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cornacopicimagines · 4 years

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A Rose Blooms │t.h

pairing: prince!tom holland x princess!reader

words: 8.4k (WHOOPS)

warnings: arranged marriage, SMUT (we been knew), slight praise kink and 10000% breeding kink, therefore unprotected sex, swearing, slight cockwarming & good lord there is so much

summary: Perhaps God does have a sick sense of humour. To allow such misguided souls to one another. Souls that shouldn't be allowed to feel the sense of happiness he can provide, that should accept their dire situations. The Prince of Wales and his new bride can attest to the quite well.

a/n: what do y'all mean a historical prince au!tom holland with major smut and breeding kink is not a thing. i know the sluts want it, even if they never ask for it. i must provide it.

masterlist

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y/n of Burgundy was a splendid piece of artwork. A sweet and humble French Princess with a huge dowry and a bright future. It was as if DaVinci had casted the girl from Venus's shadow and gifted the baby to displeased parents. Parents who so wished for a boy, that the arrival of a healthy girl is so overlooked that the girl is better off dead. The sadness is heard across not only France but the entirety of Europe. Poor y/n of Burgundy! The Unlucky Princess of Burgundy! It's all she hears; she is deemed a tragedy before her life is even written. Perhaps that is her greatest misdeed in this life, that because she is born the wrong sex to what is expected she is casted to the side as a woman destined for slight and anguish for her entire life. Even if this is the case, y/n wished to think of herself as unwritten for the moment being. A woman waiting for a calling no matter how big or small. A woman who's only current wish to sit atop this windowsill, letting the cool September French breeze kiss her flushed cheeks. Alas, even this is stripped from her.

"Get off the window, y/n!" her mother's shrill voice shrieks as The Duchess yanks y/n to the floor. It's harsh and frantic, as if an arrow is to fly through and hit her. Her tightly coiled chest hit's the wooden floor hard. It knocks the only wind y/n really has left, a wasteful shame.

"I am sorry mama," y/n responds quietly, her hands desperately pat to find a piece of wood that will not cut up into her as she attempts to regain her balance. Though her room is filled with four maids not a single one offers their own hand to help her. She knows it is because of her mother's cowl. If they dare so move in a direction towards her, The Duchess will become a Fury of Hell himself.

"The breeze is so sweet at this time of afternoon." Finally, y/n does place her feet back on the floor with a small clack of her heels. She takes a moment to take in the state of her gown. While she has countless others, something about the pure white of the satin being destroyed by the inevitable dust that has collected is disheartening even to her. The pattern of bright red roses now looks more of a dull blood grey than a true flower.

"The breeze is something so frivolous my dear," The Duchess is suddenly content with her surroundings. "Busy yourself with something more intelligent, it makes for a much better bride."

"Thank you for the wise advice mother," y/n snaps, her fingers gripping the ruined material of her gown. "I'll be sure to not engage myself in something that gives me the slightest bit of freedom in the lifeless castle," it was no louder than a whisper. Her braided hair still muffling the sounds.

As if her words seemed to not even reach her, The Duchess mumbles in agreement before taking her leave. The door shutting loudly behind her, the air was finally safe to breathe. The maids immediately begin to swarm her. Like flies to honey; they grapple her, prod at her and pinch her. It was too much. It was as if a million ants had swarmed her body, nipping at any piece of flesh they could just because it was what they were meant to do. An instinctive need to draw more blood than necessary, it was overwhelming. They inspected her perfectly capable hands, wondering if their incompetence has cost them their heads because y/n of Brittany split her blood and The Duchess refused to let them help. She was suffocating.

She didn't mean for it to slip, it just did. Her voice raised, "Get out." It was softer at first. "Get out," they still didn't move, still abusing her. "I said get out!" Everything stopped for a moment, the air her mother had ensued had now come back. The maids all took a single step away from her. y/n felt the tears threaten her, warning by dancing across her lower lashes. "Do none of you listen, get out for Christ’s sake!" That's all it took, in a matter of seconds y/n was finally alone. She could hear the faint song of the trees whispering to her, it was calm, but she couldn't appreciate it. She dropped to her knees and began to softly weep into her palms. The groans muffled by the skin of her hands and the tears halted from falling by her fingers. In this moment and forever ahead of her, she was desolate.

But like all things, even this bleak minute of sorrow was cut to an end by the deafening sound of her father's boots storming down the hallways towards her room.

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Tom spectated as the pole shattered into a thousand pieces. The splinters hitting ever edge of the arena. He watched as the knight fell limp and as his horse rode on through the chaos. The young prince roared out of his seat, his knees hitting the harsh wood of the royal box. His name echoed on the young knight's medallion above his breast. He had picked the winning side and rightfully so, Sir Harrison had never been defeated. For a moment, Tom turned around to face his beaming mother. A woman who loved the games, Tom always relied on his mother to accompany him to these festivities but his father. The Prince would always ask graciously but was refused every time. Constantly belittled for the consul of old men with a working cock between them, it was a joke. The King had many failed efforts to rile the English people to cause, Tom had offered a large gathering to help inspire the people. The King told his son this would cause nothing but useless panic and many painful deaths. Scoffing, Tom waltzed back to his seat. It was uncomfortable, it felt as if ants hand made their nets below the seat's support. He wished to ride alongside them.

"You cannot and you will not," The Queen smiled at him, waving to squires as they led the horses away. Tom's head swivelled around to meet his mother's. "I refuse it my son."

"I had said nothing mother," Tom replied quietly, he too doing his duty to the lower noble men who had come out today. Each one sweatier than the last. "Perhaps you are hearing things, 10 childbirths can change a woman's mind," Tom stifled a laugh, too which he received a slap on the arm for.

"Don't play smart with me son," The Queen spoke coolly, her countless rings clanged as she rose from her seat. Tom followed suit, allowing a hand for his now middle-aged mother for gracious help down the impossibly large stairs. "I almost lost your father to one of these silly little cock shows, I will not go through it with you my boy."

Tom raised an eyebrow, watching his mother's golden trim become bleaker by the stain of the grass. "I had half a mind to believe you enjoyed these silly little cock shows," Tom played. The Queen peered up at his through hooded lids. It was dangerous waters even for him, a man who has seen the blood of war. He allowed his mother and her ladies to return to Windsor, watching as if to wait for the shark to disappear.

"Your Royal Highness, if I may have a word," a soft voice called out from below the podium. Tom paced to the edge and stared down. Constance, he thought to himself as he smiled wickedly. She was a short and mildly plump woman, with wild unruly hair that had to be constantly shoved out of her face. He remembers her name because of how sweet his name sounded dripping from her tongue. Countless nights spent in the throes of passion, wearing moonlight as cloth. Tom knew he had dishonoured her just by bedding her, but he couldn't help himself. She was the first woman who really took an interest in him. Still, he had to come to her aid on multiple occasions. While he likes the way, she grips at his biceps, he however, doesn't like when her father comes storming into court demanding his daughter's honour back because Tom had prayed on her. Perhaps, it was the odd lack of ladies that would flock to his side or maybe it was simply because he wanted a little bit of fun before the inevitable.

"You may, my Lady," Tom smiled widely making his way to her side. He could tell the mud was ruining the polished leather of his boots, he completely forgot about his favourite riding boots he had put on in hopes that he may indulge himself in the sports. Still, he pushed the though deep down at met her eyes. He not an unusually tall man but the way he almost dwarfed her was delectable. As he watched her squirm, he wondered as to why she would speak with him where anyone could see. There was no danger for him, but the world's eyes were on her.

She played with the small ring on her pinkie finger, riding it up and down the skin. "Why did you not tell me," she whispered, refusing to look up at him. Tears began to well.

"What on earth do you mean?" He queered, genuinely curious as to what had got her all worked up. His hands went to stroke her cheek gently, but she abruptly pulled away from him. This time her eyes did meet his, the salty liquid glossed over her eyes.

"It is bad enough that I am called the Prince's Whore but now they are cursing my name because I have ruined the royal couple!" she cried out, her deep green dress swallowing the mud below. "That a stupid maid slut has stolen you away from the beautiful French Princess!"

Tom saw nothing but red. Not because of Constance but because of what she said to him. He had begged his parents to let him choose his own wife. If he was to rule England after his father's passing, he wished to at least have a woman whom he truly loved by his side. He said nothing to her as he stormed away. The small drizzle of rain hitting his skin as he picked up his speed. He knew that his father was in a council meeting alongside his mother. Perfect opportunity to unleash his rage. He faintly heard her calling after him, that was muffled by the buzzing in his ears.

He had been told who he was meant to be and what he was meant to be from the moment he was born. Hardly ever seeing his mother or younger brothers because he was eldest, never knowing true companionship because he would be constantly cooped up listening to his advisors and tutors as they taught him the art of war and foreign policies. This was his one chance to spend his life with a woman who understood him and would grow a loving family much in contrast to what he had.

His hands pushed the heavy wooden doors, they hit the walls with a large smack. The entire council stood for the Prince, with the exception of his mother and sickly father. He walked past them with ease and took his seat at the opposite end of table. His eyes focused solely on his father as he absently noted the appearance of his son.

"Wonderful of you to finally join us," The Duke of Essex smiled weakly, in any attempt to deflect the tension elsewhere.

"When were you going to tell me?" Tom spoke, his voice barely above a whisper and laced with venom. His elbows digging into the cool wood of granite of the table. He watched his father finally face him; the man was a wreck. His greying hair stuck to his hair with copious amounts of sweat, his brown eyes had sunk deadly back into the sockets and his skin was pale and filled with wrinkles. "When were you going to tell me father?"

"You were spending too much time with that scullery maid," The King respond calmly, still flipping through royal documents. Tom was on the verge of an explosion. If the Prince was known for something, it was his anger. Much like Mount Vesuvius, he didn't get angry often, he hated how it affect those around him. The times he is pushed to the breaking point however, he was destroy everything in his path. "We had to put an end to it."

"We?" Tom pushed.

"Your mother made the arrangements; she is being brought here as we speak." Once more, the King had no interest with the devastated look on the Prince's face. Too caught up in an attempt to stile a cough.

"You promised me my own choice of bride," Tom seethed. He faced his mother, if the King wouldn't listen perhaps the Queen would.

His mother sighed; the silk of her sleeves draped over the arms of the chair. "That was before you had instinctively made the choice, we hoped that perhaps you would have fallen for the daughter of a Duke or at worst an Earl. You were going to marry that girl, after everything her family has done against the court. We couldn't allow it."

Tom jaw clicked. "Who is she?" He was done arguing, done protesting.

"You'll marry the granddaughter of the French King; y/n of Burgundy," his father spoke up before his mother could sugar coat it. "The family sent a portrait of the girl as the first payment of her dowry; it has already been placed in your room. Hopefully, you can find the slightest bit of attraction for your new bride before the wedding."

"Will I get to meet her beforehand?" He at least hoped to see the girl with his own eyes before calling her his wife. Finally, the King met his eyes. He dropped the quill on the desk as locked his eyes, leaning towards him.

"Did you really think you'd get that luxury?"

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The sea breeze prickled at y/n skin as she sat atop the deck. She could tell they were getting closer. The wind went from a soft tone to a howling scream, something her great aunt had told her all about. English weather could go from a perfect sunny day to god's worst mood. In all honesty, she preferred it to French. It was wild and unpredictable, something she so desperately needed.

She remembered how she got into this predicament as she lay down a 9 ace on the table. Waiting for the ship to land.

"You'll leave tomorrow, it will take you a good couple of days to get there." Her father exclaimed, picking a raspberry from the plate and eating the sweet fruit. y/n stood in silence, still reeling her tears back into her eyes. She refused to weep in front of the Duke. She moved around the large room, in order to hear his words. "You'll make a fine queen," he smiled, placing his hands atop her cheeks. y/n smiled warmly before raising a concern.

"How do you know this will be different than the last?" she asked quietly, staring down at her shoes. Her father sighs before picked his coat up from the chair.

y/n placed her bets, her hand is exquisite. Three queen and a pair of Kings. If she doesn't win, it's as if God is going against her. The men that sit beside her raise their brows in confusion. She's not backing down.

"Because, you know their language and their culture from Great Aunt Mary. You were her favourite after all," her father tells her, the memory of the old lady teaching her English brings a curve to her lips. That was not the answer she was looking for, however. Her father knows it as well, he knows the answer she wants but he cannot give it to her. "Trust me pumpkin," the endearment is wonderful. Unlike her mother, y/n's father has always been kind to her. She doesn't know if it because she is his eldest daughter or because her brother is a lousy boy and she is the only child with a head still attached to her shoulder blades.

She releases her tension; she knows whatever comes out of this she must go along with it. She must accept whatever situation is handed to her and accept her duty as a future queen and mother to the English Throne.

y/n squeals, her hand's won. The rest of the chips are placed in her corner, she is asking if they want to go another round but instead, they all huff and walk away from her. y/n feels her heart sink into her stomach. Perhaps the English wind has turned their moods sour. Soon enough her worries are washed away as the boat docks into Brighton and y/n hears the cheers for her. She can't exactly make out what they are saying. Sadly, she doesn't get a chance to even greet her new subjects as her new English ladies are gently pushing her towards the carriage. The only thing she can do is wave and smile at them, hoping to instil a fraction of hope for the new royal couple. As she steps into the carriage, a huge white dress follows her. The abundance of ladies and herself are stuck in the cramped space for a little over an hour before they start agreeing to change her dress into the one being coddled.

"Why? This is dress is perfect as it is," y/n laughed gently, her fingers playing with the pearls that lace the neckline.

"Forgive me, my lady, but His Majesty; The King has requested that you wear a white gown." One of the younger girls pipes up. Sighing, y/n nods her head to agree and goes to stop the carriage.

While they don't completely undress her, she knows that the smock under her dress is shear and leave nothing to the imagination. Quickly they strip her of the current dress, even unlacing the corset before adding another one. As they place the soft silk of her veil over her head, she can hear the ringing bells at Westminster. It hasn't completely dawned on her what she is exactly going through. Marrying a man she has never met. Marrying a man for all she knows could be a tyrant. She's heard quite a few English Monarchs fall under that said category. Her heart started to jump now; she could fell the beat thump against her vocal box.

The people began to line the city. Countless bodies waved at her as she strolled through the city of London. The abbey somehow seemed ten times bigger in person. White rose petals fell through the air as the coachman opened the door for her. The walkway was paved with red velvet. Her heels felt as though she was ruining the beautiful material as she walked.

Tom can physically hear her pounding heartbeat from where he stands. He can't exactly make out her face, but he can see the white gown strutting towards him. It's the same patterns as the dress his mother wore more than 20 years ago. He's seen it in countless paintings, his mother scowling as she attempts to salvage any positive thing out of such tremendous pain. Harrison lays a hand on his shoulder; the contact makes him jump.

"I heard she looks like a siren," he joked, dusting a small particle of fluff off Tom's shoulder. "Perhaps she'll sound like one too," the comment was enough to grant the knight a hard whack on his arm from the Prince. He truly did wonder if she would as beautiful as the painting which depicted her. A small red rose for his house in her fingertips as she grinned softly. It was as if she was staring into his soul.

Tom reached out to allow her aid in getting up the stairs. She graciously accepted muttering a small thank you as her other hand lifted the countless layers of fabric to mend her steps. Her touch was soft, something he wasn't used to. The gentle touch of a noble woman, even if it was only upon his fingers. The entirety of Westminster Abbey went silent as the faced each other.

y/n could barely hear anything over her rampant anxiety. Though she was eased slightly as she blindly grasped at his fingers, she was afraid she gripped a little too tightly. Finally, she stood in front of him. The gown dipping down the stairs to end in her ladies' hands. She wondered what she looked like to him. Wondering if it was a glorious sight to witness a new bride waltzing towards him. Or if it was one of dread, to be in holy matrimony with someone you've just met for the first time. She's still trying to decide between the two.

The ceremony was beautiful. A simply yet elegant affair, as two young royals wed. She knows that she is marrying the Prince of Wales, a worthy husband for any noble woman. Yet she can't help the dread that builds as the Archbishop drones on. The hymns falling deaf ears. She tries to pay attention, but she can’t, all she can hear is the drumming of her heartbeat. It pounds against her ribs, creating echoes in her head. Before she knows it, his hands reach for hers. There was no strength in his grip unlike beforehand, it was soft and gentle. As if she was a beautiful yet delicate doll, that she would completely shatter if he pressed just that bit too hard. Their fingertips locked; her skin fell into the ridges of his knuckles.

“I proclaim thee, y/n of Burgundy to be my lawfully wedded wife from now until the end of my days,” he hesitated. She could hear it in his voice. “She shall sit beside me as I rule the kingdom.” The ring passes down her skin, the metal biting at her finger.

She repeats him. “I proclaim thee, Thomas – Prince of Wales to be my lawfully wedded husband from now until the end of my days. I shall sit beside him as he rules this beautiful country.” She smiles at the end, though she never intends to. y/n thanks her ladies that they cover her grinning face behind the thick white lace of her veil.

The entirety of Westminster Abbey is silent, no one dares even breathe as Prince Thomas coils his fingers around the tipping of the lace. He lifts it over his now wife’s face. He taken aback slightly. The painter wasn’t paid enough, clearly. She was even more beautiful standing in front of him. The same clear complexion now glistening in the soft sunlight of England. He doesn’t pry of course; it would be rude of him. Just to stare at his bride, as if they were the only people in the hall. Good lord, does he wish it was.

His hands reach her cheeks. Tender once more, he brings her forward. She shifts on her feet as they meet. A quaint and soft kiss, unlike anything either of them has felt ever. He can’t remember the last time, it was this – well, gentle. Thomas doubts he has ever kissed a woman of such luxury in his entire life up to this point. y/n is the first to pull away, her fingers resting lightly on his raised wrists. Their eyes meet for a moment, a short moment.

Westminster Abbey erupts into celebration. Red rose petals fall from the ceiling and music begins to flood the area.

As she stared around, y/n began to think to herself. I do not know what will come out of this, but I already can see that joy my presence brings to these people. I shall not let them down.

Prince Thomas of England, Heir to The English Throne and y/n of Burgundy, Granddaughter of The French King had been wed. They were now locked in holy matrimony, a feeling unlike any other. Both horrendous and hospitable.

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The Hall is a grand party. Laughing and singing is heard from every corner, mugs of beer and wine are flung across tables and scraps of food are being thrown to the dogs. y/n has never seen such a scene unfold. Too contained by the prudish French court. The most scandalous thing she has seen is a risqué dance meant to be for a married lover.

That is what she always despised about the French Nobility. Their secrets. Whispers and Rumours spread faster than fire. If you had committed some heinous act, the entirety of France will hear about it by the end of the week. Perhaps that is another reason why she felt so trapped in Burgundy. y/n could never do a single task on her own before her ladies’ loose tongue would find their way back to her mother. A delicate little flower, such a waste of potential.

Tom noticed her prodding, her fork twirling the few peas left on her plate. He hadn’t said a word to her all night and yet he looks at her if she’s unwillingly to speak. Does she know any basic English? Perhaps not.

“How are you liking the food,” Tom asked her, leaning into her. She smiled up at him, he spoke to her in French. It made her heart swell for a second. y/n turns to face him, smiling warmly. Tom wishes he could keep that smile forever.

“It’s is very well Your Grace,” y/n replies to him. Her flawless English rolling off her tongue with a petite French accent. It’s like heaven to his ears and he’s taken aback. “My Great Aunt was an English Countess, I loved her very much. I was fluent in English before I was 8.” She explained, almost as if she had read his mind.

“You need not call me Your Grace,” he teased, it was somewhat natural for him.

“Then what shall I call you?” y/n queered.

“I am your husband now, whatever pleases you pleases me,” Tom replied, turning back to his empty plate in an effort to hide the rising red flush on his face. y/n knew she should leave it at that, so she turned her attention elsewhere.

“Are royal weddings usually this,” she paused, “loud?”

Tom laughed quietly, he too turned to face the ruckus crowd. Men laying in the laps of maids, dogs feasting over food that had been flung across the floor. Loud chants to the beat of the music filled the hall. He would have been completely embarrassed by the state of his people in front of his new bride, if he hadn’t seen the amused look on her face. “Not usually, I have only been to one other wedding and that was extremely sombre.”

“How so?” she asked, sipping from the freshly poured wine.

“I went to my uncle’s wedding a few months ago. He had also married a noble woman like yourself, but the poor thing was only 11. My uncle was 35 and counting.” He wishes it was different but like all things in this world, he is powerless to the wills of those who think they are higher than others.

He peered at her; y/n was already looking at him. An eyebrow and a lip raised in disgust. It was quaint.

“I wish I could be more repulsed by that,” Tom wondered if she was joking or if she was serious. He couldn’t tell just by the use of her tone. He did however note her wit. Something he so longed for. They talked for hours, sitting by one another and discussing anything that arrived at the conversation. Tom can’t decide whether it’s her honey-like voice or her banter but it’s making him feel things no one should for someone they are being forced to wed.

Just while they are comparing the contrasting jousting techniques, the joyful music suddenly stops. It’s a quick snap and the entire hall is now dead quiet. The Earl of Salisbury mounts himself on one of the tables. His cheeks red with drunkenness.

The Earl points directly at y/n and Tom as they sit in confusion. “The final tradition, an honour for any noble man. The Great Bedding!”

y/n turns to Tom, clinging slightly to his sleeve. He takes immediate notice. “Thomas, what is The Great Bedding?” There was great concern in her voice as she watched all of the men rush towards them. He didn’t get to answer as the women abruptly hauled him out of his seat and down the hall, away from her.

y/n didn’t fear too well either. At least a dozen grimy hands placed themselves all over her body, pulling harshly as they brought her into the air. Dancing her down the halls. She constantly whacked their hands, to no avail of course. They only dropped her once they got to a dimly lit room.

It was already buzzing with people. Hustling around a single bed, covered by finely woven silk. The men dropped her gently, placing her feet against the ground. y/n tried to turn around to give them a piece of her mind but was stopped as her corset began to become loose around her waist. Incredibly uncomfortable, y/n looked up to distract herself in any regard and found Tom at the other side. The maid’s hands undoing every buckle of his coat, tiny fingers unthreading the lavish ropes across his body. y/n blushed at the sight.

Tom was trying his hardest not to look at her, not to stare as countless men of the court undressing her. He could hear the bulky wedding dress hit the floor of the room, he could feel her eyes on him, and he could see the variety of unknown nobles swarming them in any hopes to achieve the right to gossip tomorrow morning. It was despicable.

He climbed in first, the cotton of the blankets itching his skin as he settled. The only comfort he found was in the softness in his unkempt hair. Not restricted by the gel he was forced to wear.

y/n slowly followed his lead, it was dead silent. No one dared breathed as the new Princess of Wales found her spot next to The Prince. All the while, the exact same priest Archbishop chanted away, and priests flung holy water at the bed. Some of the liquid found itself on her skin. Finally, the crowd bowed to the couple and began to take their leave.

Tom watched in peace; he would be alone. He closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh, perhaps he would be able to get some well needed sleep. That seemed achievable until he felt a cold grasp around his wrist. His eyes shot open to find his father’s glare directly at him. “Don’t let the spring pass, I hope to see a grandson in the next few months,” The King spat.

It had been hours since the quarry of guests had left the room but the the monarch’s words etched themselves into his mind. Echoing nonstop, getting wilder as Tom felt y/n settle herself next to him. The mere presence of her alongside the duty he had to fulfil was too much for him. Tom shot up and quickly gathered his things, hauling his boots and clothes. He couldn’t be near her for another moment, too afraid of what he might do if she was subject to this sort of cruel punishment. Tom quickly decided he was sleep next door, just far away to have the thoughts no longer plague his mind but not too far that he would impose the wrong meaning on her. He reached for the door when she chimed in.

“Where are you going?”

He halted instantly. He wished that they could have gotten along like most royal couples should. A cold and initially distant meeting, then hopefully something would blossom over the years. Instead they had gotten along quite well, too well in fact. He was used to going slowly, taking his time in bedding a girl. A constant glaze over the court every few days, then promiscuous banter and in the span of months he would have her melt in his hand with a simple word. Now, he was feeling flustered and out of control and all of it was happening over a single night. Tom pressed his forehead against the wood, taking a deep breath. He turned to look at her, just like a painting coming to life. Her hair was down, unlike anything he had ever seen. Not grimed with sweat and dirt nor was it pinned underneath a headdress or away from her face. This time, the soft curls framed it. The nightgown clung to her shoulders; the fabric dangerously close to falling off. It made his life that much more difficult.

“I am sorry. You are a beautiful woman, but I just cannot fulfil the expectations that are placed upon me tonight. I will be sleeping in the room next door if you need me,” Tom blurted out. He waited for a response before he could speed out. She sat there, like a perfectly sculpted statue. It was torture.

y/n sighed, “nothing has to happen tonight.”

“But they will ask, they will pry like they always will,” he countered.

“Who says we have to tell the truth?” y/n giggled. God, it was a symphony to him. Tom watched her leave the bed, waltzing around to meet with him at the door. He wanted the tell her to stay exactly where she is, not to move even an inch closer but with ever step she took, his breath hitched higher in his throat. “I would prefer to spend the first night of my marriage with my husband, whether something happens or not.”

He swallowed thickly, “you are incredibly calm.” He now met her, his full attention on y/n as she chuckled in delight.

“I am filled to the brim with anxiety, just not that same fear that you are feeling,” she told him as she sat down the small longue in the middle of the room. She took the wine from the table and poured each of them a glass. Tom was hesitant at first, still wishing to flee the room and into the safety of his own solitary. Still, he found himself pacing towards her. Taking soft and flinching steps until he sat beside her.

“Then what is the fear?” He took the other glass, quickly chugging the alcohol. y/n said nothing but just stared at him in confusion. “The fear you feel, why?”

It was now her turn to become flustered. He looked genuinely curious as to why she was feeling doubtful, but she was unsure if he truly wanted to know the answer. Her father made her promise never to speak of it to anyone, a shameful secret that would ruin her future if it was released. But Tom was now her husband. They were bonded by law, a thought she really didn’t wish to dwell on. Surely, whatever she told him wouldn’t cause them any stress? Still, it would be rude of her not to tell him the reason after he had just clearly demonstrated his own fears in the commitment. “You must promise not to become angry.”

Tom nodded his head gently, even more intrigued then he was before.

y/n quietly exhaled, avoiding looking at Tom. “I was married once before, he passed from the sickness 3 months into our matrimony. Perhaps it was God way of guiding me to a better future, but it ruined almost everything. His death caused create strain for my family as they attempt to rebuild myself as if I was not capable of it myself. I am terrified that I am cursed, that I shall find myself falling in love with you only to be weeping over your coffin months later.” She had poured her soul out, shared such a personal section of her life. She was ashamed to see his face. Too afraid that pure anger and disgust would paint his face.

“Who was he? The man whom you had married?” Tom asked her again. His voice calling out as she stared directly at the purple velvet beneath her dress.

“The Prince of Spain,” y/n squeaked.

“That inbred!” Tom joked, suddenly becoming relaxed by the mere mention of the Spanish Royal Family. “I am surprised you got three months and not three days, that kid was on death doors for his entire life,” Tom was now in a fit of laughter. It wasn’t directed to her but more that they allowed such a beautiful woman to be the wife of such a dull man. y/n peered up, thoroughly embarrassed as she gave him a light whack. Tom finally came down from his laughing fit, staring directly at her. “You are cursed Princess; you are just coddled. Forced into a life clearly not meant for someone like yourself.”

The mere mention of the cradling of her life got y/n riled up, “that’s another thing! The Spanish constantly treated me as if I was some porcelain doll ready to shatter if they dared even look at me! I felt like a child trapped in a woman’s body and he touched me like that as well. God, I was finally ready to truly live my life and then he just was too soft, I wanted something much mor-” Oh. Oh God. She had run her mouth too far, dug her own grave with her rambling. Her hands clamped against her mouth as a heat rushed to her face. She could see the French ships arriving for her next month, giving her passage because she was not in pristine condition. Hopefully Tom didn’t pick up on what she was inferring.

“You aren’t a virgin?” his voice was quiet, almost dark. She felt her entire world shatter. Tom scooted towards her slowly, it was completely unnoticed. She was too deep in panic to recognise the growing flirt rising in the Prince of Wales. y/n shook her head feverously. “That little tick took you?” When he put it like that, it made her stomach tingle. She had never heard such a sentence used in that tone. She was drowning in thoughts.

“I didn’t know what I was doing, that’s why I was so unsatisfied,” she tried to explain, her hands now bunched up the fabric against her knees. “He was just so soft, too soft and I wished he would have-”

“Would have what?” he toyed. Tom doesn’t quite know why he was acting like this. So intent on prying her little secrets out of her. Usually, he would have just simply got straight to the point but now, seeing her become red with frustration was a view causing him great pleasure. Any abstinence he hoped to place upon himself earlier in the night had been thrown out the window. He finally felt back in control, something he longed for. Something she was serving to him on a silver platter.

“I..” she began but the words got caught in her throat. Her tongue stopped completely, almost refusing to finish the damning sentence. She wanted him to be rougher with her, she wanted him to treat her like a woman and not a girl. “What happen to you wishing to keep your hands to yourself?” She attempted to change the topic, trying to flee but to no avail as he quickly caught her wrist in his palms. Their skins igniting on sight.

“Don’t try to change the subject Princess,” he purred, standing up to meet with her at the side of the bed. Her title now held a completely different meaning, it wasn’t being used to describe her. It was being used to utterly destroy her; a nickname only meant to be whispered in the dim light of a dozen candles. “I can see right through you,” Tom’s calloused fingers met the loose fabric on her shoulders, dancing over her collarbone. It was soft but held meaning. “I can see that you wished he touched you differently. Touched you like a real woman, rougher and passionate.”

His words were damned. She should feel ashamed that she was feeling light-headed just by the grazing touch of his fingers above her perked breasts. “Yes,” it was the only thing she could get out. The only single three lettered word that allowed itself out of her mouth. Tom pressed his lips to her neck, underneath her jaw.

“Perhaps, he too was inexperienced.” He spoke through small pecks. “Allow me to show you something different, something better,” it was barely above a whisper, but y/n heard every word. Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair as he peered at her.

“I would enjoy that very much,” y/n responded just as quiet, all the gentle touches he currently had placed upon her turned darker. He pulled her into his embrace quickly before tripping her feet from under her and ending atop her on the messily made bed. His hand instantly found the inside of her thigh, his finger bruising her skin. It was delightfully, the slight pain sending shivers down her spine.

Their lips met, gentle at first. Her hands moulding themselves against his jaw, moaning into his mouth as he pushed her deeper into the mattress. She wished she could stay like this forever, wrapping in Tom’s embrace as they mended together. Alas, he pulled away from her. Lips separating with a small pop and a soft whine from y/n underneath him. Tom took a distinct look at her; she was sprawled out and whimpering for something more. Did she give this look to him as well? Did she use the melody that was her voice to beg him to do anything? Tom didn’t particularly wish to replay the thought in his head but yet, he couldn’t help himself.

Her nightgown quickly found itself discarded; her nipples perked in the cold. His lips immediately latched on, massaging the soft tissue. He never knew something could feel this smooth, without any flaws or imperfections. Even though he knew he could spend an entire night between the valley of her tits, he too longed for something more.

In a matter of moments, he found himself staring directly at her sex. A glorious sight to behold, glistening with her arousal in the pale moonlight. She was practically dripping onto the sheets below her. He placed a soft kiss to her pelvis, she jumped at the contact. “If you feel uncomfortable, you need to tell me,” he told her all the while his fingers toyed at her hot hole. Dipping even so slightly into her heat. She was already in euphoria just from the slightest bit of pleasure. y/n nodded her head before locking eyes with him.

He didn’t waste another second, quickly licking a fat stripe through her folds. The taste was pure heaven, he didn’t give her a moment to register the feeling before diving right back into her juices. Sucking and pulling at her, wasting the night away feeling her thighs clamp around his head every time he flicked her clit coupled with a singular finger prancing in and out of her.

y/n wasn’t quite sure how loud she could truly be. She knew that even though they were in the far south-east of the castle, there could be a dozen scullery maids listening right outside the door. Or if someone was trying to achieve some sleep right beside them. At this very moment though, with Tom’s head in between her thighs devouring every inch of her throbbing cunt, she couldn’t give a single fuck. y/n allowed the string of curses and praised to tumble from her lips as she clasped onto the bed sheets for dear life.

“Such a dirty mouth,” Tom remarked, releasing her for a few seconds, “for such a pretty and delicious pussy.” He chuckled darkly. y/n wanted to bite back at him, but she was cut short but the addition of another of his digits sliding into her tight entrance. y/n clasped down hard on her hand. A foreign feeling began to drive itself into her stomach. While unusual, it was not at all exotic to her. It was thrilling, feeling her walls contract around his fingers as y/n began to instinctively rock her hips against his digits.

“God,” he purred, “that’s it, make yourself cum on my fingers Princess. Let me see that gorgeous face while you do it.” Tom had now retracted his mouth from her, completely mesmerised by the way her eyes screwed shut as she reached her peak. A cacophony of beautiful and dazzling sounds stumbling out of her mouth as he felt her climax all over his hand. Such a tantalising sight for any man.

y/n was too deep in her own return that she didn’t notice the retraction of his presences from the middle of her legs. So, when he felt his hands roughly pull her to the edge of the bed, she almost choked. The exhilarating feeling of his strained cock rubbing against her drenched folds made her forget her place. Made her speak before her mind could catch up. “I want you to fulfil the expectation.” She told him, her eyes never wavering from him.

Tom halted all his movements. It was painful but he needed absolute clarity before he did anything without her reassurance. “You need to elaborate Princess,” he told her darkly. He knew exactly what she was asking of him, he knew exactly what she desired.

“I want you to come inside of me,” she spoke as if she was a different person. y/n doesn’t quite know whether it’s the shift of mood or her own personal feelings but either way, she wanted to feel their juices mix and then leak out of her. Wanted him to fill her right up to the brim until the possibility was certain.

“You want me to fuck my seed right into you?” his words were dirtier than she expected but so was he as he slid in and into her. His naval hitting hers with a loud smack. He refused to move until he had played with her just that tad bit more. y/n’s head thrashed into the sheets behind her. She was so full, never has she felt this complete in her entire life. He wasn’t even moving but she could feel every inch of him deep inside of her.

“God yes,” she whimpered. “I need it so bad,” she was going to drive Tom insane. Just by a simple sentence, he was going to lose his mind and cum right now without even doing anything.

“Want to carry my child, our own Prince or Princess,” he pulled back out of her and slammed right back in, knocking the wind out of her y/n. It was so profoundly dirty, just discussing it. It thrilled her to the very core, child-bearing was meant for women not girls. Perhaps that is why she is so drawn to the talk, the talk of something so primally feminine set her entire body on fire. She couldn’t speak a coherent sentence instead she just let out a continuous plea.

He began slow, hips rocking to find that perfect beat. He revelled in the only sounds in the room, the sound of his cock hitting the divine spot inside of her over and over again and her delirious moaning. It was a symphony he was lucky enough to hear. He wanted to hear more, listen to the pure sounds of him railing into her. So, he picked up the pace. His thrust became not only deep and harsh but fast.

God, if he could immortalise this feeling he would. The feeling of her walls constricting around him as he pounds right into her, the feeling of her legs wrapping around his constantly thrusting hips and the feeling of her sweating skin underneath his fingers as he grips for support. It’s like the Lord himself made her tight little cunt just for him.

“You’re so big,” y/n praised mindlessly. He’s never had someone say that to him without it sounding forced. It’s so raw that he can’t help but go even harder into with each praise that falls off her lips. “Fill me up, I want to feel you all inside of me.” It’s a dangerous game, she’s tapped on something so feral inside of him it hurts.

y/n wants to prop herself up and explore his body while he pounds into her, but she simply can’t. Her limbs give out with every thrust. Her entire body spasms each time he hits the perfect spot inside of her. She a moaning mess, trying to maintain any sense of normality but failing miserably. It’s a constant state of pleasure, she’s afraid that she’s lost track of time. That is until the faint, but all the desirable fit finds itself lit in the pit of her stomach.

“I’m almost there,” she whispers, it’s the only thing she can get out. His thrusts, that once had gained a steady and harsh rhythm are now falling. He’s losing focus with each grip he receives. With her words though, he gives her the final stretch. No longer does he has some form of structure but instead he’s just railing her like a wild animal.

It’s an explosion and neither knows why but it’s addictive. y/n climaxes around him, her toes curling as her final orgasm hits her long and violent. Shaking underneath, him as she unknowingly milks his own finish out of him. Tom’s fucking his cum right into her, he doesn’t stop for a second. Too focused on the goal ahead of him. Placing it where it counts. It’s a feeling he wants to never forget, better yet it’s a sight he wants permanently etched into his memories. As he pulls out of her, their climaxes tumble out of her. Dripping down her leg.

“Hold your legs up Princess,” he teases as he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “I heard it works wonders.”

The rose blooms only for those who care properly for her.

━━★✼☆｡

a/n: please don’t flop, omg this is so long and no one asked for this shit. please don’t flop chile 🤡

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mygalfriday · 3 years

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i’ve never been a natural, all i do is try (River/11)

Prompt #1: Freedom

She keeps the book on the bedside table in her dorm. Every now and then, she looks up from studying and catches a glimpse of it out of the corner of her eye – sitting there all shiny and brand new, the bluest blue ever. And every time, her stomach will turn over and she has to catch her breath.

It’s still blank. Every time she goes to press her pen to the page, she falters. The Doctor had given it to her after she tried to kill him and ended up saving him instead. It’s… special. And nothing Melody comes up with seems worthy of forever staining its crisp white pages. Whenever she opens the soft cover, she becomes frozen with indecision until she snaps the book shut again and puts it away.

Occasionally, the Doctor drops by the university under the guise of checking in but it never takes Melody long to convince him to linger. Secretly, she thinks he probably doesn’t need any convincing at all. He always folds so quickly and so easily, grinning as he tugs at his bowtie and relents with a flustered well, I suppose an hour can’t hurt. Of course, the Doctor can fit lifetimes into an hour.

He takes her off-planet and though she never lets on, she can tell he’s trying to impress her. They watch the birth of a new star and skip ahead to watch the day it flickers out; they splash in an ocean made of milk and dance on earth when it’s still new, making the very first footprints in the dust as they waltz. The Doctor seems to enjoy taking her on adventures related to her studies. He’d once helped her cram for an exam about the 32nd century French Revolution by taking her there and letting her storm the Bastille.

Sometimes they don’t leave Luna at all and Melody amuses herself by dragging her 1,000-year-old beau to frat parties and dive bars. Tonight, the Doctor had convinced her to try a quiet dinner. Melody has her doubts about either of them being capable of something so mundane but the oysters here are to die for so she isn’t complaining. Yet.

The Doctor looks up from drowning his salmon in banana custard and his gaze drifts idly over the table as though he’s looking for something. His brow furrows when he doesn’t find it and he asks, “Where’s your book?”

Melody pauses mid-reach for her wine. “It’s back in my room. Why?”

“Nothing.” He offers her a quick grin. Whatever it is, it’s definitely something, but she can already tell it’s one of those dreadful spoilers he refuses to tell her. He forges ahead quickly, like she might forget he asked in the first place. “How’re the oysters? Remind me to take you to Rome in the first century. You’ll never eat them anywhere else ever again.”

She stares at her plate. “I can’t decide what to write in it.”

The Doctor goes still and quiet, watching her from across the table with an unreadable expression on his deceptively young face. After a moment, he smiles and says, “I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

With a noncommittal hum, she picks up her oyster knife and begins to pry at the shell.

“River?” She barely muscles down the urge to flinch but the Doctor sees it anyway, judging by his pained grimace. “Sorry, Melody… what’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” She frowns, grip tightening around her knife. “It’s silly.”

“Even better. Love silly, me.” The Doctor beams at her and there’s a smear of custard at the corner of his mouth she suddenly wants to clean up with her tongue. She wonders if he would mind. She wonders if she cares if he does.

He seems to notice the focus of her gaze because he licks his lips and suddenly the custard is gone. She holds in a disappointed sigh and averts her eyes. “Have you ever had so many choices you just… couldn’t make one at all?”

His eyes widen and he sits up a little straighter in his chair, as though she’s brought up a particular favorite subject of his. “Yes, as a matter of fact. There’s this ice cream shop on Penhaxico Two with 500,000 ice cream flavors – including steak, by the way. I can never make up my mind and I always end up-” He stops mid-sentence, his cheeks flushing pink when Melody simply stares at him. “But that’s not the sort of choice you’re talking about, is it?”

She can’t quite stifle a smile. “Not quite, sweetie.” He brightens at the name, like he always does when she calls him that. Usually, she relishes seeing it but that spark of joy isn’t there tonight. “I’ve spent my entire life under someone else’s control. And now there are so many possibilities I can’t seem to decide on anything.”

The Doctor watches her with quiet understanding in his eyes. “Bit overwhelming, eh?”

She bites her lip, nodding.

He leans in, his bowtie narrowly avoiding the custard. “Want me to let you in on a secret?”

Drawn into his gaze, Melody finds herself leaning in too. “What is it?”

“You’re a rebel, Melody Pond.” He grins proudly. “Always have been. You’ve been making your own choices since the day you were born and not even Kovarian was ever able to stop you.”

Melody shakes her head, leaning back in her chair. “I haven’t-”

“You chose to escape that spacesuit and call for help in 1969,” he points out, arching his brows. “You ran away to New York and decided to find your parents. You decided to save my life that day in Berlin. You decided which university to attend and what to study when you got there. And right now, you’re deciding not to plunge that knife into one of my hearts.”

She glances down, following his pointed gaze, and inhales sharply when she realizes how tight her grip on the oyster knife has become. She forces her hand to open and it clatters to the table. Shaken, she drops her trembling hands to her lap and curls them into fists. Squeezing her eyes shut to the Doctor’s patient, forgiving face, she breathes out, “I’m… scared.”

“Course you are,” he murmurs, and the fondness in his voice makes her eyes sting. “You should be scared. Anything worth doing is always a bit scary at first.”

“Is that how you felt?” She opens her eyes, curious. “At your beginning?”

“Terrified.”

“What did you do?”

The Doctor sighs, tugging a hand through his hair. “Well, I ran. But to be fair to myself, I hadn’t made up Rule 7 yet.” He reaches across the table and taps her on the nose, smiling softly. “I can’t tell you what to do now, Melody. No one can. And I promise you, no one will ever again.”

She swallows tightly. “Isn’t that a spoiler?”

“Just a teensy one.” He winks, stealing an oyster from her plate. As he tries to pry open the shell with his fingers, he leans back in his chair and eyes her meaningfully. “You should probably write it down somewhere in case you ever forget.”

The rest of the night is spent sharing food and flirting – and then Melody laughing herself sick when the Doctor tries to pay for dinner with a handful of Roman coins and they’re forced to run out on the bill. They’ll never be able to eat there again but she doesn’t even care, too busy running with the Doctor’s hand in hers and her high heels in the other.

When they arrive back at her dorm, he kisses her goodnight. It’s soft and sweet and adorably eager, his shy fingertips drifting over her hips before he gathers the courage to grip her close. He swaggers back to his TARDIS with lipstick on his collar. Melody slips into her dorm wearing a wide, smitten grin. When she sees the blue book waiting on her bedside table, the sight of it doesn’t fill her with apprehension.

She knows just what to write.

#drfic #river song #eleventh doctor #river x eleven #riverdoctorpromptweek #my fic

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starshine583 · 3 years

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New Girl on the Block (16)

(Hey, guys! Here’s the next update of “New Girl on the Block”! I hope you all enjoy it, and as always, feel free to check out the mini series connected to this called Journal Entries. <3)

Ch. 1 / Ch. 15 / Ch. 17 (Ao3)

Chapter 16: Hear Me Out

Adrien rocked back and forth on his heels, quietly scrolling through his phone as he waited in front of the Dupain-Cheng bakery. After two weeks of strict scheduling and a light grounding sentence due to missing classes, he’d finally gotten a reprieve, and he didn’t hesitate to use that rare free time to seek out Marinette. Her bakery was usually opened in the early hours, so he figured that he would get to waltz right in and talk with her. However, that didn’t seem to be the case, because when he arrived, he wasn’t met with the vanilla scents and warm smiles that he’d come to love. Instead, a small piece of paper stopped him at the front door.

Temporarily closed. Will re-open at an undetermined time today.

It was a frustrating set-back, since he’d spent all this time trying to get there, but Adrien simply shrugged and leaned against one of the larger windows to wait. They were probably out running errands, which shouldn’t take long. Maybe half an hour to an hour tops? Either way, he wasn’t going to leave now. If he could sit in the same positions for hours on end for a photoshoot, he could stand on the street for a prolonged amount of time for a friend. Besides, the weather was surprisingly warm that morning, and he rather enjoyed the breath of fresh air that came with it.

..Of course, that mentality was much easier to keep up at the beginning. After waiting for a little over an hour, though, Adrien already felt his patience starting to slip. The subtle chill in the air that he hadn’t noticed before was seeping into his clothes, and his fingers were slowly growing numb as he distracted himself with apps on his phone. His thoughts were tipping on the irritated side, like how the Dupain-Chengs should have been home already. Errands don’t take this long. Where were they? Won’t they lose customers if they leave the bakery unattended like this?

Despite the growing annoyance, Adrien forced himself to stay put and relax. He’d come over unannounced, after all. He couldn’t blame them for making him wait if they didn’t know he was there. And, again, this was Marinette. She was his wonderful friend and completely worth waiting for. If it meant getting her to come back to school and hang out with him again, he could let himself freeze on the sidewalk. Even if it took hours or days or weeks for him to see her. Nothing on earth was going to-

Adrien’s stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t had breakfast yet, and on that note, neither had Gorilla. He’d been in such a hurry to leave that he hadn’t thought about food. (Well, that’s not entirely true. He’d sort of hoped that he could eat breakfast with Marinette once they talked things out.)

So much for that idea. He thought, leaning his head against the window. Maybe he should go ahead and get breakfast real quick. That way Gorilla could eat too, and it would get him out of the cold for a minute. What if the Dupain-Chengs came back while he was gone, though? He didn’t want to miss them..

Actually, why should he have to leave it all? He could just send Gorilla to get the food and bring it back here! Genius!

Adrien straightened with a smile and slipped his phone back into his pocket, but before he could take a step forward, something caught his eye.

A black car rolled up to the curb, parking right in front of the bakery. It almost looked like it was waiting for something, but no one got out of the car and no one came to get in, which was.. Strange. Why would a car park at the random spot in Paris? Were they lost? Or simply waiting for something? What would they be waiting for?

Just as Adrien was about to blow off the unusual sight, the front door of the bakery burst open, and someone came barreling outside shouting “Coming! I’m coming!”.

Adrien jumped- understandably so. Wasn’t the bakery supposed to be empty? -and whirled around to see the very person he’d been waiting for sprinting towards the car. His arms moved before his mind could fully comprehend the situation, but as he grabbed her arm, more than a few questions were spinning in his head. For example, why was she at the bakery? Had she been there the whole time? Who was waiting for her inside the car?

“Marinette! I’ve been waiting for you.” He said, flashing a smile despite his confusion. They were talking now. That was all that mattered.

Marinette stiffened, her gaze snapping to his. The look of pure terror that crossed her features didn’t sit well with Adrien, but he tried to push that discomfort aside. She was probably just surprised that someone had grabbed. They were friends, after all. She wouldn’t be horrified seeing her friend!

“Y-You.. How long have you been waiting here?” She stuttered out, panic clear in her tone.

“Ah..” Adrien let his hand drop from her arm and rubbed the back of his neck. Should he tell her that he's been waiting for almost two hours? That’s not weird, right?

“That’s not important.” He decided to reply. “Do you have a minute? I haven’t seen you in forever!”

Marinette threw a glance over her shoulder at the car. “Y-you know, I really don’t actually. I have to go meet someone, and-”

So she was meeting someone? That meant this car was sent to get her. Was she meeting one of the Rosemary students? It was probably that blond-haired guy again..

“It’ll only take two seconds!” He promised, moving to block her door. He couldn’t let her run away again when he was so close.

“Adrien, please, I really need to go-”

“Come on! I just need-”

“They’re all waiting as we speak-”

“I just need to apologize!”

Marinette froze, her fighting spirit seeming to stall at the remark, and Adrien paused too. He wanted his words to sink in before he continued. Hopefully, that would get her to listen to him.

She met his eyes again, definitely hesitant but not indignant. He took that as a good sign, a step in the right direction.

“You.. wanted to apologize?”

Adrien gave an eager nod. “Yes! I’ve been trying to for the past month, but our schedules never lined up, and any time I would finally get out, you weren’t at home, and.. Well.. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you to take the high ground like that or ignore the fact that Lila was hurting you. That’s not what friends do. I should have been there for you when you needed me. I’m so sorry that I was blind to everything.”

Marinette stared at him, dumbfounded, and he held his breath. She was going to forgive him, right? She’s not the type to leave someone hanging, though he probably couldn’t blame her if she did..

She cast her gaze to the ground. “I.. I appreciate the apology, but I really do need to get going. They’ll start to worry if I’m late.”

Adrien faltered. That.. wasn’t exactly the reaction he’d been hoping for. It wasn’t bad or anything, just.. When he pictured this moment, it always came with a hug or an “Of course I’ll forgive you!”, but Marinette, however, only seemed to be interested in meeting her friend. (Friends if you consider how often she said “they”.)

“Can we get together later then?” He asked, throwing those thoughts aside. Reality was never like fantasy anyway. “There’s still so much I want to talk with you about.”

Again, Marinette hesitated. “..Can I think about it?”

Adrien offered a smile, though he was admittedly disappointed. Had their friendship truly stooped so low that she had to think about spending time with him?

Nevertheless, he would take what he could get. Therefore, he gave a nod with the smile and said, “That’s all I ask.”

The tension in Marinette’s shoulders loosened, but only slightly, and she thanked him as she slipped into the black car that was still waiting. Adrien waved her off, and although he didn’t get to talk with her nearly as much as he’d wanted to, he still found himself more optimistic than anything. She said that she would think about getting together again, and if Marinette was the person he knew she was, he would be getting a text soon about a time and place. They would talk, and he would convince her to come back to Dupont, and everything would be fine.

All he had to do now was wait.

~~~~~~

Normally, folding slips of paper and stapling them together to create a heart would be a simple task for someone as crafty as Marinette. Today, though, her thoughts were elsewhere, and that seemed to seep into her productivity rate. She’d been working on the same stream of hearts for a good hour or so and still hadn’t finished it, despite only taking twenty minutes maximum for each stream when she made them last time.

Her slow pace was aggravating to say the least, but not nearly as aggravating as the thoughts that kept invading her mind in the first place. All she could think about was Adrien Agreste and the way he showed up on her doorstep that morning, spewing apologies and begging for more time to hang out with her. After two weeks of silence from the blonde, she had hoped that he was giving up on talking with her. Apparently, that wasn’t the case.

Don’t get her wrong, she was happy that he apologized. Or, at least, she knew she was supposed to be happy. This was something that she’d been waiting for for the past five months, after all. It’s just that.. Why now? Why now did he decide to come apologize to her? Why not come before she left the school? Why not come before she officially moved on from her old life and started over?

Then again, it never would be before, would it? People don’t appreciate you until you’re gone. That’s just how it was, and it’s what made her leaving Dupont hard in the first place. All of her childhood friends had been there, and she knew- or possibly hoped at the time -that some of them would try to stop her. Granted, only one has tried so far, but one was enough to send Marinette into a flurry of anxious thoughts.

In all honesty, she wanted to tell Adrien no, to say that she wouldn’t be joining him for another hangout. He was simply too much of a risk. What if he told the others about their meet-up? What if they followed him and found her again to do who knows what? What if Lila found her again to do who knows what? Then, there were her new, lovely friends right in front of her. What if they got caught up in drama that Adrien might bring along? She didn’t want them being a part of that. In fact, she didn’t want them talking to Adrien or her other old classmates at all. (Thank goodness no one had come with Allegra’s driver to pick her up earlier, else she would have had a lot of things to explain that she didn’t want to.) Transferring schools was meant to keep Marinette away from her past, not create a new environment to infect it with.

As reluctant as she was to meet up with Adrien, though, she also felt guilty for thinking that way. He’d come and apologized to her for the things he’d done and appeared to be extremely sincere while doing so. It didn’t sit right with her to reject him without giving him a chance to make up for his mistakes. Maybe she should have a little lunch with him?

Ugh, but the very idea made her sick to her stomach-

“-inette~? Marinette!”

Marinette jumped, her gaze snapping upwards to see Allegra, Claude, and Allan all looking at her.

“O-Oh!” A blush swept across her cheeks, and she pushed her decorations into her lap. How long had they been calling her name? “I’m sorry, did you need something?”

“No, not really.” Allegra smiled. “You’ve just been really spaced out today. What’s on your mind?”

Marinette smiled back, though a twinge of panic laced through her mind. Was her discomfort that obvious? She was hoping no one would notice..

“I bet she’s just thinking about who she’ll take to the party.” Claude thankfully joked before she could respond. “Who’s it gonna be, Mari? Someone from our school? Or is it that Luka guy you mentioned last week?”

Marinette’s eyes widened. “Oh, I- no. I hadn’t thought about who to bring.. Were we supposed to bring dates?”

Gosh, she hoped not. Luka was a wonderful person- as were the other boys at Rosemary.. probably -but she honestly didn’t feel like trying to find a date for the Valentine’s party or anything else, especially when her old crush had just come out of the woodworks to find her. Marinette didn’t harbor anymore feelings for him by any means, but that didn’t stop his presence from sucker punching her in the stomach with the memories of her heart ache. She’d prefer not to go through that again, at least not anytime soon.

“Not if you don’t want to.” Allegra assured. “We normally all go as a group anyway.”

“But most people probably will.” Claude said, before putting a hand to his chest with a smirk. “I’d offer to take you, but Allegra and I are already going together.”

“As friends.” Allegra hastily added.

Marinette chuckled. “I’ll try not to be too disappointed.”

The group shared a laugh towards her sarcasm, and Claude dramatically ran a hand through his hair.

“I know, I know, it’s such a heartache not being able to go with me.” He sighed. “Don’t worry, though. I’m sure there are plenty of guys who will be falling all over you at the party. Right, Fe?”

Felix, who’d been quietly working on his assigned decorations, glanced up at the group with a raised eyebrow. Marinette held back a laugh- that was such a Felix reaction -but Claude raised his eyebrows at the blond, as if pressing him for a response. Was that supposed to be a serious question?

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Don’t you think the boys will be falling all over her?”

Felix’s gaze shifted to Marinette, and she felt a bit of heat rush to her cheeks. He was actually thinking of an answer, wasn’t he?

“F-Felix, you don’t have to answer that-” She started to say, even though a part of her strangely wanted to know his answer.

Felix, however, spoke before she could finish.

“Yes, I’m sure they would,” He said, casually looking back down at his work, “especially if she wears that dress she mentioned the other day. Those boys will drop to their knees for anything remotely pretty.”

Marinette blinked, her heart effectively lodging itself in her throat. Did he just..?

“Did you just call her pretty?” Claude asked with a bewildered grin, taking the words right out of her mouth.

Felix’s gaze flicked towards the brunette, a look of mild irritation crossing his features from being bothered again. “Is she not?”

A blush exploded across Marinette’s features then, and she bit her lip to avoid squeaking. She never assumed that the group saw her as ugly, but to hear Felix outright call her pretty was.. Well, it was rather flattering if she were being honest, especially since Felix was quite a dashing person himself. And being the blunt, straight-forward type that he is, she knew he wasn’t lying or sugar-coating anything to spare her feelings.

“No, no, she is.” Allegra smiled, a strange glint coming to her eyes. “We just didn’t expect you to say it out loud.”

A slight scowl tugged at Felix’s lips. “You asked. I answered. Would you prefer I just ignore you?”

Claude snorted. “No, but since you think she’s so pretty, why don’t you take her to the Valentine’s party?”

Felix shot him a flat look. “We’re already going together as a group.”

“I know. I meant why don’t you take her as a date to the party?”

Had Marinette not been sitting down, she probably would have tripped over herself at the suggestion. Her and Felix? Going on a date? Surely not. Aside from not being interested in dating herself, Marinette was certain that Felix wasn’t interested in her. Not in the romantic sense, anyway. He needed a calm and collected partner, someone that would help his life be as quiet and peaceful as he liked, someone that wasn’t her.

Felix furrowed his eyebrows, further proving her point about not being interested. “Wha-”

“Not like a date date.” Claude said, rolling his eyes as though they were the ones jumping to crazy conclusions. “A date as friends, like Allegra and I are doing.”

Marinette frowned. A date as friends? “So, like, a fake date?”

Claude smiled at her. “Yeah! It’s a lot of fun.”

Marinette hummed as she stapled another heart together. A fake date with Felix didn’t sound nearly as strange, but how would that even go? Would they go through all of the motions of a real date or would they just arrive together and say they were each other’s plus one? Would he be bringing her flowers and picking her up for the party? Would he even do that on a real date?

“But what’s the point?” Felix asked, thankfully dragging her back to the conversation. How he would date someone probably wasn’t something she should dwell on anyway.

“Well,” Claude shrugged, “I guess there isn’t much of one, but you get to have a dance partner and do all that stuff without any pressure. It’s really like an honorary hangout?”

“I don’t see why that would be necessary. We can do that during a normal get together, and a fake date would only give people the wrong idea.”

“Alright, fine, it was just a suggestio-”

“Ow!” Marinette unintentionally hissed, yanking her hand away from her decoration and sticking her finger in her mouth. Dang paper cuts. You’d think she would learn how to avoid them by now.

The group straightened at her outburst.

“Are you okay?”

“What happened?”

“What’d you do?”

“Ah.” Marinette pulled her finger out of her mouth, watching the blood reform. How did she manage to cut it so deeply? “I’m fine. I just got a paper cut.”

“Oh,” Claude grimaced, “paper cuts. Those are the worst.”

“Do you need a band aid?” Felix inquired. “Or disinfectant?”

“That looks pretty bad.” Allan said, scrunching up his nose in a wince.

Marinette nodded. “Yeah.. disinfectant would probably be nice.”

Felix set his decorations aside and stood to go fetch her the supplies, and Allegra began pushing her decorations aside as well.

“Do you remember where the first aid kit is?” She asked, about to stand herself.

“Yes, I remember.” Felix answered, waving for her to stay seated. “Marinette, come with me.”

Marinette moved to follow him as she was told, and he led her to a bathroom that was across from the family room. There, he had her sit on the toilet while he opened the mirror cabinet hanging over the sink.

“How bad is it?” He asked, pulling the first aid kit out and setting it on the counter.

“I mean, I’ve done worse, but.. it’s definitely not pleasant.”

Felix sighed as he popped the kit open. “Yes, you always seem to be getting hurt somehow, don’t you? Let me see the cut.”

Marinette held out her hand, and Felix gently took it to examine her finger. Then, he shook his head and reached for the disinfectant.

“How did you even manage this?” He asked, his voice a bit lighter than she expected. Was he laughing at her?

“If I knew, I wouldn’t have done it.” She replied.

Felix hummed and dabbed the disinfectant on her cut, briefly apologizing when she winced.

“You know, I don’t understand how you can create an entire line of clothes without a problem yet struggle with making a single stream of hearts.” He commented, letting a small smile ghost across his lips.

“Hey!” Marinette gasped. He was laughing at her! “I’ll have you know those hearts look great.”

“You’re right.” He said, shooting her a smirk now. “Forgive me for assuming. You’ve probably pricked yourself with a needle a million times while perfecting your designs too. Who says pain can’t be a part of the process?”

Marinette pressed her lips into a thin line, if only to avoid smiling, and narrowed her eyes at him. Since when did he become so smug?

“Alright, smart guy, are you telling me you’ve never gotten a paper cut from all those books you read?”

“Maybe when I was five.”

A playful scoff escaped her lips, and Marinette rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I’m going to remember this the next time you get a paper cut.”

“If I get a paper cut.”

“When.”

Felix smiled, like he knew he was right, like she knew he was right, because even though he might have gotten a paper cut or two before when he wasn’t paying attention, they both knew he wouldn’t be getting one now, not when he wanted to prove a point.

Still, Marinette allowed a smile to spread across her lips when Felix turned to grab the bandages. Although she disliked being proven wrong, she loved that he was teasing her about it. He’d shown himself to be witty and humorous before, but ever since the sleepover, he seemed to have started joking around with her more often. It was usually quiet, during times when the group was distracted and he could murmur in her direction or times when they were alone like right now, but she found it exciting nonetheless. Marinette had assumed that talking together like they had done that night at the sleepover would be a one time thing, since everyone opens up a little at night, so seeing him continue to speak with her in such a relaxed manner made her want to squeal with joy.

Needless to say, she liked the new shift in their friendship. She liked it a lot.

“So, what’s been occupying your mind today? If you don’t mind me asking.” Felix said, bringing her from her thoughts.

“Hm?”

He let go of her hand to unwrap the bandage that he’d grabbed. “Allegra mentioned you weren’t all that present, and I noticed it as well. Have you started on another clothing design?”

“Oh..” Marinette glanced away to hide her disappointed. She’d almost forgotten about Adrien for a minute there. She wished she could forget about him again. “Not quite.”

Felix’s gaze flicked across her features, no doubt seeing everything she was trying to conceal. He was able to read her expressions like another one of his books from day one. Sometimes she felt like he knew her better than she knew herself, but that could also be due to the fact that she had a bad habit of wearing her heart on her sleeve.

“Did something happen?” He asked, just like she knew he would. Felix never hesitated to lend a patient ear or a helping hand towards her troubles, which only made it harder for her to hold her tongue about talking with Adrien.

“Sort of, but..” Marinette chewed on her bottom lip. “I’d kind of prefer not to talk about it.. If that’s okay?”

“Of course.” Felix’s reply was immediate and soft, and it filled her with a wonderful sense of relief. She should have known he wouldn’t get offended by her request for privacy. “Just know that I’m here if you ever want to talk. Allegra, Claude, and Allan will be happy to help as well.”

Marinette felt another smile tug at her lips. “Thank you.”

“Hey, are you guys done yet?” Claude called from the other room, cutting into their conversation. “These decorations aren’t going to make themselves!”

Felix’s eyes flicked upwards in a brief eyeroll, and he stood up to put the first aid kit away. “Yes, yes, we’re coming now.”

Marinette chuckled and stood up too. She hadn’t realized that he’d finished wrapping up her finger already.

“Thanks for getting me a bandaid.”

Felix closed the cabinet door with a nod. “I should probably get you a pair of rubber gloves too. We have a lot of heart streamers to make, and I don’t believe Allegra has enough bandaids for you.”

Marinette huffed and gave him a playful slap on the shoulder. “I take back that thanks. You get no appreciation from me.”

Felix chuckled. “How ungrateful. I’m only trying to be hospitable.”

“I’m sure.”

Her troubles with Adrien were far from resolved, but she found the decorations much easier to complete after that.

A sigh flitted from Marinette’s lips as she plopped onto her chaise later that evening. She’d spent the entire day stapling those hearts together, and now her hands ached because of it. The sting of her paper cut lingered on her finger as well, but she soothed the pain with the memory of getting to rub the fact that she only got one paper cut throughout the day in Felix’s face. He’d given her a look of feigned admiration, which probably should have irked her more than it did, and told her, “Congratulations on your achievement.” (That definitely irked her, though a smile betrayed her lips in the moment.)

“Are you okay, Marinette?” Tikki, her wonderful kwami, asked as she floated above her head.

Marinette smiled. “Fine, Tikki. Just tired.”

And she’ll have to do it all again tomorrow. Well, she won’t have to remake the decorations, but she’ll have to string them up at the Mandarin Oriental. They need to have everything ready by Thursday.

Tikki nodded understandingly. “You guys worked on those decorations for a long time, but they turned out beautifully.”

“Thanks. I can’t wait to see what they look like when we hang them up. What about you? Did you have fun at Allegra’s?”

Tikki flew a bit higher into the air out of habit, her grin brightening as she replied, “Absolutely! Her house reminds me of the castles I used to visit, so wide and open!”

Marinette chuckled. Since the mansion is a big place with a small number of people, Tikki can fly around the premises as much as she wants without worrying about getting caught. It gives her time to get out of the purse for once, and although Marinette was concerned about the idea at first, she was glad to see it working out. Tikki deserved a break from constantly being cooped up in small places.

“Have you explored the entire mansion yet?”

“Almost! I have about two or three rooms I still need to look through, but I keep getting stuck in the music room. The instruments are so much fun to play!”

Marinette giggled. “Just make sure no one hears you.”

“Of course.” Tikki replied dutifully. Then her tone softened as she asked, “So.. what are you going to do about Adrien?”

Marinette groaned at the reminder and twisted on the chaise to bury her face in one of her throw pillows. Now that was the question of day, wasn’t it? What was she going to do about Adrien? She still hadn’t texted him, though she knew she was going to. It was in her nature. He’d apologized and begged for forgiveness, and the sweet side of her would never let that action go unrewarded.

“What do you think I should do, Tikki?” She asked anyway, holding a vain hope that the kwami’s advice would dissuade her decision.

Tikki gave a thoughtful hum. “I don’t think I can answer that for you, Marinette. Everyone deserves a second chance, but you also deserve to be happy. If you think Adrien’s going to ruin that happiness, then you have every right to not meet up with him.”

A heavy sigh tumbled from Marinette’s lips. That was the very thing she struggled with. Everyone deserves a second chance, and she didn’t know what Adrien was going to do. She doubted he was planning on ruining her life, but no one ever does. (Er- most people never do.) So what course of action should she take? Should she tell him no because of the extremely likely chance that he’ll drag drama into her life once again? Or should she give him a well-deserved second chance for the sake of keeping at least one of her old friends and sedating her screaming conscience?

“Maybe..” Marinette paused to chew on her bottom lip. “Maybe I can invite him to lunch? Just one? To see how it goes?”

That would give her a middle ground for the time being, a way to test the waters and satisfy her urge to bring out the best in others. She could meet up with Adrien like he asked, then use the small amount of time to let him talk and let her assess the situation.

“That sounds like a great start.” Tikki said encouragingly.

A frown tugged at Marinette’s lips despite it, and she turned to look at her phone.

I’ve made the decision. Now all I have to do is text him..

A beat of silence passed in the room. Then, Marinette pushed herself off of the chaise and walked over to her mannequin, where her dress for the party was placed. She plucked a needle from her cushion and reached for a piece of string to tie through it.

“Marinette?” Tikki called, curious and concerned.

“I’m fine.” She assured, more to herself than Tikki. “I just want to finish the final touches on this dress.”

Marinette would text him. She would.

Just.. tomorrow.

Tag List: @artbyknigit @athena452 @nickristus-dreamer @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @arsaem @abrx2002 @neakco @pawsitivelymiraculous @too0bsessedformyowngood @nathleigh @lusicing @officiallydarkgeek @all-mights-asscheeks @tbehartoo @woe-is-me0 @raeuberprinzessin @lazuli-11 @miss-chaos27 @trippingovermyfeet @sadpotatoondrugs @ladybug-182 @jaggedheart11 @marinahrasauce @i-need-blog-ideas @thewheezingbubbledragon @crazylittlemunchkin @unabashedbookworm @moonystars14 @sunflowers-and-mooncakes @2confused-2doanything @magnificentcrapposts @moonnette @nickristus-dreamer @vixen-uchiha @casual-darkness @luxmorningstarr @jjmjjktth @kaithehero @itsme1598 @theymakeupfairies @xjaccyx @miraculous-ninja @miraculouspenta @swiftie-miraculer13 @justafanwarrior @all-mights-asscheeks @ira-sairain @lookatthestars1 @dahjokester @blissful-passing @solangelo252 @canivialemonsquints07 @derbygracie @pleaseignorejustheretoread

#Felix Culpa #Marinette #Rosemary AU #New Girl on the Block #Quantic Kids #Miraculous Ladybug #felinette

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panda-noosh · 4 years

Text

unlike me {fred weasley x reader}

Words: 8k

Summary: You, a shy Hufflepuff, have caught the eye of Fred Weasley.

Genre: fluff

Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions! - did i just write pure fluff? wow. i’m learning.

----

Fred Weasley doesn’t do things to impress others. He never has. Trying to please others is so far from his mind when playing one of his pranks that it’s almost laughable to think he and his twin brother do anything for the sake of attention. They live to amuse themselves, and nobody else.

But sometimes the reactions of others do catch his eye. It happens rarely, but there have been the odd times when Fred and George are fleeing from the scene of one of their usual messy pranks, and Fred will look over to see someone standing there, staring open mouthed and wide eyed at the scene in front of them, and he will turn back to the path and smile because - yet again - he has left somebody speechless.

More often than not these days, that person is you.

Fred doesn’t know much about you; you’re clearly very shy, hardly ever being spotted in the hallways unless you’re making your way to your next class, and even then you’re prone to keeping your head down, refusing to talk to anybody who wants to talk to you. Fred doesn’t know if you have any friends, if you want friends, if you’ve ever looked at him and wondered what it would be like to talk to him…

“So, Harry, tell me a bit about that one over there.”

Harry looks up from his breakfast plate, eyes still fogged from a night of no-doubt restless sleep. Beside him, Ron is still trying to wake himself up and Hermione is hastily flipping through a gargantuan textbook. It seems to Fred like the Chosen One may be the only one at this moment in time in a fit enough state to answer his pressing questions.

“Huh?” he replies.

Fred leans forward a little more, so close that his mouth is very nearly touching Harry’s ear. “That one over there.” He nods over to the Hufflepuff table. “The one sitting on their own.”

Harry narrows his eyes. “Y/N L/N? What about them?”

“They’re in your year, aren’t they?”

“I think so. I don’t really know too much about them; they’re quite quiet, really.”

“Yeah,” Fred and George say together. “We know.”

Harry raises a brow, flicking his gaze to the twins standing on either side of him. “Why? Are you both interested?”

“Just ol’ Freddy Boy here.”

Ron scoffs. “You? Getting in with Y/N L/N? Mate, that’s about as likely as Percy showing up for Christmas this year.”

Fred slaps Ron on the back of the head. “Shut your mouth, you git.”

“So, what? You really think you have a chance with them?” Harry asks.

Fred shifts uncomfortably; he hadn’t meant for the conversation to get this far. All he wanted was for Harry to tell him a bit about you and that be it - he was fairly confident he could handle the rest on his own using his incredible charm and humour.

But now these snotty little fifth years are making him second-guess his own abilities, which has never happened before in his seventeen years of life.

“I think so,” he replies, trying to keep his voice as confident as possible. “Why wouldn’t I have a chance? I’m charming, and witty, and-”

“And loud, and annoying, and centre of attention literally all the time,” Ginny finishes, waltzing into the conversation. She sits down next to Hermione, pinching a hash brown off Harry’s plate. “Y/N is the complete opposite of that. You’ll scare them away before you even get a chance to ask them out.”

Fred frowns. George says something in his twins defence, but Fred has stopped listening, instead choosing to glance over to where you’re still sitting, smiling shyly at the Hufflepuff boy who has just taken a seat next to you. It’s clear - and always has been clear - that you get plenty of attention - you just don’t want it. Fred has watched you get shy and awkward, shuffling away from people who so much as grin in your direction. Fred has even watched you scurry away when he walks past, and at this point, he isn’t even surprised; the scenes Fred finds him in are far from the types of scenes you’ll want to be caught in.

You really are very different people, and Fred isn’t stupid enough to deny that. Nonetheless, there’s something about you that has always caught his eye, from the day he was a puny little second year, watching you scramble up to the Sorting Hat. Even then he found himself staring at you, fingers crossed in the hopes you would get sorted into Gryffindor, that he could find an excuse to lead you to the Common Room himself - not Perfect Percy - but then you were being sorted into Hufflepuff and an awful long time went by in which Fred did nothing to pursue you.

But now he’s in his sixth year. If not now, then when?

“Have you ever tried speaking to them?”

Ron’s voice snaps Fred from his daze. He looks down and shrugs.

“Not really.”

“That's not like you,” says Ginny. “Have we actually found someone who makes you shy?”

Fred scowls. “I’m not shy. Y/N’s shy - I’m just respecting that and keeping my distance.”

“Good on you, mate,” says George, before he ducks his head down and whispers loudly in Harry’s ear, “Every time he sees them, he wets himself a little.”

Fred kicks his twin. “Would you lot give it a rest? I’ll talk to them today, alright? You’ll all see.”

“Oh, don’t wind him up,” Hermione tuts, slapping Ron on the arm when the group of youngsters start laughing.

“Oooh,” George says. “You’ve got Granger sticking up for you, Fred - who would have thought that would ever happen to us?”

“I think it’s cute that Fred likes Y/N,” says Hermione, sitting up a little straighter. “I don’t know much about them, but I think someone bringing them out of their shell could do them a world of good.”

Fred can’t help but grin; the thought of it, of you actually giving him a chance - it makes him unnervingly happy. “Cheers, Hermione.”

Fred takes that tiny bit of assurance and carries it with him throughout the entire day - he doesn’t really know when he’s going to make his move, just that he is.

At some point.

He has no classes with you. He barely sees you in the hallways. He doesn’t share a common room with you - the situation is really not working in his favour, but Fred Weasley will not let such a drawback ruin his plans. He’ll find ways around it, just as he finds ways around everything.

The solution finally comes to him at 11:00pm.

He should be in bed. He knows he should be in bed, that if Filch were to see him right now, the old man would be going absolutely ballistic, overjoyed with the idea of giving another student a detention. Fred has the advantage of the Marauders Map, plus a lifetimes worth of sneaking around, but that doesn’t make him feel any less nervous.

He’s been out of bed after curfew plenty of times before, but never has he crept into another common room whilst doing it.

He heads towards the basement, checking the Marauders Map every few seconds to ensure Filch and his filthy cat are as far away as possible. His mind is working at a million miles per hour, because for the first time in his life, Fred is convinced he’s being stupid. The amount of protective charms that must be on the doors of these openings would be insane, and Fred is insane to think he could ever try and get past them, but god, he can’t go down to breakfast tomorrow without making some attempt to talk to you, just like he said he would, just like Hermione-

“Eep!”

Fred spins on his heel, nearly falling over a body of armour stood in the corner. Multiple paintings rouse from their sleep, and the ones that were already awake break into fits of giggles. Fred doesn’t even acknowledge the tiny noise that made him jump in the first place, instead choosing to desperately hush the paintings around him.

“Shut up. Sh! Filch will hear and then we’re all in trouble!”

“Speak for yourself, Weasley,” says Doogle Doolaly through a mouthful of giggles. Fred shoots the painting a glare before abruptly remembering what had caused him to stumble in the first place.

He spins around. To his surprise, you’re still there.

You, standing right in front of him with both hands clapped over your mouth, eyes wide. You’re wearing a pair of yellow bed robes, hair a mess. Fred has to take a minute to just stare.

And then, “What on Earth are you doing out of bed?”

Slowly you lower your hands, biting your lower lip as you stare right back at him; Fred, though pleased, finds this quite odd considering he’s so used to watching you avoid eye contact as much as possible. “I was walking.”

Your voice is quiet, timid.

Fred tilts his head. “Walking? At eleven at night?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”

You nod. Fred nods back. The two of you stand a good five feet apart, unsure of what to say or do to make the silence go away - of course, there’s so many things Fred wants to ask, considering he was previously convinced you would never step out of line, but none of those questions are appearing right now.

Fred, however, knows this silence can’t last forever, so he’s the one to make the first move in breaking it.

“You alright?”

You look up, startled. “I’m fine. Why?”

“I was just wondering. You look like you’ve seen someone use an illegal curse or something.”

“Thanks.”

Fred’s stomach flips. “Not that you don’t look really pretty, because you do, but I’m just saying-”

“Why were you heading towards the Hufflepuff common room?”

Fred pauses. Have you just caught him out?

“How did you know that’s where I was going?��

“Because nobody else comes down here this late at night unless they’re a Hufflepuff coming back from detention.”

“You’re good at this, you know. Right little detective, you are.”

You shrug.

Fred sighs, rubs the back of his neck before saying, “I was just having an innocent little dander about. Those Gryffindor sixth years can be a rowdy bunch - it’s hard to get to sleep.”

“Oh. Okay.” You trace your eyes along his towering form, and for a moment, Fred is almost convinced you’re genuinely checking him out. It boosts his confidence a little. “Well, I’m sorry you couldn’t sleep. I’m also sorry for making so much noise - you startled me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a pretty scary person I’ve been told.”

Your lips twitch. “Who told you that?”

He shrugs. “It’s not so much a verbal thing. Sometimes sweet little Hufflepuff’s run away when they make eye contact with me.” He raises a brow, smirks when he sees your own smile fade, replaced by a mild look of embarrassment because you both know exactly who Fred is talking about.

You cough and awkwardly kick at the floor. “Sometimes sweet little Hufflepuff’s get a little shy.”

Fred’s confidence is really flooding back into his system now, and he doesn’t know why it feels different. This isn’t the confidence he carries around with him on a day-to-day basis, the confidence that allows him to play these big pranks without a care in the world. This is a type of confidence he has never felt before, makes him feel elated, like he can do anything.

He smirks, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m Fred Weasley, by the way.”

“I know.” Your eyes pop open for a brief second. “I mean - uh - Ron. Ron is your brother, right?”

“He is.”

“I know your brother. He’s in my year. Goalkeeper for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, right?”

“Right.”

You nod, biting your lower lip in that way Fred has learned you do quite often when you’re flustered. “I heard of you - uh - from him. Yeah.”

Fred nods. He stares at your flustered form, finding amusement in the way you quickly look to the floor, trying desperately to avoid his gaze which has apparently now become too much for you.

He chuckles and pushes himself away from the wall he found himself leaning upon. “It was lovely talking to you, Hufflepuff. Try not to run away next time and maybe we can talk again.”

You look up and nod, lips twitching. Fred grins right back, bows his head to you before he walks off down the corridor, pretty darn pleased with himself.

----

“So how did it go?”

“I don’t kiss and tell.”

Ginny gasps, slapping Fred on the arm when her, Fred and George sit down to breakfast the next morning. “You kissed?”

Fred snickers. “No. But we spoke, and it was great. Y/N L/N is actually a bit of a rule breaker.”

Ginny raises a brow, reaching across George for a slice of toast. “Shut up.”

“He’s telling the truth,” says George, at the same time Fred says, “I’m telling the truth.”

“Wow. What were they doing to break the rules?”

“Walking about after curfew. Lucky I was there, or else Filch would have had them.”

Ginny scoffs. “Because god forbid anyone be as sneaky as you two.”

“Exactly,” the twins reply.

“So what was the conversation like?” Ginny prods. She wears a distracted gaze in the hopes that Fred won’t see just how curious she really is, but Fred sees right through her.

“It wasn’t bad,” he replies. “A bit short, but that’s easily fixed.”

“So you want to keep talking to them?”

Fred raises a brow. “Of course I do.”

Ginny hums around the slice of toast in her mouth. “Cute, Fred. Cute.”

Fred opens his mouth to give a sarcastic retort, but gets abruptly distracted by the sight of you rising from the Hufflepuff table. He sits bolt upright, craning his neck to see over the heads of everybody else; you don’t spare him a glance, apparently retreating back to your usual, shy self. With your head ducked down and your books piled in your arms, you hastily make your way towards the exit.

Fred is standing up before he can even process he’s moved. Ginny and George watch him, both smiling maniacally as Fred utters a half-hearted goodbye and follows after you. He really has no plans for what he could possibly say when he finally catches up, but he’s decided to take every opportunity he possibly can.

He bustles out of the Great Hall, finding you only a few seconds after as you head back towards the Hufflepuff common room.

“Y/N!”

You freeze, spinning around as Fred jumps onto the step just below the one you’re currently standing on. He pants dramatically, clutching his chest.

“You move quick.”

You glance over his shoulder, hugging your books a little tighter. “Hi, Fred. How was breakfast?”

“Oh, good. Great, actually. I - uh - had toast.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Yeah.” He straightens up, rubbing the back of his neck; why is he suddenly nervous? “Where are you off to?”

“I have to go grab some books for my first few classes,” you reply, and Fred can’t help but note the slight tinge of amusement in your voice. “Where are you off to?”

Fred pauses; again, this was not something he necessarily thought through when he first decided to follow you out here. He really just wanted a chat, to hear your voice one more time before he was forced to go to classes.

He folds his arms over his chest as nonchalantly as he can manage, leaning against the banister. “I don’t think it’s right for a lovely wizard like yourself to be walking to class on your own; I thought I’d offer my services.”

You raise a brow, once again taking a cautious glance over Fred’s shoulder to ensure nobody is around to hear his flirtations; nonetheless, you make no attempt to stop him, which he takes as a relatively good sign. “Well, you can walk me to class if you like. I have to get my books first, though.”

Fred gestures up the stairs. “Lead the way.”

And so you do. Fred follows you all the way to the Hufflepuff common room, where he is forced to wait outside whilst you gather your belongings. His stomach grumbles, evidence of his uneaten breakfast, but he doesn’t even care right now. Not when you walk out of the common room, all smiles and nervous glances. Fred offers you his arm, and it’s with only the slightest bit of hesitation that you take it and allow Fred to lead you back through the school hallways.

“What is it like in there?” he asks.

“In where?”

“The Hufflepuff common room. Surely you can hear all the house elves rattling about in the kitchens at night.”

You shake your head. “The walls are soundproof; did you know Muggles have soundproof things as well?”

Fred raises a brow. “You’re not obsessed with Muggle stuff, are you? My dad’s into all that stuff - I’ve heard enough of it for a lifetime.”

You giggle, and Fred is fairly certain his hand starts trembling.

“No, I’m not obsessed,” you say. “I do find some of it interesting, though. The similarities between our world and theirs.”

“Are there many? Similarities, I mean.”

You shrug. Looking to the side, Fred can see your face suddenly change; what once was an expression of nerves and uncertainty is now one of interest and intrigue as Fred asks you questions on a topic you are clearly very invested in. It makes his heart lift, and he has to bite his lower lip to stop the smile from spreading and making it too obvious.

“A few I’ve picked up on,” you reply. “They still - like - wear clothes and stuff. Just different styles. And they live in houses, and go to school-”

“School? Don’t insult Hogwarts like that. Muggle school and wizard school aren’t even comparable.”

You furrow your brows, glancing up at Fred. “But they still learn.”

“Not the important stuff. Not like we do.”

“And what would you consider important?”

Fred hums, gazing wistfully into the distance. You giggle again. Finally, he says “aha!” and clicks, whirling on you. “Right, tell me this - do Muggles learn Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

You frown, grip tightening on his arm. “I don’t think so. They don’t have magic, so it would be a bit pointless, wouldn’t it?”

“Ah, but it’s important. What are they gonna do if a Dementor comes knocking on their front door?”

“There’s nothing they can do, even if they knew the basic stuff we know. They don’t have magic, Fred.”

Fred grunts. “Must be a hard life having to do everything by hand.”

“I agree.”

Fred chuckles, glancing down at you. Your eyes meet his for a fraction of a second before you bite your bottom lip and avert your gaze.

“Go on then,” Fred continues. “Tell me some more similarities. You’ve got me interested now.”

“Really?”

“Mm.”

You tilt your head in thought. “Well. . . I suppose the way their government system works is quite similar to ours.”

“Explain.”

“They have people in power. A system of higher-up’s, if you will, who control everything.”

“Is theirs as corrupt as ours?”

“Oh, definitely. Sometimes I’d even argue they’re even more corrupt than ours.”

Fred’s eyes pop open. “Blimey. How has the Muggle world not completely broken down?”

You laugh. Full-on laugh, eyes squinting closed and head thrown back. Fred can’t even bring himself to laugh alongside you, suddenly too engrossed in your enjoyment to indulge in his own.

You hiccough yourself back to reality before looking up and saying, “Surely your dad could teach you all this stuff if he’s so interested in Muggle affairs?”

“He’s interested, but he’s also a bit oblivious. Doesn’t matter how many times Harry tells him what a telephone is, he still has no idea how it all works.” Fred shrugs. “Plus, I enjoy my lessons much more when you’re teaching them.”

You stiffen, lower lip hiding - yet again - behind your teeth. You swallow thickly, and before Fred can do anything, you’re unwinding your arm from his and picking up your pace, calling a quick, “I’m gonna be late!” over your shoulder. Fred falters mid-way, staring after you with his mouth dropped open and confusion making his stomach churn.

Someone crashes into his shoulder as you round the corner. “Nice one, mate.”

“Shut up, George.”

“It doesn’t look like it’s going too well.”

“It’s - it’s going fine.” Fred curses under his breath - now you’ve got him stuttering? “They’re just a little shy. But I think they like me.”

“Oh yes, the most obvious sign of attraction - running away.”

----

Fred is beginning to get very tired of his classes.

He’s only here for the sake of his mothers sanity; god only knows how Molly Weasley would react if he showed up at the Burrow six months early, claiming he was finished with school before he’d even managed to bag an acceptable amount of N.E.W.T’s.

But he doesn’t want to be here any more. He’s getting tired of forcing himself to listen to things he only half cares about, getting tired of being told off for things that - honestly - the teachers should just be used to by now. It’s not like they haven’t seen it for the past six years.

He grunts to himself as he and George walk out of History of Magic. Yet another boring lesson that seemed to drag on much longer than necessary; all Fred has to prove he was there at all is the doodle of a cat in the top hand corner of his notebook.

“I need a sleep,” George says. “His bloody voice exhausts me.”

Fred opens his mouth to respond, but his twin brother cuts him off by slapping a hand to his arm and pointing straight ahead.

Startled, Fred looks up. Standing by the gargoyle just outside History of Magic is you, hugging your books whilst awkwardly looking back and forth, as if afraid one of the passing students is going to stop and harass you.

George snickers. “Go on, mate. I think they’re looking for you.”

Before Fred can object, get himself together, George shoves him forward hard enough to make him stumble. Your head snaps up at the sound of Fred saying “You git!” and Fred is quick to lean against the wall, look at you and say, coolly, “Y/N. What a pleasant surprise.”

You stand up a little straighter, lips twitching. “Hi. How was class?”

“Boring.” He smirks. “Much better now that you’re here, though.”

The unmistakable sound of George snorting as he passes by floats between you. You smile, giving Fred’s brother a nod before you turn back to Fred and say, “Do you fancy taking a little walk before break ends?”

Of all the things Fred expected to happen today, you asking him on a walk was certainly not one of them. It takes him a second to reply, and it’s only the realisation that you’re probably just as nervous as he is that he snaps out of it and nods.

You wind your arm through his without him having to offer; his cheeks are burning.

Together, you set off down the hall. It’s quiet for a little bit, Fred still trying to figure out what’s happening, and you inspecting each and every one of the sculptures you pass, as if too afraid to look over at Fred.

Finally, however, you break the silence. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

Fred’s stomach jolts. “What are you sorry for?”

“For how I reacted. You were just being nice and I - uh - I don’t really know how to handle that kind of thing.”

Fred perks an eyebrow, glancing down at you with genuine curiosity. “I find that very hard to believe.” Because he does. He finds it downright unbelievable that compliments are not something you have grown used to across the five years spent in Hogwarts.

You shrug. “Well, believe it. I really appreciated what you said, but I just. . . I don’t know how to respond, or if you’re telling the truth-”

“I was definitely telling the truth.”

You bite your lip. “I shouldn’t have ran off like that. It must have made you feel awful.”

Classic Hufflepuff behaviour - thinking more about other people’s feelings than their own.

“You know,” Fred drawls, “if my flirting makes you uncomfortable, just tell me and I’ll stop.”

“No!”

Fred’s eyes snap down. You look back up at him, eyes wide before you realise the abruptness of your protestation and hastily avert your gaze to the floor.

“No,” you say, softer now. “I - uh - I don't think you should stop. I quite like it, actually.”

Fred smirks, keeping his eyes trained on you even as you fight desperately to look anywhere but him. “Do you fancy me, Y/N L/N?”

“Oh, give me a break, Fred.”

“I think you do.” He rubs his cheek against your own. “Just a little bit.”

You jerk away, slapping his arm. “Well, it’s not bloody difficult, is it?”

Fred falters, though his smile only widens. “What does that mean?”

You groan, pulling your arm from his yet again. Fred stumbles back, unable to help the laugh that bursts from his throat at the sight of your flustered state.

“I’m going to class,” you announce.

“You didn’t answer my question!”

“I don’t have an answer to your question.” You stand there a little longer. With a smile still beaming, Fred watches as you take a single step forward, a step back, another step forward-

And then, as if telling yourself to just get it over with, you jump forward and press your lips to Fred’s cheek. His jaw drops open, but he doesn’t get the chance to say anything before you’re spinning on your heel and rushing away, rounding the corner without so much as a wave in his direction.

Fred swallows thickly, reaching up to brush his fingers against the area you have just kissed, just like they do in those cheesy Muggle movies his mum is so fond of. He can’t believe the feeling that comes with it - his heart is going to explode.

Oh, no…

----

The Hufflepuff table is boring compared to the Gryffindor table. That’s the first thing Fred notices.

Maybe it’s because his friends aren’t with him. Maybe it’s because George flat-out refused to accompany him. Maybe it’s because Fred is nervous, and he’s angry about it, because since when has Fred Weasley ever been nervous about anything?

This morning, however, he is pushed on by the memory of your lips against his cheek. That is his only source of motivation, the only reason he doesn’t flick Ernie MacMillan on the back of the head when the Hufflepuff boy turns and scowls at the Gryffindor student currently making his way towards you, sat at the very end.

You have yet to look up from your textbook. Fred takes great pleasure in wrapping his arms around your shoulders, your body jumping back against his in your shock. He leans down and chuckles in your ear, moving his head so you can see his clearly amused features.

Immediately your eyes widen. “Fred! What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d come have breakfast with you.” He waves his wand; a sausage springs up from Ernie’s plate, which he catches before biting into. “Like a date.”

You bite your lip. “Do you want to sit down?”

“Uh, Y/N?” Ernie calls over as Fred takes the empty seat next to you; he doesn’t miss the way you barely look up when you hum in response to Ernie’s - quite frankly - rude call of your name. “You know the houses have to eat together. He’s breaking the rules.”

You shyly look up. “Oh, Ernie, let him sit down…”

“Yeah Ernie,” Fred jeers. “Let me sit down, you nosy little git.”

You choke on the pumpkin juice you just lifted to your mouth, spinning in your seat to hide the amused smile growing uncontrollably upon your face. Fred grins, placing his hands on your shoulders.

“Did you like that?”

“You’re impossible,” you hiss, slapping his arm. “Just ignore him. He’s got a grudge against anyone who plays for Gryffindor.”

“Yeah, I know.” Fred narrows his eyes, craning his neck a little to see over your shoulder, where Ernie sits with a scowl on his face. “He better not give you a hard time for hanging out with me, you know. You’d tell me if he was?”

You shift so you’re covering Ernie’s face and are now the centre of Fred’s attention. “Of course I would. Plus, Ernie doesn’t scare me.”

“I’ll certainly scare him if he so much as-”

“Fred,” you laugh, nudging his knee beneath the table. His eyes drift back to you, his body immediately relaxing at the sight of your glowing smile. “Calm down, okay? He’s got nothing against me - it’s you and the Gryffindor team he’s got a problem with.”

“Is that supposed to make me hate him any less?”

You shrug, plucking Fred’s hands from your shoulders and placing a hash brown between his fingertips. “He’s got a point, you know. You are breaking the rules by sitting here.”

Fred raises a brow. “Right, I’ll leave if you-”

“No!” You latch onto his arm, pulling him back to the bench as Fred bursts into yet another round of raucous laughter at how easily flustered you become. “No, you should stay. Dumbledore isn’t even looking.”

“If I was any less wise, L/N, I’d think you want me to have breakfast with you.”

“I just don’t get to see that much of you,” you mumble.

Fred coos; he’s trying so hard to keep up the fun-guy persona, putting on a mask of confidence despite the speed at which his heart is hammering in his chest at the moment. You make it so easy for him to feel this way, too easy, because sure, Fred has had crushes on people before, but never has he put himself out like this. Never has he wanted to make someone laugh so much. Never has he been so proud of being the reason for someone else’s smile.

Fred leans forward, lowering his voice. “That’s very cute.”

“Yeah, well…”

He chuckles, flicking your heated cheek before he takes a bite from the slice of toast you’re holding. You jolt upright immediately, swatting him away with a glare. “Hey!”

He licks the butter noisily from his fingers. “Yummy.”

You roll your eyes. “Get your own breakfast.”

“But yours is so much tastier.”

You grab another slice of toast from your plate and push it against Fred’s lips. He opens his mouth, takes a bite and hums appreciatively.

And then the world stops.

It really is like those scenes in those cheesy movies his mum watches all the time, where the room seems to go still and it’s like nobody else exists. Your fingers hover inches away from his face, your eyes cast to his lips where the slice of toast has just disappeared. Fred swallows, his own eyes drawn to your lips, slightly parted, so soft looking-

“Weasley! What do you think you’re doing sitting at the Hufflepuff table! Get back to where you belong right this instant!”

McGonagall grabs a fistful of his robes, pulling him up from the bench. Fred gasps, stumbling up with his eyes still locked on you. You hastily look back down at the table, pushing hair out of your eyes, trying to avoid being told off by the Deputy Head.

“Awk, lay off, Professor!” Fred exclaims. “I was having fun!”

“You were breaking the rules, Mr Weasley. You can integrate with your pals whenever breakfast has finished, but until then-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Fred grumbles, giving you one last glance. It’s to his utter relief that he sees you looking back at him, a tiny smile on your face. Fred winks before McGonagall shoves him forward, back into his seat at the Gryffindor table.

----

When Fred receives your note, he is sat in the Gryffindor common room with George.

Homework litters the table in front of them, unfinished and not understood by either of them. Hermione had long since gone to bed, insisting she wasn’t going to help people who didn’t want to help themselves. And so, the twins sat up until the late hours of the night, staring at their homework with a sense of frustration building between them.

Fred feels certain he’s going to snap at any given moment; this whole school thing really isn’t working out for him nor George, and the two of them have such prestigious dreams that sitting in a classroom all day just feels like a waste of time. Maybe that’s why he can’t bring himself to properly concentrate on his lessons. Maybe that’s why neither he nor George care as much about grades as all his other siblings.

“Right, so clearly Flitwick was on something when he wrote this,” says George, scowling at his charms homework. “He didn’t even mention flying charms last lesson, so why has he-”

The fireplace suddenly erupts.

Both Fred and George jump at the sudden interruption, swivelling round in their chairs to catch a glimpse of what has happened; they both know full well the kinds of things these fireplaces can permit, and neither of them want to deal with anything too dangerous at this time of night.

In the fire, however, is not the face of a Death Eater, or anything close to such - instead, a single piece of paper sits in the ashes, Fred’s name printed in bold across the top.

The twins frown at each other. George makes a suggestive gesture, all but shoving Fred closer for inspection.

Fred stumbles, sends George a glare before he bends down and picks the piece of paper up. Immediately the handwriting is recognisable by the lazy flick of the letters, how effortlessly neat it looks. It would take Fred hours to write a note that looks like this, and yet he’s watched you scribbling notes down; this is undoubtedly your doing.

Suddenly he’s smiling.

“Oh, here we go,” George groans, noticing his twins expression. “You’re sending love notes to each other now?”

“Shut up.” Fred sinks down into one of the armchairs, reading your note thoroughly. “Y/N wants to meet up.”

“Right now?”

“Mhm.”

George raises a brow. “Have you two even kissed yet?”

Fred’s eyes snap up, cheeks heating before he can stop them. He never ever gets flustered around George, but the mention of such a thing has his stomach flipping. “Why do you care?”

George raises his hands in mock surrender. “Never said I did, mate, but the smile on your face right now would suggest at least a peck on the cheek or something.”

Fred scowls. “No, we haven’t kissed. We’re not even properly together, so drop it.”

“How does that make sense? You both fancy each other-”

“Yeah, but it’s nothing official.” Fred lazily flicks his hand, clicking his fingers so the note folds itself into a perfect square and zips into his robe pocket. “You wouldn’t understand these things, Georgie Boy. You’ve got to take it slow.”

Goerge scoffs, throwing a pencil at Fred. “Very bloody slow apparently. But I forgot, it’s a Hufflepuff you’ve got your eye on. They tend to be a bit hard-to-get, don’t they?”

Fred opens his mouth to protest, to stick up for you, but he can’t even deny the truth in George’s words; a fair amount of time has passed since the two of you first started talking, and all you’ve done is say you enjoy his company. There’s been no kissing, no hand-holding, nothing even close to being considered romantic.

Fred is okay with this, of course. He’s in that very weird head space where even just being in your presence is enough to satisfy him; he catches glimpses of you as you parade from one class to another, and that is enough until he sees you again at lunch, or dinner, or during breaks.

He sighs, pushing himself up from the armchair. “Don’t wanna leave them waiting, do I?”

George scowls. “What about our homework?”

“We’ll be fine.”

“I’m not covering for you if Flitwick asks what you were up to that’s more important than his homework assignments.”

Fred grins, not even giving a response as he clambers out of the common room and ducks into the hallways.

He knows exactly where to go, even though he’s never met up with you after hours before - not since the first time, which he doesn’t even count considering it was entirely an accident. To this day, he still isn’t convinced that wasn’t some type of dream - a Hufflepuff, out of bed after hours? Not a single soul would believe him if he told them.

Fred makes his way down the corridor and grins when he sees you standing there; you’re much braver than him. Fred, personally, feels much safer when he’s wading through the halls - it makes it more difficult for Filch to catch him if he’s not stationary. You, however, seem to have no issue with standing behind a suit of armour, waiting patiently for Fred to round the corner.

“Hola. Bonjour. Hello. Hi.”

You look round, face immediately lighting up. “Fred! Hi!”

He’ll never get used to that greeting.

“Y/N! Hi!” he mimics. “I got your note.”

“Good. Great. I was worried I did it wrong.”

“You? Do something wrong?” Fred screws his face up in an expression of mock confusion, which prompts you to roll your eyes and nudge him. He grins, stuffs his hands in his pockets and says, “Out after curfew again, eh? Have I finally corrupted you?”

“You must have,” you reply.

Fred tilts his head. “What’s the actual reason you invited me out?”

And that’s when your expression shifts.

You bite your lower lip in that way you always do, eyes darting to the ground awkwardly. Fred raises a brow, leaning forward a bit in his attempt to get you to look at him again, but you suddenly seem much too embarrassed to even be giving Fred the time of day. His stomach flips with uncharacteristic anxiety, and he can’t stop himself when he steps forward and places a gentle hand on your elbow.

“Hey. Did something happen?”

The words burst out of you in one breath. “I left my book in the bathing room and I’m too scared to get it myself but I really need it to help me sleep, so I was wondering if you could help me get through the hallways without Filch knowing and then I promise you can go back to bed and never speak to me again.”

You take a sharp breath before looking away again, apparently too embarrassed by your request to even look at him.

Fred takes a moment to reply. He has to untangle your words first, and then he has to bask in his amusement at how embarrassed you were by asking it; personally, he doesn’t see the problem. He’s happy to help. In fact, he’d be pretty annoyed if it wasn’t him you were asking.

“Alright.”

Your eyes snap up. “Really? I mean, you don’t have to, I just thought - well, you know your way around, and you’ve dealt with Filch-”

“You don’t need to explain.” He offers his arm, just as he always does. “What book is it?”

And it’s with only the tiniest bit of hesitance that you take his offered arm and allow him to guide you through the corridors he apparently knows so well; in truth, he doesn’t tend to go out after curfew all that often, because he gets all of his mischief done in the day time now. But you were indeed correct in saying he knows this place better than anyone else. He and George spent the majority of their school careers finding secret passageways and little hiding spots they could use at any given time. As he listens to you talk about the book he’s about to try and save, he recalls each and every one of these hiding places whilst keeping a sharp ear out for Filch.

The two of you arrive at the bathing rooms and Fred pushes open the door. It squeaks, and you wince, glancing at Fred anxiously; he merely places a hand on the small of your back, pushing you further into the room.

He follows, closes the door and exhales heavily. “Made it. Now where’s that book you’ve lost?”

You skitter around the edge of the massive bathing pool; it’s still filled to the brim with forever hot water, always clean despite the amount of people washing themselves within it on a daily basis. Fred stands on the edge, hands stuffed in his pockets as he watches you rush to the far side of the room, rummage around in a basket of towels before pulling a particularly thick book out from beneath them.

You look over, smiling broadly with the book pressed against your chest.

Fred raises a brow. “Happy now?”

“Overjoyed.”

You skip back over to him, pulling open the front cover to look inside. Fred leans forward, reading the confusing inside blurb over your shoulder.

“And you use this for a bit of light reading in the bath?” he asks.

Startled, you slam the book closed. “It’s good, honestly.”

“I’ll take your-”

Fred’s sentence is cut off by the sound of Filch yelling.

And it’s unmistakably Filch yelling, because Fred has heard it many, many times before. It always comes with that initial rush of panic, the realisation he’s been caught, and if he was with anybody else, that initial panic wouldn’t have even lasted. Now, however, he takes one look at your slack face, the horror swimming in your eyes, and he realises this is the first time you’ll have ever gotten in trouble with the caretaker.

A traumatic experience for anyone.

“Oh, god,” you whisper, dropping the book with a SLAM. You jump, scrambling to pick it up, but the noise only seems to draw Filch closer to the door. Fred has to think now.

He groans low under his breath, fumbling beneath his robes for his wand - a wand that has been left on the table back in the Gryffindor common room.

You jolt back up straight, hugging the book to your chest, and that’s when Fred does the one thing he can think to do right now - he grabs your arms and pushes you back, jumping into the deep end of the bath with you alongside him.

He holds you close, opening his eyes as much as he possibly can. He can hear Filch’s yelling from above, aggravated screams of “I know you’re in here! I know you’re in here! I heard you!” Fred simply pulls you closer, urging you to hold your breath for as long as possible.

But he can see you panicking, the air leaving you. He can see your lips threatening to split open so you can scream or cry or breathe, Fred doesn’t know, but he can’t let you do it. Not right now.

Without magic, there’s only one thing he can think to do.

He presses his lips to your own and pries your mouth open. He doesn’t know how this works. He read about it once in a Muggle Studies book, but he never thought he would ever actually need to pay attention to the details. He takes your relaxing body as a good sign, tightening his hold on your shoulders as he continues to breathe as much air into your mouth as he can possibly muster.

And then the door is slamming, and Filch’s screams are muted behind the gold plating, and Fred immediately lets go of you and bursts to the surface.

You follow, gasping for air, wiping water out of your eyes along with fat strands of wet hair. Fred pants, wiping his eyes roughly, trying so hard to find words for an apology but unable to gather enough breath to even think proper thoughts at the moment.

His heartbeat soars. He looks over at you; you’re already looking at him, and the entire room is silent besides your synchronised panting breaths.

You shove past the water, into his arms, and kiss him.

Fred’s eyes pop open wide, but his arms wind around your waist almost instinctively. His lips mould against yours, and once the initial shock has passed, his eyes are slipping closed and he’s falling, falling, drowning, never wanting to resurface ever again.

You pull away first. Water drips from your bottom lip, your eyelashes, your chin, and Fred has never seen a sight so beautiful. He reaches forward, swiping his thumb along your lower lip before he leans forward and gives you a final peck.

“Always full of surprises, you are,” he whispers.

----

Fred watches you. Leaning against the door frame with his arms folded across his chest, he watches as you run the towel down your face, grumbling beneath your breath about how impossible it will be to explain your soaked robes to Professor Sprout.

Fred hasn’t even stopped to properly think about how the two of you are meant to get back to your respective common rooms without someone noticing; you’ll surely leave a trail of water in your wake, and Filch is already on high alert. Despite this, Fred can only focus on the kiss the two of you have just shared, and what it means for the future.

You sigh, slamming the towel down and turning. There’s an adorable pout on your face, eyebrows furrowed, hair still soaked and clinging to your skin.

“That really was a shock,” you say.

Fred chuckles. “Just the bit where we took a swim?”

“And the bit where you saved me from drowning.”

“And the bit when we resurfaced and you-”

You groan, waving your hands in front of you as if swatting a fly. “Awk, don’t. I never do anything like that. I probably did it all wrong-”

“You didn’t.”

“Kissing is just something I never got the hang of. I’ve only done it a few times, because I don’t really tend to like people that way, but-”

“But I’m a special case?”

You scowl, deflating. “You know you are.”

Fred grins that cheeky grin of his, pushing away from the door. He wades towards you and stops only when he’s close enough that you have to crane your neck to look into his eyes. “I think you got the hang of kissing perfectly fine. You’re a bloody natural.”

You blink. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” With that, Fred leans down and presses his lips to your own. It’s only slow, slow enough that Fred can feel you melt into him, your rib cage suddenly coming against his own, your fingertips brushing delicately against his waist. It’s adorable, feeling you lose yourself like this, barely registering what is actually happening.

He pulls away just as slow, so you can feel everything when he does so. Your eyes stay closed for a second before opening, lower lip retreating between your teeth, face hot when Fred brings his hands up to your jaw.

“Does - Okay, well, stupid question, but does this make us a couple?” you ask.

Fred laughs. “If you want, yeah.”

“Do you -”

“Oh, Y/N, don’t even ask that; you know full well I want to be your boyfriend. Full. Well.”

A grin splits your face. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his middle and placing your chin in the centre of his chest. “Yeah.”

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fic #fred weasley #harry potter x reader #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fic #fred weasley x reader #weasley twins #weasley twins fanfiction #weasley twins fanfic #weasley twins x reader #weasley twins fic

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apiratewhopines · 3 years

Text

Thanks to @teamhook for the artwork and for helping me pick a movie that wasn’t already done!

Midnight

Chapter 6 — The Mice

Summary: In which our heroine wins the battle but loses the war

Chapter 6 of 7 on AO3

“The way you changed my life

No, no, they can’t take that away from me”

-They Can’t Take That Away from Me, Fred Astaire

After the excitement of the morning passed, Sidney grumbled until they returned to the table. Still shaken by whatever Arthur said on their brief phone call, Killian declined to join them and returned to their room. No doubt to dream up a make-believe pregnancy for her. Most probably twins this time.

“I thought you told me we would have smoked salmon for our bagels,” the man complained to Guin, face upset as if the plentiful choices offered on their breakfast buffet were insufficient.

“I’m sorry, dear. I know it’s your favorite, so I made sure it was on the menu I gave to our chef,” she murmured coaxingly. Looking at the butler who was filling Arthur’s coffee cup, she asked, “What happened to the salmon?”

“There was a mistake, ma’am. It was left out of the last delivery, and since the phones have been out all morning, we couldn’t contact the market. I’ve sent one of the girls into town to buy some, so we will have it tomorrow morning. If the gentleman prefers, we can prepare a plate for him this afternoon.”

“Nonsense,” she replied. “The phones are in perfect working order. We just made a call to Europe to check on the Baron’s daughter.”

“No, ma’am, only the internal phone system is working. An accident took out the lines last night.”

Emma reached over and grabbed Arthur’s hand under the table as they shared an uneasy look when the other three people at the table all glanced at her with questions in their eyes. Lance broke the silence. “I don’t understand…”

“I’m afraid he’s right. I wasn’t on the phone with my mother-in-law. In fact, I don’t— No, I don’t want to burden you with my problems,” she said haltingly, her mind racing with ways to get out of this mess. The words tumbled from her mouth so quickly she didn’t have a chance to think through the consequences, which seemed to be the way she operated these days.

“Oh, please, you can’t stop now. This little mystery is the only thing distracting me from my lack of fish,” Sidney countered. He was studying the wide variety of fruit compotes and toppings for his pancakes and sounded desolate. “Please.”

“Well, let’s just say the Baron’s family has a touch of eccentricity,” she continued with a grimace. She had their rapt attention; even Sidney abandoned his food and gawked at her. “My first hint was at the wedding. I was opening the gifts, and his grandfather gave us a broken compass covered in Thousand Island dressing.”

“Yes,” Arthur broke in, determined to help. “Now I remember hearing there was a streak of madness in the family. His father was known as the Mad Baron of Cambridge. He liked to give people roller skates with missing laces instead of flowers.”

“The truth is…we don’t have a daughter.”

“Oh, this is much more delicious than breakfast,” Sidney gushed, pushing his plate away and moving to the seat across from her. “Tell us more.”

“I don’t want you to think bad of him. Most of the time, he’s lucid and the sweetest man in the world. That’s the man I fell in love with. But when he’s having one of his episodes, like this morning, he can get quite aggressive if confronted. It’s best to go along with whatever he’s saying. It always starts when he first wakes as if he can’t shake some odd dream in his mind,” she grabbed her napkin and dabbed at fake tears. “There was one time about six months ago he woke up convinced he was Captain Hook. He wore eyeliner for weeks and refused to use his left hand. When I tried to make him see reason, he insisted I call him Captain and tried to have me arrested as a mutineer.”

“You poor thing,” Guin said, genuine sympathy in her expression. “I wondered why you called him that. I thought perhaps he served in the Navy.”

“And you’ve stayed with him all these years?” Lance’s gaze, which was always admiring, held a new respect for her now. It didn’t make her feel any better. “You’re wonderful.”

“Hmm, yes, absolutely amazing,” Arthur murmured under his breath. The smirk was back, and she could tell he was enjoying her web of lies. At least someone was. “Is there some medication he can take? Perhaps you should have him committed.”

“No, I would never. I promised to stay with Killian in good times and bad. It will pass eventually. It always does,” she bit out, kicking him under the table. Before anything else could be said, she heard the Captain whistling as he practically skipped out of the house toward them dressed in the sky blue scrubs of a surgeon. The color made his eyes even more beautiful, and the tiniest smattering of hair visible above the v-neck of the shirt did things to her heart.

“Arthur, Guinevere, thank you for the hospitality, but we really must be going. I have to get back for my shift at the hospital.” Everyone jumped at the pronouncement, exchanging loaded glances and trying to figure out what to say or do next.

Guin smiled at him shakily and in a calm voice asked, “The hospital, Baron?”

“Not a baron, I’m afraid. And this woman isn’t a baroness. You notice I didn’t say my wife because she isn’t that either,” Killian informed them as he stopped by her chair and reached down to place a hand on her shoulder.

“Killian, you don’t mean that,” Emma responded. She would have laughed at his look of confusion at the lack of reaction to his revelation if she wasn’t so sure it would come back to bite her in the ass.

With an admonishing look, Lance said, “See here, Baron, there’s no need to insult the woman who has stayed by you through thick and thin.”

“Thick and thin? We met five nights ago, and she couldn’t wait to be rid of me. She’s an imposter. And I’m a doctor who has real things to do in the real world. Come on, Swan, let’s leave these lovely people to their breakfast.”

“Oh, I get it. You think she’s Elizabeth Swan from Pirates of the Caribbean.” Sidney snapped his fingers as if all the pieces had fallen into place.

“What? No, I think she’s a bounty hunter and the most impossible woman I’ve ever met,” Killian argued, determined to make them see the truth. The more he spoke, the more their faces cleared of all emotion like they were afraid a smile or frown would push him further into his delusions. He pulled her from the chair gently, and since she felt like pond scum for the lies she told, she let his arms circle her waist. As an added benefit she didn’t deserve, the position allowed her nose to be tickled by the chest hair so temptingly on display.

“Maybe she’s a mutineer,” Arthur offered.

Looking at the group, Killian shook his head in disbelief. “I think you’re all crazy.”

“Yes, that must be it,” Guin said soothingly. “Why don’t you have some breakfast, Baron?”

“I’m not sure how I can be more clear. I’m not a baron. We’re not married. We met in the middle of the road a few nights ago, and I pretended to be her Uber driver so I could give her a ride to a strip club. It turned into the best night of my life.”

Undeterred, Guin patted his arm, which was still wrapped tightly around her. “What a lovely courtship you’ve had. Now, let’s get you something to eat. Do you prefer coffee or tea to drink?”

“Are you not listening to a word I’m saying? We’re fakes! We haven’t known each other for more than a week. She twisted me around her little finger in two minutes. As infuriating as she is, I fell in love with her smile. The sound of her laugh makes my blood pump faster, and when she talks about not believing in love, it makes me want to prove to her that it exists every day for the rest of our lives.”

She was fading, her will to stick it out with Arthur and give him a happy ending melting in the heat of Killian’s honeyed words. His genuine concern at how nonchalantly they were accepting his confession should have been funny, but all she could think about was how he said ‘the rest of our lives.’

Like he meant it.

“Well, fakes or not, I’m still hungry,” Sidney answered, trying his best in the face of impossible odds. “Maybe your patients could wait a few hours until the salmon arrives. It’s quite good.”

“Bloody hell, this is a madhouse. Come on, Emma, enough is enough. Let’s go,” he urged her again. Taking the napkin from her hand, he threw it on the table and switched his grip to gently hold her upper arm and guide her away from the group.

They were immediately halted by Lance, thunder in his expression and lightning in his eyes. “She’s not going anywhere with you, Baron. We know all about your illness. She won’t be safe.”

“My illness?” Understanding dawned on his face and his head tilted back like he was searching the morning sky for answers. With a wry chuckle, he sighed. “Bravo, Swan. You told them I’m crazy. And I played right into it, didn’t I? Because I’ve been acting crazy, a man driven out of his mind at the sight of his most cherished dream waltzing away from him like he was nothing. Like everything he felt was nothing as far as she was concerned.”

She choked up at the bitter twist of his mouth. He was so brave, declaring his feelings in front of everyone, even convinced she would reject him again. Was it any wonder she had fallen head over heels for him?

And what did she do? She lied. She tricked. She ran. Then she rinsed and repeated.

“Captain,” she whispered, her hand moving to cradle his face when a sickening crack was heard and he crumpled at her feet.

Behind him, looking proud of himself, Sidney was still holding a pan aloft like he thought Killian might jump to his feet and demand a second round. Fear flooded her and she dropped to her knees to cradle his head in her lap. Helplessness, her hands fluttered over his body, her mind trying to sort out the impossible situation that was entirely her fault. “Why the hell did you do that?”

“He looked homicidal.”

Shaking him gently, she begged, “Killian…Killian, come back to me. Don’t leave me here alone.”

“You aren’t alone, sweetheart,” Lance promised, trying to move her away.

She swatted at his hands and refused to leave. The movement caused Killian’s head to lull to the side, and she saw a smear of red dripping from his hairline. “Someone call 911. He’s bleeding!”

Sidney glanced down at them with a mildly alarmed look and then at the weapon he still held. He ran his finger across the bottom and, with some relief, announced, “That’s not blood. It’s raspberry compote.”

—

Arthur’s personal physician made a house call to attend to the victim. Of course, the woman knew Killian Jones, MD, who was apparently the Director of Pediatric Oncology at Storybrooke General and one of the foremost experts in his field.

He was a saint in addition to being her Captain.

He deserved so much more than a lost girl who was too scared to know a good thing when it stopped on the side of the road to save her.

“This couldn’t have worked out better, my dear,” Arthur commented with an eyebrow wiggle. “Lance is beside himself. He just announced he plans to hire a divorce attorney this very afternoon. Run along. I’ll make sure the good doctor makes it back to town safely. I’ll even throw a couple thousand his way for his performance.”

“Shut up, Arthur. This is terrible. An innocent man got hurt, and it’s all our fault. My fault,” she corrected with a whisper, running her hand softly through Killian’s hair. He regained consciousness as the doctor checked him out but fell asleep while she assured them no permanent damage was done. Replacing the ice pack against the goose egg forming on the side of his head, she silently pleaded with him to wake up so she could grovel properly and beg for forgiveness.

“He seems quite taken with you.”

“Maybe he’s crazy after all,” she joked, but her heart wasn’t really in it. She doubted she would find anything funny until she saw his electric blue eyes again. “Can you leave us alone? I want to be able to explain when he comes to.”

“Of course, just call if you need anything.” He gave her a probing stare as if trying to decide whether to say something else before he left.

When she heard the door click shut, she leaned over and brushed a soft kiss across his lips. “I’m sorry. For running. For lying. For putting you in a situation where you got knocked out. I know that’s not nearly enough, but I am.”

“It’s a start,” he groaned as her hushed tone drew him from sleep, one hand moving to cover hers where it held the ice to his head and the other reaching out to play with the ends of her hair. “What happened?”

“I happened. This is why we don’t work, Captain. I’ve brought you nothing but pain and suffering since the moment we met.”

“I didn’t figure you for the melodramatic type, Swan. We had some good times before this farce began,” he reminded her as he shifted into more of a sitting position. “Are you ready to admit there’s something between us, or do I need to jump back into the fray and take a punch bowl to the face?”

“I never denied there was something between us, just that it was a good idea. I believe a raspberry-flavored concussion proves my point perfectly.”

His hand drifted to her cheek, calloused fingers glancing over soft skin. She wanted to look away from his intense gaze, but he tenderly grabbed her chin and held her in place. “Love, come away with me. It doesn’t have to be forever; we can sort that part out later. I’m simply asking for your company now, to give us a chance before you decide against it.”

“I want to, Captain. I want the carrot and everything else behind Door Number One,” she murmured with a watery chuckle. His gentle caresses grew hotter and more insistent. Finally he pulled her to him, her body half-covering his, as he claimed her mouth in the kind of scorching kiss that would burn through her memory forever.

She had nothing to offer him, and she had a long way to go before she would be worthy of this kind of love. Unconditional. All-encompassing. The kind she didn’t even know existed until he rescued her.

“I sense a but coming…”

“But—“

With a sad smile, he interrupted her. “On second thought, don’t. Please. I can’t bear to hear you say the words. To watch you run one more time. Let’s call it a day now so we can remember it fondly in the years to come.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am.” He tapped her nose lightly with his fingertip, observing the tears in her eyes as she fought to keep them from falling. Giving her a bittersweet grimace, he added, “Just promise you’ll take care of yourself, Swan. No more skipping meals. No more pretending to be anyone other than the amazing woman you are.”

The tears that were a threat until then slipped past her defenses, leaving trails down her face. He swiped at them and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Then he was gone.

Arthur found her later in the exact same place, not having the energy to move. He slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a hug. “This is the last time you’ll ever have to live this day, my dear.”

She knew he was trying to make her feel better, but the knowledge he was wrong caused her to feel light-headed as she turned into his embrace. She would never have to say goodbye to Killian again, but she knew she would relive it over and over until the day she died.

—

He approached her on the shoreline as she watched the blue waters of the Atlantic crash against the rocky beach forming one side of Arthur’s estate. Heat lightning flashed in the distance; the far-off storm robbed of its noise and violence when viewed from the calm of land. Emma knew it was only a matter of time until he sought her out. He was a smart man, a gambler and a rogue, so why not press his advantage?

“You disappeared on me after the baron left.” Lance never referred to him as her husband, always ‘the baron.’ She wasn’t sure if it was his way of skirting the immorality of his pursuit or simply to rob the other man of any claim on her, but it was starting to piss her off. Which was silly considering he wasn’t really her husband. Or a baron.

“He told me he was filing for divorce on his way out. That he hoped you found happiness but had come to realize it wasn’t going to be with him.”

She had yet to look at Lance, but she felt her heart break a little at the scene he painted. It was just like the Captain to try to help her all the way to the bitter end. She supposed he simply couldn’t stop himself. Breathing in the warm salty air, she wanted to let it fill her lungs and sweep out the misery that had taken hold in the core of her.

She was an idiot. She had let someone who had never loved her, never really even cared about her, twist her into someone who would do the same thing to a man who was perfect in every way. If she hadn’t already sworn to get even with Neal Cassidy, this would have driven her to it.

She was damaged now, unfit for human company, clinging to a sham because it was easier than facing the fact she made the biggest mistake of her life. Only this time, there was no boogeyman in the form of a cheating, lying ex to blame. She did this to herself.

But she didn’t have to double down on it.

With a deep sigh, Lance dropped on the sand next to her. He was more casual than she had ever seen him, and somehow it made him more approachable. Barefoot and with his pants legs were rolled up to mid-calf in a nod to the tide, he observed, “He was wrong, wasn’t he? You still love him.”

“Yes,” she admitted, staring at the horizon.

“And you aren’t a baroness…”

“No,” she confirmed, this time chancing a sidelong glance at him. “Everything he said was true. I’ve been here under false pretenses.”

“To come between Guin and me. It has the smell of an Arthur scheme all over it,” he explained with a wry grin. “Well, I can’t say I didn’t deserve it. I never intended for it to go this far, but once it started, we kept getting deeper and deeper until I couldn’t see a way out. And then I didn’t want to. I love her, I probably always will, but she’s not mine. You helped me realize that. A gorgeous wake-up call designed to turn my head and steal my heart. Losing you is my penance. One I can’t regret because I have a feeling you saved several lives by playing along.”

“You’ll be back in the saddle again soon, I’m sure, and the women of the world will be better for it. Do yourself a favor next time, though. Choose an available woman, and once you find her, don’t let her go. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Pick up where I left off, I suppose. I have some debts that still need to be paid and a fugitive to bring to justice. Maybe if I keep busy enough, keep moving, this will all fade and seem like some fever-induced dream.”

“I meant, what are you going to do about Jones?”

“I think I’ve done enough already. The best thing I can do for Killian now is to stay away.”

“For someone so smart about other people, you have a rather glaring blind spot when it comes to your own life. A mistake is only a mistake if you keep making it. You know where to find him, you know he wants you to, the only thing stopping you is fear.”

“Fear is enough, Lance.”

“You know what fear has gotten me: Absolutely nothing. I was afraid to put myself out there, so I only got involved with women who I knew would leave me before the whole thing even started. It’s hard to mourn the loss of a relationship that never stood a chance to begin with. It cost me my best friend and two women I care about. You’re better than that, Emma, and doesn’t he deserve the best version of you? But more importantly, don’t you?”

@teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @stahlop @motherkatereloyshipper @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @klynn-stormz

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sunlightandsuffering · 3 years

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Mikasa getting insecure abt her body (smth abt her boobs being too small or her feeling like she looks like a man) and refuses to have sex cuz she’s scared eren might be disgusted by her but when they finally do he’s absolutely whipped and make sure to give her extra praises too🥺

😭😭 bestie Mikasa's boobs being too small??? oh god 😂😂 okay for once in my life I'm going to do this not in a modern AU, look at me go lol. also I was never really sure if they had bras in AOT 😂😂 so like were going with chest wrapping for the purpose of this fic lol.

Mikasa hates her boobs.

She's always hated her boobs, for varying reasons, but right now she really fucking hates her god damn boobs.

They've always been problematic, but this is just icing on the cake.

When she was younger, they'd been nothing but small buds, which was to be expected during puberty, she'd spent endless amounts of time wondering if they'd ever grow, if that's what boys found attractive? If that's what it would take for Eren to see her as a woman rather than as this irritating older sister figure.

When she'd had the time and hadn't been worrying about Eren causing trouble or helping Carla out with chores, she'd fantasized that maybe one day she'd blossom into a beautiful woman and Eren would fall head over heels in love with her. Some ridiculous fantasy all little girls have, that one day when she's older more mature, a far off dream, she'll be beautiful and Eren will be forced to look at her with a wanting eye rather than his usual disdain.

But now, here she is in her far off dream, finally a grown woman, old enough to fight in the military at least and with the figure she'd always dreamed of. Only now it's nothing more than a hindrance, and contrary to her previous hopes and dreams Eren seems to have no interest. Her skills as a soldier interest him more than her breasts do. She glares at her chest in the mirror, trying to bind it down farther, they stick out so much, they're too big and she wants to cry. Her uniforms never fit properly, they give her back problems, and one day she's afraid some sort of wayward projectile is going to hit them, they stick out so god damn far.

It's a sick cosmic joke, where she used to dream of a full figure, the stuff the older women used to talk about, how they'd gossip when she went into town with Carla, she's achieved exactly what she wants to. Now she wants nothing more than to ask Hange how to cut them off, if it's possible, remove them with a scalpel herself.

Yet, the part of her that's not pragmatic and hungering for Eren's affection likes them, she thinks objectively her gentle curves are pleasing to the eye, and she knows even if Eren doesn't seem at all intrigued, other men definitely are. However, this is also the part of her that hates her muscles, despite their use in keeping her alive, she dislikes how bulky they are, how her abs are just as good as Eren's she feels manly.

Basically, Mikasa both hates and loves her body for a variety of reasons, and she's constantly at war with how she feels about it. She huffs as she sits down, taking off her bindings and letting her chest spill free from her top, letting out a sigh of relief as she's released from her constraints.

This is the best part of her day and for a second Mikasa lays back on her bed, topless and boobs out, hands splayed above her, happy to be free from the irritating fabric. She closes her eyes for a moment, letting her guard down for the briefest of seconds, going over today's events in her head, how Eren will never in his life see her as a woman. She lets out an aggravated sigh, he's so irritating, she loves him, she loves him so much, and he's such a stubborn brat.

She nods off a little bit, her exhaustion taking over, so by the time she tunes back into the world around her it's too late. "Mikasa, are you in there, Mikasa!?" Eren's tell-tale calls of her name should have her up sooner, make for a quicker reaction, but by the time she really processes that he's nearby and looking for her the door is already open and her eyes fly up to find the object of her affections staring at her. Well not her, rather her chest, those brilliant viridians are glued to her chest, roving over her figure and she feels hot, exposed as Eren's eyes take on a different gleam she's never seen before. She's quite sure it's desire she sees in his eyes, and well maybe she's a little slower to bring her hands up to cover herself than she should be, she likes that look in his eyes. "Eren!"

His green eyes snap up to meet hers as her hands move to cover her chest finally, and he looks guilty, face flushed and breathing a little hard.

"Umm sorry, we're just eating soon so I thought I'd come get you." "Yeah, okay."

She chooses not to acknowledge the elephant in the room, it's better they just pretend it didn't happen. But her heart is thumping against her chest and she knows she'll never forget it. She moves to grab her discarded bindings, annoyed she'll have to put them on again and Eren finally startles enough to leave the room, shutting the door behind him with a thump and looking altogether to distracted.

She's venting to Sasha about the state of her figure one day in the dining room, cursing away her stupid chest.

"They get in the way all the time, they don't look nice in anything." "Well at least you have some, mine are practically nonexistent." "You can have them," Mikasa responds, "I hate my boobs."

Their conversation is interrupted by a very obvious choking sound and the two girls look up to notice Eren in the doorway holding a snack and looking scandalized. Mikasa wants to die, turning away from him, she's so embarrassed. The 'incident' as she's come to refer to it wasn't even that long, and now he's heard her talk about how much she hates her breasts, what more could go wrong in her life.

Eren leaves before he even enters the room, "I'm just going to go."

He stumbles out and Mikasa buries her head in her hands, why is she so unlucky?

It happens again a week later, when Eren yet again refuses to knock, waltzing right into her bedroom while she's midway through wrapping her bindings and it's enough to shock her into letting out a little shriek.

"Sorry!" Eren quickly turns around but it's a bit late she has to start binding her chest all over again. "Umm, it's okay, what do you need?"

She unwraps her chest, about to start again when Eren takes her sentence as his cue to turn around, which it is definitely not. "Eren!"

"Sorry, sorry, I thought you were done." "No!"

It's quiet for a moment as Mikasa is about to start yet again, for the third time, and then Eren speaks, "Do you um need any help?" Not exactly, but it is easier to do it with someone helping her, she's just used to doing it by herself.

Mikasa bites her lip, she's having particular difficulty today, maybe it's not the worst thing if he helps her. "If you want to, that would be great but don't worry about it, I can do it myself." "No! I'll help!"

Mikasa can't help but think he was a little too excited by the prospect.

She wraps one part of the fabric to cover herself a little bit, holding it in place as Eren turns around. He's all too eager, "Okay what do you need me to do?" "I'm going to hold this piece here, just wrap it, and make it tight, I don't want it to come undone." So that's exactly what Eren does, in intimate silence he wraps the fabric tightly around her breasts, asking every so often if it's too tight, to which she shakes her head. His fingers brush her sides and her nipples harden under the fabric as his hands skim her boobs while he continues to wrap. When he's done they sit in comfortable silence as he uses the clips she gives him to set the wrap. She thinks he'll just leave but to her surprise he looks her in the eye, hands drifting down her sides to fall back to his lap, and making her shiver. "Don't hate them Mikasa. They're really pretty."

He pats her thigh affectionately and tugs at her scarf before he leaves, making her brain explode completely.

#lys's drabbles

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qqueenofhades · 3 years

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pel!ivan and fedyor went through a lot of ups and some downs from the end of pel and 2021 but they also celebrated 10 years together 🥳 i hope fedyor shoved cake into ivan’s face and also you know, im sure they were mushy like the saps they are

Ivan was supposed to be out of here ten minutes ago – actually, at this point, more like twenty – but the clients are still fucking talking, and if they keep it up much longer, he’s going to add it to the bill for “initial consultation.” Drew has a man-bun and unbearably hip black glasses, and works as a developer for some start-up app that he’s tried to convince Ivan to download at least twelve times. (What does the app actually do? Don’t know don’t care.) Mia is thin, blonde, waifish, smells like essential oils, and has been flitting around with her smartphone the entire time, getting in Ivan’s way as she snaps perfectly filtered pictures of the “developmental process” and posts them nonstop on Instagram. They both have a lot of opinions on how they want the energy of the space to feel, and a preapproved list of ethically sourced suppliers. They have paid some ludicrous price for this converted loft in Prospect Heights and chose the location for its proximity to the best farmer’s markets and hippie coffeehouses. Did Ivan die? Is this hell?

Somewhat ostentatiously, he looks at his watch. “Okay,” he announces. “I think that wraps up. You have work number, so – ”

“Oh, just one more thing!” Drew has recently read one (1) book on home design and thinks he’s an expert, so Ivan is forced to suffer his idiotic opinions about the kind of tile they want to use on the kitchen backsplash. Somehow, he manages not to roll his eyes directly out of his head, for which he should be commended. Ivan has discovered that the secret of successfully dealing with people, especially clients, is to smile and nod at everything they say, while mercilessly mocking them in your head. Amazing, the things you learn as a small-business owner in Brooklyn in the year of our lord 2021. Especially when it comes to renovating overpriced tiny gentrified apartments for insufferable techno-douchebags and their vapid influencer girlfriends. And people think Ivan might want to live like this more often? No fucking thank you.

Finally (it’s another ten minutes after that, this is definitely going on the bill), they more or less wrap up, except for the fact that Mia then wants a picture with the three of them. “It’s just so important to us that we’re supporting the immigrant community,” she explains earnestly. “After all, being open, tolerant, learning from our neighbors, people who are different from us, that’s what life is all about. We just love that you’re foreign. The energy feels so right, you know?”

Ivan wonders whether to inform her that he has lived in this country for eight years and been a full citizen (passport and voting rights and everything) for three, then decides that this would venture into sharing-personal-information territory and he is having none of it. His English has improved to the point where he can handle almost all business transactions by himself, but feigning incomprehension can sometimes get him out of them when they turn really stupid. Unfortunately, that isn’t an option here, and so he diligently leans into the frame, smiling half an inch, while Mia snaps a picture of “us and our adorable Russian contractor!!” Ivan informs her of the correct flag emoji to add to the filter, decides that he’s going to add an extra fifty bucks just for that, and finally, finally, makes his escape.

It’s rush hour, and the Q is crammed as Ivan heads into midtown. So much for social distancing and not getting too close to anyone, which is the only thing from the pandemic that he wouldn’t mind keeping. Only about half the crowd is wearing masks, including him, and so he gets off at Times Square, dodges the latest lunatic standing on a soapbox and shouting about how it is all a hoax, and walks several blocks uptown, just to get some space. He finally reaches the restaurant, where he has to flash his vaccination card to get inside (Ivan, who remains Russian to the marrow of his bones, is a little irked that he couldn’t get Sputnik here and had to settle for Pfizer) and climbs up to the open-air rooftop terrace. It is only when he spots his husband, waiting at a table that overlooks the glittering evening lights of the city, when Ivan pulls off his mask and allows himself to properly smile. “Sorry I’m late,” he says. “They are the worst.”

“I figured it was something like that.” Fedyor musters a smile in return, though his eyes look permanently tired these days and Ivan would bet that he’s been scrolling through more depressing emails on his phone. Technically Fedyor is on a two-month sabbatical from work, but he can’t stop himself, and Ivan has had to pry it from his fingers on a number of occasions. “But you’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Ivan nods stoutly, they are furnished with the drinks and appetizers list, and when the waiter asks if there’s any special occasion tonight, tell him that they are celebrating their ten-year anniversary, albeit somewhat late. This was supposed to happen last spring, but obviously, nobody in New York was going out to a restaurant in the early months of 2020, and Ivan himself had barely gotten home from the hospital and still could be knocked over in a strong breeze. They’re celebrating a lot of things tonight, in other words, even if it’s now been eleven years, not ten, since the day Ivan marched into a Red Square coffee shop and engaged in – well, Fedyor has made sure to inform him that the first date didn’t go nearly as well as Ivan always thought it did. But it worked, didn’t it? Here they are, wedding bands on their fingers, a couple of successful American urban professionals who have built a nice life for themselves and are, if anything, even more madly in love than they were when this whole nutty adventure together first began. So really, if you ask Ivan Sakharov Kaminsky, it went just fine after all.

The waiter congratulates them, gives them two drinks for the price of one, and they both relax and start to talk, fully at ease in the way they only are in each other’s company. Ivan does his Mia impression in an extremely convincing falsetto (after all, [NAME REDACTED] has practice at this) and Fedyor almost dies laughing. They hold hands on the table – no need to hold them under the table – and gaze into each other’s eyes all they want, order dinner and dessert, and take a long time about it. They raise several toasts to this, to them, to ten years, may there be many more. Ivan pays the bill, his treat, and they walk slowly back to Times Square, hand-in-hand, Fedyor’s head nestled on Ivan’s shoulder. It’s New York. Nobody cares.

They ride the Q home, in all its smelly, secondhand glory, taking an hour to bang out to Brighton Beach and descending the elevated stairs into the familiar down-at-heel comfort of their Russian-American neighborhood, neon Cyrillic signs glowing in windows and somebody shouting about how if Sergei ever shows his face here again, she is going to cut his dick off. Ivan and Fedyor look at each other and snort, resisting the urge to shout up and ask what exactly Sergei did, and walk a few more minutes to their building. They climb up three flights of stairs to their apartment, unlock the door and the deadbolt, and step inside.

The instant they are home, Rasputin shoots out of nowhere, yowling as if he has been neglected for months, and curls himself around Ivan’s ankles (he is still liable to give Fedyor evil looks when he feels that this interloper has been stealing his human too often). Ivan sighs, trudges to the kitchen, points out to Rasputin that his food bowl is still half full, gets a wounded look in return, and adds an extra scoopful. Once the cat is happily snarfing down, Fedyor pulls Ivan by the hand, into the dim living room with its blowing curtains. “Come here, my love,” he says. “Hold me.”

Ivan does as ordered, because it’s his favorite thing in the world: cuddling Fedyor close, nothing but the two of them in all of time and space, swaying slowly in the blue hour with fingers and arms and hearts entwined. Ivan kisses Fedyor’s temple, and Fedyor nestles even closer, melted into his embrace. “I love you, Vanya,” he mumbles against Ivan’s collarbone. “I love you so much. I love you more than anything in the world. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“I love you too, Fedya.” Ivan leans down and kisses him properly, sweet and slow and lingering, as they continue to waltz in stately time to a music that nobody except the two of them can hear. “I’m still not always sure why you married me, but I am very glad you did.”

#heartrender husbands #fivan #fivan ff #ivan x fedyor #a phantom in enchanting light #pel asks #anonymous #ask #(in repayment for the pain i have inflicted on you with the lighthouse au)#(ahem)

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ackerslut · 3 years

Text

dancing is the best revenge

Fandom: Tangled the Series

Rating: T

AO3

“Not bad,” Hugo says, dipping his hors d'oeuvre into the bubbling champagne. “You know, for a wedding .”

Varian rolls his eyes. “And what do you, pray tell, have against weddings?”

“Besides the part where everyone cried over a government sanctioned union? The lack of drama . I’ve been more entertained at funerals.”

“I don’t know, the ring bearers disappearing halfway through the ceremony and then showing up last minute covered in-- I don’t know what, was pretty dramatic.”

“You have literally been possessed by the demon of your dead mother.”

“I was fine.”

Hugo snorts, placing his empty champagne glass onto a passing waiter’s tray. “You and I have very different definitions of fine, sweetheart.”

“Fine, so we’ve attended more entertaining venues. What do you want me to do about it?”

Hugo grins, eyebrows bouncing up and down. “I might have a few ideas.”

Varian blinks after his boyfriend, who has suddenly disappeared into the wedding crowd. Unsure whether to go after him, or just embrace the chaos that’s going to unfold with or without his intervention, Varian bounces on his toes, trying to catch a glimpse of his deranged boyfriend.

The orchestra plays a few bars and Varian immediately slaps a palm to his face.

“This is the most terrible day of my life,” Varian says, as Hugo saunters back over to him. The violins in the background, playing a fucking tango . Varian doesn’t know how he convinced the orchestra to take requests, but doesn’t want to ask.

Sometimes, with Hugo, it’s better to live in ignorance.

“What are you doing?” he asks flatly, as Hugo comes to a stop in front of him, the smirkiest of smirks on his dumb face.

“Wanna dance?” Hugo drawls, holding a hand out enticingly.

Varian makes eye contact with Rapunzel across the room. Rapunzel is laughing so hard she snorts wine up her nose.

He looks back at Hugo.

“I don’t dance,” Varian replies, flatly.

“Yeah? Just like you don’t ‘do boyfriends?’” Hugo asks, doing visible air quotes with his hands that makes Varian further irritated.

“I can’t dance,” he says, through gritted teeth.

“Aw, really?” Hugo takes Varian’s hand anyway and begins to gently tug him toward the dance floor. Various dance partners around them are doing incredibly dramatic renditions of the tango --the most notable being Lance and Eugene who are absolutely killing it.

Hugo sharply tugs on Varian’s arm, reeling him into his side with a flourish. “Don’t worry,” he says, teeth gleaming sharply in the candle light. “I won’t let you fall.”

Varian’s face burns so red he can feel the heat radiating from it.

Being the taller of the two--and the one who can actually dance --Hugo takes lead, guiding Varian through a series of complex moves that make his head spin. It’s more complicated than a waltz--the one dance Varian did vaguely know, via watching Eugene and Lance engage in their weird, homoerotic, rituals--with far more moves involved.

Hugo guides Varian back and forth on the dance floor, spinning him every few moves. “Keep the upper half of your body stiff,” he whispers to Varian, looking amused as the blue-eyed alchemist squawks at being dipped. “And the lower half--” his smirk literally cannot get more smirky then this moment, “-- flexible .”

“I have never hated anyone more than I hate you right now.”

“Good we can use that. Dance like we’re about to have hate-sex.”

Varian sputters. “We’ve never had hate-sex!” he hisses, maybe just a tad too loud for a public setting. A courtier, spinning one of Rapunzel’s ladies-in-waiting around, promptly drops her. Hugo snickers.

“Not yet , we haven’t.”

Varian gives Hugo a flat look. Hugo spins and drops him into another dip. “Hugo, I’m not having hate-sex with you tonight.”

“Well of course not.” Hugo picks Varian up into a quick, graceful lift, and drops him back on the floor in time to the accompanying music. “That would imply that you hate me.”

“No, it would imply that we’re going to fuck tonight.”

“What? Dancing doesn’t make you horny?” Another dip over Hugo’s knee.

“No,” Varian dryly replies, blinking up at Hugo. There are tiny gold flecks in his green eyes that are positively mesmerizing. “No, it does not.”

They both stop the twirling and dipping and go back to the general movement of the tango, gracefully sliding down the dance floor. Varian thinks he sees Eugene dip Lance out of the corner of his eye.

Hugo reels Varian in close. Very very close. Their noses brush, lips a breath away from touching. “But arguing does ,” Hugo murmurs, with the confidence of someone who’s gotten Varian in the mood just from picking a fight over why polonium was the best periodic element.

Varian flushes all the way down his neck. Hugo pulls away just as the last few strains of the song cry out across the ballroom. With a grin, he slinks away, back toward the food buffet, hips doing that weird saunter that Hugo thought was sexy.

Dammit , it was sexy.

With a groan, Varian follows.

“Hey Varian,” Rapunzel calls from a few feet away. Varian grins, redirecting his path toward her.

She truly looks beautiful, white wedding dress with an insanely long train that’s reminiscent of her once-long hair. Her look on her face, however, does not make the elegance of her gown.

“I thought you didn’t dance,” she says, grinning in a way that’s just a little too evil.

“I don’t,” Varian says, erring on the side of defensive.

“Hmm, well that was an awful lot of something for someone who doesn’t .”

Varian thinks Rapunzel is hanging around Hugo too much. Or Cass. Or Eugene. Or-dammit, are all of Varian’s friends secretly evil? That’s supposed to be his thing.

“Hugo is persuasive,” he says, flatly.

“Oh, I’m sure he is.” Rapunzel continues grinning. “He’s also checking you out, right now.”

Varian spins on his heel, just in time to see Hugo watching him with intent . The minute they lock eyes, Hugo grins sheepishly.

“I need a fucking leash for him,” Varian mutters.

“There are so many ways I could respond to that,” Rapunzel sighs. “Varian, go take your boyfriend somewhere else before he ends up making out with you on a table or something.”

“We’re not going to makeout on a table!” Varian hisses, throwing his hands up in the air as he stalks toward his boyfriend. Said boyfriend looks just a little too excited at Varian’s glaring.

“Oooh, is this the part where you murder me and hide my body in Corona’s sewers?” Hugo asks, as Varian drags him out of the ballroom.

“Hugo, shut up,” Varian snaps, completely done with his boyfriend’s idiocy.

“Make me -mmphff -”

Varian spins his boyfriend around, pressing him into a nearby wall. He has to stand up in his tip-toes to kiss him, but it’s entirely worth it. “Did you just dance with me to make me mad so I would have sex with you?” Varian asks, when he pulls away.

Hugo, who’s brain hasn’t caught up beyond Varian’s kissing me , gapes at him for a moment. “Uh, maybe?”

“I hate you, you’re ridiculous,” Varian says, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice.

“Is that a no on the-”

“Shut up.”

Hugo grins, bending down to press his lips to Varian’s so Varian doesn’t have to strain himself. Varian lets himself be kissed--lets Hugo run his fingers through his hair, and brush his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and sigh contentedly into him.

The slow, gentle strains of a waltz float out into the corridor. Hugo pulls away, something between a gentle smile and an amused grin present on his face.

“Wanna dance?”

#varigo #varian #hugo tts #hugo vat7k #tts #tts fanfic #my fanfic

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nazyalenskyism · 3 years

Text

Alone Together

Summary: After observing the same mysterious stranger from afar at party after party, Zoya finds herself swept into a familiar sort of dance, but for the first time in her life she finds herself faced with an equally capable partner. A/N: This fic is based on song, if you send me an ask with a prompt and your guess, I'll write a short fic for whoever gets it right first! This has been sitting in my drafts for a very long time, I really hope you like it! Ao3: Alone Together There he was again, a flash of gold on the edge of the dance floor, a smile as bright as his hair illuminating the room. Keeping an eye on him over the rim of her glass she pondered for a moment, she had been coming to Morozova Foundation events since she was a child, at one point she’d been the belle of the ball, a prodigy touted around by the great entrepreneur himself. ‘ My talented pupil,’ was what he used to boast, well as much as his stoicism would allow. Zoya had once let herself be examined by a ballroom full of strangers, all clamoring for a look at her, trying to see what set her apart. At least until someone shinier had come along, that was. Then she’d been discarded as easily as yesterday’s paper and slowly she’d begun to see what he really was. A master manipulator, he’d played her for the fool she was, taking the only things she ever truly loved.

This stranger had begun making appearances at not just Morozova Foundation events, but at every event with even the slightest connection to the man. Usually this wouldn’t set off her alarm bells, many familiar faces would make the rounds at multiple parties but they were all Morozova’s mother’s age, usually none were as young as her and if they were then they belonged to a big name family. This man had no name she knew of, yet, and the way he worked the room, charmed the guests left and right was in a way not unlike her own. Zoya was entranced by the way he worked each table he sat down at, turning the grumpiest people she had ever encountered into putty in his hands. As intrigued as she was, she wasn’t going to let a pretty boy in a fancy jacket distract her from the task at hand. The man she had been conversing with all night, Mr.Kirigin had come back from a phone call and said nothing as she smiled sweetly, leading him to the quiet hall just outside the main ballroom. Kirigin was supposed to have information as to why Morozova had cancelled his appearance tonight at the last second, and lucky for her, from the second she stepped foot into the ballroom, the fool’s eyes had been transfixed on her.

Zoya pulled him towards an alcove in the wall between two ornate paintings, the gold of their frames reminding her just how gaudy this place was, how rich Kirigin was, he was throwing this party for Morozova’s foundation and money was clearly not an object. Yes, she was here to get information, but she wasn’t opposed to leaving with a little bit of financial compensation for her time either. She leaned back against the wall, watching Kirigin move towards her, fully enthralled by her and she nearly laughed, all men were really the same.

“What a beautiful time tonight has been, Mr.Kirigin.”

“Thank you, it took many endless nights of planning, or so my assistants tell me,” Zoya resisted the urge to smash his toes under her heel, what an ass.

“I would really like to thank whoever made it possible,” she slipped closer to him batting her eyelashes demurely, “I was looking forward to meeting the legendary Morozova too, why wasn’t he in attendance?”

“He said he had urgent business,” Kirigin moved as if to touch her hair, but Zoya grabbed his wrist instinctively.

“Where did he go?” she said abruptly, forgetting herself for a split second, just as someone coughed nearby. This hallway was supposed to be empty.

“I-- I don’t…” Kirigin took a step back, the trance quickly washing away. Shit, she couldn’t let this opportunity go to waste.

“Do you know when he’ll be back?” She made her voice honey sweet but the man still shook his head, taking another dazed step back from her when his phone buzzed, as if it fully snapped him out of it. He vanished back into the main ballroom as Zoya cursed to herself, how could she have let him get away so easily, she had been so close.

“Get it together,” she hissed. “Stop making rookie mistakes.”

“Talking to ourselves, are we now?” She whirled on her heel, she’d recognize that lilting voice anywhere, that bastard.

“What do you want?”

“Nothing, I’m just admiring the view.”

“That’s the best line you can come up with? How do you get the ladies to fall for that?”

“It works just fine, it doesn’t hurt when it comes from a mouth as pretty as this.”

“Trust me, it’s not pretty.”

“How long did you spend staring at my lips before arriving at that incorrect conclusion?”

Zoya scowled, “I don’t need to stare, I just assume every part of you is as insufferable as your personality.”

“How would you know my personality if I’ve never had the pleasure of talking to you?” He was next to her now, perfectly polished and dashing except for one stubborn strand of curled hair that only added to his boyish looks. She refused to think about how it made him all the more endearing, instantly understanding why all the rich women fawned over him. He was young, handsome, charming, witty and handed out compliments and praise in a way that was so sincere, no one could ever doubt his intentions. She had been watching him, not that she’d admit it but she was no fool, she couldn’t let some stranger waltz in under her nose and steal what she’d worked so hard for.

“I can sense inanities from miles away, and it seems your head is full of them.”

He pulled a face and she thought she’d finally wounded him into leaving her alone but the next thing she knew he was offering her his elbow with a gallant smile, “shall we take a walk?”

The estate was decorated lavishly for the party, not a single thing looked out of place. The gardens were strung with lights, even the tennis courts hadn’t been spared, with large outdoor tents concealing them from the French doors of the ballroom. Neither of them spoke as they made their way to the dancefloor, the guests had all moved back inside, the night being too chilly for their expensive fashions. Zoya let her mind wander as she kept up with the stranger's long strides— she’d refused to take his arm, she didn’t get that intimate until a man was giving her something worth more than a law school’s semester’s tuition. Then of course in the days following, he would never hear from her again. This man was clearly wealthy, though he spent time catering his attention to rich folk he evidently didn’t need it. You could often tell someone’s status based on the way they handled themselves. Most people didn’t practice as much as she had, from age 9 learning to carry herself as a queen would so that no one would ever doubt that she was anything less. The stranger had the posture and pose of a rich man’s son but there was something more to it— a light swagger-- as if he knew something no one else did, but he was perfectly fine being alone in that knowledge. A type of confidence she saw the partygoers try to emulate but something that they never could quite live up to. It was the ease of a man who had learned how to be free but a bird who was trapped in a cage again, desperately trying to get back to the skies.

“Can I have this dance?” The hall was packed, but most people were seated at the moment, only a few couples hurrying to the dancefloor before the next song started. She really didn’t want to dance with him, but she had lost her best chances tonight due to her own impatience and there was nothing left for her here. A woman the stranger had been chattering away with earlier in the night waved them over from a nearby table before she had a chance to respond, however.

“Mr.Lantsov, why haven’t I seen you on the dance floor yet, you said you were an excellent dancer, yet…” she trailed off as she finally noticed Zoya standing next to her precious, Mr.Lantsov, now where did she remember that name from?

“Yes ma’am my partner and I were just on our way there, as long as she agrees to dance?”

“Why wouldn’t she?” The woman glared at Zoya in a way that communicated that this man was the most desirable person at the party and she’d be a fool to turn him down. As stubborn as she was, she did not want to come across as a fool tonight.

“Dancing is a dangerous game, Mr. Lantsov,” she said, her eyes flicking to him to make sure he understood what she was saying. All he did was wink coyly at her before nodding to the woman and leading Zoya to the dancefloor. Fantastic.

“So, Miss…?” he began, taking her hand in his while the other wrapped around her waist, pulling her in close. She tried to repress the slight shudder as his fingers brushed against her exposed back. If she had planned on dancing today she definitely wouldn't have worn a backless dress. Although she couldn’t deny that he was handsome, at least she was dancing with the best looking person in the room… well, second best . She was showstopping and that was why all eyes were on them as she slipped her free hand onto his shoulder, curling against the smooth material of his jacket. Saints, his suit was at least three thousand dollars, his watch at least two thousand, and she didn’t even want to look at his shoes but she knew they probably cost more than her car.

“It’s none of your business.”

“Well, Miss ‘None of my Business’, what brings you here tonight?”

“Ooh, none of your business.”

“Are you having fun?”

“None of your business.”

“Intriguing! Is there anything that is my business?”

“No. Aren’t you tired yet?”

“No,” he grinned roguishly, “I don’t tire that easily.” Zoya turned her face quickly so he didn’t catch the blush colouring her cheeks. Thankfully he just kept talking. “Since you insist on being so mysterious, why don’t you ask me about myself?”

“Okay,” she looked up at him, how was he so tall? Even in her heels she had to look up into his eyes, eyes that were a brilliant emerald green with flecks of bronze. Before she forgot herself, she managed to grind out, “why are you here?”

“My family is expected to attend functions like this.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He let out a laugh as he spun her, gracefully catching her against him before they resumed their steps. They were nearly flush now, she could feel the heat radiating from him as he leaned in, “ let’s say, an old friend usually attends these sorts of things and I’m hoping to run into him.”

Zoya tried to bite back her surprise, could she be thinking of the same person? “And what did the old friend do to you to earn your visits? I’ve seen you at every event I’ve been to this month.”

He paused for a second as if weighing just how much he wanted to reveal to her. Good, at least he seemed to have a brain in that big head of his. “ I’ve been at university for the past few years and I came back once I heard he was planning on taking something of mine.”

“Oh, so not so much a friend, more like an enemy?”

“I don’t have enemies, Miss None of My—“

“Nazyalensky,” she supplied absentmindedly, she wanted to hear more of his story.

“ Nazyalensky… I don’t recall hearing that name before.”

“You probably forgot,” she said hurriedly, “I’m at every party and you’ve only just come back to town.” He didn’t need to know that she had only started using her last name again after her aunt died, hearing people associate her with her aunt’s maiden name had hurt too much. It helped that Morozova had only ever known her with that surname, it helped her disappear into crowds that had once marvelled at her and her skills. She’d stayed away from the social scene for a few years, watching from the outside, learning and perfecting her craft so that she would one day be ready to take him down.

“I remember most names and faces,” he mused, “and I would definitely remember someone as beautiful as you.”

Zoya rolled her eyes, she wasn’t that easy to woo. “I’ve been away from the scene for a while too, I’m also looking for an old friend, but he’s never here.”

“Who’s your friend?”

“You wouldn’t—“

“Trust me, he interrupted, “I would.”

“Morozova,” she blurted out, biting her tongue at how easily she’d let him uncover her secret. She needed to know if that’s who he meant too, and there was something about him that made him seem so sincere.

A shadow passed over his face and Zoya realized he hadn’t been expecting her to say that name. “Funny, he’s my ‘friend’ too.”

“Oh,” she mouthed softly, trying to step back as the music ended, but Mr. Lantsov kept a firm hand on her waist, his other hand slipping up to brush a loose lock of hair behind her ear.

“Perhaps we could speak outside?”

Zoya shook out her head, he may have dazed her for a second but she needed to call the shots again. She took his elbow as he released her tentatively, “lead the way, Mr. Lantsov.”

They had found their way back outside and Nazyalensky had yet to let go of him, her warm fingers pressed into his arm. He was fully aware of what she was doing, she had realized that since they had the same enemy, she could put on an act like she did with the people inside and get the information she needed from him. He admired her skill, most others didn’t get this far on tricks alone which meant that she had to hide something else as well. He also knew that as adept as she was, she hadn’t quite pinned him down yet. For one, he had seen her assess his worth, scanning him and figuring out the price tag of each item, but unfortunately for her, at the moment he was only worth a little more than the clothes on his back. From observing her at the last few events and staying at her side this night he found that he quite enjoyed being in her company. She was quick and clever, not unlike himself, and she knew just how to move, just what to say to get people to give her what she wanted, but as they conversed he found himself believing that she wasn’t putting up as much of a front with him. Perhaps it was a tactic to lower his guard, or maybe he only wanted to think she was being truthful for his own sake. He’d been at this game for a very, very long time and he was beginning to wonder what it would be like to not have to run alone for once.

“What did you think of tonight’s party? Even if you didn’t get exactly what you came for?”

“Maybe I didn’t get what I came for,” she said slowly, turning to face him, “but maybe I found what I needed.” Nikolai had to admit that she was very good at that, and had he been anyone but himself he would’ve gladly thrown himself into the grand fountains if she asked. Unfortunately for her, well maybe both of them, that’s not what he was looking for tonight. He simply smiled at her, taking the second before Nazyalensky spoke again to admire the way the silver moonlight illuminated her dress, creating a shimmering aura around her. She did look even more ethereal in the moonlight and even he was beginning to question his own ability to resist her.

“Well,” she drawled, finger running down his chest, “what do you think?” She looked up at him through thick lashes, the endless blue of her eyes threatening to drown him if he didn’t pull himself away.

Instead, he leaned in further, “I think,” he breathed, “that you’re playing a game I’m used to winning.” A genuine gasp flew from her lips as he grasped her wrist pulling it out from behind his back to reveal his wallet between her fingers.

“Nice try,” he smiled, “but I’m not that easy.”

“Oh yeah?” she scoffed, pulling at his lapel unceremoniously, her ornate sapphire hairpin tumbling into her awaiting palm. “You’re not the only one with tricks up your sleeve.”

“I figured,” he pulled a large ruby tie pin from her inside her sleeve, each of them pulled out hidden treasures from the other, stumbling a step back when they realized they were both equally good at their game of choice.

“Have you ever considered a partnership, Nazyalensky?”

“In your dreams, Lantsov,” she leaned in, “you couldn’t keep up with me.” Her lips brushed against his skin with each word, slowly trailing down to the corner of his mouth, “even if you tried.” Turning on her heel, she was gone in a flash of silver leaving him alone in the tennis court, with nothing but the feeling of her lips grazing his skin.

“Hello?” The phone calls had begun a few weeks ago, the morning after he had been marked with red lipstick over his cheeks and a truth stamped over his heart. Nazyalensky’s calls had only been a minute long and every other day at first but now they were sporadic, more than five times a day at all hours of the night. Nikolai tried to ask what she was up to, all he ever wanted was to know more about the alluring woman who wouldn’t leave his mind. But to his dismay, every time he surrendered a story of his own she repaid him with a sentence or two at most, and it was usually about what she’d eaten for breakfast. As much as he enjoyed hearing himself talk he was captivated by the images the calls planted in his head, Nazyalensky soaring down a coastal highway in her convertible, the top down and her hair caught in the everpresent wind that seemed to cocoon her every movement. All he could think about was himself in the passenger seat, her sharp words cutting him before her soft lips healed them with a kiss. He was a mess.

“Are you going tonight?”

“I RSVP’ed but I’m not sure, I heard Morozova won’t be attending.”

“Get your suit pressed,” she snapped, “you’re picking me up at 7 and you better not be late.”

“I’m picking you up, oh however did I get so lucky? But he’s not going to be there tonight, we should spend the evening strategizing instead.”

“First off, there is no, ‘we,’ Lantsov, get that through your big head. Secondly, he will be there tonight.”

“My sources are never wrong, Nazyalensky, if they say he’s not coming--”

“He’ll be there,” she jutted in. “He’ll be there because I’ll be there.”

He froze, an uncomfortable weight setting in his chest. What was that supposed to mean?

“ Seven, Lantsov.”

“Seven,” Nikolai agreed.

The glimmer of streetlights danced against her hair, illuminating the shimmer of Nazyalensky’s vibrant orange dress, the fabric catching her every movement and he swore his heart had stopped when she first stepped out to get into his car. She had been quiet the entire car ride until now, “are you done staring yet?”

“I wasn’t staring.”

“Sure you weren’t, and I don’t look magnificent tonight,” she replied, tossing her hair over her shoulder, the tension easing between them as they fell into the easy back and forth that had become nearly natural. “Your car isn’t what I was expecting.”

Nikolai raised a brow, “what were you expecting?”

“Something flashy and obnoxious, I don’t know, a Bugatti?”

“If I had a Bugatti do you really think you would’ve found me with your hairpins up my sleeve?”

She cut him a disbelieving glance, “I don’t know what to make of you. You say so much about yourself and yet I feel like I hardly know a thing about you.”

He let out a measured breath, she already knew more than anyone else did, she was wrong about that, yet this tale stuck in his throat unlike all others. “I wanted something with as much character as me,” he began, “after my issues with Morozova, this was one of the few possessions I still owned.”

“What do you mean?”

Nikolai drew in a breath, if he had any hope of understanding what she’d meant on the phone earlier, he had to be willing to show her his hand, as much as the stubborn, lonely part of him protested, he knew he wanted to do this. “My family is wealthy. They have traditional values like the rest of their friends, ideas about passing their dynasty down to their eldest son, that type of thing. Or it was. I’ve always known that the people who rely on my family’s services deserve more than them, they don’t care about helping them, not really. I’ve spent years, since I was a boy trying to be better, trying to make myself into someone who could take care of the legacy properly. It was working, I thought they were going to agree. I went away to university for a few years, tried to help in new ways, from a distance, but when I came back, there was nothing left.” He glanced at Nazyalensky and she only cocked her head at him, waiting for him to continue. He’d never told anyone this story before, and he still wasn’t sure why he was telling her, someone whose name he didn’t even know.

“Morozova, an old consultant slithered his way back into their lives the moment that I left. He knew my older brother wasn’t clever, was easily manipulated, and so that’s what he did. He and my brother turned the favour his way, cheated me out of everything I had fought to earn, and convinced the board that Vasily should get to take over, with Morozova pulling all the strings of course. When I heard word of it, I came back immediately, but it was too late, they had written me out of almost everything. I was left with no money, no power, nothing. All the plans I had came crashing down and now, I know that if I can get rid of Morozova’s influence, my family might see sense.”

They sat in silence until Nazyalensky spoke again, “that’s more… noble than I was expecting.”

“I might look like a feckless rogue but I’d like to think that I possess an endearing quality or two.”

“You seem like you’re anything but feckless, a rogue, however? That seems much more likely.”

He winked, “for you, Nazyalensky, I could be as roguish as they come.”

She turned away quickly but Nikolai didn’t miss the pink flush in her cheeks at his words, grinning to himself. Although he had just revealed his biggest secret, he didn’t find himself particularly regretting it.

They continued in a comfortable silence until a loud ring cut through, a few blocks from their destination. “What’s up, Tamar?” he asked, accepting his friend’s call on the car’s display. Yes it was an old car with character, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t spruced up the technology to his liking.

“He’s not here,” she replied, Nazyalensky’s head snapping towards him at this, her eyes darkening.

“What do you mean? I thought he was supposed to be there?”

“He’s in Italy, he’s not coming.”

Nikolai let out a sigh as his partner’s head fell back against her seat, her fingers curled tightly into her palms. “Thanks, Tamar, I’ll talk to you later.” Another wasted opportunity, and he had believed Nazyalensky when she had insisted on Morozova being there. He knew there would be other chances, but it felt like he was running out of time, that if he didn’t hurry Morozova would find him out and try to finish him for good.

A sharp hiss from Nazyalensky drew his focus to her, and he saw that her unfurling palms were scored with crescent shaped indentations, the result of her nails pressing into skin. As she began to curl her fingers inwards again, his hand shot out, stopping her with the press of his palm against hers. The red light before them allowed him the briefest second to realize what he’d done, pulling his hand back to the wheel. “I—” he began, only to be cut off before he could apologize.

“Morozova, he had this school that he started when he was young, barely older than the students himself. He cultivated talent. Pitted students against one another and chose the best ones-- the ones most useful to him, and would take them under his wing.” She was staring straight out the windshield, her gaze distant, her eyes hollow. “Can you guess what I was?” She let out a humourless laugh. “I was talented and would do anything he asked without hesitation. He used that and when someone who suited his needs better came along, I was thrown aside, as if I’d never mattered. Not just me, it happened to us all. I don’t want to ruin him for my own hurt, but for theirs too.”

Her eyes met his in the front mirror and he nodded at her to continue. They had been driving in circles as they’d shared their stories, and he wasn’t going to stop until he heard the rest of hers.

“The reason I stopped being his favourite was because a new student came along. And whenever she called, he would come. Maybe a small part of me thought that since my name was on the list, he would come tonight. Is that foolish?”

“No,” Nikolai returned with quiet honesty. “It’s not.”

Her eyes seemed troubled as they met his again, but her tone was cool when she spoke. “Zoya. Zoya Nazyalensky.”

“Nikolai. Nikolai Lantsov.”

“Nikolai,” she hummed, pulling out the syllables, as if testing the feeling of his name against her tongue. “ Nikolai .” Saints, he didn’t think that his own name had ever sounded sweeter. “What do we do now, Nikolai?”

“We wait, and we try again. Now that we’re working together we can come up with a better plan and make this work.”

“Okay,” she nodded slowly, “but what about tonight?”

“I could drop you back off at home? There’s not much use going if Morozova isn’t there.”

“I share a too-small apartment with a couple who is disgustingly in love and it’s date night, I think I’d rather not.”

“And I share a too-small houseboat with a set of twins who wake up at 4am to do combat training in the living room.”

“We could keep driving,” she suggested, her voice low, fingers dancing over the dashboard as she awaited his reply.

“We could keep driving,” he agreed, trying to keep his focus on the road as Zoya’s head came to rest gently against his shoulder. Nikolai knew this particular luxury would cost him, but he couldn’t find it in himself to mind.

“Zoya Nazyalensky and Nikolai Lantsov.” His voice was filled with a quality she’d never heard before but found that she quite liked. It was a mixture of indolent arrogance and jauntyness, a rare combination, but she supposed nothing was too out there for Nikolai, the last few months had been filled with him surprising her daily. Whether it was stories of his past, or his friendships or exploits, she found herself listening raptly, as if she couldn’t turn away. And she didn’t want to. His stories painted the world in a way that made her hunger for more. In a way that made her believe, for a few silly seconds, that she could get on his boat and sail away from it all. And then he would drop her off at her apartment and the second she walked through the door, the magic was shattered and she remembered that she existed, not in the textured fantasy world spun by Nikolai’s silver tongue.

With a quick glance at their invitations and a wave, they were making their way to table 2 as instructed. Zoya’s arm was looped lazily through Nikolai’s, but they were both on high alert tonight. They had received personal invites to tonight’s function, and while they were planning a much longer game than springing on Morozova today, they had ultimately decided that their strategy would be to convince Morozova that they didn’t want to strangle him on the spot. Easier said than done, her fingers were itching to wrap around his greasy throat, and they’d only just gotten here.

Whether he would buy it or not was a whole other question, but their plan relied on him being cocky enough to underestimate them or to want to keep his enemies close. Drifting through the crowd, Zoya was able to pick up more than a few of the whispers at tables, each one making her want to roll her eyes a little bit more than the last.

"She’s the girl who locked Nikolai Lantsov down.”

"I heard she blackmailed him into taking her to parties.”

“I heard her parents are forigen millionaires and the Lantsovs who are in crushing debt want to be bailed out.”

“I heard she’s the lost twin to the princess of some country or the other and they need his money to keep up their lifestyle.

“I heard that she knows black magic and seduced him into being devoted to her, that he spends his weekends feeding her grapes like she’s a queen.

Zoya leaned up, her lips brushing his ear, “that’s my favourite one.”

She watched him hold back a laugh, “if you wanted me to feed you grapes, you could’ve just asked.”

“Who cares about grapes, are you or are you not going to fund my jewelry-hungry long-lost twin sister?”

He gave her an incredulous look, “with what money?”

Biting back a smile of her own, they settled at their table, Nikolai’s knee brushing hers as it jounced underneath the table, more whispers flooding over them now.

“Nikolai Lantsov used to ask every single lady to dance with him before the party was over, even the old ones.”

“Nikolai Lantsov used to come over and sit at our table for hours and listen to our stories.”

“Nikolai Lantsov used to be the most eligible bachelor in town before she came around and locked it down.”

“Did you hear that, Lantsov?” she mused, leaning over to adjust his crooked bow tie. “Apparently I’ve locked it down.”

He let out a huff, “apparently?”

Zoya rolled her eyes, tilting his mouth down to hers, smiling at the glint in his eyes as she murmured, “definitely.” Definitely locked it down.”

Nikolai awoke to a hand flopping against his abdomen halfheartedly, what on Earth?

“Come closer,” a tired voice groaned, “what good are you if you can’t warm the bed.”

He shuffled closer, “you’re sure there’s no other reason I’m here?” he questioned.

“No.”

“An interesting way of getting me into bed but who am I to question your methods?” Nikolai teased, grinning at Zoya’s look of annoyance. It was first thing in the morning and he considered himself nothing if not a man of routine, and a part of that sacred routine involved annoying Zoya into affection as soon as she woke up.

“As if I’d ever let you into my bed,” she growled, flipping her back towards him.

“That’s interesting considering how I’m in your bed right now.”

“Oh that can be easily fixed,” she nudged him off the edge of the bed, relishing the groan of impact as he hit the floor.

Nikolai sighed, figuring that he very well couldn’t spend the day lazing in bed with Zoya anyways, as much as he wanted to. He found his clothes flung in opposite sides of the room, putting on a piece at a time until it came to his shoes.

“Have you seen my loafers?”

“You’re so annoying,” Zoya replied, her voice muffled from the pillow she’d thrown over her head in an attempt to drown him out.

“Does that mean you haven’t seen them?”

“Your shoes sound as pretentious as you.”

“That’s not helping,” he muttered, spotting a wagging tail with a familiar looking shoe in his mouth. Nikolai couldn’t believe that this was his life now, half dressed , trying to extract his ridiculously expensive shoes from his girlfriends’ dog’s mouth while she laughed from above.

“Give it back.” The puppy refused to relent, disappearing back under Zoya’s bed, undoubtedly gnawing on Nikolai’s leather shoes even more now that he’d dissented. “Well, I guess I can’t leave now that the dog’s got my shoes.”

“Goodbye Nikolai.”

“Zoya, your dog has fully destroyed my shoes.”

“Oh no,” she groaned, “his taste is as shit as yours.”

“Good thing I keep another pair here,” he sighed, glaring at the dog. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he murmured, kissing a chaste kiss to her hair. This was their routine now, nights spent planning and talking, falling asleep on the sofa, waking up to the cold, Zoya back in her bed, with Nikolai’s arms wrapped around her.

He had already reached the doorway when he heard her speak. “Or,” Zoya’s voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “You don’t have to leave.”

Nikolai paused, “what are you asking?”

“I’m asking you to stay.”

The words were sweet music to his ears, but he wanted to check she was certain. “Are you sure, Nazyalensky?”

Zoya turned onto her side to face him, her midnight waves cascading over her shoulder, her bronze skin glowing in the lazy late morning light. Nikolai was sure that he must have died and been taken to paradise. How else would he be fortunate enough to have woken up entangled with the sight before him?

“Stop staring and get in,” she grumbled, “before I change my mind.”

Nikolai slipped back into bed, letting out a sigh as the covers enveloped him again. He would much rather spend the day here, like this.

“Get your frozen toes off of mine!” Zoya hissed, cutting through his moment of quiet.

“They’re not that cold,” he groaned, pressing his nose to her cheek as she tried to squirm out of his grip.

“Why is your nose cold too?”

“That’s what you get for hogging the covers.”

Her eyes flashed dangerously, “I don't hog the covers!”

“Of course you don’t,” Nikolai soothed, pulling her to him as she rested her head against his chest. “You’re an equitable bedmate.”

“Damn right.” she huffed, her eyes starting to sink closed already. “I’m the best.”

“How long am I allowed to stay this time?” Nikolai murmured against her hair, unsure if the response would be the same as always, the usual until the morning. Something had changed, and he didn’t want to shatter the precarious nature of today’s agreement, but he had to know.

“How about forever?” Zoya mumbled, half asleep. “Forever.”

Nikolai’s heart had likely come to the conclusion months ago, but it was then that his head caught up. This was it for him, he didn’t think he would ever love again, not after this. Forever sounded like the perfect amount of time.

“Forever,” he agreed, slipping into sleep after her.

#zoyalai #zoyalai fic #my writings #nikolai lantsov #zoya nazyalensky #kos #king of scars #tgt fic #kos fic

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charming-charlie · 4 years

Text

Like Father, Unlike Son

Title // Like Father, Unlike Son

Pairing // Evan Buckley x Reader

Warnings // Mentions of absentee parents. Mentions of sex. Maybe some other little triggers, especially toward our man ☹

Summary // Buck’s parents are in town. Are you sure you want to meet them?

Word Count // 2.7k

Prompt // Hey! Hope you're doing good! I don't know if you ccurrently do requests or not or if this is where to ask for them but I have one in case you do take them. Evan Buckley x reader where his parents come to town and they are really passive agressive towards him, complaining about his work and that he's "not as nice of a boy as he used to be" but he doesn't tell them to stop. Eventually they remark on his birthmark, hitting an old insecurity and reader comforts him? Thank you for your time! <33

Author’s Note // Okay listen writing this broke my heart. Someone fix it by sending me cute little Buck gifs <3

“What are you doing?” you asked your boyfriend, firefighter Evan Buckley, as he pranced around his loft apartment. Armed with a duster in one hand and a broom in the other, you would’ve made a bet with Maddie that he was dressing as Cinderella for Halloween. It was a weird sight to see because he was cleaning. The man was actually cleaning and you could not get over it.

You took your phone out and secretly snapped a few photos of Buck. He was dusting the top of the fridge and it just occurred to you… is that an area people are supposed to clean?

This was getting more and more strange.

You sent the photo to Maddie, who instantly replied, ‘all he is missing is an apron!’ with a few laughing-crying emojis. You smiled at her response, letting your brain picture the sight of Buck prancing around in an apron, holding various cleaning tools, like some 1950s housewife. You would’ve hung onto that ridiculous thought if Buck didn’t decide to speak up just then.

“I told you. My parents are coming. This place needs to be spotless,” Buck started dusting the undersides of the kitchen cabinets and you continued watching him. Your face was scrunched up as you followed his hand movements. Did Buck ever clean like this before?

For as long as you’ve known him, he never really mentioned his parents and that was not something you wanted to ask about unless he brought it up. Maddie mentioned a few things to you, in order to prepare you for the day, but it wasn’t much. Both Buckley parents were absent in their children’s’ lives, forcing Maddie and Buck to rely on each other while growing up. This would be the first time you’ve met them, and the first time Buck has seen them in who knows how long. This was a big deal. You thought you should be the one who is nervous. This would be the first time meeting the boyfriend’s parents and you needed to make a good impression. But Buck… he was acting like the world was going to end if the spout of the kitchen sink wasn’t properly polished. He was nervous enough for the both of you. Your job, which you were trying to settle into without overthinking, was to be calm and level-headed enough for the both of you.

That still didn’t stop the butterflies from moving full speed in your stomach.

When Buck started to pull out all the Tupperware containers and begin rearranging them in a new, organized, and super unnecessary way, you decided to intervene. Standing up, you made your way to your boyfriend and you slipped your arms around him, essentially hugging him from behind. Your head rested between his shoulder blades as you just held him in a comforting way.

Buck froze for a second and you could feel how tense and stiff he was. However, he instantly relaxed in your arms, like a weight had been lifted and you could sense a grin that splashed onto his face. He turned around in your arms, facing you while you hugged him at the waist.

He was taller than you by a good foot. Even if you stood on your tippy toes, you would not reach his lips, and damn did you want to right now. It was a good thing he knew you well enough to read your mind because he was thinking the same thing. He leaned down, much to your happiness, and placed the sweetest, softest kiss upon your lips. It was perfect, the way he dangled himself in front of you, leaving you wanting more and knowing you couldn’t reach him. He teased you in a way that made you both frustrated and excited.

“I know I’m acting crazy. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you,” Buck said as he captured your lips with his one more time.

The second kiss caught you by surprised, but you welcomed it. You leaned into him and your fingers instantly tightened and gripped his white shirt. You tried to let go, knowing his pressed white shirt and black blazer were for show and he wanted to make a good impression on his parents, but if you didn’t hold onto him, you were going to melt into a puddle of goo.

Imagine Buck trying to clean that up.

You grinned into the kiss as the new image that popped into your head, but it was short-lived. There was a knock on the door, five concise raps in a row. Buck instantly pulled away, and you caught a small, tiny look of fear in his eyes. He masked it by putting on a brave face but you knew him better than that.

“Go get the door, I’ll clean this up,” you told him with a gentle smile. You firmly nudged him toward the door and Buck reluctantly went to open it. You hurriedly put all the Tupperware containers back in their original cabinet, with organization going out the window. The door opened just as you shut the cabinet door, and you turned around on your heels and leaned against the counter, trying to act calm and casual.

You could hear the greetings and see the hugs before you saw the people. Buck’s parents appeared into view, smiling at their son, who you would’ve guessed they haven’t seen in such a long, long time.

First, you saw a woman. Her hair was tightly pulled back into an updo and she dressed in a business suit, paralleling her son in a semi-formal way. Following her was an older gentleman, dressed nearly identical as Buck. Apparently, looking proper was part of the Buckley charm. You must have missed that memo, since you were wearing jeans and a nice shirt, more casual than the Buckley family.

“You must be the one my son is so smitten with,” the woman replied with a smile. She made her way across the living area and into the kitchen, pulling you into a weird and awkward one-armed hug.

“I didn’t know firefighters could afford places like this,” the older gentleman said as he looked around.

You looked at Buck, who’s smile seemed to twitch with slight offensiveness. You knew he was proud of his job and you remember telling him that he loved his job more than you. Naturally, Buck denied that but played along and said his job kept him satisfied in ways that you couldn’t. You took it as a challenge and the two of you had mind-blowingly incredible sex that night. However, you were now cursing at your brain to abandon this train of thought at the station. You didn’t need to think about your sexual life with Buck while his parents were right there.

“I’m doing well for myself,” Buck said with a proud smile.

You nodded in agreement. Buck was doing good. He had a semi-stable job, he was healthy (especially after those blood clots in his leg that gave everybody a scare), and he was happy. Life was pretty good for him, and you could see how he was taking things all in stride.

“I thought you would have made something of yourself by now, Evan.” His mother spoke up. She was standing right next to you and it took every ounce of your strength to pull yourself together and not flash her a ‘what the hell did you just say????’ look. Instead, you kept your eyes on Buck, showing an obvious emotion of confusion.

Buck was certainly caught off guard by his mother’s words and seemed to be rendered speechless when his father chimed in with agreements.

“Firefighting is not a career, you know. I thought we raised you better than that,” his father said so casually, like he was making normal conversation and not offending his son by his choice of employment.

You felt a sense of dread swirling inside. You were longing to meet Buck’s parents and now you could not wait for them to leave.

“He does a very good job as a first responder. He saved countless people. Maddie also helps. It’s pretty great seeing the two Buck siblings take on the world together,” you said, trying not to cringe at how pathetic you sounded. Buck wasn’t speaking up, which meant that you had to take the reins and defend him. He deserves to be treated better than that.

“And to go so long without a phone call, or a letter, or even an email!” Buck’s dad was rambling as he walked around the apartment, staring at how immaculate Buck tried to make it, “would it have killed you to let us know what you’ve been up to? Seems like you just dropped off the face of the earth!”

If that wasn’t disgusting enough, the laugh that Buck’s dad gave shortly after sent your blood boiling. Was he finding this funny, calling his son out like this?

“You used to be such a nice boy,” Buck’s mother said as she approached her son, “but now it just feels like you and your sister enjoy ignoring us.”

How Buck was still standing was impressive to you. If it were you, some deep-rooted anger would have shot out right now and slapped his parents across the face. Buck told you bits and pieces about his parents. They were never there growing up. Their careers were more important than their children, leaving Buck and Maddie to sort of raise each other and look out for one another. It was not an ideal situation, and it broke your heart when Buck told you. He was visibly upset when it came to sharing details about his parents and you didn’t ask further questions.

But when Buck received a phone call from his mom, saying that both mom and dad will be in Los Angeles for a conference, you saw how excited he was. Hell, he was waltzing around the apartment, cleaning and tidying things up all week, after his mom mentioned that she would stop by for a visit with his dad. What was it all for? To be continuously kicked while he was already down?

“And this thing,” Buck’s mother said as her face scrunched in disgust, “you should get this removed. You would look much more handsome.” Her hand brushed against the birthmark on Buck’s face, and Buck instantly pulled back at the touch.

If you weren’t paying attention, you would have missed the part where Buck’s father actually nodded in agreement without having said anything. Your hands were shaking, and you stuffed them into the back pockets of your jeans, trying to keep your nerves in check. These people were Buck’s parents? This is how parents act toward their children?

Buck’s jaw clenched as he inhaled deeply, sending the worst disguised smile in his mother’s direction. “I wonder what’s keeping the food. I’m gonna check, be right back.”

He left the apartment, and you immediately felt like you were swimming in awkwardness. With Buck gone, they might pick on you next, and you were not going to let that happen. Racking your brain for an excuse, you settled with a simple one.

“Shoot, he forgot to grab the money to pay for lunch. I’ll be right back,” you flashed a friendly yet passive-aggressive smile in their direction and took off after your man, who was outside in the fresh air and taking deep breaths with his eyes closed, like he needed to practice meditation in order to calm down.

“Hey,” you said, grabbing him by the arm gingerly. He pulled back quickly, and his eyes popped open, but once he saw it was just you, he relaxed. “Sorry.”

He shook his head at your little apology. “Don’t be. Are you glad to have met them now?”

There was anger laced in his voice and, while you knew it wasn’t directed at you, it still stung a bit to be talked to like that. He could see it on your face and his features melted into pure apology as he reached for your hand. You let him take it, and he slowly tangled his fingers through your own. You let silence wash over the two of you, because that was what was needed right now. Sitting through lunch with those two people was going to be hell, and you wanted no part of it, but you needed to be there for him.

“You know,” you said, leaning into him a little. You couldn’t help it; he was like a magnet that always pulled you in. “You don’t need them. You have a loving, supportive family at the firehouse. Bobby and Athena can be your new parents. They already act the part.”

Buck let out a soft, sweet laugh. The fact that he found your little quip to be entertaining was music to your ears. “You don’t regret dating me, do you?”

You stared at him, unsure if he was being sarcastic or not. The look on his face told you everything you needed to know. He was really asking. Apparently, his parents verbally beating him up made him question a lot of things. You frowned, thinking at how just a fifteen-minute conversation with Buck’s mom and dad could change almost everything about him, you, and your relationship.

“Of course not,” you responded evenly, without even having to think about it, “I love you for you. You can sometimes be dumb, you know this, but you have a true heart of gold. And honestly, Buck, you are hot as hell.”

He laughed again, this time deeper and genuine. He let go of your hand and pulled you into a sweet hug, holding you tightly against his chiseled physique. “I needed that, thank you.”

You pulled away from him just enough to look at his handsome face. “I mean it. You are perfect. Your parents haven’t seen you in years, they haven’t seen how much you’ve changed. I see you every day. I’ve seen the progression. I’ve seen the pain you went through to be who you are today, and I love you so much for it. Let’s just get through this lunch and send your parents on their way, and you never have to think about them again.”

It wasn’t the greatest speech, but it comforted him. His smile never wavered as he looked at you, soaking in the words as they left your mouth. He nodded in response, feeling a newfound sense of bravery seeping inside. “I’ll do it if you are by my side.”

“There’s no place I’d rather be,” you said, knowing exactly how cheesy that sounded. But you didn’t care.

Buck leaned in, claiming your lips against his own in a welcomed surprise. You went back to leaning on him, his arms snaking themselves around you as he kissed you. Your heart was beating erratically as adrenaline pumped through. Your head was slowly filling up with fog and you were losing all sense of direction. If he wasn’t holding you like he was now, you would have no way of knowing which direction was up. Everything was blurry and out of focus, and it was a state of euphoria that you loved being in.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for the Buckley residence? I have eighty dollars’ worth of Chinese food here,” someone’s voice squeaked into your thoughts, taking root much to your annoyance.

You pulled away from Buck’s lips, looking surprised. “Eighty dollars’ worth of food?” you couldn’t help but ask in shock.

“Okay listen, I was planning ahead,” Buck retorted with a smile. He shrugged like he did nothing wrong, like he was not guilty of spending so much money on a Chinese feast.

“Planning for what?’

“You and I aren’t going to leave the apartment for a couple days. The food is to help us replenish our strength.” He winked at you. Since when did he start winking at you?

“Are we working out or something?”

“Yeah, in bed.”

You slapped his arm with a gasp as he laughed and went to the deliver driver to collect the food. God, he was so good to you, and you had to smile at how happy he made you. The two of you could do this. You could both get through one afternoon with the Buckley’s because afterwards, it would be just the two of you again. No worries, no stress, no fear. You wanted that more than anything.

Despite a rocky start, you had a newer outlook on his parents. After all of this, there was one thing you knew for certain. Evan Buckley was not like his parents and you have never been prouder of him.

#Buck #evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #buck x reader #evan buckley x you #9-1-1 #911 #oliver stark #writing request

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lady-himbo · 3 years

Text

In Your Shadow

sort of Javier Peña x reader, platonic!Steve Murphy x reader (she/her pronouns; no Y/N used)

Javi keeps getting the credit for work he didn’t do, and she’s pissed. Chaos ensues.

Word count: 2500+

Warnings: angst and frustration, lots of cursing, potentially horrid Spanish (I’m learning, I promise), smoking

A/N: This is based on the song Shadow by Unlike Pluto. You can find pieces of the lyrics in the dialogue. You can also find the translations of everything said in Spanish at the end! Feel free to correct me on anything; like I said, I’m learning Spanish, and I appreciate any advice. <3

“... and thank you again to Agente Peña for providing this invaluable intel.” As the meeting adjourned and several individuals voiced their praise, she charged out of the briefing room and into the office, seething, death-gripping her files to her chest. Hot on her heels, Steve attempted to pacify her.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean to steal your thunder, honey. He’s just-”

“What? He’s just what, Steve? A senior agent? Running the show? A man? Tell me, what exactly justifies him getting credit for the shit I’ve worked months on?!” The files were starting to crumple in her grasp.

“Well, I don-”

“This isn’t even the first time he’s done it! He’s gotten recognition for my informants, my intel, my translations, my briefings, my goddamn livelihood!” Her voice was starting to raise in pitch and volume as tears gathered in her eyes. Steve held his hands up, trying to silently reason with her. “I can’t win, Steven! I work my ass off day and night for this fuckin’ job, only to have the rug pulled out from under me because I’m ‘not working as hard’ as holier-than-thou Javier goddamn Peña and his massive ego! I have to live under it and, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, it casts giant shadows!”

Unfortunately, the source of her rage had picked an inopportune time to waltz in. With only a second to register Steve’s panicked look, Javi might as well have wandered into the middle of a firing squad. The execution probably wouldn’t have been half as painful.

“You motherfucker!” she yelled, slamming the now torn and wrinkled papers onto her desk with a clatter. “You lying, power-hungry, manipulative bastard! You fuck every other woman you get the chance to, but you’ve decided to fuck my life instead! I’ve worked for fucking months; hundreds of hours and sleepless nights on this information, and you’ve taken all the credit! Again!”

Javi, oblivious to the full impact of this outburst, opted for the worst possible response. “Come on, sweetheart, we’re working as a team. Plus, you asked me to hand it in to Noonan. If you wanted to take credit for it so badly, you should’ve just talked to her yourself!” Steve visibly cringed and gestured for him to cut it out. Too late.

She stalked forward and, though Javi tried to back up, she had him backed into a corner. “You pompous ass! ¡Más tonto y no naces!” She’d broken out her Spanish. Oh boy. “I can’t even talk to Noonan because she always tells me to run my ideas by your incompetant ass! You cast a shadow over everything I try to do; it’s not like I can get anything worthwhile done when your massive ego’s towering over my ambitions!” She jabbed a finger into his chest, punctuating her words. “Nothing I’ve ever done here has ever mattered to the agency, because I live in your shadow and you’ve taken all of it from me! When will you move out of my way and stop treating me like a fucking doormat?!”

Javi was starting to get defensive, which was never a good sign, especially when Spanish started to get sprinkled in. “¡Oh, lo siento mucho!” he shot back sarcastically. “I wasn’t aware that all the work you get authorized by me to do was proprietary!”

“Are you fuckin’ serious?” she spat. “All you had to do was say the report was from me! It’s not proprietary, Peña, it’s my goddamn right to present the information that I spent my own money, overtime, health, and physical fucking safety to acquire! I’m sorry that I have a genuine interest in making sure this case gets handled right instead of spending my every waking moment getting my dick wet in my informants!”

A small group was starting to gather near the office, waiting to hear if Peña finally got his ass handed to him. This didn’t seem to bother either agent as they glared each other down. With Peña’s pride now on the line, no holds were barred, and he was ready to bust out personal attacks.

“Any competent agent would’ve just handed their shit in themselves, but no, you’ve gotta rely on someone else to do it for you.” He was livid; his pride had been damaged while he was riding the high of gloat and achievement, like getting laid and immediately being punched in the balls. She wasn’t letting this one go, and it was obvious he wasn’t either. “God! You’re like a cloud every time you walk in here, bitching about how little sleep you’re getting or how your work is piling up; a fuckin’ rain on my parade!” He stepped forward, crowding her, his posture more and more assertive with every word. “¡Madura de una vez! You’re an adult, a government agent, taking down a drug cartel run by Pablo fuckin’ Escobar! No one’s getting sleep, and it certainly doesn’t help when you’re whining about it! Maybe if you stopped, you’d have time to turn in your own reports and get the credit you don’t deserve!”

Escobar himself could’ve walked through the office and no one would’ve noticed. Javi’s mouth slammed shut the moment the words left, but they seemed to echo in the eerily silent office. Her shoulders sagged, and she stumbled back a few steps, trying to steady herself.

“Fuck, I-” Javi choked on his words. Her eyes were red, her cheeks stained, but her face was frighteningly level.

“Yeah, tienes razón.” Her voice was hollow, tired. “It’s always stormy lately. I guess I’m just under too much pressure; it’s driving me insane. There’s only one way to relieve it.” She slipped off her gun holster and unclipped her badge, pressing them into his chest. “I quit.” Without a second glance, she stormed out of the office.

Two weeks later, her desk was cleared out, her files and informants were on a list to be redistributed to the rest of the unit, and the office was uncomfortably heavy. Javi was smoking way more than usual, everyone avoided him like the plague, Steve was bored, the case was at a standstill, and the quiet was palpable. She was no longer a colorful presence flitting around the tables, leaving a rainbow of Post-it Notes in her wake, charting cell signals, calling out for advice, chatting on the phone in Spanglish, humming quietly or bobbing her head to the radio, popping up to refill her coffee cup and offering to refill everyone else’s every couple hours, then rushing off to the bathroom when she’d had too much. She was a constant presence the unit soon realized they’d taken advantage of.

The phone on Steve’s desk rang mid-morning, and he stifled a yawn as he picked it up. “Murphy,” he grunted.

“Hey, Stevie,” came a familiar voice. “¿Qué pasa?”

He brightened. “Hey, hon.” He felt some of the tension leave him, but it was still there. “We’re fuckin’ stuck. Nothing’s happening, everyone’s lifeless, and Javi’s still moping. Eso es lo que pasa.” He could hear her breathy laugh; she was always proud when he practiced his conversational Spanish with her. She’d told him she felt it was an honor he was comfortable enough to try it out around her. “What’s up with you?”

“Ahí vamos; he estado mejor. I’m sorry you have to deal with-” she stopped and huffed, then her words became muffled. “Tengo una cita con la embajadora, huevón. ¡Estoy al teléfono!” She yelped. “¡Tócame otra vez y te rompo la nariz!” There was a brief commotion, then a thump, and suddenly, her voice became clear again. “Sorry, I’m waiting on Noonan. I’m supposed to meet with her today to finalize my paperwork.”

Steve sighed. “You’re really going through with this, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess I am.” Another voice called her name in the background, then spoke quietly for a moment. “What?! ¿Qué quiere decir ‘no está aquí’?” The voice spoke again, then there was a pause. “Okay… Si, todo bien… Está bien. Listo.” Then, back to Steve: “Noonan didn’t show. Some emergency meeting. Just great; I guess I’m rescheduling.”

“Maybe it’s fate!” Steve teased, only half joking. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Javi trudge across the office to the coffee pot, give it a long, forlorn look, then trudge back towards his desk. His eyes were heavy, his shirt rumpled, even his mustache looked sad. As he plopped down amongst towers of papers, Steve cleared his throat and made a show of nestling the handset under his chin. “Well, whatever the case, that gives me time to convince you to stay with us. Your desk looks stupid empty.” Though he was deliberately looking away, he could see Javi’s head and shoulders snap up like he’d heard a gunshot. On the other end of the line, she laughed.

“Don’t try to sweet talk me, Murphy. I’d welcome the company, though.”

“Of course!” he replied, making sure his smile was as cheesy as possible. “I’ll meet you outside in a little bit?” She agreed.

Steve busied himself with pretending to look busy for the next half hour, then announced he was going to talk to Carrillo. As soon as he turned the corner and was sure he was out of sight, he watched Javi scramble out of his seat and out the door.

Outside the building, she was sitting on a bench, her back turned. Lazy wisps of cigarette smoke danced in the wind in front of her figure, and Javi suddenly felt very insecure. He called her name, uncomfortable with the way his voice wavered. She jumped, then, after a beat, slowly turned towards him. “Come mierda, Javier.” He didn’t let her words deter him, approaching the side of the bench. She glared up at him. “No me joda. I’ll finish up in a second and leave.” He wrung his hands, feeling small under her stare.

“I’m going to sit with you,” he declared.

“Please go,” she said, softer this time. “I just wanna feel the wind one last time before I leave. Just wanna look at this shitty masterpiece of a city; really take it in.”

He ignored her plea and sat, far enough away that he didn’t feel like he was ganging up on her. They just sat, and she took long, deep drags of her cigarette. After she eventually ground the butt into the pavement, he took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry.” He left the declaration hanging in the wind for a moment, before plunging on. “I’m sorry for what I said, and what I’ve been doing to you. I’ve been a selfish asshole, and you were right to call me out on that. I’m not going to convince you to stay, because you don’t deserve to be dealing with my bullshit all the time. You’re talented and selfless and I never appreciated everything you sacrificed for us until it was gone. I just- fuck, I feel like such a piece of shit.”

“You are.” He blinked owlishly. “You’re a self-centered, impulsive manwhore with a weird mixture of self-hatred and a superiority complex. You’ve been a horrible coworker and I almost feel ashamed that I tried so hard to be your friend.” He ducked his head, trying to hide his mortification. “Almost.”

He peered back up at her, cocking his head in confusion. “That said, you’re a great agent, kind and sympathetic when you wanna be, passionate about the work we do, and, when you keep a level head, you’re fun to work with. I don’t know if I can forgive you right now for all the shit you did, but your apology goes a long way. I appreciate that.”

She took a deep breath, then stilled, staring out into the movement and noise of Medellín. He watched her for a few minutes, though it felt like hours. He watched the clenching and unclenching of her jaw, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the flutter of her eyelashes; all the details he’d been too busy to notice. “Penny for your thoughts?”

She looked over, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t know. I’m just thinkin’ about life. What I want to do.”

“I know it doesn’t amount to much, but I’d like you to stay.”

“I can’t- I mean, I can, it’s just that- fuck, I don’t even know,” she mumbled, furrowing her brows to try to stop a tear from slipping down her cheek. “It’s just that, by all official records, I’m pretty much worthless here, y’know? All my abilities go unnoticed and it’s like I’m not even there. I know you don’t mean to stand above me, but you are, and the shadow I live under is killing me. It’s taken my job, my self worth, my… being. I can’t live like that anymore, constantly working at the precipice of death, of destruction, of failure, and the one thing I can do to help isn’t even appreciated as my own. It’s just… cold.”

Javi nodded. “After you left, I went up to Noonan and explained what’d happened; that I didn’t deserve any of the credit I’d been given.”

“Well, that’s not true! The things that you did you deserve credit for. You’re incredibly talented, Javi, just not with my intel.”

“But… you do deserve the credit I get. You deserve so much more than you‘ve ever gotten. What I said was so selfish.”

She grabbed his hand. “Javi, selfishness aside, I know you’re in a dark place. We all are. After all, we’re government agents ‘taking down a drug cartel run by Pablo fuckin’ Escobar’ and we don’t get any sleep.” She smiled at her usage of the words he’d berated her with weeks earlier. “I should’ve taken more initiative to turn in my own work; it was silly of me to put that on you. I know you’ve got your own mess going on. Plus, I said a lot of awful things right back. Most of them I meant, some of them I didn’t, but I could’ve handled it all a lot better. I’m sorry we didn’t work this out earlier.”

Javi squeezed her hand, feeling a little warm tingle in his stomach. “Me too.” He sighed, raking his other hand through his hair. “I- er, we really do need your help. You’re priceless.” She exhaled sharply, tilting her head back and forth as if weighing her options.

“Fine. I’ll talk to Noonan.” Javi’s face lit up. ��But on two conditions.” He nodded. “One: I get recognition for my past and future work, and two: you promise to work with me and call on me if we have any issues. We can’t have these communication errors any longer if we’re gonna catch these bastards.” She paused, then smiled lightly. “Also, you owe me a lot of coffee.”

Just as Javi agreed, Steve came out of the building. He stopped a few paces from them, looking back and forth from Javi’s pink cheeks and goofy grin, her teary eyes, and their interlaced hands. “I’m sorry, what did I miss?”

She laughed as they pulled their hands apart and she wiped the tears away. “I’m keeping my job.”

“That’s amazing! …Peña, what did you dose her with?” Javi let out the fakest laugh he could, but smiled along with it. She sighed softly, the breeze dancing across her skin.

“All I want is to cast my own shadow.”

Translations:

¡Más tonto y no naces! - If you were any dumber, you wouldn’t have been born!)

¡Oh, lo siento mucho! -> Oh, I’m so sorry!

¡Madura de una vez! -> Grow up!

tienes razón -> you’re right

¿Qué pasa? -> What’s up?

Eso es lo que pasa. -> That’s what’s up.

Ahí vamos; he estado mejor. -> Fine, I guess; I’ve been better.

Tengo una cita con la embajadora, huevón. ¡Estoy al teléfono! -> I have an appointment with the ambassador, asshole. I’m on the phone!

¡Tócame otra vez y te rompo la nariz! -> Touch me again and I’ll break your nose!

¿Qué quiere decir ‘no está aquí’? -> What do you mean ‘she’s not here’?

Si, todo bien… Está bien. Listo. -> Yeah, all good… all right. Okay.

Come mierda -> Eat shit

No me joda. -> Don’t fuck with me.

#narcos #javier peña x reader #javier peña #f!reader #winnie writes

33 notes · View notes

ressyfaerie · 3 years

Note

Tyka request: I love bit beast merging so the idea that Tyson has been forced to merge with Black Dranzer has always floated in my head. Kai arrives too late. Boris and his Grandfather found a way to break Tyson's will to accept Black Dranzer, probably to save Kai's life and Kai can only watch!

I LOVE THIS. I am the god of angst writing, so when you ask for angst, I’m bringing A N G S T. Anything in * are Tyson’s thoughts!

I’ve now written it all and- I just had so much fun with it. This was the kind of ask I was born for. Thank you for sending this to me- I hope you know I’ve been working on this all day lmao. It turned out way longer than I wanted it to be. But damn, it’s good. I’m going to keep the start in regular format, and put the rest in a read more, I don’t know if tumblr will even let me post this much LOL, but let’s try it:

“Hello, Tyson Granger. Welcome to BIC”

“Call it what it is Boris, BEGA- round two.”

“You know better Tyson, The Beyblade International Congress is so much more.”

Tyson scoffed, he scrunched up his face in Voltaire’s direction.

He had one hand in his pocket, where dragoon would normally be. Instead, his hand held emptiness, there was nothing, and no one, to comfort him now.

The room security had led him into was windowless. It could have been the basement or the hundredth floor of the building.

Tyson had lost all sense of direction since Dragoon was stolen from him, the feeling was nothing out of the ordinary.

The world champion wore an expression no one had ever seen before. Determined, enraged, vulnerable, confused, he felt everything all at once, there was only one thing he was absolutely certain of:

He had to get Dragoon, and his friend’s bit-beasts back, at any cost.

“You two know why I’m here.”

Boris grew a porcelain smile from ear to ear.

“To finally join our team of course.”

Tyson laughed in response, “I never had any intention of joining BEGA, which means its shitty counterpart is out of the question.”

“This child has grown up since we last saw him.” Voltaire leaned more on his cane, inspecting every bit of Tyson’s body.

Tyson felt like some kid’s science project in their backyard. He shuddered, terrified to think the abbey boys lived like this every day.

“I hoped he would have grown-up, Voltaire. It’s been almost three years after all.”

Boris waved his hand. The security guards that escorted Tyson turned on their heels and marched out the door. Tyson was left alone with two old men, but he still felt danger.

The silence that ensued was deafening, the glares they locked on Tyson made the hair raise on his spine.

He now understood Tala and Kai’s fear of these men. The pure power they confidently exhibited by just standing there, was compared to nothing he had ever experienced.

Two men, three times his age- two men who should be in jail, serving life sentences- one man who raised and abused his best friend, one man who was his best friend’s flesh and blood.

Tyson took a deep breath. He stabilized his voice before stating his demand.

“Give me back my bit-beasts.”

The men let out deep laughs, starting out as low grumbles, and ascending into loud chortles.

Boris spoke first.

“You think you can just waltz into my high-tech facility- and I’ll just give you back what I stole? And stole so easily mind you-”

“So, you did steal them.” Tyson’s firsts were curled, his fingertips formed indents in his palms, he wanted to lash out in anger, but he knew better.

“Of course, wasn’t it obvious?”

“I have proof- I’ll get the police-”

The men laughed again, this time louder.

“I own the police.” A shadow fell over Voltaire’s face.

For the first time, Tyson felt true fear.

No bit beast- no battle- nothing could compare to this.

Tyson’s heart sunk, as he became painfully aware his overconfidence, could be his downfall.

Now, he was trapped.

“Would joining my team sound better if I told you you could have Dragoon back?” Boris’ voice was coated with honey, but Tyson knew better.

Tyson’s eyes shot in Boris’ direction. He squinted his eyes.

“Without making a deal with me, you and your friends will never see their pets again.”

“I’ll never make a deal with you.” Tyson spat.

“Pretty soon you’ll have no choice-” Voltaire cut Boris off.

“How old are you now Tyson?” His voice had changed, he leaned more into his cane.

“Almost nineteen.” Tyson grinned, “I’m an adult now. You can’t hurt me.”

The two men gave each other a look Tyson didn’t miss. Voltaire spoke first.

“What if we told you we needed your help.”

Tyson put up his shields immediately, he raised an eyebrow. “Help? What could I possibly help two billionaires with?”

“Something that only a blader as strong as you can.”

“No.” Tyson refused.

“Hear us out.” Boris took a step towards him, Tysons swore he heard a door lock behind him.

“We have a theory- if that theory is correct, we can change the future of the sport- no, the future of everything.”

Tyson’s interest was piqued, but that wouldn’t change his decision.

“The answer is still no.”

Boris took a step towards him, “what if we gave you your bit-beasts back in exchange?”

Tyson saw through Boris’ trap, it was a deal he couldn't ignore.

Tyson just stared back at him.

Voltaire interrupted, “we have found a way to merge bit-beasts with humans.”

Tyson felt his heart stop.

Boris grinned, presenting his hands in front of him, “the possibilities are endless Tyson, imagine- superhumans. Beyblading would ascend to a whole new level. The history of warfare changed, just like that.” He snapped his fingers.

It was terrifying how a man could keep a smile while talking about changing the history of warfare.

“I’m not helping you experiment by changing people into weapons.” Tyson’s face wrinkled into a disgusted scowl, “what do you need me for anyway?”

“See, Tyson…” Boris continued, “the science has been researched for decades- but I’m fairly confident this process requires someone of a certain caliber…”

“Someone who already has a strong connection to bit-beasts.” Voltaire stated.

“Don’t you have tons of kids lined up in your arsenal? Why me?” Tyson’s voice grew louder.

“Ha! None of my boys are as strong as you and your team Tyson.” Boris chuckled before continuing, “you’re special, your connection to dragoon and other spirits is stronger than anyone on the planet. You are my missing puzzle piece, I’m certain you’ll be the right fit.”

“The other members of your team might work, but no one is like you.” Voltaire nodded,

“No. I refuse.” Tyson took a deep breath, “I’m not your pawn, I won’t help you.”

Silence.

Voltaire clicked his cane on the tile floor.

“I hope you are aware; if you don’t do this, we will make sure Kai will.”

Tyson swung his head in his direction, ready to scream if necessary.

“Ah, watch it Tyson.” Boris threatened the boy, Tyson’s chest heaved erratically.

“What do you mean?” Tyson said through gritted teeth. “He would never agree to this-”

“No, he wouldn’t.” Voltaire shook his head, then became totally still as his glare set on Tyson, “but I don’t need his permission.”

“You’re sick.” Tyson spat.

“It would be so easy.” Boris reached into his pocket grabbing a remote, he pressed a button, a screen rolled down in the large room.

The screen turned on, on it was a picture of Kai, and a ton of numbers Tyson didn’t understand, but what caught his attention, was a simple map, with a blinking red dot.

“We know where Kai is at all times,” Voltaire said in a low voice.

“If you refuse to help us, we will take him as needed.”

“That’s kidnapping.” Tyson pointed out the obvious fact, he should have known better, that stealing a person was one of the minor crimes Boris has committed.

“Not like I haven’t done it before.” Boris shrugged, as if he was talking about taking a candy bar.

Tyson swallowed, “he- he wouldn’t let this happen without a fight.”

“As expected. If he fights it, the process could easily mess up… Ideally we want someone who will work with us, but it’s not necessary.”

“I’ll find him. We will run away-”

“When I say we know everything about Kai I mean we know everything, Tyson.”

Voltaire looked to the ceiling, “We know when he goes for jogs.”

“Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings.” Boris raised a finger in the air.

“We know when he eats, when he sleeps, where he sleeps.” Voltaire emphasized ‘where’ maliciously.

Tyson growled. Voltaire hummed.

“That’s right Tyson, he’s been staying at your place frequently.”

Boris tried to suppress a laugh, “we even know what happened last Saturday-”

“Boris!” Voltaire hissed.

Tyson’s eyes widened, “How would you know that!? We were alone, in my room, in my home!?”

“We know everything, Tyson.”

Tyson met Voltaire’s eyes with disgust.

“It seems like a win-win situation, Tyson. I’m giving you a good deal, when you know I don’t have to.” Boris folded his arms. “You go through with this procedure, we give you- and your friends their bit-beasts back, and we leave Kai alone.”

Tyson’s body felt ice cold.

“I want you to know Tyson, Boris is too afraid to admit it-” Voltaire’s voice was draped in darkness, “we aren’t letting you leave here today without doing something.”

Tyson stopped breathing.

Boris confidently waltzed to Tyson’s side, Tyson didn’t move, he was paralyzed with fear.

The purple-haired man’s face was inches away from Tyson’s now.

“You either take the deal, or have it happen anyways- but if you take the deal, world champion, you must work with us willingly.”

Tyson was his height now, but he still felt small.

Boris placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t- touch me.” Tyson shrugged him off aggressively.

“Last chance world champ.” Voltaire clicked his tongue, “what will it be?”

Tyson met both their eyes, looking back and forth, his breathing showed anger, his fists clenched in frustration.

He was stuck. Trapped. Nowhere to go. He took a deep breath, held it, and let it out. He let his body accept defeat.

“Fine. I’ll take your deal.”

“Where did Tyson go anyways?” Max hummed to Ray while sliding his feet on the smooth wooden floors of the dojo.

“Is he with Kai again? They’ve been hanging out a lot…” Ray pointed out.

Kenny was sitting on the floor with his laptop open. “Tyson left just before lunchtime.”

“No lunch!?” Hilary snapped, “that’s not like him.”

“It’s not like him to miss practice…” Ray tried to hide the subtle worry on his face.

“I’ll try phoning him,” Max suggested, pulling out his rose gold iPhone.

“I’m sure he’s fine guys.” Hilary rolled her eyes, knowing the bluenette was always late.

“We can’t be too careful…” Kenny hesitated before saying his next words, “With Boris being back…”

The room fell quiet, the only sound was the ringing of Max’s phone.

“He’s not picking up.” Max hung up the call.

“Try Kai’s phone,” Ray smirked. “They’re always together now.”

Max flipped through his phone and put it on speaker. The phone rang a few times, they heard the click of it being answered.

“Hello?” They heard Kai’s familiar gruff voice.

“Hey Kai, sorry, are you driving?” Max spoke a little louder than usual.

“Yeah, but I have you on speaker, it’s fine.” They heard the sounds of the highway around him.

“Hey, is Tyson with you?” Ray asked, his voice shaking a bit.

“No, why?” They heard the sound of Kai’s blinker in the background.

“He disappeared before lunch, he's not here for practice yet.” Max eagerly awaited Kai’s response.

“That’s odd,” Kai remarked.

“Are you going to be here soon?” Ray asked.

“Yeah, I’m just coming down the road now. Have you tried phoning him?”

“I tried…” Max fidgeted with his open hand, “he didn’t pick up.”

“He always answers his phone.” The team detected a hint of worry in Kai’s voice. “I’m outside now.”

They heard Kai hang up the phone, without as much as a goodbye, but that was very typical Kai.

They sat in the same positions, wordless. They heard the front door open, the sound of Kai taking off his shoes. They heard the floorboards creak as he made his way down the hall to the dojo. The door slid open.

“Hey Kai!” Hilary tried to be cheerful, but she just sounded worried.

“Hey,” Kai responded. Without missing a beat, “where is Tyson?”

“No one knows.” Kenny stopped typing at his laptop to look up at the master blader. He readjusted his glasses.

“He left before lunch, he’s been gone a few hours.” Kenny had a hard time keeping eye contact with Kai, when Kai got serious- he got scary.

“It’s weird of him to miss practice…” Max fiddled with his thumbs.

Ray looked up at the ceiling, “not like we can do much practicing anyway.”

The room went quiet. They were all still in mourning over the unexpected loss of their blades. The day they woke up to discover all of their blades had been stolen, was the moment they realized Boris coming back now, in their late teens, was serious.

“I’m worried.” Kai admitted, he pulled out his phone, and began to phone Tyson.”

“That was fast, do you have him on speed dial?” Ray grinned trying to lighten the mood.

Kai responded seriously, “yes.”

They heard the phone ring a few times, before going to voicemail. Kai hesitated, before deciding to leave one.

“Hey, Tyson- It’s Kai. Get back to me soon, I’m getting worried.” He hung up the phone and held it loosely in his hands.

“Aw, Kai’s worried.” Hilary cooed.

“With Boris back, and our blades gone, we can’t be too careful.” Ray crossed his arms.

“What’s goin’ on here fellas?” Grandpa poked his head through the doors from the garden.

“Tyson’s been gone for a long time, he’s not answering his phone.” Kenny went back to his laptop, most likely trying to find out any information he could.

“When did he leave?” Kai asked Ryu.

“I told Kenny when he got here, right before lunchtime- Wait K-man didn’t you stay the night last night?”

The whole room went quiet.

“Yeah, but I was gone early in the morning,” Kai responded.

“You stayed the night?-” Max got cut off by Ray.

“Was he in an alright mood?”

“He was fine.” Kai knitted his eyebrows in thought, “now that I think about it, he was in his head a bit.”

The ground collectively became agitated, everyone knew a moody Tyson could be anywhere.

“Did you do anything to piss him off?” Ray squinted his eyes in Kai’s direction.

“No.” Kai knew for certain he didn’t hurt Tyson. After all, they had a great night.

Kai tried to suppress a smile, remembering how they fell asleep beside each other watching movies in Tyson’s room.

“You stayed the night?-” Max got cut off again by Ray-

“Are you sure Kai? You know you have a habit of annoying him.”

“I’m absolutely certain. Tyson was fine when I left this morning.”

“Was he up? How did you know?” Ray interrogated him more than questioning.

Kai hesitated, he didn’t know if it was okay to tell them they slept in the same bed.

“You *stayed* the night!?” This time Max yelled it, so he couldn’t be ignored.

Everyone stared at Max, “Why did you stay the night? Where did you sleep?”

“Um-” Kai tried to retort back, but suddenly realized he didn’t know what excuse to make.

They caught his awkwardness, it was unlike the silver-tongued boy to not have a sassy remark.

“Family troubles. I stayed in the spare room across from Tyson’s. He got up to eat breakfast with me- He was fine.”

All lies.

“I’m going to check his room.” Kai turned around to go upstairs.

When Kai was out of earshot, Max coyly asked Tyson’s Grandpa, “Did he really stay in the spare room?”

“Ha! No, that boy has been staying here often, and those sheets have never been changed- or used.”

The group followed Kai upstairs like a lost herd.

In Tyson’s room, Kai was scanning it, looking for anything off.

The whole team looked around, but only Kai knew what was out of place.

“Hey Kai.” Ray giggled.

On Tyson’s vanity, yes- Tyson had a vanity, because of course he did. He had a thumb-sized picture of kai stuck to the edge of the mirror.

“There are no pictures of us, just you- what’s up with that?” Ray pretended to act jealous.

Kai ignored him. He gave Tyson that photo when Tyson asked for a photo of him. It wasn’t his favourite thing to look at. When he looked at it he would laugh, because it was, simply, so Tyson.

Kai’s eyes landed on his pillow, it was poofier than usual. He ripped up the pillow and tossed it to the side. Under it was a book. Kai knew it was out of place, he had never seen Tyson pick up a book in his life.

He opened the book and flipped through it, everyone watched him, knowing something was up.

In the middle of the book was a note, Kai pulled it out, and threw the book to the side.

‘I guess if you’ve found this, you’re looking for me huh?’

‘That means I’ve been gone a while, sorry.’

‘I guess you should know, if I’ve been gone a long time, something has probably happened to me.’

‘I’m going to see Boris. I’m leaving at 11am.’

‘He invited me. I know it’s a bad idea. I don’t want to bring anyone else into this.’

‘Especially you Kai. You’ve dealt this enough shit from that guy.’

‘I know he stole our blades, even if we don’t have proof, I know.’

‘I’m going to get them back, no matter the cost, and I don’t want anyone else’s help.’

‘I love you guys! I love you Kai.’

Ray snatched the note from Kai and began to read it.

Kai put a hand to his face in shock. His eyes started to water. He was terrified, his body didn’t know how to begin to process this, but he knew he needed to go.

“Where is he?” Kai had a voice of white anger.

“We don’t know Kai.” Kenny recoiled.

“Boris, where is he.”

Kai picked up the book and flipped through it.

“We don’t know where his base is Kai-” Kenny blubbered.

Kai threw the book against the wall at full force.

“WHERE IS HE!?”

Ray flipped the note over, “there’s an address on the back.”

Kai ripped it out of his hands.

“I’m going-”

“No, you are NOT Kai!” Ray scolded him. “We’re going to go to the BBA, tell Mr. Dickenson, and call the police-”

“We don’t have the time for that!” Kai yelled at Ray.

The team was stunned, Kai had never been this angry.

He placed his hands over his face and pulled them down to cover his mouth. “I need to save him.”

“We don’t know he’s in danger-”

“I KNOW he is.” Kai was shaking.

Suddenly, Kai bolted out of the room with the address in hand-

“Kai!” Max called after him.

Kai frantically began to put his shoes on, the team barrelled down the stairs behind him.

“You can’t go in there without a plan, you moron!” Hilary screeched at him.

“Try me!” Kai yelled back.

“What’s going on?” Grandpa had come from the kitchen, Kai used the distraction to bolt out the door to his car.

He started the car as fast as possible and pulled out of the driveway. The team ran out to the street behind him, they watched him leave, worried they could lose both of them.

“Take it off.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your jacket, off- now.”

Boris pulled at the zipper on the front of Tyson’s jacket. Tyson sighed and pulled it down.

Boris helped him out of the jacket, he took it and wrapped it in his arms, it was oddly paternal. Boris looked him up and down, judging him, like he was looking for the best cut of meat in a shop.

He only wore a thin black muscle shirt now, and his dark ripped jeans, with the shoes he made Kai help him pick out. He was fully clothed, but he felt naked.

“Boris, what did I say about being creepy?” Voltaire scolded him, like a child.

Boris rolled his shoulder, still keeping his gaze on Tyson, “Sorry, can’t help myself.”

“Come into the lab.” Voltaire turned, heading for another door.

Boris gently pushed Tyson by his shoulder. Tyson followed willingly, worried what would happen if he resisted.

Inside the steel double doors was a dark room. The light turned on upon entry, to reveal computers, servers, chemistry equipment, and large water-filled tubes, big enough for a person, or a monster.

Boris threw Tyson’s jacket to a swivel chair, he turned on a computer, Voltaire stood beside what Tyson recognized as a large bey dish.

“I want to see my friend’s beyblades.”

“Of course.” Voltaire disappeared behind some servers, out of sight.

Boris clicked a mouse a few times, “huh, looks like Kai was in your bedroom. His heart rate has skyrocketed, do you have any idea why that could be?”

Tyson tried to hide his surprise.

*Could he have found my note? No- I don’t want him to come here.*

“I don’t know.” Tyson kept his eyes on the wall.

“Maybe he’s just doing something freaky.” Boris grinned.

“You’re disgusting.”

Voltaire reappeared with a black briefcase. He placed it on a table close to Tyson, but not too close. He opened it, to reveal Dragoon, and the rest of the blades delicately blacked in foam inserts.

“I want to see them.” Tyson reached his hand forward.

Voltaire slammed the case shut. “Not until you finish our task.”

Tyson scowled, all he wanted was to feel Dragoon in his hands again.

“Voltaire, come here.” Boris gestured to bring him over to the computer.

Tyson tried to follow, but Voltaire stopped him with an aggressive hand signal.

Voltaire leaned over the chair and inspected the computer screen.

“It looks like he’s heading in this direction.” Boris was deeply concentrated on the computer screen, clicking around fast.

“And he’s approaching fast.” Voltaire hummed, he rubbed his chin. “Stop the car.”

“Really?” Boris had a surprised expression.

“We can’t have him coming here can we?”

“Alright.” Boris began to type at the keyboard frantically.

Voltaire placed a chair in the middle of the room, he patted it, silently telling Tyson to sit down.

Tyson shook his head, Voltaire gave him an intense glare- Tyson approached the chair and sat down, making sure the men were still in his vision.

“Boris, are you done?” Voltaire demanded.

“Yes.” He reached towards a cupboard with glass drawers. He unlocked it and pulled out some medical supplies.

“What’s that?” Tyson asked, worried it was for him.

Boris swiveled over in his chair towards him. Voltaire grabbed a metal table with wheels and moved it towards Tyson.

Boris unwrapped a cloth to reveal four syringes.

“What are those? They better not be for me.” Tyson flinched as Boris picked one up.

“There’s magic,” Boris got a syringe ready, and grabbed a small damp wipe, “and then there’s science, today we will be utilizing both.”

He wiped the small cloth on Tyson’s bicep. He recoiled.

“Don’t be scared Tyson, it won’t hurt.”

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Tyson was concerned, Boris got the supplies ready expertly.

“I used to be a doctor.”

Tyson’s focus lingered on ‘used to’.

“Don’t look if it bothers you,” Boris grumbled.

Tyson turned to look at the wall in the opposite direction as he felt the numb jab in his arm.

Kai had never driven faster. He swerved in and out of traffic to get to the building downtown. Flying down the highway with intense speed. He slammed his hand on the wheel.

“Fuck!”

He looked at the speedometer, it was going down, even though he knew he was accelerating.

“What the fuck?”

Kai felt his car lose power.

“No! No no no no no-”

The lights in his car dimmed, and suddenly the whole car lost life.

He pulled over to the side of the road. Slamming his hand on the radio as if it would help. He opened his door and got out kicking the wheels of the car in frustration.

He swore and cursed. He didn’t know enough about cars to know what went wrong, and he didn’t have time to fix it. He stared into the mass of buildings. He could make it.

He just had to run.

Tyon had four needles shoved into his arm in total. Boris refused to tell him exactly what they were, he only answered with ‘you wouldn’t understand even if I told you’.

Now, Voltaire watched the computer and Boris hooked up a few devices to Tyson. He wrapped a bracelet around his wrist, and something around his bicep.

“Take off your shirt.”

“Do I have to?” Tyson tried to give him a sassy retort, he might have been completely vulnerable, but he still wanted to keep his dignity intact.

“Yes.” Boris grinned, flicking the end of his shirt.

“No, you don’t have to,” Voltaire stated without pause.

Tyson narrowed his eyes at Boris.

“I have to attach something to your back.”

Tyson still wore a suspicious expression, but he did it anyway, he didn’t think he could feel any more naked than he already did.

Shirtless, he felt the cold of the lab prick at his skin. Boris attached a few small stickers to his back.

“There.” Boris smiled, looking Tyson up and down, “I’m done.”

“You didn’t have to take off my shirt for that.”

Boris nodded.

“How did I get stuck with a creep like you.” Voltaire squeezed the brim of his nose.

“I’m merging with Dragoon now?” Tyson’s skin prickled in anticipation of getting his bit-beast back, then he realized, his skin was prickling with a different sort of heat.

“Oh no- you won’t be merging with Dragoon.” Voltaire turned to look at Tyson.

“Dragoon is far too unpredictable, we haven't studied him enough yet, but there is one bit-beast who we know everything about.”

Boris turned to open a locked metal box on a table.

Tyson rose from his seat, staring at his forearm, his body felt- weird.

“What did you do to me?”

“Science.” Voltaire said just under his breath, “here.”

Boris held his hand upside down, Tyson held out his palm. He felt the familiar touch of a blade. Boris pulled his hand away, Tyson felt instant panic when he stared into his open hand.

Black Dranzer.

Tyson felt his whole world sway. His eyes felt heavy, but strangely, he felt strong.

“What did you give me? Am I allergic to it?” Tyson stared at Boris.

“No,” he laughed, “You’re fine.”

Voltaire gestured to the dish, “Tyson, launch it.”

Tyson felt the nerve endings in his hand, anything touching black Dranzer felt numb, completely void of power. He could see the veins on his forearm, sticking out more than ever before. He felt cold air enter his lungs, and exhale. Everything was enhanced. His world was spinning, but he felt invincible.

He could feel pulses from black Dranzer, the raw power emanating from it was toxic. Tyson could feel it begging to be used.

‘Use me, use me, use me.’

It pleaded with him. It felt addicting. Tyson now understood why Kai was so attracted to the blade, and he understood how hard it was to give it up.

He noticed Boris had been handing him a launcher for who knows how long.

Tyson took it, a blade and a launcher in his hands was his default state, but now felt foreign.

“Launch it,” Boris demanded.

Tyson turned to the dish near them. He stood in front of it. His pupils invaded his iris.

*The pure power of black Dranzer…*

He loaded it. He stood there, breathing erratically. He got into position.

Silence. Total silence. No sound existed, he forgot what it felt like to hear. He heard the screech of a bird in the back of his skull, and he let go.

A shockwave erupted as black Dranzer was released, finally, after years of being locked up. The equipment in the lab slid backwards, Boris and Voltaire almost lost their footing.

Tyson wobbled as he let the blade center in the dish, perfectly still, spinning so fast it looked stationary.

In front of him, he saw it, the dreaded bit-beast. It felt unnatural. Dragoon felt different, Dragoon felt right, black Dranzer felt… Sad.

*She’s not supposed to exist.*

“I can feel her.” Tyon felt tears roll down his face.

He held open his arms.

“I can save you!”

Black Dranzer screeched, with a powerful gust from her wings she soared into him. He felt a dark sludge seep into his veins, stopping his heart.

“AhK!” Tyson held his chest, suppressing screams.

Then, everything went black.

“Tyson!” Kai screamed in an alleyway behind the building he suspected Boris was holed up in.

He tried a back door, wiggling it frantically. His back was covered in sweat from running. It was locked, with no chance of it opening.

He tried another door, the same issue.

He could run in the front doors, but he would be noticed instantly.

“What’s that?!”

It looked to be an old laundry shoot, a lot of these old buildings had them. Before he could use his brain, he was scaling the shoot, it looked to be only a story and a half until it turned into the building.

He started climbing.

*Tyson, I’m coming. Just hold on.*

Tyson opened his eyes. Boris was beside him holding his shoulder shouting unintelligible phrases at him. Words meant nothing to him.

His head was pounding. He used his arms to hug himself, rocking back and forth.

“Don’t fight it Tyson. Accept it.” Boris whispered in his ear.

“N- No.” Tyson whimpered. His head felt like it had been split open.

His tongue felt different when he talked. His vision felt different, things felt… Wrong. He fell over to his side, letting the feeling overtake him.

Kai was running through the empty corridors. He had run past a training facility and dorms. He had viewed a map and determined where he thought Boris would have put a lab. He threw open a door to a stair corridor and flew down them, almost tripping. He just hoped he was right about the location of Boris’ lab.

He was right.

He found himself in a huge room, He stopped, placing his hands on his knees and gasping for air.

In front of him were two steel doors. He knew Tyson was inside.

With every last bit of his strength, he ran towards the doors, when he tried to rattle the doorknob it was locked, he kicked it, once, twice, three times. He took a few steps back and thrusted his whole body against them. The doors ripped open, shattering the lock in between them.

Boris wasn’t a surprise, but his own Grandfather-

In the middle of the room, Tyson’s body was splayed on the ground.

“What did you do to him!?” Kai screamed.

He ran over to Tyson, Boris tried to stop him-

“Fuck off!” Kai hollered landed a fist into Boris’ stomach.

Boris keeled over in pain.

Kai stopped before kneeling down.

The most important person to him- he didn’t look like himself.

His blue hair, now black. His nails, ebony talons. On his back, were black wings. Kai felt nauseous.

“Tyson…” Kai collapsed beside him.

He reached under his lower back and pulled him into a sitting position. Kai brushed back his long hair. He didn’t know what he expected coming here, but not this.

“What happened- what did-”

“He merged with black Dranzer, and he- is beautiful.”

“You don’t get to speak Boris!” Kai screamed but wouldn’t dare take his eyes off Tyson.

Tyson’s eyes flickered open, they stayed half-open, Kai shook him.

“Tyson? Tyson, answer me, please.”

Tyson didn’t move.

“We just got started- You can’t- Don’t you die on me.” Kai’s throat was dry, he could barely make out words.

“Change him back!” The blader who was most well known for being emotionless now threw everything he had at the world. Tears streaming down his face, screaming at the people who held him back his whole life.

“We can, but we won’t right now.”

To hear his Grandfather say it, somehow hurt more.

“Change him back, right now.” Kai shook, holding Tyson close to his chest.

Boris managed to stand upright after taking the powerful blow.

“We will change him back when it suits us.”

“Mm- Kai?”

Kai stared into Tyson’s eyes, “You’re awake!” Kai kissed his forehead, thanking the god he didn’t believe in.

Tyson’s wings seemed to shudder when it happened.

“I’m fine Kai, don’t worry about me.” Tyson held up his hand to stroke Kai’s face, his eyes grew wide when he saw his own fingertips.

“It’s okay- don’t look at them look at me- hey- me, look at me” Kai covered his hand with his own and made sure Tyson was focused on him.

Tyson choked back tears, “I love you-”

Kai closed his eyes and squeezed his hand.

Voltaire took a confident step forward.

“We don’t want to hurt you-”

“Look at what you’ve done to him!” Kai screeched.

“We just want you to join the new BEGA.” Boris wore a cheeky grin, he knew he won.

Kai’s chest heaved, “I’ll never join you, never again-”

“You’ll find you have no choice Kiai.” His grandfather tilted his head.

Boris laughed, his evil sinister laugh, the laugh Kai remembered from the abbey.

“BEGA owns you.”

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mikasaessucasaa · 3 years

Text

Title: Flatlanders

Summary: After being forced to retire from singing, Sansa returns to Winterfell Ranch, a place she hasn’t called home in over ten years, and finds the man that she left behind all those years ago.

Part 1 .... Part 2

1991

King’s Landing, TX

Sansa’s hair was a frizzy mess. It wasn’t usually so humid this far inland, but of course the moment she came back was the same week that the summer storms started. It only ever rained once a year when she lived in LA.

And now she was trekking around town when the sky looked like it was about to open up. She needed to fix a broken fence that’s been neglected for weeks. And she needed to talk to the bank and get their finances sorted. What the hell has Arya been doing all this time?

Fence first. Bank later. And maybe she’ll get so busy getting wood that she might not even have to see Petyr.

And of course it started pouring as soon as she pulled up to the Night's Watch General Store. Damn. It better not be a flash flood. She should have listened when Mama told her to bring a damn umbrella. Bless Sansa’s heart.

Accepting her fate, she steeled herself and made a dash from the truck to the front door. Even the thirty seconds it took her to get inside was enough to make her look like a drowned rat. Forget frizzy hair, her auburn hair was soaked and limp.

She was greeted by a familiar face, but she couldn’t place his name, not having seen him in over a decade. He was scrawny and of average height with short cropped hair.

“Sansa! Woah, never thought I’d see you again in these neck of the woods.”

Honestly, neither did she.

She looked at his name badge. Ah. Pyp. One of Jon’s lackeys who used to follow him around high school. She thought it was adorable back then. She wondered if he still talked to Jon.

“Jon’s gonna be so happy to see you.” She doubted it, but she nodded and smiled. “How can I help ya today?”

“Got a whole section of my fence broken. I think from lightning a couple of weeks ago.”

Pyp showed her a couple of different options. She wanted to buy the cedar since it would last longer through the unpredictable Texas weather, but she saw their finances, and Mama definitely understated just how much trouble the ranch was in. She didn’t know how long her own cash was going to last with her singing voice now gone.

So she went with the pine instead. She’ll deal with it later.

“I’ll give you the friends and family discount,” Pyp said when he rung her up. As she was signing the check, he pulled out another piece of paper and asked, “Do you mind also signing this? My niece loves your music. She’s always jamming to your album on her little boombox.”

Sansa hadn't thought she was that popular. She had one or two songs played on the radio nationally, and produced a couple of songs for commercials. She bet it was her local celebrity fame that made her popular down here.

She gave her signature and hauled ass out of her store with her fence posts while the rain momentarily stopped. She covered her new purchase with a tarp and settled back into her truck.

She checked the time, and damn the bank was still open.

So she made her way over to the Eyrie Bank. Her parents had only ever gone to one bank their entire life because it was owned by a family friend. Papa had been good friends with Jon Arryn for a long time before he passed, and then Aunt Lysa remarried a childhood friend, Petyr Baelish.

To Sansa, Petyr had always been the creepy uncle, but if anyone could help her sort out the mess with the ranch, he could.

There weren’t many customers when she entered the bank, so of course they let Petyr know right away that she was there to see him.

He smiled that creepy smile that he always had, as if he wanted to devour her. It was the same look music producers always gave her when she entered the room. They always undressed her with their eyes first before they bothered listening to her demos.

And she smiled back, as he leaned forward and held her in a too intimate hug. Gross. “Sansa, my dear. It’s so good to see you. I’ve missed you so much over these last twelve years.”

“Same here, Uncle Baelish.”

“I wish you had come to visit more often.”

“Well you know what it’s like for artists trying to break in.”

“I can’t imagine what it’s like to give up everything to chase your dreams. You’re so brave.” Liar. Everybody knew that Sansa was forced to leave.

Sansa smiled more. “Thank you Uncle.”

Baelish led them to his private office, and the way that he patted her shoulder after he closed the door made her uncomfortable, but she held it in as she watched him take a seat.

“So how can I help you, my sweetling?”

“I need you to walk me through the Winterfell finances.”

“Certainly, I’ll make it as easy as I can for you to follow.”

Sansa started tapping her finger against the arm rest.

She resented his insinuation. She didn’t finish high school, but she learned to manage her finances, learned how much the Lannisters stole from her, knew how much she willfully turned away from because she needed the Lannisters as much as she hated them.

Still he did make it easy for her to understand, all the while outlining all of the paperwork.

Mama had been behind on bank payments for a long time, even after being given extensions consistently. Eventually, even Petyr’s generosity, so he says, couldn’t save the ranch. So Robb took out a private loan to cover the bank payments.

“Another bank?” she asked.

“No more personal than that. I believe Robb was good friends with Rhaegar’s boy.” He probably wanted to say bastard, but knew better since he was Robb’s best friend.

But she couldn't believe that Robb would be stupid enough to take out a loan from the Valyrian Dragons. Maybe he had a death wish after all.

“And that’s what’s keeping the ranch afloat now? Do you know how much we owe?”

Petyr gave a number and it wasn’t absurd, but, “This interest rate is insane. We won’t ever be able to touch the principle.”

Petyr shrugged. “I did try to warn your dear brother. I told him that it would be better for the bank to repossess the ranch. We would have certainly allowed your family to manage it still.” But he would own it all. “But alas your brother couldn’t see sense.”

She couldn’t tell if Robb was a prideful fool, or smart not to fall into bed with Petyr.

She thanked Petyr for his time and headed to the Dragon’s clubhouse. She had dreaded this part of coming home. Sansa hadn’t seen Jon in twelve years, and she didn’t know what kind of man he grew up to be. He had always been kind and sweet as a child, but kind and sweet men don’t join the Valyrian Dragons.

But she had to know if Robb had a plan all along, or if he was dumb enough to leave his family and the ranch at the mercy of the Dragons.

The clubhouse didn’t know if it wanted to be an auto shop or a bar or a boarding house, just the kind of trashy place that you would find in the south, because what else could it be?

She never thought she’d actually step in this place.

When she was still in school, the girls used to whisper about how they dreamed they would lose their virginities to one of the Dragons’ members. Egg would be ideal, with his pretty boy charm and silver hair, but Jon would do — he may have been shy back then, but the girls all took it as mysterious and dangerous. She wondered if the girls’ assumptions became true in his adulthood.

She assumed Egg must have been successful in popping a lot of cherries, but in her loneliness she sometimes liked to think that she was the only one for Jon, that she was somehow special, despite the mess she left.

There were a couple of pretty girlies loitering in the bar area of the clubhouse when she entered. They teetered around on high heels and tight skirts and tops, and suddenly Sansa wished she had the foresight to dress for battle. Instead she was wearing her stupid ripped jeans, work boots, and a white tee with a flannel shirt.

The girlies turned to look at her and their excited chatter died down. She’s guessing the red hair gave her away, or she really was more popular than she thought.

Out of the crowd of girlies, a silver haired woman emerged in black stilettos, leather pants and a black corset top. Shit, who could wear leather pants in this weather except for Daenerys Stormborn?

“So it’s true, the prodigal Stark daughter returns,” Dany said sweetly, but Sansa knew there was nothing sweet about the woman. She was all fire and ash. Dany probably thrived on the club wars.

Sansa shrugged. “Everyone’s gotta come home sometime.”

“Only when they’re incapable of surviving the world out there.”

“But at least I went out into the world.” Instead of being trapped in this hellhole.

“Only goes to show that you don’t belong here.”

“Winterfell is my home.” Even Sansa would have rolled her eyes at herself if she heard her speak.

“But the clubhouse isn’t. What do you want?”

“I need to speak to Jon.”

“No. You left him a mess all those years ago, and you think you can come waltzing in here years later and just talk to him? Wake up honey. He won’t want to talk to you.” Dany crossed her arms. “Whatever you want to say to Jon, you can tell to his girl.”

Dany had always wanted to claw her way into the Targaryens, maybe she finally did.

“It’s got nothing to do with you Dany.”

Dany waved her hand, flashing an engagement ring. “See this here? Says it’s got everything to do with me, missy.”

Sansa’s heart started pounding uncomfortably in her chest and she felt nauseous and lightheaded. Shit. Of all the damn times to have an anxiety attack.

She stumbled backwards into something solid.

“Sansa.”

The low, broken sound snapped her towards the man.

“Jon,” Sansa said, equally as broken.

Part 3

#Flatlanders #jonsa #retired singer sansa #rancher sansa #mc jon snow #motorcycle club jon snow #Title is from the Texas country band FYI #also what am I doing #someone tell me to write TGW instead

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redmaneroster · 3 years

Text

Our Home Away From Home, Away From Home

[1] [2] [3] [4-5] [6] [7] [x-x] [10]

PART 8 – Permutation

Its almost strange to call it home, Yang thinks, staring up at the house she grew up in. She'd spent so much time in a cozy little dorm and a browning two-bedroom apartment that a house in the woods almost seems like a distant memory. (She hadn't spent Summer here either. She was in Menagerie with Blake then Mistral with her dad for a getaway, and the rest she spent kicking back with Jaune).

"A lot happened this year," she says.

Jaune's eying the woods around them, trying to see a break in the pattern outside of a few distant houses lost between the bark and autumn leaves. He swallows cause he knows that, if it weren't for Yang, he'd have been terribly lost. "Hm? Uh… huh?" he garbles, unable to hide the tinge of panic.

"A lot happened this year," she repeats. "What's up with you?"

"The woods are thick is all. How you only got lost in it once is beyond me… So, what's with the nostalgia? Old house got you thinking?"

"Something like that. Mostly, I didn't think I'd end up here, getting ready to reacquaint with Raven, and getting you of all people to meet my parents."

"Yeah, didn't think I'd end up introducing another blonde to my sisters either. Future seemed full of redheads and I stuck with it like an act of defiance."

"Defiance? Why's that?"

"If you haven't noticed, we're all terribly blonde. Even Adrian's hair is a dirty gold and we thought for sure he'd be a brunette. It's either a curse, or fate is terrible at jokes and uncomfortable at parties."

She chuckles. "Calling fate out like a loser isn't going to win you any favors. Besides, can't help it when both your folks are blondes."

"One of my sisters is adopted. A blind adoption, mind you. From Vacuo. You know what we got? Chocolate brown skin and dusty blonde hair. Boom. Curse."

There's the sound of fluttering feathers behind them. Qrow straightens his back with a snap as he shapeshifts. "Ngh, agh! Ha… What are two doing just standing outside? Expecting another invitation?"

Jaune and Yang exchange a look. "Stalling," they say in unison.

"W-what? How did you two…? Nevermind." He pinches his forehead cause the moment is too familiar and he feels an irrational envy creep up his cheeks. "You two coming in or not?"

"Why so impatient all of a sudden?" Jaune asks.

"I don't take enjoyment out of watching a train wreck but if I can't stop it, I'll at least hope it's over quickly."

Yang puts a hand on her hip. "Not very optimistic, are you?"

"I prefer cautious," he says as he waves a dismissive hand and stalks ahead of them. "Besides, I don't want you two walking in there expecting things to go off without a hitch." He glances back to see them roll their eyes at the same time and that uncomfortable shiver is back.

"Now that you're here, a disaster's all but guaranteed," Jaune quips.

Qrow glares but neither of them lose their cheek. He rolls his eyes too, but doesn't show them his smile when he's got his back turned. He isn't too sensitive about his semblance – if anything, he's glad Jaune can treat him like he isn't a wounded animal – but he notices the twitch in Jaune's eye. It's there cause he's too soft a soul to have all the bite that quips demand. He almost wants to say sorry for it. "He's a good kid,"

Qrow thinks.

With a twist of the knob, he opens the door and then kicks up his heel to slam it open the rest of the way. He wanders in with a swagger and a mischievous grin. Both fit him naturally.

"Rae!" he shouts. "Your brat and her boyfriend are at the door!"

Jaune balks and shoots Yang a look. She gives him a quick, "He's just like that when he talks to her," and ushers him in.

"And you didn't let them in like a normal fucking person!?" Raven shouts back and it's like a nostalgic gust has poured over Yang. Raven's every inflection is recognizable, echoing deeply from buried memories. They argued like this often when she was small.

"They can walk through a door just fine," Qrow says, swinging into the archway that leads into a tall kitchen. "And lest you forget, I'm a guest here, too. Not your chaperone."

Jaune lets Yang wander ahead, eying her backside as she inches a trail behind Qrow.

Yang peeks in to see her mother chopping something on the kitchen table by the sink. Bravado has taken a backseat and the very reality of the situation has settled in like a bat to Yang's blindside.

"Do you really have to be difficult with me right now?" Raven says with a huff but there's no bite to it, just lazy exasperation.

"Yeah, I do…" Qrow replies. "This is our normal. The minute I go easy on you, assume I'm dead and you've encountered a terribly tolerable doppelganger."

Raven's cheek quirks and it triggers in Yang things she half remembers, and half convinces herself she'd seen in a dream.

"Hmph. Bold of you to assume I won't just take the trade as an act of divine mercy. Maybe this doppelganger can cook for the house every once in a while instead of free loading off my dinner."

"If you wanted me to cook venison, you could have asked."

"Not the deer again… Tai hates it when you bring the kill into the kitchen. I personally don't care that you track blood on the carpet, but he refuses to agree with my sentiments about a house that's lived in and not one you find sterilized in catalogs. Ugh, I'm getting tired just thinking of that argument."

"I know," Qrow agrees, leaning on the counter. "That's why I do it on purpose."

Raven tilts her head back to give her brother a smirk. "You're a scoundrel, Qrow," she says just before her eyes catch Yang's.

"Hey, Mom," Yang says out of instinct. It's too late to take it back.

"Yang, you–" she crosses her arms, "–who is this?"

Jaune's heat presses against her arm like the partner he is. Not in front like her protector, but beside her like her equal. She can feel the way he's hiding his nerves with the shudder in his arm. "Dad didn't tell you?" she says. "This is Jaune. My boyfriend."

Jaune, borrowing confidence he's learned from her, doesn't back down. "Good afternoon, ma'am," he greets, standing proudly. His fingers twitch against Yang's arm.

"Oh, he told me about him alright. I just wasn't expecting a familiar face." Her eyes lock onto him. She smirks when she sees he doesn't flinch. "You're an Arc, I take it? I recognize that face. Your father was in the news once or twice."

"Oh, you heard about the manticore horde? Or was it the behemoth at Glenn?"

"Neither. He blew up a dust shop."

Oddly enough, Yang feels him relax.

"Yeah," he says, scratching his head, "Arcs really shouldn't have guns."

Raven nods. There's no tension here, and Yang feels it's gone all too smoothly.

"Perhaps you can tell me the story," Raven offers as she turns back to chopping. "I have an old bet with Qrow I'd like to settle."

"What did you bet on?" Jaune asks.

Raven snorts. "And let you lie to give my brother the win? Please. I know you two are friendly." She glances back. It's the only other time through this whole conversation that she's looked Yang in the eye and it's still only for a second. She goes back to chopping. "Why don't you two go into the living room and wait for Tai while my silent shadow of a brother here helps me sort out this recipe."

Qrow shrugs and continues to say nothing other than whisper something to Raven that makes her blush angrily.

Yang peels off of Jaune and her insides broil unsteadily.

"Sounds like she's changed," Jaune says when he's in the living room alone with her on a wide U-shaped sofa.

She shakes her head. "She hasn't though."

"What? But the way you described her before–"

"–is all hearsay. I had a mom who left out of the blue. Before that she was jabbing back and forth with Qrow, needing help in the kitchen, and trying her best to be on top of things. Everything I said about her between that time was just me making assumptions about a woman who wasn't around for me to judge in person. I never actually knew if she changed any since leaving."

"So this is Raven Branwen: Unfiltered? If this is what she was like before, then maybe she's just trying to fit back into place the only way she knows how."'

She raises her knees to curl up but she forces them back down. She doesn't want to appear too obviously vulnerable. Not when her mother is still in the house. She tosses Jaune a meaningful glance. "Is it wrong for me to hate that?"

"Some people might say it is, but I think it's too much to ask someone who has had to raise her little sister all on her own to let her absentee mother just waltz back into her life like nothing's changed."

"I still don't know if you're agreeing with me or not."

"Cause I don't know either. Give me a minute to think on it and I'll probably pick a side but I'd much rather stay right where I am. On neutral ground." He squeezes her hand. "I'm here to be your backup, not your coach." Because they don't solve each other's issues, not every time, but they always help each other along.

She knows this, of course. She hasn't deluded herself into thinking that they could crack every case just because love had lofty ideas about making everything right. Being in love doesn't solve everything, it just gives you a partner to solve them with.

"I think I'm suddenly very tired," she says, leaning on his arm. "Wake me in an hour when dinner's ready."

"Uh… shouldn't it be done sooner?"

"Raven used to wake up at five AM to make breakfast in time for school. She takes breaks cause she doesn't always have the patience for it. Don't expect it to go any faster with Uncle Qrow in there. He's just there to make sure she doesn't skip any steps."

"That doesn't fill my with confidence," he says but she's already snuggling into his arm with a contented sigh.

With the sound of clattered pans and restrained yelling from the kitchen, Jaune decides to shut his eyes too.

-0-

Jaune is violently awoken by someone grabbing him by the collar and shaking him awake.

"You!" says the messy tuft of blonde hair presently pressed against his face. "You're… yer…. Hic!" The scent of alcohol is palpable. The smell is dizzying.

He blinks himself awake. "Uh, you're Mr. Xiao Long, I'm guessing? I'm Jaune. Yang said she mentioned me?"

The tuft of hair pulls up revealing the chiseled scruff of a well-worn huntsman. Faded scars litter his neck and chin, but that's where all the menace in him ends. Despite his tone, Taiyang has the look of a desperate man. His eyes are wide and a solid, beautiful blue. His cheeks have a slight plump to them that make him just shy of an Adonis.

Jaune makes the executive decision not to think along that line any further. But it's clear that Yang's got stellar genes and – No! Bad Jaune! Stop it!

Tai glances at the slumbering Yang, snoring softly against Jaune's arm. "What did you do to my daughter?" he says with a drunken pout that would look more intimidating on a pug.

"Uh, nothing!" he whispers urgently. "Nothing I swear."

He squints so much that he closes his eyes and nearly passes out before he jolts himself awake. "You… You and Qrow really are friends. 'Nothing,' he says… that's just code for plowed her till sunrise."

Still in a sleepy haze, Yang pushes her father's face away until he falls back onto the coffee table behind him. "Dad… leave him alone," she groans. "He wouldn't touch me even if I tore off his clothes and –" Her eyes shoot open, fully awake and painfully aware. Her scream then is almost silent, Jaune thinks, but he's pretty certain that's cause Yang's vivid horror is blasted like shellshock when she abruptly screams louder next to his ear and scrambles over the sofa to hide behind it.

He's still shaking his head to get the ringing out.

Qrow bursts in, Raven meekly peeking behind him. "What the fuck – Oh."

Tai is sprawled over the coffee table, squinting angrily at everything.

"Bird!" Tai accuses, swinging his arm out to point at him but slamming it on the hardwood coffee table. "Ow," he mutters as his aura flares.

"Drunk," Qrow greets. He hoists the man over his shoulder. "Sorry about this, kids. I think Tai's got his nerves bundled up again. I'll get him to detox upstairs after a nap."

"Uh, it looks like he'll be out for the week," Jaune says, shaking his head still. "I doubt a nap will fix him by dinner."

"Nah. Tai can burn all the alcohol out of his system with enough motivation and calories. He'll be ready by the time Rae manages to get something on the table."

Tai wiggles like an insolent child, fists lightly beating on the man's back. "Back off, Qrow!" he slurs. "You're not taking this one – hic – too… guh…"

"That's my twin sister, you dunce."

"Really?" Tai pushes his head up, eying Raven. "Pfft! Qrow, you are not that pretty."

Once the two of them have rounded the corner into Tai's bedroom, Jaune asks the quietly smiling Raven, "This happen often?"

"Not as much as it used to," she says. "Was a time when there were two whole families in this house and it was never quiet. Two men and enough testosterone to make a third made competition between them frequent. Qrow got Tai to drink and you can see that he hasn't acclimated to it as well as my brother does."

"Do you drink?"

"I'm a Branwen," she shrugs, "our blood is two parts alcohol. Small mercy that Yang hasn't picked up our habits. Or Ruby for that matter."

Jaune raises a brow. "Ruby's a Branwen?"

Yang nearly gasps from behind the couch, hands clutching her mouth.

"No," Raven says. "Well, she should have been but Qrow basically raised her all the same. He even knit her a tiny red hood when she was barely a foot tall, and it's been her motif ever since." Raven, eying him, closes her arms a little tighter around herself. As if guarded. Uncertain. "Despite how it may appear," she says, "I am glad my daughter found you but there's something you should know moving forward…"

Jaune prepares for the inevitability of the 'boyfriend' talk. It doesn't come. Raven is beside herself, eying the floor. "No matter what happens today, I do not intend to reconcile with my daughter."

He realizes that she doesn't know that Yang is in the room, just by the sofa. His heart knots. "You don't know if she wants that yet."

She laughs. It's bitter. "It doesn't matter. What Yang wants isn't coming into the equation. She needs to distance herself from me."

"What was the point of coming here if not to bridge the gap between you two?"

Raven chews her lip, wanting nothing more than to end the conversation and walk out of the room. She doesn't. Can't. "To prove that things have changed here. That me and my brother talk, and that Tai has… met me halfway."

"So this – all of this – is for show?"

Her features darken, her face hardens. "Yes."

He pushes himself up, almost prepares to march up to her. His feet don't push him any further. His willful restraint is there but it's paper thin. "And if she wants more?" he asks, inwardly begging her to give him a reason to meet her up close.

Her eyes narrow at the floor. "All you have to do is make her an Arc and she'll live a life better than anything I can give her!" Her gaze is at him, dangerous and unafraid, but its desperate. She's asking him a favor. "Asking me to be a part of her life is like active theft. You will give her all she'll ever want, but me? I'll only ever take things away. And if you give me the chance, I'll end up taking her too. She'll leave you like I did Tai."

The silence wanes and Jaune can hear the thumping in his own chest. She's making claims for things that haven't happened yet. As if she can't promise to give as well as she takes. As if she can't meet her own daughter halfway. As if she can't compromise. His ears strain to hear anything from Yang, but she's so deftly quiet that he feels alone in the room with her mother.

Muscle fastens onto bone, curling his fist inward till digs into his palm. His aura flares. The sound of it jolts him awake. He'd been holding his breath.

Then… he plops down onto his seat. Tension in his skin unwinds. All his disbelief slips away. Any anger he feels pools into his back to weigh him against the cushions. "But why?" is all he asks, looking up at her.

Raven is so taken aback by his sudden shift that she shows the tangled fear she'd tucked away for a moment. The question is genuine and – like her many nights moonlighting bars – she is tempted to bare her soul to a stranger. "Because I'm a Branwen," she says, eyes deadened. Scowling as if the name is a profane. "And even a terrible mother wouldn't wish that name on her daughter."

When she leaves the room, Yang rises from behind the couch. She doesn't focus on anything. She looks bewildered, pained.

Qrow comes down the steps and they look at him. He looks like how she feels. "I'm sorry if this wasn't what you were expecting," he says.

Yang clutches the backrest of the sofa. "I don't know what I was expecting."

Qrow gives her a worried look. "Maybe… maybe it's better that way."

He wanders into the kitchen, leaving them alone.

Jaune doesn't hold Yang. Instead, he fishes her gauntlets from the duffel bag, takes her by the hand, and pulls her outside.

-0-

She sets fire to a dead tree. The blast of Ember Celica ripples through the woods, scatters wildlife, shakes the canopy, and rustles the owls awake. She doesn't care. The blowback from her gauntlets as it makes contact with the deadwood is cathartic. Reflective of what she's feeling inside.

But it isn't anger.

"What does she even… Ugh!" Another blast, sending out a spent shell, light casting over her cheek and hair with accompanying heat. "I don't get it!"

She breathes in and out. Blinks moisture into her eyes. She's been doing the very opposite of crying and drying the liquid in her sockets. She's starting to feel dizzy. She slumps back onto a rock Jaune is sitting on, using his shoulder as a backrest. "I'm not… mad at her. I'm confused. And I'm mad that I'm confused. Does that make sense?"

"About as much sense as she was making," he says with a sarcastic smile.

She's trying to smile back. Even a little one might do but her lips down-curl. Her frown tightens and she sighs into the open sky. "I wanted to give her a chance," she says. "Maybe see where this goes but… now that I know she won't even try? How am I supposed to process this? Do I just do what she wants and not try either?"

He plucks a twig from a dead branch, snapping its length into little pieces. "Do you even want to do that? I mean, if leaving things as they are isn't what you want, then ideally how would you like all this to end?"

She takes half of the twig – snapping it between them. She picks it apart too.

An answer doesn't come.

They gather the tiny bits of branch and bunch it into Jaune's hands. Yang pulls out a fire dust shell from her gauntlet and cracks it open over them. Red particles filter over and into the loose wood bits. He spools them into a ball and his semblance surges over his arm.

His muscles tighten when he approaches the dead tree. It's barely as tall as he is now. His arm pulls back. The chunks in his palm ignite. He throws them like a man-propelled buckshot, scattering burning holes through it.

Even charred, the thing has dangerous embers dancing off its broken pieces.

"We should put this out," she says.

"Mm!" He kicks it down, unrooting it. Then he hoists it up. "Got another good punch in ya'?"

"I've got a few, yeah, but I'll save the rest for later. I only need one for this."

He crouches low, prepping to toss. "Ready?" he asks.

"Pull!" she shouts.

He tosses it into the air, scattering the scent of ash and char, and she swings her fist into it. The sheer force of the blow consumes the flame as it rockets and splinters into a tall rock.

"Y'know what?" she says. "If it's taking me this long to even answer, maybe this isn't what I want."

"So what now, chief?"

She snorts. "Don't give me ideas. Anyway, I say we take the aggressive approach. We got them a present, I say we break it out instead of handing them the box. Invite them to try it with us."

Jaune turns to the house where they left the duffel bag. He winces. "Are you sure about this?"

"I don't see an elegant solution. And it's probably stupid, yeah, but stupid has worked for us so far."

"Really? How exactly has it worked for us so far?"

"In what universe do hickeys stop two primed teenagers from having sex?"

"Ours, apparently…"

"Gets the tension out. Would be genius if I didn't find it by accident."

"Speaking of which…"

He comes up behind her and pushes her hair off her shoulder, exposing her neck.

"What are you – Ah!" she gasps when he bites her neck. Her aura lowers on instinct, letting him mark her.

He pulls away and wipes her dry with a handkerchief. "You taste like saltwater and ash."

She rubs her neck as the pain subsides rapidly. "We should bathe when we get back. What was that for anyway?"

"Revenge, mostly. Feeling petty."

"On me?"

"Your mom."

"Heh, yeah, she's gonna ask questions or implode trying not to. Actually, since we're getting shiners, we should get ones to match."

He doesn't protest but he's not happy about it. With a sigh he leans down but she's already jumped up to latch onto him.

She bites down so hard that he swears that she was actually trying to eat him. He'd be more okay with it if she didn't keep trying to one-up herself.

-0-

Dinner, somehow, is always pleasant. True to Qrow's word, Tai comes in completely sober. Jaune chalks it up to having a very useful semblance.

Tai is a chill dad. He nudges Yang when he sees the hickey, even when Qrow refuses to make eye contact with Jaune and Raven squints while warring with herself to say something but won't. Tai reintroduces himself and sits next to Jaune to strike up a conversation with him.

It takes minutes for Tai to fish out that Jaune has seven sisters, that he met Yang by throwing up on her boots, and that he used to have a crush on Ruby. The last bit comes as a surprise to everyone but Tai who pats himself on the back for having incredible girls in the family.

Jaune finds out that Tai is very much like Yang. Despite closing himself off for a good chunk of her childhood, he's clearly had a great influence on her disposition. Father and daughter joke and jab at each other, laugh just as loudly, crack the same kind of jokes (he tries not to think of them as mom jokes when he looks at his girilfriend).

Jaune eventually gets to tell the story of how his dad blew up a dust shop during his third year in Beacon. Just a mishap with a loose dust feeder, a weapon he didn't know how to use, and a particularly handsy bully. By the end, Raven cheers when she wins the bet. Apolian Arc punched a cop. Qrow bet that he punched a civilian.

They're unwinding in the living room when Jaune's eying the wall of photos. Summer's only in a handful of the group shots. Qrow explains that she insisted on being the photographer and didn't like being in photos herself. It's why she has the hood. It's comforting when she can pretend to be hiding.

She sounds like Ruby.

"I just noticed," Jaune says to Yang, "your mom's smiling in every photo. Qrow's the only one who occasionally doesn't."

"It was a different time," she says. "Qrow told me that she was cheery and crass. Would even crack a joke or two whenever she found the time to stop training and be a teenager."

"I'll be honest, it's still weird seeing her smile so much. I came in here expecting a variation of Glynda Goodwitch, not Qrow Branwen. Speaking of which," he glances back at the adults huddled laughing by the sofa, "we should probably break out the gift."

"Speaking of speaking of things," she rubs the hickey on her neck, "it still stings."

"Oh, sorry. Let me heal it."

She pushes his hands away. "No, I –" Her eyes widen. Pressing two digits into the bruised flesh, she feels the ache but doesn't hate it. "Okay, heal me quick before this turns into a fetish!"

Warmth pools out of his palms.

"Could you not make out in full view of her family?" Qrow calls from across the room, and they realize they're leaned a little too close.

"We weren't gonna!" Jaune calls out.

Yang rolls her eyes cause she's comfortable with them coming to their own conclusions about her relationship but Jaune's stint with Tai made him want to make a good impression. It was already easy enough what with Tai admitting that as long as Yang chose and continues to choose him, then he'll rest easy knowing she's in good hands, but Jaune wants to pile on the goodwill.

Those thoughts take a backseat when Yang reaches for the duffel bag by the coffee table. Goodwill be damned.

It's time.

Yang parts a few clothes and a hollowed-out cushion for their scrolls to fish out a crystalline bottle. "We wanted to hand this off in the box but we figured we might as well crack it open tonight."

With the way they're all staring at the bottle, it's clear they recognize it.

Qrow roars with laughter. "Ha! Diadem, the dirtiest fucking drink on the planet!" He comes up to it and holds the bottle aloft, fingers running over the bumpy, crystalline surface. "Ah, look at it. All prettied up for the upper class. Diadem used to be homemade and brewed in a shack. Used to be so strong that you could feel nothing for hours."

"'Course, the stuff's a little better refined nowadays. You used to taste fire dust in it too cause their shoddy furnaces were held together by spit and prayers. But look at it! Pricks like Jacques fucking Schnee or that Lucius ass-end-of-an-ass Merrigold would down this like it's water, having no idea that they're chugging the equivalent of desert moonshine."

Tai licks his lips and it almost feels like a bad idea before he shoots up from his seat. "I'll get the shot glasses!" he announces.

Raven is the only one not smiling. She's suspicious, but the minute the drink touches her lips and she's made wide awake, she melts into the same stupor as everyone else.

-0-

Yang barely registers what their plan was supposed to be. Loosening Raven's lips with the stiffest drink since frozen stalactites seemed a half-baked plan at best, but they didn't plan passed that. They might have been able to salvage it if they didn't take many drinks themselves.

Jaune took exactly one and he's already left her alone to start an intimate relationship with the toilet.

He did, however, get the ball rolling about last names for some reason. He might have explained why to her but she can't remember.

"They'll lose sleep over a friend who's had a bad day," Raven says with a snarl that isn't sincere so much as it appears to be her permanent tipsy-face. "Worrying up and down but will leave you alone after a smile cause that's all they need to calm their nerves. Their hearts are too kind…"

"Who…?" Yang slurs, struggles to think of the rest of the sentence, then starts over. "Who… who are you talking about?"

Raven scrunches her nose. "The Roses," she answers.

Yang buries her head in her hands and curls into her seat. "No… I don't wanna hear about Uncle Qrow's god-damn garden again…"

Qrow, sporting alcohol like one does water, kicks back beside her. There's something in his eye though. The alcohol is getting to him. "We're talking about the Rose half of the family. Y'know, Summer and Ruby?"

"Hm?" She squints. "Oh yeah… Ruby's a worrywart."

"Qrow!" Tai calls from beside Raven, looping an arm around her. "What's a Xiao Long like then?"

"They're all fucking crazy," he jabs. Yang and Tai simultaneously pretend to be hurt. "But! I've found that the more obnoxious they seem on the outside, the more worth you'll find underneath."

Raven leans into Tai and stares at Yang's feet curled up on the cushion. It's the closest she'll get to meeting her eyes. "They can be in your face," Raven says, "deftly abrasive, louder than foghorns, and wilder than ursa! But they're steadfast partners…" She looks up at Tai who has a half-lidded gawk to him that's like he's falling in love with her again. "Painfully loyal… and… dangerously persistent."

Yang feels a heat roll over her side. She leans into it until she realizes that Jaune's slid beside her and pulling her in by the waist. "She's right, y'know?" Jaune tells her quietly. "You never did listen when I asked you not to pursue me and, yet, here we are. You never did know when to quit but I'm glad you never quit on me."

She wants to return the sentiment somehow but words don't form and she's making faces that she worries he'll misunderstand. She's just mad at herself for not finding words. "F-fuck… That was a human sentence you just made. Why aren't you drinking?" she says instead, pushing an empty shot glass to his lips.

"No thanks. Diadem will literally kill me. I felt like I was throwing up my own organs. I swear I felt my lungs pull up into my throat. I am not touching that decanter ever again." He turns to Qrow who is squinting at them as if they're all out of focus. "Oh, shit, sorry, Qrow," Jaune says. Cause the man is sat alone in front of two couples.

Jaune tries not to wince when Qrow downs a shot and his eyes go glassy.

He is sat slumped at the last corner of the large U-shaped sofa. His scroll, set neatly below him on the coffee table, flashes over his gawk face as he leans into it. His hands are beside him, palms pointing upwards while his fingers twitch like roots animating in intervals. His slack jaw regards them with his deep gaunt, eyes meeting every face before he points his head to the ceiling as he falls back into the seat. Seems he's not quite as adept with so many drinks in him. Or maybe Diadem is a weakness.

He lets each eye blink individually before he announces, "I'm dating again!"

Everyone sits up. Okay, only kind of. They lean out but can't peel off the sofa. Except for Jaune who is sober. "Since when do you have time to date?" he asks.

"I don't," he chuckles, shaking his head as he comes back to his senses. "I flirt while on the job. Closest thing either of us will get to a date at this point."

Yang mumbles something.

Jaune strains his ears to hear her. Maybe the ringing from earlier hasn't stopped. "What was that? I'm sitting right next to you and even I couldn't hear you."

She pulls up before falling sideways onto Jaune's shoulder. "Who!?" she calls out to the room cause she doesn't know where Qrow is. Her eyes are still closed.

Qrow grins. "Winter… Schnee."

At first, when he starts talking about a mission they had together in Mistral, they think he's going to segway into a conquest. But he doesn't. He starts talking about how he and Winter shared in the fact that they both had a responsibility they shirked for duty. To protect the world their loved ones live in, they've chosen to abandon having lives of their own.

No one calls him out for clearly being drunk out of his mind nor for opening up.

He's got an anthology of moments with Winter. And each time he finishes a story, they're surprised whenever it doesn't end in heat. One time they do end it in a kiss, but it was on the cheek. She'd done it comfort him but they both knew it was hollow. It was an appreciated gesture, but it wasn't something that could help. They aren't wired to let something like that heal any kind of wound.

Winter doesn't know what it's like to have a delicate heart anymore and the idea of quiet comforts like a hug or a kiss feels so… unsubstantial to them both. They either needed more or that wasn't the kind of comfort they needed. Realizing this is why they started dating.

The stories are nicer then. They leave a movie theater ten minutes in when they realize that sitting around to watch actors pretend to be heroes isn't for them. They instead find a quiet corner in a bar but they don't drink. They talk and he jokes and she's smiling and they kiss and…

Raven is curled up into Tai now, staring at her brother with a look that can only be pride.

Jaune is smiling sleepily at him. Yang nestles into his chest as they scoop together on the sofa's corner.

Qrow gets up, scroll in hand, and leaves the room to call Winter.

Tai and Jaune fall asleep.

Yang catches Raven staring but is so out of it that she isn't sure if Raven caught her staring instead. The quiet makes the crickets fill the spaces beside something crackling outside.

"What are Branwens like?" Yang asks.

Raven squints, pulling herself out of her dreariness. "…What?"

"If a Rose cares too much but loves unconditionally, and a Xiao Long is a dependable but gets in your face, then what is a Branwen?"

She huddles into Tai, looking vulnerable. "We…" Her eyes narrow at the floor and she hisses quietly to herself. "I…"

A pang of empathy makes her sit up. "Mom…" she says consciously.

Raven stares at her. Yang can't tell if she's touched or just shocked, but when her eyes draw away and she clutches at Tai's shirt, words pour shaking out of her lips. "Branwens… are a curse." Something awful crawls into her cheeks, her features squeezing together so her few wrinkles cast shadows. There's a pain there that almost looks familiar, as if she'd had this look about her forever but only now is Yang seeing it for what it is. And whatever that pain is, it's old. Maybe even older than she is.

Raven whispers something to Tai before getting up. Halfway up the steps, she looks at Yang and Jaune before saying, "You should take him to bed. I don't care what you do with him but I'm sure he'll appreciate a warm mattress over a sofa."

"That's very considerate of you," Yang says as she eases Jaune's arm over her shoulder. "Thanks."

Raven blushes, deeper than the alcohol might, as she marches back up the steps. "Don't get used to it," she says, not meaning it.

Jaune sleepily wakes up with a good shake. "Ugh, babe, could ya' not?"

"Pfft! Since when do you call me babe?"

"In my head, mostly. Giving you a pet name will actively worsen my experience. You've got enough ammunition to tease me with."

"I'll fish them out of you yet. Pick up your feet a little. I'm taking you to bed."

"Please, no," he says, pretending to resist. "I'm still tender…"

She rolls her eyes. Even in a drowsy state, he still finds time mess around. "Don't cooperate and I'll sling you over my shoulder."

He scoffs playfully. "As if a free ride is gonna stop me."

Her eyes narrow. "I'm really going to do it."

"Whoa, whoa! Hey, I'll do it…" He yawns. "See?" His shin hits the coffee table and he stumbles.

Yang grabs him and leads him by the arm.

Tai stirs when they pass him by. "Honey?"

"Go to bed, Dad."

"Good night, Mr. Xiao Long."

"Please," Tai grins, "call me Tai."

Jaune squints. "Yeah, I'm not doing that."

"You're not –" Yang starts. "Oh, hey, look at us. Still in sync!"

"I think there just isn't a universe where I call your dad Tai." His nose scrunches up. "Yup, even sounds weird saying it out loud."

-0-

Yang's room is as she remembers it. Only, for once, it's completely tidy. She always had a habit of leaving a little mess somewhere. Sometimes it was hidden, like in a drawer or a corner under her desk, but not this time. Her dad (or maybe Qrow) keeps it cleaner than she ever would have.

Even her strung-up photos along the ceiling are still there. Dates and names and faces she thought would be her whole world. Only now she has a new circle of friends.

"This feels like a room for a different person," she says to Jaune after she's laid him in her bed. Her comforter is freshly pressed and still warm. "Like I'm looking at old me through a lens."

Jaune's eyes are still closed but he reaches for her hand over the sheets and says, "Or maybe this is the version of you your dad remembers. How different are you now from back then?"

"Not a lot, I think. I mean, we're only over a year apart," she spies a photo of her and Ruby glistening in the moonlight. It's of her last day in Signal. It was Ruby's last day too, apparently. "Or maybe I just haven't noticed." She shoots him a look and he can feel her stare enough to crack an eye open. "Comparing me now to when we met. Was I different?"

He shuts his eyes again, but he finds her hand and tugs once. Yang willfully falls onto the mattress next to him. "Hm… well you used to have anger issues in the ring. Even Ms. Goodwitch is starting to notice how you've mellowed out."

"Heh, I guess I have you to thank for that."

He places a hand over her face. He's still not opening his eyes but his nose scrunches up again. "No you don't."

She moves his hand off her face. "Eh?"

"That's all you, Yang. You made that change. If I helped at all, our friends did just as much."

Her lip tilts. "I was trying to flirt."

"I know but… we can't about this. Part of me still worries we'll do that stupid couple thing and forget we have friends."

"Hey, we've been good so far, I think… Look, we can talk to them and figure things out."

"Yeah, compromises."

"Yeah!" She curls into his arm. "But not tonight, please… I've enough things to worry about right here."

"Right… Okay, big picture later." He kisses her forehead. "Now sleep. We've had a day…"

"Yeah, a day…"

She gets comfortable under the sheets and on his shoulder for exactly a minute before she remembers something. "Fuck…" she whispers as she pulls out.

"What is it?"

"Forgot the duffel. I'll go get it and be back in a minute."

"Leave it, Yang. Come back to bed."

"Not taking any chances without our scrolls. Ruby might call us." She's already at the door. "Just a minute, I swear."

She finds her dad slumped against the railing that overlooks the living room. Steam billows hazily off his skin and through his jacket, his semblance burning away the alcohol. The area smells thinly like Diadem but mostly of water vapor. Yang's nose twitches at the familiar scent.

He's blinking a lot, head shaking.

"Dad?"

He turns in a start. Breaths pass through him in labored chunks, chest heaving. His eyes are puffy. Fingers twitch and his eyes steal glances at her as he turns away. There's a want – need – to reach out but she can tell that he doesn't think he's worthy of it.

So, she crashes into his back and hugs him.

A palm runs down his face. "I'm so… so sorry, honey," he says.

He tucks his arms into his chest so she can hold all of him. His hands clutch over her encircled wrists. "Dad… Dad it's okay. You were in a rough spot…"

"That doesn't matter… I'm still your father. You needed a parent and you ended up having to be one for Ruby. I… I hate myself everyday thinking about how you didn't have anyone… I… I should have… I'm so sorry…"

She knows telling him that he didn't do anything wrong or that he didn't have any control over himself would only be excuses upon excuses, perhaps only a handful compared to the thousands he'd piled for himself over the years. He knew he did wrong, and none of her strength coming out the other end of it is going to change that.

So, instead, she shifts to his front and pulls up his head. She wraps her arms around his neck. "I don't care about any of that anymore… I already forgive you. I did a long, long time ago."

She feels his tears running down her neck. Then she realizes that some of them are hers.

-0-

Jaune winces. He's been up for over an hour now. Yang slipped into bed with him but she'd been shaking and sniffling. He could tell that she'd been crying but the tears had dried and she'd been fighting off all that was left of whatever it was in his arms. Now she's sleeping soundly while he's been trying to piece together what happened on his own whilst constructing a speech in case it's Raven's fault.

Finally, he settles with getting up and loosening his nerves before really doing anything. Yang groans from the missing warmth as he stumbles out, scroll in hand.

"No new messages…" he mutters. "I hope you're alright, Rubes."

Pushing the door open, he notices an orange glow coming from downstairs. Over the railing, there's nothing below but darkness and moonlight through the windows. Even then, dark shadows waft passed the moon, clawing darkness across the floor.

"Strong, windy clouds tonight… It didn't look like it was gonna rain earlier."

The smell of ash filters into the air. "Ick… Wait."

He's awake now as he stumbles down the steps. The shadows in the window are moving too rapidly for any passing cloud. That's smog, and it clears passed the window for a moment long enough to show the orange glow outside.

The forest is on fire.

"Shit!" he howls as he runs back up the steps. Thinking quickly, he sets his scroll to Seven Rapids and blasts the heavy chorus riff at max. Leaving it in the hall, he can already hear everyone else waking up, groans and thuds all.

He busts through Yang's door. She's rubbing her eyes awake. "Jaune, what –"

"Forest fire," he says quickly, pulling out their weapons from the duffel bag.

She shakes awake. "What?"

Ember Celica crashes into her hands when he tosses them at her.

"The forest is on fire!" he says, not even waiting for her as he busts through the door again and leaps over the railing.

He tucks and rolls along the carpet, nearly colliding with a lamp as he slams through the front door into the suffocating smoke.

Heat rolls through the air like he's sitting in a boiling pot. Even his aura flares at the licking flames that whip in the wind, coiling off the trees like infernal tendrils.

Jaune thinks back to the embers they tried to douse. "Did we do this?" He shakes his head. The thought is useless right now.

The fire burns over a host of trees like charred pillars to the darkened sky, but they're all centered ahead. Most the forest is untouched still. They can contain it if they hurry. They can't stop the fire, but they can stop it from growing.

So he speeds towards the outer rim of the roaring flame where the trees are unburnt and pours his semblance into his arms. One enhanced swing fells a tree, then another, and another, but he knows he can't keep it up. He can't cut these down so easily once he's out of juice.

Qrow blows passed him, slicing a tree himself, clad in only his pants and the greatsword in his hands. "I'm guessing you and Yang have the same plan?"

"Cut off its fuel?"

Tai runs by them as sand pours out of his skin in layers. He's using his semblance and earth dust in his palms to cover the dried leaves on the ground. "Fell those quick!" he shouts. "We don't have much time!"

On the other end of the fire, Yang and Raven are busting a row of trees. Yang's fists tighten with every strike, but even if she can split a tree in a single blow, her aura suffers from the blowback. It isn't any better with Raven whose forearms flare with every swing against the sturdy oaks.

"This isn't working!" Raven shouts.

Tai sprints passed them with the familiar glow of Jaune's semblance running over him like a white shell. A layer of sand up to their ankles forms underneath them, burying dry leaves and loose branches. They could really use Jaune's semblance too. Their arms are aching.

"There are people in these woods," Yang says. "We can't let this get any bigger. Vale's never gonna send any help here fast enough without someone getting hurt."

The fire spits pillars of ash and smoke their way by a rogue wind. They turn to shield their eyes. Yang blinks through the haze and sees something in the distant dark of the woods behind them. Glowing red eyes bob rapidly between the trees, charging towards them.

Yang growls. "Ugh, we do not have time for this!" The cylinders in her gauntlets click together as she loads in fresh shells. "Raven, you're clearing the wood better than I can. Keep at it while I cover you."

Raven's hand fall quickly on her shoulder. "No," she says sternly, "this is all pointless. We're destroying our bodies for a cause we've not the strength for."

"I don't care!" Yang hisses. "I'm still doing this. Whether or not you're behind me helping at all won't change that." And with that, she bolts into the dark and the twisting red eyes in the woods collide with her.

Flashes of her gauntlet colliding with grimm flesh light up the yawning dark. Blackened fur rimmed with pale external bone all scorch and smolder with her every blow, a comet to meet the streaks of vicious red eyes.

Raven backs away from the sight, seeing Summer Rose instead.

Jaune comes up behind her and Raven feels a rush of power coursing through her veins. Her pain vanishes. Her strength feels like it's multiplying. Trees fall with ease then, matching rhythm with her daughter as Jaune runs to her side to fell grimm together.

Raven sees Tai in Jaune's place too.

Minutes pass as the fire is choked on all sides but one. Raven sees Qrow and Tai on the other end, making progress. They're exhausted, heaving through labored lungs, and she can feel her own trying to crawl out of her throat.

She dares to glance back at Jaune and Yang. Something looms overhead of them: a single red eye in the canopy. There's no time to parse what it is. Raven's already sprinting over to them.

She cuts a portal mid-sprint and she leaps into it. Her momentum carries through and into the air as she rockets up from the other end of the portal that manifests at Yang's side. Omen surges with dust as she empties the canister in her sheath and swings into the red eye above.

Fire dust surges in a swath against a mass of stone and charred bark. It's a geist amalgamated into solid wall of wood and stone.

Raven swings again, ice dust crashing into it and pushing it up. Again and again and again. Wind, earth, lightning, gravity. The last one splashes a purple glow over the grimm as it slowly floats, all of its form ensconced in a gravity well that tugs it into the sky.

She swings but she's out of dust… And she's falling. Her skin rustles like pinpricks as she starts to shapeshift into a bird, but she stops when Yang zooms passed her. Jaune's semblance is folded over her, making her glow like an ascending meteor as she crashes dead center into the red eye.

With a thunderous crackle, she breaks through and the night sky gleams passed her. She whoops while she's up there against the moon.

Raven falls into Jaune's arms below. His semblance is already working its way to ease the ache but she pushes off of him. "Thank you," she manages behind a heave of her chest, "ha… but the boys aren't done yet. Help them with the fire. They'll need it more."

Jaune nods without hesitating and sprints off towards the remains of the flame.

Yang falls into a controlled descent as Ember Celica slows her momentum with a few blasts. Her arms aren't blasting evenly. They probably still hurt. She lands into a stumble and lets herself fall into a sitting up position. She's breathing a lot.

Raven sits beside her. Somewhere in the distance, the boys are cheering.

"We did it," Yang says.

"You sound surprised," Raven says.

"Cause just like you, I didn't think we could do it either."

Raven lifts a brow. "So why did you keep pushing?"

"To prove to us both that we were wrong."

And Raven laughs, hardy and true till she's tearing up in one eye for a moment. "You really are Summer's daughter," she says. Her smile is infectious.

Yang hides her smile in her knees, huddling them close to her chest. "I'm yours, too."

Raven's mouth thins sadly. "But you shouldn't be."

"I don't think you have a choice."

There's a blue shimmer through the treeline now. The boys are trying to finish this quicker by using ice dust to enclose the largest parts of the fire in pillars of ice. The pale light resembles frosted glass.

"We're pragmatists," Raven says.

"What?"

Raven tilts her head at her. "You asked what the Branwens are. That's it. Pragmatists." Not a curse this time. This is her honest answer.

Yang huddles closer as Raven's gaze turns faraway. She knows what's coming because Raven, in her disheveled shorts and worn shirt, her ragged hair and muddied skin, is vulnerable. Her artifice, the one of strength that championed her tribe, is gone.

"We like to pretend we have room for love," Raven continues. "That's never the case. Never true. My mother and father died at a burning beach while Qrow and I fled with the tribe. Nevermind that our eldest sister died with them, more brilliant than either of us will ever be. It didn't matter that she deserved a life brighter than either us could ever make it. A Branwen is hardwired to protect something bigger than they are. To us, that was always the tribe. The whole of it. Not its members, not its kin, nor the ones we dared to love. Just the tribe. The larger whole."

She sighs slowly, letting her breath catch in the now cold air. "Then Beacon came and Ozpin changed all that. Suddenly the tribe wasn't our greatest responsibility. Ozpin had drilled in us the want to protect the world of all things, and he gave us the means to do just that… I remember being excited to save lives. Plucking civilians from impossible odds and reveling in the praise. Summer and I even seemed like sisters for a while – we were so giddy. Like sisters…"

Yang unfurls when Raven tucks into herself. Yang's hand is warm on her shoulder. "The day Summer died was the day we realized we'd made her a Branwen. That she chose the world over us. Over her daughter." She glances at Qrow slumped against the ice wall. "Over her fiancé."

"It wasn't why I left, mind you. That was different. That was futility on my part. I couldn't save the world from something impossible, not with what Ozpin had us face. The tribe had to be my answer after that. Something I could save. Thought I'd find a little peace in scaling back. Scaling down. It felt like I was regressing but I wasn't like Summer. Didn't have the courage to face insurmountable odds like the compassionate fool she was…"

"Mom…"

"You… don't have to do that. You don't have to call me that. I know it doesn't mean anything."

Yang chuckles. "It means whatever I want it to. And right now, it means this." She squeezes her arm again. She knows it isn't forgiveness – not quite yet – but it's a step in that direction. More than she expects. More than she deserves.

"No room for doubt," Raven says. "You're Tai's alright."

"So, I've got some Rose and Xiao Long in me," Yang says proudly. "Doesn't mean there's any shame in having a part of me still be a Branwen."

Raven's lips thin. "Yang…"

"Hush," she says quickly. "Part of me still wants to save the world but I'm also in it for the thrills. I might not end up like Summer. I might not choose to martyr myself if I know I have people waiting for me. I can be selfish too. We all are. I think… I think there's value in being a part of all three."

"Four," Raven says. "That boy you've tied yourself to. You seem content when you're with him. Comfortable even. If he's involved, you're as much an Arc as you are a Branwen…"

"God…" Yang blushes. "You make sound like I'm married to him already."

"If it comes to that, you have our blessing."

"W-what!? Mom, isn't it a little soon for that?" Yang's shock fizzles at her mother's sad smile. "…Mom?"

Raven's gaze is on the house now. She's tearing up. "It's… it's funny," she says with some difficulty. Not through sobs but grit, almost anger. "I feel like I have everything I dreamed about having. I've got family again, a daughter that might love me, a loyal husband, an honest brother. I've even got a quiet home in the middle of the woods. It already has a rose garden and a dog. All its missing is the white picket fence." Her teeth grinds. Her head shakes in disbelief. "But I have to throw it all away…"

Yang's chest squeezes. "What… what do you mean?"

Raven won't look at her. "By Summer's end, that house will be empty. And it will stay that way until you decide to enter. To come back here." Raven's hand finds Yang's. "Because we – your father, uncle, and I – will be going back to Ozpin. We'll be gone for months doing work for him. And maybe we'll see each other again, but it won't be much and never for long enough."

Yang's skin grows cold and clammy. She doesn't like what she's seeing, the sheer finality in her mother's eyes. Resigned to some inevitability. So this is what it means to be a Branwen. Somehow, she understands but she has coasted along the unknown for long enough.

"What is Ozpin doing, Mom?" She asks. "He sent out Ruby earlier this week and –"

Raven jolts into standing. "What!? He has Ruby!?" Her eyes are white with fear. She doesn't wait for Yang to answer, sprinting back in the direction of the boys. "Qrow! Ozpin has Ruby!"

Yang follows, jogging behind her.

Qrow curses. "No, no, no!" Frantically, he fumbles for his scroll. "This can't be real…" His face is going red with panic.

Tai snatches his scroll from him. "Enough! The both of you!" He breathes. "Enough… If Ruby is with him, then she did so willingly."

"But she… she…!" Qrow stammers.

His hand goes to squeeze his shoulder. "I know…"

"I can't lose another Rose to him," Raven gasps. Her sword is already out, prepared to open another portal. Tai's hand takes her by the wrist.

"And we won't," he assures. "We'll cover every gap and protect her ourselves. Maybe even see her on the field."

Jaune joins Yang's side as the other three huddle together. "What's happening?" he asks her, squeezing her hand. "They mentioned Ruby and I'm more than a little worried right now, I'll be honest."

"I don't completely know either," she says. "But it's larger than we are… Than all of us."

Raven rips open a portal before hugging Tai. She nods to Qrow, and they step into it, leaving Tai behind. With a sigh, he ambles over to Jaune and Yang.

"We should talk."

-0-

Tai explains that they all had a job from Ozpin a long time ago. That there was a serial killer and a disgraced Atlesian scientist, and that those two unsavory sorts were only scratching the surface. It was saving-the-world type stuff, and along the way they lost Summer because of it.

It still isn't done. Those two are still at large and there's word of there being more in league with them. That's all he's allowed to say but Tai has – for the past few years – allowed himself to grow complacent since they went underground.

Not anymore. He, Raven, Qrow, and Weiss's sister, Winter, will spend everyday onward tracking them down.

He lets slip that there's whispers of missing huntsmen in Mistral. Yang mentions that Ozpin had Ruby go out to that kingdom to meet someone. Tai tries not to show how much that bothers him.

They won't be seeing each other much from then on, he says. They'll try to keep in touch but they'll be knee deep in places the CCT has no signal in. He doesn't look forward to it but it'd make Summer proud that they're out there doing what needs be done.

The next morning, Yang wakes up alone in bed.

She stumbles down the steps into an empty living room, but then she hears the clamber of porcelain plates in the kitchen. She runs in only to find Jaune at the sink.

Behind him, the dining table has five plates of a warm breakfast. Omelets, tiny sausages, and a minced venison smothered in soy sauce till it's a blackish brown. Three of the plates are half eaten. They were here but left in a rush.

She slides into her seat. The noise of the chair catches Jaune's attention. He drops a letter beside her. Both their names are scrawled onto the poorly folded note.

He sits beside her. "I didn't get to see them myself but I found this and a set of keys." She shows her the worn keys and drops them neatly by her plate. She recognizes them. They're for the house and they aren't spares. One of them even has the word "FRONT" roughly carved into it. It's filled in with golden stencil. She and Ruby did that, back when they were kids.

She opens the letter and reads it aloud. "Sorry. We'll try to be home by tonight. Don't wait. House is yours."

"Not very eloquent," Jaune says after swallowing, "but they were probably in a hurry."

"Eloquent?" Yang laughs. "Where'd you pick that up?"

"Weiss had a few choice words for my poor poetry back in first year. I told you I picked up a few things from her."

He's already finished the sausages on his plate. Yang remembers to eat.

"So, what now?" he asks her. "We house sit for a few days until Ruby shows up?"

Yang shakes her head. "No… that isn't what they mean by the house being ours. They don't actually know when they'll be back. School year might even end before they do."

"That's… a long time."

"It is, but in the meantime," – she wiggles the keys – "we actually own the house."

Jaune frowns. It's deep and it cuts just as well. "That sounds like a parting gift."

Swallowing an omelet, her head falls onto his shoulder. "It is."

Then the door busts open and they hear Qrow slurring in the next room. He's accompanied with another voice, Winter's, as she shoulders him into the kitchen. She's stringing together insults whilst blushing up a storm. They're quiet them when they find Jaune and Yang.

Qrow squints as if unsure of what he's seeing. "Ohhhh," he bellows before whipping his head back. "They're still here!"

"Ahem," Winter says. "Forgive my intrusion. Present company often ends our meetings this way."

"Which is weird," Jaune says, "cause Qrow can walk just fine when he's drunk."

"He can… what?" She shoots Qrow a glare and he gives her that stupid grin of his. He's not even close to sorry. She shoves him off her and blushes against her pale skin. "You're insufferable. Trying to get a rise out of me.."

He hobbles back a step but his grin seems carved into his cheeks. "Heh, nah. I just like being close to you."

Raven peeks into the room then with Tai close behind. Her hesitation lasts only a moment before she hurries in and Yang's already bolted out of her seat to hug her.

"You came back…" Yang says. Her hands reach out grab her dad so they can sandwich her mother between them.

Raven squeezes. "I'm as much a Rose and Xiao Long as you are. I figured the world could wait till we could all say goodbye. At least."

They pull away. Raven's age shows along the harsh circles around her eyes.

"So, this really is goodbye," Yang fathoms, weaving her digits into that of her parents'. "This… doesn't feel real. Everything's happening so quickly and I just got you back and… and…"

Tai pushes strands of her hair behind her ear. "Life's abrupt," he says. "Especially when you become a huntress. You'll often find that your whole world can change in a day. Adapting to that is a skill you have to learn."

Raven's eyes narrow. "But we're not worried. I was scared for you all my life but every time I looked back, you were already over another hurdle." She holds her daughter again. "And just like then, I'll miss you every day."

Yang's grip tightens around her. Like she's hanging off the edge, held on by a thread. She can feel it slipping, digging into her palm. She knows she has to let go but there's a part of her now that's made her an Arc. She's defiant. Foolishly, optimistically, defiant. And it's with that nonchalance that she peels away and suggests, "We're all home. We should have breakfast. Like a family."

Qrow's already sat down and Winter has already eaten most of his venison. Tai insists on sitting next to Jaune again, and Yang huddles the closest she's had in years next to her mother.

Ruby never makes it to Patch. All they get is a nerve-wracking call from her that's more apology than explanation. Qrow tells them she's in a good hands.

They don't tell him that that isn't the point.

-0-

It's halfway through their second year that Jaune and Yang step back into their dorm rooms. They'd come two days early since they didn't want to stay in an empty house and an empty apartment didn't feel much better.

Jaune finds Ren and Nora snuggling by a bean bag. (Nora's messing with his hair while he goes through a book on Vacuan flora). Pyrrha isn't home since she's with her family, but Sun is lying on her bed and he greets Jaune with the kind of enthusiasm he needed.

It takes him a while to realize that his smile is forced. "Sun, please tell me there's nothing wrong with you and Pyr."

"What? Oh, no! Everything's fine with us!"

"He's been fussing about something else," Nora chimes in as she twists knots in Ren's hair. "And he won't tell his big sister, Nora, so you know it's gotta be big."

"Uh, I'm a year older than you."

She squints. "Why is everyone older than me!? I know Ruby's sixteen but I'm starting to feel like a toddler here."

"Nora," Ren says, "I'm younger than you."

Nora wraps her arms around his head to squeeze him against her chest whilst clasping tightly over his mouth. "Shh, same age, honey."

Sun turns to Jaune. "What…?"

"Nora made them have the same birthday when they were kids. Flipped a coin on who got to keep theirs. Ren lost." Jaune decides not to mention that it was to simplify a holiday for two survivors in the woods. Less stress on their resources when they buy only one cake a year and have to share it. "But enough about them. What's got you all knackered?"

"Knackered? Who even says that anymore?"

"Ylda Braveheart. Now quit stalling! What's going on, man?"

There's a knock on the door. "Come in!" Ren says. He's already put his book down and is snuggling back into Nora. She and Jaune exchange a look. Something's up.

Yang and Blake walk in. Yang joins Jaune on the bed while Blake crouches by Ren and Nora who both drag her into the bean bag with a yelp. They laugh at her expense, and for a moment it seems like it's just a visit.

Then Weiss and Neptune walk in and stand there in front of them all, locking the door behind them.

There's a thickness in the air. Jaune and Yang are already holding each other for strength. Sun curls into his knees beside them but Jaune won't have that. He reaches over and grabs his shoulder. He shuffles a tiny bit closer in response.

Weiss shuts her eyes, squeezes Neptune's hand, and stands tall. Like a performance demands, she is rigid and neutral, but it's too much and her knees wobble. Neptune catches her and reaches for a nearby chair. He rubs her shoulders after he sits her down and she's starting to breathe evenly.

"Nice and quick," Neptune whispers to her, and it's audible in the relative silence.

Yang and Blake have been standing since she buckled, unsure if they should run over and hug her. She spots them and raises a hand. "Sit, please. This will be easier if I do this without having to cry on something…"

Neptune kisses her head. Her hand finds his massaging her shoulder, and her other balls into a fist. "I'm… leaving team RWBY."

PART 9 – Adaptation

Yang is afraid she's hurting Jaune when she hears the news and tenses up, her fingers closing tightly over his. Little parts of her feel pain, like her pulse is bulging in her veins and stretching out of her skin. Then she realizes that it's her body telling her to go and hold Weiss close. Stop her talking cause it's easy to see how much all of this is hurting her and she's still so painfully afraid that her friends are going to hate her.

Yang bites her lip and leans out. Her hand is suddenly cold. Jaune had let go of it. "Go," he whispers.

She's off the bed and crashes into Weiss just as she's inhaling. Neptune backs away just as Blake runs over to join them.

Weiss stops talking cause she can't at this point. Her arms reach around them both but her nails curl into their backs as her fingers twitch and anything she wants to say is lost in her sobs.

"It's okay," Yang says. "We know you have a good reason."

"We'll still love you," Blake adds. "Doesn't matter if you're here or not. We're still a team."

To Weiss, that all seemed enough to uncoil her fears and breathe relief.

-0-

"I have to be his daughter. His heir," Weiss explains when they're all gathered at the empty cafeteria. "I'll have to play his games and do everything I can to keep my integrity and still be me."

Her sister informed her around the time of the boat trip that her father was planning to discredit her and seat her brother as next-in-line. "I know it sounds almost foolish but my plan was always to juggle life as a huntress and as an heiress. To prove that I could follow in my sister's footsteps without needing to make any of her sacrifices." Her hand, the one not holding Neptune's, falls to Myrtenaster resting magnetically at her hip. "Winter gave me so much when she trained me. I wanted to prove to father that none of that was a waste of time. It worked for a while, too. Atlas was abuzz with news on my departure. That I'd taken the strength of the old Schnee vanguard and vowed to marry it with the capitalist empire. That we were still the staunch knights we always were and that our nobility hadn't tarnished that."

"Why can't you just stay?" Nora asks, eyes gleaming like the absent Ruby. "Why does your dad get to take even more from you?"

Weiss smiles placatively at her and wishes Ruby was here too. "Because I've learned a lot in my time here with all of you. I've learned that Remnant will always have enough amazing huntsmen – there's already so many at this table." She eyes them all but stops at Blake. "But I've also learned that there's a lot of good I could be doing. A different kind of good for my people in Atlas. Human and faunus."

Blake gasps. There's a sting in her chest. "I'm… so sorry."

"Don't be. All that time staying up together has given me perspective. The kind I feel is uniquely distinct to a Schnee. I need to use that. Maybe get my brother to see it the same way."

"Will you have help?" Yang asks, locking eyes. "I'm not willing to let you go alone."

Weiss leans into Neptune. "I won't be alone."

"We'll have to keep our relationship secret," Neptune explains, "but I'll be at every function, every gala, every fancy dinner. Dad's a shipping baron so we've already let rumor spread that I'm looking into partnering with the Schnees to get trade into Vacuo."

"In a few months' time we'll be married, too," Weiss adds, giggling in way that's resigned and heartbreaking. "It's hardly the way we wanted it to go but it's how it has to happen so father doesn't marry me off for a business venture. We'd do it today if I was already eighteen."

"Are you sure he won't reject you at the door?" Jaune asks.

"Not when I come in as bargaining chip. I'll flirt my way through a few prospective suitors and he'll see I'm still too useful to throw out." She snuggles into Neptune's side and he wraps an arm around her. "We've spent weeks planning. And though I'm sure things are going to go terribly wrong at some point…"

"…We'll adapt," Neptune finishes.

Even though there's hope here, the moment feels strained. A tension in the air is either like knots in the heart or the tightening of a noose. So Jaune and Yang put on brave faces and stand up.

"This isn't how we should be spending this day together, isn't it?" she asks with a grin.

"It's a going-away party," he says, "so we should have a party. Ren? Join us in the kitchen. Let's bake a cake."

Nora's already on Weiss and Blake. "C'mon! I know a buffet outside of town that sells their raws cheap. I'll even show you two how me and Renny grilled fish! I guarantee that you two princesses won't find anything like that at your fancy dinners."

Blake opens her mouth. "Actually, we–"

"Hush! Mommy's talking."

Neptune and Sun trade looks.

"Should we get the drinks?" Sun asks him. "I know a way into campus we can smuggle alcohol through."

"Actually, just pump me full of sugar. This might be the last time I get to have soda since I'll be spending the next few years getting used to wine."

"Ew!"

"I know!"

-0-

When the semester starts, Glynda Goodwitch announces that Ozpin won't be back for a month or so still, so she'll be acting headmistress.

The sister teams are all worried about Ruby but she sends them messages with a few photos that she's on a mission with Ozpin and what looks to be a farmhand. They don't expect to be back for a while and she isn't even allowed to update them but she slips them messages anyway. (She doesn't know how long she can keep up the ruse that she had a spare scroll from before Beacon).

Yang's nerves get the better of her until Jaune convinces Qrow to give them an update. Somehow the photo of Qrow, Raven, Tai, Winter, and Ruby together like the disjointed family they are is a monumental comfort. She makes it her wallpaper. Jaune promises that they'll all get a chance to get in that picture together at some point.

With Goodwitch so busy, it leaves combat class to Professor Port. It's a blessing in disguise since the extra class drains him enough to sleep through most of his own class. He gets worried for a while until everyone gets visibly excited for what is effectively a free period and some students actually get comfortable enough to sit with him on his desk and share real stories for a change. He isn't always telling them this time either.

The teams spend a lot of time on the roof where they're allowed to grill. Jaune, Nora, and Blake make a show of their techniques and Weiss, who is sitting on the sideline, lets the collective aroma of their sizzling platters soak into her skin.

They also take turns teaching Weiss and Neptune how to cook. It'll be useful when they get a place of their own. They hadn't considered an apartment yet, actually.

"Trust me," Yang says, "after what you two are gonna go through, you could use a getaway that's just yours." She shares a meaningful glance with Jaune who blushes, suddenly unable to keep eye contact.

They make that second boat trip with the same crusty boatman. Sun and Blake tie on the number of lobsters.

They spend a night in the apartment, cramped together and drinking till sunrise. (Pyrrha learned to mix drinks with her uncle over the break and Jaune hasn't puked so much in his entire life).

They joyride in Jaune's new Highway Aries and the boatman's Beluga van to the same cabin they went to with Saph and Terra. Joan can drive too, apparently, and they decide that seating her next to the excitable Nora is a recipe for turning the winding country roads into a roller coaster. (Jaune, Yang, Weiss, and Neptune end up trailing behind the van because of it.)

They rent out a thawed ice rink and have their own school dance. (Jaune spent the week teaching Neptune how to lose his second left foot).

And they skip class on Friday to spend their last day together. Ruby even manages to call Weiss and they find out that they might even meet in Atlas for a while. (Jaune and Yang are starting to suspect that Ozpin already knows about the scroll).

In the next morning, Weiss's bed is empty cause she had to go alone in a separate flight. Neptune has to arrive a day later on a separate trip. It's abrupt and even though they all knew it was going to happen, it still feels like it came out of nowhere. The space Weiss leaves behind is palpable.

She manages to send them all one final message with a photo. She's holding Blake's little triangular team flags she made for them during last year's Vytal Festival against the window of the bullhead.

"We'll always be a team."

-0-

Jaune cracks an eye open at the sound of clicking on screen . He's in the apartment, in his room, but his door is open halfway. Through the dark he can see Yang and Blake's faces lit against a scroll on the couch. Blake is sleeping on her shoulder.

They set her up with the guest room (Yang's long since migrated all her things into his anyway) and they must've gotten up at some point last night to chat.

He shuffles out of bed, scratching his bare chest and blinking away his drowsiness.

Yang can hear him. "Mornin'… Evening? Morning. It's one-AM."

He peels around the doorframe. "Shouldn't we be quiet?" he says in a hush.

"Nope," she says, not even looking up from her scroll. "Blake said she wanted to wake up to the sound of people so the room feels less empty."

Regardless, he sits on the softly beside her. "Is that why she stayed up so late?"

"She used to wake up early with Weiss. Sometimes she'd fall back asleep when Weiss got her early morning shower, but with her gone she's hoping to sync up with me instead."

"Maybe Ren's more her speed. He gets up early to get breakfast prepped for Nora the rest of the team if she didn't eat it all when we got there."

"Too bad they're not roommates."

"Yeah…"

Blake shuffles. Her ears twitch and there's a smile on her lips.

"She seems comfy," he says, laughing. He can't help but think they've adopted a stray though he won't say it aloud.

Yang's thinking the same thing but keeps her mouth shut too. "She met with Sun and Ilia for brunch yesterday. She came in when they were already talking about him losing Neptune. She felt like an outsider listening in."

"She didn't walk away, did she?"

"No, she sat with them and they talked. Even admitted to how she felt. They tried to make her feel comfortable and Sun had no trouble talking about it, but even they admitted that it feels like she's just a step out of her element. She's going with Pyrrha to meet with them again later tonight."

"I'm guessing she's not particularly enthused?"

Yang nods. Blake stirs but doesn't wake. "She thinks losing Weiss is upsetting everything else in her life. She usually doesn't feel that kind of doubt when talking to them. Pyrrha's doing her best to help on her end, too, but she might need some more outside help to get her out of this funk."

Her scroll buzzes. Jaune instantly recognizes the sender. "Ruby?" His voice is hopeful, almost desperate.

She ruffles his hair. "Don't worry about it. If you start losing your cool, then I will too."

He rolls his eyes with a smile. "Sorry, I just miss her."

"She wanted to talk to you but she's only got enough courage to message her big sister. She's still beating herself up for being gone so long. She's afraid you might hate her."

He fishes his scroll out of his pocket, squeezes his face next to Yang and Blake's, and takes a photo. "Morning…" he types, "…Crater …Face." A moment passes after he sends it.

Yang's scroll is then blasted with exclamation points before a video call starts. Their hearts soar when they hear her whine for the first time in weeks. "Yang…! I wasn't ready!"

It's dark wherever she is, huddled in a closet judging by the hangars swinging above her. Zwei is whining and scratching somewhere in the background.

"Sorry, Sis, but we're a package deal now!" Yang says.

"We miss you," Jaune says, the look of him is anything but teasing.

"I miss you guys, too…" she looks away, head half hunched in shadow. Her expression is unreadable.

There's a shuffling on her end of the call, she looks up, eyes wide, as some light pours into the closet she's in. "Ruby?" a hushed boy's voice says. "Is everything alright?"

Her eyes dart and she gets up in a panic. Jaune and Yang stay quiet as the closet is shut and the scroll spins in the dark for a moment before her face shows up again next to the same farmhand in her photo with Ozpin. "Keep this a secret. Please?" she asks him.

"I… sure. Lips sealed. What are you–?"

"Yang, Jaune," she says quickly. "This is Oscar. He's my, um, partner for the mission I'm on."

"I, oh, uh, hi," Oscar stammers. "I'm Oscar." He slaps his forehead. "Stupid. She already said that…" Ruby giggles.

"Aw, Jaune," Yang nudges him. "He's you, freshman year."

Jaune huffs. "I like to think I was as confident as I was awkward." He gets up. "I'm getting peckish. You want any coffee?"

"The orange juice, please."

"Weak!" Ruby teases through the screen. "Milk is the way to go. Keep up the store-bought pulp and I'll be taller in no time!"

"I prefer oranges freshly squeezed myself," Oscar adds before he shuts himself up. He seems afraid to add to the conversation.

"They are freshly squeezed though," Yang says. "Right, Jaune?"

"If two days ago counts as fresh, then yeah. Reminds me of home."

Yang sniffs the air. "Are you cooking tuna and eggs again?"

"What? Clove didn't have much fish and poultry. We had beef, pork, and way too many vegetables."

"It's one-A.M.!"

"And we're out of snacks. Now do you want some of this or am I gonna split it with Blake?"

Blake rolls her cheek up the backrest to look at Jaune. The smell probably woke her. "Mm… You'll have no objection from me."

"He was a farmer?" Yang hears Oscar ask Ruby. "I thought he was a huntsman."

"Huntsman-in-training," Ruby clarifies for him. "He grew up in a farm. I don't think that counts as a farmer but he used to herd cows. Even had this brief stint when he was ten where he'd run with the farm dog and bark at the cows to help wrangle the cattle."

"Pfft!" Yang and Blake snicker. "What?"

"What are you laughing at?" Jaune asks from the kitchenette, stood in the lowlight.

"Nothing!" Yang calls back. "Feeling better, Oscar?"

"Oh. You noticed?"

"It's okay. Meeting new people can be scary. Can't have been any easier with Ruby."

"Actually, she could barely look me in the eye." Ruby bumps him but can't deny it. Oscar stays smug. "Ha ha… Had to ease into meeting her. She caught me in the middle of work and she scared me so much that I almost fell off the hayloft with the way she squeaked her greeting. I thought a mouse got in the feed again."

"Oscar!" Ruby whines. "I'm putting you through the ringer for this."

He looks scared. "Uh… mercy?"

They spend the some of that morning together. Ruby builds confidence enough to promise to make another call if Oscar can keep covering for her. They also find out Ruby is training Oscar and Yang couldn't be more proud.

They're somewhere remote and secret so Ozpin isn't taking chances with the security breach but Ruby hopes that a closet is enough to be inconspicuous. She still can't tell them why she's there but she will when they arrive.

They. As in both of them. Oscar is coming to Beacon. It should be exciting, even just a little bit. It's not going to fill the gap Weiss left behind but it means less quiet. Plus, Penny is with them and she might come too. But Yang picks up the sadness in Ruby's eyes whenever Oscar asks about Beacon. There's something wrong.

When Oscar goes off to distract Ozpin and Jaune takes Blake to the convenience store, Yang asks, "Sis, what's going on that you're not telling me?"

Ruby chews her lip. "I can't say," she says for the umpteenth time, but Yang can feel the weight of it now that it's coming out of her mouth and not through text on a screen. Somehow, that makes it harder to let it go.

"I'm scared for you," Yang admits, "I'm worried that something else irreversible is coming and…" No, she tells herself. She can't put this on Ruby. "It's okay. I trust you. I'm worried but I trust you and before you say anything, nothing you say will break that trust."

Ruby curls closer to the scroll, like she wants to hug her. "Thank you…" she whispers.

"Just come home safe…"

"I love you, Yang."

"I love you, too, Sis."

-0-

The dorm room doesn't have the comforts it used to. Yang almost feels ashamed for leaving it behind half the time but Blake tells her that it isn't something she should worry about. She always made time, even if her memories seem like a blur of blonde hair and blue eyes. It doesn't mean she valued her time with them any less.

No one can blame her for falling in love.

Still, with Blake snoozing under some double-wide bedding across the room, Yang feels alone in the room.

She sits up and she hears a startle somewhere. She realizes the silhouette she thought was Blake has been just a mess of pillows. (Blake pulled her and Weiss's beds together to get comfortable. Didn't work. All she's got now is more room to feel cold in. They still miss her).

Another hushed sound reaches her. She gets up and walks around but she stops when she spots Blake sitting on the floor against the wall. Her ears are twitching.

"What's happening?" Yang asks.

"I can hear Goodwitch in the JNPR dorm."

Yang shuffles closer. She can hear the faint tap of the headmistress's heels but nothing more. "What is she saying? Are they in trouble?"

"I thought so at first, but no. It's something about a transfer."

"A transfer? Like a student?"

"I don't know. I'll keep listening."

Yang wants to go back to bed and grab her scroll. Jaune could answer her if she asked. She bites her lip.

"There's someone else," Blake says. Yang's limbs stiffen again. "She sounds familiar but I could be wrong. She's talking about… Moving furniture?" She peels off the wall. "Maybe I shouldn't be listening in."

Yang realizes that she's probably working herself up over nothing too. "Maybe, but it got you out of bed at least." She laughs. "I've been worrying myself ragged about this team, but unlike the other two, you're actually here." Arms wrap around Blake's thinner shoulders. "I hope you aren't blaming yourself for all of this."

"I am but I know it's stupid," she admits. "Weiss having an epiphany was bound to happen anyway. And her father would have forced her to leave whether we turned out to be friends or not. But there's always that little side of me scraping at the back of my head. I'm so painfully aware that it's there that I could almost reach out and strangle it."

"Pfft! You sound like Weiss."

"Heh, well we'd spent over a year together. Some things were bound to rub off on each of us. In fact," she looks at Yang meaningfully, "you didn't explode once during that whole talk about Weiss's dad. Jaune have anything to do with that? You've been minding your temper."

She rubs the back of her head. "No, not entirely. I mean, we've helped each other along but we can't give each other all the credit. I've mellowed out cause we lost at Vytal and I crashed at a bar. Cause I came home a mess and you girls set me straight. I won't say that solved it completely. I think I gave myself enough time to ease out of my anger issues over the summer and finding Jaune and ending up in his apartment gave me places to feel normal and happy for a change." She's blushing now, can't help the heat rolling tight circles in her cheeks. "Did I ever tell you about that? No… I don't think I've told anyone. Being in that apartment let me glimpse a life of being a civilian. Not a huntress-to-be, just a girl living in the city she swears she'll die in. It felt simpler, domestic. And I kind of liked that. I kind of really, really liked that."

"I envy that," Blake says with a knowing smile lying sideways on her knees. "Not the civie life but the happiness. I'm glad you found someone. Honestly, it's kind of crazy you two aren't completely official yet."

"I, uh, I think we are? I mean, it's not like we've talked about it again since all this craziness happened but we've said the three-word thing, named our kids, we own a house together and –"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! What? Rewind there for a second."

"To which part?"

"I don't know, all of it?"

Yang shrugs and that is equal parts everything so like her and everything that's frustrating. "I don't know. They all just kind of… happened?"

"How do you just happen to own a house now?"

"A couple birds left it on my dining table and flew out the open door."

Blake squints. "I… I can't tell if you're joking."

Yang grins.

Blake's ear twitches to the faint sound of a door closing. "JNPR…" she mouths as she hears it. "…moving out?"

-0-

Blake thinks she heard it wrong. Yang tries to tell herself they could be misunderstanding something but when they meet with JNPR, they don't mention a thing. Jaune and Pyrrha are all smiles, whilst Ren is keeping Nora from any more antics. Nothing's changed.

It eats up at Yang more than she's willing to admit but Blake doesn't need to be told in order to notice her best friend writhing inside of herself.

On occasion she can see Jaune stealing glances at Yang. He's noticed that something's off too. Sure, Yang is keeping it close to her chest, but she isn't loose in the way she usually is. And even though her being a little more guarded might make sense given recent events, Jaune's been with her long enough to notice that she's been easing back into her old self. The regression should be obvious.

Blake nudges him at the end of Port's class. "Talk to her," she says.

He nods, a determined look to him. "I was gonna wait till she was ready. I guess I have to act this time."

Blake smiles. "Just like you, she'll need a nudge sometimes."

Jaune jogs over to Yang as she rolls her eyes at something Nora says. She should be laughing instead. His eyes narrow.

"Yang."

"Oh! Hey, sorry, I thought you were with Blake and Pyrrha. Did you need something?"

His hand clasp over hers and people around them pull away and snicker. He takes her hand and pulls her to the wall and out of the way. "Don't think I haven't noticed you worrying about something. What's wrong?"

Normally she'd come out and say it. Even before they got this close. Before they were together. She isn't the kind of girl that lets these things lie. But she's lost so much in the past few weeks and she's feeling more and more vulnerable. More and more fatigued.

And this? What she's worried about? Hushed whispers in the night that might ultimately mean nothing? Half of her thinks it's fears she's digging up for herself to pile on the already rich avalanche of things she has to deal with. Another hates herself for doubting him, and that she's ashamed to reveal she doubted him at all.

But they were supposed to be able to talk about anything, right?

Her mouth opens.

She remembers her mother. She'd looked so stoic when she said goodbye, daring not to fall apart and swallowing her fears. With a sigh, she lets it go.

"It's nothing," she says with an easy sigh. "I'll tell you about it later if you're so curious but I'd like to stop worrying about nothing and focus on the things that actually need my attention."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Now I'm hungry."

"We still have class."

She takes his hand. "I don't care. Your girlfriend needs a pick-me-up."

-0-

Yang walks back into the dorm with a spring in her step. "Evenin'," she greets Blake who's lounging on the bed.

"Had a good night, I see? He not kissing you goodbye at the door?"

"We parted ways earlier. Said he had an errand to run."

Blake stares at her with a smile. Yang returns it before going back to her scroll. Blake's nose scrunches in confusion. "Well?" Blake asks.

"Huh?"

"What did he tell you?"

Yang winks. "Sweet nothings if that's what you're asking."

Blake's face goes through a series of emotion. "Yeah. Good. Great. Perfect." She sits up as her ears sharpen. "But what about last night? With the whispering and all that?"

"Oh! I, uh, I didn't ask about it."

Blake slips out of bed. "Okay, I've had it. Waited all this time to find out so let's just go over there and ask."

"Right. Sure." Yang picks up after her and doesn't bother to put her school shoes back on.

Blake stops just as she exits the door. Across from them is the JNPR dorm and the door is ajar. She twists back to Yang. "Was that open when you passed it by?"

"I didn't notice."

They approach the door and feel a draft coming through. The door swings to the side as they enter and the thud against the wall is the only sound.

The JNPR dorm is empty. Even the blinds have been stripped away and one of the windows is cracked open.

A hole opens in Yang's stomach. Confusion, mostly. Anger, even if she can't place it. She doesn't know what's happening.

Blake's hands are sweating too when they reach for hers. "Your scroll is buzzing," she says and they run back to their room.

Yang has a message from Jaune.

'are you decent?' it reads.

'uh…. Yeah?' she replies after a cursory glance at her uniform.

'perfect'

Yang stares at the word. His scroll didn't even get to auto-punctuate it. She's already typing another message. Where are you right now? I was at your dorm and it's empty – She stops typing when they hear a grunt and a thud.

Blake's ears perk up. "Nora?"

Something breaks, like snapping wood, then Yang can hear it too.

"Hah!" Nora shouts. The thud after shakes something in their room. "Hah!" Another shudder, louder and resonant. "Hng…!" They can feel the way she's inhaling. "Hah!" Then their wall shakes.

"Hah!" Then a chunk of the wall pops out and swings aside like a portal door. They can see Nora behind the hole. She's in the next dorm room. They transferred next door instead of across the hall.

Nora peeks in with a wide grin, the light behind her shining over her features like a beacon. She pulls away and her hammer carves down into the hole till its roughly the shape of her silhouette. She kicks away the loose boards and cement around her and stomps into the room.

"Evenin' roomies!" she announces with gusto and caked in dust.

Jaune slips passed her in shorts and a worn shirt, pillow under his arm and eyes half awake. He walks up to Yang and takes her hand. "Sleepy?" he asks.

She realizes she's exhausted. Relief lets her body feel its fatigue. "Yeah…"

He pulls her to bed and they fall in together. She's confused but doesn't focus on it.

"What is happening?" Blake asks Ren as he comes in with Pyrrha in tow. (Who has already apologized but her smile doesn't slip away even once).

"Jaune said that it was starting to get a little quiet here in your dorm," Ren explains. "So, we hatched an idea to trade rooms with your neighbor's. Team ASHE took a room on a different floor instead of taking ours."

"Miss Goodwitch was very accommodating," Pyrrha says. "Went so far as to levitate most of our things from one room to another."

"She almost said no," Jaune says with a yawn, "but when I explained why we were doing it, she just sighed and drew up the permit."

"You need a permit to switch dorms?" Blake asked. "Wait, there's a permit for that?"

Nora hoists the hammer back onto her shoulder. "Permit's not for the dorm. It's for breaking down the wall."

Blake can't help but a feel a tingle under her skin, and it rolls into heat when Pyrrha and Ren squeeze her between them.

The night draws down and they got rid of the bits of dust and talk about how they're supposed to tear the down the wall. They'll put up two beams they'll have to pay for themselves but the rest of the wall can go away and there will be nothing between the two rooms in a few days.

And when they're all cleaned up (and splitting two bathrooms between six people), they push the four RWBY beds together so they can crawl under the collective sheets. In the middle, Yang sees Blake shiver happily between Ren and Nora, calmer than she has been in weeks.

Nestled against the curve of Jaune's neck, she nudges him. "Thank you for this," she whispers.

"It wasn't all me," he murmurs.

She flicks his forehead. "You're allowed to take credit for the idea, at least. Besides, I feel like I should reward you somehow."

"Fine," he grumbles but his smile doesn't sell it. "As for the reward, I'd ask about the rent but I think we should stay out and keep the bill thin this month. I don't think I can meet the payment this time if it gets any bigger with electric and water."

Yang chuckles. "Hey, you asked for the heavy down payment so you could sidestep the interest. That car is a money sink and you should've seen this one coming." He whines and she kisses his nose, making him whine some more. "Still, I'll still have to find a way to thank you."

"Missionary always works for Sun," Pyrrha chimes in from behind her.

Jaune and Yang's eyes go wide.

"What?" Pyrrha asks as they stare at her. "Too vanilla?"

Yang squeezes a pillow to her own face. "Pyrrha!"

"What? Oh! Sorry. I hadn't realized that you… It's just that Sun's been gentlemanly and I tried to get him to talk dirty to spice things up so I ended up having to do it myself and –"

"Uh, Pyr?" Jaune stops her. "That's not it. We, uh, we haven't done it yet."

She tilts her head. "Missionary?"

"Sex," Yang whimpers.

Nora shoots up. "What!?"

Yang shrinks even further. "Are you all awake!?"

Ren turns an open eye behind him and Blake peers sheepishly over the length of his arm. No one looks sorry.

"Ugh…" she groans. "Is it too late to call this a bad idea?"

Pyrrha pulls her away from Jaune and into the collective cuddle of everyone else. "Not on your life, Xiao Long."

She mouths a "help me" to Jaune.

He reaches under his pillow, pulls out his scroll into its camera, and mouths a coy "No," before the shutter snaps.

The photo goes up with the rest of the stringed ones Ruby set up earlier that year. Eventually, they flood it with more memories till the ceiling is lined with their found family gleaming from wall to wall to wall.

#jaune x yang #yang x jaune #Jaune Arc #yang xiao long #rwby dragonslayer

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