#sometimes its opening his mouth and setting her on fire because she's insulting him in some fashion again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

littlemisslipbalm · 4 years ago

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“you make me so angry sometimes”

idk if this gif makes sense, but i feel like it will if you read the story, it just gives me that vibe.

A one shot I cooked up idk, it’s about Harry and a makeup artist on DWD, it’s quite angsty, idk how that happened, it’s also very long, idk how that happened either, maybe i do a part 2, maybe i don’t idk lmk. Feedback is appreciated, not proofread. REBLOGS help writers tremendously and i love reading whatever you write in the tags its my favorite thing!! Love yall and Merry Christmas!

Word Count: 17.7k | Warnings: ENEMIES to LOVERS! swearing, angst!, some anxiety -like self-doubt, yn being mean to harry kind of a lot, i dont remember, nothing too crazy, Nick Kroll?, lots of conversation

When she pictured herself as a makeup artist in Los Angeles, she hadn’t pictured exactly what she was doing right now.

She had expected doing gorgeous makeup for gorgeous actresses or doing wildly fun stuff like in Euphoria. And because of that she had worked her ass off to get where she was today. She had practiced for hours, worked countless hours for free, and networked to the cows came fucking home.

So why the fuck was she using tattoo-strength concealer to cover up the maybe 60 tattoos some asshole musician turned actor had all over?

Don’t Worry Darling was her first major film to work on so she couldn’t complain. She was happy to simply be there. Well she had been. The first day she had showed up 15 minutes early and had worn her favorite power suit she had. It was dark navy with a white lace long sleeve turtleneck underneath. She hoped to look fun but professional.

Hollywood was all about impressions, especially first ones, even when you’re the makeup artist. She had quickly learned that she was one of six makeup artists. One of them being the friend who had helped her get the job, Angie. Angie was like her surrogate mother in Los Angeles that she had met on her first film job for something much less high profile than Olivia Wilde’s second directing project. Her braided grey hair and fabulous jeans had drawn Y/N right in and they had connected instantly.

Since Y/N was deemed the most inexperienced by the head of the makeup department, she was relegated to easier jobs: assisting the other artists on main characters sometimes, mostly dealing with minor characters touch ups (and full make-up if she was lucky), and the job nobody wanted: tattoo coverage.

Harry Styles was one of the leads for the film and besides his minimal acting, everyone knew he was a worldwide rockstar. With the rock and roll life starting off as a popstar life at the ripe age of 16, he had amassed around 60 tattoos in the past decade. Impressive by her standard normally. She usually counted herself as an appreciator of tattoos and their art, finding them similar to makeup and the self expression that came with both forms. Especially since she had a few of her own, but when she walked into Trailer #6 and saw a good amount of Harry’s tattoos, she wanted to murder every artist he’d ever been to.

She had to make an inventory the first day of all of his visible tattoos when he was just wearing boxers. He had been friendly, trying to make conversation, but as the time wore on, they both grew tired and silent. She had to write down the location and a description of every tattoo and as he took off everything but boxers she grew more and more annoyed with his random and dumb tattoos. Some of them were amazing, the eagle, the anchor, the butterfly, and the ferns were probably her favorites. But some of them, she couldn't hold back her rolling eyes and annoyed expressions. The “Big” on his right big toe, a miniscule lock, almost everything on his inner left arm (the packers logo, Pingu, etc.)

She traces at the rose and the ship and then flips his arm out to reveal his inner arm to her gaze. “That is a big fucking bee.”

He snickers, “Y’like it?”

She ignores his question. “For god’s sake, someone is needle happy,” she said as she examined his left arm, taking note of every permanent drawing.

He shrugs his right shoulder, uninhibited by her prodding. “Dunno, beginning to regret some of them.”

“I would hope,” she mutters, scribbling on her paper the various ones she had just seen on his arm. Next was his ribcage ones.

He scoffs, “Oi, it’s not like you haven’t got any.”

“How would you-” She looks at him wide eyed.

“Right…” he takes his right hand and pushes her hair past her ear to reveal three little red line butterflies following the curve of her ear, “There. At least.”

She huffs and knocks his hand away from her. Her hair falling back into its place.

“Maybe some located in a few more intimate places I’m guessing from the red rushing to your cheeks right now.”

“Can you just let me do my job,” she says, not giving in to his teasing or sparing him a glance as she feels his intense gaze on her face. She was studying his left rib cage where a few cool tattoos happened to be.

“You at least have some taste or persuasive artists because not all of these are shit,” she speaks again after just the sound of her pen on the paper filled the trailer.

“Gee, thanks,” he laughs unamused and rolls his large green eyes.

She thought he had some of the biggest eyes she’d ever seen. But she also knew to keep that to herself because he’d either take it as a compliment and think she was noticing him too much or he’d take it as a massive insult and get her fired.

His right hand taps at his thigh, tapping a rhythm she didn’t care to pay any attention too. She just wanted to finish the stupid inventory of the stupid tattoos on this stupid man.

“Take those off,” she says to Harry, looking back at her clipboard again, filling up quickly with her notes.

He stands there, staring at her stubbornly. He was entirely bored with this exercise, especially since his company was some of the worst he’s ever had. She spares him a glance when she doesn’t notice any slipping off of the colorful sweatpants he’s wearing.

She arches a brow at him, her pen tapping impatiently against the paper. “Go on. Can’t imagine you want this to go on longer than it already has.”

He rolls his eyes again, slipping his thumbs into the waistline of the pants and tugging down. Simultaneously, he toes off the dirty vans he seemed to wear everywhere. The fabric pools easily and he steps out of them and discards them on the couch behind him. He’s actually wearing black briefs. She chooses not to notice anything further than that.

“Socks...can stay on,” She tries to say as he begins to peel one off. He stops midway and nods.

She flings his shirt to him, not needing to see his naked torso for another moment, “I know you’ve got some feet and ankle tats, but I also know that you won’t be wearing anything that will expose them. Thank your lucky stars that I don’t have to makeup your feet.”

He catches the shirt easily and slips his arms inside before tugging it quickly over his head and over his expansive shoulders. The ferns disappear out of sight.

“Well then we’re almost done then. Just got the knee ones -”

“And the tiger. That’s gonna be one son of a bitch,” she sighs and examines his legs, not bothering to crouch.

“What the actual fuck dude?” Her tone is exasperate and like she would rather be anywhere else than here.

“I’m sorry?” He sputters, hands on his hips and eyes bewildered.

“Yes. No. Oui. Non. Who are you?” She rubs at her eyes and shakers her head.

“S’a little rude.”

“You’re right,” she semi-rushes out at his serious tone, ready to apologize. When a grin spreads over his face and he chuckles under his breath she really wants to smack him upside the head. He was exhausting. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thought it was funny at the time. Kind of think it’s even funnier now since it’s got you all mad.” He leans over her shoulder to look at her notes and when she glances at him unhappily he just looks smug.

“Alright,” she finishes the scribble of a description and clicks the end of her pen, “All done. You can get dressed. I’ll see you bright and early for tattoo makeup. It’s gonna take about an hour to do all this, just so you can mentally prepare for that.”

“It was nice to meet you,” he attempts at a friendly and professional farewell. “See you tomorrow…” he trails off as he watches her turn on her heel and walk out of the trailer door swiftly. The door swung shut and bounced a little bit in her wake.

Harry sighed and adjusted his clothes and hair in the mirror. After a moment he shakes his head, an even louder sigh escaping him.

“Good morning!” She greets happily, walking into the trailer without a knock. Well-rested and happy at least that she doesn’t have to just inspect a body, she looks around the trailer.

She realizes no one is there and she’s taken aback. First of all, if Harry wasn’t there then he shouldn’t have left his trailer unlocked. And second, he was fucking late, the fucking twat.

She grumbles, setting her coffee on the countertop. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “In through the nose, out through the mouth” she mutters. She knew this was a big opportunity and having a big star like Harry in her corner could make her career. She needed them to get off on a better foot today.

“Good form, I’d say relax the shoulders a little more,” the door swings open carrying the California twang-British accent that she would soon become all too accustomed to.

Harry points at her shoulders and narrows his eyes regarding her in the trailer. She offers a strained smile through the mirror and Harry sets down his personal things on the couch.

“Alright, well let’s get started shall we,” she smiles and turns to him, gesturing to the swivel chair next to her.

He nods, a twinkle in his eye as he regards her. He’s unsure of the tone and attitude she’s giving him today. She had been feisty yesterday, cordial at times, but mostly biting and witty. He had liked it. It had made the whole ordeal bearable whereas now she seemed to be laying it on a little thick.

“Just your hands and neck today,” she says, pulling out the makeup materials needed and a checklist of the tattoos she needed to make sure were invisible.

“Should only take..a little under an hour today. Just gonna remind you now though, other days we won’t be so lucky.”

Harry chuckles under his breath and rolls his head around his shoulders before sitting in the chair. “Were you tired yesterday?” He inquires.

“Why do you ask?” She throws a glance over her shoulder at Harry. He’s begun slipping off his sweatshirt and yawns as he does it.

“You seem different from yesterday and I’m just wondering which one is the real you.”

She continues working about the room and rolls her eyes to herself, “I’m always the real me. I come no other way, but this morning I woke up and thought ‘this is the job you’ve fucking wanted for ages, so stop being such a bitch so you don’t get fired, you prick’.” She pauses and turns to face Harry. “The ‘you prick’ was directed at me, that was still part of my thought,” she adds.

He throws his head back and laughs. Then he nods, still laughing lightly, “I get that. Sometimes I’m just so in my head and yesterday I was just so fuckin’ bored. Sorry if I got on your nerves.”

“Don’t mention it.” She waves her hand at him nonchalantly.

Then she moves to inspect his hands and notices the lack of rings, unlike yesterday when she had to make him take them off.

“You have amazing cuticles,” she notices and mentions without any pretences. Harry mutters his thanks, pursing his lips as he watches her work.

She stops her inspection and places the clipboard on the countertop in front of them.

“Could you take your necklaces off? I need to cover up half of the swallows and the years, for when you unbutton your shirt a bit.”

He wets his lips and nods, hands going to fiddle with the clasps behind his neck. He slips off one of the necklaces with ease, a yellow eye beaded necklace that he lays gently on the countertop next to the clipboard. Then he takes his cross and pulls it over his head, no clasp needed.

“Could I put some music on?” Harry asks after five minutes of Y/N working in silence and Harry only being able to stare either at himself, her work, or nowhere.

“I can,” she stops her work for a moment, “Can’t have you messing up the makeup before it sets. Otherwise I’d have to kill you.” Harry can’t be sure if she’s joking or not. Therefore, he was intent on not messing it up.

“Any requests?” She stands at the counter now, instead of seated on a stool working on Harry's left hand.

He shrugs, like he hasn’t got the faintest idea about good music. She refrains from rolling her eyes once again because she feels herself in a test. She wets her lips, sifting through different things in her Spotify and then lands on her playlist titled “it’s your song” named after Elton John’s song. It had some other musicians, a mix of Queen, Bowie, and more and she was sure she would pass the test.

She presses shuffle and She’s Always A Woman by Billy Joel begins to play over her laptop. Harry nods pleased and she wants to shake her head at him.

She can’t hold back the scoff though after a moment of going back to finishing his hand.

“What?” His British accent thickens with his annoyance growing.

“Nothing,” she chirps, intently putting the final touches on his wrist.

“Seriously. What?”

She stands and sets down the makeup. “Can you unbutton your shirt?” She made a note to herself that from now on she’d have to have him take his shirt off before setting to work because if his hands got messed up she’d have to start over. Thankfully he was already wearing a button up this morning.

He stares at her, offering no movement, just inquisitively waiting for her to respond to his original question.

She shuts her eyes, taking another deep breath and then bites at her lower lip. “It’s just...you’re so easy to read.” She fears adding anything else and moves towards him with the makeup hoping to encourage him to unbutton his shirt.

His right hand deftly pulls at the buttons as he regards her. His eyes are intent on her, she can see him clearly calculating her. Her green paisley button up tucked up into the back of her bra leaving a splay of her stomach. The semi-balloon sleeves cinched at the wrists leading to her slightly ringed hands. The oversized blue jeans that have no holes, just a tiny patch right next to the left pocket. The frayed ends of the pants laying over her rather pristine white old skool vans.

The Boxer fades in as she waits for him to finish the unbuttoning of the shirt. He’s still staring at her.

“Am I?” He finally inquires, voice pitched higher like he doesn’t believe her.

She gives him a serious stare and leans over him and adjusts the collar of his shirt. She adds paper towels to avoid makeup on his clothes.

“Yes!” She laughs, “And you don’t even think so, which is like...of course.”

He hums, tilting his head back as she sets to work on covering up the swallows. He wiggles his hands that now both rest on the arm chairs.

“I don’t see it.”

“Of course you don’t,” she glances at his face, their eyes meeting for a moment. “You’re Harry Styles. Everyone is in love with this image you created for yourself and it has just enough of your true self that people feel like they really know you, but you also maintain the illusion. So you think you’re this mysteriously amazing, not like the rest guy, but you are just like the rest of them. Obsessed with yourself and rich so you’re deemed eccentric rather than crazy for all the extravagant shit you do. So when you want me to play music and don’t offer any suggestions I know exactly what music I need to play for you to like me.”

“I feel like that last part says more about you than it does me,” he quirks a brow at her, straining his neck to look at her face as she continues to work.

She flushes, his response both better and worse than she expected. She had gotten a little carried away in her response and she had no idea why. She truly wasn’t one to go off on people so easily and especially not with someone she hardly knew, but something about Harry had her on edge. She was just thankful he hadn’t gotten mad at her response, instead he took it in stride. Further proving her point that he was extremely smart and did things purposefully and she saw right through it all.

She grumbles, “It says that all anyone has to do to get close to you is understand the smallest bit about you and you’ll let them in.”

“That is just so completely wrong, Y/N, I hate to break it to you.” It’s Harry rolling his eyes now, unable to move much more of his body as she continues painting on the concealer to remove his tattoos for the movie.

“Fine. Enlighten me on what I got wrong.”

Their argument had all but drowned out their music. They both did love this music and ironically if they would just shut their mouths, they’d probably like each other a lot more.

“Might as well,” he sighs. “First of all, my image is authentic and of course I don’t want to give myself all away. I enjoy my privacy and for everyone to truly know me I’d have to give that up. Which I’m not keen on. So, I regret to inform you but I am the same guy everyone is “in love with”. Second, I know I am a little self-involved, how else would I get here if I wasn’t constantly taking inventory of myself and reevaluating who I am. As a musician, I want to give as much of myself as possible or else it just feels inauthentic. And the extravagant thing, I can’t help that I like nice things and my job has allowed me to afford those things.”

He stops to take a deep breath and she’s working in stunned silence, in disbelief that Harry is even telling her any of this or that he’s spoken that much and so quickly. Wasn’t he notorious for speaking slowly with barely even a sentence worth of actual information. He sounds tired and frustrated, but also, surprisingly, sincere.

He continues, “The music thing. Maybe it was a test, but still it doesn’t mean I give everyone a mile when they say their favorite musicians match up with mine or something. I note that they either did their homework or might be an interesting person to get to know.”

“So which am I?” She widens her eyes.

“Obviously the second even if you’re also making it painfully clear that you don’t like me.”

“You’re smarter than I thought, Harry. I’ll give you that,” she smirks slyly, finishing up the bird coverage now.

He laughs. “Thanks,” he drawls out.

“And I admit that maybe you aren’t as easy to read as I made out, but I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree about the whole being your authentic self. I just don’t buy it. I can see your mind working constantly, you’re not one to just let yourself be free in public. And I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, I’m just saying, you shouldn’t pretend like that’s not what you’re doing.”

Her final thought leaves Harry silent. She pays no attention to his silence or at least she’s actively ignoring it. Instead she tunes back into the music that had gotten them back onto the wrong foot. This was going to be a long few months.

When she’s satisfied with her work, she has them sit there for thirty minutes to give it all time to set before Harry is off to hair and other makeup. They sit there listening to music. Neither of them have spoken again, except instructions from her and Harry’s hums of approval of songs.

Harry stands up after thirty minutes as she stays behind to pack up some items. Just as he’s about to step out of the door, he turns and calls her name.

“For the record, I don’t think you’re giving me a fair shot. You said yourself that you’re different every day. That every version of you, is you. So I hope you’ll give me the same allowance, every version of me is me. In this trailer, in my music videos, on tv, in interviews, in my free time. It’s all truly me.”

She bites her inner cheek as he ducks his head and exits the trailer, not allowing her any response.

“You’re late!”

“Meeting ran over with Nick and Olivia. Sorry,” Harry says as he begins to undress.

It’s the first day she has to cover all of his tattoos. It was going to take forever by all accounts. It had been two weeks since shooting had begun and she had gotten the simple hands and neck down to 45 minutes so she could only dread what his entire body would take.

“It’s fine,” she grumbles, knowing there wasn’t really anything else she could say about him coming late from a meeting with the director and producer.

Over the last two weeks, they hadn’t grown any fonder of one another. Not at all. They at least had gotten into a system though and she was grateful for that at least.

They showed up, Harry got in his chair, she set up the music, and they got to work. Harry would practice lines on some days and he’d tell her that before she turned on the music so there were no interruptions. Sometimes they talked about stuff on set or music or she’d give Harry his line when he was trying to be off script and forgot one. She wouldn’t classify it as pleasant, but they weren’t at each other throats like they were originally.

Trailer 6 had gotten a little homier as the weeks went by, too. Harry began leaving some of his stuff there and he started putting up silly drawings he would make while on set or polaroids people had taken with him while he was there. He tacked up napkins of restaurants that catered the set and wrote funny jokes and quotes on post it notes. His personal assistants sometimes brought in snacks while Y/N was still working and Harry always offered her some. They were usually healthy, but sometimes she’d eat some. Jeff, his manager, had also stopped by on occasion during his tattoo touch-ups that had become a thing after shooting days had grown longer.

On first meeting, Jeff had said, “Y/N? Harry mentioned you.”

She had turned to Harry with an arched brow and he had shrugged. When she looked back at Jeff she didn’t see Harry give Jeff one of the deadliest looks he could muster. She had grimaced and said “Well we spend enough time together for him to know my name. So thank god for that at least.”

They had all laughed and she had gotten back to work on Harry’s wrist.

Today, she needed Harry in his shorts. It was the first day of shooting where his character would be only in his boxers so she had to cover up all his visible tattoos. Olivia had told the makeup department they actually had to cover up his feet tattoos as well. She wanted him sockless in the scene and Y/N had groaned immediately when she made it to the trailer and Harry wasn’t already there.

“But please, for the sake of my job, strip, dude.” She says, arms crossed over her chest and leaning against the counter as she watched Harry set his things down. Her soft green striped cardigan is open, exposing the white tank top sitting underneath. Her bright green shorts hang loose on her, cinched at the waist and folded over once. Her white high top nike’s tap impatiently on the floor, waiting for Harry to get moving.

He nodded, truly feeling sorry for his tardiness, knowing today was a long day. He was anxious and tired. Acting was a different experience to music and he just was really trying his best.

As he began to take off his shirt, he laughed. His arms pulled the shirt over his head and when it popped out from beneath it, he repeated, “Strip, dude,” attempting to mimic her American accent.

He had practiced his American accent in front of her while running lines, but it had a 50’s drawl to it. His acting coach had been drilling him for weeks before shooting and he still liked to practice. The accent he had just down was far off from that and far off from hers too.

“Do not,” she warned.

“What?” He asks innocently and flutters his eyelashes.

She knows his game by now and she knows she should just ignore him. She knows this after fourteen days. She knows this after hours with him. She knows this, but then she’s opening her mouth and playing into his teases.

“Sorry, what’s a word you would know? Mate?” She tries for a British accent with the last word, knowing she can’t win this.

Harry snickers and scratches at his nose with his index finger before starting on taking off his pants. “You’re so Californian.”

“Thank you,” she chirps, moving to sit beside him now that he had settled.

“I like your shorts,” he muses, crossing his legs, likely a little cold.

She glances down at her cotton shorts that showed more of her thighs when she sat for a moment before returning her gaze to his left arm. The longest task of the day was this damn arm.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, “Wanted to be comfortable today. Knew it was gonna be long.”

A smile bubbles onto his face, his pink lips parting to reveal his shiny white teeth behind them. “So true.”

The music is low today. She had chosen Joni Mitchel’s Blue album for the first pick of the day. She had quickly learned Harry preferred listening to albums in order. It tended to make him less jumpy when the same artist came on multiple times like an album. So when she tried to play just an album one day, she found him more cooperative and less irritable.

After thirty minutes of work, she can’t stop noticing how shivery Harry is. It was late October in LA, so it was still warm, but admittedly the mornings could be a little chilly. His shivering was concerning for many reasons. Mainly he was messing up her work and concentration, but she also didn’t want him to get sick or something.

“Do you want me to see if they have a blanket and slippers or something? You look like you’re turning blue.”

Harry turns his attention to her. He had been reading over the script for today again. “That’d be great. I can call…” He trails off trying to think of the name of one of his assistants, but apparently he’s too scatterbrained for it. She assumed it was the hypothermia traveling to his brain already.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll walkie someone.” She says as she grabs the walkie talkie, flicking to the personal assistants channel.

“Hey,” she chirps happily. Harry noted how she talked to other people. So sweet, yet sincere. With him, it was serious and sincere but more biting, callous at times. Less so lately, but she definitely was sharper with him. He didn’t know if it even bothered him anymore. She was engaging if nothing else.

“Is someone free to bring two blankets and men’s slippers over to Trailer 6? I’ve got a naked Jack and I don’t want him freezing before I’m done covering up his tattoos.” She takes her finger off the talking button and glances sideways at him, “Who knows, maybe that would improve his acting. Y’know on second-thought-”

“Alright, alright,” Harry tries to grab for the walkie talkie, but she turns from him holding a finger up signalling him to wait as she listens for a response.

Someone says a simple “On it” and she turns off the walkie talkie and gets back to work.

“I took my finger off the speaker before I said the thing about your acting. Relax, Harry.” She says when he’s still glaring at her. “Just love to see you squirm.”

He shakes out his short chestnut hair, some of it falling over his forehead. Instinctively, she reaches up without even looking and smooths it back. Like she was tucking her own hair out of her eyes, but instead it was Harry’s. She decided to say nothing and was relieved when Harry didn’t say anything either.

She finishes his forearm and moves to his outer upper arm. The rose holds her attention when the PA knocks on the door and she has to race to get it. Nothing could stop her from moving on this work. It was already an hour in and she wanted to scream.

She swings open the door and she wants to die. It was Autumn. Her least favorite PA, of course. She was insufferable and obsessed with Harry. Which was not why Y/N found Autumn insufferable. There were so many more reasons. So many. But that particular character flaw didn’t help her case either. Y/N tried to just take the blankets and slippers from Autumn, but the woman insisted that she come in.

“I’ve got it,” Y/N says.

“No, don’t want you to get makeup on anything,” Autumn’s saccharine voice grinds at her ears and she contemplates cutting them off.

Harry sat in his chair, legs crossed, nodding along to the music, his script discarded on the counter in front of him.

“Hi Harry!” Autumn practically yells, walking right up to him.

Y/N takes a deep breath at the door, letting it swing shut. She bites her lower lip as an attempt to bite her tongue as she walks back to her set-up. The set-up Autumn was conveniently blocking.

“Hello, Autumn,” Harry says kindly, making eye contact with her. “How’re you today?”

“So great! So great! Thanks for asking. How are you?” She points a finger at him like she might poke him and Harry squirms away from her a bit. She, of course, doesn’t notice this.

“Well, thanks.” His eyes flicker to Y/N, who is standing behind Autumn, hands on her hips and attempting not to tap her foot. His tone is clearly dismissive, but Autumn must ignore it. Y/N knows Autumn isn’t as helpless as she tries to come off.

Autumn asks, “Where do you want these?”, gesturing to the two blankets and slippers stacked on top.

“Just on the counter is fine, thanks,” Harry says.

Autumn does as he says and then stands there with baited breath. Y/N’s not sure what she’s expecting. For Harry to ask for her hand in marriage or something? But he just glances between the two women. His own foot begins wiggling in impatience.

“Busy day,” He attempts at dismissing her once again - with kindness.

“Oh my gosh, totally!” Autumn gushes, starting to go off on all of the tasks she has to do. She stands so close to Harry, Y/N genuinely thinks she’s going to sit in his lap. Y/N stares up to the ceiling, begging god or whoever to end her misery right there and then.

Harry sees Y/N’s expression and tries to maintain the neutral expression he’s had for the entirely too long interaction. A smile threatens at his rosey lips that had chapped from the morning air.

“Right, well,” he cuts off Autumn, “Y/N needs to get back to tattoo coverage, I think. So...have a nice day.”

Autumn’s eyes widen like she forgot that there was anyone else in the room and steps back from Harry. Y/N nods, a grimace clear on her face. Autumn gives her the same small she used to get from the popular girls in high school when she happened to be talking to their cool guy friend that they wanted to be more than friends with. Sickeningly sweet and completely fake. She could see the contempt in Autumn’s eyes that swirled just beneath the surface of her perfectly outlined green-ish eyes.

“Okay! You too, Harry!” She begins walking to the door and Y/N takes her seat again, closing her eyes and counting to ten. “And Y/N,” Autumn adds as an afterthought.

“Oh my fucking god,” Y/N sighs, her hands going to rub over her face and through her hair. “That was exhausting. Jesus Christ.”

“What? She’s nice. Maybe a little clueless,” Harry counters. “But she was so nice,” he confirms again, seemingly trying to convince himself of it as well.

She grabs the slippers and slips them on the ground so Harry can put them on easily. Then one of the blankets that she drapes over Harry’s bottom half. He smiles at the gesture, a ‘thank you’ said in a whisper.

“Please, she knows what she’s doing,” Y/N scoffs, “And she’s obsessed with you!” She grabs the concealer to get back to work, “She was all over you and never took her eyes off of your body. It was like she wanted to touch you or something. It was icky.”

“You touch me,” Harry adds cheekily, adjusting beneath the warm blanket.

She laughs, a smile gracing her lips as she gives Harry a look. He was clever.

“It’s my job to touch you, Harry.”

Harry had really tried to not laugh, but it was just so funny. They both snicker, their eyes meeting for a moment longer than usual.

“Speaking of my job,” she adds after controlling her laughter, “Does she not realize just how long it takes to cover all of your bloody tattoos with this shit to make it look like you’re a pristine skinned 50’s psycho killer?”

She finishes the rose coverup and moves to the ship. Harry nods solemnly.

“It’s true...And it doesn’t help that you’re terrible at it, so it takes a thousand years longer than it should.” He adds, laughter overtaking his serious tone at the end.

“Oh my god!” She shrieks in delight, trying not to mess up her work, “That is so rude! I messed up one time - mostly because of you, by the way. And give me a break, this is so not what I thought I’d be doing as a makeup artist for movies.”

He nods again, muttering “Fair, fair.”

They grow silent, enjoying Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, the album that she had queued after Joni’s.

“The body thing, I just learned to ignore it, I think.” Harry mutters, eventually, but it’s thoughtless, like he’s not revealing anything about himself with the statement. But it kind of shocks her. Her eyes widen and she stops her work to stare at his face.

“Harry,” she waits till his eyes meet hers, “That’s, like, not normal. Are you serious?”

“I mean, I’m very comfortable with my body, like I haven’t minded the last 45 minutes of sitting practically nude in front of you. And I have plenty of revealing photos out in the world. I just don’t notice staring anymore, it’s not, I don’t think it’s what you’re thinking,” he tries to reassure her. His eyes are intent on hers, full of seriousness that hadn’t been there a few moments ago.

“It’s one thing to be comfortable in your skin and another to be desensitized to objectification,” she insists.

He nods. “I know. Thank you. I would let you know if what she had done had bothered me, so don’t worry. I felt completely safe the whole time.”

“Good,” she nods back and concentrates again. “Good,” she repeats once more under her breath. There had been way too many distractions already today and she wasn’t even done with his arm yet.

As she continues to work up his arm, Harry sings along to some of the songs on Elton’s album. He happily taps his feet to the different beats, now safely tucked in soft fluffy slippers. She would never admit just how amazing it is to be in the same room as Harry’s singing. It was truly special to be less than a foot from him and hear him sing just under the unique voice of Elton - who was someone he actually knew, which was equally as cool.

He hit every note and knew every word. She was impressed. How could she not be when a literal rockstar sat before her? This was the first time she was truly starstruck by her charge, Mr. Harry Styles.

By two hours, they had moved onto an album by Dolly Parton and they were both singing. They strangely had no fights today, maybe some snarky comments from both of them, but no outright mean-spirited words were exchanged.

She stood in front of Harry, finishing up the swallows. She had finished both arms and the birds, all she had left was moving down his body. Up next, the butterfly.

“I love this tattoo,” she mumbles, twisting Harry’s standing body to face her and taking her seat again. This left her eye to eye with the butterfly on his stomach.

He makes a surprised face and raises his recently plucked eyebrow at his counterpart. “Oh really?”

“Don’t act so surprised. I told you day one that not all of them are rubbish and honestly they’re all pretty cool. I just was so annoyed that I had gotten tattoo coverage as my job and then I had to go and index them all.” She flicks her eyes up to his sculpted face and sees he’s watching her work. “Plus, I have some butterflies of my own, remember?” She grins.

“Yeah,” he ponders her words, “I don’t think that’d put me in a good mood either.”

He pauses again and she continues to work silently.

“So what’s your excuse for the second day then?”

“You provoked me,” she doesn’t spare him a glance, shrugging like it was the simplest answer in the world.

“Pardon?”

“Let’s not go down this road again, Harry.” She sighs, smoothing over the freshly covered butterfly tattoo. His sternum looked so naked, it was unnerving. Now the ferns.

Harry involuntarily shivered when her fingers traced over the ferns lightly, taking note of the expanse of skin she’d have to cover.

“You’re right,” he agrees, “But agree to disagree on the provocation.”

“Sure,” she says curtly, focusing on his skin and her job.

The expanse of skin that the ferns inhabited was slightly fleshy and especially soft. It bordered where his boxers began and she ignored that part of his body completely. It was of no importance to her and she really had no issue blocking it from her vision, even when it was right in front of her. She finishes one fern with Harry jumping only twice from her cold hands. He couldn’t put his robe on until the makeup had all set for half an hour so he’d have to be cold for possibly another hour still.

She traces the fern that is still visible and Harry shivers. She instinctively shushes him softly and his body quiets. As she works, her hair splays around her shoulders and Harry looks down at her working and doesn’t realize what his hand is doing until it’s too late. His right hand runs over her hair, smoothing it out of her face. It was rarely ever down, so it must have been the novelty of it.

“Sorry, I-” he chokes out when he jerks his hand back.

She sits back, slightly taken aback. Her body flushes just from their positioning and what a hair caress would mean normally in this position, but she’s a professional and she shakes it off.

“It’s fine. We’re even.” She assures him, breaking eye contact with his own wide eyes. “Seems like we’re both hair touchers.”

“It’s just so soothing,” Harry muses. “I think it’s human instinct to touch other people’s hair since it’s so enjoyable for yourself.”

“Possibly,” her voice raises, his thought was definitely plausible. Or maybe they were just two touch starved people who were very much in each other’s personal space 24/7.

At the two and a half hour marker, she gets a walkie message from Olivia’s assistant asking when they’d be done. She had just finished the tiger tattoo, which had been surprisingly easy. It took a while, but Harry didn’t shiver once and neither of them pet each other’s hair.

“Probably 40 minutes, sorry. He has a lot of tattoos and the makeup needs to set.” She says seriously and gets back to work, barely regarding the response of “Yeah it’s fine, just wanted an estimate”.

“Jesus,” Harry moans as she covers up his knee tattoos.

She groans in veiled disgust, “Did I just hit a secret erogenous zone? Is that why you have ‘oui’ there, you creep?” There’s a teasing tone behind the nickname she uses.

Harry laughs and runs his hand over his face, pulling at his jaw and lower lip. His jaw is so sharp, she watches him adjust it. “No, no. I’m just so goddamn tired of this.”

“And it’s not your fault,” he adds, feeling bad immediately after he said it. “It’s actually been nice today, but I’m feeling antsy, like I need to move. I don’t like to sit still.”

“I know,” she says under her breath. She simply nods in agreement.

Finally, the tattoos are all covered up and set. They had talked about George Michael when she got to his ankle tattoos that she hadn’t seen before and they laugh about the tattoos and chat a bit more. She helps him slip on his robe that he keeps in his closet in the trailer and then follows him out of it. They had decided they were hungry and he had been pushed back an hour since he had taken so long, so he had a free half-hour.

As they walked to craft services, they talked about actual things besides work. She was pleasantly surprised by what Harry talked about. It was more than music or the movie. It was the tv show he was currently obsessed with and how he hated LA’s traffic the most out of all of his dislikes for the city. She couldn’t help but grin at his Los Angeles slander. She loved this side of him.

Breakfast together after finishing his tattoo coverage became their regular thing. He would come into the trailer, racing from his morning meeting accompanied with tea for two, they’d get his tattoos covered as quickly as possible, and then they’d eat together.

They’d save their “in-depth” chats for breakfast. In early November, he joked about No Nut November and insisted he really wouldn’t have a problem with it - which had made her laugh. They worried together over the U.S. presidential election and meditated together in his trailer to Fleetwood Mac.

Around late November, Harry had requested that Y/N just do his face makeup as well, just to simplify his life a little more and the department had agreed easily. She had to spend extra time on set getting lectured on how to properly do Harry’s makeup, but after two days she stopped getting notes about it. She was so extremely proud and thankful to Harry for doing that.

All he said was: “I mean, you’re extremely talented so I’m not scared of you fucking up my face. Plus, it does make my life easier. Two birds with one stone.”

In late November, he told her about his favorite holiday drinks at Starbucks and what he was getting his mother for Christmas.

When the Vogue cover came out, he laughed over that woman who responded to his cover saying the world needed to bring back manly men. He joked that he was going to really push that from now on, that he was a manly man, and he would sputter with laughter every time he tried to say it with a straight face.

He hand delivered her a special ‘Treat People With Kindness’ sweatshirt that he only had for the cast and crew of the film. Most everyone got them from a PA, but Harry decided since you saw him first in the morning, why not.

He told her about him winning Hitmaker of the Year from Variety when he had left the award sitting in Trailer 6 and about how weird it was to film acceptance speeches in an empty room. His smile had lit up the entire set that day and the day he did his interview on set. He was so smiley she had to bump him with her elbow because he wouldn’t stop smiling at her and it was unnerving.

“Stop that,” She muttered.

“Stop what?” He smiles wider.

“That!” She squeaked, her head shaking as she ducked it to regard his anchor tattoo. “You’re smiling too much.”

“Oh no,” he says sarcastically, “God forbid I be happy.”

“It’s not that,” she bumps his thigh with her elbow, trying to keep her own smile off her face, “Your face is just so intense when you smile. Feels like you’re gonna burn a hole through me.”

He laughs, completely unconvinced, “You just don’t want me to be happy is what I’m hearing.”

She rolls her eyes, “Whatever, dude.”

She saw he was serious about the ‘manly men’ references when the Variety photos came out and everyone and their mom posted the pictures with some variation of that comment as their caption.

She still found that she rolled her eyes at some of the things Harry did, but she genuinely counted him as a friend by the time December had rolled around.

Over three hours, almost always completely alone, doing work for a job you both care deeply about can really make or break a relationship. And that first full-body coverage day had made them stronger together. After that, Harry and her would banter with one another, but there was never anything intentionally cruel. Just friends giving each other shit sometimes. Harry had been right, he had changed her mind about him. And she had realized that that was who Harry was. He was a deliverer. If you didn’t like him at first, he would try and try again until you did, but he did it in a way that wasn’t weasley or anything. It was terribly genuine and she saw it in every relationship he had on set.

On several occasions she had witnessed his friendship with Nick Kroll. A man she had regarded with dislike before the film. She had quickly realized that dislike was misplaced, but she maintained that it was just because she hated adult cartoons - citing that she literally refused to be friends with any person who willingly watched the Simpsons, Family Guy, and/or American Dad and all of those similar shows.

Nick was far nicer and less weird than she had realized. So she quickly shot her friend from high school an apology text for all the Nick Kroll slander she had spouted back in the day. Her friend had rejoiced but also said how jealous she was that Y/N got to see him regularly on set.

Nick and Harry got along great. Harry generally got along better with older people, she noticed when she was introduced to his friends on the somewhat frequent occasion. Trailer 6 was where Y/N saw most of these reactions take place. She would be introduced in the first minute and then she would smile politely and get back to the work of covering up Harry’s numerous tattoos.

Harry would say something simple and Nick, the literal famous comedian, would laugh. In the beginning she’d raise a brow, confused because it truly wasn’t that funny, but as Harry’s friend now, she kept her mouth shut.

Nick would come and sit on the couch while she’d work and eventually all three of them would chat. Sometimes she would get up to go to the bathroom during those morning chats and she would look in the mirror and think to herself “How are you casually talking to these two men right now” and then she’d think “Because you are a boss ass bitch, you got this” and go back out there with a smile on her face.

“Y/N, what are you doing tonight?” Nick asked on the first Friday morning of December.

She looks up from Harry’s cross tattoo that was half covered. Harry was reading, a book casually propped in his right hand and glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He glanced at the other two in the room. Nick had been getting some work done before he had spoken.

“No plans,” she states simply before getting back to work. It wasn’t full body today, but it was arms and torso, so kind of a lot still.

“You should come over for dinner at my place with Harry,” Nick smiles kindly. His scruff was really coming in today. “To celebrate us almost wrapping the first half of the movie.”

Harry had thankfully freshly shaved before he sat down. It was her least favorite part of her new job. Whenever he came in for touch ups and she had to shave his afternoon shadow. She was terrified she’d cut him and never live it down from her department or Harry. She had no idea which would be worse.

“My wife will be there too, of course,” he adds, hoping to entice her to say yes.

Harry glances between Y/N and Nick again before focusing on his book again.

She purses her lips, finishing Harry’s hand and moving onto the anchor tattoo. “Yeah, I mean, I don’t know why I’d say no. As long as I’m not intruding on the throuple,” she grins up at Harry.

He stares at her with his big green eyes, slightly obscured behind his prescription glasses. He raises his brows and wiggles them a little bit, teasingly.

Nick laughs and slyly winks at Harry through the mirror. Y/N none the wiser as she removes all traces of Harry’s tattoos.

“Great!” He claps his hands and stands up. “We’ll talk or I’ll make sure Harry gets you the info or something. I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out. My wife’s been wanting to meet you,” he smiles again and walks out of the trailer.

She tilts her head at the last part. He talked about her to his wife. Did he really count her as that close of a friend? She was just a makeup artist and he was a producer… She glances at Harry and he gives away nothing. His jaw looks extra prominent and she knows it’s because he’s clenching it. He did that when he was focused or angry, remembering it bulging on the first day they met and how clenched it had been then.

“Unclench your jaw,” she mutters, “It’s not good for you.”

Harry hums and unclenches it.

He stretches his neck by rolling his head around his shoulders and she glances at the movement. His skin is still beautifully sun-kissed and his pores look so soft, only his moles change the texture of his skin. She loves his moles though, they make him especially unique in her eyes. Not that he needed anything else to set him apart from the crowd. Still, she loved them. His collarbone is prominent as he sits there shirtless and she wishes she could reach out and brush at it. But she gets back to work, knowing the only time she’s gonna be brushing near that part of him is when she’s covering dates in those dips behind his collarbones.

“Y’know, I could just drive you to Nick’s tonight,” Harry says, putting his book down and taking off his glasses. He rubs at his eye with his free hand.

“You’re blind and British, how do I know you can even drive yourself?” She asks sillily, pointing to his glasses.

He shakes his head, “I’m serious, Y/N. Aren’t you staying in the same area as me?”

He asks because they had relocated to Palm Springs a little while ago and everyone had gotten rentals and it was hard to remember where everyone was holed up when they weren’t on set.

“Yeah, think so. But you don’t need to pick me up. I have a car.”

“Nonsense. I’ve been to his place before, don’t want you to have to deal with directions, that’s just silly.”

“I guess...” she resigns relatively easily. She had never hung out with Harry off the set or Nick for that matter. It felt surreal, but she knew the right answer was usually just say yes in these situations. So that’s what she says. “Yes, that’d be great, thank you,” she confirms and watches as Harry’s eyes glimmer softly before turning back to his book. A triumphant soft smirk rests on his face.

The words die out between the two of them as she works on. He hums along to the music and continues reading his book. When she’s done with his tattoo coverage and his face makeup, she sends him off to hair and the rest of his day. He gives a flirty wink as he walks out the door and she rolls her eyes in response. She tidies up her kit and then goes to do some other makeup work.

When she wasn’t working with Harry, she was assigned to some of the minor characters and doing their makeup. They were always her second concern, especially now that she did Harry’s makeup as well as his tattoos. As she works on them, she can feel her mind drifting to Harry. Harry and how they were friends now. She was pretty sure, right? They were friends. He had never really said a mean thing to her if she really thought about it. It was her… She had been rude and mean-spirited and he had just taken it. He rarely had even thrown it back at her. He was so good to her and patient and she realized that he had proven to her that he was good. He was better than good, he was kind and loving. Considerate. Wonderful. All of those positive superlatives, Harry filled them. And she had the audacity to be mean to him.

She paused the brush that was adding blush to an actresses cheek.

Lisa, the actress, looks at Y/N confusedly, “What’s wrong?”

Y/N twitches her head, refocusing on her task at hand. The realization of her pausing her work becomes clear as she looks between her hand and the cheek that has not enough blush on it. “Oh,” she breathes. “...I just realized that I was terrible to someone who doesn’t have a mean bone in their body.”

Lisa nods, “Apologize.”

“Yeah, I mean...We’ve kind of moved past the phase where we don’t get along. Like now we’re friends, but the realization just really hit me.” She sighs, picking up where she left off on Lisa’s makeup. “I’ll make sure to apologize next time I see them.”

Lisa smiles.

At the end of the day, Y/N realizes she left her tattoo coverage kit in Harry’s room after their touch-up session halfway through the day. She had run off to help with a makeup emergency for a tiny cut on a minor character’s face and forgotten to go back and grab her things. Another roll of her eyes and a huff of breath and then she’s walking back to Trailer 6, a place that seemed like a home away from home now. She knocks, patiently waiting at the bottom of the steps.

Harry swings open the door and props it with his hip. He’s got a toothbrush held in his mouth, slowly scrubbing back and forth with his left hand. His costume is somewhat taken off, he’s still got the pants on with suspenders hanging down, his chest was completely bare and he looked funny with some of his tattoos only being half covered based on what parts of his skin had been showing today. Her work. His skin looked half silky smooth and half tattooed like usual.

His naked skin seemingly left her breathless because as her eyes returned to Harry’s face, she breathed a soft, “Hi.”

“Hey,” a smirk twists onto his face. “Forget something?”

“Yes,” she nods, coming back to her senses and entering the trailer at Harry’s gesture.

She begins to pack up the kit that had been left haphazardly strewn around on his counter. “I’m sorry I left a mess like this, I got called over to something else and forgot.”

“Don’t worry darling,” Harry grins at his joke.

She looks up from her work and sees Harry in the reflection of the mirror. He’s wiping off the makeup from his chest and his beautiful tattoos reemerge as entire images.

She laughs humorlessly, “It gets less funny each time you use that.”

“That’s not true,” he looks at her through the mirror now, his green eyes trained on her face, “Everyone else still thinks it’s hilarious.”

“They’re humoring you and your fragile ego,” she winks and watches as Harry’s smirk twitches from his perfect face.

“You’ve got a very mean disposition, you know that?” He asks.

He finishes his chest and moves to remove the makeup from his left arm, glancing at the mirror every so often to check himself and to flicker his eyes over Y/N’s face.

She genuinely laughs at that, but scolds herself internally for being mean when she had planned to apologize the next time she saw Harry. This was the next time so why was she doing this instead?

“Rewrite sweet disposition for me?” Her voice honeyed. Clearly stubborn and terrible at saying sorry...maybe her and Harry were a better match than she realized.

Harry twists his lips as he slips on his t-shirt he was wearing today.

“Pick you up at 6:30?” He says as his head pops out from beneath the rainbow striped sweatshirt he slipped on top of the shirt. His chestnut hair had been toweled out and was flopping over his forehead slightly.

She sighs and zips close the kit, standing from the seat she had taken at his counter and turning to face him now.

“6:30 is perfect. Thanks again for doing this. I just can’t believe Nick Kroll is inviting me over for dinner!” She smiles, shifting to lean against the counter as she waits for Harry to finish up. She didn’t have to but for some reason she felt like she was in no rush.

“Are you serious?” He’s moved on to changing his pants now and he’s slipping on black sweatpants.

“Yeah…” She blinks and her eyes widen as Harry appraises her expression.

He straightens up after fixing a cuff on the pants and he can’t tell if she’s being genuine or sarcastic. It was always so hard to tell with her.

“I mean, Nick Kroll is like a huge celebrity and I know in the entertainment business you’re not supposed to get starstruck but when I was in college my sister thought he was weirdly hot and my friends and I would shit talk him. I don’t know, it’s just kind of surreal to be having dinner at his place. Like I’ve watched him on tv and now I’ll be eating with him...so weird.”

He shakes his head, beginning on his dirty vans now. A small laugh escapes his mouth and he glances between her and his shoe, scratching his head quickly. “I still can’t tell… It feels like you’re fucking with me right now.”

“I’m not!” She insists, her hands coming out in front of her in a confused fashion. “I used to watch that guy’s tv show then he’s my boss now he’s inviting me over for food? It’s a lot to process.”

“How come it’s not surreal to be having dinner with me then?” He asks semi-joking, a hint of offense tinged within it. It’s visible only in his knitted brow and twisted lip.

“Careful there, sailor. Venturing into some dangerously self-absorbed waters.” Her eyes light up, a quick raise of her brows accompany the shine, and she decides now is her time to head out. Especially as she thinks about getting ready for this soiree tonight. She needed to shower and pick out an outfit with less than two hours to prepare.

Harry sputters at her response and fumbles with his pink shoelace. “That’s not...that is - You’re being unfair. My question is valid.”

She shrugs her shoulders and skirts Harry’s attempt at grabbing at her arm to stop her from leaving. “Okay, Mr. Big Man On Campus. I promise you you’re the most popular boy in school.”

She blows him a kiss and walks out the door as he attempts to get her to come back by calling her name a few times and slightly shouting “C’mon! I wasn’t being insecure. That was a reasonable ask…”

He sighs and shakes his head again. Every interaction would end with one of them either rolling their eyes or shaking their head and usually a sigh on both of their lips. It was exhausting, but exhilarating too.

20 minutes later, Harry receives a text from Y/N: “You’re still picking me up right :))) ?”

He’s in his car, getting ready to finally leave after getting held up with last minute schedule changes that he had to be informed about by some PA that he had forgotten the name of. His lip quirks to the right and he closes his eyes for a second enjoying seeing her name on his phone screen for a moment.

He types back: “Of courseeee”.

“Fab.” She sends back, immediately followed by: “Fanks BMOC ;)”

A full smile rolls onto Harry’s face after he swipes his tongue over his lower lip. “Yeah, yeah, save it for the next guy” he types out quickly before throwing his phone gently beside him and driving back to his apartment. She made him feel young, not that he wasn’t young, but generally his friends didn’t text like she did.

At 6:28, she receives a text from Harry Styles - his name in her phone. A name she had never expected to see in her phone unless her Spotify was on shuffle. Yet, instead, his name popped up under messages and it read “Here!” followed by a quick “I think” and then a phone call coming through from the apparently anxious man himself.

“Hello Harry.” Her tone even. She throws little items into her purse, making sure everything she needs is there.

“Could you peek out your window? I’m not quite sure I’m at the right place and people are staring…” nerves laced in his rushed tone.

She ambles to the window and opens up the shade she had closed to change. Below her, she sees a sleek black Range Rover with a slightly disarrayed hairdo and big dark glasses peeking below the windshield. She ignored the instinct to retch at the sight of the Range Rover and peered at the lamp lit sight below her. It was definitely Harry, but she searched for the prying eyes he was worried about and saw none. Well, maybe a few, but it wasn’t a lot.

“I see you, I’ll be right out, dude. Just deep breaths, it’s mostly crew staying here right now so they’re just seeing that it’s you, another guy they work with. They won’t come up for pictures...I would hope.”

She hangs up with no farewell, snatches her purse from its place on the bed and races out the door. Harry smiles anxiously at her when she stands next to the passenger’s door and he unlocks it. She bites her lip and raises her brows, waiting to hear if anything terrible happened in the minute and a half it took her to come downstairs and out to the car.

“Hi,” he exhales.

A smirk crawls onto her features and her eyes sparkle with a bit of a childish glee that normally she didn’t exhibit as she glances at him. “Hi.” She says quietly. “Alright big boy?”

“‘M fine.” He huffs but balks at her smile that she maintains while she stares at him. “What?”

“Just happy to see you, I guess,” her smile returns after speaking and Harry glances between her face and the windshield in front of him.

He can’t tell if she’s being serious or not once again. But he fears that conversation of her either ridiculing him for thinking she is serious or being offended that he still can’t tell. Instead, he will keep his mouth shut. For the most part.

“Happy to see you, too,” his lips create a closed mouth smile quickly before turning out of the parking lot.

She watches him. Their first time together outside of work. And they were friends. She needed to get used to simply thinking that. He picked her up to take her to dinner with her other friend and his wife. This was normal life, just with big names behind those terms of relation. Jesus, she always said it didn’t bother her to be around celebrities so why did she think about it so damn much?

She twitches her head and refocuses on Harry and his driving. His jaw is clenched again and she wants to reach out and sooth it herself. Instead she starts to open her mouth to correct him, but stops herself from that as well. They weren’t at work and it didn’t feel like something just a friend would say right now. She refocuses on the view of his eyes that are barely visible while he regards the road. His large eyes that she had grown acquainted to are surveying what he’s doing, every so often drifting to the right side of the road to check out the lane beside him. But then, always back to right in front of him, leaving a crescent of green visible to her.

“Can feel you staring at me…” His voice sounds like it’s rolled around in gravel after the long work day. It makes her wonder if he’s supposed to have a vocal rest when he’s not at work, but then again it’s the weekend now so maybe it was fine. Maybe she should ask him. Or maybe she should stop worrying so much about him.

“Have I got something on my face?” His low register bumps her from her racing thoughts. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but she can see he’s widened his eyes in wonder.

“No! Of course not, I just was...making sure you weren’t going to crash us or something.” She grasps at straws, desperate to not be caught by Harry.

A low chuckle bubbles from his chest and he spares a small glance over at her bundled up in his passenger seat. She matches his gaze with something of distrust hidden behind her eyes. She hopes to convey that she’s being silly and when Harry turns back to look at the road unassumingly, she feels like she has won. The harmonies of the beginning of a Queen song take over the silence, Harry’s spindly fingers thrumming against the wheel.

They arrive at the Kroll’s Palm Springs residence at 6:50. 10 minutes early and the two twiddle their thumbs for a few minutes, trying to pass the time and not intrude earlier than they were supposed to. She appreciated that Harry liked to be timely but not early, similar to how she was.

“So what is the fascination with Range Rovers?” She queries, leaning against the door’s armrest. The back of her head touches against the semi-tinted window.

Harry shifts in his seat, seat belt no longer constricting him and no road requiring his attention as they sit in the driveway. He rushes a hand through his hair and lets a single strand of hair fall over his prominent forehead.

“Dunno,” he shrugs his shoulders and allows a hand to fall onto the steering wheel absentmindedly. “I don’t really prefer them anymore, but when I’m in LA and doing work, it makes things easier. My other cars are a little flashier...have more privacy in this.”

“Yet the effect is similar,” she muses.

Her head tilts to take in Harry’s appearance, sharp black silky button-up and dark green plaid slacks, and she rubs a hand over her jaw. His eyes flicker to the movement and attempt to really take it in, even in the dim glow of the lamp light outside barely peeking into the dark interior of the car.

“Effect?”

“Y’know…” She arches her brow at him. He feigns innocence or possibly the expression is genuine. She’s begun to realize Harry was as genuine as they came, but she just didn’t think he was that unaware. An assumption that was likely correct, but even Harry liked to pretend he was a completely unassuming individual.

“Forget it,” she finishes when he gives no indication that he knows what she is hinting at. She doesn’t want to get into it with him again. Especially when he plays at this game where he has no idea what she’s talking about. It made her feel like she was crazy for thinking he made these calculated decisions to get his desired outcomes.

They move on, neither of them quite sure what the other was getting at in that conversation. The two of them walk into the house a minute before their expected arrival time side by side and are greeted happily with Nick and his wife. They’re ushered in and Y/N is happily received by the happy couple.

“So, Y/N, how’s it been for you working with these two? I know they can be more than a handful - especially together,” Nick’s wife, Lily, asks after a sip of wine.

The group of four had been eating for a while with Nick and Harry bantering for quite a bit at the beginning about whether or not Harry would be willing to hand feed Nick. The answer was settled at “another time”.

Harry seems to have a very specific habit of watching whoever is speaking - no matter what. So after Lily has finished speaking, his gaze flickers to Y/N, the person his brain expects to speak next. He watches her attentively as she wipes her mouth on her napkin before speaking.

Her hair was styled differently tonight than it usually was on set, she had it down rather than up in a ponytail or braids. He hadn’t had time to really look at her when they had been in the car, his mind occupied with stress and exhaustion that he refocused into driving and deep breathing. Now, in the comfort of a trusted friend’s home, he was far more relaxed and able to truly take in her appearance, which he couldn’t help but think was beautiful. He’d have to tell her that at some point. That he thought she was beautiful. Not that he didn’t see her on set and think she was beautiful...he just hadn’t really thought about it before. She was his wily makeup artist who was critical of him most times, but occasionally sweet, who had an amazing taste in music and good aesthetic style. The beauty part of it all, he guessed wasn’t something integral to their relationship before.

But now he was sitting beside her at the Kroll’s nice dining table and she had her hair splayed in front and behind her shoulders with one side tucked behind her ear and her outfit fit her impeccably. The top she had on had capped sleeves that cinched with buttons at her delicate wrists and a severe drop to create a small sweetheart neckline just above the curve of her breasts. It was silky and shiny, a blush pink that complemented the high waisted dark grey slacks that flared over shiny black boots that he wasn’t sure where they ended beneath the pants.

“Well,” she starts, chuckling under her breath when she meets Harry’s stare, “Harry and I spend a lot of time together, covering up all his tattoos, and he yaps a lot. So, it’s actually pretty refreshing when Nick comes in, because Harry’s then talking half the normal amount.”

He huffs a scoff, while Lily and Nick laugh happily. Nick interjects an “ouch” for the bite she just took out of Harry, but she thought it was fine, he can take it.

Harry thought to himself that if she can serve it, then she can definitely take it. His eyes remain on her as he opens his mouth to speak, but then look at Lily when words actually come out. “Well, Y/N, she thinks she can read people really well, but it’s actually quite the opposite. She had me completely wrong when we first met, so I talk now in hopes that she’ll really understand me.”

His head tilts to her when he mentions her name, but otherwise doesn’t glance her way away again. He scrunches his nose at the end of his comment, implying he converses with her out of pity.

It’s her turn to scoff and stare at him unamused. Nick and Lily share a look, unsure of what was going on, they had concocted this dinner date idea in hopes to set the two up but the way this conversation was going, they seemed to be pushing each other further and further away from one another.

“That’s simply not true,” she says curtly and takes a sip of her quickly emptying wine glass.

“Which part?”

“Almost all of it, I’d say,” her eyes glaring back at him, fiery with a disdain he hadn’t seen in awhile. “You’re proving my original perception of you with every passing second,” she adds.

“Care to elaborate exactly what the original perception of me was for the class,” his eyes are wide and wild, any extra adoration he had started to feel towards her slipping away just as quickly as it had come, like a wave along the beach.

“You know, so why don’t you?”

“I want to hear you say it,” he grits out the command.

She shifts in her seat, glancing at Nick and Lily who are watching on and she has a feeling she won’t be getting an invitation again anytime soon. Lily gives her a semi-reassuring smile like she was sorry to have asked the question at all, but Y/N knows this is kind of her fault, not that she would ever admit that. Her comment could have been taken innocuously, but Harry’s pride wouldn’t let it slide. Like she said, she should have known better, the weeks of friendship were flying out the window and she was helping them along.

“And what if I don’t?”

“Have fun calling an uber at this time of night,” he shrugs, malice dripping in his tone.

She truly was taken aback at this. A slight sound of shock leaving her mouth. Harry was many things, impatient and anxious usually, but downright cruel with her, she had yet to see it. Arrogant and pompous, definitely, but this wickedness that was starting to creep from the shadows worried her. But the little fiery demon within her wasn’t going anywhere either - yet she might back down to save herself some money and hassle.

“Fine,” she raises her brows in a challenge to him and restates her original take on him - possibly adding a bit extra malice in her phrasing, “You are a shell of a man, held up by the people around you, creating the illusion of a completely genuine and down to earth rocker who dabbles in acting, philanthropy and all around goodness. No one’s ever had a bad experience because no one’s ever truly met you. Not the real you.” She takes a deep breath as she shakes her head in disbelief now, a sarcastic laugh leaving her mouth, “And I thought, I really thought, that I had been wrong. Because these past months you really fooled me with your sweet smile and deep eyes. But when it comes down to it, you tricked me just like everyone else.”

Harry stares at her blankly and she shakes her head once more, feeling foolish. For thinking Harry was someone he wasn’t. For thinking the past few months had been real. For thinking that tonight would go off without a hitch. And the shit part of it was that she had really hoped that all of it was true. She wanted this to be her life, but her instincts had been right. Beware of the picture perfect because it always is just a mirage of deceit and lies.

“All I’ve got to say is you’re a damn good actor Harry, so at least you’ve got that going for you.” Then she pushes back from the table and stands, turning to Nick and Lily. “I really am so sorry, I understand that you probably want me to leave, so I’ll just be going,” her voice faltering at the end, she wasn’t as strong as she liked to pretend and she was pretty sure she just ruined her chances of working again in Hollywood. You’d have to be an idiot to be an enemy of Harry Styles and she feels like she just became his first.

“No!” Nick says quickly, standing too, “I think things just escalated really quickly and some things were said that both of you didn’t mean. Um...just, let’s take a few minutes to cool off. Harry could you and Lily deal with the dishes and I’m going to talk with Y/N alone.”

Everyone nods and Y/N follows Nick down a hallway, a little confused but following after he beckons her with his hand. They go out a side door and end up on a porch in the backyard. He stoops down and opens a little sitting mailbox she didn’t see and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He places one between his teeth and then offers one to her. She accepts, not usually a regular smoker, but right now seemed like a fair time to indulge in the bad habit. She needed to calm her rapidly beating heart.

He lights the cigarette for her when he sees her shaking hands and then in turn lights his own. They stand on the porch beside each other and stare out into the dark night sky.

“Well, this wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go,” Nick starts, after a few exhales of smoke.

“No,” she laughs nervously, her foot toeing at the wooden slate on the porch. “I shouldn’t have tried to make a joke.”

“No one’s to blame,” Nick says quickly, glancing at her, “You and Harry...you both have really strong personalities and I don’t think either of you are used to being challenged.”

She nods along, she definitely had to agree after the argument they had both willingly gotten into in front of other people.

“I think that can be a really good thing, challenging each other, because then you two can both grow. But what happened in there was more of a battle to the death rather than a friendly spar.”

“Yeah,” she exhales, flicking at the burning cigarette between her fingers, “I don’t know why he gets under my skin sometimes in a way I’ve never dealt with and it’s kind of uncomfortable so I lash out, I guess.”

Nick stays quiet, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Ugh,” she groans, “I wish I hadn’t done that. We were doing so well, it’s like I don’t even really know what I’m saying, it’s like I can’t handle a friendly spar, I always end up going in for the kill - as you put it.”

She rubs at her face with her free hand and then takes a drag herself. Nick bites at his lower lip, trying to think of a solution.

“Y’know? Lily and I had concocted this plan to try and set you and Harry up tonight,” he says slowly, revealing the plan that had clearly been taken off the table as they just needed to attempt to salvage cordiality.

“Really?!” She’s in complete disbelief and slight dismay that the plan was seemingly ruined.

“Well,” he sputters, “When the two of you aren’t throwing verbal fireballs at each other, you’re actually quite sweet to one another. Those fond little glances you hope no one sees, well he does that too, and you both fail miserably because I see it all the time. I’m sure plenty of people do too.”

“Oh,” she states, visibly deflating. She looks to the ashtray conveniently on a table behind her and presses out the rest of the cigarette. “Should probably talk to him, huh?”

Nick nods, stamping out his nub of a cigarette as well. They go back inside and into the kitchen where Lily and Harry have plated dessert. Harry looks a little sheepish, likely having a similar conversation with Lily and she wouldn’t be surprised if her expression looks similar, if not a bit more flushed from the outdoor chill.

Lily murmurs that she and Nick are going to eat their dessert in the living room, a fair bit away from the kitchen and the two now deflated counterparts nod and then stare at each other, knowing what they need to do.

“Can we talk?” Harry rasps out, his voice even lower as he speaks softly, a mere foot away from her in the kitchen.

She nods, but moves further from him to lean against the counter and tuck her hands behind her. She’s lost her appetite and doesn’t want Harry to see her shaking digits.

He’s ducked his head and a stray curl falls over his forehead, laying there softly. He doesn’t move to fix it, just stares at his feet until she begins to talk. He can’t not look at her face when she speaks.

“So…” She slowly starts, not enjoying the tension in the room. Her eyes can’t meet his though, his stare dark and unnerving like usual, but almost painfully so now. “I can start.” She kicks at the tiling on the floor like she had done outside as well, trying to not think about the eyes trained on her right now. “I’m sorry I lashed out on you, Harry. I didn’t mean what I said, it was just a heat of the moment response.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Harry says immediately once she finishes speaking, “I shouldn’t have gotten upset over a silly joke and brought up a sensitive subject. Then it escalated…”

“Yeah, I really liked the friendship we’ve garnered these past few months and I just can’t believe I almost ruined everything - including my career…” she squeaks at the end and tears start to roll from her eyes. “Oh god,” she is hit with the gravity of all that she almost ruined as Harry stares at her again. “I’m so sorry, Harry, I really am. Do you forgive me? I don’t think I could stand it if you didn’t.”

She stands there and feels sobs wrack through her and her hands go to cover her face out of embarrassment. She had caused a scene and now she was making another one. In front of Harry.

In an instant his arms are wrapped around her frame and he’s hushing her cries. They had never hugged before, but now seemed like as good a time as ever. His arms were strong around her and she pressed her face into his chest, not caring at all about how she looked or whether this was worse than getting in a fight and running off.

“Of course I forgive you,” he says and then begins repeating her name over and over, trying to soothe her. He definitely had been hurt by her words, but it seemed like she was more upset about the whole situation than he was and he didn’t think bringing up what specifically had hurt him would help her frame of mind.

She settles after some time, her whimpers and tears subsiding after being rocked into a more peaceful mindset with the help of Harry’s calming voice and reassuring embrace.

“I really am sorry,” she whispers again.

Harry pulls his neck back and his head off the top of her head to look at her face. It was tear stained and her eyes were glassy, lips slightly puffy. He gave her a soft tight-lipped smile. “No more apologies,” he states sternly and then softens again at the slight quiver in her lip. He pulls from her a little more, leaving her at arm's length, with his hands still attached to her hips, fingers slipping over the plaid fabric. “I meant to tell you this earlier, before things…” he stares at her face again and she holds it this time, “You look beautiful tonight.”

She scoffs and her eyes immediately drop to her feet, “Definitely not anymore.” She doesn’t believe Harry.

“‘M serious,” he insists. His right index finger goes to rest beneath her chin and brings her face up to look back at him.

“Sure,” she says, still not convinced but not sure how else to respond. She feels herself warming at all the positive attention he’s pouring into her.

His gaze won’t falter from her face, he’s intent upon making her understand him. He whispers her name, “Accept the compliment.”

“You’re stubborn,” she notes.

“So are you,” he counters quickly.

“Fine, thank you,” she sighs when he won’t stop giving her that look of his. That look that makes her want to melt into the ground because it feels like she’s the only person in the world. “Though you looked especially good tonight, too,” she adds, her hands rubbing over his shoulders softly.

“Thank you,” Harry states lowly, the words only traveling to her ears. His hands fiddle with the sides of her top, thinking about the night and where they were now. Her eyes were red from crying and overall she looked tired beyond her years. “Do you want me to take you home?”

“That’d be nice.”

They make a quiet farewell to Nick and Lily, as well as apologies from both her and Harry. They don’t speak in the car and the music plays loud enough for it to not seem unreasonable for them to be silent. Harry’s hands don’t tap against the steering wheel, they sit in their spots stoically doing their job and nothing more. She watches the window, legs crossed and hands clasped in her lap. She’s thankful for the music because she knows that even though they had talked, it wasn’t enough. What she had said was hurtful and one apology wasn’t enough for how she had behaved. She didn’t think her and Harry would be the same after tonight, but the silence made it possible for her to pretend none of it had happened.

Just as Harry’s car is pulling up the apartment complex that is far darker now, the harsh splatter of rain begins to fall on the pavement and the sleek black car the two are still sat in.

“Oh,” she comments offhandedly, just responding to what she had noticed.

The rain grows louder when Harry parks and then turns off the car. He glances at her for the first time since they got into the car. She registers the look out of the corner of her eye, her face still looking out at the rain. She loved the rain, but there wasn’t always a lot in Southern California, especially not in Palm Springs. It seemed that tonight was different.

“Well,” Harry breaks his silence, she thinks that’s her cue to leave and unbuckles her seatbelt, but he continues. “This certainly wasn’t how I expected this night to go.”

She stops moving, her hand hovering over the handle of the door. She sits back and settles into the seat, feeling her teeth bite into the plush of her bottom lip.

“That’s what people keep saying,” her eyes remain on the rain hitting the front of the car, the splatters of seemingly black liquid that form when the clear rain touches the onyx hood of the car.

“Huh?” Harry grows perplexed at the rather wistful tone of her and how she won’t look at him again. He was still hurt, but he had hoped them talking in the kitchen had straightened some things out. During the car ride he hadn’t wanted to talk, but it didn’t mean he was still angry with her. Just confused, and growing further confused by the second.

“Oh,” she repeats, “Didn’t Lily say? Her and Nick concocted that dinner in hopes to set us up.”

Harry hums, knowing that because Nick had left out a little part of that plan. That he had been a part of it. He had been talking with Nick about getting to know her better outside of work and how Nick had thought it’d be a good idea to have dinner so he had told Lily and they set it up like a casual dinner party. Harry didn’t know how to respond because her knowing that he was in on the plan might just make matters worse. He really didn’t think things could get much worse, but it seemed that they always managed to make it happen so in the end he decided to keep his mouth shut.

“I don’t know if we’d ever be able to work out differences out for that,” she decides to continue, when Harry stays quiet. She scans the interior of the car and watches Harry for the briefest moment before going back to looking out the window. “Nick said that we challenge each other to grow, but all I see us do is hurt each other.”

Her voice is just above the rain pattering outside the car and Harry thinks it sounds almost melodic if it weren’t for the sadness laced in every word.

“I disagree,” he states before wetting his lips.

“Of course you do,” she laughs in spite of herself.

“Even after all these months together and you still don’t get it. I like you.”

“You don’t like me, I don’t know how you could ever like me,” she shakes her head. “We just...we get under each other’s skin. You can make me so angry sometimes and I know I make you angry too. And when we’re not angry, we’re focussed on something that doesn’t have to do with ourselves.”

“I don’t think what you feel for me is anger,” Harry insists, “Just because something feels burning and fiery, frustrating even, doesn’t mean it’s anger.”

His body shifts closer to the center divide and she turns to face him finally. His eyes are extra dark in this lighting, which is barely there from a streetlamp a ways off. She longs for the comfort of his light green eyes, the soft pale glow of the moss that seems to have been trapped within his iris. Maybe for that reason she unknowingly leans closer to him.

“Then what is it?” She whispers, eyes blinking slowly as her breathing grows strained.

“Passion.”

Immediately, her head is tilting to meet his lips. Her mind knows one thing, she needs to be kissing Harry right now. And then she is. His left hand goes to cup her cheek as his lips attach themselves to hers. His soft lips press to hers in a long searing kiss. They stay there for a moment, pressing all of that passion and frustration into the kiss.

She presses impatiently forward, her lips starting to move more, wanting to kiss him deeper. Harry obliges, parting his lips and kissing her more vigorously. He licks into her open mouth and smiles at the sound she makes in appreciation for his actions.

She’s shifted to have herself kneeling on the leather seat and she’s leaning over the console. One of her hands finds purchase on Harry’s thigh and grasps tightly, her other at the back of his neck, pressing him closer if it were possible.

His chest is pressing against hers as he pulls her closer. He kisses her and his fingertips rub softly at the apple of her cheek. Eventually they run behind the shell of her ear and trail down her neck.

Eventually, she pulls away and stares at Harry. She watches as his eyes flutter open gently. His soft eyelashes dust his cheeks before moving away, allowing his eyes to peer at her in the dark.

Her breathing feels a little irregular after the kissing and she’s sure she is heaving her chest slightly, likely mirroring Harry’s chest as well.

“So, where to now?” She inquires, lips quirked up at her suggestion.

Harry giggles and scratches his nose against his index finger.

Harry doesn’t stay the night, he walks her up to her apartment door though. He kisses her chastley in front of her door and wraps an arm around her waist as he does so. He bids her a goodnight and a promise of seeing her soon.

They don’t see each other for a month. Both of them had been so blissful after the endorphins of kissing their person that they had forgotten that filming had wrapped. They weren’t set to work for a month. Harry texted her the next morning informing her that he’d be in England until filming resumed. She was still going to be in California, filming was moving back to Los Angeles, so she’d be back in her place there. Her family knew she was working, so they had sent her presents ahead to her place instead. Angie, her only true friend in the area, was spending her time with her actual family and Y/N didn’t want to intrude.

So the holidays were going to be spent alone. Those four weeks alone passed surprisingly quickly. She practiced techniques on herself, bought a tiny Christmas tree like the one in A Charlie Brown Christmas, watched A Charlie Brown Christmas and just about every other holiday movie possible. She fell in love with young Hugh Grant and Colin Firth for the thousandth time. She sang carols to herself and decorated her place with decorations from Target. She jammed out to the new Miley Cyrus album and held dance parties for herself in the house. She baked cookies and even attempted a trifle after watching a Great British Bake Off episode. She did and she did all in hopes that her mind wouldn’t wander to the guy who hadn’t called.

Harry texted occasionally, but it was infrequent at best. He was a busy person, she knew that. She knew who he was. And she didn’t want her mind to have enough time to feel sorry for herself. For her to think that she was just somebody to pass the time with while at work, because if she stopped doing things that’s where her mind would wander. Why did her mind spiral like it did? She had no idea, she’d always been like that.

His absence, their separation, made her question if her own feelings were even true. She wondered if when she saw him he would act as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t said their relationship was passionate and she had kissed him until she couldn’t breath.

Too much time alone, she needed some fresh air. On January 2nd, after an uneventful night at home and a lackluster countdown washed down with cheap champagne, she decided to go and walk around near her place. There was a coffee shop that wasn’t extremely expensive that she also liked that she figured she would get coffee from. After a brisk walk, she walked through the store's doors and ordered an iced green tea. As she waited, she watched the other customers around her, wishing to see a friendly face, someone she knew. And seconds later, she was met with half of that wish. Someone she knew, not necessarily a friendly face.

“Autumn.” She states with a grimace when someone taps her on the shoulder and she spins around.

“Y/N? It is you!” Autumn, one of the PA’s from Don’t Worry Darling who was especially in Harry’s business, exclaims overly happy as per usual.

Y/N bites the inside of her cheek and gives a tight lipped smile, trying her best to be cordial.

“How’s your holiday been!” Autumn asks.

“Great. You?”

“So great!” She’s quick to lean closer and say in a hushed tone, “But I miss working on set, especially getting to see that Harry everyday. He’s just so gorgeous.”

A breath gets stuck in Y/N’s chest at the mention of Harry’s name. Her brows can’t help but raise a bit at Autumn’s comment. Even lowering her voice didn’t make it feel alright to talk about Harry like this. He was her friend after all.

“Sure.” Y/N nods abruptly, realizing Autumn wants some recognition of what she’s just said. Y/N’s eyes glance around the room, hoping for an out like her drink is ready or something - no such luck.

“I mean,” Autumn keeps talking, of course, “You’re so lucky. You get to see him shirtless, like what? Everyday practically? Don’t tell me you don’t miss that just a little bit!”

“I miss working,” Y/N says, avoiding what Autumn is trying to get her to say. “And Harry’s my friend, could you maybe not talk about him like that with me?”

Autumn’s eyes widened in shock, her lips parted dumbfounded by her co-worker's response. Y/N’s name is called for her drink and she’s thankful for the serendipitous nature of that sound getting her out of the awkward situation she had just been in.

When she gets back to her apartment, she surprisingly has a text from Harry himself. She’s always telling everyone; speak of the devil and he will appear, in one way or another. It’s a Happy New Year well wish followed by a separate text asking how she was.

It was sent a minute ago so she decides to try and give him a call. She preferred talking on the phone over texting.

It rings a few times and then, again surprisingly, he picks up.

“‘Lo?” His voice is nice and deep and sounding extra British after his weeks surrounded by family and such.

“Harry,” she sighs contentedly.

“Happy to hear your voice,” he says her name and she can tell he’s smiling just like she is, from ear to ear.

She bites at her lip, hearing him say her name.

“I’m well, thanks,” she says after a moment of happy silence.

“What?” Harry laughs, confused.

“You texted asking me how I was and I called to respond.”

“Got it,” Harry chuckles, and she hears him shuffling around, likely sitting down on something.

“How are you?” She continues.

“Good, starting to wind down for the day,” he lists off the things he’s been doing over the past few days. Some of it work related, some of it family activities. All of it fun, he insists. “What did you do today?” He finishes, knowing she was an avid activity doer based off of the snaps she had sent him over the past few weeks.

“Tidied my place, went to the coffee shop and got iced tea…” she tries to think and then she gasps, “Oh! And I saw Autumn, one of the Don’t Worry Darling PA’s -”

“The one who’s obsessed with me?”

“Exactly!” She laughs, “And I may have kind of told her off… accidentally.”

“Accidentally told her off?” Harry repeats, incredulous. “How’d you do that?”

“Well,” she doesn’t want to tell him the rest, but there’s also a tiny part of her that really does, “She was gushing about you, which, ew. And then she asked if I missed seeing you shirtless everyday.”

“Well do you miss seeing me shirtless?” Harry smirks.

“Oh shut up!” She’s quick to reply.

“So you do?”

“If I really wanted to see you shirtless, all I’d have to do is type in “Harry Styles sh” and it would come up,” she rolls her eyes even though she knows he can’t see them. “Wouldn’t even need the whole word. Guaranteed.”

“Uh-huh?” Harry questions still, “If you want me to send you shirtless pictures that the rest of the world hasn’t seen, Y/N, all you have to do is ask.”

“I do not want you to send me shirtless pictures of yourself!” She exclaims. She feels like jumping out of a window right now. This conversation had escalated so quickly and she felt herself flushing, maybe even perspiring a little bit. And she also knew that she also would probably like it if he sent her shirtless pictures, which made this whole thing worse.

“Offer stands,” he says, smug as he normally was, happy he got to banter with her again. It had been dull without her, if he was honest with himself. “If you ever find yourself in need, just send a cheeky text and I’ll whip one out for you, no matter where I am or what I’m doing.”

“See this sounds like you’re saying something sincere, but really you’re just telling me you’ll send me nudes at any time.”

“No one said anything about nudes!”

“Shirtless, nude, sounds like you’re getting too caught up in the details, hon.”

“No!” He protests, “You’re the one who’s supposed to be flustered right now, not me!”

“Aww, you’re flustered,” She coos.

Harry groans. “Whatever. I’ll be back on the 8th, be ready to go out on the 9th. I’m taking you on a proper date.”

“How do you know I’m going to say yes?” She bite her lip again, she’s really sweating now. She couldn’t believe he had just asked her out on a date out of nowhere. Out of them just joking about nudes. Maybe she didn’t know Harry as well as she thought.

“Because you called me,” he says confidently.

“I call everyone.”

“But I don’t offer shirtless pictures to everyone.”

“That has nothing to do with me saying yes to this date.”

“Or does it?”

She laughs at his words, at how his voice still manages to convey every facial expression and quirk of his lips. She knows there’s a smile on his lips as he stares in the distance, imagining her face just as she is his.

“Yes.” She smiles.

“Yes!” He repeats happily.

She hears him stand up and spin around possibly and she chuckles slightly, amused at the silly man across the world who had seemed to have stolen her heart.

“See you soon, Harry.”

“Not soon enough.”

On the Saturday of their date, Harry insists on picking her up. He meets her at her door and winks at her after pulling away from their short hug. He laces his hand in hers and she follows behind him as he all but drags her to his car that is downstairs. He seems giddy. His hair has grown out in the month he’s been gone and she knows they’ll cut it when filming resumes. He’s wearing Gucci flared blue jeans - she knows from the big logo on the bottom left pant leg - a ‘Waiting for Sunset’ graphic tee beneath a black cardigan with little animals and items knitted in it. And of course, his dirty ass vans. She had hoped that maybe Christmas would bring him a fresh pair from someone, but it seemed there was no such luck.

Either way, he looked good and upon scanning his outfit, she was pleased that she had dressed correctly for the occasion, knowing one of the sins of Los Angeles was being improperly dressed wherever you might go. Harry had said casual, but casual can always mean so many different things. She got it right with light wash high-waisted levi’s, a brown cream rib-knit long sleeve that buttoned like it could be a cardigan, and some fun chunky boots that added some height to her normal stature. She had contemplated between this and possibly twenty other tops and a few other bottoms. Landing on this felt right, plus it didn’t clash with Harry, the color of her shoes actually matched the color of the snake on the cardigan.

They both compliment each other on the way out to his car and she giggles when he stops and twirls her around. He says he didn’t get a “proper look” before for him to compliment her adequately. After the twirl, he nods and starts them off again, complimenting the specific pieces of her clothes and says she looks beautiful again. His giddiness was contagious.

“No Range tonight,” she muses when Harry stops them in front of a Mercedes-Benz cream convertible, top up.

“Not working,” he replies, unlocking the car with the key into the passenger’s side door handle.

She smiles and slides into the car and watches him jog around to his side and unlock it as well.

“Tonight is going to be fantastic,” he says, leaning over the console and kissing her cheek, just beside her lips.

And when he pulls away with that smug smile of his, she knows he kissed her there on purpose. But the little tease only makes her smile more. He was good at this. And he was right.

The night was fantastic. As was every night after. And she learned that Harry was so much more than anything she ever thought. She counted herself lucky to be loved by a man like him.

#harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles oneshot #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #enemies to lovers #dwd!harry #idk I always feel like theres more I need to put in here but idk #pls leave feedback and reblog

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jadedxrealityw · 4 years ago

Text

-Truth Or Dare- Pansy Parkinson x Female Reader

☼-☪-☼

Kody: Happy Lesbian Visibility Day!

Movie/Show: Harry Potter

House and Year: Slytherin / 7th year

Request: Good morning/night! Hope you’re having a lovely day and make sure to drink water ! Can you write a Pansy x Fem!reader where they’re playing truth or dare and get dared to makeout in front of the people they’re playing with

Possible Triggers / Warnings: cursing, makeout, slytherin’s being dumbasses, if you don’t like girls kissing unfollow me please,

☼-☪-☼

slytherin’s were considered the most poised and proper house since most came from wealthy pure-blood families who acted like they were born with a stick up there ass. To everyone else the house of Slytherin was also the rudest people alive.

those people have never been in your friend group clearly.

it was true, most of you came from wealth, but you also had shitty, racist, probably homophobic parents. It was the main thing that brought you together, the fact no one else knew what you had to go through just so you weren’t written out of an will or disowned.

it sounded shallow to most outsiders, but you needed the money to start your own life and finally be free to do what you want without the constant reminder from your parents about how to act, what to wear, who to hang out with, how to be a proper lady and all that bullshit. It was suffocating.

enough of the emotional shit. It was a godsend that school year’s at Hogwarts were as long as they were because it meant you had all the time in the world to hangout with your best friends. Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, and Pansy Parkinson.

Draco was the biggest hot head you knew and easily offended, but he also had a big heart under all that angst. When he attached to someone it was impossible to get rid of him. He clung onto all of you like a lifeline and even if he’s a little overbearing you loved him all the same.

Blaise was a calm collected fellow, very sarcastic and condescending sometimes. He talked so proper you couldn’t tell if he was insulting you really. Like Draco he also had a big heart, but would never ever show it unless you was with with Theo and to Theo only.

speaking of Nott. Theo was the ultimate loner avoided all of you for your first year of Hogwarts, then he met Blaise and they connected very well. You all thought it was funny when Theo would be all quiet around you and suddenly light up like a star when Blaise walked into the room.

he was like that with all of you now though

and Pansy. She was the embodiment of ‘fuck you and your mom’ kind of person. She took no ones shit and you admired her for that. She was also a giant flirt towards you and only you. Compliment your looks, body, anything really. You thought of it as a joke t first and casually flirted back.

you suppose Pansy saw that as an invitation to try something more. She’d randomly place her hand somewhere on you and trace random shapes in agonizing slow patterns. A tease at it’s finest. There were also the sides of her you found comforting.

you were always prone to panic attacks, something that developed from your parents nonetheless. She would always cradle your face and make sure you were breathing just fine or slip you chocolate frogs randomly because she knew you liked sweets.

she was your best friend, but with time your feelings changed and every little thing she did set fire through you like no other. Your heart would start beating so fast you were afraid she would hear it if she got to close. Sometimes you wished she did

unbeknownst to you Draco, Blaise, and Theo all knew both you and Pansy liked each other and were both pussyfooting around your feelings. Pansy always thought she wasn’t good enough for you and you on the other hand thought that she just didn’t like you like that at all.

the boy’s were adamant to see you two together

☼-☪-☼

every other friday night all of you would crowd into Pansy’s room to have a sleepover- well you stopped calling it that after fourth year because Blaise said it was to immature for your guy’s age. He shut up real quick after Pansy said he wasn’t invited then.

each of you had your sacred tasks bestowed upon you if you wanted to be allowed entry to the dark cave that was Pansy Parkinson’s private dorm. Draco was in charge of getting butterbeer, Theo got sweets, Blaise had to collect extra pillows and blankets for you all to sleep on.

and you and Pansy would watch idly as they ran round for said things.

“Finally, only took you three an hour” Pansy taunted as the three Slytherin boys walked through the door “Your not the one sneaking butterbeer into the dorms at two in the morning you lazy ass” Draco snapped back, holding the case of glass bottles in his hand.

Theo set the basket of sweets on Pansy’s trunk that was at the foot of her bed so he could help Blaise set up the blankets on the floor “Yeah shove off” she waves her hand before falling back onto the bed “Where’s Y/n? Is she not coming? She’s okay right?” BLaise asked, looking around the room.

Pansy had to hold back a fit of laughter “She’s in the bathroom changing. Your dad is showing by the way” she snickers. Blaise scoffs and goes back to putting down the pillows. “Why does she need to change?” Theo spoke up, taking a seat on a pillow.

a grin made its way to Pansy’s face “Spilled some water on her clothes- she spilled water on her clothes” she quickly corrects herself. Draco narrows his eyes and looks at Blaise who gives him a knowing look. “Right” Draco says, knowing full well what happened.

the bathroom door opened and Pansy sat up quickly. You walked out, running a hand through your hair as the Slytherin girl eyed you up and down, unable to hide her grin at her shorts and matching black shirt on your body. “Hey Sexy” Pansy sends you a wink.

fuck

you have learned to tone down your emotions around her, but still- “Hey” you reply simply nad go over to sit at the foot of the bed “Sorry for the wait” you say and they shake their heads “It’s fine, want some butterbeer?” Draco asked and you nod rapidly.

Draco begins to distribute the butterbeer amongst you all and that's when the chatting started. Pansy sat behind you and wrapped her arms around your waste, one hand holding her bottle of butter beer and the other wrapped tightly around you.

at one point she slid her hand up your shirt, stopping at your belly button to rub the cold metal of her ring along your skin. It made you choke on your butterbeer a bit and cough up “Are you alright?” Blaise asked and you nodded quickly, pointing to your throat “Went down the wrong pipe”

Blaise seemed to believe your answer or faked it well because he went back to talking to Theo.

☼-☪-☼

an hour later

you all had pretty much devoured most of the sweets and were out of topics to talk about though Pansy could continue to insult Draco’s hair until her dying breath. “I’m fucking bored” Pansy whined, laying her head on your shoulder. Y/n.Exe has stopped working.

“Not my damn problem” Draco retorts, popping a flavour bean into his mouth. You exhale, shaking your head. Weren’t your friends just the nicest people alive. “Good thing i didn’t fucking ask you then huh Malfoy!?” Pansy shouts. Blaise copies your previous actions and sighs.

he reached up to rub his temples “May we not yell for the sake of my head and Theo’s” he says. Pansy was about to go in one Blaise when you spoke up “Yah, your yelling in my ears Pans” Draco shot her a smirk, knowing she wouldn’t yell after that.

Pansy flips him off with a grin “Sit and spin on it” she mouths to him and he just shoots her a glare “We could play truth to dare, heard a couple Hufflepuff girls talking about it. They said it was fun” Theo cut in, looking at his hands. Blaise’s face scrunched up a bit t the idea, but he didn’t say anything.

“Yes- your mine bitch” Pansy lets out a maniacal laugh as she points at Draco who looked more weirded out then scared “I’ll play since Theo is, what about you Y/n?” Blaise questioned. You shrug your shoulders “Sure, i’m always down to try things once”

Pansy’s face lights up “Thank you babes. Now who goes first?” she asked. Blaise lifted his wand nd tapped the empty Butterbeer bottle, causing it to levitate “Pansy, spin it” he says. She shrugs and reaches over your shoulder to spin the bottle.

it took a couple seconds before it landed on the Slytherin prince himself. Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes “Fuck my life” he muttered as Pansy gave him a sickenly sweet smile “Draco, truth or dare prick” she said, keeping her wide smile. Draco looked like he was weighing his options in his mind.

“Truth”

“What house did you want to be in when you were ten?” She asked. What a weird question. Draco’s face darkened s if he had seen a boggart, before he scowled “You fucking bitch” he seethed making you snicker a bit as well as Theo. “Say it~” she says in a sing song voice.

“Fine!” he shouts and takes a deep breath, crossing his arms like an angry child “I wanted to be in Gryffindor, like Harry Potter” the room was silent for a moment as you all stared at him blankly “Loser” Pansy laughs and he throws his arms in the air.

“I hate you”

“Okay cool it Gryffindor” BLaise interjected, making all of you snicker. Draco narrowed his eyes at his mate “Your laughing now Zabini, just wait until i get you and your fucked” he threatens, but Blaise doesn’t have an reaction “Right...good luck with that”

Draco spins the bottle and you all watch as it spins around for a couple seconds until it stops on the one and only Blaise Zabini “Well shit” he says with a deadpan look. Pansy gasped and covered her mouth “I can’t believe dad just cursed in front of us” she mutters to you, making you smile.

“Truth or dare Zabini?” Draco asked, a evil smirk on his face. Sometimes you forgot you were surrounded by Slytherin’s and your friends were assholes. “Dare since i’m not a pussy unlike my fellow housemates” Blaise grins, making Draco shake his head.

“Tell Theo you love him...in front of us”

now Blaise wasn’t one for PDA and neither was Theo, probably one of the reasons they fit so well together. Draco was a dick for this one “I choose truth” he said instantly. You look at Theo who’s half smile turned into a grin. What was he planning? His face drops to a frown and he looks at Blaise.

“You don’t love me?” he asked, his lip quivering a bit. What in the? All of you looked at Theo as Blaise stared at his boyfriend in shock “What?! No of course i do!” Blaise protests, but Theo doesn’t break from his character “Then say it” he persits.

all of you were stunned into silence, even loud mouth Pansy. Blaise looked like he was going to breakdown, which was an interesting look on his face actually “I- uh- what? I-” ne sputters, not knowing how to answer. Theo looks down at his lap “It’s fine i get it” he replies.

he starts to sniffle, to make Blaise think he was crying which seemed to push - him over the edge. He grabs Theo’s face and makes him look at him “Oh my- i love you Theo. I’m in love with you. What has gotten into you?” he asked rapidly. Theo finally breaks and gives him a tired smile.

“I love you too. Who’s next?” he says, breaking away from Blaise who looked like he just went through all five stages of grief and is deciding to go through it all a second time. “Damn- that's tough” Pansy says, breaking the tension “Fuck you” Blaise snaps instantly making you all go wide eyed.

you guys needed a dad swear jar

Blaise huffs and spins the bottle, his usual smile with bad intentions coming back to his face once it lands on Pansy, who just sighs, mumbling some curses under her breath “Pans, truth or dare?” he asked. Pansy eyed him with a glare before smiling “Dare” she says.

you knew it was a bad idea

“I dare you to make out with Y/n” he said casually, causing you to choke on your butterbeer “Excuse me!?” you interject “I didn’t laugh at you!” he shrugs his shoulders “Your just collateral damage Y/n, very sorry” he says. but you knew he wasn’t.

“This is bullshit” you mutter, though the thought was making your heartbeat against your chest. Pansy shrugs nonchalantly before using her hand to tilt your head up so you were looking t the ceiling. This way she could reach you since she was sat behind you.

Pansy leans down and plants her lips onto yours, leaving you shocked. You lose your grip of your butterbeer, causing it to fall, but Theo catches it. Pansy Parkinson was kissing you, the girl you fell in love with. This wasn’t a teasing touch or flirty comment. It was the real thing.

and you loved it

you reach up to put your hand on the nape of her neck to pull her in for deeper kiss, feeling her grin against your lips. As you both got more heated the boys slowly left the room, leaving you two alone to do whatever the hell really. Good thing too, because it was only going to go further.

Pany’s free hand reaches up to wrap round your neck, not squeezing, but just gripping firmly to keep you in place. Fuck. Her tongue ran along your bottom lip and you opened your mouth slightly for her to slip her tongue in and connect it with yours.

you always forget she has tongue ring

it was nice to latch onto, hearing Pansy moan into your mouth was an added plus as well. You guessed Pansy was fed up with the current position because she pulled away and pushed you roughly back onto the bed, pulling your legs so you were closer to her.

she leaned down, hovering over you “I should probably tell you i’m in love with you before anything else happens” hse spoke, a wide smile spreading across her face “Why?” you asked. “because- answer the question Y/n, do you love me too?” she spoke, you could tell she was getting anxious.

“Of course i love you. I have for a long time” you say, matching her smile “You're telling me i could have been kissing you like this sooner?” she asked with a small pout. You reach up and loop your arms around her neck “Then let’s not waste anymore time then huh?”

Pansy grins before kissing you again.

☼-☪-☼

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Kody: How come every Pansy fic i write so far is just really horny? Anyways, i haven’t slept yet and peace!

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lazywonderlvnd · 4 years ago

Note

*hesitantly steps in the box* Umm.. soo.. I was listening to Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift again and that song (is awesome btw if you haven't listened to it already) just gives me such MAJOR drarry vibes .. like -

" And I screamed, 'for whatever it's worth I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?' He looks up grinning like a devil. "

Like if that's not drarry I'd chomp my pillows. So .. *twiddling thumbs* could you pls write something with that line as a prompt?? Pretty please 🥺🥺🥺❤️❤️❤️ maybe use the song as inspiration.. idk? Whatever you like. ALSO, don't forget I STILL LOVE YOU that ain't changing yet and you haven't seen the last of me! Imma tail after you for eternity and you better take that as the threat it is! *throws love at you* BYE!! ❤️❤️ *vaults outside the box*

my sweetest most loved angel!! thank u so much for this prompt based on a BOP i was obsessed w when the album first came out. it got sm longer than it was meant to be, so it can be found on ao3 as well!! i hope u like it ilysm ❤️❤️❤️❤️

warnings for minor drug use (weed) and implied suicide of a minor character (lucius, extremely vague reference but pls be aware!)

rating: e word count: ~5k

When Pansy asked him how it started, Draco discovered that he didn’t know what to tell her.

Technically, though, it had started at Ernie Macmillan’s party in the beginning of summer, with the cloying scent of Freesias and Freedom Roses (“Imported from the States,” Ernie told Draco pompously, when he asked) and all those string-lights dangling from the cedar pergola, perennial balls of fire inside their clear bubbles like tiny trapped suns. Cheap beer in plastic cups, Marlboro cigarettes, and some stupid Muggle game ... darts.

Technically.

* * *

“Get off me, Potter,” Draco says in a failed whisper. He’s laughing and drunk and fuzzy warm under a sprawling summer’s night sky that looks like black paint. Potter tastes like Guinness every time he kisses him, and his hands are surprisingly soft. In direct opposition to his own command he pulls Potter in by the face and glues their mouths back together ravenously. The alcohol makes him sloppy (he likes it, though — the sloppiness of it) and Potter’s skin is warm where Draco slides his hand under an ugly Muggle band T-shirt to touch.

Around the corner, he can hear music coming from the patio where nearly every single one of their former classmates are gathered, drinking and laughing and getting along famously with a much-needed buffer of five years between them and their Hogwarts days.

Much-needed for himself and Potter as well. Apparently.

He sees him sometimes, at get-togethers like this or around the Ministry, once or twice at a dinner party thrown by a mutual friend. They’re always cordial. He hasn’t insulted Potter to his face in five years.

Except for tonight, when he couldn’t help himself loudly drawing attention to the similarities between Potter’s hair and one of the shrubs in the garden. But they’re kissing now round the side of the house and because of that he’s quite glad for his slip. And it’s their five-year reunion, so. What would it be without some bickering between the two of them?

Potter presses him into the bricks and snogs him breathless, only he keeps grinning and laughing and ruining everything just when Draco starts losing himself in it.

“Quit laughing,” he scolds him. “You’re the worst, Potter. No etiquette at all.”

“That’s rude,” Potter says. His breath wafts across Draco’s mouth. His eyes are excessively green behind their round frames, which have not changed since their school days. The scar is mostly hidden beneath his wild fringe, save for the very bottom where it slashes neatly through a dark eyebrow and touches his eyelid. “I can’t help it, I’m pissed good and proper.”

His hand moves to Draco’s hip and even through the thickness of the alcohol coating his brain like a muffler he feels that touch clear and ripe as daybreak.

“So that’s why you’ve decided to snog me rather than …” He waves a hand vaguely, in lieu of the proper witticism with which he might normally have trounced Potter. “You know. Beat me to a pulp.”

“I only did that one time,” Potter says, grinning. Grinning and moving his thumb in circles on Draco’s hip. “And it was because you were being a twat. And I didn’t beat you to a pulp. You’re so dramatic.”

“Semantics,” Draco says. “I had a bloody nose.”

“And you deserved it.”

“Now who’s being rude?”

Potter kisses him again.

Guinness and Freesias.

* * *

“Macmillan’s party,” he told Pansy. “He kissed me.”

“So that’s where you disappeared to.” She looked smug. Her inch-long nails were sharpened to a point and painted a glossy black, and she drummed them against her cheek, the way a cat flicks its tail. “I’m surprised you kept it from me this whole time.”

“Well,” said Draco, lowering his gaze to his glass of wine and watching it flirt dangerously with the lip as he swirled it. His cheeks felt warm, but he wasn’t embarrassed. “We snuck around.”

Right, maybe a little embarrassed. Mostly conflicted.

“Oh?” For a single syllable the laughter underneath was remarkably transparent.

He looked up, eyebrows lifted. “Yes,” he said a little defensively. “For obvious reasons. At first it was just sex. A lot of it, so he usually came here. Apparently Granger and the Weasel are notorious for popping round his place unexpectedly.”

* * *

He feels opened up all over again every time Potter fucks into him, unhurried and so careful. His hand is hot on Draco’s thigh, both of them sticky with sweat and come. This has to be their third round at least, and Draco’s sluggish brain insists it might actually be four.

An open window lets in the late afternoon air, humid and drowsy and perfumed heavily with flowers (a la Macmillan, Draco planted Freesias and Freedom Roses outside his bedroom window and helped them along to full bloom with some careful magic). Potter’s hair is damp with sweat — from exertion and the relentless heat of July — and Draco slides his fingers into it, tangles them and pulls the way he’s learned Potter likes. If he’s honest, he’s harboured a very secret and very desperate yearning to touch Potter’s hair since he was quite young. He doesn’t know why.

Well, maybe he knows why.

Potter makes a quiet, whimpered noise that curls Draco’s toes. He speeds up his hips, closing in on his orgasm and putting his face in Draco’s neck even though it’s too fucking hot for it.

“Fuck,” Draco whines. He tries to lift his leg higher, wrap it around Potter’s waist to get that perfect angle, but they’re too slick with sweat and he lets out a frustrated noise when it falls back to the bed. “Potter,” he says helplessly, arching into each thrust and shaking with the effort. This third (fourth?) orgasm is building too slowly, sitting there hard and stubborn and heavy in his gut and refusing to be coaxed to completion. He’s dripping with the effort, muscles quivering. “Please — I need —”

But he seems to have figured it out for himself. He scoots forward, lifting Draco’s arse higher off the bed and bending him nearly in half. The angle helps him go deeper and he’s suddenly nudging Draco’s oversensitive prostate every time he fucks back in.

“Right there,” Draco gasps, tensing as this new angle lights a fire under his elusive orgasm. His cock is leaking but he doesn’t have the strength or energy to get a hand around it. Potter’s grunting with the effort of fucking him, sweat dripping down his temples and making his neck and torso gleam. “Right there, god, right there, please, I’m so close —”

Potter braces himself and redoubles his efforts, and it’s like he’s reached inside Draco and sunk his claws into that building storm in his belly because suddenly it’s ripped right out of him in a colossal wave of euphoria that approaches too much, cock spurting untouched between them . Potter keeps moving inside him while he rides it out, and at some point he feels the warm, wet explosion of Potter emptying in him, mumbling incoherent things that include Draco’s name.

They come down together too. Draco is clutching Potter’s arms and trying to catch his breath and Potter is trembling and clutching him back like an anchor in a veritable ocean of sensation.

It’s like this every time.

When Potter drops down onto the bed beside him Draco rolls over and kisses him, long and deep and satisfying, and Potter reciprocates with the kind of intensity that is completely unique to him as a person.

“That one was particularly good,” says Potter, and Draco laughs.

When he feels like moving, he knows that Potter will get up and go to Draco’s kitchen and make tea for both of them, and he won’t need to ask what Draco likes, because he remembered after the first time. They’ll drink it naked in bed as the sun sets on another endless summer day and transforms before their eyes into a humid and pungent summer night, in the midst of which they will fuck at least three more times, and Potter will keep smelling like sweat and bergamot and boy, and Draco will keep feeling starved for him.

And they won’t talk about it.

* * *

“And?” Pansy said.

“And what?”

“You said ‘at first,’” she pointed out, and arched a groomed eyebrow. “When did it turn into more than just sex?”

Draco tamped down on a smile, because that would have been more emotion than he cared to show at the moment. To Pansy or to himself.

He swirled his wine again and took a long sip, stalling. He wanted — needed, really — to talk this out with her, but he was becoming aware of an uncomfortable heaviness in his chest which was suggesting to him that he didn’t want to share everything. Not because he was embarrassed, but, well … it was private. It was between him and Harry.

“There was this one night he came over later than he was supposed to because of work,” Draco said. The memory stirred some emotion. He hadn’t thought of it in a while. “He had this bloody huge takeout bag of Thai food.”

* * *

He sets it down on Draco’s desk, takes out a container, and after toeing off his shoes drops sideways onto Draco’s bed with it and uses chopsticks to shovel in a mouthful of noodles. Draco watches this in awe.

“Want some?” Harry asks once he’s swallowed (small blessings). There’s grease around his mouth. “There’s a million other things in the bag but you have to get it yourself. I’m dead tired.”

Draco thinks of asking what the hell is going on, because they’re supposed to be fucking by now, but something stops him. Harry really does look exhausted but quite content eating his Thai food on Draco’s bed, and he doesn’t have the heart to berate him for it or remind him that they’re fuck buddies, not friends, and that if he’d wanted to eat and lounge about perhaps he should’ve stayed at home.

And the food really does smell good.

He gets up and fishes another container out of the bag that turns out to be some sort of heavenly-smelling marinated beef, which he brings back to the bed. Harry’s rolled onto his back and has the container of noodles balanced on his stomach.

“They thought they found a Horcrux on a raid,” he says. His voice is perfectly casual, but Draco thinks he can see something troubled in his eyes. He has one foot crossed over the other and it’s bouncing anxiously; he doesn’t think Harry’s aware of doing it. “Wasn’t. Obviously.”

“But they needed your expert advice to be sure.”

“Yeah.” Harry looks at him, then his food. “Is that the beef?”

“Yes it is.”

“Good?”

“Haven’t tried it yet.”

He opens the container and chooses a piece, but instead of lifting it to his mouth he follows some crazy impulse and hovers it over Harry’s instead.

“Open, Scarhead,” he says. Harry blinks but does it, and Draco drops it in. He smiles, then chews.

“Brilliant.”

* * *

“We ate it instead of fucking. It was the first time I realised something had shifted.”

“And you let it shift?”

The question gave him pause. He didn’t answer right away, mulling it over. It made it sound as if he’d had a choice, and that wasn’t quite right.

“It already had,” he said finally. “It wasn’t a matter of letting it; by the time I noticed, it had already happened. Otherwise he wouldn’t have come over with the food.”

“But you did let it continue,” said Pansy. She wasn’t antagonising him, nor accusing him of anything. She looked amused, but not in a way that was at his expense. Pansy was both a twat and a fiercely good friend, the combination of which meant she would do nothing more or less than hold up a mirror and force you to look at yourself, gruesome as the experience inevitably wound up being. “Even after you realised he had feelings for you.”

Draco swallowed. He’d not heard it said aloud before now.

“Yes,” he said. “It felt good. Knowing he fancied me.”

* * *

Harry’s shameless in his staring.

He stands in the doorway of the ensuite bathroom and watches Draco like he’s been invited to do so. Draco pretends not to notice, stretched out in a tub full of bubbles facing the opposite way. There’s incense burning, and candles. Harry is completely silent, but Draco could feel those eyes on him from across a crowded hall.

They fucked a few hours ago and fell asleep afterwards. Draco pretended not to think about it, but had actually made the conscious decision to let Harry continue sleeping when he woke up and decided he wanted a bath.

When he can’t take it anymore he opens his eyes and tilts his head back and a little to the side, just enough that he gets Potter in his peripherals.

“Well?” he says.

“Well what?”

“Join me, won’t you?”

Harry snorts. Then there’s a quiver of magic in the air, and a small, utilitarian chair appears out of thin air beside the tub. Harry sits down in it. He’s holding the joint they’d only gotten halfway through earlier.

He’s in his jeans and nothing else, all limbs and sparse chest hair, and when he crosses a leg over the other one, elbow resting on his knee as he hits the joint, Draco feels a bone-deep attraction to him that’s beyond physical.

“May I?” Draco asks. Harry hands it over and Draco inhales deeply before returning it. The humidity of the room mixes with the smoke and the smell of marijuana, pungent and cloying like the flowers.

After a length of silence, Draco says, “Will you read me something?”

“Will I what?”

He takes his wand from the floor and Summons a book from the shelf in his room — one of his poetry collections comes sweeping in through the cracked door and into Harry’s lap. Harry sticks the joint between his lips and starts rifling through it with his glasses all fogged up.

When he starts reading Byron (“I had a dream, which was not all a dream”) Draco smiles and sinks deeper into the hot water and bubbles, letting Harry’s voice lull him into a pleasant stupor.

* * *

“So you led him on,” said Pansy. “Because you liked his attention.”

He stared at her, then let his gaze drop to his wine again. Had he?

“It sounds bad when you say it like that.”

“Well,” she said, smiling wryly, “I’m only saying it as you’ve told it to me. Maybe if it sounds bad, it is bad. Some things are that simple, darling. Unless there’s more to it.”

“Like what?” he said, not looking at her. There was a touch of pouty defiance in his voice he knew Pansy would detect instantly. He heard her sigh.

“What exactly happened yesterday, Draco? You didn’t give me any context.”

“What context do you need?” he muttered. “He told me he loved me.”

* * *

They’ve finished an entire bottle of wine between them. He’s not drunk, but he’s pleasantly buzzed. Harry’s sprawled on his back, T-shirt rucked up just below his navel so Draco can see the dark trail of hair leading below his jeans. There’s something implicitly erotic about the movement of his chest when he breathes, his hands folded behind his head, one leg stretched the length of the bed and the other bent at the knee.

He opens his eyes suddenly and grins when he sees Draco looking at him.

“That wine just made me tired,” he says.

“So go to sleep,” says Draco. He takes a last swig, emptying it, and sets the bottle aside on his night table. He stretches his arms over his head and arches his back, yawning widely, thinking perhaps he’ll give into the tempting allure of sleep as well when Harry says, “I told Hermione about us.”

So he’s not sleeping, then. His stomach clenches hard and a completely irrational sense of panic rises in his throat.

“Us?” he says slowly, sitting up straighter. “What ‘us’?”

Harry looks at him upside-down, then rolls over and rises to his knees. He stares at Draco blankly.

“‘What us?’” he repeats.

“Yes,” says Draco. “What ‘us’?”

“Us,” Harry says. His voice is lower than usual. The word is starting to sound weird and lose meaning. “You and me, Draco.”

“‘You and me?’ Harry, there’s no you and me. We’re just fucking. What do you … what do you mean, you told Granger? Told her what?”

Harry looks … well, he looks fucking crushed. And angry. Draco forces himself not to look away.

“I told her I’d been seeing you,” he says quietly. There’s something … not threatening, but close to it, in his voice.

“Sure,” says Draco. “I see you three times a week, sometimes four. I s’pose if you feel the need to fill Granger in on everything you do with every second of your day —”

“Shut up, Draco,” Harry says. “You know what I meant.”

Draco glares at him. He gets off the bed, slightly lightheaded from the wine, horrified by the emotions welling up inside him right behind the panic, and he points at his bedroom door.

“Get out,” he says.

“Are you serious?”

“Go!” he says loudly, voice rising. “If you’re gonna start turning this into something it definitely is not then get out of my flat, Potter.” As usual the window is open, but it’s the third of September and getting chilly finally and Draco’s Freesias and Freedom Roses started wilting last week. There’s a chilly breeze coming into that room that is utterly barren of the sweet smells of summer he associates with Harry these days. “It’s time we ended this anyway,” he says. “Summer’s over.”

“So?” From his position kneeling on Draco’s bed Harry shouldn’t feel imposing at all, but he does. There’s no sparkle of humour in his eyes, none of the softness Draco’s gotten used to seeing there. He looks like someone who’s realised they’ve been betrayed.

Worse than that. Someone who’s been betrayed and realises they should have seen it coming.

“What the fuck does summer have to do with anything?”

“Ever heard of a summer fling, Potter? We’re not ‘seeing each other’.”

Harry finally gets off the bed. Draco’s stomach clenches again, more painfully this time. He doesn’t feel bad, he tells himself — this is Harry’s fault. His fault for making a big deal out of something easy and fun and, most of all, temporary. For ruining this with feelings.

“That’s not what this was,” Harry says. It’s not an argumentative tone; rather, he sounds disappointed. Devastated, and disappointed. And that look of betrayal, like he’s surprised but not … that surprised.

That hurts.

“This was as real as it gets, Draco,” he says matter-of-factly. “You and I don’t have the capability of doing anything as shallow as a fling.”

“Well, Potter,” says Draco, straining to maintain his level voice, “congratulations, because that is the most disgusting, romanticised, Gryffindorian piece of shit I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah?” He grabs up his wand from the bedside table and stuffs it into his jeans pocket. “Well here’s another: I love you. You complete fucking prick.”

Draco stares after him as he leaves the room, cowed for the moment. He hears Harry take the Floo powder off his mantle, hears the fire start, and then the sound of Potter disappearing.

And he feels hollow suddenly.

* * *

“And he said it completely out of the blue?”

Draco set his wine aside. He was suddenly feeling too sick to put anything else in his body.

“Sort of,” he said quietly, avoiding her eyes. “He was trying to make something out of nothing. He was just making a point, trying to guilt me, I don’t even think he meant it.”

Pansy said nothing for so long that Draco finally looked up. She had an eyebrow raised.

“Do you really believe that?” she said.

Draco didn’t answer right away. He glanced at the bottle of wine on the table and thought about the way it always tasted a little sweeter on Harry’s lips.

“I don’t know,” he said. “No. But it doesn’t change anything. It was a summer thing, not a … a relationship, for crying out loud. Like I’d date Potter.”

“Why not?”

Draco scoffed. “Why not? Pansy, please. He’s a …”

“A …?”

“He’s an idiot! He’s Potter! He’s …” He couldn’t think of the right word, something bad enough to express the audacity, the gall , for Potter to think even for a second that they could …

“Draco Malfoy,” said Pansy. She was smirking. “You love him too.”

Had he felt sick before? Now he was going to be sick.

“I never would’ve imagined it,” she went on, seeming to take pleasure from his outrage and humiliation. The bint. “Look at you, you’re blushing! Oh my god,” she laughed. And then she stopped laughing, and instead the weight of her own words appeared to descend on her. “Oh my god. You do, don’t you? You are arse over tits for Harry Potter —”

He was up and out of his chair before she’d finished the last word, absurdly, embarrassingly on the verge of tears all of a sudden.

“Draco —”

“I’m glad this can serve as your entertainment for the week, Pansy,” he said. A tear rolled down his cheek — could he be any more histrionic? — and he brushed it away furiously.

“Draco, no —”

“Call Blaise, tell him!” he shouted. “You two can have a good laugh over it —”

“Draco —”

“Poor Draco’s fucked himself over again, what a stupid wanker!”

Pansy got up. He slapped her hand away when she reached for him, but she only came at him again and grabbed it this time when he swatted at her, enfolding it in both of hers. He closed his eyes and hiccoughed and two more tears came.

“Darling, will you please listen to me?” she said softly. It sounded eerily like his mother, which only made him feel young and childish. He tugged his arm away and she let him go, but he didn’t move any farther away. “I am not laughing at you,” she told him. “Blaise might, but that’s because Blaise has a black hole for a heart, Draco, the only emotion he’s ever felt is disdain.” Against his will, Draco chuckled wetly. Pansy smiled and took his hand again, tentatively. He allowed it. “ I think it’s lovely that you have feelings for him. I don’t understand what’s got you so upset, I mean … I know it’s Potter, but we’re not teenagers anymore, right? Who cares?”

Draco exhaled a long sigh.

“He let my father go to Azkaban,” he said softly, looking into her eyes. He saw comprehension dawning. “How can I be with someone who could’ve saved my father’s life and chose not to, Pansy?”

“No one could have saved your father, Draco,” said Pansy gravely. His throat was tight, swollen. He hated that he was hanging on her words, looking for truth in them, wanting to hear something that would make this okay. “He would have done the same thing if they’d let him go back to the manor. It’s not your fault or your mum’s or Potter’s.”

“But —”

“But what?” she cut him off sharply. “Draco, please don’t let your father keep controlling your life from the grave! My god, you deserve happiness, don’t you see that? Even if it’s Potter! In fact, I … I think that could be really good.”

“What, being with Potter?”

“Yes, being with Potter,” she said. “Darling, I say this because I love you: you need to grow a pair of bollocks and start taking control of your own life. I’m not finished!” she added when he opened his mouth to retort. “I understand that it feels like a betrayal of your father, I do, and I’m not saying you can’t have your cherished memories of him, but Draco … you cannot live your life in his shadow, doing things because it’s what he’d want or wouldn’t want. I think that choosing to explore these feelings you have for Potter is the bravest and healthiest thing you could possibly do for yourself.”

He stared at her for a long moment, eyes wet though the tears had stopped falling.

“What if it doesn’t last?” he said finally. “What if next week he realises it was a huge mistake?”

“First of all, I doubt that,” said Pansy with a roll of her eyes that was clearly meant to be teasing. “You said you’ve been seeing him all summer, that’s plenty of time to have gotten sick of you. And, even if that did happen, I still think it would be entirely worth that week of being disgustingly in love.”

“Do you?” he drawled.

“Yes! I do!” She picked up his discarded wine glass from before and held it up. “Does the effect of alcohol last forever?”

“No …”

“Of course not! And we don’t expect it to. We expect to have fun while we’re drunk and it’ll last as long as it lasts.”

“Dating someone isn’t like being drunk, Pansy,” Draco said sourly.

“Oh, that’s not the point ,” she huffed. “We don’t do things because we know they’ll last forever, we do them because we want to. In the moment.”

“Sounds irresponsible.”

“Well, of course it is,” she scoffed. “Love is completely irresponsible, that’s the fun of it, Draco. Now take this,” she shoved the glass of wine into his hand, almost spilling it. “Drink up, and then get your arse over to his flat and fix this.”

* * *

Granger opened the door. Draco sighed.

“Hello, Granger,” he said lamely. Her raised eyebrows said she was surprised and thoroughly unimpressed by his appearance.

“Malfoy,” she said.

“Is Potter in?”

“I guess that depends.”

“On?”

She looked at him, dark brown eyes impenetrable. Then she closed the front door behind her.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“To talk to him,” he said tightly. As if this whole thing wasn’t bad enough, now he had to pass a test to get past Granger the bridge troll. “I thought he told you —”

“He did,” she said flatly. “And about yesterday.”

“Well I’m here to apologise,” said Draco. Granger’s eyebrows lifted again. Still unimpressed. “And to tell him …” He sighed again and broke eye contact, willing himself not to give up, not to take this as a sign he should just go home and ream into Pansy for giving him such bad advice.

“Malfoy.” He looked up. Her voice was softer now, and her eyes seemed a little less hard. “What are you doing? You really hurt him, you know.”

“I know,” he said stiffly. “I said I’m here to apologise.”

“Well he doesn’t need an apology,” she said. “If you’re only going to let him down again —”

“I’m not.” He rubbed his forehead and looked at her again, exasperated, defeated. “I’ve … had some sense talked into me.”

She looked like it was the last thing she’d been expecting.

“Have you?”

“Yes,” he said. “So would you please get him for me before I lose my nerve?”

It was the right thing to say. Her expression melted into something much softer and he fancied he even saw the beginnings of a smile.

“Can I ask who affected this change of heart?”

“Pansy,” he said. And, when Granger seemed taken aback, “She’s very wise when she feels like it.”

“I see. Well …” She still looked a bit conflicted, eyeing him and then putting her hand on the doorknob. “All right. I’ll tell him you’re here, anyway, but he was really hurt, Malfoy. I don’t know if he’ll want to hear it.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he said.

Granger eyed him another moment and then went back inside, shutting the door behind her. Draco only had to wait a minute before it was opening again, and this time Harry came out. The sight of him made Draco’s heart feel tender and sore.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi, Potter.”

He waited to see if Harry would say anything else but he didn’t. He only stared at Draco expectantly, arms folded, in all ways closed off.

“I came to apologise,” said Draco.

“Well you can keep it,” said Harry. “I don’t need an apology because you told me the truth.”

“It wasn’t the truth, Potter,” Draco said quietly. “Opposite, really.”

Harry was silent. Then, “You made me feel like shit, Draco.”

“I know. I’m sorry. You freaked me out, springing it on me like that.”

A beat, then two, and then suddenly Harry was dropping his arms and sighing and he looked at Draco with so much vulnerability he nearly had to turn away from it.

“I didn’t mean to tell you …” He licked his lips, scratched his arm. It reminded Draco that beneath everything, Harry was still the same awkward dorky leader-of-the-losers he’d always been, just with a bit more confidence now and the title of Official Saviour of the Wizarding World. “I wouldn’t have said that if … I was just angry.”

He didn’t need to ask what Harry was referring to.

“I know.”

“Not that I didn’t … I mean, I … I do —”

“Please don’t say it again,” Draco said. Harry laughed.

“Right. I just meant … I really do have feelings for you, Draco. Like … mad, crazy feelings, y’know? I don’t want it to be a fling.”

“It wasn’t a fling,” he said. He moved a little closer and Harry watched him carefully, eyes flickering once down to Draco’s mouth. “I didn’t even sleep with anyone else the whole time.”

“Well that’s good to know,” said Harry sardonically. But he was smiling, so Draco found himself smiling tentatively as well.

“I wanna be with you, Potter. Properly. I thought …” But he shakes his head, deciding that now isn’t the time to explain about his father. “I thought it was a stupid idea. Now I realise that it probably is, but that I don’t really care much. I’ve decided to ignore my better judgment this one time.”

“That’s quite Gryffindor of you,” Harry commented drily.

“Yes, well.”

“So I go against your better judgment, then?”

“Potter,” Draco sighed. “Please, I don’t mean it like —”

“I’m taking the piss, Draco,” Harry cut him off. He reached for Draco’s waist and pulled him close, and before Draco could get his breath back from a short, surprised intake of breath Harry’s mouth was on his, warm and familiar and soothing. He brought his hands to Harry’s face and kissed back without bothering to hide his overwhelming relief.

Harry chased his mouth when he pulled away and Draco breathed out a laugh, holding him at bay with a hand on his chest.

“We have plenty of time,” he said. “D’you wanna come over later tonight, after your friends leave?”

“What? No, come in.” He took Draco’s hand and gestured with his head towards the door. “Please. It’s just Ron and Hermione. They know everything.”

“Really?” Draco drawled. “And you think Weasley won’t try to kill me?”

“I promise not to let him,” Harry grinned. “Please, Draco. You said you wanted to do this properly, right?”

He thought of what Pansy said about being irresponsible, and decided it was worth a try at least.

“Okay,” he said. Harry beamed and tugged him inside.

Towards his ultimate downfall or towards the beginning of the rest of his life, he didn’t know. That, as Pansy would have said, was the fun of it.

#anna writes #answered #drarry fic #god i had sm fun writing this tysm for the prompt 😩

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aprilsrant · 4 years ago

Text

Start Over | Oliver Wood x Slytherin!Fem!Reader.

SUMMARY: (Y/N) has anger issues and a bad reputation that follows. Oliver seems to be the only one who hasn’t been on the receiving end of her outbursts and there might be a hidden reason for it.

WORD COUNT: 2,3k.

WARNINGS: Marcus Flint being an idiot and a missoginy brat, it’s kind of angsty towards the end. Maybe a curse word or two. There is a fight and a duel too. (If I miss any, let me know!)

REQUEST: can’t find it, but yes, this was requested.

A/N: This took me so long and I’m so sorry, but for some reason I couldn’t get this finished. Hope you enjoy it! Like, reblog or leave comment if you like, feedback is always appreciated!!

Also, I made the reader have a holly wand because details are important sometimes.

English is not my first language, there could be mistakes!

Gif is not mine!!

MASTERLIST.

For whatever stupid, possibly misogynist, reason, Marcus Flint never allowed girls to tryout for the Slytherin Quidditch Team, not even when he, and everyone else present, knew of their talent and how much it would benefit them. Now more than ever, with that Harry Potter kid catching every single Snitch flying round him, Flint’s team needed new members. And members that actually knew how to play and not those who would pay their way in.

Once again, (Y/N) was waiting in the stands for the Slytherin Captain and the whole group attempting to grab themselves a spot. Arriving before them gave her an “advantage” and that was not being completely disregarded the minute Flint saw her in the midst of the line up following him like some kind of lost puppys.

With nothing else to do than just stand round the edge of the Quidditch Pitch, (Y/N) looked up and watched as a few Gryffindors threw the Quaffle towards one of the three hoops. She didn’t even know why people kept trying out to be a Chaser in Wood’s team when the current three were the best they had. And they were all women. Who would have thought that girls could play that well, right?

(Y/N) didn’t know why she continued to insist when she was aware that Flint would never let her be on the team. Maybe because it was her last year, or because she had a tiny spark of hope inside of her that something, pretty much a miracle, would happen and the boy’d change his mind, finally acknowledging that (Y/N) was better than the two Slytherin beaters together.

“What are you doing here, (Y/L/N)?,” the voice of the Slytherin Captain brought her back from the train of thoughts. Glancing towards the Pitch, she realised that it was empty, the only Gryffindor there was Oliver Wood, seating in the opposite set of stands with a notebook and a pencil in his hand. Upon seeing Flint and the trail of Slytherins behind him, he rolled his eyes and quickly left his spot, steps faltering after hearing Marcus’s irritated tone. “I told you, multiple times may I remind you, that I don’t want girls in my team, and especially not those who want to be beaters.”

This was something she saw coming, of course, and she’d tried to assume it for the last couple of days every time the image of being rejected, again, would pop into her head, replaying the times were she had actually been rejected as if her own mind was trying to torture her.

She had also seen the other part coming, and she had tried to stop it. But in her defense, when Professor Snape interrogated her an hour later, Marcus Flint kind of deserved it.

“Why not, Flint? I’ve been trying to get in the team ever since you became Captain and decided I wasn’t good enough after our fourth year,” (Y/N) had said, voice raising after more words left her mouth. With her broomstick in hand, she stepped down the stands and marched towards him.

“You said it yourself, (Y/N), you weren’t, and still aren’t, good enough,” Marcus responded while shrugging his shoulders arrogantly and walking past her.

“I was good enough, you prick, I was better than just good enough and you fucking know it.” All of the group that had gathered to try out turned their heads in her direction when she started to scream, whispers and shared glances expectant of the outcome of the argument. Pushing a third year in front of her out of her way, she kept walking, stopping only after she was face to face with Marcus. “And how can you be so sure I’m not adequate? You haven’t even let me fly around the Pitch for the last two years.”

Ignoring her, Flint commanded the two boys carrying the box full of equipment to leave it on the floor and start to warm up.

“Can you… Can you, please, let me try this one time?,” (Y/N) whispered, burying her pride and dignity in the same coffin after the word please escaped from her mouth.

“Now you’re begging, you are pathetic, (Y/L/N), and they say you’re supposed to be dangerous” the boy exclaimed, clearly enjoying seeing her so desperate. He walked towards her, his taller figure towering over the girl. “Let me tell you something. Both of us were on the team, right now one is the Captain and the other one… Well, I’m pretty sure you know your exact position in this whole thing. And that’s why you are not in my place, because you are not good enough.”

Her teeth, jaw and fists clenched at the same time, the rest of her body shaking slightly, lighting up on fire with every sentence Marcus sneered at her.

From a young age she had people question her, her interests and her decisions, even her place in the House of ambition, many believing the girl to be “too soft” at first. That had changed after the start of her second year. If they wanted her to be violent, rash and reckless, that’s what they got. Now, every time her name was mentioned around Hogwarts, whispers and rumours would be shortly behind. Most of the things people said about her were incorrect, not even close to the truth, but she accepted them anyways. She took each one of the rumours and turned them into her truth.

For some (Y/N) (Y/L/N) was on the right path to become a Dark Witch, a pureblood longing to take on Lord Voldemort’s place and rule over the Wizarding World, torturing muggleborns and blood traitors. To others, she was the Devil’s offspring in the flesh, waiting for the right moment to raise the forces of hell upon Hogwarts. And they were the ones speaking of her mental state while coming up with ridiculous theories. Nonetheless, she had to admit it was a new kind of entertainment seeing the first years getting warned about her, bombarding them with false information and stupid allegations. But the laughs she would have from it on her own company didn’t erase the loneliness and the solemn feeling of having no one.

Like the symbol of her house, (Y/N) was a creature of instinct. And like what people murmured about her, (Y/N) was also a creature of violence.

As only one can imagine, no one was shocked from the response Marcus Flint got. Not in words, or insults, which were regular, but in the form of a fist connecting with his cheek (although she had intended to hit the nose).

One would think anger makes people a better fighter, all that pent up rage coming from nowhere and lashing out against your opponent it’s more damaging to you than the person you are fighting. Now, this was not (Y/N)’s first fist fight but that didn’t mean she knew what she was doing. Every time she had punched someone it had happened in the midst of uncontrollable wrath growing, attaching itself to the girl’s body, controlling her limbs, numbing her mind.

For a moment she closes her eyes, one thought in her mind, vanishing as quickly as it appeared, — I did it. Again —. When (Y/N) opens them, she notices the change of scenario, or positions. She is no longer standing on her feet, she is several metres away from her housemate, the back of her body on the receiving end of the harsh floor; the loud beating of her heart thundering in her ears, almost giving her a headache, swallowing the spell Flint had used on her.

After rising from the grass, (Y/N) marches towards him, holly wand in her hand shooting hexes, barely missing its target. She’s about to whisper the Stunning Spell when someone from behind grabs her wrist, holding her back from trying to curse Marcus, whose responses are getting slower and scarcely protecting him. An arm sneaks around (Y/N)’s figure, distancing her from the Slytherin Quidditch Captain.

Her elbow moves almost instinctively and hits the person behind her in the stomach, the arm around her waist retreating fast enough for (Y/N) to cast a protection charm and petrify Marcus Flint.

Turning around, she sees none other than Oliver Wood, bending over his stomach with a hand clenching his right knee and gasping for air.

“What the bloody hell was that, Wood?”

“I was trying to help you!,” he manages to say while looking up at her.

“Help me? You were trying to stop me, you twat.”

“Exactly!,” Oliver shouts, making her move backwards, “Do you want to get yourself expelled, (Y/L/N)? Because if that’s what you want, you are doing an excellent job.”

She should have hexed him right there, no one else was on the Quidditch Pitch with them, except the handful of Slytherins and those weren’t the snitching types, but she didn't, surprising herself and everyone else watching them.

|||

Later that night, after finishing the horrendous detention Snape had put her in —reorganizing his entire cabinet claimed by suspicious ingredients and potions with terrible smells, making the small space smell like rotten eggs and the Gryffindor Quidditch robes after a rough match—, looking at the moon and the landscape surrounding Hogwarts from the Astronomy Tower, she thought about the reasons to why she hadn’t raised her wand, or fist, to face Oliver.

He wasn’t special. Yes, he was a great wizard, with problems in Potions and History of Magic, still quite good at Defensive spells but not that good to beat her if she was fully focused, he would be easy to defeat especially after Quidditch tryouts. So, why? Why did she just walk away?

“I knew I could find you here.”

(Y/N) turned around, quickly taking hold of her holly wand and raising it towards the tower’s entrance. The thundering in her chest calming, her breathing going back to its normal pace when she realised it wasn’t Sirius Black, the murderer that had escaped Azkaban and was said to have roamed through the castle.

“What are you doing here, Oliver?”, she addressed him once the moonlight illuminated his tall figure.

“I wanted to apologise,” the boy admitted, his voice faltered just like his approach, as if he was trying to make peace with a beast; as if he was telling a snake that his feet would not come close to its head, “for what I said earlier. It wasn’t fair because I know how you…”

“How I what? How I tend to react when I’m angry?,” (Y/N) interrupted, the hand holding her wand still facing Oliver, “don’t try to act like you know me.”

“But I used to,” he murmured.

Neither of them said anything, both of their minds desperately trying to find the right words, one to plead for forgiveness once again and the other to accept it if the plea ever escaped his mouth.

The distant sound of creatures soaring through the night sky and the flip of their wings was all they heard for minutes, minutes that had felt like hours; she would dare to say days if the sky wasn’t still dark, filled with bright stars circling a full moon.

“Why don’t we get to know each other all over again? We can start over, please.”

There it was.

And then it came.

“That’s such a great idea, Oliver!,” (Y/N) answered with a big smile on her face, the quick change of demeanour unsettling Oliver. They hadn’t talked in years but he was still amazed at how much he remembered of her, and how this didn’t mean any good. “We can get to know each other like all those years ago and then, you can abandon me like all those years ago”. The grin on her lips transforming into a scowl right after she pronounced the last part of her sentence.

“Why are you even here, Wood? You felt guilty and now you’re trying to make it go away? Or is it charity?,” the Slytherin kept ranting,” or better yet, someone challenged you to do this? I’m putting all my money on the Weasley Twins.

“N-No, no, it’s nothing like that,” Oliver explained while moving his hands and walking the final steps leading him to (Y/N),“ I just- I never- I, I never wanted this, I never expected it but everyone was talking about you and-and they were saying horrible things and…”

“And you believed them,” (Y/N) stated, turning around to stop facing him and his hurt expression,” I don’t blame you for doing it. It’s quite funny if you think about it.”

“What’s quite funny?,” his gaze still on her when he asked.

“Most of the things you and the rest of the school heard were invented by me, so people would just stop bothering me,” she pretended to confess only to the stars, for if she didn’t, she would never admit it to him,” you can say I planned my entire doom. And it’s quite funny because, in the end, you still believed me.”

“You could have told me, (Y/N). Why didn’t you?”

“You believed the rumours, I’m sure not the craziest ones though, but that tells me that you thought I was capable of actually doing all the terrible things I said about myself.”

“I’m sorry, I am, (Y/N), truly.”

“Sorry doesn’t mend it,” she murmured, now forcing herself to look him in the eyes and act as if the pain never happened; as if she hadn’t missed his company and his random, permanently out of place Quidditch facts.

“I know, but it’s everything I have right now and I hope you can forgive me one day.”

“I have already forgiven you, Oliver, but I was too proud to reach you.”

“Typical you, (Y/N). I should have expected it.”

A small smile formed in her lips and for a moment she forgot their broken friendship, the reputation that had become her shadow and the future awaiting after Hogwarts. It was only them, (Y/N) and Oliver, with the moon glowing down on their faces and the feeling of being eleven year olds settling over their minds.

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vagrantblvrd · 4 years ago

Text

AU where Luke and Leia are the children of the queen of Naboo and powerful and well-respected Jedi Knight, just about the age to marry and it’s this Responsibility hanging over their heads.

Their parents would never marry them off to someone horrible, but that’s not the point, and anyway, anyway, they know their duty.

(It breaks their parent’s hearts, but barring the same sort of Very Specific and Unique events that conspired to allow Padme to marry Anakin the best they can hope for is to like their future spouses, so.)

But then!

Conspiracies and the whatnot, and whispers of war spreading across the galaxy thanks to some faceless warlord pulling strings from the shadows and so on.

Worlds that co-existed, thrived, suddenly at one another’s throats and out of fear for their children’s safety they arrange for them to visit dear friend Bail and Breha on Alderaan.

(There’s meant to be a celebration, eligible suitors for Luke and Leia while keeping them far from skirmishes that have taken place too close to Naboo.)

Unfortunately Leia gets sick just as they’re about to leave, nothing too worry over, lose sleep over, but travel would only make it worse so she’s to stay behind while Luke and leaves for Alderaan on schedule.

(He visits her, the night before he leaves. Sneaks into her rooms the way he used to when they were younger and supposed to be asleep hours ago but young and foolish and the kind of reckless rebellion of the young and so on.

Leia’s tired, still recovering but she still manages a smile, a laugh, when Luke tumbles in through the window a though their parents haven’t been training them since they were young.

Politics, of course, but their father is a Jedi Knight and their mother is the queen, and anyway, anyway, any clumsiness they show these days are deliberate, so.

They talk, aware this may be one of the rare chances they’ll get like this again, what with their duties and responsibilities and privileged as they are the universe is far from fair.

Luke smiles, jokes, but there’s a flat tone to it that Leia hears all too clearly and Luke -

“I have a bad feeling about this,” he says, wry twist to his mouth.

It’s a childhood joke borne of the stories their father and his former mentor would tell them at bedtime, well-worn phrase that heralded the kind of adventure that made them into legends, and now -

Leia grips Luke’s hands tight in hers because she does as well, dread a heavy weight in her chest.

“Don’t go,” she tells him, knowing he has no choice in the matter. “Luke, please.”

It’s on her face, in her voice, her yes, and there’s nothing they can do.

So.

Luke smiles, jokes, reminisces with Leia about the adventures they had running around the palace and its grounds and causing no end of trouble to their minders when their parents were busy until Leia falls asleep and Luke slips out the window and back to his own rooms without waking her.)

Leia knows long before word reaches Naboo that Luke’s ship was attacked in transit, all hands lost.

(Knows when their father senses it too, his rage and grief enough to send her to knees, draw the tears she refused to shed until then. She’s Force-sensitive, yes, but her father and brother are stronger, and if he’s so certain Luke is gone, then there’s no hope left for her.)

BUT THEN.

Luke’s not dead, of course he’s not, what kind of story do you think this is?

As it turns out, Luke’s ship was attacked, but one of his guards, escorts, manages to get him to an escape pod and away from the ships painted to look like one of Naboo’s allies turned jealous and bitter and angry over years and some insult or other.

(Conspiracies on conspiracies and so on.)

Lands on a planet, rocky and desolate and very much alone, injured.

Stumbles out of the escape pod, emergency supplies held tight in hand and absolutely certain he can’t stay there. Can’t wait for rescue to come, not knowing if whoever attacked his ship might find him first and finish the job that claimed his ship and the lives of people he’s known since he was young.

Manages to get a decent ways away from the escape pod before exhaustion and his injuries lay him low.

Cave in the distance he might be able to seek shelter in, assuming there are no native predators or otherwise living there, and he almost, almost makes it before he passes out.

Comes to however many hours later to a voice he doesn’t know pitched low and annoyed, but the hands checking him for injuries - he hopes, would be the worst luck to be robbed, looted, after recent events - are surprisingly gentle.

“What?”

Luke said that out loud, didn’t he.

“...Yes.”

Luke would laugh if it didn’t feel as though his head might burst, result of his skull meeting with a bulkhead at inadvisable speeds, and that had happened before the escape pod landed, so.

“Sorry,” Luke mumbles, because he does have manners. “But if you are robbing me I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer.”

There’s a long pause then, whoever is there with him so still Luke has a moment to wonder if they’ve left, offended by Luke’s words or disappointed he’s not worth robbing and then -

“Hmm.”

Luke frowns, risks opening his eyes and sees a kneeling beside him, oddly shiny.

“’Shiny’.”

Luke squints, tries to make out the figure, but it’s difficult as there seem to be two of them, and -

“I think I might have a concussion,” Luke informs the oddly shiny figure, and passes out again.

Later, however many hour later, he comes to with that same annoyed voice in his ears, but now there’s a fire merrily burning.

Nice, because it’s nighttime now, and cold and -

“You’re awake.”

As far as observations like that go, it’s incredibly unimpressed.

“Hmm,” Luke hmms, fuzzy memory of his oddly shiny companion doing the same, and also Luke being a natural-born smartass,

(Hereditary, he’s been told, along with stubbornness and fondness for eschewing things like common sense and a flair for the dramatic.)

There’s a sigh, long and heavy, and then the sound of the oddly shiny person moving closer, shadow falling over Luke that he can’t see with his yes closed the way they are, but, well.

His father is a Jedi Knight and he and Leia take after him in noticeable ways.

Luke opens his eyes and thinks oh, and hmm, and Leia is going to kill me, because his companion is indeed oddly shiny.

Or, well.

Perhaps not so odd, what with the armor and all.

Din - because of course it’s Din - is super unimpressed with Luke and his everything and Luke is just ??? because Mandalorian???

Not known to be BFFs with Jedi or Jedi-in-training, like Luke???

But Din can be excused for not partaking in this old feud/rivalry/animosity between them because Luke isn’t dressed as it befitting someone of his position, no.

He’s wearing the clothes he prefers on long trips when the are no other dignitaries along because to start with, they’re comfortable? But also Luke likes to tinker??? Little projects and such and maybe his father sent along a speeder or some other tinker-able vehicle to keep Luke occupied on the trip, use when he gets to Alderaan or...whatever.

Doesn’t look like the royalty, especially after recent events, and nothing to mark him as the prince of Naboo, or a Jedi-in-training and sworn enemy of the Mandalorians, and really, it’s incredibly, amazingly convenient, but it is what it is.

Din grumbles and complains, but he stays with Luke until he’s able to stand on his feet and even walk a fair distance without falling on his ass, and sighs when Luke invites himself along later that day when he says he has business elsewhere,

And then the two of them traveling to...somewhere, Din didn’t volunteer that information and Luke was too grateful to be headed away from where his escape pod crashed and potential search parties (doesn’t feel like trusting to the fact they’d be friendly towards him) and so on.

Doesn’t chatter incessantly as the annoyed set of Din’s shoulders heavily imply, because Luke is still injured and while his head isn’t an agony at the moment, it’s hardly a joy to deal with.

But, he does talk.

A lot.

About everything and nothing, off on a tangent here, there, wander far and wide the better to annoy Din into forgetting what questions he asked Luke. (The ones asking who he is, how he got there, and where the hell he’s going next, because Din’s patience lasts only so long.)

To Dins quiet horror, however, he actually starts to like Luke???

Like.

Annoying, yes, with the talking? But he doesn’t complain about all the walking they’re doing, or sleeping conditions when they make camp for the night and so on.

And, alright, sometimes it does get a bit lonely out here - conveniently far enough away from settlements or cities where someone would definitely recognize Luke - but he doesn’t tell Luke that, goodness no.

They run into trouble, after a while.

People who took part in the attack on Luke’s ship and other baddies on Mandalore connected to them and it’s a matter of bad luck meeting worse luck, and anyway, anyway.

There’s a fight, and some guns with the pew-pew shootout and Luke being the one to save Din’s life, escaping with him to some abandoned mine or underground tunnels, something and -

“Ah,” Luke says, breathless from the running and hiding and saving Din’s life and then hauling him somewhere that was supposed to be safe, even with the help of the Force.

(His head is killing him again, nowhere near healed enough to expend as much effort as he has just now, but it that or die, and he’d rather not get Din killed as well since the man’s only shown him kindness - and his special brand of charm - and anyway. Yes.)

He’s expecting it to be the people who ambushed them, but to his surprise, wariness, dread, it’s a Mandalorian. (Armor’s a dead giveaway and all.)

One who cocks their head when they see Luke’s face, blaster dipping slightly at the sight of him.

Luke tries for a smile, but Din groans, low, pained, and the best Luke was able to do was check the wound wasn’t life-threatening and slap a patch-job bandage over it before they made a break for it, and -

“I don’t suppose it would be asking too much if you had medical supplies, would it?” Luke asks, expecting to get shot for his trouble - sass, snark - but the Mandalorian holding them at blaster-point huffs out a laugh and holsters said blaster.

Jerks their chin towards a side tunnel and strides off, clearly expecting Luke to follow, and after a moment’s hesitation - no way to know if the Mandalorian is taking them to their deaths - but no better option available to them, so Luke follows.

(Murmurs an apology to Din when he groans again, guilt heavier than Din’s arm slung over his shoulder, the weight of Din and his armor, knowing he wouldn’t be in this situation if he’d left well enough alone after stumbling on Luke. So.)

Mystery!Mandalorian leads Luke to a room with medical supplies stored neatly. Clean and well-lit and after getting permission - nod of Mystery-Mandalorian’s head and wave of their hand that seems more amused than mocking - Luke sets about properly treating Din’s injuries.

Fumbles a bit, because Luke’s still injured himself, over-extended himself in the earlier fight, and it’s catching up to him now they’re somewhere arguably safe.

(No one actively trying to kill them, anyway.)

Mystery!Mandalorian watches as Luke tries to et his hands to stop shaking - stress, injury, exhaustion, any of a dozen reasons and he swears, low under his breath because now isn’t the time -

He startles when Mystery!Mandalorian takes the medical supplies out of his hands, didn’t notice him moving close enough to do so, and allows the hand on his shoulder that guides him into sitting on a stool as they do for him what he can’t in that moment and looks after Din.

Watches quietly, closely, but Mystery!Mandalorian knows what they’re doing, and truthfully Luke knows if they intended them harm there would easier ways, more efficient ones than this.

So.

He watches Mystgery!Mandalorian tend to Din’s injuries, and blinks up at them stupidly when they turn back to him, head tilted just so.

“What?” Luke asks, and Mystery!Mandalorian huffs out a laugh, quiet breath of laughter and then it’s Luke’s turn to be treated.

Careful, gentle hands and Luke’s mind drifts while Mystery!Mandalorian cleans and dresses a blaster burn on his shoulder, graze courtesy of a shot he hadn’t seen coming, attention on Din instead and he knows if it were a normal (...somewhat) normal situation he’d get a lecture on that lapse.

(A lecture, his father’s face stern, and under it worry, concern for him Luke’s never doubted, and after that his mother and quiet, soft words interwined with the same firece love his father has for his children. .)

As it is...

“Thank you,” Luke says, hopes Mystery!Mandalorian hears the things he can’t find the words for, the gratitude he feels.

Mystery!Mandalorian studies him for a long moment, Luke returning their regard best as he can even as he feels his mind going slow, stupid, as exhaustion rolls over him.

He can feel Mystery!Mandalorian watching him, them, unexected guests, visitors, complications, and there’s another sigh.

A gesture towards an unoccupied medical bed, slight tilt of his head that feels of that same brand of amusement from earlier.

Luke eyes it longingly because he’s tired, isn’t he, too much happening in too short a period of time and this feeling in the back of his mind that something is happening.

Whispers and rumors building towards something catastrophic if left unchecked and murmurs though the Force he’s known all his life.

“Rest,” Mystery!Mandalorian says, gentle, kind. “I’ll keep watch.”

It shouldn’t be a reassuring as it is, shouldn’t feel like Luke is breathing his first full breath since the alarms on his ship started wailing, intangible dread he’d felt once they left Naboo’s made real.

And yet...

There’s something about Mystery!Mandalorian he can’t help but trust, and Luke’s mind is tired, muddled, clear thought a struggle but the way the Force coils around them is enough to set his mind at ease.

“Thank you,” Luke says, and the words aren’t enough to articulate what he means, but it seems to be understood anyway.

He makes his way to the medical bed, and it isn’t long until he falls asleep, swears he hears Mystery!Mandalorian say, before he does, strangely soft, fond.

“You really are just like your father, aren’t you?”, and with no little amusement, “Skwalkers.”

And then shenanigans???

Luke waking up to Din staring at him from his own medical bed, at a loss regarding their situation, everything, and annoye (at himself???) about it, because Luke saved his life, didn’t he?

Saved it, and saved it again by getting them to safety and out of the hands of whoever attacked them, and that’s about the time Mystery!Mandalorian shows up, and Din is -

Not thrilled???

Doesn’t recognize the armor, person, regarding the two of them with this underlying amusement. (It rankles, that amusement, leaves him wrong-footed.)

Still, he follows Luke’s lead when he insists Mystery!Mandalorian is a friend - “Well,” Luke allows, at the look Din gives him when he says that. “He hasn’t tried to kill us. Yet.”

Which.

Fair, if not a ringing endorsement, but it’s not like they have much choice in the matter when Mystery!Mandalorian tells them to follow them, and off they go.

Underground tunnels and such until they get to some sort of base.

Other Mandalorians and Din is like oh, no, because these ones he does recognize.

“Resistance,” he says to Luke who’s picked up on his unease, gaze flicking to Din’s behind Mystery!Mandalorian’s back as they’re led down corridors to meet with what must be leadership.

Because Mandalore and unrest and that same something Luke’s known about his whole life and the way it affects the universe around him and just, yes.

Mystery!Mandalorian cocks his head as the lift they’re on descends, listening in, and still that amusement.

“Indeed,” he says, and something about it snaps Luke’s attention to him, makes Din...wary.

Just as well the lift stops, doors sliding open and then more corridors that seem to go on forever until they reach a set of doors.

Mystery!Mandalorian glances back at them for a moment, and huffs a quiet laugh at whatever he sees, and then they’re pressing forward.

It’s...not what he was expecting.

An office of some kind, with a holomap table off to one side and monitors and consoles beside it. A stripped down version of the control room they passed by floors down, and a slight figure in armor, head bowed over the holomap table.

Mystery!Mandalorian clears their throat, a courtesy, and the armore figure lifts their head, looks over at Luke and Din.

At Mystery!Mandalorian, and there’s a look exchanged between the two, silent conversation before Mystery!Mandalorian glances at Luke and Din again.

Sighs, and reaches up to remove their helmet, crooked smile on their - his face - at the way Luke goes so, so still beside Din.

Silence stretches long enough for Din to feel it, the weight of the revelation even if he doesn’t understand it.

“Hello, Luke,” he says, tired, aching.

Sharp inhale, and Luke tears his eyes away from Mystery!Mandalorian to look at Din, something so very wrong with the smile on his face.

“It’s Ben,” he says, and his voice cracks as he looks back at Mystery!Mandalorian, laughs at something Din doesn’t understand, something that makes Mystery!Mandalorian wince, even as he holds Luke’s gaze when he looks back at him. “Old Ben.”

Din frowns, because the man is older than them, Luke, that much is certain, but surely not old enough to have earned a title like that.

Because, look, alright.

Look.

Obi-Wan and sekrit missions because everyone knows trouble’s brewing, and a duchess of Mandalore contacted Padme, and things kind of just. Grew from there, to the point Obi-Wan went to Mandalore as an emmisary, ostensibly for political reasons, but really to help root out what information he could with Satine’s help and things went wrong.

Had him, and Satine, presumably killed in an uprising, no longer a threat to an unknown enemy.

Until the resistance took root, grew, and other such things.

Satine and Obi-Wan at the head of it, getting what information back to Padme, Anakin they could and everyone agreeing it was best for the time being if they stayed dead.

And then Luke’s ship being attacked and everything that followed, and anyway, anyway welcome to the resistance Luke Skywalker and friend, glad to have you.

Luke is understandably confused, angry at having been left in the dark, and angrier still that he has to admit to the necessity of it.

(He understands, but he’d still mourned for Obi-Wan, his father’s former mentor, teacher, and beloved uncle to Luke and Leia. He understands.)

And then there are briefings, because it’s very much a war the resistance is waging, against a common enemy and while Luke pay close attention to everything he and Din are told, he watches Obi-Wan, Satine.

Thinks oh, of course, when it hits him why the way the two of them interacts seems strangely familiar, known, because it’s the way his parents are, isn’t it?

Familiarity and trust, a knowing, and that little knot of anger buried deep in his chest at the deception involving Obi-Wan’s supposed death all those years ago unravels until he’s no longer breathing around it.

And then!

Shenanigans in which Din very much tries to NOT be part of this madness, because no, okay, no.

Simple bounty hunter and so on, and Luke don’t look at him like that, it won’t work -

So of course that’s when things go to hell and the base is attacked and Luke is taken and Din finds himself staring “Old Ben” down in the aftermath because this may not be his war to fight, but Luke is an idiot.

“Well,” Obi-Wan says, corner of his mouth quirking. “He does take after his father that way.”

Dramatic Rescues and Dine being So Done with everything, but also, like. Being heroically injured by shielding Luke and Luke’s pale face and fear in the back of his eyes as he leans over Din to keep him from bleeding out.

Striving for calm, soothing Din in between yelling for help, Obi-Wan and the others on their way, and Din laughing at him because he was told Jedi didn’t panic.

“Shut up,” Luke says, laugh all wrong. “I thought nothing could get through Mandalorian armor?”

Well.

Things go fuzzy for a bit, Din remembers pain and blood and yelling - a lot of that - and then he wakes up in a medical center somewhere.

Not the resistance base, but he doesn’t recognize it.

“Idiot,” is the first thing he hears, and then, “Stupid,” and so on, and when he turns his head Luke is glaring at him.

He must make for a terrible Jedi, Din thinks, because Jedi aren’t supposed to have attachment, are they?

Dangerous, terrible, and yet.

“You are, yes,” Din says, voice haorse, more of a croak, and when he laughs at the affornted look Luke gives him for that it hurts - still healing and all - but so very worth it.

And then, okay, and then.

It comes out that Palpatine has been building a base of power for himself for years, slow patient, and setting his enemies at one another’s throats to weaken them.

Conspiracies on conspiracies and Din watches Luke as his father - his father, mother, and sister who hasn’t left Luke’s side since they arrived - tell them.

(Because, you know, because. Luke’s family and secrets weighing heavy and of course, of course Leia would not be held back, would not just let Luke’s death go so easily.

Would investigate, relentless, until she stumbled over everything and her parents and a shared look and she gets it from you, you know, and me? you have to be kidding, and I get it from both of you, now tell me what’s going on right now.

Adventures, because Skywalkers. A chance meeting with a scruffy smuggler and his long-suffering Wookie friend, and a rickety, rusty freighter

.Hey, that’s no way to talk about a lady, and as if you’d know, and don’t encourage them, Padme, and Of course not, Anakin, and heavy, resigned sighs because Leia has always been terrifying like her mother and somehow more stubborn.

A resistance - “Rebellion,” Obi-Wan says, glint in his eye when Anakin looks at him, “seems more fitting don’t you think?” - growing as well in secret.

Both brought into the light with recent events and untold battles ahead, and just.

It’s a lot.

“Thought I’d find you here,” Luke says, and Din doesn’t tense at his voice, quiet, something sad to it under his amusement.

Din hmms, glances towards Luke.

So much has happened since they meet, learned of things far bigger than them, and still -

“We’re meant to be enemies,” he says, a Mandalorian to a Jedi, albeit one still in training if what Luke told him is true.

Luke cocks his head, and still crosses the clearing to sit beside him.

Hmms, right back at Din and Din bites back a sigh, watching Luke from the corner of his eye.

With everything that’s happened, they’ve learned, the old grudge seems petty in comparison.

Also, Obi-Wan and Satine, and it hardly seems important anymore, long before his time as it was, and while Luke’s certainly many things, he’s never felt like an enemy.

They sit in companionable silence for a while, calm, cool of the night and so much between them they don’t have words for yet, and none of it unwelcome.

When Luke gets to his feet, holds his hand out to Din, he doesn’t have to think about it when he takes it. Lets Luke pull him to his feet with that surprising strength of his, and falls into step with him just as easily.

And then they have Adventures and death-defying shenanigans and such. Steal kisses here and there and never put a name to this thing of theirs, but it’s strong enough to last through a war and to the other side of it.

Would-be Empire scattered and broken and a good bounty hunter’s experience is invaluable in stamping out the remnants.

Almost as much as a Jedi Knight who earned their title through countless battles and conflicts, steady familiar presence at his side.And really, really, it shouldn’t surprise him so much when Luke gives him this soft little smile when Din comes home after a solo mission, small green gremlin of a kid he’d found (rescued) in his arms and knows their little family has gained another member.

(And again and again, because Luke’s just as bad as him and Finn and Rey are fine on their own, but Grogu? An absolute nightmare and evil mastermind and Din doesn’t care what Luke says, the small green gremlin child gets it from Luke’s side of the family.)

Also, though.

The day Finn and Rey met Poe (Ben a little confused, bemused, blissfully unaware of what he was witnessing) signaled the beginning of the end and Luke is absolutely laughing at Din, don’t think he doesn’t know what that looks like by now. >:(((((((((((((((((((((((((

#star wars nonsense #dinluke #technically not a fic #vagrant fic #i absolutely wandered away from the main plot with this?#but yes #/o\#long post

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claymorecut · 4 years ago

Text

WE SHOULD STOP ARGUING LIKE THIS

Gintsu week // Day 2

PROMPT: FIRST TIME

××××××

The school hours were finally over for the day. The sun was already setting, painting the sky with red and orange hues as the students and staff members left the campus one after another. The corridors were now completely silent; with the doors locked and lights turned off, not a single speck of noise could be heard in the school.

Well, except for the faint voices coming from the one store room around the corner of the third floor which was apparently under maintenance.

They knew they were stuck inside. They knew he shouldn't have pulled the door close even the slightest because the lock was broken and it was a windy day and damnit, why wasn't this a sliding door!? The room was so small and packed with old documents and broken desks that there was hardly any space for two people to stand in a good distance. And the best part, the dim sunlight coming from the tiny window and the broken light switch was the cherry on top in this miserable situation.

"Now what?" Tsukuyo asked as she let go off the door knob in defeat once again.

"What do you want me to say?" Ginpachi replied calmly as he took a seat on a nearby desk. "I've already tried opening the door plenty of times and it's stuck."

"Ginpachi, It's almost six-thirty and we have been stuck here for almost half and hour now!" Tsukuyo spoke, her voice a little higher than before. "Nobody seems to be coming here either. Do you want to spend the night here!?"

Even in the dim light, Tsukuyo could see the teasing smirk growing on his face. "I don't have any problem with that."

She really wanted to punch him. Of all the times, he had to flirt with her right now but seriously, she was just not in the mood to listen to his nonchalant comments. "You do know it was your fault, right?"

Ginpachi knew he was the one who pulled the door slightly but not completely closed it because hey, that was a habit of his apparently and he had no idea that Tsukuyo was right behind the shelf and if he had any idea the wind was going to be a bitch today of all days and that it was going to lock them both inside by pushing the door with its stupid force, he would have never entered the store room in the first place!

"It was not my fault! It was the wind!"

"Sakamoto-san notified the whole school yesterday that this room is under maintenance and under any circumstances, no one is supposed to pull the door close even the slightest because accidents can happen anytime!"

"Woman, I was here to check on some documents! How'd I know that the wind was going to lock me inside and that too with you of all the people in this world. I have no intention of setting a camp here with you, what the hell do you take me for, huh!?"

Tsukuyo knew he didn't mean any of it and the whole situation was only irritating her even more. "I know." she replied quietly. "Where's your phone though? Mine can't get any signal here."

"....uh...my battery's dead."

Wow. No lights, no signal, they were really going to spend the night here.

"You know what? Nevermind. Why did I bother asking you anyway?" she couldn't help the scowl appearing on her face.

Taking note of her frowing face, Ginpachi couldn't help but speak in an irked voice. "Hey. You don't make such a disgusted face."

And this reply only poured fuel in the fire.

"So what do you want me to do? Smile!?"

"No!" Now Ginpachi was standing up from his seat. "But how about you try to be a little polite!?"

"And how about you start talking responsibility for your actions!?"

"Hey!" Ginpachi yelled as he stomped towards her angrily. "Do you think I'm enjoying my stay here with you? Because let me make this very clear to you. I. AM. NOT!"

"Oh thank you so much for the clarification, Ginpachi-sensei" the way she mockingly called his name only made his blood boil "The feeling's MUTUAL!" she spat right on his face.

"The last thing I wanted was to get stuck inside a store room with an unfunny woman like YOU!"

"Like I was dying to spend a night with a bastard like you!"

Ginpachi could just glare furiously as he inched his face close to her. "This is why men don't come near a BITCH like you!"

"Yeah sure!" she too moved her face close. "Like there's a huge crowd of women out there waiting for your LAZY ASS!"

"I pity the men who're out wasting their time on a brute like you!"

"And I pity the woman who're drooling over you!- oh sorry, there's literally no one drooling over you!"

Smart. "Aww. Well I'm not the twenty-seven year old chain smoking virgin here!"

"Well at least I'm not spending all my salary on jump magazines and parfaits like a certain dumb perm-head here!"

"You do know too much nicotine can speed aging. Ah that's why I see all the wrinkles around your face."

"And you do know that too much sugar can cause erectile dysfunction."

This was getting too much. "You know what woman? How 'bout you shut that little mouth of yours!?"

They knew they should stop. "Well how about you shut up by sucking on that stupid strawberry lollipop of yours!?"

Their faces were close, too close, their noses almost touching but no one was willing to back off anymore. There might not be a lot of light inside but they could clearly see the fire in each other's eyes. It was not like these two didn't respect each other. It's just that sometimes, they just couldn't stand each other and that's why they were called the bickering couple of the school. However, this argument was no longer their simple banter.

It was now a matter of pride.

"Listen here." Ginpachi's voice was so low and chilling it could make a grown man piss his pants. "If you don't shut up, I'll make you."

Tsukuyo could just chortle mockingly as she didn't budge an inch from her place. "I bet you can't."

He had a sly grin on his face now. "I'm warning you, Tsukuyo."

Tsukuyo matched his expression. "Like your threats can scare m-"

But before she could finish, Ginpachi already captured her lips with his. Tsukuyo's eyes widened with shock as she felt him take her breath away in that one short kiss. But before she could even react and shove him off, he quickly pulled away with a cheeky and breathy laugh.

"HA! I warned you!"

Tsukuyo couldn't process what just happened but his smug laughter only angered her more. Before she could think what she was doing, she found herself returning the favor by pulling him by his white lab coat and kissing him feverishly on his lips. And this time, it was Ginpachi's eyes which widened into large saucers.

Tsukuyo quickly pulled back, leaving both of them brrathless again. "Don't you dare act so smug with me!"

Both of them just stood there for a second, their minds trying to process what happened. They were just arguing, right? Telling how much they didn't enjoy each others company inside a locked storeroom?

Then how did this happen?

Was it the frustration of getting stuck with each other? Or was it solely the insults? Was it the packed room and the heat which messed up with their brain? Or was it the fact that they wanted to prove something to each other?

But whatever it was, why did they choose to kiss each other?

And why the hell did it feel so good?

Before their minds could answer these questions, the two coworkers found themselves lashing on each other.

Tsukuyo had always been a calm and level-headed person but never had she find more thrill in anything than pulling Ginpachi by his collar while pushing his oval specs up his head and kiss him with all she had got. Ginpachi, on the other hand, never let his control slip by in front of any woman. But this woman he was kissing right now only made him lose control and devour her with every kiss he gave her. Not in a million years had these two thought that they would be making out in a locked storeroom and that too after a long argument where they constantly insulted each other. And yet, kissing each other only made them realize how much they wanted this.

"What're we doing?" Tsukuyo asked gaspingly between kisses as she found Ginpachi cradling her face in his palms. His touch was firm yet gentle and she felt like turning into a mush.

"Just shut up and kiss me woman." Ginpachi almost growled as he now pulled her closer by her waist and planted his lips on her again.

Tsukuyo have never had such an experience in her life- this was her first kiss. With the energy and passion Ginpachi kissed her, she could feel her legs go limp as she found her arms wrapping around his neck to get some support. She shouldn't have provoked him. But damnit would she be lying if she said she wasn't enjoying this. Matching his lips, Tsukuyo copied his movements with the same intensity as she found his tongue battling hers. The way he sucked and bit her lower lip and then lightly kissed it- her mind was going completely dizzy. She then went for his red tie, tugging it loose as she let her hands roam on his well-built physic. He was just too much for her and even though the kiss felt too rushed and sloppy, she didn't mind any of her inexperience.

As for Ginpachi, he didn't seem to mind any of her inexperience as he continued to lick and taste her mouth with no shame. His hands were everywhere, her waist, her ass and then sliding up to her full clothed breaths and shit! how could no man not want her. She was just so intoxicating he could just eat her up in one go. Her curves, her voice, her beautifully scared face, the way she squirmed in his arms as she clutched on his lab coat for support- everything she did, she was always perfect. The smell of nicotine along with her lavender perfume and her small breathless moans only overwhelmed his senses as he no longer cared where they might end up later.

Never had Ginpachi wanted a woman as much as he desired her.

Never had Tsukuyo thought she would feel such security in his arms.

Sensing her wobbly legs, Ginpachi picked her up by her ass in one go as Tsukuyo found her legs now wrapped around his waist while he pressed her against the nearest wall for more support. Without leaving his lips from her, he found his hands now playing with one of her clothed breasts as he heard another muffled moan from her.

But alas they finally broke for air.

In the dim light of the evening, the two could see the string of salive that connected their tongues as both of them huffed for air. The way they looked now- their completely messed up hair, wrinkled clothes, Ginpachi's loose tie and Tsukuyo's unbuttoned shirt- never had they thought they would engage in such a reckless and intimate act together.

And yet, the way they panted and looked at looked at each other, as a small smile suddenly appeared on their faces, this didn't feel wrong to the them at all.

But before they could continue with their little session, the sudden turning of the door knob made them both jolt in shock as Tsukuyo jumped off Ginpachi's lap. Both of them looked at the opening door in horror as they found someone moving the flashlight right on their faces.

"I knew you guys were-" Ah shit, it was Zenzou. And the two of them were completely disheveled. "...You guys continue." And he switched off the flashlight and was again locking the door.

"OII WAIT, WAIT, WAIT!" It was Ginpachi who called out as he rushed towards the door. "The hell are you doing? We've been locked here this entire time!"

"Yeah?" Zenzou gave the unkept man a skeptical look and then looked at Tsukuyo behind who quickly turned her red face in shame. "Looks like you guys were having a good time and I was the one who disturbed you."

Ginpachi could feel his face flush in embarrassment as he glared at his colleague. "THAT'S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE!"

On this, Zenzou gave him a are-you-serious-man look and Ginpachi only felt his face grew hotter.

Tsukuyo could feel the tension around as she rearranged her clothes a little and walked towards the two men. "Hattori-sensei," she spoke up, "this...was not what we...we were really locked inside!" she finally got the out, her face turning red once again. "...but things just happened.."

Zenzou looked at Tsukuyo and then at Ginpachi as he felt a small grin escape his lips at their embarrassed faces. "Don't worry." he spoke in his nonchalant voice. "The whole school already knew that there was something going on between you two."

Ginpachi and Tsukuyo looked in surprise as a quick "eh!?" left their mouths simultaneously.

"Well whatever. It's already late. Good thing I came here to check." he turned around to leave as the other two quickly tidy up their appearances a little.

"By the way tempa! Good job." he gave a thumbs up to Ginpachi and then picked his pace, leaving the two behind.

Ginpachi and Tsukuyo turned to look at each other as they again felt the tension increasing between them. It wasn't always when these two make out and well, this was a first for them and yet, both of them seemed to have no problem with it. They might have never accepted it on their own but they sure did enjoy their company together. And a lot more than they could have guessed.

"Uh...." both spoke up simultaneously. And both of them chuckled at this. But again, silence followed.

"Hey." It was Ginpachi who spoke first. "I don't know what happened but..."

"..yeah?"

"...wanna get some lunch together someday?"

Hearing his earnest request, Tsukuyo felt her heart flutter. "Sure." she replied with a smile. "I hope you won't regret it though."

Ginpachi could only give her his honest answer. "Of course I won't."

#gintsuweek #gintsuki week #gintsu #gintoki x tsukuyo #i know today's the third day but i got late....#and maybe even rushed the story a little #hope you guys enjoy it

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thinkingisadangerouspastime · 4 years ago

Text

sigh no more

The crowd whistled its approval before gradually dispersing, and Mai sent him a lethal glare as she approached him. Zuko expected her to storm past, but instead she paused at his side, closing her eyes as her face became expressionless once more. “You always leave before it’s over,” she murmured. Their shoulders were almost touching. “I know you of old.”

And then she was gone.

Much Ado About Nothing AU, which coincidentally fell in line with Day 3: AU of @maikoweek! Hurray for a lovely happenstance. I did twist around a few aspects of the play to fit it better for Maiko/ATLA, but BxB was too good of a Maiko dynamic to pass up, even if Zuko is nowhere near as suave as Benedict, lmao. I really think Mai is a lot a like Beatrice, albeit with more deadpan, monotone sarcasm rather than high energy banter. I hope you enjoy these four Much Ado excerpts that I have Maiko-fied. :)

Read here on AO3! (Rated T; length is just under 5k.)

N.B. You don’t need to know anything about Much Ado About Nothing to read this fic! Bonus points if you’re familiar with the play, though. ;)

I.i.114-143

“I wonder why you’re still talking, Prince Zuko. No one is listening.”

Zuko’s shoulders stiffened at the familiar, dry tone. He wasn’t sure if his heart skipped a beat from irritation or excitement. Attraction, too, was undoubtedly involved. Not that he’d admit it aloud. “Lady Disdain,” he said, recalling the barb he’d practiced in the mirror back at the palace. He turned around to see none other than the Lady Mai - as expected - with her arms crossed over her chest. “I… didn’t know you were still alive.”

Ugh. The perfect set-up with a pathetic follow. How embarrassing.

Mai raised an eyebrow at him, perhaps as surprised at his weak retort as he was. “How can disdain ever die when all you do is add fuel to her fire, Prince Zuko?” She smoothed the front of her dress. “Surely you, heir to the royal throne and a firebender, would understand that.”

Zuko rolled his eyes, keenly aware they now had the attention of a crowd of Fire Nation citizens. Azula’s calculating stare behind him dug into his spine. “Lady Mai. You know as well as I do that the Fire Nation once again welcomes me with open arms.” He sent her a sideways glance. “Including your parents, for that matter.” He didn’t miss how she flinched at his words.

This month at her house would be… the longest of his life.

“I am certain Prince Zuko is loved by all in the Fire Nation, Lady Mai,” Azula teased, filling the tense silence. His sister never had been able to remain out of his relationship - former relationship - with Mai. “Except for you, of course.” She laughed, a bit louder than necessary. “Why, he’s turned down a dozen proposals in the past two hours since we arrived! And yet…” She sent Mai a casual, seemingly-innocent glance. “Zuko loves none.”

Why Azula alway felt the need to lie, Zuko didn’t know. What he did know was that her interruptions were not helping. And he didn’t appreciate the reminder of Mai’s hatr-

No. She didn’t - couldn’t -

No.

Zuko didn’t appreciate the reminder of Mai’s dislike for him. The loss of which he could only blame himself for.

Mai snorted. “And every woman in the Fire Nation is better off with his rejection.”

Zuko stiffened at the blow as the crowd snickered around them.

“But, I suppose I understand his desire to be alone, never falling in love,” Mai mused, a small smirk sliding onto her lips. It was the closest expression to a smile Zuko had seen on her face in a long time. “I’d rather hear a platypus-bear roar at a turtleduck than a man swear he loves me.”

Zuko glared at her, the memory of himself swearing his love to her before… before their separation bubbling hotly to the forefront of his mind. Anger soon overwhelmed any appreciation he’d had of her almost-smile. “And the Fire Nation is grateful for that, too, that way no man suffers from some” - what had Azula said to the jackass guard on their way in? - “some predestinate scratched face!” He paused. “Er, from being with you.”

Despite his faltering response, Mai returned his heated glare with an icy one of her own. “Scratching couldn’t make it worse, if the man had a face like yours.”

The crowd collectively winced at her words, and Zuko’s left hand crept up to brush his scar. Meanwhile, Azula’s eyes bore a hole into the back of his head - waiting. She was waiting for him to respond.

The flicker of guilt that flashed across Mai’s face disappeared as soon as it had come, her expression returning to its typical, unimpressed facade.

She hadn’t meant it like that. Zuko wasn’t sure how he knew, but he did. He could just - tell, when it came to Mai. And before he’d - he’d left, she’d never… No. Zuko knew her well enough. Better than he deserved to know her. And Mai would never use his scar against him.

But, as crown prince and as her guest for the next month, he still had to save face. Not to mention Azula’s intense stare from behind him was yet to lessen.

“You talk more than a parrot-snake,” he snapped, which wasn’t really true, but the crowd delighted in the petty insult nonetheless.

“A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours,” was Mai’s cool response.

Zuko barked a laugh. “I wish my ostrich-horse ran as fast as your mouth.” He held up his hand to stop her before she could respond. “But you’re free to tell yourself whatever you want, Lady Mai. I’m done here.”

And then she was gone.

Zuko exhaled slowly before returning to his sister’s side, not missing the amused expression on her face.

“I see you’re still engaged in your ‘skirmish of wits’ with Mai,” Azula noted, examining her gold-tipped fingernails. “A merry war that you would certainly lose without my help.”

Zuko glared at her. “I’ve told you, Azula. I don’t need you involved in my business with Mai. It’s not your responsibility to oversee us.”

Azula rolled her eyes. “Please. Zuzu. You should accept any help you’re offered regarding Mai, what with how your previous relationship with her ended in a dumpster fire. A fire you lit.”

Zuko grimaced at the reminder. He hadn’t wanted to leave Mai behind. But he’d had no other choice. And even if there had been a different option… Mai deserved more than him. Always. “I’d still appreciate it if you stayed out of my business.”

Azula raised an eyebrow at him. “For the time being, Zuko, your business is my business. This trip to Lady Mai’s is not only to reassess the good standing of her family, but also for Father to make sure you are trustworthy.” She gave him a knowing, almost wicked smile. “So you have a double reason to be grateful for my help. Because you wouldn’t make it without me.”

Zuko hadn’t realized his fists were clenched until his nails began digging into his palms. He forced himself to relax, nodding. But little tension left his body. “Fine.”

“That’s my brother.” Azula adjusted the golden hairpiece pinned into her bun. “Now. Mai’s parents are hosting a masquerade tonight to welcome us. Be your chipper self, and when the time is right, put on a mask and dance with Mai so she doesn’t know it’s you. Use that time to properly talk to her.” She chuckled. “And until then, do figure out what you’re going to say.”

The masquerade… Zuko had almost forgotten. And as much as he hated taking advice from Azula, his sister had a point. Maybe the best way to be honest with Mai was behind a mask. So he nodded once more, and Azula appeared satisfied.

Zuko didn’t deserve a second chance. Not from Mai, of all people. But… She was worth trying for one.

Mai was worth everything. She always had been. And he’d never forgive himself for not letting her know.

II.i.123-152

Finding Mai at the masquerade had been easy enough, even considering that Zuko had briefly left after the introductory festivities to find a mask. Mai herself was not wearing a mask, for one, but she was also…

Stunning. There was no other word.

Mai always had worn red better than anyone else in the Fire Nation, much to the envy of Azula. She radiated power and grace as she effortlessly floated between partners - Agni, it was a miracle Zuko didn’t chicken out of asking her to dance. At least his mask hid how much he was blushing.

“So you won’t tell me who you are?” Mai asked as they gently swayed to the airy tune.

“I’m… the Blue Spirit,” Zuko said after a pause, not wanting to deny her an answer but unable to tell her the truth, either. He deepened his voice as he spoke, though he wasn’t sure how aptly that disguised it.

Mai laughed - quickly, but a smile tugged at the corners of her lips just long enough for him to revel in it. He hadn’t seen a real smile on her face in years. “You know, Blue Spirit, I had an interesting run-in today,” she said, changing the topic from his identity, for which he was silently grateful. “With none other than Prince Zuko.” Her eyes flickered across his mask. “Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

Zuko stiffened at his own name, relieved that the panic written all over his face was at least hidden. He cleared his throat. “Is that so?”

She nodded. “Yes. He told me that I was disdainful, and that he could hardly believe I was still alive.” Bitterness flashed across her expression. “Maybe he has been gone for so long. Long enough to forget everything.” The grip of her hand that rested on his shoulder tightened, but soon slackened. “Sometimes it felt that way to me.”

“I’m afraid I’ve never” - he coughed - “er, I don’t know of Prince Zuko.”

Mai gave him a skeptical look. “You can’t expect me to believe that.”

A statement, not a question.

Zuko was sweating too much. His palms had to be as slick as a fish - spirits, he couldn’t believe she was still dancing with him. The time to switch partners had already passed. Did she know who he was? What he was doing? “Not I, Lady Mai.”

There was a long pause before she spoke again. The only sounds were the music and the idle, lighthearted chatter around them. “Did Zuko never make you laugh?”

Zuko blinked at the sudden subject change. “What?”

Out of nowhere, Mai took the lead in their dance, walking the steps that men typically followed as her hand on his shoulder dropped to his waist. He instinctively fell back, allowing her full control. “Well, Zuko may masquerade as a prince,” she said sharply, “but he’s much more the prince’s jester. A very dull fool, whose only talent is lying to and leaving the people who care about him.” Mai dropped him into a dip, and Zuko grimaced behind his mask as his heel ground into her toes. “He works too hard to please those that will only bring him pain.” She then pulled him upright before letting go of his hand. “I’m sure he’s still at this dance. I could have sworn he stepped on my feet already.”

The blood drained from Zuko’s face. Did she know…? “If I run into him, I will give him your message,” he managed to say.

Mai snorted. “Go ahead. I’m sure he’ll get a kick out of complaining about me.” She shook her head. “Maybe my words will dissuade him from coming to dinner. I don’t want to see him tonight.” She clutched the red fabric at her sides. “Or ever again.”

Zuko nodded. He didn’t know whether to succumb to the anger bubbling in his chest or the guilt rising in the back of his throat. “You put the prince down, Lady Mai.”

Mai laughed. It was harsher, sharper than before. “It is well-deserved.” She leveled her gaze with the eyes of his mask. “I lent Zuko my heart for a while, Blue Spirit. Longer than he ever did me. I was always there for him, even when my parents told me I should walk away. I would have done anything for him.” She took a slow breath. “And what did I get in return?”

Zuko swallowed. “I - I don’t know, Lady Mai.”

“Nothing.” Her voice had dropped close to a whisper. “Not even a goodbye.” Mai’s fists unclenched, the fabric of her dress slowly falling loose. “Do you understand, Blue Spirit?”

Zuko hesitated, but nodded. “Yes. I do.”

“Good.” Mai turned away. “Enjoy the party.”

Zuko watched her figure disappear into the crowd. It wasn’t until she’d vanished from his sight that he realized… Oh, Agni.

He hadn’t said goodbye.

IV.i.269-350

Nausea lined every inch of Zuko’s stomach, bile threatening to rise into his throat and spill out at any second.

What… What had he just watched?

“Well, her father was right to reprimand her,” Azula said coolly. “Mai has no power. It’s time she learned that.”

Zuko stared at his sister in a mixture of shock and horror. “What? How can you say that? All Mai did was stand up for herself -”

Azula sent him a pitying look that silenced him in seconds. “Zuzu. She has nothing to defend. Mai is a lady, belonging neither with royalty nor with the peasants. She must learn to be silent, and to be satisfied with her station. It is the only way she’ll survive. Besides, her parents were probably just having a bad day and took it out on her -”

“Her father accused her of ingratitude and her mother stayed quiet the entire time he shouted at her,” Zuko interrupted, his fists clenching so tightly that his fingernails cut into his palms. He’d be amazed if there was no blood. “It’s obvious they’ve been through this before, Azula. Mai shouldn’t be treated like a prisoner in her own home because of one question! She shouldn’t be ignored or - or denied her voice! All she wanted was…” Oh.

To get away.

Maybe… she’d wanted to go with him. All those years ago.

“Mai knows as well as anyone else what her place is,” Azula snapped. “Second to the son. Behind the heir.” She shook her head. “I thought you’d learned your place, too, Zuzu, but now…” She glared at him. “I’m not so sure. Don’t make me tell Father that you have some foolish fantasy prancing around your head about abolishing the nobility just so your ex-girlfriend will feel better.”

Zuko’s jaw tightened. His scar ached at the reminder of his father. But he knew his sister’s words were merely a distraction. “I’m going to check on her,” was his final response before he followed the path Mai had silently taken out of the house.

He found her in the garden, sitting beneath a weeping willow. Her eyes widened when she saw him, and she dropped her head, but not before he noticed the tearstains tracing her cheeks.

“Lady Mai,” he said slowly, lowering himself to sit beside her, “have… have you been crying the whole time?”

Mai wiped her eyes. “No.”

“Mai…”

She huffed. “Fine.” Her voice cracked, and she grimaced. “But I’m allowed to cry. It’s the one thing I have a right to do.” She shook her head. “At least in private.”

Zuko hesitated. “I don’t want to see you cry, Mai.”

“Then shut your eyes.”

Zuko chewed his bottom lip. He wanted nothing more than to pull Mai into a tight embrace, promising her that everything would work out and her parents would come to their senses. Even if those words might be - would be - a lie.

But it was no longer his place to do so. Not anymore.

“Your father was wrong to speak to you like that,” he decided to say. “And your mother was wrong to not step in and help you, either.”

“I’m well aware,” she said bitterly. “And I’d owe everything to the person who dared to actually tell them that.”

“Is there a way to show such friendship?” Zuko asked after a pause.

She laughed. It was harsh, scratching her throat. “Of course there’s a way. But I have no friends here.” She glanced at him before dropping her gaze back to the grass beneath her palms. “Not anymore.”

Zuko placed his hand on top of hers, scarcely managing to bite back a relieved exhale when she didn’t pull away. “Ty Lee is gone. Azula doesn’t count. But…” He took a deep breath. “Can a man do it?”

Mai scoffed. “Right. Because I’m sure the world considers it a man’s office to defend a woman.” She sighed, and he could feel her clench the grass beneath her hand. “Maybe it is. But it’s not yours, Zuko.”

Zuko knew it was now or never. He’d hurt her before. Maybe irreparably. But he had to try. She - Mai needed someone to be there for her, he knew she did. And he loved her. He - He wanted to be there for her in all the ways he hadn’t been before.

So maybe it was selfish, but…

“Mai.” He reached out, tucking her hair that had fallen loose from her buns behind her ear. “I… I love nothing in the world as much as you.” He gave her a weak, maybe too-timid smile. “Isn’t that strange?”

Mai froze at his words, and all hope bled out of Zuko’s body. He silently cursed himself. Why had he spoken? Why hadn’t he just accepted that he’d ruined things permanently between them when he’d abandoned her alone three years ago?

“It’s… not strange,” she quietly admitted, and Zuko’s heart skipped a beat. “I could say that I loved nothing as much as you, but” - she shook her head, frustration glimmering in her eyes - “you shouldn’t believe me when I say it, even if I’m not lying -”

Mai cut herself off again with a sharp inhale, pulling her hand out from under Zuko’s to wipe her eyes a second time. “I admit nothing.” She looked up at him, and the hurt in her expression was soon drowned out by a fragile, hopeful hesitation. “But I won’t deny anything, either.” She sighed in frustration, running her hands through her hair. “Agni, I’m so sick of feeling sorry for myself!”

Zuko’s heart was beating out of his chest. “You love me.”

Mai scoffed. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

Zuko shook his head. “I didn’t think - after what I did - I don’t deserve -”

“It’s not about ‘deserve,’ Zuko!” She sighed again. “It’s never been about ‘deserve.’ Because you always loved me. The real me.” Mai closed her eyes, pain flickering across her face. “Yes. You screwed up. For a long time, Zuko, I thought I hated you. And I didn’t want to - I - I couldn’t forgive you. Not at first.” Her gaze hardened. “And I’m still angry at you.” She clenched her fists. “But…”

Zuko’s breath hitched in his throat. “But what?”

Mai groaned. “Agni forgive me.”

Zuko frowned. Where was this going?

She exhaled slowly, lacing her fingers through his. “Zuko… I don’t think I ever stopped loving you. Even I told myself I had.” She laughed - still quiet, but without the harshness of before. “Maybe, if the time was right, I’d even act like Ty Lee and protest that I loved you.”

Zuko’s grip on her hand tightened. “What’s stopping you? Do it with all your heart.” He remembered Uncle saying that to his wife, eons ago. And he wanted to hear the response from Mai. All three words.

Mai laughed again, light and open for the first time since he’d arrived at her home. She turned towards him, cupping his face with her free hand. “I think I love you with so much of my heart that none of it is left to protest.”

Zuko stared at her, drowning in her presence.

And then he was kissing Mai, his hand resting at the curve of her neck atop her collarbone as he pressed her back against the trunk of the tree. She wrapped her arms around his waist in response, pulling him into her body to deepen the kiss before one of her hands rose up to entangle itself in his hair. Zuko regretted nothing more than when he had to pull away to breathe.

“Don’t think this means you’re off the hook,” Mai whispered, her chest rising and falling with a rapid speed that told Zuko she’d enjoyed the moment as much as he had. She touched their foreheads together. “Just because we’re on kissing terms again doesn’t mean my expectations have lowered.”

Zuko was simply grateful she was willing to give him another chance. He pressed a gentle kiss to her jaw. “Ask me to do anything for you.”

There was a long pause. The air seemed to grow heavier in the silence.

“Kill my parents.”

Zuko eyes widened in horror. The social consequences, the punishment from his father, the possibility of another lifetime of exile… It was impossible. “I can’t.”

Mai jerked away from him as if she’d been burned. “You kill me to deny it. Goodbye.”

“Mai!”

She pulled her arm away as he grabbed it, pushing herself to her feet. “I am gone, though I am here. There is no love in you.”

Zuko reached after her a second time, his hand closing on her wrist. “Mai, please -”

“Don’t touch me!”

The force of her words shocked him, and he let go. “Can we at least be friends again?” he finally asked, slowly getting to his feet.

She stared at him incredulously. The amount of emotion she was expressing in such a short span of time was almost foreign to Zuko, and yet he couldn’t help but feel a hint of satisfaction that she was only willing to be so expressive around him. “You’d rather be friends with me than fight with my enemy?”

“Are your parents your enemy?” he pleaded.

“Agni, you of all people should understand that, Zuko!”

He winced at her words, hand creeping up to touch his scar. He… Yes. He understood. Not that he’d ever wanted to think of Ozai, his father, as his enemy.

But just because Mai’s parents had never burned her didn’t… It didn’t mean they’d ever loved her.

“Have they not proved themselves in the height of villainy?” Mai hissed. “Treating me like our family is better off when I’m out of the house? When I’m in a different room? When I am silent?” She clenched her fists. “Showing every damn day that our name, our reputation will always be more important than what I want? Telling me that my little brother means more to them than I ever could? Making no move to help me when - when you left -” She choked on her words and shook her head, blinking back tears. “Spirits, if I was a man - if I was allowed control over my own life -” Mai dug her heel into the dirt, her hands slowly uncurling. “I would eat their hearts in the marketplace.”

Zuko inhaled sharply. That was near treason. “Mai, you can’t -”

“Don’t you dare tell me what I can’t do!” Her voice broke, and Zuko’s heart shattered at the same time. “I’m tired of hearing those words! Every day! Do this, don’t do that, look, don’t touch, see without being seen!” She pushed her hair out of her face. “What good is being a prince, Zuko, if - if you can’t help people with that power? If you can’t take them with you?”

He heard what went unspoken.

Why did you leave me behind?

“I can’t escape this hell with wishing, so I’ll die here with grieving,” she finished bitterly, turning to leave the garden.

Zuko hastily stepped in front of her, taking her hands in his. “Mai, I swear -”

“I don’t need another broken promise from you, Zuko,” she said coldly, though she made no move to walk away.

Zuko flinched at her words. “Okay. You’re right.” He released her hands, exhaling slowly. “I can’t kill your parents, Mai. But” - he met her gaze directly to stop her from interrupting - “I can get you out of here. I - I don’t know how, yet, but we’re leaving. Soon. And this time, we’re going together.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Mai. I never meant to hurt you.”

Mai didn’t respond. And when she fell forward into his arms after her knees buckled beneath her, Zuko held her close, willing to stay as long as she needed.

He was never leaving her again.

V.ii.42-103

Everything was in place.

That night, while everyone - including the servants - was attending a performance by the Ember Island Players, he and Mai would have the perfect chance to sneak out. Zuko wasn’t sure where they’d go. Maybe Ba Sing Se. Eventually, of course, they’d have to return to the capital. He had duties to fulfill as crown prince. And Mai…

Well, she’d be Fire Lady one day. Probably the best in history. If he had to, he would make them respect that.

“You asked for me?”

Zuko stood from the bench he was sitting on as Mai entered the garden, dressed in more relaxed attire than he knew she’d worn in a long while. He enjoyed seeing her comfortable. “Yes.” He moved forward to kiss her, but she sidestepped, giving him a teasing smile.

“I’m here for an update, Prince Zuko. If what you say satisfies me, then maybe - maybe - neither of us will depart unkissed.”

Zuko laughed. Seeing her in perpetual good spirits was his new favorite thing. Well, his new, old favorite thing. Mai was - she was beautiful all the time, no doubt, but there was a special twinkle in her eyes when she hated the world.

He’d rather die than ever again see her believe the world hated her.

“I have good news. Our plan is a go.” He laced his fingers with hers. “I’ll meet you at your bedroom tonight when it’s time to leave.”

Zuko saw tension ease out of Mai’s body at his words, her shoulders dropping in relief. “Waiting for these next few hours to pass will take years,” she admitted.

Zuko chuckled. “Then let me distract you.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her onto his lap as he sat back down on the bench. He’d half-expected her to stop him, and was silently overjoyed when she simply rolled her eyes before leaning back into his chest.

“Give it your best shot, future Fire Lord.”

“Hmm…” Zuko had to contemplate what best to say. “Okay. Tell me this - which of my bad parts did you fall for first?”

He could feel Mai laugh. The sound vibrated into his chest, even if he couldn’t see her entire smile. “All of them at once. But if anyone asks, none, and never.”

He kissed the nape of her neck, relishing in the shiver that ran down her spine. “As long as you’re honest around me.”

Mai hummed contentedly. “I could ask the same of you.”

“Which of your bad parts I fell in love with first?”

Mai laughed. “No. I mean I could ask you to always be honest with me, too. That said…” She turned in his lap to better face him, an edge of mirth to her smile. “Tell me - which of my good parts did you suffer love for first?”

Zuko found himself laughing, too. “‘Suffer love’?” He pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. “I guess I do suffer, since I love you against my will.”

“Oh, in spite of your heart, I’m sure,” Mai mused, a teasing glint now shimmering in her eyes. “Poor heart.”

Zuko chuckled. “Azula always said we didn’t know how to flirt like normal people.” Mai accepting him back into her life had made dealing with Azula’s temperament far easier the past few days.

“She might have a point.” Mai shrugged. “But who cares what Azula says? We found our way back to each other.”

Zuko closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against hers. “We did. And I’m never leaving you again.”

There was a pause before Mai responded. “Will you…” She took a shuddering breath, placing one of her hands on his chest. “Are you really going with me tonight?”

Zuko leaned back slightly, removing one of his arms from around her waist to cup her face in his hand. “Lady Mai, I will live in your heart, die in your lap, and be buried in your eyes. Most importantly…” He pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. “I will go with you wherever you travel.”

Mai leaned into a second kiss. “Good,” she whispered. “Because I’m never letting you say goodbye to me again.”

“You won’t have to,” Zuko promised. His grip tightened on her waist. “I know I’ve said it before, but I - I never wanted to leave you, Mai. And I know I hurt you.” He shook his head, gently running his thumb just beneath her eye. “I could apologize a million times and that wouldn’t make up for it -”

“Zuko.” Mai gave him a gentle smile. “You came back. That’s what matters.”

Zuko raised an eyebrow at her. “So… Does this mean you don’t hate me anymore?”

Mai rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t leave. “I think we’re well past that point, Zuko.”

And when she crashed her lips onto his for the umpteenth time, well… That answered any other questions Zuko may have had.

Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,

Men were deceivers ever,

One foot in sea and one on shore,

To one thing constant never.

Then sigh not so, but let them go,

And be you blithe and bonny,

Converting all your sounds of woe

Into hey, nonny nonny.

Sing no more ditties, sing no mo

Of dumps so dull and heavy.

The fraud of men was ever so,

Since summer first was leavy.

Then sigh not so, but let them go

And be you blithe and bonny,

Converting all your sounds of woe

Into hey, nonny nonny.

#fallmaikoweek2020 #maiko #mai #zuko #atla #avatar the last airbender #atla fanfic #atla fanfiction #atla mai #atla zuko #atla maiko #azula #much ado about nothing #much ado about nothing au #amy writes #maiko au #maiko fanfic

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navigatrixnarrations · 3 years ago

Text

Sometimes Always, Part 7: Once A Thief

As Charles Vane and Margaret Teach repair the Adventure, can they also repair the rift between them?

A hectic work schedule and an injury delayed this chapter. Thanks for continuing to read. Chapter 8 should be up MUCH faster, and will be more action-packed. Meanwhile, angst and fluff.

Warnings: canon-typical violence and profanity, mention of stillbirth

Word Count: 1990

Still by @whenimaunicorn

Catch up here.

His knuckles are bloody and he doesn’t care. The prize from tonight’s bout is more than ample to keep himself and Margaret well fed for the week. Though he wishes she’d been in the audience to see him victorious over the other fighters, Charles Vane hopes she’ll smile when he strides back to the Adventure to share the news of his winnings.

His knuckles were bloody and he didn’t care. The man’s nose made a satisfying crunch beneath his fist; now he stares up at Vane, gore-coated and fearful, as Vane looms over him.

“Are you saying you let her win when you raced her in the harbor? In front of a crowd?” By now Charles Vane had enough of a reputation of his own that the gathered pirates on the beach backed away at the the deceptively quiet growl of his voice. “It wasn’t a close contest, as I recall.” Nobody threatened or insulted his Magpie. Nobody. Eventually he let the man flee into the night.

“Charles.” Margaret’s voice returns him to the present, her skirts rustling as she sits beside him on the bunk. “Just once can I leave you alone without you doing yourself an injury?”

“You sound just like your father when you say that.” He gives her what he hopes is a disarming little grin, but Margaret’s eyebrows crease in annoyance.

She grabs his hand and studies the scrapes and bruising on his knuckles, turning it over and assuring herself that none of his bones are broken. “My father,” she snaps, “would leave you to deal with these injuries yourself.” She pulls a small wooden box of ointment from her coat pocket. Harsh though her words are, her callused, long-fingered hands are gentle as she cleans his knuckles and rubs balm into them.

When she finishes this treatment, he wraps his big hands around her much smaller ones, lightly enough that she can pull away should she wish to. “Margaret,” he begins, not certain what he should say to her, but he needs to say something, start to mend past mistakes, start to ask for what he wants.

She looks unsure, but she wraps deceptively delicate-looking fingers around his much larger, rougher ones, so he charges ahead though it feels as if his heart is trying to hammer its way through his rib cage. “I can’t make you laugh the way Sully did, but I swear to you I’ll never willingly cause you pain.”

“How can I trust that, when you did?” Her voice isn’t angry, isn’t accusing; she’s genuinely asking, and there’s an edge of anguish in it, so Vane bites back the urge to snarl at her.

“Had I known how my actions would hurt you, Margaret, I would not have taken them. There is nothing I would not give to undo the pain I caused you. Nothing.”

“But you can’t, Charles. You can’t.”

“I know.” He sounds weary, as though his very soul is tired.

She stands. “I’m going to see about some supplies and get an update on some crew matters. I shouldn't be long.”

Reluctantly, he releases her hands. Starts to rise. She shakes her head slightly. “Best you’re not seen with me on this errand.” He opens his mouth to growl a reply, but she cuts him off.

“I’m trying to get us both out of here alive. What the fuck do you want from me, Charles?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, but neither does she slam the cabin door behind her.

Had he made better choices, perhaps the bunk he now sits upon would be his and Margaret’s marriage bed. Perhaps the cradle holding firewood would be where their child slept. An absurd notion, he chides himself. He’d meant what he said when he told Flint he didn’t understand the urge for domesticity, still means it, but surely this is something altogether different. This isn’t porcelain teacups; this is balm rubbed into wounds, hands held in the dark. This is respite. Perhaps there is still hope. Piracy might be dying, but smuggling would always be an option, and once a thief...

The bell at Trinity Church is just chiming the next hour when he hears three sharp raps on the gangway. She’s returned.

He rises to meet her. She holds up her hands, palms facing him, and he halts, unsure if she’s warding him off or reaching for him. Last night when he woke her from her nightmare, she let him hold her and briefly, ever so briefly, she put her arm around his waist, melted against him. Whatever battle she’s fighting within herself, he will wait. If she ends up pushing him away, well, it wouldn't be the first time Margaret broke his heart, and this time, at least, he’d understand why. And should she decide to give him a chance…

She takes another step toward him, her hands still up, yes, now they’re reaching, ‘til they land on his chest. Almost instinctively, he finds his arms wrapping around her, pulling her close. One of her hands slips around to his back, her head coming to rest against his shoulder, and he presses his lips to her hair. They stand there, leaning into one another, neither willing to move any further.

“This,” he says, narrow, chapped lips brushing her ear. He feels her breast expand with her inhale, and heat suffuses his body.

“What?” Her breath is warm on his neck. It’s enough to drive a man mad, but he wants so much more than mere carnal contact.

“You asked me what the fuck I want from you. This, Magpie. This.”

“A warm body against yours on a cold night? There’s plenty of girls in Maiden Lane who provide exactly that for coin.”

Vane exhales sharply, as though she struck him. Throughout the years when he was with Eleanor, with Idelle, with any number of whores, it was Margaret he often thought of, Margaret he wished was in his arms. At last, here she is, yet she’s still so far away.

He wraps his hands around her strong biceps, pushing her away. Not in rejection, but because he needs to see her face. To look her in the eye while she wounds him so. Her eyes widen in surprise, and her face hardens, her mouth set in an ornery line. Was that hurt that flashed across her face, ever so briefly? Belatedly, he realizes that one of her hands is wrapped around his necklaces; she must have curled her fingers ‘round them while he was holding her. She tracks his eyes to her hand, but she does not let go.

“Is that truly what you think of me? What you think I think of you?” The bitterness in his voice is apparent to his own ears. She opens her mouth to retort, then closes it around the sharp words she’s struggling not to cut him with. His voice is gentler as he continues. “Everything good I’ve ever had in my life is because of you, Margaret.” He brings one hand from her arm to her cheek, pale but for a flushed, angry stripe. “Last night I offered to go and you told me you did not wish that. But do not keep me just to lash out at me. That I cannot endure.”

“Keep you just to lash out at you, Charles?” Margaret sneers as she echoes Vane’s words. “I took a bullet for you once. I went back to Nassau for you. I was willing to take another bullet for you if I had to, even after all you did.” Her jaw juts out stubbornly, and he strokes it with a callused thumb.

“Promise me you won’t do that again.”

Her flashing eyes search his, and there it is, that old spark of mischief. “I’ll promise you no such thing.”

It was one of the most frightening experiences of his life, turning to see her collapsed and bleeding on the deck of the prize ship. Bleeding from the wound in her side, from her mouth as she tried to say something to him. He helped hold her down, him on one side and Sully on the other, while the surgeon dug out the bullet and treated the wound, all the while her eyes clamped shut, her teeth scoring the strip of leather the surgeon gave her to bite down on. She barely made a sound. The finger marks she left on his forearm lasted for days. He’d been terrified of losing her. The fucking irony of it, he thinks. She chose Sully and he fell into Eleanor’s trap and drove her away. Lost her. But here they are, and she isn’t shrinking from his touch, hasn’t let go of his necklaces.

Margaret was leading the vanguard, her dark hair held out of her eyes with a scarf whose scarlet matched her shirt. Earlier, Sully commented on the bold color and Margaret merely shrugged. “It’ll hide the blood if I get shot again.”

“Don’t you dare get shot again,” Vane growled.

Margaret curled her upper lip. “Then don’t put yourself in the line of fire again.”

He found her standing on the rail by one of the bow chasers, pistol in one hand and cutlass in the other, shouting orders through the smoke and noise. One of the sailors started dropping toward Vane and she raised her arm to shoot him, seemingly without taking her eyes off the battle unfolding before her. With one hip cocked out for balance and the look of utter focus on her face, hair dancing in the wind behind her, Vane wasn’t sure he could fully attribute the flutters in his belly, the racing of his heart to the rush of the fight.

She met his eye. “Behind you!” she shouted, and Vane whirled just in time to parry an attack.

He realizes that she’s giving him that sweet, gentle, secret smile, the one that once made his heart soar, that still does, and that he’s smiling back at her.

“I’ve got to go back out,” she says, and he doesn’t think he’s imagining that this time, she’s reluctant to let go, that there’s regret in her voice.

“I’ll come with you.”

“As much as I’d enjoy your company, I need you to stay and guard the ship.” She makes a wry face.

“I could come guard you.” He means it to be joking, but she presses her lips together and narrows her eyes stubbornly. He knows better than to try to argue with her. At the gangway, she pauses to glance back at him. And she smiles again, ever so briefly. It’s enough.

Charles couldn’t make out their words behind the closed door of Captain Teach’s cabin, but neither Margaret nor her father sounded happy. Abruptly, the door flew open, and Margaret stalked out.

“Get back here, girl!” Teach snarled after her. She stared over her shoulder, all defiance, then stormed away. “Obstinate little bitch,” Teach muttered tiredly.

“I can’t imagine where she gets it from,” Charles replied.

Teach’s eyes went black for a moment and Charles braced for a blow. Then Teach sighed. “I’ve no idea how to raise a daughter. Her mother died in childbirth with Margaret’s younger brother.” Vane knows that child was stillborn. And is Teach insinuating that he wished it had been Margaret instead?

“That’s not Margaret’s fault,” he bristled.

“I never said it was, boy.”

“You don’t have to. It shows in how you treat her as lesser, how you act as though she’s never able to measure up.”

Teach sighed again. “The world would be easier on her were she a boy.”

“You say that while you make it harder on her just because she wasn’t born with a cock.”

Teach chuckled. “She has quite the champion in you, Charles.”

Vane hears footsteps on the deck above, too heavy to be Margaret’s. He readies pistol and cutlass and waits to ambush the intruder.

Taglist: @whenimaunicorn, @n3rdybird, @itmeansofthesea

#sometimes always fic #black sails fic #charles vane fic #charles vane x oc #charles vane x margaret teach

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rhysismydaddy · 4 years ago

Text

Dirty Daydreams (Nessian Fluff)

Cassian groaned against her neck, the sound snapping something deep inside of her. She reached up to pull his head up, needing to see him. Golden eyes, the eyes she loved so much, met hers and she smiled up at him.

Calloused hands gripped her hips, pushing into her and making her back arch-

Nesta’s eyes shot open, gulping down air and almost falling out of the bed as she violently tore herself from the dream. She threw a pillow at the wall in frustration, barely resisting the urge to scream her head off.

That damn bastard was really trying to get himself killed.

She shut her eyes, but images of his tan skin, wide smile, and sinful lips kept badgering her, so she threw the covers back and stormed across the room to lock her door.

Then she glanced at the open window.

After locking it--and giving the night sky a foul gesture for good measure--she crawled back into bed and sighed, begging the gods for just one good night sleep.

Just one.

Ever since he’d arrived in the House of Wind four days ago, Cassian had been plaguing her dreams. And daydreams.

She knew what he was doing.

Rhysand had told her certain people could get into your mind, and apparently Cassian was one of those people. The prick thought it was funny to use whatever demonic skills he possessed to send dirty images to her brain at all points during the day and night.

Seriously.

Yesterday they’d been ignoring each other in the library when she’d imagined throwing her book down, going to where he’d sat at the desk, and kissing him senseless.

The day before that, she’d been absolutely convinced she was in bed with him, watching the morning sunlight dance across his chest. Not listening to him talk about the army’s preparations for winter.

It was driving her absolutely insane, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of asking him to stop. She would never let him know he’d gotten under her skin.

So far, she thought she’d remained perfectly unbothered, even though she had homicidal thoughts every time he asked if she was okay, voice teasing and knowing.

Just one night, she pleaded.

Nesta closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to imagine steel gates around her mind. Steel strong enough to keep even the most resilient winged beasts out.

The next morning, Nesta cursed those damn gates.

Apparently, there was a hole in them or something because Cassian had wormed his way into her mind enough to torment her all night long.

She’d awoken at dawn, body aching with lust, ready to light him on fire.

Nesta threw on a dressing gown and stomped down to breakfast, trying to school her face into neutrality despite the violence coursing through her blood.

It didn’t matter, because as soon as she walked into the dining room, Cassian’s head snapped up, nostrils flaring as he took in her scent.

Damn.

She’d forgotten about that.

“Sexy dreams, Nesta?”

I’m going to stab him with a knife.

She sat across from him at the table and grabbed a piece of bacon off his plate. “Nope.”

His curly hair fell in his face as he tilted his head to the side. “Interesting. You smell nice.”

Make that a rusty knife.

“Well, as usual, you smell like a rotten fish. I don’t know how I ever put up with it.”

Cassian smiled like he always did when she insulted him, as if he knew it was all a lie. “You’re in a wonderful mood today.”

Nesta just rolled her eyes and scooped some fruit onto her plate.

She was stabbing a piece of melon, watching him somehow shove more food in his fat mouth than anyone she’d ever seen, when she thought about how easy it would be to crawl across the table into his lap.

She’d press her mouth to his, pull his hair, drive him crazy like he did her. Cassian would give her that bright smile she loved, happy he’d finally won their little game, and wrap his arms around her, mouth finding its way to her neck-

A thud sounded through the room as Nesta’s head fell back against her chair.

Cassian laughed. “What in the world were you thinking about over there?”

“That’s it!” she yelled, not able to keep her cool any longer. “You are so fucking annoying! Get out of my head!”

She slammed her fist down into the table, making all the plates shake.

His dark eyebrows pinched together in fake confusion. “What?”

“Get out of my head! Stop sending me these delusional, disgusting thoughts, or I’m going to gut you, I swear-”

“Wait, wait, wait. What? You think I’m...” Realization spread over his face, and his eyes lit up as he smiled happily. “Nesta, baby, I’m not a Daemati. Rhys and Feyre are the only ones I know.”

Everything inside her came crashing to a halt. Her rage turned towards confusion, mind and body not wanting to accept what she’d just heard.

What?

He wasn’t... he couldn’t... what?

Her face caught fire as a blush worked its way over her entire body, and Nesta dug her fingers into her thighs as a horrible, repugnant understanding formed. No one had been messing with her.

Except herself.

Every single dream and thought she’d had... they’d been hers.

“So what, exactly, were you daydreaming about?” Cassian asked, smile so bright, so satisfied it almost blinded her.

Nesta finally gave in to her impulses and shot out of her chair so fast it flipped over. She didn’t care, though; she was already half-way out of the room.

She had to get away from him. She was many things, but she’d never allow herself to break down in front of him.

She sprinted down the hallway to her room, humiliation pushing at her to go faster, faster, faster.

A dark shape over her head caught her attention, then Cassian was slamming to a landing in front of her, wings spread wide to block the entire hallway. “Stop running from me.”

Sliding to a halt in her silk slippers, she realized she’d never be able to outrun him.

Stupid, stupid wings.

Nesta looked for any other way out of this conversation, attention snagging on the open window.

If she could just-

“You try to jump out of that window, Nesta, and I swear I’ll wring your pretty little neck.”

She rolled her eyes, trying not to look like that’s exactly what she’d been planning.

“Now. Tell me what you’ve been dreaming about.”

Nope. Never. “Window it is, then.”

He growled at her, and she had to repress a laugh.

The smile fell off her face as he just crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. Waiting.

“Why does it matter, Cassian?”

He looked at her incredulously, beautiful eyes holding a mixture of anger, happiness, frustration, and an emotion she didn’t want to consider.

“Why does it matter?” he shouted at her, throwing his hands up in defeat. “I swear, Nesta, you’re so dense sometimes. It matters because I’ve been trying to get you to fall in love with me for almost a year, and you’re finally letting it happen. Now what the hell were the dreams like?”

She should respond, should do something besides gape at him, jaw swinging in the breeze.

He’d been trying to... he... “You love me?”

Her voice was so small and quiet, but he heard her perfectly.

Hands on his hips, he rolled his eyes and said, “I tell you I love you at least once a day, dumbass.”

True, but- “That’s different. You’re always teasing me.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I never tease you about that. But stop trying to change the subject, Nesta. Tell me about the dreams.”

A dog with a bone.

“Um.” Her face was a thousand degrees of embarrassment as she gave in and said, “They aren’t all sex dreams, so don’t even start. Sometimes we just dance, or go on dates, or wake up together, or kiss- stop looking at me like that!”

“Like what?” he asked, biting a lip to keep the smile at bay.

“Like a kid of Yuelemas.” She pushed against his shoulder and stomped by him. “This doesn’t change anything. Just because my brain’s demented doesn’t mean things are different between us. I still hate you.”

They both knew it was a lie.

Cassian, prick he was, called her on it. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

She was almost to her room, the blessed solitary confinement mere feet away.

“I can prove that you don’t.”

Nesta snorted, unable to help it. “Cassian, you’re so full of shit. You cannot possibly-”

He grabbed her wrist and turned her back around, and before she could so much as blink, he was kissing her.

Nesta stood, unmoving, as her brain tried desperately to catch up.

All her dreams, all her fantasies, couldn’t compare to this. Nothing could.

Cassian’s lips were soft and persistent against hers, hands rough as they grabbed her waist and pulled her against him.

He whispered her name, and she finally snapped back into her body and realized what was happening.

She pushed out the thoughts of doubt and embarrassment and nervousness and just did what she wanted for once.

Her arms wound around his neck, and she pulled herself up closer to him, kissing him deeper. His tongue slid into her mouth, and she lost her mind at how he tasted.

Caramel, salt, wind, Cassian.

He tugged on her lip with his teeth, smiled, and pulled back.

“See? You don’t hate me, baby,” he laughed, pressing kisses to her forehead, temple, cheek, chin, everywhere.

She’d never seen him this happy. Never felt this amount of joy in herself, either.

Laughter bubbled out of her. “Okay. Fine. I don’t hate you.”

“You love me.”

He was a cocky bastard, wasn’t he? But... she thought back on all the times he’d been there for her, putting up with her when no one else wanted to.

All the dreams she’d had of them just being together came crashing together, and she realized she wanted that. Wanted that life with him.

Nesta pulled on his hair to stop the assault of kisses, looking into his eyes. “Yeah. I do.”

Cassian picked her up and spun her around, both of them laughing like maniacs. “And it only took a year of flying all the way up here to bug you.”

Once she was set back on her feet, she leaned into him, trying to memorize the feel of his body against hers. “Take me on a date tonight.”

“It’ll be just like your dream,” he smirked, kissing the tip of her nose. “Dancing and drinking and good food.”

She knew where he was going, but she didn’t even care as he teased, “Then whatever you dreamed about that had you smelling like that this morning.”

“You’re a presumptuous little asshole. I don’t think I’ll sleep with you. Ever.”

A finger on her chin brought her face up to his. “Liar,” he whispered, their lips not an inch apart.

“Maybe.”

“Say it again,” he murmured onto her jaw, fingers moving to play in her hair.

Nesta rolled her eyes, cupped his face with her hands, and finally told him the words she’d repressed since she first saw him. “I love you, Cassian.”

______________________________________________________________

Ending’s cheesy as shit, sorry. Not really.

@musicmaam @b00kworm @bamchickawowow @aesthetics-11 @a-bit-of-a-cactus

#cassian #nesta #nessian #nessian fanfiction #nesta archeron #acotar #acowar #acofas #acomaf #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #acotar fanfiction

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twistinghearts · 5 years ago

Text

Can’t stop staring

Heehee~ Writing this was much more fun than taking a nap. Based on @fluiditism post that taught me about hyena’s. I already had the idea for the second half this just filled in the rest.

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“Shishishi~ This will get back at him for skipping out on payment.” Ruggie snickered, leaving the bucket of water balancing on the part open door. With the trap set he snuck around the corner waiting for Idia to leave his room. He heard the soft sound of food steps before the door began to open and then suddenly, splash! As you pushed open the door to leave you were attacked by a stream of water.

“Shi-" Ruggie jumped up as he witnessed the prank back fire. He should have run away but you spotted him too quick.

“You!” You screamed, kicking the bucket his direction.

“Ah ha~ Sorry I was trying to get Idia. He owes me… I didn’t think he really hung out with people.” Ruggie gave a sweat drop smile, stopping the bucket with his foot.

“That explains nothing idiot!” You yelled back, even more annoyed by his attitude. You wrung out your hair first and then started on your skirt. That was a about when Ruggie noticed you were wearing a skirt and realized exactly who you were. The weird student, the new girl, the ONLY girl at this all boys’ school, he had never really seen you in more than passing and now you were in front of him soaking wet and oh wow you were pretty and apparently feisty too. His heart beat a little faster just looking you over. Was he supposed to be doing something? All he could do was stare.

“Why are you just staring at me you simpleton! S-stop it!” You glared at him, really thinking about smacking him. It was embarrassing being stared at like that.

“Ah! Y-yes.” His gaze quickly averted from you and to the floor. He gulped, why was he suddenly nervous. “Right uh I should get something to dry you off.” At least that would give him a chance to process... or remember how to think.

“That’s pointless at this point.” You were more whining rather than outright yelling, still very frustrated at the cute scruffy trouble maker in front of you.

There was a moment of silence as you waited for him to do the right thing, and he was just unsure what to do.

“Apologize!” You demanded, tired of waiting for him.

“Huh?!” Ruggie looked up caught off guard by the demand. Honestly, he forgot it was his fault you were wet. Your eyes met, and while it was only for a moment it made Ruggie's hair stand on end and he instantly snapped down into a low bow. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to dump water on you.” Usually he would have made excuses or just ran but you wanted an apology and he just wanted to please you.

The action caught you off guard, the Savannah claw student seemed like such tough jocks who even talked back to the teachers sometimes and yet their second in command was being an obedient cub. It was good that he decided to bow now he couldn’t see your cheeks burning.

“Thanks…” You had calmed down now, residing to you fate of having to change before the next activity. “I guess I’ll forgive you since you’re being a good boy.” The last bit was mumbled but Ruggie still heard and brought the biggest smile to his face.

There was another moment of silence before you broke it again. “You... don’t have to keep bowing…”

Ruggie shot back up. “Right. Sorry. So you’re good now? Can I leave?” Wait why was he asking, he didn’t know you or need permission to go anywhere. “I-I mean I’m leaving!” He turned quickly and left down the hall. Only, he went the wrong direction and reached the open window at the end. Rather than turn around and walk past you again he just jumped out the window.

~||~

It had been several hours and Ruggie still caught himself thinking about you from time to time, which wasn’t the biggest problem until Magishift practice. “That was totally within your range Ruggie!” His teammate yelled as the disk flew by over Ruggie’s head. “No it wasn’t!” He lied, running after it.

“Oi, Ruggie. Come here.” Leona called as he returned to the group. “What’s going on with you? You’ve been actin’ weird all day. Get your head out of the clouds and focus.”

“You’re one to talk about focusing,” Ruggie huffed before leaning back with his arms behind his head. “I met the girl… I think I like her.”

“Pff, yeah right. You probably just like listening to her because she’s a girl.”

Ruggie lowered his arms, setting his hands on his hips. “I don’t think it’s just that. She was really pretty too, and nice to me even after I dropped a bucket on her.”

“You what?”

“I just can’t get her out of my head.”

Leona shook his head, “Yeah it doesn’t sounds like you like her, just instincts. Get her out of your head or I’ll smack the idea out.”

Ruggie’s arms crossed, “What do you know about liking someone; you can’t even say it to Ro- ow!” Leona gave Ruggie a quick slap upside the head to shut him up. “Let’s just get back to practice.”

Ruggie was able to focus a bit better after his talk with Leona, missing less and aiming better. During the scrimmage two opposing members gave chase once the disk was in his hand. Feeling confidant he headed straight for the side of the bleachers. “Jack, catch!” As he turned for a quick moment to cast the disk to his team mate he spotted you underneath the bleachers. Unable to help it he just stared, as the world around him faded away. All he wanted right now was for you to look at him, and eventually when you did look up you immediately caught his eye. So far away and yet he felt a connection with you.

Smack.

You watched as Ruggie flew straight into the post of one of the bleachers.

“Mnn… my face hurts.” Ruggie groaned as consciousness returned to him.

“That’s because you flew into a post, dummy.” You answered from beside his bed in the infirmary. Even though it was an insult, he was overcome with joy to hear your voice.

“You’re here~” He smiled turning to see you, knocking a bag of ice off his forehead.

You puffed out your cheeks a little, you had been waiting by him a while, but hadn’t prepared yourself for when he woke up. “Yeah… Leona told me it was my fault so I had to take you to the infirmary and make sure you were okay… Sorry.”

Leona said what! It was true, but it made Ruggie feel bad that you felt you had to apologize. “Leona’s just didn’t want to do it himself. You don’t have to say sorry. I’m glad he did. I feel better with you here.”

You froze, your heart essentially skipping a beat and all the blood rushing to your cheeks. You grabbed the fallen bag of ice and shoved it against his face so he couldn’t see you, and you couldn’t look at his cute face.

Ruggie aside from his initial squirming, you two were left in silence again. Eventually your blush faded and you adjusted the bag to sit a gently on his bruised face. “Does it hurt?”

“Only a little, I’ve been through way worse.” He lowered the ice bag to be able to look at you, his heart picking up pace.

“Well your cute face wasn’t bruised up too much...” Wait shit did you just call him cute.

Ruggie’s ears stood on end, blushing a little as you called him cute. If you were going to say sweet thigns like that there was only one way he was going to find out if he liked you or not and, well better to try it now than wondering about this weird feeling forever. “Laugh with me.”

You starred at him confused by the weird request, statement, just the words coming out of his mouth. Suddenly your body was moving on its own, leaning forward just like Ruggie was until your lips touched.

You broke apart soon after his magic faded, he couldn’t hold himself up long anyway. Your cheeks burned scarlet; meanwhile there was a huge grin on Ruggie’ face. “Yep I definitely like you.” Unable to return his words, or vocalize at all what you were feeling you took the ice bag and pressed it against his face again. He didn’t mind though, it just meant he got to be close to you.

#twisted wonderland #ruggie butchi #twstsd #fic #self insert #tsundere #cute #kiss #i saw you talking about it and couldn't resist sorry #ever since i learned of ruggies magic I wanted to write about him using it to steal a kiss #long post #leona kingscholar #ruggie x reader #Full House #Dealer's Choice #Double Down

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waywardrose13 · 5 years ago

Text

Falling Stars

Masterlist

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Angst, cheating, heartbreak, mentions of divorce and past break-ups

This fic is loosely based on Dolly Parton’s “Jolene.” Lyrics are in italics and in bold.

A/N- This fic is un-betad, as per usual. So all mistakes are mine and there is not nearly enough editing to satisfy me but here we are.

Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene

I'm begging of you please don't take my man

Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene

Please don't take him just because you can

Your hands were gently cupping your kneecaps. You sat cross legged on your bed you shared with Dean. You stared down at the picture, tears welling in your eyes.

“I thought you should know.”

You sniffled softly. It felt as if your heart had broken into a million little pieces. You had originally tried to catch them all, piece by piece as they fell, hoping you could put them all back together again.

But you eventually gave up as the heart began to crack and break more quickly as everything set in.

“Don’t ask me why I care about you, but I do. I know you don’t trust me, but trust this.”

A shaky sob sighed from your parted lips. The betrayal you felt was greater than anything you’ve ever felt. It felt worse than the time you were nearly clawed to death by a werewolf. It felt worse than the time that vampire sunk its teeth into your neck to rip a chunk of flesh from you. Because this pain was straight to your core. It tore itself through your heart, all the while ripping each string along the way. It was an internal pain that burned so brightly, it set you aflame from the inside out.

Your beauty is beyond compare

With flaming locks of auburn hair

With ivory skin and eyes of emerald green

Your smile is like a breath of spring

Your voice is soft like summer rain

And I cannot compete with you

Jolene

You had to admit, she was gorgeous. Her body was tall and lean, with slender, yet round hips, and full breasts. Her face was simply glowing. Green eyes shined behind dark lashes, waves of liquid fire hanging to her waist. Perfectly manicured hands, full rows of pristine teeth, skin like the purest milk.

You hated her.

She was ethereally beautiful. You understood why Dean would want her. You were nothing special, not with fuller hips than you wanted, hip dips, and a squishy belly. Scars littered your body from years of hunting and battling your own demons years before. You used to be ashamed of them. That is, until Dean came along.

“They tell a story,” Dean had said. His cheek rested against your bare stomach. He relaxed as your hand gently ran through his hair.

“Of how I was weak?” You whispered.

Dean shifted, kissing the skin of your belly, lips brushing every so softly against your scars.

“Of how you were strong.”

He looked up at you then, hand cupping your cheek, face inching closer to yours.

“You’ve fought battles and won. These scars show me how strong and brave you are. They tell me you’re here and alive with me.”

Maybe Dean got tired of seeing them. Maybe he missed the feel of soft, unmarred skin beneath his hands.

He talks about you in his sleep

And there's nothing I can do to keep

From crying when he calls your name

Jolene

Crowley’s information simply proved what you’ve thought for months now.

Dean had become more distant, pulling away from you. Your relationship had begun to feel strained, like it was hanging on by a thread, ready to fall apart in any second.

Once upon a time, your name would fall from Dean’s lips as he slept. Sometimes he’d murmur sweet nothings within his dreams of you, whispering how he loved you, how he couldn’t live without you. Now, it was the same, except for the name.

“Jolene,” he would whisper, the phrases in which he used to say about you following after the alien name. You didn’t know a Jolene, hoping he made a mistake. Maybe it was an actress he had a crush on. Or maybe he was remembering an old crush. Whatever it was, you simply hoped it wasn’t what you feared.

But it kept happening. Your name never again slipped from his lips during his sleep. It was always “Jolene.” You never asked him about it. You figured that if you did ask about it, it would make the whole thing real. That your fear would be proved correct, and then you wouldn’t know what to do.

And I can easily understand

How you could easily take my man

But you don't know what he means to me

Jolene

Not only were there pictures of her and Dean together, wrapped in a lover’s embrace, cuddling on a couch inside a foreign home. But there were text exchanges. Somehow, Crowley had obtained all of this information, and you didn’t want to know how. Just why.

Jolene had told Dean to leave you. She wanted to be with him. She thought it was sexy for awhile, sneaking around behind your back. She liked to mock you.

Dean would respond with worse insults about you.

But now, she had her fun, she wanted to settle down with him.

Ha.

Been there, tried that.

He didn’t know what to say to that. She wanted him to say ok, drop you and be with him. He simply changed the subject.

Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene

I'm begging of you please don't take my man

Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene

Please don't take him just because you can

You carefully gathered each of the photos, arranging them in a neat pile before reaching over to your nightstand drawer, placing the stack of photos inside and closing it.

Dean had left hours ago, not telling you where he was going, simply muttering something about needing a different atmosphere for awhile. Of course, you had your doubts as to where he was going. You wondered if he was going to visit “Jolene.” You wondered if the places he disappeared to were with her.

Dean came back after only moments of being gone with a small package addressed to you. There was no return address, and Dean warned you not to open it, but you ignored him. For some reason, your gut told you that you needed to see what was inside. So you wished Dean a good night and went back to your room.

And here you were.

You could have your choice of men

But I could never love again

He's the only one for me

Jolene

Crowley had included a letter inside the box, amongst the photographs and printouts of text messages.

Chipmunk,

I hope you’re well, darling. I know this may be hard to believe, especially coming from me, but I hope you do. Don’t ask me why I care about you, but I do. I know you don’t trust me, but trust this. Squirrel is seeing someone else. Before you toss this letter in the rubbish and ignore my existence once more, hear me out. I’ve also included some photographs in the box. I’ve had a few of my men keep an eye on your beau. I suspected something was off in our last meeting and I needed to figure it out for myself. I know this must be hard for you, and know that I am deeply sorry you had to find out this way. But I figured it was important, and I know it would be difficult to speak to you without your guard dog breathing down our necks.

The texts were a bit more difficult to obtain. Nothing I couldn’t handle though, darling. Don’t ask how I got them. Don’t even ask why. I have a soft spot for you, Y/N. I thought you should know. You deserve to know.

Crowley.

You read over the letter a few more times. You believed him. Dean had been acting suspicious for some time now, and the photos looked so real. You knew it was real.

You just didn’t want to lose him.

How were you supposed to confront him? Were you even going to? Would you stay with him? He obviously wasn’t in love with you anymore, or else he wouldn’t have branched out.

I had to have this talk with you

My happiness depends on you

And whatever you decide to do

Jolene

You sighed deeply. Turning off the lights, you settled down under the sheets, curling into a fetal position. Your heart was broken. Dean Winchester had been the first and only man you had loved. He was your first everything. He was the only man you ever let into your bed, your heart, your head. The love the two of you had shared was epic. It consumed you so greatly, twirling you up into the air and into the infinite sky, allowing you and Dean to dance amongst the stars together. It hit you so fast and so hard, and you fell before you could comprehend it.

An agonized cry sounded in your ears. It didn’t take long to realize the sound came from your own mouth.

The pain in your chest resonated throughout your body. It seared your heart and burned your soul. It crippled your limbs and set your mind aflame. This was why you pushed everyone away in the first place. This is why you didn’t let people get close to you.

This is why you never wanted to fall in love.

You had witnessed enough heartbreak in your family and friends. Everyone around you since you were little. Love was never something you strived to have. Sure, you were lonely. And yes, sometimes you envied your sisters or your friends for the love they would have. You were happy for them, beyond happy. You were ecstatic when one of your sisters told you she was getting married, or when your older brother announced his girlfriend’s pregnancy, or when your mother finally found a man that was so good and loving to her. You were happy for them all.

However, before that happiness, you also knew they experienced profound heartbreak.

You watched your parents’ divorce happen before your eyes. You watched your sister break down after her first love left her. You watched as your brother had to lift himself up again after his girlfriend of five years broke up with him. And yes, they were all happy now. But you never wanted to experience that loss, that pain. Especially when in your line of work, that loss would most likely be death.

It wasn’t long after you had settled into bed that Dean came into the room. You froze at the sound of his footsteps. He let out a deep breath, changing quickly, and then slipping into bed behind you. He got comfortable and then slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you tightly into his chest.

“I love you,” he whispered, kissing the shell of your ear.

You knew you needed to confront him. You knew you should’ve been angry.

I’ll do it tomorrow, you thought to yourself. You closed your eyes, snuggling deeper into his arms. You allowed yourself the peace of falling asleep in the arms of the man you loved so dearly. Let me have this one last time.

Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene

I'm begging of you please don't take my man

Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene

Please don't take him even though you can

Jolene, Jolene

Enjoyed the story? Let me know here! Feedback is loved and greatly appreciated! If your names is crossed out, tumblr won’t let me tag you:(

Jensen/Dean beans:

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Forever Lovlies:

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#dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean x y/n #fanfiction #supernatural #waywardrose13 #cheating #angst #fic

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yanara126-writing · 4 years ago

Text

hey look ma i made it

It's the queens birthday, and yet she sits in the dark of her room alone, staring at a piece of paper. Kanerah has no intention of letting her love stew in misery, much less on her birthday.

Read here or on Ao3. (2077 words)

Have fun! Comments always welcome! :)

It was strangely cold in her chambers. The soft fabric of her sheets felt rough against her hand, and the light of the torches falling through her window was pale. Her own vague shimmer was dimmed, her halo gone, her wings vanished. The paper in her hand crinkled as she shifted her fingers, and the sound carried far too loudly through the empty room. The writing was fine, ornate, a piece of art really, not the way one would wright for practicality’s sake. The ink was faded, but its quality assured that it would still be readable for many years to come.

The fire in the fireplace crackled. The paper did the same. Not for the first time Tamary felt her fingers twitch, as if they had developed a life of its own just to rid her of the innocent sheet of paper in her hand. And just like all the times before she stayed her hand. The paper remained. Her gaze fixed to it like the enemies’ on her.

From outside she could hear merry chattering, excited shouts, and the occasional boom of fireworks. The revelry of the day would continue for many more hours she knew. The alcohol flowed in rivers. There were games and merchants on every corner. The capital was alight with laughter and revelry. And she was in here. Alone. Staring at this damned piece of paper once again.

So many years had gone by, and still she couldn’t this behind her. Every year she had to come back to it. At least since coming here she’d gotten better at enjoying herself first. At this point there was really no way to avoid it. The whole day people would come to her, inviting her to something or other, be it random citizens excited at meeting the queen or her companions.

Suddenly door creaked open, letting light a warmer light fall in. Or perhaps it just seemed warmer because of who entered with it.

“And so the queen sits holed up all alone on her birthday.” Tamary smiled, glancing towards the figure in the open door. The light falling in from behind them almost seemed like its own halo.

“Kanerah.” The tiefling gave herself unimpressed.

“Every year you vanish somewhere. One would think you don’t enjoy the attention.” Tamary gave a small smile. Not at all comparable to her usual self-assured grin, but a smile nonetheless.

Kanerah kept up the pressure for a few moments longer before giving a small sigh and crossing the distance between them. With her usual grace that made her lean muscles subtly shift under her skin she sat down next to Tamary and gave her small kiss on the cheek, before shifting her attention to the piece of paper in Tamary’s hand.

“What is that?” Tamary took a moment to answer, the warm, firm shoulder pressed against hers was still as distracting as it had been the first time, years ago.

“It’s- it was a gift.” She couldn’t say it. It was silly. It was stupid. It was ridiculous for an adult, much less a queen. She had said so many things. A lot of them stupid, insulting, downright lies, and even confessions of love, but she couldn’t say this. Instead she handed the paper to Kanerah with a sigh, turning away, face in her hands and elbows on her knees. She didn’t want to see someone else read it.

“Names?” Names. That was all this was to an outsider. Of course they were just names, names that had haunted Tamary for her all her adult life, without having met even one of the people who wore them.

“Suitors. Rich merchants, lower nobles, men and women from all over Taldor. Anyone with enough money to comfortably provide for a wife without her having to work and still live in luxury.” There, she’d said it. She’d said it and nothing bad had happened. The world wasn’t crumbling, her mother hadn’t suddenly jumped out from behind the bed to berate her again.

“Oh. I thought it was a hitlist.” A short moment of silence. “Is it?” Tamary snickered into her hands and then finally turned back around, a dopey smile on her face.

“No. I don’t know any of them. Didn’t stick around for it.” Kanerah kept her eyes on the list for a moment more, lips pulled into a face of undeniable disappointment.

“Pity.” With that she turned around, an eyebrow lifted, and fixed Tamary with expecting stare, one eyebrow elegantly raised. Clearly she wasn’t content with the explanation. Not that Tamary could fault her for that. But… Where would she even start?

In hopes of buying herself some time she swept her eyes over the room. It was dark with only the fire lighting it, as the sun had set a while ago. There were shadows in the corners, dancing in rhythm with the flames, ever in motion. The fire crackled as the logs broke in the heat she still couldn’t feel. Next to her she knew Kanerah was still waiting. In another situation Tamary might have enjoyed the dominance radiating from her, but right now she just felt like melting into the ground and avoiding the story she knew she could no longer avoid.

“So, you sit on your own in your room, staring at an ancient list of admirers you’ve never met, on your birthday, while the whole city is ready to carry you through the streets. Do I have this right?” Well, if she put it like that it sounded silly. Not that Tamary hadn’t known that before.

“Yeah. I just- yeah.” One more big sigh, and now she had to do it. Long years of steeping in her complicated feelings hardly did her any favours though. From the beginning then…

“My birthdays were never about me, for my whole childhood. I was a doll for my father to show off, I’ve always known that. It was to stand around and look pretty for the day, be nice and say thank you to the nobles who showed up for the festival, take the token gifts they bring you, and be quiet the rest of the time. That’s the way it always was. But sometimes those gifts were actually nice. I got my first lute that way.” One of the few untainted memories from her childhood. She didn’t remember anymore who’d given it to her, so she couldn’t have a grudge against them. “So, even though I’d known for a while that I was going to leave, I decided to wait for my 20th birthday. I thought maybe I’d get something useful, or at least some money, or something I could sell. You know, with the whole turning of age hype. Instead I got… this.” And what a scene it had been. Lots of applause, hungry gazes, calculating words. Even now Tamary felt the corset cut into her chest more sharply than it ever had before, pressing the air out of her lungs. “It was my mother’s idea. She wanted me to marry as soon as possible, to avoid what had happened to her.”

“Your mother the mistress?” Tamary winced. She held no love or pity for her mother, and objectively she could say what her mother had pulled before her birth had been very impressive, but her childhood spent suffering from these choices dimmed her admiration significantly.

“Yeah, you see, my mother was… playing multiple sides to say. Visiting nobles, family of my father -she had a prolonged affair with his sister for example- she was playing all of them. Acting like the sweet innocent girl and letting herself be showered with gifts. But with my birth and my father’s official claiming of me, all of that became obvious, at least to the parties involved. None of them would admit it of course, but that didn’t exactly make her very popular with the people in power. And my father sure couldn’t care less. He let her stay to take care of me, but he certainly didn’t care enough to divorce his wife for her.” Why his wife hadn’t divorced him was another matter entirely that Tamary had no intention of ever examining too closely. “So although she was now taken care of, she was also pulled into the social schemes of the nobility. A rather deadly game as I’m sure you’re aware of.” Almost on their own Tamary’s eyes wandered over to Kanerah.

“Intimately.” Kanerah’s eyes sparkled with something cold, those nice creases around them pulled into something decidedly not nice. A quick thought flashed through Tamary’s mind, that she should take care to change that later, and heat up that nice fire that burnt in her again. But unfortunately, they were having an uncomfortable conversation that shouldn’t be left hanging, and so Tamary begrudgingly pushed all thought of steamy nights away for later and looked away again.

“My father didn’t give a shit. My mother may not have liked the situation I put her in, but she was excellent at it. The whole list consists of rich, but unimportant people. No one that could possibly have been a threat to my father. To marry me they would have had to settle in my father’s capital, if they weren’t already there. That way he wouldn’t lose his little doll and get control over whatever assets my spouse would bring to the marriage, and so he let it happen.”

“Is that why you came to me?” The question is simple, there is no fire underneath it, nor the chilling frost from before, and when Tamary turned to look at her, Kanerah wore her mask of easy curiosity. For the first time in a while Tamary couldn’t tell if Kanerah was angry at her or not. She sighed. Why must honesty always be so exhausting?

“In the beginning. I’ll admit, seeing a hot tiefling from Quadira obviously flirting with me definitely kindled some thoughts of sweet revenge.” And how sweet it was. Then and now all the more, when it was no longer just the sex. It was love and it was happiness, and both were so much sweeter than sex could ever be.

Kanerah snorted, and with tiny, hopefully not noticeable start, Tamary noticed that she must have forgotten to close her mouth. Oh well. Perhaps not her most refined declaration of love, but maybe not everything needed to be. The soft, exasperated smile on Kanerah’s face made everything worth it.

“You are terrible, and I have no idea how you keep everyone tied around finger with lines like that.”

“Why, I don’t know. Perhaps you’d like to pay me in kind and tie something around some other part of me?” Now with the uncomfortable confessions out of the way, the banter came much easier to Tamary again. The grin stretched across her face entirely on its own, and the room suddenly seemed much warmer than before. Or perhaps that was just her own body. Oh definitely her own body, with Kanerah’s low lidded gaze slowly shifting over her.

“Perhaps later. For now I believe there is a party still waiting for its guest of honour.” Tamary pouted. Parties sure were nice, but something else would be even nicer now. But sadly for her Kanerah had already pulled away, though her suggestive smile hadn’t disappeared. Tamary wasn’t sure if that was nice or frustrating. Unfortunately, she didn’t get to enjoy it for long either way as Kanerah turned away.

“And besides, I believe my sister would be very unhappy with me if I kept you for myself tonight.” That sentence was enough to completely fry Tamary’s brain for a second. Only for a second though, and with renewed enthusiasm she pushed off from her bed and sprinted after Kanerah.

Behind her the room light up again with a warm, receding glow as she rushed out. The renewed halo lit up the room briefly, and her wings brushed doorframe. Tamary herself didn’t notice, too distracted by the promise of the attention of both her favourite people, coupled with the desire to just leave the last minutes behind. But Kanerah noticed, and she also noticed the crackling sound of burning paper in the fire place.

Satisfaction puller her lips into a smile, as she strolled away, back in direction of the party, just fast enough to tease Tamary along without quite letting her catch up.

Good. And may it burn in hell forever for hurting what’s hers.

#pathfinder kingmaker #writing #the baroness #kanerah #kanerah/the baroness/kalikke #Tamary #emotional hurt/comfort #mention of child neglect #mention of affairs

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kyu-gsoo · 4 years ago

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We’ll keep this culture alive

For Kataang Week 2020.

Day 5: Heritage/Responsibilities

Words: 2,336 words

Summary: Aang restores one aspect of culture lost to the hundred year war.

Author’s note: I went away for a few days so I’m behind on Kataang week D: I know there’s no obligation to do all prompts (much less do each on the day of like I’ve been doing).. But I want to. I’ll probably try to catch up later. Anyways I know it’s technically Day 6, but here’s my Day 5 fic. Set in The Headband episode! Mostly Aang-centric but still with some good ole Kataang at the end. Again I made it a lil angsty and tbh I don’t even know if it fits the prompt

Aang watches as the flames engulf his staff, leaving nothing but ashes in their wake. He thinks about the saddle the sandbenders had thrown out when they traded Appa, about the map he packed when he ran away that fateful day; scribbled with all the places he planned to visit, about the clothes he was wearing when Azula struck him; now left tattered and torn. The anguish that he feels watching the last physical item that tied him to his old life is red hot and all-consuming, just like the flames before him.

“That’s okay,” He’d said, even when it was not. “It would give away my identity.” He tried not to think about how he was the only piece of the Air Nomads and their culture left in existence. A living relic. Aang’s identity as an airbender was the only thing he had yet to sacrifice, and he wasn’t planning on doing so anytime soon.

Which is why, when he puts on the headband for the first time, it hurts him more than he can put into words. He realizes as he closes the cloth around his forehead that there isn’t anywhere he can check for his reflection, and is grateful for the small mercy. He can’t even begin to imagine what he would look like without his tattoos.

This war, he thinks to himself. It just keeps taking and taking and taking. Aang is sure by now, as he hides his tattoos, that he no longer has any more left to give.

Still, he shakes the thoughts away and plasters on his signature lopsided smile. “Tada! Normal kid.”

He watches Toph and Sokka squabble over the earthbender’s new Fire Nation style shoes. In this instance, as she and Sokka bicker about, Aang finds that from an outsider’s perspective, they really do look like nothing but normal kids. Just a bunch of friends hanging out close to the shoreline. The minor moments of normalcy they are afforded are few and far in between, so Aang lets himself laugh wholeheartedly because he doesn’t know when he will next find this type of joy.

Katara’s voice breaks him out of his laughter. “How do I look?” She stands from head to toe in red, a nice contrast to her dark skin.

Beautiful is his first thought, because she is. The thought that follows is, “Uhh, your mom’s necklace.”

The waterbender immediately reaches up to touch the pendant at her neck. “Oh,” is all she says at first, obviously reluctant. Aang watches her unclasp and remove it anyway. “Oh yeah. I guess it’s pretty obviously Water Tribe, isn’t it?” Katara’s fist closes around the small choker, concealing the last of her true identity. Here and now, she follows the rest of them and gives into the guise of a Fire Nation citizen.

The disappointment her face mars is a painful reminder that they are all sacrificing bits of themselves for this war. That, consequently, they can all find solace in one another. Aang wonders briefly if that is a blessing or a curse.

Again he pushes this thought away. Instead, he follows his companions as they begin their trek into town.

It’s a slow day in town. Granted, he couldn’t really think much of it, since he and Momo somehow got roped into attending a local elementary school. The first day isn’t so bad, though Aang doesn’t remember this many customs present all those times he visited Kuzon. It takes him one too many times to get the bow right that he worries he’ll blow his cover soon. He has one of his new classmates to thank for hinting at him the proper way. Later, he learns that her name is On Ji.

Of course, when he returns to their hideout, he gets an earful from Sokka for wandering off. That doesn’t stop him from attending the next day.

But the second day is what really tests his limits.

Of all the ways to start the day, Aang never imagined staring at a portrait of the former Fire Lord Sozin being one of them. He follows the suit of the other students and stands rigidly, mouthing incorrectly to all the words of an oath he knows nothing about. The teacher catches on and is quick to punish him and his classmates with a pop quiz. This puzzles Aang even more. As if having to pledge allegiance to the very man who started the war wasn’t weird enough, the teacher adds insults to injury by starting off their quiz with:

“What year did Firelord Sozin battle the Air Nation army?”

He raises his hand almost immediately. The teacher, clearly irritated, indulges him anyway. “Is that a trick question? The Air Nomads didn’t have a formal military. Sozin defeated them by ambush.” He tries not to make it sound so defensive, instead feigning confusion. Almost all of his peers stare dumbfounded at him, but he waits for the teacher’s response anyway. These are his people they were talking about. How could they fabricate history books so blatantly? Was wiping them off the face of the earth not cruel enough?

“Well, I don’t know how you could possibly know more than our national history book, unless you were there a hundred years ago.” She clips and raises an eyebrow, as if challenging him to defy her.

The young airbender’s nervous laughter rings throughout the classroom. He wants so badly to question her further, to probe how exactly an Air Nomad militia came about, when it was within their ways to avoid violence at all costs. They were carefree, spontaneous, and had a spiritual weightlessness to them. But these words die on his tongue, all for the sake of keeping his identity secret. It pains him that he has no choice but to accept these lies knowing they are untrue. Though he owes it to his people to set things straight, he sits down and lets the culture of the Air Nomads once again get lost in translation.

It is during Music Class that he finally snaps.

He was just dancing. But the teacher had called it a “nervous disorder.”

“Dancing is not conducive to a proper learning environment.” The instructor asserts. He lets Aang march in place instead. They carry on, and Aang marches in his seat like he was given permission to, but somehow he can’t find it in himself to keep blowing the tsungi horn.

Though he doesn’t agree with it, he could understand the intention behind the Air Nomad genocide. It was to obliterate all obstacles that prevented the Fire Nation attack and reign. But what then, was the point of their overrule if they destroyed all the cultures of the Fire Nation too? What kind of empire did Sozin plan to lead if all of his people were fed lies and lived off of obedience? Aang couldn’t understand.

What he could understand was that another culture was dying. And he couldn’t just sit back and watch.

He came to the conclusion as he, Sokka and Katara returned to their little cave. “I’m going to throw them a secret dance party.”

“Go to your room,” is the first thing Sokka can come up with. He gets a laugh in return. It’s obvious the airbender isn’t going to heed his warnings, but Sokka tries anyway. “Aang, are you really going to risk being found out for a dumb dance party?”

Except Aang’s no longer laughing. His gray eyes have steeled over when he replies. “It may be just dancing to you, Sokka. But it’s a tradition with historical importance to me. It’s a cultural heritage that I can’t just let die out here. Not again, when I can help prevent it.”

Those words alone are what get all three of them onboard with his idea. Though the party was found out in the end, Aang regards it as a complete success.

It starts off a bit awkward, no doubt, the majority of them timid. Aang can’t even blame them when he knows they’ve never witnessed this kind of dancing, maybe even any kind of dancing, in their entire lives. Luckily On Ji and a few others quickly warm up to the occasion, which then makes it easier for even more of Aang’s peers to join as well. Aang himself has the time of his life having the chance to do a little waterbending dancing with Katara. He is surprised that she trusts him to lead her wholeheartedly. For a moment all the other kids just stare as they make their way along the makeshift dance floor. Both Aang’s cheeks and ears blush as he thinks about their intimate little moment. Even so, the occasion itself is what makes him the happiest. And if he were honest with himself, it’s the happiest he’s been since he woke up after being struck by Azula. He isn’t sure why that is.

Aang looks down at the clouds as they fly past, the cave having been out of their peripheral view for sometime now. He thinks about why that event made him so happy, and comes up blank.

Later, when they’ve landed and finished setting up camp, Aang lay on the ground staring up at the stars. He sprawls his arms and legs out, just feeling the earth beneath him. It brings him an unexplainable comfort that the earth still crumbles in his palms the same way it did before he set out into that storm, all those years ago.

“Can’t sleep?” Katara whispers. She’s lying on her side with a palm to her cheek, her hair loose of all its ties. Behind her, Toph and Sokka lay sound asleep.

It’s a simple question, but somehow it compels Aang to reveal all of his innermost thoughts. They spill over one by one before he can put a stop to them.

“I just.. These past two days really opened my eyes. It made me realize that the war didn’t just take away from all the other nations, but from the Fire Nation too.” He turns to her, watching as the shadows of the campfire catch on her face, then turns back to the sky. “Seeing all of those kids dance with me tonight. I helped them relearn one aspect of their culture that the war wiped out. It just feels so.. Fulfilling. To know that I restored something. Even if it wasn’t something for my people. It gives me this new surge of hope, Katara, the fact that I managed to restore something lost to the war.” He turns to Katara. There she lies, just an arm away from him. “And you helped me.”

“I'm glad that you got to experience that, Aang. I think it healed a part of you that you didn’t know was wounded.” He sees the stars reflect in her eyes as she continues to speak, and hangs onto every syllable. “That hope you feel right now? That’s how I felt the day Sokka and I found you in the iceberg.” She pauses before she says her next words. “And I feel it grow exponentially every time you take on your role as the Avatar.”

She tucks her hair behind her ears and continues. “I hope you understand now that you’re capable, Aang, of ending the war and restoring balance. You were always capable. But now more than ever.”

All the words in the universe evade him. He can’t even begin to explain all the emotions filled in the space of his chest. All these intense feelings he never even knew he was capable of feeling before tonight. One word and they’ll all come spilling out. His vision blurs as he tries to make sense of them all, but Katara remains smiling at him.

Aang closes his eyes and lies on his back again, swallowing in his tears and taking a moment to gather himself. He understands now, why her words bring so much comfort yet evoke the same amount of pain, too. Because saving it all means risking it all. And Aang, one way or another, is risking the Air Nomads by fighting this war. He'd never spoken of this worry for fear that voicing it out would bring it closer to coming true. It was eating away at him the same way it was hurting him. But she’s just given him the realization that they have a chance. A fighting chance.

It takes all of him to gather enough courage to ask the next question.

“Katara?” He questions with as steady a voice he can manage.

“Yeah?”

Aang holds his breath. When he speaks, the words come out garbled and rushed. “When the war is over, do you think there’s a chance to revive the Air Nomads and their culture?”

My people and my culture. Do we have a chance?

She answers him in a heartbeat. “With you around, definitely.”

Somehow the weight of those two simple words are all it takes to break the dam. His tears betray him and he lets them, neither ashamed or uneasy. We have a chance, his mind chants over and over. One day, he will watch others inherit the culture of him and his people, not die out. He lets the weight of the unsettlement float away and cries, because this is the last time he’ll ever let it consume him the way it did.

He thinks about the remains of the Southern Air Temple, of the Fire Nation’s buried cultures, of the crisp smoke emanating from the buildings of Omashu the last time he’d seen them, of how he’d flown out Katara with him and consequently robbed the Southern Water Tribe of their last waterbender. They all have a chance. Aang will give them that chance.

He feels a hand squeeze his shoulder and turns. Katara lies beside him, still smiling.

Neither of them break the silence after that.

#kataang week #kataang week 2020 #kataang tag #sorry i totally left out the legendary kataang dance because i knew i couldnt do it justice #anyways this also means that sozin and ozai’s plan was to rid the earth of ALL four cultures even their own #they wanted to train their people like cow so they would never be questioned #god is it possible to despise a fictional character with this intensity #aang x katara #atla #atla fanfic #fairy writes #tumblrfic #wordvomit

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capricornus-rex · 4 years ago

Text

Someone Left to Save (7)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: The Mantis crew arrives to the capital of Ulfin, in the planet of Pevera, under siege. They meet the local rebel cell spearheaded by the former Republic admiral, Jax Beneb, who seeks to destroy the Empire’s occupation that was aggressively imposed upon while exploiting the planet of its natural resources. A plan is devised to destroy the Imperial’s main base of operations—as well as their influence—in the planet; however, it was a do-or-die mission that you and Cal had gotten yourselves caught in.

Tags: Force-Sensitive! Reader, Inquisitor! Reader, Jedi! Reader, Fake Death, Jedi turned Inquisitor, Seduction to the Dark Side, Turn to the Dark Side, The Dark Side of the Force, Aftermath of Torture, Torture, Psychological Torture, Redemption Arc! Reader, Possible Redemption, Premonitions

Also in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 | Previous: Part 6 | Next: Part 8 | Masterlist

7 of ?

Cal wakes up in a cold sweat.

“[Y/N]!!” he exclaimed as he shot up and heaved.

The image of you wailing in an ear-shattering agony, coated in a veil of violet lightning that covered you from head to toe, and eyes that are beyond recognition—it all burned in his mind, hotter than the fires of the explosives that tore down the tower. No amount of sleep can remove that from his system now.

He catches his breath as he was abruptly awakened by that horrid figment. He realizes he’s still in the cramped quarters in the rebel hideout—he’s all alone.

He curls up, drawing in his legs to his chest, props his elbows atop his knees while he rakes his blood-orange hair with his fingers—all of a sudden, he remembers the way you would do the exact same thing, sometimes you would hum softly a wordless lullaby—and then his heart ached. Parroting the way you caress him from his hair to his cheek didn’t seem to make it all feel better—it only made him miss you much more sorely.

A single tear escapes his eyes, and then another, and another… until a wet patch formed on the leg of his pants.

“You can’t be gone… you’re not…” he mumbles under his breath, he grips a clump of his hair caught in the spaces between his fingers as he buries his face into his knees.

“Bee…?”

Apparently, BD-1 was alerted by Cal’s waking from his nightmare. The little droid scampered towards his owner and nuzzled his head against the Jedi’s calf. The young boy didn’t budge, he retained his position as if nothing touched him or tried to get his attention. The only thing moving is his hunched back rising and falling as he breathes. Lulling himself to sleep was a struggle; for weeks, he had been restless, and even if he caught a wink of sleep, it will oftentimes be cut short by nightmares—such as this one.

Cal returned to his bed, pulling up the blanket up to his neck. BD-1 persisted to make himself seen-he stands right in front of the boy lying on his side.

“Sorry, BD… It’s gonna be a long night for me. Go ahead and set yourself to sleep mode if you like,” Cal muttered as he pets BD’s head gently.

The droid didn’t sleep until his owner dozed off first. Cal tossed and turned as he attempted to fall asleep. He tried everything: emptying his mind, reciting Jedi mantras in his head about any aspect he can think of—at least the ones he knows by heart—and remembering the serenity of the warm mornings where he’d meditate in the temple garden with Master Tapal. He was careful not to recall any memory of you because that would only worsen his insomnia—it would be instantly warped into horrendous scenes that his wild imagination makes for him.

Cal repeated the cycle until it bored him to sleep; when BD saw this, he switched to his sleep mode right away and scooted to his owner’s arm.

—–

They kept you in that torture chair—day in, day out.

For the rest of the days that they continued to interrogate you, no words came out of your mouth when they demanded it. As a reply to your continuous rebelliousness, they would switch on the voltage and send it flying straight into your body. Regardless, you held your tongue.

The medbay wardens tried to feed you, little by little with scraps of foodstuff and rations. It was them who insisted they be allowed to check on you for vitals—since you’ve been receiving volumes of shock after your prematurely-concluded recovery. They’re quite astonished by the threshold of your body and its instinct to preserve you.

In protest, you didn’t bite into whatever they gave you in the first few days. Eventually, they gave up on their kindness and stopped—or so you’ve thought, when in fact they were personally commanded by the Seventh Sister to cease your feeding. However, your fasting didn’t hold for long; you had too much pride in regretting and wishing that you should’ve taken whatever food they were trying to give you—even if it was anything short of edible.

Ignoring the pain of the electrocution was much easier than ignoring the relentless growling of an empty stomach.

Keeping the rebels’ location hidden at the expense of your health was commended by the Inquisitor—and the Grand Inquisitor, no less, when he heard of it through reports.

“She’s even stronger than I initially thought. I seem to have underestimated her.”

“She has been silent for days. When we come to her and find her with her eyes closed, she’s not even asleep! She’s just… blatantly ignoring us. I’ve never seen a Jedi this…”

“Resilent.” The Fifth Brother finishes on the Mirialan’s behalf.

She growled, “I grow tired of this! Why not just set it to the highest voltage and leave it on until she dies?! We can hunt down the rebel faction no problem, along with the Jedi she cavorts with!”

“And waste your time in an empty goose chase? I’d rather not, if I were you,” the Grand Inquisitor, in a contrasting tone of voice from the Seventh Sister’s, scoffed through his hologram. “Jedi like her can be of value to us. All she needs is a bit more training.”

“Are you saying, Grand Inquisitor, that she’s to become one of us?”

“How else would you interpret what I said, child? If her spirit is broken, she’ll be easier to bend.”

The Grand Inquisitor concluded the transmission from his end, the pair of Inquisitors headed to the torture chamber.

The two exchanged glances, but it was the Mirialan who had the most shocked look between her and the gray humanoid. She was neither keen nor disdainful for having someone added up to their ranks, she just didn’t know how to feel about it. Whether she liked it or not, the Grand Inquisitor’s word is to be honored. If it’s any consolation, one new headcount would factor to the likelihood of the newcomer being the one assigned to even the most mundane of assignments.

In that very chamber, you’re still underneath the halo of a white light pooling above the very chair. Mist from the piping and hydraulics wafted about your calves, it was an eerie sight. Whenever the dead silence was your only friend, you thought that death was a much easier fate to accept, or perhaps you questioned why you even survived the explosion. You afforded the quiet moments where you struggled to empty your mind, but the thoughts of rage and hate were too loud; provoking you with the thought of Cal being found and sharing the same fate as yours was a catalyst—perhaps, that is what the Grand Inquisitor sensed, even from afar, and what convinced him to bring you into the fray.

The blast doors whipped open, but that didn’t do much in catching your attention. Anyone who came in and out didn’t matter to you, the sounds and sights were dull and bleak to you now; at this point, they’re all the same, faceless, sentient mannequins that come to glare or gloat at you every now and then, poking you for a reaction to see if you’ve dropped dead or just clinging to the last threads of dear life.

“She’s alive, but weak,” the Fifth Brother observed aloud.

The bags under your eyes were prominent, patches of red swelled on your arms from the constant electrocution—the more severe ones made your muscles bloat—and your unkempt hair shrouded your cheeks. Despite your shoddy appearance while strapped to the torture chair, the Seventh Sister squints to take a closer look at you, there was something about your eyes: still and peaceful, despite all of that suffering—to her, it appears as though you were only sleeping.

“Unlock the restraints,” ordered the female Inquisitor.

Doing as what they’re told, the operator set you free those cold, silver handcuffs at the push of a button. Without anything to hold you anymore, you gradually slid away from the bed of the torture chair, the Inquisitor pair stepped back as if you’re some kind of leper when you plopped limply to the floor—without an ounce of strength left in you to bring yourself up, at least on your knees.

The Seventh Sister stepped forward again, bent down to your level, angled your face as she clutched you quite roughly; moving it left and right, to examine you at a much closer view. She watched you struggle to lift your eyelids, slits barely revealed the color of your eyes, seconds later, you gave up and eyes closed shut.

“She’s alive, alright. Follow me.” She sternly ordered as she erected back up, turned tail and made her way to the door.

Seeing that you’re fully incapable of doing so, a pair of Stormtroopers took you by each arm and let your knees drag across the metal floor. They hauled you all the way to a training dojo. Your garish entrance took the practicing Purge Troopers by surprise, they paused their sparring session and stared; a single nod from the tall, gray Inquisitor prompted them to leave, they walked past you hooked to each Stormtrooper’s arm and sniggered on their way out.

“Jedi,” one said in a tone intending to insult.

When the dojo has been emptied by those who weren’t needed, the Stormtroopers dropped you and you plopped on the cold, glossy tile. The coldness stinging your cheek eventually woke you up, your body realizes that it’s not strapped to that terrible apparatus anymore—though your limbs ached when you moved them—and you craned your neck to face what’s in front of you.

“Get up,” the Fifth Brother bellowed.

And get up you did. Your knees were still wobbly and shook off the grogginess in your head as you studied the new room they’ve put you in.

“Where’ve you taken me this time?” your words rolled off your tongue, though you’re still partially coherent.

“You’re in our training dojo,” the Fifth Brother simply replied. A sinister smile played along his stony face. “We’re gonna play a little game, you se.”

“I don’t think I’m in the best shape to play along,”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter, you’re part of the game and if you wanna live—you gotta fight,”

“With what—my fists and legs?”

The Fifth Brother chortled, then provided you with a baton similar to a Scout Trooper’s. He tossed it and you failed to catch it in time as you’re still seeing double. You crouched to retrieve the baton and practiced the firmness of your grip with it.

“So, are you two gonna be my playmates?”

The Seventh Sister flashed a toothy grin, “No. We have someone better in mind.”

They retreated to the main hold—like the bridge to a command ship—in front of the dojo, it also served like a watching room for those who spectated training sessions as a pastime and a control room to manipulate the setting of the dojo’s environment. There was an awkward yet tense silence humming across the room, you looked around and notice every single rectangle on the wall that could be a door—anticipating for one of them to shoot open and set whatever enemy they have reserved for you pouncing to you with bloodlust.

The only thing that you needed to look at was the door just below the control room. The metal groaned and out of the shadows came a familiar face. The armor had been remade back to its original appearance, in the place of a red haloed saber was a lance, the helmet was unmistakable—it was the Second Brother in a second face-off against you. Even when you’re groggy, you can sense the flaring hate within the Second Brother, more intense than the combined heat of Tatooine’s binary suns.

As he strode forward, weapon in hand, you struggled to get yourself straightened up to prepare for a fight.

“You’re lucky they only gave me this pathetic electrostaff!” the Second Brother hissed, putting himself in a stance as he would with his own saber. He continued striding towards you who’s barely made a proper posture with your block against the incoming attack.

You’re envious that the Second Brother has recovered so soon, but then again, he wasn’t the one strapped to a torture chair and be electrocuted almost everyday until you were treading the tightrope between life and death.

You wished that you could have uttered a comeback in mind, but you were too weak, and you prioritized staying alive in this unfairly-matched duel.

Your deflect was flimsy and unskilled, as expected.

However, something inside you refused to die in an indignant circumstance such as this—thrown into a dojo like livestock, pitted against a fully-recovered enemy while you’ve barely had a proper shred of recovery or medication.

The Second Brother didn’t hold back, neither was he thrifty with his windows of opportunity—he made all of them count. Whenever he would see an opening from you, he pommels you with the electrical end of the staff on your rib, your shoulder, arm, leg, anywhere and everywhere he could get a jab at. Dodging his attacks or returning it seldom happened, all you were doing was side-stepping away from him and the lance. He retained his dexterity and nimbleness that you initially saw in your first encounter with him; though, he seemed much quicker than you remember, more difficult to catch up with, and certainly more annoying. His acrobatics made it worse for your eyes—as you can’t even see without the hazy, mirage-like doubles of the things you fix your eyes to.

“Come on, Jedi girl! You seemed to be so tough in our last fight!” taunted the Second Brother in a cackle. “Where’s that spark I saw? Don’t tell me the explosions outshone it?!”

As much as you wanted to, you could barely put up a fight. He simply stepped five inches to his right or left when he sees you lunging at him, you’d clearly miss and in turn, he’d jab you—except this time, he’s keeping the end stuck to your body for a few seconds longer. If he’s feeling sadistically indulgent, he’d keep it for as long as a minute or so.

“Come on! Show me that little tough girl front again!” he chortled. “Again, Jedi!”

He might not have sensed it, but the Second Brother’s fighting tactics were beginning to get into your nerves. It was genuinely annoying now; it was nauseating enough to catch up to his lunging and pouncing around, adding to the mockery he peppers in one-sided banters during the fight, and they’re fueling to your rage in this mismatch of a duel. This went on until your attacks became raggedy and graceless—a dramatic contrast to your original fighting style.

Finally! Just finally! You found a small burst of energy which seemed to grow by the second, though you didn’t know where it came from—it just naturally came to you. Whatever it was, you weaponized it more than that sorry excuse of a weapon in your hand. You paid back for the moments where you’re denied of a chance at hitting the Second Brother because he wasn’t taking you seriously, mostly due to your state. He met the same ferocity beneath that tawdry exterior, eyes burning brightly with a menacing passion that lit through the dangling locks of hair, and your blows were weak but they packed a punch compared to the first few moments.

You gained your momentum in this fight. The satisfaction of finally being at par with the Second Brother’s caliber—with your current condition—was intoxicating. You found yourself tethered to it and can’t seem to get enough.

Faster, more intense!

With every strike, your strength and dexterity returned.

At first, the Second Brother was amused. Finally! He thought as a grin stretched across his face, albeit masked. Some fun!

His amusement was short-lived as he saw you trembling—not out of fear, but out of rage that could no longer be contained in the vessel that is your body. Slowly but surely, your body regained its confidence and composure; your stances were now more pronounced, the impact of the blows were much heavier, and your footwork was no longer faulty. This startled and amazed the Second Brother, Seventh Sister, and Fifth Brother altogether.

When you caught the Second off-guard with your burst of attacks, you cut the air with the baton—swinging it and landing its mark straight into the Inquisitor’s diaphragm. The two other Inquisitors in the bridge flinched in reaction, as if they felt the pain of your attack since they’ve been immersed with your duel ever since you started gaining the upper hand.

“Agh…!” the Second Brother winced, falling to his knees, the electrostaff fell to the glossy floor, the rhythm going from beat per beat until it faded out into a rattle.

“How’s that for a tough girl façade, you asshole?!” you snarled.

For good measure, as revenge for him humiliating you for the last time, you delivered a heavy overhead strike against the middle of his spine. The velocity of your swing was so intense, the Inquisitors heard the whoosh from where they stand.

When you were done exacting revenge on the Second Brother, you flung the baton to the direction of the bridge—it was like a statement, but it was just a final compulsive action from you. The weapon ricocheted against the walls and then to the floor, creating a gong-like sound as it clattered around. When the two of them caught sight of your face—that fiery tenacity, and your eyes…

They could almost see the hate and anger in your bloodshot eyes.

“Interesting,” the Fifth Brother mused.

“Well now, I think I’m going to enjoy training duty for once,”

The two Inquisitors exchanged glances and snickered together while peering through the glass, staring at their new, little experiment—you.

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years ago

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Best Part of Me -Chapter 75

Warnings: none

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007

Koen arrives shortly before ten in the evening. A paper bag full of bottles of booze under one arm and a tattered and weathered backpack slung over the other; looking slightly worse for wear, even for him. He’s always been dishevelled and unkempt at best, but the pace and the intensity of the job has taken its toll on him; his beard thicker and and boasting more strands of gray, his face and body remarkably thinner and marred by both old and fresh bumps, bruises and contusions that will definitely scar. But that old familiar glitter is still in his eyes; the one that speaks of mischievousness and trouble and gives away his quick and sometimes cutting tongue before he even opens his mouth. The last three weeks have been hell on everyone involved; physically AND mentally. Bodies being consumed by near constant pain, little sleep and poor diet while their brains are subjected to fear, stress, and the overwhelming worth that comes each step out the door and onto the street.

But it’s almost over; the finish line finally in sight. With the list complete, only Mahajan himself and Asif’s people remain; the latter extra hurdles they never expected to confront. No one ever stopped to consider that Mahajan’s reach extended further than India, or that anyone would be able to get to Neysa and Aarav. Nathan is nothing more than a ‘tag along’; extra weight that has to be carried. And his true involvement and whether or not he IS the mole, is yet to be determined. To an untrained eye, it would be easy to see Nathan as another victim; the multitude of injuries and the defiance caught on video. But there’s too many unanswered questions to just let him off the hook. Too much suspicion and things that can’t be explained revolving around his disappearance and sudden reappearance, and it would be foolish -and possibly deadly- to let your guard down around him.

“Am I ever fucking glad to see your ugly face,” Koen says, as he sets both bags down on the kitchen table and then tightly embraces Tyler.

This isn’t one of his usual hugs. It’s warm and genuine; filled with enormous relief and a little gratitude that they've both survived long enough to get a moment like this. And when he pulls away -holding Tyler at arms length, a hand coming up to clasp him on the back of the head before tightly cupping it- there’s something even more unfamiliar in his eyes: a shimmer of tears and honest, pure affection. Normally Tyler would jump on it and rib his old friend about something like that; in the same way Koen would do to him if the situation was reversed. But now is not the time. The last three weeks have felt like three years; everyone involved is exhausted and hurting and relying on nothing more than adrenaline -the hope of it all sending soon- to keep them going. And there’s the strong possibility that someone -or more than one person, even- won’t make it out alive. The realization that the person standing in front of you might not survive and this could very well be the last time you ever see them.

“You good?” Koen ruffles the hair at the back of Tyler’s head. “How you feeling? You sure look a hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you.”

“I’m alright, I guess. Could be better, could be worse.”

“What’s the pain like? That guy fucked you up pretty good.”

“I’ve had worse.” It’s not entirely a lie. When he’d woken in the hospital seven years ago, the agony had been intense; there hadn’t been a single inch of his body that hadn’t hurt. Since then he’s lived in chronic pain. Some days he’s able to manage and others he can barely get out of bed in the morning. This is a new level of discomfort; increasing and worsening mobility issues, the pins and needles in his right hand, the need for more and more meds to just take the edge off.

“Well you look good. Hell of a lot better than the last time I was with you. Which doesn’t take much, considering you were covered in your own puke and piss and I had to undress you and toss you in the shower.”

Tyler smirks. “I remember when that used to be a sign of a really awesome Friday night.”

Koen cracks a grin at that. “We’re both getting way too old for that shit. And you’ve past it, thank Christ. I honestly thought one day I’d show up at your place and find you dead. About time you smartened the hell up and got your shit together.”

“Guess all I needed was a kick in the ass.”

“A kick in the ass from the right person, you mean. ‘Cause I spent years kicking you in the ass and it did nothing but make you worse. I guess the kick had to come from a hot little brunette to have any effect on you.”

“Yeah…” Tyler grins. “...I guess it did.”

“Can’t say I blame you. She’d be all the motivation I’d need, too. Figure we should be both thanking our lucky stars that she came around when she did. Had it even been a couple months later…”

“Trust me; every day I’m grateful for that. Every goddamn day. For the past seven years.”

“Good. Because you should be. Because even though you were a fucking wreck, she stuck around. She could have easily taken one look at you and thought ‘damaged goods’ and hauled ass on out of there. And to be honest, I wouldn’t have blamed her. You were a lot to handle. She must be made of tough stuff, because she wasn’t afraid of your shut or to put a foot up your ass.

“She’s still not afraid of that. And she is. Tough. Strong. A lot stronger than she gives herself credit for.”

“That’s exactly what you need,” Koen declares. “A strong woman. Someone to challenge you and to keep challenging you. Although I do question her sanity. No one in their right mind would hook up with the likes of your sorry ass.”

“I lost my sanity a long time ago,” Esme says, as she descends the stairs. “Why do you think I have five kids? Do you think anyone with a shred of sanity left would do that to themselves?”

“I thought it was because he couldn’t stay off ya and you don’t know the word ‘no’.”

“I admit, it IS hard. He’s devastatingly handsome and can be very persuasive.”

“Devastatingly handsome?” Koen scoffs. “Sweetheart, you are blind as shit. How’s it going, kiddo?” He embraces Esme warmly, then presses a kiss to each cheek. “Looking lovely, as always.”

“Now who’s blind as shit? I look like the offspring of a dumpster fire and a train wreck. But I appreciate you trying to feed my ego.”

“Don’t even argue with her,” Tyler says. “For every good thing you bring up, she’s got five bad things that exist only in her own mind.”

Esme sighs. “In case you haven’t noticed, Tyler is either completely blind, or totally biased. Koen, if your wife asked you if she looked like a mess...and not a hot one...would tell the truth?”

“Telling the truth is the reason I have so many ex wives. But in all fairness, my ex wives WERE messed. Had any of them looked like you, I’d probably still be married and the happiest sonofabitch on the planet. Now tell me…” he slings an arm across her shoulders and pulls her into his side. “...he been treating you right? Because if he hasn’t…”

“He’s been a complete gentleman. Except for the times I don’t want him to be. And those are X rated and not for your precious little ears, so…” she presses a kiss to his cheek, then moves towards the fridge.

“I do not need to know about all the kinky shit you two do. You been keeping him in line? Making sure he pulls his weight? Because you tell me just one bad word, and…”

“He’s been amazing. Even more amazing than usual. Sorry, Koen; I’m not leaving him for you. Not yet anyway.”

“So you’re saying there’s a chance?” He grins, then nudges Tyler with his elbow. “You into sharing, mate?”

He scowls. “Fuck you. That’s my wife. What’s wrong with you?”

“Remember that one girl in Melbourne? About twelve years ago? The blond with the big…”

“There’s a woman in the room!” Esme pipes up, and snags a vitamin water from the fridge. “I do not need to hear these things.”

“You didn’t mind sharing her,” Koen points out.

“That was a random at a bar. That…” Tyler nods in Esme’s direction. “...is my wife. The mother of my kids. I don’t share. Not when it comes to her.”

“As much as I’d love to stay down here and listen to raunchy and disturbing stories from my husband’s sexual past, I have a bubble bath calling my name,” Esme says. “And quite frankly, I prefer to pretend he was somewhat innocent and virginal when we met.”

Koen snorts. “There’s been nothing innocent or virginal about him since he was about fourteen.”

She frowns. “I’m ignoring you now. I’m turning my ears off. Because I do not need to hear or know about these things. I’m going to go upstairs and pamper myself and do girly shit and you two can stay down here and talk about your sexual conquests. But I swear to God, if my ears start to burn, I will beat the hell out of both of you.”

“I would never do that,” Tyler assured her. “Talk about you like that.”

“He lies,” Koen speaks up. “He talks about you like that all the time. The things I know about you…”

“Fuck off,” Tyler snarls. “I’ve never talked about her like that with you. That’s wishful thinking on your part.”

“I’m just warning you both.” She places a hand on her husband’s hip, standing on her tiptoes as he leans down to press a soft, brief kiss to her lips. “I am in no mood for fuckery.”

“What are you in the mood for?” Koen quips, the mischievous glitter back in his eyes as he bounces up and down on his heels. “I hear chubby, balding guys can really get shit done.”

Tyler glares at him, then slaps him upside the head. “What the fuck is wrong with you? That’s my wife.”

“Sorry Grandpa Koen,” Esme smirks. “I’m a one man woman.”

“Grandpa Koen?” He feigns insults, a hand clasped over his heart. “That’s harsh. Why do you have to break a bloke’s heart like that?”

She grinning over her shoulder as she climbs the stairs. “Goodnight, boys.”

****

Two hours and a bottle and a half of scotch later, they sit at the kitchen table, reminiscing on days long past. Military missions served together and the camaraderie and the rare laughs and lighthearted moments while overseas. Hiking and camping and hunting trips that they’ve taken -along with Rata- and the handful of times they’d simply packed up and travelled for weeks on end; nothing where they ended up or how they got there.

He was nineteen when he first met Koen; fresh out of basic training, too cocky for his own good, and in desperate need of an attitude adjustment and real experience to knock the chip off his shoulder. Koen had been a staff sergeant then; already grizzled and combat weary and sick of the ‘little shits’ like Tyler that passed his way; the ones with their heads shoved up their own asses, who thought they were something special for getting through training in one piece. Koen had made it his personal mission to make his life as miserable as possible; treating him lower than dirty in order to rid him of what Koen had called ‘pukey personality’. He’d seen something in that nineteen year old kid; the promise of becoming a damn good soldier. And it had worked; all the physical and mental punishment completely broke him; transitioning him into someone he no longer recognized. It had unknowingly led to the worsening of some things; the toxic masculinity that had been beaten into him thanks to his old man, and a propensity to drink way too heavily. Being that good of a soldier...as nothing more than a killing machine in his eyes...had made him feel invincible; each successful tour leaving him feeling ten feet tall and bulletproof. And had eventually led him to the job and that sick and twisted desire to seek out one suicide mission after another.

“You alright?” Koen asks, as he pours himself another drink. “You got a little quiet on me there.”

“I’m alright,” Tyler confirms, and runs a palm along the side of his glass. It’s only his second of the night. Starting off by promising to pace himself; not wanting to drink too much considering the amount of painkillers -well beyond the prescribed amount- he’s been taking. But he’d quickly realized it was more than that. He simply didn’t enjoy it anymore; all the cravings and the need and the taste for it somehow disappearing since the incident a week and a half ago.

“You sure? Haven’t seen you look THAT serious in a long time. What’s going on?”

“I need you to do me a favor.”

“Sounds intense.”

“About as intense as it gets.”

Koen sips his drink. “What’s it about?”

Tyler pushes his glass aside and reaches into the side pocket of his cargo shorts. Pulling out a handwritten letter -two pages long- sealed in an envelope. And he issues a heavy, shaky sigh and offers it to his friend.

Koen’s eyes narrow. “What the hell is this?”

“If anything happens to me, you have to give this to Esme. I need her to read it. She HAS to read it.”

“Fuck you, Tyler,” the older man snarls. “I’m not taking no death letter.”

“You have to. You NEED to. If anything happens to me…”

“Stop talking that shit. I won’t listen to it. I won’t…”

“I need you to fucking do this!” he snaps, then roughly grabs his friend’s hand and shoves the letter into it. “She needs to read it. And I need you to give it to her. You keep it and if anything happens to me, you make sure she gets it. This is important to me, okay? I need her to read it. And I need you to promise me that you’ll make sure she does.”

“Why wait? Why wait until it’s too late? Why not tell her these things now? So she knows. Wouldn’t you rather she knows before? Why the fuck…?”

“She knows. She knows I love her. She knows I love her with everything I am and everything I have. But there’s things in there I can’t say. Or I feel like I can’t say properly. And I NEED her to know those things. If something happens to me, it’s important she knows. I need you to do this.”

Koen downs half of his drink and then stands up, reluctantly sliding the envelope into the back pocket of his jeans. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that? The things I don’t fucking do for you. Taking a goddamn death letter.”

“Just promise you’ll give it to her. If I don’t make it out of here, promise me you’ll make sure she gets that. You have no idea how important it is to me.”

“I’ll make sure. What about your kids? They might like something from their daddy. You know...if…”

“I already did something for them. A video. Ovi has it. He’ll make sure they see it. And that Addie will watch when she’s old enough to understand.” It’s on the tip of his tongue to tell him about the new baby, but mere though of it...the realization that he could leave a pregnant wife behind and there’d be a child he’d never get to see- is just too fucking painful. Ovi knows; he’d made the kid take a vow of secrecy after telling him to make sure all the kids saw the video when they’re old enough. Even the one that’s still inside their mother’s belly.

“Well let’s hope she never has a reason to read it,” Koen says. “And that those kids never have to see that video. You do whatever it takes to get your ass out of there. Alive. And I’ll do whatever I have to on my end to make sure it happens. This isn’t it. It CAN’T be it. Not when you just found all of this. A wife and kids. A family. A REAL goddamn family. This can’t be it.”

“I sure as fuck hope it isn’t.” He doesn’t bother to hold back the tears that manage to escape; hot against his skin as they slip down the sides of his nose and his cheeks. His chest burns and aches. Not the kind of agony that comes with anxiety, but the suffering that comes with heartache and grief and tremendous loss. Not even the swallow of scotch -in an attempt to clear the lump of emotion from his throat- helps, and he places an elbow on the table and his palm against his forehead. Eyes closed as he struggles to keep it together.

“It’s alright,” Koen’s voice is surprisingly quiet and calm, and there’s an audible creak as he leans forward in his hair; hand both heavy and comforting against the back of Tyler’s head. “It’s alright now, son. It’s okay to be like this. You can be this way with me. I got you.”

“If it was just me, I wouldn’t give a shit,” his voice cracks with emotion as the tears continue to fall. “Seven years ago, I wouldn’t have cared if I made it out. But now I have her and I have my kids and I can’t...I can’t leave them. I’m not ready to leave them.”

“No one says you’re going to. It’s not a sure thing. You’re a tough, stubborn bastard.”

“I don’t want to die. I don't want this life to be over. Before her, I was ready. I wanted to die; I wanted all the bullshit to be over. I hated my life and I hated myself and I didn’t fuck care if someone put a bullet in me. And I then I met here and everything changed. I changed. She didn’t look at me like I was a pathetic, cowardly piece of shit and she made me feel things I hadn’t felt in a long time and I never thought I’d feel again. And maybe it was wrong; how things happened, where they happened. But it felt right. For the first time in a long time, something felt right. Something felt good. It felt fucking amazing. And I should have pushed her way. I should have stopped it. But I didn’t. Because I didn’t want it to stop. I didn’t want to lose her.”

“It was a weird situation maybe,” Koen says. “But it doesn’t mean it was wrong. Look how things turned out. Look at the life you made. Together.”

“I don’t want that life to be over. I don’t want to leave her. Or my kids. I want to grow old and gray with her and I want to see my kids graduate high school and go to college and get married and have kids of their own. I want ALL of that. But I’m fucking terrified none of will happen. That when I left my kids this morning, that was it. That I’ll never see them again. That I won’t even get to see Addie take her first steps or celebrate her first birthday. There’s so much I don’t want to miss and I’m scared I will.”

“I know…” Koen’s fingertips dig into his scalp as he firmly massages it. “...I know…”

“Everything that is good in me is because of her. Because she found it and she brought it out. And she’s the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me. Her and those kids. And I’m not ready to leave them.”

“And you’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that doesn’t happen. And so will I on my end. I’ve got you. I’ll bust my ass to make sure you get back to your family. You hear me?”

“Yeah,” he nods, and uses his elbow to push his friend away. “I hear ya.”

“You good? You get it all out?”

“I think so. I guess I needed to do that; get it out.”

“You’ve been trying to hold it together for her,” Koen reasons, and returns to his seat. “But even guys like you need someone you can fall apart with. And I guess that someone is me; lucky bastard that I am.”

Tyler gives a small laugh, then uses the back of his hand to clear the remaining tears away. “There’s something else.”

“Jesus Christ. Are you trying to kill me?”

“Esme knows what she has to do; if something happens to me. She knows to take the money and the kids and leave. But I need someone to keep their eye on them. I need someone to make sure they’re okay. No matter where they end up. And I know this a hell of a lot to ask…”

“I’ll do it. You know I will.”

“Wherever they go, I need you to go with them. You don’t have to stay forever. Just until she’s doing alright and the kids are settled and doing okay. And if you could do that for me…”

“I already said I would. I’ll make sure they’re alright. Nothing will happen to them. Not on my watch,”

“But I swear to God, if you even think of making a move on her, I will come back and haunt your ass.”

Koen laughs at that, then reaches across the table to tousle Tyler’s hair. “You’re going to be okay, you hear me? You’re going to get out of this. You’re going to walk in there, get shit done, and you’re going to walk back out and go back to your family. And then all of this...all this talk...will have been for nothing.”

“I hope so,” Tyler says, and downs the remains of his drink. “I really fucking hope so.”

****

It’s just past one in the morning when he steps into the master bedroom, moving about it’s darkened confines with the aid of the moonlight. Removing the holster and gun from his hip and placing it in the top drawer of the nightstand, then slipping out of his shorts and t-shirt; tossing both on top of the open duffle bag that sits in front of the closet. And he briefly lingers at the side of the bed, listening to her soft breathing and watching as her body rises and falls with each inhale and exhale. Sound asleep; on her side with her back towards the door.

The pain in his chest and the knot in his stomach return with a vengeance; those thoughts of possibly never getting those moments with her again. He can’t get it out of his mind; how close he’d been to ending things only to find someone -when he hadn’t expected to- capable of snatching him off that ledge. Seven years. Spent with the person that saved him in every way a person can be saved. Who has proved time and time again that she loves every inch of him; all the good, all the bad, and everything in between. Every imperfection, every scar; both inside and out. Who taught him what it was to love again; to actually laugh and smile. And who has helped him make even more life; selflessly giving up her own body to do it.

How do you ever tell that person how you feel? Especially when you don’t think there’s words that can even come close to describing it?

Slipping into bed behind her, he presses his front to her back; lips in her hair as he trails his fingertips across her shoulder and slowly down her arm. Over the curve of her elbow and down to her wrist before moving along the top of her hand and then each finger. Memorizing every inch through touch; her skin soft and beautiful. Pressing a kiss to the back of her head when she pushes her fingers through his and tightly squeezes.

“What time is it?” she sleepily inquires.

“It’s late.”

“How late?”

“Just after one.”

“You been drinking?”

“Just had a couple,” he admits, then moves their joined hands down to her stomach. Smiling at the feel of that little bump. It’s smooth and it’s soft and even after four others, it’s incredible. The mere thought that there’s a living being in there. One that he had a hand in making. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“I shouldn't have had any. Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic, yeah?”

“Honestly, I’m surprised you HAVEN’T drank. That you’ve fought as hard as you have. I wouldn’t have blamed you or thought less of you if you’d slipped. This has been hell on earth.”

“I don’t want to be that guy anymore. I NEVER want to be him again. You deserve better than that. So do our kids.”

“You’re a good man, Tyler Rake. Regardless of what you think about yourself sometimes. I knew it the moment I met you; that you weren’t like everyone else. It was in your eyes. There was this softness and this vulnerability and it was unlike anything I’d ever seen in any of the other mercs I’d come in contact with. You were different. I remember the first time we were here, and we’d have those long, serious talks that went into the early hours of the morning and I’d wonder how the hell someone like you ever got mixed up in a world like this.”

“Yeah, well we both know the reason behind that. I didn’t exactly hide it from you.”

“But you could have. And you didn’t. Right off the hop you were so honest and raw and it was...I don’t know it...it was beautiful.”

“Oh fuck...not THAT word.”

“It was, “ she insists. “It WAS beautiful. Because you were just so out there with everything. You didn’t hold anything back. There’s nothing you DIDN’T tell me. You told me about your mom and you dad. Your ex. Austin. You were just so breathtakingly real and honest and it was refreshing. To be with someone like that. Who didn’t try and pretend to be something he wasn’t. It was raw and it was emotional and I SAW you. And you let me see you. That was definitely not just two people using each other for sex. Now, had you just rolled over and gone to sleep…”

He laughs into her hair. “I never wanted THAT.”

“It was surprising. Not the things you told me, but the fact you told me at all. I didn’t expect that from you.”

“I didn’t expect that from myself,” Tyler admits.

“Why did you do it? Just open up like that?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just trusted you. Guess there was something about you that made me feel comfortable doing it. A lot of what I told you? No one else knows that stuff. Not even Koen. Guess my instincts told me you were good people. Very good people.”

“You thought you could scare me away didn’t you. When you told me about Austin. You thought that would make me think less of you.”

He nods.

“You made a mistake. You were younger and you were scared and you made a bad decision.”

“Worst possible decision.”

“It didn’t even come close to scaring me away. It made my heart hurt for you. And him. But it didn’t make me think less of you. I could never think less of you.”

“So no matter what, you’ll always think the sun shines out of my ass?”

She giggles. “Always.”

He raises his head to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, then rests his cheek against hers. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s okay. I hadn’t been sleeping for very long. I’m having a hard time. I miss the kids.”

“So do I. But Koen called and checked up on them for us. Everything’s fine. They’re happy and they’re safe and they haven’t beaten the shit out of each other. Yet.”

“Yet,” she laughs. “That’s the key word. And we both know who the one beating the shit out of people will be.”

“Yep. Your daughter has quite the temper.”

“She’s just my daughter now, is she? And who do you think she gets her temper from?”

“You.”

“Oh bullshit. She’s just like you and you know it. And you’re proud of it, too. Don’t even try and deny it. I know you how much like that fact that she’s your mini me.”

“She’s my baby. My first. Well, my first after...you know…”

“Your miracle baby.”

He smiles and places a kiss to her temple. “Exactly. She’s one that made me a dad again. Never thought in a million years I’d get another chance at that. And then she came along. I mean, you did have a little part to play in all of it.”

“Just a little. I only carried her for nine months. And then what happens? She comes out just like you. Even the nurse in the delivery room had to point it out; how she had your eyes and your nose and your ears and your hair. I was like, well fuck you too then.”

Tyler laughs and presses a kiss to her cheek.

“I remember when the nurse gave her to you and you just tucked her into you and she stopped crying and she just looked up at you with those huge eyes.”

“And I cried.”

“Yeah…” she smiles and tightens her hold on his hand. “...you cried. And it was beautiful. You were so happy that she was finally here. I think it was the happiest I’d ever seen you. It was like all the pain and all your past was just gone and your face was so soft and so perfect. Nothing existed outside of her. And you looked at her like you couldn’t believe she was even real.”

“She was beautiful. She still is.”

“I think at that moment...seeing you with her...I fell so in love with you. Even more than I already was. And it was kind of crazy and scary, because I already loved you a hell of a lot. I didn’t think it was possible to love someone THAT much. Sometimes I still don’t. I’ll watch you with Addie or playing with Declan or helping TJ and Tanner with their homework and I’ll think ‘God, I love him’.”

He grins against her ear. “And you have the nerve to call me sappy?”

“I can’t help it. I’m feeling all sappy and emotional. I think it’s the fact we’re back here. Of all places. It makes me think about us. How we started and where we’ve ended up. All good things. All very good things.”

“I was thinking about when I woke up in the hospital and you were there. How you were the first person I saw and I was so fucking relieved you were there. I didn’t know if you even made it off the bridge. And even if you did, if you’d stick around.”

“Of course I stuck around,” she releases her hold on his hand and rolls over onto her side to face him. “I went to all that trouble to keep you alive. You really think I wouldn’t stick around to see the result of my handiwork?”

“I guess not.” He presses a kiss to the tip of her nose then drapes a leg over her and places a hand on the small of her back.

“You okay?”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re worried, aren’t you. About tomorrow. Or today. About me going out there.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“You know how you always say you’re not a rookie? Well neither am I.”

“I know. But it doesn’t make me feel any better about it Especially when you have my baby in there.”

“I’ll be careful. I’ve had seven years of learning from the best. And Koen will be with me. He’ll make sure I’m okay.”

“He better. Or it’s his ass.”

“You have to trust me. I’d never do anything to put myself...or this baby...in harm’s way.”

“I do. I do trust you.”

“What if I can’t get the information? What if no one will give me any? Then we’re totally fucked. And not a good, fun way either.”

“If that happens, we go to plan B.”

“You let them know you’re here.”

Tyler nods.

“What’s plan C?””

“There is no plan C.”

“Maybe there should be. So we don’t have to rely on plan B.”

“Baby…” he skims his knuckles up and down her spine. “...we talked about this.”

“I’m allowed to change my mind And I’m changing it. That is NOT a good idea; letting them know you’re here. What ever happened to the element of surprise? It goes a long way. They want to lure you here, but they don’t need to know you’re here.”

“I’ll only go to plan B if you can’t get me information.”

“Okay…” Esme frowns. “...that is a lot of peer pressure. I haven’t done this in awhile. Since before Addie.”

“Addie’s only three months old. It’s not like she’s a year or a couple years.”

“So what? Ten months? Since I did this kind of thing? We found out about her during all of that.”

“Who’s the one that found out where Ovi was?”

“That took me four days.”

“It took Nik a week just to narrow down Dhaka,” he points out.

“Four days is horrible. My track record was way better than that before. Four days is embarrassing.”

“You’re too hard on yourself.”

“I should have had it in twenty four hours. Thirty six at the most.”

“I’m kind of glad it took as long as it did. I had a pretty good five days.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that much. It wasn’t a TOTAL failure. But four days? For me? That is shameful.”

“If it makes you feel better, it only took two from the day you showed up on my porch to convince me to sleep with you.”

“Oh, I had to convince you now, did I? You admitted you would have done it the first night had I wanted a booty call.”

“Well then you should be very proud of yourself. It only took you a couple hours to convince me to give it up.”

“Sorry if I don’t feel my ego inflated because you were horny and desperate.”

“Hey, if I’d been desperate, I would have fucked Nik.”

“That…” she scrapes her nails along his jaw and then taps a fingertip against his chin. “... is a very good point actually. I’m glad you held out an extra couple of days. I hope it was worth it.”

“It was SO worth it.”

“I was very impressed. When I see you naked. I had expectations.”

He arches an eyebrow. “You did?”

“I did. Very high ones, actually. You lived up to them. And then some. You definitely fit the old ‘big hands, big feet’ adage. I wanted to see if it was a myth. I quickly found out it was not.”

“You also thought the G spot was a myth.”

“I found out pretty quick that it isn’t. You were really on the ball those five days.”

“Had to leave a lasting impression,” Tyler reasons. “Wanted you to come back for me.”

“You left a lasting impression, alright. One that lasted nine months and weighed eight pounds, three ounces. That’s quite the impression to leave.”

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m really not. That’s the one good thing...the one amazing thing...that came out of all that bullshit. Besides us.”

“Nice to see you finally admit we’re a good thing,” she teases. “I think we’re pretty amazing. But hey, that’s just my humble opinion.”

“We are. We are pretty amazing.”

“And we’re stronger together than we are apart. You’ve always said that. And that’s why we need to trust each other. With this. We have to trust each other more than we ever have. That’s the only way we’ll get out of here. That we’ll BOTH get out of here.”

He gives a small smile of agreement, then runs his palm up her back and all the way to the nape of her neck; squeezing lightly as he pulls her into a kiss. Long and slow at first; closed mouth upon closed mouth and their bodies brushing against each other. It’s her that takes the first step towards turning it into something more. Fingers pushing into his hair and tightly gripping it; pressing her body against his as her tongue pushes its way past his lips and teeth. Quickly transforming the moment into something much more desperate and needy.

“I want you,” she breathes, her lips finding the side of his neck, teeth scraping against the tattoo and the scar that mars the skin. “I want you and I need you. I need to feel you inside of me.”

He shudders at her words, then leans his weight into her and pushes her onto her back. Her fingers still in his hair and her eyes fluttering closed as his hands and his mouth behind their slow, torturous worship of her body.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #extraction #extraction 2020 #chris hemsworth character #best part of me

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