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#leaving you to be one of the only people left in charge of a floundering army stranded at the far end of space
honorhearted · 2 years
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@laviexenrose
The smell of blood and smoke laid heavily in the air, burning through Ben’s lungs as he narrowly avoided a volley of artillery fire. His horse nickered with displeasure, but otherwise kept galloping through the fray, leading him to safety while all around him, men clashed with sabers and musket-shot. Gritting his teeth, he encouraged his mount to ride faster.
No longer just a reverend’s son, Ben was continuously forced to drop his Bible in favor of a sword -- to protect, to serve, to fight for the very friends and family he one day hoped to be reunited. Holding his saber aloft, he drew it down just in time to slice at a re-loading foot soldier, his blade catching through flesh and bone before gliding free again. Coaxing his horse to the left, he moved to charge toward an officer when he heard someone shouting his name.
Perplexed, he turned his head, but received a shock once the force of something -- a fist? An improvised weapon? -- smashed into his ribs and sent him hurtling from his saddle and onto the ground. Ben rolled and rolled, dizzy and discombobulated, before the force from striking his head against earth painted him out in a sea of black.
--
When Ben awoke again, the trees overhead were calm...tranquil. Birds were twittering undisturbed, and the leaves practically sang along with the breeze. Had they won? The sound of laughter started up then, and in a panic, he lurched upward and immediately regretted it. His vision pitched and wavered and he retched, drawing a hand over his mouth as he fought back a wave of nausea.
“Dude, check out the drunk re-enactor.”
Blinking repeatedly, Ben lifted his head (which only caused more dizziness) until he saw four -- no, no two -- people approaching. They appeared to be...good God, what were they wearing? The ringleader appeared to be dressed in some sort of frumpy, open shirt with a pattern that he’d seen on kilts, and the girl at his side... Eyes widening, they darted in between her face and her pale, exposed knees before promptly snapping upward again. What sort of barbarian would steal a woman’s petticoats? 
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Feeling sick again, Ben attempted to rise, but nearly toppled into the neighboring tree for his efforts.
“Whoa, dude, are you okay?” the frumpy kilt-shirt boy asked. “You got anyone we can call?”
“Your cosplay is killer,” Sinful Knees added. “How’d you get that blood on your coat to look so real?” 
Ben merely gaped at them, his heart pounding erratically in his chest as he fought for breath. “Wh-where...? I-I need...”
“Hey, can I put on your helmet?” Sinful Knees gleefully cut in. “Maybe try on your coat? I have this nerdy history friend who’d be so jealous!”
When she reached for him unprompted, Ben defensively staggered back, his hands lifting just as he crashed into something -- or rather, someone -- behind him. Unfortunately, the momentum took him straight back down to the earth again, and he’d fallen on top of...well... Glancing over his shoulder, he nearly yelped once he realized he was crushing a woman beneath his weight. Embarrassment and fear and decorum all warred within him, and finally, he managed to roll back onto the grass before dry-heaving anew. 
“A...apologies,” he wheezed, drawing a hand over his mouth. “Where has...w-where has the regiment gone?” He very much doubted that a woman would know, but he was wasting valuable time floundering about with...well...whatever these people were. If anything, he decided they must be loyalists. No one of good-standing would talk, act and speak like these aberrations.
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flyingflosser09 · 1 year
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Cursed / Armando Salazar x OC / Chapter 21
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I wished we never had to leave the cabin. I could spend an eternity in Armando’s arms, and that’s while he’s cursed. Imagine how it will feel when he’s alive.
But at some point, he had to return to the helm to keep an eye on the pirate captain. Apparently, we are hot on Jack Sparrow’s tail.
Only, I didn’t know how literally he meant that.
Upon stepping onto the deck, I immediately spot the ship sailing on the horizon. It appeared small compared to the average pirate ship and I figured it must be a fishing vessel.
On the deck above me, Lesaro is holding a spyglass to Armando’s eye as he spies on the ship. He straightens up and gives a silent signal, and several officers descend below deck to obey whatever order he gave.
“What’s going on?” I ask and climb the wooden steps to him.
“It seems the Sparrow is trying to escape with your friend and a girl,” he huffs a dry laugh and adds darkly, “He won’t get far.”
Before I could ask what that meant, three heavy splashes beside the ship alerts me. Rushing to the banister, I’m just in time to see three very cursed, and very much dead sharks flounder in the water. As soon as they’ve adapted to their environment, they begin swimming in the direction of an island nearby. Only then do I spot the speck sailing for it – a rowboat containing three people.
Fear takes hold of me as I rush back to Armando, “Henry is on that boat! Please, I beg you, don’t do this. He’s the only family I have.”
“The boy will live,” he says calmly, “It’s Jack Sparrow they’re after.”
That should have reassured me; however, the fact remains, Henry and Jack are in the same boat.
While Armando watches the sharks swim off from the banister, I realize I had to do something. There is no guarantee that one of those things won’t get Henry unless I guarantee it. It’s time to dive deeper into my abilities that I’ve ever done before.
I close my eyes and search for any signs of life beneath the water. Fortunately, there is a school of banded butterfly fish passing by underneath the Mary. Concentrating on one of them, I take control of its eyes and muscles, and force it to swim after the sharks. I’ve only taken control of fish once or twice before, and it only lasted about a minute before I lost focus. This will have to be quick.
Despite its tiny size, the fish moves rapidly through the water and manages to catch up to the sharks quickly. Through its eyes, I can see the underside of a rowboat floating at the surface in the distance. The sharks aim to attack it, and I summon a wave to throw them off course just in time.
With that, I lose my hold on the fish and I’m back on the Mary. Hopefully, that was enough to buy Henry some time – or at least to warn him of the danger.
Remembering the spyglass in Lesaro’s possession, I rush to the Lieutenant and grab it from his pocket. In a flash, I’m at the banister and looking at the rowboat. One of the sharks are biting down on the boat and Henry is hitting it with an oar. I just about let out a shriek when he loses his balance and fall into the shark-infested water.
“Henry!” I call his name and reach my hand toward the crystal water. In my panicked state, I command the sea to save him. A watery arm scoops Henry out of the water and spits him out in the rowboat, safe from the jaws of the sharks.
“How’d she do that?” I hear one of the pirates ask their companion but pay them no mind. Turning to Armando, I’ve had enough, “Capitán , call them off. Please.”
But he doesn’t hear me.
Blinded by how close he is to having his revenge on Jack Sparrow, Armando climbs atop the banister and roars above the wind, “VAMO!”
Like one man, the crew of the Silent Mary utter their war cries and jump overboard, floating to the ocean surface like the ghosts they are. They land on the water and charge at the rowboat in the distance, swords raised and with revenge on their minds.
And they left me alone with the pirates.
As soon as that thought hits me, I spin around and eye the crew bewilderedly. Some stare at me in caution, while others have the audacity to rake their eyes up and down my form – I’m not certain if it is because they’re intrigued, or imagine me wearing less…
“If any one of you so much as move a muscle, I will drown you where you stand,” I threaten them and stomp my way up the helm. The pirate captain is still at the wheel but takes a wide step back when I place myself in his spot. Finding a tether in the wind, I command it to push the Mary forward towards the island.
Up ahead, the pirate Jack Sparrow battles one of the sharks with a grappling hook while Henry swims for land. Realizing I can’t save him unless I save Sparrow, I extend a hand towards the boat…
A strong current travel underneath the Spanish crew and towards the rowboat. Once it reached its target, it thrusts the vessel forward a fraction of a second before Armando could behead the pirate in it. I watch with an upheld breath as my current carry the boat to shore, relieved to see Sparrow picking Henry up on the way.
Once they’re on dry land, I loosen my control of the wind and slump against the wheel, completely out of breath. Raising the spyglass to my eye, I’m relieved to see the Spanish crew can’t step onto dry land. Good. It’s one thing to target Jack Sparrow alone, but Armando’s hunger for revenge had put Henry’s life in danger as well, and that is something I can’t overlook.
“That’s a mighty amount of power you have there, miss.”
I nearly groan out load, remembering that the captain is still present. Although…that might not be so bad it seems. I’ve got him alone now, and while the crew is chasing Jack Sparrow, I can find out the truth from this pirate.
Leaning against the wheel while keeping a firm hold on one of the handles, I meet his bloodshot eyes. “Very well then, I’m listening. Tell me everything you know. Start by telling me who you are and how you claim to know so much about me.”
“Mind if I call you by yer name?”
“Yes.”
He smirks. “I be Captain Hector Barbosa, captain of the Queen Anne’s Revenge, and Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea. Pleasure to make yer acquaintance, Miss Samira.”
I roll my eyes. Of course, he’d call me by my name despite me telling him not to. “Tell me what you know about Poseidon’s heir. I suggest you do it quick before the Capitán  returns.”
His eyes narrow and I know that he is dying to comment on my relationship with Armando. One must be blind not to see it, despite my best efforts to keep my affections for behind closed doors. But he makes the smart decision not to say anything about it.
“I was once cursed meself many years ago; in the flesh by dark, but bones and tendons by light.” He circles my back to stand on my right, his golden pegleg thumping against the deck. “And just like yerself, Samira, I searched high and low a way to break it…and then I found it. A treasure that could break every curse of the ocean.”
“The Trident,” I finish that sentence.
“No, something much, much more valuable…” he leans down and says close to my face, “The heir of Poseidon.”
I nearly gag at his breath.
He grins and straightens up. “The say the seas celebrates the birth of its rulers, and that day, I saw the waves rise as high as the tallest mast of the largest ship. The waters they’d be sparkling like diamonds, and pearls washed up ashore as far as the eye could see. I knew the heir was born and finding them would end the curse of Cortez. And it just so happened that, six years later, our curse led us to Port Royal...”
My heart sinks to my stomach as that night flashes before me; watching the dim lights of the town flickering from the deck of the ship, feeling the air thicken with anticipation that something wasn’t quite right. I remember now – our ship was leaving Port Royal before it was attacked.
“You were there,” I mutter, meeting the pirate’s eyes in horror. Yes, I had my suspicions, but hoped they were wrong.
“Aye,” he grins, “We left no building, no ship untouched in our pillage.”
“It was you who attacked our ship.” The grim smile on his sunburnt skin is all confirmation I need. “Were you the one that killed my mother?” If he says yes, no heathen god would be able to save him from my wrath.
“No, no,” he shakes his head, “That’d be my first mate; he’s long dead. But I saw a girl be thrown overboard that night. The sea swallowed her the moment she touched the surface as if welcoming her home. Sounds familiar, miss?”
All too well. Clenching my jaw, I say, “I don’t believe you. You have no proof that I am Poseidon’s heir, neither do I.”
“But you see, I do. Because, unlike what you believe, Samira, you didn’t drown that night; the ocean was protecting you.”
I huff in disbelief. “And from what exactly?”
“From what do you think?” He leans down and smile sinisterly, “From me.”
His words shake me to the core, causing chills to run through my whole body. At my reaction, an icy wind picks up and patches of dark clouds follow, indicating the sudden fear this pirate stirred within me.
Whether it was good timing or coincidence, several thuds sound at the deck as the Spanish officers board the Mary, back from their pursue on Jack Sparrow. However, the said pirate isn’t with them, and I figure he slipped through their fingers.
But now, despite the unsettling things I’ve heard from this Barbosa, just looking at the cursed crew fills me with cold rage and betrayal which only worsens when I spot Armando among them.
And by the looks of it, he’s fuming.
He pushes through his men on his way to the helm, but I block his path before he could reach the steps. Before he could even get a word out, I am in his face as angry waves crash against the ship. “Don’t you ever leave me alone with pirates again. Comprender?  I don’t care if Jack Sparrow falls into your arms out of heaven, the moment you put this ring on my finger, I became your first priority. If I was but a helpless woman without a curse, every one of these pirates would have had their way with me by now. Think about that the next time you’re chasing after Sparrow.” With that said, I harshly push past him, heading for the cabin, on the way calling to the other officers, “And the same goes for the rest of you!”
I slam the door behind me and drag the table in front of it, just wishing to be left alone for now. Soon, I realize the table is useless, considering they are all ghosts who can float through the wall if they want to come in.
Too frustrated to even care, I leave it as it is and start pacing the room. My soul is torn between my disappointment in Armando and his men, and my fear of the captain Barbosa. I know he can’t harm me as I am now – cursed, or am I? – but knowing that he was there the night my parents were killed… I want to run as far away from him as possible. At the same time, I want to watch him suffer for what he did. If not for him, I’d still have my parents, I’d still be normal, I’d have grown up safe.
He took everything from me. In my head, he doesn’t deserve to live. My heart is the only thing keeping me from killing him myself.
What if he told the truth? Was I wrong to believe I’ve been cursed all this time? Have I gone mad to believe a pirate’s word?
My thoughts and pacing are interrupted when the door opens only to hit the table that’s blocking it. Muttered Spanish cursing comes from the other side before I heard Armando speak, “Samira, open the door.”
“I wish to be alone for now,” I call back, conflicted between dragging the table away and standing my ground.
“If you won’t open the door, I’m coming in.”
I choose to remain on my spot, curious to see if he will actually come in against my wishes.
He does.
My heart misses a beat when Armando’s ghostly form passes through the door and table, hair swirling wildly around him as if matching his unpredictable temper. It occurs to me, I lashed out at him in front of both his men and the pirate crew, and now, I’ve disobeyed him twice by not inviting him in. I haven’t been in trouble for weeks, I almost forgot how it felt like to be the object of his irritation.
For a moment, we just hold each other’s gaze. His eyes swirl with golden anger, while I can only imagine mine has turned as dark as the ocean during a storm. The silent anticipation is killing me, and I almost tell him to yell at me to get it over with.
At last, he says darkly, “You defied me in front of my crew.”
“You left me alone with the pirates,” I retort. No way am I the only one at fault here.
“We were hunting Sparrow.”
“So, I assume his death means more to you than my life.” My heart beats in my throat as tears well up in my eyes.
Armando blinks as my words break through that thick head of his. He mulls them over in his head, no doubt realizing what could have happened if I was hurt and didn’t have the ocean to heal me – if I was normal.
Taking a step closer so I can practically smell the burnt scent the curse left on him, he says in a calmer tone, “Never confront me in front of my crew again, understand?”
Of course, he wouldn’t admit he was wrong. If he’s not apologizing, I’m not either. “Never leave me again, especially not with pirates.”
His dark brows etch into a frown and I half-expect him to reprimand me for my response, but to my bafflement, his stern features soften. Armando’s tense shoulders sag the same time he releases a breath, so out of character for a ghost.
When he looks at me again, the swirling in his golden eyes have ceased and he appears calmer. “Did any of the pirates hurt you?”
“No.” But they could have. There’s not much I could do if one decided to sneak up to me and knocked me out. Of course, there is also still the matter of him putting Henry’s life in danger, but I’d confront him about that another time. Right now, I’m emotionally spent.
He seems relieved to hear that and nods. “Good, I’d have them killed if they did.” When all I do is stare at him, he frowns. “Did anything else happen?”
“Where did you go?” I ask, unable to keep my troubled thoughts contained any longer. “Two nights ago, we shared a perfect intimate moment in which I thought I saw you for who you truly are. I hardly recognized that man earlier on deck. You ignored my pleas as if I meant nothing. I…” my throat thickens, and I find myself almost unable to finish that sentence. “…I felt like nothing.”
His expression changes before my eyes. In a beat, his cold hands are cupping my face, thumbs caressing my cheeks almost desperately. “El mía, I am truly sorry if I made you feel that way.” I close my eyes as he presses a slow kiss to my lips and whispers against my mouth, “To me, you are everything.”  
Despite the turmoil of fear and worry in my stomach, I convince myself to believe him. It’s the curse that’s influencing his emotions, nothing else. Soon, it will be broken, and this will all be behind us.
I can only hope.
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chicken-fifi · 2 years
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The Protector and the Protected - Part IV
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Description: After a minor slip up in security, the existence of the only daughter of a diplomat is leaked to the world. With no knowledge of what other unprecedented dangers may arise, your father brings you home after an attempt on your life while living abroad. Upon your return, you are assigned a personal bodyguard to ensure your safety who is to be by your side practically every waking moment. Come hell or high water, he makes sure that you’re as safe as can be while under his watch. As much as you tell yourself that this isn’t some bodyguard fanfic where you end up falling in love, somehow your protector manages to make you question that small detail.
Warnings: Violence, guns, cursing, sexual inuendos, kidnapping, constant danger, mass shootings, smut, idk man just stuff
Word Count: 1,558 words
The Protector and the Protected Masterlist  
| Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV |
Seonghwa pulled the car to a stop inside the gates of the safe house causing you to wake up by the sudden stop of movement. Your eyes took in the sight of the rather large house. While it was smaller than your father’s estate, the western style home was still rather large for only a handful of people to be living in it for, well, for however long this whole situation would last. You look up as you exit the car trying to count as many of the windows that you can see from where you are, amounting to at least eight between the three floors - assuming that there are three floors.
“Are you just going to stare at the house the entire time or actually go inside?” Seonghwa calls out to you already beginning to make his way towards the front door.
You rushed after him, quickly matching his pace and catching the door as he opened it, stepping inside and moving to let you in. Standing in the entryway are only a handful of people, the majority being bodyguards or security. One by one they begin introducing themselves to you, something you’re sure to be thankful for as time passes and you don’t have to flounder over the prospect of the appropriate time to ask for names from passing. 
Out of the ten people there were eight men and two women. Nine were security personnel, including one of the women. The other woman - who was the oldest of the staff - was the sole person in charge of keeping the whole household intact, something you were sure would be much more of a feat than was more than likely originally promised. You made a mental note to at least make her job a little bit easier on your end.
Apart from introductions nothing happened afterwards throughout the day. After being shown your room, you stayed there from the rest of the day until dinner was ready. Once finished the meal and Ms. Lee - as you had learned was the oldest woman’s name - quickly did the dishes and then said her goodbyes for the night along with five of the bodyguards, the other five all left the house beginning to do their rounds on the property leaving you and Seonghwa alone in the house. Without saying a word to him you went back to your room with the intention to get some sleep. 
Sleep however didn’t come. No matter how much you tossed and turned for the first three hours sleep escaped you time and time after. Giving up on the prospect of sleeping, you decided to get up and make something to eat. While you weren’t entirely hungry some ramen as a late night snack sounded like something you could go for.
Quietly leaving your room, you quickly made your way to the kitchen grabbing everything you would need and bringing to the electric stove. Now before you stood an unprecedented problem - turning the damned thing on. No matter where you pressed or tapped it wouldn’t turn on. After struggling for well over 20 minutes you gave up opting to give sleep another shot after putting everything back. Unbeknownst to you, someone was watching the whole ordeal from a different room, giggles escaping past his lips at the cute little sight before him.
~~~
Seonghwa couldn’t contain his giggles as he watched you struggle with the stove. He’d watched as you grabbed everything with a spring in your step only to get frustrated while trying to turn the stove on. Not that he could blame you. He’d once been in your shoes struggling with an electric stove and also gave up opting to microwave all of his meals before he began taking out his rage on the poor kitchen appliance. Yet, watching you struggle was a little bit amusing. Well it was until you huffed and slammed your fist onto the top of it before putting everything away. A part of him felt bad for you. Sure he wasn’t pleased with having to babysit you, but you hadn’t asked for any of this to happen. And you certainly weren’t at fault for his wrong doings that had gotten him in this position in the first place.
“Maybe this won’t be so bad after all,” he utters to himself as you leave the view of the kitchen camera heading back to what he can only assume is your room.
“What won’t be so bad?” Kiseok’s voice asks him.
“Nothing,” he answers standing up. “Is it time to switch?”
Kiseok nodded, giving his friend an odd look, “Yeah. You have a little over two hours to rest before Wonjae’s shift ends and you take over.”
“Right,” he went to leave the room before looking back. “So you and Jisoo.”
Kiseok practically snapped his neck turning to look at him before groaning, “That is the last time I mention anything to Mrs. Dong!”
~~~
As it turns out, sleep wasn’t exactly evading you - or maybe it truly was. Either way, after the electric stove fiasco you did end up managing to get some shut eye despite waking up every hour when you heard a noise from outside the window. You practically had to drag yourself out of bed to go and get breakfast trying your hardest not to faceplant into the bowl of oatmeal placed before you. By the time you’d finished your own breakfast Seonghwa was coming down the stairs looking like he had gotten about as much sleep as you.
“Do you think it’d be possible to go for a walk or something?” you asked - maybe it would do you some good and help your body get back to somewhat normal or something.
“I think we can do that,” he responded. “After breakfast. Have yo-”
“Already finished. I’ll get ready then.”
You rushed past him towards your bedroom grabbing a change of clothes from the closet - someone had clearly taken notes on your style - and moving to the bathroom to shower. Once done you placed your dirty clothes in the hamper and went to make the bed, sparing Ms. Lee the trouble of doing it herself. Just as you folded the comforter back a tad bit from the headframe there was a slight knock on your door.
“Are you ready to go?”
“Just a moment.”
You grabbed a light sweater before opening the door and stepped out rushing past him towards the front door only waiting for him to catch up before ripping the door open and rushing out. Seonghwa led you to a nearby forest trail close enough to the safe house should anything happen, backup would be there in moments. The two of them had maybe walked along the trail for roughly two hours before he suggested you both head back. The walk back to the house went by quicker than you had expected it to.
Inside you heard laughter coming from the living room. Walking further into the house you spotted your father sitting on the couch chatting with Ms. Lee. He looked away from her as he heard you enter. 
“Did you enjoy your walk?” he asked, standing up and moving to greet you. 
“It was nice,” you said. “A much needed escape.”
He gave a tight lipped smile, “I thought we could go out to lunch at a nearby restaurant. Get you out of here for a little while longer.”
“Thank sounds nice.”
He bid goodbye to Ms. Lee before walking back towards the entrance, his hand on your back and Seonghwa following right behind. Lunch was filled with much catching up, while you waited and ate your meals. It was nice getting to spend some time with your father again, although you couldn’t help but feel a bit awkward every so often as you spoke with him. Seonghwa seemed to be picking up on it too, often jumping in when he felt the air go odd. As soon as you all finished eating, you went your separate ways with your father telling you that it might be a while before he visited again - that would explain the sudden lunch. 
Much like the day prior, nothing really happened during the afternoon. Unless walking in on Kiseok - at least that’s what you thought his name was - and Jisoo practically sucking each other’s faces off in the hallway that led to the downstairs restroom counted as exciting. And just like the night before, after dinner Ms. Lee cleaned up and left. Unlike the prior night however, this time Seonghwa was left alone. It was just the two of you in the otherwise gigantic house. And once again you found yourself unable to sleep. Between the nightmares that decided to plague your dreams and the unfamiliar house you wound up in the living room, choosing to avoid a fight with the electric stove tonight and hoping that maybe sleep would come to you there. 
It didn’t, but Seonghwa did. He wound up joining you an hour or so after you had left your bedroom.
“Do you want me to show you how to work the stove?” he asked after sitting in silence with you for 20 minutes too long and having caught you glancing at the stove one too many times.
“Do you even know how to work it?” you asked.
“We’ll figure it out,” he voiced. “Maybe.”
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casspurrjoybell-22 · 4 months
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Master - Chapter 63 - Part 1
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*Warning Adult Content*
Lincoln, I do not write this letter with an eager hand but there is no other better suited to head these words.
My time in this realm never held any permanence.
I know you, more than anyone else, always understood that.
It was limited and granted Kalem has told you everything, you may hold a better understanding of why that it is.
I suspect you are rather confused by this whole ordeal that cast you as the focus.
In some areas, I am the same.
I was meant to help you win the war.
For what purpose?
I do not know but I saw it through to the end and I did not allow any personal qualms to get in the way of that.
I know you have no trust in me but you have my word that my charge never directed any ill intent upon you or your people.
I never swayed your mind or your wants, only supported your plan from its root.
I did, however, form connections and that, I was certainly not meant to do.
My inability to stay focused resulted in the fabrication of several honest relationships and I know because of that, I have left behind much destruction with only you to tend to it.
For that, I am sorry.
I am truly sorry, Lincoln.
As I am remiss in asking this of you... take care of Malcolm.
I know I have no right to ask it, not now, not after all I've done but I ask it anyway.
Take care of him.
Malcolm has told me the tale of how you two became a pair many times, of the decades he spent relentlessly securing your friendship.
He was there for you even when you didn't want him near.
I ask now that you do the same for him.
Stay at his side.
Protect him.
Do not let his light fade and never let him flounder, even if you have to force your company onto him... even if he hates you for it.
Please, Lincoln, take care of him.
Arias
I stare at the shimmering golden page and the carefully written words atop it that were causing my ears to ring.
I read it again and then once more whilst my fingers tighten around its bottom edge, the bones there threatening to snap against the pages enchantment.
With a curse, I drop the pristine mockery, letting the page fall back to my desk where it had lain since the night its writer fled.
It had appeared the day after he left, waiting patiently like a spot of light in an otherwise shadowed castle.
I hadn't thought twice before I'd tossed the offence into the fireplace, leaving it to fend against smouldering coal but it remained untouched.
After endless attempts to rid this planet of the last mark of that rotting being, I soon discovered that the letter was enchanted.
It survived any hardship or attempt of ridding it of the intended reader, which, unfortunately, was me.
The matter was simple then, ignore it for the rest of eternity and I would have done so if not for Malcolm's suffering.
To witness it, day and night and have no understanding of how someone could ever leave someone so good behind and in so much agony at that, was maddening.
So I'd sought out the taunting letter, desperate for anything, only to find myself even more enraged.
How dare he?
How dare that wicked creature tell me to take care of Malcolm after what he'd done?
Malcolm was fine before him.
Happy, naïve and caring.
Malcolm was doing just fine and now... Arias had done something to Malcolm.
Beyond his leaving, beyond breaking his heart, that bloody Elf had done something cruel or perhaps, something had been said but it had broken him entirely.
We may never know which it was but by the time we'd caught up to Malcolm, he was knelt alone in an empty field, unmoving even with the downpour raining hell onto him.
Face soaked, not only by the tears, he hadn't even noticed our presence, his grey eyes made empty.
Whatever that bastard had done, it had snuffed it out, that joyous light that Malcolm held from the day he was made and managed to keep all the centuries later.
The one that saved souls, saved my soul.
That Elf had wiped it out completely and now he asked me to care for him as if I would do anything else?
Fire burns in my veins, setting my blood aflame as hatred flares within me.
It takes on a new form as it settles at the core of my very being, breeding itself within each passing second.
If I ever saw him again and I prayed to God that I would, it would be death.
Not threats or tamed annoyance, they'd be no more of that.
I would find a way to kill that foul creature and I would make him pay for what he'd done.
At my sides, I feel my fingers curling into my palms, my fists becoming so tight my nails draw blood.
With only death on my mind, it's not long before the Lyrra stirs within me, ready to spread my will amongst my people with a vengeance.
No.
No, not like this.
My rage was my own, not theirs.
I couldn't allow the clan to falter now, not when we were finally finding our footing.
Where misery reigned amongst my dearest, the clan found itself thriving.
Every vampire, every clan and former Pylen was adjusting to the new structure of our species without fault or challenge.
There was a chain of command that they'd all agreed to when they'd joined, so it wasn't any hardship to make sure it was applied now that the war was over.
Things were falling into place as they were meant to, coming together just as we'd planned.
It was all we'd ever wanted and Malcolm didn't even get to see it because of that selfish, rancid...
"Lincoln."
I shift my gaze to the doorway, finding Kalem waiting there, his hazel eyes red and horribly puffy.
For a split second, I'm faced with a version of my love that felt like it belonged in decades old memories.
Gone was the Nyphilim and in his place stood Kalem as I'd known him but with a few adjustments.
Under Zhoron's guidance and Arias' last instruction, Kalem had created a new skin for himself that mirrored his first in almost every way.
So much so that he looked like he had at the beginning of us, small and painfully fragile but there was also a hidden strength to him.
Truth be told, I missed the soft giant Kalem naturally was and those beautiful, golden wings but my love for him wasn't feeble enough to waver by how he looked.
In this form, his wings were tucked away, as was his staggering height.
Where he stood now, I no longer had to strain my neck to look at him and he no longer had to duck his head to enter rooms.
With his long white mane replaced by short dark brown curls, the only real differences could be found in his sharp fangs and the fact that his skin was slightly paler now.
I would never turn Kalem but to everyone else, their memories after the war contained a newly-turned Kalem instead of an angelic one.
How Zhoron had so easily altered everyone's memories, I did not know nor did I like it.
Even as I understood the need to protect Kalem and himself, I hated that the two Elves hadn't left any room for my say in what they did to my clan.
As was proving to be Arias' methodology, he'd acted as he wished, not remaining to see what happened afterwards.
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clownbasedintrigue · 3 years
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wait shit where's my post where i was "if they touch macallan's lore i'm quitting"
#tginking abt the tf1 callback#and WHY thry made it now out of all times#that and the viper callbacks. bringing blisk back. yknow REVIVING ash#i Do Not Trust Respawn#look look. barkers the mostly likely of the three to be brought back bc he's a fan fvaorite#macallan is dead and VERY solidly dead. like space dust and nuclear explosion kind of dead but that hasmt stopped them before#ash was LITERALLY ON TYPHON when it went boom (unless i missed a piece of lore) and she was space dust dead!!!!#and they still brought her back!!!!#also graves is dead?? as far as we know at least#and like. blisk has come back. blisk wants smth enough to come knocking on ash's door. blisk also has Very personal beef w mac and graves#like...ur teammate. a part of ur unit. the pilot u work with throughout the titan war betrays you#and then fifteen yrs later you very narrowly miss getting to kill himself yourself? and watch him get his final moments of heroic glory#even if he died he still messed up your plans and then was framed as a war hero?#and then to top it off ur long-time commander for those fifteen yrs AND the yrs in the war. Turns around and betrays you as well???#leaving you to be one of the only people left in charge of a floundering army stranded at the far end of space???#bro i would be fucking PISSED#wait shit *****graves ISNT dead#i hate the tumblr tag system sometimes lmao#anyways. if they bring thr tf1 cast back im fuckong losing it#this doesnt include barker or briggs they deserve the spotlight and were also in the second game#homk honk#head full many thoughts
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xaharadesert · 2 years
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MC Who Leaves With Asra During the Plague - Headcanon
Asra Alnazar x MC
A/N: This one is for @raincosm, another extremely patient individual who request this quite a while ago. This is a super interesting concept, so I was super excited to write it. For now I’ll just be writing about how this affects the dynamic between MC and Asra, but if requested I could do a part 2 about how MC meets the other LIs and forms relationships with them as well! For the purpose of this headcanon set, Asra and MC will have a relationship that has been previously established to be romantic. I’ll leave the specifics up to all of you, though ;) please let me know if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes! Requests are open!
💙Asra💙
The relief he felt when you agreed to leave with him was indescribable
He had no idea what he would have done if you had stayed, but he knew his heart would have never recovered
The two of you were quick to pack your things— in part because of the danger of the plague, and in part because of Asra’s fear of you changing your mind— and close the shop, double checking to ensure nothing of value would be left behind
You would be gone for quite a long time
Asra tried to keep your thoughts away from Vesuvia, distracting you with new places, people, and adventures
For the most part, he was successful
Time with Asra is never dull; he had a way of capturing your senses and redirecting them to whatever he thought would make you happiest
The two of you would became used to life on the road, never staying in one place too long, no particular destination in mind
You were content, but of course, a part of each of you always longed for home
And when word reached the two of you that Lucio had died, and the plague with him, you finally set course for home
Your shop was untouched— until now, nobody had moved into Vesuvia, only away if they knew what was good for them
It was like waking from a dream, in a way; walking into your shop was like rejoining reality
The guilt you felt from leaving came back full force, a crushing weight on your shoulders
But Asra, would had never regretted leaving for even a moment, didn’t allow you to fall far into despair
When he noticed you were floundering, unsure of what to do with yourself and your guilt, he took charge in reimplementing the shop
If he noticed you were idle and directionless, he would give you a task
If you were suffocating under the weight of a tragedy that he knew you couldn’t have prevented, he comforted you as best he could
He stayed by your side no matter what— after more than six long years together, he knew there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for you
Eventually, life would return to normal
Vesuvia began recovering, slowly, and with occasionally halting progress, but it was helped along greatly by the waking of the Countess
And you and Asra? You were as you always were: together, in your little shop, alive
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chickenmcstucky · 3 years
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meet me in the hallway
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Bucky Barnes x reader
Light angst, fluff || 5.1k
Your bad day gets worse when your less-than-friendly teammate catches you having a breakdown over your shitty morning.
A/N: So this is the second work I’m posting, but actually the first I wrote. Inspired by my own bad morning, lol. Nothing like a little cathartic writing. I’d love feedback!
You had to physically stop your whole body from tapping along with your impatient foot. If you didn’t get out of here and back to your sunny balcony soon, you might actually die of frustration. Sure, the whole sunny day stretched out in front of you, waiting, but it was the principle of the thing. Wasting sun is sacrilege to you. Still, the young woman behind the counter was only doing her job as she gathered your prescription and searched for the coupon you asked for. Why was healthcare so expensive?
As your body cooled from the workout you’d finished just before hopping over to the pharmacy, your thoughts wandered to the lazy hours of writing, tanning, and listening to music you had planned for the day. The team was between missions and somehow the stars aligned and your time off brought gorgeous weather and some much-needed you time. The thought relaxed you as the woman finally rang up your total; as you swiped your card you put your Starbucks order into the app and prepared to finally get home and enjoy your day.
That is, until the card machine gave a deep chirp and the cashier informed you your card wasn’t covering the entire purchase. You balked - how could this happen? The insurance debit was loaded up for the year, ready for any medical purchases. It rarely ran out so early in the year, and it was just April! Your brain scrambled to make sense of it. Had the account rules changed and some of your purchase didn’t qualify? No, that couldn’t be it, you’d done this same process just a few weeks ago.
Your cheeks bloomed with heat as you realized the declined card was the only one you’d brought with you, convinced it would be a quick errand and seeing no reason to bring your whole wallet for the short trip down the street from the Tower. Fuck. And there were people behind you; you shuddered to imagine what they might be thinking of you in your sweaty workout clothes as you stammered to the cashier you’d have to come back. Just fucking great. You felt your good mood at the prospect of a sunny day slipping as you left the store as quickly as you could, trying to save a little face.
***
Making your way around the construction - why did they need to close the entire sidewalk? - you hastily headed back to the Tower to grab your wallet from your personal quarters, wondering all the way how this could happen. Why do the simple things always have to go wrong? Rationally, you knew this wasn’t a big deal. You would just pay the balance out of pocket and deal with the insurance later. But it was embarrassing and annoying and just plain inconvenient. Sure, you had the time and the money to spare, but why couldn’t things just work how they’re meant to? Your swirling thoughts brought you through the private lobby of the Tower and to the elevators that led to the personal floors; angrily jamming the button for your floor, you whipped out your phone to check the balance on the insurance card.
Your jaw literally dropped as your eyes caught sight of the balance. There was more than enough to cover the charge at the store! Now you were really upset. Jesus, why was this happening to you? Stupid, simple nature of the occurrence aside, you felt tears of frustration welling to the surface as you berated yourself internally. Why did you have to be lazy and only take the one card? If you’d just taken your whole wallet and been prepared, you could’ve saved yourself so much humiliation and frustration. And time. You’d brought it on yourself, you always did. Your frustration with the pharmacy and your anger at the insurance company quickly turned to annoyance at yourself and your lackadaisical ways. Why were you like this?
You shoved yourself further into the corner of the elevator, letting your head fall back against the wall as it ascended to the personal floors. You could feel your face was still ripe with embarrassment, your throat thick with unshed tears. God, why did everything have to make you cry? Embarrassment, anger, and frustration brought tears to your eyes more often than not, while sadness rarely wet your eyes. Of course, no one else knew that and you felt like a dramatic cry-baby every time you got teary-eyed in front of your teammates and friends. You were an Avenger, dammit! As the elevator signaled your floor and the doors whooshed open, you could only hope the walk to your room would be deserted. You wanted to make a quick exit before anyone saw your despair.
***
The hope was short-lived. You walked out of the elevator with your gaze on the floor, and smack into a well-muscled chest.
“Oh, sorry,” you mumbled, trying to scoot around the body without making eye contact.
“Walk much?” and if that wasn’t the last voice you wanted to hear. Of course, your card gets declined and you get humiliated to tears, and not only could the universe not provide you a painless return to your apartment, it also brought you face to face with Bucky Barnes. You were hardly in the mood to deal with him on a good day, let alone today. He rarely acknowledged your existence except to quip mockery at you, it seemed. At first you thought he was just like that, but you soon realized he was perfectly funny and friendly with the others, if quiet. So it was something about you; what, you didn’t know. And you’d accepted it. You didn’t need him to like you, honestly. His attitude towards you might have brought you to tearful rages sometimes, but only in the quiet solace of your room where you could freely wonder why he despised you so. His devilish good looks and killer smile didn’t help. Avoiding him was the best strategy.
“Can you just not?” you snapped at him as he blocked your way down the hallway, apparently hellbent on making sure you knew he was making fun of you. As if you weren’t painfully aware of how he felt about you. It didn’t help your girlish crush, the little voice in the back of your head always telling you maybe he was mean because he liked you. Bullshit.
“Whoa there, no need to get in a twist doll. Was just havin’ a little fun is all. What’s got you so worked up?” you heard the teasing lilt to his voice but the question forced your eyes to his anyways. God, the asshole was smirking, those gorgeous blue eyes glinting with mirth. Horrified, you felt tears welling up in your eyes again because the universe liked laughing at you, apparently.
“God Bucky do you ever fuck off? Honestly,” your voice broke on the last word as tears threatened their way out of your glassy eyes. “Just leave me alone, why do you always have to be so mean? What did I ever do to you?” the words tumbled out before you could stop them, your anger and hurt getting the better of you.
Realizing your outburst, you floundered in the hallway as Bucky looked at you with a confusing mixture of shock and hurt on his face. Did he really have the audacity to be upset with you? After the way he’s treated you, so often making jokes at your expense? In the back of your head, you knew the jokes weren’t that bad, nothing more than you’d say in a harmless rib against your other teammates. But they were your friends; Bucky was a menace. Not knowing what else to say as the shocked silence stretched on, you averted your eyes from his now stony face and tried to will your tears - and your anger - away so you could get what you came for, finish your errand, and try to salvage the rest of your day. How did things go so wrong so fast?
You didn’t notice as Bucky’s expression morphed from hurt to cocky as he prepared to deliver his next blow.
“Oh, woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning I see, sweetheart.” His smiling tone grated on your nerves - of course he was still making fun of you even after you yelled at him for just that. He couldn’t just be nice, could he?
“At least I sleep in a bed,” you spat, meeting his eyes once more. You knew it was a low blow, immediately regretting it as a pained expression flitted across his face. You sighed - only you could end up feeling guilty for dishing his own mockery back at him after months of his unanswered jibes. “Sorry,” you muttered, your eyes falling closed in shame and frustration at your inability to contain your emotions.
“Yea, okay, I probably deserved that,” you stopped yourself from mocking his ‘probably,’ refusing to dig a deeper hole for yourself, though the eye-roll was unavoidable. “I guess I’ll get out of your way then,” Bucky acquiesced, his voice quieter now.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his flesh arm reach out as if to pat your shoulder, but he jerked it away as if he hadn’t meant it to move. He hesitated as he half-turned away; why wasn’t he leaving, and since when did Bucky get so unsure of himself? Usually he moved with a sure swagger that riled you right up knowing he thought so highly of himself. Of course, you knew he probably didn’t do it on purpose; your inner feelings about someone had always colored your observations of them and Bucky was no exception - sometimes you manufactured your dislike, but it was inescapable. He infuriated you.
Your head swirled with anger, leftover humiliation, shame at your words to Bucky, and confusion at why he was still in the fucking hallway. You stuttered, mouth moving without your permission but no words forming.
Bucky glanced back at you, and your downturned yet clearly turmoiled face brought an unseen soft, caring look to his chiseled face. It hurt him to see you upset, though you were unaware. He didn’t know why his words to you always came out so biting. He knew how to act around the rest of the team but for some reason you brought out his inner turmoil and apparently his coping mechanism was to just make fun of you. Was he protecting himself? But what did his feelings matter when he had so clearly hurt you? His heart broke realizing that your lack of response to his mocking over the weeks wasn’t good-natured but instead was silent hurt. Fuck, he’d fucked up.
“Honey, why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?” the softness in his voice was so foreign and surprising to you that you jerked your head up, meeting his eyes in shock. “Maybe…I can help,” he gestured awkwardly.
You must’ve pulled a face at that, because his head immediately rolled back as he quipped out, “what, is it so surprising I can be nice?”
“Well…yeah,” you half-whispered, your mouth once more speaking without your mind’s permission. Suddenly you couldn’t meet his eyes anymore, your gaze falling anywhere but his soft blues. Once again you felt shame flood through you, even though you had told the truth - it was shocking to see Bucky offer kindness, at least to you. Had you somehow misread him so horribly? Fuck, there were the tears of frustration again. As if you weren’t embarrassed enough, this time a few actually fell, carving their way down your burning cheeks as your breath hitched.
“Shit. Okay, please don’t cry sweet girl, I’m sorry. I know I’m an asshole. I - I don’t -,” he cut off, not knowing how to explain. At his saccharine tone and the pet name - this time caressed with gentleness rather than thrown with cocky disdain - you broke as tears fell down in rivulets, your body wracking with silent sobs. Why were you such a mess today? Sure, you wore your emotions on your sleeve, but even you could control yourself more than this. Bucky’s sudden softness had caught you off guard. Where on earth was it coming from?
Unsure what to do as you exposed your raw nerves to him like this, you wrapped your arms around yourself as Bucky twitched in front of you, hesitating before once more reaching out to you, with purpose this time. He tugged at your shoulders until you were pressed into his chest, hiding your face in his faded blue henley. You felt the tension bleed out of you as he slowly brought his arms around you, his flesh hand running up and down your back in comfort.
“Hey there, it’s alright,” he cooed quietly, “it’s okay. We can figure it out. I’m sorry sweetheart, I’m sorry.” It was tearing him apart, seeing you cry. You’d never reacted to his jokes like that, at least not to his face. He wondered how often you held your tears in until you escaped to your room, and his heart fractured. He hated who he turned into around you. He’d fix it, he had to. A pretty girl like you shouldn’t cry over a stupid guy like him.
You finally hiccuped to a stop, the tears no longer falling as his sweet ministrations calmed you down. Before more embarrassment over your breakdown could set in, Bucky grasped your shoulders and set you away from him so he could look you in your eyes.
“Now, you tell me what’s going on. I’ll fix it,” his hands gripped you tighter with his last words, assuring you. His sudden change of heart, while shocking, was strangely believable. You trusted his conviction that he wanted to help you.
Sighing shakily, you sniffled and began to explain. “It’s stupid really, Bucky. You don’t gotta worry,” you deflected, walls going back up even though you longed for his comfort, his friendship that you hadn’t allowed yourself to crave.
“Little darlin, it ain’t nothing if it makes you this upset. Please talk to me,” his soft eyes pleaded with you, the kindness floating in their depths piercing straight to your heart. Your resolve - built less from stubbornness now and more from niggling shame at letting him see to your core - crumbled.
“It was just gonna be a quick run to the pharmacy - I needed a refill - and then I was gonna come back here and sit in the sun and try to just enjoy my time off alone but my fucking card got fucking declined even though it has enough money and God, Buck, it was humiliating. And then I came back to get my wallet and -,” you cut yourself off, unsure, not wanting to accuse Bucky of making you cry. He had, but it was the whole situation that had really gotten you going. You didn’t want to point the finger at him when he was being nice for once.
Your sudden silence clued Bucky in to the rest of the story quickly enough, though he took sweet pause at the nickname that had slipped from your pretty mouth. He had the grace to look a bit ashamed, but continued on. “Okay, that’s not so bad then, huh? You can just go back and finish up, it’s still early in the day, plenty of time to relax,” Bucky assured you, thinking he’d figured this out pretty easily.
“Easy for you to say,” you grumbled. “You weren’t the one humiliated in front of multiple people thinking you couldn’t pay. I mean I basically ran out of there, Bucky. Why am I so - UGHHH.”
He very nearly laughed, covering himself by clearing his throat - now that you were talking to him and his dumb brain was letting him be nice to you, he wasn’t about to ruin things by upsetting you again. He wasn’t going to push you away. He found it endearing how open you were with your emotions, wishing he could be more like you some days when his melancholy got the best of him. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to suffer alone.
“I see…well I’m real sorry you had to face that. I’ve been there a time or two, it’s no fun. But it ain’t bad as all that - they weren’t paying you that much attention. It’s New York City, everyone is so self-absorbed I bet they didn’t even notice. That’s not to say you don’t deserve attention ‘cause you do - I mean - that’s not - …yea,” he trailed off, cutting his rambling before he really embarrassed himself. He met your eyes sheepishly, surprised to see a small smile there. His heart soared knowing he was the one to put it there, even at the cost of some embarrassment himself.
“Well, I don’t have much of a choice, I need the prescription today. And - fuck! Whyyyyyyy,” you groaned, your face scrunching as you whined. And damn if that wasn’t just the cutest thing, Bucky couldn’t help but think.
The lilting, light tone returned to his voice as he gently laughed at your groaning. “What is it now, then?”
You moaned, blood rushing to your face as you admitted the silly annoyance, “I forgot my drink at Starbucks. I ordered it while I was in line at the pharmacy, I was gonna grab it on my way back. God, it’ll be warm now - or gone. Icing on the cake, just what I needed,” you sighed, resigned to the wasted money.
Bucky smiled genially as he reached over to ruffle your hair, tucking a stray lock behind your ear with surprising softness. You weren’t sure you’d ever gotten this close to his metal appendage. Something deep inside you fluttered at the prospect of more gentle touches, exploring each other and - now where the hell did that come from? You were beginning to think this morning’s commotion had somehow addled your brain. You shook your head at yourself, emptying those thoughts and Bucky chuckled. This time, though, it felt like he was laughing with you rather than at you. That was….refreshing. Nice, even. You yearned to make him laugh more.
“Alright. It’s no big deal,” Bucky calmly spoke, again determined to bring that smile back to your face and maybe, just maybe, get to know you as a friend. Something about how you’d opened up to him gave him hope he hadn’t ruined things beyond repair with his boyish taunting. He’d treat you like you deserved, be a good man to you, if he could take this chance.
“How about this - you go back, get that paid for, and I’ll go get your drink. If it’s warm or gone, I’ll make them make you a new one. Then you can get on with your day, and I’ll, uh…get out of your hair, I guess,” Bucky trailed off, suddenly unsure. Would this truce be short lived, lasting only until you resolved your dilemma? He guessed he’d deserve it if so, but he couldn’t help but hope you’d stick around him. He’d just have to give it his best shot.
“That’s - wow Buck, you don’t have to go to all that trouble. It’s nothing, silly really, I told you,” you scuffed your feet along the floor, suddenly feeling burdensome. A fearful voice in the back of your head wondered if you were just giving him more ammunition for future joking.
“It’s no trouble darlin’. It’s…it’s the least I can do for ya. I guess I know it’s a miracle you even talk to me. I don’t know why I’m so..” he cut off again, still not sure how to explain without exposing his inner thoughts. “Now, what’s the order?”
“Oh, uhm…,” you balked, disbelieving at what you were about to have to say to Bucky. “It’s, uh, called a Pink Drink?” you let the name escape your lips uncertainly, waiting for the inevitable mocking. But to your surprise, the sweetest smile graced Bucky’s face, lighting up his eyes.
“Well, if that ain’t just adorable,” he gently joked to you as you gave a grudging smile. “One Pink Drink it is, honey.”
And wow, these sudden sweet names were getting to you. You felt your heart flutter as he winked at you before sending you on your way down the hall to your room, finally about to clean up the mess you’d made this morning. He even waited for you to get your wallet, escorting you back to the elevator and riding down to street level with you.
“Go on then,” he encouraged, seeing you hesitate again. “I’ll meet you back up there,” he nodded back towards the Tower.
You smiled softly, half at him and half at the ground you were once more staring at, before making your way back to the pharmacy.
***
You supposed the second trip was actually rather painless. Not a big deal at all, just as Bucky had assured you. Perhaps you could salvage your afternoon indeed, let the sun burn the frustration and embarrassment out of you. Though something told you your newfound confusion at Bucky’s kindness would soon take hold. You still couldn’t believe the gentleness with which he handled you, the kind softness of his words as he comforted you - was this really the same man who spared few words for you but for jokes and laughter at your expense? Something had…shifted. You pushed the uneasy, yet warm feeling away. No time to dissect that right now, you scolded yourself as you headed up the elevator once more, this time for good. You were determined to put this morning behind you and enjoy your rare sunny day off.
As you stepped off the elevator to head to your room, you absently wondered where Bucky was. Surely he had made it back before you - the Starbucks was much closer than the pharmacy. Yet he was nowhere to be found. You weren’t sure if you were bothered or relieved about that. Bothered that he might have abandoned his mission to help you, relieved you might not have to face him again. At least before, his unkindness was certain. You had learned to deal with it. Now, this new kind, gentle Bucky? Just what in the hell were you supposed to do with that? You didn’t know what to think.
***
These swirling thoughts stuck with you as you walked into your room; you were so distracted by your own internal monologue that the open door didn’t phase you, nor did the breeze coming in from the now ajar balcony door catch your eye. Absentmindedly you flitted around the room, putting away your wallet and goods. When the breeze coming in from the balcony caught a lock of your hair, blowing it across your face, you froze. Why was the balcony door open? You certainly hadn’t left it that way.
Peering out to investigate, you stopped right in your tracks at the sight that met your eyes. Your lounge chair was covered in one of your beach towels, bluetooth speaker already gently playing your sunshine playlist. And there on the table was your Pink Drink. You were flabbergasted - had Bucky come in and done this? For…you? The mere thought of him taking the time to set this up sent your heart soaring. But where was he? Perhaps your earlier thoughts were right - his sudden kindness had run out, and he was tired of being your friend already. Somehow, you couldn’t quite believe that to be the truth.
Determined not to let this chance go, because now that you’d had a taste of Bucky’s sweet side you would be damned if you couldn’t sink your teeth in, you set off in search of the brooding man. Wandering down the hallway, you steeled your resolve - you were going to thank him, and you weren’t going to get flustered this time. Maybe this could be a new start for both of you. Maybe he was more than you thought.
The door to Bucky’s room was open, and you heard the soft notes of Billie Holiday float into the corridor. You pushed your hesitation aside and walked in, not seeing him anywhere until your gaze fell upon a brunette head just peaking over the top of a chair on his balcony. Walking towards the glinting sunlight outside, you lightly knocked on the doorjamb to alert him to your presence, knowing he had probably heard you come in anyways.
“Hey,” he exclaimed softly, rolling his head to the side to glance at you. He seemed less…pompous than earlier, at least, but less energetic too. Like something had popped his bubble.
You stepped gingerly out onto the balcony, as if you were wary of startling him. As if you even could. Suddenly you were lost for words, the atmosphere awkward in a soft way. Unspoken words flitted between the two of you, both lost as to how to approach the new dynamic that crash landed in your laps earlier.
“Uh,” you started, lapsing into a giggle. “Thanks for the uh, for my drink. And stuff,” you finished uneasily, letting out a sharp laugh at your inability to articulate your appreciation for his earlier kindness. You still weren’t sure if there would be more where that came from, or if you had simply taken him aback with your tears and his sudden gentility was a stress reaction. You steeled yourself to be laughed out of his room, just in case.
“My pleasure, sweet girl,” he sighed, gazing out over the city. “Least I could do, really.”
“I - Bucky,” you heaved a deep breath and continued, “thank you, you really didn’t have to be so….sweet.”
He didn’t respond immediately and you wondered if you’d taken it too far, but before you could get too worried he spoke again.
“Darlin,” he started, the term of endearment dripping from his lips sweet like honey, “I owe ya a real apology. I never wanted to be unkind to you, but it felt like I couldn’t stop it. Whenever I see you I just…forget myself. It’s like I don’t know how to act, you scare the decency right outta me.”
Was this really happening? You gaped, “wha - Bucky, what?”
He held up a hand to stop you as he kept speaking, his words further shocking you yet sending a warm buzz up your spine at the same time. “I’m sorry I’ve treated you the way I have. I like joking with people but it’s not right that it hurt you and I kept on. I’m sorry I made ya cry. It ain’t an excuse but girl, you really terrify me. In a good way, I think, but I didn’t let myself see that. I hope it ain’t too late, you know…to be friendly?”
You were sure he could see the astonishment clear as day on your face, and you watched as his own expression contorted with unease. It wasn’t hard to see this admission was uncomfortable for him. But why? Because it pained him to admit he was wrong, or because…he was as afraid of rejection as you were?
“It’s not!” you blurted before you realized you had even spoken. ‘“It’s not too late.”
Bucky looked at you with a small smile, hope blooming in his eyes. You couldn’t believe your shit day had turned into this - who would have ever thought Bucky Barnes, the asshole next door, could be nice. Could apologize, even.
An idea struck you and before you could lose your confidence, you spoke, “Do you wanna come sit out with me?”
You left the invitation hanging desperately in the air as you shifted from one foot to the other, hoping he would accept.
“Only if you let me have some of that drink,” he laughed as he got up and ushered you back inside, through to your own room and balcony. You smiled to yourself but stayed quiet as you sat down on your chair; Bucky got comfortable in the chair next to you as the tune of a love song permeated the thick, warm air around you.
Silently grasping your drink, you handed it to him. It felt like a peace offering.
His rosy lips wrapping around the edge of the cup mesmerized you, a rivulet of condensation dripping from the cup down his arm as he swallowed.
His low laugh snapped you out of your reverie. “Well?” you inquired.
His lips stretched into a smile, “sweet drink. Perfect for a sweet girl,” a husky tone to his voice as he handed the drink back to you, your mouth agape once more.
A laugh ripped its way out of your throat, loud and boisterous and before you knew it you gasped out, “who are you and what have you done with Bucky? So charming, jesus.”
“Guess I have my moments. Gonna try harder to have them around you,” he let out a breathy laugh, still unsure how to act around you. But this felt better, lighter. For the first time in a while, he felt at ease within himself.
“I think I’d like that,” you spoke surely. Then a streak of courage hit you and you went on, “maybe next time, I could go with you? I mean, you could go with me - together, uh..”
Bucky smiled then, wide, “you askin’ me on a date there honey?” he cooed, joking but in kindness.
This time, you were ready to dish it back. “If you think one drink and some sweet talking is enough to get a date with me you got another thing coming, Barnes!” you jibed. “I was merely offering to return the favor,” you turned your face up with false haughtiness, but your laughter and the way you averted your eyes told him the truth. Turning over a new leaf and all that, he guessed.
“Well, I suppose that’s a start,” he laughed, hope bubbling in his chest. “That’s a start.”
As you watched the sun reach its midday summit, your mind wandered. What a day it had been already. You never thought you’d share such emotion with Bucky, that he’d be capable of handling it, or even sharing some in return. Maybe there was some truth to his words - you wouldn’t let the pain of his mocking slide so easily, but you felt he deserved the second chance he was craving. You deserved it, too.
You stole a quiet glance at him, your cheeks warming as you realize he’d been staring at you. He looked away quickly, but not before you caught a blush spreading across his cheeks. Perhaps, you thought, bad mornings weren’t so awful if they ended with afternoons like this.
***
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Day 15: Wings
Harry was not a big fan of parties.
In fact, Harry downright hated parties because he hated all of the unwanted attention. Fortunately, this masquerade gala allowed him to remain anonymous.
After all, who would expect Harry Potter to arrive in a pirate costume with skintight breeches, a billowy white shirt that exposed his chest (and the fake anchor tattoo), and thigh high boots? The black mask that covered much of his face and the pirate hat with a huge, gaudy feather helped, too.
He'd happily avoided anyone and everyone on his way to the snack table and had just stuffed a tiny, flaky, savory pastry in his mouth when he looked up to the top of the staircase that led into the room and promptly choked. There, standing at the top and looking down at all of them, was a literal angel.
The man had gorgeous white and gold wings magically attached to his back, Harry's fingers twitched as though reaching for the soft feathers as they fluttered in the breeze drifting through the open door behind him. Gold sandals graced his feet, and golden straps wrapped up his legs, stopping mid thigh. Silky white fabric was artfully draped around his hips, protecting his modesty, but only just. He wore a golden corset with a delicate structure that emphasized the narrowness of his waist and the broadness of his bare shoulders. Gold was dusted lightly across his skin, making him shine even more radiantly. His mask was also gold, hiding everything but his sharp chin, strong jawline, and his lovely lips. To finish everything off, a golden laurel wreath graced his pink hair.
He was gorgeous, ethereal. And Harry's gut told him that he had to meet him. His gut was hardly ever wrong.
(Read more below the cut)
Without stopping to think, Harry set off toward the other man, but was beat to him by a man dressed in a muggle constable uniform. As Harry approached, he heard the constable berating the angel and he felt his metaphorical hackles rise.
"Oy!" he said as the constable shoved the man's shoulder. "Back off. What's the matter with you?"
The constable spluttered at him and placed his hands on his hips in indignation. "Well I don't think a costume like that is appropriate."
And suddenly, Harry recognized that voice, recognized posture and his puffed out chest. "Well, first, Auror Hibbards," he said, "It's not your place to enforce a dress code. And second, I don't think the business you conduct with your secretary after hours is appropriate but no one's confronted you or your wife about that. Perhaps you'd like me to go and have a conversation with her about what I find inappropriate?"
He followed the other man's panicked gaze across the room to two women who were standing together talking, and tried to remember what Laura Hibbards had looked like when he'd met her a few years ago.
"She's the one in the striking medi-nurse costume isn't she?" he asked. "Laura, right?"
Hibbards took a step back and his arms fell to his sides, "Who are you?" he asked.
"It doesn't matter," Harry replied. "You mind your business and I'll mind mine."
Without another word Hibbards turned and fled across the room.
He turned to look at the angel standing next to him, "Are you alright?" he asked.
"Yes, I'm fine," the man replied, voice warm and a smile tugging at his lips. "I daresay you arrived in the wrong costume."
Harry looked down at his pirate apparel. "Sorry?" he asked, looking up at him.
"I think you ought to have come as a knight dressed in shining armor," he teased.
"Hardly," Harry replied, rolling his eyes.
The other man's eyes traveled up and down Harry's body, "So, let me guess, you're an auror? I would say that maybe you just work in the auror department but it was clever of you to get him to look at his wife so you could deduce who she was."
"Clever, hmm?" Harry teased. "I wouldn't go that far, but you're not entirely wrong. I've recently left the Ministry and I was an auror."
"What made you leave?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.
Harry lifted one shoulder, "I got fed up with the bullshit and the hypocrisy; I felt like I was slowly becoming someone I didn't want to be, so I left."
"And what do you do now?"
He laughed, "Do you want the truth?'
"Always."
"I work part time at a muggle coffee shop," he replied.
"Ah, so you're independently wealthy then."
Harry shook his head, "And you said I'm the clever one. What do you do?"
"I'm a solicitor," he replied.
He laughed, "So you really didn't need my help dealing with Hibbards then. I'm sure you could have talked circles around him."
"No, I probably didn't," he conceded. "But it was nice, just the same. A man who spends all of his time fighting on behalf of others appreciates someone fighting on his behalf every so often."
Harry smiled, "Are you here with anyone?" he asked, "Or can I get you a drink?"
"A drink would be great," the angel replied.
----------------
Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed a night as much as he had this one. His angel was quick-witted with a dry sense of humor, he was smart and sexy, and Harry genuinely enjoyed his company. They'd danced, and talked, and enjoyed the food and drinks available; and Harry found himself wishing that the night would never end.
When the clock stuck eleven, surprising both of them, they looked around to see that many people had already left. "Salazar, is that the time?"
Harry nodded, "Seems to be."
"I've an early morning tomorrow," the angel told him, "As much as I've enjoyed this, I should probably be on my way."
"Can I see you again?" Harry blurted.
"I'm not sure that's a good idea," the other man replied slowly. "This was meant to be a bit like Cinderella at the ball for me."
"Are you going to leave me your sandal, then? Expect me to come and find you?" Harry teased, really hoping that the other man would give in or at least give him something to go on. He was good a puzzles, good at pulling at loose ends until he'd unraveled the mystery.
"No, no, nothing like that," he said quickly. "I just wanted one night where I didn't have to be me. One night that I didn't have to walk around with my face and all of the baggage that goes along with it. This was never meant to be more than that."
"I hear you," Harry said, emphatically, "I really do. I find it difficult," he confessed, "connecting with people. People can't seem to see past their preconceived notions of who I am, but you..." Harry trailed off and shrugged helplessly, "it was easy. To be with you, to talk to you. I'd really like to get to know you better."
The angel rubbed the back of his neck, "I would like that, too," the other man replied softly. "Truly. But once you know who I am, you're going to change your mind."
"But isn't it worth to find out?" he asked, pleaded. "Even if you're right and I never want to see you again, that's the outcome you've assigned without even knowing."
"Maybe I'd prefer for you to remember this night fondly," the other man suggested.
"Maybe I'd prefer to have many more fond memories with you," Harry countered.
"You were a Griffyndor weren't you?"
"Guilty as charged," Harry replied with a grin. Then he grew serious, "Look, if you enjoyed tonight even half as much as I did, please just give it a chance. You might take one look at me and think this was a mistake, but at least we'll know and we won't have to spend the rest of our lives wondering what could have been."
The angel blew out a breath and Harry fought the nerves that had risen up in his chest. "Fine," he conceded, "but don't say that I didn't try to warn you."
"Okay," Harry said, giving him a big smile.
"Before we do this," he said, "I want you to know that I had a really nice time tonight. Thank you for everything."
"Stop sounding like you're saying goodbye!" Harry protested.
The angel gave him a sad little smile, "Ready, then?"
"On the count of three?" Harry asked. When he received a nod in return, he reached up and said, "One, two, three," as he pulled of his mask.
A slap to the face would have been less of a surprise than the person he saw standing before him.
"Potter?"
"Malfoy?" he splutted. "What? How?"
"This explains so much, actually," Malfoy said, his mouth twisting in a displeased little grimace. "You got to come sailing in like the hero you are to rescue a damsel in distress-"
"That's not fair," Harry replied, still reeling. "I didn't even know it was you."
"No," Malfoy agreed. "It certainly would have changed your reaction if you had." He shook his head, "Well, this has been fun. I do so love being proven right."
"It's still better to know that this was not worth losing sleep over, don't you think?" Harry replied.
"Right," Malfoy clipped. "I'm off. The pirate costume seems a bit like false advertising, by the way," he said as he started to walk away without a backward glance.
"What?" Harry asked incredulously, "And the angel costume wasn't false advertising?"
"It's a Victoria's Secret Costume, Potter. Honestly."
Before Harry could make sense of that statement, Malfoy was up the stairs and out of the door, leaving Harry staring after him with a mixture of irritation, and confusion, and oddly a bit of attraction.
"Oh, Mr. Potter!" a voice called from beside him, "How lovely to see you!"
Harry turned to see Laura Hibbards standing next to him. "Your husband is cheating on you," Harry informed her.
"Excuse me?" she asked, her right hand fluttering up to cover her heart.
"With his secretary. I should have said something a long time ago, I'm sorry," he added, because he was. No one deserved to be cheated on.
Then he walked away, leaving her floundering, and headed out the same door Malfoy had moments before.
When he got outside he looked around, hoping to see wings or a flash of pink hair, but the road was empty. Was he really lonely and desperate enough that he was thinking that he and Malfoy might be a good fit?
Harry gave it up, he didn't even know what he would have said if he had seen him. It wasn't worth losing sleep over, he reminded himself before appartating home.
Whiskers was waiting for him when he arrived and he scooped her up and nuzzled his nose into her fluffy white fur. "You love me, don't you?" he asked her. Her sweet, little meow confirmed it and he kissed her head before going in to get ready for bed. It wasn't worth losing sleep over he reminded himself again.
------------
Harry had, in fact, lost quite a bit of sleep. He'd spent the night tossing and turning, grumbling to himself, and hating himself every time his mind replayed a part of the evening and butterflies took flight in his stomach.
By the time the sun was illuminating the sky, turning it bright pinks and reds, Harry only knew one thing: he couldn't get Malfoy out of his head.
He got out of bed and he started to do some digging on the other man. It took half the morning but he discovered Malfoy had made a bit of a name for himself. He worked for a wizarding law firm and he'd made a habit of only taking clients who were desperately in need of help that they couldn't afford. Harry had a hard time learning anything else about his personal life, it seemed like he didn't really have one, but it didn't take long for him to find an address.
From there, the planning was a bit shoddy. Harry hadn't ever really been good at making plans and sticking to them so he just showed up outside of Draco's office at 5:00pm and waited.
And waited.
And then he waited some more. He waited until 6:30, wondering if he'd missed the other man somehow and as he was about to leave and return tomorrow, the door opened and out stepped Malfoy. His hair was blonde and he was wearing a well-tailored suit but he looked just as breathtaking as he had the night before.
He froze when he caught sight of Harry, looking stricken for just a moment before smoothing his features. "What are you doing here?"
Harry opened his mouth, "I'm sorry." They weren't quite the words he was meaning to say but it was too late to take them back now.
"Whatever for?"
"I had a brilliant time with you last night," Harry said.
Malfoy rolled his eyes, "Right up until you realized it was me."
"That's what I'm sorry for," Harry said. "Malfoy," he started, then he changed tracks, "Draco, you made me feel like I was just a person. Just a guy flirting with another person, enjoying life, free of all expectations."
"Yes, we established that last night," he replied as he stepped down the stairs and stood on the pavement in front of Harry. "That was the point of the masks and the costumes."
"Right, but I don't think it was just the masks and costumes. The person I was last night," he licked his lower lip but forced himself to continue, "That's who I really am. Without the weight of being Harry Potter. And I would be willing to bet my vault at Gringotts that the person you were last night is who you really are without the weight of being Draco Malfoy."
"Can you afford to bet your vault at Gringotts?" he asked. "Aren't you a barista? What if you're wrong?"
"Shut up," Harry said, "I'm trying to say something profound here."
"Apologies," Malfoy said, taking one step closer to him as his mouth tilted up at the corner.
"When who we both really are seems to be so compatible, doesn't it seem silly to throw that away on a childhood rivalry?"
"What exactly are you proposing?"
Harry took a breath, "Dinner? Or coffee if dinner is too much. I'd like the chance to get to know you better."
"You would?" Draco asked softly, looking open and vulnerable, and Harry's heart expanded in his chest until he couldn't breathe properly.
"I really would," he said, reaching out to take Draco's hand.
"Alright. Dinner," he agreed. "But don't blame me if this doesn't work out."
Harry grinned at him, "Feel free to blame me when it does."
Day 14: Louder, So Everyone Can Hear | Day 16: Tulips
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spacedikut · 4 years
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“would you please put your tongue away” ; spencer reid
pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x f!reader
summary: spencer can’t handle how good you look in your dress. he also can’t handle another guy asking you to dance. 2760 words
a/n: taken from this prompt list :)
“…It’s highly inappropriate.”
Someone waves a hand in front of Spencer’s face and he’s brought back to reality – surrounded by people from every FBI department in a far too bright room with champagne that is certainly not worth the amount it costs and in a suit that is a little too tight.
“What?” He asks.
“I said,” Derek grins, “Would you please put your tongue away.”
Spencer raises an eyebrow at that, “My tongue is firmly in my mouth, Morgan.”
Derek gives a scoff. He wishes Emily was with them to attest, but she’s across the room, beside you, stuck in a conversation with some “important” person that Hotch made a point to tell the team to suck up to.
“If Y/N can’t feel your stare burning a hole in her back, when she turns and sees you drooling she’s sure to know you’re obsessed with her.”
In panic, Spencer wipes his mouth just in case he is in fact drooling. That gets a hearty laugh from Derek, and Spencer huffs indignantly, “I am not obsessed-“
“When you saw her all dressed up earlier you had to leave the room, Reid. That isn’t a platonic reaction.”
“Well,” He stutters, glancing over to you and scanning your bare back, “She looks- she-“
“She took your breath away, man. It’s okay.” Derek gives him a pat on the back and smirks at him, coughing to cover a chuckle when Spencer glares at him.
“And who is this majestic being that took Doctor Reid’s breath away?” It’s you, Prentiss and JJ trailing behind, delicately holding a champagne flute in your left hand and a business card in your right.
Spencer flounders, taken off-guard by your approach and the close-up view of you in your dress. He doesn’t know much about fashion, let alone dresses, but God do you look like something straight out of a movie. To him, you’re the embodiment of all the love poems and romantic monologues that his mother used to read him. He always wondered what the beauty all those writers saw looked like, and if he’d ever see something so celestial, and then you walked into his life.
He’ll never recover. Especially when you keep reminding him how perfect you are.
“Someone’s been networking,” Derek nods to the business card, noticing Spencer’s struggle and swooping in to save him. Derek loves to tease Spencer, it’s his favourite thing to do, but there’s always a time and a place, you know?
You fiddle with the card, “A little pretentious, but he mentioned having some paperwork trouble and I offered to help. I thought if I got in his good graces he’d help us keep the jet.”
Just then, the band at the back of the charity event plays a slow tune, everyone coupling up to head to the dancefloor. Before you or Spencer can react, Derek is dragging Emily away and JJ goes to find Will, but not before all three of them send some kind of subtle gesture to Spencer – Derek winks, Emily raises her eyebrows and looks between you and Spence, and JJ nudges him as she passes.
Spencer’s entire body locks up. He can’t do this. Whatever this is.
When he doesn’t move, you offer him your hand, “Would you care to dance, Doctor Reid?”
His body eases and he can’t help but smile because you’re you, “It would be an honour, Miss Y/N,” He laughs, gently wrapping his fingers around yours.
You tug him onto the outskirts of the floor – being in the centre is both of your worst nightmares – and Spencer’s other hand falls to the small of your back, pulling you close. You’re chest to chest, your arm falling in place around his shoulders, but even with heels on he’s still got some height on you. You sway to the music in perfect sync, like you’ve done this a million times, and your eyes subconsciously close from the comfort of being in Spencer’s arms and the feel of him against you.
You concentrate on your feet for a few beats, too shy to look him in his clear, brown eyes. When you finally look up to meet his gaze, you can’t help the soft smile that appears. He’s already looking at you.
Spencer returns it, smile equally as fond.
The lights of the room reflect in his eyes – it’s as if they’re twinkling, like stars, and it’s utterly mesmerising. For a second, you forget you’re at a fundraiser event, on business, surrounded by your team and people from all departments and all positions. You feel like you’ve been whisked away to some faraway land, maybe somewhere that isn’t filled with killers and evil, and you and Spencer are lovers simply enjoying the night and eachother’s company.
“You look beautiful,” Spencer whispers, as if he doesn’t want anyone else to hear you. You wonder if he feels the same way you do.
“Thank you. I was waiting for you to compliment me.” You tease.
“Oh? Does my compliment mean that much?”
You giggle nervously. You love when he teases you back, when he has this confidence that always surprises you.
“More than I’d like to admit,” You say, “But I did also spend all day getting ready, so I want my hard work appreciated.”
“Well,” Spencer swallows, eyes flickering to your collarbones and neck and everywhere on you, “Consider your hard work appreciated. Not just by me, either. I think I’ve got a lot of glares being shot at me right now.”
You break eye contact to survey the room. There’s definitely a good number of people staring at you, but you refuse to believe they’re all jealous of him. He looks dashing in his suit, hand-picked by Rossi himself, and you know you’re not the only one to notice. You see the beauties dotted around that keep checking him out.
Another ballad begins so Spencer keeps you close. He scans the side of your face, how your nose peaks and the makeup you’re wearing illuminates all of your features. He’s hopeless at makeup, too, but the colour of your eyeshadow(?) suits you perfectly. You always look perfect, he realises. Being ethereal comes naturally to you.
“Excuse me,” A voice interrupts.
Both of you snap towards him. Travis.
Travis works in.. a department. A stupid one, probably. Spencer thinks Travis sucks.
“Hi, Trav,” You smile. You like Travis – of course you do. You’ve known him longer than you’ve known Spencer, so how does Spencer stand a chance?
“Evening, Y/N. Evening, Spencer.” He gives a polite smile.
Spencer returns it with his jaw set.
“Could I steal you for a dance, Y/N? Just like during our graduation ball?” His eyes are hopeful, and Spencer looks at in you confusion. What graduation ball?
You agree shyly, “Sure, Trav. Is that okay, Spence?”
He doesn’t know why you’re asking him – you both know Spencer’s too socially awkward to say no. So he nods, gives a tight lipped smile, and sharply turns to walk straight towards the bar. He doesn’t want to see Travis gently grasp your hand and pull you close, just like he had done.
But he’s not jealous.
“Water, please.” Spencer says to the bartender.
Someone slides up beside him. He glances at the shoes – Italian leather – and he knows it’s Rossi. He’s standing with a whiskey in his hand and a pitying gaze.
Spencer takes a big gulp from his glass of water like it’s a shot of straight vodka.
“You know he’s gonna make a move on her.” Rossi announces. Spencer takes another gulp.
“What?”
“I overheard him and his friends. They were in the academy together, and after seeing her tonight he’s decided now it’s time to make a move. Even stopped me to ask if she was single because he saw how close you two were out there.” Rossi shrugs as he takes a sip of his drink, gaze burning into Spencer as he does it.
Spencer knows what he’s doing. He’s trying to rile him up, get his feathers ruffled, for him to, what? Fight Travis on the dancefloor? Run up and steal you?
“I’m sure…” He starts, slowly, “If someone, say, Emily, who disappeared outside, had a sudden emergency… Y/N would drop Travis in a second.”
Spencer looks at him. Rossi raises his eyebrows.
“Excuse me.” Spencer says.
Rossi grins as he watches Spencer almost charge towards you.
There’s a hand on your shoulder and you know it’s Spencer, and when you turn he’s out of breath.
“Emily-“ He pants, “I think she’s- she’s sick. She’s outside and asking for you.”
“Oh, God,” You gasp, hands immediately leaving Travis completely to instinctively grasp Spencer by his arms, something you’ve always done.
Spencer’s heart warms at your concern – of course you’re so genuinely concerned for one of your best friends. Could you be anymore perfect?
“Let’s go, Spence.” You glance at Travis, feet already moving, “Sorry, Travis, it was lovely to dance with you!”
Travis watches you flutter away, knowing very well that that was his once chance and he lost it. It doesn’t take a genius to work out that Spencer is lying – at least a little.
Travis could tell Spencer wasn’t happy when he asked if he could dance with you. The unimpressed look in Spencer’s eyes whenever they made eye contact solidified that.
Travis can’t blame him, if he’s honest.
Outside, the cold is starting to set in, but you’re too panicked to notice or care. Your head darts left to right, searching for Emily. You spot her, in her stunning red dress, and go to call for her. But then she laughs, head thrown back, and takes another sip of her drink.
She’s fine.
You turn to Spencer, confused, “I thought she was sick?”
He looks sheepish and you laugh as he says, “I may have told a little lie.”
“Spencer!”
“Sorry.” He doesn’t look sorry.
“Well why-“
“Since we’re here, why don’t we go look at the fountain? I saw you eyeing it when we arrived.”
You want to ask why he interrupted you and Travis, but you’re not given the chance. Spencer’s large hand holds the tip of your fingers and he gently pulls you towards the stone fountain, where it stands with several tiers and the soothing sound of running water. There’s a statute in the centre – a woman wrapped in some kind of shawl.
“My guess,” You say, arms crossing, causing Spencer to take a sharp intake of breath, “Is the statue is based on the forlorn sculptor’s lover.”
Spencer’s body deflates as releases a deep breath. He thought you were onto him and why he ruined your dance.
“Actually,” His hands move to emphasise his point, “One of the most common purposes of sculpture is in some form of association with religion-“
“Why did you interrupt Travis and I?”
Uh oh.
“Did I look uncomfortable?” You wonder, “Because I can handle myself, Spence.”
You tried to resist asking again. But something about what he did bothers you – if you didn’t want to dance with Travis, you would’ve said no or made an excuse to not have to. If you didn’t want to be around Travis, you would’ve walked away from him. No matter what, you could’ve dealt with it yourself. Does Spencer disagree?
He licks his lips out of nervousness, shakes his head and mumbles a, “No, that’s not it.”
You turn to face him. His hands are in his pockets and he’s staring at the ground as he shuffles his feet. Rossi will have a fit when he sees the shoes he hand-picked have marks on them.
“I needed to get you alone. I’m sorry.” Spencer squirms. He can’t make eye contact.
“What?” You ask, brows furrowed, “Why? Is something wrong?”
“He was..” He trails off and clears his throat, “He was gonna ask you out. I couldn’t- didn’t want to let that happen.”
Your confusion increases. So he does think you can’t handle yourself?
There’s a spark of frustration in you, then. You’ve dealt with being underestimated and babied basically your whole life and Spencer knows that. He also knows you’re a trained FBI agent that has saved his skin more times than you care to count – he knows better than anyone that you can handle yourself.
So what the fuck.
“I appreciate the concern,”
Spencer winces at your tone. This is… not going well. Not going how Spencer wanted it to, or planned. Not that he had a plan beyond getting you and Travis as far away from one another as possible.
“But I can guarantee I do not need you to loom over me and scare boys away, Spencer. You’re not my father.”
Your tone is biting and Spencer moves closer to placate you.
“That’s not what I meant, Y/N, I’m sorry that’s- I know you can handle yourself. Very well. I still have the scar from when you thought I was a robber in your house-“
“You shouldn’t have tried to sneak up on me, Spencer Reid-“
“Rossi overheard Travis saying he was gonna make a move on you and it was like I went on auto-pilot and I could hear the blood pumping in my ears and-“
“I can take care of myself, Spence.”
“I couldn’t let it happen because I want to date you.”
He looks at you then, gaze so intense you feel frozen where you stand. He continues.
“But I’m sorry if you were planning to say yes to Travis and I… came in and ruined it. Maybe you’re into him and I just… delayed the inevitable for no reason other than to humiliate myself.” He gives a tight lipped smile, rolling onto the tips of his feet and then back on the heel.
You let out a breathy laugh in disbelief. “I wasn’t going to say yes to Travis, Spence. It’d be pretty damn rude for me to date him when I very much like and want to date you.”
His eyebrows shoot up and he gives a toothy, hesitant smile, “Really?”
“Yeah, really.” You step closer. Spencer can’t take his eyes off you, not that he’s been able to at any point tonight, but now you can tell he can’t help but ogle at you.
It makes you feel fuzzy inside, that mix of excitement and nerves that you always get around Spencer.
“Well, what should we do about that?” He teases, but some anxiety shines through. He’s genuinely asking.
“Would it be okay if I kissed you?” You ask.
He sputters, “Uh- yes. That would be completely okay.”
“Well then,” You smile, “Come here.”
As if you’ve done it a million times, Spencer’s hands cup your face as he tugs you towards his lips. Your hands find his waist, softly gripping him as your eyes flutter shut and you feel Spencer’s lips for the first time.
Why does it feel so natural? So right?
Spencer has to pull back a couple of seconds later because he’s smiling so wide. You can’t resist and kiss his nose, and he giggles. He giggles.
God, you’re so in love with him.
Spencer glances at the statue standing at the top of the fountain.
“You think she’s angry that we’re kissing in front of her?”
You hum in consideration, “Definitely jealous. I mean, not everyone gets to kiss the most handsome guy at the ball.”
He can’t help but blush, and although you have a teasing tone you both know you genuinely mean it.
From where you’re standing you can still slightly hear the sound of the band inside – some kind of smooth jazz is being played now, nice and slow.
You turn and offer your hand to Spencer, just like before, “Another dance, kind sir?”
Spencer gives you a cheeky smile, “As long as you promise no Travis-like interruptions this time.”
He pulls you close, definitely closer than before as your lips nearly touch and you can feel his breath, and you rub the tip of your nose against his. “No Travis, no one, just us.”
“And the voyeur statue,” He gestures with his head towards the fountain.
You both look, and your hand leaves his shoulder to flip her off.
“Back off, hag.” You joke, and Spencer laughs at your absurdity.
Then you dance, for the second time, to the music that flows out from inside. Under the moonlight, with the twinkling stars, Spencer is convinced this is the closest to Heaven on Earth. With you, in his arms, dopey grins and loving stares.
God, he’s so in love with you.
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starshine583 · 3 years
Text
New Girl on the Block (10)
(New update coming in and things are getting heated!!! I wonder how our lovely little group’s gonna handle it??)
Ch.1 / Ch.9 / Ch. 11
Chapter 10: Adrenaline Rush
Possible Schools:
Rosemary High
Skyline Academy
Angelwood Institute
Liberty High
Summerfield Academy
Clearwater Institute
A sigh passed through Adrien’s lips as he crossed out the last name on his list, matching it with the other failed attempts. He just didn’t understand. Why was it so hard to find Marinette’s school? All he needed to do was search for high schools in the area and ask the students at each school whether she attended or not. It seemed simple enough at the time, but now another week and a half has gone by, and he’s no closer to finding her than he was two weeks ago when he asked for her school name as Chat Noir. 
Adrien set his pencil down and rubbed a hand over his face. He could have sworn she said ‘Rosemary’ last time they talked, but that blonde guy insisted that there weren’t any new students there. Maybe he just hadn’t met her yet? No, that didn’t make any sense. School had already started by then. Adrien assumed the guy would notice if he suddenly had a new classmate. 
Ugh. If only he could visit her again.. Between patrol with his lady, akuma attacks, homework, and photoshoots, going out as Chat Noir to see Marinette was nearly impossible. He really needed to have a talk with Nathalie about getting more free time.
“Alya, Marinette is killing me!” 
Adrien glanced up from his paper- That’s right, he’s supposed to be working on his own school right now -just in time to see Lila wiping fake tears from her eyes as she walked into the classroom. Although they still had a good five or ten minutes before class started, she was the only who wasn’t currently seated at her desk, and judging by her greeting, Adrien was going to assume that she entered last on purpose.
“What!” Alya gasped, standing up from her desk to meet Lila halfway. “What did she do now?”
Lila sniffed and accepted the comforting hug that Alya offered. “She’s been sending me awful messages all week! Telling me she hates me and insulting me and that I should’ve just stayed in Italy where I belonged.”
Adrien shifted in his seat to hear the conversation better, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips. Another scheme to slander Marinette’s good name.. Why did Lila still feel the need to lie about her? The ravenette was gone, completely transferred to another school, too far to even breath about Lila’s fabrications. There was no reason to turn their classmates further against her. (if that was even possible at this point)
“She told you what?!” Alya blanched, pulling back to grab Lila’s shoulders. “I can’t believe her! wasn’t sabotaging the forms you needed to be class president enough? Why can’t she leave you alone!”
Adrien resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Now that lie had a reason to it. He knew first hand how thick those stacks of forms can be since he’s helped Marinette carry them a few times, and Lila was obviously too lazy or too unqualified (or both) to sift through all of that mess by herself. What Adrien didn’t understand about the lie, though, was why she had to drag Marinette into it. Again. Why not lie about feeling unwell? Or simply ask for time to adjust to the role that had practically been dumped onto her? Any of those excuses would not only have been easier to say, as they didn’t involve anyone but herself, but they probably would have been accepted just as wholly. So why? It was as though Marinette became a crutch for Lila, which he supposed made sense. Building onto a widely accepted lie would be much simpler than creating a million small lies, but it certainly came with a risk. For example, if Adrien were to, say, kick that crutch right out from under her, she would probably flounder around on the floor with no way to get back up again. 
This left Adrien with another important question: How was he going to do it? So far, his friends have been sticking to her like glue and taking in her words like they were given directly from the Bible. On top of that, Alya seems to have become Lila’s official guard dog. How was he supposed to work around that? Adrien couldn’t confront the brunette publicly, because Marinette was proof that that never ended well, and confronting Lila privately didn’t help either, because she would only blow him off again. No, he needed to focus on outing her to his classmates directly, but he also needed to be subtle about it. Which meant..
Which meant he’d have to beat her at her own game.
“That’s crazy!” Adrien piped up, plastering on a surprised and disgusted expression. “Can I see the texts?”
Lila and Alya turned to him, both equally shocked by his comment. He normally kept to himself during conversations about Marinette.
“Oh..” Lila blinked, gathering her thoughts. “I mean, of course! It’s just that.. they’re quite personal, you know.. She said some things that were close to home..”
“We completely understand.” Alya assured. 
“Completely,” Adrien agreed, “which is why I want to see how bad it is. Those texts can be considered harassment if you don’t feel safe.”
Alya frowned at him, but a spark arose in Lila’s eyes, one that was no doubt fueled by the thought of getting Marinette into trouble with the law. Adrien would never understand the hatred that Lila harbored for the ravenette, but he definitely knew how to use it to his advantage.
“Oh, I wouldn’t want her to get in trouble!” The brunette said with feigned concern. “But.. if you think it will help..”
She made a show of tentatively pulling out her phone and handing it to Adrien. He wasted no time snatching it from her hands and pulling up the texting app. If she was giving him the phone, she most likely had a series of fake texts to back up her story. (and they would be fake. Marinette was too nice to outwardly insult or bully others. Besides, she wouldn’t have the time even if she wanted to, what with her new school, homework, and fashion designs that she needed to tend to.)
Sure enough, he found messages upon messages of insults under the contact name “Marinette”. Things like “You’re only a model because of Gabriel’s pity and charity programs”, “You made our school’s reputation so pathetic that I had to leave”, and “They’ll find out soon that you’re too stupid to be a decent class rep.” were only the tip of the iceberg. Adrien noted the fact that there weren’t any comments about Lila’s looks specifically- she probably couldn’t think of any insults like that herself, since she was obviously so fashionable -but other than, the texts appeared to be authentic.
That is, except for the phone number.
Adrien slid further into his desk and pulled out his own phone to unlock it. A swift comparison between the two contacts proved not only that they had different phone numbers for Marinette, but that the phone number used for the harassing texts was actually the phone number that Adrien had for Lila. She must have texted herself, then deleted the doubles to make it look like a regular conversation between two people. Adrien had to hand it to her, it was a clever set-up. 
But not clever enough.
“Wow, this is awful.” Adrien declared, ensuring that both girls along with a few of their other classmates could hear him. “I’m going to text Marinette about this right now. Do you mind if I copy the number from your phone to text her, though? Some of my contacts got deleted a while back.”
Lila’s eyes widened, and panic briefly flickered across her features. 
“O-Oh, um- you really don’t have to do that-” She tried to say as she reached for her phone. 
Adrien pulled it back up with a smile. “Oh, but I want to! We can’t let Marinette get away with things like this.”
“Yeah, he’s right!” Alya eagerly agreed. “Let him talk to her. That should really pack a punch for Marinette.”
Although the comment was a bit odd, Adrien nodded along, because as long as Alya was on his side, this plan should work perfectly. 
“I’m typing in the number to call right now.” He announced, quickly punching in each digit. His only regret in that moment was that he couldn’t see Lila’s expression as he got closer to ‘accidentally’ outing her. However, the sheer panic in her voice was still enough to make his smile widen to a grin.
“No, you can’t!” She nearly shrieked, lunging over Adrien for her phone. If the class’ eyes weren’t on them before, they definitely were now. 
“Don’t worry, Lila.” Adrien said innocently as he pressed ‘call’ on the number. “I won’t tell her that you gave me her number.”
As expected, Lila’s phone immediately began to ring. He watched as the blood drained from her features, and she scrambled to turn off the device before it could finish the first ring. It was a decent move, in his opinion, but that didn’t stop the class from staring at her with a mix of surprise, suspicion, and curiosity.
“What was that?” Alya asked, leaning forward to help Lila get off of Adrien, “Was your phone ringing?”
“No, no! It was- uhm -” Lila let out a nervous, little laugh.  It’d been so long since she had to fight for her lies to stick that she must have forgotten how to lie on the spot. What a shame.
“That was just a small sound my phone makes when it turns off.” She blurted out. “I must have forgotten to charge it last night.”
Adrien pressed “end” on his call- because obviously he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Lila’s phone off -and glanced around the classroom to gauge their reactions. Those closest to the conversation were warily watching the scene unfold with furrowed eyebrows, doubt clear on their expressions. The farther ones, however, nodded along with what Lila was saying. They probably hadn’t heard most of the conversation beforehand and therefore had no reason to question her. 
“Oh,” Alya said, accepting the bullcrap answer as always, “that’s not good. Do you want to use my charger in case you need your phone later?”
Lila offered a sweet smile, stray bits of her confidence floating back to her due to Alya’s reassurance. “Ah, I’m fine. I wouldn’t want to trouble you or anythi-”
A soft rumbling shook the ground, causing the Italian girl to trail off. Adrien turned to the window, his breath catching in his throat as his thumb instinctively brushed over his ring. Was now really the best time?
In the distance, a cloud of dust was rising into the air. He’d seen enough- and done enough -to know that only the mass destruction of buildings could create such a cloud, and the mayor hadn’t informed them of any pre-planned constructions.
“Yes!” Alya cheered, leaping down the classroom steps. Leave it to her to be the only one excited about another akuma attack. “Finally!  It feels like we haven’t had an akuma in weeks!”
“Alya, wait!” Nino called after her. He always hated her little escapades. 
“Don’t worry,” Adrien said as he stood up, “I’ll take care of her.”
Right after I take care of the akuma.
~~~~~~~~
The little hands of Felix’s black wrist watch ticked away well past 12:30, reminding him of his frustrating failure to set a timer for their lunch period. How could he have forgotten? The notion had to be ingrained into his muscle memory by now. Get up, go to school, burn through the first few classes, set a timer to not waste time, and go to lunch. How did it slip his mind?
“I can’t believe I didn’t ask this sooner,” Allegra remarked as they exited the café, “but what happened to your guys’ faces? I’m pretty sure they weren’t that red before.”
Felix glanced towards Claude and Marinette, the excuse to his forgetfulness finally returning. He’d been in the middle of setting the alarm when he saw their tomato-colored faces in front of the Chemistry lab. The sight must have been enough to throw away all thoughts of setting his alarm as he asked what happened. Nevertheless, Felix still had time to copy down some notes before his next class, and that would suit him just fine for today.
“Oh, man, how have I not told you yet?” Claude snorted. “It was hilarious!”
Marinette let out a light, yet playful scoff next to him. “Define ‘hilarious’.”
The group shared a small chuckle, and Claude jumped into the story of how they- well, how he spilled their chemicals in class. It surely couldn’t have been as interesting as the brunette let on, but Claude always loved to be dramatic. He made voices for Marinette’s comments- which she jokingly took offence towards due to the unrealistically high pitch -and flailed his arms about while explaining how he poured the chemicals into a bag and mixed them. Claude even made a point to throw out his arms while mimicking the sound of an explosion when he got to the part of the story where the chemicals overflowed.
One of those arms happened to smack Felix in the shoulder, which easily brought a glare out of the blonde. If Claude was this energetic now, there was no telling how bad he was going to be during Allegra’s sleepover. In fact, the whole group was probably going to go overboard. Something about sleepovers tended to bring out the most outgoing side of a person, which was why Felix loathed them. He had to sit there and listen to everyone snort and laugh and be loud the entire evening without the comfort that he might be able to leave within an hour or two. It was torture, simply put.
And yet, he decided to go. All for the ludicrous thought that he might be able to ask Marinette more questions about her relations to Agreste and her old school once- or if -the night provided them a moment of privacy. The motivation itself was outright foolish if he were honest with himself. Even if he did acquire a “decent moment” to bring up the subject, she would most likely be uncomfortable talking about it, and dragging a person through the past that they’re deliberately trying to run from isn’t pleasant for anyone involved. That’s why he’s refrained from asking about it again so far.
Felix needed to find some other way to sedate his curiosity towards her. He did.. But how else was he going to find out why an aspiring fashion designer would run from the supposed affections of a top designer’s son? Felix guessed that it might be something like sexual harassment or another, equally disgusting treachery, but then what about the chest of gifts? Where her affections for the model had been clear? What type of fallout must one have with another person to risk their entire dream career just to escape them?
Felix shook his head slightly to push the thoughts out of his mind. He wasn’t going to barrage Marinette with question after question just to stop his mind from constantly turning when it probably wouldn’t stop anyway. Marinette was Marinette. A classmate of his that was kind, clumsy yet capable, overly-generous, determined, weirdly strong for someone of her stature, and a mystery in more ways than one when it came to the life she lived. That was going to have to be enough for him.
“You should have seen it, Allegra.” Claude said with a grin, pulling Felix back to the present. He’d somewhat forgotten that the brunette was even talking.
“It was like the whole bag of Phenol Red just went-”
A large crash erupted to the left of them, followed by a strong gust of wind that pushed them all off of their feet. Felix hit the pavement with a grunt, and Marinette landed on top of him a second later, sucking the rest of the air from his lungs. Screams pierced the air, disorienting him further- why were they screaming? What made the crash? How did it create enough wind to knock them over? -but Marinette sat up immediately. She turned to the source of the crash, tense and ready, as though she already knew what they were dealing with, and Felix couldn’t be more confused. Why did she look like she was about to fight something? (And why did he feel like she would win?)
“Do not be afraid!” A voice yelled over the crowds, drawing Felix’s gaze to a woman standing a few yards away from them. She was dressed in dark and light blues, save for her white elbow-length cloak and her white skirt that appeared to be split into several different pieces of cloth. “I’ve come to help! Not just you, but the world!”
Felix’s eyes widened, an entirely new form of terror taking hold of his body. This wasn’t.. This couldn’t be an akuma, right? She looked different than the ones he’d seen on the news, more human. If it weren’t for her white and dark blue mask and the large fan in her hands that seemed to be controlling the wind, he would have thought that she was a normal civilian merely passing by. 
“Our planets have been spoiled by the bigger companies for too long!” The woman continued, even though people ran as she spoke. “It’s time we take matters into our own hands!”
His mind screamed at him to run, to hide, to move, but he couldn’t. His entire being was cemented to the spot in fear of what might happen next. What if this akuma was dangerous? What if her powers possessed people like that Pharaoh themed villain? Or completely killed them like Stoneheart or TimeTagger? Were they going to be her first victims? What if it-
A harsh tug interrupted his reeling thoughts, and suddenly, Felix was back on his feet and running. Running behind Marinette who was pulling them to safety. 
“Hurry up, we don’t have much time!” She quietly called over her shoulder. “Let’s hide behind the wooden fence while she’s distracted.”
Felix had enough sense to look ahead of them, where a small, wooden fence that held the cafe’s menu was placed. It wasn’t hard to notice under normal circumstances, but how did Marinette think of hiding there while the akuma was right behind them? How was she not paralyzed by the very idea of being caught?
“I’m going to destroy some stores around here, but only to get the heroes’ attention!” The akuma explained as the group scrambled passed the fence and pressed their backs against the wood. “Once I have the miraculous, I will restore everything to its rightful place, I promise!”
Felix tried to slow his rapid, shallow breaths as he sank further against the fence. She was going to destroy buildings? How many? Were they going to get hit with the debris? Where were the heroes that he’d heard so much about? Shouldn’t they be doing something about all of this?
“What do we do?” Claude whispered, panic clear in his tone as well. None of them had ever seen an akuma attack before. Well, none of them except Allan, but he’d been watching through a store window a safe distance away.
“Should we call the police?” Allegra nearly squeaked, tentatively reaching for her bag to pull out her phone. “They help with stuff like this too, right?”
“No need.” Marinette said. She was on the left side of Felix now, staying close to the edge of the fence and carefully peeking around it. “The police have akuma alerts on their phones to tell them when attacks happen. They're already on their way, I’m sure.”
Felix stared down at her with furrowed eyebrows, completely baffled by the lack of panic in her demeanor. This was the same girl who stumbled and stuttered to ask him for a pencil during class! Yet here she was, taking charge and giving orders and speaking perfectly. It was like she was a completely different person! How was that even possible? 
“Alright,” The ravenette spoke, turning back to them with a deathly serious gaze, “I’m going to run out and get her attention. While I’m doing that, you guys need to run as far away from here as you can and find a good basement to hide in until this is over.”
“What?” The group practically gasped in unison. She wanted to face the akuma alone?!
“Marinette, you’re not going anywhere!” Allegra insisted. “It’s not safe out there!”
“It’s less safe if we stay here.” She replied, moving to step out into the open.
Felix grabbed her wrist to yank her back. What was happening right now? 
“Are you insane?” He hissed unintentionally. “You can’t go out there! You’re going to get yourself killed!”
“Yeah, she’s not after us.” Allan agreed. “Only the buildings. Let’s just all run out of here together.”
Marinette glanced back at the group. “But there are still people in those buildings. I need to lure her to an empty street or at least stall until the heroes get here. If I don’t, people are definitely going to get hurt or worse.”
Felix’s grip on Marinette’s wrist tightened. He hadn’t thought about the crowds of people who were running inside for cover, but even so, what would she be able to do alone? The akuma was a powerful being, and they were merely civilians in the crossfire. What’s stopping it from crushing Marinette beneath its boot at the slightest whim? Who’s to say the akuma would even listen to Marinette if she did get its attention?
“We’re not letting you sacrifice yourself for an extra second of time.” He told her. “Like you said, the police are on their way, which means the heroes will be here soon too. Let them handle it.”
A strange mix of urgency and frustration flickered across her features, and she tugged against his grip. “Felix, please, we don’t have time to argue-”
“I think I’ll start with this darling café.” The akuma crooned. “That should get some attention.”
The café walls crumbling apart was Felix’s only warning before the gust of wind made it to their little hide-out. It splintered the wood within seconds, and the group went flying, once again, into the pavement. 
Felix groaned as he pushed himself to his knees. How many times were they going to get thrown around? At least Marinette didn’t land on him this time.
Marinette.
The realization that Marinette was no longer with him washed over Felix like a bucket of ice cold water, and his gaze snapped upwards. He started to yell for her, but it was too late. Marinette was already on her feet, somehow recovering faster than all of them, and running towards the akuma head on. He could only watch in abject horror as she called out to it.
“Hey, airhead!” She yelled. “Do you really think this is the smartest plan?”
The akuma rounded on Marinette in an instant, and Felix sucked in a breath. No, no, no, no, what was she doing?
“My name is ‘Whirlwind’, thank you very much,” The woman snapped, “and I think it’s a brilliant plan. Do you think you can do something better?”
“Of course.” Marinette replied, crossing her arms. “If you’re already destroying buildings, why not go and destroy the big companies that you’re after in the first place? It’d be much more productive, don’t you think?”
Felix furrowed his eyebrows. Didn’t she say that she wanted to avoid public places?
Whirlwind hummed. “Well, yes, but with all of the major hotels and tourist spots, it’s hard to tell which buildings to destroy, and I don’t have time to look.”
“I’ll show you where they are.” Marinette offered. “Think about it, destroying a big, company building is sure to attract more attention than taking down a little café, right?”
Whirlwind narrowed her eyes as she thought it over, and a part of Felix desperately hoped that she would decline Marinette’s suggestion. A bigger part of him prayed that the police or the heroes or somebody showed up to stop this before Marinette went too far.
“Alright.” Whirlwind smiled. “I’ll take you up on that. It’s nice to see someone else interested in saving the environment.”
With a flick of her fan, Whirlwind gathered a gust of wind around Marinette, causing the ravenette to rise into the air. She then gave herself a gust of wind, which caused her white skirt to start spinning around her. If Felix wasn’t going pale with dread over what might happen to his classmate, he would have found the unique fashion choice to be humorous, as it almost reminded him of a box fan. 
Allegra let out a horrified shriek, one that rattled Felix to his bones. This was really happening. Marinette was really being carried off by some maniac in a costume. What were they going to do? What could they do? Gosh, where were the heroes?
Felix grit his teeth and forced himself to his feet. He couldn’t just stand there and watch her be kidnapped or he’d never be able to look her in the eyes afterwards.
That’s right, he told himself. The heroes were going to win, and she was going to be just fine. 
Those thoughts didn’t stop him from sprinting after the akuma, though, even as the trio called after him to stop, even as the akuma rose higher into the air, out of his reach. Marinette couldn’t do this by herself, and although Felix’s presence probably wouldn’t make much of a difference either, he’d be darned if he didn’t try to help. 
“Don’t worry,” He huffed, comforting himself more than her as he darted through alleyways to keep up with them, “I’m right behind you.”
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enigma-im · 3 years
Text
Tenth day of Christmas...
Trope: Soulmate
Relationship: Alien x Human
Word count: 5,282
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A lazy Saturday night. No responsibilities, nowhere to be, just me, and my tv. I quickly change into my pajamas, ready to plop myself on the couch for the rest of the day. Grabbing my phone on the way out of my room I swipe through messages, ignoring a great portion of them in favor of total isolation. Just me and my shows tonight.
A chill runs over my neck before I hit my shin against something hard. Arching forward I cradle my leg with a restrained curse barely sitting on the tip of my tongue. I look down at the sudden coffee table before me, it's bright white design polar opposite to my dark aesthetic in my home. I glance around the room, running cold at the unfamiliar environment. Everything is bright and illuminated, the furniture the only dark thing in here besides the baseboards lining the walls. I gawk in utter confusion.
"Who are you," someone barks, rolling into a growl. I snap my attention to some…thing standing just behind me. I twist towards them quickly, taking a few steps back as I take them in. Tall is my first thought, followed closely by bright. The creature is an alluring shade of blue, a mix of dark and light around its face. The top of its head is skin like hair that looks slicked back. It's almost like dreadlocks in their thickness. Average looking human eyes but a long mouth with thin lips. If it wasn't for the human-like stature I'd assume this was some sort of monster. The clothes are a slightly comforting touch. All around it's a rather disgusting looking man…alien…monster…thing.
He takes a threatening step towards me, shouting again," Who are you? How did you get into my home?" I choke on an answer, still confused and lost. Jerking my head here and there I take in the room, still just as weirded out. Where am I? who is this thing? I curl into myself, panting heavily as I panic. The thing takes another step, catching my attention again.
"Answer me, human," he spits the words," How did you get here?" I flounder for an answer, gawking like a fish as I try to talk.
"I-I-I," I try to speak," don't know." He recoils at the answer, before looking stricken. His lips peel back into a snarl, showing off sharp intimidating teeth. I nearly whimper at the sight, feeling like prey at this moment. He charges at me.
"Out, out, out," he shouts. I take frantic steps back till my back hits a wall. He corners me easily, grabbing at my shoulders. I shut my eyes, clenching up for the oncoming attack.
I'm greeted with silence.
I peek open my eyes to see my familiar bedroom. Uncertain, I curl my hands against my chest and look around the room. I see my bed, my vanity, the slightly ajar door to my bathroom. There is no sight of the alien man. I quickly bolt to my closet, grabbing my bat before checking the apartment. I walk to every room, ready to take on the horrid monster.
I clock out of work, heading to my car. Hooking up my phone I jam out to some tunes while I sort my work attire out. Setting my name tag in the cup holder and tossing the apron to the passenger seat. Before I can press the brakes I see a light bright enough for me to force my eyes closed. I feel my seat sink, a weightless feeling taking me for a moment. I open my eyes.
Coming up empty I manage to circle back to my room, confused and hurt. I rub at my chest, trying to ease this great discomfort. Setting the bat by the door I curl up in bed, forgoing my lazy Saturday night.
It's weeks after the incident and I'm left feeling like it was all a dream. There were no odd moments after that one, surely it was some strange mishap of imagination. I actually begin to forget it as the month comes to an end, though a strange emptiness stirs in my stomach. The feeling is worse at night, leaving me to cuddle with my pillows to ease it minorly.
I look into the barely familiar room, clenching onto the armrest to a chair. Terrified I look all around, spotting the strange man in a small kitchenette. We make eye contact, both of us startled. He recovers faster than I.
"You! What are you doing back in my house," he shouts, storming over. I sink further into the seat, nails biting into the wooden rests.
"I don't kn-," I try to explain.
"I don't want you here, how are you coming back," he barks, angrier than our first meeting. I try to explain again but he shouts over me. His words are harsh, accusing me of things I didn't do. As I attempt to speak over him he just gets louder till I feel near tears with all the stress.
"Stop coming here, I don't want you," he grabs at my hand," how did you manage to get in here in the first place? Humans do not possess the wit to get here on their own, so tell! Answer me! How did you get here?" I tug on my arm, trying to get out of his grip.
"I don't know," I scream," I don't know, so please stop yelling at me." I feel ridiculous as I'm near tears but I feel the situation calls for it on some level. I didn't mean to be here, it's not my fault.
The man stumbles at my shout, letting me go as he takes a step back. I curl into myself, wrapping my arms around my body, and tuck my feet up on the chair. He watches me, angry but lost. I glare up at him, fighting back the stinging in my eyes. My chest feels sore.
"I don't know where I am and I just want to go home," I plead, gritting my teeth. He furrows his brow, sneering as he reaches out and touches my arm. Before I can attempt to fight back I'm back in my car.
Looking around the dark parking lot I fall lax once I realize my position. I whimper as an ache squeezes at my chest. Leaning forward and banging my head on the steering wheel I take a deep breath, then a few more.
There is sadly a next time.
Can't write that one off as a dream.
I wait for the next few days anxiously. Trying to convince myself of 'two is a coincidence, three's a pattern' does little to soothe me. I could only hope that those two incidents were flukes. My nerves try to get the best of me but I know better. I get angry every time I think back, mad at how some harsh words could get me near tears. No man, alien or otherwise, is allowed to get such an upper hand on me. I promise myself indifference the next time I see that jerk.
I'm taken from my shower, to my misfortune. Covered only in a towel I stand in the bright living room, flustered and angry. The alien stands before me, arms crossed as he gives me a once over. As his gaze meets mine he quirks his brow. I tighten the towel around myself, glaring all the while.
"Caught you at a bad time I see," he says nearly bored. I huff, walking around the chair to hide my lower self. As I twist around I catch him tilting his head to follow me with his eyes. I snap my fingers at him, catching his attention. "send me back," I demand. He recoils in disgust at my command.
"No, I'm not some servant to make a request from. Also, I need to talk with you," he answers. I scoff, twisting away. Talk with me? Does this conversation involve more yelling and blame? I'm wet, cold, and flustered. I've been tense all week waiting for this exact moment to happen and I rather not spend another second here.
"No," I grumble.
"Excuse me," he bites back. I turn towards him, sneering.
"No, I don't want to talk with you. Send me back and keep it that way," I growl, a tad proud at the sudden backbone I've grown. He scoffs, shifting weight to his other leg.
"Do you believe that I intend for you to keep coming back," he asks the rhetorical question," because trust me, I don't want you around as much as you don't want to be around."
"Oh really? Haven't noticed," I tease," you have been so friendly up until now."
He rolls his eyes," sarcasm, such a low form of wit." I bite my tongue from throwing a remark back.
"Doesn't matter, send me back," I demand.
"Not until we talk," he shoots back. I tense in pure frustration. I'm near-naked and confused, I don't need this right now. Twisting away from him I fold my arms over my chest. He can talk if he wants but I don't have to answer.
The alien sighs," if I give you something to wear then will you talk with me?" I check on him from the corner of my eye. He looks as tired as I feel at that moment. Reluctantly I nod.
He exits the room, coming back shortly with a long shirt. Handing it to me he turns around, leaving me to put the shirt on and tying the towel around my waist. I sit in the chair as he sits on the couch. The silence is almost as bad as the yelling. I clear my throat, trying to bait him into speaking first. He sighs.
"Well I think the best way to start is with an introduction," he shrugs," I'm Egil, a Birger."
"Hello Egil," I wave awkwardly, dropping my arm quickly," I'm Kari, a human. I think you knew that part though."
"yea," he scratches at his neck," I wanna make a deal with you, Kari. We are in a bit of a bind that makes this little teleporting thing common. You see, we are important to one another according to a much higher power. I never chose this, let you know that now, and I'd prefer it if this little…situation… wasn't permeant." I squint at him, confused.
"What?"
He sighs, rubbing at his face," my people have a very interesting power that most of the galaxy favors. With that power comes a 'blessing' that brings another being to us when the time is right. Now I thought this someone would be a, well, another Birger. That's clearly not right so I just have to make do. So I'm asking for you to bear with this little inconvenience for a little longer until it runs its course and we can go our separate ways."
I process his words, rolling them around in my head. A special someone? Am I the special someone? What does he mean by 'run its course'? I think of a proper way to articulate my words to get across how utterly lost I am in this conversation. I look between his beautiful lavender eyes.
"What?"
He drops his head in his hands, rubbing at his eyes harshly before he snaps," you are my mate and if we wait a bit then you will stop being sent to me. So I ask can we just be civil until this stops?"
I taste the words on my tongue," Soulmate?"
He rests his chin on his hand," sure, soulmates. That's not the point, do you agree to be civil until this all blows over?" my brain flips flops. I take a moment to actually let the words settle before I speak. I cross my legs, resting my elbow on my knees and leaning forward.
"So you have soulmates and you think I'm them-,"
"You are," he interrupts.
"- so you want to ignore it because of why exactly?"
"Because it won't work, obviously," he answers casually.
I quirk a brow," because I'm human or because you can see the future?"
He snorts, recoiling in mirth," do you want to be my mate?"
"No, of course not. I'm just asking because I know like thousands of people who would be jumping for joy in this situation and I'm trying to see if you don't see me as an option because your racist," I tease, baiting him a bit. He deadpans, not amused in the slightest.
"Deal or not, Kari," he asks.
"Yea, sure, whatever," I wave him off," are we done now? I'm catching a chill."
The few long conversations we have had were surprisingly pleasant. When he isn't being a grump he can be downright enjoyable to be around. I can almost see how we could work together but I trash that idea when he starts getting snappy again.
He scoffs," yea, sure." standing he reaches over and touches my shoulder, sending me back home.
The next month is filled with annoying moments of being sent away. At first, it was mainly when I was at home, which was better than later when I was sent from work. In those moments Egil is kind enough to promptly send me back. In my more relaxed moments, he pulls me into a conversation, though he sounds bored with it most of the time. I look on the bright side of these meetings, learning what I can about him and aliens.
I try to go on with my life as normal, going out with friends and shopping when I can. I've been blessed to not be taken away in front of everyone. Almost like the teleporting has some know-how on good times and bad times. Though the shower one will never be forgiven.
Lounging against Egil's couch I listen to him explain how his planet's seasons work. It was started with me complaining about the cold in my apartment. He seems to be in a better mood today, talking animatedly about his favorite season. I admire him, finding the twinkle in his eye charming.
"You know when you aren't being a grouch you are nice to be around," I say casually as he takes a short pause in his rant. He stumbles on his next words, turning to me confused.
"What? You think I'm a grouch," he asks.
I shrug, laying against the couch," you get in your feelings a lot and it tends to spoil a meeting."
"In my feelings? I don't follow."
I watch him fidget a bit," you seem to sulk into yourself and I can't get you out of it no matter how much baiting I do. I prefer it when you are speaking animated like right now. You seem to enjoy talking about science and the inner workings of your planet. It's nice." he flusters at the compliment. His cheeks turn a strange dusty purple. I smile to myself at the sight.
"Well, science is entertaining but many people don't care to listen to it often. I can't blame them, I can see how hearing someone ramble for hours about biology and the workings of plants during different temperatures. It's just so cool how the weather can drastically change how a tree will present itself. I mean it just knows the correct way to arrange itself to get the most it can from the sun and I ju-," he glances over at me, sighing," sorry, I'm rambling."
I wave him off," no, go on. I have nothing to do tonight and spending it alone in my apartment doesn't sound too exciting."
He chuckles," glad to hear I'm more entertaining than an empty living space."
Friday night I dress to the nines, truly trying my best. I'm not really optimistic about this becoming more than one date but a girl can try a little. I meet the guy at a set location, agreeing to walk together to dinner. When I see him I'm in awe at his look and my luck. I might owe my friend an apology and a thank you.
I shrug, gesturing for him to continue his rant. My chest feels a bit full when I hear him speak, which is far better than the empty feeling I gain when I'm sent home.
My friend kindly notices my melancholy as of late and sets me up on a cringey blind date. I couldn't help the depressed state I've been in lately. When she offered such a plan I was extremely reluctant. A blind date is for the sad and lonely, or socially impaired. I guess I would fall into one of the categories. I agree after a bit of encouragement.
We talk on the way to the restaurant, the conversation bright and exciting. The empty feeling I've felt lately is bearable in this man's presence. We get our seats and continue talking all through dinner. I'm tempted to invite him up to my apartment. Couldn't hurt to see where this will go.
I excuse myself to the bathroom before we leave. As I open the door I see the bright room I've gotten used to. My shoulders drop as I walk further inside looking for Egil.
"Egil," I call. I hear a creak behind me, twisting around I see Egil staring intently at my dress. Relieved, I step over to him," hey, I was in the middle of something important. Can you send me back?" he takes a moment to actually look up at me, quirking a brow.
"You look…fancy," he says his words carefully.
"Yea, I'm on a date. So can you send me back please," I ask again. His eyes trail down to my dress again, his head tilting as he appraises me. As my words sink in he snaps his attention back to me.
"A date," he frowns," with who?"
"A friend of a friend. I don't have time to talk, he is waiting outside right now. So please," I reach for him. My hand falls on his wrist, tugging him forward. He follows, looking a mix of frustrated and confused.
"Where are you two going," he asks instead of grabbing my shoulders. I huff.
"My place, now please," I shake his hand. He swats me away.
"Why you two going to your place," he asks like an upset father.
"Egil, I'm not going to spell it out for you. Now, please," I reach for him again. He grips my wrists, a tad too hard. His gritting teeth are the last thing I see before I'm back at the bathroom. I walk in feeling sick to my stomach. Passing the mirror I look at myself for a second.
It's a long while before I get sent back to him and it's a rather strange time. I head to bed that night, snuggling up in my sheets.
Why was he so angry?
I don't meet up with my date again after that night. After the meeting with Egil, I feel a little mixed up. He is always a grump, that's normal, but this time was more than mild annoyance. Was he angry with me? That idea picks at me. Why would he be angry?
I wake shortly later to some loud thud. Groaning I twist on my bed, running into a wall I wasn't prepared for. Confused, I look at the couch I'm strewn across. I sit up looking around the dimly lit white room.
"Egil," I call out tired. I get no answer. Getting up off the couch I step around towards the kitchenette spotting Egil sitting on the floor lounging against the cabinets. "Egil," I catch his attention. He bobs his head up, smacking it lightly against the wood behind him.
"Oh, great, it's you," he pulls a drink up to his lips," how was your date." he spits the words. I take in the scene before me, Egil sitting disorganized on the floor with an unknown bottle in hand. He sways a bit, looking distraught.
"Are you drunk," I ask.
He chuckles," of course. What else is there to do at a time like this?"
"Sleep, if I had to suggest something," I joke, more nervous than amused right now. He snorts a loud laugh.
"Funny," he points at me, waving his drink around," one of the traits that bruise me so easily. Like a fruit falling out of a tree and hitting the ground too hard." I quirk a brow. Alright, he is drunk.
"Poetic, I think it's time for you to get some sleep," I crouch before him," you think you can make it to your bed after you send me back?" he sneers, rolling his head against the cabinets.
"Always with that damn demand," he takes another swig," I don't want to do that anymore." I huff. I guess I'm relaxing here tonight. Reaching forward I grab his arm to tug him up.
"Alright, time for bed, Egil," I help him stand. He stumbles as he gets to his feet, bumping into me. I steady him, holding his waist. He takes the moment to swing his arm around me, nearly making me fall as he drops on me.
"What was that outfit your wore the last time," he mumbles near my face, the stank of his alcohol burning my nose.
"My dress," I ask as we make the trek to his bedroom.
"Yea, the dress," he grins, giggling like an idiot," I liked it."
"Thank you, my mother got it for me," I answer as we reach his door. I swing it open, tugging him in. He bumps and nudges me till he falls onto his bed. I take the relief to catch my breath, he is a rather heavy and sloppy drunk. Couldn't hold at least some of his own weight?
He turns onto his back, kicking off his footwear with a dopey grin on his face. Sliding up the bed he looks to me, gesturing me over. In my experience with drunks, this I what we call a bad idea. I take a step closer, still a good enough distance to get out of reach. He gestures me closer. I don't budge, he sneers. Snatching my wrist he tugs me closer, using his other hand to cup the back of my neck. My face is uncomfortably close to his.
"You have the prettiest eyes," he pets at the back of my neck," like weeping gems in the deepest caves of Turmore. Which is fitting because your beauty is so grand it nearly makes me weep in pure joy." I glare at him utterly confused. I gulp hard.
"Are you always like this when drunk," I nearly squeaked. He shrugs, dropping my wrist to pet at my face.
"You bring out the weird in me," he scrunches his nose.
"Ok," I grab his hands and push them away," you need to sleep, I'll be on the couch." I try to take a step back but he pulls me back.
"No," he whines, pulling harder. I fight against him, trying hard not to fall on the bed. With a well-timed tug, I'm pulled against his chest and twisted onto my back. Leaning on his forearm and stretching the other on the opposite side of my head he glares down at me. His stare is hard and focused unlike before. I look between his eyes, waiting with bated breath for his next move.
Egil lowers himself till his lips are near my ear," I want to tell you something."
"y-yea," I try to turn to him but my cheek bumps his. His answer is to kiss my cheek. My heart flutters in my heart like a loose door in a storm. I'm stuck between uncomfortable and uncontrollably excited.
"I don't like our deal anymore," he bumps his head against mine," I feel more and more idiotic for suggesting it."
"why," I shift back to look at him. His eyes are barely open, either from the drink or something else. It doesn't look erotic but he keeps acting this way. He shifts so he can grab my hip, petting me with his thumb.
"I was stupid," he falls to his side, resting his head on his pillow," I was scared of you. Now I'm terrified of you."
"What," I ask offended. I try to crawl out from under him but he circles his hands around my thighs and rests his head on my chest.
"You like our conversations and you're really funny. I don't want to stop seeing you," he rubs his face against my shirt," please don't stop seeing me." his grip a bit harder, trying his hardest to not let me have an inch to get out. I pet at his head, trying to placate him.
"It's alright," I coo," I'm not leaving, I'm right here."
He grunts," for how long?"
"let's just live in the now, Egil. Let me up and try to get some sleep, I'll be here in the morning," I try to push him off. He clenches harder, looking up with his chin pressed against my sternum.
"You can sleep here," he suggests.
"No, that's not appropriate," I scold. He snickers, leaning up and pressing a kiss to my neck.
"Neither is pushing your mate away but I already did that," he makes me shutter as he licks my skin. I take a deep breath, very caught off guard with his attentions.
"How about we talk about this in the morning," I offer," just go to sleep." he grunts, pressing his face in the crook of my neck. I can't bother to try and push him away, somehow enjoying the weight of him on me. I pet at his head, trying to lull him to sleep.
"Good night, love," he brushes his nose against my jaw.
His eyes flutter open, closing as he grins. He stretches, tugging me close, and bumping his head against mine. It's after a moment that he stiffens, pushing me away as he sits up. Laying on the opposite side of the bed I watch his startled expression. He looks from himself to me then the bed. His features strain into a frown.
I sigh," Good night, babe."
I wake the next morning to soft snoring rumbling near my ears. Taking a deep breath I peek my eyes open, looking at Egil lounging on me. His arm is thrown over my chest, hugging me close to him as he sleeps. I take the quiet moment to admire him, look at his lax features. The urge to pet his face is strong. I give into it for a moment, feeling his soft skin on his cheek.
"Don't get grumpy," I yelp. He relaxes partially, more confused than anything.
"Why are you in my bed," he asks.
I chuckle half-heartedly," I've heard a similar question when we first met."
"Kari," he says sternly," please explain."
I fluster, grabbing the blanket to cover most of myself," I don't wanna."
"Why?"
"Because you might get mad or embarrassed," I answer. That doesn't seem to help as he scoots farther away.
"Kari, I'm asking nicely, what happened?"
I nibble my cheek as I debate answering. Surely sober him wouldn't have the same ideas at drunk him. Does he honestly want me to stick around? Will he want to hear about how he kissed and licked my body before falling asleep half on top of me?
Will he still think my eyes are pretty?
"You got drunk. That's it," I answer quickly," I put you into bed and you didn't want me to sleep on the couch because you are so kind. So you let me use your bed and here we are."
His brow furrows," Is that all?"
I hide under the blanket some more," No."
"Kari," he scolds," what did I say?" I debate lying, saving his feelings-and mine- from this recap. Nibbling on my cheek I try to gain some courage.
Peaking over the blanket I ask," do you really regret making that deal with me?"
Egil stiffens, grabbing a fist full of blankets in a harsh grip. I wince at his discomfort. I bet if he regrets anything right now it's saying that last night. He takes a moment for himself, looking towards the room before meeting my eyes. He sighs, dropping his chin towards his chest.
"Yes, more than anything," he grumbles. I nearly pop up from under the blanket like a whack-a-mole.
"Really," I ask," I mean, why?"
He winces, shrugging as he thinks of an answer. "I don't know. A lot of reasons. I just think not having you around anymore would be…a great loss. Having you as a friend has been great and I don't want that to end."
"You want to keep me around as a friend," I ask, feeling a stab at my heart for such a lacking suggestion. Does he only see us as friends? I don't want to be brazens and assume that we can be much more but…it couldn't hurt.
He sighs," No, I don't think I could muster the strength to keep things platonic with you. Especially after seeing you in that dress."
I grin," better than the towel?" he peaks at me, giving a teasing smile. It feels easy to talk with him like that, the tension already ebbing away.
Feeling brave I shift the blanket off myself and crawl over towards him, stopping as our legs touch. I hesitate to touch him, using stubborn courage to grab at his hands.
"Egil," I start," I don't know a lot about all this and you suck completely at trying to explain it. Yet, I can feel something here and it's beginning to grow. I really want to know now, before it's too late, if you honestly want to give this a try. Ever since the night with the dress I haven't been able to get that angry scowl out of my mind. I don't want to ever see you angry. Grumpy is fine but angry, I can't handle it. It made me realize that I want to make you happy and being here with you is the one way I know for sure that I can make that happen. So, do you want to try?"
Egil squeezes my hand, watching me in harden focus. I wait for his answer, craving his answer. The battle is clear on his face as he tries to think of something, anything, to say. In the end, he just grabs my face and tugs me into a kiss.
It's surprising at first, to feel his thin, long mouth against mine. Yet, his sweet taste draws me in as I cup his face. He tells me all I need to know in just a simple action. Though he is a man of many words, this moment didn't demand such talent. I part from him to rest my head against his.
"I want a date night with you," I smile, feeling silly demanding such a thing.
"What's a date night," he asks.
"Dinner, movies, cuddling and kissing on the couch," I answer. He nods, thinking about it.
"Will you wear that dress again," he perks up. I press a sweet kiss to his mouth.
"If you want," I smirk.
"Then it's a date, hopefully, I'll get to see you in the towel next time," he flirts. I scoff, playfully hitting his chest. He laughs, tugging me into a hug and another kiss. I pet at his cheek, smiling like a dork.
"Maybe if you play your cards right, I'll be in less than a towel."
He growls in excitement.
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stygianflood · 3 years
Text
Like the Shoreline and the Sea (Ethan x F!MC)
Summary- Ethan is asked out on a date right after Miami in Book 1. Ethan’s PoV
Genre, rating, words- Angst, teen, 2k
Open Heart fanfic tropes- birthday, office.
March Challenge Day 13 prompt Someday; April Challenge Day 9 prompt Smell of the Rain 
A/N: nor’westers-  violent thunderstorms in northern plains of India, before the onslaught of monsoon.
Title inspired by Leonard Cohen’s Hey, That’s No Way to Say Goodbye.
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‘This will improve our understanding of adiposity and sarcopenia in this population, help identify thresholds predictive of metabolic risk, and ultimately prevent or ameliorate… ’
Better prevent than ameliorate.
‘...ameliorate the long-term impacts on health and…’ 
Twenty five years should be long enough.
Hers is a singsong voice, the warm, trilling kind. Mellow sun dances on the frills of her dress. The yellow one. 
The man at her side twirls her on the empty kerb. Dips and kisses her. Her laughter is all that is pure and golden.
A child follows them, embarrassed. She bends down to kiss him, and he is furious. 
The scene shifts.
The child is on the front porch, eyes set somewhere beyond the wild bergamot bushes. 
Tear tracks on pink cheeks mingle and dry with dust from his afternoon’s exploits. Something like a steely resolve troops in his eyes.
Ethan Ramsey has been staring at the same sentence for fifteen minutes now.
Whoever coined the term ‘nostalgia’ from the Homeric nostos and algos was speaking of anguish caused by an inability to return. But they failed to discern the inevitable tethering of reminiscence with habituality.
That is more or less the case with him. Louise Ramsey walked out on her husband, and eleven year old son some twenty five years ago right before his birthday. For a very long time now, home is not about apple crisps or kitchen gardens. 
About this time every year, a crevice in his mind he likes to call the amygdala dwells on the same days. 
Almost as a ritual. 
He is a scientist. A rationalist. And like every year, he reminds himself there is work to do.
Unless there’s a knock at the most unpleasant hour.
He never returns to the article. Never manages a come in. The distraction walks in, messy hair knotted with a pencil. Probably because she has lost another hair tie. 
He mustn’t be that aware. 
But she talks too much. 
‘Dr. Mukherjee.’ He sounds gruff. They’re supposed to be redrawing their boundaries, even if he is the only one making an effort. ‘I thought your shift ended-’
‘Two hours ago.’ Rigours of a sixteen hour shift mark her visage. Her smile is a little too conniving for his comfort. ‘I had work afterwards.’ 
She starts shuffling papers on his desk, permission be damned. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and manages an exasperated sigh. Since when have interns started walking into his office with… birthday cakes?
‘What do you think you’re- It’s not my-’
‘I heard rumours that Dr. Ramsey had to cancel a date.’ She sounds amused. He does not miss the split second glance she shoots his way before continuing. ‘On his birthday, too. Such a shame.’
He scoffs.
‘No one knows it’s my birthday.’
‘Oh, they do. They’re just too afraid to… ah, invoke the wrath of Dr. Ramsey.’
Of course, she is not one of them. She has absolutely no regard for the immutable drill he has observed for nearly four decades. And why must she, when her sole intent is to swivel the rusty axis of his life.
Ethan has never known the first shower of an Indian monsoon. It is sudden and torrential, just as it is feared and revered. It smells like summer, and mango blossoms. 
Ethan has never known one until this year.
‘I’m thirty seven, Rookie,’ He manages weakly. 
‘And I would’ve bought the candles accordingly if I knew that.’ 
The tealights she arranges look so much better, he thinks. The cake is a simple blue and white affair. Not the ones that have more icing than cake, he notes. Not the ones he disapproves of.
Happy Birthday, Dr. Terminator
‘I could’ve whipped something up without sugar,’ She rambles, suddenly starting to blush. ‘Or ordered one. But I only just came to know it’s your birthday. And there wasn’t a lot of-
‘Thank you, Apu.’ Tresses of warmth curl about his chest and the gravel of his voice.
Ethan has avoided birthday cakes for a decade now. Unless it’s Naveen’s birthday, he thinks with a pang.
In his time with Harper or his brief involvements in med-school, no one has ever convinced him to do birthdays. He checks himself. This is just an intern being kind.
But interns aren't kind to Dr. Ramsey, are they. 
She assures him the photos are not for social media. They settle on the couch, it’s his first birthday cake in over a decade. 
He is glad for an innocuous reason to look at her, laugh at jokes that in any other company would draw his scorn. She is oddly comforting. Unlike most interns who avoid his office at all costs, she moves about it as if she was meant to be here all along. 
He must have stalled birthdays worth twenty years only to spend it on a couch with her. 
The plates are disposable. It is nothing like the restaurants that come with his status, for there is an endearing simplicity about it. 
It almost feels like… home.
He steals occasional glances at her. It has been four agonisingly long days after their return from Miami. And for all his attempts to redraw their boundaries, it has been a non-return of sorts. 
Aparna drives him to distraction, flouts each and every one of his rules. Seeks him out in supply closets and muddled dreams. And every time he breaks her heart a little more, he finds himself floundering in his own squalor.
The German counterpart to the English ‘nostalgia’ is ‘sehnsucht’. Like ‘nostalgia’, it has the charm of what has been. But unlike it, it also has the enigma of what has never been. Miami will remain the swansong to an ideal that slipped through Ethan’s fingers. 
A surge of anguish ripples through him as he realises all of this is his for the asking, and he will have none of it. 
‘It wasn’t a date,’ He blurts out.
He wouldn’t tell her that if he wants her to move on. Not truly.
‘You don’t have to-’
‘She is Declan’s associate in Panacea. She suggested signing the contract with the Diagnostics Team over dinner tonight. So…  just business.’
Claudette Wilson is the most promising young face of Panacea, and Ethan needed less than a minute to know why. 
Sleek, dark hair styled at her nape played up her high cheekbones. The ruby of her pliant lips, almost risqué for a meeting such as this, always lingered a little longer on the rim of her coffee mug. Even the measured spoons of her laughter came with an all too enticing lilt.
Ethan has met the other type. Vacuous and synthetic. But the steely glint in her eyes came with a weighty intelligence. An unfaltering wit. And when a perfectly manicured hand brushed the contours of his cuff, he knew it was never meant to be just business. 
She was irresistible. And so was he.
That afternoon, the bitterness in his mouth had nothing to do with coffee. He learnt he would refuse Claudette even if her pay checks did not come from Panacea.
Aparna falls silent, almost as if discerning in his words everything he left unsaid.
They have run out of jokes and topics for a harmless chat. He is getting terribly comfortable with her again, he realises alarmed. And she is fidgeting with the ring on her finger.
She’s nervous too. He knows. He could define every twitch and turn of those fingers. 
Somewhere in their conversation they have edged so close that her knee juts into his thigh. The couch is surprisingly small for two people. Minutes pass, and despite himself, he does not want her to leave. 
His fingers rest on her flustered hands, it’s a deep-rooted reflex. Looking down, she weaves his hand in both of her own. Even as the adrenaline surging in his blood incites him to flee, the delirious part of him emerges stronger and more naive.
He thinks she is leaning in. Soaking up the mayhem in his eyes. The slight movement causes wisps of errant hair to slip from the messy bun. There’s new growth around her brows, a faded scar on her forehead. But it’s her eyes that still hold sway over him. 
They stroked him with a strange, silent awe on a balcony on the shores of the Atlantic.
She is nothing like interns that hover around him year after year. Sucking up for recommendations. Sometimes more. She can devour him, and just as easily cast him aside without batting an eye. 
And yet she is here. Snuggled in his office while her friends call it a night with cheap beer and rowdy escapades. 
But she is different tonight. The quiver in her eyes tentative, even wary.
His hand rises of its own accord, tucking strands of hair behind her ear. Inadvertently, it brushes her face, lingers a little longer against her cheek.
She caressed his face as the ocean crashed around him. It was like falling from the top of a precipice. Tumbling into the amorphous, a terrifying weightlessness. He waited.
‘It’s getting late.’
She smells like the hospital, muted shades of honeysuckle, and like herself. 
The cool breeze hummed a steady rhyme against the tumble of her midnight blue dress. Bits of the moon bounced off the dark curtain of her hair, plunging into her eyes. Ethan had never seen such fathomless eyes.
‘I should go.’ She leans into his palm, eyes fluttering close. 
‘You should.’ 
And then she caught him. It was the hollow of her neck. It was soft. Like the rest of her. 
Neither of them move today, silently imploring the other to charge. Or retreat. The battle drum in his chest is a dull ache. Throbbing and inconsolable.
The ridges of her collarbone bore traces of his ruin. Traces she covered every morning and stripped every night, like the rites of a godless liturgy.
His free hand is still laced in hers, the other drawing her face nearer. 
Her lips are inches from his own as he draws a languid finger across them. Her warm breath spills on his lips, warring and mingling with his own ragged ones. 
Her mouth was stained with wine. Numbing and inciting. He was battered, and bruised. Marooned at her side. And she was warm. So warm.
His hand traced the pummelling of her heart, kneading the softness of her chest. Her tongue jousted with his own as the ocean lapped at its shore. Tireless and persevering.
She was wild. Like her Gangetic nor’westers on a sultry afternoon. He was bewitched. She was doing something good to him.
Suddenly the air around them is ripped by the sound of his phone. 
It’s his father.
The two of them recoil to their own spaces, Ethan horrified that he let himself stray so far yet again. Silencing the still erring device, he faces Aparna bracing for another apology.
‘I know.’ 
Her smile is placid, all traces of vulnerability gone. He is vaguely aware of the gentle pressure on the hand still clasped in her own.
‘Happy Birthday, Ethan. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ 
She is gone before he can marshal his thoughts.
Ethan flops back into the couch, shivering and alone. The incandescent glow from the solitary lamp drenches the office in a soft, ethereal haze. She might not have been here at all but for the little things she scatters around him every time she forays into his life.
Today she leaves with him a caesura. It thwarts the cadence of a life he has been putting together since Miami.
After a minute, or perhaps a staggering nightmare, when he rises to pack the rest of the cake, he sees it. 
She must have forgotten her hair tie was in her pocket after all. 
It stares up at him from the floor, the silken, mute witness of his transgression. He gingerly picks it up, and turns it in his hand as though it houses some ancient sorcery. 
Laying it on his desk, he considers texting her. But scarcely does he scroll down to her name when he stops himself. And pockets it. 
Somewhere in the Atlantic, waves still crash upon the rocks, moistening, but never quite lingering. 
The waves are relentless. Someday, the rocks crumble into fine sand.
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notmrskennedy · 3 years
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Professor, pt 1
A/N - so i heard from like four of you which is enough to warrant me posting drafts that weren’t supposed to see the light of day - ANYWAY this was originally written in third person and let me tell you it takes a ridiculous amount of effort to change tenses like holy hell. 
(Technically the prequel Friendliness but can stand alone if you really want it to. There’s a part two to this so watch out for that tomorrow.)
Summary - Spencer meets a professor and falls in love for a few hours
W/C - 2k
Warnings - none-ish? there’s a small smattering of violence and horrible changing of the tenses 
-----
Spencer can’t help the irony that he’s in a freshman college class for the first time ever while protecting one of the students. Who knew that a tiny club of DnD players could incite so much rage out of an un-sub? So here he was, trying to blend in—even though he’s 25, he still looks 14 and there’s really no real reason why he should be worried about being caught—in order to protect a freshman who was more pimple than male specimen. 
Joesph—the poor kid in question—takes a seat in the front row and Spencer’s obligated to sit within tackling distance, though he hopes it won’t come to that. Hopefully, Morgan will have the kid the un-sub goes for and Spencer can just enjoy being in college again. The painfully familiar auditorium seats, the stale air, and bad fluorescents feel more like home than he cares to admit. 
College hadn’t been all too unpleasant. High school he’d gotten picked on mercilessly. College, however, had meant getting doted on by hot sorority girls and earning the protection of frat boys—they’d picked up rather quickly that he knew football strategy better than they did after Spencer had hustled a TV and 400 dollars from them. Sure, he didn’t drink, but every single drunk teenager had welcomed him with open arms and lots of ginger ale. 
There’s chatter and for the ten minutes before class starts, Spencer is torn between trying to figure out which song is quietly playing around the room and watching for a particularly rage-filled college student serial killer. Instead, he just finds too many bored faces. Most of the kids are drinking coffee like the best of them and he’s itching for his next fix just looking at it. 
The first two rows: a terrible vantage point to be profiling, but a beautifully defensible post. He watches absently as one of the TAs, who looks a little younger than him, organizes three stacks of papers on the front desk and flips through several different pages on the podium. His attention is focused solely on you for nearly a minute too long—he can hear the voice in his head chastising him for how often he gets distracted by pretty people. 
You look of the fragile sort, the in-the-lab kind of future scientist. There’s something about you that’s captivating. It might be the way you keep reorganizing the papers to perfection or maybe it’s the way you study the room so closely. And while he thinks that you might not be able to physically stop someone, you sure look like the kind of person that could crush him in chess. 
He’s 25 and is considering chess as a marriage proposal.  
Joesph shuffles his books around in the seat in front of Spencer and you, the beautiful TA in question, hold a watch up as you move to the centre of the room. Class is starting. Class is starting and he’s hopeful the professor never actually shows up. 
He notices your watch is on your right wrist—are you left handed?—as you smile widely and clap her hands together. First day jitters seem to keep everyone silent, waiting on baited breath for you to start. Spencer would stay on baited breath for the rest of his life for you. You were utterly captivating after all—he could see the drool from several students’ mouths a few seats over. 
“This is Anthropology 101,” you announce. “If this isn’t your class, you’re free to leave. Or stay if you want. Did you guys know that anxiety disorders affect more than 40 million US adults? Or 1 in 5, I guess, if you want the easier pill to swallow.”
Spencer’s heart jumps into his throat and he wants to raise his hand just to ask you to marry him. 
“Anyway,” you sigh, leaning back agains the front desk, “I spit out a lot of facts. Usually something that begins with ‘did you know’ won’t be on the tests. I try to be fair. Which brings us to ice breakers.”
The class collectively groans. You scoff. 
“Oh hush, I’m the only one doing the ice breakers so chill out. Jeez.” Spencer waits patiently for your soft breath and then your further announcement of, “I’m officially Dr. Y/N Y/L/N, but that’s like only if my boss comes in or for any emails you send. You can call me Y/N because that’s like normal. I got my doctorate in forensic anthropology a year ago and I’ve been teaching since I started grad school three years ago. You’re in safe hands, I promise.”
He almost kicks himself. You’re the professor. How many times had he been nearly kicked out of a classroom when he was in grad school for saying he was the professor? How many times had he been 18 and trying to get an ounce of respect for himself? 
You continue, waving your hands about like you could pull your ideas back down to earth. “Um—a fun fact about me is that I am not welcome in certain parts of the world for ‘violating’ what are called exhumation laws, which is silly in my opinion. I had the legal right to carry that head on the plane and—and I hope you did the reading because there’s a first day pop quiz.”
The entire class lets out one simultaneous frustrated whine that alights something almost wicked in your eyes. You wave over two students from the other end of the front row and they begin passing out test papers as you explain. 
“You’ll have a total of fifteen minutes to answer ten questions. We’ll start on my mark. If you have any trouble, give me a shout and I’ll help you out. After this, we’ll go over the syllabus and if you’re lucky, leave early.”
Spencer’s passed a test and immediately notices there’s no place for a name. Just a bolded “Student #21” at the top. Another girl raises the question and you snicker. “I like puzzles,” is the only answer you give before the time starts. 
Question four: what are the top three songs you’ve been listening to? Please list.
Question six: why are you taking this class?
A: This is a requirement
B: I heard it was easy
C: I heard the professor was hot
D: I really enjoy anthropology! (liar)
Question nine: Creationism or Evolution?
Question ten: Quickly. If you were going to have dinner, would it be with Bill or Hillary Clinton?
Spencer can’t hide the grin he’s got the entire test. It’s all ridiculous get-to-know-you questions. He can tell what merit you’re getting out of them. There’s one judging study habits, one judging religion, feminism, politics—you’ve created her own little innocuous questionnaire. Spencer was sure the students would just think you were strange, but he saw the cleverness. 
Spencer also notices that once you notice him, you don’t stop noticing him. He wonders what you see. You’re so obviously profiling him that it hurts. Do you see the FBI agent? The scholar? The doctor? The drug addict? The man in a boy’s skin?
Your timer beeps and you shout for pencils down. Your makeshift TAs are dispatched to collect the papers and you make the stacks perfect when they make it to the desk. You move to the whiteboard, a set of papers clutched in your hand, and lean against it to address the class. 
“Test go alright?” your grin is contagious and Spencer can’t help but mirror it. You glance at Spencer, turns back to the class, and tuck your hair behind your ear. You let the class chatter on for a moment, setting the papers down on the table, and readjust the undone cuffs of your white button down. He never thought that a sweater vest and jeans could look so hot. 
You smirk and check your watch one more time. “Let’s talk about tests because I know you all have questions. Everything on the test is either written on the board, on the notes, or in the study guide—if you fail after that, come to office hours. I’ve got Advil for the hangovers.”
#
Thankfully, Joesph is one of those students who has to speak to every single one of his professors. Spencer waits patiently behind the kid, trying to keep the smell from the lack of deodorant just out of range. 
He keeps a hard gaze on all of the students moving in and out of the auditorium. There’s nothing to see, just a lot of students with a lot of normal college apathy. No anger, no serial killer, no one to tackle. 
“Sometimes the BO is worse than a corpse’s expulsion of gas,” you joke from your place atop the desk. Spencer looks up, and furrows his eyebrows as his brain processes. Your face falls for a split second, but your curiosity replaces it just as quickly. Joesph’s jaw hits the floor, stumbling for some way to explain himself or maybe some half decent way to insult the pretty professor. 
Spencer laughs, probably a little more than he should have, considering he wasn’t supposed to out himself as an FBI agent. You tuck your hair behind your ear again and, for someone younger than 25, you are surprisingly wide eyed with perception and curiosity. 
“Do you like puzzles, Doctor—“
“Reid,” he supplies, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. “Spencer.”
You raise an eyebrow, chewing on your bottom lip in contemplation. You turn your focus back to Joesph—a boy worse at talking to those scoring higher than an 8 than Spencer was at the same age. “So, Joesph, why does the good doctor need to be within tackling distance of you?”
Joesph flounders, turns to hide his blush, and yelps like God himself has come down to kick him in the ass. Spencer takes one good look at the 18 year old girl charging towards a pimple of a boy and he launches before he can give much consideration to how much its going to hurt. 
But between the noticing and the launching, he makes a list: she’s got so much black eyeliner that Emily’s high school yearbook photos would be jealous; she’s about to inflict about a 9 on the pain scale if she’s left to her plan; there’s obviously no plan other to scratch Joesph’s eyes out; her nails are the size of tiger claws and Spencer desperately wishes he had a better pain tolerance; there’s no weapon. 
The tackle takes seconds. It’s a practised movement. Roll. Knee. Handcuffs. The girl is screaming and crying and kicking and biting. His arm’s on fire and she’s struggling enough that it’s taking more than ten seconds to get the handcuffs on. 
It’s calculated as he presses his knee harder into her back. She yelps and stills long enough that Spencer closes the handcuffs on her tiny, sliced up wrists. The cutting explains some things…
“Hence the tackling distance,” You sum up, bending down just slightly to look the killer in the face. Your nose wrinkles. “You had very distinct ideas on the cultural value of suicide.”
Spencer shakes his head, hauls the girl to her feet, and beckons for Joesph to follow. The entire world falls out of view as he manhandles the girl into an easy walk. The students step to the side to gawk, and he’s thankful for the wide berth. If someone got hurt, the paperwork alone—
“It was nice meeting you, Dr. Reid!” you call and he glances back over his shoulder. You’re waving around the stack of papers in your arms, utterly ridiculous, terribly adorable. He hopes his smile is more suave than love sick, but the fleeting flirtation is especially over when Miss Unchecked Rage kicks out as Joesph comes into her line of sight. 
Spencer throws his whole weight into keeping her down. There’s no room to fall in love after a day. Especially with someone on a college campus halfway across the country from him. There’s even less room to manoeuvre Miss Eyeliner even without Joesph waddling into her eye line every few seconds. Seriously, he thinks, how hard is it to keep behind me?
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Let No Man Steal Your Thyme - (older Dramione) Chapter Six
Thank you for your patience with this one, folks. Here it is. All 7k words of it... Thank you too for the beautiful anonymous (and otherwise) owls you’ve sent me! I can’t tell you how lovely that’s been!
If this were on AO3 (which it will be when it’s complete), the rating would have gone up to “E - Explicit”, so please make sure you’re the appropriate age to consume it (18+).
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five
___
Hermione apparated into an unassuming and rather ugly back street in Whitechapel and took a moment to straighten herself out afterwards. A fine, sheeting mizzle had begun sometime around midday, shrouding the whole of London in a choking, miserable haze, and it hadn’t let up since. It was nothing a subtle impervius charm couldn’t ward off, of course, though it sent Muggles scuttling for shelter or huddling beneath umbrellas in a way that never failed to make her heart twinge just a little for a life that was long behind her.  
Miraculously, her hair behaved itself despite the humidity, and had complied with both will and wand so that it now fell in loose ringlets around her shoulders. It was all held in place with more charm-work than she’d done on herself in a very long time, but even she had to admit that she’d done a pretty decent job of it. Pansy would be proud. She just hoped the dress would do its job too and flatter her in the way Theo and Pansy had both promised it would when she’d bought it.
As her heels clicked along on the uneven pavement, she wished there was a charm to ward of self-consciousness. After years of scruffy jeans and soft, woollen jumpers, the dress seemed rather snug around the areas she’d grown a little shy about, but she drew on the well of experience from her Ministry days, squared her shoulders, and set off towards the address Draco had sent her by owl.  
Rounding the corner, she nearly stumbled in her heels as she drew up suddenly short. Standing with arms folded, shoulder blades pressed heedlessly against the masonry of the building behind him and his whole body tense as a piano string, stood Draco Malfoy, scowling. Whereas she had forgone a bulky cloak in favour of a warming charm, he cut quite the figure in the heavy, black garment, fastened at the throat with a silver clasp that seemed to match his hair.  
As her heels announced her approach, he looked up, looked away, did a double take, and then levered himself off the wall with a slightly slack-jawed expression.  
Theo was right, she smiled to herself. I probably owe him a drink now or something. 
When she came to a halt in front of Malfoy, she couldn't help the way her lips twitched. He looked a little like he’d been slapped. “Evening,” she chirped, and watched his throat work as he swallowed thickly, pupils blown wide in the dark.  
“Granger,” he said. “You… You look…” He floundered, and then to her immense surprise and absolute delight, his cheeks flushed a deep, vivid pink and he looked away.  
“Likewise,” she laughed, ostentatiously eyeing him up and down, though the cloak revealed little. “Though that was pretty much a given.”
“I didn’t mean —” he began, snapping his gaze back to her face with his grey eyes wide. “You just…” Then he laughed and forcibly relaxed his shoulders, exhaling through his nose. “I should have known you’d leave me a babbling idiot again,” he muttered, subtly offering her the crook of his elbow. “It’s like third year all over again.”
“Third year?” she said as she accepted and slid her fingers under his arm. “I punched you in the face in third year.”
“Mmm,” he said. “And I don’t think I ever truly got over it.”
She laughed and he relaxed a little more beneath her touch. “So I’ve never actually heard of this place, but Theo said you have to know the owner just to get a table…?”
“Yes,” Draco said. “I hope you don’t think it’s too much, but after everyone was staring at us in the Leaky, I thought it might be nice to go somewhere where people have a bit more… discretion… My mother’s side of the family has been friends with the owner’s for generations.”
“I’m sure it’ll be perfect,” she said as he steered her towards a blind arcade of sandy-coloured bricks that flanked a large stretch of the street.  
“It’s concealed with an enchantment like the one at Kings Cross,” he said as they approached the third one in the row. Glancing up and down the street, he stepped halfway into the wall and held his hand out for her to take, as if she were a lady about to alight into a carriage. He clearly saw her burning with interest about the spellwork and added, “Some scholars believe it was the first instance of the charm’s use in London.”
She beamed at him, took his hand, and allowed him to steer her through the wall.  
When they emerged on the other side of the illusion, she found herself in a cosy, dark-tiled entrance hall, illuminated with tiny lumos charms. A waiter in smart, black and white livery appeared almost immediately from the main restaurant beyond, and bowed politely. “Lord Black,” he said and then turned to her and offered a seemingly genuine smile. “Ms. Granger. If you’d like to follow me please. My lord, may I take your cloak?”
Malfoy unclasped it and handed it to the man, but Hermione wasn’t watching that. She was too busy staring at the way he looked in his suit beneath.  
Draco Malfoy had always been a creature of harsh lines and a cool palette, but this time the sight of him actually robbed her of breath. Though his outfit was understatedly simple, the slate-blue suit, with a crisp white shirt and a silvery tie had clearly been made bespoke for him, and it fitted him to perfection, emphasising slim hips, long, lean legs, and a breadth to his shoulders that spoke of strength without raw bulk. The only hint of colour to him lay in the residual flush from the cold in his pale cheeks, but his eyes sparkled warmly enough.  
“Shall we?” he murmured, a hint of shy embarrassment to the corners of his mouth that she’d rarely seen in his youth, and she nodded, still mute. She wasn’t sure if he was shy about the waiter’s ‘my lord’ or the way she was gawking at him like a teenage fan at a Weird Sisters concert.  
He ushered her in front of him, and she followed the waiter through the restaurant.  
All the while they walked, she was intensely aware of Draco behind her.  
Naturally, once she’d got past all the initial ‘oh my god is my skirt tucked up into my knickers’ panic, she tried a little experiment and began to sway her hips a little more than usual. Pansy had once told her she had the walk of a ‘dowdy headmistress charging down a corridor towards the sound of troublemakers’. Even if she’d said it in jest, it hadn’t exactly inspired confidence in her ability to sashay sexily through the tables in front of someone she was hoping to impress, but by the time they were settling into her seats, she noted a very slight rise in the colour in Draco’s cheeks again, and chalked it up as a victory regardless.  
“Can I get you some drinks while you wait? I’m sure you’re both aware that the restaurant is chef’s choice though.” He did not offer any kind of drinks menu, however, and Hermione’s already fragile courage sputtered.  
Draco nodded curtly at the waiter, and then looked expectantly at Hermione, who cleared her throat and said, “Look, Draco, I’m already a tad out of my depth here. I think I’ll leave the decision-making to you tonight and save us both the embarrassment…”
His lips parted slightly, as if he were going to speak, but a soft look crossed his face before he inclined his head. “Wine alright?” he asked and she nodded.  
He ordered two glasses of a white he’d never heard of.
Before the waiter left, he enquired about any allergies, and when both replied that they were fortunate enough not to have any, he retreated, and Hermione blew out a soft breath.  
“It’s not too much, is it?” Draco asked, shoulders high and tense again. All the recent colour had drained from him, and he looked faintly nauseous.  
“It’s beautiful,” she said, gazing around at the vaulted room. “And this is a real treat, Draco. I’m really glad you asked me, though I promised your owl I’d have words with you about her manners. Damn near lost a finger to that beak of hers.”
“Apologies,” he said, voice a little hoarse. “She was a gift from my mother after my own owl was lost after the Battle of Hogwarts. She’s been a menace to me and my unfortunate correspondents ever since.”  
Hermione’s eyes widened. The bird was much older than she’d expected, but then again she shouldn’t have been that surprised; the Weasley’s had had Errol seemingly for generations after all before he’d finally snuffed it.  
She hadn’t really taken note of the other patrons of the restaurant on their short journey through the tables to the secluded alcove, but now she glanced around again and saw that the place was full, though there couldn’t have been more than fifteen covers. The other diners were not witches or wizards she recognised, and no one seemed to be paying anyone else the slightest bit of attention, to her relief.  
Relaxing a little, she looked back at Draco who sat with his hands folded neatly atop the dark wood of the table, his silver signet ring glinting softly in the light of the little candle between them. His gaze was intense, and his expression a little awkward. He was as nervous as she was, she realised. Maybe more.  
He pursed his lips briefly and then said, “It’s quite different from a lot of the restaurants in Diagon Alley, largely because of the building’s history, I think.” He stopped, as if worried he was about to bore her and instead blurted quietly, “I’m glad you like it.”
The place had clearly once been an enormous foundry building, but since being repurposed, it had been divided up from one open casting hall into cosy little niches and alcoves of sandstone brick, with large, industrial panes of glass filling the spaces between the dividing arches. It felt private without being claustrophobic; atmospheric but not dingy or oppressive.  
Taking another breath, Hermione smiled at him and admitted, “It’s been so long since I’ve been out for dinner with anyone, Draco. It’s almost embarrassing really. And Theo doesn’t count in this context,” she added with a flash of her eyes.  
“Likewise,” he muttered, carefully pouring her a glass of water from the carafe between them before filling his own.  
Again, she noted his hands. Somehow they were simultaneously the elegant hands of a nobleman and the rough, scarred hands of a man who used them for a living — spotted and flecked with innumerable small scars — and she found herself instantly fascinated by the story they held. The last person she could recall with hands in that condition was Professor Snape.  
She nearly said that Draco at least had good reason for not going on dates with every witch in Britain, being a widower, but she bit it back and said, “Well, that should make things easier for both of us. Tell me though, I’m dying to know why you had to go to France at such short notice. Your letter was too cryptic.”
Draco’s face softened and he sipped his water. “We have estates there still,” he said, not meeting her gaze. “One of the wards was triggered, so I arranged a portkey to check up on it, but it was nothing in the end.”
“Nothing? Come on; it usually takes magic to trip a ward, Malfoy. There has to be some story there…?”
His eyelashes looked like strands of silk in the candlelight, pale and silvery as they framed his grey eyes, and she almost forgot to listen to his story as he flicked his gaze back up to meet hers again.  
“It really isn’t very interesting. One of our tenants has an elderly mother and she is unfortunately not as… compos mentis as she once was. She used to work as a maid for my maternal great-grandmother. It turned out that she had wandered up to the main house in the middle of the night, spoken some long-forgotten spell to gain admission, and had tried to prepare breakfast. Of course, there was nothing in the larder, so she became distressed. Her daughter collected her and sealed the house up again, but the owl didn’t reach me before I left England.”
“I see,” she said. “Another case where modern Muggle communication methods might have come in handy,” she chirped under her breath, and he hummed softly in agreement, though he didn’t seem to understand fully. And then because she was a nose bugger who couldn’t help herself, she asked, “Do you have a lot of properties then? Other than the house in Wiltshire?”
She caught the smile in his eyes and he nodded. “One or two,” he said with bashful modesty. “A number of my father’s holdings and inheritances were confiscated by the Ministry in reparation for war crimes, but my mother was allowed to keep much of what was hers and, by extension, mine.”
“And those are in France?”  
He shook his head, and with regret she watched him becoming increasingly uncomfortable. “There’s a place in Scotland - not far from Hogwarts, actually - and one in the arse-end of nowhere in rural Romania. It’s the Malfoy side that has the connections to France, though that one I just mentioned is the only one left to us now.”
“I see. I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to pry. I was genuinely curious, that’s all.”
“It’s fine,” he said. “You can ask me whatever you like.”
She smiled and said, “I didn’t even get to inherit my parents’ little house in Surrey because of a complication with the will, so it’s all a world away from what I know… Has Scorpius been to these other places?”
“Not really,” he said, “Though mother and I took him to the vineyard in France last summer before school started.”
Hermione tipped her head back, exposing her neck a little, and smiled. “My parents used to take me to France during the summer holidays,” she said dreamily. “Little stone cottages that smelled of lavender, with long, dusty driveways and rooms that stayed chilly no matter temperature outside. Sometimes when it got really hot, those adorable little lizards used to come out and bask in the sun on the wall. My parents were dentists, so we weren’t exactly all that short of money growing up —” nothing like you though, she wanted to add but didn’t “— and they always tried to choose a place with a swimming pool. I used to love to swim.”
Draco’s expression was unreadable, but there was a light in his silver eyes that shone like a full moon. He swallowed thickly and had been on the point of speaking when the waiter returned with their wine and a small amuse-bouche for them.  
He set the tiny plates down and stepped back. “Blini with trout roe caviar and crème fraiche.”  
“Thank you,” Draco and she said as one, and the waiter nodded and left them to it.
Draco raised his glass and Hermione tried not to stare at his long fingers or the way he held it so gracefully by the stem as he lifted it. She felt like she might fumble and drop hers if she tried to emulate that, but she did her best. After all, she’d endured a fair few dinners and functions at the Ministry, so she was hardly about to embarrass herself now, however hard Draco seemed to make it.
“Thank you for…” Draco began, trailing off into uncertainty. His eyes turned glassy and he blinked rapidly a couple of times. “Well, thank you for giving me a shot, Granger. I know I have a lot to make up for still, but thank you for joining me tonight.”
She smiled and playfully chinked her glass against his. As the soft chime of glass on glass dissipated, she said, “Like I told Theo after his little chat, to which I understand you were also subjected —” he nodded wryly but let her continue uninterrupted “— I wouldn’t be here if I believed you were still the same person you were at Hogwarts. There was so much going on back then, and we were all pawns in a larger game to one extent or another. By this point, I’m honestly happy to let the past lie and look forward.”
He exhaled expansively. “I’ll drink to that,” he muttered.
Their food when it arrived was incredible; never too much (or too little, she was pleased to note), or too fancy so as to be basically inedible. They talked lightly while they ate, mostly of the goings on of people they had in common: Theo and Dan, Pansy, and Blaise.  
By the time they were halfway through dessert, Draco said, “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” she smiled. “Why should you be open to any and all questions, but not me?”
“Just because I said that about me, doesn’t mean you have to take the same stance, Granger.”
“True, but this is a date, right?”
He swallowed. “If you’d like it to be.”
“All on me?” she chuckled. “I’ll admit I was rather hoping it was.”
“Then it’s a date,” he said quietly.  
“Well, shouldn’t dates be about getting to know the person better? Ask away, Malfoy. Whatever you’ve got, I can take it.” Within reason, she added privately.
His answering smile was dazzling, and it brought little dimples to his cheeks that she’d not noticed before. It made her heart beat oddly in her chest, and a new heat pulsed between her legs.  
“Good lord, Malfoy,” she hissed, “You’re handsome when you smile like that.”
He pursed his lips and flushed a dark pink right up to his ears.  
“Sorry,” she said, still laughing a little. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. But I’d be happy to encourage more smiles like that in the future. What was your question?”
He opened his mouth, cheeks still pink, but his eyes turned serious. “Why did you really quit your job as Minister? You were so young…”
“I peaked too soon,” she shrugged easily enough, though she felt the playful mirth settling down again in a way that had nothing to do with the chocolate dessert lying heavy in her stomach.  
She sat back in her seat and picked up the remnants of her wine, swirling it thoughtfully for a moment.  
“I felt like…” she stopped and changed tack. “At school I felt like all I amounted to was how smart I could be, you know?”  
His brows flickered into a frown, but he didn’t interrupt her.  
“I didn’t have the looks of someone like Fleur or Cho, or… Lavender,” she said, raising her eyebrows inadvertently. “All I really had to validate myself was my latest test score, or how useful I was to Harry, or how much research I could condense into one last-minute panic whenever the latest life-threatening event popped up…” She sighed. “I think that set me up for failure when I left school and discovered it wasn’t all about grades and how many facts you could regurgitate.” After a slight pause, she cocked her head and said, “Nobody likes a smart-arse after all.”
The brief colour in Malfoy’s face had drained to parchment white again as he listened, and he sat perfectly straight in his seat, tense and serious once more.
Nervously, she began to babble a little. “So… I obviously cottoned on to that after I started at the Ministry, and I adapted, and I did pretty well at the DMLE. They kept asking me to be an Auror because of my spellwork, but I freeze up completely under pressure, and I’m a terrible dualist, so that was out of the question. I do much better behind the scenes - always have. But…” she sighed and drank a little more wine as her monologue threatened to run away with her. “To answer your original question, I lost sight of where the line was,” she said.  
“What line?”
She shook her head, loose ringlets shivering with the motion. “The line between work and family, I suppose. I took on more and more work to try and prove my value, and stayed later and later every night at the Ministry. I didn’t even realise I was losing our marriage until it was far, far too late. Ron and I argued an awful lot towards the end, but somehow it was still a shock to me when he asked for a divorce.”  
She tucked a stray ringlet behind her ear, revealing a simple silver earring.  
“It was like I was so wrapped up in all this work — which I could have delegated, but I was still it doing anyway because…” she puffed her cheeks out and shrugged, “…because that’s just what the Minister for Magic does, right?” With a final sigh she finished her wine and said, “So a week after the divorce went through, I was sitting in my office, and I looked at all the memos still zipping around in front of me, and I just thought… ‘this is my life. This is all I am’, and I quit that afternoon.”
“Brave of you,” he murmured.  
“I didn’t feel like it at the time,” she said, grateful beyond words at his reaction. No one, bar perhaps Harry, had reacted that way back then. They’d all thought she was nuts. “I spent a month in a Muggle cottage in the middle of nowhere in Pembrokeshire, and then another five months back here in London doing almost nothing. I was a complete mess. It was around then that Ginny got pregnant with Lily, so I was there for her quite a bit, looking after Albus and James and teaching them. That was fun. I really enjoyed that. I think… I think brought me back down after the chaos of quitting my job like that, you know?”
“Children can do that,” he commented wryly. “You and Weasley never had any though.”
She’d seen the blow coming — set herself up perfectly for it — but it still caught her full in the chest. She swallowed and shook her head, unable to look him in the eye for reasons she hoped to keep secret from him. “We tried, but…” she shrugged. “It wasn’t to be. Not long after that though, I saw the advert for the bookshop, and I’ve never looked back.”  
Draco frowned. “I’m sorry.”
“It was probably for the best anyway. I don’t think I’d have made a good mother back then. I barely made time for myself, let alone for a family.” She cleared her throat and then asked, “Speaking of sprogs, did you find out why Scorpius is in detention?”
He barked a laugh at that and she found herself relaxing again as he let her artlessly change subjects.
“My dear little mandrake somehow brewed a stink bomb in his dormitory and set it off in the library near some Gryffindors. They’d apparently been mocking Albus for being a Potter in Slytherin. Did the job so well that the Gryffindors smelled of rotten eggs for a week, no matter what they tried to get rid of it.” He seemed quietly proud of Scorpius for that, and she couldn’t really blame him, knowing what a talent Draco himself had had for potions back then.  
Her face did darken at the news of Albus being bullied though, and she made a note to check in on Harry. Then she reeled back through his last sentence, to the part where he’d called Scorpius his ‘dear little mandrake’, and chuckled. “You still call him that then?”
“What, ‘mandrake’?” Malfoy seemed surprised by her question.  
“Mm.”
“If the shoe fits, Granger. I’ve never heard of a child that could scream like Scorpius, so when you dubbed him that, it kind of stuck.”
A huge smile dawned on her face and her stomach swooped somehow.  
“What?” he asked.
“Draco Malfoy is a huge sap,” she said. “Who’d have thought it?”
He rolled his grey eyes but couldn’t keep the answering smile off his face. “Don’t broadcast it, Granger.”
“It’ll be our secret, I promise,” she said.  
Draco’s gaze slid over her shoulder a little while later and he signalled the waiter with a subtle raising of his pale eyebrows.  
When the man appeared, it was not to take payment in coins the way every other wizarding establishment did, but it was with a parchment and quill for him to sign. It struck her as oddly modern for the magical world, akin to a cheque or even a credit card. Transaction complete, the waiter departed, leaving behind a small tray of delicate petit fours.  
“Draco, I don’t think I can eat another thing,” she said, looking wistfully at them.
“I can ask them to box them up for us if you'd prefer?” he said.  
With that done, they rose and headed out. Draco collected his cloak and swirled it around his shoulders, and they stepped through the illusory wall and back into a damp, Muggle London.  
“Draco,” she whispered, standing on the pavement beside him and becoming very aware of just how tall he was now, even with her heels to help.  
His eyes were dark, pupils wide once more, as he regarded her. “Mmm?”
“I don’t want tonight to end,” she whispered. “Isn’t that silly?” She almost sobbed as she thought about going back to her sorry little empty apartment after spending all evening either smiling or laughing or really just… talking.  
“No,” he replied. After a beat of silence, he hissed, “Granger, may I kiss you?”
“Yes,” she breathed, and parted her lips as he brought his warm, slightly rough hands to her jawline and held her delicately. He moved as if he were convinced he still wasn’t allowed to touch her at all, but when she smiled up at him, he exhaled roughly and returned it faintly.  
Then he leaned down, angling his head slightly to the left, and brushed his lips against hers so lightly she almost missed it. He still tasted of chocolate and wine, but she chased the retreating gesture hungrily, pressing her lips against his, placing her hands on his hips and drawing their bodies together. She could feel how sharp his hipbones were through the fabric of his trousers and it made her ache inside and out to map his body.  
Draco moaned and his eyes fluttered closed as he kissed her; gently at first, and then, as a fire kindled in him, he became more demanding. His teeth nipped at her lower lip followed by the tantalising brush of his tongue that left her tingling all over. Unquestioningly, she let him deepen their kiss until they were both breathless, and she could feel his growing arousal where she pressed her body against his.  
Panting, Draco finally drew back, still without taking his hands from her face. He stood stooped, his eyes closed, his teeth sunk into his lip. “Granger,” he breathed at last.  
“Are you going back to the Manor?” she asked, feeling slightly giddy.
“No, I have a flat in London. If you… If you wanted to come back with me, you’d… you'd be most welcome.”
“Is it far?”
“We’re probably best apparating from here,” he said, finally lowering his hands, though he didn't step back.  
She could have counted every one of his silver lashes if she’d had the concentration for it. As it was, her core burned, and she was suddenly wetter and more turned on than she could ever remember being.  
“You could side-along if you’d like?” he rasped.  
She frowned, the fog in her mind starting to clear just a fraction. “You don’t have wards up?” When he pursed his lips, the knut dropped and she laughed. “You already adjusted them? That confident were we, Malfoy? I don't know whether to be impressed or insulted…”
His cheeks darkened and he chuckled. “More like… I was being hopelessly optimistic. But I don’t want you to feel pressured, Granger. We can call it a night here if you’d prefer.”
“Thank you for that,” she said quickly, but she took hold of his fingers where they rested by his side, and squeezed his hand. “But we’re not in our twenties, and we don’t have to pretend to wait for the third date or whatever to know what we want. Besides,” she added with a glint in her eyes, “If I have to go any longer than another few seconds without your mouth on me again, I may just explode.”
Pleasantly stunned by her affirmation, Malfoy recovered quickly, and kissed her again. It was not chaste or fleeting this time. “Ready?” he asked when he eventually straightened.  
She nodded, and clung to him as the unpleasant, hook-like apparition spell took hold of both of them and yanked them across London to the centre of Malfoy’s living room.  
He let her catch her breath before robbing her of it once again with kiss after kiss, over and over. Then he moved his attention down her neck until she was gasping, chest heaving, and hot all over. Her small clutch hit the floorboards as her fingers went limp, and he shrugged off his cloak and jacket, dumping the clothes on the nearby white sofa before returning to her.  
She had barely had time to take in the sleek, austere, and rather soulless furnishings of the apartment before he was sucking a bruise at her collarbone and she flung her head back with a broken cry of pleasure.  
“Gods, Granger,” he said between kisses. “I’ve wanted to do that to you all evening.”
“You have?” she laughed as his hands skimmed down her sides to her hips and gripped her tightly.  
He growled something inarticulate and then moved his touch to the zip at the back of her dress. “May I?”
“I’ve thought about you doing that all evening,” she said playfully, eliciting another growl from him before he had turned her and drawn the zip all the way down to the small of her back.  
“Oh Merlin and Morgana,” he purred appreciatively under his breath as he began kissing her where she stood, working his way over her shoulder blade and down to her bra clasp. He raked his teeth over the slightly freckled skin of her back and then delicately drew the shoulders of her dress down so that the fabric pooled around her waist, leaving her upper body exposed in only her bra.  
He moved her to face him again and continued to undress her, staring wide eyed and hungrily at her in a way that made her squirm, heat and wetness pooling between her legs. When he got to her matching underwear, he knelt before her on the floorboards and kissed her lower stomach and hips before sliding his fingertips under the dark lace and caressing the impossibly sensitive skin where her groin met her thigh.  
“Granger, sit back for me?” he asked and she sank, shaky-kneed, onto the sofa behind her. Self-consciousness crashed through her as he continued to stare openly at her and she swallowed.
Clearly sensing something was wrong, he looked up and frowned. “Is… Is this alright?” he asked, hands faltering where his fingertips rested on the inside of her thighs.  
“Yeah,” she said truthfully. “Just… Well…” she inhaled and then let it go with a nervous laugh. “It’s been a while since anyone’s seen me without my clothes on, Malfoy. And even with yours still on, it’s hard not to feel a bit… you know…”
Malfoy snarled, lip curling. “You’re exquisite, Granger,” he growled. “I’ve been half-hard all fucking evening. Let me show you how bloody gorgeous you are?” he asked, and with that, he spread her legs a little more and drew her underwear to one side.  
He skimmed the pad of his thumb slowly, reverently over her clit and she bucked, abandoning much of her embarrassment as a jolt of pleasure seared through her. “Oh God, Malfoy…” she grunted as he kissed up the insides of her thighs, occasionally closing his teeth over her skin.  
“Can I taste you?” he asked from his vigil on the floor between her knees.  
“Yes… God, yes…”
And with that, he drew her underwear down while she hitched her hips up to help, and his mouth closed over her sex. The sudden, pressing heat of it made her head loll back and her spine arch, but then he brought his tongue to her and laved a long stripe up over her folds and circled her clit and she shuddered.  
“You’re so wet,” he breathed, sounding astonished.  
“Mmm,” she said. “Not the only one who’s been thinking about this all night,” she laughed.
“Fuck…” he hissed to himself as he returned his mouth to her.  
The steady motion of his tongue dipping occasionally inside her before returning to suckle and lick at her clit had her shaking and clutching the sofa in minutes. Nothing that anyone had ever done to her had ever felt this good. Heat built inside her like a stoked furnace and she arched again while Draco held her with both his arms beneath her thighs, drawing himself into her. He was going to bring her to her peak with nothing but his mouth.  
“Draco I’m going to come,” she gasped. “Draco… Oh fuck… Draco!” and with that, she shattered. A convulsing wave of heat and blinding white light ripped through her and she cried out, head thrown back, mouth open, eyes screwed shut as Draco kept his tongue pressed to her pulsing clit and eased her through it.  
When he sat back on his heels, his lips were puffy and shone from her arousal, and he gazed up at her as if she were some kind of goddess. His eyes were blown dark, wide with a kind of reverent lust that she’d never imagined him capable of.  
He looked her up and down and smiled.
“I didn’t even take my shoes off,” she laughed a moment later as the realisation dawned.  
“I know,” he smiled. “That was partly what made me lose it so quickly. You clearly have no idea how fucking incredible you look, Granger.”
She had to smile at that. How could she not smile when he was still kneeling between her legs and the evidence of his own arousal was plain to see.  
“Would you like me to help you out of them?” he asked.  
“Please,” she said.  
His hands held her ankle so delicately that she bucked again, though the movement was muted. He caressed the bones of her ankle and after he had slipped her feet from the shoes, he set them to one side and rose gracefully to his feet. He held out his hand and asked, “Bedroom?”
“Unless you want me to ride you here on your living room couch,” she said and his jaw slackened slightly. “Then yes.”
He led her, naked save for her bra, to a room just off from the sitting room, and while he still had his back to her to focus on casting a soft lumos spell, she unclasped her bra and let it fall to the floor. Drawn by the sound of it hitting the carpet, he turned. In two steps, he had crossed back to her and in his right hand he took a handful of her hair and tipped her head back, while in his left he cupped the weight of her right breast and moaned against her mouth.  
“Are you trying to get me to spill in my trousers like a teenager, Granger?” he hissed.  
She laughed. “Let’s get you caught up then,” she said, and began to undo the button and zip at his waistband. He stepped out of his trousers and left them crumpled on the floor, and she whispered, “You have the most incredible legs, Draco. I’ve always thought so.”
“You have?” he asked, hands going to begin on his tie and shirt buttons while she ran her fingers around his lower stomach beneath the waistband of his black boxer-briefs.
“Mmm. I know I didn’t like you as a person back then, but even I have to admit you looked incredible out there in your quidditch kit.”
He smirked, clearly pleased, and fumbled a button.  
“Let me?”
His cock twitched noticeably, and he raised his chin a little, hands falling limply at his sides. Before she’d managed even a single button, his fingers had found her hips again and he began tracing idle circles with his thumb over her skin.  
Hermione took her time undressing him, and when she finally peeled back the front of his shirt, she bit her lip at the sight of his torso. Without removing his shirt completely, she brought her fingertips to his pecs and trailed them down, circling one nipple without quite touching the dusky pink bud, and then moved down over the clear ridges of his abs. He was in incredible shape, seemingly without an ounce of fat on him anywhere. She swallowed, throat dry.  
“How are you even real?” she found herself whispering. “Draco, you’re beautiful…”
He flushed from his collarbones, up his neck, all the way to his ears, but didn’t move. His eyes fluttered closed, and as she drew back the fabric of his shirt a little further, she noticed a long, silver scar slashing across his chest like the after-image of a lightning strike. It stretched from his left shoulder, across his chest, down to below his right ribs and, she realised as she followed the line of it with her fingers, he had a second right above the waistband of his boxer-briefs. A third, smaller scar curled around his left hip.  
“Is that where…?”
“Potter,” he hissed through closed teeth. His smile was sad, like he’d long ago forgiven the boy for lashing out with a spell he’d never even heard of.  
It was only as she pulled his shirt slowly off his perfect, marble shoulders, that she remembered his Dark Mark. Instantly her eyes went to his left arm, where all of Voldemort’s followers had borne his brand, and there in fading, dark, smudged ink, sat the leering skull with its coiling snake.  
“Don’t,” he snarled softly, drawing his arm back away from her. “Don’t look at it.”
“Alright,” she said.  
His eyebrows rose, as if he’d expected her to argue and lecture him somehow, but instead, she hooked her finger beneath the waistband of his one remaining piece of clothing, and pulled his underwear carefully down, freeing his cock.  
Pre-come beaded instantly at the flushed head, and he inhaled softly as she smiled and pressed her palm into his hip, steering him back towards the bed.  
In a daze, he let her move him, and he laid his head back on the pillows, hair as white as the cotton beneath, and stared up at her with his eyes dark and lidded. “Granger,” he whispered, and she straddled him slowly. His hands found her hips as she sank down and rocked her wet folds up the length of his hard cock. At the contact, he gasped and jerked his sharp chin up towards the ceiling, heels digging into the mattress behind her. “Oh fuck, Granger…” he said.  
“Mmm?”
“Oh gods. Oh Merlin… fuck…”
“I’ve reduced him to a babbling idiot again,” she giggled, and he laughed too. The sound was open and free and truly delighted, and she leaned down and took his nipples between finger and thumb and tweaked them slowly.  
A deep, guttural groan left his throat and the tendons jutted out in sharp relief against his neck as his whole body went taut. He tried to buck beneath her, but she held him firmly between her thighs and he dug his fingers into the muscle of her legs hard enough that she thought she might bear the marks of it afterwards.  
Draco began to pant as she rolled herself repeatedly along his cock, luxuriating in the gliding contact.  
Then she heard him hiss a contraceptive spell, and she almost laughed. Clearly it was little more than a reflex for him, and she didn’t interrupt him for it, but the surprise of it nearly brought her out of the moment altogether. Next he had brought his hand to his cock and was guiding the head to enter her. She was slick and sensitive from having come already, and he eased into her without resistance.  
She was, however, as he declared in a broken moan, “…so fucking tight…”  
Hermione began to rock again once he was seated inside her to the hilt, but he grabbed her hips and curled his torso in on itself, panting. “Don’t move, Granger. Fuck. Don’t fucking move.”
She smirked. “You’re that close already?”
“Shut up,” he snapped without sting, and then let his shoulders drop back down to the mattress behind him again. “Fuck…” he laughed, almost shyly.  
Then he surprised her again by reaching his hands up to her shoulders and suddenly the world tilted, and she found herself beneath him and lying on her back on the mattress. She parted her legs a little further, allowing him deeper, and he growled again. He looked ethereal as he loomed over her, all pale skin and silver hair, and her core tightened.  
“You’re going to make me come again, Draco,” she whispered as it built inside her anew. This time it was less raw and needful, but no less intense.  
And with that, he began to move. At first, he withdrew until he was almost all the way out, leaving only the tip of his cock inside her, but soon enough he sank back down to the hilt with another glorious groan. Picking up a rhythm that soon had him heaving for breath, he raised one of her legs and hooked her knee over his shoulder, her thigh to his chest. With that new angle, he hit her so deep with every stroke that she saw stars.  
“You’re going to come for me, aren’t you Granger?” he rasped. “Gods, I can feel it. I can feel you… you’re so tight. You’re perfect, you’re… Granger…” he grunted and then he was coming. His torso clenched and his head bowed low, and the rush of his release inside her and the way he clung to her shoulders tipped her over the edge and she followed him.  
Malfoy raised himself on shaking arms a long moment later, one hand braced on either side of her head, and looked down at her. His white hair was dishevelled and a sheen of sweat stippled across his forehead, but it was his eyes that held her. Dark and glassy, he stared in open wonder at her, and then he smiled.  
“Granger…” he whispered, and she laughed with elation as she kissed him. 
___
Chapter Seven
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satnin-darling · 3 years
Text
Strangers (III) | Park Jimin, 2.5k
Pairing: Jimin x Reader
Summary: University was where you and Jimin met. Then some time had passed and you found yourself in each other’s lives. As you left the city for a year, you and Jimin had kept in contact, somehow growing closer through emails. But when you return, things might not be as good as you had thought they were.
Warnings/Tags: Rated T - for language; non-idol!AU (University —> Young adults); Angst; If the word ‘maybe’ was a fic (oops)
-
In the lobby of your workplace, in some busy metropolitan city, you sat down and checked your emails. Your phone was nearly running out of charge and there was a torrent of notifications that flooded your screen. From the corner of your eye, you saw someone sit next to you, a little further away, at the end of the bench. They unboxed the food they made from home, tucking into it with a purposeful hunger that could only come from a long day at work. You realised that hadn’t eaten anything at all, acutely aware of the gnawing rumble in your stomach. Ignoring it, you scrolled down until you saw Jimin’s name. You open it.
Maybe you’re looking for something you don’t know yet. I get like that too. I feel empty sometimes - makes me go crazy. I hate being alone. But it’s not as bad now, I have people I want to be around. I have you.
You stopped at that. In a series of emails you and Jimin exchanged throughout your time abroad, it covered all sorts of topics, from friendship, days at university, obscure dance performances that he watched. You only had a month left and it was hard to pin point when the emails started to morph into a discussion into introspection. Maybe you had started it, yet you couldn’t say. All that you could confirm right now was that it was easier to talk to him nowadays, albeit online. You carried on reading, picking at the inside of your mouth with your teeth.
Like one morning, I was walking down the road, you know the one near the old lady’s bakery where we’d get our croissants? I saw this guy I used to hang out with at Kendo Club at uni, he wasn’t really nice, a bit of an asshole actually. Anyway, I was feeling so shit, and I just couldn’t think. No one was around and I was walking around early in the morning, hadn’t slept or anything, and I just asked him if he wanted to have breakfast with me. Of course he said yes since I offered to pay. Bastard. Anyway, I haven’t heard from him since, and he owes me for bus money too.
I went underneath the overpass and I thought I saw someone that looked like you, which is crazy since you’re not here, obviously. I think it was because she carried herself in the same way as you do. That made me miss you.
In totally unrelated news, the job I have now is going well. I actually get along with my colleagues and the work isn’t so boring or taxing. I would tell you about the showcase I attended but it was honestly so boring. I went because Hoseok told me to come, but it was actually a waste of time. And the people that he invited was no one I knew, which is a first, ha.
I really enjoyed your last email, looking forward to hearing more - as ever.
It had begun to rain outside and you remembered that you didn’t bring an umbrella. The lobby was emptying now, most of the office workers were heading home. All you wanted to do was sleep but you couldn’t since you still had to travel for an hour just to get back to your accommodation. Clearing your throat, you locked your phone and slipped it into your briefcase. Even if you had wanted to reply, you couldn’t since you didn’t have enough battery. Sighing, you decided to take a taxi and stood up, making your way out of the building.
-
The arrivals lounge was relatively busy and there were numerous people, some carried signs of names, others simply waving. You could spot Jimin easily, somehow he had made it on the other side of the barrier, leaning on it with his arms crossed. He started waving frantically when you approached, wheeling your luggage awkwardly. You give him a tight-lipped smile, aware that you were exhausted more than anything. Closing the distance, he embraced you enthusiastically, squeezing you until your body went slack and laughing at how he was holding you so tightly.
“I’ve missed you,” He whispered, rubbing your back.
“Me too,” You replied, pulling back. Jimin looked (and felt) slimmer, his jaw was more defined. Despite the summer heat, he wore a jean jacket, a navy striped shirt peeking underneath.
“How was your flight?” He asked, taking your luggage from you without prompt.
“It was quite long and I sat next to someone who was snoring the whole way through,” you replied, recalling how you didn’t get a wink of sleep. Jimin was expertly navigating his way through the throngs of people.
“Did you just want to crash at yours then?” He suggested, and you felt a little surprised, failing to hide from your face. Jimin had caught it since he was looking back to check if you were keeping up with him.
“What?” He asked, smiling. You shrugged.
“Nothing.”
-
Up until he had sent the last email to you, right before you were due to come back, Jimin had been planning to work at his current job which would cover his rent and and wages. He wasn’t lying when he wrote that he was enjoying it and liked the people he was working with, in fact, he had actually considered applying for a permanent job as opposed to being a temp. But just as he was drafting his application, his manager had told him that they had to make cuts and that his position, given that it was temporary, might be at risk. Jimin had no choice but to accept it, silently chiding himself for not applying elsewhere in the meantime.
When he picked you up at the airport, that was his last day. In the run up to it, he had thought about his living situation for weeks, aware that he was behind on rent and could barely afford a simple night out. He thought about that until he couldn’t anymore, choosing to spend more time at your place whilst selling what little he could to have something to live on. He eventually had to leave his apartment, and on occasion would have to crash at a friend’s house for a night or two. It was like he was a nomad, but the less romanticised version, living out of suitcases and sleeping on friend’s couches.
While money was draining from his account, he was still searching for another job but it was difficult since most of the candidates seemed to have something he didn’t. Whether that was qualifications or experience, it didn’t matter, he still couldn’t get a job. At the end of his tether, he had contemplated telling you or more specifically, ask if he could stay at yours until he could sort his life out. In fact, he was staying at your place often anyway. He would sleep in your spare room, which made for a nice change from the lumpy couches that his other friends had. At least at yours, he had a room, there was that privacy and people didn’t have to step over him or he didn’t have to mind how he acted. Though you knew nothing about his situation, he could safely say that you enjoyed each other’s company, and he liked hearing the stories from your time abroad.
It wasn’t hard to imagine that you would say yes and agree for him to stay. Yet Jimin couldn’t bring up his own situation in conversation. There was something that was stopping him and he kept putting it off. It suddenly felt too much and anyway, even if you had agreed he didn’t think that he would feel comfortable about it. He just hated that fact that he couldn’t be independent in the way that he wanted, that money was the one thing that kept him from living the way he would like. And it frustrated him to no end that he couldn’t get to a stage where had a chance of getting it. The lack of stability gnawed at him and made him feel like an outlier in society, as if other people had access to something he couldn’t and he was left to flounder.
During an ordinary evening, when you were just watching TV, Jimin suppressed the thoughts of asking you if he could stay. Instead, he had planned to tell you that he was moving back with his parents in Busan.
-
Jimin had taken to waiting in the living room while you showered. When you returned, he was curled up on the couch, looking as comfortable as he could be. Walking towards him, he lifted the blanket so you could slot yourself next to him.
“What are you watching?”
“New Journey to the West,” he replied, lowering the volume.
“Sorry,” you said, tugging the blanket over your body. Jimin shook his head.
“I’ve seen the episode anyway,” he said. The TV was showing a game where they had to guess the names of famous individuals. Jimin was looking at you, half of his face illuminated by the glow of the TV, there was a clear tiredness that overtook his features. When relaxed, he appeared sad, his lips forming a subtle downturn. Then you saw him close his eyes and press his lips together.
“I’m moving back to Busan,” he said in half a whisper. He had opened his eyes now and sighed deeply, then he leant his head on your couch. Furrowing your brows, you weren’t sure if you had heard that right.
“What?” You asked, feeling strangely nervous.
“Yeah, I got my tickets and I’m already in the process of moving out of my apartment,” he said.
“When?” You asked, as your face hardened.
“Next week,” Jimin said, avoiding your gaze now, looking out of the window instead.
“So you’ll be there indefinitely then?” You asked, your body feeling like static. Jimin shrugged, not answering you. As you lowered your gaze, you saw that he was clutching the remote tightly, his knuckles ashen.
“Hopefully I won’t, but I’m not sure,” he said quietly. You closed your eyes and turned your body so you faced the TV. You didn’t know why that piece of information bothered you all of the sudden. Or why there was an urge for you to keep asking him questions, to get to the bottom of things. You thought about the fact that he was enjoying his new job and that he had been relatively happy. But then, you thought that you never really knew anything much about Jimin since he was an expert in navigating conversations. Despite all the time you had spent together, you knew more about the shows he watched than what he did or where he lived. It dawned on you that there might be a possibility that he was struggling to pay for rent, then you thought that if he had asked you if he could stay, you would say yes. Unquestionably. There had been a long pause as you noticed that you were both lost in your thoughts.
“So I guess we won’t be seeing each other for a while,” you said finally. Jimin inhaled sharply. The TV was still playing but it was on a commercial break, you saw a commercial for a package holiday somewhere in Europe. He had untangled himself from your blanket and stood up suddenly, smoothing his hands over his jeans. You stayed where you were, watching as he retrieved his jacket from the chair from across the room. Then, he turned to you once he had put his jacket on, running his hands through his hair, messing up his parting but it fell back that way in the end. He was chewing his bottom lip as he looked at the floor, somewhat shyly.
“I just wanted to say thanks for letting me stay at yours when I asked,” he said. You shook your head, feeling exhausted suddenly.
“It’s no problem,” you replied, knowing that this might be the last time you’d see him for a while. You didn’t want to leave things in a bad light. Jimin nodded. Standing up, you switched the TV off and rubbed your arm, waiting for him to leave. Then he embraced you, it was brief and felt like a formality. You tried to remember how he felt, how his arms, which seemed more wiry now, wrapped themselves around you. When you had pressed yourself close, you could feel his heartbeat, which was rapid but strong.
“I’ll call you,” he said. With that, he had left your apartment, not casting a single glance back.
-
Jimin never did call you. Instead, he opted for a collection of text messages, detailing his departure time along with a picture of the train station. You were at work so you ended up seeing his messages much later, when you were preparing to go to bed.
Jimin [09:37AM]: I should be boarding the train at 10am. I managed to get some food before I go at this kiosk - they’re pretty good and cheap too.
Jimin [09:54AM]: I’m in my seat now. Hopefully I could catch up on some sleep later.
Jimin [11:49AM]: I forgot that you might be at work. Sorry about the spam - anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I’m already way out of the city. Hope you have a good day today and make sure to rest since you worked hard.
You sighed, closing your eyes and pressing your head onto the pillow. Since your window was open, you could hear the activity from outside. There were cars making their way along the road and people talking very loudly. It was late in the evening and you assumed that Jimin had arrived at Busan already.
You [10:48PM]: Sorry, I’ve just seen your messages now, it was a busy day for me. I hope the journey was okay and that you did end up sleeping.
Deciding to leave it at that, you realised that you didn’t really have the energy to reply to the rest. Then your phone buzzed.
Jimin [10:49PM]: The journey was peaceful. I did end up sleeping for a bit. I’m back at home now. It’s weird, even though I know people from around here, I feel like a stranger. Even my parents think I’ve spent too long in the city.
Blinking at your screen, you weren’t sure if wanted to reply. The thought of Jimin messaging you so casually made you feel empty inside. So you placed your phone on your beside table to charge. In the silence, you thought about how you had been orbiting in each other’s lives. It seems that every time Jimin was around you, you felt simultaneously happy and lost. You liked yourself when you were around him yet you felt like there was a veil in between you. As if the person that Jimin was before you was an amorphous version of himself that you had to keep trying to figure out. And only trying would exhaust you or leave you further confused.
Turning over, you let the exhaustion from past events overtake you, settling deeply in your bones. Before you had succumbed to sleep, the final thought that lingered in your mind was that perhaps, you two really were just strangers to each other.
previously. / next.
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rosyfingereddawnn · 3 years
Text
only the black rose (chapter 3)
pairing: jimmy page x layla porter (oc)
warnings: vague sexual references, two mentions of keith richards and a whole lot of fluff. also poetry about jimmy page because i’m a simp.
words: 3.4k
summary: in the blink of an eye, it’s 1975 and layla’s suddenly joining led zeppelin for their north american tour. throughout the chaos, the band take a liking to her, she builds friendships with the boys, and love blossoms. but all good things must come to an end.
author’s note: not beta’d as always! this story does follow a playlist of mine, because i put too much thought into things. also this chapter is full of jimmy moments (finally) so i hope you enjoy :)
masterlist
playlist
chapter one
chapter two
----------
“He’s coming!”
Hushed whispers echo through the studio as amps become hiding spots, and instruments camouflage the people crouched behind them, anxiously waiting. Layla finds herself kneeling next to Bonzo and Jonesy, Robert a few feet away, giggling silently at the anticipation.
Feeling for the leather handle of the prize slung over her shoulder, Layla smiles wide, excitement dancing in her eyes like a perfect waltz. Hearing soft footfalls on the tiled floor drawing near, a charged silence falls over the studio. Sun-kissed curls poke out from behind the amps to spot the intruder. With a subtle nod to hidden companions, chaos erupts.
“Surprise!” A chorus of voices yell in near unison, startling the intruder, who puts a hand to his racing heart.
“Happy birthday, Pagey.” Robert trots up to his friend, grinning impishly at the stunt he had pulled. Jonesy and Bonzo follow suit, hugging the guitarist, while Peter lumbers out of his hiding spot, knees groaning from his crouched position. A pat on the shoulder and smile gracing his face, Peter wishes the man a happy birthday as well. Minutes pass, packed with greetings and formal well-wishes, until misty green meets warm brown once again.
“Happy birthday, Jimmy.” Layla starts towards the man, pulling him into a familiar hug, his unruly curls brushing her cheek like the soft caress of a lover. The hands that wrap around her back finally feel the handle of the weathered guitar case, and he pulls away, confusion creasing his handsome face.
“Layla, is that a guitar? I didn’t know you played...”
“This isn’t for me… It’s, uh… It’s your birthday present.”
“You…”
“Well don’t just stand there gaping at her, Pagey! Open it for God’s sake! She picked it out herself!”
Hands quivering almost imperceptibly, long fingers reach for the clasps of the case, snapping them open with a click. A soft gasp permeates the tense silence as the lid is opened, revealing the beautiful instrument. Lifting it out of the case delicately, Jimmy’s face fills with awe, eyes shining, clear ponds of morning dew. Running a hand down the neck of the guitar lightly, Jimmy looks back at Layla, then at the instrument once more, mouth opening and closing like a floundering fish.
“Layla… It’s… Thank you so much.”
“Of course, Jimmy,” Layla whispers almost shyly at the gratitude of the man before her, “I hope you like it. I saw it and thought it was perfect for you, but obviously you don’t have to use it if it’s—”
She is cut off by the sensation of long arms around her once more, cradling her as though she was a precious gift. She is once again surrounded by the dusky sweet scent of smoke, pine and citrus. Ebony ringlets tickle against her cheek once more, and she is home.
“You know,” Jimmy starts, voice a calming rumble against Layla’s cheek, which is pressed to the tall man’s chest, “I may not be great with words. That’s why everyone else writes the lyrics. But believe me, petal, I’ll never forget this.”
“Petal… That’s a new one, Jim.”
Layla and Jimmy jump apart then, laughing shyly at the intrusion. Hands wringing together, desperately searching for a distraction, their eyes meet once more. Twin blushes rise on their faces, and they turn to face their friends.
“Well, I do believe it’s time for the cake!” Peter claps his hands together, signalling the end of the awkward moment that had transpired, “Boys, let’s go get everything ready. Except for you, Pagey. You’re the birthday boy, we’re not gonna let you lift a finger to help today.”
“But—”
The only response is the patter of footsteps against the floor, signalling their exit. Layla chances a look at the man next to her, and finds him looking back once again. Mulling it over in her head, she decides to ask the question she’s been contemplating since the beautiful guitar was uncovered.
“Jimmy, you said you weren’t great with words,” Layla breathes out, hand rubbing at the back of her neck, eyes downcast, “Would you be able to play something for me? You obviously don't have to, but—”
“Layla, I’d love to. I need to try this beauty out anyways, might as well do it while you’re here to witness it.”
A smirk sits familiar on his stubble-dusted cheeks, dimples just visible. It’s obvious he was joking, but the thought of him playing something solely for her, on the guitar that she gifted him, was a lot for the young woman.
“Do you have any requests, petal?”
“Not really, but I’m sure anything you play will sound amazing.”
“Oh, you flatter me too much,” A hand moves to the crown of his head, graceful fingers scratching nervously, a betrayal of the man’s attempt at nonchalance. Jimmy stops then, cogs almost visibly turning in his brilliant mind. “… This will have to do.”
He sends a smile to his companion, and launches in, a flurry of beautiful chords resonating from it’s polished wooden body. Layla is in awe, watching his deft fingers slide across the fretboard with practiced ease, never missing a note. It’s when he starts singing, quietly, under his breath, that Layla’s eyes shoot up to his. Jimmy’s eyes are closed in pure concentration, a small smile dancing playfully on his lips. She can barely make out the words that float from his mouth, until he hits the chorus.
“God only knows what I’d be without you…”
He opens his eyes then, a smile growing at the open-mouthed expression of the woman next to him. He hums the rest of the song quietly, smirk never leaving his face until the very last note. Taking a deep breath, he turns to the woman, ducking his head slightly, the confidence leaving as though it had never been there at all.
“So… What did you think?”
“Here’s what I thought, Jim,” Layla says, a mischievous smirk of her own present on her face, as she stands looming over the guitarist. Soft lips meet the apple of a stubbled cheek, a sharp inhale of air punctuating the complete silence of the studio. Layla moves back, taking in the shocked expression on the angelic face of her companion, “Now, I think it’s time for a birthday celebration, so I’ll meet you in there, birthday boy.”
Layla, walking to the door, chances a look back at the guitarist and find him in the same position, staring off into space dazedly, a hand pressed to his cheek. Layla laughs lightly under her breath, and leaves the room. She finally meets up with Peter and the boys, who take one look at the smile that hasn’t left her face, and snicker amongst themselves.
“So, Layla, what were you and Jimmy talking about? Anything important that we should know, birdie?”
“Nothing at all, Bonzo. I do appreciate the concern, really, but don’t you worry your million dollar heads over it.”
“You know, that smirk isn't very reassuring, little dove. How do we know you didn’t break him somehow? I told you that outfit was gonna be a lot for him.”
“Well, I’m glad that someone had the balls to do something about the tension between you two, but I didn't think it’d be you, Layla.”
“And why not, Jonesy?”
Jonesy’s reply is cut short by the clacking of shoes on the floor, approaching the group. They look over, and Jimmy, seemingly recovered from the shock of lips meeting skin, walks into the room with a large smile creasing his pristine features. Taking hold of the glass of champagne Peter passes him, Jimmy tips it back.
“Tough night, Pagey?” Peter jokes, sipping from the glass in his hand, smiling as wide as ever.
“Not at all, Peter. Actually, my night got even better,” He sends a subtle glance over to Layla, confidence back in place, “Let’s get this party started.”
----------
What feels like daggers appear to be piercing her head as Layla awakes, mouth feeling like a barren desert. She turns over and is assaulted by the bright morning light, and shields her eyes from the onslaught. Finally adjusted to the sunlight streaming through the open windows. Layla takes in her surroundings, confusion evident on her drowsy face until she remembers the events of the night before. Jimmy’s birthday at the studio. The impromptu performance, the first sip of Jack Daniels burning its way down her throat like a kerosine blaze. Then it goes hazy, flashes of booming music and drunken dancing pound invisible fists against the inside of her head.
Layla, arm resting over her eyes to block out the world for just a little longer, misses the light click of the door opening, and startles when cold, callused fingertips press like droplets of rain to her sleep-warmed cheek. She looks at the offender, and sees wispy dark hair framing a porcelain face. Kaleidoscope eyes gaze into hers, a content smile resting on rose pink lips.
“Good morning, petal.”
“‘Morning, Jim.” Layla yawns, subtly pressing into the hand that now cupped her cheek.
“Are you feeling any better? Didn’t think a spitfire like you would be such a lightweight.”
“I’m gonna choose to ignore that comment,” Layla grumbles, wincing at the light chuckle Jimmy lets out. “I’m feeling a little better, thanks.”
“I’m glad. There’s some coffee waiting for you in the studio if you’re up for it. I’ll, uh... let you get dressed.”
Layla immediately becomes aware of the friction of the soft blanket against bare skin. The woman was left in her undergarments, thankfully, but the clothing she had been wearing from the night before was nowhere to be seen. Layla gasps, grasping at the retreating hand, the guitarist turning around to acknowledge her, cheeks blushing scarlet as he glimpses her exposed shoulder.
“Jim… Did we…?”
“What?”
“...”
“Oh. Oh, no. Last night, you indulged a little too much in our selection of drinks and, well… spilled about a litre all over your clothes,” Jimmy says, smirking at the woman in front of him. “I took you up here, and got the clothes into the wash. Don’t worry though, I turned around. There’s a change of clothes on the end of the couch.”
Layla laughs, squeezing the thin hand clasped in hers in thanks.
“Besides, petal, you deserve more than a drunken birthday fling. I’d kick myself if I didn't do this right.”
At this, the guitarist turns around, and walks out the door. Layla’s eyes bore into his retreating back, mouth hanging open at his admission and quick retreat. Standing finally, her eyes find the change of clothes on the end of the couch, just like Jimmy had said. A pair of black slacks, and a familiar silk shirt, a deep maroon in colour. Slipping them on and tying her hair into a low bun, she slips out of the room. The decadent smell of coffee tickles her nose as she walks on to the studio, and, nearing the door, she is met with the ever-present sound of laughter.
“Ah, look who finally decided to grace us with her very presence. I’m so honoured.”
“I’m just here cause I was promised coffee, Jonesy.”
“Cold, little dove. I thought we had something special here.” Fake tears are wiped from sun kissed cheeks, Bonzo and Jonesy hiding their smirks beneath their hands. Jimmy, who had been tasked with the making of the coveted coffee, looks over at the woman, chuckling softly.
“Well, blondie, if we had something special you’d have known that I need coffee in the morning to function,” she takes the steaming mug that the guitarist hands over, and takes a sip, a dreamy look on her face, “Jimmy is automatically the best out of all of you. He can make a great cup of coffee, and that’s enough for me.”
“Sure, that’s why he’s your favourite…”
“What was that, Bonzo?”
“...”
“Exactly what I thought.”
“Note to self: don’t talk to Layla before morning coffee. Got it.”
“Finally, you’re learning!”
The sound of footsteps approaching punctuates the end of the conversation, and Peter Grant rounds the corner, smiling ear to ear. Spotting Layla in the mix of his boys, Peter sends her an amicable wink, which earns him a grin in return.
“Good, you’re all here. Layla, are you all packed, dear?”
“Yep, all packed.”
“Wonderful. Our plane is due in just a few hours, so we’ll stop by your flat on the way. Next stop: Netherlands.”
Cheers sound from around the studio as the excitement for the upcoming tour ramps up. Peter silences the group, laughing, a tell-tale smirk settled on his lips.
“I must say… I think you’ll all find the ride there quite enjoyable. Even you, Pagey.”
----------
“A private jet?!”
“Her name is the Starship, but we’re accepting suggestions if you have a better idea.”
“Peter… This is…”
“Didn’t think it was possible to make the birdie speechless, I only know one person who can,” Bonzo meets Jimmy’s eyes then, a blush rising on the latter’s pale face. “Good job, Grant.”
“How did you even afford something like this?”
“My dear, I did mention that this was a very famous band, did I not?”
“Well, yeah, but… I was expecting like… The Black Keys level of popularity, not like, One Direction.”
“... Who?”
Layla catches Jonesy’s gaze, and when the man shakes his head minutely, eyes wide, she knows she messed up. Shit.
“Uh… Exactly! You guys are good, sure, but I thought you guys would be like… more underground, or something.”
Good save.
“Little dove, we’re like… one of the most popular bands in the world at the moment. You know, you really did pick a good day to almost get a concussion. Who knew that our Mr. Grant would be there?”
“Oh god… Boys… what if she had been snatched up by The Rolling Stones instead?”
“I have heard that Keith Richards has been getting all the women lately…” Jimmy says, hand moving to rub at his arm in mock anxiety, callused fingers catching ever-so-slightly on the lush green silk of his shirt. The mischief written all over his face exposed the ruse.
“Okay,” Layla starts, a smirk growing on her face in anticipation, “As much as I actively avoid saying it… you guys are pretty great. I’m glad I met all of you, and I won’t leave you for the Rolling Stones. How was that?”
“Acceptable.”
“Very sorry to interrupt this lovely moment, but the Starship awaits.” Peter says, smiling sheepishly at his intrusion, hand raised to show the majesty of the plane before them.
Piling into the aircraft, Layla is met with sleek silver and dark upholstery, yet another inkling as to how famous the boys really were. Strolling through the aircraft, Layla is stunned by the presence of a fully stocked bar, expensive spirits gleaming in the waning morning light. Walking to the comfortable sitting area, she gapes at the beautiful fireplace to her left.
“Is that safe?” she mutters under her breath, eyes wide as saucers, amazed at the level of luxury. This jet is more expensive than anything she’s ever seen, and she gets to experience it with her boys. As much as she’d like to return home, to her own time, this is a pretty great experience.
A sudden tap on the shoulder of the woman in question snaps her out of her thoughts, and, finally raising her eyes to spot the offender, she is greeted by the handsome face of Jimmy Page staring right back at her.
“Hey, petal. Do you mind if I sit with you?”
“Well…,” Layla jokes, giggling when she spots the hesitant look on the man’s face. “I’m just kidding, Jim. Of course, take a seat!”
Plopping down onto the couch beside her, the guitarist turns his body to face Layla, his full attention on the young woman beside him. Knee to knee with him, Layla can just barely smell the expensive cologne the man wears, mingling with the scent she now associates with the man: light accents of pine and citrus infused with warm, heady tobacco. Layla looks up at Jimmy then, and is struck by his beauty. His ebony ringlets fall to his shoulder, and, backlit by the afternoon sun streaming through the open plane windows, gives the impression of holiness. A sprinkling of subtle freckles look like stars falling across his cherubic face, and his eyelashes frame his perpetually tired eyes like a precious work of art. His eyes, a deep vivid emerald that she could get lost in forever, search the woman’s face, and it is when she looks down to study his angelic lips that she sees he is trying to speak to her.
“Earth to Layla,” Jimmy says, smiling shyly once he realizes that Layla was staring. He’s not as used to this silent reverence as he had expected. “Hello, is anybody in there?”
Shaking herself out of her reverie with a nod of her head, chestnut curls bouncing with the movement.
“Sorry, got a bit…. distracted… What were you saying, Jimmy?”
“I could tell, petal,” Jimmy scoffs, not unkindly, and Layla can see a pink tinge rising on his cheeks. “I was just wondering how you were doing. I mean, with everything that’s happened, of course.”
“You’re sweet, Jim. I’m… doing much better than I had expected,” Layla says, eyes softening as they roam over the worried face of the man next to her. “I woke up after the accident and thought I was done for, and then I met Peter, and… you, and the boys, and you were all so incredibly kind to me. I’m still trying to find a way to repay you guys.”
Her eyes stray from his face, then, to meet her shoes, preparing herself for what she is about to express.
“I know I can be too sarcastic, and I hold my cards too close to my chest, but I really do appreciate all of you. Even if I don’t always say it.”
Layla lays her hand on his then, looking into his eyes earnestly. Placing his own hand on top of hers, warmth seeping from one to the other, he shakes his head vehemently.
“Petal, you’re not some kind of burden that was left outside our door. I’m… We are glad we found you when we did. You’re not going to get rid of us that easily, Layla.”
“Damn, that was my goal.”
“I knew it. There’s another talented, devilishly handsome band you’re affiliated with, isn't there?”
“Jimmy, how do I say this… I’m so sorry. It was Keith Richards. I was lying to you guys earlier.”
“Just as long as it wasn’t Jeff Beck, or I’d have to have a talk with him.”
Smirks grow slowly on their faces, and they let out twin giggles, unconsciously drifting closer to one another. Their laughter soon fades, and they are left enraptured with each other once again, eyes never straying from their gaze on the other. Finally, Jimmy breaks the eye contact between them with a forced cough, and the pair turn away, hands still clasped absentmindedly.
Layla chances a look at the guitarist, who is apparently set on never looking at her again. Noticing how their hands are still interlocked, she gives his a light squeeze, and he looks over once more.
“Jimmy, I just… I really do want to thank you. For checking up on me, and for making me laugh, and just… Thank you.”
“Layla, it’s my pleasure,” Jimmy says, reaching a faintly shaking hand to push back a stray curl that had fallen in the woman’s face. “I care about you, and I want you to be happy. If I can make that happen for you, then I’m going to do it.”
Speechless, Layla can only squeeze his hand once more. Finally noticing the slight tremors that run through it, she looks up at Jimmy, whose jaw is clenched tightly, tension clear on his face.
“Jim, are you alright? Your hands are shaking…”
“Oh, I’m fine, petal. I just get a bit nervous on planes is all. It’ll pass.”
An idea comes to Layla then, and she stretches out her legs, shifting forward once more.
“Put your head in my lap and sleep through it, so you won’t be a bundle of nerves the whole time.”
“Layla, it really is fine—”
“Jimmy, just do it. You’ll never relax otherwise.”
“...Fine.”
Jimmy’s head comfortably placed on her lap, Layla threads her fingers through the tastefully messy curls, and, minutes later, Jimmy is out like a light. Satisfied, she leans back, hand still buried deep in the raven locks, and dozes off as well. The pair sleep on, oblivious to the snickering of the rest of the band, and the shutter click of Robert’s camera.
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taglist: @jimmys-zeppelin @salixfragilis @timetraveller4 (let me know if you want to be added!)
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