hot stream of the water. He’s so zoned out you can’t even tell if he’s awake. You have to actually check. “Javi, baby?”

“Hm?” He mumbles

“Did you fall asleep on me?” You chuckle as you turn off the shower, which makes Javier frown at the loss of warmth.

“‘Course not,” he grumbles, taking the fluffy towel from you and wiping his face.

After the two of you have dressed in fresh clothes, you sit on the edge of your bed and wait for Javier to finish. He pulls a worn t-shirt over his head, then comes and sits next to you, kissing the side of your head. “You’re so good to me,” he mumbles into your temple.

He goes to flop back but you put an arm around him, catching him. “Excuse me, Agent. I made breakfast,” you chuckle and sneak a kiss from his lips, chuckling at the way his mustache is still a little damp. “When was the last time you ate?”

Javier stares off as he considers it. It takes a while for him to respond. You nod at that. “Exactly. Come on, I made breakfast just the way you like it.”

The food is still somewhat warm when you find your way to the kitchen. Javier loves the local cuisine, always has, but something about an American breakfast makes him weak at the knees. He sits at the kitchen counter and sighs as you hand him a plate of buttered toast. “There’s your appetizer,” you chuckle and head back to the stove. Half-cooked bacon, which you turned off when he came in, sits in a pan, and you turn it back on to finish. You crack a couple of eggs into another pan, making sure they sit just right so they’re the way Javi likes them: fried. You sprinkle them with salt and pepper, humming to the radio as you cook.

The sizzling bacon makes Javier’s stomach grumble. The toast isn’t even that warm anymore, but the carby goodness fills Javi’s mouth and suddenly he’s never felt so ravenous. The two pieces of buttered toast are devoured in a heartbeat.

Bringing him a mug, you pour some coffee and his favorite creamer in. “You’d better tip me later,” you tease him with a wink as you return to the stove, flipping the bacon and putting some onto a plate.

“I will tip you anything you want, I swear,” he murmurs before sipping at the ceramic mug, the warm coffee going down like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, warming him from the inside out. The A/C blasts in the apartment, making his dripping hair feel even colder.

In yet another pan, you start pouring the premade pancake mix you’d prepared before he got home. “All of this and the sun is barely up,” He muses, wandering to the other side of the counter and stealing a strip of bacon.

“Quit,” you whine and smack his hand, making the bacon fall back onto the plate. “Your order isn’t ready yet, sir. Stop harassing the cook.” When his arms wrap around you, your defenses fall. “Go sit down,” you say weakly as he kisses your neck.

At least he obeys. Javier sits in his chair and watches you intently, downing his coffee in a short amount of time.

Finally, the feast all comes together, and you present it to Javier on a large plate: bacon, fried eggs, fruit (which you know he won’t eat, but it’s worth a shot), and heart-shaped pancakes. “I wanted to make a pistol, but I’m not super artistic,” you chuckle as you refer to the fluffy cakes on the plate.

Javier shakes his head but smiles. “Thank you, dulzura,” he manages out before he digs in, devouring the plate at a breakneck speed. You’re content to watch, standing across from him. You go to refill his coffee and come back to find the pancakes completely gone.

It doesn’t take much time at all before the plate is wiped clean, the entire thing in Javier’s stomach. Food has never been the biggest concern for him; he skips meals often for work, and you suspect he hasn’t done much more than snack here or there over the past week. His eyes droop even further now that he has a full stomach, and it warms your heart. You’ve got your husband cleaned and fed; now all you need is one last step before you have your beloved Javi back.

“Alright, handsome,” you smile as you drape your arms across his shoulders. “Nap time.”

He can’t deny that. He stands, letting your arms fall off his shoulders. He pulls you around to his front and wraps his arms around you; you know what comes next in this routine. Your feet slide on top of his and Javier walks the two of you to the bedroom, you backwards and being led by him. Javier is not an overly affectionate man: kisses and sex, primarily, hugs if one of you really needs it. This is his one little act he insists on, since you don’t let him carry you.

As you waddle along, you kiss along Javier’s jaw, giving him all of the affection he missed out on in the past week. When you finally enter your bedroom, you stop as you feel the backs of your calves against the bed. You know this routine all too well. It’s usually reserved for when Javier can’t get his hands off of you, when you desperately need him on top of you, surrounding you, kissing your neck. “Wait,” you murmur and step off of his feet, going to pull back the covers.

You return to the end of the bed, standing on top of his feet again. “There,” you say with a grin, and Javi has no choice but to grin back then kiss you. “Okay, continue.”

Then your routine resumes: you fall backwards onto the bed and Javier falls on top of you. You both grunt with the impact but you smile, wrapping one arm around Javi while the other grabs the sheets and blankets and pulls them over the both of you.

Javi’s cheek is nestled against your chest, listening to your heartbeat, his eyes already shut. “Real cute. Get off of me now,” you tease and nudge his side.

His body beneath yours is all he’s needed, all he’s dreamt about while half-consciously dreaming on the apartment couch. He can feel your chest rise and fall, his head going with it. “No,” he simply mutters, his face squished against the skin encasing your beating heart. “M’comftrble.”

You can’t deny him that, you chuckle, your hands reaching down to entangle your fingers in his dark brown hair, nearly black from the dampness it holds. “Fine,” you sigh, whispering the word to him. “I love you so much, Javi. Missed you. Missed my man.”

“Missed you too, dulzura,” Javi mumbles back, but it’s clear he’s almost already out.

“How long were you up, minus that nap, Javi?” You ask.

He thinks on it for a minute, and you think he might’ve fallen asleep until he responds. “36.”

“Hours?” you exclaim quietly, massaging his scalp. “Baby.”

“I know. Had’ta.”

“Well, you can sleep as long as you need to now, love,” you murmur and kiss his forehead. He makes a soft noise of disapproval. “Just a nap. Wake me in like an hour.”

“Okay,” you lie, knowing you’ll let him sleep as long as his body needs it. “Rest now, baby.”

Javier nods and you exhale deeply, holding his head to your chest. He’s back now, your husband, and you know he’s safe, know he’s healthy and well taken-care of: you did it yourself. His breathing slows. You can feel it against your chest, the way the steady rise and fall becomes slower and slower and you know you’ve won when you hear a soft snore, his parted lips smashed against your chest.

You stay like that for a while, Javier lying on top of you and resting. It’s a comfort to have him pressed against you, to feel your husband’s body and know that he’s here. It’s even better to know he’s resting well, deeply, from the way he slumbers against your body. You intermittently kiss his head, continuing to rub his head in hopes it’ll loosen the tension he’ll surely have when he wakes.

About an hour passes, and you find yourself drowsier and drowsier as the sun rises higher and higher in the sky. Scooting out from beneath Javier, you replace your chest with a pillow to support his face. Rolling him slightly to the side, you cuddle in behind him and spoon him, your arms around him.

The quiet Sunday morning is all too perfect. You drift off too, then wake up an hour or two later and proceed about your household chores. You burn some pretty candles, clean, listen to the radio.

Javier doesn’t wake until 10 P.M. that night, 15 hours after he fell asleep.

Some nap.

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain @tacticalsparkles

[axoxtxhxh]

Pairing: Sub!Goshiki x DomFem! Chubby!Reader Part 2 Summary: You met your good friend Goshiki at work one day, having similar interests in books. When you start developing feelings for him, things get difficult. Especially when he asks a special favor. Content: Body image issues, heated makeout session, strong sexuality, heavy grinding over clothes Word Count: ~ 4,100

A/N: Yay for part two! This is Part 2 of my three part series with Goshiki! I will post Part 3 on Friday. If you missed Part 1, check out the Please Me Series Masterlist where you can find all of our stories for the Please Me series!

One week. It had been one full week since you’d heard from Goshiki. He left your apartment so quickly and you didn’t really have much time to think about why before your self-doubt and body image issues took over. It was stupid of you to be so upset over it because honestly, you really had only met Goshiki a couple months ago. But it did hurt and you wereupset because these last couple months had been the best months you’d ever had and it was as if it was all taken away in that moment he walked out the door.

You were tracing circles on the desk at work when you saw someone walk into the bookstore and your eyes shot to the door. It wasn’t Goshiki and you slumped back down, drawing your circles.

“God, you’re depressing.” Dylan’s voice came from behind you. “Why don’t you just text him?”

“So I can be that weird clingy person.” You shivered, standing up straight and facing him. “No thank you.”

“You’re a writer and you don’t think that maybe he hasn’t texted because he’s thinking the same thing? It’s writing 101.”

“I am a writer, but I already told you, I am not the kind of person that has a role in these stories. I’m like the side character that tells the main character they’re doing a great job.” You drummed your fingers on the desk, quickly looking at the door again as another person walked in and Dylan laughed.

“Why don’t you go take a break.” He stopped your fingers.

“I just had mine.”

“Well take another. And go for a walk. You’re going to break your neck if you keep looking at the entrance like that.” He laughed.

“I’m fine, Dylan.”

“You’re not and neither am I. I need coffee. Grab me some?”

“So now I’m your gofer?” You laughed, taking his card.

“And buy yourself something. I don’t need you ogling my cup when you get back.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

You walked out the front and set out to your coffee shop. The fresh air did feel really nice, not to mention it was one of the better days that week, weather-wise. You almost wished the café were a little bit farther so you could have more time to enjoy the day. Almost wished. The amount of times the close proximity of this café had saved you from a rough work day was monstrous.

When you reached the coffee shop, it was midday and the way the light hit the glass windows and door, you couldn’t see the inside so it came as quite a shock when the door swung open and nearly hit you in the face. What came as more of a surprise was who was opening the door. You had a mini moment of panic as you watched Goshiki turn around, having used his butt to push the door open.

You both stood there for a second staring at each other, neither one of you knowing what to say.

“Gos—” You started, stopping when he said your name at the same time. You both laughed lightly which gave you a bit of hope. “You can go first.”

“I’m sorry.” He looked down. “The way I left wasn’t really fair to you.”

“No, it’s okay. I feel like I sort of pushed you into the kiss.”

“No! You didn’t! It wasn’t the kiss.”

“It was because I sat on your lap.”

“Yeah.” He smiled, nodding and you sighed quietly, trying not to feel the ache in your heart.

You knew it. You knew it was because of you. He ran out because you nearly smothered him.

“I’ve just never had anyone… that close… like… on me. And the way we were touching… I was having… like—Ugh, I’m not making sense.” He squeezed his eyes shut.

“It’s fine. You don’t have to explain.” You shrugged, hoping you seemed nonchalant and not like you were about to cry. “I get it.”

“You do?” His eyes opened wide and looked at you.

“Yeah, I know I’m not small.” You couldn’t look him in the eye so you focused on the two coffee cups in his hands. “It probably felt like you were being crushed—”

“What?” He interjected quickly. “No, that’s not it at all. Is that what you were thinking this whole time?”

“Well, yeah.” You finally looked up at him and he sighed.

“That—I keep telling you, you look amazing. It’s not you. The problem is that I’m a virgin. I’ve never done anything like that. I’ve barely even kissed anyone.”

“You—you’re a virgin?”

“Yes.”

“And you ran out…”

“Because I was nervous. I didn’t know how to tell you and I definitely didn’t know how to continue. I…” You could tell he was trying to figure out how to explain to you what he was feeling, but he couldn’t get it into words and you smiled. He didn’t think you were heavy. He didn’t think you were too big and he didn’t run out because he was disgusted by you.

“Goshiki?” You were still smiling, unable to hide your happiness at this new information. “Do you want to just forget it happened for now?”

You could visibly see the relief in his face and you watched his shoulders relax as he smiled.

“Yes. Honestly, that would be perfect. Can I walk you back to work?”

“Yes.” You nodded, a nearly permanent smile on your face. “Who’s the coffee for?”

He looked down at the cup in each hand. “You. I was going to bring it to you and apologize.”

You had a moment where you both looked at each other and smiled, both happy things were going to be okay before you quickly went in the coffee shop and bought Dylan’s coffee, taking your time on the walk back to the bookstore with Goshiki.

There was nothing hidden in the look on Dylan’s face as you stepped into the bookstore, waving to Goshiki as he headed back to practice.

“What the hell? I told you to get me a coffee and you come back with the guy you’ve been snapping your neck for every time someone walks in?”

“It was sending me to get you coffee that had me running into him.” You handed Dylan his cup. “It’s fine though. We were able to talk a little and I think things are okay.”

“If you had a talk that fast, things are not okay.”

“It was more like we talked about having a talk. He’s going to come by at the end of my shift.”

“So was I right?” He took a sip from his cup and you made a face.

“Right about what?” You drank from your cup, narrowing your eyes.

“He wasn’t texting you for the same reason you weren’t texting him?”

“What does that even matter.” You rolled your eyes.

“It does something to me knowing I’m right.” He smiled, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath as if he could smell his correct guess. “Strokes my ego a bit.”

“I don’t think I’m willing to give you that satisfaction.”

“I was right.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t need to.” He smiled and you turned around to look at the door, pretending to ignore him when he appeared at your ear, whispering. “I was right.”

The rest of your shift flew by yet somehow took forever to end. You tried to keep yourself busy, but there really was only so much you could do with limited customers and an anxious heart.

The one good thing that did come from your shift was the new shipments of books, one of them was the book both you and Goshiki had been waiting for. He still felt weird taking books home so you started buying them with your discount and you hid a stack for him behind the counter. All of your coworkers knew this so when he walked in, they handed him the stack and he found a place to sit and read. He was going to be so happy the new book came in and you were worried about how happy it made you at the thought of him being excited over it.

As the time got closer to when he was supposed to show up, you started to feel nervous.  You were happy things were better and you got to talk about what happened, but now it was becoming really hard to ignore the fact that you definitely did have feelings for Goshiki. He never made it clear whether he did or didn’t, he only mentioned that he had never had sex and doesn’t have a lot of experience, but that wasn’t enough for you to think that he could like you.

You could actually kick yourself for suggesting to forget about the kiss. He seemed really excited to forget it though so maybe he didn’t like you. But then again, he could have been happy to forget about the awkwardness in which case he may have been okay with the kiss and maybe did have feelings for you. Damn it, anxiety!

You dropped your head into your hands and looked down at the counter as your phone buzzed. It was five minutes until your shift was over and Goshiki just messaged.

No! You cannot meet me later! You thought. I am over here freaking out because I don’t know how you feel about me and I’m about to bury my head into the sand if I don’t die of a heart attack first.

Great, now he wasn’t even going to come to the bookstore. Your anxiety would have to sit a little longer.

You headed home and did your best not to think about it which was nearly impossible. With your laptop on your lap, you got to writing. If Goshiki was going to be a while, you might as well make use of the time. You mentally slapped yourself when you thought of the way his eyes glued to the screen when he read your stories and went back to focusing.

It took you a bit, but once you got into the zone, you were able to block out the rest of the world and the rest of your thoughts and just write. By the time you heard a knock at the door, you looked at the clock. It had been an hour. You moved your laptop to the coffee table and stood up, making your way to the door. Each step you took you got more and more nervous, no longer able to brush the anxiety aside because the cause of the anxiety was right behind the door. You took a deep breath and opened it.

Damn it. It was a package. The box was small and you could barely read the label, but as soon as you picked it up, you were almost jumping out of excitement. You went to the kitchen, grabbing scissors and opening the box up. Your business cards.

It had taken you a while to drum up the courage to order them. Both Dylan and Goshiki badgering you until you placed the order. The material you chose made the wait time so much longer, but it was way more than worth it holding it in your hands. The soft, almost velvety feel of the matte black card gave you a smile you couldn’t hold back. You closed your eyes, rubbing the card in between your fingers and smiled.

“Your cards came in?” A voice came from behind you and you jumped, your hand flying to your chest as you turned around.

“Holy shit, Goshiki. You scared me.”

“Sorry.” He laughed. “The door was open so I thought you knew I was coming.

“I left it open?” You peeked behind him to the door.

“Yeah. I closed it.” He was looking at the counter where you left the box of cards. “Can I see them?”

“Here.” You handed him the card and he looked at it, smiling. “You can keep that one.”

“Thanks.”

Everything was so awkward. You couldn’t understand how it was so comfortable in front of the café, but now it was so awkward.

“Can we talk?”

That was why it was awkward. There was something he wanted to say and it had your chest tightening.

“Sure.”

You moved to sit on the couch and he sat next to you, rubbing his palms on his thighs. He looked up to you, opening his mouth like he was going to speak, but then closing it quickly and looking back down at his hands.

“You okay?”

“I… I’m okay. I was hoping that we could… I mean, I know you’re not—we’re not rea…” He blew air out through his cheeks.

“Goshiki, whatever it is, you can tell me.” You put your hand on his shoulder and felt him tense up. There was a short pause, but then he quickly turned to you and pushed himself forward so your lips were touching. His lips already moving roughly against yours.

His hand was on your cheek and trying to bring you closer to him. This was different than before, he was way more active, his tongue pushing through your lips, not even waiting for you to open your mouth. His weight pushed you back so you were almost laying down. It felt so good feeling his entire body against yours, so warm and strong, but you couldn’t shake that he was pushing too fast. You only just learned he was a virgin and now he was rushing into this.

“Go—Goshi—Goshiki! Wait.” You struggled to get a word out, each time your mouth was open, he used to chance to push his tongue in, but he pulled back to look at you. His lips were starting to look swollen, almost bee stung and it was adorable, but you shook that out of your mind. “What are—we just talked. I thought because of your inexperience…”

“I want to do it with you.” He spoke so casually, as if he’d seriously thought about it. “If that’s okay.”

If that’s okay? Yes! You most definitely wanted to rip his clothes off and run your tongue over every inch of him. The look in his eyes had you wetter than you could remember being, but this was kind of a big deal for him. You weren’t sure if rushing into this with you was such a good idea.

“I mean… are you sure?” You asked, rubbing his cheek lightly and he nodded.

“Take me.” He whispered as he leaned back in. You didn’t even have time to smile at his use of one of your favorite romance novel’s title before his lips were back on yours.

This time was way more passionate. You could feel his hands all over you, less hesitant than before as they moved up your body. His inexperience was so plainly obvious to you now that you knew it, it made you wonder how you didn’t notice before. The way his lips moved against your lips, still unsure of how they were supposed to fit with yours. The way his tongue was moving around your mouth heavily, almost beating the inside of your cheeks. The way his dick was honestly already so incredibly hard against your thigh. He was barely thrusting as he moaned into your mouth, his fingers tangled in your hair.

His other hand continued its movements up and down your sides, lingering longer each time as he got closer to your breasts.

You were finding it harder to guide him as he lay on top of you and you put your hand on his shoulder, gently pushing him back, but at the slightest resistance from you, he quickly stopped. His eyes, so heavily lidded, looked down at you.

“A—Is it okay?” His cheeks were pink and his lips were red, shiny with spit, as he licked them.

“It’s okay.” You smiled. “Are you okay?”

“Your lips are so soft.” He leaned in again to kiss you. “They taste like strawberries.”

His mouth was all over yours again, but this time softer, gentler, and instead of his tongue being shoved into your mouth, it delicately brushed over your lips. All of it had your breath catching in your throat and you were wondering how he could have switched so quickly from the first kiss.

You felt that familiar tingle run through your body, goosebumps raising on your skin, and your hands went to Goshiki’s back to pull him closer to you. You wanted him. Your fear of overthinking anything was far from your mind as you felt his warm hand slide under your shirt and rest on your stomach.

God, he was so hard, his cock pressed up against you, his grinding became rougher, but you didn’t mind it at all. He was wearing his tracksuit and the pants were definitely thin enough for you to feel everything. Your lips were numb from all the kissing, but you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away until he did, leaning back a little for air.

“Take off your jacket.” You commanded. He sat up fully, nodding and you sat up with him, pulling your own shirt off.

It was unfortunate that you really weren’t expecting anything like this to happen so your current bra situation was a sports bra, but at least it was your cute black one that showed off your cleavage. Based on the motionless stare Goshiki had on your breasts, he didn’t seem to mind at all what bra you were wearing.

You grabbed his shirt and pulled him down, smiling with him into the kiss until his lips moved to your neck and you shivered at his breath on your skin. You could feel his inexperience again, but it’s almost as if it didn’t matter this time because he was grinding even harder against you and you wrapped your legs around him, almost forcing him into position to rub roughly against your clit.

Goshiki had been letting out tiny whimpers here and there as well as the occasional moan, but you had been relatively quiet until his erection hit that swollen and sensitive bud of nerves so perfectly that you moaned out, almost awkwardly with how loud it was and your hand went to his hair. If anything, Goshiki took this as a sign to keep going and he ground harder against you, hoping to make you feel it again.

“It feels so good.” He whispered against your skin and you couldn’t have agreed more, literally pulling him even closer against you and he kept grinding, even faster, moaning even louder.

You loved when your partner was loud. From what you knew about Goshiki, he loved praise in everyday life. You could only imagine what it would do to him in the bedroom.

“I love the way you touch me.” You groaned quietly. He paused for a second before his hands started roaming over you again, this time further, touching parts of you he was too hesitant to touch before. “Just like that. Don’t stop, you’re so good at that.”

It’s like you could feel his heart racing, his uncertainty fading and his cock twitching against you as you complimented him. The more you praised him, the harder he worked, his moans getting louder and louder and it reached a point where if he wasn’t faking it, you were sure he would orgasm.

His face was still in your chest, his hips wildly rubbing against you. His moaning turned to groans which then became grunting before one long grunt escaped him and his hips flew forward against yours, his body shaking then stilling and he started panting.

You’re in no way an expert, but you were experienced enough to know that Goshiki just came in his pants. He wasn’t moving, his face was resting against your chest as he took deep breaths.

“Oh fuck.” You could hear him whisper into your chest. “Oh shit.”

“Goshiki.” Your hand was still on his back and you honestly didn’t know what to do or say to him because you really couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “It—it’s okay.”

That was probably the worst thing to say. You were not quick to thinking ever and this definitely showcased that. You’ve had men come too soon before, but you both kept going, waiting for him to be ready again before you moved forward.

It was different for Goshiki though and it was your job to guide him. A job you were failing at.

After a minute or so, he sat up, sitting back on the couch and he stared at the coffee table, unable to bring his eyes to you.

“Gosh—"

“I should go home and change.” He looked at you and you could see how mortified he felt before he quickly looked away. “Yeah, I’m gonna go change.”

“Um, okay.” You scooted off the couch to stand up with him. “Do you want me to come with?”

“No, it’s fine.” He already put his jacket back on and was moving to the door. “I’ll message you later.”

He didn’t message. Not that day and not the day after or the day after that. You were beginning to feel like it was your fault again. It wasn’t like before, but you felt just as bad as you did before.

The last time you felt like this, you were at work worried that you had destroyed your friendship with Goshiki and you started to feel better after going for a walk so that should work this time too. At least that’s what you told yourself when you started putting on your shoes. You opened your door to leave, to go somewhere, anywhere to get yourself out of your apartment and out of your head for a little.

When you opened the door, you jumped back, surprised someone was standing there. Goshiki had his hand up, ready to knock, a startled look on his face. You both stared at each other, stunned and completely not expecting to see the other. Goshiki’s hand stayed in the air, in a fist as if he was going to eventually need to knock. Like you would just close the door so the entire exchange could start fresh.

“Goshiki.” You were the first one to speak and when you did, it’s as if he woke up and slowly put his hand down.

“I’m sorry I didn’t message. I said I would.”

It was still really uncomfortable. You weren’t sure what to say and it wasn’t as if you were mad, but you couldn’t help but think that maybe he thought you were mad. The pause before you spoke was too long and now you felt like you couldn’t say anything at all because it would seem weird or fake because you hesitated. Damn it, anxiety!

“Sorry. You must have been going somewhere.” He stepped to the side, looking down and you could tell he was contemplating just leaving.

“Do you want to talk?” You also stepped aside and he looked up, pausing before nodding and stepping inside your apartment.

It seemed like a terrible idea to sit on that couch so you moved to the kitchen and leaned against the counter, Goshiki across from you.

“It was stupid and unfair of me to leave again.” He started. “I—”

“No, it was my fault.” You stepped closer to him, leaning on the kitchen island in between the both of you. “I should have been better. I’m the one with experience.”

“But leaving isn’t helpful. I promise, I won’t leave anymore. I was just so embarrassed.” He rubbed his forehead, making a face, his cheeks already a bright pink at the memory.

“There’s nothing wrong with coming in your pants.” You assured him. “I came in my pants too.”

“You did?” His eyes were wide as he looked at you.

“No, sorry. I don’t know why I said that.” You admitted and he looked back down, discouraged again and you walked around the counter, putting your hand on his shoulder. “I mean, I could have, if—”

“If I didn’t come in mine first?” He laughed and you almost let a sigh of relief out at seeing his smile. “Can I be honest?”

“Yeah.”

“I think I might like you.” He looked down, not able to look at you while he spoke. Though if he did, he would have seen the huge smile on your face. “So as much as I want to lose my virginity, maybe we could slow down.”

The only visual description you had for describing how you felt in that moment was fireworks. Fireworks were going off in your brain, in front of your eyes, all around Goshiki and you couldn’t believe what he had said. He liked you.

“Goshiki?” It was still nearly impossible to contain your excitement at his confession, but you were doing your best, biting your lip so you wouldn’t scream out with delight. “Do you want to go on a date with me?”

He quickly looked up at you and smiled. That smile you can never say no to.

.....

Taglist: @chaotic-nick​ @yep-seeyalaterbranflakes​ @serostapesweat​ @lovelyzabrak-meadow​

[fallingforyou123]

Cupcakes and Therapy-Meeting

A/N: I'm so sorry this is late, I had it queued up for the wrong day, but it's finally here. This is just the first part, I plan on continuing this with little blurbs after. I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 2.15k

Warnings: Some language, a panic attack and talks of panic attacks, falcon and the winter soldier spoilers

He woke up in a cold sweat, the last of his nightmare still fresh on his mind. For the third time that night he’d been jolted awake, the idea of sleep slowly slipping away. The sun was just starting to rise, a few rays slipping through the cracks in the blinds. He hadn’t slept through the night since his time in Wakanda. After Steve left him and the fighting stopped, there was nothing keeping his mind occupied anymore.

Slowly, he rose from his makeshift bed on the floor, every inch of his body aching from lack of sleep. He made his way over to the window, looking out at the street below. A new hobby he’d found was people watching, as creepy as it is for an ex-assassin to do, but it calmed him. It brought him back to reality when he felt like he was slipping into a dark place.

He doesn’t realize how long he’s stood there until Alpine starts rubbing up against his leg, meowing loudly. Alpine never fails to remind him just how utterly starving he is after sleeping for 22 hours a day. Bucky makes his way to the kitchen to fill his bowl, making note of all the things he’s running out of, a trip to the market after therapy becoming his plans for the day.

He throws a jacket on over his t-shirt and slips on a pair of gloves before leaving the apartment and making his way to the small coffee shop just around the corner. His routine had started consisting of coming here at ungodly hours of the morning for breakfast before making his way to his weekly therapy sessions.

He walked in and sat at his usual table, the barista on shift coming over with his usual coffee and muffin. Bucky hands her a crumpled 5 with a small smile, before grabbing a newspaper. He doesn’t really read it, he’s not one for politics before noon, but he does it to keep him occupied. It also helps to make it not look like he’s scoping the place out when he sits there for hours a day.

He sits there sipping his coffee and nibbling on his muffin, still too shaken from his nightmare to stomach much. He looks up from the newspaper every now and then to watch the people around him. Sunday mornings make the cafe crowded, couples and groups of friends line the one wall, families taking up space at the tables, and a few solos floating through.

There’s a feeling in his chest that hits him hard as he watches a mom trying to wrangle her daughter as the dad laughs. It hits again as he sees a woman curled into the side of the man beside her, giggling at something he’s whispering in her ear. His eyes shift from person to person, the ache growing strong as his breathing becomes difficult. He stands up abruptly, his knee hitting the table causing his coffee to spill, the few people around him shooting him strange looks. He rushes for the door, barely having time to apologize for bumping into someone.

The heat hits him hard when he steps outside, the feeling of being suffocated only worsening. He can’t think straight, the lack of air in his lungs making him dizzy. He turns into an alleyway, leans against the wall and tries to ground himself. A woman spots him as she walks by, coming over to check on him. She rests her hands on his arms, shaking him gently to get him to focus on her.

“Sir, sir you’ve got to breathe. In, out. Easy, easy. There you go.”

Her voice is smooth, almost melodic, and it does the trick to help calm him. Bucky attempts to follow her breathing, gasps of air slowly turning into steady breaths.

He manages to say a small “Thanks,” between breaths. The girl smiles and lingers a little longer to make sure he’s okay before heading on her way. Bucky’s stuck momentarily, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. Suddenly much more tired and willing to go back to bed, he wishes he could head back home and hide for the rest of the day, but he doesn’t want to deal with what’ll happen if he doesn’t show up to therapy.

***

He keeps zoning out as his therapist talks, his mind wandering to what had happened that morning. He was no stranger to panic attacks, but they usually came after a nightmare, not sitting in a coffee shop. And the woman, no ones ever been that quick to help him, not when he looks the way he does. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, her face stuck in his mind.

“James, at least pretend to pay attention.” His therapist's voice knocked him out of his thoughts.

“I’m listening.”

“No you’re not, you’ve got that look on your face that means you’re thinking about your nightmare while telling me you’re not having any.” Her voice is calm, but he knows she’s getting annoyed with him.

“I can assure you, I’m not thinking about a nightmare. I, uh, had a panic attack this morning.” He looks away from her, the confession more than he’s ever shared.

“James, that’s normal. PTSD has a lot of symptoms.”

“No, no this was different. This wasn’t because of a memory or a nightmare. I was sitting drinking coffee, just looking around, and it hit me. I had to leave, spent a while trying to calm myself in an alley. And this woman, she came over and tried to help me. I mean, it worked, but I just, I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid, you’ve got to stop downplaying these things.” She’s really starting to get annoyed now, her voice now having a slight edge to it.

Bucky can’t quite figure out what pisses him off more, knowing she’s right, or how she doesn’t sugar coat things.

“Tell me exactly how it started, what were you doing?”

He groans, not feeling up for a heart to heart at the moment.

“Listen, I told you. I was drinking coffee and looking around. People watching, I guess. Keeps me occupied.”

“Ah,” she sighs. “I think what’s happening is your minds telling you that you’re lonely. Seeing all those people being happy together, it’s something you haven’t had in a while. You need people, James.”

He doesn’t want to hear it and she knows it. It’s all he’s been told for months now. But he’s fine, really. He has weekly lunches with Yori, and Alpine is plenty of company when he’s at home.

“Listen doc, I’m fine.”

“Bullshit. After everything that’s happened to you, being alone is the quietest, most personal hell. And, James, it is very hard to escape it.”

***

The market was crowded today. The mid-summer heat enticing people to spend their days in the sun. Bucky made his way through the rows of stands, stopping to grab various items he thought his fridge was lacking. This had become a weekend routine for him, spending Sunday afternoons trying to create some sort of normality in his life.

He gets distracted momentarily by the sound of a high pitched laugh, forgetting about the bag of fruit being handed to him. It’s then that he spots you, the same girl who helped him in the alley. You’ve traded your hoodie for a tank top and you’ve got a little yellow apron covering you now. There’s a basket of pastries in your hand and you’re laughing with a group of people.

That small ache in his chest makes an appearance again, thoughts racing through his mind. Bucky doesn’t believe in fate, he’s far too old and seen too many things to think it’s real. But in this moment as he watches you, the girl who took time to care for him in a dark alleyway, looking like the world belonged to her, he can’t help thinking that maybe it does exist.

He doesn't know what comes over him, but before he knows it, he’s shoving everything into his bags and heading towards the shop. He doesn’t know what he’ll say, blinded by the need to just be near her. Before he can reach you, you’ve already headed back into the building and stationed yourself behind the counter.

He walks in and is hit with the smell of fresh pastries and he’s brought back to spending weekend mornings baking with his mom and sister. You’re just finishing up with the group, turning your attention to Bucky, “Hi! Welcome to Honey, what can I get for ya?”

Bucky blinks a few times, suddenly losing every ounce of confidence he’d had. “Do you need a few more minutes? Or would you like a suggestion?”

He takes a second to compose himself before replying, “Yeah, um. A suggestion, please?”

He doesn’t understand where his shyness has come from, but you seem to find it endearing. You motion to the display case and start rambling on about each treat, “The orange zest cookies seem to be a fan favourite, personally I like the neapolitan ones the best. We’ve also got every flavour of scone you could imagine if you’re feeling more classy. And oh, this one's new, bourbon pecan nut bars, a little midday pick me up. We’ve also got some fresh sandwiches if you’re looking for lunch. Or if you’re still not sure I can do a sampler box?”

“Yea, I’ll just get one of those, and maybe a sandwich too?”

“Sure thing!”

Bucky watches you fill up a little basket for him, noticing how you add multiples of your favourites. When you head into the back for a moment, he starts figuring out how to bring up this morning without being creepy. He doesn’t want to sound like he stalked you, that would really mess up his shot with you. You finish it up with a fresh sandwich from the back and hand him a neatly wrapped basket. “Alright, is that everything?”

Bucky realizes that this is his last moment to say anything, “Yes, and no. I don’t know if you remember, but I’m the guy who you stopped to help in the alley this morning. I didn’t stalk you or anything, I swear, I was just shopping in the market when I saw you and I thought I’d come over and say thank you.” By this point he’s wishing the ground would open up and swallow him, his face turning extremely red.

“I thought it was you. Don’t worry, I’m not freaked out. It’s no big deal, I’m glad you’re okay. I know how scary panic attacks can be when you’re alone, I’ve had far too many.” You offer him some sympathy, knowing how awful these things can be.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good. Thank you again for the help. I’m Bucky by the way.” He reaches his hand out towards you, and when you take you swear you feel something, “Y/N, nice to meet you.” You reply with a smile.

The both of you stand there for a moment, lost in each other, only shaken out of it by the ringing of the door as someone enters. “I should go, I’m still on the clock.” You reluctantly let go of his hand.

“Can I get your number before I leave?” The question takes you by surprise, but you’re quick to put your number in his phone, and he makes a promise to call you later that night.

***

When you arrive home that evening you’ve completely forgotten about the promised phone call, too eager to make dinner and then climb into bed. You’re in the middle of cooking when your phone goes off with an unknown number on the screen. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Bucky.”

That voice fills your ears and your heart stops for a moment. He sounds tired, the raspiness sending a warm shiver throughout your body.

“Hey, yea, how are you?”

The both of you fall into comfortable small talk. He asks you about work and you tell him about all of your favourite moments from the day. You ask him about the pastries you sent him home with and he confesses that his favorite were the oatmeal lemon cookies, they remind him of the ones his mom used to make.

You end up still on the phone with him by the time you’re curled up in bed, barely able to keep your eyes open. “You should go to bed doll, I can hear how tired you are.”

“But where’s the fun in that?”

Bucky laughs, a small little chuckle, and all you want is to be able to hear that sound forever. “Why don’t you come over tomorrow after I’ve closed up the bakery and I’ll teach you to make something?”

“I’d like that. I’ll see you tomorrow doll.”

“See you tomorrow Bucky.”

[missdawnandherdusk]

Dandelion, Dandelion

Draco x Hufflepuff!Reader

When I was a little girl, my mama said to me

"What's your favorite flower, darling? I'll get you the seed"

I said "Dandelion, Dandelion, " that one's so pretty

She said, "Child, that one's not a flower, that one's just a weed"

Summary: Draco has always tormented you for anything and everything. One summer you cut your hair off and get a bit better at spells and Draco has no idea what to do with you now and you have no idea what to do with all this new attention. 

A/N: Hello my darlings! This is a request from @darcypottah​ and now that it’s fleshed out a bit more, it will be a series, each part is going to be a school year (starting in the Goblet of Fire) or a summer between (the summer chapters will be shorter obviously) following the thread: A Hufflepuff!reader dating Draco and they get split up because Draco has to do something for Voldemort and doesn’t want the Hufflepuff!reader getting in the way. But eventually, they will get back together. Welcome to over 8,000 words because I have no self-control and this is the best thing ever not lying. It’s got everything and anything under the sun. Love you guys and as always let me know what you think!!

“Go ahead, run back to your friends,” He sneered. “I don’t see why they even let you into this school if you’re not going to do a spell,”

I hung my head, my long hair covering the hurt on my face as I rushed down the hall away from him.

Draco Malfoy. The most malicious kid in my year and a Slytherin no less. So, he thought it was acceptable for his taunts against me and my house. Not like I chose to be Hufflepuff. Not that I hated it either, I loved my house and my friends and everything we stood for... but why did it have to be me that he singled out?

I never said anything back, however. I could have, easily. And sometimes I wanted to, but I was more than that. I wouldn’t fall to his level. I didn’t know if I blamed him either. From what I heard of the Slytherin house; it wasn’t good company. Not that what he did to me was right... but I wasn’t going to be bitter.

Third year ended, and I went home for the summer. It was an unbearably hot summer and my hair was becoming more and more of a nuisance as time went on. My mother insisted I spend my days outside reading and practicing spells. Well, she said not in the house so... that left outside.

“I want it off!” I announced coming into the house at about midday. “Mother!?” 

“Want what off, darling?” She asked, looking up from her book.

“My hair. It’s too much. It’s too thick and hot and I want it gone,” I huffed, taking the hair tie out of it and unplaiting it.

“Well, I suppose we can do something about it,” She smiled. “You won’t be able to hide behind it any longer,” There was a glint in her eyes of mischief.

“I’ll survive,” I muttered. “And besides, I’m a lot better at my spells now, and... I don’t need it. It’s time I... I stood for myself,” I took a deep breath uttering the words.

My mother stood and smiled, nodding me upstairs. In the master bath, she had me sit in front of the mirror and took out her own wand, brushing through my hair one last time.

“And you’re sure about this?” She gave me a pointed look in the mirror.

I nodded, swallowing my anxiety. I could do this. I thought about the freedom it promised. No longer would I have to spend every morning trying to force it into submission, nor would I have to straighten it... or keep losing and rebuying hair ties and bobby pins. Freedom...

My fingers ran through exceptionally short hair. There was something reminiscent about it... maybe a Shailene Woodley copycat...

And I was right, it was amazing. I felt free and lighter and bolder. I didn’t have to hide behind my hair anymore. I could be me. And that would be enough.

On the train September 1st, my friends fawned over my haircut and how golden my skin had become though I never realized all those days in the sun had any effect on me. It left me sheepish and wanting to hide behind hair that wasn’t there any longer.

“Woah, Y/n,” It was Cedric, “Nice haircut,” He flashed a smile at me that had me blushing and my friends giggling.

Draco passed my train compartment and our eyes met. His eyes narrowed, confusion in them, but I gave a smile and waved. It was a new year. I could be kind still.

_____________________________

“Who’s the new Hufflepuff?” Draco asked, not being able to place where he knew you from. 

“There isn’t one,” Pansy rolled her eyes.

“Then who just waved to me?” Draco stopped short in his tracks.

“Y/n? Ya know the one you’ve been terrorizing for years?” Pansy said flatly.

“That was... no! She looks completely different! No way,” Draco scoffed, sulking in the compartment, not able to get your smile out of his head.

After all the years of his constant torments, you still waved at him and smiled. It must be a Hufflepuff thing. Always too trusting and kind. You were going to get hurt because of it one day.

It was ridiculous. You thinking that it would change anything by cutting your hair... and smiling a bit more... and were you tanner? Did your eyes always shine when you smiled? Had he ever seen you smile before?

He shoved all of those thoughts aside and waited for the world to make sense again.

He found normalcy in tormenting Potter and his pathetic friends, but not without seeing you on when he disembarked the train. You were laughing with your friends and talking to a few older years from your house. Again, you looked at him and smiled. When he sent a cold glare your way, you simply rolled your eyes and walked away with your friends.

______________________________

It was odd, being the center of attention rather than hide in the shadows. Everyone noticed my new haircut and new attitude... if you could call it that. I still felt like myself, just less afraid of the world around me.

The thrill of the Triwizard Tournament was a popular conversation of our house common room. Cedric was being urged to enter but he held hesitancy towards it.

Walking on my way to the library I passed him in the hall. I waved and smiled.

“Hey,” I offered.

“Oh, not you too,” He groaned.

“What?” I hugged the book to my chest, frowning. “I just said hi,”

“So, you’re not here to tell me to enter the tournament?” He asked hesitantly.

“Uh, no? I was going to the library, have a paper due in Snape’s class,” I explained, lowering my book shield and tucking my hair behind my ear. “I guess people won’t leave you alone, huh?”

“You have no idea,” He muttered, rubbing his face. “I mean, I want to do it, but now there’s so much pressure to do it that it doesn’t seem all that inviting anymore,”

“I’m sorry,” I gave a small smile. “Whatever you decide, you’ll be great. You’re the best wizard in our house, if not the school,”

“You think so?”

I shrugged. “I haven’t been here as long as you have, but I mean, it’s hard not to notice.” My cheeks flushed slightly. “I believe in you Cedric.”

“Thanks,” he stammered. “Maybe I will enter. Can I borrow some paper?”

I beamed and offered him a slip of paper and a quill.

“May the odds be ever in your favor,” I waved goodbye continuing towards the library.

With Snape’s essay done and my drawing for Herbology traced and refinished I headed back to my common room to get ready for bed and maybe get a few more chapters in of The Princess Bride.

When Cedric’s name was pulled from the cup, I jumped up screaming for him, as was the rest of my table and the entire hall it seemed. He flashed a smile at me before heading up to the front and I waved as an encouragement between clapping, beaming with pride.

“You know he’s only into you because you’re pretty now,” I heard the sneer as I walked back to the library.

Frowning, I paused, face to face with Draco.

“I’m sorry, were you talking about yourself again? And I’m flattered that you think I’m pretty,” I glared, hugging my books to my chest.

“Cedric.” Malfoy clarified. “He doesn’t actually like you.”

“And how would you know?” I snapped. “You don’t even know what love looks like,” 

His eyebrows shot up in shock, and I was shocked at myself too.

“Draco, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” I apologized quickly before rushing into the safe haven of books.

“Y/n?” His voice carried through the shelved. I cursed and hid as best I could. “I know you’re in here!”

Biting my lip and pressing myself against the shelves I tried to keep my anxiety under control. 

Why are you running from him? My psyche asked. Aren’t you better than this?

Maybe she was right, and I was better than this. I took a deep breath and stepped out onto the aisle. Draco spotted me immediately and stalked me down. I wanted to shrink back, but I didn’t. I held my ground and squared my shoulders.

“Since when do you apologize to me?” He hissed, inches away from me. “Too scared to say something hurtful then? Does it break your little Hufflepuff code?”

“Yes,” I said firmly. “And I’d take Hufflepuff over Slytherin any day. At least I know how to be kind to people! I’ve given you no reason to hate me, but you have for years and I have every reason to hate you, but I refuse. That’s that makes me a Hufflepuff and proud to be one,” I spat the words, glaring up at him. “Say what you want Malfoy, but you’ll never be more than a Slytherin and I feel sorry for you,”

Something flitted across Draco’s face and I didn’t quite know that it was. It looked like regret and confusion, but that couldn’t be true.

“Hey!”

We both turned to see Cedric jogging down the aisle.

“What’s the idea here Malfoy? Leave her alone,” Cedric easily got between Draco and me, pushing his away.

“Here’s your champion,” Malfoy sneered at me. “Coming to save you,”

“Buzz off Malfoy,” Cedric snapped.

Draco rolled his eyes and stalked away with the dignity of a wet cat and Cedric turned to me. 

“Are you okay?” He asked softly. “I know he likes to pick on you,”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I whispered, watching Draco leave. “Thank you, you didn’t have to do that,” I gave a small smile.

“Well, I was trying to find you to thank you for convincing me to enter the tournament.” He looked down, shifting from foot to foot.

“Oh, no problem,” I smiled. “You’ll be amazing,”

“I... um, yeah. Thanks again,” He stammered before heading out of the library, leaving me there very confused about what just happened.

The day of the first task arrived, and I was in the stand with the rest of the school, watching the trial of dragons. The cry of despair left my lips before I thought twice when I say that the dragon had burned Cedric rather badly. I shoved through the crowd and to the med tent, arguing with the wizard on guard.

“Who is it?” I heard the mangled question. “Y/n? She can come in,” Cedric’s voice was strained.

I pushed past the guard and into the tent to find Cedric and Madam Pomfrey, who was currently lathering some sort of cream on his face and shoulder.

“My stars are you okay?” I gasped. “This is all my fault, I’m so sorry Cedric,”

“What are you crying for? I’m fine Y/n,” He laughed that turned into a grimace.

“Fine!?” I squeaked. “This isn’t fine Cedric,”

“He will be fine Miss Y/n,” Madam Pomfrey assured me. “Do you need something for your panic?”

“No,” I wheezed, sitting on the end of Cedric’s cot.

“You’re missing the rest of the task,” Cedric noted. “Go on out, I’ll be okay,”

“I don’t really think I can stomach anything more,” I confessed, looking over at him and sure enough his burns were healing before my eyes.

“You’re such a Hufflepuff,” He teased. I gave him a sharp look, smiling.

“Are you really okay?” I asked again. 

“Can’t even feel it,” He grinned.

I nodded and stood, “I should leave you be then, I’ll... Feel better,”

“Y/n,” Cedric called as I started to exit the tent. I turned. “Thanks for checking on me,”

I chuckled. “Oh, I mean there is a line of girls out here dying to know how you are,” I smirked.

“But I’m glad it was you,”

I felt my cheeks flush red as I exited the tent and caught sight of familiar blue eyes.

“Are you following me now?” I demanded.

“Can’t I just happen to be where you are?” Malfoy spat.

“Not when it’s you, and not when it’s me,” I crossed my arms. “What do you want? Come here to taunt me some more?”

A beat of silence.

“Is he okay?” I almost missed the question it was so low.

“Cedric? Yeah, he’s fine,” I frowned, confusion clouding my senses. “Or will be soon enough,” 

Draco nodded and looked out to the other trials that were going on.

“You’re not going back out there, are you?” He read me like an open book, so I shook my head. “Such a Hufflepuff,” He rolled his eyes, suppressing a smile.

“Better than a Slytherin,” I shot back smirking.

My smile dropped when I saw three other Slytherins flock his sides. I suddenly got very anxious and fearful as I rushed off back to... witnesses. My friend Abigail met me under the stands, knowing I would want to stay, and we headed back to the common room together as I told her about Cedric’s wellbeing and my encounter with Malfoy.

“There’s something not right about that boy,” Abby sighed.

“I dunno... up until lately I would have agreed, but now it’s like something’s changed.” I picked up my book.

“Oh, don’t tell me you have a thing for Malfoy,” She uttered in disgust. “Besides, I thought you liked Cedric,”

“I don’t have a thing for Malfoy. And I don’t know how I feel about Cedric just yet. He is sweet, but maybe Draco is right, and he just likes me because I got pretty,” I sneered the word.

“Did you just say that Draco might be right about something?” Abby gaped at me.

“No!” I refuted. “Yes? Maybe?” I leaned my head on the back of the couch.

“Of all the people you could be loyal to and you choose Malfoy,” Abby baited.

I laughed and rolled my eyes diving back into my book and the Fire Swamp with Wesley and Buttercup, losing myself for a while in the tale of true love.

Fast asleep, I dreamt of my book, being saved by a man in a mask with stellar blue eyes. I awoke suddenly when those blue eyes became Draco’s and not Wesley’s. Rubbing my face, I groaned and rolled over huffing.

“I do not like Draco Malfoy,” I muttered to myself and my psyche. 

_____________________________

Something burned in his veins when Draco watched you rush down to Cedric after his injury. If he had been out there, he wouldn’t have been so stupid. So, he chased after you.

He watched the fear in your eyes grow as Crabbe Goyle and Parkinson joined him during your chat and followed you with his eyes as you ran off. Did he really scare you that much? Were you so afraid to be alone with him and his friends?

Duh, The voice in his head chimed in. Look what you’ve done to her for the past three years.

He found himself regretting harassing you all those years in the quiet of the night. Of course, he noticed that you changed. You weren’t so shy anymore, and you no longer hid behind your hair or let people—him—walk over you. It was the confidence that was... attractive.

“Get a grip Malfoy, she’s a Hufflepuff,” He muttered to himself staring at the ceiling. 

____________________________

The announcement of the Yule Ball was just as hyped as the tournament was as it was the only topic for conversation as the holidays approached. Many couples paired up quickly, crossing house and school lines easily.

I didn’t plan on going. I wasn’t one for large crowds or loud music. I. preferred the quiet and softness of familiar company. Not like guys didn’t try to ask me. It was rather annoying. No once had they talked to me in three years but now, they attacked me in the hallways asking me to go with them.

I was at the end of my patience when I nearly ran into Cedric in the hall. 

“Hey,” He waved and smiled.

“Oh, not you too,” I complained.

“Now where have I heard that before?” He teased. “You okay?”

“No,” I sulked, “People won’t leave me alone. Everyone wants to ask me to the Ball,” 

“Oh, by the way...” He grinned.

“Finish that statement and I will hex you,” I snapped, earning me a laugh.

“I really doubt that.” Cedric raised an eyebrow. “But if you want, tell them you’re going with me, to get them to leave you alone,”

“That’s sweet Cedric, but I’m really not going,” I explained for the umpteenth time. “And I do not want to have to face your fangirl club.” I muttered darkly.

“Well, the offer still stands Y/n,” His smile was soft. “See you around?” He asked as the bell rang.

“Yeah, see you Cedric,”

Professor Sprout scolded me for being late, but a quick smile and she was pacified. We were reviewing for the upcoming exam, so I took out my notes from the semester. Each of my drawings were close to accurate as I took time to perfect them.

“You’re going with Cedric then?”

“What do you want Malfoy?” I snapped, not particularly annoyed as I sounded.

“You’re going with Cedric to the Yule Ball,” He restated, not really asking this time, leaning against my table.

“What does it matter to you?” I looked at him and found him staring at my drawings. I covered them quickly.

“Well, if he wasn’t going to take you...”

“Oh, shove off, Malfoy,” I snapped, anger rising in me at his game. “You think you’re funny? Asking a little Hufflepuff to the Ball so you can what embarrass me? Get my hopes up and then show up with someone else? No thank you, I’ll save myself the regret.”

“Sheesh, lighten up Y/n.” He muttered, rolling his eyes. “I... I thought maybe I could make up to you how I treated you over the years... you’re not the only one who can change Y/n.” He walked off before I could respond, and it left me gaping at the back of his head.

“Hey Y/n can I see—”

“Neville I will give you them later but come and closer and I will lose my temper,” I hissed, my voice ice cold.

Draco clouded my thoughts as the day went on. I wanted to apologize for what I said, but I never found the chance. It had been a week and I still hadn’t managed to talk to him. How had we gone from me avoiding his constant teasing to him avoiding me completely?

“You sure you don’t want to come?” Abby asked as she was leaving our room for the ball. 

“I’m sure,” I smiled, “You look amazing, have a great time,”

“It won’t be the same without you,” She sighed and gave a final wave before leaving me to my thoughts and the snow falling softly outside.

_____________________________

With Pansy on his arm Draco still couldn’t draw his thoughts from you. The words you snapped at him cut him deep because they were true. If it had been any other time, he would have asked you as a joke and done something awful to humiliate you... but he didn’t want to, not this time.

Maybe it would take a bit more to show you that he had changed, so he didn’t interfere with your life as best he could manage, giving you a break. Maybe that would show you.

He was disappointed to see that you really weren’t going, and it wasn’t just an excuse you were giving to other guys because you were waiting for someone to ask you. But you were never one for excitement or large crowds. You were never at Quidditch matches and rushed out of the Great Hall whenever you could. He thought it was to escape him, that he had you on the run, but it might have had nothing to do with him.

“You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?” Pansy asked. “Seriously Draco, leave her alone. She doesn’t want you. She’s a bloody Hufflepuff.” She scoffed.

“Better than Slytherin,” He muttered too low for Pansy to hear.

When Draco heard about the second task and the potential danger that you were in for talking to Cedric so much, he stood from Snape’s lecture and left immediately, on his way to find you if he wasn’t too late already.

Maybe that would make it up to you. Over the past couple months, whenever your eyes met his, there was a sad look behind your stare, and he had no idea where it came from or what he had done to get that sort of reaction from you. It’s not like he had talked to you, or badly about you.

“Y/n!” He was relieved to see you in the hall.

Your friend, who was chatting with you quickly scurried away, leaving you and him alone.

“Are you done avoiding me now?” You huffed, not meeting his eyes.

“Avoiding you?” He stopped in his tracks.

Sighing you shook your head.

“Forget it, what do you want Draco,” Your eyes still didn’t meet his.

“I... The second challenge... you’ve been talking to Cedric a lot lately...” He had no idea how to word what he wanted to say.

“We’re not dating if that’s what you’ve come to mock me for,” You were so closed off to him and he hated it.

Part of him was relieved to hear that you weren’t dating Cedric though. The burning in his blood faded at the thought, or rather shifted into curiosity.

“Why not?” The question left his mouth before he could stop it. 

“What do you mean why not?”

Oh, you were angry. He had never seen you so malice towards anyone. Is this how others saw him?

“I... you two... I don’t know. You’re both in the same house, and he seemed to fancy you...” Draco stammered.

“He only liked me because I got pretty,” You mumbled, his words from months ago on your lips. “You said it yourself,”

“Oh, so now you listen to me?” He exasperated. “You’re unbelievable Y/n,”

“I’m unbelievable?” You gaped at him. “Look at who’s talking! Please tell me what’s so wrong about a Hufflepuff being loyal and kind? Is that news to you!?”

“Loyal to who!?” He barked.

“You!” 

Your voice rose as you yelled at him, stopping all of the things that he wanted to yell at you. You were loyal... to him? Why the hell had you chosen him to be loyal to? He was the last person you should trust.

I have every reason to hate you, but I refuse, Your words echoed in his mind. Was that what it meant to be loyal? Not whatever his friends were to him... they had to follow him because of who his parents were but you? You were right, you had no reason to be loyal to him.

“Just... forget it Draco,” You muttered, “Forget whatever this is...” You started to walk away.

“You don’t think I’ve tried?” He called after you.

____________________________

I froze, millions of thoughts running through my head. I slowly faced him, daring to meet his eyes.

“What do you mean you’ve tried?” My voice was low and calculated.

“He didn’t like you because you cut your hair, he likes you because you’re confident, and you light up a room when you smile, and you’re nice to assholes like me,” His eyes were fixed on the floor.

“Draco?” I took a careful step toward him.

His gaze slowly met mine.

“The second task.” He muttered. “The champions have to save who they hold dear, and I thought...”

“You thought that I would be in danger,” A warm feeling spread through my chest as I pieced together his words. “And you tried to find me,”

He didn’t say anything.

“I’m okay Draco,” I reaffirmed softly. “We both are,”

“How is any of this okay?” He muttered. “A Slytherin and a Hufflepuff.”

A smile touched my lips as all of my walls and prejudices against the man before me started to fall. Maybe I had made the right choice to be loyal to him.

“Y/n!?” It was Cedric’s voice from behind me as he came trotting over. Again, he placed himself between Draco and me protectively.

“What are you doing here Malfoy?” Cedric sneered.

“Cedric, leave him alone,” I groaned, pushing past him. “He came here to see if I was okay after he heard about the second task,” Now I was between the two boys, defending Draco.

“Doubtful,” Cedric muttered. “Anyway. I’m glad you’re safe. Have you seen Cho?” His worry for me seemed false as he quickly changed the subject.

“No? Maybe she’s the one they took,” I offered the solution.

“Right, thanks, well... see you.” He barely got out before making his way toward the lake.

There was a sinking feeling in my chest that Draco had been mistaken and Cedric really only did like me for my looks. I felt so stupid in that moment and tensed, ready for Draco to goad it over me.

“I’m sorry about that,” I whispered softly turning to him.

“Nothing I don’t deserve,” Malfoy muttered under his breath.

“Doesn’t make it right,” I retorted, a smile barely touching my lips, a sigh escaping through them. “I guess you were right, he never really liked me,” I wrapped my arms around myself. “My mother says I’m going to keep getting myself hurt because I’m so trusting.” The thought rambled its way out before I could stop it.

Draco didn’t say anything, instead he headed off in the direction that Cedric was going, leaving me alone and confused again. Maybe it was a good thing that I didn’t go to the Yule Ball after all.

It had been about a week since the second task, and Draco and I had settled into some sort of odd friendship. I wasn’t afraid to be around him any longer and he didn’t seem so defensive about everything I said. It was jarringly comforting.

______________________________

“It is to happen upon the day of the third task,” His father gloated. “We will rise to power once more,”

Draco paused outside the door, listening in but his father gave away nothing more. Fear and panic struck his heart as he thought about what his father’s words meant. He knew that the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord were planning something, but this was the most information he had heard in a while.

Then his thoughts went to you. You were so kind and trusting. It was odd to think about you in the context of these things, they seemed so much darker and sinister than the sunny world you lived in and had invited him into.

You were going to hate him as soon as you found out. You’d never trust him again.

Do you really believe that? After everything she’s done for you? The voice in his head chided.

Either way you did choose, he was going to keep you safe because his father be damned if anyone hurt you because of this madness. You didn’t deserve to be hurt because of this, and he was going to do whatever it took to keep you out of it, or safe amongst it. He would let you keep your sunshine if it was the last thing he did.

_______________________________

“Are you going to the third task? It’s at the pitch, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you down there,” Draco’s voice was quizzical as he leaned against the library table I was at.

“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “I’m not one for large crowds,”

“I know,” He offered a smile. “But... if you want you can sit with me, I doubt many Slytherins will show.”

I looked up from my book, surprise written in my features. Draco looked nervous as he glanced at the floor, fiddling with the hem of his robes.

“I’d love to,” A smile stretched across my face. 

“Really?” It was his turn to be shocked.

“Yes? Is there something that I’m missing?” I cocked my head, raising an eyebrow at him, an amused expression on my face.

“Well, the last time I asked you somewhere you snapped at me,” He mumbled, folding his arms.

“Oh,” My voice fell. “I never did apologize for that did I? I’m sorry, Draco, I should have trusted you.”

“I wouldn’t have trusted me,” He muttered. “I know why you did it,” 

“Didn’t make it right,” I smiled weakly.

“You’re gonna get hurt one day, being this trusting,” A smirk flickered across his face as his eyes met mine.

“Is that a threat?” I challenged lightheartedly.

He laughed and shook his head. I couldn’t remember the last time, if ever, I had heard him laugh without malicious intent.

“How can you like him!?” Abby feigned distress. “He’s... ugh. So frustrating and a Slytherin and a Malfoy!”

I grinned and hugged a pillow.

“He really is trying Abby,” I defended. “And I don’t like him, were friends, that’s it.”

“He ignored you for like a week!”

“Apparently that was him giving me a break from being teased by his friends, if he avoided me, so would his friends.”

It was the oddest explanation that Draco had given, but he was trying, wasn’t he? And I had to admit it was sort of cute how he thought ignoring a person would get them to like you but... he was trying. It made me smile whenever I thought about it.

“You are the only person in the world who would ever take a chance on him,” Abby groaned in defeat, flopping on the couch next to me. “You’re too pure for your own good,”

I rolled my eyes at her antics.

“Maybe he just needs someone to believe in him,” I whispered softly.

“And, of course, it had to be you,” Abby grinned at me and I laughed, shrugging.

The chill of winter passed and as April shifted to May at Hogwarts, and the wildflowers began to grow from the ground again. I found myself sitting beside the lake, rereading The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe.

“Is that a muggle book?” His voice was disgusted but not as cruel.

“Yes,” I smiled looking up, meeting blue eyes as Draco squinted at me in the summer sun. 

“Why are you reading it?” He scoffed.

Rolling my eyes, I placed my mark in the page and closed the book.

“Would you like to join me Draco?” I ran a hand through my hair to remove it from my face where the summer breeze had tousled it.

“Are you going to keep reading that thing?” He asked.

“Well, if you keep me company, I don’t need a book, now do I?” I challenged.

He grumbled something and sat down beside me under the tree, his eyes fixed on the horizon.

“What’s it about?” He wondered aloud, not diverting his gaze from the landscape.

“What? My book?” I looked up from my small pile of dandelions that I was currently trying to remember how to fashion a crown from but couldn’t quite get it.

He shrugged, his arms resting on his knees. Rolling my eyes at his hidden curiosity, I picked up the book ad opened to the page I was on and began to read aloud:

“Lord love you, Son of Adam, what a simple thing to say!” answered Mr. Beaver with a great laugh. “Turn him into stone? If she can stand on her two feet and look him in the face it’ll be the most she can do and more than I expect of her. No, no. He’ll put all to rights as it says in an old rhyme in these parts:

Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight, At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more, When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death, And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again. 

You’ll understand when you see him.”

“But shall we see him?” asked Susan.

“Why, Daughter of Eve, that’s what I brought you here for. I’m to lead you where you shall meet him,” said Mr. Beaver.

“Is-is he a man?” asked Lucy.

“Aslan a man!” said Mr. Beaver sternly. “Certainly not. I tell you he is the King of the wood and the son of the great Emperor-beyond the-Sea. Don’t you know who is the King of Beasts? Aslan is a lion— the Lion, the great Lion.”

“Ooh!” said Susan, “I’d thought he was a man. Is he — quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion.”

“That you will, dearie, and no mistake,” said Mrs Beaver; “if there’s anyone who can appear before Aslan without their knees knocking, they’re either braver than most or else just silly.”

“Then he isn’t safe?” said Lucy.

“Safe?” said Mr Beaver; “don’t you hear what Mrs Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.”

“This is ridiculous,” He muttered. “A king a lion? Ha.” He laid on the patch of grass and I lowered my book. “Talking animals,” He scoffed.

“I can stop reading,” I mused, light heartedly threatening. 

“No, keep going,” He sat up quickly, a plea on his face.

Laughing I continued to read of the Pevensie children in the land of Narnia and of the hope of Aslan. The sun began to sink behind the lake, and it became much too dark to read.

“Don’t stop now,” Draco whined. “I was just starting to bear it.”

“It’s too dark,” I pointed out with a chuckle, standing and stretching. “And we need to get dinner before it gets too late anyway.”

“Whatever,” He muttered, standing. “Here,” He thrusted the bundle of dandelions that I had been frustrated with earlier, but now they were fashioned into a crown. “Can’t do anything can you?” He snapped with less vigor than usual and stalked up towards the school.

A smile stretched across my face as I leaned against the tree, looking at the flower crown in my hands.

“No,” I answered to myself, “But he’s learning how to,”

Back in my common room, I sighed, content.

“And where have you been all afternoon?” Abby demanded. “You totally missed dinner,”

“I was reading, guess I lost track of time,” I shrugged.

“And no one in particular you spent this time with?” She was grinning.

“No,” I drawled. “No one in particular,”

“Oh, you’re a rotten liar Y/n! You spent the day with Draco!” Abby accused me, beaming. “Still don’t like him then?” She mused.

“We’re friends,” I reaffirmed, running my fingers over the petals of the flowers. “Friends,”

“Uhuh,” Abby wasn’t convinced, and neither was I.

__________________________________

Draco hated the book that you read to him. It was muggle and preposterous that you even had it on school grounds. What would his father say?

But then you started to read it to him, and he got lost in your words and the excitement. He was whisked away to a land far from the world he was living in. One of kings and queens and talking animals and prophecies that promised good and hope.

Maybe the book wasn’t so bad. Maybe the muggle who wrote it knew that someone out there needed it. To get lost in a fairytale. To shove away all of his family and his expectations, and for once, just be a king doing the right thing somewhere else.

So, he sent you a quick letter asking if you keep reading to him tomorrow.

Your response was almost immediate with a yes, and the instruction to meet you under the same tree that you had today.

“What do you mean Aslan’s dead!?” He exclaimed. “He can’t be dead!”

It wasn’t right, Aslan, the king of all just gave his life for a traitor who should have been killed instead, and Aslan just... laid himself down? When he was innocent?

“Draco, are you okay?” The concern in your voice was real.

“No! How can I be okay!? Why did you even read this to me!?” He demanded, standing, about to walk off.

“Draco!” You called, scrambling up. “He doesn’t stay dead! Will you come back here!?” 

He stopped in his tracks at your words.

“What?” He snapped.

You rolled your eyes and gestured for him to sit back down. He thought he heard you mutter “drama queen,” but he was too keen on the story to mention it. He looked at you expectantly, sitting cross legged in front of you as you settled before him and continued to read:

“Who’s done it?” cried Susan. “What does it mean? Is it magic?”

“Yes!” said a great voice behind their backs. “It is more magic.” They looked round. There, shining in the sunrise, larger than they had seen him before, shaking his mane (for it had apparently grown again) stood Aslan himself.

“Oh, Aslan!” cried both the children, staring up at him, almost as much frightened as they were glad.

“Aren’t you dead then, dear Aslan?” said Lucy.

“Not now,” said Aslan. “You’re not — not a — ?” asked Susan in a shaky voice. She couldn’t bring herself to say the word ghost.

Aslan stooped his golden head and licked her forehead. The warmth of his breath and a rich sort of smell that seemed to hang about his hair came all over her.

“Do I look it?” he said.

“Oh, you’re real, you’re real! Oh, Aslan!” cried Lucy,”

You paused, a gentle smile on your lips as your eyes searched the horizon.

“Well?” He demanded, wanting to hear more.

“It’s late, Draco,” You sighed softly, closing the book. “I think Abby will kill me if I miss dinner again,”

“You told her you’re here with me?” Curiosity riddled him.

“Of course,” You smiled, standing and offering a hand to him. He took it and you pulled him up. “Why? Afraid of ruining your reputation?” Your eyebrows quirked.

“No,” He scoffed, crossing his arms. “She doesn’t mind you hanging out with me?”

“Why would she?” A frown graced your face.

“Well, I’m... me.” He scrambled for the words.

“Don’t you know anything?” You mocked his curt tone and laughed, making your way up toward the school, leaving him alone under the tree by the lake.

“No, I don’t think I do.” He muttered.

You met him again and finished the book, a soft smile on your face as you got lost in your words, to where he had to remind you to read aloud because you had stopped, reading on in your head.

Sometimes he would watch you when you stopped reading aloud, the way you bit your lip and made expressions at the pages. It was amusing for him, but he eventually had to stop watching and listen again. You always blushed and apologized when he reminded you, trying to find the place that you had crept back into your own thoughts.

“Here,” You offered him the muggle book—the Narnia book one day after Potions.

“This is yours,” He frowned.

“I want you to have it,” You smiled and shrugged. “I’ve got another, and maybe it’s time you learned to read,” The tease was light-hearted on your lips.

“Is that a muggle book?” Pansy came up behind him, sneering at you. “Why would Draco want that?”

He watched the smile fade from your face and the light leave your eyes. Fists clenched, he gritted his teeth and took a sharp breath in.

“Because it’s an amazing book,” Draco spat back at Pansy, taking the book from your hands. “And I asked her if I could have it since no one around here has any taste,”

Pansy narrowed her eyes at Draco, but a small smile played at her lips.

“Glad you figured it out,” She grinned, the walked off.

When Draco turned around, you were gone and he was left there, the book in his hands and no idea as to what just happened. What did Pansy mean that he figured it out? What did he figure out? All he did was defend you.

Looking at the book in his hands, there was a divot in the pages, so he opened the book, finding a pressed dandelion amidst the pages—the first page you read to him about a week ago, and on that page, you had underlined:

“Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he is good.”

He could still hear your voice saying those words. 

___________________________________

The third task date arrived sooner than I expected, between exams and avoiding Cedric inadvertently, I rarely saw Draco. I waved at him in the halls and he smiled at me, but we barely got a word in. And I missed him... I kept waiting for the courage to finally go up and ask him if he wanted to read the next Narnia book with me, but he was always surrounded by his posse and I couldn’t find a moment with him alone.

He had defended me once against his friends and the “muggle book” but I didn’t want him to have to again, so I didn’t mention it in front of anyone that Draco enjoyed the books. It was stupid, yes, but I knew it meant something more to him to keep his ‘pureblood’ status.

So, Draco and I sat side by side rather awkwardly in the stands, both straining to see what was going on below. I cheered half-heartedly for Cedric, harboring a slight grudge, and well, Draco didn’t boo, so maybe it wasn’t all that bad. The stands were crowded, and it set me on edge, but Draco was right, it wasn’t so crowded at the top of the Slytherin benches.

We watched earnestly at the games below, trying to see that was going on. When Harry and Cedric both disappeared after touching the trophy, Draco and I stood, both alarmed, but there was something hidden in Draco’s look. He knew what was going on.

“What?” I demanded. “What happened?”

“I... my father mentioned something a long time ago about this...”

“You knew something was going to happen?” I shrieked. “Why didn’t you say anything to anyone!?”

“Because I have no idea what’s going on! What was I supposed to do!?” His eyes met mine frantically. “Please you have to believe me,”

“Draco,” I pressed. “What is going on!? What do you know!?”

“He’s coming back,” The utterance was hopeless. “The Dark Lord,”

My entire world stopped. I couldn’t breathe or think or move. The anger in my chested froze into fear. I had lost my father to the first war. And now the one who killed him was back? Alive?

“Y/n!?” Draco called worried, gripping my arms. “Hey, look at me Y/n,”

I blinked and sank to the benches, beginning to hyperventilate. Draco’s arm was around me, keeping me grounded as his eyes darted around, suspiciously. The Dark Lord coming back? Now? And Draco’s father was a part of it? Was Draco apart of it?

No, he said he didn’t know. And... I trusted him. I had to trust him. If I didn’t there wouldn’t be anything left of me.

I dove into Draco’s arms, tears falling. He went rigid then timidly wrapped his arms around me, petting my hair softly.

“You’re safe Y/n,” He vowed softly. “I swear I won’t let anything happen to you,”

He was blurry through my tears, a petrified look on his face. I nodded at his words, marking them true. I believed in Draco Malfoy. The crowd gasped and I whipped around, my eyes scanning the field, not able to get a good look at anything with the swarm of people in the arena.

“Cedric’s dead,” Draco’s voice was broken as he told me the news. “Y/n, I’m so sorry,”

My voice caught in my throat as tears streamed down my face.

“No, no he... he can’t be, no,” I screamed. “This can’t... no!”

My heart shattered in my chest. Between Voldemort and Cedric’s death there was nothing left of me to break. I was completely unfixable.

“No, no, no, no, no,” I cried, burying my face in his shoulder.

He didn’t say anything because there was nothing to say that could make this better and he knew that. So instead he held me close letting me ruin his jacket with my saltwater tears.

_____________________________

Regret and pain riddled Draco through as you sobbed in his arms. Didn’t he vow to protect you from this? To save your sunshine? He thought that he was doing that by keeping you close at the third task so that he could protect you from whatever happened...

But how was he supposed to protect you from the emotional devastation that tore through you? He barely knew how to talk to anyone without insulting them or ordering them around, let alone give comfort or physical affection.

“Come on, let’s get you to Pomfrey,” He ushered softly.

He knew that Pomfrey would have something to help you, but you shook your head defiantly. He wanted to roll his eyes at your stubbornness but refrained.

“I will carry you Y/n, you need something now before you throw up or pass out. Please,”

It was the please that caught him off guard. He never said please. To anyone. Ever.

So, you gave in and nodded letting him practically drag you to the med bay—thinking the entire time it would have been less effort to carry you—where Pomfrey ushered you to a bed and gave him four vials, three for you and one for him.

“I don’t need anything,” He insisted. “I’m just here for her,”

“You’ll want it. It’s for a dreamless sleep, you both look like you need it,” Pomfrey raised an eyebrow.

He couldn’t argue with that.

__________________________________

Draco sat beside me as I curled up in the bed, clutching a pillow for dear life.

“Drink,” He ordered, his blue eyes holding no room for argument, handing me the first vial.

I complied, the liquid smooth as glass as it slipped down my throat. My nausea passed and I could breathe normally again. Closing my eyes, I took a few cleansing breaths and found him studying me as he held out the second one.

“I’m fine,” I rasped.

“Drink it Y/n,” his voice was firm and commanding.

So begrudgingly I drank the vial, this time the liquid sat heavy in my mouth and had the texture of pudding. But the numbness from my chest faded and I could think clearly as my mind started to compartmentalize what had just happened each event and thought getting its own box.

Draco.

Cedric.

Voldemort. 

My father. 

Draco’s father. 

Regret.

Guilt.

Fear.

Wordlessly he handed me the third vial that was identical to his own and we both downed them. I barely tasted this one but soon my eyes became too heavy to open again. The last thing I remembered was Draco joining me in the bed, pulling me into his arms and cradling me close.

_______________________________

“It’s against school rules!” I heard the hiss through the fog of sleep. 

“Come on, you have to admit they’re precious,” That voice was familiar.

“Will you two shove off?” And there was Draco’s annoyed groggy voice.

I peeked an eye open and saw that Abby and Pansy were standing at the foot of the bed. Then I noticed that I still wasn’t alone in the bed either. I was encased in Draco’s arms, my head tucked into his shoulder. A deep blush crept up my face as I tried to hide further in his arms.

“Pomfrey just let us in,” Abby complained. “You can at least say hi and that you’re alright,”

“She has a point.” Pansy muttered. “Been worried all night. What were you thinking Draco!? Disappearing like that!”

“Yeah Y/n! Why didn’t you tell me where you were going!?” Abby demanded. “Cedric is... and then I couldn’t find you!”

I sat up, Draco sitting up with me in light that if he didn’t, we’d both fall off the bed.

“I’m sorry, Abby,” I croaked, my mouth dry. “I... and then... and I’m sorry,” Tears pricked my eyes as Draco rubbed my arm comfortingly.

“She and I were there when it happened.” Draco explained coolly. “She... Madam Pomfrey was able to help calm her down then she gave us both sleeping potions to make it through the night.”

“I’m sure Madam Pomfrey was the one who calmed her down,” Pansy drawled, and Abby grinned.

“Lay off you two,” Draco threatened again. “We’ll be back soon. No need to worry.” The commanding tone colored his voice again as the two left, grinning and whispering to themselves.

“Well... that was odd,” I decided. “Pansy and Abby?” I mused.

Draco chuckled and pulled me into a tight embrace, before slipping out of the bed, letting me go and stretching.

“If we ever do that again we need a bigger bed,” He complained, trying to right his mussed hair. 

“Again?” I teased, running a hand through mine.

“That not— wait, forget I—”

He stopped trying to make it worse when I started to laugh and got up as well, making the bed halfheartedly.

“Thank you for staying last night,” I whispered softly, “And for being there...” 

“It was the least I could do,” There was a hint of self-loathing in his tone.

“Hey,” I interjected. “That wasn’t your fault... what happened. You didn’t do it.” 

“But I could have stopped it,” He insisted pacing away.

“No, Draco,” I chided, grabbing his hand. “This is bigger than the both of us and you know it,” 

His icy blue eyes bore into mine, but I wasn’t backing down. He did, though. Sighing, he looked down. 

“How are you feeling?” He asked softly.

“Like I want to run away to Narnia,” I offered weakly; he laughed hopelessly, and I joined in as he drew me into his arms again.

“I meant it Y/n. I will keep you safe.” He murmured softly. “No matter what it takes.”

The guilt and pain that sat heavy in my chest was lifted by his words and a glimmer of hope flickered in my heart.

It was a blur, the week that passed. Black colored every Hufflepuff’s wardrobe as well as the rest of the Hogwarts students. Few smiles could be found among us as we tried to hold our heads high. Tears were shed and more hug were given, more apologies made, and more time was spent with another.

Draco was always keen on finding me in the halls, asking me how I was, wondering if I needed anything. Pansy snapped at other Slytherins who made fun of me or Draco or any Hufflepuff who was on the verge of tears. It was an odd week, but I made it through. We all did.

At the end of year feast, solemn silence fell over the entire hall as Dumbledore spoke. My eyes met Harry’s from across the room, then Draco’s before dropping to the table before me.

“The end,” said Dumbledore rising to speak to us all, “of another year.” He paused, and his eyes fell upon the Hufflepuff table. “There is much that I would like to say to you all tonight,” said Dumbledore, “but I must first acknowledge the loss of a very fine person, who should be sitting here,” he gestured toward the us, “enjoying our feast with us. I would like you all, please, to stand, and raise your glasses, to Cedric Diggory.”

The name was like a dagger in my heart as tears streamed down my face, standing, goblet in hand as his names left my lips one last time. The entire hall stood with us, all raising their glasses to Cedric. I squeezed my eyes shut and fought back the urge to sob again as everyone sat.

“Cedric was a person who exemplified many of the qualities that distinguish Hufflepuff house,” Dumbledore continued. “He was a good and loyal friend, a hard worker, he valued fair play. His death has affected you all, whether you knew him well or not. I think that you have the right, therefore, to know exactly how it came about.”

My eye widened as I looked to Draco, who was just as shocked as I was. There was nothing more I wanted than to stand beside him in this moment. I needed to know that it would be alright, and that Draco still had my back at the words that Dumbledore was about to speak:

“Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort.”

As panic swept through the hall, I felt sick to my stomach as Abby’s hand rubbed my back softly, my head buried in my arms on the table as I tuned out Dumbledore’s speech.

Abby’s hand fell after a while and there was a commotion beside me that I was too miserable to notice or look up at. Another hand started to gently rub my back, and I peeked up, finding Draco beside me, his gaze fixed upon Dumbledore, no emotion shown on his face.

Sitting up, and putting on a front like Draco, I held my head high and listened as Dumbledore continued.

“Harry Potter managed to escape Lord Voldemort,” said Dumbledore. “He risked his own life to return Cedric’s body to Hogwarts. He showed, in every respect, the sort of bravery that few wizards have ever shown in facing Lord Voldemort, and for this, I honor him.” Dumbledore turned gravely to Harry and raised his goblet once more.

Again, everyone stood, even Draco, and raised his glass to his sworn enemy, before sitting back down beside me. The gesture meant the world to me.

“The Triwizard Tournament’s aim was to further and promote magical understanding. In the light of what has happened — of Lord Voldemort’s return — such ties are more important than ever before.”

At his words, my eyes flickered over to Draco then to my friends and classmates who were gawking at the Slytherin sitting at their table, some in awe, some afraid, some impressed. My eyes met Harry’s from across the way, and a look of bafflement was expressed through his features. And I understood...

A Slytherin and a Hufflepuff.

Epilogue:

“Will you come visit me over the summer?” Draco asked softly at the train landing.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea Draco,” I murmured back, not meeting his eyes. “Your parents won’t be too happy about a Hufflepuff showing up on their doorstep, will they?” A small smile made its way to my face, but there was a depressing truth behind it.

“Come anyway,” His hand came up and tilted my chin back so that I would look at him. “I meant what I said Y/n. I will protect you, even if it means from my parents,”

“I can’t ask that Dray,” I shook my head. “They’re your parents,” I insisted.

“And they’re going to have to live with the choices I make, and right now, that’s having you over for the summer,” Arrogance colored his tone as he got defiant and a smile played at my lips.

“Who’s loyal now?” I baited. “And if you really want me there, I’ll come.”

. 

. 

Chapter 2

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[emospritelet]

Homecoming - chapter 27/?

I know it's been ages...

Last time, Belle and Ogilvy spent the night together, and were walked in on by one of the maids. Here's what happened next

[AO3] - 3,758 words

-

Belle hurried along the corridor, the shawl clasped tightly around her shoulders, ears pricked for the sound of a footstep, the creak of a floorboard. It was still early, and she heaved a sigh of relief when she reached her room without meeting anyone. Closing the door quietly behind herself, she went to wash, stripping off the nightgown and wrapping a robe around herself. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror, and paused, turning her head this way and that. Nothing had changed as far as she could see, and yet it seemed that everything had. She could see the corners of her mouth wanting to curve upwards, and she allowed herself a wide, contented grin. Her fortunes had certainly taken a wonderful, if unexpected, turn.

By the time she was dressed and her hair in place, the children were awake, letting themselves into her room while rubbing sleepy eyes and yawning. Alice was behind them, already dressed and still trying to brush her blonde curls into some sort of order.

“I was about to ring for their breakfast,” she said.

“I can do that,” said Belle. “Is anyone else up, do you know?”

“Only the servants, I think.” Alice eyed her curiously. “Are you alright?”

“Perfectly.” She could feel a blush start to rise in her cheeks. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know, you just look…” Alice shrugged, turning away. “Never mind. May I borrow a ribbon? All of mine seem to have disappeared. I think I must have packed them in the trunk rather than my valise but I can’t find them.”

“Of course, help yourself.”

Belle rang the bell, and set about getting the children ready, ensuring that faces were washed and hair brushed. Their breakfast was brought up by a dark-haired maid that Belle didn’t know. The maid seemed to be glancing at her out of the corner of her eye every chance she got, and Belle wanted to sigh. All the servants knew, then.

She focused on getting the children to eat their porridge, stewed prunes and sweet rolls, and Alice chattered about the journey ahead of them, and how much she was looking forward to getting home.

“Papa said we’d be leaving around midday,” she said. “Are you headed out for a walk this morning?”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought.” Belle chewed her lip, glancing around. “Will I have time before breakfast, do you think?”

“It won’t be served until nine-thirty,” said Alice. “You should go. I can sit with the twins.”

“In that case, I might take a turn around the lake,” she said. “I think some fresh air would do me good.”

“You do look a little tired,” observed Alice, eyeing her. “Didn’t you sleep? My bed was ever so comfortable, but perhaps yours wasn’t.”

“No no, it was fine,” said Belle quickly. “I just didn’t sleep all that well. I’m sure I’ll feel better once I’ve taken some exercise.”

She took up her hat, securing it on top of her hair with a pin, and drew on her coat and scarf.

“If I see Papa, I’ll tell him where you’ve gone,” said Alice, and Belle smiled to herself.

“Thank you.”

-

The air outside was crisp and cold as she left the house and took the path to the lake, gravel crunching beneath her feet and the chill from the snow already biting at her feet. She shivered, pushing her chin down into her scarf and quickening her pace as she left the relative shelter of the house and headed down the long avenue of beech trees that led to the lake. A set of footsteps marked the snow in front of her, and the tracks of birds crisscrossed the trail.

The trail turned to the right, and Belle rounded the last of the beech trees, looking down on the lake, its surface frozen in all but a few places and covered with a layer of snow. Brown reeds poked up through the ice, and she heard the cawing of rooks from the oak trees to the east of the lake. The sky was clear, the orange sun rising over the dark veil of bare branches, and a low layer of mist hung over the lake. The trail of footsteps led down to the water’s edge, and Belle broke into a smile as she saw Ogilvy making a slow circuit, picking his way through the snow with his walking cane. He seemed to sense she was there, and turned as she approached, his eyes gleaming with that soft light she loved so much.

“Good morning again,” she said lightly, stepping close to him, and he grinned.

“Miss Marchland,” he said formally, with a tiny bow. “May I say how very well you look?”

“Alice doesn’t think so,” she said dryly. “She said I looked as though I hadn’t slept at all.”

“She always was observant,” he remarked. “Goodness knows what she’d make of my appearance this morning.”

Belle covered her mouth with a gloved hand to hold in a giggle.

“Considering I had so little sleep, I feel quite - refreshed,” she said, and his grin widened.

“In that case, would you walk the rest of the way with me?”

“With pleasure.”

She took his arm, enjoying the excuse to be close to him, and they made their way along the lake shore at a steady pace.

“I’ve missed walking here,” she said. “A circuit of the lake was part of my morning routine when I lived at Furton Grange.”

“It’s a beautiful estate,” he said. “Living in town is convenient in many ways, but I must say I enjoy the peace and quiet of places like this.”

“Would you ever move out of London?” she asked, and he glanced across at her.

“It would have to be a family decision,” he said. “I feel Alice would want to stay there for a few more years. I daresay we’ll need to travel around, in any event.”

“I see.” She pursed her lips. “I think I’m rather looking forward to it. I’ve seen so little of the country since I arrived here.”

He smiled, his eyes gleaming in the early dawn.

“I want to show you everything,” he said softly, and she smiled, ducking her head as she felt her cheeks heat. Really, she had to stop blushing every time he looked at her. He was still staring at her with that tiny smile when she looked up. Belle could feel her heart thump hard at the warmth in his eyes, the look of utter devotion. How had she not seen it before? He held her gaze for a moment longer, and she could feel that pleasant tug low in her belly before he glanced away again.

“Are the children awake?” he asked. Belle nodded.

“I got them dressed. Alice is sitting with them while they have breakfast.”

“She’s a good girl,” he said, and she made a noise of agreement.

“I had some very curious looks from the maid that brought the breakfast,” she said. “I fear everyone downstairs knows how we spent our time last night.”

“Thankfully Lady Ella is a late riser,” he said. “It may mean we can slip away before she finds out.”

Belle giggled.

“Will she be very cross with me, do you think?” she asked, and he laughed.

“No, not at all,” he said. “She’ll be delighted to have been proven right and will want to interfere in the wedding plans.”

“I very much doubt she’d approve of our notion of a small and understated ceremony.”

“Certainly not.”

“Time is of the essence, then.”

He turned to face her, still smiling, and she stepped closer, until they were almost touching. Belle inhaled deeply, pulling the cold air in through her nose, sharp at the back of her throat, and let it out in a sighing plume of white.

“I almost don’t want to leave this place,” she said. “It’s so peaceful. It feels as though you and I are the only two people in existence.”

His hands rose up to cup her cheeks, fingers surprisingly warm in the cold air, and he gently pressed his brow to hers, white breath billowing into the air between them as he exhaled deeply. Belle closed her eyes, nose brushing against his, feeling the brief warmth of his breath against her lips.

“The time will fly once we return home,” he said quietly. “A little over a week, and we shall be together forever.”

“Yes,” she breathed, and he bent his head to kiss her.

She rose up on her toes, hands finding his waist and sliding up his back as the kiss deepened. The harsh caw of a rook startled them, their lips parting, and Belle giggled a little, burying her face in his chest as he kissed the top of her head.

“Perhaps we should head back to the house,” he suggested. “I want to make sure the trunks get onto the carriage in time for us to leave.”

“You really are hoping we can get away before she wakes up, aren’t you?” said Belle, amused, and he pulled a face.

“Would you prefer we had the inevitable conversation here or by letter?” he asked dryly, and she giggled again.

“An excellent point,” she admitted. “Let’s go.”

Ogilvy smiled broadly, and turned on his heel, offering his arm to her once more as they headed back to the house.

They entered the hall together, stamping a little to get the snow from their boots. Ogilvy watched Belle as she did so, cheeks pink with the cold and eyes bright, her breathing a little quicker from their walk. She was so beautiful it made his throat catch, and if Hatter and Ivy had not appeared to take their coats, hats and scarves, he would have been tempted to kiss her again. He was unwinding the soft wool from around his neck when Doc appeared by the staircase, giving him a pointed look and inclining his head in the direction of the drawing room.

“Breakfast smells delicious,” said Belle, making him glance around. “I - ah - I think I might go and see if Alice has come down yet.”

“She’s in the breakfast room,” said Doc. “Our hosts have yet to arise, I fear.”

“I should think they won’t be up this side of noon,” said Ogilvy, and nodded to Belle with a smile. “Please tell Alice we’ll join you shortly.”

Belle sent him a soft-eyed smile, biting her lower lip a little and smoothing her skirts with her hands as she hurried away. He watched her go, well aware he was probably looking like a lovesick fool.

“Shall I bring the trunks down, sir?”

Hatter’s voice made him start, and Doc snorted softly, turning on his heel and heading into the drawing room. Ogilvy turned back to his valet.

“Ah - yes,” he said vaguely. “What time did you arrange the carriage for?”

“Eleven, sir.”

“Good man.” Ogilvy clapped him on the arm. “I’ll make sure we’re ready.”

“Very good, sir.” Hatter hesitated. “I think you should know that there’s been some talk amongst the servants, sir.”

“Has there, indeed?”

“Yes, sir. About you and - and Miss Marchland.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” said Ogilvy impatiently. “As long as they keep that talk within these four walls, I’ll pay it no mind.”

“Yes, sir.” Hatter opened his mouth to speak, appeared to think better of it, and hurried off with the coat looped over his arm.

Ogilvy sighed, staring after him, then headed for the drawing room. Doc was pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, looking impatient, and he turned on his toes as Ogilvy closed the door behind him.

“Well?” he demanded. “I mean, I don’t want the details, but my Sight told me to switch rooms last night and there must have been a good reason for it.”

Ogilvy smiled.

“She believes me,” he said. “She accepts it. All of it.”

Doc seemed to sag with a deep, sighing breath, his shoulders slumping.

“Oh, thank the gods!” he whispered. “She came back to us in truth.”

“Yes.” Ogilvy stepped forward, pulling him into a hug and squeezing. “She’s home. She doesn’t remember yet, but she wants to.”

“Then we must find a way,” said Doc, his voice muffled by Ogilvy’s chest.

“We will, I promise.”

“Of course.”

He hugged Ogilvy tight before pulling back, snatching off his glasses and plucking a handkerchief from his pocket to dab at his eyes.

“You told her what the Seer said?” he asked. “The unknown price for her memories?”

“Yes. She said she would think about it.”

Doc nodded, using the handkerchief to polish the lenses of his glasses before putting them back on.

“Good,” he said, his voice wobbling a little. “After all this time - gods, I can scarce believe it!”

“Nor I.” Ogilvy hesitated. “She has Elizabeth Willoughby’s diary.”

Doc stared at him, mouth open.

“She has what?” he breathed.

“I know.” Ogilvy began pacing restlessly. “She found where it was hidden at Willowbrook Grange. She - she had a dream about hiding it there. A memory, I suppose.”

“Well.” Doc shook his head. “Perhaps she’s nearer to waking than we thought. That’s encouraging. What did the diary say?”

“I didn’t read it,” said Ogilvy, stopping his pacing. “It was - somewhat tragic, I believe.”

“I imagine so.” Doc’s face was grave, and he patted Ogilvy’s arm. “Still, if it helped her realise the truth…”

“Yes.” Ogilvy took off his glasses, running his hands over his face with a sigh. “I think that was what convinced her. Elizabeth’s tales, and her own dreams, and things I had said to her… I suppose it’s good that something came from that tragedy.”

“Indeed,” said Doc quietly. “We must be thankful for that, at least.”

“Yes.” Ogilvy put the glasses back on. “I asked her to marry me, by the way. She said yes.”

“Hmm.” Doc sounded amused. “That was short work.”

“I could hardly not under the circumstances!” he retorted. “She spent the night in my bed!”

“Yes, well, we don’t need to go into the details,” said Doc hastily. “Have you mentioned anything to Alice yet?”

“No. I thought I’d talk to Alice on the train,” he said. “The servants know. One of them walked in on us this morning to light the fire. I believe Hatter heard them talking.”

“Is Belle aware?”

“Yes. She says it won’t go beyond the house. Ella will see to that.”

”As long as it doesn’t,” said Doc. “I’d hate for Belle to suffer.”

“We’re marrying as quickly as I can arrange it, so there’ll no doubt be gossip from some quarters,” he said. “Nothing too severe, I imagine, but you know how small-minded society can be.”

“I have a feeling we’ll be called away before too long, anyway,” said Doc. “That should help. Out of sight, and all that.”

“Indeed.” Ogilvy eyed him. “What do you mean, away?”

“Nothing certain yet,” admitted Doc. “Just a feeling. Give me a few days and I might have something more definite.”

Ogilvy felt an odd, swooping feeling in his stomach, almost a sense of apprehension.

“Nothing too sinister, I hope,” he said. “Dealing with Lady Tremaine’s imaginary ghosts was one thing. I don’t want Belle facing a demon before she’s ready.”

“The forces of darkness are unlikely to wait around while we teach her what she needs to know,” said Doc, in a dry tone. “I’m afraid we’ll just have to do the best we can.”

Ogilvy nodded reluctantly. The work was never-ending, and the price for failure too high. Belle is a quick learner. She’ll be fine. We’ll all be fine.

-

Lady Ella had still not risen by the time they left, and Ogilvy was secretly relieved. He had no doubt that the servants would relay everything they had seen, and while he was sure that Ella would be delighted by he and Belle being intimate (and self-satisfied at having noted their mutual attraction) he was not in the mood to be quizzed about it in front of the others. Hatter and Ivy must have known, but to their credit they gave no indication. As long as Mrs Wolfe could remain blissfully ignorant, they should be able to reach the wedding day without any scandal touching the household. Not that he gave a damn about that, but Belle no doubt would.

They managed to catch the train in plenty of time, and once they had changed at Derby to the London train, Ogilvy took the seat opposite Belle and the children. Doc settled down beside him with a sigh of relief, folding his hands over his lap as Alice squeezed in between them. Ogilvy glanced at Belle, who had Nicholas on her lap and Ava tucked beneath one arm. She smiled at him, blushing a little and dropping her eyes before looking up again, and he wanted to lean across the carriage and kiss her. Unconsciously, he began turning the ring on his finger. Belle eyed him, touched her own finger, and briefly inclined her head towards Alice and Doc. He understood, and cleared his throat, catching the attention of the others.

“Miss Marchland and I have an announcement to make,” he said, meeting Belle’s eyes to ensure she was happy for him to proceed. She smiled and nodded.

“What announcement?” asked Alice eagerly. “What’s happened?”

“She’s agreed to do me the very great honour of becoming my wife,” he said, and winced as Alice squealed in excitement, throwing her arms around him.

“Oh! That’s wonderful news!” She jumped up and almost fell on Belle, kissing her cheek. “Oh, I knew this would happen! I knew it!”

Belle laughed, hugging her before embracing each of the twins and kissing their heads.

“This is so wonderful!” said Alice. “I knew you would be a part of this family from the moment we met, I just knew it!”

“Will you still be our governess?” asked Ava, a worried look in her eyes. “You won’t send us away, will you?”

“Of course not!” said Belle soothingly. “You will always have a home with us, I promise.”

“Does this mean you’ll be our mother?” asked Nicholas, and her smile widened.

“It means we’ll be a family,” she said. “And you may call me mother if you wish.”

The twins shared an awed, delighted look, and Ogilvy bit back a grin.

“When are you getting married?” asked Alice excitedly. “Do say it’s soon! Papa has been lonely for far too long, and you’re perfect for each other.”

“I believe we can arrange it quickly enough to satisfy you,” said Ogilvy. “I shall make enquiries as soon as we return home.”

“Oh!” Alice sat down beside Belle with a thump, beaming widely. “This was the best present I could have asked for! Mrs Wolfe will be delighted. She always said you needed a woman to keep you in line.”

“I wasn’t aware that I was out of line, but very well,” remarked Ogilvy.

“Papa, you know as well as I that most people consider you very odd.”

“Then their lives are lacking in colour and variety,” he said, and she giggled.

“Oh, I can’t wait to tell Ivy! She and Hatter were convinced that—”

She cut off, mouth snapping shut.

“Convinced that what?” asked Ogilvy dryly, and a blush rose in her cheeks.

“Never mind,” she said lightly. “Oh! Belle, what will you wear to the wedding? Perhaps the dress that Madame is making for you.”

“I don’t think that will be ready in time,” said Belle. “I don’t know. You must help me choose.”

“Of course I will!”

“Can I help?” asked Ava, and Nicholas chimed in with an offer. Belle laughed, hugging them both.

“This will be the best prepared wedding in history,” she told them.

-

It was dark by the time the train pulled into London, and the carriage ride home jolted weary bodies. The children were sleepy, and Doc grumbled about the state of the roads. Only Alice had kept her cheerful disposition, and Ogilvy heard a chorus of relieved sighs as they drew up outside the house. Hatter was immediately at the carriage door to help them down, and Ogilvy spied Mrs Wolfe waiting at the front door to welcome them home. Belle guided the children towards the stairs, speaking in a soothing tone about warm milk and comfortable beds. The twins leaned against her as they climbed, and Ogilvy watched them go with a faint smile. They would probably be asleep before he could read them a story. He rolled his shoulders to get out the stiffness as Hatter removed his coat, and went through to the living room, followed by Doc and Alice, Mrs Wolfe gliding behind them.

“We’re very pleased to see you all safely returned, sir,” she said.

Ogilvy took a deep breath, the familiar scent of beeswax and burning coals filling his nose. Lamps were lit, sending out a cheerful light, and the room was pleasantly warm. The Christmas greenery had been removed from the mantelpiece, along with the tree, and he found himself missing the scents of pine and rosemary.

“It feels good to be home, Mrs Wolfe,” he said. “Anything to report?”

“The chimney above the rear attics has started to leak, and there was an incident with the grocer’s boy teasing one of the maids,” she said. “I’ve arranged to have the chimney repaired next week, and have spoken to the grocer in the most severe terms.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said. Alice flopped onto one of the couches with a sigh, and Doc sat across from her in his usual chair, head rolling back against the leather.

“Would you please ask Mrs Potts to send up some mulled wine?” he asked. “I think we could all do with a glass.”

“It’s being prepared, sir,” she said.

“I knew we could rely on you, Mrs Wolfe,” he said, earning one of her rare smiles.

“Oh, there’s a telegram for you, sir,” she said. “It came this afternoon. I left it on the salver on the hall table.”

“Ah, thank you.”

He stepped out into the hallway again, spying the envelope and opening it up. It was marked as being sent from the Furton Post Office earlier that day, and he smiled.

“I KNEW IT!” declared the note. “STRONGLY WORDED LETTER TO FOLLOW!”

Ogilvy bit his lip in amusement, slipping the telegram into his pocket and returning to the living room. Ella knew, then.

[es-kay-zee]

Vice | Bang Chan x Reader

pairing: chan x gn!reader

genre: angst

warnings: this fic contains lots of mentions of drinking and alcoholism, so if that’s not for you, then don’t read this, and there’s mentions of sex but there’s no smut, mentions of sex while drunk (reader and idol under the influence)

requested: nope, i got sad so i wrote angst lol

word count: 1.7k

proofread: a little bit

taglist: @bxngchxn @jisungsplatforms @hyunsluvv @qtieskz

a/n: i didn’t spend much time on this so i’m sorry it’s poorly written :( if parts don’t make sense please let me know and i’ll try to fix it

____________________

the edge of your glass rests upon your bottom lip when you see him. he stands by one of the few tables in the club, resting his weight upon his forearms. he looks up, his eyes searching the room before looking back down at his phone, a frown forming on his face.

you’ve seen many attractive men in your life, but there’s something about him. he’s enticing, alluring, and he hasn’t even looked at you. his dark hair is messy, intentionally so, and he looks so beautiful under the moving lights. normally you wouldn’t have the confidence to approach him, but the liquid courage flows steadily through you, and you find yourself walking towards him without too much forethought.

“hi,” you say, nerves a little more apparent now that you’re in front of him.

he looks at you, standing up straighter before he speaks.

“hello,” he replies. his tone is warm but still sceptical. you can almost see the gears turning in his mind as he tries to work out if he knows you or not.

“i’m y/n. sorry if this is weird, but you’re quite cute so i thought i’d come say hi,” you smile, but you can tell your smile looks awkward.

“huh?” he says, leaning in closer to hear you over the loud music.

your face heats up, but you raise your voice and repeat yourself anyway. you’ve already approached him, might as well commit to it.

“ah,” he says, his hand rising to rub absentmindedly at the back of his neck, a shy smile forming on his face.

“sorry, was that too forward of me?” you take a sip of your drink in an attempt to calm your growing nerves.

“nah, it’s just not very often i get called cute.” he chuckles, and the soft laughter sends a warmth through your heart.

“what? really? it would appear that i have to right this horrible wrong.” another chuckle, and it makes you happy to know you’re the one making him smile and laugh.

“oh, really now?” you nod in response, taking another sip of your drink as you watch the way his eyes sparkle in the dim light of the club. “i’m chan, by the way.”

“you here with anyone?”

he shakes his head before answering. “nah, i was meeting up with a friend but he just messaged saying he’s not coming.”

“damn, that’s no fun,” you reply.

“yeah, but at least you’re here so maybe tonight won’t be such a bust after all.” it’s the way he says it, the teasing, flirting tone that has your heart almost skipping a beat.

“can i buy you a drink in exchange for your company for the night then?” you ask.

after a quick nod of his head, you both walk up to the bar. he orders a drink while you down the rest of yours and quickly order another one. you can barely hear the bartender tell you the price over the thumping of the bass, but you swipe your card, nonetheless.

you drag chan to the dance floor, standing in front of him and beginning to grind back against him in time to the music. he downs half his drink before planting one of his hands on your hip, beginning to move his own with you.

the night carries on, the time spent dancing and drinking together, making out against the wall near the back of the club. you and chan have both lost count of how many drinks you’ve had, but that doesn’t stop him from ordering an uber and taking you back to his place.

when you wake in the morning it’s to an empty bed, and it takes you a moment to realise that you’re not in your own room. you think back, and your most vivid memory is of chan’s lips pressed against your neck while his hands roamed your body. you smile as the rest of last night’s events return to you.

you sit up, ignoring the way your head sways and throbs slightly at the movement. you grab your clothes, slowly getting dressed. the walk out of the bedroom is slow, and all you can think about is how dry your mouth feels. you don’t make it far out of the room before you’re almost colliding with chan’s chest.

“oh,” he exclaims, surprised to run into you. “i was just coming to see if you were awake.”

you look at him, your eyes squinting from the sunlight, and you can make out the smile on his face. it’s shy, just like the one when you told him he was cute the night before. and there’s something about his smile that’s contagious, prompting you to return a smile of your own.

“i’m awake,” you reply, voice still thick with sleep.

“i can tell. i was gonna make us breakfast but i kinda ended up burning it. so should we order something? my shout?”

you’re surprised, really. you were expecting him to kick you out, to send you on your merry way after a night of passion. but here he is, offering to order you breakfast. it’s sweet, and you can’t help but accept.

it’s nearing midday before you have to leave, chan having work in the afternoon. you exchange numbers before you go, promising to message and hopefully turn this one night stand into something more.

your relationship with chan blossoms from there, a couple of weeks spent getting to know each other a bit better before he officially asks you out. it was sweet, the way he did it. a crisp autumn evening curled up on his couch where he asks you the question. but, truth be told, that was the moment it went downhill.

it took him almost three months to notice. or maybe it just took him that long to admit it to himself. he truly wanted to look past the issue, he didn’t want to believe it to be true. but when it caused you to lose your job, he couldn’t ignore your drinking any longer.

looking back on those three months, he knows he should’ve realised sooner. it should have clicked in his mind when most of your dates were spent together in the clubs, dancing and drinking until you could barely stand. even when you weren’t going on dates, just time spent together in the evenings always included you with a drink constantly in your hand.

he wants the best for you, he doesn’t want to see you drown in the alcohol any more than you already are. it’s hard for him, and the months that follow his realisation are filled with countless arguments as he tries desperately to help you escape the clutches of your addiction. but you refuse to see the truth, you refuse to accept that you need help. and chan can’t take it anymore.

your phone buzzes with a message and you pick it up, seeing chan’s name on your screen.

chan: i’m coming over. i’ll be there in 10

you sit back against the couch, staring at the tv while you wait for him to show up. he’s right on time when you hear his rhythmic knock at your apartment door. dragging yourself to your feet, you walk over opening the door for him to enter.

he steps inside, closing the door behind him as he watches you walk towards the living room. he follows you, sighing heavily when he notices the almost empty bottle of vodka on the coffee table. it wasn’t a surprise to see it sitting there, but he still hates the sight.

“how much have you had?”

his question hangs heavy in the air as he awaits your answer, but you don’t give one. you seldom do. in the past, he wouldn’t push you to answer, but this time he does. he has to. he needs you to recognise that you have a problem.

“y/n? how much have you had to drink tonight?”

“why does it matter how much i’ve had?” you say, refilling your empty glass from the bottle and taking a sip, feeling the way it burns a path down your throat.

“because i need to have a serious chat with you, but i can’t do that if you’re drunk.”

“oh? a serious talk? are you here to berate me again?”

“berate you? y/n, i’m trying to help you. i’ve been trying to help you for months.” he runs a hand down his face, trying to calm his growing frustration. “look, i don’t want to do this, okay? i don’t want to break up with you.”

“wait, you’re breaking up with me?”

he pauses, releasing a heavy sigh, laden with sadness. one exhale of air and you can hear the mental exhaustion chan has been dealing with. and it hurts to know you’re the cause of it.

“i am.”

“but why?”

“because i can’t keep doing this. i’ve tried to help you. you say you’ll stop drinking but you don’t. i want to keep helping you, i want you to get better for your own sake. but i can’t be in a relationship with you right now.”

“so you don’t want to be with me anymore?”

“i do, y/n, believe me, i do want to be with you. but i can’t. you’re not okay, and this relationship is taking a toll on me,”

“but i am okay,”

“no, you’re not. people who are okay don’t act like this. they don’t spend this much time drinking. alcohol isn’t going to solve your problems. and even if it somehow did, it wouldn’t matter because it’s only causing you new ones.”

there’s a slew of emotions coursing through you. anger, frustration, sadness. and all you can do to keep them at bay is take another swig of vodka, this time straight from the bottle.

“i’d like for you to leave now.”

“y/n-”

“get out of my apartment.” chan hates the sight of the bottle in your hand, but he hates the crack in your voice more. he wants to hold you, to hug you tight and promise you that you’ll get through this. but he knows that if he stays any longer then you’ll only end up yelling at him.

the alcohol swimming through your veins does little to numb the sting in your heart when he leaves. and it’s only when you hear that door close that you let the tears fall. your relationship with chan felt doomed from the beginning. it began with a drink in your hand, and it ended with one too.