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duchi-nesten · 3 months ago

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Five names...and Steve.

It's Ecto-Implosion time!!!! This year I actually did writing nO WAY!

I got to work with the amazing @toadstool32! Their art is absolutely wonderful! Go check it out!!

Tiny's Art!

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Summary:

Danny's parents weren't very fond of the ghostly pet living in his console... or 5 times Danny's virtual pet got on his parents' nerves, and 1 time it didn't.

Wordcount: 6744 || AO3

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A lot of things in the Fenton household were out of place.

At this point it was just a given that the Fenton parents would leave some ectoplasmic samples on the kitchen counter or end up testing their newest invention on some poor piece of furniture. Danny was very used to random burn marks on the walls, trying not to trip over ripped carpet or dodging whatever food in their fridge came to life this time. (Though usually it was only the ecto-hot-dogs, who’d pretty much taken over their fridge, and tended to dominate any other sentient meal.)

It’s also hard to forget that one time his parents somehow managed to make everything in the living room invisible. That was a fun afternoon.

The point was, weird stuff always happened in the Fenton household. That’s why Danny wasn’t surprised in the slightest when he stepped into the living room to find his old handheld console glowing green and floating right above the coffee table.

The coffee table, which was covered in a bunch of papers and spilled ectoplasmic samples. That gave him all the information he needed. His parents must have been working on an invention while watching the tv again and his poor console had fallen victim to this week’s case of ectoplasmic infusion.

Danny took a few careful steps towards his floating game. The icy cold breath escaping his throat fogged up his vision for a second, before he caught sight of a smiling little… thing coming from the screen of his console.

He tilted his head slightly to the right in confusion and was amazed when the console attempted to imitate him by tilting the screen the exact same way.

It was cute in a way. Danny couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Suddenly he felt the ghostly presence leave the console to do a little round around him. The spirit’s green light was warm against his skin, before it snuck back into the game.

Danny laughed a little.

“Well, you seem nice,” he said, not expecting the ghost to answer. To his surprise the game landed gently in his hands as he got a soft chirp in response. The black pixels on the screen moved up and down in the shape of a little blob with two antennae.

“Man, you kinda remind me of an old tamagotchi. But like… actually alive.” Danny laughed again. Just for the bit, he pressed some buttons on the console to check his theory and there it was. He could actually feed and take care of the ghostly pet thing!

He gave it some virtual food, grinning as the little creature consumed the pixels on the screen. Its satisfaction could be felt with the growing energy surrounding the console.

“Maybe I should keep you,” Danny said, and the ghost came out of the game again to happily fly one loop around the boy.

That definitely seemed like an agreement.

Hopefully, this wouldn’t blow up in Danny’s face. He always wanted a puppy and this… this was close enough. As long as his parents didn’t find out about this, it should all be fine. Which was totally easy. His parents were extremely unaware when it came to things like this.

Of course, that was the moment his parents decided to come into the living room unannounced.

If Jack Fenton’s deafening yell of “GHOST!” could count as unannounced.

“WHERE’S THE SPOOK?!” the man bellowed while bursting into the room, an ecto-gun ready to blast. He was followed by Danny’s mom, a beeping ghost detector and her own ecto-gun in each hand.

Both of his parents paused at the sight of Danny. He was about to hide the possessed console behind his back, but before he could, the little spirit came out of it to… hiss at his parents.

Danny noted how the ghost seemed to try shielding him from the guns before it got sucked back into the game after a few seconds. It couldn’t keep a physical form for too long. Interesting.

He didn’t get to ponder on it more as he felt the game being ripped out of his hands.

“Don’t worry Danny! We got this ghost!” his mother screamed, throwing the console to the ground.

“No ghost will slip into my house and try to attack my son!” his father added. Both of his parents pointed their weapons at the poor little ghost, ready to shoot it.

In a quick dash, Danny pushed between the two and jumped in front of them to shield the console with his body. “NO, WAIT!”

Full of confusion and not wanting to hurt their child, his parents lowered their guns slightly.

“Danno, get out of the way. We need to get rid of this ghost.”

“But! But! It’s in my game!” he tried.

“Don’t worry, sweetie. We’ll get it out of your game without destroying it,” his mother chimed in, putting a hand on his shoulder. She tried to gently move him out of the way, but he persisted.

“But it’s not IN my game!” Danny almost screamed, before trying to collect himself a bit and continuing in a quieter voice. “I think you made my game sentient, like the ecto-dogs.”

That made his parents lower their guns fully.

“Hm. That’s interesting,” his mom said. It was clear she was calculating something in her head. Turning to his dad, they shared a similar look of fascination. “I mean the hot dogs were a biological matter. How is it possible to make a game sentient?”

“We should pick it apart and study it!” his dad answered, voice full of excitement.

“What?” Danny asked, dumbfounded. He couldn’t let them do this. Whatever the creature was, it seemed to be friendly and most important of all, sentient. The sudden thought about his parents dissecting a sentient being caused a shiver to go down his spine. “You didn’t do it to the ecto-dogs! You didn’t even get rid of them; they’re still living in our fridge!”

“They have proved themselves, Danno,” his dad said proudly. “They’re now a part of this family.”

“Unfortunately,” his mom muttered. If it was up to her, those ecto-dogs wouldn’t be here either. “This is more intricate though. I didn’t know ectoplasm could fuse with technology in such a way. If we can figure out how it happened, maybe we can use it to our advantage.”

“Make fancy guns!” his dad excitedly added.

“You can’t do that!” Danny yelled again. In a quick spin, he picked up the console from the floor, carefully showing it off. “Look at it. It’s like a little pet, you can’t hurt it!”

His mother was clearly about to argue, but that’s exactly when Jazz decided to enter the room.

“What’s going on here?” she asked in confusion, eyes trailing from their parents, to Danny, then to the console now safely tucked in her brother's arms.

“Jazz, could you please explain to your brother that he can’t keep this ghostly thing as a pet?” their mom asked tiredly, covering her face with the palm of her hand.

“What?” Jazz asked, even more confused now.

“Mom and Dad left their experiments on the coffee table again, and some of it was infused into my console, so now it’s possessed by a virtual pet thing.” Danny explained, showing the console off to Jazz who came closer as he spoke. The little ghost on the screen blinked at his sister before hissing at her.

“Charming,” Jazz said unamused. She put her hands on her hips as she turned to address their parents. “It looks to me like whatever happened here is your fault. If you didn’t want this pet thing to exist you shouldn’t have left your highly toxic experiments laying around the family room.”

“But Jazzy-pants,” their dad started, however he was cut off by his sister.

“No buts,” she said sternly. “Danny already got attached to this thing. If you take it away now, he’s gonna be so sad and that will definitely reflect badly on his relationship with you two.”

“So what? Are we supposed to let him keep this thing?” their mother asked.

“Yes,” Jazz simply answered, giving their parents a look that clearly stated there was no more room for arguments. Their sour expressions didn’t disappear, but they sagged their shoulders in surrender.

“Alright. But if it gives us even one reason to believe it’s evil, we are getting rid of it,” their mom stated sternly. She was definitely not happy about the entire situation.

“Compared to the ecto-dogs, this thing is gonna be a saint,” Danny muttered under his breath.

Jazz only rolled her eyes with a small smile before addressing him. “So, what are you gonna name it?” she asked.

“Oh, uh. I don’t know?” he shrugged in response. “Steve or something?”

“Steve?” Jazz questioned.

“Steve?” their mother echoed.

“Come on, son. At least call it something cool. Like ecto-Steve.”

Everyone looked at his dad for a second with varying expressions of confusion.

“It’s just a placeholder name, I don’t know!” Danny defended. “I’ll come up with a better one eventually!”

Steve came out of the console and chirped happily at him.

“Awh, it is kind of cute. Why don’t you call it Chirp or something like that?” Jazz said, moving one finger in the direction of the ghost to touch him. She was immediately stopped, when ‘Steve’ turned to her and hissed angrily, making the girl move away quickly and putting her hands up. “Okay, okay, that’s a no I guess.”

“Hah, he clearly only likes me and the names I give him,” Danny smirked watching Steve go back to his console with another chirp.

“Probably only because he can feel you’re one of his kind,” Jazz said unamused. Danny quickly elbowed her and looked pointedly to their parents, who were still standing right there.

“What do you mean one of his kind?” his mom questioned. “Danny’s not a gh-”

“Gamer,” Danny quickly cut in, prompting everyone to look at him in confusion. “I am a Gamer. The pet is a Game. We’re like… so alike,” he continued spilling nonsense in hopes that it would sound believable enough.

His parents looked incredibly confused, but eventually started nodding their heads in thought.

“I guess,” his mom said. She still didn’t look fully convinced, but decided to drop it.

Both Danny and Jazz let out a breath in relief. Steve only chirped from inside the console again.

“Yeah, I’m gonna go now!” Danny said, quickly booking it out of the room with Steve in hand. As he scaled the stairs he could hear his dad whine about ‘still wanting to dissect that ghost’.

So Danny knew that as long as he kept the pet out of trouble, it would be fine.

Of course, Steve had different plans.

Danny didn’t have a choice, but to bring Steve with him anywhere he went. Even though his parents begrudgingly agreed to let the ghost stay, he didn’t really trust them to not try something if he left Steve at home unattended and the poor thing couldn’t really defend itself.

The only attack move Steve seemed to know was hissing. And he hissed at everyone and everything he considered a threat to Danny.

Danny was at the school showing off Steve to Sam and Tucker, who both loved the little guy, but hated the name Steve. Sam insisted that the pet’s name should be more androgynous as they didn’t know its gender, while Tucker kept suggesting some very bad “action-film-from-the-80s” kinda names.

That’s exactly when Danny’s ghost sense went off. He tried to leave Steve with his friends, but the pet kept hissing at them, so Danny had no choice, but to take the console with him.

Luckily for him, it only turned out to be the Box Ghost’s weekly storage room raiding time.

His ghostly enemy was incredibly proud of himself when it turned out Steve was absolutely terrified of his presence. At least for the first 10 seconds before Boxy opened his mouth and started going on and on about bringing boxed up doom upon everyone.

The fight was going by fast as usual, with only a few hiccups due to Danny having to carry not only the Fenton thermos, but also Steve’s console in his jumpsuit pocket. It definitely made the fighting more uncomfortable, yet the Box Ghost was not enough of a threat to make it an actual issue.

Finally, after a few minutes, Danny managed to suck the ghost into the thermos. Cupping the cylinder, he sighed, still a bit annoyed from all the incessant yelling he had just listened to. He was about to leave the storage room, when one of the walls exploded and in came his parents. His father already giving him a second dose of incessant yelling.

“FREEZE GHOSTS!” his dad shouted, shooting out an anti-ecto net that missed its mark by a good 10 feet if not more.

Danny was about to ignore his parents and leave when Steve decided to attack. The little ghost came out of its console and let out a loud hiss in the direction of the two adults. Danny barely got the time to react, covering his pet friend from his parents’ view.

If they ever saw Steve with Phantom, it would definitely be enough to call him evil and get rid of him.

Luckily Steve seemed to feel Danny’s distress and went back into the console. He stayed quietly in there, which left the two Fentons staring at the ghost boy in silence for a few seconds.

“Did you just… hiss at us?” his mom asked, confused.

It would’ve been incredibly funny if Danny wasn’t so stressed in the moment. The witty teenage ghost boy just seemingly hissed at the ghost hunters. Hilarious.

In an attempt to save his reputation, he uttered a simple “No,” before hastily turning invisible and booking it out of there.

“OH, COME ON,” Danny whined as he put down the card he pulled out of Steve’s hand. Not a literal hand of course, since Steve was incorporeal and couldn’t hold anything belonging to the material world.

It took him a while, but he managed to prop up Steve’s cards against some rocks they found in the park in a way that let the ghost see all of its options without Danny knowing what they were.

The only thing Steve had to do was flash a number on the console’s screen and Danny would pull out corresponding card counting from left to right. And this time it just so happened that the corresponding card was a draw +4.

“One day your luck will run out,” Danny threatened as he reached his gloved hand to draw new cards from the deck that was decorated with his father’s face. He often wondered how legal it was for his parents to make a custom FentonWorks Uno card deck.

His face suddenly split into an evil grin when he saw not one, not two, but THREE skip turn cards. (All of them showing Jack Fenton with his hand stretched forward in a halting motion on different colored backgrounds.)

“Looks like that day is coming soon.”

Five minutes and a powerful outplay by Steve later, Danny was grumbling to himself as he shuffled the deck. The word “LOSER” flashing at him from the console.

“It’s not fair, I almost had that one,” he complained, starting to deal the cards out again.

He didn’t get far, when their peaceful time was interrupted by a blast hitting the tree beside the bench they were sitting on. Danny turned to the tree to see one of the branches started burning in the place where it was hit.

“A wide shot,” he muttered. “That could only mean-”

“I’VE GOT YOU NOW, GHOST KID!”

“Of course.”

There was suddenly a huge ecto-blaster pointed right at his face. His father’s angry face staring at him from the other side.

“GIVE BACK MY FENTONWORKS BRANDED UNO CARDS, YOU GHOST PUNK! DO YOU KNOW HOW VALUABLE THEY ARE?! HOW DID YOU EVEN GET THEM?!” his dad threatened, pointing to the deck of cards, but stopped in his tracks when he noticed Steve laying on the bench beside them.

“What the-? MY SON’S PET GHOST! I KNEW YOU WERE EVIL! YOU STOLE THE CARDS!” his dad yelled, moving the gun to point it at Steve.

“Woah, woah. No, he didn’t!” Danny interjected, waving his hands up in an attempt to get the barrel of the gun directed back at him. Which worked out perfectly, when his dad turned to him.

“ARE YOU SAYING YOU BROKE INTO OUR HOUSE?! AGAIN?!”

“...No?”

Steve chose that moment to come out of the console to hiss at the elder Fenton. His dad only raised his weapon higher, now facing the little ghost again. Finger ready on the trigger.

Danny tried pushing Steve out of the way, surprised when it actually worked. Apparently his pet had no trouble coming in contact with other ghosts. Interesting.

He ignored the thought for now, as he leaned into his father’s shooting field.

“Look, da-I mean… Jack. We were just uhhh…” Danny looked around for a way out of this sticky situation. Seeing no polite solution, he quickly grabbed Steve’s console without any other words and ran away, tripping on the bench’s backside while trying to hop over it. He landed on his face, but quickly gathered himself and continued running.

He could hear his dad cursing and shooting after them. Every shot missing miserably.

It was later that day after Danny got back home that both of his parents interrogated him in the kitchen.

Steve’s console laid on the table in the middle of the room. Its inhabitant was currently out hissing at his dad, who was trying his best to strangle him, but Steve kept phasing through all the attempts as the ghost was incorporeal.

“Danny, your …pet is clearly up to something. Your father saw him casually hanging out with Phantom,” his mom stated, hands on her hips as she looked down at Danny.

“And he stole our FentonWorks branded uno cards!” his dad added, giving up on strangling Steve.

It took a while to calm down his parents and come up with barely passable excuses on why exactly Steve had the cards and was hanging out with his parents biggest enemy.

The elder Fentons finally gave up seeing as they could not convince their son to hand over the ghost. They were still not happy with him at all and were definitely suspicious of the whole thing, so Danny knew he just had to be more careful about what he was gonna be doing with Steve from now on.

The little ghost was still showing his displeasure by hissing at Danny’s parents. The boy sighed, petting Steve in hopes of calming him down enough to make him disappear into the console again, so he could take it to his room and far away from his parents.

He realized what a big mistake that was only once he saw his parents’ curious gazes follow the point where his hand was touching the ghost. The incorporeal ghost that could not be touched by fully material organisms.

Which Danny was not.

Because he had ectoplasm in his bloodstream.

Shit.

“How are you touching that thing?” his mom asked, her face a mix of surprise, concern and fascination.

Danny looked from one parent to the other. “Uh. He likes me?” he asked stupidly.

Before he could get an answer, he picked up Steve’s console running out of the kitchen. He tripped on one of the chairs in the process, falling face flat on the ground, before quickly gathering himself back up again and booking it out of there.

After that, Danny managed to keep Steve out of trouble for a few days. Unfortunately, the peace couldn’t last any longer as Technus finally got a wind of the new technology based ghost in town.

And just like Danny’s parents, he found him incredibly fascinating.

The fascination quickly turned into mischief, as Technus realized just how attached Danny was to the little creature. He managed to snatch the console, while the boy was trying to fight off various appliances from the electronics store Technus just raided.

One of said appliances was a microwave that now held poor Steve hostage. Which Technus threatened to turn on if Danny didn’t let him do his evil taking over the world deeds in peace.

“Let him go, Technus!” bargaining was all Danny had left. He couldn’t risk his friend perishing in a microwave explosion. “Steve didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Steve?” Technus questioned, his voice sounding very disgusted. “Is that the creature’s name? What an absolute lack of creativity.”

“It’s a placeholder name! I’ll come up with a better one eventually!”

“How about microwave food? Get it? ‘Cuz I’m gonna microwave it,” the ghost asked, smirking evilly. Danny’s eyes widened in terror as Technus reached out to the flying prison, which held his friend.

Before anything could happen, Technus was suddenly shot with a blast from the back. It broke his concentration enough to make the ecto energy surrounding the microwave dissipate. It started falling to the ground. Danny quickly took his chance and dived to save Steve.

Just as he was about to reach the falling microwave, the energy around it returned and moved the appliance right from under Danny’s nose.

“NO!” he screamed, turning his trajectory to follow the escaping microwave.

Another blast flew right past his ear and that’s when he finally noted that his parents had made it to the battlefield. Their shots were pointed at both him and Technus. He needed to stop them before they accidentally brought any harm to Steve.

“No, don’t shoot him!” he yelled to the Fentons. “He has a hostage!”

“You’ll be our hostage once I’m done with you ghost kid!” his dad yelled back, aiming his gun and shooting at Danny (absolutely missing in the process).

“Hun, hold on,” his mom, always the more rational one, put a hand on Jack’s arm to make him lower the gun, before addressing Danny. “What hostage?” she demanded in a strong voice.

Danny grimaced a little as he heard Technus laugh in the background, already choosing to rain chaos upon some other electronics store or whatever. “...Steve,” he said to his parents.

“Wha- Steve?” his mother questioned, clearly irritated. “Our son’s ghost pet Steve?”

“Yes.”

“So now that evil ghost is hanging out with other evil ghosts too!” his dad yelled, raising his gun and running off after Technus. “That’s enough, that little ghost scum is gonna regret his existence!”

“Wait no!” Danny screamed after his father. He was about to follow him, but his mother’s voice stopped him.

“Why do you care so much?” she asked accusingly, cocking her gun and getting ready to aim at Danny again.

“Well! Why don’t you care? Your son would be heartbroken if anything happened to his pet, right?” he shot back, eyes nervously trailing in the direction of Technus and his dad.

“Danny will get over it. It’s just a ghost.”

“UGH! Steve hasn’t done anything to make you believe he’s evil!” Danny was ready to rip his hair out in frustration. “It’s your own fault he’s even existing in the first place! Maybe you should take some responsibility instead of accidentally creating ecto abominations left and right!” he yelled before turning away and flying to stop his dad from making everything worse.

Maybe he did say a bit too much, but the irritation he felt took over him. Why couldn’t his parents just stop being so negative towards anything ghost related? Steve may have been a little bit hissy towards them, but that was literally the most threatening thing he could do. Other than that he’s been nothing, but cute and silly.

Danny shook his head, focusing on getting Steve back from the clutches of the actually evil ghost. Luckily it didn’t take long before he managed to retrieve his friend as Technus was being distracted by his father’s incessant screaming.

The ghost was quickly sucked into the thermos after that. Danny, still riding on worry, adrenaline and slight irritation, totally missed a pair of violet eyes curiously observing him while he coddled with Steve, glad the pet was finally safe in his arms.

Maddie was not happy about the ghostly creature that’s been living under her own roof for a few weeks now. She’s had enough of the ecto-dogs taking over their fridge, so she definitely didn’t need another intruder.

She was especially not happy about it being so close to her son though.

This ‘Steve’ was clearly only trouble. He kept aggressively hissing at everyone except her son, and continued getting into shenanigans. Yet for some reason Danny found him fun and endearing. It honestly bothered her how much Danny seemed to love this thing.

Even worse, how that little thing seemed to bond with her son.

But as much as she hated this ghostly nuisance, it fascinated her. If it was up to her, the little creature would be closed off in their lab and examined for any way that could help them improve their weaponry and inventions.

Sadly it seemed like Danny would never let that happen.

She sighed as she went up the stairs, readjusting her grip on the basket full of dirty hazmat suits and lab coats from their basement. They usually just kept a spare laundry basket down in the lab to save a trip upstairs if anything got stained with ectoplasm, which happened often.

Unfortunately that also meant the basket usually laid forgotten down there until it was so full nothing else would fit in it. It wasn’t fully packed yet, but it has been a while since the last wash. It was finally the time to get these clothes clean.

She reached the bathroom, putting the basket down on the floor in front of the washing machine. She started loading up the laundry starting off with the piece of clothing that made her decide to do the lab laundry in the first place.

Her blue jumpsuit was fully stained in ecto-goo. She and Jack had come back from a ghost battle only half an hour prior, the battle taking place only one block down from their house. She got hit by the goo when her husband, as usual, missed his mark while trying to shoot the ghost kid, who was fighting another ghost again.

She grimaced at the thought, squeezing the jumpsuit and stuffing it into the washing machine, suddenly feeling annoyed.

That was another thing that’s been weird recently. The ghost kid’s affiliation with Danny’s stupid pet.

With so many ghost attacks around the town, they quickly noticed that Steve wasn’t very fond of other ghosts. The only ghost he seemed to like for whatever reason was Phantom. Which definitely was a mutual thing, since the ghost kid was awfully protective of the little ghost.

Maddie still remembered his outburst from a while back. It seemed so…genuine. She didn’t understand why he cared so much and it bothered her. Something was definitely going on there, but it felt as if she was missing a big puzzle piece.

She let out another sigh. Her basket was now empty, but there was still some space left in the washing machine. She decided to go ask Danny if he’s got anything else to put in it, since Steve tended to …leak on things sometimes.

While still kind of stuck in her own thoughts, she made her way to Danny’s room. As she approached, she heard her son snickering through the door.

“Steve, come on. Homework can wait. What are you, my mom?”

Looked like her son was slacking on his homework by playing with the annoying thing. Without thinking to knock, she opened the door ready to catch him in the act and to scold him for it.

“He’s not, but I…am…” she stilled at the sight in front of her.

There, on her son’s bed, laid no one other than Phantom himself. Though laid wasn’t the right word. He hovered right above it. Steve’s console held in both of his hands as he stared right back at her, green eyes wide in shock.

Steve took a round around him, before going back into the console.

It was all they needed to snap out of their stupor.

Phantom, in panic, fell atop the bed, before raising himself on all fours and yelling “I CAN EXPLAIN!”

And god if the look on his face didn’t look familiar. It was exactly the kind of look Danny would give her when she caught him doing something he wasn’t supposed to. She probably wouldn’t have noted the similarity if it wasn’t for the familiar background of Danny’s bedroom and the assumption she already had of finding him in here instead.

A quick look around the room told her he was not present, so the person she heard had to be the ghost in front of her. But that was Danny’s voice for sure.

Have their voices always been so similar?

An unsettling theory was forming in her head, but she tried her best to push the thought aside.

Instead she crossed her arms over her chest and gave Phantom a condescending look. “Well then, explain.”

That seemed to take him by surprise. Maddie assumed he probably expected her to pull out an ecto-blaster and start shooting. To be fair, she probably would, but thanks to the mishap with her jumpsuit getting dirty, she didn’t have any weapon on her. (And the idea of shooting him now left a bitter taste in her mouth.)

Observing her carefully, he slowly stood up from the bed, putting his console down by the pillows. He tried to stutter something out, but it was cut off by a yelp when his legs tangled in the sheets and he fell off the bed.

Maddie cringed a little at his fall. She quickly realized it wasn’t the first time she saw something like this happen. Danny often did the exact same thing, whenever she came in to wake him up after his alarm didn’t seem to do its job.

Phantom quickly got up to his feet. “Well, uh. You see, I was just-” he paused, looking around the room. His eyes landed on Steve’s little face coming from the screen of his home. “Babysitting! Your, uh, your son had to go out, so I’m just… looking out for this little guy.”

And oh how she wanted to believe him, but the way he nervously smiled at her from across the room, rubbing his arm and shuffling his feet on the ground. It was probably the first time she got to properly look at him. No adrenaline from an ongoing battle or distortion of blurry video recordings.

Without thinking she took a few steps forward. Seeing her slowly advance, he took two steps back, but his legs quickly bumped into the nightstand. With no more space to back out he watched her come closer with fearful eyes, as he laughed nervously. “I know you’re probably mad, so let me just… leave-”

His talking ceased when she finally approached him. Without a word she gently reached out to swipe the bangs out of his eyes before her hand landed on his cheek.

She could feel him growing more and more uncomfortable by the second, as she gave him a long look-over. He even tried to talk again, but she just shushed him and continued scanning his features and everything.

She inhaled sharply when she finally saw it.

Before he could react, she pulled him into a hug, wrapping one arm around him while the other gently stroked his hair. “Oh, my baby…”

The boy immediately stiffened in her arms. “Wh-What?” He let out another nervous laugh as he tried to wiggle out of her embrace. “Uh. What are you talking about-hAH. Wha-” he stilled as he got a look at her face, probably noticing the tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

“Danny.” Even though the name left her lips as a whisper, it still held a lot of intensity. The tears streamed down her face as she asked, her voice quiet and uncertain “What happened?”

It made absolutely no sense to her. Danny couldn’t be a ghost, Phantom’s been around for almost two years now and Danny’s has been here all this time. But even though she didn't know how or why, she knew it was her son standing in front of her.

A mother always recognises her child.

(Even though it took her an embarrassingly long time to do that.)

Was it some sort of disguising technique? Can some ghosts still pass as humans? It would definitely explain all the times their inventions seemed to go off around him or how he seemed to be the only human able to actually touch his ghostly pet.

It was because he wasn’t human. He was a ghost. Which meant he must’ve died and neither her or Jack even noticed. The thought brought her tears back full force. She almost choked on a sob as all the possibilities of her child’s death flashed in her head.

She already felt horrible for not noticing all this before now, but what if his death was also somehow her fault?

Instead of providing her with the answers she craved so badly, he just stared at her with an unreadable expression. It took him a while, but his gaze finally moved to the ground, before his entire face broke and he looked up to her again.

“I’m not dead I swear!” he said, voice full of desperation. As if this was the most important thing and he needed her to believe him.

So he was in denial. Maybe that’s what gave him the ability to pass as a human and not turn into an obsessive evil ghost. Holding onto the thought of still being alive, helped him keep his humanity.

Well, she wasn’t going to shatter that and risk him becoming malevolent.

“O-Of course not, honey,” she said, voice at the edge of breaking. She stroked his cheek gently again, feeling how icy cold he was and almost letting out another sob.

“No, I know what you’re thinking,” he said, gently pulling back from her hand, which hurt her only a little bit before she focused back on what he was saying. “You’re creating an entire theory about me being in denial or something!”

Well, he got her spot on.

Before she could respond, he continued in a softer voice.

“I’m still human too, I swear. Or more like… half human?” he offered, shrugging a bit at her. “Half-human, half-ghost?”

What.

She decided to voice her confusion.

“What?”

“I don’t know. I don’t really get it myself, but look!” As he said this a light blue ring appeared at his waist. Maddie took a step back as it split in two and traveled up and down his body.

And there was her Danny, black hair, blue eyes and everything. She already knew it was him, but having it confirmed like this, seeing just how much he always resembled Phantom and she didn’t notice was insane.

“See! Human. I’ve got a heartbeat and everything to prove it!”

She slowly leaned back in and placed her hand back on his cheek. It was warmer now, maybe still slightly colder than a normal temperature, but definitely not icy cold as it was just a minute prior.

He definitely felt two of her fingers slide down under his jaw to check for the mentioned heartbeat, but he didn’t say anything about it.

She sighed in relief when she found it.

“But… how is this possible?” she asked. It would be incredibly fascinating if she wasn’t so worried for her child.

“I don’t know. I kinda uh…” he looked away and shrugged. Maddie caught his gaze locking onto the console still laying on his bed. “I think it’s kinda like Steve? I got infused with ectoplasm or something.”

Well that… that was certainly a better option than him dying. But the comparison brought back the memory of his outburst during the technology ghost fight.

Suddenly she realized he might’ve not been talking only about Steve and the ecto-dogs as she initially assumed.

“Oh, Danny.” she covered her mouth as guilt washed over her. “It’s our fault isn’t it?”

He immediately perked up. “No! No. It’s my own fault, you didn’t do anything. I was just being stupid…” he sat down on his bed looking down at his shoes.

Maddie followed suit, putting a hand on his back and rubbing it softy. She needed to ask, she needed to know how it exactly happened. No matter how terrified she was of the answer. Before she could gather the courage though, he already opened his mouth and spoke so quietly she almost didn’t hear it.

“I’m sorry.”

His sad tone broke her heart. She wrapped her arms around him again and pulled him into her side. “No, Danny. I’m so sorry we never noticed and then we went ahead and shot at you and said so many horrible things. Oh baby, I love you so much, I am so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said back, reciprocating the hug. They stayed like this for a while, Maddie gently stroking his hair while mumbling out apologies. Danny kept mostly quiet, but he seemed content in her embrace.

They would’ve stayed like this longer if it wasn’t for the little ghostly presence appearing behind them. Maddie felt a shiver when Steve phrased through her arm in an attempt to get Danny’s attention.

She moved her hand away and turned to the creature. Surprisingly he didn’t hiss at her this time, even when Danny raised up from their hug to look at the little ghost.

“Yes, yes. You want attention, I hear you,” her son snickered and reached out to the console as Steve hid back inside it again.

Maddie watched as her son checked the needs of the creature on the screen before giving it some virtual food. Steve gladly consumed the little pixels and did something akin to a little happy dance.

She couldn’t help, but smile.

“I must admit,” she said, catching the attention of both her son and the ghost. “He is kind of cute when he’s not hissing at me all the time.”

Danny chuckled in response. “Yeah, Steve’s really nice, you just gotta get to know him better.”

“I should give him a chance then,” she smiled back.

Steve came out of the console and neared her face, almost as if studying her. After a second of staring he let out a chirp and did a little round around both her and Danny, which made her giggle a little.

“Guess you really aren’t as bad as we thought, Steve,” she said, before pausing a little. “Even though your name is a little silly.”

“It’s a placeholder!” Danny whined, dropping back on his bed. The console was now laying on his stomach as Steve made his way back in.

“Honey, it’s been a placeholder for weeks now. When are you gonna finally come up with a real name?”

“I don’t have any ideas! And everyone’s only criticizing, but their ideas aren’t any better! Like dad’s! Ecto-Steve? For real?”

“Hmm, that was a bit funny,” Maddie said, trying to hold back the laughter. “But maybe he was onto something there?”

“He definitely was not.”

“I mean, if you drop the Steve part and just call him Ecto. It would be fitting.” She looked to her son, catching his gaze. “He did come from ectoplasm after all.”

Danny raised up on his elbows while he contemplated that. “You know what? That’s not bad. I kinda like it,” he smiled and addressed the little ghost. “Ecto, huh? What do you think about that?”

The ghost gave a little chirp as it came out of the console to make a few happy zigzags in the air.

Maddie chuckled a bit. “Well, looks like he likes it.”

“Guess he does.” Danny slumped back onto the bed, a very content smile on his face.

There was a beat of silence before he opened his mouth again.

“I’m too used to Steve, I’m still gonna call him that.”

“I know, honey.”

#kad writes #ectoimplosion2024 #danny phantom #danny fenton #maddie fenton #jack fenton

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thekatfuzz · 1 year ago

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Shadow of a Doubt (Preview)

So how about that episode 2 huh?? 👀 when I saw Loki using his shadow magic for the first time in the trailer even before the episode released I knew I had to write a fic about it. So here 'tis!

Pairing: Loki x TVA Hunter Reader

Warnings: eventual smut, shadow magic, use of restraints, slight non-con, slight dark!Loki. **contains slight spoilers for Season 2.**

Rating: M

London, 1977

Night in the city never slept. It wasn't a stressful or rushed state of being awake, but it was rather just alive and existing. The distant sound of sirens from a fire truck nearby, some honking cars here and there, and the distant music and chatter of people on the phone or couples talking to each other walking past you. The ambiance and the world around you seemed distant and unimportant in comparison to your important mission--compromise Variant L1130-- also known as Loki Laufeyson.

You've seen him before, at the TVA and in files that you read. He thought he was the God of Mischief or something. At least thats what Mobius said. You didnt know what he saw in Loki. Mobius has always been interested in such strange things.

Of course, the Variant was mysterious--and not to mention, quite handsome. The mugshot on his file depicted a good-looking man with chiseled cheekbones and raven black hair. Sure, you thought he was good looking, and you wouldnt kick him out of bed if you found him there, but of course you wouldnt go out actively wanting to sleep with a rouge Variant--no matter how hot they were.

You had your assignment. And you had your warnings. Loki's file had mentioned his use of magic and illusions and the image of big, impact text on the file flashed through your head:

"IF CONFRONTED, PROCEED WITH CAUTION."

But you weren't worried. You were in disguise anyway. Your Tempad and pruning stick tucked away cleverly and your determination on display. You've dealt with hundreds of so-called perilous Variants before, how different could this one be?

You got to a shadowed intersection and you looked around. It seemed quieter here. Flickering streetlights lit the slick cobblestone streets as low footsteps and indistinct chatter could be heard. A few people could be seen walking here and there a distance away, but there wasn't much here. All of a sudden, you could have sworn you saw a person appear out pf nowhere out of the corner of your eye. You would have usually just shrugged off as your eyes playing tricks on you in the dimly lit street and kept walking, but something didnt feel right.

The air felt colder and it felt like the sounds of the world were even more further away now as a chill ran up your spine. You felt alone but at the same time, like you were being watched. You looked around frantically, not even knowing what you were looking for. Your hand went quickly to where you hid your pruning stuck, ready to fight or fly.

Suddenly a shadow caught the corner of your eye on the wall. You turned to face it, but it was gone.

What the hell?

Your breathing became faster and you leapt into action, running away. You barely made it a few feet until you felt your arm be tugged backwards, halting you. You shot your head back to see who was holding you back, fully ready to fight back--only to see in surprised confusion that there was no one holding your wrist. It was like a ghost was gripping your arm with invisible fingers but very real strength.

It took you longer than it should have to notice the towering shadow on the wall. It was definitely a human, a male probably, holding your arm. It was like the shadow, somehow, was restraining you.

"What the...." you whispered aloud.

You tried to wriggle free and managed to for a few seconds, until you felt another similar invisible hand grip your other wrist. The next thing you knew you were pinned with your back against the stone wall, looking out at the end of the alleyway where light poured in through a rectangular opening.

Heart thundering and mind racing, you extended your neck a bit in front of you and looked up at the wall you were held against. Two large shadows this time. They looked the same, each holding your arms out to the side like you were shackled to the hard stone wall.

Then, you saw it. First from one shadow, than the other-- a set of sharp, curving horns began to grow out of the black shadows' heads. You watched in surprise as the horns began to bloom and didnt even notice the man striding towards you, eyes glowing an otherworldly green.

"Well, well..." purred the voice, in a velvety English accent. "What have we here?"

Loki.

The infamous Variant stepped out the shadows in a very elegant suit with a white ruff in his chest and a neat bow tie. His hair was slicked black and his hands were clasped behind his back. He sauntered over to you, smirking. Looking like a spider who had just caught a decadent fly in its web.

He waved his hand again, and your clothes changed as your breath hitched. Your disguise melted away to reveal your black TVA hunter armor. You gritted your teeth. This was annoying, but this wouldnt stop you. So what he knew you were from the TVA. He would be incarcerated there soon enough.

You jerked and struggled against the shadow bonds as Loki chuckled.

"Don't bother, darling." He mused. "Shadow magic--quite useful, actually. Very hard to break out of it's grip."

"Loki Laufeyson--" You said, hoping your voice carried more confidence and certainty than you felt. "You are under arrest by the Time Variance Authority for crimes of sabotaging the Sacred Timeline."

He raised an eyebrow. "Am I?" He said in mock surprise. He looked around. "So I've been told before."

He stepped closer to you, his features sharp in the dim light. "Go on then hunter, arrest me." He put out his wrists in an exaggerated act of surrender. He paused a moment then looked back up at you. "Oh dear, but you can't though, can you? You seem to be a little...incapacitated, darling."

"Don't call me that." You spat, blood boiling. Maybe you wouldnt even take him back to the TVA--maybe you would just give yourself the satisfaction of pruning him right here and now.

He looked taken aback.

"Trust me Variant, when I'm free--"

"I'll be sorry?" Loki said, sounding bored. "Yes, yes. Heard it all before. You hunters are so cute when you try to threaten me."

He stepped closer yet again to your restrained body, closing the space between you. You could nearly feel his breath on your face now as he looked down at you with his piercing green gaze.

Your heart hammered in your throat, loud enough that you hoped he couldn't hear.

"Do you know who I am?" He asked, running a finger down your cheek, making you shudder.

Your face flushed, praying he couldnt see it in the darkness.

"Of course I do." You choked out. "You're a villain. A Variant. A threat to Time itself." You stabbed. Loki smirked.

"Am I?" He said, amused. "You seem to have such strong opinions about me. Did they warn you about me, Variant? About how dangerous and horrible I can be?"

"I'm not afraid of you." You said boldly. "I haven't even seen you do anything more than your silly shadow puppets and your outfit-changing trick."

"Oh." Loki growled. He came even closer to you and grabbed your chin, his chest pressing you against the hard brick wall behind you. Your wrists felt cold and ached from the restraining phantom hands.

"Well..." Loki said, lifting your head up forcefully. He lowered his voice to a growl, and locked his gaze with yours. "Perhaps I've just been waiting for a moment like this, so I can do terrible, awful things to you."

#tom hiddleston #loki #hehe >:3 #loki x reader #loki x you #tva #loki series #loki season 2 #loki spoilers #marvel #fic #loki smut #loki lemon #dom!loki #dark!loki

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the-other-art-blog · 6 months ago

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I wrote something...

Happy Sophie casting day! I can't believe it happened on a Friday afternoon.

I saw that rumor that the lake scene may be tones down and I never wanted something more. So, this is how I would handle that scene on the show.

You can read it on the link above or after the cut:

“Who is out there?” he called out.

Sophie froze. What was she supposed to do? Afraid and embarrassed, she closed her eyes tightly and stopped breathing, as if that would make her invisible. She prayed for a hole to open under the ground to escape.

“Sophie?!” He asked astonished that she was spying on him. “Good God, what the hell are you doing here?”

Sophie came out of the bushes and stood turning her back to Benedict while he got dressed. Now that Benedict knew she was there, a rush of embarrassment came over her.

“I went for a walk. What are you doing here?” she countered. “You’re supposed to be ill. That”—she waved her arm toward him and, by extension, the pond—“can’t possibly be good for you.”

Sophie kept her eyes on the knothole in the tree trunk in front of her, trying to ignore the sound of Benedict dressing up.

It was no use. She had a dreadfully wicked imagination, and there was no getting around it.

“You may turn around now.”

She turned her head around first to make sure he was, in fact, dressed. She was relieved and If she was to be honest with herself, a fair bit of disappointment, he was quite decently dressed, save for a smattering of damp spots where the water from his skin had seeped through the fabric of his clothing.

“Were you spying on me?” Benedict said with his charismatic grin.

“I wasn’t!” She said in an acute tone that betrayed her. His grin only grew.

“It’s very bad form to spy on one’s host,” he said, planting his hands on his hips and somehow managing to look both authoritative and relaxed at the same time.

“It was an accident,” she grumbled.

“Oh, I believe you there,” he said. “But even if you didn’t intend to spy on me, the fact remains that when the opportunity arose, you took it.”

“Do you blame me?”

He grinned. “Not at all. I would have done precisely the same thing.”

Her mouth fell open.

“Oh, don’t pretend to be offended,” he said.

“I’m not pretending.”

He leaned a bit closer. “To tell the truth, I’m quite flattered.”

“It was academic curiosity,” she ground out. “I assure you.”

His smile grew sly. “So you’re telling me that you would have spied upon any naked man you’d come across?”

“Of course not!”

“As I said,” he drawled, leaning back against a tree, “I’m flattered.”

“Well, now that we have that settled,” Sophie said with a sniff, “I’m going back to Your Cottage.”

“Wait, Sophie,” Benedict said barely touching her arm to stop her.

“You have already embarrassed me beyond repair. What more could you possibly wish to do to me?” Sophie pleaded but she also didn’t move. “Please, let me go hide in a hole. You’re obviously not sick anymore. You don’t need me.”

“I’m not sure about that.” He said quietly, almost to himself.

Gently, he caressed the inside of her forearm, touching the inside of her elbow. Suddenly, Sophie wasn’t in Wiltshire on a lake, she was in Bridgerton House in Grosvenor Square, specifically on a private terrace with Benedict. Benedict was having a similar experience, although he was not sure why, only that this moment with Sophie had brought up sensations he hadn’t felt for anyone but the Lady in Silver.

The air suddenly felt hot, very hot, and Sophie had the bizarre sense that she no longer quite knew how to work her hands and feet. Her skin tingled, her heart raced, and the bloody man was just staring at her, not moving a muscle, not pulling her the final few inches against him.

Just staring at her.

“Benedict?” she whispered, forgetting that she still called him Mr. Bridgerton. He smiled. It was a small, knowing sort of smile, one that sent chills right down her spine to another area altogether.

“I like when you say my name,” he said.

“I didn’t mean to,” she admitted.

“So pretty,” he said softly, “like a storybook fairy. Sometimes I think you couldn’t possibly be real.”

Her only reply was a quickening of breath.

“I think I’m going to kiss you,” he whispered.

“You think?”

“I think I have to kiss you,” he said, looking as if he couldn’t quite believe his own words. “It’s rather like breathing. One doesn’t have much choice in the matter.”

Benedict’s kiss was achingly tender.

[There’s a big chunk from the book that I don’t want to copy, but I would leave it the same.]

“You’re crying,” Benedict said, touching her cheek.

Sophie blinked, then reached up to wipe away the tears she hadn’t even known were falling.

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispered.

She shook her head. No, she didn’t want him to stop. She wanted him to kiss her just as he had at the masquerade, the gentle caress giving way to a more passionate joining. And then she wanted him to kiss her some more, because this time the clock wasn’t going to strike midnight, and she wouldn’t have to flee.

“Who are you, Sophie?” he asked. “Who are you, really?”

She spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. “What do you mean?”

“Something isn’t quite right about you,” he said. “You speak too well to be a maid.”

Her hand was nervously fidgeting with the folds of her skirt as she said, “Is it a crime to wish to speak well? One can’t get very far in this country with a lowborn accent.”

“You could be a governess.”

“I have no references. My previous employment didn’t end in the best circumstances and I was let go with nothing. I was lucky Mrs. Cavender accepted me without them, but she could only offer me a position as a housemaid. Besides, with only her in the house, she didn’t need another lady’s maid, let alone a governess.”

“You could be a lady’s maid,” he suggested. “At least then you wouldn’t be cleaning chamber pots.”

“You’d be surprised,” she muttered.

“A companion to an elderly lady?”

She sighed. It was a sad, weary sound, and it nearly broke his heart. “You’re very kind to try to help me,” she said, “but I have already explored all of those avenues. Besides, I am not your responsibility.”

“You could be.”

She looked at him in surprise.

He gently caressed her cheek, making her close her eyes momentarily to enjoy the feeling.

“Mr. Bridgerton,” she yelped.

“Benedict,” he corrected, his lips at her ear.

“Come to London with me, Sophie. Come live with me,” he said gently.

“What?”

“Come with me. I can take care of you, you won’t need to worry about work ever again.”

“You want me to be your mistress,” she said flatly.

He gave her a confused look, although she couldn’t be sure whether that was because her statement was so obvious or because he objected to her choice of words. “I want you to be with me,” he persisted.

The moment was so staggeringly painful and yet she found herself almost smiling. “How is that different from being your mistress?”

“Sophie—”

“How is it different?” she repeated, her voice growing strident.

“I don’t know, Sophie.” He sounded impatient. “Does it matter?”

“It does to me.”

“Sophie—”

“No. I can’t do this, Benedict,” she said, barely able to look at him. She took a couple of steps back.

Benedict cleared his throat, lowered his head, and looked to his left, clearly embarrassed to be rejected. In two years he hadn’t opened his heart to anyone. The heartbreak the Lady in Silver left and the hope to find her hadn’t let him. But now, with Sophie, the feelings of being with someone like in his past adventures came back. If he set a house for her, he could visit her.

“I better go.” She began walking towards the house.

“Wait, Sophie, let me explain,” he pleaded as he followed behind.

“You don’t have to, I understand perfectly what you mean. And the answer is no. Nothing you could say could make me become your mistress.” She said, not stopping.

“Alright, but we still need to go to London. I promised I would find you a job at my mother’s house.”

“And I told you I could find a job for myself. I’ll go to town and make inquiries, someone must be looking for a maid.”

“What if it’s another house like the Cavenders?” He asked concerned. Sophie stopped, right before she went into the house. She stayed quiet, visibly frustrated because he was right.

“Please, in my mother’s house, there’s only her and my young siblings. You will be safe there, well fed too. The staff is well paid as far as I know. My mother will find a post for you even without references. My sister Eloise is always in need of a maid, and Hyacinth could use another tutor.” He could see Sophie’s shoulders relaxing. He interprets it as a good time to come closer again. As she didn’t retreat, he reached her arm. “I won’t see you cast adrift.”

“I have been adrift all my life,” she whispered, and she felt the traitorous sting of tears prick her eyes. God above, she didn’t want to cry in front of this man. Not now, not when she felt so off-balance and weak.

He touched her chin. “Let me be your anchor.”

“I promise you’ll be safe. We could leave today after dinner or we can ask Mrs. Crabtree to prepare something for the trip and have dinner at an inn.”

“An inn?” She asked skeptical.

“There is no way we are reaching London within a day. We have to make stops to change horses regularly and eat something. I always stop at an inn in Oxfordshire. It’s a reputable place, I promise.”

Sophie considered her options. Benedict was right, he was her best shot, her only shot at safety. She hated that. She always hated being so vulnerable.

“Alright. I can go tell Mrs. Crabtree. Hopefully, she hasn’t begun making dinner.”

“I’ll prepare the phaeton.”

Sophie nodded weakly but made her way to the kitchen.

Notes:

What do you think? This way we don't get into very problematic territory. The proposal is still there because I think it's a necessary part of the story, but I reread the chapters for this and ugh, it's too much. I don't want to get too attached to rumors, but a toned-down lake scene is definitely on my wish list. So, they could replicate the same kiss they had at the masquerade, same gestures, hands position, etc. Just to show visually that it's happening again. I don't know, is that a good idea?

#bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #sophie beckett #benophie #benedict x sophie #benophie wish list

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iviarellereads · 5 months ago

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The Dragon Reborn, Chapter 36 - Daughter of the Night

(THIS PROJECT IS SPOILER FREE! No spoilers past the chapter you click on. Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For the link index and a primer on The Wheel of Time, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

(Crescent moon icon) In which, just what are you up to?

PERSPECTIVE: Perrin sticks his head quietly into several cabins, trying to figure out which is supposed to be his, until he finds an empty, windowless cabin. He hopes they're far enough down river to keep away from the wolves and the dreams they seem to bring.(1) Part of his mind is on Faile as he gets ready for bed, but mostly he's thinking about Elyas and how he managed to live without becoming all wolf for so many years. Perrin doesn't want to think of his life as a piece of iron only fit to smith into one thing.

He reaches tentatively for the wolves and finds the merest impression in the distance. Relieved, exhausted, he collapses into his hammock... and dreams of fog. Hopper appears out of the fog, seems to indicate silence, and gives an impression of wanting P to follow, so he does.

Hopper leads him to a gathering of Darkfriends, with Ishamael, who punishes one for letting "the boy" leave Tar Valon,(2) to the point he kills the man, and tells the others to "wake and obey", then sends them back off. For a moment, Ishy is alone, and then Lanfear shows up, saying he's making free use of her domain. Ishy says if she's claiming the domain, does she no longer serve the Dark One? She serves, but dreams were always hers to use, to walk.(3)

Ishy names her (striking fear into Perrin's invisible self) and says she always thought she was greater than she really was. She says she's as great as she is. What have his plans come to? Nothing, and Lews Therin walks the world again. He was hers before he ever met Ilyena, and will be hers again.

Ishy questions Lanfear's servitude of the Great Lord again, she confirms again, and they begin to disappear somehow. Hopper leads Perrin away, and P thinks he's going as mad as anyone ever has.

When they're away, Hopper says P had to see that, and when P asks how he can be here when he's dead, H explains that wolves are connected to this place, all wolves are here, all that are, were, or will be. Here Hopper can soar like a bird, and he does so. Perrin almost cries at the sensation of joy Hopper is conveying.

He turns to see if anyone saw him, and is transported well away, to see a circle of Myrddraal and men and women approaching Rand. Rand is throwing fire, lightning, bars of light like white hot steel. Perrin yells that more are coming, Rand snarls and throws something at him.

Perrin wakes, to a burn on his chest the size of a silver penny. He thinks he should tell Moiraine, but sleep carries him back to the bed until morning. He wakes with memories of ordinary dreams, and he actually feels reasonably well rested. He remembers making a decision before sleep took him, so he goes to find Moiraine, and tells her the whole dream.

She says he's not in any danger of wielding the One Power, but he does have reason to be frightened. But so little has been documented about wolf dreamers. Perrin says that at the very least Lanfear is free, and asks what Mo intends to do. Mo responds that she intends to go to Illian, then to Tear, and hope to reach it before Rand.

He asks if she'll heal the burn, and she says no, it's not serious, and it'll remind him to be careful.

He started for the door, then stopped. “There is one thing. If you knew a woman’s name was Zarine, would you think it meant anything about her?” “Why under the Light do you ask this question?” “A girl,” he said awkwardly. “A young woman. I met her last night. She’s one of the other passengers.” He would let her discover for herself that Zarine knew she was Aes Sedai. And seemed to think following them would lead her to the Horn of Valere. He would not keep back anything he thought was important, but if Moiraine could be secretive, so could he. “Zarine. It is a Saldaean name. No woman would name her daughter that unless she expected her to be a great beauty. And a heartbreaker. One to lie on cushions in palaces, surrounded by servants and suitors.” She smiled, briefly but with great amusement. “Perhaps you have another reason to be careful, Perrin, if there is a Zarine as a passenger with us.” “I intend to be careful,” he told her. At least he knew why Zarine did not like her name. Hardly fitting for a Hunter of the Horn. As long as she doesn’t call herself “falcon.”(4) When he went on deck, Lan was there, looking over Mandarb. And Zarine was sitting on a coil of rope near the railing, sharpening one of her knives and watching him. The big, triangular sails were set and taut, and the Snow Goose flew downriver. Zarine’s eyes followed Perrin as he walked by her to stand in the bow. The water curled to either side of the prow like earth turning around a good plow. He wondered about dreams and Aielmen, Min’s viewings and falcons. His chest hurt. Life had never been as tangled as this.

PERSPECTIVE: Rand, gasping out of sleep. His “old wound from Falme” hurts.(5) He realizes that must really have been Perrin, and agonizes that he almost killed his friend.

He hears horses, a dozen or so, and waits. Most of them are rough-looking men in armour, but one is an older woman in plain wool with a silver pin. Perhaps a merchant. She says she's used this campsite many times, may she join him? Sure, he says, but a breath behind that he's cut off her head, and is fighting the rest of them, turning his melted-off heron-marked blade into a sword of pure fire with the Power.

He mounts the woman's horse, then uses the Power to make the corpses kneel before him. This is how it's supposed to be for the Dragon, isn't it? He notes that he thought there were only ten men, but an extra one with no armour is kneeling in the line, a dagger still gripped in his hand.(6)

Rand lets them go, and rides the horse as fast as it will carry him. He means to get to Tear by the fastest and straightest way, if he has to steal and kill horses the whole way there. He will put an end to it there.(7)

=====

(1) Oh how cute, he thinks it's only when he's actively in contact with wolves that they can drag him into the dream world. Sorry, bub. It's built into your wolf coding. (2) Presumably, Mat. (3) If you hadn't guessed by now, if I hadn't confirmed by now, would the way Lanfear talks to him seem suspicious to you? If she serves the Dark One, and this is the Dark One, she's showing an awful lot of sass right to his face. But of course, he's not. Poor Perrin just can't quite understand that. (4) Methinks the boy doth protest too much. Perrin, just ask her to step on you and be done with the agony and the self-denial, amirite? (5) OLD WOUND, kid it's been 5 months, not 50 years. (6) A Gray Man. Does this change your opinion of whether Rand overreacted in killing them all? (7) Well, I'm sorry to tell you, there are eleven more books in the series. I don't think anyone's putting much of an end to anything in this book.

#wheel of time #wot #the wheel of time #twot #the dragon reborn #tdr #wot crescent moon icon #perrin aybara #loial #ishamael #lanfear #moiraine damodred #rand al'thor

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tearsasmascara · 3 years ago

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maple leaves and fresh books—

genre: romantic fluff

relationships: kazuha x reader

warnings: none

you heaved a sigh, shoving yourself back from your table. a break from your work was needed; sitting at the table and working without a break for what felt like hours had left you drained. the library, which once felt comforting and free, now felt stuffy, and the words in front of you melted into each other like ice cream on a hot summer day.

you awkwardly shuffled out of your spot behind the table, and quickly walked outside of the library, pushing the double doors to let yourself through. your head swiveled left to right, drinking in your surroundings.

there was always a bunch of works on the ‘share your works!’ bulletin board just outside the library. from neatly written love stories to hastily written haikus, papers of all shapes and sizes always dotted the board.

there was one writer, though, who had quite a following, including you. going by the pen name, “scarlet swords”, their poems made everyone swoon. their sweet words crept into your heart after the first time you laid your eyes upon their works and you have never missed an update since. but it was like they were invisible, nobody could ever catch them in the act of putting up their poems.

until now.

you stared unabashedly as a man with choppy platinum blond hair pinned a sheet of paper to the crowded bulletin board, his actions smooth and quick. he started to turn, to leave you assumed, with a slight smug expression on his face. his eyes landed upon you. a look of shock over took his face which he quickly dispelled from his face.

he had a scarlet streak in his hair your brain registered.

something clicked in your brain and before you could process what was happening, a sentence left your mouth.

you’re scarlet swords aren’t you?

his expression was first alarmed, and then a small smile graced his face.

i am

you moved closer a little; his voice was quiet and you wanted to hear him better.

i, i love your works. your writing is so expressive.

you had so many words planned for this, the moment you met the writer of the works that you had eagerly sought after a hard day of work, the person whos simple but soul touching words had written their way into your heart.

but as you stood before him, you felt illiterate, as if the words you had saved up for him were stolen by his red hued eyes and his soft delicate expression. you stood there, trying to think of something that could portray how much love your harbored for his writing, but none of the words that he used to weave his stories seemed to do the moment justice.

another smile came upon his face as he walked towards you, bowing slightly. the gesture was old fashioned, but somehow he pulled it off, managing to look attractive and graceful at the same time. as he stood up, you caught a whiff of maple leaves and fresh books. you pretended to look behind you, trying to play off the soft blush that dusted your cheeks.

something wrong?

the man’s voice came from behind you and you turned around, shaking your head slightly. he smiled once more (he smiled a lot, you noted, and his smile was so pretty) and held out his hand. you stared at it for a minute, confusion filling your thoughts before your last brain cell informed you that it was a handshake.

you smiled awkwardly and took his hand, trying not to focus too much on how soft and warm it was as he shook it lightly.

my name’s kazuha. may i have the pleasure of knowing your name? he asked, still holding your hand.

you told him your name and watched his eyes light up a little.

what a beautiful name. it fits you very well.

a blush crept up your cheeks again and you smiled shyly at him, thanking him for the compliment. he started to smile back before a vibration buzzed from his pocket, and you watched as his face turned down in a small frown as he read the notification that had interrupted the two of you.

sadly, i have to take my leave now. i hope to meet you again.

as he said these words, a distant look entered his eyes, and before you could reply, another sentence was already being said.

look on the back of my next poem. it was nice meeting you, i hope to meet you again.

he smiled at you one last time, making your heart melt slightly as if his smile was the sun, and he was gone, leaving you standing there in shock and amazement.

not even a week later, another poem appeared on the bulletin board from kazuha. as you gathered your things to leave, you quickly looked under the crisp lined paper.

there lay a phone number and the words:

i liked conversing with you. if you’d like, i left my phone number here. maybe this time we can have a conversation without interruptions.”

- kazuha.

additional notes: hi everyone!! this was. a very casual write. i didn’t write this in a usual fashion it’s a (hopefully) nice and soft comforting read for you!! feedback + reblogs are appreciated. also btw i messed up with adding lines?? idk if something appears weird SOMEONE PLS DM ME OR TELL ME AHSKHDD

SPECIAL SHOUT-OUT TO @seveninchesfrominsanity FOR ALL THIER HELP <33

taglist: @blueberry--milk

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact imagines #kazuha x reader #genshin imagines #kazuha fluff #kazuha x you

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engie-ivy · 4 years ago

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Marlene’s little brother has a thing for Sirius, because who doesn't have a thing for Sirius? Marlene is freaking out, and everyone thinks it's just hilarious. Remus would've thought it was hilarious too, had Marlene’s little brother not been very close in age, cute, witty, and oh so bloody charming.

Somewhat longer fic that will be added to my Crush Confessions Series! 3756 words, so not that long. Wolfstar Fluff, of course😎

Muggle Charms

James Potter’s garden party is the event of the summer. Everyone gets together at the Potter estate for a day of listening to music, swimming in the lake (yes, there’s a lake on the grounds of the Potter estate), and playing friendly Quidditch matches. Mrs Potter walks around with all sorts of delicious foods, James and Sirius fly their brooms above the lake and make bets who dares to jump off from the greatest height, Mary and Emmeline are sunbathing and make bets who will need to be healed first.

It had started the summer after first year with just the four Marauders, but every year, their number has grown, and this year is the largest group thus far.

Marlene McKinnon is last to arrive, and, as usual, her arrival doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Everyone, come meet my little brother!” She shouts across the field.

The McKinnons have four children. Marlene’s mother and two of her siblings are Muggles, while the rest have magical abilities. Marlene’s sister is the oldest of the siblings. She’s a Muggle who works as a primary school teacher. Despite growing up with a father who’s a wizard, she has always felt slightly uncomfortable around magic, but she loves her family fiercely and is very protective over her younger siblings. As she’s much older than Marlene, she has always been more like a second mother.

Next comes Marlene’s older brother, who’s wizard, but has finished Hogwarts long ago. He now works in the Sales Department for a company that develops novel potions against levitation- and portkey-sickness. According to Marlene he’s a serious businessman by day, and a giant goofball by night.

Last is Marlene’s younger brother. He’s a Muggle, but where Marlene’s sister likes to pretend magic doesn’t exist, he thinks it mighty fascinating. He and Marlene are incredibly close, writing each other constantly and hanging out as often as they can when Marlene was home from Hogwarts. She has never brought him to James’ garden party, though. He works in the Food Service Industry, and the bright summer days on which James plans his parties are the days on which he most likely has to work. This year, however, he had managed to get the day off.

The first thing Remus thinks is that the McKinnons have good genes. He can’t really tell which of the two siblings is older, which means they must be very close in age. The boy has the same thick, blond hair and bright blue eyes as Marlene, as well as the same freckles from the sun. He’s short for a guy, barely taller than Marlene, but he’s quite muscular, with broad shoulders. All in all, Marlene’s younger brother is a very cute guy.

“Everyone, this is Miles!” Marlene says, when everyone has gathered around. “Let’s see... Here we have James Potter, he’s the host.”

Miles grins at James. “Some house you’ve got here, mate. Thanks for having me!”

James grins back and lifts his beer. “Cheers, mate!”

“James is Lily’s boyfriend,” Marlene says. “You’ve already met Lily-” Miles gives Lily a warm smile “-and of course you know Dorcas.”

“Hullo Dorky.”

“Hiya Miley.”

“And here we have my other girls, Alice Fortescue, Mary McDonald and Emmeline Vance.” Marlene points each of the girls out, and Miles gives them all a friendly nod.

“And these two are the Prewetts, Fabian and Gideon- don’t worry about who’s who, none of us actually knows.”

“Oi!”

“And this is Caradoc Dearborn, and this Benjy Fenwick, so miraculously you’re not the shortest guy here.”

“Marlene!”

“And here we have the rest of the renegades, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black.”

The chance in Miles is instant.

The polite smile he was wearing turns into a coy smile, as he gives Sirius a not-so-subtle once-over, though Remus doesn’t think it was ever meant to be subtle. Miles takes a step forward towards Sirius. “Well, hello there.”

Remus can’t blame him. He would’ve reacted the same had he been in Miles’ position (alright, maybe he would’ve turned into a blushing, stuttering mess and forget his own name if he were suddenly faced with a guy like Sirius, instead of step forward with an enticing smile and flirtatious greeting, but that’s beside the point). Sirius looks bloody amazing. His swimming trunks are clinging to his legs, and his damp hair is hanging over his bare chest, with little droplets dripping down his muscular body.

Sirius grins knowingly at Miles. “Hi.”

Marlene’s head whirls around from Miles to Sirius to Miles and back to Sirius, so fast Remus worries she might get a whiplash.

“No,” she says. “No, nope, uh-uh, absolutely not. Not. Happening. No.”

She steps between her brother and Sirius, facing the latter, and jabbing a finger against his chest. “You are not going to try anything on my little brother, got it?”

Sirius holds up his hands and takes a step back. “I only said hi.”

Marlene looks at him suspiciously, like she suspects Sirius saying hi is some sort of secret seduction technique (which would actually explain a lot).

“C’mon Marls.” Miles moves to stand next to his sister, and throws an arm over her shoulder. He winks at Sirius. “We all just want to have a good time, don’t we?”

Marlene’s face is getting more red by the second. Her fingers are clutching her cardboard plate, causing it to rumple. She’s clenching her jaw, while intently staring at the pair a bit further on the field.

“I can’t bloody believe it,” she hisses. “If Black thinks I’ll let him hook up with my little brother, he has another thing coming!”

Miles had managed to catch Sirius when he went to grab a drink, and they have been chatting apart from the rest of the group for about half an hour now, to Marlene’s great distress, and everyone else’s amusement. Well, everyone else except for Remus, but he thinks he’s been hiding it quite well.

Remus doesn’t know how the guy does it, but Miles somehow manages to stand closer and closer to Sirius. He’s looking up at him through his lashes, with those big blue eyes and that damned smile, sometimes even going as far as to bite his lip. Sirius has definitely been blushing at some point!

While Remus is the only one who can emphasize with Marlene’s distress over the situation, he really doesn’t like how she’s blaming it all on Sirius, while evidently its her brother who’s acting like a little minx.

“Honestly, Marlene,” Lily says, shaking her head. “Didn’t you talk to Miles about there being an incredibly hot, single gay guy present?”

Remus agrees. Marlene should’ve known what would happen when she decided to introduce her brother to Sirius! You cannot bring him here knowing Sirius is looking like he does, and expect him not to react!

Marlene huffs indignantly. “My little brother is a precious angel who’s not interested in such a thing as ‘hot, single men’!”

Lily looks at Miles and Sirius. Miles seems to be laughing at something Sirius said, and touches his upper arm while doing so, letting his hand slide down Sirius’ bicep. Lily turns her head back to Marlene and raises her eyebrow.

Marlene just folds her arms over her chest and pointedly looks away.

Later, when Miles reaches up to brush a strand of hair from Sirius’ face, Marlene’s face has taken on a more purple colour. By this time, she has started angrily chewing on her cardboard plate.

Luckily, everyone’s too busy making fun of Marlene to notice Remus looks like he’s going to be sick.

Normally, a day at the Potter estate flies by, but Remus is positive this day lasts at least three times as long. But Remus has been getting through it. He hopes that after today, he won’t see Miles McKinnon of ever again. Well, he mostly hopes Sirius won’t see Miles McKinnon ever again, he can admit that . To himself, that is.

Currently, he’s sitting down with James, having a butterbeer. Just when he thinks he might make it through these last hours without further additions to his misery, Marlene comes striding their way, Dorcas on her heels.

“Potter,” she says, stopping in front of them and placing her fists on her hips. “You’ve got something I need, and I want it now!”

“Sorry McKinnon,” James says with a smirk. “I’m a one woman man.”

“In your dreams, you wanker,” Marlene snaps. “You’ve got an Invisibility Cloak, no?”

James takes off his glasses and starts polishing them with his robes. “I may or may not possess such a thing.”

Marlene rolls her eyes. “After seven years of going to school with you, I think I can safely say that you do. Well, I need you to use it. Miles asked Black to take him on a tour around the lake.” She scrunches up her nose. “And you have to follow them so you can report back to me whether Black has kept his paws off of my little brother!”

“More the other way around,” Remus mutters, but Marlene hears and glares at him.

“My sweet and innocent little brother would never do such a thing! He simply... wants to see the surroundings and needs Black for directions.”

Dorcas throws her head back and cackles loudly. “The only directions your ‘sweet and innocent little brother’ is interested in, is the fastest way to get into Sirius Black’s pants!”

Marlene directs a deadly glare at her.

Just when Remus thinks at least Dorcas knows what she’s talking about, she continues. “C’mon Marls, Miles can make his own decisions. Let the boys have some fun!”

Let the boys have some fun? That’s not a good idea! That’s the opposite of a good idea! That’s a terrible idea!

“Well,” Remus says, managing to sound surprisingly calm. “We’re on Mr and Mrs Potter’s property, and Miles has only just been introduced to the gang. I mean, he and Sirius barely know each other. I’d say it’d be rather inappropriate if something happens between them here and now. You don’t want Marlene’s brother to give off the wrong impression.”

James sighs. “What if I lend you the Invisibility Cloak, and you can follow them yourself?”

“Oh, no!” Marlene holds up her hands and takes a step back. “There are certain things I don’t ever want to see my little brother do, or hear my little brother say. If I were to... accidentally stumble upon them, I’d either have to Obliviate myself, or be scarred for life.”

Remus snorts. Not so sure about her brother being so innocent after all, is she?

“Well, Padfoot’s my brother!” James argues.

“Remember when I put in a good word for you with Lily, and finally got her to agree to go on a date with you?” Marlene plays her final card, and effectively.

“Fine!” James puts down his butterbeer and gets up. “Remus, let’s go.”

“What? Me? Why?”

“Because you got me into this, Mr ‘it’d be inappropriate’. And besides, I’ll feel like some perverted Peeping Tom spying on them alone.”

“So better to have two Peeping Toms?” Remus argues, but he knows it’s an argument he’s not going to win.

That’s how Remus finds himself in the place he wants to be least of all, crouched down under the Invisibility Cloak with James, and, after casting a quick Silencio over their footsteps, following on Sirius and Miles on their ‘casual, totally not romantic, definitely not a date’ stroll.

“-and once I’ve gained enough experience, I’d like to come back to London and open my own restaurant!” Miles finishes.

“That’s amazing, Miles!” Sirius exclaims. “I’ll definitely frequent!”

“As long as you don’t expect any free food just because you’re so handsome,” Miles teases.

Sirius gasps in pretend-shock. “I would never use my looks for such purposes!”

“Right,” Miles chuckles. “You be careful, Sirius Black. A face like yours is a powerful weapon.”

“Wow,” James whispers admiringly. “He’s good!”

Remus grits his teeth. Of bloody course Miles McKinnon is all charming and smooth, chatting Sirius up.

“What about you?” Miles asks. “What are your plans for the future, now that you’re some kind of strong and powerful wizard?”

“I’m starting my Healer training soon!” Sirius beams, and Remus can’t help but smile at the pride in his voice.

“That’s... like a doctor, right?” Miles asks.

“Yeah,” Sirius replies. “But without the cutting people open.” He shudders. “Definitely no cutting people open.”

“Oi!” Miles protests, bumping his shoulder against Sirius. “Doctors cut people open to save lives, you know. They don’t do it for a laugh.”

“I’m sorry!” Sirius quickly says. “I didn’t mean to offend. It’s actually very impressive what Muggle doctors can do without magic, and the things they’ve come up with! I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Miles says, glancing at Sirius. “Don’t worry about it.”

Sirius smiles sheepishly. “Sorry. It’s just... I was raised in this really conservative pureblood Wizarding family. I’m always afraid I’ll say something Muggle-phobic without realising.”

“It’s okay, it wasn’t that bad, honestly.”

“Good,” Sirius says, relieved. “I’m just... trying to be better.”

Miles smiles softly at him. “Just the fact that you’re trying already makes you better.”

They walk in comfortable silence for a moment, until Miles speaks again. “That must’ve been hard though, growing up in a family like that. Marlene already mentioned you’re living here now. Is that why?”

Sirius nods. “I ran away from home the summer before. Best decision I’ve ever made.” There’s a tightness in his voice, though, and an emotion in his eyes that makes Remus want to run towards him and pull him into a hug.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Miles says sincerely. Then he gives Sirius a teasing smile. “Though I must say, it’s a good look on you, the whole ‘sexy rebel’-thing.”

Sirius barks a laugh, and the pained expression slides off his face. “Well, I’m glad my issues at least fit my anaesthetic!”

Remus doesn’t know whether he wants to bless Miles McKinnon for being able to turn Sirius’ mood around and make him smile, or whether he wants to curse Miles McKinnon for being able to turn Sirius’ mood around and make him smile.

“I bet you love provoking your family, don’t you?” Miles asks.

“That might just be my most favourite pastime,” Sirius replies sincerely.

Suddenly, Miles stops walking, so Sirius stops as well and turns back to face him.

Miles takes a step towards him. “I bet it would really provoke your family if you were to make out with a boy, a Muggle boy at that.”

Sirius swallows and his face slightly flushes. “That... That’ll definitely do the trick, yeah.”

Miles comes even closer, now almost standing chest-to-chest with Sirius, and he tilts his head up and leans in.

James still looks mighty impressed with Miles’ flirting tactics, while Remus wonders if the sound of his heart shattering might give them away.

Suddenly, Sirius steps back. “Wait, stop. I... I can’t.”

Miles looks disappointed, but not too shocked. “Why not?” He asks. Then he jabs his finger against Sirius’ chest, much like his sister did earlier. “And I swear to god, Sirius Black, if it’s because I’m a Muggle you can stick that wand of yours up your-”

“No, no, no!” Sirius quickly says, whilst letting out a breathless laugh. “It’s not you, really, it’s me.”

Miles gives Sirius a stern look, while placing his fists on his hips, making Remus wonder whether they’re sure Marlene and Miles aren’t twins. “If you’re gonna give me that lame excuse, at least elaborate what it is about ‘not me, but you’ that makes you reject me. I mean, I’m not proposing a marriage here!”

Sirius sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “There’s... someone else. I mean, there’s not really, I don’t have someone else, but I have feelings for someone else. So therefore this-” He gestures between himself and Miles. “Just doesn’t feel right.”

Remus exchanges a look with James, who looks just as stunned as he is by this information.

Miles, though, just folds his arms over his chest and looks at Sirius thoughtfully for a moment. “So, Lupin then?”

Remus freezes. What? Him? Oh no. He’s not sure he can bear to hear Sirius’ denial. ‘Lupin? Remus? No, of course not! What in Godric’s name gave you that idea? Why the hell would I fancy Remus?’

However, Sirius just sighs and looks down at his shoes. “I’m that obvious, huh?”

Remus stares dumbfounded. It’s... true? He feels an eruption of butterflies in his stomach. Well, he always feels some butterflies when he sees Sirius, but now it’s like all those butterflies had babies, and those babies had babies again, creating an immense flutter.

“Nah,” Miles says. “If I had known for sure, I wouldn’t have made a move. I only had a suspicion, but I decided to take a chance anyway. I’m not too surprised by this turn of events, though.”

“It’s really the only reason,” Sirius says. “Because you’re bloody great, you know that? You’re gonna make some guy really happy one day. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

Miles groans. “ ‘Its not you, it’s me’, ‘anyone would be lucky to have you’. Shall we go before you start telling me we can still be friends?”

Sirius grins. “Normally I’d suggest we at least pretend to have had a good snog, just to see if Marlene’s face can get any more purple, but I don’t want to give Remus the wrong impression. Not that he’d care,” he adds with a mutter.

Miles stops walking again. “What? Are you seri- No, Marlene warned me not to say that. Really?”

Sirius just blinks at him.

Miles shakes his head. “I mean, you asked if you were being obvious, well, you were nothing compared to Lupin. Although, that could just be me. I couldn’t help but notice when he’s looking at me like he wants me to catch fire every time I come near you. Wait. You wizards can actually do that, can’t you?”

Remus huffs. He wouldn’t have actually set Miles on fire! At least he doesn’t think so.

Sirius frowns at Miles. “You must be mistaken. Remus is nothing but pure kindness! He always makes everyone feel welcome! You can’t help but like Remus!”

A warm feeling spreads through Remus’ chest.

Miles just looks at Sirius, shaking his head. “You’re actually in love, aren’t you?”

Sirius blushes and looks away.

“Well,” Miles says. “You should tell him how you feel. He clearly feels the same. Then you can both stop this pining.”

James, who just had to process the shock of one of his best friends fancying another one of his best friends, now has to process the shock of his best friends fancying each other. He’s staring at Remus, and consequently trips over a rock. He does manage to catch is balance, but he lets out a loud yelp.

Miles stares at the empty spot behind them on the path, surprised, but Sirius’ eyes narrow in suspicion. He lifts his wand, and the next moment a gush of wind blows the Invisibility Cloak off of Remus and James.

To his credit, Miles recovers pretty quickly from seeing two people appear seemingly out of nowhere, including the person they were just talking about. He blinks a couple of times, then says “I suppose this works as well.”

Remus and Sirius are just staring at each other.

“Uhm...” James says. “I was sent here by miss McKinnon to escort the younger McKinnon back to the estate.” Because apparently awkward situations make him talk like he’s an eighteen century nobleman. “Off we go, young lad.”

Miles doesn’t protest when James grabs his arm and starts dragging him away, but he does turn around to give Sirius a thumbs up.

“We were sent here by McKinnon,” Remus quickly says, when he and Sirius are alone. “She wanted to know if anything would happen between you and her brother.” Remus takes a deep breath. “And maybe I wanted to know if anything would happen between you and him myself as well,” he says softly.

“Were you jealous?” Sirius asks. It sounds curious, not angry, judgemental or smug, just curious.

Still, Remus can’t help but pout, and he looks away. “Of course I was jealous. Bloody Miles McKinnon, with his big blue eyes, batting those ridiculously long eyelashes at you, and being all cute, and witty, and charming.”

“You know, if you want Miles to snog you instead, you should hurry and you can probably still catch him,” Sirius says irritably.

“No!” Remus quickly says. “No. I just mean, I wish it was me. When he calls you handsome, when he brushes your hair away from your face, when he leans in to kiss you... I wish it was me doing those things.”

“Why don’t you?” Sirius whispers, staring at Remus intently.

“Because!” Remus says desperately. “Because I know how to be your friend, but if I even think about flirting with you, I turn into an awkward, rambling mess.”

The only thing that can possibly be going through Sirius’ mind right now is how the hell he let the sexy, confident, flirtatious boy walk away, to be stuck with the flustered heap of awkwardness that is Remus Lupin.

Remus stares down at his shoes. “I mean, I like you a lot, and also because I feel comfortable around you, I do, but when it comes to flirting, I suddenly get scared that you’ll laugh at me or something. I even think it’d be easier if you weren’t my friend, if we didn’t know each other so well. Then maybe I could-”

Remus stops talking when Sirius gently cups his cheek and tilts his head up. Slowly, ever so slowly, he leans in, giving Remus enough time to pull away had he wanted to. Which, for the record, he absolutely doesn’t. Sirius presses their lips together. And it’s...

Well, it’s not awkward at all.

It’s fireworks, and symphonies, and the sun breaking through the clouds. It’s a sense of belonging, and knowing all is right with the world, and a feeling of coming home.

Both boys are a little out of breath when they pull back, more because of the intense emotions than because the kiss had been that passionate.

“See?” Sirius smiles at Remus. “If I want you to stop rambling, I can always just... interrupt.”

“Rude,” Remus mutters, before pulling Sirius back into another kiss.

#my tumblr writing #crush confessions #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fic #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius #james potter #marlene mckinnon #wolfstar fluff

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friendly-neighborhood-boricua · 3 years ago

Text

Attention to Detail

Summary: Sirius is desperate to learn to tell when Lola is uncomfortable, especially after he figures it out the hard way.

Notes: Harry Potter Universe, pre-Azkaban Sirius, imagine, bad summary hehe...

“Why hello there, Miss Da Silva.” Lola winced. “Interested in making some magic together? My wand is at the ready.”

Sirius Black leaned against the side of Lola’s chair, smirking down at her as she tried to ignore him and complete her schoolwork.

“Sirius, leave the poor girl alone,” said Remus from a sofa closer to the fireplace. “Let her do her work.”

“Oh please, Moony, you can’t ask me to do that,” Sirius complained. “She’s just too gorgeous not to flirt with!”

“Please just leave me alone, Black,” said Lola, cringing at how timid she sounded. “I’ve got a page and a half on werewolves due tomorrow.”

“Well, I can help you with that, buttercup,” said Sirius, sitting on the arm of Lola’s chair and peering into her lap, where a textbook lay.

“Oh no, it’s alright. I don’t need help,” said Lola with an anxious smile. “Truly, I’m fine.”

“Pads, seriously—leave her be,” said Remus with a pointed look at his friend. Sirius rolled his eyes and trudged out of the common room, obviously disgruntled, leaving Lola to her work.

“Sorry about him,” said Remus, offering an apologetic smile.

“It’s alright,” said Lola with a shrug. “Happens all the time.”

“Do other guys bother you?” said Remus, slightly concerned, but Lola quickly shook her head.

“No! No, not really. Just him.”

Remus frowned. This had been going on for three months, now; Sirius “I-Flirt-With-Everything-That-Breathes” Black pined after Lola “Number-One- Bookworm” Da Silva, who shied away from every one of his advances. It was obvious to him that Sirius took Lola more seriously than the dozens of other girls he had dated—he would have given up ages ago if he didn’t—but to Remus, Lola was still a mystery.

“Good afternoon, sugar,” said Sirius, leaning against the bookshelf across from where Lola sat in the library. “Y’know, I’m not wearing an invisibility cloak, but…do you think I could still visit your restricted section tonight?”

“Please, just—leave me alone, Black,” said Lola, barely meeting the grey eyes that watched her closely as a red-hot flooded down her ears and up her neck.

“Oh come on, gorgeous. Just one date—or night. Whichever you prefer—”

“Sirius!” came Remus’s hushed scolding, and Sirius rolled his eyes.

“What, Moony?” he snapped.

“We are in a library. Couldn’t your flirting wait a few fucking hours?” said Remus, obviously agitated.

“That time of the month for you, Moony?” said Sirius patronizingly, and Remus growled under his breath.

“Really, though, Lola.” Sirius sat across her, pulling her book away so she had no choice but to look at him. “I ought to complain to those Muggle radio stations you and Evans listen to because they didn’t name you this week’s hottest single.”

Lola blushed even more (she hadn’t realized it was possible, but here she was) and averted her eyes with a huff. Of course, she was quite flattered that she had somehow managed to attract the attentions Sirius Black of all people, but at times, he made her very uncomfortable. She wasn’t used anyone paying her any mind, much less the infamous womanizer of Hogwarts.

“I’m begging you, Black. Please let me do my work.” Lola looked desperately at Remus, whose eyebrows furrowed.

“Really, mate,” said Remus. “Lay off her.”

Sirius looked from Lola to Remus and back. For the first time that Sirius could remember, Lola looked him in the eyes, and he immediately felt embarrassed and terribly stupid.

Lola seemed sincerely uncomfortable.

It was never Sirius’s intention to make Lola at all upset — or anyone, for that matter. He may have been a bit of a lady’s man, but Sirius was a perpetual gentleman, always asking for permission before doing anything with anyone. He knew what it was like to have no control, and he would never in a million years purposefully make anyone feel that way.

“O-oh...okay,” stammered Sirius. “Sorry. Sorry, I’ll…I’ll just….” He motioned to the library entrance, glanced once more at Lola’s tense form, and left.

Remus furrowed his brow. Never in the six years he had known Sirius had he been so nervous around a girl as he had just then. It was evident that Lola was slightly ill at ease from Sirius’s flirtations, but, though others had rejected him before, he had never seemed this worried.

“Remus?” said Lola, and he looked at the small girl several chairs down from him. “Could you…could you tell him I’m sorry? I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings—”

“Lola,” Remus quickly interrupted, “you have no need to apologize. It should be Sirius apologizing for making you uncomfortable.”

Lola simply nodded, giving Remus an anxious smile before gathering her things and leaving the library.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

It had been two weeks.

Remus watched as Sirius kept his distance from Lola. He tried distracting himself with other girls, though he very quickly realized it wasn’t working and stopped sleeping around altogether. Sirius had instead taken up watching over Lola from afar; he made sure she was given earmuffs in Herbology, charmed her Potions cauldron to keep from overflowing, and occasionally hexed the more…persistent suitors that deemed themselves worthy of her. (He always disagreed with their evaluation, much to Remus’s lack of surprise).

Remus also watched as Lola’s popularity amongst the male populous (and lesbian...and bisexual...and pansexual...and...well, everyone, really) of Hogwarts grew. Sirius’s attention seemed to have drawn everyone else’s, even after the two stopped talking—so much so to the point where Lola could barely go a day without an exceptionally bold Hufflepuff chaser or timid Ravenclaw with bubblegum-pink hair asking her to Hogsmeade.

Though if she was honest with herself, Lola almost missed Sirius’s teasing and pick-up lines. Sure, he was crude, but it was evident that his words came from somewhere sincere—

Or maybe they didn't.

This was the thought that plagued Lola’s mind as she went about the two weeks following her encounter with Sirius in the library. Sirius had a reputation—that much was very well known—so was that all this was? A ruse to keep his reputation? Had he wanted to sleep with the school’s nerd just to add her to his ever-growing list of “conquests”?

Lola shook her head; it was a feeble attempt to physically rid herself of the thoughts of Sirius. She removed her glasses, cleaned them with her sleeve, and replaced them before continuing to revise for her Charms test at the end of the week. But of course, there’s no rest for the wicked.

“Ahem.” A light, awkward cough made Lola’s face fall, and she peered over her textbook at the boy that leaned against a bookshelf, as he had done two weeks prior. He wore Muggle clothes now—a leather jacket and skinny jeans—but he seemed terribly nervous. “A—er...hi Lola,” said Sirius, scratching the back of his neck. “If...if you were a dementor, I’d become a criminal just so you would kiss me.”

Lola blushed profusely.

“Erm...have a good day, Lola.”

And with that, he turned and left.

This became Sirius and Lola’s new routine: Sirius would find Lola somewhere (usually the library), tell her a sweet pick-up line (she much preferred the wholesome ones to the lewd ones), and either leave or sit quietly and study with her (surprisingly enough, it was usually the latter).

At this point, Sirius was well aware of his feelings for Lola. It was hard to ignore his instant worry for her comfort when he talked to her or the pounding of his heart when she was near, and after barely a week of fighting his feelings, Sirius gave up.

With Sirius’s presence around Lola, however, her suitors began to lose their courage. The number of people that approached her declined, and Lola slowly went back to her comfortable daily ritual of blending in with the students of Hogwarts, unnoticed.

It became Sirius’s favorite pastime to daydream about her; the way her fingers would feel running through his hair…her soft skin under his fingers…how her full lips would feel against his….

But with time, Sirius’s fantasies became lewd, and before long, he could scarcely look at her without feeling an insatiable desire to pin her against a wall and snog her into oblivion. Of course, he had quite a bit of self-control and, let’s be honest, human decency, which was more than enough to keep the nagging want imprisoned in the back of his mind.

It was a cold evening in the library when Sirius spotted two Slytherin boys snickering in a far corner. They seemed to point at Lola, then return to their whispering with ugly smirks. It put Sirius on edge, but he knew he couldn’t do anything about it. Lola hadn’t even seen them, so they weren’t bothering her.

But when they came and sat on either side of her, Sirius barely kept from snapping his quill in half.

“Hey, Da Silva,” said one—a brutish boy with crooked teeth. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Er—schoolwork,” said Lola, looking nervously from one boy to the other. “Can I help you?”

“Sure you can, babygirl,” said the other—a tall, lanky lad who, troublingly enough, was relatively attractive. He rested his arm around the back of Lola’s chair, and she sat forward slightly in an effort to get away from it. “Why don’t we get out of here and have some fun, yeah?”

Lola’s eyes widened, and she sent a pleading look towards Sirius.

“Erm, I-I’m fine, thanks,” she said meekly. The lanky boy’s smirk turned to a sneer, and he had a maliciousness behind his eyes that Sirius didn’t like.

Quickly, Sirius packed his bag, practically ran around the table, snatched up Lola’s things, grabbed her hand, and dragged her out of the library. Lola followed in silence as Sirius’s pace didn’t slow, keeping her small fingers as tightly wrapped around his big ones as his were around hers.

Sirius wasn’t sure where he was going, but he knew he couldn’t have sat and watched as those two gits made Lola uncomfortable. He walked aimlessly with Lola’s hand in his until he found himself in an abandoned corridor with no idea where he actually was. Coming to his senses, he released her hand and backed away slightly.

“I-I’m sorr—” he began—

“N-no, it’s perfectly fine, truely!—” interrupted Lola.

“I shouldn’t have—”

“I appreciate it—”

“You do?” said Sirius finally, and Lola nodded with a small but genuine smile.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “They’ve been…they’ve been bothering me in the halls and it’s gotten to be a bit much.”

“For Merlin’s sake,” muttered Sirius. How hadn’t he noticed? “I’m sorry, Lola.”

“No, it’s alright,” she quickly reassured.

“No it’s not! I was the one that made you uncomfortable that day in the library, and now no one leaves you alone because of it!—”

“Sirius.” Lola took a step towards him, bathing in the light of the sunset that fell through the window. Sirius’s breath caught in his throat as Lola held his hand. “It’s fine. Really. You didn’t mean to, and when you realized what you did, you stopped. That’s more than I can say for most guys at this school.” She chuckled slightly, looking out of the window.

Sirius always liked brown eyes. Sure, they looked regular from day to day…but on those rare occasions when someone with brown eyes stepped into golden light…their eyes glowed.

Lola’s eyes were the darkest brown Sirius had ever seen, but just then, in the light of the autumn sunset, Sirius felt like he was sinking in an infinite pot of honey, falling further and further towards the endless bottom.

And it was the most wonderful sensation he had ever experienced.

“I might as well be under the Imperius Curse,” said Sirius, unable to remove his eyes from Lola’s as she looked at him with those wide caramel irises, “because I’d do absolutely anything for you.”

Lola laughed lightly and looked down in an attempt to hide her blush, but Sirius had other ideas. He gently hooked his finger under Lola’s chin and brought her face back up to look at him.

“Really, Lola,” said Sirius. “I’m sorry. I never meant to make you uncomfortable. You…you’re just…you’re a wonderful person, and I really quite like you.”

“You do?” said Lola, tawny eyes widening, and Sirius nodded slightly.

“I-I know my reputation isn’t the best, but—if you want—we could maybe go to Hogsmeade together sometime?”

Lola froze for a moment. Of course, she really liked Sirius, too, but she couldn’t believe that he was asking her, of all people, to Hogsmeade.

“Me?” she questioned after a moment of silence. “You’re asking me?”

“Of course I am,” said Sirius with a slightly awkward smile, dropping the hand under her chin. “Who else would I want to go with?”

“I-I mean, I just—I don’t know—you don’t seem the type to go for someone like me,” said Lola.

“Why not? You’re amazing,” said Sirius, pulling an indignant face.

“Well, I don’t know…you’re just…you’re too cool for me—”

“You’re cool.”

“—and I’m a complete bookworm! Your fanclub would have my head!”

“They wouldn’t.”

“They absolutely would! I don’t understand why you’re so interested in—”

Sirius couldn’t bear it anymore.

He leaned forward slightly and pressed his chapped lips against Lola’s soft ones before realizing what he had done and jerking away. The two stood in silence, staring with wide eyes as they realized what Sirius had done. Lola brought a hand to her lips, the tingling sensation that now resided there fading slightly.

“Fuck, Lola, I’m sorry.” Sirius stumbled back, taking his hand from Lola and running it anxiously through his hair. “I’m sorry, Lola, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I promise. I—argh! I just—you were rambling and-and your eyes and—”

Lola stepped right in front of Sirius and in the blink of an eye, she was an inch from his lips.

“L-Lola, what are you doing?” said Sirius with a gulp, looking down at Lola as she held the lapels of his robes.

“Lean down, you nitwit,” she said. “You’re too tall.”

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y0itsbri · 3 years ago

Text

Falling for You

ballet au one-shot for @gallavichthings 's a.u.gust

summary: dance instructor mickey! ian keeps messing up the lifts with the dancers, and mickey cannot have his girls injured because of this himbo, even if he is hot. he makes ian stay after class to practice on him -- and he swears there's no ulterior motives. but they're so close and his hands are all over him and he can feel his breath and it is so unprofessional but fuck it.

words: 2k

Mickey had a new guy in his class that wasn't doing... well... by any standards. Alright, the dude sucked. Mickey had been a ballet instructor for several years and not once has he met a dancer as uncoordinated and unbalanced as Ian fucking Gallagher.

Somehow, Ian had managed to not only rip the ballet barre off of the goddamn wall in his attempt at a grand plie, fallen flat on his face after pas de chat gone wrong, but he also managed to launch his fellow ballerinas onto the floor instead of the air.

He was a disaster.

Mickey had better shit to do with his time at the studio than patch up his dancers, and studio, after Gallagher's classes. Svetlana's father would have his ass if she got injured on his watch. And Ian being the only guy in their class, there was no way for him not to share the front-and-center spotlight with Svetlana.

Yeah, Mickey wasn't letting Ian any-fucking-where near Svet if he could help it. At least in his current state. Dude was a piece of work.

Mickey figured he would be a lot more upset about all this if Ian's apologetic puppy dog eyes weren't so goddamn convincing.

Fucking Gallagher.

"Ayo, Mands! Come help me with this!" Mickey called, echoing in the studio, now nearly empty besides the Milkovich siblings and a six-foot-tall ginger man looking both utterly clueless and utterly terrified. Mickey was utterly hopeless.

Mandy popped in the doorframe, sliding her shoes on but leaving them untied.

"Can't! I got actual shit to do! I don't live and breathe the studio like your sorry ass. No offense, Ian, my brother is great, please stay. Full offense, Mickey, get a fucking life!"

Mickey was left speechless and slightly embarrassed by Mandy's outburst and only managed to flip her off before she was out the door.

"Charming sister you got there," Ian let a quiet laugh slip before schooling his expression at Mickey's lack of amusement.

Mickey sighed and rubbed his hands down the length of his face for a moment. Ian and Mickey held eye contact a bit longer before Mickey abruptly straightened up and clapped his hands together. The noise startled Ian from his own amused trance.

"Alright, Clifford, how do you feel about private lessons for a little bit until you're not tripping over your own feet?"

Ian stepped forward to argue, but, proving Mickey's point, stumbled over the shoes on the floor in front of him. He didn't miss the way that Mickey's mouth quirked up on the side.

"Can't afford extra classes," Ian shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants.

"It's on me," Mickey swiped his top lip. He didn't miss the way that Ian's gaze lingered on his mouth,"Kinda need you..." really want you, "to, uh, look good..." as if he doesn't already, fucking red-headed alien-looking motherfucker, "on the floor..." of my bedroom, goddamn it, Mick, get it together! "the, uh, dance floor."

Ian paused, considering the way that Mickey was stumbling over his words in a way that one might call endearing, another might call the-worst-fucking-experience-of-his-life.

"I'll do it."

Do me. Seriously, go drink some water, oh my god.

Mickey literally took a sip from his water bottle, hoping that it would at least calm his nerves. He was a professional!

He crossed his arms over his chest. "You free after class?" A pause, "To work on some skills, I mean."

"It's a date," Ian smirked, leaning down to pick up his shoes from the ground in front of him. By the time he was upright again, Mickey had already started walking away, but the blush on his cheeks and the back of his neck could be spotted from a mile away. He was utterly fucked.

Mickey yawned and got up from his stretching position on the floor. He walked over to the stereo, systematically knocking his dancer's feet on his way over until they were all turned out and pointed.

"No Orange Boy today?" Svetlana asked, meeting Mickey's eyes with a challenging stare.

Mickey ignored the chorus of "He's so hot!" "Have you seen his arms?" and "Ian's the nicest!" from the rest of the girls.

Svetlana raised her eyebrow in question and Mickey's defenses flew out the window. This goddamn power dynamic was going to be the death of him.

"I put him on private lessons until he's no longer a disruption to the class," he shrugged.

"Aww," one brunette pouted.

"Disruption to class or disruption to tiny bulge in your pants?" Svetlana smirked, earning some scandalized gasps from the other dancers.

Mickey flipped her off, "The fucker made me take out a greater insurance policy with all his accidents, don't be fucking absurd."

A blonde nodded understandingly from the back of the class, "My ankle is still a little funky from the last lift we tried."

Mickey held his arms out in a display of I-told-you-so and Svetlana rolled her eyes.

"Great!" Mickey clapped his hands together, earning the full attention of his class as they hurried to their feet, "Now that all the hot drama is outta the air, let's do a quick warm up combo across the floor. Chasse step pas de bourree double pirouette step arabesque, in 5, 6, 7, 8..."

Ian had been waiting outside the studio for the last ten minutes of class, more-so watching his instructor shift around than paying attention to what the dancers were actually doing. That's probably what got him into his current predicament, and he couldn't decide whether that was a curse or a blessing. Mickey's arms flexed as he pointed across the room to call out someone's weak spot.

Yup, it was a blessing.

Oh shit, Mickey was looking his way. Was this a double sided mirror? No, of course not. Why would there be a double sided mirror? Oh, Mickey was definitely staring at him. Fuck. Wait, did he just wink? No way, he must've just blinked. With one eye. Yeah, totally normal. Nothing to overthink, Ian.

Get it together!

Mickey dismissed his class five minutes early and it had nothing to do with the Jolly Ginger Giant standing outside his studio.

While most of his dancers wordlessly accepted the easy out, Svetlana stayed back to taunt. "Have fun with private lessons," she sneered, jerking off an invisible cock.

"Choke on it," Mickey retorted tossing her warm-up jacket at her face, which she swiftly caught.

Svetlana turned and made a show of looking Ian up and down, his cheeks turning pink under her intense gaze. She faced Mickey head on, "You will be vegetable stew by the time this man is done with you."

The fuck does that mean?

Sometimes Mickey thought that Svetlana spoke in riddles just to mess with him. He blamed it on the Russian accent, never mind he was part Ukrainian himself. The languages were similar, but not identical, fuck you very much.

But, damn, forget that, Gallagher looked good. He was wearing his usual white tank top and grey sweatpants, but Mickey never got the opportunity to openly ogle in class. Not that that was what he was doing now.

Ian returned the long look appreciatively before stepping closer and Mickey snapped back into professionalism, well as far as professionalism goes, Milkovich-style.

He turned his back on the bane of his pathetic existence and snapped a quick but polite, "Get your shoes on and we can get started."

"Oh, right."

That seemed to be enough to get the gears in Ian's head going again as he dropped his bag to the floor, echoing in the truly empty studio, and dropping down onto the floor himself to secure his ballet shoes, which may as well be clown shoes for as big as his feet were. Mickey fit into the same brand as the girls, but he had to order special for Gallagher.

"Thanks for doing this, Mickey."

Mickey. The way that this man said his name was making him feel all sorts of flustered that he would most definitely deny.

"Mandy said you don't usually make exceptions."

"Gotta catch you up to speed or you're gonna be dancing with the 5 year-olds, man."

Ian tilted his head considering.

Mickey frowned, "Don't do it."

Ian smirked and Mickey had to look away as a grin and blush creeped up on his own face.

"Alright, so we'll start you off with the basics."

Mickey went through their normal class routine, but broke it down slowly, pausing to explain certain positions in details he couldn't afford to spend time with in class, specifically how not to fall. It should have been fairly obvious in his opinion, but Ian still managed somehow. The first few times, he was on the floor before Mickey even knew he was going down.

But the third, Mickey made a mistake. Mickey instinctively reached out to catch him.

As soon as he realized where his hands were, he pulled them off like he'd been burned, which he may have well been. He pulled his gaze to his feet, studying the floor while he composed himself.

"Mickey," Ian waited until he looked up, and then he spoke so quietly, "You can touch me."

And what made things worse was that Ian's dazzling eyes left little to the imagination. They both knew where this was going, and the moment was too intense too quick. The longer their eyes held, the hotter Mickey felt his neck grow.

"Ya know," Ian stepped closer. "To fix my positions..."

Mickey swallowed, "Uh, I think we're done for today."

He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. He never meant them to begin with. But if Ian stayed any longer, Mickey was going to climb him like a tree and that really wasn't under his personal code of professionalism, no matter how loose those terms may be to begin with. It was getting late anyways, he reasoned with himself.

"What about the lifts? That's the important part, right?" Ian questioned, eyes pleading like he would die without this one skill being taught to him by his oh-so-unprofessional instructor.

Mickey sighed. Ya know what? Fuck it.

Mickey sauntered over to Ian, pressed his back to Ian's front, and grabbed one of Ian's massive hands and placed it on his own waist.

Ian gave an experimental squeeze and Mickey softened in his grip.

Ridiculous.

"We're not doing the lift are we?" Ian murmured breathily, hot air making the hairs on the back of Mickey's neck tingle.

"What do you think, Firecrotch?" Mickey pushed his weight back into Ian's chest, which would be the second mistake of the day.

Ian toppled over backwards, landing with a painful sounding thud and sending Mickey down on top of him before he rolled off the the side with a groan.

Ian started laughing and Mickey was concerned. Was this idiot actually fucking concussed this time? He wasn't sure how he would explain this to his insurance company.

Mickey straddled Ian's lap, gently slapping his face, "Are you good, man? Alive?"

"Never better." Ian was still smiling like an absolute goof.

Mickey raised an eyebrow in concern.

"Seriously, I just can't play things cool," Ian raised his hips to grind against Mickey's ass, "Obviously."

"You're an idiot," Mickey rolled his eyes, and all Ian could do was grin and reach up towards Mickey's neck, pulling his down until their lips almost touched, sharing breaths and excitement.

"Maybe," another breath, "But I still got you to fall for me."

It was Mickey's turn to laugh, more of a raspy exhale than anything. His "fuck you" was almost lost between them as they fell together at last.

(side note: this was the lift that they were going to do, so i feel like the hand on the waist makes sense -- gotta have a visual lmao)

#i might have an idea for a sequel/series if anyone is interested: mandy pov of this and another one shot in their relationship era???#who knows #shameless #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #mandy milkovich #ian x mickey #shameless fanfic #shameless fanfiction #gallavich fanfiction #gallavich fanfic #svetlana yevgenivna #my posts

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soulmate-game · 4 years ago

Text

I was feeling angsty. Read at your own risk, there is very little comfort in this and a whole shit ton of hurt. Probably a bunch of emotional triggers, so seriously be careful guys.

—*—*—*—*—*

Liquid pain ran down her arm like poison, the slash in it burning hot and spreading it’s agony like an invisible waterfall inside her flesh. But she did not grip her bicep where the wound had been inflicted, her gaze blank as she forced herself to hide her turmoil behind glass eyes. Her brother’s snarling face was only inches in front of her own, his katana moving from her arm to her throat.

“Useless! To think we share any blood relation is humiliating!” He growled at her. She did not move, did not emote. Her blades fans, the weapon she was loved most, lay half-opened on the ground beside her. Abandoned. But she knew Damian’s sword would not kill her. Blood family was a bond that was not to be severed by murder unless ordered by Ra’s or justified by the murdered family member in question betraying the League. She had done nothing to betray the Shadows, and Ra’s would not waste time and energy, or the breath it would require, to order her death. Just as he would not waste the precious waters of the Pit to bring her back again. She would not die today, and she knew it.

Sure enough, it was only a few more insults in various languages before Damian Al-Ghul stepped back and scowled down at the blood on his blade. Her blood. “If you don’t even have the stomach for real combat, you do not belong here,” he spat.

“That is where we agree, Grandson,” Ra’s sharp voice echoed through the room, his beady eyes never once bothering to glance at his granddaughter. “Maria, you are hereby stripped of the name Al-Ghul. Banishment from the League is the only mercy you shall be granted for your dishonor on our blood. Be useful and use whatever is left of your mistake of a life to stay out of the League’s way. Shall I, Damian, or your mother ever see your face again, your burial will follow shortly after. Am I understood?”

“Yes Gr— yes, Ra’s Al-Ghul.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Maria Al-Ghul was seven years old when she was disowned and sent away from the League of Shadows without so much as a penny to her name. She was only allowed to take the change of clothes she carried, and one small backpack’s worth of items. Her mother— Talia— had watched vigilantly as she packed those items, assuring that Maria did not take anything of worth.

The girl traveled by foot, too small to get away with driving a vehicle. Unless she could manage to steal a motorbike— she knew how to adjust the seats and pedals on most models to accommodate her size. But she was far too far away from civilization for that.

She knew that most of the League expected her to die in the jungles that surrounded the temple. After all, there were ninjas scattered throughout it with strict orders to kill anyone who was not one of them. And Maria now fit that description.

But if there was one thing Maria knew better than anything else, it was how to hide. How to hide feelings, intentions, involuntary movements, or her whole body in almost any setting. She covered herself in mud, matted her hair with dirt and took off her shoes. Barefoot was always quieter, and her feet would be more sensitive to any change in terrain. She would have to move more slowly and be on the lookout for traps, ground litter that could harm her, or dangerous wildlife, but she would be much harder to track.

It took her a month, but she made it to her first Tibetan city alive and decently healthy. She begged for food for a day before snatching a child’s outfit off of some hanging laundry lines and stealing the first decent vehicle she found. It was an old moped, but it beat walking and was already built small. She made it work.

That was how she spent the majority of the next year. She traveled from town to town, stealing what she needed until she could earn money normally. She used that money to buy herself a fake identity, even if she had to use the skills she had hoped to never need again in order to afford it.

Marinette Shiwang was born when she was already eight years old.

It was only a year after her new identity was created when she bumped into a woman in a street market. That was nothing new, those places could get crowded. But when Marinette looked up and saw valuable bracelets and necklaces of gold and jade, she knew she needed at least one. The money she would get for it would have her living comfortably for a short while. So Marinette’s theft-experienced fingers darted out and unclasped one bracelet in a fluid movement. It took less than a second. She barely had the piece of jewelry in her hand before she started to take off, hoping to lose herself in the crowd.

But a small hand clamped around her shoulder, a sturdy thumb pressing against a very vulnerable spot right at the back of Marinette’s neck, at the base of her skull. A clear threat from somebody with experience.

The sweet voice that followed didn’t match the gesture at all.

“Oh, I need that back dear. It was a gift from my husband, you understand.”

Marinette did. She cared about survival more. The small girl twisted, knocking the hand away from her before it could do damage and darting down a side street. The woman followed. It took three hours, but Marinette decided she had finally lost her pursuer before slumping down in the tiny, closet-sized bedroom of her cheap apartment. Her eyes closed for only a second before the window opened, and the smell of newly-baked sesame buns filtered through.

It was the woman and a much taller, much more masculine man. He was practically a giant, reminding Marinette of a certain member of the League that she used to know. They were both smiling.

“My wife figured you would be more open to an exchange than just giving up the bracelet for free,” the man’s voice was deep and inviting. “You can eat as many buns as your stomach can handle, if you give it back.”

Marinette accepted. Mostly because of her fear for people who could track her to her home so easily, when she had been certain she had not been followed. The League has tuned her senses well, there was no way the couple had been close enough to see her when she made it to her apartment. Yet they were still there somehow. Then, it also had to do with the promise of food, and the heavenly smell of the food itself. And then, lastly, Marinette was tired. She didn’t like stealing, it was just a necessity. She would not hurt these people over a mere bracelet that she wished she didn’t have to take in the first place.

Useless, she thought. So much of a bleeding heart that she just gave up what could have paid for two months rent. Too soft to even protect herself. The Al-Ghuls has been right. She was a waste of space and time.

Marinette was ten years old when she became a Dupain-Cheng. Somehow, that strange, dangerous couple had become her new family. Not even she knew how. But she was grateful— they took her back to Paris with them and she didn’t have to worry about rent, or food, or money anymore.

She vowed, that day that she received her spacious attic bedroom, that she would repay them. She would make herself useful, for the first time in her life. She would stay out of their way, be the perfect most unobtrusive daughter ever. She would help in the bakery, keep a smile on her face so that they never doubted that they were doing a good job. So that they never wasted time worrying about her. She smiled, and laughed, and became successful for them. Competent and reliable even though her memories would sink into her dreams every day and make it near impossible to drag herself out of bed in the mornings.

And then, when Marinette Dupain-Cheng was thirteen, she was given a pair of magical earrings and a tiny fairy-god. And Tikki was thorough, at least. Diligent in her explanation. Marinette listened to every word, dread seeping in as she doubted her ability to carry out such an important task. Save a city? Defeat someone much more experienced and magically powerful than her?

Useless little Maria could never. Slightly less useless Marinette could never.

She was only ever meant to play a support role. Stay on the background and make everyone else shine, without ever succeeding in anything worth noting. That was who she was.

But then Tikki gave her the Warning. The catch that came with the Ladybug abilities, and Marinette felt the long-rusted determination in her begin to fire up again. Maybe she could be Ladybug. Maybe she could be useful, at least this once. At least for just this one scenario. She could fight and win the war against Hawkmoth, and that achievement alone could make her happy. Let her die knowing she did something worthwhile.

—*—*—*—*—*

Damian Wayne was seventeen when he and his family found out about the Paris Situation, and immediately went over to offer help. Damian Wayne was seventeen when he watched Ladybug stumble at the sight of him, and immediately run away. But the two of them were twins, and though twin telepathy might be a myth they always did have a certain instinct when it came to one another.

Damian Wayne was Seventeen when he said, aloud on the top of a random Parisian building and surrounded by his family—

“My sister is Ladybug.”

Damian didn’t wait for their reactions, having entirely forgotten about the existence of his father and brothers, before taking off after his spotted sibling.

—*—*—*—*—*

“I knew you were alive.”

In hindsight, those probably weren’t the best words for him to say when Maria clearly thought he was still an assassin.

Damian watched as Marinette spun to face him, her face so much more expressive than he remembered. He could actually see the resignation in the slump in her shoulders, he could feel the fear in her bluebell eyes. The eyes she was lucky enough to get from their father while he was cursed with their mother’s green irises. He used to envy that about her, especially after joining the BatClan. But now he only felt comfort when he looked into her eyes. Comfort that she was different than him, and always had been. In the best of ways.

He watched as his sister was enveloped by a bright flash of pink light, detransforming right in front of him. And without the mask, it was impossible to ignore the relation between them. She had their father’s eyes and nose where he had their mother’s, but other than that they were almost carbon copies of one another. Her blue-black hair was pulled back into twin braids though, something he noted distantly as oddly fitting. They suited her, he thought.

But all those thoughts instantly turned to dust as she dropped to her knees in front of him, head bowed in complete submission.

“Tom and Sabine are innocent,” she told him. “They adopted me out of nothing but goodwill, and they have been nothing but good to me. I never told them a single word about my origin, I swear it on our blood. They think I am just an orphan that was abandoned in Hong Kong—“

“Maria—“

“—so please, don’t harm them. I’m begging you. And there is no need for you to waste energy killing me. You are welcome to stay in Paris as long as no harm comes to Tom and Sabine, but just wait and watch. I know who Hawkmoth is, and our final plan is almost ready. I’ll have him taken down by next week. Just— wait until then, please. My death will take care of itself afterwards, but Paris deserves to be free, and killing me now will set this entire war against Hawkmoth back by at least a year. And I also need that time to pick my successor—“

“Maria! I am not here to kill you!” Damian had to yell to get her to stop babbling and begging. She froze, but didn’t dare to sit up or even raise her head. So Damian took the initiative and sat down on the ground with her, though he kept his distance so that he didn’t scare her too badly. He couldn’t blame her for her reaction, it had been ten years since they had seen one another and their parting hadn’t exactly been pleasant.

But he had changed a lot since then, matured a lot.

“I am completely disconnected from the League,” he admitted. Of the blurry memories he had of her, he did remember that being blunt was the best way to handle information with her. Beating around the bush had always done nothing but make her exceptionally nervous and jittery. Sure enough, his admission was enough to make her look up at him with disbelieving eyes. He risked a small grin. “I didn’t come in my old uniform, did I?” He gestured to himself in the bright Robin colors. Sure enough, Marinette’s rapid blinking proved his theory that she hadn’t even registered his clothing at all to be true. She had run as soon as she recognized his face.

But Marinette did not speak. She sat up a little, still eyeing him cautiously. But her silence helped him finally realize where they were— where she had led him.

The sounds of traffic and other big city noises were all muted, as if muffled by several layers of cloth. Shadows fell over them abundantly, and they were surrounded by dilapidated concrete walls.

She had brought him to an abandoned area far from any activity, where a body would take ages to find. She had then disarmed herself of her only weapon, her magic suit, and had gotten on the ground in total submission.

She had purposely given him the perfect setting to kill her, where there would be no witnesses and plenty of time before her body would be found for him to escape. That realization hit Damian square the chest, leaving him breathless for a moment.

“I am not here to kill anybody,” he reiterated, his voice noticeably much gentler than before. “Not you, not you adoptive parents, nobody. I left the league when I was eleven. Mother—“ he took a breath, but Maria deserved to know. “— she cloned me. Her clone killed me. He no longer exists, but that is of no consequence. She killed me, she and Grandfather disowned me when I made it clear I was not returning. Father— our father,” he was insistent as he leaned forward, not continuing until she met his gaze. “You remember who our father is, right? Bruce Wayne? Mother had dropped me off to be raised with him when I was ten, but of course it was all just one of her plots. It was her miscalculation though, because I ended up growing close to them. To Father and his adopted children. You would get along with Gra— with Dick, the best I think. Although T— Jason would also be a prime contender as your favorite brother, I think. He shares your love of motor bikes, if that hasn’t changed?” She just stared at him, clearly confused and experiencing a lot of feelings at once. He stayed silent for a moment to allow her to sort through them a little.

“I’m Robin now,” he made his voice quieter, but still easy for her to hear. “I’m a member of the Bats. I’m sure they would all welcome you, if you chose to meet them. Though be warned, they can be quite in—“

“Why are you doing this?” Marinette’s voice was barely above a whisper, Damian almost didn’t hear her. But he did, and fell silent. He watched as his sister licked her lips and tried to find the right words to say. “If what you say is true… you have a perfectly good family. Brothers, Father, a comfortable life. Why follow me then? Why offer me… any of that?”

Damian frowned. He didn’t remember Maria being so gloomy, but then again she had been raised to never show her emotions. Maybe, after years away from the temple like him, her true feelings were just easier for him to see now. Closer to the surface.

“I want to get to know you— to get to know my sister, again,” he told her. “Don’t tell them, but Father and the others have taught me to appreciate family. The way I treated you when we were children was not right, and though it was heavily influenced by Mother and Grandfather, I want to make up for it nonetheless. Maybe we can get to know the new us, together?”

Marinette’s eyes went wide with disbelief, but then she clenched her jaw and shook her head.

“We can’t.”

“... right, I understand if you do not forgive me. I didn’t even consider—“

“It isn’t that,” Marinette was quick to correct him. “When I said that my death will handle itself, I mean it, Damian. The Ladybug… the earrings that give me my powers, come with a price,” she absently ran her fingertips over the unassuming black studs in her ears. “If a Ladybug uses the miraculous for more than three years, the powers of Creation will demand to be balanced. Already, the Miraculous is powering itself on nothing but my life force now. Once I defeat Hawkmoth, there will be no need for Ladybug anymore. The moment I take the earrings off, they will cease keeping me alive.”

Damian’s face fell. No— no, that wasn’t right. He was finally able to find her, finally able to apologize and try to fix his past mistakes. This couldn’t be how the reunion went. This couldn’t—

“Not even the Lazarus Pits can bring me back from a Miraculous death,” Marinette went on. “So you and your family should go. You don’t need to be here when I—“ Marinette paused, gasping. “Damian, why are you crying?! Stop that!” Her voice became desperate, Marinette crawling over to him as quickly as she could and wiping away his tears as if they were something terrifying. Damian wasn’t sobbing or making any noise, it was just a silent stream of tears running down both cheeks as he stared at her wordlessly.

“I…” he finally managed to choke out. “I wanted to make up for everything. I wanted for us to be twins again, together.”

Marinette paused, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “I know a magic user who can erase your memories of me,” she offered. “But you don’t have to feel guilty for anything. You never said anything that wasn’t true.”

Damian’s green eyes widened. He had said nothing but cruel things to her, that last year they spent together as children. Did she really believe all of that? Did he and their childhood really affect her self worth this severely and irreversibly?

“Maria—“

“My name is Marinette, actually,” she corrected him with a small smile. “I’m not Maria Al-Ghul anymore. Marinette Dupain-Cheng is actually useful, Damian. I can actually do things right— I’m doing something right right now. Beating Hawkmoth will be the first worthwhile thing I’ve ever done, don’t you see? Once it’s all over, I will have brought honor back to our blood. I’ll have proved to you that I really am your twin, that I wasn’t a mistake. That I was born for a reason,” Marinette’s eyes got dreamy even as Damian just felt like he was impaled again, this time by a spike of ice rather than a sword. “And I’ll be able to die before I ruin it. It’s a perfect scenario.”

“A perfect scenario implies that nothing important is going to be lost,” Damian breathed. Marinette just blinked.

“Yeah, I know. That’s the plan. Defeat Hawkmoth, save Paris, and nobody dies.”

“But you’re going to die!” He growled. Marinette leaned back, bewildered by his violent reaction.

“Yeah, but it’s not like I actually matter. Nobody needs me. Tom and Sabine might be hurt for a while, but they will recover just fine. And it’s not like I have friends or any—“

“Stop worrying about other people, damnit!” Damian surged forward, grabbing her shoulders hard enough to bruise and shaking her a little. “Even back then! Even when we were seven, you threw down your blades because you were more worried about hurting me than you were about how Grandfather would react, even though you knew he would be tempted to kill you for what he thought was cowardice! You never put yourself first, and it’s finally starting to piss me off!”

“Damian—“

“No, listen to me!” He shook her again, his tear stained cheeks only making his glare all the more potent as he stared right into her eyes. “You are alive, and your life matters! You were never worthless or useless, you just didn’t fit what our abusive situation wanted of you. They wanted a cold hearted killer, a tool they could use, and you were always too warm hearted and clever to fit either of those goals. But I did, I was the killer they were looking for and the pawn they wanted. If anything, that makes you better than I ever was! I was too young and naive to see it back then, but I’m trying to make up for it now. You are my sister, whether you go by Maria or Marinette, Al-Ghul or Wayne or Dupain-Cheng, I don’t give a damn! And so help me, even if I have to surgically attach those earrings to your skin, I am not letting you die before you gain at least a modicum of respect for yourself. Do you understand me?”

A wet sniffle met his ears, and he pulled Marinette in for a hug. She returned it weakly, sniveling and sobbing into his cape.

“D-d-Damian?”

“Yes, Shaqiqa?”

Another sniffle.

“I-is it really o-okay for me to stay with you?”

“Of course.”

“I-is… is it really oka-ay for… for me to live?”

Damian’s arms tightened around her. “Always. Always, always.”

Marinette buried her face into his shoulder, taking a deep shuddering breath.

“Th-then… I wanna try.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Not sorry. Ha 😎

#mlb x dc #maribat #platonic daminette #bio!dad au #Bio!Dad Bruce Wayne #sibling Daminette #angst #heavy angst #hurt no comfort #or very little comfort anyway #ml x dc #platonic brucinette #twin AU

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weirdochick56 · 4 years ago

Text

Sin- Steve Rogers AU Chapter Three

Biker!Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Explicit language, set in a universe where Pietro isn’t Wanda’s twin, but her older brother!!!

Disclaimers: I don’t own any MCU plots/characters mentioned.

Word Count: 3, 379 Words

Summary: Y/n finally comes face to face with Biker King and it’s nothing like she imagined. And when she least expects it, the very person she came looking for will find her and all the emotions she has been holding in will come pouring out in unexpected ways.

Read Chapter Two Here!!

Under different circumstances, maybe you would’ve stayed there, in his hold a little while longer. It wasn’t like it was an unpleasant feeling...not in the least.

His hot hands and cool rings contrasted eachother deliciously on your skin and it had actually taken you a while to pull yourself out of your dazed trance, between getting the air knocked out of you and now....

“Oh.”

You didn’t mean to yelp the way you did when your gaze met those of the blonde Adonis that stood before you, but you couldn’t help it. Those eyes...if you had thought they were pretty before, now you could say with absolute certainty that they were utterly showstopping.

Salacious, intense, powerful...you’d never wanted to drown in a person’s gaze more.

He had the kind of eyes you don’t just get lost in, but entirely lose yourself to. The kind that if you stare into too long, you might be swallowed like quicksand. And yet, even knowing this, you couldn’t pull yourself away and had found yourself for the second time in only a short span of time, unable to breathe correctly.

His gaze was steady on yours as well, though unlike you he wasn’t shaken in the least. He was all cool and collected, his eyes searching yours out shamelessly.

And so you stay like that for a few moments, his big hands pressed onto your mostly bare back and your hands gripping his forearms tightly, steadying- anchoring yourself. Though nothing about the piercing power of that gaze was anchoring or even real to you.

Gradually, your heart begins picking up an erratic pace which only spikes when his fingers begin tracing softly over your skin.

The shivers this sends down your spine feels like a slap to the face and you find yourself almost aggressively pushing yourself away from him. He hesitates a bit, but it’s only a split second before his hands are unclasped and off your skin.

Breaking away seems to break the trance-like state you were in and instantly, the embarassment sets in, your cheeks heating up immediately. You bow your head refelctively.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble out of pure shame. Not because of him, but because of yourself.

Why were you acting like this?

I mean, you weren’t normally one to fall for a pretty face because you had grown up around rich pretty boys your whole life.

But he...

You take a cautious peek at him again and instantly regret doing so when you realize the fact that his eyes had seemingly never left you and were now practically glowing with amusement as he watched you closely.

Your breath hitches and you bite your lip, a nervous habit of yours. His eyes momentarily flick down to the action but they quickly return back up to your gaze.

Your eyes are everywhere at once, your breathing labored. ‘He’s too close’, you think to yourself amidst the chaos in your brain.

And he’s too goddam perfect.

He’s all sharp jaw, high cheekbones, silky, messy blonde hair, pink plump lips and piercing blue eyes...every slope and curve and straight edge of his face was all too perfectly harmonious with one another. To say you were in complete awe at the Adonis before you would be an understatement.

You couldn’t breathe.

His plump lips are so pink and full and they’re only highlighted more by his dark neatly kept beard, you have to blink several times to make sure you’re not imagining them. How can a man have such pretty lips?

You had never seen someone this alluring in your life, he wasn’t at all like the pretty rich boys of your town.

He had a naturally intimidating aura to him, in that rough-around-the-edges badass biker way that you shouldn’t be finding this damn attractive.

And then you take a moment to take in his full form. You were right; he was easily a whole foot taller than you, sporting more tattoos than you could count on his visible skin- that was, his collarbone and hands, some of the ones up his arm poking out when he moved.

Unlike most people here who wore kuttes, he was wearing a thick leather jacket with the word, ‘President’ patched in bold black and white on it, but you knew he had his arms fully tatted because you’d seen it that day at the store.

He also wore black worn jeans that clung sexily on his slim hips, chains hanging over the jean hoops and clanging everytime he moved. He clearly loved his black combat boots because it was visibly obvious he used them a whole lot.

His sexy mouth lifts at the corner into an even sexier smirk and you all but come undone when he speaks again. “It’s okay, angel.”

‘Doll’, ‘angel’...

Your brow furrows and before you know what you’re doing...

“Are you in the habit of giving girls you’ve never met pet names, sir?” You blurt without thinking.

The unintentionally sassy words fly out of your mouth before your brain can even catch up, but when it does, your eyes instantly widen and your hand flies to your mouth, clasping over it in complete horror.

You want to die when the excessive attitude in your words sinks in and suddenly you’re all too aware of just how much bigger and intimidating this man was compared to you.

He could snap you, and most grown men, in half without a second thought.

You open your mouth to apologize profusely thinking you’ve offended this (most likely) dangerous outlaw, but you freeze once you see his expression.

He doesn’t seem angry at all, in fact, he’s...laughing? No, it’s not a full-on laugh like the one you’d seen in that parking lot. It’s more airy, more casual.

He was chuckling. At you.

He speaks again, this time amusedly. “Nah, only the pretty ones.”

You’re caught off-guard by the suave of his words and you find yourself profusely blushing once more. You have no idea how to respond to him so instead, you just shake your head, desperate to escape this increasingly flustering situation.

“Okay. Now, if you’ll excuse me...” you offer him a forced polite smile and go to side-step him.

You barely make it two steps before his hand is flying out, gripping your wrist firmly and tugging you backwards. A little gasp flies out of your mouth at the suddeness of the movement and before you understand what’s happening, you find yourself pressed tightly against a wall, shrouded in darkness.

You turn your wide eyes onto Biker King, whose thick arms are now pressed beside each side of your head, caging you in entirely. His long torso is leaning down slightly, so his eyes are directly with in your line of sight.

His scent comes onto you like an avalanche. He smells strongly of leather, cologne, shaving cream, something woodsy yet manly and strangely enough, clean laundry.

It was unlike any scent you’d ever smelt on a man, but somehow it fit him perfectly and you found yourself inhaling deeper than usual, your heart racing at his sudden proximity.

He’s so close, your chests are only an inch or two away and he’s staring straight into your soul, cornering you like a predator would a helpless prey.

“Uh...” you can only mumble awakwardly, still kind of dazed and gaping up at him in utter shock, you can barely hear yourself over the loud pounding of your erratic heart.

Up close, he’s more beautiful than you could’ve ever imagined a person to be and his piercing gaze was honestly dizzying you.

“Why are you here, doll?”

His sudden question jerks you painfully back into reality and you press your lips together, your brows pinching up instantly at his words. The question is so blunt, so sudden, you can only blink furiously up at him.

“I- what?” You breathe shakily, suddenly unable to function at all.

He tilts his head down at you, raising a brow and speaking awfully matter-of-factly. “Well you’re that pretty little thing from that shit-hole parking lot, aren’t you?”

At first you can only blink stupidly at him, not expecting him to recognize you but then it suddenly dawns on you...if he recognized you then-

You gasp loudly, cheeks more fiery than ever.

A knowing smirk grows on his face. “Hey, for what it’s worth, angel, it was a pretty catchy ringtone.”

You bite your lip in order to supress any small sound threating to spill over out of your lips.

His eyes darken when they fall onto your meek movement and he tightens his hold in the wall, inhaling sharply. “Damn...”

Your blush darkens and your stomach clenches at his small, heated mumble that leaves those pretty lips.

Maybe it was the smug little smirk on his beautiful face that bothered you so much. Or maybe it was the way his eyes pierced through you like you were see-through, but either way, you felt trapped.

Like he was a lion and you were some small, distressed powerless prey, unable to escape that watchful gaze.

“I have to go...” you breathe curtly, staring at his mouth from under your lashes as his pink tongue pokes out, sweeping lightly over his lips.

He chuckles sexily. “Oh, nu-uh, doll. You haven’t answered my damn question yet. What’s a girl like you doing here?”

“A girl like me?” You frown.

He laughs, looking away for a second before turning his magnetic eyes back onto you, somehow more intensely than before.

“You and I both know you don’t belong on this side of town, angel,” he whispers meaningfully, staring at your mouth fixedly.

“I-I don’t even know you,” is all you can manage in a shaky voice, feeling like an invisible force is pushing at your chest.

His eyes lazily drag up to your own and he hums thoughtfully. “You don’t have to. You just have to tell me what you want with this place.”

You find yourself reeling back indignantly at his demanding tone despite your nervousness. Just who did this stranger think he was?

“I don’t have to tell you jack shit,” you snap. “Now let me go, please.”

If he’s shocked by your little outburst, he doesn’t show it, instead he laughs lowly, the sound somehow like pebbles scraping against gravel and also like what silk felt on your skin or the way honey squeezes out of a bottle.

The sound was so sexy- a perfect balance of masculine and airy- that it felt like a carress on your skin.

“Oh, you’re definitely not from around here, little spit fire.”

You want to ask him what he means, but before you can, a voice cuts in from behind you both.

“Prez.”

The both of you freeze, but perhaps for entirely different reasons. Biker King looks mildly annoyed at the interruption, and you...

Well that voice sounded freakishly like-

Biker King releases a big breath, smoothly pushing off the wall and spinning around to look at the voice, leaving you to finally be able to release a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in.

You’re still safely hidden behind the much larger frame of Biker King, but you can easily make out about three pairs of manly feet from between his lean, jean-clad legs.

“Sorry, Prez,” the same voice quickly pushes out, but he sounds more panicked than apologetic. “I know you’re busy but...” he pauses, and for some reason you know it’s because of you.

‘Prez’? As in “president”? You found yourself wondering silently.

Tentatively, you step out from behind Biker King, head bowed. “Uhm- I was actually just going so..”

You don’t even plan on looking at them before high-tailing it out of there, but a shocked voice stops you.

“Y/n?!”

Your head snaps up instantly.

And when your gazes make contact for the first time in a long time, you can’t help the tears that instantly pool around your eyes, eyes and nose burning furiously as all the overwhelming feelings and thoughts you’d been suppressing for so long come rushing to the surface.

It was an instantaneous reaction because deep down you had felt he was near and a wave of conflict crashes right against you as you stiffen up.

Your mouth feels dry as you blink the threatening hot tears back. You haven’t seen him in a while, but he hasn’t very much changed appereance wise.

Those eyes were still the warmest blue you’ve ever seen, that hair was still kinky and he hadn’t chopped off his frosty tips.

It dawns on you why you’d recgonized that voice and your heart squeezes tightly as you’re fact to face with him...

Your voice is croaky and breathy when you say his name, but you force yourself to.

“Pietro.”

Steve’s POV

I watch with raised brows as Pietro, or ‘Pretty Boy’ as we called him and my angel -Y/n is what Pietro called her- naturally draw closer together, like being pulled together by some kind of fucking magnetic force, and a surge of anger rises within me instantly.

‘So your name is Y/n, huh?’ I can find myself thinking that her name is beautiful, delicate and feminine like her and that it would probably feel good to say on my tongue.

Bucky and Sam each shoot a weird look my way, as if asking ‘what’s up with these two?’ and I give them a short shrug, quickly turning my gaze back onto the stomach-churning scene developing before me.

Fuck, I hated her being so close to another man, it was inexplicable. I had just met the girl but I already knew I wanted her in my bed- it was like an instinct to me.

Pietro is now within reach of her and I can do nothing but clench my fists as he reaches his arms out, with tears in his eyes appareantly not giving a flying fuck that his brothers are watching this unfold and tugs her small body towards him.

What fucks me up more than anything is that she doesn’t fight him in the least.

I mean it’s clear that they know eachother from their dramatic soap opera moment, but it’s the fact that they look so natural doing it -like they’ve done it so much before it’s muscle memory at this point- that makes me want to kill someone...perferably Pietro.

He buries his face in her hair, inhaling her scent deeply and I can’t say I blame him. In the small amount of time I’d spent close to her, I’d become addicted to her smell. She smelt nothing like the women I’d fucked over the years. They used cheap off-brand shit, that too potent sweet stuff...but her?

She smelled like wild flowers and vanilla, an expensive, soft, but not entirely inconspicuous scent I would fucking drown in if I could for the rest of my miserable life.

As I watched on, helplessly clenching my fists so as to not do something rash, she shakily lifts her petite arms and wraps them around Pietro, hugging him tightly to her.

Oh. I growl under my breath, unable to resist the pang of jealousy that hits me.

Bucky, my vice president, sends a look my way and I’m pretty sure there’s murder on my face, but all he does is smirk amusedly, the fucker.

But then it gets worse, because Pretty Boy’s hands start wandering, rubbing her back tenderly, up and down almost to her nice round ass. Up and down, up and d-

I see red, and before I know what I’m doing, I feel myself lunging forward, ready to rip them apart.

Except...

“Oh shit!” I freeze when I hear Sam voice all our thoughts at what has just happened.

In the time I had stepped forward, Y/n had suddenly broken away from the embrace, brought her small fist back and clocked Pietro right in the jaw.

We all stare like damn idiots at the loud smack sound, and consequent mixture of grunts and yelps that rings out, but none more than me.

Little spitfire packs a damn powerful right hook, even with her size.

I can see even Bucky, whose the most stoic of us all, is unable to do anything but gape at the scene.

Our shocks lasts very little because in the next second, still cradling her injured hand to her chest, she uses her other free hand to smack him in the head, over and over.

“You asshole!” she hissses, whacking him anywhere she can get her small hand. Pietro is crouched over, arms thrown over his head in order to protect himself.

“Y/n stop!” he demands.

But this only seems to anger her more and she’s attacking him with more fury now. “How dare you just up and leave like that? I thought-” she huffs, pained. “I thought you loved me, you dipshit!”

It would seem my little angel has a potty mouth on her and I can’t help but smirk bemusedly to myself despite the fact that anyone here can tell there’s history there.

Sam and Bucky’s shock seems to have worn off as well and they’re now staring, on the verge of laughter.

It was pretty comical I’ll admit, seeing as she was way smaller than him and still whooping his ass. It was actually pretty impressive considering he was one of my guys.

I snap into action once I remember that she’s injured her hand and that Pietro isn’t fighting back because if he did, he could kill her.

“Sam, Bucky,” I snap, pointing at Pietro with my eyes. They don’t hesitate a single second and instantly capture Pretty Boy in their hold, tugging him back.

I reach out and grab Y/n by her waist, easily lifting her up and away.

“Let me go, dammit! Let me go!”

She wiggled aggressively against my hold, still flailing her small limbs about and yelling like a nutjob, but she’s no match against my strength.

I hug her tightly, pressing her back to me so she can relax. “Settle down, angel,” I whisper calmly in her ear, but she keeps resisting, so I hastily add “If you keep wiggling that pretty little ass of yours like that on my cock you’re going to make me do something I’ll regret later. So I highly suggest you stop. Fucking. Moving.”

I suppress the urge to grin when I feel her instantly stiffen beneath my touch. She finally seems to give up and fall limp against my hold.

I mean, I was only half lying to get her to calm down. Actually, I was already half hard.

‘You are one sick fucking bastard, Steve’ I think to myself bemusedly.

“Y/n?! What the hell is going on?!” Another feminie voice calls out from behind us.

Our necks snap instantly towards the direction where it came from and I frown. A pretty redhead comes bounding towards us, or well, me, looking just about ready to kill me and it is then I realize that I’m still carrying Y/n.

“What the fuck are you doing?! Let her go!” She starts to give me hell, but Y/n suddenly sighs.

“It’s okay Wanda,” she mutters. “He was just trying to keep me from killing-”

“Wanda!” Pietro calls out suddenly and the redhead’s eyes widen, much like Y/n’s had when she had first seen him. She instantly turns to Pretty boy and runs over to him, tears in her eyes. She practically jumps on him and holds him tightly to her.

What. The. Hell.

Sam turns to Bucky incredulously as ‘Wanda’ and Pietro hold eachother like they were the other’s life line.

“Dude,” Sam breathes over to Bucky. “Where the hell is Pretty Boy getting all these babes from?”

Bucky shrugs. “No clue.”

“Wanda what are you doing here?” Pietro breaks away from her, ignoring Buck’s and Sam’s whispers.

“Oh Pietro! I thought you were dead!” she sniffles and I’ve had just about enough of this shit show.

“Enough.” I call out, gently setting Y/n down. I try to ignore her pretty gaze burning holes into the side of my head and focus on the issue at hand, turning my harsh gaze to Pietro.

He gulps audibly because he knows I’m no longer playing around.

“Pietro, you’re going to explain now.”

Read Chapter Four Here!!

***

Pretty short chapter but I hope you liked! If anything I can rewrite it-

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#Steve Rogers #steve #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x reader #captain america #captain america x reader #biker!AU #biker!steve rogers x reader #biker!steve rogers #biker!steve rogers x reader au

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bubblyani · 4 years ago

Text

The Letter

(Melvin Purvis x Reader)

A Melvin Purvis One Shot

Fandom: Public Enemies (2009) Michael Mann

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 6.6k+

Summary: The day when the FBI plans to catch John Dillinger, you finally write a letter full of undisclosed affections to Melvin Purvis, the love of your life.  

Author’s Note: Please note, this is all based on the fictionalized version of the character played by Christian Bale. It was a challenging concept but very happy with the outcome. Maybe I’m just “Bumping Gums*” but, hope y’all enjoy!!

“What are you thinking about?”

That familiar, male voice inquired. Cool yet affectionate; lingering in the darkness long enough for a female voice to hum before responding:

“Me? just things…” she began, her voice comprised of a much greater familiarity above all others, “Things I wanna say to you. I…” a chuckle arose, “It’s silly but…” she inhaled deep, “I just want to, write them down…for you”

“What?…like in a letter?”

“Uh huh!”

“Why? I’m right here” Her giggles seasoned his genuine curiousity,“It’s not the same. I…” she inevitably paused, “I’m just shy” as softness smeared over her tone. “Oh…” he decided to follow suite, “…somehow I don’t believe that” with his words exiting in the form of purrs, the two pairs of lips finally met. The kiss, it was chaste. Yet the sound remained crisp. And the shared chuckles that soon followed, were crispier. Audibly vivid at its finest.

Sheer pity, for it merely was a memory. Such a pity, for it vanished the very second your eyes dared to open.

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

(1934)

A heavy sigh left your lips in disappointment. Arms folded, your right index finger wandered over your silk robe, in detail. It had no other option, especially when your lips could not indulge his own, when your eyes could not indulge the only loving gaze that truly mattered. Thus, there you were, running your fingers over the silk of harsh reality. Nothing to imagine, nothing to relive.

All the while you stood, staring at the door ahead. The door from where he just left.

It was a lazy afternoon, and anxiousness had found its way deep into your bloodstream. Woken nerves, uneasy stomach, the pounding heart with great speed and clarity. Harsh reality had turned to the worse, grabbing you by the shoulders, only to force you to stare deep at it.

Face the facts, it uttered. But which part of you wanted to do so?

Though being the sole occupant in the room, your pounding heartbeat did not fail to drown your very own hearing. This feeling, you despised it, to the core. If only it would stop.

Until it finally did. But only when you spun back around in a split second. For you decided to take action on it instead.

Planting yourself firm on the wooden desk, hands were occupied in the hurried dance as drawers were pulled, and stashes of paper were grabbed and dropped out before you. But once the hands found their way to a beautiful pen inside, all actions reduced pace. Holding it with care, your eyes grew warm by the mere sight. For the pen, it was a symbol of things a many, and one in particular. The one which cost you a heavy sigh, before opening the cap and let the pen make take its course on the paper. And just like that, you finally wrote down two words. Two out of the many your heart ached to speak into existence:

Dear Mel…

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The sigh that followed soon after, was relieving. It was liberating. In truth, even a smile seemed possible. Hence, your intentions were clear.

“Dear Mel…” leaning forward, you read it out with warmth. For you were prepared to permit the ink to reunite with the paper once again, and linger on a little longer:

Looks like I finally found a reason to sit down and write this letter to you. Honestly, I feel like laughing, cause I never thought I’d end up doing this.  

Chuckling to oneself, you proceeded to write:

But I know if I don’t do this now, I would regret it. Cause now I finally know you deserve to read every last bit of my thoughts and feelings. All that I have hidden for too long. Before it’s too late.

Seeing you walk out that door wasn’t anything new. But when you did it this afternoon, it felt different. My heart, it felt something. It was heavy! That’s the word. Was I worried? afraid? I don’t know. All I know was that, it was too much. Enough for me to remember your effect on me.

Those words may have been generalized, yet you were astounded by the comfort you sensed when writing them. Inhaling deep, you kept on:

You were not a man I expected to ever meet in my life, Melvin Purvis. Never for one second. Out of all the folks here in Chicago, why would we ever meet? Whatever reason it was, I am very thankful. I am very thankful I opened my door to the hallway that night.

And I am thankful for Mr. Lloyd, and for that man in the navy blue coat.

Your words, they brimmed with sincerity. Looking up from the paper, you couldn’t help but stare into the wall. It was simply inevitable. Especially when every bit of detail began to flow into your consciousness, only to unfold the memory of that fateful night in your mind.

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

Chick Webb’s “Blues in my Heart*” playing in the radio, certainly did not fail to mirror your heart to perfection. For the melancholia was mutual. And the dim lights illuminating the apartment in the late evening, seemed to have sealed the emotion shut.

Memorable was your deep sigh, along with warm cup of tea that rested on your hands:

“I figured he, of all people would vouch for me, but instead he just…hung up” You remembered uttering, tone enriched with sadness whilst imitating a telephone being disconnected.

“Well…” a gruff voice began, “…if I were your Old man, I would never pull that nonsense”

You looked up, to set your eyes over at your neighbor Wilmer Lloyd, sitting across from you in his pajamas. A spritely gentleman in his late seventies, Lloyd was the friend, who in time became the father figure you wished you had.

Amused by his temper filled response, You chuckled with disbelief:

“Mr. Lloyd, your daughter had to move to another city, cause you didn’t like the fella she wanted to marry” you replied, “No need for the unnecessary kindness” adding with a smile, you proceeded to take a sip of the hot beverage.

“What kindness? she is no good kid like you. She married a goon*! ” Lloyd responded in defense, leaning forward with conviction, “While your Pops is just mad cause you’re trying to be a Secretary”

“I bet you a Lincoln* that my folks rather have me marry a goon, than have me find my own way of living” you said, gulping down the rest of the tea.

“Don’t jinx it, kid” the old man grunted, his index finger pointed right at you, “I don’t wanna hate you too”

You laughed out loud. Truthfully, you were relieved to have finally did. The room felt too depressing for too long.

“Alright, kid. I’m beat” the old man sighed, pushing himself up to stand with a grunt. “Goodnight, Mr.Lloyd” You stood alongside him. The two parted ways, with you making your way over to the kitchen, and your neighbor making his way out. As if it was so habitual. For a daily chat with old Wilmer Lloyd, was indeed habitual.

Your first proper encounter with Lloyd was a special one. It was only a few months ago that you moved into Chicago. Stressful work shifts and lack of friends led to an eventual emotional breakdown one fine evening. A seemingly noticeable one, which caused the usually moody Lloyd to peep through his door, only to find you bawling your eyes out in the hallway. The sight of you kneeling before your apartment door in tears, was more than enough for his cold heart to melt, and to voice his concern. All while he helped you gather the groceries that had fallen out of your brown paper bag.

“We all gotta start somewhere, kid”

That phrase of comfort, was the invisible handkerchief that wiped your tears that day. And as you rinsed the tea cup, that phrase managed to return to your consciousness, being an invisible hand to pat you on the shoulder. Closing the tap, you sighed with relief. For you were once again thankful for the good in humanity.

Until the sound of a gunshot attacked your ears.

Clinging on to the sink with a jump, you felt your heart beat out loud, and there was no stopping. Before any was comprehended, a loud groan soon followed, originating from the Hallway. Your eyes widened. Could it be?

“Mr.Lloyd…” you breathed, as your legs finally made you dash towards the door to open. You gasped out loud, the moment you found Wilmer Lloyd sprawled on the floor, shot.

“Oh my god!…” you whispered, kneeling beside him.

But Lloyd lost your attention for a slight second, for you caught the sight of a man disappearing into the right-side stairwell. The sight was quick and blurry, yet it was evident he was armed. And one particular color was prominent as he left.

The groan repeated, forcing you to focus on Lloyd once again. Which was most important.

“A-are you alright?” A meek inquiry was all that you could do.

“WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE, KID?” The old man answered in pain, shifting. Slight relief washed over you, when you noticed he was only shot in the arm. Perhaps it was your heartbeat, or a new set of pounding footsteps nearby. Either way, the sounds grew louder from the left.

“Freeze! Chicago Police-” A voice, a male voice cried out, only to pause, causing you to look over, only to freeze.

Lowering his pistol, a well dressed man stood, surrounded by two others. All in suits and fedoras, and all seemingly alarmed by the sight of you and Lloyd.

“Is he alright, Ma’am?” The first man inquired. “I’m fine. Jesus!” Lloyd responded with annoyance. The man nodded with acknowledgement. Although there was slight embarrassment in the his face, you were simply too distracted by the cool nature of his voice.

“I know this is the wrong time but…” the man uttered, “…but did you see-”

“The shooter? ” you began all the sudden, “…in a navy blue coat? He went that way” pointing towards the right, you added. The muscles of the man’s tensed face relieved.

“Thank you, ma’am…” he breathed, before making a dash, “Boys! Take this man to the hospital” his commanding voice trailed behind him, indicating Lloyd. All before he himself disappeared into the stairwell.

And to your luck, the two able bodied youngsters knelt over the old man to do the needful. “The bullet is still inside. He’s gonna be alright, ma’am”

“Thank god! You heard him, Mr.Lloyd” you said, “Let’s go”

“Eh…” Lloyd muttered, holding the wound whilst being carried, “Not that I’m overjoyed about getting shot, but I gotta say I’m more than happy to know I’m not gonna die tonight” he grunted. To which you finally smiled behind him:

“Not in a million years…”

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

The sound of loud sirens shattered your trail of reminiscence. Sirens, you gasped. For they suddenly brought you worry. Was he in trouble already?

Parting from the pen and paper, your hands pushed you to rise and scurry towards the window. Except you merely saw a youngster getting his ear pulled by an angry policeman, for fiddling with the police car siren.

You clutched your chest, sighing with relief to see. The fact that daylight yet reigned supreme was also sufficient evidence for you to rationalize your new-found relief. He was safe, wherever he was.

Returning to the desk, you picked up the pen. Glancing at it with affection, you proceeded to write once more:

Because of the accident that night, I found myself meeting a man who fascinated me instantly. So , you could understand how frustrated I was when I couldn’t even thank him.

You smirked upon those words. Not soon before you continued writing:

But then again, who knew I would have the actual luck to see him again two days later? At a place where I least expected. All thanks to a Bad Customer.

Akin to a Moving Picture, or a Talkie*, that very moment began to project into your memory. All the while your index finger managed to twirl a piece of your hair with nostalgia.

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

“Apparently it was just some low level goon. Well, at least that’s what the Police told Mr.Lloyd…when they took his statement. But I don’t buy it, no. Why would those Federal Agents be there if it was?…”

You said, tying up the white, cotton waist apron over your baby blue waitress uniform.

“Goodness! I really wouldn’t know what I would have done if I were you, Sweetpea” Cathy, your best friend replied while she followed suite.

Once the hair was fixed, the two of you headed to the kitchen, “Everyone! Look who’s changed her shift!” Cathy cried out, urging the other employees at the Diner to focus on you. There were cheers, bringing out the brightest smile in you. It was official.

Living with the Great Depression which has affected all, you were grateful even for the employment at a Diner in the city. A temp job, as you called it yourself. Until that very morning, you were assigned to the later shift and spent several weeks parted from Cathy. Fortunately, upon your boss’ satisfaction, you were finally offered the shift you always wished for: The morning shift.

You graciously used the first hour that morning for familiarization, which mainly included the customers. And that was indeed the part that fascinated you. For the customers were diverse with each shift. And the mornings were mostly welcomed by blue collar workers.

“Cathy! They’re waiting for the pancakes”  “Oh! Shoot! I’m on it”

Listening to Cathy’s response in the background, you shook your head with amusement. You watched your friend waltz over to the eagerly waiting booth. But only before you made your way to the corner of the Diner counter.

“Can I help you, Sir?” A well rehearsed phrase exited your painted lips with politeness. A young man was the current owner to the corner seat. “A refill” the blonde haired drawled, indicating his empty, white mug on the counter. “Right away” “Thanks, Sweetheart” he replied, whilst the sound of the black coffee being poured, filled your ears. A group of eyes watched you from another corner. It was certain. And sure enough, your stealthy eyes caught the sight of some men sat across the diner. All sniggering. “Ya know…” the Blondie continued as he leaned forward, “my boys over there…” he indicated the suspicious group, “…they don’t believe me but, I think you’re one fine girl, sweeter than sugar” he said, flashing a flirtatious smile. “Oh, really?” You inquired with a polite chuckle. “Cross my heart, I hope to die” He was handsome, yes. But he was the handsome you never wanted. The type of handsome that could also break your heart. Besides, his attempt of seduction was misdirected, “So…um…” leaning closer, he began to whisper, “Care to help me prove the boys wrong? Like with a date? Or even a kiss? ” He inquired, his suggestive eyebrows being quite evident.

Oh, that fool, you thought. If you were at liberty to throw your head back in laughter, you would without any hesitation. Yet, it would not be appropriate.

“Ah! I’m sorry Sir, but I’m working” you replied.

“Aww come on!” He groaned, to which you shook your head and took a step back.

“Sorry Sir-Ah!” Except he grabbed you tight by the wrist. And displeasure was the mask he wore.

“Hey now, is that the way you treat your regulars here?” He inquired, increasing volume. Confused and very violated, your heart rate began to speed up. You sensed a threat.

“Let go, Sir!” You muttered in desperate politeness. Yet he did not.

“Why?” He sniggered, amidst your struggle to break free, “Whatcha gonna do, sugar?”

“I believe the lady asked you to let go”

That voice. A voice you could identify. A voice that forced you and Blondie to turn heads. Your eyes widened. Dressed smart and completed with his Fedora, the FBI agent from two nights ago stood before you both. Authoritative yet graceful, he sighed: “Pardon me for intruding, but I know a Regular won’t harass a waitress this way” he said in a casual tone, to which Blondie stood up:  “Yeah?” He snarled, offended, “How would YOU know about being Regulars, smart ass?” “Cause I am one” The Agent answered, before missing Blondie’s surprise punch, only to twist his arm within seconds.

Cries of pain erupted from the young man’s lips, until he was pulled close by the agent. You watched him whisper some words to Blondie’s ear, all before he finally released him. Confidence was nowhere nearby when the blonde man stashed some cash onto the counter, and stumbled towards his group of boys with fear.

You suddenly heard Cathy’s sigh of relief nearby:  “Oh, Thank god you’re here, Mr.Purvis” She said to the Agent, “You just saved my friend” she motioned towards you.

Finally you had the liberty to observe him. Tall and lean with sharp facial features, he possessed the handsome that comforted you. The handsome that formed potential in you. The handsome that attracted you. Sitting on the now empty seat, he flashed you a cool smile: “Melvin Purvis” he said, “I believe we haven’t had the pleasure…” It seemed he did remember you. You smiled back. “No, we haven’t…” you replied with softness, as you held up the pot, “Coffee?”

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

And who knew the man that fascinated me, would be you?

I am not ashamed to say, I was over the moon to see you again, Mel. Seeing you for only a few seconds in the hallway, clearly wasn’t enough for me. I was greedy. So greedy I was afraid to admit. But the moment I realized that corner seat in the counter was your usual spot, I knew my greed was not in vain. I was greedy, to get to know someone so badly. So, when you saved me from Blondie, you also saved yourself a spot in my heart. I just didn’t know it at that moment.

But I do remember when I finally did.

When one serves a regular customer long enough, certain facts become known. Be it their usual breakfast order, their favorite beverage, or the guilty pleasure one indulges once in a while. But apart from that, conversation comes into play as well.

I don’t think you knew how happy you made me every time we talked, even while you had your Eggs and Toast. Whatever it was, I enjoyed them all. All topics, from about the mouthy janitor, to the famous FBI cases, which were solved or ongoing. But I was also happy when you also had the time for me, to know about my crazy stories about customers in the late shift, or even just about myself. Which surprised me the most.

You finally became aware of the smile you wore throughout writing. Though you managed to relax your facial muscles, the smile remained at default. Thus, you kept on with your words:

Mel, you made me look forward to work everyday. And that was one huge favor. Waitressing was never this girl’s dream. Another job was. And you know what.

“I know…” you remember saying, as you wiped the Diner counter, “Secretary, A Nice Office…Even my own folks think it’s a silly dream for a girl like me-”

“That doesn’t mean its your truth” Mel, your calm, unfazed reply, those words shook me. You were right. You made me feel braver. You made me want to work harder. You made me feel like anything was possible. And that was when, I finally saw that special spot you had in my heart. Oh Mel, it felt like an earthquake in here. I was affected. I couldn’t even sleep that night. Cause that spot of yours made me realize, I had fallen for you. Fallen in love with you.

Placing your left palm over your chest, it did not take you long to relive that magical feeling whilst you wrote:

Suddenly, I couldn’t look you in the eye anymore. And I’m sorry for that. I may have looked busy with customers for some days, but that was me struggling. I was at a war with myself. A constant battle with my eyes to not care for you more, a battle with my lips to not tell you, how much I pined for you.

But as you remember, I finally did.

And the morning when you did, felt to be a landmark of your bravery.

Upon serving his breakfast, you retreated to the kitchen with haste. The fact you did not even acknowledge Melvin’s usual “Thank you” proved strangeness. Generally, when employees were seen standing at the back entrance of the Diner, one would expect them to be occupied with a personal matter, or even have a smoke break. Except, you simply longed for a break from him.

Seeing Purvis was torture. And that morning felt more torturous than ever. Your desire for him multiplied with every single visit.

Rubbing your forearms to fight off the spring chill, You took a deep breath. What was that you feared? Confessing your feelings? Or the mere possibility of being refused?

“What are you doing? Out here in the cold?” You gasped, looking up to find Melvin standing before you.

“I-” you paused, as Melvin took off his long coat, and slung it over your shoulder with no hesitation. A warmth protected you all the sudden. Was it the coat? Or was it him?

“Are you unwell?” He inquired. You shook your head, not taking too long to finally settle your eyes on his. And there it was: the speeding pulse, the torture, the multiplication of desire. Eyes growing wider with concern upon your speechless look, Melvin shot glances at both directions with stealth: “Is anyone bothering y-”

Only to be intruded by your lips pressed against his.

Oh, Mel! What did you do to me?

With a deep shudder, you kept writing: Why did your lips taste like the sweetest pie in all the world? I’m sorry if my ink turns messy here. It’s just that thinking about it, I just hope my heart won’t burst and bleed. Tasting that sweetness, I was ready to risk it all. Ready to accept the worst fear to come true.

You had a fair point. Especially when his lips remained unmoved throughout your kiss. Which forced you to move back quick, and blush with embarrassment: “I-I’m sorry…” you blurted, struggling with one’s movements as you handed over his coat back and turned to leave.  “No! please…” Melvin breathed, stopping you with his hand on your shoulder, “I’m sorry…” he stressed, “I suppose I was just caught by surprise” with a chuckle soon after. “Believe me, it wasn’t planned” you chuckled alongside him, relaxing a little. “Although I was hoping…” he began, “If I could take you to dinner one night…” Your eyes widened, but your heart bloomed.

But life was kind enough to gift me a date instead. A date with the best man I know.

“Yes! You can…” you answered immediately, “And please…no need to call me Ma’am anymore, Mr. Purvis” you smiled. To which he smiled back with a hint of mischief, which seemed surprising for the 30 year old Agent:

“Then, there’s no need to call me Mr. Purvis anymore either”

A date that I had always dreamt about. Not with a boy, but with a real gentleman. It had come true. Were you reading my thoughts this entire time?

Bashful giggles erupted from your lips upon writing. It was a date to remember :The fancy restaurant, the fine dining, the stimulating conversation basked in soft jazz and candlelight. Watching and taking in every fine line that adorned his beautiful, statuesque face brought you pride.

Sitting with you, getting lost in our own world, it was no doubt that I was the luckiest woman in the entire restaurant that night.

“I had a wonderful time, Mel. Thank you” Your words were enveloped with warmth and sincerity.

It was late, and Melvin had brought you back home like the gentleman he was. Opening the car door for you, he surprised you with just a smile, no other reply. Which forced you to raise your eyebrows, evidently confused. Could it be that he did not share the exact sentiments as you? Were you not the woman he hoped for by the end of the night? Insecurity began to bubble up within.

“What?” You inquired with a nervous chuckle, “All night you were yapping away, but now suddenly cat got your tongu-”

He gently pushed you against the car. Just so his gracious hands could cup your face, and just so he could plant his lips on yours.

And I was also the luckiest woman in the neighborhood, when you finally kissed me right back.

Sweetness infused with softness, you needed not permission to be fueled with greed at last. For greed finally permitted you to wrap one’s arms around his neck, only to pull him closer. Those lips of his, they had tempted you from the very first moment. And when they finally voluntarily expressed their affection, you were more than ecstatic.

Mel, your kisses were magic. They made me wish if I had all the power in the world to slow down time.

And I felt the very same, when we finally made love that night.

That night, that mere memory. You would be lying if it did not manage to send chills down your spine.

Invitation for a nightcap was your only shameless excuse. For not a single cell of your being, wanted him to leave your sight. Not when he had lit up a flame of desire in you, a few minutes prior. You silently cursed all the passerby’s who forced you both to pull away from the kisses. The kisses that he started by the car. But what could you do? You were surrendered to the laws of love.

Thus, the mere act of turning on the Crosley* Radio, became an involuntary act of seduction. Rudy Vallee’s “If I had a Girl like You*” filtering out from the speakers, gave life to the entire apartment. And it did ever the same to you, tempting you to sway your body from side to side. But your body felt so much vigor, when Melvin gave up on patience, only to hold you by the waist, spin you around just so his hungry lips could taste yours once again.

Melvin kissed you, and you kissed him. Slow, articulate, these lips were making up for every day they did not touch one another. All those days full of remorse.

Thus, began a dance between the two lovers. Heated, passionate. A dance consisting of choreography that had existed within all of mankind. Did not matter if it was carrying you bridal style to the bed, or placing you on to the bed without a sound much louder than a mattress squeak, either way, Melvin’s presence exuded safety.

Pleasure and excitement were in a fiery alliance when you savored shedding every piece of clothing off his torso. Never once did you think seeing many layers would bring you so much arousal. Especially when his eyes had nowhere else to look but at you during. His eyes, they burned with desire. And you would be unfaithful to your honesty if you denied the loins that burned within you as a result. For it was evident how much you longed for him. How the hunger led you to provide him the attention he truly deserved with your touch and kisses.

Dressed, he was smart, authoritative. Undressed, he was god-like. And to hear his soft moans amidst your attention was a gift. A gift that aroused you further. Yet before your eager hands could fondle his hardened shaft, he flipped you with impatience to focus on you instead. His kisses were other-worldly, making sweet contact on your soft, naked skin, creating waves of untold pleasure whenever he peeled off each piece of lingerie. Naked you may have been finally, yet you were more than ecstatic with the new outfit you wore: him. The infusion of soft music, sounds of lovers moans and kisses while the bedsheets rustled, were indeed sweeter than nectar. Tantalizing enough for him to finally enter you. Arousing enough for you to accept him. Resulting in unity, love making, deeming soft as the moonlight that shone into the bedroom. Soft, yet impactful that every second remained carved in your mind fresh, like it was yesterday.

Oh Mel, how did your touch made me weak, but gave me power at the same time? How did you make every second of it worthwhile?

You wrote with a sigh, blushes occupying your cheeks. Not before you cleaned up your ink stained fingers, caused by your thoughts of pure distraction.

Why did you get me addicted to your loving? But most importantly, why were you the perfection I dreamt of all along?

Breathless, you would be lying if it did not take you a while to regain your senses. Re-reading the previous sentence written, you proceeded to give the letter further life:  

After that night, I wanted shout out loud from the rooftops full of happiness, I wanted to tell the entire city, no! The entire world of my blessing: My blessing to have a wonderful man like you, Mel.

The simple truth: that was all that it was. And not long since you and Melvin had gotten together, life was suddenly drizzled with an extra dose of joy. An extra dose of encouragement and hope. Work went better for the both of you. Even Mr. Lloyd managed to re-meet him, but this time with more familiarity and respect. Given his interaction with the Agent, it was evident the the older man had offered his blessing and approval, which meant more to you than anything.

Since then my life was bliss, Mel. With you by my side, I knew I could take on anything.

Except, you drew in a sharp breath with a heavy heart.

All until J Edgar Hoover declared those fateful words to America: War on Crime. John Dillinger.

The heaviest sigh left your pursed lips. For a surge of concern was powerful enough to consume you.

Believe me, Mel. Seeing you get promoted to Special Agent in Charge of the Chicago Field Office, it brought me nothing but joy. Seeing you in the papers, I was the most proud anywhere I went. But with that pride, and with that joy, I was also afraid. How could I not be, when you were assigned to catch Dillinger, Public Enemy No. 1?

How could I not think of the risk you had on your life? So afraid for you that it didn’t strike with me that we didn’t see each other for so long after.

Though you were out of sighs, your heart remained heavy with the thought. It was true, soon after his men’s lives were affected by Dillinger and his gang, Melvin did not set foot in your apartment nor in your neighborhood. And surprisingly, you did not feel betrayed. Not one bit.

When you phoned me that one time, I could tell in your voice. I could tell the weight you had on your shoulders. The burden, the responsibility, the guilt.

And to me, it didn’t matter I couldn’t see you everyday anymore. It didn’t matter that I had a hard time missing you or thinking about you. Be it at the diner, the streets, the park, the living room and the bedroom. It didn’t matter to me that I had to pretend my life had nothing to do with yours. All I wanted was for this nightmare to end: to stop the unnecessary deaths of innocent lives. All I wanted was for you to be safe. And I knew you could do it all. Without complicating things.

Thus, when someone knocked on your door a few hours ago today, your fear was justified. You remembered standing by the door, arms folded, only to feel your heart beat out of your chest. And when those loud, rapid knocks attacked the wooden door, you could not help but wonder: Could it possibly be one of Dillinger’s men? Another shooter perhaps? Were they aware of Melvin’s connection with you? Were you about to be leverage?

But to your surprise, you opened the door regardless. Clutching your chest, you could only gasp.

But I never thought you’d suddenly come crashing in this afternoon.

For there stood Melvin Purvis, Fedora at hand, heavy panting accompanied.

Never so soon.

“You were not at the Diner” he said in a hoarse tone, still panting. “I-I took a day off” you answered, with wide eyes,“Mel…” you gulped, taking a step forward “What’s wron-” To which he could only reply with rough kisses, slamming the door shut behind him.

And being in his arms again after possibly endless days and nights, you were certain you did not wish to be anywhere else.

It was as if fate urged me to stay home today, just so I wouldn’t miss your hungry kisses. Just so I wouldn’t miss your love. Something I craved for what felt like forever.

Longing translated into desperate kisses, where tongues wrestled in haste. And passionate lovemaking rushed in soon after. The type of passionate, that demanded every item of clothing make quick stops in different parts of the apartment, only to lead a trail to the bed. The type of passionate, that had his eager hands wander over your naked back, before palming your heaving breasts with impatience. All the while you straddled him, with your hips rolling against his. The type of passionate, that tempted you to gaze into his shining eyes. For they spoke to you, even in silence. How he treasured you, how he savored you, his eyes said it all. And with your responding kiss brimming with moans and emotion, you acknowledged his silent confession, you satisfied his hunger, and accepted his peak of pleasure. All until a new climax was reached together, before collapsing on to the bed with exhaustion.

“Mel…” you panted, sweat further infusing with his, “You still didn’t tell me what’s going on…”

It was only a few minutes later, did Melvin began to speak. Only then were you able to find out about the mission that would happen tonight. The mission to finally catch Dillinger. And as if the floodgates just opened, he kept talking. And all you could do was nod, as he continued to cradle you in his arms.

Little did I know, you came to me in possibly the most fateful day ever.

“You think it will work? The plan?” You inquired, soft. His responsive hum vibrated in his chest. “The source is solid…” he replied, “So…we’re betting on it”

Lifting your head up, you looked at him. Truthfully you could not help but feel sorry. There was a hint of exhaustion in his tone. How far did this man go to make this mission a reality? How many men were sacrificed in the process? Death of many men including Carter Baum, his own partner. Feeling useless, you knew you could only offer him a reassuring soft smile:

“Then it will…” you murmured, placing a chaste kiss on his forehead. His skin seemed magnetic to your lips, causing you to proceed with more kisses. Over his eyebrows, bridge of his nose, and finally his lips, the best place of all. With another greedy peck, you pulled yourself away and sat up. With the afternoon breeze playfully caressing your exposed frame, you were tempted to reach out and grab your silk robe tossed on the edge of the bed, which you did.

“I hope you know I couldn’t risk seeing you, with Dillinger’s men on the loose”

Melvin began. Looking back, you nodded with nonchalance. “Of course…” Wrapping the robe around, your answer was as casual as taking a diner order, “I understand” you added meek, looking down at the knot.

“But…that doesn’t mean I was never here”

You froze. With wide eyes, you looked up at his sitting frame. “What do you mean?” You blurted. Only to gasp, “You-w-were you-?”

Melvin nodded, “Every night around bedtime, from the street…looking at THAT window…” he said, indicating the very window in your bedroom. If only you could just tell him how your heart just began to melt after possibly weeks. If only you were capable of an embrace that told every fiber of his being how moved you were by him. Melvin sighed, running his fingers through his hair:

“I just had to make sure you were safe…” he said, “But today, I…” he paused, “I couldn’t stay away”

“And neither should you…” you replied in an instant, cupping his face, “….you’re only human” you continued with a sigh, “It’s been too long, Mel” your voice grew softer, “ And I missed you” uttering weakly, you proceeded to press your forehead against his. And like that, you both stayed, indulging in the silence with the most innocent physical contact possible.

“This mission…” Melvin began, his warm breath falling on your face, “If I make it out alive-” “Mel, you WILL make it out aliv-” you breathed, before he placed his fingers over your lips.

“If I make it…I’m yours”

He whispered, forcing you to freeze once again. Overwhelming emotion seemed to have frozen you with disbelief, when his sharp features unveiled the softest smile, “As a man, I want to do what’s right for the people” he said, holding your chin, “ I want do what’s right for my heart. And I wanna do it all with you, by my side, always”

And in the blink of an eye, you left through that door, hours before our lives could possibly change forever.

No wonder you made love to me, as if it was your last.

Sniffing, you placed a loving kiss on the pen. For it was the pen Melvin once gifted you with. The pen he hoped you would use when you finally become a secretary. And it did not take long for you to wipe the tears that streamed down your cheeks in silence. What will happen tonight, at the Biograph Theater will end in either two ways. And all you could do was to pray for one in particular. Pray for the one you desperately needed. With another final sniff, you continued to write, until you found yourself finally finishing off the letter you never imagined yourself writing. You wrote your heart out, which left you no regrets:

Before I end this letter, I want to ask you a question.

Do you remember when I was helping you put your tie back on, minutes before you left?

When I did, I felt something. Something warm, something nice. And I won’t lie, I enjoyed it. Cause in the end, it gave me the feeling you always gave me from the moment I met you: Hope. But today, that hope was also protected by a layer of love. A strong layer. To be able to put your tie on possibly every day, would be an honor I’d wear like a badge for life.

Mel, you WILL make it out alive. You and your men, you WILL get it done. Because this letter will be waiting for you. Because I will be waiting for you.

Ready to have more hope, ready to do more good, ready to live our truth, by your side, always.

With love,

Yours forever…

——————————————————

Glossary of 1930′s Terms/Slang Bumping Gums* - 1930’s Slang for “Talk about nothing useful” Blues in my Heart* - Jazz song by Chick Webb and his Orchestra recorded in 1931 Goon*- 1930’s Slang for thug or bodyguard Lincoln*- 1930’s Slang for $5 bill Talkies*- 1930’s Slang for Movies Crosley*- A Radio Brand famous in the 1930’s If I had a girl like you*- Jazz song by Rudy Vallee, recorded in 1930

——————————————————

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crackinwise · 4 years ago

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My pet AU is Kiyotaka and Mondo somehow out in the post-Tragedy Japan, surviving and saving people. Like either they didn't agree to stay locked in Hope's Peak for safety, or they survived the game and left with the others but didn't join Future Foundation. Major points up front, details divided into sections under the cut:

Mondo's objective would be to find his gang, and Taka's goal, besides finding his dad, would be repairing society while punishing those responsible for its destruction. But their direct task is keeping each other safe & helping victims along the way.

Mondo even stresses calling Taka "Ishimaru" instead of "bro" or his given name in front of others, so they might KNOW who's saving them. Taka caught on quick & is very grateful.

Taka would have kind of a breakdown reconciling who he is with what he has to do in a lawless world where every public moral is ignored. He keeps a small ledger of places they loot from, to compensate in the future.

At the start, Taka can only sleep burrowed against Mondo's chest or back, blocking out their damaged surroundings & pretending everything is as it was.

He cries in Mondo's arms one night after he couldn't avoid killing someone to save Mondo's life, and that's the tipping point. He thinks if he was better, stronger like his bro, he'd have noticed sooner & found a better option. Mondo is being so brave; he's Taka's rock and Taka wants to be as steady for him too. Their souls are already connected so obviously he just has to borrow more of Mondo's spirit, right?

That's how Ishida is created.

(In reality, Mondo just compartmentalizes and shoves down unhelpful feelings. You thought he needed therapy BEFORE all this, oh man-)

Ishida:

Taka ends up slipping into the Ishida facade for fight and flight; any time adrenaline kicks in and he feels he needs that boost. Sadly, that's most of their waking time. He guards Mondo and anyone they're saving like a fierce watchdog, and won't hesitate to bite.

He'll only come out of the role when he personally verifies it's safe and if Mondo can confirm it. Survivors are confused by the dual-sided Ishimaru switching right in front of them, but they're so grateful (and so much weird crap has happened) that it never phases them long.

Too many times, Ishida will go all day without a break. This means when their hideout for the night is absolutely safe, that it's okay to let go, Taka just collapses in exhaustion. But Mondo is there to catch him.

Mondo feels conflicted over the Ishida role because Taka is just a beast in it--it's very flattering and a little hot--but it also makes him worry more than before about Taka's health. He comforts Taka with a lot of praise and reassurances, and Taka sleeps lightly but otherwise fine.

Relationship: (slight mature warning)

When they touch, Taka swears he can feel the link between them flare to fuel them. Twin fires ignited. Mondo doesn't know about all that, but when their eyes meet it definitely makes him feel invincible, so, he can believe.

If they weren't already new boyfriends when The Tragedy hit, all this closeness makes sure of that soon after. Being together is their happiness and, for a while, their only link to pre-Tragedy lives. Vows not unlike marriage were exchanged one night. Where one goes, the other will follow. Anywhere. Always.

When they kiss, safe and alone, Mondo will ask what Taka wants; what he can handle that night. Sometimes it's just the kisses before passing out, sometimes it's more intimate touches to please them both after another hellish day.

Sometimes Taka will ask to be made love to, for obvious couple reasons, but also because Mondo inside him makes their tether feel stronger, more complete. Like going over the invisible line in bold marker. Taka believes any marks they can create with their mouths, any traces of themselves they can leave on or in each other, the easier they can find their bond and tap into it. (He had started a nervous habit of pressing in on lovebites to keep Ishida going when tired.)

Mondo tells him he doesn't need to find a poetic excuse for fetishes and Taka lovingly answers with a stomach punch.

Crazy Diamonds:

Mondo's gang members, the ones not dead or overcome with Despair, are slowly found and joined back up.

Any smaller and sturdier motorcycles are kept when found. If Mondo was able to keep his own in this version, it's a bit heavier than would be good for any off-roading--and much too loud for any stealth--but he refuses to part with it.

Every gang member respected Taka/Ishida the second they saw him fight beside their leader. Before Mondo says a word about him. They readily take orders from him in either form. The change in appearance was a surprise, but they're already used to some members wildly changing demeanor in or away from the gang, so it's easily accepted.

With the gang as backup to keep watch during downtime--after Ishida sized each one up and watched them for loyalty--the pair can feel a lot more relaxed. They joke about having a date in a blown-out restaurant they find, and they can finally enjoy a deep sleep.

When the group finds safehouses with more than one room, Mondo & Taka are given their privacy. Taka tries to insist everyone deserves a chance at privacy and they should rotate, but changing a gang's long-established hierarchy is a losing battle. And Mondo's not on his side because when they're alone he can be as sappy or touchy as he likes.

Legends:

Taka and Mondo save a lot of people over their journey and kinda become a legend that gets spread around and gives people Hope.

This area still needs work from me. Probably some research into Japanese myths and supernatural symbolism. A placeholder right now is something corny like "Two Men with burning eyes and thunderous voices will answer your cries for help. But if you're evil, the two will appear to you as One Demon and drag you down to the land of the dead."

There's also probably a need for costume changes since their color scheme is the same black & white of the Despair Remnants and monokumas killing people. Legend or not, it'd be easy for traumatized survivors to not know they're good guys at first.

Darker Moments: (blood, violence and vague attempted sexual assault)

After he killed a man to save Mondo, Taka luckily (he wouldn't use that word) doesn't have to again. Hurt? Yes. Beat unconscious? Yes. Maim? Yes, but some of the vile dregs of humanity are caught doing things that deserve worse--

--That deserve Mondo. Once when they were still traveling alone, a group of Remnants jumped them, managing to separate the two, and one knocked Taka out with a bad blow to the head. Mondo dispatched the others attacking him and got to Taka right as the Remnant was about to do something unforgivable.

Mondo snapped. He still doesn't remember what he did, he just remembers coming to in all the blood and dazedly picking Taka up to take him to a place he knew was safe.

Taka never finds out. He woke up a day later with a bandaged head and Mondo crying and kissing his hands. Mondo just told him he beat some and scared away the others.

Minor Details:

They try to always fight back-to-back and, to observers, seem to read each other's mind for where to move.

Taka/Ishida would use a sword or hand-to-hand. The pickaxe might just be a random pickaxe they find, if he uses it at all. Kinda hard to carry both a sword and a railroad pickaxe on your back, and I can't imagine it balances very well. (The size in official pics would be a 5lb head w/2-3lb handle.)

Mondo seems like he would use anything lying in debris to fight. Poles, pipes, chains. Aaaand maybe the knives he mentions in School Mode.

For any costume changes, Mondo would keep his jacket at least. A beacon for the Diamonds. Maybe a purple tank top, and different pants better for knife holsters. Unless the holster should wrap around his waist or hip instead?

Any changes to Taka's outfit would keep his armband. It's a reminder of his Talent and his goal to make Japan even better than before. Also wanna keep his boots or change to more rugged ones.

End Goal:

Obviously they'd end up in Towa, after the events of Ultra Despair Girls. They're reunited with Takaaki and Takemichi. Maybe they help set things right there a bit, or Makoto would get word to them about his plans vs Future Foundation's. Look at me, do I look like someone that knows how to end things?

There is no way you read all that. (I love you if you did.) But feel free to use all or any bits of it in your own works. Almost positive I'll never get to compose all this into a coherent fic format. I might update in short scenario posts under a 'Tragedy-survivor au' tag if I think of anything.

If you have a question or want something expanded upon, ask away.

#ishimondo #kiyotaka ishimaru #kiyondo ishida #mondo oowada #danganronpa #Tragedy-survivor au #i've only read like 2 fics that had this concept but it was ensemble so the boys weren't the focus which hurt me

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wildlyglittering · 4 years ago

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A Love for all Seasons Part 1 (Winter)

I said that I would write a piece for Nessian Month to be posted each Sunday so here is the first!

I’d hoped to have this up earlier but hey ho. I ended up scrapping 8,000 words of something that I’d previously done and re-wrote this in a day. It’s barely edited so I can only apologise for dubious quality and numerous spelling errors.

I asked for prompt requests and this one is based on ‘modern au, Nesta as a ballerina.’ You’ll probably see that it’s not entirely modern au because I just can’t write modern au - sorry!

I’ve decided to link all 4 prompts received together as a 4 part series. Not all other sections will be as long as this one. Probably. I mean, I’ve not written them yet so....

***

Velaris at Solmas was a magical time and Nesta wasn’t thinking metaphorically – Solmas was literally a magical time.

Solmas was a blend of both fae and human traditions and, as a time for celebration, this meant spirits were up and magical shields were down. Active magic rippled through the air as did the leakage from those who had magic but never used it.

No one truly remembered when the lines between fae and human’s merged and there was the possibility the fae had decided to adjust the truth in collective memory to make it seem like they had always been part of the city.

Perhaps they had. Perhaps they hadn’t. Not a human amongst them could tell and not a fae amongst them would.

As centuries passed, or decades - no one was quite sure after all, the fae evolved to blend in. They shed talons, claws and teeth, and moulted wings and shimmering skin.

That wasn’t to say a good deal of them didn’t have remnants of their previous lineage; there were still those who had wings and those who were always followed by a mist. Some slipped from human form like their flesh was a dress.

There wasn’t a fae who didn’t have some magic, however small. But then, so did Nesta and her sisters, Feyre and Elain.

At some point in their collective past, the fae decided they liked the humans and vice versa and so romantic liaisons were not an uncommon occurrence. Despite a few differences, both species were compatible and that was how magic managed to bleed into some human veins. As Feyre said, they were human but with ‘added spice’.

Sometimes all that magic, especially at this heightened time of year, was damned irritating.

That morning Nesta had been in a café, reading her book when a lady biting into a gingerbread man had to stop on account of her baked good starting to scream.

Then, when she’d left to make her way to the ballet, she’d been caught in a snow flurry where the snowflakes took the form of small fairies and danced around her. She’d slapped them away, ignoring their outraged cries.

The walk which should have been ten minutes from her favourite café down into the theatre district ended up taking forty after some enchanted horses pulling sleighs decided to protest and caused a blockage across three streets, causing numerous detours.

When she finally reached the theatre, the peace of her day shattered, Nesta stormed into her dressing room and slammed the door. “Fucking fae.”

Nesta didn’t hate the fae. Technically, you couldn’t. Anytime anyone had a negative thought there was a haze which descended over people’s minds to remind them how much they loved the fae and how pleased they were to live beside them.

The magic in her blood meant the haze was a pithy little thing which Nesta mentally told to shove its pleasantries up its non-existent asshole leading it to drift away, pretending it wasn’t offended.

No, she didn’t hate them but she found them so inconvenient.

Nesta had settled at her dressing table when her door opened following a knock. A head peeked round, long ruby-red hair streaming downwards. One of the fae Nesta did like.

“Nesta?”

“I’m here.”

“Viviane said she’s going to turn a portion of the Sidra into an ice rink later, fancy coming? I might also take an ice-dive. Good for the pores!”

Gwyn, the production assistant at the Velaris City Ballet Company was fae but was classified as a water nymph. Nesta had only discovered this when they took a trip to Adriata the beach city the previous year for a ‘hot girl summer’ and she realised Gwyn had a set of gills accompanying her lungs.

Nesta met Gwyn’s eyes in the mirror and raised an eyebrow.

“What? I can’t help myself; you know that. I take it the ice-rink is a no?”

Nesta shook her head in response as she began on her hair but smiled. Despite herself she really did like Gwyn and Viviane, and a lot of the production company too even though the company was riddled with nepotism and bias.

Few humans managed to win a place in the ballet. Arts and creative pursuits were hard to break into when you were auditioning against fae. The only reason Nesta was as successful as she had been was because of that drop of magical blood.

She reached for the headdress resting next to her make-up. The Solmas production was The Nutcracker which their performance director, Eris had choreographed and screamed over for weeks.

“Tchaikovsky was a close, personal friend of mine,” he’d bragged. “He was fae of course, well – half-fae, but then no one can be perfect.”

Nesta had rolled her eyes and ignored Eris’ glare, not at all intimidated since they both discovered she immune to glamours and spells.

Nesta hadn’t been able to score the prima ballerina role for the production but then she hadn’t for years. How can a human compete with fae who spun in the air and flew on invisible, gossamer wings?

She’d auditioned for the role of Sugar Plum Fairy and wasn’t offered the position on account of the actual fairies also auditioning. If Nesta had managed to win the role then she wouldn’t have lasted a week before a surprise accident befell her, regardless of the amount of protection charms she wore.

The role she had won suited her fine, the dance being one of her favourites – the Illyrian dance. The steps weren’t complex but the performance was all about attitude and frankly, Nesta had that in spades.

When she’d been offered the dance, Gwyn took her aside in the corridor, a frown on her face. “Are you sure you want to perform this Nesta?”

“I know what you’re going to say, the dance should have gone to an Illyrian and you’re right – it should have. I’ve been trying to petition Eris for years now about Illyrian ballerinas but he’s always up to his typical high-fae purist bullshit.”

Gwyn had given a nervous laugh and looked around them, making sure Eris wouldn’t somehow leap out of the wall at the comment. It was a fair suspicion; he’d done it to performers before if they had any critique of him to say.

“Just do the dance cultural justice.”

Nesta swore she would.

On the scale of species hierarchy, full humans remained at the bottom. They were aging mortals with no magic and poor immune systems. The fae laughed themselves silly at the concept of chicken pox and the common cold. However, it didn’t mean every fae species was revered.

High fae like Eris were basically royalty while lesser fae were their middle-class cousins. Nymphs were considered useful and the majority of other fae fell someplace in between.

Illyrians were almost a side step from the hierarchy.

As a species they were immortal, eternally youthful and ripe with magic as powerful as some of the high fae. Some of their bodies were like machines with what they did with them and they would have been able to perform ballet for days on end without breaking.

They also had those vast jet-black wings which were terrifying and enthralling at the same time. It was a shame Illyrian Air didn’t do well, but then there were far too many customer service issues.

The only reason they weren’t on par with the high-fae (in the eyes of the high-fae) was that they weren’t elegant enough. They moved with a violence underneath the surface of their flesh like their blood was fire.

They also had complex histories which no one understood because Illyrians refused to discuss anything about Illyria and their heritage with anyone who wasn’t an Illyrian.

She once asked Feyre about them to be told Illyrians had spent their entire lifetimes being looked down upon by other fae so when those same fae demanded Illyrian secrets, they refused to comply.

Feyre had said, “Cassian told me, ‘Why should we give them anything when we have to fight for everything,’” and Nesta conceded he had a point. Possibly the only point Cassian had ever had but a point nonetheless.

Why was she thinking all this now? Why was she thinking of her baby sister’s stupid friends? She knew very well why.

Gwyn had stepped into Nesta’s dressing room. “Isn’t tonight when your sister and her friends are coming to the show?”

Yes, that was why.

Gwyn leant against the wall, in Nesta’s line of sight in the mirror and Nesta shrugged keeping her voice nonchalant. “Yes, unfortunately.”

It wasn’t unfortunate Feyre was coming, Feyre who loved anything to do with art and ballet but Nesta wasn’t looking forward to the rest. Rhys, Feyre’s half high-fae, half Illyrian boyfriend had all the arrogant superiority of the high-fae and the volatility of the Illyrians with none of the manners.

Nesta was painfully aware Rhys didn’t like her.

The rest of the group were also non-human with Feyre seemingly abandoning humans completely, preferring the exclusive company of Rhys circle of fae friends. Elain was the opposite, living outside the walls of the city in her cottage, wanting nothing to do with fae at all.

Feyre had told Rhys a bunch of stories from their childhood and Rhys didn’t quite comprehend how human sisters worked, didn’t quite comprehend how complex their relationship had been.

The spit of magic in their blood had made things all the more difficult as humans were not the best containers for magic. In Nesta’s eyes what made it worse were all the tattoos Feyre had inked into her skin; amplifiers mostly.

Anger had been born from Nesta’s worry and her worry was from her love.

Feyre understood the root cause of Nesta’s peevishness even if she didn’t like it but Rhys saw disapproval and returned it in kind.

At the thought of some of the attendees Nesta’s heart started doing something change, fluttering away like it was a bird trapped in a cage. She remembered when Ianthe, one of the ensemble, had shown them the pet bird she’d brought.

“Isn’t it lovely?” she’d said, her eyes glittering as her fingernails grew sharp. “Such a pretty pet for me to love.”

Nesta remembered the poor thing desperately trying to fly out of its cage, smashing its wings and beak against the bars.

Ianthe ended up eating it. She’d sobbed she hadn’t meant to but she hadn’t grabbed her protein bar that morning when she’d left her apartment and she was starving.

They couldn’t help it; it was in their nature to consume. The fae were like locusts that way, consuming land, lives, birds. Hearts.

Gwyn’s smile at Nesta’s response stretched into one which took up most of her face and Nesta refrained from shuddering. Nymph embodied the gentle and the harsh of their element. Water nymphs had the ability to be as tranquil and soft as summer rain or as vicious and deadly as a shark in deep water.

“Uh-huh. Will Cassian be attending?”

“I don’t know, probably.”

“Are you nervous about doing the Illyrian dance in front of Illyrians?”

Yes. Terrified.

“No,” she said, “I’ve done my research.”

Eris’ choreography for the dance was lazy and aggressive, rooted in his high-fae misperceptions of Illyrian culture. Nesta convinced Eris to let her put together her own steps and when he let her, not giving a damn about the dance, Nesta sought out the sole Illyrian choreographer in Velaris - a woman named Emerie.

At least the dance would contain authentic steps, she’d just never performed it in front of any Illyrians who weren’t Emerie before.

Gwyn’s grin was still wide.

“Oh, go away would you,” Nesta said with a scowl. “I need to focus before the matinee.”

Gwyn laughed at Nesta’s scowl and Nesta knew Gwyn understood Nesta’s words were harsh but her meaning wasn’t.

“Fine, fine. I’ll see you later, my little witchy dancer.”

Nesta glared at her friends departing back. I’m not a witch, she wanted to say, just a human whose great grandma caught the eye of a high-fae and had at it.

The matinee performance went well. Performances at the Velaris City Ballet Company always went well. The city made it so, drawing in an audience like moths to lamplight.

For all its splendour, Velaris was ancient and small. What was once a human village at the base of the mountains with the Sidra River running wild aside it, grew in population and glamour once the fae came pushing through the veil.

Human technology and fae magic combined to turn the place into something unique which rippled out to other human towns and dwellings but Velaris remained the first and the original.

While other cities grew, Velaris kept its quaintness. Old buildings built from red stone were covered with trailing ivy which bloomed with different flowers depending on the inhabitants’ moods. Rooms would change their size and shape according to the number of people within and wallpapers would shift when required to become something new. A piece of furniture could be a chaise longue in the morning and a mahogany dresser by nightfall.

Outside was no different. The cobbled side streets were slightly off kilter and you could look back, having walked up a steep street only to realise the path you’d walked was now heading a different direction and upwards, not down.

The ballet house was one of the oldest buildings and contained concentrated magic the way a bottle contained liquid. It also meant, much like liquid, if the bottle was shaken then there would be spillage.

Truth told; they’d had some difficulties with previous performances.

The first performance of Sleeping Beauty had left the majority of the audience passed out in their red velvet chairs while thickets of thorns grew up from the stage floor, encompassing the dancers. Nesta had to hack through several vines to reach her dressing room to grab her apartment keys.

The Snow Queen last Solmas followed suit. Viviane had been their prima ballerina that year and was in her utmost element. That had been the worst winter Velaris had ever experienced with uncharacteristic heavy snowfalls and biting frosts. The less said about the temporary missing children and ominous women in sleighs, the better.

Aside from when Eris turned actual rats into human sized dancers and the whole city was put into a three-day long lockdown while fae exterminators went to work, The Nutcracker was going fairly well.

Magic whirled the audience through each act and they heard and tasted and smelt everything being shown to them. Music would drift into their ears as performers danced fluidly across the stage. Some of the audience sobbed, overcome by the magic which sank into their skin.

The experience took some time to get used to if you were human. The first time Nesta had performed ballet in Velaris she was dizzy with nausea and slick with sweat. Now she even managed to use some of her own dormant abilities to counter the effects, or even to add in some of her own.

Before the evening performance began, her phone beeped with a message from Feyre.

Can’t wait to see you dance! Catch up with you afterwards!

Nesta groaned. She’d agreed to go for a drink at the in-house bar with Feyre and the rest but now she wished she was going straight home.

The stage melted away from the dance before hers into Nesta’s scenery as she waited in the wings for her cue. She eyed up the boxes, knowing Rhys had sponsored one for Feyre but didn’t have a clue which one.

The Illyrian dance had a sparse stage, to demonstrate the Illyrian steppes but the painted backdrop was one of Ramiel, the revered Illyrian mountain. Despite the sparsity, the set pulsed with a dry heat; the scent of crackling wood fire and spice filling the air, the sensation of warm winds tickling her skin.

When the music started, she danced on, determined to prove to Illyrian eyes in the audience she would do it justice.

Nesta drew on the same magic which ran in Feyre and Elain’s bones, the same magic Feyre had permanently etched on the surface of her skin. When Nesta leapt, she cast imaginary wings on her back which carried her further forward and higher. When she pirouetted, she was spinning on ice. Her arms were graceful and her legs sharp.

Nesta formed herself into a blade of dance as she undulated her hips and curved her spine. She swore the heat under her skin caused the air to burn around her.

She finished to rapturous applause and resisted eyeing up the boxes again although she wanted to know if any particular hands were clapping.

In the wings Gwyn was waiting and handed her a towel and Nesta realised she was glistening with sweat, droplets highlighting her cleavage.

“Very nice,” Gwyn said, clapping. “A small fire broke out in one of the stalls.”

Before Nesta said anything, Eris walked by with a low whistle. “Great performance, Nesta. I now have a raging boner.”

The women shrieked in disgust and Nesta threw her towel at him. “Animal.”

Eris grinned, “You know it” and his eyes shone as he caught the towel. Nesta made a mental note to ask Elain for more rowan to put around her dressing room door.

Nesta watched the rest of the performances from the wings until curtain close. Usually she never dawdled, always wanting to remove her costume and dress into civilian clothes as quick as possible but tonight she took her time, idly drawing out each minute until she couldn’t avoid her fate forever.

Audience members with children, fae or human often left first, clearing the way for those who wanted to remain behind in the theatre bar. When the fae discovered alcohol a new set of problems arose. Regardless of what species you were, once you were drunk you did stupid things.

The bar was below ground level and took up a vast amount of space. Overstuffed seating was positioned around tables in compartments, each draped with their own set of thick, crimson red curtains with gold tassels. If the occupants wanted privacy, then they had it.

Nesta shimmied past groups; fae, human and mixed, who laughed and clinked their champagne flutes, none recognising her as a dancer they’d watched earlier.

Feyre was likely to have a private booth booked along with the theatre box as Rhys had so much gold he likely melted it down and bathed in it. The last time Nesta met up with Feyre, her little sister had been wearing a diamond encrusted corset top.

Ahead of her stood two figures, both leaning against the open fronted bar and deep in conversation. Cassian and Azriel. No one was able to miss them even if they tried to blend in. Illyrians were known for their size and their wings and not exactly known for their love of ballet.

Almost as though he sensed her arrival, Cassian stopped talking and turned, strands of his black hair falling from his messy bun. Her eyes met his and she felt how she always did whenever they glanced at each other – a little bit anxious, a little bit horny and a little bit excited.

Nesta was worried if she opened her mouth, a thousand butterflies would float upwards from her stomach.

The look on his face, one she couldn’t place, slipped into something familiar as she drew nearer. Cassian smirked at her and followed it up with a slow, obvious glance from head to toe.

“Hello, Nesta.” He drawled his words, husky and deep. His voice was a baritone which always had her itching to dance across his words. Illyrian magic wasn’t the strongest but those who wielded it were.

What Illyrians wielded their magic for was anyone’s guess but if she had to, Nesta would have guessed it was for making panties drop if the turning heads of the crowd and little sighs was any indication.

There had been occasions where she too was driven with the need to show him more skin of hers then he deserved, to beg him to lay her down and cover her body in honey before licking it off with rasps of his tongue.

Must have been magic.

“Cassian,” she said with barely a nod and turned to his companion. “Azriel.”

Azriel nodded back a polite hello while Cassian leant against the bar directly facing her, wearing a grin as sharkish as Gwyn’s. She was like a lamb on the ground being circled by a taloned beast.

“Interesting performance.”

Azriel coughed at Cassian’s words, spluttering on the beer he was drinking and Nesta frowned, heat flooding her cheeks. Was he mocking her?

If he was, she wouldn’t give his smugly handsome self the satisfaction of getting to her and instead she ignored his words asking who else was here and where her sister was.

“Feyre, Rhys, Az and me. Amren came to watch the ballet but didn’t stay for drinks.”

“And where’s my sister and Rhys now?”

Cassian jerked his head over to the direction of the compartments. “They’re having a private ‘conversation’ behind closed curtains.”

Nesta’s face twisted in disgust. Fucking fae. Always fucking.

“Why didn’t Amren stay?”

“She never sticks around after The Nutcracker. Says it’s derogatory and insulting and she only comes to refill her well of rage.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, what was it she said Az? That the performances were brimming with cultural appropriation?”

The heat on Nesta’s cheeks turned into furnace. It wasn’t as though Cassian explicitly referred to Nesta’s performance but his words had to crawled under her skin. Feyre’s fae friends weren’t fans of Nesta’s, not after Rhys had spilled to them everything Feyre had told him.

For a group so ancient, they acted like spoilt human teenagers. Nesta would take the high road and try and find dignity in silence.

The bartender brought out another beer for Azriel and a glass of dark liquor for Cassian. A glass of wine from the Rosehall vineyard was handed to her and she was surprised someone had the foresight to order for her before she arrived, and with her favourite drink.

“Did you not like it then?” Nesta asked after taking a sip, her voice light. Azriel coughed again and this time Cassian shot him a glare, his rough-hewn face growing solemn before sliding into his more casual expression.

“There were some authentic Illyrian steps involved which is impressive. Didn’t realise old Eris had it in him.”

“It wasn’t Eris,” Nesta said, “It was me. I found an Illyrian choreographer in the city and she taught me some steps.”

Cassian’s face stilled for a moment, motionless like stone before letting out a roaring laugh which reverberated around the bar. The lesser fae behind him jumped and splashed his drink on the counter, quivering in fright.

“Well, that explains it!”

Nesta’s flesh prickled, her skin chilling in the overly warm bar. Goodness knows what she’d been dancing. Some dance of self-mockery probably. Her throat was burning and she didn’t understand whether she was upset because she thought Emerie liked her or upset because Cassian had seen.

Nesta’s fingers clenched the stem of the wine glass and she took a gulp of her drink, downing almost half as her hand wavered and her eyes watered. Cassian immediately stopped grinning.

“It was a beautiful dance,” Azriel said from her right and she turned to him, his face serious. “Other performances of The Nutcracker have the Illyrian dance as the violent, hostile war dance. Yours was the best one I’ve seen. Cassian liked it very much.”

Nesta whispered her thanks, looking between the Illyrians standing at either side of her who were now glaring at each other. She was out-flanked next to their bulk and she wished her sister was done doing whatever the hell she was doing so Nesta could say her hellos and goodbyes and get out of there.

“There’s only one Illyrian choreographer in this city,” Cassian said, his voice softer as his fingers trailed around his glass rim. “No other Illyrian would ever bother with this place.”

Nesta looked around the theatre at its gilded gold décor and red curtains but somehow knew Cassian was referring to Velaris as a whole. Illyrians never came to the city to visit, let alone live.

She glanced at him and found his smile was gentler and his hazel eyes, which always bordered on lascivious, were kinder somehow. Perhaps he hadn’t meant to mock her, perhaps he realised his raucous laughter had hurt.

He had no reason to care if he’d hurt her feelings and she shouldn’t have cared either but there had been a sting to his words which sunk deeper than she’d liked. She wasn’t opposed if he wanted to soothe over his words.

But she wasn’t about to let him know that. Instead, she fixed a bored expression onto her face. “Oh,” she said, looking into her glass as she swirled her wine around, “and who would that be?”

Cassian, still leaning against the bar, mirrored her by looking into his own glass before taking a sip.

“A friend of mine from the old country moved here a couple of years ago because her attempt at bringing ballet into the township was less than successful. You know her human name as Emerie.”

Cassian was still leaning against the bar, now looking into his own deep amber coloured liquid before taking a sip.

Nesta’s head snapped up to find Cassian now looking intently at her. “Yes, that’s her.”

“Figured,” Cassian said with a chuckle and took another long sip.

His mood seemed less jovial than before, more pensive and Nesta glanced around to discover Azriel had gone from her side. She looked around the crowds but didn’t see sight of him. How she lost an Illyrian of his stature she didn’t know but when she whipped her head around to the booth Cassian gestured towards earlier, the curtains were still closed.

She didn’t even have it in her to be irritated. The whole night was a wash-out and because of the stupid enchanted horse incident earlier closing streets, she was now adding additional time to her walk home.

“Well, then,” she said. “It’s been a long day and I’m tired; I have another two performances tomorrow and I want to head out and avoid any festive idiots.”

Cassian stood upright, alert and facing her, his glass sloshing the liquid violently as he placed it back onto the bar a little too hard. His wings flexed. “You haven’t seen Feyre yet.”

“If Feyre wanted to catch up with me then she wouldn’t be playing hide the fae penis with her boyfriend right now.” Her tone was sharp and she glared at Cassian. “It doesn’t take much to say a quick hello to your sister.”

Did Nesta care if Cassian thought her rude? Not a fucking bit. Despite Elain living an hour outside the city and Feyre only living on the other side, a journey which took less than a minute travelling by Winnow Express, Feyre was the sister Nesta saw the least.

“If she comes out at any point,” Nesta continued, “tell her I’ll call her.”

It wasn’t a lie when she said she was tired. Two performances a day took it out of her let alone when magic clung in the air at Solmas and let alone the fact that Nesta had used a tiny amount of her own as some kind of performance enhancer.

Whatever energy reserves she had was depleted, the glass of wine making her feel like she’d drank the entire bottle.

Nesta didn’t bother saying goodbye to Cassian, just left her empty glass on the counter and spun around.

Being a ballerina was on her side as she wove through the crowd and up into the foyer which was blissfully empty. Sadly, the world outside the doors was not so much and Nesta took a breath before wrapping herself in her stole.

The statues guarding the entrance waved her a goodbye, one with a human Santa hat adorning its head and the other with a fae garland wrapped around its waist. Nesta rolled her eyes. Human and fae decorations were put on everything so management could say they’d met their Equal Opportunities criteria.

Nesta stepped onto the pavement and looked down the street of the theatre district.

She couldn’t deny Velaris at night was beautiful.

History books stated the first fae who settled in the city were night dwellers and while they were able to survive in the sun, it was under the starlit sky where they thrived. So, the stories went that they made the night spectacular.

The ink black sky was painted with whorls of galaxies and splashed with stars. At first glance everything appeared white but when Nesta looked closer it was clear they were silver and gold and the purest, palest blue.

Feyre had once told her fae eyes saw more colours than humans and the stars were a multitude of colours – the rainbow and beyond. One of Feyre’s tattoos was designed to allow her to see what the fae saw.

The theatre district was still buzzing with humans and fae alike. Because of the nature of the city, it was usual for the streets to be filled until the early hours of the morning and after any performance in the theatre district there was no time for relaxing.

There was always residual magic left over from the ballet. The ballet theatre was the largest of the theatre buildings and so the magic started strongest at the end Nesta now stood before dissipating the further away you walked.

Snowflakes and flowers alike drifted down from the empty, cloudless sky. The Waltz of the Snowflakes and the Waltz of the Flowers often combatted against each other for prominence in their audience’s minds and refused to give in to each even after the show was done.

Thankfully, the Land of the Sweets didn’t involve themselves in this battle. They had done one performance many weeks ago and when chocolate rained from the sky it was delightful. Boiling hot coffee? Not so much.

Nesta navigated her way though the cobbles and crowds as petals landed in her hair and snowflakes melted on her eyelashes. She heaved a sigh of relief when she made it to the end past the gathered individuals who spilled out of the smaller theatres and theatre bars.

She turned left to go into a side street and stopped, almost tripping over her own feet.

Leaning against the wall, silhouetted against the streetlamps and fae lights was the hulking shape of an Illyrian.

“What are you-? How did you-?”

Cassian laughed as he used his elbow to propel himself from the wall and stride towards her. “What am I doing here and how did I get here so fast?”

“Well... yeah.”

“Wings,” he said, jabbing his thumbs in the direction behind him. “They come in useful from time to time. I thought I would fly you home.”

Nesta eyed up the wings behind him, remembering all the news reports of Illyrian Air. “No thank you, I like the walk.”

“Ok, then I’ll walk with you. Make sure you get home safe.”

She frowned. Nesta had lived in this city all her life and despite the occasional fae related incident which was brought on by personal vendetta, unavoidable prophecy from birth or magic spell gone wrong, Velaris was a safe place.

It also helped that Nesta had that splash of fae blood herself and a glare which froze bones. Literally. There had been an incident with an ex-boyfriend but she’d filed an explanation with the police and it was never brought up again.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I don’t need babysitting.”

“I know you don’t but I’d still like to walk you. Please.” The last word was said so softly she almost didn’t hear it but she caught the imploration.

Cassian stepped further into the light of a streetlamp, a few pale pink petals falling from his shoulders, desperation in his eyes.

Nesta sighed. “Fine, but I’m on the other side of the Sidra. The quickest route is over Mermaid Bridge.”

Cassian paused for a moment, “Mermaid Bridge? There won’t be any actual mermaids on it right?”

“Not at this time of year, the water’s too cold and they travel south.”

“Thank god, one of my ex’s was a mermaid. They are terrifying.”

Nesta shook her head, not able to imagine a creature of his size being scared of anything. They started walking in companionable silence. The further away from the city centre they strode, the more the crowds thinned.

Some shops remained open, including the café Nesta sat in earlier and groups had gathered around tables to laugh over mugs of frothy hot chocolate which overflowed with cream. Cinnamon, gingerbread, and candy cane scented the air.

As they walked, humans and fae alike paled when they crossed paths with Cassian and many darted out of his way. One lesser fae flattened himself against the red brick wall while another gave a quiet yelp and ran down an alley.

Nesta glanced up at Cassian but either he was pretending he didn’t notice the running onlookers or he didn’t care.

“What do you do?” she asked. She knew nothing about any of Feyre’s friends in any detail. “For that matter what do any of you do?”

Cassian laughed. “Rhys has a lot of inherited wealth, Amren trades precious stones – we think from the old dragon mines, and no one has a clue what Azriel does. I’m a bounty hunter.”

Oh.

“Caught anyone I’d have heard of?”

“Heard of the Tooth Fairy?”

Nesta grimaced, quickly swooping her tongue over her teeth. “Yes.”

“He was one of mine. So was the Bone Carver, the Weaver and Lanthys.”

Nesta’s eyebrows shot up. “Lanthys? The gold miner? What did he do? Wait, I don’t want to know. He asked me out once.”

Cassian glanced over at her; his own eyebrows raised. “Yeah? Did you say yes?”

Nesta pulled a face. “Good grief, no. He kept sending me telepathic dick pics. It’s bad enough being sent dick pics across dating apps.”

They approached Mermaid Bridge, which was, as Nesta said, devoid of the creature it was named for. Lights twinkled on the other side of the city, the residential side where Nesta lived. There were shrieks of delight further up the river in the dark and Nesta wondered if Gwyn was ice-diving next to Viviane’s ice rink.

Cassian coughed. “You’re on dating apps?”

“Not many, I thought I’d give them a go. My sisters are busy, I only have a few friends and I need something other than work in my life.”

“Yeah, I understand. ‘All work and no play’ make Cassian a dull boy too. The play part of life is fun,” he looked at her from the side of his eye and winked.

Nesta felt the blush spread across her cheeks and she willed it down with whatever force she had left. She wasn’t a virgin so she wasn’t about to start blushing like one.

They climbed the steps to the bridge and walked across. Of all the bridges which connected the two halves of the city, this was Gwyn’s favourite. Nesta’s human eyes couldn’t pick out the colours at night but in the day the railings glittered gold and shimmered with turquoise gems.

“Do you date?” The words slipped out before she stopped them. “You mentioned a mermaid ex so....”

Cassian’s laugh was more a breath and he started to smooth down non-existent knots in his hair. “Yes. Well...no. I did but work is busy and I’m sort of interested in someone and I guess until I purge them from my system, I’m not interested in anyone else.”

“How long have you been interested in them?”

“A while.”

“Why don’t you ask them out rather than eradicate them from your options?”

Nesta wanted to slap herself in the face. Or pitch herself off the bridge into the black, ice-cold water. Even as she was speaking, she wanted to not be but it was as though her mouth and mind had fallen out and no longer wanted anything to do with each other.

Cassian shrugged, “I guess. They just never struck me as someone interested in dating fae.”

They came to the end of the bridge and Nesta looked upwards at the sky. On this side of the river without the city lights, the stars were clearer to her eyes, more defined. One shot across the sky.

“You should go for it,” Nesta said, “you might be surprised.”

“Maybe,” Cassian sighed. “She’s kind of intimidating though.”

“You’re over six foot tall with massive wings and can use magic. I’m sure you’re more intimidating.”

“Me? Nah, I’m sure she thinks I’m an oversized bat.”

Nesta cringed. Those had been her words once a couple of years ago when she was first introduced to Feyre’s new friendship group and the Illyrian’s within. She didn’t think they’d heard her say it but then again, fae hearing was something exceptional along with fae sight.

The streets they walked were now quieter, the hustle and bustle of the inner-city gone. The chill settled in easier on this side of the river and Nesta knew she’d wake to frost across her window panes in the morning.

They were silent until they reached her apartment building, halfway up one of the steepest lanes. It was a small four storey which wasn’t spacious or modern but it gave her brilliant view across the river and Velaris and most importantly, it was hers.

“This is me,” she said, stopping outside the steps leading to the red entrance door. “Thank you for walking me back.” It was on the tip of her tongue to invite Cassian in for coffee but she held back.

He smiled, his eyes warm and shining. “Honestly it was my pleasure.” He leant forward, the sheer bulk of him covering Nesta and for a moment she thought he would kiss her but instead he took her slim fingered hand in his larger one and brought it up to his mouth, kissing the back of her hand.

“Goodnight,” he said, “I hope you have a good Solmas Day when it comes.”

Cassian was no ballet dancer but he sure moved like one, letting go of her hand and swivelling to face the direction they’d walked in from, marching down the slope of her street while Nesta stared at his retreating back.

He was clad in black and would have easily blended into his surroundings if not for the red jewels he wore at his wrists.

Nesta gaped down at the back of her hand, her mouth open. She still felt his lips, warm and soft, on her skin.

“Wait!”

Cassian turned back to face her, tilting his head.

“I’m sorry if my performance in the ballet was offensive. I know Azriel said it was beautiful and that you liked it but if that was a lie to save my feelings, it’s ok. I went to Emerie because I wanted to make it authentic. I should have left it alone.”

Cassian smiled but it wasn’t mocking. He took a few steps back up the street towards her. “You know I said Emerie was a friend from the old country?”

Nesta nodded.

“She’s a really good friend. I like her a lot. She’s no nonsense with a great heart. I was trying to set her up with Rhys’ cousin Mor and in the process we got talking about dating and relationships and she asked if there was anyone, I was interested in. As it happens, I discovered this evening that she knows the person I was talking about. I’m sure she saw this as her opportunity to do some matchmaking of her own.”

“Oh,” Nesta said, her throat dry.

“Yeah. I also happened to tell her in one conversation I would be watching The Nutcracker this year on account of it being Solmas. So, there you go.”

The butterflies were flittering in Nesta’s stomach again and Cassian’s words were taking shape in her mind and building a story. “The steps Emerie taught me for the Illyrian dance – was that an invitation?”

Cassian’s smile stretched wide and he tilted his head back and laughed, the dark column of his throat shining in the starlight. “Oh yes, a very specific invitation. Emerie must have had the day of her life when she pieced everything together.”

The flittering in her stomach was now pooling in her chest. This type of conversation should have her fleeing up the steps and racing through the foyer until she threw herself into her cold bed to hide under the covers.

Nesta wanted to know what she’d inadvertently done without meaning to. Not that she minded whatever it was she’d done.

“What did I dance then, Cassian?” Her voice was lower than usual and rich like the overflowing cream in the café.

Cassian’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his hazel eyes were almost black. “The dance you performed half naked on a heated stage was most definitely an invitation, Nesta.” He smiled at her again, soft like before but there was something behind it. Suddenly he was a wolf and she the lamb again. He was all claws and teeth and animal.

A shiver of anticipation ran through her. Her pulse beating in her throat, drawing Cassian’s eye.

“Oh, Nesta,” Cassian said, his voice almost a growl. “You performed an Illyrian dance of seduction.”

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