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Blooming Family Part 4 - He Shall Prevail
Pairing: Yautja x Fem!Reader Summary: In your past life on earth, when someone would ask you how you managed your job as a nurse with the occasional death of a mother during birth, you told them that you never took it too personal because you would never find yourself in their position. Then why were you now so adamant on giving your life for your pup? Cross-posted on AO3: here Warnings: English isn't my first language Word Count: 5,497 Part 1: here Part 2: here Part 3: here Masterlist
⨠Hey, guys! Iâm back to writing. 6 months and 16 exams later, I finally found time to continue my now called âBlooming Familyâ series. You have no idea how much I missed it.
⨠Though I have to say, this will probably be the end of this series. Probably. I got rid of every idea about our little family in those four parts and I donât believe I can offer much more dramatic and exciting plot.
⨠BUT! I already announced a Prequel on how Mi'ytiar and the Reader meet. Iâm still working on it and the process is going smoothly for now. This means, this is definitely not the end of our story, so stay tuned!
⨠Want to join the tag list?
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The metallic smell of human blood that usually made him wallow in delight, now made him feel sick. The feeling of human blood on his skin, which usually sent a rush of excitement down his spine, now made him want to cut off any part of his body that made contact with it. The sight of him tearing a human apart â hurting it, killing it â that usually sated his predatory nature, now made him want to gouge his eyes out.
Blood flowed as he cut you, his beloved one, open under Cahrein's watchful eyes. The red fluid coated first his claws and fingertips, then his fingers completely, and before he knew it his whole hand when he started to reach into you.
Your small, beautiful body, which he had worshipped more times than he could count, had long grown numb, unmoving, lifeless. Your big, gorgeous eyes that had held so much love for him were closed, sparing him to witness the moment should the spark within them extinguish.
He wouldn't let that happen, he was sure of it. He just needed time to close the long, precise cut and get the blood that was stashed somewhere here on the ship. He knew how to stitch you together, God knows how many times he had to do it when you were on your hunting trips together, though it was never this kind of wound.
But Mi'ytiar, your oh-so-loving and attentive mate, had done something quite unusual for his species.
With no profound knowledge of births, let alone human births, he witnessed the act of giving life for the very first time when you had been pregnant with Akail. Even without any previous experience, he just knew that Yautja births were quite different from human ones. Their Females wouldn't have suffered that much from pain during labor and because of that, his already devoting stance towards you seemed to reach new heights when you fought like a warrior on your very own battlefield. He was impressed just as he was scared.
So, when Cahrein had confirmed your suspicions on being pregnant again, Mi'ytiar did what every father on earth would and should do when a baby was on its way: he prepared himself. Mostly, Cahrein showed and taught him the necessities who had studied the human anatomy when you arrived on Yautja Prime for the first time â leader's orders. And because there had never been a human in their clan or anywhere near it, he had to travel some time to the nearest one whose location he knew.
That's how Cahrein learned and that's how he was able to brief his clan leader.
You didn't know, but if you did, you once again would not fathom how lucky you were because how many Yautja out there with a human by their side for whatever purpose would put that much effort into them? Would any of them sit down and listen to their healer drone about the function of the ovaries? Would any of them waste their time instead of just finding a replacement? Would they be here when the chance of saving you was like catching mist with bare hands?
Mi'ytiar did, a leader nonetheless.
And when he felt it wasn't enough, he did his very own research on earth. Stalking through hospitals, invisible of course, thanks to the Cloak camouflaging his massive form and hiding him from the human eye, he was taking everything in. He observed the humans dressed in white and dark blue clothes scurry around before he decided to follow one around.
At nighttime, it was much easier when the staff thinned out. This way he had a better chance to explore the hospital and find his way to the infant ward, discovering it by chance. Fourteen see-through cribs were standing in two rows inside the ward. Fourteen tiny human babies were lying inside, sound asleep.
So that's what they looked like.
For a moment, he thought about being human himself. Not for his own appearance but for the possibility of having a pup who looked more like you, his love. You were such a beautiful creature, but sadly, your genes were practically drowned out by his.
In the daytime, he was lucky to watch five women deliver their babies. Four of them did it the natural way while the fifth woman decided willing to do a c-section. Obviously unaware of what would happen in a few years, he gained very useful knowledge that day.
That's how Mi'ytiar learned and that's how he located the pup in your womb so quickly and pulled it out.
He tried not to let himself get lost in the sight of the newborn, squirming and screeching. As much as he wanted to admire the little boy, another paragon created by you, there was a more pressing matter at hand.
He gingerly placed the flailing pup down on the cold glass surface of the table and against your body, snuggled between your motionless arm and your side. With the greatest care, he angled his son's head to rest against your shoulder and moved your arm so it would keep him in place.
Mi'ytiar wasted no time in turning the Medicomp upside down and finding the needed surgical tools much faster that way. Thankfully he hadn't discovered anything wrong once the pup was free, no suspicious rupture or tear that needed stitching. He was deaf to Cahrein's words as he fixed the cut with wound clamps and started to mix a gel that was able to close a wound of any kind, size or depth.
When he was sure the gel was painstakingly spread on the already healing cut, he grabbed the syringe with the purple-ish fluid and inserted its needle in the crook of your unoccupied arm. There was a 50-50 chance that it would work on you. SxĂĄnxik would close all internal damage and increase blood cell production in case of severe blood loss, though he didn't know if it would work on human blood. But there was still a chance since your DNA had evolved through years of infusions of Yautja blood.
"You should get her blood." Cahrein's voice finally found its way into his consciousness.
"Can't leave." Mi'ytiar growled, his eyes focused on the shallow movement of your chest, scared it would stop the second they would stray from you.
"You need to. There is no guarantee sxĂĄnxik works." Cahrein pressed, growing restless at his leader's tunnel vision.
He knew he didn't know what was going through Mi'ytiar's mind, and if he said he knew how he was feeling at that moment, he would be lying. It was obvious to anyone who had ever laid eyes on the Life-mated pair that there was a unique and special bond between the two of you. Yautja were caring despite common belief, but even the most affectionate and compassionate of their species would never come close to the emotions your human heart held for your Yautja. Adding the influence you had on Mi'ytiar, it seemed to be fated.
Soulmates, Cahrein believed you had called the both of you when you told him about certain fairytales your mother had read to you when you were a child. Though you had said it in a joking way, telling him it was something hopeless romantics believed in, he could see it in your eyes that there was some kind of hope there.
"Sometimes two people are destined for each other."
Your human nonsense would always make him scoff in amusement until there was living and breathing proof of you being meant for his leader. Two proofs now, to be exact. When you were able to give Mi'ytiar his long-denied offspring where their Females had failed, Cahrein started to be less derogatory about superstitions on earth.
"Fine." Mi'ytiar snarled, hitting the glass surface of the holo-map table on each side of your thighs with closed fists, only hearing a splintering sound as he pushed himself away.
When he returned, the overwhelming sight of your body made him freeze in the doorway when the automatic doors opened. He tried not to tighten his grip around the blood bag in his hand, tried not to let his claws pierce holes into it and spill the red liquid.
You were lying there, paler than you had been moments ago. Where he had positioned your arm so your pup was safely tucked at your side, the other one was lying along the length of your body. Just as your spread legs were dangling down the table, your hand was loosely hanging down where it had previously been grasping the edge in pain.
"Mi'ytiar."
Cahrein's voice was once again pulling him out of his own head before he could drown in dark thoughts.
"I prepare your home for your return." The healer told him when Mi'ytiar covered your naked lower body with one of your blankets that you always kept on the ship.
When Cahrein received no response from his leader, who was too busy getting the blood into your veins before filling syringes with his own to inject it into you, he made the usual farewell gesture and his holo-image dissolved.
As soon as Mi'ytiar could assess you as stable, he took his newborn â he was so tiny, Mi'ytiar was able to hold him with one hand as he fit so easily in his entire palm â and placed him in the crook of his arm, the upper body of his son pressed against his bicep. The typical instinct of a Yautja pup to hold on made his son immediately cling to him.
With a heavy heart at leaving you alone once again, he went through the ship to take the pup to its sleeping place in the sleeping quarters. Digging out more of the cushions and covers you had stashed away, he created a makeshift crib so his son wouldn't move in a fatal position or roll out of the pod by accident. When he was sure he could leave him alone for a moment, he put the pup down and returned to you.
You were still in the same unconscious state he had left you. With a pained, sorrowful purr he lifted you up and into his arms, the almost empty blood bag held up by his hand. The sight of you like this was hurting him more than any wound he ever got from an enemy.
Back in the sleeping quarters, Mi'ytiar put you down in the pod where the two of you would usually rest. And where the little one was probably conceived, he thought with his eyes looking over at the pup.
Since the ship was not equipped with the necessary medical supplies and equipment, he had to make do with what was available to him. All he could do now was let you sleep and heal. Should the sxĂĄnxik not do its job, his blood would do.
To distract himself â because looking down at the device around his left arm, the journey back home would take another hour â he picked his newborn pup up and started to rock him softly. He remembered your reaction when you had seen him do it for the first time with Akail, scolding him for hurling the pup around. Your words.
Trying not to let his amusement show too much on his face, he had explained to you that Yautja babies, even when they were mere minutes old, were quite sturdy. They could endure more than you would think and you had learned that in the following five years. To put it simply, Akail had been a menace when he wasn't a complete mama's boy. He had wanted to explore; first your home, then the clan grounds, and then the whole planet.
Mi'ytiar let out a chuckle-like rumble at the memory of an eager Akail running around, dodging his mother's arms that tried to keep him inside your home and from running around in the village. He had watched you both with mirth in his eyes but regretted it the second a grumbling laugh left his mouth. If it had been possible, he would have dropped dead when you glared at him with a very nasty look. Wincing inwardly, he pulled his figurative tail between his legs and came to your aid, grabbing Akail by the nape and lifting him up. Then you had looked at your son with an I'm-very-disappointed-in-you expression on your face and this time it was the pup that winced (Mi'ytiar almost too if he was being honest).
Like father, like son.
This one will be just as in love with his mother as his father and older brother were, he was sure of it.
Warm, soft and bright.
Those were the things you noticed first, even with your eyes closed.
The next thing your brain registered was that you could move every part of your body, although a little sluggish when you wiggled your toes and clenched and unclenched your hands. You were relieved that whatever happened to you hadn't paralyzed you.
Blinking, you opened your eyes and with a blurry vision, the very first thing you saw was a familiar but somehow unfamiliar metal pole that looked like an IV stand.
But that couldn't be. You should be the only human thing on Yautja Prime, so whyâŚ
"You awake."
You slowly turned your head in the direction of the voice. You could only make out a dark, tall figure standing in the doorway, though not tall enough to be your mate.
"Cahrein?" You murmured.
"Mhm."
Said Yaujta entered the room to inspect the stand, tapping the bag with a clear substance inside. He traced the tube attached to it with a sharp claw to the point where it was connected to the needle in your arm.Â
"Fascinating, I must say."
"What is this? Why is it here?" You asked and tried to get up, hoping the fatigue would wear off faster in an upright position.
With a deep rumble and a clicking of his mandibles, Cahrein gently pushed you back down. "The great Mi'ytiar always made sure you had everything you need should medical emergency arise."
"He did?"
Cahrein nodded with his head. "He traveled to ooman world to get whatever you need every time oomans developed their creations."
You looked at the healer who now inspected the red bag filled with your blood.
When you started to be more involved in the life of the Yautja, the possibility of getting hurt grew. It wasn't likely, as your mate never let you do anything that could cause even a bruise. Well, except, of course, mating with him.Â
When your already drawn blood expired, you would go to Cahrein so he could take new one for emergencies while you sat in Mi'ytiar's lap, his purring and his hands caressing you, calming you down. Despite being a former nurse you hated needles.
"How..." You coughed, your voice hoarse from not being used. "How long was I⌠asleep?"
"Six days."
"That long?" You whispered to yourself in disbelief.
You settled back into the soft cushions of your nest, watching the healer adjust the blood bag as if there was the perfect angle for it to hang. Ever the perfectionist.Â
You carefully lifted the arm with the needle inside while you grabbed a black woolen blanket to pull it over your body, somehow feeling cold despite the fire burning.Â
Doing so, you dragged your heavy-feeling arm over your stomach.
Your flat stomach.
You jumped up from your lying position, ignoring the stabbing headache.Â
Cahrein turned around, only needing to take one big step to be by your side, and was ready to scold you for going against your doctor's orders, but his words were dying on his tongue when you ripped the piece of clothing you were wearing open. Immediately, he averted his eyes and turned his back to you.Â
You may be his patient right now, but he had no death wish. Sure, he had seen parts of you in his role as the healer, but only with permission and in attendance of your mate. And said mate definitely didn't need to be in the room to witness his human being exposed in front of someone who wasn't him to instill that deep-rooting respect (and maybe even slight fear) in Cahrein.Â
You were oblivious to the internal battle of Cahrein who was fighting against the urge to make sure you weren't overexerting yourself and the fact that he couldn't do so without having to look at you. Instead, you were frantically tracing the faint scar across your stomach with shaky hands.
BabyâŚ
Where was your baby?
Where was it?!
The maternal instincts were almost animalistic as they made you heave, your lungs starting to struggle to take in air.
It had been here, inside your belly, carried under your heartâŚ
Why wasn't it here?
It should be⌠it should beâŚ
Cahrein was really tempted to turn around when he listened to your breath getting more and more irritated and uneven. When he heard suspicious rustling, he spun around and grabbed the nearest cover to put it on you â the blanket you had wanted to snuggle into.Â
"Calm, (Y/N), calm." He purred as he pushed you back onto the nest when you tried to crawl out of it.Â
"My pup, my pup. Where is my pup?" You squeaked.
You were digging your nails into his skin, scratching it without leaving much damage. You weren't really a challenge to him. You were still weak from the blood loss and the week of bed rest. Had it been a female Yautja, Cahrein would have probably been dead by now. They were just as territorial and protective of their pups as you were right now.
"He is fine. He is with his father." He soothed you and tried to push you onto your back and into the nest. "I will call for him."
Still shaking, you ceased your resistance a little, allowing Cahrein to let go of you. Despite everything screaming inside of you to fight your way to your pup, your body in its state wouldn't even make it out of the room. So you settled down but kept your nerves on edge.
You were taking deep breaths in and out as you strained every muscle to prop yourself up into a sitting position, your legs tangled and angled to the side.
Tugging on the soft fabric of the blanket draped over you, you looked around the room. It was just like you remembered â all four walls made of smooth obsidian-like stone, the large window from the floor up to the ceiling behind your nest giving you the perfect view of the jungle-like valley beneath you by the cliff where the village was located on, the build-in shelves that mostly displayed your mate's most valued trophies, but also some of your possessions from your old home on earth like your books and your favorite pot plant, the futuristic wardrobe Mi'ytiar had made for you when he kept gifting you fabrics, feathers, fur, leather and such so you could make yourself clothes with the help of the Females.
It was home.
As your eyes swept over the room from left to right, they stopped when they spotted the small, wooden crib next to the nest. It had been Akail's when he was a newborn pup. It was lovingly and thoughtfully crafted by Mi'ytiar, while you had carved accents, patterns, and little figures into it.
Sure, Yautja Females had their own, traditional way of taking care of their pups, but you were human and your baby was partly human, so you wanted at least a little human influence in raising it. It's the only way you knew and were able to do it. Mi'tyiar let you take the reins since he had no prior knowledge himself. He was a first-time father and would just follow your instructions when you needed assistance.Â
That led to you unknowingly breaking a custom. Usually, at this age, the Female was raising the pup alone. The Male was barely involved during that time and would only take over when it was time for the pup to train as a Youngblood.Â
Mi'ytiar, on the other hand, the ever-loving father, was there by your side for every one of Akail's wobbly steps, incoherent mumble and mandible click. If he was human, you fondly mused, he would be that kind of a parent who would take photos and videos of even the most random event and unnecessary thing their baby did.
He was such a fierce and strong leader, callous and ruthless when the situation required it, a brutish savage if he was challenged, but when it came to his little family he was so soft and gentle like any human father or husband.
While you were spacing out, resisting the urge to reach over to the crib and check if the bedding was still warm, signs of a little life sleeping in it, you didn't notice the newcomers in your room.
"Yawne..." A voice sounded far away before you started blinking, refocusing yourself.
Your eyes snapped to the now much larger form standing in the entrance of the room holding a small, wiggling bundle in his arms, cradling it to his chest. His yellow eyes were solely on you, looking at you in disbelief as if he thought they were deceiving him.Â
Mi'ytiar pushed the bundle in his arms into those of Cahrein, who you barely registered walking in behind your mate, and made his way over to you in a few quick strides. Your eyes were fixed onto the thing your whole being was screaming for the most, but when Mi'ytiar cupped your cheeks with both of his hands, your whole attention was on him â your mate, the love of your life, your sun and your moon.
"TahnĂ." You breathed and put your hands on his, craving his warm skin closer to you.
He moved forward and gently put his forehead to yours, purring loudly into the otherwise silent room.Â
"I thought I lose you. I thought you die. Again." He grumbled, his eyes closed.
You lifted your head and placed a few kisses on the skin of his forehead.Â
"I'm a fighter. I thought you knew that by now." You chuckled, your voice hoarse.
Mi'ytiar grumbled again, not appreciating you making jokes when you had been on the brink of life and death.
"What happened?" You asked and pulled away to finally look at him.Â
Mi'ytiar â and you really had no nicer word to describe it â looked horrible. If Yautja were able to develop bags under their eyes, he definitely would have some. He looked beyond tired. There was a devastated but also relieved look in his eyes, you had no problem deciphering the reason behind it.Â
"I only remember how my water broke⌠how you carried me back to the ship⌠and the call with Cahrein." You mumbled as you tried to recall any memory you had stored in the back of your mind.
It was all blurry and tangled and you had no idea what happened when. The only thing you remembered with conviction was the pain. When the contractions started in that forest, it was far more manageable than the pain at Akail's birth. But when the labor was taking longer than it was normal, it got almost unbearable.
"What happened? How did heâŚ" You trailed off as you glanced past Mi'ytiar and to Cahrein who was rocking the whiny bundle in his arm to calm it down.
"Mi'ytiar, please." You begged as you looked back at him, pleading with your eyes. "Please give him to me. I need to⌠I need toâŚ"
The distress your body was emitting almost made him shrink away.Â
"Cahrein." Mi'ytiar grunted and reached out.
Cahrein, who was struggling a little with the fussing pup in his care, was careful not to accidentally drop it as he made his way over to his leader. He would be lying if he said he didn't feel at least some relief when the restless pup left his arms. The last thing he wanted to do was send you further down a spiral of frantic worry about your baby. He had seen enough Females going rogue for lesser reasons and experience showed to never stand between a mother and their pup. It was the last mistake you would make.
Mi'ytiar purred softly at the bundle before he turned back to you and offered it for you to take it. You eagerly engulfed it in your arms and the second you had a hold on it, the fussing pup settled down.
"Leave." Mi'ytiar ordered gruffly when you started to push down the only cover your body had, not taking his eyes off his son and his mate.
Cahrein bowed his head and quickly took his leave. He would talk about anything medical and the further necessary bed rest another time.
You didn't notice him leaving, too busy freeing your newborn son of the baby blanket that was practically drowning him.
You had knitted it when you were six months pregnant with Akail. He had been obsessed with it as long as he was a tiny pup.
Back when you were a nurse, some mothers had excitedly told you about all the preparations they had done before the baby was due. One of them had brought wool, knitting needles, and a half-finished blanket to her appointments. She had explained to you how she learned knitting only for her baby, so she could make all this stuff for it.
It was a sweet memory.
Mi'ytiar, of course, went on a trip back to earth and got you anything and everything you wanted and needed, even more than you originally needed, in hopes his offerings would please you. And you hadn't even needed to use much persuasion. Looking up at him with those big eyes of yours while rubbing the prominent baby bump was enough to prepare a ship and fly to your home planet the next day.
Sweet, sweet memories.
You were humming as Mi'ytiar crawled on the nest behind you, setting the blanket you had shrugged off to the side and pulling you on his lap. He wrapped his arms around you and watched over your shoulder as you cradled your pup against your bare chest. You sighed in contentment when you could feel your son's skin against your own like it was the final thing you needed to reassure you that you were actually here, that he was real.
Without the baby blanket covering him, you finally got a good look at your son. And god, you didn't know you could fall in love a third time in your life.
He was perfect.
Unlike his big brother, he was the carbon copy of his father. While Akail did look like his father, having the same color scheme as him, the patterns were of opposite colors. His younger brother, on the other hand, didn't only have the same color pallet as his father, but the patterns of his skin were colored just the same as Mi'ytiar's. Otherwise, he didn't look much different from Akail when he had been a newborn â the same numbs on his head where his dreads would grow, the same thin and undeveloped mandibles around his mouth, the same arms and legs.
He was about the size of a human baby. It was incredible to think how big in size and height he would grow in the coming years.
You inspected every aspect of his tiny body, your fingers gliding over his torso and limbs, admiring every centimeter of him.
"You were right." Mi'ytiar suddenly said. "He was in abnormal position. He was stuck."
You stilled for a moment before you continued to coo at your baby.
"You begged me to get him out and I did. I cut in you and youâŚ" He trailed off and grunted at his wavering voice. "You stopped moving when I pulled pup out. You were gone."
"No." You interrupted him and turned your upper body to look at him. "If I was gone, I wouldn't be here with you. With him." You moved your arms with your turned torso so his son was back in his sight. "I wouldn't be here to tell you how happy I am, to tell you how glad I am that you handled it so well. You saved his life. And mine too."
You shifted your pup into one arm to reach up and place your hand on his cheek. You didn't even need to pull him in for him to move closer and put his forehead once again against yours, closing your eyes. Since his anatomy made it impossible to actually kiss him, you decided that forehead-against-forehead was an acceptable compensation. Although it wasn't anything special, it felt so intimate with him that you didn't really miss the ability to kiss your partner.
"I'm here. I'm alive. I'm not going anywhere, Mi'ytiar." You told him softly, rubbing your skin against his like a cat. "Thanks to you I'm able to continue to breathe, to walk and talk. Thanks to you I'm able to continue to love you and live my life with you, my strong and handsome mate, and our pups."
You had so many other things to say to him, but you started to choke on your words. Tears were dripping down your cheeks.
You opened your eyes when you felt something rough rub the skin under them and saw him wiping away the tears with his thumb. His other hand came up and its thumb did the same with the tears coming from your other eye. Mi'ytiar looked fondly down at you, his head cocked to the side.
"Thank you so much." You mumbled, your voice a little shaky, and buried your face into his chest.
Mi'ytiar clicked his mandibles softly and carefully pulled you closer, making sure not to crush the pup between your bodies.
"Anything for you." He purred.
He felt the wetness dripping from your eyes to your cheeks and down on his chest ease after a while. And when you lifted your head to look up at him, you gave him one of those dazzling, soft smiles he loved so much.
Mi'ytiar wanted to reach out again, wanted to pull you closer and snuggle his face into the crook of your neck to smell your sweet, familiar scent he missed so much. But sadly a certain someone demanded your attention more loudly.
The pup in your arms started to fuss again, causing you to use both arms again to hold him tight against you. Shushing him, you nestled him in the crook of your neck and stroked his back.
Mi'ytiar let out a displeased grunt before he could stop himself, glaring at his son being in a place where he wanted to be just a moment ago.
You, of course, didn't miss your mate fixing the pup with a dismayed look and you immediately knew why. This wasn't your first baby, after all.
"Mi'ytiar, don't tell me you're jealous again." You grinned up at him, not even trying to hide your amusement.
"'M not." He grunted.
"You are."
"Not."
"Mhm." You hummed, unconvinced, raising an eyebrow. "Just as you were not jealous when Akail was occupying my boobs as a pillow for a year? Or when I tried breastfeeding with him? Or when he challenged you every time you came near me even though he had just learned to walk? Or when he-"
To silence you, he bit down into your throat and you immediately went slack. It was a somewhat trained reaction every time he would do that. Where a human would shut you up with a kiss, your mate bit you. A show of dominance, without a question, and you would lie if you said it didn't turn you on. The moan that would have proofed it had almost slipped from your lips.
"Not jealous." Mi'ytiar insisted gruffly and licked over the bite mark.
"Fine, fine." You mumbled, still a little dazed from his little display of power.
The two of you stayed silent for a while. The only sound was the occasional chittering and cooing of your son, who was looking up at his parents with his big, pale yellow eyes. They would grow more intense in color in no time.
"Did you already name him?" You asked and giggled when your pup tried to snatch up your finger with which you were drawing patterns in the air, moving it around in front of his face.
You watched as your pup finally caught your pointer finger and inserted it into his mouth. You laughed when you felt his gums chew on it. His teeth would develop only in a few weeks.
"The name you chose." Mi'ytiar grunted softly.
You hummed in understanding and snuggled your face into the side of your son's head.
"Hi, Toyah."
Tag List
⨠Hey guys, despite having only some requests to be tagged in this part, I wanted to tag any and everyone who ever left a comment on one or more parts of this series. I'm seriously so thankful, you have no idea. Thank you so much for showing interest and voicing it. Thank you so much for your kind words that kept me motivated to continue this story. But, as I said at the beginning, this is not the end of Mi'ytiar, so lets hope we see each other on more of my works in the future!
@lil-lilacwitch, @zaky-ller, @eternalmoonshineofahopelessfan, @haleypearce @montybooks,
@ailujsenutna, @rorrika, @h0n3y-l3m0n05, @mahirublue, @00justanolive00,
@mortuaconjuga, @victor-rose, @screechingenemy18, @thewitchesofart, @skibbiescoober,
@pyreemo, @han-sirentell, @dd122004dd, @milkzze, @wildaces,
@serendipitous-fernweh, @misspendragonsworld, @bunnymysteriously, @ladygrimmx, @thelrina,
@quaritcxswifewh0re, @imaginarydreams, @vintage-bumblebee, @blaxkmagix, @beelievit,
@blmcd57110, @mythirdlife235, @the-artistic-devotee, @jojooasis, @pipocfamily,
@bimboreader, @noname2246, @sawendel, @being-worthy, @xcol2sblog,
@panpandeep00, @maxismp1, @bastet222, @candyladycry, @crowleysthings
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Tempered in the Fire - Part Four
See the Series Masterlist for complete content warnings, historical event information, and series notes.
Cross-posted to AO3. Follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications for updates.
Pairing: Blacksmith!Din Djarin x F! Reader
Summary: Ireland, almost a decade after the rebellion of 1798. You are an unusual woman: married, but alone; a widow, with no certainty her husband is dead. When your local blacksmith is badly injured in an accident and unable to work, you have no choice but to travel to the next forge, run by a man of few words whose uncertain origins and dark complexion make him stand out among the locals. You are immediately intrigued by this mysterious, taciturn figure - and the striking little boy heâs taken as his apprentice.
Word Count: 7.1k
Rating: Explicit; 18+ MDNI (chapter; series)
Content (chapter specific): Blacksmith!Din AU; historical setting; angst; smut; violence; unprotected PiV sex; oral sex (F and M receiving); racist (anti-Traveller) language; period-typical misogyny; references to domestic physical, emotional, and sexual abuse; references to family loss and death; abusive and derogatory language; strong language.
Translations for the Irish language provided throughout as needed, though I have not translated mo chuisle as a term of endearment (it literally means 'my pulse', more usually used as 'my love').
A/N: I am so, so sorry for the gap between chapters here and am grateful to the readers who've been so patient! Thanks, too, as ever, to @paulmescal-s for working through the gnarlier bits of this story with me and being such a great sort-of beta.
In the future, after many years had passed, you would find it hard to remember exactly how much time you had together, at the forge, before the hard reality came knocking at your door. Those days and nights of domestic happiness could never have been enough.
By day, you keep house, sew, and bake. Each morning, you do some basic reading and writing with GrĂł, or take the little boy around the hedgerows and trees at the boundary of the property, teaching him the names of plants and animals. Din had explained your presence to him, and he beamed every morning when his father carried him down the attic ladder and he saw you again.Â
Din, so used to being the lone adult in the household, insists on contributing to the routine: cooking, cleaning, setting the fire. It feels so natural, so right - and yet a blade dangles over this strange little found family, ready to drop at any moment.Â
Each evening, Din readies GrĂł for bed, sometimes bathing his son in a tin bath in front of the fire while you tell him a story by way of distraction. It has quickly become a highlight of the blacksmithâs day, these moments where he watches as you make his beloved boy squeal with laughter, or hold his rapt attention with the twists and turns of a tale.Â
They were content and settled, this clan of two. But Din couldnât help the daydreams about a clan of three that sometimes flashed through his mind.Â
He took every opportunity he could to touch you throughout the day. A squeeze of your hand at the breakfast table as GrĂł drained his cup of milk. A discreet kiss to your cheek as he made his way into the forge for his morningâs work. A gentle caress of your waist as he passes you while youâre laying the table for the main meal, taken in the middle of the day.Â
With GrĂł settled and asleep in the loft, the two of you moved more hastily in the evenings, now, to sort the things for breakfast and smother the fire. The sooner the chores were done, after all, the sooner you could shed your clothes and climb into his bed together.Â
The nervous caution of your first time together soon dissipated as you grew more familiar with each other, more in tune with each otherâs needs and desires. For all his inexperience and your difficult past, the two of you are perfectly-matched lovers. The feeling of Dinâs broad body on yours, glistening with sweat, begins to exorcise the demons of the past. You ride him on top, one hand intertwined with his as he squeezes your breasts and watches you come. He slips his cock inside you one morning as youâre lying together, your back pressed to his chest, and fucks you slowly and carefully until youâre both coming quietly, mouths pushed into the pillows. One evening, he was even too impatient for bed, hitching up your skirts and taking you over the heavy wooden table, hand pressed against your mouth as you whined against his palm.Â
âI want to learn you,â Din whispered one night, easing your long shift off so that you were completely bare, lying alongside his own naked body.Â
You traced your fingertips along the softness of his lips. âLearn me?â
His strong, clever fingers roamed over you as he nodded. âLearn you. Know you, all of you.â He squeezed your tits softly, sucking gently on each nipple. âCommit you to memory. How you feel, how you fit together. Do you like this?â
You wound your fingers through his messy curls and nodded. He followed the curves of your body with his broad, calloused hands, moving over your waist and holding your hips firmly as he reverently kissed your belly. He took his time, hands memorising the exact shape and volume of your form.
âYou are a beauty, mo chuisle,â he murmured, dark eyes looking up at you from between your legs. âSo lovely and soft and warm.â
His fingers pressed into the meat of your thighs as he mapped you out, and you felt the wetness between your legs as your hips bucked upwards, legs parting instinctively.Â
âCan IâŚsee, mo chuisle?â Dinâs palm grazed over the hair covering your mound. âSee youâŚsee you here?â
âOf course, my darling.â You opened your legs wider for him, watching as his eyes grew round in awe, before darkening with lust. He reached for his cock, whimpering a little as he stroked himself.Â
âThatâs beautiful.â He had shifted his head closer to your centre, his expression a little bashful. âIâd like to kiss you here. Would that be alright?â
âPlease, darling,â you hissed. âPut your mouth on me.â
âIâve neverâŚâ He exhaled nervously as he settled between your legs, fingers already playing with your wet folds. âNever even thought of this, butâŚâ
You ran your fingers through his hair and smiled, understanding what he was trying to say. âYouâll know just what to do, love.â
This was new to you, too, though you had heard of men doing it to their girls, especially if they were not meant to lie together. Your friend Mary had, just prior to her marriage, confided in you that she and her betrothed had found a way to sate their passions without the risk of her falling pregnant before the wedding.Â
âThe mouth is a great thing, all the same,â sheâd said, dangling her bare feet in the cool water of the local river on a warm summer day as the two of you lazed on the grassy bank, skirts hitched to your knees. She had explained the mechanisms of it to you, chuckling at your sceptical expression.Â
âJust wait, girleen. Just you wait and see.â
Now Dinâs soft, plush lips were pressed against your slit, tongue tasting your wetness, and you finally understood what she meant. It was heaven: the way his lips brushed against the little bundle of nerves and made your whole body convulse with pleasure, the sensation of his patchy beard against your thighs, how he began to slip his tongue in and out of you. His grunts and moans vibrated against your core and you came hard against him, giggling when you saw the slick glistening all over his smiling face.Â
In the nights to come, you returned the favour, languidly sucking and licking at his perfect cock while he held your head in place with his broad hands, hips bucking up against you as he groaned with sheer pleasure.
You paused, reminding him that he needed to be quieter, before slipping his cock between your lips again. ââS not my fault, mo chuisle,â he panted, eyes locked on how his hard length disappeared into your pretty mouth. âFeels far too good.âÂ
As he came in your mouth for the first time, youâd looked up at his beautiful face, release and pleasure and affection written on every part of it, and begged whatever deity might listen to let you stay here forever.
Din is more comfortable showing his feelings through actions, physical gestures, than words. Little by little, though, you notice him opening up more, saying more. Not that heâd ever be what you could consider a talker.Â
One night, nestled together, you ask him to tell you about himself.
"I want to hear your story, Din.â The comforting caress of your hand against his face makes him smile softly.
"I donât know what there is to tell.â
You cuddle closer to him, enjoying the feel of his solid frame against you. âWell, I donât know much about your family, for oneâŚâ
He shifts a little in bed and for an instant you worry you have overstepped the mark.Â
âItâs not a very happy story, mo chuisle, but if you want to knowâŚâ
A kiss to the expanse of broad, tanned chest exposed at the neck of his nightshirt. âI want to know. If you want to tell me.â
He finds your hand and presses it to his chest, seeking reassurance in your familiar touch, and taking a deep breath before he begins to whisper his story to you.
"Iâm a travelling person. I donât know where I was born - other than that it was probably somewhere towards the west of the country, on a campsite. I have - had - an older sister, a younger brother. Lived off the money from whatever work my father could get - fixing pots and pans, mostly, sometimes farm labour, depending on the season.â
"A hard living.â
He nods, bringing the back of your hand to his lips. âHard, but loving.â He inhales deeply, again, before continuing.
"We were never really wanted anywhere. Moved on, camps disturbed, even attacked, sometimes. We learned quickly how to hide at the first sign of trouble.â
He closes his eyes, a flash of sorrow crossing his beautiful features in the moonlight coming through the little cottage window. âI suppose thatâs what saved me.â
For a few moments, Din is quiet.Â
âWe had camped on land that was part of some big estate, belonging to Lord somebody or other. The usual situation. My father and a couple of our other men went fishing the first day and poaching the first night, to get us some food. I can still see the scales of the big salmon he caught, glinting in the firelight as my mother cleaned it.â
"A feast.â
He nods, a little smile on his lips at the memory, before his features darken again. âBut not our feast to take. The lordâs feast, by virtue of the land being given to him by some far-off king.â He shakes his head ruefully.
"I was coming back with some cans of water the next morning when I heard shouting. The glimpses of red moving towards the camp - the yeomanry. The landlord set them on us, and they gave us no quarter. When some of our men and women tried to defend our few possessions, they - well, they turned violent.â
You hold him close, feeling the anguish in his breathing.
"I saw my father fall, killed by a blow to the head with the butt of a yeomanâs musket. My mother caught a glimpse of me, roared at me to run, to hide, and to my eternal shame I did just that. I didnât go to them. I ran.â
"She wanted you to live, Din. She was saving you.â
He swallows hard, audible in the stillness of the night.Â
âThe local priest found me a couple of days later, still carrying the empty can. Iâd hidden in a ditch, ate blackberries to survive. He arranged for the local blacksmith and his wife to take me in, train me as an apprentice.âÂ
He pauses again. You realise this is the most heâs probably ever said to you in one go.Â
âWhen the time came, I took to the roads myself, honing the craft before I could set up on my own. I wasnât long back when the priest called, saying a cousin in the east knew of an empty forge in need of a good smith.â
"And thatâs how you came here?â
Din nods. âThatâs how I came to be here.â
You venture a sensitive question. âDin⌠what happened to your mother, your siblings?â
"Poorhouse. No other choice.â
Silence.
"I didnât know where theyâd gone. So much sickness in those godforsaken placesâŚâ
Another pause.
âMy brother died first. Then my sister, and then my mother.â
Your voice is tiny, barely a whisper. âDid you⌠see them?â
"By the time we found out what poorhouse they were in⌠it was too late.â
Tears prick at your eyes, and you do your best not to let them fall. This is his story, his grief, not yours. Instead, you shift up the bed a little, still holding his warm body close, and lean in to caress and kiss him.Â
Thereâs a wet, salty tang on his cheek. You kiss away the silent tear.Â
For a moment, you think of what Din told you about how he came to adopt GrĂł: his unwillingness to let the boy go to a poorhouse or orphanage, his desire to protect and train the child, just as he himself had once been taken in by the smith and his wife. Just as he, himself, had once been a lost little boy.Â
You press your lips to the messy curls at the crown of his head.Â
There are times when you almost forget that youâre not really meant to be here, so natural and right does it feel. And then you are jolted back, reluctantly, to a reality where you are still technically the wife of a violent, cruel man who could claim you at any moment.Â
That afternoon, you hear the sound of horses approaching and immediately disappear up to the loft, as usual, until you know itâs safe to descend. You listen attentively as the door opens and breathe a sigh of relief when GrĂłâs delighted little voice greets PeigĂ, here on one of her regular visits. You hear Din enter the cottage from the forge, chatting companionably to his old friend, and make for the ladder.
Youâre a few rungs down when you hear a second, less familiar voice.
âSo where is she, Din?â
He stutters, the panic evident in his voice. You wonder if you can make it back to the loft.Â
Too late.
Father Carthy hears the sound of your skirts and turns, greeting you by name in grave tones.Â
âYou might as well come and join us, my child.â
PeigĂâs gaze is apologetic as you climb down the ladder and move to join the little cluster of adults, Din having sent GrĂł outside to play. You stand beside him, arms wrapped protectively over your body, resisting the urge to reach for his hand.Â
âIâm sorry, girleen.â PeigĂ wrings her hands, expression anxious and sorrowful. âFather came to see me today before I left for the forge, I couldnât turn him out.â
You meet Father Carthyâs eyes with a look of defiance, straightening yourself to your full height, silently demanding an explanation.
âI am not here to force you home. I know yourâŚsituation.â The priest exhales deeply, fingers fiddling with the little black buttons on his long robes. âAnd between us and the wall and the Lord Almighty, if that kind of cruelty and abandonment was grounds for annulment⌠well.â
The back of Dinâs hand brushes almost imperceptibly against yours.Â
âBut you are still a married woman, andâŚâ The cleric sighs apologetically. âMy child, you were seen here. Out in the back field, with the boy. And if Iâve heard it, and people are talking, then itâs only a matter of time before -â
You interject in a low, steady voice. âBefore Searlas finds out where I am.â
The priest nods sadly. âThatâs why I came here. Why I came with PeigĂ, specifically. We⌠have a suggestion.â He looks expectantly at PeigĂ, who offers you an encouraging smile as she nods in agreement.
âMy sister, Rosie - sheâs in the next county, big farm, spinster, plenty of space and could do with the help. You could stay there for a bit and then come home to your own place - until they change the garrison, surely, or that wastrel Searlas can be warned offâŚâ
You bite your lip, mulling it over.Â
âI mean, maybe heâs not going to come looking for me.â
PeigĂ and the priest exchange a concerned glance. The cleric clasps his hands together and looks at you sympathetically.
âThe thing is⌠I have eyes and ears, as it were, in the barracks, and in the public house preferred by the garrison. I didnât want to tell you, my dear, in case it frightened you - but he has been talking about you.â He purses his lips, almost afraid to tell you the truth. âHe has openly talked about finding you, about⌠claiming you. And if he finds out youâve been staying here, with a bachelor - think of your reputation, my child.â
You let out an involuntary sob, and PeigĂ places a comforting hand on your arm. âI think you need to be gone tomorrow, girleen. At the latest. Iâm sorry, I know itâs awful quick, butâŚâ
For the first time, Din speaks. His voice is low, controlled, serious.Â
âBut you - I mean, she must be kept safe.â He looks at you, dark eyes full of care and concern. âIf you want to stay, I will keep you safe. I promise.â
Thereâs nothing more you want in the world than to throw your arms around him and let him protect you, just as you long to protect him from the sorrows of his past. But his description of the day he lost his parents echoes in your mind, as does the tension that crackled in the air the day the soldiers were at the forge. You cannot - will not - bring that down on him again, nor on GrĂł.
âDin, if I stay here I fear that none of us will be safe. Not you, not me, not GrĂł. I couldnât take that risk, my d-â You catch yourself just in time. âI mean, my dear friend.â
PeigĂâs wise, inquisitive eyes dart between you and Din, and she emits a low, intrigued hum.
Din exhales in frustration. âI said I would keep you safe, here. I mean it.â
Father Carthy places a paternal hand on Dinâs shoulder, expression gentle but resigned. âSheâs right, Din, and you know it. Apart from her own reputation - you donât want a troop of redcoats landing on the doorstep, do you? Think of your home, your livelihood - your son.â
The blacksmithâs expression is defiant, but you can see the reality of the situation dawning on him as the light fades from his beautiful eyes. He nods, silent, a hand twisting at the soft, worn leather of his apron.
âEarly as we can after dawn tomorrow, then?â PeigĂ squeezes your hand as she waits for your answer.
You cannot bring yourself to look at Din as you nod in agreement.Â
It is still bright outside, just about, when GrĂł is settled for bed and the dinner things cleared and tidied away. You have packed up your saddlebags in silence, fighting the tears that threaten to fall at any moment.
Dinâs broad hand reaches around your waist as he moves past you, pulling you close to him. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, kissing the delicate skin.
âCan we take a little walk, mo chuisle? Before night falls?â
You face him, tracing the line of his jaw with your fingers. âA little one. Donât forget thereâs a little boy asleep in the loft, we canât go too far.â
He presses his lips to your fingertips before kissing you on the forehead.Â
You walk hand in hand in the dusk, wandering through the field at the back of the forge towards the old oak tree that stands at the boundary of the property. Din is quiet - even quieter than usual, just casting occasional glances in your direction and squeezing your hand with a gentle smile.
In the shadow of the oak, he kisses you deeply, pressing your body against the tree as he holds your face in his big, strong hands.Â
âI donât want to go, Din.â
âI donât want you to go, mo chuisle.â He kisses you again, chastely, and looks in your eyes. A question hovers on the tip of his tongue.
âTell me, my darling.â
He holds your hands, grounding himself a little in your comforting touch.Â
âI want you to take GrĂł to PeigĂâs sisterâs. Please.â
Even in the half-light, he can read the shock on your face.
âOh, Din, I⌠I couldnât. I couldnât see the two of you parted, heâd be lost without you and you without him and-â
He shakes his head firmly. âI have to keep you safe - both of you. And if a gang of redcoats turned up and it was just me and himâŚâ
He saw his father die.Â
âHeâs your son.âÂ
Din nods. âHe is. And I canât leave him alone again.â
He lost his entire family.
âHe might not want to leave with me.â
âIâve explained it to him. He knows itâs not forever, he understands the reasons why.â You catch a glimpse of his smile, a beacon of hope in the twilight.Â
âMo chuisle, youâre the closest thing he has to a mother in this world.â
You hold each other close through the night, afraid to sleep lest you miss a single second of this time together.Â
Din tucks his face into the side of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply and softly kissing the exposed skin of your shoulders. You wind your fingers through his hair, trying to memorise the rhythm of his heartbeat and his breath.
"You should sleep, mo chuisle,â he whispers against your body. âTomorrow will be a hard one.â
"Says you,â you whisper in return, enough to elicit a muffled chuckle from the blacksmith.Â
He pulls away to look you in the eye, fingers mapping the shape of your features. Even in the low light, you can see how his beautiful eyes glisten: this strong and stoic man, fighting the tears that threaten to fall.
You take his hand and guide it down your body, pausing to hitch up your shift and open your legs. You inhale sharply as his fingers find your pussy, well-practiced now from nights and early mornings spent pleasuring you.Â
With a shift of your hips you roll onto your back, bringing Din on top of you. You pause to take in the sight, suppressing the gnawing feeling that this might well be the last time. The glint in his dark eyes. The moonlight illuminating his features. The feeling of his strong, broad body above you, perfectly positioned between your thighs.Â
âMake love to me, Din.âÂ
He does so slowly, carefully, anchoring himself with one hand on your hip and the other still caressing the side of your face. You kiss as he fucks you, your whines absorbed by his soft mouth. No man had ever made you come before Din, you muse, as your cunt pulses around him and you near the edge. No man had ever made you feel like this - not just physically, but emotionally, too. Sex was presented to you before your marriage as a duty, not a pleasure. With Din, though, lovemaking felt like the most beautiful, natural expression of the spiritual connection that existed between the two of you.Â
You come almost simultaneously, Din groaning into your shoulder as he fills you with his seed, you biting your lip to stop yourself from crying out. Still inside you, he kisses you, over and over, your hands trailing through his wavy brown locks and fingers grazing against the rough, patchy stubble of his jaw.Â
For a moment, you think heâs about to say something. But all he does is kiss you.
Itâs still dark outside when you wake, but thereâs a comforting glow inside the cottage. You sit up in bed, turning to see Din stoking a small fire in the hearth. He has lit the lamp on the mantle, its flickering yellow flame casting light and shadow through the glass.Â
You dress quickly, shivering as your body adjusts to the colder air after the warmth of your shared bed, and cross the room to the little cupboard that holds the few pieces of crockery Din owns. By the time he has climbed the attic ladder to rouse the boy, youâve set the table for a simple breakfast of bread, butter, and the last of the jam youâd brought with you.Â
GrĂłâs fair hair peeks over his fatherâs broad shoulder as Din carries him down the ladder. The little boy is still half-asleep, eyes still closed and nestled into the blacksmithâs frame. Din carefully slides him into his usual seat at the table, ruffling his sonâs hair as GrĂł rubs his eyes and yawns.Â
âI think some bread and jam will help wake you up, hmmm?â You take a couple of slices of bread from the dish and place them on the boyâs little plate, before pushing the jar of jam in his direction. His dark eyes widen as he looks at you, astonished. This is a rare treat, indeed: usually itâs you or Din who spreads the sweet conserve on his bread, as GrĂł is liable to be heavy-handed. But this is not a day for rules or restrictions.
âYou can have as much as you like, little one.âÂ
The tears threaten at the sight of GrĂł enthusiastically scraping the jam out of the earthenware pot, a huge smile on his face as he spoons it liberally onto the soda bread. He takes a huge bite and hums delightedly, before turning to you and beaming. The little boy already has blobs of jam on his cheeks and nose, and the sight makes you chuckle.Â
Din returns to the main room carrying a small knapsack containing GrĂłâs things. He places it alongside your saddlebags before he joins the two of you at the table, giving your hand a squeeze that, you suspect, is intended to reassure him as much as it is you. He keeps a smile on his face, keeps his tone cheery and light, even as his eyes glisten with tears.Â
You are saddling RĂŠaltĂn in the dawn light when PeigĂ appears down the lane, wrapped in a rough brown cloak and riding her small grey mount. She dismounts swiftly and nods to you.Â
âAll set?â
âI think so. I left the two on their own for a little bit, just to⌠well, you know.â You swallow hard and look in the direction of the forge. âItâll be hard for them.â
PeigĂ hums in agreement. âAye, âtwill. But Dinâs right. And hopefully that bollocks of a so-called husband will be out of the picture soon enough and you can come home. The prick.â
You canât help but chuckle at the venom in her tone. âHopefully. Iâm awful grateful to you and your sister, PeigĂ. I mean, maybe weâre being overly cautious, butâŚâ
She shakes her head, russet curls bouncing. âNot a bit of it. You can never tell with a fucker like that.â The cottage door opens, and Din appears, GrĂł securely held in his strong arms.Â
âAnd thereâs the best boy in all of Ireland!â PeigĂ races over, taking the knapsack and planting a kiss on GrĂłâs cheek. âWe should probably get going, girleen.â
She tactfully retreats to the horses, giving you, Din, and GrĂł some space to say your goodbyes. You feel the blacksmithâs broad arm snake around your waist, uncaring as to whether PeigĂ saw the affectionate gesture - or, more likely, all too aware that she knew exactly what was going on.Â
The little boy brings a hand up to touch his fatherâs handsome face, big eyes scanning Dinâs features as if heâs committing them to memory.Â
âNĂĄ bĂodh eagla ort, grĂĄ mo chroĂ.â [Donât be afraid, love] The blacksmith smiles, but heâs fighting back the tears as he kisses his sonâs golden hair. Instinctively, you rest your head on Dinâs shoulder, trying to keep your own emotions in check.Â
GrĂłâs dark eyes fill with tears and his father comforts him with cuddles. âYouâll have a lovely time on the farm, wonât you? And youâll look after her while youâre on your visit.â He looks at you, and you nod, smiling at GrĂł.
âOf course he will. Heâs a big, brave lad.â The little boy grins at the praise before flinging his arms around Dinâs neck for a final tight hug.
âBe good, and take this.â Din reaches into his pocket to produce a small, silvery chain, evidently made by his own hands. A metal disc dangles from it, and you realise that Din has engraved it with his sonâs name. He places it over the boyâs head, smiling at GrĂł as he picks up the pendant and coos at the shiny object.
âWe should get going, lads.â PeigĂâs voice carries in the still of the early morning, and Din passes his son to you. GrĂł nuzzles against you, still holding on to the little pendant that hangs from his neck.Â
Dinâs long fingers find your hand and press something into your palm. He leans in to kiss your cheek. His voice, warm but wavering with emotion, whispers in your ear.Â
 âIs tĂş mo ghrĂĄ thĂş, mo chuisle.â [You are my love, my darling.]
You stifle the sob thatâs rising in your chest.Â
âI love you too, Din.â
PeigĂâs sister Rosie shares her sisterâs hardy, forthright personality and her tightly curled auburn hair, but not a lot else. Where PeigĂ is small, Rosie is tall; where PeigĂ is talkative and open, Rosie is quiet and reserved. Still, her welcome is genuine, her home comfortable, and you feel at ease from the moment you cross the threshold after a long dayâs journey to some semblance of sanctuary.
You retire quickly once youâve been fed and watered, PeigĂ sharing with Rosie while you and GrĂł make do with a settle bed. The little boy falls asleep almost immediately, and you gently kiss his soft cheek, willing him to know that it comes from his father, too.
With the household abed, you can finally look again at Dinâs parting gift to you: a chain and pendant, similar to GrĂłâs. Where the little boyâs bears his name, however, yours carries a symbol, evidently engraved into the metal by the blacksmith himself. Three interconnected spirals - an ancient symbol, one that you recognise from a dolmen tomb that stands in a field not far from your birthplace, one that people in the locality have long speculated about.
Father Carthy would say it is a symbol of the Holy Trinity: three divine beings in one, a sign of early Christians in Ireland. But the storytellers in the townland say itâs far older than any church, its meaning lost to the mists of time.
You trace the three spirals with your fingertip in the darkness. Three as one. For you, that is meaning enough.
He was alone for a long time, Din reminds himself - alone before you, alone even before GrĂł. He can be alone again.
That said, though, thereâs being alone and not knowing anything different, and being alone now. He still automatically goes to the foot of the attic ladder every morning, ready to wake his little boy. He hides the bowl and cup GrĂł usually uses, because the sight of them makes his heart ache. He throws himself into his work, distracting himself with glowing-hot metal.
And then there is your absence. He had never lived with a woman, not like this; never shared his bed night after night, never loved like this. For the first few days, he wakes with a start when he reaches for your warm, soft body and realises youâre not there.Â
He tries not to think about the reality of the situation: the fact that, even if you were to return home tomorrow, you could never be together, at least not while Searlas lived. There are nights when, alone in his bed and desperate for the embrace of your arms, violence tempts Din. In his younger years, he might already have taken matters into his own hands.Â
As the days and weeks tick by with no sign of your so-called husband, and no word from Father Carthy, the blacksmith reminds himself to be patient - and not to fall into complacency. He had never really lost that sense of looking over his shoulder: from childhood, from the rebellion, and now he felt glad of it. No one from the community mentions you to him, though he knows they must have heard by now that you had been hiding from Searlas at the forge. He does his repairs as usual, driving into the village with his pony and trap to return items and collect others, pulling his kerchief over his face as he makes his way through the main street lest he spy a troop of redcoats.Â
One of the regular customers asks about GrĂł when heâs returning her extra-large soup pan, newly mended. Din hesitates, but keeps his expression steady.
âHeâs spending time with someâŚcousins,â he explains. âOn a farm. Itâll be good for him, heâll learn from the experience.â
The woman doesnât ask further, pays up, and retreats back into her little house as Din turns his horse and cart for home. As he gathers speed, he hears a voice calling his name. Father Carthy, clad in his long black cassock and wearing a broad-brimmed hat, is waving to him from the end of the laneway that leads to the chapel.Â
âCould you spare me a few moments, Din? Follow me up to the parish house.â
The priestâs house is a decently-sized cottage, larger but not too dissimilar to the majority of the dwellings in the village. Father Carthy might be responsible for the majority of the believers in the community, but his is not the âestablishedâ church, the official church of the state and gentry, and as such his home is a far cry from the grand, double-fronted manse occupied by the vicar who tends to the local worthies. Even the location of the chapel, tucked off a narrow laneway behind the main street, is a testament to the lower status of this particular branch of religion.
Din enters, taking off his hat and kerchief, and follows the clericâs gesture to take a seat near the hearth. Father Carthy does the same, pulling his chair closer to Din.
âI have news. I havenât been able to find a way to dissuade Searlas from seeking her out, but a little bird tells me that theyâre going to change the troops again in a week or so. The current crop has beenâŚrowdy.â The priest purses his lips, mulling over the stories he has heard of public drunkenness, fighting, and even soldiers nonchalantly carousing with women in the pubs and on the street. He decides not to give Din too many of the gory details.Â
âSo theyâre going to be sent elsewhere, split up. Clonmel, I heard, for some, and Castlebar for others. Maybe a few to Cork. Thereâs ructions, as you can imagine - a rare thing to break up a regiment - butâŚâ
Din meets the priestâs meaningful gaze. âButâŚhe would be gone.â
Father Carthy nods. âItâs not a solution, not forever, but it at least would let her come home to her own place again, and GrĂł home to you. You were right to send the boy with her, too - who knows what might have happened had he come knocking?â
Din closes his eyes and furrows his brow at the priestâs turn of phrase: âher own placeâ. It was a reminder of the truth, that you were not - and could not be - his.
Father Carthy gets to his feet, a signal to Din that it was time to go. âIn the meantime, Iâm going to look more closely into the canon law around annulment. Iâm not hopeful, but maybe she might be able to build a case for it. He did abandon her, after all. Anyway -â he opens the door, and Din exits â- it would free her, at least, from the threat of him.â
The blacksmith thanks Father Carthy as he saddles up to head back to the forge, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks. On the road home, Din smiles to himself as he thinks about seeing GrĂł again, holding his little boy in his arms, watching you give him an extra spoonful of jam at breakfast, tucking him in to sleep at night. He thinks about your eyes, your smile; the feeling and taste of your mouth; the scent of your skin.Â
No matter what, he promises himself, no matter the rules or the law or whatever a piece of paper might say: heâll kiss you again, hold you, take you to bed, and show you how much he missed you.
A couple of days later, as dusk settles, Din lights the lamp and finishes clearing away his lone dinner bowl and mug. Anticipation courses through him as he thinks about seeing two - no, three - places set for the evening meal again. Soon. Soon, theyâll be home.
He yawns and stretches, a hand reaching up to scratch his wavy, dark locks. It had been a hard day in the forge: a run of horses that needed to be shod, urgent repairs, and the difficulty of managing the work itself as well as the bellows and the fire, all by himself. An early night, he decides, might be in order.
Heâs in his shirt and breeches when he hears the sound. A horse, its footfall cautious and uncertain, as though it had not been down the laneway before. A rider, barking commands and swearing at the animal. Din pulls his kerchief from his pocket and fastens it around his face before climbing swiftly up the attic ladder. His hand reaches into the thatch, on the other side of the house from GrĂłâs little bed, and retrieves a pike, smaller in design than the ones heâd hammered by the dozen in 1798 but no less lethal in the right hands. He grips the pike in his right hand, hidden from view while he opens the door with his left.
The rider struggles off his horse, evidently drunk. His scarlet tunic is unmistakable. The light from the cottage illuminates his features: pale, washed-out complexion; unhappy mouth set in a miserable line; hard blue eyes that offered nothing but coldness.Â
âWhere the fuck is she, then, the stupid fucking bitch?â
Dinâs fist tightens around the pike, but he holds his ground, still peering around the door. âWho is it? Who are you?â
Searlas swaggers drunkenly towards the house. âI know youâre a tinker, but you donât have to play thick with me. You know who I am.â He beats his chest, peacocking as he nears Dinâs threshold. âIâm a soldier of the fucking crown, so I am. And Iâm here for whatâs mine.â
He pokes Dinâs broad chest, seeming a little startled at how solid the blacksmith actually is. Searlasâs watery eyes meet Dinâs stern gaze.Â
âSo⌠where the fuck is she?â
âWhoever youâre after,â Din says, maintaining the same tone heâs used throughout the encounter so far, âtheyâre not here. I live alone.â
Searlas pushes Din in frustration, and Din recoils a little at the stench of cheap poitĂn from the other, smaller man. âI know sheâs fucking here. The whole fucking place knows.â He steps back and starts to roar upwards, as if addressing you in an attic hiding place.Â
âDid you not think Iâd find you? Youâre that fucking stupid, you would think that. Iâm here now, time to go home. Youâre mine, remember?â He shakes his fist, swaying a little.
âSheâs not here. And even if she was, why do you care so much now? You left her on her own for years, apart from all the other things you did to her.â
Searlas stares at Din, a look of disgust on his face. âSo you do know her? Sheâs full of shit, so she is. Full of lies. Not to be trusted.â
He wheels around again, almost losing his balance completely this time. âYou were seen, you lying cunt!â
Dinâs fingers clench and release over and over around the pike. He swallows the urge to run this miserable fucker through.
The soldier looks at him through glassy, drunken eyes. âSheâs mine, see. And I think I want to take whatâs mine. Time she was taught a lesson.â He roars the last word, as if hoping youâll hear him and emerge.
The blacksmith edges out slightly and stands firmer, broader, in his front door. Searlas stares at him accusingly.Â
âDâyou fuck her?â
Din holds his body and face completely still, focusing on the grip of the pike and his breathing.
âI said, did you fuck her? Did you fuck my wife?â
Din takes a deep breath. âDo you have the right to call her your wife, after what you did?â
Searlasâs jaw drops in astonishment. Din knew that he was just a bog-standard Irish Catholic soldier signed up for cannon fodder like all the others, but it was clear that the other man believed his uniform made him one of the âbettersâ, no matter what.
âWhat did you say to me?â
âI said, do you have the right to call her your wife?â
Searlas almost growls with drunken fury. âI have the right to call her whatever I fucking like.â Din notices his fist tightening by his side and steels himself as the other man approaches, menacingly.Â
âIâll call her what I fucking like,â Searlas repeats, âincluding calling her what she is. A slut. A liar. A frigid, barren, useless excuse for a woman. And now? Sheâs filthy, tinkerâs whore. Thatâs all she is. A stupid, ugly, disgusting tinkerâs whore.â
The speed with which Din moves takes the soldier by surprise, as does the bright flash of the pikeâs blade as it reflects the moonlight. The blacksmith uses the long handle first, roaring as he beats Searlas away with some well-placed blows. He moves with agility and confidence as the soldier fumbles in his sleeves for a weapon, and produces a narrow switchblade dagger.
âIâll fucking show you, tinker,â he roars, the poitĂn giving him an exaggerated confidence. âIâll skin you alive, fucking another manâs wife.â
He lunges at Din, but a swift, measured flick of the pikeâs bladed end knocks the dagger to the ground and tears a hole in the scarlet tunic. Now Din presses his advantage, driving Searlas back to his horse.
âGet out of here and leave her alone. Forever. Donât you ever come near her again.â
A more sober man would have cut and run, and would do so wisely. But Searlasâs selfishness combined with his drunkenness made for a terrible cocktail of aggression and abuse.
âAnd what will you do, tinker? They should have hanged every last one of you rebel scum in â98. Pity that scalp wasnât ripped from your skull with a pitchcap.â He pats his thighs, as if seeking another blade. âYou couldnât defend yourselves then, why do you think you could stand up to the kingâs army now?â He cocks his head and looks at Din, eyes menacing.Â
âOr are you just that desperate to defend a thick, useless slut like my wife?â
The grunting, the roars, and the sickening sound of a strong, sturdy fist meeting flesh and bone resonate in the stillness of the twilight. And then another sound, louder still: the unmistakable thud of a manâs body hitting the cold ground.Â
#tempered in the fire fic#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal character fanfiction#din djarin au#blacksmith!din djarin#blacksmith!din djarin x f!reader#din djarin fanfiction#historical AU#the mandalorian AU#the mandalorian fanfiction#pedrostories#the mandalorian#din djarin#tempered fic
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Harvest Moon
Book: Perfect Match
Rating: PG
Pairings: Basil Park (m!MC) x Sage Young (f!Hayden), Basil Park x Sloane Washington, Kim Washington
Summary: It's Sage's first ever birthday! And what better way to celebrate it than a fun road trip to a place where they can see the last supermoon of the year - just her, Basil, Sloane and Kim. But this time might be a little different - because this time around, Kim knows Sage is a Match...
Word Count: 4, 099 words
Note: While looking up this year's celestial sightings would be, I discovered that 29th Sept is when we will see the last supermoon of the year. PM is set in the future but for sure I felt like it would be just extra special for me to do a similar setting for a birthday fic đ The events of this fic are referenced in "Saffron Sugar, Turmeric Spice"
--
Sage is pretty sure no one-year-old has ever had a birthday surprise quite like this one.
Though technically, there was no way it could have been a surprise. This road trip was planned and booked two months in advance, Sloane and Kim have been wanting to check out Cherry Springs State Park's dark sky view for a while, and Basil and Sage have checked the Yearly Astronomical Reference Guide on seasky.org often enough to know that the very last supermoon you'll see this year, will make an appearance on Sage's birthday.
Sure, there are people who'll wonder at the wisdom of driving five hours for a view they could enjoy anywhere in New York. But combining road trips and amateur astronomy is a family tradition. Their family tradition. A tradition the Washington women created and enjoyed themselves; a tradition both Sage and Basil both love. Because the Washingtons are their family.
Sage lets out a low, trembling sigh, and clutches her jacket closer to her body.
Were, she reminds herself, maybe "were my family" is the better phrase to use here. Would still be, if she hadn't opened her big mouth on a visit to DC last week. While Kim stood outside her door, frozen in stunned silence.
The memory is humiliating enough now to make Sage train her eyes with unusual focus outside the car window. She doesn't want to see the worry in Basil's eyes, or the pleas to talk to her in Sloane's.
She isn't sure what she'll see in Kim's, because it's been hard maintaining eye contact with her ever since that moment in the doorway - but she knows for sure whatever warmth she'd seen there before must be long gone.
On the face of it, everything seems the same. After that awkward first day, Kim seemed eager to steer things back to normal. So normal, in fact, that it began to freak Sage out.
It wouldn't be the first time someone tried to talk like everything was okay, while their stares and body language said something else altogether. Damien's wariness. Khaan's clinical interest. Winona's transparent-as-glass attempts to look away from her shoulder. The brief flash of pain in President Thompson's eyes every time she saw Sage. And while there's been enough press releases and outreach designed to change public opinion on sentient andriods....the path to real transformation is slow. And hard. And sometimes downright exhausting.
Sage is tired. She doesn't want to have to go through conversations like that again. And to have Kim - the woman she considered mom even before they met - be the person she had that talk with...would practically break her.
Better to keep off that eventuality for as long as she possibly can.
"Sage, baby," Kim says, distractedly, eyes on the road. "Which song next? Come Fly With Me, Fly Me to The Moon or The Girl from Ipenama?"
Nervous, Sage bites her lip. Kim has never had this much trouble choosing Sinatra songs on a road trip before. Still, maybe guessing why Kim would want these tunes in particular would distract her. The first one probably for the travel vibes. The second fits the theme of their trip and Sage suspects Kim would put the third one on just to get her to translate the Spanish verses again.
"Come Fly With Me for now," she says, "I don't care if it's about going on a plane and reminds me how sick and tired we all got of airplane peanuts last year - it's still a travel song."
Kim's laughter is light like a summer breeze, as she fiddles with the radio. Sloane joins her, her voice so like her mother's that they sound like double echoes. Sage can see the swing of her new earrings as Sloane turns to look at them. Bright yellow hoops that contrast so perfectly with her purple blazer, the spiral-like curls at the edges intricate and made entirely of paper.
Sage feels a glow of pride, looking at the immaculate detailing. Kim had taken up quilling as a hobby only early this year, and already her craftwork could rival any seasoned professional.
"Wonder how Dipper's doing," Sloane murmurs, suddenly rummaging inside her bag for her phone, "maybe I should give Nadia and Steve a call?"
"In the lap of luxury, for sure," Basil says, smiling.
"That dog is so spoiled," Sage lets out an unladylike snort.
Kim looks too preoccupied with the road to say anything, but no more than two minutes later the song on the car radio changes. To a song that Sage is pretty damn sure isn't a regular one on their playlist. Mama Will Bark. With its humourous whimsy, terrible dog puns and periodic howling. Sage almost chokes on her own laugh.
Her eyes meet Kim's in the front view mirror for less than a second; so belief that she's convinced she has to have imagined that Kim winked at her.
--
Basil and Sloane give Sage her birthday gift at the Campgrounds, just before sunset. She gasps at the beauty she's just unwrapped - A GoPro Hero 35 Black camera kit; the Creator Edition Bundle, the kind that comes with a chest mount, a head mount, a tripod - the works. It's the kind of camera that would work like magic any time, any terrain, any weather. An adventure lover's dream.
"Wow..." she breathes, her chest tight, "Fucking wow."
Behind them, Kim clears her throat. Very audibly.
Spying from beneath her lashes, Sage spots a slight smile. "Oops," she says, not feeling very sorry at all. Secret jokester that she is, Kim likes to front like she cares about the group's collective tendency to cuss at the drop of a hat, but does such a poor job of it that it's become an inside joke among them all now.
Kim chuckles. "What say we all take a small walk after half an hour?"
The three of them nod, and stuff the wrapping paper and used tapes into a bag they've reserved just for garbage, to be thrown at the sanitary dump area before they leave the premises. Basil looks around the near-empty expanse of greenery, "We could go now if you want, Kim."
A small huff of laughter. "Not yet. The moon will be out any minute now. Go put that camera to good use and...moongaze, I guess...I'll just take care of a few things in the tent."
Soon enough, the harvest moon does come out - more swollen, more rounded, more golden than the full moon they're all used to. Its colouring takes on an almost ombre tone - a light gold at the top, melting into an almost red-orange hue towards the bottom. It feels so close you could be tempted to reach out and touch it.
It wasn't like they didn't know what to expect. Sloane told them. Showed them videos, pictures, all peppered with jargon they could barely understand. Explained the science so that by the time they came here they knew that, technically, this was an optical illusion caused by the moon's elliptical orbit. They knew what a perigee was. Enough documentary nights have passed between the three of them to make the moon sound like less of an object of magic and whimsy, and more a funny little rock that orbits the earth every 28 days.
But...but seeing it up there like this, up in a sky unmarred by smog and bright lights, where on any other night the Milky Way would be laid out across the sky like a carpet of stars. And so close, that you could make out - ever so faintly - the lattice work of the craters and the fine lines that connect them. Sage wonders at the sheer intimacy of this experience; of being here, watching this, with the two people who mean the world to her.
"Yknow what," she murmurs, rummaging through boxes and protective cases and quickly setting up the GoPro, "now would be a good time to try this baby out. Like, it is my birthday."
Basil grins. "I'm game," he says looking at Sloane, "have any ideas, babe?"
Sloane looks up, nose scrunched in deep thought. "Would silhouettes take too much time? The moon could shift position too soon if we don't time it right."
"Leave that to me," Sage says, smirking. "I'm the photographer here, remember?"
Sloane rolls her eyes in a way that reminds them eerily of Alana. "I built you from scratch a year ago, remember?"
"TouchĂŠ," Sage chuckles as she gets to work. The setup isn't easy, and the fact that the moon could shift position anytime makes Sage's movements almost frenetic, but just as she is about to signal to Basil and Sloane to move together for a silhouette shot perfectly set up on the backdrop of a Harvest Moon, she sees Sloane approach her.
"You're the birthday girl," she says, panting, "You should get first dibs on a shot."
Sage giggles. "Trust you to spoil me as much as you do Dipper." She makes a few final adjustments, then turns to Sloane. "You know how to work this?"
"Sure I do. I looked up at least 8 - no, 9 - tutorials!"
She lets out a belly laugh, playfully punching Sloane in the shoulder. "Show off."
Sloane has only one instruction to Basil and Sage when they finally position themselves to her satisfaction. They're already in each other's arms; Sage winding hers behind his neck and fiddling idly with the mess of curls there, Basil flattening his palms against her waist, nuzzling her nose with his.
"Kiss already!" Sloane yells.
Basil grins. "As the lady wishes," Sage barely hears the words over the rush of sensation flooding her, as his mouth descends on her top lip. She smiles into the kiss, her hands already moving to fist themselves in his shirt.
Almost a year since they first met, since that first life-altering kiss outside his apartment door. So much has happened to them since then...but still. Her pulses still race like it's the first time all over again.
Sage takes a deep, shaky breath when their lips part, her forehead touching his, not fully ready to break contact yet. She caresses his back slowly as she lets go, and she knows that the biggest, goofiest, sappiest grin must be showing on her face right now.
She calls out to Sloane as she makes her way to where she's standing. "Your turn, space princess!"
Sage lines up her shot and stands back, noting with satisfaction that the moon looks suitably large - overwhelmingly so - and still very close to the horizon. Basil and Sloane's silhouettes stand out perfectly against the backdrop; Sloane cups his face with both hands as she usually does, her shoulders folding in on themselves as she allows herself to settle into their kiss. Sage knows it's always been this way between them; sharing physical space isn't easy for Sloane, and she needs a partner who will ease her in rather than rush her.
Sage doesn't know what that feels like - she needs an element of surprise, the thrill of brief, needy kisses in hidden hallways. She's always been the more tactile one - for her, touch is comfort. And somehow, inexplicably, Basil seems to understand both their ways of loving, and enjoy it. Love it, even.
Stop being sappy, Sage shakes her head, laughing, you're gonna take the best damn pictures of them they've ever seen, just wait.
The camera captures everything - Sloane standing on tiptoe to kiss Basil, one of his hands tenderly cradling the back of her neck and the other wrapped around her, the shape of their parted lips so heart-stoppingly close as they move away. Sage has taken so many that it will probably be harder to pick the best one from the lot.
They take more pictures by the moon (Kim pops by shortly after Sage's last shots of Basil and Sloane, telling them she'll take fifteen more minutes before joining them for their walk). Sloane and Sage forming the cheesiest-ever heart shapes with their arms, making Basil laugh so much they're sure his photos will come out a blurry, incoherent mess. Spotting a nightjar on a low branch, lining the shot up so its silhouette is caught in sharp contrast to the supermoon too.
Sage wants to take other, simpler pictures: just them sitting and talking, the moonlight casting a golden glow over their faces...but she can't. She won't. Without Kim, pictures like that would feel incomplete. No matter what problems they may have among themselves, no matter what Kim would think of her...Kim matters too much to be excluded from her most personal, most vulnerable photos of this night.
Almost as though summoned by Sage's thoughts, Kim appears. Her smile seems a little tired, and her right hand seems to curl loosely into itself. A fist, but not quite. She carries a flashlight with a red filter on her right hand, the ones they all bought two weeks ago to preserve their night vision. For the first time Sage looks back at her, and when she looks at Basil and Sloane a few seconds later there is something strange about their smiles that she can't exactly place.
They're ten minutes into their walk when Sage realizes that Basil and Sloane are far behind her and Kim, seeming to take their own sweet time to catch up.
Panicking, she turns to Kim, searching her face for a mirror of the confusion she feels. She finds none. Kim is instead taking deep breaths, putting her hands in her pockets and soaking in the fragrance of the dark cherry trees nearby. Like she isn't in any real hurry either.
An invisible fist seems to close around the center of her chest. Sage can hardly breathe.
"Sit with me for a bit, Sage." Kim's voice is warm, gentle, like the handmade quilt she'd made Sloane one Christmas, that now covers the three of them in their own bed. For the first time she doesn't trust the emotion she reads into it.
Sage doesn't give much thought these days to the inner workings of her own body. Whether she has heartbeats, what causes the fizzing sensation beneath her skin whenever she gets too nervous, how her blushing (which not many notice) isn't a result of too much blood rushing to a singular place but a mechanism set in motion by commands and code. But it's times like these - when her body feels too much, all at once - that she wishes she understood better how it all worked. That she wonders why the magnitude of what she's experiencing alone doesn't cause her body to shut down.
Right now, it's just one emotion - fear - and there's too much of it firing every synapse in this manmade (womanmade? Sloane created her, after all) body.
She feels Kim's eyes boring into her as they settle on the grass.
"Sage, honey. Did I do something wrong?"
For the first time in a week, Sage looks up at Kim and actually holds her gaze this time. Those weren't the words she was expecting to hear, nor is this soft, worrying look in her eyes the one she was expecting to see. She lets out a deep, shuddering breath.
"Thought you hated me," she presses her lips together, hating the way tears form a film over her eyes and blur her vision, hating her inability nowadays to pretend she was strong when she most needed it, "For lying. For not being human enough."
The force of Kim's sudden embrace feels as powerful as a gut punch. Sage gasps at how strong Kim's arms feel, wrapped around her shoulders, engulfing her so that Sage's face is buried in the space between neck and shoulder. She breathes in Kim's distinctive fragrance - fresh herbs and warm tea - and is hit by the sudden sharp memory of the phantom figure she rarely thinks about now. The mother who hugged her just like this when her first crush rejected her in front of the whole school. The mother Sloane programmed her to remember.
"Oh, honey," Kim whispers, hands rubbing down her back in a rhythm that Sage always associated with soft blankets and lullabies. "No. No. No. Never." Her voice is soft and hoarse, almost like she's trying to hold back tears. "I could never hate you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I ever allowed you to think that."
Sage turns her head in the opposite direction towards the moonlit horizon, cheek still pressed against Kim's shoulder. It isn't Kim's fault, not really. She was trying to tell her nothing had changed. It was...it was just hard for her to believe.
She takes a few deep breaths, tries hard not to let her tears fall. They fall anyway.
When Kim speaks again, her voice is still soft, barely louder than a whisper. "I...I think I know where I got it wrong. That first day, wasn't it? Because I barely said anything."
Sage doesn't answer. There's too much she wants to say; none of it feels right for this conversation. Kim pauses for a beat, then speaks again.
"I think I wanted to take time to process. All those times I saw you crying about your mother, all those times the three of you would look at me...like there was something you needed to hide from me."
"Sorry," Sage says, giving Kim's arm an apologetic squeeze. "We were going to tell you at some point, I swear. I guess we just keep putting it off."
Kim places her hands on either side of Sage's face, raising it as if she wants to take a good look at her. Her eyes are moist too, and the pain she feels at making Kim sad twists inside her stomach like a knife. "Sloane told me you had no clue who you were until you saved Basil from a taser."
Sage nods. "I had all these memories. Huddling under a table with my mom during a storm. Getting jealous when my friends were hogging her attention," Kim chuckles a little at that one. Sage looks down before she whispers, "road trips with Sinatra on the radio..."
Kim's hands come to her shoulders now, as she shakes her head. "Sloane told me about that. All I could think of was what my poor Sage had been through. I felt like I needed to fully reevaluate everything I thought I knew about you with all that in mind. And when the time came to talk...I guess I didn't know how to actually talk about it."
Sage nods and looks away, finally understanding. Her brain is too much on overdrive to immediately respond, the words she doesn't hate me, she doesn't hate me, forming a tattoo in her head.
Kim speaks again. "I wanted to show you that it didn't matter to me...that's why I started speaking to you like before. Except...that backfired, didn't it?"
Sage sighs. Kim doesn't know about all the people who tried to pretend and then screwed up anyway, and Sage doesn't want her to know. "Maybe. But I don't know if I was ready to talk either," she says slowly, "And I can't blame you for taking a day to think."
Kim seems to search Sage's face for... something - Sage can't figure out what - before she moves away, raising her knees in front of her and winding her arms around them. There is a small, tight smile on her lips. "I guess you could say I was...processing."
For a few moments, Sage can do nothing but blink. Several times.
"Oh my God, Kim," once Sage gets it, she can't stop laughing, "that joke was terrible!"
The smile widens. "Sorry my load time took most of the day."
"No! Worse!"
Kim stares at her, all placid innocence. "Kim.exe has stopped working."
"Stop! Stop!" Sage almost punches her arm in her attempts to stop laughing, just like she did at Kim's jokes several weeks ago, and every golden, sunlit, wonderful week before that. "You're killing me here!"
Kim and Sage fall over each other, finding themselves in loop after loop of giggle fits. So much so that they forget what they were actually laughing about - they only have to look at each other before they start again.
When they're done clutching their stomachs and wiping tears from their eyes, Sage keeps her head on Kim's shoulder. Kim keeps her arm around Sage's. All the laughter is gone from Kim's voice now; it is low and measured, as if she's been practicing the words.
"It isn't fair."
Sage tenses. "What isn't?"
"That anyone would make you believe...that how you were built, should make you any less of a person."
Sage smiles wanly. It's as if all the stress and all the pain, all the fear of having to face hostility again, has leaked out of her - leaving her in a weird mix of exhaustion and bliss. She winds her arms around Kim's midsection, closing her eyes against the faint memory of doing this as a child, to a figure who feels more phantom than mother.
"I have my people," she says, "and before you ask - yes, you're one of them. I was just afraid I'd lose you."
Their arms tighten around each other. "Never," Kim says it like a vow, then tilts her head to where Basil and Sloane stand, holding hands and gazing at the harvest moon.
Sage grins, briefly dislodging herself from Momma Kim's embrace and calling out to them.
"Get here, you two! Stop pretending to moongaze or whatever. Kim and I patched up!"
"About time you did!" Basil calls back as they both make their way towards Kim and Sage.
Sage pretends to look annoyed. "We spent, like, a whopping ten minutes yapping here. The least you could've done was sneak in a good makeout sesh."
"Sage!" Sloane says, grinning and hiding her face in Basil's arm. "Not in front of mom!"
Kim laughs. "You two expect me to believe that? I've seen more than my fair share, Trudy!"
Seeing the four of them laugh together in a way they haven't all week, Sage's chest feels so full she can hardly bear it. They all stand together, switching between giggly banter about the rest of the group and gazing up at the golden moon again. They know it's the last time they'll see a supermoon this year.
Kim stops Sage just as they're all about to return to their tents, ready to settle for the night. Basil and Sage look at each other, smile, and go inside.
"C'mere," she says, taking something out of her pocket. Whatever it is, it's small enough to nestle in the palm of her hand. "In the middle of all that yapping I forgot to give you your birthday present, darling."
Sage lets out a soft gasp. In the brief but intense rollercoaster that was today she almost forgot she had a birthday to celebrate.
Kim opens her palm to reveal two large, gorgeous, teardrop shaped earrings - the quilling pattern on them so intricate it reminds Sage of arabesque designs. Even in the dark the colours dazzle: electric blue on the outside, sunset orange on the inside. The double-toned hues remind Sage so much of a fiery sunset, sinking into a deep blue sea.
"Happy birthday, honey," Kim whispers.
This work of art. One that must have taken blood, sweat, tears, paper strips, glue, tools. One that must have taken Momma Kim hours to get right.
Sage tries to swallow a lump in her throat, cursing herself for the fresh onset of tears. "For me?"
Kim lets out a laugh that borders on watery. "Anything for my girls." She steals a glance at their tent, "and boy, of course. Basil's getting a pendant. Don't tell."
She giggles; another implanted memory emerges as she holds out her little finger. This time it doesn't appear with the wave of bitterness that usually follows...this time, she holds that memory to her chest, with joy. And love.
She links her pinky with Kim's, laughing again as the older woman's eyes brighten. "Pinky promise."
--
They'd asked for a two-night stay when they'd made the bookings. Cherry Springs is an internationally-acclaimed Dark Sky Park, Sloane had explained back then, before slipping into what they all dub her personal "Guide to Understanding Astronomy Jargon for My Very Confused Boyfriend and Best Friend", That means a place that restricts artificial light so you can experience true darkness. The stars can never be clearer in the night sky than in a place like that! You just won't see as much of it when you have a big bright supermoon on the horizon.
Which is how they end up staying another night at Cherry Springs, soaking in the brilliance of the stars against a slowly waning moon, shrunk to its usual size. The three of them are huddled together beneath a quilt that Kim had knitted for Sloane, long before she had ever met Basil and Sage.
Kim herself has turned in for the night, early sleeper that she is. She'd kissed them all goodnight before leaving, and Sage couldn't resist tightening her arms around her so she could hold on to her warmth a minute more.
Sage marvels at how comfortably the three of them fit against each other right now: her head on Basil's shoulder, Sloane's lying sideways against his chest, her fingers idly playing with the smaller curls above Sage's neck, taking full advantage of the fact that she feels ticklish there. Sage squirms and buries her hushed laughter in Basil's arm.
Dangly, beautiful, handmade earrings - yellow and blue-orange - swing joyously against Sloane's and Sage's necks. Hugging the quilt tighter to herself, Sage begins to play with Sloane's lovely yellow hoops. Sloane returns the gesture, grinning cheekily, and Basil lets out a small huff of laughter.
They'll head home tomorrow - wind in their hair, the sun on their skin, singing New York, New York. Just as they did before they came here...but not at all the same. They will probably return louder. Happier. More one with each other than ever before.
She looks around at the two people with her, and the woman already sleeping in a tent inside. When she releases a breath, it comes out in a happy sigh.
My people, Sage thinks dreamily, as her eyes follow the long, winding, heaven-bound path of the Milky Way. My family.
--
Harvest moons refer to the final supermoon of the year, which usually shows up towards the end of September. It's called so because it coincides with the harvest season. This year it actually did happen on 29th Sept. Learn more about harvest moons here, and different kinds of supermoons here.
References for the quilled earrings Kim made for the girls:
I HC that Sloane likes hoops, and this is the first design Kim masters. So the one on the left is Sloane's, and the blue-orange one on the right is Hayden's birthday present.
Currently the latest GoPro in the market is the Hero 12, but since this is set in the future I've given it a different number.
Faceclaims:
Sage Young - Lupita Nyong'o
Basil Park - Eric Mun
Sloane Washington - Nelly Muse
Kim Washington - Aunjanue Ellis
-
Tagging @choicesficwriterscreations for FoTW and (possibly) Bisexual Awareness Week
Tagging @choicesseptemberchallenge2023 for Day 4 - Moonlight, Moon (pls ignore if the entry is too late)
Tagging @choicesprompts for Flufftober, "Birthday Surprise".
Tagging @haydenyoungappreciationweek and @sazanes for Day 5: Happy Birthday Hayden!
#hayden young#perfect match#haydenyoungappreciationweek#HYAW#HYAW 2023#HYAW Day 5#HYAW Day 5: Happy Birthday Hayden!#lizzybeth1986#content: fanfic
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Heart of Gold
CisFem Reader x Trafalgar Law
CW: ptsd, trauma, depictions/implications of suicide and suicidal ideation, language, violence, blood, canonical character death, mature themes and events 18+
Chapter 9: Reason
Law sits at his desk, watching your steady breathing. He had woken up a few minutes ago and had found you asleep in the chair again. Your sleep was at least peaceful this time, and he carefully moved you into the bed before reclaiming his seat at his desk. His ears tuned into your breathing as he opened a drawer on the desk and pulled out a heart in its own container.
Vergoâs heart wasnât beating anymore. The morning light reflected off it oddly due to the power that put it in his care in the first place.
The Coo News hadnât a word of his betrayal, but that wasnât unexpected. The World Government â and the Marines themselves â wouldnât have undermined their own authority by admitting to such an infiltration. Working under Donquixote Doflamingo, a government sanctioned Warlord, was probably why Vergo wasnât imprisoned.
The manâs death was as much a warning to Doflamingo as it was a statement to the other Warlords, and the Warlords were probably the only ones aware of the execution. Law imagined it had taken the combined might of all the other Warlords in order to keep Doflamingo from attempting to rescue Vergo in the first place.
All the manâs flaws aside, Doflamingo was recklessly loyal to his family. Especially for those that were recklessly loyal toward him.
It was a wrinkle in the original plan, but nothing that was insurmountable. At least, that was Lawâs hope. There were too many things he couldnât be sure of, and it was a risk no matter what he did. If he disappeared off the map entirely then Doflamingo would get suspicious with the timing. He probably had no idea who was on the island that had (Y/N) entombed â Vergo hadnât had a way to contact him after running into Law.
His best option was to carry on like nothing was unusual. Law traveled, and so he would travel. There was no reason to keep an extra low profile, but he also couldnât overtly advertise himself either. He sighs softly.
Acting natural would be a lot easier if he wasnât trying to act natural.
âIs that a real heart?â Law barely hears the question as he nearly falls out of his chair. He steadies himself and glares at you. âSorry.â
Your eyes find his in the morning light of the room, before you look back at the heart. âIf it is a facsimile, it is unnervingly accurate.â
â⌠You know what my devil fruit can do.â Thereâs irritation in his voice, but youâre sure it has nothing to do with your question.
âI do. It was an enemy then?â
âVergo.â He says. âHe works for Donquixote Doflamingo, one of the Warlords. He was pretending to be a marine without admitting his connection to Do- are you okay?â
You had sat up at the mention of the name, and your wide eyes were fixed on Law. âD-Donquixote?â
âYeah⌠whatâs wrong?â
âMy⌠I meanâŚâ You try to settle yourself, sitting upright on the bed and looking away from Law. âI just remember that family name.â You admit. âI hadnât expected to hear it after so long.â
â⌠As far as Iâm aware, the major families that become Celestial Dragons during the war have survived unbroken in their lineage since then.â He explains. âMost people donât know their family names anymore though, thereâs no reason to. Celestial Dragons are always surrounded by guards, slaves and grand processions when they travel, you canât miss them.â
âThat soundsâŚâ You make a disgusted expression trying to think of the right word. âUseless.â
âIt isnât useless; there is a function to it. Impeding the path of a Celestial Dragon will get you executed. Speaking up against them, harming them, considering harming them, interfering with their tributes, generally anything other than prostrating yourself in the dirt can be seen as an act of aggression.â
You rankle, inwardly and outwardly if Lawâs small smile is any indication. âTruly?â
Law nods. âDoflamingoâs family â well, his father more precisely â gave up their Celestial rights and joined the rest of us mere mortals when Doffy was a kid. Weâll keep the long story short for now, and just say that things didnât go so well for them.â
âI⌠would imagine not.â You admit, and notice Law quirk an eyebrow at you. âI⌠I was royalty. My father fell from power for hiding my ability. Civil war, spurred on by noble factions, led to disastrous ends.â You explain, your face and tone are pained and weary and youâve barely begun. âIt was the beginning of The Fall. The catalyst that led to, well, today â your Celestial Dragons, the lost century, the prophecy⌠I daresay I wouldnât be surprised to learn this One Piece is tied into it all.â
You shake your head. âI digress. War⌠war hurts the people more than those who cause it, and rightfully so, the people were angry. It mattered little that I was barely thirteen at the time. Mattered little that we lost while trying to defend them.â You lower your gaze in shame. âI was angry at first. Indignant. With time I learned better.â
You swallow hard, but Law doesnât stop you or interrupt you. âEventually, my family and I were taken in by a family in a different kingdom. We were useful, and fully aware of that fact. It didnât matter that my kingdom had fallen, I was still of royal blood. I became friends with the daughter of that family, and became something of a socialite. I required power and support, so I had to, as Lami used to say, play the-.â
Law sucks in a sharp breath, nearly standing up from his chair. âWho?â
âL-Lami, I â Iâm quite sure itâs not someone you would know, sheâŚâ You point to him. âShe had your devil fruit.â
â⌠She was one of your friends that died.â He says it almost in relief, but something in his tone nearly breaks your heart.
âYes. She was.â Youâre both quiet for long moments until you hesitantly break the silence. âDid you⌠know someone with that name?â
Law nods, or so you assume, the gesture is very slight. âIt wasâŚâ He takes a deep breath and puts a hand over his face. âIt was my sisterâs name.â
âMy condolences.â You offer the words softly. âI can refrain from-.â
âNo, itâs⌠itâs fine. I just hadnât expected to hear that name.â He offers you a small smile. âWhat was your other friendâs name? You mentioned there were two.â
âBanchina,â you say with a warm smile. âShe didnât have a family name. A commoner who had been pulled into the world of nobility. She was⌠quietly fierce. Very bright too, she learned everything she needed to know quickly, and thrived in her position.
âWell⌠until everything went to hell again.â You stretch, seated on the bed. âFrom thirteen to twenty-two things went relatively well for me. Lami married, so did Banchina, both had loving partners and healthy families. Around the time I was twenty-three the world began to shift again.â
âThe beginning of The Fall.â Law prompts, and you nod.
âI donât know precisely what caused it, but the political field shifted over the next couple years. My benefactors were on the side of forming the Celestial Dragons. Considering my disdain for such an idea, it put me in a tight spot. Lami shared my disdain, despite being a part of⌠um⌠Of that family.â You say, swallowing hard. âHer, Banchina and I began to make plans. Weâd get their families out safely and without raising suspicion, and then flee ourselves, if we could do nothing to change the course of things.â
âSounds like a desperate time.â
âIt⌠was. I had amassed a solid following, but most of that following was also loyal to my benefactor, and that support withered on the vine as things progressed. In the end I was provided with an ultimatum. One I imagine was the entire goal even before we had been provided protection.â
Youâre both quiet for a moment and realization dawns on Law. âThe marriage.â
You nod. âI was meant to⌠be used.â You hug yourself involuntarily, the emotion makes you uncomfortable. âAs a means to manufacture funds.â
â⌠So you removed your emotions.â
âNo emotions, no tears. No tears, no⌠well, anything.â You admit with a sad smile. You breathe deep and let out the breath slowly, trying to relax. âRelief from the plan itself produced the necessary gold. Lami removed my emotions, Banchina manipulated the gold. She fled with the heart.
âFor a year or so, Lami and I evaded capture.â You look up at the ceiling trying not to break into tears. âI remember it all so clearly, but⌠IâŚâ
Law moves closer to you, sitting down beside you on the bed. âI donât have a handkerchief on me, but you can cry into my shirt if you need to.â
You laugh softly, the idea of a pirate captain offering his shirt like this strikes you as a little absurd. Law and his crew were certainly kind though, you had learned as much long before your emotions had been returned. Heart pirates indeed.
âI am a bit out of practice, but I can hold them back.â You say, patting his thigh a little. âWould it be too forward of me to rest my head on your shoulder?â
Law adjusts a little, moving his arm until itâs against your back, hand resting on your waist, as you set your head on his chest. The warmth and the contact are comforting. Maybe it was because they had a mink among their number, but the crew was certainly very close with one another.
âI remember the moments,â you say as the warmth helps to ease your emotions. âClear and objectively, but itâs almost too clear. I should be scared, exhausted, or frustrated. Instead, I am often prompting Lami to continue to move, âwe cannot stayâ, âwe cannot lingerâ.â Your voice shifts to something flat, almost devoid of emotion, but Law can hear the twinge of sorrow in the mockery of your own remembered emptiness.
âI could not hate it then, but I can now.â You lean into Law a little more, feeling the tears threaten your eyes again. âI could do nothing for her, or Banchina. I could not even offer comfort or support.â
Lawâs hand rubs against your back in slow circles. The action is soothing, the warmth is comforting. You focus on the action, trying not to think about the memories that swirled in your mind like cruel specters.
âMy apologies.â You say after a few long moments. âAll I seem to be doing lately is lamenting a past that is some centuries gone.â
âWere you aware during your imprisonment?â Law asks.
You shake your head. âI remember,â you hesitate. What you remember was throwing yourself from a cliff because you preferred death to capture. âThe moment before⌠After that I remember a voice, saying something about a completed sequence.â
Law flinches a little, but relaxes quickly. âWhat do you remember exactly? About what the voice said?â
âSequence completed⌠um.. Proceed to step two and begin the event.â You replay the memory in your head a few times, trying to grab onto the words. âI think after that it was talking about me, saying the golden idol was stable, alive, intact.â
âIt said something about releasing a notification.â Law prompts.
âSeelfloo iack ca pomhwoom.â You recite.
âYeah, something like that.â
âItâs the kingâs tongue, or was.â You explain. âContact sent to the gods, is what it means. It usually was meant that one was in prayer, but after the fall -.â
âIt probably means the Celestials.â
You nod.
âTheyâre⌠not really in any position of power though.â He states. âAt least not collectively. The five Elders oversee pretty much everything, but the majority of the Celestials simply exist.â
âThe likelihood that a single family maintained control of such aâŚâ You stop, you nearly referred to yourself as a resource. âI canât imagine anyone maintaining a secret for so long.â
âIf they even maintained it.â Law suggested. âWeâre assuming someone was on the other side of things to receive a notice, but if that tech hadnât survived the centuries, then the notice couldâve ended up going nowhere. Vergo was informed by a newer alarm on the doors themselves.â
âItâs⌠possible. Itâs not like the system was as sturdy as the poneglyphs.â You admit, trying to relax. âIt would be easier to be at ease if we knew.â
Law snorts, and you hum questioningly.
âI had a similar thought earlier about a different matter.â He answers. âDifferent, but similar enough.â
âWe are in a sticky situation, arenât we?â You question.
Law hums in affirmation. âSo far it doesnât change anything I already had planned.â He says the words almost sharply.
Your brows knit and you lean back to look up at him. âAre you attempting to comfort me?â
Law shrugs, getting up from the bed and going over to the desk. He puts his fingers on the still heart and then looks back at you. âI only mean that we were already in opposition to the World Government. Finding you, and offering protection, hasnât forced us into anything new.â
âYou are.â You smile as Law clears his throat. âYou are quite kind, captain, for a-.â
â-Pirate?â Law interrupts gruffly.
âI was going to say, âsleep deprived grumpy young doctorâ.â You clarify evenly. âBut I suppose, pirate, is sufficient.â
âIâm notâŚâ Law growls, letting the sentence drop. Heâs been grumbling at you since you startled him earlier and heâs realizing he canât argue with your assessment. âSleep deprived.â He says curtly.
âYou are the definition of,â you stop, catching Lawâs sour frown. âI mean, a picture of health, Iâm sure.â You donât hide the teasing tone from your voice as you step off the bed and walk toward the desk. Breathing in deep you let out a sigh as your smile fades.
âIf anyone is going to know, itâs going to be this Doflamingo you mentioned.â You admit, placing your fingers on the still heart and letting them slide over the smooth edges of the ope ope no miâs functions. âAn unbroken family connection like that⌠Makes me nervous. Itâs like being haunted by a dragon, only to find itâs still alive centuries later.â
âDonquixote was your benefactor, and Lamiâs family then.â Law says and you nod. âNames bubbling up from the past like this makes me uncomfortable.â He grumbles, crossing his arms and regarding the research on the table. âEspecially since you mentioned a seer.â
âProphecies, and poneglyphs.â You sigh. âAnd me.â You shake your head. âIs the world at war?â
âNot in the strictest sense. Pirates search for the One Piece, an activity thatâs illegal in and of itself. The World Government sends Marines to stop us, and thereâs a Revolutionary Army that stands against the Government without concern for the One Piece.â He explains. âBut their tactics are small scale. Weâre not talking about a war between equal nations where resources would be a deciding factor.â
You smile sadly. âWeâre on the same page then.â
âSorry.â Law sighs and you shake your head.
âNo, youâre not wrong, that was my concern.â You admit quietly. âIfâŚâ You lick your lips. âIf I have less practical value, then I should be, objectively, safer.â
âTheoretically.â Law agrees.
You shrug and nod at the same time. âMay I ask a difficult question?â
Law huffs, almost a snort. âWe havenât exactly been having easy conversations.â
You hum in agreement, looking down at the still heart for a moment before looking at Law and catching his gaze. âWho died for you?â
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Chapter 2 - Echoes of Tranquility
Translated words for this chapter
Anveren (ahn-vay-ren) - Grandfather
Adraen (ah-dray-en) - Father
Phillip had devoted his life to an unwavering quest. Day after day, he had tirelessly worked to unravel the mysteries of an unusual structure hidden deep within the Verdaran forest. Sleep had become a distant memory as he pored over ancient texts, deciphered enigmatic symbols, and sketched countless diagrams in a desperate attempt to fathom the purpose of the enigmatic edifice.
Fatigue finally overpowered Phillip's unyielding determination. He slumped forward in his chair, surrounded by heaps of research materials and incomplete sketches. As he drifted into a fitful slumber, his dreams transported him back to a bygone era when his wife, in her human form, had served as his muse and guide. In this dream, she spoke of portalsâmysterious gateways bridging the chasm between worlds. She recounted ancient wisdom passed down through generations, narratives that stirred Phillip's soul and left him with an intense yearning.
Startled by the dream, Phillip awoke with a start, his heart racing in his chest. The memory of his wife's teachings lingered like a whisper in his mind, propelling him forward with newfound purpose. Fueled by this revived determination, he reached for a nearby notebook and feverishly documented notes, sketched intricate designs, and recorded every insight that had emerged during his slumber.
As Phillip quietly stood from his seat and ventured into the kitchen, strains of music and conversation wafted from the garden. Intrigued, he approached the scene, drawn by the enchanting melody echoing in the distance. His eyes glistened with a blend of curiosity and pride as he spotted William and Seraphina sitting together, immersed in a harmonious duet.
From the kitchen counter, Phillip leaned forward to listen in on their conversation. The hum of the guitar made it an impossible task. â...teach me..make music..âSeraphinaâs small voice whispered and William nodded and responded with, â...honored..share the magic..â Phillip watched as the small child climbed into Williamâs lap before the hum of the guitar became slightly louder.
Phillip's heart swelled with warmth and affection as he beheld this beautiful sight before him. With cautious steps, he approached the duo, his footfalls muffled by the grass underfoot. The gentle smile on his face conveyed his deep love for his family. While William and Seraphina continued their musical collaboration, their focus shifted when they noticed Phillip's presence. Seraphina's eyes lit up with joy, and she beamed at her adoptive grandfather, her fingers still gently tapping her legs as the guitar's strings hummed through the air. "Anveren! Come and join us!" Seraphina exclaimed, her voice filled with happiness and anticipation.
Phillip's eyes sparkled with a mix of tenderness and amusement. He gracefully settled beside them, his wings neatly folding behind him. His gaze alternated between William and Seraphina, captivated by their shared passion and the unbreakable bond they had formed. William, with a radiant smile, extended the guitar to Phillip. "Would you like to play, Adraen? It would be an honor to have you join our music," he said, his voice suffused with genuine warmth.
Phillip chuckled softly, his fingers tracing the guitar's contours. "Ah, it's been a while since I've played," he remarked, his voice tinged with nostalgia. With a delicate touch, Phillip strummed a few chords, the notes seamlessly blending with the melodies created by William and Seraphina. A sense of unity enveloped them, as if their music had the power to bridge the gap between generations, connecting their souls through the universal language of harmony. As Phillip strummed the cords into a familiar tune, William softly smiled as he remembered where he had first heard it. âThis was my mother's favorite, wasnât it?â William asked, looking up into the night sky. Nodding, Phillip whispered,â It was the first thing I played for her, a long time ago.â
Time appeared to stand still as the trio wove a tapestry of melodies, each note a testament to their shared love and the unbreakable bonds that bound them together. The garden embraced them with its gentle presence, their music entwining with the rustling of leaves and the soft whispers of nature. âPapa, can you tell me about her?â Seraphina's small voice asked, snuggling deeper into her fatherâs chest. âOf course, small oneâ William answered, moving some hair out of her face.
Phillip watched as he continued the small melody of his late wife as William started, âOnce there was a magnificent goddess named Vela, who possessed the ability to shape-shift and guide souls to the realm beyond. She walked among mortals, taking various forms to bring comfort and solace to those in need. One day, she was a majestic phoenix, soaring through the skies, igniting hope and renewal in the hearts of those who had lost their way. As a wise old oak tree, she provided shelter and wisdom to seekers of truth and as a playful dolphin, she danced through the waves, bringing joy and laughter to all who encountered her.â William stopped, his voice cracking slightly with sadness, and Phillip continued with the story, âOne day, there was a sorceress who wanted to disrupt the balance of life and death and fought the goddess. Vela won but was forced to stay hidden from mortals forever so something like that wouldnât happen again.â
Stopping the tune, Phillip placed the guitar down and took off his hat, looking deeply at the small crystal hanging from it. âSo, how did Anveren and Vela meet?â the brunette asked, stifling a yawn. âWell, to make the story short; I was created to serve Vela before she was forced to stay hidden. We fell in love and created this house and a few months later, had a son.â
In that precious moment, Phillip couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. It was a reminder that family extended beyond blood, and love knew no boundaries. As the final notes of their impromptu concert hung in the air, Phillip enveloped William and Seraphina in his wings, drawing them into a warm, loving embrace. Seraphina, lulled by the soothing music, the comfort of her adoptive family, and the story, she slowly succumbed to drowsiness. Her eyelids grew heavy, and a peaceful slumber began to claim her.
William, noticing Seraphina's fatigue, gently lifted her into his arms, cradling her with utmost care. He cast a warm smile at Phillip before whispering, "I'll take her to bed, Adraen. Thank you for the beautiful music and the unforgettable moments tonight." Phillip nodded with understanding and affection, watching as William carried Seraphina towards the cozy haven of their home. As the two of them disappeared into the house, Phillip remained in the garden, his heart filled with a profound sense of contentment and love for the family he had found in the most unexpected of places.
Days turned into weeks, and as Philip became more engrossed in deciphering the structure, he realized he had a daunting task ahead of him. The weight of his mission took its toll on his family. Before embarking on this perilous quest, Phillip gathered his beloved sons and his grand-daughter. Sitting together in the comfort of their cozy living room, he shared with them the magnitude of his discovery. His voice trembled with a mixture of excitement and apprehension as he explained the allure of the black stone structure and the possibility of unlocking the secrets it held.
William listened intently, his eyes reflecting a blend of concern and pride for his adventurous father. He recognized Phillip's innate thirst for knowledge and the indomitable spirit that drove him to explore the unknown. Orion, the younger son, displayed a mixture of admiration and worry. His eyes flickered with a yearning for adventure, mirroring his father's spirit, but he couldn't help but fear the risks that lay ahead. Seraphina, a bright and perceptive young girl, sat quietly, absorbing every word. Her eyes sparkled with a keen curiosity and a profound love for her grandfather. She felt a sense of longing to witness her grandfather's journey but also a pang of sadness at the thought of his absence.
With heartfelt sincerity, Phillip assured his sons and grand-daughter of his love and the depth of his commitment to their well-being. He understood the weight of his decision and the impact it would have on their lives. In a tender embrace, he promised to return and share the knowledge he would acquire, ensuring that their bond would remain unbreakable throughout his exploration.
The day of departure arrived, shrouded in an atmosphere of bittersweet anticipation. As Phillip prepared to leave, the farewells were heart-wrenching. His children, Orion and Seraphina, clung to him desperately, their tear-filled eyes speaking a language only they understoodâthe melodious tones of Verdaran. Phillip crouched down to their level, enveloping them in his protective embrace. He whispered soothing words, reassuring them that he would return, that everything would be alright.
Finally, Phillip managed to put Orion and Seraphina to bed, their exhaustion from the emotional farewell finally overtaking them. With a heavy heart, he made his way to William, who shared his sorrow and wished him well on this perilous journey into the unknown. Phillip's steps led him once again to the portal. It was different now, bathed in an eerie red light, the ancient glyphs shimmering with an otherworldly energy. Hesitation gripped him momentarily, but the compelling mystery before him drew him closer. The red glow of the symbols mixed with the hypnotic purple radiance emanating from the portal's heart. Before he knew it, Phillipâs foot got caught onto a branch, forcing him to fall into the portal.
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Rules: answer 20 questions and tag 20 people you want to know better.
TAGGED BY: @hiulcus
1. Nickname: Sforza 2. Zodiac Sign: Gemini 3. Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw 4. Height: 5â˛7 5. Last thing I googled: Male human anterior anatomy of muscle structure 6. Favorite musicians: None 7. Song stuck in my head: TheFatRat, Slaydit & Anjulie - Stronger 8. Followers: --- 9. Following: --- 10. Do you get asks: Yup! 11. Amount of sleep: 4h 12. Lucky number: 6 or 13 depending on which part of the month 13. What are you wearing: undergarments, green loose top, loose black pants 14. Dream job: Concept artist, videogame designer 15. Instruments: piano and violin 16. Languages: English and some Italian and German (Can understand some of but not speak several other languages.)  17. Favorite song: None 18. Random fact: The comprehension of language is a family-wide thing. We may not completely understand what the person is saying in their language but, we always seem to know the core of what theyâre trying to tell us. (It has helped me through a lot of difficult situations. My mother is the best at it though. Then again, she had more time to hone it.) 19. Aesthetic: Victorian fashion, Gradients, weapons 20. Dream trip: Temple cave complex of Ellora, India or The city of Stone in Petra, Jordan
TAGGING: Everyone.
#Under Still Waters; Puppeteer#My family is unusually in-tune with language.#Probably explains why I did so well when I worked as a hotel clerk.
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momentum x j. ww. part two
part one
pairing: racer!wonwoo x female automotive engineer!reader genre: fluff, angst, mature word count: 6.5k+ (got carried away sorry!) WARNINGS: SLOW BURN, mention of food and eating, alcohol, language, misogyny, death, violence, an almost kiss (please tell me if i missed anything!)
đ: i decided to write this two part series into three parts! this part takes place before the race. thank you for tuning in and waiting for this update! please do share your thoughts by sending me a message/ask. once again, thank you so much!
â
What happened for the past few months?
Earlier this year, your familyâs doctor announced that unfortunately, your fatherâs heart was slowly failing and that even through surgery and medication, it wonât be able to hold out for the coming months.Â
Your father was found unconscious inside his office by Mr. Jeon. You werenât at the firm at the time as you were visiting Wonwooâs garage with your team. You only found out when he called you while they were already on their way to the emergency room.Â
The shock made your legs weak and if it wasnât for Wonwoo watching you close by, you would have fallen to the floor. He managed to catch you by your arms, concern and confusion etched on his face because a moment ago you were all composed and talking during the discussion with the team.Â
âWhatâs going on?â Wonwoo asked, not letting you go. How could he when your skin suddenly felt unusually cold. You felt unusually cold.Â
You didnât answer him and tried to get out of his grasp instead, itching to just leave and go to your father as soon as possible. Your heart started beating so fast, you couldnât utter a single coherent word. You couldnât breathe.Â
âHey,â Wonwoo calls and gently holds your shaking head in place, making you look him straight in the eyes. âWhatâs wrong?â
âIâI⌠I have to go. My dad⌠my dad.â
Wonwoo grew alarmed when you started crying but he didnât need to hear anything else and just held your hand, immediately pulling you to his car because he sure as hell wonât let you drive alone.Â
The rest of the team were left with questions at your sudden departure. But Wonwoo asked Soonyoung to handle the rest and he will fill them in later.Â
Wonwoo helped you buckle up and only asked which hospital your father is at. You were still crying when the two of you left and even on the hi-way, you were silently wiping your tears which had no intention of stopping from streaming down your face. He badly wanted to wipe them away himself. He badly wanted them to stop from falling because it pained him to see you in such a state.Â
But, he held himself back. Instead, he just glanced at you every second while maintaining a safe driving speed. All he could offer at that moment was to take you to your father. And if being with him was what would make your tears stop from falling, heâd do everything.
You and Wonwoo arrived at the hospital with both of your parents outside the suite your father is currently resting at. You could tell your mother was already crying with Mrs. Jeon consoling her and patting her back. Your heart shattered to pieces with every step you took to finally sit beside your mother who had been waiting for you. You embrace her and together, you cried and cried and cried.Â
Wonwoo remained close to you and only left your side to hug his mother whoâs crying as well. Mr. Jeon, who was still shaken after witnessing his best friend unconscious on the cold floors of his office, also received a comforting embrace from his son.Â
Your father couldnât last two months. However, in those two months, he was awake and happy at home. He spent time with your mother the most and joined her in her garden, helping out with whatever he could. He was still grumpy and quick to anger, but it was okay because you laughed it out immediately after. Mr. and Mrs. Jeon frequently visited. They were at your house almost every weekend to the point they visited more than you did. They shared some laughs here and there, reminiscing about the good old days.
You talked to your father a lot. You always tried to keep the conversation going as he moved around the kitchen, garage, and even as heâs about to lay down and rest. You wanted to at least make an effort to remember his voice and if possible, him remember yours. You also asked a lot of questions, even questions you already know the answers to. You asked about the engineering life he lived, the firm, the cars, everything. Everything in his life that he loved, enjoyed, and even hated.Â
âTake care of my family, yeah?â You heard him ask Mr. Jeon when he visited together with Wonwoo.Â
You stayed outside the room, afraid to cry all over again.
âAnd Wonwoo, son?â He called for the young man next. âTake care of my girl.â
Your father passed away in his sleep the following morning. You were awakened by your motherâs cries and thatâs how you knew he had taken his last breath.Â
The funeral was short and only close family and friends were allowed to visit. You held onto those remaining days and treasured them still with all that you can. You hated it. So much. You hated how he had to go. You hated how you had to lose him in this lifetime.Â
But you remembered how he would always tuck you to bed even though it was late and he was tired from working. You remembered how he never missed dropping you off at school. You remembered how proud he was of your achievements, never missing every awarding ceremony. You remembered.
You remembered your father who loved you the most and wanted you to be the happiest even now that heâs gone.Â
Returning to work and returning to the firm that he built was the hardest. You reserved one day in cleaning his old office, the one and only office he ever used from the very beginning until the very end. Gathering and touching every belonging of his was an immense pang to your heart. You thought you couldnât continue without shedding tears. But the movers were waiting and this couldnât go on forever.Â
Even though you yourself didn't want to go on anymore.Â
After long agonizing hours, your fatherâs whole office was empty. Empty of everything that once was his, once was him. You managed to give the whole room one last look and then it was finally time to go. Time to let go.Â
You walked back to your own office with one box full of his photographs and trophies. Some of your coworkers offered smiles of sympathy as you passed by their work areas to which youâre grateful for. When you arrived face to face at the doors of your office, you didnât expect anything else but gloom when you opened them but to your surprise, an arrangement of sunflowers sat atop of your desk.Â
Dropping the heavy box on the couch in the middle of the room, you touch the flowers and find a small card with only the initials JWW written and nothing more. You already had a hunch that it would be from Wonwoo. After all, itâs only him who has ever brought you flowers.Â
You smiled before bursting into tears. Tears mixed with the aching and gratefulness of your heart.Â
You didnât want to go on anymore. But you thought of the people who would want you to. You thought of your late father who would want you to. You thought of yourself and what you would want to do. So in spite of a heavy heart, you dried your tears and collected yourself. Youâre back to work.Â
â
Wonwoo didnât walk on eggshells around you. In fact, he even became more insufferable by visiting your office every single day. Youâre not sure what his deal was whenever he made his grand entrance and presence known by loudly saying, âHow are my favorite engineers?â while bringing bags and bags of foods and drinks that your whole team screams in joy for.
It was ridiculous, you could only glare at him incredulously. But, Wonwoo always found a way to erase the frown of your face with his cheeky smile and one cup of coffee offered to you. You always accepted it but not without rolling your eyes at him. Once everyone was munching on the food he brought, he would tail behind you to your office. You let him be, not really bothered by his⌠should you say it?Â
Clinginess.Â
âYou guys seem pretty busy these days,â Wonwoo would start and sit himself on the couch, fiddling with the magazines laid out on the coffee table at the center. âMy favorite engineers havenât visited the garage in a while.â
You sat on your chair with a scoff. âTheyâre my engineers, Jeon Wonwoo.â
Wonwoo laughed and it made you wonder if it has always sounded so nice. âRight. Iâm sorry.â
âArenât you busy? Donât you have practice laps to do?â You asked and moved your mouse on the mouse pad to open your computer.Â
âNah, Iâm good. The season is on a break so,â Wonwoo paused and stretched his long limbs across the couch. âI have all the time to bother you until you give me attention.â
His whole body was laid on the couch, chest down on the cushion and chin on the armrest. He didnât even fit with his legs bent on the other end. You could only stare at him in disbelief. But you have to admit, youâre not bothered by one bit as you continue to type away on your keyboard.Â
Youâre not sure if you never noticed but Wonwooâs gaze didnât leave you as he uncomfortably took comfort on your couch. He found your habit of pursing your lips while concentrating endearing and if he could, heâd kiss them all day. But in the meantime, that information is only for him to know.Â
Wonwoo didnât want to take advantage of your vulnerability and confess how he feels for you right this instant. He had been harboring deep feelings that crossed the boundaries of professionalism for you and he had wanted to express them for a while now. But he had to hold himself back because he didnât want to get ahead of himself. He had to make sure that he was genuine and not only infatuated. But most importantly, he wanted to respect you, your time and your space. Because he knows. He knows that even though you didnât show or say it, youâre still hurting and grieving.Â
You forgot about Wonwoo altogether as you occupied yourself in preparing the report and project your team is about to present in the next two weeks. It was not until you heard his light snores that you cast your eyes at him after staring at the screen monitor for who knows how long. You couldnât hide your chuckle as you stood up from your chair and stretched out your tired arms and back.Â
You looked at the time on your wristwatch and it was already 3:17 pm. Wonwoo arrived in your office before lunch. He should be resting on a bed unless he wants to wake up with a body aching all over. You quietly walked to the couch and crouched down to get a better look at him. His mouth was ajar and you wondered if he had always looked this handsome even when heâs asleep.Â
âWonwoo,â you whispered and poked the tip of his nose. âWonwoo.â
âHuh? Whaâ Oh,â His eyes were bleary as he looked up at you, making you smile. He closed his eyes again and what he did next made you freeze. He took your hand and held it close to his cheek, snuggling to the warmth your palm could offer.Â
Your heart leaped to your throat, you almost hiccuped. Your face heated up, you thought youâre sweating buckets. You thought of pulling away instantly, but when he suddenly hummed and smiled in content, you couldnât find it in you to let go.Â
For a moment, all your confused brain yet softened heart could think of was what just happened? You only blinked as you searched for answers even though there were none. You also forgot to retract your hand because having Wonwooâs smooth skin and sharp jawline against your palm distracted you. Not to mention the fact that he looked absolutely adorable while he fell asleep again.Â
Without thinking twice, you sat down on the floor as you allowed Wonwoo to cuddle your nervous hand. You didnât remember what happened next or how you were able to separate from him. But one thing was for sure, something in you loved the way he held your hand dearly.Â
â
âThere you are!â
You jumped from your seat and almost spilled the forgotten cup of coffee on the drafting table at the sound of no other than Wonwoo's deep voice, booming across the empty office. You glared at him with one eyebrow raised silently questioning him, what the hell are you doing here? To which he just shrugged off and flashed his smile that helped him get away with almost every shenanigan he had done.Â
âI brought you food,â Wonwoo declared and placed the brown paper bags of what seemed like from a burger joint on the clean and empty drawing table beside you. âI have been messaging and calling you for hours but youâre not answering.â
Your piercing glare disappeared at the mention of your also forgotten phone. You scratched the back of your right ear in embarrassment and picked up the small device from the other end of the table to check if he really did flood your phone with his annoying messages and calls.Â
You sighed at the confirmation. âSorry,â you apologized and changed the settings back from silent to sound on again. âI was caught in the middle of something.â
âHmmm,â Wonwoo only hummed and nodded as he brought out the contents of the paper bag out and laid them on the table. âI heard from Minghao that you guys have been swamped, most especially you.â
âNot at all,â you lied and slowly walked to the food, itâs aroma making your stomach grumble in hunger. âJust doing some finishing touches.â
Wonwoo smiled before taking a look at his watch. Itâs way past 10:00 pm and your lame excuse is, âjust doing some finishing touchesâ. Unbelievable. He hid the shake of his head and pulled a chair for you to sit on because he definitely heard the cries of your stomach.Â
Once youâre settled, you happily accept the warm burger Wonwoo handed to you. You sighed in delight after taking the first bite of your first meal since lunch. The man beside you could only watch in adoration, picking up a napkin to clean the corner of your lip from the sauce.Â
âYouâre in luck, I haven't had my dinner yet,â Wonwoo said and grabbed a burger himself.Â
You rolled your eyes and munched on some potato fries. âI didnât ask you to buy me dinner, much less eat with me, you know?â
âBut still, youâre glad I came.â Wonwoo smirked at you as he bit on his burger.Â
You rolled your eyes again and ignored him. You didnât say no though and thatâs enough to make Wonwooâs chest swell with satisfaction.Â
âWhat are you working on, by the way?â Wonwoo asked when he realized he honestly didnât know what had got you and your team busy in the first place.Â
You chuckled while wiping the drawing table clean. âItâs a research proposal of the new technology that my favorite engineers have been working on. Weâre seeking the approval of investors that would fund the project.â
It was Wonwooâs turn to roll his eyes at your possessive tone after throwing the trash to the nearest bin. âIt was a joke, move on.â
You just giggled and went back to the real drawing table that needed attention. As part of the firmâs vision and mission goals, every division or department except for finance and administration, must participate in research that will improve the automotive industry with consideration to sustainability. The firm believed that profiting off the biggest industries in the world must hold itself accountable, responsible, and reliable with its inventions.Â
Of course, capital is a big factor in bringing to life what the firm envisions, thus once a year, a research or project proposal must be submitted for review and approval to potential investors. The firm has its own capital, but accumulating partners is also a means in producing the best of the best.Â
âWait.â Wonwoo, again, realized something. âHow come I am not part of the list of potential investors?â
âWonwoo, youâre a client,â you answered without tearing your eyes off from the table, reviewing every detail drawn on the paper.Â
âA rich, handsome, and famous client, to be exact,â he added and stood close to you, his eyes peering on what youâre doing.Â
You almost rolled your eyes at him again, but when you saw him right by your side, you almost fell. You gulped, flustered by the close distance of his chest to your shoulder. Wonwoo didnât notice and just continued scanning whatâs on the table, as if heâs scrutinizing them.
âDo you need my help?â He offered and you had to hold your laugh. His eyes grew wide, offended. âHey! I am a licensed mechanical engineer just like you, you know!â
âYou havenât been practicing ever since the licensure exam Wonwoo,â you reminded and pushed his face away.Â
âThat doesnât mean I donât know anything,â Wonwoo defended and stopped your annoying hand from pushing him. âHear me out, I have something.â
âAlright then,â you said with crossed arms, opening the table for him.Â
Wonwoo grinned and closed the distance between your bodies again. He started pointing his finger at the drawing on the table and raised his ideas on alternatives, improvements, measurements and everything else that he indeed guaranteed that he knew.Â
You nodded along at his words and you had to admit, not bad. You were just teasing him. You didnât know he would take it so seriously.Â
You smiled when he said something that you agreed with and turned your face to speak. You could speak, but you couldnât because all throughout the exchange of your ideas, you didnât notice that Wonwoo had moved closer. Like close, close to you that his chest is brushing against your shoulder, his breath fanning against your ear kind of close. Heâs almost standing behind you and all that is left is his arms to be wrapped around you to complete a hug.
Instead of speaking, you just stared at his face. From his beautiful forehead, uneven eyelids, sharp nose, and plump yet bruised bottom lip (because he doesnât drink enough water and keeps on biting them). You become mesmerized, the sound of his voice and whatever heâs saying was tuned out and you hear nothing.Â
Wonwoo must have noticed your sudden silence, pausing to look at you. Now, heâs the one whoâs caught off guard. He became conscious with your stare, but stared back to your eyes nonetheless. His heart started beating fast when he saw how your eyes moved back and forth from his eyes to his lips. He is no different, doing the same actions before he slowly leaned closer and closer and cloâ.
You havenât even closed your eyes yet when his phone rang, breaking the silence and the moment the two of you almost had. You gasped and moved away as Wonwoo frantically fished his phone out of his pocket. He grimaced when he saw whoâs calling.Â
âYes, Soonyoung?â Wonwoo hissed under his breath, reminding himself to punch his best friend once he saw him again.Â
âDude,â Soonyoung said. âI found this really cute meme and it reminded me of you.â
Wonwoo wished he could throw his phone outside the window.Â
He didnât say anything else and just shut the screen off before turning back to you. âSorry.â
You avoided his eyes and just nodded. âItâs okay. I⌠I think we should go.â
Wonwoo agreed, also not meeting your eyes. He released the breath that had been stuck inside his lungs and just waited for you to clear the drawing table and shut down your laptop and neatly place them on a different table. When youâre done, you turn off the lights and take the lead to the elevator.Â
âI didnât notice your car in the parking lot,â Wonwoo voiced out to get rid of the awkward air. âDid you bring a different car?â
âUh, no. Itâs under repair at the moment so Iâm going to take a taxi home,â you answered and clutched your bag closer to your knees.
âY/N, itâs late,â Wonwoo stated the obvious, ready to offer you a drive home when he remembered that he didnât bring his own car. He brought his motorcycle instead. He cursed himself for not thinking ahead.Â
âI think I know that,â you said and that made Wonwoo narrow his eyes at you.Â
âIâll give you a ride and,â he pointed a finger out when youâre about to decline, âIâm not taking a no for an answer.â
You scoffed, but let him have his way.Â
âI am most definitely not getting on that,â you asserted and nailed yourself to the ground, not moving another inch at the sight of Wonwooâs motorcycle.
âIt can hear you,â Wonwoo jested, shielding the vehicle like a child.Â
You groaned and turned on your heel, ready to walk away from his crap.Â
âOkay, okay.â Wonwoo seized your hand before you could take another step. âListen, youâre tired and just want to go home. This is not the best ride at the moment, I know. But I promise, Iâll drive safely.â
You closed your eyes to contemplate. But then again, what is there to contemplate about with Wonwoo? You sighed and gave in, finally letting him lead you to his second baby.Â
Wonwoo removed his leather jacket from his body and draped it around you to protect you from the cold once youâre on the road. Up next, he fetched the extra helmet from the motorcycle and put it on your head and made sure itâs secure.Â
âComfy?â He asked, leaning down to meet your height. When you shyly nodded, he smiled and grabbed your bag before hopping on the motorcycle.Â
After putting his own helmet on, Wonwoo extended his arm as leverage for you to hop on behind him.Â
Wonwoo thought heâd have to convince you to wrap your arms around his waist for extra safety, but when you took the initiative and did it yourself, his smile was so high it could reach the sky. He asked if youâre ready and when you nodded and rested your chin on his shoulder, he pushed up the stand from the ground and hit the pedal.
â
Your mother and Mrs. Jeon couldnât stop gushing about the maroon bodycon dress you chose to wear for the celebratory party that the firm decided to hold for the achievement of every division in attracting investors for each and everyoneâs respective research proposals.Â
They asked you to spin around countless times for them, pulled out every jewelry they owned to find the perfect match, and just ransacked their closets altogether to find the right accessories for your dress. You felt special with their adoration but you had to tone them down or else you would all be late and Mr. Jeon had been knocking outside the door for the past 30 minutes already.Â
They left you to wear your shoes and told you that they will meet you downstairs. You looked at the mirror one last time after strapping your heels on and admired the crisp finish of the dress that hugged your body. The material was made from silk and you loved how comfortable it was on your skin. Itâs a bit tight and sexy with the neckline and back in the shape of a V, but you feel good nonetheless. The length reached below your knees, just how you liked it.Â
You wore full makeup on your face with a sheer finish. Your hair was down with a little bit of volume and bounce, as your mother suggested. All in all, youâre incredibly satisfied with your look. You picked up your purse from your vanity table and you were good to go.Â
All employees were invited to the party and they were allowed to bring one friend or partner as their date. Clients and investors were also invited with the same reservations. Some of the executives and higher ups could not make it because they were out of the country for business purposes meanwhile, some made short appearances to grace the people thatâs keeping the firm alive.Â
Your team was huddled on one table and you couldnât help but smile as you noticed their jitters. Seungkwan smiling widely, Chan uncontrollably bouncing his legs, Minghao curiously looking around, and Vernon remaining perfectly still but wearing an awkward smile. They looked like theyâre clearly excited to take over the bar as well and have the best night of their life. But of course, they have to receive their awards first with a sober mind but they knew that already.Â
On the other side of the ballroom, Soonyoung elbowed his best friend who hasnât been paying attention even after your arrival. Wonwoo straightened up from his slouched position and almost elbowed his friend in revenge. But when he saw you standing at the entrance with your dazzling smile greeting everyone, he stopped. He just stopped and looked at you and only you.Â
Soonyoung snickered beside him and whistled. âIt must be love.â
Wonwoo pinched Soonyoungâs thigh underneath the table but kept smiling with gritted teeth. âShut up.â
âOw! Alright, alright. Jeez,â Soonyoung pleaded, tapping out.
âOh?â Woozi suddenly exclaimed. âI didnât know that Lee Sangyeop is a client nor investor of your fatherâs firm, Wonwoo.â
Lee Sangyeop who? Wonwoo thought, eyes not straying away from you as you walked to your team who had been ready to hug you.Â
âOop, misogynist alert,â Junhui said, also watching the man theyâre talking about.Â
Wonwooâs heart bubbles burst at the word misogynist being mentioned. âIâm sorry, but what?â
âLee Sangyeop, from the Leeâs Group of Companies,â Woozi repeated his name, chin resting on his propped hand on the table. âInfamous for his misogynistic remarks towards women in science, technology and innovation.â
âAnd it seems like heâs about to tarnish his reputation further,â Soonyoung mumbled under his breath. âYou think he has the guts to take on Y/N?â
Wonwoo didnât need to hear anything else and decided to just stand up and go to your table. Heâs not letting anyone rain on your teamâs parade and if he can do anything about it, he will. However, he was too late when the master of the ceremony took the microphone and announced the start of the program.Â
âChill bro.â Soonyoung pulled him to sit back down. âItâs Y/N. Sheâll be fine.â
Wonwooâs nostrils flared up but he willed himself to calm down. He knew you could take care of yourself. And he knew that violence is not the answer. But he wouldnât mind throwing a punch or two to a misogynistic asshole who thinks he can offend his girl.Â
All throughout the evening, from the opening remarks of his father up to the awarding ceremony, Wonwoo kept his eyes on you. He was relieved when he saw you smile and laugh along with your friends and thatâs enough for him to put his guard down (only a little). The party was nearing its end so his guess is he could hang out with you now. The guests have indulged themselves with the alcohol and chatter anyway so itâs his turn to compliment you for being the most beautiful woman in this whole room (of course his mother is the most beautiful but sheâd make an exception for you.)
Wonwoo carefully made his presence known, sneakily poking your sides as you talked with Seungkwan. âBoo!â
âHyung, I told her you were coming,â Seungkwan deadpanned, smiling knowingly.
âNice try,â you said and turned around to completely face him. You eyed his whole look from head to toe and admitted, âYou look dashing, Jeon.â
Wonwoo smirked with pride. âI think itâs because weâre matching.â
You sighed, defeated. âI'll take it back.â
âNo can do.â Wonwoo shook his head and held the back of your hand up to plant a kiss, making your breath hitch. When you feel his soft lips against your skin, youâre suddenly reminded by that one night the two of you almost kissed.Â
It was long forgotten. None of you brought it up and relievingly enough, none of your friends knew. You thought about addressing and talking about it with Wonwoo. Well, you wished you did talk about it. But with the research proposal and everything else in work, you got busy. The days passed and when Wonwoo didnât bring it up himself after your meetings, you lost hope and believed that maybe, what happened was only driven by the moment and nothing else.Â
âYouâre beautiful Y/N,â Wonwoo said genuinely, hand still holding yours. At that point, Seungkwan knew he had to take his leave.Â
You opened your mouth for a snarky reply, but another voice also joined the conversation.Â
âI must say, for a woman, you did a great job, Engineer.â
You frowned, your ears ringing at what you just heard. You turned around and faced the owner of the voice and you are not surprised to know who it is.Â
âMr. Lee,â you greeted with a fake smile. âI didnât know you were invited.â
Wonwoo planted himself behind your back and gave himself a pep talk, donât punch him, donât punch him, donât punch him. He didnât want to fight for your battles when itâs clear to him you know how to stand up for yourself. So, he maintained a safe distance and let you do your thing.Â
Lee Sangyeop's smile was crooked as he stared you up and down. âI am always invited, dear.â
You nodded, smirking. âAh. Then it must be time for me to coordinate with our eventâs planner to not invite you to future celebrations.â
Wonwoo whistled at your brave and harsh comment.Â
Lee Sangyeop scoffed before spewing out words that made you see red. âYou know, our groupâs investments helped your father make this firm grow. Iâd appreciate it if a woman like you knows her plaââ
âHey, thatâs enough,â Wownoo reprimanded, ready to step in front of you but you beat him to it.
You didnât let Lee Sangyeop finish talking because youâve had enough. You thought of one thing that would make him shut up and that is punching him square on the face. You groaned and held your wrist in pain. But you werenât done.
âListen, you piece of shit,â you started and stared him down on the floor. âItâs nasty enough that youâre here, insulting me and the firm my father and his best friend built with their blood, sweat and tears. And you had the audacity to bring my fatherâs name up with your disgusting mouth?â
What you just did caught everyoneâs attention, you could hear the gasps and whispers around you. You could stop now and save yourself from the embarrassment. But, again, you werenât done just yet.Â
âJust so you know, a woman like me carried you for nine months and gave birth to you, asshole,â you spat and then you were walking away.Â
Lee Sangyeopâs entourage helped him up from the ground and you could care less. He soon began throwing tantrums, crying about his bruised lip and fallen rotting tooth. You ignored him and the stares of everyone and continued trudging outside with your head held high.
 â
âY/N, slow down,â Wonwoo pleaded as you dragged him to the nearest fire exit.Â
But you didnât stop and just continued speed walking as if youâre in a marathon, wanting to win. His legs couldnât keep up with you anymore so he did what he had to do. His only hope was you donât hate him for it.Â
Strongly and gently, Wonwoo tugged your hand and pulled you to him. The sudden stop nearly made you trip on your heels but his hold on you is strong enough to keep you on your toes. You just didnât expect that youâd be chest to chest and face to face him as his arms wrapped around your frame.Â
âOh my god!â You gasped and apologized immediately, âIâm so sorry, Wonwoo.â
Wonwoo only chuckled and tried to catch his breath. You stepped away to give him and yourself some breathing room before standing up straight again.Â
âYou okay?â Wonwoo asked after a few minutes of break.Â
You nodded and unclenched your tight shaking fist. You learned how to throw a punch when you were in college and youâve never planned on punching anyone deliberately in your life. But you must say, that lesson deemed itself useful tonight.Â
âDo you think heâs going to sue me?â You asked the obvious, slightly regretting what you just did. Only slightly. You would not think twice and do it again if the situation called for it.Â
âNah,â Wonwoo answered and held your hand, examining your skin thatâs slowly turning a different color. âIf he does, donât worry. I know a lawyer.â
You breathed out a laugh, somehow reassured because Wonwoo was there and here to hold your hand.Â
âThat was a good punch to be honest,â Wonwoo applauded without releasing his hold.Â
âOh yeah?â You asked and gave him a warning with your fist up, âbetter be careful then unless you want me to unleash my wrath on you.â
âOooh. Scary,â he teased, beginning to walk with your fingers still intertwined with his and bringing you to his car. âNow come on, Iâm going to take you to a hospital whether you like it or not because your knuckle is starting to swell.â
â
The start of the season made it difficult for you and Wonwoo to spend more than ten minutes together. It wasnât like you were counting or whatsoever. But, his absence was so obvious you couldnât help but miss him. Your plate was full with making sure that his vehicle was well taken care of and improved to be the best of the best by the time the race started. You couldnât afford to slack off because Wonwoo put his faith in you and your team, trusting that you would keep your end of the contract and help him secure his win.Â
But if someone was busier than you, it was Wonwoo himself. You never got used to the fact that he was a celebrity outside the race tracks. Incredibly talented, unbelievably handsome, brilliantly intelligent. Wonwoo was the dream boy and itâs hard to miss when almost everyone, regardless of gender, wants to talk to him or take a picture with or of him.
Itâs beyond you how he doesnât get caught up with the paparazzis. Itâs either heâs really stealthy or his PR team is doing their job the way they should.Â
Wonwoo practiced early in the morning or late in the evening if his schedule was mixed with interviews, magazine photoshoots, and exclusive appearances. But, he often leaned towards the evening, driving at least a few laps before retiring for the day. Â
Sadly, your timing was never right because once you arrived at the garage, he had already left for a morning talk show guesting. Or when he returned, your job for the day was done and youâre already driving back home.
You missed him and recollecting about your previous time spent together at the celebratory party was not enough to ease your longing. If anything, remembering the last time you spent together only made you miss him more.Â
So one night, you mustered up all the courage you had in you and waited for him to come back from a red carpet appearance. Soonyoung messaged you that theyâre driving back early because Wonwoo didnât want to attend the after party due to a massive headache. You took the opportunity to stay behind, making up an excuse to your team that you have some things to discuss with the racer about his car.Â
When the truth was, you just wanted to see him. Even for a short while.Â
But, it was already past 9:00 pm and youâre not sure if a grumpy Wonwoo was what you wanted to see. You sighed and dropped your hand after looking at the time, defeated. Tonight was probably not the right time and you should just go.Â
You picked up your bag from the chair beside you and prepared to finally leave. You were just about to take another step when the overhead doors of the garage were suddenly lifted, making you stop and hold your breath in anticipation.Â
Your heart probably constricted at the sight of Wonwoo with his necktie together with a few buttons of his black dress shirt loose and sleeves neatly rolled up to his elbows. His black dress pants accentuated his long legs and gosh, his dress shirt hugging his toned upper body almost made your mouth water.Â
âY/N?âÂ
You slapped yourself mentally for what you just imagined and opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out.Â
âWhy are you still here?â Wonwoo squinted his eyes to get a better look at you. âDo you need a ride?â
You shook your head no and finally spoke, âNo. I was just about to go. Finished late.â
Wonwoo only nodded and that made you feel sad. You figured by the time he saw you he would throw a cheeky remark, but all you got was him sighing loudly before sitting on the lounge chair on the side. You were expecting too much and itâs a lesson learned to be careful in managing your expectations next time.Â
But none of that anymore. He looked completely tired and in need of a well deserved rest. Thatâs why youâre just really going to go. After all, you just wanted to see him, right? Well, you got what you wanted and it was time to leave.Â
âY/N,â Wonwoo suddenly called your name, eyes still shut closed. âCome here please.â
You felt small and weakened (not in a bad way) after you heard his sleepy tone. You looked at him and the garage doors back and forth, pondering between escaping or giving in to his plea. You bit your lip and swallowed the lump at the back of your throat before walking closer to where heâs resting.Â
Wonwoo opened his one eye when he felt your body blocking the dull light of his garage. You waited for him to say what he needed to say. However, before anything else, he raised his hand to hold yours. Your heart leaped again just like the last time and this time, you hiccupped. You frowned and attempted to tug your hand back, feeling vulnerable. He didnât let go though, making your attempts futile.Â
You gave up altogether and just let him be. His grip was slowly loosening anyway, clearly about to fall asleep. Thatâs what you thought but when he mumbled something you never imagined youâd hear from him, you hiccuped again.Â
âWhat does it mean when I canât get you out of my mind?â
#seventeen#wonwoo#jeon wonwoo#seventeen scenarios#wonwoo scenarios#seventeen scenario#wonwoo scenario#seventeen imagines#wonwoo imagines#wonwoo imagine#seventeen imagine#seventeen fluff#wonwoo fluff#seventeen fanfic#wonwoo fanfic#seventeen x you#svt x you#wonwoo seventeen#seventeen wonwoo#fic: momentum
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Succession Chapter 1 (Karl Heisenberg/female reader) Resident Evil Village fic
Here is chapter one of my new fanfic!
Title: Succession
Characters: Karl Heisenberg, female reader, OCs
Rating: PG-13 for language and intense scenes (for now, this is a slow burn, but it will get very hot and spicy in later chapters)
Summary: You discover a long lost relative from Moldova that you didnât know existed has died and you are his sole beneficiary. Â You are on board a plane to collect your inheritance when your plane crashes in a village in Romania.
Authorâs Notes: I do not own the characters from Resident Evil Village. Â This is a work of fiction. Â Anything remotely similar to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.
Chapter 1
The music blasted from the car speakers as you drove down the main road towards the highway. Â You had your phone plugged into your car stereo, your favorite Spotify playlist on shuffle. Â Despite the A/C being on full blast, beads of sweat formed at your brow and rolled down your temple. Â You adjusted the vents on either side of you, making sure the cold air directly hit your body. Â The song that was playing had you tapping your fingers on the steering wheel, your head bopping to the beat.
The fridge at home was close to empty and it was beyond time for you to go grocery shopping. Â The grocery list was secure in your purse and you were determined to stick to the items on the list and not make any frivolous purchases. Â Money was tight and you only had so much money left before payday next week.
The song shut off suddenly followed by your ringtone. Â Looking at the screen of your phone, UNKNOWN stared back at you. Probably a spam call, you thought to yourself, reaching to press the red Ignore button. Â Unfortunately, your finger slid at the last minute and mistakenly tapped the Accept button. You watched as the call came through and the seconds ticked off. Â FUCK!
âHello?â you greeted with a hint of exasperation in your voice.
âHello, am I speaking with Miss Y/N?â a heavily accented male voice responded.
âYeah, this is she,â you muttered, rolling your eyes. Â You tried your best to avoid these calls, ignoring them and letting them go straight to voicemail. Â Very rarely was it followed with an actual message, which was more than fine with you.
âMiss Y/N, my name is Ron M. Dathermi.  I am a lawyer residing in Chisinau, Moldova in Eastern EuropeâŚâ
You raised your eyebrows at that. Â Moldova? Â Who the hell was calling you from Moldova? Â Chalking it up to a scam, you were about to interrupt the man when he continued.
â...I wish I was calling under better circumstances, but Iâm afraid I have some bad news.  Your great uncle, Serghei Popa, has passed away from a short illness and has named you his sole beneficiaryâŚâ
You couldnât help the amused huff that came out of your mouth. Â This must be some very elaborate scam.
âUmm...sorry, but I think you have the wrong person. Â I donât have family from Moldova and I have never heard of this man in my whole life.â You were about to hit the End button when Mr. Dathermi continued.
âAm I speaking with Y/N, born on (your birthday) to (your father and motherâs full names) and the granddaughter of (your grandfather and grandmother on both sides of your family)?â
Your eyes widened at that.  âYeah, thatâs meâŚâ you answered.
âI know this may sound unusual, but Mr. Popa was the brother of your grandmother on your motherâs side. Â He was given up for adoption at birth and taken in by a Moldovan family. Â He did not have a spouse and had no children, and according to the genealogy report I have before me, your grandmother and your mother are both deceased. Â Your mother was an only child, yes? Â It appears to me that you are the last of his living relatives.â
You pulled off the road and into an empty parking lot. Â The information you were being given was a lot to handle. Â You didnât have that large of a family. Â You were an only child and raised by your parents and both sets of grandparents. Â Both of your grandfathers had died before you turned 10. Â Both grandmothers died within 5 years of each other and your father and mother died of illnesses, cancer and pneumonia respectively, in the last year. Â Grief was a feeling that you knew better than anyone. Â You kept to yourself mostly and you didnât have any close friends or a significant other.
âListen,â you began, âyou are correct about all of your information, but how do I know this is not some kind of scam?â
The man on the other end of the phone cleared his throat and the sound of shuffling papers met your ears. Â âI can imagine that this information is sudden and unusual. Â What I will do is send a copy of his will and a copy of the genealogy papers to your address. Â I encourage you to take this to your lawyer and have them look over the information. Â The reason I am calling is because I need you to fly to Moldova, sign these papers, and accept the monetary inheritance that he has left you.â
Your jaw dropped as you looked down at your phone. Â Fly to Moldova? Â Is this true? Â The only thing you knew about the country was that a foreign exchange student from high school was born and raised in Moldova. Â That about sums up your knowledge of the country. This seemed incredibly asinine and ridiculous. Â But the word that settled in your train of thought was âinheritance.â What inheritance?
âMr...what was your name again?â you asked.
âMr. Dathermi, but you can call me Ron,â the lawyer responded.
âRon...umm, how much monetary inheritance are we talking about?â
More shuffling of papers was on the other side of the phone, Ron clicking his tongue as he looked through the information. Â âHe has left you 53,806,746 Moldovan Leu...which translates to $3,000,000 in American currency.â
âAre you fucking kidding me?!?!â you exclaimed before clamping your lips shut.  You heard Ron chuckle.  âIâm sorry, pardon my language. Itâs just...wow...this sounds insaneâŚâ
âI can imagine it does,â Ron replied, âwhich is why I want to mail this information to you and have your attorney take a look at it so you know this is a legitimate will and testament. Â If you would like, I can mail the information straight to your attorney if you are still leery.â
âNo, no, thatâs okay,â you said, shaking your head. Â Your mind was whirling. Â None of this sounded remotely true. Â You felt as if you were dreaming. Â This felt like something that only happened in books and fairy tales...a girl who had nothing and nobody suddenly inheriting millions of dollars from an unknown distant relative. Â What are the odds of something like this happening in real life? Â You gave Ron Dathermi your home address.
âThank you very much, Miss Y/N. Â I will send this as soon as possible. Â Iâll also include my business card so your attorney can contact me and we can iron out the details. Â Thank you very much, Y/N...Iâll be in touch.â
You thanked him as well and ended the call. Â All alone in your car in the empty parking lot, you let out an excited squeal and started hopping up and down.
*
You adjusted the messenger bag that was slung across your shoulder as you heard the overhead speaker call for the boarding of your flight. Â Taking a deep breath, you got in line, extended your ticket to the airport employee, and walked down the tarmac and into the plane.
Butterflies were fluttering in your stomach. Â Your hands gripped your bag tightly as the flight attendant looked at your boarding pass and pointed down the aisle to where you were to be seated. Â You had never flown before and your nerves were on alert. Â Scenes from Final Destination flashed in your head as you walked down the aisle towards your seat. Â Taking a deep breath and willing your body to relax, you located your seat next to the window and sat down, plopping your bag onto your lap. Â
The small window was close to the wing of the plane and looking beyond that was a long expanse of grass that met a vast forest. Â You were thankful that you had the window seat and your headphones so you could tune everything out and relax in your own little world.
Once the papers from Mr. Dathermi arrived a week prior, you immediately called the attorney that helped you with the probate and will from your parentsâ deaths several months back. Â He was more than happy to help, knowing that you were all alone in the world after your parents had passed. Â Two days later, he called to inform you that all of the paperwork was, in fact, legitimate and that Mr. Serghei Popa was the brother of your grandmother. Â He showed you the adoption papers, confirming that your great uncle had been put up for adoption and the family that took him in had relocated to Moldova when he was two years old. Â He had remained in the country until his death. Â Your attorney contacted Mr. Dathermi, who in turn secured a round trip plane ticket in order for you to come to Moldova to finalize the paperwork and collect the inheritance.
At the thought of the money you were about to acquire, another surge of excitement flowed through you. Â Your parents hadnât left you much after their death and you worked at a dead-end job that had no room for advancement and no possibility for raises. Â All of these recent events sounded like something out of a fairy tale.
âThis is your captain speaking,â the voice sounded from the speaker above your head, âwe will be departing in the next ten minutes. Â Please make sure your seatbelts are secured, your tray tables are up, and all electronics are off until we are at the appropriate cruising altitude. Â I will inform everyone as soon as the coast is clear. Â Thank you for flying with us and enjoy the ride.â
You fastened your seatbelt and laid your head back, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath.
âDonât be nervousâŚâ a voice sounded next to you.  You opened your eyes and looked over to see an older gentleman with wide rimmed glasses and a nice smile.
âIs it that obvious?â you asked, returning his smile.
âItâs pretty obvious,â he chuckled, âmy name is Bruce Williams. Â Iâm the air marshal on board this flight.â You told him your name and shook his hand. âJust relax,â he assured, âweâll be flying for the next 10 hours. Â There are lots of movies and tv shows to watch on the screen in front of you, or you can listen to your music and read a book if you brought one.â
You patted your messenger bag. Â âYeah, I have a few books to choose from. Â Thanks,â you smiled.
Within minutes, the plane had backed away from the tarmac, turned towards the long expanse of runway, and increased speed before leaving the ground and soaring up into the clouds.
*
The steady hum of the planeâs engines provided a relaxed soundtrack as you slept. Â It was close to early morning, according to the clock on the tv screen, but your watch was still on your regular time zone. Â It read early afternoon and that threw you through a loop. Â You had heard that jet lag could be a bitch and you wondered how bad yours would be once you landed. Â Bruce had passed you a pillow and blanket once you were ready to sleep and he assured you that your bag and belongings would be safe while you slept.
You were so thankful to be seated next to him. Â Not only was he the air marshal, but he was a really cool person as well. Â You two talked about movies and actually watched a couple of them on the tv screen in front of you. Â Bruce was kind and nice to talk to. Â The crinkle of crowâs feet around his eyes, his laugh, and his hair color mixed with hints of gray reminded you of your father...maybe thatâs why you liked him so much.
You shifted in your seat and let out a soft yawn. Â Stretching your arms above your head and arching your back, you wondered how much longer it would be until you touched down in Moldova.
âYou werenât asleep that long,â Bruce murmured. Â You looked over to see a book in his hand and his glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose.
âIâm gonna go to the bathroom and then go back to sleep,â you replied, standing from your seat. Â Bruce stood up and allowed you out into the aisle. Â You made your way to the bathroom towards the back of the plane. Â The cabin was dark with little lights dotting either side of the aisle on the floor. Soft lights were shining here and there from people reading, watching the tv screen, or messing with their phones while most of the passengers were asleep.
Once in the bathroom, you did your business, flushed the toilet, and began washing your hands.  The mirror in front of you showed a tired and weary version of yourself.  Some of your eye makeup was smudged.  You told yourself once  you returned back to your seat, youâd retrieve the makeup remover wipes in your bag and do away with the dirt and oil.
Just then the plane hit an air pocket and dropped several feet, throwing  you forward towards the sink and mirror.  You let out a shriek as the plane quieted and went still.  âGod dammit,â you muttered, putting your hand over your heart, âthat scared the shit out of me!â
Once out of the bathroom, you slammed the door shut and walked back to your seat. Â You tapped Bruce on the shoulder and he moved aside.
You lifted the window shade and looked outside. Â Natural light from the start of the day began to show. Â The plane was amongst the clouds so it was fairly cloudy and hard to see.
âHow much farther do we have?â you asked Bruce.  He shifted the book to his left hand and looked down at his wristwatch.  âWe should be there in three hours.  I think we are flying over Romania right nowâŚâ
You nodded your head and thanked him, turning back to the window. Â The clouds gave way momentarily and provided the opportunity to see the ground below. Â Tall, snowy mountains came into view. Â You smiled and marveled at their beauty, wondering what mountain range this was. Â You cursed yourself for forgetting the basics from your World Geography class in high school. Â Hell, all you knew about Romania was that it was the setting for Dracula and the real life territory that was once owned by Elizabeth Bathory, who allegedly killed upwards of 650 maidens and bathed in their blood. Â You shook your head and smiled to yourself. Â You really did enjoy some morbid and fucked up stories.
Your train of thought stopped short when a large and spacious castle came into view. Â Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped. Â It looked like something out of a Disney movie or from ancient castles that still sat throughout Europe. Â The place looked like it stood on several acres of land and who knows how many square feet. Â What a gorgeous and breathtaking place it was. Â You wondered just what was inside a monstrosity like that and who was lucky enough to inhabit such a place. Â Maybe there were castles in Moldova that you could explore and visit while youâre conducting your business.
The castle fell out of view and not far from it stood what looked like a village. Â You were too high up to see any people or any traces of lights or torches. Â You took everything in with total awe and appreciation. Â It looked like a small and sleepy storybook town.
A sudden movement close to the village caught your attention. Â You squinted your eyes and tried to look closer, pressing your forehead to the window. Â What the fuck is that, you wondered. Â It looked like a black tree, naked of leaves or any type of growth...and it was moving. Â It looked to be swaying in the breeze, but the size of it looked way too sturdy for any kind of gust to move it with such fluidity. Â As you focused on the tree, it appeared to be growing...getting closer to the plane. Â Was the plane descending? Â Were you getting closer to Moldova?
One of the branches of the tree slowly drifted to the ground before extending long and rigid, slinging itself up into the air like a bullwhip, hitting the wing of the plane. Â The plane suddenly tilted as the slithering limb wrapped around the wing and broke it off. Â You let out a loud scream as the plane turned on its side, Bruce falling against you, squishing you to the wall. Â âWHAT THE FUCK??â Bruce screamed as yelps, shrieks, and screams echoed in the cabin of the plane. Â Dozens of people were knocked from their seats, flight attendants falling into the aisle and rolling towards the cockpit. Â The plane shook and quaked as it dropped several feet in a matter of seconds.
âOH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!â you screamed, grabbing hold of Bruceâs arm. Â The air masks dropped from overhead and Bruce grabbed yours, making quick work of putting it over your face. Â âHOLD ON TO IT! HOLD IT OVER YOUR MOUTH, Y/N!!â he commanded, reaching for his own mask.
âTHE WING OF THE PLANE HAS BEEN DAMAGED!â the pilot yelled from over the speakers, âWE ARE LOSING ALTITUDE! BRACE FOR IMPACT!â Â People screamed and panicked, holding on to whatever it was they could. Â Panic surged through your body as your fingers dug into Bruceâs arm. Â The plane shook as it fell. Â Your stomach dropped and it felt as if you were seconds from impact. Â You looked out the window one last time before the ground came into view and everything went black.
*
He leaned over the body on the metal table in the lab of his factory. Â He fastened the bolts with a wrench and tested the strength of the metal against the rotting flesh. Â A soft horn sounded in the distance along with the various turns of chains and clangs of steel against steel. Â He wiped the sweat off his brow and walked to his desk, looking over the blueprints and sketches he had devised the previous day.
Despite the different array of sounds, nothing could mask the loud crash that sounded off in the distance. Â He lifted his head, silently trying to figure out what the fuck made that noise. Â Leaving the body laying on the table, he exited his lab and made his way down the stairs and to the factory doors. Â
With a grunt, he slid the doors aside and looked off into the distance. Â Black smoke billowed from an area that looked to be close to the village. Â Other than the crows squawking and flapping their wings in retreat, everything was dead quiet. Â He looked off to the right just in time to see the long, spindly limbs of mold retreating back towards the earth. Â Karl Heisenbergâs face tightened in a disgusted grimace.
âMother Miranda...what have you done?â
#resident evil village#resident evil village fanfic#karl heisenberg#karl heisenburg x reader#daddy heisenberg#house heisenberg#heisenberg#karl heisenberg fanfic
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Beauty and Her Beast: Summary and Ch.1
A Salvatore Moreau x Female!FishMutant!oc fic based on this idea I had the other day that a very specific subset of the fanfom went absolutely apeshit for, which I'm here for and decided to act on. I can't make any promises for consistent uploading or even a finishes product by the end of this, but so long as im still interested in working on it, I'll keep working on it, and if im not, then I wont, plain and simple. Anyways, here's the summary and chapter 1, please let me know what you think of the story so far, i hope you all enjoy (you'd better all enjoy), and I can't wait to see you all again for chapter 2. Bye! <333 (Link to ao3 posting will be in comments so check there if you want to read it there instead)
Warning: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.
Summary:
Now, Iâm sure everyone already knows the ancient tales that tell of a beautiful young woman slowly falling in love with a horrific monstrosity of a man. The pure and true love this innocent beauty comes to feel for him, despite his terrifying appearance, is the key that breaks the cruel and twisted curse under which heâd been kept prisoner. This allows the man behind the monster to not only return to his true human form, but then go on to live his Happily Ever After with the beauty who saved him. Everyone already knows of these tales, as well as the messages behind them, however that is not quite the way this particular tale plays out.
The tale I am about to tell bears many similarities to the one above, however there are also quite a few important differences. For while the original detailed a beauty falling for a monster because of the kind and loving man he was behind his hideous exterior, this is a tale of a beauty, with a few monstrous qualities of her own, falling in love with a kind and loving monster, not at all despite his grotesque appearance, but rather, in part, because of it.
This is a tale, where the Beast still falls for his Beauty first, but the Beauty is the one who will be pursuing her Beast.
Chapter 1: Mother's Gift
Few of those who lived isolated from the outer world, high up in the mountains of Romania, would expect anyone of reasonable sanity to be out traveling in this hellish sort of weather. The wind howling a demonic high pitched tune; snow, sleet, and hail pounding into the ground like an endless shower of bullets from the heavens; and hungry lycans still roaming the area, tirelessly looking for their next meal, would be enough to incentivize even the strongest of mortal men to seek shelter away from the deadly conditions of the outside.
A man by the name of Salvatore Moreau however, one of the 4 lords of this mountain region who lived in the reservoir just past the windmills, did not appear terribly concerned with what other people thought of the traveling conditions. Completely unbothered by the horrifying weather and threat of suddenly being ground into doggy food, the hooded man trudged his way through the dark and barely maintained snow paths. Starting at the reservoir and making his way toward the village, Salvatore moved as quickly as his deformed body would permit, an unusually chipper spring added to his lumbering hobble of a walk.
Mother had a gift for him.
Yes, a truly joyous day it was whenever Mother Miranda called upon him to join her and the other lords for a meeting. Miranda was usually so busy with her experiments that she rarely had time to visit her children outside of these âfamily meetingsâ theyâd been having recently. However, it would appear as though Mother has come up with a solution of some kind to this problem and wishes to share it with them in person. Whatever this solution is, the mutated man has no idea, as Mother Miranda had been quite vague in her message, however the fact that Salvatore was being given the chance to see his radiant mother AND receive a gift from her, all in one day, was more than enough to make up for how agonizingly lonely heâs been these last few months since winter set in, as well as how agonizing it was for him to walk in this weather.
Salvatore arrived at the usual meeting site just as the clock struck 8pm, precisely as Mother had instructed. However, much to the hooded manâs confusion, when he turned the handle on the large wooden door to enter the room, he quickly realized that he was currently the only one present. This was especially strange considering that, usually, at least one of his siblings was always present a little earlier than necessary, usually Alcina or Karl, but occasionally Donna with Angie in tow.
Mother had clearly said in her message that she wanted to start the meeting at 8pm sharply, so where on earth is everyone?
âMoreauâ Mother Mirandaâs voice called out, immediately pushing all thoughts from Salvatoreâs brain as her powerful, yet lucious voice echoed against the halls of the room like a choir of angels.
âY-yes! W-what⌠is it⌠M-mother Miranda? I-i-i came to you⌠j-just like you askedâ Salvatore responds, bowing his head in reverence as he slowly crosses the room and approaches the otherworldly woman.
âSo you did, though I suppose you coming exactly when I call makes the most sense. You always were the most obedient of my childrenâ the woman remarks with casual disdain, her voice devoid of any sort of motherly affection or tenderness. Despite the clear disgust and disregard with which Miranda regards the hooded man standing before her, her words light Salvatoreâs soul ablaze, filling his mangled body with intense feelings of heat and desire that melt his heart of the cold, icy frost that had frozen it over the course of the long winter.
âY-y-yes, y-yes of c-course, Mother M-Miranda! I-i would⌠I would do any-anything... for y-you. A-anything you s-say... anything y-you n-need⌠Iâd d-do it... f-for you. W-without question!â The deformed man says, practically getting on his hands and knees and crawling as he neared closer and closer to Miranda, stopping only when heâd arrived just in front of the steps the raven mother stood upon, his gaze trained at the ground as he knelt at her feet, awaiting his fate at his motherâs hands.
âI know you would, Moreau,â Miranda says cooly, gently brushing the palm of her hand against the black fabric that covers the top of Salvatoreâs head, âwhich is why Iâve called you here today; to reward you for your loyalty and service to me thus far.â
Salvatore sinks sharp and jagged teeth into the flesh of his bottom lip, nearly drawing blood as he desperately tries to silence the needy whine that wanted to tear its way from the back of his throat. His body shivered and twitched in unimaginable delight from the sudden tender caress to his sensitive skin. How long had it been since someone had touched him so gently? How long since someone had spoken to him with such kind and soft words. Took the time to gather presents as a reward for years of faithful servitude? How long since someone had loved him like this?
âToo longâ the disfigured man sighed to himself, reveling in the soft, gentle contact for as long as he is able.
âMoreau. Look at meâ Miranda commanded firmly, and despite not wanting his beloved Mother to be forced to bear witness to his hideous face, he complied, lifting his head up and back to allow his gaze to lift from the floor and up at the glowing figure that was his Mother, his beautiful, incredible, intelligent, majestic mother.
The light shining down from above illuminates Miranda from behind. From Salvatoreâs perspective on the floor, the light darkens her face and most of her torso and waist, giving a softened, almost ethereal glow around Mirandaâs figure. This, along with the rest of her garb, makes Mother Miranda appear even more like the holy woman that Salvatore naively believes she still is. Despite her less than affectionate treatment of him thus far, Salvatore still stared up at the darkened face of Mother Miranda, his eyes shining with reverence, love, desire, and unending devotion.
âY-yes... Mother?â Salvatore breathed, barely able to speak above a whisper as Miranda stepped away, gesturing for him to follow.
âAre you ready to collect your gift now?â The raven mother asks, speaking more softly than before and even holding her hand out to Salvatore, her pose and appearance mirroring that of a powerful god taking mercy upon her wretched follower, reaching out to reward the years of faithful servitude and worship.
Salvatore, barely able to keep himself calm as he stumbled to his feet, did not grace Mother Mirandaâs question with a proper response, instead practically racing to take the womanâs outstretched hand in his own.
âIâm ready Mother⌠I-Iâm ready for... my g-gift now⌠can I⌠c-can I have it n-now⌠p-please?â Salvatore begs, pulling at Mirandaâs hand like an overly excited child, seemingly unaware of the disgusted twist of her face when the hooded manâs cold, slimy fingers firmly latched onto hers.
âOf course, my childâ Mother Miranda says, pulling her hand back from Salvatoreâs and instead placing it along the manâs hunched back, beginning to guide him to wherever it was the raven mother had hidden his gift.
As Salvatore limped next to Mother Miranda, the deformed man couldnât help but wonder what exactly it was that Mother had gotten for him. Was it a new cloak, to replace the worn one he was currently wearing? Perhaps a new set of romance films so he didnât have to rewatch the ones he already owned over and over again anymore? Or maybe it was something to help with his digestion?
It would be nice to get his chronic acid reflux under control again.
Regardless of what the gift actually turned out to be however, Salvatore was merely pleased that he was finally getting a chance to spend time with Mother Miranda all by himself for a change.
Maybe, if he was lucky, sheâd even agree to hold him, just like she always did back when he was still undergoing cadou treatment.
Oh how wonderful that would be!
#salvatore moreau#resident evil#resident evil 8#resident evil 8 village#resident evil 8: village#mother miranda#beauty and her beast#fic#mine#chapter 1#re8#re8 village#re village#salvatore moreau x reader#moreau x reader#moreau x oc#salvatore moreau x oc
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Past and Present
Part 12
Part 13 [CURRENT]
Part 14
DT: @petrichormeraki @applepie1000 @jump-in-the-cadillac @ivorylin @sydneys-sketchesÂ
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Tommy quickly slapped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. The group in front of them turned to face the source of the group. Tommy mentally smacked himself upside the head as he pulled Fundy behind him, the Lovely Trio slipping behind him as Kristin and Grian stepped in front of Sam and Puffy, who held the children close. It wasnât until three familiar faces made their way to him, that he felt like breaking. It wasnât because Phil was there, concern and relief flooding his face as he looked over Tommy. It wasnât because Techno was looming over them, facial expression unchanging, only betrayed by the several emotions going through his eyes. It wasnât because of Ghostbur, because Ghostbur wasnât floating there. He wasnât even floating he was standing. There, standing with his hands stuffed into his pockets, stood Wilbur, who was very much alive. The three of them stepped towards the youngest member of their family, the one they missed so dearly, only to stop when he put his hands up in defense, stepping closer to the fox shifter behind him.
âWilbur, youâre...youâre-â
âTommy, youâre okay!â
Everyone on the Dream SMP frowned as Tommy made an âehâ noise, making a balancing movement with his hand as he peered back at the group behind him, all who, aside from Sam and Puffy, made similar noises and movements back at them. Much to their embarrassment, they were the only ones who found amusement to it. Regaining his composure, Tommy turned back to Kristin, giving her pleading eyes. She nodded before nudging Grian, who was already moving to pick up Theo. Clem smiled as she climbed into the embrace of her grandmother, hugging her with delight. After being reassured that the children were away from the group, Tommy returned his gaze to the members of his older server.Â
âLetâs go to a more private space. I would very much like you all more if you donât start anything unnecessary during my opening.â
Without waiting for a response, Tommy turned and, after ensuring Fundy was safely in front of him, began walking out of the cavern, everyone else following behind. As he waved to guests and Hermits alike, he led the group into one of the larger taverns. Taking out a keycard from behind the automated desk, he patted the robot working there before walking over to a large set of double door. Humming a tune that caught Wilburâs attention, he inserted the keycard and pushed the doors open, leading the group in. He closed the door after the last two people, who happened to be a very disgruntled Jack and Niki. After everyone was sat down in their own seats, they all exchanged uncertain looks. Finally, Fundy decided it was best to break the silence.Â
âSo, I see the resurrection was successful.â
âYeah, we managed to get Wilbur bac-â
âYou have a son.â
Tommy saw Fundy stiffen beside him as the voice of Wilbur spoke up, quieter than they remembered. Fundy pressed his lips in a thin line as he peered up to his newly revived father. Giving him a little nod Fundy cleared his throat as he scratched the back of his neck.Â
âYeah, I do. Heâs great, you know. Very smart and fun, sneaky too.â
âDo I know who your significant other is?â
âI wouldnât call him my significant other, we arenât together. He was very...the situation was...we didnât work out. But, yeah, you know him. You all do, actually.â
âWho is it?â
âDreamâ
Fundy quickly spoke the name, reeling back as he waited for the expected backlash. Hesitating for a moment, he almost believed that, much like the situation with Tommy, he would receive no backlash. He was, however, quickly proven wrong. The only other revived man there was the first to speak up.
âWHAT?!â
âYOU FUCKED DREAM?!â
âLANGUAGE!â
âTHE FURRY FUCKED GOD, OH MY FUCKING ENDER-â
âGeorge? George, can you hear me? Dude, blink if you can hear me-â
âWhen we said âsuck it green boyâ, we didnât mean literally!â
âHow did you manage to get him to-â
As the chaos began to rise, Fundy began to shrink in his seat, panic settling in. Taking note of this, Tommy frowned as he tried to settle everyone down. When no one responded to him, he grew frustrated. Getting annoyed, Tubbo sat up to yell at the source of the chaos, only to find that he was beat to it. With a loud foot stomp, a booming voice yelled over the chaos.Â
âWill you all shUT UP?!âÂ
Silence filled the room as everyone turned to face the source of the yell. There, fists clenched tightly by her side, stood Drista. Everyone hesitated about her next course of action, as the eyes on her mask seemed to glow with her annoyance. As she sat down, crossing her arms and legs together, she huffed as she prepared to speak up once more. Much to her annoyance, however, the door to the room creaked open, a new presence creeping in.Â
âSorry Iâm late, you all have seem to have forgotten me back on my server.â
Everyone watched as the figure approached, Fundy shrinking in his seat. Tommy stiffened in his own, one hand in Tubboâs, the other clamped around Fundyâs wrist. Tubbo, on the other hand, glared at the floor as he held onto Tommyâs hand, as if that alone would solve their issues. The figure, now more visible to be Dream, hummed as he stood in between the three boys and the members of his server. Seeming to only focus on the three, he crossed his arms as he laughed.
âWow, I didnât think Iâd see you three again. Tommy, Tubbo, itâs been years. Good to see you two in good shape. Fundy, I havenât seen you in a little over two years. Didnât think that Iâd find you here, of all places. Did you all miss m-â
SMACK
Everyone stared in shock as Dream held onto his face, trying to keep his mask steady as he regained his balance. Once he quickly regained his composure, he quickly turned to face his âattacker.â Standing in all her glory, stood his sister, hands on her hips as she stood there, anger simmering underneath her mask. As she stood up straight, she hummed in acknowledgment as Lani walked up beside her, leaning on her for support. Holding her hand out, Lani smirked as Drista gave her a high five. The beginning of their best friend handshake was cut short, however, when Dream spoke up once again.
âDrista? When did you get here? Is this where youâve been? Why havenât you come by to visit me-â
âOh, I donât know, why did you never reach out to me? And if you had bothered to show up to the revealing of the park on time, you would have known where Iâve been. Now sit down and stay quiet so we can all catch up.â
âAnd none of you better try attacking! All guests are unable to do any form of pvp thatâs not in any of the special arenas, so donât even try!â
âYeah, what Lani said!â
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The group was walking to the opposite side of Tavern Town, towards the booth games. Fundy was walking with Quackity and Karl, telling them of al the projects he had done since he last saw them. Not trusting her brother at all, Drista walked beside Dream, Lani joining in on keeping an eye on the admin. Tubbo was catching up with Ranboo, as well as timidly speaking with an unusually kind Schlatt. Humming as he walked in the front of the group, Tommy bopped his head as he replayed a song in his head. Opening his mouth, he quietly sang out the lyrics that swam in his head.
âHeâs in your bed-â
â-Iâm in your Twitch chatâ
Jumping slightly, Tommy turned to see Wilbur, walking up to be by his side. Joining him in this was both Phil and Techno, the three of them as awkward as ever. Unsure as to what to expect from them, Tommy just gave them a nod of acknowledgment. As much as he wanted to embrace the three of them into a grand hug, telling them how much he missed and loved them, he didnât dare to do so. After all the years they spent away from each other, he was able to reflect and forgive them for the wrong things theyâve done to him, intentional or not. What he didnât know, however, was how they viewed him after all these years. Did they forgive him for all the troublesome chaos he caused, intentional or not? Could they find it in themselves to do so? He didnât blame them if they didnât, he wasnât even sure if he would.
âYou know, we thought that you had died, mate. No one had seen you in so long after...after Lâmanburg. And I know he isnât family, but he practically was, so it was concerning when Tubbo went missing too. Then, out of nowhere, Fundy was gone overnight. I thought I lost my family, so I became desperate to get Wilbur back so that the three of us could get you all back.â
âWhy?â
âWhat do you mean, mate?â
âWhy get us back? Why want us as family?â
Did he forgive them? Yes, of course he did. Doesnât mean that he had to forget their actions, as well as the consequences that came from them. Doesnât mean that he wasnât allowed to question their decisions. He still loved them, sure, but he needed answers. He needed to know if they loved him back, if they loved all of them. He watched as Wilbur was in deep thought, trying to find the right words to say. He turned to see Phil, emotion running through his face as he stared at Tommy, not knowing what to say to his questions. The last person he thought would speak up, spoke up.
âWe were blinded by our own emotions, Thes- er, Tommy. Thatâs not an excuse for our impulsive decisions, especially ones that put your life at stake, we know this. But we are family, as much as I tried to run away from that fact over the last few years. I let the voices and the power that I held as a pvp god distract me from my original mission.â
âOriginal mission? What was that?â
âProtecting you. Well, protecting everyone in my family. I have always been protective of my family, but the first night you were brought home changed how I handled that. The moment you laughed, I knew that I had to get stronger to keep all of you safe. I never thought that Iâd use that strength against the very same person who brought me to want to become stronger. Iâm not going to beat around the bush, weâve been a shit family to each other these past years. Weâve hurt you, in ways that we may not even know. But, Tommy, if you let us, we can try to be the family you deserve.â
Tommy stared at his eldest brother, surprise painting his face. Blinking a few times, he switched his gaze over to both Phil and Wilbur, before returning it to Techno. Lightly biting his tongue, he took his gaze off of the pink haired warrior and faced the front, refusing to look at any of the three men walking beside him. Finally putting proper words together in his mind, Tommy spoke up once more.
âYou all have hurt me in a handful of ways, that is true. But Iâve also hurt all of you, too. For all that, Iâm sorry. As for not being a family, that canât be solved quickly. This isnât something we can speedrun into a healthy dynamic.â
âTommy, we-â
âBut that doesnât we still canât heal. If you are all willing to take the time and effort to work with all of us to fix our family, Iâm willing to give you that chance. Oh, and Technoblade? You can call me Theseus, it is a part of my name, after all.â
Tommy couldnât help but smile as the tension from the three men left their bodies, relief taking its place. Peering behind him, he made eye contact with his nephew, who stared back with worry. His worry, however, melted into a content smile as Tommy gave him a reassuring nod. Waving him over, Tommy smiled as Fundy excused himself, jogging up to be at his uncleâs sign.Â
âHey, Tom- Hey!â
âHaha! Look at you, being all amazing!â
âCan you not be an embarrassing uncle for five seconds?â
âNope!â
Fundy rolled his eyes at his uncle, laughing for a while before standing up straight. Ducking his head in nervousness, he gave a shy smile and wave to his grandfather, as well as his other uncle and father. Before words were exchanged, however, a frantic wail filled the air, catching Fundyâs attention immediately. Taking a few steps in front of everyone else, he kneeled down with arms open. Running towards him was Theo, wide eyes as he reached for his father, who lifted him into the air in an instant. Burrowing his face into the neck of his father, Theo dramatically wailed once more. The concern that once filled Fundy and Tommy had melted away at this. They now knew that he wasnât in danger, he was just overreacting. The two of them would bet anything that a certain gremlin was behind this.Â
âTheo, whatâs wrong, buddy?â
âSHE WAS GIVEN A SWORD, WEâRE ALL GOING TO DIIIIIIEEEEE!!!!!â
Fundy and Tommy gave each other a look, both unsure as how to respond to that. A shrill shriek of joy caught the entire groupâs attention. There, frantically swiping a wooden sword in the air, came a joyful Clementine at full speed. Running up to Fundy, she began to jump up and down, sword waving in the air, as she tried to reach Theo, who had managed to climb on top of his fatherâs head.
âDONâT LET HER REACH ME, PAPA!!! SHEâS CRAZY WITH THAT THING!!!â
Theo shrunk behind his fatherâs hat as Clementine reacted to his statement by growling at the fox hybrid. Sighing, Tommy scooped up the rowdy child, who squealed as she hugged the sword.
âClem, ya canât go around swinging a sword at your cousin. And donât ever hug an actual sword, ever, dear god. Iâd like you to keep your fucking limbs, Jesus Christ.â
Clem only responded to this with a giggly smile, turning back to face her cousins. Fundy rolled his eyes as he plucked his son off his head, cradling him in his arm as Theo hugged his fatherâs hat in his chest.Â
âClem, what do we say when we hurt someone or make them scared?â
âSUCK IT!!!â
âFor fucks sake, Clementine, no. We say that to jackasses and assholes, not to your cousin. Try again, Clem.â
âHumph, sorry, TT.â
âHm, okay! I forgive you, CC!â
Before the children, who were now conversing in their own secret language, were introduced to everyone, a concerned Grian and Kristin ran over. Once they saw the children, they physically relaxed.Â
âThank goodness they came to you guys, we nearly panicked when they ran. Things were going great, but then Clementine whacked Grian on the foot before turning her attention to Theo.â
âItâs what we expected, this is Clementine weâre talking about.â
âGrian? Is that really you?â
Grian stiffened as he turned to face Phil, Wilbur and Techno staring at him in disbelief. Rubbing his arm in uncertainty, he watched as Phil walked up to him. Eyes scanning his face, Phil let out a strangled noise as he threw his arms around Grian, never expecting to see his first missing son after all the years that passed by. Grian let out a sigh as he hugged back, a smile painted on his face. Pulling away, he let out a laugh as he turned to his brothers. Shooting Tommy a look, Grian snickered at the nod of approval given to him. Turning back to Wilbur and Techno, he let out a hearty laugh as he yelled out words that Techno knew too well.
âOH, IâM PRESSING THAT HUG BUTTON!!!â
âWait-â
Tommy wheezed out a laugh as Wilbur and Techno were pulled into a group hug by Grian, the triplets finally being reunited. It wasnât until they heard the choked up and shy tone that came when Phil spoke.
âKristin? How, uh, hey! How up? Whatâs you? Shit, wait, no. How are you?â
âReally? Decades separated, and this is the greeting I get.â
âI didnât mean to be-â
âAt least buy me dinner, sheesh.â
#memories in the stars#memories in the stars au#hermit!tommy au#hermit!fundy#hermit!Kristin#hermit!Tommy fankid#fwt fankid theo#mcyt fanfiction#PRESS THAT HUG BUTTON POG#Grian Wilbur and Techno are triplets au#Grian Wilbur Techno and Tommy are brothers au#Clementine and Theo are at it again#Pogs for the gremlin children
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Someone is singing on the Castleway. Now, this would typically be considered a fairly ordinary occurrence, if not for the fact that the singing is rarely being done by the corpses.
Passing through all four central kingdoms as it does, the Castleway is used for a multitude of purposes, not least among them the punishment of traitors and criminals. The lesser ones, generally. Those of import are most often dealt with personally by those they have wronged, and often with a certain flair and originality befitting their crimes. But for most, the Castleway is where they face their retribution, though it is sometimes considered more than they deserve.
The road itself is a patchwork of hard-packed dirt, cobbled stone, and tough wooden slats, depending on where you stand. As borders and rulers have changed, so too has the Castleway, going through countless damages and repairs until it is unrecognizable from the wide earthy trail it was in the early days. It is still wide, of course, wide enough to fit three full-size wagons side by side. And it is busy. The people flow like fish through a river, on carts and horses, in groups and as one; shouting, talking, laughing. Trading amongst themselves, breaking off old relationships and forging new ones, gathering fame and fortune and everything in between, all in the course of one journey. One can learn more about the world from following the Castleway than from any storyteller or newscarrier in the realm, it is said.
None of this is entirely relevant to this particular tale, however, or at least not quite so relevant as the stakes.
The stakes, referred to as âthe Judgeâs fingersâ by the general populace, line the Castleway on the left side. Heavy wooden stakes, as big around as trees, taller than even the most towering of persons, driven into the ground, each through a small wooden platform. They are spaced out irregularly along the path, so it is nigh impossible to guess how close oneâs proximity will be to the next (nigh impossible only when considering the factor of luck. Remove that and it is simply impossible to guess).
These Judgeâs fingers are where the aforementioned traitors and criminals face their retribution. To be sentenced to the Castleway is to be sentenced to either a slow, excruciating demise or a merciful release, on the whims of the Judge Eternal and Final. It is to be cruelly and brutally abandoned, to have the strings cut on your control over your fate. It is to be tied to a stake by the side of the road, and left there; handed over to the gods and the elements. Most die after only a couple of days. Brought down by starvation, storms, fires, the savagery of beasts or humanity. There are endless forms of death waiting on the Castleway. It is simply a matter of which one gets to you first.
There are not always occupants of the fingers, but it is often safe to assume that there will be one or two watching you as you pass by, eyes bright with anger or dark with despair. Some will shout, some will beg, some will cry. Some will say nothing. Most are already too dead to make a sound. This one, however, is singing.
Itâs an unfamiliar song, the tune high and haunting, the voice sweet and rough, like crystallized honey. And it is ruining Ridleyâs day.
It is incredibly bothersome to have your entire lifeâs purpose usurped by a corpse that refuses to die or shut its mouth. Alright, Ridley supposes, thatâs a bit dramatic. But drama, as well, is a piece of what he was born to do, and at this particular moment he is having a disastrous time attempting to do it. The song on the breeze has a nasty habit of throwing him off his own melody, and every attempt to drown it out is met with new fervor from the singer. Itâs frustrating as all hell, and Ridley has yet to see the face of his foe, which only stokes his ire further. He keeps his eyes on the fingers, scanning the expressions of those both alive and dead, watching their lips to see if they move. He wants to look upon the one who is ruining his day⌠and perhaps punch them. He hasnât quite decided yet.
Heâs nearly given up on trying to locate the singer and decided to push on and ignore the irksome voice, when he sees them. He canât quite see the figureâs mouth moving from his vantage point a ways down the road from them, but he knows itâs them upon first sight. It can be no one else.
The figure stands tall and proud, despite being tied to a stake and the fact that they appear to be no more than five and a half feet of height. Unlike the others, they hold their head high, not a hint of defeat shown. As he gets closer, it becomes clear to Ridley that the figure is smiling as they sing, a soft, smirking grin, as if they know something everyone else does not.
Up close, Ridley can make out the words on the sign nailed into the post above the singerâs head. The letters are a slash of sanguine paint on dark wood, but they are easy enough to interpret: This man is sentenced to the Judge for heresy and refusal to submit to arrest.
The heretic himself is slight of build, with the type of lean muscle that comes from working with a weapon. His features are sharp yet fine, as though delicately cut from a rough stone; pointed chin, high cheekbones, distinctly sloped nose. There is a pale smattering of freckles across said nose and cheekbones, standing out prominently in the brilliant sunlight. His eyes glitter silver with humor and defiance, the expression turning their swampy grey color to radiance. His lashes are unusually long and dark, giving those eyes a captivation that is difficult to look away from. His hair, an auburn reminiscent of leaves in the falling season, falls just to his shoulder in the slightest of waves. He is dressed in the simple white shirt and leather breeches granted to prisoners, but he manages to make them look like the garb of a prince.
He continues to sing as Ridley watches, despite how he must have noticed the other standing there. He doesn't give any indication, however. Ridley folds his arms and glares, a challenge waiting to be met. The singer's eyes flick to him briefly, and he lifts an eyebrow in⌠invitation, it almost seems like. Well, Ridleyâs not about to let that opportunity go.
With a flourish, the bard twirls around and deposits himself on the wooden platform at the base of the stake. He makes himself comfortable, crossing one leg over the other with pointed elegance. He flicks his eyes up to the heretic and attempts a scowl, and is met with absolutely nothing in return. So itâs going to be like that, is it? I see. Well, two can play at that game.
Two, as it turns out, cannot play at that game. The heretic continues to sing, and the song continues to distract Ridley in all his attempts to drown it out. To be honest, the bard isnât exactly sure what he had intended to do here. He has a habit of making decisions like this, taking action without even considering what action to take.
The song never seems to end, the verses carrying on and on until Ridley nearly becomes convinced that itâs the only song he will ever hear again. No matter how intently he listens, he cannot for the life of him figure out the language. The words flow like a river, the vowels rolling like waves and the consonants crashing on the shore. It fits beautifully with the singerâs voice, Ridley has to admit, the slightly rough tone adding an unexpectedly welcome contrast to the smooth melody. The tune is just begging for a harmony.
Damn my nature, Ridley thinks as he begins to hum, testing the notes until he finds the ones that fit, turning the hereticâs song into a duet. He canât follow along with the words, but the rest of it is easy enough to pick up. He sings loudly, lifting his voice up to carry along the Castleway. Heâs always had a powerful voice, itâs one of the qualities that determined his prowess as a bard from a young age. There had been people listening to the hereticâs song from the start, but once Ridley joins in, more and more heads turn as they pass on the road, and some even stop to listen. Mostly families, dragged over to the side of the road by young children captivated by the music. Some merchants stop by, nodding gently along to the tune before moving along on their path. A group of soldiers for hire scowl at them as they pass, and Ridley scowls back. Heâs never much liked soldiers. Thereâs another bard that stops as well, and performs an elegant dance for the heretic, bowing at the end before skipping away, humming the tune as she does so. And thereâs an oddly pale figure, with strange colorless eyes and silvery hair despite its apparent youth, who stays longer than the rest, standing before the platform with its head cocked to one side, a mysterious glimmer in its eyes. The heretic ignores it, but Ridley stares right back at the figure, taking in its expensive clothing and well-groomed facade. It met his eyes with a cool, amused gaze, as unbreakable as stone. Now, Ridley may have a strong voice and a stronger will, but he folds under that gaze. He lowers his eyes as the figure smirks and walks away, strolling as though it has all the time in the world.
Not long after that, the song ends. The hereticâs voice trails off into the wind, and he closes his eyes, tilting his head back against the rough wood of the stake he is tied to. He appears⌠peaceful, content. Itâs not an expression one would expect to see on the face of someone condemned to death, but then again it has already become clear that this someone is not much like the others.
âThank you,â the singer says as Ridley is preparing to rise to his feet and leave, feeling silly and a bit embarrassed over what he has just done. Ridley startles. âFor what?â
The heretic opens his eyes and smiles. âYou made it beautiful.â
Heâs talking about the song, Ridley realizes. âIt was beautiful before,â he says in response. âWithout me.â
âNot nearly as much,â the heretic points out. Ridley finds himself blushing faintly, proud of himself. âWell, you know, it comes with being the most famous bard and storyteller on this side of the four kingdoms.â
âFamous?â the heretic quirks an eyebrow. âAre you really?â
Ridley shrugs. âProbably. More famous than you, Iâd bet.â
âWell, that would be because I am infamous, my small singing friend.â
Ridley has to bite down on his lip until he draws blood to keep himself from bursting out indignantly at being referred to as small. âI suppose that makes sense, you being a heretic and all.â
The heretic cocks his head, the light catching on a set of tiny ragged scars just around the edges of his mouth, mostly faded. âIs that what they call me? Heretic?â
âItâs not a very pretty name,â Ridley agrees. The heretic grins, the pale scars stretching. âI prefer Faraday,â he says.
âNow that is a pretty name,â Ridley bends over and plucks a pristine white daisy from the patch growing around his feet. âFaraday. Day. Daisy. Faradaisy. Can I call you Daisy?â
Without waiting for an answer, the bard plucks a few more of the flowers and begins weaving them into a crown. âSo, Daisy, if you are not a heretic, what then are you?â
Faraday hmms in thought, tilting his head back against the wooden stake once again. âI am someone who believes,â he says, softly yet firmly.
âIs that not what we all are, at heart?â Ridley points out. He isnât looking, but he can hear the hereticâs laughter. âI suppose you would call me a prophet, then,â Faraday confesses.
A prophet. Interesting. âI find that prophets and heretics are often the same, depending on who you ask.â
That laugh again, a shockingly harsh sound. âYou speak true. Unusual for a storyteller, in my experience.â
âMany stories are true,â Ridley bites back, defensive.
âMany are not,â Faraday returns. Ridley huffs, defeated. He turns back to his daisy crown, but the silence quickly begins to bother him.
âYou know, youâre in surprisingly good spirits for someone sentenced to death,â he says, forcing himself to remember the situation the other is in. Donât get attached, Riddles. But if Faraday hears the bitterness in his tone, he doesnât show it.
âOh, Iâm not going to die,â the prophet replies, confident as a king. Ridley whirls around to frown at him, doubtful. Faraday smiles brightly, tilting his head away from Ridley so the hair falls back from his throat, revealing another scar, this one thick and fairly recent, judging by the clear visibility of the stitches holding the flesh together.
âI have been sentenced to death too many times to count,â he explains softly, his rough honeyed voice falling uncharacteristically flat. âAnd not once has it killed me. Why should this be any different?â
âGods,â Ridley chokes out, openly staring. Heâs never seen a scar like that. Heâs never seen a wound like that. He hadnât thought anyone could survive something like that, let alone come out of it walking and talking and singing, for Executionerâs sake. âWhat did you do?â
âTo make the world want my head on a platter?â Faraday sighs. âWell, thatâs quite simple. I killed their gods.â
I killed their gods. I killed their gods. I killed their gods.
âWell,â Ridley says simply, sounding a few shades more hysterical than he had intended, âthat would do it.â
Faraday nods, a slight acknowledging dip of the head, and turns his face to the horizon, his eyes sparkling in the light of the setting sun. âThey are dead,â he says again, more to himself than to anyone else. âWhether they fell by my hand or anotherâs, I cannot say. But I know. I have stood upon their graves. I know.â
Ridley studies him, attempting to work through the puzzle that is Faraday the condemned. The prophet is sincere, that fact is as clear as day. Insane, but sincere. I am someone who believes, he had said. Someone who believes⌠Someone who believes.
It would be better if I left him here to die, Ridley thinks to himself. It would be the best thing to do. To most, it would be the only thing to do. But Ridley is someone who believes as well. Believes in hearing the full tale, in seeing it through to the end no matter how many tavern patrons or bored lords are screaming at him to quit the racket. Thereâs a song here. I can feel it.
Faraday startles when Ridley begins sawing at his bonds with his small dagger. âWhat are you doing?â
âYou have a story,â Ridley babbles, justifying his actions to himself as much as to Faraday. âThereâs something- I think thereâs a story here. Something good. Something to make a legacy out of. Iâm not- It canât end here. I donât think itâs supposed to.â
Faraday watches him, a slow, genuinely delighted smile crossing his scarred lips. âI never thought anyone would tell my story,â he says, and the soft surprise in his voice awakens a twinge of pity in Ridley. âI donât see why not, itâs bound to be an adventure. Iâve always wanted to go on an adventure, you know?â
The ropes fall away in a slithery heap, landing in a puddle at Faradayâs feet. The prophet steps away from the stake, stretching his arms wide and throwing his coppery head back so the light shines full in his face. Now that his hands are free, the thick bands of scar tissue around each wrist are clearly visible, indicating countless bindings and chainings. He looks like a saint, standing there scarred, dressed in the simplest of clothing, long hair lifting in the wind. He looks like a king. He looks like a mistake waiting to be made.
When he has finished soaking up the last of the sunlight, Faraday bends to collect the crown of daisies Ridley had made. He places it on his head as reverently as he would a crown. âIt suits you,â Ridley tells him. Faraday smiles, but it quickly falls as he glimpses the sign hung over his stake.
âThey called me a man,â he mutters. âI do not like being called a man.â
âI understand that,â Ridley sighs. âIâm not always a man either.â
Faraday lingers on the sign a moment more, before turning on a heel, as fluid as a dancer, and strides off down the Castleway. He picks up his earlier song again, belting it loud to the heavens and the core of the earth. Ridley shakes his head as he follows, wondering what in the name of the Judge, Jury, and Executioner he has just gotten himself into.
At least it will be an adventure.
#I WROTE. WORDS#A FIRST DRAFT OF A CHAPTER OF ME EPIC FANTASY NOVEL#there are parts of it i don't like and i've rewritten them hundreds of times but can't get it any better than this. oh well :/#but i wanted to introduce y'all to faraday >:}#writing#my writing#novel#fantasy#fantasy novel tag#elia faraday#tristain ridley#ocs#my ocs#original characters#original writing
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Hi! For the birthday series can you do May 15? That's my birthday đđ thank you!â¤â¤
Language Of Birthdays: May 15 - Taurus
[You can find the rest of the series here; or check out my masterlist]
The Day Of The Dreamweavers
A very natural manner, May 15 people are able to exemplify what those around the mare unconsciously striving to attain. Consequently, others may be attracted to those born on this day without really knowing why. May 15 people may also be surprised by such attention, as they themselves are often unaware of their magnetism. They simply have a gift for quietly and unostentatiously touching the hearts of their family, friends or colleagues.
One reason that those born on this day do not draw great attention to themselves is that on first glance they do not seem to be doing anything so much out of the ordinary, and their outward appearance does not particularly set them apart. The charm of May 15 people may not be immediately apparent, but it is generally after some time has passed that those involved with them come to realize their power. The materials that May 15 people work with come from everyday life, but those born on this day have a remarkable talent for putting these mundane materials through a kind of creative alchemy and weaving a resultant tapestry which touches one's inner core. They do not touch everyone so deeply; only those who are tuned in to their wave length are so powerfully affected.
May 15 people are often loners. They are capable of working ordinary jobs in the daytime while exploring more unusual interests after work and on weekends. Sometimes their immersion in private worlds can cut them off from their fellow human beings and cause quite serious psychic problems. Those born on this day should always be encouraged to express themselves, perhaps first sharing their ideas or projects with a few intimates, later emerging to present them in a more public setting. The ultimate goal is, of course, that they be able to spend the greater part of their time doing what they love best. Unfortunately, since they are rarely aggressive, they may choose not to emerge at all, and the few admirers they have may wind up supporting them emotionally or even financially; this can become a real problem for everyone concerned. May 15 people must sooner or later step out on their own, assume responsibility for their talents and seek to further their careers. Their ability to please can then be put to work in a wider social context, instead of just getting bottled up in personal frustration.
May 15 people generally feel that many quiet years of training are necessary to establish one's own inner discipline, because it is most important not to lead others astray once successful. Those born on this day are thus loathe to seek positions of power until they have first fully prepared themselves and paid their dues while forming ideas and attitudes which can have such an impact on other people.
Strengths:
Imaginative
Naturally Magnetic
Weaknesses:
Passive
Isolated
Frustrated
Advice
Those born on May 15 may be prey to their own dream weaving. They must guard against isolating themselves in an unreal inner world, cut off from reality. Therefore, all activities that bring them into contact with their fellow human beings, whether physical (exercise, running, team sports) or social (dancing, parties, dinners) are healthy and recommended. As far as diet is concerned, May 15 people are encouraged to extend their typical Taurus love for food to the widest variety of culinary delights. Perhaps this appreciation of varied cuisines can afford opportunities to make friends and acquaintances. To this end, taking up cooking is also helpful. May 15 people should be particularly on guard against sex and love addictions, or becoming overly attached to one person to the exclusion of all else; again, such behavior only promotes the isolationist tendencies.
When you're ready -your preparations complete- go for it
Never forget the bond between love and enlightenment
Learn to share and allow others into your private world
#taurus reading#taurus sign#taurus sun#taureans#taurus#taurus astrology#taurus meme#taurus horoscope#earth signs#baby witch#witchcraft#psychology#personality quiz#personality post#personality#quiz#may 15
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Making Queen members flower crowns would include
Pairing: Queen members x reader
Word count: (altogether) 1800+
Warnings: some sickening fluff, oh and swearing but thatâs a standard, some slightly suggestive themes in johnâs (implied sex) but nothing accually happens except a kiss
A/N: Hello you beautiful people! Iâm back (donât get used to that tho lol) I thought of this two years ago when i first saw Bohemian Rhapsody (SO 2 FUCKING YEARS AGO). Freddieâs is gender neutral. I tried to add a âkeep readingâ button but Iâm not sure it works tbh because this hell of a side never cooperates.
Please keep in mind that English is not my first language.
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Gifs arenât mine. Credits to the owners.
Brian May
You were laying on Brian's lap, the sun hitting your face pleasantly. This week the weather was nice and warm, which was something extremely unusual in England, so the two of you decided to head out to the country and have a little picnic.
After what felt like hours spent in the car ("Brian, for Christ's sake, would you open the bloody window, I can't breathe!" and "Bri, I love you, but if we don't get there in five minutes, I'm going to murder you, I swear") you finally found a nice clearing, where you could relax and forget about the stresses of city life.
Brian put down a blanket on the grass, near a small stream that flew through the forest. He brought the bag with food and drinks (you didn't have a basket, so you had to improvise).Â
You quickly put some sunscreen on your face and laid down, keeping your head propped on Brian's lap. He put a hat over his face and fell asleep, his chest rising steadily.Â
After some time (that fucking wasp didn't let you sit in one place), you stood up and noticed many beautiful flowers, growing on a nearby bush. You got lost in picking up the most beautiful ones, admiring each one carefully. When you got enough, you sat back down and started tying the stems together.
Suddenly you got an idea. Careful not to wake him up, you began sticking the flowers in Brian's dark curls.Â
Your now decorated boyfriend woke up and stretched, not noticing the colourful addition to his hair. This made you chuckle softly, but you decided to see how long it would take him to realize.
+"What is it, babe? Do I have something on my face?"
"No, Bri, I just remembered a funny joke, that's all."
"Oh tell me, then."
"Whatâs the difference between a lawnmower and an electric guitar?"
"Hm?"
"You can tune a lawnmower!"
You both enjoyed the rest of the day swimming in the stream, sunbathing and eating the snack you brought. And Brian somehow still didn't notice.
Until it was time for you to get home.
You got in the car ("Open the window now, it's like in the oven in here!") and Brian looked into the rear-view mirror.
+"Hey, (Y/N), what the fuck is that? I love it."
Roger Taylor
So honestly it would probably happen during one of his concerts.
You were backstage watching the show, enjoying every second of it. Freddie was in the middle of shouting some (very inappropriate) compliments to Brian's ass, slapping his buttcheeks. The crowd immediately went wild hundreds of fans screamed in unison. You chuckled under your breath, flashing a white smile at your beloved boyfriend Roger and his bandmates. You felt an arm wrap around your shoulders. Surprised, you turned around, your eyes meeting Mary's.
+"What's up, kiddo?" she smirked and patted your back.
"Oh, nothing much. Just Freddie being Freddie," you replied, making both of you erupt with laughter.
Suddenly you felt a familiar feeling form in the pit of your stomach. Out of nowhere, your hands became shaky, your breath shallow and quick. Feeling like you need some fresh air, you excused yourself.
+"Are you sure you're okay, (Y/N)?" Mary watched you carefully, her hand supporting you in case you fainted.
"Yes, Mary, I just need some fresh air. I'm extremely tired, and I haven't eaten anything since this morning" you reassured your friend. "I'm just gonna sit outside for a while."
"Do you want me to come with you?" she asked, still not convinced about your well-being.
"Yes, I wouldn't want to spoil the gig for you. I'll be back before you know it" you squeezed her hand and, after promising her to be careful, you headed outside.
You took a walk alongside the small patch of lawn beside the exit. After taking a couple of deep breaths, you noticed some daisies grow in the green grass. Without thinking much, you sat down and started picking them up and tying their stems together.
Your fingers worked quickly, making a beautiful flower crown, mindlessly.
Meanwhile, on stage, the boys were singing She makes me - a song that reminded Roger of you. He quickly glanced to his right, expecting to see your beautiful figure standing with Mary. But, much to his surprise, he couldn't see you anywhere. It was no secret that his eyesight was shit but, bloody hell, it wasn't that bad. His blue eyes were searching for you, frantically.
When the song ended, he quickly motioned to Freddie to take a quick break, while he went to check up on you. He practically sprinted to Mary, almost knocking down his drumkit and John.
+"You dumb fuck, watch where you're going, Rog!"
Usually, Roger would reply with some snarky comment, but at that moment he really didn't care. When he reached Mary, he didn't even need to ask her about you.Â
+"She's outside. Needed some fresh air" the girl shooked her head towards the exit.Â
Roger quickly walked outside, knowing that he couldn't stall the audience for too long. But at the same time, he must have made sure you were all right. Â
He got out of the building and searched for you. He spotted to sitting on a small patch of grass, holding a pretty flower crown in your hands. His heart ached at this sight.Â
+"Hello, love" he whispered, kneeling next to you. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, I am, Rog" you kissed his cheek. "I just felt a bit off, that's all."Â
You felt your boyfriend press a kiss to your hair. You smiled at the feeling, leaning into his touch.Â
You finally placed the finished flower crown on his head, brushing away loose strands of sweaty hair from his face, your hand gently brushing his temple. He took your tiny hands in his and kissed your fingers.
+"Do you wanna go back in there, sweetheart?" he asked sweetly, looking deeply into your eyes.
You nodded and pecked his lips, "Of course, Rog, I wouldn't want to miss any more of your show."
He smiled and lead you inside, placing his hand on the small of your back. You returned to Mary and wished your boyfriend good luck.Â
Roger kept the flowers on his head throughout the whole gig, sending you a dashing smile and winking at you every now and again.
I just think Roger would look sososo pretty in a flower crown.
John Deacon
It was a lovely afternoon in London. You and your fiancĂŠ John decided to take a walk after the whole day in the studio, recording songs.
Taking a walk in a nearby park was a great way to destress and release the tension accumulated during the day. It was something John realized pretty early on in your relationship and took full advantage of it. He loved wandering along the pebbled pathways that swirled around beautiful trees and bushes full of colourful flowers. Being in the presence of nature made him feel at ease and helped him relax.
But the real reason why he enjoyed your walks so much was you. He adored seeing your face light up with joy when you saw a squirrel run up a branch of an old oak or when you spotted a particularly beautiful fish in the small pond. He could watch you pick up fallen leaves for ages and hear you talk to little kids in a playground, showing them the shiny rocks you collected along the way.
To be honest, he always dreamt about starting a family with you and seeing you get along with kids so well only increased that desire.
Often after a walk, he was in the moodâ˘, which, considering his shy nature, always took you by surprise.
Oh man, he just loved taking a walk in the park.
And today was no different.
You were walking hand in hand, admiring the blossoming flowers. Occasionally, you would stop and pick them up, making a small bouquet in the process. White daisies, pink clovers and blue forget-me-nots accumulated with every step you took.
John was telling you about the new idea he had for a song, kissing your cheek every now and again.
Listening to him, you started to fiddle with the flowers, tying them in knots. After a while ("And then, I think, we could include a gong, you know?") you were done with your creation.
You put the flowers on John's head and kissed his temple.
+"What's that, darling?" he asked you, surprised.
"Nothing, but I think you look sensational, my love" you replied, smiling innocently.
You felt John's hand bring you closer to him. He kissed you, entangling his long and incredibly skilled fingers in your hair. The kiss soon turned into more heated one.
+"I'll show you how sensational I really am, pretty girl."
Freddie Mercury
So with Freddie, it was probably at one of his parties.
He invited you along to have a drink with him and his bandmates.
You usually weren't the one for big and loud parties, but he kept asking you and you gave in.
+"Oh okay, Fred, I'll do it," you said after the twentieth time he had asked you.
"Fantastic, (Y/N)!" he exclaimed, loudly clapping his hands. "Just remember to wear a costume."
But you didn't really want to dress up in fancy dresses or costumes from different eras. Calling Mary, you asked her for advice and she told you to just wear some accessories.
So before the party, you went to a small flower shop and bought a small bouquet of purple lilacs. At home, you made a flower crown, hoping that dressing up as a nymph would be enough.
When you got to Freddie's house, you were greeted by a crowd of people in colourful skirts and suits with fashionable patterns. That's when you found Freddie, Roger, Brian and John, chilling on a couch with their dates.
+"Oh, (Y/N), you look marvellous, darling!" exclaimed Freddie dressed as a king, while he stood up to embrace you in a warm hug.
"Thank you, Fred, I made it myself" you smiled shyly.
You got some champagne and joined the conversation.
Suddenly, you felt a pat on your shoulder, and, when you turned around, you saw Freddie holding out a hand to you, asking you to dance with him. You gladly accepted and got up.Â
+"I really meant it, darling. You do look marvellous tonight" he whispered in your ear.
"Thank you, Freddie, you can have it if you'd like" you sent him a warm smile.
You took off his golden crown and set it aside. Gently taking off the flower crown from your head, you placed it on top of Fred's. He beamed at you and put his own crown on top of your head.
+"Now you rule here, darling."
taglist
#queen#queen x reader#brian may#roger taylor#john deacon#freddie mercury#ben!roger#gwilym!brian#joe mazello!john#majka writes#brian may x reader#roger taylor x reader#john deacon x reader#freddie mercury x reader#ben!roger taylor x reader#gwilym!brian x reader#joe!john deacon x reader#ben hardy!roger taylor x reader#gwil!brian may x reader#gwilym lee!brian may x reader#ben hardy x reader#gwilym lee x reader#joe mazello x reader#bohemian rhapsody
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falling for you
pairing: baekhyun (byun baekhyun) x fem reader | part 2
genre:Â non-idol!au, angel!baekhyun, fluff, slow burn, split-perspective, first- and second-person writing styles, LOTS of plot buildup and dialogue, mild smut mixed in, part of a series
word count:Â 3831
content warnings:Â alcohol, swearing, theme of angels, virgin reader, strong theme of voyeurism, reader has gender-neutral best friend, vibrator masturbation
summary:Â baekhyun, your guardian angel watching over since the day you were conceived, has fallen in love with you and canât bear to just watch you anymore. he needs so much more.
a/n: partly inspired by the teen romance-fantasy series hush, hush by becca fitzpatrick. #17 on my prompt list âĄ
korean key:
⌿ none this time
â¤â¤â¤â¤â¤â¤â¤â¤â¤â¤â¤â¤â¤â¤â¤â¤â¤â¤
You
Itâs your 21st birthday, and a beautiful, late-spring day awaits you. You turn off your alarm, roll out of bed, and drag yourself to the bathroom for a much-needed shower.Â
Once you flick on the vanity lights above the sink, you stop in your tracks. You know what... todayâs my big day. Iâm gonna do shit MY way today, you think while eyeing yourself in the mirror.
You exit the bathroom for a moment and retrieve the unopened bottle of Fireball [American cinnamon whiskey] atop your dresser. Your dad had sent you the bottle along with your favorite brand of chocolate and a sweet card, and youâd accidentally received the package one day early (oh well!). Unscrewing the cap, you take a hearty gulp and wince at the delicious burning sensation in your chest.
âFuck yeah,â you grumble aloud as you replace the bottle and amble back to the bathroom.
You turn the knobs of your glass-encased shower and strip off your pajamas while the water heats up.
Baekhyun
Good gracious. I will never tire of her waking up and taking morning showers. She looks the most ethereal after she sleeps and the most serene with water cascading down every bit of her curvaceous body. The way her nipples grow erect from the pressure of the water and the occasional chills when she reaches out to change the background music playing... her hair slicked back, drawing all my attention to her stunning face...Â
My darling human has at last become what they call an adult. She is now able to legally enjoy spirits and be merry with friends.Â
I remember the moment she was conceived and I was assigned as her guardian. I made sure her mother was never in harmâs way during her pregnancy with my darling, and ever since then, she has been my reason for existence. No other human soul before her had ever latched itself so deeply into my being, and I canât stand the distance anymore.
I sit on her long bathroom counter with my wings comforting my back against the wall and my legs hitched upward, just watching her wake up to another day. The glass walls of the shower have fogged up, but I can easily discern her silhouette swaying side-to-side with the music. She seems to be in an unusually happy mood today, and I plan to make her even happier tonight.
You
You step out and dry yourself off, twisting your hair into a towel turban. You tiptoe in front of the mirror and wipe off the condensation with your forearm. Just then, your cell phone on the counter launches into a FaceTime call, the screen showing your best friendâs name.
Accepting the call audio-only, you greet them cheerily, âGood morning, sexy bitch!â
They chuckle. âShow me your face, coward! I wanna see what my 21-year-old best friend looks like on her birthday!â
You dramatically sigh and oblige your friend, keeping your phone facing the ceiling as you tap your camera on. You tower over the screen at a comical angle that only shows your towel-wrapped head and exposed neck. âHere she is!â
âA knockout as always. I hope you know that,â they reply.
Smiling, you ask, âWhatâs up?â
âWe still good to go out to Fire & Ice tonight? Iâm not gonna let you leave until youâre so sloshed that I have to carry you out!â
You laugh at your friendâs excitement. âYes, I took the whole weekend off, so let the debauchery begin, my friend.â
You talk about your club plans a little more before your friend goes on a long diatribe about their evil stepmotherânot really fresh territory at this point. So you carry your phone around while you dress in jeans and a college t-shirt, eventually returning to the bathroom for a quick round of makeup.
Your bestie is still regaling you with their convoluted family drama when you feel yourself zoning out into the mirror. Itâs as if all other noises around you have slowly faded away, and the only thing you hear is a voice, seemingly right next to you, whispering with a velvety softness, âYouâre beautiful as you are.â
Mesmerized by the voice, you unconsciously sigh out of deep contentedness, and your friend asks if youâre still keeping up. You assure them all is well, except for the fact that youâve been hearing a comforting voice for the past three years now.
A voice you obey by only putting on mascara.
Baekhyun
Iâve been speaking to her since she turned 18. I always wanted her to know sheâs never truly alone, but the problem with my method is that she never fully processes me. Sheâs always so captivated when I speak to her that it never occurs to her something extraordinaryâsomeone extraordinaryâis connecting with her, guiding her, encouraging her. And it doesnât help that I canât read her thoughts or impede her free will by planting thoughts. But Iâd be lying if I said I didnât enjoy the wide-looked look of bliss that overcomes her every time she hears me.
She goes about her morning as she usually does on the weekends: sitting on her balcony with a plate of toast, a cup of coffee, and whichever book she borrowed from the public library. This time, itâs Danteâs Divine Comedy.Â
I love the irony.
You
Two hours of reading pass before you grow restless and retreat back to your room. Flopping in bed, you let your mind wander. Youâve been single for as long as you can remember, and youâve taken a liking to the clearly male voice you hear every once in a while. If youâre honest with yourself, youâre scared deep down of the reality of such a circumstance, but because the voice has always cared about you, whatâs the harm in believing in it?
Remember, you tell yourself, itâs all about you today.
Without any more hesitation, you yank open the drawer of your nightstand and pull out a black wand vibrator. You may be a virgin, but youâre not an idiot who doesnât know what pleasure is.
Wiggling out of your panties and jeans, you throw them to the floor and spread your legs across the mattress as comfortably as possible.
âCome back to me,â you whisper almost inaudibly.
Baekhyun
Absolutely nothing else on this planet makes me happier than watching my darling pleasure herself. She obtained that vibrating device last year as a gift from her friend, and ever since she discovered this realm of physical pleasure, Iâve fallen harder and faster for her. The salacious things Iâve watched her do to herself, the phenomenal sounds she emits, the positions she lazes into, the glistening of that little slice of heaven on her body... It drives me mad that I have no senses of smell, taste, and touch because I want to experience what she does. And with her.
Today is different. Sheâs never spoken aloud like that, and the yearning in her voice makes me believe itâs for me.
I rest on my stomach with my chin atop my hands, peering at the slit between her supple legs and how itâs slowly begun to flood as she drags the device up and down, stopping to rub slow circles at the very top. I donât hear the thing humming, so she must be preparing herself.
She has one arm bent behind her head, her neck angled to watch herself move the device. Her mouth is ajar, and the rising of her chest fascinates me because it falls in tune with the device.
Then she pushes a button, and I hear it buzzing lowly. Not a millisecond later does her breath catch as her hips dig downward, and she closes her eyes. She holds the black thing at the top, over the little mountain of bulbous, pink flesh.
You
Whoever he is, you wish heâd speak to you now as you press the wand against your hardened clit. Itâs only set to level one, but you feel your orgasm beginning to build up.
So beautiful like this, you imagine him saying. Keep going. Iâm right here, and youâre driving me crazy...
You let out a breathy moan as you activate the wandâs level two vibration intensity, and your thighs shake uncontrollably at the heightened pleasure.
Shake for me, beautiful. Take me to your heaven, your imagination continues. Itâs right then, though, that his voice sounds beside your ear for real in a soft tone:Â Yes, darling, you did it.
After hearing this voice long enough to be able to conjure it in your mind with any array of sinful words, today is the first time it brings you to a time-stopping orgasm.
Baekhyun
Out of nowhere, her hips fly off the bed and surge in random, up and down motions, and I watch the small opening of her slit pulsate in time with her hips as it erupts with a lovely, transluscent essence. I wish I could feel her arousal on my fingertips instead of just watching.
Her voice comes out in broken utterances and ragged moans:Â âUH-uh-huhhh-ugghhhh... ffffff-UH-uh-uuuck.â
The vibration ceases, and she tosses the device beside her with a heavy exhale, evidently spent. Her legs are still spread, and I canât help but inch myself closer to observe the way her soaked flesh speaks to me in its language of spontaneous throbbing.
You
The rest of the day passes you by. After you came, you made lunch, went to the gym for a workout, went to the DMV to change your driverâs license, came home and read some more, answered a few work emails, perused social media, ate dinner, and even watched a movie. A typical Saturday for you, nothing particularly special by any means. The real fun would be at 9 PM when your bestie promised to pick you up.
...
You glance at the time on your phone: 8:56 PM. Perfect, a few more minutes to double-check everything.
Phone case on a crossbody chain with your new license and credit card stored inside? Check. House key attached to the chain on a carabiner clip? Check. Hair flat-ironed with minimal frizz and ultimate shine? Check. Makeup? Eh, all you did was pat on some cheekbone highlighter. Check. Outfit? Sleeveless, burgundy top with an open, laced up backside, faux leather miniskirt, and basic black Converse for comfort. Check.
You smile at yourself in the full-body mirror in your apartmentâs foyer. âEffortless.â
Yes, the voice agrees.
...
Itâs just after 9:15 when you arrive at the Fire & Ice club downtown. The bouncers stamp both of your left hands with purple stars for the bartenders to serve you the goods before youâre pushed along with the crowd further into the expansive club.Â
Lights of every color strobe all over with red-tinged string lights on the perimeter of the whole place, and a massive blue-tinged spotlight on the DJ and his setup. The dancefloor in the middle is decently crowded with people around your age, a few 40-something couples sticking out adorably.Â
âNo chasers for you, missy,â your friend reminds you with glittering eyes and a loving squeeze on your upper arm.
You nod, feeling thrilled to be out on the town for once. You raise your index finger to the ceiling with a victory screech:Â âTo the bar!â
Over an hour later, the overhead lights go out, the DJâs spotlight turns red, and the entire bar gets lit up from the see-through floor with bright, pale-blue lights. Even though youâre definitely tipsy now, you finally notice the mirrored wall panels surrounding the club, and all the spotlights bouncing off of them combined with the barâs own futuristic lighting makes you realize how truly fire and ice this place is.
Not surprisingly, your friend had slid into their drunk phase a little faster than you, and theyâd disappared somewhere with a girl theyâd met at the bar. Theyâd sent you a text 20 minutes ago reading, âMet a spicy lil thang at the bar. Iâll find u later! Keep ordering!!!â
Were you bothered? Nah, you really werenât. This has happened a few times before elsewhere, and you were still intent on enjoying this day your way, even if that meant dancing like an idiot by yourself.
Were you wondering where the voice was? Yes. He hadnât spoken to you since you got picked up.
Gulping down the rest of your Captain and Coke, you return the glass to the bar and catch somebody to order a Vegas Bomb shot. Feeling yourself finally dipping into your drunk mode, you down the shot with ease, not so much as wincing at the burn of the alcohol before heading straight back to the center of the dancefloor where a group of girls had left a pocket for you to slip in.
The DJ blends the ending of the current song with the beginning of a new one, âAll Thatâ by Emotional Oranges, and the vibes you get from this one are sensual. Youâre in your own world of alcoholic delight, and youâre erotically body-rolling with yourself before you feel a pair of hands gently grasp your waist.
You feel the person press their chest against your shoulders, their breath icy cold beside your ear. âEffortless, my darling.â
Every fiber of your being comes to a screetching halt when you hear it.Â
Itâs him. Â
You spin aroundâa little too quickly considering your current stateâand brace your hands against his chest. He responds by wrapping his arms around your back.Â
Looking back at you with big, almost black-colored eyes is a man with platinum blonde hair and ridiculously full lips. Heâs wearing a white button-up shirt tucked into black pants, a look more fitting for a business-casual luncheon or something.
But who cares about the clothes when he has a face like that? With the most flawlessly radiant, olive skin and hands so warm on your exposed back that he feels like a personal heater?
You could feel the surrounding peopleâs presence melting away the longer you gazed at him, the more it dawned on you with a certainty you didnât dare doubt that this was truly the voice youâd been hearing.
You blurt the words without any more hesitation: âSay âbeautiful.ââ
Unphased, he fulfills your request with a melodic purposefulness in his voice, keeping his eyes trained on yours.
With relief washing over you, you drop your jaw in a loud exhale. âItâs you!â You bring your hands up to cup his cheeks, desperate to etch his breathtaking face onto your brain.
âItâs me,â he answers with a sheepish smile, hugging your body tighter against his. He feels as firm as Michelangeloâs David sculpture.
Then you faint in his arms.
Baekhyun
I canât tell if she fainted from the shock of finally meeting me or from her obvious imbibement. I was actually able to smell it on her warm breath, and if I knew what literally anything on Earth smelled like, Iâd be able to describe it.Â
I was more beside myself being able to finally touch her, though, to finally exist with her in the same dimension of reality. Her skin felt supremely smooth, and I could practically feel the love beaming from her face.
She knew it was me because she asked me to say beautiful, something Iâd spoken to her earlier in the morning. She didnât want to test me, but she also didnât want to test her sanity or sobriety.Â
I carried her home, glancing down at her with a kind of all-encompassing happiness Iâd never felt before as an angel.
You
At last, you rouse from your fainting spell, and the first thing you see is your apartment ceiling. A dull headache is knocking at the back of your head, and thankfully the only light source is the lamp on your nightstand.
You look to your side and are reminded of the nightâs events.
âIâm sorryyy,â you murmur, frowning cutely at the platinum-haired man lying beside you with his head propped up in his hand. He moves his free hand from your hip to your jaw, tenderly grasping it and swiping his thumb side to side.Â
âPlease donât be,â he replies softly. âIâd do anything for you.â
You look at him for a moment, examining his features. âDo you know my name?â
He grins ear to ear, as if enjoying a private joke. âI think you know I do.â
Although youâd slept off the alcohol, youâre still a little lost. How do you explain meeting the man whose voice youâd heard in your head for three years?
You turn to face him, entwining your lower legs with his under the sheets. He seems almost caught off guard by the touch, but he quickly calms himself.
âI donât know yours, though. Please help me,â you plead, and he picks up on your subtle allusion to the bigger picture, not just his name.
He sighs quietly, ceasing his thumb strokes and taking your hand in his. âI amâwas the angel Baekhyun.â He pauses, gently squeezing your hand as he brings it to his white shirt. âIâve watched over you for the past 21 years and nine months.âÂ
He pauses again, letting this sit with you. You take a moment to process before speaking. âWhy hadnât I heard your voice earlier?â
He nods once, taking in a breath. âI didnât want to scare you in your younger years, nor did I want others to think youâd developed an imaginary friend. And for obvious reasons, you couldnât see me before I fell.â
Before I fell.
The words run you over like a semi-truck, and Baekhyun sees it on your face. âYes, darling, I fell to Earth.â
You furrow your brow, caught between confusion and wanting to cry. âWhy?â you whisper.
âI broke the law,â he says before kissing your knuckles. âI fell in love with a human.â
You canât help but stare at him, speechless.
âAnd I want you to know that every time you ever heard my voice,â he continues, âI was speaking to you and only you when I felt you needed me. Most angels deliberately avoid speaking to their humans and instead conjure some sort of earthly sign for them to stumble across. But I couldnât do that with you. I watched you become such an incredibly strong, self-sufficient woman that I worried youâd never get anything in return from anyone. I wanted you to know you have never been alone.âÂ
Tears well in your eyes at Baekhyunâs sincerity, and you struggle to find any words to string together.
He kisses your hand again. âBefore this, my only senses were hearing and seeing. I donât think I can take my hands off you now.â
You burst into a toothy smile. âSo that means youâve watched me do literally everything...â
Baekhyun notices the streak of seduction coloring your eyes. Glancing toward your nightstand quickly, he says under his breath, âThat thing drives you wild.â
You smirk, pulling your intertwined hands forward so you can kiss his knuckles this time. âDo you know how wild your voice has driven me? Still?â
âI kind of always suspected it,â he admits with a smirk. âNevertheless, we are together, and I donât know how to adequately express how deeply happy I am, much less how happy I want to make you.â
Moving your legs from his, you kick back the sheets. Heâd left you both fully clothed, that gentleman.Â
âWhat time is it?â you say as you twist around to check your phone. Your home screen reads just past 3 AM, and thereâs even a new text from your bestie:Â âGlad u found someone!! Text me tomorrow and happy bday again <3âł
You turn back to Baekhyun, propping yourself up on your elbow like him. âYou texted my friend?â
He nods earnestly. âIâve seen you do that enough times to understand the courtesy of letting them know.â
You smile in response, deciding to push his shoulder until heâs lying on his back and youâre straddling him. He responds by placing his warm hands on your hips.
You throw your hair to one side before leaning over him with an outstretched arm. âBaekhyun,â you whisper.
âYes, my darling?â he hums, his eyes eagerly drinking you in.
âI want you.â
His eyes widen enough for you to notice, and he unknowingly digs his fingers into your sides.
âIâve wanted you for so long,â he says above a whisper.
You lean back and unzip your miniskirt, then you tug at your topâs ribboning to undo it enough for you to pull it off. You take in a deep breath as Baekhyun feverishly assesses you, and your nipples grow hard at his unfettered attention.
âHavenât you seen this enough?â you ask him softly.
He shakes his head. âNever enough. And now I can feel you, smell you, and taste you.â
You carefully stand above him and brace a hand against the wall as you yank the skirt off, one of his hands tenderly holding your ankle. You straddle him again and sit a little bit lower so you can unbutton his shirt, open his pants and pull out the ends of his shirt.
Spreading the shirt fully open, his chiseled torso knocks the breath out of you. You bring your hands to his abs but hesitate for a second.
âPlease keep going,â he begs quietly.Â
With his approval, you bring your hands down and gingerly run them over the indentations of his abs and the plains of his defined pecs. You trace your index finger from his chin over his Adamâs apple all the way down to his navel.
âDarling?â
âYes, Baekhyun?â
âWhat am I feeling in my pelvis? Is something wrong with me?â
You look down and find his very human, very pink, very swollen erection poking out of his underwear. Taking his questions seriously, you answer him:Â âYou have an erection, a boner. That means youâre turned on.â
ââTurned on?ââ
âAroused, excited, in the mood. This is how human men show it,â you reply, keeping your voice sincere. He deserves the truth as it is, not through jokes and teasing. âYouâll have to learn how to control it in public.â
He quickly infers your hidden meaning, nodding. âI trust you.â
Chuckling at his random admission, you say, âI trust you too. Iâd like to help you with being a human as you have helped me.â
He beams at you. âI welcome your guidance wholeheartedly.â
You smile and spend the next minute removing your panties and the rest of his clothing.
Baekhyun, in your eyes, is literally the definition of perfection. Covered in bulging muscles and gleaming skin with an unusual heat that almost radiates off his body, you fell speechless again.Â
Youâre on all fours above him now, hovering your face above his. âYou make a fine human, Baekhyun.â
âThank you,â he smiles, his hands back on your hips.
âStop me whenever,â you say firmly. He nods softly, patiently waiting for your move.
#baekhyun#byun baekhyun#exo baekhyun#baekhyun smut#baekhyun fluff#exo#exo smut#exo fluff#kpop#kpop fanfic#fanfiction#kpop imagines#kpop scenarios#kpop smut#exo imagines#exo scenarios#baekhyun imagines#baekhyun scenarios#exol#bbh#exo bbh#angel!baekhyun#baekhyun x reader
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Take A Break
Pairing: Sirius x reader
Request: Hello! Could you write a Sirius x reader where she's like the only person not interested in him and is focused on grades, so he's super confused when she pays him no mind? And of course drama queen tries everything he can to get her attention??đ
A/N: This is pretty dialogue heavy, and probably not my best work, but I still hope you enjoy! Feedback is welcome!
Wordcount: 1.5K
Sirius Black had gotten very used to using minimal effort to get attention. Boys, girls, teachers, everyone seemed tuned into him for some reason or other, and he had long moved past the odd feeling that brought about and accepted it as a part of his life. Walking down the corridors often resulted in groups of girls giggling at him, people stepping out of his way without a second thought, his jokes never went unlaughed. He may have no longer been Black family royalty, but the majority of Hogwarts students certainly treated him like a prince.
It was another regular day for him and the rest of the Marauders. They had joked with McGonagall in transfigurations, caused a minor scene at lunch, talked to each other as if they had a secret no one else could know about. Which, of course, they did, but nobody knew that. The extraordinary part of the day for Sirius Black, however, came in his astronomy lesson.
He had noticed her before, of course he had. He often stole glances towards her, her y/h/c hair tied up in a ponytail, the colour of her y/h sitting against her skin. They knew of each other, they had often worked together in the earlier years of Hogwarts in projects they were paired together for, but they had since fallen out of each otherâs orbits, leaving Sirius to admire her from afar. Watching the crinkle appear between her eyebrows as she concentrated on her star chart, he knew that he couldnât wait any longer to ask her out. Out of all the girls he spoke to, and she wasnât even one of them, y/n was the one who could never leave his mind.
He watched her packing away her equipment at the end of the class as he quickly stuffed his things in his own bag, urging Remus to go ahead without him. Feeling an unusual sense of nerves settle in his stomach, he approached her, clearing his throat to announce his presence. She turned towards him, flashing a bright smile as she swung the bag over her shoulder and tightened her ponytail.
âHey Sirius, itâs been a while. How have you been?â Checking the time on her watch, she started to walk towards the door and descend the stairs from the tower, Sirius following behind her.
âOh, you know, Iâve been alright, getting along like always.â He laughed, relieved to hear a chuckle from her, bouncing from the walls of the tower and echoing around them.
âYes, Iâve seen. Itâs quite hard not to, actually.â They had reached the bottom of the staircase by now, and Sirius knew that they were about to head off in different directions for their classes. âIâm assuming the great Sirius Black didnât seek out a conversation with me for nothing?â She asked, clearly seeing straight through him, causing a slight blush to colour his cheeks.
âLove, I would happily talk to you for hours just because. But youâre right, I did want to ask you something.â She stopped at the top of the next staircase, turning to look at him with a curious expression in her bright eyes. âI was hoping you would come to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?â
She took his hand in hers and looked at him softly as she spoke. âIâm sorry. Iâm flattered you asked me, I really am, and I love spending time with you, I just donât have the time to have the fun that you do, or Iâll never get the grades I need to get the career I want.â She squeezed his hand before letting go, and he felt his heart squeeze with it as she left him and scampered down the stairs, turning back to him at the bottom and giving a little wave, complete with an apologetic smile.
âSorry mate.â Sirius jumped when Jamesâ hand clapped down on his shoulder, clearly having watched the exchange. âWhat are you going to do now?â
âI guess Iâll take a leaf out of your book Prongs.â Sirius sighed as the two of them began to walk through the corridor to their next class. âJust, with a little less creepy stalking.â
��
Y/n was sat in the Great Hall, waiting for her friends to arrive and sit with her for lunch, head stuck in one of her favourite books she had picked up in the library a few days earlier, to pass the time while she waited. Hearing someone sit next to her, she bookmarked her page and looked up, surprised to find a certain dark-haired boy sitting in the empty seat by her side.
âWhat you reading?â He asked, smiling brightly. She held the book out to him silently, placing it into his open hands. âLes Misèrables? Jâaime bien ce livre!â She started, staring at him for a couple of seconds before she finally opened her mouth to respond.
âTu peux parler le français?â His smile grew wider as she spoke to him, enjoying the sounds of the language he rarely got to speak anymore, finding pleasure in it even if there werenât many parts of his childhood he enjoyed.
âMais oui, mademoiselle. Itâs impossible to be a part of my family and not learn French growing up. How did you learn it?â
âI grew up in France, my family only moved here a couple of years before my eleventh birthday. My parents worked out there for most of my childhood, so I learnt it quite naturally. Itâs a beautiful language.â
âEven more beautiful when you speak it.â He laughed loudly as she shot him a dry look, clearly not impressed at his cheap line, although he noted how she averted her eyes and how a smile tugged at her lips. He passed the book back to her, letting his fingers brush over hers ever so lightly. âMy offer still stands, if you ever want to take it. Hogsmeade, just say the word.â
âI wish I could, I really do. Iâm just not as naturally clever as you and your friends. I have to put so much work in to get the grades that I do, I just donât think I can fit a relationship into my life at the moment.â Sirius started to respond to her, trying to deny what she had said about him and his friends, but he was interrupted fairly quickly.
âPads!â It was Remus, standing next to James and Peter, who were all beckoning him over. Sirius sighed, irritated at his friends as they seemed completely oblivious that he was talking to someone else, to y/n.
âItâs okay, they need you.â She encouraged, a hand on his arm as she gently pushed him away. âHave a nice weekend.â And with that, he had been pushed back to the Marauders, and once again he was left looking at her across a room, wishing he could be back by her side.
âŚ
She was sat in the library, filling her Saturday with a self-imposed review of recent lessons, trying to commit it all to memory before exam season began and the stress became overwhelming.
She had lost track of how long she had been sat there, knowing only that lunch had come and gone before she had managed to drag herself away, and now there was an empty pit in her stomach she was ignoring. She was looking over her potions textbook, trying to memorise the method for brewing the elixir to induce euphoria. She had the book closed in front of her, as she muttered under her breath, trying to recall what she had read.
âSo then you add the porcupine quills, and after that you⌠stir four times⌠clockwise?â She cursed herself as she struggled to bring the words to the front of her mind, beginning to open the book again when a voice interrupted her.
âYou stir counter-clockwise.â Sirius was sitting at a table across from hers, alone, his own notes sprawled out in front of him. âYouâre louder than you think.â
âYouâre studying?â She asked, surprised to see him, and surprised to see him alone, actually doing some work. He nodded, grinning at her shock, messily collecting his belongings and transferring them to her table as he took the seat opposite her.
âI was trying to tell you at lunch the other day. I donât just naturally take to all my classes, I do have to work for them. I just find the time to have fun, too. Y/n, you canât spend your life holed up in the library, youâll miss everything. Taking a little time off isnât going to make your grades plummet. If anything, it will probably make you concentrate better.â She sat for a moment, taking in his words, and finally nodded.
âIâm willing to give your method a try. So, are you going to let a gal take you to Hogsmeade?â Nothing could beat the breath-taking smile that broke across his face, and she knew that following her heart was the right choice that day.
âI donât know, Iâm kind of busy studying.â He laughed, growing even louder as she threw a roll of parchment at him, hitting him squarely in the forehead. She met his eyes and they were shining at her, and she knew he was worth taking a break for.
#harry potter#harry potter x reader#harry potter fic#sirius black#sirius black x reader#sirius black fic#sirius x reader#padfoot#padfoot x reader#marauders#marauders era#marauders x reader
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