#my most peaceful memory is of when i was a toddler and had my feet buried in the sand with the waves lapping at my legs | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aquamarinescarlet · 4 years ago

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Great, my girlfriend is a toddler

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word count: ~4.5k

Warnings: one curse word (I think), mentions of past trauma (nothing graphic), and a lot of fluff

Summary: Reader is caught in a trap during a mission and ends up trapping herself in her five year old mind and body.

Author’s note: I know I basically just post incorrect quotes, but this idea came to me and I just had to write it. I won’t stop with the incorrects btw, and if you guys prefer I create a different blog to post these little stories just let me know. Without further ado, enjoy, and let me know what you think (this is my first time writing something like this too, so tips/remarks are always welcome).

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the marvel characters.

(Picture is not mine, got it on pinterest)

“West wing clear”

“Basement clear”

“Guys I need some help here.”

You heard through comms as your teammates infiltrated the Hydra base.

It was a fairly simple mission, small base, so not that many enemies to fight off.

As you made your way down an empty corridor to the control room you could listen to Bucky's grunts, and punches, on your earpiece as Sam and Steve made their way to him.

The silence and emptiness was rather suspicious, but you made nothing off of it, thankful you would get in easily.

“I’m in the control room.” You spoke when you found yourself surrounded by computers and all sorts of technology. It seemed quite ancient for an organization that has been a pain in your asses for the past months.

Hacking wasn’t your specialty, but you sure were better at it then the other three, hence you getting the task. Your eyes scanned the room, trained on identifying threats. Surprised by the emptiness of it all, you focused on finding the main system.

You plugged the pen drive Stark had prepared and started typing, your eyes occasionally leaving the screen to take a quick glance around the room, an uneasy feeling growing at the pit of your stomach.

“Y/L/N, we’re all clear here,” Steve’s voice rang on your ear, “how are you doing there.”

“I’m nearly done,” you stared at the computer as the information was downloaded to the little gadget, “I don’t know guys, something here feels wrong, it’s too empty, too quiet.”

No response.

“Guys? Can you hear me?” Your heart rate picked up, something was definitely wrong.

In a second the download was complete, and you hastily snatched the pen drive, going for the door. Your desperation grew when you stated it was locked.

“Can anyone listen? I’m locked.” You spoke to the earpiece. “The doors locked automatically. I need help getting out.”

The door was sealed shut, not even a small slit in between it and the floor, your powers wouldn’t help you on this one. You tried to bring your heart rate down as your eyes scoured the room once again for a way out. No air vents, no windows, there was another door on the other end of the room, and you promptly made your way to it, only to confirm it was also locked shut.

Your attention was brought back to the first door, loud banging and a faint voice coming from the other side. Thankfully the boys noticed there was a problem and came to your aid. As you ran across the room, your head started to get fuzzy, your vision was not as clear as it had been seconds ago, and breathing was starting to get harder.

Before you even reached the still shut door, your body collapsed on the floor, everything going black.

You stirred in bed, shifting to a more comfortable position. Some light seeped through your eyelids, but you were tired, dragging the sleep as long as possible.

Your peace was broken by a door suddenly opening.

“What the hell happened?” A woman’s voice filled the room. She sounded angry, and upset, the hostility in her tone made you clutch the blanket harder.

“Wanda calm-” A man spoke, but was cut off by the woman.

“Calm down? CALM DOWN? Don’t you tell me to calm down, Stark, when I got back from a mission fifteen minutes ago only to learn that my girlfriend turned herself into a five year old toddler.” She was loud and it just made you even more scared of being in trouble.

A small whimper escaped your throat getting both people's attention. You opened your eyes only to be met by several stares, there were easily five or six people in that room, but you didn’t have time to count as you pulled the blanket over your head, bringing your knees closer to your chest.

Your body was trembling with fear from what you knew would come next. You hadn’t done anything, you had been a good girl, done your chores, never speaking unless spoken to, but for some reason the people from the orphanage took a particular liking in punishing you even when you hadn’t done anything bad.

You waited for it to come, but instead of the ill-disposed voice and harsh hands, you were met with a soft “hey” and a delicate hand. Nonetheless it was still frightened, making your whole body tense.

“I’m sowy, I didn’t do anyfing, pwease don’t huwt me, I’ve been good.” You cried out, tears threatening to fall.

The hand started to caress your arm soothingly.

“Hey Y/N, you’re okay, we’re not going to hurt you, okay? You’re safe here.” Your muscles relaxed slightly at the words, thick with an accent, and touch. Your mind was still on alert but for some reason your body responded to this woman in a way your mind didn’t understand.

“Seems like she lost her memories too, she still thinks she is in that horrible place.” A new voice spoke up.

“Hey Y/N,” the woman spoke close to you, low as not to frighten you further, “you’re not in the orphanage anymore okay? You are somewhere safe. Those people can’t get to you here.”

You peeked over the blanket and was met with mesmerizing green eyes, they seemed so kind and comforting putting you at ease.

“Pwomise?”

“I promise. No one’s going to hurt you. We will protect you.” She offered you a smile that made your lips want to curl into one too, despite your wariness of the woman still being a stranger.

You pulled the blanket back above your head, muttering a quiet “okay”. Your heart rate then picked up it’s pace once you noticed you would be punished for forgetting your manners, your mind still not fully understanding you were no longer in a dangerous place.

You yanked the blanket just below your chin, uncovering your whole face so you were facing the woman.

“Fank you, miss.” You spoke quickly and hid again.

She chuckled slightly and you couldn’t help but feel fuzzy.

“How about you stop hiding that pretty face of yours huh?” The words caused a smile to unconsciously tug at your lips, as you pulled the blanket down and started to sit up. “See, much better, right?”

You stared at the figure in front of you with what could only be described as adoration. She was just so kind and beautiful you couldn’t seem to stop smiling. A slight movement behind her brought you out of your daze and you landed your gaze on the several people watching the interaction, people you had seemingly forgotten were still in the room.

Your eyes went wide and a gasp left your lips before you laid back down, covering your curled up body with the blanket again. The woman noticed what had frightened you and brought her hand back to caress your back.

“Hey, it’s okay, they’re only here to protect you too. They are just worried about you.” You didn’t move, this was too many new people and having all their eyes on you was making you nervous. “Do you want me to ask them to leave?” She whispered closer to your ear and you nodded excessively.

Sounds of chairs moving, footsteps and a door closing were heard before the room fell back to silence.

“We’re alone now.”

You peeked carefully outside the blanket to be sure you were alone. When you found the rest of the room empty, you moved to sit back up. Suddenly the idea of being alone with this woman made you very shy, your eyes watching as you wiggled your toes.

“Fank you, miss.”

“Wanda”

“Wanda” You whispered, not taking your eyes off of your feet.

After a few moments of silence a question popped into your head.

“Why did you save me?” You tried to speak but the sound wasn’t higher than a whisper.

“What?”

“”Why did you save me.” You said louder. “The Sisters said that I was- I was a bad giwl, and that is why my pawents didn’t want me, and no one would want because I was bad and-”

“Okay, stop,” she cut off your rambling and you finally met her gaze, “all those things they said about you are not true, okay? Don’t believe any of that.”

“How do you know it is not twue.” Sadness seeping on your voice. “You don’t even know me.”

“Quite on the contrary, I happen to know you very well. I know you get grumpy when you wake up. I know you don’t like to wear dresses. I know you like to laugh and make lots of funny jokes. I know your favourite colour, favorite food, favourite animal, favourite movie… but most importantly,” she brought her hands to rest on your sides, “I know you are very ticklish.”

At that she started to tickle you mercilessly causing you to fall back on the bed, a string of laughs and giggles escaping your mouth. She stopped after a few seconds and you took the opportunity to catch your breath.

“See. I know many things about you.”

“Yeah.” You said amidst giggles.

“And I know that none of those things the Sisters said about you are true.”

“Fank you, miss Wanda.” She let out a laugh.

“You are too cute,” she pinched your cheeks causing you to feel shy all of a sudden, “just call me Wanda.”

Your gaze fell down to the mattress again.

“Okay, fank you, Wanda.” Your voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re welcome.” She brought her hand up to smooth your hair. “Do you want anything sweetie?” That little nickname just made you even more flustered, even though you couldn’t hide the smile that formed at your lips.

You pondered her question for a second, you were hungry, but you knew better than to ask for food outside of mealtimes, the memories of the punishments still fresh. After a few moments you shook your head.

“Are you sure?” She pushed. “Don’t you want to eat something?” It was almost as if she could read your mind. “You can tell me, it’s okay, no one will hurt you for being hungry. And we can fix up something for us to eat.” She must have noticed your hesitation. “Y’know, I’m a little bit hungry too.” She whispered close to your ear, her breath tickling your ear causing you to chuckle.

Your mind knew this was a bad idea, that you would get punished after, but Wanda was just so convincing you ended up nodding weakly.

“There you go.” She cheered.

She picked you up from the bed, but before she could lower you to the floor your arms circled her neck and your legs, her waist. You couldn’t help it, you just wanted to be close to her. She giggled at your actions, but didn’t fight it, carrying you out of the room and into a big corridor.

When the sound of muffled voices started to grow louder, your posture became tense. Wanda took notice, rubbing circles on your back.

“Hey, it’s alright, they are nice, you’ll see.” She tried to calm you down.

Your posture relaxed, but you weren’t sure if it was because of her words or just her general presence.

“Whewe awe we going?”

“To the kitchen.”

“And the people in the kitchen? Will they huwt me?”

“No honey, of course not, they care so much about you, they are here to protect you too.”

As she made her way into the kitchen, you hid your face in the crook of her neck, trying to ignore how the room went quiet with your presence.

“How is she?” A male voice asked, you recognized it from moments earlier.

“She’s okay, a little scared, seems like she did also lose all her memories, everything she knows is from when she was five.”

Wanda moved around and kept up with the conversation, to which you stopped paying attention when your eyes fell onto a thing a man was eating. You had tried one of those before, once, when an old woman donated a basket of those to the orphanage and you managed to steal a small piece, it was delicious, tasted like heaven compared to all the tasteless food they gave you in that place.

Wanda settled on a chair and you kept your head hidden, but your eyes were locked on the man.

You thought you heard Wanda calling you, but your attention was entirely on that piece of food. The man seemed to take notice when he met your gaze and gave you a smirk. The eye contact would’ve made you shy away, but Wanda’s presence made you feel safe, so you held it.

“I think I know what she wants.” He spoke to Wanda. “Would you like a muffin Y/N?” He directed at you. You lifted your head from Wanda’s shoulder and, after a moment of hesitation, you nodded slowly.

He opened a cabinet and picked one up, handing it to you, offering a beaming smile. You stared at it for a second, not expecting him to give you a whole one. Your eyes darted from him to Wanda, looking for some sort of confirmation.

“It’s okay, take it.” She smiled at you encouragingly.

You slowly stretched your hand and grabbed the item.

“Fank you, siw.” You practically whispered.

“You can call me Sam.”

“Fank you, Mw. Sam.”

“Huh, Mr Sam, I can get used to that.” He joked. Or at least you thought he did, since now you were just blankly staring at the muffin, not really sure if you should really eat it, despite your stomach screaming for you to do so.

“Just call him Sam,” Wanda spoke to you, “and we can’t let her keep calling us that, Sam, she does it out of fear for disrespecting us.”

“Is that why she also hesitated from taking the muffin?” A new voice questioned.

“I don’t know Stark, maybe…” Wanda trailed off and you decided to help, since they were talking about you anyways.

“Fhey did not let us- let us eat out of meal time and-,” you took a breath trying to calm your nerves, “and thewe wewe too many kids so- so thewe was nevew enough food and- and,” your eyes went wide when you noticed everyone was staring at you intently and a whimper left your lips unconsciously before you shoved your face back into Wanda’s neck.

She rubbed your back in an attempt to calm you down and, surprisingly enough, it did. Something about her just made you so calm.

“You don’t have to worry about this here,” a man with glasses said, “we have plenty of food and no rules, you can have whatever you want whenever you want, just tell any of us and we’ll get it for you, deal?” You smiled at how nice they were being with you.

“Deal, siw.” You nodded.

“And call me Tony, please.” You nodded again.

“See, it’s fine, you're safe here.” Wanda reassured, giving you a kiss on your temple. The action caused a silly smile to grow on your lips and your cheeks to heat up, as you leaned into her chest.

“Oh, come on, seriously?” A man with the same accent as Wanda blurted. “She has known you for, what? 20 minutes? And she already has a crush on you.” His comment made laughter erupt around the kitchen, and, even though you didn’t understand what was so funny, you enjoyed the moment. Laughter was not common in the orphanage.

Throughout the rest of the day you started to feel more comfortable around everyone.

Wanda never left your side, or, you were the one who never left her side. Spending the rest of the evening watching movies on the most amazing TV room you had ever stepped foot on.

Other people would join you from time to time. Pietro, who you learned was Wanda’s brother; Natasha, or Nat as she preferred; Bucky; Sam; and Steve.

You couldn’t quite pinpoint when it was that you fell asleep. You just knew you were now in a room you had never seen before, it was pretty, but unfamiliar. You saw a stuffed animal left on the edge of the bed and clutched onto it, trying to get the images from the nightmare you just had out of your mind.

Several minutes passed and you were just too scared to even close your eyes. Sleeping alone was something you never did, the rooms in the orphanage were filled to the brim with precarious beds or improvised mattresses due to the excessive amount of kids there.

Deciding that you wouldn’t be able to sleep anymore, you climbed out of bed and made your way out of that room. Your feet automatically took you to another door down a big hall. You knocked softly, but got no response.

After three more tries, you turned the door knob and it opened. You put your head inside the room and detected a figure laying in a bed.

“Wanda,” you whisper shouted, trying to catch the woman’s attention, “Wandaaa.”

She stirred and lifted her head to look at you, her eyes were sleepy, but she managed to give you a tired smile.

“Hey Y/N, is something wrong? Do you need anything?”

“Can I- can I sleep with you?” Your gaze fell to the floor.

“Sure.” You smiled widely and ran towards her, climbing into the bed messily, since it was so ridiculously tall.

She laid on her back, opening her arms, and you took that as your chance to cuddle into her, wrapping your tiny limbs around her torso. She caressed your hair until you drifted to sleep.

The next morning you woke up still cuddled to Wanda. She was still fast asleep, and looked so peaceful you didn’t have the heart to move and risk waking her. Plus, you liked the proximity, the warmth from her body, her arm hugging you close.

A few minutes passed before she opened her eyes, only to be met by yours.

“Good mowning.”

“Good morning princess,” you giggled at the nickname, “wanna go down and get some breakfast?”

You nodded eagerly, already used this new environment, without the rigid rules and punishments. She climbed out of bed and made her way to the bathroom, you just sat up and watched as she washed her face or something. She then went through another door, which you assumed was where she kept her clothes since moments later she came back in different clothes.

She picked you up from the bed and took you into the kitchen. When she walked past the room, a confused expression grew on you.

“Whewe awe we going?”

“To the dining room, we usually have our breakfast there.”

“Oh, okay.”

And that was one breakfast table alright. All kinds of fruit, bread, cereal, cake, cheese and ham, and butter.

“Look who found our little runaway.” Tony commented, but you didn’t give him any attention, mesmerized by the amount of food.

“Yeah, she found her way into my room in the middle of the night.”

“Really? How?” Steve asked.

“Good question, hey, sweetie,” Wanda caught your attention and you turned to look at her, “how did you know which one was my room last night?” You shrugged.

“I just knew whewe to go.”

“Seems like some part of her memory is still intact.” Stark remarked with interest.

Wanda sat down, with you in her lap and started serving food on her plate. The rest of the room fell into light conversation as you all enjoyed breakfast.

Soon you were interrupted by Bruce.

“Guys, I’ve got results from the tests.”

“Do you know what happened?” Steve asked eagerly.

“Kind of, the smoke she inhaled during the mission was poisonous, it was supposed to kill her, but it seems like her cells reacted to it differently.” He explained. “Her shapeshifting abilities reacted with the poison causing her body to, well, change, in order to avoid dying.”

“My powews wewe able to bweak down the poisonous gas into hawmless pawticles.” You responded automatically.

Everyone was shocked at your statement, but you just kept on eating like nothing had happened, not understanding what they were so surprised about.

“Yes… precisely,” Bruce added, slowly, “and that took a toll on her own cells, turning off her powers momentarily, why she got stuck as her five year old self with no memories whatsoever of the rest of her life is unclear.”

“Can you turn her back?” Nat asked.

“I can try and find some serum that reverts her situation, but, by the looks of it, her body is doing it on its own.”

“She did remember her way to my room last night, and now this. It means her memory is coming back.”

“Can you predict how long it’ll take for her to come back to her own self?” Bucky urged.

“Not really, this is all new to me. Although if I had to take a hint, I’d say a couple of weeks at least.” The scientist answered.

“But she will come back, right?” Wanda sounded preoccupied, and it caught your attention.

“Relax sister, she’ll come back. And even if she doesn’t, she’s already in love with you again anyways.” Pietro teased.

“That’s not helping.” She teased back and tightened her hold on you.

A few days passed and, as expected, you were still stuck as a five year old. You would slip out little snippets of things from time to time, memories of things you’ve learned only when you were much older, but you still weren’t coming back.

After a while you fell into a routine. You would sleep with Wanda every night, watch movies with her and some of the other people in that place, Bucky and Sam would come up with the funnest games for you to play, Pietro would take you around the compound to help set pranks to play on the others.

You grew accustomed to the place and the people. The lack of excessive rules was relaxing. How nice everyone was to you. When Wanda would call you cute nicknames and get you all shy and flustered.

You were now watching Frozen for the fifth time that week, with Wanda by your side and Nat, Peter and Sam scattered around the TV room.

They found it adorable how you sang along to every song even though you didn’t know any of the lyrics. Peter and Sam had now countless videos on their phones of you doing all sorts of things just to mock you when you came back to your older self.

The movie was nearing the end, now on the scene where they were rushing Anna to the trolls to see if they could help keep her alive. You sang along to the song up until the moment where Anna collapsed from the spell Elsa threw on her.

At that moment you mindlessly turned to Wanda, the words seeping out of your mouth without your control.

“You bettew not die on ouw wedding.” Her eyes went wide with shock from the statement, which you didn’t notice.

“What?” She whispered, more to herself than to you.

“Yeah, well, I’m gonna mawwy you one day.” You gave her a smile and turned your attention back to the TV, unaware of what you had just said as a blush creeped around Wanda’s face.

When the movie ended, you chanted for you guys to watch it again, earning a groan from everyone. When a yawn escaped your lips, Wanda took that as her cue.

“C’mon, honey, you are tired, we can watch it again tomorrow.” She picked you up.

“Pwomise?” You gave her your puppy eyes.

“I promised.” She pecked your nose, earning a giggle from you.

You settled in her bed as you waited for her to shower and join you. You cuddled into her and drifted off to sleep.

You woke up feeling extremely weird, your muscles ached and your head was spinning a little. You kept your eyes closed as memories from the past days came back to you. The mission going wrong, you waking up in the med bay.

And then you remembered.

“Holy shit.” You whispered to yourself, careful not to wake Wanda.

You had spent the past week as a five year old. Every moment started to come back. You playing hide and seek with Sam and Bucky. That time you and Pietro showered Nat with glitter, and how she almost killed the boy later. Tony being a dad all the time, checking up if you needed anything and making funny faces to make you laugh. Steve carrying you around inside his shield.

And Wanda, always being there with you. Taking care of you. Watching the same movies all the time. Cuddling every night.

Your attention was caught by the woman stirring in bed next to you, still fast asleep. She had been so patient throughout the whole situation that you couldn’t help but smile.

You propped yourself up on one elbow, facing your girlfriend. You watched for a few minutes while she was fast asleep. Just appreciating how beautiful she was and how peaceful she looked. You were falling even more in love with her, if that was possible.

Not being able to hold yourself back any longer, you gave her a lingering kiss to her forehead, moving then to her cheek, leaving small pecks all the way. You then moved to her jaw and neck, inhaling her scent, as your free hand started to draw circles on her stomach.

You felt her breath changing, indicating she was no longer asleep and directed your lips to her ear.

“Good morning, my love,” you whispered softly, pecking her earlobe gently.

Her hands grabbed your cheeks and moved you up to face her, her expression one of full happiness.

“You’re back.” She whispered moments after, trying to convince herself that it was true.

“I’m back.” You leaned down to capture her lips in a long and passionate kiss, resting your forehead against hers’, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she moved so she could stare into your eyes, “I missed you.”

“Why? I was here the whole time.” You teased.

“You know what I mean.” Your smile grew as you leaned in again, your lips meeting in another gentle kiss.

“At least we learned two things from this experience,” she eyed you with curiosity, “first, is that no matter what I’ll always be in love with you,” you referred to the crush five year old you had on her, and enjoyed as her cheeks turned bright red, “and second, is that you are great with kids.”

“I am, aren’t I.”

You spent hours in bed, cuddling, kissing and laughing at your childish antics from the past week.

That’s when you knew, you would marry that girl.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff #mcu #fluff #marvel

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smolla-than-a-bug · 3 years ago

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02 | mission: impossible — enemy spotted

sano shinichiro x reader

banner from @ichig0-miruku !

having only each other to rely on for most of their lives, the sano brothers make great partners in crime. however, little manjiro has taken on a new solo mission under his brother’s nose. his role? to play wingman

navi | series m.list | next

content — fem!reader, gakuen babysitters au, baby toman gang, shinichiro is a hopeless romatic (heavy on the hopeless), sanzu is That kid

notes — 2.4k+ wc. every night i think of clingy baby mikey and cry :”) i had to cut the chapter short bc theres an emergency within my class ndmfmf but i plan to touch on the parts i wanted to include in the next chapter

You've always had mixed emotions about mornings. On one hand, it's an absolute pain to have to wake up to your many alarms set for when there's barely any light out, just to be sure you're ready to leave home by 6:30. As you get out of bed, your legs feel like they're cuffed to dumbbells totaling at least twice your bodyweight while you blindly navigate your way to the bathroom. On the other hand, the quiet cold of the early morning gives your mind time to relax. The dewy air somehow feels like it cleanses your lungs with each breath you take, and for a few minutes, you're free of thought, of responsibility.

The usual walk to and from school is one you take alone. Your friends take a different route as they don't live in the same area as you, but you've grown used to the solo trips. If anything, it makes for great me-time, being by yourself every once in a while and basking in a sort of soul-healing peace. Sometimes, you run into some of your classmates you aren't particularly close to, but like you, they prefer having some time to themselves before officially beginning the hectic school day.

Something about the nature of daybreak makes watching the same scenes over and over feel new and refreshing. You pass by the playground you used to frequent as a younger version of yourself, and you're reminded of the many memories you'd once made on the monkeybars and swing set, now still and coated with little droplets of water. You duck underneath the branch of a tree you once had to jump to reach, swelling with pride when the tip of your forefinger grazed it because it proved you were 'growing taller than everyone else'. Now, you always had to be careful not to run into the into the low branch.

"Ow!"

Though it seemed like someone else wasn't so careful as you'd been.

Childish laughter followed the person's exclamation, and you turned around to find Akashi Takeomi with a red spot on his cheekbone. You wouldn’t classify yourselves as friends. You were more fit to be called acquaintances, at best. After all, the only times you’d ever interacted was during class when assigned pair-work together or when a certain Sano sought you both out for his sake.

You’d spot him from afar from time to time as you didn’t live far from each other, but you never bothered to go past a polite nod before carrying on. The difference is that this time he wasn’t exactly alone. Carried on one arm was a child, who couldn’t have been older than a year old, and there was another slightly older toddler, who Takeomi held onto by the collar of his shirt, bent over from laughing so hard.

"Takeomi!" Your poor classmate looked so distressed, you were compelled to move to his aid. Your body moved before you had the chance to think of what to do, so you just stood awkwardly, slightly hovering and unknowing of what to help with. You hesitated. "Are you okay?"

He nudged the small boy towards you. "I'm good, just... Can you hold him for a sec so I can get myself together?"

You nodded, reaching for the boy's hand, but he refused. Instead, he raised both his arms up, pouting, and bounced on the balls of his feet. "I want up!"

"Haru. Behave yourself."

You reassure Takeomi that it's fine before going to pick the boy—Haru—up. "I didn't know you had siblings, Takeomi."

Haru giggled when you held him under his arms, kicking his feet when you lifted him up. He poked your cheek when you settled him on your hip. "I'm Haruchiyo, but you can call me Haru!"

You smiled, brushing his messy white hair back.

Takeomi adjusted the baby bag on his shoulder as well as his hold on his sister, falling into step beside you. "This is one here is Senju. They usually stay home with my parents, but they had to attend some event at work—I don't know. To be honest, I wasn't really listening anymore after they said they had to leave Senju and Haru with me. Then I remembered our school has a daycare, so I thought why not drop them off there while I'm in class, right?"

"Ah. That makes sense." You glanced at the red spot on his cheek. "You sure you're good there though? I can go with you to stop by the nurse's office for ice if you want to."

He shook his head. " 'S fine. Really. Didn't even hurt."

From personal experience, you know very well that that branch is merciless when it comes to inattentive passersby, and no sincere person denies a question thrice in a row, unprompted. Nevertheless, you choose to believe him for his own convenience.

At first glance, you'd think Akashi Takeomi looks pretty scary. He definitely looks mean, that's for sure. He's the type of student who sits in the back corner of the classroom and barely ever speaks, unless he's with his friends but he keeps an intimidating appearance even then. His resting face is enough for people to clear the halls just for him to get through, not to mention the long scar that runs down the right side of his face makes him look extra menacing.

If you hadn't already been introduced before, you'd have definitely assumed he was a delinquent. You'd be so scared to have to face him in class every day. But lucky for you when Shinichiro dragged you both along for a triad project in one of your classes, he had noticed your body tensing and prompted Takeomi to explain that he got into an accident at home with a piece of furniture when he was younger, about the same age as Haru was now. He claimed to have been a rowdy child despite his current self.

You also noticed how he was strict yet gentle with his siblings throughout the short time you spent together on your way to the daycare. It was obvious he wasn't so used to looking after them both for an extended period of time, but the fact that he was trying was nothing short of sweet. Should anyone else witness the sight, you're sure they'd be greatly taken aback.

As usual, the daycare was already packed, save for Manjiro and Shinichiro. The teachers arrive earlier than the students do anyway.

The kids greeted you with the same enthusiasm as they normally do, but they quickly noticed the newbie in your arms and the scary looking man behind you as you went through the slide door. It went quiet in less than a few seconds, and the kids hid behind Usaida's legs. Takeomi looked to you with a raised brow.

You cleared your throat and knelt down to ease the kids into warming up to the three new faces. You put Haru on his feet. "This guy right here is Haru," you gestured behind you, "that's Senju, and that's their big brother Takeomi! Haru and Senju are gonna be spending the day with you all. Why don't you introduce yourselves?"

You think you heard your heart crack a little when nobody responded, and your eyes narrowed at Usaida when he snorted.

"Oi!" Ah, of course Keisuke always had something to say. You just hoped it was something nice. "Haru, what are those things on your mouth?"

"Keisuke, I don't think it's polite to—"

"They're scars! Cool right?"

At least Haru received it well?

"You look like a clown!"

"Keisuke!"

Having decided that's enough, you suggested they play games instead, which instantly had them all running off together. Takeomi chuckled, heading towards Usaida to ask if he could trust his siblings with him for the day and to talk to him about the contents of Senju's baby bag. You figured you'd wait for him so you could walk to class together too, seeing as you were in the same section, so you busied yourself by playing along with the kids while you were there.

Not too long after, you felt a presence on your back. Short arms clung around your waist as much as they could, and to no one's surprise, you craned your head to see Manjiro looking up at you with sleep still lingering in his eyes. You cooed at him, picking him up for a proper embrace in greeting.

Shinichiro sheepishly waved at you. "Morning, Y/N."

"Shin, Y/N." Takeomi handed Usaida the baby bag and slung his school bag over his shoulder, already making his way out the door. "We should probably get going."

You tried putting Manjiro back down. Takeomi was right, but Manjiro wouldn't budge. And the longer he clung onto you, the less willing you were to leave him.

"Hey," Shinichiro crouched beside you. "Come on, Manjiro, let go. Y/N and I need to get to class."

Manjiro shook his head and tightened his hold on your uniform blouse, drawing a sigh from his brother who leant his head on your shoulder. You bit down a smile.

Shinichiro tried again. "Manjirooooo... we'll be back later, you know?"

It took a bit more convincing from both of you, but Manjiro finally let you go and watched you and his brother leave with a longing gaze. You both made sure to remind him you'd come back right before sliding the door shut behind you.

Manjiro couldn't decide what was more unsettling: The new guy his brother called Take tending to his siblings with an entirely straight face or the fact that you seemed to be so buddy-buddy with him despite his indifference. To make things worse, Shinichiro wasn't inserting himself between you. In fact, he appeared to be proud about how you were getting along so well! How was he supposed to win you over if there was another person hogging all of your attention?

He couldn't count the amount of times you've dropped the toys in your hands while playing with him, Shinichiro, and the others, just so you could assist Takeomi with his sister. And whenever you did, he would catch Shinichiro just smiling to himself as you guided his best friend in catering to the baby's needs. You hadn't even had the chance to read to him like you always did at all. He was beginning to think you were forgetting about him :(

What's more was Manjiro's increasing distress as the new guy, Haru, wouldn't stop looking at him and following him around. He could be peacefully looking over the books in the corner library and he'd feel the familiar chill of having a pair of eyes on him. He could be getting dragged around by Keisuke to play and he'd notice a flash of unruly white hair in his peripheral. It was kind of creepy. He was just minding his own business sitting in front of an open book when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

Haru plopped down beside him, looking over his shoulder to see what he was doing. "What's that?"

Manjiro blinked.

"Ah, Le Petit Prince," Shinichiro sat himself with the two boys. "The Little Prince. You seem to be liking that story a lot, Manjiro. Want me to read it to you?"

Manjiro nodded once, already climbing into his brother's lap.

They had a sort of system in place where Manjiro would sit in front. As Shinichiro read the words on the page aloud, Manjiro would be the one to flip the pages. Manjiro liked taking his time to ogle at the pictures and drawings on each page. That, along with his brother's steady storytelling voice and his duty to turn to the next page when he was done did wonders to engage him in the story.

Soon, everyone was crowded around him and Shinichiro, who held the book as far out as he could so that everyone else could see the page. He'd only bring it close when it was time for Manjiro to flip the paper.

When you sat down close by to join in on the storytelling session, Manjiro was already moving to get your attention so you would read to him too. He stopped Shinichiro for a while to pull you to sit beside him before crawling back into his brother's cris-crossed legs. He saw Haru plop on you the same way. It took a moment for him to drag his eyes away.

No words needed to be exchanged between you and Shinichiro as you silently agreed to alternate turns and read a paragraph each, having been in this situation countless times before. Manjiro's favorite instances of this was when you came over to their house on weekends. Time spent with you was always something he had enjoyed, especially when both you and his brother would sit yourselves beside him on the bed, reading to him until he fell asleep for his afternoon nap. It was an experience most would have had with their parents, but to him, having you and his brother there was the best feeling in the world.

You made it a few pages until Senju began wailing, having just woken up from her slumber. It caused a ruckus among the other kids who were exclaiming that "Senju's crying!" as if you couldn't already hear it. As if on cue, you lifted Haru and temporarily put him in Shinichiro’s lap beside Manjiro, rushing to hold Senju so that Takeomi could grab a diaper while Shinichiro was left to try composing the rest of the kids around him. This wouldn’t have had to happen if Usaida hadn’t made the excuse of already having to look after one infant.

His attention is now lost from the story. He watches you cradle the baby until her cries fade away. You set her down on the changing mat, cooing at her and giggling with her. Takeomi comes over with the new diaper, and you move over to give him the space to change her while you continue to distract her. As expected, when Manjiro looks up, he sees his brother's eyes flickering towards you from time to time in between words, in between paragraphs. The slight upturn of his lip breaking into a wide smile whenever he moved his lips to form the words on the page.

Manjiro slumps back into his brother’s torso, defeat taking over once more. A heavy hand ruffles his hair.

The next day, Takeomi handed Shinichiro his application to join the school babysitter club.

tokyo revengers taglist — @mothervictoire

m:i taglist — @ichig0-miruku @asawa-ni-senju @michiru-kail @hanniejji @uwukris @the2ndl @eternallyvenus @vanderaliwaal @imkumichan @r3komuse @sunahyejin @crapimahuman

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lizzy-williams · 4 years ago

Text

❝𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎𝚜❞

｡:+*Warnings: Smut, riding, sub!peter if you squint, sleepy sex

｡:+*Masterlist

｡:+*Summary: You can’t sleep, so instead of counting sheep, you count your boyfriend’s freckles.

｡:+*A/n: This wasn’t requested, I just thought this was a cute concept. Hope you enjoy :)

“Humphf-.” Peter let out a small grunt at the fact that you shifted from your spot next to him to on top of him.

Not that he was complaining. But a sudden weight shift this late at night/this early in the morning was a shock. But what startled him the most was when he peaked his eyes open, finding you centimeters from his face, just staring.

“Woah,” he jumped back a little, making you giggle slightly, “W-What are you doing?” He questioned meekly, his hands settling by his sides, helping push him self upwards against the headboard.

“Counting.” You replied simply, your eye ghosting over his cheeks, trying to find where you last left off.

“Counting what??” He became slightly self conscious, thinking you were possibly talking about acne or something.

Thanks to the stupid spider bite, hormones were boosted, so that wasn’t an uncommon insecurity or worry.

“Your freckles.”

Peter let out a subtle sigh of relief, before slightly gushing at the thoughtfulness of the action. He felt punk dust his cheeks.

“What number are you at so far?” He finally said after a beat of silence.

“Thirty-six,” you smiled, “you have some cute tiny ones hidden in this part,”

You took a finger, gently tracing at the fold of his nostrils, making him sniffle a bit, laughing slightly at your advances.

“That tickles,” he mumbled like a toddler, making you boop on his nose, making a small beep noise.

“Oh my god, what are you, five?” He laughed at your childish actions, before he noticed your eyes looking where they were before.

Peter watched you intently, but soon, he felt his eyes droop. And with one last sigh, Peter was out like a light.

You continued trying to count but soon the numbers got lost in your head, your gaze drifting to the skin of his jaw along with this neck. You spotted the red and purple marks scattered across it, remembering the events that took place only a few days earlier in the shower after Peter’s patrol.

That was the first time you told him you loved him. Not just the phrase being thrown out as a goodbye or a joke. A genuine, literal, ‘I’ve fallen in love with you’.

It was a long night.

You let your hand move through his curls, brushing them away from his sleepy eyes, soft snores emitting from his chest.

The memories began to flood back more vibrantly. The things he said, the things you did, the way he said your name.

You felt yourself get slightly wet, and you ground yourself down gently, needing a release of tension. Peter grunted, and just like that, the poor boy had a growing cock right under your thigh.

Then, a devious thought slithered its way into your mind, and before you could give it a second thought, you acted on your impulse, slowly taking the elastic of your boyfriend’s boxers and inching them down, careful not to make him up.

You then remove your pajama bottoms, both you and your boyfriend’s bottom halves exposed in all their glory, and you couldn’t wait to get started.

You pumped him a few times, making him groan in his slumber, slightly stirring. You positioned him right at your entrance, then you slowly sunk down on him, making sure you felt every vein and ridge inside of you.

So caught up in your ecstasy, your tired muscles gave out, and you were suddenly impaled with the rest of his cock, bottoming out with a whimper.

If he wasn’t awake earlier, he surely was now. His eyes opened, and he caught the perfect sight of your pussy swallowing his cock.

“O-Oh, fuck,” he gasped out, throwing his head back as you situated yourself on him, wiggling teasingly, biting your lip, not wanting him to hear your pretty noises just yet.

“Finished counting already?” He panted with a smirk on his face, his eyes half-lidded from sleep, his hands grabbing at your thighs that were perfectly positioned around him.

You nodded a small and cute “mhm.” before leaning down to give him a peck on the lips.

“How many?” He found himself asking, while you were sinfully grinding on him.

“I got to 74.” You released breathy laugh as you were now lifting yourself up and down slowly, torturing not only him, but yourself as well.

“Shit-.” He whined out, the feeling of you clenching driving him insane.

You’re pace was the same as his heartbeat.

Lub-dub. Up. Lub-dub. Down.

Your fluid movements were driving him insane. Finally, he snapped, his grip on your hips tightening. He began to move you himself, the speed quickening, and you moaned out at his tip poking at your cervix, so deep inside you.

“Peter, fuck!” You whined out, inflating his ego.

“You like that, huh?” He continued his movements, “you like feeling me that deep? So fucking needy you couldn’t wait for me to wake up. This was your plan all along?”

Your mind was so fucked out, all you could do was nod your head, you neck suddenly too tired to hold itself up, falling into the crook of his neck, whimpering and gasping.

Your small noises only pushed him to continue. Suddenly, he turned his feet and planted them on the bed, thrusting up into you. That, mixed with the strength of his arms moving you up and down, made you scream.

Thank god for super strength.

He groaned out as he used you like a fleshlight, reveling in the sounds spilling from your mouth and the clenching of your cunt.

You felt his cock twitch, making your mind break completely.

“Fuck! Cum in me Peter, I want you to cum! Please please please cum inside me!” You slurred against his skin, your fingernails digging into his shoulders.

“Yeah? Want me to cum? Fuck, I want you to cum first. Come on pretty girl, cum for me, clench that cunt, fuck!” He whimpered out, his pace faltering.

Like a dog on command, your pussy clenched around him like a vice, his groans becoming more high pitched as he felt you cum, meanwhile you were on cloud nine.

You moaned out in the most pornographic way possible, your body tensing up hard as marble, all while Peter soaked in your sounds. You made such pretty sounds-

Caught up in his thoughts, he didn’t know he was coming until it hit him like a tidal wave. He came with a loud groan, panting as he held you close, whispering strings of praise, his hot breath against your ear, drifting against your jaw.

You both sat there in silence, panting and trying to come back down to Earth. You were hold onto each other like it was the end of the world, your hands long drifted up to his hair, playing with it softly.

The silence was loud. Soon enough Peter’s breath evened out. You picked your head up again, and his eyes were closed. He looked so peaceful when he slept, his face soft and relaxed, although you did somewhat miss his smile.

You slowly pulled yourself off of him, making him shift and turn towards you. You snuggled into him, your ear pressed to his chest as you heard the faint thumping of his heart.

There was nowhere else you’d rather be.

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x reader smut #peter parker #peter parker smut #peter parker headcanon #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #cherry

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tpwkay · 4 years ago

Text

Medicine (h.s.)

You’re finally given permission to cover the song you’ve wanted to perform for years and a special surprise during your performance sweeps you off of your feet.

Word count: 11.5k

Rating/warnings: NSFW - A lot of this is plot but there is smut as well. Contains explicit language and consensual sex acts between a man and woman. This is a story written in the 2nd person (“self insert"). This isn’t written to be exclusionary, it’s just my preferred style! Author’s note can be found at the end!

"Ladies and gentlemen, I cannot thank you enough for coming out tonight to listen to me and the band. We've got a couple more songs coming up for you but I just wanted to take a minute to tell y'all how much we appreciate you." You gesture to yourself and the band behind you as the lights on stage come up a bit. "We wouldn't be where we are without your support. From the bottom of our hearts, thank you!"

The crowd cheers and you can't help but experience an insurmountable feeling of joy. It never gets old. You'd been in the spotlight for a few years now, already at the end of touring your second album, though the size and scope of venues this time around was much, much larger. There was nothing that compared to being able to sing your own songs and have a crowd of thousands scream them right back at you.

Being an up-and-coming singer and songwriter in the genre of country music hadn't been easy. Girls your type had been a dime a dozen, hoards of Taylor Swift-wannabes covering "Teardrops on My Guitar" during open mic night. You held nothing against them; there was a path to success for everyone, but yours had been, well, different.

It was a karaoke cover of Brooks & Dunn's "Boot Scootin' Boogie", a song that you'd been singing since you were a toddler, that had gotten you noticed by a recording artist one night while out with your girlfriends, which led you to where you stand now, performing in front of thousands. You were liked for the range of your voice, with it's easy easy transitions from the sounds of pop to country and rock, in addition to the way you performed, and your take-no-shit attitude towards the entirety of the industry. People liked that you were forward and left nothing on the table, though you had to admit that it was mostly an act, a means of coping with the pressure of working your way to the top.

///

"It's refreshing!" Jax, your manager, had shouted one day, arms flailing as you had argued that maybe your attitude was going to get you into trouble one of these days.

"Aren't you, as, you know, my manager, supposed to be the one keeps me in line?"

"You aren't out doing coke, killing anyone, public indecency and all that," he had shrugged. "Far as I'm concerned, you are in line. People talk about you because of your attitude. They like it! They like you. Why is that so hard for you to accept sometimes?"

"Maybe I just haven't been caught doing those things," you grinned, effectively dodging his question. Fame hadn't helped break down the walls that you'd long ago built around yourself. If anything, you had done some reinforcing, built a moat even, in an effort to ensure that you protected yourself from getting too close to anyone that would only end up using you in the end. You had seen the way people in life had been used, and what it ultimately led them to, and you had promised yourself long ago that even if it meant being known as the Boot Scootin' Bitch, you would protect yourself and your heart at all costs.

"Your momma would tan your hide for much less than any of those, you know. Hell, you should be more afraid of her than you are of me or anyone else… 'cept maybe God."

///

You shake your head, working the memories free from your mind as you grab a bottle of water from the platform on which the drum set rests.

There's one more song of yours to sing before you performed a new cover, the one you had been looking forward to for months. Although you'd gotten permission to perform it not long into the start of your tour, the set list had been rehearsed already and every other detail ironed out around it. You'd convinced Jax and the crew to let you slot it into the last concert of the tour, Austin, Texas. These folks knew their music and for some reason, they liked you so you were thrilled to be able to share something new with the crowd that had welcomed you to their city with open arms.

You grab your guitar off its stand and slide the strap over your shoulders, adjusting it as you step forwards to the mic stand. A shimmering blue shirt catches your eye in the crowd and you do a double take because surely it can't be Harry because he's—

And it's not him, of course, though the fashion of the gentleman in the pit area would surely catch his eye as well as it's right up his alley. It's not him - it can't be him - because you know exactly where he is right now and it's not in the pit of your Austin performance.

A grin stretches over your face as you think of him. You strum the first chord of the first song you'd ever written about him, although there had been many more since. He probably knew this one was about him, having come just after your first meeting.

///

A friend of yours was good friends with Kacey, who had been the guest artist that night. Her name had been added to the VIP list and in the summer of 2018, just as you were hitting your own stride in your career, you tagged along with her to Harry Styles' live tour performance in your hometown of Nashville.

If you were being honest, prior to his concert, you hadn't heard much of his solo work, apart from the various huge hits like his Kiwi or Watermelon Sugar and a few other ballads. You liked his sound, seemingly influenced heavily by rock stars of days past, but you'd had other influences to worry about in your own side of the industry.

Sure, he had country music connections through the likes of Kacey Musgraves and Cam, and legends like Stevie Nicks, but his pop and soft rock style was pretty far removed from most country playlists that you yourself had graced. Your genres just didn't cross paths and the two of you seemingly operated in different realms of the music industry, topping your own charts and breaking your own peer's records.

Of course, you hadn't been completely oblivious to The Harry Styles. One Direction had been too big of a deal to ignore and you'd often found yourself bopping along to their old hits, singing along as they played amongst the other nostalgic pop hits to which you listened.

The concert had been in June, a hot sunny day followed by a perfect breezy evening. Downtown Nashville was always busy, but that night the city seemed to buzz, bright with music and life. After meeting for drinks at Acme on the River, you allowed yourself to luxuriate in getting lost in the crowd that milled about on Broadway. It was a surprising thing to not be recognized in your hometown, but you weren't one to complain about it. It was one reason that you value your time in Nashville over other music-centric cities like Los Angeles - it seemed that people here respected the private lives of musicians. There was an odd fan here and there, but you'd lived a majority of your "famous" life in Nashville in relative peace.

You were early to the venue, your friend having wanted to have a chance to see Kacey backstage. You were excited to finally meet the star - though you'd been around the block of fame a bit already, there would always be people that you never had an opportunity to meet in passing. You had been greeted at will call and had been led backstage.

The arena was alive with excitement. At that point, you yourself had never toured a venue that large, so the experience of being backstage and seeing the operations first hand were thrilling and a bit overwhelming. In her dressing room, Kacey pulled you straight into a hug, gushing about how excited she was to watch your career take off. She insisted on sharing her personal cell phone number with you, urging you to call her to get together on a collaboration. You were in shock leaving her room, blown away by her kindness and the way the music industry worked in the most bizarre of ways, when you turned a corner and ran smack into a tall, solid, smiling Harry Styles. His arms had come out quickly to steady you on your heels boots.

"Fuck," you swore, shaking your head at your clumsiness. "I am so sorry. What a great way to introduce myself."

He laughed and the sound flowed through you, warm and sweet like a cup of tea with honey. "Y'alright?" His eyes looked you over, and you couldn't help but notice the way they lingered.

Your cheeks blushed and a wave of embarrassment washed over you. "I'm the one that should be asking you that. I don't think your adoring fans would be very happy if I took you out with a textbook tackle right before you're due to go on stage." You took a moment to give him the same appreciative glance he had already given you, admiring the way his deep blue custom-beaded suit jacket fell open to reveal a black dress shirt, unbuttoned halfway down his chest.

"Ah, 'm fine. Lil' thing like you couldn't do too much damage to me, even in those heels. Don't think they'd be very happy though," he said, nodding his head in acknowledgement of the already-rowdy crowd while offering his hand. "I'm Harry."

You laughed as you introduced yourself, shaking his hand.

"I've heard that name before, but I'm sorry to say that I don't recognize you. You don't seem like one that's easy to forget."

"I sing, write music," you shrugged, not sure how to explain to a superstar that you were on the way up, yet still somewhere much farther down the fame totem pole than him. "Country, mostly. Not sure if that's on your radar."

"The new stuff's not, but I may have to change that." He was tapped by one of the event producers, needed for another pre-show procedure. "Where will you be tonight?"

"To your right, in the pit."

He smiled and you had almost immediately fallen in love with the crinkles that appeared under the corners of his eyes. "I'll look out for you. It was wonderful meeting you. Oh, shit, wait, just remembered— may I?" he gestured for the phone that was in your hand and you unlocked it before passing it to him.

You watched as he dialed a number and put the phone to his ear. He paused for a moment before he grinned. "Hi Harry, it's you from before the show. This is a message to remind you to text this number and ask the owner of it out on a date. She's the one with the beautiful smile and great tackling skills. You won"t have forgotten her. 'Kay, bye!"

You laughed at an almost embarrassing volume, blown away by his cheek.

"Why not ask 'her' out now?" you pondered to him as he handed the phone back.

"What, and risk getting shot down? Wouldn't want to be sad and disappointed through my whole show, now would I?"

"It would make the ballads a bit more emotional," you had reasoned with a grin.

"Ouch! They're already filled with emotion, love. You'll see, I'll sing 'em right to you if I have to. Gotta run, thank you for letting me use your phone, that was a very important message!"

You laughed again as he took off. "Harry!" you had shouted to get his attention in the busy hall. He turned quickly, a small smile on his face. "She definitely won't say no, but you can wait until later to ask if you want to."

His grin stretched wider and he'd pumped a fist in the air before turning and jogging down the hallway.

You liked to joke with anyone who knew the story that your life had changed that day all because you met Kacey. Which wasn't a complete lie - it had been her dressing room you'd come out of before slamming into Harry in the hallway.

///

Singing the last lines of one of your songs, your stomach began to flutter in a bit of nervousness and a lot of excitement. Performing the next cover was something you had been looking forward to for months, and the moment that you got to share it with your fans was finally here.

You retreat from the mic stand to pass your guitar off to a stagehand, taking another sip of water to settle yourself.

"Doing alright?" Wyatt, your drummer, shouts over the pounding bass drum and you give him a thumbs up before turning back to face the crowd.

"I've got one more cover to play for y'all tonight," you say, grasping the mic stand to keep your hands from shaking. "I've been working on getting permission to play this one for quite awhile now. I fell in love with it the first time I heard it played and now here I am, performing it for you all. It's an unreleased piece by a very, very good friend of mine, but his performances of it are all over the internet so some of you may know the words. This song is called Medicine."

The song starts out with a steady bass line and the rhythm centers you a bit, steadying any nerves that still linger. The intro gives you a minute to shake out your shoulders and get comfortable at the mic stand once more like Harry does at each performance. You catch yourself having fun mimicking him and feel thankful that you're able to perform one of your favorite songs of his. When the bass drops in pitch and the electric guitar riffs, you slide in close to the mic stand.

"Here to take my medicine, take my medicine," you sang the opening lines, already settling into the sexy rock sound of the song you and the band had rehearsed relentlessly over the last few weeks. No, the genre wasn't one you normally dabbled in, but part of the fun of performing was taking chances, risks. You had to admit, you liked the sound a lot. It tempted you to branch out a bit more on your upcoming album.

The opening lines of the first verse throw you back into thoughts of meeting Harry that first night. You hadn't imagined what would follow the concert, let alone have the foresight to see it bringing you to this very moment in time.

///

You had been standing outside the arena after the concert, ears buzzing and heart thumping still from the incredible show Harry had put on. As soon as he disappeared from the backstage hall earlier, you had immediately saved his number to your phone, still in disbelief over the night's events.

Your heart had soared when your phone began to vibrate, not in a text message but in a voice call. Harry's name appeared on the screen and your friend had nudged you, clearly approving of the night's turn of events.

"Harry," you answered, ready to praise him halfway to Sunday on his performance.

"Let me take you out," he interrupted you. "Right now. Please? Anywhere you want to go."

You laughed and paused. "Yeah, okay. I might know of a place."

There was a lot of shuffling on his end before his voice came back on the line. "Might've had to do another fist pump."

"Told you she wouldn't say no."

"Where are you?" You heard the smile in his voice, already familiar with it.

"Demonbreun and John Lewis, headed towards the park."

"Give me 10, I'll pick you up." He paused. "Be careful, okay?"

"I'll stick with the hoards of your fans milling about, maybe ask some of them for the hot gossip on you while I wait."

"Don't believe anything they say," he said, and you could tell he was still smiling as he hung up.

He and his driver arrived shortly after, Harry's hair damp and covered with a baseball cap, dressed down in black pants and a simple loose white shirt, tattoos peeking out everywhere you looked. He exited the car and opened the back door for you, helping you balance as you stepped up into the large Suburban.

"We'll go to Pecker's," you said to his driver, laughing as Harry snorted next to you. "Shut up, it's just a bar. Take a right up here onto 24 and it'll take us all the way to Fairfield. It'll be on the right."

He looked at you and smiled before reaching out to hold your hand in the middle seat between you.

Taking Harry to Pecker's had just felt right. It was where you'd been discovered, where all of your adventures had started, and you weren't sure why but you wanted to share that small part of you with him after watching him up on stage that night.

"Won't people recognize you? I looked you up before the show, you're apparently a pretty big deal around here." He had asked, smirking, sipping on the locally-brewed beer that Clint, the regular bartender, was serving that night.

"Locals are pretty good about not interrupting our normal lives. Pecker's isn't as well known to tourists either, so it's a good hideout. This is where a lot of producers, executives and all the other professionals come to unwind." You ignored his comment on your fame and had taken a sip of your margarita instead. "Unless, of course, there's a drag show scheduled, then it's a bit of a madhouse."

Harry laughs into his drink and you grin. "So," he started after a pause, twiddling with the rings on his right hand. "What'd you think?"

"It was incredible," you said without hesitation. "Truly one of the best live shows I've seen in a long time, country acts included. You've got such a magnetism about you that people can't help but want to watch." You blushed a bit, alcohol and the quick comfort of him loosening your lips. "The whole water spraying trick was hot," you admit, making him blush. "And don't tell Stevie, but I think I might prefer your version of The Chain."

"Sacrilege! That's some incredibly high praise," he said, a small smile teasing at the corners of his mouth.

"Earned and deserved," you said, tilting your glass to his. "Honestly, Harry, you're an incredible musician. There aren't many out there that have the whole package like that."

"What about you? You seem like the whole package."

"I don't know if I'd say that. If you looked me up, you've likely seen what they say about me. 'My attitude won't get me far' and all. But I don't think it's my attitude, so much as it is my willingness to take the risks that others won't. I'm not out here to make music that's just there to be sold. Hell, I couldn't care less about the money. All I want is to create music that makes me feel fulfilled, and I think that honesty scares them." You twirled your finger in the condensation of the glass in front of you. You glanced up to his face finding his eyes already on yours, holding your gaze steadily. "It doesn't scare you, does it?"

"It's the most refreshing thing I've heard in a while. Not many people in the industry are fearless in the face of failure like that."

"I'm definitely not fearless; I just refuse to change who I am to make a buck."

"Who are you then?" Harry had asked, and telling him your story was easy. You couldn't understand how it was so natural, opening up to a stranger, but as the conversation wore on, you realized how similar you and Harry were in terms of the way you conducted your professional lives and that was without apology.

And you also realized, as the evening continued and you and Harry crept your bar stools closer and closer to one another, feet and knees bumping, his fingers tracing the ridges of your knuckles as you shared life stories like long lost friends, that you didn't want it to end.

///

"He's acting like a gentleman," you continue, changing up the lyrics slightly as you finish the first verse. The line always made you smile and you let yourself briefly flash back into your reminiscing about the night you'd met Harry, and how, even though he had acted gentlemanly upon dropping you off for the evening, you wanted to be anything but a gentlewoman.

///

After enjoying drinks late into the evening at Pecker's, Harry had insisted on having his driver take you home rather than allowing you to call an Uber.

"Such a gentleman," you commented as he opened the car door for you once again.

"Maybe my gentlemanly actions have motives," he said, sliding his hand along your lower back as you step past him and into the car. Your grin matched his smirk as he shut the door and you decided that he'd been right - not calling an Uber was the right thing to do.

The car ride back to your apartment building was too quick and before you knew it, he was at your door again, offering a hand for you to hold for balance as you exited the car. Neither of you let go as you walked through the lobby towards the elevators.

"You're uh— You're welcome to come up, if you'd like," you said, suddenly shy but not wanting to chicken out on asking for what you wanted, asking for some continuation of this sweet but likely brief meeting between you two. "For a drink, I mean, or to keep chatting, you know."

Harry smiled and glanced around the empty lobby. His hand in yours smoothed up the length of your arm, over your shoulder, and came to rest at your jaw. "I'd love to, believe me. You have no idea how much I want to." He leaned towards you, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead and your skin burned at the contact of his lips. "But I want to do this the right way. Don't want you to get the wrong idea of me."

"What if I want the wrong idea of you?"

He laughed, the sound open and honest and it had given you hope. "You called me a gentleman earlier and I have to admit that I liked it, coming from you. Would like to keep up the facade that I am, even if it's just for a bit." His face searched yours, each of you trying to read the thoughts that were flying through one another's minds. "You have beautiful lips," he whispered suddenly, his accent thicker than it had been all night.

Your mouth quirked into a smile, unable to do anything but preen at his compliment. "You do too," you replied, just as softly.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Please, yes." Before the words had settled he was kissing you, slowly and with too much care, like you would break if he wasn't gentle enough. It was over much too quick but you knew you would remember every moment of it for the rest of your life.

"Christ, I'd wanted to do that all night." His thumb smoothed over your cheekbone, smiling when you leaned into the touch. He glanced up as the elevator doors swung open and gently nudged you towards them. "Thank you, truly, for a wonderful evening. I promise to give you a call soon."

"I'll send Kacey after you if you don't!" you laughed, stepping into the lift.

"Good night darling." He winked and the doors slid shut, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the delicious ghost of his lips on yours.

///

"Give me that adrenaline, that adrenaline, think I'm gonna stick with you," you finish the first verse as Ryann rips through the chords on her guitar. You loved that the song built slowly, and even though that meant a quieter beginning, it promised an explosive end.

Though the crowd had been hesitant at first, you can see that the first few rows of them are nodding along, countless phones out recording the performance. You know that somewhere out there at your request is a member of your press team, professionally filming the cover. You may only be doing it once, but you were determined to make sure you would never forget it.

///

You had enough time at home to check some of your social media accounts, shower and get comfortable in bed before your phone rang again. For the second time that day, your heart soared seeing Harry's name light up your screen.

"If you're going to say that you're downstairs because you've reconsidered my offer for that nightcap, I'll need a few moments to prepare as I'm currently in my pajamas," you said as a greeting and you were met with his warm laughter once again.

"No, no, I had to go back to the arena for a bit anyways, pack up and all of that," he said, still chuckling. "I just— I wanted to make sure you weren't offended by me declining your offer. Because I wanted to— I didn't want the night to end there. There's something about you that's… Transfixing. And I don't want to ruin that and make you think you're just a fling."

"That's quite a compliment," you said, a bit awed by his words.

"What was it you said earlier, "earned and deserved", yeah?" He said, quoting your toast to him at the bar, making you grin. "I want you to be more than that. I'd like to get to know you, the gentlemanly way."

"Okay. Will we have a chaperone at our next date then?" He laughed but didn't correct your referral to that evening as a date. You had snuggled a bit deeper into the sheets, still disbelieving that all of this had been the result of being dragged along to a concert.

"No chaperones," he chuckled, "but yes, I do want to take you out again, if you'd let me."

"Hmm," you jokingly pondered aloud, as if answering with anything other than a resounding "yes" was on your mind. "I suppose I could fit something into my schedule."

"I hope that's a yes."

"Of course it's a yes! I didn't want the night to end either. And don't you dare say that you just did another fist pump," you had laughed, hearing the familiar shuffling of the phone on his end of the line.

"Me? Never!"

"You're adorable," you had said, a smile stuck on your face.

"And you're beautiful. Two can play this game."

There had been a comforting silence between you for a moment before you had spoken up again. "Harry?"

"Yeah, love?"

You had blushed at the pet name but loved the way it sounded being directed your way. "Thank you," you had whispered.

"Should be me thanking you. Sleep well sweetheart." You'd fallen asleep with your phone in hand, hopeful that you wouldn't wake up the next morning to realize it had all been a dream.

///

It hadn't been a dream, and here you were, nearly two years later, performing one of the songs that Harry himself had sung the night that you'd begun falling for him.

The second verse continued quickly and you let the lyrics wash over you as you sang, loving the way the rock energy of the song sounded with a bit of your band's country influence.

"Here to take my medicine, take my medicine, rest it on your fingertips," you sang, holding your pointer finger in the air much like Harry did every time he performed the song before bringing it to your lips as you sang the next line. "Up to your mouth, feeling it out, feeling it out."

///

Beginning to date Harry - properly date him too, not just make FaceTime calls to one another from across the world and sending texts back and forth until the wee hours of the morning thanks to the differences in time zones, sharing everything and more with one another as best you could digitally - had been the most exhilarating experience of your life, and you had performed in front of sold out crowds and accepted awards on live television. His tour was due to stretch on for almost another month throughout North America and the next time you saw him was when you'd been invited as Harry's guest to his show in Chicago just a few weeks after you'd met.

While he had put on an incredible show for the United Center, there had been moments that felt like he was performing just for you, glancing over to where you stood in the Friends and Family area, meeting your eyes and grinning. By that point, you could sing along to every song of his and you knew he loved it, loved watching you dance along to the music that he had created and was performing.

In a moment where you were thankful for the differences between the genres in which you two performed, you hadn't been recognized at all by his fans. You'd both talked about wanting to keep things quiet as you got to know one another, and you hadn't wanted a relationship with him, an already incredibly famous artist, to somehow influence the trajectory of yours. While it had been easy when you were apart, being together without seemingly being together was difficult. Especially in that moment, when all you wanted to do was curl up into him and soak in the post-show bliss with him. Instead, you sat on the couch with him, a cushion apart from one another, holding his hand tightly while you chatted about the concert.

"Someone is gonna notice that you looked to my side of the pit constantly all night," you said and he grinned guiltily.

"I like knowing you're in the crowd," he shrugged. "Besides," he scooted closer and threw his arm around you before dragging you in close, "you look incredible, how could I not want to stare at you all night?"

"Anyone could walk in," you pointed out, watching as his eyes followed your lips.

"Just want a little taste," he said, moving in closer, "Haven't I earned a kiss from my girlfriend after all of that work up on stage?"

Your eyebrows raised in surprise as you looked at him and he seemingly realized his slip-up.

"I mean— What I meant was— Shit," he scrubbed a hand over his face but you could tell he was hiding a grin. "Wasn't exactly how I wanted to ask you, but… Will you officially be my girlfriend?"

"Yes, H. I'm all yours."

"Love it when you call me H." He pulled you in for a kiss that you both lost yourselves in, finally able to experience the feeling of one another after being denied it for so long. When a knock at the dressing room door came, Harry had to all but drag himself away from you, hair disheveled and lips swollen, scowling at the door.

You threw your head back and laughed as he stalked over and pulled it open with a flourish.

"What?"

"The hell's your issue?" you heard Mitch ask before Harry widened the door so he could see you laughing on the couch. You raised a hand in greeting and Harry's scowl deepened as Mitch chuckled, taking in both of your disheveled appearances. "Oh, shit, hey, sorry. Uh, car's ready when you are. See you tomorrow bud."

"Harry!" you chided once he'd closed the door in Mitch's face, giggles still bubbling out of your mouth. "He was just being polite."

"Interrupting arse is what he is," Harry said, sitting down and pulling you into his lap. "Where were we?"

You threw your arms around his neck and pressed your body as close to his as possible, hoping that he'd thought to lock the door before returning to your embrace. "Right about here, I think." With a hand on your hip, sliding under your shirt to reach warm skin and one at the back of your neck, Harry kissed you until you were breathless and not only wanting more but very seriously needing it.

"Come back to the hotel with me," he murmured against your lips as you ground your body down on him, reveling in the way the action made him throw his head against the back of the couch and exhale sharply.

"You sure?" Your hands smoothed over the chest of his skin, tracing the dark swallows with your fingertips as you rolled your hips.

He shuddered at the light touch and gripped your hips tightly, pressing his up as you pressed yours down and the action made you sigh, the pressure a delicious tease of what was hopefully to come. "Absolutely," he said, his grin telling you he was pleased with the noises he was causing you to make. "Want you so bad, like I won't be able to breathe right until I properly have you."

You leaned in to kiss at his neck, his shower-damp curls tickling your cheek. "The feeling is mutual. Adored watching you up on stage tonight. Have I told you yet how much I love seeing you perform?" You nuzzle at his neck, urging him to tilt his head back farther, exposing more of his skin to you.

"Yeah, you have, but tell me again," he sighed, his hands running up and down your back.

"It's like when you get on stage no one else before or after you matters," you said honestly, letting your lips against his skin hide how truthful you were really being, spilling all of your thoughts about seeing Harry up on stage. It was scary, feeling so deeply for him already. But you wanted him to know, at least in part, what it meant to be able to watch him perform. "Something about your live voice just makes my breath catch in my throat, I can't get enough of it."

Harry breathed deeply for a moment, working to center himself while you nosed at the curls around his ear and heaped praise upon him.

"It's like you connect with every person out in the crowd, like you're singing just for them. You can tell that you're having fun and people want to join you in that. They know you love the attention," you whispered and he hummed in appreciation (or agreement), the sound low in his throat. "They'd stay out there all night for if they could, screaming about how much they love you."

"And you feed into it, playing it up for them. You know exactly what you're doing when you get to act a little bit naughty up there, driving them all mad," you said with a smile.

He chuckled and you could hear and feel the sound rumble through him. "Played it up for you tonight. Did it work?"

"You mean did it make me want to jump your bones the second you came off stage? Yeah, it worked."

"Fucking hell," he said, holding you close with his hands on your butt as he stood up. "Our first time is not going to be in a dressing room so we need to go now."

He let you slide down his body and held you steady as you balanced on your legs. "Would be pretty fitting though, don't you think, given how we met and what we do?"

"Yeah, but then I'd think about it every time I was in one. You wanna torture me relentlessly?" He pulled you tight against him, kissing you once more before separating to grab his bags.

"Yeah, relentless torture sounds like something I might be into."

He glanced up at your words, eyes dark and hungry, a smirk on his lips. "Careful what you wish for, love."

///

The bass line increased behind the riff of Ryann's guitar and you leaned into the mic stand, eyes closing as you continued singing the first bridge. "I had a few, got drunk on you and now I'm wasted, and when I sleep I'm gonna dream of how you…"

There were a few fans of yours and Harry's who apparently knew the words as they helped you out, screaming the unwritten word that finished the sentence: "tasted."

///

Harry was quick to say goodbye to everyone on the team before pulling you quickly through back hallways and down quiet staircases, sneaking quick kisses when he was sure there was no one around. You were both out of breath when you finally climbed into the car, grinning like kids getting away with sneaking around.

The hotel ride was quick, mercifully, but Harry had been anything but patient, his hand at your knee creeping up slowly, closer and closer to the hem of your dress, toying with the hem while he chatted with the driver.

"I'm gonna head in first with Martin and Eric will loop around and drop you off at the side entrance. I would wait in the lobby for you but this hotel hasn't been the best in the past with uh— containing sensitive information, we'll say, so Martin will meet you on your floor to get your stuff, then bring you up. Is that okay?"

"You sound like you've done this before, Styles," you said with a wink, using humor to cover the nerves that had settled in the pit of your stomach.

He blushed and you loved knowing you got under his skin so easily. "The band used to stay here when we toured… and I was young and dumb once, yes."

"Just giving you a hard time, H."

His grin stretched as he leaned over to peck your lips once more. "See you in a minute, love."

Harry climbed out and the driver took off once again, slowly circling the block. "He's quite taken with you, you know," he said, glancing up in the rear view mirror as he parked the car at the curb. He got out and opened the door for you in the empty street then used his keycard to unlock the heavy side door of the hotel.

"Thank you," you said, both for his actions and his omission about Harry. Sure, you had talked to him as often as possible over the last weeks and had yourself been on the receiving end of his attention, but it felt validating to hear that Harry's feelings for you may have gone a bit farther than just a small crush if people around him had also noticed his behavior.

Harry's bodyguard was waiting by the elevators and escorted you to your room to gather your luggage, then led you to Harry's door.

"Car'll be around about 9 tomorrow morning, H. Flight's at 10:30." He turned to you. "I understand you have business to continue here in Chicago?"

"Yes, meetings tomorrow and then I fly back to Nashville in the evening."

"There'll be a driver ready for you tomorrow as well. He's been instructed to take you wherever you need to go and he'll stay until you depart. Have a nice evening," he nodded at Harry, who was smiling in the doorway, before departing.

"You didn't have to do that for me, I could've managed by getting an Uber," you said, stepping into the room past Harry to set your bags down and kick your shoes off.

"I didn't, was Martin's idea; says he doesn't want anything to happen to the one thing that's made me so happy these last few weeks."

"Oh yeah? I'm the one thing, huh?"

"You're everything, honestly," he replied a bit sheepishly, taking your hands in his. "Think I might like you a bit more than I already should. Lettin' my heart get a bit ahead of my head, I suppose."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," you said softly and he beamed.

He moved his hands up to cup your face, pulling you close for a sweet kiss that quickly turned insistent, heat rising between the two of you. Harry slid his hands under the hem of your shirt to rest where your spin ended and yours wrapped around his neck, dragging him down to you as you stepped behind you towards the bed. His long legs tangled with yours and you tumbled backwards, laughing as you hit the plush bed and Harry collapsed on top of you.

He propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at you with a smile, pushing the hair that had fallen into your face aside. "Hi baby," he said softly.

"Hi."

"Missed you," he said, leaning down for another sweet kiss.

"We were apart for like, eight minutes," you giggled between his kisses, your laughter giving way to a sigh as he moved to press a kiss to your nose, your cheek, your chin.

"Doesn't matter," he breathed into the crook of your neck, pressing small open mouth kisses to the soft skin there, "Any time apart is too long."

"The two weeks left of the tour will fly by. You should enjoy them while you can."

"Wish you could come with me, love performing for you." He kissed his way across the base of your neck, collarbone to collarbone as his fingers trailed to the small straps on your shoulders. "Would you like to take this off?"

"Please," you sighed, desperate and aching for the feeling of his skin against yours.

Your first time sleeping with Harry had been exactly what you'd wanted and expected - hot and fast, admittedly over a bit more quickly than either of you had wanted, but worth the weeks of wait.

Harry's skill set hadn't ended at singing and playing instruments. If anything, his vast experience using his hands and mouth only helped him excel in other pastimes that also utilized those parts of his body. To both of your delights, he had proven his adeptness in all areas multiple times that night, and once again in the morning before he had to rush into the shower, dragging you along with him simply to get more time together before you were forced apart once again.

///

You had spent the next two months away from one another, Harry having wrapped his tour and immediately beginning work on his next album. You'd spent your own time mixed between writing and recording an upcoming single. You had already written a handful of songs that were inspired by him and you'd wondered, albeit a bit nervously, if the sentiment was shared. When he stopped in Nashville on a long layover, pushing his flight back even longer to stay with you for another night, you'd tried to pry the information out of him. Unfortunately, no amount of sexual teasing or denial had convinced him — he, however, had you singing like a canary almost immediately, teasing you in the best way about how easily you opened up for him, telling him all about the music that he had already inspired.

You had been FaceTiming him late one night weeks later, both tired from long days spent in the studio. He had suddenly gotten shy, biting at the skin around his fingernails.

"Hey, stop that. What's the matter H?"

"Wanna ask you something," he mumbled, but a smile was peeking through where his fingers were still at his lips. "Jus' don't know how to."

"Baby," you sighed, "you can ask me anything. Y'know that."

"I know, I know." He paused and took a deep breath before a wide smile stretched across his face. "Would you maybe want to come home with me this Christmas? To London? Wouldn't be for long, maybe just a couple nights, I just wanna introduce you to my mum already, she's been pestering me nonstop lately 'bout meetin' you and Gem's joined in on it now too, so it's two against one when they call and I've told them that—"

"Harry," you said chucking, trying to interrupt his nervous rambling.

"—and she actually called me Harold last time she told me to bring you 'round and that got me a bit worried so I—"

"Harry! Of course I'll come with you. I'd absolutely love to."

You met him at the airport weeks later, desperate to pull him close and kiss him silly in the confines of his darkly tinted car, but you refrained, knowing how seriously Harry took the protection of your relationship from the press. You may not have been able to see anyone straining to capture pictures of you two, but you knew there was always the chance.

It was an entirely different story, however, when he'd finally pulled the car past the mechanical gate and into his private drive. You both reached for each other immediately, arms tangled and shifter knob pressed uncomfortably against your side, but perfectly content so long as his lips were against yours.

"Fuck— I missed you— so much," he muttered between kisses. He pulled away, forehead resting against yours, sly smirk pulling at his lips. "Mum won't expect us for a few hours at least."

"What is it that you're insinuating, Mr. Styles?"

"That there's plenty of time to give you a tour around the house, that's all," he said innocently. He gave you a sweet smile before hopping out of the car and coming to the passenger side where he helped you out and picked up your bags.

You were eager to be given a house tour, more than keen to learn all of the things you could about his London life. The house was decorated in a way that made you smile - eclectic but with a definitive air of cohesive taste. It suited Harry to an absolute tee. From the artwork that decorated the walls to the mismatched but homey furniture, you could tell immediately that this was Harry's sanctuary - every inch of the home screamed his name.

"It's incredible," you said as he led you into the largest room, the master. He walked over to the dresser that sat under the window and pulled open the top two drawers.

"I know we won't be here long, this time around, but I cleaned out a few drawers for you here, if you want to unpack some things. And there's space in the closet for you too," he nodded towards the door on the other side of the room, dragging a hand through his hair as he talked, "I had too much in there anyways and some of it needed to go and I wanted you to be able to leave some things, if you felt comfortable, of if Mum drags us out shopping and you don't want to take it all home now you can leave it here and-"

"You- you cleared out a drawer for me?"

"Well, yeah," he said, resting his hand on the back of his neck. "Made some space for you in the bathroom too, though I doubt it'll be enough, with all that you bring along to fix yourself up." He paused and thought for a moment. "I know how our lives are. I just wanted you to have some of your own space here; want you to feel as comfortable in my home as I do. Is that too much?"

"H," you said with a sigh, your lips curling into a smile, "it's perfect, and so thoughtful. I'm sorry I haven't done the same for you in Nashville yet."

"'s alright, love. I've already got a toothbrush there at least. I can take some time when we fly back to come and help if you'd like me to. As long as you don't end up wearing all the clothes that I leave there," he chuckled.

"You know me too well," you said, reaching for his hand. He lifted your entwined fingers to his lips to brush a kiss over your knuckles.

"You do look good in my clothes," he confessed, pulling you close to face him. "Look good in my house. But you always look good anyways."

"Said the pot to the kettle," you said with a smile. "I like being here already," you shrug, hands resting on his shoulders. "It feels like you, like home. Thank you for inviting me," you add, as though the measly voicing of your appreciation is enough to convey what you truly feel.

"You're welcome anytime, if I'm here or not."

"You trust me that much?"

"Yeah, I do. I'll get you a key and everything." He leaned down to kiss you slowly, relearning the map of your lips and mouth, before pulling away. He laughed when you made a noise of protest.

"The bathroom's over here if you'd like to freshen up." He had pulled at your hand, stepping towards the other open door in the room. "Figured a shower might sound nice after a long day in an airplane. Besides, I've gotta clean up before we go to Mum's anyways."

"Gonna join me?"

"Yeah, thought I might, if that's okay." His smirk had been wicked as he pushed you the rest of the way into the bathroom. He dropped your hand to reach for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head quickly. As he reached for the buckle of his pants, he had met your staring eyes. "See something you like, love?"

You definitely had, though you didn't think your attraction — physically or emotionally — for Harry had stopped at something that was as weak as "like." Getting to know him over the last six months had made you worry that there wasn't ever going to be anyone else like him, anyone that made you feel like he did. You had fallen for him, desperately hard, and the realization of it as you stood in front of his half-naked self almost embarrassed you.

"Babe? You alright?" he asked as he stripped down to his boxers.

"Yeah, you just got me all distracted," you had grinned, pulling your sweatshirt and remaining clothes off quickly before joining Harry under the warm spray of the water.

Meeting Harry's mom that evening went better than you could've ever dreamt it would. The two of you got on like old friends, and Harry had stared, almost in wonder, at how easily you seemed to bond with her. And then he had stared in horror as Anne offered to pull out the photo albums filled with pictures from Harry's childhood, particularly when Anne offered up the album filled with photos from Harry's and Gemma's emo phases.

As the evening wore on, you caught Harry on more than one occasion glancing your way, cheeks bright from the red wine he was sipping on and eyes warmly reflecting the bright Christmas lights. He always looked like he was a split second away from saying something, only to shake his head and look away with a small smile.

Later, in bed, Harry pulled you close to him. He was laying on his back, you on your side, and you threw a leg over his waist, soaking in all of the cuddles you could get on this short trip together. The room was only illuminated by the ambient light coming in through the blinds.

"Mum liked you a lot," he murmured, gently stroking the skin at the base of your spine, "said I should hang onto you".

You returned the gesture, running your fingertips along the lines of ink that make up his many tattoos. "I liked her too. She's wonderful, I see where you get it from now."

"Hey now, 'm wonderful all on my own!" He tickled your side and you couldn"t help but arch towards him, shrieking and laughing at the touch.

"Stop that! You are an absolute pest, you know that?" you said, grinning up at him.

"Ah, you love me," he whispered, and his joking tone made you smile but the way he pulled you tighter as he said it made you brave.

You let the weight what you were about to say wash over you, aware that things were going to change forever with just a few words. "I do love you, Harry," you whispered, moving up his body to press a kiss to his lips.

"Thank God," he had said, wrapping his arms back around you and pulling you on top of him. "Cause I love you too."

Leaving Harry after that had been even more difficult. All you wanted to do was be with him, but you had too much coming up with the future release of your album and Harry was still in the midst of doing his own writing and recording.

It was your professions, along with the desire to keep your relationship private, that kept you apart. You weren't sure how you did it, but your relationship had withstood the distance and odd-hours. The only step now would be deciding if, when, and how to confirm the suspicions to tabloids and fans alike that you were an item.

The wait was killing you. All you wanted was to show off to the world that Harry was yours.

///

The bridge of the song was followed quickly by the chorus and the heavy guitar and pounding drums had you rocking on your feet, body swaying into the mic stand as you let yourself get lost in the lyrics. "If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive."

The crowd was even more into the song now, many picking up on the words quickly and screaming them along with your singing. The rock and roll vibe of the song was coursing through you and the crowd, the arena electric with energy already.

"You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it."

You remove the mic from the stand and dance towards one end of the stage, singing as you move to the beat. "We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh! La da da da da! You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

///

You had been on the phone with Harry one day in July, nearly five months after the release of your album, having him help you decide what the setlist of your tour would be when it began in November.

"I wish I could cover one of your songs."

He had laughed and slurped his tea, the sounds comforting to you, even over the phone. "That'd be a bit obvious, wouldn't it love?"

"I don't mean cover Golden or Kiwi," you said, tapping your pen against the pad of paper in front of you. "What about one you wrote for 1D? What about Perfect? Or Stockholm Syndrome! That was always one of my favorites."

"Getting permission on those might be a bit more difficult, s'not just me that's gotta sign off on it. Besides, do you really wanna be the artist that covers a One Direction song on her own headlining tour?"

"Guess I'll stick with singing along to them in the shower then."

You were both quiet for a moment, lost in your own thoughts.

"What if I covered Medicine?" you asked suddenly, realizing it was the perfect compromise, not to mention your favorite song that Harry himself performed oh his own tour. The rock sound wasn't a far cry from the roots that country music had and you knew it would sound great. "Even if it was just for one stop!"

"Hmm," Harry mused. "It would sound great with the band, I'll give you that. But videos will go around, people will know it's my song you're singing and they'll connect the dots about us."

"H, I'm ready for that if you are. I love you, and I'm ready to be able to share that love that I have for you with the world. Sneaking around has been fun but I want people to know how proud of you I am and how much you're loved and appreciated. Half of our fans know already, it's just a matter of us confirming it. I think that we could really-"

Harry was laughing at your rambling on the other end of the line. "Alright, alright, you drive a hard bargain, love. I think you're right, maybe it is time we stopped sneaking around. I'll try, but Jax and everyone else still have to agree to it too. It might be easier to convince everyone if it's just a one time thing. Pick another cover, something you'd normally do, in case it takes some time to work things out."

"I'll ask him right now! Thank you Harry!"

"I just have one condition," he said, and you could hear the grin that was surely pulling at the corners of his lips.

"What's that?"

"I get to perform it with you," he had said, and the smile already on your face widened exponentially. "If we're finally gonna make "us" public, may as well do it with a bang."

///

In the moment after the chorus, an 8 count beat is carried by the drummer and guitarist. For this performance, and the only performance you'd put on of this song, you had rehearsed the 8 count repeating once between the chorus and the next verse, as you needed a bit of extra time to announce your guest performer.

"Ladies and gentlemen," you shout into the mic, grin wide and face beaming already at what was about to take place. "To help me finish this performance, please help me welcome my very good friend, Harry Styles!"

Harry emerges from behind the stage holding his own wireless mic as much of the crowd screams - he may not be a country artist, but he was absolutely known worldwide. You step back with a wave of your arm, smiling as he begins the next chorus. His performance is for the crowd but he's singing the words directly to you.

"Tingle running through my bones, fingers to my toes, tingle running through my bones," he sings, voice smooth like whiskey, and the crowd adores him, eating out of the palm of his hand. "The boys and the girls are in, I mess around with them, and I'm OK with it."

You can't help but dance as he sings, his voice and the energy of the crowd propelling you to move. He watches you, eyes no longer on the crowd, as he sings the next lines. Immediately, heat pools low in your belly at his glance and the words.

"I'm coming down, I figured out I kinda like it. And when I sleep I'm gonna dream of how you…"

You gyrate your hips at the unsung line of "ride it", listening with a sly grin as some in the crowd scream the two words that go unsung.

///

After giving him a key, Harry had moved some of his clothes to your apartment in Nashville some time while you were away on the first leg of your tour. He had found the city to be incredibly welcoming and inspirational for his upcoming album and had decided to stay there for a spell while you continued to tour around the country.

You had scheduled a short break between your concerts over New Years, wanting to be able to grab at least one or two nights at home with him to celebrate the holiday before you were back on the road again.

"So fucking glad you're home," Harry panted, pulling your shirt over your head before attaching his lips to yours once again. "Missed you like crazy."

"Missed you too," you moaned as his lips moved downwards, across your neck and over your collarbones, down the valley between your breasts. Before he could reach around to unhook your bra, you reached for his shirt, as desperate as he was to see and touch what you'd been missing.

As he pulled the half-unbuttoned blouse over his head, you pulled your leggings off and reached for him, pushing him back onto the bed behind him. He unbuttoned his pants as he scooted up towards the middle of the bed, shoving them and his boxers off in one swoop.

You climbed on top of him, hurriedly reaching to kiss him as you rubbed your clothed center along the length of his hard cock.

"Fuck," he hissed, throwing his head back to allow you room to kiss his neck. "Desperate aren't you, darling?"

"Want you so bad it hurts," you whispered, sucking a bright hickey right where it would absolutely be seen by anyone.

You moved to continue kissing down his chest but he stopped you with a hand under your arm. "Not gonna last long, love. Wanna be inside you."

His cheeks and chest were flushed bright red, lips puffy and pupils blown wide. This was when you loved him most, being able to have him like no one else did. The same feeling always hit you at certain moments, particularly ones of domesticity, like when you watched him back the car out of the driveway or when he stood in the kitchen in the morning in nothing but socks, boxers, and his ratty old robe, singing along to old big band jazz as he waited for the coffee to brew. There was Harry Styles the musician, Harry Styles the actor, and Harry Styles the performer, but then there was your Harry.

"Yeah, okay," you sighed, moving off of him quickly to remove your bra and panties. You climbed back onto the bed and threw your leg over his hips, straddling him. He immediately reached for you and pulled you flush against his chest, his lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss.

You rocked your hips against him as he held you, your slick arousal gliding along his length, drawing a moan from both of you.

"Baby, please," he panted, and you could only mod in agreement, lost already to the sweeping feeling of your close release.

His hands rested on your hips as you positioned him at the entrance between your legs. You groaned in harmony as you worked down him slowly, the only sound in the room was your shared heavy breathing and gasps.

"Fuck me," he sighed as you set a slow pace, rocking on top of him to reach each spot that you know will get you there.

"Workin' on it," you grin. A quick swivel of your hips hit at just the right angle and you tossed your head back, repeating the movement over and over again until you shuddered with a final snap of tension, your orgasm rolling over you as Harry helped you move, hands tight on your hips, to wring all you could from the release.

"You look so beautiful right now, like a fuckin' angel," Harry said, voice low and gravely, accent thick with need.

"How's that line go?" you said as you slowed down, smirking when a harsh rock of your hips caused Harry to moan. "'Turns out she's a devil in between the sheets'?"

"Fuck," he groaned again, eyes closed tightly. "Can't just go reciting my own lyrics to me while I"m buried in ya like this, love."

"And there's nothing you can do about it," you continued, singing the line of his song this time, and his hips buck up into yours harshly.

"You're gonna pay for that," he had said, quoting another of his songs, before he had flipped you over onto your back and set his own brutal pace.

///

Like he can read your thoughts, Harry beams and wags a finger in your direction and the crowd screams at your chemistry together. You grab your mic from its stand and take a step towards Harry to sing the chorus together.

"If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive." Harry dances off to the side of the stage, performing once again for the crowd.

You dance at center stage with your wireless mic, too excited about performing with Harry that you can't stand in one spot. The music and Harry's energy make you want to move. "You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it."

"We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh! La da da da da!" Harry throws his head back, singing along in his own world and you can't look away from him. He really was a rockstar and getting to share the stage with him like this was an experience you'd never forget.

"You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

There's a great pause in the lyrics where the guitar, keyboard, and drums play together, increasing the tension of the song. You and Harry take off towards opposite ends of the stage, both reveling in the performance for the crowd as you dance and stomp to the beat. Eventually, with a slide down the keys of the keyboard, the instrumental quiets into just the steady beat of the bass line joined by the hi-hats.

You and Harry urge the crowd to clap along as you both return to the middle of the stage to sing together once again. He always said that this portion of the song was one of his favorites to perform, the repeated line from the bridge ending abruptly with the lights going out before flashing back on, the added theatrics of the performance elevating the climax of the song completely. Having rehearsed that Harry would sing the following chorus alone, you let yourself get lost in his gaze as it settles on you.

You stand facing one another behind the mic stand, once again singing more to one another rather than to the crowd. You step closer towards him as the lyrics progress, nearly chest to chest now with your voices sharing one another's mics. "I had a few, got drunk on you and now I'm—"

Before you can sing the last word of the line and the lights can blink out as rehearsed, Harry leans forwards and captures your mouth in a hungry kiss. The crowd erupts with screams as the lights above the stage go dark.

You can feel rather than hear him say the words "I love you" against your lips and you have just enough time to repeat them back to him before the drums and guitar pick the beat up once again, the lights flashing back on brightly. He moves away and continues to sing the chorus that follows as if nothing had happened. You're a bit stunned, not having prepared for his relationship-revealing public display of affection to happen during your performance of his song but it was perfect and he knows it. Your smile is wide and you can't help but stand rooted where you are and laugh at what has just finally happened.

"If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive," he sings, smirking at you while you blush across from him.

You join him in singing the last lines, your right hand joining his left hand where everyone can see your fingers entwine.

"You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it. We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh!"

You urge the crowd with a waving hand to join in and they do, singing along with you and Harry. "La da da da da! You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

The drums and guitar end the song on five quick beats and the crowd erupts once again in screams. You immediately jump towards Harry, throwing your arms around his neck in a close embrace. His hands wrap around your waist to hold you close, and you can feel him smile where his face is pressed close to your jaw.

"How was that?" he asks, chuckling against you.

"It was perfect, you're perfect. Thank you, H. For everything."

"Can take you on a proper date now, yeah? Wanna show my girl off to the world."

"Yes, please!" You can't wipe the smile from your face as he sets you down and Harry continues to beam at you as the crowd continues screaming, reeling from your shared performance.

Harry nudges you gently before turning back to them, lifting his and your arms high in the air and leading you in bending for a bow. He steps away from you and turns, opening his arms wide to you for the crowd to praise and you laugh, tearing up at his gesture and the overwhelming emotions of the performance while you take another bow just for yourself.

He pulls you into another hug and you can't help but angle your face up towards him, wordlessly asking for another very quick, very public kiss.

He glances down at you, smiling. "You're gonna love this now, aren't you?"

"Course I am. love showing them you're mine."

He leans down to peck your forehead, your nose, and finally, your lips, as the crowd goes wild. "Love showing them you're mine. You've got a show to finish, love. Go kill it."

///

Ahh! So much fun! This has been such a joy to write and I appreciate you taking the time to give it a chance! It’s my first (of hopefully many) Harry fics - reading all of the stories here has been immensely inspiring, and I’m so looking forward to writing more!

Tagging my love @morganlatte who is a wonderful hype woman and beta reader. Thanks buddy!

Anyways! Thank you for reading! My love language is words of affirmation (aka I have a praise kink) so leave me a comment here if you feel so inclined!

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles story #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #one direction fanfiction #harry styles x you #reader insert fic #my writing #wow!#that was so much fun #i'm so in love with it

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yandere-sins · 4 years ago

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Hey~ been awhile but I jump back on every once in awhile to read up on your stuff ❤️ Was wondering if requests were open if I can have Daddyheroyandere!Deku scenario? His daughter and wife has finally managed to run away and is hiding out in alleys in the city but sadly gets caught by Husband and daddy lol I read the other one you had and LOVED it Scary smiles are my weakness

Hi! ♥ Hope you’ve been well, thanks for checking in on the blog :3 And thanks for requesting! Enjoy ^-^

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

There had been better times in the past.

The times where Midoriya had leaned onto his wife's legs, seated by her feet as she held their newborn baby, lulling it to sleep. The peaceful, serene times of family joy he went through with the two of them. He remembered every night he got up instead of his wife to calm their little daughter, the nights she crawled into their bed as a toddler because of a nightmare. The "Welcome back!" and "Bye Daddy!" when she started to speak, and the cuddles on the couch with his wife while they watched her unwrap presents on Christmas.

Midoriya had always kept those times in his mind as a reason to go on. As a reason to fight and protect what was his, and as a reason to act like he did, even if not everyone agreed it was the correct way. Sure, it had its ups and downs, but he prevailed through the difficult times and was rewarded with better ones. The world was bad, but he wasn't as bad as everything else was.

But even when all he ever did was give, give, give, the two most precious people in his world ended up corrupted after all. Midoriya blamed himself for not being more careful. It was his fault to a degree. He should have been more cautious and tried harder to save the two. His wife, his darling wife, always had trouble relying on him. She was a driving force in this matter, he was sure. But still! After years of being together, she should have known better than to run away, right? Especially taking their daughter with her down this grim path!

They were meant to be together! All of them were meant to be with each other! So why did they leave him behind? After everything he's done for them all their lives, why was it Midoriya they chose to abandon and suffer by himself? How was this fair?

There was noticeable panic in his voice as he called out their names times and times again. People rushed to his aid when they noticed a hero in trouble, but he waved them off with a fake smile, saying everything was under control, even though it clearly wasn't. At least, not his control.

Did the two even consider into what kind of light it would put him, a hero, that his wife and daughter ran away from him without any reason to? Did they stop even for a minute to think about what kind of impact they could have on his public image and their livelihood? It was also their mouths he was feeding, so why would they do something so rash?

The outside was cold, wet from the rain, and dark from the night falling over their heads. Midoriya searched the closest proximity of their home, but neither park nor neighbors could return to him what was his. Where could they have gone? he kept asking himself, body shaking with anxiety. What if they encountered a villain? An obstacle they couldn't handle themselves? What if they were crying and begging to be saved by their husband and father at that very moment? The thought alone made him want to rip out his throbbing heart, completely clouding his mind with worry.

Midoriya did the next best thing he could think of, approaching the still bustling city. If he couldn't find them here, he might have to call friends for help, unable to think of any other way. This ordeal began to drag out far too long, and with every second, he lost more and more of his sanity as he had to worry, fret, and despair about everything that went through his mind.

It was harder now to navigate, trying not to bump into someone on the pavement. He couldn't raise suspicion. No one could recognize him, so he pulled the hood of his jacket a bit deeper into his face. But no matter where he went, he kept losing focus, too desperate to find them. Here, in the middle of the city... it was loud, and yet, Midoriya couldn't hear anything. The noise formed into a mass and then faded out completely.

He came to a halt, feeling the heaviness of his legs, the worry slowing him down. Why did he deserve this? What did he ever do?

Slow, nagging thoughts reappeared in his mind. They teased him, harassed him even with their presence. Memories, long repressed and buried beneath the wonderful ones of his family, came back to him. Memories of violence and shouting, the constant fights with his wife, and the nights of terror they lived through. Chains, ropes, knives. Attacking, subduing, yelling. The constant fear lingering in their home before their daughter was born.

So maybe he did deserve it.

Maybe, this was his punishment now.

Midoriya looked up at the sky, wondering if some entity was punishing him. "What a joke," he chuckled. He was a hero. He fought all kinds of monsters on a daily. He was more of a god than anyone, and his purpose was to love and protect -especially his family - from evil. Getting blinded by the lights of the city, Midoriya closed his eyes, turning towards the alleyway to his right before he could open them again, the darkness there soothing to his nerves.

There, cowering, shivering, with their hands clasped over each other's mouth, they sat. His eyes widened, his pulse quickened, and his lips parted, but no word escaped him. He found them; he really found them!

"Got you," he hummed, a big smile forming on his lips, his grin wide enough to show teeth. "Let's go home, shall we?"

The forms of his partner and child began to shake more and more from fear as he approached, Midoriya kneeling down before them, his arms wide open to pull them into a hug. They were so cold, but they felt so good as they leaned in; no matter that, they couldn't stop flinching and shuddering as he hugged them tighter and tighter. They were so cold and afraid, and he was the only one to comfort them. "I know this was rough, but I am here now," he cooed to them as the first sobs broke from his wife's lips. "I will make everything right, so..."

Letting go of his wife, Midoriya pulled his daughter up into his arms, carrying her like she was only a toddler instead of a teenager. He held out one hand to his wife for her to hold on to, pulling her along after the two women shared a brief glance, and she hesitantly reached for the still merciful hand he offered. Just like a mother couldn't abandon her child, Midoriya couldn't abandon the both of them, even if now that he found them, he felt the seething rage burn on in his stomach. There was so much to shout at them for, to discipline and remind them.

But not tonight. Not when they needed Midoriya once more to bring them home and take care of them. "Let's go and make new memories to forget about this pitiful attempt, okay?"

It wasn't like he had broken a human before, one even enough to bear him a child.

He could do it again if he had to, just so he could keep this perfect little family of his.

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percydarling · 3 years ago

Text

Fred Lives (But does he really?)

Fred is alive.

He's not dead or lying under rubble or even a broken leg.

He's alive with all his organs intact. Sure there's some dirt and blood on his face but overall, he's okay.

Wait. Blood?

Oh no no no no no no.

He hears Ron before he sees it. Ron and Hermione holding the body with Harry staring dazed and shocked.

Fred crumpled to the ground mumbling no no no over and over agin. This can't be happening. He just came back. He was just here, it doesn't make sense. No, no,no this death could be avoided, it wasn't even an attack, it was just a stupid bloody wall made of magic and cement and whatever materials falling.

All Fred could do was hold Percy's body, his glasses somehow unbroken while his brother's heart was broken inside. His blue eyes staring now lifelessly at the ceiling, his hand clutching his wand close to his chest.

Maybe the most astonishing thing was that Percy was smiling and it wasn't the fake or polite smile. Really smiling, like a grin, as if.. as if he was happy.

Fred just wanted his brother back, he could lecture them on cauldron bottoms or stupid Ministry rules or scold them for leaving Hogwarts early or..or..or anything! It wasn't fair, it isn't fair.

Ron, ever the strategic was the first one on his feet.

"We need to hide the body and keep..keep it somewhere safe"

Fred couldn't do that. He had left Percy alone for far too long and he couldn't leave. He had to keep him safe, secure, away from this stupid bloody war. Couldn't Ron see that?

Thankfully Harry could.

Wordlessly, Harry put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, looking back at Hermione and Ron giving them a nod, their secret language of communication, and they understand before they leave together, Ron looking back at the body one last time.

Harry helps him lift Percy,and Fred is genuinely shocked at how light Percy is, but then he realises he's lifting his brother's dead body and all he can do is breathe as little as he could.

They find a place behind a pillar, where they keep Percy down.

Percy is dead.

He's not injured or unconscious, he's dead.

Fred's not sure if he was in shock before or if he's realising it again or he needs to confirm it or.. or.. or...

Merlin, Fred can't think straight, he can't even breathe.

"Fred, Fred look at me"

Harry's voice brings him out of it and Fred realises he's hyperventilating. Fred mirrors Harry's breathing pattern and Fred returns to normal.

Well as normal as they could in the middle of a bloody war.

"Okay Harry, let's do this. Let's go and defeat that bastard."

And with that both Fred and Harry run towards screams aiming at Deatheaters.

Fred hits more than a few and soon enough loses Harry in the crowd of people and blood. As much as he tries, Fred can't forget Percy's face, grining at him.

Fred has to be alive at the end of this war otherwise Percy's death would be worthless.

And Fred would not let that happen.

It doesn't help that he sees dead bodies littered on the floor, or blood that stains the floors of Hogwarts. How did they get here? How did this happen?

Dwelling on the past is of no use .

That's what Percy had told him before they had gone together.

"Come on Perce, let's go defeat the bad blokes"

"You want me to come with you?"

It's the shock on his face that makes Fred feel horrible. When was the last time they did anything together?

"Of course I do, you're my brother, besides I've not seen you for 3 years. It's time we do some brotherly bonding mate!"

Fred and Percy both gasp at the last word.

Mate?!

When had Fred ever called Percy mate?

"Well there's a first time for everything", Percy smiled, as he said that.

Fred grinned at that and then realised that maybe he hadn't been the best brother to Percy in a long while.

"Percy, I'm sorry about everything be-"

He didn't get to finish because Percy interrupted

"Oh ssh now, you forgive me and I forgive you. There's nothing more to it. This is our first brotherly bonding moment out of the many yet to come. Let's enjoy it."

It felt good to hear that. For Fred, it was like a new chapter opened up, a new experience, a second chance.

"Besides dwelling on the past is of no use to anyone, neither me ,nor you", Percy said wisely as he pulled Fred up on his feet.

"Okay smart arse, let's go and hex people, before you say any more of your wise phrases and tire yourself out oldie"

"You do know I'm only 2 years older than you right? Of course you wouldn't know, you're just a toddler"

"Hey!"

And with witty banter, both of them marched towards the zone of screams.

Brotherly bonding. That's never going to happen now. Percy's gone and this time for good.

No more second chance, no more nothing and that's even worse, isn't it? About to begin something new, a new thing, and just like that, that hope disappears.

Fred can't even remember a good memory with Percy, he can't and that's absolutely terrifying.

However, he can't analyze this now, there'll be time later. Like Percy said, dwelling on the past is of no use.

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

After hexing and killing and injuring plenty of Deatheaters, there is for a moment of peace, the war isn't over yet but there is a calm.

Fred sighs, he's just tired, so tired. He's so young yet he feels like he aged a decade in the last few hours. Was that how Mum and Dad felt during the First War? Maybe, maybe not.

He sees Mum first before the others and then he remembers, he has to tell them. A selfish part of him wishes that Ron must have told them first, so he doesn't have to.

He approaches them and the relief on his Mum's face when she sees him almost makes him break down right there and then, because she doesn't know.

She pulls him in for a hug, and just for that one minute it's comforting to just be held by your mother so tight, it makes him feel better. Fred feels warm.

And just like that she lets him go, and the feeling of dread returns.

"Mum-"

He's immediately tackled into a hug by his twin and George holds him so tightly as if he was well dead. He should be.

Any other time, Fred would have brushed George off and tell him he was being too emotional but now, he was just hoping that George would never let go. He doesn't know how he would feel if George would have died. He doesn't know how George would feel if he had died.

He just cannot imagine a world where they both die and now they both don't have to.

After George finally lets him go, Fred tries to approach the topic again

"I need to te-"

"Oh Ron, Thank Merlin you're alright"

Mum interrupts him this time as she sees Ron walking. Ron looks tired, dark circles under his eyes and body heavy as if carrying the world's fate on his back(well that's true). The point being that Ron looked exhausted

And as Ron stood among the group of red hair, they were almost a family.

Almost.

Charlie wasn't here and Percy was...

Fred shared a look with Ron, they both knew they had to tell them but they didn't want to or how were they going to tell them. Just saying it out? Beating around the bush?

No. They just had to say it out even if they didn't want to.

Then Ginny asked the question they were dreading.

"Where's Percy?"

#percy weasley #fred weasley #percy weasley fic #dead percy #angst #perct weasley centric #weasley family

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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

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wildlyglittering · 4 years ago

Text

My Gift to You

I received an anonymous request to write something about Nesta and Rhys’ relationship post ACOSF and them having a conversation. The requestor said that their relationship didn’t feel genuine enough and that they had a lot of work to do before they consider themselves brother/ sister.

I mean.... same anon. Same. The relationship was definitely not one of happy families in my eyes and personally Rhys buying Nesta gifts just felt like the cheapest way to close the lid on their ‘relationship.’

I don’t know if this is what anon wanted but I just can’t write a future where those two truly bond and get along. So this is Nesta and Rhys as I feel would be most appropriate.

***

‘Brother,’ she’d called Rhys. It was not a word which drifted from her lips as easily as it did from Feyre’s when she used the term to refer to Cassian, or for Cassian himself when he spoke of his kin.

Brother.

There had been no time for thinking, not with the screaming and shrieking and the copper tang of blood filling her nose. Rhys was losing his mind and the healer, Madja, was next to useless, pleading with Feyre to fight death - an act as impactful as a raindrop at the bottom of the ocean.

If fighting death were easy, everyone would win.

Nesta knew if you needed to beg for a life, you needed to beg to what could heed you.

The memory of what transpired for Nesta, when she stepped from one form into another, had faded over time like some strange fever dream.

There had been a presence swimming next to her, a shark with a sharp fin and razor teeth, twisting and arching, waiting to tear from her what she had torn out first. But something else was with her, someone else, with a golden light to illuminate Nesta’s way.

Something given and something gained. Those were the thoughts floating in her mind once she’d been present again.

Nesta sought out the opening of Feyre’s eyes, desperately listened for a new-born’s wail and thankfully, she received both.

Afterwards, in the calm, long after she’d embraced Rhys, Nesta wondered what she had meant by that word - brother.

Even as she cradled Nyx’s delicate head in the nook of her arm, stroking the tufts of downy black hair, she didn’t think of him as someone she shared with Rhys. No, despite the hair and sleepy violet eyes, he was someone Nesta shared with Feyre.

Sister. That was a stronger word.

The first infant Nesta ever held was Feyre. She remembered a scrunched up red face peeking behind a blanket as her new baby sister was placed in her arms while a toddler Elain sobbed in the background, upset at not being baby anymore.

I already have one of these.

That was her first thought, her first memory of Feyre.

“Look”, someone had said as Feyre opened her eyes, “they’re the same as yours, Nesta. The very same.”

For a long time, that’s all they had in common. The gift of the same eyes.

Perhaps Nesta had called Rhys brother because in that moment he was. He was her mirror counterpart, not a piece of her heart or soul the way Feyre, Elain and Cassian were but something prominent nonetheless. A shard of glass slicing into each other’s bones that they just couldn’t pull out.

Thank you, he’d said and she wanted to tell him not to say those words. She didn’t do anything requiring praise, she did what she did for the love of her sister and her sister’s child.

Do not thank me for my very nature.

They drifted into an uneasy peace. A gulf remained between Nesta and Elain which Nesta had no energy to remedy, but a bridge had been built between Nesta and Feyre and the connection was one Nesta strengthened as much as possible.

Nesta walked with Feyre around her gardens, joined at dinners and was polite and nodded and minded her manners and, when she had enough, she would return to the House of Wind and let Cassian love her.

As time passed, so did Nesta’s thoughts of Rhys as a brother.

Once again, he became her sister’s mate, her mate’s friend, her nephew’s father. Once again, he became High Lord. Ruler. Overseer.

Months after Nyx’s birth, Rhys and Feyre attended Winter to visit Viviane who had recently birthed her first child - a girl and rumours had followed of secret meetings between the High Lords. Rhys had purchased numerous furs; thick, luxurious pelts in sable, fawn and silver and sent them Nesta’s way.

“I don’t want these things he gives me,” she told Cassian soon after, standing in a room filled with Rhys’ tokens.

“The furs aren’t too bad,” Cassian replied. “They make the floor more comfortable,” he said, his mouth hot on her neck.

She allowed him to distract her but at night while Cassian slept, she walked around the House, grazing objects with her fingertips and glared at the ones which seemed to shimmer too bright, too long. The House itself rippled with unease.

“They’re all junk,” Nesta said to the darkened hallways. “Jewels and silks and throw cushions.”

Feyre and Rhys had told her once, not long ago, how embarrassed they were at the quantity of their money she’d spent on her path towards destruction. Her pulse jumped underneath her skin at the memory.

There had been no love for her life back then, no begging and pleading to a higher power. No, it had been their love for their finances, their concern for their reputation, their lack of control over Nesta which spiralled into entrapment.

Die, she’d heard. Just do so cheaply and in the dark.

Although the word ‘brother’ faded from her mind, Nesta let her animosity go with it. She had the sweetness of her nephew to immerse herself in and she marvelled at the smile on his gummy mouth and the way he wriggled across the floor on his belly towards her, perfect black wings tucked against his body.

One day he would use them to soar the skies and his freedom, his life, was the best gift Nesta had ever received.

His life was the best gift Nesta would ever give.

Nyx was shy of a year old when the whispers started. One day they didn’t exist and the next – they did. They held a metallic quality as though they being spoken through the clang of steel on steel.

High King.

One night, while Cassian rested on the furs, naked and sated, she trailed her fingertips up his knee, up his thigh to where his flesh lay, warm and re-hardening.

“Tell me,” she said, circling a finger around the tip, “what did Rhys speak to Kallias about all those months ago?”

Cassian exhaled a long breath. “Rhys wants Kallias to accept him as ruler.”

“Of the Night Court?”

“No, he – ah, don’t stop – of Prythian.”

“And what was their arrangement? How could Rhys obtain Kallias’ agreement?”

Cassian’s gasps filled her ears. “Through Nyx,” he forced out, “a promise he would marry Kallias’ daughter.”

After that she listened more to what the clanging whispers told her across the breeze, to what the House told her, to what she heard outside closed doors in Rhys’ home on visits to her sister.

Nesta was as serene as the Mother herself when she drifted to Rhys’ study and lingered by the locked door where he and Amren held counsel.

“They are the same as before, inert and useless.”

“Get her to the blacksmith, boy.”

“Her ability is gone.”

“Possibly, but test her to be sure. If she forges a hundred thousand swords then at least one might be Made.”

“She won’t do it.”

“Ban her from seeing the child until she does. She’ll forge then.”

Nesta closed her eyes, clenching her fists until her nails dug into her palms and blood trickled through her knuckles.

For a moment Nesta became a blade, sharp and dangerous, mounted on a wall and viewing Rhys and Amren from a height. The shadows danced from the lit hearth onto Rhys making his face sunken and hollow. For the first time, Rhys looked every inch the ancient creature he was.

Amren walked to the blade that was Ataraxia, that was Nesta, her silver eyes reflected in the shining metal, a palm splayed outwards with the reverence a worshipper showed their god.

“Turns out she wasn’t a pathetic waste of life after all.”

From then on Nesta would listen to what the blades told her.

Rhys took them from their mounts and held them, caressed them as he should his sleeping mate, his violet eyes passing from hilt to blade tip as his pupils grew fat with want.

They spoke to him but they didn’t listen and Rhys struggled with the push and pull every time he lifted a blade from the wall.

He practiced with them in the safety of his study but the blades were too heavy and made him clumsy, leaving the usually graceful High Lord stumbling over his feet. A ripple spread through the metal almost as though the sword were laughing.

We are no advantage to him, the whispers told her and Nesta knew they were infused with the anger she held towards Rhys when she Made them. Now, they said, now he believes himself your brother and he would like a new gift.

Instead that was what she asked him for, next time she was at his home.

“Hello, sister,” and his smile was akin to a wolf’s as it waited in the field for lambs.

“Rhys.”

He agreed vigorously to her request before she even named her price. Maybe Rhys thought he could eventually turn the bee itself into honey.

“I’ve given some thought,” she said, “and I’d like something back. Eris has the dagger but you have two swords remaining in your possession. Keep the small one but Ataraxia, I would like her to be mine. I will never ask anything else from you.”

The smile on his face froze into place as though he’d gone into the depths of Winter and been lost.

Though the blade wasn’t his, he didn’t want it to be hers.

“I don’t think so,” his voice soft. “What if someone tries to take advantage of you and steals the sword away?”

“I’d destroy it first.” However much the thought pained her, Ataraxia’s destruction had been considered - a gift to the other High Lords, one they would never know they’d received.

Rhys shook his head, his eyes dark. “No,” he said, “I need them.” Despite their resistance they were the only Made weapons in his hold.

“Why?”

He said nothing.

Nesta’s lip curled into a sneer. “To be High King, Rhys?”

He glowered at her.

“You know you’re starting a war among incredibly powerful High Lords?”

“I’m the most powerful.”

“There are more of them, they will combine their powers.”

“I have allies.”

“You have enemies.”

“I have friends.”

Nesta sighed and looked to the two swords, the metal glinting as though caught by firelight although the fire was unlit. Her name was murmured, the rasp of metal on metal.

“They’re your friends now but you’re demanding they give up their people, their lands and heritage to you and for what? Why would they do that willingly?”

She turned away from him and stood before the mounted blades. Her reflection was as clear as though they were mirrors, as was Rhys’ behind her, a dark mist forming over his skin.

“This is a war your son will likely reach adulthood in,” she continued, “do you want that for him?”

“I’m doing this for him,” Rhys spat, “you’re no mother, you wouldn’t understand. This is his legacy. My gift to him.”

A calm transcended over Nesta, as though she were wading through the clear waters of a pool, a loving hand on her back reminding her of their presence.

“Your gift to him should be allowing him to live his life. To allow him to care for the people of the Night Court, to give him the chance to fall in love and choose a partner of his own calling.”

“You don’t understand,” Rhys said again, “you had power for mere months and you think you’re the authority of giving it up. It’s a choice you wouldn’t have made if you understood what powerlessness meant.”

Once, when she wore another body, she could count the ribs underneath her skin by tracing them with her fingertips.

Once, in that same body, a man had pressed himself against her, his tongue forced into her mouth.

Once, Fae had ripped away her bedsheet and dragged her from her bed while Elain’s screams echoed in the dark hallway. She had drowned in the depths of the Cauldron, she’d watched her father’s blood spray across the grass, and she’d been dragged from her bed once more to be drugged and bound with her new body useless.

“If you say so.”

Nesta repeated Amren’s actions and traced her finger against the blade, Ataraxia shivered as though Nesta were running a finger down the spine of a lover. The sword moved, almost imperceptibly, but Nesta saw and wondered if Rhys did.

She’d bargained for the lives of his mate and son and yet Rhys wasn’t satisfied. Nesta was his mirror and so he gave her gifts believing she would want them as much as he did, because he continually sought out tokens to keep. He believed she would never be satisfied because he never was.

Nesta left, leaving him with the blades. They would be no benefit for him anyway and it wouldn’t be long before Ataraxia came back to her. Nesta understood now that Ataraxia had been her gift to herself.

All gone now, the Inner Circle assumed. After saving Feyre’s life, Nesta’s gift from the Cauldron is exhausted.

Lies, she thought as she walked the paths of Velaris to head home. All lies. The Cauldron had never gifted Nesta with anything. Everything she held had been stolen, ripped from something that never intended her to have it.

The sky was black, the fae lights of the taverns and restaurants glowing amber against the pitch and the happy chatter of the city revellers emerged from behind doors. All these fae living their lives as best they could, trusting in the protection of their High Lord.

They weren’t the same, her and Rhys, they were mirrored on the surface only.

Yes, they both stole power from those who never intended to gift it but she would die for those she loved while Rhys would kill for them.

The cold air was sharp and drew Nesta’s thoughts from the corners of her mind like a knife drew blood when sliced against skin. She drew her cloak around her shoulders and wrapped her arms around her middle.

There had been screaming and blood and Nesta’s pleas. There had been the dark slithering laughter of something taking something back. But there had also been the warmth of a hand, ethereal and eternal on her back and a golden magic which poured into Nesta until it overflowed.

Daughter.

The Mother had welcomed Nesta and received her gift with open arms, re-gifting to her in return.

Death transmuted into life. Quieter but no less powerful. No less valuable in the future to come.

This is yours, Nesta was told, and will remain so until the end. This is my gift to you.

TAGGING

@live-the-fangirl-life

@champanheandluxxury

@dontgetsalmonella

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yannowhatigiveup · 4 years ago

Text

T.W.A.A: The Eccedentesiast

This is a one shot I started last night and I finished it at around 2 am because I’m an insomniac. Sadly this isn’t the 10k+ word one shot I was talking about (I’m still writing it aaa) but this one is around 4-5k words long so I hope you enjoy. This is rushed, badly written, badly plotted and badly named.

TW: Dark topics such as sexual assault and suicide is mentioned in this piece of writing.

Paris, the City of Love, what a big misconception that was. If anything, Paris should've been labeled as the City of Misery considering the fact it was haunted by a villain who preyed on negative emotions. No one outside of Paris knew though, they were oblivious to the fact hundreds, thousands even millions had died in the city home to the Eiffel Tower, only to be resurrected and tormented with the memories of their death. It was worse for Marinette though, she had watched all the citizens, her beloved citizens, die before her eyes and she was powerless to help them. Their screams of anguish and cries of pain forever ghosted her nightmares. It wasn't just their blood that she drowned in, she was bullied, abused and betrayed in her civilian form by those she trusted the most.

Her classmates. She thought she could trust them but they left her for someone shinier and newer. They all hurt her, destroyed her hard work, verbally and physically bullied her. Nino and Kim, her childhood friends had turned their backs on her too, even joining the others in causing her physical and emotional pain. Alya, her best friend, had become her main abuser. The reporter stabbed the poor bluenette in the back, figuratively. Lila was the one who did it literally. Lila, the sound of the name itself made Marinette sick, after all, the brunette was the one who did this to her. She made her friends turn their backs on her, she made them abuse her and she only watched with fake crocodile tears and a smug smile when no one was looking. And Adrien, he was the worst of all. When Marinette was younger, Adrien was the embodiment of perfection. But now? All she could see was a spineless coward and a predator.

As Chat Noir, he wouldn't participate in the battles, only flirting with her hero persona. He would whine like a toddler when she rejected his advancements. Even when he did join in the battles, he was useless, ignoring anything that Ladybug would tell him and go straight for the kill which never worked. Chat Noir was incompetent and a sexual harasser. As Adrien, however, he was much more. Just two days ago, he had tried to sexually assault the young bluenette. The blonde had underestimated the girl and she managed to get away but nothing could erase her memory of the event.

The ultimatum Lila had delivered to Marinette when she thirteen seemed over-dramatic and seemingly impossible at the time. Yet three years later, she was at the point of no return. Her classmates, her friends, her teachers, the boy she once loved, her partner, her parents. They all left her. Mayor Bourgeois, fearing for his daughter's safety, had sent Chloe to New York with her mother. Luka was on tour with his father so they could build a better relationship. Kagami had a family affair back in Japan that would last for at least a month. She was truly alone. Her parents had fallen victim to Lila's lies and Marinette overheard them discussing about kicking her out. The only one by her side throughout the whole ordeal was Tikki, her beloved kwami. Even Master Fu had to leave her.

Marinette felt shut out by the rest of the world. Sure, Paris adored Ladybug but it felt different. She was fighting battles alone, she stood as the last survivor, the last protector of Paris. She took that title in stride, or that's what the Parisians thought. In reality, she was hiding behind a mask.

The bluenette had suffered endlessly for years, she was ready to break that cycle of torture. Yesterday, she came to the solid conclusion of who Hawkmoth was, who is accomplices were and what his motive was. Gabriel Agreste was the man behind Paris' torment, Nathalie Sancœr was one of his accomplices and so was Lila Rossi. For his motive, he wanted to bring his wife back. Marinette understood the pain he was in but she wouldn't go to such extreme lengths as he did. Many years ago, Marinette made a friend, one of her very best friends who she fell for. But she never told anyone who he was, where he came from or even the fact that she met someone. The reason behind this was the fact she witnessed his murder. That death, of all she witnessed, was the most heartbreaking. Even when all these years have passed, she never truly got over his death. His green eyes always lingered her mind.

The bluenette let out an anguished sigh, she was on the Eiffel Tower, admiring the city's skyline despite all its obvious flaws under close inspection. Though Marinette had drastically mentally changed, she would always put on the same mask, she would always portray herself as a regular school girl. This was the one time she felt a little peace in her chaotic excuse for a life. Her blue eyes stared off into the distance, focusing on nothing in particular when she heard footsteps coming from behind. In her peripheral vision, Marinette could see the figure of Gabriel Agreste slowly approaching. Not wanting anything to happen, she made her knowledge of her appearance known.

"I never expected to see you somewhere so public, Monsieur Agreste" Her voice remained neutral. Gabriel didn't flinch meaning that he had expected her to sense his arrival, it made the young girl slightly unnerved but she refused to show it.

"The Eiffel Tower holds the greatest inspiration, as a designer yourself I'm sure you are aware" Marinette was used to his cold voice by now, she kept her guard up reminding herself that this was Hawkmoth was standing a few feet away.

She hummed, putting the two miraculous users in a deathly silence, until she decided to break it. "You know, you could've just asked" The older man raised an eyebrow in confusion but Marinette never looked in his direction, "It would've saved a lot of bloodshed"

Gabriel managed to catch up with what she was saying. "Are you implying that I am Hawkmoth?" He didn't sound offended or defensive, merely curious.

"I'm not implying anything" She replied curtly, then turning to face him. "I am merely stating a fact"

The miraculous user turned away from her, focusing his gaze on the city's skyline once more. "What are you going to do with this knowledge?"

The question confused Marinette, surely he would've attacked her or try to get her to remain silent?

He must've noticed her confusion. "Even if you wanted to, you wouldn't say anything"

Marinette turned her full body towards the taller man, she was going to end Hawkmoth's reign as quickly as she could. "I can heal her"

"What?"

"I can heal her" The bluenette repeated. "Emilie"

Gabriel also turned to face her, his usual cold scowl was replaced with a staggered expression. "Y-you can? Even after all I've done as Hawkmoth?"

Her head twisted back to portrait that was Paris. "To end it all, yes I will"

"Then please, follow me and I promise I will give you my miraculous as well as Mayura's. Just, heal my wife please" His tone changed from intrigued to pleading, Marinette could see that he meant every word.

"Oh don't worry... I will"

~~~

"I did it!" Tim's voice echoed in the Batcave.

"Did what replacement?"

"I found Hawkmoth's identity!"

Around three months ago, Wonder Woman had noticed Green Lantern trying to delete a video. She stopped him before he successfully did the task and watched the video herself, calling a meeting to express her anger about the situation. Most were shaken since they had never seen the Amazonian this livid before. She briefly explained how her mother was once a miraculous user and how powerful these magical jewelry could be. Aqua Man also shared his concerns, revealing that the fall of Atlantis was due to the miraculous. They knew the logical decision was to work on this from outside of Paris, the villain preyed on negative emotions and they had been ignoring the Parisians' calls for help for four years. Their sudden appearance would definitely trigger the heroes. So in the last month, they had gathered files of nearly every person in Paris as well as all the necessary information about every akuma attack. It was tiring for the Bats but they trudged through it anyway.

Damian had taken a special interest in the spotted-heroine specifically, without the knowledge of any of his family members. She appeared similar to a female friend he had made quite some time ago, the one who had witnessed an assassination attempt on him. He saddened him to no end knowing that the friend he loved thought he was dead. The green-eyed boy became one hundred percent convinced that this hero was his friend.

One day, Dick had caught him in the Batcave observing a recently taken image of the Ladybug heroine. His older brother thought that Damian was crushing on the lady and began to tease him as others entered the cave.

"Tt, that's not true" the green-eyed boy retaliated.

"If you don't have a crush on Ladybug then why are you staring at an image of her?" Dick added more information necessary so that his younger brothers could join in on teasing his youngest brother.

The Robin vigilante sighed and brought everyone's attention to the screen. "See that?"

"All I see is this little lady Demon Spawn" Jason's smirk was quickly gone when he noticed Damian's serious expression.

"She's alone" he stated simply and before anyone could get a word in, her explained further. "There is usually a team with her"

Everyone seemed to lean closer to the screen.

"She's fighting alone. Her 'partner' doesn't participate in the battles anymore, he stays on the sidelines, observing" He let the others catch up to what he was saying. "The attacks have been lasting a lot longer than usual, Ladybug leads a super hero team correct? Then why is she fighting alone this time."

"They could have all been killed... We have to go to Paris to help the poor girl" Dick turned to Bruce. "Who knows how much longer she'll last alone fighting a psycho butterfly man!"

Bruce's fatherly instincts were screaming at him from merely looking at the photo. "I'll announce to the League that we'll be joining the fight in Paris"

~~~

Gabriel lead Marinette to his office, Nathalie wearily watching. Just as he was about to open the double doors, his assistant collapsed in uncontrollable coughing. Marinette was much faster than the older man so she got to the woman first. The bluenette carefully put Nathalie down on one of the chairs available while putting her hand on where she thought the assistant would where the peacock brooch. The blue-eyed girl could sense the broken miraculous' energy trapped in the woman so she did the only reasonable thing she could at that moment, she extracted the corrupted magic, healing Nathalie almost instantly. Marinette ignored Gabriel's relieved expression and gestured for him to lead her to Emilie.

"When this is over, I wish to have a restraining order against your son"

"May I ask why?"

"..."

"...I understand, I'll make sure to tell Nathalie"

The older man stopped before a painting of his wife, his fingers reached for the painted shapes and pressed on them, revealing an elevator to which he went down in. Following his motion, Marinette placed her hand on the painting and allowed herself to descend down the mansion. It lead her to a repository with a catwalk which lead to a circular platform covered in luscious greenery. In the middle on the platform was a class-covered cryogenic pod which the sleeping body of Emilie Agreste lay. The bluenette carefully made her way to the glass casket, placing her hand on the transparent material when she finally reached her destination. Focusing all her energy, a red light erupted from her finger tips and it soaked into Emilie's skin. Gabriel opened the pod, carefully watching his wife as Marinette took a step back. Suddenly her eyes fluttered open.

"G-Gabriel, what happened?"

The man didn't reply, he simply hugged the woman of his dreams before turning the the young girl.

"I... Thank you Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng, I can give you the miraculous now if-"

"Ladybug will be at the Eiffel Tower soon, I suggest you give the miraculous to her then"

Gabriel nodded and thanked the girl once more as she left. Before she reached the lift that would lead her back up to Gabriel's office, Marinette turned to face the newly reunited couple.

"Enjoy the happiness in your life, Monsieur Agreste, you never know when it may end"

She then turned to leave, not wanting to here what her former idol had to say. When she reached the main floor of the Agreste Mansion, Marinette was greeted by Nathalie. The bluenette acknowledged the assistant with a nod, meaning that Emilie was awake. The assistant let out a sigh of relief and rushed to Adrien's room, not wanting to be around the blonde boy, Marinette promptly left. Once out of the premises of the mansion, she transformed and waited for Gabriel to return the miraculous. What she didn't realise was that the Justice League would also be coming to pay her a visit.

It felt like an eternity, waiting for the miraculous to be handed back to her but the bluenette was patient. She waited four years for this moment, but she had to share the moment alone. It was bittersweet. Soon enough Gabriel arivied, hastily giving Ladybug both the brooches with apologetic eyes and leaving without a word. The spotted heroine presumed that he wanted to get back to his wife and son, she couldn't blame him. Ladybug reached for her yo-yo teary-eyed, she was going to put both miraculous in her weapon before returning them in the miracle box but she stopped when she heard multiple figures approaching where she was standing.

~~~

Batman and his sons were the ones to go to Paris and alert Ladybug of their findings. The five men found themselves in front of the Eiffel Tower, Tim found out that was were the heroes would return to after their patrol.

"We must tell Ladybug right away" Batman pulled out his grappling hook and flung himself to one of the higher levels, all but Robin followed suit.

The vigilante had a feeling to remain on a lower level. He wanted to be reunited with his long lost friend but he couldn't find the words. Simply, he used his grappling hook to bring him onto one of the beams, low enough so he couldn't be seen but high enough to hear any conversation.

"Greetings, Ladybug" His father's voice echoed through the quiet building.

"Monsieur Batman? Wh-what are you doing here?" Her voice sounded almost exactly as he remembered, of course it sounded deeper and more matured but it had a more desolated edge to it.

~~~

"We apologize for not intervening earlier but we didn't know how well we needed to control our emotions" Red Hood watched as Nightwing brushed a hand through his hair nervously.

"But we can help now!" Red Robin's excited voice came out of nowhere, Ladybug looked at the vigilante in surprise. "We found out Hawkmoth's identity so we can finish this once and-"

Ladybug put a single hand up, a small smile on her face, silencing Red Robin's rambling. "That's very considerate of you, all of you" Her gaze landed on each vigilante one at a time. "But I... have things sorted" She pulled out two brooches from behind her back to show the men before putting the miraculous in her yo-yo. "I appreciate all you've done, truly I do. But can I ask one for one more favor?"

"Of course, what is it?" Nightwing asked, clearly wanting the spotted heroine to be gleeful once more.

"Could you... help the other heroes to help the Parisians to heal?"

"It's the least we can do" Batman replied. "Will you be there too?"

"I'm afraid not" Ladybug turned around and leaned forward on the banister. "You know how Hawkmoth prays on negative emotions, so I've had to deal with my emotions in an unhealthy manor but now... Hawkmoth is no more. I can be free"

"Wh-"

"Thank you, truly" Ladybug jumped up on to railing, facing the group of vigilantes. Her sad smile faded as she stared at the floor.

They didn't even get a chance to process what was happening before it did. A bright light surrounded the young hero and they were forced to close their eyes. As the light died down, Red Hood saw a small bluenette. She looked so weak, so pretty, so... fragile. It hurt the vigilante's heart seeing someone like this being the sole protector of Paris with no one by her side.

"Hey little lady-"

"I'm sorry Tikki"

The girl looked at all the vigilantes slowly, mouthing a 'thank you' before letting herself lean backwards.

Gravity took the Parisian heroine and she fell.

A small creature holding something shiny stared in horror as its owner fell."MARINETTE!" The small creature's anguished scream seemed to bring the vigilantes back to reality.

~~~

"MARINETTE!"

Robin's head shot up, that name was all too familiar. Suddenly, he took note of a figure falling fast from above, her raven hair flowing in the wind. Without giving a second thought, he bounded down the ledge he was on, landing on one of the platforms and had his arms out ready to catch the fallen angel. The bluenette was close enough for Robin to grab her and he pulled her in so that her feet landed on the platform, her body still looming over the edge of the building. His brother and father landed not far from him, bounding over to help the bluenette but Robin took no notice of their presence.

"Why didn't you just let me f...all" The girl's voice trailed off as her eyes widened in recognition, the air in her lungs escaped from her lips. "...d-Damian?"

The two friends took no notice at how the vigilantes behind Robin stiffened. Her eyes developed a watery sheen as the situation began to really hit her. Tears threatened to spill as her lip quivered. Robin pulled her away from the ledge and she jumped into his arms, she was heavily touch-starved. Much to his family's surprise, he didn't push her away. In fact, he hugged her back. They heard what she said next.

"I... I thought you were dead, Dami"

"...why? What made you do this, Malaki?"

They didn't hear what she said next as her mumbling was muffled in Robin's chest. Nightwing walked up to the two first, kneeling down to be eye level with the girl.

"Hey Sunshine... we don't know what you've been through but we're willing to help you though it okay?" The girl looked at his sincere gaze, her eyes were so round with innocence, Nightwing thought he would melt.

"I... thank you, I'm sorry for worrying you when I... jumped" No one failed to notice when Robin ran his fingers through the bluenette's hair.

"Don't apologize Little Lady" Red Hood walked over to where Nightwing was kneeling, sitting next to his older brother. "Hawkbitch forced you to bottle up your emotions, you were just strong for too long."

Marinette looked between the two men, a grateful smile on her face while she wiped the tears of pure happiness running down her cheeks. "Thank you, I- this... this is the nicest I've been treated recently"

"If you don't mind me asking," Batman walked over and Marinette felt slightly intimidated you his presence as well as his tone. The dark knight must have noticed this since he cleared his throat and began talking in a softer manner. "What happened to cause you to go to such extremes? You're obligated to not having to talk about it right away if the subject makes you uncomfortable"

"Well I guess I do have to talk about it eventually..."

Recognising the bluenette's discomfort, Red Robin stepped in. In his palm was the shaken kwami who flew straight for Marinette once the vigilante got close enough. "Since you know Robin's identity, and we already sorta know yours, it's only fair if we tell you who we are, right?" He looked at his two older brothers and then at his adoptive father. "My name's Tim Drake nice to meet you"

Marinette was about to take his offered hand when the vigilante she presumed was Red Hood took it instead, "Jason Todd, Robin's most charming and handsome brother" She giggled at Damian's obvious annoyance.

"Well I'm Richard Grayson, Robin's favourite brother, but you can call me Dick" The vigilante in the suit who comforted her first, introduced himself.

"It's nice to meet all of you"

Batman soon came over as well to aquatint with the young heroine, offering out his hand for a handshake. "Bruce Wayne"

She returned the hand shake and brightly smiled, it blinded nearly all those near. "Thank you, Mr Wayne. Wait..." she turned to face Damian, one of her eyebrows raised. "Wayne?"

"I may have failed to mention that part" To Robin's surprise, Marinette started giggling so he huffed in taken offense.

"Sorry it's just- a girl in my class as been boasting about dating you and about the Wayne Family seeing her as their 'honorary member'. I knew she was lying I just didn't know that I would bump into the people she was lying about"

Bruce hummed. "We'll have to do something about this girl you're talking about. In the meantime, why don't you come back to the hotel with us? You and Damian can catch up" The older man saw the hesitation in her eyes but he also saw the willingness that shine through the most. "If you're living in a bad environment then you do have to escape" His sons nodded along.

"I'll come, can I bring some overnight clothes? It's been a long day..."

"Of course, you go get your belongings and you can meet us at the Grand Paris Hotel"

"I... thank you again" She transformed and headed in the direction of her house, leaving Robin at the mercy of his brothers.

"You like her, Brat" Red Robin spoke up first.

Nightwing pretended to wipe his tears. "Baby Bird's all grown up now"

"That means you can't adopt the little Pixie, don't think I haven't seen the adoption papers"

~~~

When Marinette destransformed on her balcony rooftop, she quickly went inside, packed some clothes as well as some essentials. When she was satisfied with her belongings, she gave a macaron to Tikki before heading downstairs where she was met with two disappointed looking parents.

"Is something wrong?"

"We've decided," Tom began. "We're kicking you out for what you've done to your lovely classmate, Lila"

"We don't recognise the person you've become, Marinette. You are not the daughter we raised" Sabine added

"May I pack my things in the morning?" Marinette inquired, her eyes void of emotion. When her parents nodded, she left the bakery and down to the hotel where Damian was waiting in the lobby. As she approached, he took her bag and intertwined their hands together. She blushed at the contact but leaned into his embrace.

When she entered the hotel room she was greeted by the vigilantes who were now changed and unmasked. The bluenette was welcomed with open arms, she felt the warmth in her heart for the first time since Lila's Tyranny. She briefly explained Lila's lies, what she had done to Marinette and how the bluenette was able to protect Paris. She would've carried on longer if it weren't for the hotel phone ringing. It was the receptionist, saying that someone had asked to see Marinette. Confused, she went down with Damian, Jason followed closely behind since he had grown quite attached to the little fairy. Waiting at the front desk as a woman, Damian and Jason recognised her instantly as Mayura. Damian tried to step in front of his friend but she completely ignored their futile attempts to keep her in reach.

"Ah, Hello Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng"

"Hello Nathalie, we're you the one who asked for me?"

"Yes, I just need to clarify a few things"

"Go ahead"

"You're request for the restraining order has been fulfilled" the bluenette nodded, waiting for Gabriel's assistant to continue. "May I ask what did he do to make you request for it?"

The two notices how Marinette stiffened. She contemplated before sighing. "Attempted sexual assault. If you look at the camera footage outside of the Louvre from two days ago, seven pm onwards, you'll see your evidence." Marinette turned away from Nathalie and walked back to Damian who, once in range, pulled her in for a hug.

"I'll never let him near you again, Angel"

~~~

The next day, Bruce had shown up with Marinette at her parents' bakery. Upon hearing about the young bluenette being kicked out, he had asked for her permission for him to be her Guardian until she was old enough to live in her own. Marinette accepted his offer. When they had entered the building, her parents had greeted their customers kindly before recognising Marinette. Bruce turned to the young girl next to him and smiled.

"You go pack your things I'll deal with this" She smiled and bounded upstairs, leaving Bruce to talk with the bakery's owners.

"Hello Sir, how may we help you?" Sabine began, wanting to know who this man was.

"I've come to gain guardianship of your daughter, Marinette Dupain-Cheng"

"Why should we give you guardianship?" Tom asked.

"I'm sure you know the liability for child neglect, Mr Dupain" With his words, both adults seemed to turn white. "I will file the necessary and submit it with the court, I'm sure you'll be willing to give your approval"

Both Marinette and the mystery man left, true they were glad that their mistake of a daughter had gone but they wondered who she had gone with.

~~~

Later that afternoon was a charity event which the Waynes were supposed to attend as they were invited by the mayor himself, the plus side was that the Akuma class would also be attending and they had no clue the Wayne Family would be there.

"...And finally I'd like to thank the Wayne Family for joining us this evening" Mayor Bourgeois finished his speech and all heads turned to the table the Waynes and Marinette were sitting on. As his speech was over, a teenage girl with glass and a very pale brunette came over to the table.

"Hello Mr Wayne, My name's Alya and I'm your honorary daughter's best friend and I was hoping-"

"Marinette" Bruce began, cutting off the aspiring reporter. The Alya girl only then seemed to notice that the bluenette was sitting at the table. "Is this girl you're friend?"

The bluenette took one hard look at Alya before shaking her head, "No"

"Marislut what th-"

"It would be appreciated if you did not talk about my honorary daughter and future daughter-in-law on that manner" Both Damian and Marinette turned red, one much more than the other. "In fact we should be leaving" Bruce and the rest of the family got up. "Miss Rossi, I will not tolerate your lies. You will receive a lawsuit for defamation and slander. Have a good evening" They left, leaving a reporter, a liar and a class speechless.

When they reached the hotel room they finished packing up, they would be leaving that night. Marinette made a few phone calls, telling her friends that she would be moving to Gotham. They had their belongs taken to the limo downstairs and had a few snacks before making their way down. In the lobby were many different people around the bluenette's age, she recognised them as her classmates and continued walking beside Damian until Alex came over.

"Marinette... we're sorry. We understand that you probably won't forgive apps but we wrote you letters anyway" the skater girl gave Marinette a pile of enveloped letters, ones she put in her bag straight away.

"Thank you for your apologies but I don't think I can forgive you just yet, goodbye Alix" the bluenette got in the limo and let out a breath she knew she was holding.

Her eyes glanced out the tinted window, she smiled knowing that she was leaving Paris for a better life. A better life with a friends, a better life with a new family. A better life with Damian.

~Bonus~

The harsh blizzard outside was definitely being felt from inside the manor, leaving a cold and tired Marinette on the couch. Damian, noticing his girlfriend's state, went to grab a blanket to cover both Marinette and himself. She snuggled into the green-eyed boy, taking all the warmth she could get, and slowly she drifted off to sleep. Damian too felt drowsy so soon followed his girlfriend into dreamland.

Jason came in a few moments later to find the sleeping couple, he was then reminded by how tired he was so he went on the couch and leaned his back against his youngest brother, himself too falling victim to slumber.

The next person to walk in was Dick, he had just finished training so he was exhausted. But he couldn't help to coo when he came across the scene in front of him. The eldest son then got on the sofa and carefully leaned against Marinette, similar to what Jason had done with Damian. It didn't take long for him to join them in dozing off.

Tim arrived with a big cup of freshly made coffee, one which he was about to drink until he noticed his siblings all curled up on the couch sleeping. The co-CEO went back to the kitchen, left his cup of coffee then went to grab a blanket to join his family. Wrapping himself in a blanket burrito, Tim placed himself on the floor pressed up against sofa.

When Bruce returned home safely, he went to the main living room to see his children, and his future in-law who was basically his own by now, sleeping soundly with the TV still running. Reaching for the remote, he turned the television off and grabbed his phone to take a picture. He planned on printing it out and having it framed in his study. Bruce sat on one of the armchairs, taking a book to read. If there was peace in the house, he might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

#daminette #maribat #maridami #marinette x damian #damian x marinette #damianette #mlb x dc #ml x dc #This is so bad I hate it and it started out good as well aaaaaaaa

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shorkbrian · 4 years ago

Text

Prelude - I need to stop catching sight of poetry on my explore page lol. This is entirely self-indulgent and very specific cause I’m rotting thru life rn and so if u dislike I understand lol. When I was in the hospital this last time it sucked rlly bad and like the awful horny degenerate I was I kept thinking abt Kirishima and soft sweet Sugawara idk lol

Pairing - Death god Kirishima x Reader

Warnings - Suicide, suicide attempt, no smut. Death. Drunk Drivers. Yandere but only a little bit and cause I can’t voluntarily accept love it has to be forced bc I cannot handle the thot of someone who is sane loving me bc there is no freaking way lol

Music - https://open.spotify.com/track/5Iy1wdO0tMaHwKnfFYtlel?si=-vqod-W6SHia8ui2Hdl_9g

Adding this one bc it’s like one of my favorites and I wish god I wish and I hope that this year is better than the last amen lol also there’s nothing more sad to me than someone pleading and begging and crying for the year to treat you nicely like bitch u okay? no. the answer is no.

https://open.spotify.com/track/0xRO7EKgYKVB8zKIoiXMDD?si=HYBaiBzjRGmQwfCHgnTUxA

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

“It hurts.” You had told him, as the entity sat at the end of your hospital bed.

He often sank heavily onto the nearest surface, as if his bones ached with the weight of his body. You saw him often during those first few days in the hospital, days spent puking up pills, every move you made monitored, doctors and nurses scolding you about the severity of your actions.

You didn’t think they could see the hulking figure that comforted you.

“I”ve heard that it’s supposed to.” The red god of death would think aloud.

“I don’t want it then.” Tears upon your cheeks, soft, misty. “Take it.”

“Your life?” A nod would affirm his question, but the red god would shake his head. “I am no thief. Not a hunter, simply a gatherer of souls. I won’t take what doesn’t belong to me.”

“Then it’s yours, have my life. A gift, from me to you. Don’t make me live it any longer…..”

His sadness would show in his eyes.

But the soul-crushing hugs that were provided were admittedly a tiny bit nice.

“You’re far too sweet for your own good. I’ll receive your life when the time is right, not before.”

“But I don’t want it!” You sobbed into his shoulder, the god seeming to be your only friend in the world.

Hands stroked along your back, soft shushing sounds as the god attempted to soothe you in the ways he knew how. Soft touches, kind truths. “Many don’t. But it happens - life happens anyways. All you can do is find the things that make it less painful.”

“That’s not enough, it still hurts. I can’t stand it.” The sobs wracking your body didn’t stop the entity from holding you.

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

——

He’s patient and kind.

Surprising for a god who’s work involves collecting souls as if they were taxes. A job that should be bitter and tiresome, but the entity has infinite softness resting inside of him.

He walks with you, as you get “better“.

You watch him stop to marvel at flowers, to study the way dew drips from trees in little drops, eyes wide and wondering as crows startle from their perches and take off with noisy weeping.

This courtyard is drab and brown, a prison. Safe.

Yet the god of death treats the space gently, with respect. He thanks the old walls for standing, the worn stones beneath your feet. Their service is noted and appreciated. He’s so tender it almost makes you sick.

But you come to realize that he’s simply allowing himself to be vulnerable, to experience the earth and the beings in it.

For as soon as one recognizes vulnerability, which is so different from weakness or tragedy, one experiences a sense of tenderness. Without tenderness, pleasure means nothing. You need only look at the animals to see the truth of that. It is gentleness that distinguishes their playing from the actions they constantly take to ensure their survival.

You ask why he walks with you, why he is so focused on seeing you get “better“.

A soft smile, a meeting of eyes. “There is an end to your pain, sometime and somewhere. It’s most likely not here, not in this place at least-“ and he looks around, at the cold walls, the other sick patients, the staff. All human.

“-It will come. But for now, it’s enough to try and seek it out ourselves.”

You must look more sick than you really are, talking to thin air like that.

——-

Once you return home, the red god writes you letters.

He’s an old soul, an old god. You’re sure if you asked, he’d be able to recount the very first souls he reaped, a man and a woman, sinful and sweet but in love.

The letters help you get out of bed. What new stories or little quips the god has written pique your curiosity, even when you don’t want to move, don’t want to be awake or alive.

He tells you stories about certain souls, how each one is infinitely interesting, how they all interconnect. How some of them struggle against him, however fruitlessly. But he’s not the one who brought about their death, he’s there to comfort and guide.

Other souls, (“souls like yours” he writes) welcome him, run to his arms like a long lost lover. Their death was terrifying by their own hand, and it hurt. He can’t take away that pain, those memories. The red god says he wishes those souls find peace wherever he must take them afterwards, or at least, some form of contentment.

“The meaning of life is to give life meaning, at least, that’s what seems to be the consensus.” You rip off that part of the letter, hang it on your wall by your bed. The other letters you keep in your nightstand, content with the knowledge that there are souls out there like you

It’s hard work, creating meaning for yourself.

The red god takes to visiting you between each letter, says he misses you, the way your soul cries. He tells you that he wishes he could help you quiet it, quiet that raging, terrible storm that hurls you about.

You make him cookies - it’s the only way you know how to say thank you. It’s what your mother taught you, so it may not be right, but the god eats them nonetheless. He likes it when you eat with him, feeding you bites from his cookie, wiping chocolate off of your nose, making you laugh with stupid jokes and a mouth stuffed full of cookies.

Even if some of them are too crunchy, or others too soft, all of them imperfect.

Imperfection is the essence of humanity, he tells you, and it’s more fun eating each cookie with the thought that you’re devouring your imperfections, making yourself whole again, filling up the empty spaces in your soul.

——

Eventually, the crawl back to your feet, rise with the unsteadiness of a toddler. You fall frequently, cry often, but you’re able to get up and try again.

Some days you need to bury yourself in sadness, let yourself feel and feel and hurt. Other days are not so bad, but still tinged with regret and fear and sadness.

The red god is by your side, gives you something to cling to when you waver.

He is always there.

He will be there when you meet your end.

The god is in no hurry.

You question why he wastes his time on you, hours spent reassuring you, talking to you, tucking you in your bed and leaving glasses of water on your nightstand before taking his leave.

Home is a feeling, not a place. Home is with you - that’s what he tells you. You take his breath away, even though he might not even need to breath because he’s the god of death. HIs thoughts muddle and he trips over his feet and can’t help himself from wanting to hold you.

You learn that even gods yearn for home.

He’s capable of feelings and emotions just like any other human. He may be wiser, and older, able to draw from experience and a deep well of wisdom. But he still feels, and feels deeply.

Just as he gives the earth around him such reverence, he extends that same attitude when he deals with you.

“Everything I see reminds me of you. When I wake and the sun creeps over the mountains, hesitant, it reminds me of the way that you rise - haltingly, yet it happens nonetheless. The flowers in the field that so steadily grow, you’re like ground they take root in, soft and unstable yet still tenable with the potential for growth. I don’t know, I haven’t exactly held such closeness with a human-“

He trails off, but you think you understand.

Maybe you don’t. It’s hard to relate to a god.

——

A confession occurs, and you’re surprised to learn that the blood-red god of death is in love.

“What did my hands do before they held yours? What did my heart do without all of this love? I can’t hold enough of you, I carry such love for you in my heart.”

With a frail, hopeless human nonetheless.

You don’t know what to tell him, how to explain that you can barely take care of yourself right now, meet your own needs.

But the red god seems to know, seems to understand the way your breath hitches and your eyes widen. One more hug, squeezed tight to his chest while he promises nothing has to change.

Things do change, even if you wish them not to. The world doesn’t bow to your whims, nor the death-god’s.

Innocent touches, his hand on your shoulder, patting your head, offering to rub out the tension in your back after you’ve had a crushing day - they don’t feel so innocent anymore.

The constant survellience still seemed kind, and you knew it was with your best intentions in mind that the god hovered so close, invading every aspect of your life.

But a creeping tendril of unease took hold, and you worried.

Everywhere you turned, he would be there, ready to support you, walk you through anything you wished.

Again, you questioned his commitment. Why? Why you?

“I can’t explain how fond of you I’ve grown. How heat blossomed in my chest as we grew closer. There’s infinite things I wish to say to you, ways for me to express my-my love, but I’ll just let you live.”

He neither killed you nor let you live.

Was it frightening? Maybe. But you had nothing to really live for, lost, searching for your own meaning in a big big world, floundering in an endless sea of sadness and suffering. You weren’t afraid of anything the god could, or would, do to you.

Until you woke up, not knowing where you were, in pitch black.

Arms encircling your shoulders, a soft body beneath your own, holding you tightly, a hand caressing your cheek.

A sun rose, on a strange new land, on the blood-red god gazing at you.

“There seemed to be so much more time for you. But accidents happen, Drivers drink and hearts give out. I was expecting you to grow old, for us to live and love like that, see how you grew through life.”

He looked around this new world, and you vaguely remember what had come before. A walk along the sidewalk, blaring horns, impact, blood.

“But this will be just as nice. You can stay here with me now. Life can’t cause you anymore pain.”

You don’t feel comforted by those words. There’s no way for you to know whether this new world would be better than the one you left behind.

#kirishima #Kirishima Eijirou #kirishima x reader #kirishima imagine #bnha kirishima #kirishima x you #yandere #Yandere kirishima #tw.death #tw.suicide

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phoenixyfriend · 4 years ago

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More "de-aged Taka and T7 end up in the Warring Clans Era as Founders' wards" AU

“That’s a thing?” you ask. The answer is yes.

Uh. Kind of. Deaging Team Seven for the sake of tossing them back in time for a Founder to adopt is pretty common, but I’m trash for Taka so this AU started with me brainstorming the asshole team.

I am falling more and more in love with the idea of Tobirama ending up with custody of Team Taka somehow. He’s a science dad, but like. Marginally more ethical than Orochimaru.

Everyone around them is like "This is a terrible idea and it's all going to end horribly" and he's just like "Ah, these are now my children."

I've read so many "Team Seven time-travels and is de-aged, get adopted by the Founders" or "a Founder time-travels forward and adopts Naruto, subsequently picking up the others" and they're good but I now want the same plot with an even more dysfunctional collection of... eldritch mishaps? The AO3 feel of "I want this fic I just read, again, but a step to the left so it feels fresh and new"

I'm considering the tent of tranquility idea (courtesy of @sloaners) and I've come to the decision that Tobirama's... probably going to end up with Several Holes in it, and burns, and cuts, because Karin and Suigetsu never stop fighting, and if they're fighting, they're not paying attention to how soon Juugo's going to lose his grip on control.

"Hm. Tobirama?" "Anija." "Where did you get children?" "They showed up." "One of them looks like an Uchiha." "He does." "Two of them are trying to kill each other." "That's normal." "Are the Uchiha going to accuse us of stealing a clan child?" "Probably." "...Tobirama, did you steal these children?" "No."

(It's not kidnapping if they show up and break into your house first.)

(Also none of them are particularly pressed to ditch the Senju and find their clans. Maybe eventually. Not now.)

They’re assholes but Karin is, even at Supposedly Age Three, babbling at Tobirama about proper lab protocol and chemical reactions and isn’t that just the most adorable thing?

Very few people find Karin as adorable as Tobirama does, because Karin knows more ways to kill a person than most adult shinobi, because most adult shinobi don’t know about things like flesh-eating diseases and specialty poisons from the other side of the continent that can only be refined via chemical processes that won’t exist for another three decades.

Juugo is a sweetheart. Best child. Then he loses his mind but it’s okay, Sasuke is there. Do the Senju trust the clearly-Uchiha child to control the much larger five-year-old? No. But they don’t have any better ideas right now, so.

Tobirama: Hm, we should do something about that. Karin: Here’s a list of ideas and things that have already been tried. Tobirama: Thank you, small child. Where did you get this? Karin: ... Tobirama: Fair enough, let’s see what we can do.

Suigetsu is a little terror because not only is he a Massive Jerk but he also has better control over water than most adults. Mostly because he is water. It’s very hard to find him when he’s avoiding chores.

Karin clings to Mito sometimes because Family! and then Hashirama tries to tease Tobirama about being upset that one of his students/children has ditched him. Hashirama ends up moping in a corner because Tobirama snaps at him, unsurprisingly.

IDK if we have like any canon for Touka beyond skill with genjutsu, but going off of the fanon that she used a naginata, I’m going to say that Suigetsu keeps trying to challenge her to Blade Fights and she’s just like Neat, A Tiny Murder Machine.

Sasuke is very quiet for the most part and Dramatically Broods On Rooftops And In Trees and Hashirama is just like YES YOU REMIND ME OF MY BROTHER AND ALSO MY BEST FRIEND and Sasuke hides.

Sasuke does not need another Naruto, thank you.

Sasuke ends up hanging out with Mito, I think? Like yeah, sure, she’s an Uzumaki, but she’s chill and refined and calm and she has really good tea in stock. Sure he has to learn fuuinjutsu to have an excuse to hang out with her, but that’s fine. It’s interesting. Karin does it too, sometimes.

tbh that probably leaves Hashirama to hang out with Juugo? Juugo isn’t great at Excite but he is great at nature so I feel like Hashirama would be stars-in-eyes about Juugo talking to birds the way Hashirama talks to trees, and Hashirama just gets him a chicken coop like HERE. FRIENDS.

But back to the suspected child theft.

Hashirama is like “That is... clearly an Uchiha. They are going to find out, Tobirama! Someone is going to figure out we have--” “Sasuke, show him your other eye. Yeah, the one you cover.” “...” “Okay, go back to playing.” “...Tobirama.” “Yeah?” “That was a Rinnegan.” “You know those rumors that the only way to get a Rinnegan is to mix the Uchiha and Senju bloodlines?” “It’s true?” “No idea, Sasuke won’t tell me anything about his parents other than their names, and he’s three, but even the chance of it being true means we have an arguable claim.” “...that’s not going to be enough to convince the Uchiha.” “The theory is but one weapon of many in the upcoming battle of wits.” “Tobirama--” “Now if you’ll excuse me, Anija, I need to go make sure Suigetsu doesn’t flood the training grounds again.”

tbh I can’t remember who made the original comment in canon about the Rinnegan being achieved via Senju/Uchiha babies but it’s funny to use here so I’ll pretend it’s a common rumor that nobody actually believes

MEANWHILE WITH THE UCHIHA Madara found and took custody of Team Seven and company, mostly because they’re like... jounin-level despite being less than three feet tall.

It involves a lot of Madara going "I want My New Children to love me!" and being sorely disappointed by half of them. Poor fucker got stuck with Naruto, Sakura, Sai, Kakashi, Yamato, and Obito.

(KakaYamaObito are deaged by the time-travel to 10-13ish. The kids are deaged to 3-4. Everyone has memories to just after the fourth war or so.)

Karin sensed T7 and tagalong pretty much the second they popped out of Kamui, and told Sasuke, but he correctly guessed that Naruto would hunt him down eventually, and said they should enjoy the peace and quiet while they had it.

Sai pulls emotionless creepy smiles in an attempt to freak out Madara but since Madara's whole thing initially was "less children in war," he's... mostly just sad. Izuna wants to know who made his brother cry.

Madara makes a vaguely misogynistic comment that's typical for the period and Sakura just. Breaks his tibia.

Naruto is genuinely trying to treat Madara with the kind of respect a caretaker that Attempts To Care And Do Good By Them deserves, because Naruto is a good egg, but he's... three again. Which means he's a Hellion.

The literal toddlers (Naruto and Sakura are three-ish, Sai is four-ish) are, in fact, toddlers, so nobody really expects them to be able to do anything. Nobody bothers to test them beyond the basics of like. Can walk? Can talk? Can maybe hold knife? Like don’t get me wrong, they’re very competent toddlers, but their hands can barely wrap around a kunai. Their bodies are tiny. Their bones only just stopped being soft!

That said, the “tweens” (re: adults who got deaged but Less) have to get tested for their skills. Kakashi downplays himself to what he imagines a semi-competent eleven-year-old to be capable of. He thinks of, like, Neji maybe? Good, but not suspiciously good.

Obito enters an intangible state and refuses to participate. He has a Mangekyo. His body is half-Zetsu. Stop bothering him. He doesn’t want to do anything. They assign him babysitting duty for Team Seven since he can obviously defend pretty well, and Kakashi vouches for his abilities as a fighter.

Yamato decides to try to be just a little worse than Kakashi but at one point he panics and does Mokuton on instinct and now the entire Uchiha compound is screeching because did they just steal a Main Family Senju kid by accident?

Yamato: Should I tell them I was a science experiment? Kakashi: No.

Pranks galore! None of the other time-travelers even try to stop Naruto, except maybe Yamato.

Obito at the Uchiha compound is mostly "I don't want to participate" and then just uses Kamui to be intangible until people leave him alone. If it's not another time-traveler or Madara, he's not interested. He doesn't even care that much about Sai or Yamato, actually, so if it's not an original T7 member, he doesn't care, and if it's Madara, he's just here to make things Difficult.

The Kyuubi wanders up to the Uchiha compound one day and everyone's preparing for a battle, even Madara isn't confident that he can-- [BANG] "KURAMA!" [delighted squealing]

Naruto now has a pet. The entire clan is terrified. Kurama pokes his nose at Naruto's stomach and disappears into the memory of a seal.

Madara, frantically writing a letter to Hashirama "What do I do if my toddler is possessed?!?"

Hashirama: You have a toddler?!?!?! OMG you should organize playdates with Tobirama's kids! Madara: I'M GOING TO QUESTION THAT LATER, PLEASE HELP WITH THE POSSESSION THING

Kurama hunts down Naruto, and the Jinchuuriki situation is very much in the realm of "Dis Mine" Also a bit of "If I'm in the brat, there's at least one Mangekyo user in hearing distance who can and will risk his life to prevent brainwashing. (Kakashi. It’s Kakashi.)

Naruto: Kurama's one of my best friends! Every time traveler: Yeah, that tracks. Madara: [teakettle screeching]

Per @firebirdeternal: I'm just loving the visual of Giant Nightmare Terror Kurama kneeling down and pressing his nose to Naruto's Smol Chubby Toddler self and closing his eyes while Naruto pets him and giggles and every single battle-ready Uchiha is just. "wat"

Everybody else: Cool so Madara adopted a witch Uchiha Elders: We need to be careful of this horrible creature The younger generation of Uchiha: Okay that was weirdly serene and adorable and frankly the brat is really likeable when he's not being adhd as hell I think this is actually pretty dope.

Madara really wants to be a Good Dad but he has no idea how he ended up being "a dad" in the first place. He just! He cares a lot about this random assortment of kids! Some of them are from prominent clans and there should be search parties for the Senju kid with the Mokuton, or the Hatake brat, or the Uzumaki that doesn't look Uzumaki but definitely feels Uzumaki.... and SURE the only Uchiha of the bunch is a stranger who hates him for no reason Madara can come up with, but! He wants to be a good authority figure!

At least the Uzumaki appreciates that he's trying.

Seriously, though, there are clan kids and nobody’s looking for them, what’s up with that?

Kakashi still has a prize copy of Icha Icha and nobody in the Uchiha compound does a thorough check of his reading material until like three months in.

He is blamed for Naruto developing the Oiroke, because where ELSE would a toddler get such ideas? (Yamato and Obito both tell him he brought this on himself.)

Naruto waits until a Big Important Meeting lets out, something about tithes or a merchant contract, and just pulls a Harem no Jutsu in front of the entire group of Elders And Main Family. First he does a Mass Shadow Clone, which makes everyone turn on Sharingan because Fancy New Techniques to steal! Sure, they were late on the shadow clones, but the kid is clearly gearing up for something! The something is Oiroke.

Anime Nosebleeds everywhere. Most of the elders were hit. Izuna was hit. Madara is not bleeding from the nose, but he is very upset about having semi-accidentally sharingan-memorized his weird adoptee’s Sexy Older Female Alter Ego. There is yelling.

Naruto’s like “Oh, I missed some!” and decides to try again with Reverse Harem no Jutsu because there are old ladies among the Elders, and maybe some straight women representing a guild, and maybe some gay guys he missed! Madara is still not bleeding. (He’s very demi and tbh Naruto only would have succeeded if he’d tried to use Hashirama’s face. Naruto does not know this. He just figures Madara is ace like Sasuke and that no variant is going to work.)

Izuna gets another nosebleed and is just like “Well, this is not how I planned on coming out as bi, but--” “Izuna, I literally do not care about you being bi as long as one of us has an heir at some point, I’m more upset about the fact that my child has been corrupted!”

Back in the Senju compound, there is... a lot of screaming, honestly, but every time Karin and Suigetsu start trying to kill each other again, Tobirama just shrugs and tells them not to break anything.

Very easy-going caretaker, really. He's got some very deadly toddlers in hand, but they're still just toddlers.

Sasuke: Yeah, I might want to go see my clan at some point. Suigetsu: Yeah, I might want to go see my clan at some point. Karin, clinging to Mito: Yeah, I want to go see my clan at some point. Juugo: Please never, ever take me to my clan. Ever. Please. I'll stay with Sasuke, thank you.

Naruto breaks out of the Uchiha compound the first time he enters Sage Mode, several months in (it took a while to get the privacy) because he feels Sasuke and lbr if Naruto knows where Sasuke is, nothing will stop him.

The Uchiha clansmen cannot catch the errant toddler. They fail to inform Madara until Naruto is already in Senju territory because nobody wanted to admit the toddler outmaneuvered them.

Naruto wasn’t sure how to get into the Senju Compound safely so he just goes full Kyuubi, bounds over the wall screaming SASUKEEEEE at the top of his lungs, and then shrinks back down to Tiny Brat size so he could hug his Bestest Friend Ever and cling like a limpet while Sasuke just sighs and stares at the wall.

Sakura ran after him.

Sai painted a bird and Yamato dragged Kakashi onto it to chase Naruto, because Kakashi is at a point of zen regarding Naruto's bullshit and fully trusts the kid to not die.

Obito refuses to look up from whatever he's doing and asks people why they think he cares.

“We told you to look after the toddlers!” “Why would you do that? Seems like poor planning on your part.”

Disappears when nobody's looking. Waits until the Ruckus at the Senju compound (where T7 has crashed in to tackle-hug Sasuke and Madara followed in and proceeded to get shouty, and nobody's dead or battling because they're too confused and also it's a comedy) has started to calm down, and then teleports in and demonstrates Mokuton just to make Madara's life harder when the Senju Elders start demanding answers.

His energy is very "I am here to make Madara's life harder" and Madara still doesn't know what he did wrong.

Madara: That brat has a Sharingan! Tobirama: Well THAT one has Mokuton! Obito: Yamato has it too. [angry teakettle noises]

Madara's first response to seeing Sasuke is to turn to Izuna and point aggressively at the toddler while making a tea-kettle noise "He looks just like you!" "He's four, he barely looks like anything!"

Naruto, tugging at Madara's hakama: You need to make a village with Hashirama so I can see Sasuke more often, cuz I don't wanna ditch you guys, but I gotta see Sasuke! He's my best friend! Madara, who is aware that he could fight this child but really doesn't want to, and also knows that a tantrum thrown by Naruto or Sasuke is capable of leveling mountains: Right, yes, we'll get right on that.

tbh Madara wants the village anyway but "The bijuu-whisperer said he wants it to happen" is a great way to push things forward.

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