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#and that despite how clenched tight otis is it works
catty-words · 3 years
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maeve’s attempt to comfort otis vs otis’ accidental comforting of maeve
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agentofscifi · 4 years
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Success is the Best Kind of Revenge: Ch 2
The whole classroom is sitting there in shock as Marinette, Chloe, Alix, and Juleka leave the room. Juleka’s mom follows them out, giving a smile to the Superintendent.  
Alya was still pale after being told she was now the Class Representative. She’d seen the piles of paperwork Marinette had to complete. None of it was quick or easy.  
The silence in the rooms holds until the door shuts behind them and then the yelling starts.  
“How could she have lied so well!” Rose is crying once more, thick tear trails soaking the tissue Marinette had given her earlier. Rose’s mother pulls her in for a small hug.  
“We collected money for her!” Myléne’s eyes are wide. “We collected money for her charities!”  
Kim raises an eyebrow. “How’s that a bad thing?”  
“Because it’s charity fraud.” Ivan’s voice is heard throughout the room, despite the fact that he wasn’t yelling. “We collected money for a charity that doesn’t exist. It’s illegal.”  
“We,” Myléne cuts off with a sniff. “We could have gone to jail. We almost went to jail over break.”  
Kim looks away with a grimace. “I went through something similar. Lila gave me this stuff, she said it would help with my swimming. She told me her olympic friend recommended it. You know, like organic stuff. Turns out it was steroids. They found out at my last surprise drug test before winter break. All my Universities pulled out and I got kicked off the swim team this morning.”  
Kim’s Mom blinks and then she lets her face fall into her hands. “You took pills from a classmate, without asking what was in them!”  
His father groans. “Well, this explains how you got those pills. Why didn’t you just tell us this?”  
Kim flushes. “I thought Lila was lied to, you know. I didn’t think she’d do this on purpose.”  
His mother lets out a sob. “All your scholarships! All your Universities!”   
On the opposite side of the room a different argument was taking place. Nino’s mother is glaring down at him, disappointment in her eyes. “When you said you weren’t talking to Marinette as much, I assumed it was because you grew apart. I did not think it was because you ignored all common sense to trust an exchange student over someone you’ve known since école maternelle.”  
Nino’s face is red. “I-I just her stories were so great and our class has done some amazing things. I didn’t think it was so far-fetched.”  
His mother purses her lips. “You didn’t think it was so far-fetched that Marinette was a bully. Marinette, who brought in cookies and cupcakes for every birthday. Marinette, who made you a custom jacket when you lost your favorite one on a vacation. Marinette, who brought you soup and get-well gifts every time you stayed home sick. This is who you thought was a bully.”  
Nino opens and closes his mouth a few times before finally closing it and looking down at the table. His mother throws her arms up in the air. “You stood there and watched, or even recorded, as your classmates physically assaulted Marinette. You are lucky, so very lucky, that she didn’t press charges. You were 18 for some of the worst offenses.”  
“I lost all of my University acceptances, Mom.” Nino hesitantly looks up at her.   
Mrs. Lahiffe whips her head down. “Nino! You could have lost a few years of your life, thousands of euros, and the ability to go to college. You have no criminal record, but you could have started one with the stunts you have pulled. You are lucky the police were willing to just give you service hours. This won’t even appear in your permanent record.” Nino nods mutely.  
Nathaniel is having a similar, but less heated argument with his parents, too. “My comics! They’re all missing online and the company that I signed a contract with has pulled the contact. There’s a pending copyright suit!”  
“Nathaniel!” His father sighs and places a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve talked to the people issuing the suits and explained the situation. They agreed to not press charges if you were dropped from the company and all of the art work is pulled off the internet.”  
Nathaniel stares at his father. “What! They can’t do that!”  
“Yes, Nathaniel, they can.” His mother is on the other side of him. “You copied someone else's work and didn’t credit them. You tried to sell that work and make money. That’s illegal. ”  
“Lila said she helped! That I could do this and it was ok.”  
Nathaniel’s father sighs. “Even if Lila had been involved, you still should have credited the other person. It still would have been illegal”
Nathaniel’s head drops onto the desk. “My life is ruined.”  
His mother places her hand on his shoulder. “A year off to...reimagine your art will do you some good.” Nathaniel only moans.  
Across from Nathaniel is Rose and her father. There was no lecture or comments from her father as Rose was too busy sobbing into his shirt. Prince Ali’s abrupt and simple ending of their relationship made more sense now, as did the comments by the music schools. Rose had changed so much of herself to help Lila or because Lila gave her some advice. Rose honestly didn’t know what to do now that it was all a lie.  
Sabrina, up in the front row, was hunched over herself. Her father had given her a none stop lecture about responsibility, trust, and legality that she hadn’t said a word. “You’re grounded for the next year!” Officer Raincomprix is red in the face. “We’ll talk about University after the next New Years, but for the next year you will be staying with me.” Sabrina nods.  
Her father deflates slightly. “Sabrina, you have no idea how lucky you are. 100 hours of community service will feel like nothing in the long run.” Sabrina just nods, curling in on herself.  
Back up by Max it was quieter. Max’s Mother was mumbling into her hand, asking how her brilliant son could be so stupid. Max’s was looking at his hands sheepishly. He’d attempted to disprove all of stuff about Lila by finally looking her up only to find nothing good. The Ladyblog came up first, filled with all of Lila’s lies. There were several news articles and twitter posts after that from Celebrities calling her out for lying or casually asking who this Italian Rossi girl was when it was brought up in interviews.  
Max then looked to Markov to ask why he said that Lila wasn’t lying only to find out that his robot marked most of Lila’s stores as inconclusive. It was all very vague and “he said, she said” situations. He couldn’t form a true conclusion without the other people in the stories being asked. This screwed the results in Lila’s favor. Max hadn’t looked up since Markov made that announcement to the class.  
However, the loudest and biggest argument was happening between Alya and her Mother, who were practically in a screaming match. “Alya! Stop blaming everyone else for your mistakes!” Marlena Césaire's coat was askew and her face red with narrowing eyes.  
“But Lila lied! I didn’t do anything! Why am I being rejected from my Universities? Why do I have to get rid of the Ladyblog!”  
“You attacked Marinette! You physically harmed her on the word of another student. Instead of getting a teacher or the police, or talking to us, you attacked her. Marinette got a concussion and stitches after the last assault when you pushed her down the stairs. As for the Ladyblog, you posted so many lies. It’s practically a shrine to that girl Alya.”  
“But Lila told us Marinette pushed her!” Alya’s phone is in her hand, clenched in a tight hand. “And, Lila told me all those stories!”  
“And yet, Lila had no injuries. And yet, Lila didn’t go to the proper authorities. Instead, you suggested getting even with Marinette. You started this!”  
“But Lila lied!” Alya sounded like a broken record, always repeating the same things. “Lila’s a psychopath or something!”  
“And you're the sheep who followed that psychopath Alya. You didn't look into any of this. You took her words as facts. You lectured Marinette about facts and yet you looked for nothing! Even now, you seem to think about no one but yourself. You’re screaming about how Lila lied and how that’s affected you. Have you once thought about what this must have been like for Marinette? You reject her for a new, shiny thing. You bully, verbally insulted, physically harmed, and stole from that girl. If it had been me, I’d have used the full force of the law against you. You’d have gotten more than a cease and desist order, a restraining order, and order from the blog’s removal.”  
“But Mom!”  
“Alya!” Otis Césaire stands from up. “You made mistakes, now you have to pay the consequences. You’ve been telling us for years that you’re an adult. Now act like it!”  
Mrs. Vaux chooses this point in time to clear her throat. “Mr. Agreste?” Adrien looks up from his seat. He’d been silent and pale as everyone took in the truth about Lila. “Your Aunt is here for you.” Amelie Graham de Vanily was standing in the doorway, a severe look on her face.  
Nino looks up at him. “Dude, what about your Dad?”  
Adrien gulps and looks down. “My Dad was hawkmoth. Ladybug caught him over the weekend.”  
The whole class, and their parent’s, take in a deep breath. Alya turns her eyes over to him. “You worked with Hawkmoth!”  
Marlena Césaire grabs her daughter and drags her down onto the bench. “Alya!”  
One of the police officers clears his throat. “We have questioned Mr. Agreste and found him innocent. Ladybug spoke on his behalf after Hawkmoth’s identity was revealed.”  
Adrien shrugs. “I’m moving in with my Aunt and cousin in London. I’ll be finishing Lycée online. I just… need to get away.”  
Nino gives Adrien a small smile. “Keep in touch.”  
Adrien returns it nervously as he packs up his stuff. As he walks up to his aunt he turns to give the class an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, about Lila. I didn’t think she’d taken things this far.”  
Nino blinks slowly as the rest of the class starts to process those words. “Wait? Dude, did you know that Lila was lying?”  
Adrien nods. “I thought she just wanted friends at first and didn’t know how to make real ones. Marinette called her out and she got akumatized. I didn’t want that to happen again!”  
“So, you let her lie to us?” Nino leans back on the bench, putting a few more inches between the two of them.  
“I thought she was like a tabloid. You have to ignore the lies for them to go away.”  
Alya lets out a blood thirsty scream. “This is all your fault! If you had just told us-”  
“Alya Césaire!” Her mother grabs her once again and pulls her down.   
Most of the class is staring at Adrien in horror. Rose was just sobbing even harder. The parents had more of a pitying look as they gazed at the son of Hawkmoth. Being the child of a magical terrorist who doubled as an abusive father probably didn’t help a child learn right from wrong.  
Adrien looks down. “I’m sorry.” His aunt places a hand and guides her nephew out the door, giving the police and the superintendent each a nod.  
The door closes in the silent room before chatting starts up again. The students are all trying to talk to each other and their parents at once. No one was quite sure of what they were supposed to do with that information. Hawkmoth had been found, they’d gathered that from the police saying that Hawkmoth named Lila as an accomplice. However, Hawkmoth being Adrien’s Dad was another matter entirely. Then there was the whole fact that Adrien knew about Lila. He had stood there, for years, letting them be used. Their overly kind classmates had done nothing to stop Lila as she twisted all of them like puppets.  
Mrs. Vaux clears her throat again. “You all have the rest of the day off. It was mentioned to me that this must be stressful to you all and I agree. You won’t learn anything else today. Besides,” she turns around to glare at Miss. Bustier and Principle Damocles. “We have some staffing issues to handle.” Both of them shrink down at the gaze.   
Mrs. Vaux looks back at the kids. “You all have mandatory school therapy twice a week for the rest of the school year. With everything that has happened, I think it will be healthy for all of you. Miss. Lucilia,” one of the women behind her steps forward. “Will be your teacher for the rest of the year. Ms. Birch,” the second woman steps forward. “Will be the acting principal for the rest of the school year.” She gives the class more onceover. The students all looked overly confused and their parent’s looked exhausted. “You are all excused.”
Ch. 1 ~~~~~ Ch. 3
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miaa4tez · 4 years
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Season 3, Episode 1 or so help me god... Also available on AO3.
Finally // beautiful stranger 
He sort of thought she’d maybe... say something, after everything. He’d walked home that night a bundle of uncertainty and self-doubt, but for the first time, he actually felt a bit hopeful. He and Maeve couldn’t seem to stop missing one another, and he was damn near determined that this time, it’d be different. 
 
But then the weekend came and went, and he hadn’t heard from her once, and he found himself growing more self-conscious by the second. Had he been too late? Did he miss his chance for real this time? Was she really... over him? 
 
He nearly races to school come Monday morning, a ball of nerves and pent up energy. He tries being happy for Eric as he recounts endless details about his weekend with Adam, really he does, but all he could think is whether Maeve had truly heard his confession of love and felt... nothing. That might just be the thing to do him in for good. 
 
It takes him a few laps through the school but he finally finds her in the library, a book perched on her lap and her thumbnail between her teeth. He nearly loses his nerve, can’t help but stare at her like this for a moment - unguarded, serene - but then he reminds himself that he’s done being an asshole, damnit, and pushes forward. 
 
“Um, Maeve?” Fucking loser. Man up. 
 
He sees her jaw clench, her teeth biting the inside of her cheek, her eyes shut briefly before she flips a page. He hates that he elicits that response from her now. “Studying, dickhead.” 
 
He watches her swallow and her eyes seem to be going over the same line over and over. 
 
He clenches his hands at his side. “Can we talk?” He unclenches his fists, stretches them in the silence. “Please.” 
 
She’s so good at masking her emotions, but he catches a slight hitch as she clears her throat, shuts her book with a definitive thud and stands abruptly. She meets his eyes, cool and steady, and he feels himself shrink under the weight of her gaze. “I’ve got to get to class.” 
 
She pushes past him then, out the door, and for a moment he considers letting her go. Surely she deserves better than him, better than the hurt he’s caused her. But then he spies her jacket left dangling over the couch and his body is moving without his consent.
 
“Look I know I said some stupid things but I really think we ought to talk it out so I could tell you how sorry I am,” he pleads, her jacket draped across his arm as he strides behind her. 
 
She speeds up, forcing him to trail after her. “Not much to talk about then, is there? You’re sorry, so that’s it. We’re good then.” She bites the corner of her thumb, refusing to turn and face him as she weaves through the halls. 
 
“Well I just thought...” He stops short. What did he think, really? “I hadn’t heard from you this weekend,” he mutters instead. 
 
She stops in front of her locker, flicks her eyes to his briefly, searching. He lamely extends her jacket to her and she snags it from him a touch too harsh. “Yeah well. I’ve been busy. Not everything is about you, you know.” 
 
He buries his hands deep in his jacket pockets. He’s a little ashamed it’s taken him this long to congratulate her. “Yeah, no, of course. Sorry. Congratulations, by the way. I saw you on TV.”
 
The corner of her mouth turns up in the barest hint of a smile, but she ignores his attempt to meet her eyes and reaches for her Maths book. “Right. Well it wasn’t just me.” 
 
“You should be proud of yourself, Maeve. They couldn’t have done it without you.”
 
If he’s thawing her at all, she won’t let on. She bites her bottom lip anxiously and slams her locker in a hurry, but he presses on, hands extending then retracting back to his pockets. 
 
“And I just thought we could clear the air, you know. Be friends again?... I’d really like to be your friend again, Maeve. At least.” He shakes his head. This isn’t going well. “I’ve let you down and I know that. And I understand if you didn’t lis-“ 
 
“Otis.” She interrupts him, exhaling his name almost as if she’s got no energy left. He sucks in a breath and looks at her. Sees the hurt swimming in her eyes. “Forget it, okay? We’ve tried being friends but all we do is hurt one another.” She wraps her arms tight around herself, her eyes boring holes into her shoes. “I’ve got enough people in my life to hurt me. I don’t need another.” 
 
She meets his eyes then and he couldn’t save this if he tried. He opens his mouth anyway - foolishly - but whatever he intended to say is drowned out by the class bell. 
 
Her eyes flicker to his once more - pleading him to fight back? Maybe, but she’s pushed past him and out of sight before he can find the words.
 
...
 
She’s basically a ghost for the rest of the week, slipping through the halls in silence and keeping her eyes to the ground. She‘s forgotten how easy it was to go unnoticed in this school, and she both loves and hates how easily she slips back into it. Fleetingly she thinks that she hasn’t seen Otis once, even from the corner of her eye, and it’s not like she cares or anything - she hardly noticed, really, fuck off - but the clinic has been almost nonexistent and she’s got rent due Monday and this spat between them is really fucking with her source of income.
By Friday she’s said maybe ten words total to another human being (three of which being “Piss off, Isaac” when the wanker insisted on perching himself at her doorstep after she refused to answer his calls), but she found herself somewhat comforted by still having people around her. The fact is she hates the idea of going home to an empty trailer almost as much as she doesn’t want to be at school, so she sucks it up and makes plans to ask Aimee if they can walk home together. Thinks maybe she can spend the night there if she asks, too. God, she hates asking for things. 
 
It’s not just Otis she’s avoiding. It’s everything. Her mom, her shitty fucking luck, the reality that of all the Quizheads, she’s least likely to get a full ride scholarship to Uni even though that’s the only way she can realistically afford to go. She knows she‘s destined for more than a shit job at the mall and a double wide with no heat, but she’s certain she was born in the wrong dimension, because in this one life is determined to fuck her over. 
 
Her mind is a tangle of self-doubt but she’s trying her fucking damnedest to silence it all as she waits for Aimee by the school’s entrance, perched against a tree and attempting to focus on Silas Marner - she finds it far superior and the more relatable of George Eliot’s works, no wonder it took her so long to finish Middlemarch - but she’s been standing here for over an hour and Aimee is nowhere to be found. In fact, the front lawn is basically empty aside from a couple stoners and some horny couple grinding on a bench in the corner. She checks her phone, shoots a text to Aimee, waits five minutes for the three dots to pop up and when the message comes through, she feels her heart fall to her feet.
Steve wants to try hugging. Raincheck?
The sun is setting as she walks home alone, a crisp in the air that wasn’t there last week, and she’s trying to match her steps to her heartbeats but it’s proving harder than she’d like. Who says her breathing’s more ragged than usual? Sod off. 
She wishes she hadn’t lent Erin her headphones - she’ll never see those again either - because she could really use something right now to drown out her racing thoughts. She focuses instead on the faded crescent moon rising in the sky, and by the time she walks onto the lot the sky is dark and the only thing she wants is to curl into a ball in her bed and not leave until Monday morning.
She sees the bag from far away, hanging from the door handle of her trailer. She looks left and right on impulse, wonders if it was Isaac before she feels certain it wasn’t. If her steps quicken, she’ll never admit to it.
She snags the bag quickly and slams the door behind her, fingers itching to find out what’s inside. Her hand wraps around a binder and she pulls it out slowly, suddenly nervous. A note flutters out with it and falls to her feet, and her jaw clenches as she recognizes the familiar scrawl.
 
You deserve better than all of us.
She stares at the message a moment more because she collapses into a seat at the table, binder spread out before her. She opens the first page and her throat tickles with the emotion of it all.
It’s a collection of paperwork, brochures and articles and informational pamphlets. Schools she mentioned, universities she’s named in passing conversations when she thought they were just killing time before his next session. He compiled them all by the areas of study she might be most interested, and she smirks despite herself that each school is color coded. He’d always busted her for organizing the clinic schedule like that. He’s even taken the time to highlight new places she hasn’t considered, places that offer creative writing programs and financial scholarships for independents.
She feels the smile on her lips but it’s like her brain catches up, stunned for a moment by the gesture, and she’s suddenly furious.
 
Who does he think he is? He doesn’t know what she needs, what she wants, what’s best for her. All he’s done since he came into her life was cause her pain, and now he’s trying to be some fucking savior for her? She snags a sweater strewn over the couch and is out the door before she even knows where she’s going. All she knows is that he doesn’t get to make some grand gesture and have her forgive him. It’s bullshit. She’s going to storm over there and tell him exactly where he can shove his fucking charity. He’s -
-standing in the middle of the bridge. Waiting for her.
Her breath catches in her throat and she absently notes that he looks terrified. There are so many things she wants to spit at him but for some reason she can’t find words just yet. He shocks her by speaking first.
“I didn’t want you to have to come all the way to me again,” he shrugs, the corner of his lip curling up just slightly.
She crosses her arms quickly, petulant as a child as she scoffs at him. But despite herself, she feels lighter standing before him. Damn it all to hell. “How’d you know I’d even come to you?” She’s trying for offhanded but knows she doesn’t manage it.
He scratches his ear and looks to his shoes. “I didn’t?” He has the decency to sound sheepish. “I figured I’d give it an hour or so and see if you called maybe.”
“Oh, only an hour then?” She deadpans. She gets way too much satisfaction from his rosy cheeks.
He cocks his head just so, offering her a half smile. “Maybe two,” he relents.
She feels her mouth pulling into a grin but she bites the inside of her cheek before it erupts. Instead she nods once and wrings her hands together by her chest. The silence sits between them and it’s colder out here than it was an hour ago.
“I’m sorry,” she hears him breath, and he must realize how quiet he said it because he clears his throat and meets her eyes. “I’m really sorry.” Louder this time, more conviction.
She can see the sincerity in his eyes and he always did know how to get to her. She nods this time, her mouth twisting in a wry smirk. “Yeah you should be,” she jokes, but it doesn’t feel much like a joke once it’s out of her mouth, and she feels the frustration seep back in. “You know, you can’t go around trying to manipulate me by doing something nice. Doesn’t work like that. You’re not charming, you know.”
Otis blinks. “Is that what you were coming to tell me?”
“What?”
“You were headed to my house, weren’t you? Was that what you were going to say?”
Her eyes widen, indignant, and the anger mounts. “Yes,” she demands. “You can’t just hurt me and expect it to all be okay just like that. It’s not. I trusted you, Otis, and you let me down. Everyone else is shit but I never thought you’d...” her voice catches and a small sob fills her chest but she won’t let it out. Refuses. Instead she stops, catching her breath and turning her head to the side as angry tears threaten to pour over. She digs a nail into her palm to stop them. She won’t let him do this to her again.
He takes a tentative step forward and reaches out for her slightly, and she finds great satisfaction when he retracts his hand, until she follows his gaze and realizes he must notice that she’s wearing his sweater. Shit.
It seems to embolden him though and he looks to her again. “I know, and Maeve, I know I hurt you and I was a dickhead -“
“Massive dickhead,” she elaborates.
“But I don’t think it’s all my fault.” He finishes.
She’s certain she heard him wrong.
“Excuse me?” She gapes, incredulous.
“We’ve been tiptoeing around each other for months,” Otis argues, arms up for emphasis. “All year, really. And then Jackson -
“Are you seriously turning this around on me?” She can’t believe him.
“No but -
“‘Cause it sounds like you are -“
“I’m not!” He insists. “It’s just that...you’re you! And I’m ME and, and we were friends. Such good friends, Maeve, and then you... And it just made me so angry that you didn’t tell me you liked me until things with Ola.... it’s just... I had no idea someone like you could have possibly liked someone like me.”
 
Her nostrils flare with her anger and she’s trying not to strangle him right this instant. She’s not sure if it’s because he doubted her or that he’s so fucking sure he’s right (and so what if he is a little?) “Right well it’s probably for the best you didn’t know. I’m the most selfish person you know, after all.”
 
He sighs loudly. “Maeve, of course I didn’t mean that.“
“It sounded like you did,” she quips.
“I was so drunk. I ate a whole roast chicken that night! And I was confused and I was trying to hurt you like I was hurting when of course you didn’t deserve it.” 
He’s got her there.
She sniffles and crosses her arms, choosing to count the railings on the bridge rather than meet his eyes.
 
He sighs and reaches toward her, palms open. “I know I can’t take back what I did. And I know things are still broken between us. But... I like you, Maeve. I really, really like you.”
She looks up then, against her own will honestly, but he’s got his eyes closed. Either because he can’t look at her either or he’s mustering up the courage, she can’t be sure.
He rubs a hand over his face and chuckles ironically. “Hell I think I even love you. You’re brave and you’re resilient and you’re honest and you’re good. Life should have taken you out dozens of times already but you never let it. You’re too good for every fucking one of us and we just keep letting you down over and over. But I want to be there for you. I want to be the one you turn to. I don’t want you to feel alone or scared or hurt. And I hate that I’ve already done all those things but if you let me, if you give me a chance, I promise I won’t hurt you again. And I know, I know so many people have said that to you before, but I’m going to prove it. You don’t have to believe me, but let me prove it to you. Please. I -“
She’s not sure at what point in his speech her arms drop to her sides, when her brow smooths and her gaze softens and her lip drops just slightly. She feels the heat pool in her chest, warm and bubbling and even a little uncomfortable, blooming its way up her neck to her cheeks and face. And in her haze she really can’t remember when she steps forward and brings her mouth to his, soft but hard all at once, but she knows when she does that she’s never quite had a kiss like this in her life.
That is, because he doesn’t quite kiss her back.
Her lips are tingling but his body is like a statue before her, and she’s sure he’s unconscious but she can feel his heart thrumming beneath her hands atop his chest, and has she killed him? She pulls back slightly, exhaling a harsh breath, not daring to meet his eyes but seemingly incapable of putting more than an inch of distance between them. The barrier’s been broken now and she finds she’s never been warmer in her whole life. She’s about to say something, anything really, when his hands come up to cup her cheeks, coaxing her to look him in the eyes. Nerves grasp her now - it was so impulsive, she didn’t give it a second of thought before - but she has no time for them. She hears him swallow just as he pinches her chin and brings her mouth to his once more, and this is what their first kiss should have been. His lips are tender on hers and she wants to be closer to him all at once, so she wraps her arms around his waist and opens her mouth, feeling his breath on her tongue before his follows along. She was sure he’d be timid but it’s like his body is reacting all on its own, and she can’t help herself. Her lips curl into a smile against his mouth, and she nearly melts into a puddle when his thumb comes to the corner of her lip, the pad of his finger tracing the outline of her smile.
When they properly pull back for a breath, she can feel his eyes on her, blue crystals boring into her soul, and for the life of her she has no idea why she meets his gaze. She wants to look away but somehow she can’t, and he’s smiling at her and by God if she’s not absolutely fucking in love with this dickhead.
“You kissed me.” He tucks her hair behind her ear as he says it and she hates him even more. Her life will never be just hers again.
She licks her lips. “Tell anyone about this and I’ll bite your dick off. Okay mouth breather?” There isn’t the slightest trace of malice in her voice. It’s barely above a whisper.
Otis nods once, brow creased in mock seriousness. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I’m still angry at you,” she murmurs, eyes fixated on his bottom lip as she grips the ends of his shirt tighter.
He swallows hard and nods. “I know. I’m still angry with me too.”
She wants to keep the banter going but she’s got no fight in her, just butterflies wrecking havoc on her stomach and fire in her cheeks. She can’t stop staring at his lips - it’s like he’s cast a spell on her or something - and then she remembers she can do it again if she wants. This is going to be a real problem, she can tell. She’s on her tiptoes when he seems to remember the same thing, and he’s wearing the goofiest smile when he brings her face to his and leans down to kiss her again.
(It might take him a few hours to calm her down after he tells her about the missing voicemail - she could fucking murder Isaac - but he quickly finds exactly how to shut her up. If they don’t sleep that night, it’s entirely his fault.)
...
Note: this was shit but I wrote it in the notes on my phone because please let them be together next season PLEASE. It’s my first tumbler post too so sorry the format is weird as shit.
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shadowdianne · 5 years
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Your challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to create SOMETHING based on the following: Hermione takes Narcissa to experience the wonders of the Muggle world, trying to convince her there's nothing scary about it. Narcissa is nearly accepting, until they get trapped in a lift. HOW WILL HERMIONE DEAL WITH IT? (Bonus points for gratuitous smut)
Insert usualdisclaimer here about how this story is my second on this fandom, first “almost”smut for this fandom and me being a Ravenclaw through and through I spend fartoo much time working on each dialogue line so it, at least, sound believable.
Ok, disclaimer finished;I’ll wait on my corner while cackling a little bit.
-For the ones thatcould, as myself, spend half an hour into reading several articles on OtisElevator Company let’s imagine that I’m talking about a 19th lifthere. Possibility of that being an actual thing? I’m calling it artisticlicense-
“Come on,you will enjoy it.” Hermione’s excited tone was drowned by the clinking of herkeys as she pocketed them under Narcissa’s blue gaze, a blonde brow arching incredulouslyas the older witcher stepped backwards, letting the brunette surpass her andcall the clunky elevator on her apartment building.
Sighing,Narcissa followed suit, stepping inside the small space before turning to faceHermione who was grinning at her; eyes filled with the candor the older womanusually found endearing. Not this time, however, as she pursed her lips,ironing invisible lines on the robes she wore; muggle-looking enough for themto not be considered strange on the neighborhood the brunette had chosen tolive in.
“I neversaid I won’t” The blonde replied, softly yet succinctly as the doors of theelevator closed behind them both, the sound not so different from the evenolder-looking elevator that existed on the Ministry would have made. Fightingthe reflex of pressing her hands against the nearest wall, waiting for it totremble and move at neck-breaking speed, the older witch crossed her hands justabove her navel at her wrist level. The movement was telling enough forHermione to reach forward, trying to interlace her fingers with her. Smilingslightly at the gesture, Narcissa let the brunette grasp her hand while eyeing herthrough suddenly heavy-lidded eyes, her blue eyes turning a shade darker. Maybeshe could play a little game. To amuse herself at least. “But I would prefer tospend your free day doing something else.”
Hermionechuckled a little at that, her thumb drawing a slow circle on Narcissa’s skinas the elevator began its descent, the wooden paneling that covered the wallstrembling for a second. It was true, she reflected, tilting her head to oneside as Narcissa took a step forward, blonde tresses glimmering under the dulllights that bathed the small space.  
They bothknew the older witch had a point on the fact that they both could use some timeto be together; without any kind of external meddling. Yet, Hermione felt giddyat the idea of showing Narcissa the London that the older woman so rarely gotto see. Which had been the reason why, after a lazy breakfast, she had managedto draw out a reluctant “Yes” to the idea of a simple walk. Perhaps, if she wasfeeling daring, show Narcissa how the tube worked.
Nevertheless,Narcissa’s warm hand on hers, her blue eyes focusing intently on her, made herlick her lips as her mind was flooded precisely by what they had been doingbefore that lazy breakfast. The rumpled sheets they had left behind the nowclosed apartment door a strong enough testimony that maybe, just maybe, shecould make the walk shorter.
Feelingdaring, she gave a gentle squeeze to Narcissa’s hand, the blonde’s azure eyesstill on her, far too vibrant.
“What if Ipromised to reward you?” Her voice sounded breathier than she had originallythought it would be; her relationship with the older witch not exactly new butstill electrifying for her to blink and think on maybe taking a step backbefore she was unable to stop the blush she felt beginning to crawl up herneck.
Before shecould even move the ever-present clattering of the old elevator came to a stopwith a not-so promising growl; a whirring sound echoing as a sudden tremor onthe floor made both witches lose their footing. Letting Narcissa’s hand go,Hermione turned quickly towards the button panel, the stillness confirming herfears before she even got to press any button she was able to reach, a sense ofdread quickly coiling around her throat.
There wasno way around it; they were stuck.
“Isn’t thisbloody fantastic.” The blonde’s voice echoed at Hermione’s back. The swearing,coupled with an obvious surprise, echoed strangely inside the elevator, thesound ricocheting against the walls.
Regainingher usual composure, Narcissa quickly approached Hermione, the sudden movementmaking her clothes billow slightly as she reached for her wand, the dark wood astriking contrast on her fingers as she eyed the muggle contraption; thebeginning of a spell already making the air around the wand glimmer. Light thatwas quickly snuffed out as Hermione promptly blocked the panel from Narcissa’sview with both of her hands, brown eyes pleading.
“No, you can’t do that.” She said beforepointing towards where the doors stood, glaringly shut. “Muggle side of London,remember? If we use magic and someone sees us Secrecy is out of the window.”
Narcissahuffed at that, a voice on her mind whispering how Hermione was being overlycautious. An idea she refrained herself from stating out loud as she knew theyounger witch, working for the ministry after all, had a point. Magic andmuggle objects didn’t tend to work together, no matter how experienced themagic wielder was. A “reparo” could make matters worse; the signal that wouldcreate for muggles one she didn’t intend to find out. However, the small spacewas beginning to creep on her and so she pocketed her wand once again, themovement firmer, perhaps, than intended.
“What doyou suggest then? Waiting until someone realizes this is not working?” She letout a quick smile, one that showed her discomfort in a way only the youngerwitch was able to bring despite the hours upon hours she had spent on learninghow to never let one’s façade fall. “I thought you wanted to show me thewondrous muggle world.”
Her tonehad been cutting there and she winced immediately at it; at her temper rilingas she felt the constricting atmosphere inside the elevator get the worse outof her. It was no secret for the woman in front of her she hated used thesethings; both magic and non-magical, but she still parted her lips, an apologyready to fall Hermione’s roll-eyes cut it, the brunette obviously not-havingany of her temper tantrum.
“It won’t be long until someone calls it. Wejust need to sit tight for a little while.” She seemed unperturbed, not evenmentioning the possibility of apparating. Which was also Narcissa was halfwayconsidering despite the small space they were in, the spin the hex would needto work a tight fit. Pouting petulantly, the expression causing Hermione tochuckle fondly at her in that same way Narcissa would often found endearing,the blonde witch shook her head ever so slightly as the brunette leaned ontothe nearest wall, the back of her head pressed against it, fingers picking therim of the jumper she wore beneath her jacket; the only sign that she wasn’t asunfazed as she was pretending to be.
“Just a few minutes, please?” Hermione said asNarcissa said nothing, simply standing there as she clenched and unclenched herhands. Her voice was soft, devoid of the earlier giddiness, but her eyes werejust as bright, beckoning in a way as she lifted her eyebrow in an eerily similarway the blonde had done mere minutes before. “If no one comes to us I promise Iwill apparate us myself.”
Narcissawasn’t surprised Hermione had reached to the same conclusion as she had had butshe still nibbled her bottom lip, her chin rising ever so slightly as she-quite melodramatically if she wanted to be truthful, replied to that possibility.
“I don’tknow why we can’t do that now.”
Which wasstill a valid reason but not one Hermione seemed close to even think about asshe moved forward, separating herself from the wall and mimicking her earlieraction of grasping Narcissa’s right hand between hers. Muscles suddenly slack,Narcissa watched as Hermione wordlessly began to massage the palm of her hand,small impulses running up her fingers as the brunette pressured the spots whereher manicured nails had indented her skin a few seconds ago.
The massageturned into soft lazy circles that began just on the bruised skin only toslither up the blonde’s palm until it reached the tender skin on her wrist,just below her pulse. Halting there but drumming her fingers on a slowlybuilding staccato, the brunette remained silent, her presence calming asseconds ticked by. Which, if Narcissa wanted to be honest, was actually helpingwonders to the thought of her being stuck on such small place.
“I reallywanted to have you for myself.” She finally admitted, softly, and the way hervoice was laced with more wishful want than she had thought it would be didn’tdeter her from eye Hermione as the younger witch’s ears pinked, a blushcrawling its way up her neck.
The obvious“Not being stuck in a lift.” resonatedjust as loudly but Narcissa didn’t say those words out loud as she heard howHermione cleared her throat, the drumming on her skin stopping entirely as thebrunette tilted her head, a sudden daring glint appearing on the back of hereyes while she re-focused on Narcissa’s own curious irises.
She wasn’t surprisedat the fire that suddenly darkened the brown speckled with gold, but she stillfelt the rush, the exhilaration of seeing the Gryffindor side take overHermione’s expression. With a smile that inched closer and closer to a smirkthe more seconds that passed, the brunette rose their hands, pressing a kiss onthe inside of Narcissa’s wrist, a small bite and lick following in a matter ofseconds with those eyes still burning through her, scorching her.
Thebrunette took a step closer, still inches away but close enough for them bothto know what was the implicit message on the way she kept her mouth closer toNarcissa’s body, the scent of perfume the blonde had applied there earlierseeming to get stronger for a moment, a second, as Hermione kept eyeing her.But, as much as the brunette could be a Gryffindor, Narcissa wasn’t a Blackjust for show and, with a tilt of her head, locks falling into place,cascading, liquid-looking almost, she moved her arm away, forcing Hermione tomove closer; lose the control slightly at the sudden change of energy.
“I would have never thought you would be thisbrazen.” The remark was said softly, the tone airier, almost conversationallyand Narcissa could see Hermione struggling not to slip from whatever edge shewas mentally clasping to.
It wasn’tlike Narcisa thought the brunette could be brazen, or proactive, but theyounger woman usually enjoyed being the one who followed her lead; thepossibility of her even thinking on trying to hint at something less chastethan a kiss on their situation was interesting to say the least. And, certainly,something she intended to use in the future. For now, however, she wanted tosee how far she could push the brunette, her previous nervousness regardingtheir predicament pushed to the back of her mind. It wasn’t, her rational sidewhispered, like they were really trapped; despite the inconvenience she knewthat if she pressed enough, if there was an actual possibility of danger,Hermione herself would be the first to use magic. So, she thought, stillholding her arm close to her chest, her hand turned into an almost relaxedfist, palm facing her and Hermione’s strong fingers around her wrist, she couldvery well see for how long the brunette wanted to keep the game on.
Which, ifthe way Hermione shook her head, pushing whatever dust of pink from her cheeksdown was any indication, certainly a little bit longer.
“Gryffindor,remember?” Her voice dropped at the question, the rise never quite appearing asshe let her eyes wander over Narcissa’s figure. The movement carrying with it ashiver the blonde hummed appreciatively at. “And if this helps you while wewait…”
The blondewasn’t going to let the opportunity to tease go to waste and, with that inmind, shrugged daintily before grinning, teeth bare and glinting under theelevator’s lights.
“Oh, itcertainly helps, but I would want something more.”
She saw themoment Hermione’s facial muscles contracted, an almost eye-narrowing that didn’thappen as Narcissa moved forward, cupping the younger witch’s cheek with herfree hand deciding that, if she was going to be stuck for the time being, shewas going to use it to let Hermione realize what they both could be doinginstead of standing around. Barely giving the brunette a moment aside from the millisecondshe usually used so Hermione could nod, granting her permission, Narcissapressed her lips against Hermione’s, a quite mild kiss all things considered asshe barely nipped the brunette’s bottom lip, the ghost-like graze of her teethan afterthought on her original plan.
A planHermione promptly destroyed as she, instead of backing up, admitting betweengasps she had merely wanted to throw Narcissa from a loop, pressed against her,her chest flush against the blonde’s with their arms the only real barrier asshe deepened the kiss, a flash of tongue caressing hers the sign that madeNarcissa think she could have bitten more than she was able to chew. Which,regarding the younger witch, rarely left Narcissa indifferent.
MirroringNarcissa’s previous caress on her cheek, Hermione’s slide her free hand overthe blonde’s shoulder, climbing up her neck, wrapping her fingers aroundsilk-like tresses, tugging ever so slightly. Enough, Narcissa quicklydiscovered, to make her gasp, leaving more and more access to a quicklydomineering brunette.
“I’m starting to think you stopped this awfulthing.” She managed to gasp as Hermione moved from her mouth to her jaw, the kissesthere less frantic, slower, but making her skin sizzle and burn.
“Why wouldI?” She heard and there was there that delightful Gryffindor pitch, the smugone, the one that sometimes appeared when the brunette was able to see whatothers, older and supposedly wiser, should have seen already. Narcissa had beenprivy to many moments like this but it was rare for the brunette to get carriedaway by it like this; sounding almost drunk on the feeling. She decided thatshe liked that side of the younger witch even more now and, with her arm stilltrapped, the length of the wand pressed against her skin, she flattened herloose fist, palm resting against her chest, her heartbeat loud and clear.
Heartbeatthat quickened as Hermione, sensing the movement, took a step back, barely aninch really, so she could guide her hand, placing it at her side, never oncelooking away from Narcissa with brown eyes that seemed to be filled with a myriadof tonalities that got only darker as she, after freeing Narcissa’s hand, slideher own hand back up, towards the blonde’s chest in where the minuscule buttonsthat kept the upper side of the robe together were concealed by a simple charm.
Not that ittruly mattered as Hermione knew perfectly well where those buttons were, herfingers grazing the fabric in suddenly too slow movements.
AndNarcissa Black would never beg but she felt a grunt asking to be released fromthe back of her throat; the fact that they were still there, in the middle ofan elevator, no longer important as she lowered her gaze, her eyes zeroing overHermione’s fingers as they, painfully slow, unfastened the first few buttons.The feeling of the fabric shagging on her shoulders, sliding off one as itbegan to part was nothing really to the way Hermione’s eyes followed themovement; halting on her collarbones, tips of her fingers stopping in themiddle of her sternum, warmth radiating out of her as she took a step away.Skimming her hands over Narcissa’s diaphragm as the blonde stood still, chinhigh, proud, but breathing labored, Hermione bite down on her lip, theopportunity to taste, to see more, fueling her forward until she couldn’t takeit anymore.
The blondesaw the way Hermione’s eyes darkened further when a peek of the lace she had magickedon herself before the brunette had convinced her to this little adventure;resolute to seduce her for a few more hours, let itself known. Black detailsthat contrasted against her pale skin wrapped around her chest, pronouncing theswell of her breasts, framing her torso as she breathed deeply, the movementoccasioning the robe to slide further down her shoulders.
Narcissa Blackhalf-naked in an elevator. Who would have thought?
Hermione’svoice, however, was what brought the blonde back to the present, her voicehusky and deeper than usual.
“You certainly had some plans in mind.” Theobvious fluster in her tone, the sudden loss of the driving force that had madeNarcissa unable really to do anything else but enjoy herself was what made theolder witch reclaim the proximity she had lost; grasping the brunette’s forearmand pulling until she could feel the texture of Hermione’s jumper on herpartially naked skin.
“Idefinitely had them.” She replied before dropping a kiss on parted lips, a briefgasp escaping Hermione’s mouth, one that was quickly followed by a moan asNarcissa guided her hand to her chest, the texture of the lace a palecomparison against the caress of Hermione’s hands. Kissing and nibbling,grazing Hermione’s jaw, down her neck, never biting but always letting herselftaste the younger woman, Narcissa ravished the younger woman. Because, despitethe situation, the fact that she was the one half-dressed, she was the one whowas always poised, always in control. Which was something the brunette witchwould hate if it wasn’t for the fact that she adored it. And, as Narcissachuckled, mirth and want mixed on her eyes, she let her voice carry one morepromise, one that she knew would be the final blow on an already weakenedresolve. “I can show them to you…”
Hermionedidn’t even pretend she wanted something more than that, merely whimpering atthe idea and muttering a “yes” that had Narcissa humming.
“Let me apparate us.”
Eyesopening, hazy, Hermione growled but nodded, unable to say no, not with Narcissa’shands on her, guiding her as her hand curled and palmed, caressing, touching.The blonde’s magic signature felt all over her, inside her, and she could onlyrelent.
The blondesmirked and with the robes still halfway unbuttoned, the black lace stillpeeking through, she pushed Hermione, making her take a step backwards, enoughfor her to reach to her wand and spinning them both, effectively leaving thesmall space and reappearing inside the apartment, at the edge of the unmadebed. They will have many more days for the brunette to show more of the worldshe grew up in to the older witch. Today, however, it was for them. Only them.
PS: All things considered I behaved quite well.
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