#she's spent like. a month or so only half-heartedly playing

[witchyvixie]

finally got tiki properly playing again =w=

[whereianonymouslypostfics]

Midnight 

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: ~4.7k

Summary: Wanda has been gone for work and you miss her

A/N: Hurt/comfort and fluffy fic because I can’t help myselff. 

Warnings: Hurt, comfort, some angst

You’d abandoned the popcorn in front of you long ago as you try to pay attention to the movie playing on the television. It’s Saturday night and you’re in your apartment trying to get out of a funk you’ve been in for a while with a horror movie marathon. It’s not working too well because you’re only on the second movie and your mind has already started to wander. Despite how much junk food you’ve eaten tonight and how excited you were to try and wind down after finals week, this night is a little bit of a letdown.

You only have one semester until you graduate and you can move on to vet school. You wanted to celebrate being finished with finals and finally being able to relax for a while. You did well on them and you should be relieved to be finished, and you are, but you’re also lonely. You’d been lonely these past two weeks, but you’d been able to distract yourself studying for the seven exams you’d had to take. Now that you were done, you had time to think about your girlfriend that you hadn’t seen in far too long.

You had been dating Wanda for a few months now, and to say that they were what you expected would be a complete lie. You had learned during the time you spent together that she was smart, thoughtful, and hardworking. You’d also learned fairly quickly that when she’d said that her schedule was unpredictable, she wasn’t kidding.

Sometimes you’d see her every day a week and you’d spend the night catching up and cooking dinner for each other. Other weeks you saw her twice, and sometimes you went days without seeing her, let alone hearing from her.

After Wanda had admitted that she wasn’t a student, she’d only told you the bare minimum about her job. She said she worked with her brother and they owned the family business that they’d inherited from their parents. When asked what the business entailed, she’d told you ‘a lot of things’ or ‘just boring shipping and manufacturing stuff’ and you got the hint that she didn’t want to tell you.

It wasn’t until more recently, right before her most recent disappearance, that Wanda told you that she wasn’t on the right side of the law. You’d suspected this, but having her tell you that it might be a while before you saw her again made it clearer.

You hated when Wanda went dark on you. When she didn’t text for days, it made the insecurities that you could push away when Wanda was with you come back with a vengeance. You’d question whether or not she actually liked you, and if she was just using work as an excuse to be away from you. Maybe she was seeing someone else who was far better than you were, and this thought put you into a slump similar to what you’re in now.

So yeah, you enjoy spending time with Wanda, but when she’s gone for extended periods of time, you’re at your most miserable. You sigh as you continue to pick at the popcorn in front of you as you consider what Wanda could be doing right now. You hope that work is going well, and that she comes back soon because you could really use a pick me up.

You fall asleep on the couch a little while later so you don’t hear your phone go off. It’s not until you wake up and decide to go to bed that you realize you have a few notifications. You ignore them because you’re too tired and you brush your teeth half-heartedly before crawling into bed. It’s almost midnight and you figure you’ll sleep in tomorrow. That’s the least you deserve from finishing all of your finals.

Wanda frowns as she reaches your voicemail again. She knows it’s late, but she really had wanted to see you today. You’d had your last final today and she hates that she missed the entire two weeks that you’d been so busy. She’d wanted to be here, but work called her away yet again and for far longer than she expected. She sighs as she gives up calling and decides to just check on you herself.

She’d driven over before she’d even gone home, so she’d been sitting for a while. She wanted to lie down, but she also wanted to check on you first to make sure you’re okay. Despite the late hour, Wanda can’t help but worry about you not answering the phone. She climbs the stairs to your apartment and takes note of how quiet it is. She tries to be mindful of this as she knocks on your door and waits to see if you’ll answer.

She checks her phone again before knocking one more time slightly louder. She waits for almost two minutes before she tries the door just to make sure. She’s alarmed when she realizes it’s not locked, and she’s quick to investigate. She opens the door and locks it quietly behind her as she pulls her gun and looks around the dark apartment.

She looks to the kitchen first to see that it’s empty, and the living room is equally so. The night light that you keep in the hall illuminated the area just enough for Wanda to see that your bedroom door was shut. She checks in the bathroom and then the spare bedroom before trying to figure out how to check on you.

She knows that if she surprises you, she might get a fist to the face as well as the neighbors calling the cops. The last time she’d scared you while you were sleeping, you’d screamed so loudly that your neighbor’s dog two floors up started barking.

“Y/n?”

You’re sleeping soundly and don’t hear her as she shuts the door behind her. She sees that nothing’s amiss and figures that you must have just fallen asleep and forgotten to lock the door. She plans on chastising you for this later, but for now she’s mostly just glad to see you again after so long. She sighs and puts her gun away before she reaches out for you carefully.

“Y/n, wake up. It’s Wanda.”

You think you’re still dreaming when you hear her voice and you shift so your face is under the covers. You want to stay sleeping so you can keep hearing Wanda’s voice, but something is trying to pull you from unconsciousness. You grumble under your breath as the covers are pulled away from your face and you roll away in annoyance. It takes you a good three seconds before you realize that someone’s in your room with you. You only keep yourself from freaking out by opening your eyes and turning back around to confirm your suspicion.

“Wanda?”

It’s dark, but you see her standing by your bed with a small smile. She’s dressed for work and looks tired, but she doesn’t hesitate to reach out for you.

“Hey, detka. Good to see you.”

You briefly wonder how she’d gotten into your apartment, but figuring this out quickly becomes unimportant when you realize that Wanda’s here. You haven’t seen her in too long and the excitement is enough to wake you up from your deep sleep and you sit up quickly. You smile widely as you reach out for her offered hand to pull her closer. It’s a little bit of an awkward hug given that she’s still standing, but neither of you mind as you hide your face in her stomach with a happy hum.

“Wanda, you’re here! I’m so happy to see you, but how did you...?”

You trail off as you release the redhead for two reasons. You notice as you hug her that she stiffens, and not in the way you expect. You want to ask about this, but first you would like to know if your girlfriend broke into your apartment. She seems to know what you’re asking and she shoots you a look that makes you wonder what you did wrong.

“The door was unlocked, Y/n. You should be more careful.”

You cringe slightly at the reminder that you’d completely forgotten to lock the door tonight. You had been wallowing in your self-pity and gorging on junk food, so you’d forgotten basic security. Luckily it was just Wanda who had come knocking, but you know that she’s right. You need to be more careful. You nod in agreement before you scoot over a little so Wanda can at least sit down.

 “Sorry, I fell asleep. Here sit.”

You smile as Wanda sits down beside you, but you’re quickly reminded of your second question when you notice that the redhead is still stiff. You frown as you reach out for her again and she realizes she’s caught as soon as you open your mouth.

“Are you okay? You seem tense.”

You know this could be a loaded question given that Wanda is coming off of what was undoubtedly a stressful two-week work stint. She just nods before she takes off her jacket and sets it aside with a sigh. You wait until she stands up again to take off her shoes, and gun before setting them aside. You think you almost have where she’s injured only seconds before she tells you what happened. You’ve always worried about her when she disappears for a while. You know that if she’s working there’s always the risk of her being in dangerous situations. So far, you’d both been really lucky and she hasn’t gotten too injured, and you just hope that tonight you’ll continue to be.

“It’s nothing serious, detka. I’m just a little sore.”

You don’t have time to ask or even let your mind run wild before Wanda’s unbuttoning her shirt. You wait with increasing anxiety as she finally reveals the angry, dark bruise that runs along her ribs on her left side down to her abdomen. You can’t stop the horrified gasp that leaves you when you see it, and you’re already moving to get out of bed.

“Shit, Wands. That looks awful. What can I do?”

You don’t even wait to hear her answer before you’re on your feet and heading to the bathroom. You have some pain meds from when you’d gotten your wisdom teeth removed that you never used. You’d never gotten around to throwing them out, and once you started dating Wanda, you figured it wouldn’t be a bad idea to hang onto them. You didn’t want to use them, but as you return to your room to find her wincing slightly, you’re glad that you have them for her.

“Here, let me go grab you some water. Then I’ll get you a change of clothes.”

“Y/n, it’s okay. You don’t have--.”

Wanda trails off as you shake your head and disappear through the door despite her protests. She just sighs in defeat as she takes off her uncomfortable shirt with a grimace. Despite this injury being a couple of days old, it still hurts like a bitch. She should have stopped by the compound before coming here, but she was exhausted and just wanted to see you as soon as possible. She hadn’t meant to wake you up and make you fuss over her.

“Here, this should help.”

Wanda thanks you before taking the offered medication with a smile. She doesn’t even bother asking what it is, but she hopes it’s something strong enough to put her to sleep for a while. She sets the glass down on the bedside table next to her gun as you bring her a change of clothes. You help her put the t-shirt on before helping her stand to finish getting changed. You wait until she’s under the covers before speaking up, and it’s not until she shakes her head that you go to lie down next to her.

“Is there anything else I can do?”

Wanda reaches out for you and you hurry to her side as she smiles at you gratefully.

“No, thank you. I feel better already.”

You roll your eyes at this as you get settled in bed with a sigh. You are too worried to simply go to sleep, and you can’t help but want to know what happened during Wanda’s absence. She turns to face you and isn’t surprised to see you shooting her a concerned look. She knows she needs to address it, and she will, but first she wants you closer.

“Come here, detka.”

You don’t resist the urge to cuddle close to your girlfriend, but you make sure not to hold her too tightly against you. You let her pull you close and you sigh tiredly before daring to ask.

“What happened, Wands?”

You lie in silence for a bit as Wanda recalls what had happened a few days ago. She’d been working on dealing with a new competitor that was trying to steal her business. They were unorganized and reckless, and confronting them had been as chaotic as expected. Wanda had killed more people in the past two weeks than she had in a long time. She’d been pressured into confronting them before she was ready because she had to stop an attempt at sabotage, and as a result there’d been a blood bath.

Bucky had been shot in the arm, but mostly everyone made it out with just some cuts and bruises. She’d only been injured because she’d gone off on her own to chase the self-proclaimed mobster. If getting hit with a bat wasn’t painful enough, her brother berating her for being reckless definitely made her regret her actions. Whenever he gets on her about something, she knows she’s really screwed up.

She conveniently leaves this part out because she knows you’ll probably get upset at her too. She doesn’t want to fight. She’s just glad that she’s here with you and that she didn’t get too hurt in the process of eliminating an annoying threat.

“Someone snuck up on me, but we took care of them.”

You don’t have to ask what this means, and you frown at the idea of someone hurting the woman next to you. You know that she deals with criminals, professional or otherwise, and they’d likely just shoot you before you could even touch them, but you still fantasize about punching them in the face. You know it’s a little more complicated than you’re imagining, but you try not to worry too much about what Wanda gets up to. You look up to see she’s watching you carefully for your reaction and you just sigh before shooting her a suspicious look.

“Did you see a doctor for this?”

Wanda is at least grateful that she can confirm that she did this. She’d honestly thought that she’d broken a couple of ribs, but luckily they were only severely bruised. She says this and claims that she got scanned and only left with pain meds and orders to rest. You nod at this and smile slightly as you dare to hope that she can stick around for a while. You’d never want her to be hurt, but you won’t complain about getting to have her around for a while as she recovers.

“How long are you around for? I’d hope you’re taking some time to get better.”

Wanda had thought about this for a while before coming to see you. She was told that she should take a couple of weeks, but she knew that this wasn’t going to happen. She was still busy and had some things she needed to do as soon as tomorrow. That said, when she’d left her brother earlier, she’d promised to remain scarce for at least tomorrow. Now that she’s told you what happened, she’d be surprised if you didn’t demand she sit out for longer.

“I’m supposed to take it easy for the week, but I still have work to do.”

You frown at this predictable answer and you’re already trying to figure out how you’ll convince Wanda to hang out for a couple of days. You’d already given her some oxy, so hopefully she’ll at least sleep through the morning, but you didn’t want to keep drugging her to keep her here. You’d prefer if she wanted to hang around opposed to being forced to do so.

“Well work can wait for at least a day. You’ll hang out here tomorrow.”

Wanda just smiles at you before she kisses the top of your head with a nod. She’ll take at least the day to relax with you and recover. Hopefully you didn’t have any plans that she was interrupting. She can already feel herself getting sleepy. She might end up sleeping through most of tomorrow.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You roll your eyes but say nothing as you lie down beside Wanda with a yawn. You are getting sleepy again, and now that Wanda’s taken care of you are able to relax. You close your eyes and breathe in deeply before turning your face into Wanda’s neck with a smile. You’re about to fall asleep to the soothing smell of her shampoo when she speaks up again. You open your eyes in confusion until her words register and you laugh quietly.

“How did your finals go?”

You hum in contemplation before kissing Wanda’s cheek with a smile.

“They were fine, babe. Go to sleep. We can talk tomorrow.”

Tomorrow comes sooner than either of you are ready for it. Wanda is still asleep at 10, but you need to get out of bed and make some breakfast. You’re careful not to wake her up as you sneak out of bed and retreat to the kitchen. You make sure that the front door is locked, even though you’re sure Wanda locked it, before you start on breakfast. You clean up a little from last night as your food is cooking, and once it’s done you set a plate aside for Wanda for whenever she wakes up.

You eat on your couch as you consider what you’re going to do today. Originally, you’d planned on going grocery shopping before relaxing for most of the day. Now that Wanda was here, you didn’t really want to leave, so you decided to just skip the store and go straight to relaxing.

A little later you’re in bed with your computer on your lap and your headphones in watching a movie. Wanda’s still asleep beside you, and you try not to disturb her as you watch your second favorite horror movie. You don’t notice her stir immediately because the best part of the movie has started, but once she groans and rolls onto her back, you pause it and take out your headphones.

“Hey there, sleepyhead. How are you feeling?”

Wanda doesn’t answer immediately as she blinks the sleep out of her eyes. She’s exhausted and she feels a little drunk from her extended sleep. She feels the familiar ache in her side and she sighs heavily before scooting toward you with a yawn.

“Tired. What time is it?”

When you tell her it’s nearly 1, her eyes fly open and you think she’d going to jump out of bed. You reach out to stop her as you try to reassure her that she hasn’t missed anything important. You run your hand through her hair as you list off what you’d already checked on.

“It’s okay, Wands. No one’s called you, or me, or shown up demanding your presence. Today’s about relaxing, okay? For both of us.”

You smile as Wanda frowns slightly as she thinks about this. She’s still tired, and she’s sure you’re tired from all of your finals, and given that it’s Sunday she really doesn’t have anything pressing to do. As realization sets in, Wanda lies back down and sighs in defeat before she shoots your computer a curious look. She nearly rolls her eyes when she sees what movie you’re watching. Again.

“I will need to get out of bed for food at some point.”

Wanda watches as you close your computer quickly before tossing it aside with a smile. You shake your head as you move to get out of bed, but you don’t quite make it before Wanda grabs your arm to keep you from leaving.

“I made you some breakfast, but I can also make lunch instead if you’d rather have that.”

Wanda shakes her head before tugging on you lightly with a pout that makes you cave far too easily. You fall back into bed and Wanda moves closer to you with a smile.

“Thank you, but later. I want to cuddle now.”

You can’t help but laugh at this, but you don’t refuse as you get back under the covers and pull Wanda closer. You wonder if the people in Wanda’s life knew how snuggly she was. You decide not to bring it up as you lie down with a groan. You could honestly spend all day in bed. Your brain was mush and your body ached, and you finally had Wanda back. You couldn’t think of anywhere else that you’d rather be.

You don’t realize that you both fell asleep until you are woken up by the sound of knocking reverberating through the room. You groan in annoyance before you realize that Wanda is still asleep. You mutter a curse under your breath as you get out of bed and go to investigate. You close the door behind you before heading toward the sound of increasingly loud knocking. You glance at the clock in the kitchen and realize it’s almost 6. Time for dinner.

“Hi, can I help you?”

You’re unprepared for the person on the other side of the door when you open it. He’s tall, blonde and built like a solider, and you have no idea who he is. If he wasn’t smiling at you, you’d be thoroughly freaked out. That said, you’re on your way there when he speaks up.

“Hi, my name’s Steve. I’m looking for Wanda, is she here?”

You have several questions that you’d like answered before you answer his. How did he know that Wanda was here? Who was he? And why the hell hadn’t you grabbed your phone? You frown feigning confusion before you shake your head in response. You’re not sure if Wanda has ever mentioned a Steve, but that doesn’t matter at the moment. You don’t care who he is because unless someone is dying, Wanda isn’t going back to work today.

“Sorry, you’ve got the wrong place, Steve.”

Instead of appearing apologetic or defeated like you were hoping, he just continues to smile as he looks over your shoulder into your apartment. He knows that Wanda’s here. He followed her here to make sure she got here safely, and now there was a problem that Pietro needed help with. He didn’t want to bother Wanda who he figured was sleeping considering she wasn’t nearby, but he did need her. He sighs quietly before opening his mouth to ask again, but you beat him to it.

“Who did you say you were again? Are you a friend?”

He takes a minute to consider how he should answer this. He’s not sure how much Wanda’s told you. He only recently found out about your existence, but the fact that Wanda was here now is very telling. She must trust you, and like you a lot, but still, she’s probably only told you the bare minimum because she’s always been paranoid.

“Yes. We’re friends and we work together. Steve Rogers.”

The last name doesn’t mean much to you, but he holds out his hand to you, a smile still on his face. He seems genuine, but if being with Wanda has taught you anything, it is to be cautious, borderline paranoid really. Still, you don’t think this man means you any harm. Other than trying to take your girlfriend after you just got her back.

“Nice to meet you, Steve. I’m Y/n, but I’m guessing you already knew that?”

You shake his hand, dropping it quickly as he smiles guiltily at your question. You’re not going to think too much about that and you sigh in defeat before trying to figure out your next move.

“I did.”

“Great, well Wanda’s resting, and she’s going to keep resting at least until tomorrow, so…come back then please.”

Steve opens his mouth to argue, but you shut the door in his face. You know you’re being rude, but you’re not letting Steve stress Wanda out after she slept nearly 12 hours. She clearly needed the rest and you don’t want her running off anywhere only to hurt herself more. You head back to your bedroom and are relieved to see that Wanda is still asleep. You sigh before getting back into bed and trying to relax again.

This lasts for 30 seconds before you hear a phone start vibrating. It’s not yours and you look around only to find Wanda’s phone on a chair in the corner with her folded clothes. You grab it and see that it’s Steve and you sigh in defeat. You answer it and can’t help but smile as you walk back out into the living room.

“Hello?”

“I really need to talk to Wanda, Y/n. “

You sigh loudly before you hang up the phone and walk back to your front door. Unsurprisingly, Steve is still standing there with his phone in his hand and a slightly annoyed look. You shoot him one back before you try to strike a deal.

“What’s so important that it can’t wait until tomorrow? Is someone hurt?”

Steve thinks about this for a second before he shakes his head. He’s not going to tell you the details because you won’t understand since he doubts Wanda told you about what happened to her, but he can tell you’re just as stubborn as he feared when you just frown.

“No, no one is hurt. We just need to talk about next steps.”

“You mean after she killed a bunch of people?”

Steve’s not expecting you to say this and he hesitates before shaking his head. He realizes he’s lying to you though, but you don’t give him time to take it back. You tilt your head slightly before asking the last question you plan to. Unless the answer is yes, you’re not letting Steve leave here with Wanda.

“Is Wanda in danger?”

Steve considers lying, but he’s really no good at it and he can tell you’re probably too smart to fall for it. So he just sighs before shrugging slightly and telling the truth that does nothing to convince you.

“Not any more so than usual.”

You smile at this despite hating the truth of the words and you prepare to close the door again.

“Okay, well not to be rude Steve because it’s nice to meet you, but please leave. Wanda will call you tomorrow.”

Steve just sighs in defeat before he decides to call it quits for now. Pietro can figure this out until at least then, and he can tell short of forcing his way in, he’s not going to get to talk to Wanda. He just offers you a wave before leaving.

“Alright fine. Nice to meet you too, kid.”

You frown at the name, but don’t bother arguing as you shut and lock the door behind him. You sigh in relief before you walk back to your bedroom. That was far more stressful than you anticipated it would be, and you felt wiped out. You notice that Wanda’s shifted since you left, but she was still asleep which you were grateful for. You were not looking forward to try and explain what happened just yet. She needs to sleep, and unless something drastic happens and Wanda is truly needed for an emergency, you plan to keep her here with you for at least the rest of the day. You were promised today, and you’d be damned if it was taken from you.

You kiss Wanda’s forehead and smile widely when she grumbles in her sleep.

“Night, Wands.”

Masterlist

[scuderiamh]

red-nosed baby || n. de vries x reader

pairing: nyck de vries x reader request: yes / no summary: your first christmas as a family – except the little one got sick right before. word count: 900 warnings: tess makes a return <3 rushed revising. two days late again... oops?

a baby’s first christmas was always something to look forward to. and not to get you wrong, you were excited. emphasis on were, past tense. 

there was nothing more you were looking forward to in the months leading up to christmas than the idea of spending it with your newly wedded husband nyck and your near one year old child, tess. sure, you knew full well this wouldn’t remain in tessie’s memories in thee years to come, but it was still important to you, just as it was to nyck. you’d have the memories. she would have the pictures in the future.

and it was all so exciting. you truly went all out. you’ve baked more cookies than you have in your lifetime, went over the top in decorations, and maybe went a little too far in buying gifts for your little one.

but it was going to be fun.

now to the emphasized past tense - tess got sick. right before christmas.

to say you were devastated would be pretty fair.

maybe it wasn’t that big of a deal, but it sure did feel like one. not only was christmas going to be spent with her too sick to really enjoy it, it was her first christmas, too.

the highs of your excitement were high, but now the lows were just as intense. you tried to keep the christmas spirit going, telling yourself she’d be fine by christmas morning, but then when she wasn’t… it was nyck who had to try and keep the mood high.

“hey, at least its the one she won’t remembered.” he said, making a weak attempt of brightening the atmosphere. you two were half sat, half laying on your bed, with tess in between. she was sound asleep, but after the long night you’d just had trying to keep her from crying too much, you knew it wouldn’t last too long. not only were you all upset, you were beyond exhausted, too.

“yeah,” you smiled half-heartedly, appreciating his efforts but not feeling much better. “i guess so.”

in terms of talking, the room went silent, but your daughter’s consistently labored breathing rang throughout the room. then, nyck checked his phone, and the action caused you to glance over.

“a couple stores should be open now,” he said, propping himself up a little more. “i can go get the medicine now.” “no, you stay. i’ll go.”

“you sure?” he asked, watching you say you got up.

“yeah.” you nodded. maybe it was a little selfish, but you needed to get out of this room. it started to get depressing, and you needed to breathe a little. seeing all the christmas spirit outside was not something you were looking forward to, but it was better than feeling cooped up. “i’ll see you in a bit. love you.”

“yeah, you too, schat. see you.” he responded with a little sigh, sinking back down and returning his attention to a sleeping tess.

you put little to no time into making yourself presentable, only making yourself look decent enough to escape concern. it took a little online searching to find the closest grocery store open today, but the driving itself only took about five minutes.

once at the store, you’d made your trip for cold medicine quick. you averted your eyes from any of the decorations and successfully blocked out the christmas music with your own headphones playing something of the complete opposite energy. while there, you grabbed some chicken broth you figured would likely come in handy later.

the overall time to the store and back must’ve taken less than twenty minutes total, but you’d come home to an entirely different scene.

while the lighting outside hadn’t changed, it seemed as though the mood brightened the house significantly by the time you were back. jolly music was playing from a speaker somewhere, and, on the couch-

nyck holding a slightly better looking tess, who was awake and… not crying. giggling, actually. it was a sight so normal you’d almost forgotten the circumstances, but as you remembered the past few days it came as a shock.

little tess, way too sick to do anything but sleep or cry just hours ago, was giggling. a laugh impossibly even sweeter to hear than normal times.

“and would you look at that!” nyck exclaimed in a hushed voice, clearly talking to tess though looking at you. “mom’s back!”

it was now that they were turned your way did you realize they had… red… something? on their noses. approaching them with something resembling caution, you looked more than confused. “what’s on your guys’ noses?” you asked tentatively, putting down the grocery bag before sitting down next to them.

“face paint.” nyck shrugged, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

“why?”

“we’re red nosed reindeer!” he said, and tess burst out in another fit of giggles. “like rudolph.”

your smile was impossibly wide as your head hung with your laugh. now, that’s what he wanted to see. a silly antic to make both his girls laugh.

“tess… the red nosed baby?” you said, and he nodded enthusiastically. 

at the mention of her name, tess’ attention was on you and her arms were outstretched your way. you took her into your arms immediately, tapping her painted nose once with a smile. when she sneezed, you knew it was still going to be a long day ahead of you. but maybe it wasn’t going to be as dark as it felt.

[dragonologist-in-the-making]

Paper Rings

Pairing: James Potter x Reader

Summary: On his first ride to Hogwarts, James befriended the girl who was obsessed with shiny things. Over their schooling together, their friendship turned into so much more.

A/N: lmao I suck at summaries. Also I’m back sorry for the random hiatus (and sorry that posting will almost definitely not be consistent after this either). I had this idea months ago, inspired by Taylor Swift’s Paper Rings, and I only just got around to writing it asdfghjkl. Still obsessed with James though rip me I just want someone to love me like this.

Warnings: Mentions of eating (briefly), otherwise just a lot of fluff.

Wordcount: 4k (wow)

...

Little James Potter waved goodbye to his parents as the train took off from the platform, nervous about his first journey to the infamous Hogwarts, but excited to discover all the great things his parents had told him for himself. First though: finding a carriage.

Trying not to show his nerves, he wandered along the corridor, peeping into the carriages to see if there was one he could join. For the most part, he found them all too full, too loud to juggle his nerves, or the students too old and intimidating. The days would come where James would rule the corridors of the castle, but the eleven year old boy on the train was just hoping to make a friend he could share this new adventure with.

As fate would have it, he found just that and so much more. In a carriage to herself sat a young girl, his age, her face turned away from him looking out the window. The only thing he could see was a petite sparkling bow, sitting neatly in her (y/h/c) hair.

Without thinking about it, he knocked gently on the compartment door, sliding it open as she turned to look at him inquisitively. Her (y/e/c) eye’s glittered as her lips pulled into a smile, creating a complete sense of comfort for James to ask. “Do you mind if I sit?” She nodded eagerly, gathering up a few books she had dumped on the opposite seat and dropping them into her lap. “I’m James.” He smiled.

“(y/n). It’s nice to meet you.”

They sat in a comfortable silence for a short while, listening to the laughs of older students, friends reuniting after a summer apart, and watching the landscape whip by them out the window.

“I like your bow, by the way.” James spoke up, feeling glad he did when an excited smile broke across her face, looking as if he’d told her she’d won the lottery.

“Thank you! I love the way it sparkles.” She said, gently pulling it from her hair and twisting it in the sunlight, showing how rainbows danced in the glitter and were thrown across their compartment. Satisfied, she used it to clip back the hair that was now falling into her face, and their conversation moved on, following each and every thought they were having, becoming fast friends. James didn’t think the journey could get any better until two boys showed up at their door and asked if they could join them, setting everlasting friendships in stone.

As the train pulled up to Hogwarts, any nervousness James had been feeling was gone. Instead, the only thought he had was that he couldn’t be more glad he sat in the compartment of the girl with the sparkling bow.

…

Their first year passed in a blur, and the Marauders spent the majority of it in each other’s company, laughing their days away.

Now, summer had come and gone, and their second year at Hogwarts was in full swing. They walked into their charms class together, laughing about a joke Sirius had made at James’ expense. (y/n) sat next to the curly-haired boy at their desk, as Remus Sirius and Peter sat at the one adjacent to them.

“Hey, it’s not my fault I didn’t make the team last year! No first year has made a house team in like 80 years! I’m telling you though, I’ll make it on this year, and I’ll be the best chaser this school has ever seen.” James protested, huffing as he put his textbook in the middle of the table for him and (y/n) to share. She laughed at him softly, hand patting his shoulder as the other boys got lost in their own conversation.

“I know you will, Jamie. And I’ll be there cheering you on every step of the way.” His cheeks redenned at her words, but luckily their attention was turned away by Professor Flitwick.

“Now students, the charm I’ll be teaching you today is more of a fun one to start off the year than anything you’ll likely need in your everyday lives. As always, I don’t expect you to create chaos by using these charms” – he turned his gaze to a particular group of students at this point who were all busily looking elsewhere – “but simply to enlighten yourselves and to show you what magic can do. So, the charm we’ll be learning today is how to make things glitter.”

James heard an almost inaudible gasp next to him, and he could feel the excitement radiating off (y/n). He chuckled, expecting nothing less; he’d known her for a year now, and if it wasn’t the bow in her hair there was always something shiny on her at any given time.

Flitwick talked about the details of the charm, how it could be applied subtly, only giving a faint sheen, or how it could be made much more obvious. Finally, he gave them the charm and told everyone to repeat after him. “Now, like I said, just because this is a fun charm doesn’t mean it’s an easy one, and I don’t expect you to get it on your first attempt. Just keep repeating the charm and-oh!” He broke off suddenly, just as James’ vision went hazy. Once he’d focused, he saw he was surrounded by a cloud of individual glitter specs floating around them, almost as if they were in their own galaxy. His gaze shifted to its centre, shining most brilliantly of all as her proud and excited smile dazzled him, making him forget entirely they were still in their charms classroom.

“Well done Miss (y/n)!” Flitwick’s voice broke through their bubble, and slowly each star seemed to fade out of existence, until they were back in their regular old classroom, thirty pairs of eyes trained on them. “You certainly felt the spirit of the charm and went above and beyond. 10 points to (y/h). Now, if you could help Mr Potter whilst we all get back to it!”

Chatter burst out the classroom almost immediately, partners working together trying to enchant an object of theirs to take on the glittery effect. Sirius turned to her, rolling his eyes half-heartedly.

“Becoming a teachers pet now are we, (y/l/n)?” She rolled her eyes back, waving her wand to produce a cloud of glitter that settled in Sirius’ hair, contrasting sharply against its darkness.

“It’s sparklesSirius, what did you expect? Now c’mon, this is the one lesson I won’t let you not do the work in. Make some glittery greatness and I’ll bake you all some cookies when I next steal James’ cloak to go to the kitchens.” With those words, the three boys turned their entire focus to the task at hand, while James still seemed slightly awestruck next to her. “You alright, J?”

“That was amazing (y/n/n). I had no idea you could do that.”

“Well I guess you can’t know until you try.” She shrugged, picking up her quill and placing it in front of him. “Charm my quill.”

“Why me? You could just do it yourself.” James asked, confused why she didn’t do it herself since she was clearly more than capable. Once again, she shrugged, looking into his eyes as she uttered the words so nonchalantly that would stick with him for years to come.

“Well, Flitwick said you needed to practise. Plus, it’ll mean more to me if every time I look at my quill I know that you’re the reason it’s shining.”

Within a heartbeat, James had uttered the incantation and a subtle shimmer had settled over the feather, imperceptible until it was moved and caught the light. The smile he saw when he looked over at (y/n) made him vow to himself that as long as he was around, she would never have an ordinary quill again.

True to his word, every time she brought out a new quill, he was quick to snatch it from her and place the simple charm on it. It became an unspoken promise between the two of them, and every time James saw that sparkle from the corner of his eye, he couldn’t help but smile to himself.

. . .

True to her word, (y/n) was there for all of James’ games, cheering him on from the side of the pitch, always the first to reach him when the game was over. High or low, win or lose, she was always there to remind him that he had played amazingly, and that she was proud of him.

After one such game in their fourth year, Gryffindor narrowly losing to Slytherin, she was at his side so quickly that he would have thought she had apparated if he knew this wasn’t possible. She wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly, feeling the slight shaking of his shoulders. “Oh, James.” She quickly ushered him off the pitch before he attracted eyes, assuring him that Sirius and Remus would collect his things from the changing room and bring them back to his dorm. Once they reached his dorm, she sent him to shower, promising that she would be there for him once he was back.

Sure enough, he came out of the shower in fresh clothes and damp hair, and she was still on his bed, patiently waiting for him. She held her hand out to him, a silent invitation, and as soon as he took it she pulled him to her side and once again enveloped him in a hug.

“I’m so proud of you, Jamie.” She whispered, squeezing him momentarily before drawing back and looking into his glassy eyes.

“Shouldn’t be.” He murmured, avoiding her gaze. “We lost.”

“And yet you scored more goals than anyone else the entire game.” She pointed out, sincerity lacing her voice. “It’s just because the snitch is worth a stupid amount of points, honestly the game has a lot of flaws.” James smiled weakly, they often had these debates about Quidditch and it always ended in some silly way.

“I did hit Malfoy in the head with a Quaffle.” He admitted, and (y/n) could see the weight falling off his shoulders.

“The highlight of all our years.” She laughed, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a little box. “I got you something.” She handed it to him, and he pushed it back to her, head shaking, doubt returned.

“No I didn’t do anything to deserve it. Keep it.”

“We already had this argument and I’m not taking no for an answer.” She shoved the box into his hands and folded her arms across her chest, waiting for him to open it.

Reluctantly, he pulled the lid off the box to reveal a snitch, the snitch he normally kept on his person at all times, now shining with a slight iridescence. James looked up at her, thankful but a little confused at the present.

“I’ve actually been saving it for when you lose a game. Which has been hard because that’s hardly ever.” She broke off to give him a playful glare along with her words, quickly broken by her soft smile. “I know you play with the snitch when you have a lot on your mind, and when you start to doubt yourself. I wanted to remind you that you’re incredible and you should believe that yourself. So, when you see the snitch and you see it sparkle, you’ll think of me, and you’ll remember how great you are.” He was speechless, and in the silent air, she did what the two of them did best, and started to nervously babble. “Well, that’s assuming you think of me when you see sparkles, and quite frankly after all this time I’d be slightly offended if you didn’t-oof” her rambling stopped when James tackled her into a hug, knocking them both back onto the bed.

“Thank you.” Was all he said, but she could hear the emotion behind each word, everything he was trying to communicate. All she did was hold him tighter.

It was then that Sirius and Remus walked into the dorm, carrying all of James’ equipment from the game, causing James and (y/n) to jump away from each other. Blushes arose on both their faces, not that the other would have noticed, each too busy looking at opposite walls of the dorm. Sirius and Remus exchanged a knowing look, but decided to let it slide, knowing there was an inevitability to it anyway.

…

Once again, (y/n) was boarding the Hogwarts express for another year of school. She knew this year would be a stressful one, with their OWL exams coming up, but she also knew that as long as she had her boys by her side, she would be absolutely fine.

Speaking of her friends, she was currently walking along the train trying to find them. She knew that Lily and Remus were prefects now so they’d be at the front of the train, but she was struggling to find anyone else. Eventually, she found James, sitting in a carriage by himself, absentmindedly watching the view. She chuckled to herself at the situation, the reverse of their meeting all those years ago.

She slid the door open, catching his attention and his ever-so-addictive smile. “Got room for an old pal?” She asked, sitting next to him when he patted the seat, his hand enveloping hers as soon as she had, a silent communication. I missed you.

“I was starting to think you’d gotten cool and forgotten about me.” He joked, nudging her playfully.

“Piss off Potter, I was always cooler than you.” She teased back, glad to see that nothing had changed despite their time apart. It never did, they were always James and (y/n), inseparable no matter how hard anyone tried. “Where is everyone?”

“Lils and Moony are doing prefect duties, and Sirius enlisted Peter’s help to try and sneak into their carriage and get the insider information.” He rolled his eyes light-heartedly, forming air quotes around Sirius’ words as (y/n) laughed, eyes closing in amusement. “What’s that on your eyes?” James suddenly asked, stopping her laughter short as she tried to figure out what he meant.

“Oh!” She remembered. “I went to see Lils in the holidays and she was showing me this glitter eyeliner that muggles wear! Why, do you not like it?” She suddenly felt self-conscious, wondering if it really was too much despite Lily’s reassurances. It was a subtle white, but still, it was glitter on her face.

“The opposite!” James was quick to answer, rushing so much to not hurt her feelings that he wasn’t thinking about what he was saying. “I think you look really beautiful (y/n/n), with or without the makeup. Besides, the glitter brings out your eyes.”

At this point, they were both blushing furiously, and James was still holding her hand, neither of them willing to let go. (y/n) couldn’t help but smile to herself, and remembered to thank Lily for the recommendation the second they were in the dorm together that evening.

…

James climbed the last step into the astronomy tower, seeing (y/n) leaning against the railing already, gazing into the night sky, a blanket and an array of snacks out on the floor behind her.

It was a ritual they’d started who knows when, a chance to wind down and escape the chaos of everyday life, to enjoy each other’s company and to feast away on whatever snacks they had managed to stow away for these evenings. Tonight’s selection looked to consist mostly of cauldron cakes and chocolate frogs, with the occasional sugar quill hidden amongst the rest. “Heavy on the sugar tonight, I see.” He broke the silence teasingly, settling himself so that he was sat at (y/n)’s feet, still able to see the clear night sky above them.

“If I don’t consume my own bodyweight in sugar I think I’ll pass out I’m that exhausted.” She commented back, sinking down next to him. Automatically, his arm wound around her shoulder, pulling her into his side and resting his chin on top of her head. There weren’t words to describe the feeling of pure content as she melted into him, completely at ease.

She reached out and grabbed a chocolate frog, unwrapping it and handing the card to James with a sigh upon seeing it was one already in her collection. She bit into the chocolate, her gaze on the night sky as his was unable to break away from her, the way she settled so peacefully against him.

“The stars sparkle too, you know.” She broke the silence, voice quiet but still holding its signature melodic tone. James finally broke away from looking at her, joining her eyeline and looking at the constellations above them. Even though he wasn’t taking astronomy as a NEWT, spending so much time in the tower with (y/n) as she mapped the sky meant he knew precisely what he was looking at, and traced the constellations with his eyes.

“You know, six years of friendship and I don’t think I ever asked you why you like shiny things so much. I always just accepted it as a part of who you are.” A smile graced her face as she unconsciously twiddled her fingers.

“Don’t laugh.” She warned, and he solemnly shook his head. “I think there’s something so entrancing, so beautiful about them. I think it serves as a reminder that even the most seemingly dull thing,” she picked up another chocolate frog box at this point, waving her wand to create a light sparkle over it, “is wonderfully brilliant if you just remember to look at it in the right way. It’s a lesson we should all carry with us, and I try to remember it whenever I can. Everything is beautiful if you give it a chance.” The sparkles on the box faded in the moonlight, as (y/n) finally looked up at James, only to find him already staring back at her.

Body thinking quicker than brain, seeing her (y/e/c) eyes glimmering up at him, James leant down and pressed his lips to hers. She stifled a gasp, quickly moving her lips back against his as her hand wound gently around the back of his neck. He poured all of his admiration into the kiss, everything he had been feeling for her since he didn’t even know when, feeling his heart soar to be here with her in that moment.

Eventually, they broke away for air, and a breathy laugh fell from (y/n)’s lips, blush rising on her cheeks as she turned her face away. James reached for her hand, interlacing their fingers and gently rubbing circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. “I’ve been drawn to you since the day I saw you in that train carriage. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, your soul. I didn’t even realise the outside matched until we came back from that summer you spent with Lily. But god, every day since then I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I like you, (y/n/n). I really like you.”

Around them, a shimmering cloud exploded simultaneous to a wide grin spreading across (y/n)’s face. It was their own galaxy, just like all that time ago in the charms lesson, but she was still in the centre, still giddy with excitement. “I like you too, Jamie.” Her smile turned a little sheepish. “And sorry, I think my emotions got a little out of control.” The star-like sparkles slowly dissipated around them until there was nothing left, and this time it was (y/n) who leaned up to James, connecting their lips one more time.

“You taste like chocolate.”

“I’m sure that must be awful for you, Potter”. Nothing had changed, and yet nothing would be the same either.

…

James was sat on the floor of his dorm, textbooks open in front of him, although this late in the day he was struggling to pay any attention to them. What he was focused on instead was his girlfriend, tucked into the alcove of the windowsill, absentmindedly writing away on a piece of parchment.

Her (y/h/c) hair was in plaits down her back, and in the candlelight the silver threads that James had helped her braid in this morning were casting light across the room that shifted with every little shake of her head or shrug of her shoulders.

“You’re staring again, Jamie.” She chastised, although the humour was clear in her voice. He pushed himself up from the floor with an exaggerated groan, making his way over to her and pulling her gently into his chest, pressing a soft kiss into her hair.

“Can’t help it love, you’re an actual angel.” He didn’t see it but he knew she’d be rolling her eyes as she buried her face in his chest to hide the blush that was forming on her cheeks.

“Stop being so cheesy.”

“As if you don’t love it.” She pressed a kiss into his chest, resting her head against him as she went back to her writing. He tried not to pry, but he couldn’t help but catch notice of his name and his interest piqued. “Who are you writing to?”

“Euphemia.” She replied nonchalantly, not pausing her actions as he took a step away, face scrunched in confusion.

“My mother?” she paused at this, looking up at him with false exasperation.

“Do you know many other Euphemias?” She deadpanned. He shrugged, admitting her fair point, moving back to her side where she immediately snuggled back into his warmth.

“How long have you been writing to my mum?” She paused for a second, contemplating.

“Since the start of term I think. She sent an owl, I responded, we haven’t really stopped talking since. Oh, I’m coming over for Christmas by the way, she invited me. Said it wouldn’t be Christmas without the whole family there” (y/n) looked up at him, flashing a mischievous grin, expecting him to whine childishly like he normally would, complaining that he was supposed to ask her. Instead, looking more solemn than she’d seen him in a long time, he crushed her against him, holding her so tightly before he leant down and connected their lips. The kiss was bruising, but it was packed with adoration, and it left (y/n) slightly breathless. He broke away, leaning his forehead against hers as she tried to catch her breath back. “What was that for?”

“I love you. So much. You’re absolutely perfect, and I swear, I can’t wait until the day I can put a ring on that finger and make it official, make you a Potter for real. I promise, it’s going to be the most sparkling, dazzling gem you’ve ever seen. It’ll shine just as brightly as you, and it’ll always remind you that you’re beautiful, in every way, and just how much I love you.” Her hand had come to rest on his cheek, smiling throughout his little speech, parchment cast aside and forgotten about at this point.

“Don’t be silly, James.” She laughed, stroking his cheek with her thumb. “I love shiny things, yes, but I don’t need one to be reminded of how amazing you are, or how much I love you. Hell, you could ask me to marry you with a paper ring and I’d still say yes in a heartbeat. I’m saying yes to you, to a life. You don’t need to win me over with some ridiculously expensive piece of jewellery.” He nodded slightly, pecking her lips before moving back to where he had been sat on the floor.

(y/n) picked her parchment back up, continuing on to the letter she had been writing to Euphemia Potter, unable to help themselves from planning the Christmas festivities despite it being early November.

Deep in concentration, she startled slightly as she noticed movement coming from the corner of her eye. She looked to the side to see her boyfriend once again, although this time he was knelt before her, holding up a piece of parchment that he had hastily fashioned into a ring, coupled with a sheepish smile.

Laughing merrily, she hopped down from the windowsill, pulling him up by his jumper and kissing him passionately as she slid the piece of paper onto her finger, looking forward to the day when they were older, when they could promise this for real, knowing that they had the rest of their lives ahead of them to love each other unconditionally.

When James first stepped on that Hogwarts train, he was hoping to find a friend he could share every moment with for the next seven years. He had found that in her, a best friend, now a lover, for seven years but for so much longer. The girl with the sparkling bow turned out to be his soulmate, and he sent a prayer of thanks to the stars every day.

[talk-it-out-outsiders-smp]

Ok time has passed so now I rant because I've processed. It burns me so much that they were friends! All the pictures at the end of Ayngels stream just showing off moments of them just goofing off hits so hard because they've been isolated together for so long and they had good moments together, its not been all pain and despair. Rasbi and Apo would watch Owen teach people to shoot, they threw snowballs at each other, the angst might leave a big impact but those little moments of happiness are what have kept all of the Outsiders going. The moments of laughter and happiness with each other has kept them sane in the clearing and now all those happy times are just bitter sweet memories.

Do they think about it sometimes now that things are so complicated?

Does Krow miss being able to talk with Bek? To laugh at her jokes or clap half heartedly at her performances? Can it think of Ayngel knowing it left her behind on that tree, it didnt even say goodbye. It's regressed back to who it was out of anger and a want to survive but in the back of it's mind does it still think about Tasia and Percy? Does it remember playing tag with Ayngel and Magic? Does it refuse to remember because a Dragonborn is above such things? Does a tiny little part of it hold those memories, locked in a little box of happy things it won't acknowledge but refuses to fully forget?

Will Gracie ever be able to think about sitting by the campfire with Owen without feeling sick about how he hurt so many people while she could do nothing to stop him, could she have stopped him if she didnt get injured. She and Spidey are the last of their clearing and how can she think of all those happy moments with them, without being crushed by their loss. Her memories of all of them cut off so sharply. She missed months of their lives and their deaths and now she carries all of their memories with her. All these people who were her only company for so long, her responsibility as theyre leader, and all she has left of all but one of her original clearing is the memories that haunt her.

When Reddons is alone in the maze, like he's been for so long Apo never came back to visit but at least he knows why now, does he remember moosus and the cow religion he formed? Does he think back fondly on jumping out from behind the stage at the elections covered in diamonds, wanting to impress and shock them. Does he think about the friends he never sees or speaks to anymore, ever regret not staying. Just for a little longer for a few more happy moments. Or does he drown all those memories in booze?

When Owen was killing Apo did he think about long days hanging out by they're little pond learning to fish? Did he remember afternoon's spent baking with Rasbi? Does he remember Guts wanting him not to see her as a liar because she respected him? When he was fighting Krow did he remember the convo they had where he said he didn't kill people?

Do they selfishly wish they had just stayed in the clearing? It's not the real world, not really home but at least they didn't feel so alone back then. Has it been worth it to them? Will they be any happier outsider of these walls, without the friends they once had?

[ialwaysgobacktoit]

one shot prompt -

gwyn at training, purposely being more affectionate towards his shadows than him because she knows he wants it so she's teasing him but also, why should he always get the attention?? and az being pouty because he's a simp and he knows it and he can't do anything about it in front of cass and rhys and he has to quietly be jealous the rest of training and watch his shadows hang with their mum because she's cooler.

Gwynriel One-Shot: "Shadows and Training"

So this is my first attempt at an one-shot, inspired by this ask @deardiarystuff sent me! Hope you like it <3 It was so much fun to write. Feel free to submit more prompts in my ask, and I'll check them out as soon as I can :)

“This is not funny.” Azriel muttered to himself, watching Gwyn as she smiled and played with his shadows, which couldn’t stop encircling her.

She likes us a lot, master. And we like her better.

He rolled his eyes at the ones still in his shoulders, crossing his arms against his chest.

“What’s not funny, brother?” Cassian had just approached him, following his gaze to the young priestess on the other side of the training ring, engulfed by a large part of his shadows. He snorted. “Wow. What are they all doing over there?”

“I could ask them the same.” He grunted in response.

“It seems to me your shadows are growing fonder of your mate than of you, Shadowsinger. And vice-versa, may I add.” Cassian switched his stare from the scarce tendrils behind his brother to the majority of Azriel’s mighty shadows hanging around Gwyn, creating a sort of cape around her as she exercised, focused on her movements. But that constant sly smile on her face was driving him insane. As if she knew exactly what it was doing to him.

It’s been no more than a year since they discovered about their mating bond, and since then, Azriel’s life gained a new meaning. It was months and months of getting to know each other, slowly solidifying that bond with each day and night they spent together. And it was the happiest Azriel had ever been. Even the rest of his family noticed it; the way he was easier around others, made more jokes and comments than he usually - well, than he ever - did. All because of Gwyn, and what loving and being truly loved and cherished by the one who was meant for you entailed; the way she was helping him through his darkness, just like he was helping her.

She is teasing you and enjoying it. Go talk to her.

And so he went over to where she stood, alone and panting after she finished one of her sets: “You might hurt yourself if you keep doing it like this.”

She turned her face to him, narrowing her eyes, her beautiful freckled face flushed from training. His shadows were still hovering around her, like a dark cloud. She raised her eyebrows, reading right through him. She wasn’t actually doing anything wrong. Her feet could be spread a little wider, but it wasn’t necessary to her stance. He was just blabbing anything so he could have her attention.

It started a few days ago. They were having dinner together, and then he said something particular that bothered her. An opinion about a book she liked and he didn’t. He couldn’t exactly remember it now, to be honest. She disagreed with him, and argued back. So they found themselves immersed in a discussion about plot lines and poorly developed characters, in their usual bantering. But when they were over, his shadows unexpectedly crossed the small distance between them and went to stay with her.

And then Gwyn started talking to them. Bragging - seeing the expression in Azriel’s face - about how her point made much more sense than his, a victorious smile spread across her face. She talked to them with such fondness he couldn’t help but feeling some kind of jealousy, as ridiculous and irrational as it sounded. His shadows were a part of him, and he was well aware of that fact, but even so.

The way he reacted that night, knitting his brows together and shaking his head slowly, with a slight pout, was enough for Gwyn to notice the effect it had on him; and then she burst into a fit of laughter, her melodic voice easing him almost immediately, and leaned over to give him a soft kiss. And that was all it took for him to keep repeating his reaction every time that interaction happened again. Just like it was now.

“How come, Shadowsinger?” Gwyn teased, returning to her stance. Waiting, he could see, for him to correct her. And knowing for a fact she wasn’t doing anything wrong.

“You could open up your feet a bit more, to improve your posture and give you more balance.”

“I thought my balance was quite well as it was, like you mentioned yesterday.” She turned her head away from him, preparing herself.

Azriel grunted, to which she smirked playfully.

“You know” She kept staring ahead of her, and swiftly twirled her body to bust a kick in the air “It’s not necessary for you to be jealous of me. After all, your shadows are bound to you; it’s not like I could go on and actually steal them.”

We would be happy to test this possibility.

He ignored his shadows, quietly admiring her quick and clean movements as she kicked the air again and again, huffing with each strike.

“Unless…” She trailed off, finishing her set and facing him at last, bracing her hands on her hips and lifting an eyebrow “Unless you’re not jealous of me with your shadows, but of your shadows with me.”

Azriel couldn’t help it, then. Mother, he was so fascinated by her; that challenging look when she assessed him, her clearly amused smile and that twinkle in her teal eyes. Her constellations shining bright with sunlight and sweat, making her face a sky he would happily look up at for the rest of his nights.

“I’m not jealous, Berdara.” He declared, in a low tone.

She nodded delightedly, eyes narrowing. “So you wouldn’t mind if I kept them for now, then? We’re having so much fun together”

He watched as she smiled charmingly at his shadows hovering around her, embracing her shoulders and hips and arms, and then stared deep into his eyes. All he could do was shake his head half-heartedly, in a quiet act of defeat, knowing full well he should let her get back to training.

Before he turned to leave, though, she grabbed his arm, and with a graceful movement she leaned on her toes and kissed him lightly. Quickly, because well, there was still an audience around them – Cassian and Nesta included, whom Azriel could practically feel the stare from across the room – but enough for him to close his eyes and savor her lips, breathing in her scent. Their kisses, they took his breath away ever since the first one, hesitant and soft. And Azriel had a joyous feeling it would always feel like this.

“Thank you” She whispered cheekily and winked when they parted, face mere inches away from his.

He couldn’t help but smile then, the grin that was only meant for Gwyn. After all, she was the reason that made him remember how to do it once again. He was still grinning when he turned away to join Cassian, and it spread as Gwyn hummed a gleeful “’love you!” at him.

When he stood by his brother’s side he was greeted with a laugh from the General, who scanned him from head to toe.

“Damn, brother, you’re such a…”

“I know.” He interrupted, never taking his eyes away from his mate and his shadows as she resumed her practice. “I’m a fool for her.”

And he didn't mind.

No, he didn't mind one bit.

[minifrenchfry-kabbit]

"Can't argue with you there.. no matter how much I'd like to."

Benji muttered with a heavy sigh of his own, plopping down into one of the chairs, fur still dripping wet from his quick rinse-off in the shower, half-heartedly drying off with a towel.

While he saved his full-length showers for home, there were times he felt the need to clean off after a session, especially if his fur got crusty in the aftermath. Soap-use was minimal though.. a lot of his clients seemed to like his natural musk, so he usually just rinsed off in-between appointments.

He hadn't meant to snap at Fynn, but his nerves were shot. He hadn't realized how much he'd just been going on auto-pilot until he'd run smack dab into the other, whom he'd honestly been trying to somewhat avoid during work.

It was easier just to shut everything off, he'd spent more time sifting through his own thoughts and feelings in the last month or so, then he'd done since he'd kicked himself in the ass getting sober. And just when he thought things were taking a turn for the better.. the fallout from the court ruling hit.

It was inevitable that negative publicity would come with the positive, especially when the gene and its suppressant had become such an integral part of the evidence presented. The cousins were no longer under the thumb of their horrible grandparent, and Fynn's "parents" could very well spend some significant time behind bars, depending how that investigation played out.

But it had also lit a fire under the group that demonized gene-carriers, and more specifically.. had given his tormentor more fuel to stoke his funeral pyre. While he'd shut down and refused to tell his side of the story, she'd long since flipped the script and made herself the victim - with excruciating detail regarding the suppressant.

That part of her tale had once been the only thing scrutinized, but now that those effects were public knowledge.. the uproar of her supposed "continuous rape" at the hands of her older brother was louder than ever.. and she was doing everything she could to fan the flames.

Everything.. as he'd come to starkly realize, when he'd seen her face plastered on a news article, crying her crocodile tears from eyes that were going purple.

Now it wasn't just her circle of followers that went out of their way to make his life hellish, and he was sure the frequent cancellations from some of his regulars wasn't just a coincidence, either.

Old feelings were beginning to creep up again, the belief that it'd be best for everyone if he just packed up and left one day. So long as they were associated with him, they were in danger. As much as he tended to run from everything.. he never went far enough.

Though now with the knowledge that his soul had been linked with Fynn's.. that was an impossibility. Which just made the spiral of self-loathing even worse.. when he couldn't even entertain the notion of self-exile anymore.

When that had been the one hypothetical solution he'd clung to for years..

With a shaky sigh, he pressed the towel firmly to his wet face, long ears drooping over as he considered his response to the other - knowing full well he was incapable of lying to him.

He pulled the towel away, staring down at it as water continued to drip down onto it, soaking in as he crumpled it in his paws.

"Maybe not.. worrying for nothing. But I haven't given in to anything.. yet.."

"I know, alright. I know I'm an asshole.. But I'm.. trying here." @minifrenchfry-kabbit

@minifrenchfry-kabbit

He lets out a sigh as he pinches the bridge of his nose, leaned back against the dressing room counter "You're trying but you also have this very bad habit of convincing yourself of things that are a determent to making any sort of progress."

Finally opening his eyes again, he pulls a pack of gum from his inventory, smacking out a piece and popping it into his mouth. A nice compromise for whenever he got the urge for even a smoke. It gave him the same satisfying taps of the packaging. while it didn't have the same exhale effect the punch to his system of flavor certainly did something he supposed.

Taking one of the makeup wipes from it's container, he removed the lipstick from his lips, a client request that he was quite accustomed to at this point. At least when it came to his male clients. At least he was more comfortable with fem-esq things now than he had been quite some time ago.

"Since things are starting to get rattled again, I was worried that you might've gotten off track again." he replies throwing the used wipes away, taking off the fake glasses as he looked down at his companion. a skeptical look a kin to that of Lucinda's. Something he'd picked up on over the years of being the unfortunate receiver of said look.

"So I'll ask a simple question, Are you getting off track? Or is am I worrying for nothing?"

[lazarettta]

The Babysitter

Characters ( Ally Mayfair-Richards x Reader )

Rating (T) Word Count ( 2.9k) Warnings ( None, bad flirting, writing while intoxicated)

“For dinner! I'd love to come home with you for dinner.”

“Well what else would you be coming for?”

“Dessert.”

It was another late night studying on the living room floor of the Mayfair-Richards household. It wasn't uncommon for you to spend a majority of your nights here during the week and sometimes the weekend if you were needed and you usually weren't. Not that you would've minded anyway, your weekends weren't busy—mostly spent either dead asleep or trying to get out of plans you didn't want to be a part of anyway to get more sleep.

But it wasn't everyday that you were able to work for a Senator either, so even if you were busy, you weren't going to tell Ally Mayfair-Richards that. Not that she was a mean boss or anything, she was the Senator for crying out loud. And...okay yes, maybe you idolized the woman a little though it may be because you're studying law but honestly who wouldn't idolize this woman? She went through so much shit getting to this point in her life and career.

And she was hot. She was really hot but you kept it in your pants, but your eyeballs? Different story. You were just grateful that she chose you to watch her son when she was away, especially after you knocked over your entire cup of tea in her living room on the very carpet you were sitting on, and you were just a hot mess.

You thought you blew the whole thing, but the moment she produced the NDA to you a few days later when she called you back for a 'second interview' which included Ozzy this time, you'd been ecstatic and nearly knocked over another fucking cup but Ally was faster than you that time.

The giant TV was playing in front of you across the room but it was just the news channel but the volume was pretty low because Oz was asleep upstairs and you weren't really watching it anyway, you had your airpods in listening to Beyoncé and trying to create a decent scenario for one of the ten theories your professor assigned. It was due the next day so you thought picking the easiest one would work in your favor but it was turning out to be your worst nightmare—and you'd regretted choosing sleep over this, kind of.

You'd been so engrossed in your work, and music, you didn't hear the front door open and shut somewhere behind you or hear Ally quietly talking on the phone, her high heels click clacking on her polished wood floors as she came into the living room. Ally paused slightly at the sight of you and her coffee table, your books and yellow pads scattered everywhere, your head bopping slightly to whatever you were listening to as you scribbled away.

Ally smiled softly, and continued on her way upstairs to check on Ozzy knowing that she was going to find him safe, clean and fast asleep with a full belly. You'd been his nanny for four months now and you were such a blessing for Ally, she'd been reluctant to hire and trust another person with her baby boy but her career was too demanding and Ozzy was only ten. He could stay home alone for a few hours maybe, but not days or even a week or two.

After everything, Ally did have cameras around her home on the outside and she had one directly over the stairs because it overlooked the foyer and parts of the living room from an angle. She didn't want too many camera's inside of her home in case they were hacked but she wanted something at least.

Ozzy's room was dark except for his nightlight by the door and Ally quietly made her way inside, carefully sitting on the edge of the bed and pushing his curls from his face. She was ever thankful that he finally stopped having those horrible nightmares, it meant that she wasn't wasting her money on therapy sessions.

When Ally came back downstairs, you were predictably in the exact same spot you were in and Ally finally did away with her coat, placing it over the spine of the sofa and she stepped out of her heels before coming around and plopping herself down, careful not to knock over your stack of books.

The sudden movement startled you out of your skin and you quickly pulled out your airpods and looked at your boss, “Hey! Sorry, how long have you been home?”

Ally smiled down at you tiredly, practically sinking into the sofa and you could feel her exhaustion rolling off of her in waves, and you couldn't help but sympathize because damn, and you thought you were tired.

“I just got in, I'm sorry I didn't call earlier, things got busier than I expected and then everything went into chaos.”

You smirked when she threw her hands up half heartedly with a roll of her eyes, “Would a glass of wine help?”

“No, but it would definitely be a start if you join me for a glass?” she raised an eyebrow, and as much as you wanted to say yes you've already procrastinated enough and you really didn't need alcohol in your system around her lest you say something you absolutely shouldn't.

“I would but I have to finish this and it's getting late. Do you mind waiting up until my Uber gets here?”

“It's really late, you should just stay the night, (Y/n).” Ally sat up then, waving away your comment, though now she was closer and hovering over you a bit, “I'll take you home tomorrow after breakfast, that sound fair?”

It wouldn't be the first overnight stay but it would definitely be the first time that she'd be home too and you just couldn't say no to that even though you probably should have insisted more that you go home, but you accepted her offer without further debate. You'd gone back to your assignment, minus the airpods this time, and Ally got up to go to the kitchen and you could hear her fixing herself a glass of wine.

Ally set a bottle of water next to you on a coaster before settling back in her spot and finding something to watch on TV, and of course you noticed that she was a hell of a lot closer than she was before.

Your pen had paused on the yellow paper and your eyes glanced over the same sentence three times before your mind processed that you could practically feel the heat from her legs next to your arm through her slacks, and if you leaned just an inch you'd be touching her. You fought the urge to look back over your shoulder, but instead you looked up from beneath your lashes and saw that she was browsing the movie channels at a snail's pace.

Behind you, Ally was sipping her wine in one hand and flipping channels with the remote in the other but her eyes were nowhere on the TV screen. But she noticed the moment your pen stopped moving and your shoulders tensed more than usual, she'd been watching you closely and curiously.

“You okay, honey?”

You turned around to answer her with what you hoped was a calm smile and wished that you hadn't, really. Ally was going to kill you sitting the way she was sitting, her energy screaming big dick and the top three buttons of her shirt were undone and her hair was a little messy. Either she was going to give you a heart attack or your libido would.

“Sweetheart?”

You blinked, coming back to reality so fast you would’ve gotten whiplash, “Uh, yeah...maybe I guess I’m just tired too.” Yeah right.

You chuckled nervously, embarrassed really, and licked your lips again and Ally tracked the movement with rapt attention not that you would've caught it because you were busy being mortified being caught staring like a creep.

“Are you sure? You look flushed, drink some water,” you smiled at Ally, ever the mom.

“I’m not—” not what? Thirsty? Yeah you were but not for some water.

“You’re not what?” Ally pressed, still holding you hostage with her eyes alone.

“Not thirsty for water.”

Ally raised an eyebrow, the corner of her lips twitching and you hate that you noticed, “Oh? Then what would you like to drink if it’s not wine or water?”

Good question. One you didn’t have a good answer to. Not trusting yourself to formulate words into an appropriate sentence, you just nodded and turned back around and grabbed the water she brought you. You were determined to ignore until you were finished with your work—for the sake of your sanity and dignity.

Fuck.

Still watching you, Ally laughed quietly into her wine glass and finally settled on a movie, keeping the volume low as she got comfortable. Deciding to let you off the hook for not answering her question. (This time.)

~~

A few days later...

It was another late night for you but you weren't working for Ally tonight, so you went to the gym instead after studying. You were still wearing your tights and sports bra when you left, only throwing on a jacket because the night air and sweat weren't a great mix.

You didn't have anything at home to eat that wasn't expired or so frozen it came from the ice age...it all went in the trash so all you had left in your fridge was a case of water and cheese sticks. It wasn't surprising though, you spent a majority of your free time at Ally's home and you just ate lunch and dinner there usually. So you went straight to the grocery store after your workout with your trainer.

“Hey (Y/n)!” you looked up and internally groaned, rolled your eyes and threw a whole bitch fit.

You offered Sean a tight near sarcastic smile, “Sean. What is up.”

“Nothin',” he said, leaning against the counter he was standing behind with a cheesy smile, his eyes leering—and it made your skin crawl, “Just working...you?”

“Uh,” you were already over this conversation, “Same, anyway—”

“You still work for that crazy killer lesbian?”

You stopped, pivoting back around slowly to see if he was joking or not, of course it was hard to tell because he was looking at your ass, but the minute he turned around his eyes laser beamed to your chest. Specifically your pebbled nipples and the bars pierced in them. You moved the labels of your jacket to cover them fucking pig.

“Uh, my eyes are up here and two, that 'crazy killer lesbian' is your Senator.”

He shrugged, “I didn't vote for her.”

“I'm...okay, it was nice talking to you but I have things to do.”

“Well, wait,” he moved in front of you, stopping your escape, “That's not what I wanted to talk to you about actually, uh, but listen...do you maybe wanna go to dinner with me this weekend? My treat?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, completely unimpressed with his audacity, “You literally just called my boss a crazy killer lesbian and now you're expecting me to go to dinner with you?” as if, you wanted to add but held yourself in check—barely.

“I'm sorry about that,” Sean only shrugged but he was bashful about it but it only served to irritate you further because it was obvious that he didn't quite mean it and you were mentally slapping yourself for just not ordering that damn pizza.

“Whatever, goodnight Sean.”

you tried to move around him but he shifted, keeping you in place and you knew you could've just turned around, you should've but he would've just followed you, “Well wait, you never answered my question. About dinner?”

“No.”

“Well, wait a minute...why not? The lesbian thing? It was just a joke. You can take one, can’t you?”

“And I'm not laughing, get the fuck outta my way Sean—”

“You—”

“I believe she told you to fuck off.”

Sean's eyes snapped up over your head slightly, and you would've laughed at his stupid face had you not been pivoting around yourself, your eyes meeting a very familiar chin and you looked up, but Ally's eyes weren't on you but instead glaring daggers into Sean. He'd be ten feet under if she got her way with that look. You wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of it. (Maybe another version of it...)

“S-senator?”

“Oh, I'm not the crazy killer lesbian anymore? How disappointing.” when Sean could only stare at her like a fish out of the water, Ally stepped forward—a lot closer to you and you didn't have the strength to move or even look away, “I believe you were told to leave. Oh and if I even hear that you looked at or said anything to (Y/n) incorrectly, you're going to have a lot worse than a harassment complaint from a Senator to deal with.”

You didn't see him leave but you heard the squeaks of his sneaker and in seconds flat you and Ally were alone in the cereal aisle and you had absolutely no idea how to even breathe at the moment, much less process that she just saved you from...whatever that even was.

When Ally was satisfied that Sean was gone, she finally looked down at you—there was still a fire in them that you couldn't place but her brown eyes were softer than they were a few seconds ago, and you felt your shoulders relaxing slightly.

“Are you alright, (Y/n)?”

You cleared your throat, taking a small step back—but you still felt exposed under her unblinking stare though not in the same way you felt with Sean, it was the complete opposite, “Yeah thanks to you, so um thanks...a lot. Your timing is impeccable, but what are you doing here so late? Where's Oz? Is he okay?”

Ally smiled at you, shaking her head disturbing her always perfect hairstyle, “Oz is fine, or at least he will be, he must've ate something today at school and it's not sitting well with his stomach,” Ally rolled her eyes but not at the fact that her son had food poisoning but that he had food poisoning from the school lunch. She could only imagine that other children—reforming school lunches was already on her agenda but now she was seriously considering moving ahead of schedule.

“Oh no, how bad?”

“Not too bad...he'll be okay, I'm just here for medicine to stock up on,” Ally reassured you, her eyes flickering over your shoulder for a second, “What are you doing out so late?” and wearing that? She mentally added, but held her tongue because she knew that it wasn't her place to comment on your attire—not that she was complaining about it, but Ally just didn't like the way Sean was leering at you either. She was a hair away from showing him how she earned her title.

Suddenly aware of how much skin you were showing, and that your jacket fell open again but unlike with Sean you didn't feel the need to really cover yourself (even though you knew that you should've). You appreciated her eyes more than his...and probably anyone else's.

“Oh, I went to the gym and since I don't have any food at home...”

Ally chuckled, “Is this your way of asking for a raise?”

“No! No, no you pay me plenty...I'm just too busy to cook is all and then I'm just too tired to eat sometimes. College life.”

“I was teasing, welcome to adulthood. It doesn't stop,” you laughed along with her but you both knew there was truth behind those words.

“I shouldn't keep you, I know you have things to do.”

“You know, I doubt you're going to get a decent nutrient meal here tonight, especially shopping while you’re hungry...” Ally hummed, seemingly thinking hard about something before opening her mouth to carefully speak those words, “You're more than welcome to come home with me for a late dinner if you have nowhere else to be. I'd be more than happy to feed you.”

Heh. Feed me what? You blinked, mildly surprised with how fast your mind went straight to the gutter and you felt your face heating up faster than a house fire, and you had no doubt in your mind that your boss knew exactly what she was doing to you.

But she didn't, Ally didn't have one clue to what was happening in your mind because her own mind was a pile of scrambled eggs while forcing her eyes to stay above your neck. You were both very much still in public.

And the last thing Ally wanted to do was make either you a cliché, especially with her being a public figure in a male dominant career field, both in politics and her restaurant.

“Unless you had your sights set on cereal?” Ally coughed lightly, suddenly nervous and you realized that you'd been standing there staring at her like a moron this whole time.

“No, I'd love to come home with you,” you said cheerfully, meaning every damn word for different reasons, and you smiled at her, before your eyes widened when realizing how forward you sounded, and suggestive as hell, “For dinner! I'd love to come home with you for dinner.”

“Well what else would you be coming for?”

“Dessert.”

Direct result after two blunts...sorry if it's kinda lame tho lmao I went in thinking I was writing smut and gave up somewhere

[sunfleurry]

Hold Me

Click here for part 1

Part 2 of Fires and Flames.

Disclaimer: I write stories and use Harry Styles as a face claim. In no way shape or form does my writing reflect how I perceive the actual Harry to be. These are my characters, the face is just a bonus!

“Have a nice evening!”

“You too!” I yelled back before clocking out of my shift and making my way out the door.

It was dark outside, the king of night that begged to be breathed in and admired. Normally after a nine-hour shift, I would be exhausted and more than ready to go home. For some reason tonight, I wasn’t in the mood to turn in just yet. It was summertime and I loved the city lights when it was dark out. I eyed my car parked on the curb and ignored it, opting to go for a walk along the pier not too far from MediBrooke Pharmacy where I worked.

A year ago, I was at a low point in my life. I tried not to think about it too often, but every now and then, I would compare my life now to then and it reminded me to be proud of myself. I got through it, didn’t let it affect my grades, and now I was set to graduate with my PharmD degree in less than twelve months.

There weren’t too many people around as I made my way to the boardwalk, the clicking of my heels on the wooden path echoing in the quiet night. I checked the time on my phone. 20:30.

The pier was big. It was more intimidating during the wintertime when the water was turbulent, but today, it was still as a predator.

There was a man at the end of the pier, right across my destination but I did not pay him any mind. He was leaning against the railing, head hung low as he stared into the dark waters.

I was almost at my destination–a spot on the pier right under a lamppost with a built-in heater. I had left my jacket at home. At the sound of my approaching, the man across from me looked over, and my steps faltered as I beheld his face.

“Shit,” I mumbled when my phone slipped out of my hand.

Trying desperately not to look at the man, I held the strap of my purse against my shoulder and bent over to pick up my cell.

“I got it,” his deep voice said.

I hadn’t heard him approach, but I watched as he crouched down and wrapped his fingers around the device before standing back up and holding it out for me.

Harry looked different. His hair was longer and he seemed bigger–broader. I could tell he spent a decent amount at the gym since the last time I saw him over a year ago.

I jumped at the sound of my name coming out of his mouth, and seemed to remember he was still holding my phone.

I grabbed it, carefully avoiding touching his skin. “Thank you.”

He nodded.

He watched me and I watched him–both at a loss for words. I never expected to see him after our breakup. I applied to transfer to a pharmacy school away from the city, yet there he was, at my favourite spot in town, looking at me like he was seeing a ghost.

“What are you doing here?” I asked finally, almost breathlessly.

He blinked and looked over my shoulder at the water behind me. “My nan lived here. She passed away last week.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Harry glanced back down at me with heavy eyes. Grief. “Thank you.”

A lump formed in my throat as I felt his pain like it was mine. I wasn’t sure if he even had any family left. He never gave me details when we were together.

With him standing there in front of me, I felt an internal dam break, and memories and emotions started flooding to the forefront of my mind. Pain, happiness, heartbreak, love… It was all rushing back to me.

With him standing there in front of me, I felt an internal dam break, and memories and emotions started flooding to the forefront of my mind. Pain, happiness, heartbreak, love… It was all rushing back to me.

“How are you?” The words came out of his mouth with care but also with wariness.

“Fine.” Five minutes ago, I wanted to add. Because I wasn’t fine anymore, not with the source of my heartbreak suddenly appearing out of nowhere.

He nodded.

“You?” I wanted to slap myself. His grandmother just died; of course he wasn’t doing well.

He saw the look on my face and smiled reassuringly. “Habit.”

I smiled gratefully at his understanding.

Harry suddenly grabbed my elbow and pulled me towards him. I didn’t get a chance to react as my body fell into him before a group of teenagers ran by us right where I was standing. Had he not reacted, they would’ve toppled me over.

“Sorry!” One of them yelled half-heartedly over his shoulder.

I breathed heavily as I watched their bodies get smaller and smaller the further they ran away.

I didn’t realize how comfortable I was engulfed in Harry’s scent with my cheek pressed against his chest before he started pulling away, releasing my elbow.

I cleared my throat. “Thank you.”

He rolled his lips inward and rubbed the back of his neck. “You look good. Very professional.”

I looked down at my pleated pants and button-down shirt and offered him a small thanks. “I work at the pharmacy down the street,” I explained.

He smiled. It was the first genuine smile I’d seen on him since we ran into each other. “I always knew you would succeed in what you do. You’re still studying?”

“Yeah,” I said, trying to mimic his smile, but I was too busy trying not to cry in front of him. “One year left.”

“I’m so proud of you,” he said. I knew he meant it.

I bit my lip. “I know you are.” He always used to tell me how proud he was of me. Despite the way he treated me, the way I let him treat me, I knew deep down that he cared for me. He just didn’t know how to show it.

His smile fell as the memories of us came back to him. I was positive he was thinking about all those times he cooked us meals or did the dishes while I stressed over my notes, preparing for my exams. He was always supportive of my career choice and did his best to make me comfortable while I doubted myself and my capabilities of succeeding in my program.

“Look, can we just—“

“Harry?”

I whirled toward the foreign voice to see a woman whose beauty rivals any Hollywood actress approach us with a relieved smile.

“Harry,” she said again while wrapping her arms around his waist. I watched as he wrapped his own around her shoulders and held her at his side. “I was looking everywhere for you,” she scolded. “I convinced myself you fell in the water.”

He chuckled. “Sorry, I got caught up.”

It was then that the woman looked at me, as if just noticing my presence. Her blue eyes were so bright they were mesmerizing even in the minimal light offered by the pier in the darkness of the night.

She held out her hand, displaying short manicured nails. “Hi! I’m Christina.” She held up her other hand that was clutching car keys. “His chauffeur, apparently.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic.” Then he addressed me. “Christina and I met around nine months ago. She wouldn’t leave me alone since.”

“You would be lost without me,” she scoffed.

Harry only looked at her with fake annoyance for a few seconds before nudging her playfully. “Yeah, you’re right.”

She laughed.

I watched the interaction between the two with more care than I would’ve wanted to admit. A part of me felt hot jealousy start boiling from the pit of my stomach, another part of me was over the moon seeing a smile on Harry’s face that didn’t seem forced.

My eyes flicked to Christina’s hand that was clutching his forearm. I used to do the same when I caught a girl staring at him–I would touch him to silently warn her he was mine. Was that what Christina was doing at the moment?

I couldn’t suppress frowning as I forced my eyes to look away.

“We’re going to be late,” I heard her whisper.

Harry cleared his throat and said my name.

I didn’t want to look at him. I wanted to hide the tears that had already formed in my eyes that I knew must be already as red as my cheeks.

He touched my shoulder as a second attempt to get my attention.

I finally blinked up at him.

He inhaled. I shook my head with as much subtleness to make it noticeable to him only. He seemed to understand.

“Christina and I need to go.” He said, sympathy coating his voice.

I cleared my throat. “Okay. It was nice seeing you, Harry.”

He took a step toward me then seemed to stop himself. Were you going to hug me Harry? Kiss me? Why did you stop?

My eyes flickered to Christina who was texting someone on her phone with one hand, the other still clutching Harry’s forearm.

“I’ll see you around,” he said. It almost sounded like a question so I nodded.

I stood under the heating lamp post and watched the pair walk away.

_______________

“Just one shot, come on!”

My friends cheered when I finally gave in and took the shot glass from Jeremy.

I laughed at their antics before throwing my head back and welcoming the burn in my throat.

“To our final semester!” Someone yelled. We all cheered.

I made a nice friend group in my new university. I met Jeremy first when we were assigned to work together for one of my courses, and he introduced me to his friends who turned out to be great people. Today, we wrote our last final exam of the semester. We all agreed to go out and treat ourselves to a more expensive club for some celebratory drinks before the winter break separated us.

A popular song started playing and suddenly the bar blew up in cheers and synchronized singing. People rushed to the dance floor like a herd of elephants. I watched them stumble over each other, trying to find their friends to enjoy the song when a hand cut into my view.

I glanced up to find Jeremy’s brown eyes on me waiting for me to put my hand in his. When I did, he pulled me off the stool and I swiped my purse off the counter as he dragged me towards the crowd of moving bodies.

Being in the crowd made me realize it wasn’t as dense as it seemed from our table. Jeremy wrapped an arm around my waist and held my hand up to the side as he encouraged me to move to the beat with him while keeping a respectful distance between our bodies. That last detail didn’t go unnoticed by me. I appreciated it.

The song ended but another played, and the crowd screamed to the loved and familiar beat. Even I couldn’t help but sway my hips and mouth the lyrics as Jeremy lifted our joined hands and twirled me. I squealed at the motion and slammed into his chest clumsily, the both of us giggling before we continued dancing with everyone.

We stayed on the dance floor for two more songs before I told him I needed some water. He nodded and walked behind me as we started making our way to our table when I heard him ask, “What’s up, man?”

Frowning, I turned around and found him speaking to someone whose hand was on his shoulder.

I risked a glance at who caught his attention and my heart stuttered when I recognized Harry. As if feeling my gaze on him, Harry’s eyes landed on me and mind fogged up. I didn’t know what to think as I took in his soft wavy hair and green jumper that made his eye colour brighter than it actually was. I could hear him  ask Jeremy if he could steal me for a second, eyes never leaving mine.

Jeremy looked hesitant at him, unsure who Harry was but then turned towards me, passing the decision on to me.

I nodded and Jeremy’s bent his head to be at eye level with me. “If you need anything…”

I offered him a smile. “I know him.”

He seemed to relax and smiled back before making his way towards our table where the rest of our friends were watching the exchange.

I was suddenly very aware of the fact that I was left alone with Harry. My breath hitched when I chanced a glance at him and realized he was already staring at me.

“Harry,” I said quietly, enough that he could hear me over the music.

“Can we talk somewhere more quiet?”

He seemed to have noticed my hesitation. He took a step forward. “You can tell your date if it makes you more comfortable.”

I frowned. “More comfortable? You think I’m scared of you?”

Harry bit his lip and looked away.

I touched his arm. “I would never…”

I felt his bicep lose tension under my fingers as he let out a breath, as if he was afraid I didn’t trust him with me alone. It broke my heart, if I was being honest.

I followed Harry to the entrance and he held the door open for me to walk outside. The air was cool, nothing I couldn’t handle under the summer night with my skirt and long sleeve blouse. The quiet of the night hit me like a brick as we stepped out of the crowded club into the silence of the almost empty street.

Harry led me to the nearest bus stop, silently asking me to sit on one of the wooden benches before joining me. I smoothed out my skirt, nervously playing with the seam.

He cleared his throat. “So… How have you been?”

I inhaled, and the scent of his cologne overwhelmed my nose. I welcomed it. “I’ve been good,” I said honestly. I was. I moved to a new place, made great friends, got the job I wanted and I was set to graduate soon.

Harry smiled, looking almost like he was relieved. “I’m glad.”

I played with a frayed end on my skirt. “You?”

“Same.”

I peered up at him, thread forgotten. His piercing eyes were already looking at me, wide and he started nodding.

“I mean it. I am good,” he smiled. “I’ve been getting help, I changed jobs, made friends.”

My heart swelled for him. I put my hand on his and squeezed. “I’m proud of you.”

He separated our hands and I suppressed my disappointment. “I just wanted to bring you out here to check up on you. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” I breathed. “Thank you.”

I couldn’t deny that everything about the interaction was awkward. I could’ve asked Harry about what help he’d gotten, about his new job, his friends… But when we were together, over a year ago, I learned not to pry when it came to his personal life. I wasn’t sure if he still felt that way.

We were swallowed by an uncomfortable silence, neither one of us sure on how to approach any subject that came up in our minds. I started focusing on my breathing as I prepared myself to stand.

“I think I’m going to head back inside,” I said, eyes everywhere but him as I picked up my purse and smoothed down my skirt.

He relaxed into the bench. “Your date must be worried about you.”

I stopped. “Jeremy is not my date.”

Harry’s head snapped up. “I didn’t mean to assume…”

I huffed a laugh. “It’s okay, he’s just a friend from school. I’m here with a group of them.”

I could tell he was recalling the people at the table Jeremy headed to before we went outside. “They seem nice.”

“They are,” I smiled. I decided to take the bait. “What about yours? Do I know them?”

He shook his head. “Just Christina. I, um, I met her in therapy.”

I had to swallow down the rising jealousy at the mention of her name.

“She was kind enough to wait with me even after her appointment was over,” he continued. “I was rude and cruel towards her, at first. I think I was trying to chase her away. I didn’t want anyone��s pity, but she stuck like a bucket of glue.”

I chuckled. “It’s hard to stay away from you,” I admitted.

His face fell. “I felt like I didn’t deserve anyone’s attention, not after what I did to you.”

It was like a bucket of water was dumped onto my head, my expression immediately morphing into one of sadness.

“Christina became a big part of my healing. Sometimes I felt like I didn’t deserve her help because I’m a grown man. I don’t need someone holding my hand along the way, but she was there. And I’m grateful for it.”

Hearing him talk about another woman like that had my feelings in a puddle. I wanted to be happy that he found someone who he could relate to and guide him through his pain and his past but I couldn’t quash the betrayal for the simple fact that he refused my help but accepted that of a stranger’s. I didn’t say anything though. No, I would never even think of interrupting him. I watched him with wide eyes as he explained everything because this was the first time my Harry had ever spoken this much about himself so freely. It made me want to cry.

“She was also dealing with some things of her own. For some reason, she still wanted to stay by my side and I kept her around. For selfish reasons, she reminded me a lot of you.”

I stiffened at the confession. He studied my reaction but I tried to pretend like it didn’t affect me. I knew I failed when my voice came out shaky and disbelieving. “Why?”

“I don’t know… She was stubborn, always forcing me to do what’s right for me even though I fought it. She checked up on me all the time, and she just…” He held my stare. “She cared.”

My eyes started watering and my anger was slowly rising. “And why, Harry, if she was so much like me, did you not think of me and all that I did for you, instead of finding someone who was just like me?”

His shoulders slouched and I watched as he fiddled with the pendant against his collarbone. “Because I didn’t deserve you,” he said pointedly. “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to mother me. I was holding you back from being happy all because I refused to take care of myself.”

The tightness in my chest worsened. “You don’t get to decide what’s right for me.”

Harry’s jaw clenched. “You’re the one who left.”

I gasped. “You’re really going with that argument?!”

He sighed and slumped back against the wooden bench. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry you let me leave to instead be with another woman who reminds you of me?” I rolled my eyes.

Harry rubbed his chin as he regarded me with lines forming between his eyebrows. “Be with… Are we still talking about Christina?”

I wanted to scoff with disbelief. “Are we having the same conversation?”

“You think I’m with Christina? As in…she’s my girlfriend?”

I felt my jaw slacken. “Are you not?”

It was then that Harry threw his head back, laughter escaping from his mouth. I watched him with my widening eyes as I replayed our conversation in my head to figure out what was so funny.

He said my name with laughter in his voice after a few seconds of trying to calm himself down. He cleared his throat and turned his body to face mine on the bench. I tried my hardest to ignore the hand he laid on my knee. “Christina is just a friend.”

I shook my head. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he chuckled. “Besides, I don’t think her girlfriend would appreciate her cheating with me, a man.”

“Girlfriend?”

Harry’s smile widened. “She’s gay.”

I was at a loss for words. “Oh.”

My stomach fluttered when Harry lifted his hands and held my face between his palms. “You think I would replace you?” He asked quietly.

I prayed he couldn’t hear my rapid heartbeat. “I—” I tried to communicate with my eyes that I didn’t want to answer that question. I didn’t know the answer to it. He’d been unpredictable throughout our relationship and I wasn’t sure if he had changed or not and I refused to believe it until I saw it.

Harry gave me a mirthless smile and let go of my face. I felt heat in the spots where his fingers touched my skin and I almost asked him to put them back. “I miss you,” he whispered.

I closed my eyes then, and the tears I tried holding back fell down my cheeks. I tried stopping them, but they started coming faster and I didn’t have the choice but to drop my head into my hands to silently cry. Many thoughts and emotions were flying through my mind and I couldn’t keep up with their overwhelming pace. I felt Harry’s arm wrap around my back and pull me to him until I was flush against his side.

“I’m so sorry,” his voice broke on the last syllable. I felt him kiss my hair and squeeze me harder as I cried harder. The past year, I pushed my emotions back. I suppressed any thoughts and feelings left behind by Harry and focused on work and school. I ignored all stimuli that reminded me of him. At this moment, I knew that it was a bad idea as the heartbreak flooded my senses and I couldn’t escape it no matter how much I tried. Harry never let go as he wrapped his other arm around me until I was pressed against his chest, the fabric of his jumper muffling my sobs.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, holding me for the next few minutes until I finally stopped crying. I didn’t let go right away, I wasn’t ready to. I missed him immensely and didn’t have the willpower to separate from the familiar feeling of being so close to him, or the smell that is so distinctly Harry that it comforts me no matter where I am. After I controlled my breathing, I finally mustered up the courage to push off of him and face him.

“You didn’t bring me out here to just check up on me,” I said, not leaving room for the statement to sound remotely like a question.

Harry sighed. “No, I didn’t.”

I stared at him while holding my breath in anticipation. I knew what was coming before he even said it, but I still felt anxious.

He swallowed audibly and craned his neck to the sky as he gathered his words. “I want to try and win you back.”

Heat tingled in my heart and it spread like wildfire over my skin until I was covered in a mix of relief and desire. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I figured,” he nodded. “I don’t want you to make a decision right away.”

“I wouldn’t be able to even if I wanted to,” I said honestly.

Harry’s head dipped to his chest and he started fiddling with his necklace again. He expected my answer, but still hoped I wouldn’t say it. “I understand. Which is why I wanted to ask you out on a date.”

“A date?”

He smiled. “I want you to get to know me–”

“But I already know you.”

“No,” he said. “I want you to meet the new me. I want you to give me another chance to prove to you that I am not the Harry you knew.”

The reminder of who he was reminded me of who I was with him. I was happy to be with him, I loved him. I still do, I realized, but the love I had for him overshadowed the anger and pain that our relationship carried for the year and a half we were together. He was full of self-loathing and that only took a toll on who we tried to be–who we used to be. There was Harry, in front of me, promising a second chance for the relationship we had sans the pain and I didn’t know if he was serious or not.

I looked at him with helplessness. “I don’t know…”

He rubbed his upper arm, a nervous tic I recognized a long time ago. “Please. Do you still love me?”

His piercing gaze was suddenly too intense for me and I looked down at my lap. “Why are you asking me that?” I stammered. The day I confessed my love for him was the day I left him. The memory only brought a squeezing sensation to my heart. Heat prickled in my eyes.

“I just need to know, if you still do. Because, I was too much of a coward to tell you,” he took my hands in his and held them up between our chests. “I love you too.”

I felt lightheaded as my mind processed the last four words he’d just uttered. A whimper escaped me before I threw a hand over my mouth.

“Don’t cry,” Harry whispered, bringing my hands to his mouth and pressing kisses to my knuckles. “Please.”

I expelled a shuddering breath. “I think it’s the shot I took an hour ago catching up to me.”

Harry laughed, only because he recognized my attempt to lighten the mood.

I stared at our joined hands as I tried to regain my breathing. My palms started sweating when I thought more and more about the two of us together, something I never imagined becoming a possibility ever again. I glanced at him to see nothing but genuine hope in his eyes.

Harry confessing his feelings to me was something so foreign, my body had no idea how to take it and create a reaction. It was unknown territory and I promised myself that I must tread lightly all the while keeping maximum defence surrounding my already fragile heart.

Knowing Harry, he would never lie about something like that, he had always been a straightforward man. He was against bullshitting and it was with that thought in mind that I finally stared back into his eyes and said:

“Yes, I’ll go on a date with you.”

[garbagevanfleet]

Brightest Blue (series)

PART ELEVEN

Pairing: Josh x reader Warnings: talk of sex and such, feelings Summary:  Things are changing. New state. New school. New roommate. You just pray things are going to click into place.

Notes: alright, this is terribly late again because im a depressed snail at heart, but its longer than usual, so i hope that makes up for it. If you read my fic at all, i love you. If you interact with this fic in anyway, i want to wed you. 

taglist: @valleyd0ll @satingrass-maidensfair @guitarfingers @thebohemianpenguin @peaceisouranthem @oblvions @hansonobsessed @myownparadise96 @anditsmywholeheart @kill-fear-the-power-of-lies @bigblack-catattack

MASTERPOST

You woke up in a daze of fuzzy but pleasant memories. You were trying to blink the sleep from your eyes when Josh entered your line of sight. He had emerged from the hallway, completely naked save for the necklace he’d been in the night before, little water droplets slipping from his curls to his shoulders. 

You shot up in bed, and as you did, the comforter fell away from your body. It took you a moment for you to realize that it was the air hitting your bare skin that was making you feel chilled, but it didn’t last long. Your face turned beet red as you quickly picked the sheet back up to cover yourself. 

He was giving you an odd look - somewhere between amused and concerned. “Are you alright?” he tried cautiously, still standing there stark naked. 

“Josh! You can’t just walk around naked,” you complained, stuttering on your words as they came out. 

He snorted a laugh. “What? First of all, this is my room. Second of all, it’s a little late to try and protect your modesty.”

You rolled your eyes at him until you realized what he was talking about. “Oh my god, we had sex last night,” you whispered to him like it was a secret, a tiny smile on your lips. 

He nodded, breathing a laugh. “Yeah.”

You experimentally shifted in your seat before grimacing up at him. “That would explain why I’m sitting in a damp spot.”

You could only describe the laugh that escaped him as a cackle, honest and unabashed. “Gross.”

You had to say you agreed with him. 

There was a cautious moment, where you stared at each other, both unsure of what to say. 

“Are we good?” he tried quietly like he was a little scared of what you were going to say.

You patted the spot next to you and he clambered in as he was told. You leaned against him as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder. 

“Of course, we are,” you assured, nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck. 

“If it’s going to make you feel better to pretend it didn’t happen, I wouldn’t be mad.”

You pulled away and looked up at him with a frown. “What are you talking about?”

He shrugged, sporting a nervous smile. “I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

You heaved a big sigh, shifting to look into his eyes. “Josh, I want you to listen to me really carefully, okay?”

He nodded.

You slowly reached up to cup one side of his face in your hand. “I don’t regret it - actually, I had a really nice night. I just think that it would be best for everyone involved if it didn’t happen again. We probably shouldn’t be romantic...or naked around each other.”

The expression he wore seemed like an understanding one, at least to you.

“You want me to make pancakes? Maybe chocolate chip banana?” you offered, giving him a cheeky smile. 

He couldn’t help but match it. “Yes. You’re probably going to want to put your tits away first though.”

“You first,” you quipped, smacking the back of your hand against his peck. 

+++

The rest of the weekend, the two of you spent watching Christmas movies on the couch (even though the holiday was more than a month away) while you worked on sewing the costumes. Josh had offered to ask the theater department if you could borrow a sewing machine, but you had been way too afraid of it to try and use it, so it sat in your room alone. That did, however, leave you to sew 26 costumes by hand. Well, more like 24, since Rachel had two of them mostly done. 

You were finding it oddly fun though, even though your fingers hurt by the fifth stitch or so. The hardest part was making sure you worked on the basics of every costume first - your instinct was to work on one at a time until it was perfect, but you knew you had to be smart about time management. Luckily, even though it was only near mid-November, Michigan’s weather was lovably unpredictable. The weather station had called for snow only through the weekend, but, in reality, it was Monday evening by the time it was done dumping snow - giving you a full three day weekend. 

Kate had been sending you pictures of the pieces of the set she had taken home with her to work on, and you couldn’t hide how impressed you were with her work. You would almost be offended at how good it looked if you hadn’t known she was an Art History major with a heavy side of sculpture work. 

In the last two weeks before the production, you barely got to see Josh. He would walk you to school, but then you usually wouldn’t see him for the entire rest of the day. You tried to wait up for him on Thursday night, but you ended up falling asleep on the couch, and woke at 1 am to him gently patting your shoulder. 

“Hey, you should get up and go to your bed.”

You blinked up at him, sitting up and brushing your sleep-mussed hair from your eyes. 

“You’re home so late,” you scolded half-heartedly, pulling your borrowed sweatshirt closer to your face. 

“I know, sorry. There’s still a lot to do, especially after we got snowed in last weekend,” he replied, sitting gingerly on the armrest. 

“I told you that I’m happy to help however I can.”

He smiled at you, but you had to admit that he looked over-tired. You’d been watching him burn the candle at both ends for three days straight. “It’s a lot of stuff that only I can do. Like going over the music and making the final set diagrams.”

You hummed in understanding as a response. 

“Want me to carry you to bed? You can come sleep in mine if you want,” he offered through a crinkly-nosed smile. 

You grinned back at him, genuine at first, but it quickly turned melancholy. “Josh,” you said under your breath. “I’d love that, but I don’t think it’s good for us to share a bed anymore.”

His expression fell, face turning blank. He nodded at you, standing and giving you a disappointed smile. “Sleep well,” he wished, patting your shoulder again once before retreating to his room. 

You stayed on the couch for a while, your knees tucked up to your chest, as you sat in your guilt. You had known it was stupid of you to have ever let things turn anything other than platonic with him - it had been undeniably fun, but he was your roommate, for fuck’s sake. You had to see him every day, eat your meals with him. Had you not selfishly let yourself go there in the first place, you’d be cuddled up beside him tonight. 

It had been so lovely having any kind of affection - platonic or otherwise - that you let yourself get carried away. 

When you finally got up and went to bed, Josh’s light was still on, his door shut for one of the first times since you moved in. 

+++

Kate took you out for breakfast on Saturday morning to a local hole-in-the-wall that she swore had the very best pancakes she’d ever eaten. She had shown up in a puffer jacket that looked so warm, it made you jealous. 

You’d been chatting easily about your classes and the play, but when you had finished your first cup of coffee, there was a lull in the conversation. 

You hadn’t meant to say it, it just bubbled out. “I slept with Josh.”

She glanced up at you through her jet black lashes, stony-faced. “Yeah,” she replied, way too calm, sounding like she was wondering why you were even telling her.

You blinked at her for a moment. “Did you hear me? I had sex with Josh.”

She nodded. “Do you want me to pretend like I’m shocked?”

You grimaced at her, and in a whiny tone, responded, “Yes, please.”

A nervous laugh escaped her as she fixed her features to display a surprised expression. “You did what?!” she asked - purely for your benefit. 

You groaned at her. “Okay, I get it. I feel so bad about it, Kate.”

Her cherry lips shaped into a puzzled frown.  “Why?”

A deep sigh filled your ribcage - you had been hoping it would clear your head, but no luck. 

“Because I desperately miss being able to be platonically intimate with him and it not being awkward. Before this, I was sleeping in his bed from time to time when I got too cold and we would cuddle.”

“Why can’t you go back to that?” 

“Are you listening? I slept with him,” you groaned. “All I can think about is him on top of me now.”

She scoffed, her chipped nails tapping against her glass of diet Coke. “Imagine how he feels - Josh had real, honest to god feelings for you, I think. Like for a while.”

“You said that, but I don’t know. How do you know that he didn’t just want to sleep with me? Like not in a conscious way, but what if he just wanted affection? What then, Kate?”

She had one dark eyebrow raised at you as she sipped at her straw. “Because I know that’s not true.”

“How would you be able to know that? Because you see him sometimes at school-” 

She cut you off with a confident smile. “I know because I talked to Jake about it.”

You almost blew past it - that is until you realized what she had said. The two of you shared a long, silent moment as you stared at each other. 

“You’ve been talking to Jake?” you asked, trying to keep your tone even so she didn’t know how excited that made you. 

“I have talked to him in the past, yes. He said that he already knew, but he was able to pry it out of Josh when he was drunk once.” 

You stared at her. “Okay, there’s a lot to unpack here right now, I think we can both agree with that. But can we start with you and Jake?” 

She huffed a disbelieving laugh as she set her hand on yours on the table comfortingly like she was trying to cushion the news. “Josh has some feelings for you - the real kind.”

In an effort to prolong the moment that it was time for you to speak again, you picked up a bite of your breakfast and popped it in your mouth. The moment always comes though, no matter how long you try to put it off. 

“I can’t,” you said quietly, shaking your head in disappointment. Then when she prompted you with a confused look, you finished. “I can’t risk it. I mean, maybe there could be something there, but he’s my roommate. And my best friend - there’s no way I’d ever get lucky enough again to find someone I connected with like that if things went sour and I had to move out.”

She licked her lips absently. “My advice would be to think about it - for literally as long as you need to. I’m confident that you’ll figure out what you want.”

You nodded, not entirely convinced one way or another. “It’s hard because he’s so fucking cute,” you said in faux disgust. 

“And sweet,” she added. “Don’t forget that.”

You shot her an accusatory look. 

After a long pause, a smile found its way to your lips. “How cool would it be though if we were both dating one of them?” 

She laughed, picking a syrup-covered strawberry off her plate and chewing it with care. “Not me, I can’t be tamed. Jake is really hot and everything, but I got shit to do, you know?”

You scoffed at her. 

“I’m definitely keeping him in my contacts though,” she said with mischievous eyes. 

+++

 You didn’t directly see Josh for the rest of the weekend, though he left evidence of his presence scattered through the apartment. He had left his hair mousse out on the sink and the toothpaste cap off of its tube in the bathroom, some crumbs of a sandwich he packed for lunch in the kitchen, and a note on his bedroom door. 

Can you please feed Penny a couple of flakes for dinner? If you have any time today, I’d appreciate it if you could spend some of it with her. See you sometime soon! - J

You plucked the paper off the door where it was barely hanging by a thin strip of green floral tape and smiled as you read it again. 

His bedroom was dim, hid away from the sun by his closed blinds. The desk by his door was covered in books - textbooks, music books, books for his English lit class, and one you’d seen him reading for fun on more than one occasion. On the hardwood floor next to his bed was a stack of papers, and even though you knew you shouldn’t you crouched to peek through them. 

They appeared to be rough drafts of plans for the play - nothing too exciting, but they were charmingly eccentric. He had done little doodles of his ideas for sets and props, even a whole sheet of costume ideas that caught your eye. You pulled it from the messy stack and folded it into your pocket. 

Careful not to spill any water, you moved Penny in her globe to your bedside table, but as you stared at her through the glass you frowned. 

You pulled your phone out and snapped a picture of her, trying to make sure you got an accurate portrayal of her size. She looked at you, sticking her lips out of the water in search of food. You remembered Josh’s warning about overfeeding her the first day you’d met him and it brought a genuine smile to your lips. You promised her you’d be back, holding your finger just above the water and letting her press her mouth to it. 

On the ride over to Petsmart, you had called your mom, asking if it would be okay if you borrowed some cash, to which she agreed to after her usual line of questioning. When you pulled into the parking lot, you checked your bank account just to make sure it transferred okay, always nervous that you’d get to the register and your card would decline.

You spent longer than you should have reading articles online as you studied the tanks, all set up in rows for purchase. They weren’t as expensive as you’d expect a water-sealed glass box to be, and after you were confident you had picked the right one, you still had plenty left in your budget for the dressings. 

You picked a couple of fun decorations - a fake log for her to hide in if she wanted to and one that looked like part of a broken Greecian statue. The part that took you the longest was picking out the healthiest-looking plants. You had read that goldfish often like to eat live plants, but you couldn’t bring yourself to buy fake ones - the plant lover in you knew it was a cardinal sin. 

A very kind cashier agreed to help you carry your haul to your car, even helping you shift it all correctly so you could make it fit. You left him a secret tip, even though he denied at first, and thanked him profusely.

Getting the tank into the apartment was the hardest part. You realized just how lucky you were that you didn’t live above the first floor. 

By the time you got the tank situated back on his dresser, your muscles - especially in your legs - were protesting, but you weren’t done yet. You grabbed an empty ice cream pail and started to fill the tank, one trip at a time until it was about 3/4’s full of water. 

The decorations had to be shifted multiple times before you liked their position enough to start pouring in the gravel around them. A Youtube tutorial taught you exactly how much of each chemical to add and how to put together the filter, and then you left it to cycle as you returned to your room.

Perched on your bed, you pulled the sheet of costumes from your pocket and studied it. You pinned it to your corkboard. Undeniably, the cutest design he had come up with was for the door mouse - grey fabric, huge ears, and a rope tail. 

The rest of the unfinished costumes were in a cardboard box by the side of your bed - you hadn’t moved it anywhere because you knew you’d be back at it before too long at any given time. You bent down off the side of your bed and rummaged through the different fabrics until you found the one you were looking for - a grey-blue faux suede deal. You were pretty sure you had enough to make it work. 

You fished your phone out from where you had buried it under the covers when you shifted and called the one person that could help. 

“Hello?” Kate mumbled, sounding like you’d just woken her up despite it being noon. 

You giggled at her. “Hi, I’m playing my best friend card. I know you’ve helped so much, but can you please please come work on these costumes with me?”

She hummed and then went silent for a good, long moment. “Give me ten to wake up and get dressed.”

A beaming smile spread across your face. “Kate, I love you so much. I’m going to Venmo you money to get coffee and donuts, okay?”

“Hmm, I do like donuts.” She sounded pleased.

“Good! Bring Jake too.”

+++

The knock on your door came a half-hour later. You jumped from your bed, racing to let them in. Jake was dressed in the softest-looking flannel shirt you’d ever seen, a drink carrier in his hands that housed three drink cups. 

“Okay, so there are three jobs that need to be done. Measuring and marking, cutting, and sewing. If we each take one of those jobs, I’m confident we can finish a couple of the costumes today. I’ll let you guys pick first,” you informed as you lead them into your room. 

“I’ll take cutting,” Kate said, prompting Jake to reply that he’d like measuring. 

You handed Jake the notebook of measurements with a grin. “Rachel,” you started with a sneer. “Did a lot of the calculations for us, thank god. All you have to do is measure out the fabric. The tricky part is making sure you do it in a way that will leave enough fabric for the rest of the costumes.”

“Not a problem,” Jake responded with a smirk. “And I think her name is just ‘Rachel’, not ‘Rachel’.”

Kate shot him a look on your behalf. “I think she was just making a referencing the fact that Rachel left your brother with a huge ass list of things to do completely alone, not that she was jealous.”

“Jealous of what?” you asked accusatorily, a scowl painted on your face. 

Jake put both of his hands up in defense., but he didn’t appear apologetic in the slightest. Smugly, he said, “I’m just saying-”

Kate reached out and smacked his chest. “Jake, shut up. Okay, what one should we start on?”

“I’m going to have Jake start with this one.” You turned to the page in the notebook that showed the measurements for the door mouse, laying it out by him. “This is the main fabric. Kate, I have a lot of the Queen of Heart’s fabric measured and marked already, so I’ll have you start cutting that. There’s a lot of little pieces to that one.”

Kate looked at the six different fabrics you’d laid out for her, one eyebrow cocked at you. “Have you been getting any of your own homework done at all?”

Your cheeks flushed as you nervously rubbed at the back of your neck. “Let’s stay on track, shall we?” you replied, pretty much answering her question. “We’ve got one week until the production, and I know the costumes have to be done at least a day ahead of time.”

They both just stared at you in varying stages of disbelief. 

“Don’t look at me like that. We can do this,” you assured, sounding a hell of a lot more confident than you actually were. “Now let’s get to work.”

+++

When Josh got home, you were nearly sleeping on the couch, the remains of your current project in your lap. You peeked at the clock.

10:54 pm. 

“You’re home so late,” you whispered, for no particular reason. 

“I know,” he agreed, wiping his hand over his face after he took his jacket off. 

“Come sit with me a minute,” you requested, shifting so he would have space. He gave you a grateful smile, immediately crossing the room to do as he was told. 

After a moment, he cautiously wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “Is this okay?” he asked quietly. 

You gave him a smile. “Yeah, it’s perfect.”

You knew he must have been tired because he wasn’t talking a mile a minute like you were used to after not seeing him for long. 

“Are you hungry?” you asked.

He hummed, sounding like he was close to passing out. “I am, but I can make myself something.”

You scoffed, “Absolutely not. You got get into bed and I’ll bring something to you in a second.”

He reluctantly got up off the couch and clambered into his room. You waited patiently for him to notice the surprise, grinning to yourself when you heard him gasp. 

You listened as you made him a sandwich, and you couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying, but you knew he was talking to Penny just by the tone of his voice.

As you rounded the corner into his room, he turned and gave you a smile as bright as the sun. 

“Did you do this, or did Fish Santa come early?” he asked, his finger pressed against the glass of the tank. 

“Well, kind of both,” you responded through a laugh as you sat next to him on the bed and delivered his sandwich to his lap. “You can consider it your early Christmas present.”

He stared at you for a long beat, looking like he might cry. You knew you’d never be able to handle that, so you pulled him in for a hug, tightening your arms around him when he hugged you back. 

“You’ve been working so hard,” you whispered. “I miss my best friend.”

He turned his face, pressing his nose into your cheek in a move that felt a step or two farther than friends.

“I’ve put everything I have into this,” he admitted, and you were too scared to ask if he meant the play or something else. You sat like that with him for a long moment before he pulled away, giving you a thankful smile. 

“I’m sure you need time to decompress, so I’ll leave you be. Eat and then get some sleep, okay?” You stood and headed for the door, turning when he called your name. 

“Thank you,” he said.

[writesowhatnext]

pretending is a gateway drug // george weasley

Summary: George bribes the reader into being his fake girlfriend for forty-two days, you can imagine how that plays out.

Request: hey lovey! absolutely in love with your writing; it’s so beautiful and i just cannot get enough of it! if your requests are open (and you like the idea) could i ask for our beloved george x reader—i’ve recently been obsessed with fake dating tropes where they end up together in the end.. i don’t have anything specific in mind for the plot, i know whatever you come up with will be fabulous :D thanks a ton darling.. keep on writing, you have a gift, x

A/N: I love this trope so much and this was the sweetest compliment and I was beyond excited to start this – also I usually try to keep it gender neutral but it was a struggle with this so sorry about that :( also this is so long oh my god

Reader: female

Warnings: female reader, making out

You hadn’t heard George sneak up behind you, but being friends with the twins for as long as you had, you weren’t surprised easily.

“Y/N, I need a favour,” he said, leaning on the bookshelf you were rifling through. You didn’t turn to face him; you already knew it was George by his voice.

“No.”

You dragged your fingers across the spines of a few books before finding the book on Potions you were after, a disproportionately happy smile lifting your cheeks at the prospect.

“You don’t even know what it is!”

You huffed, running your tongue over your teeth before turning to him, tilting your head.

“Fine. What is it?”

You raised your eyebrow, leaning the book on your hip. He smiled slightly.

“I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend.”

You blinked at him, staring at his hopeful expression.

“No.”

And with that, you walked over to Madam Pince to sign out the book. George stayed a few feet behind you, not wanting to incur Madam Pince’s wrath as he had done countless times before. Fred and George were notorious in the library; once they’d made Pince so mad she banned them for a month before McGonagall convinced her they needed to use the library for their studies. A laughable idea.

“Thank you,” you said to the librarian. She shot George a deathly glare over your shoulder and you couldn’t help but enjoy his discomfort. She then directed it at you and you found yourself walking toward the exit very quickly.

“Come on, Y/N, please!” George begged, walking next to you back to the Gryffindor common room.

“No.”

“Please…”

“Nope.”

“What if I split the money with you?”

You stopped in your tracks, frowning and turning your head towards him.

“What money?”

You wanted to punch him for the cheerful grin that erupted on his face.

“I am so very glad you asked. Ron said that I couldn’t get a girlfriend if I tried, which is a bit rich, really, don’t you think?”

Something about your expression told him he should get to the point.

“Anyway, so, Ron made a bet with Fred that I couldn’t get a girlfriend before the Yule Ball.”

“So why not just get one of the Beauxbatons girls to date you? It’s like two months away.”

“Forty-two days, actually. And, I don’t actually want a girlfriend.”

You narrowed your eyes.

“I don’t believe you.”

He rolled his eyes and grabbed your shoulders, spinning you around to face the window, the whole of Hogwarts in the view.

“There is a whole world of girls to make out with out there, Y/N. Now, why would I limit myself?”

You turned your head to face him, his face very close to yours from where he stood with his palms still sat on your shoulders. Your face felt warm all of a sudden.

“I hate you.”

“I know,” he smiled, letting you go so you could turn around. “But will you help me?”

“Why me? Why not Angelina? Or Katie?”

“Fred’s got his eye on Angelina and I think Katie actually fancies me…” his expression turned from pensive to cocky in almost a second. “Can’t blame her really.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms, your book perched in your hand.

“How much?”

“The bet’s four galleons.”

“Four?” you echoed, frowning. “Bloody hell, Ron must really think you’re undesirable.”

You smirked, tilted your head to the side. “Can’t blame him really.”

“Oi!” George huffed, pushing you to the side. You shoved him back, starting to walk again.

“I’ll do it for two galleons.”

“Two galleons! That’s bloody half!”

“Nice to see your years of Arithmancy has paid off.”

“That only leaves a galleon each for me and Fred.”

“Without me, it leaves nothing for you and Fred, because without me, you won’t win the bet.”

He stared at you for a moment, the only sound: your in-sync footsteps down the corridor.

“Fine.”

“When do we start then, boyfriend?” you asked, stopping directly outside the Fat Lady’s portrait and swivelling to face George with a smug grin, enjoying his annoyed reluctance far too much.

“Right now, girlfriend.”

And so, that’s how became George Weasley’s girlfriend in four minutes – no doubt a new record for him. When you walked inside, you rushed to sit down first, as you always did, and ended up on the opposite side of the sofa to Fred, your feet stretched out towards him and your back against the arm. As he always did, George lifted your feet with an eye roll and sat underneath them, resting them on his lap. The others all greeted you but nobody batted an eyelid.

But then George placed his hand on your leg, just above your knee and you felt your breath hitch at the contact. He seemed to notice your unease and turned to you, a silent question in his eyes as he began to rub his thumb up and down. You shot him a small smile, mainly for any audience you may have had, you told yourself, but you couldn’t deny how nice it felt, though and that both scared and delighted you.

“I’m sorry,” Fred said, his voice loud as he looked at you. No one had really heard him yet, but you knew it wouldn’t stop him, he was relentless. His eyes were full of amusement and you could only imagine how much he’d enjoy this whole arrangement. “What is happening here?”

He pointed at George’s hand on your knee and for some reason, George had the good sense to look almost bashful at the attention. Some part of you didn’t want him to make it a big deal or obvious but you couldn’t figure out why exactly.

“Bit saucy for you two, isn’t it?”

With a scowl, you lifted up the leg George’s hand wasn’t rested on and kicked Fred in the side, earning a grunt in response.

“Shut up, Fred,” you whispered, trying not to draw attention to yourself. George laughed at his twin’s pained expression.

“Brilliant, love.” He said so easily it was almost natural. You froze at the pet-name but thankfully you could blame it on Ron’s outburst that had cut through the room.

“Is something going on with you two?” he asked suspiciously, looking between you and George accusingly.

“Get a grip,” Ginny insisted, “Y/N would never stoop that low.”

You smiled at her comment but you knew you’d have to do something pretty convincing to earn your two galleons.

“Oh, shut up, Ron,” you said half-heartedly, drawing every eye listening to you. George’s hand squeezed your leg comfortingly, or maybe warningly. Hermione frowned, leaning forward.

“Are you dating George?”

You pursed your lips and leant into the back of the sofa, automatically towards George, a force of habit you weren’t aware of.

“Wow,” Harry said, rather observantly for him. You rolled your eyes before standing up and walking away from them. You knew all eyes were on you and so, you stopped and turned, eyebrows drawn down.

“You coming?”

George’s face lit up at your words and he stood up, grinning as he raced over to you. As you both walked towards the boys’ dorms, you could feel their stares on your back. George could too, it seemed, and as you started up the stairs, he rested a hand on your hip. You knew, at that point, that you were definitely getting paid after this.

You were two weeks in when you started slipping. You hadn’t forgotten that you were supposed to be dating, in fact, it seemed like you’d forgotten that you weren’t really. Something about George just felt so right and easy. He’d put his arm around your waist when you sat next to him or around your shoulder in the corridor and he’d kiss your hairline before he left and your cheek when you’d done something to be proud of. You spent more time with him to keep up appearances and whilst you knew you liked George - he was one of your best friends for a reason - you didn’t realise how much you liked his company. He made you laugh until you thought you’d throw up and smile so much your cheeks would ache. You had to remind yourself it wasn’t real but you didn’t suspect anything untoward about your feelings really – you were just close with your best friend, is all.

Ron, however, was immensely suspicious. After three weeks of the pretence, he stormed in to find you lying on the sofa with George, your head on his shoulder with his arm wrapped around you as you played with each other’s hands, talking about nothing. It wouldn’t have been an uncommon sight before your business deal but now everybody thought you were dating, there was something strangely intimate about it.

“I know you’re faking it,” Ron said, frowning and pointing his finger at you both. You snorted and George frowned, neither of you moving.

“Okay?” you said, not at all fazed. Maybe you’d gotten a little too used to it.

“I’ve never seen you kiss.”

You shot Ron a strange look before you felt George’s lips briefly pressed against the side of your head. Ron rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, a smug expression on his face.

“I meant properly. I’ve never seen you kiss properly.”

Fred, who’d only just arrived, sat down on a chair opposite you with an amused smile.

“You’re a right little pervert. Aren’t you, Ronniekins?”

“Oh, piss off, Fred. You know I’m right!”

“Fine,” George said, shuffling a little bit and sitting you both up. He stood on the sofa, dragging you up with him. He ignored your confused expression, looking around the busy common room with a grin. “Ladies, gentlemen and Ron, this is my very real girlfriend and we are very really dating and I love her very much.”

You knew it wasn’t real and you were fine with that, you thought. You couldn’t ignore, though, the unsettling feeling in your stomach. You didn’t have time to think on it though because within seconds, George had grabbed your face in his large, warm hands and kissed you. You were understandably startled at first, completely unprepared and very much not convinced about how fake the whole thing was – it certainly didn’t feel fake when he bit softly at your bottom lip. There were multiple wolf whistles and hoots from the people around, mostly Fred, you suspected. You couldn’t focus on them as your hands shot to George’s chest in surprise, his jumper soft under your fingertips. He leant you back a little bit, one of his hands holding you close to him by the small of your back. It wasn’t until you felt lightheaded that he pulled away.

Slightly dazed, you looked up at him and he sent you a dazzling smile before he turned to Ron, who was as red as a tomato and swallowing gruffly.

“Fine,” he muttered, shaking his head. He all but slumped away, cursing under his breath.

George turned to you, a smile on his face, as everyone decided they had better things to do than stare at you and George making out. You felt a lump in your throat as you stared at him and for a moment, it all felt way too real; one hand on your back and the other cupping your jaw, you felt like he was still kissing you and suddenly you couldn’t breathe again. George opened his mouth to speak but Fred beat him to it. His face was a lot lower than yours were from his place on the floor, a ridiculously smug smile on his lips.

“Brilliant work, you two,” he said cheerily, staring at you for a fraction too long. “Truly dedicated to the cause.”

You felt sick at his words, but you nodded anyway.

“Thanks for going with me there, Y/N. We definitely sold that kiss.”

You nodded again, feeling empty. Nothing made you feel more hollow, though than when George’s hands left you.

“Ready to go give Filch a lunchtime he won’t regret?”

“Always,” George replied, beyond excited. He shot you a wink before disappearing with his brother through the portrait hole. You sat down on the sofa with a huff, your eyes sad and your heart tied to an anchor.

You avoided George the fourth week. Not enough to make anyone suspicious, but enough to make you feel less horrible about the whole situation. You weren’t ready to think about why it had been bothering you so much; you knew it was fake when you signed up for it and it wasn’t like you liked George or anything. Fortunately, a voice calling your name interrupted you before you could go down that rabbit hole. Unfortunately, the voice belonged to George and he was chasing after you, rushing past shorter students. You knew full well you couldn’t avoid him, no matter how much you wanted to, so you plastered a big smile on your face and turned to him, fully aware that noise carried on the moving staircases.

“Georgie,” you said happily, ignoring the gnawing feeling inside. “How’re you?”

You expected an equally fake response from him, but, as always, he surprised you. He grabbed the top of your arm lightly and pulled you into a deserted classroom, shutting the door behind you and dropping his hand.

“Why are you avoiding me?” he asked, his eyebrows drawn together and eyes full of, what looked like, hurt. He was a better actor than you gave him credit for.

“What do you mean?” Your voice was the same light and airy tone you’d used in the corridor and it clearly wasn’t sitting well with George.

“No, no,” he shook his head, his long red hair swishing with the movement. He did look very handsome- “None of that crap, I’m serious. Why’re you avoiding me?”

“Why?” you frowned. “Does someone suspect something?”

“What?” he looked visibly taken aback. “No, forget that. I want to know why my best friend is ignoring me.”

You swallowed, not really looking at him, but through him.

“It’s nothing, George.”

“It’s clearly not nothing-“

“George, give it a rest, please.”

He paused, noticing how upset you seemed. He went to brush away a stray lock of hair from your cheek when you pulled away, avoiding his eyes.

“I’ll make sure nobody questions anything, don’t worry,” you said before rushing around him, leaving the door open behind you.

George officially didn’t know what he was doing. It seemed like a great idea, at first. He needed a fake girlfriend, his best friend was a girl and Fred had agreed, he’d pushed him to ask you and it was going great, it was very convincing. Truth be told, he loved it. He loved making you laugh and he loved the casual touches and the affection. But then he kissed you, and something changed and now you wouldn’t even talk to him.

“Fred?” he asked, sitting on the floor of his dorm opposite his brother. “Do you think I’ve messed it all up with Y/N?”

“What?”

Fred, who rarely worried about anything in life, was concerned. As soon as Ron had teased George about getting a girlfriend, he’d orchestrated the whole thing to try and get the two of you together. He’d been right, as well; those few weeks you spent pretending only further convinced him that you were both perfect for each other. But now, sitting there, playing around with random inventions, he felt slightly guilty.

“She won’t talk to me,” he paused, “I think it’s this stupid bet.”

Fred had never seen George look so sad.

“After I kissed her, she’s just been acting so weird. I just-“ he paused again, sighing. “I just want my best friend back.”

Whilst Fred was, of course, very sympathetic to his brother’s plight, he’d stopped listening. George’s words only further solidified his belief – if you freaked out after kissing George, there was only one reason why and he would get it out of you, kicking and screaming.

“You fancy George,” he said the next day, following you into an empty corridor on your way to the library to return a book.

“Firstly, stop following me, you creepy sod. Secondly, of course, I do,” your voice grew an edge, “he’s my boyfriend.”

“Now we both know, dear Y/N, that that is not what I meant.”

You stopped walking and frowned at him; his smile only grew.

“See, I thought about why kissing him would freak you out so much and it just became so blindingly obvious. I mean you picked the less good-looking twin, but I can understand it-“

“Does he know?” you asked, and Fred’s amusement faded when he saw your panic.

“No, but I suggest you talk to him about it. It’s definitely in your best interest.”

With that, he strolled in the opposite direction, whislting with his hands shoved in his pockets, leaving you with a big decision and also, probably, a library fine.

You didn’t decide to talk to George until dinner. You sat next to him the whole time, your arms touching, but never really interacting with each other and that only created a black hole in your chest. You couldn’t cope without George, as your best friend or the something more you knew you wanted him to be. After you’d both finished eating, you reached over and grabbed his hand, his head jolting towards you at the contact.

“Can we talk?” you asked quietly, everyone else too concentrated on their food to hear you. He nodded and with a carefully calculated routine, you walked out of the Great Hall hand in hand. Your hands dropped as soon as you turned the corner and that alone made you feel sick.

“George-“

“Y/N-“

You both stopped, nervous, breathy laughter filling the corridor over the soft hum of people talking from the hall next door.

“You go first,” you insisted, desperate to avoid what you knew you had to do.

“Well,” he scratched the back of his neck with his hand before sighing. “This whole thing started off really nice, like really nice,” your eyebrows drew downwards at the soft pink flush of his cheeks.

“But now it’s weird and we’re weird and I- Y/N, I don’t want us to be weird. I don’t care about four stupid galleons; I care about my best friend-“

“George, I like you. Like, like like you ”

You had to curse yourself for your timing, but you just couldn’t hold it in, looking at his sweet expression as his mouth said such nice things.

“What?”

You screwed your eyes shut and let out a shaky exhale.

“I didn’t know I did until we were pretending and then there was all the touching and the talking and it just felt so right and then you kissed me and I didn’t know what to do because it wasn’t real and all I wanted it to be was real and I didn’t know-“

His lips were on yours and his hands, cupping your jaw gently, pulled you into him. You barely registered it before he pulled away, a large smile on his face that only grew larger with your bewildered expression.

“Y/N, will you be my girlfriend?” he asked, wetting his lips as his thumb lightly brushed your cheekbone. You blinked at him, your mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.

“For real?”

He laughed.

“For real.”

You couldn’t help the slow smile that lifted your cheeks, unable to contain the happiness that flodded through you. Your whole body felt light and George’s smitten expression made your heart soar. His eyes twinkled and you knew that yours would be just as ecstatic.

“I thought you didn’t want to limit yourself to just one-“

Before you could finish your teasing remark, he was kissing you again and this time, it was even better; this time it was for real.

harry potter tag list:

@creator-appreciator

@loveisblindness​

@decadentwastelandtrash - I’m having trouble tagging you I’m sorry!!

@xinyourdreamsx​ 

@brainlesspasta​ 

[mandoalorian]

Sunkissed [Maxwell Lord x Reader] SMUT

Warnings: SMUT; foreplay, oral (m! receiving), spanking, slight exhibitionist kink, cum facial, rough, Maxwell is a subtle (?) asshole.

Word count: 3k

Rating: 18+ only.

Author's note: YACHT SMUT YACHT SMUT YACHT SMUT. This whole one shot is based off this gif alone. I wish we got to see more of Yacht!Max in the movie because wowww this was a look.

Masterlist

Today was the day.

A few months ago, your agent called you with an opportunity you just couldn't resist. You were new to the 'acting' world, having only scored gigs in a toothpaste commercial and a local theatre production. This was different though; your agent stating there was a spot available for an infomercial. You weren't sure what to think. You imagined it being for some boring historical or political campaign and scrunched your nose up in displeasure. Nevertheless, you needed the money and all the experience you could get, so you prepped and went to the audition.

You were surprised when the directions your agent gave you took you to Black Gold Cooperative. You waited in a small room amongst a dozen other girls, before the CEO, Maxwell Lord, came padding in, doting his famous television smile. He hummed in delight, looking around, his eyes flicking between each girl. He pursed his lips together but didn't say a word, before pointing a ring clad finger at you and wiggling it in the air. "You're hired!" he grinned, his voice rich and filled with vibrancy. You knotted your eyebrows together in bewilderment, wanting to say something, but he was already gone. The other girls sighed and huffed, slowly disbanding and leaving the room. You were the last to leave, hesitantly standing up and tugging on the arm of a woman who worked in the office.

"I got the part," you bit your lip nervously and the blonde woman nodded her head, listening carefully. "But I don't really know what for."

"Mr Lord is shooting a new infomercial to promote the company, to try and boost investments." the lady explained.

"But I didn't even audition." you replied, genuinely confused.

"Why would you need to audition? Mr Lord is the star of all his infomercials. All you have to do is sit there and look pretty," the woman in the pink pant suit looked down at her clipboard. "We don't start shooting until summer, but we'll mail you all the details closer to the time." And with that, she was whisked away. You stood there in the middle of the office, completely dumbfounded.

About a week ago, you had got the details just as she promised. You showed up at the harbour fifteen minutes early that morning with a small case full of clothes that would last you the weekend. That's what you were promised as payment for the infomercial. Not cash, but a weekend away on Maxwell Lord's five star private yacht. To be honest, you'd rather have the money, but you'd never been on a yacht before, so you were looking forward to the experience.

"Right!" the director called, pulling her headphones down around her neck. "Mr Lord won't be boarding until noon so… just do as you please until then, but try and not cause any havoc," you looked around. It was only you and four other girls who'd be starting alongside the businessman. "He'll be boarding from a different harbour so we'll be sailing out there in around fifteen minutes. I'd recommend you all get ready for shooting."

You felt isolated. It seemed like the four other girls were quick to befriend one another, giggling and chatting about everything and anything. You didn't usually consider yourself shy but they seemed so different to you. You felt like an outcast.

You sighed, entering the yacht and finding your cabin. You spent a few moments settling in and adjusting yourself to the room before remembering the director had advised you all to get dressed and ready for shooting. You looked outside the small round window and couldn't help but smile. It was a beautiful, hot Summer's day. You stripped out of your clothes and into a floral bikini you'd forked out and purchased especially for today. You did your best to style your hair, but figured it was pointless knowing the salty sea air would get to it anyway. You felt like you had forgotten to grab something, but shrug it off, heading back outside to the deck of the ship. The golden sun rays beamed onto your skin and it felt amazing. Deciding you had a few hours, you placed down a towel and lay on the floor to sunbathe. You could hear the faint laugher of the girls who must've been gossiping elsewhere on the yacht, but you were thankful for a few moments of relaxation before shooting began.

You fell asleep. You didn't know how long you were out for, but it was long enough. You woke up when a cool shadow loomed over you, cutting away the sun beams and sending a shiver down your body. You slowly fluttered your eyes open, them widening when you saw who was standing before you.

Maxwell Lord.

Shit, had you really been asleep that long? You groaned apologetically, sitting upright and hoping you weren't in trouble. Maxwell was doting a blue and white vertical pinstripe button down, the top three buttons undone showing just enough of his bronzed chest to create a weakness in the pit of your stomach. His hair was golden under the sunlight, and he sported a pair of gold rimmed sunglasses. Upon inspecting closer, they looked like limited edition RayBans. He didn't stay a word, just stared at your body hungrily, admiring the way it was spread out.

"I-" you started. "Have we- have we started shooting? Shit, did I sleep through it?" you asked nervously and Maxwell couldn't help but let out a chuckle.

"No, we start shooting in half an hour," he replied, shaking his head. Something about his presence still made you nervous. He sank to his knees, resting beside you and didn't tear his gaze from your body once. He placed his large, ring clad hand over your stomach. "Hot." he commented.

"Huh?" your eyes widened almost comically. Was he calling you hot? You shuddered under his touch, and it didn't go unnoticed by Max.

"Yeah, you're hot," his voice was gravelly and sensual as he began to trace his finger around your belly button, admiring the softness of your skin. "Quite literally burning up."

"Ohhhhh," you drawled out, feeling your cheeks heat up with embarrassment. For a second you thought he was coming onto you. And suddenly, you knew what he meant. You had fallen asleep under the sun for what might've been hours. It's not like you were going to be cold. "Oh right, yeah. I knew I forgot something. Sunscreen."

Max laughed light heartedly and it almost put you at ease, that is if you weren't already so nervous from his soft and delicate touches. "Don't fear," he smiled, dragging his fingers along your tummy. "Max is here." He pulled out a bottle of sunscreen from nowhere and presented you with it, a small and dorky 'ta-da!' escaping his lips. "May I?" he asked, slowly pushing you back down onto the towel that you were previously laying on.

It was hard to read his expression through the sunglasses, but you noted his quirked eyebrow and the wicked smirk that played across his lips.

"Okay." you affirmed with a reassuring smile. Maxwell pulled his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to read the back of the product he was holding. For a second, you caught a glimpse of his dark, chocolate coloured eyes.

"This lotion has biotin in it, makes you glow like a teenager. Great for when you're in front of a camera," Maxwell explained as you heard him click open the cap and squirt some of the product into his hands. "Let me do your back first."

You wasted no time, following his instruction and turning over. Maxwell spent a moment, admiring the way your body was shaped so beautifully. His eyes trailed from the nape of your neck, down the dip of your back and along the curve of your ass. Your swimsuit panties left very little to the imagination and Max could already feel himself getting turned on, his cock twitching as he began to rub the cream into your shoulders. You hummed at the pressure of both of his hands as he worked at you.

"You know, I remember you," his voice was friendly and approachable, so much so that it almost distracted you from what he was doing to you. "I remember you from all those months ago. I remember the way you stood out from the other girls. There was just something about you I couldn't put into words… but now I see it." he didn't describe what exactly he saw but you could feel the butterflies stir in your stomach at his compliment. "I mean, look at you. You have a body that will sell. And I mean that in the best way possible." you felt his fingers play with the string that kept your bikini together. "May I?" he asked again. "Want to make sure I get every piece of your skin." he murmured.

"Yes," you breathed out, a little too shakily. With a gentle tug, the string came undone and Maxwell continued to rub the lotion down your body, his large hands travelling to the small of your back.

"This ass too," he hummed, giving you a little spank. You gasped, tossing your head back in pleasure. "Oh I see, you like that, don't you?" he chuckled, smacking you again but this time a little harder. You moaned, your lips parting into a perfect 'o' shape. He spent a considerable amount of time rubbing the silky lotion into the curves of your ass cheeks before working himself down the backs of your legs and to your feet. "Turn around and let me get your front."

You eagerly did as you were told. You rolled over, forgetting your bikini top had been untied from the back and gasped slightly when the thin, colourful material exposed your breasts. Maxwell tsked, shaking his head. You used your hands to cover your chest as the straps fell down your arms. "Don't worry darling, you don't have to hide yourself in front of me." he chuckled, slowly peeling your hands away from your body. He pulled off your bikini top and threw it aimlessly to one side.

He took the bottle of sunscreen and squirted a little more into his hands, before smothering it all over your chest. He dipped his fingers into your collarbones and gently stroked down the valley of your breasts. He got your stomach again, rubbing in the cream and making sure not to miss a single inch of skin. You moaned wantonly as his fingers glided across the hem of your bikini panties, slipping in just under the waistband teasingly.

You reached out, grabbing a hold of his wrists and dragging them back up to your chest, placing each of his hands so they were cupping your breasts. He squirted some more lotion, this time straight on your tits, and started to massage it into your soft skin. He still looked composed, despite his hard and leaking manhood pressed against the confines of his cream coloured, fitted pants.

His thumb grazed the bud of your nipples, even occasionally pinching at them to see if he could gain a reaction out of you. You moaned wantonly, feeling your folds grow slick with arousal as he teased you. Maxwell positioned himself on top of you, leaning down and pressing sloppy kisses all over your breasts, his tongue swirling around your nipple and sucking on it greedily.

"Mm, what if someone sees?" you managed to whimper out as Max pulled away from you with a 'pop'.

"Don't worry princess, they're all preoccupied elsewhere. But we don't have long until the shoot begins and oh… look what you've done to me." Max pressed his crotch against your thigh so you could feel the thick, hard imprint of his cock. "You're gonna have to take care of this, sweet girl." he muttered, unzipping his pants and freeing his aching manhood.

You gasped as you took in the size of him, subconsciously licking your lips greedily. Max rose to his feet, jerking himself off as he walked over to the metal bars that gated the edge of the yacht. He looked over into the ocean, slowly pumping his length with one hand and with his free hand, he pulled up his sunglasses so they were resting in his hair. He turned back to you and pointed a finger, curling it and gesturing for you to come over. You didn't stand up, instead, crawling towards him with a primal glint in your eyes. Max leaned against the cool bars as the wind gently breezed through his hair and you straightened yourself up. You stayed down on your knees as you gently pulled Maxwell's hand away from his dick.

You felt your mouth begin to water with anticipation as Max's hands fell into your hair. You ran your fingers down his cock to tease the CEO the best you could, knowing full well this might be the only time you'd be able to exert your dominance over someone as powerful as Maxwell Lord. Max grunted under your delicate touch, and began to subconsciously thrust himself into your hand.

Eventually, you leaned in to lick the tip of his cock. You found yourself lapping at his small slit which was leaking with his salty precum. Your small kitten licks earned groans of pleasure and praise from Maxwell as he quietly begged for more. Max's breathing got heavier and he started to exhale sharp sighs, everytime you swirled your tongue against the tip of his cock. You finally sunk your mouth down as deep as you could, and Max's breathing became shallow as he mewled a string of dirty curses.

You cupped his balls with your hands, playing with them as you deepthroated the businessman to the best of your ability. You ignored the way tears pricked your eyes and your saliva mixed with his precum dribbled down your chin. Max Lord always liked to take control, and he began to thrust his cock deep into your mouth. But as always, he craved more. He craved for something warmer and wetter. He ran his fingers through your hair and pulled your head away from his manhood so his cock bounced against your face.

"Stand up." he commanded and you did so with a wobble. He pulled you over to where he was standing and bent you over the side of the ship, pulling your bikini bottoms down quickly and roughly. He spanked you again, earning a pretty little wail of surprise.

You felt him line his cock up against your soaking wet folds as his tummy pressed into your ass. He rubbed the tip against your entrance teasingly until you were crying out his name and begging him to fuck you.

When he finally pushed his length into you, you couldn't help but scream. You gasped, your fingers curling around the metal bars so hard your knuckles turned white as he set up a brutal and rough page. His movements were unforgiving as he fucked you so hard and fast, your poor legs felt like they were going to give way. But he had you pinned against the barrier, and the way he mumbled sweet nothings and appraisal into your ear only spurred you on more. He told you how much of a good girl you were for taking his cock so well. He warned that if you kept screaming, you'd alert the filming crew. He'd tease you, nibbling and biting gently at the skin as he nestled his head into the crook of your neck.

"Gonna cum," you warned, your moans becoming erratic as he kept pushing into that perfect sweet spot inside of you. Your walls clenched around his cock tighter than a vice as you came. But he didn't stop fucking you. Your body ached as he used your pussy to bring himself to his own climax.

"Ngh— fuck!" Max cried out as he doubled back, pulling out of you and pushing you back down onto your knees. He jerked himself rapidly and you noted the way his cock throbbed in his hands. "Gonna make a mess off your pretty face." he chuckled darkly. "Mouth. Open."

You did as you were told, parting your lips and sticking your tongue out as Max's salty load roped into your mouth. At least— most of it got into your mouth. His eyes slammed shut and his cum sprayed onto your face and dripped down your chin and onto your chest. You couldn't believe how pent up he was. He slowly opened his eyes and gave you a small nod. You closed your mouth and swallowed his load with a hum of approval, licking your lips and fluttering your eyelashes.

"Five minutes until shooting!" you heard the director call and you gasped. Max smirked, taking a mental image of how sexy you looked with his cum splayed all over you.

"You better clean yourself up." Max laughed, taking your hand and helping you to your feet.

You were at a complete loss for words. Your hair was sticking to your skin from the sweat and your whole body was slippery with the sunscreen Max had applied earlier. Max grabbed the towel that you were once lying on and threw it in your direction. You noticed he had already tucked himself back into his pants, and, other than the few strands of dark blonde hair that had fallen out of place, he looked ready to go.

You wondered how often he did this. How often he fucked his employees on set before he shot important commercials or infomercials. There was something about his energy that thrilled you and filled your body with desire. He left you wanting more. And, knowing you'd be spending the whole weekend with him on this yacht, part of you figured this wouldn't be the last time he'd touch you like this.

Taglist (let me know if you wish to be added!)~

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[spvce-cowboy]

gentle things

ch. 2 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x fem!reader)

previous- ch.1: “a strange beauty”

next- ch.3: “reunion”

rating: mature

8.5k words

warnings: mutual pining, masturbation (f), alcohol, descriptions of gore

summary: after a few months on the Crest, you find yourself growing closer to your new companions.

a/n: the gay agenda is finding a way to slip a dolly parton song into a star wars fanfic, i rest my case.

**

Most mornings you wake to the child’s soft cooing. Occasionally, the sound is met with a low, modulated voice, that murmurs incoherent phrases in response. It somehow puts your heart to rest before you even remember where you are. 

It’s strange, you’ve been a resident of the Crest for a handful of months now and it sometimes still takes you a few moments each morning to reorient yourself. You blame it on the strange limbo of hyperspace—it always throws you off for at least a day or two, and you swear your dreams are more vivid after. Sometimes you wake up panting for no reason at all.

You’re adjusting pretty well. A bit strange having a roommate/boss who doesn’t acknowledge your presence beyond the occasional but respectful nod. But it’s way better than you could have possibly imagined when you first started turning the idea over in your head. Granted, that was when you were about elbow-deep in his chest cavity, trying to fish out pieces of the shoddily constructed weapon that broke off inside him. You needed the first way out that presented itself to you, something you and Am’ile both agreed with, and well, when opportunity strikes or whatever.

Your first evening on the Crest, you asked the Mandalorian where you should sleep and he just shrugged, handing you a single, scratchy blanket with a “this is all I have.” Later, when you pass his bunk as he’s taking a nap, he’s curled in on himself on a bare cot and you realize that threadbare piece of fabric was literally all he had. You don’t bring it up, but something in your chest softens towards him after that. There’s a new quilt folded neatly on his bunk by the time he returns from his first mission.

Your second day onboard, you found a metal table in a junk heap and pushed it against one of the walls in the engineering bay. You spent the better part of an afternoon figuring out how to weld it to the floor. The medical supplies went on top, then you pushed your pillow and your rolled-up mattress underneath. Sure, there was technically a second cot in the Crew’s quarters, but you wanted to give the Mandalorian his privacy whenever possible. Besides, as long as there wasn’t too much turbulence, your set-up was pretty great.

After a few missions, you’ve visited enough markets to buy an ample supply of blankets, sweaters, and pillows to keep you comfortable on the floor of the ship. It’s freezing most nights, especially in hyperspace, and cocooning yourself in as many warm things as you could manage helps stave off both the chill as well as the occasional home sickness. The collection you’ve amassed thus far is in a various mis-match of pale jewel tones that remind you of Am’ile’s house. You didn’t realize that until you’d piled them all together on your bed and you couldn’t help but laugh at yourself a bit.

The child loves your soft things, happily snuggling up with you for naps while waiting for the Mandalorian’s return—though you suspect he’s just grateful for the new company. A consistent presence while dad’s away. You’re happy to give that to him.

The new routine is comfortable, the company is nice, the work is relatively easy. And, stars, the things you get to see. It’s honestly more than you could have ever asked for.

When your eyes blink open it’s already around eight in the morning. You’ve landed on Nevarro where the Mandalorian has already been gone for a day, attending some kind of “extended business meeting,” as he put it. Yawning, you eventually roll out of bed and stumble into the fresher, blearily rubbing the sleep out of your eyes with the spray’s cold water. Stepping out, you wrap your towel around yourself. In the tiny metal mirror suspended over the sink you pat on some lotion onto your face, eyes still heavy.

Reaching for your toothbrush, your knuckle grazes one of the Mandalorian’s facial razors. You wince, flicking your hand before examining it. A tiny nick. Sucking on it for a second to stop the blood flow, you glance at the Mandalorian’s side of the cabinet.

It’s strange to see the most banal traces evidence of what he is, who he is, behind the all that beskar. Like the facial razors—to think he’s in here, maskless, shaving his face, while you’re playing with his kid or whatever just a few steps away. To think he takes a shower every day—er, well, you’re not sure about that one, but at least when he’s on the Crest—stepping out and wrapping a towel around his waist in order goes about his little tasks.

You swallow, removing your hand from your mouth and grabbing your toothbrush before your mind can wander anywhere else. You brush your teeth particularly well that morning.

The day is pretty typical from there. After feeding both yourself and the child breakfast, you settle on the floor of the hull with the small metal ball he’s obsessed with. You place him a few feet in front of you, he sways slightly on both feet before plopping down to mirror you, hands stretched forward in an demand to be put in your lap.

“Let’s do some of the exercises, yeah?” You know you’re essentially just talking to yourself as you hold the ball in the air, but you might as well make the effort anyway. Am’ile was no stranger to kids like him, or at least that’s how she put it—something about her people and some other group, the specifics completely slipped your mind. She didn’t really elaborate and you knew not to press.

Even though you don’t know much, you do try to mimic Am’ile’s drills-disguised-as-play at least a few times a day. He only seemed to do what you asked during those sessions when you weren’t looking, distracted by cleaning or studying whatever book you’d picked up hours later. You would always find the little ball in strange places, definitely not where you’d last placed it, and certainly out of the child’s reach.

At least it was good to know he was partially pretending to not listen to you. You could work with partially.

The kid has been fussy since waking, refusing to focus on any of the things you were trying to prompt him to do. Yesterday, you spent a bit too much time at the markets with him—growing sick of protein bars, you initially set out trying to find something closer to tasting like home. Really, you just liked getting out of the Crest so you could see all those people.

You’ve amassed a collection of language dictionaries, trying to do some fast learning and even faster practicing to get your way around. Sometimes the vendors are kind and help you stutter your way through disjointed sentences in their native tongue, others just huff and immediately switch to Basic as soon as you start talking. You don’t mind either way.

The marketplace as a whole is new and exciting, the clatter and clamor of movement, laughing and snarling, voices raised in argument and lowered in the smallest exchange of intimacy. So far removed from the quiet slopes of Am’ile’s home and—

You don’t let the rest of that thought happen, quickly scooping the kid up and wrapping him to your chest with a long swath of fabric.

“I’m goin’ a little crazy in here too, little guy,” you mumble, pulling your satchel over your shoulder. “Your dad should be back in a while—let’s try to find a contact for supplies until then, yeah? Shouldn’t be too hard.” A total lie, it was way more difficult to find what you are looking for than you initially thought. You were particularly looking for a cauterizing instrument that was a bit more sturdy than the glorified cigar lighter the Mandalorian was currently using. Besides basic med-kit stock, it was nearly impossible to find anything more advance under the radar.

Yesterday was half-heartedly spent searching the markets in search of someone who might be tapped into Republic supply runs, which rendered you, predictably, empty-handed. Now you were on to your second best option, asking around the closest cantina where you could find the instruments you were looking for for without raising too much attention.

Okay, so maybe the Mandalorian specifically told you to keep out of the bars when you’re traveling without him. But you managed just fine on your own yesterday in an arguably more crowded environment. You’ve also dealt with… far worse than that hunk of metal could ever possibly imagine. You’re more than capable on your own. Still, you make sure to strap a dagger and a blaster to your belt before heading out.

You make quick work hurrying to the cantina, making sure to cover your head with the hood of your tunic and conceal the little one as much as possible. Basic survival instincts usually warrant drawing as little attention to yourself as possible, being a young human woman traveling alongside a small green wizard creature is pretty much the opposite of that.

He, predictably, doesn’t take very well to the concealed swaddle you’ve confined him to, and the two of you are in a constant back-and-forth of you attempting to wrap him up and him making quick work of wriggling out of any cover tactic you try. If it weren’t for those damn ears your life would be so much easier.

The bar has the quiet hum of activity, occasionally interspersed with a loud chatter of conversations rising to some kind of boiling point. You maneuver yourself to the counter and try to get the attention of the bartender, holding the kid to your chest until he squirms his way upwards and settles with his chin on your shoulder, one of his ears slipping out of the head covering you’d fashioned and thwapping you in the neck. You’ll deal with that in a second.

You’ve only just caught the bartender’s attention when the doors slam open. The clamor of the cantina quiets momentarily, and you see everyone shift slightly to eye whoever just entered. The two new patrons seem to be in the middle of an argument, voices low in secrecy but tense with frustration.

“I’d know that green mug anywhere.” With that you finally turn, heart dropping with anxiety. It’s the Mandalorian and a companion, a human man. The man’s voice, a deep bellow, is warm and inviting in a way that shouldn’t make you freeze completely as he addresses the kid. He then looks you up and down, pausing as the Mandalorian continues stomping forwards. You freeze anyway. “Ah—this is that girl you mentioned? Your caretaker?”

“She’s a medic,” the Mandalorian sharply corrects the man without moving to look at you. He quickly returns back to whatever conversation was initially at hand as the man continues his brisk stride towards a table at the back. There are three people already seated there, but by the time the Mandalorian arrives they have all left in a scuffling hurry. Neither of the men acknowledge it, just immediately slide into opposing sides of the booth. “Karga, this is ridiculous--I’m not a Republic spy, why would there be this many hoops on a bounty you’re just handing out?”

“I’m not just ‘handing it out,’ Mando, I’m giving it to you because I know you’re the most capable,” the man, Karga, addresses the Mandalorian then directs his attention towards you. “Come here, girl. Let me get a good look at you, I’m curious.” Turning to the bartender, he barks out an order for spotchka. You walk towards the table. There’s too much attention on the three of you to resist, you wouldn’t want to make things more complicated for the Mandalorian anyway. The bounty hunter’s voice almost immediately overrides his, low but gritty with anger as you slide into the booth beside him.

“I can’t—Karga you know I’ve never done something like this. This high-profile. Going deep-cover for a job isn’t something I can do.”

You feel Karga’s eyes on you, it’s brief but piercing. You busy yourself by looking up at the woman who serves you a small glass of the bright blue liquid, quietly thanking her.

“It’s all the fobs or nothing. The signal will be broadcast in a few hours’ time—they won’t expect something like this to be conducted semi-publicly. Keep monitoring the broadcast, but save that fob for last,” Karga places three fobs in the center of the table, then slides a forth a few inches removed from the rest. He can tell the Mandalorian isn’t convinced—stars, even you can tell he isn’t convinced. Karga heaves a sigh and makes a stab at reassurance. “You can figure it out. You’re the only one I can trust to get this done. The most capable.”

The Mandalorian’s hand slams down on the table, you jump, quickly looking between the intense but even staring contest going on between Karga and the infuriated bounty hunter. Slowly, and with more than a bit of melodrama, the Mandalorian drags the fobs under his hand towards him, slipping it into his pocket without breaking eyes from Karga’s.

He turns heel so quickly his cape whips behind him. You scurry after him as fast as you can manage.

You can still feel the frustration steaming off of the Mandalorian the whole walk back to the Crest. You keep quiet, trailing behind him by a few steps—you desperately want to ask what was wrong. Your mouth stays firmly shut.

Boarding the Crest, the Mandalorian immediately scales the ladder into the cockpit. After a few minutes you feel the Crest shutter into the air, quickly shooting into the empty sky and then hyperspace. You sigh and grab a book, turning the kettle on to make some caf and settling in your bed to an eye on the kid as he toddles around the expanse of the hull.

Hours later, when the child has exhausted all possible forms of entertainment, usually consisting of live wires and exposed paneling that you tug him away from, he begins to get fussy in a way that means he’s tired but refuses to sleep. It starts with the occasional whimper that quickly crescendos into a full-blown fit. You know all the warning signs at this point.

The little terror had a bit of a habit of doing this—once the Mandalorian and you are in the ship he refuses to fall asleep unless you two are in the same room. A part of you knows this is a symptom of separation anxiety—which you in no way can blame him for, given the circumstances of their bond—but the cockpit is just about the last place you want to be.

It’s not that you’re scared of the Mandalorian, or anything. It would just be… incredibly awkward with the mood he’s in right now to attempt to lull his kid to sleep in his presence.

“Listen, buddy, your dad is super grumpy right now so—" The child just starts crying even louder, little fists balled up to pound futilely against your chest, trying to push you away. “Okay okay okay! I get it. I get it.” You sigh, biting your lip and looking down at the kid, then up at the ladder. The kid starts screaming. “Yeah, yeah. Alright.” You begin the climb up.

“Hey, sorry he’s being a little sensitive again,” you say as your head pops up onto the pilot’s deck, miraculously managing to pull yourself into the room with one arm holding the squirming kid against you. The floor seals shut behind you once you haul yourself over the edge.

The Mandalorian just grunts in response and continues flipping through radio channels, seemingly growing more frustrated with himself the longer it takes for him to find the frequency Karga directed him to. He’s in the pilot’s chair, back turned to you, shoulders hunched in concentration.

You settle into the copilot’s seat, resting the kid on his back on top of your legs. He settles almost instantly, big eyes no longer filled with tears.

Rolling your eyes with a small smile, you tickle him lightly until he starts giggling, then scoop him back up into your arms, allowing yourself to slide back in the chair a bit. You stare out into the bright darkness of space, blinking back at the stars as the child coos gently in your lap.

“A coded civilian station, is he fucking crazy?” The Mandalorian mumbles to himself in his continued litany of abuses he’s slung Karga and the greater universe’s way since returning to the Crest.

The longer you’ve been here the more he’s started to do things like that, just talking into the air without the expectation of a response. You begin to think that that’s just the way he acts when it was just him and the kid. Though you’ve noticed that he has been cursing way more than he did when you first met. That might be a little bit your fault. Oops.

You look down at the child and rub one of his ears, leaning down to press a kiss at the crown of his head. His little three-fingered hand catches your hair and pulls. Wincing, you resist the urge to jerk your head back. Instead, you extend the pad of your index finger and lightly wiggle it against his button nose. He sneezes and lets go almost immediately.  

You let out a triumphant “ha!” then shake your head slightly and twist your face in a playful scowl. The kid resumes his giggling, batting at your hands when you try to tickle his tummy.

Glancing over at the angry hunk of beskar seated beside you, you notice he’s paused with his hand hovering over the radio’s controls, his head turned slightly towards his right shoulder to silently regard you and the child.

You quickly divert your gaze back down to the kid, resuming rubbing his ears as his eyes slowly, devastatingly slowly, ease shut. Only to snap open again with a playful babble, hands reaching up again for the free entertainment of the hair still attached to your head. Shit. You sigh. The Mandalorian goes back to flipping through the channels.

More static and garbled languages you’ve never encountered before. You try to ignore the pounding of your heart—that was probably the longest you’d ever seen him grant you any kind of attention—and keep trying to lull the child to sleep. As quietly as possible you try to stand, scooting around the copilot’s seat to gently bounce the kid in the limited space to the back of the cockpit. He’s quieted significantly, just enough that you could probably get him to sleep on your own, as long as you don’t jostle him too much on the descent back into the hull. You’re about to head down the ladder when—

The Mandalorian pauses momentarily on a channel that’s playing music. The opening swell of the first verse is unmistakable. Your chest fills with a certain warm feeling, pounding with memories you had long since tucked away.

“Wait,” you say it without thinking. Without even processing that the words left your mouth. “Wait, could you go back? That… that song…”

Wordlessly, he clicks back to the previous station. The cabin is filled with the music, a warm and bright voiced female vocalist smoothly intertwined with her male partner. The melody is plucky, something you could dance to—and have, more than once—and it’s overly saccharine in its pure, absolute joy in itself. But you suppose the cheesiness is part of the charm. You relish in it regardless.

You do something to me that I can’t explain. There is a memory that surfaces just as quickly as it disappears. You couldn’t have been more than four. Your father, spinning you around by your pudgy forearm. It’s his laugh you remember most of all, something boisterous and full-bodied. You are dancing around the kitchen of a home you can’t remember, the floor dappled with light from the pieces of stained glass your mother had dangling from the windows. Hold me closer and I feel no pain. You smile to yourself, bowing your head down at the little one, quietly murmuring what lyrics you remember, rocking your hips in a gentle little dance. It works, the kid is fast asleep by the last chord.

The song ends, the disc jockey begins speaking in yet another language you don’t recognize. The Mandalorian quickly turns the volume down, lest it wake the child. He has reflexes fast enough to startle you, luckily your jolt does nothing to bother the baby in your arms. You gently place him in the pram, hovering beside the pilot’s seat. You slide the shield doors shut to keep out the noise and step back.

“Thank you, Mandalorian,” you say it softly, but you can see his helm bob slightly in a nod of acknowledgement. You take a deep breath and begin to head towards the ladder as he resumes flicking through the stations.

“Hey,” the Mandalorian says your name. You pause for a moment, then turn. He clears his throat—the sound comes out as a rough crackle over the modulator. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he sounds a bit nervous. “You can uh… you can just call me Mando, you know. The full thing is a bit of a mouthful.”

You blink once, then nod. Turning heel you, mercifully, scale back down the ladder with as much grace as could be mustered, despite your shaking hands.

That night, when you touch yourself, you shove the blanket he gave you against your nose and mouth. To keep quiet, you tell yourself. It smells like his soap.

**

Days after the radio incident, you can’t help but occasionally find that you’re singing the song to yourself as you go about your chores. It just seems to pop in your head as soon as you open your eyes, and it’s just stuck there, but you’re not very mad about that.

Mando has landed on some bitterly cold planet that was made up of little more than ash and a thick red fog. He had left late last night/early this morning to start his hunt, telling you in a little scribbled note to expect him back in two days’ time. He has really bad handwriting, it’s strangely amusing.

You decide to deep clean the hull: washing the floors, doing laundry, organizing what meager new supplies you were able to gather from Nevarro. As you did, you sang to yourself. Out loud. Just for the pleasure of it.

Your mother taught you kulning, as was tradition for the young girls on your home planet. Your father taught you the low-bellied croon of the casino singers. When things were still good, you would sing for your parents friends at the parties they would throw and your father would play the piano. You wish you had more memories like that. It’s hard to recall anything through the foggy barriers of the past fifteen years, it makes something in your chest ache to even try.

Am’ile’s radio was for emergencies only, not wanting to draw unwanted attention with the signal. It has been ages since you’ve had access to one, ages since you’ve heard music that didn’t come from your own mouth. That was why you’d started the nightly calls at Am’ile’s because before that grassy little planet… well, speaking was barely an option. You’d seen too many girls hurt for things far less than murmuring a tune.

To sing in the way your mother taught you, with the whole of your body. To make yourself so boldly known. It was all you had ever wanted.

You start putting together dinner for you and the kid as the day winds down. Mando had a barely functioning hotplate that you were able to make the best of, having bought some fresh produce at the far more hospitable planet the three of you were stationed at the previous day.

The stew cooks while you finish up the rest of your work, slicing bread and setting up a little dining area for your and the kid because, frankly, why not go all-out? It’s good to treat yourself to the small, gentle things. Even when on an unforgiving rock hurtling through space. Especially then.

You hop in the fresher while you wait for the meat to get to the proper temperature, twisting your body to keep your hair out of the water’s blast. In the enclosed space, you feel a less self-conscious and allow yourself sing a little louder than the under-the-breath, partial-hum you’d managed throughout the rest of the day.

You don’t hear the hull opening between that and the fresher’s spray.

When you turn the water off, you recognize the sound of the last few mechanisms of the hull door stealing itself back in place. Anxiety settles in quickly as you dry off. God, please let it just be Mando please. There’s the sound of something heavy being thrown against a wall. You wince.

A low voice. “Pretty little bird you’ve got singing in here, just for me?” Then a wet crack. “Mother fuck—"

Your heart lurches in your chest as you quickly pull your clothes on, cracking open the fresher door to peer out into the hull. Mando is standing over the body of a target, now crumpled to the ground, holding a bleeding headwound with two long, thin hands. He nudges the bounty with the butt of the weapon he had presumably just used against the man’s skull. The man gives a choked moan, completely incapacitated.

“Do you…” your voice sounds far too small. You blink, inhaling and starting over. “Do you need to bring him in alive or do you need my—"

“The carbonite will stop the bleeding,” Mando’s voice is gruff. You nod, even though his back is turned to you, watching from the safety of the doorway as he leans down and lugs the whining body into the chamber. Once the bounty is sealed away, you step back out into the open.

Mando pushes past you almost without recognition, limping heavily.

“Hey—hey!” You trail behind him, reaching out to touch his arm. He flinches. “Could you at least let me do my job?”

He regards you for an extended beat, then readily sits. It’s more of a controlled collapse.

“Is it your leg?” You ask, kneeling beside him and helping him peel off what armor you can. He shakes his head.

“It’s just more of a bruise I—my side, my hip. Onto the top of my leg.”

You nod slowly. “Okay, can you get to the fresher yourself or do you think you’ll need help? You have to rinse off before I treat you.” There’s an almost clay-like layer of red dust on his clothes and armor. It would be impossible to treat him properly without getting most of it off.

He wordlessly extends a gloved hand for you to help him up, you oblige—albeit struggling a bit with his weight. Once standing, you hover beside him on his limping walk to the fresher until he gives you a short: “I’ve got it.” You back off, returning to tend to your dinner while you wait.

When he emerges again he’s only wearing a sleep shirt, his mask, and a towel, the fabric held at the hip by his clenched fist to expose an already bruising thigh. He sits on a crate with an audible wince, easing himself back to lean against the wall slightly.

Your throat constricts as you move to his exposed side, but you try to breathe evenly enough to maintain an air of professionalism. Which gets increasingly difficult when he, with another sound of sharp pain, pulls up his shirt to reveal a series of small, shallow punctures traveling up his flank and over his hip that slightly weep with a mixture of blood and the cold water on his skin. He holds the shirt, just below his pectorals with his opposing hand, allowing the towel to drape over his lap while still revealing the side you need to work on. You can see the faint cut of his abdominal muscles, tracing south alongside a thin trail of dark hair leading--

“Shotgun pellets,” his voice stops your thoughts before they can get any worse. You’re partially thankful. Glancing up, you furrow your brow in confusion. He clarifies, “they’re a uh… a projectile type weapon. He was fighting dirty and desperate.” You nod, looking back down. The worst of the spray was able to score the skin right above his hip, but most of it had just bounced off his quad, leaving a series of raised, purpling welts. It was superficial at worst, but still not the best to look at. He seemed to read your mind. “Beskar was able to deflect them for the most part. I’ll be fine, just cauterize the worst of it.”

“The more you use the cauterizer the more of a chance you have of the scar tissue getting infected, you know. That’s some business you want no part of,” you say, digging through your kit for a pain ointment and the bacta you were able to refill on Nevarro. The more you looked at it, the more foolish of a blow for him to have taken it becomes. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re doing this on purpose,” you’re muttering it to yourself before you can fulling think through the implications. When he doesn’t say anything, you glance up at him. “That was a joke.”

“You need to work on your material, then.”

You laugh, shaking your head to yourself as you get to work. It’s easier to feel more confident around him the longer you’ve acclimated on the Crest. You have a bad habit of using snark as a defense mechanism. The more you work with Mando, the less you’re able to keep that up. It feels nice, you can relax slightly when you’re given the reassurance of him reciprocating the conversation.

You finish pressing the last of the bandages against his side. “The pain stuff I used should start sinking in soon, it might burn for a bit beforehand but it’ll get better after a few minutes.” He nods, pulling the towel tightly around his waist before standing and limping back into his quarters. He returns, fully dressed, putting a little more pressure on his leg than he did before he left. You quickly, desperately, find a way to conceal your staring.

“Hey—I have a surprise for you,” you turn to the kitchenette, busying yourself by testing the stock with a messy sip. It’s not… the best thing you’ve ever made in your whole life, but it’s the closest thing to the meals you made with Am’ile that you’ve had since you left your old home. It smells lovely, enough to have filled the hull with the smell of the herbs you used. “I thought it was just gonna be me and the womp rat so I made dinner, if you wanna eat with us that is.” You pull out the bottle of wine you bought from one of the storage drawers, a slight heat rising to your cheeks. You hold it up triumphantly anyway. “I really just needed an excuse to buy this for myself. But I totally understand if you’d rather eat upstairs by yourself.”

“Thank you,” he says hesitantly. “I’ll… I’ll stay while you eat. I can take mine to the cockpit once you’ve finished.”

“Would you want to have a glass with me, at least?” You hold the wine bottle by the neck at your side. He’s grumpy. Part of you wants to find some way to fix that, knowing it would be hard for you to let yourself enjoy the rest of the night with him fuming over something just upstairs. “I’ll cover my eyes. It’ll be like when I brought you your meals, while you were fixing the ship. No peaking. I promise.”

He takes a moment, before nodding slowly, for some reason you’re kind of surprised he agrees. Maybe that’s why your smile is so big. Maybe it was the fact you’d already cracked the bottle open for a few sips before taking your shower, the warmth of it at the bottom of your stomach making it much easier to playfully prod at the bounty hunter. Probably a mix of both.

You kneel beside your bed to gather another pillow, placing it across the makeshift table you’ve fashioned out of two crate and one of your blankets. You turn to bring the rest of the food to the table, three wooden bowls and a plate for the kid. You’re in the middle of separating the meat from the broth for him when you glance up at Mando, who is still standing exactly where you last saw him. He points to the tuft of fabric you had placed on the floor for him.

“What’s that for?”

You’re not sure if he’s serious or not. “Um, comfort?”

He doesn’t say anything, just cocks his helmet slightly to the left.

“Alright, old man,” you roll your eyes, refilling your cup . “Suit yourself.”

Mando pauses for a second longer before easing himself onto the pillow. He says your name softly, almost to himself. “This looks… really great. Thank you.”

“Well I wouldn’t take it to heart too much, chrome bucket. I was planning on hoarding all this for me and the kid. You just came back at quite the opportune moment,” you grin cheekily up at him before tearing your piece of bread and dipping it into the broth.

He reaches across the makeshift table and picks up his cup. You’ve repurposed the tops of two of his thermoses to make them. He examines it in his hand for a moment before speaking.

“Were you singing that song that was on the radio, yesterday? When I came in?”

“Yeah,” you laugh, shaking your head to yourself as you reach over the table and grab the cup in his hand to fill it with the wine. “I haven’t heard it in ages, you know? Any music at all, honestly, but especially that song. It was one of my dad’s favorites,” you detract before either of you could linger on that last statement. “It’s been in my head all day. I was meaning to ask you, when it comes to the radio—it probably wouldn’t be a good idea for me to listen while you’re on the job, yeah? Tracing signals and all that?”

Mando mulls it over for a second, accepting his cup from you and staring down at it. “I’m not sure. Better safe than sorry, but I could ask around about getting a uh… one of those new portable ones.” You don’t want to tell him that those newfangled portable radios have been a thing since you were in the cradle—something about his technological obliviousness was oddly endearing. “I’ll ask around and see if there’s some kind of blocking signal we could install. If you’d like one, that is. I’d like to take a sip, now, if that’s okay?”

You nod, immediately putting your hands over your face. You know you could just squeeze your eyes shut like oh, maybe a normal person might? But to be honest, it was a little funny to do. To act this silly in front of one of the most effective killing machines in the galaxy, who you have somehow convinced to attend a quaint family dinner. Might as well mess around a bit with it, yeah?

You hear the hiss of the mask resealing but you don’t remove your hands from your eyes. “It’s good wine,” he remarks. “You can look now.”

Removing your palms from your face, you blink your vision back to clarity, reaching for your cup again. Your mouth is already growing warm in the way that let you know that when Mando meant good he also meant strong. You have to agree.

“The people on Am’ile’s planet would make this crazy strong liquor out of these peaches that only grew in the valley where we lived. The village that was closest to us got super wealthy off of the stuff--honestly I can’t stomach anything too sweet anymore after it, spent an equal amount of time coming up as it did going down, if you get what I’m saying.” You screw up your face at even the thought of the syrup-like drink. “The orchards were super beautiful, though. The tallest foliage in the valley and they were maybe only a few heads taller than you. All types of critters living in the roots—that little one loved it.” You gesture to the child, who was grabbing as much of the dish’s meat as he could in his stubby three-fingered hands. The rest of his plate remained untouched. “Am’ile and I used to take walks through it all the time, especially when I first got there. It was too dangerous to go into the forests by yourself so I would spend ages in the orchards if she wasn’t putting me to work, just for a change of scenery.” Your mouth kind of just keeps running. It just feels so… nice, to talk to someone without having to try and stutter your way through a new language. That and the liquid courage in your cup made you unapologetically chatty. “She had so many little trinkets and things from her travels as a Republic medic, but only like ten books tops, all on medicine. I literally have the things memorized at this point, they were the only things to read.”

“You could go back at some point, if you want. When there’s a lull in jobs I could probably drop you and the kid off, spend a few weeks with her while I keep hunting,” Mando casually picks up his glass again, and you automatically cover your eyes with your hands. You’re still smiling, just with a little weight behind it.

“No, no that’s okay. Am’ile would get in too much trouble with the locals, for good reason. It isn’t safe for them and—to be honest, Mando, I don’t think the kid could take being separated from you for that long,” you pause for a moment. “But that’s incredibly kind of you to offer, thank you. I mean that.”

His mask hisses back in place. You ease the index and middle finger of your right hand to peer at him playfully before lowering your hands again. It’s a gentle spar between the two of you, an easy rhythm to settle into.

“Your med-station,” he nods towards your table/bed set up, looking particularly messy in comparison to the hull you’d spent the day cleaning. “It’s…”

Your heart drops, ready for the scolding. “Ah—uh, I’m sorry.” You look down at your plate—even if he couldn’t see the heat rising to your face, you try to hide your embarrassment by stabbing at another bite of food. You glance up at him sheepishly. “It’s the only place on the Crest that’s tucked away enough, I didn’t want to get underfoot.”

“No, no.” He shakes his head. You swallow. “I like it. A good idea. It’s like a reminder whenever I leave, not to do anything too stupid.”

“Oh, well,” you’re not sure why that catches you off guard so much. You honestly had no idea he even processed your presence since you’d first moved in besides the occasional medical assistance you provided. “I’ll make sure to put the more intimidating syringes front-and-center the next time I organize it.”

And he laughs.

Well—so, okay. It’s not a full laugh, more like a few low releases of air, but there’s a clear smile behind it that you can definitely hear. It’s enough to have you slightly grinning to yourself the rest of the meal.

By the time you’re finished, you’re a bit hazy off the wine and incredibly sleepy. You lean back slightly and yawn, looking at where Mando has settled the kid on his lap. “Sometimes I wish I could just snap my fingers and he’d just go to sleep. There’s too much energy in that little guy.”

“I can take him for the night,” Mando is currently engaged in a gentle dance of keeping the little one’s hands away from the food you’ve portioned for the bounty hunter. It’s more amusing than it should be. “If you could just help me take this upstairs I’d be more than happy to.”

You nod, clamoring to your feet and grabbing his bowl as he climbs up into the cockpit with the kid. You follow and place his dinner on a clear spot on the console.

“Where are we going next?” You ask, glancing over the control panel as if you had any idea what all those flashing lights and strange looking scanners meant. You should really pick up a flight manual at some point, just for the basics.

“The last fob,” Mando sighs. “Canto Bight. This—this is going to take a while, just warning you now. I still have no idea how I’m going to pull this off.”

You nod, yawning. You’re still a bit tipsy. “Okay, well, I think I’m gonna go to bed. Good luck brainstorming.” The food sits warm and heavy in your stomach. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt this full. It’s nice.

He gives a small nod acknowledging what you said, then goes back to grumbling down at the control panel, pushing buttons and examining scanners. You lean down to kiss the kid goodnight from where he’s babbling in the co-pilot’s seat, then climb down the ladder and change into your night clothes, setting the lights in the hull to night-mode as the Crest rumbles into the sky. Climbing into bed, you wrap your biggest blanket around yourself, the chill of hyperspace already settling in the air.

**

You have a dream. A bad one. One you’ve never had before and don’t know if you’d survive again if you did. It starts with you already crying. It’s one of those full-body, hiccuping sobs that usually rouses you from your sleep before things gets too bad.

Mando is gone, so far gone not even the comlink your finger is hovering over would be an option. You know this because the dream starts with him calling you. When you answer, there is only the sound of a hard, driving rain.

You’re holding the child against your chest and he’s screaming into your ear but you know if you actually lift him away to look at him he’ll disappear into the rain, too, so you drop the communicator and turn and there’s blood all over the floor and you have to clean it, you do. You have to so maybe he’ll come back and so you’re here, mopping up the blood on the hull’s floor as the child wails the loudest you’ve ever heard him cry and you try to choke out reassurances through your own crying because.

Because the gore is on your hands and your elbows and on you and on the floor once its gone it’ll be okay it’s so dark but it’ll be okay and streaking across the front of you and your face where you’ve tried to wipe it away please go away because it looks just like when.

Looks just like when.

You wake up in the middle of screaming, gasping for breath, one hand pressed against the top of the table above you and the other curled into the mattress. It’s the first time that’s happened, waking up like that at least. The dreams are different each time and occur at different frequencies, but they always crescendo at the same point. Usually you just wake up, eyes slowly sliding open and fixing to whatever is directly in front of you as your vision slightly blurs. How banal it usually is, how banal it feels, adds to the cruelty. You’re mostly still able to go to sleep after, at least there was that.

Not this, though. This is that hand-scratching-at-your-own-throat kind of terror, the kind you’ve usually only seen in the holo-dramas. You haven’t had a nightmare like that for so long, so maybe the surprise of it is what made it so much worse—that it wasn’t just you. Maker, you can still hear the child’s squalling in your ears. That sound of raw, primal terror that—

You feel your stomach lurch. You scramble to the fresher, emptying the contents of your stomach into the toilet.

Half anxiety, half afraid to close your own eyes, the dull thrum of raw energy does little to calm itself once you manage to shove the door of the fresher close. You let the metal rim of the toilet cool your face as you sniff, scooting back to lean your back against the wall, pulling the sleeve of the sleepshirt you’re wearing up your palm to wipe your eyes.

A low voice says your name urgently. You look up, dazed for a moment, before the door is cracked open by four broad-knuckled fingers. Your hand flies out, catching the handle before Mando is able to pull it the rest of the way open. He barely has time to get his hand out of the way before you slam it shut again.

“I--sorry,” you croak. “Please um… please don’t come in here.”

“Are you okay?” His voice is rough with sleep. You cup your hands over your knees and lean your forehead down to rest against them. When you don’t answer, he speaks again. “Was it, was it about before? Before Am’ile?”

“I—I haven’t, for so—I haven’t… Before… It was…”

“I know. She told me, it’s alright, I wouldn’t have asked I just… I thought it was something you didn’t want to talk about but I--”

“I’m not a charity case,” it sounds snappier than you intended it to and has absolutely nothing to do with anything he’d just said. At this point you’re just talking to yourself, it seems like he knows that. “That’s not why Am’ile pawned me off on you. I’m okay, I didn’t need her supervision anymore. I’m, I’m okay. It’s taken a long time but I am now so I don’t know why--”

“No,” and he says your name forcefully, cutting you off before you can continue. He repeats himself, this time softly, before: “It’s alright.” Does his voice sound… warmer? Even through a layer of reinforced steel? “I want you to feel safe, here. Comfortable. I don’t care, it’s okay. I just thought you were hurt.” He clears his throat. “I have them too, the dreams. So you, you don’t have to worry about hiding it. Them.” You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing at all. Closing your eyes, you lean the side of your face into the door separating the two of you. It’s so silent on the other side you think he’s left, so when he speaks again it’s all the more surprising. “And she didn’t pawn you off. I need you. Here.”

Something in your chest does a complete backflip. Your stomach is fluttering so ferociously you have to clear your throat before continuing. “Okay. Yeah, um. Thank you,” you wince. “I’m gonna freshen up and then get the little one out of your hair—er, beskar.” Idiot idiot idiot.

“It’s alright, you didn’t wake him. If you want I can… I can sit with you, until you fall asleep.”

“Okay.” You say it softly. “That would be really nice, actually. Thank you.”

You quickly brush your teeth, then open the door the door slowly. Stepping into the hull and closing it behind you, you pad back to your mattress. He follows a few feet behind you quietly—it’s moments like these you’re grateful for his reserved nature. You don’t have the energy to try and brush things off by filling the silence with mindless chatter.

Kneeling beside your mattress, you wordlessly offering him an armful of your pillows. In the low light of the Crest’s night mode, the beskar helmet looks nearly featureless, save for the gleam of light that arcs up its surface as he looks down at what you’ve offered him.

“Could you—” your voice breaks. Heat rises to your face as you clear your throat again. “Is it okay if the kid um… slept with me? It was… some of it was about—”

“Yeah, of course,” Mando takes one of the pillows from the top of what you’ve offered him, tossing it at the ground of the opposing wall and then slipping out of sight as he goes into his bunk. He returns with a the child, standing above you as you crawl into bed, wrapping you blanket around yourself, setting up the pillows as you normally do for the naps you take together, preventing any accidental rolling-over. Mando crouches to place the kid beside you, then stands and settles where he’d dropped the pillow previously. You take a moment to look down at the child, running a thumb over the edge of his ear, before kissing his soft forehead where you normally do. He wrinkles his nose in his sleep, making a soft sound and twitching his ears before wiggling slightly to resettle. You rest your head back on your pillow. The specifics of the dream are already starting to drift away. It’s a small mercy, but it’s enough.

“Hey, Mando?” You lift your head, the low light reducing the man to a dark, featureless outline.

“Hm?”

“Would you mind if… um… would you mind if I just touched your hand? Just so uh… if I wake up I can know you’re there?” As the words spill out of your mouth, an unbearable heat rises to your face.

There’s the sound of him shifting, getting to his feet with a grunt. Then he’s right there, sitting with his back to the wall, just a few inches from the top of your head. Tentatively, you reach out your hand, resting your index and middle fingers against his palm. And it’s his palm, His palm, warm but rough with callouses, resting on the floor beside his extended leg just for you to be able to close your eyes, even for a little bit.

It takes a while but it works. Right as you drift back to sleep you think you feel his hand gently wrap around the fingers you’ve offered him. You really think you do.

**

a/n: thank you all for the engagement thus far !! it really means so much to me. 

that said i am .,..... beyond excited about the next chapter for two reasons of equal importance: fancy parties and Very Jealous Mando. my favorite things 😌 

[paperpocalypse]

duty.

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You”: 13. Playing your fingers through their hair while sitting next to them on the couch.

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Aristocrat!Reader

Word Count: 2,407 words

Warning: Wonky and inaccurate aristocrat/rich people politics and marrying young because of it, please bear with me

[A/N: No powers!Historical!AU]

The elegance of the Hargreeves estate is of the dark, academic sort – polished, reserved, all sharp lines and dim lighting and old books – and you’d feel quite intimidated by it if you were any less acquainted with its occupants. You and your sister always look out of place when you visit, bright splotches of summer color roaming the narrow, perpetually autumnal hallways; and when congregating with the siblings in the library or outside, any visitor could glance at your merry group and immediately tell apart the hosts and the guests. 

It’s all a reflection of your respective parents, really – if you had any say in how you presented yourself, it certainly wouldn’t be in the vivid, youthful hues of your mother’s choosing, and you’re sure that some of the others have similar sentiments. 

Because while your family and Five’s family are certainly different in some ways, their respective heads are both pretty damn suffocating.

“Looks like it’s a draw.”

You grunt, displeased, and collapse back in your chair, bundling up in your blanket. “Can’t take a loss, can you, Five?”

“Not if I can help it,” he answers. His frown and crossed arms speak to his dissatisfaction with the result; losing is never an option, but clear-cut victories are always better than a draw. “Want to play again?”

The suggestion is tempting. Very tempting. You reach out and pick up your king, feeling the cold, smooth marble against the pads of your fingertips, and purse your lips in thought. Your eyes flick up briefly to meet Five’s.

Oh.

“Maybe tomorrow,” you finally say, putting the piece down. “I’m getting a bit tired.”

Five studies you for a moment, head tilting in that particular, scrutinizing way of his. Then his expression smooths out and he nods.

After putting the pieces back into place, the two of you exit the warmth of the library and head towards the guest wing. The walk is silent; you keep your borrowed blanket wrapped snugly around your shoulders, the bottom dragging across the perfect, wooden floor as you look at the paintings hung along the wall. They’re landscapes, mostly – of dark green forests; cold, still oceans; blue-grey mountains shrouded in mist. Impersonal and very fitting for the tastes of Five’s father, that’s for sure.

When you reach your room, you smile at your companion, and it feels unnaturally polite. “Well, goodnight, Five.”

“Goodnight.”

The boy turns and strolls back down the hallway, and you wait until he disappears around the corner, chewing on your bottom lip, before pushing the door open to enter your room.

“You two are duller than an ashtray. 'Goodnight’?”

“Sh –” you bite back an expletive, whipping around to glare at the intruder on your bed. “Lila, go back to your own room!”

Your sister just stares at you from her upside-down position, arms and legs splayed out as she smiles. “You still haven’t talked about it, have you?”

“We don’t need to,” you snap back quietly, closing the door as quickly as you can without slamming it. “He understands it as well as you and I do.”

“You realize Mum never said you’ll have to marry the guy.”

“Of course not; she just strongly suggested it.”

“Still not an order.”

Her flippancy causes you to glare. “Lord Harold is rich and he’s willing –"

“He’s a massive creep,” she interrupts, giving you an incredulous look. “And you just came of age, [Y/n]. You’ll be miserable.”

“I can get it annulled after five years, remember?”

“You’re really going to last for five years?”

She’s trying to pull something out of you, you know it. You try to maintain your composure.

“A massive debt isn’t going to just disappear,” you repeat. “It was either him or Lady Helen, and Helen got betrothed last month. Harold’s the quickest way to fix it, in case you forgot.”

“And in case you forgot, it’s literally not your problem. Stop making a martyr of yourself when you don’t have to.” Lila sits up and swivels around to face you, crossing her legs. Her expression is expectant. “I’ll figure something out, so don’t throw a fit, alright? The debt’s going to be mine along with the estate. You can afford to disappoint Mum for once in your life.”

Your brow furrows. “Lila  –”

“If you keep arguing, I’m going to smother you with a pillow,” she says. “Either you agree with me, or you tell your future love affair that you’re marrying a human toad in the spring.”

“Future lo – it’s not like that! We’re friends!”

Lila holds your indignant gaze. Then, with practiced, unladylike ease, she hops off your bed, puts her hands on her hips and raises her eyebrows at you.

“You have the worst case of denial I’ve ever seen in my entire life,” she says.

“I’m being completely honest,” you retort hotly. And you are. You and Five are friends, and although the nature of your relationship is admittedly more comfortable than any other friendship you’ve had over the years, nothing between you and Five had ever been non-platonic.

(Not that you would mind something non-platonic – but as you’ve reiterated to Lila many, many times, you’re just as content being friends. Having a genuine, close companion in your world is rare, and you’re tired of everyone deciding what you and Five should be when the two of you are more than capable of figuring it out for yourselves.)

“Why do you care, anyway? Everything will be easier for you if I marry Harold.”

“And more miserable for you.” She lets her arms fall to her sides. “Look, I’m the oldest, so I’m supposed to be the miserable one, not you. It’s not the end of the world if you don’t marry Harold. Give yourself more time to grow up.”

You don’t know what to say.

Seemingly finished with her piece, Lila smiles before brushing past you, nudging your blanket to the side on her way to the door. You glance away when she looks over her shoulder at you.

“Sleep on it.”

… You do, though it’s a lot less sleep than you’d hoped.

—

The next morning is slow and lazy. It’s a good thing in your opinion, because as mentioned before, you had spent a great deal of the night thinking about what your sister had said, and your head feels quite foggy as a result. A cup of tea and a horse ride with everyone outside in the snow both help somewhat over the course of the day. However, by the time the sky begins to darken, you’re back in your room to take a nap before supper, and quickly return thereafter.

When you hear three quick raps on your door, you groan and drag yourself out of bed.

“Lila,” you grumble as you turn the knob and pull, “can’t you go bother Diego instead –”

You swallow your words when you see your actual visitor. Five gives you a brief, tight-lipped smile.

“Mind if I come in?”

“Uh,” you respond intelligently, then shake your head and step to the side, remembering your manners. “Of course.”

Five walks in and heads towards the window. You go to the couch nearby and sit down, slightly perplexed as he finds an interest in the candle burning on the sill – he’s welcome to hang around in here, certainly, but the two of you usually convene in his room or the library. The guest room doesn’t have much to offer in terms of entertainment.

In due time, the boy turns away from the frost-covered window and joins you on the couch.

“Your sister said you weren’t feeling well,” is all he says.

So that’s why he’s here. Shrugging, you put your hands in your lap, fiddling with the family ring on your middle finger. “I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”

Your lackluster explanation isn’t enough, if his short, replying hum is anything to go by. Five leans forward, folding his hands and resting his chin on them. And what else? he seems to say.

“It’s … It’s just been a busy year, with Lila and me coming of age and all. More responsibilities and expectations, and all that,” you eventually continue, staring down at the thick, luxurious carpet at your feet. “Though I don’t have much of a right to complain. Lila’s bearing most of the pressure, since she’s the heir apparent …”

“She doesn’t seem too bothered,” Five points out, tone bland.

You allow yourself to grin. “Because we’re on vacation. Five, if you saw Lila this summer, you would’ve seen how hard she’s been working.” Not to mention all of the proposals that she had so graciously shot down, on account of her veto power and general distaste for marriage. “Honestly, the two of you have a lot in common and I don’t know why you butt heads so often.”

“I have my reasons.”

At that cryptic snark, you reach out and gain purchase on his hair, ruffling it in righteous revenge. Five grunts half-heartedly, elbowing you away. A small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth and you almost feel like this conversation is going to be normal – that is, as normal as it gets with a Hargreeves.

(His hair is very soft. You feel bad for messing it up, so you attempt to smooth it back into its original state; about a minute into that attempt you realize what you’re actually doing and withdraw. You shouldn’t be so improper.)

Do you have to do this?

You decide to pay the piper before you can talk yourself out of it. “You know,” you say when the joviality fades, “she’s the one who suggested that I talk to you. About my possible betrothal.”

Five’s expression flattens. He looks straight ahead again, resting his elbows on his knees. “What is there to talk about?”

“Well, you’re my closest friend and one of the smartest people I know, so I ought to ask for your opinion on the possibility of …” You reconsider for one final moment, then inhale deeply and let it out. “Of me refusing Lord Harold’s offer.”

To your slight surprise, Five nods.

“Did you talk to your mother about it?” he questions.

“Not yet,” you murmur. “To be honest, I’ve been thinking about it for months, but I only started seriously considering it last night. And now I really don’t want to marry Lord Harold. He unsettles me and I’m not ready.”

He frowns. “Neither of them is going to accept that as a reason.”

“I know.” You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “They’ll kick up a fuss over finances and it’ll be a bit of a scandal. That’s why I’m asking for your advice.”

Being the pragmatist that he is, you had thought that Five would be more averse to your plan. He himself had done things that he did not want to do in order to help his siblings, so you had assumed that despite his immediate dislike of Lord Harold since the night of your coming-of-age celebration, Five would tell you to endure a few years with the noble before disposing of him and collecting your dues. It’s the easiest way to get what you and your family needed, after all.

The fact that he’s so accepting of your decision makes you curious …

“First of all, even if he recognizes your refusal – and you’ll probably have a hard time with that, which will be an issue all on its own – your mother will try to find someone else to ship you off to,” he states, eyebrows pinched. “Preferably within the next year or so, right?”

“Yes.”

“How likely is she to push back your marriage by a few years?”

“… Not very likely,” you admit.

The boy pauses, thinking, then sits back.

“I could propose to you,” he offers, “if you’d like.”

You accidentally laugh out loud, you’re so taken aback. Five? Proposing? “Come again?”

“You heard me the first time.”

“We’re practically penniless. Would your father even give his blessing?”

He rolls his eyes. “Penniless or not, you’re an aristocrat with a title. If nothing else, Dad will accept that.”

“Neither of us want to get married.”

“And yet it’s your most realistic option thus far.” Five pins you with a serious gaze, and it finally hits you that he’s genuinely, actually asking. “Are you okay with it or not?”

“I …” You fumble over your words, staring at Five with wide eyes. “I mean, yes, I’d be okay with that, but … are you sure? You’d marry me just to get me out of another marriage?”

(Your question is not born of a doubt that he’ll go through with it. Five is a person of his word. But this is a big deal, and you’re both young, and most importantly of all, you don’t want this to be a mistake.)

“Let’s just say that I’d rather it be you than anyone else,” he mutters, shrugging softly. “This is your back-up plan, anyway. And if the marriage goes sideways, we can have it annulled after a few years and you’ll get a settlement too.”

He says it as if he’s discussing the weather. You chuckle, inexplicably reassured and amused by his bluntness. “Not even ten minutes into your proposal and you’re already thinking about an annulment? I fear for our future, Five.”

“There are worse things to be afraid of,” he replies sardonically. “Bring it up with your mom when you go back. If you can’t get out of a marriage, write me and I’ll talk to my dad.”

“Alright. You should bring Allison with you, though.”

“I suggest the same with Lila. Make it convincing.”

That won’t be too difficult. You nod, and with that, the deal seems to be sealed.  Although you’re still processing what just happened, and Five is likely realizing just what he and you are potentially getting yourselves into, the two of you share a small smile nonetheless. It is hard not to.

“Thank you,” you murmur after a while. 

Five glances over at your hands, then down at his. “Don't thank me yet."

"Alright, then. If you insist."

As your friend twists the steel ring on his index finger, you think to yourself, yes, you do want more time to grow up. But if the world won’t give that to you, you figure that a life with Five would be the next best thing. 

[clnriswood]

DRACO MALFOY X CEDRIC DIGGORY X READER

Something Different | Part Four

a/n: so glad to be back! things start getting a bit more, uh, intense -- but stay tuned for p5 bc it’s about to get vv steamy hehe.

tag list: @call-me-banana-bandit @pillowjj @truly-insatiable @natsiboo @justmesadgirl @boredoffmebox @jjjmaybank @jejegu @ superpowereddonut @irritantive @salemlilly @marshmelloyellow02 @puffymints @is-it-really-a-secret  @i-mmunity @sebastiansass @hisoldlover @kyobien @averagefangirl21 @inurealiyah @fuzzzwald @lesfleursmonet @you-bleed-just-toknowyouarealive

X

If matters had been bad between Draco and the girl before, it was safe to say that the strength of their bond now was at an all time low, underground, even. On his end, she was a thieving traitor who was joined in Potter’s ranks against him, and in hers, he was a treacherous snake who was incapable of trust and had been solidified into his cruel habits. Their last encounter, at quidditch tryouts, had been the worst yet. It went something like this: Draco, as he left the field of Slytherin’s recently finished tryouts, jeered some nonsense about “any old fool who can swing a bat (Y/N played the role of beater) being allowed onto the team,” which was met by a swift reply from Y/N, who suggested cooly that Draco’s groin should be her bat's next target. This had led to quite the eruption of bickering between both of the teams, one which Madam Hooch, who was entirely fed up with both houses, abruptly put an end to. After that, the girl simply rode the wave of Draco Malfoy induced rage, and during the tryouts, envisioned the barrelling quaffles to be differing versions of his arrogant head. Shockingly, by an act of God, it had worked. Or, not really. Really it was months of training with Cedric over the summer that won her a place on the team, but, well, the rage certainly helped. And yet, despite it all, a nagging truth scratched relentlessly at the back of her brain. And this truth was that somehow, despite it all, Draco Malfoy was the thing of which she was apparently most attracted to.

“Whaddya reckon?” the voice of Ronald Weasley interrupted the girl’s drifting thoughts.

She and her three Gryffindor comrades had just escaped to the side of the Great Lake following the end of their first week of classes. Desperate to get the last of the sun before the soon to come autumn leaves and grey skies, the quartet had stripped free their thick robes and laid out a crimson picnic blanket upon which they sat surrounded by goods. Around them, other Hogwarts students of every year had done the same. With bellies now full, they’d thrown themselves happily back, their chins all turned towards the bright blue sky. As it was, Ron sat beside Hermione, who sat beside Harry, who sat beside Y/N. As they watched the ginger, he jovially made a stream of rainbow colored bubbles fly forth from the tip of his weathered wand.

“What’re you going to kill Voldemort with multi-colored bubbles?” Harry choked on the last pumpkin pastie with a snort.

“Harry!” Hermione scolded, poorly attempting to conceal her own giggles.

“Laugh all you want,” Ron said, “some girl is going to fancy this, I’m telling you.”

Suddenly Hermione wasn’t laughing at all, and she’d gone quite pink, the girl noticed. Next to her, Harry turned into his elbow to cough, which was really just an attempt to cover the big stupid grin he was wearing. The girl chuckled and batted him away with the back of her hand. He winked in reply.

“I want to go for a stroll,” Harry beamed suddenly, sitting upright in a flash.

“Lovely, shall we come?” Hermione began to stand.

“No!” he protested quite loudly. Then, “sorry, just want a quick chat alone with Y/N, if you don’t mind.”

The girl arched a brow at the jet black haired boy beside her, reluctantly standing and throwing Hermione a confused stare as she padded slowly alongside Harry and away from her other friends. The boy drifted farther from the patch of red blanket and closer to the water’s edge, where the grass was long, green, and swampy around their shoes. For a moment, the girl caught sight of one of the Giant Squid’s long tentacles, and she watched as it went sweeping against the surface of the black water and sending ripples across its inky surface.

“What is it then?” she said when they had gotten far enough away.

“What is what?” Harry said stupidly.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” she replied gruffly.

“Ah,” Harry scoffed and shook his head, “just said that so we could give Ron n’ Hermione some time alone together.”

“Oh?” the girl answered quizzically.

“Totally fancies him,” he continued excitedly, “not that she’s ever going to admit it, mind you.”

The girl felt her lips split, “really?! I did always wonder… though I couldn’t be sure.”

“I’ve spent the last five years watching those two fight, believe me, I am,” he wrinkled his nose with a grin. “Duck,” he added.

Without hesitation, the two friends bent their knees, covering their heads as the Giant Squid sent a tentacle soaring into the air and slapping the water, making millions of airborne droplets come cascading over them. Knowing the system well by now, the girl snapped her wand up, creating a clear arc above herself and Harry. The dazzling white stream of magic sheltered them safely from the Squid’s tidal wave, repelling all liquid outwards from its top. From around the shore, the sound of unsuspecting student cries of surprise echoed loud in reply.

“Anyways,” the girl stood cooly, like nothing had happened, “I assume this means I shouldn’t be saying anything of it to Hermione?”

“Absolutely not,” he said, “she’d throw herself into the lake if she knew we knew.”

The girl laughed. He wasn’t wrong.

For a few minutes they walked, quiet as they enjoyed the hot sun on their skin. Behind them, though she only snuck a quick glance, Ron and Hermione were bickering; apparently Hermione had made bigger bubbles than Ron and he’d taken it as a personal attack. The girl shook her head, letting the moment pass her and the fresh air flow through her lungs before she spoke again.

“Harry,” she started nervously, “there er, is something I actually wanted to speak to you about.”

He stopped walking, sinking his hands into the pockets of his pants as he sighed deeply with understanding, “you mean you causing a row with Malfoy?”

The girl froze in her tracks, “you knew about that?”

“Well apparently you weren’t too quiet about it,” he smiled half-heartedly. “I just… don’t understand what you were doing with him in the first place,” he admitted.

The girl felt her throat go hard, “dunno that myself, really.”

He blinked at her with his big green eyes, awaiting her explanation patiently.

“I- I just,” she started unconfidently, pausing to think. “I’d noticed there was something off about him. I just wanted to see what it was about.”

“And you think Malfoy’d tell you if there was?” Harry said, voice thick with doubt.

“Well, yes,” she admitted. “I know because he -- well, because he kind of told me so.”

Harry’s mouth dropped, “he did?”

“Yes,” she repeated, feeling her face prickle with warmth.

“So what does he,” Harry began, bewildered, “does he fancy you or something?”

“No!” the girl blurted, tucking her windswept hair behind her ears and finding her eyes suddenly glued to the muddy ground. “Of course not!”

“That’s brilliant!” Harry realized, ignoring her completely as he came quickly to an understanding of how this newfound information could play to his advantage, “and what did he tell you?!”

“Erm,” she gave a weak sigh, eyes back on him, “he said he knew I was working with you and told me to shove off, basically.”

Harry’s expectant smile faltered, “oh.”

“Yeah,” she gave him a reluctant glance.

“But you’re not,” he said confusedly.

“Yes I know that,” she echoed.

“Oh,” he said again.

Harry began walking once more, letting his thoughts brew a little before he continued. The sun’s rays were hitting his glasses hard, sending bright beams of light refracting off of them. The Gryffindor chewed his lower lip thoughtfully and gave his head a scratch.

“So then, if that was all, what was it that you’d wanted to tell me?” he said at last.

“I wanted to ask you how I could help,” she said, folding her arms over her chest and keeping her eyes forward on the nearing edge of the lake.

“You want to help me?” he asked.

“Course,” she shrugged. “I still believe he’s off, or up to something at least. And you seem to be the only other one around here who's noticed it, I’ve heard.”

“You’re right,” he affirmed, “and given that Malfoy’s got some sort of soft spot for you or something, I bet you’d have more luck than me finding out what exactly that is.”

“Er, yes,” she voiced hesitantly. “Only, I think I stomped the soft spot out when I called him a fool,” she said. “And he seemed to have taken it a bit personally.”

“Has he?” Harry said with mock surprise.

“You know he spat on me in the hallway the other day?!” she recalled suddenly. “I mean, literally spat on me. Him and his goons were by the courtyard when it happened,” she recounted sourly.

“Ah, the Malfoy rain,” Harry grinned knowingly.

“The what?!” she gaped.

“Ron calls it that,” Harry continued without hesitation, “because it’s like rain… but from his mou-”

“Disgusting!” she gave her friend a shove, making him cackle.

“I’m surprised this is only your first time,” he chuckled, “I’ve been getting the treatment since my first year.”

“That’s foul,” the girl curled her lip.

“Yes, well,” Harry shrugged, unfazed.

The boy-who-lived adjusted his glasses, pushing them up his skinny nose before stopping at the water’s edge. The surface had gone completely still, making the water look like nothing more than a black sheet of paper. It was beautiful, she thought. Harry stared too, before turning back to her, his smile gone and his face hardened with seriousness.

“Y/N,” he started softly and gave a stiff sigh. “Whatever he says, or whatever he does, that soft spot is still there. Vulnerability like that doesn’t just go away, y’know?” he said. “If he had it before, he can get it again.”

The girl looked at him. There seemed to be some kind of knowing in his green eyes. It made her heart lurch nervously.

“And how might that happen?” she asked.

Harry shrugged, looking her dead on, “you’ll just have to make him get it back.”

. . .

“Well,” she tried, “how do I look?”

The girl stood before a large gold framed mirror in her room, her other self glaring steelily back at herself from within the reflective surface. It was late in the afternoon now. Yolky orange light rays seeped from the half-circle windows that encircled the girl’s bedroom and filled the space with a hot haze. One window, with its peeling paint flakes, had been forced open, providing a comforting breeze and the smell of fresh grass to the dormitory room. The circle shaped room, with its exposed brick walls, thick cream carpets, and vine stuffed walls, seemed like the nicest place for her to be at the moment. But, with Slughorn’s unfortunate dinner party approaching at an alarming rate now, the girl was soon to depart and had found her stomach turning faster and faster the closer her deadline approached. Truthfully, she’d take reading an old book whilst tucked sleepily away into her thick sheets over this charade any day of the week. And, judging by the look on her face, this feeling wasn’t one she was successfully concealing. The girl curled her fingers over her faded wooden dresser, sucking in a slow breath as she reluctantly brought her glittering eyes back up to the mirror before her.

She wore a flowing sheer cream dress, one with long sleeves and little patterns embroidered into its circumference. Wanting to stay casual, she’d thrown on her usual scuffed black boots, but swapped her school socks out for ruffle trimmed white ones that peeked over her shoe’s tops. Her hair was in its usual messy state atop her shoulders, too. Behind her, Hannah Abbott stood with her arms crossed, her head tilted as she looked her friend over.

“Erm-” Hannah started unsurely.

“Oh no,” she said, turning around with wide eyes, “is it that awful?”

“No!” the blonde assured her with a wave of her hand. “Just, well, come here.”

The girl stepped timidly closer, nervous as her friend procured her wand, looked her over, and then gave it a flourish. First, the girl’s hair started magically flattening, before finding itself lifting dreamily from her shoulder tops and into a thick bun, one with a huge loose french braid on its side, and with stray pieces dangling at the front to frame her face. Smiling with like, Hannah then stuck her tongue cheekily out and shortened her friend’s dress a noticeable chunk of inches, so that it stopped flirtatiously at the tops of her legs.

“Oi!” the girl laughed in embarrassment, throwing her hands nervously over her front.

“Oh loosen up,” the blonde giggled, looking pleased with her work.

“I’m rarely out of robes,” the girl huffed, turning back to the mirror.

“Exactly,” her friend said from over her shoulder. “You only get so many chances to show those legs off to Cedric Diggory.”

“WHA-” the girl clapped a hand over her mouth in shock, spinning around. “HANNAH!?”

“Oh please,” Hannah said, sinking down onto the plush yellow quilts that were draped over her bed. “Like I haven’t seen him trying to sneak a peak before.”

She felt her face go red quite suddenly, “excuse me?”

Hannah smirked, leaning against one of the four oak posters that closed in around her bed. She twirled her hair around a finger with glee as she blinked slyly at her friend. Wordlessly, she closed her eyes and waved her friend off towards the Common Room.

“Well,” she shrugged, “go on then!”

The girl glared daggers at her unattentive friend as she cautiously approached their room’s door frame. She stuffed her hands in her dress pockets nervously, her feet feeling as if they were sinking through the now goo-like floor with every step. The green vines that trickled down the large woody door waved their tails in an encouraging goodbye.

“Well,” the girl decided with a smile, “I’m going to throw up.”

“At least wait til’ you’ve gotten out of our bedroom,” Hannah said, leaning back in bed with a sigh. “I’m not cleaning up your vomit.”

She snorted, shaking her head as the door slammed tight behind her, and she went tapping quietly down the stone staircase and out into the Common Room. There weren’t many students around, as many of the non Slug Club members had the luck of eating their normal meals and going about their usual after-dinner-weekend plans, unlike her. Cedric was already awaiting her however, and he looked incredibly dashing in his white button up shirt. The shirt was peppered with little black dots, and had its first two buttons undone, so as to expose just a hint of the god-like collarbones Cedric was sporting. His gold streaked chestnut hair was stood just a little straighter than usual, like he’d attempted to neaten it before giving up shortly thereafter. Still, it was quite cute.

When he saw her, Cedric’s face became the sun, his lips splitting into that dazzling smile, and dimples coming to life across his lightly bronzed skin. From above her, one of the hanging plants whistled, not for the first time that year, she noted.

Cedric tilted his head towards the creature, “yeah, what it said.”

The girl chuckled, off put by the flattery and finding it hard to keep looking at the deathly attractive boy before her.

“Ced,” she protested bashfully, worming her fingers nervously around in her dress pockets.

He smiled wider, if possible, and put his own hands timidly into the pockets of his black pants.

“Sorry,” he chuckled warmly, letting her come to him. “You look lovely.”

They met in the centre of the Common Room. With the sun practically set now, the only light was from the flickering of the massive fireplace’s flames, which cast shadows over the hollows of her friend’s cheeks, jaw, and lips. For a moment, neither said anything. Instead, they just looked at each other. It was Cedric who cleared his throat first.

“Erm,” he said, “shall we?”

“O’course,” the girl responded awkwardly, trailing Cedric out of the Common Room and into the deserted halls.

The two were quiet as they made their way around corners and over moving staircases. Neither spoke, or looked at each other, really. Halfway up a moving staircase, Peeves had attempted to toss a water balloon onto the two, but Cedric stopped the thing midair and sent it flying back at the ghost, who cackled as it went through his stomach and splattering against a wall. The two friends couldn’t help but give a laugh there. One of the portrait’s, which was just nearly missed, screamed defiantly at the friends in protest. Then, about a minute later, Cedric and Y/N turned into the corridor outside Slughorn’s, where they ran into none other than Harry and Hermione.

“Hullo,” Harry grinned.

“Mate,” Cedric scrunched his nose with a smile, the two boys clapping a hand together in greeting.

“Y/N!” Hermione beamed, “you look lovely! You too, Cedric.”

Hermione was wearing a pale pink blouse, Harry a black button up. Both looked nice for the occasion. Also, both looked a little nervous.

“You as well,” Cedric and the girl replied in unison.

Hermione smiled, mumbling, “nothing really,” or something like that.

Harry, uninterested, had jerked his head towards the girl, “I take it you’re not interested in being here, either.”

“How’d you know?” she chuckled with a roll of her eyes.

“Well, me n’ you are only here because Slughorn fancies our dead parents-” he began.

“Harry!” Hermione gaped, slapping her friend upside the head so as to shut him up.

The girl let out an explosive cackle, going weak in the knees with laughter, “he’s not wrong you know.”

Harry rubbed his head as he flashed his teeth at her and raised a hand for her to slap hers against. She did, making the two only laugh harder.

“You two are awful,” Cedric said with alarm, gaining a supportive nod from Hermione.

It had seemed that the group’s commotion had drawn the attention of Professor Slughorn, who poked his head out from around the entrance of his room. He wore, on his body, a quite excessive frayed brown blazer with his black pants, and on his face, an almost terrifyingly supportive smile. When he smiled in such a way, his forehead creased with a set of expressive little lines, and he looked somewhat like a happy frog, she thought.

“Dear boys and girls, you’ve arrived!” he declared loudly.

“We have,” Harry echoed in an obvious reply.

“Come in! Do come in!” Slughorn chuckled joivally, ushering his students into the room he’d cleared for them.

It was an interesting sight to see. In the middle of the room, a huge polished oak table had been set up, around which just over a dozen large and eloquently carved wood chairs stood. Students of every house had gathered; notably, Blaise, one of Draco’s henchmen, and Neville, their friend. The table had been filled with large glass mugs, which were topped to their brims with seven massive scoops of decadent chocolate ice-cream each, atop which were further chocolate shavings. Neville, who looked just about ready to faint, sighed in heavy relief as his friends pulled aside chairs next to his own. Instantaneously, Slughorn began his unsurprising fire of questions. First he spoke to two dark haired Ravenclaws the girl was unfamiliar with, then the boisterous Marcus Belby, and finally he landed his beady little eyes on Hermione.

“My parents are dentists,” Hermione blurted nervously when Slughorn asked of her.

The girl slid her mug forward, dipping her silver spoon uninterestedly into the dessert and swirling it around dismissively. Beside her, Cedric was taking polite tastes of his desert, and, beside him, Harry was uncomfortably shoving spoonfuls worth of ice-cream down his throat. The girl snorted, elbowing her friend, who snapped his gorgeous hazel eyes to hers, his lips crinkling into a little smile as he shifted his attention over to Harry. Cedric nudged Harry, who lifted his chocolate covered face up slowly.

“What?” he said defensively, his voice low so as to be unheard as Hermione continued speaking.

“Is that a dangerous profession?” Slughorn asked the frizzy haired brunette.

“Erm… no,” Hermione said awkwardly.

Everyone, including Cedric, stared at her in awkward silence.

“What’s a dentist again?” Cedric said through the corner of his mouth.

On either side of him, Harry and Y/N tried miserably to stifle their giggles. Luckily for them, a perfectly timed interruption shifted the attention away from the two, and instead to Ginny Weasley, who had just entered the room sporting a cute black dress and some unfitting red eyes. Harry scooted loudly back in his chair, emitting a deathly screeching sound that matched perfectly with the absolute silence of the room. Hermione put a hand over her mouth, a smile spreading beneath her fingers.

“Ah, Miss Weasley,” Slughorn beamed, “come in!”

“Sorry,” she replied through a mumble, “not usually late.”

Harry let out a loud grunt and scooted back forward in his chair as if unaware he’d done anything odd. The girl looked first at the-boy-who-lived, then to Ginny, her brows furrowing in confusion as her eyes travelled. Next she looked to Cedric, who mirrored her expression, and finally to Hermione, who flickered her eyes indicatively at the two Gryffindor’s before turning her nose back to her food.

“Miss (Y/L/N),” Slughorn said loudly, refocusing his attention once again to the girl.

Her eyes darted forwards to her professor, “yes, sir?”

“Your parents,” he said, “tell me a bit about them, will you?”

It had been expected, of course. But she’d dreaded it nonetheless.

“I’d rather not, sir,” she tried.

“Please,” the old man quite literally begged.

“Uh, well erm, she started awkwardly, not knowing where to begin. “They both died when I was quite young-”

“Yes, actually about that,” Slughorn fed in, “how was it your father passed? There was little heard of him after he joined You-Know-Who’s ranks.”

The girl was quite taken aback. How bold of him. Actually, how rude.

“Er,” she blinked frustratedly, “an explosion, I think.”

“Go on,” the professor encouraged.

Everyone, not just Y/N, it seemed, wasn’t comfortable with such a discussion. What was the point of asking such things? How did this add a shine to his little collection of trophy students? Mostly, though, how was it that the man was so oblivious to his indiscretion?

“The Ministry notified me about it when it happened. He took out a bunch of muggles with himself, they said. Only, they didn’t do much reporting on him because...”

“Because?” Slughorn persisted.

“Sir-” she tried again.

But the professor looked absolutely carefree as he took a large spoonful of ice cream in with a wave of his small chubby hands, “do tell us, Y/N, we all want to know.”

The eyes of every student in the room were glued eagerly to her, whether in mild interest, discomfort, or both.

The girl felt her whole body heat up. She’d never disclosed the second part of that story with anyone before, let alone a whole damned Slug Club. Flustered, she blinked rapidly, turning her head left, right, and back left again, as the left was where the door was. And by God, did the door look good at that moment. She could feel the blood rushing to her ears, her feet preparing to bring her to a sprint, a nervous glimmer soak her brow, and yet, just as she’d decided to stand and run, something stopped her.

Beside her, the girl felt one of Cedric’s large hands snake under the table and take a reassuring hold of her wrist. It caught her off guard, the way he’d so swiftly done it. The boy’s long fingers dipped straight into her own, first landing on her wrists for a soft little rub, then sliding right up into her palms, where he closed his fingers in on her own. His hands were wam. Warm and rough. This settled her hard beating heart, if only for a moment. And that was all she needed.

“Sorry professor,” she responded flatly, “but no.”

Her eyes scanned those of her classmates more confidently, and most all of them glittered back proudly in reply. Across from her, Slughorn released a disappointed sigh, before continuing on his little train of questions and peppering Cedric with his next rounds of interrogation. Of course, Cedric was as cool, calm, and collected as ever. The boy put on his most handsome and proud lopsided smile as he answered the professor’s questions of -- well, honestly she wasn’t paying attention to what he was saying. For while he spoke, Cedric had released her fingers and found himself absentmindedly tracing the patterns on his friend’s hand, not that anyone could have known. And she, incredibly flustered, but more comforted than anything, let him. Only when dinner ended did the boy retract his touch.

. . .

“Excellent,” Harry declared, the second they’d stepped foot outside of the dungeon. “You were excellent, Y/N.”

The jet black haired boy gave his friend a huge slam of appreciation to the back. He, Cedric, Hermione, Neville, and Y/N were making their tired escape from Slughorn’s party. Together, the group made their defeated and slumped ascent out of the dungeons.

“Thanks, Harry,” she half laughed and half grumbled. “I couldn't have done it on my own.”

Her large bright eyes flickered up to Cedric’s glowing ocean ones, and they twinkled adoringly at her in silent communication. Beside her, Hermione raised a quizzical brow, though, truth be told, Y/N wasn’t paying her much attention at that moment.

“I don’t suppose I’ll be getting an invite back, though…” she’d muttered dryly.

“It’d be his loss,” Cedric fired back confidently, earning a half smile from his favorite girl.

She’d gone to say something else, but her lips had hardly opened when she saw him.

Draco. Draco, with his snow white skin and blue-grey eyes, was heading their way. This was unsurprising, given that they were on Slytherin’s side of the castle. Honestly, he was the last thing she’d wanted to be confronted with at that moment, and judging by the look on his sallow face, it went both ways. As he drew nearer and nearer, his hands stuffed into the black folds of his robes, she waited for the blades of his sharp words to slice her, for him to mouth insults her way as he had so frequently loved to do. But, shockingly, the boy was quiet. In fact, it seemed he had no plan to say anything, but rather to snake right past them, silent and unheard, like a figment of their imagination. He’d almost done it, actually, but the girl had other plans.

“What?” she said, stopping dead in her tracks.

Draco had just passed her, and gone deathly still.

She turned on her heel, asking again, “what? Not going to say anything?”

The boy turned slowly to face her, his icy eyes narrow with dislike, his teeth clenched so hard she could see the definite pulse of his hard jawline beneath his porcelain skin. Beside her, her friends all warily stopped walking, their faces clouding with concern. Apparently, they all thought it better to not acknowledge his existence. The snow white boy blinked silently, keeping his pale lips pressed harshly together.

“What? So now that you don’t have any goons around, you’re no longer interested in making a show out of us?” she asked with a bitter chuckle.

Malfoy’s nostrils flared, a hard grimace taking shape on the curvatures of his perfect mouth.

“You know what I think, Draco? I think you don’t actually care for it. I think you only do it for others to maintain some sort of facade. And I think, you’re too cowardly to face us alone.”

“Y/N,” Hermione tried, “don’t fire him up.”

Draco flickered his narrowed eyes to Hermione, then settled back on Y/N’s. Finally, he spoke.

“Much to Granger’s disappointment,” he started softly, “you don’t have the power to fire me up.”

Her lips split into a sour smile, “don’t I?”

“Y/N,” Cedric huffed with concern, “just drop it.”

Now Draco’s eyes were on Cedric.

“You, however,” he drawled, “are all very easy to fire up.”

Y/N opened her mouth to retaliate, but, as she should have expected, was beaten to it.

“Diggory,” he began, “congratulations on giving your little girlfriend an express pass onto the Hufflepuff quidditch team. I expect she returned the favor nicely with her mouth.”

Cedric flushed a bright red, his nostrils flaring, and eyes growing cold with distaste. This enraged Y/N, yes, but it enraged Cedric more. Before he had the chance to fight back, however, Draco was onto his next target.

“Mudblood,” he mouthed, addressing Hermione. “Did it hurt when Potter here beat your pompous, self righteous self to the Felix Felicis? Is that why you’ve told everyone that he cheated his way to it?”

“N-no,” Hermione replied unconvincingly.

“Shut up,” Neville added.

“You,” Draco chuckled, snapping his attention mechanically to Neville, his lashes fluttering to the beat of his laughter. “Longbottom, please. You’re so pathetic, I could almost find the sympathy to feel bad for you. Everyone can. But, I really needn’t say anything for you to know that, do I?”

Harry had a hand on his wand now.

“Go ahead,” Draco dared, focusing now on the boy-who-lived. “You’re awfully more of a milksop than one would expect of a Gryffindor,” he said, “so you won’t. Especially not on my side of the castle, where you’d be under professor Snape’s jurisdiction.”

He had a point. About that second part, of course. Slowly, Harry released the grip on his wand.

And then Draco’s eyes were back on the girl, and they were a cold stormy gray, touched lightly with a hint of mild intrigue. The girl felt her fingers shaking now, practically aching to take form into a fist. But she had to stand her ground. She had to prove his lack of power over her.

“And you,” he finished with a heavy sigh. He brought his eyes up to her friends before saying his next words. “As of late, this little thing has been of most interest to me.”

Everyone seemed to have frozen in place, including Y/N, who was capable only of blinking up angrily at him, her jaw tilted up so as to be able to reach his searing and curious gaze.

“And d’you know why?” he arched a silver-blond brow, stepping closer to her.

He looked like he wanted to touch her. Wanted to force her jaw up within the tight grasp of his hands. Wanted to step close enough that her heaving chest would bump against his own. But a flicker of his eyes to her friends stopped him, and instead he just stood there, about a foot apart from her, his hands still buried in his pockets.

“Because,” he continued bemusedly, “unlike everyone else here, you have a secret.”

“And what’s that?” she dared lowly.

Draco’s lips split into an awful, cruel, smile.

“You like having me put you in your place.”

There was silence.

The girl wanted to speak. She’d tried. But only a mute and incoherent stutter toppled forth from her agape lips.

“Fascinating,” his lips stretched wider yet, his voice dropping lower yet, “isn’t it?”

And then his hands withdrew from his pockets. Draco let his slender and silver ring clad fingers find themselves on the bend of his knee as he lowered his height so as to be level with the girl’s fiery stare. For a moment, he just let the blazing blue sear of his scrutiny make its way across her face. She could smell his cologne invading her lungs, the inexplicably alluring scent of Draco Malfoy growing vile to her. He lowered his voice, then, so that only she could hear his almost inaudible murmur.

“This little game of ours,” he whispered. “I quite enjoy it.”

Then he raised a finger, a long and slender index finger, and tapped the tip of her nose.

She just stared at him, and it was a long and wordless encounter. His icy blue eyes pierced straight through her own and into the depths of her soul. He seemed eager to see her either crumble beneath him or expel with rage, but what he did not expect is what she said next.

“Incendio.”

Suddenly, her dress was on fire.

Draco leapt back in surprise, his brows knitting as the base of the girl’s cream colored clothing went up in flames. Around her, her friends all gawked and toppled back in shock. In her right hand was Draco’s wand, plucked straight from his pocket only a moment ago.

“Catch,” she grinned, throwing the boy his wand.

The blond chuckled in bitter surprise, “and what does that achieve?”

“A spell search will reveal that you just casted a fire charm on me,” she gaped in mock shock as she extinguished the flames on her dress with a newly learned Aguamenti charm.

Beside her, the faces of her friends told her they were utterly lost. But it was alright, they’d soon find out what had happened.

Draco let loose a chuckle, “and you think Snape is going to believe that, from you?”

“Sure I do,” she shrugged, “because I also did.”

“What-” he began.

“Incendio!”

Now it was Draco whose clothes erupted in flames. Quickly, he stifled the orange licks up his robes with his own water charm. Now it made sense. The boy’s pale face had gone flush with rage upon realizing what she’d done.

“Oh no,” she shrugged sarcastically.

And then they heard the footsteps. No doubtedly, Snape was on his way to see what the commotion was about. From behind her, her friends all gaped, impressed. Then, on her command, they took their cues and bolted, cackling as they disappeared down the hall and away from the scene of the crime. In front of her, Draco’s mouth trembled with a newfound sense of rage. His white and slender figure slumped slowly with defeat, knowing he’d been outsmarted.

“What?” she teased.

He practically snarled, his eyes alight with a blazing hatred.

“I thought I couldn’t fire you up, Draco?”

. . .

“Our detention will be next week!” the girl exclaimed.

Beside her, Julian, Hannah, and Ernie all roared with approval, the group meeting their large mugs of butterbeer together in celebration. After being issued a lovely disciplining from professor Snape, the girl had headed back to the Common Room in her tattered dress, only to enter a hero to her friends, who’d heard of the encounter from Cedric. Together, by the light of the dying fire, the group celebrated the girl’s triumph over Draco Malfoy. She could only assume that somewhere, on the other side of the castle, a set of Gryffindors were doing the same.

Now, by the dim light of the fire’s embers, the group had jovially devoured a set of gooey celebration biscuits and leaned back lazily in the overstuffed armchairs of the Hufflepuff Common Room. From above and around them, plants snored lazily as they embarked upon their nightly slumber. Slowly, one by one, her friends departed for their beds, until it was only Cedric and Y/N who remained in the Common Room. Cedric was unusually quiet as they left. In fact, he’d been unusually quiet the whole evening. It’s not that she hadn’t noticed, but rather that she didn’t want to. And so, upon being left alone with him, she said nothing. Finally, after a minute of deathly awkward silence, he spoke.

“So. What was all of that about then?”

He’d said it softly. And not the way he usually did when he spoke softly to her. No, he sounded outright disappointed in her.

“What d’you mean?” she arched a brow at him.

Cedric sat stiffly upright on the squashy yellow couch, his ocean blue eyes set forward in thought. His previously neat goldish brown locks had found themselves resuming their usual messy state atop his head, with one little curl springing forth attractively upon his forehead. He still wore his button up, but his hands were folded gently upon his lap in an odd manner.

“I mean,” he continued softly, “why would you do what you did tonight?”

He turned now, his stare intense as it bore into her own. The girl found her throat closing up, and her chest tightened with uncomfortability.

“You went explicitly out of your way to rile Malfoy up. And then- and then you make some feat of landing yourself in detention with him.”

“It was about time someone stood up to him-” she began.

“No, but that’s not why you did it,” he interrupted, hurt.

She didn’t know how to respond to that, or to him, really. The boy looked weakened, his handsome figure bent over with a sort of sadness, casting a rather sad looking silhouette over the dark wooden floors of the Common Room. She’d opened her mouth, but upon meeting his eyes, stopped. They were strained. They were strained and ever so softly moistened with hurt.

“Is it?” he asked, more quietly this time, the look on his face desperate for her next word to be ‘yes.’

But it wasn’t.

“I don’t know,” she admitted begrudgingly, her shoulders falling. “Something about him just gets me going, Ced. Now more than ever. It’s- It’s because I know he’s capable of better.”

“Is he?” Cedric said with a raise of his brows.

Cedric, more than anyone, knew how to see the good in people. And Cedric, now, voiced doubt for the redemption of Draco Malfoy.

“There’s just something different,” she exhaled, feeling far too guilty to hold her friend’s gaze.

“I see that now,” Cedric agreed. “I do.”

She blinked up curiously at him.

There was an eerie silence. Aside from the faint chirping of crickets, the rustling of the flora and fauna upon the stone walls, and the gentle crackles of the dying fire, the only thing to be heard was her own faltering breath.

“But not about him,” he said. “About you.”

Her heart sank.

“I see it, you know?” he murmured lowly. “I see the way you look at him.”

“Ced-” she tried.

But he wasn’t having it.

“And I know in that… in that look, you know?” he continued. “There’s something different.”

Her heart was racing now. Cedric had never talked like this to her before, and the feeling was one she was unfamiliar with. And then there was the way he was looking at her, which hurt. It hurt because he was hurting. It hurt because she didn’t know why it hurt him. And then, this certainly wasn’t a revelation the girl had either expected or wanted to be confronted with, of course. But more to the point, to have it told to her like this, by the person she loved most in the world, was too much.

“How would you know that, Ced?” she murmured, the sound of hot blood in her ears making her dizzy.

“Because,” he started.

Then he stopped. His lips quivered and his lashes fluttered, a tell-tale sign that this next act was going to injure him further, that his next words weren’t ones he could take back.

“Because it’s how I look at you.”

[soulmate-game]

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

Day 2: Father Daughter Bonding

Marinette had known her father was Bruce Wayne since she was thirteen, and the man showed up on her balcony one day in full bat-attire exactly one month after Hawkmoth appeared. He had apparently spent the whole month sorting through all of his magical contacts and trying to figure out who the heroes were so he could offer help—only to realize that the apparent leader of the duo of heroes was his biological daughter that he never met or told about his existence.

Okay, so the majority of the month was actually spent on him trying to figure out how to deal with the daughter he had never met becoming a superhero, even a leader of a team, without his assistance or influence whatsoever. But. Regardless. It ended up with him taking a Zeta tube at midnight in Gotham, and ending up on Marinette’s balcony as she got ready for school.

That was when Marinette learned about Bruce Wayne being both Batman and her biological father. After, of course, a brief heart attack at seeing a stranger outside her trap door.

But besides that short visit, Bruce had largely respected Marinette’s order request to stay out of Paris. He understood, after all he held a similar policy for metas in Gotham. Didn’t mean he was happy about leaving Marinette to deal with her supervillain without any reliable backup, but he stayed out of the city nonetheless.

But, there was Marinette’s lack of training to see to. She was not completely untrained, she knew at least two types of martial arts pretty well and her gymnastics ability was second only to Dick himself. But for a superhero? No, she needed a lot of teaching still. So Bruce had arranged for her to spend some holidays and a weekend or two that she could get away with over at Gotham (via Zeta tubes or other portal of course) for him and the other Bats to personally instruct her. Now, three annoying years later without any solid evidence to land Gabriel in the brig (though they all knew by then that he was definitely Hawkmoth), Marinette decided to switch things up.

She landed on a gargoyle’s head, on one of her rare patrols with Batman. She wasn’t Ladybug there, instead deciding to go by the simple name Rouge Wing, as both a play on her native language and the fact that red bats are considered lucky in China. She didn’t wear her Miraculous on these patrols, instead using the rare opportunity to develop her natural skills. And prove once and for all to her stupid brother that, yes, she could keep up with him. And, no, it didn’t matter if she didn’t grow up in a temple learning how to kill, she can still hang him upside down by his ankles if he upsets her one more time—.

Right. The gargoyle.

Batman landed on the rooftop behind her, raising an eyebrow under his cowl. “Don’t you usually make fun of me for perching like that?” He asked, crossing his arms. Robin landed on that same rooftop a moment later, choosing just to sit on the lip of the building and swing one leg lazily over the edge. He and Marinette tended to get along at least half the time nowadays, which Bruce considered An Accomplishment. Marinette only hummed, blue eyes hidden behind her red domino mask as she gazed over the dark city.

“I’ve just been thinking—“

“Nothing new there,” Robin interrupted. “Should I be on the lookout before you run into a wall again?”

Marinette tossed one of her batarangs at him, which he only had to duck to dodge. Sticking her tongue out like a Mature Teenager, she continued. “You guys do things really differently here in Gotham. Which makes sense, of course, because Gotham is a lot different than Paris. But…”

“But?” Batman prodded, deciding to sit on the rooftop and lean one arm on the lip of it so he could lean towards his blood children.

“But it’s been three years. You hardly ever get out of Gotham besides JL meetings or missions, Dad. And, well, if you promise to keep a handle on your emotions—“

Robin snorted, before realizing where this discussion was going. His eyes widened behind his mask in disbelief. “No way.”

Marinette glared at him half heartedly for a moment before completely turning around on her gargoyle and facing Batman. “We don’t see each other enough. And it’s not easy for me to come to Gotham all the time. So maybe, just this once, you can come to Paris and patrol with me? Next week, maybe?”

Bruce couldn’t talk for a moment, just staring at his daughter with his mouth slightly agape. Marinette had been very specific: no non-miraculous heroes in Paris. Period. Not him, not Robin, nobody, because she wasn’t sure she and her partner would be able to win against an Akumatized hero with years of experience.

Robin tossed a birdarang at Batman, which he dodged on instinct. “Well, he’s still alive,” he remarked to his sister. Rouge Wing had scooted closer somewhere during Batman’s shock, looking minorly concerned.

“What brought this on?” Bruce finally asked, making his daughter sigh in relief at the proof of his consciousness.

“Well, multiple reasons. For one, I know now that I am capable of at least restraining you until I have the chance to break an akumatized item, so there aren’t too many worries there anymore. And I only see you once every month if I’m lucky—“

“And her birthday is next week,” Robin supplied easily, smirking at the glare his sister sent him at that.

“Traitor,” Marinette grumbled, puffing out her cheeks a little. Considering the two of them were only a month apart in age, with Damian being the older of the two, it wasn’t unusual for Bruce to forget about one or the other. Summer birthdays in general were hard for him to remember, what with all the spring birthdays that he strained to keep up with.

“Oh, oh,” Bruce sighed, rubbing a hand over his cowl-covered forehead. “That’s right. I’m sorry, of course I’m more than happy to visit Paris next week. Maybe we can even do more than one day?”

Marinette relaxed, nodding. “That would be nice. Just, not in your civilian persona. Bruce Wayne is too recognizable, even in Paris, but a visit from Batman would be shrugged off as just us getting help. But, in order for everything to work, it would probably have to be a day patrol.”

Batman flinched a bit. That’s right— his daughter was a day hero. He wasn’t looking forward to patrolling in full daylight, but he owed her this at least.

“I’ll be there.”

—*—*—*—*—*

When Batman arrived on Marinette’s balcony (actually expected, this time), it was to see the poor girl covered head to toe in ribbons and balloons that all had some variation of “sweet sixteen,” “happy birthday,” and “16!” On them. She hadn’t even been able to transform yet, her Kwami just munching on a cupcake and giggling at her expense. She even had a party hat on her head, but judging by the way she was trying to wrestle it off it hadn’t been put on her head willingly.

“Need help?” Bruce asked when he entered her room, peeling his cowl back and grinning a little at the awkward sight she made. Marinette groaned, looking at him with the most pitiful expression ever.

“Please! Maman and Papan always like celebrating my birthday, and they’ve gone over the top a few times, but I think they went a bit…” she pulled at one of her pigtails, releasing a waterfall of glitter. “Crazy this year.”

Bruce chuckled, walking over and helping to untangle the various ribbons, streamers, and other celebratory restraints that had trapped the petite Parisian. Then, once she was completely untangled and only stubborn confetti and glitter remained, Bruce hung a small box to one of her pigtails by one of it’s bow-loops. She let out a surprised laugh, rolling her eyes at him before pulling it off and looking at it properly.

On a little white card it said: “Happy 16th, Marinette!” In Bruce’s handwriting. It was a small, black box with silver ribbon tied around it in a bow. Marinette couldn’t help but snort at the color choice, sending her dad a knowing look that he dutifully ignored. Carefully removing the bow and unwrapping it, she opened the box to see two little silver, bat-shaped hair pins. Carefully taking them out, she could feel that they were real metal, and surprisingly sharp.

“You can wear them however you want in your hair, to hold your bangs back or in your pigtails,” Brice decided to explain. “They have trackers in them—no, don’t give me that look. They only activate if you tap SOS on one of them. If you hold down the back of the clip, you can extend small blades if you ever need to cut yourself out of a trap or defend yourself.”

“You gave me mini batarangs for my hair,” Marinette teased, but immediately clipped them to her pigtails. “I love them. Ready for patrol?”

“Whenever you are,” he agreed before pulling his cowl back down.

One transformation and some travel later, and they were at the Eiffel Tower to plan their route.

“Obviously, Paris is too big for me to patrol the whole place on my own alongside school and Akumas,” Ladybug explained. “Even with Chat Noir’s help, it’s too big. So, just like you guys back in Gotham, we have routes that we rotate out. But the police here actually do their job and can handle most criminals, so our patrols follow a different logic than in Gotham.”

Batman nodded, holding his chin as he considered that. “That makes sense. Instead of focusing so much on the more crime-heavy parts of the city, especially since Hawkmoth hasn’t akumatized any criminals yet, it makes more sense to focus on areas around schools, tourist sites and other hotspots for recreation, and the general residential area.”

Marinette nodded. After talking a bit more about how she and Chat normally patrolled, and why, they actually hit the rooftops. It only took thirty minutes before Marinette had to intervene, grabbing Batman’s shoulder before he could punch a purse snatcher. The criminal in question, clutching a sparkly holographic purse in utter terror, couldn’t even muster the courage to run in the face of the famous Dark Knight. Ladybug glared at the older hero for a second before turning to the thief and shrugging with a lopsided smile.

“Sorry, he’s still not used to Parisian crime stopping. I’m reigning him in though, no worries,” she assured him. Just as the thief began to back away though, her yo-yo sprung out and wrapped him up head to toe, allowing Ladybug to grab the purse with a smile. “Thank you, I’ll take that. Remember Batman, minimal force. This isn’t Crime Alley.”

Batman grumbled. “It was just gonna be one punch,” as he zip tied the guy and dragged him to the corner for the police to pick up. Ladybug returned the purse.

“See? A daytime patrol isn’t that bad,” Ladybug remarked as she ran over the rooftops with Batman, deciding that sticking closer to her dad was more important than going as fast as possible. Batman grunted, but Ladybug saw his minuscule grin.

“I still prefer the night.”

“Only because you don’t stick out like a sore thumb at night,” she teased. And then the Akuma Alarm went off.

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette panted as she lay sprawled over her bed, catching her breath. Bruce was slumped in her computer chair, cowl off and head curving over the top of the headrest. After a moment, Marinette spoke up;

“You look peaceful.”

“When I’m winded?” He cracked an eye open to shoot her a tired but still deadpan look. She snorted.

“No. With your eyes closed. And cheer up, it was only Gigantitan. Not anywhere near the worst we could have gotten.”

“I think you’re forgetting that I don’t have magic helping me out. Fighting giant children is not something I do often.”

“Oh please, you’ve fought way worse.”

“... that is true.”

“Dad?”

“Mmhmm?”

“Thanks.”

“Of course. Want to go back to Gotham with me and get ice cream before you have to be back for dinner?”

“Read my mind.”

—*—*—*—*—*

hi! Let me clarify something real quick guys. These one shots are for Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month. Meaning, there are 30 prompts, one for each day of september. These one shots will NOT be connected unless previously stated! This one, as you could probably tell, has NOTHING to do with the story for Day 1. I’m just exploring a bunch of possibilities and letting my imagination run wild for these. Nonetheless, I will definitely tag you if you want. Thanks!

@momothefemur @ladybug-182 @starlightshield @trippingovermyfeet @greatcatblaze