#in this care being able to tell when a child (especially daughters) are in tense home lives and put their needs aside to avoid problems | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

songbirdstyles · 3 years

Text

screw my brain (’till it hurts)

summary: you and harry are spies on an assignment to pretend to be a married couple in order to take down a drug trafficking ring. the only problem? you two can’t stand each other.

warnings: smut (18+), hate sex, knifeplay, breathplay (choking), slapping, fingering, phone sex (sort of); enemies to lovers, one bed, fake dating

song inspo.: death on two legs (dedicated to ...) - queen / back chat - queen / you’re so vain - carly simon

word count: 19.5k

You can practically feel Harry’s anger simmering beside you, and you’re tired of it.

He’s been acting like a child since you got on the plane, his eyes narrowed and venomous and steam practically blowing out of his ears as though he’s on the verge of throwing a temper tantrum, and you’re sure if looks could kill you’d be dead a million times over again from all the staredowns he’d been trying to initiate. And you’re used to this, for the most part, but it doesn’t make you feel any less annoyed as he huffs beside you, flicking through the file on his lap.

And - look. You don’t like Harry. You can hardly even tolerate him, most of the time, and the only times you manage to be near him without gagging is when you’re on missions. Usually he’s the same way, pushing aside the mutual disdain you’ve shared from day fucking one when there’s goals to be accomplished and targets to take down but he’s just sitting here like an angry log, thumbing noisily through papers as you swipe through your phone.

He’s looking for attention, Mark would tell you - your boss is the epitome of coolness, desperate for you and Harry to get along because of his tendency to force you together on missions - and that is true. You’re just as pissed as he is and you aren’t making a show of it. No, he’s an attention seeking crybaby, and you won’t give him what he craves. Won’t even look at him.

The plane dips a bit, then, and your stomach lurches, grabbing at the armrest in between you two where Harry’s elbow rests, and he jerks it into his side as though you’d burned him. You scoff, then, the pretense of faking casualness abandoned as fast as you’d stuck to it, and you can sense him rolling his eyes at the noise.

“For Fuck’s sake,” you huff, leaning to the side so you can stare at him as you roll your eyes pointedly, and he mimics the movement. “What are you so whiny about?”

“M’not whiny,” Harry insists in a tone that’s strikingly similar to the whine he claims he doesn’t have, and you sigh before reaching over, snatching the file off of his lap. “Hey - I was readin’ that!”

“Really?” you inquire, shifting so your back is to the man next to you and he can’t read the words on the page you’re squinting at. “Could’ve fooled me. Thought you were just sitting there huffing and rolling your eyes like a baby.” After a moment where he doesn’t respond, you risk a glance backwards and are met with the back of his head full of curls as he stares out the window at the passing sunset as you whiz through the sky. “What’s got your knickers in a twist, hmm? Did Mark not put enough into the budget for hair gel and dirty shoes?”

“Oh, shut up,” he says in a wildly mature way of response, and you can hardly resist the urge to smirk at it. “F’the record, m’mad that I have t’do another mission with you.”

You nod, trailing your finger along the line of words detailing aspects about the target you know you’ll have to utilize later - he has four cats. He and his wife are on the brink of divorce. He has two daughters, and he doesn’t speak to either of them. His name is Vincent Carfield, and, boy, does he sound like a real catch - you’re so focused on reading about him that you hardly register that Harry’s started speaking again.

“Wish Mark would realize m’good enough to do shit like this on my own. Don’t need you t’come around an’ pretend to be my - my girlfriend. S’stupid.”

“Well, if you were good enough, I would be at home with cucumbers on my eyes right now instead of reading about the leader of a drug trafficking ring -”

“God, you’re a bitch -”

“And you’re an asshole -”

“Fuck you - m’calling Mark.”

You snort, leaning back in your seat as Harry fumbles in his bag at his feet for his tablet, and he shakily sets it up on his lap, tapping through the screen until he gets to the FaceTime app. “Real mature, Har, going to tattle to Mark.”

“God, not everything’s about you, narcissist - half hour out, need a debrief.”

You crane your neck to lean in front of him and look out the window, and - sure enough - you can already tell that you’re getting closer, plane dipping slowly lower and it wouldn’t be perceptible to you if he hadn’t told you. Harry’s always been a tad bit more observant than you, though you wouldn’t confess that to him if your life depended on it.

Mark answers Harry’s call within mere seconds - he’s always on high alert when you guys call, especially when you’re off on missions together - part of you suspects he’s always waiting for a call that one of you killed the other. “Hello, lovebirds,” he chirps, the pure image of relaxation as he adjusts his tie, shifting in his seat - you and Harry both roll your eyes at his nickname for the pair of you. “Surprised to see you haven’t clawed each other’s eyes out.” “Wish I did,” you mutter beneath your breath, and Harry glares at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Anyway,” Mark says, and you know he heard what you said judging from the ghost of a smile on his pale face, but he brushes past it. “When you land, you’ll have around an hour to get settled into the hotel before dinner. I’ve sent you the address to the restaurant - the target is eating there with his wife, most likely to discuss their divorce, so he’ll be feeling vulnerable and insecure -” “And that’s where I come in,” you finish, trailing your nail across the fine printed page which holds the plans the three had deliberated over for two weeks prior - compared to most of your missions it was an extraordinarily short amount of time to plan but none of you could foresee this one going anything other than disgustingly easy. If you pull through, you could be home by the end of the weekend.

“And that’s where you come in,” Mark affirms, thick rimmed glasses mirroring the image of you and Harry that he’s seeing on his screen. “Find any way to touch him - pretend to trip - and plant the audio tracker on his jacket.” You nod, and Harry drops his head against the seat with a soft sigh that nearly makes you turn and throttle him but you hold back, fingers tensing as though itching for a throat to grab. “Then you guys go back to the hotel, hold back from slaughtering each other, and listen in - he’s staying at the room next to yours.”

If this situation were occurring a year ago in your first few weeks of working as a spy perhaps you’d marvel at the seeming coincidence of Mark just happening to get you a hotel room right next to your target - but your one-year anniversary working has just come up and, as it so happens, you know he can make just about anything happen by pulling the right strings. And staying in the same hotel, on the same floor, is the perfect talking point for dinner - you’re already storing it in the back of your mind to bring up in conversation when you manage to get the tracker on his jacket -

“ - and, look, guys, I know you don’t particularly like each other,” Mark is saying when your attention snaps back to him, and Harry snorts. It’s the understatement of the century - you almost want to laugh with him. “It’s just really important that you sell yourselves as a couple. I don’t care what you have to do - share a drink or hold hands - but he needs to see you as a couple. All of his mistresses have been seemingly happily married - he’ll be more inclined to get closer with ____ if he sees you’re in a good relationship. Then, Harry, of course, can explore his hotel room - snuff out anything suspicious.”

You nod but Harry seems less convinced - his brow arches as his arms cross over his chest, and you glance over at him with confusion written over your features. “M’confused,” he says, and you raise your eyebrows. “She’s gonna fu - have an affair wit’ him, then?”

God, we fucking talked about this, you want to shout at him, to shake his shoulders until he’s dizzy. If you paid attention while we planned instead of sitting there whining that you don’t go on missions by yourself because nobody goes on missions by themselves unless they’ve been here for nearly 10 years and you’ve barely scraped three -

Mark is more patient. He just shrugs, fingers tapping away at the keyboard connecting to his screen. “Maybe - maybe not. Depends how vulnerable she can get him without resorting to sexual means.”

“Don’t think I’ll have a problem with that,” you can’t resist saying, popping the ‘p’ in problem as you smugly smirk, scratching your nails against the smooth paper you’d been reading as Harry glares at you, seemingly affronted. “Only had to resort to getting down and dirty with a target once - that asshole mob boss - everyone else is just dying to tell me their juicy little secrets. Guess it’s a perk at being good at what you do, right, Har?”

“Oh, you’re such a -”

“Children, children,” Mark interrupts the beginning of Harry’s speech about what a cunt you are, holding up his age-worn palms with mock exasperation as he stares the two of you down. “Stay civil. I’ve just booked your reservation at this Italian restaurant called Fucina’s - it’s for 7, under Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson. Vincent Carfield and his wife have a reservation for 7:30 but have a tendency to arrive early. They requested seating in a more private area, as did I, so you should be able to hear their conversations -”

The conversation rolls on for another few minutes until the pilot announces that you’re landing in ten, and that’s Mark’s cue to sign off - with a fleeting inquiry about any questions the pair of you may have he’s gone, wishing you good luck and making you promise to call him after dinner once you’ve set up the tracker and begun listening to your mark. You don’t suspect you’ll forget to - you and Harry generally can’t be in an enclosed environment together for too long without having overwhelming desires to take each other out, and Mark balances you out. Eases the two of you, calms you down, even when you’re so angry at Harry you want nothing more than to stamp your feet on the ground and scream.

It’s how you feel now, a bit, as Harry shuts his tablet and shoves it back into his bag with a dramatic huff after Mark has signed off. He’s angry about something again, surely relating to you and the mission and how he constantly feels snubbed by Mark but, truthfully, as the plane dips lower and lower to the Earth, you find that you really, really, don’t care.

The hotel room is, for all intents and purposes, fairly large. It’s nicer than a significant portion of the ones you two inhabit on missions and you should be grateful, toeing off your boots in the entrance of the suite, that it has a functioning kitchen and a bathroom with a door that closes and an L shaped couch facing the television (based on the description of the suite Mark had sent), but your mood has been entirely soured by Harry’s sore attitude during the drive from the airport to the hotel.

He drops his suitcase against the carpeted ground of the entrance, and it slams onto the ground so close to your sock-covered toes that you jump back, glaring at him as he pointedly ignores you and descends further into the hotel room, peeking his curly head into the kitchen and the bathroom. You watch him as you rest your suitcase against the wall, nudging his closer to the wall with your foot before following him, already tugging your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans to check for any new texts from your boss when -

“You’ve got t’be fucking kidding me.”

You arch your eyebrows, tilting your phone into your chest as you turn the corner into the main living area. And it’s nice, eyes wandering over the couch that Mark had told you about, and the TV mounted to the wall with a Roku connected to it that you’re sure you’ll take advantage of later tonight. The carpet is soft beneath your feet even through your socks, and the bed is nicely made, pillows fluffy and looking soft -

Bed.

Shit.

What a bastard, Mark is - booking a room with only one bed? And not even telling you two about it? God, you could kill him. You really could, and you will, as soon as you get back to headquarters and see his stupid bald head in person - you’ll throttle him. Or shoot him. Hell, you’ll even stab him.

“You’re taking the couch,” you tell Harry, and before he can protest you take a running start to leap onto the bed, plopping onto your back and tucking your arms beneath your scalp. “Looks real comfy, doesn’t it? The bed - not the couch. Couch looks like it’ll kill your back.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Harry practically snarls, voice all venom and teeth, and he sits at the edge of the bed anyway, hands going up to loosen at the black tie wrapped tight around his neck. “So entitled - I’ll take the fucking bed. Been here longer than you, y’know - just ‘cause y’like t’act like you’re so good -”

“And yet,” you interrupt, bringing your foot up to kick at his side, and he turns around and glares at you, “I’m the one getting put on assignments with you, even though I’ve hardly been here a year. Oh, yeah, what’s that Mark told us? I was put on duty the quickest than anyone else after finishing my assignments?” You screw up your eyes as though trying to fact check yourself before nodding, smiling at the positively hateful expression on your partner’s face. “Guess I am good.”

He opens his mouth to reply and perhaps he assumes better of it - he simply rolls his eyes, pulling his tie off of his neck and dropping it on the ground beside him. For a moment you simply stare at him as he peels his jacket off, littering it on the floor in a similar fashion as his tie, until he’s merely donning a white button down and his black dress pants, hair messy and face light red.

Sometimes you do that - you watch him - because it’s nice to see him look so peaceful and silent when you’re used to spewing hatred back and forth. You could even be into him if he kept his mouth taped shut and promised to never make a single noise, but he would never comply with it - and you’re sure you’d find a reason to get pissed off at him if he didn’t speak.

You hadn’t realized how long you’d been staring at him until he turns around, and your gazes lock, and you lift your eyebrows.

“Don’t stare at me,” Harry demands, backing up on the bed until his head rests on the pillow beside you - you turn your head to stare at him, affronted. “Told you - m’taking the bed. An’ m’gonna take a nap f’a half hour- already set the timer on m’phone - so you can either take the couch or sit here right beside me.”

You push yourself onto your elbows, glaring down at the man beside you who closes his eyes (rather smugly, you’ll add) and mimics your own previous position, arms tucked beside his head. “You dickhead.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m not moving.”

“Fine by me.”

“I’m gonna nap too -”

“Go ahead -”

“And I stretch out a lot when I sleep.”

“How ever will I handle it?”

You’ve seem to run out of responses, furrowing your eyebrows as Harry’s face settles into an expression of slight comfort and you wonder if he really has gone to bed, resting in the button down shirt and dress pants that he’s always itching to get out of at the end of the day. You’ve had to watch him undress with absolutely no shame in front of your far too many times for comfort, shoved into small hotel rooms together but at least they had two beds - you can hardly control your heart rate as you stare down at him.

(Because you’re angry, of course. Whenever he’s acting like a dumbass your heartbeat quickens to match the pace of a fucking freight train, and that’s nearly every time you’ve ever had to talk to him.)

After a moment you rest back on the bed beside him, head dangerously close to the center of the two pillows where you can feel Harry’s curls, spread upon his pillows, brushing against the sides of your temples. With every feel of his hair against your skin you feel your anger rising, and you exhale softly, pressing your palms to the top of your stomach as you listen to his steady breathing beside you.

He sounds too peaceful.

You wait nearly ten minutes before beginning your plan of attack, not nearly as meticulously planned as the ones you and Harry will employ later - you slowly begin to spread your legs out, feeling your calf brush against his foot, and your arms follow in a similar pattern. They stretch outwards, forearm thrown across his neck, and you can feel his Adam’s apple bobbing against your skin but he doesn’t take the bait - doesn’t even move a muscle, and you can feel his even breathing against your arm.

For a second you wonder if he really is asleep. You’d be surprised.

It’s uncomfortable sleeping on your back and that’s your justification for rolling over onto your stomach, body halfway on top of Harry’s, chest pressed against his and face buried into the pillow beside him so your nose presses into his hair, softly inhaling the fruity shampoo he uses. Your arm lazily throws itself across his torso, leg nudging his until they fall off the bed, and he grunts.

“What th’fuck are y’doing?” Harry questions gruffly, voice just raspy enough to make you consider the very real possibility that he truly had fallen asleep, and you don’t respond. “Get off me, dumbass - tryin’ t’sleep.”

You remain silent. You work on steadying your breathing, faking sleep in the way that you’ve mastered over the past year (and a half, if you count the six months of training you’d done before beginning work) - on one of your earliest missions you’d pretended to be passed out in the back of a work party you’d seduced your way into with a tape recorder taped to your underboob and you’d been able to get enough recording of a conversation between two sleazy old men to support your hypothesis that their paper company was a front for a sex trafficking ring. You suspect this case should be likely the same, albeit easier and likely without the work party, and you’ll breeze through it like nobody’s business if it requires fake sleeping like you’re doing now.

“I know you’re not sleeping,” he correctly deduces, lifting his arm to slam it against your back entirely too hard and you nibble on your bottom lip to keep from making any type of noise at the slight pain the motion brings. “Get off me. Go t’the couch - stop being so stubborn.”

You mumble something incoherent under your breath, digging your face further into your pillow just to hear the way he hisses as you (un)intentionally tug at his hair. You feel his hands dig into your sides and before you can pull off of him he pushes you away with as much force as he can muster, and you’re send tossed to the other end of the bed, grappling at the duvet to stop yourself from slipping over the edge of the bed onto the carpet.

“Fuck,” you hiss, pushing yourself to sit out with your legs stuck straight out in front of you. With a glare directed towards the man opposite you you pull your legs back and push them towards him sharply, kicking him directly in his thigh, and his legs tumble off the bed, forcing him to sit up to maintain his balance. “Take that, dipshit.”

“Can’t you do better than that?” Harry questions, tone so mocking and condescending that you push yourself to his knees just as he rises to stand, the top button of his shirt mercifully coming undone, and you resist the urge to glance at it every so often. “C’mon, babe - if you’re gonna be a bitch -”

You push yourself to stand on top of the covers, taking a leap towards Harry where he stands on the other side of the bed, and your legs hook around his torso, effectively catching him by surprise as his hands immediately land on your waist, tugging you off of him and throwing you onto the bed with an ease that shouldn’t surprise you after this long of knowing him but it still knocks the breath out of you. His body hovers above you, pinning your arms above your head but you won’t have that - hook your legs around the back of his thighs and force him onto his back, throwing your legs over his torso as you mimic the position he’d trapped you in.

“1…” you begin counting tauntingly as you stare down at his face, reaching down to grab his wrists and hold them above his head, watching as he wriggles beneath you, his stomach tensing against your core. “2 … not even gonna put up a fight? What an agent you are -”

He practically growls at that, jerking his hands upward until they slip out of your grasp, nearly whacking you in the chin before he pushes himself up. You’re slammed into the headboard before you can even stop to think of your counterattack, back slamming into the wood as you drop your head forward to ensure you don’t knock your head into the wall, and Harry kneels in front of you with an exasperated, smug smirk, reaching up to press his forearm over your throat.

He’s not pressing hard - not enough to constrict your breathing at all, merely to hold your head in place - and after a second he begins counting just as you had - “1 … 2 … 3.”

You struggle uselessly against him until he reaches the final number, and a satisfied smile etches itself across his face before he pulls away, resting back on his knees to watch you huff before him before he begins crawling off the bed. “An’ I think that means that you, m’lady, have t’take the couch -”

You deliver one final swift kick to the back of Harry’s needs, and he tumbles off of the bed onto the ground with a cry, knees dropping onto the carpet and hands instinctively pressing to the wall he’d nearly slammed his head into. His position becomes one similar to a prayer, dropping his head forward against the wall with a dramatic groan.

“I won,” you tell him, flopping onto your back on the bed with a satisfied hum. “Get on the couch - reckon we still have a good 10 minutes left of our nap.”

Harry pushes himself to his feet in the blink of an eye, turning around with a look on his face that’s so serious you nearly want to double over in laughter, and as he plants his knees on the edge of the bed to resume the fight you’d had earlier, a sudden noise from the wall opposite your bed causes you to hold your palm out to him, effectively stopping him in his tracks.

“Shh!” you hiss, pushing yourself onto your elbows as Harry furrows his eyebrows, craning his neck towards the wall as though it’ll help him hear better. “D’you hear that?��

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, pondering the muffled noises coming from the hotel room next door. “Wha’?” Harry questions after a moment, voice hushed and soft, and you wait a moment before responding.

“The shower -” and, sure enough, just as the thought crosses your mind and the words leave your mouth you know that that’s the noise you’re hearing - the sound of water streaming onto the buff body of Vincent Carfield or perhaps his wife - “what time is it?”

“Uh -” Harry scrambles off the bed, digging through his backpack thrown on the ground until he can pull out his tablet, and the light shines on his face as he turns it on. “6:34.”

“Shit,” you hiss, rolling off the bed and practically darting out to the entrance hall where your suitcase rests against the wall, and you knock it to the ground and unzip it quickly. “Vincent’s already getting ready - we need to be at the restaurant soon. How fast can you get ready?”

“Pretty fast -” by the time Harry’s made his way into the entrance hall to dig through the suitcase he’d attempted to hit you with earlier you’ve peeled off your clothes, dropping them in a pile by your feet until you’re clad in only your bra and a pair of lace panties that leave entirely too little to the imagination, holster holding your knife firm against your thigh, and he freezes. “Christ. Can’t y’get a room f’that?”

“Oh, says the one who strips naked in the middle of the room every single night!” You shake your head, digging through your suitcase until you can find the black dress you’d packed specifically for dinner - it’s folded and mercifully wrinkle free, and you unzip the back to begin stepping into it. “Get ready. I’m going to do my makeup.”

“Make sure y’put a lot on - don’t wanna scare him off -”

“Shut up, Harry!”

Fucina’s is dark and fancy, with hosts dressed in all black and waitresses in a similar fashion. You would almost feel out of place, your arm hooked with Harry’s as you’re led through the main dining room towards the back where your table is, but it’s not any more elegant than any of the other expensive restaurants and galas the pair of you have infiltrated together, and with your tight dress and his suit, you look like exactly the couple to eat and afford a restaurant like this.

“The pasta’s $65,” Harry murmurs, trailing his fingertip down the laminated menu that you can hardly see in the dim light of the restaurant. You squint down at the page, bringing your head closer down to confirm that, yes, the fettuccine truly is that fucking expensive, and - not for the first time - you’re immensely grateful for the headquarters-mandated debit cards that you’ll use to pay for this. “Y’see that? The fettuccine?”

“Yeah,” you nod, though you’re not looking at the menu any longer - your eyes scan the restaurant behind Harry’s back, and of the three other tables in the private section Mark had requested for Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson to be in, none of them are occupied except yours. You and Harry had gotten there ten minutes late, much to Mark’s chagrin when you called him in the taxi, and the Carfields still hadn’t arrived. “Think I’m just gonna get a salad - not too hungry, anyway.”

“Me too.”

The conversation drains into a weird sort of silence - not awkward, and not malicious, either, as all of your silences usually are typically the result of one of you purposely ignoring the other. It’s harder to air out your disdain for each other when you’re supposed to be a couple that’s hopelessly in love in a high class restaurant, and you find that you don’t have much else to talk about with your partner besides discussing either the mission or whatever he’s doing that may be pissing you off at the moment -

He actually looks nice right now. Calm, collected - if you didn’t know better you’d say he looks like a pretty stand-up guy. The kind you’d take home to your mom.

“Why are y’lookin’ at me?” Harry questions, then, glancing up at you, and you internally curse at yourself - you always tend to forget how good he is at identifying someone staring at him.

“Just thinking about how much I prefer you when you aren’t speaking,” you tell him, voice dropping lower as a host clad in black leads an older couple into the area, sitting them at a table towards the window as Harry rolls his eyes. You lift your water glass to your lips, taking a slow sip as you attempt to inconspicuously decipher if the couple is your target -

“You’re being so obvious,” Harry hisses, voice soft like a breath and yet still retaining all the venom his words always tend to hold. “Is it them?”

“No,” you decide, resting your glass back on your coaster as you slide your chair further into the table, foot accidentally kicking his ankle as you do - his face contorts in both annoyance and pain as he repeats the motion to you. “No - Carfield’s wife is young, isn’t she?”

“27.”

“Yeah.” The wife currently settling into her seat, draping her jacket over the back of her chair, is decidedly not 27 - add 50 years, or so. “Not them. They should be here soon, though.”

“Good.”

In another moment your waitress has come to take your drink orders - you get a bottle of red wine just to hammer in the notion that you’re a young couple on a date night, even if you really prefer white wine, and you’re sure Harry would rather have a beer, but Mark always tells you to go for red when you’re out to dinner on missions. And - well - you’re not necessarily complaining. Wine is wine.

The wine arrives at your table with two tall glasses and Harry takes it to pour with a faux cheerful grin that has the waitress flushing in the dim light of the room - you tell yourself the tinge of jealousy at her clear adoration for the man currently uncorking the bottle to pour for you is simply because of how in character you are in terms of your fake marriage - and if you were someone else, perhaps you’d get angry at her for clearly flirting with Harry, though he doesn’t seem to notice.

Strange. You’d always taken him as the more observant one of the two of you, but he’s paying no mind to the waitress’s blushed face as he pours wine into your glass and she pulls out her notepad, ready to take your order.

“I’ll have the caesar salad, please, without chicken,” you tell her, giving a tight lipped grin as she scribbles it down onto her page. When Harry’s rested the bottle of wine back on the tablecloth-clad table, you reach over and rest your hand overtop of his, feeling his veins jump beneath your touch. “What about you, honey?”

If he’s confused, he doesn’t look it - just gives you a warm smile that feels entirely wrong coming from him, and the waitress looks positively affronted as he orders a large Mediterannean salad, and when she’s tucked her notebook back into the apron tied around her waist and left the private area, he furrows his eyebrows at you.

“Y’jealous?” Harry inquires, leaning his head in with a mocking grin that makes you roll your eyes, though you make no effort to move your hand from his - it looks better for appearances, anyway. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“In your dreams,” you insist, straightening your posture once a different hostess leads a couple into the room. The man is old, bald head shining in the dim light and donning a suit jacket that clearly hasn’t been tailored to his proportions, and his wife is significantly younger, pale face flushed red and wearing a black dress that looks as though she’s attending a funeral - you suppose she is, to some degree, mourning her marriage, so perhaps it’s fitting.

Harry can tell by the way you straighten up that the new couple sitting at the table behind him is the Carfields. Vincent sits with his back to your table, his wife on the opposite side, and immediately they lean their heads together, surely speaking in hushed tones about - prenuptial agreements and custody of their two girls and the like.

You need to be a couple. Mark had insisted on it, that it’s the most important part for you to get closer to Vincent and make him susceptible to your manipulation - he needs to see you as some sort of forbidden fruit - a married woman with a seemingly happy husband. It’s a control thing for him, and one you need to play into if you want to take his drug ring down.

It would sound like an ambitious goal if you weren’t as confident in yourself and Harry - because even if you hate him, he’s a damn good agent.

Your eyes meet Harry’s across the table, and he raises an eyebrow. You nod, jerking your head up and down before wrapping your manicured fingers around the stem of your wine glass, lifting it up and giving your partner a soft smile - one that he’s rarely on the receiving end of, if you’re being truthful - and you nod your chin towards his glass. Harry follows your lead, lifting his glass and raising it to clink against yours.

“Cheers,” he murmurs, and both of you sip from your glasses before resting them back down on your coasters, the rim of your glass decorated with a generous pink stain from your lipstick. “Happy anniversary, honey.”

His voice raises in volume just a bit, and from the table behind him you can see tears fill Mrs. Carfield’s eyes at the sentiment of a happy couple, and Mr. Carfield’s head tilts to the side though you don’t watch him long enough to see if he’d heard Harry - you simply smile - lift your intertwined hands in the air and to anyone else in your private area you’re sure you simply look the perfect part of a happy couple, celebrating their marriage anniversary. Two years together. Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson have been married for longer than you’ve known (and despised) Harry - surely there’s irony hidden in there, deep enough that you can’t see it.

It’s easier than you’d like to admit to fake a meaningful conversation with Harry. Mark generally gives the pair of you a list of things to talk about so people get the impression that you can tolerate each other but you typically don’t even need it - it’s easy enough to talk about your faux plans for the rest of your marriage.

It’s almost fun, even. Not in a way you’d expect - but it’s funny, talking about whatever the pair of you would imagine married couples would discuss - mortgages and trying for babies and politics - keeping your voices loud enough so the couple behind you can hear but quiet enough so it doesn’t seem intentional.

“D’you think we could turn the guest room into a nursery?” Harry inquires, lips quirking upwards as he lifts his wine to his lips, and you nibble on your bottom lip, pretending to contemplate the question.

“Of course,” you respond faux-thoughtfully, leaning forward just a bit, and his eyes flicker downwards for hardly a second before rising to meet your eyes again. “Or perhaps the office.”

“Yes, that’s a bit bigger,” he says seriously, and you nod, reaching for your glass of wine to take another small sip. It’s bitter and leaves a sour taste on your tongue, but you’re determined to drink the entire thing - it’ll soothe the nerves that you’re sure will arrive when it’s time to plant the bug on Mr. Carfield. You still haven’t figured out how you’ll manage to do it smoothly. “Then perhaps we could save the guest room for the second.”

You nod, hardly able to keep the small smile off your lips, and Harry leans forward, reaching for the stem of his glass - perhaps he miscalculates the force needed to pick up a glass, or maybe he’s beginning to feel the effects of the first glass of wine he’d downed - but his hand knocks into the glass, sending it toppling forward onto your arms, sticky red liquid coating your skin. You jerk your arms back as though he’d burned you, watching him hiss as he reaches for the glass before it can spill any further onto you or the white tablecloth now stained with redness.

You swallow the urge to snap at him - that’s counterproductive, and it’ll blow your cover - so you merely inhale, willing the anger down as you reach for your napkin to begin to mop up the mess. “Should watch what you’re doing, honey -”

“My bad, darling - didn’t mean to -”

And the moment of you beginning to like Harry is gone as fast as it had begun, feeling the simmering anger that’s ever-present beneath your skin already beginning to bubble into existence. He’s looking at you with his eyebrows raised as if this is your fault that he can’t control his own glass, like you’re the nuisance, and your desire to retort snarkily is thwarted only as Vincent Carfield’s head turns just slightly to the side, and you can see him and his wife watching the pair of you in what’s clearly an attempt to be subtle.

You rest your palms on the table as Harry sets his glass back on the coaster, and you can feel the similar waves of annoyance rolling off of him that you’re sure you’re mirroring. “I’m going to go clean myself up,” you tell him. “Excuse me for a moment, sweetheart.”

“Take your time, princess.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you push your chair back with a tight lipped smile, standing up and resting your napkin on the table before your seat as you push past the table towards the bathroom you’d passed when your host had lead you to the table.

The restrooms are nicely decorated, with large mirrors and sinks and two singular stalls - entirely too fancy for the thoughts racing through your mind as you lean over the sink, turning the faucet on and shoving your sticky arms beneath the flow of warm water. You’d managed to clean most of the wine with your napkin but you still just need - perhaps just a moment to yourself, without Harry’s eyes piercing into you in a way that makes it impossible to feel like he doesn’t want to throttle you.

And you want to throttle him, too. That’s why your relationship works because it doesn’t, because you hate him as much as he hates you - and yet, while you were drinking wine and messing around and pretending to be a couple you didn’t hate him. Not even a bit -

Until he spilled the wine. It’s a forcible reminder of why you want to shave off all of his hair when he sleeps, sometimes.

The water has gone cold on your skin when you finally shut the faucet off, picking up a small stack of paper towels to dry off your arms. When you’ve chucked your trash in the wicker-basket garbage bin you take a moment to simply stare at yourself in the mirror, black dress hugging your body just enough to leave very little to the imagination - you adjust the fabric to hide the bulge where you have your knife holstered to your thigh. The cut of the dress dips low into your cleavage - and then you recall how Harry’s eyes had briefly dipped downwards when you’d been talking earlier -

A smile twitches at your lips. You’ll have to remember to use that one against him later.

Just before you turn to leave you pause - stick your hand down the front of your dress to the small audio device you’d hidden in your bra. The bug is small, barely the size of your pinky nail, one side sticky enough to hold onto Vincent Carfield’s tan suit jacket -

You hadn’t thought too much about how you’d manage to subtly get the device on him, but there’s no time like the present, is there?

You leave the bathroom, then - nearly run into your waitress as she stares down at her notepad, and you’re not sure if you’re imagining the dirty look she shoots you - and climb the two short steps it takes to get to the private area you’d been seated in. Harry’s back faces you, curls looking particularly messy and head dropped forward to surely stare at his phone, and you can see Vincent leaning in to talk to his wife with narrowed eyes and a hushed tone.

You inhale and begin your walk over to the table, heels clicking on the tiled floor, and Harry’s head tilts to the side as he hears you coming. Vincent’s eyes rise to meet yours just as your heel slides a bit on the floor and you slip forward right beside their table, and the plan falls into action just as you’d planned in the thirty second walk it had taken to get from the bathroom to here.

Vincent’s arm sticks out instinctively to catch you, wrapped around your stomach for just a moment too long as his other hand rests on your back, and you use the opportunity to reach up and grab his shoulder as a way to steady yourself. Harry jerks around in his seat to watch you, and the concern in his eyes almost makes you revive your brief moment of liking him but it’s overpowered by the pride you feel - if he can’t immediately snuff out that the fall was a fraud, then it had clearly looked realistic enough that the Carfields wouldn’t be able to tell, your hand with the bug pressing to his shoulder

Boom. Planted. Your grip presses the bug against the back of his shoulder as he helps you to your feet, and you pretend not to notice the way his eyes trail up your body - his poor wife looks affronted at the clear display of attraction.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” you apologize, trailing your finger down his arm as he drops his hands back to the table. “I’m so clumsy sometimes -”

“No worries,” he assures you, and perhaps he would seem like a kind, well-adjusted man if it weren’t for the way his eyes zero in on your chest like a magnet - Harry shifts in his seat, watching the two of you, and his wife picks up her glass of wine and downs it in one sip. “Always glad to help a pretty girl in need.”

A blush works its way up your cheeks and before you can flirt back - it raises bile in the back of your throat to do it - Harry intervenes, leaning forward with a goddamn award winning smile and absolutely stomping on your chance to ensure some sort of relationship with Mr. Carfield as he says, “Did she wrinkle your suit at all? We’ll get the laundry bill, if she did.”

You grind your teeth together through a smile as Vincent shakes his bald head, sending Harry a warm smile which your partner gladly reciprocates. “It’s fine - are the two of you married?”

Didn’t he hear you two loudly celebrating your anniversary? Perhaps he just needs to confirm it - nothing wrong with it - but, God, he’s forward.

“Yes, we are,” you reply, and you step away from Vincent to walk back to your table - Harry reaches for your hand and pulls you to him, and you suspect the motion would look awkward if done by anyone else but it feels entirely too natural for you to be bothered. “It’s our two year marriage anniversary, actually. That’s why we’re here - on vacation.”

“That’s lovely,” Vincent says, and his smile stretches wider until it makes you uncomfortable to look at so you busy yourself gazing down at Harry’s head as though you’re so smitten you can hardly stand to look away. Then he holds out his hand, and you grab it, letting him shake it vigorously before he moves towards Harry. “It’s Vincent Carfield,” he tells you both, and Harry jumps in to introduce yourselves by your false names. “How long are you here?” “Just th’weekend,” Harry responds, nodding as Vincent does. “We’re staying downtown.”

“Really?” Vincent leans forward, and you lean your body back just a bit - not enough for him to notice, thankfully. “What hotel?”

And Harry gives him the name and Vincent acts as though it’s the wildest coincidence in the world that you both happen to be staying at one of the nicest, most popular hotels in London but you’re glad he overreacts, in a way. It’s important to establish some sort of relation between the two of you and maybe this’ll make Vincent feel like he’s destined to start some sort of affair with you - sure, it’s stupid, but he’s insecure and you’re ‘married’ and that should make him feel a bit more in control, knowing there’s a man waiting for you when you’re with him.

The thought could nearly make you gag. You hope beyond hope that it doesn’t have to get to it - that maybe the two of you could just sit and talk while Harry searches his hotel room - but, judging from the way he’s practically salivating as he stares up at you, you don’t think that’ll be the case.

After another moment of chatter your waitress arrives with a large plate of salad in each hand - you let go of Harry’s hand with one last departing wink to Vincent Carfield as you walk around the table to your seat, pushing your seat into the table just as your salad is placed before you.

Vincent’s wife glares at you - you’d feel bad in any other scenario. But - hey - at least they’re getting divorced already.

You pick up your fork, stabbing into a crouton and a few pieces of iceberg lettuce, and you raise it to your mouth, chewing thoughtfully on your food as Harry mirrors your actions. The two of you eat in silence for a minute or two, and you occasionally lift your wine to take a sip - he hadn’t poured himself a new glass, for which you are extremely grateful - before he leans in, curls flopping around his ears in a way that would be adorable if you didn’t have any sort of niggling annoyance for him still lingering.

“Good job, Mrs. Robinson,” murmurs Harry into a forkful of lettuce before shoving it into his mouth, and you scrunch your nose at his sloppiness.

“It’s what I’m best at,” you respond in earnest, and you relish in the way he rolls his eyes.

Harry takes forever in the shower.

It’s an indisputable fact at this point and one you should have gotten used to but it never fails to amaze you as your fingers type away at the headquarters-issued laptop resting on the carpet in front of you. He’s already been in the bathroom for nearly 20 minutes - you can hear his music playing, old hippie music that’s always blaring from his earbuds on plane and car rides, and steam billows out of the crack in the bottom of the door - and you’ve been picking up where he left up setting up the audio transmitter you’d attached to Vincent Carfield so you can hear what he’s saying, wired earbuds plugged into the computer preparation for when you start the audio.

Harry hadn’t done much at all to set it up - you can’t imagine what he was doing in the hotel room while you were showering if he wasn’t working on the mission, but you’d come out after your shower and hardly anything was done.

They should come up with better technology for this, you think as you drum your fingernails against your laptop, watching the small loading bar inch across the computer screen, transmitting the audio from next door to both your laptop and to Mark, back at headquarters. You’d texted him briefly to ask if he still wanted you to call him and he told you to merely connect the audio to him and there would be no issues - well, that’s fine by you, even if you’d largely counted on him coming between you and Harry when you’ll inevitably want to kill him later tonight.

The water shuts off. You roll your eyes for a good few seconds as you hear the shower curtain being shoved open from inside the bathroom, and you lean further into the computer before you, squinting at the loading bar that hasn’t progressed further since the last time you examined it. You sigh - push yourself off of the floor, arms stretched above your head and the sleeves of your t-shirt slide further down your shoulders. You’re simply donning a worn college shirt you’d gotten when you were in high school and still had dreams of attending a typical university - dreams that, evidently, you had squashed in the years to come - and a pair of sleep shorts, their waist just a tad too big on you and you’ve tugged them up further than they should rest.

It’s decidedly chilly in the hotel. The steam dissipating through the room from Harry’s shower serves as the only way to heat you up, humid air warm on your skin, and you hate the way you almost appreciate him for taking such a piping hot shower - but the thought doesn’t have to linger too long before the bathroom door opens with the force of a fucking bullet and Harry walks out, towel tied around his waist and hanging low on his hips, sopping curls brushed and resting on his shoulders, droplets from the strands rolling down his chest.

Your stomach flips.

“Christ,” you say as a way of hiding the way your skin suddenly feels like there’s a fire lighting it from the inside out, burning your insides with it. “Don’t have any clothes to put on?”

He rolls his eyes - you swallow thickly, perching yourself on the edge of the bed as he takes a moment to stop and glance at the computer on the ground before turning back to you. “Changing in the bathroom is gross,” and - well, yeah, you have to agree with that. “Y’practically stripped naked in front f’me earlier, y’know.”

“You did it first,” you mutter, pulling your legs to cross beneath you as Harry crosses the room to the full length mirror mounted on the wall, fingers running through his wet curls, and you tear your eyes away from the water dripping onto his bare skin with only mild difficulty. “The audio is loading.”

“I saw that, believe it or not.”

Dick. You bite your tongue, though, and resist the urge to retort that he’d clearly not even started to set up the transmitter while you were showering, because the loading bar has moved nearly to the end of the screen while you’d been conversing with Harry. You climb off the bed, kneeling in front of the computer as Harry looks down at you, and you distinctly feel a drop from his hair land on the top of your head.

“S’done?” he inquires, and you glance up at him to reply but he’s already plopping down next to you, leaning over you to squint at the screen so you get a nice whiff of the hotel soap he’d used and his own distinct scent of shampoo - it’s fruity, mixed with something musky you can’t decipher - maybe tobacco? It’s hard to tell - he smells good. You wonder if he’s noticed how still you’ve gotten but then he pulls away, leaning back on his arm while you clear your throat and lean forward, tapping the mousepad on your laptop a few times in quick succession. “You’ve got it hooked to Mark?”

“‘Course,” you say, if only to regain your composure and keep your pretense of light annoyance with him. “Probably why it’s taking so long.”

“Ah.”

Then he stands, crossing to the entrance hall where his suitcase is opened, clothes folded meticulously because he’s nothing if not a freak for his clothes - out of the corner of your eye you see him pull out a pair of pajama pants and only a pair of pajama pants, and when his head turns to glance back at you, you’re quick to avert your gaze back to the computer -

Which has loaded. Hooray!

“It’s done,” you call to him, a decibel too loud and you’re quick to lower your voice with a small glance to the wall separating you and the Carfields. Earlier, you’d heard their door slam when they got home from dinner and you could make out their faint voices arguing if you focused hard enough - you don’t want them to hear you. “Get changed and we can listen.”

You pick up one of the earbuds connected to the laptop and shove it in your ear, fiddling with the volume buttons until it’s loud enough that you can hear their conversations as Harry ducks back into the bathroom. Clearly the coat with the bug has been folded in such a way that it muffles their voices but hell, it’s a strong bug, and you can still manage to hear them fine enough.

You send a text to Mark, and he confirms he can hear it too - you toss your phone to the side, letting it slide across the carpet as you lean in, adjusting the earbud in your ear.

Vincent’s voice is what you hear first - he’s talking fast, as though he’s in a rush, and your brows furrow.

“The new shipment isn’t set to come in until the first,” he says, tone hushed and soft, and you can’t hear his wife’s response after a moment of listening, and then he continues. “Think, you idiot! She’s trying to milk me for everything I’ve got - everything we’ve worked for -”

For a brief moment you wonder who she is, but after another few moments with no response you figure that he isn’t talking to his wife as you’d expected - he’s on the phone with someone, speaking of his divorce. A business partner - of course. The bathroom door opens, and your eyes shift to Harry’s figure as you hold out the available earbud for him.

Fuck. He’s gonna fucking kill you - not with his hands or with his gun but with those fucking pants, so low on his hips you can see the trail of hair leading beneath the plaid fabric, the tie done loose and casual. He’s not wearing a shirt, tattoos on full display for you to ogle if you had the time to, and you don’t, of course, but it doesn’t stop your eyes from roaming over his torso, throat feeling suddenly dry as he pads over to you on the ground, dropping to his knees beside you.

“Are you checking me out?” Harry questions, a soft smirk dancing on his lips and you roll your eyes, dangling the earbud for him to grab and he finally takes it, placing it in his left ear just as Vincent begins to speak again.

“Never,” you murmur, and if that isn’t the furthest from the truth you could get to you’re not quite sure what is. “Listen to him - I’m going to the bathroom.” And, as you push yourself to stand and walk towards the bathroom, you swear you can hear him murmur slacker beneath his breath but - well - you don’t need to respond to everything he says sometimes.

Truthfully, yes. You did have to pee. And when you’re done with that you turn on the faucet to wash your hands and you stare at the bathroom mirror that’s still damp from the steam of his shower, edges still frosted with the humidity, and it makes your reflection fuzzy as you look at yourself.

What the fuck? Seriously - what the fuck?

There’s a pressure in your lower stomach and a neediness between your thighs that you can only assign to Harry’s freshly-showered, no-shirt-low-pants appearance and it has shame bubbling under your skin mixed with some other feeling you don’t care enough to figure out. You’re feeling very strange things for Harry - things you’ve never felt for him, ever, in the entire year of knowing him - and you’re almost completely positive he doesn’t feel the same, doesn’t have the same desire to bend you over this sink -

Almost. But almost is very close to absolutely positive.

You feel embarrassed for yourself as you glance around the sink. His hairbrush sits on the counter, and there are so many assorted beauty products scattered across the surface that you can’t tell which ones are yours or his.

The lotion is his, you decide. You don’t use unscented lotion - but you reach for it anyway, squirting a dollop onto your palms and rubbing it in for a reason you’re not entirely sure of. When your hands are as soft as they’re going to get you glance at yourself in the mirror again, shirt baggy and long, the ends of your shorts peeking beneath the fabric.

You reach up, pulling the waistband of your shorts up until they aren’t visible beneath the ends of your shirt, exposing your legs until it appears you’re wearing no sleep shorts beneath the shirt. It’s more comfortable like that, anyway, you tell yourself, which isn’t quite true, before pushing the bathroom door open and walking back out to where Harry’s perched on the floor.

He turns to look at you, and you don’t miss the way his eyes crawl up your legs but he’s a bit more subtle about it than you’re sure you were - his bottom lip looks a deeper shade of red than the top and you wonder if he’d been biting it.

You decide not to repeat his retort about checking you out, even if you’re almost entirely sure he was.

“How’s it going?” you inquire, picking up your earbud to begin listening again. The wire connecting the two buds is short and you shift closer to him until the tip of your kneecap brushes his - you’d expected him to jerk away like you’d fucking stepped on him but he doesn’t, surprisingly. “Got anything juicy?”

“Jus’ vague references t’shipments and goods - they’re trying t’trace his call, see who he’s talking to.” You nod, resting your chin on your palm as Vincent drones on about exactly what Harry had said - the only substantial piece of evidence you have pointing to his business being a coverup for a drug trafficking scheme is references to obscene amounts of money he fears losing to his ex-wife that he would’ve never been able to obtain working at a privately-owned tailory.

For ten minutes Vincent’s phone call remains as a bit of a drag and, truthfully, a rather large waste of time in your opinion - this is stuff you’d already known, including the shipment coming in a week’s time that you know headquarters will be able to intercept - and you’ve just begun to pull out your earbud to retreat to the bathroom once more to brush your teeth when Harry’s arm jerks towards you, fingers wrapping around your wrist and effectively preventing you from rising.

“Jesus hell,” you hiss, dropping back down onto the ground as you shove your earbud back in, “what -?”

But then Vincent is speaking again.

“ - look, buddy,” he says, voice suddenly dropped lower so that Harry reaches out, tapping the volume button a few times until you can hear him properly, “met this girl at dinner tonight, out with Bonnie. Real cute - body like a fuckin’ goddess.”

Your cheeks flush as a small smirk spreads across Harry’s face.

Vincent pauses, clearly awaiting his business partner’s response to this shocking bit of news, and when he speaks again he sounds more annoyed. “Fuckin’ done with Bonnie - I’m a free agent, Jules.”

You snap at Harry, but he’s already fishing for his phone, pulling up the notes app and jotting down the name Jules in a fresh page.

“Can fuck whoever I want to, now, and I swear, you’d die if you saw her.” You can practically picture the scumbag’s face as he says it, all smug and arrogant - as though you’d ever give him the time of a day if you weren’t being fucking paid for it. “Staying at the same hotel too, with her husband.”

Another pause. “Jules, do you think I give a shit about husbands? Remember Mia, in LA? The one married to that big fella? She was all over me.”

Your lips quirk up into a smile even as your stomach continues to churn in disgust, and Harry exhales softly, resting his phone on top of his knee. Clearly, Vincent’s conversation with Jules has turned from fighting for nearly fifteen minutes about shipments and payments to you and it’s entirely less important but it still piques your interest more. The gritty details of their shipping is for Mark to handle back at headquarters - you need to make sure you can distract Vincent long enough for Harry to search his room.

“ - and, man, you should’ve seen the eyes this girl was giving me - and her husband was all over her, too, checkin’ her out but she was still looking at me -”

You nearly choke at that, head whipping to the side to look at Harry, and he’s doing a sufficient job of furrowing his eyebrows and looking entirely confused at Vincent’s words but you don’t believe him for a moment. Checking you out - God, and you had the nerve to feel embarrassed for your desire for him. A month ago you may have been truly annoyed at Vincent’s observation but it only fuels the fire igniting in your core as Harry puts on his pretense of adjusting his earbuds, tips of his ears bright red as he pointedly avoids your gaze, and you bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from grinning.

“I’ll let you go. God, don’t sound so pretentious - didn’t you hook up with that French chick who was married to the boxer? - Yeah, that’s what I thought -”

You’re much less interested in Vincent’s conversations now, pulling your earbud out and standing up, arms stretched high above your head as Harry stays, leaning against the ground with one arm. After a moment, though, Vincent must have ended his phone call - Harry shuts the laptop and pulls his earbud out, standing up, and your gazes meet for a moment.

“Vincent’s an idiot,” he tells you, flush creeping up his neck, and you nod.

“Is he?’

“Y’know he was just saying that so he seemed cool, right?”

“Said what?”

Harry rolls his eyes, then, and you can’t stop the smirk from gracing your lips once more as he crosses across the hotel room, collapsing onto his back onto the bed, and you furrow your eyebrows as you watch him. “Didn’t check you out.”

“I didn’t say you did.” He doesn’t respond, and you sit yourself on the edge of the bed, glaring down at his slumped figure. “You’re not getting the bed.”

“‘Course I am. We fought it out, remember?”

“And we didn’t finish.”

“We absolutely did,” and then he pushes himself to sit up, leaning against the headboard, and it takes more willpower than you possess to keep your eyes from roaming his body but you resist with everything in you - you’ll just about die if he calls you out for checking him out. “I beat you. I had y’against the headboard.”

“That was inconclusive.”

“Get on the couch.”

You narrow your eyes at him and he narrows his right back, staring into his fucking soul because you’ll be damned if you sleep on the couch, even if it makes logistical sense because he is taller than you - but, no. You’re the one who could possibly have to fuck Vincent Carfield in all his glory. You deserve the bed, size be damned.

In the end, you blink first, and come bedtime, you’re nestled on the couch with blankets you’d found in the hotel wardrobe.

You hate Harry.

The couch is extremely uncomfortable. It’s what you’d expected but your back still aches in pain when you wake up at 3 in the fucking morning, blankets dangling off the edge of the cushions you’re bundled on top of, and the pillow your head was resting on has slipped off onto the ground.

The room is pitch black as you groan, the noise purposefully loud, reaching down until your fingers graze the edge of the pillow - but your grip is slow, tired, and as you pick up the pillow to throw it back behind your head it slips from your grasp, dropping onto the ground and bouncing against the carpet until it’s resting a solid six feet from the couch.

Do you really need a pillow? You’re not sure, but you desperately don’t want to have to get up and get it because you know your sleepiness will melt away before you can even think about it, and, more than anything, you desire going back to sleep in order to try and be well rested for tomorrow.

You reach down and pull your clump of blankets back up over yourself, pulling your knees further against your chest so the entire area of the blankets coats your body. Your head rests against the flat cushion, pillow be damned, and you shift again until your back is rested flat against the cushion as well, legs sticking straight out in front of you, the couch creaking at the movement.

The blankets don’t cover your legs - you push one of them down until they’re situated onto your feet, collectively covering your entire body even if it isn’t necessarily warm. At least they’re blanketed to some degree.

After ten minutes of trying to go back to bed, you pointedly decide that yes, you really do need a pillow, and immediately. Your neck already aches with the uncomfortable position and your ears feel chilly without being pressed into the soft pillow you’d snatched from the bed Harry is currently sleeping on - the bastard. He’d practically suffocated you with his smug gazes before he fell asleep, curled on top of the bed that he’d (rightfully) claimed as his after an arm wrestle, rock paper scissors game, and a half-hearted second attempt at a wrestling match - you’d lost all three.

Whatever. You’d been determined not to sulk at your losses before returning to the couch, trying not to let Harry see you mope but now you wish you’d made a bigger show of your disappointment - perhaps he’d have caved and taken the couch, but you’re sure he’d have stayed firm no matter what.

You slowly push yourself off of the couch, creeping across the room towards where your pillow rests on the ground, and you pick it up, clutching it tight to your chest before returning to the couch. You press it against the cushion, punching it a few times to attempt to soften it before huffing softly, lying yourself back down and tugging your blankets tight back up against you.

The next ten minutes goes by much as the night had previously - you can’t find a good position, turning onto your side and your back and your stomach until you’re hardly sure which way you’re facing, at this point, face buried tight against your pillow. You long for not much more than a soft bed for your back to rest into and you’re sure you’ll be a sore, tired disaster tomorrow when you manage to find Vincent Carfield in the hotel.

You turn to your side, the couch squeaking beneath the shift in your weight, and your body tenses when you hear a soft groan from the lump wrapped in covers on top of the bed, his silhouette illuminated only by the moonlight streaming through the window into the hotel room.

“How much longer are y’gonna move?” Harry grunts, voice low and raspy and you swallow when you hear it - if you close your eyes and listen to him speak, you could almost imagine him sounding like that in a very different scenario - “Keepin’ me up.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” you retort, voice soft and crackling with your yearning to sleep. “If you’d like to take the couch so I stop tossing and turning, I’d much appreciate it.”

He exhales softly, the noise sounding so deep and pornographic it makes your stomach flip. “In your dreams.”

You narrow your eyes as you stare at him, duvet pulled up to his chest and head turned to the side towards you - in the dark you can’t tell if his eyes are shut or if he’s looking at you. For a moment you decide not to say anything, hands crossed over your stomach, and then you shift loudly onto your back, couch creaking, and Harry sighs just as you’d anticipated.

“Please,” he begins, tone low and pleading, and you cut him off before he can continue.

“Not my fault the couch is loud, Har.”

“You’re doin’ it on purpose.”

“Of course I’m not,” you tell him, shifting again so another noise permeates the air of the hotel room. “The couch is just noisy - and uncomfortable.”

There’s a rather pregnant pause after that and you keep your eyes on Harry, watching the way he shifts onto his back, opening up a rather small sliver of space beside him and your heart practically leaps at the sight but you don’t say anything else - simply roll back onto your side, the couch creaking as you do, and he sighs again.

It seems like he sighs a lot.

“If I invite you into my bed,” Harry begins, and a small smile begins tugging your lips upwards even if you want to groan at his usage of the word my, “you’ll promise t’be quiet an’ go t’sleep?”

God, he sounds like your mother. “Yes,” you tell him, clutching the blankets wrapped around your torso. “I promise.”

Another pause. “Then - then y’can come. We can share.”

You try not to look too eager. Masking your emotions is, perhaps, the most important aspect of your job and yet you’re sure you look just as excited as you feel, pushing yourself to your feet with your blankets wrapped around your body, pillow stowed beneath your arm. Your feet pad across the carpet, toes sinking into the plushness of the floor before you make it to the bed, and Harry’s staring up at you, face contorted in a mixture of emotions you can’t decipher.

“Not gonna scooch over, then?” you question, resting your pillow against the bed and hitting it a few times.

“Y’have room, don’t you?”

And the answer is that you don’t, of course. When you lie yourself down on the bed your legs knock into Harry’s, head so close to his you can feel his curls grazing your face, and the duvet you pull up your chin smells like him, distinctly. His elbow juts into your side - your cold foot rests against his warm one - you don’t think you’ve ever touched him this much outside of a mission.

You drape your clump of blankets over your body, partially resting on top of Harry, smoothing your palms over the fabric with a contented sigh. Your back is thanking you for the switch in sleeping spots and your neck sinks into the pillow and mattress, aches already beginning to alleviate themselves.

“Still need me t’move?” Harry asks, and you shut your eyes, nearly missing the way his eyes lingered on you for just a moment longer than necessary before he rests himself back against the bed.

“No,” you murmur, and there’s another moment of silence before he mumbles his affirmation. Tomorrow you’re sure you’ll regret this - sleeping beside him, even if that’s all you do - feeling him pressed against parts of your body you’d never expected to feel his touch on.

Well, you’d rather deal with the tinge of embarrassment (and pride) than an achy back and lack of sleep - you smile slightly.

The next morning comes entirely too soon for your liking - sunlight peeking through the windows permeates your eyelids until you’re groaning awake, palm pressed against your eyes to block the light and face burying itself back into your pillow.

Your alarm hasn’t gone off yet. If your alarm doesn’t go off, then it’s not morning. Surely you have a few more hours of rest before you need to get up - even a couple more minutes will do -

Just as the thought crosses your mind your phone blares its alarm, the loud noise jolting you up like a bucket of ice water, and, from behind you, Harry grunts into his pillow.

Behind you.

You’re quick to silence your alarm - another nine full minutes of peaceful resting, if you’re lucky, before you’re disturbed again, though you’re sure you won’t get back to bed now that you’ve remembered the events of last night.

Harry’s arm is heavy, draped over your midsection, the soft surface of his cheek buried intently into the crevice between your neck and shoulder - you can feel his soft breathing against your skin, the air a warm and gentle sensation. One of his legs has wedged itself between yours, thigh pressed entirely too high in the crevice between your thighs, and with every moment that passes you can feel the rise and fall of his bare chest as he snores behind you.

What a fucking sight, you think, sitting up slightly to look down at him. God, if he were awake, you’d tease him until he cries about what a position the pair of you had worked yourselves into but you have the foresight to see how that would backfire on you - technically, you’re just as to blame as he is, even if he’s the bigger spoon right now.

But you’re most decidedly not to blame for the hardness pressing into your lower back, tearing a sleepy groan from Harry’s throat when you shift in your position.

The bastard. He’s hard as a fucking rock from pressing against you while you slept, and a sleepy smirk spreads across your face as you glance down at him. In any other circumstance you think you’d poke him awake just to make him aware of it but there’s a certain air of desire you’re feeling as well that makes you feel - well, not as though you’re in the appropriate position to make fun of him for his boner.

Slowly, you disentangle yourself from his body. His leg drops to the mattress when you swing your own off the edge of the bed, his arm falling until it’s resting in your lap, palm pressed against a certain area that makes your breath hitch, furrowing your eyebrows as you glance down at his hand. There are still fading, pink indents from the rings he takes off every night and before every mission, save for the fake wedding band the two of you often have to don on missions, and you scrunch your nose as you admire it.

Married. You don’t think so. The only time you think of him with anything other than hatred is when he’s asleep, like this - or shirtless.

You stand up, shaking your head to wipe those thoughts from your mind. Harry’s hand drops onto the mattress and you can tell it’s the push he needed into consciousness - you glance back at him to see his eyes cracked open, and they shut when your gazes meet.

“‘Morning,” you tell him, voice louder than you’d intended, and he winces at the noise, shifting onto his back - it’s as though you can see the exact moment he realizes his little problem mixed with the realization that you would also know about it, pressed up against him during the night - his eyes widen ever so slightly, and he pushes himself to lean against the headboard, bundling his duvet onto his lap.

“Um - g’morning,” Harry replies, voice raspy like it had been the night prior and your stomach turns - you shift on your feet. “Y’goin’ t’the bathroom?”

“You can go first,” you say, and he nods, bringing fists up to rub at his eyes. And then - because you just can’t help pissing him off when you have such a golden opportunity - you add, “Think you might need it a bit more than I do.”

His face reddens.

Earpiece. Knife. Boobs.

You go through the things you need on a mental checklist as you pick up your forkful of scrambled eggs, chewing thoughtfully on the bite. The hotel restaurant is nearly completely full, couples and families packed into the small tables as they feast on their complimentary breakfasts, chatter filling the section. You’ve been sitting eating (truthfully, delicious) breakfast for the better half of an hour, bringing your plate up to the buffet to refill your platter of eggs, fruit, and toast.

Realistically, you would have eaten and left had you not been waiting for a very specific somebody to walk in and catch your eye. You and Harry had plugged back into the bug in Vincent’s room to hear him planning to go down for complimentary breakfast - the only clue you had as to how he wanted to spend his day - and it was the only opportunity you had to find him. Get him out of his room - talking, if possible - so Harry can search it.

It’s such an easy plan, you could practically do it in your sleep.

“Is he there yet?” inquires a crackling voice from your earpiece, disguised as an earring dangling from your lobes.

“No,” you murmur, voice soft as a whisper, and you’re sure he can’t hear your response until he sighs.

“Takin’ his time, isn’t he?”

“Mhm.”

You pick up your glass of orange juice, raising the cup to rouge-stained lips as you take a sip. When you rest it back down on the table, there’s a light red stain on the glass - you wipe it away with a manicured thumb, leaning back in your seat, legs crossed. Your eyes scan the restaurant again, lingering on any newcomers leaning against the wall in case you can pinpoint the man you’re searching for - wide frame, untailored suits, bald head that shines in the artificial light.

(Complimentary breakfast ends at 10, and it’s 9:48. It’s safe to say that you’re getting nervous.)

Your nerves, however, are soothed just a bit when a familiar figure makes his way into the dining hall - tall and haughty, phone pressed to his sweaty head, Vincent Carfield is the image of a stressed businessman, recently divorced and searching for a young, married woman who’d given him eyes last night. His suit is baggy, buttons of the jacket undone and his white button up has sweat stains spreading from the armpits, visible with his arm lifted up to his ear. Instinctively your back straightens, tugging down the top of your lace top so that the top of your cleavage shows - it seems to be your greatest weapon, dealing with a man like Carfield.

You lower your gaze to your phone clutched in your hand but you can still sense exactly the moment his eyes land on you. In your peripheral vision you watch him straighten up, lips moving quickly before his phone is shoved into his pocket, weaving his way between circular tables until he’s standing beside you, and you pretend not to notice the way his eyes never meet yours - his gaze stays on a point eerily similar to your chest.

“Is he there?” Harry questions, and you clear your throat - it’s the symbol you’d decided on to mean yes if you can’t speak.

“Vincent,” you begin, faux smile spreading across your face, and a similar one lands on his features. He reaches for your hand and you give it to him, watching him press chapped, dry lips to the back of your palm, and the urge to scrunch your nose at the feeling is almost overwhelming. “It’s so good to see you.”

“And you,” he says, and you drop your hand back to the tablecloth resting on your table. “Can I sit?”

“Of course,” you reply, and he pulls out the empty seat across from you, resting with a soft grunt. “Breakfast ends in a few minutes, though - you’re welcome to have some of mine, if you’re hungry.”

He obliges, reaching to pull your plate to him, and you watch as he picks up your buttered toast, taking a large bite and smacking his lips as he chews. “I was hoping I’d run into you.”

You raise your eyebrows, leaning forward ever so slightly. “And why is that?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Vincent tells you, and in your earpiece, Harry snorts at his words - you hope you didn’t jump too hard at his sudden noises in your ear. “I hoped I wasn’t getting the wrong idea at dinner, last night -”

“What idea were you getting?”

“That you were interested in me,” and you tilt your head to the side, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth - if Harry could see the act you’re playing right now, you’d be humiliated. At least he can only hear it. “I saw the eyes you were giving me - not even worried ‘bout your husband seeing?”

“He’s too dense to notice,” you say, a smile tilting your lips up as Harry groans - from his side of the earpiece you can hear bustling mixed with the sound of a door opening, and you assume he’s just entered Vincent’s apartment. He needs at least a half hour, Mark had told you - breakfast ends in nearly five minutes, and you need somewhere else to take Carfield. “You know, Vince - is it okay if I call you Vince?”

“I don’t think he cares what you call him,” mumbles Harry, so quiet you’re sure he’s hardly even intending for you to hear it, “as long as you have your hand down his pants in the next ten minutes.”

Your cheeks flush as Vincent smiles, leaning back in his seat as he finishes off your toast. “Call me whatever you want to,” he tells you, and you can practically hear Harry rolling his eyes through your earpiece.

“Alright, Vince - breakfast is ending in a few minutes, and I desperately hope we can keep talking.” He nods along with your words, leaning in as he pushes his plate to the center of the table - all that’s left is the fruit and the remnants of your eggs. “Do you think we could go up to my room? My husband is off visiting some family members across London - he won’t be home for hours.”

“Hours?”

“Hours,” you confirm, nodding as you take another sip of your orange juice - this time you don’t wipe the lipstick stain off of your glass, and you watch his eyes follow the mark as you lower the glass back to the table. “Can we go, Vince?”

Clearly he isn’t thinking clearly enough to question how curious it is that you’d had similar feelings for him without much trouble at all - instead, he smiles like a boy on Christmas morning. He practically knocks the table in his rush to stand up - you watch a red blush creep up his neck to his ears as he grabs it, steadying the wobbling surface, and you pretend you hadn’t noticed when he holds his hand out for you. You allow him to take your hand in his and he pulls you to your feet, wrapping a secure arm around your waist, palm stretched across your hips so his fingertips creep up the hem of your lace shirt.

“Are you going to our room?” questions Harry in your ear, and there’s a few scuffling noises on the other end that makes you internally cringe as Vincent begins weaving the pair of you between tables that are now emptying as complimentary breakfast reaches its end. “____? ‘Y’goin’ t’our room?”

You clear your throat once, and Vincent glances over at you with an amused glance on his face as the two of you make your way out of the restaurant. “Are you okay, darling?”

The pet name makes you cringe internally and you give him a soft smile as you approach the hallway full of elevators, available to take you to any of the available thirteen residential floors of the hotel - Vincent presses the button to go up, and you wait for the doors to open. “I’m great.”

“Make sure he doesn’t want to stop in his room,” Harry mutters, and you swallow, your smile not faltering. You want to tell Harry to make sure he’s completely quiet in his endeavors in Vincent’s room but you’re sure he already knows - you can’t risk Vincent hearing a strange noise while you’re attempting to distract him.

The elevator doors open, and Vincent pulls you inside with a grip on your waist like a vise. He glances at the array of buttons available to press, and looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s floor 13,” you tell him, and he smiles, pressing the button until it glows.

“Floor 13? That’s where I’m staying, too,” he says, and you nod in mock-surprise -

“What a surprise,” Harry snorts in your ear, and you can’t stop the smirk from spreading across your face.

There’s a thick thigh pressed between both of yours, sweaty palms slid beneath your lace top, and you don’t think you’ve ever found a man’s touch less desirable in your life - and, for whoever may be keeping a record, this job has required you to get up close and personal with more skeevy men that you’d expected when you’d applied.

The only thing keeping a blissed out look on your face is your focus on the soft noises coming from the other end of your earpiece as Vincent lands wet, open-mouthed kisses to your throat, tongue laving over your skin - hearing Harry’s occasional quiet breathing and muffled noises as he searches the hotel room next to yours makes this entirely worth it.

Against your throat, Vincent moans, and the noise is throaty and loud - you can hear Harry stifling a laugh directly into your ear, and the noise sends a chill rolling up your spine. Clearly, Vincent thinks your involuntary movement was for him - his hands grasp on your tits entirely too hard to be pleasurable and you bite back the urge to tell him so. “Such a dirty girl,” he tells you.

You rest your head back against the wall he has you pressed against with a moan that sounds entirely fake from your throat. You can almost imagine how Harry’s going to make fun of this when he sees you next, and your stomach turns when you think about it for a reason you can’t quite decipher. “Fuck,” you say, forcing your voice to a near whine, and you swear you can hear Harry’s voice hitch through your piece but you’re not sure. “Feels - so good.”

The lie sounds natural off of your lips as Vincent’s knee jabs into your clit - the pressure is a pain rather than a pleasure and your breath hitches as you try not to cry out. He chuckles against your skin, clearly taking your soft sign of pain as an emblem of pleasure, and you shut your eyes as his teeth graze the veins in your neck.

“No way,” breathes Harry, and your ears perk up - had he found something in Vincent’s room? “S’he actually good at that?”

You want to snort at that. Of course he isn’t good but the thought of Harry listening spurs you on more than it should - you roll your hips against Vincent’s thigh with a soft moan, higher pitched than your last one, and the man on the other end of your earpiece exhales.

“That sounded fake,” Harry says, voice soft and light, and you want to slam your head into the wall so he knows that he’s starting to piss you off from next door. “So he’s not makin’ y’feel good?”

You practically freeze. If Vincent wasn’t tugging your shirt up to expose your tits to the cold air of your hotel room, you’re sure you would have forgotten where you were completely. Those words from Harry’s mouth mixed with an edge of venom isn’t what you’d expected him to say at all - on the contrary, you’d think he was fucking with you, trying to work you up to embarrass you if you couldn’t hear his little moans that he’s clearly trying to silence.

Is he worked up? Because you can work with that.

You drop your head back to whack against the wall with a loud moan as Vincent’s clammy lips press to the fabric of your bra. Your hand goes up to press to the back of his bald head, fingernails scratching against his sweaty scalp and you wish - not for the first time - that you were feeling thick, chocolate-toned curls beneath your fingers instead, tugging on them as his tongue lavished you. Though, in your mind, it’s more teeth and grit and anger because you’re sure you’d find a way to be angry with Harry even if his mouth were on your tits - it’s one of your special skills - in every fantasy you’ve had of your partner it’s violent and harsh.

“Fuck,” grunts a voice from your earpiece, and hardly a moment later Vincent groans a similar noise as you rock your hips against his thigh. Thankfully he seems to be getting a decent amount of pleasure just making out with your boobs like a teenage boy and - maybe, if Harry is quick enough in his search of his hotel room - you won’t have to fuck him at all. It’ll be a Christmas miracle (a month early, but a miracle nonetheless.) “Are y’fuckin’ him?”

You whimper, Harry’s voice shooting from your ear directly down to your cunt and your clit and you feel wetness soaking your knickers, pressed against Vincent’s thigh though it may as well be the arm of a couch for how it affects you - the only pleasure you get from Vincent’s hard body against yours is the urge to close your eyes and imagine it’s Harry.

“No, you’re not,” says Harry, and there’s a soft clatter in your earpiece - surely he’s dropped something from the room next door and you tense. Surely Vincent hadn’t heard it, teeth still gnashing against your bra, and he seems too distracted to pay attention to it. “M’hard as a fuckin’ rock, ____ - thinkin’ of you, gettin’ off on my voice, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you exhale, and Vincent glances up at you, thick brows furrowed in confusion. You swallow, focusing on giving yourself a satisfied expression, and he turns back to your chest, seemingly convinced of your pleasure. “Yes - making me feel so good.”

Harry groans in your ear, and you wonder, suddenly, if he’s jerking off - if he’s leaning against Vincent Carfield’s bed, hand pumping up and down his cock as he listens to you. Maybe he’s in the bathroom, or leaning against the wall like you are, his breathing picking up as sweat drips down his forehead -

“Gonna fuck you,” Vincent mumbles against your boobs, and you scrunch your nose. “Want me to fuck you?”

“Just -” you swallow, and Harry snickers in your ear, the soft laugh breathy and groaning. “Just wait, feels so good -”

“Don’t fuck him,” says Harry, and there’s a few more jostling noises on the other end mixed with another soft moan - you have a sudden image of him, digging through Vincent Carfield’s possessions with a firm hand around his cock and you feel the result of that imagery stricken straight down to your clit like a fucking lightning bolt until you’re crying out, and your orgasm is on you so embarrassingly fast you could sob in embarrassment. “I’m almost there -”

You’re not sure if he means he’s almost about to cum or if he’s almost found something to convict Vincent - you’re not entirely sure which interpretation you’d prefer.

“I’m gonna cum,” you breathe, the words sour on your tongue as Vincent glances up at you with a wicked smile, jolting his thigh further up into your clit, and you furrow your eyebrows at the pain the motion brings. “Fuck, H - Vincent.”

“Y’were gonna say m’name,” Harry hisses, and you squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassment coursing through your veins. You almost fucked everything up. “Cum. Let Vincent think he made y’cum - go ahead - do it.”

And - fuck. Who are you to disobey? You grind your core down on Vincent’s thigh with a throaty cry, and your orgasm rushes over you with an embarrassing waterfall of pleasure and shame. Never have you cum so easily and it wasn’t even Harry’s touch - simply his voice, his groans as he listens to you come undone - and, in the end, the only thing to pull you from your high is Vincent’s eyes boring into yours, eyebrows raised and lips parted as he pulls his face from your chest with a most satisfied expression on his face.

You want to smack it off of him - if you hadn’t already cum, that look would’ve stopped you in your tracks. As it is, it slows the aftershocks of your release into dull nothingness while Harry moans in your earpiece, his noises a mere backdrop to the sudden growing sounds of scuffling and jostling, and his sharp gasp is loud enough for Vincent’s head to snap up.

“Did you hear that?” Vincent questions - Harry curses into your earpiece.

“I found something,” Harry tells you, voice dropped to a low whisper. “I found - s’under his mattress - m’calling Mark!”

A small smile spreads across your face at his words. It’s done. He’s found something worthy enough to convict Vincent Carfield, and that’s enough for you to press your palms to his chest, pushing him away from you so forcefully that he stumbles over the carpet, back slamming into the edge of your bed as he falls to the ground. His expression is so confuddled as he stares up at you that, for a moment, you marvel at his lack of self awareness - in an instant you’re reaching up the hem of your skirt to the knife in its holder strapped to your thigh, and you pull the blade out to point at Vincent Carfield, in your ear a myriad of Harry’s delighted cheers of, “I’ve found it!”

Wrapping up a mission isn’t nearly as speedy as you’d like - there’s debriefs and paperwork to complete once Vincent is done and arrested, phone confiscated along with the drugs found in his hotel room by your partner, and physical evaluations to determine whether you’d been hurt, and a long phone call with Mark where he congratulated the pair of you.

Not only for taking down Vincent Carfield, your boss had said, his voice booming and cheerful, but for making it out without killing each other.

If only he knew.

Your plane is set to leave tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn, and if you were more reasonable perhaps you’d heade Mark’s advice to go straight to sleep and set an alarm for 3 AM but you’ve never been too bright in that regard. You finish your last debrief in the hotel restaurant, Harry working diligently beside you, and it’s at nearly 9 PM that the pair of you pack up your work and begin to head upstairs.

The elevator ride is silent when Harry reaches to press the button for your floor. Your room had been closed for you to visit for the better part of the afternoon until Vincent’s had been properly searched, though Harry had gladly given the authorities everything he’d found without a moment of hesitation. Tiredness creaks at your bones but here - standing beside Harry, feeling his gaze boring into the side of your face - you desire nothing less than to go to sleep.

“Good work, Mr. Robinson,” you tell him, and he raises his eyebrows when you turn your head to look at him. “Fairly easy mission, wasn’t it?”

“For you,” he says, and you arch your eyebrow, frown tugging your lips downwards as the elevator begins to move up. “Gettin’ off on Vincent’s thigh was the hardest part - I had t’search the room.”

For a moment you wonder if he’s kidding and certainly he’s only teasing you but you still roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest as heat creeps up your cheeks. “Didn’t seem too difficult, moaning and crying ‘bout how hard you were. I bet I could’ve found the drugs in half the time it took you -”

“You couldn’t have,” Harry says, and you exhale sharply.

“‘Course I could -”

“Wasn’t hidden in plain sight like everything you find.”

“So where were they?”

He pauses, and you smile down at your shoes - surely you’ve got him now. “Hidden in his computer,” Harry says, then, and your smile is wiped away in an instant. Shit, you wouldn’t have found them. “Not so smart now, are you?”

“Oh, you dick -”

The elevator doors open to your floor and Harry pushes himself off the wall, stalking out of the elevator and you jump to follow him, picking up the pace to walk beside him as he begins down the hall towards your hotel room. It’s entirely too easy, falling back into an arrangement of bickering with him as though nothing had happened - as though you hadn’t cum with his voice alone, and you’re nearly positive that he had, too.

He stops in front of your hotel door, digging in the pockets of his pants for the room key, and you cross your arms over your chest. “I don’t know why you’re actin’ so high and mighty,” he tells you, voice biting as he shoves the key card into the door’s slot - it beeps red, and he tries again. “As f’you didn’t cream your fucking pants jus’ listenin’ t’my voice.”

“I’m not acting high and mighty,” you retort, praying the burning sensation in your face isn’t visible to him but you doubt you’re that lucky. “You don’t have to be such a douche all the time - and, by the way, you came in your pants, too, didn’t you.”

It’s not a question, and Harry flings the door open, letting you walk in before he follows. In an instant, before you can march into the bedroom area to huff at how pissed he’s getting you - it is what he’s best at - there’s a tight grip on your wrist, turning you around so fast your head spins, and before you can object, Harry has you pressed against the door, hands caging you in on either side of your head.

His face is so close to yours you can smell the alcohol on his breath that he’d had while you two worked, mixed with the scent of his mint toothpaste and his shampoo, curls dropping into your face as he wedges his leg between both of yours, thigh pressed against your cunt. It’s just as Vincent had done but so different, so much better, and it tears a whine out of your throat right off the bat.

Your urge is to lean in, clash your lips together in a fury of tongue and teeth but you don’t want to make the first move - Harry can take the lead and you’ll follow, and that’s more than enough for you. So you simply drop your head back, breathing heavy as you stare into his eyes, nearly cross-eyed to meet his gaze.

“Fuck you,” you tell him, and the words lack the venom you’d yearned for. It’s filled with more desperation and neediness than you’d anticipated, and you feel your stomach flip-flop at the smirk that spreads across Harry’s face. “Fuck you.”

His hands drop from against your head and for a moment you fear he’s going to pull away, that he’s doing this just to fuck with you but then his hands are on your legs, fingertips dancing up and down your outer thighs, fingering the hem of your skirt, and you jolt under him. “You’re so responsive,” he tells you, and you roll your eyes, dropping your head back against the door. “I love getting y’worked up.”

“Shut up,” you groan, feeling his fingers working your skirt up your legs, and the fabric brushes over the edge of your knife, still fastened to your thigh.

“Like makin’ y’angry.”

“Shut up,” and finally Harry leans in, mouth slamming against yours until your teeth grind against his and your lips part with a shocked gasp. His tongue slips between your lips, your hands reaching up to bury in his curls and hold his face to yours. His palm slides up your thighs, pushing your skirt up around your waist and your cheeks burn as the cold hotel room air assaults your skin, goosebumps popping up in their wake. You whimper into Harry’s lips and he pulls away, palms smoothing up and down your thighs before you feel his fingers hook against the top of your knife, and he tugs the blade out of your holster.

You watch with wary eyes as Harry brings the blade up to his eyes, examining it with narrowed eyes, his other hand still resting on your thigh, fingertips rubbing circles into your skin harsh enough that you’re sure you’ll find bruises tomorrow in the shape of his hands. Your breath hitches in your throat as you watch him and his eyes turn to yours, smile tugging his lip up.

“Y’look a bit excited, there,” Harry says - an acute observation, because you’re practically creaming your fucking panties. “Like seein’ me with your knife?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and Harry flips the knife in his hands until the blade is just an inch from the spot between both of your eyes, your orbs crossing to see it. “What are you -”

Before you can finish the question Harry presses the knife forward, the sharp edge of the plate pressed to your cheek, and you inhale sharply, swallowing thickly as he increases pressure against your skin. Fuck, this shouldn’t excite you - he’s not half as good as you are with blades - and you’re sure if he keeps going he’s going to slice you either by accident or on purpose, and it disturbs you how much that thought turns you on.

The blade drags down your skin, tracing along your jawline with pressure light enough to feel like a breath and hard enough to catch yours in your throat - Harry’s watching it with darkened eyes, watching as he lowers it down your throat, tracing it along your neck and the veins.

You drop your head back against the door with a thud, feeling the cool metal on your skin, sweaty from being pressed against him and the heat that encompasses your body until it’s all you can feel, and Harry’s just watching, watching the knife run across your skin.

Your eyes, fluttered shut, shoot open when a sudden burning sensation overtakes the top of your chest - you glance down to see Harry pulling the knife away from you, the tip decorated with just a smudge of dark, red liquid that’s mirrored on your collarbone.

“Did you -?”

“Oops,” Harry says as you bring your fingers to the small nick he’d given you, wiping away the drops of blood that spread on your chest. You raise your narrowed eyes to glare at him and you’re trying - trying so hard - to be furious with him, to get angry, to push him away and yell at him - but, fuck, feeling his thumb rub across the cut on your chest only increases the ball of pressure in your lower abdnomen as you look at him.

Your lips clash once more, more intense than before as you whine into his mouth - Harry’s free hand hoists your thigh around his waist, and when his lips move down to bite at your throat, the hand still clutching your knife pulls back before he slams the blade into the door next to you, surely taking a few of your stray hairs. You yelp, jolting your head back as you whip your head to the side to stare at the knife stuck in the door barely an inch from the side of your head, and Harry lifts his head with a smirk.

“You assho -”

Before you can finish Harry’s hand is wrapped around your throat, cutting off your ability to speak and you can’t help but moan at the pressure even if the noise is choked and gasping - Harry grins, moving his other hand down to your hips until he’s helping you to roll against his thigh, clit rubbing against the fabric of his pants. You tighten your thigh’s hold around his waist, pressing his torso closer to yours, and he, in turn, tightens his grasp on your neck.

“Y’like m’hand on your throat, hmm?” Harry questions, voice low and raspy like how it had been in the middle of the night except more, better and intense, and you whimper in affirmation. “Can’t even talk - can’t even say anything.”

When he finally loosens his hold on you, you gasp for air and bring your arm up to wrap around his neck again, fingers scraping through his scalp to tug his lips back to yours. Your other hand drops to the front of his pants, palm smoothing over his bulging erection before your shaky fingers begin tugging his zipper down.

“Can I tell you something?” says Harry, then, as you fumble to undo the button of his pants until you can shove your hand into the fabric, fingernails dragging along his cock through his boxers - his hips jolt into your hands.

“Yes,” you murmur in response, hand jerking up and down his dick and, even through a layer of fabric, he grunts into your lips.

“I didn’t cum,” he says, and you move your head from his, furrowing your eyebrows. “Didn’t cum, even when I heard y’with Vincent -”

“You -?”

“Didn’t wanna cum when I wasn’t buried in your cunt,” and you gasp sharply as his hand on your throat slides down your body until it’s shoved into your panties, cold fingertips dragging along your soaking folds that drip your ambrosia into his grasp. “Even f’you sounded so good, moanin’ for me - almost pathetic -”

You tighten your grip on his hair until he’s crying out, fingertips pinching your clit in your panties and you jerk your hips into his grasp at the sharp punishment. “Don’t call me that -” you moan, trembling hand pulling his boxers down over his cock while he smirks.

“Pathetic -”

“Fuck you, Harry -”

“Whimperin’ like a baby -”

You move your hand from his hair to his face, grip bruising as you grab his chin in your palm. Your fingertips squeeze his cheek as you force his head to stare at you - the lazy, cocky smile that adorns his features makes you want to throttle him, and your fingers flex against his face.

“What?” Harry questions, tone mocking and it fuels the anger in every crevice of your body as you glare at him. “Gonna hit me?”

Yes, you want to say - before you can even open your mouth, though, Harry leans in, teeth nibbling on your earlobe as he exhales, his words low and breathy, “Do it.”

Who are you to disobey him?

You bring your hand back and smack it down on his cheek with a satisfying slap that reverberates through your hotel room. His head is slapped to the side, exposing his side profile to you, and you smooth your palm over the red mark already blooming on his cheek in the shape of your handprint.

“You like to be hit, do you?” you inquire - for a moment, just a second, you feel some semblance of control over the situation, wrapping your fist around his cock once you’ve pulled his boxers down over his length. He hisses, dropping his head back, lips parted in a silent cry when your thumb sweeps over the weeping tip of his cock, precum dripping down his member. “Never would’ve guessed.”

And you do it again, bringing your hand up to slap his face and it tugs a louder grunt from his mouth, pressing his body further into yours until all you can feel is him, chests pressed together and cock rubbing against your cunt through the fabric of your lace panties. You bring your hand back to give him another slap but then his fingers are pulling your drenched knickers to the side, bulbous tip of his cock nudging through your folds for only a split second before he pushes himself inside of you, sheathing the entirety of his length until he bottoms out, balls pressed tight against your skin.

You can’t help but sob out. It’s, really, not your fault - you can tell how it spurs him on, but before he can keep fucking you like how you’ve dreamt of he’s pulling out completely, taking a half a step away from you, cock tall and leaking. The emptiness you feel is overwhelming, even if you’d only had him in you for a few seconds at best, and objections immediately rise in your throat.

“What the fu -?”

Then he’s grabbing your throat, using his grip as leverage to force you around, cheek smushed against the wooden door frame and back pressed to his chest. His palms smooth up and down the globes of your ass, pulling the cheeks apart until the pressure burns and you throw your head back with a cry. Then he pulls his hand back - lands it back against your ass with a cracking slap that makes you jump against him - and he doesn’t give you a second to beg him to fucking do it again before he’s sliding his cock back into your folds.

“Fuck,” he practically shouts, the noise crackling and broken with arousal practically dripping from the syllable, and you drop your forehead against the door with a cry. “Fuck, so tight - knew y’would be -”

“Move, please,” you beg, tone sobbing and desperate, and Harry obliges without another second to spare - pulls out and thrusts back in, pace brutal and desperate right off the bat until you’re quivering, legs trembling when he’s only been going for a half a minute.

Oh my god. Holy fuck, it feels so good, better than you could’ve ever pictured it, his hand smoothing over your ass before landing periodic slaps to the plump skin - his hand landing on you hardly overpowers the sound of his hips smacking against your ass, filling you until you’re crying for it before leaving you empty and diving back in. You can’t do much else other than stand there on quivering legs that feel incapable of handling your weight and take it, pushing your hips back into his with every thrust until you’ve worked yourselves into a rhythm that makes your fucking head spin.

“Harry -” you gasp as he grabs hold of your hips, pulling them upwards until his cock is slamming into the sweet spot buried inside of your walls that makes you sob out, cheek slamming into the door over and over with the force of his pounding. “Harry - God -”

“What?” he practically hisses, the word full of desire and contempt in the most delicious way possible, and your knees would give out if not for his bruising grip on your hips, keeping you flush against him.

“Har - choke me, please, want you to - to choke me -”

He stutters a groan at that, moving one of his hands from your hips - he delivers one hard smack to your ass before he’s trailing his hand up your back and around to the front of your throat, squeezing your neck once experimentally just to hear the way you moan at it before he tightens his grasp. Your resulting whimper is caught in your throat, pressing your palms to the door you’re leant up against as Harry just fucking laughs from behind you, thrusting himself into you like he was fucking born for it.

“You’re fuckin’ filthy,” Harry says, then, and he almost sounds in awe as he squeezes your throat tighter, tight enough that your vision goes fuzzy and your head feels light. “So filthy - knew y’would be - an’ so - so - fuckin’ - tight -”

With every word he punctuates his meaning with a particularly hard thrust into your cunt, and the hand on your hip slithers around your body until he’s pressing two fingertips to your clit, rubbing shaking, hard circles against the sensitive nub that has you jolting, arms shaking as you attempt to keep yourself up. “Oh my god,” you practically cry, and the voice sounds far away as he briefly releases his hold on your throat - a firm slap is delivered to the side of your face as you’d given him, the motion forcing your head to the side, and you sob out harder. “Fuck - do it again, please -”

He obeys you, bringing his palm back to slap your cheek again before he wraps his hand back around your throat. “M’gonna cum,” he tells you, words throaty and laced with neediness - you push your hips back against his, a loud, long whine bursting from your throat as his fingers never give up on their assault to your clit. “M’gonna fill y’up - y’want that?”

“Yes!”

“Want me t’fill you up?”

“Yes, Harry, please -!” You come undone around his cock just as his hips stutter to a close - there’s a ball of pleasure that bursts in your core, spreading warmth and euphoria through your body like a wildfire attacks a forest. Your forehead slams against the door with a moan that borders on a scream, nails scratching against the wood as though searching for something to hold onto, to ground yourself, because surely you’re far away - in fucking space - because there’s no way on Earth you could feel this good.

Behind you, Harry’s hand on your clit wraps around your waist, holding your body taut to his as you feel him spurt ribbons of cum inside of you, his release filling you up and it only prolongs yours, aftershocks rolling through you mixed with his warmth spreading through your body. His head drops against the back of yours, breath ruffling the hairs at the back of your neck, and when you finally regain the ability to breathe you’re fucking heaving, gasping for air, the once-simple process labored and desperate.

“Fuck,” Harry groans, and then he pulls out of you - you can feel his cum beginning to trickle down your inner thighs, and that mixed with the sudden emptiness in your cunt makes you exhale a low whine. Your pussy flutters around the sudden air invading it, the loss of a certain appendage filling you up glaringly obvious, and you slump against the door. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, and your knees are shaking when Harry unwraps his arm from around your waist, leaving you to fend for yourself as you try and steady your body. “Fuck.”

You hear, then, Harry walking away - surely stalking deeper into your room, perhaps lying on the bed, kicking off his shoes and beginning to tug off his shirt. You feel sudden embarrassment and heat coursing through your body as you tug the bottom of your skirt down over your ass and the tops of your thighs, walking on shaking legs into the bedroom area of your hotel room -

(Your knife can stay in the door until morning. It is, for all intents and purposes, the least of your priorities when you can’t even think straight.)

Harry’s eyes are on you when you make your way into the bedroom section, leaning up against the doorframe to hide the quivering in your legs, and you hope it looks decently natural but you’re sure it doesn’t, judging by the way his lips tremble upwards as he glances down at the shoe he’s focused on untying.

“I’m gonna shower first,” you tell him. Your throat burns with the energy of speaking after screaming your lungs out and your voice is crackling and raspy - you cough into your elbow, hoping it makes your voice sound a bit less fucked-out than it is, but you’re sure you’re not that lucky.

“Fine by me,” Harry says, kicking his sneakers off onto the ground, and he collapses onto his back onto the bed with a sigh. His pants are still undone and are pushed down his thighs, boxers pulled up over his cock, and you feel - decidedly strange, watching him post-coital, at the way his eyes shut, limbs spreading out over the mattress with a grunt. “M’takin’ the bed, though.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “What -?”

“Y’can hardly walk from how hard I fucked you. I think I deserve it.”

And - well - you can’t quite argue with that logic.

TAGLIST (crossed out urls meant they didn’t show up)

@nineteenfiftyone @harryslilkat @galacticferns @ficrecrry @morethanamelodyy @hoeeforstyles @bunny-munchkin-luvs-music @mintchipstyles @sstarkme @thecitiesintheseas @harry-styles-l

#harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles drabble #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #one direction smut #one direction writing #spyrry #holy shit #i can not believe how long this took to write i'm so glad to finally post it

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nobodyfamousposts · 3 years

Text

Chloe’s Lament Part 3

She didn’t know how long she spent ruminating. What drew her out of those thoughts was the sudden shouting from behind her and the exclamation of Bustier ordering Ivan to go to the Principal’s.

…wait…

Yes! Yes, this was it! This was the start of Stoneheart, the first akuma!

This was the start of the previous Ladybug’s debut!

And it would be the beginning of her own!

Chloe was almost squirming in her seat as Ivan was ordered to go to the Principal’s office. She watched eagerly as he stormed out of the room.

Soon, she reminded herself.

Soon…

So caught up in her own plans and imagining all the things she would do with the Miraculous, she didn’t even notice when class was over until everyone was leaving.

That’s right! She had to go, too! Her Miraculous awaited!

Sure, she didn’t know where it would be, but it was supposed to show up when Stoneheart appeared, right?

All the more reason to head out now to start looking!

Or she would if it weren’t for Bustier calling her before she could get out the door.

“Chloe. Do you have a minute?”

No, she didn’t! She had a Miraculous to receive and a city to adore her!

But at Bustier’s expectant look, she turned back with a sigh and walked up to her teacher’s desk. This was just a minor and temporary obstacle. Surely her Miraculous would wait! It wasn’t like there was anyone else fit for the hero role.

Her thoughts shifted to Marinette briefly before she waved them off. Certainly not!

“Did you need something?” She asked. As much of a rush as she was to get her Miraculous, Bustier was her favorite teacher and had always been on her side. The least she could do was allow her a bit of her time.

“I wanted to check in with you before school, but it seemed you had gotten here before I did.” Bustier smiled but her expression seemed tense. “I heard there had been an argument before class started?” She asked gently.

Perfect! Just the opening she needed.

Chloe fixed a hurt expression. “It was awful! Marinette was dictating the roles for the work study and she was going to make Adrien work in the kitchen!”

There! Let’s see how that wannabe responds when the school calls her out on this!

Bustier listened to her cries and nodded in sympathy, so Chloe was sure she had this set.

“What did Adrien say?”

…except for that.

“Pardon?”

“Did Adrien say he didn’t want to work the kitchen?” Bustier asked curiously.

Did he?

“Marinette didn’t give him a chance!” She argued, though truthfully she didn’t remember how he responded at the time. She had just been focusing on calling out Marinette and getting back at her for everything.

“Did you ask Adrien what he wanted?” Bustier asked.

A long pause followed.

The teacher looked at Chloe almost pityingly.

What? What was that look for?!

“I already knew!” Chloe defended. Because she did! Of course she did! She didn’t have to ask! He was her best friend! Of course she knew him better than anyone! So of course she knew what he wanted! “I was just looking out for him!”

It was just to help him! It wasn’t about herself! Wasn’t that good? Didn’t that make her the good guy here? Where was the outrage at Marinette?

“Were you looking out for him or against Marinette?”

Silence.

Bustier sighed.

“Chloe, I know it’s difficult coming back after what happened. And I know you want your feelings to be justified.”

Because they were. Chloe’s feelings were justified, but no one could possibly understand why. She was the only one who knew about the previous reality.

“—don’t know what you were doing in her locker, though I’m sure you had a reason, you know that wasn’t the right way to go about it—”

How could she even begin to explain what had happened? Of everything she had suffered while Marinette had gotten to play the hero and deny her what was rightfully hers?

“—though I’m sure it was an accident, but the things you said before and afterwards gave everyone the wrong idea—”

No. There was no point trying to explain. Even Bustier wouldn’t get it. Especially not at a time before magic was shown to be real.

“—really tried to argue on your behalf, but you were caught on camera—”

Though it seems like she at least is still on Chloe’s side. Plus there was that time she believed Marinette cheated on the test and did whatever, so clearly her trust in the girl wasn’t that great.

“—have already talked to Marinette about it and she’s willing to try to forgive—”

Plus Bustier was a bleeding heart. She never punished her for anything. Even looking the other way with some of Chloe’s plans. Getting bi-colored hair out of the way so she could be in the class photo next to her Adrikens. Her methods to win the Class Rep position. She never even made her do anything as the Rep. Surely that meant she was on her side, right?

“—but her parents are still very upset. It took a lot of effort to get them to agree to—”

Whatever this ‘probation’ was, it wasn’t like she’d be held to it.

“—advocated to keep you in my class along with her to prove you can do it. I have faith in you—”

Chloe nodded, not really listening, her mind busy formulating new plans.

It didn’t matter that Chloe was starting at a slight disadvantage. She could work around this.

“—so I hope you can understand—”

It meant that she just had to keep under the radar as Chloe.

And complete her revenge through the mask of Ladybug.

All the better.

After all, what better irony would it be than to ruin Marinette by using her own former hero persona against her?

“—what your counselor has been telling you—”

Chloe shook her head, realizing she had missed out on what Bustier was saying. And one word in particular stuck out to her.

“Counselor?”

Bustier looked surprised at Chloe’s own surprise, then worried. “Please tell me you haven’t been skipping your sessions, Chloe. Those are part of the requirements per the agreement for you to continue coming to school here.”

Chloe blinked in shock.

“What?!”

“I was able to argue for you to stay in my classes, and the administration agreed to keep you on a probationary period, but these are part of the conditions, Chloe.” Bustier explained. She sounded particularly anxious about it, causing it to really hit Chloe just how serious this was. “You need to see your counselor weekly and you need to not antagonize any of the other students, especially Marinette. Her parents were willing to accept the arrangement and not demand a hearing with the school board to have you expelled, but there is only so much the school can accommodate.”

No…no way…

How could she start off with things this bad for her already?

Wait…was this Marinette’s fault, too? Had she framed Chloe somehow?

Bustier rested a hand on Chloe’s shoulder in some attempt at reassurance.

“I want to continue to work with you, Chloe. But please…you need to at least try.” She said more than asked, but was still pleading. “Marinette has been willing to forgive, but if her parents hear anything more about you antagonizing her, this will be your last strike and they may very well demand your expulsion. Maybe even press charges.”

“Press charges?!”

But no one had ever pressed charges against her! She had never even had a detention before! And now she was facing this immediately?

“They aren’t going to!” Bustier assured her. “Believe me, no one wants that!”

Clearly Marinette did, the evil bit—

Bustier crouched, just enough to be eye level with her.

“Chloe, things aren’t over yet. We want you to have the best chance for your future. That’s why I’m working with you this year and why you have a counselor to help you with all these feelings you’re having a hard time with. And that’s why you need to take this as a new chance and do your best with it.”

Bustier looked at her hopefully.

“Do you understand?”

Yes, she understood clearly.

She understood that this world was ridiculous, UTTERLY RIDICULOUS!

This was not at all what she had wished for and she would be having words with that little kwami as soon as she got the Miraculous!

But as she couldn’t exactly explain any of that to Bustier, she simply nodded numbly and returned to her seat. There, she looked over her notebooks. And when Bustier wasn’t focusing on her, she glanced over her phone. Really, she should have done that first thing as soon as she woke up, and she regretted not doing so sooner.

What she found was…illuminating…

Chloe had gotten it completely wrong.

It wasn’t that Marinette was a threat. Or that she was abusing her power to bully Chloe. Or just doing any of the things that Chloe had assumed she would.

It was that Chloe herself was on thin ice for a history of bullying and harassment. And this time around, as a normal girl without her former clout, people were not as inclined to overlook her behavior. Especially when the girl in question being targeted was the daughter of the Mayor and also unexpectedly well regarded (not loved, because surely it had to be the position that made people hate Chloe originally, right?)

Marinette may not have been willing to demand punishment for whatever reason--probably to look good to the peons, but the school administration, being the cronies that they were, would hardly risk the liability of something happening to the child of an official under their care.

She left the class but honestly didn’t know where she was going. She was running on autopilot at this point as everything finally started to sink in about the new reality she was in. Nothing was as she expected. If anything, it was worse!

She just needed her Miraculous! Everything would be fine when—

“Chloe?”

Speak of the devil…

She had nearly bumped into the very girl her thoughts were raging against.

“Chloe?” Marinette asked. “Are you okay?”

No! No, she wasn’t! Everything was wrong and nothing was how it was supposed to be and it was all her fault!

“What do you want?” Chloe demanded sourly.

Marinette held out a hand but hesitated. She drew back but instead pressed on verbally. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You seemed confused earlier, and—

Yeah, cutting that nonsense off right now! If she thought pretending to care would spare her once Chloe became the Ladybug hero, she had another thing coming! And there was no way she was going to let the traitor use her to try and make herself look better by acting nice.

Chloe sharply cut her off. If Marinette hadn’t pulled her own hand back, it would have been slapped away with Chloe’s motion.

“Stop faking! There’s no way a spoiled brat who is given everything by her parents would help others! You’re just as crooked as they are!” She shouted.

Because that’s what Marinette had to be! What she always must have been! Why else would she hoard all the Miraculous to herself and not give Chloe what was hers?!

Marinette looked at Chloe almost…pityingly.

That witch was looking down on her!

“I don’t know what is upsetting you, Chloe. But I’m not responsible for your problems. You can lash out for as little as it actually makes you feel better, but I don’t have to take it.”

Don’t have to—DON’T HAVE TO—!!!

Chloe pointed at her angrily. “It’s because of you that I’m having to see a counselor!”

And Marinette sighed! Sighed! Like she was the one being put upon here! Bad enough she stole Chloe’s life, but now she was trying to act like she was the wronged party, here!

“Chloe, the alternative was a restraining order and another fine. And I’m pretty sure your dad can’t keep paying them. All things considered, I think you got off lucky.”

Chloe broke off sputtering, wanting nothing more than to put the other girl in her place but having no way to do so without revealing anything.

Marinette stared her straight on, unperturbed.

“Whatever you’re facing now is a result of your own actions.”

How dare she?! Like she knows anything!

Who was she to talk?!

“Oooh!” Chloe stomped her foot before storming off.

She’d show her!

Just wait! Once she got her Miraculous, she would tear her down in every way possible and she would enjoy it! And THEN Ladybug would be sorry! She would regret ever denying Chloe!

She just needed—

From a distance, she could hear crashing and the sound of screams echoing through the school. Many people ran past her in terror. And peeking out, she caught sight of what could only be Stoneheart rampaging through the school.

“No doubt looking for what’s-his-name.” She muttered. She hadn’t really cared to know the details of that first akuma attack aside from her involvement in it.

But still, there was an akuma, just as expected! Which signaled the first appearance of the heroes!

She smirked.

This was it! That meant she should be getting her Miraculous at any time now! She just had to wait for whoever to deliver it to her!

So she waited in place, grinning with excitement the entire time.

And waited.

And…waited.

Waiting…

…

…but nobody came.

“WHAT GIVES?!”

How was she supposed to become a hero if her power-granting jewelry didn’t show up? How did Marinette get it originally anyway? She seemed close to that old guy…wasn’t he supposed to show up by now? She hasn’t seen any old guy!

“Where is it already?!”

Well, someone had to deliver it, right? Maybe they just didn’t know where she was and left it somewhere she could find…which meant she had to be the one to search.

“I can’t believe this!”

Nothing in her locker.

“What kind of service is this anyway?”

Her desk was empty.

“Is this how you treat your hero?”

With little other options, she stormed home in a huff—not like classes would happen anyway with a giant stone monster running around. She didn’t even need to bother checking, as it was what happened last time. And if the way everyone was running around was any indication, it would no doubt be the same now.

She couldn’t afford to waste anymore time. Her moment had come! And that meant her Miraculous was here!

She flung open the door to her room.

…somewhere.

“Where is it?”

Not on her desk.

“Where is it?!”

Not on or under her bed.

“Why would they make it so hard to find?!”

Really, she should be handed it on a golden platter as everyone begs her to save them! It shouldn’t be this difficult! And she shouldn’t be having to actually have to search herself!

That’s what the servants were for! Or Sabrina.

She was determined, however! Nothing would stop her, even a messy room! So she continued her search, throwing this or that aside—they weren’t a Miraculous, they didn’t matter.

She didn’t even notice that one of the items she tossed was a remove, which landed in such a way that it turned on the nearby TV.

“Maybe it’s in my closet?” She wondered.

That made sense. After all, once she got all the Miraculous, she’d be able to switch them out as easily as a pair of shoes. She would probably need to leave them in the closet when she’s not using them.

She opened the closet doors, giving a grimace at the small space and her much more limited wardrobe. It was so much smaller than her old one!

She briefly mourned the loss of the space and all of her top-brand designers as she forced herself to dig through the various clothes and accessories.

Not this.

Not that.

Ew! She wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that!

“—stone monster has been defeated!”

Chloe froze.

What?!

But she hadn’t even made her appearance yet!

Chloe spun around, nearly tripping over some shoes in her escape from the closet. All to get a closer look at the screen because clearly it was some cartoon or show or something. It was a mistake! It had to be a mistake!

But no, there was that news anchor—whatever-her-name-was. And behind her was a video of her classmate—Jim? Ryan? Whatever the rock monster had been, now back to normal—or as normal as anyone could be in THAT tacky shirt and getup!

And next to him…

A boy in black—blond but in a distinctly different getup from her Adrikens.

And a girl.

In red.

Red and black.

Ladybug!

It wasn’t the Ladybug she knew. It couldn’t be. She had just seen the now Ex-Ladybug in the halls!

The new hero’s hair was as red as her suit with a black headband—almost like a tiara. Her mask was a mix of red and black. Her suit was a black bodysuit with red accents—with her hands covered in gloves that seemed to be red and red boots that reached just above her shin. And the collar of the suit seemed to expand into a sort of dress that lengthened in the back, which when she turned appeared more like a cape that was red in color. Like a Ladybug’s shell.

And of course, the outfit was sparse with spots of differing colors, with multiple black spots on her red cape and single red dots center on her gloves and the peaks of her boots.

And looking closely—to the point she was literally pressed up against the screen, she could swear that the spots were all…in the shape of hearts, of all things? How juvenile!

But there was no mistaking it!

That was Ladybug. Maybe not the same Ladybug as before, but still the Ladybug Miraculous! It hadn’t been waiting for her like it was supposed to. It had gone to—been stolen by someone else!

They had made her tear up her room for nothing!

“—day has been saved thanks to the combined efforts of Red Queen and Cheshire! Paris’s new heroes!”

Chloe felt something crack. It may have been her TV.

Not only did this upstart steal her place as the city’s hero. And her rightful victory over the Ex-Ladybug by taking her place…

She took her title as Queen!

“How dare she?!”

Bad enough to injure her this way, but to insult her, too?!

At this point, she didn’t even know whether she was more angry with this faker or with Marinette!

She froze at that as the realization hit her…

Chloe didn’t have the Ladybug.

She wouldn’t be able to fix anything.

Her Wish had switched her with Marinette so she could make the other girl experience the burdens of her life while she could become the hero and make her suffer for her past life’s crimes.

But rather than hated, Marinette was actually well liked by their classmates and just in general. A few internet searches had pulled up Marinette using her power over others much as Chloe had in the past, so it wasn’t like they were any different! But apparently cancelling talks to make a new building for a corporate gym chain in order to keep a lame old skating rink open was good somehow! And forcing people to do backbreaking labor to plant trees on a Saturday! And that work study program at her Dad’s hotel! That was just free child labor!

The fact that Chloe had done the same thing in the previous timeline only with putting people in the suckier jobs had no bearing on this!

Chloe growled, clenching her fists and shaking at the injustice of it all.

And while Marinette was getting to live it up, meanwhile, poor Chloe herself was despised and about two steps away from a criminal record for things that weren’t even her fault! She couldn’t even enjoy the one nice thing about Marinette’s original position of becoming a hero and being popular! And any attempts to call out Marinette for her evils only made HER look like the bad guy!

Becoming Ladybug had been her only chance to fix this. She could have used it to promote herself. To tear down Marinette. Even to go back to the previous reality where she could still be Miracle Queen if nothing else! But now she didn’t even have that! Whatever stupid power in charge of this must be broken somehow!

This meant…

Marinette had won before Chloe even had a chance to do anything.

And now there was nothing Chloe could do about it.

She didn’t have the Ladybug. She was going to need a new TV. She didn’t have any of her previous life’s accommodations or riches to replace them. Nobody liked her. Her Daddykins had no influence to help her. Her Mother was still in New York.

There was only one thing she could count on, she realized as she picked up a picture frame.

“At least I always have you.”

The picture of Adrien stared back at her, flat and unblinking.

________________

Once upon a timeline, son of a fashion mogul, Adrien Agreste, was a popular model who was sad and cut off from the world, being isolated except for his only friend: daughter of the Mayor and the Style Queen, Chloe Bourgeois.

But someone didn’t like that story, so they changed it.

So once upon a timeline, son of a fashion mogul, Adrien Agreste, who only sometimes took part in his fathers business had two friends: daughter of the Mayor, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and daughter of the Style Queen, Chloe Bourgeois.

He was sad and cut off from the world for a time, true. But the current Mayor was a big believer of children having normal healthy childhoods and was not as inclined to ignore child labor laws. And her daughter, while happy to be his friend, was similarly a big believer of healthy childhoods and not as inclined to be Adrien’s only friend.

Being on good terms with the family, Sabine and Tom convinced Gabriel and Emilie to cut down on the modeling and activities for their son to let him go to school and spend time around kids his age. And being on good terms with Adrien himself, Marinette convinced him to interact with his various classmates and introduced him to a number of peers.

What followed was the beginning of beautiful—if not headache-inducing friendships.

A couple of years made all the difference. So much so that by the time that particularly Miraculous school year started, Adrien had already been going to school for a good couple of years. Long enough to become settled, join clubs, and make his own friends. Ones outside of Marinette and Chloe and their social circles.

Adrien Agreste was popular. Not the kind of popularity that comes with hundreds of fans chasing him down the street, thankfully, which he would certainly appreciate if he knew about. But rather, his popularity was the general school variety that came with a guy who was good looking and kind to everyone.

Adrien was, to put it simply, quite happy. And not at all alone.

He would play sports with Kim and Alix. Study with Max and Sabrina. Geek out over books and anime with Marc and Jean. Play games with Max and Nino. Blabber on about heroes and comics with Nathaniel and Mirelle.

And of course, there was Marinette.

Adrien would be lying if he said he never had…some feelings for Marinette.

She was the one who had helped to convince his father to let him join public school three years ago. While it may have been possible for the man to argue with an hour long presentation complete with a fifty slide PowerPoint explaining why public school was beneficial for children including statistics and psychological studies, it was substantially more difficult for him to argue with the girl’s mother when she was both the Mayor and a close enough family friend. It couldn’t be sure which of the two had been the final push that had convinced Emilie, but once she was on board, Gabriel couldn’t help but cave soon after.

Either way, Adrien was grateful to his friend.

…and a bit smitten. Not that he could tell her that. Especially the way she would stick her tongue out when she was so focused on a drawing. Or how beautiful she looked when she took charge of a project. Or how cute she was the way she would get annoyed when she’d catch him wearing the worst possible combination from his closet, which was made all the better partly because it made his Father look ready to have a coronary as well. Plus it helped that she’d drag him to her house at the first opportunity to salvage his outfit into something bearable. He didn’t have to, but he let her every time.

She was adorable like that. And at least he wasn’t alone since it seemed many of his other friends had admitted a crush on her at some point that never went anywhere. He doubted he’d be different.

After all, he was admittedly a sucker for the childhood friend to lovers trope in anime—which made him all the more bummed that they hardly ever worked out.

And since he was apparently the equivalent of an anime protagonist now if his new little companion was any indication…

He looked down at his bag, where his new little friend smirked up at him.

…yeah, he didn’t want to risk it.

Especially given some of the things the little cat-god had told him.

“What do you mean we’ve done this before?” Adrien asked, rather confused to say the least.

“Yeah, it didn’t work out last time.” The creature—Plagg, replied. Though not actually answering his question in any way.

He looked up at Adrien with a smirk.

“But things will be different this go around. We’ve made sure of it.” He then turned away, muttering darkly something Adrien couldn’t hear about some “brat” and a “surprise”.

“O…kay?” He didn’t get it, but okay?

Plagg shook his head before turning back and floating up to eye level with him. “Just change up your suit, ditch the bell, and don’t call yourself Chat Noir and things will be fine.” It told him.

“But why?” Admittedly, his first thought had been “Wild Pussycat” due to his current favorite fandom, but Chat Noir actually sounded really cool.

“Trust me, kid. It’ll help.”

And apparently it had, since he’d met his partner and they’d defeated that monster easily enough.

Plus Adrien did rather like the Wonderland theme they agreed on.

He had been excited about the adventure—what teenage boy wouldn’t be? Still, it was a relief to return to the school the next day and find everyone safe and sound.

Mostly.

Ivan admittedly wasn’t having the best time, unfortunately. He was being crowded by everyone and questioned about the incident by the time Adrien had arrived. Everyone was clearly worried and no one knew for sure what had happened. Marinette in particular was being supportive.

Chloe was…not.

“—monster!”

“He’s not a monster!” Marinette countered defensively. “He doesn’t even remember what happened!”

“He could just be saying that!” Chloe yelled, pointing at Ivan. “Once a monster, always a monster!”

“Hey, back off, Chloe.” Alya said, stepping in front of her. “It’d not like Ivan asked to become a stone golem, and besides, any damage was erased and he’s back to normal.”

Adrien sighed. He was going to have to play mediator again, wasn’t he?

“Hey, Chloe?” He asked benignly, stepping up to her. “If you’re worried he’ll transform again, maybe upsetting him isn’t a good idea? We don’t know what caused it or if it was a one time thing.”

Actually, he did know. But given what Plagg had told him about how the akumas worked, he didn’t want to risk Ivan getting reakumatized. And he couldn’t very well come out and say any of that until this Hawk Moth guy revealed himself and the city as a whole had a better idea how his powers worked.

“Of course, it—” She suddenly cut off, as if realizing something. “Whatever!”

With that, she turned and stomped off.

What was her deal?

Still, everyone else was uncertain of what else to do and with class about to start, several other classmates chose to leave as well. Soon, the previously larger crowd had only a couple people left. Adrien, for his part, figured he should step back and give Ivan some space.

Marinette took advantage of the opportunity the lack of crowd gave to push Kim forward. The taller boy began nervously apologizing while Marinette sat by Ivan as support.

Adrien sighed in relief as he walked away.

Marinette was a wonderful friend.

Chloe, on the other hand…

___________________

Speaking of Chloe, the girl in question had realized a few minutes after she had stormed off that in her anger, she hadn’t kept track of where she was going and had apparently gone the complete opposite direction of her next class.

Seriously! She knew more than anyone! They should be flocking to her for answers and instead, everyone was focusing on Kim! Or what’s his-name! Rocker boy! Sure, he was only going to be the first of many akumas, but nobody else knew that! She thought she could use that to boost her status by confronting the “threat”!

Last time, she had led the crowd by calling him out for what he had done. Yet much like many things, that had gone wrong this time as well! Instead of rallying behind her against the clear threat only she knew about, most of the people were giving her the side-eye. And of course Marinette freaking Chang had to be the one to act against her!

Really! She was the victim here and nobody even knew it! Thanks to that new Red Queen stealing her rightful place, Chloe had lost everything! And she couldn’t even TELL anyone! Now what was she supposed to do?

She growled, smacking a wall with her fist.

And now she would have to walk all the way back! And she couldn’t just skip classes for the day to make them suffer without her presence for siding against her; the school wouldn’t allow it. Which meant she would have to face everyone again. And walk in these old shoes that were murder on her poor feet!

Oh, the life of suffering she lived!

She trudged back through the hallway the way she came, taking a slightly different route—just in case the others were still where she left them. She didn’t want it to seem like she was intentionally coming back or anything. That would just be letting them think they were right.

“That was something earlier, huh?”

“Yeah. Poor Ivan.”

She paused. Up ahead was a connecting hallway that led to another path to her classroom. And she could hear voices from around the corner.

One of them was Adrikens!

She almost felt herself floating forward, her feet no longer in pain and her shoes no longer a trouble to her. Adrikens always made things better! And surely he of all people would understand her misery!

She peaked. Sure enough, there he was. Her precious friend! The only one she could count on!

But she didn’t recognize the other boy with him. It wasn’t Nino. She couldn’t not know if it was him due to how his name was engraved upon her psyche with how much Adrikens would talk about him.

The other boy grumbled, though Chloe barely took notice of what he had to say. Not until he started talking about her.

“I can’t believe Chloe. Well, I can, because that’s nothing new for her. What a…”

Gasp! How rude! Who did he think he was? He was luck he cut off or she would have had his parents’ jobs!

She winced, remembering that she couldn’t do that anymore.

…well, she’d cause him some repercussions, anyway.

But unaware of her, he kept going, turning to Adrien.

“Dude, why do you even put up with her?” The loser asked.

How rude! She wasn’t someone he had to ‘put up with’, she was a joy to be around! Of course her Adrikens adored her! And he would no doubt admonish that low class nobody for talking about her in such a way!

‘Because I’m his best friend,’ Chloe thought smugly.

Of course Adrien would be on her side.

Because she was his best friend.

Because they were each other’s only friends for years.

Because they’re the only ones who understand each other.

Because even if everything else changed, that was one thing that would remain true.

He would never abandon her.

Chloe Bourgeois and Adrien Agreste—them against the world!

“Honestly, I don’t even know anymore.”

She froze.

"I mean, we used to be friends, but that was more because her parents were friends with mine. Right now her Mom is my Dad's business associate and I kind of have to be nice to her or she could complain or something."

"Oh yeah. She did threaten to run to 'Daddy' earlier. Stands to reason she'd use 'Mommy' the same. But do you really think her Mom would care that much?"

"I don't want to risk it. Being in school the past three years has been like a dream. The last thing I want is to lose it all because Chloe threw a tantrum."

He sighed.

“Besides, I do feel bad for her. I mean…she’s alienated pretty much everyone she’s ever been in a class with and I’m the only one who will even talk to her.”

“The only one who can, you mean.” The other said snarkily. “She insults anyone else who even looks at her.”

He shook his head. “She doesn’t have any friends. And it’s just…sad.”

“Dude, that’s not your fault.”

“I know that now. She was always a...” He hesitated for a moment before spitting it out, “well...a brat. I’m honestly not sure I ever liked her. I just hung out with her at the time because she was the first kid my age to interact with and I was told to. Back then, I thought that was enough to make us friends. That that was what friendship was supposed to be.”

“Thank God for Mari and her mom.”

“Tell me about it!”

His words were like a blade piercing her heart from behind.

One after another, they stabbed her.

And he—her only friend, completely unaware, he just kept going.

“When we were kids, neither of us knew better. But while I grew up, she…didn’t.”

That…that wasn’t right!

None of that was right!

Adrien sighed. “And I really wish she would.”

Chloe didn’t even realize she had lost all feeling in her legs until she had slumped to the ground.

He…

He really thought that?

About her?

“I try to step in and help her when I can. Partly because I feel obligated to since we were close once, but mostly because I know she would just make things worse if I didn’t. I mean, you know what she did with Mari when she got mad. But honestly…I’m really tired of it. Of having to pacify her, the way she grabs me, her stupid ‘Adrikens’ nickname, and just…dealing with her. All of it.”

He sighed again.

“But who knows how much worse she’d be otherwise?”

“Dude, you’re not some sacrificial lamb here.” The other boy assured him. “And besides, you heard, didn’t you? Chloe’s been reprimanded and she’s only still in school on a trial period. If she does anything and people complain, she’ll be out of here and you won’t have to deal with her anymore.”

A weak chuckle. Her Adrikens—Adrien actually laughed at that.

“I’d feel bad if I said I was looking forward to it.”

The other boy laughed at that. “Y’know, I had a dream last night where she announced she was leaving Paris.”

“Sounds like a good dream.” Adrien replied, not even missing a beat.

“I know! I almost didn’t want to wake up!”

The two left, with Adrien just…continuing to chat and laugh and joke like they were best friends and like they weren’t making fun of Chloe who was supposed to be his best friend whose side he was supposed to be on no matter what…

But…

Where was he just then? Where was his defense of her? Where was his declaration that he was still her friend no matter what? Where was his insistence that she wasn’t as bad as people think? Where was his lecture of that boy for speaking ill of her? Where was his disappointment of the others for being mean and wanting her gone? Where was his promise?

...Where was her Adrien?

That was what finally broke through.

Chloe sobbed.

It wasn’t just Adrien. That was simply the last straw.

Marinette had Chloe’s life and was apparently happier than she ever was in the previous life—happier than Chloe had been even! Someone else was the Ladybug hero and had taken her title as ‘Queen’. She didn’t have a Miraculous. She didn’t have Pollen. Her Father wasn’t the Mayor. Her Mother was still in New York. And everything was…

Everything that had made Chloe Bourgeois who she was was gone.

What was she, after all?

Chloe Bourgeois was rich.

She was the Daughter of the Mayor.

She was the Princess of Paris.

Without that…who was she?

Who was this new Chloe Bourgeois she had become?

She wasn’t feared. She wasn’t respected. She wasn't in any way liked. She was an annoyance at best. An irritant. A bug to them. Someone to be avoided.

And in Adrien’s case…pitied.

That, more than anything, was what hurt the most.

Adrien didn’t love her. He didn’t even like her.

And maybe…

“…I hate you, Chloe.”

…he never had.

…

“You’re the sort of person who is never satisfied with anything.”

…did he ever care about her at all?

“Whatever you do. Whatever world you create. My feelings won’t change.”

Had he…been trying to warn her?

“It won’t be real, Chloe. Whatever we had…whatever you would call it is already gone.”

She slowly pulled herself up. She wasn’t quite sure where she was going at this point, but she didn’t want to be there anymore. She was deaf to everything but the pounding of her own heart and the memory of Adrien’s words.

“Chloe, you don’t know what friends are!”

…

“And I didn’t know better before because I only ever had you. But since I’ve started school, I’ve learned what friendship is!”

…

“I wish I had learned it sooner.”

Well…it looked like he had gotten his wish. Seeing him now, surrounded by people in a way he had never been before. Not even just Nino this time, but others from other classes.

He looked happy.

…had he ever looked that happy when he was with her?

She bit her lip.

That liar.

He…he was a traitor!

Just like Ladybug!

Just like all of them!

She looked up to the sound of cheers.

From the angle she was at, she could see her classmates gathered close to the doorway of the classroom. Apparently rocker boy and rainbow-haired girl were together now? Oh yeah, that had happened around this time like time, hadn’t it? Wasn’t he supposed to have been akumatized a second time first, though?

It didn’t seem to matter. They were holding hands. And the others were going on about how great it was. And Adrien was congratulating them just as much as everyone else. And they were all just so damn happy.

And there was Marinette, in the middle of it all. Smiling.

And not once did she even look at her.

Chloe could only watch on as they ignored her. As Marinette brushed her off like it didn’t matter while she got to carry on with what had been Chloe’s life. Still kind. Still friendly. Still popular. And somehow even more despicably perfect than before now that she had taken Chloe’s place.

All that…having everything that made Chloe who she was, and somehow, she was still so…disgustingly happy.

Not despised. Not unloved. Not a hateful, selfish person. Not…anything like Chloe.

“Marinette is a better Ladybug—a better person than you ever will be. And that’s because she chooses to be kind! Regardless of the circumstances!”

…

“Even if your positions were switched, that wouldn’t change.”

It…

It wasn’t fair.

IT WASN’T FAIR!

_________________________

The Universe is a director. It doesn’t alter the script, merely the parts. When someone demands a different role, the most it will do is swap people around to put them in places that best fulfill the demand. And if the ones who saw fit to make demands didn’t like their new roles...well...

The Universe didn’t particularly like critics.

So the critic wanted the baker girl’s life? That was fine.

After all, the critic’s father had two roles.

One for two. Two in one.

Why not split the difference and see what comes of it?

At least, that was what it figured. And it turned out pretty well in its not so humble opinion.

The city had a steadfast leader. The hotel had a caring manager. The bakery had a decent owner. The heroes were both the same and different. The sad male lead would get to display greater range. The former hero got to take a break after carrying the entire production previously. And the invisible actor would get a chance to step out of a shadow and finally shine.

And if the little critic didn’t like it, maybe she shouldn’t have complained?

Some people just didn’t appreciate what they were given.

The Universe nodded to itself and turned its attention to the new heroic duo, curious as to what would come of this new dynamic.

It was getting bored of the old love square anyway...

#chloe's lament #chloe salt #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #plagg #kwami swap #sabrina raincomprix #sabrina deserves better #marinette gets a break #chloe has a hard time #Be Careful What You Wish For #chloe is not careful #chloe is a horrible person #miracle queen

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staticscreenwriting · 3 years

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HOME // Bucky Barnes

Request: Could you do a Bucky Barnes imagine where he blips but the reader is pregnant so when he comes back he meets their daughter? If not that’s totally understandable and I hope you have an amazing day/night 💕

A/N: Look, I love writing angsty Bucky. But I also love writing happy Bucky. Hope y’all love reading this ♥ Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated.

Join my taglist here! [additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

Thanos being defeated was not the end of it all. It seemed like it. The grand heroic solution to all problems. The ultimate test before things got better. Before they got easier.

That was a lie.

Bucky looks across the vast area of the Stark’s estate as people, all dressed in black, mourn the loss of a dear friend, an idol, a husband, a father.

That word sends a wave of anxiety and fear through him. He knows he can’t run forever and really, he doesn’t want to. He just doesn’t know how to deal with — everything. How to be the man he needs to be. How to step up and not fuck this up.

Sometimes fear makes you do stupid things, really stupid things. Like avoiding the love of your life because you are too afraid of what she might think of you.

His eyes find (Y/N) as she leans against a tree, lips pulled into a sad smile as Sam rambles about one thing or another next to her. This isn’t right. Sam shouldn’t be the one cheering her up and trying to get her to smile. It should be him. If only he wasn’t such a coward.

People don’t talk about these things though. They only talk about those that had been gone now being back again. They talk about the joy of being reunited but not the fears, the sadness, the disappointment — and they sure as hell don’t talk about the guilt.

The guilt of coming back after 5 years to find out you missed so many important moments in the life of a child you never knew you had.

His eyes wander down towards the little girl holding on tightly to her mother’s hand. She has his eyes, his dark hair, his lips. She’s a spitting image of his younger sister. A Barnes through and trough.

Every time he looks at her his heart beats out of his chest in a way he’s never felt before. When they say that the love for your own child is an instant emotion, they are not wrong or exaggerating.

The moment he came back from oblivion and first laid eyes on her, it felt like his heart had known her all his life. He wanted to hold her and shelter her from all the bad things the world might throw her way. Wanted to kiss her little nose and read her stories and sing her silly little songs. He hated singing but for her, he wanted to do it. Just because that’s what dads do.

But fear is one hell of an emotion and above all, it’s terribly convincing.

He’d never had a particularly good example of a father. It was different times then. Different ways of raising your child. Fathers weren’t meant to show affection, they were meant to enforce rules and order. How could he ever be good at this? He doesn’t have a single clue how to do any of this.

And then there’s the fact that he’s left (Y/N) alone to deal with all of this. Every first has been forever taken from him. First breath, first cry, first word, first steps. Every little thing.

Would she resent him for it? For not being there when it mattered?

So he ran. He came back and he ran.

She doesn’t deserve this and neither does (Y/N). They deserve so much better.

“ It’s time Buck. “ Steve speaks up as he leans against the porch railing next to his oldest friend.

“ Are you still sure about this? “ Bucky asks, not taking his eyes off of his girls. His stomach feels like he’s swallowed a bag of bricks. Life was supposed to be easier after Thanos. This isn’t easy. This is just scary. And sad.

“ That, “ Steve says and nods his head towards (Y/N) and the girl “ that’s your second chance. I gotta take mine. “

Bucky turns to look at his friend trying to figure out what to say next but coming up empty. What do you say to that? Steve deserves to be happy. He deserves to be where his heart always has been. Does it mean Bucky thinks it’s the right choice? Not necessarily. But he understands. Had it been him and (Y/N) he would’ve crossed time and space to be with her.

Which is ironic to think because now all he does is avoid her. Because that’s the coward he is.

“ Alright let’s go. I’ll grab Bruce you do — whatever you gotta do. “

He dares to send one last look towards (Y/N) and this time she’s looking back with a soft eye and a timid little smile on her lips. None of which he is deserving of.

Steve let's go of Sam, parting with one last friendly slap on the back before turning towards Bucky.

Bucky's throat feels dry and rough and while his head is swirling with words he wants to say, none of them really make it past his lips. He's known about Steve's idea for a few days now, has had time to let it settle and come to terms with it. It still breaks his heart but sometimes that's what you do for the people you love. You support them on their path to happiness even if it hurts you in the process.

"I'll miss you," Bucky finally manages to say and he wraps his arm around his friend's shoulder. "You'll always be my brother."

"I know. I'll miss you too. But I know you're in good hands." Steve responds and lets his gaze wander towards the house, no doubt talking about (Y/N) and the kid.

"Promise me something, Buck." He says as he pulls away.

"Anything."

"Talk to (Y/N) and get to know your daughter. She's a Barnes through and through. And she loves you so much, they both do. Let them. Love 'em back."

"Kid doesn't even know me," Bucky murmurs, nervously glancing at the floor.

"What? You really think that? Buck, all we did for the last 5 years was try to keep your memory alive. For us but especially for her. We showed her pictures and videos and (Y/N) told her so many stories. She knows you and she loves you and for the first time in her life, she's living in a world where her dad is alive and present. Go, be with them. You guys need each other."

He's right. Of course, he's right. Steve has this fantastic ability to be right when it matters.

“And don’t do anything stupid until I get back!” Steve adds, making a small smile appear on Bucky’s face.

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you. “

They embrace each other one last time before Bucky whispers another “I’ll miss you” and Steve tells him that “It’ll be okay, Buck”.

And then everything happens so fast. One moment he’s living in a world where his best friend is by his side and a minute later all of that has forever changed.

Bucky wipes his eyes with the back of his hand one last time before looking at himself in the mirror. He knew this moment was coming, Steve told him. He had time to come to terms with it and yet it’s a completely different situation now that it’s done. Parting with the only family you’ve ever known breaks your heart in ways you’ve never known are possible.

As he steps out of the bathroom something solid crashes against him and as he looks down, a pair of identical blue eyes stare back at him. He’s not been this close to her since he found out about her, keeping her at a distance. To protect her.

His arm was made to kill how could it ever hold a child and keep it safe?

She stares at him for a moment before a small “Hi” falls from her lips. It’s shy and timid and adorable and all Bucky wants to do is cuddle her to his chest and never let her go.

He doesn’t get the chance though as another little girl rushes past them and calls out to his daughter to follow her which she does.

“Who is that?” Bucky hears Morgan question.

“That’s my daddy, but I don’t think he wants to see me. Mommy says he needs time but —“

He doesn’t hear the rest of her words as the girls round the corner and get swallowed by the sounds of the other guests still mulling around sharing stories about their fallen hero.

But it’s enough. He doesn’t need to hear more. Those words are enough to rip his heart out of his rib cage, crush it up into a million little pieces, and spread it in the winds, never to be able to be put together ever again.

“Hey have you seen — oh Bucky are you okay?”

He doesn’t deserve her tenderness, her kindness, and her care, and yet she still exudes the same love she’s always held for him. Love he was never deserving of from the beginning.

It doesn’t matter at that moment though, who deserves what and who doesn’t. He’s too caught up in the breaking of his own heart. So he falls into her arms as silent tears slowly but surely make their way down his cheeks.

“She thinks I don’t want to see her.”

“Who does?” (Y/N) says as she gently combs her fingers through his long hair.

“My own daughter. “

(Y/N) pulls away slightly, holding onto his shoulders and looking deep into his eyes.

“Are you ready to talk about this now? Ready to stop avoiding me ?”

Bucky only nods and lets her lead him outside past the guests and down to the lake where it’s quiet and serene and life seems to slow down a little. She keeps holding on to his hand, his vibranium one, as they settle on a bench facing each other.

“ I missed you, Bucky.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

He’s been told those words so many times and it’s still hard to believe in them. Even when he knows they’re true. There will always be a hint of doubt since him. Always.

“I don’t — I don’t want her to think I don’t love her. Or want to be with her. I do love her very much. More than I have ever loved another person, including you, and you are my everything. I’m just overwhelmed and — and scared.” He admits. It’s the first time he says those words to anyone but himself. It feels good. It feels right. But it doesn’t take the fear away or the guilt.

“James, she knows you love her. Not a day went by that I didn’t tell her how much her daddy loves her and wants to be with us. And it’s okay to be scared. I was scared and I only had to deal with a baby, not an opinionated 4-year-old. It’s okay to be scared but you can’t let the fear hold you back. You’re the bravest man I know. You laugh in the face of danger. What changed?”

“Stakes are higher this time. What’s losing my life compared to ruining my daughter’s?”

“You’re not gonna ruin anyone’s life, Buck.” (Y/N) exclaims and softly pets the side of his face. She’s always been so gentle with him. Such a contrast to the touches he was used to.

“I don’t know the first thing about being a dad. Mine wasn’t a very good example. I have been trained to kill, to cause pain. My arm is a weapon.”

“Your arm has shielded me from bullets and harm so many times. It’s held me close at night and wipes my tears when I was sad. Your arm is only a weapon if you use it like that. And all the other stuff, that’s not you anymore. You know this. “

He can see the treads now welling in her eyes too and it makes his heart twist and constrict in many painful ways.

“And I left you alone during all of it. Missed the last 4 years of her life and the entire pregnancy. How am I gonna make up for that, for leaving you alone?”

It feels like once he’s started talking he can’t stop. All his fears and worries flow from his lips like tidal waves in an ocean. Crashing against the shore of truth.

“You didn’t leave us Bucky. You were taken from us. We never blamed you for that. I know you wanted to be there. I never doubted that for a second. Look, I had 9 months to come to terms with my fears, you didn’t have any time to face them. I get why you are freaking out but uh — it’s time to step up. You know what makes a good dad? Being there when he can be. Showing he cares. Can you do that?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I can.” Bucky promises and smiles a smile of content. One of hope. His fears and his guilt aren’t gone. But maybe if she believes in him and Steve does, maybe he can be the man and the father he needs to be.

“Good. We really do love you, Buck.”

“As in present tense?”

“Of course. We never stopped. Now can I ask one more thing of you?”

“What’s that?” In the end, it wouldn’t really matter. Whatever she asks he’ll do it. For her, he’ll do anything.

“Can you kiss me? I’ve been waiting for 5 years to finally kiss you again. I can’t hold out much longer. “

He grants her not one kiss, not two. In fact, he loses count as they get lost in many many loving kisses. Maybe, Bucky thinks, soulmates really are a thing. Maybe there are people on this earth meant to find each other. Meant to go through hardships together and still find their way back to one another in the end.

Whatever one chooses to believe in. Bucky is certain she is his person in this life and the next and through whatever might come their way.

He’s sitting on the big red couch in (Y/N)’s apartment, nervously fumbling with the tassels on one of the throw pillows as his eyes wander around the room. There are so many pictures, hung on the walls and placed on side tables and shelves. His child’s entire life up to now, caught on film for him to relive if only in his mind.

There are pictures of him too. One of him and Steve in the 40s, laughing and leaning against each other in support. (Y/N) always said it was one of her favorites. “You’re so happy in it. That’s how happy I want you to be all the time.” She’s told him once.

Next to a picture of (Y/N) and their daughter is a picture of him. He’s sure it’s placed there deliberately. To remind everyone he is a part of this family, even when he wasn’t there.

He is here now though. The next picture put up will be one of all three of them.

The front door opens and a melody of voices echoes through the place. (Y/N)’s laughter and the sweet giggle of his little girl. It’s his favorite sound in the world, he decided then and there. Nothing will ever compare.

The girl rushes into the room then comes to an abrupt stop in front of him.

“Hi,” she says in the same small voice as she did at the Stark’s house. Only this time Bucky doesn’t just stand and stare at her, unable to move or speak.

This time he holds out his arms and speaks up.

“Hi, I — I'm sorry it has taken me so long. I don’t know what I was thinking. I love you, Darling. Can I hug you?”

She doesn’t say yes or no, doesn’t glance at his vibranium arm with hesitance of fear. She falls right into him, wrapping her little arms around his neck and cuddling into his chest. It feels like this is where she belongs, like this is where she was always meant to be. Like his arms were made to hold her and never let go. And maybe, Bucky thinks, maybe they were.

“I love you too, daddy.”

He liked being a sergeant. It’s a title that has always filled him with pride. It has nothing on the title of being a dad. That one means so much more. Fills him with a pride and love he’s never previously known.

For the next few moments, he gets lost in the feeling of holding his child. A perfect little girl who is part of him. The good. Only the good. It all comes together in her. No nightmares or guilt or fears. Only love. So much love. He holds her close to his heart, wishing he could’ve done this when she was just a baby. Feel her heart beat in rhythm with his. He places little kisses up and down her small face. On her chubby little cheeks and her cute bottom nose, making her scrunch it up and let out soft giggles.

It’s strange to be the man he is and act so gently with another human being. But it feels so right.

His eyes find (Y/N)’s across the room, filled with tears though this time they are happy ones. With an outreached hand he beckons her over and pulls her onto the couch and into the hug.

This is right. Nothing has ever felt this real. This happy. This perfect.

His girls cuddle into him with nothing but love filling their hearts. This is the life he wants, the one he has always wanted. The life he fought for. The life he will never stop fighting for.

Steve was wrong. They aren’t his second chance.

They’re his only chance.

His destiny.

His family.

His home.

TAGLIST: @stayherefor-evermore - @booksb4looksstuff - @captainofallfandoms - @charmed-asylum

#bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes x female reader #Bucky Barnes x f!reader #buck barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagines #marvel imagine #james barnes x reader #James Barnes x female reader #james barnes x f!reader

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lonely-lost-soul · 3 years

Text

Poff Poff

(Platonic C!Schlatt x Niece Reader)

Request 7: Can I request an Uncle Jschlatt and Niece reader? (Platonic ye) maybe Jschlatt could be out taking his niece to a late-night convenience store so they could late-night snack because both he and his niece had a bad day?

Requested by: Anonymous

AU where Puffy is Schlatt’s sister :)

~~~

Schlatt had, had a rough day, to say the least. He once again almost got banned for another scheme gone wrong. His election plans were set in motion but due to the statistics, it looked like he was losing and he was pissed off beyond belief. He had no plans for the rest of the day, all he wanted to do was relax with a drink and a cigarette, maybe watch a movie, just something to help him through the rest of this shitty ass day.

So, When Puffy had shown up on his doorstep and dropped you off to watch you while she went out his immediate response was no. He already smells like cigarette smoke and whiskey he shouldn’t be anywhere near a child. But one harsh glare from his sister made him shut his trap, he looked down at you and you looked just as unhappy to be there.

“Mom do I have to stay here, I’m old enough to stay on my own. Or even with Dream?” The angsty teen groaned tilting her head to the side, her little horns hitting her on the shoulder. Puffy let out a pinched huff pressing her fingers to her nose,

“You know Dreams out with George and Sapnap, plus you’re still too young to be left alone. So you’re staying with Uncle Schlatt until I get back from my date with Niki.”

“But-”

“Hush no butts. Now you.” She pointed a finger at Schlatt, “no smoking or drinking in front of my little Poff got it?” Schlatt rolled his eyes snarling over at his sister,

“Have a little faith in me, sis.” She shot him a look, and he wilted a little bit,

“Be good.”

“I will.” You groaned,

“Not talking to you.”

“I will.” The goat-man grumbled under his breath, finally seeming satisfied his sister departed leaving her equally hotheaded daughter by his side. “So...you smoke?”

“No Uncle Schlatt I don’t smoke,” You sighed a frown on your face usually that comment got a least a snort.

Oh no, not teenage angst.

You walked past him into his humble abode and plopped down on his couch, it also smelled like smoke, “How’s Quackity?”

“You mean Flatty Patty?” He smirked plopping down beside you scratching at his ear absentmindedly. You snickered, there it was,

“No I don’t, you know he hates when you call him that.” You nudged him gently, Schlatt ruffled your hair minding your horns. You huffed at him moving to fix your tousled hair,

“Alright, kid you got me. Now, what’s up with you?”

“Nothings wrong.” You muttered crossing your arms over your chest defensively, he shrugged his shoulders not bothering to push you. “Okay fine!” You blurted throwing your hands in the air, the man raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t say anything-”

“It’s just Dream’s not been home lately and Mom’s not taking it well. Instead of trying to watch out for him n’ shit, she’s going on dates with Niki.” You groaned falling back against the couch, “When he does come home it’s just for food and to pet, his cat then leave. He barely even says hi to us anymore...we used to be so close. Now he just doesn’t care.” Your face fell and he frowned, Schlatt winced a little he was never known to be very good with comforting people let alone comforting women. He placed a hand on your shoulder and squeezed,

“He’ll come around kid, family’s, family you know?” He watched you shrug sadly and he rubbed his chin with his other hand.

He needed another cigarette right now.

You looked up at him and saw him tense, “You can smoke I don’t care.” You gave a little shrug, “either way I’m leaving here smelling like smoke Mom won’t be able to tell the difference.”

“Heh.” He chuckled roughly rubbing the back of his neck, “thank’s kid, I owe you one.” You nodded and watched as Schlatt pulled out his package of cigarettes and frowned seeing it was empty, “Ah fuck me.”

“You out?”

“Yeah. Would you be opposed to a quick drugstore run?” You shrugged your shoulders, indifferent.

“Sure could be fun. Could I get a snack?”

“You could get whatever you want, not payin’ for it.” You snorted loudly covering your mouth to hide your snort. “What? If you can steal it you can get whatever you want.”

“I’m not stealing anything Uncle Schlatt, that’s wrong.”

“Ugh. What’s my goody-two-shoes sister been teaching you?” His nose scrunched up in displeasure. “As long as you don’t get caught anything is legal kid. Stick with me and you’ll learn way more tips than that. I'm a professional.”

“Right cause doing that hasn’t gotten banned before.” You smirked and he glared at you pulling on your horn. The movement caused you to yelp in pain. “Joke! I was joking! Ow!” He muttered a ‘you better be’ before standing up from his couch. You followed him from the couch as he made his way to the door, he held it open for you and you snickered “What a gentlemen.”

“Don’t slander my name like that again.” He scoffed, “Follow me, don’t wander off.” Schlatt commanded as you followed him down to the nearest convenience store, “Go get something you like.” He shooed you off and requested the pack of cigarettes he needed making small talk with the store clerk while you wandered around. “Hurry up kid or you get nothing!”

“I’m coming!” You yelled back in your arms was a pack of sour patch watermelons, a chocolate bar, and some chips, “I got you chips.” Schlatt tried to bite back a smile but it came through anyway and it only made you smile in tandem. He paid for your goodies and you both headed out to go sit outside on a nearby bench. As you sat down you turned to stare at him dead in the eyes, he felt a little unsettled and watched as you slowly pulled out a little bag of popcorn. “I stole it.”

“Holy fuck kid you did it!” He burst into laughter ruffling your hair once again, “I’m proud of you.” You beamed brightly sitting up straighter on the bench, you opened the bag and popped a piece into your mouth. Schlatt reached forward and stole a handful from you, you ripped the bag away defensively and he snickered.

“Soo…” You trailed off softly and he raised an eyebrow at you, “You seemed to have a bad day too. You wanna talk about it?” His eyes widened in surprise, he didn’t take you to be so observant, then again you were Puffy’s child.

“Alright Poff,” he clicked his tongue distastefully and began to recount his woes to his child niece. Halfway through he pulled out a freshly bought cigarette and stuck it between his teeth. He pulled out a lighter flicking it a few times before lighting the cancer stick in his mouth and taking a long drag. You nodded your head in response and seemed to be listening intently to him, as he talked he felt his facade crumbling. The goat man slumped across the bench and was openly ranting to you at this point. “So yeah, that’s how my days going. Guess we both are doing pretty shitily huh?” You pursed your lips,

“Why don’t you ask Quackity to combine both of your votes the day of the election?” He looked at you with a raised eyebrow, you flushed nervously under his stern gaze. “Then you can be the President and he can be your Vice President or something...that way you both win in a way, ya know?”

“Kid…” Schlatt murmured thoughtfully rubbing his chin, “you’re a genius!” He wrapped you up in a hug, “this kid! I love ya! You’re too smart for your good!” You beamed letting out a happy laugh in response, “I’m contacting him immediately. Wilbur and Tommy don’t stand a fucking chance against me now.”

“I’m glad I can make you happy.” You snuggled into his arms but recoiled a little bit at the overwhelming scent of fresh smoke on his clothes, “you deserve it.” Schlatt felt his heart shutter a little at the inclination that he deserves to be happy, he was about to respond with a joke but you started talking again. “You’re a good guy Uncle. You don’t let people see it often but you’re an okay dude,” he watched you fiddle with your fingers as his eyebrows furrowed. He chuckled a little,

“Most people would disagree with you kid.”

“Well most people don’t know like mom and I do,” You pointed out, “Plus if you weren’t a nice guy you wouldn’t have tried to cheer me up.”

“I needed smokes.” He pointed out motioning to the stick in his mouth and you frowned a little.

Good, things were getting too mushy for his liking.

He was about to smirk in triumph but you turned towards him a determined look on your face. “My point still stands, for example, if you weren’t that great of a guy you wouldn’t have watched me today. You would’ve shut the door in Puffy’s face or you wouldn’t have listened and tried to comfort me. Therefore, my point still stands,” You shoved your finger in his face and he grumbled in displeasure. You smirked instead of him, getting the signature family smirk on your face it only made him frown deeper.

“Alright fine, but you tell anyone I’m slightly nice you’re cut off.”

“Cut off from what? You’re inheritance? You’re broke as shit.”

“You’re way too much like your mother.”

“Aw, you think so?” You flushed fondly, “Thanks!” You chirped proudly, puffing out your chest a little bit. He scoffed tugging on your horns once more and smirked as you yelped, “Would you stop doing that!”

“Nah I don’t think I will. Especially because I know it’s bothering you.”

“Asshole.”

“That’s more like it.”

You leaned back against the back of the bench with a loud groan throwing some popcorn at him. He snickered loudly, watching you closely all in all Schlatt did enjoy today. He kissed his teeth a little, you were way smarter than everyone seemingly gave you credit for, especially Dream. When Schlatt wins this election maybe he’d give you a position in his cabinet. He thinks you would like that, finally being able to show people who’s boss and what you’re capable of, yeah that’s what he’ll do. Reluctantly Schlatt pulled you close so your head rested against his shoulder, you smiled up at him softly, all in all, it was a good end to his day.

#c!schlatt x reader #platonic schlatt x reader #Platonic Schlatt x niece reader #c!jschlatt x reader #platonic jschlatt x reader #dreamsmp x you #dreamsmp x reader #mcyt x reader #mcyt x you #platonic x reader #platonic relationships #platonic mcyt x reader #minecraft fanfiction #minecraft x reader #minecraft x you #x reader #x you #x y/n

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

Text

Wounded Love (Lady Dimitrescu/F!Reader) Pt. 3

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for blood/violence and language Genre: Action with a lil bit of fluff Warnings: Lil bit of blood Notes: There's an unnamed character in here who may or may not end up as recurring in my stories. I don't really have anything in particular planned for her, she's kinda just here to fill a role/allow for some easter egg type shit in the next chapter. Previous Chapters: Pt. 1, Pt. 2

{Wounded Love 3: Bloody Valentine (No, not that Valentine)}

“Mother Miranda, I must insist, if these lycans stray any further they might start feasting on the village as well! Pray tell, who will you use for research then? We can’t just-... Forgive me… Mhmm. Yes, I understand. Of course… Have a good night, Mother Miranda,” Lady Dimitrescu said, before setting her phone down with a loud thunk. Her hands shake a little, and for a moment you worry that her vanity won’t survive the coming moments. Then you make eye contact with her reflection, giving her an encouraging smile, watching as her gaze softens. “I’m afraid there’s nothing she can do, my dear. I cannot allow Heisenberg’s negligence to go unpunished, but we will have to take care of it on our own, without Mother Miranda’s support.”

“Is that wise, love? To go behind her back like this? I can’t imagine she’ll be terribly pleased if we cause chaos for one of her favored few,” you replied, clicking your tongue as you thought things over. Again you see anger cloud Alcina’s face, though she makes sure not to direct it at you.

“We are not the ones who started this mess,” she reminded you, through clenched teeth. “But we will be the ones to end it, one way or another. I don’t care if I have to gut that wretched man-thing and bring Miranda his corpse as proof of his incompetence! He has shown his lack of loyalty hundreds of times… and now he will pay.” Gulping, you rise to your feet, wanting to comfort your girlfriend. While you had understood that your injury angered her, you hadn’t (until this moment) realized the sheer intensity of that rage. How much blood would be shed before this was over?...

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

Crimson drips down the beast’s side, across matted fur, before hitting the wooden floor. A stench as awful as you had ever found filled the air, only made tolerable by the nearby presence of scented candles. What a mess, you think, glad that you wouldn’t be the one to clean it up. Why had the girls insisted on bringing the damn thing inside? Couldn’t they have simply snatched a few teeth from its jaw as a prize? Somehow you doubted that the thought had even crossed their minds. Violence was a passion of theirs, and they preferred their trophies to be as large as the effort they put into getting it.

“How close to the path did you find it?” You asked after finishing your examination of the lycan. Next to you, the eldest daughter is rapidly taking notes in a leather-bound journal. Both of her siblings stand near the fireplace, hands held out next to the flames, needing to warm up after being outside for so long. It wasn’t even that cold of a day, with temperatures averaging around eighteen degrees celsius. All the snowfall from the prior week had now melted. While you knew of the family’s weakness, you also knew that they had bundled up before leaving, and had even taken a torch with them in the hopes of using it on a lycan. Their powers had taken somewhat of a hit, temporarily, but not nearly enough to prevent them from killing a single lycan.

“Heard it howling almost as soon as we left the castle. We couldn’t smell it until halfway to the village, though. Once we could we tried to track it, only for the stupid thing to come charging at us. Must have been eight, maybe ten, meters away by the time we collided,” Cassandra answered. There’s a bit of a shiver to her voice, and you can’t help the rush of sympathy you feel in response. Being out on the path, wearing little more than a dress and scarf, had been absolute hell for you. Even if it was warmer outside now, you imagined that being weak to the cold just about made up for the difference. “There was a little more howling once we started walking back here. Louder, if not closer. Heisenbitch isn’t even trying to keep these fucking things in check.”

“Cassandra, language!” Came a voice in the distance, making everyone present look up at once. Strutting down the stairs was a clearly miffed Alcina, eyes narrowed, body tense. “Did you three really have to bring the mutt inside? Surely you advocated against this, Bela? Or did you think I wanted new bloodstains right by the entrance, where everyone can see them?” Next to you Bela winces, but doesn’t respond, too worried about angering her mother further. “And you, my dear, what on Earth are you doing on the floor? You should be resting, in an actual chair, if not lying in bed awaiting my return. There’s enough for me to worry about without you limping around on a useless leg!”

Now it was your turn to wince.

“Please, love, I know you’re stressed, but I can still help. Given enough time I could help ascertain these things’ weaknesses. At the very least I could pass on what I learned during my fight with one,” you pleaded. Then you tried to stand up, wanting to prove yourself, only to stumble, barely avoiding a faceplant- and only doing so because of Bela’s quick reaction time. She helped you to your feet, letting you lean on her, then lead you towards a bench. Begrudgingly you sit back down. “You’re only doing this because I got hurt. Helping you in your endeavor to avenge me is the least I can do.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Alcina snapped, now just a couple meters away from you. Even with that space between you, her presence was intimidating, and you almost felt like a child being scolded. “Were you to get hurt again, how would we avenge you? If you fall by your own hand, there will be naught I can do other than lock you away somewhere without any dangerous elements. What sort of existence would that be for you? I simply can’t allow it, no exceptions.” At this you pout, feeling rather disappointed. It’s not as if you were asking to carry a gun and shoot Heisenberg yourself! Not that you would be opposed to doing so, of course. “Try to put yourself in my place, my dear. Could you live with yourself if you failed to protect me?”

“I suppose I could not, love. Very well, I shall simply root you on from here, and kiss away any injuries you return with,” you replied, at last giving in. Then you found yourself smiling… and on the receiving end of a very soft forehead kiss. “Nothing will separate us, my love. None can tear apart that which the universe has stitched together.”

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

“Like I said, my Lady, I already want him dead. Did you really think that your family was the only one to suffer because of his machinations? I know half a dozen people who would love to put a bullet in that fucker’s skull, bare mims,” the huntress said, white teeth showing in her half-smirk. There was an odd coolness to her voice, like this whole ordeal was just another job, and you couldn’t help but feel uncertain about her. Could she really be the solution to Alcina’s problem? You couldn’t even judge her arsenal, considering she had been instructed to come unarmed. After all, she was a hunter of monsters, with a sizable history to her name. If not for her hatred of Heisenberg, you would never have felt comfortable letting her come within two hundred meters of your girlfriend.

“How can I be sure that you’ll succeed? The last thing I want is to have that wretched man-thing come crawling out of the filth he lives in, angry and coming for vengeance,” Alcina responded, scrutinizing gaze locked on the huntress.

“Didn’t Duke give you my file? Or at least read the good bits out loud? I’ve been in my fair share of scraps, with all sorts of bioweapon mutant freaks. Besides, I don’t plan on leaving any receipts behind. If he manages to survive, which is already one hell of an if, there’s no way he can prove that you asked me to do it. Considering he’s already seen my face, and knows I want him dead… yeah, he won’t bother accusing you, not when I’m in the picture, and certainly not when you’ve got such a big reputation for following Mother Miranda’s word down to the very last letter. So, you gonna make this official, or what?” The huntress asked, gesturing her arms wide. Although you’re still not convinced, Alcina nods quietly, seeming ready to make her decision. Regardless of how you feel about the stranger in front of you, you’re more than willing to support your girlfriend in whatever she planned.

“Very well, huntress. Show us just what you’re capable of.”

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

Flames licked at her heels, even as she charged forward, tickling like hot breaths against her skin. Behind her half a dozen lycans roared and screeched in unison. Smoke and ashes flew upwards, into the air, but could not poison her lungs, not when she had come prepared. Still, the mask was not as easy to breathe in as she had hoped, making her chest heave with effort at each intake of air. Good thing I’ll be gone soon, she thought, sparing a glance behind her as she ran. Dozens of trees were aflame, and countless glowing eyes watched from between the branches. They wouldn’t be there for much longer, not with what she had done.

Soon enough an explosion would shake the Earth. Then, finally, both the lycans who had killed her father and the man who desecrated the remains would be dead. And if a certain countess happened to pay her for her services? All the better, really. Funerals could be expensive, especially in such a remote village. More than that… there was no guarantee that she’d be able to outrun Mother Miranda on her own. A little money would make the flight out a hell of a lot nicer.

Assuming she made it that far. There was another scream behind her, this one more human, though somewhat warped by mechanics. It wasn’t a pained cry. No, it was filled with rage. Clearly Heisenberg had come out of his lair, hearing the fireworks, finding his scrap metal and werewolf army in chaos. From the sound of things- metal against metal, electricity crackling- he was coming her way.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” She muttered, desperately trying to get to higher ground. Even if the lycans succumbed to the overwhelming fire, it wouldn’t be hard for their leader to overcome. But the huntress was still too close to her explosives to risk activating the detonator. Just a bit farther, she thought, ignoring the way her lungs ached. Rocks kicked up with every step, loud enough to be heard from a distance, and made traction harder to keep. In the end she had to scramble to get up the side of a short cliff. A few scrapes appeared on her hands, making her curse under her breath.

But with one last movement, pulling herself up with both arms, she was finally far enough to be relatively safe. In one clean second she turned around, pulled the detonator out of its pouch and clicked the trigger. Just like that, a forest blazing turns into a mushroom cloud of pure hellfire. The setting sun makes for a beautiful backdrop, and the sight almost brings a tear to the huntress’ eyes. For a few moments she just enjoys the view. Then, without hesitation or remorse, she starts to walk away, mentally congratulating herself for a job well done.

Until something shoots past her head with terrifying speed. Before she can react another sharp piece of metal flies past her, grazing her arm, and there’s a blood-curdling roar from behind her. Then she’s running, fast as she can, pulse pounding harder than it ever has. One hand goes to the rifle on her back, pulling it out as quickly as she can. The area is rocky, with plenty of outcrops, perfect to hide behind (assuming there weren’t any hidden metal deposits). Quickly she ducks behind one, crouching to keep her head out of sight. Mere milliseconds later another metal spike slams into the ground just beyond her cover.

In the distance, more screams pierce the air, and something heavy drags itself across the ground. It almost sounds like a tank rolling through the woods. The thought alone worries the huntress, but she had never been one to let her fear control her. So she double checks her rifle, adjusts the scope, and pops out of cover. Less than a second later she has her target in her sights. It’s Heisenberg, for sure, more metal than man, but dripping with red. One press of the trigger sends a bullet straight for his ugly head. Unsurprisingly, it’s not enough to pierce his cranium, instead making him mad as hell.

Which is why automatic guns were invented, probably. The huntress holds the trigger down this time, though briefly, before dashing to the next piece of cover. She repeats the process a few times, hoping to kill the man before he could climb the cliff she stood on. If he managed to get up there with her… no, she couldn’t think about that, not now. She had to focus.

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

Hidden among the trees, the Dimitrescu sisters watched as plumes of smoke rose in the distance. Even though they had been aware of the huntress’ plan, they hadn’t expected this much carnage. It was certainly exciting! But they really couldn’t see much from where they were. Getting closer was probably a horrible idea, and yet Cassandra shared a meaningful look with Daniela. A split second later they were forming a swarm, rushing into the trees, leaving their elder sister to yell after them.

“Mother’s going to kill me,” Bela said, before rolling her eyes and following. Maybe she could at least keep them out of trouble?... Probably not.

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

Metal hands wrap around the huntress’ throat, squeezing hard, but do not twist or otherwise break their prey. No, Heisenberg does not intend to end this that quickly. This rodent had taken so much from him, set his plans back by decades. He was going to kill her slowly. When she still fights back, pulling a knife from her boot and trying to stab whatever she can reach, he does little else but laugh. It’s a crazed cackling that echoes through the surrounding rocky hills.

Just barely loud enough to drown out the sound of insects buzzing.

“Fuck that guy!” Someone shouted, right as a sickle descended upon the monstrous Heisenberg’s neck. The first slice isn’t enough to sever the connection, which is why it’s immediately followed by a second, from another sister, then a third, from the eldest, that finally does the job. Just like that the hands release from the huntress’ throat, and she gasps for air. Coughs leave her distracted as the sisters move to surround her. “Good thing we wanted to see the show up close and personal, eh?” Daniela asked, twirling her sickle with a little giggle.

“You idiots are just lucky I followed you,” Bela added, glaring at her sister. Internally, she was relieved that the end result was a success. Still, she worried about what her mother would think, and certainly didn’t intend to voice her satisfaction at delivering the killing blow. “Now let’s get back, before mother assumes the worst and comes to get us herself.” Sighing, she extends a hand to help the huntress up. Though their mutual enemy had been defeated, there was still much to be done. Who knew how Mother Miranda would react? Who, if anyone, would take Heisenberg’s place? There was plenty to be unsure about, and Bela let her mind wander the whole way back, hoping that things would only get better from here...

#lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #alcina x reader #I know the reader didn't have a big part in this #but don't worry next chap will have a bigger part #partially cuz reader's leg will actually be a bit better by then #gotta give time to heal!!!

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king-star · 3 years

Text

When the Party’s Over

Warning: Homophobia, transphobia, death, bile, guts, broken limb, crying, pet neglection, driving while slightly tipsy, fire (lmk if i need to add more. This is all around pretty dark and sad, proceed with caution)

Match: Yelena Belova x enby!Reader; Wanda Maximoff x reader

Genre: Angst, Angst, and more Angst

A/N: This is the first chapter in a series. Idk how long it’ll be. the plan is bi weekly updates. im reallyyyyy proud of this one so let’s hope it doesn’t flop. ENJOY!

Word Count: ~3,000

Summary: You have a horrible nightmare, leaving you with anxiety for Yelena. Yelena assures you that everything is fine and leaves on a mission.

Your tongue rubs the roof of your mouth in an attempt to rid itself of the sickly sweet drink you’d been sipping. A hundred intoxicated humans swirl around you. Fabric, skin, and feathers blend together, the orchestra the only thing holding off the headache behind your eyes.

You didn’t want to be here. Sure ballroom charity balls could be fun. If you had your best friends there, you could chat only with them, and dance to your heart's content. Unfortunately for you, everyone you could stand to be around was busy. Leaving you human-shieldless from your mothers many socialite friends.

The “oh my goodness Y/N I haven’t seen you since you were in highschool. How are you?” got old quick. Retelling your life story over and over was a pain especially with your mother gripping your hand making sure you didn’t slip up. Share any information that didn’t quite fit the Y/L/N dynasty image. Mostly she didn’t want you sharing about the love of your life, your girlfriend, your Yelena.

When the two of you first got together you waited nearly 5 months before telling your mother. The first time you dated a girl she had hated it. She tried to act like she was supportive, claiming “I will always love you no matter what.” But in the end she always shielded this fact from the public eye. She was supportive of all the LGBT+ movements from a political standpoint. Never her own child.

You never told Yelena about this. You claimed the reason you didn’t want to share her with your mother was because you wanted your relationship to not have paparazzi after you two. She bought it for a while but you could only keep the love of your life away from the woman who gave you life for so long. It didn’t take a master spy to understand the emotions behind the look your mother gave you when you brought Yelena to dinner. Yelena never brought it up but it was an unspoken understanding. Your mother didn’t accept you no matter how hard she tried to fake it.

Now you just wanted the event to be over so you could go home to Yelena. You flipped your wrist, checking the ridiculously expensive watch you had on.

11:31

She was definitely asleep by now. Yelena never stayed up past 10:30. Frowning, you set down your glass and turned to your mother, waiting for her conversation to end. When she finally stopped speaking she turned to you and cocked an eyebrow,

“Y/N. Are you leaving? so soon?” she pouted but enough years in her home taught you her looks. This was faked sadness.

“Unfortunately yes mother. Lena is probably asleep by now and I have work early. She probably forgot to feed our dog,” you enunciated the words that might clue in your mothers friend on how you and this woman were related. A last “fuck you mother” before you left. She smiled warningly and nodded.

“Well… you must get home to your friend. I will see you soon daughter,” she kissed your hand and you stood there frozen. Of course, she would invalidate your gender and your relationship in one comment. Your nostrils flared and you turned quickly, letting your hand smack your unfinished drink into her lap and treading off quickly.

“Fuck you mother. How someone could be so hateful to their own child I will never understand,” you muttered to yourself. You handed your ticket to the valet and stood with your arms crossed, waiting. You made sure to tip the valet an absurd amount, and drove off quickly. The only thing that would keep you from doing something stupid in retaliation was Yelena’s arms around you.

Nearly thirty minutes later you pulled the car into the garage. It shouldn’t have taken you that long to get home but you couldn’t help but drive with the top down for a bit. Anger and maybe a bit of fear had bubbles underneath your skin and you didn’t want to bother Yelena. You stepped out of the car and held your head in your hands. You hadn’t drank that much, but a headache would be inevitable.

Fanny met you at the door. She was obviously excited, tail wagging as she raced back to her food bowl

“ok ok girl. I’ve got you,” you rubbed her head and dumped a scoop of food into her bowl. Loosening your tie you dragged yourself to the bedroom. You smiled as the light poured in and illuminated the silhouette of a sleeping Yelena.

“Deep asleep. I’ll join you in a second,” you pulled the rest of your suit off. Picking up a discarded shirt you put it on, and leaned your head against the mirror.

“That was misery. And mother’s comment. I shouldn’t care about what that bitch thinks or says. But I can't help it,” you let out a sigh and picked up your toothbrush. Maybe someday she will accept you. But at that point would she ever be able to make up for how she treated you?

Ready for bed you slid in beside Yelena, careful not to wake her. Fanny, finished with her food, jumped into bed with you and snuggled up with a lick to your face. You smiled and kissed her head then kissed Yelena.

“night my love. See you in the morning,” your heavy lids drooped and you relaxed, setting a hand on Yelena and falling into dreamland.

Your thighs hurt. Fire and smoke burn your throat and eyes. You search for something. What exactly you aren’t sure. Tears stream down your face as anxiety floods your chest. If you don’t find the thing soon your world will be crushed.

A broken door, barely on its hinges, is at your right and you know that’s it. A hard turn and you smack your arm into the frame. You grasp at your wrist as more tears prick your eyes.

“Fuck!” A familiar level of pain flares and you know it’s broken. Your eyes dart around the room, still looking for that unknown thing. A pile of smoking wood sits in front of you and your feet carry you to it. This was it.

You try hard to pull through the heavy, hot wood with your one arm. A cry comes from below, an anxiety flaring familiar cry. You pull harder and uncover and dirty and bloody Yelena.

“LENA!” you shout and help her out. Her hands held her stomach. She smiles sickly and then curls in pain.

“Y/N. You found me. I hoped you would. Quick kiss me. I don’t have long,” Your eyes widen and you move her hands. The sight of her stomach makes you sick. Turning to the side you retch and vile spills from your mouth. You wipe your mouth and shake your head, tears fall hard now.

“Lena no no. You’re fine. We can fix you. Please,” you slide your arm under her and try to pick her up but she screams and goes limp in your arms.

“FUCK Y/N! stop. There's no hope. Please just kiss me. I don’t want to die without that.” you shake your head more and set her down. You refused to accept her death.

“No Yelena you are not going to die here. You can’t die. You are too well trained. a-and… I can't live without you. it’ll be fine,” She tries to raise her head but then it falls and she spasms. Your eyes widen and you do your best to hold her still but your broken wrist shoots in pain.

“No no no NO!” you kiss her over and over. Fear pulses through you and when she relaxes completely you sob. Your head aches from the pressure of your sobs and your broken wrist protests. Maybe hours pass and you sit there with her dead body pressed to your chest, her blood and guts smearing all over you.

Then guilt overtakes the sadness. She asked you for one thing. One single kiss before she died and you didn’t fulfill that. You couldn’t give her everything she deserved in life or even in her final moments.

You wake up shaking and screaming. Yelena is awake next to you, crying and shaking your shoulder violently.

“Please Y/N,” she sobs, snot and tears mix and fall forgotten. You sit up barely able to hold yourself up. She is alive.

“Fuck Yelena what’s wrong?” Your dream haunts you. You search her stomach and her whole body for major wounds. She is obviously unsure what you are doing and grabs your face forcing you to look at her.

“Y-you were shaking and screaming and crying and I didn’t know what was wrong. If you were having a seizure or what.” You shake your head and take deep breaths.

“No, I'm good. Not seizure. R-Really…” your words falter and you stare off, caught up in the memory of the dream. Yelena snaps in front of you and hugs your arm. “Ah sorry. Bad dream. really, really bad dream.” you stare at her head unsure if this was the dream or if Yelena really was alive.

“D-do you want to tell me about it?” Her arms slide under yours and she holds you from the side. You shake your head and lay it on her shoulder. “Ok but if you do tell me. I’ll hold you until you fall asleep again.”

The thought of being asleep again makes you tense up. Yelena feels it and rubs your side softly. She kisses you in every way she knows you like and pets your head.

“I’m not going to sleep. I can’t live through that again. It made me think I was going to be alone. Please don’t leave me Lena. please. I don’t wanna die alone.” She frowns and hugs you tight.

“I’m never going to leave you. I’m here baby. I’m here.” She kisses your jaw softly and you nod. Relaxing again, you wrap your arms around her waist and kiss her shoulders.

“Y-you died. There was a fire and I broke my wrist and it was smokey and you got impaled and you died. You asked me to kiss you and I couldn’t accept the fact you were dying so I didn’t kiss you. I couldn’t give you what you deserve.” She frowns and kisses you.

“No Y/N. Don’t you dare. It was just a nightmare, that’s all. I’m NEVER leaving you. ok?” She holds your face and kisses you softly. The kiss lasts a while and you melt into your touch. Fears still paralyse you every couple hours but she holds you until the sun comes up. She knows exactly what you love and how to make you feel safe. She really wasn’t ever going to leave.

Weeks pass. You are sure you have gotten past the nightmare. You go to work everyday and Yelena stays home going through paperwork. When you come home the two of you snuggle and bliss fills you. Your mother doesn’t ask you to come to any more charity events and you think maybe, just maybe things are good.

Then Yelena gets called on the mission. When she tells you she will be gone for a week your mind reels. You can barely see straight as the dream vividly flashes through your brain. Yelena gets worried, grabbing your hand and you back away searching her body for any sign of blood.

“No. Lena please. What if you get hurt? I-I can’t. You promised you’d never leave.” Her eyes look at you apologetically.

“Don’t worry. I’m a professional. It’s just a small info gathering job. Absolutely no danger,” she smiles at you and sets a hand on your shoulder. You back away from her hand and lean your head back to force the tears back.

“Yelena… ok. Please. Don’t get hurt,” She nods and kisses your cheek grabbing her bag.

You spend the entire week at home. Anxiety grips you so hard that you can’t stand to go to work. A fever strikes and you throw up every evening at almost exactly 10:30. Work tells you to stay at home and probably go to the doctor. Honestly you’d rather go to work so you have less time to think about her.

Most of Yelena's missions don’t allow for her to contact you and the stress of it all has your brain thinking of her the entire time she’s gone. By the time Yelena is on her way back you have dropped 12 pounds. You hadn’t eaten, only bothering to get up to feed Fanny. A cold sweat coats your skin and you hold your arms to you. Blankets were too hot, but it was too cold without them.

The alarm on your phone signalling it’s time to feed Fanny goes off. You throw the blankets off and wipe dried tears. The tv screen flashes a “keep watching screen.” You aren’t really sure when it came up but your mind hadn’t registered the tv in a couple days.

When the door clicks unlocked you scream. Silence had filled the apartment for so long and the sound was louder than anything you’d ever heard. Fanny starts barking, running to the door, then coming back and sitting at your feet.

You fall to the ground clasping the food scoop. Fanny licks your face as tears fall. Every fear that had plagued you came to the forefront of your mind. What if it wasn’t Yelena? What if it was Hill telling you to come in? No, they would call you for that. But if Yelena was dead…

Arms wrap around and pick you up, setting you on the couch. You whip your head back and forth trying to catch a glance of who it is. In the back of your mind you know it's her, but for some reason you’d been convinced over the past week that she’s dead.

A warm towel wipes away dried tears and snot, and a soft hand holds yours. Tears blur your vision but you steady your breaths. The anxiety in your chest dissipates. You lean your head back forcing the tears in and look back to catch a look at the woman you love. But, instead of long blonde hair and soft round face, you see long red hair, falling in waves.

“Lena? Did you have to dye your hair for the mission?” She frowns and shakes her head, setting down the towel.

“Fuck Y/N. I know you can’t remember but I hate having to keep telling you this,” The voice is not Yelena’s. It’s your friends. Wanda’s. Your eyes look her all over and you tense up confused.

“Tell me what Wanda? What’s wrong with Lena?” She grabs both your hands and looks at you with the softest expression she can muster.

“The fire Y/N. Do you remember? The fire where Lena…. She bled out,” The anxiety of the dream. No memory. The smoke, your raw throat, and the hours of sobbing.

You shake your head and quick breaths fill your lungs. Wanda tries to get you to calm down. Your vision spots while your brain searches for oxygen your hyperventilating can’t provide.

“Y/N please calm down. Please. FUCK! I promised to never use it without permission but between the two of you…” Red magic flows from her hands and wraps around your head. Your breathing slows down and your vision comes back. Wanda cradles your head and hums.

You reach up and see the tear streaks on her face. Her eyes look bloodshot and dark circles are prominent under her eyes. You pout and try to hug her back. All the fears that had consumed you for weeks were now gone. Even if it was only by Wanda’s magic. You curled into her side and fell asleep. Finally able to find some peace.

It was the night of the charity gala. You drove home but had taken the long way around to cool off from your mothers subtle aggression. Plans on how to ignore her future advances build in your mind as you pull into the parking garage. You stepped out of the car and held your head in your hands. You hadn’t drank that much, but a headache would be inevitable.

Sirens sound from the road in front of your complex and you growl. The loud noise and lights make your head pound. You shake your keys and walk towards the stairwell. Coughing into your arm and you open the door to your floor. You throw your hand back with a scream at the hot door handle.

“the fuck…? NO!” forgetting your pain you throw open the door and run into the building. Smoke flows from under doors and fire licks at the walls. The sound of the siren gets louder from some open window. You run through the halls trying your best to not breathe in smoke. Yelena would be asleep. She wouldn’t know what’s happening.

Your apartment door is on the right and you stand back and kick the handle. Your foot hurts as it contacts the rough wooden door but it cracks. You kick again and the door falls in. Running through the door you smack your arm into the frame and cry out in pain.

Fanny barks from one of the rooms and you follow the noise letting her run free into the hallway. You hope dearly that the dog finds her way out.

The entirety of your home is consumed in flames. Beams that held up the apartment above you are on the floor. The poor old couple who was always so nice. Hopefully they had gotten out before it collapsed. Running to your bedroom you try to open the door. It gives quickly but before you can get to Yelena a strong arm grabs at your back.

“What the? HEY!” you squirm trying to slip out of the grip. You have no luck and result to punching. Nothing makes the arms let you go as they pull you from the building. Along the way down you consider it may be a firefighter saving your life.

“Please. My girlfriend, she’s still in there. Please, she was asleep. Save her. I can get out,” you plead with your “saviour”. The person doesn’t acknowledge any words or attempts of movement. They just carry you out of the building back into the parking garage. At some point you began crying, fearing for your girlfriends and your neighbours lives.

You are carried to a car and roughly thrown in. Your broken wrist, now remembered, aches and you curl into a ball. The driver doesn’t speak to you and the person who carried you doesn’t get into the car with you. You didn’t register the person in the back seat with you until they cough. Or rather She coughs.

“Oh Y/N I’m glad we got you out ok. I was so scared we wouldn’t be able to get you out before the fire got you too,” Your eyes widen at the familiar voice and you sit up looking into her eyes. The pieces fall into place in your mind. No you’d never thought she’d be this cruel. Yet here you were, Yelena and Fanny. They were in there.

“You didn’t. no no you didn’t. You are cruel and hateful but not murderous,” you pull away as a hand strokes your cheek. Hate flashes behind your eyes.

“Oh honey. You will forgive me when you realise it was for the sake of the family. Like they always say; ‘Mother knows best.’”

(So it has been decided this is going to be a series. Follow and shoot me an ask if you wanted to be added to the tag list for updates)

DO NOT repost my work. Reblogs and Likes are appreciated. If you enjoy my work leave a comment!

#yelena belova x reader #yelena belova x y/n #yelena belova fanfic #yelena belova #yelena belova angst #marvel fanfic #mcu #yelena belova x you #avengers x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff angst #wanda maximoff fanfic #wanda maximoff

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rainydayhogwartsimagines · 3 years

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hey, i was wondering if you could do a lupin x daughter!reader headcanon when he’s a pressosor in the readers 3rd year. maybe she’s friends with the golden trio and dating draco and lupin tries to attack her on the full moon when they find out ab sirius and peter pettigrew and it just progresses throughout lupin being protective if reader joins the order and maybe lupin dies saving reader in the battle of hogwarts? also please some sirius x reader moments where sirius is like a protective uncle !!

(also would you mind adding me to your taglist??)

Remus with a daughter

Best dad ever

Literally

Kindest man to you.

Absolutely adores you and makes sure you're safe

It's just the two of you though, your mother passed during childbirth

Remus blames himself but the truth was your mom just was so sick and having a child was too much

It breaks Remus' soul when he had to separate from you for the full moon so he wouldn't hurt you

It didn't help that the two parents who usually watched you while Remus was going through this were killed when you and Harry were a year old.

Sirius wanted to confront Peter but he didn't because his godchildren needed him then and there.

Sirius raised Harry alongside you and the two of you were honestly like siblings.

You called Remus "Papa" and he called you "Pup" or "Puppy"

Sirius was "Uncle Padfoot"

You two grew up in the wizarding world and stuck together

When you were finally able to go to Hogwarts it was exciting for you.

Harry met Ron and you met someone yourself

A blonde boy with silver eyes.

You barely noticed him but he certainly took notice of you.

He started teasing you in the halls when he saw you, you taking any insult he threw at you with a grain of salt

Especially once you were sorted into Gryffindor

Then came one insult about your dad

Harry had to separate you from potentially killing him.

You gradually began to dislike him more and more.

Harry began to really hate him once quidditch started too

Like strangulation was almost used

Then weird things started happening throughout Hogwarts.

Absolute bonkers shit happening around you and then

TROLL IN THE MOTHERFUCKIN DUNGEON

One thing led to another and Slytherin's house ended up having to stay with Gryffindor

You made tea to hold you over

Earl gray

And because you don't like being mad with people you made some for Draco

You sat at a table and put the mug next to him.

"What the hell is this?" Draco asked.

"Earl grey. To calm the nerves. Asshole." You said sharply.

He took it and was surprised that it didn't taste terrible

"... You know how to make tea?" He asked

"It's not hard... Plus my dad's an absolute addict to the stuff." You said.

Draco looked at you.

"Why did you bring me this?" He asked.

"I don't like being mad with people and I think we need to deal with whatever hatred you have formed against me." You said.

"I don't hate you." Draco muttered.

You rose a brow.

"You don't?" You asked.

"No. I don't." He said.

"... So why the hostility then?" You asked.

"You're a Gryffindor. And aren't you a half blood?" He asked.

"No my mum was a wizard too, you're striking out here" you said.

"was?" Draco asked.

You shifted. "Mum died after I was born... She was sick." You muttered.

Now Draco felt like an asshole.

He eased up on his constant insults but if any one else teased you he'd hex them later

Your relationship with him now was very strange

Like he was a jerk but not as big of a jerk.

Then came the end of the year.

You walked up to him and gave him your address, telling him to write to him if he felt like it

He didn't.

At first.

Then one day he found himself pacing his room debating an opening line.

Then one day when you were getting the mail from your owl you found a fancy letter.

It looked so official and it was addressed to you.

Then you saw the "M" on the side of the envelope and blinked.

Draco actually wrote to you.

You walked back into the house, this perplexed look on your face.

"Something wrong Pup?" Remus asked.

"Hmm? No... No just... Something weird is all." You muttered.

"Who's that from?" Harry asked.

"Draco." You said earning a look from him.

So you read it when you were alone and you were shocked

Like he could write

Even though this was a simple "hi how are you?" It was still so well written you felt strangely connected

You began to understand the whole romanticized idea behind letters

You and him started writing back and forth and you actually found yourself liking him.

Like. Like liking him.

Remus could tell.

You had this smile on your face every time you got a letter

Then came a very strange letter

You opened it at the breakfast table and it was a warning

"Something strange is going to happen at Hogwarts, warn Harry."

You looked up and frowned.

"Harry." You said.

"What's up?" He asked.

"Draco sent something weird... He said something's going on at Hogwarts and to warn you." You said.

"He cares what happens to me?" Harry asked.

"apparently. And he seems pretty serious about this." You said making Remus and Sirius exchange a look.

The two of you went back to school with caution

Draco was always with you, acting strangely paranoid.

Then the chamber of secrets opened

And Draco wrote to Remus himself, practically begging him "TAKE. HER. HOME."

Remus almost did but he couldn't just disrupt your life because he was anxious.

Draco never left your side, he kept close to you and the trio was noticing it

When they asked him "why are you suddenly being nice to us" he gave an answer that made you fall harder.

"Honestly, Y/n has become my best friend and I don't want to lose her by pissing her off"

So the group just kind of accepted him

Oh he'd still make comments

And Harry still bickered with him

But it was like Draco was like a brother to the group

Yeah he'd talk shit

But he obviously cared.

Things were happening around campus making Draco very paranoid that something was going to happen to you

You kept assuring him that you were being careful but he still NEVER left you or Hermione’s side

Well until the night something actually happened

You and Hermione were adamant about researching whatever was causing all of this

You spent a late night in the library with her when you arrived at an answer.

“Basilisk!” You both gasped in unison before you heard something fall behind you.

You had a gut feeling that it was the basilisk

“Run, I’ll stall as long as I can.” You told her

“What-- Y/n I’m not--” “Hermione, someone has to tell a teacher, that someone is you now GO!” You yelled before she nodded.

She handed you a mirror and bolted as you got up, walking and being sure to make a lot of noise to deter the snake.

And then you saw those eyes and everything went black

You were found a few minutes later, Hermione getting the news to Mcgonagall

Draco was pissed.

Because he knew exactly who was behind this.

And they had a deal actually.

A deal that was “as long as none of my friends get involved, do what you please” with Lucius

Well Lucius did not account for Draco actually liking the golden trio and you.

He couldn’t voice the problem but when Lucius came with the ministry to handle the Basilisk, the trio noticed a strange tension

Students were temporarily sent home while the problem was being handled.

Well the ones that weren’t petrified.

Sirius picked up Harry but Remus stayed with you in the wing

When students finally were able to return you were finally okay.

Draco walked into the Great Hall and saw you, practically tackling you to the floor.

The summer was odd, Draco actually spending it with (wait for it) the Weasley’s

Harry and you both spent the first three weeks of summer with them, befriending the two legendary pranksters in the process

whilst also getting closer to Draco

Things definitely changed between the two of you

in a good way but something changed

It was the night before you were going back home and you couldn’t sleep.

You walked downstairs and sat in the doorway, looking at the stars

Draco had the same idea, sitting next to you with a blanket.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked.

“Nope.” He muttered.

You seemed fixated on the moon.

Very fixated on it.

It was full and it seemed to almost... Make you sad?

“I wonder what dad is doing.” You muttered.

“Well it’s like two in the morning so my guess is sleep.” Draco joked.

You tensed up and he noticed.

“What?” Draco asked.

But then it’s like he got it on his own, figuring out what you weren’t saying.

“...Remus is a werewolf?” He asked.

You looked over shocked

“How did--” “I just figured it out.” He said.

You sighed turning back to the sky.

“No one can know.” You said.

“No one will know Y/n, you have my word.” Draco said softly.

You looked at him and he moved his arm as if to say “Join me under this blanket” and you scooched closer

When your dad came to pick you up that morning he found you asleep against Draco in the doorway

He kneeled and tapped your cheek.

You yawned, realizing that it was Remus and hugged him

Harry was staying, it was just you leaving

Draco wrote to you as much as possible

Something changed though, the morning Remus dropped you off at the station

Remus got on the train with you

You blinked.

“Dad... I know we’re close but this is the first day of kindergarten all over again.” You said

“...Pup I’m a professor this year.” He snorted.

Harry, who just got on the train with the Weasleys paused.

“WHAT?”

“You’re totally riding with us.” You said excitedly

So there you were in cart with your dad, Harry, Draco, waiting for Hermione and Ron who were chasing Hermione’s cat

Draco kept giving you this cute little smile.

You two never said anything to each other but you still exchanged this smile.

Remus of course noticed this but said nothing

Ron and Hermione finally showed up

“Crookshanks did not--” “YES IT DID!”

You all looked over

“What’s going on?” You asked

“Ron’s rat ran off!” Hermione said

“More like your cat ate him!” Ron fired back.

“What does your pet look like so we can find him?” Remus asked

“He’s a brown rat.” “He took off the second we got close to the cart.” Hermione explained.

That raised an alarm in Remus’s brain.

“...Ron how old is your rat?” Remus asked.

“Oh he’s old. Like twelve years old.” Ron said.

Remus stood up and drew his wand

“Dad?” You asked.

“Lock this door the second I leave. If you find the rat one of you come and find me.”

You guys didn’t find the rat, however there was this strange new tension on campus.

There were a few aurors walking around, one of which was walking you and Harry to classes

That auror was (wait for this one) Sirius

People of course were speculating that

A: your father was a professor

and B: The Sirius Black was escorting you out of all people around the school

See, the weird thing was that four different people were walking Harry to class.

Neither you or Harry were fully alone.

But that wasn’t the only weird thing going on.

You and Mcgonagall seemed to be discussing something at every free moment

Two weeks into school you seemed to be taking some sort of advanced skill

Don’t get me started on the group noticing you chewing something for a solid month

Ministry members were also talking to you

not even Harry knew what was going on

Then came the trip to Hogsmeade

You all went and for the most part it was fun

until Harry got the bright idea to eavesdrop on a conversation

He found out everything.

Peter, the betrayal, why staff was acting odd.

all of it.

He didn’t say anything either, he walked out of the three broomsticks, walked over to the shrieking shack and threw up

You listened to him sob and that night was hard

Draco sat at the foot of your bed while you sighed.

“He’s going to be okay Y/n, he has us.” He reminded.

“I know... But still... Jesus... I can’t imagine what must be going through his head” You breathed.

Draco put a soothing hand on your leg and you smiled

“I’m always here Y/n... Always.” he said softly

You both exchanged this look.

Something in you just leaned forward and he kissed you.

then you heard a small pattering noise... like rat feet

You both split apart and you grabbed your wands

“MCGONAGALL!” you yelled.

She ran in and noticed the alarm on both Draco’s face and then heard the noise.

She found the rat but it was the wrong rat.

“Maybe it is best that you sleep out in the common room like mister potter. Draco you should go back to your--” “While that killer is roaming campus, I am not leaving my best friend alone.” He said.

Mcgonagall sighed, but understood his worry before it registered that he knew.

“You know about Pettigrew?” she asked.

“My father doesn’t keep me completely out of the loop professor.” Draco answered

She sighed.

but she agreed to let him stay as long as he wasn’t completely alone with you.

You two didn’t bring up the kiss at all.

But things certainly got weirder between you two.

Both of you would get extremely flustered if you even looked in the same direction

then came the night you snuck out.

it was a full moon and you were staying in Hermione’s room due to the fact that the guys snored so fucking loud.

You snuck out, tip toeing past the sleeping boys and meeting Sirius outside of the common room.

“Are you sure you want to help?” Sirius asked quietly.

“I’m sure.” You nodded before both of you took off.

What you didn’t realize was that Hermione followed you.

Along with the guys.

You slid down the whomping willow, walking into a room with Sirius where he gave you a talk of “be careful, avoid being in direct line of his vision and stay safe.”

The group was hearing all of this, along with the pained groans of someone.

“He’s turning.” Sirius noticed.

“Did he drink his potion?” you asked.

Sirius noticed the potion’s contents on the floor.

“Shit.” You both said in unison before hearing the snarling

“Y/n, change, now!” Sirius said before taking on his dog form.

You took on an Animagus form.

It was a hawk, a loud screech emerging from you as you took flight

The group watched you and Sirius basically herd Remus into a room from a door crack.

“She’s an animagus?” Ron whispered.

“From the looks of it, yeah.” Harry muttered.

“Remus is a werewolf?” Ron asked

“No shit sherlock.” Draco muttered.

Then Remus had an outburst, a rat scurrying by his feet.

Sirius immediately took his human form and sprinted after it, leaving you alone with your father.

The rat stopped at Hermione’s feet that was blocking the way out.

The group was caught.

“What in the blazes are you doing here!?” he asked.

Remus lunged at you, you dodging the attack

He snarled and you tried to stand your ground

“I--” Harry picked up the rat and frowned.

Remus slammed you against the wall before you took your human form

“dad, it’s me--”

Sirius used the reversal spell and sure enough it was Peter.

“You son of a--”

Then everyone heard a scream.

Your scream.

Sirius dropped everything, sprinted back in the room before seeing you with a bite mark on your shoulder

“HARRY GET Y/N TO THE INFIRMARY NOW!”

So the group now was not only holding a wand to a fugitive, they also had a potentially dying girl with them

Draco was sprinting as fast as humanly possible with you in his arms

The rest of the group was trying to get Pettigrew to the ministry

Sirius was trying to keep your dad from going ballistic

Two hours later you were in a bed passed out with Draco pacing

Pettigrew fucking escaped and the ministry was high tailing it after him

You, thank god, weren’t a werewolf but you were unconscious

no one could pry Draco away from you.

You unconscious for about five days

Remus was a wreck

When you woke up Draco and Remus were both asleep at the foot of the bed

You shifted and Draco’s head shot up.

“Professor she’s awake” Draco said

Remus looked at you with tears almost bombarding his face.

“Y/n, I’m so sorr--” “Dad it’s okay. I knew what I was getting into, I almost expected it.” you stated.

Remus was still very hesitant to even look at you

Summer was spent at the Weasleys, Draco again being present for it.

neither of you still talked about the kiss and it was driving both of you crazy

You both were 10x more jumpier around each other

Draco was so scared he was losing you as a friend

So Fred gave him some advice because he knew you liked him.

“dude. Just hit on her. Let her know you’re still interested-- fucking show that you care!” Fred said.

“But what if it fails--” “It won’t!”

So Draco started being smooth as hell

You were reaching for a glass and he stood so close to you and grabbed it for you

You almost dropped the glass the second it was in your grasp

You’d be so focused on something, look over and see Draco staring and literally fuck it up within seconds.

He lends you his jacket, all the time

You love it but are too chicken to admit that you do though

And then came the tournament

Draco left about three days before the tournament

He left you his jacket though

but you all ended up going

As you were walking to the portkey Cedric seemed to have his sights set on you

Fred and George had to literally stand between you because they did NOT want Cedric making moves

Course, all the boy was interested in was friendship though and you knew that because you knew he liked Cho

You thought that Draco wasn’t going to be there but you were pleasantly surprised.

Well, until you saw his father

and you realized what jacket you were wearing in front of him

You were a fumbling mess, stuttering over your words

However Lucius is a civil man and assured you it was fine (while also giving a look to Draco)

Let’s just say Lucius wasn’t exactly thrilled with his son’s choice

You were practically shaking when you were in your seat and eventually just sat near concessions.

Cedric found you and calmed you down, you thanking him

For the most part you enjoyed the game after you calmed down

You had to listen to Ron’s big speech on Krum afterwards though and you were rolling your eyes

Draco met you guys back in the tent

“Y/n, are you alright? I noticed you looked really pale when you left.” He asked

“Your father is terrifying.” You said before hearing what you thought was a scream of celebration

You took a long sip of water before Arthur ran in.

“Everyone, grab your things, we need to leave.” He said

“What’s going on?” You asked

The sense of alarm on Arthur’s face made everyone worried.

Draco immediately pulled you close to him, neither of you letting go when you got to safety.

“Are you alright?” Cedric asked.

Draco immediately seemed jealous

“I’m okay Ced, don’t worry. I’m more worried for Harry.” You muttered looking over at the boy.

“Wait... Draco, where’s your dad?” Hermione asked.

He frowned, looking around the camp grounds to see no trace of his father.

“....Don’t tell me he’s--” “I don’t know. He stopped keeping me in the loop after our second year.” He muttered.

“....Why?” You asked.

Draco seemed so tense because of that one little question.

“I think he had something to do with the chamber of secrets.” Draco said

“What?” The group asked in unison.

“he carried around this black journal, I don’t know if you remember that girl from Slytherin, Pansy? We’re friends with her family and I think he snuck it into her luggage or something. Either way when the ministry found her she was unconscious and the journal was on the ground next to her.” Draco explained

Everyone was shocked.

“Your father almost killed a student!?” Ron whisper shouted

“I didn’t know, it wasn’t until last year that I started piecing shit together man!” Draco whispered

“Are you insane-- you have to be” “Ron calm down” Hermione whispered

“He almost got someone killed!” Ron said

“Draco is not his father!” You snapped.

Everyone was surprised by your reaction, especially Draco

You sighed and looked away, looking at the scene in front of you

That’s when a flash of green light practically blinded you and there it was

the dark mark

Draco grabbed your hand, staring at it with a frown.

“Do you think he’s--” “I don’t know.” Draco whispered

You all went back to the Burrow, Molly mortified that her adoptive sons (and daughter) went through that

Remus was also there, for the first time in months he hugged you.

“I thought the worst.” He muttered.

“I’m okay papa.” You whispered.

You all were cautious when you went back to school

Cedric was happy you were okay, Cho was too

Cedric was also talking to you more, mainly because you had crossed paths multiple times at campus.

Believe or not, you were actually really good friends.

Draco still was having no luck in asking you out

Fred and George witnessed him nearly lose his mind during the first few hours of school because you touched his hand

He went from smooth to a nervous wreck.

Then the introduction dinner started

And everything was odd.

You watched the Beauxbatons dance with ease

You watched Durmstrang march forward

You listened to Ron’s squeal when he saw Viktor Krum

And then a Durmstrang boy seemed to immediately take a liking to you

Which made Draco want to stab him

You seemed completely oblivious to the guy’s flirting though

You all found out about the goblet of fire

Draco actually was considering joining the competition but you seemed to have a negative reaction to it.

Then they announced the age restriction on it and everyone but you seemed to hate the idea of that.

Then Harry ended up getting roped into it and you were arguing 24/7 with the ministry workers on why he was involved

Then mad eye moody assured you that he’d be fine.

Mad eye moody freaked you out.

Seriously, he seemed awfully fixated on you and Harry

Draco hated seeing you with that Durmstrang boy.

Seriously.

He was always there, smiling at you, laughing at something you said.

Draco was over all in a sour mood when he was around

You didn’t mind Nikolai but you needed a break so you found yourself sitting at the lake

A blonde French girl sat next to you

It was Fleur

she didn’t always like being in the center of attention and needed a break

So the two of you became close friends

She taught you French, you taught her English

You and her became very close, Draco taking notice of your friend

not in a romantic way. Actually, she noticed his interest was not with her

No, she knew he was in love with you just by the way he looked at you

“So how long have you and Draco been... seeing each other?” Fleur asked.

“Oh we aren’t... Dating.” You muttered, throwing a pebble into the water

“Really? He looks at you as if he was in love, I just figured--” “He doesn’t--... Does he?” You asked.

“Oh my goodness does he, he seems completely head over heels.” She said.

So then you started thinking about this more and more.

something was clearly bugging you and Draco could tell

It was that damn dance class

Draco and you were paired up and you seemed so distracted.

“Y/n?” Draco asked.

“Hmm? Oh sorry.” You muttered.

“Are you alright?” He asked, the glint of concern in his eyes

“Yeah, I’m fine...” you said

You two were dancing great actually, smiling and laughing before you noticed it

the loving look that Fleur was talking about

“Draco I need you to be 100% honest with me.” you began

he nodded

“Do you love me?” you asked.

Draco froze as did Fred and George who were listening.

Draco swallowed hard.

“I-I” He stuttered.

“Draco?” You asked.

“...Yes.” he answered

You didn’t hesitate in kissing him

You simply yanked his tie, pulling him to you and you just...

kissed him

He kind of locked in place for a minute and Fred groaned.

“KISS HER YOU GIT!” George said.

finally his shock subsided and he put his arms around your waist.

he kissed you back and boom

you two were dating

You both were so in love and it was nice for the friend group to see you so happy.

You two were inseparable and of course Fred and George took full credit

The second challenge came along

You were all sitting on the docks when you noticed missing people that didn’t make sense

Cho wasn’t present for her own boyfriend

Ron wasn’t there either

and neither was Gabrielle.

You frowned, walking over to her

“Fleur, where’s Gabi?” You asked.

“She’s not with the girls?” She asked.

You shook your head and she frowned.

“Fleur, what was this challenge?” You asked.

“...retrieving... something...” she said before both of you realized what was going on.

“Y/n?” Draco asked.

Fleur’s pale face combined with your shocked expression concerned him

“Love what’s wrong?” He asked.

“They’re down there.” you whispered.

Draco frowned.

“....Are you sure?” he asked.

“Hermione would never miss this.” you muttered.

The contestants had to line up and you frowned, watching them all jump in

You noticed Neville give Harry Gillyweed

You sat and waited, seeing Krum come up first with Hermione.

You ran over, seeing her cough .

“Are you alright?” you asked.

“I’m fine, have you seen Ronald?” she asked.

“He wasn’t down there?” you asked.

“I...Don’t know, I couldn’t see.” She said.

Cedric came up with Cho and you looked over.

Finally, Harry came up with Ron

You were relieved when they showed up

But anxiety filled you back up when Fleur came back empty handed.

“The mermaids, I-I couldn’t get her back--”

You looked over

“Neville, hand me the rest of the Gillyweed.” you said

He handed it to you and you took off your shirt.

“Y/n, what the hell are you doing!?” Draco asked.

“Saving my friend..” you said before jumping into the water

Draco nearly went in after you but Moody stopped him.

“If she’s in danger, we’ll know.” He said

Soon, you popped out of the water with Gabrielle and Fleur sprinted over.

You were cold, naturally

Draco was just happy to have you back, wrapping you in a towel.

the ministry was pissed with your involvement now, but because you were a Hogwarts student points were given to Cedric and Harry.

Durmstrang insisted that that was bullshit and that points should've been docked but uh...

Dumbledore rlly said "No fucks given"

So that good old Yule ball.

You didn't really plan on going but Ginny AND Hermione insisted.

As far as Draco knew, he was aware it wasn't your scene but didn't get the memo that his friends were dragging his girlfriend to the dance.

His plan was to show up for looks, raid the cookies, leave, sneak to you and just spend time with you.

So imagine that boy's shock watching you walk Hermione down the stairs looking beautiful.

He just was there really to make his parents happy by keeping up appearances, but now that you were there it was a reason to stay.

You and him couldn't take your eyes off each other.

You did dip out pretty quick once things got loud but you also raided the snacks, sitting on the steps.

You laughed at some silly little joke he told you.

He smiled, brushing the hair out of your eyes

"Draco..." You said.

"Hmm?" He hummed.

"do you ever consider a future... With me?" you asked.

He smiled, kissing your knuckles.

"All the time my love." He replied.

"Like what?" you asked.

"Well I know that I want us to live in a nice house... And I'd like a dog." he said.

You laughed, making him raise a brow

"My uncle is a dog, my father is pretty damn close to one, aren't you aggravated with all the canines?" you asked, making him smile.

"I've always found basset hounds to be adorable, sue me." He said.

You laughed harder.

"What is with you?" he asked.

"It's hard to imagine you with a dog like-like a basset hound! A great Dane, maybe but a small little basset hound is amusing!" You said.

He shook his head with a smile.

"One day I hope that we grow old together... Maybe have children if it doesn't make you uncomfortable... Our son's name would be Charles... Our daughter would be named Violet." He finally said.

You blinked, feeling this beautifully intense emotion of love.

"Draco I love you." You said.

He smiled, kissing you. "I love you too."

And you almost kissed again until you heard shouting from Ron and then Hermione.

"I have to handle these morons, I'm sorry." You told him.

"Go. I'll see if I can talk sense into Ron." He nodded.

So the night ended with you comforting Hermione and Draco bitching at Ron for not seeing what was SO CLEARLY IN FRONT OF HIM.

The final trial began, Ron of course having tension with Hermione

You had this bad feeling.

Draco could tell too.

"What's wrong?" Draco asked.

"I just... It feels off. Something about this. It feels off." You said.

And then it began.

As players returned back to the start you started asking questions.

And then Fleur said something.

"When I turned a corner, I swear I could hear a rat!"

Your heart dropped and you BOLTED to the ministry workers, BEGGING them to pull the rest of the students out.

Their exact words were "We can't just do that based on a 'paranoid whim'."

And then it happened.

Harry and Cedric came back.

Only one of them wasn't alive.

You sprinted down to them, pulling Cedric's chest to your ear, praying you heard something.

The silence in his chest was so loud.

You let out this pained cry that alerted the crowd something was wrong.

You and Harry were both dragged back to Moody's office

You had this feeling again.

Uneasy, like something was wrong.

As Moody talked, you kept noticing the weird tongue thing he was doing.

As he revealed more and more... It made sense.

"You put Harry's name in the Goblet of fire!" You realized, Harry looking over shocked at your accusation.

He was searching frantically for something.

You didn't even dare to reach for your wand.

You knew he'd kill you in a instant

"For a girl so caught up in a ridiculous romance, you catch on quick, Lupin." He said.

"Harry won because I made it so. He ended up in that graveyard because it was meant to be so and now the deed is done." He told you, leaning close to your face.

He walked to the cabinet looking at you and Harry.

"Imagine the reward I'd get for finally silencing the great Potter. The girl... Well the girl would just be a plus." He chuckled, whipping out his wand.

"EXPELLIAMUS!" was shouted.

You and Harry backed to the wall, hearts pounding.

"Are you alright?" you asked him.

He nodded "You?" He asked.

"Yeah." You breathed.

Dumbledore, Mcgonagall and Snape all joined you, Snape pouring something in Moody's mouth.

The truth was revealed.

Moody was actually not Moody, in fact, he was Barty Crouch Jr.

And the real Moody was what was in the mysterious chest he kept in the office.

Once you and Harry were released, you both went to the common room where the group was waiting.

You hugged Draco.

You explained everything, deeply unsettling the group.

"do you know what this means?" Ron asked.

You watched the fire in the fireplace with a blank stare

"War."

The banners of Cedric went up.

Harry felt too much guilt keeping the prize money.

So he gave it to Fred and George for their business.

You seemed very depressed over the summer

You hardly left your room.

Then something happened.

Draco showed up at your house in the middle of the night.

"What in Merlin's beard are you doing here, it's four in the morning?" Remus asked.

"I need a place to stay sir." He said.

a family meeting was called.

Naturally everyone was half awake until Draco explained what was going on.

Not only did Draco confirm your suspicions of his father being a death eater. He was allowing Voldemort to stay with them.

Draco saw him enter, apparently said he was going for a walk and then just... Took off.

Remus, while reluctant to let his daughter's boyfriend to stay in the same house as them, allowed it.

You all told the Weasleys of course

Once the school year began, Sirius made a attempt to alert the ministry of "hi, guess what, the guy we all feared would come back is in fact back... And staying at the Malfoy manor"

This was waved off.

Remus tried.

waved off.

ARTHUR TRIED

waved off.

Once you got to school, something odd was going on.

there was a ministry worker there

As a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher

and everyone was claiming that Cedric's death was a accident.

This. Made. You. Livid.

You and Harry were both pissed that actual magic was no longer being practiced

"Don't you think we should actually PRACTICE the magic, especially now that 'You know who' is back?" you asked.

"He. Is. not. back."

You glared.

"You're fucking joking right?" You asked.

By this point you were UNBELIEVABLY fed up with everything.

Weeks of refusing to acknowledge the death of Cedric or the many warnings of a war brewing made you no longer care.

"You are saying this in a class room with two children who has been attacked multiple times by his followers-" "Miss Lupin, be quiet please." "one of which SHOULD'VE died, his parents, DID die." Miss Lupin, sit. Down." "Another student's parents were tortured to a point where they can't even speak and he's aware of what's really going on!" "Miss Lupin I will not be spoken to like this-" "You might be terrified of even acknowledging what is happening, but it won't stop the fact that it is." " Miss Lupin-" "How in the hell do you think Cedric ended up dead!?" "WHAT HAPPENED TO CEDRIC WAS AN ACCIDENT!" "BULLSHIT!"

You of course got detention.

And that's when you discovered how truly crazy this woman was.

When you came back, you immediately told Mcgonagall what she did.

She did what protocol suggested.

She asked the ministry to remove her.

and basically got a "no❤️"

Dumbledore was AWOL and it was clear that this was going to be a LONG year.

Rules kept being added, lessons were being ignored

So you and Harry started the next "Dumbledore's army."

You used this 'room of requirement' a student showed you.

She was sweet actually

kind of on the hippy side but you liked her.

Draco and you both felt so tired of this woman.

Draco knew that if he just asked his parents they might do something.

But probably at a high cost.

You told him not to do anything.

"Why? Y/n, you've been injured by this woman. Harry's been injured. We've contacted everyone we know in the ministry, nothing's been DONE!" he asked.

"I have full confidence in Dumbledore." You said simply.

He didn't get that one at all but when along with it anyway.

FINALLY it reached a new point.

You were pissed, Cho revealed where the Room of Requirement was.

So you finally wrote to your dad.

"Dad. I might not finish school. Sincerely, your loving daughter."

Fred and George noticed your anger and decided to help you direct it somewhere.

They showed you a plan.

You agreed and explained it to Draco.

He was sad you wouldn't be graduating with him.

But he handed you a matchbox, kissed your head and told you to go to town.

and so you did

You set off fireworks with them and Draco smiled.

Once the three of you finished the handiwork you watched it all explode together.

"Regret any of this?" Fred asked.

You smiled at the boy.

"Never Freddie."

And so you left Hogwarts, the three of you opening up the shop.

Remus wasn't too happy with your... Unethical way of handling Umbridge.

But he was proud.

Then came a day when Bill came into the shop saying he met someone.

He would mention little things about this charming blonde girl he met

apparently English wasn't her first language so she spoke with an accent.

When you asked the name you nearly died

it was Fleur!

Your dad came in the shop one day asking all of you to close early and that it was an emergency.

you all went with him, you going to a house you had only stayed in once in your life, shortly after James and Lily died.

It was Sirius' parents' house.

The real moody was there, as were all of the Weasleys and Draco.

then there was this girl with pink hair.

You'd notice the look your dad would give her, making you realize he liked her.

You all joined the Order that night and would report back to them pretty regularly.

Then came a meeting where Draco came back.

He and Remus had been discussing something.

And Draco agreed to something

You were working in the shop one day

Draco came in and he said he had to speak with you

You sat there and listened to him

"The Order thinks we need a spy." He said

"What is Moody cooking up over there?" you asked.

"The only one with an opening is me Y/n." He said

You froze.

"No. No, tell me you didn't-"

"as far as my family knows, me and you have broken up-"

"Draco that is too dangerous, why the fuck would you ever agree to do something like this?" You asked.

"Because I want a future with you Y/n... And this is a war we have to fight." He said.

You accepted the situation but hated all of this.

And then Harry had a vision.

Something was wrong, Arthur was in danger

So you all went to the Ministry

Turns out he was right.

You ended up saving Arthur's life.

Then there was another vision

Sirius was in danger.

So you all went.

This was one of the worst decisions to make

You all went, finding out why Death eaters were there

A prophecy

you guys beat them to the punch however...

Which led to death eaters running after all of you

You all ended up in a battle, your dad, Tonks and Sirius coming to you all.

You fought as strong as you could, actually packing a real punch

and then it happened.

You all thought you were in the clear

"AVADA KADAVRA!"

Sirius stumbled back.

Your eyes widened as you bolted away from Ginny and Remus held Harry as he screamed

Then Voldemort came

you felt true terror

Then....

Dumbledore resurfaced

The Death Eaters took off

You all grieved the loss of Sirius.

You were right there... You should've done... Something.

Draco finally managed to sneak off and tell you that something WORSE was brewing

An attack on Dumbledore

So you all warned him

He didn't have much of a reaction to finding this out, which didn't completely shock you, the man was one of the most powerful wizards , he had a lot of enemies

To Voldemort, that was what was standing in his way.

You all started training more, though you still felt this depression due to the inability to see Draco or the inability to be at Hogwarts. \

However your father's new girlfriend always seemed to check on you.

You loved her, she had this sense of humor you just seemed to vibe with

Your dad referred to you two as his girls

finally one day Remus came by the shop.

He was rambling a lot about something changing and fiddling with something in his pocket

"Dad." you sighed

"And if you have any problems with Nymphadora-"

"Dad."

"I really want to hear them because your opinion matters-"

"You're proposing to her, aren't you?" You asked.

He paused but nodded.

"I'm so happy for you two dad." You said, sincerely.

He smiled and hugged you "Thank you pup"

So the two got married, you and Harry being the witnesses to it

Not long after the wedding though, Tonks kept getting sick

Remus was TERRIFIED he did something

You however noticed a series of patterns

Foods that Tonks used to love she now hated, she craved some off putting things and then it hit you

You pulled her into another room

"You're pregnant." You told her

"No, no I can't be- Oh my god I'm pregnant."

"you're WHAT!?" Remus asked, walking in at precisely the wrong time

"Uh.." "Sur...prise?" you said confused.

Your dad handled it real weird.

He was panicked at first

BABY PROOFED EVERYTHING around the Order

then he sat down with a calculator and was pricing things just saying "Oh god."

then he finally said he was happy

You started getting this feeling though

this feeling of being watched

Draco was visiting less and less and you figured maybe that's why you felt weird.

Then something happened.

Harry and Draco came back to the Order one day, both looking sick to their stomachs

"Love... Are you alright?" You asked Draco

He was shaking, Harry just looked shocked

Remus came in, looking at the boys.

"So it is true." He muttered.

"What's going on?" You asked.

"....Dumbledore he's.... He's dead."

This felt like such a shock.

One of the most powerful people... Gone

Just like that.

"Who killed him?" You asked

"S...Snape."

Your heart dropped.

the whole wizarding world now grieved

You all felt so.. Weird.

Then... You got a letter

Fleur asked an odd question

"Will you be my bridesmaid"

You happened to be drinking coffee and reading this next to the boys

"BILL PROPOSED!?" you asked

Fred and George both looked up

"HE DID WHAT!?"

So that's how you all found out.

Then your lil bro was born!

Teddy!

Then there was a slight... Problem

Harry was going to be attacked

So seven people devised a plan, drinking polyjuice potion to avoid having harry killed

Fred, George, Fleur, Bill, Ron and Hermione all drank the potion

You stayed with Molly and Ginny

When your father came back he was pissed.

Someone in the Order betrayed them.

And then came George

Who was now missing an ear

Oh no

You all helped nurse him back to health

then when he was lucid he said the iconic lines of

"I'm holey"

You and Fred rolled your eyes but were glad he was safe

Then... The next days came

The prime minister of the wizarding world showed up

He had things of Dumbledore to give to all of you

and he gave you all a quest

to destroy some horcruxes

You all went to a wedding

Fleur and Bill! WOOHOO!

Draco of course went

He loved seeing you again

"I've missed you." You whispered to him at a table.

"I've missed you too." He said.

He smiled, watching the happy couple dance.

"...Do you think we'll have something like that?" You asked

"Well for one we're not getting married in a tent." he said making you laugh

then all hell just seemed to break lose

The wedding turned into Harry, you and Hermione all going on the run

Hermione of course came prepared

You all went to some random shop and devised a plan

You all got attacked (they failed)

You all went back to Grimmauld Place, figuring clues had to be there

you ended up sleeping there, finding Sirius's room.

You found his old things... His leather jacket being right on a chair

"Take it." Harry told you.

"But Harry you-" "You always loved that thing growing up... I'll take his lighter." He told you

Then you had a thought

"Wait, what were the initials in the book?" You asked

"RAB"

then it clicked with both of you

Sirius didn't mention his home life to you guys, but he did talk about his little brother

Regulus Arcturus Black

You found this little locket in his room

And then you met that creepy ass house elf

Then you had to go to the ministry

Oh god.

You all snuck in

and there was Umbridge.

You stood there in a court room

and you learned that that feeling of being watched was more than valid.

You, your families... They were all being watched by the bitch in pink.

before they started to figure out what was going on and saving a woman in the process

Then others started chasing you and next thing your ass knew, you were in the woods

You all made a attempt to destroy the locket

it failed.

you all had to walk

for days

then Ron got jealous

Then he took off on his own

You all had to keep going

Hermione was noticeably more sad

"how do you do it Y/n?" she asked

"Do what?" you asked

"fight so hard without him next to you." She asked

You sighed

"I have to keep going Hermione. If we want any shot at a future... We need to keep going." You said

"...Right." She nodded

"Plus, I found that binge drinking helps." You added making her snort

After days of traveling you found clues that led you all to a grave yard in a place that felt vaguely familiar.

You found a grave with a symbol on it

But that's not what made this familiar

"Harry-"

You looked up and saw him at a grave

you and Hermione walked over to see James and Lily's headstone.

You conjured a lily to place while Hermione put a wreathe on it

You all ended up in a house with an old woman.

Well an old woman that ended up being a snake

A literal snake

So you bolted.

Then you ended up on the road

AGAIN.

While you were asleep, Harry managed to find the sword of Gryffindor

...And RON!

So you broke the horcrux

you all made up but now you needed to figure out what to do next

After more traveling you ended up with Luna's dad

Mans was cryptic

and then you were all attacked

you all took off in the woods, magic was in fact used to hurt harry but only enough to conceal his identity

you ended up in the malfoy manor.

Draco's face dropped once you were put in front of him

"Y'know.. I bet the girl will have answers." Bellatrix suggested.

"Which one? There's two." Lucius said, staring at you

"...Lover girl here, who's been makin' eyes at your boy." she said.

His heart pounded in his ears as you were handed over to Bellatrix.

Harry shot a look to Draco and he had to bite his tongue

"So... pretty pretty girl" She began

you swallowed hard, looking at Draco.

"What did you take. Hmm? From the vault?" She asked

You shook your head.

"I wasn't with them-" "LIAR!" She yelled making you jump.

"Last chance. What did you take-" "I don't know--" she pinned you to the floor, winding you.

"WHAT DID YOU TAKE!?" "NOTHING!"

and then she started the torture.

You let out bloocurdling screams, begging for her to stop Draco having to look away, he was on the verge of tears

Then the group managed to escape.

As the group prepared to fight and you were shaking from...everthing, you all heard this metal squeak

You looked up to see

Dobby?

Draco looked at him, then you, then as the chandelier fell, he grabbed you, ran to Harry and you all apparated out of there

You all were safe

...Until Dobby stumbled forward.

And then Draco caught him

"D-Dobby is sorry Master Draco.." He muttered

Draco let tears fall

"You will die, a free elf Dobby." He told him.

"Dobby... Is..Free" were the last words of Dobby

You and Harry buried him, you feeling this intense guilt

"This isn't going to be the last person we bury, will it?" you asked.

"...No." Harry muttered.

Hermione went through her bag, pulling out your jacket.

You put it on, holding your wrist in pain

"What did she write?" Ron asked.

"...Blood Traitor." you muttered.

Draco pulled you to him, kissing your head

"I should've reacted-" "You could have died." you said.

he hugged you tightly, you sobbing into his chest

You were so tired.

and this wasn't even halfway done.

Well after a few days of rest they all asked what Bellatrix wanted to know

You told them it was something about a vault

The group decided to investigate said vault.

You told them you weren't joining them

Neither was Draco.

Instead you stayed with Bill and Fleur, away from everything

Fleur noticed you being so... Out of it

She sat next to you in a chair

"What's on your mind?" She asked

"Was that how they felt?" You muttered.

"What?" Bill asked, looking up from a book as Draco washed dished

"Neville's parents. Was... What I went through... That terror... Was that how they felt?" You asked.

Draco stopped what he was doing and hugged you.

Draco never stopped feeling that guilt

You and Draco took a break after the events at the manor from the Order.

Your time however came when the battle started.

Everyone showed up, first years were evacuated,

Shit was going to hit the fan.

So you all buckled up

You wore Sirius's jacket, standing next to your dad and Draco

you held Draco's hand, watching McGonagall's force field slowly break.

"THEY'RE COMING!" Ginny shouted, sprinting down the bridge with her group.

You all fought, screams around you as you sprinted down halls to find Fred and George

"Fred!" You called.

"BEHIND YOU!" He yelled, Draco blasting a rock away from you.

"Fucking trolls!" Draco coughed.

Fred and George never left your side after that.

You looked around the battlefield and frowned.

"Where's dad?" You asked

Draco looked to the twins.

You all took off again, before seeing your dad and Tonks

relief washed over you seeing him

and then

A spell was fired behind him, the entire area collapsing

Draco took your hand, sprinting away as you watched the area collapse where your father was.

When you were safe, you fell to the ground.

"We- we have to go back" You whimpered

"We can't Y/n..." Fred said.

"We-we have to--" You sobbed into George's chest, him holding you

they were gone...

Your dad

Tonks...

Gone.

Draco looked around, hearing students yell

"We're not safe here darling, we have to go" He said

you nodded, but were still crying

Fred and George met back up with you in the infirmary, before seeing something gut wrenching

Percy was dead.

The whole family grieved, Ron sobbing into Hermione's shoulder, Ginny hugging you

Fred and George felt like the worst people on earth especially after Arthur mentioned something

Percy, stuck up, hard ass Percy's last words

was a joke.

You and Draco stayed near the infirmary, guarding the son of a bitch with your lives

you saw Hermione and Ron, both with Harry.

You ran over, looking at them

"How many more are there?" You asked.

"One. I don't even know what it is." Ron huffed.

Harry said nothing, hugging you tightly.

"You and I may not be related by blood. But we are family." He mumbled in your ear

You originally assumed his sincerity came from the fact you were surrounded by war

And then it hit you

Harry could read Voldemort's mind

Harry could read Nagini's mind

Harry could speak Parseltongue

He ran off before you could speak

"No... no no no--"

"What's wrong?" Draco asked.

"Harry's the last horcrux." You said, your voice breaking.

Everyone froze as they realized what had to happen

It didn't help either when the battle just seemed to stop

and they saw Hagrid holding someone.

Ginny let out a cry that nearly broke you

Fred and George out their hands on your shoulders as you sobbed

You lost...

You all... You were doomed from the start, you all lost

And then... they asked you all to pick sides

Draco's family motioned for him to come but he didn't move an inch from your side

But then something unexpected happened....

You walked forward.

"...This is quite unexpected miss Lupin. But I'm sure there's a place for you--"

"I’d like to say something." you said, looking at him.

"I don't care that Harry's gone. People die everyday, my dad. My stepmom. My friends. My family. My brother now has to live in a world where he doesn't have his parents. So I don't care that Harry is gone. Because he’s still with us…in here. So is my dad, Tonks, Cedric…all of them. They didn’t die in vain! I won't fucking let them. I refuse to let them. But you will, because you’re wrong. Harry’s heart did beat for us. For all of us! It’s not over!” you told the dark Lord.

Draco gripped his wand ready to counter whatever spell was about to be fired

And then something very very surprising happened

Harry was alive.

Intense relief washed over him before you snatched his wand back from Lucius and threw it to him

Lucius had the last straw with you

so he started to attack you

what he didn't account for was you having serious strength before you socked him in the jaw

Draco and you took off before you saw flashes of red and green

You watched as Harry overpowered Voldemort, destroying him once and for all.

You did it.

You hugged him, along with Draco, Hermione and the Weasleys

Harry broke the elder wand, doing away with it so no one would have a chance to use it for evil ever again

You went to sleep, finally feeling safe.

You felt empty though, having to come home to your house now without your dad or Tonks

Andromeda was staying with Teddy, sure not to wake you

When you woke up that morning you could smell something specific.

Your dad's pancakes.

you bolted up, sprinting to the kitchen to see

Draco

Disappointment coursed through you and he turned around, hugging you

"I'm so sorry." Draco whispered.

You whimpered and let the tears fall before

"Tell me you didn't burn the one thing I left you in charge of."

You turned around, Remus standing there.

"DAD!" you screamed, hugging him

He winced but hugged back.

"Oh! Hello, this is a strange start to a morning." Tonks said before you yanked her into a hug

Turns out a few of the Slytherins were around the campus on their brooms as Sentry's for Mcgonagall.

When the collapse took place, they saved them from any lethal damage

A few cracked ribs and a collapsed lung? Yes, but at least they were alive.

You all had a proper funeral for Sirius.

You, Fred and George all completed your time in Hogwarts.

Once you did, you became healer, but something WILD happened on graduation day

You smiled, looking at your family.

Draco cleared his throat, standing next to you.

"hi there stranger." you said, earning a chuckle.

"can we talk, I do have a question to ask." he said.

You nodded, turning to him.

"You remember the future we wanted together?" He asked.

"Kids, a small house and the dog? Yes, I remember." You said.

"what if I had a plan to make it happen?" He asked.

"...what?"

"Y/n, what if... we got married?" he asked.

Your mind imploded

"YES YOU FUCKING MORON!" you said, hugging him.

So you two ended up getting married.

You ended up having a son and the basset hound your husband just had to have.

Buddy was the dog's name

Scorpius was your son's name.

One day you were doing the dishes when Scorpius came up to you

"mummy, I have a question." he said.

"What is it dear?" You asked.

"My teachers mentioned you left hogwarts in your fifth year. What happened?" He asked.

You smiled.

"Well my little lad... That's quite a story."

Taglist: @amhyeah @newtaholic-staygold @bbeauttyybbx @fleurho @yodeadxss @mariah-can-dream

#remus lupin #draco fuckingmalfoy #draco imagine #draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco x y/n

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yyosemite · 3 years

Text

''Not Everything Happen As Planned'' Part 4 - Tommy Shelby x Reader

Part 3

Summary: Reader's thoughts about the encounter, more problems start to appear, and Thomas being an asshole.

Author's Note: English isn't my first language, this chapter took longer than planned (as well as the title of the fanfic haha), but I was very busy these days with the school, but here we are. And Rest In Peace, Helen McCrory.

Warning: Mention about abortion.

Word Count: 1252

It is crazy how we can reason only after all the adrenaline is exhausted in our body, and that is how you found yourself now, extremely discredited of your choice, after your conversation with Thomas.

You couldn't believe that you agreed to go out with him, you knew that many things could go wrong on that date, and your head was filled with different thoughts, both positive and negative.

Even after finding out who he really was, you couldn't deny the attraction you felt for him. You knew and saw how people react when he is mentioned, but you were not able to have those feelings for him, no matter how correct it was to do it.

He was the father of your child, and even more, he seemed to be genuinely interested in you, and when you're messed up with hormones because of a pregnancy everything seems a little more complicated to resolve.

You wanted to believe that things would work out, but then you remember that you are going with him to a date, to the pub, being pregnant. You couldn't drink the alcoholic beverages he was likely to offer you, and it would all be a little suspicious.

This situation was much more than chaotic, he would suspect, and you were distressed by the thought of telling him, because the rumors about him weren’t good, and you were already in a lot of trouble to get entangled in some more, what if he didn't want the child? Would he make you have an abortion?

But you also felt even worse with the idea of not telling, because he was going to be a father, you didn't know if he had that dream, and with the possibility that you could take that away from him, affronted you.

You always liked to plan your things without interference, that was the reason you came to Birmingham, the fight with your parents over who would have control over your life, and now you are pregnant and in the dilemma whether or not to tell Thomas.

What the fuck, (Y/N)? Did you really have to have sex with a gangster in the back room of a pub in a city you had just moved in with?

Now you were in front of the mirror finishing your beautiful red lipstick and in your splendid black silk dress, one that you received as a gift from your father on one of his trips to France. You were not someone very vain, especially since you were always forced to follow the standards of beauty set by your mother, so you always rebelled against what she wanted. But that doesn't mean you don't like to feel beautiful.

You turned to Nat and said:

"Am I pretty?"

"You look wonderful!" She said "Have you decided if you are going to tell him or not?" She asked, curious to know your decision.

“I haven't decided yet, Nat. I think this is something I'm going to know at the moment. I don't want to blow my mind about it, it's not good for the baby, I just hope everything will be okay. ” You said sincerely.

“Everything will be fine, you can be sure. With or without his help. ” Said Natasha as she kissed your cheek and left the room.

You were about to leave when the phone rang.

"Hello, who am I talking to?"

"Daughter?" That was the worst time your mom could call you.

"Hi Mom, is everything okay?" Said you, wanting to shorten this conversation as much as possible.

"Oh yes, I'm fine and so is your dad, but you, how are you?" She asked.

"I'm great mom" You knew that everything was not 100 percent okay, but your mom didn't need to know that.

"Very good to hear that, dear," You knew she was lying, after all she didn't even want you here in Birmingham. "I'm thinking of spending a few days with you, you wouldn't mind, huh?" Now she took you by surprise.

"Do you want to spend a few days here?" You repeated it to yourself more than to her.

"Yes, any problem?" Yes, mother, all the problems in the fucking world, but you couldn't say that.

And again you found yourself trapped on an unwanted occasion, thinking quickly of the logic that you could not refuse your mother, because that would give her more reason to believe that something was wrong, and it would only be a few days, right? What could go wrong.

"No mom, no problem, now I'm a little busy, would you mind calling me tomorrow, so we can talk about your coming?"

"Great, my dear, we'll talk tomorrow" She said goodbye.

"Bye mom, we talk to each other!".

You let out a sigh that you didn't even know you were holding, but your mother is a problem for later, now you need to go to your date, where you were late.

You arrived at Garrison and there was no one inside, which was very unusual since at this time it would be full of men already drunk and maybe even fighting.

"I thought you would like it if it was empty here" said a voice that you knew very well.

"Hi Thomas".

"Hi, (Y/N)" He said back.

You liked that he reserved the pub just for you and him, after all if maybe you would reveal your pregnancy to him, it was better that there was no one around.

He directed his gaze to one of the tables, and you can quickly understand that he wanted you to be seated. There was already a bottle, in what appeared to be Whiskey.

You were already nervous about the date and now about your mother, but now your tension seemed to be tripled, how would you refuse to drink without looking suspicious?

"You look tense," he said.

“It's just your impression” You tried to give a little smile that showed confidence, but you don't think it should have worked out very well, you were emanating distrust.

"Do you want some?" He asked, taking the bottle.

"Sorry, I'm not in the mood to get drunk" He must have noticed your features, as he seemed to be analyzing your discomfort.

"Are you afraid of me, Ms. (Y/L/N?)" He said it very directly.

In fact, you weren't scared, you were nervous as hell, you were thinking so much, so many possibilities, that you were almost going crazy.

"No, I'm not afraid of you."

"And do you know who I am?" He said accusingly.

"I know, but why the question?"

"Who are you?" He seemed suspicious of you. You felt your hands sweat from the tension.

"I am no one, I mean, no one you need to worry about."

He seemed to study you with those blue eyes.

"So why don't you drink a little ..." You felt your patience wear out.

"Because I can't drink, damn it!!". You yelled.

He seemed intrigued by your nervousness, but you were not caring, your body was tingling, and you were only thinking about the baby.

“Do you have a phone here? Call a doctor, please. ” You said, and he didn't seem to understand so he remained seated.

"Damn, please, I need you to call a doctor, I need to see if everything is okay with the b..."

You barely finished speaking, when your vision started to darken, the only thing you remember is him hugging you from behind and holding your body so you don't fall off the chair, then everything went black, and all you thought about was your child.

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softrozene · 3 years

Text

Sacrifice

@luna-hatake-uchiha requested: Hi. First of all, I want to wish you a happy new year. I read on Archiv of your Own that your request box is open... Soo could you please write a scenario where Law and his s/o are having a daughter and after a few years their daughter shows symptoms of the Amber Lead poisoning? And Law doing everything he can to heal her? (This is my first time doing this and I'm sorry if I sound rude somewhere.)

You were perfect in requesting Hon! Apologies for how late this is (I hope you had a good start to the new year!) but omg- That would be so heartbreaking ahhhhh. This came out pretty angsty but I tried to give it a neutral ending! I hope you enjoy it!

This turned into a one-shot oops.

Trafalgar Law x Female Reader

Warnings: Fluff/Angst- Spoilers of Law’s past. Can be considered a good or sad ending! Uhh Post-Pirating au? Law is retired from the pirate life lol, grammar

*Instead of 2nd pov I wrote this in 3rd pov for a change. : )

Also, yeah- I am pretty sure that Law would be able to cure his daughter of this because of his Devil Fruit and it’s “Miraculous” abilities but I went for the more angsty side, so I made it more complicated than that lol. I just love the idea of protective dad Law.

Words: 1983

The smell of coffee is usually a scent that brings the pregnant woman, (Name), a comfort since that means she can sneak a sip from her husband’s cup but right now… It is too early for coffee. He should be in bed with her, but the sun is not even up. With exhaustion evident on her face and the goal of finding Law and bringing him back to bed- She regretfully leaves the warm bed.

The house they have is a decent-sized home. Two bedrooms- The one they share together, and the guest room, a nursery that Law and (Name) have been working on and of course, Law’s office to store his medical books and journals, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a small cozy living room.

It felt like bliss living here.

Even more so with the bun in the oven. Law was in shock when he realized his wife was indeed pregnant, but it made the joy of retiring from piracy to enjoy a domestic life with her all the better. It most certainly eases his thoughts that most of his crew also retired here on this peaceful island.

Things could not have turned out more perfect for them.

Though… That was about to change as (Name) walks into his office- The light from it leaking out into the hallway. The smell of coffee gets stronger, and she smiles upon seeing how serious her husband is looking through some of his books.

No matter what he is doing, he looks so handsome.

Something he got used to arguing with her saying how she is crazy for thinking his eyebags are attractive. It was all jokes sure but (Name) was serious and proud to say he was handsome. His personality definitely that too. She can rely on him and him on her and that is something hard to do for the both of them.

Law is too in the zone in the book so (Name) uses that to her advantage. She sneaks up behind him and is quick to wrap her arms around his neck, planting a kiss on his cheek. His tense body immediately relaxes within her hold and he turns to offer her a tired smile.

“Did I wake you?” He asks softly as a hand comes up to meet her swollen belly.

(Name) laughs and holds his hand to her stomach. “Yes, but it is fine. I just got cold without your warmth. That and the beautiful smell of coffee. I think our daughter wants a sip.”

Law’s face turns into a scolding one immediately making his wife laugh as she continues, “Hey! You said I could have some in moderation! I think a tiny sip is less than that and yes, I know we do not know if our child will be a girl, but I just have this feeling…”

Law sighs but… Then smiles as he just shakes his head. He gives in knowing full well that his wife’s point was mainly about getting her daily sip of coffee in. He pulls away from his wife’s loving hand to reach for his mug of coffee. Being careful of the still-hot contents in it. He hands it to her and watches as she smiles and takes her desired sip. Handing it back to him he puts it on the desk and immediately pulls the pregnant woman onto his lap earning himself a giggle from her.

“Anyway, what are you doing up, my love?” She asks as she nuzzles her face into his neck the best she can.

At this question, Law turns tense. His sigh comes out stressed as he hesitates to speak. He thinks it would be better now to share his concern, especially when it is such a valid one.

“I… Fear that our child may get Amber Lead Poising. It is a hereditary disease,” Law mumbles.

This makes his wife freeze up. She knows his pain with that. The fear of it. He must have been bottling it up until he just could not ignore the possibility. With a gentle sigh, (Name) places a tender kiss on his lips, momentarily distracting him from his painful thoughts.

“My love, please come back to bed. After a few more hours of sleep, you can come back in here… And no matter what happens with our child- I have faith that you will find a cure. Until then, try not to worry. Otherwise, you are going to send yourself into an early grave by putting all that stress on your heart,” (Name) says as a yawn escapes her.

Law can only smile now. She truly is his best friend. His other half. She knows how to ease his worries even if it is temporarily, but what she said… It also rings true. He vows to find a cure in the case that their child will get that stupid disease.

~*~

The rest of the pregnancy goes by quickly and as soon as the baby, a girl, is in their arms it feels like total bliss for them. It is everything they never imagined having but makes their lives totally complete. Her middle name is in memory of Law’s younger sister. The full name being Trafalgar Lami Lin.

“She looks like you already- Look at those wide (eye color) eyes,” Law says with a gentle smile on his face.

He never imagined he could allow himself to be this soft and vulnerable. To share it with (Name). His wife laughs as she leans against his arm as he holds their little girl in his arms. Both (Name) and the baby are exhausted.

“Thank the gods she does not look like a mini sleep-deprived version of you. Well, if she takes my looks, I only hope she gains your intelligence,” (Name) jokes.

Law smirks at the playful tone and as if he remembers sighs- “I forgot to tell you. What is left of the crew will be coming here tomorrow. They were even more excited than us combined.”

“Looks like we got a couple of free babysitters… I trust Bepo with her. Sachi and Penguin might drop her.”

Law sweatdrops at this and wishes he could argue back but… His wife is right. He makes a mental note to have Bepo be their go-to babysitter.

~*~

Days pass by fast when you feel joy and they pass even faster when you feel like the world suddenly has a time limit on it. Law promised his wife to enjoy the days with them and he did, but he spent countless nights trying to find a cure- Getting so close to finding something that can help in the case his daughter gets the disease.

The baby grows quickly into a child, but it was the age of five when Law realizes that she has those stupid white spots on her skin- Meaning she has Amber Lead Poisoning. He felt like he was suffocating. She was not supposed to get it. He paid his dues during his piracy. His loss of Rosinante. His loss of family. He paid whatever the hell life thought he owed it, so she was supposed to be in the clear.

She was not.

He knows that is just wishful thinking. His whole family got it and Amber Lead is a hereditary disease. He was supposed to die at age thirteen. He did not all because he ate a fruit thanks to Rosinante. Just because he ate a fruit and cured himself does not mean he could actually cure Amber Lead with his fruit.

He could try and cure Lin as he did himself. Using the fruit’s "miraculous" properties which is having the ability to cure any kind of illness. However, this requires some extent of medical knowledge in order to be utilized effectively. He has that knowledge, but he does not have the full knowledge to cure others of this disease. He cured himself because he ate the fruit.

He needs a real cure. One to ensure that this disease does not follow into the genes anymore. He wants to ensure that if his daughter wants a family of her own- If she makes it to that age, he wants her to be able to not have to think about her own children having the disease.

He estimated she would only have a few years left. Until those white spots grow big enough to almost devour her. His blissful life turned into a nightmare for him. He always could not stand the thought of losing (Name) and the feeling was deeper with their daughter Lin since she was only a child.

She deserved a long and happy life.

He was going to sacrifice his time to ensure that.

It was during one of these nights when he cursed out life for being cruel that Law had an epiphany. Something in his research began to make sense for a cure- It was uncertain, but it was something and it was this night that his wife was woken up when he got up out of excitement to begin writing on a large board he put together. He accidentally dropped a book nothing too alarming, so he was surprised to see his wife checking on him.

Her large eyes watching the board- Trying to decipher his valid obsession of finding a cure. He could not contain his excitement as he pauses briefly to place a kiss on his wife’s lips.

“Whoa. You are super cheery for once,” She notes.

Law can only smile. “I think I am close to finding something. A cure. It would still be a while before I have something solid but… This is it. It has to be it.”

Hearing this fills (Name) up with excitement too. Only to see Law experience a crash. He is at his limit for tonight since he spent all day shopping with his daughter and wife to go to Penguin’s birthday (definitely an alcohol) party. He should be totally spent after today.

(Name) only hugs him feeling his body immediately relax into hers and he freezes upon remembering something. Pulling back slightly he looks at his darling wife and places a kiss on her forehead.

“Hey… I do need to tell you something. If this lead goes nowhere. I am going to use the Ope Ope no Mi fruit on her,” Law states.

(Name) freezes in his grip. Understanding these words. That means he is going to sacrifice his life for their daughter if he can’t make a cure. He is willing to use the fruit’s powers for what others have wanted it for. Immortality.

He is willing to grant their daughter “eternal youth” if it means she can experience life without the disease affecting her.

His mind is dead set on that backup plan so all (Name) Can do is nod. He smiles at her though as to reassure her.

“That is just a backup plan. We still have a few years left but as of now, I do believe it is time to get in contact with that crazy pirate- Luffy. I need him to bring Chopper here. With Chopper’s help this should work,” Law murmurs more to himself.

He is exhausted.

“Alright Love- I will go get in contact with them. I will send a letter. Though… I think you should head to bed. You did well. You are such a good father,” (Name) murmurs.

Hearing this… Law really feels like he might break. All of these restless nights are going to be worth something. He is going to do what his dad almost did for his younger sister. He will cure his daughter and be able to watch her grow.

“Law… You are getting my hair wet with your snot and tears.”

“Shut up,” He mumbles as he holds his partner.

She laughs and the two stay like that- Content that there is hope for their daughter.

#my writing #one piece x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #fanfiction #one shot #one piece fanfiction #one piece one shot #fluff #angst #female reader #mentions of pregnancy

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ficsilike-reblogged · 3 years

Text

Death & Dowries

Summary: The Iron Bank of Braavos will always have its due. But dowries make things…complicated and the pride of men knows no bounds. A bargain is struck between a Keyholder of the Iron Bank and Tywin Lannister and the life of an adventurous woman is suddenly uprooted as she is made the newest Lady of Casterly Rock. But the wedding of King Joffrey Baratheon and Lady Margaery Tyrell brings a familiar face to King’s Landing and a Braavosi woman always has a backup plan.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand/F!Reader, (arranged) Tywin Lannister/F!Reader, Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand

WARNINGS: Spousal abuse, death, murder, lite smut, my over-use of italics, mentions of child birth and babies (please DO NOT read if any of this will upset you)

Word Count: 12.1k (heavy sigh)

(banner by my love @starlight-starwrites )

A/N: The italics denote the “present” time. Circa Season 7 Episode 7. I’m going to throw a lot of ASOIAF lore at you so, if you have ANY questions, please just ask!

You can read this on Ao3, if you prefer!

She had hoped to never step foot into this wretched city again. But Cersei had called and she knew she must answer to keep the unstable queen from looking too closely. And, of course, she wanted to see a dragon.

What she did not expect to see was a familiar shade of yellow and orange while a recognizable laugh rang in the tense air. She froze at the entrance and her handmaiden smacked into her back. “I am so sorry, my lady,” she whispered.

The sudden noise drew attention and soon Oberyn and Ellaria were standing from their seats, kind eyes locked on her.

Westeros was nothing that her father had promised when he set her on the ship and sent her away from home. It was supposed to be exciting and new and beautiful and everything she wanted in a home. Instead, she had been gifted a cold castle filled with portraits of a woman who she was supposed to be replacing and an old man for a betrothed.

But even the Keyholders of the Iron Bank of Braavos knew of Tywin Lannister. "He is a powerful man. You will be well-cared for and loved by the people you govern, my sweet," her father said, his smile not quite touching his eyes. "That is all I want for you."

It was a lie. A pretty lie, but a lie all the same. Her father and a handful of other Keyholders all had daughters of the marrying age and had created a terrible, unspoken game between them. Everything had a price. Especially to the men and women who controlled the keys to the Iron Bank.

Dowries for their daughters were boasted and bartered. Whomever paid the most, bragged that their line was as coveted as a princess.

It was all ridiculous. A stupid game. Especially for people who usually wanted to protect their coin.

Y/N was thankful she had no sisters so that they would not be subjected to this prick-measuring game, too.

Whispers had spread through Braavos when her father had set her betrothal.

It was a dowry worthy of four princesses of old, surely.

But Tywin Lannister would not see a single coin.

An almost flawless plan, Y/N thought. Her father would pay half of the Iron Throne's debts to the Bank in exchange for Y/N becoming the new Lady of Casterly Rock. For as large as her dowry was, Y/N was only slightly amused at how small her wedding festivities were when she arrived at King’s Landing. A handful of people, mostly Lannisters and their bannermen, and the three handmaidens she had brought with her from Braavos. The furnishings were fine and the food was almost salted correctly but it was small. Tywin wrapped her in a crimson red cloak and kissed her with unmoving lips and she had become Lady Y/N Lannister, a lion of the rock.

And that was it. Little fanfare and her life was completely uprooted. And as the days continued to pass, she doubted she would ever find a bit of happiness in her new station.

She had to keep herself from yawning as Tywin rutted above her, grunting like an old boar. But he finished soon enough and rolled off of her and grabbed his robe. As soon as it was fastened around his waist, he strode out of her chambers without a look back.

The door opened soon after and her small horde of handmaidens quickly entered, already bringing her a steaming pot of tea and a balm for her skin where her lord husband always clutched too tight.

She had given up on telling him it hurt after the first fortnight and considered herself at least a little lucky that the old man still knew how to move his hips.

“How do you fare, my lady?” One handmaiden asked in the lilting tongue of the Braavosi dialect of High Valyrian. She quickly pressed a cup of tea into Y/N’s hands.

“Better, now that you are all here with me.”

One took to changing the bed coverings and another helped her stand and quickly began to wash her skin with steaming water scented with roses. The tea was bitter on her tongue but she quickly drank it and let another handmaiden take the empty cup from her hand as soon as it was finished.

“Have the kitchen maids asked what the tea is again?”

“Not since we told them it was a magical potion to guarantee a boy and that it was filled with the blood of a calf and ash from the Doom.” One of them smiled, remembering how the nosey maids nearly fainted at the sound of their lie. It was an ingenious ruse, if she was being honest. Y/N knew that most of the servants in Casterly Rock reported to Tywin about her movements and the company she kept. Thinking she was a witch who relied on bloodmagic easily discounted anything they whispered to her lord husband. And it also kept them from truly investigating her tea—not that anyone on this stupid continent would be able to name it anyway. The root her handmaids boiled for her every time Tywin visited her chamber was not anything magical or arcane.

It was an old recipe from the famed pleasure houses of Braavos—to prevent pregnancy. And it was working remarkably well. The maester had confirmed her fertility so she knew Tywin was probably doubting his own ability as the months continued to trickle by and she was yet to become pregnant. The thought made her laugh. As did the truth that Tywin would never get he had anticipated with the betrothal agreement he had signed with her father. She had decided that as soon as he had sneered at her on their wedding night and said, “I suppose you will do,” before taking what he needed from her body without care for her at all. And whenever he visited her bed, his hands were always too tight, too rough and would not relent even when tears pricked at her eyes and slid down her cheeks. He never stopped. He never cared. Even when his dislike of her as a person evolved to curling his hands into her arms and leaving her with swollen eyes and tender skin. He always made sure they were alone when he raised his hands to her, but he seemed fond of doing so whenever she ever disagreed with him.

She knew that other Keyholders thought her father foolish for her hefty dowry—a steep price to pay for pride. But her mother once said that while blood will open the door, clout will get you a seat at the table.

Her father had the gold to spare, she supposed. And she always wanted a kingdom of her own.

Now…now one was finally within her grasp. Even if it came with such a poor consort. That was what she told herself, anyway.

Just as she was dressed for the day, her chamber door opened again and a servant strode in, eyes darting around the gaggle of women as if searching for something to report. His mouth opened and he informed them all that Lord Tywin had been called to the Riverlands and left her in charge of Casterly Rock. She had heard whispers of the War of the Five Kings from high and lowborn alike. It was a shame that she was kept so far from the action she was so accustomed to at least witnessing with a spyglass from her chamber windows. The Keyholders often had a stake in the wars fought around Westeros and Essos. Having allies in positions of power meant they were in positions of power—and funding their successes meant that they had bargaining chips in collecting debts. Plus interest.

She almost smiled. Finally, a bit of intrigue.

Y/N took her seat under the canopy after dismissing her handmaidens and guards, telling them to treat themselves to a well-earned drink at a nearby inn as she noticed the incoming crowd of Dothraki, ‘escorted’ by a band of knights. She only let her eyes move to see Oberyn and Ellaria, the Dornish envoy, for a moment. Their reaction to her arrival had been just as unexpected as their presence. Dangerous. Dangerous.

This whole game was dangerous. And now the King in the North and the Dragon Queen had called for a temporary armistice for some strange reason.

“They tell me that the Westerlands have been flourishing.”

The voice at her side almost had her jumping. It was Tyrion, looking far more bristled than the last time she had seen him, when he had been carted away to the Black Cells. “Yes, well. Apparently I’m quite suited for the task.”

Tyrion’s answering smile was small and he nodded just once. “Yes, I suppose my father would have taught you well-”

“He had nothing to do with it.”

Casterly Rock was a delight to have to herself. Even the servants who would whisper her movements into her lord husband’s ear seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when each raven stated Tywin would be away from his seat of power for another fortnight and then another and another. When the Westerlands were being raided by Northmen, led by the adorably pugnacious King Robb Stark, she was happy to open the gates to allow some of the children and ladies of sworn houses to take shelter in the fortress and to give food and water to the knights and bannermen who made camp outside their walls before setting off toward battle.

She arranged marriages between houses and presided over small disagreements brought before her to settle. It reminded her of the time she spent with her dearest friend Bellegere at her famed pleasure house in Braavos and how Bellegere managed each and every bit of everything under her roof and made it all seem so effortless.

That was her kingdom.

And now Casterly Rock was Y/N’s, and she would let no one take it from her.

No one.

“You are happy, my lady,” one of her handmaidens said as they retired for the night. It had been two moons since Tywin had left her to play at war. “I have not seen you this happy since before we left Braavos.”

Y/N hummed and let her wipe the day’s dirt from her skin with a roll of silk dampened with cold cream. “I suppose I should start finding some sort of happiness, no?” She sighed. “Are you happy here?”

Her handmaidens nodded, varying degrees of smiles on their faces. “You know that we had no happiness in Braavos. You have given us hope, just as you have given these strange people hope, too.” They helped her into her sleeping gown and Y/N remembered the places she had plucked her handmaidens from. Cruel noble homes, cruel lowborn homes, temples with dark corners, merchant shops filled with bright tapestries, pleasure houses. Each of them found a new place beside Y/N. And she found friends with them, security and safety.

“We can find a home here,” Y/N whispered to each of them before bidding them goodnight. And she hoped it was true. She needed it to be true.

When the raven came, telling her to come to King’s Landing, she was hesitant to pack her trunks and arrange for the castellan to oversee the governance of Casterly Rock. But she had duties. And, despite knowing she was actively keeping herself from completing one of them, she knew she could not refuse Tywin Lannister. Especially after the Realm (or at least part of it) was hailing him as a hero for breaking the siege on King’s Landing and managing to gain the allegiance of the Reach—such a stupid name for a kingdom—for the Crown. So, she had her trunks packed with her fine gowns and made sure the guests she had allowed to stay in Casterly Rock would be looked after before having the traveling party readied for the trek across the continent. One of the knights, a man who reeked of strongwine and needed to trim his beard, spoke animatedly about the battles Tywin won across the Westerlands and Riverlands on behalf of his grandson, Joffrey. “For the betterment of the Realm,” the knight would finish each story. She doubted it. But she pretended to listen anyway. Y/N truly did not care to listen to the finite details or commit most of them to memory. What she did, however, notice was the distinct smell of piss and soured bread as soon as her wheelhouse and travelling party crested the hill just outside the city gates after several weeks of being confined to the wheelhouse or stuffy inn rooms.

“My lady,” one of her handmaiden’s muttered, “we are going to suffocate.”

Y/N patted her hand with a sigh before spilling a bit of perfume onto each of their kerchiefs to hold under their noses. “Perhaps they will have a garden where we can escape the stench.”

When they arrived at the Red Keep—and such an unimaginative name—she was almost pleased to see that most of the royal family and quite a few courtiers and servants had come to welcome them. Cersei, a face she knew well from the many portraits in the halls of Casterly Rock, only offered a quick sneer and an insincere, “welcome, Lady Lannister, to King’s Landing,” before she quickly left. Joffrey, the brat-boy-king if the whispers were true, looked suspiciously like his mother and also offered a sneer. Tommen was far kinder and offered to show her to her chambers but she declined, knowing that having a prince show her around like a servant would only gain her more ire from the queen dowager.

And then that left…

“Lady Stark,” Y/N said, stepping to the redhead’s side. Yes, she knew of Sansa Stark. The sad little Northern girl who saw her father’s head put on a spike—and apparently one of her brothers was one of the Five Kings running around causing amuck. How fun.

The younger girl curtseyed and murmured a soft hello. “I hope you find the capitol pleasing, my lady.”

She hummed and reached out to take Sansa’s and, wrapping it into the crook of her arm. “I doubt I will. But I shall like it if we were to become friends.”

Sansa’s blue eyes flittered across Y/N’s face and then to the small hoard of handmaidens behind her. “Whatever you wish, my lady.”

Weeks trickled by and Y/N found herself actually enjoying the company of the little wolf pup. She detested the Lannisters and had a quick but sweet wit when she was not in the company of Cersei or Joffrey who seemed to terrify her to no end. Y/N found it funny that Cersei assumed she would report anything and everything Sansa did while in her company. “What would you have her do other than enjoy a bit of tea and some lemon cakes? It is not as if you have given her duties beyond looking pretty.” Her handmaidens even told her that Cersei requested they report back anything they heard Sansa say.

“The poor girl,” they mused. “She is alone here.”

“Yes,” Y/N agreed, “and so are we.” And they were. They were still whispered about by servants and courtiers alike, their movements watched like a mummers’ performance and then hissed into the queen or the new Hand of the King’s ears. The only time they found themselves truly alone was when they were in the company of the Tyrells. Margaery and Olenna were gratuitous social climbers but at least they were smart and she did not feel the need to continue to play the dutiful Lady Lannister in their presence. They had no real love for the Lannisters aside from realizing that the golden lions were the true power in this stupid kingdom and knowing that they needed to at least have a few of them on their side. And Sansa seemed a little relaxed in their presence as well. After her betrothal to Joffrey was broken in favor of Margaery and the Tyrell gold, the young redhead was a tiny bit more…unclenched, especially after being pressed to detail the abuse she survived at the hands of the brat king. Y/N remembered gently wiping the tears away from Sansa’s cheeks after they left the Tyrells. Sansa had recounted her abuse at the hands of Joffrey and his mother. “It is over now, little pup. He shall not harm you again. I promise you that.”

Sansa only nodded and was still very guarded and it was smart to be so but Y/N was happy to see her smile a little more freely.

The smiles stopped when Tywin announced that Sansa was to wed Tyrion.

The girl cried and cried and cried. But only when they were alone and the lemon cakes she’d taken from the kitchen were only crumbs. Shae, Sansa’s handmaiden, always lingered after being dismissed. Y/N was sure she was another spy—but not for Cersei. But it did not matter. What mattered was the crying wolf pup in her arms.

“I can’t do it. I can’t,” Sansa cried, tears wetting Y/N’s dress.

Y/N could only shush her sobs, knowing that Tywin always had his due—well, almost always. “I will make sure you are safe, pup. I promise you that.”

Y/N stood, as she was expected to do, when Cersei entered the Dragon Pit and curtseyed as Cersei moved in front of her to take her own seat. The air was tense. Everyone was staring at each other, measuring threats with bated breath.

Y/N had been surprised to see Theon Greyjoy present—after all, it had been a Greyjoy fleet that had destroyed the ship that was carrying little Princess Myrcella back to the Red Keep from Sunspear. It had been a Greyjoy that had given the final push for Cersei to descend into her carefully curated madness. But, then again, Cersei had a Greyjoy of her own, too. Verbal volleys were made and Y/N might have enjoyed listening to the traded barbs but she continued to feel someone’s gaze on the side of her face.

She knew who was looking at her—it did not take any stretch of imagination or serious thought.

She knew.

And a dragon roared overhead.

“Take this, pup.” Y/N curled Sansa’s shaking fingers around the small bottle with an even smaller smile.

“What is it?” Sansa was beautiful in her golden wedding dress—beautiful and sad. Handmaidens had just finished twisting her hair into the ridiculous braids Cersei was so fond of and then scattered when Y/N and her flock of Braavosi women arrived. They had taken to dashing away when the Braavosi women arrived after Y/N had all but screamed at them when they would not let Sansa have a moment alone after news of the tactlessly named Red Wedding had reached King’s Landing. Her entire family—gone. Y/N would not see the little pup suffer for another moment.

It had earned her a busted lip and a sore wrist from her dear husband.

“It is a gift.” Y/N patted Sansa’s hand. “One drop will give you a night’s reprieve from your husband. The entire bottle will give your husband…a reprieve of his breath.”

Sansa turned and turned and turned the bottle in her hand. “Poison?”

“Yes, pup. And it is merely a precaution. I would not have you fear for your life in your marital bed.”

“Do you think Tyrion would hurt me?”

“He is the gentlest of his siblings, but it is never unwise to have a dagger up your sleeve.” Y/N stood and took Sansa’s hands in hers after watching her carefully tuck the bottle away into the folds of her dress. “Come, I am allowed to escort you to the Sept.”

“We’ve been here for some time,” Cersei said through gritted teeth.

“My apologies.”

Y/N almost snorted at the complete lack of care in the Dragon Queen’s tone as she addressed Cersei for the first time but held a finger under her nose, attempting to hide her smile instead. But Oberyn did openly laugh, only stopping when Ellaria placed a hand on his thigh. When Y/N looked at them, eyes drawn to the pair like a moth to the flame, their smiles grew.

The sound around her died to a low roar. Y/N knew she should be paying attention—the meeting had been called with the premise of saving the Realm—but all she could see was them.

“I am not some lowborn trollop, husband. I will not be seen in anything other than the color that denotes my station.” Y/N stared down at the garish red and gold dress that her husband’s servants had placed on the featherbed just a few moments ago.

“Your station is cemented as my wife—Lady Lannister. You will wear your house’s colors and you will never fight me on something so frivolous again.”

“Oh? And what am I allowed to fight you on?” She retorted, feeling her upper lip curl in a sneer. “If not my clothes, what else? You have decided every bit of my life since I have arrived. Am I not allowed one bit of my home?”

Tywin reached out and struck her across the face. Pain bloomed from her eye to her jaw, throbbing in time with her hammering heart. “You would do well to hold your tongue. I have had enough of listening to your ungrateful words. You are the Lady of Casterly Rock—not a sniveling brat. You will wear this gown and I will not hear another word of it. Am I understood?”

Y/N only nodded, hand cradling her cheek and then Tywin swept from the room.

Silence washed over her like a wave in the big room. She stared down at the red dress. Gold lace lined the sleeves and there was even more of the gaudy lace around the neck—it would probably reach just below her chin.

It was a collar. Soft and expensive. But a collar, she realized.

“My lady?” She turned to see one of her handmaidens stepping in, a frazzled look on her face. “Are you ready for us to help you prepare for the wedding?” The girl’s eyes searched her face as if knowing something was wrong. “My lady?” She asked again when Y/N did not answer.

Y/N sucked in a breath and nodded. “Yes. And I believe we are running late.” She removed her dressing gown and let them start to tie her into the hideous gown. It itched. It did not move like the soft silks of Braavos. It was stiff and uncomfortable. It felt like a cage.

Perhaps that is what it was—a cage and a collar.

But she said nothing as she met Tywin outside his chambers and allowed him to grasp her hand and tuck it into the crux of his arm as he escorted her to the Sept. She said nothing as she took her place in the crowd. She said nothing as the stupid vows were exchanged and Joffrey named Margaery as his queen. She said nothing as she was led out to the grounds for the wedding feast. But she plotted. And her cheek throbbed.

She was seated on the raised dais at Tywin’s side but found herself slightly and strangely comforted by the fact that Sansa was within eyesight. When Tywin left her side to speak with someone—and she truly wasn’t listening nor cared who it was—Y/N quickly stood and walked to Sansa’s side, taking Tyrion’s vacated seat.

“How are you, pup?”

Sansa almost smiled. “Alive.”

“And that is half the battle, no?” She reached out and touched the girl’s hands. “Has he been kind?” Her head tilted just so to indicate Tyrion.

Sansa nodded. “I have no use of your gift yet.” They both sighed and looked out over the crowd. “Weddings are supposed to be happy occasions.”

“Yes, I suppose they are. But we have yet to attend one that is capable of making us smile.” She sighed again and looked back at Sansa, eyes catching the pretty, purple necklace around her throat. The jewels glinted…

“Careful with those, my love,” her mother chided as she pulled the little vials from her daughter’s childish fingers.

“What are they, Mama?”

“It was a gift,” Sansa said, providing an answer for the unasked question.

“From whom?”

“Lord Baelish.”

Y/N hummed and twisted one of the jewels between her fingers before letting it drop back against Sansa’s throat.

Y/N listened to Jon Snow blather on about saving the Realm, about how an army who doesn’t leave corpses was coming and could not be bargained with. Cersei had a few quips of her own and Y/N pondered if she truly needed to have shut herself into a wheelhouse for weeks to travel here just to listen to Cersei complain and foreign monarchs hardly disguise their contempt. But then Sandor Clegane emerged from the underground tunnel with a large crate on his back and the Dragon Pit grew quiet.

He set it down and…nothing happened, even as he removed the lid.

But then he circled back and kicked it over. With a scream, a creature emerged and ran at Cersei. Bone and dried skin and glowing blue eyes. That was all it was.

That and the terrifying scream.

“You look exquisite, child,” Lady Olenna said as she approached Sansa. “The wind has bit at you though.” Olenna glanced at Y/N in acknowledgement, bowing her head just a fraction before focusing on Sansa again, tugging at the ends of her pretty red hair. “I haven’t had the opportunity to tell you how sorry I was to hear about your brother. War is war, but killing a man at a wedding? Horrid. What sort of monster would do such a thing?” An aged finger traced against Sansa’s cheek. “As if men need more reasons to fear marriage.”

Y/N snorted into her chalice of wine and earned a wink from Olenna over Sansa’s head. But it was the next movement that truly caught Y/N’s attention. Olenna fiddled with Sansa’s necklace before inviting her and Tyrion to Highgarden just as the lion in question approached. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it is time to enjoy this food I paid for.”

Y/N pulled Sansa back into conversation as Olenna departed and noted that one of the strange little gems was now missing from the necklace. What was Olenna planning? Whatever it was, it was sure to be more entertaining than the pretention of this wedding feast. She stood and had Sansa do the same. “Come, pup. It is time we acted like Lannisters, no?” She linked their arms together and led them toward the obnoxiously decorated grounds filled with more food and entertainment.

They both found little enjoyment in the contortionists or the musicians who insisted on playing and replaying The Rains of Castamere on a variety of instruments. But the food was mostly seasoned well.

“Tyrion tells me that a Dornish Prince is in attendance. He’s traveled all over Essos, perhaps he has been to Braavos?” Sansa asked as Y/N found her some lemon cakes and they sequestered themselves away in a dark corner while Y/N sipped on a bit of sweet wine.

“Oh? It would be nice to hear of my home from someone who knows it.” She almost smiled. “I must take you across the Narrow Sea, introduce you to my home. And maybe I can know Winterfell, too.”

Sansa’s smile was small but genuine. “I would like that.”

“But tell me, what is this prince’s name? Perhaps I’ve met him when my lord husband was parading around.”

Sansa wiped the crumbs from her face. “Prince Oberyn Martell.”

Jon Snow was a bigger idiot than Sansa had ever said he was in her missives. Openly proclaiming that he had sworn the North and bent the knee to the Dragon Queen while trying to broker a tentative agreement with an unstable lion was very, very stupid. He could have, should have lied and just agreed to the terms Cersei had laid out, keeping her in the dark about his true allegiance.

But no.

Apparently he had more Stark in him than sense.

Everyone had separated after Cersei had stormed away and Y/N found herself walking toward one of the few places she hadn’t seen anyone retreat to but then-

“Mama!”

Y/N turned and caught the child that had leapt into the air, knowing his mother would catch him.

A soft murmur of her name had her freezing.

He looked so similar. Barely anything had changed since the last time she had seen him, all too briefly nearly a decade ago. The same self-assured gait. The same sparkle in his eyes. The same charming half-smile that had her mirroring the expression without a thought.

“Hello, little Titan.”

And with the next breath she was younger, visiting her friend Bellegere on her mother’s fine barge, evading her duties for the day. “You are not who I was expecting,” came a voice behind her.

Y/N turned and arched a brow at the young man looking in the doorway. “Nor was I expecting you.” He was either lost or an esteemed guest if he had found his way to Bellegere’s private rooms. With his fine clothes and self-assured smile, Y/N wagered he was the latter. “Who are you?”

He introduced himself with a growing smile and kissed her on the back of the hand before turning her hand over and pressing another kiss to her palm. And the first time in months, Y/N giggled.

The prince was eventually greeted by Bellegere’s mother and he was just as flirtatious with her but did not seem too preoccupied with bedding the famous courtesan as many of her other clients had been lately. In between meetings with the captains of the Second Sons mercenary company, Oberyn was found frequently upon the barge—and Y/N always found herself invited, too. Whether it was by Bellegere or Oberyn, they always seemed eager to pull her away from her duties again and again.

Bellegere had been calm, as she always was with her mother’s clients (Bellegere knew she would one day be the Black Pearl of Braavos and took her training very seriously), but Y/N saw how the Dornish prince had her smiling into her hand after whispering something into her ear, a far cry from the demure tilting of her lips her clients usually coaxed from her while buying her attention and company.

Anyone who could make Bellegere, with all her practiced manners and carefully curated gestures, smile like that was truly a force to be reckoned with. But even when he was on Bellegere’s arm, he took care to include Y/N in their conversations, wanting her opinion. “I like the sound of your voice, little Titan.”

And that wretched, silly nickname. While he called Bellegere by her name, or “my Pearl,” he called Y/N his “little Titan,” a play on how Braavos was known for the hulking statue of a titan at its gates. She was not sure if she loved it or loathed it.

“Have you two been introduced?” Sansa’s question pulled Y/N from her reverie.

“Yes,” Oberyn answered for her with a wink. “We met years ago in Braavos.” It was an understatement. Every time the Second Sons were within a handful of leagues of Braavos, Oberyn made it a point to visit Y/N and Bellegere. There was nothing overtly carnal within their relationship. In fact, they all seemed to be closer friends than anything else. Bellegere was free to be herself in his presence and Y/N was, too. Oberyn was always happy to be their escort around the city and pay for their attentions as if he were any other client, but largely they spent their time laughing and speaking of the world beyond Braavos. He disappeared a few years later only to return to Braavos, older and angrier, to meet with Illyrio Mopatis on business he could not discuss with them. But he had been just as kind with them as he always had been—always a dutiful friend. The last time she had seen him, he had whispered about the death of his sister and her babies, of how she was cruelly killed while trying to protect her children.

It would not be until Y/N reached King’s Landing that she learned that it was believed that Tywin gave the order for his loyal dog, Gregor Clegane, to kill the Princess and her babes.

If Y/N had known that, she would have taken Bellegere’s offer of working on her barge instead of allowing her father to barter her away to Tywin. She never would have betrayed Oberyn like that if she had known. Truly.

But it was too late.

Y/N noticed the beautiful woman at Oberyn side. Surely there were songs sung about her gentle eyes. “But I have not met your lovely companion, my prince.”

Oberyn’s smile widened and he took the woman’s hand and pulled her forward just a bit, obviously filled with pride to have her at his side. “This is Ellaria Sand, my paramour.”

Ellaria curtseyed, “my lady.”

Y/N returned the gesture. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ellaria.”

The woman glanced at Oberyn with a smile. “It seems you are one of the few who share that sentiment.”

Y/N waved it away. “The Westerosi have strange conceptions of honor and status.” She made sure to pat Sansa’s hand. “But there are a few who make it bearable.”

But then a noise drew all of their attention. It started with Queen Margaery screaming, “he’s choking!”

Joffrey heaved with stuttering breaths before collapsing. And the pieces were falling into place.

“You idiots! Help your king!” Olenna shouted. She was a good actress.

Movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention and she watched a poorly dressed fool grab at Sansa’s arm and try to lead her away. Without moving her head, Y/N reached out and snatched Sansa’s hand. “Stay, pup. You know not what you do.”

Sansa’s blue eyes flittered between the Fool and the Lion on her arm and then pulled out of the man’s grip.

Satisfied, Y/N turned to watch Cersei scream and scream and scream as her firstborn turned purple in her arms and Tyrion was carted away by a pair of white cloaks. What a pretty painting that would be. She took another sip of wine.

“It is almost as if you were avoiding me, Little Titan.” He still smiled as if no time had passed since their last meeting. But the easy expression faded as he looked down to the small boy in her hold.

Slowly, Y/N set her son down and brushed a bit of dirt from his cherubic cheek. “This is my son, Morgan Lannister.”

Oberyn’s hand shook as he reached out a hand toward the dark haired boy. “Pleased to meet you, little lord.”

Morgan smiled up at Oberyn, bright-eyed, as Oberyn’s finger traced over his brow. “You are Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell! Mama tells me stories about you—about your adventures across the Narrow Sea. And how you slew a mountain!”

“The Mountain, my dear boy,” his mother gently corrected.

“Hardly appropriate bedtime stories,” Ellaria chuckled.

“He likes to know when the hero prevails.”

Little Tommen looked so small when he sat on the throne. He was so…kind. So little. That stupid chair was too rough for his gentle soul. But she clapped when he was proclaimed king and smiled when his bright eyes caught hers, a nervous smile on his lips.

“He will be a fair king,” she heard someone whisper as the clapping and cheering continued. “Kind.”

He would be ruled by Tywin. Y/N knew it to be true. The young king was far easier to manipulate—and perhaps Olenna was anticipating that detail, too. Hm. Olenna versus Tywin in a battle of wills. That would be interesting to watch.

“You are contemplative, Little Titan.”

Y/N smiled at the sound of Oberyn’s voice whispering in her ear. They had frequently sought out each other’s company for the last handful of days, meeting in the sunny gardens to reminisce about their time together in Braavos and learning of their adventures during their time apart. Ellaria had proven to be a true, steadfast friend and Y/N was grateful to know her and hear her stories of her childhood at Hellholt in Dorne. And she wanted to hear what Oberyn thought of this newest pretentious display of power but her eyes darted to see Maester Pycelle and Lord Varys far too close for her liking. While she could rely on knowing where the various servants and Westerosi handmaidens to always whisper the ludicrous stories she had concocted into Tywin and Cersei’s ears, she was not sure how to handle the two men who were arguably more intelligent. “We have a new king,” was all she said. “Long may he reign.”

Oberyn’s nose wrinkled for a moment, confused by her response, but nodded as he noticed Pycelle glance in their direction. “Yes, long may he reign.”

She wanted so badly to simply speak with him. She was alone in the capital. Tywin had dismissed her handmaidens and sent them back to Casterly Rock, replacing them with women from the Westerlands who had once been Princess Myrcella’s maids. He was making sure she was alone. Y/N rolled her shoulders as she watched Tywin approach her. He held out his hand for her to take and she dutifully placed her hand in his, letting him guide her up the small set up steps and dais toward the ugly throne. Tommen’s face broke into a smile as she approached and curtseyed. “Lady Lannister.”

“Your Grace,” she replied. “May the Seven bless your reign,” she repeated the words she had heard droned over and over, knowing the little king found comfort in them even if she thought it ridiculous.

“Thank you, my lady.”

Tywin squeezed her arm and she bit back a wince as he led her away. His grip only tightened the further away they were from the mass of celebrators and they only slowed to a stop for a moment, in a dark corner of the hall for him to hiss in her ear, “you will retire to your chambers, immediately.”

Over his shoulder, Y/N spotted Oberyn slipping into the hall, his dark eyes narrowed at the scene. “Of course, my lord.”

But his grip only tightened. “I will not have you making a spectacle of yourself and my house’s name.” Tywin’s long fingers finally pulled away from her skin and he signaled for two white cloaks to flank her on each side. “Make sure she is waiting for me. Do not let her leave the Tower of the Hand until I have come for her. Am I understood?”

Y/N could only gape at her husband as two pairs of unfamiliar, armored hands grasped at her arms and started to pull her away.

And when she was all but shoved into her chambers in the cold tower, Y/N knew she would be facing the old lion’s wrath.

Time trickled by slowly. The tower she had been told to call home was quiet. No servants. No handmaidens (she would not be surprised if they had been told to vacate that morning). No lower-ranking Lannisters begging for a bit of attention.

She was alone.

And she waited.

A glance outside her chamber’s window let her know that the two guards were still standing sentinel at the entry to the tower. Maybe she had become a character from one of those songs children were so fond of—a princess in a tower, waiting for a knight to rescue her.

But she was not a princess.

She was a daughter of Braavos. And she was tired of waiting for something to happen to her, for continuing to allow things to happen. She was going to make it happen.

“My lady, I am so sorry,” an out of breath handmaiden sprinted to her side and looked down at the little lord. “He ran off when I turned for just a moment.”

Y/N looked down at Morgan who offered a guilty smile. “I missed you, mama.”

“I was only gone for a moment, little one,” Y/N murmured before pressing a kiss to his cheek and winking at the handmaiden, letting her know there was no harm done. Her son was hard to contain on the best of days. “We have talked about being patient, no? I will never leave you alone for long.”

“But Septon Martyn said you were…umm…” his little face scrunched up, searching for words. “I forget.”

“That’s okay, little one. You’ll remember later.”

“But did you see a dragon?” He nearly screeched, dark eyes lighting up.

“I did. And it was beautiful.” She bent and set him back on his little feet. “But you have to promise mama something, yes? You have to stay with Septon Martyn and Tyanna until I am finished.”

Morgan’s bottom lip jutted out and his gaze moved to Oberyn who was looking down at him with an intense fondness that made her sigh. And Ellaria was at his side, a gentle and curious affection in her gaze. “But what if I want to stay with Prince Oberyn?”

Y/N knew to protect her head even before she passed the first stone step. Down, down, down she fell, limbs smacking against the stairs and bannisters until she came to an abrupt stop on the cold ground. The ceiling swam as she finally opened her eyes.

Within a handful of pained breaths, blood coating her teeth and tongue, she watched Tywin loom over her. He had leisurely walked down the winding stairs, uncaring of how he had tried to kill her just moments ago. But perhaps he knew she would survive. This was simply a warning.

“You are a disgrace. You are my wife. I will not be made a fool of any longer. You will not be seen dallying with some Dornish tart prince or his whore. You will not cavort around as if you truly belong here. You do not. You have not earned your place yet.”

“What do you want?” She asked, tongue heavy in her mouth and blood coating her throat. “What do you want?”

“What was promised to me. I do not know what potion you’ve conjured or trick you have conceived, but I will be given an heir. Or I will have your head on a pike.” His thin lips curled into a sneer, the closest she had ever seen to him smile, before he stepped over her crumpled form and out into the sunlight.

And she let herself wallow for just a moment, only until the ceiling stopped spinning and then she rolled onto her side with a wince and grunted as she pushed herself up onto unsteady feet.

“If you want an heir, I’ll produce an heir.” The vow was snarled into the quiet air of the tower.

Y/N watched little Morgan toddle away, his hand firmly clasped in the handmaiden’s, babbling excitedly about dragons and princes. And then her eyes once again found Oberyn and Ellaria, both also watching the little lord walk away.

��He looks like you,” Ellaria said with a smile.

“Yes. A small blessing, I suppose.” She watched Oberyn’s smile widen and he unsuccessfully hid it behind his hand.

A sudden movement caught their gaze and they realized that Cersei had come back, apparently ready to parley with the Dragon Queen.

A cold cloth was pressed to the swelling of her cheek.

“How cruel, to hurt someone so beautiful.”

The scent of the pleasure house was almost comforting; filled with expensive perfumes and burning incense, it was a welcome reprieve from the stench of the city. But all Y/N truly cared about was how soft Ellaria’s touch was and how gentle the other woman was, even after Y/N had bodily climbed in through the window of their room and collapsed onto the floor.

In a strange stroke of luck, the pair had not been entertaining themselves with another person’s (or multiple people) talents and time. And perhaps she truly did look worse for wear if the pained looks and surprised noises they let out when she lifted her head were any indication.

Ellaria had quickly called for a servant to bring what she needed as Oberyn easily hid Y/N’s crumpled form in their warm bed from any prying eyes.

“I am sorry…” Y/N said, “I am so sorry.”

“Whatever for?” Oberyn asked as he took a seat beside her. Gentle fingers pressed at broken skin at her hairline and he frowned. “You escaped your gilded cage and sought safety with us—there is nothing to apologize for in this instance, Little Titan. You have trusted us. There is no higher honor.”

Ellaria hummed her agreement and continued to clean the cuts and calm the swelling around her face. “But how you managed to evade all those gold and white cloaks is surely a tale to tell.”

Y/N smiled but regretted it when pain bloomed across her entire face and Ellaria tutted as a bit of blood bubbled from a scab. “I do doubt it is anything worthy of repeating. Just a bit of Sweetsleep in some wine and hoping for the best.”

“It took you five days to think of Sweetsleep?” Oberyn teased but there was still a clear undertone of concern in his voice that made her heart clench. They cared.

She had a plan, true. And if they agreed vengeance could belong to all of them. Tywin had taken enough from them. “It took me five days to muster the courage to come to you.”

The simple sentence took the air from the room. Ellaria’s gentle touch paused and Oberyn grasped her hands, careful of the injuries. “Tell us, Little Titan. Tell us what you need.”

Y/N looked to Ellaria first and then Oberyn. “It is my lord-husband.”

“I knew it,” Oberyn said, looking to Ellaria who nodded. “I knew he would. He destroys everything he touches. Everything.”

“And I need to let him think he has—just for a few moons longer.”

“Why? Why wait? I can kill him now and be done with it-”

“I want to kill him,” Y/N said, voice steady. “But I want to take away everything he has created. Everything he has worked for, killed for. I want it all. And you are the only ones who would be able to truly take it from him, the only ones I trust.”

Ellaria and Oberyn looked at each other again before turning back to her. “What is your plan, Little Titan?”

She knew Cersei was lying when she said that she would send the Crown’s forces to aid in the fight against the Night King. But it seemed Jon and Daenerys would take her at her word.

Stupid mistake.

As the small crowd dispersed and Y/N continued to play the dutiful peon with a final curtsey, her mind churned. While Cersei had most of the Westerland armies at the capital, some had been allowed to keep to their posts in their homeland. They were Y/N’s to command. And she knew they would listen.

She would not stay in the capital. She did not care if Cersei had expected her to stay. She did not care if the polite thing would be to at least graciously decline the rooms probably readied for her presence.

She did not care.

Her son was in the city. And a war was coming.

The Dragon Queen and Jon Snow were trustworthy. Y/N did not care if the wrath of Cersei was turned on her after this—she could handle Cersei, if needed. But the Realm needed Dragons if they wanted to survive. Daenerys seemed much more reasonable and willing to listen than Cersei ever did so she would not mind if the petite Valyrian sat on the Iron Throne after the dead were dealt with. But that came first.

The small entourage Y/N had arrived with was waiting dutifully by her wheelhouse, also tired of the city, it seemed.

“My lady,” A soft voice said, gaining her attention.

Y/N turned to see Ellaria waiting patiently just outside the Dragon Pit. “Yes?” She took a moment to glance around and see that they were largely alone. Everyone was too preoccupied with their own retreat to pay them any mind.

“We must speak with you.”

Y/N gave one last look to her son, watching him laugh so easily at something a handmaiden whispered into his ear. For now, he was safe.

Y/N turned and linked her arm through Ellaria’s, once again finding an easy comfort in the other woman’s warmth. “I am all yours for a few moments, my lady.”

“Lady Lannister, what a sight you are!”

Y/N bit back the snarl at Maester Pycelle’s exclamation. Despite tending to her bruising, swelling and broken skin for nearly a fortnight, she still looked a fright. She knew it. But it was another thing for an old man in tattered rags to announce it so loudly.

“It is nothing. A servant spilled a bit of wine near the stairs and I did not see it. A careless mistake.”

Pycelle nodded. “Yes. Careless. But you should thank the Seven that you are still able to fulfill your earthly, wifely duties.”

Y/N felt her hands curl into fists and tucked them behind her back, ignoring the ache the movement caused. “Yes. Duties.”

Tyrion’s trial had finally started and Y/N was expected to attend. She retrieved Sansa from her locked chambers—a stark contrast from the Black Cells where Tyrion was kept—and had escorted her to the Great Hall, half a dozen kingsguard surrounding them. She had only a moment alone with Sansa in her chambers before she knew she would draw suspicion from the guards waiting outside the door. “You will need to lie, pup.”

“But-”

Y/N grasped Sansa’s chin in a loose grip but her eyes were hard. “You will lie, Sansa. Your life depends on it. I can only keep you safe if you do.”

“What would you have me say?”

“That you knew of Tyrion’s hatred of his nephew but you did not think he would go so far as to poison him.”

Sansa’s blue eyes watered but she nodded. “I can do that.”

“Good, pup. Then you shall be just fine.”

The entire Great Hall was packed with spectators and she took a seat toward the front, near the dais as Margaery’s side, and Sansa had been relegated toward the back, being treated like another accused instead of a witness. The whole thing smacked of Cersei’s bias.

But Y/N held her tongue, watching as Tyrion was escorted into the hall in heavy chains, and stood as Tommen did, following the rest of the crowd. Tywin briefly looked at her, a smug look on his face as he saw the black and red gown she wore—the stupid garment had been the only garment in her chambers that morning. He was not subtle.

“I, Tommen of the House Baratheon, first of my name, King of the Andals, First Men, and Rhyonar, lord of the Seven Kingdoms, hereby recuse myself from this trial. Tywin of the House Lannister, Hand of the King, protector of the realm, will serve as judge in my stead. With him, Prince Oberyn of the House Martell, and Lord Mace of the House Tyrell. If found guilty, may the gods punish the accused.”

As Oberyn moved to take his seat, he caught her eye for just a moment—and that look was all she needed to remember to breathe.

As person after person provided “evidence” against Tyrion, Y/N started to wonder if she would ever be able to leave this stupid hall. There was a slight reprieve in her sheer boredom when Sansa was called forward and she gave testimony that Tyrion did not care for Joffrey but she could not be sure if he truly poisoned his nephew. Her blue eyes glanced toward Y/N for her final words, “but I would not be so bold as to completely clear him of guilt or conspiracy.”

And that proved enough for Tywin to dismiss the little pup and let her retake her seat—without the small troupe of guards surrounding her. Sansa had been deemed innocent.

But this farce of trial was far from over. It continued on and on—and even included an appearance from Shae, who was apparently Tyrion’s lover. How quaint. Oberyn easily saw right through her lies and made nearly everyone present squirm with a double entendre. Y/N hid her smile behind her hand and ignored the blood bursting from her healing lip.

But the joy was short lived when Tyrion exclaimed, “I demand a trial by combat.”

Oberyn was waiting in a dark hollow of the dragon pit’s crumbling walls and drew both Ellaria and Y/N into his arms. He kissed Ellaria slowly and then pressed his warm lips against Y/N’s pulse. It sent familiar shivers down her spine.

“You are planning something, Little Titan.”

“As are you, my prince.”

Ellaria sighed. “You two are impossible.”

Y/N ducked her head with a smile. “A fair assessment, my lady, but I do not think you would enjoy us half as much if we were not constantly scheming.”

“You know the lioness will not honor her word,” Oberyn cut in quickly. His grip tightened around them.

“Of course not. She will wait for the Night King to both wipe out her enemies and then try to fight him herself, or attack after the battle is won and their numbers are depleted.” While Cersei thought herself Tywin’s true heir in manners of warfare and plotting, the only true manner she had inherited from her father was her inability to forget a slight. “I will not stand by and wait for the dead to reach Casterly Rock. Not while my son is…” the words died on her tongue.

But Ellaria grasped her hand and squeezed it tight. “You have something to fight for. We all do.”

“Dorne will fight beside you. We will fight for the living.”

“It is for luck,” Y/N said with a small smile. “Even the bravest in Braavos drink it. I have not seen a single man who drank this fall to his opponent.”

“I do not need to drink your potion to kill the Dornishman.” Of course, Ser Gregor Clegane would say something like that. His reputation and his (stupid) moniker of The Mountain might have been well earned but that did not mean Y/N any higher of him. In fact, his inability to think for himself when Tywin gave an order only made him smaller in her eyes.

Easy prey.

But that did not mean she would let Oberyn handle him on his own.

Y/N raised the cup a little higher, pressing a worried expression to her face. “It is more for my nerves, my lord, I assure you. I have heard of your prowess even across the Narrow Sea. But please,” she reached out to place a hand on his arm, a pretty picture of genteel worry, “calm my heart.”

Gregor nearly sneered as he took the cup and drained it in one gulp. “For you, Lady Lannister.”

Y/N reached out to take the cup back with a quick dip of her chin and another smile. “I thank you, Ser Gregor.”

She handed it off to a handmaiden and then let herself be escorted to her seat under the canopy, sitting aside her husband. She watched Oberyn and Ellaria speak to Tyrion under their own canopy, happily drinking wine and eating berries. The confidence they had in Oberyn was palpable—and for good reason. But Y/N never did like to watch an even match.

It was too boring.

Pycelle prattled on about how the gods would decide the fate of the trial by combat and soon the two men were engaged in battle.

Oberyn delighted in each blow and catch of his spear into the Mountain’s hulking form and made sure Gregor knew who his opponent was. “I am the brother of Elia Martell. Do you know why I have come all the way to this stinking shit-pile of a city? For you.” Another catch and parry. “I'm going to hear you confess before you die. You raped my sister. You murdered her. You killed her children. Say it now and we can make this quick.” Another clash of blades. “Say it. You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children.” Y/N watched Clegane stumble, nearly fall to his knees, as Oberyn landed a kick to his hulking form.

“You murdered her! You killed her children!” Each word out of Oberyn’s mouth grew louder and louder.

Even over the din of the crowd starting to roar, Y/N heard Gregor’s shuddering breath as he struggled to his feet and his grip seemed to loosen on his broadsword.

Oberyn sank the end of his spear into Gregor’s side and quickly gave another, dodging a loose-gripped swipe of The Mountain’s sword at his neck. He stepped back only to watch the giant of a man stumble with a smirk. Oberyn charged at the Mountain to give him one final blow. Blood spurted out of Gregor’s mouth as Oberyn pulled his spear back.

The earth itself seemed to rumble as Gregor finally fell to his knees.

“Wait. Are you dying? No, no, no. You can't die yet,” Oberyn mocked. “You haven't confessed. Say it. Say her name. Elia Martell. You raped her. You killed her children. Elia Martell. Who gave you the order? Who gave you the order?!” Oberyn lifted a hand and pointed toward Tywin.

And for the millionth time since Oberyn had arrived in the city, Y/N had to hide a smile.

“Say her name! You raped her! You murdered her! You killed her children. Say it. Say her name. Say it!”

Y/N did not move her gaze from the ring, uncaring of Tywin’s reaction. She would remember how the crowds gasped and started to murmur. In a single moment, the rumor that had almost been forgotten had been reignited. She was not surprised to learn that Oberyn had declared himself Tyrion’s champion when Gregor was called in for the crown.

And she wanted to make sure Oberyn was given at least a small bit of justice.

But Gregor could not answer. He fell forward, more blood pouring from his mouth, arms shaking to keep him from completely collapsing.

“Tell me!” Oberyn roared. “Tell me!” He leaned down to listen to something The Mountain said, whispered only for him to hear. But when he stood, Oberyn swung his spear and buried it into the Mountain’s head.

Y/N, Ellaria, and Oberyn plotted to move their loyal forces for only a little longer, keeping both the Dragon Queen and Crazed Lioness from overhearing. But soon-

“Mama! Mama!” And for the second time that day, Y/N was nearly leveled by her son throwing himself at her legs.

“We must work on your patience, my love. I was nearly finished.” She hauled the squirming boy into her arms and kissed his cheek. “We shall have supper at the inn but the hill when I am finished, hm? They have that pie you like.”

Morgan happily nodded and squirmed again, wanting to be let down. As his little feet hit the broken stone, he turned to look up at Oberyn and Ellaria, smiling wide. “Hello again, Prince Oberyn!”

Oberyn smiled and leaned down to Morgan’s level before gesturing to Ellaria who smiled fondly down at him. “This is Ellaria Sand, the love of my life.”

Morgan’s little hand reached out to Ellaria and he pressed a quick peck to her fingers, much to her delight. “My lady.” His following bow only continued to earn giggles.

Y/N watched Oberyn as he observed the little scene. His face was serene yet sad. And she knew why.

“You have a viper’s eyes, little lord.”

Morgan preened at the compliment despite not knowing what it meant. “Thank you, Prince Oberyn!”

King’s Landing was a powder keg.

After ‘the gods’ deemed Tyrion innocent, he fled in the night. But Cersei continued to rage and rage and rage, still offering a hefty sum for Tyrion’s head on a platter. Tommen and Margaery were married in another lavish ceremony and the Tyrells continued to press their influence over their city and the new king, only pushing Cersei further toward the edge. Tywin would hold daily meetings with the Small Council and with Lady Olenna, trying to keep the precarious balance of power decidedly in his favor.

And all that distraction proved very fortuitous for Y/N.

“Oh please, please,” she gasped as Oberyn continued to move.

Ellaria chuckled above her before moving Y/N’s mouth back to between her thighs. Y/N had always been very talented with her tongue. It was something Ellaria was happy to learn.

“Patience,” Oberyn said in a breathy huff. “You are always so greedy.”

But Y/N simply buried herself further into the soft patch of curls between Ellaria’s thighs as Oberyn canted his hips just slightly, letting her feel him nearly in her stomach.

They had done this every day—and almost every night—as Tywin was distracted.

Oberyn’s warm, calloused hands curled over Y/N’s thighs, anchoring them around his waist as his pace grew faster and faster. And Ellaria sighed, holding Y/N’s head still as she found her high and coated Y/N’s lips with her release—sticky and sweet.

“Are you nearly done, my love?” Ellaria’s voice was raspy and she did not move from her seat on Y/N’’s mouth, even as she shook with overstimulation. Y/N was greedy—Oberyn had rightly branded her so. And Ellaria tasted so good. “You do have a meeting to attend.”

Oberyn huffed but his pace did increase and the coil in Y/N’s belly wounded tighter and tighter, for the third time that morning, and then finally snapped as Oberyn groaned before leaning forward to press a kiss to Ellaria’s kiss-slick lips. Warmth bloomed and Y/N shook.

Yes. King’s Landing was a powder keg. But it was delicious.

And when Y/N passed the Small Council chamber later that morning she nearly snorted as she heard Tywin say, “You look tired, Prince Oberyn.”

And Oberyn, ever the viper, responded, “yes, my lover and I are trying for another child. I have heard you are trying for another heir, too, no?”

When the next morning came and Tywin left her bed, let him be for a moment before readying herself for the day. She slipped into his chambers and put on her dutiful-wife mask, one she had worn so well for the past handful of moons.

“I will be speaking with the Maesters this morning.”

“Oh?” Tywin responded, buttoning his tunic.

“Yes, I have been feeling poorly and I have missed my last moon blood. I am hoping I will have good news for you soon.”

Tywin was quiet for a moment before he hummed. It almost sounded happy. “You will tell me immediately what they say. Do you understand?”

“Of course, my lord.” She pulled his Hand of the King pin from atop one of his trunks and handed it to him. “I would have Sansa as a ward. King’s Landing has only made her a scared little thing—she will cow in front of the Northmen she’s supposed to rally to your grandson’s cause.”

“And you believe you may shape her into something-”

“Someone who will command respect and is loyal, my lion. Your daughter, for all her charms, was not suited to mold someone as gentle as Sansa. Her children were born with a steel core. Little Sansa needs a gentle, shaping hand.” Y/N slipped her arms around Tywin’s shoulders as he adjusted the pin over his heart. “I know you have an allegiance with Lord Bolton who you have named the Warden of the North in the Starks’ absence. The Northmen’s loyalty to them is tenuous at best. I know you strive for peace. If you could arrange for Sansa and the Boltons to find common ground, I know it would give you a small bit of reprieve to know you no longer had to worry about the North revolting. Again.”

Tywin froze—just for a moment. “Perhaps you aren’t as useless as I had been beginning to suspect.”

Y/N only smiled.

And after having the Maesters confirm that she was with child, she knew Tywin would come to her bed chamber again. She offered him a cup of wine in celebration and watched him drain it as he smirked. And she let him undo the laces of her dress. She let him pull her chemise over her head. She let him press her down into the pillows.

And then he paused. His eyes screwed shut with a pained groan. Tywin fell to the side and Y/N happily climbed over him.

“What…have you done?”

Y/N felt the slash of a smile grow across her face. “I have taken everything from you.” Her hands folded over her stomach. “You have only moments to live. But life grows within me. And your line has ended.” She watched the light fade from his eyes before forcing tears into her own. She let a few trickle down her cheeks for maximum effect before climbing off her husband’s lap and pulling on a dressing robe before dashing to the door and flinging it open. “My husband, please! Please someone help my husband!”

“Does he know?” Oberyn asked quietly as he helped Y/N lift little Morgan into the carriage. The child had fallen asleep at the table, nearly tipping over his prized pie. A day full of excitement had worn him out. He had caught a single glimpse of a dragon as their traveling party departed the city and had animatedly recounted the story to anyone and everyone who would listen. Oberyn and Ellaria had quietly followed.

“He knows his father is a brave, strong man. Who is loyal to his word, devoted to his family, and a hero for the ages.”

“Does he believe it is Tywin?” Oberyn asked, his fingers brushing the dark hair away from his son’s forehead.

“I believe he is smart enough to understand it is not.” She paused. “He is heir to the Lannister seat of power. He will hold everything Tywin worked so hard to build and protect. But the Lannister bloodline has ended. Yours will continue—yours will hold his seat of power until the gods deem this world finished. House Lannister is now your blood—your son.”

“But will he know the truth? Will he ever know me as his father?”

“Of course,” she said with a small smile. “When the time is right, and I know he can keep this secret, he will know your name as his true father. He will know you, love you.”

“And you? What of you?”

“What of me?” She repeated. “What would you need of me?”

Oberyn and Ellaria locked eyes for a moment before their penetrating gazes moved back to her. “We will want you as well.”

“Me?”

“We will always want you.”

Y/N sucked in a breath, trembling for the first time in decades. “Will you ever forgive me?”

Gone were the washes of gaudy crimson fabric and she was once again permitted to drape herself in black. She was a widow now. Perhaps that suited her. And now that Tywin was dead, she saw no reason to stay in King’s Landing. Tywin, before his tragic death of a bad heart, had announced to the court that Y/N was with child. It had only cemented her status as the true ruler of Casterly Rock.

Before she departed, Cersei called her into her chambers for tea. It was the most civil Cersei had ever been toward her and it was still laced with unsubtle threats and verbal barbs.

“The newest Lannister. A new brother,” Cersei mused, her eyes pointedly looking at Y/N’s stomach. “I hope they look like father.”

“I do doubt they will look like Lannisters.”

“Oh?” Cersei said, mouth tilting just so. “Are you so sure?”

“I do not look like a Lannister, your grace. Anyone with eyes can see that.”

“Yes, but the seed is strong-”

“Not strong enough. I assure you. The babe will look like me. After all, it seems you have taken all the luck and used it on your children—all of them, green-eyed and golden-haired. What are the chances? Hm?” Y/N finished her tea and stood. “I thank you for the company, your grace. But it is time for me to leave.” And Y/N turned and left without being dismissed, a smile on her face all the while.

And she left. She left without saying goodbye to Oberyn and Ellaria—her only friends in the city. She left knowing it would hurt them. But trying to find a moment to find them, to explain, would only cast suspicion on the paternity of her child. Because she knew she would not be able to stop herself from falling into their arms one last time.

Sansa gave her a small smile as they both settled into the wheelhouse and soon they were off.

Months slipped by and the pregnancy was largely uneventful.

She had kept her distance when she had heard of the Greyjoy attack on Myrcella’s boat and the princess’ death. She kept all the sword hands she could within the borders of the Westerlands when Cersei seized power from the Tyrells after the mysterious death of Tommen. She declared herself queen and threw Margaery into the Black Cells, threatening to send her head to Olenna if the Reach rebelled. She had played the part of careful, dutiful Lady of the Rock very well. She had kept Cersei’s eye off her kingdom and focused on the threats she perceived from across the Narrow Sea or the North.

Sansa had been a dutiful student. When Lord Bolton asked if Sansa would be willing to marry his son, Ramsey, she accepted, even knowing the boy’s reputation to be cold and cruel. Crueler still after the mysterious and suspicious death of his father.

But he never touched Sansa. No. On their wedding night, Ramsey fell ill and then never woke.

But Sansa was the Lady of Winterfell again—a Stark was in the North.

And it was so easy for the North to rally to her cause and the North rose up in revolt again. It made Y/N laugh.

But soon the baby was coming—far sooner than she had anticipated. With a final scream, it was over. A baby’s cries filled the air and a bloody, squirming infant was placed in her arms, wrapped in black silk.

“A boy, my lady. A healthy boy. Have you thought of a name?”

Y/N felt tears start to gather in her eyes as she looked down at her son—her beautiful son. The spitting image of her—but then his eyes opened. And he had his father’s eyes. Viper eyes. “His name is Morgan.”

Y/N’s lips still burned from the kiss Oberyn and Ellaria left her with before they departed.

And her heart was lighter, too. They had forgiven her—had said there was nothing, truly, to forgive. “You were protecting your child. My child.”

Morgan stirred in her arms as the wheelhouse rode over a bump. “Mama?”

“Yes, my love?”

His viper eyes opened and she smiled, seeing them shine in the low light of the evening. “Will we see Prince Oberyn and Lady Ellaria again?”

Her smile widened. “Yes. I can promise you that.”

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cauliflowercounty · 3 years

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A Slight Interruption (Draco Malfoy x Snape’sDaughter!Reader)

Summary: Draco and Snape’sDaughter!Reader get caught in a carriage together during the yule ball. Fem!reader.

House: Not specified, but Slytherin, probably.

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: I actually HAD AN IDEAAAAAA. WHat? Me? WRITING?????????

----

You sigh as Draco holds you closer and presses a gentle kiss on your lips inside the carriage. You smile up at him and bathe in his gentleness. He’d never be like this in front of everyone. Sure, he’s always close to you in front of the other Slytherins and in the hallways, his arm on your waist while giving you a small kiss on the lips, but whenever you’re alone, he’s always especially gentle and attentive to you, making sure you feel loved and are comfortable and content. You’ve always loved moments like these when it was just you and him ever since you started seeing each other.

“This is perfect,” you mumble to him, wrapping your arms tighter around him. You feel the vibrations of his low chuckle against your chest and revel in the warmth.

“I feel the same way,” he replies, ducking down to kiss you again and using his hand to cup your cheek tenderly. You shiver at the chill of his ring-clad fingers and kiss him back.

“You were great on the dance floor,” you say.

“Well, being a Malfoy has its perks. Dance lessons as a child have finally paid off,” he laughs softly. “Now can we stop talking? I’m trying to kiss my girlfriend.”

You giggle at his words and hum a small “okay,” bringing him closer. Draco’s hand goes back down to your waist as he pulls you into his lap and continues to kiss you, peppering kisses on your neck, cheeks, and lips. Between kisses, you see a light pink rouge emerge on Draco’s cheeks. You smile, loving that Draco only blushes when you’re together. As time goes by, you become consumed with the feeling of one another and fail to notice what’s going on outside; there are the footsteps of a distraught Severus Snape stomping in the courtyard.

“Twenty points from Ravenclaw!” Snape shouts a few carriages away from you. “The same goes for Hufflepuff! Inside, the both of you! You best hope I never catch either of you again or you will lose more than house points!”

The sounds of your father opening other carriages and busting students who decided to leave the ball to have some alone time draw closer, but you and Draco both don’t hear them until the carriage blinds Draco had closed to provide you both with some privacy snap open with a flick of Snape’s wand.

As the carriage door flies open, you and Draco are met with a lit wand in the face and a raging Professor Snape behind it, the vein in his forehead pulsating after discovering fourteen some odd students making out outside the great hall during what was supposed to be a distinguished and celebratory event.

You and Draco immediately pull your lips away from each other’s and lock eyes with Professor Snape. As you look at your father, your mouth goes dry. Your father is practically vibrating with fury as a sudden realization hits you. Your father has just found you making out with Draco whilst sitting on Draco’s lap. Your heart tenses up and it almost hurts. You look at Draco. He’s barely breathing, mortified and as pale as ever.

“Mister... Malfoy,” Snape drawls slowly after taking a deep breath. You give Draco a look. “Exit the carriage.” You and Draco don’t budge, still frozen in shock and embarrassment. “NOW!”

With that, you leap off of Draco’s lap and you both practically scramble out of the carriage as Snape steps back swiftly to let you get out. Both you and Draco have the same idea once you’re out of the carriage: make a run for it back to the great hall to forget this ever happened and avoid any undesirable repercussions or awkward conversations. Unfortunately, the universe wasn’t so kind. As your feet hit the snowy cobble stones of the clocktower courtyard, you and Draco start to speed walk away from Snape, but your father reaches out to grab Draco by the collar, holding him back.

“How about you... enlighten me, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape starts. “What were you doing with my daughter?”

“P-Professor-,” Draco starts but his words fail him. “I-”

“Well?” your father asks, raising his brow. Draco is silent, not being able to bring himself to say “I was making out with your daughter” directly to Snape’s face. Snape knows he’s trapped Draco and opens his mouth to say something.

“Please don’t hurt him, father!” you interject. Your father stops and looks at you and then back at Draco, who’s practically shaking in terror at this point, having only been on Snape’s good side until this point.

“How long have you been seeing my daughter?” your father asks.

“Since last year,” Draco says with fear in his eyes.

“I see...,” Snape replies as he turns to you. “How has it been, y/n?”

“He treats me well, father,” you reply. “He’s caring and he’s sweet. He studies with me and cheers me up if I’m sad. We go to Hogsmeade together on the weekends and he buys me sweets even though I tell him I can pay for myself. We study together, and he walks me to Ancient Runes even though it’s in the opposite direction of Divination and he has to make an extra long walk back to his own class. He makes me smile, too. Every time I see him he makes me happy and all giddy inside. I really care for him, I really do. He’s my best friend, and I couldn’t ask for anything more, so please don’t hurt him. This won’t happen again I promise.”

“Very well,” your father says, releasing Draco roughly. “Next time, find a better spot to participate in this sort of... activity. I don’t like to be confronted with the fact that my daughter is growing up. The passing of her birthday each year is enough. Get back inside and enjoy the ball. We may not have another one again, so enjoy it while it’s still here.”

“Thank you father,” you smile as Draco readjusts his dress robes and takes your hand cautiously, making sure your dad gives him a nod of approval.

“We shall be discussing this further later, y/n,” Snape says as you and Draco pull away and return to the great hall.

Sitting at a table next to Draco that your friend group claimed earlier that night, you watch as Theo and Pansy dance together, Pansy occasionally yelping as Theo steps on her feet.

“I can’t believe we got out of there alive,” Draco comments as he sips his drink.

“I know! My father looked like his head was going to explode,” you laugh. “I’m surprised he didn’t at least swat at you.”

“I’m glad he didn’t,” Draco chuckles. There’s a small pause as Draco sighs. “Did you really mean everything you said about me? What you said to your father?”

“Of course I did, Draco,” you smile, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “And I’d repeat it a thousand times more.

“Thanks, y/n,” Draco grins. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Aww. I feel the same way,” you reply back, taking his hand. “Now, let’s go dance a little more. My father was right. We don’t know when there will be another dance.”

Draco gives a small squeeze to your hand as he pulls you in the direction of Pansy and Theo. As you join your friends on the dance floor and dance with Draco into the wee hours, your dad watches you from the sidelines next to Professor McGonagall with a drink in hand, the slightest of smiles on his lips.

#draco x reader #draco malfoy imagine #Draco Malfoy #Harry Potter #draco malfoy x reader #yule ball

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bitchin-beskar · 3 years

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Royal Affairs - II

Consequences Will Follow

Rating: M

Warnings: Intense yearning, shirtless sparring, and oral (f. receiving), of course.

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 4.9k

A/N: Here’s Chapter 2!! I was planning to have this out on Christmas, but I ended up adding a couple extra scenes, so it took a little longer than I planned!! I have chapters 3, 4, and 5 outlined, so hopefully it won’t take too long for the next chapter! I’ve also got three other stories I want to get posted soon though, so it might not be right away! Anyways, I really hope y’all continue to read and enjoy this AU, I’m having so much fun with it!!!

P.S. If y’all wanna send me asks about this AU... I will gladly oblige 🥺😉

Please consider reblogging and leaving a comment!! I love hearing what you guys think!!

It’s late by the time you get back to the small housing unit you share with your sister and your buir. You’d spent hours doing mindless chores around the shop, unable to keep still, lest your mind start to wander to the guests you’d entertained earlier. It feels like a fever dream, something you can only half-recall, and when you try, you grow hot and dizzy and altogether exhausted.

Your family should be asleep, but when the door slides open, your sister and mother are sitting at the table, waiting for you with a glass of spotchka. A’denla looks up sharply as you walk in, worry written into the crease of her brow. Your mother doesn’t carry her worries visibly, but you can see in the way her eyes rove over you, checking for injuries, that she’s been just as worried as A’denla.

“Where have you been?! Do you know how late it is?!?”

Your sister is out of her seat and in front of you before you can blink, her hands gripping your upper arms as she does so, shaking you slightly. You know she’s just worried about you, but you’re exhausted, and the minute you’d gotten home and stopped moving, your mind began to wander, just like you’d hoped to avoid.

“Did he get your message? The gossip has been flying, did the King actually come to the shop?”

You blink tiredly, your exhausted brain only able to focus on one thing.

“His name is Din.”

There’s a beat of silence. A’denla’s hands drop from your arms. Then, your mother’s sharp voice pierces you like a vibroblade.

“What. Did. You. Just. Say.”

Your head swivels towards her, and you can actually see fear in her eyes. You frown. “He told me... to call him Din... twice.” Your sentence would hold more weight if you didn’t stop to yawn twice in the middle. Stars, how are you so tired?

Out of the corner of your eye, you see A’denla’s mouth drop. You yawn a third time, covering your mouth with your hand. There’s a little niggling in the back of your head telling you that you should be worried about this too, what it means for the King to ask for a peasant shopkeeper to call him by his name, but you can’t bring yourself to care, not when you’re less than twenty feet from your bed.

Your mother is muttering something to herself, and you think you catch something along the lines of “Maker, give me patience” but you can’t be sure. You just want to sleep, for kriffing sake.

“Go to bed, daughter. You look exhausted.” You weakly nod your head, already liking where this is going. “But, we are going to talk come morning.”

You hear the words your mother says, but they don’t really register as you’re already stumbling towards your room. Your sister’s voice picks up behind you as she starts to bicker with your mother, but you’re already falling into bed, asleep before your head hits the pillow.

***

Unfortunately, morning doesn’t bring you any peace and quiet like you were hoping for.

As soon as you were even halfway conscious, your mother had practically dragged you to the kitchen table, shoving you into a seat as she began pacing the length of the room. She was clearly agitated, and you didn’t have to wait long to find out why.

“What exactly happened yesterday, daughter? First, rumors are flying that the King’s son ended up in your store, then there are the rumors that the King himself visited, and then you come home half asleep, muttering about the King’s given name?! What in the name of the Maker possessed you, child? Do you know how much trouble we could get in with you just throwing the name of the King around like he’s some... some....”

Your mother’s breath quickens as she rants, raising higher and higher until she’s practically shouting. Her yelling makes you feel about a third of your actual height, small and meek as she scolds you. Stars, you knew better than to say the King’s name out loud, it was the height of disrespect! And coming from someone of your station? If anyone other than your mother or sister had heard...

It didn’t bear thinking about.

Your buir is clearly waiting for an explanation, but just as you open your mouth, a sharp knock sounds at the door. Both of your heads jerk towards the entryway, and for a moment, neither of you move.

When you go to stand, your mother holds up her hand sharply, gesturing for you to stay put. You feel shame rising in your cheeks at the way she’s treating you, like you’re still a child, but given last night, you can’t entirely blame her.

You’re only half listening as she answers the door, but when she calls your name loudly, her voice shaky, you jerk out of your seat, practically running to the door to see what’s wrong, only to draw up short when you see the woman standing there.

“I’m Cara Dune. I’m an advisor to the King,” she informs your mother, bending in a short, sharp bow of respect, causing your mother’s eyes to widen. “I’ve been sent to collect your daughter.” She turns to you. “Our King requests your presence at the palace.”

You have to physically stop yourself from twisting your hands in your skirt nervously. “Di– Did the King say why?” You ask, heart racing as you try to remember every little detail about your interaction with him yesterday. Did you offend him in some way, and he’s only now punishing you for it? Does he think you lied to him about the bounty hunters? Does–

“Your presence is requested.”

Swallowing harshly, you nod. Even though it is framed as a request, all three of you are well aware of the fact that a summons by the King is not something to be turned down lightly.

“Come on.” Cara turns and stalks out the door, her steps heavy and loud in the tense silence of your house. Your mother is staring at you with this indescribable expression, but when you make to step past her, she grips your arm tightly, causing you to turn to look at her.

“If you’ve done anything–”

The threat hangs in the air, and you nod shakily. She doesn’t even need to finish her statement. You understand her meaning perfectly clear. Whatever problems you’ve caused need to be fixed, or else. Your family doesn’t need the displeasure of the King of Mandalore hanging over your heads.

She lets you go and you follow Cara out the door, wishing you had a moment to change into something more presentable. You’re just in a simple dress meant for working around the house, not for audiences with royalty. Unfortunately, you doubt Cara is going to want to wait, and the quicker you get through this inevitable disaster, the better.

There’s a speeder waiting to take you both to the palace. Cara’s already waiting, so you gingerly step inside.

“Never been in a speeder before?”

You don’t have to look at her to know she’s looking at you with that look. The one all the higher-born give those born into a lower station, the peasants. “My family has never exactly been in a position to afford a ride in a speeder, much less own one of our own.”

Cara hums, and gestures for the speeder to start. You feel the engines rumbling beneath your feet and the speeder starts up, gliding smoothly above the ground as you begin to make your way out of the lower levels and up towards the palace.

You can’t help but look around, entranced by the way the buildings shift, from dingy, rundown stores and homes to sleek, shining high-rises and elegant towers seemingly constructed purely of transparisteel. You’ve never been out of the village before, so this was all completely unfamiliar, and you were even more self-conscious of your appearance. It was clear you didn’t belong here.

“You don’t need to be nervous,” Cara said suddenly, and you looked over at her incredulously. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Din so tongue-tied before.”

The King? Speechless? Because of you?!

“I’m sure you’re mistaken,” you whispered, looking down at your hands. Maker, your buir would kill you if you brought such unnecessary and unwanted attention to yourself. It wasn’t proper for a peasant to be drawing the attention of anyone above their station, especially the King himself. It didn’t matter how it had felt when he’d spoken to you, nor how his hand had felt on your back when he’d stood behind you in your shop. Peasants had been killed in the past for less scandalous acts than you’d engaged in.

“You’re very pretty.” Your head jerked up at Cara’s blunt words. “I’m not surprised Din is so drawn to you.”

Oh Maker, he thought you were pretty?

Cara just chuckled, terror and embarrassment clear on your features as you gripped your skirts tightly. This was not good.

“It’s not proper.”

The words left your mouth before you could stop them, and Cara suddenly stopped laughing. You flinched, worried that you’d offended her when she suddenly covered your hands with her own.

“Din doesn’t care about propriety. He was a bounty hunter before he became the King. The same people who look down on you for being a shopkeeper looked down on him as just a dumb mercenary.” You slowly raised your head, meeting Cara’s surprisingly comforting gaze. “And now, they all grovel at his boots, hoping that he’s forgotten how they treated him before he won the Darksaber.”

She pauses again, her hands tightening over yours. “Din doesn’t care about money or expensive gowns or connections. None of those things could impress him more than when he saw how you’d genuinely cared for his son. You didn’t know he was the King’s son, you didn’t care. You just saw a hurt child and took him in. That is why Din was so entranced with you.”

You were silent for a moment, mulling over her words, before something struck you as odd. “W–Wait, was? What do you mean by that?”

Cara’s soft grin suddenly turned wicked. Your eyes widened at the pure glee and mischief in her eyes. “Well, then he met you.” She waggled her brows, looking you up and down, a dirty smirk wide on her lips. “Now he’s entranced for a whole other reason.”

The innuendo was clear in her voice, and you felt your cheeks heat rapidly. She had to be joking. There was no way that the King found you attractive. It just wasn’t possible. You’d spent your entire life being told how plain you looked, by your buir, and the children you’d grown up with. You sister and Vys had tried to tell you otherwise, but you knew they were just trying to make you feel better after yet another boy taunted that you’d never find someone who wanted you.

Mandalorians were well known for their passion and intense desire. It wasn’t unheard of for couples to say their vows in their late teens, with females often pregnant before their twentieth year. Courtships often took days and weeks instead of months and years, a hold-over from when Mandalore almost fell to the Empire. It had become custom to find a riddur and marry quickly, and to get pregnant even quicker, incase too many warriors fell in battle.

Children were revered in your culture, and men and women alike dreamed of starting families, raising ad’ike and ensuring the continuation of the Mandalorian way of life, a desire that only grew stronger with the war.

Even though you weren’t that old in terms of lifecycles, you were much older than was typical for starting a family. Your sister had married young, but her husband had died only a year and a half after their union, and she’d chosen not to find a new riddur. Your brother has been married for close to twenty years now. But you’d never come close to finding someone you wanted to spend your life with. Not that your family hadn’t tried to fix that.

But you didn’t want to marry someone just so that you could pop out a few children so that you could be seen as “doing your duty for the betterment Mandalore.” You just wanted a riddur who would respect and love you, but it seemed that it wasn’t meant to be. The few boys you’d let your guard down around and had gotten close to had been absolute di’kuts, cocky and rude, demanding you submit to them and give up everything to please them, so you’d given up on ever finding a riddur.

“I’m not the kind of woman to inspire those kinds of thoughts in a man,” you muttered, missing the suggestive smirk Cara sent your way.

“You’ll see,” she whispered, turning back to watch as you approached the palace.

***

Cara had marched through the grand hallways of the palace with an air of authority that stunned you. Even though her outfit made her look out of place in the sleek and elegant palace rooms and halls, her absolute confidence radiated out, filling the rooms with her presence.

You just followed along behind, silently grateful for the fact that the palace seemed to be empty. Cara seemed to know exactly where she was going, and you followed her through all the turns, hopelessly lost. You’d never be able to find your way out of here by yourself, which made you feel a little uncomfortable, but you tried not to dwell on it.

As you made your way down yet another hallway, you started to hear what sounded like grunts, along with repeated clangs of metal hitting metal. Eyes wide, you almost asked Cara what it was you were hearing when she turned, a grin on her face.

“We’re here.”

She pushed open a door, and the grunts and clangs grew louder as the two of you entered what looked to be a training room. There was a large mat in the center of the room, with seating off to one side. There was specialized equipment lining the other sides, for what you assumed was different exercise routines. You first noticed little Grogu, seated on the stands. He turned when the door opened, and his little coo reached your ears as he clambered down, waddling over to you as fast as he could.

You’d thought he was running to Cara, but when he ran straight past her and collided with your legs, your eyes widened. He gripped the fabric of your skirts in his little claws, his big, beautiful eyes begging for you to pick him up.

Without thinking you bent over and scooped him up, settling him on your hip. You looked up to see Cara grinning. “He missed you.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait, what?”

She nodded. “Yeah. He really didn’t want to leave your shop last night. He pouted all day until Din told him you were coming.” Your heart melted, looking down at the little one who was snuggling into your side.

There was a loud smack, and you looked up suddenly to see a huge shirtless man falling back onto the mat, the beskar staff falling to the ground next to him. Another man, also shirtless, stood over the fallen fighter, his own beskar staff secure in his grasp.

A quiet gasp left your mouth, your eyes widening as you took in the sight before you. The man with his back to you was clearly in excellent shape, his golden skin glistening with sweat, his shoulders broad and muscled. His dark hair curled at the ends as it brushed the nape of his neck. His legs were clad in a pair of black pants, tight enough to show the muscles of his thighs and calves. You’d never seen a more attractive man, and you hadn’t even seen his face. The man on the ground was attractive as well, big and hulking and covered in tattoos, but your eyes kept flitting back to the victor of the fight.

You didn’t see the gleeful look Cara shot you, as she watched your eyes widen and your breath hitch when you saw the two fighters. Maybe if you’d seen her look, you would have been better prepared for what came out of her mouth.

“Din! Paz! We’ve got a guest, you nerf herders!”

Her yell was loud enough to cover the gasp of shock as you realized just who the shirtless men were. You recognized Paz, the general of Mandalore’s fighting corps, even though you’d never seen him. Gossip about him and his abilities had reached even the lower villages, and his tattoos were legendary. But it was the other man who still held your attention. The King.

He turned, his eyes landing on you and Cara, standing near the door. His gaze focused on you, and you felt your cheeks heat at his intense gaze. You’d thought his armour was intimidating, but actually looking him in the eyes was far more so. A slow smile spread across his lips, and he began to move towards the three of you.

You swallowed, forcing your eyes to stay on his face, and not the glistening skin of his bare chest. As he approached, Cara leaned in, plucking Grogu from your arms and whispering “have fun!” before turning and making her way towards Paz. Your eyes widened as she left your side, before you forced yourself to sink into a curtsy as the King came to a stop in front of you.

“My king,” you whispered, standing upright, but keeping your head bowed. You had no idea why you’d been summoned, and you were practically trembling with worry.

He was silent for a moment when suddenly, he reached out, lightly gripping your chin as he coaxed your head up, his eyes dark as he captured your gaze.

“I thought I asked you to call me Din?” His voice was soft, soothing, and yet you felt shame. Your king wanted one thing, but you knew what propriety demanded, even if it meant disobeying his direct order.

“It’s not proper, my king. I have no right to speak your name–”

He shushed you softly, his thumb brushing the underside of your jaw. “If you truly do not wish to use my name, I will not force you, darling.” Your eyes widened at his words, shocked. Here you were, outright disobeying a direct order from your King, and he was okay with that?

“But I dearly wish you would,” he continued, watching your face closely. “My name sounds so sweet, falling from your lips. I would ask you to humor me, at least when we’re alone.”

You inhaled sharply at his words, feeling like your heart was about to leap out of your chest. He was looking at you so earnestly, and his hand was warm against your neck. You’d never had anyone look at you like this, and you didn’t know how to feel about it.

“It’s not proper for me to address so informally,” You started, pausing to take a deep breath. “But, if you desire for me to use your name in private, then... I–I suppose I can humor you.” You paused once more. “Din.”

The soft smile that spreads across his face is dazzling.

“Thank you, darling.” He murmurs, releasing your jaw and taking your hand in his, gently pressing a kiss to the back of it. You felt your cheeks warm. The effect this man was having on you was one you’d never experienced before, and it was clear he knew just what kind of effect he had on you.

His eyes ran up and down your figure unashamed, and you were surprised to see a pleased smirk on his face as he looked at you. You’d never had someone look at you with such desire, and it brought on a dizzying feeling. You looked away, unused to such feelings and attention.

“Don’t be ashamed,” Din said, brushing his fingers across your cheek, turning your face back towards his. “Has no one ever told you how breathtakingly beautiful you are?”

You were sure he could feel your burning cheeks underneath his fingertips. You slowly shook your head, wanting to look away out of embarrassment, but his dark gaze held you firm.

“Well they should,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “You struck me speechless yesterday.” He chuckled, his dark hair falling gently over his brow. You drew your bottom lip in between your teeth, worrying the flesh out of nervousness. You’d never been this close to a man, let alone a half-dressed one.

Your breath suddenly hitched as his thumb moved to brush over your lower lip, pulling it from between your teeth. His gaze was heavy, looking at you as though you were something precious, something to be desired.

The trance was suddenly broken by a loud yell from behind Din.

“Djarin! I want a rematch!”

You’d jerked at the sudden sound, but Din only sighed, his eyes sliding shut as he stood before you, your face still cradled in his palm. He opened his eyes again, smiling softly at you.

“Have you ever seen a sparring match before?” When you shook your head, he gestured to the seats behind you. “Stay. Watch.”

He released you, turning and stalking back towards Paz, leaving you standing there with a warm face and fluttering in your stomach. You were dazed, and caught off-guard when Cara suddenly appeared back at your side, with Grogu in her arms.

“Come on, the kid likes to watch too.”

She all but dragged you to the seats, pulling you down next to her and plopping the little one onto your lap. Automatically, your arms came up around him, but you were still lost, your gaze still unfocused as you tried to make sense of the conversation that had just taken place.

You watched as Din and Paz centered themselves on the mat, falling into stances, with their staffs held at the ready. Muscles tense, the two men were still for a few moments, before they suddenly sprung into action. The clangs as their staffs collided were loud, and you watched, wide-eyed as the two men fought ferociously.

“Good, isn’t he?”

You just nodded dumbly, unable to take your eyes off of the sight in front of you. Cara chuckled, leaning forward and bracing her arms on her legs as she watched alongside you.

“You ever learn how to fight?”

You scoffed. “No. I’m a female shopkeeper from the lower villages. The most I was ever taught was how to run away and scream for help.” Unfortunately, unless you joined the fighting corps, most of those in the lower villages weren’t concerned with teaching women how to defend themselves. Your mother had always balked at the idea that you should learn how to fight, insisting that your husband would be able to take care of you, ignoring the fact that you still weren’t married.

Cara shrugged. “I bet Din’d teach you if you asked.”

A choking sound left your mouth, and Cara laughed.

***

“Your center of gravity is here.”

You stood as still as you could, feeling the warmth of Din’s palm as he pressed against your lower stomach, his bare chest pressed into your back. His breath was hot against your neck, and you swore you could feel the brush of his lips against your skin as he spoke.

His fingers splayed against your bare skin, his other hand gripping your waist. “If you keep your legs spread,” he muttered, using his his bare foot to knock your feet apart, forcing your stance wider. “Your center of gravity will be lower, and it’ll be harder to knock you down.”

You nodded, shifting slightly to settle your weight better onto the balls of your feet. Din’s hand squeezed your hip, before he let go and moved to come and stand in front of you. He mimicked your stance, thumping the center of his chest with one fist.

“Hit me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He rolled his eyes. “I want you to try and knock me down. So, hit me.”

Frowning, you hesitated for a moment. “How am I supposed to knock you down? You’re so much bigger than I am.”

Din chuckled. “I may be bigger, darling, but that usually means I’m going to be slower. Don’t try and use brute force, play to your strengths. You’re smaller than I am, but that doesn’t have to mean that you’re weaker. My center of gravity is here,” he tapped the middle of his chest, at his sternum. “It’s higher up on men, so it’s easier to knock us off our feet. You’re naturally more grounded. Use that to your advantage.”

You nodded, bringing your hands up like Din had showed you. You threw your fist forward, but Din’s hand came up, blocking your punch easily.

You frowned, and he only grinned. “Try again.”

This time, you tried to punch with your other hand, to throw him off, but Din still blocked your punch. Even though you weren’t surprised, you were still frustrated.

“Come on, darling. It’s not that hard, just hit me.”

His voice is sweetly condescending, and it lights a fire in your core. You can do this. You’ve just gotta hit him.

You throw a punch with your non-dominant hand, and as he goes to block it, you snap your other hand up, nailing him square in the center of his chest. He lets out a grunt, and as he bends over slightly from the force of your punch, you lean over and dart forward, ramming your shoulder into his stomach, knocking him further off-balance.

He falls back onto the mat, and you follow him down, landing on top of him, your legs on either side of his hips as your hands grip his shoulders, pushing him into the mat. You’re leaning over him, panting, a smug grin on your lips.

Din is smirking up at you, and you get the odd sensation that even though he’s the one on the ground, pinned under your weight, he’s still in control.

“There you go, was that so hard?”

You scoffed, sitting back, settling onto his lower stomach as you glared down at him. “God, what would it take for you to shut up?”

Din’s still smirking, but he mock-pouts at your words. “Aw, darling, you don’t like how I’m using my mouth?”

You groan, tilting your head back to stare up at the ceiling, annoyed. “Not particularly, no.” You miss the dark look that suddenly appears in Din’s eyes, but you don’t miss the way he abruptly grasps the back of your knees and jerks, bringing you up so that your core is centered over his face. You almost lose your balance with the movements, falling forward and bracing your hands on the mat as Din brings your legs up to straddle his face.

“Din?!” You gasp, your face growing hot as you feel his breath against your core through the thin fabric of your training pants. He just ignores you, ripping both your pants and your underwear in one quick move, his arms wrapping around your thighs and bringing you down so that you’re riding his face.

The first touch of his tongue against your folds causes you to whimper, the sensation unfamiliar but so good. He’s gentle at first, carefully stroking you with his tongue, but it doesn’t take long for him to grow impatient, his arms tightening on your hips as he pulls you down.

His tongue flicks against your clit, and you shudder, your head falling forward, eyes clenched shut. He seals his lips around your clit and sucks, and a high-pitched whine escapes your lips, your thighs trembling as he devours you like you’re the sweetest thing in the galaxy.

Din is relentless, insatiable, fucking you on his tongue, and every time breathy gasps and moans leave your mouth, he goes harder, faster, his fingers gripping your skin so tight you’ll wear the bruises for days.

“Fuck, Din–” You gasp, one of your hands gripping his hair as he grinds you down onto his face. “Please, don’t stop–!”

He moans into you as you tug on his hair, and the vibrations are just fuel for the fire that’s burning in your veins. He encourages you to circle your hips, helping you ride his face as he eats you out like you’re the last food he’s ever going to get to eat. You’re not sure how he hasn’t had to stop to breathe, but then he’s suckling on your clit and flicking it with his tongue and you almost scream.

“I–I’m gonna come, please, Din–!”

He sucks harder and you’re almost there, and–

***

Your eyes snap open, your whole body tense as you gasp, the fire burning in your belly becoming a raging inferno, and you have to clasp your hand over your mouth so you don’t wake the whole village. You can feel your walls clenching around nothing as you come, legs shaking as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you.

The fingers of your other hand are clenched tightly in the sheets as your hips desperately grind against nothing but air. Tears are leaking out of your eyes and running down your face as you sob brokenly into your hand. You’ve never felt anything so powerful, so overwhelming.

As you lay panting on your bed, trembling in the aftershocks of your first orgasm, your heart thumps in your chest as you remember the way Din had looked between your thighs. Groaning, you rolled over, drawing up into a little ball.

It was just a dream.

Just a dream.

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