#and the wind caught the bag while I was trying to scrape up all the mucusy bloody shit

[woundedheartwithin]

I love driving, I really do, but why is there construction on every single road in Texas at all times?

[themusingsofafanficwriter]

The True Meaning of Family - Chapter 1

Summary: A found family Supernatural AU. Ophelia Humphries is an English 19-year-old who is just trying to finish her online history degree when she receives a letter from two brothers she never knew she had.

A/N: Okay so this isn't the first time I have uploaded this but the account it was on got deleted AND the chapters have been edited a little. This is a multi-chapter fic. You can also read it here on AO3.

T/W - Meantion of death... I think that is all for this chapter

A street light switched on casting an orange glow over the young woman at the library table.

Her typing slowed as she came to the end of her paragraph. She looked up at the clock hanging on the far wall. Half past six. Her European history teacher had given them an assignment to write a blog about any historical subject.

"You must keep a healthy and vibrant blog, updated twice, no, three times a week. Now this will be 60 percent of your final grade, so make it good people." said Mr. Sutton.

Those words rang in her ears, history was her passion and while she couldn't get the grades to go to a physical university she loved her course and she wanted to get this project perfect. Ophelia pressed the publish button on her article about the laws around witchcraft in Britain. Taking one more glance at the clock, she closed the lid of her laptop and slipped it into her dark green tote bag.

The heavy wooden chair made a scraping sound as she stood up, cutting the silence. A girl sat a few tables from Ophelia looked up at her, the noise distracting her from her colourful notes. They held eye-contact briefly as Ophelia walked passed the girl's table heading towards the book drop off point.

"Did you find everything you were looking for my dear?" the old librarian asked slowly. His name tag said Bernie Harrington and he was dressed in a pair of brown trousers that showed the signs of repair, a cream shirt and dark blue knitted jumper. His white hair was bright against his dark skin and made him look much older than his face did.

Ophelia smiled at the kind eyed man. "I did. Thank you so much for your help Mr Harrington, this book was just what I needed."

"I'm sorry you can't take the book out, it's just too old to trust to most of the public, I hope you understand dear."

"Of course I do, Mr Harrington, I'd be upset if anything happened to it." Ophelia said in a whisper as she delicately placed the leather bound book onto the cart next to Bernie.

The book was called The Persecution of Witches and was well over 100 years old. Its pages had the smell of dust, time and smoke from when people could smoke in libraries in time gone by.

"I assume you know this book is said to be cursed dear? The legend goes that those who stare at its pages are persecuted by the supernatural" Bernie added, his eyes glimmering with humour.

The short girl let out a snort that startled her and replied "Mr Harrington, you don't believe that do you?"

"We should all be aware of the supernatural my dear, no matter how improbable it sounds." With that Bernie picked up a stack of books from the desk next to them and placed them on the cart, pushing it towards the shelves. "Have a good night Miss."

Stepping onto the pavement the autumn air caught Ophelia by surprise. The wind stang against her pale skin, turning her cheeks red almost instantly, and flung her curly black hair from where it usually hung around her chin. She brought the collar of her heavy winter coat up to try and shield her face from the harsh weather. She took a deep breath of freezing air before heading towards her car.

Reaching into the back pocket of her mom jeans she grabbed her keys. The metal was cold against her fingers as she unlocked her 1970s black ford mustang. Climbing into the front seat immediately felt like a hug.

The car had once belonged to her grandad, the man who was the only father figure Ophelia had in her life, if you didn't count the gaggle of men her mum brought into her life as potential step-father, Ophelia didn't count them.

Memories of her grandad William and the time they spent together were littered all over the car. Most notably was the photo of William holding a baby Ophelia while he lent against the car. Ophelia picked the photo off the dashboard and turned it over. Written in her grandad's handwriting it said the start of an adventure.

Her grandad passed away 6 months ago and each day it was hard to be without her best friend.

Closing her eyes for the briefest of moments, Ophelia could have sworn she could smell him. The smell of apple pulp from his homemade cider and leather from his jacket filled the car, comforting her despite knowing it was all in her mind.

Her phone interrupted her reminiscing. She had a single notification from her mum.

Sweetheart, can you come home at some point soon, we need to chat about something that has come up.

Love mum x

Ophelia hadn't been home in a few months, after her grandad died her mum's boyfriend Brad began to be too much for Ophelia to handle. It started off with him making fun of little things that she would do like wearing statement shirts or wearing fun makeup. It then became bullying and when she stood up for herself, her mum made the decision to stick with Brad over Ophelia.

Ophelia had bounced between friends from school, sleeping in her car and staying in cheap hotels and bed and breakfasts with the little money her mum gave her each week. She hates using that money, her mum only gives her it because she feels guilty about asking her to leave.

Sighing, Ophelia knew if she didn't respond that she would get a less than friendly message from Brad.

Ophelia hit the reply button and began to type.

Mum - Just got out of the library, I can come over now if that works for you.

Ophelia x

Seconds later her phone beeped again.

That would be great love, Brad is just getting ready to meet up with some friends from work so we will have the house to ourselves.

Love mum xx

Two kisses this time. Something was off. Her mum rarely sent kisses on the end of messages and when she did it was only ever one, and, come to think of it, her mum never called her a pet name.

The car's engine spluttered into life as she turned the key, glancing at the time. Quarter to seven, she should be at her mum's by quarter past seven. Putting the car into gear, Ophelia headed toward her mum's home.

Ophelia pulled up to her mum's country home. It was a dark and sinister looking building but it held many happy memories for her. Memories of family Christmases with her mum and grandad, and birthdays and new years celebrations.

Locking her car behind her, she started the walk up the sandstone slabbed path. The garden's grass was artificial looking and the flowers were placed precisely and symmetrically.

Ophelia hesitated at the perfectly painted grey door before giving three firm knocks. Her stomach was in knots waiting for someone to open it. Footsteps could be heard on the other side and so could voices. She knocked again and fidgeted while looking at her feet.

The door swung open, startling her. Brad stood in the doorway, filling it almost completely. He was tall and proud looking, Ophelia's mum said that's what first attracted her to him. Ophelia always thought he looked arrogant. He was dressed in a suit that probably cost more than a small car.

Brad came from a wealthy background and had never had to work a day in his life, a couple of years before he moved in he inherited his dad's fortune. Ophelia's mum was working in the bar when he stumbled, already drunk, through the door.

"She's here" Brad yelled into the other room, his crooked smile set Ophelia on edge, his breathing set her on edge, everything about him set her on edge.

"Brad." Was all Ophelia could say. Her voice was nowhere near as strong as she wanted it to be. He could tell this.

"Well come on in Ophelia, it's good to see you, how have you been keeping?" His hand gripped her shoulder as he ushered her into the front room. She tried to wriggle free but his grip was too tight.

"Fine Brad, just fine." She said through gritted teeth.

The front room where Brad had ushered her to was not what Ophelia had expected. Before she left the room was decorated in warm colours. Reds, browns and oranges filled the space once upon a time, but now, now it is just white. Obviously Brads doing.

There were pictures of Brad and Sandra, Ophelia's mum, where pictures of Ophelia used to be and candles were tacky ornaments her grandad bought them from his various travels.

In the middle of the room was a small coffee table, on that table was a box of tissues and a tea set. That tea set. That tea set of blue and white only came out when major talks were to be had. This tea set of blue and white had chips and cracks all over it where people had thrown it at walls and even each other. Ophelia smirked to herself when her eyes glanced at the sugar bowl that had a nasty chip taken out of it where she had thrown it at Brad and missed. It hit the wall behind him.

Ophelia's mother, Sandra, sat in the middle of the room next to the table pouring a cup of tea for herself, then, one for Ophelia. Sandra was slimmer than Ophelia remembered, her bones looked sharp and dangerous but overall Sandra looked too frail to hurt a fly. Her dyed blond hair was slicked back into a low bun that only emphasised the inch or so of natural black root.

Ophelia lowered herself slowly into the chair opposite her mum.

"Darling, it's lovely to see you." Sandra said with a smile. She tried to look happy but her face was blotchy and red from where she had obviously been crying. "You look well, I love this shirt you're wearing."

This was a lie, Ophelia wore loud printed shirts that she mainly borrowed from her grandad, since his passing she had to find new ones at charity and second hand shops. Sandra hated how Ophelia dressed. The one she was currently wearing was pale pink with an 80s geometric pattern in light blues, greens and yellows.

"What's going on mum? What do we need to chat about?" Ophelia asked softly, cautious of how fragile her mother looked.

"It's about your dad sweetie." Sandra hesitated.

"What about him? Has he come back?"

"No, 'pheila, he isn't back. You see, you got a letter and I know I shouldn't have opened it but it had an overseas post mark." Sandra reached to the table, moved some magazines and passed Ophelia a letter.

"What's this mum?" Ophelia was confused. She never got post, let alone post from overseas.

"Your dad is dead." Brad interrupted the silence.

The room fell silent again.

"What do you mean he's dead?" Ophelia said slowly, trying to come to terms with the information. She didn't even know the man yet she began to softly cry.

"Exactly that, he's been dead almost 15 years now." Brad continued with no sound of remorse or sorrow in his voice.

That was most of her life. At 19 years-old Ophelia had only spent a few months with her father John Winchester when she was a baby before he had to go back to America. Her mum says it was a summer fling that evolved into something more when she found out she was pregnant. He stayed for the entire pregnancy and roughly half of her first year before leaving. They never heard from him again.

"Love, you read the letter." Sandra's cold hand reached for Ophelia's knee in reassurance.

Her hands shaking, Ophelia removed the letter from the envelope and began to read.

[circa-specturgia]

“Promise you’ll write about us.”

I want to start by saying that this piece is a bit of a more heavy and serious one in tone when compared to some of the other writing I’ve posted here. It depicts a fictional, yet very real scene. I initially thought against posting it, however after talking with friends, I’be decided that I want to share this piece with people. I want to be clear that his piece discusses some heavy themes:

TW // War, death, ruin, the destruction of war, military. If the events in Ukraine directly affect you, or trouble you, or these topics feel heavy, I ask that you do not read ahead. I trust your knowledge of your own limits. Thank you. While this piece does not contain any graphic descriptions nor active descriptions of combat, I have chosen to add the Violence Mature tag nonetheless.

The rubble under her feet shifted with her weight, tipping and nearly causing her to twist her ankle before she caught herself against a wall, palm scraping against brick. With a wince and a strain of effort she pulled herself up, realigning her messenger bag, pulling the worn newsboy cap tighter over her head, and the flannels and leather jacket tighter around her shoulders.

The wind tore across what remained of the city.

There weren’t any buildings to stop it anymore, the current like an echo of the advancing military, that had torn through here hours ago. Fires still burned here and there. She could hear mortar fire, out on the horizon they had disappeared into.

Stepping forward, she bid mind to her footing. Steel girders and brick and concrete filled the streets, the glint of bullet casings littered around, shards of glass like the remains of a whole that was now so broken and fractured that it was unimaginable for it to possibly be put together again.

She recognized the crimson bricks of the chocolate shop she’d gone to some Sundays to buy pastries for her sister, cracked and littered about. The mangled golden sign once a work of art, laconic curves and flourished now twisted into a pair of jaws.

The tip of her pen touched the page, bleeding ink as she couldn’t bear to move it. What words could hope to communicate this? What purpose would there be to try and describe something so horrible?

A hand gripped her pant leg, nearly making her jump.

“You- You’re a writer… Aren’t you?” The voice coughed, red.

She could only nod, in shock fingers white on the pen. It had been a gift from her father. He’d saved up his wages over the months, putting a bit away, and bought her the pen she’d gone starry eyed over when they walked past the display in the shop window last Christmas. His smile had been just as much a gift as the pen itself.

“Promise… Promise you’ll write about us.” He gasped, the empty, ratting sound coming from his chest making her own tense and throb. “That we- won’t be forgotten. That we fought.”

He couldn’t have been older than twenty. He didn’t have the time to tell her his name.

Decades later, she sat in front of a camera, in a recording studio. Her book, published so long ago, lied on the table between her, and her interviewer. Her pen in her breast pocket.

They looked at her, offering a moment of pause, as she collected herself, giving a shaky breath and beginning again. She’d promised after all. Whether he could still hear her say it or not, when she’d knelt beside him.

She would never let them be forgotten.

Thank you for reading

@flashfictionfridayofficial

[razorblade180]

Dragonslayer week Day1: Childhood Friends

Deep in Patch’s forest, a young seven year old Yang stares up a tree. With a whimsical smile and pigtails flopping in the wind, Yang laughs at a little blonde boy who’s limbs wrapped around a tree branch for dear life.

Yang:Hahahaha! Jaune, hurry up and jump you big baby!

Jaune:You try falling from this height!

Yang:I did. It’s why you climbed up and why I’m still not it!

Jaune:Climbing in tag should be against the rules!

Yang:An interesting suggestion. Maybe we should discuss this when you come down!

Jaune:*sniffles*

Yang:Oh not the water works. *hands on hips* if I can do it then I know you can. Look! I’m fine.

Jaune:Yeah well your legs are longer! Touching the ground is easy for you!

Yang:Heh, so you admit I’m taller than you finally? You usually get short with me! Hahaha!

Jaune:Uuugh! You’re the worst.

Yang:I’m also gonna catch you. *raises arms* C’mon!

Jaune:You’re crazy! No way you can catch me!

Yang:Can too! I carry my sister all the time! No way you’re heavier. Dad says I’m super strong!

Jaune:…..

Yang:I am! You want the ground to catch you instead!?

Jaune let out a sigh. He repositioned himself to be sitting up. Nervous, he pushed off the tree limb towards Yang. To Yang’s credit, Jaune did fall fall into her bear hug. She just immediately toppled over, hitting the dirt with the boy on top of her.

Jaune:YANG!

Yang:Uuuuuuggggghhhh.

xxxxxx

Yang:*sitting* I can’t believe your mom packed you bandages.

Jaune:*putting on her knee* She thinks I’m clumsy.

Yang:Because you are.

Jaune:Hey, who’s scraped up!?

Yang:Who needed help? These don’t even-ow! Don’t press hard!

Jaune:Guess your bark was bigger than your bite about that tree.

Yang:….

Jaune:….

Yang & Jaune:….Pffftt Hahahahaha!

Yang:You’re dumb. I’m taking that one.

Jaune:Just because yours are so cheesy.

Yang:My puns are fantastic!

Jaune:Pfft, okay. Hold still for a moment.

Her friend brought up his hand and moved her hair out of her face. Jaune brushed of her cheek some more before carefully placing a bandaid on a cut before smiling.

Jaune:There! All better!

Yang:*red*…No more tag. My leg hurts. You should carry me.

Jaune:Huh!?

Yang:I caught you, so you should carry me. It only seems fair.

Jaune:But I can’t lift you! You’re way to hea-

Yang:*squints*

Jaune:I’m very scrawny.

Yang:Well let’s work on it! At least just for a little while? I won’t climb next time we play tag.

Jaune:…*turns around* Hop o-

Yang nearly lept onto Jaune’s back, making him stumble. She grabbed his bag and off they went, slowly.

Yang:See? I can feel you getting stronger already!

Jaune:*blushing*….

[many years later]

Jaune stares at eight disappearing Ursa in the forest. He walks over to Yang, who’s laying on the ground, and crouches.

Yang:See? Told ya I didn’t need help. You owe me a soda.

Jaune:And a trip to the infirmary. One bit your ankle.

Yang:That’s what aura is for. I’m fi-ow don’t poke it! Why do you always poke tender spots!?

Jaune:Because you never tell me when something hurts. C’mon, up you go.

Yang:Let me lay here for a minute. Too tired to-

She yelps as Jaune sits her up, bringing her arms over his shoulders before grabbing her legs and standing up. Yang tightens her grip silently while Jaune starts walking.

Yang:*red*Well look at that? How nostalgic. Guess I was right all along.

Jaune:Are you taking credit for puberty?

Yang:I don’t see why puberty and I can’t be correct.

Jaune:Heh, you’re ridiculous. Some might say…

Yang:Unbearable? Hehehe.

Jaune:There it is. Some things never change.

Yang:Nope. *rests head* thank goodness.

Jaune:*smiles* What am I gonna do with you?

[apocalypticgargoyle]

Oh my god i just found you're writing and I'm obssessed. First of all, I'm in love with your edgy!karl series. Seriously, it's amazing. Second of all, I had a little idea that you can take as a request if you'd like. I was thinking edgy!dream/clay but with a shy innocent girl. And a hint of some fear play kink? Like she's all cute and he's so edgy shes scared and intimidated by him when they meet and it turns him on knowing shes both scared of him AND attracted to him at the same time so he uses it against her(consensually of course)

can we call him alt!dream? ;) also,,, i rly like this request...

𝐉𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐘𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐒. ♘ 𝐚𝐥𝐭!𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 (𝟏𝟖+)

pairing: alt!Dreamwastaken x fm!reader

warnings: smut (18+), fighting, smoking, language, oral (fm. receiving), fear play, asphyxiation, sight size kink & praise, dominance

The movie theatre dimmed, the beginning credits of the film reeling as a montage of a city played in the background. You settled back in your seat, accepting the fact that you had been stood up, determined not to let it ruin the movie you had already paid for. That’s right; instead of treating yourself to a new pair of shoes or a set of notebooks, you agreed to meet up with a sleazy guy from class after weeks of him pleading.

You sighed slightly, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you realized you hadn’t even wanted to see the film and had only agreed because he suggested it. Someone moved into a seat near you, his legs stretching as he slumped down, purely due to his towering height. You stiffened, crossing your legs to inch away from him at the sight of his various tattoos peeking out from beneath his dark corduroy jacket.

He carded a hand through his dirty blond hair, revealing an eyebrow ring as he swept his bangs off his forehead momentarily. You tore your eyes from him as you noticed the cigarette balanced behind his ear. Even with the seat between the two, you could smell the smoke on his clothes mixing with the faintest hint of vanilla.

You folded your hands in your lap as you noticed him give you a once over. He reached towards you, making you flinch slightly before you realized he was holding out his bag of candy to you. “Want a jellybean? You look upset,” he motioned, voice low as he whispered.

You shook your head quickly, muttering a thank you and playing with your fingers. He shrugged, watching you for a second more before turning back to the movie. He tucked his arm behind his head, chewing on his lip as if debating whether he should keep talking to you or just let you be. You weren’t really sure which outcome you preferred.

On one hand, he fit every one of your guilty pleasure fantasies, while on the other, he terrified the hell out of you. It was more of an intimidating feeling, residing in the way each of his movements caught your attention and the way you could barely keep your eyes off his grungy appearance. Your mind drifted from the plot of the movie and towards the images of his tattooed hands wrapping around your throat and giving you a reason to be scared.

“You here alone?” He asked, popping another jellybean in his mouth. The action made you think of your grandpa waning himself off of tobacco when you were younger. Those jellybeans were blue and a flavor of comfort for you now, while the man before you seemed to only fish for the red ones.

You nodded hesitantly. “I got stood up,” you mumbled, making him shake his softly. “What about you? Are you here alone?” You wondered where you had gathered the courage to talk to him, his demeanor making you want to run, but his voice was a symphony to your ears in the darkness of the movie house, drawing you closer with each of his lulling words.

He wet his lips. “So far,” he answered. He stuck out his large hand for you to shake, his skin was coarse against yours as his finger reached to brush against your wrist. “I’m Clay,” he added, his name rolling into your mind and nestling itself into your memory just due to the tone of his voice. After you gave him your name his mouth curled into a soft smirk. “It’s nice to meet you,” he remarked. You blushed for an unknown reason, thankful for the darkness to mask your emotions.

Someone entered the theatre, marching up to Clay and leaning down to his ear. “Dream, we have to go now,” the guy whispered into his ear, just loud enough that you could hear him. Clay's face twisted into an annoyed expression while the guy turned to leave.

Clay straightened his jacket on his shoulders. “Not to seem to forward, but can I get your number?” He queried. You raised your eyebrows at him, basking in the fact that despite his friend’s agitation, Clay was taking his sweet time making his move on you.

As if you were acting on instinct, you grabbed a pen from your bag as he held his hand out to you again. You found a bare spot on his skin and wrote your number as clearly as you could manage with your shaking hands at the way his eyes watched you alluringly. Without thinking, you blew on the ink, trying to keep it from smearing. You froze, realizing what you were doing as he bit back a smirk.

He was completely eating up your awkwardness.

He reluctantly took his hand back, being pulled up by his friend. “I’ll call you,” he whispered on his way out, heat rushing to your ears.

The movie ended shortly after he left, sending you back out onto the city streets and away from your cocoon where you had forgotten about the sleazy classmate and let thoughts of Clay weasel their way into your nerves. As you stepped through the doors, your phone began to ring, kick-starting your heart at the thought of it being Clay. Instead, it was a friend of yours asking how your date had gone. You tucked the phone between your ear and shoulder as you pulled a piece of gum out of your purse.

Her ramblings went deaf on your ears as a car violently pulled up to an alleyway a block from you. You squinted as you moved closer, your apartment being in that direction anyway. A few men got from the car and that’s when Clay stepped into view from behind one of the buildings, flicking his cigarette to the ground and snubbing it out with the toe of his heavy boots as he watched them get out. You could see your number still written on his hand, mixing with his tattoos.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking tiredly at the group of men that had come from the car as his friends began to shout at them. Clay chewed on his lip, looking around and away from the conversation before his gaze met yours. His eyes widened slightly before he turned back, an attempt to keep the attention away from you.

One of the car members grabbed for Clay’s jacket, yanking him closer as if to get him to pay mind to the man talking. Clay sent him a cocky grin, towering over him. With his normal height and his boots, he had at least a foot on the guy. One of Clay’s friends separated the two, breaking the groups into a brawl while shouting was accompanied with fists and elbow jabs.

You turned, walking in another direction as briskly as you could without bringing attention to yourself and the group of boys in the alleyway. Little did you know, Clay was watching you leave and kicking himself for it.

The next day, your mind was racing with Clay’s whereabouts. He seemed like he had his opponents under control, but what if one of them had brought a knife or another weapon? It wasn’t unusual for boys in the city to butt heads like they were, but the fact that you’d let one nearly pick you up the night before was boggling.

You gripped the strap of your bag as you crossed the street, stepping onto the sidewalk and adjusting your skirt. You kept your head down as you passed various people coming and going from their apartments before your ears picked up on a familiar voice. You picked your eyes up, spotting Clay and a small group of guys walking together. He popped a jellybean in his mouth after chiming into their conversation.

You held your breath as they neared you and that’s when you noticed his bruised face and scraped knuckles. Your number was faded on his skin, but still apparent on the back of his hand. He smiled at you, breaking off from his group and walking backward to match your pace. You bit back a smile. “Glad to see you’re okay,” you mumbled, barely able to make eye contact with him. His friends called out for him and he waved them off, walking in line with you.

He chuckled lightly. “Yeah, sorry. I would have called last night but…” he made a gesture to his torso as he trailed off. “I broke a rib. I didn’t really… I don’t.” He laughed sheepishly as you raised your eyebrows. “I’m fine. It’s good,” he brushed.

You picked your gaze off the pavement finally, focusing on his discolored black eye and busted lip. He didn’t seem to be too hurt, but he wore his wounds well. “You’re not scared of me, are you?” He asked, voice changing slightly. You drew in a sharp breath, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before it could get further knotted in the wind. A few people narrowed their eyes at the two of you and you wondered how you looked together. What kind of juxtaposition it was; his tall, dark figure looking like death in Doc Martens while you barely passed his shoulder in height with your less intimidating color scheme.

You debated how to answer him. Your eyes flickered to his dangly earring; a silver ankh. He ate another jellybean. “I was at first. I’m still kind of weary of you, I guess,” you muttered, making a smile bite into his features.

Clay ran his fingers through his hair, which you were beginning to believe was a habit when he was coming up with what to say. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

You shook your head. A blush crept to your cheeks. “No, I kind of like it,” you mumbled, barely audible enough for him to hear. His hand slipped into yours and you could feel your chest tighten.

“You like being scared of me?” His voice was dripping with allure, making you bite your tongue in a flushed embarrassment. “You just keep getting better and better,” he teased, making your ears burn.

You weren’t sure how you ended up there, but God, were you thankful for Clay’s hands as they kneaded your ass, his lips pressing against yours. He ground his hips against yours, moaning into your mouth as your nails sank into his tattooed skin. His tongue pressed past your lips, his large hand moving to fist in the sheets beside you before dragging up your shirt to grip your breast.

You breathlessly moaned as he broke your kiss, lips trailing down your body as he sat back on his knees, dragging your underwear off as your shirt was also discarded to the floor. He looped his arms around your thighs, bringing you closer to his mouth as his concentrated stare shifted to your eyes before he buried himself between your legs, your body tensing as a groan ripped through your body. Your fingers carded through his soft blond hair, tugging slightly in appraisal as he pulled away from you.

Clay looked up at you again, slowly pressing one of his long fingers into you, you moaned his name, reaching one of your hands up to grip at the headboard above you. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?” He asked, voice deep with lust as his breath fanned against your wet core. He pushed another finger into you as you nodded. He pressed his lips to your thigh. “I can’t believe you’re scared of me,” he mocked, making you whimper as his fingers pulsed against your sweet spot.

He pressed his lips to your core again, tongue teasing at your nerves as you caught your lips between your teeth. You moved your knee further up his arm for a better angle, driving him deeper. He pulled away, his fingers speeding up. “So needy,” he chuckled, the sound enough to send you over the edge if you really thought about it.

“Clay, please. I want you,” you whined softly, your thighs threatening to close around his head. His eyes sparkled devilishly, leaning away from you before tugging your legs towards him. He pushed his fingers into your mouth, jaw tensing as you moaned around him.

He grabbed your hips, flipping your body and pushing your shoulders into the mattress. You heard him unbuckling his belt and your fingers knitted into the sheets beneath you. He pulled you back by the shoulders, hand moving to hold onto your neck. “Maybe I should give you something to be scared of,” he chided, making a shiver run up your spine as he pushed your thighs apart driving himself up into you. You were sure you would tear in half at the sheer size of him, but you bit back your whimpers at the pleasuring pain.

One of your hands moved to grip onto his arm as he thrust into you, his teeth threatening to dig into your shoulder as you moaned. His other hand moved to tease at your nerves, his determination to summon your orgasm sending your head reeling. You tilted back your head, resting against his shoulder as his hand tightened around your throat.

He let go of you, dipping you against the mattress again as his fist knotted in your hair. He steadied himself, leaning on one of his arms beside your head. Your hand wrapped around his wrist as he thrusted into you at an ungodly pace, lips hovering beside your ear as he grunted your name and how good you felt.

You pushed your hips up against him turning your head enough that he pressed his lips against yours, the vibrations from his moans sending heat throughout your body. Clay’s tongue slipped into your mouth roughly, tasting your whimpers and lust. His teeth dragged against your lip as you felt him throb inside of you.

He pushed your shoulder back, moving you on your side as your leg curled around. At the new angle, he could drive himself deeper into you; dark green eyes focused on yours as his warmed breath cascaded over your chest. His hand moved to your jaw, running his thumb against your burning lips as his sights were almost hungrily looking upon you. Your breathing became shallow as he smirked at you, moving his hand to your throat again.

He leaned down, slowing his pace to drag in and out of you as his lips were close to your ear. He applied pressure, your breath hitching in your throat. “So pretty. Good girl, taking me so well,” he praised, making you moan as he kissed you again before speeding up his thrusts. You moaned out his name again, finishing as your eyes fluttered shut. He chuckled darkly, pounding into you harder. “Fuck,” he hissed, lips pressing to the skin behind your ears, digging his face into your hair as he chased his high.

He exhaled, breath blanketing your skin before he kissed your shoulder, cheek, and finally your lips in a quiet appraisal. You pulled him into the spot beside you. He ran his fingers through his hair as you curled against his side, his other hand brushing softly against your arm. You knotted your fingers with his, brushing your thumb against where your faded number rested. “Didn’t you just break a rib?” You asked, finally noticing the slide bruising on his side.

Clay chuckled softly. “Yeah, I think I was running on adrenaline until a second ago,” he groaned.

Dream Tag List: (to join, follow this link :))

@karlkitten @pluto-dizzz @more-like-reyna @honk-izzie-was-taken @marrymetheonott @froggyy06 @ghoulandghost @savingpluto @marshmallow-babe @drunkpumpkincake

[loveislattes]

1 + 10 = Dark and Primal (Predator/Prey) Kink

Summary: Exactly what the title says!

Warnings: Reader is gender-neutral but does own a vagina, primal kink roleplay, semi-public sex, dom/sub, squirting, multiple orgasms, and dirty talk. Ye have been warned!

A/N: This is the first fic drabble to come from the number prompt game!

Tag List:

@when-the-sun-goes-dark

@underthedark13

@fruitypieq

As always, if you would like to support me, I have a Ko-Fi (here) for donations/tips and I usually have a few slots open for commissions (unless life gets in the way)!

“Tell me something,” A deep, rich voice spoke suddenly, “What’s a darling thing like you doing out here, all alone, so late at night?”

Instantly your head whipped to the side, eyes narrowing to scrutinize the tree line for any sign of the stranger, but found nothing other than darkness in return. You were about ready to continue on your trek and blame it on the sleepless night when the intruder let out a rumbling chuckle, the noise echoing around you in every direction.

Hairs now standing on end, you clutched your bag tighter to your body and asked nervously, “Who-Who’s there?”

“Answer my question, and I’ll answer yours.”

Your lips suddenly felt too dry, the night too cold, the lamp posts too dim, as you belatedly realized that you’d not seen another person on this sidewalk for way too long. It was just you and this stranger.

“I-I’m just walk-walking,” you stammered pitifully.

Dread pooled in your gut and the sense of being utterly alone and helpless intensified egregiously as one by one all the lamp posts in your line of sight flickered out.

“Ooh fuck,” you whispered.

Finally, your self-preservation instinct kicked in and you took off running. It was a dark night, the moon a sliver in waning crescent and providing almost no light. Every slap of your shoes on the ground felt like a league farther from the man. Even as your heart pounded in your ears and your lungs burned with the taste of blood, you didn’t dare slow down. How far would you have to run? Did you dare take your chances hiding out in the woods?

As soon as hope started to rise, it was quickly dashed back down.

“You humans, so fragile.”

The whispered voice in your ear tore a frantic scream from your throat, fear locking up your legs, sending you tumbling forward. Of course you would fall! It wasn’t until he laughed, a smooth luscious sound, that you realized you were braced tight for an impact that hadn’t come.

“What the…”

When your eyes finally opened, you saw the concrete of the sidewalk uncomfortably close to your face but not touching. And then you were lifted. Darkness shrouded your view as arms tightened around your torso and brought you back to your own two feet. A cool gentle breath caressed the shell of your ear seconds before you felt the familiar shape of a nose against your neck.

“I’m giving you one last chance,” he huffed bemusedly, “Think fast but run faster, little fawn, for it will take all of your abilities to escape me.”

“W-Who are you?!” you gasped out.

As the darkness left your vision and the hands retracted from your sides, he purred almost imperceptibly, “I go by Dark, but you may call me sir.”

Then all at once, you were alone. You hesitantly looked around, eyes wide with fear.

“RUN!”

A fearsome screech of terror scratched your throat raw as you stumbled and took off as quickly as possible. You knew if you stayed on the paved path he’d only catch you just as easily as before. You had to chance the forest.

No matter how quiet you tried to be, it felt like every noise you made called out to him thricefold. Your breaths sounded like alarms in your ears and the forest floor cried out like little spies with every timid step you made.

“Oh little fawn, where might you be?”

“Shit,” you whispered in shock.

How were you ever to evade him? It was obvious he wasn’t human. There was no possible way a human could catch up to you without making noise, could track you so perfectly in a nearly pitch black forest. Of course there were also the insane reflexes, catching you so close to the ground, and his ability to speak clearly to you while being nowhere in sight.

Oh so slowly, you let your guard down as you shuffled carefully through the heavily wooded area and got lost in your thoughts; finding out what he was, felt as important as hiding from him. A soft noise of triumph escaped your lips as you spotted a rather large hollow in the base of a giant tree. Your eyes darted around one last time to make sure you didn’t see anyone before you ducked into the wood shelter.

Just as your back pressed up against the trunk, you heard a twig snap outside. The forest was uncannily quiet, no sound of animals nor wind to impede noises made by either you or him.

“A smart little thing you are, aren’t you?”

Your breath caught as fear slammed your heart into your ribcage like a drum. His voice was close, too close. Another crunch of branches and leaves drew your eyes to the right of your hollow. Even in the darkness of the woods, his black pants stood out against the greens and browns. Your assailant was wearing… suit pants? Despite the silliness of the situation, your nerves only increased as he crept closer and closer to you.

“Where are you?” he sang out lowly.

Hushed humming graced your ears delightfully as he passed you, hands clasped behind his back as if simply taking a nice stroll. You couldn’t control the way your stomach fluttered as the beautiful cadence of his voice filled the hollow. Someone so dangerous shouldn’t sound so inviting.

A quick rush of air released from your lungs as he continued on without incident and relief filled your veins. Head falling back, you let your eyes close and took deep slow breaths.

“It’s adorable that you think you’ve won, my little fawn.”

There wasn’t a word deep enough to describe the bone-chilling terror that flooded your body at the sound of his voice so close. Slowly your eyes fluttered open, only to discover a pair of legs standing in front of your only exit.

“Come out now, admit defeat, and I might even be gentle with you, darling,” he offered slyly.

“Fuck you,” you grit out.

Before you could second guess your actions, you bolted forward, right into his legs. While you were sure you didn't harm him, your actions surprised him enough to allow you the room to shove by. You had made it only a couple feet when hands were on you, one gripping your shoulder while the other pinched around the nape of your neck. A cry of shock and pain fled your lips as he shoved you face-first up against the nearest tree and pinned you with his body. Escape was looking more and more like a fool’s dream and yet you didn’t stop wiggling, trying your hardest to break free to no avail.

“Mmm, I do love it when my dinner puts up a fight, makes you smell all that more delectable,” he purred as his thigh slipped between yours, “And don’t fool yourself into believing I can’t smell just how aroused you are.”

Mortification burned up your face and you bit your lower lip hard to contain the distraught noise that threatened to break forth as he leaned into you. The pressure of his thigh served to further argue his point, your panties soaking up the slick between your thighs.

“P-Please,” you whispered shakily.

“Please what?” he mocked, “Please let you go? Now, you know I can’t do that, darling. I’m absolutely ravenous and you’re ripe for the taking.”

Teeth gently grazed the tender flesh of your throat and sent goosebumps across your flesh.

“It’s been so long since I’ve had such a sweet little human to play with,” he groaned quietly.

Fingers teased the sliver of skin poking from beneath your top, tracing the waistband of your shorts with languid little strokes; teeth mimicking the action against your neck.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want this, darling. I’ve smelled your interest since the instant you started to run,” he whispered, giving another gentle roll of his hips.

Before you could contain it, an excited little squeak escaped as you felt the hardening bulge grind against your ass.

“There it is. Give in to me,” Dark murmured, “I promise this will be an experience unlike any other.”

You didn’t dare give an answer. The words felt too wrong on your tongue despite the sudden urge in your body demanding an agreement. As terrifying as he was, there was something about his presence that intrigued you. It felt like there was a war going on in your head as you gingerly wiggled your hips back against him and tilted your head to the side, allowing him full access to your neck.

The moan he gave in return made your knees weak.

In one rough movement, you heard the tell-tale rip of your shorts being ruined and then your hips were lifted in the next.

“Ooh, look at the mess you’ve made of yourself, little fawn,” he cooed mockingly as a finger danced across your lips, “It will be all the easier to make you mine.”

That was your only warning before his cock was lined up against your cunt, thick head breeching every so slightly before he slammed in. Tears sprung up into your eyes and you buried your face harder against the bark as a pathetic cry warbled out. It was devastating and heavenly all at once. When he didn’t follow up immediately, you couldn't help but arch back into him.

“What a needy little thing you are,” he chuckled, “I’m going to have so much fun with you before I destroy you.”

Never in a thousand years did you think you’d find yourself in this position, being hunted down and fucked in the middle of the forest, and yet there wasn’t a place you’d rather be in that moment.

Dark’s pace was brutal, the position even more so. Every thrust of his cock rocked you up against the tree, bark scraping and digging at your skin. Every attempt to move back sunk him deeper inside you. It felt like a never ending sea of desire. It wasn’t long until you were begging for more, until the sting of the micro cuts on your skin was just another layer to the destructive pleasure coiling in your core.

“You want more? You want to come? Then touch yourself,” he ordered huskily, “Rub your clit and make yourself come on my cock while I claim you as mine.”

His meaning came through loud and clear. He intended to mark you in the most primitive of ways, in ways no one had before. You’d never let any other come inside you, too afraid of the risks.

“N-No, don’t-”

Fingers dug into your wrist and jerked your hand down between your cunt and the tree, forcing you where you wanted it most.

“It’s no use, darling, it’s too late,” he snickered, “You’re already in the lion’s den and there’s no escape. Not anymore. You belong to me now.”

You could feel his teeth bared a wicked smile against your skin before they clamped down around your throat. Pain exploded and pulsed through your veins with every beat of your racing heart, and yet it pervertedly only urged you faster. Your fingers shook under the duress of all the sensations assaulting your nerves but you worked them nonetheless, too lost to the desire.

His moan rumbled through your very being as you tightened uncontrollably around him, teetering just on the edge of bliss.

“Mine.”

That one word was spoken with such conviction and punctuated with absolute abandon, all sanity lost as you seemingly became a means to an end; a prey to claim and fill.

“Mine! All mine,” he snarled against your shoulder, “Give yourself to me, now!”

His hand came to cover yours and joined in the efforts, frantically abusing your sensitive nub until finally it all snapped.

“Ah f-fuck, D-Dark, oh my god!”

Your ruse slipped as his name spilled from your lips, but you couldn’t care less as everything coalesced with a vengeance. The pain, the pleasure, the emotions. It was all worth it as your pleasure drenched your thighs, a sob falling from your lips in debauched relief. Pulse after pulse of ecstasy rocked through your core as he fucked you through your first climax into another, and then another.

Stifled grunt and moans shifted gradually into full blown snarls of bliss as he threw your hands up against the tree, pinning both with one while his other arm wrapped around your waist and held you in place.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Shot after shot of hot cum filled your core, palpable with every throb of his cock, and you couldn’t resist melting back into him. With a final few thrusts, he released your hands only to pull you in close and hold you upright as he turned, putting himself between you and the tree as you both came down from the high.

“Holy hell,” you giggled, head tilting back to look up at him.

Dark gave a little chuckle and cupped your jaw, fingers digging into your cheeks and directing you up into a gentle kiss.

“I promised the full experience. Was anything too much?” he asked.

“Mm-mm. It was perfect,” you whispered.

As best as you could in the awkward position, you snuggled back into him and pulled his arms around you.

“You can hunt me any time you want,” you admitted cheekily.

[oonajaeadira]

If You Will Let My Heaven Touch Your Stars (Ezra x f!reader)

Rating: Mature. 

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect film) x f!reader

Warnings: FLUFFY SMUT. INSPIRED BY THIS. Non-explicit oral (m and f receiving). Formatting may be strange in certain Tumblr themes due to paragraph spacing with the poetry.

A/N: Okay, y’all. I was looking for another reason to write some Ezra. I got inspired by this naughty confessional post and felt the need to rise to the challenge, but make it a bit soft. You know I’m allergic to writing physical doings without some emotional yearnings. So it has come to this. And I’m not sorry.

Summary: Ezra runs his mouth over some poetry. You run your mouth over some Ezra.

TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST

MASTERLIST

_______________________________

You know that sigh. It will be shortly followed by a gravelly, dissatisfied “hm.”

“Hm.” 

Next will come the impatient flipping of pages as Ezra learns that the book he’s chosen from the stack he got in trade on the Pug is…”less than literary and more than malignant.”

“What’cha reading, Ez.” The main node on the electropulse generator blew during the last harvest and you’ve been doing your best to repair it for the better part of the scaling period. Better to keep eyes on the electrics than let them wander over to his bedroll where he’s stripped to his skivvies, propped up against a crate, reading.

The rotation of Ranakh-4 is almost sixty hours, and in the north hemisphere there’s always light. Should be perfect for prospectors to take shifts and get things done, but instead, it creates a scaling period--a good fifteen-hour window of intense heat and sunlight that’s too dangerous to be exposed to for long, causing lots of nasty side effects. Including skin scaling. Hence the name. So during that period you and Ezra hide in the cooled tent, sleeping, polishing gems, maintaining equipment, wasting time, and generally trying not to annoy each other too much.

That’s a joke between you. In the years you’ve known him, Ez has yet to get under your skin. Ezra’s usually up for a game of dice or five-stand during scaling period, and if you’ve got gear to clean or inventory to count, he’s good for a story. Or ten.

But after the third rotation he stopped playing games of chance with you and his stories got gradually less... crusty. He still had a lot to say, but he stuck mostly to mining anecdotes, weaving around salacious details and editing himself in the moment.

And you’re pretty sure you know why.

This isn’t the first posting you’ve had with Ezra.

There was the assignment on Phintreas. The job on TG-19. The second assignment on Phintreas--that one it was just the two of you. Just like this one. 

There was a moment near the end of that run when you took a break from digging to stretch, arching your back in the dappled sunlight and pulling your arms up and back toward the thick foliage tops. There were singing insectoid creatures on Phintreas and you’d dropped your wrists to your head to listen to their song a little, closing your eyes and hearing in their hum the chords of a song you used to love.

It was just a few seconds, the warm air on your bare shoulders, the long thin trees--actually large grass--rising and swaying above. A pleasant stretch in your lower back. But there was something off. Your ears were full of insect song but there was something missing. 

The sound of Ezra’s digging had stopped.

You turned to find him taking a break, leaning on his shovel, jumpsuit open and pulled down to a knot at his waist like yours. Dirt-streaked arms and undershirt, looking at you, staring with sad eyes, the long slopes of his mustache running into his patchy beard making him look like he was pouting more than he was. Probably. Totally lost in thought, his eyes slid down your torso. When he woke to the fact that you caught him using you as a backdrop for reverie, he didn’t even have the balls to be embarrassed. Just realigned his focus on his shovel and went back to digging, the veins straining out on his big hands.

“You okay, Ez?”

“As well as one can be, sweetheart. I feel we’re close. It is a fine day full of wonderments.”

You’d thought about that look in the days afterward. Didn’t really know what it meant for you. Until the final sleep cycle on that grass planet, the wind traveling through the fields making the grasses sing hollow and low in the night. 

“What’cha reading, Ez?” You’d come to learn that it was a magic question, one that not only got you an explanation, but perhaps a chapter or two in his baritone twang.

And that night, as you packed your final bag, he swung the spine around to read out, “Papas Cordel, Love Verses.”

He didn’t ask you if you wanted to hear any. He just started to read.

Softly. Slowly. The words were innocuous on their own but their combination was sinful, his voice melting at the back of your brain, lifting the fine hairs of your neck, slithering down your spine before making an orbit to press upon your core and vibrate there. 

He never said goodnight. Just read you a few poems full of worship and yearning in that sonorous voice of his, then rolled over and went to sleep. It left you in a panic, trying to control your breathing, in full understanding of what that look from a few days ago had really meant.

And for the duration of your next couple of jobs you spent some time in regret, wishing you’d decoded your feelings sooner or that he’d made his own clearer. You’d vowed that if you ever had the chance to go back and live that night again you wouldn’t hesitate to….what? To do what? You never got that far. Didn’t matter. Time doesn’t go backwards. After a while, it was easy enough to convince yourself that you’d just read too much into it, that you didn’t really feel anything and neither did Ez. He had just been tired and staring into space that day. And he’d just been aesthetically moved by the song of the grasses in the night wind. It was a trick of the light, and the more you rationalized it, the further the memory slipped into the realm of silly fantasy.

So when this assignment came, you’d had time enough to leave the fantasy behind and met Ezra as you always had--as a friend and a damn talented prospector you were happy to dig with. The man always got his haul and getting paired with him always meant profit.

It only took one scaling period to make you realize you were lying to yourself. 

Scaling period means getting somewhere shaded and cooled and making yourself as comfortable as possible. Which means stripping down to essentials. All those dice games trying not to look at Ezra’s broad, bared chest, looking up from a hand of cards to find his eyes quickly darting away from you…. By the third rotation you’d noticed that neither of you could make eye contact with the other anymore and after that, Ezra generally spent his downtime during scaling periods laying on his bedroll in his skivvs, reading one of the dozen books he’d scavenged back on the station.

You weren’t sure if you were flattered or embarrassed or even injured that he wouldn’t move on whatever he was tense about. But, ultimately, this arrangement was easier.

Or so you lied to yourself.

A “what’cha reading, Ez” got you a few chapters of an old time-travel adventure or a philosophical treatise on the life of some forgotten pioneer while you mended a garment or recounted the supply of viable drill bits or tried to fix the damn faulty electropulse generator for the millionth time. Something rollicking and full of resonance to keep your ears busy and your mind distracted while you focused your eyes on anything but Ezra’s bronze skin and sable eyes and full lips and big hands and thick thighs and--

This time he clicks his tongue and runs a hand through his hair, humming a high note in a kind of frustrated laugh. “I won’t devastate your ears on this one, sweetheart. Not much of interest here but some poor soul ruttin’ and scraping for talent that eludes them. How this found its way into a thing to be bought and sold I will never understand.”

And yet, he keeps reading. Silently.

After a few minutes and another wire successfully cleaned and reconnected, you repeat yourself, taunting him.

“What’cha reading, Ez.”

“Mm.” He just flips through a few more pages, refusing to answer.

“Hey.” You chuckle into your work. “What’cha reading.” 

You hear a huge intake of breath before a hold and a forced release.

“Wow,” you laugh. “Fine. Don’t waste breath on it. Just tell me which one it is so I can avoid it later.”

“Love and other Stars by Aeon Aido Raja.”

“I see. What’s it about?”

“Sadly, it is about a poet who cannot seem to make the match between words and sentiment; a volume of supposed amorous verse.”

“Amorous verse,” your hands stop working on their own. “Love...poetry?” There’s a sudden flashback to the sound of hollow reeds and soothing verses in the night. The words are a program in your brain, overwriting your inhibition and professionalism, pushing you to a deeply-coded goal to calm the flutter in your chest.

“So it claims. Although I fear it lacks full understanding of both--” His voice cuts out as he realizes you’ve stood and you’re moving toward him and his wide eyes lock to yours as you sit beside him on the bedroll. “Now what has gotten into you, sweetheart?”

You know exactly what’s gotten into you. The triggered wish of returning to that night, the built-up tension of dancing around each other in your underwear, trying to deny what’s going on, watching him purposefully respect you when you know he feels something, when he knows you do too--

What was it you were going to do if you had a chance to go back to that last night on the grass planet? Time to find out.

“Read to me.”

Ezra hesitates, unsure. “This?”

“Read it.”

His eyes flick down to follow the quick fold of your lips as you wet them with your tongue, unconsciously mimicking you, before fumbling his gaze back to the book and, with a regretful sigh, begins.

“I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--

“Walking through the light of a moon in decline-- Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

When he looks for your reaction, you’re not sure if he’s pleading with you for permission to stop or continue.

Shit. He’s right. It isn’t great. But you’re here now, you’re going to make the most of it.

“That’s not...so bad.” And then you find out what you would have done that night--or at least how you’d start--by showing him your raised palm, lowering it slowly toward him. “Tell me if you want me to stop.” Your hand travels down through the air, just to the inch above his skivvs, waiting a moment in the aura of radiated heat there, before settling lightly over him. He never says no, never takes his eyes from yours, the only reaction coming from a small lift in his chest, the corner of his mouth curling just a fraction, and the fabric beneath your hand quickly becoming the only thing there to qualify as soft.

“Sweetheart, what you’re beginning here--”

“The only words I want from you are that poem. I want to hear you read. You stop, I stop.”

The heat hangs heavy between you, burns beneath your hand. And with a huffed exhale, Ezra starts again.

“I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--

“Walking through the light of a moon in decline-- Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

Supporting him from underneath, you’ve begun running your thumb up and down him, and his breath hitches, bringing him to a stop. So you stop.

“You stop, I stop, Ez.”

“Believe me, gentle one, I do not wish the impediment of your affections--”

“Then don’t stop.”

In a beautiful panic, Ezra looks back to the poem. “You sure you want this one?”

You nod. “I don’t care how good it is. That’s the poem I want. Keep going. I've always liked your voice. I know you can make it pretty.”

He stares at the page a moment, and you push him--literally--gasping into a start.

“If ever I could tell you When my heaven touched your stars If ever I could tell you Beloved--”

You stop palming him when he stops to breathe, and it’s only when you trace his waistband with your fingertips that he swallows and continues, willing you to keep going--

“Waking in the night to the aching void of your embrace-- Can you forgive me if I plead your name? If I summon you to my body from wherever you are?”

Whether it’s the want in his voice or just getting further into the words, the poem is already getting better. His eyebrows begin to push together and arch, as you stretch the top of his underwear down, wrapping your hand around him. His words start riding the occasional groan which just resonate with you more and you rock yourself against the bedroll in time with your gentle, yearning pulls--

“You hold me adroitly With accurate proximity To keep your breath and my breath Two founts and one pool. To swim a in star-reflective stream of our holy recreation--”

He’s doing so well, the words wandering out deep and breathy, so beautifully controlled...until you lower your mouth to him.

Then there’s a strangled staccato grunt as he adjusts, takes a couple of quick breaths and continues--

“But your body is a.....wildfire Your lips a destruction And I give my everything over to your….cleansing devastation.”

Oh, his struggle is glorious. You can feel him trying not to buck, needing to blow out a breath between pursed lips here and there to concentrate on the print. He reads with intent, leaning into context and feeling, making a gift to you of every word.

“I have yearned for you to find me worthy of a spark An ignition... The rebirth of your combustible attentions.”

He pauses again to breathe, and while you allow him a small reprieve, he’s stopped a little too long and you abruptly halt. When you pull back to look up in reprimand, he gives you a soft smile through his panting, shaking his head in wonder. You know he’ll have plenty of praises when this is over, but he doesn’t seem to want to break the spell to say them now. When you return his little smile, he looks back to the page and continues, prompting you to return to your own administrations.

“How you draw from me each sweet effusion-- Every secret vein untapped-- Now yours in expert execution, Now open to your burning maw.”

He pushes through the poetry rather than into you, allowing you to hear him and match him. Your body begins to counter-react as you feel him brimming, turning on more need in you than you’ve felt in a while, and you show him just how well he’s doing by doing well by him. 

There’s a shift in his voice as more breath enters in and nonverbal noises begin to punctuate the words; a shift in his body as his fingers tangle in your hair and grip tightly, suggesting a final rhythm-- 

“But within the fire An aperture of...divine precipitation Where those of us who live untouched Can go to drown To die To howl…..! To see the blessed face of eternity Or the….busting open….of a thousand….wretched….stars-- You-call-me-to-sinful-prayer You-invoke-my-abject-soul I find myself in debt…!...and thrall…!... to your superior…!...divinity--”

When he stops reading this round, you show mercy as he pounds his fist into the bedroll and makes his own additions to the poem, exclamations made up of your name and curses and calls to higher powers. You can only expect a man to expel from himself wondrously one method at a time, and Ezra’s earned his reward so beautifully.

Damn his opinion. The poem was perfect. You chose correctly. Either that, or Ez’s tongue really can spin any old refuse into gold.

But the book is still held high, and as you lift from him and guide him through his aftershocks with your hand, he breathes heavy though the final verse--

“This is how I love you from afar With agony and forlorn words While you hover forever in my purview A shaft of dazzling incandescence Shining down from your sun/star Through the glass of my desire Starts and restarts an everlasting blaze”

Then, setting the book reverently on the bedroll, he takes your face in his hands, dragging his thumbs across your lips, no longer needing the page for the last lines.

“If ever I could tell you And if you will let my heaven touch your stars If ever I could tell you Beloved--”

Ezra’s kiss is achingly grateful. He tries to put into one kiss the loving equivalent of everything you’ve just done for him.

When he pulls back, he gives you the tiniest rough shake, a punctuation of his playful consternation. “Mmm,” he grunts. “While I am glad to know you find my recitals pleasing, you’re about to find out that my talent for oral ministrations do not stop at mere recitation.” With a miner’s strong arms he flips you over him onto the bedroll, making short work of your underwear and pinning your legs around his shoulders in a matter of seconds. “Now, I will not be so cruel as to make you put words to my reciprocation, unless you’d like to fill the silence to direct me to your will. Or say what you please. I will not be able to add to the conversation as I will be otherwise occupied.”

You don’t know if it’s years of running his mouth or wagging his tongue or yapping his jaw, but he’s well practiced in using allllll the muscles therein to help finish what poetry couldn’t quite accomplish.

At one point you think of surprising him and trying your own hand at reading while being entertained. But when you fumble for the book, it opens to the same poem.

But not the same poem.

The opening lines are there: “I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--Walking through the light of a moon in decline--Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

And that’s it.

That’s where it ends. The whole published poem--a mere seven lines.

Oh, Kevva. That’s...that means….

Damn, Ezra. The mouth on you.

The book drops to the bedroll.

And you break into pieces as his heaven masterfully consumes your stars.

________________

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[myfeetkeepdancing]

A/N: The gif and the idea of soldier!Tom made me feel things. Not sure if I used right terminology for the army ranks. But enjoy!

NSFW! 18+

The unbearable heat, the sand, and the distance between home. It gets to you. With the sun sinking behind the horizon of sand, you make your way to the latrine. Simple plywood boxes, a couple of shower stalls, and sinks. It's a strange place. Searing heat in the day and cold nights as soon as the sun sat low. You can already feel the temperature drop as the first breeze of the cold wind blows past your exposed arms. Pushing against the door, you welcome the warm and somewhat damp atmosphere. But a wave of disappointment washes over as you spot another person in the corner of your eye. Once again, you don't have the place to yourself.

"Sergeant." You salute in one hand, the other holding your bag of clean clothes. The higher your rank, the better the facilities. That was a blatant lie. Nothing was better. You get a plain simple salute back from the other and continue on inward. You take the other stall, preparing yourself to change out of your clothes. Already feeling the unease of sharing the latrine with someone else.

"Dude...." A familiar voice calls out to you. "You look like shit."

 You turn back, and only then do you notice the person you share the latrine with. Small goosebumps shoot up your skin. "Holland." Unable to keep a straight face. A ray of sunshine between all the bitter and harsh realities. "Yeah… Thanks" You sniffle at his comment. "You too."

"I heard you went outside." He says with a serious look on his face.

"Yep… we went out for patrol." You nod, sighing as you recollect what happened hours ago. "We got caught in a firefight." Jabbing two fingers near your left shoulder. "Connor got shot." Indicating the hit.

"Shit… How's he doing?"

"Lost a lot of blood. But... eh... he'll be fine." Ending the conversation by turning your back to him. Seeing him undress made you nervous. Privacy wasn't much here, but you at least try to respect the others. Hoping to get it in return.

You strip without another word and step into the shower cubicle. Opening the rusty valve connecting the shoddy pipework to release a stream of hot water. That feeling of finally being able to wash away the dirt and sand from your pores is heavenly. The sand gets everywhere. Sometimes you wonder if it's gotten into your brain as well. You close your eyes and let the water pour onto your face. Cleanse yourself of sweat, sand, dust, and stress.

With a squeaky sound beside you, your stream of water cuts half in pressure and dips in temperature. Tom got under the shower as well. "And you?" He continues, standing in the other shower cubicle. Being square in size, made of plywood, and covering very little to nothing. Shower curtains are something the army never heard of. No privacy whatsoever. "You don't look too good."

"I'm fine." You grumble and avoid eye contact. It felt weird in many ways. If you wanted to talk with someone, you preferred to do that somewhere else. "Just… counting down the days, you know…" And try to shrug off your thoughts. Turning away slowly from the conversation.

"Yeah… You and me both." He confessed. "Damn desert. Sand gets everywhere." Chuckling to himself.

"It really does..." You sigh as the water runs down your face. Relaxing you. But time and water are limited. Opening your eyes, you reach beside you for the shampoo.

A shot of heat coursed through you. As if being caught. But you weren't. You caught Tom, arching forward, staring down into your stall. It happens quickly, and you manage to catch glimpses. While his one hand continued washing his abs and chest. The other surely wasn't doing that. You share a glimpse of eye contact. You couldn't help it either. You looked. Your eyes were drawn to it. It was awkward enough for the both of you to look back away right after. Tom shifted his gaze to the front of him, looking at the stream of water. Anything to avoid each other. You pour the shampoo in your hands." Eyes to yourself, Holland."

"Yeah, Yeah…" He mumbled while continuing to scrub himself clean. Instinctively you both turned your backs to each other. "I eh… was looking for my shampoo." Scraping his voice with rather an unease and slight nervousness.

"I… I don't have it, Tom." You said, scanning the floor around you. "M-Must have fallen down the other side." Taken aback by the sound of your own voice. You weren't sure if the last remaining bits of adrenaline from earlier were surfacing or that which you saw earlier. But the authority in your voice was softened. And one thing is sure, you're trembling lightly. Watching the shampoo wiggle in your hand. You try to steady your breathing. You try to shake it off. Continue cleaning yourself. Let the water run down your face again. Count down from ten. Think of happy things. Cats. Dogs. Home. The beach. Shirtless Tom…

You cursed yourself under your breath. Feeling the blood race to places you wish it wouldn't. Think of other things. Reset your mind. But you can't. The trembles become worse. And you can't fool your body any longer. You feel it. The terror grows as quickly as your length hardens. The quick-paced footsteps coming from the other stall send you into a panicked state.

"Let me use yours." He announced as the plywood makeshift door creaks open behind you. It's enough to make your heart skip several beats. You want to scold him, bellow in outrage. Entering one's shower cubicle was strictly forbidden. You know the rules. You knew them all too well.

Turning on your heel, ready to face him. Snarl him a disciplinary warning. "We agreed-..." The words came out shakingly. Quieter than you had planned. But they were silenced. Tom had closed the distance faster than the plywood door could fall shut on its own. You embrace the feeling of his lips on yours wholeheartedly. You close your eyes and let it happen. Moaning softly into the kiss as you both inched together. An erratic groan escaped both your lips as you watched each other, feeling your cocks come in contact. Like blunt swords battling it out. "T-Tom… We p-promised we'd never…."

"No, shut up…" He cut you off, cupping your cheeks in both his hands rather aggressively. Followed by a smashing on his lips on yours. "I missed you so much." He whispered, staring at you with this loving glint in his eye. “Your touch... all of it.”

"I missed you too." You reply with a growing smile. The emotion in Tom's eyes, the passion, the care. Nothing made this hell hole of a desert easier than being with him. Feeling a mutual smile grow. "I love you." You both whispered in unison. Careful not to speak it out loud.

"We have little time." He glanced back at the white clock hanging beside the door. Even showering time for Sergeants had its limits. With a quick gesture, you wind the chain of his dog tag around your fingers. Pulling his lips in. "Will you be quiet for me?" You command, more than ask, pinning him to the corner of the cubicle. Tom's pleading eyes said enough as you put the dog tag between his teeth. Nodding eagerly in agreement. He looks drop-dead gorgeous. But you have little time to take it in. Tom swings both arms to either side of the plywood walls. Seeing him all ready and willing, you quickly grab both his legs and hoist him up by the knees. Quickly repositioning your hands on his hips, and then the asscheeks. Stabilizing the position as you align your cock to his hole.

Air escapes your lungs as Tom's tight hole slides over your cock. Welcoming you with a warm, tight embrace you've missed for so long. You both shudder, shake and quiver in utter bliss. The position allows you to penetrate deep into him. Forcing a whimpering groan of pleasure from Tom. Clenching his jaw as he struggles to stay quiet. Desperate to drown out the sounds. His teeth gritting on the metal of his dog tag. Throwing his head back and tightening his grip on the plywood, he fights to stay in the game.

The first few rolls of your hips are controlled and almost without the sound of flesh on flesh. Careful not to make much of a commotion. Careful not to break the plywood. Careful not to let emotions get the better of you.

But seeing Tom like this. Feeling him. It's all too much too quickly. That short hair. Sharp jawline. Whimpering sounds. The way the muscles in his arms strain and his abs flex and relax. The sway of his muscled chest ebbing to your pounding thrusts. It's a build-up that finds a release faster and faster.

You've been stationed with Tom for months. Both of you leading a squad of your own. Luckily. You couldn't really pinpoint how it started. How the love manifested in the first place. Was it the shared training? That talk on the plane? That firefight? The dinner talks? Somehow you managed to find each other. Talk and enjoy each other's company. Or was it the lack of girls around? Tom assured you it wasn't. Taking every ounce of doubt you had with a kiss you'd never known you wanted.

It didn't make it easier. Because you simply couldn't work together. You only had eyes for one another. Especially in an environment where danger lurks around each and every corner. That dreaded feeling when a squad went out for patrol. For some of them, it might be their last. And Tom thought the same. The grueling long hours of waiting for them to return. Hearing sounds in the distance. It gets to you.

But the happiness of seeing him return. It's unmatched. Bloodied and bruised. It didn't matter. He's alive. You wanted to jump in one's arms. Celebrate life. But you couldn't. A nod had to suffice.

The others didn't know. And you wanted to keep it that way. It wasn't healthy in the least. Some days, you avoided each other like the plague. Differentiate your breaks as much as possible. But once in a while… you needed each other—more than ever.

"You're gonna make me cum..." Tom breathed out. He shook and losing part of his balance. His one arm snapped onto his bouncing cock. Jerking fervently along his length. Grunting and gasping for air. His dog tag sliding back on the chain. You feel him tighten around you—all in a matter of seconds. Tom shuddered in your hold as you try to keep him balanced. Angling his hardened cock onto his stomach as he felt the wave surge.

Cum is hard to clean. It's sticky and leaves a weird residue on most surfaces. Tom knew, when aroused, he could shoot quite the load. Even more so when it's been weeks. Shooting in arches even artillery specialists could learn from. One final rub of his fingers on his cockhead and his balls did the rest. You hold him. Keep him steady. With your cock sheathed deep into him. You watch him shoot his load. Splattering his abs with unfathomed speeds and intervals. Covering his abs and curves in bursts of cum.

"C'mere… baby." He commandeered with a shaken voice. Tom feeling your climax and understanding the need of you pulling out of him. You simply couldn't finish inside of him. But that was easier said than done.

Tom, still recovering from his climax, trembles shaking his frame and muscles weakened by the ecstasy. He helps you pull out, feeling the urgency of helping you with your climax. Your knees already weak, and your hands shaking. You push Tom down as soon as he has his feet to the floor. Forcing him down the plywood plank, ass on the floor. You manage to take a small step forward, one hand of your cock. The other reaching for plywood, holding on for support. Salvation at hand. You try to aim, but thankfully Tom helps.

Warm, wet lips envelop your pulsing length. Tom takes no chances to let you spill any on the floor or on walls. Helping you climax with the help of his mouth and an unexpected finger up your ass. In reflex, you arch forward to the towel in range of you. And clench your teeth down hard on the towel. Desperate to drown out your groan of pleasure. Your knees begin to buckle, and you hear Tom struggle. Gurgling as you length pushed further into the back of his mouth. Almost down his throat. Tom had worked a finger between your asscheeks and pushed deep into your hole. Drilling at your insides. Making you close to spasming out of pure bliss. Forcing you to shoot your load down his throat.

Your vision is hazy and so in your mind. You're barely able to breathe. And nor could Tom. Holding on for dear life on the plywood wall. But you manage to regain your footing. Pulling your length from his throat. A rough cough and wheeze followed, suppressed by him shielding his mouth with his arm. Making sure to wipe away any saliva and more.

Tom sits there on the floor, the water from the shower falling in between his legs. You watch him as you catch your breath. Leaning with both arms crossed on that half wall of plywood. Tom coughing the last bit of wetness from his throat. You comb your fingers through his short hairs. A bit roughly. But he likes it that way. Letting his head follow with the force of your hand. Hanging back against the wall. Seeing his muscled chest rise and fall. A smile out of thousands. It's precious. Eyes that make you flutter. "Almost a minute." You wink. "That was really quick."

"It's been too long." He smirks. With no time to waste, you hunch down in front of him and pull him into the waterfall of the shower. Letting your lips reunite as the warm water washes away the sweat from your exhausted bodies. Giggles go back and forth in relative quiet, giving him a helping hand with cleaning the cum from his stomach and abs.

Something as simple as that, yet loaded with sexual tension in that moment. Simple strokes of your fingers, guided by his hand. Helping him clean. You have to stop yourself from going further. And so does Tom. Seeing your cocks harden within seconds. In the end, it's a necessary clean-up. No evidence. Making sure it does run down the drain. No traces.

Blood on the other hand became a normality. The sight of it doesn't scare you anymore. Seeing trials of thinned-down blood collect in the drain. "Don't worry…" Tom assures you as you observe the whirls of water mixing together before disappearing into the drain. "Old wounds. See?" Turning his torso to the side and showing you cuts and bruises on his back.

"You got a new one." You murmur, running your finger along the cut. It's long and not that deep. But bleeds slowly.

He looks over his shoulder, following your finger. "That's from just now." He beams. "I'm wearing that one proudly." Kissing you as you let that sink in. Slowly starting to get on his knees, ready to go.

"Promise me-..." The air stocks in your throat. And try to blink away the tears welling in your eyes. "T-Tom…" You whisper with a trembling voice, trying to get his attention again as you both rise to your feet. Knowing the moment is there. Tom not letting one moment go by without his lips praising you. Small kisses peppered across your skin. No pattern. No hickeys. Just adoration and love.

With one hand, he reaches for the back of your head, placing his forehead against yours. "Listen to me, (Y/N)." He says staring deep into your eyes. "You have to stay strong. We're almost done here. Just a little bit more..."

"I know." You sigh. "I know…"

"Please stay safe, darling." He whispers. The words burn into your very soul. His kindness and caring nature. It's impossible to keep the tears from rolling. "I know you can do it." Patting your cheek. "Please do…" Rubbing the first tears from your eyes. "Cause I heard your boys talking about how reckless you've been lately."

"I will…" You nod. And kiss him goodbye. "Now go." Slapping him on the ass. "Go before they start noticing anything." Pushing him out of the cubicle.

"Promise me, (Y/N)." He veered back. "I wanna bring you back in one piece. Alive."

"I promise." And you can't help but smile.

"Good, cause my parents are dying to meet you..." Kissing you back before storming out of your cubicle. Taking his towel and closing his shower. "I've told them all about you." He winks. Leaving you all in awe. And a reprimand for showering too long.

[dwaynepride]

just like we were kids

pairing: young!gibbs x reader, young!ducky + reader

summary: 5 times gibbs kisses you and 1 time ducky kisses you.

warnings: reader is kidnapped, mentions of rope burns

words: 4,196

a/n: very loosely based off the 400th episode but not strictly

It’s been a very long day.

Gibbs sat next to a crying baby on the bus riding into DC, the hotel receptionist gave him a hard time when he tried to check in, and he was forced into the trunk of a car with a gun pointed to his head.

“He forced you, Marine?”

Gibbs withheld an annoyed sigh; only because this agent was pretty alright. “There were civilians around. Didn’t want to risk it.”

“Noble,” the agent responds. “But a gamble.”

Yeah. A gamble that only sorta paid off because Gibbs knows you’ll give him an earful just as soon as you get here.

“If it wasn’t for that idiot driving on the wrong side of the road, you might be the one in our morgue.”

God, Gibbs hopes he doesn’t say that when you’re around.

In the distance, he hears the elevator ding. And the agent motions toward it. “Now, you got a chance to say thank you. Looks like he’s back from the hospital to give his statement.”

Gibbs turns, spotting the man in a bowtie with his arm in a sling and talking the ear off of the women who brought him up here. The Scotsman was ranting off about American driving habits, no doubt blaming it all on why he crashed. Hearing it makes Gibbs smirk.

“Mr. Mallard,” the agent greets.

“Actually, Dr. Mallard. Well, former doctor,” he corrects.

Without any hesitation. Jethro likes him already. “Sergeant Gibbs. Former trunk.”

That’s when Dr. Mallard finally looks to him, paying little attention to the scrapes on his face. “Ah,” he replies. Gibbs can’t help to notice he looks just a little amused.

“I owe you a drink,” Jethro says.

“Well, that depends,” Mallard intercedes immediately. “How do you feel about scotch?”

“I’d feel better about bourbon.”

“Sold.”

Smiling, Gibbs reaches forward to shake the other man’s hand. They reflect each other’s expression - Dr. Mallard pleased for a free drink, and Gibbs just happy to be out of that trunk. “It’s the least I could do, considering your car was probably totaled-”

“Jethro!”

Oh no. Gibbs and his rotten luck was about to rub off on you.

He hadn’t even prepared anything to say. Hadn’t thought of a special way to ease your worries because Gibbs has been too caught up with the NIS agent and giving his statement. So when he looks over Mallard’s shoulder, watching as you march up to him with wide eyes, Gibbs visibly winces. “Hey. First of all, I’m okay. Second-”

“How could you possibly be okay?” Your eyes were immediately focused on the red scrape on his forehead - right now, he figures you’re expecting the worst. “This is serious, Jethro. How do you think I would’ve felt if I got a call saying you were dead? I know you like to think you’re big and bad, but-”

“Have you met Dr. Mallard?” Gibbs immediately turns your attention to the Scotsman in the bowtie, who immediately greets you with a tight smile once you face him. “He’s the one who saved me. Kind of.”

“Only by sheer stupidity, believe me.” Mallard reaches out a hand, and after a moment, you take his. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You let out a tiny sigh, seeming to Gibbs like you were winding down, now that you’re sure he was okay. “Thank you, Doctor. As you can tell,” you snap your eyes to Jethro, “he gets himself into trouble, a lot.”

Gibbs says nothing, now that the eyes of four different people are on him. He shifts his weight awkwardly, reaching out to grip your arm and pull you closer. And to really suck up to you, he leans over to press a kiss against your temple - he hopes that’ll be enough of an ‘I’m sorry’ for now. “Well, the Doctor’s gotta give his statement so I think we outta let him,” Gibbs says, hoping to turn the attention off of himself.

“Yes, of course,” Dr. Mallard agrees. Gibbs is grateful - up until Mallard faces you again with a smile. “Though, you should most definitely join us for a drink. It’ll be on his tab, and you’ll be there to keep him out of trouble.”

For a moment, Gibbs feels almost defensive. He’s about to speak up, but before he can say anything, he sees you nod your head. Even worse, you’re smiling. As if agreeing with Mallard that Jethro needs watching over.

Though, you’re smiling now. Maybe it’s not so bad.

-

It’s late. And the coffee doesn’t seem to be working anymore.

Gibbs had training for staying up all night. There’s been times when he’d gone three days with only a couple hours of sleep. But even that would’ve been preferable to sitting at a table, staring at files and papers, and listening to Dr. Mallard’s mumbling.

“It doesn’t make any sense...we’ve got to be missing something...”

Yeah. No kidding.

Gibbs rubs his eyes with a long sigh. He’s tempted to just call it a night and try again in the morning when he and Mallard are rested up. But Jethro stays - much too stubborn to walk away, even if it’s past midnight.

He has his chin propped up on his hand, fighting the alluring close of his eyes, by the time Jethro hears the front door close and your footsteps against the wood floor. “You guys are still awake?”

“Yeah,” Gibbs mumbles.

“We’re nearly finished,” Dr. Mallard says - he’s slightly more awake, but not by much.

“Right,” you reply. Jethro recognizes the disbelief in your voice. It’s the same tone you use with him a lot. “Well, are you two hungry?”

Coffee is the only sustenance he’s had all night. At the mention of food, Jethro looks over. And a grease-stained paper bag has never looked so amazing. “Is that…”

“Just some burgers from a diner. Not many places are open this late, so it was a bit of a drive.” You approach with the food, and Jethro stands to take the bag from your hands. And you’re smiling at him - looking tired, but still so sweet and soft and it immediately relieves the ache of exhaustion from Gibbs.

You drove all around town to bring him and Mallard some food. He didn’t deserve you.

“You didn’t have to,” Jethro says. Though, he handles the burgers like an injured puppy. “We got stuff here…”

“Don’t be ridiculous, man.” Dr. Mallard stands as well, taking the bag from Jethro and opening it up to retrieve his burger. “It’s not right to downplay the generosity of your partner. Try thanking her.”

Gibbs narrows his eyes at the other man, but his hunger wears down his stubbornness. The burgers smell fucking amazing, and Dr. Mallard is right.

He looks back to you, steps in closer, and leans down to press a kiss to your cheek. Your skin is cold from the night air - Gibbs feels bad that you went through the trouble. “Thanks. We appreciate it,” he says lowly. If Mallard weren’t here, Gibbs might’ve dragged you to bed. Warmed you up and thanked you in his own favorite way.

He notices your flush. Maybe you picked up on his own personal thoughts, somehow.

So Gibbs looks away, reaching out to retrieve his own burger before the doctor notices anything. And you clear your throat, smiling at the both of them while backing up. “Well, enjoy the food. I think I’m gonna go get some sleep. Try not to stay up all night, you two!”

A smirk comes over Jethro’s lips as he falls back down into his chair, and he doesn’t notice Mallard watching him until Gibbs is just about to take a big bite out of his burger. His teeth are on the bun when his eyes flicker up. “Wha’?” He asks hotly.

Dr. Mallard simply shakes his head, taking his seat and moving his files aside to make room for the burger you brought him. “Nothing. It’s just that...she’s a keeper.”

Jethro didn’t need some Scot to tell him that.

-

“Keep looking out here! I’ll check inside!”

Jethro didn’t bother yelling out an acknowledgement. He took off in the other direction, letting Dr. Mallard make his way into the dark, silent building by himself. Maybe if his heart weren’t pounding so fast or if he weren’t so fucking angry and scared and worried, Gibbs would be smart and think about Mallard’s safety.

After all, if these scumbags had the balls to take you, what’s to stop them from killing him?

Jethro doesn’t think about that, right now. His shoes pound against the pavement, swinging his flashlight around wildly. The parking lot is empty and pitch black - the shine of the flashlight barely does anything to cut through the darkness. He tries to stem his breathing and silence his heartbeat; just in case you’re crying out for him.

He hears nothing. The taunting hoot of an owl, but that’s it.

This is his fault, of course. Everything is his fault. Maybe if he just left the case alone and let those agents deal with it, you wouldn’t be missing and he wouldn’t be running around trying to find you. Dr. Mallard tried calming him down and reminding him that they’re trying to get these bastards off the streets for this very reason.

Doesn’t seem worth it, though. Not when it comes to you.

Jethro takes a few more steps, panting hard, still straining his eyes against the blackness. His grip on the flashlight is so tight, his fingers start to hurt. Maybe you’re not even here. Maybe they got it wrong. Maybe they missed something-

There. On the far end of the parking lot. Something reflects the light of his flashlight, and it’s too big to be anything but a vehicle.

Immediately, Gibbs takes off again. His shoes barely hit the concrete with how fast he’s running, and when he finally reaches the car, he shines the light inside. Finding empty seats, Jethro’s stomach drops.

That is, until his eyes find the trunk.

Jethro calls your name as he comes around to the hitch. His breath is stuck in his lungs, and he barely even registers the light tapping from inside the trunk before he yanks it up.

You flinch at the sudden bright light. Hands coming up to shield your face, balling yourself up tighter. Gibbs immediately notices little red lines around your wrists. Notices the little tears and scuffs on your clothes. He shakes with something mixed with rage and relief.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” Jethro breathes out. He tucks the flashlight under his arm to reach out for you. His hand on your arm seems to calm you - it lets you know that you’re safe and he’s got you and everything is okay now. You peek out from behind your eyes, cheeks wet from tears but they’re not wet enough to loosen the tape strapped to your mouth.

Jethro reaches out instantly to pull it off. He’s slow, gentle, and as soon as your lips are visible, you suck in a deep breath. “Jethro…”

“I’m here. You’re okay now.”

He tries his best to hide the tremor of his hands as Gibbs takes his knife out and cuts the rope off your wrists and ankles. These bastards really went all the way - taking you and terrorizing you just to get to him and Mallard. He’d make sure they paid.

As soon as you’re freed, your arms are wrapped tight around his shoulders, face pushed against his chest and sniffling. The flashlight is obscured, but Jethro doesn’t need to see the harsh tears staining your cheeks. It’s bad enough to hear your little whimpers of his name, and the most he can do is hug you back and murmur out comforting words.

Eventually, you pull away. Still leaning on him, not even pulling yourself out of the trunk yet, but wanting to see his face. “It happened so fast,” you tell him, voice small. Jethro frowns as he fits his hand against your cheek - there’s a bruise there that concerns him. “And they were saying how you and Dr. Mallard were getting so close, and I was insurance, and I didn’t know if you’d find me, and-”

“Hey, I’ll always find you, okay?” His thumb caresses over your cheek, mindful of the purple bump there. “I’m sorry. This is my fault. You shouldn’t have gotten caught up in this. I should’ve protected you better.”

Your eyes are wide and frightened, but the way your eyebrows quirk together slightly tells him that you probably had something to say. Probably to negate what he’s said because he knows you don’t like when he says things like that. Blaming himself for things he can’t control.

Instead, Jethro leans in to desperately press his lips against yours. The kiss tastes like salty tears and a hint of blood but you hold onto his jacket so tight that he doesn’t even think about if the kiss might hurt.

He was worried. You were scared. He just wants to kiss you.

And even the sound of Dr. Mallard calling his name from across the parking lot isn’t enough to break it.

-

“She’s fine, right? That’s what the doctors said?”

“That’s what I said,” Mallard tells him, voice tight. But there’s an empathetic look that helps calm Gibbs down a bit. “I assure you, I wouldn’t lie about her condition. I checked her over myself - the worst of it is only the rope burns on her wrists.”

Gibbs breathes a little easier. It’s been a wild couple days and it feels like the first deep breath he’s taken since.

“I assume you’d want to see her.”

Jethro nods his head once, brow furrowing together. He’d done enough waiting.

Dr. Mallard smirks before he turns and walks with Gibbs down to your room. He knows it’ll be hard, seeing you laid up in the white hospital sheets. It was hard enough pulling you from the trunk of the car and sitting with you until the ambulance came. Hard enough having to put you on the back burner to finish what he and Mallard started. The guilt was still there, of course. He knows you don’t blame him, but it’s not enough.

Gibbs feels a nudge against his arm, and he looks over to find Dr. Mallard watching him. “You should be happy,” he points out.

“I am.”

“I hope you’ll be a better liar once we get in there.” Gibbs scoffs and looks away, but the doctor isn’t done. “You’re fortunate it wasn’t any worse. With the men we were dealing with-”

“Yeah, I know, doc. They coulda killed her, or worse. And it would’ve been my fault because I wasn’t smart enough to think ahead and protect her.” Jethro turns back to Mallard, and he doesn’t bother to hide his scowl. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“Yes. It is,” he replies boldly. Fucking of course. Gibbs is tempted to walk off before Mallard's gaze turns more sympathetic. “But that’s not what she wants to hear. So better to get it all out right now so you can’t dump all those guilty feelings on someone who’s already been through enough.”

He hadn’t thought of it that way.

Jethro’s eyes drop. Mallard was right, of course. It pissed him off to admit it, but Gibbs probably would’ve gone in there and apologized for something you didn’t really want to relive. Another case of him not thinking.

Dr. Mallard pats him on the shoulder. When Gibbs looks up, he motions to your room with his head. “Well, let’s get a move on. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.”

And Jethro will be glad to see you, too.

He wastes no time reaching your door, and he carefully opens it but can’t help poking his head in just as soon as he can. Gibbs doesn’t quite know what to expect, and even with Mallard peeking in from over his shoulder, he feels like he should be walking on his toes.

But the image of you sitting up in bed with a smile proves him wrong.

“Hey! You’re here!”

Jethro doesn’t reply. He just smirks and revels in his relief that you’re actually okay.

“Of course, we are!” Mallard replies, moving past Gibbs to approach your bedside. “We wanted to tell our partner about the outcome of our little investigation, didn’t we, Gibbs?”

Jethro’s eyes move away from your bruised face, glancing to the doctor before nodding once. “Yeah. Bastards got caught trying to leave the state. They got ‘em at the border,” he tells you. Though, he can’t keep his eyes from wandering. Your arms, once so soft, are marred with bandages and bruises. Jethro reminds himself to breathe.

“But obviously, we were also worried about you,” Dr. Mallard adds on. His tone is softer, this time. And as Gibbs moves past him to take the seat by your bed, he continues. “You’ve got nothing to fear. They can’t ever hurt you again.”

Jethro reaches out to take your hand, and you squeeze his right back. Dammit, Mallard was so good with that heart-to-heart stuff. It never really occurred to Gibbs to put your mind at ease, like he had. He’d just been so angry and guilty and worried - well, it goes to show how much more you deserve than him.

“Yeah, I know.” Your voice is light. A little hoarse. The sound of it makes Jethro tighten his grip.

“He’s right,” Gibbs speaks up. And when you turn to look at him, he makes sure his face is hard and determined. Not as shaky as he feels. “I’m never gonna let something like that happen again. I promise.”

“Yeah,” you respond. “I know.”

Your smile grows. Just a little, because of the bruises. But it prompts one on Jethro’s face, and as his chest gets a bit tight, he softly lifts your hand up. The bandages cover up the ugly rope burns around both your wrists - they’ll go away in a few weeks. Still, he places a soft kiss on top the bandage. Just to help you heal a little faster.

-

If it were up to Gibbs, he would’ve taken you right home and let you rest. And personally, after all the bullshit, he really just wanted a quiet night with you and a couple glasses of bourbon. And no Dr. Mallard.

Things never usually go as planned for him. A night at the bar is in order to celebrate.

Though, Jethro can’t complain much. You’re seated on his lap, and he’s free to wrap his arms around your waist and tug you close and glare at anyone giving you a second look. Call him protective, but he’s just being safe.

And he let you and Mallard chat away about the case. Mostly about how the NIS agents took all the credit for bringing them in.

“It’s unfair,” you say crossly, glancing back at Jethro before looking to the doctor again. “Do they know how much danger you guys put yourselves in? Or what I went through? And they get the credit?”

Jethro’s grip on your waist tightens. He smirks when he feels your hand settle on his arm.

“It’s not really about the credit,” Mallard replies, leaning back in his chair with a shrug. “For me, I’m just happy those bastards won’t be out terrorizing any more innocent people. I looked into some of their victims - poor unfortunate souls who wouldn’t have been missed by anybody. No friends. No family. It’s a real shame.”

The table grows quiet, even as the bar ambience around them is still as loud as ever. You end up leaning back against Jethro; likely needing his comfort.

And he readily gives it. Because you so easily could’ve been one of those victims. Not unknown without friends or family, like the others. But still gone. Still ripped from Jethro’s arms.

“Would’ve missed you,” he finds himself mumbling.

Gibbs didn’t intend for you to hear. He was counting on Dr. Mallard keeping your attention. But it seems like the music and the chatter wasn’t enough to keep his mindless words from your ears. Because as soon as he presses a light kiss against the ball of your shoulder, you’re twisting your head around to smile at him.

His eyes immediately dart away, because he knows the kind of smile you’re wearing.

“Have a little too much to drink, Jethro? You’re getting all affectionate.”

“Yes,” Mallard speaks up, happy to change the subject. “I think he’s gone on to his third glass of scotch!”

-

It’s one o’clock in the morning. Gibbs kept checking the time.

He wouldn’t say anything about it, though. Not when you were having fun and relaxing after that whole ordeal.

Still, Jethro couldn’t help a little sigh when he finally stepped out of the bar. He holds the door open for you and Ducky - a nickname you’ve given the Scot that took the hold of liquor to stick.

“Well, that was a jolly time. Been a while since I’ve had a sip with companions I could tolerate a conversation with. I’ve found there’s very few people in America who want to sit down for a drink in a pub…”

“Bar,” Jethro says. He hears your soft snort of laughter from behind.

“Bar,” Ducky repeats with a smile only a drunk man would wear. It brings to mind when the doctor had been teasing Gibbs about drinking too much. And just as he goes to sit down on the curb of the street, you’re right there to help him down. Preventing the intoxicated doctor from falling straight on his ass and patting his shoulder once he’s leaning against a stop sign.

Jethro smirks at the sight, shaking his head lightly as he approaches the street to flag down a taxi. Yeah, it was late. It’s been a trying couple of days. But he can’t admit that he didn’t have a little fun. Ducky attempting to teach you some Scottish drinking songs was surely a highlight.

His hand waves up at an oncoming taxi, and thankfully, it notices him and veers over. “Alright, doc. Time to get you home. You know the address of your hotel?”

Gibbs comes over to help you pull Ducky back up, but the other man just regards him with a huff and a frown. “Of course I do, Marine. I’ve got a very good memory, you know. Like a Bottlenose Dolphin. Do you know it’s theorized that dolphins have an even longer memory than elephants?” Ducky stumbles a little over his own feet, almost falling into the street in front of the taxi. But Jethro catches him before he can fall. “Imagine that: a whole metaphor undone because of a single study…”

“That’s very interesting, Ducky,” you tell him lightly, a giggle edging your voice.

Jethro pulls the door open, intent on helping Mallard in so you don’t strain yourself doing it. But the doctor puts a hand on the roof of the cab, balancing himself so he can turn to face you. He’s reflecting your easy smile, and Jethro can’t help but narrow his eyes as he watches the doctor lean over to take hold of your hand.

Is Mallard some kind of drunken flirt? Gibbs fixes his jaw.

“You’re a very charming person, and I do look forward to working with you again. I pray it’s sooner rather than later,” Ducky says. And with no hesitation, he presses a chaste kiss against your knuckles - still a bit tender, but you don’t look as if it bothers you.

Which is why Jethro is tempted to just shove Mallard into the taxi and send him on his way.

Granted, the kiss was brief. He releases your hand and turns to Gibbs, whom he gives a brief nod to. “Same to you, Marine.” And with that, Dr. Mallard ungraciously climbs into the backseat of the taxi, and Gibbs can tell he’ll be chatting the driver’s ear off the whole way. His voice fades as the car drives off.

“That was fun.”

Immediately, Jethro’s eyes leave the cab to look at you. “The drinking, or that kiss?” He asks maybe a bit too sternly.

Your eyes go wide in surprise, lips slowly quirking upward as you gaze up at him without a word. And Jethro winces inwardly at the can of worms he likely opened without even meaning to. He turns away, intent to find another cab for the two of them. But you’re not ready to drop it. “Well, I don’t know. Which did you enjoy the most?”

“Geez,” he mumbles. “Ya know, we should’ve just stayed home. You’re really in no condition to be out and about.”

You don’t reply. Instead, your arms appear right around his waist, closing tight and leaning up against his back. He’s thankful for the position, at least, so you couldn’t see the smirk on his lips. And when Jethro places his hand on your arm, he’s careful to avoid the bandages. He wants to touch your skin, anyway.

“Y’know, Jethro, if you wanna kiss me, you don’t have to wait until after Ducky does it.”

[plant-flwrs]

house unity // fred weasley

masterlist!

a/n: this story has taken me so long and i feel like i’ve poured my blood, sweat, and tears into it. i love it a lot and you can really tell what i was watching/ doing in each sections lol. for example, the dramatic ending is courtesy of the heart wrenching sylvia plath poems i was reading earlier today lol :’) also i made the reader a ravenclaw because im a ravenclaw and i felt like it hehe. n e way! hope you all like it and pls leave feedback if you have any! like, rb, follow <3

summary: Fred Weasley and you have a bit of a love hate relationship, however, on Fred’s behalf its more love than hate. Dating a Ravenclaw would be a great stride in house unity, wouldn’t it?

(disclaimer: when i describe the differences in the twins i mean the actors! especially since she who shall not be named did not give us much about their physical differences >:/ i found the info from fandom.com so it may be wrong, but i went with it. also, i made up a few things for this story, like the annual Christmas ball)

(8.7k)

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You wished you could enjoy some things as easily as your peers could.

You didn’t like most sweets from Honeydukes, you didn’t care for Quidditch, but you especially hated the Weasley twin’s pranks.

In your first year, just weeks after arriving at Hogwarts, you had met Fred and George. You had been unable to answer the riddle to enter the Ravenclaw common room, so you decided to take a walk around the grounds.

You just turned the corner to the courtyard, when a hard snowball hit you square in the face. The sheer force of it made you stumble backyards, and you barely had time to wipe the snow off your face before another one hit you hard in the back. You were unable to keep your balance and tumbled forwards. Your hands braced your fall and scraped against the rough stone harshly. Your palms stained the snow red as they began to bleed. You barely had time to nurse them before another snowball, this time the size of a Quaffle, plummeted onto your head. It pushed you face-first into the snow, and you recovered quicker, not wanting to stay there for any longer. You whirled around, looking for anyone who could have seen who did that. You saw two boys with flaming red hair running away, and you followed them.

You caught them just before they entered the castle, all three of you winded. They were twins.

“Did you see who did that? Was it you?” you had pried, and both of them looked giddy.

“What’d you mean?” the shorter of the two answered immaturely.

The other looked down at your hands and robes, seeing blood still flowing from your palms, and your stained tights. He glanced at his brother, who was still laughing about it all and shoved his shoulder.

“You git,” he mumbled to his brother, “she’s bleeding,” he took your hands in his and tried to wipe some of the blood off, only for it to stain the sleeves of his sweater.

“Oh, gross!” the shorter one exclaimed, backing away from the two of you.

“How did you two do that?” you asked, pulling your hands away from the kinder one.

“Bewitched ‘em,” the short one said arrogantly before his brother could stop him.

“You bewitched them to attack me?” you felt tears stinging your eyes and hoped the taller one wouldn’t notice that too.

“Well, we didn’t mean ‘em to go after you,” the kind one said quickly, trying to rub the blood out of his shirt.

“Yeah, but it was still a laugh,” the shorter one said, nudging his brother’s shoulder good spiritedly.

“Shut up, Fred,” he mumbled, obviously annoyed, “we’re sorry about your hands, we didn’t mean for it to happen, honest.”

Fred watched you silently as you swallowed hard, only able to nod at them, accepting the boys’ apology. You turned on your heal and went to the infirmary, hoping Madam Pomfrey could mend your cuts. You had wiped your tears all the way there.

In your third year, you had been told there would be a Christmas ball. You had been stuffed in a large room with the Gryffindors, and you bumped shoulder to shoulder with a boy who had long dreadlocks.

Professor McGonagall and Flitwick stood in the center of the room, a large record player was next to them.

“As some of you may know, there is an annual Christmas Ball here at Hogwarts,” Professor McGonagall explained, looking sharply at the Gryffindors.

“Professor McGonagall and I have a tradition,” Flitwick said, casting a glance at the Ravenclaws, “of holding a class on how to dance properly at these events.”

“Think of it as charity,” McGonagall said devilishly, “we wouldn’t want you to embarrass yourselves.”

Flitwick stifled a laugh and moved his wand to turn on the music. Loud, old-sounding music blared from the ancient device and you looked confused at your teachers.

“Everyone, pair up!”

An awkward haze fell over the room of third years. None of you knew how to talk to the opposite sex, let alone dance with them. You turned to look around you, accidentally making eye contact with the Gryffindor boy with dreads. His eyes widened when they saw yours, and his friends behind you noticed. You looked at his friends, only to see Fred and George Weasley. You rolled your eyes at the two, but their friend was jolted forwards.

He bumped into you, Fred having pushed him lightly on the back.

“Go on Lee!” Fred shouted, laughing loudly.

People were moving to the center of the room in pairs, and Lee looked at you nervously. He held his hand out to you.

“Want to dance?” He asked you shyly.

You took his hand with worry, nervous about the wicked grin the twins had. That grin always worried you.

You let Lee lead you out to the floor, falling in line with everyone else. You both watched McGonagall looking around for a partner for her to demonstrate with.

Fred’s obnoxious laugh cut through the room, and her eyes landed on him.

“Perfect! Mr. Weasley, come be my partner.”

He groaned and moved forwards, his brother laughing loudly. Beside you, Lee had a wide smile.

“Place your hand on my waist,” she said flatly.

“Your what?” he repeated, his eyes going wide.

“My waist, don’t be daft,” she replied, moving his hand to the right place.

It seemed everyone’s cheeks had gone red due to stifled laughter. Lee bumped into you as he doubled over, not trying to contain himself.

In your fifth year, you were made a prefect.

You were hesitant to accept the position, feeling a bit tied down by the prat status that came with the responsibility.

Wearing your slightly dusted badge, you had never polished it like you saw Percy doing every second of his life, you led a group of Ravenclaw first years up the stairs.

“Right this way,” you shouted over their heads, making sure no one got lost.

“Who had the sense to make you a prefect?” Fred taunted, coming up from behind you and flicking your ear.

You moved to swat his hand away, but he had already jumped back.

“Shove off, Fred,” you shot him a glare and turned back to the children, “the stairs can get a bit confusing, so watch your step!”

Fred watched you admirably, noticing the way your voice changed to a sweet sound when you spoke to anyone but him.

“Yeah, watch the stairs!” Fred shouted, pulling you by your elbow onto a new staircase.

The steps moved away from the first years, taking you and Fred to the opposite corridor you wanted to go down. You looked down and realized how close you were to the edge. Without thinking, you grabbed onto Fred’s robes, pulling him closer to you. He tilted forward and nearly lost his balance, which would have sent you both down. He flung his hand out and firmly held onto the railing, suspending the both of you over the edge for a moment before he pulled you back up. You were close to his chest, still holding onto him until the stairs stopped moving. You hadn’t meant to close your eyes, but when you finally opened them you saw your group of first-years looking at you from the other staircase, seeming absolutely terrified.

You leaped from Fred’s embrace, sending him stumbling back a bit. You marched up the stairs to loop back to the first years and heard Fred calling after you.

“Going so soon?” you heard his laugh echoing off the walls of the room.

For most of your life, your interactions with Fred Weasley were that simple. Maybe once a year you two would spit some insults at the other, and be on your way, not to speak to each other until next year.

However, when you walked into your Transfiguration class, late by a few minutes due to your prefect duties, you felt a punch in the gut when you saw flaming red hair.

The punch in the gut was increased tenfold when you saw that the only empty seat was next to the flaming red hair.

Breathing deeply and sending a fake smile his way, you sat uncomfortably next to Fred.

It would have been difficult to tell them apart, but your observant eye had always been able to. Besides a few odd growth spurts they were prone to, George usually came out the taller of the two. Fred also had a small scar on his left eyebrow.

“Oh hello, prefect,” Fred said lazily, drawing back in his chair and folding his hands behind his head.

The bottom of his shirt rose a little and you willed your eyes to not look at the toned bit of stomach that peeked through.

“Weasley,” you said, pulling your textbook out of your bag.

“Looking forward to your new prat duties?”

“More than I’m looking forward to sitting with you,” you pushed your hair behind your ear and out of your eyes, Fred stared at the side of your face.

“Always so charming,” he finally drawled, leaning forwards and tugging his sweater down.

Something about Fred always made you want the last word, the last laugh.

“Only for you, Fred.”

In professor McGonagall’s opinion, Fred Weasley had the littlest appreciation for time of all the students she had taught.

He wasted his time in the common room, in the Great Hall, and in the hallways.

Even during her Transfiguration class.

He was happy to spend his time with what he thought was shamelessly flirting with you, and McGonagall was happy to embarrass him while he did it.

“Mister Weasley?”

Fred turned to look at McGonagall’s severe face. Before he could say any excuse, insisting that you were talking too, she waved her wand at his desk. His book flew open to the right page, and a force that was not his own was pushing his head into the book. His hair fell in front of his face, and you could tell he was fighting against the spell McGonagall was using.

Fred seemed to be tamed by McGonagall after that and didn’t bother you for the rest of the class. On the way out, he held the door open for you. He called out to you in the hallway.

“Good luck with that weird rash, Y/n!” you felt your cheeks burn furiously as laughs sounded off in the hallway. You turned to see Fred watching you walk away, and lifted both of your middle fingers in the air to him.

“So classy!” he called back.

“Shove! OFF!” you yelled, shouting over the now deafening laughter in the hallway.

You were already dreading the upcoming months.

You were right to, for class with Fred did not get any easier.

You traded your thin tights for thicker ones and your light dress shirt for a heavy sweater. Your blue scarf was wrapped tightly around your neck, and you didn’t bother to pin your prefect badge on it these days.

“Miss, y/l/n, you must remember your badge,” McGonagall said as you came into class.

You looked down at your scarf, patting your robes until you felt the metal. Lifting up your scarf and showing the professor the badge underneath it, you gave her a reassuring smile.

She nodded approvingly and waved her hand, you moved to your seat.

Before you could put your things down, Fred was looking at you. You could hear the gears turning in his head, thinking of something presumably rude to say to you.

“Weasley,” you said first, hoping this would inspire him to stop looking at you.

He blinked at you, before smiling and turning back to his textbook.

“Today, we’re going to be learning a vanishing spell,” McGonagall started.

You had already turned to the page before she told it to you, you had read through the entire textbook over the summer.

You heard Fred scoff next to you, but ignored him.

Looking down at the directions in the book, you had remembered your successful attempt at making one of your father’s shoes disappear. He had been so proud of you, he didn’t care that he only had one brown Oxford instead of two.

“How did you do that?” Fred asked, watching as you easily made the rat in front of you vanish.

“Practice,” you said absently, turning your head to look back into the textbook.

Fred began to try the spell himself, his focus on the goblet he had taken from the great hall. He did the right wand movements, but his pronunciation was all wrong. You watched as the spell rebounded off the goblet and hit his tie, making the bottom half of it vanish. His hand flew to his chest, his mouth curved in a disbelieving grin when he didn’t feel the point of his tie.

“Well, bloody hell, that could have been much worse,” he gasped out, pushing his hair off his face and leaning back in his chair.

You couldn’t help the small nervous laugh that escaped your lips, but you were able to stifle it quickly. Fred had noticed your smile and glanced at you, happy to amuse you.

The two of you sat in silence for a bit, Fred regaining his composure after nearly vanishing himself. You pretended to read your book, but you had already read the page dozens of times. You wanted an excuse to not talk to Fred.

“Ever going to turn the page?” Fred asked from beside you, and you became very aware of his eyes on the side of your face.

“I’m absorbing the information,” you replied flatly, keeping your head in the book to hide your blush.

He laughed, sitting straight in his seat. He seemed to be attempting the spell again. You bit your lip as you watched him practice, wondering if you should correct him so he doesn’t hurt himself.

He had just begun to say the spell when you placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Wait!” he glanced at you and your hand on his shoulder, smirking at you.

“Yes, darling?”

You rolled your eyes and felt the urge to gag. Your face crinkled in disgust and Fred smiled.

“Your pronunciation is wrong.”

“Well go on then,” he said, urging you to continue.

“Evanesco,” you said simply, but Fred’s eyes wrinkled in confusion.

“That’s what I’m saying,” he said, turning back to the goblet but lowering his wand, “Evenesco.”

He had replaced the ‘a’ with an ‘e’ sound, but he hadn’t heard it, you supposed.

“It’s ev-an-es-co,” you said slowly, placing your pronunciation on the ‘an’, “you’re saying ev-en-es-co.”

His eyebrows raised, finally understanding. He repeated it to you slowly, and you nodded your head when he said it right.

He smiled confidently, casting the spell on his goblet. The goblet turned foggy, and Fred could wave his hand through it like it was a ghost.

He sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

“This is miserable,” he groaned.

You waved your wand and said the verbal part of the spell, finishing off the goblet. It completely disappeared and Fred let out another groan, rolling his head back in annoyance.

“You’re miserable,” he said to you teasingly.

You looked at him through your lashes, your brows furrowed, “Whatever, Fred,” your face grimaced in annoyance, “I’m just trying to help, your welcome, by the way.”

You pulled your bag onto your lap and began to pack up your books.

Fred let out a sigh like he was going to say something. You turned to him, but he merely shook his head.

“Forget it,” he said, seeming to be at a loss of words.

You stood from your seat the second McGonagall dismissed class, leaving Fred at your shared desk.

“She’s totally into me!”

“She hates your guts, mate,” George said, pulling his lips into a thin-lined sympathy smile.

Fred scoffed and shook his head, his long hair falling over his forehead.

“You don’t get it,” he pressed, determined to make George see.

“She looks like she wants to throw herself into the Forbidden Forest every time she sees you,” George replied, determined to stop his brother from future heartbreak.

“Whatever, just you watch,” Fred said, tossing his Quidditch broom from hand to hand and looking at the massive stands above them, empty for the practice, “in a few weeks she’ll be in one of those seats, cheering me on.”

“He’s lost it,” Harry mumbled to George as he walked past, baffled by Fred’s dazed look.

George nodded hastily, following Harry away from his lovesick brother.

Fred was not often detoured by anyone’s cautionary guidance, so the endless warnings from George slid off his ego like melted butter.

Fred had spent so much time in the last Quidditch match with his eyes glued to the Ravenclaw student section, looking for you, that he had barely hit any bludgers the entire game. Oliver had some tasteful words for him in the changing rooms, but it was no worse than his mother’s screaming.

You were not at the Quidditch match, you never were. You had always used the advantage of the empty castle to go to the kitchens. The elves were the only ones left there, and you liked talking with them. Some times Luna would join you.

It seemed you and Fred were going opposite directions while searching for each other at the same time.

No matter how many cookies Dobby shoved towards you and Luna, you could not get Fred out of your head.

You thought about his arms wrapped around you on the stairs, you thought about the way he could always make your cheeks burn, and you thought of the way his eyes poured into your face like it was the only thing he’d ever seen. You hated him. He was rude, arrogant, and annoying. He ran around your head constantly.

McGonagall had some choice words for Fred that night after the match. The sulking from the loss had been toned down, but the hushed sounds of Oliver’s feet pounding against the floor in his bedroom could be heard all the way from the common room.

“Where is Wood?” she burst through the portrait hole, still in her robes she wore to the match.

“He’s upstairs, why?” Harry replied, looking nervous.

“I need to have a word with him,” she cast a glance at Fred, “and his methods of training his beaters.”

Fred and George both shot from where they sat on the couch.

“What?” George yelled.

“Don’t take that tone with me, Mister Weasley,” she squinted at them, “whichever one of you was looking around at the Rave-” she stopped before she could finish her sentence as if she had an epiphany.

Her pursed lips twisted into an evil looking smile.

“You know, Mister Weasley,” she took a step towards the boys and spoke to them only, “dating a Ravenclaw would show great strides in house unity,” Fred’s eyes bulged out of his head and George was already turning pink with laughter, “perhaps then you could focus on Quidditch again.”

George was nearly purple due to lack of air, and Harry’s mouth was agape in shock as McGonagall whisked her robes and swiftly climbed back out of the portrait hole.

“What is she on about?” Harry asked George.

Fred flopped onto the couch and covered his face with his hands. His life was over. If McGonagall could catch onto something like that, couldn’t you? You hadn’t started to flirt back, and Fred was beginning to wonder if George was right about your feelings towards him.

Soon enough, George was spouting everything McGonagall had said before he could catch his breath. He told anyone in the common room how much you hated Fred, and how much he desperately fancied you. Fred figured there was no use to stop him, because once again, if McGonagall could catch on, couldn’t everyone else?

Sunday morning was always rough for you. You pulled your heavy quilt closer to your cold cheeks, hoping for the sun to go back down and the weekend to restart. It never did.

You slipped on a pair of jeans and a tight turtle neck. Still feeling the cold air of the castle seeping through, you pulled on a sweater over the turtle neck. You tugged on some wool socks and pulled the fabric of the shirt as high up your neck as it would go.

You and Luna had plans to go to Hagrid’s hut today, he had promised her some magical flower seeds he had found in his garden. You liked to spend time with Luna, she was an easing presence and you always knew how to talk to her, even if most people didn’t.

You clutched an old muggle novel to your chest, hoping to trap some of your body heat. The hallways were surprisingly crowded for a Sunday morning, and you glanced at your watch, seeing breakfast had just ended.

You noticed that a lot of students with red ties were looking at you oddly. They would see you and smile widely, as if you were a new friend to them. You kept your head down until you met Luna in front of the great hall.

“Did you hear the news?” she asked before she even greeted you.

“What?”

“I just saw Harry, he said McGonagall told Fred to ask you out.”

You laughed, expecting her to do so as well. She didn’t and her face stayed stoic. She began to walk outside.

You were locked into place for a second before you jumped into line with her.

“What?” you repeated.

“Harry told me-” she began, but you waved your hands, cutting her off.

“No, I heard you, but what do you mean? What did McGonagall say?”

Luna had to have finally gone loony.

“He told me that after they lost Quidditch yesterday, she came in looking for Fred, she said he was quite distracted during the match,” she said, looking dreamily at you, “and she said something about how dating a Ravenclaw would be great for house unity,” Luna finished, toying with the tote bag at her side.

“Why did Harry think the Ravenclaw had to be me?” you asked, thinking there was a huge misunderstanding.

“Oh, well,” she said like she had forgotten a large part of the story, “after George heard what McGonagall said, he lost it. Harry said he laughed so hard he cried,” Luna giggled to herself while imagining the sight, “and he told everyone in the common room that Fred fancied you.”

Your face turned bright red with anger and embarrassment. The entire Gryffindor house had been laughing all night because George said Fred fancied you.

You were about to burst into protests, insist that it’s not true, but a gaggle of second years wearing red ties all pointed at you, talking among themselves.

You stepped towards them, making sure your prefect badge was visible. You watched their eyes flash down to the blue pin, and back up at your face, eyes wide. They scurried off and you fell back into place with Luna.

“That was rude of them,” Luna said, looping her arm with yours.

“Yeah,” you said quietly under your breath, your mind cloudy with thoughts.

You and Luna walked quietly out to Hagrid’s. You glanced up and saw the last person you had wanted to see.

Fred and George stood at the point where the path diverged to the Quidditch pitch and Hagrid’s hut, throwing a little flame-like ball to each other, bouncing it off their arms, feet, and chests. A small group of some younger kids had huddled around them, ‘ooing’ and ‘awing’ at each pass.

Fred had a large smile on his face, and the sight of it made your stomach churn with nerves.

You ducked your head down, hoping you and Luna would pass without a problem. You would not.

“Hi Fred,” Luna lifted a hand to wave at him, and the small light fell onto the ground as Fred saw you, “hi George.”

George smiled evilly at the sight of his brother nervously looking anywhere but you.

“Fun looking game your playing,” Luna said, trying to stop to talk, but you dragged her along.

“See you later Luna, Y/n!” George called out to the two of you, the laughter obvious in his voice.

“Why didn’t you want to talk to them? You could have asked Fred about what Harry said,” Luna asked you soothingly, looking at you curiously.

“I don’t know,” you sighed, feeling very overwhelmed, “it’s weird. I don’t even know what happened but the thought of it is so weird,” you paused, trying to grasp the words, “I mean, Fred can’t like me. We detest each other, its fun.”

“Well, do you like him?” she had asked the one question you were avoiding.

Fred had always been a thorn in your side. Ever since you met him he was rude. He never apologized for anything, he laughed, poked, and prodded at you for his own amusement. Yet, whenever you saw his soft-looking hair, you swallowed hard. When he inched closer to you, even just to whisper something rude, you felt your chest tighten. He looked at you, and you could swear he actually cared about what you were saying. Maybe detest was a little strong, perhaps just annoyed.

Granted, he was a teenage boy, and you are a teenage girl, mixed messages are bound to be sent. You thought you had been clear with your messages to Fred, though. “Leave me alone,” nothing bitter, nothing kind, just the wish to be left alone. Of course, Fred did not read your message that way. The enticing message he got was more along the lines of: “I’m going to pretend I want you to leave me alone, but please, don’t. Chase me through the hallways, confess undying love for me, kiss me passionately”. Now, it is entirely possible that Fred’s interpretation was a little clouded by his own wants and wishes, but this did not stop him.

The talk of the castle, for at least the following school week, was you and Fred.

You had never been whispered about, pointed at, or thought of like this. Fred seemed to be enjoying it.

In class Monday, Fred pretended nothing had happened. He swung his arm over the back of your chair and waited for the look of disgust to flash across your face, which it did, and he chuckled to himself.

Soon enough, the whispers and pointing had subsided, and they were replaced by odd looks as if they were disbelieving of something.

Luna found you in the courtyard sitting under a tree and skipped over to you.

“You hadn’t told me Fred asked you out,” she wiggled her eyebrows, “officially.”

Once again, you laughed, but she did not. She sat in front of you, crossing her legs.

“Oh my-” you trailed off, lifting your head to look at Luna, “what’s happened now?”

“Hermione told me that Fred has been raving to everyone about how you’re dating.”

Your eyes were wild with disbelief. You couldn’t have even comprehended what was going on at this school these days.

“Well, no one’s told me that we’re dating,” you said, your voice riddled with annoyance.

In perfect timing, Fred, George, and Lee bounded from the school and out to the courtyard. They were laughing and shoving each other, looking to be having a great time.

You stood from the ground, dusting off your pants and walking over to the three with fury.

“Fred!” you called out to him, and he stopped and turned to you.

A look of fear flashed on his face, but he covered it with something else, was it admiration? Love?

You clenched your jaw and narrowed your eyes, stepping close to him. He tilted his head down to look at you, a small smile on his lips.

Around you, George, Lee, and Luna stood with their arms crossed, watching intently.

Your bodies were almost touching, and your finger stabbed into his chest.

“Who do you think you are?” you said in a hushed tone through gritted teeth.

Once again, Fred’s face fell for a moment, before he wrapped his arms around your waist in some sort of embrace. You squirmed from his touch and backed away from him.

“Who do you think you are?” you repeated, this time louder. George and Lee flinched from behind you.

“What do you mean, sweetheart?” he asked sweetly.

Your face twisted with confusion, what is he on about?

“What?”

He continued, stepping closer to you.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked earnestly, moving to rub his hand on your arm.

He was trying to flip the script, make you feel crazy.

“Fred, you’ve lost it, really,” you replied, walking back to the tree to gather your books.

“Maybe when you’ve regained consciousness,” you walked back up to him, keeping your distance, “or the effects of whatever potion you took start to wear off, please try to explain what is going on.”

You walked away from them, leaving Fred with a wicked smile.

“Alright, see you later!” he called out to you.

You turned your head to look at him, your hair blew in front of your face but Fred could see your puzzled expression. His smirk grew wider and he turned to George, Lee, and Luna. They looked awfully concerned.

“Oh,” he placed his hands on his hips, “isn’t she great?”

You had gotten to Transfiguration early, your prefect duties switched for the week. You crossed your legs and placed a book on them, reading discretely while McGonagall was still in her office.

Just as she began to address the class, Fred strolled in, hands in his pockets. He slipped into the seat next to you and you bookmarked your page. You scooted your chair in and slipped the worn book into your bag, listening to McGonagall begin her lecture. Monday’s were often boring lecture days in Transfiguration.

You heard the screech of Fred’s chair on the floor, and in the corner of your eye saw him moving closer to you. He rested his elbow on the desk and placed his chin in his palm. He leaned close to you.

“Hello,” he whispered, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

You ignored him, dipping your quill into your ink in case McGonagall said something note-worthy.

“What’s ‘a matter,” he paused as if he was thinking of the most annoying thing to say to you, “darling?”

You audibly gagged, and his smile widened.

“What do you want?” you caved, asking him.

“Oh nothing,” he leaned back in his chair, still whispering to you, “just for you to be my girlfriend.”

You went rigid. Your face suddenly got very warm. You lost grip of your quill and it toppled over your ink, sending dark liquid across the desk and onto your white sleeve. You cursed loudly out of reflex and it caught McGonagall’s attention.

“Excuse me, Miss Y/l/n?”

Everyone turned to look at you and Fred in the back of the room, some people smirking. Fred stayed leaned back in his chair, watching you.

“I’m sorry Professor,” you stumbled out, wiping both the ink and your sleeve at the same time, making both things worse, “I just-”

Fred pulled his wand out from beside you and did a simple cleaning spell, you supposed. The ink receded back into its bottle and the stain on your sleeve disappeared. McGonagall watched him intently.

“Very resourceful Weasley, Miss Y/l/n, please don’t disrupt my class again,” she said curtly, returning to the lesson.

You heard a few snickers from your classmates, your face still a deep shade of red. You swallowed hard as you felt your heart beating in your ears.

Fred leaned forward again so his mouth was aligned with your ear.

“What do you say?” he whispered.

“What are you talking about Fred? Why are you doing all this?” you asked, straining to keep your desperate voice in a whisper.

“I’m only having some fun,” he replied as if he hadn’t been making your life a living hell for the past weeks.

You shot him a pleading look, and when he saw your flushed cheeks and watery eyes, his face softened.

“Hey,” he placed a hand on your knee, a knot formed in your throat and shivers went down your arms, “I didn’t mean to-” he trailed off and your jaw clenched. You returned your gaze to the front of the class.

“Listen, I’ve just been,” he paused, searching for the words, “I’ve been playing a sort of prank. On everyone but us.”

His tone was soft and playful as if he were letting you in on a secret. You supposed he was.

You raised your eyebrows, pressing him to continue.

“Well, George basically told everyone in our house that I fancy you, so I wanted to have some fun with it, switch it on them.”

You pressed your eyebrows together, still looking to the front of the room while Fred was inches away from your ear.

“I’ve told everyone we’re dating,” he said plainly, “house unity and all, as McGonagall said.”

“So that was true? What Harry told Luna?” you said before you could stop yourself, happy to finally get answers.

“Well, I don’t know exactly what Harry said, but I’m sure he didn’t leave anything out.”

“Why did George tell everyone that? That you,” you trailed off, feeling the words choking in your mouth, “that you fancy me?”

“Because I do,” he said quickly, and just as quickly moved on, “so what do you say? Want to be my girlfriend-” he paused, realizing what he had just said, “well, my girlfriend of sorts, not like my real girlfriend, because I’m sure you wouldn’t want to, and-” he stopped himself.

This time it was his turn for his cheeks to burn and his eyes to awkwardly avoid yours.

“Why do all this? Seems a lot for a joke that no one but us will laugh at,” you said, trying to ignore his confession.

“I’m willing to go to the ends of the Earth for a joke, my dear.”

Fred was dreadfully serious when saying that, and this became clear within hours.

Walking past the Dungeons and up the many stairs to your common room, you heard Fred call out to you.

“Wait up!” he was breaking away from a large group of Gryffindors, and all of them watched him with a keen eye,

“What, Fred?”

“Hey, that's not a very girlfriend-y tone,” he wrapped his arm easily around you.

You were sure it was meant to be sweet, but it felt a bit imprisoning.

“I never agreed to this,” you didn’t shake off his arm, but you felt inclined to. You were aware of the many eyes pouring into your back.

“I thought we had? Oh,” his arm left your shoulder, and you felt a little colder, “well then I suppose I could leave it all be, go back on my word, humiliate myself.”

His tone was a playful one, and you couldn’t help the bashful smile that reached your cheeks. You knew you had no obligation to Fred, but the whispers and gossip had seemed to subside during this new joke of his. You stopped at the landing, and the group of Gryffindors walked past you, staring at you both. Fred waved them off and nodded his head towards you, smiling.

“Why should I?” you clutched some textbooks to your chest, feeling grateful for the wall it put between you and Fred. He looked down at you, his hair falling into his forehead.

“Well,” he stuffed his hands in his pockets, inching closer to you, “as I said, I just think it could be a bit of fun.”

“Fun for you. What’s in it for me?”

“What? Besides utter fame and popularity from being associated with me?”

“Oh shove off, Fred,” you rolled your eyes at him, but once again could not help the smile that spread across your face.

“See? I’m growing on you already.”

“I’m still seeing no benefit for me.”

“Well, I do see where your coming from, but I’d like to raise another point,” he slipped a hand from his pants and waved it casually while talking, “I will indeed pretend like we are dating even if you don’t.”

“So essentially, you would just be flirting with me while I hurl insults at you?”

He nodded enthusiastically.

“Is that the image you want, Fred?” you teased.

You moved to lean against the wall behind you, and Fred trailed after you.

“Any image is a good one,” he winked dramatically at you.

You shrunk away from him and gagged, sending him into a fit of laughter.

“I hate it already.”

“So you’ll do it?” he asked.

You breathed in, looking at him seriously. His hazel eyes were dark in this light, his hair had gone a deeper red in the lack of warm weather and sunshine. He towered over you slightly, and you looked at him through your lashes.

Shrugging your shoulders, you agreed weakly.

Fred saw the error of his thinking almost immediately. Walking through the hallways with you, he felt his heart soar higher and higher each time you laughed. When you would loosen up, or walk a little closer to him. He was being awfully unfair to himself, making himself think that you had something, some sort of relationship. It was like dangling a treat in front of a dog and wanking it away right when the dog drooled.

He saw the flaming house, and still walked in, looking for a place to sleep.

“Why, hello,” Fred drawled, coming up from behind you in the hall.

You felt his hand snake around your waist, and he pulled you. Your feet twisted from under you and you twirled, turning to face him. Your hair had skewed into your face, and he watched your delicate hand reach up to brush it away.

You looked dazed as if you had a lot on your mind. He smiled down at you and you did your best to reciprocate it.

“Are you alright?” he asked, dropping his hand from your hip.

“Yeah, just-” you took a deep breath in, “just got a lot of homework, been a bit busy with my prefect stuff.”

This was not what was bothering you. You felt a lot of inner conflicts these days, an endless moody and angsty monologue sounding off in your head day and night. You felt odd. You felt odd for agreeing to Fred’s stupid plan. You felt odd for toying with him and yourself. You had disliked him just last month, and now you let him wrap his arm around your shoulder, let him hold your waist. You felt like a traitor to yourself, letting him win you over with a few charming looks. You felt even worse when you thought of Fred’s confession. He had said he fancied you, and the idea of pretending to date him didn’t alarm you for some reason. You hated the feeling of toying with his emotions or allowing him to live out some sort of fantasy. Everything about it made you feel awful.

You didn’t feel as awful, though, when Fred would call out a comment from across the dining hall that would make your cheeks burn and all the other girls swoon. You didn’t feel as awful when he would sit in silence with you by the black lake, keeping you company among the chilling wind. You didn’t feel as awful when he slipped little notes into your bag when you left Transfiguration.

You had enough, one too many genuine looks of admiration. You needed to tell Fred how you felt.

You caught him on his way back from Quidditch practice. He was trailing near the end of the group, huddled with George and Harry. He had some dirt on his forehead, and his cheeks were tinted pink. He smelled of grass and sweat.

You pulled your cardigan tighter around you, wishing you had brought your scarf. Your hair whipped in the wind around you, and you rocked on your feet.

You began walking to him, and when he saw you he smiled widely.

“Hey!” he called out, walking faster to meet you.

“Hi,” you said nervously.

“I’ll meet you guys back in the common room,” he told George and Harry, who glanced over their shoulders at the two of you.

It was dusk and he looked strikingly handsome. You felt like you were seeing him as a different person. He wasn’t the boy who bewitched snowballs to attack you, he wasn’t the boy who laughed at your scraped hands. He wasn’t the boy who shoved Lee at you, and he wasn’t the boy who awkwardly danced with McGonagall. He was the boy who held you in his arms, stopping you from falling over the stairs. He was the boy who looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world, he was the boy who held you above anything else.

Your mouth was agape as you looked at him, he stood awkwardly waiting for you to say something. You looked at the ground, licking your lips and feeling them dry as soon as the cold air grazed them again.

“I wanted to talk to you,” you said quietly, hoping your voice would fade into the wind and carry you away.

“What’s up?” he looked down at you nervously.

“Fred, I-” he cut you off, placing a hand on your arm.

“You can’t do this anymore?” he looked deeply at you but you couldn’t meet his eyes.

You didn’t want to have this talk anymore, you felt content, suddenly, in pretending. You could both pretend to love each other until it wasn’t pretending. The lines would blur and soon, his kisses would come easily and his hands would have their place on you. You would touch his soft hair and know his eyes only looked at you. But you had already said the words, or rather, he did.

“I just,” you kicked the dirt beneath you, hoping he would finish your sentence again, he didn’t.

“I don’t think its fair,” you looked up at him finally and felt surprised to feel tears in your eyes, you blinked, forcing them to subside, “to either of us.”

You heard him gulp, and his eyes moved to look at the castle behind you. The candles had been lit and the stone glowed from the inside.

“I get it,” he said, removing his hand from your arm.

You looked down at where his hand had been and felt a tear drip down your cheek.

“Fred-”

He shook his head, pulling his mouth into a line. You stopped talking, feeling the words stuck in your heart.

You really wished you hadn’t said anything. You wished you could pretend again.

He walked past you, leaving you in the dusk. You hadn’t meant to, but a sob escaped your mouth. You heard his feet shuffle for a moment, and stop. He walked back to you.

He had finally been able to fall asleep among the fire, and it seemed you had come to join him at some point. He didn’t know when, but looking at you now, it seemed you had been burning for a while.

“What’s got you so torn up about this?” he said gently, stopping a few paces away from you, “Didn’t fall in love with me, did ya?”

A laugh fell from your lips at the same time another sob did. Your shoulders hunched over more, and Fred’s heart hurt him. He walked to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. You turned to face him, and you both moved at the same time. He pulled you close into his chest and your cheek pressed against him. He smelled, he was dirty, and he was tired, but he still held you tighter than you had ever been held before.

You pulled away from him after a while, coming to terms with yourself in the moment of affection. You wiped your tears from your face with your sleeve, taking a few deep breaths.

“I think,” you hiccuped, feeling it hard to speak, “I think that the pretending was too hard.”

Fred felt guilt wash over him. He felt guilty for himself, because you had said exactly what he was feeling. He couldn’t stand to pretend, to keep himself from gripping your hand, or from kissing you any chance he got. He wanted it all to be real, he wanted this wall between you to crumble into a genuine relationship. He felt guilty for making you feel this way. He felt guilty for pressuring you into this allusion of intimacy. He hadn’t stopped to consider if this would be negative for you, only insisting it would all work out for the best.

As he watched your uneven breathing and swollen nose and eyes, he knew this was not the best.

He breathed hard, forcing himself not to cry as he looked at you. George was supposed to be the sensitive one, but Fred had always been a sympathetic crier.

“Me too,” he replied, his voice sounding far, far away.

You looked at him, feeling terrified. The cold air was moving through you liked you were transparent. Tears kept flowing down your face, and no matter how fast you dried them, you only cried more. Your head felt miles away from your body, so you stepped closer to him, hoping to step closer to yourself too.

“I don’t think I want to pretend,” you croaked out.

He blinked at you, and you saw a single tear fall down his cheek. He didn’t move to brush it away, and it moved slowly. It left a clean mark on his dirt-stained face.

You took a step towards him, covering your hand with your sleeve. You cupped the back of his neck with one hand and brought your sleeved hand to his cheek. You wiped the tear and the dirt away, but your hand didn’t move. You peaked your fingers from your sleeve and they grazed his face. His eyes fluttered closed and your throat tightened as more tears poured from your eyes. Your vision was blurry as you traced his face, moving over his nose, eyebrows, and lips. You stopped to cup his cheek, and he leaned into your palm. You felt the wetness of more tears fall onto your hand, and you bit your lips, holding in a wretched noise.

“Fred?”

His eyes fluttered open, and you realized his hands had found their way onto your waist, he held you tightly.

“Do you want to pretend?” you asked him.

He moved his head from your cheek and kept his wet eyes locked with yours.

“I want you,” his voice was hoarse and sad, but that was all you needed to hear.

You buried your face into the crook of his neck and he wrapped his arms around you tightly.

The dusk had turned into the night, and you pulled away from Fred. You looked up at him and swallowed away the tears that remained. You began to walk past him and up to the castle. He followed you quickly.

You were scared. You had safety in pretending, knowing this was all something for fun. But as you looked at Fred now, you saw something deeper. You saw the threat of genuine love and connection, the threat of heartbreak.

Neither of you wanted to go without the other tonight, you had decided. You wordlessly followed him to his common room, and he slipped his hand into yours. You had both ducked into a prefect bathroom on the way there, looking at yourselves and covering your swollen eyes.

He said the password to a portrait of a large lady, and she looked suspiciously at you both.

“Are you two alright? You’ve just about missed curfew,” she said, her voice booming through the staircase.

“Yeah, we’re alright, just tired from practice, is all,” Fred reassured her, and the door swung open. He walked in first, and you followed.

You relished in the warmth of the spacious room, feeling drawn to the fireplace. You walked over to it and sat on a large couch. The room was relatively empty, a few kids hunched over books.

Fred sat next to you, still in his Quidditch robes. He grabbed your legs with his hand and guided them to rest on one of his legs, hanging over it. This angled your body to him, and he moved his arm to wrap around you.

“When did you realize?” he asked, his face lit by the fire.

“Just then, when you walked up to me after your practice.”

His chest moved with a chuckle and you moved your head to looked up at him.

“Well that's a little embarrassing for me,” he said, pushing a piece of your hair out of your face while you gazed up at him, “I've known since I met you.”

“Shut up, no you didn’t,” you said lightly, assuming he was trying to be some sort of romantic and inflating the truth.

“I did,” he said seriously, “I teased you for so long for a reason.”

“Because you’re an idiot?”

“Yes.”

You both laughed, pulling each other closer.

“And because I liked you.”

You rolled your eyes, sinking deeper into him. You felt yourself getting tired and you peered up at him. His eyes were half-closed and his face was drooping.

“Fred, you’re tired, why don’t you go to bed,” you began to move off of him, but he pulled you back.

“Only if you make me a deal,” he said mischievously.

“What?”

“I’ll go upstairs and take a quick shower, but only if you come with me,” he replied.

“I am not showering with you, pervert,” you smacked his arm and stood from the couch, blushing furiously.

He smiled and grabbed your hand, turning it to kiss your palm. You shivered at his touch.

“No, just come lay with me,” he looked up at you, suddenly serious, “I want to be with you tonight.”

Your heart sank to your stomach and you bit your lip. You couldn’t speak, so you nodded your head slowly.

Fred fished his wand from his robes and waved it towards the stairs, performing the counterspell for the stairs. You followed him up to his room, where he put his finger to his lips, signaling for you to be quiet. When he cracked open the door, it was dark and the curtains for the beds had been drawn. He crept over to a chest at the foot of his bed and looked at you before turning to its contents. He pulled out two large pajama pants, both plaid, and two heavy sweaters. He tossed one of each on his bed and took the others with him.

“Here, you can sleep in these,” he whispered to you, and it felt like you would blush forever.

He smiled softly at you before closing the curtains for you, leaving you to change.

“Oi, mate,” you heard someone’s annoyed and hoarse voice, “what took you so long? Practice ended an hour ago.”

“I was talking with Y/n,” you heard the bathroom door open, “I’ll talk to you about it tomorrow, I’m gonna shower. And don’t wake me up for breakfast tomorrow, I want to sleep in.”

You smiled to yourself, holding the soft sweater in your hands. It had a large ‘F’ on it, and you traced your fingers over it. You slid out of your jeans and folded them, placing them on the floor by the trunk. You slid on the pants he gave you and silently laughed as they easily ran past your feet and dragged on the floor. You folded them at the waist, and they were still too long. You had just slipped on the sweater when Fred slid open the curtain. He watched you fold your shirt and place it with your jeans. His eyes trailed from his sweater to the way his pants covered your feet. He smiled widely and drew you closer to him by grabbing your hips.

You looked up at him, your chests pressed together. He brought one hand up to your jaw, tilting it up to align with his face. His lips parted and so did yours, the air between you becoming a mixture of your breaths. His was minty, he must have just brushed his teeth.

His thumb grazed your bottom lip, and he finally closed the space between you. His neck craned down to you, but when you stood on your toes he was able to stand straight. You pressed as close to him as you could, and so did he. His lips were warm against your cold ones. He felt the many places that had been chapped and bitten, running his tongue over them slowly. You sighed and ran your chilled hands up his sweater, feeling him shiver beneath you. Your fingertips grazed the muscles on his back, tracing every line you could feel.

You pulled away first, sinking down to stand flat on your feet and rest your forehead on his chest.

“I’m so glad we didn’t pretend to do that,” Fred laughed out, pulling you close to him.

You smiled and hugged him, before moving to the other side of the small bed. You both slid under the covers silently, thinking that if either of you said something, things would suddenly be awkward.

The lack of bed only made him hold you tighter, and the two of you fell asleep relatively soon.

You were awoken by the sounds of laughter. The curtains were still drawn, and Fred’s arm was still wrapped around you. Your leg was resting on him as he laid on his back, hugging you close to him. Your head lifted from his chest as you squinted your eyes.

“No, he said he wanted to sleep in, mate,” you heard George say. The door opened and you heard footsteps walking towards it.

“You think they finally told each other?” Lee asked George, pulling on a wool hat.

“I hope so, bloody awful letting Fred think he tricked us,” George said before closing the door behind them.

You smiled and let your head sink back onto Fred. He stirred and pulled you closer to him. Through the fabric of his sweater, you swore you could hear the steady rhythm of his heart.

[maybege]

Safe And Warm - Part 2

Summary: The journey to get Thalassa to Coruscant continues and Paz and you get closer. (Anastasia AU)

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 6.4k | Rating: T

Warnings: once again Disney-level fluff, some tense moments but nothing really dangerous, Mandalorians do not wear helmets in this AU

Here we go! The second and final part to this little AU. Thank you everyone who has commented on and reblogged the first part, I was so happy you liked it. This part also coincides with @agirllovespancakes ‘s 7 Days No Smut Challenge which I highly recommend you check out as there are so many wonderful contributions. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated and I hope you enjoy it!

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

The next day, you mostly spent in the room that Thalassa and Din had slept in.

It was amusing, the dark circles under Din’s eyes and the way his brows were in a constant frown.

“You owe me,” he hissed as soon as Paz stepped over the threshold, “Princess here wouldn’t shut up for even one second. It’s a wonder she survived that long on that muddy planet we found her on. I would’ve strangled her years ago.”

Paz only chuckled.

That night, it was felt almost like a routine. None of the passengers tried to talk to you this time around, the dark look on Paz’s face proving enough to keep them away.

The curtain was pulled closed and he had his back turned to you as you got changed. He could hear the shuffling behind him and once you had settled down, he got undressed as quickly as he could.

When he laid down, he felt your arm brush against his. As he turned towards you, his hand found its way to your waist on its own and you smiled, shuffling closer.

“Here we could –“ he put the blaster behind your back.

The metal scraped against the wall and when he noticed that there was not enough space he gently pulled you towards him until you were flush against his chest.

“Is that all right?” he asked hesitantly, his chin on top of your head. You nodded against him, your nose dragging along his throat and goosebumps erupted all over his skin. You were so close …

“Will you tell me why you’re doing this?” you asked him suddenly, “No one would ever spend more than one day with Thalassa out of the goodness of their heart, much less smuggle her into the Core Worlds.”

“Her family will pay a good prize to those that bring her back,” he admitted, almost scared of what your reaction would be. He wanted to add that he was happy to do it now that he got to know you. That he was happy to be with you, here at this moment, and that he would happily abstain from the money if it meant he could just stay here with you.

“I can imagine,” you whispered against him, “All she ever could talk about growing up was how much money her family had – sometimes I wonder if that is the only reason my uncle ever kept her. Apart from the undying love my aunt had for her, of course.”

How anyone could love Thalassa was a mystery to him to Paz did not say anything. Instead, he just held you close.

“I’m flattered you thought that I was her,” you murmured a few moments later, so quiet he could barely hear it, “I – no one ever thought I was more than a farmer’s daughter before.”

“You looked – you were radiant,” Paz replied, “Areradiant, I think. Doesn’t matter if you’re a princess or not, I think – I think you’re beautiful.”

He felt the heat of your cheeks against his chest and his heart warmed. “Thank you, Paz,” you whispered as the light outside shut down, “Thank you for taking me with you.”

And in the darkness, as he remembered that he would have to say goodbye to you on Coruscant, his heart hurt.

*

The days on the ship were absolute perfection.

Or as close to perfection as they could be.

You spend the days either in the common rooms or in the small room that Din and Thalassa shared. Paz made it a habit to clean his blaster every day, just to have something to spend the time on. Din did it as well and there were more than a few moments where Paz contemplated taking the weapon away from Din to prevent him from hurting the constantly chattering princess.

But most days it was not too bad. There were ways you were able to entertain yourself – either by watching a longer holovid on one of the datapads or playing cards. Thalassa had expressed interest in watching one of the loth cat races but Din and Paz had steadfastly refused to take her there on the grounds that if a bounty hunter was anywhere on this ship, he was sure to be at the loth cat races.

And in part that was true and Paz was convinced that Din said it in an attempt to keep her safe. But Paz also had another reason: He did not want to leave you.

Because as the days and nights wore on, he noticed that whenever you were in the same room (which meant always) you would drift towards him or vice versa. No matter if you started out sitting next to Din or Thalassa in the morning, you always ended up right next to him, often talking quietly to each other in a corner of the room.

He had gotten used to your figure next to him, having pulled your knees against your chest as you let him explain to you the different mechanisms of the blaster he was cleaning.

“You’re good at that,” you had said once, smiling at him, “Explaining stuff.”

“Well, I am a teacher,” he had revealed with a teasing smile, “Back at home, I mean. I teach our foundlings about the world and everything they need to know to survive in it.”

You had nodded, resting your chin on your knees and your eyes had been so soft he had wanted nothing more than to kiss you. “It fits,” had been your response, “Paz Vizsla, the teacher.”

Other times you would volunteer to accompany him to the cantina, getting some food for the four of you so Thalassa did not need to leave the room. (“Less exposure, fewer chances for her to be recognized,” Din had shrugged and Paz had agreed.) And with you walking next to him, both of you talking about everything and nothing, Paz only barely registered the jealous looks of other passengers, clearly directed at him.

But he could not care, not when you were so happy to choose the meal of the day, trying out different delicacies from all over the galaxy – stuff you had heard of as children or that was so strange to you, you could barely imagine its taste, all of it landed on your plates.

When the night neared, you would sometimes challenge him to a game of dice which you hopelessly lost every single time but Paz could only smile at you, trying to show you the right way to throw the galactic dice, his broad hands holding yours and his heart skipped a beat every time you asked him to show you again.

Yes, the more time passed, the more Paz allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to spend his life with you.

*

With the ship having safely arrived on Naboo, the next leg of the journey was pretty easy. You needed to get on the train to Theed to catch the next ship that would take you to Coruscant.

“I am sure you’ll like it, Princess,” Din huffed, carrying his bag and hers, “The next room will be much more to your tastes.”

“I can only hope so,” Thalassa replied coolly, shielding her face from the sun, “Thus far the trip has been rather underwhelming.”

Paz chuckled, grinning when he caught you rolling your eyes. To be fair, Paz was pretty sure that everyone would be happy about the better accommodations. In comparison to the ship they had just left, it was almost luxurious. They would have a bedroom big enough to accommodate all of them with an ensuite bathroom and room service available. He could not wait until he had the chance to take a good long shower and get cleaned up.

Not one to waste credits where it was unnecessary, Din bribed the train personnel to let you stay in the luggage cabin much to Thalassa’s dismay. But as Paz helped you up, his hands on your waist, he noticed how giddy you were. You were grinning from ear to ear and he felt his own lips tug up in a smile. One thing he lamented about the better accommodations was that he would not have you next to him every night.

Sitting down on the floor, he watched as your skirts flared up with the wind as the train gained speed.

“I can’t believe we’re this close already,” you said, gazing out at the glittering sea under Naboo’s sun, “It feels like yesterday where you picked us up.”

“I am happy we did,” Paz replied quietly, feeling how your pinkie finger brushed against his thumb and turning his hand so his palm was open to you. His heartbeat quickened, hoping that you got the hint and took his hand but he also did not want to force you.

Your smile warmed his heart while the sunlight warmed his skin. He felt your fingers brush over his palm, moving to interlock your fingers when –

“You have never been to a gala, have you?” Thalassa asked you suddenly, “My family always threw the biggest feasts when I was younger, I can’t imagine it will be any different now. Oh, wait until you see the dresses and the food! It is more than your village could ever imagine.”

“You have seen the dances I have been to,” you reminded her with a grin, “None of them could be called galas at any point.”

“That is true, you have never danced with a partner before have you?”

“I – well I did not need to,” you stuttered, pulling your hand from his and he grumbled internally, “Will I need to know how to do that?”

Thalassa scoffed, “Of course you will, sweetie,” she turned to Din, “can’t you teach her? Or are you two going to embarrass me as well? Oh stars, here I am, returning after years of separation and the group I am with can’t even dance properly.”

Paz rolled his eyes, not saying anything as he rolled up his sleeves. His suit jacket was somewhere behind him on one of the crates, weighted down by a bag on top of it.

“C’mon,” Din said with a heavy sigh, “If I can learn to do it, you can too.”

You looked a little apprehensive at first, standing up to stand across the dark-haired man who held out his hands for you. Happy that she had got her way, Thalassa started to play a common tune on her datapad, something that even Paz recognized from his home.

But when Din started to move, trying to lead you across the wagon, it became clear that it would not work out at all. It was more stumbling than dancing, really, and Paz cringed when he saw how unintentionally harsh Din was grabbing your hands. No wonder you looked uncomfortable, turning your head to face him.

Paz took that as his sign, standing up and straightening the wrinkles in his pants. His heart was pounding in his chest as he approached you. Funnily enough, both you and Din looked relieved.

“Let me,” he announced, grinning as Thalassa kept playing the tune on her datapad.

“I don’t think I will learn it, Paz,” you admitted shyly, avoiding his gaze, “Maybe I am too clumsy …”

“If I can learn to do it, you can learn to do it,” he repeated Din’s motto and gently grasped your hand, pulling it to his mouth for a light kiss.

“M’lady,” he offered, bowing his head formally, “May I ask for this dance?”

“Why of course,” you answered in an equally exaggerated voice, sounding much happier than you had before.

With the music in the background, he pulled you to his chest and started to lead you through the empty wagon ins low steps. As you grew surer, he got faster and soon you laughed with him, fitting so perfectly against him. Stars, he did not remember the last time he had had this much fun.

The melody got slower and so did the steps but he did not let go of you. Instead, he kept you even closer, feeling your heartbeat against his.

“You are a good dancer,” you said with a smile.

He twirled you around with a grin, watching as your skirt flared.

“You are a good dancer too,” he murmured, his forehead falling against yours. Your breath audibly hitched in your throat and it felt like you were alone in the wagon, “Maybe we could dance at the gala if you want.”

“I’d like that,” you whispered back, “I always feel comfortable with you, safe and – safe and warm.”

He opened his mouth. He wanted to tell you how he would keep you safe if he could. How he would make sure to always be by your side if that was what you wanted. How he wanted you to continue to travel with him and not leave him on Coruscant. His hand on your back wandered up to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. “I –“

“Kriffing Imps,” Din cursed, “Get back, get back, we need to hide.”

Immediately Paz stepped away from you, pushing you behind him with his arm in front of you.

“Get the bags,” Din hissed, already unlocking the safety of his blaster.

Thalassa was surprisingly quiet, her eyes wide as she pulled the bags from the crates with as little fuss as possible. She handed one to you as Paz grabbed his blaster, switching off the safety.

The one disadvantage they had with being in the luggage cart was that they were the last on the train. There was no way they could escape the imminent arrival of the guards and it made him sick to his stomach, especially when he was highly aware of you behind him.

“They will discover us,” you whispered, clearly scared. He saw them coming closer, slowly checking every wagon.

Din looked outside. “We need to get out of here before we cross the water, we won’t survive the waves.”

That was when they must have noticed you. Shots rang through the air and Thalassa ducked, screaming in fear as the carte behind her took a hit. Paz cursed, rushing you behind the crates as he and Din tried to return the fire. But with the slim doorway and the crates in the way it was difficult to keep cover and do any significant damage.

With a kick to one of the doors, Din managed to create a new exit, the ground only a blur as the train rushed towards a bridge across the sea. But as the Imps got closer, so did the water and soon it was clear that the meadows would be your only escape.

Paz was sitting behind the crate next to you, leaning forward to shoot. He heard a scream but even if he had managed to hit someone, there were still too many to cover the time until they would arrive in Theed.

“We will need to jump,” Din shouted.

Thalassa squeaked in shock, “We can’t! The train is moving,” another shot rang, “And they are shooting at us!”

You were sitting right next to him, eerily quiet, your hands trembling. He could see how scared you were and the thought of something happening to you made him sick to his stomach. No, as the Imps came closer, he knew he could not bear to see you hurt. His gaze met Din’s and he nodded, the plan clear.

“You jump while I cover you,” Paz announced.

You looked up at him in shock, your lips trembling as you shook your head, “Paz please, I – I am scared.”

He grabbed your hand hastily, pulling it to his mouth and pressing a kiss to your knuckles, “I promise it will be all right, just trust me. I will be right behind you, you just need to jump for me, can you do that, love?”

You nodded frantically and with a push of his hands, you stumbled over to where Din was waiting at the exit. The wind was rushing and got sick when he saw how close the sea was.

“Now!” Din shouted, pushing Thalassa away with a scream, you followed. As second later Din followed.

Paz did his best to shoot a few Imps, kicking out the bags into the air. When they reached the doorway, he knew it was time to leave. In his haste, he knocked his shoulder against the doorframe, shouting in pain as he threw himself through the opening just before the train crossed onto the water.

The landing was harsh but he did his best to roll it out, groaning as his shoulder throbbed with pain. He could hear a few shots, the Imps attempting to hurt him even after his escape but they failed. Thank the stars they did because he did not have it in himself to avoid any bullets now.

He grunted, his head resting against the grass as he held his shoulder, trying to get the pain to stop.

“Paz!” a voice shouted and footsteps came rapidly closer, “Paz, Paz are you all right?”

It was you.

You bowed over him immediately, your face blocking out the sun. Gentle hands framed his face and he smiled tiredly as he blinked against the light. Stars, you were so pretty he did not even care about his shoulder.

“How are you?” you asked quietly, your brows furrowed in worry, “You – it looked pretty bad.”

His hand closed around yours on his face, pulling it to his lips again. “I’m feeling better now that I am seeing you,” he mumbled against your palm, “Are you all right?”

“I am perfect,” you smiled, running your fingertip across the bridge of his nose, “So – so what do we do now?”

“Where’s Din?”

“Oh, he is taking care of Thalassa, she had a fright and he told me to make sure you are okay.”

“If I tell you I am not, can we stay here for a little longer? Just the two of us.”

“You would want that?” you murmured with a chuckle, “Take a nap in the sun right here?”

“I can’t imagine anything better,” he replied, his hand holding yours to his chest closing his eyes and just enjoying the calm around him with you by his side.

*

It was decided that in order to get to Coruscant on time, you would walk back to Theed.

The walk was not too strenuous and even though it was long, it offered some wonderful views of the Naboonian landscape and nature. That and the climate was nice. It was not too warm, not too cold and there was just the right amount of breeze in the air.

Even Thalassa seemed to be in better spirits.

That was, until Din had to tell her that there was no way you would be able to catch another passenger ship to Coruscant today.

“But then how will we get to Coruscant?” Thalassa asked in terror.

“I think I might know someone,” Din grumbled.

Paz snorted.

You, walking beside him, looked at him questioningly. He only shook his head, already looking forward to Thalassa’s distraught face when she would see what Din had meant.

*

It was not even a commercial passenger ship. It was a freightship to Coruscant and Thalassa’s (and yours) face could have made him laugh if it hadn’t made him wince. His shoulder was still hurting as if a loth cat had decided to bury her teeth into the muscle but he simply shouldered his bag on the other side.

That friend of Din’s, Peli was her name, had owed him a favour and a few placed on the board of the freight ship were apparently enough to cover that debt. Which is how he found himself next to you, sitting on the floor of the hull.

The one advantage this had was that freight ships were much quicker than any other mode of transportation. You were huddled up next to him, your head on his shoulder, his coat laying over you.

You were fiddling with his large hand in yours, playing with his fingers. Paz was fascinated by how small your hand was compared to his and maybe it was the pain or the exhaustion but he spread his fingers completely out, waiting for you to catch on.

He heard your small huff of laughter when you understood what he wanted to do. Gently, you laid your palm against his, seeing how his hand dwarfed yours. He smiled before closing his hold on your hand and pulling you closer until you were completely seated in his lap.

You hummed, settling your head on his shoulder, your breath fanning against his neck.

“How long until we’re there?” you asked quietly.

(Somewhere a few rows back, Thalassa was complaining about one thing or another. But he was good at tuning her out in favour of listening to you.)

“Only a few hours,” he muttered quietly, “By this time tomorrow we will be there. Then, it will only be a matter of time until we can find Thalassa’s family at the gala.”

“Have you thought about what you want to do – when it is all over?” you asked carefully.

“I will go back home,” he answered, “With the money, we can build a new school. I can get some improvements on my home done, some repairs.”

“That sounds lovely,” you answered, with a smile, “Do you think I could visit you sometime? You and the students, of course.”

“I would want nothing more,” he said quietly, “I could show you the lake, the forest, there is this nice walk up the hill from where you can see the stars at night, you would like it.”

As you both fell asleep you did not know you dreamt of the same thing.

A future together.

*

Coruscant was loud and bright and glittering.

And word spread fast – really fast – because as soon as they stepped foot into one of the spaceports, an elderly woman approached them, introducing herself as a distant aunt of Thalassa’s. A distanced aunt who had arranged for food and lodging for the entire stay.

Paz had never wanted to hug a stranger so badly in his life.

The hotel they had been ordered to was one of the finest places he had ever stayed in and they all got their individual suites. A whole suite.

“It is beautiful”, you breathed next to him, looking up at the decorated ceiling, “I don’t think I have ever seen anything this beautiful.”

Paz bit his lip. I have seen you, he wanted to say, I have seen you smile and that will be the most beautiful moment of my life.

But he did not say anything. No, he simply nodded and disappeared into his room, taking the longest shower of his life and dressing in a new suit before swallowing three bacta pills at once.

It did not take long for Thalassa to be completely back in her element. For the gala, she would need a new dress. Which meant that no price was too high, no amount of glitter or skin showing too much. And because he and Din wanted to make sure that she would remain safe until they could get the reward for finding her, they needed to accompany her on her trip.

Her trip through every single shop Coruscant’s elite had to offer.

With every shop they left, the bags got increasingly fuller and heavier and as the designated carrier of goods Paz was a little grumpy. But that soon passed when he saw how happy you were, grinning and joking with Thalassa as the latter tried on dress after dress.

As Thalassa was trying on more and more dresses – no end in sight as the wallet of her family seemed to be bottomless – Paz was sitting on one of the chairs, watching you.

You were busy staring at a mannequin at the back of the store. Your eyes were wide and your mouth slightly open in wonder as your fingers brushed over the glittering fabric of the dress.

“Would you like to try it on, ma’am?” the attending salesperson asked you

A sad smile formed on your lips and you shook your head. Paz frowned, leaning forward to hear what you said.

“No thank you,” you declined, “it’s really beautiful though.”

“Are you sure?” the woman asked again, “It’s a beautiful gown, I am sure it would look wonderful on you. Especially for the gala.”

“I can’t afford it,” you replied, shame on your face and in your voice. Paz’s heart broke for you and he frowned, unable to stop thinking about your sadness.

He watched as you looked wistfully at the dress, making your way back to where Thalassa had just stepped out of the dressing room. She was wearing a bright red number and turned this and that way to admire herself in the mirror while Din looked to be suffering even more, knowing that h would have to carry most of her purchases.

“You look wonderful,” you smiled, your eyes roaming over her dress, “Do you think you’ll wear it to the gala?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Thalassa mused, her tone falsely indecisive as if she didn’t already know that she would buy the dress.

Paz could barely concentrate on whatever was said. All he could think about was your sad smile and how you had gazed at that dress so longingly. This entire day money was spent on Thalassa. But – you didn’t seem to have anything to wear for the gala.

As the group departed the shop, Paz motioned for Din to walk off without him. His brother in arms nodded knowingly, raising his eyebrows in an I told you so motion. Paz ignored him.

“Everything all right, Paz?” you asked, staying behind as you noticed he hadn’t followed you.

“I think you should try it on,” he blurted out, motioning to the dress, “For me … please.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, “I –“

“Yes,” he nodded, “Yes I am sure and I know you want to. Come one, love … for me.”

A few minutes later you stepped out of the dressing room, looking absolutely magnificent. Paz’s mouth gaped open as he sat in the chair. The fabric left your shoulders bare and there was a slit up your leg and stars you looked pretty. As you saw yourself in the mirror, your whole face lit up and he could only feel the warmth in his cheeks as you twirled for him.

“It is so beautiful,” you murmured in awe, hands gliding over the fabric, “It is like the colour of the night sky.”

“You look … you look perfect,” he brought out, his voice hoarse, “You look really beautiful.”

“Well, it – it was nice having it tried on,” you smiled, clearly trying to mask your sadness and his heart broke.

As you disappeared into the changing room, he whirled around to the saleswoman, “How much?”

She smiled at him knowingly. “We would be able to deliver it to your accommodation without her knowing about it,” she said as she slipped him the paper with the number.

It was not as high as he had feared. And with the pay coming in soon, this would be nothing.

“Good,” he nodded, “It should be a surprise.”

*

After a rather exhausting shopping spree with Thalassa, you were happy to be back in the hotel.

It was nice to see her in her element and certainly good to know that everyone here behaved like her. Even if it was a little annoying.

You sighed as you returned to your room. The gala was approaching fast and you were still thinking about what to get dressed in. You had brought your only good dress from home but that had been the standards from home. This here was something else entirely.

With a look at the grey fabric, looking colourless against the vibrant furniture of your hotel, you remembered the dress you had tried on. How Paz had looked at you so adoringly. How his voice had hitched and made your heartbeat quicken.

It was frustrating that you could not afford it and you wondered if maybe Thalassa would lend you one of her dresses if you asked her.

You let yourself fall onto the soft couch in the bedroom, taking in a deep breath. Yes, you were feeling a bit down. Everyone was getting ready for the opera gala and you felt like you were the only one who would be completely out of place. Even Din and Paz knew how to behave around high society, it seemed, and you clung to the idea of just … hanging out with them the entire night. Not that you wanted to do anything else anyway.

Sitting up, a box on your bed caught your eye and you frowned. You recognized the symbol from the shop and your heart skipped a beat. Quickly you stood up and walked over to your bed, keeping your eyes on the box in case you blinked and it disappeared.

Excitement grew in you and you carefully lifted the top, you squealed and let it fall back into place.

The dress.

He had bought the dress for you.

Your hands trembling from excitement and you were sure your face hurt because you were smiling so widely.

With a look at the clock, you knew you needed to hurry and you practically ran under the shower, getting ready as quickly as possible. When your body was dry enough, you hurried to the box, pulling on the dress and grinning when it fit perfectly. It was even prettier than in the shop and for the first time, you allowed yourself to truly admire yourself in the mirror.

You were excited and you looked excited. And happy and bubbly and in love and –

“Knock, knock, can I come on?” Paz’s voice sounded from outside and your smile got even wider.

“Yes, come on in!” you called, turning around to greet him.

The man stepped inside, faltering as he saw you, if only for a second, and your heart raced in your chest. He was all fancied up in his black suit and tie. His shoulder looked broad and strong and you saw that he was not wearing a blaster. He was truly ready for high society.

“Got you a present,” he murmured almost bashfully, “ I thought Thalassa could not be the only one with a bit of jewelry.”

“You already gifted me this,” you gestured to the dress, “And I will never be able to thank you for it, I – thank you, Paz, it is so lovely and it means so much and I –“, you sniffled, tears pooling in your eyes.

“Hey now,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around you, “no crying, this was supposed to make you happy.”

“And it did,” you whispered, burying into his chest, “It does.”

“Good,” he said, his arm wrapping around your waist, “Because I remember that a pretty lady promised to dance with me tonight.”

“And she intends to keep that promise,” you smiled up at him, resting your chin on his chest. It was warm and safe and familiar and your heart hurt at the thought of never seeing him again.

Then he pulled a smaller box out of his jacket, “Good, now are you ready for your second present?”

You nodded. He made a circle motion with his finger and obediently you turned around so your back was to him. You gasped when you felt something cold touch your neck and when you looked in the mirror you saw that it was a necklace he was fasting at the back of your neck.

It consisted of white gemstones, glittering in the light of the lamps and you felt you had never worn anything this expensive. You were captured by his gaze, feeling your chest and cheeks heat up with how he looked at you. His rough fingertips grazed the sensitive skin on your throat and back of your neck and goosebumps erupted everywhere his touch went. You never wanted him to stop touching you.

“You look stunning,” he said, holding your gaze, “Like the stars.”

“Thank you, Paz,” you whispered, slowly leaning back so he could rest his chin on your shoulder, his arms enveloping your middle, “It is beautiful.”

“You are beautiful,” he replied with a smile, “Now, are you ready to stun some old rich people?”

You giggled, your heart skipping a beat as he took your hand.

*

The only way to describe how you behaved in the opera was the following: a couple. As soon as you stepped out of the speeder, your arm had wrapped around his and you remained by his side the entire time. A fact that made him immensely proud.

He had watched with you by his side as Thalassa had reunited with her family and Din had received the payment in full. You were the one he was seated next to in the little private booth before the performance was starting to be honest he did not want it any other way.

He never once let go of your hand, his thumb constantly drawing patterns on your skin as you talked about all the different novelties this performance had to offer.

And it did not seem like you wanted him to either. You kept whispering about all the different things you saw, the pretty lights and dressed and clothes and the food as you shared a few appetizers with him. You both watched Thalassa in the booth with her family, getting reacquainted after years of being separated from each other.

But by far his favourite part was that his lips brushed your skin whenever he spoke into your ear.

“Everything is so beautiful here,” you murmured to him, gently squeezing his hand, “it is exciting isn’t it?”

“It is,” he agreed, keeping his eyes on you, your excited smile, and the way your free hand kept drifting to the necklace he had gifted you.

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear,” you admitted bashfully, tilting your head closer to him, to hear him better. Paz’s heart skipped a beat as he leant closer, his lips now brushing your ear. “I said,” he murmured, “It is beautiful and – I think you are the most beautiful person here.”

He heard your breath hitch and gathered his courage to lean down and press a soft kiss just beneath your ear. And as if that was not enough, he raised your hand softly against his lips again before leaning back into his own space.

You looked at him softly, a small smile on your lips and he could see how your chest heaved.

Then, you took his hand back, pulling it against your lips this time and pressing a gentle kiss against each of his knuckles, all the while keeping his gaze. Paz forgot how to breathe. And suddenly he knewhe needed to tell you now, needed to askyou now.

“When our business is done here,” he began, his throat dry and scratchy, “Would you – would you maybe like to – I mean with me, would you like to –“

“Thalassa invited us to dinner afterwards, would you like to come – oh, I am sorry.”

He had never hated Din more in his life.

*

Paz was pacing the hallway in front of Thalassa’s room.

The entire dinner he had not gotten any chance to talk to you and suddenly it had been time to go and he had overheard someone talking about how you would be offered to stay here. With Thalassa. As her assistant or something.

He had not even been able to call your name or grab your hand before the princess had whisked you away into her room and now everything felt too tight and constricting. Panic flooded him. Panic that you might accept the offer. Panic that he could not tell you how he felt. Panic that he had lost you before he even had a chance to offer himself to you.

It felt like an eternity before the door opened and you looked almost surprised to see him there. Paz’s heart pounded in his chest, a feeling of now or never coursing through him. You opened your mouth but he stopped you before you could say anything.

“Let me just –“ he murmured, “Let me just say … this. Please don’t go, love, please don’t stay here, I – I know I have nothing much to offer, certainly not as much as this,” he gestured around the grand hallway, “But … by the stars, I will make sure you will lack for nothing, I promise.”

You did not say anything.

“I – I love you,” he confessed, his shoulders dropping relief of finally having said what he had kept with him for so long, “and I – please stay with me, please come home with me, I – I can’t bear to say goodbye to you now.”

You looked at him with big eyes, teary eyes, stepping closer to him. “Paz,” you murmured, searching his gaze for something, “I declined the job offer,” you looked down at your hands, nervously fiddling with them. Automatically he took them in his, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles.

“I love you too,” you whispered with a smile, “Very much so and I – I don’t want to say goodbye to you yet.”

“What are you saying,” he murmured, a wider grin on his face, raising your hands to his lips, “You coming home with me, love?”

“Yes,” you smiled, nudging your nose against his, “I am.”

With your words echoing in his head, he leant down and softly pressed his lips to yours. It was a slow kiss, one that you immediately started to reciprocate and goosebumps erupted all over his skin at the feeling of your lips against his. Stars, you were soft and warm and wonderful.

He felt your hands on the back of his neck, playing with the short curls there and he smiled against you, stepping closer and wrapping his arm around your waist. A giggle escaped your lips and he gripped you tighter, chasing your mouth with his as you pulled away to breathe. You did not complain one bit when his lips landed on your jaw instead, gripping his shoulders tighter as you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

Whatever journey lay ahead of you, you would master it together.

[spencerreidsmiles]

Skater Boy Spencer Reid

Written by: spencerreidsmiles

Howdy, howdy! I am very slowly going through my remaining requests. This request was for prompts 38, 41, and 47 on the fluff prompt list here. You’ll see them bolded throughout the story!

Also, a short side note that I have no idea how to skateboard at all! This is solely based off my intensive research (/s) on how to skateboard, so if this isn’t accurate, I’m sorry!

Summary - The reader teaches Spencer how to skateboard.

Content Warnings - blood, minor injury, light teasing

Word Count - 1737

MASTERLIST // WATTPAD VERSION

“Skateboarding? Of all things you could’ve chosen, skateboarding?”

“Oh come on, Spencer, you never know, you might be good at it,” you replied, yanking at his shirt sleeve. 

Spencer glanced at you with a slightly withering glare. It was a look you were very familiar with; if there was one thing you enjoyed more than anything else in the world, it was teasing Spencer. It was just so easy to tease him, so why wouldn’t you?

But amidst all the teasing about the skateboarding, there was a part of you that knew Spencer Reid would make an excellent skater boy. 

You leaned closer to Spencer, looking up with the biggest puppy eyes you could muster and a big pout. 

“Remember when I saved your ass? You owe me, Spencer,” you said, emphasizing each word with a poke to his chest. “You said you would do whatever I wanted.”

Spencer glanced away with a pout. “Fine, whatever you like.” 

“Hm, I knew you would say that.” You grinned with satisfaction and squeezed his cheeks. “I’ll see you at the skate park tomorrow! Don’t forget your knee pads!” 

Spencer did not, in fact, forget his knee pads. (Not that forgetting things was something Spencer usually did.) And even though you had told him to bring his knee pads, you couldn’t help but laugh when you saw him walk - no, waddle - up in matching purple knee pads, elbow pads, and a helmet. He looked long and gangly and awkward in his gear with his usual converse and for once, a tee shirt and shorts. You hadn’t ever seen him in any of these clothes before but you had to admit, you definitely weren’t disliking it. 

“You look really good. Color coordinated too,” you said with a big smile as you knocked the side of his helmet with your knuckles. 

“You like it?” Spencer beamed. He did a little spin, the clasps of his helmet twirling around. 

“It’s perfect for you. Honest.” You kicked up your spare board, catching the top. “But let’s get down to business. I’m going to make you a skater boy by the end of the day, Spencer Reid. That is a promise.”

You handed the board over to Spencer. It was old and scraped up from years of use and many, many wipeouts. When you’d first bought it years ago, it was red and shiny, but now the red had faded away, leaving only a wooden board with strips of red remaining. The wheels were still functional, if a bit wonky, but perfect for learning on. 

For someone who claimed to have absolutely zero athletic ability, Spencer was quite good at skateboarding. Well, to be fair, he hadn’t actually started skateboarding for real yet. You started him off by placing a single foot onto the board with the other still fully intact with the ground, but it was a start. He got a feel for what it felt like to bend his knees and push his weight around to move the board. But now he had to put both feet on the board and actually skateboard.

“Y/N, look! I’m doing it!” Spencer said as he hopped around on one leg while scooting with his other on the board. 

You couldn’t help but smile. The childlike glee Spencer was exuding could make anyone smile. He carted himself around the perimeter of the skate park as you trailed behind him, keeping a careful eye on him. 

“Alright, Spencer. Well here comes the hard part. Give me your hands, you’re going to put both feet on the board now.” 

Instantly, Spencer’s smile was replaced with a worried expression. He put his foot down on the ground and paused in front of you. 

“What?” he asked. You brushed aside some of Spencer’s hair that had escaped his helmet, accidentally brushing his cheek as well. Shivers tickled your spine and unfamiliar goosebumps covered your body. 

“Hey, I got you. Trust me, okay?” you said.

“Okay.” Spencer nodded and placed his hands in yours. 

“Now push off with your right foot, then put it back on the board, and I’ll pull you, got it?” you directed. 

With a silent gulp, Spencer did as you said. He bent his knees and pushed off with his right foot before placing it back on his board. You started walking backwards and pulled Spencer forward. Slowly, you started walking back faster and faster until you had started to jog. 

“Spencer, you’re doing it! You’re doing it!” you exclaimed. 

Without saying another word, you let go of Spencer’s hands. And for a minute, he was actually doing it, actually skating around with both feet firmly planted onto the board and arms spread out like wings. You were so busy admiring him you didn’t even notice that he had begun to lose balance and wobble.

“Y/N! How do I stop!” he shouted, reaching his hands out for you.

“Oh shoot! Hold on!” 

You started running back towards him, but you were too late. Spencer had already leaned too far ahead. He started making circles with his hands, flapping around in an attempt to keep his balance. Just as you grabbed his hands, the board kicked out from under him and both of you fell flat onto the asphalt. 

You had your eyes closed while you were falling, so when you opened them to find Spencer’s face only a couple inches above yours and his body on top of yours, you nearly screamed. You had never been this close to Spencer in your entire life. Surely if he was this close, he could hear your heart beating out of your chest, no? You were breathless but you weren’t quite sure if it was because you were being squished by Spencer or because of how close you were to him. 

Spencer, however, was completely frozen. His hands were placed right beside your head and he was staring, just staring, straight at you. His caramel curls hovered right above your face, blowing gently from the wind. 

“Hi,” you said breathlessly. 

“Are you okay?” he whispered. 

“I’ll be honest, you are crushing me right now.” 

“Oh, sorry!” Spencer rolled off of you, landing on his butt, cross-legged on the ground. You wriggled yourself up and watched as Spencer dusted himself off. 

When you finally made eye contact, you couldn’t help but start laughing. You were just replaying the image of Spencer slipping over and over again. It was incredible. 

“That was the most ridiculous fall I’ve ever seen, Spencer, my god.” 

You leaned back, holding your stomach as you laughed. Just before you fell over completely again, Spencer caught your hand. From that single touch, electricity shot from your fingertips into the rest of your body. The sensation nearly scared you for how good it felt, how alive it made you feel. Touching Spencer felt like you were skating without even getting on a board. You never wanted to let go. 

But Spencer did. He pulled back, forehead scrunching as he winced. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked. But then you saw it, his poor hands all torn up from the fall. They were rubbed raw with speckles of red dotting his palms. “Oh my gosh, Spencer, your hands!” 

“I’m fine,” he said. He looked at his own palms, flexing it, moving it around.

“No, come here, at least let me clean it,” you said as you stood up. “Come on, I have a first aid kit in my bag.”

You led Spencer to a bench with all of your things. As you cleaned his palms, wiping them with antiseptic wipes and bandaging them, you could feel Spencer’s eyes watching you. 

After years of working for the FBI, going on case after case for years, Spencer’s hands were rough and calloused. There were scars, too many for you or him to remember where and when they came from now, blending in with the creases of his hands. But still, they were comforting, familiar.

“One more try, okay? I believe in you. No more wipeouts.” You finished bandaging his hands with a gentle pat. Spencer pretended to pout, giving you a half-meaning glare. 

“Oh come on, you’re okay. Do you need a kiss to make it better?” you teased. 

“What?” Spencer’s face flushed. 

“I’m kidding.” You pushed his shoulder lightly all whilst thinking that for the first time (or at least the first time you had truly acknowledged it) you weren’t really joking at all. “Now come on, one more try.”

Spencer was more hesitant this time, but he reached for your hands again. He placed one foot on the board, already beginning to wobble. Come on, Spencer, you can do it, you thought to yourself. He glanced at you as he took a deep breath. 

And he did. Spencer soared around the whole park. He was like a natural as he swerved around with outstretched arms. The sound of the wheels sliding against the pavement surrounded you as Spencer removed his back foot from the board and stopped without flying off the board right in front of you. 

“You did it, Spencer!” You ran up to Spencer and enveloped him in a massive hug. 

Spencer returned your hug, throwing his arms around you tightly. His knee pads knocked against your legs as he pulled you closer to him. He smelt of coffee and baby powder under the sweat and dirt and twinge of blood that lingered in the air. As you stayed there wrapped up in his arms, you wondered if it was possible to stay here forever in the comfort you never knew was so close. 

The two of you finally decided to leave when the sun started to beat down on your backs. While Spencer was prepared for almost everything, apparently the two things he hadn’t thought about were guard gloves and sunscreen. Spencer grabbed the board, resting it comfortably under his arm. 

As you went to get your bag, Spencer tapped your shoulder and spoke. “So uh, can we do this again next week?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “I would love that, Spencer. And who knows, you might be better than me soon.”

Spencer looked down with a growing smile on his face. 

“Come on, let’s get out of here.” you said, fearlessly grabbing Spencer’s hand.

You walked away with satisfaction, thinking to yourself only one thing; you were right, Spencer Reid did make an excellent skater boy.

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[fatiguing-thoughts]

“Fate” - Paul Lahote

Request: The reader (shy!fem!reader) meets Paul (twilight) in the woods while he is in wolf form and he imprints on her. Coz the reader is shy and has no friends (lol) she befriends the 'wolf'. So when they have been friends for a while Paul finally transforms into his human form and explains everything and then fluff? Thank you 😊❤️

The crunching of leaves. That’s all I can hear now. I continued walking forward, loving the noise and the smell of the pine trees around me. 

This was my daily routine now, for the last week. The woods were always my safe place, where I went to clear my head. It’s where I always spent my free time, my time for my personal thoughts.  

I had just moved to Forks about three week ago, I came from Oregon. I wanted to be closer to the Olympic National Forest, and for some reason, it just called to me. It called to be my new home. 

I spent the first couple of weeks unpacking and settling, but the newfound freedom and time to explore the great forests around my small town were beyond enticing. 

The loneliness was setting in, pushing me to go into the woods more and more. Even though I was still lonely out here, it was much better than being alone in the house. I missed my family and friends, but living here was something that just felt like I was doing something… right. 

The loneliness out here wasn’t as deafening than in my small home. I felt better surrounded by trees, listening to the sounds of nature, or the lack of normal everyday sound; it was music to my ears. 

As I pressed forward, I found the new clearing I chose the other day. This one a little bigger than the last, more calming to me. 

I put my blanket down, played some soothing music; a beautiful composition. I took out my sketchbook, drawing my surroundings. 

That’s when I heard the grass shift across the clearing. The leaves crunching, a shift in the atmosphere. The feeling washed over me, I was no longer alone. 

I felt my breath hitch as I tore my eyes away from the sketchbook, looking across the clearing. 

I saw a wolf. An enormous wolf. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I’ve seen wolves, and they’re not anywhere near the size of this. I wouldn’t even come up to the shoulder on this one, it had to be about 6 feet tall on all fours. This couldn’t be real.

I blink hard, but when I open my eyes, it doesn’t go away, my sight was not deceiving me. 

That’s when it happened, our eyes connected. I couldn’t break the eye contact, neither did the massive creature. 

The wind got knocked out of me, I felt something in me shift. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, but it wasn’t fear. 

No, fear was the last thing from my mind. What I felt was peace. I couldn’t imagine why I felt so at peace with a creature that could kill me faster than I could blink, but it’s all I felt. 

I broke the eye contact away, hoping that I didn’t make the situation worse and frighten the wolf. 

It walks a bit closer, head low. I still feel that feeling, the feeling of someone sitting on my chest-- but in the best way. 

“Jesus.” I mutter as it moves closer. 

The paws were easily the size of my head, thumping along the path to me. I felt the ground move as it got closer. 

A look of curiosity and caution painted the enormous face, eyes never tearing from mine. 

“Holy shit.” I mutter again.

It stops in its tracks, about five feet from me, looking at me as if it was asking for permission to approach closer. 

I gulp and swallow the lump in my throat. The sense of peace and calm is still radiating through my body. I stood up from my spot, feeling as if it was the best thing to do at this moment. 

The wolf nods its head towards me, in which I nod back. 

It walks closer before bowing its head, eyes still looking into mine. I see my reflection in the iris. Its eyes were that of a beautiful chocolate brown. I admire the rest of the wolf up close, noticing all of the different grey and silver tones in its beautiful fur. I cautiously reach my hand out, knuckles out, offering it to smell me before I even thought about petting it. 

As I outstretch my hand, I feel the enormous head under my palm. I begin to graze my fingertips along the top of its head, daring to dance my fingertips upon the center top of its snout. 

Its ears laid back against the massive head, leaning more weight into my touch. The fur was so soft, I found myself growing more and more comfortable with the presence of this being. I was way too close now, I lost all sense of caution. 

I smiled at the wolf as I returned the eye contact. It moved even closer, standing against my side. I laid my head upon the side of where its shoulder began. I never felt so small before. I felt a little grumble come from the wolf’s chest before it backed up, and laid down next to my blanket. I plopped myself back down. 

I caught the wolf’s eyes wandering over to my drawing of the clearing. 

“You like art or something?” I chuckled softly, knowing how silly it may seem to be talking to this wolf, though deep down I felt we had some kind of understanding.

The wolf nodded, before placing its head on my leg. The head was heavier than I imagined, but I enjoyed it. It was a soothing weight. The nod must have been coincidental, I tell myself. 

I then begin to scratch behind its ears, and laying the rest of my body down, head still on the front of my thigh. 

“This is the best, well only, company I’ve had in a month.” I smile to myself, once again trying to converse with the creature. 

I heard a large huff of air and felt the warmth on my thigh grow, the breath passing through my jeans.  

I check the time on my phone, seeing that it was later than I thought. The wolf and I sat here for hours, though they passed quickly. 

“I should leave now, sunset is approaching. I gotta get out of here before dark. After all, who knows what’s in here.” I chuckle as I begin to sit up, getting my things together into my backpack. 

The wolf looks at me, puffs again, and almost seems to roll its eyes. I could’ve sworn it looked just like it did. 

As I begin walking, I notice the wolf walking beside me. 

“Ah, walking me to my car? A gentleman, I see.” I laugh softly to myself. 

As we approach the end of the forest, the beginning of the treeline and my parked car in sight, the wolf looks down at me. 

I return the eye contact, and scratch behind the ear again, earning the leaning of the massive head into my hand. 

“This is an everyday thing for me. Same place tomorrow.” I say laughing at how ridiculous I sound. 

I earn another nod from the wolf and can’t help but feel that it truly understands what I’m saying. 

I walk over to my car, the distance between the wolf and I growing. I felt empty as the space grew, a newer feeling. I walked over to my car and looked back to see the wolf standing where I left it. 

I wave goodbye, earning a nod from the massive being. I get into my car and watch it run away, faster than I’ve seen anything move. 

The drive home was quick, as it mostly consisted of replaying the days events. 

I knew for certain that I was either insane or blessed. 

Sleeping tonight came easier than ever before. No nightmares, though the eyes of the beautiful creature filled my dreams that night. 

I woke up the next morning feeling at ease, but also if something was missing. I was almost counting down the minutes until I got to go back to my little clearing. Hopefully doing some work will make the day pass faster. 

I ferociously finish my work for the day, hoping that it would make time pass. Though my mind continuously wanders back to yesterday. 

Was it even real?

What if the creature didn’t show up today? Would I just have imagined the understanding that I thought we had? Was the connection just an imagination? 

No, I know what I saw. I am not insane, I am not making any of this up. 

As the agonizing hours passed, I sat and drew. I found myself drawing the eyes of the creature.  They were all I could see all day. 

I look over at the clock and basically spring off of my couch, grabbing my keys and backpack to head back out to the woods. 

I walk over into the clearing and sit in my previous spot on the blanket. This time I had some snacks with me, as I didn’t eat today from being so distracted. 

I began to peel my orange when I heard the snapping of a branch behind me. I took a sip of my water as I turned to look at what was behind me. 

The deep, chestnut brown eyes looking down at me. I felt such a connection to this wolf, I felt safe. 

It then moves next to where I sat, laying down once more. 

I place my orange down back onto the brown paper bag.

“Blueberries?” I outstretch my hand with a few berries in it, offering it to the creature. 

His snout found my hand, hot breath finding its way into my palm. The rough tongue and soft scraping of teeth against my palm as it took the berries from my hand.

I smile before getting some more, offering again. The wolf once again took the food from my hand. 

I truly enjoyed the company, though it did confuse me more than anything. I couldn’t describe the connection I felt to this magical being, but it was there. 

I began to make some small talk to the wolf, though I know I would not get a response. 

“You’re my first and only friend, bud. I moved here a little less than a month ago. Still unsure of what brought me here, but I think things are starting to add up. I just miss having people around, ya know?” I look over to the creature, noticing that their eyes never left my face. 

The wolf nods, putting his head back into my leg and nuzzling into me. I scratch behind their ears. 

“Anyway, I left Oregon to come here. I miss my friends and family, but I think I’ll be happier here. So far, I’m loving the new scenery. I used to spend a lot of time in the woods back there, it’s where I have my personal thoughts, where I unwind. Now that I’m here, I already have a buddy so soon. I always did it alone, but here you are. Even though you can’t talk, I enjoy your company.” I spoke softly to the being. 

Its eyes never broke from mine, just like always. 

“Your eyes are magnificent.” I softly chuckled. 

The wolf nuzzles closer to me, and I lay down on my blanket. 

This is how I spent my days now. This continued for weeks. Getting closer to this beautiful creature, befriending the most beautiful being that ever existed on the planet. 

Until one day, when I showed up to the clearing at the usual time. My new friend nowhere in sight. 

I sat down in our usual spot, waiting for the arrival of the creature. 

I waited for about ten minutes before I finally heard the relieving crunching of twigs and leaves behind me. 

“It’s about time you showed up, I got worried.” I bit back my smile. 

The wolf had a telling look in its eyes today, almost nervous. 

I scratched behind the large ear, once again being leaned into. I grew to really love this. 

As soon as I sat down, I noticed the wolf didn’t follow suit as per usual. 

It looked me in the eyes, nodding its head to the treeline. My eyes followed as the wolf walked behind the brush. 

I stood up, but didn’t follow the being out of the clearing. I watched from the treeline as it disappeared just out of view. 

Then I heard it. 

The shifting of bones. The brush disturbed from movement. 

I back up cautiously. 

A moment later, a tall, muscular man walks out of the tree line. 

I back up a bit out of surprise. I observed him in his entirety. His cutoff jean shorts, t-shirt, and beat up old shoes. Beautiful russet skin, cropped black hair, and... deep chestnut brown eyes. 

Those eyes. The ones that engulfed me into a state of peace with every look. I would recognize those eyes in a sea of people. 

The tall man smiles at me, walking closer. 

I don’t back up this time, confused yet comforted by the look in his eyes. He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen, I was drawn to him. 

“(Y/N), it’s me.” The man says. 

“How do you know my name?” I question. 

“Well, you told me a few weeks ago. Well, my other form.” He chuckles. 

“Okay, maybe I am nuts.” I laugh softly. 

“No, you’re not. Well, after listening to you for weeks, you might be. But, I have a lot of explaining to do. I’m Paul by the way.” He chuckles. 

“Hi Paul.”

We walk over to my blanket and he sits with me. 

“So, I guess I’ll explain to you what I am.” He says, slightly smirking at me. 

“I think you should, I’m very confused right now.” I smile back. 

“Well, I’m what you would call a shapeshifter. I shift into a wolf. You met me in that form.” His chestnut brown eyes peering into my soul, pleading for my attention. 

“But how? Why?” I manage to speak. 

“Well, we’re not the only magical beings. But it’s a Quileute legend, well clearly a lot more than a legend… I’m a protector of the land and people. But these are tribal secrets.” He says, still never breaking eye contact. 

“Protector? From what?” I was now concerned. 

“Well, vampires.” He answered, laughing at how crazy it sounds to say out loud, to explain to an outsider. 

“Vampires are real? And they’re here?” I ask, slightly getting fearful. 

“Yes. There’s been some coming into the area for some, not for anything good. There’s a coven here, though they’re what you call ‘good ones,’ only feeding off animals instead of humans.” He explains. 

“Wow, this is insane. But, how did you find me?” 

“Well, one of the other members of the pack picked up your scent, as well as one of the vampires we were looking for. So we took turns watching to make sure they didn’t hunt you. Which by the way, you should not be spending so much time in the woods alone. Have you ever heard of bears? Or murderers? Have you learned anything from horror movies?” He laughed. 

“Yes. I have. But it’s just, it’s what feels right for me.” I admitted. 

“I understand. You seem like one with nature.” He laughs.

“So you guys protected me?” I jump back a step.

“Yeah, well we took turns while the others went other places.” 

“Oh, so why did you stay for weeks? And why did you hang out with me?” “Well, when it was my turn, something happened. And then I couldn’t leave you. I needed to be the one who watched over you. I wanted to get to know you, I wanted to meet you. We connected.” 

“I know, I felt that. I feel like I’ve known you for ages. But what happened? How are we connected? Why do I get to know the tribal secrets?” I asked, I needed to understand. 

“Well, you’ve taken this so well. So there’s this thing. It’s called imprinting.” He finally looks down at his hands. 

“Imprinting?” I question.

He looks back into my eyes. 

“Well, it’s kinda like soulmates. Like love at first sight, almost. Although, it doesn’t have to be romantic. It’s kind of like-- when it happens, whoever a wolf imprints on, becomes the world. There is no gravity, it’s them holding you down to the Earth. You would do anything, be anything for them. A brother, a protector, a lover. It’s super intense, but it happens to some of us. And well, you’re my imprint.” 

I looked at him and nodded. I was trying to take this all in, it all made sense as to why I felt so strongly connected. Why I felt so at peace, why I loved being so close. 

“Listen, I know it’s a lot to take in. I understand. But just know that it is dangerous for us to be apart. It’ll hurt us both-- emotionally, physically, mentally. However, you hold the reins here.” He gave me a soft smile. 

“This is a lot. You’re right. But, I feel so connected to you. I wanna be around you, I love being around you. I’m so glad you’re actually a real person. However, I do want to take this slow. I want to get to know you as a person, not just the wolf. I want to meet the real you. I want to expand the friendship before any kind of romantic relationship blossoms too fast.” I say honestly. 

“That sounds like a great idea. Maybe you can come to the bonfire at La Push tonight. I think it’ll help you understand more. Plus then you’ll meet the rest of the pack. We could work on the friends thing, too.” He smiles from ear to ear, probably excited at the mention of a romantic relationship. 

We talked for hours, more about us personally than the imprinting thing, wolf thing, or vampire thing-- we saved that for the bonfire. 

The bonfire went well. I met the whole pack. A lot of banter and rough housing between the guys, especially when the imprint jokes came around. 

I took a liking to Leah, though she was rough on the outside I felt that we would be great friends. 

Over the next few weeks, Paul and I spent almost all our free time together. Things were great. Of course the friends thing didn’t last too long, how could I not want to have this amazing man as my partner? He was caring, sweet, protective, and even handsomer than anyone else I had ever seen. Our relationship was one purer than anything I could’ve ever imagined. 

Getting closer to the pack was great, I always had friends around. I loved Emily and helping her cook for the bottomless pit-stomached boys. It was like I was meant to be around, I guess that’s fate for you. 

Most of all, I cherished every moment I had with Paul. Stealing hoodies and having more fun than I’ve ever had before. 

I loved Paul Lahote more than I could put into words. No words were needed. 

This was happiness, this was pure bliss. 

We spent our days on hikes, fooling around and rough housing at the beach, and doing whatever we could do together. 

He whispered sweet-nothings into my ear at any given chance, causing me to smile, blushing like a maniac. His warm hugs and cuddles, sleeping next to him only brought me peaceful sleep I desired my entire life. 

Fate truly is something. 

_____________________________

Word Count: 3280

Yes this was long. No I’m not sorry. Yes I enjoyed it. Might have been a swift transition, but it’s super long and idc. Thank you for coming folks 

[clareguilty]

Only Yours

My second follower giveaway fic! These are coming out wayyyy longer than i anticipated so thats why they take so long LOL Charles Smith/fem!Reader Word Count: ~2600 Rating: Explicit | A/B/O, heats/ruts, smut, inherent dubcon of heats/ruts

It should never have been so sudden. Out of the blue. One minute, you were making your way through the crowd of the train station, and the next you could feel everyone’s eyes on you.

Most of the looks were of pity. Your discomfort and fear were written clear across your face.

And then there was the danger. A pack of men in dark coats who were making their way off the platform had turned at the scent of the wind.

You were an omega, alone, going into heat.

It had come out of nowhere, weeks earlier than you anticipated. Otherwise they never would have put you up for this job, never would have dropped you off in Saint Denis by yourself.

Still, you were on the middle of the train platform, surrounded by people. You were safe for now. No one would try anything unless they could get you alone. You just had to do your part.

Dutch had explained the job carefully. You would board the train in the city, case the passenger cars and anywhere else before the rest of the gang slowed the train farther out into the marsh. Once they boarded, you would lead them to the wealthiest passengers and steal as much as you could before escaping with them.

Except now you were going to be the most noticeable passenger on board, unmated and on your own at the very start of your heat. The law would no doubt be able to track you by your scent alone once you escaped the train.

You kept your eyes to the ground as you handed the conductor your ticket, intentionally picking a seat as far back away from the other passengers as possible. Most of them were polite enough to give you your space.

The fever was setting in, and the last place you wanted to be was around all of these strangers. Why couldn’t you be at camp? Safely curled up in your tent with the others to look after you?

It felt like an eternity before the car pulled out of the station and over the murky water. You watched it all pass by with your fingers curled tightly in your skirt and your lip caught between your teeth.

You still had quite a while until you reached the location Dutch had planned to stop the train. Trapped in your seat, you watched the feathered plumes of the ladies a few seats ahead of you bob with their conversation.

The sound of the wheels screeching on the tracks snapped you out of your daze, and you glanced out the window to confirm that is was far too soon for the train to stop. Something wasn’t going according to plan.

That something revealed itself in a booming voice in the car ahead of you. “Why don’t you go ahead and see if these folks have any valuables while I look for our little treasure.” It was an unfamiliar voice, definitely not someone from the gang. You knew you weren’t safe, not in your state.

The door to the car banged open and you slid down in your seat until you were out of sight. “She’s in here,” the voice called. “I can smell her.”

Oh. That would be you. The only one on this train dealing with a particular biological failing that made you detectable to anyone around.

“Where is she?” the man demanded. You knew these strangers would give you up in a heartbeat. Sure enough, heavy boot steps sounded down the aisle towards where you were hiding. “Come out, come out,” he teased.

You pulled your revolver from your satchel, pulling the hammer back as quietly as possible. You could definitely shoot this guy, then maybe escape out of the back of the car before anyone else could get you.

The man came into view and you recognized him as one of the leering asses from the train station. An alpha, but a dangerous one. He seemed surprised to find you with a gun in your hand, but he only chuckled and lunged for you.

You squeezed the trigger.

He staggered back, clearly offended that you shot him. You didn’t wait around, climbing over the seat in front of you and stumbling down the aisle with your head spinning. The other robbers noticed you, glancing up from the car ahead. You gathered your skirts and jumped the moment you reached the platform beyond the car door. Scrambling away from the tracks you took off through the mud and the trees. You had only made it a few yards when someone massive tackled you to the ground and the sound of a gunshot rang through the air, startling the birds.

You had moved to elbow your attacker when a low, familiar voice reached your ears.

“It’s just me.You’re safe. We need to move quickly.”

“Charles,” you breathed. “Thank Christ.” Charles was probably one of the only alphas you trusted to be around you during your heat. Some of that may have been attributed to your poorly hidden feelings for him, but also because he was a good man.

“C’mon,” he pulled you to your feet and led you into the brush, whistling for Taima. You climbed into the saddle as soon as she came into view. Charles settled in behind you and you dutifully passed him the reins. He spurred her into a swift gallop, racing along the tracks. “We need to tell the others the train has already been hit.”

“I can’t stay,” you said. “They’ll track my scent.”

“We’ll go north.”

“No!” you exclaimed. “I have to go alone.”

Charles hummed low, not happy with your defiance. “I’m not letting you.”

You wanted to argue, but knew it was useless. You didn’t even have a horse to take. You would have to ride with him. But the thought of being alone with Charles when you were so out of your mind -- what if you made a mistake?

A lantern was lit at the sound of Taima’s hooves, and Lenny’s face peeked out of the trees. “It’s Charles!” he called.

One by one, Dutch, John, Arthur, and Bill appeared out of the dusk.

“The train was hit by another group about two miles back. You all should scatter before the law gets here.” Charles reported.

John and Arthur nodded. Dutch reached for your hand where it was clinging to the saddle horn. You fought the urge to recoil. As much as you were loyal to Dutch, you did not want him near you when you were in heat. “Are you going to be alright?” he asked.

You nodded. “They’ve got my scent. I’ve got to get out of here quick. I’ll head back to camp in a few days.”

Dutch nodded, turning and immediately shouting orders to the other men. Charles turned Taima and took off again. It was a blessing that damn horse could cover so much ground. The two of you made it to the plains in just a few tortuous hours. Hours of you trying to ignore how close you were to Charles, how right it felt to be near him, how much you wanted more.

Charles followed along the creek bed until you came to a run down mill. “We can stay here for the time being,” he said. You staggered out of the saddle. The door was locked, but easy enough to pick without breaking. You scoped out the dusty interior. 

It looked safe enough. Charles dropped a lantern, bedroll, and saddle bag before heading back out to take care of Taima.

You lit the lantern and hid yourself away in the corner. Your heat had only grown stronger and you worried what you would do with Charles so close by. You trusted him. With your life. But he was still and alpha, and just the nearness to him during the ride had made your life a living hell of desire and frustration.

He finished bringing things in and taking care of Taima. When he saw where you were curled in on yourself he frowned, watching carefully for a moment.

“Would you like me to stay outside?” he asked.

“Maybe,” you said weakly.

He nodded. “Do you need anything?” you noticed he was favoring his left arm as he looked through his saddlebag. In the dim lantern light you could see the blood staining his shirt.

“You’re hurt!” you shot up off the ground. “What happened?” you rushed to his side, bracing yourself on the table as your head spun.

“It’s nothing,” he said, grabbing a tonic and a roll of gauze from his bag.

“The men from the train,” you remembered the gunshot. They must have been aiming for you and hit Charles when he tackled you.

“It’s just a scrape,” Charles insisted.

“Let me clean it. It’s the least I can do.” You tried to pry the gauze from his hands.

He relented after a moment of stubbornness. You tugged at his shirt as silent instruction for him to remove it. Maybe you would have time to wash and mend it during your heat -- though it wasn’t likely.

“We shouldn’t-” Charles pushed you away. You knew it was just as hard for him to be near you as it was for you to be near him. He was everything your body wanted: a protective alpha to watch over you and keep you safe. And you were catering to his every instinct at the moment.

“Hold your breath. I’ll do the same.” You grabbed the clearest liquor you could find and wet your bandana to wash away the blood.

He growled low at the sting, but kept his gaze pointed away. You held your own breath, trying to keep your eyes on the scrape instead of anything else. The broadness of his chest, the shine of his hair, the unmarred skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder.

You weren’t looking.

It felt like too long before you tied off the bandage. But you couldn’t pull your fingers from his skin, letting them trail over the muscles of his arm.

Charles grabbed your wrist, squeezing in warning. “Don’t,” he breathed.

“I trust you,” you said. You knew it was just the heat talking. At least partially. But those poorly hidden feelings of yours were tumbling from your lips before you could stop them. “If it were going to be anyone, I’d want it to be you.”

He moved on instinct, to fast for you to understand. You were flush against his chest, held tightly in his arms.

“I’m not that good. I don’t deserve you.” He looked pained, avoiding your gaze.

“What do you mean? You’re one of the best men I know.” Now that you were in his arms, you let yourself run your hands over his chest.

“Why would I have brought you all the way out here alone? Would it not have been safer for you to go with Lenny?” He grinned wryly, as if he was disappointed in himself.

It was true, Lenny was a beta but still perfectly capable of protecting you. You could just as easily have left with him.

But you liked being with Charles, and you were flattered that he would want you like that.

“I’m selfish,” Charles said.

“I want you to be selfish,” you wrapped your arms around him, pressing your cheek to his bare skin.

He lifted you into his arms and knelt so he could lay you down on his bedroll. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered.

“I want you to,” you moaned, baring your neck to him. You were done fighting off your desires, and you just wanted to be knotted and mated and taken.

“Take your clothes off before I tear them,” he growled. You had never undone your buttons so fast in your life. It felt like a victory, knowing that Charles wanted you, that he would have you like this.

Charles removed his trousers and helped you tug your skirts over your thighs. “I’m going to knot you,” he murmured. He crawled over you, kissing you feverishly as you clung to him. He kissed over your jaw, down your neck to the sensitive, aching skin just above your collarbone.

You turned your head to bare your neck, gasping at the slight scrape of teeth. “Please,” you begged. It was the heat talking. As much as you cared for Charles, it was irresponsible of him to mate you, especially when you could barely think about anything but his knot.

He chuckled, his breath warm against your already burning skin. “Not today.” His lips trailed down over your chest. You were thankful that he would watch over you, keep you from making any rash decisions. There was no other alpha you trusted like him. He was the only one who could have you like this. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him up for a bruising kiss.

You slid onto his lap, thighs bracketing his hips. His cock was hard and aching between your bodies. He leaned back, and you moved so you could grind your dripping pussy along his length. It felt amazing, but it wasn’t enough.

He held still as you lifted your hips and began to sink down onto his cock. “Ah, fuck,” you dug your nails into his shoulders as your thighs shook.

“Easy now,” he moved his hands to your hips to help support you. You didn’t want easy. You wanted to be filled. Furrowing your brows, you took him as deep as you could in one motion. Both of you moaned at the sudden sensation. He was so deep inside you, the swell of his knot pressing against your clit. You rolled your hips carefully, delighting in the way Charles’s hold on you tightened.

Every movement felt so good; you began to ride him desperately, spurred on by your heat. His hands roamed over you body, squeezing your ass and rubbing over your thighs.

You came embarrassingly quickly, you hips stuttering and shaking as you tightened around his cock. Charles -- remarkably strong even for an alpha -- simply grabbed your hips and moved you on his cock, chasing his own release.

It was everything you needed, fucked through the oversensitivity and aftershocks of your orgasm, stoking the desire that still burned through you. With a thrust of his hips, Charles knotted you. You cried out and fell forward against his chest, panting and whimpering as he filled you.

It was quiet save for the sound of your breathing and Charles’s low moans. Both of you laid still for several minutes, enjoying the feeling of being tied together.

You were pulled from the haze of pleasure as Charles lifted you off of him. His knot slipped free and you winced. You were still very much in heat, and the emptiness was like an ache.

“Turn over for me,” Charles murmured, and you obeyed. Laying on your stomach, resting your head on your arms, you were surprised when Charles pushed your thighs apart.

Oh. You got the message. You lifted your ass, spreading your legs so Charles could push back into you from behind. “That’s a good girl,” he squeezed your ass.

It felt so good, being taken from behind. Charles’s cock seemed to hit every right spot as he fucked you into the bedroll.

“You’re sleeping in my tent when we get back to camp,” he said, voice breathy and low. “You’re going to be mine. No one else can have you.”

“Yours,” you moaned as he knotted you again. He continued to move, fucking you with shallow thrusts as he came again.

You whine when he moved you again, rolling you so both of you could lay on your sides with Charles still inside you. “Get some rest,” he murmured.

“Only yours,” you murmured, lost to your heat and the pleasure. Just the warmth of Charles holding you, his scent. Only his.

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[theonewiththefanfics]

Heartbreak For A Gift (Part 1/?)

Synopsis: Sometimes relationships start off like love stories in books. And sometimes they fall apart in a minute.

(Kind of an AU! I guess??)

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: angst bruh

Warnings: swearing, sadness, angst, but nothing else that I can remember. Minimal editing

Word count: 2547

A/N: Please note I don’t know what the situation is between Harry and Olivia, if it’s a stunt or they’re actually dating. Whatever the case do not harass them. This is fiction and only for the purposes of the story. If they’re actually together - GOOD FOR THEM!!! No one is entitled to other people’s private lives!

Can be read as a one-shot if ya want, but I might turn this into a very small series cause I already have ideas as to where to go further with this, so hit me up if that’s what you’d like :)

If you know you’re a part of my tag list and see you’ve been crossed out, it means I can’t tag you for whatever reason. If you still would like to be a part of my tags please message me with your previous username and updated so I can update my lists :)

When she’d first said yes to going out with Harry, she’d had zero ideas as to who he really was. Well, that was a lie, she obviously knew of him, it’s not like she completely lived under a rock, and she’d seen a couple of his interviews, but 'One Direction' or Harry Styles as a solo artist hadn’t been that big of parts of her life, so she didn’t really care much for it.        They’d met at a bookstore on a sunny day in London. That’d been a good day. Her boss had let her go home a bit earlier than usual, the weather was warm, but not it’s-so-warm-I’m-sweating-my-ass-off kind of warm, sunglasses covering her eyes and hair free as the warm summer winds blew through her locks she was walking beside the Thames on her way inside the heart of the city.        Because she had a little bit more free time, she decided to pop into Waterstones, which was generally not a good idea for Y/N to do if she had things in store for the day; this time she could spend the rest of the evening if she wanted to, browsing books and living her best life.        Surprisingly for London, that particular Waterstones, even though it was in a densely populated area, was pretty empty, so Y/N felt free to skim through the options without having to press through a crowd of people to find the next section.        As she scanned what the shelves of New-Adult fiction offered, a man also came to look at the books. He stayed a bit further away, but he was certainly someone who caught people’s attention with the bright green daisy-print covered T-shirt, chequered shorts and the three scrunchies on his wrist.        The thing was as much as he’d grabbed Y/N's attention, she was more interested in the Waterstones exclusive edition of a book she’d been dying to buy, so when she saw it just sitting on the shelf, a small gasp escaped her lips.        Two eyes were immediately on her, and Y/N could feel them slip back onto her form from time to time as she greedily paged through the book, but she couldn’t say her own Y/E/C eyes didn’t flit over to the man as well.        He had a small bun on the top of his head, curly hair pushed away from the face, cheekbones for days, which were shaved and smooth and perfectly groomed brows arching over what seemed to be green orbs which were looking at the spine of a crime book way too intensely for it to be genuine interest. All in all, his side profile would be that of one of the characters Y/N’d simp over in a book, let alone the nails painted all colours of the rainbow which made her happy because nothing was better to see someone sticking it to the patriarchy.        But their little meet-cute was interrupted as an employee apologised while he tried to squeeze past them with a giant cart filled with new release books, and almost like a lost puppy, she started to follow the stacks of books when a hand on her shoulder made her spin around only to be faced with the man. She instantly recognised his face, but, at the same time, couldn’t really pinpoint what it was about him that was so familiar.

       “Sorry,” he said in a rough voice. “But you left this behind.”        And in his hands was the Waterstones exclusive.        Y/N’s eyes widened as she gingerly took it from him. “Oh my god, thank you! I’ve got no idea how I let it out of my fingers.”        He chuckled, motioning with his chin to the employee disappearing by the corner. “I’d say you got distracted.”        “Yeah, a little.” She bit her lip and drummed her nails against the cover of the book. “Well, uh… thank you. For not grabbing it for yourself.”        But he just lifted his hand. “More of a Murakami kind of a man.”        “Yes, well, I,” she nodded towards the book in her own hand, “like to read about people living out my dreams.”        He raised his eyebrow. “It’s a murder mystery.”        “Your point?”        “Would you say I have issues then if I wanted to ask you out on a date?”        Y/N’s heart stuttered in her chest, but he looked so nervous, so genuinely open and almost scared, she couldn’t feel any ill intentions from him, so she tapped her chin a bit as if contemplating before saying, “No. I’d say you have good taste actually.’        The relieved laugh he let out made him seem even prettier than Y/N already thought he was.        He extended his palm towards her, swaying on the balls of his feet a bit. “ ‘M Harry. Would probably be proper to know my name before we go anywhere further.”        “Y/N.” She smiled and clasped his hand in hers. “And it would probably be proper to know I was kidding about the whole ‘watching others live out my dreams’. People living out my dreams are actually in the books having hot sex with Fae.”        His laughter was loud and sudden, making Y/N duck down like she was in her Uni library and the librarians would come and shush them. But now, almost two years later since they’d first met, there was no sign of those butterflies she’d felt in the middle of the thriller section of Waterstones. Now Y/N was sitting by a large table, body slowly numbing as was her mind to keep the pain from her heart spreading. Whatever Jeff was talking about now, she didn’t hear. There were eyes on her, had to be to gauge her reaction, but they wouldn’t get anything more than slightly parted lips and a blank stare turned towards the marbled top.        She knew Harry was nervous; from her peripheral vision, she saw his thumb scraping at the rest of his nail lacquer, chips of pastel yellow and green polish flaking off and floating to the carpeted floor.        Y/N didn’t like LA. She’d never wanted to go there. Maybe as a tourist for a couple of weeks sometime down the line, but because of Harry and his commitment to ‘Don’t Worry, Darling’ and because he’d basically pleaded with her for days on end, she’d agreed to move there with him for the time he was shooting the movie.        It’s not that the city wasn’t beautiful. The sun, the sea, the greenery surrounding her was absolutely breath-taking, but it was the people that she didn’t really mesh with. Sure, she knew dating Harry came with a lot of what LA’s society was like. The need to look absolutely physically perfect to match the unachievable barbie standard, the fake niceness people usually exhibited just to get something for themselves or possibly raise them higher on the popularity scale, but Harry had always wiped away those doubts. But now all of that seemed like one big lie. He’d told her he didn’t care for any of it, not when it concerned Y/N nor when it concerned himself. But the contract in front of them said something different.        A hand touched her back. “Y/N?” Harry’s voice was tentative, wavering at the end of her name.        For the first time since the proposal had been thrown out, she lifted her eyes to look around at the people in the room.        Harry, Jeff, both their attorneys and Olivia Wilde and her attorney. The other woman, once their gazes met, immediately looked away. Y/N wanted to scoff at that.        “What…” Harry gulped, brushing a hand across her back. She’d never flinched away from him, but this time she did. Harry visibly shrunk in his seat and pulled back. “What do you think?”        What did she think? Well, she was thinking a lot of things, and the urge to say all of them was immense, but instead Y/N bit down on her tongue, reaching for the legal papers in front of her and skimmed through them.        She’d read each and every word as they’d been read out loud by the attorney, and every letter had been burned into her brain now. There was no way to get them out from her mind, and they’d haunt her forever.        “The fact that you’re asking me what I think of it already means you’re considering this.” Surprisingly enough, her voice was steady even though she was on the verge of collapsing after everything. “So, I’ll make this really easy for you – do it. Because, from now on, you’re a single man and you can do whatever the fuck you want.”        Harry’s face paled immediately at her words, hand moving to grasp Y/N’s, but they were in a tight ball in her lap, not moving an inch at his touch.        “Y/N, please.” Olivia was the one reaching out now, a pained and terrified look on her face, but the girl just stood up from her chair and went to the coat rack taking her coat and the bag that was discarded by it.        “No, you asked what I thought.” Tears had started to form in her eyes while she shrugged on her jacket. “This is what I think. If you even for a second assumed I’d be alright with this shitty stunt, Harry, then through the last two years we've spent together, you’ve learned nothing about me, and to me, it means it’s not worth it.”        Harry was now standing, desperate to touch her face, but Y/N once again pulled away.         “You two,” Y/N said pointing between Olivia and Harry, their faces twins of fear and regret. “Have never needed publicity. Not like this, so don’t try and bullshit me that this will make great promo for the movie. There are so many other ways you could drum up interest, but this…” She let out an unamused chuckle. “How could you think I’d be okay with you pretending to be in a relationship with someone else?”        “No, please… just hear us out. You don’t know what it’s like.” Harry tried to plead, hands in his hair, but it was the wrong thing to say, as she took a step back, eyes wide in disbelief.          But Y/N was calm, and with how rigid Harry became he knew he’d fucked up more than before.        “I don’t understand?" she breathed. “The number of things and events I’ve said ‘no’ to… the…” Her voice was as still as the sea before a storm as she took in a deep breath and exhaled. “Harry wants Y/N there for the opening of his tour, so Y/N drops everything and flies out even though she misses a presentation that could have her up for a promotion. Harry doesn’t want to be seen walking inside a club with someone, so Y/N goes to the back entrance to save his face. Harry is tired and just wants to sleep, so Y/N passes on her friends’ birthdays because he wants cuddles. What Harry wants, Y/N does. And I did. I did all that happily while keeping our relationship private while snaking in and out through back doors like I was some dirty secret of yours just so you could keep the illusion you’re single…” Y/N shook her head. “I think I understand very well… But now… it’s my turn, my time to ask of you something.”        “Anything,” he pleaded, probably thinking that Y/N was going to ask him not to go with Jeff’s stunt, and he’d gladly tell them all to fuck off if it meant her staying. “I’ll do anything.”        “Let me go.”        If Harry’s heart hadn’t been in his chest you would’ve been able to hear it break as it smashed against the floor.        “Let me go,” she repeated. “And don’t come after me. Because I won’t take any part in this.”        “But –,” he was choking on his words. “But I don’t want to. I love you; I can’t just let you walk away like that. I won’t do it, none of this is worth it.”        “And I didn’t want to do a lot of things, especially sit in a meeting on Valentine’s day where my boyfriend was talking about faking a relationship to promote a fucking movie, but here we are.”        This time when he reached out to cup her cheek, Y/N let him. “Please. I swear I won’t do it, just please let’s talk about this. Don’t give up on me.”        But she was unwavering. “For the rest of our relationship, however long that might’ve been, I would’ve wondered if you hated me if you despised me for not agreeing to go with it if the movie didn’t do as well as your management predicts it will with this. And I won’t have that. I won’t be in a relationship where every second will be spent in doubt that I’m stifling your career and you could potentially resent me.”        “I could never hate you.”        “Yeah.” She let out a sob. “You actually claim to love me but would be willing to put me through that kind of fuckery, so something has to be a lie.”        Without looking at anyone else in the office, Y/N stepped away from the man who once made her feel like she could conquer the top of the world and opened the door, but didn’t even manage to take a step outside when the voice of the person she never wanted to hear from called after her, and although Y/N had been calm and collected, she snapped at him. “Oh, don’t worry, Jeff,” she snarled. “It’s not like I can talk about anything that happened here. You made sure of it. Smart move, by the way, I’d say you should continue it. NDAs right before any meeting… I guess that’s how you keep your clients' careers spotless, so your stunt won’t be exposed.”        The way she whipped around to move towards the door would’ve given her whiplash, if not for Harry standing in front of her, arms weaving around to keep her in place.        “I’m sorry." He was verging on hysterics. "Please just… please Y/N don’t…”        It seemed like he no longer even understood what he was pleading for. For Y/N to not break up? To not leave the room? LA? All he knew was that if he let her walk out of the door, he’d never see her again, and she’d make sure of it.        “No, Harry, I think I actually will, because the thought of being in the same city as you, is going to make me throw up right now,” Y/N said eyes not daring to meet his, because if she did, she'd break and her resolve would dissipate. “Besides, you have loads of things to talk about. By the time you get back, I’ll have my stuff out of the hotel. And Jeff?”        His manager looked sheepish as she glanced at Y/N.        “The least you owe me is a ticket back home. The first flight you can find.”        He didn’t answer, just nodded. She didn't deign to thank him.        “Happy fucking Valentines to you two.” She looked at Olivia and Harry, who was breaking apart at the seams, but no longer could she find it in herself to care. He didn’t care enough about her anyway. “Hope you have a very happy relationship.”

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Harry Styles tags: @sarcasticallywitty15​ @breezykpop​ @girlboss99​ @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist​ @alliyjane​ @sirtommyholland​ @raylovessarcasm

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue​ @im-squished​

A/N: I’m (kinda?) back? I guess. I dunno. I’m in this weird place where I’m writing my books and then I get inspo for fics and I start writing them, but can’t seem to finish them so I dunno :D

P.S. what did ya think?

P.S.S. please don’t repost my works on other platforms (Wattpad Ao3 etc without specific written permission)

P.S.S.S. my tags are always open :)

[the-witches-you-couldnt-burn]

Should have known better

Prompt: when ur reading fanfic and one character was cooking and the other comes up to them and they start making out and everyones like starting to take their shirts off and the author STILL hasnt mentioned anyone turning off the stove

My first attempt at Dickinette. I hope I did it justice!

Here’s my favourite ratatouille recipe! It’s amazing!

Ao3

—————————

Warnings: mild sexual content & mentions of gun violence, gangs, bullet wounds, fire hazards and unplanned pregnancy

The keys jangled as he took them out of his pocket, the lock clicked open and the old apartment door creaked. He took two steps into the hall, dropping his bag with a thud and closed the door behind him. Running a hand through his long, sweat slicked hair he sighed. Today had been a long day.

A deep inhale inflated his chest, but the black police vest he wore restricted it’s full extension. The smell of a wonderful home cooked meal made his stomach growl. Ratatouille, his favourite.

His heavy boot laden feet created echoing footsteps as he walked into the grey tiled kitchen. His wife stood at the stove humming, the google pad’s screen was lit with the ingredients list. She scooped and flipped the squared vegetable mix before putting the lid upon it for the meal to soften. She turned to her sketchpad, inspired by something unknown. Drawing captured her full attention, her brain’s need to replicate the idea on paper outweighed her focus on her surroundings.

He should have known better. He grew up with vigilantes and superheroes. He should have know never to sneak up on someone, especially if they knew how to fight; although this rule doesn’t count for villains (they know what they did).

For Marinette, it had been a long day of ripped seems and designer’s block.. It was nearing on eight when she finally started dinner. Looking at the clock she sighed, ‘Dick’s working late again.’ She hoped he wasn’t caught up in the shooting across town. Two gangs had a disagreement over territory and many civilians got caught up in it. She wanted to help but she had been banned from heroine duties for the time being. Her last ladybug adventure resulted in a bullet to her leg, which was still healing.

Dick took her to the hospital stating she had gotten caught in the crossfire (which now reminds her they need to restock the medical supplies), and they discovered that she was four weeks pregnant.

In present time she was still well within her first trimester, just starting her second month; and she was feeling it too. Vomiting each morning wasn’t fun, more so when it started happening more frequently throughout the day. Their midwife reassured the young couple that it was completely normal, but if it keeps up to come back as it may become hyperemesis gravidarum which will harm the baby.

Baby.

She was still trying to wrap her head around it. She had turned twenty-four last July and Dick was only older by a year. They weren’t planning on this and they had taken all of the precautions to prevent it. Yeah sure, they were married but it hadn’t even been two years! Her worry for the future faded as she reminisced on her husband’s reaction to the discovery. He was shocked for a few seconds before jumping up and down like a toddler who got a toy, beaming with joy. Tears of happiness pricked his eyes, threatening to spill on a moments notice.

Another symptom that weighted upon her was fatigue. She was no longer a teen who could challenge the world with a pen and a cup of coffee. She was a tired, pregnant adult who had to give away her coffee maker due to the temptation being too strong. No more late night or all-nighters designing clothes and completing commissions. She had to lessen her commissions due to the stressful nature of them but working from home, in her own studio helped. It had been a month since she found out and now she just wanted to hibernate due to lack of energy.

Putting down the spatula, she scooped up the pen, suddenly inspired by the mix of colours; an autumn playsuit came to mind. Biting her lip as she drew, neglecting her surroundings, the blare of the news channel becoming white noise.

She should have known better. She was a superhero, albeit she was benched at the moment, but still! The first rule of ‘herodom’ was to always do the right thing, but the second rule was to always be aware of your surroundings.

Arms wrapped around her waist, a small gasps left her mouth and her elbow drove straight back into her captor’s chest. A masculine groan came from behind her, but she paid it no mind as she tried to get out of the man’s strong grip.

“Mari, Mari! Calm down it’s me” Her husband said breathlessly. Her jab winded him, although it was softened by his police uniform, Marinette’s miraculous strength was powerful to say the least. He just wish he didn’t have to be on the receiving end of it.

“Ma moitié! Why would you do that!?” Her anguished cry caused him to hide his chuckle in her neck. Her heartbeat made its presence known within her chest and her breathing was still shallow. Turning within his embrace, she faced him with a pout on her face, “You jerk, you scared me!” She whimpered, her pregnancy hormones had blurred the line between her emotions causing her mood to flip like a switch.

Dick looked down at her with a guilt riddled face. “Shoot Mari, I’m sorr-“

Before he could finish apologising Marinette tugged him down and connected her lips to his. She leaned back into the countertop, cupping his cheek and jaw with both hands. Dick eagerly followed her lead.

He picked her up, his hands moulding the flesh of her thighs. He had done this before, but took extra precautions this time due to her still healing leg injury. He moved her away from the countertop and sat her upon the plush couch. He hovered above her, lips only splitting for a millisecond for air before closing the gap once more.

Marinette pushed on his shoulder and swiftly flipped him so that she was on top. The quick motion caused his head to slam back into the wall, the noise halted their make-out session. Her eyes widened, the cloud of lust had evaporated and rained down on her parade. She apologised multiple times to him, eyes watering in the process.

Dick just laughed before pulling her back in for another kiss. In contrast to the sloppy wet kisses before, the gentleness off Mari’s lips now made him feel like he was made of glass. She filled it with her remorse over hurting him. But as the kiss continued it shifted back to the momentum and passion they had before.

Her hands trailed up his chest, she shivered into the kiss; he had just taken off her shirt, leaving her in her bra. His thumb brushed under the mound of her breast, he felt her furious heartbeat through he skin.

Her focus lowered to his bare neck. Placing kiss upon kiss there and biting occasionally, leaving a trail of pink marks for his colleagues to see during his neck shift. A hand ran down her back as it arced, pushing her bosom into his chest.

They broke apart, foreheads pressed together, bodies flushed against each other’s. She peppered his face with kisses, “I love you”s were stated after each. He returned this action with the same fervour.

Something was wrong though. It was a sudden onset plaguing thought that something wasn't right. They had tried to ignore it but it had become like a tugging string tied around their hearts, signalling an oncoming danger. Wordlessly the two scanned the apartment, neither wanting to part from their entanglement.

Confused the two looked back at the other. Neither finding what set off the warning sensation. As their eyes connected, realisation washed over them like a bucket of ice water. They inhaled the burnt air and scrambled apart; both exclaiming “Fuck!”

Running into the kitchen, the tiles were cold against her bare feet. Dark unventilated smoke hung in the air. Upon entry to the room it was a wall of heat, it was a wonder the smoke alarms hadn’t gone off yet. Dick grabbed a nearby tea towel and swatted at the smoke, he shuffled towards the burners, mouth and nose hidden within his elbow.

Marinette opened all nearby windows, she hoped that the neighbours on the floors above didn’t question the smoke. The couple worked together to set up a system of fans to push out the smoke from the kitchen.

“If Alfred were here he would kill us.” Dick solemnly nodded in reply, ‘we should have known better’. He scraped the burnt black char into the bin, while Mari held the pan. Once the pan cooled down enough it went into the bin too, there was no saving it.

Dick tied up the yellow bin bag and placed the spatula into the sink. “Soooo... want chinese? If you’re up for it, it’ll be my treat.”

Her stomach growled as her eyes flicked to the clock, it was almost nine and she hadn’t eaten since breakfast at seven. She nodded, “sounds good let’s go!”

She walked towards the door, hand on the handle when she realised that he hadn’t followed her. Turning back around she saw him staring at her, cheeks flushed, unmoved from his position next to the bin.

“Um babe?”

“What’s wrong Ma moitié? I thought you wanted Chinese.” Her head tilted, confused at his actions.

He cleared his throat, eyes flicking away. “Babe you’ve forgotten your shirt.”

“Shit” left her lips as she bolted back to the couch, vaulting over a counter much to Dick’s disapproval. She heard him scolding her from the other room, but was too hungry to care.

Walking back to him, now appropriately dressed, she grabbed his hand, pulling him out the door. He just sighed, following his crazy wife, throwing the bag into the complex’s dumpster on the way to the car.

No one was getting in between her and her noodles.