#i could swear her parents into an early grave with the way they speak to her | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years ago

Text

Learning to Swim

Request: (whenever you have time of course.) What about a post-war draco malfoy x reader where after astoria dies draco and scorpius are left alone for a couple years then he sees y/n a friend from Hogwarts and they fall in love again (you can decide how). this is my vision and I'm a sucker for post-war fics with draco. 🥺💕 - @obx-beach

A/N: I LOVED THIS REQUEST SO MUCH. Thank you so much for requesting it and for trusting me with your request! It got away from me but I really wanted to explore this idea in depth because for me, anyway, grief isn't something that disappears over time, but rather, becomes bearable. Please read the warnings before reading, I cover some heavy topics. As always, I hope you like it!

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Warnings: heavy talk of grief and loss, some swearing, mentions of food, alcohol consumption, mentions of ghosts, a very cheesy ending.

Word count: 11.9k

Draco so rarely finds peace nowadays; a consequence of a confidently walking toddler who’s penchant for curiosity has him grabbing at what he can – the paper, the rug, the dog’s tail.

Draco so rarely find peace nowadays, but once a week, on a Saturday, he drops Scorpius off at his parents. His mother and father doting over the blonde-haired boy who looks more like his mother everyday despite the argument from Narcissa – “He has your nose, Draco!”

On the days he drops his son off at the manor, he apparates to the familiar black gates. They squeak whenever he opens them and no matter how many times he visits, he never remembers to bring the oil he promises to fetch.

Now, he doesn’t look at the names as he makes his way towards the familiar row, hands in his pockets, shoes sinking in the wet grass.

Before, he’d drag his feet. Reading every name he could as he struggled to come to terms with his disbelief and grief.

The granite headstone sits prettily above its plot; the marker for Draco to slow his pace to an amble.

She had died a Malfoy but had been buried in the Greengrass plot.

Draco had known of Astoria Greengrass for years; had been schooled with her sister but had known the family personally for years due to similar social circles, and as a result, social functions. Draco spent ball after ball getting to know the younger Greengrass sister much to the chagrin of Pansy Parkinson who still held a candle for Draco since their fling ended in Fifth Year.

He worked up the nerve to ask Astoria to dinner after a particularly hellish function where his father had pushed him to dance with every available girl that looked his way. For the most part, Draco accepted – wanting to keep his father happy and his mother hopeful. But through every dance, through every twirl on the floor, his eyes would wander back to where Astoria sat very intently focused on the napkin design.

On his third circuit of the dancefloor, Draco broke away from his dance partner earning a glare for his disrespect. He apologised with a smile but turned to the brunette sitting alone; he held his hand to her, and she took it with the grace of a well-raised daughter.

They span around the dancefloor; circle after circle after circle. They laughed, and they smiled, and they settled into a happy silence. One Draco felt so comfortable in that by the time they had finished their second dance together, Draco was certain he wanted to marry her.

By the end of the night, Astoria knew she wanted to marry him.

They were married less than six months after that night.

Three months after they were married, Astoria announced her pregnancy. Rumours started; stating that was the real cause for their quick wedding. But their families knew different; their families spent the entirety of the pregnancy wrapped in a cocoon of worry.

Then blood curse on the Greengrass family meant that Astoria would die at a young age, and Draco had prepared himself for that. Though, in private, he researched what he could to see if he could break the blood curse. This meant, however, the pregnancy was watched closely by Narcissa, by Daphne, and by multiple Healers flooed in from St Mungos.

Nine months later, on an unusually warm day in January, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy was born. Immediately, Draco knew that though he had his hair, Scorpius had his mother’s eyes and mouth.

Three hours after the birth of her son; as she held him tightly in her arms, watching him with the love only a mother could know, Astoria Malfoy nee Greengrass took her last breath.

-----------

The months after her death, Draco barely coped. He woke up in the mornings solely for Scorpius and Scorpius alone. He devoted his time to his son, marking every milestone in his baby scrapbook which on occasion he would take to his wife’s grave and go through it with her. Scorpius never visited the grave; for starters, he was too young, Draco wouldn’t let his son go through that but his son knew that his mother was no longer with them.

But that didn’t stop Scorpius asking for his mother after a nightmare had pulled him from sleep.

Narcissa tried to help; tried everything she could to help with his grief – at one point even suggesting he go see a psychic, but the fear of transference was enough to put Draco off the idea.

He didn’t have the heart to tell his mother that he didn’t need a psychic to tell him Astoria had made it to the other side and that she had found peace.

She haunted him nearly every night.

Flashes of her white night gown in the corner of his eye; glimpses of her beautiful face in the mirror.

His heart would race, and his palms would sweat as the panic set in.

For a long while, he believed himself to be going insane. The sheer grief he felt at the loss of his wife driving him to madness as though he were Heathcliff suffering the loss of his Cathy.

------

Draco had memorised the inscription on her headstone after visiting for a month straight.

He had memorised the path to her grave by the end of the first week; the soil still needing to settle.

His feet knew where the uneven ground would be, so it was all dodged expertly.

Draco has very little to say to Astoria when he kneels in front of her. He updates her on Scorpius; promises that he will bring him soon, but it was still too early for his son to see his mother.

In fact, most of his time at the grave is spent in silence. His knees soaking wet from the morning dew still covering the grass.

“Draco? Is that you?” A chiming voice asks as Draco’s head remains bent over his wife’s grave. He releases a sigh before looking up to see that it’s you – someone he hasn’t seen in years. The last he saw of you; you were stood defiantly facing the hordes of Death Eaters in courtyard at Hogwarts.

“(Y/N)?” He asks.

You frown, pointing towards the grave where his wife lies in perpetual sleep, “I heard, but I didn’t believe. I’m sorry for your loss, Draco.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, “Why are you here? If you don’t mind me asking.”

You hold the flowers in your hand up in response, “I lost my grandfather less than a year back. I visit every week.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. He was a great man.” Draco murmurs, shame washing over him from his curt tone.

“Thank you,” You murmur quietly, “It’s still hard.”

Draco wants to offer words of comfort; to tell you that pain eases over time, but he would be lying to your face. The pain doesn’t ease, and the grief doesn’t lessen, it simply moves to one side and becomes bearable until something reminds you of the one you’ve lost whether it be a sound or a smell and then the pain washes over you like a tidal wave and you start to wonder whether you’ll come up for air or simply drown.

Draco decides not to say anything; turning back to face the woman he had pledged his life too.

You walk away after a slow nod; you wouldn’t get anything more out of him now.

-----

They say that time heals, that grief lessens, but it doesn’t.

Draco loves his son; he adores his son, but he cannot help but see him as a reminder of what he lost on the day of his birth.

He had gained a son; an heir to carry on the Malfoy name but he had lost the love of his life.

Draco leaves the graveyard soon after his encounter with you; feeling surly with how he had spoken to you.

He searches you before he leaves, but he finds you knelt at the grave of your grandfather with your head bent as the silent sobs rack your body.

He leaves you to your privacy; understanding that right now, intrusion is the last thing needed.

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

Draco sits in the living room of his marital home that night; a tumbler of whisky in his hand as he leans back in the chesterfield armchair gifted to him by his parents as part of their wedding present.

The wedding present being the house.

There are reminders of Astoria all over the house; from the pattern of the curtains to her photos lining the walls. She was everywhere. How was he was supposed to start living his life when his house remained a mausoleum?

He feels the hand on his shoulder; he doesn’t need to turn to see who it is.

“You need to stop doing this, Draco,” She murmurs.

He sighs through his nose, “I don’t see why.”

“You’re hurting everyone around you; you didn’t use to be like this.”

“It’s been a trying time, love.”

“I know it has. For both you and Scorpius, but it’s been three years, darling.”

The air in the room has become cold; too cold. To the point where his breath has started to fog; he takes a sip of the amber liquid to warm his body through.

“I can’t forget you, I won’t. He has no memories of you; he needs me to remember you.”

The voice behind him shakes, “My love, you’ll never forget me. I live on in him.”

Draco doesn’t say anything; the lump in his throat making it impossible for him to speak. The absolute yearning with him has him reaching up to take the hand settled on his shoulder.

The tears start to fall when his hand falls through the ghostly spectre.

-----

Morning comes and Draco wakes in the same chair he had fallen asleep in. He scratches at the stubble lining his face as he stretches his legs, bones popping as he stands to full height.

The clock on the mantle chimes seven times and Draco supposes he should start the day and collect his son from the Manor. He hadn’t been in any state last night to have him at home; it was better for Scorpius to stay with his grandparents.

The light to the bathroom flickers as Draco drags himself into the shower; the hot water and lavender shower gel doing a good job at leeching the tension that had become set into his shoulders.

He wipes the steam from the mirror before lathering his face with shaving cream and beginning the soothing action of shaving. Narcissa preferred him clean shaven anyway; believed that the stubble made him look like a vagrant.

A flash of white in the corner of his eye has Draco freezing with the razor halfway to his cheek.

His hand begins to shake, and he places the razor back in the sink as he braces himself on the counter. He counts to ten before he dares to look back up at himself in the mirror.

He was being haunted.

------

In the years after the Second Wizarding War, Narcissa had taken it upon herself to entirely renovate Malfoy Manor from the dark, dank place it was to make it more of a home for her family. A home in which Draco should have been raised in.

Narcissa greets him at the door with a kiss on the cheek and a concerned look that only a mother could pull off.

“Good Morning Mother, how are we today?”

“I’d be a lot better if you looked better. Did you get any sleep?”

Draco nods, thinking to the few hours in the armchair, “I got some.”

“Not enough by the looks of it, but at least you shaved. Have you eaten yet?”

He shakes his head, “I came straight here.”

“Luckily for you, Scorp is still eating.”

Draco hangs his coat on the grand railing by the door before following his mother through his childhood home.

His son beams at the sight of his father walking through the door, “Dad!” he yells, dropping his piece of fruit and jumping off his chair. He runs to Draco, wrapping his arms around his legs.

Draco chuckles, picking his son up, settling him on his waist, “Hey there squirt, did you have a nice night with granny and grandpa?”

Scorpius nods, still chewing his last piece of breakfast, “Yeah, me and granny baked, and she let me eat the mix!”

Narcissa lets out an overdramatic gasp, “That was our secret, Scorp!”

Scorpius laughs at his granny’s reaction, “I had to tell Dad!”

Draco tickles his son’s stomach; grinning at the laughter leaving his son’s mouth.

He had never known a world with his mother; and he never would, yet here he was as happy as any three year old could be.

“Are you joining us, Draco?” His father’s voice sounds; breaking Draco from his melancholy.

Draco clears his throat, letting Scorpius down so he can sit next to Narcissa at the table, “Yes, I think I will.”

Anything to not go back to the house so soon; anything to avoid seeing her in the corner of his eye or in the mirrors.

Narcissa nails him with a look she has made entirely her own after dealing with a supremacist order for over a decade.

Draco wavers under his mother’s stare; ready to drop the pretence and cry in her arms.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he grabs the bowl of strawberries and scoops a spoonful onto his plate before reaching for a waffle and grabbing his knife and fork.

“Lucius, darling, why don’t you show Scorpius your matchbox collection? I know he’d love them.”

“What are matched boxes?” Scorpius asks.

Narcissa laughs lightly at her grandson’s pronunciation, “Match boxes, sweetheart.”

Lucius stands from the table; knowing very well what the determined look in his wife’s eyes meant, “Come on, my boy. I’ll show you my collection; I want to see if you can count how many there are.”

Scorpius’ eyes light up at the chance to make his grandfather proud; he jumps down from the chair before reaching to grab Lucius’ hand. Together, they leave the dining room, Lucius prattling about the history of the match box and why they needed to be collected.

Narcissa waits until they’re out of earshot before turning on her son who on the outside, almost pulled off looking so put together. Inside, she knew, was a broken man desperate to find a way to lessen the pain.

“It’s been three years, darling.”

“I know,” Draco answers; resisting the urge to groan.

“How often are you visiting her?”

“Once a week now.”

There was a point in the first months after her death where Draco would visit the graveyard every day for hours. He didn’t even say anything; he just sat on the perfectly trimmed grass in front of her grave and sobbed for the life that had been lost and the future that had been robbed.

Narcissa nods, “That’s good, Draco.”

Draco nods; he had gotten better in the years since her passing but Narcissa would never understand what it feels like to lose a spouse a year into a marriage that should have lasted an eternity.

Narcissa sighs, “Do you think it’s time now?”

“Time for what?” He asks; voice hard.

“To think about finding somebody else? I’m not saying you need to do it right now, Draco, but it’s something to think about.”

Draco sees red, but he tries to keep a lid on his temper for the simple fact that it is his mother sitting in front of him, “I lost my wife, mother. She died giving birth to my son; your grandson. She died and now Scorpius doesn’t have a mother and I don’t have my wife standing beside me. I think I’ll take all the time I need to recover from this.”

Narcissa sighs, “Of course, Draco. You know I didn’t mean it as an insult.”

Draco rubs at his eyes; feeling wretched for the way he had spoken to his mother. She barely left his side after Astoria’s death; she had been the one to pull him away from her body.

“I’m sorry, mother. It was a tough night.”

“You’re having a lot of those, I’ve noticed.”

Draco’s lip begins to wobble, and he thanks Merlin that Scorpius is out of the room, so he didn’t have to watch his father fall to pieces.

Narcissa folds her son into her arms with the care only a mother could show. She strokes his hair as he sobs against her.

“I didn’t think it would be this hard,” Draco sobs.

“Neither did we, my love.”

-----

Draco feels better after talking to his mother. Lucius returned fairly quickly after Draco had dried his eyes; Scorpius following on his tail, chattering about what he planned to do when he returned home.

Draco opens his arms for his son who happily falls into them; preferring to be carried rather than walking unless he was running around the gardens or the park.

“Do you have everything you need?” Draco asks his son.

Scorpius nods as Lucius holds up the small overnight bag that holds his clothes, pyjamas and his priceless teddy, Wellesley. It was the first thing Astoria brought when she found out she was pregnant. Scorpius treasured it like nothing else.

Draco takes the bag from his father; well aware of the extra treats hidden there. Scorpius had Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy wrapped around his little finger.

After they apparate home, Lucius and Narcissa watch the spot in which their son and grandson disappeared. Hands clutching the other; both worried sick over their only son.

-----

He fills his week with his son; adventures, hide-and-seek, visits to the library. Draco makes sure Scorpius fills his day with activities designed to educate but to also have fun.

It’s also a way for Draco to keep his mind drifting to the one person who no matter how he often prays and wishes, will always remain absent.

The park is one of Scorpius’ favourite places to visit. He has a personal aim to swing as high as he can without giving his father a heart attack.

They spend their hours doing all sorts together, and every night before bed, Draco tucks Scorpius in tightly. Dropping a kiss to his son’s head and then his teddy’s head, Draco wishes Scorpius the sweetest of dreams.

On a night, Draco lets the memories of his short marriage consume him. He doesn’t wear his wedding ring on his finger anymore, but rather, attached to a chain he wears around his neck. He twists this chain for hours on a night thinking of the mother that Astoria never got the chance to be.

------

Draco’s visit to the graveyard is shorter this week on account of what happened last time. He knew what happened in the living room was down to the fact that he had spent too much time at her grave, lamenting how much he missed her.

It was expected that she would answer his calls.

So he resolves to make this visit shorter; long enough to clean the area and replace the flowers but short enough to not tempt fate and spectres.

Draco recounts to her tales of Scorpius’ week. Draco laughs and beams like a proud father when he tells the story of Scorpius adopting the family of Nifflers from their copse at the bottom of the garden. He had been so proud of himself; walking all the way back to the house with a four Nifflers in tow who had deemed Scorpius as one their own.

“You’d have thought he was a Scamander,” Draco laughs, patting the loose grass from his suit pants. “I think he could very well excel at Care of Magical Creatures but it’s too soon to tell, my dear.”

Eventually, Draco stands, wiping down his black suit trousers and whispering a goodbye.

Draco is a few steps away from the black, creaky gate when you bustle through; bouquet in hand, sad smile on your face.

You pause in the gateway when you see Draco standing before you.

“(Y/N),” Draco greets, “I was hoping to catch you. I wanted to apologise for how I spoke to you the last time I saw you.”

“Draco, there’s nothing to apologise for. You’re mourning your wife; the last thing you need is someone invading that space.”

“All the same, I’m sorry for how I spoke to you.”

“I accept your apology, Draco.”

“Would you like to join me for a coffee? It’s been years since I saw you last, and I think it would be nice to catch up.”

You glance between the flowers in your hand and Draco waiting patiently for an answer.

“It’s okay if you don’t. I understand if you want to be with your grandfather.”

You bite your lip, glancing back to the flowers, “Do you want to come with me? All I need to is say hello and change the flowers. You don’t have to, though.”

Draco shakes his head, “No, it’s okay. I’ve had my visit today, so I don’t mind waiting with you.”

You smile at him gratefully, “Thank you; he’s just this way.”

Draco follows you as you walk the well-trodden path to your grandfather’s grave. He doesn’t let himself think as he follows, and as a result, almost bumps into you when you stop in front of a grey granite headstone.

“Hi Grandad,” You greet, “I’ve brought someone with me today, I hope you don’t mind. I’m just changing your flowers though because then we’re going to get coffee.”

You turn your attention to Draco when you finish speaking, “It’s morbid I know but it helps me process. I know he isn’t hearing me, but I can vent here and somehow I always find a solution to my problem.”

Draco nods, “I do the same with Astoria. I tell her about Scorpius and her parents though I know they visit just as much.”

You smile at the blonde-haired man before discarding the dried out flowers to one side, replacing them with the fresher, brighter flowers.

Draco watches you through the process; not missing the way your eyes dart between the headstone and to something just past it.

For a brief moment, Draco wonders if you’re being haunted too.

-----

The coffee shop is warm compared to the brisk wind that howls outside. Draco’s body relaxes as he takes in the familiar scent of bitter coffee beans; it was a recent love of his, but now, he wouldn’t find himself going a day without a cup of the acrid liquid.

You unravel the scarf hanging around your neck before taking a seat at a corner table, “I didn’t think it would be this cold today. It makes me glad I overdressed,” you chuckle.

Draco laughs politely; his own coat now hanging on the back of his chair.

You smile, “Do you know what you want? I’ll go order.”

“Nonsense, I’ll order, I invited you here.”

“Well I won’t turn down free coffee, I’ll have a latte please.”

“I’ll be right back,” is all he says before leaving the table to order.

As the drinks are being made by the teenaged barista, Draco starts to second-guess his intentions for why he asked you for coffee in the first place. All week the conversation he had with his mother had been replaying in his mind, and then he runs into you as he’s leaving the graveyard. Before he knew it, the words were flying out of his mouth and he was unable to stop them.

He’s panicking, but he doesn’t find himself regretting asking you.

He’s only regretting his intentions as to why he asked you.

He’s been alone for three years. He has Scorpius, and his parents, but he doesn’t have anyone he can talk to on a night when the air is quiet, and the moon is high. He doesn’t have that one person that he can simply hold and know that everything will be okay.

Then and there, he lets himself admit it: he’s lonely.

Astoria had been everything for the eighteen months they had been together. He was utterly devoted to her; completely besotted by her. Draco knew that he had found the love of his life; he just didn’t expect her to be taken from him so soon.

But still he wonders.

He wonders if it’s time; he wonders whether Astoria watches him and urges him to find someone new.

To feel that rush of falling in love all over again.

The clinking of mugs rips Draco from his internal debating. He thanks the barista with a smile, picking up the tray of drinks and walking carefully back to where you wait for him.

You thank him as you pick up your latte, “You looked to be thinking pretty intensely over there.”

“You were watching me?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you say, “I got bored of the view of the café.”

Draco nods; sipping tentatively at his coffee, wincing before adding another sugar to taste.

“What were you thinking of? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t mind. I was thinking of Astoria,” he admits.

You simply nod your head; understanding completely that a widow would think of his loss.

“How are you coping with her loss? It’s been a few years now, hasn’t it?”

“I could ask you the same question about your grandfather,” Draco murmurs, “We’re coping okay. Scorpius is thriving; he’s such a smart three year old and I know I’m biased but he retains information like a sponge.”

You laugh, “I was going to ask you about your son, I’m glad to hear he’s happy.”

“He doesn’t have any memories of his mother, but he knows who she is. He has a framed picture of her in his room that he says goodnight to every night.”

“He sounds precious, Draco.”

Draco nods; thinking of his dear boy, “He is. And I know she’s proud of him, I just feel it in my bones.”

“I’ll bet my last sickle that she’s proud of you too.”

Draco blinks fast; ridding the sudden tears away. “Thank you,” he whispers, taking another drink of his coffee to distract from the sudden wave of emotion.

He clears his throat once the wave has passed, “I asked you here to catch up; not for me to ruin the mood with my grief. How have you been? I haven’t seen you since the war.”

“You can talk to me about this, Draco, I don’t mind,” You state before continuing, “I’ve been well – I travelled a lot after the war. The whole realisation of life is short really hit me, so I left the country for a bit; travelled through Europe before jumping ship to America.”

Draco’s eyes widen, “That’s incredible. Where was your favourite place to travel?”

You glare at him playfully, “That’s such a hard question!”

He laughs lightly, “Still – you have to answer.”

You tap your fingers against your thigh, thinking his question over. You had loved everywhere you visited; feeling extremely fortunate to have met such a range of magical communities as well as integrate yourself within muggle society for a time.

“I think it would have to be this tiny island in Greece; it is said that in ancient times, the locals believed it was the end of the world, and if you went any further, you would fall off. I stayed there the longest; around a month where I explored the island, ate their food, and drank with the locals. It was the best time of my life.”

Draco inhales sharply at your words; not realised that he’s instinctively leaned towards you through your speech. He leans back into his chair, running a hand through his hair, “It sounds wonderful,” he whispers.

You nod; eyes glazed somewhat as you think back to your time on that heavenly island, “It really was.”

You shake yourself from your reminiscing, “What about you then, Draco? I know about the wedding, and your son, but what did you do after the war?”

Draco waves his hand in a nonchalant fashion, “Nothing as wonderful as travelling the globe though I did go to France on my honeymoon. I trained as a Healer straight from Hogwarts; I’ve been at St. Mungo’s since Scorpius was born.”

“That’s great, Draco! I always knew you would make a great Healer ever since I saw you in Potions.”

Draco ducks his head, “Thank you, I enjoy the work. Are you working now?”

You nod your head, “I work for the Daily Prophet; writing real articles and not the trollop that Rita Skeeter used to waffle on about.”

Draco barks out a laugh, surprising himself at the volume of it, “I remember her coverage of the Triwizard Tournament! It was so awful.”

You beam; eyes bright with joy, “Weren’t they? I promise I’m a much better writer… not to sound big-headed.”

“I completely believe you; I’ll have to start keeping an eye out for your articles. I haven’t read the paper in so long. I haven’t had the time if I’m honest – I get my news from my mother.”

“How are your parents? I heard about them after the war.”

“Mother coped so well. She made it her mission to entirely renovate the house, and with it, the Malfoy reputation. She donates to charities now; her focus is children orphaned during the war. Father struggled, but he’s found his purpose for life again in Scorpius. Last time I was there, he showed him his collection of matchboxes.”

You laugh lightly, “That’s brilliant. I’m glad to hear that they’re doing well.”

“How is your family? I remember your mother from Kings Cross, always running to meet you off the train.”

“She’s doing okay,” You sigh, “She struggled after my grandfather but she’s working her way back to herself.”

Draco nods in understanding; he felt nothing but pride and a sting of jealously for your mothers process with her grief. Here he was, three years later, and still reaching out to the other side of bed only to grasp at empty, cold sheets.

However, as all things must, your time together comes to an end. The coffees are drank; coats are pulled back on and goodbyes are said on the pavement.

Draco walks away from you; apparating back to his home feeling lighter than he has in years.

------

Draco takes Scorpius to Diagon Alley on a Wednesday morning.

His son had been particularly restless the night before; a nightmare waking him. Draco does what he can to chase the monsters away before scooping up his only son and carrying him to the master bedroom. Scorpius sleeps soundly after that, but Draco remains awake – mind plaguing him with memories of Astoria but also of the coffee he shared with you.

It’s noon when Scorpius begins to pester his father for lunch. In his own words; he’s starving, and he hasn’t eaten in hours.

Draco laughs at his son. Three years old, but utterly dramatic. He kneels down so he’s eye-level, “How about we have ice cream for lunch?”

Scorpius’ face lights up and he begins to jump in his spot, “Can we go now? Please?”

Draco nods, holding out his hand for Scorpius take so he doesn’t get lost in the short distance to Florean Fortescue’s. He had lost him once; and whilst it was only two minutes before he found him, it was two minutes, he never wants to relive.

Draco lifts Scorpius so he can see the rows of flavours behind the glass. Scorpius’ eyes are wide as he checks the colour of every flavour. He even goes so far to press his face to the glass, fogging it up. Draco chuckles at his son’s antics; knowing full well he’ll pick the same flavour he’s gotten on every visit.

“Have you decided?”

Scorpius nods, “Chocolate please.”

Draco places Scorpius on the ground, “One chocolate tub, and one caramel fudge swirl tub please.”

Florean nods at the young Malfoy family with a large smile; watching them sit down at a window table before bringing their ice creams to them.

Scorpius attacks his chocolate tub with ferocity. Draco touches his son’s hand, “Slow down, squirt. You’ll get stomach ache.”

Scorpius looks as if he doesn’t believe his father’s word but not wanting to risk the chance of a stomach ache, he slows his pace. Carefully scooping the frozen treat before eating. His legs swing as he watches the scores of witches and wizards passing; they all look to be hurrying somewhere yet Scorpius doesn’t know where, but seeing all the different people, keeps his attention squarely on the window.

Draco works his way through his ice cream faster than his son; his weakness being the caramel fudge swirl that Florean makes fresh every day. He settles for drifting once his tub is empty and Scorpius is happily distracted by whatever he’s watching out of the window.

Draco begins to wonder about his son’s future – something he’s done a thousand times since his birth. He wonders about what Hogwarts house would best fit his sons personality; though he knew that the Sorting Hat would be the final word on that. But Draco can’t help but ponder over what attributes his son will demonstrate – will he ambitious enough for Slytherin? Courageous enough for Gryffindor? Loyal enough for Hufflepuff? Creative enough for Ravenclaw?

He had eight more years to ponder over it, but it’s still a question he’d like answered. However, Draco would still adore his son no matter his house.

“Draco?” Your voice sounds, breaking him out of his deliberating.

“(Y/N),” He greets.

Scorpius turns from people-watching, taking in the visitor standing at their table.

“And you must be Scorpius, it’s very nice to meet you. I’m (Y/N).”

Scorpius shies away slightly from the new person, inching back a bit in his chair.

“It’s okay, Scorpius,” Draco reassures, “I went to school with (Y/N).”

You nod, “I did! I was in Slytherin with him, and he was so smart! He still is; he’s a Healer isn’t he? Isn’t that so cool?”

Draco blushes at your compliments but it brings Scorpius out of his shell.

“My dad is the coolest! He fixes people when they are very sick.”

You nod seriously, “Yes, he does. It was very nice to meet you, Scorpius but I have to get back to work with my ice cream.”

Scorpius smiles, his teeth on show, “Goodbye!”

“It was nice to see you, Draco,” You say, smiling at the blonde-haired man.

“It was nice to see you too, even if it was so brief.”

You laugh, “Work calls I’m afraid, but I always have an ice cream, so I wasn’t going to let work stop me,” You wander back to the counter where Florean waits with your cone, “I’ll also cover Draco’s bill too, Florean.”

“You don’t have to,” Draco begins to protest.

You hold your hand up, smiling gently, “You treated me to coffee. I’ll treat you to your ice cream.”

Draco nods, wordlessly. Scorpius watches him with his eyebrows furrowed.

You take a lick of your cone, “I’ll see you soon, Draco. Have a nice day, Scorpius!”

And like that, you leave the ice cream parlour, heading back to the office where a pile of work awaits.

Draco leans back in his chair, disbelief clear on his face.

“What’s wrong, dad?”

Draco shakes his head, “Nothing, squirt.”

Scorpius shrugs, determining it adult stuff. “I like the lady who spoke to us.”

“(Y/N)?”

Scorpius nods, “She was really nice.”

“She is. She was nice when we were at school together.”

“She’s a good friend.”

“She is,” Draco murmurs once again, mind in another place entirely.

Scorpius lets his father have his moment; turning back to the window, wondering if he might get to see the nice lady named (Y/N) again.

------

Two months pass, and January’s winter gives way to March’s spring.

The gardens at his home and at the Manor have started to bloom beautifully meaning that Draco is constantly surrounded by floral aromas that make his head spin and Scorpius sneeze.

Draco starts to see more and more of you at the graveyard. After each visit, you seem to wait for the other – always asking whether the other would like to go for a coffee; very rarely refusing the offer.

He enjoyed the time he spent with you; Draco felt like he got to make up for the lost time he was an arsehole at Hogwarts.

The more time he spent with you; the more he started to feel the urge to begin his life again. But the hauntings continue; he continues to see his wife in the mirror; hearing her voice on a night whispering to him that it’s okay to move on. But hearing those words from the mouth of the woman he promised an eternity with racks his entire body with guilt.

But it’s gotten to the point where he doesn’t want to stay away from you.

The more time you spend with Draco Malfoy; the more you can feel yourself fall for him – his smile, his eyes, his mind. You just hoped that the landing wasn’t going to be too rough.

------

Draco drops Scorpius off at the Manor before heading to the graveyard for his usual Saturday visit. He blindly hopes to see you again after running into you at the ice cream parlour and seldom seeing you after but refuses to let himself dwell too long on the hope.

He was visiting his dead wife, after all.

He still grieves for her; still reaches for her in the middle of the night, but there are times through the day where he doesn’t feel so weighed down by grief – where he feels as if he can begin functioning fully once again.

But then that brings the guilt.

And that leads to the sightings.

And then that leads to the visits.

It’s a vicious cycle, and he’s desperate to break it.

He knows logically that Astoria would always be a part of him; he sees her every time he lays eyes on Scorpius but the small voice in the back of his head tells him often that he isn’t ready to let go yet.

And all Draco is desperate to know is: when?

-----

You find him knelt before her grave. He’s silent; simply staring at her headstone, reading the words that are already seared into his mind: Beloved Daughter, Wife, and Mother.

You place your hand on his shoulder and he jumps at the sudden contact. He relaxes once he sees it’s you, “(Y/N),” he breathes out, “I thought you were someone else.”

“I can tell,” you murmur, “Are you okay?”

He nods silently; gazing at the headstone once again, “I will be.”

“I can stay with you, if you need me.”

He shakes his head, “Go. Go see your grandfather; tell him hi from me.”

You want to laugh but nothing comes out. Draco looks at you; his blue eyes bright, “I’ll be okay,” he says gently.

The softness of his voice has you stepping away, “You know where I’ll be if you need me.”

Draco nods, hearing you walk away from him.

He’s a man made entirely of conflictions. He watches you from the corner of his eye and wonders whether he is finally ready to start his life again after Astoria; ready press play once more and see what happens but the sheer fear that runs through him, paralyses him.

He doesn’t know what to think; he doesn’t know what to do.

All he knows is that in the handful of times he has seen you, you make him want to live again.

----

Your time with your grandfather comes to an end, and you stand from where you had knelt, murmuring a goodbye.

You can’t miss the way Draco remains in front of his wife’s grave. Standing just after you; stretching out the tight muscles in his back that had stiffened the longer he had sat there.

You sigh at the sight; mindlessly wondering if you would ever find a love that would impact you this much.

It was unintentional; it hadn’t meant to happen but the feelings you once harboured for the Slytherin Prince were returning in full force the more you saw of him.

But now, there was so much more to consider.

At Hogwarts, it was social groups that kept you from ever revealing your crush – that, and Pansy Parkinson. Now, though, Draco was a widower still very much in love with his dead wife, and he had a son that came first.

You know you need to tread carefully, but there was something addicting about the man’s presence. His way with words; his hand gestures; how he’d slip off into his own mind – it all had you caught; you were hook, line, and sinker.

You make your way back to the blonde-haired man, “What do you say to another coffee? I wish I could have stayed longer the last time I saw you, but work, you know?”

Draco nods; looking very much as if he wants to accept – the words being on the very tip of his tongue, but he sighs heavily, “I can’t today, I need to grab my son from my parents.”

“Oh,” You shake your head – of course, “Another time then! I’d like to see you again soon.”

You make to walk away but a hand reaches out and grabs your wrist, “Would you like to come with me? I need to grab Scorpius but we’re making dinner tonight and you’re welcome to join.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You won’t be. Scorpius has been asking about you.”

That makes your decision for you, “Alright, I’ll join you for dinner.”

Draco smiles; letting go of his hold on your wrist, “I usually apparate to the manor, do you mind?”

You shake your head, placing a gentle hand on his outstretched arm.

Within a second, you’ve landed at the seat of Malfoy power for the last century. Draco was right you realise; Narcissa had lightened the manor up. Flowers border the main path; stemming from Hyacinths to white Lilies, to Irises. Colour lives up the home immediately, and the warm light coming from the masses of windows only makes the place more welcoming.

“I remember visiting here when I was a youngster,” You start, “I remember it being cold and uninviting… no offence, but now it feels so warm and happy.”

“That’s my mother’s influence,” Draco states; smiling wryly at the sight of all the flowers, knowing too well of the masses of Roses behind the manor.

Draco sounds the knocker three times before Narcissa pulls open the door with the smile reserved only for her son. She blinks twice before registering your presence; then she needs to do a double take.

“Afternoon, Mother,” Draco greets; leaning in to kiss her cheek which Narcissa returns distractedly – her eyes still on you.

“Draco, dear,” She greets, “And who have you brought with you?”

“Straight to the crux, aren’t we?” Draco laughs, “This is (Y/N). Surely you remember her?”

“Not Anthony’s granddaughter?”

You nod your head; ignoring the spear of grief flung through you at the sound of your grandfather’s name, “The very same,” you greet, “It’s lovely to be here. I was just mentioning to Draco how gorgeous your flowers are.”

Narcissa beams; her flowers are her pride and joy other than the son who had battled so much and came out the other side only stronger. “Thank you, my dear. Lucius and I were so saddened to hear of Anthony’s passing – tell me, how is your mother doing?”

“Better, thank you. She took his death as a blow – well, we all did but she took it the hardest being the only daughter and losing my grandmother so young.”

Narcissa nods; ushering you into the foyer of the grand manor, “We sent flowers, but we’re sorry we couldn’t make it to the service.”

A lumps forms in your throat at the mention of the service. It had been a beautiful and respectful service, but your memories of it were tied with the heart-clenching sobs of your mother as he cried about how she missed her father. It was a hard day and night for all; very few had dry eyes.

Draco notices your hesitancy at replying to his mother; notices the glazed look in your eye. He wraps his arm around Narcissa’s shoulder, distracting her from asking you any more questions, “How was Scorpius today?”

“Like always, an angel,” Narcissa coos, “Lucius has started to teach him French.”

“French? So early?” Draco asks; keeping a wary eye on you.

“Nonsense, my love. You were three when we started to teach you the basics.”

“You speak French?” You ask; mind now focused back onto the conversation. You shoot a grateful look to draco; he replies with a soft, kind smile.

Narcissa nods, “Most of our family does. Draco has spoken French fluently since he was nine years old.”

“Oui, maman,” Draco responds cheekily.

Narcissa playfully hit her son’s shoulder, “Hush you. Scorpius is with your father in the Library – shall we go grab him?”

Draco nods; desperate to see his son after hours apart, “Are you okay to follow?” he asks, throwing a glance to where you remain rooted.

You shake yourself free; banishing all thoughts of Draco and his speaking of one of the most romantic languages on the planet from your head.

You follow with a sheepish smile, “Definitely. Even I’ve heard tales of Lucius’ library.”

Narcissa chuckles, “He spends more time in there; researching and reading anything.”

“What does he research?” You ask; curiosity piqued.

“Anything – the pagan tribes of the celts at the moment. He’s focused on the history of Wiltshire at the moment; I’ve had stop him twice this week from apparating to Stonehenge and scaring the tourists.”

Draco pauses; falling into step with you as Narcissa opens the library doors, “My father needed something to do after the war; historical research turned out to be his niche.”

“It sounds like he’s having one hell of a time,” You comment; not kissing the grin that stretches across Draco’s face.

“Scorp, darling, your father is here!” Narcissa calls out after not having found her grandson where she had left him with his grandfather.

It’s hard to miss the footfalls of the toddler as he runs through the shelve stacks, crowing, “Dad! You’re back!”

Draco catches Scorpius in his arms, “Hey there, squirt. How was your day?”

“Fun. Grandpa taught me about the selts.”

“Celts, my boy,” Lucius says, appearing from behind one of the many shelves, “A hard C. Celts.”

Scorpius’ eyebrows furrows as he repeats the word again, “Celts.”

Lucius claps, “Excellent! We’ll make a historian of you yet.”

Scorpius beams at the pride rolling off Lucius in waves; he almost doesn’t notice you standing next to Draco.

“(Y/N)!”

“Hi Scorpius,” You greet.

“Why are you here?” He asks.

You laugh at his curiosity, “Your father invited me for tea, is that okay?”

The young boy nods, “We’re having pasta.”

You smile, “I like pasta.”

Scorpius nods again, and just like that, it’s settled.

Draco hitches Scorpius higher onto his hip, “He wasn’t much trouble?”

His question breaks his parents from staring at the exchange between you and Scorpius. Lucius smiles at Draco, “Scorpius is never any trouble.”

“Thank you for looking after him again.”

“It’s no bother to us. We love the boy,” Narcissa comments; blinking away what look to be like tears.

“We’ll see you soon, no doubt,” Draco says, “Say bye to granny and grandpa, squirt.”

Scorpius yells his goodbye with a large smile.

Draco holds his free arm out to you, and the three of you apparate to his home in the next village over.

Draco’s house is nowhere near the size of Malfoy Manor, but it is still large in comparison to the two bedroomed flat you rented in Diagon Alley.

It’s perfectly symmetrical you realise as Draco opens the garden gate. Two windows on either side of the pale green front door. Always a Slytherin, you think as you follow Draco up the main path. He readjusts Scorpius as he reaches for his key; putting Scorpius down as he opens the door.

Scorpius reaches for your hand, “I’ll show you the kitchen,” he states, leading you through the large foyer to a room just to the right.

The kitchen is the biggest one you’ve been in. The island being home to a breakfast bar where Scorpius tries to climb up to before you cave and place him on one of the stools.

Draco follows closely behind; opening the fridge to grab the ingredients for dinner.

You hop off a stool, “What can I do to help?”

Draco pauses, “You need to sit down, I said I was cooking.”

You roll your eyes, “I want to help, so what can I do?”

“Add the pasta to the pot when the water starts to boil. I’ve already salted the water.”

You nod, rolling the sleeves up on your blouse. Draco doesn’t miss the small tattoo on your left forearm, “When did you get that?” he asks as he starts to crush and chop some garlic.

You look down to the now familiar swirling patterns below the crook of your elbow, laughing, “I got it after our Eighth Year. I snuck out to a muggle artist and got it done; mum hit the roof.”

Draco laughs, moving on to slicing the tomatoes in two. You look down at the pot of water, happy to see it boiling. You add the pasta to the pot, stirring twice before stepping away from the pan.

You sit back down at the breakfast bar; ruffling Scorpius’ hair as you do so. The blonde-haired boy giggles, “Can I see your arm?”

You glance at Draco to check that he’s okay with Scorpius seeing your tattoo. Draco nods and you hold out your arm for Scorpius to gaze at your tattoo.

He reaches out a small finger, running it over the ink gently, “Did it hurt?”

You shake your head, “Not a bit.”

“Dad has a tattoo.”

You stiffen at his words; so does Draco.

The Dark Mark that mars Draco’s arm wasn’t spoken about when it was placed on his forearm, and it wasn’t spoken about now. It has been years since the Dark Lord was vanquished by Harry Potter yet his mark upon the house of Malfoy had definitely been left.

“It’s pale but I’ve seen it.”

Draco clears his throat, saying somewhat brokenly, “Dinner is almost ready. Go clean up, squirt.”

You help Scorpius down from the stool; grinning as he rushes away to the downstairs bathroom to wash his hands before dinner.

As soon as he’s left, you turn your attention back to Draco who’s stirring the pan of pasta quietly, “I’m sorry, Draco.”

“For what?” He asks incredulously.

“For showing him my tattoo. I didn’t think he would bring up yours.”

Draco shrugs, “It’s okay. I’ve learned to live with it, and like squirt said, it’s pretty faded now.”

You nod, “I’m glad. Where do you keep your plates? I’ll grab them for you.”

“Second cupboard on from the fridge. There’s a small plastic one for Scorpius there too.”

You grab the three plates, wandering back to where Draco is adding the pasta to the sauce simmering away in the pan. Scorpius rushes back into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table by the window.

“Show us your hands, squirt. Are they clean?”

Scorpius holds his hands up, waving them at his father. Draco squints, pretending to look over his son’s hands with extra care, “Very good. Are you ready to eat?”

“Yes!” Scorpius shouts, legs kicking under the table.

Draco laughs, “Well it’s a good thing it’s ready then!”

Draco takes over yours and Scorpius’ plates first before grabbing his and the cutlery. He cuts up Scorpius’ pasta before settling in his own seat and starting to eat.

“This is so tasty,” You compliment, “One of the best meals I’ve had.”

Scorpius nods rapidly, working through his own mouthful before saying, “Dad is the best cook! You should try his pancakes!”

“Thanks, squirt,” Draco replies, smiling at him.

“I’ll have to try those pancakes one day,” You murmur, casting a side glance at the blonde-haired man sat to your left.

“I think you will,” He replies, effectively knocking the breath out of you.

Of course, you would rekindle feelings for your teenage crush when he’s now a widow and a father. You wanted to roll your eyes, but instead, you focus your gaze back to your meal.

The dinner is soon over, and the plates are cleared away to the sink where they’ll be washed after dessert.

Dessert is a slice of chocolate cake and ice cream; a treat from Narcissa. Scorpius makes as much conversation as he can; telling his father and you about the day he had at his grandparents where he learnt about the mystical celts and Stonehenge. Soon, though, his eyes start to droop and his final spoonful of cake clatters to the plate.

Draco scoops up his son; cradling in his arms as he once did those years ago. Draco murmurs an apology to you as he carries his son from the kitchen to his room, but you wave him away.

To help, you collect the plates and start running the hot water, adding dish soap as you go. You’re almost finished with the final plate when Draco returns from putting Scorpius to bed.

“You didn’t need to do that.”

You shrug, “I don’t mind – it makes me feel useful.”

“Alright. You washed, I’ll dry,” Draco bargains; grabbing the tea towel from the counter and picking up the first plate.

“Did he fall asleep okay?” You question.

Draco nods, “Out like a light, I had put his pyjamas on for him.”

You chuckle, “Bless him.”

“He really likes you,” Draco comments.

“Well, what’s not to like?” You quip, grinning, “I really like him too. He’s a credit to you, Draco.”

Draco finishes drying the final plate; putting them back in their assigned cupboard.

“Thank you. Would you like a drink, or do you need to be at work early?”

“I do, but I’d like that drink.”

Draco pulls two glasses from the display before reaching for a bottle of red wine. You already knew that you would wake up tomorrow with a headache, but it was worth it to spend more time with him.

Draco pours two glasses before handing one to you. He grabs the bottle and his glass, leading you to the living room across the foyer.

You take a seat on the maroon couch, taking a drink of wine before placing the glass on a coaster.

“Thank you for the meal. It was delicious. Where did you learn to cook like that?”

“That is all part of Narcissa Malfoy’s rearing of a good husband. She started teaching me to cook before I left for Hogwarts and would give me lessons every school holiday.”

“Well, you’re very good. I’ll be thinking of that pasta for days.”

Draco smiles at you from over the rim of his wine glass and your stomach flips.

“Why did you tell your mother that it was just dinner?” You question, referring to the incident earlier at Malfoy Manor. You take another sip of wine, watching Draco the whole time.

“Mother has it in her mind that it’s time for me to find someone new. She worries that I’ve been alone too long,” Draco drawls wryly.

“What do you think?”

Draco swishes the remaining wine in his glass; reaching for the bottle to refill.

“I don’t know,” is his answer as he tops off your glass too.

“Are you lonely?”

“You really are a journalist, aren’t you?” He teases.

You roll your eyes, smiling, “Are you though? Lonely?”

Draco locks eyes with you; the answer is on the tip of his tongue, ready to make its entrance but he’s interrupted by the cry of his son.

Wine glasses are placed hurriedly as you both rush to the young boy’s room; his cries getting louder.

The both of you fall into the room in a hurry; desperate to help Scorpius. Draco shakes his shoulders, bringing him back to reality.

“Scorpius, Scorpius – it’s okay, open your eyes.”

“Dad?” Scorpius asks; his voice a sob.

“It’s me, squirt. I’m here.”

Scorpius opens his arms for his father. Draco picks him up with no hesitation; cuddling his son to his side – drying his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.

“It sounded like a bad one,” Draco comments.

Scorpius nods, “I don’t want to go back to sleep, I’m scared.”

Draco looks torn in two. On the one hand, Scorpius needs to sleep otherwise he’ll be as cranky as a Hungarian Horntail tomorrow. However, on the other hand, Draco won’t force Scorpius back into another nightmare by insisting he sleep.”

You step forward, perching on the end of Scorpius’ bed, “I have an idea, but you need to be all comfortable and cosy, okay?”

Scorpius nods timidly; rearranging himself against Draco’s side, cuddling his beloved teddy tighter.

“Are you cosy?”

He nods once more.

“Okay, I’ll begin: Once upon a time in a far off land there lived a king who was very lonely. He had tried for years and years to meet the love of his life, but he felt defeated for he hadn’t found the one…”

It takes over an hour – three stories and two muggle songs before Scorpius is soundly sleeping once again.

Draco shifts him with the expertise of a parent before leaving his bedroom with you in tow.

He goes to close the door, but you place a hand on his wrist, stopping him. “Leave it open two,” you start, “the light from the landing will comfort him a little if he has another nightmare.”

Draco leaves the door open a crack. Turning to you, he says, “I don’t know why I never thought of that.”

You shrug, “It’s something my mum used to do for me.”

“You were incredible in there by the way,” Draco compliments as you descend the stairs together.

“Thank you,” You murmur shyly.

“Where did you learn those stories and songs?” He asks, “I feel like I should take notes for next time,” he chuckles half-heartedly.

You laugh too, “The stories I made up years ago and the songs are muggle ones I heard on my travels. I used to babysit my younger cousins for extra pocket money – I got to be creative very quickly.”

“Well it paid off,” Draco comments, eyes flickering to the stairs.

“It certainly did,” You murmur; eyes following Draco’s.

It’s silent for a few moments; the both of you thinking of the other without the other knowing. You, terrified to tell him for the fear of rejection. Him, terrified about letting down his dead wife.

You both go to speak at the same time and promptly burst into quiet laughter.

Through the span of the conversation, you’ve gravitated towards Draco – bodies angled towards each other, hands close to touching, heads close together.

If you leaned forward an inch, your mouth would be on his.

The alcohol coursing through your veins makes the connection for you as in the next second, you’ve leant forward and attached your lips to Draco’s.

He doesn’t respond at first; too in shock by your boldness but when you’re about to pull away, he wraps a hand in your hair, keeping your mouth pressed to his. Lips glide together seamlessly. He bites down on your lower lip, making you gasp. He deepens the kiss then; shifting on the couch to press you further into it.

Your hand make their way into his hair, and Draco groans against your mouth at the feel.

But it’s all too much and you need to pull away.

Chest heaving, you drag your mouth away from Draco’s. He nuzzles his nose into your cheek, pressing little kisses across your jawline to your ear before sitting back up.

“I didn’t expect that,” You gasp.

“Neither did I, but I’m not mad about it.”

“You aren’t? I did just jump you.”

Draco laughs, “It would have happened sooner or later.”

“Really?” You ask; a note of happiness unmistakable in your voice.

Draco nods, running his thumb across your lips, relishing in the fact that they’re swollen because of him.

The wine has gone to your head, and you feel your eyes begin to droop before the first yawn hits. You sigh, pulling away from Draco’s distracting touch, “I think I better head off.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to leave.”

“Why, do you want me to stay, Draco?” You tease.

He nods, “I can’t offer much, but this couch is really comfy.”

“And where will you be sleeping?” You ask; the wine making you more brash.

Draco blushes. You take back your words, “I’m sorry, Draco. Red wine goes straight to my head.”

“Don’t be, it’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t. I just propositioned you and all we’ve done is kiss,” You groan, dropping your head into your hands.

Draco pulls your hands away from your face, “(Y/N), it’s fine, really. The blanket on the back of the couch is really warm; grab it will you?”

You feel your face heat as you reach for the large grey blanket draped over the back of the couch. Draco stands momentarily to toe off his shoes before settling back down on the couch. You slip off your own shoes before clambering onto the couch next to him.

This was all so intimate.

Draco throws the large blanket over you both. Once suitably covered, his arm slips around your waist and your hand rests on his chest.

Neither of you say anything. No words need to be spoken now; everything expressed through actions alone.

With a kiss to the top of your head, Draco falls asleep unafraid of what he’ll meet in the morning.

--------

It’s the sunlight that wakes you. Bright light warming your face; you flutter your eyes open to find you face to face with Draco’s chest. Neither of you had moved in night; if anything, becoming closer together. At some point, his legs had tangled with yours and your hand had gripped his shirt so tight, it came away wrinkled when you loosened your grip.

You sigh happily; then you glance at the clock on the mantle piece where the hands make it abundantly clear that you were going to be late for work.

Extracting yourself carefully from Draco’s hold, you pick up your shoes from the floor. You search quickly for a spare piece of paper and a pen; scrawling a note for Draco to read when he wakes.

With one last look at the man you had fallen for in such a short amount of time, you apparated away.

-----

Draco wakes not long after you leave; feeling oddly light without the weight of your body pressed up against him. He frowns when he realises that you’ve left without a goodbye but with a glance at the clock, he doesn’t have much time to worry about it.

Scorpius would be awake any minute and demanding breakfast.

Draco sits up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. It had been so long since he had slept with someone by his side; wrapped around him the way you were, and he was happy to admit, he had missed the feeling of another human pressed so tightly against him, he could feel every contour in their body.

He almost falls off the couch when he notices your note lying on the table. He grabs it with shaking hands:

“Had to go to work – meet me for lunch if you can? Thank you for last night. You still owe me pancakes – (Y/N).”

He feels like a teenager again experiencing the rush of his first crush. He runs a hand across his face; standing up to get a start on breakfast. He folds your note in two before sliding it into his wallet for safekeeping.

It’s then that Draco realises he has two things he needs to do.

-----

Draco drops Scorpius off at Astoria’s parents for the morning. Apologising to his son for bailing on their plans of the park and the library; Scorpius simply pats his father’s face in goodbye before running to his grandma and grandad Greengrass.

Draco waves at his in-laws before apparating to see their daughter.

-----

The graveyard looks entirely different, but Draco knows nothing has changed. What has changed is him, and he need to tell Astoria.

Kneeling in his usual place in front of her grave, Draco releases a shaky breath.

“Hi darling, I know I’m early for our visit, but I have something important to discuss with you,” He looks down at his hands before continuing, “I think I’ve met someone, and I really want to pursue it. I want to see where it goes.

“You have to understand, darling, I never thought I would love again after you. I really didn’t and for three years, I’ve been an island with just enough room for Scorpius. I didn’t expect it, but it happened, and I like the way (Y/N) makes me feel. I feel excited again; my hands are shaking from the very thought.

“Scorpius likes her by the way, and she likes him, but they both know they won’t ever fill the role that you were supposed to. And I think they’re both happy with that knowledge.

“I’m not asking for your permission, but I am asking for your forgiveness. For not loving you harder; for not taking more time to be with you; for not apologising immediately after every argument. But I’m ready to start living again and I’ve found someone that makes me want to live again; that incites that spark of life within me, and I desperately want to see where it goes.

“I haven’t seen you in a while; around the house. I think you realised what was happening before I did and finally made your peace with it. I can’t ever forget you and our time. I see whenever I look at our little boy, but I’m ready to begin again, and so I shall.”

Draco stands from the grave feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He had to speak to Astoria before he could speak to you; he had tell her his choice but to reassure that he would always love her, but his heart was ready to make room for another person.

And that person was you.

With one last glance at the marble headstone, Draco apparates to Diagon Alley.

----------

The offices to the Daily Prophet newspaper lie in a side street just off the high street. He signs in at reception but asks the receptionist not to alert you of his presence. The receptionist flushes when she realises that she’s now part of a romantic plot. Draco smiles at her gratefully as he makes his way to the main lift, asking for your floor.

He taps his foot the entire ride up to your floor, annoying every single person in the lift with him. But he can’t help it; he’s both excited and nervous.

In a few moments, he’s changing the direction of his life forever, and he couldn’t feel more ready to start.

The door opens on your floor and Draco rushes out, followed by the happy sighs of those journeying to higher floors. He wants to laugh at their reactions, but the butterflies rioting in his stomach make him feel as if he could vomit right on the muddy brown carpet.

It’s not hard to find which desk is yours by the amount of trinkets on there. Files are precariously high in one section, and then the rest of the desk bar the cream typewriter is covered by snow globes and tiny figurines of landmarks from your travels. From this first look at your desk, Draco already has a sense of what your flat will look like.

You gasp when you see Draco standing in the door to your office, “Draco, you’re early for lunch.”

Draco walks up to your desk; his hands shaking through it all, “Let me make you pancakes.”

“What?” You ask, breathless.

“Let me make you pancakes,” He repeats, “I want to make you pancakes in the morning.”

“Really?” You sniffle; tears collecting.

Draco nods, “I’m still grieving, but I always will be. However, that doesn’t mean my life needs to come to an end and I realised that I want it to continue with you by my side so… let me make you pancakes every morning.”

Tears have started to fall down your face and you sniffle before speaking, “Okay. You can make me pancakes.”

Draco beams; eyes crinkling. He leans in close to you, whispering, “Do you think you can get off early?”

You grab your bag before he finishes his sentence, “Let’s get out of here.”

Draco holds his hand out for you to take. At the feel of your skin against his, a jolt of electricity runs between you. It takes everything in him not to drag you into a kiss in the foyer of the building.

He waits until he’s in the street.

Like a gentleman.

He waits until the coast is somewhat clear before pulling you into his side and drawing your mouth to his like you did last night. Your arms wrap around his neck, bringing him closer to you.

It’s not your first kiss, and it won’t be your last, but this one kiss means the world to the both of you.

Through it all, you’ve learnt to swim.

-------

A year later:

Scorpius is almost five years old when he visits his mother’s grave for the first time in his life. He had been less than three weeks old when she was buried in the Greengrass plot

Scorpius watches as his father kneels before her first; apologising for his absence and asking for her forgiveness.

But then he looks to Scorpius; where he stands with his hand holding onto yours tightly.

Draco beckons to Scorpius with an open hand. Scorpius staggers to his father’s side immediately.

“Hi Mum,” he whispers.

Draco’s hand is firm on his son’s shoulders; a comforting presence.

“I miss you,” he starts, “I know I never got to know you, but I miss you. I have your picture in my room, so I know what you look like, and Wellesley. I’m starting school soon; a small magic school with kids like me and I’m really excited. Dad’s doing well. He was sad for a while but he’s happier now and he talks about you more with (Y/N) who I like too. I want to come back, and I think Dad will let me, so I’ll see you soon, Mum.”

And with that, Scorpius walks away, happy to have finally met the mother had wanted to meet for so long.

Draco watches his son potter back to the still creaky gate in awe. You join his side; fingers tangling in his. “How are you feeling?” You ask, watching Draco’s face.

“Happy and in love,” is Draco’s reply.

*****

Muggle songs:

Johnny Ace - Pledging My Love

Paul Anka - Put Your Head On My Shoulder

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrypotter289 @dreamer821 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @the-hufflefluffwriter @figlia--della--luna @bforbroadway @idont-knowrn @summer-writes @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04

Draco Malfoy taglist @the--queen-of-hell @obxmxybxnk @obx-beach @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fanfic #Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco x reader #draco malfoy reader insert #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy imagine #draco fanfiction #draco lucius malfoy #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #harry potter imagines #draco malfoy x y/n #draco x y/n

1K notes · View notes

sunset-curve-fantom · 4 years ago

Text

Unsaid Emily- Luke x Reader

Luke Patterson was one of the most genuine, funny, musical people you had ever met, except he was a ghost. His buddies and him were killed by tainted hotdogs in the ‘90s and now, now they were making their comeback in 2020 with the help of Julie and yourself.

When Luke left this world, he left his parents behind with an uncertainty of how their child lived in his final moments. They had been fighting at the time, so there had not been much communication between them for some time. They hated the direction their 17-year-old was heading, and instead of being understanding, they made Luke was feel trapped, like they were trying to change his greatest love in life, his band and more importantly his music.

You had been blissfully unaware of how much Luke was truly hurting until his birthday, which happened to be today because there he was sitting on his parent’s counter, hot tears running down his face. Your heart broke seeing him so upset, you never realized how much Luke was really hiding behind his façade. He was trying to make up for the life he never got to live, they never saw him play or get married, to grow old. He lived a life that was cut abruptly short, and he would never forgive himself for walking out that night.

The more Reggie and Alex talked about the past, the more you realized that Luke spent a lot of time at their house. Like he was trying to make new memories with his parents who could never see him in the way you do. In their eyes, he was gone but in yours he could never be more alive.

So here you were, waiting for Luke to return to garage. You asked Julie and the boys to let you talk to him alone, the bond you had was something special and you felt he would open up to you more. Focusing on the book in front of you, it felt like you had been waiting forever. You knew he it was his birthday so he would be gone for most of it, so you just had to play the waiting game.

No sooner did you finish the last page of your chapter, did Luke poof into the chair next to you. You could see that his eyes were puffy, and his face was red from all the crying. You knew he was hurting but you did not know how to even approach him. He seemed shocked to see you sitting there by yourself, usually you were off with Julie or the boys.

He shifted in his seat trying to hide his sniffles, “Hey Y/n, I wasn’t expecting you to be here”

“Well… I thought we could talk. I just noticed you’ve been kind of distant and I wanted to make sure you were okay” you said honestly, you truly just wanted to make sure he was okay, or more so check to make sure he would be okay eventually.

He just sighed at me, trying to avoid my statement, it was clear he didn’t want me to be involved with his pain. He would rather keep it to himself than burden someone else with his problems from beyond the grave.

“Luke, please. I just want to help…” you said again, trying to get him to open up. He couldn’t get this all pinned up inside of him, eventually he was going to explode, and it was going to be fatal for everyone involved.

He was avoiding your eyes, afraid of opening the flood gates and not being able to close them again, he had been crying for days and he didn’t want to cry in front of you.

“I really just don’t want to talk about it, please just drop it”

“Luke… I know… I know it is your birthday, I know where you have been all day… so please don’t lie to me” you said, sitting on the coffee table in front of his chair, you could see his eyes rolling.

“Seriously. You and Julie preach about boundaries and you stalked me. Really y/n?” He said, the anger clear in his voice, so you did the one thing you could think of. You reached out to him, and surprisingly your hand rested on his knee instead of going through him.

The look of shock mirroring on his face as he placed his large hand onto yours. It was a sense of comfort, something he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

“Luke… I know I didn’t… I mean I know I shouldn’t have spied on you. But I am worried about you, I know it’s your birthday and you spent most of your day at yours parents. I can’t even begin to imagine how you are feeling, but I am here for you, every step of the way. I know it doesn’t mean much but- “Luke cut you off.

“It actually means more than you could ever know. I never talked to the boys about my parents, so it is nice to have someone who knows. My parents… when I left this world I left on bad terms. I was doing something that they didn’t want me to do. They wanted me to finish school, get married, basically have a life worth living. But I was so focused on my music and the band, that I walked out. I walked out and that is the last memory they have of me. I walked out that door and I never came home…” He was choking back his tears; you only gripped his hand tighter. You just wanted to take away this pain, so you just stood up wrapping your arms around him.

You could feel his tears on your shirt, you pulled back wiping more of them away with your thumbs. He caught your gaze, “Please… don’t tell the boys. I don’t need any more pity”

You felt a frown appear on your face, “Luke, I don’t pity you. I know how hard it is to lose someone, and I just want to be here for you. Did you ever show your parents your music, or write anything for them?”

He pulled away from you, so you just sat back down on the coffee table. “Whatever I wrote for them, it would never matter. My music was nothing to them, it was always the one thing that drove me away. They regretted buying me that guitar the moment I started playing. They lost me, and they will never forgive themselves no matter what.”

You couldn’t help but feel tears pool in your eyes as well, you wanted nothing more than to take back the past, to give your life for his, for a moment to make up with his parents.

“I wrote one song; it was for my mom. It was right after I ran away, and it was everything I didn’t know how to say to her. But now, she will never hear everything I wanted to say, she was so important, and I just left her there”

You processed his words, you knew exactly what song it was and tomorrow you were going to give that piece of art to his mom, and hopefully it would heal some of the open wounds in her heart. You hand already made up your mind about that.

*Next day*

You woke up early, before heading across town. You knew if you waited later in the day, that you would change your mind about this. You knew Luke would be mad, but you felt he needed this to heal, and so did his mom.

You quietly pulled into the Patterson’s driveway, trying to keep your nerves under wraps. You shut the car door and made your way up the drive. You were almost to the front door when Luke poofed in front of you. The look he gave you was not exactly good…

“What- why are you here??” he questioned; you could barely look into his eyes. You knew he would be angry when he found out your reasoning.

“I wanted to help- so I brought Unsaid Emily with me for your mom. I think she deserves to hear everything you couldn’t say to her. You can be mad at me, but I need to do this for you and for her” You said with confidence before rigging the doorbell, Luke just scowled at you. He was going to give you an earful later.

Moments later the door opened, and there stood a man. He was older from some of the pictures you had seen, but he was Luke’s dad, and you knew that.

“Hi, may I help you?” He spoke softly

“Yes, Hi. My name is Y/n, Y/n Y/l/n. My friend lives in the house where Sunset Curve used to practice, and I found something that you might want.” You said, feeling the hot tears pool in your eyes as you saw him suck in a deep breath.

He stepped aside letting you in, Luke followed in behind you.

You picked up a photo on the table, “Is this your son? Luke, right?”

He nodded before talking, “He was about 2-years-old in that photo. He was definitely a light in our life” A small smile fell onto your lips; he was the light of your life now. Even in death, he was the most perfect, and incredible person you had ever met.

Before you could speak again, you saw Luke’s mom come into the room, “Hi honey, did I hear the bell ring” she just offered you a small smile.

“Yes, this is Y/n and her friend lives in the house where the band used to rehearse. She brought something for us” He said to his wife, who looked at you with wide eyes.

“I assume you must be Emily?” You asked, sending Luke a look across the room. You could tell he was holding in a breath.

She nodded, before you continued, “I was cleaning out the garage and I found this song. It is called “Unsaid Emily”, I could happily sing it for you… if that’s okay?”

“Uh- could you maybe wait a moment, I have something you’ll need” Luke’s dad said, before retreating out of the room. He quickly returned with a guitar in hand.

“it was a birthday present for Luke, we never got to give it to him. It would be wonderful if you could play it for us… if you can play?” His dad said, handing you the fresh guitar. You caught Luke’s gaze across the room, he was in shock. He always thought they hated his music.

Taking a deep breath, you sat down in front of them with Luke’s lyrics in front of you. It took you a few minutes to tune the guitar before you began singing,

First things first

We start the scene in reverse

All of the lines rehearsed

Disappeared from my mind

When things got loud

One of us running out

I should have turned around

But I had too much pride

It was like as soon as the song started, it had come to an end. You could swear you could hear Luke still singing the song, like he wouldn’t be able to stop.

“You have no idea what you have given us…” Luke’s mom said, playing her hand on yours. You just grabbed it tightly.

“I can say, I write my music in the same place he did. It is a beautiful place full of happiness. I just thought you would want to know that. He lived doing the one thing he loved the most, and that inspires me everyday” You said, pushing the guitar back in their direction.

His dad just shook his head, “Keep it, I think Luke would want you to have it. And please, come back. It is great to hear his music inspired someone, especially someone so gifted”

You were shocked, this was an incredible gift, especially from Luke’s parents of all people.

“I could not thank you enough, I promise I will be back soon… I will try to find more things of Luke’s” you said, gently hugging his parents before heading out the door. You gripped the guitar close to your heart, it was an incredible gift.

You got in your car, and there was Luke. You could see the tear stains on his cheek, you intertwined your hand with his.

“I cannot thank you enough for what you just did… You gave them back a hope, a happiness in their life…” He said, choking back more tears.

“Luke, I did this for you… Don’t thank me. I just needed to do something… I wanted to bring you closure as well. You don’t know how much I care about you Luke.” You said, rubbing your thumb on the back of his hand.

His head whipped in your direction, “Of course I do, your dork. I know how much you care because I feel the same way about you. This is definitely something interesting we have. And I may be dead, but I am not dumb.”

You just laughed at his remark, Luke was always going to be the one who held your heart. He was the one who made your world spin in ways no one has. Luke was your one in a million, and he was going to be that until the end of time.

#luke patterson imagines #luke patterson #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson smut #reggie #reggie x reader #reggie julie and the phantoms #alex #alex x reader #alex julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms #julie and the fat ones #julie x reader

255 notes · View notes

catxsnow · 4 years ago

Text

AFTER HOURS chapter two

Summary: Enemies to the public, friends to their close ones, friends with benefits between them. Rival companies and an attraction that can’t be ignored.

Tim Drake x reader

Warnings: swearing, mature content, smut, 18+ only, mention death of parents, car crash mentions.

A/N: Chapter twooooooo it shall be getting more interesting next chapter😏

Word Count: 3.6k

It seemed that her life seemed revolve around business meetings. Nine in the morning, another at eleven, two at noon but there was no way to attend both, a final one at three. Meeting after meeting, and for what? To hear the same things over and over again? Some people choose to do this for the rest of their lives.

There was something about the busy Gotham streets that always caught her attention. Maybe it was the sound of the horns, or the people yelling within their cars. Gun shots or screams. There was always something to distract her from whatever meeting she was forced to listen to. Maybe it was because she didn't want to listen to it at all.

Of course, running this company was important. Without her parents, she had to take control of it. It was an important company too, just along side WE, they worked to make Gotham, and the world a better place. That didn't mean that she wanted to here about the statistical analysis of it all.

Not to mention that the weight of her parent's anniversary was heavy in her mind. Four years since they had been gone, four years of blaming herself. They went to Gotham to visit her, if they had just stayed home, they would still be home. Car accidents happen all the time, but that didn't make it any easier.

The second that the final meeting was over, she couldn't seem to get out of that room fast enough. She just wanted to be in the privacy of her own office. The door nearly slammed shut as she closed it. Back against the wall, heavy breathing as she tried to hold herself together. It was always hard on that day of the year.

A bright bouquet of flowers was on her desk. With a shaky breath, she headed over to see who they were from. It wasn't rare for her to receive flowers. Gotham's greatest bachelorette - more like people wanted her for sex and money. Without that company, she wouldn't have been idolized like that.

The bouquet was grand: flowers of every color and kind poked out from it. Whoever this was, they had spent a lot of money on it. (Y/N) picked up the small card and read what it said.

For your parents. I know days like these aren't easy, I'm sorry. - T.D.

"Those are pretty."

"Ms. Vale," her jaw clenched at the sound of the voice behind here. Great, this was the last thing that she needed to deal with today. Vicki Vale had a tendency to show up on her worst days. "What do I owe the pleasure of today and who let you into my office?"

"I let myself in," she said. Vicki Vale stood tall and proud. She had a large purse over her shoulder which surely held a plethora of notebooks and pens. Always ready to catch a story and always eager to stir up drama within the city. "Hope you don't mind. Just wanted to ask you a few questions about this new business deal that you're about to make. But, now I'm curious about the flowers, who're they from?"

"Why don't you tell me?" She sat in her chair as Vicky sat in the one across from her. "You do enjoy making headlines about me and my, as you say 'promiscuous life'." There had been many titles about (Y/N) - between her risky clothing, the second that she were talking with a man outside of business, or her attempts for normal dates - she was there.

Vicki casually reached her perfectly manicured finger tips towards the card from the flowers. Before she could even come near, (Y/N)'s palm slammed down on the desk. She pulled the card towards herself and out of the reach of Vicki. The last thing she needed was for the reporter to put two and two together to realize T.D. was Tim Drake-Wayne.

"Another hopeless lover of yours?" She raised an eyebrow. There was no answer. "I just wanted to ask you what you thought about Wayne Enterprise's attempt to stop the progress of your new development? Mr. Drake - sorry, Mr. Wayne, had lots to say on the matter, I hope you do as well."

"As a matter of fact, I don't." WE's attempt to stop the development was futile. Even Tim had told her that. There was no reason for them to try and stop it when in the end it would benefit both companies. They just wanted their name on it rather than hers. Everyone in both companies knew that.

It was for namesake that there was disagreements about the development. She was lucky enough to have beaten Tim to it first. This was going to a be a massive break for the company, one that would sky rocket sales and put you neck and neck with Wayne Enterprises once again.

"Mr. Wayne is your biggest competitor, aren't you worried?" She continued to pry. (Y/N) had gotten skilled over the years of not letting the curiosity of others get to her. She was able to keep her face straight and her mouth shut - even when she had lots she wanted to say.

"Mr. Wayne has always, and will always be my biggest competitor. Unfortunately for him, I was the one to give the statement first about this new addition to the city. I will become Gotham's biggest economic resources, just as I have always tried to do in the past - and just as Mr. Wayne has always done in the past."

"So, you're saying that you public enemies?" Vicki pressed. She had always known about (Y/N)'s vendetta against the WE, but there had never been a statement that she tried to take the company down so hers could thrive. That was never her intention, they could co-exist always.

"I'm saying, Ms. Vale, that Timothy Drake-Wayne is a smart man. He knows when to push through fights, and he knows when he is losing. This time, he's lost. The next time, I won't be so lucky. Those who are fighting for the same cost are never enemies," she firmly stated.

"Will you be attending the Wayne Gala?" Vicki continued. Of course, there always had to be questions that weren't related to the company. She wanted anything to see (Y/N) with a man, just to make a headline for the decade. In all these years, not once had she been caught in the dating scene.

"No. I've made a donation, but I will not be attending," She answered. The tag from the flowers seemed to burn the skin of her hands. Tim sent those flowers because he worried, not because he wished to impress her. "Don't you have some better reporting to do rather than finding strings to cling onto of my personal life, Ms. Vale?"

"That'll be all for today."

Tim's bouquet of flowers felt heavy in her hands. The weight of having to visit her parent's graves was always a hard task to do alone. As time passed, it seemed easier to go visit them. Years of working hard to make them proud, years of showing them how much the business they started thrived.

There was nothing more that she wanted than to make them proud. Even as a child - working hard in school, playing sports, everything that would have brought a smile to their faces. In death, it felt like she needed to work even harder. Then again, as time passed, she forgot the sound of their voices, the crinkle by their eyes as they smiled, she forgot the warmth of their hugs.

As time passed, she forgot that she could be happy.

Work consumed her in the past four years. Late nights at the office, early mornings, weekends even. She lost friends, disconnected from family, deterred everyone away. Running this company had changed her life, and not necessarily for the better. The responsibility of it all was almost too much to handle on her own.

"Mr. Wayne's son bought these for you," she spoke to her parents graves. Tim's flowers sat on the grass, bringing some brightness to that gloomy day. "Surprising, I know. He's very kind, I think you guys would like him if he wasn't running Wayne Enterprises. At this point though I think you would like any man that I talked to.

"I miss you both, a lot. I'm securing a new development in the company, it's really going to pull us ahead this time. Dad would have thought it would have been a risky move, but I did it. I beat them for once. I hope you guys are proud of me up there, I'm really trying to make this city a better place in your name.

"Happy anniversary mom and dad, I love you," she sighed once more before heading back to her car. The walk back seemed long. Her shoulders hung low and she furiously wiped away the hot tears that threatened to spill down her eyes.

To her surprise, Tim was there, leaning against his own car right next to hers. He was reading something on his phone, but as he heard her footsteps, he looked up. "Mr. Wayne, thank you for those flowers, they were beautiful. What are you doing here?"

It wasn't often that they met up in public without there being some sort of business meeting along with it. Tim shoved his phone in his pocket and gave her a smile filled with sympathy. To be honest, he was visiting his own parents. Their chat the previous night had edged him to go visit their graves.

It just happened to be lucky timing that she was there as well. Tim didn't want to disturb her, but he did wish to speak to her. He always wished to talk with her - not just about business. He liked being with her, she was refreshing in his life of darkness. Without evening knowing much about it, it seemed she understood him more than anyone.

"I was in the area," Tim vaguely answered. He knew that he could tell her that he was visiting his parents just like she were but he felt deterred from doing so. Besides, upon seeing the redness in her eyes, he didn't want to worry about anything besides her. She had been crying, it was evident for someone like him. "I'm glad you liked the flowers, they used to be mother's favourites."

"They stirred up quite the fuss with Vicki Vale today," she tried to joke. Tim rolled his eyes at the sound of her name. He wasn't her biggest fan, in fact he was far from it. Vicki had single-handedly meddled into his life and forced him to live an entire year with a fake spinal injury and crutches. He had gotten off of them just before meeting (Y/N).

"She came to see you too, huh?" Tim shuddered at their meeting that afternoon. Question after question about his involvement with Ms. (L/N). Vicki was sure that there was something going on between the two of them - and for once she was right. "The new development or your latest hot date?"

"Considering my latest hot date is non-existent, it was the development. But, she was pretty eager for me to say something about you," She half-smiled. Tim shook his head, of course. Vicki was always trying to start a turf war or make the two of them fall in love. "I know you just came over last night... but I could really use a distraction from today."

A distraction. That seemed that was all he was to her. Nothing more than something to get her mind of the life she was thrown into. Of course, that was what it was all about at the start. Fucking to forget. He knew it, he went into their benefit relationship knowing it but as time grew...

"There's nothing wrong with taking a break from work," Tim changed the subject a little too quickly. In the four years he had known her, she had aged. Worried creases were around her eyes and scattered on her forehead. Dark circles always under her eyes. It worried him. "I'm not saying leave or anything, but you can have fun every once in a while. It's a Friday night, why not go to the bar with your friends? Let loose and live a little."

Tim was right. She wasn't the young eighteen year old anymore that would have been chastised for having a drink. It was legal for her to go out and have fun, maybe tonight was the kind of night that she deserved. Her parents wouldn't want her to sulk over their deaths, they would have wanted her to live her best life.

Going out was exactly what she needed. Not a distraction, not something that would keep her mind busy for a couple hours just to fall back in her pit of despair. She needed a genuine change in her life, and maybe that started with connecting with old friends and making some new ones.

As no words came out of her mouth, Tim took the time to realize that it was his moment to leave. She was obviously deep in thought with his words. He placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it before getting into his car. "I hate when you call me Mr. Wayne," he told her.

It was true, not only did it make him feel old, but it also made him feel like they didn't know each other at all. That was far from the truth, they both were far closer to each other than they would like to admit. Tim knew of her desire to keep their relationship business - and emotionless sex. They were after all, public enemies.

For the first time in years she woke up with a hangover. Pounding head, upset stomach - it was a feeling that she didn't miss. It wasn't rare for her to sleep naked in her own home, but it was to feel a heavy arm across her waist. Dark hair, muscular back - for a second she swore it to be Tim, but this man wasn't nearly as broad as he was.

Aside from the thumping in her head, memories of what happened the night before started to resurface. She had taken Tim's advice and called up her friends to go get a drink. One drink turned to two, which turned to shots and getting plastered. It had been so long since she had seen them all that letting loose was almost too easy.

She knew that she shouldn't have gotten that drunk, but having fun like that for the first time since she started working at that company was exhilarating. Unlike she had thought - her friends accepted her right back in. They knew that she was under a lot of pressure and that making time wasn't easy. They were just thankful for that night.

So, with a small reunion at the front of the bar, they headed in and got hammered. She treated her friends round after round - partially because she easily could and partially for an apology. It didn't take long for them to become a laughing mess while catching up and remembering the old days.

By the time the night was coming to an end, her friend pointed out the man that had been eyeing her up for hours. Whether it was the alcohol, the need to continue her good night, or to show her friends that she was just as fun as ever, she went to the man. Minutes later, they were walking out of the club and into a taxi.

Now, he was asleep in her bed and she had no idea whether or not anyone outside of her friend group knew what had happened. The man stirred. He pulled himself closer towards her as he woke. Warm brown eyes met hers, a genuine smile. What was his name? Jacob.

"Good morning beautiful," his voice was hoarse, sexy. Her mind raced between the option of soaking up some more moments of fun or getting back to her usual self and kicking him out. She went with the first one as he glided his hands along the curves of her side before placing his hand at her jaw.

It made her falter. This man... as good looking and as sexy as he was, he wasn't Tim. He didn't please her like Tim did. He didn't make her feel as good as Tim did. Even the sound of his voice didn't bring her the same amount of excitement. Why did she feel like she betrayed him? They were allowed to sleep with who they wanted.

She pushed away the feeling. Tim was the one to tell her to go out and have fun. Let loose from the burden of running a company and just the kid that she was. Sleeping with men, getting drunk, that was all part of her teen years that she missed out on. Tim wanted her to have this.

"Coffee?" She asked. Maybe that would stop the ridiculous headache she had. Or maybe she was using it as an excuse to get out of bed with him. Jacob nodded. He pulled her in for a long kiss, lingering against her for just a moment too long. The two of them grabbed whatever scattered clothes they could before going to her kitchen.

As the smell of coffee beans filled the air, she checked her phone for the first time that morning. Unlike the endless abundance of emails that she had gotten - there was a plethora of missed calls and texts. This was far from usual. Her eyebrows furrowed as she opened up the one from her closet advisor.

A picture of her and Jacob leaving the club, pictures of them kissing, her taking shots and drinking with her friends. Is she really mature enough to run this company? Black bold letters stared back at her. This was exactly what she was trying to avoid. The media had taken her one night of fun and turned the city against her.

"Fuck," she breathed out.

"What's wrong?" Jacob asked. Genuine concern was in his eyes for why she was suddenly upset. She was frozen in her spot, unable to tear her eyes away from the screen. Jacob stood behind her, hands on her shoulders as he glanced over the article itself. "Oh." He never assumed that the media would do this.

In the bar, he knew who she was. Everyone in Gotham knew who she was, however he never expected her to be that beautiful in person. His friends had been hyping him up all night to go talk to her, but he knew it would never be a success. So, when she came to him, he couldn't say no.

Now, he worried that in one fowl swoop, he had tainted everything that she had worked so hard for.

"I think you should go," she told him, not trying to be rude. This wasn't his fault, none of this was. It was her fault for agreeing to her friends to go after him, it was her fault for agreeing to Tim's idea. Tim. This wouldn't have happened if he hadn't offered. Was this a ploy to get her company to fall so he could come out on top?

"I know it doesn't really mean much from someone like me, but... No matter what Gotham has to say about you, I think you’re the only one keeping this city somewhat sane," Jacob told her. He genuinely thought her to be a good person - not just some chick with a nice ass and easy access. There were people in Gotham that wanted to see her succeed, regardless of her age.

It was a hard idea to get through her head - people believing in her for her brain, not her body. So many articles, just like the one she read this morning, forced her to a life that made her weary of trusting people. She wanted to be seen as powerful, influential - not as a little girl who ran around sleeping with people.

"Thank you," she smiled. "If it means anything, I did have a great time last night." Jacob chuckled, but agreed. He waved a final time and left her home. Reluctantly, she went through the rest of the texts that she had gotten over the night. All of them were the same - reminding her that she was still an immature kid.

The board of directors, her friends, advisors - everyone seemed to have seen it before she had. It was the text from Tim that stood out to her the most. I see you took my advise, hope you had fun last night. Don't worry to much about the paps.

Don't worry? Don't worry? The great Tim Wayne had nothing to worry about, ever. Her on the other hand? She was constantly under scrutiny. In the eyes of society, Tim was the perfect candidate to take over WE. He was smart, cunning, he had a way with the people. It seemed that there was never anything bad for someone to say about him.

Her life on the other hand? She fell under Gotham's microscope and was picked apart until there was nothing left beside the mistakes she had made. This was another mistake, another mishap that would push her back and make her fall under the hand of Wayne Enterprises. The same man that tried to convince her that this was the best thing that she could do for herself.

This was Tim's fault, and she was furious.

@julia-and-comics @unknowntoanyone @willieoo @kindashittywriter @subtleappreciation @yandereforyou @pricetagofficial @because-icanhide @magicisabluewish @hyp-oh-critical @littleredwing89 @boy-georgina @sparkleofpizza @craptainlou @timtimmersdrake @hauntingsonofrobin @anothertimdrakestan @idkmanicantenglish @vvipgot7be

#tim drake #tim drake imagine #tim drake smut #Tim drake fanficition #tim drake fic #tim drake x fem!reader #red robin #red robin imagine #dc imagine #dc #after hours #tim drake series #smut

185 notes · View notes

caiuscassiuss · 4 years ago

Text

Birched⎮D. Sicheng (M) P.2

Description: There was something that lurked beneath that pretty boy smile of Dong Sicheng— something dark, something dangerous… something you knew you would get pulled into once you got too curious. (Or, your ill-tempered coworker turns out to be your dominant.)

Part One is HERE

Genre: BDSM/ enemies to lovers winwin! smut | romance | angst WC: 11k+ Warnings: graphic smut (dom! sicheng + sub! reader, BDSM (Bondage, Dominance, Submission, and Masochism) choking, rough sex), taboo relationship, blatant sexism, TW: mentions of an abusive relationship

(A/N: Thank you to my amazing beta @won-markiepooh-woo for helping me. This wouldn’t have been possible without you!)

Saturday February 1st, 2020

Y/N’s Apartment

10 AM HKT

The little jingle of a FaceTime call echoed through your silent apartment, and you snuggled into the sheets of your bed.

“Hello? Kun huang?”

A flash black hair and a sweet smile appeared within the view of the camera.

“Huang Gua!” you exclaimed.

Instantly, the happy smile slipped off his face and transformed into an annoyed expression.

“Can you not? We’ve been over this,” he complained.

“Oh come on! It’s so funny,” you jibed.

“It’s not.”

“You only used to eat cucumbers for years. You earned that name yourself.”

“So?” he snorted. “You used to eat shrimp chips as a kid. I don’t call you shrimp, do I?” A devious expression flashed over his face.

“Kun Huang…” you warned.

“Maybe I should start now. Right, shrimp?”

“Oh my god, stop!”

“No, shrimp. I can keep going, you know.”

“Okay, fine, fine. I submit!” You laughed.

He chuckled. “That’s what I thought.”

“So how are you now, Hendery? How’s your mom and dad? Oh my gosh, Hengwai!”

“I’m doing fine, as are mom and dad. Hengwai misses her little sister. They all want you to call them more. Sometimes I think they miss you more than me.” He pouted.

“Awww, poor baby. But give them my well wishes too! I miss everyone so much,” you said. For some reason, tears welled in your eyes.

Obviously, Hendery could tell you were about to start crying and started to panic.

“Y/N? Talk to me. Oh, you know I can’t take it if you start crying!”

He never really could. Even after many years spent together in your childhood, he was still awkward as hell around your tears.

You waved him off, swiping the tears. “I’m fine, I’m fine. It’s just so lonely around here.”

“Y/N…��

“I’m fine! I swear!”

“Literally, one word and I’m on a flight to Hong Kong. I’m not playing,” he said gravely.

“Hendery, no. Besides, don’t you have some farms to run? I would never expect you to do that.”

“One word, Y/N. Just one.” He looked you dead in the eye.

You looked away. “Anyways, how are your farms going?”

A smile split his face and his eyes sparked. “Guess who just got their hundredth farm?”

Your jaw dropped. “No way, you’re fucking joking! One hundred?! I’m so proud of you! Kun Huang!” you squealed.

“Yeah, I know right? It’s so weird knowing so many people depend on me for their livelihoods now. I get sort of scared when I sit back and think about it…”

As Kun Huang went on about his day to day troubles in agriculture, a small, wistful smile played upon your lips. Why didn’t you just stay back and fall in love with Kun Huang? It would have been so easy. Being with Kun Huang was like breathing, and you could’ve spent the rest of your life like this. No Minghao, no BDSM, and most importantly, no… him.

Dolos.

Master?

Sicheng.

You hated how smoothly the puzzle pieces fit together. Sicheng always left early on Fridays, even though he always stayed late. At office parties, he lacked a significant other by his side, even when many would drop everything if he so much as winked at them.

It was hard not to think about him. You had started to feel an increase in your heartbeat whenever you thought of Dolos before Wednesday. You had originally wanted to know who was behind Dolos’ mask and if he returned those feelings. But, fuck, he would be so mad if he found out who you were.

Not to mention, how humiliating it would be if he knew. You had staked everything on being a cold-hearted bitch when Sicheng took particular pleasure in sneering at “the inherent submissiveness” of her gender. So if he found out Dove, who liked to be slapped during sex, and her, the la dame sans merci of the company, were the same person, it would destroy any chance of credibility you may have had in his eyes.

This was all one big mess. One big, gigantic and catastrophic mess. For so long you had rigorously kept your professional and personal lives apart, but the universe had conspired against you: to make the best dominant you ever had to also be your work nemesis.

Some higher being was laughing at you, you knew it.

Sunday February 2nd, 2020

The Dong Family Villa on the Shek O Peninsula, Hong Kong

1 PM HKT

A curl of disgust twisted his lips as he looked down on the lawn party going down below him.

“Don’t you look happy, Sicheng.”

Sicheng acknowledged ChengCheng out of the corner of his eye and went back to glaring at the party in contempt.

“This is not how I wanted today to go.”

His childhood friend snorted and plopped himself down in a lawn chair, contemplating the blond haired man.

Sicheng spun around and picked up his glass of wine, downing the drink in one gulp. He settled himself next to ChengCheng with a frown.

“I just wanted to come here and fucking relax, but, no, my parents just had to use it for the fucking party. Fete. What-fucking-ever.” He exhaled loudly and ran his hands through his hair.

Chengcheng looked over the balcony railing curiously. “Looks like a luncheon to me.”

“Fuck off.”

“Christ, what’s up your ass?”

“Just some work stuff. It’s nothing.”

The brown-haired man frowned. “Then why aren’t you at Black’s then? Nothing can’t be resolved by a good fuck.”

At the mention of the club, a pained expression flashed over Sicheng’s face and his knuckles inadvertently tightened around the stem of his glass. The tension that had been in shoulders wounded itself up even more and this clued ChengCheng in.

Something other than work had Sicheng in knots. Very rarely did the blond man ever show he was angry—not even when his father lashed him as a child, nor when the family forced him to work for the company—so he was evidently very troubled by this ‘something’.

Sicheng’s phone rang and broke the silence. The man himself fished it out of his back pocket irritatedly.

“Excuse me for a moment, ChengCheng. I need to take this phone call.”

“Sicheng speaking,” he spoke as he stalked into the study.

“Hello sir, how are you—”

“Did you get the information or not?” Sicheng asked, cutting off the family’s retainer. His leg bounced, as he sat against the desk and he ran a weary hand through his hair.

“A-ah, unfortunately, Black’s doesn’t record pseudonyms digitally or on paper…”

“Fuck!” Sicheng yelled. Mr. Lau just had to be fucking careful, he thought irritably.

“... However, sir, I was able to obtain a membership list since the club was digitally updating their monthly list. I then compared it to the list from the previous month and found several missing names, indicative of them terminating their membership. I have compiled a dossier of several females that match your description of Dove and forwarded it to you.”

Sicheng quickly logged into his laptop, his blood rushing through his ears. The identity of the most perfect submissive he’s ever had could literally be sitting in his inbox right now.

With trembling fingers, he opened the attachment.

Wang Fang, age 25—

“Sir?”

The blond man glared at his phone. “Thank you for your service, Liu Wei. Goodbye.”

Wang Fang was a tall, spindly woman with a face like a horse. The policy of privacy by masks was kind to her at Black’s. However, the jaw was all wrong and he knew in his gut she was not his Dove.

He scrolled to the next page. Leila Williams, age 27—British expat, was absolutely gorgeous. But, even through the screen, she exuded an unshakable aura of self-assurance. A dominatrix, probably, so that excluded her from his search.

He went through 2 or 3 more documents; each one too plain or too ordinary to be Dove.

Y/N L/N, age XX.

Sicheng blinked rapidly, sagging into his office chair.

Y/N is—was—a member at Black’s?

The picture provided was the one from her LinkedIn profile: a professional headshot with a grey background. She was smiling tightly, coldly—just as she was in the office. The other image provided instantly tented his pants.

It was her, clearly on a night out. She was in attire that flattered her body and he could easily see himself running his hands over her. Y/N looked fucking fantastic with her unbound hair, so unlike her tight updos at the office. However, what drew his eyes was the most vibrant shade of red painted on her lips, which was parted slightly as she was laughing.

He recognized that lipstick. The same shade of firetruck red had been smeared across Dove’s cheeks many, many times. YSL Rouge Satin Lipstick—the one he told her he liked and she, like a good girl, had religiously worn.

Could that mean…?

Glancing at the side bar, he noticed there was one more page left in the dossier. Please let the next one be Dove…

His hopes were instantly deflated. Kwon Myunghee was too old and too artificial to be his gorgeous submissive.

With his heart in his throat, he scrolled back to Y/N’s page. Enlarging the picture of her laughing, he put a hand over her eyes and leaned back to observe.

Sicheng would be an absolute fool if he did not recognize that mouth. Red fuck me! lipstick on an equally fuckable mouth parted in pleasure, or screaming his name while strung up on a cross. He would be an absolute fool if he did not recognize that neck, covered in purple and red hickies or his fingermarks. An absolute damn fool.

Yet, at this moment, he would’ve given anything to be one.

He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. Y/N was… Dove? And Dove… was Y/N?

So why did she leave? How did she end up at Black’s? Did she know? Did she end up there on purpose? Why—

Eventually, all the questions piled up in his head until he was left winded. Sicheng buried his head in his hands, pulling at his blond locks and breathing heavily. Something was bubbling in his chest and—

He started to laugh. He cackled, howled, at his shitstorm of misfortune, luck, and confusion until he was sprawled undignified on the Oriental carpet, staring up at the intricate wood carvings on the ceiling.

Monday February 3rd, 2020

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

6 PM HKT

Shutting the door to your office, you collapsed into your chair and massaged your temples.

Today was the day Mr. Lee had left the office, leaving his official resignation. The top sales officials (including an off-color, brooding Sicheng) gathered in his office to congratulate him and give him an official goodbye. What was supposed to be a quick meet-up turned into afternoon drinking when Mr. Lee pulled out the good liquor from a secret cabinet underneath his desk. You accepted a drink with a grimace, but Sicheng declined and remained uncharacteristically detached the entire time. Granted, you too were detached from the conversation, uncomfortable with the lewd retirement and mistress jeers spouted by the older sales officials as they steadily got drunker and less inhibited.

As the time ended and a consensus to leave had been reached, you thought you could escape and actually work... that was until Mr. Lee walked alongside you and stuck himself in the elevator with you.

The bastard had the audacity to grope your ass in the crowded elevator. You shivered, remembering the awful and grimy feeling as his hot breath whispered in your ear that he was available any time for a “catch-up”.

This day was a mess. You had a shit-ton of work to catch up due to that fucking meeting and you had been sexually harrassed; you were also anxious about the promotion and, on top of that, you couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Sicheng.

Huffing, you ate some red-bean bread as you powered up your desktop. This was fucking ridiculous. You knew Sicheng had noticed your odd, reticent behavior around him and this skittishness was impeding your ability to work. Well, no better way to forget about your problems was to solve other ones at work.

For the next two hours, you slogged through work emails and analytics as the sun set over Kowloon Bay. Your hair had been unbound and your blazer had been messily thrown over the back of your chair as your work progressed. Since most of the office had left by now, you figured it was safe to relax in your office.

It was night time by the time you had finished your last project and you sat back in your chair, staring at the skyline. Was this how your life destined to be? At the top, surrounded by the comforts of life, but alone?

A knock sounded at the door, jolting you out of your thoughts.

Who the fuck would be at the office at 8 PM?

“Come in.”

You caught sight of a golden head of hair slipping inside of your office and you sighed. Of course, it was Sicheng.

He took a seat unbidden and stared at you with an indecipherable expression on his face. His eyes roamed the contours and curves of your features.

You arched an eyebrow. “Can I help you with anything, Sicheng? I’m about to leave the office.”

He fought with himself inwardly, his mouth opened and closed several times before he finally settled on what he wanted to say. “I’d like to ask a question.”

You adjusted yourself in the chair. “Feel free.”

From his blazer’s pocket, he pulled out an aged sheet of paper and slowly opened it, before setting it in front of you. Sicheng settled back in his chair and steepled his fingers over his lap, the lights of the Hong Kong skyline playing across his face and making his sharp features stand out.

“Do you recognize this?”

The blood literally froze in your veins as your eyes caught sight of your handwriting in the letter, along with the tear-stains that blotched the paper and the text. Your heartbeat rose to your throat and all you felt was the blood rushing in your ears.

“Y/N?” he prodded.

You gulped and straightened out your top, your fingers trembling as you did so.

“No, I don’t. W-who’s Dolos? Why does this concern me?” you lied, stumbling a bit.

He watched you, his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed.

“Don’t lie to me, Dove.”

“I-Dove? My name is Y/N,” you replied shakily. Grabbing your purse, you hurriedly stuffed all your personal belongings in while avoiding catching his seething stare. “Excuse me, I’d really like to get home.”

His jaw clenched and his palm twitched as he saw you had no desire to come clean.

“Look at me.”

Unthinking, you ceased all movements, put your trembling hands in your lap and looked up at him. “Sir?”

Your eyes widened and you slapped a hand over your mouth; your eyes darted around the room in search for an escape. You felt akin to a caged animal as he grinned meanly, incongruous on his cherubic features.

“That’s what I thought.”

“No—”

“You thought you could get away with this? You thought you could fucking play me?!”

You were aghast at seeing Dolos and Sicheng finally merging together in front of your eyes, and the result was grotesquely beautiful. His grin slipped off his face and twisted into a malevolent sneer. The naked fire in Dolos' gaze was finally unveiled in Sicheng’s eyes and, for the first time, you could see who Sicheng really was.

“Answer me, Dove—Y/N! Fuck, I don’t even know who you are anymore!” Sicheng shouted, running his hands through his hair while he paced around your office.

You stared unblinkingly at the bookshelf at the corner of the room. Fuck, this was all your nightmares coming true. You were going to be ruined and he was going to laugh on and on now that he knew you and Dove were the same.

“It was never supposed to end up like this,” you whispered hoarsely, tears welling up underneath your lashes.

“How was it supposed to end, huh? Fuck, you strung me along for six months—half a fucking year—”

“I didn’t fucking know, you ass! I wouldn’t have touched you with a ten foot pole if I knew who you were!” you hissed.

He laughed harshly. “You did a hell of a lot more than touch me, Dove. But after you got your fix, you pretended that this never happened.”

“You would’ve done the same, so this never did happen. Walk out right now and this will have never happened and we can go back to our normal, spiteful dynamic—”

“You’re out of your fucking mind, if you think—”

“You don’t understand, Sicheng! Can’t you see I’ll be ruined by this? That we’ll both be ruined by this? I can’t afford that!”

“So you thought to just leave me? With just a fucking letter and nothing else?”

“I didn’t know, okay! I didn’t know what to do!”

“You lied to me, Y/N. Fucking lied to my face!”

“I had to! Because you and I were never supposed to find out!”

Sicheng moved to yell, but clamped his jaw shut. “You lying, cheating, slut,” he seethed.

Your mouth trembled for a moment at the sheer vitriol that sprouted from his lips, but you stood tall. “You know what? Maybe I am. But I can live with that if you’d just fucking let it go!”

“You think I’d be able to let go of this?!” He cupped your jaw roughly and pulled you into a hungry kiss.

It wasn’t a smooth kiss—not one with even a hint of finesse. Lips smashed into lips, with tongue and teeth grappling against each other as his hands bruised your wrists.

Your back hit your desk and he swept your belongings off the desk haphazardly, letting go of your chin to lift you onto the desk with no effort.

“Forget my tongue on your skin? Forget my hands in between your thighs?” he murmured between hungry dips of his tongue. “I’ll fucking show you.”

He kissed down your neck, stopping to nip at your collarbone, and left a trail of stinging lovebites all over your shoulders. Sicheng’s hips pinned you into the desk as he popped each button of your blouse, hurriedly ripping it to the side to leave more hickies upon your chest and breasts.

You moaned as he pushed the cups of your bra down, using his wicked tone to swipe complicated patterns but never once touching your tips. Finally, he nipped at them hard causing you to squeal embarrassingly.

“S-sicheng,” you whimpered, gripping his hair as he pushed up your skirt.

The blond man carelessly pulled your underwear aside and thrusted two fingers in.

“Fuck!” you gasped, as you buried your red face in the crook of his neck.

You couldn’t see it, but you knew he was smirking smugly so your hands drifted down to his tented trousers and gripped his erection hard.

“You wanna fucking play? Let’s play, baby,” he grunted and hastily unbuckled his belt. His glorious cock sprung up in the space between your thighs.

Sicheng pushed your back down onto the desk, leaving him to tower over you. Without warning, he roughly pushed his cock into your slit.

You both groaned at the pleasurable friction. Fuck, how could you forget this? His length stretching you out deliciously? His broad shoulders heaving in exertion?

He bottomed out slowly, stilling as his hips pressed into yours. A sly smile glanced over his face as his hand drifted over your neck.

“Sicheng! You asshole, fucking move!” you said to him, thrusting your own hips weakly for effect.

His devilish smile split his angelic features, and he shook his head. “Wrong name, Dove.”

His hips pushed into yours roughly and you whined, scratching at the edges of your desk. Sicheng withdrew just as quickly and thrusted in again, watching the lust ripple upon your expression. He had missed the way your left eyebrow ticked when he brushed against your G-Spot, your nose scrunching as you clasped his shoulders. Finally seeing your full expressions fulfilled something in him that he didn’t care to reflect upon.

After deep, staccato thrusts that had you gasping for breath, he settled into a smooth rhythm. You slapped a hand over your mouth as your back bowed, thrusting your breasts up to his hungry perusal. Unable to resist temptation—the godless Tantalus he was—he settled his plump lips over your nipples, raised his eyes to yours, and sucked.

Even with your palm practically stuffed in your lips, your keen echoed around the room loudly and slick dripped down your thighs, making the desk underneath your bottom sticky and wet.

He tsked, lifting his head up and looked deeply into your eyes. A slight grin settled over his lips and Sicheng tilted his head mockingly. “Oh sweet girl, haven’t you forgotten we’re in an office?” His eyes darkened even more. “I’ll have to keep you quiet, then, whore.”

His featherlight touches on your rib cage was replaced with a bruising grasp to your throat, stealing the air out of you. His wrist settled into your collar bone and his slender fingers mimicked playing the piano, placing pressure on different parts on your throat to an unheard rhythm. The blood rushed to your ears, the dizzying sensation of it blurring your sight and distorting your thoughts. The veins on his forehand, twisting and rippling in the light, caught your vision and he moved—ever so roughly—into you.

Sicheng set a new pace, stretching your legs even wider and your head fell back onto the desk with a thunk. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe; you just felt the numbing sort of pleasure that radiated from your pussy.

“Fucking slut,” he gasped. “You’ve bewitched me, haven’t you? Wrapped yourself around my brain and haven’t let me so much as breathe without thinking about you.” His grip tightened around your neck. “I’ll show you.”

Suddenly, your phone on the floor rang and you both froze. He released the grip on your neck and bent down.

His back was like one of those old sketches the masters of the age practiced with, the light played upon his back and his muscles rippled under his skin—belying the power hidden within him.

“Who the fuck is Kunhuang,” he said flatly, wrath bubbling in his words.

You sat up. “H-he’s a friend. Nobody. No one.”

“See you soon, love,” he read mockingly. “Call me when you have time.”

Sicheng crowded into your space, your eyes jumping around to avoid looking at his incensed face.

“Kunhuang.” He spat like it was filth upon his lips. “You left me for him?”

Feeling his constrained fierceness and his frantic gaze, you pushed harshly at his chest and bared your teeth at him. “It’s not like that. He’s my childhood friend!”

His rage bubbled to the surface and his nostrils flared. It was all the warning you had before he suddenly took your hips and flipped, forcing a scream out of you.

Your chest and breasts now pressed against your desk. Sicheng tugged you down to his hips, lifting one of your legs to rest on your desk and exposed your core to him shamefully.

“I’ll take you from behind like the whore you are,” he stated. His rough tenor the grating upon your ears and scraping upon your skin.

He lined up and thrusted hard and you bit your lip, cheek against your deck and tears streaming down your face. It felt so good to be in his embrace, feeling every vein and ridge of his cock rub against your muscles.

Soon, you felt that feeling rising in your stomach, burning behind his eyelids as your orgasm began to build. His hands grasped your throat and he pulled, bowing your back to his chest and forcing his mouth to yours.

Teeth and tongue clashed and his cock hit this spot in you and you screamed into his mouth, tensing up beneath him as you shuddered painfully.

A grunt left him as he felt your muscles nearly strangle his cock and he only lasted a few, staccato thrusts until his vision went white.

Wednesday, February 13th, 2020

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

7 AM HKT

You purposely did not look into Sicheng’s office window as you strode briskly down the hall with a coffee in your hand.

A few days ago felt like a watershed moment, but after you two had caught your breaths, the sheer amount of emotions in the room—frustration, satiation, anger, hunger—weighed upon your lips and forced them shut. He had quickly dressed himself, not saying a word, but he casted a glance in your direction that was undecipherable and left.

You, at the moment, did not know how to feel. Hurt? Angry? Sad? But you settled upon your usual solution: ignoring that anything had happened and resuming the normal.

Alas, the fates were unkind. They neatly disposed of your plans to avoid the man when the two of you were scheduled to meet with other sales heads in the afternoon. Unfortunately, when the time came to be, you and Sicheng were the first ones there.

He studiously avoided looking at you, busying himself by opening up his laptop and flipping to a new page on his legal pad. You ignored him as well, scrolling through the latest news on your webpage. However, as the seconds ticked by, you could not resist resting your eyes upon him. It felt like a damn magnet was pulling your gaze to him.

He looked good today, from the brief glances you stole at him. Freshly shaven, his hair was styled neatly and he was in a dark green, cashmere sweater. Was this your fate? To be shamefully attracted to a man that equally repelled you?

“Interesting.”

The both of you shot a look at the door, where an unrecognizable, lanky man with a proud, straight nose was peering down upon you and swinging a plastic bag in his hand.

“Chengcheng? What the hell are you doing here?”

Completely ignoring Sicheng, he settled his lidded gaze upon you before his eyes lit up in recognition.

“So you’re the one that has shaken him, then.”

Dead silence permeated the room. He looked at the two shocked faces, both ashen. “What? Are you going to tell me I’m wrong? Please. I’d have to be deaf, blind, and dumb to ignore the way you two gravitate to each other.”

Your two quick glances that were meant to be unnoticed clashed, resulting in your eyes meeting. You both turned your eyes away.

Chengcheng snorted, as if that moment confirmed everything for him, and he chucked a bag at Sicheng.

“You forgot your lunch, remember?”

Sicheng’s jaw tightened. “Thank you.”

Once again, awkward silence reigned and ChengCheng’s eyes switched back and forth between you like a particularly exciting tennis match.

“You two need to talk. You’ll both age prematurely at this rate, with the angst you two are producing. Talk.”

He left with a wave, striding down the hall casually and stealing many of your female coworkers’ gazes.

“... He’s right, you know.”

Sicheng’s eyes flicked up to yours and he focused his full attention on you. Intensely, he contemplated you, tongue poking at the sides of his mouth.

“I agree. We can meet—” he cut himself off, looking around surreptitiously. “—at Black’s.”

You sucked your lip in between your teeth. “Fine. Neutral ground.”

He took a good, long look at you, like a man seeing water after seeing nothing but sand.

“Tonight. At 8.”

Thursday, February 13th, 2020

Black’s

7:50 PM HKT

Strangely enough, you felt comfortable despite the jittery nerves under your skin as you walked into Black’s.

The receptionist had given you a knowing look as you repeated the guest password, letting you in without question. You strapped on the standard, white lace mask and steeled yourself, opening the mahogany doors.

The club was abnormally busy; the guests and members crowded the couches and loitered on the floor. The quiet string music that could usually be heard was masked by the loud chattering of the people in the room.

“Is that you, Dove?”

You spun around to see the smiling, wizened face of Mr. Liu.

A grin broke out on your face and you took his hands. “Mister Liu! It is wonderful to see you.”

“I am happy to see you as well.” He chuckled with his eyes gleaming fondly at you. “Have you decided to visit this old man?”

Playfully, you lightly smacked his shoulder.

Mr. Liu was an important figure to you. All those months ago, when you arrived at Black’s to be screened, as a potential member and straight out of a relationship with Minghao—broken, shattered, hollow—he took one look at you and said no.

Why? You remembered asking tearfully. Am I not pretty enough? Rich enough?

He searched your pale, wan face, as if seeing the emotional scars Minghao had lashed into you, before sighing.

You shouldn’t be asking me that. Are you enough for yourself?

Confused, you had asked him to elaborate. He sympathetically replied that he could see you were entering the club for the wrong reasons. You were different, he’d said. You looked so innocent that he could not morally allow you into the club, despite the depraved patrons that gained membership. He knew, at the time, entering the club would cripple you.

So, what now? You asked, confused. He said he would keep your file open until you came back ‘at the right time.’

The ‘right time?’

You will know it when it comes.

And somehow, you did. After a few months of picking the pieces of yourself together and stabilizing your life, you had grown into a physically and emotionally healthy person. The “right moment” came and you sat in his quaint little office again, opposite of a smiling Mr. Liu as he stamped his approval.

After chatting a few moments, the volume in the room increased slightly and you frowned.

“Why is it so busy today?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Do you know what today is?”

“No?”

“Today is the evening before Valentine’s day, dear girl.”

“... Oh.”

New information in hand, you looked at the scene more closely. You could see that some couples in the crowd seemed to curl into each other, the affectionate brushes and knowing glances giving you a sick, sick feeling.

And that’s when you saw Sicheng.

Even masked, he drew attention from the members—attached and non-attached. His lean, fit form struck a figure and you couldn’t turn away from him.

He looked directly into your eyes and only a few seconds passed by as you two observed each other.

“Sicheng somehow found out, hm? Clever, devious boy.” Mr. Liu observed the dynamic much like ChengCheng earlier. His gaze was enraptured how the two of you clashed yet sunk into each other, the way two tidal waves—in a rare moment of offbeat rhythm—struck each other and subsequently merged. Push, pull, push, pull.

“Listen to him and he will listen to you. You two match more than you think,” he advised, bowed, and sunk off into the backrooms.

“Sicheng.”

“Y/N.”

Frustratingly, his face was unreadable. Nevertheless, he offered you his arm (a surprising show of manners) and he led you to a place you had never seen before.

This place was much less pristine than the rest of the club. The wallpaper was older, much more faded, and the wood looked much more worn.

This was one of Mr. Liu’s apartments.

The pair of you entered a comfortable sitting room with the lights low, to which only large candles had been lit.

He made sure you were properly ensconced into an armchair before he turned his back towards you and made his way to the drink carts.

“Would you like something to drink?” Sicheng asked, voice measured.

“A gin tonic would be wonderful.”

After carefully making your drink and pouring himself a healthy 4 fingers of bourbon, he handed your glass to you and sat down in the chair opposite of you.

Silence permeated awkwardly and you turned your eyes towards the tapestry in the middle of the room, giving yourself something to do.

“Were those feelings true?” he asked, not looking at you.

“Elaborate, please.”

“The last night…” He looked quickly at you, before turning his eyes away and clenching his jaw. “The last night we were together.”

“Ah.”

Absolutely, unequivocally. Dolos was everything you had searched for in Minghao and, while your relationship was unusual, you could not deny the string between you two.

Something burned at your eyes and you bit the inside of your cheek.

“Yes. Then and now,” you stated, opening yourself up for an attack.

His eyes widened and the twitching in his fingers stopped.

“And you, Sicheng?” you enquired boldly.

“Always,” he stated without hesitation. “It was never something as trivial as pillow talk.”

Seeing as he was on the brink of closing off, due to his rare moment of vulnerableness, you wrapped your hand around his.

His eyes shot to yours, then to your linked hands, before tightening his grip.

“I don’t know where to start,” you confessed. “I… One thing that has always been on my mind—why did you dislike me so much?”

He smiled bitterly. “Sometimes, I forget that you don’t see the way I see you. You are a smart, dauntless woman, who’s pushed all my buttons. It all just built and built upon each other until I found you—Dove—here.” He pauses. “I projected my frustrations onto Dove—you—here. But never, for a moment, doubt my feelings aren’t genuine.”

You pursed your lips. “Forgive me, but I cannot accept your accusations of me being the office slut—very rude, by the way—were without malice. You constantly pushed me down, clashed with me in the workplace and you were just plain classist.”

Sicheng’s eyes were casted down, but his grip was steady. “I will not lie. Those words I spat at you were with malice. But now, in retrospect, they were nothing more but words of immature frustration that I channeled towards you. I know that I cannot take them back and they will forever linger in the air between us, but I can apologize and recognize those words were completely unacceptable.”

He angled his body fully towards you and clasped your hand in both of his. “I am sorry for my actions. My anger was misplaced and the sentiments do not represent me anymore. I am sorry and I hope you can forgive me.”

“And then what? What do you want now, Sicheng?” An edge of desperation tinged your voice.

He smiled bitterly at you. “Everyday, the smell of you lingers and I, like Pavlov’s dog, cannot help but feel an ache in the marrow of my bones when I see your crimson red lips. Every night, when I go to bed, you are seared across the back of my eyelids and I cannot escape you, even in my dreams.” He paused. “I want you, or whatever scraps you’re willing to toss me.”

A sharp exhale left you nose and you blinked rapidly. “I don’t want to get hurt. You get off on hurting people.”

“With your consent.”

“Say I want a completely vanilla relationship,” you challenged. He didn’t flinch. “What about then?”

Sicheng clenched his jaw and held your gaze fiercely. “Anything.”

“I hate that you are all I’ve wanted in a man,” you admitted unwillingly. He hummed. “Will we be each other’s destruction? Or will we be each other’s maker?” you pondered nonsensically.

“Aren’t we already both?” he retorted.

Slowly, without releasing his hand, you rose from your chair and lowered yourself into his lap. His eyes traced your every movement. For a few, brief moments, you looked into each other’s eyes without the obsurance of a mask or the encumbrance of a workplace rivalry. Your left hand cupped his cheekbone and stroked the skin underneath his eye.

“This will be interesting,” you said.

He gave no sign of reaction, but tilted his head into your palm and closed his eyes. “After us, the flood,” he recited.

Monday, March 2nd, 2020

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

7:50 PM HKT

A secret grin tugged at your lips as you looked across the table at Sicheng, who was intensely focused on the presentation your coworker was giving. Perhaps he’d felt the weight of your gaze on him as he chanced a glance at you and gave you a small smirk.

The past month in your relationship with Sicheng was equally fulfilling and frustrating. There were times where both of you deliberately looked for a fight or misinterpreted each other, but there were also times you could shed your layers and just be yourselves with the other.

Even each fight, where you or Sicheng stormed out, or broke things, you came back to each other at the end. Pushing, pulling, pushing, pulling relentlessly. The flood, indeed.

You focused back in on the meeting and contributed to the smatter of clapter for the end of your coworker’s presentation. As he turned off the projector and people stood up to leave, Xiao Daiyu—the interim head of the Sales department—stopped you and Sicheng.

“Y/N, Sicheng, please stay back for a moment. I’d like to talk to you about Mr. Lee’s replacement.”

You and Sicheng glanced at each other and you sat back down. A while ago, you had both agreed the decision wasn’t going to break the quiet relationship you had built. It was going to be sour. You knew, when someone was chosen, things could get messy and awkward. But this… this was too good.

Daiyu sat down and put her hands together. “After much decision and going through your interviews, the CEO has stepped in and we are sorry to say neither of you are getting the position.”

You jerked your head around to Sicheng and he did the same—wild confusion and anger in both of your eyes. Both your years of loyalty and dedication are being passed over?

“Instead, we have decided to hire outside the company for some fresh intake. He may be young, but it comes to us that he’s highly recommended and would fit in with our culture well.”

A sour feeling came to your stomach and you narrowed your eyes, resisting the urge to frown. They had decided to hire outside the company? This is how they decide to reward their workers? This was betrayal.

Glancing over, you could see Sicheng felt the same. His right hand grasped the arm of the chair tightly and you could see his knuckles turning white.

“I’d like to meet him and he’s coming—” She took a glance at her watch. “—right about now.”

A knock came from the door and a head of messy black hair peaked into the room.

“Daiyu laoban, great to see you.”

No. This could not be happening to you.

The wire glasses. The tall, lanky frame that filled the doorway. The almond shaped eyes hiding behind pitch-black hair, as black his shriveled little heart.

Daiyu, like the little bitch she was, giggled. “Y/N, Sicheng, please meet your new Sales Head: Xu Minghao.”

His eyes focused on you and your world suddenly felt tilted, careening sideways while the nausea hit you all at once.

“Nice to meet you,” he said cheerfully.

You could feel Sicheng’s concern radiating from him at your ashen face and look of shock, but you couldn't even think as flashes of blood and tears and pain shuddered throughout your body.

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m pleased to be working with you!”

(”After us, the flood” or “Aprés nous, le deluge” is an expression from Madame Pompadour, King Louis XV’s lover.)

And it’s finished. Thank you. Please don’t forget to read, comment, and reblog. I love you all and goodbye.

485 notes · View notes

shadow-assassin-blix · 4 years ago

Text

Parent Trap

Part 1

A/N: It’s here yall. The Marcus Moreno x Reader Parent Trap AU. There are some swears. Some point of view switching but I note it in bold.

‘Thoughts’ “Speak”

The Hero:

Marcus Moreno was in the middle of meeting with the Heroics. Going over assignments, and potential threats to be on the lookout. He was listening to Miracle Guy talk about something ridiculous when his cellphone went off. He glanced down, and his eyes widen in surprised. It was Missy’s school.

He quickly answered it, saying, “Hello?”

“Hello, Mr. Moreno? This is Principal O’Shaughnessy. If you could please come down to the school, as soon as possible. There’s been an incident involving your daughter and two other students,” Came an older male voice.

“I’m on my way,” Marcus got up and rushed out, not caring that he left in the middle of a meeting.

The Artist:

Y/N Graves was a simple woman. She worked as artist, which meant she was often home, elbow deep into whatever project she was working on currently. That was where she was when her phone rang.

She dropped her paint brush to answer it with a cheery, “‘Ello?”

“Miss Graves, this is Principal O’Shaughnessy, your daughter Artemis? Was involved in an incident at school with two other students. If you could please come as soon as possible,” Came a man’s voice.

“Be there soon,” She hung up, quickly cleaning her brushes before she left.

She hopped into her car and drove to the school; thankful it was only a couple blocks away. She made her way inside and to the principal’s office. She stops short when she sees her daughter standing near another little girl, with long curly black hair and dark eyes. Before noticing the third kid, a boy, who was sitting in a plastic chair, with a black eye and tissues up his nose to stop the bleeding.

“What the fu—frick?” She whispered taking in everything with slight horror.

Artemis giggled softly at her almost swearing. She goes to say something to her when she felt someone crash into her from behind. She stumbled forward trying to regain her balance. She turned around to yell but stopped.

“Marcus?” She asked staring at a face she hadn’t seen in years.

“Shade?” He parroted calling her by her nickname, one she hadn’t heard in years.

She then asked, “Please tell me that one is not yours,” pointing at the boy.

“No. The other one behind you,” Marcus said with a chuckle.

Before they could say much more a woman with dyed hair, lululemons and a tank top came in, her voice high-pitched with outrage at the sight of her kid.

“What happened to my baby!?” She screeched out.

The Principal cleared his throat at that time, to gain everyone’s attention. Shade moved over to stand by her daughter, as Marcus did the same.

“Mrs. Delaney, it appears that your son was bullying, Miss Moreno here. Miss Moreno tried to walk away from him several times, but your son continued to follow her, and even began shoving her. That was when Miss Graves stepped in, and punched your son,” Mr. O’Shaughnessy explained reading off an incident report.

“Or at least that was what stated from the teacher’s watching. Miss Moreno, would you like to tell us what happened?” He directed his attention to Marcus’ daughter.

“Tommy was teasing me about not having active powers. He kept saying mean things like ‘oh your dad must be disappointed in having a lame daughter.’ And stuff like that. I tried to walk away from him several times, but he wouldn’t leave me alone. Artemis came over and told him to go away. When he didn’t, she punched him, telling him to leave me alone,” Missy recounted staring at the ground.

“What lies! My Tommy would never! I hope you plan on punishing them!” Mrs. Delaney exclaimed angrily.

Shade rolled her eyes to the high heavens and stared at this dramatic woman, pointedly.

“My daughter defended her friend. Against a bully. If anyone should be punished, it should be your kid. It’s not our fault you raised an ass,” Shade sassed, crossing her arms.

Mrs. Delaney gasped in exaggerated horror, even going so far as to covering her son’s ears. The girls giggled quietly at her, and Marcus was trying not to laugh.

“Mrs. Graves, if you could please refrain from the foul language. Mrs. Delaney, I have warned you multiple times about Tommy’s behaviors. This is the last straw. He will be suspended for 2 weeks. As for Miss Graves, seeing as this is your first offense, you will get a warning. I do not tolerate fighting on school grounds, got it?” Mr. O’Shaughnessy cut in.

Mrs. Delaney grabbed her son, muttering something ‘I have never..’ and left.

The kids still have a couple hours left of class, but the principal gave them permission to leave early if they wished. The girls went and got their bags and whatever assignments they were going to miss for the day. Marcus and Shade stood outside by the entrance waiting for them.

The Kids:

Missy looked over at Artemis and asked, “So. You saw our parents act weird when they saw each other right?”

Artemis nodded as she grabbed her jacket and bag. “They clearly know each other. Did you see the way they looked at each?”

“All goo-goo eyed? Yes! I haven’t seen my dad look like that since…” Missy trailed off, thinking in her head, ‘since before my mom passed away.’

Artemis, who had made fast friends with Missy when she moved here a month ago, knew what she was thinking of. Artemis reached out and held her hand, giving it a small squeeze. Missy smiled at her in response and the 2 of them walked out to their parents.

Artemis looked at her mom and Missy’s dad and got an idea, “Mom, can we go get ice cream? I know that fighting is bad and all, but I was defending my friend.”

Her mom sighed, and looked at the two of them, with squinting eyes. She turned to Missy’s dad and said, “What do ya think? Think they’ve earned a treat?”

The Hero:

He looked at the kids and then back at Shade, who had a soft smile. “Sure. Why not?”

The girls cheered and rushed to the cars. “Uh. Pops on 15th St. sound good?” He asked.

“That place still exists? Damn,” Shade chuckled looking off to the side. “Uh. Yeah. Pops sounds good to me. See ya there in a minute.”

Marcus smiled, lightly biting his lip before making his way to his car, as Shade did the same.

Missy was already in the backseat, buckled up and ready to go. The drive to Pops was a quick 10 minutes, and as they made there way inside, they noticed Shade and Artemis hadn’t arrived yet, so they took a seat in a booth. Missy insisted that she sit on the outside, and Marcus complied with a shake of his head.

He heard the door opened and looked up to see Shade standing there and he was thrown back to all the times he took her here on a date. She was still just as beautiful as he remembered her.

The Artist:

As Shade stepped inside, she was hit with a wave of nostalgia. Pops still looked the same as it did when she was a teenager. She finds Marcus easy enough; he too looked a little dazed at being back here.

Her and Artemis go to join them, Artemis insisting to sit on the outside as well. Shade rolled her eyes and allowed it this one time.

The waitress came up and took their orders. 15 minutes passed and soon 4 milkshakes, 2 large and 2 kids sized in to-go cups, were set in front of them. The girls grabbed theirs and ran off to sit at another table, giggling.

“I feel like we are being set-up,” Shade whispered with a raised eyebrow.

“Possibly,” Marcus agreed, before clearing his throat.

“So. How.. How have you been?” He asked awkwardly.

“Been pretty good. I see you’ve been busy,” She quietly teased nodding to his wedding ring.

“Oh! Um. Yeah. But… uh… not,” He stammered trying to respond.

Shade gave him a look of sudden realization, “How long?”

“About 6 years. Cancer,” He answered lowly not wanting Missy to hear.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I bet she was wonderful,” She said with a sad smile.

“She was. Umm. Ahem. What about you? Ever get married or got someone special waiting at home?” he asked trying to redirect the attention off of him.

“Nope. Uh. Had a boyfriend for a couple years. He left the day I told him I was pregnant. So. It’s been just the 2 of us ever since,” Shade explained after taking a long sip from her milkshake.

“Then he didn’t deserve either of you,” Marcus replied, his voice soft.

Shade smiled, looking down to hide her face.

She cleared her throat and noticed out of the corner of her eye, Missy and Artemis were watching them intently.

“Marcus… I think our kids are trying to set us up,” She muttered. “Glance over at them casually.”

Marcus does so and sees the two of them trying to act nonchalantly but were very much keeping an eye on them.

He chuckled, “No. They’re just.. Concerned. They’re best friends who want to make sure we get along.”

“Mh. I don’t know. My kid can be quite devious. Her favorite movie is The Parent Trap. Well. Next to The Mummy,” Shade wasn’t convinced.

Marcus laughed at that and stared at her softly.

“Not gonna lie… I’ve missed you,” Marcus admitted.

“I missed you as well. Maybe um.. Maybe we can set up a day to catch up?” Shade offered hopeful.

“I’d like that, maybe Saturday? We can leave the kids with my mom for the day. We can… go to the park or that café you like so much? Well. If you still like it that is,” Marcus rambled slightly.

“I do. Sounds like a date,” Shade said confirming the idea.

They exchanged numbers and finished their shakes, before rounding up their kids.

She waved goodbye to him as they parted ways.

Artemis was bouncing up and down in her seat.

“Clearly, you are having a sugar overload, guess we need to work that off,” Shade stated, shaking her head.

“No. Just happy. How do you know Mr. Moreno, mama?” Artemis asked as they began to drive off.

“We dated in high school, and through a good portion of college,” Shade explained glancing back at her through the rear-view mirror.

“Oh. Why did you break up?” Artemis asked curiously.

“He was becoming a pretty famous Heroic and I was making a name for myself in the art field. We drifted. We hardly ever saw each other and when we did, we argued a lot. So, we figured it was better if we broke up,” Shade acknowledged with a sad sigh.

“But… you still like him? And he clearly likes you?” Artemis questioned, looking confused.

“Yes. I do still like him, and how do you know he likes me?” Shade countered with a grin.

“He stared at you like Rick does when he sees Evy,” Artemis said matter of factly, referencing The Mummy.

Shade laughed at how seriously she said that. ‘Kids.’

The Hero:

Missy looked at her dad and smiled at the dreamy face he was making.

“You like her?” Missy asked with a silly smile.

“I do. Does that bother you? Me liking someone?” Marcus asked worriedly.

“Dad. I don’t think mom would be mad if you moved on. I just want you to be happy. You work so much to make me happy and when you’re not with me, you’re saving the world. I think you deserve to be happy too,” Missy assured hugging him.

“When did you get so smart?” He asked, returning the hug.

“I learned from you, duh,” She answered cutely.

“Now you’re just sucking up. C’mon. Let’s go home. I have a lot of explaining to do for running out in the middle of a meeting,” Marcus said as the two of them hopped into the car.

“Also. I hope you know… I have never been disappointed in you not having active powers. You’re my daughter and I love you so much. Your power is far more special than being able to fly or run fast.” He mentioned looking back at her.

Missy nodded her head muttering, “I love you too. Thank you.”

The Kids:

That night, Missy and Artemis texted one another, concocting a plan to get their parents together. Their plan was slightly devious, but it was their parents own good. They just hoped it would work.

#marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #parent trap au

102 notes · View notes

kaminobiwan · 5 years ago

Text

father figure

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x jedi!reader (though there’s not much jedi-ing just dumbassery on Obi’s part)

summary: Obi-Wan feels unneeded. You’re there to remind him he’s not. Idk how to summarize hahdjfn

a/n: I just love this scene from episode III so much, it’s my hc that it’s happened before. This is my first fic I’m ever posting in my six years of tumblr! I’m so excited to share it with you guys. Feedback and comments are incredibly welcome, and I’m always here for a chat! I hope you guys enjoy :-)

Obi-Wan is no stranger to failure.

In fact, depending on the point of view, he was quite familiar with it - his years as a youngling held many a blunder, and one didn’t reach the status as a well-respected Jedi Master without learning from many, many mistakes.

Still, he can’t help but admit that the feeling of messing up utterly sucked.

His former student, on the other hand, seems to be perfectly amicable with the experience - if he even stopped to acknowledge the instances in the first place. Even at 20 years old, Anakin is as nonchalant as ever when it comes to getting caught in a sticky situation.

Like right now, as the pair of them dangle from an absurdly long curtain out of the window of a Coruscanti high rise, 80-some floors in the air.

Obi-Wan struggles against the breeze and tightens his grip around Anakin’s neck, biting back a groan. Normally, he’d have the sense to feel embarrassed clinging to his Padawan like a human backpack, but his head is still spinning from a backhanded hit from a Devaronian - the very blow that had sent him and Anakin crashing through the window, at the mercy of the expensive fabric that shaded every room of the building they were currently hanging from.

“How’re you holding up, Master?” Anakin grunts, and Obi-Wan is unsure if the pun is intended or not. He decides to ignore it entirely.

“This is why I always tell you to think these plans through -“ a gust of wind ruffles both of their hair, “so we don’t end up in such predicaments.”

He wishes he could have one uneventful week on leave. It’s not enough that his time on the frontlines looks to have no foreseeable end, but even between missions, trouble seems to follow his makeshift family to the capital city. He only hopes Ahsoka is studying in the archives as he’d instructed her to before Anakin had dragged him away to pursue a pair of slythmongers meeting at a swanky hotel in the derrick major.

Apparently, he had overheard the details of the transaction on his way back from a lunch out - from the Senate District, no less - and had been on his merry way before his old master had stopped him. Obi-Wan was pretty sure Anakin was trying to find any excuse to get out of his scheduled session to train the younglings at the temple, but he couldn’t argue against interrupting a smuggling ring, especially when it had to do with drugs. He still remembered the havoc that had followed when Vos and Aayla had been forced to take glitteryll and had temporarily lost their memories...

And if there’s one thing Obi-Wan hates, it’s letting Anakin throw himself in the path of danger under his watch. Force knows that boy will drag Obi-Wan to an early, stress-filled grave.

Anakin pauses before speaking. “Master, this was your idea.”

Right - that too.

“My idea was to wait and see if we could catch the person that orchestrated the deal along with the smugglers, to have patience,” he tries not to sound too defensive, but multitasking while trying to find a foothold on the slippery glass of the window pane is near impossible, and maintaining his usually cool exterior is not a price he’s willing to pay for falling to his death. He isn’t sure he could use the Force to break his fall with a mild concussion.

“Honestly, Master, I appreciate your help, but you really didn’t have to come.” Anakin’s metal fingers flex around the curtain. “My arms are getting a little tired holding the both of us.”

Obi-Wan bristles at the comment. “We wouldn’t even be in this situation if you hadn’t snuck off to see Senator Amidala during her afternoon recess.”

“Yes, and there would still be an illegal drug deal happening right now, so I’m not sure I’m getting your point.”

“My point is,” he snaps, readjusting his grip, “none of this will have been worth it if one of them wakes up and finds us in such a comprising position.” Obi-Wan knows he dropped his lightsaber before the fall. Judging by both of Anakin’s hands gripping the curtain fabric - that is positively straining under the burden of their weight - his saber is either in the room as well, or smashed to irreparable bits on the ground below. Obi-Wan groans internally. Wouldn’t be the first time.

He feels Anakin tense under him, and his hair itches Obi-Wan’s face as he tilts his head up. “Well, we’re about to test that theory, because someone’s coming.” Anakin’s voice is tinged with unpunctual worry as Obi-Wan finally senses the rapid footsteps towards the shattered window. Maker, he got hit hard.

But he’s sure he can recognize the familiar presence anywhere, and sure enough, your head pops out of the window as he swallows his enlivenment down with a smile.

“What,” you stare down at the both of them, and Obi-Wan is sure that the view must be positively comical from where you’re standing, “are you doing?”

You’re much less happier to see them than Obi-Wan is to see you, and he wonders if your incredulous exasperation is directed towards him or Anakin. Probably both.

“Waiting for you to save the day, of course,” he quips. You snort in response, and he notes the glow of your hair in the mid-afternoon sunlight. If you weren’t looking like you were completely done with him, and his head wasn’t throbbing incessantly, and he wasn’t dangling hundreds of feet in the air, he might have admired the sight of you.

He always did have a penchant for having ill-timed observations.

Anakin interrupts his thought with a strained plea for assistance before you finally reach your hand out to grab his flesh one, though not before shaking your head.

“I swear, it’ll be your own stupidity that will kill you two before the war does.” Though your voice is stern, Obi-Wan can see the affectionate relief in your eyes as he’s pulled up by the both of you. “And you can bet that I won’t always be there to save your sorry skins.”

Yep, Obi-Wan thinks, it’s both.

———

It’s a short ride back to the temple in the air taxi you’d commandeered on the way to their rescue, though how you’d even known to come, Obi-Wan has no clue. He’d been sent to the back seat while Anakin occupied the passenger beside you, meekly tinkering with his mechno-arm with the occasional guilty glance back at his master. Though you’d been humoured upon finding them in the hotel, you’d been silent the whole ride, save for a tired demand of Anakin’s recap of the disastrous operation. Though, to their credit - they had successfully apprehended the slythmongers present. Even if it was only because you’d arrived with the police.

Obi-Wan knows that despite you being the midpoint between his and Anakin’s ages, Anakin still sees you as a substitute parent, especially since you’d been the one to comfort the former Padawan in his worst hours of homesickness. Despite no longer being the same innocent child from Tatooine, Anakin still hates to disappoint you. It’s written all over his face, clear as day for Obi-Wan to see.

What he can’t tell, however, is if you are as disappointed as your silence suggests. You certainly don’t look mad, but you haven’t met his gaze since you’d pulled him from the window.

It’s starting to get to him too.

Soon, you’ve arrived at the Temple, docking smoothly to a stop as Anakin turns to you with a rare look of remorse. “Thanks for saving our skins back there, Master.” His tone is sincere, as it always is with you. “Who knows how long we’d have been hanging there if you hadn’t showed up.”

You blink at him in acknowledgment, a corner of your mouth lifting slightly. “As much as I enjoy spending time in the crèche, maybe inform me fully the next time you ask me to cover a training session so you can run off to fight crime?”

Anakin nods enthusiastically, and sends Obi-Wan one last look before reaching for the door to leave.

“Be sure to report to Master Yoda so he can reschedule your instruction slot,” you call as he exits the speeder. “You’ll learn to handle the younglings yet, Skywalker.”

And then, you’re alone. And he’s nervous.

Not necessarily because of your uncharacteristic demeanor, though he is still trying to get a read on you. More than that, he’s on edge with the same nagging feeling he always gets when he’s around you, amplified whenever the two of you are by yourselves. While you’re the person Obi-Wan feels most at ease with, at home with - he also can’t deny the persistent tug that pulls his heart towards you every time you look his way.

But right now, you’re not. You’re gazing at the distant traffic ahead of you, gently tapping the bend of your elbow. Obviously deep in thought.

Obi-Wan stares at you from his seat, unsure whether to speak first. “Thank you,” he begins, “not just for the save. You could have been much harsher with him, and you weren’t. I appreciate it.”

“From what I heard, Obi-Wan, you’re just as much to blame for that spectacular plan,” your voice is much sharper now, and Obi-Wan winces at the irony that he’s just thanked you for the lenience you’re now depriving him of. “If not more.”

He knows he shouldn’t push you while you’re like this. He can tell you’re bothered, but why, he doesn’t know. Why are you so concerned?

“To be fair, I couldn’t let Anakin go charging in alone.”

“Honestly, I thought you’d know better than to try and stop him by now.”

He can’t help the surprise that paints his face as his eyes flash up to yours. It certainly isn’t what he’d expected you to say. “What?”

Finally, finally, you turn sideways in your seat and your gaze meets his, and even though he’s as confused as he’s ever been around you, the sight of your eyes is enough to placate him a fraction. Still, he’s bewildered at your statement. He clears his throat before speaking again. “You expect me to just let him loose on the galaxy? The boy’s only just become a knight, and only because of the need sparked by the war.”

“That’s exactly the point, Obi, he’s a knight,” you’re quick to reply, though your expression softens as you utter the nickname. “You can’t be looming over his shoulder anymore. You shouldn’t be. Force’s sake, he’s got a Padawan of his own now.”

“Only just,” Obi-Wan replies stubbornly, and later he’ll chalk it up to the concussion for his behavior. But deep down, he knows you’re right. He’d been inserting himself into Anakin’s missions. And until now, he hadn’t recognized the reason why.

Anakin had grown up.

Anakin had grown up, and he didn’t need him anymore.

Obi-Wan was well aware that he’d trained the boy as best he could. The pride that engulfed him every time he looked at Anakin was no secret, especially to you. But there would always be the painful reminder of abandonment along with it, almost as persistent as his fondness for you. Those feelings, at least, were kept hidden down deep. He still had a reputation to maintain, after all, but it’s hard to combat your incessant empathy. Not that he’s complaining.

You reach for his hand where it’s gripping the back of your seat. “Oh, Obi-Wan,” your voice is a murmur that has him leaning forwards to hear. “I know.” You fix with a firm look, as if you’re repeating the words with your gaze. He swears you can see right through him. You’ve always been better at emotions between the two of you.

“Promise me,” you blink at him with knowing eyes, “that you’ll end the secret chaperoning. Otherwise, he’ll never get over his father figure issues with you.”

“His - what?” Obi-Wan blurts out for the second time, and you pull away and laugh. A beat passes before you shake your head again.

“Don’t tell me you’re not aware, Obi. We don’t have the time to walk through it. You should be with the healers by now.” You shift to exit the speeder as well, and he finds himself chasing your hand before moving to leave himself. You approach a Padawan on the platform and instruct him to return the taxi with payment as Obi-Wan regains his composure and falls in line with you towards the Temple.

“You know, I don’t remember you claiming the role of the ‘responsible one’,” he jokes, despite the dull buzz in his head. He feels lighthearted now, better, even.

You smile softly at him, but he can tell you’re suppressing the urge to roll your eyes. “We rotate the duty around. Maker knows you’re not actually the goody-two-shoes Master Yoda thinks you are, joining your Padawan’s escapades the first chance you get. Do I need to remind you why you had to cut off the mullet?”

“Because you like me better with short hair?” He grins boyishly back at you, pushing down the desire to touch hands again. “I do promise, you know. No more trying to reign him in. I suppose the day was bound to come when he’d leave me behind.”

He smothers the twinge of regret with an amused tone, but still, he knows you sense it. He’s thankful, anyhow. There never was a need for explanations with you.

“He’ll always need you, Obi-Wan. We all will.” You punctuate the comment with a lingering pat on his arm, and Obi-Wan’s heart tugs again. No attachments, a voice in his head reminds him.

But he hopes it’s true what you say. He’d hate to see you leave him behind, too.

#rini writes #I FINALLY DID IT HAHAHSH #I HOPE YOU LIKE IT #LOVE YOU GUYS XXX #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi imagine #obi wan x reader #gender netural reader

565 notes · View notes

sylvie-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Sunflowers

Summary: You and Steve bring Sarah to meet her grandparents.

Warnings: Mentions of death (not gruesome) it’s more of visiting a gravesite.

If any any of the warnings bother you, please do not proceed.

A/n: A recent event inspired me to write this. Also, I’m sorry that all I write is Dad!Steve lately, I swear I’ll write a different story with Steve soon haha. And yes, I didn’t do the taglist on this one purposely.

Out the window of your apartment, you could see the orange glow of the sky, slowly becoming brighter as the sun rose in the distance. At the moment, your body was laid sideways on the couch, as you leaned up against Steve, the two of you catching the early morning news. Steve’s free hand tenderly smoothed your messy hair, coming to rest on your shoulder. The silence was enjoyable, as you both awaited the morning arrival of precious Sarah, who would come bounding down the hall any minute now.

“Hey honey, do you have any plans today?”

You twisted your head to look up at Steve, who smiled down at you, pressing a kiss on your forehead, continuing to rub his hand up and down your shoulder.

“No, what’s up?”

“Last night, Sarah and I looked through my family album. She saw pictures of mom and dad, asked about them too.”

Steve unwrapped his arm from your shoulder and reached forward to grab the family album that was resting on the coffee table. He continued to talk as you happily looked through the pictures of young Steve and his family.

“I was thinking that it’s time for Sarah to meet them.”

A hopeful smile was on his face and you readily agreed, continuing to flip through the pages of the ragged book.

“That sounds lovely, Stevie.”

Sarah had only one set of grandparents, your own parents, who came to occasionally visit when they could find the time. When they do come visit, Sarah absolutely loses her mind and begs you or Steve to help her with whatever craft she’s making for them. It warms your heart to see her interact with them, and as of now, she’d see them at the next upcoming holiday.

Of course, being only three at the time, it was hard to explain that her dad was at least 100 years old, although he didn’t look it. Sarah was a very smart young girl, and when you and Steve explained the situation, she surprisingly took it very well, and with much maturity for her age.

Once that was out of the way, another obstacle presented itself. At preschool, Sarah had a “bring your grandparents day”, and when other kids showed up with two sets of grandparents, your little girl came crying into your side. Since your parents couldn’t make it, you and Steve instead showed up in their place, as many other parents had done. So that night, the three of you sat down, explaining that not everyone had two sets of grandparents, yet they were looking down on her with love. Sarah’s tears were dried and she came out with a large smile on her face, realizing her grandparents weren’t gone, they were just in a better place. The little girl was full of so much adoration, it made things much simpler.

About an hour passed, and you and Steve took a mini nap, having gotten up at 4:00. Ever since you both had taken some time off, your sleep schedule was all messed up, often meaning for early morning tv marathons, and late morning naps.

You awoke to the sound of a spoon clattering against a bowl, walking into the kitchen to find the sneaky little munchkin trying to pour cereal for all three of you. She had even taken the liberty to set the counter with bowls and spoons, while splashing the milk over the Cheerios residing the dish.

“Good Morning, Mommy, Daddy! I made bweakfast!”

Her mouth was full of cheerios, as a little milk dribbled from her chin. Walking up to the little girl, you planted a kiss on the crown of her head, wiping away the milk with the nearby napkin. Steve came up and did the same, taking a seat beside the two you, indulging in the cereal.

“Hey angel, you know how last night we looked at pictures of Nana and Poppy?”

Sarah leaned across the counter, trying to look past you and at Steve. With her father in sight, she nodded her head, curious as to what he’d say next.

“Well, Mommy and I thought you could make some flower arrangement and we could go bring it to them.”

The little girl sat back a bit, getting a view of you and Steve. Looking up from your cereal bowl, you added on to the conversation.

“When Papa and G.G come into town you always make them a gift, so how about we make one for Nana and Poppy?”

Sarah’s eyes lit up and she plopped back down to scarf her cereal, making you and Steve chuckle at her giddiness.

About an hour later, all three of you ended up at the nearby craft store, looking through the variety of faux flowers, trying to create the perfect arrangement.

Your daughter skipped up and down the aisles, searching to find the colors she thought would match, with you and Steve trailing not too far behind.

Currently, Sarah was looking over a section of sunflowers, calling over to Steve.

“Daddy, do you remember what Nana’s favorite flower was?”

Steve walked beside the girl, reaching over for a bundle of faux sunflowers, the yellow, bright, yet gorgeous. Everyone then picked out a flower to match, for the arrangement now had a loving piece from all of you. To compliment the sunflowers, you selected a few orange Asiatic lilies, while Steve chose red daisy poms. Along with your variety of autumn flowers, all three of you decided on some fall fillers, such as wheat, solidago, and assorted greens.

On the ride over to the cemetery, you sat in the back seat with Sarah, helping her assort the flowers to make an eye-catching arrangement. Upon arriving at the cemetery, Steve got out first, going to search for the grave marker of his two parents. Unfortunately, over the seventy years he was gone, the cemetery wasn’t well kept and neither was the site. A few moments later, Steve kneeled down to dust off the dirt, being met with the sight of his parents name, a smile growing on his lips.

“Hey, Mom, Dad. (y/n) and I got a little surprise for you.”

After the man finished his whisper, he motioned to the car, soon you and Sarah walking over. In one of Sarah’s hands, she tightly held the bouquet, careful to not let it go, while her other hand was encased by yours. When you made it to the grave, Sarah respectfully kneeled down, placing the bouquet of flowers in the now-emptied bronze vase. After putting in the flowers, Sarah sat on the balls of her heels watching sweetly as you and Steve picked the weeds from around the headstone. The little girl well understood her grandparents weren’t physically here, but she did know that this was the closet she would be to them. It did good on all of your hearts to come visit and change the flowers today.

Once you and Steve finished cleaning around, Steve held his hand out for Sarah, helping her off the ground. You and Steve had been so busy, that neither of you had been here in at least five years. It was terrible, and the guilt ate at the two of you. But now with Sarah, hopefully you’d be there more often.

“Remember that surprise I told you both about? Well this is her. Sarah, your granddaughter. We named her after you Ma.”

Steve’s head was hung, staring at the headstone as he talked. Sarah’s small hand was still in his, as you came around to hold the other one. Your husband turned his head to you, and getting on tippy toes, you placed a soft kiss near his ear. At this moment, Sarah took the time to speak up.

“Hi Nana and Poppy. I hope you like the flowers. Mommy and Daddy helped me.”

Her little voice made you and Steve turn your heads here . A loving gaze cast upon her as she talked to them.

“I know you aren’t here, but I hope you are having fun with the angels! Daddy says you are always with us, and I just want to let you know, that I love you this much.”

Her arms were stretched as wide as they could go. Getting down on her knees, Sarah softly kissed her hand, pressing it to the headstone, then popping back up with a content smile on her face.

Steve and Sarah paid their respects, you doing the same. After a good fifteen minutes, you all headed to the car. As Steve and Sarah were busy talking, you trailed behind just a bit, leaving behind a few words for your in-laws.

“Mr. & Mrs. Rogers, I just want to thank you for this lovely man. He’s all the man that you’d want him to be Mrs. Rogers. We both are so sorry that it’s been awhile, but I know you understand. Now with Sarah, I’m sure we’ll be here more often.”

You copied Sarah’s gesture, turning around to find Steve already looking out the car window, a grin on his face.

Sarah was already secured in the backseat, and just as Steve was about to drive off, the little girl spoke up, halting his actions. Clearly, for the few minutes they had been in the car, Sarah had been in deep thought as she was quiet and full of silence, not her signature trait.

“I wish Nana and Poppy were here, but I know they love us.”

The little girl lifted her head and smiled at you and Steve in the rearview mirror. You looked over to Steve, who was looking back at you with a proud smile, similar to the one on your own face. With his free hand, Steve put his hand back behind his seat to gently rub the little girl's leg in a soothing manner, making her giggle.

With Sarah’s help, you and Steve came more often to change the flowers, while Sarah would fill in her Nana and Poppy on everything that had happened. She loved talking to them, even if they couldn't talk back, yet she knew they were there.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #dad steve rogers #chris evans #chris evans x reader

147 notes · View notes

violetnotez · 5 years ago

Note

Can I request a storyline where reader and Ms. Joke gives advice to each other to ask their crushes out. (Reader crushing on Bakugou and Ms. Joke likes Eraserhead). Also I love your Dabi fic it's so damn amazing.

Anon I know this took so long but I loved this idea ALOT. Like-literally GENIUSSSSSSSS!!!! And omg I’m so happy you liked my Dabi fics!!!🥺😭

Another fic for the @bnhabookclub event! If you wanna join in, heres the link!

Also pls ignore that Ms Jokes shoulder has disappeared I forgot to fix it 💀

Bakugo x reader

⤷ Genre: Fluff

⤷ Word Count: 2000+

⤷ Warnings: cursing

⤷ Synopsis: As your helping your hero aunt Ms. Joke concoct a plan to win over Eraserhead, the conversation somehow turns to your crush on Bakugo. Even though you feel comfortable talking about the hotheaded boy with your aunt over the phone, you don’t realize how bad that idea is until a certain someone decided to eavesdrop outside the door.

Song Recs: ⤷ Leave This Place-Lione ⤷All This Time-Deorro ⤷Start It Over-NOTD

“Okay okay, how about this one-

“Can you pass me my inhaler, because you just took my breath away!”

Ms. Joke made an over exaggerated attempt at swooning, her voice airy and theatrical. You couldn’t help but giggle at her antics, your nose scrunching at the terrible pick up line she just gave you.

“I don’t think that one will work Auntie,” you mused, your phone on speaker as you tidied up your UA dorm room.

Not many people were aware of it, but your aunt was Ms. Joke, the comedy hero. It was quite a shocker when you let that information out to your classmates, as they couldn’t understand why you had went to UA over her hero school. It was true you had entertained the idea of going, but as much as you loved your aunt-you could only tolerate her for so long. She was so fun and energetic to be around, but that energy quickly became draining after a few hours.

The thought of having to be around your aunt every day made you feel tired just thinking about it, so you had kindly opted to try UA instead. Your aunt was a little disappointed that you had picked UA over her school, but she was over the moon excited for you to finally follow her footsteps and become a hero.

It also didn’t hurt that you would be around Aizawa quite a lot-and she definitely used that to her advantage.

“Oh Cmon tho, Jitter Bug, he would love it!” She exclaimed through the phone. “That one is such a laugh riot!”

“I think you forget that Mr. Aizawa isn’t too big on jokes,” you gave her a short giggle as you began to fold the freshly cleaned clothes on your bed.

“Hm….” she hummed in thought.

“What about-I’m thirsty, and guess whose body is 75% water? I’d then give him a killer smile to go along with it-he can’t say no to me then!”

Your cheeks turned incredibly red-the thought of your aunt hitting on your teacher so openly like that? Revolting.

You made a gagging noise at the prospect, a nervous laugh spilling out.

“I swear if you do that, I will dig my own grave and lay in there from second hand embarrassment,”

A belly laugh erupted in the other end of the line, Ms. Joke’s chuckles high pitched and uncontrollable.

“You really are a hard one to impress, huh?” She said between laughter.

“That type of pick up line is a little too young though-you babies are the ones that say ‘thirsty’ all the time…”

You heard a little hum on the other side of the phone, signaling she was thinking deeply.

“Why don’t you use that one on that boy you like, what’s his name again?”

She asked good naturedly, a hint of sneakiness in her voice. “It’s-Bakugo, Katsuki Bakugo, right?”

Your eyes went wide like saucers, your body language going rigid.

“Auntie you cant say that so loud, I’m on speaker phone!” You hushed her.

Your cheeks went insanely red, your head swiveling to look at your door.

Damn you and not closing it properly-anybody walking by could have heard!

Your aunt only knew about your crush because she had noticed you staring quite intently at Bakugou at your provisional licensing exam, her questions hard to not answer truthfully. She had promised not to tell anyone, not even your parents, but she used it against you nevertheless.

You sighed a breath of relief once you were satisfied that no one had walked by, your head turning back to your phone call.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ

Unknowing to you, someone had walked by-Bakugo.

It was later in the day and getting close to his early bedtime, so he had come up to tell you to be quiet.

It felt strange walking up to your room-Bakugo knew he was beginning to like you, more than just a classmate or a friend, yet he didn’t quite want to believe it.

He shouldn’t have all these vulnerable feelings, he should be focusing on training and nothing more. But the more and more he tried to ignore it the more and more he realized how much he truly admired you-you were so damn pretty to him, your laugh and smile always making a blush rise to his cheeks, and the way you would look at him so innocently whenever he spoke to you made his whole world light up.

He liked how you respected him, but you would also put him in his place if needed.You were really one of the few only people he would listen to, which made it even worse-you had a power over him you didn’t even know about. It frustrated him, but he cared about your opinion too damn much to openly defy your wishes.

It sucked how easily he’d fallen for you, but he couldn't make it stop, no matter how hard he tried.

Just as he trudged up the stairs to your room, he noticed the door unlocked, a strange thing for him to see since he had prepared himself to knock. Whatever-less time waiting outside your door. He lightly leaned himself against the adjacent wall, ready to yell his warning at you quickly until he heard the familiar voice of Ms. Joke speak his name from a phone call.

The hell were you even talking about?

He couldn’t help it, he had to listen in, it was him you were talking about after all. As much as he didnt want to care, he hoped it was only good things you were speaking of, his heart fluttering when he heard your aunt say “you like him.”

Was it true? Did you really feel the same for him?

Bakugo instantly felt himself to sweat, his vermillion eyes wide as he prayed the news he was hearing wasn’t a lie-you had to like him back. You just had to.

Ms. Joke laughed at your distress, her voice lighthearted and loud.

“Oops, sorry!” She said, not a single ounce of remorse in her tone. “But really, y/n, what do you see in that boy! He’s so-well-“

“Harsh?” You finished her sentence, shuffling on your bed.

“Exactly! He’s always so mean and entitled too-you can’t find another boy in UA? What about Shoto-hes a pretty one!”

You gave a giggle, your hands fiddling nervously with your hair.

“Shoto is just a friend Auntie, and besides, he’s quite reserved-Bakugo isn’t,” you sighed, “Ive never meant anyone like him before.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ

Bakugo’s heart beat painfully in his chest from outside the door.

This was fucking wrong-he was being a total creepster eaves dropping in your private conversation.

He kept telling himself that this was all okay, because you were talking about him and it was your goddamn fault for speaking about him behind his back-

But he knew deep down it was because he wanted so badly to know. He just wanted to be reassured that there was a connection between you two and he could pursue it somehow.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ

“He’s just so-different. He is really harsh and brutally honest-it makes him kinda unique in a way. He’s always so driven, trying to do his best to be the best-it’s infectious, ya know? I can't help but admire him for that.”

you admired him? god, hearing those words sent him over the moon. You sounded so sweet and so soft as you relayed all your inner feelings to Ms. Joke, his heart was practically swooning.

Your aunt gave a small nod at your words, her voice much more understanding.

“Have you talked to him? Tried to ask him out or do anything you little kiddies usually do when you have a crush?” She asked playfully.

You sighed, your hands combing through your hair.

“Oh I could never! He wouldn’t like me back-he’s too into his school work. And he is super harsh-god I don’t know what I’d do if he’d reject me….”

“I understand you full heartedly JitterBug,” she used your nickname again, a groan slipping out of your lips.

“Are you yiu ever going to stop calling me that!”

“Never!” She exclaimed, her voice loud and cheerful again. “Your my wonderful little JitterBug and I’m going to keep calling you that until I kick the bucket!

“But really,” she sighed, her tone much more serious. “You never know until you try! I got rejected myself many, many, MANY times-but Im still doing perfectly fine!”

You held back a small snicker-your aunt, the Jokester Hero, who can’t hold a conversation without cackling like a maniac, the one who wears the most ridiculous outfits, has a chaotic fighting style, and has been pinning over the same guy since her internship days as a rookie?

Yeah, perfectly fine isn’t the best way you would describe her.

You simply hummed a nod in order to satiate her a response, a small smile gracing your lips.

“Ugh, I just got a call-they need me to help out with some robbery,” you aunt huffed out, her tone clearly tired. You felt a little bad for the hero-she must have been having a pretty crazy day.

“I’m sorry we had to cut our call so short!”

“Oh no it’s no problem!” You reasuresed her happily, “stay safe out there!”

“You two Jitterbug! Byeeeee!” She practically yelled her goodbye into the phone, making you flinch.

You breathed a tranquil sigh, readying yourself to start studying for your tests when you heard a loud banging upon your door.

“Oi, dumbass, can I come in for a minute?” The gruff voice of Bakugo filled the room, making your blood shiver-

Bakugo?!? Wait-was he there the whole time?!?

You teeth were practically chattering from that overwhelming fear, your cheeks red and your eyes wide.

You seriously were going to crawl into a hole and never come out if he heard that whole conversation.

You crawled off your bed, your hand making their way to the door to peak it open slightly.

Bakugo’s heart was thumping violently in his chest-now he knew you felt the same for him, this was going to be extremely easy. But he still felt really nervous, especially when your hair was so perfectly messy like that and your cheeks were dusted with pink like you were already nervous yourself.

God damn, why did you have to be so attractive? It just messed everything up for him, making him feel like he couldn’t think straight.

“Hey Bakugo, I-Uh-what’s up? Did you need something?”

“Yeah,” he replied gruffly, his nerves making his hand sweat more than usual. “something like that,”

Damn quirk, he thought in annoyance, shoving his hands into his pants. “You gonna let me in?”

“Oh-uh,”you began to stutter, shifting away from the door and opening it up slightly, “sure, yeah!”

He grinned to himself at your adorableness-did you always act this nervous around him? How did he not notice you like him before-it was so obvious to see now when you were fidgeting like that.

He strutted into your room, a new found confidence in him as he shut the door of the room for you, practically trapping you in with him. A mischievous smirk graced his lips, making your heart thump against your ribcage.

“Don’t want anyone overhearing by accident cause you cant close a door right,”

You groaned in embarrassment.

Welp-he knew.

You gave him a small look, your eyes doe -like and scrunched up in uneasiness.

“How much of that did you hear?” You asked timidly.

Bakugo scoffed, that shit eating grin still plastered on his face.

“All of it, Jitterbug,”

You groaned yet again, plopping your body onto the bed in embarrassment.

How could this happen?! He was right-you should have closed the door! You covered your face with your hands, your fingers trailing against your forehead and your hair.

“God I’m so sorry, I probably sounded like a creep, I didn’t mean to-“ you tried to apologize and explain yourself, your cheeks a cherry red.

“Do you like me?” He interrupted you, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

You looked up timidly-god, was he always this intimidating?

He was standing right in front you, his overwhelming stature making you feel so small and overpowered. He was wearing this strange smirk, as if he was enjoying interrogating you.

That usually wasn’t a Bakugo thing to do, to smirk like that, but damn, was it kinda-hot. You could really only focus on that, on the way his lips curled up so softly like he was happy about something but trying to repress it. It was warm and inviting, and you couldn’t help but feel some of your awkwardness melt away.

“How would you feel if I said ‘yes’?” You tried your best to lighten the mood some what, a nervous smile slipping against your lips.

Bakugo knelt down, his body so much more closer to you. His hands went on each side of your legs, his thumbs just brushing your outer thigh. He caged you in to the bed with his arms, his face mere inches from yours.

Well shit.

You felt the blood rush to your face, your ears pounding-you never knew he felt this warm so close, and god-did he really smell like salted caramel? His vermillion eyes were boaring to yours, sending your senses into over drive.

“And how would it feel if I said ‘yes’?” He turned your words against you, his voice husky and deep form being so close.

You squirmed from nerves, your hands going to play with your hair. It was so strange being so close to him, and you didn’t know what to do.

You looked so cute flustered like this-Bakugo internally tried to remember this perfectly, mentally writing down your adorable mannerisms and facial expression to memory. As much as he loved this, you were taking too long for a reply, and he was getting a little annoyed.

“What was that? I’m still waiting,” he asked gruffly, his voice low and sultry.

You gulped, feeling a pang in your heart from hearing that type of voice come from him. Directed to you.

“I-Uh-yes, I-I do, I've liked you for a while now,” you revealed, your cheeks practically tomato red.

He smirked at your expression, slowly lifting his body with off the weight.

You looked up in confusion, already feeling cold without his warm body so close to yours.

“Good,” he replied, his voice prideful, “cause I feel the same way.”

“You do!” You practically shouted, your eyes wide with shock.

The Bakugo-“liked you” liked you? You could practically scream with happiness.

“Well yeah dumbass, why would I say that if I didn’t?” He chuckled slightly, his bright red eyes still drinking you in.

Now his nerves were coming out again, a heaviness feeling his stomach as he realized what he had to do now.

“I-I’m not good at this shit, but-

“Wanna go out tomorrow?”

You were practically screaming like a little girl internally. This was happening? Was this all just a cruel dream?

Only one way to figure out if this was real or not.

You stood up from the bed, bringing yourself close to the hot head.

Now it was Bakugo’s turn to be embarrased-he was getting too comfortable being the one to make you nervous. He forgot how you could make him so flustered, your warm smile and pretty eyes making his heart thump painfully and his mind go into a panicked standstill.

Your hands shakily wrapped around his neck, slow to see how he would react.

God, you had thought about touching his hair for so long now, it was even better than you imagined-soft and fluffy like a cloud, you ran your hands through the spiky locks. The faint smell of caramel wafted into your nose agaun, making you feel nervous and calm at the same time.

He was slightly rigid, staring at you with shocked eyes-but he seemed to not mind this. You smiled softly, your heart thumping-it was now or never.

You slowly got on your toes and leaned yourself into his lips, surprised how warm they felt. At first he didn’t move, which scared you-but he eventually began to move against your lips, a little rough but still pleasant. A flood of warmth filled your body, your hands relaxing against his body. You felt his arms wrap around your body, his lips now taking the lead and guiding you into him.

You couldn’t believe how good this felt, how perfect and surreal it was.

But you remembered-sadly- breathing was a thing, your lungs burning as you both reluctantly pulled away.

You thanked your aunt for her loud mouth in your blissful daze, because without her, you wouldn’t be kissing your crush now.

You smiled at the blonde, his cheeks dusted with red and his eyes drinking you in.

“Tomorrow sounds great.”

493 notes · View notes

lucytara · 5 years ago

Note

Bumbleby. Blue. “And now that you’re here realized I need you for survival. I know from the awe in your eyes”

On the day of the reaping, Blake never expects her own name.

She’s never taken tesserae; her name’s in there six times because of her age, and that’s it. It’s her second-to-last eligible year, and she’s six among thousands. She has no reason to expect her own name when some girls in her class have their names in thirty, forty, fifty times - she brushes the nagging anxiety away for days leading up, finding comfort in the words of her family, in Adam, who’s on his last year and isn’t quite as lucky.

“Twenty-one times,” he says, but he’s still scowling. “Could be worse. But it’s still a flawed system. The poorer you are, the less value your life has. Here in Twelve? The Capitol doesn’t even think of us as people.”

Blake’s heard this speech a thousand times, but she hasn’t shared the hardest of his experiences and so she doesn’t stop him. “But what do you want to do, Adam?” she asks. “We can’t do anything. We can barely survive.”

She doesn’t miss the brief, scornful look in his eyes before he masks it with fire. She’s survived easier than he has, with her father as the Mayor, but it hasn’t been easy for any of them. “You’re right,” he says, though his tone’s taken on an odd, darkly thoughtful quality. “We can’t. But victors…” he trails off, shredding a loose leaf in his hand, strip by strip. “If I were a victor, I might.”

–

“Blake Belladonna!”

She rewatches the scene from third-person, as if it’s a dream she’s having, only it’s happening a split second after inside of her own skull. The perfectly manicured hand of their escort dipping a hand into the jar and pulling the crisp, white slip of paper with Blake’s name on it caught between her fingers. Her hazy, disoriented walk to the steps, the hem of her dress batting against her ankles. She’s not there. She’s in the Capitol, watching herself called to the death and starting, already, to murmur about her odds.

But Adam. She sees Adam perfectly.

Sees him step forward to volunteer for a boy whose name Blake doesn’t even know. Sees the crowd shifting uncomfortably, uncertain what to make of the move. Sees some of them clutching their hearts, some of them shaking their heads. And she sees Adam, unable to hide the victorious smirk in the corner of his mouth.

–

“I’m so sorry, Blake,” her father says, his hand on her shoulder as her mother embraces her, weeping. “I never wanted this for you. For any of us.”

If so many people don’t want this, Blake thinks numbly, why do we still have it?

–

Their mentor’s a woman named Sienna Kahn, now in her early thirties after having won her Games at fifteen. She’s tough, hard around the edges, as Blake imagines anyone would be who’s watched countless children die under their watch. Blake doesn’t understand, but she understands - Sienna doesn’t want to get attached.

She and Adam barely speak - her silence falls to the fact that she’s on her way to her own murder. But Adam’s?

Well, she’s seen this quiet intensity from him before. And he’s making plans.

–

There’s more to work with than Sienna thinks there is: for one, she and Adam both know their way around a sword, and she’s no stranger hitting a target with a knife. Teenage boredom, she says when Sienna asks, and despite the doubt, she doesn’t push it further.

I wanted to help people, is the real answer. When I saw how Adam had been treated, I wanted to help. And then I saw how many people were like him, I wanted to do more than that.

“Your father’s a good man,” Sienna says instead, arms crossed over her body. She’s holding a far-off look in her eye, and instantly Blake knows she’s being told information specifically because Sienna thinks she won’t be alive to repeat it later. “He fought for people the only way he could, and I’m sure he almost died for it. I thought he wasn’t doing enough, back then. But I get it now.” She fixates her gaze on Blake again, solidly in the present, still on the same train car to a mass grave. “What do you have to fight for, Blake?”

Adam’s listening for her answer, and she says the only thing she’s thought since her name was called the day before. “Honestly? I don’t know why we’re fighting at all.”

A smile works its way to the edge of Sienna’s mouth, but it isn’t happy. It’s full of regret. “Yeah,” she says. “I used to think like that, too.”

–

They watch the other reapings. There’s a pair of volunteers from One who seem like they come as a set, with equally stupid names: Emerald and Mercury. Then she only really remembers the girl from two, who looks fourteen and innocent, but Blake knows better. The red-headed girl from three, who stands tall. A girl from five, missing an eye. A large boy from eight.

But the one reaping that sticks in her mind from the minute she sees it is the reaping from Four.

A girl’s name is called, and there’s a brief bout of hysteria from the crowd while a girl with long, blonde hair tugs her back and volunteers in her place. The younger girl just screams, but the older girl - Yang - just stands on the stage, slowly putting herself back together. It’s like Blake can see it happening - see her locking her heart away. Putting all that love she has for her sister somewhere it can’t be used against her.

“Pathetic,” Adam murmurs, because he hates weakness. He’s proud to see himself volunteer, steady and confident. “To protect you, of course,” he clarifies, and nothing’s ever been further from the truth.

Strangely, all Blake can comprehend is that she’s looking forward to tomorrow - getting to see Yang in person.

–

Their outfits are stunning, as is their debut. They have a compelling story: the mayor’s daughter from Twelve and the boy determined to keep her alive. It’s a television show, Sienna says. It’s about the narrative.

Blake finds that flash of blonde hair in the crowd. She thinks she sees seashells winding their way down a braid, and a net is woven to create some sort of dress. Yang clearly hates it, but she says something to the boy from her district, and he laughs.

Laughter isn’t a simple thing to come by in the Hunger Games. She decides, for no reason at all, that she likes Yang.

–

After the parade of horses, their team is riding on a high; she’s kept herself grounded, though, unwilling to entertain any ideas of survival. She’s walking to the elevator when she swears she catches Yang staring at her, but she blinks and she’s only met with Yang’s profile, her chin dropped and her eyes averted down.

–

Yang is a mystery in the training room. She spends most of her time at the wildlife stations, learning to tie knots, painting patterns, identifying poisonous plants. She never spars, or uses any of the weapons, really, but she lifts weights, punches a bag around a bit. Blake can tell everyone’s set on edge by her presence, not able to tell the extent of her power, skill, ability. It’s uncommon to hide that sort of thing during training, but her muscles tell their own story. There’s more to her than she’s allowing them to see.

That doesn’t stop Blake from watching her, though. From cataloguing where she spends her time and how it allows her to feel. She’s not as guarded as the rest of them - she seems to like making traps, because she gains this look of concentration as she follows along with the instructor, knotting rope around her fingers. She spends a little bit of time with the boy from her district, and almost against his will, he appears slightly enamored with her. In fact, a lot of them do, though they try to hide it. Blake isn’t the only one who watches her.

She’s so absorbed with the state of affairs that she doesn’t notice who isn’t, but she does notice there’s an energy between her and Adam that wasn’t palpable before, and now it seems to be coating the room.

“Thinking about allies, Blake?” he says over dinner, light enough to pass as a joke but sinister enough to be a threat.

“No,” Blake says, because she’s only thinking about the quickest way to die.

She hopes she can at least see Yang, wherever she is when it happens.

–

Her knife sinks directly into the red dot, signaling a bulleye on their human-shaped target. She’s not paying attention to the show she’s putting on; all she’s really doing is daydreaming while she idly throws knives. It helps her think. Gives her clarity.

They’re easy to flick. Most people don’t understand the wrist movement, the finesse - they tie it to strength, rather than purpose. That’s why Blake’s so good at it; she’s about precision, not power. That’d always been Adam.

Someone is watching her. Actually, as she comes back into herself, many people are watching her, but only one she cares about: Yang, back at the trap station, staring unfettered.

Blake abruptly puts her knives down. The worst part of the Hunger Games, she’s starting to understand, aren’t the games themselves. That’s going to awaken survival instincts, desperation for life - primal, unhindered urges. No, no, the worst part of the Games is now, these few days before, when they’re taken care of so exquisitely, when shiny, beautiful things are dangled in front of them and cruelly ripped away.

“Why?” she can’t resist asking, kneeling beside Yang. “Why did you do it?”

Yang’s eyes haven’t left her, but her fingers stall around the rope, as if surprised by the question. She examines Blake with a strange intensity, but an openness Blake still isn’t used to from any other tribute. Everyone’s either closed off or showing off, genuinity nowhere to be found. Except perhaps the redhead from Three. Pyrrha. She’s been spending some time teaching a much smaller, younger boy how to throw a spear. He doesn’t stand a chance, but Pyrrha must know that.

“Don’t you have someone?” Yang says, drops her gaze back to the knot. “Someone you’d die for?”

Her parents. Her friends. Adam. “No,” Blake admits honestly. “Nobody.” There are no cameras yet. No one to hurt with the admission. Adam had called her selfish, once; maybe he’d been right.

But Yang laughs, once and under her breath. “Maybe you’re better off that way,” Yang says, not unkindly. Her smile’s sad and quiet; whatever memories rise, they’re memories for her to cherish one last time. That’s how all memories feel these days. “My sister is my life.”

“She’s lucky to have you,” Blake says, captivated by every word out of Yang’s mouth; how real she sounds. There’s no show; she’s not aiming to impress, or grasping at pity. She’s here because of a choice she made, and she’ll live and die with that. Blake wonders what that’s like: to have a choice. “Not many people would do what you did.”

“Well, what about you, Belladonna?” Yang questions, sitting up a little straighter, expression a sliding door that suddenly gives way to teasing. There’s a tone underneath, though - heavy - like a lingering doubt. “The guy who volunteered for you. To protect you, right?”

She’s close - she’s kept her volume low. She’s not stupid. She’s playing this conversation with an angle, but it isn’t for her own benefit.

Blake turns her head, locks onto Adam’s hand clenched around the grip of his sword, lunging strikes at a dummy. She feels the familiar uncurling of fear in her stomach, a dark and massive shape lingering just below. Ominous and foreboding.

“Yeah,” Blake says, and looks away. “He did.”

Picking up on her discomfort isn’t hard, and it isn’t something she’s actively tried to mask; Yang pauses strangely, gaze flickering between them. She infers, “It’s not a good thing, is it.” And trains her focus on Blake again. “It’s not good that he’s here.”

“I don’t know,” Blake admits. “He - I don’t know. Maybe I’m being paranoid.”

“Maybe you aren’t.”

“He wants me to believe it is,” she says finally. “He told me all he wants is to see me safe.”

“And you think he’s lying?” Yang asks, like a story she’s invested in, though Blake isn’t quite sure why.

“I think,” Blake starts, and at last puts into words what exactly has haunted her since the reaping days earlier, “that Adam wants to win, and he thinks he can use me to do that. Use my loyalty to him.”

The knot effortlessly tightens and unravels between Yang’s fingers. It seems to be an unconscious habit, and one she’s better at than her hours at the station might’ve led them to believe. “Hm,” she says, poking her tongue against the inside of her cheek. “You’re good with those knives, that’s for sure. It makes sense that he’d rather have you as an ally than an enemy - help him take out all the threats, and take you out himself.”

“Perceptive,” Blake says, impressed despite her dawning horror; she’d been so good at pushing it down, at talking herself out of circles, at trusting him despite the signs. In one conversation, Yang’s forced her to undo all that. She echoes Yang’s earlier words to her. Maybe it’s for the best.

“I’m not sure I’d go that far,” Yang says, and subtly jerks her head in his direction. “With how purposefully he’s showing off his swordplay, I’m amazed he even remembers you exist.” She rolls her eyes. “Men.”

And Blake laughs. Like Yang’s district partner at the parade. It’s accidental, and nearly shocking in its sincerity, but she laughs anyway. She doesn’t have a choice. “Men,” she agrees, and Yang laughs too.

That’s the first time Blake thinks about living.

–

The first time Yang thinks about dying - dying willingly - is their final day in the training center.

Blake Belladonna, beautiful and clever and entirely obvious to everyone but herself, locates her at the camouflage station, attempting to blend her hand into a sandy coastline. She stares quizzically down at the pattern, eyebrows knitting together, and Yang makes the connection with a laugh. “You’ve never seen the ocean.”

“No.” Blake shakes her head. “What’s it like?”

“Well, I’m no artist,” Yang says, wiggling her fingers, “but kinda like this. Blue, green, boundless - sometimes I think about just diving in the water and swimming as far as I can. Swimming away.” She adds, “Salty.”

And then Blake reaches for a paintbrush, deliberately dragging her fingers along the back of Yang’s hand, leaving streaks of blue paint. She pauses; Yang keeps breathing, but it’s a struggle. She says, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Yang says.

“Don’t die.” She takes the brush, and swirls it into the yellow paint. “Don’t give up.”

“Why do you care what happens to me?” Yang asks, almost unnerved at the sentiment, fighting against the way it makes her want to cry. Her skin feels raw where Blake had touched her, and the marks remain.

“Because,” Blake says softly, “I think you deserve better than this.”

“I think we all do,” Yang counters, flaring up - it’s not just me, she wants to say. You deserve better. You. There are so few beautiful things left. You.

“But the rest of us aren’t here because there’s someone we care enough about to protect.” Blake lets it hang between them. “You’re a good person, Yang. Anyone can tell that much.”

Yang’d never understood the Capitol and its fascination with tattoos as a statement. Now she stares at the blue streaks across the back of her hand, and wonders about wearing it forever.

She’d die, she thinks. She’d die for Blake, too.

–

She spars for the first and last time after that, and one of her blows sends the trainer flying off the practice area and into the concrete, knocking him unconscious.

But she sweats the paint off, and finds without it, it’s a little easier to breathe.

–

Their scores aren’t surprising. Adam pulls a nine. Blake gets a ten - Adam pretends to be happy for her, but she sees that facade cracking instantly.

Yang gets an eleven.

“Her?” Adam spits out, clearly infuriated. He’s already seeing red.

“She’s a genius,” Sienna says at the revelation, shocking Adam into silence. “You’re good with a weapon, Adam, and anyone will give you that. But unarmed? You’re nothing.” She jerks her head towards the blonde girl on-screen. “You can’t disarm her. She’ll kill you with her bare hands.”

“Her?” Adam snarls. “If she gets within my line of sight, she’s–”

“You think she doesn’t know how to dodge a sword?” she asks, and Adam bristles once again with no response. “Do you truly believe a girl whose primary skill is hand-to-hand combat doesn’t know how to evade an attack? You’re a fool if you cast her aside as a threat, Adam. She’s the most dangerous one here.”

Blake stares blankly at her picture, wondering if it’s intelligence, if it’s determination, passion, will. Wonders if Yang’s trained for this, if she’s excited, if she’s terrified. Wonders if it’s all just luck, a mixed bag of rot and gold.

But Blake recalls the tapes of the reapings, across every district, and she remembers none of them as clearly as she remembers Yang’s - not even her own. Yang’s; a reaping that wasn’t supposed to be hers at all.

Ruby! Ruby! No!

Armed guards in white holding her back, or trying to, but being no match for her strength.

I volunteer! She hears Yang’s scream in her mind, even now, days later, sees her pushing her way to the platform. I volunteer as tribute!

Or, Blake thinks, maybe it’s just what she’s always done to survive.

–

Blake’s tactic, they’d decided, is mysterious and alluring: she’s to answer her interview in short, vague answers, and smile as though she’s hiding something. It’s not hard. She’s hiding so much from herself already that it barely even feels like a tactic.

Yang goes for sexy and powerful, and she doesn’t even have to try. People in the audience are literally fanning themselves as she’s interviewed. She looks stunning in her dress, her heels, red-lipped and eyes that seem to match underneath the stage lights.

“I just want my sister to know I love her,” she says at the end, a calculated vulnerability that makes every citizen watching want her even more, moaning about how strong and brave she is, protecting her younger sister like that.

“She makes me sick,” Adam says, face warped with hatred, and suddenly, it isn’t her own safety she’s worried for.

–

It’s a diversion. Confuse Adam, make him scramble for a new plan, make him rethink his strategy. Because Yang had been right, and Blake’s instincts had been, too: he wants to win. And when you want to win, everyone else is a target.

So during her interview, she confesses, “I know I can win. But I’ve met someone here who I’d really like to keep alive, even more than that.”

The interviewer goes insane. “Another tribute?” he says. “You’ve met someone here?”

Blake shrugs, pretending to be coy. “That’s all I’ll say on the matter.”

He groans, begs her for details, and she says next to nothing, but the audience eats it up - she sees the camera focus on her as the show closes, hoping to catch her eyes flickering to another tribute. She stares straight ahead, speaking to no one until they’re backstage.

“Adam, not now,” Sienna says immediately, pointing him to the elevator. “Go upstairs. We’ll meet you there.” He grits his teeth, but does as he’s told. Sienna turns on her. “What the hell was that?”

“I’m not an idiot,” Blake says lowly, “and neither are you. We both know what Adam’s plan is. Or was.”

It’s a statement that forces Sienna into a corner, and she relents after a few seconds of the two of them staring each other down. “You’ll be his first target now, not his last,” she says. “You know that, right?”

“It doesn’t matter the order,” Blake says, brushing by her to the elevator. “I’ve been number one on his list for a long, long time. But I’m not playing the Games on his terms anymore.”

“Well, you’ve given them a hell of a narrative,” Sienna says, following her, reluctantly impressed. “The whole Capitol’s dying to know who your lucky love interest could be, since it’s not him.”

Yang shoves her arm through the elevator door just as it’s about to close. “Mind if I catch a ride?” she asks, stepping inside, her heels held in her hand.

So, maybe Blake should’ve thought through her plan, because at the moment, Yang’s a foot away from her and absolutely the most beautiful girl Blake’s ever seen in her life, and her story for the cameras turns out to be more true than she’d meant it to be.

“Oh, it’s you,” Sienna says, throwing up her hands. Apparently Blake’s staring is noticeable. “Of course it is. Blake, you’re on your own.”

“No, she’s not,” Yang murmurs, and brushes her fingers against Blake’s, hanging between them. “She’s got me.”

–

There’s a vibrancy to her when she disembarks, an urgency to her mouth. Find me, she says, leaning close, grasping Blake’s hand. Find me in the arena. Or I’ll find you. Okay?

“Why?” Blake asks again, unable to comprehend anything Yang does or says, unable to reconcile the motivation behind it.

“Because I want you alive,” she says, and lets go. “I want you to live.”

You’re insane, Blake wants to say. None of us will live except one. And out of all of us, it should be you.

But the next morning, standing on the platform, she finds Yang three spaces down from her, and their eyes meet as if by gravitational pull.

Find me, Yang mouths, and the cannons blast.

#Anonymous #bumbleby #rwby fic #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #rwby #yes...it's a hunger games au. will i continue it? maybe!

650 notes · View notes

anemonenemerosa · 4 years ago

Text

The Spare - Chapter 3

Here we are: Chapter 3

Sweater Weather spin-off, inspired by the most wonderful @lumosinlove. Harry Potter characters belong to JK Rowling, the Sweater Weather AU with OCs belong to lumosinlove, my OCs from this fic belong to me.

Warnings:

Past and present abuse, homophobia, slurs, mentions of forced outing, self-harm, a bit of blood, swearing, drinking, underage drinking (USA),

Please be careful

The Spare - Chapter 3

Early mornings have always been the favourite part of Regulus' day.

Much unlike his brother, he was an exceptionally early riser, usually waking up around five in the morning. No one else was awake at this time and he did not have to bother with pretence, with permanently schooling his expression, calculating every movement, every word.

After he got a grip to his initial exhaustion, he slowly came by waking up as usual and immensely enjoyed his solitary peace. As the Malfoys never emerged before seven, Regulus put his two hours of unmonitored time to use by hiding out in the ginormous library and burying himself in books one wouldn't suspect in this house. Copies of umpteen different fantasy and science-fiction novels were refurnished with dull grey covers, titles written in tiny letters across the spines and carefully placed in unsuspecting corners.

Either I profoundly misjudged my dear cousins’ taste, or the interior designer allowed himself a little bit of artistic licence while filling the shelves, Regulus thought happily after propping Hitchhikers Guide the Galaxy on top of The Lord of the Rings and moving on to the collected works of Terry Pratchett’s Disc World.

In stories, he could immerse himself, putting his sense of humour and feelings into practice a bit before they would shrivel up and die of neglect.

______________________________________________________________

Regulus' reality, unlike books and stories, required rapt attention and close observation if he was to figure out the unspoken rules of the dynamics within the Snakes. And rules, they had. He repeated them to himself quite often to prevent any grave missteps.

First thing to internalise was that Severus Snape, Captain of the team, was not the man in charge. This position was firmly occupied by the main goalie, Tom Riddle. While being genuinely interested why Riddle wasn't official Captain of the Snakes, Regulus sensed that the next rule was to never question it, or anything else, for that matter.

Another commandment was to always, under any circumstances, stay true to the determined and grim attitude expected from Snakes: During interviews, at practice, in the locker room, even in public places ...also while folding your socks, flossing your teeth, doing the laundry and taking the trash out... Regulus droned on mentally, allowing himself a little internal eyeroll.

As much as the players boasted their rough manliness, gossip was omnipresent in the locker room, everyone eager to collect various secrets and rumours. Apparently, their main leisure activity was to fuel the plethora of squabbles between and within the players' families and associates.

The next statue (order of mention does not necessarily correspond with importance, he reminded himself) was to stay within your rank. The loyal core around Riddle played first line in nearly every game, consisting of Severus as centre, his wingers Lucius and Rodolphus and Carrow and Macnair in defence. While everyone seemed dubiously loyal towards Riddle (ne demandez pas), the first line also had some kind of group-solidarity. It became custom to refer to the first line as Death Eaters due to their hard and unforgiving operations, praised by Regulus' father as the only true way of playing hockey.

The second line consisted of tolerated, but less engaged players, neglecting solidarity in favour of ascending the food chain. With Nott as centre, Dolohov and Mulciber at his sides and Crabbe and Goyle in defence, they were considerably weaker than the first line. The second goalie, Yaxley, had basically no time on ice. Riddle dominated every game.

The third line was pretty much cannon fodder. These players were only allowed on ice to run out the clock, having a strong defence and weak but ruthless centre. Regulus often wavered between exasperation, uneasiness and ridicule while observing such absurd antics but he'd be damned, if he wouldn't put these insights into use.

______________________________________________________________

Right after the call confirming his draft Regulus was sat down by his parents and instructed meticulously.

“Without question, Regulus will need to work hard but that’s not enough. There are plenty of good players in the NHL and he needs a unique selling point.” Orion muttered determined, looking at his wife.

“Just let him stick with the husbands of dear Bellatrix and Narcissa”, his mother eyed both of them over the brim of her fourth or fifth glass of red wine, “they already got into Riddles circle and I will ensure they get him-“

“You do no such thing, Walburga. I will not risk rumours of a Black descending to nepotism. Regulus may benefit from their company in public appearances but he needs to prove his worth on the ice.”

For the first time, Orion’s eyes left Walburga’s face turning to his son with a contemplative look, dark eyes boring into grey ones. It's indeed fascinating how they always speak about me and never bother to speak with me, Regulus found himself thinking.

He was banking on the belief that succeeding Orion’s hockey career would finally deem him deserving to be looked at by his father, not looked down on.

Rookies were expected to keep their heads down and stay out of it until they demonstrated their use. Regulus however was not only a talented rookie, he was a Black and Severus prospect to massively piss of Sirius. So, instead of staying put he quickly rose, much to the disdain of the uninspired pranksters of the third line and the delight of his parents.

My unique selling point is being son of Orion Black and brother of Sirius Black, Regulus concluded with a pinch of bitterness but he would be daft to mope on the opportunities he was given instead of seizing them. His status allowed him to associate with the Death Eaters, benefitting from their special treatment and favouritism from Karkaroff. It was the privileged practice and disproportionally high time on ice for a rookie that fuelled his career. He would get stronger, gain experience, become a recognised force much quicker than a rookie usually could and if his family’s reputation got him on the way, so be it.

Thats it for this week =)

Stay save and channel your inner Hufflepuf

#the spare #sweater weather #lumosinlove #lumosinlove ocs #Regulus has good taste in literature #sirius black #snakes #death eaters

49 notes · View notes

doc-pickles · 4 years ago

Text

i won’t hesitate (for you) ch. 9

Jo is happy, at least she feels like she is. When someone from her past shows up, will her and her daughter’s world ever go back to normal? Or will things change for good?

Me? Updating? It's more likely than you think apparently. I struggled, s t r u g g l e d. through this chapter but I think the rest will come a bit easier. S/O to Ren for proofing the first half of this and to Nat for demanding the second half hahaha. Also I know that the plot for this whole child support thing is totally out of left field, but I'm going with the Grey's motto of "enough logic to be believable but probably not real world" so there's that. Anyways enjoy! PS: In the interest of me not sending myself to an early grave, there's no flashback in the beginning of this chapter!

“Can’t believe we have to go to court, this is a waste of my time and my good suit,” Alex grumbled as he tightened this tie. “I had to pull it out of the boxes and then get it dry cleaned, I should freaking bill her for this.”

“This’ll be over with in a few days and we can go back to our normal lives, well as normal as living in a loft overrun with cardboard boxes is,” Jo exited the bathroom and navigated around a stack of boxes before finally making it over to Alex, moving his hands and helping with his tie. “You look so handsome, if we didn’t have somewhere to be I would drag you back to bed.”

“Well our bed isn’t even here for you to drag me to,” Alex moved his lips to kiss along Jo’s neck, a soft giggle coming from her as he did so. “Movers are coming in 45 minutes and we have to be out the door in 15.”

“That’s enough time for a quickie in the bathroom,” Jo’s proposition caused Alex to pull back and look her up and down with an amused expression. “What? I’m seriously horny all the time and you look good in a suit. I can’t help all the hormones running through my body. In fact! It’s your fault for getting me pregnant!”

Alex rolled his eyes, pressing one last kiss to Jo’s lips before pulling back from her.

“If I remember correctly, there were two of us in that elevator,” grabbing his keys and coat, Alex held his hand out for Jo to grab. “And I wasn’t the one gasping and moaning and practically begging the whole time.”

“If you keep using verbs like that you’re gonna make us late,” Jo swatted at Alex’s ass before grabbing his outstretched hand, following him out of the loft.

As they locked the doors and headed downstairs, Alex let his hands fall to Jo’s growing bump, showcased by her form fitting black dress. At almost 18 weeks pregnant now, Jo couldn’t attempt to hide her bump anymore. She’d been nervous that her pregnancy would impact the court case one way or another, but Alex had reassured her that he just wanted her there with him, consequence be damned. Things had moved quickly though, and in the end, Jo had been called to testify as a character witness so her protests didn’t matter.

The speed of the case making it to court probably had something to do with the fact that Izzie hadn’t bothered to fly back home to file a claim, instead calling the first paternity lawyer she could find on google and starting up the legal process in Washington. While it was a minor relief that Alex wouldn’t have to split time between Seattle and Kansas, both he and Jo were worried about how seriously Izzie had taken things.

Getting into the car and pulling on her seatbelt, Jo begins to ramble nervously. “How’s this going to work? I mean… they’re not yours, right? How is Izzie even allowed to do this?”

A loud groan left Alex as he settled into the driver's seat of his car. He’d wondered the same thing, but he knew that him signing all those papers when he moved to Kansas three years ago had definitely helped Izzie’s case. Even back then, he’d thought in the back of his mind that he should have asked more questions, demanded a paternity test, but he hadn’t. All he could focus on were these two perfect children standing in front of him, children that he now knew weren’t even his. Alex’s blood began to boil with anger at the thought of Izzie lying to him for so long, but he let out a deep breath and began to drive towards the courthouse instead.

“I don’t know, but I saw those blood test results myself and there’s no damn way those kids are mine,” Jo’s fingers rubbed against Alex’s arm, calming him slightly. He looked to her briefly before speaking again. “I’m sorry you had to get dragged into this, I wish I could protect you from it all.”

He could feel Jo’s gaze on him as his eyes stayed on the road. Alex could almost hear her thinking of how much she wanted to make Izzie pay for what she’d done to him. He was almost certain that pregnant or not, she’d fight Izzie if she came at her again. As if reading his mind Jo let out a chuckle and squeezed his arm reassuringly.

“I’m a big girl, I can stand up to bullies on the playground,” Jo squeezed Alex’s arm once more before bringing her hand to rest on her growing bump. “Let’s just get through today, this isn’t going to go longer than a day once they figure out you’re not those kids dad.”

But it did end up lasting longer… Once they got to the courthouse, Alex realized with a sense of horror that Izzie wasn’t messing around. She had two lawyers and was wearing a dress that looked like it cost more than his paycheck. And she wasn’t holding back anything, her lawyers showed that loud and clear.

“My client went through multiple rounds of chemotherapy, there’s no possible way that she could conceive without the help of artificial insemination and the sample that Doctor Karev provided,” Izzie’s lawyer was a short, pudgy man whose voice echoed through the courtroom unforgivingly. “We’re asking for Doctor Karev to back pay child support for the three years he knew about and took parental responsibility for both children as well as therapy for the children in the wake of his sudden departure.”

“Your Honor, these claims are absurd! Doctors Karev and Stevens performed a blood test that showed that one of the children has a genetic disorder that neither of them have, meaning that if Doctor Stevens did indeed give birth to both children, that Doctor Karev could not be their biological father,” Alex’s lawyer fought back, eyeing Izzie and her lawyers as she spoke. “All we’re asking for is Doctor Karev to be released of all parental responsibility for both children and for Doctor Stevens to repay him the legal fees for these proceedings, as well as cover any other expenses he’s incurred while being involved in this trial.”

A quick and calculated silence followed the statement, Alex’s eyes flitting nervously from Izzie to her lawyer to Jo, who sat behind him with her hands nervously running over her bump. He’d seen Izzie watching her with a venomous expression earlier, Alex’s grip around her waist tightening as they’d shuffled into the courtroom.

“Your Honor, we’d like to call Doctor Josephine Brooke Karev to the stand before we proceed,” Izzie’s other lawyer, a tall woman named Eleanor Krause, stood and gestured towards the witness stand. She wore an almost permanent scowl on her thin face, her dark eyes staring menacingly around the courtroom. “I have a few questions for the other Doctor Karev.”

Jo rose and quietly made her way towards the stand, eyes meeting Alex’s briefly before swearing in and turning to face Miss Krause.

“Doctor Karev, are you and Doctor Alexander Michael Karev still married?”

“No we are currently divorced,” Jo’s voice was clear and stoic as she answered, staring directly at the lawyer questioning her. “We’ve been divorced for almost three years now.”

“And the dissolution of your marriage occurred when separated he moved to Kansas to be with Doctor Stevens?”

“Correct…,” then quickly adding, “after learning of their existence, Alex determined he needed to sever all ties with Seattle to be there completely for his children. At least who he thought were his children.”

Krause’s eyes lit up suddenly, a wicked smile appearing on her face as she stared down Jo. Alex could feel his stomach drop, knowing that whatever the woman was going to say next would not be friendly or civil.

“And you also have a child fathered by Doctor Alexander Michael Karev, is that right?”

“Yes, my daughter Harper Josephine Karev, who is two, and the child I’m carrying now are both Alex’s,” Jo’s brow furrowed, hand settling onto her abdomen as she watched the woman take a step closer to her. “I don’t see what that has to do with the case at hand though.”

“I just want to know if the other Doctor Karev paid you child support during your first pregnancy and the two years of your daughter’s life that he wasn’t present,” Krause’s voice was practically dripping with malice as she stared Jo down. “I mean, we are here to make sure that he’s doing his duty as a father, whether he’s in the same state as his children or not, right? So, has he been paying child support to you, Doctor Karev?”

Jo’s eyes flitted to Alex nervously, his own telling her that it was okay to tell the truth. To be honest, he was scared what Jo’s answer would affect in the case, but he knew that at the end of the day he wouldn’t have to pay a dime to Izzie because her kids were not his.

“No he hasn’t, but he didn’t know he had a daughter until four months ago,” Jo argued, turning momentarily to the judge. “He’s been a present and wonderful father since he’s known about Harper.”

“Doctor Karev, are you sure beyond a reasonable doubt that both of your children are indeed Alex’s children? Did you not have your daughter shortly after your now ex husband left you?”

“What’s the relevance here,” Alex’s lawyer finally stood and challenged the woman accosting Jo. “Doctor Josephine Karev’s children shouldn’t have any effect on her ex husband's child support case! It’s cruel and malicious to be questioning her like this on the stand.”

Alex turned to glare at Izzie, angered that she wore the same expression as her shifty lawyer. She knew about what Krause was plotting, he would put money on the fact that she’d planted the seed of whatever cruel idea it was in her head.

“I’m just questioning Doctor Alexander Karev’s intentions when it comes to his children, however many that may be,” Krause shrugged, eyes narrowing in Jo’s direction. “You’ve filed papers to move forward with adding Alexander to your daughter’s legal paperwork, is that correct?”

That all too familiar feeling of horror flooded Alex’s senses again, overtaking everything as he watched Jo answer affirmatively, her eyes moving to him again. There were tears welling up in them now, the fear he felt in the room spreading to her as well. His breathing hitched as he listened to Izzie’s lawyer prattle on once more, her biting voice breaking through his mental fog.

“I’d like to request a hold on any formal paternity proclamations concerning Doctor Alexander Michael Karev’s alleged children until their paternity can be confirmed via DNA testing,” Krause moved her line of sight to Jo once more, a sharp note ringing through the courtroom as she delivered her final, jarring blow. “I’d like to request that all four of Doctor Karev’s alleged children are tested, I believe that Josephine here is still well within the window to have an amniocentesis performed.”

“No, hell no!” Alex stood from his chair, eyes blazing as he stared down Krause. “I am not letting you poke and prod my wife just for a damn child support case, especially one she’s not directly involved in.”

Both Alex and his lawyer turned pleadingly towards the judge, who was eyeing both Izzie and Alex warily. He was never one to feel anxious, but he couldn’t help the worry mounting in his chest. Finally, the judge spoke, his words directed towards Izzie’s lawyers.

“How long would this process take?”

“If we proceeded with the amniocentesis, we’d have results in as soon as three weeks,” Krause’s eyes moved to Alex, a sick look of delight glowing in them. “If you’re uncomfortable with that though, we can draw this case out until the baby is born.”

“I’ll do it,” Jo’s voice rang out before anyone else could answer, making all eyes in the courtroom turn to her. Alex felt his heart constrict as he watched her speak. “I’ll do the amnio, I don’t mind.”

“With Doctor Josephine Karev’s confirmation, I’m adjourning this case until the DNA results for Alexis Isobel Stevens, Eli George Stevens, Harper Josephine Karev, and Doctor Josephine Karev’s unborn child come back. Court adjourned, you may leave now,” the judge rose and left the courtroom quickly, not bothering to witness the pure mayhem that descended upon the room.

“You did this on purpose,” Alex was up and out of his seat before anyone could stop him, feet heading towards Izzie who wore a smug expression as she looked him over. “You disgust me, you’ve weaponized your own children against me and now you’re trying to jeopardize the health of my unborn child and wife?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Alex,” Izzie batted her eyelashes in Alex’s direction, her self satisfied smirk growing as she watched him become more angry. “Looking forward to seeing you again!”

Before he could respond to Izzie, a gentle hand pressed into Alex’s back and ushered him towards the exit. Jo’s presence, even if he hadn’t looked into her eyes yet, was an instant calming effect over him.

As soon as they stepped into the hallway, Jo and Alex were in each other’s embrace, steadying breaths matching the others as they tried to come to terms with what had just happened. Her face pressed against his chest, Alex could feel the slow shuddering breaths that left Jo as he held her. He knew the questions Izzie's lawyer had posed were ones that were a sore spot for Jo, ones she’d begged him not to believe as she’d cried into his arms just a few weeks earlier.

“Just one punch,” Jo mumbled the words against Alex’s chest, looking up to make sure he heard her. “Please? I just wanna punch her one time.”

Alex chuckled, looking down at Jo with a glint in his eye, “You know I can’t let you do that, even though it would make me happier than I care to admit.”

“You kept calling me your wife in there,” Jo pressed her hands against the lapels of Alex’s suit, avoiding his stare as she fixed her gaze on her hands. “I don’t hate hearing you say that again.”

The words made Alex’s heart stutter under Jo’s gentle touch, his mind racing as he took in fully what she was saying. Did she really want to be his wife again? After years of him being away, of her raising their daughter on her own? After he had all but abandoned her and told her via letter?

Watching Jo for another moment, Alex brought his fingers under her chin and met her eyes, “You wanna marry me again? After all the shit we’ve been through?”

“For some reason I do, you make me better,” Jo finally lifted her gaze back to Alex’s face, eyes welling with tears as she spoke. “You’ve given me the best things in my life, you’ve made me a better person. And if we can get through some of the things that have been thrown at us, then I truly think we can get through everything. I love you Alex, more than I can ever say to you. I know you think you’ve fucked up, but through the past few months you’ve shown me how much you’ve grown.”

Not knowing what to say, Alex leaned down and captured Jo’s lips with his own. If there was one thing that was almost always blaringly clear for him, it was that he didn’t deserve the woman in his arms. He couldn’t begin to fathom how much it had taken to forgive him, to even trust him again after what he’d done. But just as she’d always done, Jo saw him for who he really was underneath all of his layers of bullshit.

“We can go right now, we are in the courthouse,” Alex joked, prompting Jo to roll her eyes and gently slap his chest before walking towards the exit. “What? Not a funny joke? We had fun last time and the SUV has a bigger backseat than the Audi did.” “Mmm yeah, you know we made a baby that night, right?,” Jo raised her eyebrows, a mischievous grin lighting up her face as she took in Alex’s shocked expression. “You have really good luck, you know? You made one baby in the backseat of a car and another on the floor of an elevator.”

A peel of laughter escaped Jo as she tried to unsuccessfully move away from Alex’s grip on her hips, instead falling back into his arms as his lips grazed her neck.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, woman,” Alex whispered the words as he turned Jo around in his arms. “Weren’t you just trying to jump me in the bathroom a few hours ago? Is the car not up to your standards?”

“No, I’m just thinking that Link is keeping Harper overnight and our bed probably got to the new house already,” Jo smirked in satisfaction at the dark look that fell over Alex’s eyes at her suggestion. “Now's as good a time as any to start christening the place. Unless you can’t keep up with a younger woman?”

“Josephine Karev, you know I can keep up with you any day of the week,” Alex’s lips ghosted Jo’s ear as he lowered his voice, pressing her closer to him and making his aroused state perfectly clear for her. “Let’s go, before we have no choice but to finish things up in the car.”

Twenty four hours after leaving the courthouse, Alex and Jo find themselves in an exam room on the OB floor. With the amniocentesis being court ordered and both of them wanting to get things over as quickly as possible, they’d booked the first appointment that was available.

“How are you not nervous,” Alex sat beside Jo, her hand in his as Carina ran an ultrasound wand over Jo’s stomach. “I mean I’m not trying to make you nervous, but you know what happens here!”

“Can’t be any worse than a 15 hour unmedicated labor that ended with a 9 pound baby making its way out of your vagina,” Jo shrugged, Carina chuckling quietly next to her. “I came up with some very interesting curse words that day.”

Alex and Jo both watched the ultrasound screen intently, their baby reaching one leg up to kick at the probe. Carina furrowed her brow, watching the baby move languidly on the screen, “You’re going to have to get them to calm down, I cannot go in while they’re kicking all around like that.”

“Talk to them, they always calm down when you talk to them,” Jo turned to Alex and raised her eyebrows. “Go on! I don’t have all day to lay here Alex.” Alex looked between Jo and Carina before leaning down and speaking in the same mellow tone that Jo had become so used to hearing while they laid in bed at night, “Hey kiddo, you gotta slow down in there. Your mom and I are tangled up in this stupid ass thing-”

“Alex!”

“And we’d really appreciate it if you cooperated so we could get this done,” Alex glanced to the ultrasound screen, noticing that the erratic movements had lessened and the baby had calmed. “See, that’s more like it. You know your sister is very excited to meet you, she keeps running around talking about how she’s gonna be a ‘big shitser’ which is super adorable if not the most inappropriate thing to come out of a two year olds mouth.

“She wants to name you Elsa or Hei Hei, those are the options I was presented with a few nights ago anyways. I don’t think she really gets it, but she’s gonna be great,” Jo’s eyes closed quickly as Carina pulled out the needle, her hand squeezing Alex’s. “Okay you gotta be super still now, mom’s got a big needle in her-”

“You are not helping me, Alex.” “And she’s all done! Look at that, easy peasy,” Alex pressed a kiss to Jo’s forehead, following the once again active baby on the screen. “Hey look at that, baby’s flashing us!”

Jo sat up quickly, eyes scanning the screen as well with a laugh, “Well that’s one way to do a gender reveal.”

Alex leaned up to kiss Jo, laughter bubbling from both of them as they let the realization sink in. They had a house, they had two healthy kids, they had the promise of a great big future ahead of them. Court case be damned, they were happy and things were going right between them for once.

#jolex #alex karev #jo wilson #jo karev #greys anatomy #jo x alex #jolex fanfic #greys anatomy fanfic #nina writes #hesitate

22 notes · View notes

tae-cup · 4 years ago

Text

Visions of Gideon | PJM Oneshot

Inspired by: Sufjan Stevens’ “Visions of Gideon”

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader (sorta soulmate au)

Summary: Life moved so fast, but he could always slow it down for you.

Warnings: Fluff, angst (like a lot??? I just seem naturally inclined for angst...)

Word Count: 1.6K Words (a shorty but a goody)

A/N: I heard the song and immediately just yeeted myself here to write. Seriously, it’s a beautiful song, please listen if you get the chance.

Other: Masterlist

For the love, for laughter, I flew up to your arms Is it a video? Is it a video? For the love, for laughter, I flew up to your arms Is it a video? Is it a video? Is it a video?

It’s weird how your entire life can flash before your eyes before you can even live it. It feels like yesterday you were born, you waved goodbye to your parent as you went to class, you were graduating middle school, then high school. Time moved so fast, it felt like the wind was taking your breath right out of you. Every moment blending together in a hurricane only to dissipate when you were laying in the ground. Then you met him.

And time slowed. Your heart stood still as your eyes met while crossing the busy street. Just like that, your life froze. Rewind.

Work was busy, boring, tireless. You didn’t have a moment to rest until the clock hit 6:00 P.M. Meetings in, meetings out, old desks and glass doors. College went by in a flash, the kind smiles of your classmates washing over you like the rhythmic beating of the waves.

And every night you escaped to your apartment, letting the junk food flow and the tears stream down your face. Life was getting away from you. How many hours had you spent wasting away behind a desk? First elementary school, then the straight rows of middle school, the large classes of high school, and the curved desks of college. How many hours had you wasted staring at ink words on a white page?

Defeated, tired, done. You were losing motivation. Then he began to appear in your dreams, like an angel sent from above. He held you in your dreams, whispered kind things in your ears.

“Love, just one more day. Just one more day closer to when we will meet. I promise you.”

“But I don’t want to go back to that stuffy office.”

“You won’t have to ever again, not when I’m with you.” He murmured, lips pressing into your skin.

“Why are you here? What’s your name?”

“You will know my name soon and I’m here to slow down your time, would you like that?”

Heart beating, eyes opening softly. Your fingers traced your arms to where his phantom touches lingered. You could convince yourself that if you turned over, you would see him next to you. He never showed his face, but he had a kind voice, a soft touch. He never said his name, but you knew in your gut that he was real.

Time marched on endlessly. A year went by, then another. Hours wasted behind a desk, eyes blinded by a screen.

“I wish you would stop teasing me.” You whispered.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s been a year since I’ve...met you. When will I meet you in person? When can I see you, hold you in my arms?”

He pressed a soft kiss to your neck, trying to calm your tensed body. He ran his fingers up and down your waistline, soft breaths in your ear. It’s not real. The world began breaking apart, falling into darkness.

“Love, what are you doing?”

“You’re not real, none of this is real. God,” You sat up, still unable to see him, his face obscured. “I’m just making shit up now to make up for my sad love life. Maybe I should start going out to see people.”

“Wait.” His arms wrapped around your waist, face pressing into your back. Your thin shirt easily warmed under his touch. “Your time has always moved so fast, but, haven’t you heard?”

“Heard what?” You mumbled, giving in and placing your hands over his.

“That time always slows down when you meet your soulmate.” You could imagine his eyes twinkling as he chuckled softly to his words.

“Impossible.”

“You’ll see, I swear.” His slender fingers reached up and brushed a stray hair out of your eyes. The world slowly mended back together as you let yourself relax into his touch.

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

The days dragged on. There was no purpose in your life, if there ever was any. The seconds seemed to tick slower and you willed it to pass by, just like how it was previously. Alas, no such thing occurred. The papers before you made no sense to you anymore, though your instincts followed its commands.

Your conversations were meaningless unless they were with him. A secret paradise to escape to. At least in your dreams, you’d never be alone.

It was reassuring and also slightly...depressing. Who knows if this man existed? You’d given up searching for a long time. You decided to leave work early, in a rush to get home. You weren’t quite sure if he showed up when you napped, but it was a real possibility and you only live once, right? So why not experiment?

You waited at the busy street, tapping your foot impatiently among the crowd waiting for the light. You were engrossed in your phone, typing away at a report. With an annoyed sigh, you rubbed your temples, moving along with the crowd and trusting they wouldn’t let you get run over. You hastily looked up, weaving through the crowd coming the other way.

A woman hissed at you as you accidentally bumped into her.

“Sorry!” you quickly said, only to be pushed into another person.

“Oomph-” The person said, caught off guard. You knew that voice. Did you dare turn around? But you did. You turned around and were met with...the most beautiful man on the face of the Earth. Your eyes met and he froze, time froze. The sounds faded away, traffic stalled, people stuck in mid step.

“Do I know you?” He asked, voice soft.

“I’m not sure, but I’m sure I know you.” You managed, breath taken away. Even your heart had seemed to still. “And time froze still.” Your voice was hushed.

“I told you that it would happen.” He smiled gently. “I’m Jimin.”

“Jimin.” You tried out his name. It felt nice, rolling off your tongue. “I’m Y/N.”

His hands held a cellphone. Those hands, they had explored your body, ran over your curves, felt your blemishes and all your insecurities. And yet it didn’t disturb you.

“Where are you off to?” You asked, hoping to take him to dinner or maybe just for a drink.

His phone rang, breaking the trance. “I’m actually...on my way to see...my girlfriend.”

Time resumed. Your heart fell to your gut and broke, falling into an empty void. Numbness overtook your body.

“Oh.” You said dumbly. He bit his lip.

“Listen, I don’t, I don’t know why I say the things I do to you in my dreams. It’s like my body doesn’t even process it through my mind before I speak.”

“Me too.” You whispered, voice barely audible over the roar of traffic. The crowd starting pushing you your separate ways. “I guess I’ll see you in my dreams?”

“I hope so.”

He doesn’t appear that night. Or the next. Or the night after that. Jimin left no trace.

You wanted to cry, rip your heart out, dig a grave for it. You wished time would swallow you up and drag you along like had for the past 20 years of your life. It didn’t. If anything, time moved slower than ever before.

You quit your job, unable to even leave your bed, a heavy feeling in your chest. Nothing in your life had been fulfilling so far. Every time a knock sounded at the door, you jumped up, praying it would be him. Maybe he would show up at your door, sweep you up and hold you in his arms. And every time you were disappointed.

Then he appeared again. One last time.

“Is that you?” A soft caress. The washed out lighting of a dream, a fantasy, of the room you spent your nights in.

“Is that finally you?” You asked again. His fingers lingered and when you turned over, you could see his face in perfect detail. “Where did you go?” Your voice sounded more distraught than you intended.

“It’s me.” He breathed. “I’m afraid this may be...our last meeting for a very very long time.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m getting married.”

The world cracked.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.”

You didn’t know you could cry in such a pretty world, such a pretty fantasy, like this one. But you were full of surprises. Tears were shed, a lot. The sobbing sound making your throat hurt. His hands reached up, holding your tear stained cheeks. Tears dripped over his fingers.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured, his own eyes welling up at the sight of your tears.

“I thought we were meant to be, Jimin, you told me, You promised me.” You intertwined your fingers. “When can I see you again?”

“You can’t.” He pulled you lower. “But please don’t let this be the last memory I have of you.”

You could only nod, agreeing with the statement, no matter how fast the world was crumbling around you. The world was being cracked open by a blinding light, the sunlight beginning to stream in. You bent over him, hair in a waterfall on either side of your neck as you leaned in. His lips were the only place you hadn’t touched.

He looked up at you, tears finally wetting his own cheeks. Jimin took in a shaky breath and pulled you down farther. Your lips met, salt water mixing as your tongues collided.

The world flashed a brilliant white light, breaking for the last time.

I have loved you for the last time Visions of Gideon, visions of Gideon And I have kissed you for the last time Visions of Gideon, visions of Gideon

#bts #bts x reader #Park Jimin #Jimin #Jimin x reader #soulmate au #Visions of Gideon #tatafics #angst #fluff #Oneshot

29 notes · View notes

silwenworld · 4 years ago

Photo

Until The Last Petal Falls (Part 2 in the War Roses Series)

Summary: He could see the flowers floating before his eyes. A Bouquet. A single flower. Every time in different configuration but one thing was constant - the petals were falling away. Each time there were fewer and fewer petals attached to the stalk. And each time that happened, he could feel himself slipping further and further away.

Or: Captain Gold has a son to find and woman to come back to, and nothing short of dying will keep him from doing just that.

A continuation of the Rumbelle Showdown 2020 fic “The Dried Rose”

Category: M

CHAPTER 7 [AO3] [First Chapter]

Storybrooke was a small town with most of its residents being born and raised there as their parents and grandparents had been before them. Although it hadn't changed much throughout the years, the town itself wasn't spared from the dreads of wars that overtook Europe in the span of the last thirty years. Shortage in supplies had been one of the many consequences, but it wasn't so cumbersome as it could have been considering the close community of the townsfolk. Nevertheless, when the soldiers had come to town, everybody looked at them in distrust. It wouldn't have been as much of a problem if not for the fact that they had drafted some of the younger men, thus leaving the people even more biased towards the newcomers.

Leroy hadn't been the only one who had remembered all too well the horrors of the first War, so when the soldiers came to stay, he had been the first to be all overly cautious of them. He had never talked about any of his worries, preferring a bottle of cheap alcohol to any nagging Martha Lucas could cause him - Wilfred's wife had always been good at that, he would give her that. Still, he had never felt comfortable around that woman. Wolf would probably slap him for even thinking badly about his wife and call him an idiot, but Leroy had never particularly cared about his friend's antics. He had been one weird man, albeit a good friend and every week since his death Leroy was drinking one glass of Scotch at the man's grave in honour of that friendship.

Well, the point was, Leroy hadn't trusted the soldiers that had came with the second War with the pretext of training exercises. Within two weeks, he had been quite confident most of those lads wouldn't be seeing the next day when sent to the battlefield. But they had improved, at least most of them. Those training exercises had been how he had met captain Gold or more accurately seen him. The man had been different from the others. It had been clear to anyone looking that he had preferred to spend most of his time alone. Leroy could respect that, but it had been weird, seeing some other officers scoff at the man, and him doing almost nothing. It hadn't seemed to bother him at all as he had carried out his duties. Leroy was quite sure that there had been no malice behind Gold's clipped answers and the way he had been interacting with others, but his almost cold demeanour had been the reason that almost no one had been missing him when the boys had been called to arms. At least that's how it would have been if then the kiss between the Captain and Belle French hadn't happened and the whole town hadn't been turned around on its axis.

And then when Gold had come back, even though he had been supposed to be dead, Leroy hadn't been surprised - men like Gold were determined to say the least, and the whole story that Gaston had presented had been scrappy at best, Leroy hadn't spent his time around Wolf to not to recognize those things. The man who had come back, though, had been different from the one who had set off.

Even now it was down to the details, but when looked close enough, one could see the contrast. The Captain was good at hiding it in public, a skill that spoke of an experience in the matter, and almost everyone could be fooled into believing that the War had left no mark on Gold. Leroy often wondered if it had something to do with the way the other officers had been looking down at the Scot or had he mastered that skill even earlier on.

Well, it wasn't any of his business, and frankly, Leroy didn't want to know. But watched on he did. And through those months after the Captain's return, he had spotted another curious thing - Gary Gaston had been avoiding the man like the plague. He had never approached nor spoken to him, but Leroy could swear there had been something chilling in the young man's eyes when he was looking, no - glaring at the older man.

Curious.

And Unsettling.

The phrase nervous as a schoolboy was very accurate to his current state. One could have thought that he was 43 years old, for God's sake, not a sweating teenager, but that's how Gold felt right now. Not like a soldier - or at least an ex one - who had killed, lost men under his command and dragged himself almost literally from hell, but like a kid so apprehensive that tying the knot of his only tie was nearly an impossible task.

What on Earth had persuaded him that it was a good idea?

Gold sighed frustrated and let his hands fell to his sides in resignation, leaving the tie unmade. The answer was quite simple, really - it was Belle.

"I don't think, that's such a good idea, sweetheart."

"He won't bite you or anything you know? He's my dad, not a hound from hell."

"Sometimes I have doubts..." he murmured under his nose.

"What was that?"

"That I don't like crowds?" He answered lamely, which earned him a playful hit to the shoulder. Gold chuckled, rubbing the spot. "Sorry."

“Remind my, why do I keep spending my time with you?"

"You insist that it's love, but why is beyond me."

Belle bent down and kissed the end of his nose, smiling. "Yes, if it's not love I don't know what else it could have been."

So yeah, he had agreed to come to dinner at Belle's house, thus meeting her father properly for the first time. Come to think of it, it was quite an achievement, considering he had been back for months. Not that he had been talkative in the first place - Gold had traded maybe three sentences with the man before being shipped to the front, and now he was about to seat at the same table and manage a proper conversation. He had never been good at that, despised it even, and had wanted so badly to refuse, but the look on Belle's face had stopped him.

This dinner, for whatever reason, was important to her, she wanted him in her house and meeting her father. It was a step forward in their relationship that he was so afraid to take because, after that, there was only one step left. One he was dreading the most and couldn't push himself to make, at least not yet.

Grimacing, Gold grabbed his cane and limped towards the bed to sit heavily on the unmade bedding, his head dropping to his chest. Resigned, he pulled at the end of the tie, not looking as it hung limply in his hand, almost touching the ground. How easier it would have been to just stay in his room, but right after thinking it, he knew he couldn't do it. He had already missed the Chrismas dinner as a nasty case of pneumonia had decided it had been the best time to make him cough out his lungs. He still felt guilty about it as Belle had decided to spent almost all her free time with him then, putting cooling compresses on his fevered forehead when she should have been with her father instead.

To add to that, Gold wasn't blind nor stupid. Belle might have been smiling and telling him he just needed time and would be standing next to him through all of this, but he watched her when she thought he wasn't. She looked tired, to say the least, and he had caught her whipping her eyes more than once. Gold had tried to bring the subject subtly with Ruby Lucas but still couldn't find the right words how to do it. He was sure Belle was speaking with her friend, he really hoped she did, but Roy also knew that he was the reason behind her worries and confronting that fact was scaring him. He didn't want to be a burden, despised the fact that he was, but she kept on insisting on being there for him with every step, and no matter how much Gold hated it, he was glad that she did. Roy didn't want to think where he would have been if not for her.

But it was taking the toll on Belle and the least he could do was to go for a dinner with her father present at the table.

When younger, he had wanted to be a part of a bigger family as his own was lacking in every aspect, but had never gotten the opportunity to meet Millah's parents. It had never occurred to him at that time that maybe Millah's reluctance had been one of the early warning signs. She hadn't invited them to the wedding nor Bae's christening. His ex-wife it seemed hadn't been good at maintaining emotional bonds, and he, on the other hand, had been young and too eager to form them. It had been a miracle they had lasted together for as long as they had. Baylen had probably been the only thing keeping them together, but even that hadn't been enough in the end.

Baylen.

Was he even alive at this point? He would have been eighteen by now, or more accurately, almost nineteen with his birthday coming in March, and the military could have been all too eager and drafted him by the end of the War... Gold hated the fact of how young the boys under his command had been, how young they had died... Could he even hope...?

Roy ran his hand through his hair, letting out a shaky breath. He needed to pull himself together. He had to. For Belle. And his boy.

Please, be alive.

"I have a bad feeling about this."

"You'll do fine, papa."

"You know, I can maybe go to the shop? And you can spend some time toge- "

"We're spending most of our free time together. You know it's not about that."

"Right."

Moe had spent the week before Christmas almost going bald from the nervousness about sitting at the same table with Gold. He had scolded himself all that time and had almost been ready to face the Captain when the message about the man's sickness had come. Maurice had known he should have felt bad about the other man, but it hadn't been easy to hide the relief that had washed over him. Before he had known it, he had been nodding all too vigorously as Belle had told him the news, saying she would be checking on Gold. He had known the meeting sooner or later had to take place, but to say he didn't look forward to this was underestimate. In the months after the Captain's return, Moe had learned to accept the fact that his daughter did love the man and that it hadn't been some fleeting feeling. He didn't have to like him, though. Moe had one opinion about the soldiers, and it wasn't a nice one.

"You'll do fine, papa. You'll see that you'll find something to talk about."

Well, it was inevitable. Moe sighed and cut the stems of the red roses that he freshly arranged into a bouquet then glanced at his daughter leaning against the counter.

"Alright. You can invite the Captain over to the dinner if he's willing."

"He has a name, you know."

Moe just muttered approvingly, focusing more on putting the roses into a vase. They would do nicely for the new years event; the mayor would be peased.

He didn't see Gary Gaston slipping to the back of the shop with a grave expression.

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

Easy.

Yet not so in the slightest.

Wrapped in the thick woollen coat - a Christmas present from Belle which cost he really didn't want to spend to much time focusing on - Gold watched the mist that left his mouth. Despite the cold, the hand that held the cane was sticky with sweat. He had been standing like that for what felt like hours, but probably were mere minutes wondering if he should knock or not.

He had almost done so when an unwanted realization had stopped him. He had never been to Belle's house before. Yes, he had stood on the next side of the road many times, but had never set a foot over the porch.

It was a lovely house, painted a soft yellow, with an entrance through the flower shop overgrown with vines that had once been Belle's mother's pride and joy. Now, preserved and ran by Moe, it was one of the best-known places in Storybrooke.

Gold corrected the satchel on his left shoulder and took a step forward. It would not do to stand there like a scarecrow. He was almost touching the doorbell when the doors had opened, and someone would have almost barreled into him if Roy's reflexes weren't quicker.

"Sorry, I di -. Captain. "

The sentence was cut short as it seemed the owner of the terse, low voice had realized into whom he had almost walked in. Gold had bearly managed to avoid the collision only thanks to his instincts that had him twisting his shoulder just enough to only brush against the other man. He didn't need to look up to know who had been now blocking his path. It was easy to guess, and quite an achievement on itself that the encounter had happened just now and not a long time beforehand.

Gold drew himself up to his full height, trying to lean on his cane as little as possible. It didn't help much as he was still a lot shorter than the other man, but it had never stopped him from intimidating him.

"Sargent. Haven't seen you for a while - how have you been?"

Gold's tone was light as if he was conversating about the weather, but his eyes were slightly narrowed, betraying that the encounter hadn't been a nice one in the slightest. There was an edge to his voice too, but he doubted that Gary Gaston had noticed it. Neither this nor the fact that Gold's fingers curled tighter around the cane's handle as his ankle screamed at him to elevate the weight that he was now putting on it.

"A lot of work, sir. Glad to have you back."

I bet it is.

"Yes. I've been told I've been declared dead in action. What a relief that I wasn't, won't you say?"

"Yes, sir. A huge relief."

Lair.

He could see it in the other man's posture - the want to say and do a complete opposite of the words that were leaving his mouth. Gold had spent enough time around Sargent Gaston to be able to read him like an open book, and it wasn't hard really. Besides, the younger man had already tried to get rid of him once, so Roy wondered what was stopping him from acting. But Gaston kept on standing as he had been - back straight like during the drills. The thing that betrayed him had been the muscle in his cheek that kept on spasming now and again.

"Well, I must be going. I have a dinner to attend to, you see."

Gold watched for a reaction and Gaston didn't disappoint. His right eyelid twitched, his jaw clenched and it seemed that he tried really hard not to ball his hands into fists.

"Of course, sir. I won't keep you waiting."

Oh, you already did.

Gold could feel the man's eyes on his back as he turned around, his every instinct screaming at him not to expose himself - the last time his back was turned Gaston had put a bullet through his shoulder. And it had been Gaston - now Roy was more sure of that than ever.

But he did turn around and limped through the flower shop's door and even when they closed behind him, he could swear, Gaston's gaze was still drilling holes in his back even through the wood.

He purposefully didn't turn around and tried to ignore the itching between his shoulder blades. Gold wasn't an amateur. He knew how to mask his emotions most of the time - he wouldn't have gotten to where he was now if he didn't - so he limped further into the shop without a glance back.

The place itself wasn't big - cluttered with flowers at every possible surface and all, but it gave away a homely feel. It was easy to spot Belle's hand in some areas. There - a careful arrangement of blue hyacinths with golden ribbons on the far right and then the bouquet of roses arranged in a heart in the middle of the display. She had mentioned once that putting flowers into shapes calmed her mind. It was something she had inherited from her mother it had seemed.

Gold looked around, unsure of where to go next, feeling like a fish out of water. Noone seemed to be at the front, and there was no move at the back indicating either Belle or her father hiding there, so not wanting to snoop around, he made his way towards the counter. The curiosity got better of him when he spotted a small photo frame, sitting on the edge. Gold picked it up without thinking, the corner of his mouth curling slightly when fully seeing the photograph.

A young woman was sitting on a rocking chair and smiling while holding a wee baby girl. Even without the colour, it was quite obvious who the woman was - her eyes and mouth were the same shape as Belle's not to mention the wavy hair. If the woman was who he thought she was then the child... Gold's smile winded.

"I'm sorry, we're closed! Oh." Gold bearly stopped himself from jumping in surprise and letting go of the frame upon hearing the low voice. He turned around and found himself looking at Belle's very uncomfortably looking father.

"Mr French. I apologize for barging in. The door was unlocked."

"Yes, yes. Not your fault, Captian."

By the look of it, it seemed that Gold wasn't the only one nervous about the oncoming dinner. Moe rubbed his hands on his trousers, then made a gesture towards the door. "Just a moment."

Gold watched him turning the lock, only realizing that he was still holding on to the frame when French's gaze fell back on it after turning around. The silence that followed couldn't be more awkward.

"Belle resembles her mother a lot," remarked Gold while putting the frame back on its previous place, trying for a casual tone.

"Oh, she does. And not only in looks."

Not knowing what more there was to say they stood watching one another for good two minutes before French remembered that it would be better for both of them to head upstairs.

Yes, the dinner had already started to look like quite a disaster.

How a simple dinner could become an awkward affair was quite beyond her. Belle fisted her hand under the table, trying really hard not to bang her head on any of the china. It wasn't like she didn't notice and appreciated the effort that both men were putting into this assemble, no. The problem was, they were trying too hard it seemed - both of them.

Her father looked like he wanted to bolt away any minute from the start, but he had politely inclined about the weather and Roy, looking like he had been facing a fairing squad would answer even more politely to his enquiries.

They were dancing around each other, shooting her sideways glances from time to time, and it was making Belle want to bang their heads together. She really didn't know what to do.

Roy had been back for months, and even if he looked and acted better than he had at first, she knew that a considerable part of it was just an act or more likely an act that slowly was becoming a reality. She made her peace that he would probably never tell her about what had happened during the War, but she wished he would trust her enough to know it didn't matter to her. She just wished he would understand and believe that he wasn't as worthless with his disabilities as he thought himself to be.

She had thought she had lost him once.

That belief, that feeling - it had almost destroyed her. She didn't want to feel it again. It didn't change the fact that the helplessness was slowly getting to her.

"43."

"Oh? And you say you fought in the First War?"

Belle was pulled back from her thoughts by the sudden change of topic. It looked like her father had stopped bitting around the bush and judging by the look on Roy's face, it would have been better if he hadn't.

"But that would make you - "

"16. Now lads had only gotten younger."

The silence that fell over the table felt heavy. Nobody liked to talk about the losses that the War had caused, most of all, Roy. A shadow fell over his face every time the topic was breached, and now it seemed, those scars laid far deeper in his past than she had thought.

"I didn't know you have fought then," Belle whispered, looking down on the plate. She wasn't even born then, and Roy had already... She glanced up, and he sent her a small yet sad smile.

"That last year hadn't been one of the fondest memories."

16...

"Hey," she glanced up when she felt his hand on hers under the table, squeezing reassuringly. Roy was still smiling, even if it didn't reach his eyes. "It's in the past. Not important."

She rotated her hand, threading her fingers through his and squeezed back.

"Nothing that's part of you is unimportant."

His smile winded, not enough to show his teeth, but enough to finally to reach his eyes and he was just about to answer when a clutter of cutlery made both of them jump in their sits. Belle turned her head towards her father, bearly resisting from grinning at how he tried not to look affected, busing his hands with cleaning the splatters of soup on the table with a napkin.

"How silly of me. Clumsy and all, can't reach for a cigarette without a mess," Moe muttered, not looking at them but the flush on his cheeks betraying him.

Belle chuckled then and stood up, taking the napkin from her father and kissing him on the cheek.

"I'll leave the two of you to your smoking and be back in a minute, all right?"

She needed some fresh air.

"You sure?" Moe looked up, his eyes running over her face, searchingly. "I can clean up - "

"It's fine, papa. Relax. You both behave yourselves."

The remark made both Gold and her father almost choke on their drinks, and she shook her head while taking the dishes away.

"Men," she muttered.

Gold watched her go with a lump forming in his throat, briefly wondering if she was doing it on purpose. He knew she needed time to breathe, the small remark that he had been a part of the First War seemed to shake her, and he chid himself for not speaking about it sooner. Maybe then the air between them would have been cleaner? But he had seen no reason to add to the already heavy baggage of guilt. Besides the topic had just simply never come up.

"Well, it seemed we had been left once again alone," Belle's father muttered which made Gold glance in his direction. "Care for a smoke, Captain?"

The corner of Gold's mouth twitched.

"I never say no to that."

They smoked in silence; both of them focused on the smoke rising and dancing in the air. When younger, Gold liked to look for shapes and make rings that rose high towards the ceiling, he had a brief memory of his son clapping at the display those rare times Roy had been smoking indoors. He didn't know when he had ceased doing those silly things.

"Colette wanted me to stop," remarked Moe as he shook ashes from the cigarette. "Couldn't bring myself to do it, honestly. A nasty habit."

Gold grimaced. "Belle doesn't like it either."

"She's stubborn, I warn you. She got it after her mother."

Gold didn't answer. Instead, he flexed his fingers over the handle of his cane that rested against his leg. Stubborn was one way to put it.

"You got any children, Captain?"

He closed his eyes briefly, inhaling the smoke. That question was one of the reasons he hated small talks. Gold knew he could lie, or brush it aside, but something in him didn't want to. A little honesty wouldn't hurt, would it?

"A son," he answered, managing not to react to the surprise written all over French's face and resisting from riching towards the absent pendant. He took a long drag instead. "He's away." More or less.

"Well then," Moe cleared his throat. "As a parent speaking to a parent, you must understand why I'm worried."

"Mr. French - "

"No, Captain, Let me finish." - He raised his hand, looking at the ex-soldier through the smoke. "I can't say I like any of it. I can't say I understand. But what I can say is that I want my daughter happy. So, are we on the same page here?"

Gold looked to the side, through the doorway that Belle had disappeared earlier. Yes, he had remembered how she had told him how her father had been insistent about her relationship with Gaston, but could he blame him? If he was in Maurice's shoes, wouldn't he act the same? On one side, a young man and a friend of the family while on the other, there had been an old soldier, new to the town and unfamiliar - Moe's choice and opinion weren't as surprising when faced with the facts.

He turned his gaze back towards the other man. "Yes. I think we are."

"Good." They lit another cigarette. "Have you thought about proposing?"

Gold choked on the smoke. How could that be that it was the man, who had looked like he had wanted to escape earlier was the same one as asking those questions?

"I think that this matter is more between Belle and me," he remarked, not wanting to dwell on the subject.

Moe shrugged his shoulders. "I would have given you her mother's ring, but I had pawned it years ago. I was quite - "

"Would you excuse me for a moment?" Gold stood up, putting out the cigarette and gripping his cane tightly. A polite talk he could do, but this conversation was starting to enter areas that he really didn't want to poke.

"Yes, yes, of course."

Judging by how relieved Belle's father looked at the announcement, he was more than happy to let it go.

Gold limped through the doorway, but not finding Belle anywhere near the kitchen he made his way towards the open balcony door. The air was chilly, as adequate for early January, and Gold shivered as a gush of wind blew some of the snowflakes against his face. He cautiously stepped over the threshold, instantly spotting Belle by the railing. She was leaning on her elbows, her cheeks red from the cold, although dressed in a heavy coat - his coat.

"You'll catch a cold if you keep standing there, you know?"

She didn't jump when hearing his voice only slightly turned in his direction, a smile dancing across her lips.

"Care to warm me up, then?"

His eyes softened, and without hesitation, he draped his arm over her shoulder, enjoying the warmth that spread inside of him as Belle snuggled closer, bringing her arms around his middle.

She didn't speak for a while, face buried in Roy's coat, listening to his heartbeat as her cheek rested on his chest. He smelled of tobacco that weirdly didn't match him as her father smoked a different brand, but beneath it, there was that other smell that was so undoubtedly his that it made her feel safe and calm.

"Did my father scared you off?" she mumbled.

"Hmm? No, I don't think so. He... um, he spoke of proposing, though," he added after a moment, hesitant. She could feel his shoulders tensing.

She glanced up, searching his eyes, but he avoided looking at her. She didn't know what to feel. Hope? Fear?

"Roy - "

"Would you like me to?" He interrupted, meeting her gaze. There was something in his eyes that she didn't know how to read. Uncertainty? "To propose, I mean."

"And would you?"

A question for a question. Only fair, considering they both seemed to know the answer.

Roy sighed, looking into the distance.

"Of course, I would. But is it bad that not yet? I- Well, yeah."

Belle couldn't help but smile softly and only after a moment she climbed on her toes and kissed him on the cheek.

"No. How about we both wait a little bit longer, then?"

"I'm sorry, I keep worrying you. You don't deserve that."

"Roy - "

"No. Let me finish," Roy interrupted her for a second time, twisting so he could look her in the eye. "You can't keep doing this to yourself, Belle. When was the last time you went out with Ms Lucas or anyone else?"

Her silence was enough of an answer, so Gold took her chilly hands in his. "I can't love you enough for what you're doing for me, but you need to take care of yourself too. It's enough that one of us is, well, not enough."

By the end, he wasn't looking at her anymore, and Belle rubbed her hand over his cheek to comfort him as best as she could. They were quite a pair.

"You're enough for me."

He turned his face and kissed her palm.

"I love you."

"I love you too, and you're right, but you can't stop me from worrying."

"I worry too, you know?"

She giggled lightly. Yes, quite a pair they were.

"How about a deal?" She asked, taking a step away from him.

"You want to make a deal with me?" He asked, frowning.

"Yep. I will try not to over-worry, and you'll try not to think about yourself as inadequate."

He raised his brow.

"Hard terms, but it seems fair, I admit."

"Then deal it is, captain Gold."

"All right, miss French. A deal is struck." They shock their hands just as a chill went down both of their bodies, making them shiver. "Now, how about we head inside, or your father may wonder what we have gotten into."

Belle giggled then hugged him one last time before taking his hand into hers and tugging him towards the flat. "God forbid, he came looking."

The rest of the dinner went more smoothly, but as Gold returned to his small room, the remark that Belle's father made about his wife's wedding band kept playing over in his head. There was only one pawn shop in Storybrooke. Maybe it was time to make a short visit there.

Gary Gaston stood outside the flower shop door for a long time after they had closed after captain Gold.

He didn't know what to do. After he had heard about the accident involving Nottingham, he had hoped the man would be in bad enough shape to do Gary a little favour and die, but it seemed to be a futile hope. Getting his own hands on Gold was continuing to be a problem considering he was hardly ever alone...

Some would think that Gary had forgotten, that he had gotten over the humiliation that was loosing to an older man, but no, he hadn't. Nor had he forgiven.

A lone snowflake fell on the tip of his nose, making him look up to the sky.

Well, he had been inpatient and too sure of himself once. He wouldn't make the same mistake again.

Gary Gaston turned on his heel and marched towards his home.

It didn't matter if Gold suspected him or not - a good hunter could wait as long as needed, and if anything, Gary was a good hunter.

#once upon a time #rumbelle #rumbelle fanfiction #Golden Beauty #AU #Rumplestiltskin #Belle French #my fic #Fic: Until The last Petal Falls

5 notes · View notes