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forever-rogue · 4 years ago

Text

Stutter Something Profound

A/N: Y’all wanted part 2, so you get part 2 with some sub!Din! It did get a little soft, I might add, but enjoy! Happy Valentine’s Day from me to you! As always, comments and feedback are welcomed! xx

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: SMUT (18+ only) - oral (m and f receiving, unprotected sex, etc...)

DOUSE THE LIGHTS (PART 1)

THE MANDALORIAN MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Quiet down,” Din’s voice was sharp and biting as your brow furrowed and you turned to him with a look of confusion marring your features.

“I didn’t say a word,” you huffed in response as you turned your attention back to the little bean sitting across the cold, metallic floor from you. His favorite little ball was in his tiny hands as the two of you rolled it back and forth to each other. You’d been stuck in hyperspace for some time, and there really wasn’t much else to do. It was like the Mandalorian - Din, you reminded yourself - refused to have even a modicum of fun. He’d been even more quiet and stoic than normal recently.

Ever since -

“Yes, you did,” he turned his head sharply, surely almost breaking his neck as he turned to look at the two of you from the captain’s seat. You quirked a brow in question before gesturing between yourself and the small child. He huffed sharply through his nose, the sound a loud, bitter thing as it reverberated off the walls, “keep it down.”

“That’s what I thought we were doing,” you snapped back before rolling your eyes and turning back to your small compatriot. He cooed gently before smiling and taking the ball as you rolled it back to him. You couldn’t help but smile at the little one; he always had the best and most calming aura about him. Before you could stop yourself, under your breath you murmured, “maybe you just need to calm down a little.”

"Excuse me?" oh. You just knew there was a scowl on his face, those plush lips pulled in a frown. Maker, those lips, delicious and soft, has been all over your body, mapping and marking almost every single inch of skin. You'd been thinking about them ever since that night - his touch, his taste, his feel. All of it.

Nothing had been the same since.

And yet nothing had changed.

"You heard me, Din," it was the first time you'd used his name since that night. It was a challenge as much as a question. It was silent, almost dead silent, as he slowly rose to his full height. He presented an impressive sight, covered in gleaming beskar, as his chest rose and fell steadily. Slowly, ever so slowly, he stepped closer, each footfall loud and purposeful. Shit, shit, shit. You’d fucked up and this was it. You were always pushing and pushing and pushing, and you’d finally pushed enough. Maybe he’d reached his limit.

He came over to you and slowly crouched down, predatory in every way, reaching over and taking your chin in his gloved hand as you turned your face up to meet his own. You were left breathless as you stared back into the black T of his visor, wishing you could see the expression in his eyes, “are you telling me what to do?”

Part of you wanted to remain small and shrink away, but another part of you, this one was feeling particularly strong in the moment and there was no holding it down, “yes.”

“Uh huh honey,” he dragged his thumb across your bottom lip causing you to part them slightly, “you sure about that?”

“Y-yes,” your head was already spinning with all sorts of thoughts and fantasies. He dipped his finger slightly into your mouth and you had to resist the urge to suck on it. But then you remembered - you remembered what you had told him last time. As you laid in his arms and made a promise that you planned on making good on, “yes. I am, Din.”

“Hmmm,” it was a soft gentle growl as he released your chin and stepped back, standing up again. Your heart was fluttering wildly as he walked towards the ladder, to head down, “we’ll be on Sorgan soon. Keep him with you.”

You waited until he was gone and thoroughly disappeared before hanging your head and sighing shakily. Before you could get too caught up in your head, a small bit of laughter and gentle cooing captured your attention. You looked up and found your little friend grinning at you, his little teeth on display as he made grabby hands for the small metal ball.

“Of course, my sweet bean,” you smiled fondly at him, giving him what he wanted, “anything for you. At least one of my boys isn’t being a Mr. Grumpy Boots!”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“This is Sorgan?” you asked softly as you held the little one in your arms, already falling behind Din as made it a point to stop and study your surroundings. It was a beautiful place, lush and green and teaming with the sounds of all sorts of animals in the distance. He made a small noncommittal sound without so much as looking back at you. You rolled your eyes at him before sticking out your tongue and blowing a quiet raspberry, causing the little one to giggle. It appeared that he still wasn’t over being grumpy, and you were sure that he was still sour over your little outburst.

You remained quiet as you followed after him, deciding that it was best not to push his buttons. Although you weren’t so concerned with the possibility of what he would do. You knew that he wasn’t going to abandon you in some remote part of the galaxy as you once had feared; no, perhaps he’d even give you another...punishment like he had previously.

But you weren’t sure he ever would mention again. You’d wanted to bring it up, desperately so, but you just...didn’t quite know how. The morning after you’d woken up a few times only to find yourself still wrapped up in his arms, resting your head on his chest as he snored lightly. When you’d gone to get up for the day at hand, he was long gone, already dressed and going about business as usual.

You'd tried not to be upset, not to let it get it to you...but kriff. It was a one time deal but Maker, you wished it weren't. But who were you to question and interrogate him on the matter? Besides the words that needed to be exchanged, or your little altercation earlier, he'd avoided you like the plague. It was even worse than being stranded in the most desolate desert in the outer rim.

"Keep up," he called over your shoulder as you realized you'd been caught up on your myriad of daydreams and fallen far behind. You huffed as you picked up the pace to keep up with his long strides, "we're almost there."

»»————-　♡　————-««

Almost there ended up being another half hour of trekking through the woods until you reached the small village that served as your destination. Part of you had been tempted to complain, but the other half was thrilled to be able to get out and stretch your legs and see something other than metallic walls or dirt and decay. The air was fresh and light, doing wonders for your spirit and lungs. The little one seemed to be enjoying everything as much as you were - his eyes were wide and curious and as he studied the new surroundings. At the sight of a few butterflies, he reached out to try and capture one, almost tumbling out of your arms at one point. Giggling, you slowed your pace and set him on the forest floor, letting him follow behind the two of you all while keeping a close eye on him.

Eventually, the sounds of life - children’s laughter, animals, and animated chatter met your ears and you found yourself in a picturesque, small village. You look at everything in awe as your green bean toddled over to the nearest group of children. Instinct took over and you moved over to grab him, but Din grabbed your arm and shook his head, as you frowned at him, “he’s fine. He knows them.”

“Okay,” you nodded, but nonetheless your guard was up. You were more protective over Din and the little one than anything else. If something happened to either one of them you didn’t know what you’d do. Din must have sensed your hesitation as he lightly put his hand on your arm and pulled you along with him. Nodding, you silently acquiesced to his request.

It was another short walk to the center of the town, where you spied a small group of people milling about, almost as if they were expecting them. Din gave them a nod, but kept you close at his side.

“Mandalorian,” a beautiful woman with long hair walked over to the two of you as Din held his hand out to her but you stepped slightly behind him. She had a kind face and eyes, and you could tell she meant no ill will, "you've returned."

"As I said I would," he insisted as he shook her hand. Turning her attention to you, she looked you up and down, observing you with intense scrutiny, and yet you did not feel afraid. Whatever had happened between the two of them, you could tell she was looking out for him.

Holding out your own hand, you steeled yourself as you offered it to her and gave a kind smile accompanied by your name.

"Omera," she had deemed you worthy of her name and seemingly her approval, "you're…"

"She's mine," he insisted sharply, causing both you and Omera to look at him in surprise. Inside, you were beaming and bursting with joy and pride at the surprising revelation. You weren't sure if it was purely situational or he had meant it as more - as what it was, but Maker - your face felt hot and knees weak.

"She's your…"

"Mine," he repeated simply with a curt nod and an air of finality. His hand found the small of your back as you raised your eyebrows at the woman in shock, practically glowing from inside.

"Very well Mandalorian," the woman turned on her heel and motioned for the two of you to follow, "we're pleased to see you and the little one again. You may stay as long as you'd like; let me show your quarters."

Hesitating for a moment, you watched as the two of them started to walk away, leaving you behind. All of this seemed so surreal - domestic, uncomplicated, and...free. It almost felt surreal and you were afraid it would all end up being a dream. Too good to be true - a taste of what your life could be. Maybe...maybe one.

"Sweet girl," perking up at the use of the almost sacred nickname you caught his gaze. Holding out his hand to you, it wasn't but a mere moment before you took it, nervously - tentatively - and let him pull you towards his body. And then softly, almost as if it was just the two of you and not a whole gaggle of people around you, Din leaned in, "keep up."

What was even going on anymore? Surely this had to be a dream...but then again the warmth of his hand in yours was tangibly real. This was actually happening.

»»————-　♡　————-««

"This is it, huh?" looking around the small cabin, you quickly decided that you liked it. It was quaint and cozy and warm - everything that the Crest wasn't. Definitely something you would appreciate for a week or two and definitely something you would miss as soon as you left. The little one had been busy with his old friends, and Omera had graciously offered to take him for the night. As much as you both loved him, it was nice to have a little bit of time to yourselves.

"Not to your liking, princess?" his hands were on his hips as he watched you closely. It was teasing - lilting and with a small tone of amusement. Shaking your head you turned to him and offered a small smile, "you'll be comfortable here. Better than the ship and it'll give you an opportunity to stretch your legs."

"I like it," you agreed, "its nice to slow down for a change. Who knew you had a heart and a brain after all, Din?"

"Very funny, brat," the way you tingled at his use of the word was enough to render you speechless. He paused for a moment, thoughtful and quiet, "I don’t hate you, you know."

"Huh?" your eyes widened in surprise at the sudden declaration and the doe eyed look on your face enough to make his own cheeks tinge with a pink flush. Once again he was eternally thankful for the beskar helmet. He slowly reached up and grabbed your chin between his fingers as you swallowed the lump in your throat.

"I know I'm not always...the easiest to get along with," he all but whispered, "but I do appreciate you more than you know."

"Hmmm," your body was electric as his touch sent sparks down your spine, "I know, Din. I...fuck. I appreciate you too. I've been...thinking about you."

"Have you, naughty little thing?"

"Mhmm," you closed your eyes and keened into its touch, "ever since that night…"

"Then what do you want?" his voice was low - dangerous - as his hand tightened around your throat, squeezing ever so slightly. Your pupils were dilated, eyes practically black with lust as a small sound escaped your lips. How easy it would have been to give in and let him have his way with you, "tell me little brat. Use your words."

"You," it was almost a whimper as the heat pooled low in your belly and the delicious, tingling ache between your legs started. How easy that would be to let him use your for his (and your pleasure). Even within the thick haze of arousal, you reminded yourself of your promise.

He would be your good boy.

Almost out of nowhere, your hand was on his wrist, delicate compared to his large gloved one, and pulling him away from you.

"What are you-"

"I'm in charge, Din Djarin," you reminded him, a surge of confidence running through your blood as desire seeped into every fiber of your beating. Your heart was beating wildly as you anticipated his reaction, treading carefully to make sure you didn't overstep any boundaries, "I made a promise last time and I don't break promises."

He chuckled - a dark, delicious sound that sparked pure fire in your bones. Instead of a smart remark for once he...acquiesced.

"Tell me what you do want."

"Strip," you echoed his words from the last time you'd found yourself in this position, "and get on your knees."

"As you wish,” he pulled back and started to slowly peel off his gloves, his gaze trained on you the entire time. You felt like a shy maiden, rather than a woman about to make a grown man cry, as a flush rose up in your neck and face; but you didn’t shift your gaze away.

Din made a show of pulling off each piece of armor, bit by Beskar bit, in painfully slow manner. The cocky Mandalorian knew exactly what he was doing. As soon as he was left in his underclothes, you could see that his cock was already painfully hard and straining at his trousers. A sense of pride welled up in your chest as you realized you were the cause of it all. Keeping the helmet on for the moment, his large hands skimmed the hem of his shirt as you almost lost your patience and tore it off for him. Languidly, methodically, he left the shirt up and tugged it over his head, letting it fall with an unceremonious small sound to the floor.

He was beautiful - even more in the fading light of day than he had been in the dark. Tan, golden skin littered with freckles and scars came into view as your breath hitched in your throat. Maker. You bit your lip as he tilted his head to the side to gauge your reaction. Trying to play it cool, you motioned for him to continue his fingers trailed over the waistband of his pants. The dusting of dark hair that disappeared into his pants was enough to make your mouth water as you remembered the promise it held.

Din popped open the button and slowly unzipped his pants before tugging his pants down his legs and kicked them off along with his boots. Apparently you weren’t the only one getting impatient. Making a small, musing sound in the back of your throat you walked over to him, admiring his beauty - and his hard cock that was already leaking fat beads of pre-cum. Smirking, you trailed a hand down his warm skin, raking your nails over it as you pressed a few lazy kisses along his broad shoulders. You were almost positive that you could hear a small sigh leave his lips.

“You are beautiful, Din Djarin,” you murmured as you pressed featherlight kisses to his neck, noting that he swallowed thickly, “it’s a shame no one sees - but a privilege to have you at my mercy.”

Before letting him get a word in edgewise, you went over to the windows and made sure everything was tightly closed and curtains were drawn before turning off the bedside lamps. There was almost no light left in the small room, save for the candle near the door; just enough to get by but not enough to actually see anything. Flouncing back over to Din, his large, warm hands found purchase on your waist as you reached up and tentatively rested your hands on the side of his helmet.

“Do you trust me, Din?” you whispered, a far cry from how domineering you intended on being. His hands circled around your wrist as he offered you a soft nod. You lifted your hands up, along with his as you pulled off the beskar and gently set it down along with the rest of his armor.

When he was fully stripped, a sharp contrast to you being fully clothed, he immediately tried to crash his lips onto yours to kiss you; a hungry, feverish thing. You smirked against his lips before quickly pulling away and placing a finger on his lips and shaking your head, “no, no, no honey. Not yet.”

“Brat-”

“Hmmm,” your hands went to his shoulders as you pushed him down and onto his knees, “it seems to me like you’re the one not listening. Won’t you be a good boy, Din?”

Knowing what you wanted immediately, his hands went to your waist as he undid your pants and pushed them to the ground, helping you to step out of them. You knew normally he would have argued with you or something but today something was different; almost like you had him under some sort of spell.

“So beautiful,” he murmured as his hands ran up your thighs, stopping to paw at your bum and giving it a good squeeze, pulling a squeal of delight from your lips. He chuckled against your skin, placing kisses along your thighs and hips before working over to your mound. Running a finger through your already soaked folds, he gathered some of the your arousal before it in his mouth and sucking it clean, “like fucking candy.”

“Din,” it was a herculean task not to completely surrender control to him and have his face. He hummed in content as he nudged your legs further apart and you could feel his breath fanning against your warm, wet center. Carding a hand through his dark locks, you gently yanked his head away, “we don’t have to do this…”

“Tell me what you want, sweet girl,” he rasped as you nodded slowly, “I can handle it - whatever you want.”

His gentle reassurance was enough to get you back on your game as you brought his face to your core, where you were getting desperate for his touch, “eat it.”

Warm hands anchored themselves to your hips as he buried his face in between your thighs, licking up your soaked folds like a starving man. It was such an unexpected, pleasant rush that you almost lost your balance as you braced yourself against the wall. A small whimper escaped your lips as Din continued to lap at you, his aquiline nose nudged against your clit. For all the talents this man had, eating pussy was definitely one of them.

“Kriff,” it wasn’t long before your legs started to shake as the pleasure in your belly grew and grew and threatened to snap. He was not shy or soft spoken as he murmured filthy praises against your heat as he licked and suckled on your clit and folders before plunging his tongue into your velvety walls. He was quick to balance you as you almost staggered forward, “Din…”

“So good,” he praised as he reached up and added two thick fingers to his ministrations, curling them in a come hither motion as he quickly found your sweet - the one that made you see absolute stars. Your eyes squeezed shut as you felt nothing but warmth radiate throughout your body and pressed his face firmly against you. You felt the vibrations of his chuckle as he continued on, just a little further and harder until you were over the edge. A large hand had snaked up your body to cup and squeeze your breasts through your shirt as you keened into him.

This time you didn’t even bother to hold back your mewls and moan as you came all over his tongue and fingers. Making a sound of approval, he worked you through your orgasm until you were a shaking, whining mess above him. His name came off your tongue in reverence as he stabilized you and lapped up every last bit of your arousal.

“Maker,” you finally managed to catch your breath after a few minutes as you pulled out of his grasp and helped him to his feet. In the soft candlelight you could see your juices glistening on his face. Unable to stop yourself, you threw your arms around his neck and crashed your lips onto his, kissing him in a fervent tangle of tongue and teeth. He responded eagerly, taking his time to taste you and explore your mouth as your wicked hands roamed his body. Din almost choked on a moan as you grabbed his weeping cock in your hand, coating it in the reminder of your wetness. A smile grew on your face as you pulled back and looked at him innocently, “good boy, Din. It must be painful, huh? To be this hard and have no relief? Do you want me to make it better?”

“Mouth,” it was a soft whisper - a plea, “use your mouth.”

“Hmm,” you mused as you continued to stroke his length, noting how he seemed to thrust into your hand more with each passing second, “I don’t know if you’ve earned that yet.”

A mess of sounds, guttural and visceral, met your arms as you played with him before massaging his balls just to push him as far as he could go. It wasn’t only before you felt him twitch in your hand and could hear the struggle as he tried not to come in your hand.

“Sweet girl,” he stammered out as he closed his eyes in bliss; but you beat him to the punch and pulled your hand away, creating a painstaking distance between your bodies. He hissed at the loss of contact and his orgasm as you ripped your shirt and bra off, letting the offending articles join the heap of his clothing, “fuck!”

“I told you that you hadn’t earned it yet,” you reminded him with a saccharine smile, “only good boys get to cum.”

“I am going to-”

“Get on the bed and lie on your back,” you insisted sharply. He huffed sharply before marching over and getting on top of the plush blankets. Looking around for a moment, you knew exactly what you were searching for, hoping you hadn’t misplaced the crimson silk fabric. After a few moments of digging, you made a small noise of triumph as you found the object of your affection. Walking back over with a sway of your lips, you displayed the fabric to him, “hands up and behind your head.”

“What are you doing?” it was a tone of wonder and amusement as you raised an eyebrow and hoped he was able to see it.

“You’re not allowed to use your hands,” you grinned as you stole a kiss before grabbing his wrists in your hands, “no touching, Din. Not until I say so.”

The Mandalorian - your Mandalorian - grunted as you threaded the fabric through the headboard and secured his wrists. It wasn’t necessarily a strong, tight hold, but it was enough to get your point across. No touching. Din could have easily broken through the thin fabric, but he wasn’t going to try again - he was going to be a good boy.

"What are you going to do sweet girl?" he asked as you spread your legs on either side of his hips, your wetness brushing the soft curls of his pubic hair. Grinning almost sinfully, you grabbed his jaw and turned his face towards, only making out the highs and lows of his features. Leaning down you kissed him, chasing after his lips with your own.

"Have my way with you," you whispered as you kissed the shell of his ear before working along his jaw and neck, making it a point to nip and suck at the delicate skin. And then, as you reached the hollow of his throat and placed a chaste kiss there, he practically whimpered, "oh, my sweet boy."

Din tugged lightly on the restraints, enough to shake the headboard slightly, but not enough to do anything. Shimmying down his body you tenderly touched and kissed every part of his body making sure each little freckle and mark and scar were given attention. The man practically melted under your touch; no one had ever given him this type of love and attention before. In the past it had all been either sloppy blowjobs or quick fucks; it had never mattered about him or the other person before, the only end game was release. But this...this was different. Delicate, gentle - caring.

Kissing along the V of his abdomen before nosing along his soft pubic hair, your raked your nails up and down his legs.

"When's the last time someone loved you, Din Djarin?" it was a hushed whisper, one you really expected an answer to you, but Din had almost inhumanly adept hearing - perks of a lifetime as a bounty hunter.

"Never."

"Well I do," it was an easy confession that startled both of you. You had meant it as both a I'm going to love you just now and I'm in love with you all at once. But that was something to be delved further into another time, "I do very much."

Before he could say anything else, you licked a long stripe up his shaft. His reaction was immediate as he bucked his hips up causing you to just push them back down. Laughing lightly, you tutted at him before taking him in your mouth - as much as you anyway. He was big and it did take some effort to get as much of him as possible.

It wasn't long before he was writhing under you as you licked and sucked him to an inch of his life. Making a point to hollow your cheeks and be noisy, you played with balls as you pushed him closer and closer to his release. Your mouth was already costing with your spit and his salty pre-cum and his cock twitched in your mouth. Just before he came, you pulled off of him and say back on your haunches watching his chest rise and fall rapidly.

"I was almost-"

"I know," it was a sticky sweet answer as you ghosted a hand over his body. Your hand found its way around his throat as you squeezed; more intensity than he had applied to you, but not enough to hurt, "tell me, sweet boy, are you going to let me sit on your face?”

“Use me,” he insisted as you kissed your way up his body and stopped at his lips and captured them in a searing kiss. His were perfect against yours - soft, full, and plush. Before getting too lost in his kiss, you positioned yourself over his face, and his eager hands tried to reach for you, only to find out that he couldn’t. A small groan of frustration left his lips as you grinned and ran a hand through his dark curls, “sweet girl.”

“Use your mouth, Din,” you braced yourself on the headboard as you lowered yourself down to meet his mouth. If you had thought he was eager before, you were sorely mistaken. The man in question lapped at your freshly soaked folds like it was the last thing he would ever do. His nose was perfect against your sensitive bundle of nerves as his tongue delved into you and caused you to cry out in pleasure. Seeming satisfied with his work, you felt him grin against you, his beard tickled you in all the best ways, “fuck. So good - so, so good.”

“Sweet girl,” he murmured against your skin as you felt yourself melt into a puddle of jelly. His praise along with this ministrations was enough to have you seeing stars as you closed your eyes and felt that familiar coil start to snap in your belly. Rocking against his face, he picked up his pace until you were just about to cum again, but instead of letting your orgasm fully wash over you, you pulled back and moved off of your face, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shock your head before kissing him, tasting yourself on his tongue, “you’re perfect. Want to cum on all over your cock, Din. Feel you inside of me.”

“Please,” he was practically beginning at this point; he was harder than he ever been and needed to be inside of you, “come on, sweet girl.”

Swinging a leg over his hips, you grabbed his hard cock and pumped him a few times before lining himself up at your entrance. Slowly sinking down on him, the two of you moaned in unison, as he stretched you fully and completely.

“Din,” his name was but a soft, reverent whisper off your lips as you put your hands on his chest and started to bounce at a slow pace up and down his cock. He felt perfect inside of you, hitting all the right spots as your clit rubbed against his pubic hair. He thrust his hips up to meet each of your bounces, pulling harder and harder at the bindings. You leaned down and wrapped your arms around his neck as you pressed your chest against his and kissed every part of him that your lips found, “so close - sweet boy.”

“Me too,” he agreed, his voice crackling and rough, “gonna cum inside you.”

“Yes,” you breathed as your warms started to contract around him and you felt him twitch within you. Squeezing your eyes shut, you buried your face into his neck, whimpering against his skin, “Din.”

“Sweet girl,” he so desperately whispered he could wrap his arms around but instead kept his hips as close to yours as possible, “so good - so perfect.”

You all but collapsed in his arms as you laid on top of him, the two of you working to catch your breath. Once you came down from your high, you kissed his nose, and slowly moved to undo the bindings and free him from his confines. As soon as his arms and wrists were free, he wrapped his arms around you and traced his fingers up and down your back in soft patterns. Relaxing into his arms, you sighed contentedly, “you can be a good boy, Din.”

“Only for you,” he whispered softly, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, “I...I love you, sweet girl.”

“Yeah?” you asked as you rolled over and next to him. He hesitated for a moment but then slowly confirmed with a soft nod, “good. I...I love you, Din Djarin. I have for a while.”

“I never...would have thought,” he murmured as he pulled into you his arms without even thinking - so easy and effortless. You eagerly complied, letting him pull you tightly against his chest as you tangled your legs with his. You weren’t sure what this all meant, or would lead to, but it was definitely something you could get used to.

“Really?” you laughed lightly, a musical wonderful sound that he adored, even on his grumpiest days, as you took his hand and brought it to your lips, and placed a tender kiss to his knuckles. How he hadn’t known was beyond you - it all seemed so obvious. Din made a small sound, “I thought it was so obvious. It was to me at least, honey. Even when we’re at each other’s throats - it was with love. Besides, I like when you get mad. It’s sexy.”

“You’re such a brat - my brat,” he buried his face into the pillow, but not before pressing a kiss to the side of your head, “you’re amazing.”

“You’re just saying that because I finally let you cum,” you teased as you felt your eyes getting heavy, “worth it.”

“Yeah,” he agreed with a yawn, “but I’m getting you back for that next time. No hands? That’s just cruel.”

“Hmm,” you mused, “are we just going to keep taking turns? I could get used to that, Din.”

“I hope you do, sweet girl,” he murmured, “I hope you do.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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bump1nthen1ght · 4 years ago

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Thicker than Water (Demon x Reader) Chapter 1

Pairing: Female Reader x Gender Fluid! Demon

Genre: High Fantasy

Warnings: Arm Injuries, Several mentions of blood

Word Count: 1870 Words

Summary: A summoning gone awry ends up in your favor

Chapter 2

A/N: Alright, I know I literally just posted a demon story but this post showed up on my dash and my god if I have never been more inspired to write a fic. I legit wrote this in 2 hours in a frenzy. Also I plan this story to be multi-chap, but still rather short, so maybe 3 parts in total

Before that night, you had never known what nearly-passing out felt like.

Your mother had done it, once or twice, usually after a particularly stressful day at the shop. If you didn’t check on her between your studies she may forget to eat entirely, your father as well. But you had been lucky; Someone had always been there to catch her, to cradle her head and spoon-feed her strength back.

On the forest floor, surrounded by the smell of your own blood, you have no such luxury.

The black spots flickering in your vision blend into the desne canopy above you and your tears only muddle your sight. The iron and copper of the summoning circle drawn around you drown out the scent of fresh pine and grass, while your ears can only focus on your own heartbeat and the bickering of the four boys.

Oh, that’s right, they’re still here.

It seems you had lost more fluid than you realized, probably because of your incessant crying. You had tried to stop the flow, but your brain was losing coherent function with every second. The boys conversation sounds far away and hollow, bouncing off your eardrums and confusing your sense of direction

“You idiot, I told you not to go for the arm!”

“We needed a lot of blood!”

“But she needs to read the ritual dumbass! She can’t if she dies!”

Ah yes, the ritual, it all is flooding back to you now.

Having received a private education from your father at your family’s apothecary, you were already prone to isolation as a child. It didn’t help having no siblings, nor a lacking natural talent for friend-making. Although you had lived in the city all your life, the young people your age knew very little about you, and you them.

You knew they had rumors about you, The daughter the apothecary hides away; That your gaze can turn people to stone, that you can curse and poison people with a couple words and the right ingredients.

The truth was you weren’t so glamorous. You knew your way around a medicine cabinet, sure, but nothing about poisons or magic spells. You didn’t have any special abilities to compensate or explain your reluctance for socialization. Just some overprotective parents and a shy disposition.

So when the handsome postmasters-son began to pay you special visits, you let your guard down. You let him walk you to and from the market, memorizing your weekend route. You let him in for a bit of tea late at night, especially when it seemed so cold, and told him where the spare key was kept. And yes, you even told him about your favorite secluded spot in the forest, where the sounds of civilization were far away, where you could be alone.

And here, in these last moments of your life, you can’t help but feel so naive.

“Hey, hey!”

A boot taps your cheek, shaking you out of your revelry. Your glassy eyes look over to your right.

It’s one of the local merchant’s boys, you think his name is Nicholas? It doesn’t really matter. All you knew about him was that he was a bit rough around the edges; always nicking things from pockets, looking up ladies skirts, and skipping his lessons. That’s what your dad complained about anyway.

A page is shoveled in front of you, dangling over your face. Your eyes take a while, but focus on the words. Nicholas’ boot heel digs into your neck.

“Read it out loud, or we’ll kill you.”

Clearly I’m going to die anyway dumbass, why should I help you?

You might’ve retorted, if you were in such a physical condition to do so. But instead, you do as you're told, and start speaking.

To your left, the postmaster’s son, Richard, sucks in a breath with anticipation. Any false composure he had while luring you here is gone, his feet tapping with excitement as he holds your left arm and lef bound spread eagle.

Holding your right leg is Markus, another merchant boy. He picks at his teeth.

“What are you guys going to wish for?” He whispers. It goes in your ear and out the other, too focused on forming coherent sentences.

“A full-harem of babes, obviously.” Simpers Hunter, the son of a landlord. He isn’t ugly, only a bit plain, and has enough money to boot. Compared to the other bachelors in town however, he has had little luck in procuring a courtship.

“A million coins could get you that and more, idiot. That’s what I’m wishing for.” Whispers Richard.

“What are you going to wish for Nic?” Asks Markus

“Oh my gods, will you guys shut the fuck up?”

Nic snarls, unconsciously digging his heel back into your throat. You choke and stutter, but keep going. The runes around you, written in your own blood, begin to glow.

All of the boy’s eyes widen and they step back from you. Your limbs sink like dead weight as the words begin to flow out your mouth with no thought. The paper with the chant drops to the ground, out of your sight, but it's like your brain has been reprogrammed; You know the rest, know it in your bones.

The grass begins to simmer and burn under the summoning circle, smoke swirling into formation above you. When the final word whispers out of you, you feel your body go lax. You don’t even remember tensing up

I guess this is it. Sorry Mom, Sorry Dad.

You clench your eyes, just hoping the demon will be quick. That it will at least leave a recognizable corpse.

“Holy shit.” You hear muttered, unsure by whom.

Your eyes are closed, body teetering on the brink of unconsciousness, but your senses are still intact. A hot wave of breath washes over your face and the ground below you trembles with heavy footsteps. The boys are quiet but you can hear their hearts pounding. They thrum with life, while yours slowly fades.

“Why have you summoned me, mortal?”

Even half-dead, your muscles tense in fear. The demon's voice is deep and resonates like a crowd talking all at once. It reeks of inhuman power and cracks like thunder.

A brief silence passes, before Nicholas finds his courage.

“We have come to ask for a wish.”

Later, when recounting the story, you will mention that the demon looked over to Nicolas, unamused, despite never seeing it yourself. The demon huffs, the heat of it blowing over you once more.

“I don’t believe I asked you.” The demon mutters. The cacophony of voices blend together into one, bland and emotionless. Even in your state however, you are able to decipher a couple of louder tones which overpower the others. They seem...angry.

“But...you…”

“I asked….”

Your eyes snap open as a wet droplet lands on your cheek. Lingering above you, drool seeping from their unnaturally sharp teeth, is the creature. It’s face resembles that of a goat, but sharp fangs stick out from their lower lips. Their eyes are golden and shine in the night, piercing right into yours. Despite the part of your body screaming out in terror, another part feels oddly….comforted. It’s why you don't startle when they brush a hand against your cheek, their thumb wiping away your tears. Their palm is warm, not like a blistering flame, but like a thick quilt. Like hot chocolate on a rainy day.

“......What do you need of me, little one?”

Their hand, padded and calloused, slides down your arm, closing up the large gash on your inner bicep. In another movement, they do the same to the other. Power and vitality seems to sink back into your body, drip by drip.

Words escape you, but not Nicolas.

“Excuse me, demon, but we're the ones who summoned you.” The sarcastic tone of his does little to hide the quivers of his fear, especially when the demon's neck turns toward him at an unnatural speed. Still, he persists. “Not her. And we want-”

“Do you take me for a blind fool?” The voice bellows, sending all the boys to their knees. Markus clutches his ears while Hunter whimpers on the ground. Nicolas falls back to the ground, eyes widen. The demon stands to their full height, several feet above all of you. “Do you think I was born without smell, without sense?” The step away from your body, swiping at the ground with their fingers, taking a small bit of your blood with it.

The demon sticks their thumb and forefinger in front of Nicolas’s face, causing him to yelp and fall onto his back. “Is this your blood which forged the connection? Was it your words that spoke me into existence? Was it your body which came to the brink, wrenched open the door and pulled us both through?”

Nicolas, trembling like a leaf, shakes his head no. The demon’s eyes jerk up to the others. “And was it any of these young men?”

Richard furiously shakes his head, while Hunter stays collapsed on the ground. Markus pushes himself away, hands still clamped around his ears. The demon sneers, before turning and walking back to you.

The demon kneels before propping your upper body up with a gentle touch. A comforting claw rubs your lower back while another paw rubs the tension out of your shoulders.

“Now, mistress, what may you ask of me?”

Your muscles may no longer tire from blood loss, but your mind truly feels like it’s on the brink of breaking. The demon, with fearsome fangs and a soft look, looks to you for an answer.

“I-I…” You mutter as the demon continues to massage your back. They hum.

“Take your time, it is alright. Rituals are difficult, I can only imagine the toll your body feels.” The mass of voices have synchronized, fading from a hundred to a single, harmonious tune. It is cavernously deep, but pleasant. It reminds you of the portly older man who used to read stories aloud every holiday.

You feel your body unconsciously turn towards your captors. Nicholas stays stuck to the ground, the whites of his eyes almost glowing in the darkness. The others have slowly moved to their knees, all terrified with shaky limbs, and look like they might make a run for it. Markus is slowly inching towards Nicholas’ shoulders, trying to lift him up to his senses.

For the first time in your life, a deep, boiling hatred burns your skin.

Cowards. You sneer, with all the malice stored in your reserves.

“I want-I want…” You stumble as the anger bubbles out of your belly. “I want them to hurt. To feel humiliated.” Nails bite into the palm of your hand, letting out blood as you clench knuckles. “I want everyone to know what they’ve done, who they are, every fault they’ve ever been guilty of. I want them alive, but I want them to burn.”

The demon smiles, pulling you in for a hug. You collapse into their embrace, keeping your eyes locked onto the boys, those rats. The demon hums a contented tune as they rub your back.

“As you wish, my master.”

#monster romance #demon x reader #reader insert #monster x reader #female reader #my writing

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lilyharvord · 3 years ago

Note

Do you in red queen univeres is like harry potter. The silvers are like the pureblood family. Mare is a newblood like being a muggles born witch and Julian is more like Dumbledor or the Weasley what do you think?

I'm gonna say the universe itself does seem to lend itself to those categories! Or sub-catagories! It also very easily lends itself to a Hogwarts AU! PREPARE FOR AN AU UNDER THE READ MORE

I mean, Mare seeing her favorite big brother Shade receive a super pretty envelope from this strange school saying he is a wizard and is being offered a position in that school? Going to Diagon Alley with her family and Shade picking out a owl, and old faded robes cause he family really can't afford anything else. Then her hugging him tightly as he has one foot on this strange train and one foot on the strange platform that they had to run through a brick wall to get to?! Holding his hand through the window and running along side the train as he promises to write her every week before she runs out of platform and has to stop as the train pulls away and he is waving and smiling wildly at her. Her little hand slowly falling from her wave to be by her side and she wishes desperately to be on that train with him? ONLY TO RECEIVE HER VERY OWN PRETTY LETTER THE NEXT SUMMER? She gets to do the whole process! And she has all these fantasies about what it will be like based on the letters Shade sent her all last year. She wants an owl, or a salamander, or something like that. And she want to play the strange quidditch game he mentions. She wants to run up and down staircases that change. When she gets on the train with him, she practically pulling out of her mom's arms, and almost forgets to hug a very upset Gisa goodbye.

On the train, Shade tells her all the details, introduces her to his friends: ketha (a second year like him), Ada (a sixth year), and Farley (a second year that Mare is incredibly intimidated by until she sees Shade heart eyeing her every two seconds).

They tell her about the houses. Shade is more than proud to be sorted into Hufflepuff even though Farley teases him about it and Ada only smiles at the whole thing. But they all get quiet about Slytherin. It's not a house you want to be in, Shade says quietly. Mare doesn't quite understand. Cunning? what's so bad about being that? Smart and quick witted? Hell, there's nothing wrong with it.

Then she meets them. The Slytherins. And she sees why she shouldn't be a part of that House. But then she meets the strange, dark haired, blue eyed boy at the back of the group with her, who tries to sit in a boat alone until Mare clambers in behind him, cursing the fact that her socks got wet and they're going to be gross and her shoes will squelch while she walks. He seems a little uncomfortable around her big personality until she introduces herself, and he smiles and shakes her hand, quietly introducing himself as Maven. Nothing more. Mare doesn't mind, loads of people don't give their last names.

Then she's in the Great Hall, underneath the Sorting Hat, Shade smiling at her like a fiend from the Hufflepuff table while Maven is already sitting at the Slytherin one, slouched and looking just a bit upset. (It's not what you think y'all. it's because CAL's a Gryfindor, and their dad was too and he still wants to get his fathers love, and he pretty much just CEMENTED the fact that he won't get it now.) Mare sees him, and the Sorting Hat huffs and says, making friends already? Mare frowns and then thinks back it: he's lonely. And the hat laughs before saying: loyal then, hufflepuff might do you well. She makes a face and it laughs once again when she thinks: I can do better than that. And it seems to nod in understanding before standing upright and announcing SLYTHERIN. Maven sits up taller as Mare leaps down from the stool and runs to him with a big, shit eating grin on her face. Shade goes a little pale in the face but smiles at her nonetheless. It's his baby sister, and if she's happy, he is too.

She's very happy. Slytherin isn't all that bad. Maven's her friend and he's a very good one. He's smart as a tack, and knows all these neat tricks to get through work. But its when they go out to fly on the brooms where they differ finally. Maven is... not a fan of being off the ground. Mare... she could live up there. She tries to get him interested but he jut won't have it, preferring to bury his nose in books and study. (Mare wonders why he wasn't sorted into Ravenclaw like Ada, but she shrugs it off).

It's one day when they're all out walking and that girl Evangeline starts teasing some kid and throws his whatever in the air that things finally get interesting for Mare. In a very impressive showing of skill, she catches this tiny object while flying. IMMEDIATELY, the captain of the Slytherin team wants her as his Seeker. Its UNHEARD OF everyone argues. NO FIRST YEARS allowed! But it's vetoed, and Mare is allowed to play. Shade is more than proud, puffing out his chest, and forcing her to walk around with him so he can introduce her to his class and everyone as the youngest Seeker in years.

It's after she is sneaking out of the Gryffindor tower one night, having stayed to talk with Shade and Farley who is finally losing some of her Ice Queen exterior and even cracked a smile at one of Mare's jokes, that she almost gets in trouble. She is sprinting down the stairs of the tower when she runs smack into someone so they both end up tumbling down the stairs and hitting the back of the Fat Lady's portrait when they land. She stumbles over apologies, trying to grab her things in the dark (and pocketing one or two of his by accident), when she looks up. She's seen him before, she know she has, but can't remember from where. Plus, it's a little dark and she can't see him all that clearly. He's sitting there, tie undone, and shirt all messed up from falling, and rubbing the back of his head where it hit the back of the portrait when he looks at her. HE knows her. This the girl who is the youngest Seeker in years! They blink at each other, and she tries to take off, but he grabs her wrist, keeping ahold of her as he says: Thief! when he realizes she grabbed a few of his things. She looks down at the mess of things in her arms, and then frowns at him before saying, No! These are my things! he pulls out his wand and book from her hands and she's like: okay, well, those aren't mine, but whatever. And he smiles at her as he stands and she's suddenly craning her neck to look up at him, and LORD ABOVE what did he eat as a child?! She squints up at him, still trying to place him when he shifts his things to his other arm and holds out a hand for her to shake. She looks at it, and then takes it slowly. His grip is so warm and comforting, but not sweaty like some of the other boys her age. He shakes her hand and introduces himself as Cal, and THEN Mare knows who he is. This is Maven's brother. The older one, the perfect spitting image of his father who is the "Perfect Son." Maven always sneers just slightly when he says that, and now that she has met this Cal, she knows Maven is right. Turning up her nose at him, she spins on her heel and leaves, completely uninterested.

Okay she lied, she was a little more interested than she let on. She sees him EVERYWHERE after that. He raises his brows at her in the Great Hall, and even smiled and said good morning Mare when she walked by with Maven to Charms one day. After that day, Maven gets really sullen, and tells her that she shouldn't talk to him, that he's trouble. He's a third year, in line to be Prefect and Headboy at some point. She doesn't want to get mixed up with wet blanket like that. She agrees, but something about him, his eyes, the gentle smile, and way he'd looked at her the first time he saw her makes her heart do a little jig every time she thinks about him.

Before she knows it, its the first Quidditch match, and she's set to play. She steps out in her beautiful green and black uniform, and while she's in the tunnel adjusting the straps on her wrist guard with her teeth, someone laughs behind her and says: there is a better way to do that. She looks up, the laces half in her mouth, and a tiny bit of drool running down her chin to see Cal leaning against his broom. Of course he plays Quidditch, she thinks with a scowl. What perfect son wouldn't? He takes her wrist though and ties the guard gently, pulling the laces perfectly through the loops. Maven tried to help her with it this morning but gave up when he couldn't do it. Her face burns with embarrassment but he doesn't notice, or at least, he pretends not to notice. When he finished both wrist guards, he shoulders his broom and with a wink says, "eyes up and head up, dont want to take a Blunger to face on your first day." He strolls away after that, and Mare stands there, watching his shoulders as he leaves. How does a thirteen year old boy manage to look like that?! Shaking it off she steps on the pitch but... that's all she remembers. She takes a nasty blunger to side of the head and falls to the pitch floor. When she wakes up, the entire Slytherin team is around her and so is half the Gryfinddor team, Farley is grimacing as she takes in the situation, and Cal is leaning over her, shielding her from the son. She frowns up at him before saying, "you didn't say they moved that fast." He snorts to hide a laugh as the medics take her off the pitch. Good news? She learns later in the Infirmary, they won! When she went down, Cal, the Keeper moved as if to go to her and they were able to put the Quaffle in to get the final point! Her captain claps her on the back, and she tries not to puke when the movement jars her head.

The year ends uneventfully, and she waves goodbye to Maven as she disembarks and he leaves with Cal. A woman with matching icy blue eyes and stark, ash blonde hair frowns at her as Maven smiles and waves his own goodbye. She pointedly ignores Cal's title wave goodbye.

The next year is much of the same but there is a... current in the air, a charge that wasn't there before. Something is happening, something dark in the world. Shade and Farley go to Hogsmead and talk about it, but Mare can't go yet. She sits in a hidden alcove of the Astronomy tower, watching the world outside with her books open before her. Maven is quieter this year, but there is a strange new confidence and glint in his eye. It worries her. He is not the boy she waved goodbye to at the beginning of the summer.

One day while studying, she hears footsteps and looks up to see Cal pausing along side her. Her stomach flip flops when she sees him. The summer did wonders for him. Somehow, he is more attractive. She didn't even realize that was possible. And she REFUSED to admit that she thought about him a few times... well more than a few times... over the break. He smiles at her and before she knows it, she's leaning toward him to talk. She asks why he's not at Hogsmead and he grimaces before saying he is struggling with Diviniation and has to take an extra class on it every week. She laughs, and the smile he gives her when she does laugh turns her stomach to molten lava. He helps her out of the windowsill and they walk to the Great Hall together. Maven intercepts them before then, his eyes narrowing and darkening when Cal waves goodbye and heads on his way. Mare nudges Maven with her shoulder and teases him saying: are you worried I might like him more than you? Maven glowers at her, and she softens before taking his hand and promising him that Cal is "a complete and utter moron, who she could never like." It seems to relax him, but not completely. Again, Mare worries. He was never concerned about Cal or any of this before.

The year works that way though. She slowly get closer to Cal. They have this strange unspoken agreement to meet at HER windowsill once a week and then walk along the ground by the lake. One day, in the winter, she forgets a thick enough coat, and is shivering in her sweater until he shrugs off his cloak and drapes it around her shoulders. She blinks in surprise, before smiling and thanking him. It's far too big on her and drags on the ground a bit, but its warm and it smells like him. Which she is terrified to realize she kind of likes.

She starts spending time in the Gryffindor tower too, getting closer with Shade's friends, and sometimes, Cal is there too. He's not really a staple (he and Farley don't really get along, something about her calling him a Pure Blooded Hypocrite), but Mare finds she likes when he is around.

That summer is terrible. Maven doesn't write her as much as he promised. And the world is getting Dark™️. There are strange disappearances on the TV. Things are getting weird. Shade gets secret letters from Farley that he hides from her. When they go back to Hogwarts, things are... different. There are guards, there weren't Guards before. Maven looks more gaunt and haunted. Even Cal doesn't seem as cheery anymore. They're walks around the lake go from once to twice to three times a week. He tells her about his side of the Wizarding World, and she learns about a group that is known as the Death Eaters (who serve a mysterious Dark One that wants to eliminate the muggle population and the mud bloods). Mare frowns when he says that word. He says it quietly, like its something bad. She's not sure why, it's a word. When she asks Farley about it, her friend's face hardens and she tells her it's a nasty term that Pure Bloods use to describe the people like them. The ones who come from non magic families.

She finds solace in Quidditch, she even goes out when Cal offers to show her a few tricks, and that time... it is strangely magical. She finally gets to go to Hogsmead, and spend time with Shade and Farley there. They have a new little group, a taller fifth year named Tristan is added, Ada is with them, Ketha, and a couple of others. Shade tells her to go off and find something to do one time and she ends up spying on them. When she does, she overhears them talking about the Dark One, that they are back and that is the reason so many Muggles are dying and disappearing strangely. That Hogwarts might not be safe anymore. She confronts Cal about it one day, and he stops dead in the snow, spins on her and says never to talk about it. That the Dark One is dead, has been dead for year and that she should never mention them. She is taken aback, he's never seemed so concerned to desperate before. So she drops it. But things get worse over christmas break.

When she returns, Maven is almost cold with her. She tries to tease him like she used to, but he just isn't having it. She clings tighter to him, worried that things are not going well at home. She knows his mother isn't great, knows his father is an asshole. She can't understand how two people like that managed to make someone like Maven, and someone like Cal. But she tries her best to be a friend for Maven. She can't help but get closer with Cal. Something about him draws her in, and keeps her.

One day at Hogsmead, she runs into him (literally, again). She slips on the ice and he catches her, his hands grabbing her hips and pulling her close so she has to grab the front of his coat and cloak to keep herself upright too. They look at each other for a long time, confused and full of butterflies before she spots Maven at the other end of the bridge. She was supposed to meet him at the sweet shop but was running late. His eyes narrow ever so slightly at what he sees, and Mare pulls away from Cal glaring at him and adjusting her hair when he blinks in confusion. She turns on her heel and leaves without a word, taking Maven's hand in her own as she passes him and dragging him along.

That summer, something changes fundamentally in the world. The world actually gets even Darker. Shade gets more worried, and Farley starts showing up at thier house. Mare know they are seeing each other. But she keeps it to herself. When they go back to Hogwarts... there are Guards on the train. She walks down the hallway and runs into Cal on his way to his compartment. The train rocks as she is trying to pass him and she ends up in his arms again. She's fifteen, and he's seventeen, old for a sixth year. But in his Prefect uniform, he looks quiet attractive, and somehow he got MORE attractive over the summer. The flutters that had once been nothing but tummy flutters when she was elven/twelve are now full blown butterflies in her stomach. She would never admit it, but she had a dream about him over the summer. About his hands on her hips and the stone wall of the Gryffindor common room rubbing against her back as she pinned her to it. She doesn't pull herself out of his arms right now though, there is something comforting about being in his embrace right now, when the world seems to slowly falling apart around them. He lets her go, a falsh of something in his eyes before he smiles at her and says, safe travels.

When they get to Hogwarts, she knows there is something wrong with Maven. He looks like a corpse, his eyes are dark and his features are sharper than usual. She tries to get him to smile for her, but he can't seem to muster much. So one day, out of desperation, she kisses him. He melts finally, and she melts with him, burning like Icarus when he got to close to the sun. They become... a thing for lack of a better term. He clings tightly to her, pulls her away from Farley and Shade and her friends, pointedly makes sure she doesn't spend time with Cal to the point where he actually seeks her out one day, and Maven jeers at him until he leaves. It scares her, he was never hostile, never a person like this. When she talks to him about it, he raves about things she doesn't understand. An In fact, he seems almost angry with her. She can't understand, she tries to get it out of him halfway through the fall, and he turns around and calls her a nasty Mudblood, jeering at her about the fact that is lucky he even considers her a friend. It breaks her heart, shatters it into a thousand pieces. She didn't kiss him just because it might make him feel better. She kissed him because she wanted to, because she thought it felt right (she also did it because a secret part of her hoped that kissing him would make the dreams about Cal stop.)

She stops hanging around him, the other kids like him and the other Slytherins embrace him instead, folding him into their group, while she starts to gravitate to Shade and Farley again.

they go home for Christmas, and the world tilts completely on its access. There is horrible accident that kills a number of families, and Shade immediately packs a backpack that night to go see Farley. Mare forces him to take her with him. When they get to Farley's, everyone is there, all the people Shade has been friends with. She learns they are forming a group, the Scarlet Guard, to defend themselves. The Dark One is coming back, and they will be ready.

When they return in the spring, the teacher for Defense Against the Dark Arts does not prepare them right. Mare feels like a child being handed a pair of children scissors to solve a grown up problem. She talks to Shade about it, and the group agrees. They need training. It's then that Mare does what cements her fate with Maven. She seeks out Cal. He is not looking too great either, there is something haunting his face and when she finally walks up to him one morning on the lawn near the lake, he looks at her suspiciously. She doesn't know why but she ends up curled against his side, sobbing. He's taken aback at first, and then soften, wrapping an arm around her while she tells him everything. With a tight jaw, and a nod, he agrees to help them training.

They form a secret group, and they start training. It's then that Mare starts to realize that perhaps she likes Cal more than she lets on. he's a good teacher, a very good one, and whenever he holds her hand and guides her wrist through a complex spell movement, she feels her face heat up. He's a sixth year, seventeen and on the cusp of greatness it seems. His OWLs were outstanding, he is set on the path she knows he wants. They train together privately. On a nondescript day like any other, she stays after to talk to him, and when she does, he kisses her. It turns her into a pool of liquid mercury, and when he breaks it off and gently caresses her cheek with his thumb she knows she is doomed.

They leave for the summer, and she writes him daily. He writes back, telling her about things happening at home. There are issues, his father is stressed, his step mother is being cagey, and Maven... he's not himself. She worries, Shade is a sixth year and she's just a fifth year, but the world feels like it is resting on their shoulders.

When they come back to school in the fall, Maven confronts her. He found the letters she wrote to Cal. He accuses her of a number of things she is horrified by. Cal steps in to push him back, and in a horrible moment, Maven draws his wand and puts to Cal's throat. The brothers stand like that for a moment, and Mare with her hand on her wand fears who she will have to point her own wand at. But Maven drops the wand, and that is that when he storms off.

The Scarlet Guard grows in number. And then it happens right before they leave for Winter Break. The earth shattering, horrible truth. The Dark One returns, and no where is safe. Hogwarts is under attack before anyone knows what is happening. Mare is fighting through the halls, throwing out hexes and charms she never thought she would have to use. She battles her way to Cal, who takes her hand and pulls her close. The Aurors arrive but they are not enough. Shade, Farley, Mare and Cal storm the upper tower. Cal makes them stay below in the hidden crawl space because Maven is up there and he can hear his father. When he gets up there, it is not what he thinks. Mare and Farley and Shade watch from below in horror as Elara uses the Imperius Curse to actually turn Cal on his father so he kills him. When that happens, the truth is revealed. Elara is the Dark One, or the new chosen Dark One among the Death Eaters. Mare storms up the steps before Elara can kill Cal, using the one spell she knows might end the duel. But Maven steps in and they end up dueling. With tears steaming down her cheeks, she tries to fight him off. But he is not fighting to stun her, he is fighting to kill her, to put her out of commission. She is disarmed, and in a horrible moment, thinks he will kill her. Elara is cooing at him to do it, to punish her for loving his brother instead of him. She pleads with him silently, begging him with her eyes not to. His lips twist as he struggles with the decision. It's too long, Shade and Farley get up the steps and force Elara and Maven to appirate away.

The world cracks open like an egg as war spills out after that.

HOLY SHIT THAT WAS LONG. ANYWAY, ENJOY EVERYONE. I'm not going back and rereading this so whatever you see is what you get XD

#(*ask lily*)#(*shut up lily*)#red queen #glass sword #kings cage #war storm #broken throne #post broken throne #oh no...I smell another fic #Hogwarts AU #lord have mercy #'she would be a THICCCCC fic #plus I'd have to do some Harry Potter rereading to freshen up my memory on things like spells etc.#my writing #my fanfics #my headcanons

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matildashoney · 4 years ago

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𝙸 𝙵𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝙰𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎? // 𝙽𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙳𝚊𝚢

𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 // 𝚃𝙰𝙶𝚂 // 𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 // 𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃

𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 // 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙲𝙻𝙰𝙸𝙼𝙴𝚁: 𝙱𝙸𝙿𝙾𝙻𝙰𝚁 𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙾𝚁𝙳𝙴𝚁, 𝙰𝙽𝚇𝙸𝙴𝚃𝚈

𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜, 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 @theharriediaries , @meetmymouth , @hunflowers 𝚊𝚗𝚍 @truckerhatharry 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚊-𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔 ��𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎. 𝚒'𝚖 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚒 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

Harry’s jaw nearly breaks from how hard he’s clenching his teeth together, right now, trying desperately to control his emotions, his hormones, and his voice while he and Caroline have at it, yet again. Harry believes it to be a miracle that they get along nearly a third of the time, the other two-thirds very much consisting of petty arguments like the one that they’re having, right now. Outbursts like these are common in the Styles-Ryan Household, especially since they’ve not been apart for three weeks and four days – not that she is counting at all – and Harry is driving Caroline insane. More insane than she already is, according to her.

Harry hates when she says that, and yet, she does, every single day.

“Harry, you’re unbelievable!” Caroline says, smacking her hands against her bare thighs like a child in a tantrum and walking towards the edge of the bed where Harry’s ankles are crossed, where he is laying comfortably against their headboard, and taking his feet and throwing his legs off the side of the bed. Harry lays dramatically on his side, refusing to stand. “Get out of bed, Harry! I’m not letting you miss your bachelor party. That’s final.”

“Oh, that’s final?” Harry mimics, breathing out a laugh and shaking his head, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at Caroline through hooded lids, his nostrils flaring with his anger as she stands with his knees touching her thighs, her hands reaching for his and wiggling her fingers dramatically to try and grab his hands and pull him upright, at least. “Caroline, I don’t want to go, and you can’t make me. That’s what’s final.”

“God, you’re so difficult,” she huffs frustratedly, turning on her heel and walking towards their wardrobe, leaning over to take her platforms – that he loves on her body – and zip the backing on her heel. Clad in his favorite dress, she, along with their friends, have designed everything perfectly for the evening if he would just get up and get ready. Harry’s left Caroline with no choice, but to yank out the toxicity card – as Caroline likes to call it, Harry hates it, though. “Fine, Harry. If that’s what you want, stay home without me.”

“Hold on a second, Cal.” Harry narrows his eyes, knowing that Caroline isn’t quite finished. There’s no way she’s leaving the conversation alone this easily. Contrary to what she believes though, Harry would prefer not to argue about it, so he stands and walks over to her, kisses her cheek and smiles at her graciously. “Thank you.” Caroline looks at him with her pretty brown eyes and smiles, shrugging her shoulders and walking towards her vanity in the corner of the room, sitting on the bench and reaching for the tube of lipstick ready to be worn on her skin. “Are you still going, Callie? I thought–”

“Shakespeare, you’re the one having an issue. Obviously, it’s not me,” Caroline hums the interruption, shaking her head and patting the lipstick with her thumb to make sure that it’s perfectly marking her mouth. “Guess I’ll have to go by myself. Manic and all that. Ugh, that’s such a shame, too, isn’t it? Quite a shame that I have to go out, by myself, to a bar, with all our friends, and get drunk and dance without my fiancé because he’s being a baby about going out, tonight.”

“Callie,” Harry says warningly, shaking his head and gently squeezing her shoulder as he stands behind her in the mirror. “Quit it. Don’t say that when you know how it makes me feel. Cross that boundary and we’ll have a bigger argument on our hands.”

“Ugh!” Caroline groans and knocks her head against her neck dramatically, running her fingers through her hair and letting the curls cascade down her back, the singular braid where her part meets her scalp adding what she likes to call ‘character’ to her look for the evening. “Harry, I’m only saying these things because they’re true. Technically, the mania cycle has started. Technically, you’re being a child about going out. Technically, I’ll have to go and get drunk by myself because you won’t come with me. All the things I’ve said are true, whether you’d like to admit it or not.”

Harry knows that Caroline’s right, which infuriates him even more so. Caroline is right – as much as he hates to admit it – simply because of the fact that their argument technically began while in the shower together when Harry said that he wouldn’t be going out, tonight. Harry refused to discuss it further when Caroline stepped out and wrapped herself in her robe – the one that she loves so dearly that he bought her for the holidays – and she looked at him with wide eyes, as though he had grown three heads in the midst of their conversation. Caroline, technically, is right, but that doesn’t mean that the manipulation of saying things to get under Harry’s skin is any more right or just.

“Cal, you’re saying these things to get under my skin,” Harry says affirmatively, as though he knows without a shadow of a doubt – which he does – and his eyes narrow at Caroline in the mirror. “That’s not right. Tell me, what would Kate say if you said you were going out, tonight.”

“Kate agreed that it would be good for us to see somewhere other than the eight walls we see every day between the bookstore and our apartment.”

Of course, Kate said that, Harry wants to say. Kate doesn’t see you every day, she doesn’t know how scary it was to find you that day. Of course, Kate thinks it’s better for you to go out and not stay where you’re safe with me.

“Harry, I know that I’m safe when I’m with you,” Caroline says, dragging Harry out of his thoughts and into reality. “That’s why I’d like you to come, if for no other reason than to make sure I stay safe. ‘Course, you can mope and whine and complain the entire time, if you’d like, but I would like to have you there. Bachelor and Bachelorette parties are something we can only do once. That’s not something we get to have back.” Caroline looks at Harry and narrows her eyes before saying, “’Cause obviously you can’t divorce me, so you’ll only get one.”

“Can it, Callie.” Caroline laughs at that. Harry would never think about divorcing Caroline, especially not after everything they’ve been through, so the comment alone is always enough to annoy him, and she knows it. That’s the perk of being in love with someone that’s neurotypical, she would say, their things that annoy them are always the same, whereas she is something different every day. “Fine, fine. I’ll come. I’m not happy about it, though.”

Caroline kisses Harry’s cheek and frowns when a lipstick stain is left on his skin, her thumb rubbing at the maroon tint gently and then squeezing his shoulders in a hug. Harry’s arms immediately wrap around her waist and he’s nearly cleared of his annoyance, enough to smack her backside – all in good nature – playfully and let out a laugh. Caroline squeaks and pinches his hip, earning a perfect smile from Harry and a shine of his dimpled cheeks. “Get dressed and let’s go. Today’s the one day I’d rather not be late.”

* *

Harry’s hand is tight in Caroline’s as they walk towards the front door, the light outside flickering on and a bustle of commotion coming from the inside of the townhouse. There are at least three or four cars that are not Niall and Liv’s stacked in the driveway, all huddled close together to try and prevent parking on the street. Caroline squeezes Harry’s hand, and she smiles at him softly, kissing his cheek once more – without any tint of her lipstick left behind, this time – and knocks on the front door, waiting for either Niall or Liv to answer. Caroline smirks when Harry squeezes her hand back, wrapping their arms around her shoulder and bringing her into his chest and kissing her head lightly, comfortingly, and she knows that he’s no longer angry with her.

Niall’s townhouse apartment is only a few blocks south of where Harry and Caroline made a home. Liv and Niall can afford a bigger place, with Niall working at the publishing house and Liv working at one of the biggest magazines in the city, and it’s nice. Harry is happy for his friends, his best friends, and yet still feels the twinge of jealousy that he can’t give more to his fiancée than his best friend can give to his girlfriend. Harry’s guttural reaction is to feel this jealousy, this hindrance to his pride, his ego, and there’s something about it that makes him feel ill. Caroline would remind him that she loves their little hole in the wall, as she calls it, their little safe space. Callie and I will have more someday, someday soon, Harry reminds himself, shaking his head and tucking his nose in Caroline’s hair as they wait for the door to swing open and their friends to greet their arrival.

Naturally, Caroline and Harry are late. They’re always late.

“Callie!” Niall shouts from the foyer when the door swings open and his arms wide open for a gracious introductory hug. “Harry, long time no see, mate! Callie hasn’t been able to drag you out of the house in a month!”

Niall must be drunk already, Harry assumes, shaking his head and laughing as he steps inside the house and hugs his best friend tightly. Although, Niall is right; it’s been nearly a month since Harry has seen anyone but Caroline and the two other workers at the bookstore beneath their apartment. Harry hasn’t wanted to see anyone, to face reality. Living in a bubble of distance has been nice for a while, but Caroline is surely getting tired of it. “Things have been tough! Leave me alone!”

Niall looks side to side, as though to make sure that Caroline is gone and their privacy is ensured. Caroline’s voice is travelling through the tiny walkway into the kitchen, Liv already chatting with her about things that make no sense to Niall and Harry and Mitch joining in their conversation. “Is Callie okay? Only go into hiding like that when Cal isn’t doing so great.”

Harry sighs, pulling his bottom lip between his thumb and pointer finger, nodding cautiously, peering around the corner to get a glimpse of what his fiancée is doing and smiling slightly to himself at the sight of her, smiling and giggling with their friends and enjoying her time out already. Maybe this is good for her, for us. “Callie wasn’t doing great for a while. I wanted to stay home, where I could keep an eye on her and keep her safe. Things were scary, there, for a while, and you know what? Despite every single time I’ve tried to deny it, I can’t, I can’t be without her. She’s my everything. I have to do what I have to do to keep her safe and happy and healthy.”

“We know, Harry.” Niall smiles, and Harry knows it’s a pitying smile, but it’s a smile, nonetheless – a smile that Harry hasn’t seen in nearly a month that he’s missed dearly. “Come on, before Mitch thinks we’ve lost our shit, out here.”

“There’s the man of the hour!” Mitch calls from the barstool next to Liv, immediately grabbing Harry’s attention and bringing a genuine smile to his features. Harry realizes, then, that he hasn’t smiled once since they arrived nearly ten minutes ago.

“There you are!” Caroline smiles, nearly jumping into Harry’s chest and slinging her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek and smiling brightly at him.

Harry swears he hasn’t seen her this happy in months, likely since their engagement six months ago, and he’s beginning to think that keeping her away from their friends might’ve been more harmful than beneficial in her recovery. Guilt is always on Harry’s brain, lately.

Caroline leans onto her toes and grabs his cheeks to ensure his attention, her sweet, honey eyes making his heart speed up in his chest. “You know, I was beginning to think you left me and went home, Shakespeare.”

“Never,” Harry smiles softly, leaning towards her and pecking her lips, smirking when a slight blush creeps onto her cheeks. He kisses her temple and wraps his arm around her waist, settling at the curve of her hip. “Can’t get rid of me that quickly. Can’t get rid of me at all, but especially not when you’ve promised me a night of dancing and drinking.”

Caroline raises her eyebrows suggestively. “At all? That’s a staggering promise when the divorce rate for significant others where one partner has bipolar disorder is nearly one hundred percent.”

Of course, Caroline would know that, Harry says to himself, rolling his eyes and patting her backside playfully. “Cal, since you know this fact off the top of your head, I’m assuming you also know that there is a ten percent part of that statistic for partners that don’t get divorced, which will be you and myself, as far as I’m concerned. Honestly, I’m not all that concerned.”

Caroline’s lack of response, at first, makes Harry chuckle. Her eyes narrow slightly, and her lips turn into a devilish smirk and she leans onto her toes to whisper, “Confidence looks good on you, Harry,” she says, kissing his jaw and reaching around his back for her drink on the counter, a condensation ring wetting the rim of the glass. “Find it very sexy.”

Harry shakes his head and shuts his eyes, trying to ignore the way her hand has shifted slightly to lay on the curve of his back and his trousers feel slightly tighter. Caroline knows what she’s doing, she always does. “Cut it out, Caroline. Our friends are around.” Caroline shrugs her shoulders and giggles, the quiet laugh that makes his heart swell in his chest and feel loved by her. Her hand squeezes his waist before taking a sip of her drink and she looks at her best friend, as if they’ve already talked about how to get him to loosen the reigns a bit. “Okay, okay, you’ve got me out of the house, finally. Anyone care to tell me what we’re doing tonight?”

Clapping a hand onto Harry’s shoulder, Niall grins smugly and says, “Mate, we’re taking you out and getting you absolutely plastered.”

“Wonderful,” Harry says dryly, a breathy laugh passing through his lips and his eyes trading from the drink shoved into his hand – tequila, no doubt – to his fiancée, who is already getting clingy with her best friend and talking about how much she’s missed her. “Haven’t seen you all in almost a month and there are no stories to tell? I’d hate to say that I’m almost insulted.”

Mitch scoffs and shakes his head, “One month without you around, barely talking to us, and you think there are no stories to tell? I didn’t fly out from California to not have stories to tell.” Niall nods his head towards Mitch in agreement. “Haven’t you got some stories to tell? It’s been nearly a month without you talking to anyone, H.”

“Oh, surely,” Harry smirks sarcastically, clicking his tongue and taking a sharp breath in, “the adventures of running six bookstores across the country and getting to love this one, right here.” Harry smiles brightly at Caroline and her cheeks flush with a twinge of red that glimmers beneath the crème on her skin. “Always an adventure and worth a story.”

Mitch rolls his eyes. “Look, H, we all know you’re in love and everything, but fuck’s sake, tone it down a bit.” Mitch’s girlfriend is going to meet the group at the very first bar they’re attending, insisting on giving the friends time alone for a while before embarking on the hellish evening that would be their joint celebrations. “Think we should head out soon? Sarah is meeting us at the restaurant at eight. If I’m not mistaken, there are some others meeting us there, too.”

Caroline looks to Harry with confusion, only to see him shrug his shoulders and stare equally as confused. Maybe it’s your cousin, Molly, Harry wants to say, but he doesn’t want to get Caroline’s hopes too high before anything is revealed, and he certainly doesn’t want to ruin the surprise, if that’s it. That would make their friends very angry with him. Rightfully so.

“God, imagine if it was Molly. Could you imagine if Molly was here?” Caroline laughs aloud, and Liv’s eyes go wide, and Harry knows. Caroline ignores the teetering smile on Harry’s mouth, going on about how she’s so happy to be spending the night with their best friends and how they mean everything to her. Harry knows that everything is going to be right in the world as soon as Caroline lays eyes on her cousin, the one that she grew up with that was like a sister to her, whose mother loved her as her own. Harry knows that if anyone is closer to Caroline beside him and her father, it’s Molly and Aunt Daisy. “That’s absurd, though. Molly wouldn’t come all this way for the bachelorette party. Having a baby and all that? No way.”

Molly’s daughter, Ocean, is nearly two, now.

Harry and Caroline were there for her birth. Flying out to California and waiting in the labor and delivery lobby while Molly and her husband, Dylan, welcomed Ocean into the world. Caroline swears it was the best day of her life, to see her cousin – who’s more like her older sister – become a mother and be the happiest she’s ever seen. Caroline always swore that she would never have a child, but Harry saw the look in her eyes when she held that baby for the very first time, when they took pictures of Molly and Caroline and Ocean altogether, when Harry held the baby for the first time. Maybe it wasn’t that her mind had changed, but something made her think that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have one.

That’s all Harry could really ask for, anyway.

Harry laughs lightly at his fiancée and her dramatics, knowing fully well that she still sees their niece as the infant she once was, “Ocean is talking and walking, now. She’s nearly two, Cal.”

“That’s still a baby, Shakespeare. Trust me, if we ever have a baby, you’ll still think they’re a baby at two years old, too.”

Of the voices in the room, Harry’s is the only one to stay silent, after that. Niall, Liv, Mitch, and Caroline fall into mindless chatter, talking about the wedding and the upcoming events that they have sorted through, even though the event is maybe a max of thirty people. Harry stays silent and leans against the counter, sipping his drink mindlessly and listening to Caroline as she roams about the room and tells story after story to her best friend.

Harry doesn’t say anything about the comment Caroline’s made, even though it’s all he can think about, knowing that it would make her panic knowing that she’s brought up having a child, once again. Coming home from the hospital, it’s become a more reoccurring topic in their household, and Harry doesn’t want to push anything on Caroline when things are finally starting to get better. He isn’t oblivious, though. He sees the way she looks at the babies that come into the bookstore when they’re working, or the way she holds the baby that her publisher had only two months ago. Harry sees the way her eyes light up at the mention of their future and their wedding and all the things that come along with being a family, because that’s all she wants.

Caroline wants to have a family, a family that she can love and rely on, that isn’t only her father and her aunt and her cousin, that mean something to her and love her as much as she loves them. That doesn’t necessarily mean that they’ll have three children and a huge farmhouse and a life in the midlands, no, but it means that the company that Caroline surrounds herself in, now – her fiancé, their friends, her cousin and aunt, even her fiancé’s immediate relatives – are the family that she always wanted to have.

Harry wants to give Caroline that. If Harry could give her anything, he would give her a family.

Niall’s voice commands the attention of everyone in the room, making everyone else, including Harry, fall silent and bring their eyes to him. “All right, let’s get going to dinner. Made the reservations a bit later in case anyone was late.” Niall winks at Caroline. “Cal, everyone worked really hard, especially your fiancé to make this surprise happen for you and we don’t want you to miss it.”

Caroline looks to Harry, walks towards him, and wraps her arms around his waist, squeezing his hip sweetly and leaning her chin on his chest. “Especially you?”

“Aren’t you the one that said we’ll only get married once?” Caroline nods without saying a word, solely intending on listening to what Harry has to say. “Then, I’m going to go all out for you, Cal. You deserve everything and more than that, Buggy.”

“All right, all right. Enough of that, H. God, you two are disgusting,” Niall laughs, reaching out for Liv to take his hand and making his way towards the front door. “Oh wait!” He reaches around the coffee table for something and brings out a blindfold. “You’ll need this.” Caroline looks at Harry and Niall with furrowed brows, confusion written across her face. “Trust me, okay?”

Caroline, for once in her life, nods quietly, and decides not to make an argument.

* *

Harry knows it was wrong to lie. Harry knows that it was wrong to lie and say that he didn’t want to go to the bachelor party. Harry is sure of that. Harry is well aware that it’s wrong to lie to Caroline and tell her that he doesn’t want to go, and that she shouldn’t go either, when in actuality, he has been working all along with her best friend to make sure the surprise worked out in her favor. He wasn’t told what the surprise might be, but he had an inkling, a guess as to what it could be, and he wanted that for Caroline, so badly.

Caroline deserves the world, and Harry would do anything to give it to her.

Considering that, one lie wouldn’t really hurt her, right? At the end of the day, the surprise is for her. That would make this all better, wouldn’t it?

Harry’s hands are gently guiding her through the entryway, holding her waist securely, her hands holding onto his hips as they walk inside, the rustling and commotion of other guests and customers ringing through the restaurant. Caroline slowly readjusts her position, clasping her hands together beneath her chin and sighing nervously, the noise level coming to a halt and the only thing she can hear is the quiet chatter of Liv and Niall standing next to her. Harry doesn’t say a word, but she can feel him loosen his grip around her, and it makes her know that they’re at their spot for the night.

“Can I take the blindfold off?” Caroline wonders aloud, taking a deep breath and beginning to feel slightly claustrophobic under the darkened light. Harry leaves her side, she can feel it, and the anxiety starts again, nervousness wracking through her body. “Shakespeare?”

“Take your blindfold off, Cal.”

Caroline slowly takes off the blindfold – the makeshift blindfold that was really one of their friend’s bandanas from festivals they all go to every summer – and her eyes well with tears at the sight. Molly standing in front of her, grinning, arms wide open waiting for a hug. “Hey, Cal.”

“Molly,” Caroline whispers wetly, rushing forward and wrapping her arms around her cousin tightly, squeezing her and holding her as they cry tears of joy and excitement and giggle quietly to themselves. “Molly, I can’t believe you’re here. This is insane.” Molly gently wipes Caroline’s tears and then wipes her own cheeks, smiling brightly and hugging her once more. “How the hell did you get here? How’s Ocean? Dylan? Are they here?”

“Harry gave your best friend my number and she organized everything for us. Dylan and Ocean are here, too,” Molly grins, cupping Caroline’s shoulders and sighing contently. Molly looks genuinely happy, and that makes Caroline smile and the anxiety suddenly calm throughout her body. “Ocean, Dylan and I are staying for a week, but tonight, it’s all about you and Harry. All of us are here for you two. That’s what matters tonight. That we celebrate you two and your love and all that means for you. Caroline, do you know how much happiness you deserve to have in life?” Molly frowns when Caroline shakes her head. “All of it. All the happiness. That’s what this is going to be. Happy.”

“I love you,” Caroline says barely above a whisper, wrapping her arms around Molly’s shoulders and bringing her into a tight hug, blinking back the tears that are threatening to spill over. “I love all of you.” Caroline turns to Liv and Harry standing side by side, a huge smile spread across her features, threatening to ache her cheeks. “Shakespeare, did you know?”

Harry is trying to hide the grin on his face. Harry’s trying so hard not to smile, not to break into a sloppy grin and pull Caroline into a hug and whisper how much he loves her. “Partially.”

Caroline walks over to him, wraps her arms around his waist, smiles and says, “I love you, H,” and guilt washes over him, weighing heavy on his chest as though lied to the most important person in his life.

Harry is selfish when it comes to Caroline. He knows that. Harry knows that he’s selfish and that’s why he’s beginning to feel guilty for not wanting to come, tonight, for wanting to keep Caroline at home where they can stay in their tiny bubble of security and never leave. Caroline is so happy to be around her friends and Molly, that Harry knows it was wrong of him to want to stay home and even try to get her to stay there, as well. He’s working on it, especially in therapy with her, day by day, to be less nervous when it comes to going out and about after an episode and working on being more secure with the highs and lows.

His heart is heavy, and Caroline can tell by looking at him.

“Don’t feel badly,” she whispers, reaching onto her toes and having her lips touch the shell of his ear to make sure that no one else can hear her. Molly and Niall and Liv are talking amongst themselves, while Mitch is waving down his girlfriend from the entryway, and Harry is wrapping his arms around Caroline’s waist to hold her tightly to his chest, ensuring that no one can hear what she’s trying to say. “All you want is to keep me safe, H, which I appreciate. Everyone knows that. Want you to know, though, that I am happy that we’re here, that we’re with our friends. And I want you to enjoy tonight with me. Guilt isn’t something you need to feel, okay?”

Harry doesn’t say a word, at first, simply lifting his head from her neck and kissing her, pressing his lips to hers and soaking in the way she immediately kisses him back, their lips moving wordlessly on each other’s. “I love you. I love you so much.”

Caroline smiles and says what she always says to Harry when he says the three words she needs to hear, making him smile and feel his heart flutter. “Love you more.”

Quickly, Harry and Caroline turn around, trying to avoid any attention on their conversation and finding their table and taking a seat with Liv and Niall, Mitch and his girlfriend following closely behind. Molly takes a seat next and stands, laying her hands on the table and smiling as if with an announcement. “Okay, okay! I want to hear a story about you two that I haven’t heard before. Obviously, I know that Harry used to be an ass and I know Callie hated him, but we haven’t heard stories about the first kiss and things like that! Callie likes to keep secrets.”

“More like privacy,” Caroline laughs, taking a sip of her water and sighing, trying to think of a story to tell. Truth be told, Caroline didn’t tell anyone much about her relationship with Harry before they were officially dating, so most stories are ones that their friends and family don’t know. Caroline didn’t tell anyone, not because she was embarrassed, but because she was utterly confused by her emotions, by her feelings, and it was easier to ignore everything than to face the impending change that was about to make her life completely different, forever. “I guess I could tell you about our first kiss.”

“On your first date, right?” Liv says, handing her menu to the waiter and ordering her food quietly. Niall’s arm is around her shoulders and Caroline can see that they’re happy, too. Caroline notices those things, she’s realized lately, she really notices when people are happy. Niall and Liv, Molly and Dylan, Harry – all of them are happy. Caroline wants to be included in that. “That one, we know, I think, Cal.”

“Harry and I kissed way before that, Liv. Like, years before that.”

“Three times, actually,” Harry says with a smirk. “Caroline kissed me three times.”

Niall and Mitch snicker, knowing that they’ve heard this story from the days they happened, and Liv’s eyes go wide. Molly whistles, and Caroline can’t hold back her own laughter and she settles into her seat and knows that this story is about to get interesting.

Harry and Caroline haven’t seen each other since that dreaded day at Caroline’s apartment with Liv and Niall watching what Caroline would call the “show”. Caroline and Harry somehow managed to keep their interactions strictly to email, corresponding simply through the computer, which allowed for the two to pass Rigsby’s class and make it to their final semester without a qualm or quarry about whether or not they would be able to graduate in the springtime. Liv and Niall are still going strong, dating for nearly six months, now, and Niall basically lives with Caroline and Liv. Caroline doesn’t mind Niall all that much, what she does mind is the way he is constantly bringing up Harry. Harry Styles, that ridiculous man with a God complex and an ‘I’m better than you think I am’ attitude that surely gets on her last nerve.

Caroline hasn’t seen Harry since that day they fought, and yet, Harry is all she can think about. Harry would’ve said this, Harry would’ve said that – it’s beginning to get annoying.

Max caught on to the way things were going, the downwards spiral that Caroline was heading in, and suggested an appointment with the psychiatrist to change her medicine, which only made Caroline more angry with the situation and say that they need to call it quits for a while. Her boyfriend didn’t argue like she was expecting, like Caroline was wanting (slightly); instead, he simply kissed her on the cheek and told her to call him when she was feeling better, when the episode was over – that much he didn’t say, but it was implied, she assumes.

Only now, three months later, Caroline never called. Only now, three months later, in the middle of February, with the wind chilling against her cheeks and mascara marking her skin, Caroline is alone in the world, isolated and hidden from outsiders, sitting in the bed of her rusty maroon truck, with nothing but a headache and faulty brain.

Bipolar Disorder is funny. Caroline thinks so, at least. Caroline thinks it’s funny that media, particularly social media, has labelled anyone with the more common disorders as more or less harmless to society, that it’s normal and almost quirky now to have these disorders that can debilitate and affect your everyday life, and yet, the disorder that she and nearly six million other people have is labelled as unstable and violent and dangerous in the worst-case scenarios. Caroline thinks about all the things she’s heard in her twenty-some years of life, all the, ‘you’re crazy’, ‘you’re so bipolar’, ‘can’t you just like, be normal’, or her personal favorite, ‘just be happy!’, and cringes to herself, shaking the feelings away and trying to think about something else. If Caroline could just, be happy, she wouldn’t be taking medication, she wouldn’t be in therapy, she wouldn’t be in this position. Caroline wouldn’t be alone if people with Bipolar Disorder could just ‘be happy’.

Gabriel and Caroline Ryan would be in the Grand Canyon, today. They would be in the Grand Canyon, screaming and exploring and travelling across the national park to see sights they’ve seen nearly twelve times. Caroline misses her father dearly, misses him more than anyone could ever miss a person, and it makes her think about the day her life changed forever over a year ago. The Grammys’ Music Cares would have a dedication for him this year, for the change that he brought to the music industry in the short time he was part of it. Caroline wants to go, but she’s nervous to go alone, to have to talk about her father by herself without anyone there. Molly and Aunt Daisy might come if she asks, but she’s nervous. All of it is a lot to think about. All of it is too much.

Heavy footsteps, likely from an early morning runner, bring Caroline back to reality. Quickly wiping her eyes and blinking away the tears – maybe a bit too quickly and hurting her eyes in the process – Caroline gathers her emotions and takes notice of where she is. Is Caroline really at the beach, again? This is the third time this week that she’s woken from a manic episode and found herself at the beach an hour away. Caroline didn’t notice the sun rise or the waves change into high tide, only her emotions and the way her brain is devilish, even on a good day.

“Caroline?” Harry nearly trips over his own feet when he sees Caroline sitting in the bed of her truck. Harry takes the headphones out of his ears, walking towards the truck and knocking on the side, peeking his head around the corner and smiling softly when her eyes lift to meet his. “Is that my best friend?” Harry always says stupid shit to make her angry; it gets a reaction; it gets Caroline to speak to him.

Going on to notice a few things, first, before she even responds, Harry makes a point to realize that this must be the mania thing that Liv was talking about when he asked what was wrong with Caroline the last time they spoke. Liv, privately, indulged Harry and told her what Caroline’s ‘problem’ is, telling him that if he wanted to understand it, then he should do his own research or maybe try to be nicer and talk to her. Harry voted for the research on his own accord and the fact that Caroline barely glances at him. Caroline’s body is clad in nothing but shorts and a silk camisole, something that would be normal for the summertime or even to wear around campus – which he’s seen a million times with her before – but it seems different this time. Maybe it seems different because the weather is barely permitting to be outside without sweatshirts and sweatpants, but it seems different, nonetheless. Caroline’s olive skin seems slightly pale, and Harry swears that he’s seeing things when there are black tracks on her cheeks. Lastly, it’s February, and Caroline is at the beach at sunrise without even a blanket to lay over her body.

Harry can simply tell something is off, and he wants to know what it is.

“Are you stalking me, now?” Caroline says spitefully, shaking her head and biting her bottom lip to hide the shivers wracking through her body.

“Always so hostile, Caroline,” Harry says, shaking his head in a mimicking tone. “Can’t you just be nice for once?”

“Can’t you just mind your own damn business?” she says hurriedly, her chin dropping to her chest and her hands combing through her hair frustratedly as she sighs. Achingly so, the thoughts are intrusive and cruel as they ripple through her brain. Don’t cry again. Don’t cry again. Don’t cry again. Especially not in front of Harry. He’ll just think you’re crazy like everyone else. He doesn’t get you, Caroline. He never will. He’s not anyone you can trust. Caroline mistakenly trusts the thoughts and looks at Harry with annoyance, “Look, what do you want, Harry?”

Harry lets out a breathy laugh and then walks around the edge of the truck and takes the bed down, leaning on the edge of the hood, and sitting on the ledge. “Honestly, I wanted to go for my morning jog to clear my head. Apparently, you like to drive to the beach I like to run at. I saw your truck, which has you in it, crying on the beach at,” Harry looks at his phone, “seven in the morning. Do you want to talk?”

“Don’t think you want to hear about my problems, Mr. Shakespeare,” Caroline laughs, sighing audibly when Harry takes his sweatshirt off and offers it to her without saying a word, making it known that it’s not an option, that she’s going to wear it, and her arm reluctantly reaches out for it, hands climbing through the sleeves and pulling it over her torso. “Thanks.”

Harry shrugs it off and takes the initiative to sit closer to her, taking a seat in the corner of the bed and sitting across from Caroline as she stares into space, her eyes focused on the crashing waves of the high tide and the way the sound whooshes over their silence. “Well, Caroline, you’ve never told me your middle name, Ryan, it’s freezing and you’re in shorts at the beach, in your truck, with barely anything, not even a blanket, to cover you. I think that warrants a conversation. At the very least, give me the outline of what’s going on. As your friend.”

“Oh,” Caroline nods, a sarcastic smirk toying at the corners of her mouth, “so we’re friends, now, Harry?” Harry shrugs and Caroline looks at him with wide eyes and raised eyebrows, “Made it through one semester barely speaking to each other and you think we’re friends?” Caroline’s tone is harsh but there is a hint, the slightest hint, of a playful tone beneath her words.

“Oh, haven’t we always been, Caroline?” Considering how tense things were between the two a little less than two weeks ago when the semester ended, when they had to give their final presentation of their annotations together while only communicating through emails – and their professor never even noticed – it certainly would make sense that they weren’t friends. Caroline forces a half-smile at him, and Harry swears that his heart could have stopped beating at the sight. “Think our friendship started right before you called me privileged. That really started it all, for me, at least.” Caroline’s smiled before, surely, she has, while writing or while she was talking about her book in class just before everything went to shit, but never to Harry. That is a sight for sore eyes, certainly. “C’mon, Caroline Ryan. Make yourself be vulnerable for once. That’s how people become friends.”

“Vulnerable isn’t really my thing.” Caroline sighs audibly, her fingers running through her hair and taking a deep breath, trying to find the right words to make her life seem a little less pathetic than how it really feels to tell the tale. Caroline always hated this part, with girlfriends and boyfriends and friends and family, having to tell the sob story that always warranted a sympathetic stare and a pitying apology. That was never something she wanted. Caroline never wanted anyone to look at her and feel sorry for her; Caroline had a good life, has a good life.

Beyond the whole, brain not working properly, thing.

“Make it your thing.” Harry looks at Caroline and cautiously sets his hand on her knee, not caring that his sweatshirt is now pulled over her knees and her thighs are tucked under the material, certainly stretching it out beyond fixing. Liv told Harry that Caroline doesn’t like to be touched, that it stresses her out to be hugged or touched or bothered without rhyme or reason, and he knows that this is a risk, but he wants her to look at him, to meet his stare, and know that he’s telling her the truth. “Caroline, I want to be your friend. I can’t make that any clearer than what I’ve been trying to do.”

Harry is referencing all the apologies he’s made, all the efforts at parties and gatherings to talk to her and try to make conversation, all the work that he dedicated to their project for Rigsby and the conversations he’s had with her best friend to try and understand why she is the way she is. Caroline has ignored everything, in and including knowing that Harry has asked Liv about her and her disorder. Caroline hasn’t ignored everything to be rude, no, but to save Harry the time.

Harry is just going to leave like everyone else. Like her father, like her mother, like her boyfriends, like her friends. Harry is no different than anyone else she’s met.

“Harry, you don’t want to be my friend.”

“How do you know?” Harry is insulted by that, by the harshness of the words. How could Caroline even know what Harry wants, when she’s barely taken the time to get to know him? “Caroline, you have no idea what I want.”

Something about the way Harry says that sets Caroline off on a tangent.

“Harry, if we become friends, everything will change; there’s going to be this attachment between us, something neither of us will be able to control. It’s not the ‘let’s hang out every few days or so’ or the ‘let’s see each other with our friends’ type of attached. It’s more than that.” Caroline waits for Harry to say something, and when he doesn’t, she continues, “There will be no reason, but something in my head will say to text you at two in the morning, just because, and I’ll want to talk every day and be around you. It’s addictive for me to be around people. It’s not normal. There’s nothing normal about me, Harry. There’s never a normal amount of anything, it’s over indulged and incessant and it’s why I don’t have a relationship anymore. It’s why my life is pretty lonely; it’s why I like to be alone. That’s why I’m moving out of the apartment with Liv and getting my own place. Quite hard to annoy people if you’re not around them much.”

Harry looks shocked when Caroline says this, this revelation, a certain and outright explanation as to why she’s been holding herself back from a relationship with him in any way, especially when it’s felt like he’s been trying so much. “Is that what you think? That you’re annoying?”

“My mom thought having a daughter with bipolar disorder was annoying, and that’s why she left,” Caroline says beneath her breath, nearly quiet enough to prevent Harry from hearing, but the waves had receded, and the wind had slowed, and the silence was forgiving enough to allow him to listen. Harry’s wide, green eyes alone told Caroline that he heard every word. “My dad was the only person that ever understood me. His brain was like mine, absolutely fucked. My dad had the coolest brain, though. My dad’s brain, even though he had bipolar disorder, too, it just worked. My dad could write songs and go on tour and raise a daughter by himself for seventeen years. All of that, he could do all of that, with a brain that tells you you’re worthless, all the time. My dad was a whole fucking superhero.”

“Only been a year, right? A little bit over?”

“One year and sixty-two days,” she mutters, pulling the sleeves of the hoodie over her hands and wrapping herself tighter in a ball, her thighs pulled to her chest and her chin resting on her knees. “Matters to no one but me, though. That’ll always be how it is. Only me.”

“Matters to a lot of people, Caroline,” Harry says, sliding in closer to her body and having his feet touch hers. “Mattered to me when I heard the news. Mattered to all his fans. Matters to you.” Caroline sucks in a heavy breath and lets it out between slightly parted lips, ignoring the way Harry has inched closer to her and his hand is dangerously close to reaching out and laying a comforting touch to her thigh. Harry opens his mouth, hesitating to even bring the sentence back into conversation, “Caroline, I had no idea about your mother, I’m sorry.”

There it is. The pity.

Caroline quickly changes the subject. “Come in the ocean with me.” Harry looks as though three heads had suddenly appeared through her body, six eyes staring back at him with wide green irises as she raises her eyebrows and gives a pointed stare. “Well? Are you coming?”

Harry grabs Caroline’s hand and there is a rush of electricity that passes through their fingertips, a current that is warm and attractive, adrenaline-like, encouraging another touch. “Caroline, it’s freezing in there. Have you got any idea how cold the water is going to be in February?”

“And your point is?”

Harry stares at her in amazement, pursing his lips together and trying to understand where the lack of care is stemming from, where the lack of empathy for her wellbeing comes from when she’s got so much going for her. “Go if you want to go; I’ll stay here and wait.”

“You’ll stay? You’ll stay while I go into the ocean,” Caroline repeats with a laugh for confirmation, knowing that he must be insane to stay and watch her go in the ocean during a moment of pure mania, the feeling of wanting to feel anything in her veins, particularly the adrenaline that the freezing, salt water will give her. Harry seems supportive, surely, but will that last? “Are you sure?”

Harry’s heart sinks and his lips purse tighter in a straight line, nodding silently, his mind set on proving her instinct wrong – her instinct that says everyone will leave if she shows the slightest bit of the uncontrolled side of herself. “Caroline, I’m sure.”

“God, Harry, you have to stop calling me ‘Caroline’,” she says sternly, tugging his sweatshirt off her torso and tossing it in the back of the truck, watching as he smoothly grabs it and holds it on his thighs. “Dad barely called me ‘Caroline’ and he named me.”

“Alright, I’ll call you,” Harry waits for a moment, thinking carefully, “Callie, only Callie, from now on. That’s something I can do. Can I call you Cal, too? Is that off limits?”

“Okay, Cal and Callie are fine.”

Harry can tell that there’s something underlying that she wants to say in the way she says ‘okay’ and the way she bites her tongue, but not wanting to push the slight progress they’ve already made, Harry makes the choice to leave it alone. “Callie, are you really going in the ocean?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“’Cause it’s bloody freezing. That’s why,” Harry says matter-of-factly, as if all of his logic is going down the drain talking to her. “Like, you’re really going in?”

“Not all of us feel everything in the world, Harry,” Caroline says, shaking her head and bringing her arms to fold across her chest. “Like me, for instance. On days like today, it’s lovely to feel absolutely nothing.”

Harry stares at Caroline with curiosity and interest in his eyes, a look purely made of concern and misunderstanding. His furrowed eyebrows and wrinkled forehead say his confusion, enough to tell her that he’s absolutely oblivious to what she really means by feeling nothing. “Nothing?”

“Not a damn thing, Harry.”

Caroline rushes into the water, then, without saying another word. Hair twists along her shoulders, slightly messy and greasy and unwashed from a few days, her skin dry and likely drinking in the feeling of the water against her ankles as she slowly lowers herself into the ocean, reaching to where her knees meet the sea, and the waves crash into her thighs. Harry doesn’t say a word, simply watching her as she soaks in the way the water feels on her numb skin, and he shivers, thinking of the temperature against his body. Harry knows, now, what this is.

Caroline stays in the water for well over ten minutes, Harry sitting in the bed of her truck, watching her as she soaks in the water crashing over her thighs and wetting the hems of her shorts. Harry can see her shivering, the way that if the waves slow, he could probably hear the chattering of her teeth from across the beach. Caroline looks happy, though, and Harry isn’t sure if that’s a side effect of the mania or medication or what, but he certainly isn’t going to ask. That’s off limits. Liv made that very clear. Consciously bringing up Caroline’s mania will make her shut down and tune whoever it is out for good – hence the break with her boyfriend – and that will leave Harry with no connection to Caroline at all. That’s not what Harry wants at all.

“Are you daydreaming, again, Mr. Mitty?” Caroline’s voice tugs Harry out of his daydream, the reference to the fictional character making him laugh breathily. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing at all,” Harry shrugs, handing her the sweatshirt and watching her as she yanks it over her head, the material falling to her thighs and sitting very much oversized on her frame. “If we hadn’t just become friends,” he says confidently, swinging his legs over the edge of the truck and adjusting their bodies slightly so that she is tucked between his thighs, “I think I might’ve tried to kiss you, Callie.”

“Might have?” Caroline laughs, shaking her head and shoving his shoulder back with her hand, the sleeves endearingly tucked over the heels of her hands. “Come on, Harry, be vulnerable. Honestly. Can’t lie to me and tell me you wouldn’t have tried to kiss me that day we were having a screaming match outside my apartment if I had let you.”

“If you had let me. Alright, Miss Ryan, whatever you say.”

“Fine, then,” Caroline says surely, taking a deep breath, climbing onto the edge of the bed of the truck and straddling Harry’s waist, grabbing his cheeks in her hands firmly, and finally laying her lips on his. Caroline’s eyes are squeezing shut, trying to ignore the sparks flying through her skin and the way Harry’s hands have found their way to her waist, holding her to him, his mouth immediately reciprocating the kiss and giving the same energy she’s putting out. On the long list (three) of people that Caroline has kissed in her lifetime, this may be the most interesting, the most unusual. Coming from someone that she hated mere weeks ago, kissing Harry feels worldly different, like something that is almost, right, in a way; it feels okay to be kissing him.

Caroline’s first kiss was a boy in the tenth grade, Connor was his name, on her very first date; very, how do you say politely, inexperienced. Caroline’s second kiss was Maxwell, on their third date, and many others after that, and they were always lovely. Max’s kisses made her feel loved when she was feeling lonely. Max made her feel warm inside, made her feel happy. Caroline loves Max, and she may always love him. Her first love. Caroline’s third kiss is with a man that she absolutely was disgusted with until about thirty minutes ago.

And that alone, the mere thought of kissing someone that she once hated, is how Caroline knows that she is manic. Harry doesn’t know that, though. Harry doesn’t need to know that. That’s something that she doesn’t need to share, not right now, now when they’ve just become friends.

“There,” Caroline says, pulling away and wiping at her bottom lip, slowly climbing off his thighs and jumping onto the tarmac. “Is it out of your system, yet?”

Harry shakes his head confidently, a smug smirk sitting prettily on his features. “Callie, you’ve just opened pandora’s box with that, sweetheart.”

“Ew,” she says, gagging at the thought of being called anything other than her name by this man that she’s suddenly become uncomfortably close with, and walking around to the side of the truck to grab her keys from the passenger seat. “Think about calling me a cutesy name like that again and I’ll key you, Carrie Underwood style.”

“Got a lot of rage in you, Callie.”

“Got a lot fucked up things going on in this brain of mine, Harry.” Caroline leans over the side of the truck, laying her arms on the rim and leaning her chin on the back of her hands. “Are you sure you want to be my friend? This is what it’s like, like, sixty percent of the time. Maybe seventy. I’m kind of insane, Harry.”

“Callie, you’re not insane.”

Caroline looks at Harry as though he’s grown three heads, and he’s insane for saying such a thing. Clinically, Caroline is mentally ill. “I just told you I have Bipolar Disorder,” she says astoundingly, as though the fact alone would make him want to run and hide away from her forever. “That makes me insane, Harry. Clinically insane.”

“Clinically insane is used for criminals,” Harry says with a laugh, shaking his head at the dramatization of their entire conversation. Caroline was surely dramatic, way over dramatic for someone that would barely hurt a fly. Harry kind of likes it. “Are you a criminal?”

“Hard criminal.”

“Ah, yes,” Harry chuckles, leaning his hands on the edge of the truck and sliding off the bed, his feet landing on the tarmac with a hard smack. Caroline turns to face him, and a breath catches in her throat as she notices how close they are; with one wrong move, their chests, their entire bodies would be touching. “Hardened criminal, you are. More like a pesky bug. That’s what I should call you from now on. How’s that for a nickname? Not nearly as cutesy as sweetheart.”

“Easy there,” Caroline says, shutting the truck and climbing into the driver’s seat, moving her things around and shoving the mess to the passenger seat floor, rolling her window down to speak to him. “You and I aren’t close enough for nicknames like that, just yet. You just convinced me to be your friend, Harry. That’s enough for one day, I think. I think that’s good.”

“You called me Shakespeare! That was a nickname!”

“That was more of an insult, Mr. Literal.”

Harry shakes his head and leans over the windowsill of the driver’s seat, smirking wildly and staring into Caroline’s light green eyes. “You’ll learn to love me Callie Ryan, you’ll see.”

* *

New York is freezing, even for the springtime. Harry knew this, but for some reason, it didn’t occur to him how cold it would be until he and Caroline were walking through the exit doors of the airport and the wind was whipping against his cheeks. Caroline turns to Harry, pulling his hood over his head and ears and smiles quaintly, patting his cheek and nodding towards the car waiting for their arrival on the curb.

Harry can tell that Caroline is anxious, and he instinctively grabs her hand, trying desperately to comfort her, squeezing her lightly and taking the initiative to walk to the man outside the car and talk to him about their situation. Caroline is reluctant to let go of his hand, and immediately grabs his hand when they’re seated in the backseat, forcing a smile at him – that he knows is fake – and talking to the driver about her father and the event and thanking him for the ride. Harry gets out first and checks the two into the hotel, sighing and trying to convince the receptionist that there should be two rooms in reservation, or at the very least, a room with two beds.

“Harry, it’s okay,” Caroline insists, shaking her head furiously and squeezing his hand, silently begging him to not cause a scene in the middle of the all-too-fancy hotel that they’re in. “Can you just get the keys so we can go upstairs?”

Harry knows that Caroline is having a literal panic attack as they stand there, and his first reaction is to wrap her tightly in his arms and hold her there until she’s okay. Caroline stands next to him, handing the receptionist her identification and anxiously twitches her knee and cracks her knuckles, Harry’s hand immediately goes to her back to try and alleviate some stress.

Harry likes how things have changed since that morning at the beach. Harry likes things a lot. Harry doesn’t mind that he knows the intimate details about Caroline’s mental health, the days she has therapy, the times she takes her medication. Harry knows these things because of how much their relationship has changed since that morning, since they decided to become friends and let everything change for what feels like the better.

“Here you are, Miss Ryan. Enjoy your stay!”

“Thank you,” Caroline swallows thickly, smiling and nodding and turning on her heel quickly to walk towards the elevators in the corner of the lobby. Harry follows quickly behind, lugging their suitcases behind him and nudging the elevator closed with his elbow. Caroline is quiet for the first few minutes, and then says, “Thank you for not causing a scene.”

“Giving you basic, common courtesy, Cal,” Harry says, gesturing for her to exit first when the elevator dings and reaches their floor, the sliding doors opening slowly. “Think we have about three hours before we have to be downstairs at the venue. Can you squeeze in a nap in that time, do you think?”

Caroline opens the door shakily and walks inside, setting her belongings on the table and waiting for Harry to shut and lock the door behind her before she says a word. “I want to go over my speech, I think. Maybe I’ll call Molly and read it to her, again.”

Harry nods knowingly, “’Course, whatever you want.”

Harry wasn’t originally supposed to go to this event with Caroline. It was meant to be her cousin, Molly, and her aunt, Daisy. It was meant to be her family, coming to honor Gabriel Ryan for the evening, but since Caroline’s grandparents passed away, Aunt Daisy became ill, and Molly couldn’t have time away from work, Caroline was left with her only other option: her friends. Liv is proposing her thesis in the morning and couldn’t miss the meeting, and Niall really didn’t to impose. Caroline was left with only one person to really be there for her when she needed it the most. Caroline was left with the one that she was unsure could really handle the mess that she would be. Caroline was left with certain uncertainty.

Harry.

MusiCares for The Grammys is a huge event. Likely one of the biggest events of the year in the music industry, beyond The Grammys and the award shows, themselves. Caroline has been once or twice with her father when she was a young girl, even with her mother, once. Harry is standing next to her, holding her hand tightly, rubbing his thumb along her knuckles trying to soothe the anxiety that he knows is coursing through her veins in this very moment.

Coming from the moment she walked out of the bathroom with her dress hanging loosely off her shoulders and her lace shoes untied around her ankles, Harry knew that Caroline would be a mess and the mania that she felt earlier in the week would be long gone. Especially gone by the time she is listening to Dave Grohl – her father’s mentor, his best friend, her godfather – give his speech about her father and all that he gave to the world of music. Caroline wouldn’t be able to handle listening to that, especially from the person that arguably knew him better than she did.

“Honestly, I don’t think I can do this, Harry. I don’t think I can get up there and talk about Dad to all these people who didn’t give two fucks about him when he was alive, but suddenly care now that he’s gone,” Caroline says suddenly, staring at Harry with wide eyes, nervously biting her cheek and feeling as though the walls are caving in around her. “How am I supposed to do this? This isn’t fair! This is his award. They don’t even know that they’re releasing his new album, this year. Am I supposed to announce that? Harry, help.”

Harry doesn’t know what to do. Harry doesn’t know what to say, what to do in this situation, how to make everything better. Harry wants to make Caroline feel better, to make her feel like there’s someone there for her that will be cheering her on and making her feel like every word she says is important, that people will listen, and that the words she will say will be just as important to everyone in that room as it would have been if her father was there to make the acceptance speech, himself. Harry does what always seems to calm Caroline, grabs her cheeks and brings her into his chest, holding her tightly to him and squeezing his arms around her.

“Usually, this would work, Harry,” she says with her cheeks squished to his chest, trying to pull her face away from his neck and meet his stare, “but this is something desperate and, honestly, I think I’m going to lose it.” Caroline’s eyes flick between Harry’s lips and his emerald eyes, and she knows what she wants in that moment, a simple kiss, a barely-there peck, something to keep her mind away from the speech and onto something different. “Could you kiss me?” Harry hesitates, looking from side to side, and Caroline begins to panic, thinking that she’s overstepped a boundary and Harry is surely going to hate her and dislike her forever and ever. “Actually, never mind, that was a stupid question, that was ridiculous. I’m so sorry I even asked. I shouldn’t be able to speak. That’s so embarrassing and certainly not something you want to do, and it was inconsiderate of me to ask. I’m very sorry. I’m going to go. I have to do this. I’m sorry.”

“Caroline,” Harry says without thinking, grabbing Caroline’s cheeks and hurriedly pressing his lips against hers, their mouths moving rhythmically together, the emotions and the adrenaline coursing through their veins making everything feel a million times more intense than it truly is.

“Thank you,” Caroline mutters against his mouth, silently hoping that Harry knows that she is expressing her gratitude for more than simply the kiss. “Okay, I have to go,” she says, looking at the stage and the imposing thoughts intruding her mind about the speech tucked away in her chest. “You’ll stay here?”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Harry kisses Caroline’s forehead, squeezing her in a tight hug before nodding towards the stage and gently nudging her towards the staircase, Dave Grohl standing there, smiling, waiting with the award held in his hand to hand to her. Harry whistles loudly when she steps on the stage, and she turns to look at him with a knowing smile, the erupted cheers of the audience not anywhere near what she wanted to be hearing. Caroline would have preferred to give the speech to Harry and Harry only. Harry wouldn’t judge her.

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” Caroline says nervously, trading the heavy plaque in her hands and sucking in a deep breath as the tears prick at her eyes. “Gabriel Ryan said many things about the world, specifically saying, ‘this world will take you for granted’, and ‘sometimes it’s the ones you love most that hurt you the worst’. Gabriel Ryan felt abandoned by the world in many ways, especially when his mental health went through the worst times. Gabriel Ryan, however, found a silver lining. Music.” Caroline looks away and stares at the ceiling, tears welling in her eyes and her voice becoming shaky. “My father loved being a musician. He felt like his purpose on this planet was to make others feel less alone, to make a crowd of twenty thousand people feel like they were best friends with everyone in the room. Dad’s goal in life was to make someone feel like their life was worth living, that their life meant something, that they weren’t simply a thing in whatever mess life is. I don’t think my father realized that he did that for every single one of you, at one time or another; that he changed the lives of so many people.” Caroline looks over to Harry for support, and she can see the tears in his eyes, and she blinks, the tears that were once welled inside her eyes now coming along her cheeks. “Mental Health is a tricky thing. There’s still this stigma around it, around Bipolar Disorder, that makes you think that anyone that has it is crazy or something. That you’re crazy, or violent, or different, or otherworldly. God, please know, that you’re not crazy, you’re not any of those things. That’s something Gabriel Ryan wanted people to understand. That was something that my father dedicated his whole life to – educating about mental health. That’s why he’s receiving this award, today. ‘Cause someone, somewhere, felt better by what he did, what he does.” Caroline sucks in a breath through her teeth and says under her breath, barely loud enough for the microphone to grab what she’s saying, “Dad, I wish you could see how much you mean to all these people.” Harry nearly walks on stage to comfort her, but Caroline blinks back her tears and gathers her emotions. “I want to thank the Academy for dedicating this award to my father and everything that he worked for. I want to thank everyone that was his friend, for always supporting his endeavors and making him feel less alone. Lastly, I want to thank my father, Gabriel Ryan, for being the man that the world needed, to teach us everything about mental health. I hope that your message transcends past anything you could ever say with song.” Caroline holds up the award one final time and says, “Thank you.”

Caroline receives a standing ovation, whistles and cheers and eruptions from the audience standing on their feet to support every word that she spoke. Harry is screaming from backstage, whistling and hollering for her, his voice travelling louder than any other voice in the entire room. Caroline walks quickly towards him, his hand reaching for the award to hold for her, her arms wrapping around his shoulders and tucking her face in his neck instinctively. His hands rub along her back, rocking her back and forth comfortingly as she sobs into his neck. Harry knows that no ounce of that speech was easy, that nothing about it was something she wanted to give.

Harry sighs and leans against her ear to speak, trying to hide the smirk that itches to form on his mouth when she relaxes at the touch, “That was amazing, Callie. You brought me to tears. You brought everyone to tears. That was fucking fantastic.” Caroline pulls her head away from his neck, his thumbs going beneath her eyes to wipe the mascara tracks that are forming beneath her lashes. “I’m so serious, Cal. That was better than I imagined it would be.”

And then, Caroline kisses Harry. Again. Caroline kisses Harry like she’s never kissed anyone before. The kiss is desperate and messy and saying things that neither of them could say aloud if they tried. Like, ‘I love you’, ‘Thank you for being here’, and ‘I needed you’.

Harry always says exactly what he’s thinking, though, and Caroline isn’t sure what to say back. “Caroline, I think I love you.”

Caroline is feeling so many emotions, so many thoughts are swirling around her brain, and the only thing that feels comforting is hearing those words come out of Harry’s mouth, even though they’re the most terrifying words that she’s ever experienced in her life. Harry said the words that Caroline thinks that she’s feeling, the ones that have been sitting heavy on her chest since they started getting close, since they shared their stories about their family and their friends and the way their minds words against them. Harry, too, has his mind working against him, sometimes, and Caroline has been there to see him through it. Caroline, although not nearly as worried about losing him as she was about losing her father, never left his side and saw to it that the feelings went away, and he would go back about his day. Caroline loves Harry. Of course. Caroline has probably loved Harry since before they even became friends that day at the beach. Caroline was, well, infatuated with him. Could Caroline say that to him in this very moment, though? Could Caroline say that aloud without absolutely ruining the things they have going?

“I, I.”

“Don’t feel like you have to say it back. It’s okay. I know you don’t feel that way about just anyone. I just, I want you to know that you’re not alone. That I love you,” Harry says hurriedly, grabbing her hand and squeezing it tightly to bring her attention from her shoes to his eyes. Harry’s eyes look pretty, right here, a glossy green that are shining beneath the stage lights. “Let’s go back to the hotel. Cal, we can talk there, privately. Okay?”

That’s the thing. Caroline loves Harry. Harry is one of her very best friends. Caroline just can’t say it.

Harry and Caroline go straight to the hotel, waving goodbye to all the celebrities trying to gather around her and speak to her and sharing a few words here and there, but ultimately, Caroline can’t handle speaking to anyone except Harry, in this moment, and saying exactly how she feels. Caroline owes it to herself, to Harry, to say how she’s feeling before she fucks everything up the way she always does, the way she knows that she will.

Harry walks inside first, holding Caroline’s hand, gently guiding her through the chaos that exists downstairs and around the hotel to avoid a panic attack before they’ve even gotten to the privacy of their room. Harry’s eyes flick towards the back of her dress, and Caroline moves her hair away from her neck to give him access to the zipper to bring it down her back. Her body shivers at the touch, and he offers a shy smile as she walks around the room and reaches for her pajamas without so much as glancing at him. Harry can tell that Caroline is panicking, and it makes him upset that he wasn’t able to avoid it with her. Harry has come to realize that some things are simply unavoidable with Caroline.

“I, I don’t think we can kiss anymore.” Harry turns his head away from the string of his pajama bottoms and looks at Caroline, who is standing with his oversized sweatshirt hanging loosely over her torso and nothing but a tour shirt – presumably – and shorts underneath. “I think it means something different to both of us and I don’t think we can kiss anymore. I’m sorry that I kissed you today. I shouldn’t have. That was stupid of me. I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

Harry doesn’t say anything for a minute, then two, then three, only giving a hum and standing from his seat on the lounger beside the bed, and Caroline knows by his hardened jaw and tense demeanor that he’s angry, or something is wrong, and she’s the reason. All Harry can say is, “Okay, Caroline.”

And like that, Caroline ruined everything for her and Harry. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

Harry doesn’t say another word to Caroline as readies everything for the night and gathers his things for the morning. Caroline was supposed to show Harry around New York City in the morning, her favorite city, before leaving for the airport, and if they want to be awake in time, they need to go to sleep. That’s what Harry’s telling himself, at least. Harry doesn’t want to admit that he’s heartbroken by Caroline’s words, that there wasn’t a small part of him that prayed that she would feel the same way as he does, that would want him in the way that he wants her. Harry has to justify everything to himself, the three stolen kisses over the course of their relationship, the hours they spent together talking and the studying and the growing closer and closer. Harry has to make himself believe that he was the only one to have feelings in this way, that everything he imagined in his head was make believe. Like Shakespearean Fiction – painful and heartbreaking.

“Are you not going to talk to me, now? Is that it? I try to avoid everything changing between us and you won’t even look at me. And after everything you promised me? That’s fucked, Harry.”

“All I need is a little time, Caroline,” Harry says frustratedly, looking away from his hands and staring at a heartbroken Caroline on the opposite side of the bed, the single bed that they’ll have to share, tonight. “That doesn’t change how I feel about you, how you’re one of my best friends.” Caroline can feel the tears slipping down her cheeks when he says those words, because as much as Harry wants to be angry, he can’t make her feel alone. That’s not who Harry is, anymore. “Come here, Cal.”

Caroline pulls the comforter away from the edge of the bed, climbing beneath the sheets and nervously circling her arms around Harry’s waist, his back propped against the headboard, his ankles crossed beneath the sheets as he wraps his arms around her body and brushes his fingers through her hair softly, nearly leaning down to kiss her head before stopping himself. Harry knows that everything is going to change from here on out, that nothing will be the same and everything will feel different, because Harry’s just confessed his love for Caroline and Caroline has rejected him in the worst way, by saying she’s afraid. Harry has done everything to make sure Caroline isn’t afraid, that she’s comfortable and safe around him, and if he couldn’t even make her comfortable as a friend, how could he ever do so as a lover?

“I love you,” Caroline says suddenly, barely above a whisper, barely audible to Harry’s ears. “I just think I love you differently than you love me.”

Harry doesn’t say a word, simply turning off the bedroom light and laying further into the pillows beneath his head, Caroline laying comfortably on his chest, his hands holding her tightly as though she’s going to disappear in the morning.

Maybe Caroline is. Maybe everything that they’ve worked for is going to disappear the second they wake, and they realize that they’ve made a grave mistake by kissing and sharing their feelings for one another. Maybe Caroline is going to disappear in the morning, disappear from Harry’s life for good.

* *

Caroline hasn’t heard a word from Harry since their journey from LAX, since New York, since he held her hand and she held the plaque for her father on her thighs and they talked mindlessly about how things have changed since their very meeting. Caroline thought things were alright, thought things were going to be okay. That’s how it felt, at least.

Caroline looked to Harry as she was getting out of the car, watching carefully as he took her suitcase from his trunk and walked it up the long driveway to her father’s house – that he somehow convinced her not to sell in the time being – and set it on the stairs leading to the front door. Harry doesn’t make the effort to come closer, to give Caroline a squeeze as he always does, simply smiling and waving and turning on his heel to walk back to his car.

Caroline shouts out, “Are you not going to give me a hug?” Harry turns on his heel again, walking back towards Caroline and opening his arms wide for her. Caroline rushes into him, breathing him in and soaking in the way his arms fit around her, strong and secure, that make her feel safe. “Harry, you’ll call me, right? You don’t hate me, now?”

“’Course not,” Harry says without hesitation, leaning his nose into her hair and breathing her in, a secret weighing heavy on his chest and his heart as he stands there. Harry can’t tell her. Harry can’t break her heart, like that. “I’ll call you soon, Cal.”

And Caroline waits five days for Harry to call. Five painfully long days. Five days and then Caroline is picking up the phone, ready to yell profanities at Harry around the world for ignoring her and leaving her to think that he doesn’t want to be around anymore. Caroline is ready. Caroline really is.

Caroline is ready; that is until three alarming beeps sound on the other end, and a devastating message plays through the speaker.

we’re sorry. you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service.

𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @goldenbabys-world , @burberryharold , @stylesfics-xx , @grace-ful-gold , @summertimestyles , @laur-sogolden, @yourhsficsplug, @morethanamelodyy, @truckerhatharry, @plzplzme2

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xenia-cenia · 4 years ago

Text

Bennett x Fem!Reader - Aster

A/N: The last post kinda blew up so of COURSE I’m doing more in this style. Also he’s totally the son of the pyro archon I don’t take criticism

Fun fact: at the end I legit started to blush a little bit.

Trigger/Content Warnings: Regicide/murder, violence, PTSD/nightmares, kidnapping, light swearing

Word Count: 3,560

Request: No

Summary: Everything that has been Lost will eventually be found; be it Princesses or swords.

----------------------------------------------------------

Very few places in Teyvat still bowed to royalty and Mondstadt was no different.

The people of Mondstadt bowed to alcohol and freedom; the people of Liyue bowed to commerce and wealth.

But you did not hail from Mondstadt or Liyue - you were born into a country far away from Archons and Visions. A country that was set under siege 10 years ago, a country that lost its rulers with a swift slash of a sword.

Rumors spiraled of the young princess escaping with a woman who burned with embers in her eyes and infernos in her hands. Some say the women took the princess only to end the royal line herself, others say she raised the child as her own. As more and more time passed on, people agreed that the woman never existed and the princess died during the attacks.

“Bennett!” You shouted from the balcony overlooking the entryway of Mondstadt. The white-haired boy's head snapped up, a smile growing on his face. You jumped over the balcony and ran to him, “How was your adventure?”

“I found so much treasure!” He began sorting through his pockets and eventually brought out a small bag, he opened it and brought out a golden ring with a raven insignia pressed onto the blue jewel attached to it. He extended his hand and smiled shyly, you slowly set your right hand down on his extended hand. The ring slipped onto your finger perfectly.

“Woah,” you gaped at the ring, admiring the way the jewel seemed to absorb every bit of light, “Where did you find this?”

Bennett chuckled nervously, not wanting to tell you the truth of how many traps he fell into while receiving the ring, “J-just found it... y’know... lying around.”

You looked up at him and narrowed your eyes, “Benny...”

He scratched the back of his head and mumbled under his breath, “I only almost died like... twice.”

“Bennett!” You yelled and lightly smacked his arm, “Don’t risk your life for this stuff! We’ve talked about this.”

“But you looked so happy when you saw the ring...”

“And I’m happier each time you come home to me! Promise you won’t do this anymore!”

“But...”

“Promise!”

“Fine! Fine. I promise I won’t risk my life for gifts anymore.” He sighed but couldn’t contain the soft blush on his cheeks.

“Thank you.” You grabbed his hand and squeezed them, “Really, thank you. I... just please don’t get hurt for me.”

He smiled brightly and kneeled slightly to match your height, “You’re the luckiest thing that’s ever happened to me, (Y/N).”

You laughed and began to jog away, “Where did THAT come from? Barbatos save me, you’re so cute.”

“Cute?!” Bennett half-laughed half-yelled in shock, “(Y/N)!” He started running after you, “(Y/N)! You can’t just say that and run away!”

“Come and catch me then!” You giggled as he chased after you. It didn’t take long for him to catch up to you, grab you by the waist, pick you up and spin you around. You laughed and looked at him, “How come I’m nearly as tall as you, yet you can still effortlessly pick me up?”

He smiled and nuzzled his chin into your hair, “I spend all day fighting hilichulrs and climbing mountains, did you think I couldn’t pick you up?”

“I guess I knew you could, I just didn’t think you would.” You spun out of his grasp and grabbed his hands, “Ooh, that reminds me! You have to hear about this story I just found!”

“Yeah?”

“It’s so cool! It’s about Vanessa...” as the two of you walked back to your small house, you regaled him with stories you had read that day, gushing over the vast history that Mondstadt had.

When you had finished talking, the moon had taken its rightful spot in the sky and called you and Bennett to sleep. You lied on the bed and waited to feel Bennett's warm body press against your chest, his heavy arms draped over your sides. Within moments of him getting into bed, he fell fast asleep. You smiled and buried your head under his chin, letting sleep overtake you.

Screams echoing in your ears, you bit your lip as tears fell down your cheeks. The dress you had treasured was torn and burnt, you could hear pounding footsteps outside your door, looking for your head to hang on a wall.

You didn’t know when this started, all you knew is that you needed to hide. You tried your best to block out the noise, but you could still hear their death thralls and see your parents extend their bloodied hands towards you.

“Run.” They had whispered. And run you did.

You ran down the twisting corridors, you hid under your Father's desk and prayed to something - anything - that you would survive this and see your family again. But even as a 6-year-old, you knew that your chances of survival were slim to none.

Soft footsteps slowly made their way across the room, you felt heat begin to boil your skin. A woman kneeled down and set her blade on the ground.

“P... please don’t hurt me.” You shook.

She smiled; a warm and comforting smile, “Are you (Y/N) (L/N)?”

You stared at her with wide eyes, your heart sinking into your stomach. This was the end. You were going to die here. Your family's legacy would crash and tumble, the last thing you’d see was this woman's bright green eyes and smile.

She outstretched her hand, “Come, Princess, I can save you.”

You woke up with a deep gasp, sweat and tears mixing on your face. You looked at Bennett who was still sound asleep, you slowly slid out of the bed and took deep breaths.

How long was it since you’ve last this nightmare? What was it about sleeping next to Bennett that caused you to see the woman clearer? You shook the thoughts out of your head and decided to take a walk to clear your head.

Flower picking always seemed to calm you down. You crept outside your house and into the Mondstadt fields to reminisce in the familiar scents of flowers. You sat on the ground and quietly hummed to yourself, completely lost in thought, not noticing the figure watching you from a distance.

Slowly, he crept up to you until he grabbed your wrist. You jumped in shock and smiled nervously. “Hello?”

“What are you doing... out so late at night?”

“I... um, just picking flowers.” You used your left hand to gesture around, “It’s so pretty out, I just couldn’t sleep until I brought a few home for my boyfriend...”

“Oh?” The man kneeled down, “Boyfriend, eh? What’s he like?”

“He’s... well, he’s really unlucky.” You looked around to see if he had any allies with him - but even if he did you knew you couldn’t take him in a fight. You were more of a kind soul than a violent one. “He’s probably expecting me home any minute now, so I should really go...” you began to pull out of the man's grasp when he tightened his grip on your wrist.

“What a pretty ring.” He held your hand up to his eyes, “Not as pretty as you, of course.”

“T-Thank you?”

“Would you mind if we took a walk? I get a bit lonely walking through these fields all by myself.” He cheerily laughed.

“I... my b-boyfriend...”

He smiled brightly but his grip began to become painful, “I’m sure he won’t mind, will he? Oh, speaking of! I never got your name, how rude of me.”

“I really need to go.” You tried to pull out of his grasp again.

“Now, now. I know those eyes. Right, Princess?”

“Pri-” you began, but before you could finish your sentence he swung at your chin and you crumpled onto the ground.

“What a great find!” He chuckled to himself as he lifted your unconscious body over his shoulder, “The amount of money we’ll get for her...”

Bennett woke up the same way he does every day: with a sore neck and on the floor. He sighed and sat up, happy that he remembered to put pillows on the floor last night. He looked at the empty bed and smiled to himself, you were probably out picking flowers or meeting with some of your friends. It always made him happy that you had things to do while he was out adventuring, but it always made him happier when you stayed near the city.

It’s not that he didn’t trust you. You weren’t naive or sheltered just... not someone cut out for battle. He had tried countless times to teach you how to fight, even got his Dads involved, but you always seemed hopeless.

Your stance was wrong, you’d drop the sword or you’d nearly poke someone's eye out. Eventually, you decided to just stay near. Stay safe. Fighting simply wasn’t your thing - and that’s fine! He’d be okay with it either way.

He changed into his clothes, headed out of his house, and walked around Mondstadt. Katheryne smiled and waved hello, he walked over to her and asked about new commissions. She gave him 4 more and bid him good luck, before he set out he asked if she’d seen you today.

“(Y/N)?” She rocked back and forth on her heels, “No... I don’t think so.”

Bennett felt concern but quickly shook it away, “Tell me if you see her!”

As he set out on his commissions, he found himself being distracted. Not seeing you when he woke up was normal enough, but Katheryne not seeing you? That was weird. He only even asked as a formality - Katheryne always saw you. She always chatted with you before you met up for midday tea.

He palmed the hilt of his sword as he began walking to his second commission of the day, completely lost in thought and not noticing the small hole in the ground. One misstep was all it took for Bennett to trip and roll his ankle.

Bennett winced in pain and slowly brought himself out of the hole, “Just my luck, huh...” He reached into his backpack, pulled out medical supplies, and set to work on mending his wounds. On the ground, he spotted a few picked windwheel asters scattered around. He pulled himself over to them and smiled to himself, imagining the smile on your face when he brought your favorite Mondstadt specialty home to you.

As he twirled the windwheel aster between his fingers, he recalled his earlier unease. With a quick shake of his head, he replaced it with happier thoughts. He pulled himself up, tucked the windwheel aster into his belt, and headed home.

The unlucky boy more stumbled than walked home, beating the pain with fantasies of your smile.

As he arrived back in Mondstadt, he walked over to Katheryne who perked up when she saw him.

“Bennett!” She called, “You’ve been gone a while. Did you complete your commissions?”

“Not really,” he laughed quietly, “ended up rolling my ankle.”

“Oooh,” her eyebrows knit together, “I think Barbara is still working tonight.”

“No, no, I’ll be fine. I can just sleep it off.” He began to step away when he remembered something, he knocked onto the counter with his gloved hand and shot a big smile, “Oh, that reminds me. Have you seen (Y/N) at all?”

Katherynes concern fell into nervousness, “I... I was going to ask you that.”

“I gotta go.” He broke out into a sprint towards your house, the pain from his ankle seemed insignificant compared to his pounding heart. As if some lucky break, he didn’t trip or run into anyone on his way home.

He threw the door open and yelled, “(Y/N)?!” No response. He searched each room in the house, tearing apart every spot that you could even possibly be hiding in before ran to the Knights of Favonius headquarters. He practically barreled through the door to the library and with heavy breaths looked a startled Lisa in the eyes.

“Bennett?” She took a second to regain her composure, “Oh, actually, have you seen (Y/N) lately? We just got a new book I think she’d-”

Before she could finish, Bennett left the library and ran into the Acting Grand Masters office.

“Master Jean!” He panted, his arms shaking as he held the edges of the doorframe.

Jean looked up at him, piles of paperwork covering her desk, “Can I help you?”

“Yes! Yes, you can!” He walked into the room, tripped over his feet, got up, and sat down in the chair, “You’ve heard of (Y/N), right?”

“(Y/N)...” she repeated, “Oh, yes. I have. She helps me out every now and then.”

“Have you seen her at all today?”

Jean leaned back in her chair, tapping her pen against her lips, “No, I can’t say I have. Why?”

Bennett groaned and leaned forward, “I don’t know where she is! I woke up today and she was gone, which, yeah, is pretty normal for her but still! Not you, Katheryne, or Lisa have seen her! I’m really scared - she can’t fight and she keeps going out to pick flowers really far away! Please, please help me find her.”

She folded her hands, “What’s your name?”

“B-Bennett!”

“Bennett. Take Lisa with you and look around Mondstadt. If you still can’t find her, come back to me and we’ll discuss this again. Understood?”

“I’ve looked around Mondstadt!”

“Okay,” she exhaled, “I’ll organize a search party.” Jean stood, grabbed her vision, and walked with purpose.

Bennett sat in the chair, shaking. “(Y/N)... where are you...”

You woke up with a pounding headache and with something wet pressed against the side of your face. There was a tight rope binding your hands behind your back and chains connecting your feet to a small metal cage you were trapped in. You sat up and took deep breaths, trying to recall what happened.

“1 million mora? For a princess? We can do better than that.” A voice sneered.

“How do we know she’s really the princess?”

“Wait until you see her eyes! The Lost (L/N) Princess and she fell right into our hands! Hah! How lucky!”

You looked around your surroundings, other than the cage you were in, it seemed like a normal campsite. You didn’t quite recognize the area you were in and that worried you.

“H... hey!” You called out. The two voices fell quiet and eventually, two men came into your view.

“You’re awake.” A young man with orange eyes and dusty brown hair spoke, a purple face mask concealing his mouth and nose.

You narrowed your eyes at him, recognizing him as the man who took you hostage, “Where am I?”

The second man who had a hat covering his face kneeled in front of you, happiness beaming in his light blue eyes, “Well, I’ll be damned. It really is her.”

He grabbed the chains on your feet and pulled you towards him, “I’ve been looking for you for so long.”

“Let me go.” You growled, “I swear to god when Benny finds you-”

“Benny?” The man wearing the hat turned towards the masked man, “Whose Benny?”

“Her boyfriend, probably.”

“Hmm...” he leaned back and thought for a moment, “Well, you know what they say about loose ends...”

“W...wait.” Panic began to tear through your body, “Wait, please don’t. Oh, god, no. Please don’t hurt him. I’ll do whatever you ask just... please.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Well, stay put.” He opened the door on the cage and motioned for you to open your mouth, you complied. He ripped a piece of cloth off your clothes and tied it around your mouth, “Can’t have you screaming for help now, can we?” He chuckled and shut the cage again.

“What do we do now?” The masked man stood, anxiously bouncing on his heels.

“Find the boy.”

“And?”

“Well,” the man sat in front of your cage, pulling down his mask and showing you a bright grin, “See how much he wants his beloved back.”

You glared at him with tears in your eyes, trying to push the gag out of your mouth but to no avail.

Bennett sat on your bed, trying to keep himself from crying. 3 days. 3 days you’ve been missing. He wrapped himself in your clothes, taking deep breaths and trying to smell you on whatever remnant he had left.

The smell was fading.

He choked back tears and focused on you. Your smile, your voice, your favorite story, anything. Anything at all.

A loud knock at his door made him jump. Excitement and nervousness built into his feet as he ran to the door, maybe the Knights found you, maybe it was you. He threw the door open and saw a small slip of paper on the ground. With shaking hands, he picked it up, and when he finished reading its contents he couldn’t stop himself from crying or collapsing onto the ground.

Benny -

You probably want to know where (Y/N) is. She’s safe. For now, at least.

You have 24 hours to either get 30 million mora or something of equal value to

get her back safely. If you miss the deadline, we will sell her to the highest bidder. Deliver the money to the great tree in Windrise.

Come alone.

Proof that we have her is attached.

On the other side was a lock of your hair. He clutched it to his chest before carefully tucking it into his satchel, and just like that he took off searching for each mora or item in your house that could even possibly have value.

He would have sold the clothes off his back if it meant he’d see you again. But in the end, he fell short.

Not even 1 million mora.

He walked to the great tree, hoping he could strike some sort of deal. With his sword at his hip, he knew what he had to do.

The unlucky boy shook as he set the sword against the tree, his eyes filled with tears as a single man came from the shadows.

“You didn’t bring anything?” He scoffed, “She really loves you more than you love her.”

“She... she’s alive? Thank... thank the Archons.” His head drooped in relief, “M-my sword. It’s worth at least 30 million mora. Take it.”

The man stepped forward and inspected the sword, “Hm.” He practiced a few slashes with it, “Yes, this seems like it’ll catch a fair price.”

“Where is she?” He pulled himself to his feet, “I gave you what you wanted... where is she?”

He laughed under his mask, “Long gone. As we speak, she’s being pawned off.”

“Wh... what?” Bennett stepped forward, “I did what you asked.”

“Yes, you did. A 30 million mora sword and whatever she sells for... now my buddies and I will have the life we’ve always wanted.”

“That’s not fair.” He began to feel his blood boil under his skin, “You... you can’t do that.”

Bennett saw red, and the next thing he knew his sword was back in his hands and he was marching directly to you.

Wrath and fear forced his body on and it only increased tenfold as he saw a group of people standing around a cage, one of the men counting mora as he loudly spoke about your name to the onlookers.

Fire roared inside of him, their arrows and swords burned the moment he got near. Everything was burned to ash, except for you. He turned to the cage and felt his chest constrict as he saw tears pooling down your face and a gag keeping you silent.

He dropped his sword and ran over to the cage, it didn’t take him long to open the lock and remove the gag.

“Benny!” You gasped when you could speak, “Oh, god, Benny, I was so scared. T-They... they said they were going to kill you.”

“I’m here, it’s okay.” He broke the chains off your feet and untied the rope around your hands, “Can you walk?”

“I... I think?” He helped you out of the cage, but you immediately stumbled when you touched the ground. He wrapped his arms around your waist and caught you.

“I’ll carry you. Are you tired?” He sat you on the ground for a moment as he sheathed his sword, before picking you up bridal style and making sure to tighten his hands around so he wouldn’t drop you.

“A... a little.”

“I bet,” he beamed, “Bennys Adventure Team is here to help you!”

Your laughter dissolved into coughing.

Bennett frowned and held you close, “When we get home, I’ll read you a story.”

“About Vanessa?”

“About anything you want.”

You leaned into his chest and wrapped your arms around his neck, “As long as it’s you... I don’t care what it is.”

He was going to respond, but he noticed your eyes fall shut. He leaned down to make sure you were still breathing, smiled to himself, and began the long trek home.

Whenever you wanted to pick flowers or do anything outside of the city, he’d always offer to come with you. He doesn’t want you to go missing again. At night, he draws you close against his chest as he sleeps.

#benny x reader #bennett x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact bennett #genshin impact benny #one shot #oneshot #x reader #x reader fanfiction #fanfiction #bennett x you #benny x you #happy endings #saved by bennett #saved by benny

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yerrrabitch · 4 years ago

Text

WKND

Your eyelashes softly brushed your cheeks as you woke up. Your dark eyes scanned across his room. His scent suffocated you and kissed every inch of your body. His body lay tangled with yours. Your head was tucked between his arm and chest as he took deep, calm breaths. You relished in the feeling of him. These were some of your favorite moments.

When life could slow down for just a second and you could truly appreciate the man under you.

Friday Night 7:34PM

You kicked off your heels beside your door and wiped your sweat on the back of your hand. Another hellish day at work. You hated working and wished that you could take his money. But, you didn’t feel comfortable taking away from him to please you. He hated seeing you like this. He loved pampering you in anyway he could. You chuckled at the thought of the argument your current state would cause. You worked as an assistant to a lawyer who made you work unbearable hours and didn’t give a damn about any of your personal needs. He was an asshole but, the position paid well and you rubbed elbows with major figures in the field you wanted to go into after college.

You washed your hands and took your hair out of it’s bun. You couldn't wait to take this lace off for the weekend and let your hair out. Conforming to corporate America was another one of your least favorite things you did to get where you wanted to be. He didn’t agree with that. Well, he didn’t understand. He had worked through college growing his locs as a computer science major and now owns several businesses while only being two years out. He had established a name for himself; you had not. He offered many times to get an internship or position with one of his personal lawyers but, you wanted to get your connections and establish yourself by yourself. He had a love/hate relationship with your independence. It initially drew him to you when you first met.

You needed to make a quick snack before showering and heading over to his place for the rest of the weekend. You broke away from the apples and peanut butter to turn on Ari Lennox and unwind in the shower after realizing it was far later than you realized and he was probably worried sick about you. You showered, put in a hair mask and began to shave while dancing to her rhythmic voice when a hand grabbed your waist. You shot right into farthest part of the shower and let out an animalistic scream.

You closed your eyes as tight as possible and waited on the assault.

Giggles.

From him.

You wiped a curl out of your face and stared up at him. He was hunched over laughing at you like he was supposed to show up unannounced and scare you half to death.

“Baby,” he started before falling into another fit of giggles, “I came to check on you and here you are, dancing like that when you could be dancing with me upstairs.”

“I need to explain alone time?” You sneered, you were agitated. Why would he do that? He could’ve waited for you to step out of the bathroom at least. You could have fallen and gotten seriously hurt and he was laughing like that was just so funny. The things you would do to keep that smile on his face though.

“You know I didn't mean to intrude on your alone time. I was just seeing where you were. It’s 8:30?” He said still looking at you. The way your curls and coils were pulled into lopsided twists around your face, your nose scrunched up in irritation and dragged your plump upper lip and high cheekbones along with it made his heart whine at the two foot distance between you two. “I’ll wait on the couch for you, then we can go up together?”

You nodded and moved back into the water to finish what you were doing while a soft smile graced your face as you thought of him.

You crossed the hall and applied all the necessary body butters and creams then waddled out to see him. You rolled over the back of the couch and on to his side.

“Hey.”

He smiles up at you and places a soft kiss on your cheek. He begins peppering them all across your face and across your neck. You begin laughing when he bites on to a ticklish part of your clavicle. You place your hands at the nape of his neck and pull his head back.

“Did you cook?” You asked looking at his beard. You loved the way it felt when it grazed your thighs but, you hated the scruff he had began to grow during quarantine. He loved it though. Anything to differentiate him from his youth.

“Don’t you wanna order in? There’s this new Thai place on the North side. I had some for lunch last week and almost nutted,” he said staring into your eyes while tracing the curve of your jaw, “we can eat that.”

You nodded and began to get off of him and grab your slippers to go to his place. He lived five floors above you. His penthouse was amazing. It had a great view, a private elevator and this kitchen that you loved to cook in. Sometimes after an exam you both would stay up trying new recipes to get your minds off the stress. You loved cooking with him and were a little disappointed at the loss of bonding time. You knew he'd make up for it though.

“We should order it soon, you know everything out here closes early as hell.” You replied as you locked your apartment up and grabbed his hand to walk to his elevator. While waiting for it to rise from the lobby you stared at both of your figures in the reflection. His massive body next to yours, you looked like a child. A curvy child, but still a child. The hand wrapped around the phone as he orders food looks bigger than your waist. His large torso compared to your average sized one. He towered at 6′6 and you lived at 5′8. You were taller than most but, he humbled you whenever you tried to act bigger than him. Your wide hips were the only thing on you bigger than him. He would argue that your head is bigger than anything in the room.

You were busy comparing your body to his when he guided you into the shaft with a hand on your lower back. You thanked him and stepped inside. You felt his hand moving to cup just beneath your bottom. He gave two taps to your butt and opened his other arm, signaling you to jump on his waist. You rolled your eye but, still complied and let him carry you the rest of the way. The elevator dinged and he began to move. His breathe was warm against your cool scalp. And his body warm against yours. You loved him carrying you almost as much as he did. He loved taking care of you and anyway that you would allow him to gave him joy.

You had decorated the entrance of his penthouse. Initially it had been bare but, you added a mirror, a welcome mat and a tall plant that required almost no care so he couldn’t kill it by forgetting it. But, he would never let anything you gave him die. He walked up the stairs and into his bedroom. He turned around and sat down on the bed with you still attached to him and then laid back. You rolled over and began to remove the pillows from the bed. When you first met him he only used one pillow and now he can’t sleep with out at least three on the bed or you. You patted the spot next to you and almost squealed when he settled in next to you. You loved cuddling. He loved it too, only with you though. In previous relationships, it’d irritate him and make him overheat but, with your cooler body temperature and lovable personality he couldn’t resist. You rubbed up and down his side while he rubbed circles on your butt. You pushed your lips up at your nose. His eyes flashed to them and he immediately captured them with his own. He had a special way of kissing you. It never took your breath away. It was like it was your breath. You could kiss him for hours and only need to stop to fulfill bodily functions. Your lips fit perfectly together. You felt his bottom row gently dig into your top lip as his hand drifted from your ass to your right breast. His hot tongue slips into your mouth and you attach on to it and begin sucking it. His mouth retracts slightly as he smiles at you. Clearly, he doesn’t like you having too much control as he takes your nipple in his hand and twists it. You gasp and he takes that as his chance to do what he wants with you. He keeps kissing you and pulls away to begin kissing down your neck. You feel your lower belly getting warm and you try to pull his hand from your breast and place it in between your thighs. You hadn't had your fill all week and you wanted him right now. He snatches his hand away from you and doesn’t even look up at you.

“I’m taking my time tonight, so you just gone have to wait my love.” He said in between open mouthed kisses on your chest. You loved when he showered you with affection like this but, there was a time and place for everything and this was neither. You wanted to fill him shoot into the depths of you then carry you into the bathtub so you both could scrub the sins away then slide back into bed and go to sleep. You were tired and you’d rather use your vibrator and come back after you came at least once.

“Baby, I’ve been waiting all week.” You whispered looking down at him.

“Who’s fault is that?” He asked, finally reaching your nipples. “Not mine, if I could’ve had you every night I would have. I would’ve had you in the morning too. Before work. At lunch. Before dinner. For dessert. But, you had to work right mamas?” He plopped your nipple in his mouth. Swirling his tongue around your ring and lightly nibbling on the sensitive flesh in-between the metal. You were enjoying his assault on his body and accidentally ignored his question.

He bit down. Hard.

“I asked you a question didn’t I?” He said staring up at you. You nodded eagerly.

“Words.” He said with a lot more bass in his voice.

“Yes.” He smiled up at you. You were wet and you knew that he wasn’t going to let you come once tonight after that. He’d just edge you for the rest of the night and hopefully let you cum tomorrow. He moved to the next nipple and used his fingers to give the other nipple to attention she deserved.

He loved playing with the fattier parts of your body. One day in the earlier days of your relationship you had told him about your insecurities and he made it his duty to show extra affection to them whenever possible. He moved down to your belly and began kissing all around it and sucking your flesh in between. He pulls back up to you and places a gentle kiss on your lips and smiles.

“I love you.”

He pulls your shirt back down and pulls your body tightly against him. You feel him throbbing against your thigh as you sit on his lap. He grabbed your left foot and began to massage the heels of your feet, slowly working up to your toes and moving back down methodically. You wanted to enjoy pleasing him and vice versa but, you knew tonight was really going to be affection rather than sex. You craved an orgasm but you also needed intimacy. You loved how he knew where to find a balance in your needs and desire them.

Saturday Morning 9:50AM

The Thai place was amazing. You could see yourself sneaking there during lunch breaks for the dishes. You both had finished off two bottles of wine and sat snuggled up on the couch watching Living Single re runs. He laid on your chest between your thighs as you both fought sleep. He smelled of deep amber and vanilla. A cologne that you mentioned loving years ago and he made a point to wear around you.

You looked at the man next to you. You gently disconnected yourself from him and crawl beneath the sheets. You pull his member from his boxers and spit on it. You feel his body shift, he’s waking up. You lick up the under side of the shaft and attach your lips to the top. You extend your tongue outside of your lips and begin pulling in and out of your mouth. A deep chuckle breaks your concentration.

“You love this dick don’t you?” He mused. You nodded “Couldn’t wait for me to wake up?”

You continued your assault by forcing the entirety of his length into your throat. You always struggled through this part but you never stopped trying. You gagged on it and kept pushing. You were confident that you wouldn’t vomit but you needed to taste his nut. You repeated the process, sucking the tip then taking it all down your throat. You loved the feeling of his breath becoming quicker and his hand pulling your bonnet off and grasping your twists in both of his hands. His hips kept bucking up at you until you felt warm ropes begin to paint your throat. You loved this taste. The feeling of his balls constricting on your cheeks. The way his happy trail tickled your nose. The way his thighs felt so strong against your finger tips. His firm grip on your hair. It all made you want him more. You kept sucking after he had finished until his body began to twitch again. It was only right to overstimulate him how he had done you so many times before.

You lifted off of him and hurried to the bathroom to brush your teeth. You knew once he gained his strength back he would return the favor a few times over. He padded in behind you and began running the water in the bathtub. You smiled softly and went to the kitchen. You cut up apples, oranges and put grapes into a bowl and met him in the bathroom. He had grabbed towels and began to strip. Staring at your gown, he points and the tub. You comply and bring the bowl with you.

“Eat mama.” He commands and begins kissing up and down your neck. His hands go beneath the water and find your folds. He grazes across your clit and down to your opening. His right hand rises to your breast and he palms it lightly. He grasps your clit between two fingers and rolls it between them. Your breath hitches.

“Please, Erik.” You breathe. You feel him smile behind you.

“Please, what baby?”

“Please fuck me.”

His laugh shakes your chest as he puts a singular finger inside of you. He knew that he needed to work you up to his size. After a week away from him, you always shrunk to a coin slot. He curved his hand around to place one hand on your clit while still fingering you. You move the bowl to the ridge of the tub as you feel yourself getting closer to a climax. He adds another finger in. Initially it is uncomfortable but as he keeps rubbing your clit your loosen up around him. You pant as you feel your end close to you. He abruptly pulls his fingers out of you and turns the shower on behind both of you. He pulls you up carefully after moving the bowl to the floor near the tub. He lifts you up by your waist and slowly guides your onto his dick. He stretches you immediately and you feel like you might split open. It hurt but still felt so good.

After waiting for you to nod at him, he began pumping in and out of you. Slowly at first then he picked up speed. He backed you into the wall and moved one of his arms from around you on to your clit and began rubbing. The hot coil in your belly began to tighten and you knew your orgasm was coming quickly. He looked so focused on getting your nut, he was barely worried about his. You begin coating him in a thick, white cream as your body is almost to your peak. Your moans begin to fill the bathroom as he hit your g spot. You finished and you felt yourself squirting on him. He loved that. He loved drinking it more than watching it though.

He immediately followed behind you and filled you up with his cum. The warm water hit both of your side as your legs dropped and he laid his forehead against yours. He lightly kissed you then pulled out of you. You felt cold now without him inside of you. He reached for your body wash and you reached for his. Every time you had shower sex, you both would wash each others body’s.

Regardless of all the shit you go through during the week. This makes it worth it. Orgasms before noon and endless support and love from a man you love.

#erik kilmonger x reader #erik killmonger #erik stevens college au #erik x reader #Erik Stevens #erik stevens x reader #black woman imagine #black panther

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years ago

Note

Oh oki “fire and brimstone” for Jameson maybe?

CW: Some talk about fundamentalist Christianity from perspective of someone who left and had a bad exprience with it, memory loss, backstory hinting for Jameson, recovering whumpee, mentioned domestic and child abuse

“Every Sunday, rain or shine,” Jake is saying, the skillet in front of him sizzling so loudly with the frying crumbled-up sausage that he has to raise his voice to be heard. “All of us right there for Sunday School at 9, service at 10, on a good day we’d walk back out at noon to go eat.”

Jameson watches him, and thinks, I didn’t come down here to hear your fucking life story.

They’re the first two up, the sun rising in pinks and purples slowly giving way to blue. Jameson had stayed in bed for a while, watching the sky turn gray first, thinking of Allyn’s eyes.

He’d padded down here to get something to eat, only to find Jake already in the kitchen, pulling out a cylinder of breakfast sausage wrapped in plastic, heating up a flat black cast-iron skillet. Jameson hadn’t asked, but Jake had said it was a gift from his mother.

Pretty sure you’re not allowed to move out where I come from without at least one. Jake’s voice is cheerful, sparking lemon bursts underlaid with something deeper, darker, that Jameson can’t name. Something smoother.

He’s trying to be friends, Jameson thinks, and he doesn’t want to be friends, not with anyone, but... his mouth is watering at the scent of the sausage cooking and there are biscuits already in the oven, warm dough smell overlaying everything else.

White Lily Flour, Jake said, patting the bag of it on the counter. I was raised right.

Jake’s lemon voice took on a hint of bitterness. Jameson wonders, sometimes, if he tastes changes in emotion, or if it’s just his brain malfunctioning, sparking off-key. He thinks he tastes the right things. Nobody’s ever asked him about it. He’s never told anyone.

None of this - baking, cast-iron cooking, church - means a fucking thing to Jameson.

Except... it sort of does.

“Some days,” Jake says, pushing the sausage around with a wooden spoon, breaking up large clumps that are still pink in the center, “We didn’t get out until one. Just depended on what he was pissed off about that day. Then Monday my dad had men’s group, my mom had women’s group on Tuesdays, we had another service Wednesday night - short one, though. Then Youth Group on Fridays once I was old enough... I wasn’t in it for long, though. We left a few months after I was old enough to join.”

Jake stops, for a second, staring down at the sausage. He picks up a small measuring cup and shakes out some flour, stirring the sausage round as it picks it up.

“Your family get sick of all that fucking sitting?” Jameson asks, just to fill the silence.

Jake swallows. “Nah. Just my mom and I. Got sick of all that fire and brimstone being aimed at us.”

Jameson’s eyebrows come together. Jake’s voice dips, caramelizes, the lemon is sticky-sweet and feels like fuzz sticking in his head. There’s something here he doesn’t get, and he definitely doesn’t give a fuck, only...

He leans forward. “What’s that mean?”

Jake turns the heat down on the stove, and Jameson watches the gas flame flicker and become smaller. Then he pours milk in from a carton Jameson drank out of yesterday, not that he’s telling anyone, and watches as it heats.

The timer over the oven dings. Jake pulls on his oven mitt and pulls the tray of golden-brown biscuits out, setting them on a folded towel to cool on the counter while he finishes up the gravy.

For a second, Jameson thinks Jake isn’t going to answer him.

“My Papa - dad’s dad - was head of the men’s group. He’d been a church deacon for decades, preacher’s right-hand man. Nana Stanton ran music, played the organ, organized the choir. My dad was everybody’s favorite son, you know? Preacher and his wife had six daughters. My dad was prob’ly supposed to marry one of them. He married Mom, instead. My mom and I... we caused trouble for him.”

This is weird, and yet Jameson can’t stop the sense that the hair on the back of his neck is standing up. Something is whispering to him, from deep in the recesses of his thoughts. He doesn’t care.

He has to know.

“Trouble how?”

Jake takes a breath, lets it out. Slow exhale. “My Dad’s a piece of shit, that’s all you need to know. Spent a whole fucking bunch of my childhood in the ER, for me or for Mom.”

Jameson feels himself rock forward, like a hand clapped him on the back too strongly, like the handler slapping the deep red welts just to listen to him moan, right on cue, in reply.

Me, too. I did that, too.

No. False memories are a result of the Drip, of training. He knows that. He knows-

Wait, no, it wasn’t me. It was-

I had to-

Slid a piece of paper across the table with what she needed to escape, money for college and an apartment and a plane ticket as far away as she could get, happy birthday, you got this, never think about this bullshit family again, and the woman sitting at the desk had smiled and said, I think we can make this work for everyone involved, Mr.-

“... needed help,” Jake is saying, as he cooks down the gravy. It had boiled at some point, now he’s simmering, stirring as it thickens, adding salt and pepper. “But they told Mom she should strive to be fucking Godly. That it was better for her to fucking ‘stick it out’ because marriage is fucking sacred. Nobody told my dad not to be the goddamn devil to his wife and kid, you know?”

“Yeah,” Jameson whispers. Jake’s voice is dark now, the lemon is nearly buried by something thick and black with anger. It slides over Jameson’s mind, smooths out the thoughts he is trying desperately to hold onto.

Jake glances over at him. Whatever he reads in Jameson’s face, he sighs, softly. “Sorry, man. You didn’t ask about my bullshit. Sometimes it just... gets to me all over again. Usually whenever my dad manages to manipulate my grandparents or something into giving him my p.o. box address again.”

The headache arrives, swift and sudden, and Jameson closes his eyes against the flash of light, the thunderclap of pain that follows on its heels.

Jake fixes him a plate of biscuits, gravy piled high, and it smells so so good and Jameson takes his first bite with the sense of a hard wooden bench biting into his spine and the pastor’s voice droning and she was holding his hand, the two of them, knowing this was the last time they’d be here, together.

She sat in church with the plane ticket he’d bought her in her pocket, hidden from them all. He’d held her hand with his heart in his throat, thinking about his brother.

Was it worth it?

What was it, anyway?

Jake sits down across from him, and Jameson looks up through the throb of pain to see those blue eyes focused on him, concerned. “You all right?”

He’s back to lemon, bright and tart, slightly browned from sugar and heat. Like a candied slice on a cake. But Jameson feels the steady rush of a river underneath, flowing under mountains, gradually wearing away the very earth that keeps them standing.

“I’m fine,” Jameson says, and takes a bite.

What had he done, when he signed up for this?

Who had he done it for?

---

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @moose-teeth @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @endless-whump @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @vickytokio @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @wildfaewhump

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swaps55 · 4 years ago

Text

Eulogia

With MELE imminent, sharing a scene I wrote a long time ago, in which Kaidan Alenko mourns Ashley Williams after Virmire, and discovers he isn’t mourning alone.

From here.

The cargo bay was quiet when the elevator doors opened. Most of the crew had dispersed to the Citadel, leaving Kaidan mercifully alone in the cavernous space. Slowly he made his way towards the lockers, the scar tissue and healing sinews in his abdomen like a knot that someone had doused with gasoline and set on fire.

But still healing.

(This is it. This is how I’m going to die.)

Kaidan exhaled.

If he closed his eyes he could still see the numbers in his HUD, always hovering right above zero, a perpetuating terminus never quite reached, never quite avoided.

When he reached the lockers he stopped, hand halfway to the one marked, Williams, A.

If he went by the book this should be Gladstone’s job. There was no reason it shouldn’t be Gladstone’s job.

(You know it’s the right choice.)

But it wasn’t Gladstone’s job.

The click of the locker door echoed loud enough that he flinched before drawing in a deep breath and pulling it all the way open. She hadn’t lied about her uniforms. Every shirt hung crisp and straight on its hanger, in sharp contrast to the chaotic pile of belongings tossed heedlessly on the ground below it. The pile was so impressive he was actually afraid to take anything out, for fear it would cause an outright avalanche. In spite of himself he shook his head and smiled a little.

“Somehow this is exactly what I expected from you,” he said under his breath. He heard a creak behind him and whipped his head around, heart rate thudding as though he expected to find her peering over his shoulder, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. A flush crept up the back of his neck.

Of course there was nothing. Ashley was dead.

His gripped the locker door until his knuckles whitened, leaned his forehead briefly against it. The metal felt cool and hard against his skin. He swallowed once. Twice.

Eventually he straightened with a sigh, tugging at his uniform and rolling his shoulder, as though he could somehow shake Ashley off like working out a crick in his neck. By the time his fingers brushed the cloth of her fatigues their subtle quiver had been swallowed up by the hard-earned discipline he’d practiced so diligently ever since Jump Zero.

(Kaidan Alenko. Always looking for the sure thing. Everything needs to be perfectly defined and spelled out for you, doesn’t it? Sometimes the unknown can be a little exciting, too.)

A static spark stung his finger as he emptied the hangers. He jerked his hand back, muttering, used to the burn, never the timing. Slowly he reached back in, painstakingly folding each shirt with precision he hadn’t employed since Basic.

(You find a wrinkle in my uniform and I’ll clean your pistol for a month.)

He made each crease razor sharp. Not a wrinkle to be found.

Once the clothing had been stored, he began taking apart the pile she had accumulated in her locker. Datapads with poetry. She liked Cummings and Yeats, Plath and Elizabeth Bishop. He remembered Joker saying something about Heinlein. Kaidan hadn’t intended to look through them, but shortly he found himself cross-legged on the floor, skimming through lines and verses. It was easy to tell her favorites – she’d annotated them heavily. Underlined phrases, personal reflections. In some cases she’d made notes that he didn’t understand, such as the one beside a line from a poem by Elizabeth Browning that simply read, Josh, and in parenthesis (the little shit).

She also had a copy of the Bible, which gave him pause. It wasn’t a datapad either but an actual book, pages dog-eared, corners bent and turned down, small makeshift bookmarks such as scraps of paper, paper clips, even a hair tie, sticking out at all angles. Like the datapads it was covered in notes, but all of these handwritten, in scripts of multiple hands. Some tiny and neat, others broad and flowing. Though he didn’t think he’d ever seen a sample of Ashley’s handwriting he immediately found one he thought had to be hers – small but hurried, with the occasional loopy flourish. It tended to start out neat, but quickly deteriorated when her hand couldn’t keep up with her thoughts, until it was nearly illegible.

The inside cover contained four handwritten paragraphs, each in a different script that he recognized from the subsequent pages. Each a note from parent to child, passing the heirloom on with messages of faith and love. Four generations of Williams, right there on one page.

Kaidan ran his fingers across the script, tracing the shallow grooves the pen made against the paper. General David Williams, of Shanxi infamy, bequeathing it to his son Matthew Williams, with a note.

Our faith is our legacy. We keep to it and carry on, no matter the cost. And when that task is difficult, remember those who’ve walked a harder road with lesser reward. We are blessed. I am blessed. Because I have you.

Serviceman Williams then wrote to his daughter, There’s a great wide universe out there waiting for you. I hope you explore it to the fullest. If you ever get lost, look here and see if you can’t find your way. Remember, kiddo. Ad aspera per astra.

Kaidan’s hands loosened, allowing the book’s spine to droop. A few pages whispered past his thumb. The hair tie bookmark fell out, ghosting to the floor without fanfare.

He snatched it up with a hot flash of guilt and held it aloft. What page did it come from? What place had he lost? How important had it been?

He didn’t know.

There was so much he didn’t know. So much he’d never learn.

He stared at the hair tie. Nothing more than a simple strip of dark blue elastic, still twined with a few strands of long, dark brown hair. She probably had a few dozen just like it. She’d worn two in her hair, at all times. One to pull it back into a ponytail, one to wrap around the thick twist of her bun and secure it in place. Usually she kept a third around her wrist, just for emergencies.

But they were never enough to hold back those few stubborn, errant strands that inevitably pulled free to waft about her face.

Moisture burned the corner of his eyes. His fingers curled around the small token, and he put his newly formed fist to his mouth to stifle the sound brewing in his throat. One choked sob got through before he swallowed the rest back, chest aching from the effort. He wicked a thumb across his eyes, hastily tucked the hair tie back between the pages and set the book aside.

This wasn’t his. The grief and memories trapped within the Bible’s covers were for her family, not for him.

But it shouldn’t be for anyone. It should be his things exposed to the harsh light of the cargo bay, meticulously sorted and stored, itemized on a manifest and marked for shipping back to Vancouver, care of Marc and Lora Alenko.

His throat tightened, hitching breath loud against the silent backdrop of the cargo bay. Not even the sound of the engines to provide some white noise.

Nothing like this would be found among his own belongings. He spoke to his folks a couple of times a year. Hadn’t been back to Vancouver in almost three. When he did it tended to be strained small talk and careful avoidance of anything to do with the mutated eezo nodes lurking under his skin. He’d actually thought running off to the Alliance might help. Follow in his father’s footstep. Give them something in common. That, of course, and he’d had nowhere else to go.

Would his own family have mourned him the way Ashley Williams’ would mourn her?

Would she?

Stop.

He raked a hand through his hair, fingers eventually coming to rest against his forehead. His head felt heavy. Too heavy to hold up, like a lead weight.

(They’re more important. We’re as good as dead up here anyway.)

He wondered who would inherit the Bible now that Ashley was gone. One of her sisters, maybe. Sisters who probably had yet to learn about what had happened down on Virmire.

(Kaidan, what the hell are you doing?)

(This bomb is going off! No matter what.)

No matter what. 0.00. He’d been ready for it. Ready for anything. Except Shepard’s hand, grabbing him by the arm.

Further down in the pile he found smaller items. Toiletries. A stuffed hanar, of all things. A bottle of liquor she must have picked up on Noveria.

(Just for the record, I’d look damn good in a dress.)

He swallowed against a lump in his throat, chest constricting. He could see her so clearly, standing at the railing in Port Hanshan, alternating between slouching and gripping the rail with her hands and leaning back on her heels.

(I’m not most people.)

No. She hadn’t been.

He found some packing material for the liquor. It was scotch, an asari brand, maybe purchased to share with Liara. Why it hadn’t been drunk he couldn’t say. Maybe she just ran out of time.

Next was a holo album containing a few photos. People he didn’t recognize. A woman that looked too much like her not to be her mother. A young girl with a grin he recognized from those brief moments in the comm room. Before…

Stop!

Kaidan put the holo aside, then rested his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands. Took a deep breath in. Let it out slow. Clamped his eyes shut. For a moment, everything shook. His hands. The air in his lungs. His skin felt hot, but prickled with gooseflesh.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Eventually he opened his eyes. Went back to the pile. Finish it, marine. Don’t leave her hanging.

In all her possessions were scant, just what she’d been able to obtain or accumulate since they’d picked her up on Eden Prime. In fact, how the Bible and holo album had even managed to catch up with her struck him as a bit of a mystery.

But when he got to the bottom of the pile his hand froze, mouth dry as a shock of white hot cold strummed the length of his spine, numbness dulling his fingers until they felt thick and clumsy.

It shouldn’t have surprised him. After all, she’d died in her combat gear. Not her fatigues. Of course they would be here.

This time no amount of discipline could overcome his shaking hands as he picked one up and turned it over in his palms.

A neon green boot with matching laces, so bright they nearly glowed in the dim light of the cargo bay.

His gut clenched, chest so tight he couldn’t breathe, the edges of his vision blurring until something hot and wet spilled over onto his cheeks.

(Come on.)

(Whoa, where are we going? Anderson said to wait here.)

(Come on, LT. Think we’ll ever get to poke around here again? Live a little.)

Only he hadn’t. She’d been right there. Right there. And he hadn’t.

(Tell me you haven’t thought about this.)

(Thinking’s not the same as doing. Maybe, once all this is behind us…)

He dropped the boot, back slamming against the lockers as he buried his head in his hands, the grief that he’d stored down deep in his chest ever since that timer reached zero breaching the damn in a flood of hot tears. He wept himself hollow, hot, swollen and aching, exhaustion creeping in until he felt it laying heavily over his skin, behind his eyes, in the pit of his stomach. Then he just sat silent, eyes red and heavy, arms resting on his knees.

A hulking shape appeared above him. Had he not felt so drained he might have cared more about discovering he hadn’t been alone after all. But when Wrex’s red, horny crest came into view he met the krogan’s fierce stare without shame. Whatever the krogan had to say, he was beyond giving a damn.

“She was a warrior worth mourning,” Wrex said.

Kaidan straightened his posture with mild surprise, but said nothing.

“Shepard chose his companions well. Even those I at first didn’t give him credit for.” He offered a scaly hand, which Kaidan accepted warily. Wrex hauled him effortlessly to his feet, and gave him a brusque nod.

“You are krantt.”

Kaidan wasn’t sure how to respond, but Wrex saved him the trouble by ambling away without further comment. The krogan had been nearly invisible since their return from Virmire. After finding him here Kaidan wasn’t even sure if he’d even left the ship.

He hadn’t considered the possibility that a krogan might mourn a human soldier. But Ashley…had that effect on people.

With a wipe of his eyes Kaidan began piling Ashley’s things into a crate. Once the locker was empty he sealed it, then closed the crate up as well and entered it into the ship’s inventory for the requisitions offer to offload and send to her family. By the time he finished, his grief had been replaced by grim, dogged resolve.

We’re coming for you, Saren. May God help you, you bastard.

#mass effect #kaidan alenko #ashley williams #ashley x kaidan #not quite willenko #but almost #my fic #me legendary countdown #i'm so used to writing in present tense #that reading my own stuff in past tense is WEIRD

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wenwenbittercake · 3 years ago

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✨Hanma x reader✨

(Hii sorry for not posting for a long time. Here's a Hanma x reader fan fiction. All of the characters are all from the time past where hina UK lost her legs. Yea that time past part. So all the characters are all grown up. I got the idea from the let me love u by Ariana Grande our queen. 👑👑👑

Warning-a little bit of spice, cheating, swearing enjoy💕💕✨✨

⚡thunder sounds 💥

The sound of ur heels can be heard through the sound of heavy rain. Black Mascara run downs your cheek not due to the rain but due to the fighting and crying you had with Kisaki.

You both had been dating for a few years now and things didn’t get better. He’s always busy with work and when you both finally have time together. He would fuck you and go back to work. It’s been a circle.

But what he did just this evening really pissed you off bad. You’re fine with him fucking with his assistant, coworkers, even whores he find in clubs, but calling you Hina while in a middle of a make out section really hurts you like a bitch. You had enough with him.

You finally made it in front a familiar building. You ring the bell on the door. “Click” the door knob turned and open to see and tall man with yellow highlights.

“*sigh*What happened now?”

The man asked. You look up with teary eyes to see Hanma looking at you with annoyance mixed with a dash of sadness. To be honest, it ach his heart to see his beloved Y/N crying due to that jerk. He doesn’t know how lucky to have a cute bitch like you.

When Hanma first saw you, you were bratty. He thought you’re the type of girl who only want money and gifts from Kisaki but noo. He was wrong. You’re the type of girl who’s bratty and teasing outside but inside, you’re a soft, carrying person. The more he knows about you, the more he fell for you.

The first time he seen you cry was when you found out Kisaki was cheating on you with his assistant. You were crying outside of his office door. He can fainting hear that bitch moaning. That day he took you outside to a carnival. He bought you a lot of snacks and play many carnival games with you but in the end, all of it turned to waste when you run into Kisaki arms when he come pick you up from the carnival. You look so happy running up to his arms. He doesn’t deserve someone like you.

Now you’re crying on his sofa, explaining what happened. He listens to you as you wipe your mascara stained tears away as you bash your shitty boyfriend.

As for him, he’s drying your hair from the rain. You had changed into his T-shirt that’s too big for you and his shorts that cover your knee.

“There, there stop crying over that jerk. You’re getting snort all over my shirt.” Hanma said as he ruffles your hair.

“You Jerk.”

“Hey I’m not the Jerk here. Your little boyfriend is.” He said as he sits beside you.

“EX- boyfriend.” You correct him.

Hanma just laugh but deep down he knows you still claim that jerk as your boyfriend after you feel better.

“Right right , now come eat dinner before it gets cold.” You nod as you follow him to the kitchen.

There you feast on the food on the plate hungrily. Hanma talks about his day as you eat. If a stranger walk in, they would think you both are lovers due to the warmness you both share. Hanma wish you both were but no. Your still Kisaki’s in the end of the day. He sighs at the thought of it.

“What’s wrong?” you asks with puffy eyes.

“Nothing just thinking about work.”

“Aww, you shouldn’t stress to much about it. Ik it’s tough but u should relax in your free times.”

“Thx princess, I’ll keep that in mind.” You look up in surprise by the nickname. He only gives you a wink in return.

“Cocky bastard.”

“And what was that?”

“Nothing. Oh can we watch a movie?”

“Yea sure, go turn on the TV. I’ll join you in a min.” He said as he washes the dishes.

“Ok!” You said excitingly and hopped to the living room.

“Cute” Hanma whisper under his breath.

Your favorite show is now casting live on television. It’s called friends. A classic. A few minutes later, Hanma sits beside you comfortably.

“This is new.”

“Wdym new? This is Friends. You don’t know Friends?”

“umm Nope.”

“haa you suck.”

Hanma just scoff at the insult. But not long you start to explain the plot and all the character. Your explaining about your favorite character but he can’t focus.

You put your legs on Hanma’s lap and he’s massaging your foot but he wonders what would it take for him to slowly move his hands up from your feet to your thighs. Would you scream? Push him away and run out of his door. Would you cry? The possibilities are countless, but this excites him even more.

With that he slowly starts to move his hand upward massaging your calf to groping your thigh. You seem to realize his advances. You stop talking and look at Hanma’s eyes when his hand moves to your thighs. His right hand moves slowly, groping the fat of your thigh. You look into his eyes with excitement and lust. He has the same look in his eyes too but more like a child trying to steal a treat from his mom.

Your heart starts to beat fast but not out of fear but lust. You want him to touch more. Not just thighs but everywhere. Every inch of you. The air starts to feel hot and your face feel like burning.

Fuck it

You pull Hanma’s collar and kiss him in a deep and rough kiss. Like the desperate one. Hanma kiss you back too. Both of you feeling desperate and wanting to feel more of each other. You shifted on his lap. Not breaking the kiss. Tongue exploring each other’s and roaming on each other’s. You start to tug his shirt he’s wearing. He took that as a sign and picks you up in a swoop. Like you’re a pillow. He carries you to his bedroom without breaking the kiss.

He drops you on his bed making you go oof. He didn’t take much time to undress as his hands quickly goes back to your body. Undressing you and groping you in the same time.

His wildest fantasies have finally come true. Fucking you, making you scream his name after every orgasm you have. Marking you with hickeys and having your nails scratch his back. Making you cry not out of sadness but out of overstimulation. Hanma make you feel like it’s your first time. Making you feel all his love and craving you. Making you feel so special.

Next morning, Hanma expect to wake up with an empty but much to his surprise. He sees his princess still sleep soundly beside him. So peaceful, so adorable. He was going to take a pic but he was interrupted by loud ringing. He got up and put on a jacket and walks to the door to see Kisaki on his door.

“What a surprise seeing you here.”

“Is Y/N here?’’

“Um yes, After what u did last night of cause she’s here.”

“Can you please call her. Tell her I’m here to take her back home.”

“I’m already home.” You shout at Kisaki.

Wearing Hanma’s shirt. The shirt is loose enough to show all the hickeys that he left last night. You hug Hanma’s side and he smiles back with satisfaction.

“Wdym you’re home? Stop playing with me Y/N. I got things to do.” He said as he pulls you hand towards him but you yank him off.

“I said NO!”

“Y/N!”

“GO BACK TO YOUR BITCH HINA IF YOU MISS HER THAT MUCH!’’ you raise your voice to him. Kisaki’s jaw dropped. His once obedient bitch is now yelling back at him.

“Oh right, I forgot, she chose a rat over your ass.”

“I-“

“Now piss off, I got Hanma beside me. I don’t need your shrimp of a dick.” You said as you turn and leave.

“Y/N wait..” Hanma stop Kisaki from entering making him more pissed.

“I think she’s done with you bro.” Kisaki face is now as red as a tomato.

“I’ll talk about this with you in my office.” He said as he left.

Hanma rolls his eye and close the door. He turns around to smell the smell of fresh toast. He walks into the kitchen to see his lovely Y/N making breakfast for him. How sweet. He hugs her from behind and kiss your neck.

“Want some Breakfast?”

“Yes please.”

(Thank you everyone for reading my fanfic. I hope u all enjoy it. I definitely enjoy roasting kisaki and I expect u to enjoy it too. Love u all and have a nice day 💕🤭🤭✨✨✨)

(Me simping for this magnificent boi💕💕❤✨)

#hanma x y/n #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev smut #tokrev hanma #hanma x reader #hanma fluff #hanma smut #tokyo revengers fanfiction #Tokyo rev

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wintersongstress · 4 years ago

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What Remains of a Butterfly

Summary: A glimpse into the after; of where you and Arthur find yourselves after the fall of the Van der Linde gang.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female Reader

Tags: fluff, mild mentions of smut

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: a gift for the lovely and kind-hearted @actuallyhansolo, though this piece was inspired by a prompt I received in my inbox ages ago. I hope you enjoy ♥ Also a big thank you to @the-halo-of-my-memory for being the best beta I could ask for :)

1905 — Gallatin, Montana;

“Try not to squeeze ‘er with your heels, else the horse’ll canter. You wanna grip her sides with your legs,” calls out Arthur from across the front pasture. A little neigh follows, carrying through the heavenly sigh of the breeze whistling down through the forests and into the valley you called home. Thistle and larkspur waver in its wake, flowing and flawing with streaks and splashes of color, and the hum of bumble bees fills the air. The only intrusion to the symphony of nature’s awakening is the occasional creak of dead wood as your seat on the front porch leans, forwards then backwards.

Overhead, a flock of warblers glide across the sky. Their song, a rising whistle, twittering and sweet, melds with the leathered yet honeyed tone of Arthur’s voice. A gentleness he reserved for one special person laces his rough timbre. Your eyes draw away from your knitting needles at the sound, and the sight that greets you warms your heart.

Your daughter Cora sits astride a chestnut pony, the straw hat covering her head askew. From beneath the floppy brim the early morning sunshine warms her cheeks, revealing the determined twist of her mouth as she heeds her father’s instruction. She hangs onto the reins and her hat, her neat braid bouncing as the horse trots in circles in the grass. Autumn’s hooves below her thud the earth softly, her cinnamon tail flicking and catching the gold of the sun all the while.

A long, satisfied breath fills your lungs. The windsong, calm as a seaside, lulls you into a deep state of bliss as you listen to the harmony it inspires in the surrounding land. Your porch chair rocks as you hum a thoughtful melody, stitching together the tight, blue row of a sock while taking in the splendors of the hour.

From a thousand places in the grass, little gems of dew wink back rainbows in the sunrays. Clouds drift seamlessly along the horizon like the verses of a poem, embellishing a sky flushed the color of a ripe peach. The sunlight has breached the distant snow-patched mountain peaks, its golden warmth lifting the mantle of fog settled deep in the green dark shadows of the valley. The wind rises forever and again, breathing life into the lungs of the cottonwood forest and stirring all that lay deep within wide awake. Woodpeckers flit amongst the treetops in their quest for insects, but all around far and near bird song prevails.

Comforted by the gift of your present, you tug free more yarn from the basket beside you. A hummingbird visits the columbines growing along the side of your homestead as you knit, gone in a flash of bronze. You pause at the boon of its appearance, but your eyes distractedly settle across the way.

Arthur leans on the paddock fence with his elbows propped up as he watches over Cora. A cup of coffee steams in his hand. He raises it and takes a sip, and you note with amusement that only three of his fingers fit through the handle. His fingernails are clean and square against the tin.

In all of your time together you never tired of the way the morning light poured over his tall frame. A heavenly gold illuminates the outlines of his arms and shoulders in his cotton white shirt. His sleeves, rolled humbly up to his elbows, display his tanned forearms, and a pair of dark suspenders divide his strong back handsomely. You never ceased to appreciate how lucky you were to have this view daily, and with each day, your love for Arthur and your family grew tenfold.

After a hearty breakfast of pancakes and eggs, Arthur took your daughter out to the horse pasture to learn how to ride—much at her own insistence and prodding. From a young age Cora shared his deep respect for horses and spent time with the ones you kept every day, grooming, feeding, and bonding with them. In the mornings you washed the dishes together, and afterwards, Cora bolted outside eager to start her lesson.

Today Arthur had lingered in the kitchen once the porch door slammed shut behind her and you were at once alone. The tick of the clock on the floral-papered wall was the only sound for a moment, until Arthur withdrew from the table.

You stood before the washing basin, drying a plate with a dish towel and adding it to a stack on the counter when he slipped his arms around you from behind and held you close. All of your quiet thoughts of the arriving day paused. Together, you breathed in. Your eyes closed. No words were needed between you to speak of the content that settled in your hearts then. He had only hummed a deep sound that passed through you, and began to gently sway you in a dance as you both basked warmly in the window. A jar of amber honey on the sill bloomed light, pouring gold like a waterfall. The birds sang—they always sang in this heavenly place—and you tilted your head back against his broad chest. You melted in his arms when his mouth pressed upon yours and it was a long, blind time before he pulled away.

When the kiss ended his forehead softened against your brow, him stealing a moment to remember you like this. He traced his thumb along the curve of your cheek, a sense of deep wonder speaking through his touch, and you sighed your assent.

In the beginning doubts plagued him. Years before when he knelt before you with a ring amidst a meadow of lupines, his hands held the slightest tremble until you took them into your own, guiding the pale stone down your finger and kissing away his uncertainties. He made promises to do right by you, and he kept every one of them.

In time, he came to believe in the second chance life had granted you both. It made it all the more fortuitous that your first child was a girl.

The embrace in the kitchen was one of beyond number. Arthur was a man of few words but many looks, so you understood his silent language of showing thankfulness. From the careful touch of his hands, moving as if to measure and memorize your importance to him, to the curve of his blooming half-smile, his expression voiced an ineffable gratitude and a disbelief that you shared this life together. His devotion never waned, but the encumbrance of the past did, the fetters that once hindered your steps toward freedom breaking when he built this homestead for you. They shattered forever when you first told him you were pregnant, standing on the porch in the twilight, his arms in their favorite place around you.

When the tingle of his kiss dissipated from your lips, your eyes had been slow to open at last.

“What was that one for?” You murmured in the space between you.

His soft, sage green gaze found yours, and the love in his eyes could not be misunderstood or undervalued. As always, your heart melted like the April snows at the warmth that look bloomed in your chest.

“Nothin’. Jus’…all you do is make me happy,” he confessed, following the gentle ways the angle of the sun fell upon your face.

“Oh you.”

With your heart strings plucked, you turned in the circle of his arms to embrace him. You nuzzled your nose along the endearing divot of his and let the softness of his smile melt against yours once more. The tannic scent of oak and pine and the musk of gun oil seeped into your senses, and you let yourself get carried away and intoxicated with his nearness and the rasp of his beard beneath your touch.

Cora’s prompting from outside tethered Arthur to his promise and he broke away from you with a sigh, although his warm hands slid down your hips longingly before departing.

“Real eager, that one is.”

“You better get to it,” you laughed and made to finish putting away the breakfast dishes. The other chores of the household could wait for an hour, you decided, as you made to rejoin them on the porch with your knitting.

Cats lazed about beside you presently, preening and stretching their legs before turning their watchful golden eyes to the high grasses in search of mice. One of them stalks up to Arthur at his post, weaving between his feet and brushing a white tail against his knee with affection. He reaches down and scratches its neck, the cat lifting itself on its feet to meet him halfway.

Doubtlessly he was smiling beneath his hat, as you were. You could only imagine what the sunlight must be doing to the color of his eyes as the sides crinkle with amusement.

Cora’s pony begins to straighten its gait and walks in a line, causing her to squeal with delight from her saddle.

“Daddy! I’m doing it! I’m doing it!”

“There you go! Keep holdin’ the reins, just like that. Lead ‘em to the left and right to steer.”

“Mama! Look!”

Your joy is instant.

“You’re doing wonderful!” You cheer. Cora giggles, her cheeks dimpling from her contagious glee. The bow laced at the end of her braid flutters like a butterfly’s wings as she rides through the pasture gracefully. The image of her with her gingham neckerchief around her throat, sitting proud in the saddle struck you with familiarity. She looked so natural, so at ease; so much like her father.

They mosey along at a steady pace and Arthur laughs under his breath. “Well, look at that. You’re a natural.”

He was always so patient and attentive with Cora, shushing her cries and soothing her when she was a baby, encouraging her every little step as she grew. Long ago you envisioned how great of a father he could be, despite his own uncertainty and the paucity of his self-worth. It took years for him to believe he deserved any of the happiness you found in each other, but he always wanted to protect it, never wanting to lose what mattered most to him.

Dutch abused the protective nature of Arthur’s heart, channeled it for his own gain and allocated it to his benefit. For years he strove to bring pride to his surrogate father, giving his all. But he knew. Arthur knew before it was too late when he was being used. You were the first to confess the hidden fondness you held for him, and it was the push he needed to start thinking for himself. Much as he tried to convince you of his own lowly opinion of himself, you persisted in your beliefs that he was a good man, deserving of happiness. Regardless of whether or not he found it with you.

Moments like this were the ones you wanted to capture and hold. Because reaching this place was worth every pain you endured, every mistake, and every misfortune if it meant it all led to this moment.

A breeze stirs the porch wind chimes. Their soft notes tinkle, joining the songbirds singing the joy of another sunrise. In the warm blanket of the wind the scent of alfalfa chases up your nose. You close your eyes against it, listening to the earth and the skies and the peals of Cora’s laughter. When it settles you open them again, finding Arthur’s gaze fastened to you from across the prairie. Caught, he smiles to himself bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck while his gaze dips to the slight swell of your belly and the pair of baby socks in your lap.

Warmth floods through you at the remembrance of that same smile earlier this morning, when the first blue light of day came and slipped through the gossamer curtains. Thoughts of Arthur’s mouth—soft and warm with sleep against your bare shoulder—tucks your lip behind your teeth and turns your gaze shy under his. But it lingered all the same.

The way he traced your skin with the lightest drag of his fingertips as you laid side by side in the early dawn light. How his touches led to languid kisses along your neck until he reached the spot that always made you sigh, your hands slipping along the lovely angles of his stubbled jaw to get lost in the soft, golden brown strands of his hair. How you let him lay you below him before he settled over you, the bedsheets catching on the small of his back. The roughness of his palms sliding along the delicate lace of your chemise, raising it all until it bunched around your shoulders. Parting your legs and lifting them around his hips, his calloused thumb drifting between—

“I think horsey is getting tired,” Cora announces, and Arthur snaps his attention back to her. You cross your legs and take a deep breath to compose yourself, returning your thoughts to the chaste exercise of knitting.

“Let’s give her a rest, then.”

Cora pulls up on the reins and Autumn yields.

Arthur dumps the remaining dregs of his coffee and leaves the cup on the fence, swinging his way through the paddock gate. In a few minutes he would be leaving for town, a star pinned to his vest and a promise to return before sundown. It made it all the more precious that he spent this time with her.

He lifts Cora off the saddle, his hands swallowing her tiny waist. She yelps with delight as he spins her around once, twice, exclaiming how proud he is and how fast she is growing up. Her braid and her skirts swing around her small frame until Arthur sets her down, squatting down to her level. With a mellow voice he speaks, encouraging her to thank the animal and explaining how important it is to show your horse you respect them. Cora nods. She reaches out and strokes Autumn’s neck, patting it alongside Arthur until she whickers and leans into the girl’s touch. With a grin, Arthur produces a crumbling oat cake from his satchel and Cora obediently holds out the treat. She laughs when a wet tongue tickles her hand.

They begin to lead the horse into the stable and Arthur squeezes her shoulders, telling her how well she did. Their words fade into the barn, indiscernible from where you sit, but your heart swells with contentment and a great rush of affection floods through you.

The gold band of your wedding ring rests coolly against your finger. You admire the smooth facets of the oval stone, the mounted sapphire twinkling in the light, thinking again of the first time you saw it and the pure happiness it brought as you trace its edges. Long ago and far away were the days of turmoil and gloom, for as dark as the past was is how bright your future together became. For you were safe at last, harbored in the arms of one another, thriving under the roof Arthur built where your family could grow. And it was all more than you could ever dream of.

A butterfly alights the roses growing along the trellis on the side of the house. Orange and black wings dance, flitting among unfolded dark pink petals and seeking the golden centers within. From one, to the next, to the next, the butterfly graces each bloom and delivers the promise of a sweeter future from its visit, leaving your world also a little better from its passage through it.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan/reader #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption x reader #red dead redemption imagine #arthur morgan imagine #arthur x reader #red dead redemption fic #rdr #rdr fic #arthur morgan fic #rdr drabble #arthur morgan #*my writing

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marvelmymarvel · 4 years ago

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Ice Cold

Keigo Takami x Todoroki!Hero!Reader

Synopsis: You didn’t look like Endeavor, but your attitude definitely gave it away who your father was. You despised the man and you dodged him every chance you got, but he wasn’t the only one you tried to ignore.

A/n: I wanted to make her a badass with a bad attitude because I’m currently in love with that idea. Thanks @lina-lovebug for the request!! Sorry, again it was so late but thank you for being patient :)

Side Note: I know I never include hair colors and such, but for this one (because you're a Todoroki) you’ll have to imagine your hair is white/black!

Song: Fall and Die by Xazror (Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cwgF5GoYtwU&list=RDOMcDxljTXC8&index=17)

‘Not good enough’

That's all you and your twin Touya ever heard from your father growing up. You two were failures, twin flames who didn’t meet up to what the number two hero wanted. Your white hair was a constant reminder of your failures and the red that surrounded you reminded you of what your father did to him.

Did to Touya.

You snarled as you raised your fist and slammed it into the mirror before you. The sound of the glass shattering filled the bathroom and mixed with the cries coming out of you. How pathetic, you thought as you looked at yourself through the broken glass. Your face looked jagged and sharp, you almost didn’t recognize yourself... But something else needed to be done.

Your eyes glanced to the side, eyeing the black hair dye and dark makeup. It was time for a change, you weren’t your father. You weren’t going to look like your mother. You weren’t going to let him treat you like he did your mother. A knock sounded on the door, causing you to freeze in your spot. Your father wasn’t supposed to be home yet and the mess you made in your bathroom would surely cause him to lose his shit.

“Y/n... You okay in there, sissy?”

Your heart lurched as you raced towards the door, Shoto’s young and broken voice causing you to panic instantly. Did Enji come home? Did he hurt him again?! Whipping the door open, you looked down at a 6-year-old Shoto who looked back up at you blankly. Your eyes automatically roamed his face and arms, looking for any bruise or scratch that the monster could have caused. Seeing none, you cocked your head down at him before squatting to his height.

“What's the matter baby?” you cooed, hand running through the white part of his hair, the color reminding you of the task you still had on hand. The task of becoming your own self. “I heard shattering and you were crying, so I wanted to make sure you were okay” his fingers intertwined with each other, cheeks heating up as he became bashful under your loving gaze. With mom gone and Enji not being anything but an ass, this was the most love he's had in a while. He didn’t really know what to do with it.

You simply smiled at him and pressed a kiss to his forehead before scooping him up in your arms. Being 18 scared you, but nothing scared you more than leaving Shoto and the others to fend for themselves...

Should you do this?

Shoto hid his face in your neck as he relaxed into your cold embrace. Your eyes flicked to the dye and makeup, biting your lip in contemplation. Fuyumi was 12, the same age you were when Shoto was born, she could protect him. Forcing the tears back down, you brought your hand up and cradled him closer to you. You had to be mom still... Just for a bit longer. But you knew one thing for sure, you would never marry someone.

That's how you’d stay safe.

*10 Years Later*

Your black hair fell in front of your face as you shoved the man to the wall, your ice blades pressing against his throat while your knee held him in place. “There she is. There’s Endeavors daughter”

The name of your father made your cold blood boil, causing your eyes to sharpen and the blade to be pressed further into his neck. A bit of blood fell onto the blade, telling you that you were taking it too far... But you didn't care. You were known for your attitude, the only thing that linked you and Enji was that.

Your hair was black, your makeup was dark, hell, even your outfit was black and green. Everything about you was different, but that attitude? That attitude was something you shared with him. “You know sweetheart, your daddy might be upset if you get hurt-”

“My father doesn't give two shits about me, and I don't give two shits about him” you snarled out, knee pressing harder into his rib cage, forcing him to cough and heave for air. The movement he created made the ice blade dig into his flesh deeper, the redness of his blood causing your stomach to flip. Your eyes snapped shut, the image of Touya covered in blood filling your brain, it was everywhere.

“Awww, is the big bad wolf going to cry-”

Pulling the blade away, you grabbed his shoulders and slammed your knee up under his chin, knocking him out and silencing him all in one blow. Your chest rose and fell quickly as you tried to catch your breath, but the image wouldn’t go away. The sound of fluttering wings caused you to freeze in your spot, the image disappeared from your head and you were now focused on the one other person you were trying to avoid.

“Keigo” you called out softly, twirling your blade in your hand as you kept your eyes on the low life villain below you. Keigo didn’t say anything, only moved closer to you. You felt like you couldn’t breathe as the blood-smeared onto your hand, just like his did. The quietness of the alley and the feeling of the blood on your skin finally caused you to snap. Twirling on your heels, you whipped the bloody blade towards the wall behind Keigo. The sound of it shattering had you shivering in relief, thankful that you were able to rid of the trigger, you didn't want to see Touya. You didn't want the reminder. It missed Keigo by an inch, yet he was unfazed by it all as he watched you with loving eyes.

Why him? Why did he have to be the one you tried to stop falling for? “Endeavor was talking about you today, thought I’d come see my favorite girl” you felt frozen in your spot, half of you angry with the name and the other half in love with his nickname for you. Keigo knelt down and picked up a shard covered in blood. “Don’t say his name, and don't call me ‘your girl’ bird” you snapped out as you turned back to the knocked out man below you.

Keigo didn’t say anything else, only twirled the bloody shard as he watched you put handcuffs on the lowlife. He never understood your attire, but he wasn’t complaining. For some reason, the darkness made you look like a goddess...

Like the goddess of death.

“You really don't like me...” Keigo whispered out. You froze with your hand on the man's back, contemplating what to say to the man you actually somewhat cared for. Even loved. Standing swiftly, you whipped around and looked Keigo dead in the eyes. He wasn’t kidding, if anything, this was the most serious you’ve ever seen him. “Kei... I’m... It’s hard to explain” you whispered out, matching his energy as you sat down with your back against the wall.

Keigo blinked at you, confused by what you were hinting at. Were you scared of him? You seemed to hate your father, was that it? “I’ll stop being around your dad if you want-” your dark chuckle silenced him once more, the image of Touya coming to mind once more as tears fell down your cheeks. “My dad’s a monster, you shouldn’t be around him period Keigo... Not if you want to live” every cell in Keigo’s body was screaming at him to go comfort you, but something was stopping him.

Moving towards you, he plopped down in front of you and crossed his legs. His wings spanned out behind him and seemed to encapsulate you in a shield. A shield you’ve been for so long and a shield you wished for every time your dad came home angry. “You’ve been playing hard to get... But I can tell you like me... So tell me why you won't let me love and protect you” your eyes lifted from the ground and settled on the safety of his face.

“I don't want to get hurt again”

Keigo’s eyebrows scrunched together, what did again mean? Anger bubbled inside of him as a protectiveness overcame all of his senses, whoever hurt you... Oh he would kill them. “Who? Who hurt you?” the snarl in his voice had your heart lurching into your throat, the look in his eyes matching the possessive aura he was currently giving off. You smiled sadly at him, knowing quite well how this was going to affect him. Endeavor was his favorite hero, he had told you that the first couple of times you two spoke.

“My dad”

Instead of a sad look, Keigo’s face only hardened in anger. A father wasn’t supposed to hurt their child! How could Endeavor hurt his little dove like this!? His hand reached towards you and he noticed the way you flinched a bit at the motion, only causing the anger to deepen within him. Your eyes slammed shut, waiting for the smack as his hand got closer to your face.

Yet it never came.

His glove was soft as it touched your cheek lightly, “He will never hurt you again... And if you let me, I can show you what true love is. I won't hurt you like he did” your e/c eyes opened sadly as you leaned into his touch, the action alone showing him just how touch starved you were. Scooting closer, Keigo leaned in and pressed his lips softly against yours. The cat and mouse game was over and finally... Finally, you had a shield. A shield you prayed for.

A shield you deserved.

#keigo takami x reader #keigo takami imagine #keigo takami imagines #hawks imagines #hawks imagine #hawks x reader #mha hawks #mha imagine #mha imagines #mha fanfiction #bnha imagine #bnha imagines #bnha fanfiction #bnha x reader #mha x reader

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prophecy-is-inevitable · 4 years ago

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On the Eve of November

Outpost!Michael x Demon! Fem Reader Oneshot

Halloween night marks Michael’s final victory over the witches, and his father sends you--a Prince of Hell--to offer your congratulations to his son.

Warnings: Smut...this is really just smut. Language, Some Blasphemy, maybe a little fighting for dominance, Scratching (let me know if I need to add anything!)

Word Count: 5k (WHOOPS)

Outpost!Michael won the poll, so here is the Halloween oneshot I promised! I hope you all enjoy, and have a great Halloween! (Bonus points to you if you know which Prince you are before the end.)

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The fires and candle flames of Outpost 3 flickered into nonexistence and threw the empty hallways into shadow. The tendrils of smoke rising from the wicks and embers funneled to one concentrated spot and blotted out any remaining light. As soon as your form finished materializing, your nose crunched at the acrid smell of vomit and blood. Heels clicked on along the floor as you wove your way around the room and past the array of bloodied, decapitated, or smoldering bodies around your feet. You hiked up the burnt, ragged edges of your long skirt to avoid the mess. It was one thing to cause such carnage, and it was another thing entirely to wear it.

“What the fuck, Michael,” your groaned. Your pace quickened as you hunted for the man. It wasn’t hard--just follow the bodies. Candles and fires relit upon your approach to light your way through the complex. It looked like absolute chaos. Large bullet holes littered the once perfectly polished wood walls, and blood and organs had exploded over the stairs. It was a lovely tomb, far too generous for these failed humans, you thought. You quirked an eyebrow at the body of a woman laying on the floor missing her heart. At least he was keeping his energy up with all of this. You rounded a corner to see him standing in the hallway with his back to you and his elegant clothes in tatters. His shoulders were tensed and he pulsed with the energy prepared for a fight.

He whipped around and extended a hand towards you, intending to launch you against the wall, and you deflected the attack with a dismissive wave of your hand. His crystalline eyes widened a fraction as his lips curled into a silent snarl. You tilted your head to the side with an incredulous furrow of your brows and a soft smile at his reaction.

“Really, Michael?” He stood straighter at the sight of you, his eyes searching you from head to toe, and you sway carefully over to him as if approaching a caged lion. His eyes held the same predatory, calculating, coldness on that beautifully chiseled face.

“You.” He spit the word as if it’s the same poison on his tongue he’d used to kill the inhabitants. Your eyes widened in a gesture of mock hurt, and you placed an ornately armored hand to your chest, each piece of clawed armor on your fingers clinking together.

“Me? Here I thought you’d be happy to see me. I’m happy to see you.” You pouted when reaching your other silver clawed hand out to wipe some of the blood from his cheek. He gripped your wrist in a vice with his rings digging into the broken shackle around the delicate joint.

“Why are you here?” Your pout melted into a smooth, seductive smirk. He still towered over you, and you looked into his turquoise eyes from under your lashes.

“Daddy might not always answer you, precious, but he’s always listening.” Feigning boredom, you began to run one metal nail under the other. He practically growled at the pet name and you chuckled. “After a pathetic fiasco in 1984, he decided to take a more passive roll with summons and rituals. Otherwise, people would never shut the fuck up with their pathetic begging. ‘Save me this’ and ‘help me’ that. That’s what God is for, you wretches.” Your eyes narrowed up as him, and you reached out to try and straighten his shirt and salvage whatever was left of his style. The bloodstained velvet of his dinner jacket had somehow managed to retain the smooth and luxurious texture, and the heat of his body kept the fabric warm beneath your fingers. The richness of the material suited him. “Since the apocalypse, I haven’t been very busy, and--as a mere prince--I have to do what your daddy says,” you shrugged, running your hands down his lapels. “Consider me a sort of...answering service. Though you seem to have everything well in hand. How about that!” Your head tilted once again with a coy smile.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Michael said through gritted teeth. His lips are pursed tightly in his annoyance, and the air grew stagnant in the hallway around you both. Michael took a step closer until you were nearly breathing on his chest. “Answer me. Now.” His voice rose marginally, and it’s just enough to echo through the vacant halls.

“Oh, listen to you! Making demands of an Archdemon and a Prince of Hell! My, how you’ve--” Michael’s hand quickly grasped your throat and squeezed. What he anticipated causing you pain earned him a moan instead as your eyes slipped closed. You could feel his grip falter momentarily in his confusion before it grew more intense. You gasped and released a breathless chuckle. His gaze searched your face, you could feel his eyes taking in every aspect of your lustful expression. Suddenly, his hand released you, and he took a few steps back with a tight smirk.

“That is exactly why you’re here, isn’t it?” He watched you with a side glance as you adjusted the chandelier choker at your neck and shoulders.

“Whatever do you mean?” Your eyelashes fluttered with an ill-suited expression of innocence. Michael’s eyes travelled down to the deep v of your dress that plunged to the top of your navel. The dark laughter bubbled from low in his chest and reverberated in the halls as he tipped his head back. It had you absolutely throbbing with need and was fucking embarrassing. Then again, this was Satan’s son, the highest Crowned Prince of Hell, created to be every idea of perfection and desire there could be. From the shimmering strands of golden silk draping his shoulder, to his slender perfect nose, to those mesmerizing oasis eyes set within the dunes of his elegant cheekbones… You couldn’t have designed him more perfectly yourself, and you had a lot of ideas thanks to your reign.

Michael ran his tongue along his upper teeth and continued to smirk at you. He tilted his head inquisitively, and you mimicked him playfully. The timber of his voice had dropped to a dangerously seductive tone filled with confidence when he spoke again.

“I have won.”

“A very astute observation, Michael.” Slowly, he sauntered back to you and ran one ringed finger along your cheek and down your jaw.

“I have won. I’ve done everything he asked. Cordelia let her successor die before she could complete her plan.” Michael extended his arms out from his sides, a prideful smirk stretching across his lip, and he cocked his head to the side. “There is no one left to stop me.” The warmth of Michael’s hand rested on a bare section of your clavicle as he looked over your body once again. His smirk grew and he inhaled deeply through his nose.

“Now, I’m receiving my reward. Father sent you, did he not? One of his princes, here to please me in the hour of my greatest victory, and on our night no less. The night before your powers are at their strongest, if I’m not mistaken.” Michael leaned his head down and his breath ghosted across your cheek as he spoke softly. You could feel his lips only a hair’s breadth away from the shell of your ear.

His words should not have caused the goosebumps that prickled across your arms and chest, nor should it have caused the slight weakness in your knees. You had been around for millennia. You had 72 legions of demons under your command, dammit! How dare--

Michael’s lips brushed along your neck above the elaborate jewelry veiling your soft skin. He knew exactly what effect he had on. The hierarchy of demons granted him the ability to toy with you just as he did with humans despite your ancient status. And he played you like a child with their favorite old toy. Michael’s hands gripped your hips tightly and, with a violent jerk, he tugged you flush against him.

You didn’t even want to fight him. You wanted him to have his moment and embrace his victory--embrace you. Despite the lack of necessity for breath, you found yourself panting against him in anticipation. The tip of his tongue traced up the tendon in your neck up to your jaw. The mewl that slipped from between your lips was almost embarrassing and made worse by his syrupy chuckle that you could feel against your chest. You were positively dripping, and there was no doubt that he knew.

“Hell has sent its greatest whore to pleasure me, I see. What, was Lilith too busy today?” His verbal jab made your eyes narrow dangerously. That succubus had nothing on you, and you would prove it. Renewed vigor flowed through you as your hands gripped his jacket tightly; the sharp metal claws tipping your fingers scratched and tore into the thick, expensive fabric adorning his chest.

“I’m going to make it so that you don't even remember her name. From now on, whenever your cock gets hard, you’re going to think of me,” you purred into his ear as you stood on your toes. Using the purchase you had on his clothing, you dragged his mouth to yours and moaned at the sweet and smoky taste of his sultry full lips. Michael's body radiated power and the heat of the inferno from which he was born, and it drew you in like a moth to a roaring bonfire.

Michael’s hands clenched into fist at your waist, and you heard the sharp inhale through his nose when you ran your tongue along the curve of his lips. It was your turn to chuckle. Dominion over lust had not been granted to you without reason, and you’d had centuries of playing with mortals and lesser demons to perfect your...talents. You weren’t entirely helpless against the superiority of the Antichrist. The feeling of his rigid length pressed firmly against your stomach proved that.

Within seconds the power shifted, and he had you against the wall. His dull nails sank into the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs when he bunched up your skirts and held your legs apart around his waist. The touch was scalding. You could feel the crescent marks burning into your skin.

“Not making empty promises, are we?” Michael crooned, the tip of his nose dancing along yours. The smirk on his face was predatory when your lips parted with the expectation of another searing kiss. His wicked laughter caused a shiver that ran up your spine. “What makes you think you are worthy of me?”

With your heels locked behind his waist, you used the position to your advantage and flexed your legs to grind your hips together. As much as he talked shit, you knew he wanted this, but two could play his game. A light breath, akin to that of blowing out a candle, forced Michael off of you and against the opposite wall.

“If I’m so unworthy, I suppose I will simply show myself out.” You vanished in the blink of an eye, your playful chuckle bounding throughout the underground complex. Of course, you made it very easy for him to find you. All Michael needed to do was follow the trail of lit candles up to the room he had inhabited as his office while at Outpost 3. The growl he emitted upon opening the door and seeing you sitting so daintily on the spiral iron staircase made your eyes burn with unbridled lust.

Michael stalked over to you with a scowl on his face, golden hair billowing around his shoulders from the speed of his strides, and you parted your legs wantonly to welcome him between them. You had him eating out of the palm of your hand whether he would ever admit it or not. Michael was rough when he pulled your hips against his once more. Your metallic claws dragged down his torso and cut through his shirt and jacket to leave thin red marks on his otherwise unblemished skin. You could feel him twitch against you with his pants the only barrier standing between the two of you.

Both of your hands grasped onto the metal rails of the stairs when he sharply yanked your hips towards the edge of the stair. The last thing you expected was to see him dropping to his knees and burying his face between your legs. Your head tipped back against the stair above you with a strangled cry of surprise that quickly morphed into a long moan. Instantly, your hands sank into the satin curtains of hair around his head as his tongue made a long swipe over your folds. His movements were impatient when he forced your legs farther apart.

“Michael…” You could feel the smirk on his lips when he took your clit into his mouth and sucked. Hard. Your back arched against the stairs and your hands scrambled to grab onto his shoulder. It had been so long since someone had sought to pleasure you as much as themselves. He certainly didn’t get those manners from his father…

Michael’s teeth nipped at your sensitive nerves and you yelped, filling the room with your loud cries of pleasure. Soft sounds of tearing fabric filled your ears when you continued to clutch his shoulders so hard that his jacket ripped at the seams. The deeper he worked his tongue into your core, the brighter his celestial eyes burned. It made your chest heave as you stared at each other, waiting to see who would break first.

It was you.

Michael stumbled back when you pushed him away. His eyes flared black in his agitation, and you returned the obsidian gaze. Short strides carried you to him until your hands grasped his sculpted face and drew his lips back to yours. It was a dance of domination and desperation, your tongue swirling and battling against his while you both inhaled the growing heat and arousal of your flushed skin. At the same time, your steps urged him backwards until he dropped down into the chair behind the desk. Ah, victory. It looked so sweet when it came in the form of Michael man-spreading in a chair with mused hair, kiss-swollen lip, and a very obvious and impressive erection all courtesy of you. You knelt in front of him before he had the chance to move. He had done the same for you, and you weren’t so cold as to not return the favor.

Michael’s eyes watched you carefully. At first, his expression almost looked like boredom, but you could see the tension in his jaw and feel the way his abdominal muscles contracted beneath your fingers. You pursed your lips while deftly roaming your fingers over his belt.

“Take your jacket and shirt off, Michael.” It hardly covered him anymore anyway, but his eyes narrowed at your command. You sat back on your heels to look up at him. “Come on. Off with it.” Reluctantly, he undid the buttons and tossed both items away. The sight of his bare torso, stained here and there with flecks of blood, was so very enticing. You leaned forward, placing sloppy and open-mouthed kisses over his chest and down his stomach. The sight of his stomach heaving from your actions made you moan against his skin. His hips bucked into your hands when you cupped him through the material of his pants.

Teasingly, your fingers slowly caught the waistband of his pants. Your eyes shot up to his when you noticed the absence of anything else underneath. The smirk he gave you was pure mischief, and you licked your lips at the sight of his weeping tip. One of his ringed hands sank into your hair and urged you forward; you allowed it this time. The shape of him was perfect--something humans modelled their toys after. Oh, how eager you were to play. He truly had been crafted to perfection.

The tip of your tongue ran along the pulsing vein of his shaft, and his groan filled you with pride. Flicking your eyes up to his, you noticed that they were closed and his head was tipped back to let his hair cascade over his bare shoulders. The candlelight flickered on his skin and you could spot the beginnings of sweat beading on his chest. A quick flick of your tongue caught the beads of precome that tickled from the head of his cock. The hand in your hair tightened, but you gave him a warning glare with growl. This was not his time to take control.

One hand stroked the length of his shaft and the other gently scratched down his chest. Michael arched into your touch, and you hummed around his tip when your lips encircled him. The groan that fell from his lips was nothing short of obscene and it drove you on. He even sat up more to get a better view of your mouth swallowing down his cock. Your eyes locked with his and you smirked around him. The taste of his heated length alone made you moan. Trick or treat indeed.

Michael’s chest was heaving before you even reached the base. You held there for a moment and then began to bob your head. It was only moments until he bucked his hips upwards, shoving himself deeper down your throat, and tugged your head against his pelvis. Your nose is pressed to his skin and the musky, salty smell invades your senses. A guttural moan tore through the amber-lit room when hollowed your cheek to suck greedily at the head of his cock and your hands pumped the rest of his shaft. The way your core throbbed at the sound told you your body was more than ready to feel him inside of you. You stood without warning, and Michael instantly moved to follow. One of your heels on his chest pushed him harshly back into his chair.

“Stay.” Michael glared at you, but he did not repeat his effort to move. “Good boy,” you cooed. You didn’t miss the way his hands tightened on the arm of the chair. You removed your foot from him and took a step back. With your back to him, you reached back to undo the clasps of your dress. Clearly, he was far too impatient by that point, and a light snap of his fingers finished your work for you before it even began. The clothing covering you both disappeared, but you noticed that he left the vast amounts of jewelry on you, from the tips of your ears down to the gilded manacles on your feet.

“Let me see you.” The request fell from his lips much softer than you would have expected, and you complied easily. His eyes widened so subtly that you would have missed it had you not been watching him carefully. Azure eyes devoured your appearance. Your breasts were framed by the chandelier necklace hanging over your shoulders and dripping onyx beads down your sternum. Michael’s hands slowly rose, his eyes still roving over your figure.

"You may touch me," you allowed. At first, he only ran his fingers over the shimmering cuff on your upper arms. Then he trailed down to the broken jeweled shackles on your wrist that matched the pair around your ankles. He gently maneuvered your hands on his shoulder to lure you closer. It placed your chest at the same height as his lips. Greedily, his head leaned forward to take a hardened nipple between his lips. A sigh of relief escaped your own.

Michael continued the slow exploration of his hands. They moved back up your arms, over the collection of diamonds and midnight gemstones dangling across your shoulders, and down your sides to hold your hips. Each fingertip left a trail of raised skin in its wake. The simple touches made you shiver, and you let Michael see this time. His hands curled around your waist to pull you in closer, and you pushed your hands against his shoulders. He released your nipple with a wet “pop” and furrowed his brow.

Your movements were fluid and smooth when you pushed him back into the chair and straddled his hips. His erection stood proudly against his abdomen; you stroked him delicately, careful not to graze the sensitive skin too harshly with your armored fingers, and you returned your lips to his. The pillowly softness was something you had never encountered with your previous lovers. Michael could happily drown you in those full lips, drink you dry, or curse your name and you would beg for more. A combination of your movements gave you the room necessary to line him up with your core.

Sweet moans accompanied the simultaneous fall of both of your heads towards each other. His breath mingled with yours in the limited space between your lips. For moments the pair of you did nothing but breathe each other in and stroke your noses together in an almost tender fashion.

“Move,” Michael breathed tightly. The flex of his fingers into your hips made you bite your lip. Your lips lifted slowly at first, and then dropped quickly into his lap. “Fuck!” Your head dropped back again with a bark of a laugh. Hearing him curse from one simple movement had you clenching around him instantly. You repeated the motion, his fingers digging into your hips with a fiercer grip, and you moaned loudly.

Tinkling of your jewelry chimed in time with the steady rolling of your hips over Michael’s. Always one to enjoy an active role in his pleasure, Michael urged you to ride him harder using his hands on your hips. He pulled you down sharply, burying himself inside of you, and returned his mouth to your chest. His teeth caught a taut nipple and tugged. You rewarded him with a cry of ecstasy and carded your hands through his long hair. Every pulse of his cock inside of you stroked your walls with a delicious pressure and pulled you closer to the edge. You didn’t notice how much Michael was controlling your movements until he angled your hips forward on your downward thrust and made you cry out. You tightened around him and increased your pace to bounce off his lap. Soon, the chiming of jewels was drowned out by the clapping of your skin on his and your unified moans of each other’s names.

Michael abandoned your breasts for the time being and turned his attention to the droplet of sweat rolling down between them. His tongue caught the salty droplet, and he licked his way back up to your neck. You shuddered over him and pushed him back against the chair again. Things like that would have this over far sooner than you wanted. The smirk on his devilishly handsome face clued you in to just how pleased he was with himself. He could feel you trembling around him. You ran a jeweled nail over his lower lip and decided to tease him. Your hips rose slowly until only the tip of him remained inside of you. The descent back into his lap went just as methodically. Several times you repeated the motion, swirling your hips once he was fully sheathed inside of you again, and you grinned wickedly at the tortured groans you pulled from him.

He had been so good and so attentive thus far, so you decided to give him a break. He desired it hard and fast, just as you craved it. The chair protested beneath the forceful ricochet of your bodies colliding. You laughed breathlessly at the return of Michael’s lips to your skin. This time, he left open-mouthed kisses over the tops of your breasts and your neck.

Without warning, Michael propelled himself up and out of the chair to slam you down on the desk. His pace never faulted throughout the change of position. The lines of his face were set into a look of determination.

“You’ve had your turn. Now it’s mine,” he hissed in your ear. His hair framed his face and grazed your skin as he loomed over you. Rough hands gripped your thighs and shoved them apart. The first sharp thrust forced the air from your lungs. The sparkle in Michael’s eyes was unmistakable. He was in control now.

He targeted the depths inside of you that had caused you to cry out earlier, and he set a relentless pace. His lips burned across your stomach and chest as he explored every inch of your skin that he could want. Your hands found purchase on his back, the points of your nails sinking into the slick flesh around his shoulderblades. Michael growled and bit into your collarbone with a particularly rough thrust into you.

“Michael!” His name fell from your lips in the most sinful, sensual prayer. He breathed heavily in your ear now, drowning out the deep thudding of your back being drilled into the dark wood of the desk. “Michael…” You could feel his hips beginning to stutter in the bruising pace he had set. It must have felt good for him to be able to let go and not worry about the frailty of a human’s body beneath him. His arms wrapped around your waist to pull you into him again to achieve the depths his mind was screaming for him to reach.

One bite into the already bruised skin of your neck and a perfectly timed thrust was all it took to send you spiraling over the precipice of pleasure. Your legs latched behind his thighs to lock him against you. Every spasm that rippled your body amplified his pleasure, and you felt Michael spill himself into you with a strangled cry. His warm release inside of you made your head drop back against the desk with a thud. He buried his face into the crook of your neck to ride out the aftershocks of your combined orgasms.

“Happy Halloween, Michael,” you whispered with lips pressed to his ear.

Dampened skin held you together, and you lovingly stroked his hair back out of his face. It had been well worth the visit, you thought with a smile. Feather light kisses in your neck and jaw caught you by surprise. The kiss to your lips was slow, conveying a long-sought satisfaction, and you wrapped your arms around his shoulder. It was an ancient dance, the tangling of tongue and limbs, and usually accompanied by the same heady smell that surrounded you both in that moment. You decided that this was your favorite perfume--the smell of desire and sin, of sweat and carnality, all mixed with the intoxicating scent of Michael.

A gentle tap to his shoulder signalled for Michael to remove himself from you. He did so slowly, carefully, and with a slight grimace. Your back still arched with the sensation. You looked over his lean and picturesque form from your spot on the desk. Yes, you wouldn’t mind if this became a regular occurrence. He dressed languidly--all the time in the world stood waiting for him now. You followed suit when he retrieved your dress. Michael even offered to help with the clasps and buttons at your back. Of course, it wasn’t so simple. He dropped sensually slow and wet kisses over each inch of your spine Bedford doing up the respective button. The resounding boom of clocks striking midnight thundered through the halls. November 1st. Your eyes slipped shut at the returning power thrumming through your veins. It had only been fair to Michael to send you before your powers heightened to their prime. Now you would be able to return home.

“Do you really want to know why I’m here?” you asked over your shoulder. His hands paused in their task.

“It would be in your best interest to tell me the truth.” You rolled your eyes and turned to drape your forearms over his shoulder. His hands instinctively fell to hold your wasit, and it made you smile.

“Your father wished for me to bring you to him.” The expression that crossed his face was precious. Your smile grew at the pure disbelief and childish wonder. Your fingers picked up one long curl and twisted it around your fingers and then let it fall back against his shoulder.

“What?’

“I know! He’s proud of you. He knows how hard this has all been, and he wishes to congratulate you. In person.” You took a few steps towards the door, your hand clutching his and trying to pull him with you, but he was frozen where he stood, eyes unfocused. “Michael, come on!” you laughed softly, “We shouldn’t keep him waiting--not any more than we already have.” He looked to you then and gestured between the two of you.

“So what was this then?” You swayed your hips on your way to the door and twisted the handle with a coy little smile.

“Fun, wasn’t it?” You winked as you opened the door. The deserted halls of Outpost 3 were not on the other side. Michael’s eyes widened at the geysers of molten lava and the long polished bridge of obsidian leading to an ancient palace of equally dark stone set on the far side. “Welcome home, Prince Michael.” His arm slid around your waist while his eyes took in everything new around him.

“Thank you, Asmodeus. I suppose having a friend in the Prince of Lust could have its benefits.”

"Oh yes. Whenever you'd like."

#This was supposed to be a short #Happy Halloween Michael Langdon #Michael Langdon #Michael Langdon x Reader #Outpost Michael #Demon Reader #Michael Langdon Fanfiction #but I'm thinking about how I want to write Michael Langdon smut in my fic...#My Oneshots

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fanficsandthings · 4 years ago

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Through the Years, Ch. 4

A George Weasley Fanfiction

A George Weasley x Slytherin reader story.

Each chapter shares events in one year of George and reader’s life together.

Word Count: 2.3k

Year 1, Year 2, Year 3

Year 4: Quidditch

The start of the Quidditch season was one of your favorite times of the year. It was a good way to get your mind off school work for a few hours a night while you practiced with the rest of the Slytherin team. The captain, Marcus Flint, had a strict regimen when it came to training, and the new brooms that the Malfoys had bought helped a lot.

A match between Gryffindor and Slytherin was the first match of this year’s season. For you, it was more of a contest between you and the twins over who could make the other team more irritated. It was really quite easy to make Oliver Wood mad over a game of quidditch. All you needed to do was make sure Gryffindor lost. You could let Draco and Harry do whatever they wanted, as it was best to go after the core of the Gryffindor quidditch team; their star beaters.

Looking around the pitch, you could see Fred sending a bludger towards Flint. Not caring much for your team captain, you chose not to warn him as the ball hit him right on the shoulder. It pushed Flint back, sending him spiraling in circles towards the ground, but he managed to catch himself.

You let out a laugh and shouted over to Fred, “Nice one, Weasley!”

Fred gave a thumbs up and a small wink as he turned to aim his next bludger at another one of your Slytherin teammates.

Suddenly there was a sharp pain in your left side as Marcus Flint smashed full force into you. “Stop playing for the other team and do your job! If I see you even smile at one of the Weasleys the rest of this match, you’re off the team.”

“Yeah, sure. You know there’s no one else in Slytherin who could be a better beater than me.” You rolled your eyes and took off on your broom, shouting over your shoulder at Flint, “Watch this!”

You headed straight for George, his attention elsewhere, so he had no idea that you were coming. You gained as much speed as you felt comfortable with and aimed your broom right for him. Pushing your feet up, you balanced carefully on the black handle of your broomstick. You released your hands from the handle and stood up straight, wind pushing past you. The wind felt wonderful as you leaned into it, still staring directly at George, who had yet to turn his head to notice you. As you got closer and closer, you knew your plan would work out perfectly.

“Weasley!” you called out when you were barely a few feet away from him. You kicked your feet off your broom, sending it in a small arc just below his broom as your body slammed right into his.

George let out a small groan at the impact, and you heard him mumble a few choice words at you.

You wrapped one arm around him as you felt both George and yourself start to fall towards the ground. Your other arm reached into the air, and your hand fell perfectly back onto your broomstick handle. As you dangled from your broom, you looked down at George, who was dangling from your hand.

“How’s it hanging, Georgie?” you shouted down at him over the sound of the wind rushing by.

“This is such a cheap trick!” he shouted back up at you.

“My favorite kind of trick,” you retorted back.

You made it to the other side of the quidditch pitch, still hanging from your broom before you started to get close enough to the ground to let go of him. You looked back over your shoulder to the far end of the pitch, George’s broom laying sadly on the ground. Lowering your speed a bit, you dragged George’s shoes just slightly on the grass.

“You better start running, or it’s gonna hurt like hell when I let go!” you warned him.

George glared at you with a look that’s reserved only for when he’s truly pissed off at you, but he started running nevertheless. He stumbled a little bit when you let go of his hand, but managed to catch himself. You could hear him cursing you as you flew off, but you chose to ignore whatever he might be threatening you with.

“Have a fun walk back to your broom, George.”

-----------------

You could hear your name being called from behind you, but you ignored the two people yelling at you. You chose instead to focus your attention on your feet, trying hard not to trip over the rocks on the hill you were currently walking up. Annoyingly, you could hear the voices getting louder as the twins approached.

“Hey, will you slow down!” George called, slightly out of breath from basically running up the hill to catch up with you. You shook your head, picking up your pace a little more.

“You can’t be pissed at us every time Slytherin loses a game,” Fred said to you.

You stopped walking suddenly, causing the twins to jolt to a stop too. You whipped around, your quidditch robes flowing behind you, and pointed your finger between the two of them.

“I am not mad because Slytherin lost,” you said, your voice laced with a hint of venom. “I’m mad because you two almost killed a 12 year old boy and, in the process, almost killed me, too!”

“It’s not like we tried to kill you,” George said, “and we’ve already said we’re sorry.”

“Plus it was just Malfoy,” Fred continued. “And what about that bludger one of you bewitched!”

“I don’t care that it was ‘just Malfoy.’ He may be an annoying little prat, but he’s still a child. And that bludger was not us! I’m just as confused about that as you are.” Your arms were crossed in front of you now, and you stared down at them with irritation etched on your face. Having this conversation on a hill was probably a good idea, because it made you taller than the Weasley twins, and you felt like that gave you a slight advantage. You were sure they didn’t quite believe that Slytherin didn’t bewitch that bludger, but they knew you were telling your truth.

“You literally ran full force into me and knocked me off my broom,” George recalled.

“I caught you!” you said to him, rolling your eyes. “There are way worse tricks I could’ve pulled on you in the moment.”

“It was pretty wicked to watch,” Fred said, nudging his brother in the ribs.

“Thank you, Fred.” You gave him a smile and turned back to George. “Flint was up my ass about being friends with you two, so I needed to do something that would get him to shut up.”

“You could’ve picked the other twin to piss off,” George said in a slight mumble, crossing his arms.

You walked the few steps to stand in front of him, about even with his height now thanks to the hill.

“Maybe I just think you’re cute when you’re mad,” you said, patting his cheek. You gave him a wink and turned on your heel to head back up the hill again. Both Fred and George stayed rooted in the same spot.

“Freddie,” George said to his brother once you were out of ear shot. He watched your green quidditch robes flowing behind you, your figure getting smaller and smaller as you approached the castle. “I think I’m in love.”

Fred let out a sharp laugh, startling his brother out of his trance. “I know, George. I know.” Fred started to walk up the hill after you, leaving his brother dumbfounded in his spot.

George could feel the red on the tips of his ears and cheeks. It had been there since you softly touched his face, and he hoped to Merlin that you hadn’t noticed. Truth be told, you had noticed, but you thought it just made him that much more endearing.

----------------------

You were sitting in the Slytherin common room, reading a book you had just picked up from the library, when you felt something brush against your leg. You looked down to see Minnie standing in front of you. She appeared to have a piece of paper stuck in her collar.

Molly Weasley had knitted a small collar for Minnie the first Christmas you had her, just a couple weeks after you and the twins had found her. Fred and George had told their mother about the cat they were now sharing with you, and they asked Molly if she could make them a collar. They said it was their way of providing some sort of care for her, as you were the one that actually looked after her. It was a simple collar, made out of yarn, that you simply tied around her neck. It was more of a friendship bracelet than a collar, you always thought, but you loved it nonetheless. Especially because Molly had made it in your house colors.

You bent down to retrieve the piece of paper from her, giving her a light scratch between the ears in the process. The paper was folded relatively neatly, your name written on it in messy writing. It was no doubt from one of the twins, or both. You unfolded it.

Did I ever truly apologize for this afternoon? I can’t remember, it was all such a mess. Well, I am truly sorry for almost killing you. Meet me just outside the Slytherin common room at sunset. Wear something warm. --George xx

Folding the paper back up, you let out a short breath and rolled your eyes. George could have any number of possible activities planned for tonight, you just hoped that none of them put you in danger. You put the note in your book to act as a bookmark. Grabbing Minnie, you headed to your dorm to get ready for whatever it was that George had planned for this evening.

Just a few short hours later you were standing just outside your common room, wearing the comfiest sweater you could find and a scarf was wrapped around your neck. A small bag hung from your shoulder. You could hear footfalls approaching from around the corner, and you hoped it was George, rather than a teacher who would scold you for being out this close to dark. The figure came around the corner, and you let out a sigh when you saw the red hair sticking out from under his knitted hat.

“George,” you said, catching his attention, “what’re we doing? You’re gonna get us in trouble.”

“Only if we get caught,” he said, taking your hand. He didn’t even bother to stop walking, he just pulled you along after him. “No time to stop and chat. Snape was nearby last time I looked at the map.”

You followed close behind him, your right hand in his left. It had been almost a year since the accident with the hair dye, but you sometimes still worried about his burn. Sometimes you swore you could see a faint scar if his wrist hit the light just right. Tonight, though, you had no worries about that, too worried about the thought of being caught by a teacher. Another irrational fear, as George had told you that him and his brother had never been caught out of bed since they found this map.

You followed George, having no earthly clue where you were going. He seemed quite confident in his ability to find his way around the castle, though. A slight breeze hit you as he opened one final door, and the faint light of the setting sun illuminated both of your faces.

“Where on earth are we going, George?” you asked, praying for a real answer this time.

“Somewhere fun,” was all he said as he grabbed your hand again and pulled you out the door.

You had made it all the way to the quidditch pitch before George finally stopped walking and let go of your hand. The sun was just barely peeking over the horizon now, and it would be fully set in a matter of seconds. You could see both of your brooms leaning up against the wall.

“A late night joy ride?” you asked, motioning towards the brooms.

“Something like that, yeah,” you answered you. He then pulled a small rectangular object out of his jacket pocket. “First, I wanted to give this back to you. There are a few pictures left on it. I didn’t wanna fill it up before you can go home to get them developed.”

You took the camera from him. You looked it over quickly and saw that there were still 10 pictures left on it. “Thanks George, but I can always ask my mum to owl me another one.”

You went to hand it back to him, but he denied it. “I’d like to see some pictures from your point of view too.”

You shrugged and placed the camera in your bag, taking out the gloves you had stored in there. You put them on and looked at George. “So, a late night joy ride?”

He looked between you and your brooms. “Race you to the top!” he called as he took off in a sprint.

“George,” you yelled after him as you started running too, “you know I’m faster on a broom than you are.”

“That’s why I got a head start,” he informed you, hopping on his broom. You watched him take off, heading back towards the castle.

Race you to the top, you thought to yourself. The top of the tallest tower in Hogwarts. You grabbed your broom, the black handle reflecting the light of the moon, which now shone brightly above you. You kicked off the ground as hard as you could, hoping the speed of your broom would make up for George’s head start.

George Weasley would be the death of you someday, but, to be totally honest, you didn’t really mind. You waited with pleasant expectations for that day to come.

#george weasley #george weasley fanfic #george weasley x reader #george weasley x you #george weasley x slytherin!reader #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #slytherin #slytherin reader #weasley twins #fred and george #fred and george weasley #through the years series #my writing

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fortheloveoffanfic · 4 years ago

Text

Family Matters More

Keanu Reeves x reader. Requested. (A/n- So, because I’m terrible at staying organized, I have all of my requests, but not who they were requested by, so, when I write and post and you aren’t tagged even if you didn’t request on anon, I am very, very sorry, it’s no one’s fault but my own.)

Masterlist

Warnings- Pregnancy, Angst (it’s fine at the end though.)

Dropping the phone to the dark veined, marble kitchen counter, Y/n sighed heavily, raking her nails through her hair. Tears prickled at her eyes, making them glassy and ready to overflow. It had been coming, her entire family knew it, but Y/n still couldn’t believe the news she’d just heard from her mother; her uncle, who she’d grown up extremely close to, had died, from lung cancer. He’d been suffering for almost two years, aggressive chemo had only worked the first time, but when another cluster of tumors had shown up in a follow up PET scan, nothing had worked and her family’s only option had been to make his last days comfortable. Unfortunately, his ‘last days’ had turned out to be thirteen grueling months.

Uncle Kenny had wilted away like flowers at the beginning of winter, growing duller as the days dragged on. The last time Y/n had seen him was months ago, she’d wanted to visit him at the hospice, but collectively, her parents and husband had urged her to keep their interactions restricted to over the phone, not wanting to stress her out too much. It had frustrated her at first, Uncle Kenny was her favorite uncle, always able to put a smile on her face when she was a kid and had taught her so much about the great outdoors while her parents were too busy climbing the corporate ladder to do it themselves. But though it was hard, eventually, Y/n had relented, but only after her uncle had personally requested that she stay away. That had come after she’d told him that she and Keanu were expecting. He loved her, and his unborn grand niece, which was why he couldn't risk something happening to Y/n or the baby because of added stress.

Hanging her head in her hands, Y/n tried to quell the stinging in her eyes, but her efforts were fruitless and before long, hot tears were falling freely, punctuated by soft sobs racking her body. It wasn’t supposed to hurt that much, Y/n knew that it was inevitable, and it should have comforted her that he’d gone in his sleep, but really, it didn’t. If only he hadn’t been such an avid smoker, then maybe he’d still be there, hopefully to teach her daughter the things he’d taught Y/n when she was a kid.

“So, babe I-” Keanu cut himself off as he entered the kitchen. Worry immediately swelling in his chest at the sight of his wife in tears, “Hey,” he cooed, immediately going over to where she sat at the counter, pulling her flush against his chest and smoothing his hands over her hair, “Shh,” he kissed the top of her head, “What’s wrong baby?”

It took a while, Y/n was blubbering so intense that she couldn’t speak, but after about fifteen minutes spent in Keanu’s comforting embrace, she settled enough to form words, “He’s gone Ke,” she sobbed, burrowing into his chest, “Uncle Kenny’s gone.”

Right there, Keanu’s heart broke for her. Of course, everyone knew that the moment was coming, but still his wife had lost someone dear to her, and in such a painful way. All he wanted was to take the hurt away, she was supposed to be enjoying the path to motherhood, not breaking down because she’d lost a loved one. “I’m sorry baby,” Keanu kissed the top of Y/n’s head again. “Come on,” he eventually urged her off of the barstool, hugging her close as he led them to the living room, cuddling her as they sank onto the sofa. “Can I get you anything? Water or tea?” Even if he couldn’t fix her heartbreak, Keanu could still take care of her, and their baby.

“No,” she shook her head, staring forward blankly, her fingers absently tracing circles on her growing bump, too upset to notice the fluttering kicks against her stomach. Why couldn’t he have just stuck around for three more months? If not to see her grow up, just to meet her, at least once.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Keanu probed, wishing that he could offer more than just a listening ear and a hug.

Y/n shook her head again, “Not really,” her words were soft and broken, “Can we just sit here for a bit?”

“Of course sweetheart.”

Funerals were always emotionally draining, but it was especially so when you were six months pregnant and your emotions were working in overtime. Huffing as she entered their bedroom, Y/n winced as she stationed a weary hand at her aching back. The lengthy service had been held at a church in the city, Uncle Kenny just had to be a devout Catholic in his final days, and the old, worn, wooden pews hadn’t been very kind. Worse yet, the kitten heels she’d opted to wear didn’t provide much support when she’d had to spend nearly two hours on her feet, standing at the entrance with her parents as they thanked everyone as they trickled out of the cathedral.

With a pained groan, half from her back, half from the headache she’d acquired at some point throughout the day, Y/n slowly sank into the armchair, intent on starting to remove her shoes. Just as Y/n had lifted one swollen ankle onto her other knee, Keanu came into the bedroom, tugging at the neck of his black tie, his longish dark strands brushing his shoulders, the salt in his beard signalling that he hadn’t gone for a trim in a while. “Let me do that,” he offered, coming to kneel in front of her.

“No,” Y/n flinched away, “I’ll do it.” She was upset with him, though, she hadn’t let him know yet. Y/n had spent the last week or so in deep, deep thought; her uncle had been a smoker, which had led to lung cancer and, ultimately, death. Keanu was a smoker too, and Y/n couldn’t help but worry that she’d lose him like that or to some other type of ill health.

Furrowing his brows, Keanu tilted his head to the side. Y/n had been cold with him all day, holding his hand, but only reluctantly so, and barely saying a word to him on the drive back to their house. He understood that she was hurting, but he didn’t want her to shut him out because of it. “What’s wrong?”

“We just came back from a funeral, what do you think’s wrong?” Y/n grumbled, struggling to take her shoes off, eventually submitting to his help. “Excuse me,” she pushed off the arm chair, shrugging off the black blazer that she’d worn over her smock dress, letting her hair down afterwards.

“Y/n,” Keanu sighed her name quietly, “Please, just talk to me. I know this is hard for you but-”

“I want you to stop smoking,” the admission just tumbled out of her mouth, with barely any warning. She’d had it; watching her uncle wither away was hard enough, Y/n was sure that she couldn’t survive watching Keanu being broken down like that. And worse yet, raise their child on her own, what was she supposed to tell their daughter? That her father puffed his life away even though he knew she’d need him?

“What?” Keanu slipped his hands into the pockets of his black slacks, taken aback by her harsh request.

“I want you to stop smoking,” Y/n repeated firmly, “I don’t want to lose you like that. And even if its not cancer, there’s a whole bunch of other stuff that it could cause. I couldn’t stand it if something happened to you, you know that.”

Keanu chuckled humorlessly, hoping to lighten the moment. Y/n had never had a problem with his nasty vice before, they’d been together for years, and now, out of the blue she wanted him to stop? “Honey,” he chuckled again, “Don’t be ridiculous.” In retrospect, accusing his pregnant wife of being ridiculous may not have been his best move.

“Ridiculous?” Y/n repeated incredulously, “You think I’m being ridiculous for wanting you to be healthy? Well maybe I’m being ridiculous for having a baby with a man who’s not taking care of himself, who probably doesn’t even care if he lives long enough to walk his daughter down the aisle one day.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” He scoffed, already exasperated, “I’m fine Y/n, healthy and right here.” He loved his wife, but like almost every other husband in the world Keanu didn’t want to be wrong. Besides, he was stuck in his ways; old habits die hard. And above all, he was scared, Keanu didn’t want to think about missing one of the most important days of his daughter’s life, no father did. Unfortunately though, instead of his inner turmoil encouraging him to be sympathetic to Y/n's cause, it just fanned Keanu’s flame, rousing the worst reaction, “And you know what? If having a baby with me is so fucking ridiculous, maybe we shouldn’t have kept it! Hell, I’m older than you anyway, maybe I’ll just die, have you thought of that?”

Y/n’s lips quivered, frightened at his tone and at a complete loss for words. How could he say those things? “I…..” Nothing would come, and suddenly, Y/n wanted to be far away from Keanu. That wasn’t the gentle, sweet man she married. Her husband was loving and sensitive, he was overjoyed when they’d found out that they were having a baby and ordinarily would have never said something so cruel. Y/n didn’t know what had prompted the seemingly overnight change, but she did know that if Keanu was going to be like that, she didn’t want to be in the same house with him.

Seeing the tears in her eyes and the slight shake in her form, Keanu swore under his breath, “Fuck.” He couldn’t believe that he’d let fear and anger get the better of him like that. He stood; wooden and glued to the floor as Y/n suddenly started moving around in as much of a haste as her condition would afford her, grabbing a large bag from their closet and packing some of her stuff into it, “I’m- shit,” he mumbled when she wouldn’t stop to hear him, “Y/n,” he pleaded, reached out to grab her arm, huffing in defeat when she pulled away, “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Yeah, well you did.” Zipping the top up, Y/n swung her bag over her shoulders, too enraged to take the time to put her shoes back on, so instead shoving her tired feet into the nearest pair of flip flops, a fluffy set that she usually wore after getting into her pajamas. Without another word, she was leaving the bedroom, headed towards the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Keanu followed Y/n down the steps, and able to move a little faster than her, he easily blocked her way at the bottom.

Her cheeks were tear stained and Y/n’s eyes were already red, one hand gripped the strap of the bag tightly while the other was placed protectively over her bump. Keanu hated seeing her cry, yet, that night, he’d been the one bringing tears to her eyes. “Home,” was all she offered, trying to squeeze through the space between his larger body and the railing.

“You are home,” he countered, folding his arms.

“I meant home, to my parents,” she clarified, not even sure why she’d bothered to tell him. At the side door to the garage, Y/n grabbed her car keys off the little brass hook, singling out the remote for her car alarm and then hitting the button at the top to unlock it.

“At least let me drive you,” he didn’t want Y/n to leave like that, distraught and past dark. Even in the security of her car, anything could happen, and above all, her safety came first, triumphing any amount of anger over their spat.

“No,” Y/n was getting into her car, clumsily sliding into the driver’s seat, “I just…...I don’t want to be around you right now, okay?”

The harshness in her tone coupled with her actual words stung like a snake bite to the chest, though Keanu was well aware that he’d said much worse not too long ago. He should have been reasonable instead of acting like an insensitive jerk. He should have heard her out and talked things through with Y/n instead of spewing battery acid.

The garage door reeled open and Y/n started backing her car out, not paying Keanu any mind as he called after her. Desperately, he followed on his feet for as far as he could, though, as usual, he was reminded that his knees weren't what they used to be and before long, Y/n's car was far beyond his reach, his wife and child, who he was absolutely terrified to lose, gone, and he'd had no clue when, or if, they'd ever be back.

Sleep had been hard to come by that night, so hard that it never really came. Keanu's mind was constantly bombarded with anxious thoughts of Y/n. She hadn't answered her phone when he called, probably two dozen times, and when he'd tried her parents place, they'd both rattled off cheap, continuous excuses; she wasn't there yet, she was sleeping or even the age old "she's busy."

All night, he'd worried about her, even between his fruitless phone calls. Was she sleeping okay? Was she well? How was the baby? For a brief moment, at around two am, Keanu had all but actually made it to his car, still dressed from the funeral, ready to head to his in-laws and mend things with his love, but in the end, fear and reason had stopped him. Y/n needed time to cool off, especially after what he'd said, a mere few hours definitely weren't going to cut it.

And then, slumping into one of the sitting room's sofas, Keanu finally took a minute to think about exactly what had gone down. Her plea had been reasonable; if it had been the other way around, he'd have wanted her to stop a lifetime ago, expect her to do anything that would prolong their time together. But there he'd stood, trying to make Y/n the fool for asking the same of him.

Maybe I'll just die. Those were his words.

Keanu had never been one to let himself be preoccupied with thoughts of his own death, it was frivolous after all, it wasn't like he could change it. One day, it was going to happen, one day, he was going to leave people behind. And it never bothered him, that was, until he met her. So innocently, not looking to fall in love, but just a month later, doing it anyway. Almost four years ago, Y/n had brought a new vibrancy to his life, and now, they were creating one together. And with every cell in his being, Keanu didn't want to miss a moment of it.

Quitting was hard, he'd tried before. But arguably, before, there wasn't so much at stake. Just like that, with reinvigorated energy, Keanu pushed off the couch, fishing a half empty pack of smokes from his pocket, tossing it to the kitchen counter, only to head to the little draw in the kitchen where he usually kept some more on hand. Even if it wasn't going to be easy, even if the stories he'd heard about withdrawal and the side effects of going cold turkey were terrifying, Keanu knew that he had to. For his wife, for his child. For himself.

For the rest of the night, knowing full and well that sleeping with her spot vacant would be a daunting task, Keanu disregarded the need for rest, instead opting to sweep the house for any trace of a cigarette; getting rid of everything from stray smokes and glass ashtrays to expensive cigars. If he was going to do it, he was going to do it right.

By dawn, everything indicating that a smoker resided at their cushy house in the hills had been tossed; dumped in the appropriate bin at the curb, and then, unable to hold out any longer, Keanu finally got in his car, started it up and backed out into the street, headed to bring his family home.

Her eyes burned, half from crying all night and half from just not sleeping at all. Though she'd tried, pillows tucked around her, Y/n still hadn't managed to catch a wink all night, and as the light of dawn split the darkness, she'd found herself queasy with homesickness. It wasn't like she hadn't ever spent a night away from her place with Keanu, but the feeling of being at odds with him like that, knowing she'd actively left so abruptly and so distraught, had made her literally sick.

Needless to say, things had gone far awry from what Y/n had expected. Of course, he was allowed to be upset, she was asking him to give up something he'd been doing for more than twenty years, smoking, as terrible as it was, was ingrained in his routine. Habitual. And trying to take it away so sudden would be like ripping away someone's security blanket. So really, she had no intention of hurting him.

Yet still, he'd hurt her

That morning, and the painful memory continued to rack her frame with soft sobs, eventually interrupted by her mother, features pinched with worry, knocking on her ajar door as she poked her head in, "Y/n," she probed tentatively, "Sweetheart, Keanu wants to know if you'd be okay with talking to him now. Please, he's worried about you."

"I don't wanna talk to him," Y/n shifted beneath the mass of covers, swiping away some tears from her reddened cheeks, "Just tell him to leave me alone." She knew, full and well, that she sounded like a melodramatic teenager going through a lover's spat with her high school boyfriend, but Y/n didn't care.

"Dear," her mother sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose, "I know you two had a fight last night, but he's your husband. Besides, he's already downstairs."

Struggling to turn towards the door and sit up, Y/n couldn't decide if she was infuriated or touched, "What?" Sniffing loudly, she reached for a tissue from the box at her bedside, "Why?"

"Because, he's worried and he loves you," when Y/n didn't look particularly moved, her mother, as adamant on having them resolve their issues as she was, continued, "And he know he's said some stupid things, but he doesn't want to keep things this way. Everyone makes mistakes Y/n. Please just talk to him, he's here and he's as much of a mess as you are. And we both know that all this stress isn't good for the baby, I'm sure she misses her daddy."

Hesitating for a moment, Y/n eventually nodded, absently caressing her bump as she finally permitted, "Okay, fine. Tell him I'll be right down."

Smiling faintly, Y/n's mother thought on it for a minute, before suggesting; "Even better; why don't I ask him up here? That way you two can shut the door and have some privacy."

"Yeah, okay," wiping her reddened nose with the crumpled tissue, trying not to cry again, "He can come up." Mouthing an okay, Y/n’s mother pushed the door back in, walking off without another word, and just as she did, Y/n shoved off the covers, scooting to the edge of the bed and slowly standing. Taking a minute to go over to the full length mirror, passing a brush from the top of the dresser through her bed head and then attempting to straighten her mismatched pajamas, she was just about to go over to the window, to see if Keanu's car was really parked out front, when her door creaked open, the sudden sound making her jump and gasp.

"Hey," Keanu didn't hold her gaze for longer than a minute handful of seconds before letting his whiskey orbs fall to the hardwood floor, strands from his untamed mane curtaining his tired features. Cautiously, as if he were afraid of upsetting her, Keanu inched into Y/n's childhood bedroom. They both knew the room well, and she remembered the first time she'd brought him to it, the night he'd met her parents for the first time. They'd been skeptical at first, he was older, and Hollywood had given most of their men a bad rep, but by the end of dinner, her mother was smitten and her father…...well, he could tolerate him. They'd brought their desert up there and had it by the window, just before Y/n had showed him around. Their current situation felt far different; void of the warmth of new love replaced by the stifling fear that their marriage was hanging in the balance.

"Hi," meekly, Y/n replied, swallowing thickly and not knowing how they should have continued. She didn't like how it felt; to be so flustered in his company. They were each other's safe places, refuge after a long, hard day, their first phone calls when something good happened and everything in between. Around Keanu, silence was comfortable and usually, breaking long stretches without words exchanged was easy. But that morning, she didn't have the slightest clue on what to say, on how to begin to bridge the gap that had grown overnight.

Putting a fist to his lips, Keanu raised his head again, tentatively looking around first to the unmade bed and then to Y/n standing near the closed window as he cleared his throat, primarily to break the tense silence. "I'm sorry," just as she had the night before, Y/n flinched when Keanu reached for her, that time though, it was more out of hurt than anger. She could see that her actions had stung him by the pained look that crossed his face, but he'd done his own share of damage the night before, and even if she could be talked into forgiving, Y/n wasn't just yet ready to forget. "What I said-"

"Was pretty damn fucked up," the break in her voice brought with it a new wave of quiet tears and Y/n could swear she felt her heart start breaking at his words replaying in her mind. Maybe we shouldn’t have kept it. Maybe I’ll just die. “You talked about aborting our child Keanu! What, were you just lying every time you said you wanted a family with me?”

“No, no, of course not,” scouring his brain for the right words, Keanu’s chest felt tight. He really had messed things up, with the best person in his life, and he wasn’t sure he could fix it. But he had to give it his best. He didn’t think he could stand to leave without his wife. “I just,” hitting his thigh with his fist and shaking his head, Y/n could see him fighting tears, “I got defensive, I don't want to think about not being there for the both of you, it’s scary.”

“Then talk to me about it, try to understand where I’m coming from when I ask you to try to quit,” Y/n’s arms fell to her sides in defeat, “Don’t…..” When she couldn’t finish, Keanu approached her again, and that time, she let him wrap her in his strong arms. It had just been one night, but she’d missed their comfort dearly, there was absolutely nothing that could compare to his embrace.

“I’m so, so sorry sweetheart,” his husky, pained voice was barely a whisper and he followed up his words with a chaste kiss on the crown of her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. It felt so good to have her tucked against his chest again, their heartbeats in sync. “I never, ever want to hurt you like this again,” Keanu rubbed her back soothingly, one hand toying with the ends of her freed tresses, “And I want to be with you, both of you, for as long as I can be. So I’m quitting, I’m done with that.”

With tear stained cheeks and glassy eyes, Y/n reared back slightly to meet his equally blurry gaze, “I’m sorry I picked a fight about that,” Y/n sighed quietly, and as much as she’d wanted him to quit smoking, she didn’t want to push him too hard, “And you know, if its too hard then-”

“No,” Keanu swallowed thickly, “It’s not. I don’t care about that, our family matters more to me, and you two are gonna be stuck with me for a very, very long time.”

Through her tears, a glimmer of a smile broke through, brightening her sorrow, and without warning Y/n’s arms around Keanu’s middle tightened and she laid her head on his chest, “Good,” she grinned softly, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him sweetly, “Cause we wouldn’t have it any other way.”

*****

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