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sunnysviolin · 3 years

Text

Omotober Day Six

“Bran thought about it. 'Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?'

'That is the only time a man can be brave,' his father told him.”

― George R.R. Martin

The walk home had become much more fun since they had met Aubrey. Before they met her it was just him and Kel. That wasn’t to say Sunny hadn’t had fun on those walks. Kel was his best friend, and he never pressed Sunny out of his comfort zones. He did pretty much all of the talking between the two of them and only stopped periodically to check in with Sunny or get an encouraging nod. Sunny loved to listen to Kel’s ranting and wild made up stories, and he usually ended up drawing them once they got back home. But now that Aubrey was there too, it wasn’t just a walk. It was a performance.

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

They continued back and forth, practically tripping over each other in their haste to respond. They had seemingly forgotten anything was around them but their ranting, facing one another as they walked and expertly avoiding obstacles with the practiced ease of those who were used to doing two things at once.

Aubrey had only joined their friend group a week or two ago, but she fit so seamlessly in with them it was hard to remember she hadn’t always been there. Kel had found a sparring partner in her, Mari finally had a little sister to spoil and do girly things with, and Hero could have made friends with a brick.

As for Sunny? Well he wasn’t too sure exactly what he thought of the girl, but he enjoyed having her around. He had never been a fan of loud noises or anger, but somehow with Aubrey it was different. She never stayed angry for long, and even when she was mad, she had never been scary.

“Did too times a million!” Aubrey declared, and Kel gave a disgusted growl, throwing his hands up in the air. She smiled smugly and stuck her tongue out at him, which only started their argument anew as Kel’s fire was rekindled by her slight.

Sunny smiled to himself as their back and forth sped up even more, and he continued to walk innocently at their side. As long as he didn’t call any attention to himself, they wouldn’t remember to drag him into it and try to get him to pick a side. Sunny couldn’t exactly remember what started their argument, or why they were still going at it after being at each other's throats since they had all gotten on the bus, but their shouting was funny.

An unexpected bark broke through his happy haze, and Sunny froze. His good mood evaporated and in its place was cold fear, dripping down his back and gluing his feet to the sidewalk. Hector bounded closer, tongue waving in the wind as he ran towards them. Kel cut off his argument with Aubrey and called for his brother. He intercepted the dog as it got to him, holding his collar fast and keeping him back from Sunny.

Aubrey gasped and clasped her hands together, squealing at the arrival of the furry terror. She skipped over, elated by the new arrival.

“Oh my gosh, who is this?�� She asked, holding out her hand towards him. Hector was distracted from his mission to squirm out of Kel’s grasp and sniffed her hand with a laser focus. Once he had determined she was friend and not foe, Hector refocused his efforts to escape.

“This is Hector. He’s my dog,” Kel said, his words punctuated by pauses as Hector jerked them back and forth trying to get his freedom. Hector was only a dog, but Kel was also only a nine year old boy, and trying to hold onto an energetic ball of fur was quite the exercise.

Sunny tried to remember the steps Mari had given him for when he felt like this. Calm down.. Focus. No, he had to focus first, right? He couldn’t remember, and if he couldn’t remember the order, then it wouldn’t work. Sunny shut his eyes tight, letting black starbursts try to distract him from the pain in his chest. It didn’t work, then he was just scared he wouldn’t see if the dog came near him. He opened his eyes again. Kel was watching him with a worried look, and shame colored Sunny’s cheeks. It was bad enough to have such an overreaction to something completely normal, but Kel’s eyes on him somehow made it even worse.

“So cute!” Aubrey shrieked, not noticing what was going on between the boys. She squatted down and let Hector lick at her face, giggling in joy and scratching behind the dog’s ears. She took his face in her hands, speaking to him in a sweet baby voice, “You’re just a little lovebug, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Kel said, trailing off. He was clearly distracted by trying to manage everything around him, “Where is Hero?”

Said boy was hurrying up the street, an electric blue leash in his grasp. He was panting from exertion, the same way he always did when what they were doing required any exercise, and Sunny vaguely wondered if Hero had his inhaler with him. It was just running up the street, it shouldn’t trigger an asthma attack, but Sunny also knew that stress sometimes made them worse and could make just breathlessness pull into a full attack. On top of the fear and on top of the shame, now he also had to deal with guilt wrapping around his shoulders for causing Hero to have to run out and help him.

“I’m so sorry guys, Mari and I left the door open to get a breeze and I wasn’t paying attention to where he was,” Hero explained as he clipped the leash to Hector’s collar and pulled him into a heel. Hector walked in circles around Hero and tugged to try and get closer to the group of kids. The second Hero had him, Kel was back by Sunny’s side, blocking him and Hector with his body and quietly checking over his best friend. From around Kel Sunny spotted Mari walking over at a much slower pace, and the steel in his spine began to melt. Mari meant safety.

“Why are you sorry?” Aubrey asked, cocking her head to one side and looking around. She finally saw Sunny hiding behind Kel and she seemed even more confused.

Mari arrived with a gentle smile, walking around Kel and hugging Sunny close without words. He wrapped his arms around her automatically, breathing out a sigh and letting the tension fall out of his shoulders and onto the ground. He had felt better when Hero had intervened, but Mari was the one that made him feel safe again. If she was here, nothing bad would happen.

“Calm down. Focus,” She whispered, and the order clicked into place in Sunny’s mind. Once he knew that, he took an experimental breath. It was easier. He could do it.

“Sunny’s afraid of dogs,” Kel explained as the sibling had their moment, “We always keep Hector in our parents room when he’s around,”

“I completely lost track of time,” Hero said apologetically, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. Now that Sunny was taken care of, Kel knelt down by Hector and shushed the still whining dog, scratching underneath his chin the way he liked. Hector’s leg began to shake erratically and he held his head high to give Kel better access.

“It was an accident,” Mari replied, keeping Sunny close to her. When she worried she liked to have him right beside her, and he never minded. Beside her was the best place for him.

Aubrey hummed to herself, clearly taking in all of the information. She pulled her mouth into a thoughtful frown surveying the scene around her. The young girl walked away from where the brothers were and over to Sunny and Mari. She stood in front of him with her hands behind her back rocking back and forth on her heels.

“He’s a nice dog,” Aubrey stated, shooting Sunny an encouraging smile. She kept her voice sweet and light, the way she always talked to him. He bit the inside of his cheeks, avoiding eye contact with the girl. The shame sitting in his belly got worse.

He knew that Hector was a nice dog. Hector was the only dog that Sunny could even get relatively close to, but that didn’t change the fact that he was a dog. He was loud, and he jumped, and he licked, and the energy was just...too much. Sunny didn’t even have a good reason for being afraid of dogs, he just was. He had always been, and he always would be. It was frustrating. It was humiliating.

“It’s okay, Sunny,” Mari soothed, as if she knew what route Sunny’s mind was bringing him down. She patted his shoulder and turned to Aubrey, “It’s just something that he’s uncomfortable with, it’s not something that has to change.”

Aubrey loved Mari. She liked all of them, but Sunny knew that it was more with Mari. Aubrey looked at her like she hung the moon and the stars, and her word was law. They had only known Aubrey for a short time, but he already knew that she would never disagree with his sister.

That’s what made her next words so shocking.

“My mom says that fears should always be confronted. You can never bring light into the dark unless you open the door.” Aubrey stated, the words clearly rehearsed from hearing them over and over. She ended by holding out her hand towards Sunny, her smile never wavering.

“Aubrey...” Mari started with a sigh, her voice kind but delicately firm. Sunny knew what would come next from that tone.

Mari would gently put Aubrey down from the idea and bring Sunny back to the shelter of their house before anything else could happen. She would wrap him in blankets and hot chocolate and love and he would never have to confront what scared him so badly. It was the option he knew, the one that he should take. It made sense and it was safe, responsible even. It would be foolish to break out of what he knew and go beyond into the unknown.

But Aubrey was still holding her hand out. She still believed in him.

Sunny took her hand before Mari could finish her thought, letting himself be pulled out of his sister’s arms. Aubrey hummed a happy tune as she walked them away from Mari and back towards the boys. They were staring at Aubrey in silenced shock, Kel managing to keep a tight grip on Hector’s collar in spite of being clearly lost for words.

Aubrey, unphased and unafraid, changed her grip on Sunny’s hand and turned it so the back of his hand was facing Hector.

“So what you do is let him smell you. That way he knows you’re a friend, and you know that he’s okay with you being close to him.” Kel and Hero had taught this to him over a dozen times, but trying now wasn’t quite so stressful.

It had to be the way Aubrey held no fear or concern. Every time he had tried this before, his sister and friends had reassured him they were holding Hector tightly and that should anything go wrong, they would be here. The possibility of going wrong was what scared Sunny so badly, but that possibility wasn’t present now.

Hot puffs of air hit the back of Sunny’s hand as Hector eagerly sniffed the offered appendage. Kel still had his arms looped around Hector’s neck and Hero was holding the leash, and nothing had gone wrong yet. A pink tongue darted out and licked at his fingers, and Sunny pulled away. It wasn’t the normal jerky motion that was usually accompanied by a sudden breathless panic, he just didn’t like that feeling. Aubrey giggled and reached her own hand out to pat Hector on the top of his head.

“If you pet him, he won’t be able to lick at you,” She commented, and Kel took the silent direction to turn Hector close to him so Sunny could reach his body, “He’s really soft!”

She was right, Hector was soft. His fur was thick and glossy, clearly cared for and brushed thoroughly to keep it this nice. Sunny had seen Kel brushing Hector in the backyard plenty of times before, but now he could see the appeal of putting in all that work. Experimentally he scratched his fingernails against the dog’s body and he was rewarded by Hector giving a full body shake, turning so Sunny could get to his other side.

This was nice, unexpected, but nice. Mari was coming over now, putting a hand on Aubrey’s shoulder and beaming. Sunny turned around to look at the two of them and awarded the girl’s with one of his rare smiles, both of them lighting up at the unexpected happiness on Sunny’s face. Aubrey let go of his hand and turned all of her attention onto Hector, distracting the pooch with her baby talk.

“Are you fwiends now wiv Sunny? Yes you are, yes you are you sweet little baby,”

Sunny pulled his hand back, but he didn’t retreat. He was focused on watching Aubrey. Strong, confidant, idealistic Aubrey. Sunny finally figured out what he thought of her.

#omotober #omori #omori fic #omori aubrey #omori kel #omori hero #omori mari #heromari #sunburn #omori sunburn #omori hector

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ladyvader23 · 3 years

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The Lost Saber

Set in the Dad Vader Chronicles Universe, this short is dedicated to @silvereddaye as a belated birthday present! Silver is such a great friend. She works so hard for her Star Wars server, and she’s so talented. Her art is beautiful, and I have the privilege of playing D&D with her, where she has one of the coolest characters ever! She’s just so awesome and I wanted to write something for her and the idea of Leia stealing Vader’s saber just...seemed entertaining enough for that very occasion. I hope you enjoy Silver!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vader did his best not to panic. How many places could his lightsaber be, after all? He was certain he’d had it on his belt when he’d returned home the night before. He was certain he’d had it when he tucked the twins in bed. Leia had, after all, asked him about it, and he’d explained its properties as a weapon and companion in battle. It was an odd choice of a bedtime story, he had to admit, but she’d seemed satisfied afterwards and didn’t complain when he told her to sleep.

Then he’d seen it in his meditation chamber that morning, and he distinctly remembered grabbing it...but now he was in the Imperial Palace and it was gone.

And the Emperor was watching him expectantly, a disobedient moff shaking in his boots as he awaited judgement.

The plan was to scare him before killing him by igniting his saber and casually and slowly moving towards him, letting the tip of his saber singe the ground. Then he’d stab him and let the man die a slow and painful death.

But there was no saber on his belt.

“Have you lost something, Lord Vader?” On the surface, Palpatine’s voice was as benevolent as ever, but there was an edge of annoyance there. Vader didn’t need the Force to tell him that.

Vader didn’t answer. Memories of all the times he’d lost his saber as Anakin flooded his mind, memories full of Obi-Wan giving him long admonishments and lectures that...he’d basically given Leia the night before. What kind of father was he, if he couldn’t even follow what he’d told Leia? Already he could picture both of the twins losing their lightsabers and when he brought it up, they’d point out that he’d lost his and--

He crushed the man’s windpipe and he dropped to the floor.

“That was not what we decided.” There was definite venom in the Emperor’s tone.

“The wait for punishment had the same effect.” Vader pointed out.

The Emperor scoffed and waved him away, irritated. “Come back when you are prepared for your job.”

Vader didn’t argue, and he was grateful that he didn’t have to explain the embarrassing situation further as he strode out of the throne room.

Where could it have gone?

He racked his brain, trying to remember what he might have done that would have required him setting it down. He couldn’t think of any, beyond briefly stopping by Captain Piett’s office to have a word with him. Had he set it down there? He didn’t know why he would have…

His comm rang and without thinking, he picked it up. “I am busy, this had better be an emergency.” He snarled, assuming it was an idiotic officer with news on Rebel movements.

“Um. Hi, this is Miss Kengall, Leia’s teacher?”

Vader stopped in the middle of the ornate palace hallway. He paid no mind to the guards side-eyeing him from where they stood. “Is something wrong?” Already his mind conjured up a million things that could have happened--most of them caused directly by Leia. But if someone had threatened her and he was without his lightsaber...though he technically didn’t need the saber to protect his children...

This day couldn’t get any worse.

“Well,” Vader’s jaw clenched. This woman didn’t know how to get to the point, did she? “Leia...um. She’s got your lightsaber.”

He stopped cold.

“It was show and tell. She wanted to show your--oh, stars, she’s turned it on--”

He heard the whoom of a lightsaber waving around, along with children exclaiming in wonder.

An image of Leia chopping a limb off of a child, or worse, entered his mind. While he’d dismembered plenty of people with a saber, it somehow was very different when the one wielding the weapon was a five year old.

“I am on my way.” He turned the comm off before the teacher could protest and began hurrying as quickly as he could towards his speeder.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When he arrived at the school, he found Leia waiting for him in the principal's office. Apparently, her teacher was at least competent enough to get her to hand over the weapon, because it sat on top of the principal’s desk.

“Ah. Lord Vader.” A short, portly, balding man greeted as he entered the office. “I was just explaining why--”

“Leave.” He growled as he glared at Leia. He watched her sink into the too-big seat, as though that would spare her from his wrath.

“But...it’s my off--”

Vader stretched out a hand. The man flinched, but rather than strangling the idiotic man in front of his daughter, he called the saber to his grip.

“...Very well.” The principal attempted to sound calm as he stood. “I’ll...I’ll leave you to it.”

Vader waited until the man was gone and the door had firmly closed before he took a few steps forward. The office was small, so it only took him two steps before he was towering over his daughter.

He didn’t even know where to begin. It was pure luck that no one had been injured because of her foolish actions. She refused to meet his eyes, too, which told him she knew she was in big trouble.

“What have I told you about asking for permission before taking things that are not yours?”

That seemed like a reasonable place to start, even though taking a lightsaber was far more serious than her taking one of her brother's toys.

Leia squirmed in her seat. “I...I have to pee--”

“You do not. Answer my question. Now.”

He had never harmed his children. They were far too precious. But he had no qualms about using the vocorecorder in his helmet to its full intended effect when the time called for it.

“...I need to ask.”

“Why?”

Leia squirmed more. “Because it’s not nice.”

He hadn’t ever explained it that way. He was a Sith, he did not care for niceties, but he supposed it worked. “And why else?”

“Because it’s against the law and I’m not allowed to break the law till you say so.”

That was the reason he’d always given when explaining why stealing was wrong.

“And did I say so?”

“No.”

“Then you should not have taken my lightsaber.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “What you took from me is very serious, Leia. You could have hurt or killed one of your friends. You are too young for such violence.”

“I just wanted to have the coolest show and tell.” Leia mumbled.

“I could have assisted you with finding something far less dangerous.” He paused as a thought occurred to him. He hadn’t actually ever shown Luke or Leia what a lightsaber could do. There had been no reason to. They were too young to accompany him anywhere that would have shown them how dangerous it was, and he doubted any of their cartoons portrayed lightsabers.

“Leia. I want you to watch closely.” He said, igniting the blade. As the hum filled the room, she reluctantly looked up.

Just as he turned and sliced through the principal's desk with ease.

She jumped, staring wide eyed as the metal desk collapsed, the edges where he sliced through melting. He turned the saber off and motioned. “One day you will learn to wield your own saber, but without proper training, you could have done this to one of your friends or your teacher. Do you want to do this to them?”

Leia was still staring wide-eyed at the desk as she vigorously shook her head.

“Do you understand why I am so angry with you for taking my lightsaber?”

She nodded.

“Explain it back to me.”

She finally tore her eyes away from the desk, huffing as she did so. She never liked it when he made her prove that she understood, but she also knew he would not give in until she’d done it. “I could have hurt someone.”

“And you could have hurt yourself.” Carefully, he knelt down to her level. It was more difficult than usual, given the room’s small size and the chopped desk in the middle of it, but he managed. Barely. He reached up and cupped her cheek. “One day I will teach you to use your own. I promise. But for now, I do not wish to see you hurt because you didn’t listen to me. Do you understand?”

Tears welled in Leia’s eyes and she nodded before throwing her arms around his neck.

He was still angry...but it subsided slightly with her little arms around his neck, and he patted her back soothingly.

“You are grounded for the foreseeable future. No holovision. No friends. Not until you can prove that you’re responsible again.” He told her as she pulled away.

She pouted and held up two fingers. “Two days.”

“This is not a negotiation.” He pointed at her. “Prove you are responsible and we will revisit the matter of privileges.” He paused. “And I’m sure you are likely suspended from school as well. You will have plenty of time to think on the meaning of responsibility in the meantime by writing a letter of apology to your teacher.”

Her pout deepened into a scowl, but she knew when he was unswayable.

He stood and clipped his saber back to the belt where it belonged. “Get your things. We are leaving.” He told her as he motioned with his hand and the door to the office opened.

Where the principal stood, waiting.

“I...ah, assume Miss Leia understands what she did was wrong?” The man nervously asked as Vader approached, blocking his view of the office within.

“I have dealt with it.” Vader answered simply. “How long will she be suspended?”

The man swallowed nervously. “I...that won’t be necessary--”

Vader took one threatening step forward and shoved his finger into the man’s chest. “I do not care for your fear of me. You will discipline my children the same as you would any other. How many days would you suspend a child for such an infraction?”

He watched the man pale. “Uh...I, uh...thr--three days?”

Vader’s gaze narrowed. That seemed lenient for a child who’d brought a weapon to school. He leaned forward until he was practically in the man’s face. “You are certain?”

The man shrinked away from him. “...A-a week, but it was really--”

By then, Leia had emerged from the office, her pink princess backpack slung over her shoulders. Vader stepped away from the man and placed a guiding hand on his daughter’s back. “She will see you next week, then.”

Without another word, he guided Leia past the school secretary droid and to the front office door.

He did not miss the principal gasping, “What happened to my desk?” before they left.

#darth vader #leia organa #dad vader series #leia and vader #star wars #fanfic #my own writing

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thechangeling · 3 years

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Shame

Kit reflects on his life and his sexual orientation. I guess this is kind of a character study peice but also partly headcanon.

Ok so massive trigger warnings for internalized homophobia and biphobia. Also a 2012 definition and understanding of bisexuality and gender sk sorry about that but I wanted to be accurate to the time period.

I still have a lot of internalized homophobia even in the year of our lord 2021 so I wanted to work through it in my writing I guess.

"I think you're only fighting for the sake of fighting. Because it's the only state in which you can function. The only way to stop that voice in your head from driving you insane. The one telling you that you should be ashamed of yourself for having loved him."

- Black Sails: Season 2 Episide 5

Kit could remember the first time he felt it as clear as day. The first time he felt that twinge at the pit of his stomach after being reprimanded for talking about his crush on a boy. The inward cringe that followed. That disgust others showed him, reflected back onto himself.

Self loathing became as easy as breathing at such a young age.

He could distinctly remember being in mundane first grade and being asked by a loud girl with light blond hair and crystal blue eyes who he had a crush on. Kit had seen no reason to lie at the time. He had told the girl that he had two crushes. One on a girl in their class who was shy and asocial (he had always had a thing for nerds apparently) with her jet black hair that was always full of hello kitty clips, and another on a boy in a different class who was blond like him with a round face and a giant friendly smile that Kit loved to stare at.

At the time he had no real sense of the seriousness of what he was saying. No sense that he was breaking an unspoken rule in the eyes of his classmates. But Kit would never forget the look on the girls face. The eyes that narrowed in distain, the curled lip and the way her nose crinkled in disgust as she she said, "boys arent supposed to have crushes on boys. That's gross." And the cackling laughter of his classmates surrounding him.

And the feeling that followed, the one that would become as familiar and easy as breathing.

Shame.

That pinch in his gut and the way his blood went cold like someone had just injected him with antifreeze. And then the sinking in his chest accompanied by the realization that he had done something terrible. Kit realized that day that he could never make that same mistake again. So after that day he vowed never to talk about his interest in boys ever again.

The first time he heard the word gay he was eight and it was as an insult. It wasn't directed at him but it still felt like it was. He learned to make the connection between the word and disgust and contempt. But as he grew older he became relieved, because he knew he liked girls. He had always thought they were pretty with their soft skin and nice smelling hair. This meant he wasn't gay so he was safe. He convinced himself that he had just been confused before when he was younger.

So he grew up pushing those feelings to the side and telling himself convincing lies over and over until he finally believed it, and Johnny Rook made it easy. Kit was often so preoccupied with running cons and keeping a low profile that he didn't have much time for self reflection. When he found his gaze wandering, he told himself he was just being curious or suspicious or just appreciating an attractive guy from a purely aesthetic point of view and there was absolutely nothing else to it. He kissed pretty girls whenever he had the chance and enjoyed it and relished in the fact that this meant he was safe.

From an outside perspective it may have looked like Kit Herondale was losing control of the situation.

Maybe they were right.

Tiberius Nero Blackthorn felt like a giant fuck you from the universe for believing that he could ever escape this. Or maybe he was a test. But whatever Ty was, it was a little hard to care when he was animatedly explaining the reproductive cycle of a starfish and beaming at Kit with his rare carefree smile that made Kit feel like he was drowning in bliss.

And despite everything. Despite Kit's fear, it made him want to smile too. The urge to reach out and touch Ty was like a burning in his veins, accompanied by the foolish belief that if Kit could just run his fingers through Ty's matted black hair or press his forehead against his, then everything would be alright.

Kit wasn't sure if he should be grateful or furious.

"How beautiful" had been his first thought upon seeing him. Slipping out of some deep treacherous part of him before he could stop it. Followed of course by the shame.

But he wasn't gay. It didn't matter that Ty was beautiful and captivating and made him feel like he was strong enough to fight the gods themselves given the challenge. It didn't mean anything. He was just confused.

And when Julian made a comment about Herondales having a certain type when he called Clary hot, he ignored the twisting of his insides and the painful fact that his thoughts were drifting off into forbidden territory. He pretended that he was what Julian said he was. What he was supposed to be.

When Livvy had asked him to kiss her it felt like a lifeline. A way to distract himself from all the chaos in his life as well as a way to take his mind off of Ty. A pretty girl was giving him something to cling onto, if only for a moment. He still paused to look upwards. An automatic reflex. Almost as if he was a magnet trying to snap back into it's original place.

Livvy kissed him and although it was nice and sweet, he still felt nothing. Only longing for something else.

Then he learned about Kieran and how he was basically Mark's ex boyfriend. He had been sure that Mark was dating Emma so he asked Livvy about it. She had given him a confused look and just said that Mark was bisexual.

Bisexual.

He had heard the word before, mostly to describe celebrities who wanted to make a name for themselves in the tabloids. Kit had always quickly dismissed it before he could allow himself to actually ponder the idea. It was safer to assume it wasn't actually real, because if it wasn't real then it couldn't be him. He wouldn't have to face up to the fact that an attraction to men and women sounded uncomfortably accurate and familiar.

Bisexual. It gnawed at him in his sleep. Poking at his insides and refusing to let him forget it. And so Kit clued his eyes shut and squirmed his way out if it. He thought of the way Ty's smoke coloured eyes seemed to bore into Kit's soul. The sharp angles of his cheekbones and curve of his cupid's bow. Kit thought of the way Ty had asked if he could give Kit a permanent rune and when Kit had answered sarcasticly, Ty's crestfallen expression had horrified him to the point where Kit had practically begged Ty to do it.

Anything to get that look off Ty's face. But it wasn't like that he reminded himself. It wasn't love. It wasn't love.

Jesus. Love. Just the idea of the word sent Kit into a blind panic. And there was that old familiar feeling curling around his gut. That same disgust. That shame.

Not towards Ty. No of course not. He could never feel that way about Ty, or Mark or Kieran or Helen or Aline or anyone else because they didn't deserve it.

But he did. He always did.

When Livvy was killed, Kit almost felt a sense of relief because at least now he had something else to focus on, something g else to worry about. If he was focused on protecting Ty from his own worst instincts then he wouldn't have time to get list I'm thoughts he shouldn't be having.

He knew this made him a selfish horrible person. Kit accepted it.

Kit knew this plan of Ty's was a reckless and horrible idea but he just couldn't stand to see him in pain. He also couldn't bare the thought if what might happen if he refused to help Ty. Also he was helpless in the face of Ty's pleading gaze. Deep down Kit knew that he would probably do anything for him.

He would break himself trying to put Ty back together.

It wasn't until Ty actually attempted the spell that Kit finally cracked. He couldn't let Ty go through with this. He couldn't risk it.

Why? Something inside of him pondered.

Why?

Because Kit was going to die if something happened to Ty. The spell was going to go bad and Ty was going to get hurt or killed and Kit's heart was going to be brutally ripped from his chest and it was going to be unbearable.

Because-

"I love you Ty," he breathed, hating himself instantly. "I love you."

Ty didn't respond. He didn't react, didnt even flinch. Just stared blankly at Kit.

Shame.

It was going to ruin him. It was going to swallow him whole.

Yikes that was kinda all over the place sorry.

I'm basically tagging all if my mutuals at this point. Let me know if you want me to stop tagging you. @scrat-is-god @playwithravenclaw @lavender-scented-rat @knifescythe @ti-bae-rius @irene-blacxthorn @dianasarrow @doitforthecarstairs @jazzkaurtheglorious @waterlillies @zfoxdraws @julieandthefandoms @older-brother-kit @anxiousbookenthusiast @ilikebooks8 @nott-the-best @stxr-thxif @magnus-the-fabulous-entp-bane @autumnangel20 @hufflepuffyskam

Also let me know if you want to be added!

#tsc #tda #the dark artifices #kit x ty #kit herondale #twp #ty blackthorn #tw internalized homophobia #tw internalized biphobia

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notnctu · 4 years

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now playing: can’t help falling in love - elvis presley

lee jeno x fem!reader genre - fluff details - established relationship word count - 1,582 synopsis - where you and jeno attend your best friends’ wedding.

a/n - this is for @kpopscape‘s jukebox friday <3 inspo from the wedding scene in the movie crazy rich asians! also i hope this isn’t confusing LOL the first part is a back and forth between jeno/(y/n) pov, like it switches between the conversations but ultimately they’re in separate rooms -author doie ❀

Lee Jeno stands in a pampered black and white suit, with a classic black tie situated up to his neck. Hair is slicked with a thick gel that he can’t wait to wash out, but gives his forehead a special feature for this very special day. He’s nervous, not entirely sure why, he’s not the one getting married.

The outdoor wedding scene has always been one of your favorites. A rooftop that looks over the vast ocean, the thin horizon that separates water from sky. The decorative floral altar frames the center perfectly. You’re incredibly jittery, not entirely sure why, you’re not the one getting married.

Your best friends panic respectively in their own rooms. It’s mad chaos when you re-enter the cramped room. The mom of the groom is leaving no space for breaths, beating down the neck of your best friend. As your duty of maid of honor, you’re rushing to her rescue.

“I think it’s time to start heading to your seats now.” You usher every relative that isn’t suppose to be in the area. Excited chatter erupt from each of them, overly joyous that the occasion is about to start.

Now, you have a best friend to reassure as she sits in her glorious chiffon gown and a heavy frown on her painted lips. “What can I do to help the bride?” An unfamiliar peppiness embodies you, hoping to lighten her mood.

Smoothing your own dress under you, you sit down in front of her and hold her hands in your own. Her glittery eye makeup catches the light from the marveling late afternoon sun and the strands of her hair are pinned by pearl clips out of the frame of her delicate face.

“Is this what cold feet feels like?” She asks carefully. And when she looks up, her glossy eyes are much of a shock as the question itself.

In the groom’s room, every person is scrambling for their dress shoes. Jeno sits in the corner of the room, quietly observing the frantic lack of responsibility on display while also fulfilling his role as best man by consoling the sullen groom on his big day.

“What does it feel like?” Jeno genuinely inquires and he waits for the answer from his best friend.

Jeno notices his slumped forward shoulders, as if all the confidence in his best friend is drained out. Nonetheless, this is the best he’s ever seen him clean up. A smooth shave, without a cut in sight and accessories that actually complement his suit. Throughout all the craziness, this is a show stopping man before him. Who knew suits can make such a difference?

“Cold feet... it feels confusing.” His best friend fiddles his thumbs as if guilt preoccupied his conscience for feeling this way on his wedding day. “I love her, but what is that suppose to feel like? Do you know what love feels like, Jeno?”

Jeno blinks and without a doubt answers, “I do.” and his automatic thought is you. He will never stop falling in love with you.

Your best friend peers out the window and the empty room provides a serene silence on this beautiful day. The serious question now fills the air instead.

You gulp, the pure image of Jeno’s smile enters your mind. Love is Jeno, he holds your hand as if he’s always afraid that you’d let go. “I do.” And a gentle smile finally rests on your best friend’s face. You simply can’t help falling in love with Jeno and she knows.

“It’s like how a river flows into the sea.” Jeno stuffs his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. The analogy sounded better in his head, but he can see the gears turn.

“It’s just meant to be.” You add to your best friend’s heavy sigh.

“It’s time.” A knock startles the men in the room and Jeno stands up. He instructs his best friend to take a few deep breaths before heading out. Jeno lightly dusts his shoulders and bids his good friend a warm smile.

“It’s just meant to be.” Jeno whispers and gives him a firm pat, and his friend nods. A smile grows tenfold at Jeno’s last words.

Jeno has always been the person of the friend group who gives love advice before he’s ever felt it. It wasn’t for four years ago when he met you did he actually understand what he told others.

Love is more than emotional. It’s taking your hand in a large crowd so you’re not lost. It’s early evening dinners spent together. It’s active listening to the other person’s troubles. It’s simple, yet too complex to explain. Some things are meant to be.

Finally, you two rejoin with one another and form the orderly line that every pairing walks down the aisle in. Jeno takes your hand, as you offer your world to him. The charming toothy smile that he’ll never grow tired of seeing, your hands intertwine. You both seem anxious, not entirely sure why, you two aren’t the ones getting married.

But you two face the closed doors that are about to open. The soft gentle song begins to play, announcing the start of their beautiful journey.

Jeno gives your hand a small squeeze, “everything okay?” His whisper is almost inaudible.

“Not something I couldn’t fix. You?” You mumble back, the doors open and the groom starts his walk down the aisle.

“I do learn from the best.” From side eye peeks, you see the sly grin on your boyfriend’s charming face. “So yeah, not something I couldn’t fix.”

You both walk down the aisle in unison. The white rolled out sheet that has pink flower petals scattered across disappear under your feet with each step. Mutual friends sit in the crowd and their distant relatives all wear expressions of awe.

The music is drowned out when you two reach the altar, separating to join the different sides of the couple. Something inside you tells you not to look at Jeno standing on the other side, not yet.

Facing forward, each groomsmen and bridesmaid pairing flood in one by one. The final repetition of the song and your best friend is ready for her entrance. Her sheer veil drapes over her face, a large bouquet of pink roses in her hands, each step brings her closer to her future husband.

You’re immersed, completely close to tears just at the moving image of your best friend finding a love so true. Years after years, she’s been wandering the Earth set searching for a perfect partner. You felt a bit foolish to have found Jeno before she had found someone, wondering if you rushed too soon into a relationship.

Jeno has always felt unreal to you. There’s something new and old to love about him every day. You love that he just always knows what to say, remembering a moment in time when you asked, “shall I stay?” and for him to reply, “would it be a sin if you did?” for you, of course not.

You had promised yourself that you wouldn’t cry and everything was smooth sailing, until the vows and you consequently make eye contact with Jeno across the altar.

It’s as if time stopped, you two are in your own world. Jeno’s eyebrows rise up subtly in shock, like a whole waterfall of epiphanies washed over him. He sees you blinking back at him, as beautiful as ever in a formal gown and a small bouquet in your hands.

Jeno hears the vows, “for I can’t help falling in love... with...” and your mouths move in synchronization as you two mouth the last word silently to yourselves, “you.”

Your heart is ready to burst out of your chest and a tear happens to slip down your face. Not only are you incredibly happy for the newly weds, you’re soaring through the sky that Jeno loves you as much as you love him.

Jeno smiles sweetly at the droplet that draws down your cheek and your poor attempt to wipe it away. But he’s staring at you as if you’re all he’s ever wanted in love. Is this what his friend feels as they exchange rings? The realization that this is the only person you’re ever going to love.

He’s made up his mind. He’s going to marry you one day, like it’s set in stone. “I do.” Your friends’ futures are sealed and celebratory cheers break you two out of the trance.

“Congratulations.” You hug your best friend as tightly as you can before she walks down the aisle together with her new husband. Jeno steps forward, interlocking your fingers proudly and placing a small kiss on the back of your hand.

“I can’t wait to experience that all over again.” There’s a happiness in his step and the way his smile beams. “Only, it will be us exchanging vows at the altar.”

Perhaps Jeno is intoxicated from the joyous atmosphere of the wedding, but you don’t mind. You love him all the more to want to share something as special as today, “you aren’t ready for what I would say to you.”

Jeno chuckles, pinching your cheek lovingly. “In that case, you better make me cry, you big soft baby.”

You pretend that you’re offended, pouting a little before bursting into giggles with your boyfriend. There’s a million things you’d want to say to Jeno, but the one thing you’ll never forget to mention would be, “I love you, Lee Jeno.”

#kpopscape #nct-writers #neothestars #nct scenarios #jeno scenarios #nct fluff #nct imagines #lee jeno #nct #nct dream #nct dream scenarios #jeno #lee jeno scenarios

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quickspinner · 3 years

Text

The Magic of You - Part 2

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | AO3

This was supposed to be sweet and fun and easy, and it is the first two I hope, but it was not easy and now there’s a part 3 in the works, so. Oopsie. 😆

Some sexytimes in this one, slightly less off screen than usual but still not detailed or explicit, and should be fairly easy to skim past.

“You’re in trouble,” Juleka sighed, leaning an elbow on the table and looking at him through the curtain of her hair.

Luka didn’t answer her, humming as he replaced the strings on his instrument. He normally carried his gittern on his trips to the meadow, because it was small and light, but he had a mind to play his lute for Marinette tomorrow.

“Luka.” Juleka kicked his foot. “Say something.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Juleka.”

“Tell me you’re not falling for a girl who’s not even your species.”

Luka didn’t look up, but he knew she could see his lopsided grin. “Can’t. Sorry.”

“You barely know each other.”

Luka hummed. “I’ve never heard a song as beautiful as hers. I know her, Jules. I don’t know a lot about her, but I know her...deep down, the core of who she is. She’s sweet and kind and...vibrant…” He trailed off, lost in thought, until Juleka kicked him again.

“She’s a literal snake, Luka!”

Luka frowned, finally looking directly at her. “She’s not a snake.”

“Half-snake,” Juleka snorted, rolling her eyes.

“Don’t talk about her like that,” he said, and his clipped tone made Juleka’s eyes widen slightly. “She’s not half snake. She’s not half anything . She’s not a snake and she’s not human and she’s definitely not half snake-half human. Don’t make her sound like some kind of construct, like two things somehow got mashed together in some weird magical accident. She’s not a freak, she’s just...herself. A complete being meant to be as she is.” He turned back to his work. “And she’s beautiful, just like that.” He pressed his lips together, jaw tight.

Juleka sighed. “I’m sorry. You’re right.” Luka’s tension eased, and he glanced up at her. She got up from the table, placing her palms on it as she leaned over to look him in the eye. “Also, you’re hopeless.”

Luka chuckled as Juleka stalked off. “Fair.”

***

“Girl, you are in so much trouble.”

“I am not,” Marinette protested, lashing out with the end of her tail. Alya dodged the half-hearted blow and giggled.

“You liiiiiiike him,” Alya teased, twining around her friend with both tail and arms to hug her. “Admit it.”

“Like him? Yes.” Marinette leaned into the embrace for just a moment, and then slid away. “Of course I like him,” Marinette huffed, coiling back on herself with her nose in the air as Alya made herself into a loose coil in the corner, draping her upper half over the angled rock there for that purpose. “He’s sweet. Very polite. He’s interesting, and I want to know more about his magic. His music is beautiful. He’s handsome for a human.” Marinette shrugged. “Maybe I have a little crush, but that’s all.”

“Mmhmm. And if he was a naga?” Alya leaned her chin on her hand and gave a fangy grin. “Would it still be a little crush then?”

Marinette flushed deep red. She couldn’t deny that she had thought about it. Imagined what Luka would look like with a sleek black scaled body instead of legs, or what fangs would look like in his knowing smile. Maybe she’d fantasized a little bit about eyes in that exact shade of deep blue, with slit pupils slowly widening into near-circles as she teased and tortured him—

It hadn’t felt right, though, imagining him as something other than he was. The fangs spoiled the gentleness of his smile, and he would move differently if he had a tail, and she loved the soft, content expression in his eyes when he looked at her. Luka had a quiet strength of his own, but there was nothing predatory or dangerous about him. He was fearless without being threatening, and Marinette found that very, very attractive. There was none of that contentious, dominating element of naga courtship that she had never before managed to navigate. Luka had made it clear from the beginning that he respected her and what she could do. She’d never had to prove to him that she had the strength to bear and protect a clutch, nor establish that she would not be dominated or intimidated by a mate, and his own easy confidence in her presence convinced her of his strength—of power and character, if not of body. With a jolt, Marinette suddenly understood that without realizing it, or likely even intending it, Luka had slipped past her guard and straight into the sweetest part of courtship, the learning and the teaching, the teasing and the wooing, and she suddenly realized that this little crush she had been indulging might be more serious than she had meant to let it get.

“I’m in trouble,” Marinette sighed, sinking down onto her coils to mope. Alya patted her back sympathetically.

***

She felt a little shy the next time Luka appeared in her meadow. She tried to greet him with the same cheerfulness as usual, but he still looked at her with those knowing eyes, tilting his head slightly.

“Is everything all right?” Luka asked, leaning toward her a little. He reached to tuck a lock of her hair behind her pointed ear, and though the touch was light, the feel of it lingered on her cheek and ear.

“Yes,” she breathed, and then blushed, looking away. “I’m just...happy to see you.” She glanced back at him to see his reaction, and the grin that spread over his face was gratifying to say the least.

“I’m always happy to see you,” he said, and then seemed to hesitate. “In fact, I was wondering—would it be all right if I came to see you more often? Not for the magic. Just to see you. I’d...really like to spend more time with you, if that’s okay.”

Marinette held in a very undignified squeal, and gave him a broad smile, fangs fully in evidence. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” Luka smiled back at her. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Heart pounding, Marinette could feel a giggle bubbling up. She launched herself forward at striking speed and coiled loosely around Luka. He started at the sudden movement but otherwise just looked over his shoulder at her, chin tilting up as she raised herself to look at the instrument strapped to his back. “This is new,” she observed, fingers hovering over the wood. She felt shy of touching it without his permission and drew her hand back.

“I thought I’d play something different for you today,” he said, and she tilted her head slightly as she looked at him. His voice had gone deeper, and there was a pink tinge to his face, like he had been out in the sun too long. Except he wasn’t even out of the shadows of the trees yet, and…

She watched his throat bob as he swallowed, and felt a flutter in her belly.

“I like different,” she dared, sinking down again, but making no move to unwind from around him.

She saw his little tongue come out to wet his lips as he turned forward again. “Me too.” Marinette decided she liked that deep voice very much. She let the giggle escape this time, and swept around him to take his hands.

“Then come and do your work so you can play for me,” she said, slithering back and drawing him with her.

“I can do my work and play for you,” he smiled, following her lead willingly.

Marinette let go of him and made herself comfortable by the rock, but instead of lounging on it as he usually did, he took his instrument off and lowered himself onto the grass with his back to the rock, then tilted his chin at her in invitation. A little shyly, Marinette shifted herself to bring her torso next to him. “That’s better,” he murmured, his long fingers drawing the first notes from the strings, checking the tune. He paused to lay out his little line of crystals beside him, and Marinette leaned over him.

“Does the magic work with any kind?” she wanted to know.

“Not any kind, but many,” Luka replied, seeming unbothered by the way she had draped over him to look, even when she ever so casually rested a clawed hand on his chest to steady herself. “Some work better than others. Some regular customers have favorites that they like to reuse. Some mages find that certain types of crystals work better for them. I can work with most things, but some are easier than others. Mostly though, we just get whatever my sister, Juleka, can buy for us when the miner’s guild rep comes through.” He shrugged. “When it comes to business, I have to work with the supply.”

“That makes sense,” Marinette said, easing back. “Sorry. For interrupting.”

“No need,” he smiled, strumming again. “I have all day, and excellent company. I am in no hurry.” He held her gaze for a moment, and Marinette would have sworn that her heart stopped. She hadn’t realized she was still leaning so close to him. She drew back a little, and was glad when he shifted his gaze and let his eyes fall nearly shut as he sank into the music and the magic. She needed some time to compose herself, before she did anything else foolish. She would have to think of a way to get back at him for being so...so charming .

And she’d have plenty of chances, because he was coming to the meadow more often. He wanted to see her more. She gave an excited little wiggle that rippled down the length of her body, and then glanced at him to make sure he hadn’t noticed. His eyes were still closed, and she took a moment to admire him openly. Yes, he was plenty handsome, just as he was, and his aura radiated peace and comfort.

Maybe it wouldn’t be the life she had imagined for herself, but if it was like this...she crushed that thought before it could go any further. She reached for the workbasket she’d left on the ground beside the rock, and pulled out some leatherwork she’d been meaning to get done. She glanced at Luka one more time and smiled.

***

Juleka was right, and Luka knew it. He was hopeless. His hands shook slightly as he made the walk to the clearing on his next free day. This would be his first purely social visit to Marinette, without even the pretense of work to hide behind. He was here, purely and simply, because he wanted to see her, and he’d made sure she knew it, and now he would see...he thought he would see, if this was indeed the first step of shifting their relationship toward something more than friendship.

He put a hand against his heart, feeling it flutter in time with the butterflies in his stomach. This was what he had always loved about love, the way that it quickened his breath and sharpened his senses, but there was more to it than that with Marinette. She was so vibrant and alive, bubbling with curiosity and creativity and with such a unique way of looking at things—he could listen to her talk for hours and never get tired of her stories and her ideas, nor did he tire of answering her questions about himself and his family. He wanted her to know him, and he treasured up everything he learned about her in a heart that had begun to ache for her presence when they were apart.

And he thought...he thought that maybe she...

He took the last few steps from the trees into the meadow, and Marinette, draped over the great couch-like stone in the middle, immediately looked up. Her face lit up like one of his glowing power crystals the second she laid eyes on him, and his heart soared and he opened his arms instinctively even as he tried to quash the rising hope in him. Marinette’s scales whisked along the grass and then she was colliding with him hard enough to knock him off his feet. That surprised her, and they both went down in a heap. Marinette managed to catch him in her coils in such a way as to protect the instrument strapped on his back, and for a moment they both blinked at each other. Marinette smiled sheepishly, one fang poking out adorably between her lips. “Oops. I...forgot you were human.” She winced. “I mean, of course I know that, it’s just—well, we’re a lot harder to tip over.”

Luka began to laugh, one hand reaching up to cradle her cheek as he lost himself in her eyes, eyes that should have been strange and foreign but to him, were simply beautiful. “Forgiven.”

Marinette smiled and tightened her hold on his arms, and then Luka wasn’t exactly sure what happened. It reminded him of being on his mother’s boat when the water was what she called “sporty.” It only lasted a moment, though, and then he was sitting upright on the grass in the curve of Marinette’s serpentine body. He had a giddy moment of disorientation; he always forgot how big she was compared to him, because so much of her body was often hidden in the grass and she tended to carry herself lower to the ground, so that she was shorter than him. Clearly no matter how lost his heart was, his head still had some work to do on remembering that she was not human.

“Better?” she asked, sliding her hands down his arms and looking him over. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? Or your lute?”

“I’m fine,” Luka smiled, carefully catching her clawed hands as they began to slide away. “I’m happy to see you.”

“I’m happy to see you too,” she said shyly, and he felt her shifting behind him—curling closer, he thought, and tried not to jump as the tip of her tail curled up over his thigh. “What did you want to do today? Since you don’t have to work.”

“Anything,” Luka smiled. “What do you do when I’m not here invading your meadow?”

“Miss you,” she said coyly, and then blushed, and quickly unwound herself from him and slithered away. “Come on, it’s too cool here in the shade.”

Luka was frozen for a moment, caught off guard by her sudden boldness. Only when she curled around the base of the rock where he usually sat and propped her arms on it, peeking shyly at him over them, did he manage to move.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, Luka told himself as he got rather unsteadily to his feet . They were, after all, very different, and a summer romance, or even just a summer flirtation, might be the most that could ever happen between them.

Oh, but he wanted at least that much, if she was willing to give it to him, so he went to the rock and laid down on his belly, folding his own arms under his chin as he blinked slowly at her.

She giggled. “Now that’s almost the proper way to lounge on a sunning stone,” she teased him.

“Not so convenient for playing though,” Luka chuckled, and had to swallow at the way her eyes softened.

“Well,” she said, lifting up a little, and tracing random patterns on the stone with her fingers. “You don’t have to play, if you don’t want to. We could just...talk. Or enjoy the sun.”

Luka hummed. “You don’t seem like the type of person who just lounges in the sun.”

Marinette turned her nose up. “I”m a nagi. I spend a lot of time lounging in the sun, for your information.”

“Of course,” Luka agreed. “But you don’t just lounge, do you.” He leaned a little over the side of the rock and looked pointedly at a basket resting at the base. He looked up at Marinette and smirked, his face inches from hers.

Marinette’s cheeks went pink. “There’s nothing wrong with keeping busy.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else from you,” Luka smiled, propping his chin up in his fist.

“You think you know me so well,” Marinette pouted.

“Not yet, but I’m hoping to,” Luka said, his eyes on hers. “Will you show me what you’re working on?” he asked, breaking the gaze.

Blushing hard, Marinette bent to pick up the basket that had been sitting on the grass and set it up on the rock to show him the leatherwork she had brought to do in the sunny meadow. He watched her, content and happy as she described her plan for the jerkin that was in pieces in the basket, a gift for a dear friend.

“Will you...play for me?” she asked, settling down with her work at the foot of the rock. “If you want to. If you’d rather take a break for today, that’s okay too, I know you must play a lot so it’s completely up to you—”

“I would love to play for you,” he interrupted gently. “What would you like to hear?”

Marinette blushed. “Could you play...me? I want to hear...what you hear. If that’s okay. Like you did the first time you spoke to me.”

“I can’t play you as you were then,” he smiled. “But I could play as you are now, if you don’t mind me touching your mind as I did before. Your feelings, as I said, not your thoughts.” He saw her hesitation, and added, “Or I can play something else. It’s up to you.”

Marinette considered, and finally said, “I don’t mind. I’d like to hear it. I’d think I’d like for you to hear the way I feel right now.” She ducked her head a little, and Luka chuckled.

“Music is often simpler than words.”

“Especially when you use magic to sense emotions,” Marinette snorted, and stuck her tongue out at him. Luka laughed at the way it flickered in the air, but quickly sobered again.

“There is something I should probably tell you about that,” he said, looking away for a moment before he gathered his courage to meet her eyes again. “When I first meet someone, I have to be tranced to hear anything, and I have to work to find their song out of all the ones I’m hearing. But, the more I get to know somebody, and to know their song, the easier it is for me to pick it out. I’m already very aware of you just from coming here so often. Eventually, if we keep spending time together, I won’t have to trance at all to hear you.”

Marinette seemed to take that in. “So...you’ll be able to read my emotions all the time?”

“If I listen, yeah,” Luka nodded. “I can try not to, but it’s...difficult sometimes.” He felt his face flush. “Especially if it’s someone I feel strongly about. Sometimes I don’t realize that I’m doing it.” He hesitated. “Is that...does it bother you? I mean, if it’s a problem, I can...I can stay away. I’ll understand, if you would rather not—”

Marinette placed one clawed hand over his, and he stopped, swallowing, at the way she was looking at him. “I don’t want you to stay away,” she told him, low and earnest. “That’s not what I want at all. This sensing, it’s a part of you, so I’m not afraid of it. I trust you.”

Luka turned his hand over to take hers, and lifted it to press his lips against her palm. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Not everyone is so understanding.”

Marinette blushed, and butted her head against his shoulder, hiding her face for a moment.

Luka cleared his throat. “Shall I play for you now?”

Marinette looked up, and smiled shyly. “Please.”

He settled back, played his key tune, and sank into the magic of the meadow and of Marinette beside him. He found her song in the meadow’s symphony, and began to play along with it—not to replicate it, exactly, for it had a richness that he didn’t think his simple instrument could capture, but to follow the flow of her feelings and the underlying melody of Marinette herself. He smiled, slightly, pleased at what he sensed from her. Happiness, hopefulness, affection, and a sparkling thread of nervousness and anticipation that matched the feeling buzzing along his own veins.

He lost himself in the music and the energy of Marinette and this, her place, and began to explore the way his own melded with it. His attention returned to Marinette when the tune of her mood shifted. He shifted with it, following the new feeling with his music, and he found himself playing something richer, warmer, more rhythmic—his eyes flew open wide and his trance shattered. He looked at Marinette, but she was looking very intently at the embroidery in her hands, seemingly not paying attention to him at all...but he could see her peek at him from under her hair and away.

“What were you thinking about just then?” he asked, as if compelled, though he knew it was none of his business.

Marinette flushed a deep red, and he watched in fascination as it spread down her neck and down the exposed V of skin above her collar—he snapped his eyes back up to her face and swallowed, and hoped she hadn’t caught the trend of his gaze.

“I wasn’t thinking about anything,” she lied blatantly, and then her eyes darted toward him, giving him a look through her lashes that quickened his pulse. “I was just...admiring your playing.”

Oh . He licked his lips unconsciously, and saw her own tongue flicker out as she watched him out of the corner of her eye.

He cleared his throat and put his instrument hastily away. “May I see how it’s coming along?” he asked, sliding over to the edge of the rock to get a look at her work. Marinette rose up, coiling her body under her so that she was effectively sitting beside him, and let him admire the pieces. If he leaned a little closer than necessary, she didn’t seem to mind, and they spoke in quiet, intimate tones, even though the clearing was empty besides themselves.

It seemed hardly any time had passed when Luka looked up at the sun and sighed. “I must go,” he told Marinette regretfully. “I will come again—if you still wish me to.”

“I do,” Marinette replied with a smile, making no move away from him, though they had been sitting quite close.

Luka’s heartbeat quickened, and his gaze flicked down to her full, pretty lips. With an effort, he tore himself away, turning to pick up his lute and strap it to his back. “Then I shall come as soon as may be,” he said, picking up her hand instead and cradling it for a moment in his own. Farewell for now, Marinette. Be safe, until I see you again.”

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?” Marinette grinned, baring her fangs.

Luka chuckled. “Nothing in this forest could keep me from coming back to you,” he told her boldly, and smiled at her blush. “Until then.” He squeezed her hand, and got to his feet, giving her a little bow as he took his leave. He felt her eyes on him until he disappeared in the trees. Only then did he fully let loose the dreamy smile he’d been trying to keep under control. When he pressed his hand over his heart, it was pounding instead of fluttering.

***

Luka was true to his word, and came often now. The days without him found Marinette pouting and discontented, though she always had plenty to do. She spent hardly any time in her lair, but that was hardly remarkable in summer, when her meadow was so pleasant and beautiful, full of growing things, and beginning to show the marks of Luka’s presence even in his absence. She treasured those little proofs, the marks of his heavy boots in the grass, or the wood shavings from his whittling while he spoke to her, the quill plectrums he occasionally left behind.

She was growing more foolish by the day, and yet Marinette couldn’t quite help herself. The more time she spent with Luka, the more she wanted to coil around him, rub up against him, tempt him into touching her with those rough fingers that played so beautifully.

Luka didn’t seem to mind, and even seemed to welcome her attentions as much as he was able, though she doubted he really understood the signals she was sending. Still, the way his hands brushed against her scaled body in little, encouraging touches spurred her to further boldness, and no matter how often she got flustered and retreated, he never teased her about it.

She wanted him. She thought she might...love him. Even Alya had stopped teasing her, watching her now with a worried expression.

If she wanted the life she always thought she’d have, the life everyone expected her to have, the smart thing to do would be to send Luka away.

But Marinette couldn’t...and part of her wondered if that was her answer.

***

“Luka,” Marinette gasped, looking at the bolt of soft grey doeskin leather he’d laid in her arms. “This is beautiful.”

Luka watched her face as she touched the soft leather, basking in her happiness. “You like it? It’s yours. I brought it for you.”

Her lovely mouth opened, but nothing came out, and Luka’s grin widened.

“Your smile is all the thanks I need,” he told her, curling his fingers under her chin. “You have a beautiful smile.”

She blushed, and Luka held her gaze for just a moment before dropping his. He picked up her hand and kissed her palm, and then pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist, feeling her pulse flutter against his lips. Her hand curved to cup his cheek, and he leaned into her touch, dragging his fingertips lightly down the inside of her arm.

“I should put this somewhere safe,” Marinette murmured, and Luka made no protest as she moved away, only sighing as he lounged back on the sunning rock. His instrument and packs were set aside for the moment, but for once, he didn’t want to play—only to listen as he watched Marinette pause on her way back to examine some of her flowers. He admired through half-closed eyes the colors in her serpent scales and the graceful arc she made as she bent to look at the blossoms. He started slightly as she made one of those quick movements that always surprised him, doubling back on herself to glide back to him over the grass.

“You know,” she said, rising up around the sloped side of the rock where he was leaning, so that he had to look up at her. Her hair fell around her face and tickled his temples. “This is my sunning stone you’re always lounging all over.”

“Perhaps you should come and join me then,” Luka suggested, raising his eyebrows slightly. “I think there’s room for us both, if you don’t mind being close.”

She seemed to consider that for a moment, and then she shifted up and over the rock, turning until her human torso pressed next to his, and the rest of her body followed, draping beside and around him. He shifted the little bit he could to make more room for her, and watched in fascination the play of muscle rippling along her length as she tucked her body next to and around him.

Carefully, moving slowly, Luka slid his arm around her human waist, tugging her nearer, and she relaxed against his side with a quiet hum of contentment. Her slit pupils went wider, rounder, as his fingers stroked her lightly.

“Not so bad, is it?” Luka asked with a smile, and she pressed closer against him, smiling back.

“I could get used to it,” she sighed, and laid her head on his shoulder. “You’re warm.” She poked him in the belly with a knuckle. “Because you stole my sunning rock.”

“It’s a good rock,” Luka chuckled, and then arched up slightly with a gasp as Marinette’s hand slid across his chest and she settled more fully against him, making a sleepy noise. He raised his eyebrows. “Marinette?”

“Ssssleepy,” she hissed, and he bit his lip, though his chest shook under her with his chuckle.

“You should have told me you were so tired,” he chided softly, though he didn’t think she would hear him.

“Not tired,” she mumbled. “Just warm. Comfy. Sleepy.”

Hmm , Luka thought. Must be a naga thing . Not that he minded. He was more than happy to cuddle with her, feeling privileged to hold her as she slept. He could think of worse ways to spend a beautiful afternoon than napping in the sun with his...whatever they were. But then, whatever he was to her, she was his beloved, and he was only waiting for the right moment to tell her so.

Her steady, even breathing told him that now was not that moment.

Chuckling, Luka dropped his free hand to fish in his clothes for a handkerchief. He finally found it, and let his head fall carefully back against the rock. He put the handkerchief over his face to shield himself from the sun, and sighed, stroking Marinette’s waist gently, fingers running over skin and scales. It was pleasant here in the sun, with Marinette soft and supple against him. She roused slightly, shifted, and swatted at his hand.

“Stop that,” she complained sleepily.

“Sorry.” Luka stilled his hand. “Ticklish?” He was close enough to sleep that her song teased the edge of his consciousness, sultry and... oh —his eyes flew open under his cloth, and the song slipped away. It didn’t matter though because he felt the vibrations of Marinette’s laughter in his chest, as her hand slid teasingly down to rest lower on his belly.

“No,” she murmured. “Definitely not ticklish.”

He swallowed. “Oh.” She giggled again, and he felt her tongue flick against his neck, and her nose nuzzled his jaw.

“You smell good,” she sighed, cuddling closer, and then she was asleep again.

Luka picked up her hand, moving it back up to his chest and breathing slowly as he tried to calm himself after that unexpected discovery. He would have to be more careful how he touched her. He had no idea that he was touching a sensitive place. He was lucky she hadn’t shoved him off the rock, but...she hadn’t. He’d been touching her intimately, turning her on, and she hadn’t done anything more than tease him about it. She hadn’t even really made him move his hand away, just insisted he stop moving.

He was glad she was asleep, because his heart was suddenly pounding beneath her hand. She shifted slightly even as he thought it, which didn’t help matters. He closed his eyes and did a breathing exercise, shifting his focus to his magic, calling the song of the meadow into his mind. It took some time, but he managed to calm his body, and then, focusing on Marinette’s deep breathing and the scent of her hair, to drift off into a light doze himself.

He woke at the soft brush of the handkerchief sliding off his face. Blinking, he found Marinette’s face inches from his. She was propped up on the slope of the rock next to him, but she was half on top of him, folded arms leaning on his chest as she looked at him. He smiled slowly. “Hi.”

Marinette giggled. “You snore.”

Luka snorted, amused. “So would you, with your head tilted back that way.” He made a face as he tilted his head, stretching his stiff neck. “Ow.”

Marinette made a sympathetic noise, and nuzzled his jaw, which woke him up considerably and reminded him of what he’d been thinking before he fell asleep. “It was a lovely nap, for me,” she said. “You’re very comfortable.”

“High praise,” Luka sighed, and smiled at her, taking a breath as he gathered his courage. “May I ask you something? About nagas. I’ve been reading, but...human texts, you know. Biased.”

She made an inquisitive noise, toying with the lacing of his shirt. “Ask.”

“Do nagas kiss?” he asked, and fought to hide his amusement as Marinette’s eyes widened slightly in surprise and her cheeks pinked. She looked away for just a moment and then fixed her gaze on him, shifting a bit higher so that her face was level with his, leaning an elbow by his head. She was so close he could have counted the pale, barely-there freckles across her nose, if he could’ve made himself look away from her eyes.

“Yes,” she chuckled, “But maybe not quite like you.” She winked at him and flicked her long tongue out, and he felt his own cheeks flush.

“Good to know,” he said, and had to clear his throat.

“Why?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “Do you want to kiss me?”

If he hadn’t been blushing before, he would be now, but he kept his eyes on her and admitted, “I really want to kiss you.”

Marinette’s eyes widened, and so did the slits of her pupils, and he felt her go tense all along her long body, everywhere it was pressed against his. Moving slowly, he brought his hand up and cupped her cheek. A quick tremor went down her body, and her hands flexed against his chest as she leaned into his touch. “May I?” he asked,

She nodded, and he drew her to him, leaning up to meet her as much as he could while she was still leaning on his chest. He kissed her lightly, brushing his lips against hers, and then kissed her again, still softly but firmer and more lingering. He felt an intense thrill at the feel of her fangs behind those plush lips and kissed her harder without meaning to. He drew back, relishing the sound of the soft click.

He watched, enchanted, as Marinette’s eyes fluttered open and she looked at him, a shy smile curling her lips. Luka was fighting the grin that wanted to spread from ear to ear, trying to keep it to something sane and not frightening, when Marinette’s face fell slightly. Cold fear settled in his stomach as her brow furrowed.

“Humans,” she paused. “Humans kiss family, right? Friends? It’s not—I mean—you don’t—”

Quickly Luka picked up her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it. “Humans kiss friends or family like this,” he murmured, and then leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Or this. Or…” He kissed her temple, and then her forehead. “Like that. But this—” He kissed her lips again, harder and longer than before, the hand still on her cheek sliding back into her hair to tilt her to a better angle. “That,” he breathed, “is for lovers. Or...people hoping to become lovers. Courting couples.”

Marinette stared at him for a moment, cheeks pink and lips reddened, and he watched that beautiful mouth as it opened slightly and then formed to make her quiet, “ Oh. ” Her tongue flickered nervously, distractingly. “Are we courting?”

Luka forced his gaze back up to her eyes. “I am definitely courting you,” he said with a grin, and then sobered as he watched her flustered reaction, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly, and the sudden, restless shifting of her serpentine body. “Should I stop?” he asked, as gently as he could, though his pulse was pounding in his ears.

“No,” she whispered, leaning closer, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards. “Don’t stop.”

Relief made him urgent as he pulled her back and kissed her again, wrapping an arm around her back to keep her close. He felt her own arms slide up around his neck, her body pressing him back against the stone. Her tongue flickered against his lips, and he parted his lips to return the gesture. Her tongue filled his mouth before he could do anything, and he made a rather embarrassing noise. Marinette drew back and looked at him, adorably pink except for her reddened lips. “Sorry,” she said breathlessly. “Did I—”

“You’re fine,” he told her. “You’re amazing. Do it again?”

Giggling, Marinette kissed him again, and this time her tongue flickered in his mouth and made him chuckle. “Hold still?” he asked, the next time they broke, and Marinette did as he pressed his mouth to hers, and then slipped his own tongue inside her mouth, mindful of her fangs. The noise she made and the way her hands flexed against his chest were ample compensation for the danger as far as Luka was concerned. She held absolutely still until he withdrew, and then she came alive with a small whimper, wrapping her arms around his neck as her body slid into his lap to bring her closer.

The kissing went on, a soft, slow, sensual exploration. Luka flinched and Marinette froze at the taste of blood on her tongue.

“Oh no,” Marinette gasped, brushing a thumb over his lip and looking at the bright smear on her thumb in horror.

Luka just laughed quietly. “It’s okay, it’s just a scratch.”

“But I hurt you,” she said, clearly upset. Luka caught her hand and twined his fingers through hers, reaching up to cup her cheek in his other hand.

“We could as easily say I hurt myself,” he teased. “It’s not as if I wasn’t an active participant. It’s okay. It’s probably going to happen. I don’t mind. I think it would feel too much like a dream otherwise.”

Marinette just stared at him unhappily. Luka sighed, and then smiled at her smiling as he lifted the fingers of one hand to his lips, and hummed a quiet tune. In a flash of blue light, the cut was gone.

“See?” he grinned. “Now will you kiss me again?”

Marinette moved towards him, but hesitantly.

There was nothing hesitant in the way Luka kissed her, though, and after a moment she melted back into him with a helpless noise that shot straight down his spine.

It was hard, leaving her that day, even as he whispered promises to come again soon between sweet, soft kisses from already bruised lips. He could hear, faintly, her song, swelling with her joy—joy to be with him , to be cared for by him, and his own soul sang with it.

Juleka took one look at him when he got home and groaned. “Don’t tell me, I don’t want to hear it,” she grumbled.

“Oh, it’s so romantic though,” Rose sighed.

Luka ignored them both.

***

There was a lot of kissing, after that day. They spent hours tangled together on the big rock, sleeping, kissing, and talking in turn. Sometimes he teased her and Marinette chased him playfully around the meadow, reveling in his laugh and the joy in his voice. He brought a ball one day and set up a frame with sticks, and they had a day full of laughter as they tried to adapt the game he knew into something she could play. He kept tripping over her tail and eventually they just ended up tangled together in the grass, laughing so hard they were breathless even before the kissing started.

He brought her more gifts. It was a custom among courting humans, he said, which made Marinette blush when she thought of the gifts she had left him before they officially met. He’d brought a package of his favorite sweets for her to try, some dye plants that grew in one of the other places he drew magic from, and flowers that she had never seen before from a garden he’d visited. All of his gifts were thoughtful and precious, and Marinette felt rather spoiled.

She came up with a plan, and worked eagerly on it on the days he didn’t visit her. He’d complained to her before that the pouch he used for his magic crystals had a habit of slipping from his belt if he wasn’t paying attention, and she had noticed it was rather worn. Marinette was delighted at the way Luka’s jaw dropped when she presented him with a new leather pouch, with sturdy loops to hang on his belt and a fold over flap that buckled so he didn’t have to remove it to open it. She had embroidered it all over in the blues and greens he seemed to favor. She had only been slightly annoyed when the silly man wouldn’t stop kissing her long enough to put it on.

It gave her a little thrill to see him wearing it now, and the little smile he wore whenever he opened it or stowed his crystals away made her heart flutter happily, especially when he looked up from it to gaze softly at her.

That almost always led to more kissing, and that was just a bonus.

They were napping together on the rock again, after trading lazy kisses and touches that had been growing steadily bolder. She no longer moved away when his rough fingers played along the transition between scales and skin, setting her nerves alight, and he permitted her touch anywhere she dared to bestow it, whether with her hands or lips or her body. She quite enjoyed teasing him, and he made it clear that he enjoyed it too. She took a special delight in the way he tensed when she slid across his lap, and the way his big hands flexed on her, the slight jump of his hips. Not that she was any better when he stroked his big hands along her body, looking at her with an intensity in his eyes that melted her on the spot.

Marinette woke first, and roused herself with a stretch, before settling back against Luka’s chest. She had made him a little pillow to go behind his neck, to keep him from hurting himself in their little naps, and he wasn’t snoring now. She slipped away the bit of cloth he always covered his face with and admired the lines of his nose and jaw. She reached up to play with the strands of his hair. In sleep like this, he looked so delicate.

Delicate he may seem to her physically, but the strength of his character was more than enough to satisfy both her heart and her instincts. Those instincts were growing harder to resist by the day. Alya had given Marinette a horrified look the other day, when she found Marinette humming and sewing pillows to line the rock hollow where she slept—pillows that a naga had no need of.

“I like the feeling,” Marinette lied with a nonchalant shrug.

“You’re nesting ,” Alya had accused with narrowed eyes.

“Don’t be silly,” Marinette had sniffed, and turned her back, and refused to answer anything else.

Because if Alya knew...oh if Alya knew the kind of urges Marinette was fighting when she was with Luka...well.

Marinette reached out one clawed finger and ran the back of it down his temple and across his cheek, causing him to stir slightly. His hips raised up against her, where she was draped across him, and he moaned softly. Marinette slid her body up his and kissed him, softly at first, and then deeply when he woke and began to respond to her, his hands going to her waist, and then sliding up to her ribs. He moved against her again, and his arms tightened around her.

Marinette pulled back, pushing Luka back down as he made to follow her. He blinked at her sleepily, lids heavy with sleep and, she was sure, desire.

He desired her.

“I could kill you,” she murmured, her fingertips stroking lightly down his face. His eyes, though half-closed eyes, were focused on her. Luka lifted his chin so that her fingers slid down onto his throat. She felt his pulse under her fingers, only the thinnest of barriers between her claws and his life’s blood pounding through his veins. If she slashed, he would not even be able to sing himself well. Yet he lay there, calm and unafraid, yearning towards her instead of cringing away. Gods, she wanted him.

Marinette’s breath quickened and her pupils broadened. She laid her forehead against his and her tongue flicked out of its own accord to scent the scent air between them. “Fool,” she whispered harshly, with just the slightest tightening of her fingers.

Luka chuckled, and she felt the vibration of his voice against her fingers. “So I’ve been told.”

Did he know what he was doing to her? Should she tell him? This was dangerous territory, far more than the harmless flirting, the little chases and the touches that could mean anything or nothing, even the kissing that said they were more than friends, even more than the spiraling tension between them that made her insides heat and made her crave his hands and mouth on her. She couldn’t let him make gestures like this as if it were nothing.

Especially when she didn’t want it to be nothing. She didn’t want it to be meaningless. It was wrong of her to let this happen. She didn’t need to mark him to satisfy the desire burning between them. She didn’t need to claim him, but...

Even as she thought these things she was lowering her head. She felt him gasp as she pressed her lips to the hollow of his throat. She shifted slightly, opening her mouth and feeling her fangs come forward to hover over his skin.

He was breathing hard beneath her, but she scented no fear on him, only…

What she scented made her eyes dilate further, her coils shift and tighten with the urge to wrap around him. As she struggled with herself, Luka’s hand slid up from her waist, up her back to twist his fingers into her hair as his body arched against her, and her tongue flickered again, bringing in that intoxicating scent. Luka moaned as it tickled his skin.

“You should be frightened,” she breathed against neck.

“I’m terrified,” he rasped, and his thick voice sent a shiver through her. “You frighten me more than anything in this life.” She felt him swallow. “Because I love you, and the more time I spend with you, the more terrified I am that I will never be happy without you again.”

Marinette keened into his neck, a shiver going down her whole body. “I want to keep you,” she admitted roughly. “I shouldn’t, but I want to.”

“You already have me,” he said roughly, his grip on her hair tightening. “I don’t need promises. We don’t have to decide forever right now.” The hand on her waist moved away, and he gently pulled her clawed hand from his throat and twined his fingers through hers. “I want you. If you want me—”

She surged up, fangs finally settling back, and kissed him fiercely, filling his mouth with her tongue. “Yes,” she panted against him, finally letting herself wrap around his waist.

“Then we need to get the hell off this rock,” Luka laughed into her mouth, tugging on her hair to bare her throat where he could lavish kisses along it. He nipped her lightly with his blunt teeth and she jolted and let out a moan of her own. “Right now.”

Marinette giggled, and flipped them off onto the soft grass, cushioning him with her body.

“What shall I do with you?” she teased, hovering over him, and her tongue flicked out rapidly, tickling his ear and the line of his jaw and the hollow of his throat. He let out a little moan.

“Anything. Everything. Just don’t rip my clothes,” he chuckled. “I’m going to have to walk home eventually.”

Marinette laughed, rising up above him as she tugged loose the laces holding her vest closed. “What makes you think you’re still going to be able to walk?” she asked, as she slid the garment off her shoulders and dropped it carelessly in the grass.

Luka, staring up at her, could only make a strangled noise in reply.

Marinette swooped down and kissed him, pressing herself into him as she buried one hand in his hair and drew the other firmly down his chest to rest low on his belly. “Now take these off,” she ordered, claws flexing against the cloth. “Or I make no promises about ripping them.”

Luka caught her face in his hands and pulled her back into a fierce kiss that had her moaning against him. “Let me up,” he growled, and she did, sliding off of him and backing up until he had the space to stand and unlace his shirt and pants. Marinette watched him undress hungrily, his eyes burning her in return. Yet, when he held his arms out for her, she felt suddenly shy, and glided up to him, not with reluctance, but with something like reverence.

“You are beautiful,” she sighed, fingers tracing the lines of muscle down his chest. She sank lower as she ran her fingers along his hips and down his legs, fascinated. “You’re shaking,” she observed, tongue flicking out, but she still tasted no fear on him. She looked up at him as his fingers combed through her hair, and the look he was giving her sent her own pupils wide and round.

Luka’s knees buckled and he sank to the grass in front of her, catching her face to pull her to him in a fierce, hungry kiss. One hand reached to stroke the place on her waist where scales met skin, while the other guided her hand back to his leg. She pressed her fingers into his warm, soft skin, mindful of her sharp claws. He was strong here, muscle hard beneath his skin, flexing under her touch as he moved against her. Her head tipped back and her lips parted, and he moaned as she rubbed up against him. She sank back in the grass with a needy whine, pulling him with her.

There was some fumbling, and some adjustment, and some breathless, helpless giggles that melted into messy, deep kissing, but when they got it right, when they found the rhythm...it was magic. Shuddering and writhing, Marinette remembered just in time to dig her claws into the ground instead of his shoulders, and the cry he made seemed to sink into her soul, and she had just enough wit left to wonder if it was the magic of his voice or just the sound of his pleasure that shot through her, before she lost herself completely with a cry of her own.

Her coils loosened and relaxed where they had tightened around him, and slipped down to puddle inelegantly on the ground. The two of them lay in a heap, quivering and panting. They squirmed around until they could hold each other, and then gave into the weakness, laying there in blissful contentment.

Marinette reached up, and brushed a hand along her neck. The skin there was tender, but not broken. Not marked. Not claimed.

Of course not.

But she felt claimed, when Luka’s eyes fluttered open and fixed on her, and he smiled. She felt bound, as he lifted himself up on one quivering arm, to bend and press his lips softly to hers. He bent to rest his forehead against hers, and it felt like home.

“I think I love you too,” she breathed, and he pulled back just enough to blink sleepy eyes at her and smile. He lifted one of her hands and kissed the knuckle of each finger, and then pressed his lips to her palm, and then pressed her palm to his heart as he leaned closer and kissed her tenderly.

If she stayed with him, she would never have the kind of mate bond that her parents had, that Alya and Nino had. There would always be compromises, always. Challenges.

She didn’t want to think about that. Luka had said she didn’t have to, so Marinette wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself into him. He curled his arms around her and returned the embrace, squeezing her tight. Marinette closed her eyes and tilted her chin up, and Luka nuzzled under it, kissed her neck, and bit lightly at her already tender skin. For a moment, she let herself pretend that the soft press of his blunt teeth meant more than it could.

“I love you,” he sighed against her skin. “My Marinette.”

Fiction Master Post

#quickspins #the magic of you #lukanette #lukanette endgame #endgame lukanette #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #pro lukamari #fantasy au #naginette #mage!luka #nsfwish fic

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jasontoddiefor · 3 years

Note

Anakin/Vader, time travel, emperor Vader, possessive behavior, hurt Anakin Skywalker

Anon, I need you to know that you’re too powerful:

He looked like Padmé.

Anakin couldn’t believe that out of the hundred thousand different thoughts rushing through his head right now, his mind had to latch onto that one. The boy’s eyes were his, or at least similar enough to his on the good days. He didn’t have too many of those nowadays, but today had been one. Bright blue, light as the sky Anakin saw so seldomly anymore. His nose and cheeks were as round as Padmé’s, soft and kind, even when he looked like a warrior.

Like a Jedi.

The boy’s training had been limited and Anakin mourned the fact that he hadn’t been able to teach and guide him, that he hadn’t ever been able to run his fingers through his hair and wave the strands to a Padawan braid.

“You are Luke,” Anakin said. He knew right off the bat that this was his son despite never having seen a holo of him.

Vader had been trying to use knowledge of their child against him to make Anakin more willing to go along with his schemes. Anakin had been promised recordings, information about his possible whereabouts, and again, more holos. He had resisted until now, but he didn’t think he’d be able to deny Vader again now that he had seen Luke.

He was perfect.

All Anakin had ever imagined of a child born to him and Padmé.

“Yes,” Luke replied. “I- We’re here to rescue you.”

His eyes drifted away from Anakin’s face only once, down to the bruises around his neck, on his hips. Dressed in soft silk, Anakin knew that he didn’t look much like the Jedi that Luke had probably expected or at least hoped to find. It hurt him to have disappointed the boy not only this once but twice. Where once he had been glad when Vader told him that Obi-Wan had stolen their child, now he was almost angry at his old Master. He should have told Luke the truth so he wouldn’t have to be devasted learning his father had turned into a monster or-

Well.

There were a lot of words for what exactly Anakin was and none of them fit quite well.

“How did you get here past the guards?” Anakin asked his child.

He was only a few years older than Luke. Sometimes he couldn’t quite believe how much time had passed since the Force had dropped him right in front of Vader. Often enough, he felt close enough to his past, the Clone Wars, the Jedi-

And then there were moments like this where he felt so grounded in the present, the darkness, that it hurt. He tried to stay calm. He didn’t want to chase Luke away when his eyes flickered. The last thing he needed was learning how weak any iteration of his father truly was.

“We have a mole in the guards. They helped us out,” Luke answered quickly. “We don’t have much time, Vader is currently out, but he’ll return soon.”

Despite the anxiety Luke was feeling, he was much calmer than anyone else in his situation would be. He had come to rescue Anakin despite having no real reason to. He didn’t need Anakin and yet he had staged this undertaking.

Luke was smart and brilliant and Anakin found that he agreed with his mirror image.

Luke would make a great Emperor someday.

“I can’t leave,” Anakin said, shaking his head. “We are connected.”

So much more than anyone could ever possibly understand, not even their child.

“You don’t have to stay with him. Nobody- nobody else knows. They think he just held you capture for years, kept you young through some Force techniques. Nobody would have to know of his identity. You could help us fight back. Rebuild the Republic, the Jedi.”

Luke spoke with growing desperation. His heart was so big and he cared so much for a man he had only ever talked to in his dreams. Anakin swung his legs over the side of the bed, chains clinging against one another. While he had hated them at first, he had grown used to them. They were almost a comfort, grounding. Since the shackles had been replaced with something much kinder to his skin, they also didn’t irritate his ankles anymore and Anakin didn’t have to watch for injuries.

He walked over to Luke, who watched him with wide eyes. Ever so gently, Anakin put a hand on his cheek. It was the first time in years that he had touched another living being that wasn’t Vader. It was so much warmer than he remembered.

“I’m so sorry, Luke,” Anakin whispered. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“What, what are you talking about-“

Anakin only smiled sadly when suddenly the temperature of the room dropped. Luke‘s head whipped around, finding the dark shadow that loomed over both their fates. Anakin used to spit curses at Vader, ridicule the added height of his prosthetics, but even he couldn’t deny their effect. Vader towered over most people in any room, now over them both.

Luke didn’t waste any time. His eyes darted from Vader to Anakin, then he quickly turned on his lightsaber, a bright green blade, and cut through Anakin’s chains.

“Run!” he ordered. “I will hold him off.”

His dear, foolish, brave son.

“Oh, Luke,” Anakin just said. “There is no use in fighting.”

He had learned that long ago when he had decided to kneel in front of his Emperor, not even glancing at the beheaded body of his former Mentor.

“I- I don’t understand,” Luke said, terror still running through his mind, freezing him and urging him to move at the same time.

“You will in the future, my son,” Vader said. His voice was dark, low, so very different from Anakin. In moments like this, it was almost possible for Anakin to pretend that they weren’t the same person, that they hadn’t been born in the desert in the dead of night.

“Well done, Anakin,” Vader praised him and called him closer across their bond. Anakin didn’t hesitate to walk over to his other half, leaned into Vader’s touch when his other half tilted his chin up, gold meeting blue, dominating it until, eventually, the gold overtook him.

This was never a question of Anakin’s strength, merely of his devotion.

Good, Vader purred. All mine. Our son will do well, so eager to protect.

Anakin exhaled.

“It’s over, Luke,” he told their son. Vader’s hand resided low on his back, promise and threat all the same. Anakin didn’t know what it even said about himself anymore that he would rather their son disappear into his quarters now so that Anakin could welcome his other half back.

Luke’s eyes widened in horror.

“You can stop fighting now.” Anakin couldn’t see any disgust, only sadness, determination too, perhaps.

And Anakin was so, so sorry.

He knew what the Rebels were telling each other, of course. Anakin’s appearance had been sudden, Vader’s coup entirely unexpected at that point and the manner by which Vader had presented Anakin to the Imperial Court after spoke miles about their relationship.

His Imperial Consort, Knight Skywalker.

“I’m sorry,” Anakin apologized again.

He stepped closer to Luke, carefully reached for his trembling hands, well aware Vader would keep their son from hurting him. Anakin deactivated Luke’s lightsaber and clipped it to the chains wrapped around his waist. They weren’t meant to hold a weapon, but they did well enough. Anakin hadn’t held a lightsaber since they had killed Sidious together and he was keenly aware of Vader’s eyes on him, his mind in him.

Anakin had a chance.

He didn’t take it.

“Just accept it,” he told Luke and pulled his son, suddenly feeling so much older, into his arms as they slowly sunk to the ground. “All will be well.”

Vader would ensure it.

#star wars #anakin skywalker #darth vader #luke skywalker #vaderkin #yes im using that as s ship tag #i deserve that #fanfic #anon #ask

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

Text

Reunions

Request: Hi! Can i request an imagine where reader is Sirius daughter, and older than Harry and she’s like an older sister to him, She promides Sirius that she’d always protect him, as he couldn’t when he was away. Probably she gets hurt all the time by doing this, but she doesn’t care. If you want, can you make her date Fred or something, and you can add some angst, or whatever. Develop as u wish, hope u like it! Sorry if it’s not very clear! xx

A/N: Here it is @play-morezeppelin ! Thank you for your request, I hope you like it! I really enjoyed writing, I’ll admit I struggled to start it but once I got into, I couldn't really stop. I hope I’ve done your request justice - I had to have a reunion between Sirius and the reader!

Pairings: Fred Weasley x Reader (romantic), Harry Potter x Reader (platonic), Sirius Black x Reader (familial).

Warnings: swearing, angst, some violence

Word count: 3.3k

A letter from your father, that was all you had left of him. A letter asking you, begging you, to watch out for baby Harry.

For the first fourteen years of your life, you are unable to due to Harry being raised by his muggle aunt and uncle, but also being far too young. You needed to be raised yourself.

Your arrival at Hogwarts introduced you to the Weasley twins. Fred and George quickly became your best friends from the moment you were sorted into Gryffindor. You also had to be honest with yourself, this last year you had been catching yourself looking at Fred in a different light; looking at him as more than a friend. It felt natural with Fred – to go from a friendship to a relationship, as if it was always meant to be. You only hope that he felt the same way.

The arrival of Harry Potter at Hogwarts and his sorting into Gryffindor had made you miss your father more than usual. Your memories of Harry were few and far between, visiting him often as a baby but never seeing him again after the unfortunate deaths of his parents – of your godparents.

A friendship is quickly formed between you and the boy you once thought of as family. Helped along by your friendship with the Weasley twins. Your friendship group starts to blend across year groups and there isn’t a thing you would do to change it, cherishing every single friendship between the trio: Harry, Ron and Hermione.

Through his first year at Hogwarts, you had become somewhat of a rock for Harry. Someone he could come to if he wanted to speak freely about his worries or his parents. You wished you could help him; through every new bit of information he found about his parents, he ended up grieving them all over again. He would come to you when that happened; Harry felt an almost kinship with you – he couldn’t explain it, he just knew that you would understand.

If you had one complaint about Harry and his friends though, it was that they could not, for one second, keep themselves out of trouble. By the end of their first year, you had lost count on your hands of how many injuries you had gotten trying to protect them. Their second year was no different; you had no choice to forgive Harry after had apologised over and over for getting you hurt in the process.

You could only hope and pray that their third year would be different.

“Harry?” You call out over breakfast.

“Yes, (Y/N)?”

“Can you promise me one thing for this year?”

“What’s that?”

“Stay out of trouble for me and my health?”

Harry laughs, “I’m afraid I can’t make that promise. Haven’t you heard? There’s a serial killer after me now.”

You sigh at his answer; you realise that their third year was to be the same. You had heard about the escaped convict from Azkaban; your heart had dropped the minute you saw your father’s face plastered over every single wizarding publication. It was an outer body experience, to see your father again after so long.

You’re snapped out of your reveries by the Daily Prophet being slammed down in front of you.

“It’s like a family reunion for you, isn’t it (Y/N)?” A Slytherin says, snickering lightly.

You freeze; any chance of a reply lost in the tears that start to well in your eyes. An arm wraps around your shoulders, you don’t need to look to know it’s Fred.

“Bugger off, will you? You’re wasting your breath.” He says towards the student; they quickly turn and walk away.

Fred leans into you, whispers into your ear. “Don’t worry, love. There’s an extra-large Dung-bomb with their name on it.”

He frowns when you simply nod; normally, the idea of a prank or revenge gets you smiling and planning along with him.

He grabs your hand, and pulls you up to stand with him, “Come on, we’re gonna talk.”

You let Fred pull you from the Great Hall; he doesn’t let go of your hand until you’re in an empty classroom where he sits you down at a desk. He leans against the desk opposites and looks at you.

You start to rant, wiping at your eyes, feeling slightly foolish, “I just didn’t expect to see him. It sounds silly because of course – of course his face is going to be plastered on every news outlet in the wizarding world. Even the muggle Prime Minister was informed for Christ’s sake, but I didn’t actually think I would see him, or a picture of him.”

“It’s understandable that you didn’t. You haven’t seen your father in twelve years.”

You snort, “I know. He looks so different, Fred. It scared me.”

Fred takes a seat on top of your desk, wrapping an around your shoulder. He rubs his hand up and down your arm in a comforting motion. You can’t help but lean into his side. No words need to be said between the two of you; Fred doesn’t need to offer you words of comfort, simply being there for you through this is enough for you.

“Thank you for the Hall.”

“I’ll always defend you; you know that.”

You sniffle, “I do. You’re too good for me, Fred.”

“I doubt that. I’d like to think I’m perfect for you actually.”

You look at him, an eyebrow raised.

Fred swallows, “This wasn’t the time or place that I wanted to do this, but I’ve had a crush on your for about a year now and I would really like it if you would go out with me?”

A smile breaks out across your face, leaning up, you press a kiss to his cheek, “Yes, I’ll go out with you. I’ve had a crush on you for so long.”

Fred smiles at you, he also starts to blush.

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

Things start to deteriorate in school; Sirius Black enters the school multiple times. You almost vomited when you hear what happened to Ron – he doesn’t seem to be too shaken up by the event, but your stomach turns with guilt regardless. You start to panic over what could happen next; what will he do next? Has he been driven to insanity in Azkaban?

The comments made by fellow students get worse too. It has never been a secret who your father was, and you were never ashamed to be his daughter. You believed in his innocence and that was all you needed; you didn’t need the approval or belief of other students. It was becoming routine for you to receive two or three comments on your way to any class; it was becoming draining, but every single time after every single comment, you thought back to the aged letter from your father that is hidden away in your trunk. Fred stands by you through it all; defending you constantly. George has had to stock up on his Zonko product’s more times than he would like to admit to you.

Through all of this, your weekends have become your favourite times of the week. They are the days where you can spend the whole day with Fred and not have to worry about anything. Comments are still made, but you pay less attention to them on the weekend. Instead, focusing all of your energy into your relationship with Fred, your homework, your friends and Hogsmeade.

Your first date with Fred is at Hogsmeade; the day is spent together, dawdling from shop to shop. Grabbing some new quills at Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop and updating your Honeyduke’s sweets stash. It’s a perfect day, and only made better by the kiss Fred places on your lips before entering the school grounds. Your smile and blush last for days after that.

Time spent with Fred helps to ease the burden and the guilt you feel about what is happening. Fred reassures you multiple times and when that doesn’t work, he kisses you quiet. That works pretty well.

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

You had known perfectly well that Harry, Hermione and Ron would visit Hagrid with the execution of Buckbeak, the Hippogriff. From the very minute they had shown you the letter from Hagrid telling them of Buckbeak’s fate, you know that they would not let it be. It was sweet, that they wanted to be there for Hagrid, but it was not worth the trouble they would be in if they were caught.

Rushing out of the common room, you could only hope that you could catch them in time.

You don’t. Instead, you see all three running towards the Whomping Willow.

You start running towards the trio the moment you see the great, black dog that you know is your father.

From there, you start to curse whatever luck you have. It is just your luck and your choice of friends that get you into messes such as these. You make a mental note to expand your friendship group after everything passes.

Entering the passage below the Whomping Willow, your breath comes in short pants. Nerves and adrenaline are taking over your system; you know exactly who is at the end of the tunnel. You never thought a reunion would be possible, and all you wanted was for it to be in better circumstances.

You stop short of the entrance. Nerves have overtaken your adrenaline, your stomach turning at the thought of seeing your father again after twelve years of separation. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes; the newspaper clipping flashes before your eyes. Would he even recognise you after so long?

You take a deep breath to steel yourself. Then you enter the room.

Ron lies on a bed; his face crumpled in pain, Scabbers the rat flailing about in his hand.

Harry and Hermione stand together in the corner of the room; Harry’s body partly shielding Hermione. His wand is raised, he looks shocked at your entrance.

“(Y/N)!? What are you doing here?” He shouts.

“Harry, I need you to listen to me. I need you to put the wand down.”

“No! Why should I? He killed my parents, (Y/N). He is the reason I don’t have my mum and dad.”

“Harry, please. Put your wand down. I need to tell you something.”

Harry looks at you; sadness, grief and anger run rampant in his eyes. You frown at him, how many times must this boy relive the death of his parents?

“Okay. Harry, here. Have my wand.” You throw your wand at him; he catches it.

“I’m defenceless now. Will you put your wand down and let me explain to you why I’m here?”

He continues to watch you, but slowly, Harry lowers his wand. You sigh quietly in relief.

“Thank you, Harry.” You whisper. “What I’m about to say, I need you to give me the benefit of the doubt. I need you all to remember that I am only two years older than you all.”

“Why does that matter?” Hermione asks.

“Because Hermione, the man standing behind me is my father.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Ron shouts.

You close your eyes at the shouts coming from all three. You want to look at him, your father, but you aren’t ready just yet. You can feel his eyes on you though; taking in every detail from the twelve years he has been missing from your life.

“Sirius Black is my father.” You start, when their voices have quietened down. “Truthfully, I’m the product of a one-night stand. Sirius got full custody of me when he was told I existed; my mother agreed. I got two years with him, that’s all. Two years with my father before he was taken away to Azkaban.”

“He killed my parents, (Y/N)! Of course he got sent to Azkaban, he should still be there.” Harry shouts, his eyes glistening.

“Harry, no. I’m not trying to erase your pain, Harry. I’m truly not. But it wasn’t just you who lost people that night. I lost my father and my godparents. Lily and James were my godparents, just like Sirius is your godfather.

“He left me a letter, that was all he could leave me. A letter. In which he begged me to watch out for you Harry, and I am so sorry that I couldn’t for the first eleven years of your life, but I am only two years older than you. My befriending of you when you arrived at Hogwarts was genuine, but my father’s words always stayed in the back of my head. I made sure to look out for you, but you have an incredible talent for getting yourself into trouble.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I trusted you with so much.” Harry asks, the slight break in his voice the only evidence of his emotions.

“You never asked. From the minute of his escape, I was petrified of you finding out. It isn’t a secret who my father is, and I am not ashamed of him, so it was never hidden.” The panic within you is starting to rise; the very last outcome of this was losing Harry’s trust – you absolutely did not want that to happen.

Ron grimaces, “Does Fred know?”

You blush, “Yes. Your entire family knows Ron. I was raised with Bill and Charlie through the first wizarding war.”

Ron nods, seeming happy at your answer. His protectiveness of his older brother coming out; he did not want you lie to Fred – he wouldn’t stand for it.

Throwing a small smile in Ron’s direction, you prepare yourself for turning around.

For the first time since you arrived in the shack, you look at your father. His clothes are ruined, his hair reaches his elbows, and he’s far too thin. A sob breaks free of your lips, and he’s at your side in an instant. His hands on either side of your face, getting a good look at you. He hasn’t seen so much as a picture of you in twelve years; he cannot believe that you even recognise him.

“(Y/N)?” Sirius whispers.

You nod, tears falling freely now. “Hi Dad.”

He wraps you in his arms. He hasn’t held you in his arms since you were two years old and you were a delightfully chubby toddler. When he was taken away to Azkaban, you were barely taking your first steps, still needing to be held by your father. Now, you reach his shoulders easily where you wrap your arms, wanting to sob again from the feeling of his bones clearly poking through the skin. Sirius clings to you; savouring the fact that he’s holding his daughter after so long.

“You know,” Sirius starts, “You used to be smaller.”

You nod, “I know. We’ve missed a lot.”

“(Y/N)! Get away from him. He’s still a murderer.” Harry shouts.

“He isn’t. He never was.”

“He isn’t innocent; he sold out my parents to Lord Voldemort.” Both Hermione and Ron wince at the use of the Dark Lord’s name.

“No, he didn’t.” You state, gritting your teeth.

“Then who did?” Harry demands; all he wants are answers, and he is more than entitled to them.

“Peter Pettigrew.” A voice says; one that neither yours nor Sirius’.

Remus Lupin enters the room. After that, even more explanations are given, and secrets revealed. You knew that in the morning, you would have one hell of a headache from all the information you had to process. Your heart went out to Harry, who in the span of a few weeks has had his entire family history almost rewritten. The trust between you had been damaged, and it would take a lot of time to fix.

If possible, the night gets worse. As the group lead Pettigrew and unconscious Snape (who dramatically interrupted) back to the castle, the full moon rises. Taking one single look at Lupin, you know that he hasn’t taken his Wolfsbane Potion and he’s about to transform. All hell breaks loose from that very moment – Sirius transforms, Snape resurrects, and Harry has to follow. He has to follow. You barely get close to him before Snape pulls you back, berating you for being so stupid. You have to repress the urge to scream at him; you fight each step of the way back to castle, only calming when you realise that Ron is seriously hurt and for Fred’s sanity, you help him to the hospital wing.

Once he’s settled and getting treatment, you take a seat on one of the spare beds. The thing you want to do most is go and find your father, but you can’t move. Instead, you start to cry silently. Letting the tears you’ve hidden for twelve years finally start to flow. After what seems likes hours, from sheer exhaustion, you pass out on the bed.

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

You awake in the hospital wing with Fred comes bursting in, disturbing the peace.

“Thank God, you’re okay.” He breathes. His arms wrap around you tightly, pressing you to him.

“I am.” You say, rubbing a hand up and down his back, “I’m okay.”

Fred pulls away, he looks as if he wants to run his hands all over you, to check for himself that you are truly okay with no major injuries. Fred had never known panic like it, when Professor McGonagall pulled him to one side in the common room to tell him that you were currently lying in the hospital wing. Everything was white noise after that, leaving as fast as he could so he could get to you.

You grab his hands, hold them in both of yours, rubbing calming circles into them. “I’ve got nothing other than a few scratches; go check on your brother, Fred.”

Fred frowns, he doesn’t want to leave you – not for one second. Instead, he shouts to other bed, “Ron! Are you okay?”

Ron replies, “I’ll be fine, mum and dad are already on their way.”

Fred grins at you, “I’ve checked on him. Can I stay with you now?”

You nod, opening your arms for him. The only thing you wanted at this moment in time was Fred’s arms around you. He obliges happily; his arms are wrapped around you and you feel as if you can finally breathe, as if you are finally back on earth after the most dramatic evening on your entire life. His hands rub up and down your back and you hum happily.

“(Y/N)?”

“Fred?”

“Will you tell me what happened tonight?”

“I’m sure the whole school knows by now.”

“I just want to hear it from you; to know that you weren’t in real danger.”

You sigh, “I will. Just not tonight, I need tonight to process please.”

He nods, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “Take all the time you need.”

Looking at other beds, you can see Harry and Hermione laid out in separate beds. Fear starts to flow through your body.

“Fred, what happened to Sirius?”

“He’s been caught. The teachers are keeping him hidden in one of their rooms.”

Tears start to form in your eyes; you don’t even know; you were certain that you had cried yourself out last night. “Oh god, no. I just got him back. I just got my father back and they’re going to take him away again.”

Fred shushes you, not to stop you talking but because Harry and Hermione have awoken, and Dumbledore has entered the hospital wing. They shout for a few minutes before Dumbledore talks to them quietly. Hermione pulls a long necklace out of her shirt and you swiftly realise that she is in possession of a Time Turner; and all at once, it hits you what they’re going to do.

Harry catches your eyes for a second, nods, and then he’s gone. And all you can do is wait.

They’re going to rescue an innocent man. They’re going to rescue your father.

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fluff #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #harry potter x reader #sirius black fanfiction #Sirius Black #My writing #fluff #angst #fred weasley one shot #the lightning era

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dakotafinely · 3 years

Note

Mud dogs find out about some off the smol's powers (like 3llies weapon summoning, marie's feral/demon form, ect.) What kind of chaos ensues?

(also thanks for answering my first ting!)

Of course! Sorry it took me so long to answer this one! I’ve been... existing... but I finally have enough time and motivation to answer this! So let’ s go!

3llie: Weapon Summoning

The first time 3llie summons a weapon it’s when the gang is running from the police.

The smol’s weren’t supposed to be there, but Loathsome noticed that they always found a way to show up. But his mind wasn’t on scolding them right now.

It was on escaping the barrage of bullets and keeping the smol’s out of the line of fire.

3llie had begun panicking. Especially after Mickey actually got hit. Letting out a curse as he gripped his side. He lagged behind on accident. 3llie looked back. The police were gaining on him. She had to do something, anything.

She didn’t hear Dastardly scream at them to come back as she charged toward Mickey in a blind panic. The desire to keep him safe the way he would them to strong to resist.

Mickey had flinched away. Eyes closed tight as he saw a police officer charge at him with no mercy. Intent to harm clear across the yokai’s face. He fully expected a hit or another gunshot.

There was a beat of nothing. Mickey’s eyes snapped open. Staring at the large aqua green shield being carried by a very tiny child. 3llie looked back at him with tears in their eyes. Clearly scared and relieved all at once.

The shield was large. Looking similar to that one show Mickey began putting on for the kids whenever it was snack time. What was it called again? Steven Universe? No, that didn’t seem right. Whatever, he’ll think of it later.

Right now he scooped up 3llie, slithering away while 3llie tried her best to just keep the shield up.

Marie: Demon form

Loathsome was just out shopping. Marie wanting to get out of the house, joined him.

He was to busy worrying about keeping her safe. After the incident with 3llie’s reveal of powers. He was afraid people might start hunting down the kids with intent of using them for their own gain.

But he was fairly sure Marie didn’t have anything like that. Which is what worried him the most.

If the girl can’t defend herself against any yokai, then he had to be at the top of his game.

There was this guy, someone forgettable to Loathsome. Though the feeling was not mutual.

He approached in the market place. Seeing Loathsome hand Marie a brightly colored lollipop. The yokai thought he had the perfect leverage.

Marie yelped at the rough tug. Lollipop falling right out of her hand at the tight grip. She probably would’ve been calm had she not seen the panic on Loathsome’s face.

Loathsome never panic’s, time to scream bloody murder.

No one else cared, used to many different types of screaming children in the market place. Believing it was just another child having a tantrum.

She began crying as the stranger scooped her up. Running off before Loathsome could take her back.

There was a chase. Marie crying and reaching toward Loathsome the whole way.

The yokai eventually found a dead end in an alleyway. Begin to foolish to truly look where he was going. He ran straight into the wall.

A yelp and a curse as he dropped Marie. The man broke his nose. Badly

Blood dripped onto the girl as she tried to resist the smell. She’d gotten pretty good at it but the adrenaline rushing though her veins had other plans.

Loathsome arrived a second to late. Watching Marie tear into the man. Leaving nothing unscathed as she ripped him open. The demon side of her eating till it was satisfied.

When Marie was licking her arms clean is when Loathsome finally snapped back to reality. This was a child who at any moment could’ve killed him.

Yup, this was fine.

Hey, at least it eased his worry about her not being able to defend herself.

Zoe: Weapon Summoning & Telekinesis

The boy’s knew in advance about Zoe’s weapon summoning. After Loathsome returning from the shopping he asked all the kids to tell him if there was any powers they had.

She had genuinely forgotten to tell them about the telekinesis

Maybe it was because they never truly had the hang of it. It was pretty easy for Zoe to practice weapon summoning with 3llie during playtime. Though that had to be stopped because it was “Too dangerous” Dastardly said.

Telekinesis was something she never often used or thought about.

There was a rival gang. Out for revenge. Not against the mud dogs, something none of the group would’ve even cared about.

Dastardly was just trying to get the kids home. Walking them home from the park.

The building next to them exploded. Sending the smols far enough off that they were safe from debris. Plus Zoe and 3llie summoning protective armor for the group instinctively.

3llie had begun corralling the others to a tree nearby for Dastardly to find them at. Already knowing Loathsome and Mickey would be on their way. The explosion close enough to the house it would make them come to check on the group.

Mia was checking for injuries, having begun carrying around band-aids just in case. As none of the adults were ever good at remembering at one particular item no matter what.

Zoe was looking around for Dastardly, the yokai having not been flung as far as they had. Still within the derby. Her eyes caught him barely crawling away from a large chunk crashing down near him.

He didn’t see the one flying straight toward him, even larger than the first. It’d kill him instantly.

Zoe called out to him, urging him to move. But the rat’s ears were still ringing from the explosion. Body still sore he was mentally debating just laying there. Until he realized Zoe was yelling, running toward him.

He tried to tell them to stay put. But he couldn’t even hear his own voice.

He noticed the shadow getting larger above him at a rapid pace.

Whole body turning as he watched the boulder come down toward him. Eyes shutting at the last second. Simply praying his fate was quick.

Nothing, slowly the ringing stopped as he heard the cackles of flames, just tiny enough to make him slowly open his eyes.

It was inches from him, barely hovering above him that he could reach out and touch it.

“D! Get out of there!” “Come on!” “Are you okay?”

The voices made him whip back to reality. Looking over to his kids. Most standing by a tree far enough from the disaster he felt a piece of relief over him.

Then there was Zoe.

Hands up braced, face scrunched up in concentration, staring right above him. Fully focused on the debry that was seconds away from killing him. It took a moment to click. That she was the thing holding it up. He scrambled out from underneath it toward them.

As soon as he was safely out from underneath it. Zoe dropped their arms with a relieved sigh. Looking up at Dastardly with concern. While Dastardly looked back down at her with amazement.

This kid just saved his life.

Mia: Nothing, just a sneaky little thing

The boys sat in a jail cell. Not really caring about their predicament or what punishment would await them for their most recent failed heist.

No, their minds were on the kids.

“What do you think they’ll do?” Dastardly finally spoke up. Finally looking up after staring at the stone floor for hours. Loathsome shrugged

“They’ll make it I’m sure. They survived without us before.” He tried his best to keep a calm form. But his insides were completely jumbled. He was an anxious mess, just hoping the kids would find someone kinder, safer then they had been for the group.

“But, they shouldn’t have to,” Mickey spoke with a bite in his voice. Something rarely heard by the other two. They perk up. Mickey was curled up, anger clear in his eyes despite the fact he didn’t meet their stares. He was glaring at a corner, as if it was the corner’s fault the kids were now alone.

“No kid should ever have to...” Mickey trailed, Dastardly and Loathsome sharing a glance. All of them knowing exactly what was on the Eel’s mind.

“Well, then let’s find a way outta here,” Loathsome said, trying to get the trio’s confidence back “we’ve done it before!”

Before the other two could protest. A grate popped out from above them, falling in the center of the floor.

A tiny head with long hair pops out. Grinning at the group.

“Come on! We gotta get outta here before the poice realize what’s going on!” Mia speaks with mischief in her eyes.

“Kid, what’re you doing?” Dastardly asks, standing up. Just in case Mia falls straight through.

“Breaking you out! Silly!” Mia can’t help but giggle a bit at the question. Unaware the trio was having a silent panic about the kids while being.

“How’d you even... I thought you said you had no powers?” Loathsome said confused, remembering Mia telling him she was the only one without any special powers. Could she have forgotten hers like Zoe had?

“What, I don’t,” Mia said with the small shake of her head “Cops are just dumb and these vents are easy to navigate with a map!” with that, Mia put a hand out, unfurling a map of the vents above them.

“Though it’s pretty yucky in here,” Mia comments as the trio looks at the map in surprise. Now she slowly pulled herself out, the trio all moving to stop her from hurting herself. Dastardly gently placing her on the floor.

“Where are the others?” Loathsome asked as she walked over the cell door. Pulling out a hair-clip and a nail file. Beginning to fiddle with the lock.

“Marie is distracting the entire group of dum-dum’s with this realllllyyy lonnnnng story,” Mia spoke absent mindlessly “3llie is sitting in the ice cream shop with Zoe down the street. We stole some of your money to get some by the way.” Mia comments looking to them to give a tiny shrug. The trio looked at each other as Mia popped open the cell door.

“I- how do you know how to do that?” Dastardly asked with concern, none of them taught her that. Mia shrugged.

“Got bored, learned it on YouTube.” Mia states, before gesturing for them to come along with her.

“I think we’ve got...” Mia thought for a moment “3 more minutes before Marie will be done with her story. Come on I think the map showed an exit this way.” Mia lead the trio out the back door.

They went around the building, blindly following Mia in a state of shock as she brought them to a small ice cream shop. The joyous shouts of Zoe and 3llie waking them from their state.

“I... how’d we end up picking the weirdest kids off the street?” Loathsome leaned over to Dastardly as the group of smols talked excitedly with Mickey. Marie having joined them not moments later.

“Not sure,” Dastardly replied “but I think we’d be the ones lost without ‘em” he jokes.

Not me taking this to the absolute extreme. I hope you liked it, I had fun writing it! I think I had the most fun with Mia’s though not gonna lie just “this powerless child, but not weak child” is my fav kinda thing to do. Thanks for the ask! Sorry again for taking so long to answer it.

#rottmnt #rot tmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt mud dogs #mud dogs #rottmnt loathsome leonard #loathsome leonard #rottmnt malicious mickey #malicious mickey #rottmnt dastardly danny #dastardly danny #rottmnt ask #ask #ask response #thanks for the ask!

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ragingbookdragon · 3 years

Text

You Can Take Off All My Clothes And Never See Me Naked PT. 6

A Haytham Kenway x Reader Story

Word Count: 3,200 Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of Past Abuse

Author’s Note: This chapter does go deep into the past abuse, so if that’s triggering, please be advised and be responsible. -Thorne

Haytham…was conflicted. Which wasn’t something he was too keen on telling anyone, let alone admitting to himself—he was a rather proud man. Feelings of the heart—love, which he even dreaded thinking about it—were not something he was truly accustomed to following.

He’d not had any dalliances nor anything deeper since leaving Ziio and while he knew he’d never forget her, he couldn’t help but feel the same deep longing when he thought of (Y/N), the desire to hold her.

Regardless of the fact that their social standings proved error, she was about as tight lipped about herself and her feelings as a miser’s purse during tax season. She was temperamental and found herself in deeper situations than she realized, partially in anger, the other part—well, it was mostly anger. She was snippy and used so much profanity that Haytham was surprised she hadn’t been struck by biblical lightning.

But she was smart, absolutely, phenomenally intelligent, and could bounce theories with him back and forth for hours, pointing out every little instance of error and correcting it—(Y/N) was really the reason they’d conquered the gang-headquarters so easily, and increased trade-route with southern merchants. She could read and speak at least four different languages, from what Haytham had inconspicuously spied her doing so, and found that she gathered more information from drunk patrons than any of his top informants. She was broad-minded, which made him smile as he remembered the way she took Charles down six or seven pegs when she mentioned the Cherokee and Creek tribes. He’d never admit it, but the anger that had filled her and righteously come out towards his second-in-command filled him with great desire for her. He almost felt juvenile for even thinking about it. Foolish, is how he really felt.

And she was beautiful. Not because she took special care of her appearance—she did, but that wasn’t what Haytham meant—but because she simply was. She hid every aspect of herself that she could, her personality, her life, even her soul. And while Haytham couldn’t claim to be the most open person, even he was more so than (Y/N). He briefly wondered if his attraction to her was the result of her obscurity. Did he genuinely feel attraction to her? Or was he just enticed by her secrets? By the dark shadows that lurked behind her eyes, holding tight to an equally dark past? Haytham had the feeling that her past was just as dark as hers, and from the little pieces she’d shared, the scar, the betrayal, perhaps worse.

He heaved a sigh and rubbed his eyes, waiting for the spots to disappear before he opened them once more. When he did, she was before him, a cocked eyebrow high on her forehead.

“That was quite a sigh.” She remarked. “Everything alright, Haytham?”

He almost smiled at how easily she used his name now but forced himself to frown. “I’m fine, (Y/N). Simply tired.”

“Probably wouldn’t kill you to take the day off,” she said, collapsing into the seat before his desk. “Or days.” Her eyes shown with humor. “All work and no play makes dull boys. Isn’t that what they say?”

Haytham chuckled. “Something along those lines.” He flicked a piece of paper her way, watching as she picked it up and read it. “Truthfully, that’s what I’m dreading.”

(Y/N) glanced up at him. “I shouldn’t be surprised that the elite are holding a ball during a war, and yet, I am.” She tossed the invitation back onto the desk and crossed one of her legs over the other. “Are you required to go?”

“Not required,” He said, and she filled in for him.

“But bad manners and image on you if you don’t.” He nodded and she hummed. “So, what’s the deal? All you have to do is go, say hello, spend an hour, and then leave?”

He allowed himself a rare moment of complaint, lolling his head back onto the chair. “That’s the deal. I don’t want to spend an hour talking to uptight colonists.”

“This coming from the ‘King of The Uptight Gentries’, himself?” (Y/N) deadpanned and Haytham’s head snapped up as he glared at her; she waved it off. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Haytham, but—”

“I don’t understand why people say don’t take this the wrong way, and then say something that is usually taken the wrong way.” He remarked and she rolled her eyes.

“Well if you don’t act like a pissbaby about it, you’ll be okay.” Again, she ignored his glaring eyes. “So, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re an uptight asshole who’s arrogant around people who aren’t of the same social standing that you are.” His jaw dropped. “You think that people who are of lower classes aren’t really worth your time and that’s why you think attending a ball of the colonies is a pain in your ass—because you’re of the gentry and they think they’re better than everyone else.” (Y/N) simply wore a satisfied expression. “And that’s why all your friends are also uptight assholes.”

Haytham felt like he’d been slapped, and he could feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck and across his cheeks—she definitely saw it because she grinned.

“Aw, are you embarrassed?” (Y/N) huffed a laugh. “I’m not surprised. You’re not the type to get insulted with the truth very often.”

“I am not embarrassed.” He countered, though his flustered appearance and voice did little to convince her.

She leaned forward and hit him with a barrage of commands. “Then look me in my eyes and tell me you’ve never disregarded someone because they were a servant or a maid. Tell me you’ve never disregarded someone because they didn’t have shoes on their feet and were begging for money or food.” Her eyes narrowed almost sadly, and she murmured, “Tell me you’ve never disregarded someone because they weren’t fortunate like you, and born into a wealthy, high-class family that never wanted for anything.”

“I—” he couldn’t manage anything and it had been a long time since Haytham felt any form of shame, but as he lowered his head and frowned, he felt it searing through his chest with a fury.

“You’re a good person, Haytham.” His head shot up and he met her eyes, though they held a heavy bearing. “But for all the good you do for the upper-class…you’ve still got a long way to go with the little people.” (Y/N) rose from her seat and headed for the door.

Something in his mind screamed at him to stop her and he called, “(Y/N), wait.” She turned, waiting for him, and he confessed, “I…have yet to find a partner to attend with me.” He tried for a smile. “Would you do me the honor of attending with me?”

A rare smile crossed her lips, and it made his heart thump wildly in his ribcage. “I shall.” She spun on her heel and opened the door.

“I’ll have a dress ready for you!” he added, and she simply waved a hand in response.

When the door shut, Haytham collapsed into his chair and breathed, “Oh god, what have I done?”

***

He smiled politely at every couple that passed and while his composure gave off the feeling of full confidence, inside, Haytham was a mess. (Y/N) hadn’t shown up yet, and he felt like a fool waiting around for her. He briefly wondered if she was standing him up. And while he wouldn’t put it past her—because it was something she would absolutely do—he felt like she would’ve at least sent a note before it. He let out an inaudible sigh and the ladylike giggle from behind him nearly sent him a foot in the air. He spun and he followed up an elegant navy-blue gown adorned with glittering jewels; he felt like he’d been shot.

(Y/N) stood there with a coy smile, the gown tailored perfectly to her. “Lord Haytham, if I may be so bold, it’s almost as if you’ve never seen a woman before.”

His mouth opened and closed like a fish and he blurted out, “You look beautiful.”

She pressed a hand to her chest, toying with the ribbon at her décolleté, “I feel I should’ve known this was the color you’d choose.” She took his arm and squeezed his bicep. “Navy Blue is your signature color.”

Haytham swallowed thickly and cleared his throat. “It’s always been an easy color to request.”

(Y/N) laughed delicately and whispered, “Liar.” She nodded to the doors. “Do be a gentleman and escort me.”

He snapped his mouth shut to prevent any more embarrassing statements and did as she said. As they neared them, he murmured, “I can help you when you need it when dealing with the elite. Some things might be—”

“I know how to act like a lady, Haytham.” Her words were short and clipped and they booked no room for questions, but something in the way her jaw set told Haytham that she’d learned etiquette in a less than pleasing way.

“As you say,” he replied and tipped his head at the guards stationed at the doors.

They walked inside and immediately he could feel the eyes of the room on him, and gauging (Y/N)’s reaction, she could too. But she merely smiled and batted her eyelashes as they passed the other attendees.

She gracefully plucked two champagne chutes from a servant’s tray and handed one to Haytham. “Here,” she hummed, taking a sip of her own.

He accepted it with a quiet, ‘thank you’, and raised it to his lips. It was light, bubbly, and pleasant to the palate and as it went down his throat, he looked to her. Her eyes inconspicuously drifted from the patrons of the ball, sometimes lingering on people she seemed to know, others she didn’t.

“Anyone catch you eye, (Y/N)?” It came off more teasing than he’d meant, and she chuckled.

“Why? Are you jealous, Haytham?” She stared into his steel eyes. “Afraid to lose to a colonial man?”

His jaw twitched and a flash of indignation came across him, but not at her—rather the thought of some other man taking his place.

A woman appeared from the side and practically squealed. “(Y/N)!”

She turned her head, face brightening at the woman in the lavender gown. “Grace!” (Y/N) pulled away from Haytham and he almost made a noise of complaint at the loss of contact. She hugged the woman before pulling away, looking her up and down. “Look at you! You look absolutely wonderful!”

Grace flipped her long golden hair. “Well, it’s all thanks to you!” Her green eyes shifted to Haytham and she nudged (Y/N) in the ribs; a flash of pain crossed her face and Haytham almost asked about it. “Who’s this handsome fellow you’re with?”

(Y/N) shushed her. “Grace!” The woman giggled and she sighed. “He’s my boss.” She turned and held out her hand to Haytham. “Grace, meet Haytham Kenway. Haytham, this is an old friend of mine, Grace Montgomery.”

Haytham took Grace’s hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, a charming smile on his lips as he greeted her. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Montgomery.”

Grace giggled like a schoolgirl causing (Y/N) to roll her eyes. “The pleasure’s mine, Mister Kenway.” She looked at (Y/N). “If I wasn’t married to my Isaac, I’d be beating you away with a stick.”

(Y/N) couldn’t fight the rather unladylike cackle that left her, and she quipped, “You and every other available bachelorette in the colonies.”

The women laughed and Grace looked at Haytham. “Mister Kenway, I hope you��ll allow me to steal (Y/N) away for a few moments. Isaac and I owe her a lot, and we’d love to catch up with her.”

Haytham saw a colleague coming his way in his peripheral and he smiled. “Of course. Please, enjoy your time.” He met (Y/N)’s eyes and winked, watching her turn away quickly, but with a smile.

***Later That Evening***

For a master of observation and tracking, Haytham was absolutely clueless about where (Y/N) had gone. She’d made a game of catching his eye the entire night and sending him flirtatious smiles—at least, that’s what he hoped they were. But somehow, she’d managed to lose his watchful gaze and disappear into almost thin air.

He inconspicuously looked around for her, not wanting anyone to know a man had lost his partner, god forbid anyone ask where she was. Haytham passed the balcony and stopped, catching sight of the familiar navy-blue gown billowing in the wind.

He walked up behind her and leaned on the railing beside her. “Long night?” he asked.

(Y/N) didn’t look at him, but a grin crossed her lips. “A lot of smiling and ass-kissing.” Her eyes drifted to the rose garden below them and she offered, “Care for a stroll in the gardens?”

Haytham rose and held his hand out, watching her set hers in it. They ignored the looks people gave them and descended the stairs into the garden, finding refuge in the arch.

She sat on the bench, Haytham beside her and she looked up at the sky. “It’s beautiful out here.”

“It is,” he responded, but his eyes were on her. He watched her raise a hand to her ribs and gently prod the area. “Is something the matter?”

(Y/N) glanced over then down at her hand. “Oh, no. I recently got a tattoo and I—”

“A tattoo?!” Haytham’s voice reeked of incredulity.

She rolled her eyes. “I take it you’re a tattoo-virgin, then?”

He almost recoiled at being called a virgin of anything. “I’ve scars all across my body, but no…no tattoos.”

“They’re not that bad.” (Y/N) shrugged. “It’s sore, but nothing serious.”

“What is it?” Haytham asked, cheeks reddening, and he cursed himself at such delinquent thoughts running through his brain.

“A sun and a moon.”

“May I ask why those symbols?”

(Y/N) met his eyes. “To remind me that with the night comes the day.” He eyes went to the stars. “That there is hope for tomorrow.”

“That’s a beautiful sentiment, (Y/N).” he murmured.

She huffed lightly. “Feels a bit childish.”

“It’s not.”

She looked over and smiled heartfully. “Thank you.” He tipped his head in acknowledgement.

They lapsed into a peaceful silence and over time, their hands had drifted together, thumbs brushing the backs of them.

(Y/N) let her eyes fall to the ground. “It covers the scar below my left breast.” She felt his eyes on her but refused to look at him. “In fact, it’s not a scar at all…but a brandmark.” (Y/N) heard his sharp intake of breath and she stood, suddenly feeling cramped.

She took a few steps away and leaned against the opposite arch, gazing out at the cityscape. “I received it when I couldn’t pay back the ‘time and resources’ he’d poured into me.” Her fingers dug into her side and the pain relieved her tension. “I was beaten and abused…humiliated and assaulted.” The tears felt hot coming down her cheeks. “For fifteen years, I lived in hell.”

“How’d you escape?”

(Y/N) looked over her shoulder; Haytham had stood and begun walking in an arc to stand on the other side of the arch. “I wasn’t the only girl there. There were others.”

“A harem then?”

She nodded. “Of sorts.” (Y/N) let out a heavy breath and wiped her cheeks. “A woman named Na’ilah trained me to fight. With my body, with weapons, with anything I could hold.” She met Haytham’s gaze. “We planned for two years to escape but…someone found out and told.”

“You obviously got out.” Haytham recognized.

“I did.” She nodded. “Na’ilah had managed to send message to a merchant’s boat. The guards appeared as we were boarding.” (Y/N)’s face twisted painfully. “Na’ilah threw me up to the sailors and told them to go. She…stayed behind to fight the guards off.”

“Did she succeed?” he asked.

“She did,” (Y/N) answered with pride. “She saw me off with a tearful smile and I never saw her again.” She looked at him. “I was twenty-five. I had no money, nothing to my name, and nowhere to go, but somehow I managed to get to the colonies and from there on I’ve…” she sighed heavily, her shoulders dropping. “I’ve managed to survive.”

Haytham stood up from his leaned position and held out his hand to her. She took it. “How many have you told your story to?”

(Y/N) scoffed. “That I haven’t killed afterwards?” He didn’t say anything, and she lowered her eyes. “You’re the only one.”

“Truly?”

Her eyes shot to him and she scowled. “It’s not exactly something I find I enjoy reminiscing about, Haytham.”

He shook his head. “I meant no disrespect, (Y/N).” He met her gaze. “I just assumed you’d found someone to tell.”

“Haytham, I’ve built a life on killing men who abuse women like I was. I’ve never really found time to tell people my life story.”

“And yet, you’ve told me.” His words were soft, and he stepped to her, free hand coming to rest on her cheek, warm and gentle.

(Y/N) narrowed her gaze, but it wasn’t with suspicion, rather fondness. “And yet I’ve told you.”

Haytham’s heart grieved for her, for her pain, but with it came the urge to protect her. To keep her from ever feeling harm again. The indignation from earlier came back and with a harsh thump to his ribcage, he finally found himself admitting it—he was irrevocably in love with (Y/N).

“(Y/N), I want to—”

His words were cut off by the brush rustling and they split like they’d been burned, eyes narrowing suspiciously at the intrusion. A boot stepped out and (Y/N) picked up the concrete vase, raising it in defense. Someone turned the corner, and she felt her arms go slack.

“Shay?”

The Irishman smiled, but it dropped when he saw the vase. “Oh my god, were you going to hit me with that?”

“I mean—I don’t know!” (Y/N) gestured to him. “What the hell are you doing here?” She set the vase back down and he turned to face Haytham as well.

“We’ve got a bit of a situation, sir. We need you both.” The two looked at one another and Shay smirked. “Were you two having a moment?”

Their heads snapped to him and they both snapped, “No!” They met eyes and laughed, and Shay rolled his eyes, spinning on his heel.

“Yeah, yeah, and I’m the Queen of England.”

(Y/N) glared at the back of his head and hiked her dress up, kicking him in the rear as hard as she could. “Yeah, and with hair like that, you’d pass!”

Shay howled and turned on her. “That wasn’t nice!”

“I’m not nice, Shay! I’m a bitch!”

He scowled at her. “If my father didn’t teach me to respect women, I’d agree with you, but I won’t.”

Haytham watched the two of them as they bickered, but his eyes kept drifting to (Y/N)’s face and all he felt was warmth spreading though him.

#haytham kenway x reader #haytham kenway x reader imagine #haytham kenway x reader imagines #haytham kenway imagine #haytham kenway imagines #haytham kenway #ac rogue #ac rogue imagine #ac rogue imagines #assassins creed rogue #assassins creed rogue imagine #assassins creed rogue imagines #assassins creed imagine #assassins creed rogue memes #ac imagines #ac imagine #shay cormac

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lochrannn · 3 years

Link

Warnings: Sexual Content (M Rating)

Characters: Lila Pitts; Diego Hargreeves; Allison Hargreeves; Klaus Hargreeves; Hargreeves Siblings (background)

Relationship: Lila Pitts/Diego Hargreeves

Roommates AU; Fake Marriage; Slow Burn; Mutual Pining; Emotional H/C

Chapter 5/?

They meet at city hall just after midday.

Lila worked a half day shift and Diego had already been out of the flat when she got up. She doesn’t know where he’d gone, but now he’s strolling down the pavement to where she’s waiting for him outside the building with a thick folder under his arm.

“Shit, how many documents did you bring? I thought all they needed was a passport and birth certificate? Did I forget something?” Lila asks hurriedly, already rummaging through her tote bag, half hoping she’ll unearth some missing documents that she accidentally packed in without realising it.

“Huh?” asks Diego as he stops in front of her, “Oh no, I brought some work, I kinda assume we’re going to be in there a while.”

Lila looks up at him in annoyance but the angry complaint about how he didn’t warn her and therefore she didn’t bring anything to keep herself busy dies on her tongue as she realises, she’s never really seen Diego out and about before. But here he is, looking confident and like he belongs, in a way she doesn’t really, with his brown skin, dark hair, mahogany coloured bomber jacket, and black pants all warm and earthy, creating a complete contrast to the gray cityscape and sky.

Taken aback by how quickly her anger melts away, and not quite sure why, Lila just turns towards the steps of the building in a huff of mild embarrassment for how irrational she’s being.

Inside, Diego takes a number and sits down on one of the uncomfortable looking wooden benches at the back of the waiting area, and after giving the space and the smattering of people in it a cursory look, Lila decides that there clearly isn’t a better alternative, so she settles in next to him.

For a little while, she tries not to let the boredom get to her, but it’s quite hard, especially considering that she also doesn’t want to let her mind wander to what she and Diego are about to do. It’s not like Lila’s trying to repress the idea that she’s taking the necessary steps to get married to him very soon, it’s just that she’s very strenuously avoiding actually thinking about it too hard. She’s not too sure why this is the balance she has decided to strike and can apparently live with, but knowing her and Diego will be married, in those words, that’s okay. Thinking about what that entails and what it means, instantly makes her heart rate spike in so many different and indescribable ways, that she’d rather not touch that thought.

So she starts nibbling on her nails. But very quickly she has a niggling memory of her mother chastising her, grabbing her wrist firmly and saying, Stop that, you’ll end up looking like some trailer park hussie!

Irritated she pulls her finger out from between her teeth and folds her hands in her lap and starts bouncing her knee instead.

After a little while she notices that Diego who, she registered out of the corner of her eyes, was leafing through his file, has gone still beside her. She turns to look at what's up and is startled by the way he’s watching her intently. For a moment his eyes bore into hers and they are so close that shadows of memories of Diego leaning in to kiss her lips, her neck, and all the way down her body right after looking at her like that play out before her mind's eye, but then he says something and Lila feels completely foolish when she has to say, “Sorry?” in a small voice to get him to repeat what he said.

“I asked if you’re nervous,” Diego says in a very gentle voice, one, she presumes, he would probably use if he were dealing with a skittish animal.

Lila feels like this situation can’t get any worse, but just as she’s pulled herself together and is about to scoff at him, Diego goes on in a very serious tone, “Lila, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to! And if you’re worried about taking back the money, don’t be! I’m not cashing that cheque till you get your visa, okay? You don’t owe me anything.”

This is just too much, so Lila shakes her head, mostly so she can close her eyes and doesn’t have to look at how sincere he’s being, or at the deep, brown softness of his eyes, and says, “I’m not nervous, Diego, I’m just fucking bored!”

“Oh… uh… right,” Diego answers a bit sheepishly and now Lila feels guilty for apparently making him feel awkward. So again she’s just about to speak, tell him, she appreciates his concern all the same, when Diego gets there faster than her once more and flips open his file again while saying, “Uh... if you want... but you really don’t have to, just it might keep you occupied—” he cuts himself off when she levels a raised eyebrow at him, expectantly, “You can help me look through these files,” he finally finishes, holding roughly half the stack of papers that he was going through out to her.

They are searching for a name. It’s barely any less boring than sitting around doing nothing. It’s just a seemingly endless list of unalphabetised names with addresses, a copy of a magazine subscriber list from the 60s. Diego’s apparently helping some genealogist with a project and though he agrees with her that it’s a bit tedious, he also argues that he is apparently being paid very good money.

For a long while they just sit in bored, if oddly comfortable silence, while searching through the names until Lila breaks the stillness, “I got him!”

She’s weirdly excited as she leans over to Diego with her page, finger just under the name Carl Cooper written in slightly faded typewriter letters.

“Show me?” Diego says reaching for the page but not pulling it out of Lila’s grip, they’re hands brushing as he tries to take a closer look at the corresponding address and Lila is suddenly very aware of the warmth radiating off of his body as he leans in so very close to her. She thinks she can even smell his soap.

“That’s our guy!” Diego says delightedly, picking up the biro he’d clipped to his folder and circling the name before taking the piece of paper gently out of her hand and smiling at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling distractingly. “Thanks!” he says with genuine gratitude.

“Yeah, whatever,” Lila grumbles, but she’s not able to hide the smile in her own voice, so to gloss over it, she asks instead, “Is your work always this boring?”

She almost regrets asking him instantly, because only the other night she got to see what it’s like when it’s less boring, but Diego leans his head back against the wall and his expression turns contemplative.

“Well, no… I mean, I guess, some parts are this boring. A lot of looking through files or going on stakeouts in my car. This one, yeah, this was tedious, but usually this kind of work is all part of the bigger puzzle I’m trying to solve. And then, when I get to find the people I’m looking for, it makes it all worth it, you know? Sometimes that’s loved ones who got separated somehow. Totally worth a couple of hours slogging through some files.”

He’s looking down at her, head still tilted against the wall behind them and Lila finds she can’t look away but also hasn’t got anything to say about what he’s telling her. She never took any interest in what a detective does, wasn’t even really ever into cop or detective shows, but somehow, the way Diego tells it, it’s quite fascinating.

“I’ve got a knack for finding asshole dads who are trying to get out of paying alimony as well. Definitely less noble work, but also necessary, if you ask me. And those often end up being the least boring of my cases,” Diego goes on and Lila wonders whether he’s just trying to keep her entertained now that they have no more files to search through. “ ‘s how I got this,” he says, pointing a finger up towards the scar in his eyebrow.

“Oh yeah?” Lila asks, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible about it.

She’s been massively intrigued by all of his scars, but at no point has she felt in a position to ask. Afterall, what if there’s a really traumatic story behind them. But he has a bunch of them. There’s the one in his brow and another behind his left ear. One on the top of his left arm, and one more on his right hip. Lila quickly stops thinking about that one and why she could trace it exactly on a piece of paper if she were given something to draw with, and also doesn’t think too hard about the long scar that reaches from his cheek all the way along the side of his head above his ear. Lila is genuinely a bit wary of what the story might be behind that one.

But she quickly draws her thoughts back to the present and the fact that Diego seems happy to tell her about the scar in his brow and so she asks, “What happened?”

“Asshole father who didn’t want to pay his alimony,” Diego offers with a light chuckle and a shrug, “Fucker faked his own death and then when I found him, I’d barely said a word before he smashed a bottle in my face. Apparently I was lucky I didn’t lose an eye.”

Lila hisses in sympathy at the image.

“Guess we’ll have to talk a bit more about shit like that before our interview with immigration,” Diego says casually and Lila looks at him quizzically as she’s not quite sure what he’s talking about. “Interview?” she asks.

“Yeah, we’ll have to do an interview to prove that this is not just a sham wedding,” he starts explaining, brows drawn together, then his eyes drift off to the side, “Lila, did you not know that they’re gonna want to see proof we’re, like, actually married? … Shit! Our numbers up! Come on, let's go!”

Diego touches her elbow gently and Lila follows him in a bit of a daze, not to one of the windows that are situated all along the long hall that they walk down, but to a small office that they are ushered into by an equally small man, who asks them to sit in the two chairs opposite his desk.

The next fifteen minutes during which they go through all of the proceedings of applying for a marriage license do nothing to settle her nerves, because again she’s getting to see another completely new side to Diego. She guesses this is what he’s like when he’s really on the job and considering how good he is, she misses half a minute of conversation wondering why his business is failing.

He’s commanding, not letting anything slide, but he’s endlessly cool and charming all the same. And for a second Lila is concerned it’s just the fact that she’s slept with him and maybe in this moment would like to sleep with him again that’s making her see him in this way, but she notices that the clerk they’re dealing with seems at least as flustered and is hanging off every word Diego says as much as Lila.

At one point she almost jumps when he confidently takes her hand out of her lap, laces their fingers together, and says, “We were planning on getting married next year but circumstances have changed and my girlfriend can’t continue her degree, so now her visa’s running out and we discussed it and decided to pull the wedding forward, we didn’t want to end up getting separated by this!”

The clerk nods understandingly and Lila could kick herself for not having put even a fraction of the amount of thought into their plan as Diego seems to have. It’s brilliant. This explanation for why they need a license now is believable but also contains enough of the truth that they have very little to prove at this point, except for the fact that they are, indeed, in a relationship.

At that thought, Lila’s heart skips a beat and her focus zeros in on their joined hands for a moment.

When they are walking down the steps after all the application forms have been sorted, Diego offers to give her a lift home, but Lila makes up an engagement with a friend on the spot and quickly heads away in the direction of the bus stop. She needs some time to clear her head after that whole experience.

Diego gets into his car, lets out a very long breath, and then tips forward, pressing his forehead against the steering wheel in frustrated exhaustion.

How can hanging out with one person be both something that is so enjoyable and so painful at the same time?

Lila was fun and sparkly as ever, but she also helped him out, took an interest in his job. And even if that was mostly out of politeness, she asked all the right questions and listened so attentively. And, god, her beautiful, lively face is so distracting, he hardly knew where to look.

Diego’s certain now that he is royally screwed. He’s done a lot of dumb shit in his life, but this takes the cake. Spending time with Lila is so fucking close to the real deal and within the next couple of weeks they will be married, and he thinks, maybe a bit overdramatically, this’ll probably be the death of him.

He sits back up straight, turns the key in the ignition, and moves his car into traffic.

But he can’t back out now, they’ve actually put their plan in motion, and Lila is relying on him to get it together, so the very last thing he wants to do is let her down. Even if it kills him, he mentally adds with a wry smile.

#otp: just be gentle #lila pitts #diego hargreeves #dielila #diego x lila #diego/lila #tua #the umbrella academy #fanfic #ongoing fic

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