#these two have just grown pretty clear and pretty distinct voices in my head

[sophieinwonderland]

lmao someone mentioned my anon to you about the self states and just said the strangest thing.

when a young child is hungry, they may go into a self state that focuses almost exclusively on food and becomes distressed when it cannot be accessed for whatever reason, be it neglect or just an inappropriate time for the child to be eating. adults can regulate their hunger self states much better than children because their whole sense of self is much more well integrated and stable than that of a two year old.

....do they mean like. emotions ???? that is describing the emotion/feeling called "i am hungry".

tbh thinking about their comments just makes me believe your post more. a child who feels emotions and then cannot handle those emotions due to neglect or other forms of trauma may create an agent to handle that emotion instead. at least that makes more sense than "a child goes into a self state that fixates on food" like. bestie that child is just hungry thats not a "self state".

(to be fair, maybe they are conflating emotions with the phrase self state, and i think of self states as a different concept entirely, since i see it more like how one puts on a persona at work compared to their home life. those arent different moods, unlike being hungry, which is a mood/emotion/feeling. self states, the way they describe it... are just moods. which is different than what you describe, which the way you describe it just makes more sense in how someone can have headmates/alters that are fully separated people with different moods and personas/self states unlike... whatever they're saying lol)

anyway, you're swag, have a good day

I really want to do more research into the subject of childhood slef-states, because I find them equally perplexing when it comes to how to differentiate from just... normal emotions... I admit that this isn't an area I'm particularly knowledgeable in.

Like, hunger can cause physical pain and that pain is going to feel more intense to a child. If a grown person was starving, they would probably be pretty single-minded in wanting to eat. And so I think this is something that is going on in this particular example. The child feels hunger pain more intensely than adults, and wanting to eat is instinctual. It's a biological imperative. So... what actually makes this a "self-state" and how is that different from an adult wanting to eat?

At the same time, we do see plenty of examples in adults of experiences that are much closer to plurality. This is pretty much how Internal Family Systems Therapy was formed. A therapist listened to his patients and realized they had these internal voices, and they could identify each of the voices. Not by name, but by wants and desires.

To me, this could be seen as a minor form of dissociative compartmentalization, with these voices in someone's head being distinct and autonomous. And there are plenty of people who might actually feel like different people in different contexts. So where's the line between normal emotions and self-state?

Beyond that, one thing they suggest is that I'm unaware about older theories about how DID forms and the relationship with ICs.

I'm not.

My issue concerning the theory of structural dissociation and imaginary companions is that these theories haven't been integrated.

I think if you look at the history of psychiatry and psychology, one thing you'll often see is competing theories where the pendulum will swing between them, an older theory is seen as being replaced by a newer one, and only later do they look back and see that both are partially true.

I support an integrated model that would acknowledge a connection between self-states, the parts of IFS, and the autonomous imaginary friends experienced during childhood by many children.

I also want to point out that the developmental window I referenced with a starting age of 2 was based on a diagram they posted.

This is their source. And to be clear, I don't think the developmental window should be taken as an absolute. (I certainly don't agree with its maximum age of 8.) Kids develop at different rates, and treating these developmental windows as absolutes would be silly. And this very paper references an alternative window proposed that starts at 18 months.

Generally speaking though, DID doesn't develop until the period when a child starts developing their sense of self.

Now, back to the Imaginary Companion theory, since it's mentioned in this article...

They sum up the stages of this theory into this helpful diagram.

Now, I believe that among other things, one major reason the imaginary friend connection was abandoned following the theory of structural dissociation was because it was deemed invalidating. Imaginary Companions, 20 years ago, were seen as completely controllable characters within the power of the host children, as demonstrated by the diagram indicating that the companions wouldn't become autonomous until Phase 3.

It goes on to suggest that IC's acting independently is something out of the ordinary.

Now, two major things happened in the 2000s in regards to imaginary friends. First, DID research moved away from the IC theory. And I think for patients at the time, this was validating. As again, ICs were viewed as things that are "not real" and "just pretend." The personal experiences of DID systems who formed alters from imaginary friends were thrown out entirely in favor of this new theory as the only way alters and DID could form.

But the second thing that happened around that same time period was that we learned that this perception of ICs was wrong. Much of this is owed to the work of Marjorie Taylor.

A full 35% of Imaginary Companions were reported to not always do what the host children wanted, and 29% demonstrated more negative characteristics outside of the children's control. That's 64% of ICs that demonstrate behavior outside of the host child's control.

So at the same time that the DID field moved away from the IC theory, studies of children found that the majority of ICs were actually more like alters than believed by Pica and other DID researchers when it came to autonomy.

And while Marjorie Taylor and others at the time referred to this as an "illusion of independent agency," some researchers have more recently switched to other terms.

After acknowledging that there is growing recognition of ICs acting outside of the host child's conscious control, they intentionally choose to use the term "IC autonomy" instead of the more invalidating term used by Marjorie Taylor and others.

More recently, we're seeing increasing research into the tulpa community, where tulpas are fully sapient and autonomous imaginary companions of adults. Companions which can learn to switch with the hosts through intentional dissociative practices.

I completely understand why many systems are hesitant about the IC theory. In the past, so often, it's been used as a way to invalidate and dismiss headmates as nothing more than figments of the imagination so many times.

But I believe what the current research is showing is the opposite. Not that alters are less, but that what we call imaginary companions may be more.

I believe that the research is pointing to a model of many ICs that are every bit as real as any alter, and in turn, every bit as real as their host children. That these are not simply characters under a child's control, but independent agents capable of thinking and feeling for themselves just like any other person.

#syscourse #psychology #plural #plurality #endogenic #plural system #system #multiplicity #endogenic system #systems #system stuff #psychiatry #science #imaginary friends #imaginary friend #tulpa #tulpa system #pro endogenic #pro endo #plural things

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

so i’ve been off-handedly referencing amrod having a wheelchair and burn scars and using sign language for a while now, and i figure i should get my headcanons re: him getting lightly toasted down fully somewhere? the twins in general have grown really strong really distinct personalities in my mind, i  wanna talk about them at some point, and since those topics inevitably bleed into each other i’ve decided to cover them both at once

first off: the crispening. i don’t think fëanor was trying to burn amrod alive - i actually read this post once that posited he’d caught wind that amrod was planning to go home and set the boats on fire partially as a panicked attempt to stop his son from leaving, he just had really unfortunate timing - but no matter the reason, halfway through fëanor and maedhros’ marathon argument someone notices they’re missing a guy. most of what the fëanorians remember of that night is fire and screaming, no one’s sure how they got amrod off the burning ship, but once the fire’d burned itself out he was in the hastily-erected medical tent, barely clinging to life

(for the hellspawn as a collective that whole boat episode was existentially terrifying on multiple levels. they gave up everything for his sake, but somehow they never thought he could hurt them)

amrod survives, because he is a calaquendë and whatever else you might say about them the valar did not skimp on the supersoldier budget. even so, his body is marred for the rest of his life. a significant portion of his left side is just solid burn scar, all the smoke he inhaled has massively fucked up his throat, his left arm is mangled, he’s blind in one eye, and his legs straight up can’t support his weight any more. if they were in valinor they could probably have fixed all this, but in beleriand they have neither the spare resources nor the time. the harrows of war will inevitably carve themselves into your very being; another lesson middle-earth is beating into them

but they can’t turn back, and anyway they’re noldor, they can work around this. if amrod’s legs can’t carry him, they’ll build him crutches and wheelchairs and specially train a horse to carry him around. if it hurts too much for him to use his voice regularly - well, they already had sign-languages back in valinor, since just because someone can’t speak doesn’t mean they should be cut off from the wonders of self-expression. amrod does have to adjust the one he ends up using to account for his left hand’s reduced range of movement, but he takes it up with appropriate flair and aplomb. there is panicking, there is pain, but amrod still refuses to give up. as they get further away from losgar, he reaches - maybe not a perfectly balanced state, but a sustainable one

(fëanor feeds the ensuing guilt to the sunk cost fallacy - If We Succeed In Our Quest, Telufinwë’s (i go by pityafinwë/ambarussa/minyarussa/amras and telufinwë/umbarto/nelyarussa/amrod, i know it’s not the canon formulation but it makes logical sense, fight me) Suffering Will Have Been Worth It. this is, of course, crazy person logic, but the only person with a hope of driving that into fëanor’s thick skull is currently in the halls of mandos. least amrod doesn’t have to put up with it for long)

time passes, and the fëanorians split up into their traditional groups to go do that whole terrifying warlords of east beleriand thing. amrod and amras wind up commanding a string of outposts scattered around ossiriand that amras is pretty much constantly circling through while amrod shuttles between the ones who need the most supervision. that’s always been their dynamic; amras is the excitable brash one who never shuts up and does lots of moderately stupid things, amrod is the sharp-eyed reserved one who thinks everything through and does a few incredibly stupid things. he talks more with his hands than he ever did with his voice, politely in sindarin and snarkily in noldorin

for a while, things are good. amrod’s bevy of mobility support devices and animals slowly evolve into a self-piloting war chariot, because not even losing the ability to walk is going to stop the boys from doing murder. he’s more of a tactics guy anyway, gets very into animal traps and firebombs. amrod does all the stuff amras lacks the patience to do, while amras does the things amrod isn’t spontaneous enough for; they both think they’re the one doing the real work, as is usual among the brothers hellspawn. they disagree often, they fight sometimes, but they always have each other’s backs. they cover for each other’s weak points, balance each other out, and from the shadows beneath the trees they lead their minions in raiding and subterfuge and mad science

then things go south, like the war. things don’t change that much for the twins after the bragollach, there’s just more fighting and caranthir’s lot being annoying, but it gets much worse after the nirnaeth. suddenly they‘re having to deal with all of their brothers and their minions stomping around wrecking everything the orcs didn’t already get, and everyone is at everyone else’s throats as it becomes increasingly obvious they’re going to lose the war. amras and amrod argue a lot more these days, partially because they’re both stressed out anyway, but partially because their partnership is breaking down under the strain. for all they’ve worked together, there are vast differences in the way they see the world, and it’s just so much harder to bridge the gap when everything they ever worked for is crumbling around them

but they try. they try until doriath, and it all goes to hell. rejected by their old allies, stuck in the same fortress, their last two brothers too busy with their own problems to act as a buffer, amras and amrod lash out at each other constantly. they understand the way each other’s mind works, know each other’s every horrible little secret, and grow more and more disgusted with each other every day. they go from working together with the tiniest hint of hostility to long passive-aggressive arguments about the most petty stuff to refusing to enter a room the other one is in unless they absolutely have to. when negotiations with sirion break down, amrod, ever the pragmatist, cooks up this plan to steal the silmaril with minimal losses on either side. before he’s able to convince maedhros it might work, amras, ever the idealist, rides his forces out for hope and glory

i don’t think amrod switched sides at sirion - the amrod who snuck onto the boats would have, but he’s a much worse person than he was then. still, i can’t shake the image of the twins dying on each other’s spears

#silmarillion #amras #amrod #lightly toasted amrod #my terrible headcanons #this one kind of got away from me i'm not sure if i'm happy with it #silly thing i couldn't quite fit in: #riding on the back of amrod's wheelchair is an amras exclusive priviledge #anyone else who tries it gets knifed #(honestly amras gets thrown off a lot for being annoying) #these two have just grown pretty clear and pretty distinct voices in my head #i'm not sure if this post really gets them across but i'm finding i enjoy their dynamic a lot #... until they start hating each other anyway

[hansoulo]

lay back in cloying sin

part three of “Pillar of Salt”

Pairing: Boba Fett/Princess!Reader (she/her pronouns, no Y/N)

Warnings: NSFW-ish; references to marks and bruises, kissing, probably inaccurate descriptions of ballroom dancing, fluff, mentions of alcohol consumption

Word Count: 3.3k

Gif Credit: (x) by @/ktfhett

A/N: boba & reader: [tyler the creator voice] oh no i hope i don’t fall 

༓ series masterlist ༓ 

Dinner was a tedious affair, filled with hollow pageantry. It was one last hurrah before the send off of the honored guests, one of which you’d never talked to and the other who was nowhere to be found. The former, Lord Vader, sat at the head of the long table and made for very unamusing company. You had the distinct impression that he’d rather be anywhere than here, having to listen to his uniformed subordinates squabble in grating voices and your father simper about mining collectives. That made for two of you.

But the cavernous banquet hall was always beautiful, if a bit ostentatious, and the food never disappointed, so you consoled yourself with a loosened corset and the promise of a second dinner by servants who pitied your forced small portions.

You floated into the large room, shuffled through by the compounding procession before an older man offered to help you into your seat. The ornateness of your evening wear made you grateful for the help, watching in sincere thanks as he pulled out the high-backed chair.

“Thank you, um…” the color of his robes and the softness of his hands signalled high rank and you chanced a guess. “Duke...?”

“Sagcock,” he finished for you. “Jovron Sagcock.”

He has got to be joking.

Evidently, he wasn’t.

If the man saw you choke on a laugh, sputtering it into a hiccup as you sat down, he pretended not to notice. After all, princesses knew better than to be unbecoming or crass or know why any part of that exchange could be fodder for humor.

Fighting down one last cough, you attempted to regain some sense of decorum. What a wonderful start to the evening.

The arrangement of persons on this particular night was strange though, even disregarding the title of the man now seated beside you. There were more people than usual filling out the hall tonight, all fancily clad and buffed to shining. Boba wasn’t anywhere to be found.

The supposed importance of the occasion probably necessitated a shuffling of seats to soothe egos and encourage conversation, but you weren’t used to being so close to the head of the table, near parallel with your mother. Usually your elder sisters sat higher and provided you the benefit of distance. Of course, they were all gone now. Your brother was still too young to be at evening dinners, so there was no buffer between you and your parents’ ire.

Maybe this was the Maker’s way of getting back at you for your tiny tryst. Maybe they all knew about what happened in the garden and were just waiting for the shoe to drop, branding you as a harlot and finally letting you free. Vader’s static words travelled down the table and mingled with your father’s but you were too busy entertaining worse-case scenarios to understand conversation.

People were observing you, you realized partway through the first round of courses. Watching you with strange eyes as if you were the last scrap of halfway-spoiled meat for imperial officials and all the nobility that had come to pay their prostrate respects. No one had really given half a damn about you before, which made it all the more strange.

A heel foot softly kicked at yours underneath the table, breaking you out of your glazed thoughts. The fork you had been mindlessly moving across your plate stopping mid-swirl. Looking up, you met the quiet glare of your mother and cleared your throat.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” you asked. Your question was punctuated with a smile too large to be genuine. The queen’s head jerked towards the grizzled man seated to her right and you turned towards him at her behest, face open in trained invitation. “Oh, hello, General.”

General Enes, current commander of the army of Quas Killam. Not strictly Imperial, but aligned close enough to have him in the king’s good graces and to reside permanently at court. He was also a Duke and probably a cousin thrice removed, but who was counting?

“No need to stand on pleasantries, your Highness,” the gray-haired man assured you, one large hand resting over his stomach as servants replaced the dirtied plates in front of you with new ones. You only sipped delicately at your algarine as he chortled and remembered, “It seems like yesterday that you were running around the palace with your sisters. A little sprite of a thing, weren’t you?”

Was he drunk already? “Yes, I remember,” you tread pleasantly; carefully.

The general settled and let out one last chuckle before his eyes grew hawk-like again, trained in the jewelry and accoutrements that signified your being old enough to marry but young enough to have not yet been taken. Like a prize. Or a charity donation. “You’ve grown into quite the young woman, you know.”

So that’s where this was going. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes and tried to look gracious. “Thank you, sir. That’s a high compliment.”

“How old are you again, dear?”

Masking your surprise at the forwardness of the question, you supplied your age to a nod of approval from both him and your mother.

“A good age, I’d say. ‘Round the same as my youngest.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” you shot a look down the table and caught a glimpse of cropped flaxen hair, its owner sitting enough seats down to prevent any shared conversation. You counted your blessings for it and smiled, tight-lipped. “Your son and I shared company when we were children.”

“Well that’s very nice,” the queen interjected quite loudly and looked around the long table with a light laugh but cold eyes. “Isn’t that nice?”

Your father looked at you for the first time all evening as if on cue, boring a hole into your face with the words he seemed to be telepathically trying to put in your mouth.

The taste of bitter wine on your tongue made your thoughts fevered, though not borne out of alcohol so much as the memories of someone else’s touch in the same places. “Yes,” you repeated vaguely. “Very nice.”

Darth Vader apparently didn’t remove his helmet. You wondered why he came to dinner at all.

The remaining evening hours had been whittled away by dessert and drinks. Everyone who cared to stay shuffled into the ballroom, a behemoth of a thing filled with inky windows and sparkling artifice. It was a blur of waltzes and predetermined couplings with boys you’d been ignoring since you were old enough to kick them in their shins, but you didn’t care enough to go to pains to avoid it. They broke up the monotony of introductions, at least, and let your mind and body be somewhere else for a while.

All compounded, the night left you flushed and tired. You needed alcohol. Or air. The latter was probably the more reasonable choice of the two.

Being in the midst of ballroom theatrics allowed for an easy enough escape, and a side entrance to a balcony overlooking the palace grounds became the object of your attention.

The tall double doors lay open in their glass encasings and spilled out lamplight refractions on the guests’ gaudy clothing and gaudier jewelry, everything sparkling and warm. But you were far enough away from it to still be chilled by the night air, a balm for your flushed cheeks and fizzling temper.

Usually guests ignored it in favor of staying indoors, so you were fairly confident in the promise of solitude and an undisturbed breeze.

But someone apparently had the same idea as you.

“Hello,” you ventured out a greeting to the silhouette not yet fully in your vision. You stepped closer and the heels of your shoes echoed on clay tiles. “I’m sorry, am I bothering you?”

Royal Highnesses shouldn’t really care about whether or not they were disturbing strange party guests, you could make them leave if you felt so inclined, but something in you was feeling magnanimous tonight. You tried not to think about why.

The figure didn’t turn back towards you, still facing out towards the blurry glitter of urban lights far off in the distance. It looked pretty this far away, all glowing masses and amorphous buildings that scraped the sky. You’d never  been close enough to see all the dinge and smog that made its home in places not populated by princesses. Marble felt more familiar than metal.

The man wore metal too, and his voice scraped at your chest when he answered. “You’re not bothering me, princess.”

Oh.

You ventured cautiously towards the balcony’s edge, next to the man you now could recognize as Boba. The thick stone railing was cool to the touch. “Hello.”

His helmet tipped to the left, which was probably his way of saying it back.

“I didn’t see you at the dinner,” you noticed quietly. Would it be presumptuous to assume he was avoiding you? Intellect said yes, but ego didn’t listen. You leant forward, the speckled marble digging into your elbows as you mirrored Boba’s sightline out into the city. “You know, you wouldn’t have needed to make conversation. Lord Vader was the guest of honor and all he did was sit there.”

“I don’t like crowds.”

“Ah.”

A silence lapsed between you, awkward as if you were strangers. You were though, weren’t you? Strangers. Not friends. Not lovers. Not really.

But if he asked you to crack yourself open for him, you would. You would rip apart every satin petticoat and snap the boning in your corsets until your hands were raw if it meant he would touch you; skin to skin. You’d run away and cite a hidden fountain as the reason why.

You didn’t know what he’d give up for you, if anything. Boba didn’t seem like the type to have much in the first place. Either by choice or by necessity.

The garden afternoon nagged at you after having time to form coherent thoughts, and the fizzy shine of palace lights reflecting off his helmet reminded you of what you’d been meaning to ask.

Night made you softer-spoken. “Why did you let me take off your helmet?”

Night made his edges sharper. “Why did you want to?”

“I asked first,” you volleyed back as reason enough to get an answer first.

Boba wasn’t a Mandalorian in the true sense of the word, at least that’s what gossip told you, so it didn’t really matter if he took the helmet off or not. But he kept it on in front of everyone else.

The hunter gave you visor-silence and your impatience made you concede. “I just wanted to see you,” you breathed out, still not looking at him.  The admission sounded much more naive than you intended.

His words held their characteristic aloofness but were edged by gentle teasing. “What if I said the same?”

That he wanted to see you?

You still didn’t understand half of why he did what he did and what he wanted, but you turned to face him head-on anyway. Cold moonlight fell on your neck and the air cracked with fever. You tried to reply in jest. “Then I’d say that you were being stupid.”

“You’d be right.”

A swallow bobbed in your throat. He always seemed to take up your vision; fill it and suffocate you with seemingly no effort. “And then I’d ask you to do it again.”

“Do what, princess?”

He knew. He just liked seeing the words come out of your mouth.

“Let me take your helmet off.”

This time, he guided your hands up himself. They were slow and almost careful running across your palms, placing them on the mechanisms your fingers found in quick memory. Set on the balcony railing, the helmet seemed to be a prop. An upside down bucket filled with all the things you had yet to say to each other, spilling out onto the ground in a fog.

“I like you better without it,” you decided when he turned back towards you, his weight still resting on the railing with one cocked hip. Everything about the way he looked was dark: inky black curls and scarred brown skin and eyes that pushed the air in your lungs with a stall and a catch. They looked even darker next to tan clothes and green armor.

His voice wasn’t entirely lacking in humor. He did that. Humored you. “Do you now?”

“Mhm.” you nodded with fake seriousness, slightly giddy and slightly too brave. You blamed it on an excess of wine and good company. “Better-looking.”

He only scoffed, a flash of pearl-white canines serving as one half of a smile. A smile that had been wider when it was against your collarbones, your neck, your mouth. A smile that you wouldn’t mind being in other places.

You nudged Boba’s shoulder with your own when a waltz kicked up in the background, faint through the open ballroom door. “There’s music,” you implied, half-joking and half-expectant. There had been this whole time, of course, but acknowledging it now seemed better than never. “You should ask me to dance.”

“I’m not one for dancing, your Highness.”

The title made you roll your eyes, a commonplace formality that you usually insisted on but now found overly facetious. Coming from him, that is. “Clearly not,” you almost snorted. Pushing away from the marble ledge with a finality that seemed almost comical, you held your hand out and waited, eyebrows raising and fingers beckoning. Well? your face seemed to say, Are you coming?

His sigh was bone-deep and settled in your chest like chunks of black plaster, but it felt good. “You’re not going to let me leave, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” you replied, as if it’d be ridiculous to expect anything else. Princesses danced with men at parties. You were a princess. Boba was a man at a party. In a roundabout sort of way. “It’s easy, I promise,” you assured, wrapping your hand around his wrist and pulling him away from the balcony. His glove slipped down a bit; just enough that your thumb could press one soft circle against the tan skin over bone.

Uncomfortable wasn’t really the correct word for how you thought he felt. You doubted Boba could ever be uncomfortable. No. No, the right word would probably be… bemused. Like he was in a menagerie watching a creature, something exotic and pretty, with mild interest while it still had his attention. But you did have his attention. That was something.

“You put your right hand on my waist,” you moved to reposition the large fingers more accustomed to blasters than they were to bodices. Boba smirked, almost boyish, when you caught his hand wandering someplace else. “Not that low,” you chided with quiet exasperation, placing your palm atop his and guiding it back up.

The pale leather was warm underneath your skin and you bit down a smile, almost awe-struck at how strange your hand looked next to his. Yours was polished, weighed down by heavy gold bangles and softened by years of idle play. His, you suspected (for you didn't actually know; hadn’t yet actually seen), was anything but.

“That’s good,” you supplied lightly. “And then I do this,”your other hand reached to rest on Boba’s shoulder. “And then- no, no you give me your left hand. Hold it out- good.”

Still looking down, you were careful not to trip over your skirts or his boots. “And now we just-” you breathed out and glanced up, surprised to find his expression strangely careful. Almost tender. You gulped down the quiet notch in your throat. “-now we just um… sway. Like this.”

You eschewed complication in favor of a simple rhythm, just letting your feet fall wherever they liked so long as they didn’t tangle in themselves. Now wasn’t the time for anything laborious; you didn’t have faith enough in Boba’s footwork. But he actually wasn’t too bad all things considered. A bit stiff and a bit gruff, but those were part and parcel. It was a bit like dancing with a tree trunk. A very handsome, very broad, very taciturn tree trunk. It was easy to let yourself sink into it a little with how solid he felt.

The man arched an eyebrow when your fingers stretched to thread together with his. “Just sway?”

“You’re welcome to do a jig instead if you’d like,” you replied wryly as your weight shifted from foot to foot. The hand around your waist stiffened at the prospect and a grin escaped your face.

“Nevermind.”

The amusement that had previously only been in your throat escaped in a quiet laugh. “Thought so,” you whispered, victorious. Tension, bunched up in your shoulders and collected in your bones, melted completely when he pulled you closer and let your head fall against the space of his neck. Sinew fit against silk like puzzle pieces and warmed the quiet moment that followed. Neither of you spoke for fear of disturbing the fresh peace.

You found yourself dwelling more and more on hypotheticals. Unrealistic and stupid, you knew, given who you both were. But still you dwelt, unable to fathom a reality outside of the last nine hours and inside a reality within which Boba was gone.

Would he fit here, with the stucco and plaster and ivy? With all the sheltered society of an insignificant court? With you?

You wondered if he dwelt on hypotheticals, too.

Swallowing cold air as Boba thumbed the collar of your dress, you felt the light scatter of broken blood vessels from hours before smart again. Your cheek pressed against the pauldron of his beskar, but neither of you were really dancing anymore. “I- I wanted to talk,” you began quietly. “About earlier.”

“Did you not like it?” Did you not like me?

“No! No, I…” you shook your head, trying to rid yourself of his assumption. The crystals hanging from your headpiece tinkled with every soft movement. “No, I… I liked it. I like…” The lump in your throat seemed to travel down back into your stomach. “You,” you finished, swallowing the final word and leaving all its implications to settle in the night.

He could feel the rise and fall of your chest; delicate and airy and resigned. You spoke again. “But you’re leaving tomorrow and... and we could’ve been caught. And the more I think about it the more I really am not looking forward to the idea of some court scandal or being cloistered up like a nun because I—”

He called you your name.

He’d never used your name before.

You lifted your head off his shoulder, desperate-eyed and looking for answers you both knew he couldn’t give. “Yes?”

“Kiss me.”

You barely breathed out an okay before the arm around your waist tightened, crushing you against cold metal and a warm body.

He kissed you how a lover would. Like how a first kiss should’ve been.

It was gentle. Warm. Tender-mouthed and aching, placing promises down your throat with a soft hand and closed eyes. It was… It was…

It was broken up far too quickly.

A voice called out your name from somewhere far-off, regally accented and not at all welcome. It called your name again, first middle and last with all the titles in between with much less patience. Your mother, queen consort.

The groan of displeasure that escaped you was muffled in Boba’s mouth and swallowed up before it could give either of you away. He recovered much faster than you did, peeling back from your body with eyes already alert and scanning the shadows for passersby. There were none. For now.

“It’s my mother,” you whispered, letting your eyes roll seemingly out of your skull. “They’re probably doing some send-off for Vader’s entourage.”

Neither of you mentioned the fact that Boba was part of that entourage too.

Your last words were rushed before the footsteps became too close and the mercenary pulled away. You didn’t really want to stay to hear the answer. “Will I see you again?”

Boba Fett, you’d come to learn, wasn’t the kind of man to offer more than what he knew he could give.

The helmet went back on. “I don’t know.”’

#boba fett x reader #boba fett/reader #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett x you #boba fett imagine #boba fett oneshot #star wars fanfiction

[15-dogs]

welcome home |s.b.|

pairing: sirius black x reader

summary: you run into your ex sirius with his godson at the store after not seeing him for five years

warnings: none

guide: (Y/N) = your name

word count: 1983

You couldn’t believe it. Sirius Black, acting like an adult, a child in tow. The little boy with messy black hair tugged at Sirius’s hand to signal that the line had moved up at the grocery store, but Sirius was looking at you. In horror, sure, but he was looking at you nonetheless.

“All grown up, now, aren’t you?” you teased. Your eyes drifted down towards the irritated little boy who had given up on trying to get Sirius to move and had now taken to hiding behind his leg. “And baby makes two.”

Sirius shifted his weight awkwardly, the action almost making you smile because, for a moment, he looked like his teenage self again.

“He’s not mine,” he admitted. He looked down at the boy with feigned happiness before leaning in towards you. He whispered, “He’s James and Lily’s boy, Harry.”

Well, now you felt terrible. You liked teasing him back in school, it was the reason he fell in love with you. You were the only person who could tease him and take it when he teased you right back. But then he started to get flustered when you teased him because he realized that he really liked when you teased him-- loved it, even-- because then he knew you were paying attention to him. The only person to make Sirius Black nervous, that was your reputation.

“Oh,” you muttered softly, your smile falling. You sunk into a squat to be eye-level with Harry. Harry glanced up at Sirius as if asking for permission to look at you and Sirius replied with a slight nod and a push towards you.

“Hi,” he said. “Do you know my uncle?”

“I…” For a child, he sure knew how to come in swinging with the hard hitting questions. 

You and Sirius were together up until Lily and James’s passing. The heartbreak was too much to bear for him and he ended up shooing you off, claiming that he needed space to think. But it wasn’t such an abrupt break up, things were bumpy leading up to that. It started once he had graduated. You were in your 6th year and, being a year younger than him, he used that as an excuse for everything. It was an excuse for you not to join the Order, it was an excuse for you not to move in just yet, it was an excuse for just about everything that Sirius was scared of: watching things fall apart.

“Yes,” you assured, “I know your Uncle Sirius.”

“I’m closing the line if you two don’t move up,” a rather angry cashier explained. Sirius rolled his eyes and moved up the line after he had snatched Harry up, holding him with one arm.

You had to admit, Sirius made a pretty good dad. The rebel from your youth had gotten tamer and tamer with you, but seeing him fathering the son of his late best friends was almost like rubbing it in your face that he was ready and willing to settle down if he needed to. And he did need to, so he did.

“I haven’t seen you around here. I thought that you were staying up north.” 

Sirius unpacked a cart full of groceries. You felt your heart sink; he didn’t need all that food for two people. What were you expecting, really? It’s been five years, of course he’s with someone.

“Good eye,” you replied as you reached for the divider. Sirius picked it up for you and placed it on the track. You gave him a sheepish smile in thanks. “I moved here a few weeks ago. The north wasn’t doing me any good. Being around failed relationship after failed relationship takes quite the toll on a person’s mental state.”

Sirius snorted. “Shame. You might want to move again.”

Ah, okay. Normalcy. You were glad that Sirius could tease you again. Although, it still hurt that he could tease you and not stammer because he’s lost in your eyes or freeze because your laugh is too harmonious. But at least you could pretend like seeing him again didn’t have you completely unglued.

“Reckon I should, hm?”

Sirius paid and waited for you as you checked out. You knew he just wanted to say a proper goodbye but you still felt your cheeks heat up. Once you got your things, you walked outside with the pair of them.

“Where’s your bike?” you asked, scanning the loads of cars in the parking lot.

“Traded it in for a car. Figured it was a bit more family friendly.”

Your head snapped towards Sirius, jaw agape as you gasped, “No! That’s a joke, right?” Sirius shook his head with a chuckle at your astonishment.

“Unfortunately, it’s not. I still have my bike and all but I don’t exactly ride it anymore.”

Who was this man in front of you and what had he done with Sirius Black?

“Go wait in the car, Harry. I’ll be with you in a minute,” Sirius said, patting Harry on the back. The boy galloped to the curb, looked both ways, then ran straight into the backseat of a sensible looking SUV parked by the front.

“You trained him well,” you joked, running a hand through your hair as you eyed the car. When you turned back around, Sirius looked...nervous. His hands were in his pants pockets and he rocked on the balls of his feet.

“Had to do what I had to do.”

“Clearly.”

The silence was incredibly painful. After about a minute, you cleared your throat and tried to leave but Sirius caught the back of your arm. When you looked over your shoulder at him, he was blushing with embarrassment. That was a good look on him.

“We should talk, I owe you an explanation.”

Not the words you expected to come out of his mouth, but certainly welcomed.

“Okay,” you drawled.

“Would you have dinner with me this weekend?”

“Dinner? On a weekend? If I didn’t know any better then I’d say that you’re asking me on a date.”

Oh, to see him squirm. Sirius started a sentence, his hands in the air, then stopped. Then he shook his head as he started again, then stopped. Then pointed at you with his mouth open, then stopped. He did that about ten more times before you started to cackle.

“I’ll see you then,” you agreed as your laughter calmed down. “Same place?”

“Haven’t moved.” He shrugged.

Your smile faded away into something more sincere when you saw his boyish grin. Just like old times. You nodded politely as you muttered, “Thanks for doing this.”

“If it’s an excuse to see you again, I’d do it every day.”

Every second of every day leading up to dinner had you going crazy. You knew you were still in love with Sirius. Even after five years apart, even after countless relationships, you couldn’t get over him.

But, no. You were still mad at him. You had to be. He pushed you away when you needed each other most. Thinking about that night still stung like a fresh wound. The way his eyes were red from crying, the way his words were scripted like he was going to abandon his plan, the way his voice wavered like he thought he would lose it in front of you.

And all because he never knew what a happy family looked like. He grew up in a house where empathy was the lowest of all emotions. Merlin, how you wish you had told him that it was okay to cry and okay to be weak because you were there for him.

No, no. Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t think about forgiving him until he gives you something to forgive. So there you were, knocking on the door of 12 Grimmauld Place, hoping that Sirius would give you something to forgive.

The door swung open but no one was there. You took a step forward, crashing into something at your knees. You looked down in horror at a disgruntled Harry.

“I am so sorry, Harry, I didn’t even-”

“Moony, Pads, Moony, Pads! They won’t stop!” Harry complained, walking into the house. You raised an eyebrow at the peculiar 5 year old, following him in and shutting the door behind you.

“What do you mean?”

Harry sat down on the couch, squishing his cheeks with frustration in the most adorable way. You sat down next to him, straightening out your clothes.

“Uncle Remus and Uncle Sirius are fighting,” sighed Harry. Your eyes bulged.

“I’m sorry?” You jumped up from your seat and scanned the room. “Where? Is Uncle Sirius okay? And Uncle Remus?”

As soon as Harry began to speak again, two distinct voices bickered louder and louder. Your terrified face morphed into a smile as Remus and Sirius popped out of a bedroom, the two arguing about what Sirius was wearing and if it was nice enough for you. The pair stopped dead in their tracks as they heard your laughter coming from the living room.

“How, er, long have you been there?” Sirius questioned. His eyes narrowed in on Harry as he descended the stairs. “Harry, I told you not to answer the door for strangers!”

“But (Y/N)’s not a stranger,” Harry retorted. Even though you weren’t the best of friends with the rest of the Marauders, sadness panged in your heart at the way Harry acted exactly like James.

“You didn’t know that!” Sirius ran a hand through his hair. “Remus, take mini Prongs with you, please?”

Remus chuckled as he picked Harry up alongside a...bag of groceries. Oh. Those extra groceries that Sirius had bought were for him, not a girl. You hated the feeling of satisfaction that settled into your stomach. 

Remus and Harry ducked into the fireplace. “Lovely seeing you, (Y/N),” he said before the two of them disappeared.

You let out a small laugh as you took a few steps towards Sirius. “You make a good dad-”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t wait for us to get through all the pleasantries until we have some idiotic, mid-dinner heart to heart,” Sirius explained in one swift breath. You blinked in shock.

“What are you saying?” You raised an eyebrow at him, eyeing his anxious demeanor.

“I need to tell you something, now.”

Your heart jumped into your throat. You felt your hands begin to sweat and your stomach erupt into butterflies. You took a deep breath to ground yourself because you were in your head. No way was he going to say what you hoped he would.

“I still love you.”

Nope, he said it.

You couldn’t find the words for how you felt. You wanted to scream at him about breaking things off, you wanted to ask him how Harry would fit into all of it, you wanted to tell him you loved him and still do. However, none of those came out of your mouth because Sirius kept on talking.

“I don’t think I ever fell out of love with you, really. When...James and Lily died, I...couldn’t cope. I was afraid that I was going to be weak for you and you wouldn’t want me around so I just ended things without an explanation because that felt safer. When I became Harry’s godparent, everything changed. I have a family, now, (Y/N)! A real one! But it doesn’t truly feel like a family because you’re not a part of it.”

As if your soul had possessed you, you lurched forward at Sirius and pressed a sweet (and long overdue) kiss to his lips. For those few seconds that you kissed, you felt as if you were home. Because he was absolutely right, as much as you hated to admit it, that neither of you had a family without each other. Right, you were home.

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black imagine #sirius x y/n #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagine #fanfiction

[army-author]

jimin scenario | in for a treat

❝ as you grow up together, you and jimin celebrate halloween in your own special way. with the passing of the years, your relationship continues to blossom while the trees shed their leaves... ❞

➝ prompt: i’ve never celebrated halloween before, but it’s your favourite holiday. you’re determined to make my first halloween the most exciting holiday ever. i’m loving the enthusiasm, but isn’t this a bit much?

➝ pairing: slytherin jimin x slytherin reader

➝ genre: fluff, hogwarts au, friends to lovers

➝ requested by anon | 8.5k words

➝ warnings: implied smut

➝ author’s note: sorry that this is so late. i had this written before halloween, but never got the time to edit it until now, so apologies if it’s weird reading such a heavily halloween themed fic in november. i hope everyone enjoys it, regardless! i think i may have strayed a little from the prompt, but hopefully all the fluffy moments are worth it!

Halloween was never a holiday that interested you. At least that’s how it used to be…

Growing up with a non-magic family, the festivities had never seemed that interesting. You couldn’t figure out the appeal of a holiday dedicated to something you didn’t believe in. The ghosts, the ghouls, the whispers of magic on the air – it all appeared juvenile. Of course, you would buy the occasional pack of sweets for the school children that scurried around the neighbourhood, demanding treats on every doorstep. However, you never went out to celebrate yourself, uninterested in the costumes, the decorations, or the general air of mischief that circulated that that time of year. You had no rose-tinted nostalgia for the holiday, and no desire to dress up or carve Jack-o-lanterns.

All this changed when you met Jimin.

When you had first received your letter from Hogwarts, both you and your parents had been shocked. You had no idea up that magic even existed, and yet, there was the letter in your hands, screaming the contrary to all you believed. A well constructed prank? The look on your parents’ faces suggested otherwise. Your parents explained to you that magic truly did exist, and while they themselves were non-magical, one of your aunts was actually a witch, who had also attended Hogwarts in her youth.

With that revelation, your life flipped on its head.

After a summer spent pleading with your parents to let you go, you finally arrive at Hogwarts, filled with wonder at the new world you’ve uncovered, and amazed that your family were able to hide this from you for so long. Sorted into Slytherin, you find yourself surrounded by witches and wizards who are already familiar with this alien lifestyle – students who’ve been watching Quidditch matches since they were babbling babies, and who are already familiar with simple spells. New and alone, you find yourself  estranged from your peers.

That is, until your first Halloween at Hogwarts.

✽ ✽ ✽

[First Year – October 31st]

On the night of October the thirty first, the girls in your dormitory are preparing for the Halloween feast, with excited chatter, tying up their hair, putting on their robes, and admiring themselves in the mirror.

You sit on the edge of your bed in your robes, swinging your feet, and feeling out of place, like a pulled muscle. You’re unsure of the customs of witches and wizards, and are sweating at the thought of messing up tonight, doing something that will instantly single you out as muggle born. Nerves clamouring as you listen to two of the girls, Padma and Beatrix, whispering about all the possible treats you’ll be served that evening, all of which you’ve never even heard of before, you decide that waiting around in the dorm is just making you feel worse. You get up and walk out of the dormitory, heading to the common room. You were hoping to avoid the commotion, but soon realise your mistake, having only walked further into the confusion. A group of boys are huddled in the corner, helping each other with their ties, while a gaggle of girls giggle in the other corner, glancing at the older boys who walk past with robes billowing. Some prankster has set off a magical miniature firework which crackles dangerously close to the green tapestries hanging from the wall.

You swallow, feeling all the more daft as you watch, excluded, while the rest of your peers enjoy themselves.

“Hello.” Startled, you spin around to the source of the voice.

A boy stands in front of you. You recognise him to be Park Jimin from your potions class. You haven’t spoken to him at all, but have often noticed him – for his undeniably friendly demeanour and his distinctive laugh which always travels around the potions class, followed by the shout of “Park Jimin, and Kim Taehyung! What is so dreadfully funny that you deign it appropriate to interrupt our lesson?”

Unsure if Jimin is speaking to you, you glance around to see if there’s anyone else, and then, suddenly mute, point to yourself.

Jimin laughs. “Yes, I’m talking to you.”

“Oh… Uh, right… sorry. Hi.”

“I didn’t mean to spook you,” Jimin says, a smile playing on his lips at your lost expression, “You just looked a little lonely, so I thought I’d put you out of your misery.

He must have noticed the alarm passing across your features, as he quickly continues, “Oh, Merlin, that sounded like I was planning your assassination or something! I just meant, I wanted to talk to you, since I didn’t want you to be by yourself.”

You laugh, “Well, thank you. I must have looked pretty pathetic, huh?”

“No… well… maybe.”

You open your mouth in mock shock, and then shrug, “It must be super obvious I’m new to all of this.” You gesture to the robe you’re wearing, and clear your throat, lowering your voice, “I’m… from a muggle family.”

You know that wizards and witches from muggle families are a lot more happily accepted by the magical community than they used to be, but it is whispered that some Slytherins still cling to elitist ideals about pure blood magic wielders. You had been both surprised and nervous when you were sorted into Slytherin on your first day. Despite this, you feel at ease explaining to Jimin, who’s currently smiling at your with a friendly curiosity.

“Ah,” Jimin nods, “This must all be very strange for you then.”

“Yep. It wasn’t until my letter from Hogwarts that I even believed that magic was real!”

Jimin’s eyes go wide, “I can’t even imagine what that must be like.”

“On top of that,” you continue on, your barriers breaking down as you easily chat with Jimin, “My family were never really into anything that even hinted at magic or the supernatural, so we never celebrated Halloween!”

You didn’t think Jimin’s eyes could widen further, but he manages to surprise you. “You what?”

A blush rises to your cheeks, and your eyes dart to the floor, suddenly embarrassed. “Yeah… not once.”

“Well, not to worry,” Jimin says, “Look at it this way – this is going to be the best Halloween of your life.”

You can’t argue with that.

“You’re in for a treat,” Jimin assures you, and you grin.

Around you, the crowd of Slytherin students have begun to meander out of the common room. “It must be time for the feast to start,” Jimin is bouncing on his toes in excitement. Feeding off his energy, you cannot help but feel excited yourself, despite not knowing what to expect at all. You follow him down the maze of corridors that make up the old school, leading you towards the Great Hall.

Entering through the grand doors, your mouth involuntarily falls open. Carved pumpkins float above the tables, casting a delicate glow over the array of delicious treats on display. There are plates piled high with tender meats, savoury pies and glazed vegetables. Sweets of all varieties sit in carved pumpkin bows, overflowing with colour.

You follow Jimin to the Slytherin table, where he offers for you to sit next to him. Across from you, at the Hufflepuff table, Jimin’s friend, Taehyung, waves at the two of you frantically.

Jimin grins and waves back, before turning his attention to you. “Well? First impressions?”

“This is all so amazing,” you gush, still transfixed by the wonderful foods piled in front of you. A mixture of delicious scents sing in your nostrils.

You wait patiently while the headmaster rumbles through his speech, welcoming each and every one of you to the feast. You’re salivating when you are finally allowed to start on the food. Despite knowing you should start with the savoury food first, your eyes are drawn, irresistibly, to the sweets. You reach for a handful of jellybeans from one one the plates in front of you.  Just as you stuff a handful into your mouth, JImin catches sight of you and begins shaking his head vigorously in warning.

Too late. A cacophony of foul tastes hit your tongue. You’re not sure what you’re supposed to be tasting, but it is not good. Eyes watering, you try not to gag.

“Here, here!” Jimin hands you a napkin, and you discreetly spit out the barely chewed mouthful, folding the napkin over a few times, hiding your faux pax in shame.

“What on God’s green earth was that?” you ask, hurrying to take a sip of water.

“Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans,” Jimin explains , “They’re well known, but I guess you haven't grown up with wizard snacks… Basically, eating one is  a gamble. You could get a delicious one. Or you could get an absolutely disgusting flavour. They’re made to cover any possible flavour under the sun. Some of the worst include skunk’s spray and vomit.”

“So that’s what that was...” You try not to think of it, despite the ghost of bitterness haunting your tongue.

Jimin chuckles, “I thought you were being incredibly brave eating so many all at once…”

“I’m new to all of this,” you remind him. Having regained your composure somewhat, you give him a nudge, “I dare you to taste one too. Just so I’m not alone in making a complete fool of myself.”

Jimin grins, “Okay, I’m up for a dare.” He roots around in the bowl, picking out a red one, which he pops in his mouth. “Mmm… cherry.”

You frown, “That’s cheating. You must have known red would be good!” You pick up a red one yourself and place it on your tongue, only to have the disgusting taste of liver clamber across your taste buds. You don’t need to tell Jimin how disgusting this bean is. Your face says it all, as Jimin begins laughing. You begin searching for the napkin again, but Jimin says, “No, no, you’ve committed. You gotta swallow now.”

You open your eyes wide, begging, but he continues, “I dare you.”

Your brows furrowing in effort; it takes all your strength not to retch as you swallow. “That’s not fair,” you say, “How come I got so unlucky?”

Jimin shrugs, “There’s about a fifty percent chance you’ll get something nice.”

You cross your arms on the table, “I still think you must have cheated somehow.”

“How about you try something tasty instead?” Jimin gestures to the other nice looking foods in front of you.

Your brow crinkles, “How am I supposed to know there aren’t other weird foods you wizards eat?”

Jimin begins spooning things onto your plate, “Don’t worry, these are all good. Cross my heart.”

You watch him pile foods higher and higher until you beg, ‘Stop, there’s no way I can eat that much!”

“Sure, but you gotta at least try a little bit of everything,” Jimin encourages, so you pick up a fork and make your way around the plate, sampling every flavour. You start with the meats, which are just as tender as they look. The chicken melts in your mouth, and the gammon is sweet and salty in the best possible way. The vegetables come next. You’ve never been a big fan of vegetables, but these could make you rethink that stance. The carrots are sweet, glazed with a honey dressing, and the parsnips are well seasoned. But the main stars of the show are the desserts. A myriad of flavours hit your senses, each one more delicious than the last. Sweet spices, creamy caramels, and smooth frostings all harmonising a ballad on your tongue, making you squirm in your seat with joy.

“Are they good?” Jimin asks, and you nod enthusiastically, mouth still full. “What’s your favourite?”

You point at one of the pastries as you swallow the last bite, “It’s all good, but I think this one is the best.

“Mmm, apple and redcurrant tart,” Jimin nods in approval, “That one’s good.”

There’s still so much food piled on your plate, but you’re too full to take another bite. You lean back, and sigh contentedly, gazing up at the starry sky that spreads out above you, stars winking down.

“I may be new to Halloween, but I could certainly get used to this,” you say.

“We’ll just have to try and make next year all the more exciting then,” Jimin says, and you give him a grin.

“Challenge accepted.”

✽ ✽ ✽

[Second Year – October 28th]

“We’ve got to make this Halloween better than the last year!”

Jimin is sat cross legged under a crooked tree, leaves just staring to turn orange and gold. You’re standing next to him, well wrapped up, not enjoying the cold that autumn brings with it, as you stamp your numb feet and rub your frozen hands together.

“Oh yeah,” Taehyung grins up at you from his spot next to Jimin, “You don’t normally celebrate Halloween, do you?”

You shake your head, at him, and his grin grows all the wider, and all the more rectangular.

“How do we top last year?” Jimin wonders, while Taehyung struggles with opening a chocolate frog pack.

“You don’t have to try and top it,” you say, finally taking a seat next to Jimin, and immediately regretting it as cold seeps into your rear. You pull your cloak around you. “Last year was fun. And next year can be fun too...”

“We could throw a party!” Taehyung burst out, interrupting you.

“Would we even be able to host one?” you ask.

Jimin’s brows are furrowed in thought. “That could be a good idea,” he says, and Taehyung smiles in pride, as he finally gets the chocolate frog pack open, only to watch as the chocolate frog hops away, finally freed from its cardboard cage.

“No, come back,” Taehyung digs in his pocket for his wand, but It’s already too late, the frog has hopped into the bushes, out of sight. Taehyung sighs, then digs in the pack for the card. “Hmm, Salazar Slytherin,” he says, staring at the card inside, “I already have him.”

“I don’t,” Jimin pipes up, “I’ll trade you the rest of my sherbet lemons for him.”

Taehyung nods, and you watch the two boys exchange, wondering what all the fuss is about. Jimin shows you the card, where a man poses proudly. You’ve got used to seeing pictures that move on paper, but you’re still always mildly impressed.

“You’re still missing the important detail that we don’t have anywhere to host a party,” you point out, and Taehyung shrugs, as he pops a sherbet lemon in his mouth:

“We can just use a common room. The Hufflepuff common room is close to the kitchen, and you don’t need a password or anything to get in. I bet I could get some of my Hufflepuff friends to help set up.”

“When would we do this?” you ask, giving in reluctantly to Taehyung’s infectious excitement.

“We can do it after the Halloween feast,” Taehyung suggests, and Jimin nods in agreement.

“This sounds great,” he says, glancing at you in anticipation, “What do you say?”

“I’m in.”

The two boys cheer.

✽ ✽ ✽

[Second Year – October 31st]

The next few days pass in a flurry, with Jimin and Taehyung passing notes around the classrooms, letting other students know of your plans. As only students from their respective houses are normally allowed in their house common room,  each student is told to keep the plans a secret from the professors.

As the evening finally arrives, Jimin is a ball of energy, struggling to contain his smile, as you walk down to the Great Hall for the feast.

All the way through the feast, you can’t help but think about what’s to follow, excited about the party that is in store later.

As soon as the feast ends, you follow Jimim along with the few other Slytherins who are going o the party, walking with the rest of the Slytherins, heading back towards the Slytherin common room. At one of the turnings on the way, you and Jimin make a left off the normal route, and begin to make your way back, following stairs down to the basement where the Hufflepuff common room is located. Reaching the door, you give the secret knock you had arranged with Taehyung beforehand.

His head pops around the door, a conspiring grin on his face as he lets you in. The Hufflepuff common room is round, with circular windows close to the ceiling which give a view of the darkness outside. House plants line the shelves of the room, some dripping their leaves down the earthy walls. Taehyung and his friends have added orange and gold streamers, with carved Jack-o-lanterns grinning from the alcoves and crevices.

“Ta-da,” Taehyung spreads out his arms, spinning around to show off his – and his friends’ – hard efforts.

“This is amazing, Taehyung,” you tell him, and he gives a wide smile:

“There’s more, come take a look at this!”

You let him lead you and Jimin over to a table stacked high with sweets. “I managed to scrounge these from the kitchens.” He gives a wink, “This is why it’s good to be friendly with the cooks. Hope you saved room.”

You hadn’t saved much, and you eye the sweets sadly, afraid that any more food would make you pop. There’s even apple and redcurrant tart. You cast it a wistful look, before letting yourself be distracted by Jimin and Taehyung.

Slowly, other students begin to trickle into the common room, some of them older students, most in the same year as you. Music begins to float from a corner of the room, and so, you grab Taehyung and Jimin, lading them to the centre of the room, where a few other students have started dancing.

Swaying in time with the music, you laugh as Taehyung and Jimin goof around in front of you, clapping along to the beat. The air is filled with happy chatter. You drink in the atmosphere, swept along by the other’s enthusiasm.

Taehyung notices a few of his friends from Hufflepuff and waves, before going over to say, “Hello”, leaving you alone with Jimin on the makeshift dance-floor.

You suddenly feel a little awkward, dancing alone with Jimin. You keep on swaying, smiling over at him every so often. His eyes are often on the floor, his dancing slowing to a gentle sway, but occasionally his eyes connect with yours before flicking down to the floor again.  Perhaps he’s feeling just as awkward as you are.

All of a sudden, there’s a shout, and the music cuts out. You halt, Jimin frozen at your side, while the other students twist their heads, looking around, trying to figure out what’s going on.

“What is the meaning of this?” Above the other heads of the students, you can just about make out the head of one of the tall Hufflepuff prefects. “You do realise that there are some students who are trying to sleep after the feast, right?” He strides forward, the other students parting in waves before him. “I think I see some non-Hufflepuff students here as well,” he comments as he passes by you. You pull your cloak around you, trying the mask the Slytherin colours on your jumper. “I have half a mind to report everyone in this room to the headmaster.”

“Aw come on,” one of the other prefects, a boy you recognise as Jung Hoseok follows behind his peer, “These kids are just having fun,” he places an arm on the other prefects shoulder. “Let’s just say it was a mistake – a learning experience – and move on. I’m sure it won’t happen again.” He gives a wink to Taehyung, who’s stood across from you, trying to look guilty.

“Alright,” the prefect snaps, “But if I hear even a single whiff of another party being held in this common room, I will march each and every pupil responsible down to the headmaster’s office myself, mark my words.”

With that, the party disperses – very quickly. Streamers are swept away with the flicking of wands, and the candles in the Jack-o'-lanterns instantaneously snuff out.

Grabbing Jimin by the sleeve, you both make a bee-line for the exit, giving Taehyung a reluctant wave as you leave.

“Well, that wasn’t as successful as I hoped,” Jimin whispers, as you make your way down the corridor, heading back towards the Slytherin dorms.

“Maybe not,” you say, “But it was fun. Did you see that prefect’s face? I thought he was going to explode with rage.”

Jimin snorts with laughter. “Sorry it wasn’t the best of Halloween experiences.”

“What do you mean?” you say, “It’s gotta be one of the best. At least top-three.”

“You haven’t even celebrated three Halloweens yet!”

“Exactly. So it’s been one of the best.”

“Well, we’ll just have to top it again next year.” Jimin decides.

✽ ✽ ✽

[Third Year – October 28th]

Moving into your third year you find yourself gifted with a little more freedom around the school. It’s the year that you’re allowed to visit Hogsmeade, and you’re an uncontainable ball of energy when the weekend closest to Halloween rolls around, marking the first date that the third years are allowed to make their way down to the all-wizarding village.

On the Saturday, you and Jimin meet up with Taehyung on the steps outside Hogwarts, and make your way down to the village.  All the way JImin is talking excitedly about how he’s planning on one-upping the Halloween festivities from last year.

“We can’t have another part  like last year,” Taehyung says, “No way am I willing to get us all in trouble again.”

“I know,” Jimin sighs, “But we’ve gotta do something exciting, right?”

The topic of Halloween soon fades away as you finally reach Hogsmeade. The village street is blanketed by leaves in red and orange, with cheery lights shining from the windows of shops, giving a cosy contrast to the drab autumnal sky.

“Where do we go first?” Taehyung asks, and you and Jimin share a look, before you both point to the sweets shop, Honeydukes.

“Do you guys think about anything other than your stomachs?” Taehyung asks, following after you, as you rush for the cosy looking shop, nestled under a crown of fallen leaves that adorn its low roof. Your eyes widen as you enter, drinking in the view of the magical sweets packed in jars from floor to ceiling. You pick out sherbet lemons, Jimin’s favourite, and he buys a packet of apple and redcurrant tarts from the pastry display. He shares the still warm pastries with you as you exit back into the cold air, and debate where to go next. Taehyung is eager to visit Zonko’s Joke shop, while Jimin needs to visit Ceridwen’s Cauldrons to get a replacement cauldron after an unfortunate incident in your last potions lesson involving an explosion and a very angry potions teacher. You make your way around the village, stopping in at each shop you want in turn, before finally stopping at the Three Broomsticks where Jimin offers to buy the three of you butterbeers.

As he leaves the table, Taehyung gives you a look that you struggle to interpret. “Looks like Jimin is super excited for your third Halloween.”

You laugh, “He’s more excited than I am.”

“Well sure, but he wants to impress you.”

“Huh?” you blush, not sure what Taehyung’s implying, “Nah, he just wants us all to have fun.”

“Yeah, but he wants you especially have fun,”  Taehyung goes on.

“Well of course, I’m his friend.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “You aren’t normally this oblivious, are you? I can’t possibly be speaking to the same person who’s aced all her divination and dark arts tests this year. I am, in fact, speaking with a moron, who’s somehow possessed the body of my friend.”

“Come on Taehyung, stop being daft” you give him a shove from across the table, “What are you trying to say.”

“I’m saying that Jimin likes you,” Taehyung enunciates every word, “As. More. Than. A. Friend. And you’d have to be an idiot not to see it.”

You shake your head, perplexed. Before you can question Taehyung further, Jimin is standing at the table, trying not to spill the three butterbeers as he sets them down.

He squeezes into the space next to you, while Taehyung gives you a meaningful look, and you blush.

“Well, cheers to our first Hogsmeade visit,” Jimin raises up his mug, and you do the same, clicking your overflowing mug against his and Taehyung’s, trying not to slosh any more of the golden liquid down the side than is absolutely unavoidable.

You take a deep sip, letting the warmth seep from your mouth down to your stomach and out to the extremities of your body, ears to fingers to toes. “Oh man, that’s so good,” you say, eyes wide as you set down your mug, wiping at the froth that was left on your lips.

Taehyung and Jimin both nod in agreement, and you settle back comfortably on your chair, pondering Taehyung’s words, as your two friends begin to argue over whether chocolate frogs are actually a good snack, or if they’re only good for the collectible cards you get with them.

✽ ✽ ✽

By the time you leave the Three Broomsticks, the sky is beginning to darken, with orange coloured clouds crowding out the deep navy of the sky.

Jimin suddenly stops in his tracks, spinning around to face you: “I’ve just had a great idea!”

You wait, curious, edging him on with your raised brows:

“I have an idea how we can celebrate Halloween this year,” he continues. You and Taehyung’s silence is encouragement enough for him to continue. “We should go visit the Shrieking Shack. I mean… I know it’s a bit early for Halloween. But it’ll be the perfect haunted experience.”

An uncertainty pools in your stomach, cold and clammy, as you stare at the abandoned house that looms over Hogsmeade. It’s rumoured to be the most haunted house in Britain. You mull over the idea in your head. “Don’t you think it’s dangerous?”

When you first arrived in Hogwarts, you were startled at the sight of actual ghosts, which you had gone your whole life beleiving to be a superstition. The ghosts at Hogwarts were friendly, but ghosts haunting an old abandoned house… you weren’t so sure.

Jimin shrugs in response to your question. “Who knows.” Seeing you hesitation, he gives a tug on your sweater, “Come on. I’ll keep you safe if anything happens, I promise.”

Taehyung raises his hands in defeat, “Listen, I don’t think I’ll stay. It’s getting late, and I just remembered I have a divinations homework to finish. But you two should go have a look and find out if it’s really haunted!”

Before you can stop him, Taehyung is spinning on his heel, and heading back for Hogwarts. Not before he flashes you a quick wink, and you suddenly realise that he’s trying to give you some alone time with Jimin. Or maybe he’s trying to give Jimin some alone time with you. You’re not sure what to think, but you feel uncertainty digging its roots deep, planting you firmly on the spot - right beside Jimin. His presence is suddenly incredibly distracting, feeling his heat so close beside you, battling against the cold autumn evening. His breath billows clouds on the air, his dark eyes blinking curiously at you, pleading.

‘Alright, fine. Just a quick look!”

Jimin grins, and you allow him to pull you to the Shrieking Shack that stands, creaking, on its own, ostracised from the other buildings in Hogsmeade. The building is rounded off by a rickety fence, casting a shadow over you. A cold fear trickles down your back, but you steel yourself, determined not to make a fool of yourself in front of Jimin.

Jimin gives you a leg-up over the fence, before climbing over himself, and suddenly, there’s nothing separating you from whatever might reside in the house. A cold wind tugs at your hair and scarf, pulling away your frozen breath.

Your fingers are threaded through Jimin’s. You don’t remember grabbing him. He squeezes your fingers.

You walk forward together, slowly. At the door, Jimin murmurs a spell, and the door creaks open on unstable hinges. Inside, the house is dark, and the strong smell of mildew rises to meed your nostrils.

“Maybe we shouldn’t go in,” you whisper, trying to steady your shaking voice, “We’ve got close enough.”

“No, come on,” Jimin hisses, pulling you closer. Swallowing your fear, you follow after him, huddled close for comfort. The house feels colder than the outside breeze, and your fogged breath clouds your vision.

As you step further into the bowels of the house, your ears pick up on a hissing, muttering sound. Your freeze, paralysing fear sinking its claws into your spine, and Jimin pauses beside you, hand damp in your own. Straining your ears beyond the pounding of your own heart, you hear – yes, those are definitely voices.

Carefully, cautiously, Jimin leads you forward, down the corridor to the door that is partially open, where the voices emanate from. Pressing his finger to his lips, Jimin peers around the door to find…

A group of sixth years smoking cigarettes. As the door swings open, revealing you and Jimin, one of them glances up and then nudges the other one, “Hey, look what we got here.”

“Oi,” the other, who seems to be the more authoritative, stands up, “Scram.” He makes a grab for his wand, but you and Jimin don’t need any more prodding. Turning on your heels, you flee for the door.

You and Jimin don’t stop running until you reach the entrance to Honeydukes, shuddering out shaky laughter that fogs the cold air.

Jimin’s hand is still in yours, not having let go through the entire experience. You don’t comment as he keeps his fingers laced through yours as you walk back to Hogwarts.

✽ ✽ ✽

[Fourth Year – October 31st]

The school is abuzz this year. Your professors have decided to host a ball on Halloween night, which all of the older students are allowed to attend. It won’t just be any kind of ball, but a masquerade ball, in keeping with the tradition of wearing costumes for Halloween.

Excitement shoots through your veins as you get ready for the night. You’re incredibly happy with the dress which your parents had sent to Hogwarts. It’s purple with a skirt that flares out and shimmers in the light, seemingly changing colour dependant on the light that strikes it’s folds and frills, shifting through shades of blue and aquamarine. You take one last look at your hair in the mirror, tucking a stray strand behind your ear, before you put on your mask of purple lace, matching your dress.

Your roommate, Padma, helps you tie the silk ribbon keeping your mask in place, and gives you a smile. “You look amazing.”

Blushing, you glance down to the floor, unsure how to take the compliment. “Thanks, you too.”

Her face flushes with happiness before she walks away to help Beatrix with her dress. Satisfied with your appearance as you cast one last glance over your reflection, you make your way out into the Slytherin common room. From the common room window, you can see the full moon shining on the surface of the Hogwarts lake.

You spot Jimin, despite his mask, immediately. He’s wearing a dark suit, with a black shirt and tie, and a black mask to match. Sneaking up behind him where he’s standing with a group of other Slytherin boys, you give him a tap on the shoulder.

He turns around, and a smile spreads across his features, “Wow, look at you!” He picks you up and spins you around, while you squeak his arms. “You look amazing.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” you giggle as he sets you down again, breathless.

You catch a flush of colour beneath his mask, and your mind flicks back to Taehyung, who’s been dropping hints that Jimin has a crush on you for most of the past year. You’ve been trying to ignore him, but you can’t help but notice the small hints Jimin gives out without meaning to. The thought of him crushing on you fills you with a warm, happy glow. It’s nice to feel liked, and you silently find yourself hoping – wishing – that it might actually be true.

Of course, you haven’t done anything to confirm it, not ready to put him – or yourself – on the spot. But moments like this make you all the more curious.

“Come on,” Jimin motions to you as the crowd of Slytherins begin meandering to the great hall.

You thread your fingers through his, and let him lead you along the corridors to the Great Hall, happiness fizzing pleasantly in your stomach at the touch of his hand in your own.

As you make your way into the Great Hall your breath leaves your lungs. Even after four years, when you think you’re used to all that magic has to offer, it throws another glittering spectacle your way. The entire hall is cloaked in a purple glow as the sky above your head opens up to the marvel of glowing colours from the northern lights. You know that the real sky won’t have the aurora borealis shining outside, yet it has somehow been summoned to light one room in Hogwarts castle. The whole hall is filled with sparkling streamers, and candles cast a warm glow against the cool lights shining from the sky that makes up the enchanted roof.

“Hey, look,” Jimin nudges you, “Your dress matches the sky.”

You look down at your dress, the purples and blues swirling in the seams of the material and smile. “Well it would be a shame not to go dancing when I look so good in this light,” you say, and Jimin grins, letting you lead him towards the centre of the hall, where a few other students have started dancing.

Holding onto Jimin’s arms, stronger than your remember, you spin around the dance floor, held close to his warmth.  The sky above your head is a glittering shimmer of different colours, ghosting past your eyes, with your gaze fixed on Jimin. His face is mostly obscured by his mask, but his eyes are clear to you, fixed on your own - dark pools of emotion that you can reach, interpret, if you just give yourself one moment of vulnerability. If you just give yourself one shimmering moment of honesty.

Your eyes rip away from Jimin’s, your face blushing, unsure of the feelings that you’re encountering. You notice Taehyung in your periphery vision. He’s standing at the edge of the dance floor, with a mug of butterbeer in his hand. Normally, you know that he would run over to you and Jimin, a grin on his face and a greeting on his tongue, but he seems to sense the same shimmering uncertainty hovering between you and Jimin. As he stands quiet at the edge of the dance floor, he gives you a wink, and then weaves his way back into the crowd.

This is what he’s been trying to encourage all this time – one moment of vulnerable honesty, where both you and Jimin open up enough to realise what’s so obvious to anyone else. You’re tired of waiting for confirmation.

Tipping your chin up, you push your lips to his in a rush of courage, almost as if you had drunk Felix Felicis. You can feel surprise rolling through his body, as he keeps his hold on you. Slowly, easily, he melts into your kiss. His lips open to yours, and with a whirling head, you give yourself over to the desires you had been ignoring for so long, fingers finding purchase on the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Your nerves conduct a symphony of excitement as everything you had needed was understood and relinquished to you in that moment.

As you part, both breathless, both smiling, you say,“Shall we step outside – just to get some fresh air?”

Jimin follows your cue, with an “Absolutely,”, walking after you as you weave your way through the crowds, out the door of the Great Hall, and towards the exit of the castle. The air is cold as you step out, and your shiver in the gauze of your shimmering dress, beautiful, but useless at protecting against the chill.

Seeing you trembling, Jimin removes his blazer and places it over your shoulders. You breathe deeply, enjoying the fresh crisp edge in your lungs.

Outside, with the real stars shimmering above you, unmasked from the aurora borealis that shimmered in the Great Hall, you turn to Jimin. You remove your mask, glad to let the cool air fall onto your cheeks.

Jimin takes off his mask as well, and you rake your eyes over his expression, hunting for a hint of regret at the kiss you had shared. There’s nothing but joy in his face.

As the rest of the school parties inside, you and Jimin share your hearts out in the cold.

✽ ✽ ✽

[Fifth Year – October 31st]

Jimin is taking Halloween celebrations very seriously this year. After all – it’s not just Halloween, it’s also your anniversary. One year of being a couple.

That’s why, when the Halloween Feast ends, instead of heading back to the common room, he leads you out of the school, sneaking through back passages and hallways until you’re outside, with the brisk wind whipping your hair.

“Where are we going?”

Jimin keeps throwing you knowing glances, pushing his fingers to his lips.

Impatience bubbles below your skin, but you allow him to lead you on to the edge of the lake, where you find a spread of your favourite snacks and drinks on a checkered picnic blanket, surrounded by candles that suddenly flicker on with the murmur of a spell.

“I hope you saved room for desert like I told you to.”

“Wow, Jimin,” you kneel down on the blanket, absorbing the array he’s arranged. “This is wonderful!”

“I hoped you would like it,” you can barely see it, but in the candle light, you notice a faint blush on his cheeks.

“I love it,” you assure him, leaning across  to give him a kiss on the cheek, and the blush deepens.

You allow yourself a few tastes of the of sweets that Jimin has provided, including the apple and redcurrant tart that is, magically, still warm, before lying back on the picnic blanket, snuggling up to Jimin, who provides an arm wrapped around you to fend off the chill.

As you stare up at the cloudless sky, with stars winking down at you, a wave of satisfaction spreads through your chest. You wish you could pause your life at this moment, bound by Jimin’s arms.

“Thanks for an amazing year, Jimin,” you murmur, and you feel his grip around you tighten a little, as he squeezes you.

“Thank you too. Here’s to many more.”

With no once but the stars watching down, you lean in to kiss him, pulling him closer. His body is firm and warm, a perfect distraction from the cold air that presses in from all other sides. After a year, you have so many emotions to share with him, so much love to give him.

✽ ✽ ✽

[Sixth Year - October 31st]

On the sixth year, your year group is allowed to go on a short school trip to a castle nestled in the mountains. The main goal of the school trip is learning of the history of some magical relics that were discovered around the area, as well as observing rare magical creatures that live in the area for your Care of Magical Creatures course.

The part you have been looking forward to the most is the Halloween celebrations. While you’ll be missing the normal Halloween feast, your teachers have allowed you your own room in the castle, where you can have a party with your year group.

The small room in the castle is cozy and cheerful, with a fire flickering in the hearth, and a tables piled high with food, making your mouth water and your eyes glisten.

When you and Jimin walk into the room together, your hand finds his, squeezing in excitement.

Taehyung walks up behind you, and throws an arm over each of your shoulders. “How are my favourite love-birds?”

Jimin laughs, “We’re good. You enjoying the school trip?”

“Sure… Although our group didn’t see anything exciting when we went orienteering. I swear the way the teachers spoke about it, I was certain that this place would be swarming with unicorns, But I suppose, even in areas where they’re more common… they’re still pretty rare.”

You bite your lip, not sure if telling Taehyung that the group you and Jimin were with managed to spot a young unicorn while you were out. Instead you say, “Isn’t this a nice change of pace from the normal Halloween feast?”

Taehyung looks around the room, a nostalgic smile on his face. “Yeah, it’s nice. Really nice... It’s strange to think that this is our penultimate year at school. It doesn’t feel that long ago we were just getting sorted into our houses.”

You feel Jimin’s squeeze your fingers. “Yeah, it’s going to be so strange when we have to leave,” he says.

“We’ll all stay friends when we leave Hogwarts though, right?” you say, and without any hesitation both Jimin and Taehyung answer - “Absolutely.”

✽ ✽ ✽

That night, you hear a knock on your dormitory door. Cracking it open, you peer out to find Jimin outside. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Jimin, you know we’re not meant to visit other students’ rooms at night,” you chide teasingly.

“I know, but I wanted to see you. Can I come in?” You peer up and down the corridor, but the entire hallway appears empty.

You nod, and let him in. The rooms you’ve been allocated at the castle are large, almost as big as the dorm rooms you’re assigned at Hogwarts, but you don’t have to share this one with other Slytherin girls. A large four-poster bed stands at the centre of the room, where you will be spending the night.

Excitement leaps up to your stomach as you realise that you’re alone in a bedroom with Jimin for the first time in a long time. Your professors are normally strict about students mingling in the dormitories at Hogwarts, so it’s difficult to get any intimate alone time.

You know the same thing is on Jimin’s mind, as his eyes fall to the bed. With a grin, you lead him over to soft mattress,  frosted by the thick duvet. Pulling him under the covers, you wrap your arms around him, your lips finding his in the dark. As he gets lost in the heat of your body, you murmur your love to him, whispered into the empty darkness beyond the haven of your bed. You learn new ways to know him, discovering new parts of him. The night stretches out to infinity, wobbling, and then collapsing with your secretly shared ecstasy.

✽ ✽ ✽

[Seventh Year - October 27th]

As it’s your final year at Hogwarts, some of your year have been tasked with helping to organise events. Of course, Jimin offered to organise the Halloween Feast, but now, as the night creeps closer, you can see he is getting more and more nervous.

When he comes back to the common room after another planning meeting, his tension automatically translates for you with a sigh, as he flops onto one of the chairs and rubs his eyes.

“You doing okay?” you ask, although you know he’s not.

His hair flops over his furrowed brows as he hangs his head. “It’s fine. I just… I want to make this Halloween Feast the best it’s ever been, and I don’t know if it’s all going to come together the way I want...”

You make you way to the back of his chair, and begin to massage the tense muscles in his shoulders. “I’m sure it’ll be amazing.”

“But don’t you see?” Jimin looks up at you, straining his neck, “This is going to be the last Halloween Feast we have at Hogwarts. It’s got to be amazing! Or I’ll let you down.”

“No matter what, if I get to celebrate it with you, it’ll be amazing,” you reassure him, bending to plant a kiss on his forehead.

He smiles, and you feel his muscles relaxing against you. “Well, no matter what, you’ll be in for a treat, I promise.”

“I always am, when I get to spend all my days with you.” You plant a kiss on his lips this time, feeling him smile into you.

✽ ✽ ✽

[Seventh Year – October 31st]

The day of the Halloween Feast rolls around, and you meet Jimin in the common room, both dressed up, ready for the feast.

Jimin’s face melts into a soft smile, seeing you, with your hair tied back, and your gown billowing out around you as you run up to hug him. You can smell his cologne as you pull away from him, dizzying you, as it clings to your clothing – a reminder that he held you close.

“You ready for this?” you ask, and he gives you a nod, hand squeezing at your own.

You let him lead you down the hallways to the Great Hall. You take in every detail, knowing you’ve got a limited time left to appreciate the unique crevices of Hogwarts, with the twisting staircases, and the curious paintings. You’re not sure what will happen once you graduate. Will you have to go back to a non-magical life with your parents? Or will you get to stay in the world of magic, using the skills you’ve learnt in potion making, divination, and spell casting?

Jimin’s hand grips yours tightly, and you know he’s thinking of what will happen after you leave as well.

As you step into the Great Hall, your worries are quickly swept away.

The Great Hall has been completely transformed. Candles float in the air, burning flames of blue and orange, sparking up to the sky, which burns golden from the setting sun. Crystals dangle down from the ceiling, cascading light across the hall. The tables have strings of lights shining around them. At first glance they appear to be fairy lights, but when you look closer you realise they are actually specks of light floating on their own, like fireflies. Pumpkins sit on the table surrounded by flowers, and sprigs of ivy cascade down the table legs.

“You really outdid yourself,” you tell Jimin in a hushed tone of reverence, “This is beautiful.” He glows with pleasure as you sit down at the Slytherin table.

You feel a poke behind you, and turn in your seat to see Taehyung, who’s stopped on his way to the Hufflepuff table. He grins at you, “Amazing, whoever worked on this did an amazing job.” He grins at you, while Jimin flushes at the indirect complement.

Clasping a hand on Jimin’s shoulder, Taehyung says, “Good job, for real,” before he’s ushered along by some other Hufflepuffs who are trying to get to their seats.

The night seems to go by in a blur of dazzling lights and delicious food. You sit back in your chair, as a house elf comes around offering tea and mints after the dinner. “This was amazing,” you tell Jimin. “I’m sad it’s our last Halloween at Hogwarts. I want to do this all again”

Jimin nods, “It doesn’t need to be the last amazing Halloween we have together though.”

You smile. “Of course not.”

“Hey,” Jimin shuffles in his chair, “I know you might want to go to university after this, but… what would you say if, after all that… we moved in together?”

You blush, thinking it over. You and Jimin have been together for so long, it only seems like a natural conclusion that you would end up together after this. Yet, it seems difficult to imagine what it will be like to be with Jimin outside of Hogwarts, in a hazy future. All you know is that if Jimin’s a part of your life, then the days will be bright.

Without giving it any more thought, knowing exactly what you want, you say, “Yes. I’d like that very much.”

✽ ✽ ✽

[Four Years after Graduating from Hogwarts - October 31st]

It’s the day of the Halloween party – the Halloween party that Jimin has become famous among for hosting at his house. Somehow, without you noticing, late afternoon has slunk in, and you’re helping Jimin add the last finishing touches to your house, making sure all the foods are ready for when guests arrive.

You look around at the spread of food crammed on the small kitchen table. “Not too bad, Park Jimin” you say, giving him an approving smile.

“Well, I couldn’t have got it all done on time without your help,” Jimin says, making his way over to sweep you into a hug. He smells of spices and vanilla from helping you to bake in the kitchen. There’s flour on his hands, which has definitely ended up on your jumper. Nothing a little bit of magic won’t fix.

“Hey,” he pulls away from you, “I was going to ask after the party, but I’m too excited to wait.”

You furrow your brows, wondering what he’s getting at.

He licks his lips, looking down at you, and you see his Adam’s apple bob. “I was wondering...” he pauses, and your hearts starts thudding against your rib cage.

“How would you feel about marrying me?” JImin asks, eyes searching yours.

You don’t give him any moment of hesitation or uncertainty. You’re already pressing a kiss to his lips before your remember directing your body to do so. “I’d want nothing more!” you murmur as you part.

“Good,” he laughs, nuzzling your neck as you hold him close. “Now I won’t have to return the ring I bought you.”

✽ ✽ ✽

After you wave off the party that evening, Taehyung being the last to leave as per usual, Jimin pulls you into the living room, where the remains of the party still linger in the form of dishevelled decorations, and the last crumbs of the snacks you baked.

“Well, did I manage to out do all the Halloweens you’ve had?” Jimin asks as you both snuggle up on the sofa.

“You definitely have,” you assure him, “I mean… you proposed to me!”

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to do even better by actually marrying you next year,” he retorts.

“October wedding?”

“Definitely.”

“I’d like that a lot.”

✽ THE END ✽

#bts scenarios #bts imagines #jimin scenario #jimin imagine #bts fluff #jimin fluff #bts #bangtan #bangtan scenarios #bangtan imagines #bangtan fluff #bts reactions #bts chats #bts hogwarts au #bts jimin #park jimin #bts x reader #bts x you #jimin x reader #jimin x you #bts fanfic #bts fic #jimin fanfic #jimin fic #bts fanfction #taehyung #kpop fanfic #bts writing #bts friends to lovers

[heli0s-writes]

Eat the Rich*

Summary: You’re just a girl in a bar way above your tax bracket and Ransom  really doesn’t care for what you’re wearing.

A/N: There are no spoilers for the movie. But, there IS... Smut. Dirty talk. Class warfare in the form of hate-fucking. 2.9k words of FILTH. I need to be exorcised for this. Thank you @evanstarff​ and @tropicalcap​ for sending me straight to hell.

The entire lounge seems to turn when you enter. Eyes slide back and forth your way, mid-conversation mouths dipping into low frowns. Amidst the old-money frat boys from Cambridge, Beacon Hill Barbie socialites, and Downtown business young bloods, you’re a flagrant contrast in ripped jeans and an old hoodie.

A favorite hoodie. An incendiary hoodie.

The kind of hoodie that is worn with pride around these West End parts. Even the group you arrive with tried to hackle you out of it— bachelorette party decorum, they cried, will you please take that thing off?

Your cousin might be marrying Silverspoon Asswipe and stringing herself up pretty next to all his call-girl friends, but you are a Jamaica Plain girl through and through and you will not stuff yourself into a glitzy cocktail dress before this hoodie.

She waves her hand at the hostess to distract her from your outfit, rustling the satin sash over her glossy sweetheart neckline, “Reservation under Prentiss; it was booked this morning?” And then a sharp look at you as if to say, you made the reservations, right?!

Duh. Your eyes respond when the hostess begins to lead your party back. You follow the tail end of the throng, veering off towards the bar; the miasma of Chanel perfume is enough to gag, and the cigar smoke is only a tiny bit better. Not like they’d care or even notice.

“Do you have PBR?”

The bartender stutters and before you can make him any more uncomfortable, a deep voice from beside you nips it in the bud.

Broad shoulders turn until you see his face. Amused, with a single raised eyebrow, mouth just barely tilting up at one corner. Mid-thirties and extremely well-groomed. Slicked back brown hair and classic Ray Bans hang from the collar of his sweater. Too handsome for his own good with the unmistakable swagger of someone grown up filthy rich.

“She’ll have the Glenfiddich. Neat.”

Certainly smug enough to butt in like you’re old friends.

“Will she?” You ponder defiantly at the pursed lips nestled over a strong jaw.

His own thick crystal glass is easily tipped into his mouth when he takes a too-large swig. Signet rings on two left fingers glimmer, and with a low exhale bordering a growl, he hisses through his teeth, “Yeah. I think you will.”

Bold blue eyes roam over your top and the statement printed there for a second before he scrutinizes your face. Then, purposefully—and knowing that your eyes are on him-- he looks back down to the swell of your chest.

A hum of approval before he faces forward again, only giving you his side profile.

“Wow,” you scoff, “Dick.”

The grin that splits his mouth for a second looks angelic if angels could be full-grown men with full-grown egos to match. “Close. It’s Ransom.”

Amber sloshes when the bartender returns, and you chance a sip because even your pride isn’t stupid enough to pass on a free glass of Glenfiddich.

The whiskey bites for a second before rolling smoothly down your throat. There’s an inherently superior taste to these luxury drinks, but you pull a face all the same, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. Ransom chuckles, head turning just a tad as he looks to you from the corner of his eye.

“You making a statement with that thing on, or what?”

“You’re the one making a statement with that ladies wool scarf from Drake’s.”

Ransom jerks to you fully now, attention snatched by your wit as he leans in, “Where’d you come from, little girl? Not everyone walks into Carver’s dressed in rags.”

He really is a piece of work. When you tell him your neighborhood, as expected, he snorts with disdain, but his eyes fall back on you again, highly intrigued. “There’s more to you, isn’t there? My scarf, that attitude. Someone taught you a thing or two, didn’t they?”

The single-malt mouthful is singing in your veins and if your confidence was thinking about simmering down for a second, it’s forgotten itself inside the furious swirl. The hand around your empty glass clutches just a tiny bit tighter.

“Oh, come on,” Ransom waggles two fingers for another round, “Let’s see, I’m thinking… blue-collar parents, siblings, maybe with shared rooms in your dilapidated Jamaica Plain home?” A tap of his finger to that pink bottom lip too damn pretty to be on his wretched face, he pretends to mull a thought over.

He looks you up and down, taking just enough time to where you feel violated under his gaze, “I know: Public college. Two-year community. Working a day job in Back Bay made you bitter, didn’t it? Hence, statement piece.”

“Asshole,” you snap, unraveling at the seams with rage, and the bartender quickly flits away again, “Full ride to Northeastern, four years with honors. Back Bay can’t fucking afford me.”

You don’t know how he does it, but his derisive silence incenses you even more. He couples it with a slow flick of his tongue over teeth, flagrant staring, and the piercing blue of his eyes spotlight a trail—across your shoulders, down your arm, jumping from your fingertip to your thigh, and then it dips between.

Every inch of your body prickles alive with reaction, so naturally, you spit, “Fuck you.”

Ransom’s smile grows until it nearly looks genuine, but then the sharp points of his canines sink right into your gut.

“When?”

There is something ugly and incredible simmering behind his thick curtain eyelashes. A clear ocean grows stormy, sizzling like a cruel tempest rushing to life. The yellow gaussian blur from dim scone lights suddenly cast shadows over his sharp nose.

He slaps too many bills on the polished ebony and the swish of his scarf flicks over your knee when he stands. Ransom towers over you, light pink flush of inebriation and excitement growing hotter on his sculpted cheeks. He leans in, the open flaps of his overcoat falling around your shoulder, threatening to swallow you inside all his dark.

Low timbre and dusky spice goads, “Put your money where your mouth is, scholarship; that sweater’s not all talk, is it?”

Dick!

-

Big hands yank the hem up over your head for a second before something changes his mind. The heavy steel door is latched twice over and he’s pushing you into it with his imposing frame. Your skull hits the metal as his knee parts your thigh, leg shoving itself up in-between until you’re on your tip-toes, with nothing to do but land on him. The heat of it rushes all the way up to the top of your head, pouring from your mouth in a choked mewl.

Ransom rucks the top over your breasts until the words scrunch up at your collarbones and you think it must bring him some masochistic satisfaction to know their unforgiving glare:

Eat the Rich

His warning chills your spine.

“I’m gonna fuck that line from your brain. Fuck it right out.”

He yanks everything south of your waist to your ankles and pulls himself free from his pants, effortlessly tearing a condom from inside his leather wallet and slipping it on. Between the time he gets your bare ass on the counter and the sound of the rubber snap, he’s already branded a purple streak onto the side of your neck and you’re embarrassingly wet.

Your breath hitches in your throat when you see his length rising from beneath his cable-knit. Bright pink and angry, and so goddamn thick it makes you whimper. Ransom smothers it with his demanding and hungry mouth, impatient at being empty, stinging with whiskey and force. He’s probably never waited on anything in his life and within a short fifteen minutes of meeting him, you know that to be true.

Not a care in the world is given as goosebumps break out all over your arms.

He spins you into the sink countertop and then the two of you are staring at each other in the mirror’s reflection. His hands return to your hips with a bruising clutch and those thick fingers begin to rub the slick between your folds all over your thighs. Fucking A-- It’s good. Idiot rich boy does have the Midas Touch.

One long leg kicks your jeans completely off, sole of his shoes stomping all over them. He’s unforgivingly large and he knows it because everything about Ransom Drysdale is a statement: his clothes, his attitude, his dick. There’s a joke in here somewhere about him being the very epitome of it, but he’s glaring at you with that pretty bottom lip stretched between perfect white teeth and maybe you can forgive the fact that he’s leaving boot marks all over your jeans and bruises in the shape of fingerprints on your back.

“Tell me,” he teases, slipping one finger in, the metal of his ring pressing up against your clit, “Tell me you’ve had it like this before.”

A slow roll of his hips against your ass, letting the weight of his cock pressed hot and tight between his body and yours. You find yourself inching higher, micro-movements attuned to his, staring but unseeing at his face, buzzing with the raw need to be clenching around more than one finger.

“Not like this, not off Glenfiddich, in Jamaica Plain…”

And without thinking, because there isn’t much to think about, you hiss, “Oh, fuck you!”

Ransom chuckles into your ear because your voice breaks just a tad and he’s going to win this fight. Claws and teeth out sharper than knives, he bites down on your shoulder and slips in another finger. The distinct sensations—soft, slippery, strokes and the sting of his teeth—are scrambling your brain.  

He grips himself tight, pushes in with uncharacteristic restraint, and you’re so desperate and aching for it all you can do is push back and pray the sound you might be making isn’t loud enough for everyone in the damn place to hear.

You stifle a grunt with his next languid stroke and Ransom raises an eyebrow, “What? You suddenly shy now?”

It might be just a restroom, but it’s one of the nicest places you’ve ever been inside. Carver’s cigar room’s private single occupancy nook and he’s usurped it to screw you senseless. As if reading your thoughts, he rolls his eyes and continues, glaring at your half-lidded reflection.

“Who gives a shit?” Then, another smirk, “If you’re gonna scream, get my name right.”

Your belly is quivering from the pressure, holding yourself together as best you can before he takes you to pieces. The grooves in his rings cut into your skin. His hand squeezes your neck, fingers crawling up your chin to shove inside your mouth.

Like everything else he’s ever wanted in his life, he’ll own this, too.

And then it’s only punishment. Ransom twists your hair around one fist, other forearm pressing like an anchor on your sternum, wrist shoved through the neckline, hand splayed open and clutching your throat and it goes nearly all the way around. The reflection of your panting mouth and bouncing breasts matching his every thrust is lewd and vile and so goddamn good.

“I bet you fuck on top, don’t you, scholarship?” He releases your throat to pinch your cheeks together, tipping your head derisively, making you nod yourself stupid—awful and humiliating but it unexpectedly thrills.

“Bet you’re too proud to ask.” He makes you nod again, “Bet you want someone to fuck you open just like this—all filthy and sloppy—“

And he doesn’t have to make you agree that time, you’re already limp in expectation and your reflection, damn her, she nods.

He’s still fully dressed, coat swaying to cocoon the both of you in what is probably a hundred thousand dollars. His watch, his rings, his fucking boxers. That stupid cable knit sweater.

A yelp leaks out with your orgasm- unexpected and high and quick, like a wounded animal as you tip your head back onto his shoulder. He doesn’t stop, even for a second. Ransom thrusts deeper, and on the cusp of your second undoing, he licks an errant bead of sweat down the back of your neck.

“You got one more. Yeah, that’s right— one more— God, your pussy loves it. Squeezing me fucking good.” He’s sick. He’s sick and Jesus Christ, aren’t you, too? “Yeah. Push back on my cock. Fuck yourself with it…”

He guides your fingers to your clit with his free hand and begins to rub in motions. Your eyes flutter when he breathes into your ear, “There you go, scholarship, you’ll never get dick this good again—so go ahead and be selfish. I wanna see you all fucked out, fucked stupid, coming all over my dick.”

With two fingers sluiced with your spit, Ransom crams them up next to his cock and you can’t believe how he did it so easily but maybe you can. Yes, filthy and sloppy and never like you’ve had before. Your hands grip the counter top so tightly the tips look white and bloodless and the strained coil inside snaps clean in two.

“Fuck! Oh fuck! God!”

You slump backwards, fingertips to toes shocked tingly numb, boneless and empty of all thought, but he holds you up with ease. Ransom shushes your gasps, paws your breasts and fluttering sternum, runs his hand over your face and throat. The pinch of his fingers returns to your cheeks and he drags his other hand from inside your pussy up into to your mouth. Slick and dripping, a little rubbery from the condom, but otherwise just like yourself.

“Well, look at that. Aren’t you just…”

He pauses to view your blissful face, covered in a sheen layer of sweat, head resting on his shoulder, slanted just enough so that the tip of your nose brushes his jaw. A quick laugh, strangely knowing and a bit sweet or maybe you’re imagining it in your delirium, before he turns cold again.

“Make good on your slogan. Get on your fucking knees.”

His hand looks ridiculous, big and strong and wrapped around the best part of him, completely filthy with you smeared over his fist and you slide to your knees, forehead resting briefly on his knee. His pants have fallen around his ankles, boxers still midway, and you’re so exhausted you can hardly do much more than give him a light kiss to his inner thigh—God knows why—before you peel the rubber off.

It lands into the toilet and you obediently stick out your tongue, still panting to catch your breath as Ransom aims toward your open throat. “There you go,” he groans, fisting himself, “That’s it. Don’t let a single drop go to waste.”

And you don’t.

-

“So,” your old mentor asks, familiar low drawl of his voice crackling with the tone of a lifelong smoker, “What do you think?”

A hum passes through from your end as you think about all the ways Ransom Drysdale Thrombey pulled you apart and in all the ways you’ll probably think about for at least a couple of months.

“He’s exactly who you think he is.” You rock back and forth on your feet near the curb, “Disrespectful…” Scholarship, Ransom’s voice sneers, “Selfish…” Who gives a shit? “Manipulative.”

Well look at that… aren’t you just… And the glimmer of those big blue eyes half-crazed with lust and control, drinking in your reflection in the mirror, makes you clench up right there in the parking lot.

“You think he’s a killer?” Blanc asks quietly.

“I don’t know,” You reply, “Depends. He takes what he wants when he wants it… Could care less if he burns the world down with him. You divine the rest.”

Benoit Blanc’s frustrated sigh is all the response you expect him to give. This case with the Thrombeys really has gotten him all twisted up. He wouldn’t have called you for a favor if it didn’t. Of course, when he asked you to check Ransom Drysdale Thrombey out, he’ll be at Carver’s tomorrow around ten, he probably had other scenarios in mind…

“Well,” he mumbles, “Thanks again. These people sure are hell to be around. Give the new Prentisses my best, won’t you?”

You say your goodbyes and tuck your phone back into your pocket, shifting with a wince when the soreness between your legs throbs again. With a sigh into the dark autumn night, you shove your hands inside the center pouch of your hoodie, keeping your head low but still wary enough to find your Uber.

Ransom left you in the restroom about ten minutes ago, sitting on your haunches, still trying to remember how your lungs work. Right before the door shut, he had turned around and gave you one last smirk, pointing right at your top with glee. “How’d I taste, baby?”

Blanc needs to be careful, not that he isn’t— because he always is, as nutty as his brain works, he is. But Ransom is the only Thrombey you’ve met and if there are ten more of them… Blanc would do good to watch his ass and maybe get some extra help.

A jangle disrupts the quiet when you begin to play with what you’ve taken. Jagged metal edges. Heavy iconic insignia laying benignly in your palm before you tug it out.

Idiot. Good dick or not, an idiot is an idiot is an idiot— especially his kind. Didn’t even notice you slipped these right out of his coat pocket. You swing the ring around your flexed pointer in swift, angry circles, keys clanging together before your hand shuts it up.

With a hard wind of your arm back, you fling the set long into the night, satisfied when it lands behind a building some distance away.

Ransom Drysdale, you think, enthusiastic smile growing on your face as your ride pulls around the corner, have fun looking for those tonight.

Dick!

-

Ransom tags: @mermaidxatxheart @dumbubblegum @sapphirescrolls @gothambrat @southerncross47 @bubblegumpeeeach @fiercephantasmagoria @saliarheva @amberakawolfie

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#knives out #ransom thrombey #ransom drysdale #ransom x reader #smut #fanfiction #reader insert #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale thrombey #ransom x you #eat the rich heli0s

[xoluvx]

the last great american dynasty; peter parker

» pairing: peter parker x stark!reader » song: the last great american dynasty » word count: 2.7K

“Look who’s here,” Cap muttered looking down from the large glass windows in the compound. For a place that was suppose to be top secret, it was pretty damn open and obvious. He sipped from his coffee mug watching the woman slide out of the shiny black car. Even from far away, he could see the mischievous smirk on her face that spoke louder than the white feminine suit clinging to her body.

Peter approached Steve from the side, curious as to who he was referring to. It was certainly you. Suddenly he’d forgotten how to breath and his brain had completely given up on him as his mind went foggy and his limbs limp.

“She’s here,” Tony rushed down the hallway and into the common room where both Steve and Peter were standing. They snapped their heads towards him, an ecstatic Tony was rubbing his hands together as he heard the elevator ding.

“Daddy!” you exclaimed pushing your big sunglasses towards the top of your head, your arms outstretching towards Tony who sprinted to you. His arms engulfing you in a big bear hug, just like he’d do when you were younger.

“How was the flight?” he asked releasing you watching you stand there not a hair out of place, you were always so composed. There was no way you had just been on an almost day long flight.

“First class, can’t complain.” You smiled playfully, but others could have said it was more snobbish. By others, I mean Cap who was now approaching you with his coffee mug. His lips pursed slightly until you saw him.

“Uncle Steve,” you smiled stretching your arms again. He chuckled slightly. He may not have been a fan of your lush life and your extravagant arrivals, but there was always a glint in your eyes that reminded him of when you were younger and he relished in those moments.

“How’s the fiance?” he asked pulling away. Totally oblivious to why you were visiting. Why you’d practically lugged your entire life back to America.

“Oh, you didn’t tell him?” you chuckled awkwardly turning to your dad. You wished you could push down your sunglasses and simply vanish.

“I didn’t think it was my place, sweetie.” You dad gave you a slight shrug in the douche-baggy way people were used to seeing from him. Clearing your throat, turning towards Steve again you gave him a tight line smile.

“It didn’t work out.” You weren’t heartbroken. You’d broken it off. He wasn’t who you thought he was and he definitely wasn’t who you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. He just wasn’t on your level.

“I’ve gotta head out, Mr. Stark.” A distinct boyish voice, which you’d recognize anywhere, approached the three of you. Diverting your attention from Cap, you looked at Peter. He hadn’t changed one bit. If anything he’d only grown more handsome, his jaw was more defined and his hair. Had he gotten a haircut maybe? It suited him.

“Pete,” you muttered his nickname. You suddenly felt small. Everything you owned and everything you’d projected was just so insignificant in the presence of Peter.

“Hey,” he chuckled slightly as if he hadn’t recognized you. As if you were a stranger walking down the street and he just happened to bump into you and was being courteous because he had manners.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, first thing in the morning.” Tony placed his hand on Peter’s shoulder talking to him directly. Waving his finger at him. Peter nodded as Tony and Steve disappeared leaving him alone with you. Still standing by the elevator.

“You look great,” Peter complimented awkwardly looking at your crisp outfit and your perfectly flawless face. Your lips curled into a smile and you felt yourself growing warmer. He always knew how to make you feel flushed.

“You’re not looking so bad yourself,” you retaliated watching him stand there in jeans and a plain faded grey t-shirt. His hair was somewhat shorter at the sides, but his curls were still there, slightly framing his face in a sideways sweep. He’d matured. But he was still Peter. 

“I really gotta go, I’ll see you around.” With that he quickly sprinted towards the stairs. His light footsteps haunting you as he walked out.

•

“Morning, Peter.” Tony’s voice echoed through the compound’s kitchen as Peter entered. He was wearing a baggy hoodie and jeans. It was like his uniform. Comfort over anything.

You were up bright and early. You were also wearing jeans, but they were form fitting and dressed up. The blouse you were wearing elevated the look. The loose chiffon hung on your body, but the built in straps at the neck were done in a neat bow around your neck.

“I’ll be down in the lab in a bit. You want breakfast?” Tony asked lifting up the pan with eggs. He was hovering over the kitchen island serving himself. In your hands, there was a coffee mug and next to it a small bowl of fruit.

“Sure,” Peter said clearing his throat. He was usually a lot more laid back with Tony. His level of respect was still there for the man, but their relationship had relaxed over the years. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling so tense now. Maybe it was the fact that you were staring at him.

Or the fact that he hadn’t seen you in years and you were just sitting there now. Pretending like you’d never been gone.

Clearing his throat, Peter muttered a ‘thanks’ as Tony placed a plate of food in front of him. Your eyes never leaving him.

•

“Is it weird seeing her?” Ned asked, his face registering more excitement that concern for his best friend. Ned had stopped by the compound, something he’d do regularly as he’d been able to land a job with the Avengers. You know, guy in the chair and all.

Peter cleared his throat trying to avoid the topic. Ned had seen you, the two of you had a quick conversation before Peter was able to drag Ned away. And now here was a curious Ned.

“It’s a little weird, but-” Peter shrugged not being able to finish his sentence. Simply because he didn’t know what to feel. He felt so much, yet he couldn’t decipher exactly what that was. So he was ignoring those feelings. Pushing them aside, but now Ned was prying. He knew he couldn’t lie to him.

“Okay, but you have to admit...she looks incredible and the way she was looking at you, man.” Ned shook his head chuckling slightly ignoring the fact that he currently had a million things to do.

Peter froze. So he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.

•

It’d been weeks of scrutinizing encounters. Awkward bump-ins on the elevator or halls. Did Peter live here? You started to wonder. It was the only logical explanation for why he was constantly roaming the compound.

Neither of you ever held a conversation, except if Ned was involved. Other than that, all interactions were composed of stolen glances and sly unintentional brushes of hands or shoulders.

“Black tie event,” Tony warned pointing at Peter who was nodding his head walking backwards towards the stairs. You glanced at him quickly clutching the fork in your hand. Inside of you, a weird bubbling feeling was brewing. The prospect of seeing Peter in a suit and tie, unlike his multitude of t-shirts and jeans, which you totally didn’t mind, was enticing.

“Black tie, got it!” Peter exclaimed rushing down the stairs. 

“Are you excited?” Tony asked looking at you snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah, what could go wrong with hundreds of people, who I haven’t seen in a long time, coming to celebrate my arrival to the states? After I’ve called off my engagement?” You added that last part just for kicks. A smug look on your face as you finished eating your pasta.

•

The sea of bodies consumed the room as you looked for a drink. Everyone was chatting away and it seemed almost everyone had forgotten about you. Good, you didn’t have time to entertain anyone’s crazy theories about why you’d left and why you were now back.

“Thank you,” you hummed taking the glass of wine from the bar. The bittersweet taste coated your taste buds and a sigh of satisfaction exhaled from your body. But your peace was quickly interrupted when two men approached you as you walked away from the bar. He whispered something in your ear that made your body recoil, and you stared at him with a blank face. A subtle shake of your head was indication that you didn’t want anything to do with him, but his friend was instant.

“I’m not going to dance with you,” you exclaimed shaking your head again as you clutched your wine glass tighter.

“No wonder your husband left you,” he spit the words with a vile laugh. The comment didn’t phase you, but the fact that this dimwit thought he could insult you was amusing. “Probably only wanted you for daddy’s money,” he added as his friend laughed quietly next to him.

“It’s funny that you assume everything I have is because my dad is Tony Stark,” you said not raising your voice. Your face expressionless as you took a sip of your wine. People were starting to gather around you. The men drawing attention as they continued to laugh and make childlish remarks.

“I’ll have you know I not only own half of Stark Industries, but I’m heavily involved in everything that happens around here. It’s a shame women can’t have fun and do business at the same time without pathetic men like you and you-” you pointed at his friend while sighing, “-shaming them.”

It seemed like everyone had silenced as you finished your speech, chugging your wine. You handed the man your wine glass before ushering everyone to scram. There was nothing to see here. 

•

“He had that coming,” Peter’s voice approached you at the bar. He leaned against the counter slightly watching you take your eyes off your glass, which he was sure was now filled with something a lot stronger. Startled you jumped slightly, now watching him with a playful smile on your face. The playful banter felt familiar. Felt like the old Peter.

“Men,” you scoffed shaking your head with disgust.

“You got that right,” he chuckled nodding in agreeance motioning towards the bartender. 

“How’s MJ?” you asked diverting the conversation from you. His eyes bulged slightly as he brought the beer to his lips. His brows quickly furrowing as he grunted, the cold beer settling down his throat. You’d noticed he hadn’t brought a date. Lies. It wasn’t just noticing, you were practically watching his every move. Just like he had with you.

“MJ?” He asked clearing his throat.

“Last I heard you two were getting pretty serious, right?” you said trying not too sound too desperate, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly. You stirred your drink moving the glass with your fingers awaiting his answer.

“Uh...no.” He said a bit stunned. “We agreed we were better off as friends. She’s abroad, actually. Has a huge galley.” He chuckled.

Suddenly you get a weight pushing on your chest. It seemed like MJ had rejected him too. Had he lost total hope chasing after women? You couldn’t help, but wonder as you sipped on your drink watching his jaw clench.

“What happened with the fiance?” He teased. That’s what everyone called him. ‘The Fiance’. Like he was so mysterious, almost mythical. Peter had started to doubt if he had been real.

“Men,” you scoffed. “Remember?” you joked letting out a soft laugh chugging your drink.

Peter chuckled nodding his head, not wanting to pry. His beer was growing warm in his hands.

Placing your glass down with a clank on the counter, you grabbed Peter’s free hand leading him out of the room. “Come!” you demanded leading him towards the lab. You felt like a couple of kids sneaking out of a grown-up party. Even though you were the grown-ups.

Peter marveled at the suit in front of him.

“I didn’t want to show dad until it was presentable. What do you think?” you asked looking at the shiny suit. A multitude of laser beams sprouted at the sides with specific information about each feature and setting. Peter’s eyes scanned over the details. A look of approval registering on his face.

He turned to look at you. He was fascinated by the juxtaposition of your soft silky dress and the rough metal suit. The two sides of you. Both of which he’d known so well.

“Have you tried it out?” he asked trying to distract himself from how more attractive you’d grown. He didn’t know you were still in the labs being hands on, but somehow it elevated you further on the podium he’d slowly built for you over the years.

"Not yet. Wanted to get a second opinion,”  you said walking with him around the suit. He looked at the suit from every angle. You were touching something on a glass screen, your lips slightly parting as you concentrated.

Placing his beer down, Peter approached you. Maybe it was the alcohol or the smell of your intoxicating perfume. Maybe it was the fact that you were physically here and all his dreams were coming true.

He was standing close behind you. You could feel his breath on your exposed skin; you could smell the traces of beer. Not moving, you felt him come closer. His hand fell on your arm gently as his lips landed softly on your shoulder. His lips were like fire on your skin and you were rapidly melting. Shocks of electricity coursed through your body. Electricity only he was capable of producing.

His lips were soft and gentle on your skin as you pressed your back on his chest. His arm now wrapped around you, fingers spread across your torso. His lips traced a line all the way towards your neck, right below your ear. Your weak spot. He remembered.

A soft moan escaped your lips and with that, you turned your body capturing his lips in a heated embrace. His hands were firmly planted on your back. Yours wrapped around his neck, your fingers softly caressing his hair as the moment grew more fierce and heated. 

The only sounds vibrating on the walls were the sounds of your lips colliding and your soft panting as he pushed you towards the table. His lips were intoxicating, shooting bliss right through your veins.

It’d been too long since you kissed him. Since you were this close to him.

You mumbled something against his lips to which he nodded in agreeance, reluctantly pulling away so you could whisk him away to your room. Just like you had when you were teenagers. Sneaking around. Stealing kisses and secret touches.

The door to your room slammed shut, but no one heard it as the party roared all through the night.

•

“Wow,” Peter huffed laying in bed. Your sheets were draped across his lower body, your own body curled into his in peaceful bliss. Your head was resting on his chest, your fingers tracing circles on his torso.

You could clearly see his abs and you knew he’d definitely changed up his workout routine. He no longer had his boyish thin body, his muscles were perfectly defined. He was a man.

Peter’s hand rubbed your arm gently before running across your neck clutching the back of your head pulling you towards his lips. Your lips collided again. This time, they moved slowly. Your lips intimately reacquainting themselves. His grip was gentle, but maintained your head in place as his other hand wrapped around your back pulling you closer.

“I missed you,” he whispered against your lips and you smiled sharing one last kiss before you rested your head on the pillow close to his face.

“I couldn’t tell,” you joked; your lids were heavy as you smirked. 

He grabbed the hand that was tracing circles on his torso and intertwined your fingers. Your hand slipped into his perfectly like you’d been molded from the same slab of clay; made just for each other.

The two of you looked at your hands intertwined in the air. His fingers opened and closed around your hand checking if this was real. If you were real. You rested your elbow on his chest gently watching him play with your fingers now. His thumb running across your ring finger. Any traces of previous commitments had vanished.

This felt like a clean slate. A new beginning. One you wouldn’t regret.

folklore masterlist

#peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker fic #the last great american dynasty #folklore #folklore fics

[hermannsthumb]

Lo and behold, HERMANN is the one with a long list of hunky ex-boyfriends (and it drives Newt a little nuts)

a req sent in by @k-sci-janitor and filled TIMELY ENOUGH on their BIRTHDAYYYYY 🎉🎉🎉🎉 s/out to them for discussing this fic concept w me months ago and also today 👀

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

It’s a relief to find out Hermann is gay. It’s not even because of Newt’s weird, repressed feelings for the guy—though he admits it’s equally a relief to know that he’s not barking up the wrong tree entirely. The thing is that Newt’s really not sure what he would do if Hermann wasn’t. Hermann has the distinct honor (displeasure?) of being Newt’s only friend in the Shatterdome, after all; this means aside from usual friendship duties (sitting with Newt at lunch, listening to him complain about his day, allowing himself to be dragged along to bars and movie theaters when they finally have a second to breathe), he’s also the person Newt goes to with tales of his romantic conquests (not that he has any), requests for dating advice (not that Hermann has any), and reassurances that whoever Newt has his eyes on that week is hot enough for him (could they ever be?). It’s just, like, easier to do that kinda shit with someone who would also be (hypothetically) eyeing up and dating dudes, if Hermann ever managed to take the stick out his ass and relax long enough to do stuff like that.

Hell, Newt would be first in line if he ever did. As it is, he just has to settle on knocking knees with Hermann under the mess tables and—for lack of a better phrase—checking the latest batch of ranger hopefuls out. Newt doesn’t normally go for the tall, built, and athletic type, but Shatterdome transfers are usually the only way he can score a date, because all the seasoned personnel know to avoid the weirdo biologist in the basement by this point. There’s a war on; desperate times call for desperate measures. Newt hopes at least a handful of them are desperate.

“He’s kinda hot, don’t you think?” Newt says under his breath to Hermann. He jerks his thumb over his shoulder at one of the new ranger trainees in line for soup behind them. He has dark hair and a nice smile, and—more importantly—Newt’s sure he’s been making eyes at their table for the better part of five minutes. He’s one of the latest batch that has only just arrived two weeks prior, and the smallest batch by far. Not many people are enlisting in the PPDC these days. Bad for the state of the world and Newt’s libido.

“Hm?” Hermann says.

“The guy behind us,” Newt says. “No, don’t be obvious about it—”

But Hermann turns, conspicuously, so (deciding it can’t get any more awkward than it already is) Newt sighs and turns with him. The dark-haired ranger notices: his smile hitches up an extra centimeter, and he winks.

At once Newt feels his ego swell. He winks back. “Still got it, dude,” he crows to Hermann, and is just rising from his chair to swoop into action when he realizes something; the ranger was not making eye contact with Newt. He was—and is—making eye contact with Hermann.

Hermann scoffs. “Oh, please,” he mutters to Newt. “If he thinks that’ll get him invited over again—”

But the ranger is abandoning his spot in line and jogging towards them, smoothing down his hair as he goes. He’s brimming with a palpable mixture of excitement and anxiety. “Hey, Dr. Gottlieb,” he says. “So, uh, last week was pretty fun?” It’s an invitation for approval, one which Hermann ignores in favor of jerking his shoulders noncommittally. The ranger presses on anyway. “It’s cool to see you. Haha. I, uh, just wanted to make sure you have my email, in case you want to get together again.”

“I have it,” Hermann says.

An awkward tension settles between them. Newt clears his throat in hopes of diffusing it, and the ranger’s eyes dart over to him. “I’m Newt,” Newt says. “Hermann and I work together.”

“Cool,” the ranger says. Disinterested. “Anyway, Dr. Gottlieb, I’m free whenever, so?”

“Yes, I’ll certainly email you,” Hermann says. He picks up his dinner roll and begins to spread butter over it, not bothering to look up when he adds “Lovely to see you again.”

The guy nods, and hurries back over to his friends, who begin debating something with him in hushed voices. Twice the group glances back at Hermann. Hermann’s—uh—friend seems to be blushing. Hermann begins to butter the other half of his dinner roll. “What the hell was that about?” Newt says.

Hermann sets down his roll and furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“That,” Newt says. “Who was that guy?”

“Oh,” Hermann says. “Him.” He rolls his eyes, and to Newt’s alarm goes pink in the cheeks. “We had a, ah, a date, I suppose you could call it, last week. He turned out to be a bit rude, actually, not the very, er, courteous sort. Attentive. Or at least not as courteous as I like. You know.”

“I don’t,” Newt says.

“You know,” Hermann repeats, with more force on the know. His pink blush spreads down his neck. “In the—coupling—sense.”

“You hooked up with him?” Newt says, too loud. A few heads swivel in their direction, including Hermann’s quote-unquote date and his friends; Hermann whacks Newt in the shin with his cane, clearly mortified.

“Keep your voice down! I don’t want the whole bloody Shatterdome to know, do I?” Hermann hisses. “Yes, I had sex with him. I do occasionally take time to enjoy myself.”

Newt stares at Hermann in amazement. Hermann hooks up? Hermann hooks up with hunky guys? Hermann hooks up with hunky guys and then ghosts them? “I didn’t know,” Newt says. “That you…did that.” Months and months of talking about his shitty love life to Hermann and Hermann has never once bothered to volunteer information of his own. Newt always just assumed Hermann had put his emotional (and physical) needs on hold for the sake of the war. Apparently not.

“You never asked,” Hermann says. “Is it important?”

Yes, it is. Newt shakes his head. The rest of their dinner is quiet and without any further interruptions. It’s also without their usual bickering, though, which makes it feel oddly lonely, and when Newt gets back to his bunk that night, he can’t help but wonder what else he hasn’t discovered about Hermann yet. Or, really—what about Hermann’s love life he hasn’t discovered yet.

A bouquet of flowers arrives for Hermann at the lab a week later. Newt is the one to take the delivery, Hermann being too absorbed in his calculations and boring graphs, and also because Newt is harboring a secret hope they’re for himself from a secret admirer. No such luck. To Dr. Gottlieb, the heart-shaped label proclaims in pink cursive, and a few sentences of the sappiest attempt at poetry Newt’s ever seen follows. Love, Pedro. Newt smirks through a suffocating wave of jealousy, whether to be the one giving or getting the flowers he’s not sure. “Hey, Hermann,” he calls across the lab. “Your boyfriend getting persistent. Want me to stick these in water for you?”

Hermann grumbles something, then says “Boyfriend?”

“From the mess the other night,” Newt says. “The uncourteous one.” Newt double-checks the note. “Pedro. His heart is yearning for you, Hermann. Listen to this—”

But Hermann scoffs loudly before Newt can even start on the poem. “Don’t be daft,” he says. “That wasn’t Pedro. That was Jason.” He scribbles over something on his chalkboard and starts again on the line below it. “And Pedro is hardly my boyfriend—it was only dinner.”

“Dinner?” Newt squeaks.

“And drinks,” Hermann says.

“You’re seeing another guy?” Newt says.

Hermann finally turns around. “Does it matter if I am?” he says.

“Yes,” Newt says. “No? I don’t know?”

“I’m a grown man, Newton,” Hermann says. “I date. You ought to try it yourself—it does wonders for the nerves.” When Newt is clearly still unsatisfied, Hermann sighs. “I met Pedro on an errand to LOCCENT last month, and I found him charming. You’d recognize him—you actually, er, caught us in a bit of a compromising position the other night. Remember?”

Newt frowns. He hasn’t caught Hermann with anyway in any compromising situations recently—the only thing he can think of that could be considered remotely embarrassing is when he stepped out into the hallway the same time Hermann’s physical therapist did, and they ended up bumping into each other. But that was—oh, God, Newt’s an idiot.  “That was him?” Newt says. He just assumed anyone stopping by Hermann’s room after work hours would be there for physical therapy, okay? And there had been a lot of…noise. Well, he’s not going to think about that now. “But he was so hot! Do you only date, like, hunks or something?”

“Really, Newton,” Hermann says. “You’re making yourself upset over nothing.” The corner of his mouth twitches up. “Though one of my old ex-boyfriends did become an underwear model…”

“Dude,” Newt says, and before he can help himself, blurts out “Shit, maybe I should start going to the gym.”

Hermann gives him a strange, searching look, and Newt immediately clamps his mouth shut in horror. He’s really gotta start working on his brain-to-mouth filter. Or at least work on not sticking his fucking foot in it every five minutes. “As I said,” Hermann says, cryptically, and turns away (apparently satisfied with whatever he saw in Newt), “you’re making yourself upset over nothing. I hardly find the need to limit myself to ‘hunks’.”

“Uh,” Newt says. “Right.”

Whatever that means.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

[whatareyousearchingfordean]

#MountainLife

Summary: When a typical winter storm sends her car into a snowbank, Y/n finds herself face to face with her favorite actor. Will Jensen be able to dig her out or will the day have other plans for them?

Pairing: None, purely platonic

Word Count: 2.7K+

Warnings: Language, very minor car accident (no injuries)

Author's Note: Single-digit temperatures, lots of snow, and one wily Brit (@winchest09) gave me the idea for this mess. Also, Jensen in those damn sweats didn't help either. But in all honesty, I don't think I've been warm for three weeks. This helped make me smile through the shivering and I hope it does the same for you. xoxo Alex

Check out Alexandra's Library for more works by yours truly!

The chill that had settled in her room overnight roused the woman before her alarm had the chance. Y/n tucked herself further into the heavy blankets that she adorns her bed with every winter, but it was no use. The cold had successfully awoken her for the day, and not even the pocket of heat her body had created under the mountain of cotton could protect her now. 

With a huff, she climbed from the fraction of warmth her bed provided and slipped on her heavy robe. Her feet shuffled as she made her way to the large bay window on the south side of her bedroom and tugged open the curtains. The expanse of her backyard and the woods that lay just beyond was blanketed in a thick layer of snow, large snowflakes continuing to fall as she observed the scene in front of her. Y/n smiled at the undisturbed white that shone brightly against the beginnings of the early morning sunshine, her tired eyes trailing to the back porch and the pile of snow that rested against the beams. From the sight, she could guess they had accumulated a foot so far, a little less than the evening news had predicted. 

Since she was young, she had always had a loved winter and the unique beauty and serenity that heavy snow would bring. Some of her best memories were playing in the snow all day only to come home, chilled to the bone and pink in her cheeks, to a piping hot mug of cocoa. But as she grew older, that love had turned a tad sour when snow days turned into digging her car out and stressing the whole drive to work about the idiots on the road who act as if they have never seen snow before. She still basked in its wonder and beauty, but she hated having responsibilities that forced her to deal with its less than fun side. 

Considering where she was located, the woman knew she would need to give herself extra time to get to work this morning, seeing as her drive and the main road would not be plowed by the city. Even though she had woken early, it still wasn’t enough time to pull out her snowblower and do the entirety of her drive. It was up to her SUV to get her into town in one piece. 

With that thought in mind, she was quick to make it through her morning routine. She made sure to cut time wherever was possible. A shower that didn’t include washing her hair which allowed her to leave it down to frame her face, lighter than normal makeup, and one cup of caffeine instead of her normal two. Y/n decided against packing a lunch today and made sure to bundle up in heavy layers. 

With enough time left to nearly double her commute, she headed out the door and into the SUV. The cabin was warm, the heat running full blast from when she started it ten minutes earlier and she sighed as she settled into her seat. The driveway met her with instant resistance to the spinning of her tires, but it was nothing the rubber couldn’t handle. The woman was cautious, taking the gradual incline of her drive at a slow pace to give her time to react to any sign that the tires were slipping. 

Once she hit the main road, things were not much better. It seemed that most of the blanket that covered the mountainside had remained untouched, making her drive the first to lay down tracks. She could hear the snow brushing the underside of the vehicle, causing her to slow her pace even more to avoid any possible damage it may cause. At this point, the car was crawling down the hillside, barely rising above 25 miles per hour as she reached the valley. 

Y/n made her usual left turn towards the city and where she worked, the back road winding up through the mountains before leveling off in town. It could be treacherous this time of year, but it wasn’t a path she hadn’t taken before. Having grown up in the area, Y/n had learned how to handle the slope and the snow from the moment she walked out of the DMV with her license at seventeen. In fact, the night before her driver’s test, they received over a foot of snow. If she could pass under those conditions, she was set. But not even the years of experience could have prepared her car for the hidden patch of ice that had settled beneath the snow. 

The tires slipped against the smooth surface as she turned the corner, sending the rear of the SUV fishtailing to the right. Instinct had her correcting the path of the car before she could think about it, the turn of the steering wheel flipping the direction the vehicle was careening in. 

“Fuck,” Yn hissed as she worked to fix things, making sure this time to not overcorrect her car. Her grip on the leather wheel was tight as the realization that she had to let whatever was going on happen, bracing herself as the car continued to slip into a snowbank on the side of the road. Luckily, at her low speed, the impact was minimal and she prayed the damage to her fender would reflect that. With a sigh, she pushed slowly on the gas, attempting to see if her car would get back onto the road, only to feel the familiar slip of the tires. The vehicle was only able to find enough traction to give her maybe an inch, but the incline was unforgiving. 

“Well, shit,” she grumbled, pulling her phone from her purse before shutting off the car and hopping from the heated cabin. The snow crunched under her boots as she rounded the car to see if there was anything she might be able to do. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the tools in her trunk that would even come close to digging her out of the trouble she had gotten into. The frustrated woman kicked the rim of her tire, knowing full well it wasn’t her car’s fault she was in this mess, but it made her feel a tad better. She rounded back to jump back into the waning heat of the car to make the necessary calls to work and a tow truck. A voice rising behind her halted her hand on the handle. 

“Hey! Are you okay?” The deep voice carried across the open street and to the troubled woman. Y/n spun her head to the sound, certain she recognized that distinct timber of the person calling out to her. Sure enough, as she blinked through the thick snowflakes falling through the air, she was greeted by the visage of the very last person she had ever expected to see. He wasn’t wearing much for a cold snowy day, just a pair of heavy sweats and a thick green henley topped off with snow boots, a beanie, and a pair of gloves. The tall man skidded to a halt a safe distance from her, a snow shovel hanging from one hand. 

“Ma’am, are you hurt?” the return of his voice snapped her back to the reality that he was indeed standing in front of her. She was quick to straighten her features, hoping he hadn’t noticed the way her jaw had dropped. 

“Uh, yeah… I mean no, I’m not hurt at all,” she fumbled over her words and silently cursed her lack of finesse. He visibly relaxed, his shoulders dropping and a small smile gracing his lips. 

“I didn’t think anyone would try and get into town today,” his brow rose as he attempted to hide the amusement on her face. Y/n was a good sport though, nodding her agreement to his assessment. “I heard the commotion from my porch and came running.”

“I can see that,” the woman took in the flush to his nose and cheeks and the way his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, the hot air from his mouth swirling into a white mist before disappearing above his head. With a giggle, she pointed to the shovel in his right hand. “Is that for protection?” 

“No, I was clearing my porch thank you very much,” he tilted his chin at her. “You want some help getting out?” Y/n turned to look back at the mess behind her, a grimace returning to her face. 

“You can try, but I’m pretty sure it’s hopeless.”

“Start her up, I’ll shovel,” and with that, he scooted past her and began to dig out the snow around her tires. Y/n suspected it was useless to argue and went back into her car. Most of the heat had faded by now from the inside, allowing the bitter bite of the mountain air to creep back in. She turned the engine over and waited for his signal. He appeared back at her door, slightly out of breath from his exertion and Y/n had to fight biting her lip at the sight. 

“Try her out, let’s see if that helped,” he panted, his lips parted as his chest heaved. With a nod, she put the car in gear and pressed against the gas. The vehicle rocked underneath her, but the tires still struggled to gain any traction. He disappeared to the rear, attempting to push the car to give her the extra power needed. But it was no use. The snow was too deep and too heavy. 

“It’s over,” Y/n sighed and put the car back into park before turning it off. The annoyed woman hopped back into the cold morning air. “Seriously, thank you for helping but I think my only option is calling for a tow.” 

“You might be right.” Y/n watched the gears turning in his head through the faded green eyes she had dreamed about many times before. He pursed his lips, still trying to come up with a way to get her out and the woman wasn’t sure her nonchalant demeanor would last much longer in his presence. She bit down on the tip of her tongue and fished her phone from her pocket, looking up the number for the local tow service. 

“Thank you though, for helping out a total stranger,” Y/n lifted the phone to her ear. 

“No problem, honestly. I’m Jensen by the way,” he indicated, not offering his hand to her considering the state of the country, and to be honest most of the world, at the moment. 

“Oh-” An automated machine picked up after the first ring, halting her reply. The message indicated the state of emergency the governor declared meant they weren’t taking calls until the weather let up. The shivering woman grimaced and hung up the phone. Jensen raised a brow at her, taking in the clear downstroke of her mood. 

“The governor declared a state of emergency,” she answered his unasked question. “I guess I better call work and let them know I won’t be in, I hope it does leave them too shorthanded because with the state of the roads that wouldn’t be good. And I should probably call my insurance company, but we will see if they even answer considering,”

“Ma’am?” Jensen interrupted her ramblings.

“Y/n, please,” she corrected. “I was rambling wasn’t I?” The worried woman hadn’t realized the words were coming out of her mouth, the anxiety over her current situation overtaking her mind for that brief moment. 

“A little,” he confirmed. “Listen, do you live close?”

“Not exactly. I’m about five miles down Sierra Trail.”

“Join me then?” Jensen suggested, indicating the drive that assuredly led to his house. Panic rose in her gut at the suggestion and her instant reaction was ‘that’s not happening’. The man standing across from her, no matter how many times she blinked, remained, and yet she still didn’t believe this wasn’t all a dream. 

Of course, she had recognized Jensen as soon as his voice registered in her brain. He was only the one man she had spent more time watching on her television or scrolling past online. The man had saved her life and he had no idea. The last thing she could do was just waltz into his home when he didn’t have all the facts. He deserved to have all the facts.

“Oh no, I couldn’t,” 

“I promise I’m not a serial killer or anything. My wife and kids are doing some finger painting in the kitchen as we speak and we haven’t left the house in weeks,” The man’s face softened as he looked at her, trying to convince the wary woman.

“It’s not that,” Y/n chuckled, earning a confused look from her favorite actor. The woman chewed on the inside of her lip, contemplating how to phrase the next thing she wanted to tell him. 

“I-” A smile spread on her face as she got an idea. Y/n held up a finger to him and stepped to the rear of her car. She raised a gloved hand to brush away the accumulation of snow on the small side window to reveal the anti-possession decal that clung to the glass. She turned back to him with a sheepish grin, “I’m actually a huge fan. I just thought you deserved to know that before you invite me into your home.” 

The numerous expressions that flickered past his features finally settled into a soft smile. “Well, thank you, that’s very kind. If you are a fan then you probably know that even if you planned to steal my underwear and sell it on the internet later, or even keep it, that I can’t let you stay out here on the side of the road and in the freezing cold for who only knows how long.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, you are welcome to stay as long as you need.”

“Thank you,” she sighed, her heart glowing in her chest at his offer. The fangirl inside her was losing her mind and trying to piece together what specific alternate reality fanfic she had fallen into. “I promise not to steal your underwear then.”

Jensen let out a snort, his head rearing back in laughter. “Well, I’ll make sure to count them before you leave, just in case.”

“Deal,” Y/n grabbed her belongings from her car and secured the vehicle before following Jensen. They crossed the road and dredged up the gentle slope of the Ackles’ drive. Y/n was finally beginning to feel the bite of the winter against her exposed face as the house came into view behind the heavy trees. The design was typical of the area and not much different from her own, well besides the sheer size of it. 

The stairs were sprinkled with salt and half the porch held evidence of his attempt to clear it, only for the still falling snow to already destroy his efforts. The sound of children’s chatter filtered from the house as Jensen pushed open the front door. He toed off his boots onto a matt behind the front door and Y/n moved to follow his lead. 

“Here,” he held his hand out to take her bags as she copied his action. “I’ll find something for you to change into and we can put your wet clothes into the dryer.” 

“You really don’t have to do that,” her instinct to refuse anything offered to her was too strong to stop. 

“Y/n, just relax. You are not sitting in wet clothes all day and that’s not just because I want to protect my furniture,” Jensen joked, also taking her coat as she shrugged it off. 

“That’s easy for you to say,” she grumbled, following behind him further into the house. The voices of his family grew louder as they went and the woman was sure even at his distance, the actor could hear her heart thumping inside her chest. 

As he passed under an archway, the tiny shriek of ‘Daddy’ met their ears, halting her in her steps. Y/n let her eyes close and took a few gulping breaths in one last-ditch attempt at steadying herself before she would spend her day with the Ackles’. 

Somebody should pinch her...

Forevers: @22sarah08 @440mxs-wife @akshi8278 @anathewierdo3467 @atc74 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @briagallen @callmekda @dawnie1988 @deandreamernp @deanwanddamons @ellewritesfix05 @emoryhemsworth @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @janicho88​ @jbsgirl4ever11 @jensengirl83 @lyarr24 @miss-nerd95​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @msmarvelouswinchester​ @polina-93​ @sleepylunarwolf​ @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan​​ @suckmyapplejacks​ @superfanficnatural​ @supraveng​ @talesmaniac89​ @tatted-trina6​ @thoughts-and-funnies​ @tranquility-or-chaos​ @waywardbeanie​ @winchest09​

#jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles fanfic #jensen ackles fic #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #supernatural rpf #supernatural real person fiction #spn fanfic #spn fic #spn rpf #spn real person fiction #spn #real person fiction #rpf #alex writes #mine #mountainlife

[delimeful]

WIBAR Intermission: New Friends

winner of the first july patreon poll! thanks to @legendsgates for allowing me to sneak in a brief cameo of their alien species, cetarfreka!

previous intermission episode | start of WIBAR

warnings: violence, fear, tension, ptsd episodes, injury mention, being held hostage, misunderstandings, deception

-

It was about halfway through their trading circuit that the vidcomm from the Mindscape popped up.

Remyy perked up instantly, Patton’s distinctive singsong voice clear even from half across the main bay. They dropped to their feet and tucked all their wings tight against them to signal that anyone in the way should swiftly get out of the way. Those in the bay who knew them cast strange glances in their direction as they hop-skittered across the floor.

Remyy couldn’t blame them; this was probably the fastest they’d moved all week. They usually maintained a much more casual demeanor for the sake of their reputation, but in this case...

“Patton! Babes, you’re really okay!”

“Remyy!” The Ampen fluffed up, a pleasant glow filling the room around him, face pinching up happily.

In this case, exceptions would be made.

The Obrxyx currently managing the comms sighed at them, unimpressed. “You have this one, then?”

“Sure do,” Remyy drawled, still leaning between xem and the monitor so that half their face took up the comm screen. “We go way back, I’ll get them docked.”

They waited impatiently for xem to move to a different comm terminal, adjusted the seatpad so they could be seen properly through the comm, and promptly started complaining. “I can’t believe you guys, holing up in that rinky dink ship for so long with only voice calls to tell everyone that you were okay! Where’s the gossip? Why in the universe would you keep it from me?”

Patton’s hands jerked, and the comm screen wobbled, blurring his expression strangely for a moment. Remyy tilted their goggles slightly for a better angle, but by the time the mobile communicator stabilized, any change in demeanor had vanished.

“Be careful, Rem,” Patton said teasingly, “it almost sounds like you care about us or something.”

“Funny,” Remyy replied dryly, “I’ll have you know that I’ve just been missing Logan’s high quality deathbrew, none of that sentimental garbage.”

Patton laughed at them silently with his gaze alone. Innocent, naive Ampen, their ass.

“Are we cleared to dock y-- Is that Remyy?” Another voice from offscreen dropped abruptly into horror, and Remy’s eyes narrowed in gleeful amusement.

“It sure is, gurl,” they called, “and the Remyy in question seems to recall a certain bet that was never paid up on. 30 cenals, cough ‘em up.”

There was a loud groan, and then a thump that shook the comm slightly. Patton spent a moment staring at something with a confused frown, and then seemed to get it, nodding. He turned back to them very seriously.

“Sorry, Roman can’t come to the comm right now,” he informed them. “He, uh, died. Very recently. And tragically."

Belatedly, he put on a sad expression, antennae drooping. Remyy raised their eyebrows, unimpressed.

“Uh huh. Well, I suppose I’ll just have to join in on the funeral rites once I get down to help carry the goods over, huh--?”

“No!” The voices of both his friends overlapped, making the comm audio fuzz harshly for a moment. Remyy’s secondaries flared slightly, taken aback at the vehemence.

“Uh, I mean, we don’t have that much,” Patton hurried to patch up the awkward pause. “How about we meet you in the docking lobby instead? You can get Roman’s credits there.”

“Hey!”

Remyy’s ears angled back with displeased confusion, but they acquiesced anyhow. “Hurry up, then. And make sure Logan brings my brew!”

Whatever it was they were hiding, Remyy was sure they’d be able to weasel it out of them in no time.

---

After grabbing a short meal and a boring haggling session between the Mindscape’s crew and the cargo manager of the Starwinder, Remyy finally got to learn about what had happened to Patton during his disappearance.

It wasn’t pretty.

Their senspatches felt dry at the mere thought of Patton stripped of his coat and forced to starve because of it. It was beyond lucky that the remaining two of the trio managed to find and free the Ampen from the harvesters before it was too late. If anyone could do it, though, they believed this crew could.

Patton had grown quieter and less fluffy throughout the course of the tale, with Roman and Logan taking turns delivering a well-practiced explanation of the events. Seeing as these were extenuating circumstances, Remyy submitted to cuddles just this once, allowing the small alien to bury his face in the folds of their leathery armwings.

They took a moment once the story was over, casually and completely unintentionally folding more of their wing over Patton. “That bites, babes.”  

“Yeah.” The Ampen hummed in response, mouth pinched strangely. “I… I’m really grateful that I got help when I did.”

Logan set a careful hand on Patton’s back, though the motion almost came across as less comforting and more… cautioning? Remyy’s senspatches flared up slightly as they tried to read more into the situation.

Before they could really investigate, though, Roman was leaning forwards and grabbing the edge of their arm to get their attention.

“Remyy. We’ve been having something of an adjustment period. Drop it, please?”

They flickered their ears at him dismissively, but really… looking at the small crew, they could see a sort of wariness reflected in their stiff posture, the way the three of them constantly cast glances back to the dock hall that would lead to their ship. Trying to make sure they had a quick exit. Whatever the details of their experience, it was stressing them out to lay it all out in the open like this. Remyy could understand that.

“Fine, whatever,” they sighed, sipping at the bitter brew Logan had thoughtfully provided. “I suppose I’ll keep my awe-inspiring ability to root out interesting tidbits to myself for now. I can just grill Lo later.”

The three friends slumped in relief, and Remyy turned their face away slightly to allow them some privacy to recover. They probably wouldn’t appreciate it, that was mostly an Elimtran thing, but it was the effort that counted. They cast about for some other topic to distract. What else had they heard about lately… oh!

“Have you all heard the stories about the rogue Human going around lately?”

There was spluttering, and they turned back to see Roman seemed to have inhaled mid-drink, and was now muffling coughs into his shoulder. Patton studiously avoided eye contact as he patted the Cravon sympathetically. Logan shifted one arm out from where they were politely tucked away, looking intensely intrigued. Strange, he wasn’t usually one for gossip.

“We have not,” he stated, hands twitching in preparation for his thought weaving thing. “Would you care to elaborate?”

“Uh, duh,” they replied, trying not to think too much on the rather extreme reaction.  If the crew was really so stressed, it made sense that news of a Human would freak them out. Shit, they sucked at this. Gathering information would make them feel more secure, yeah? “It’s been circulating at some of the more shady ports we’ve been to, rumors that a small-tier smuggling ring recently managed to rise through the ranks just because they got their hands on a Human and knew how to use it to their advantage. That much is like, okay, horrifying to know that there’s still Humans out there in the outer ranges, but whatever, it’s under lock and key.”

Patton clung to their wing tighter. They paused, deliberating on whether or not to continue.

“I assume, going by the fact that you called h-- it a ‘rogue’ Human, that's not the case anymore?” Logan supplied, waving for them to proceed.

“Well, yeah. Apparently, it tore through practically half the group members before escaping, and now people are reporting cases of a bloodthirsty Human all over this quadrant. Not that the calls are accurate. It’s just hearsay,” they made sure to add. “It might just be someone trying to work the local governs into a panic, put pressure on the Council for this or that political maneuver.”

Logan didn’t respond for a concerning amount of time. “Right. Of course, that is plausible. Still, thank you for the information, Remyy. We will… keep it in mind.”

Remyy sunk lower in their seat, regretting bringing the topic up at all. “Mm. You do that, babes. Remember the stats, too. There’s a warrant out. Sooner or later, the Council will probably find whoever’s at the source of the rumors and put them to rights, Human or not.”

“That’s… great,” Roman got to his feet abruptly. “I think maybe we should head out soon. We’ve got that next landing to prep for, after all. Holmao isn’t known for its gentle terrain.”

“What?” Remyy’s secondaries flared slightly as they stood up too, abandoning their drink and dislodging Patton. “You just got here! Aren’t you at least going to catch a night’s rest? No offense to your ship, but the arti-grav ain’t exactly stellar.”

“That’s why we need to do more jobs! Save up for better arti-grav installation, right guys?” Roman’s voice seemed slightly frantic. Remyy suddenly remembered what little history the Cravon had shared with them, and swore mentally. They really, really shouldn’t have brought up the Human.

“Ro, look, I’m so--”

Their voice abruptly cut off as a cool line of metal pressed between their wings, right against their life vein. They saw as Roman’s eyes locked on something behind them, scales rising to a prickling stand quicker than they’d ever witnessed before.

“Nobody move,” a voice behind them called in clear, precise Common. “Or you get to bleed out right after this one.” The flat of the blade pressed harder against their back, and they couldn’t stop their ears from flattening completely in terror.

“Let them go,” Roman demanded, halfway to a snarl. Before he could even take a step, though, more armed strangers were swarming into the lobby, barking orders for the few other people currently in the room to get down. Expression dark, Roman held his arms out in a gesture of compliance, though his scales continued to stick out in a defensive bristle.

Raiders, it had to be. Remyy knew they knew the reptilian symbol that was engraved in each of the strangers black masks, but they couldn’t remember the group’s name for the fear flooding their mind, keeping them frozen in place.

One of them kicked Patton clear away from Remyy’s legs, and the Ampen let out a short shriek of pain before clapping his hands over his mouth. The raider behind Remyy laughed, apparently unconcerned about any alarms being raised, but Remyy was more focused on the way the Mindscape crew exchanged panicked glances, Logan kneeling next to Patton and subtly signing something in Crav’n.

“Now, here’s how this is going to work.” The one behind Remyy gestured with their other hand, which Remyy could now see was holding a paralyzer. Raiders were known for using them to get information, since most aliens could take a few shots from one before succumbing to the pain. “You’re all going to line up against the wall while we search your vessels, and in exchange, nobody has to die, got it?”

Remyy could only look straight ahead, so they got a clear view of Patton’s furious glow dimming down to horrified in an instant at the leader’s words. Whatever the three of them were hiding, it was hidden on their ship, and apparently not well enough.

They ran their tongue along their teeth for a moment, debating, and then wiggled their ears slightly, loosening the grip their goggles had until they were slipping down their face slightly. Only their upper eyes were exposed, but with any luck, it would be enough.

It wasn’t long till they managed to make eye contact with a nearby raider; the leader was the one giving orders, after all, and they were being held hostage by said leader, so it made sense that eyes would stray in their direction.

The moment they locked gazes, Remyy flickered their pupils and let their senspatches slowly pulse. The raider took a moment to bob their head in confusion before becoming visibly more relaxed, and Remyy didn’t waste any time. 'Circle around and attack the one holding me.'

The raider swayed slightly for a moment before moving to obey, a side effect of not being exposed to the full hypnotic effect of their eyes, and Remyy had a moment to feel hopeful that maybe they could actually pull this off.

“Grahh’m, what are you-- Oh, you little shit,” the leader spat, moments before a strike to the side of Remyy’s head had them seeing stars. They heard Roman growling furiously, still forced to the ground under threat of gunfire, and hoped that he wouldn’t do anything stupid. He wouldn’t be any use if he was convulsing from pain.  

“I should have known better than to leave an Elimtra awake and armed, hmm?” The leader flipped them to their back, pressing a knee to their chest and crushing their secondaries uncomfortably against the floor. A moment later,  their other hand was shoving their goggles harshly back over their face.

Remyy gagged slightly as all the air was forced from their lungs. “Probably should’ve, ye-- eah,” they replied, struggling to inhale again.

“Funny.” There was a glint of silver uncomfortably close to their eyes. The knife. Remyy regretted the snark. They regretted the snark so much.

The leader paused. “Oren, is it the eyes or the little spots under them that do the hypnotizing, do you recall?”

There was a pause, in which ‘Oren’ seemed to have no answer, and Remyy realized with a chill just what was being threatened. The leader considered them for a moment, and then pulled their dark mask further up to cover more of their face.  

“I suppose I’ll just get rid of both, hmm?” The knife wavered closer.

Across the room, there was a loud crash, and a strangled yell that cut off as quick as it started. Remyy watched as the leader’s head jerked up, and saw the moment that the severe frown on their face abruptly transformed into utter terror. Hurriedly, the raider stood back up, and they were pulled up along, shoved in front of them like a shield.

It didn’t take long to see why. Across the lobby, near the entrance to the dock halls, a tall, slender figure was holding the remains of what must have been a seatpad. The rest of it appeared to be lying crumpled along with the limp raider that had been closest to that entryway.

The whisper spread through the room as quick as any small-town rumor: Human.

The being was scanning the eerily-silent space, and when it reached the spot where the leader stood, accompanied by Remyy and friends, it’s lips curled up into a vicious snarl, teeth on full display. It moved forwards in a way Remyy could only describe as predatory, and the leader went tense behind them. “Stop that thing, now!”

One raider, either damn brave or damn stupid, charged right in, and received the rest of the seatpad to the skull for their efforts. Remy winced at the sound. This seemed to be the signal for the rest of the raiders to converge, and the room descended into pandemonium.

In the thick of it all, the Human-- for what else could it really be?-- continued to advance, unrelenting. It wasn’t as fast as some aliens Remyy had met, but it didn’t need to be. The way that it stalked through the room radiated threat like an oath, and when opponents did dare to stand in it’s way, the blows were vicious and crunching, often leaving splatters of residue on its skin.

Most frightening of all was the way it handled the paralyzers, which should have driven any creature with pain receptors to the floor. Each time a shot landed on the human, it would tear the spiked prongs out with a twitch and a grimace and just keep moving.

By the time the leader realized that a strategic retreat was long overdue, it was already far too close for comfort. Remyy heard a swear behind them, and then they were being shoved, hard.

They caught a glimpse of Roman moving, and then they found themself busy tripping directly into a Human’s warpath. So much for surviving this.

They folded their wingarms over their head in some paltry attempt at defense as they fell. There was a grunt, and then a hot grip on their shoulders, all-too-close to the base of their secondaries and stars above were they going to have their glider wings torn clear off--?

“‘Scuse me,” the Human muttered in Common, and then lifted Remyy clear off the ground, easy-as-you-please, and set them down to the side. It brushed past them, heading straight towards Roman and the others, and Remyy stared after it.

Rather than continue after the leader, who had been thoroughly pinned by Roman and was currently swearing viciously, the Human stopped in front of Logan and Patton and dropped to a crouch. Remyy jerked forward, but neither of their friends seemed keen to jump away or defend themselves. In fact, Patton looked to be carefully headbutting the Human’s chest, and Logan was speaking in low, comforting tones. Even stranger, the Human seemed to be listening.

The circuits connected in their mind, illuminating a truly outlandish conclusion.  

They whistled lowly, drawing all the attention in the room to them. “Listen up, babes. As a subsect representative of the Council, I’m authorized to do my thing here, so I’m gonna need everyone to follow my directions.”

“Remyy, what?” Roman asked, and was thoroughly ignored. A nearby Cetarfris protested from where they were practically pressed halfway up the wall, red eyes wide and patterned tail thrashing in terror.

“Are you genuine? Do you not see the Human right there?”

Remyy clicked their tongue in reproach. “Gurl, do I not have enough eyes for you or somethin’? I will handle the Human. What else is the Council good for?”

“Uh, governing?” someone else muttered. Remyy ignored them, too.

“I need all the raiders that haven’t already jetted in holding cells immediately. I’m sure there’ll be a hefty reward for members of this particular gang, even if they’re small fries, so anyone who pitches in can get some of that bounty. And remember, keep your mouths shut about this unless you want to be up to your orifices in paperwork at best. If you have to gossip, keep names out of it or I'll know who snitched.” Remyy shifted their goggles up on their forehead, turning to the Human and ignoring the thick tension in the room. “I’ll escort the Human to proper captivity. Roman, Logan, Patton, with me.”

As expected, the mere fact that the Mindscape crew were accompanying seemed to put the Human at ease, even if just slightly. Now, came the bit that would make or break the lie. They moved forwards slowly and reached out for the Human’s shoulder, tugging slightly at it as though this wasn't the creature that had just plowed through a band of raiders like they were dust in the wind. “C’mon, babes.”

After a pause, the Human followed. The relief in the room was palpable, and Remyy was no exception. They liked a good bet as much as the next guy, but generally preferred when there weren’t so many lives at stake.

See, the thing about being a species that was somewhat infamous for their hypnotic abilities was that everyone assumed you were using them, even if you weren’t. This tended to lean more in the direction of being a bad thing, but in this case, it helped Remyy tremendously, as nobody cast a second glance at them as they guided the docile Human through the lobby.

That might also have been because nobody wanted to be in the same room as a rogue Human for very long, but such was the way of things. Small details.

Soon enough, they reached the dock halls, and Remyy swiftly led the four of them onboard the Mindscape. They closed and locked the connecting port after them, and resisted the urge to collapse in relief.

Instead, they turned around to assess the rest of this mess.

It was quite a scene, and at first, they seemed too busy amongst themselves to even notice Remyy.

The Human was curled in on themself in one corner, looking pallid and ill, but also coiled so tightly it looked like they were one wrong word from fleeing the quadrant. Positioned firmly in front of them, Roman was audibly rattling from head to tail, moving on automatic as he bodily prevented the other two from approaching. Remyy would have thought the gesture was for the Human’s sake if not for the way Roman angled his own body, like he expected to be attacked from behind at any moment.

“It’s not safe,” he uttered over and over, gaze haunted. “It’s not safe. You have to hide.”

Patton warbled in wordless distress, and Logan gave up on trying to pull Roman away, instead simply holding his ground and speaking to the Cravon, calm and firm.

“This isn’t then, Roman. We’re here, and that is Virgil, and he is not going to hurt us. We’re safe. We are on the Mindscape. We are safe. Observe the space around you. Can you tell me five things you see?”

Remyy waited unobtrusively as the two of them slowly coaxed Roman back into the present, bit by bit. When he hunched over to be closer to his shorter friends, Patton carefully grabbed his hand, rubbing small circles into it in a soothing gesture Remyy wasn’t familiar with. “You with us, Ro?”

Roman signed something with his other hand, too quick for Remyy to grasp, and Patton smiled, a bit sad. “We’re okay, but there’s a little bit of a situation going on with Remyy, remember?”

Roman glanced at them, and then to the Human, who was still vibrating violently. Remyy had thought it was barely restrained anger, at first, but the longer they watched, the more it seemed compulsive, more fearful than furious. It only increased as Roman’s attention fell heavy on him.

“I didn’t mean to,” the Human said, voice as shaky as the rest of him. “I swear, I-- I just heard Patton yell, and they had weapons, like-- I… I didn't want to hurt anyone. I’m sorry that I-- that I did. But you guys were in danger. I couldn’t just... leave you to that.”

He sounded almost resigned, like he was trying to plead his case but had already accepted deep down that it was pointless to fight his sentence. When Roman turned away from him, his thoughts only seemed to be confirmed, and his face dropped another shade as his gaze darted over to Remyy. He seemed apprehensive, not that Remyy could really blame him. Poor guy probably thought he was about to be surrendered to law enforcement.

“Remyy.” Roman’s voice sounded wrung out, and from Patton’s concerned expression, the Cravon probably didn’t normally force himself to speak after episodes like this. “Virgil isn’t-- He’s better here with us. He doesn’t... deserve to be subjected to the Council just because he decided to... to save us.”

The Cravon opened his mouth as though to say more, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he signed something short and planted himself in a sitting position in front and slightly to the side of the Human, even as his scales still shivered. ‘Virgil’ was staring at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Roman’s right!” Patton took the opportunity to jump in front of them like the universe’s smallest, cutest guardian angel, cloak and ruff fluffed up stalwartly. Most effective of all was the Ampen’s ‘I’m-not-mad-I’m-just-disappointed-at-your-life-choices’ look. “Virgil is part of our family, and I’ll fight you about it!”

The Ampen’s tiny glare wasn't nearly as alarming as the assessing look Virgil cast over them, like he thought Remyy was really going to try and fight Patton and was prepared to intervene. They resisted the urge to cast their lower eyes up in exasperation. Who would fight Patton? There was no reward, you’d just end up feeling bad. And also end up getting totally trashed by a Human, apparently.

As always, Logan was the one to get it first. He stepped forwards, extending a hand. “Before you take any legal action against our crew member, I’d like to see your Council identification.”

Remyy’s cheeks bunched up smugly as they stretched their armwings out in front of them casually. “That’s too bad, Brainiac, ‘cause I totally don’t have any.”

There was a brief pause. “What, you guys really thought I was some kind of narc?”

“You lied right to all those people’s faces?” Patton asked, somewhat aghast. Roman shot them a dirty look at the deception, but he also let all the tension leak out of him, so Remyy counted it as a win. Logan simply looked exasperated.

“Not completely. I’ve got connections to get their bounties called in quick, and I ‘handled’ the Human, didn’t I? It’s not my fault if they misinterpreted things.”

“This is all you’re going to do to… ‘handle’ me?” the Human asked, looking uncertain, a little suspicious, and even kind of bewildered. “Just… let me go? What’s the catch?”

They really did roll their eyes up this time. “Babes, I’m covering for you. Seeing as you literally just saved my beautiful face, and these losers vouch for you, I figure you can get some benefit of the doubt. Besides, I’m not done with you all just yet.”

The four of them studied Remyy with varying levels of wariness, and then confusion as the Elimtra strolled past them all to head further into the ship.

“If you think you’re going anywhere before you tell me all about how this whole situation came about, honey, you’ve got a big storm coming.”

#sanders sides #space au #wibar #ts remy #ts roman #ts patton #ts logan #ts virgil #watch it burn and rust #wibar intermission #wibar int: nf #writing #my writing #im so tired... zzz #this is the first time ive ever written remy so please be nice #i had fun though ;w; #i cant think of any more tags i hope you guys enjoy! #zzz

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 13 | S.R.)

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Finale |

Summary: Spencer finally meets Reader’s roommate while the two prepare for a picnic. After Spencer lectures Reader on the dangers of the outdoors, the two face a different kind of danger at the bank.

Couple: Spencer/Fem!Reader 
 Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Gun violence mention Word Count: 6.3k

MASTERLIST

—————————————————

Although I’d been inside (Y/n)’s apartment several times now, I couldn’t say I’d ever actually looked much at my surroundings. It felt strange to admit that, mostly because I felt like I was doing something wrong; like I was a traitor to my job.

But then again, it felt worse to try to profile her. The few times I had made it obvious, she had made it very clear it was unappreciated. I could understand why.

So, before we even got to her door, I tried to quiet the voices screaming in my head, telling me to look for clues to all the unknowns about her. It wasn’t because I was expecting her to be hiding anything; I just wanted to know everything about her.

I could simply wait for her to tell me, though. We had all the time in the world, right?

“Laura, I’m home!” She called out immediately after breaching the entrance, following the exclamation with a very hurried request. “Spencer is here so please don’t be weird!”

The response was a calm, steady series of footfalls down the hall. The girl stuck her head around the corner, peeking at the two of us with a devilish grin.

“Pleasure to finally meet you, Dr. Reid.”

I told myself I probably shouldn’t be this nervous. If she was friends with (y/n), she was most likely a decent person. But let’s just say women around that age had never been particularly kind to me. They brought to the surface a lot of memories I’d tried very hard to bury.

She didn’t put her hand out to shake, which told me they’d already probably talked about me more than I’d have liked. ‘Wait,’ I thought to myself, ‘Is it okay to profile her roommate?’

“I’m going to go get a basket together. Wait in the living room, my kitchen is a disaster.”

Before I could argue, she had already disappeared, leaving me stranded in the hallway with her roommate who looked ready to cause trouble. I just hoped it wouldn’t the kind that revolved around me.

She waved a hand in front of her, motioning for me to make my way into the living room. Once we were there, she immediately took a seat, but I remained standing. Felt better to be able to escape.

The silence was awkward and suffocating. I could feel her staring at me, but she wasn’t saying anything. It felt wrong to look back.

“She says you read people for a living.” Her voice had a hint of skepticism in it I’d grown used to. “Sounds kind of like what psychics say.”

“Yeah, we use a lot of the same strategies, too. They just aren’t as honest about it as we are.”

“What do you see here?”

That was what got me to turn around and face her. She looked so comfortable, curled up on the couch.

“Pardon me?” The question caught me off guard, even though it shouldn’t have. I’d heard it so many times.

“What does our apartment say about us?” She asked, clearly not understanding why it was an inappropriate thing to ask. Or more likely, just didn’t care. Curiosity is a powerful thing.

I cleared my throat before looking back away and saying, “I agreed not to profile (y/n).”

“Well, can you at least tell which stuff is hers?”

I’m sure she was just checking to see if I was legitimate or just scamming her. Maybe she was checking to see if I was too good at it.

She didn’t need to worry. (Y/n) could handle herself. She wasn’t tricked easily. In fact, most of my intrigue and concern surrounding her unknowns was just how good she was at hiding things.

It wasn’t until I had registered that question and was staring at her walls with a newfound sense of purpose, that I realized how little I knew about her past. Then again, I don’t really care about her past.

It had made her who she was today, and that was the woman I loved.

My fingers brushed over old, cracked plastic on DVD cases displayed on a shelf beside the console center.

I didn’t even notice I was smiling at first, realizing that she’d kept the physical cases despite all the streaming services. She clearly still used the discs, too.

“These... are hers.”

“How can you tell?” The response in the form of a question told me I was right, and only made me feel even more deeply. Despite my greatest efforts to not look so excited by something so silly, I turned back around with my lips still curled in an awkward smile.

“Educated guess. Adrenaline.”

“What?” The confusion in her voice reminded me that she wasn’t aware of one of my deepest personality flaws.

“Research shows that only about 10% of the population are so called ‘adrenaline junkies,’ people who enjoy roller coasters and horror movies. It’s more often men than women, but it’s hard to tell because of the way we’re socialized.”

If I had turned around to face her, I probably would have seen the dead stare she was giving me during my rant.

“Regardless, people tend to either love horror or hate it. So, I considered the fact that (y/n) seems to enjoy things like... sneaking into bars with fake IDs and… other risky behavior.”

Well, that was close.

“But what really gave it away was the fact they’re not dusty, which means they’re still being used despite all of these movies being available on streaming services I know for a fact she uses. Considering how patient she is with my own Luddite tendencies I just figur—“

“Wow.”

The word cut off my train of thought, and I realized that I had barely breathed since I’d started. Wincing in response to the dumbfounded look on the poor girl’s face, I gave a nervous chuckle.

“Sorry. I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“A little bit,” she said with her own little pity laugh. I’m sure (y/n) had told her enough about me that this wasn’t that big of a surprise.

“I do that when I’m nervous.”

“You shouldn’t be nervous,” she said like it was the easiest advice in the world, “You’re right about her, you know.”

Staring down at my feet, I wondered why the confirmation from her roommate meant so much to me. I hadn’t been actively trying to figure out things about my girlfriend — it felt wrong. But for whatever reason, knowing I had the ability to figure it out meant more when it was about her.

Laura laughed again, craning her neck to look around the corner before she quietly spoke. “She says it was the other way around, but she’s the one who convinced me to streak the lawn.”

Ah, the age-old tradition of UVA students. It was so easy to picture her stripping down to nothing in the dead of the night to prance down the length of manicured grass. My own personal little pixie.

If it was just an attempt to calm my nerves, it was working. Putting the focus back on (y/n) was a surefire way to bring out the best in me. She just had that effect on me.

“I am entirely unsurprised by this information,” I said before walking over to the other side of the room, noting the distinct lack of pictures of family among the shelves that clearly belonged to her.

Don’t read into it, I told myself, she might just keep them somewhere else.

“She also drank an entire water bottle of vodka during a full day of classes one time, just because I bet that she wouldn’t.”

I scoffed at the image of her drunk. It’d been a while since I’d seen her like that, and both times had been remarkably unique. She’s a dead giveaway; I was surprised she hadn’t been caught.

“I can’t say I relate to that,” I sadly admitted. Sometimes it was hard to realize that if I’d known her at the same age, we probably wouldn’t have gotten along. I used to hate people like that.

Granted, they had usually also hated me.  

“She did mention you were a genius or something. I kind of figured. That’s her type.”

Well, that was information I couldn’t just gloss over. I furrowed my brow with a disbelieving smile, finally looking at the girl who was avidly watching my every move.

“Is it? I always pictured her with someone with more… Kinaesthetic intelligence.”

She gave me that look people give me when I said something weird, but continued nonetheless, “I don’t really know what that means, but she takes school pretty seriously. Honestly, probably a little too much. Part of why I dared her.”

“It’s strange to imagine her in class.” I hadn’t meant to say it, but once it was out there, I couldn’t take it back. And I was glad I couldn’t, because I was very curious about the answer.

“She’s the girl who knows all the answers and shuts down all the stupid guys trying to talk over her.”

I knew that those behaviors weren’t exactly favored in classrooms, having myself been the one at the brunt end of the bullying that followed.

“It’s pretty impressive.” She was being genuine when she spoke, and I was inclined to agree. At the same time the thought crossed my mind, I found a picture of her perched on the lap of the Thomas Jefferson statute.

God, I loved that girl.

“I bet she is.”

Almost on call, (y/n) poked her head into the room with wary eyes, looking at me as I awkwardly waved before looking back to her roommate.

“Laura, are you being weird?”

The girl rolled her eyes, but didn’t respond. Instead, she turned to me like it was my question to answer. Afraid to spoil any tenuous, newly formed loyalties, I shook my head no.

“Okay…” She only barely accepted my answer, “But if you say some dumb shit and get arrested, I’m not bailing you out.”

Briefly sticking out her tongue as she walked past me, she continued on her way. I couldn’t help but give that lovestruck, idiotic grin I always gave when she was around. If you’d told me I would’ve ever felt like this about someone who felt the same about me, I wouldn’t have believed you. Part of me still didn’t believe she could ever love me the same as I loved her.

Turning back to the girl cringing at the blatant intimacy shared in a simple glance, I immediately became awkward again.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t bring my handcuffs.” I joked, showing my hands in a strange display of innocence.

She… took a different approach.

“I know for a fact she has a few pairs in her room if you need one.”

A high-pitched whine nearly escaped my throat at the casual mention, and I cleared my throat and turned to look at her with a very unconvincing laugh. “W-what?”

“You have to know it’s impossible for her to keep her sex life a secret,” she droned with a bored expression, “I live one room over.”

“Right,” I nodded.

There was an extended, never ending silence as she just let me stew in my own discomfort. It didn’t seem to bother her one bit, because the longer I avoided her eyes the more she seemed to smile.

“I’m uncomfortable.” I finally admitted, and she just shook her head, running her hand through her hair before giving me one final hard look.

“You’re sweet. You make her happy. I appreciate that.”

My mouth scrunched in a humble half-smile, my hands finding their way back into my pockets as I tried to consider the reality I’d found myself in. Of all the infinite possibilities, I got to exist in the version of the world where I loved a girl who loved me back.

“It’s all her,” I finally said with a voice that crackled far too much for my liking, “I don’t do anything. I’m just the lucky one she decides to keep around.”

Laura flashed an approving grin, but then got up when she heard the familiar, happy feet beating down the hallway. (Y/n) burst out from around the corner, her arms full with a picnic basket and a blanket she clearly owned for just these occasions.

“Ready to go, babe?”

“Lead the way.”

I’d have followed her anywhere.

—————————————————

It was the perfect time of year for a picnic, despite Spencer’s insistence that there was no such thing. Once we were in the park, his whining dramatically decreased. Maybe it was the sunshine, or maybe it was the smile on my face, but he was certainly in brighter spirits.

He even let me rest my head on his lap, his legs crossed underneath me while he alternated between staring off at the trees slowly losing their color to autumn and my quiet contentment as I nibbled on an assortment of fruits.

There was no awkward silence or hidden darkness in this day, and even the sweetest strawberry couldn’t be more refreshing. To be here with Spencer, soaking in the late Summer sun, was all I could ever ask for.

But I was also eager to take advantage of the uncharacteristic softness between us. It wasn’t often we could share moments like this. Between his job and all our problems over the past few months, I wasn’t sure when we could be like this again.

“Let’s talk about something fun.” I blurted out, earning an intrigued look from my boyfriend. He readjusted his position, leaning back on his hands so he could look down at me easier.

“Okay, like what?”

“Don’t make fun of me…” The way he was looking at me gave me no hope he would actually listen to me, but I continued anyway, “I have conversation starters I looked up.”

He snorted while trying to suppress his chuckle. “Of course you do.”

Dropping my mouth open, I reached up to lightly smack him on the face for immediately doing exactly what I had asked him not to.

“What? Like you’re the epitome of sociable, Dr. Reid?”

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to stop the laughter that kept bubbling in his chest over something that was decidedly not that funny at all. We were just that stupid kind of happy where everything was wonderful.

“I’m just not surprised!” He reminded, then nodded for me to continue, “Go on, tell me one.”

“Tell me something you’re scared of.” I shot back, excited to hear the answer.

“The dark.” It was the most anticlimactic, stereotypical answer I could have imagined. It was my turn to scoff now, hardly believing the answer to be real.

“Seriously? You’re an FBI Agent, Spencer.”

“You told me not to make fun of you, but then you make fun of me? Unfair. I didn’t sign up for this scrutiny.” His legs started to move under me as he pretended like he was about to dump me from his lap and leave me here.

“Fine!” I shouted, reaching my hands up to grab his face. Although they fumbled awkwardly from my strange position, he took the time to lean to the side and kiss my palm lightly. “Favorite memory of the two of us.”

He blew out a long breath, his eyes squinted like they always did when he was in deep contemplation. But something told me something actually jumped straight to his mind, but he was holding it back for some other reason.

“That’s not fair. There are too many.”

I wasn’t falling for it. I flicked his nose before pulling my hand back, smiling at the way he jerked away like it actually hurt him. Giant baby.

“No cop out answers, old man. Favorite one!”

Spencer just sighed, letting his head fall back as he actually thought about what he was about to say for once in his life. I took the brief moment without his scrutiny to reflect on just how lucky I was to be able to see him like this.

“Okay. So, remember when we went to the bakery in Downtown?” He asked like I could have forgotten.

“Pauls? Yes, I remember.”

They’re legends in the area, but a total pain to try and get. You have to get there first thing in the morning and wait in a ridiculous line. But they were always worth it. Spencer had told me he’d never been, and I just couldn’t let such an injustice stand.

“While we were waiting in that ridiculous line, I remember looking at you and just seeing how excited you were for a donut, even at 7 in the morning.”

“That’s objectively the best time for a donut.” I interrupted with the most matter-of-fact tone I could emulate.

“Right,” he laughed, recalling how I kept reminding him of that fact while in line, “Well, we got to the front and before I could even talk, you had already ordered one for me.”

It took me a second to remember exactly what had happened. So much had happened since then, the memories were becoming muddled in my mind. But once I did remember, I smiled.

“Chocolate frosted with sprinkles. For the child in us all.”

“That’s it.” His voice had gotten soft so quickly, his hand brushing over my cheek while he played with the strands of hair blowing back over my face. “That’s my favorite memory.”

If I didn’t make a joke of it soon, I was scared my heart would burst.

“Really? That’s your favorite memory? Of all things?” I asked with a playful grin, clasping both of my hands around his and holding it against my chest.

“Yes.” For a man of so many words, it meant so much more when he spoke so little. You could feel the truth in the way the sound hit your ears.

Even as I bit on the inside of my cheeks to withhold my excited giggle, he was looking at me like I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Spencer, that’s so lame.”

In that way he always did, he so charmingly replied, “How fitting for us.”

“Rude,” I muttered, finally finding the strength to sit up from my position on his lap. The world only spun for a second as I reoriented myself. He seemed equally grateful, stretching his legs out in front of him.

“What else do you want to make fun of me for?” Spencer said with a smile, watching as I reached into the small basket and pulled out a small clementine. I ran through the questions in my head, trying to decide which one to spend our limited time on.

“Okay,” I decided, “What did you think the first time you saw me?”

His face scrunched up with the leftover embarrassment from our very first meeting, during which the first thing he had ever done to me was lie. It had been a flattering one, though.

As I popped a section of the small citrus fruit into my mouth, I noticed the way he licked his own lips. The sight caused butterflies to flurry in my stomach, and I wondered which was more appealing to him; the mouthwatering scent of oranges or the idea of slipping something else between my lips.

“I thought... that you were beautiful and intriguing. And I was right.”

I got my answer to my preceding thought, because he had quickly wrapped his hand around the back of my head, pulling me into a kiss with crushing force. For someone who wasn’t the biggest fan of public displays of affection, he certainly didn’t mind kissing me like this.

Despite how deep and hard it was, it ended far too quickly. I sucked on my bottom lip as he left, staring up at him with wonder and devoted attention.

“Why was I intriguing?”

He clearly hadn’t thought that far ahead, probably hoping that the kiss alone would distract me from asking any more questions about that night. Unable to get out of it now, though, he just shrugged with a nervous chuckle, “You... were looking at me?”

My laugh, on the other hand, was full bodied as I pushed him away from me with just enough force that he actually almost toppled over.

“That was it? Because I looked at you?”

It seemed so silly, but I could tell by the way he responded that he meant it. He had told me before, on that night actually, that he wasn’t used to women showing him attention. But surely, he must just be missing it. He was an amazing man.

“I don’t know. There’s just something about you.” He paused between his words, taking a deep breath before attempting to work through his thoughts, “Like... like things just revolve around you. You have this intense gravitational pull that just told me that I had to get closer to you or I wouldn’t be able to survive.”

Fighting back the blush quickly forming on my cheeks, I struggled to maintain my typical aloof nature. I couldn’t have him getting a swelled head just because he could string together a couple cute sentences.

“Are you calling me a star, Dr. Reid?”

“I guess I am, yeah.” He hit me back with that confidence he rarely displayed outside of our play. I loved to see it like this. It made me feel like I was actually with him, rather than any manicured person he’d created to suit the needs of the current situation.

“If you felt that strongly about it, then why lie and say you weren’t checking me out? I could’ve left, you know.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Yeah, but I thought about it.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. There had been a couple of times during that night that I almost cut my losses—admitted that we were just too different to ever be compatible. Thank god I’d ignored that flawed instinct.

“I wouldn’t have blamed you. Have you looked at your boyfriend? I’m so weird.”

The ease with which he flouted his eccentricities brought a smile to my face, and I shook my head as I tried to fight back in his defense. “You’re not that weird.”

“Are you joking? Look at yourself. You’re—You’re normalcy personified! No, actually, you’re not even that. You’re this... beautiful, smart, talented young girl and I’m just an old man who’s hoping to keep you around long enough that you forget you have better options out there.”

The longer he spoke, the more my jaw dropped open. Eventually, I had devolved into a fit of laughter.

“Dr. Reid, you can’t seriously be telling me that you think I am out of your league!”

“I mean—!” he started, but I wasn’t going to allow him to even entertain the thought. I clapped my hand over his mouth, nearly climbing onto his lap to hush any noises he attempted to make.

“No way!” I shouted, “Shut up!”

Instead of trying to wrench my hand away, his hands came to rest on my hips. I could feel the smile spreading across his cheeks under my fingers.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Spencer. Fucking FBI Agent with three PhDs. Get out of here.”

He began bouncing his leg under me, and when I looked down to see what he was doing, I was shocked to feel a wetness on my palm. Ripping my hand away, I looked at my hand to see the swipe of saliva over the skin.

“Did you just fucking lick me?!” I screeched, unable to comprehend what had just happened, staring at my boyfriend with a shit-eating grin on his face. “I touched the ground with this hand! What are you doing?!”

“Yeah, I’m definitely going to rinse my mouth with bleach when we get home. But it was worth it, to see that look on your face.”

He went to wipe his own face, but I still couldn’t get over the fact my hand was fucking wet. So I took my hand once more, wiping the residue of his own spit back over his cheek. Surprisingly, he just let me do it, laughing as he only slightly tilted his head back.

“Nasty old pervert,” I joked, rolling my body off him and sitting on own once more.

“You’re very mean when you’re nice to me.” Spencer pouted.

I was distracted, trying to get my hair to stay out of my face and mouth as the wind started to whip through the park. Still, I managed to say a few very important words of warning.

“Yeah, well, get used to it, bud.”

Taking pity on my obvious distress, he reached out to grab my arm, tugging me back over to him. “Come here, little girl.” he instructed while I crawled over on all fours to sit between his legs.

I was going to ask him what he was planning when I felt his hands begin threading through my hair. I sat patiently, recognizing the pattern he was weaving.

“... When did you learn how to braid hair? Did your mom teach you?”

“My mom has short hair.” It was an evasive, but truthful answer, so I didn’t press it. I was sure I would find out more about his family as time went on. I just had to keep reminding myself that we had all the time in the world to get to know each other.

“I never learned how to braid hair specifically. I’m just applying the same pattern I would with a knot or a puzzle.”

“How romantic.” I gasped, tucking my hands between my legs as I enjoyed the way it felt for him to play with my hair.

It was always bizarre, to consider the way he could be so soft in moments like this. Or rather, that he could be so far the opposite at other times. In my heart, he was always the kind, goofy man I had met that night at the bar.

But I’d seen him angry, depressed, and in pain. I’d seen him desperate and scared. Basically, the only way I hadn’t seen Spencer Reid was however he was at work. Part of me wished that I could; it was obvious he was good at it and, to a certain degree, enjoyed it.

Then again, when I know he does things like get shot at, it makes it a little bit harder to be interested in. I couldn’t imagine getting that phone call one day while they loaded him into the back of an ambulance... or worse.

“Ah, the things I do for love.” His calm, smooth voice tore me from the destructive thoughts and back into his warm embrace.

“Hey, Spencer, I have a serious question.”

“Well, that’s terrifying.” He joked, holding out his hand for my hair tie, which I happily gave him. I hated to admit that he did a better job at braiding my hair than I’d ever done. Freaking stupid genius stuff.

“When do I get to say it back?”

I swear, I felt a chill spread through the air between us. His entire body froze, his hands stuck mixed with the elastic as he tied off the braid.

It was an intense, unwelcome flashback to the second night I’d spent with him, when we had talked about things too serious, too soon.

Terrified, I immediately cut off anything he might have been able to say, muttering, “Never mind. Forget I asked.”

Letting my hair slip from his fingers, he let his hand drag along my spine. I wished I could see the look on his face, but I didn’t dare turn around.

“I’m sorry.” He said after another moment of silence, and it physically pained me the way the words fell from his lips.

“Don’t apologize,” I said in the cheeriest tone possible, trying to lighten the mood, “I just wanted to test the waters.”

With that, I spun around dramatically, noting the way his face lit up once it saw the smile on my own. “And they are frozen solid!”

He laughed at the enthusiasm I displayed, swiftly throwing his arms around me in a tight embrace.

“Well, I’ll just have to warm you up, then.” My whole body in his arms, he yanked me off the ground and onto himself. I struggled playfully under his arms, not paying any attention to the other people in the park watching our childish antics.

“Hypothermia is very dangerous, after all,” he lectured, “Let me take your temperature.” Burying his face in my neck, I felt the familiar overstimulation that accompanied frantic, light touches of my sides.

“Stop!” I burst with laughter, “You’re tickling me!”

The movements all halted, but only to be followed with a terrifyingly devious tone of Spencer’s voice. “You’re ticklish?”

“Don’t you dare—”

“Oh, I love this information.” And just like that, he began his onslaught. His fingers danced over every inch of my sides, his lips pressing quick, frenzied kisses against the underside of my chin. The harder I laughed, the more he continued.

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” I screeched like a banshee, trying to slip from his hands or turn around—anything to get the upper hand again.

After nearly wrestling him, I managed to get both hands on his shoulders and shove him back against the blanket. The force with which we hit the ground knocked the air from his lungs, and he groaned at my body weight on his chest.

“Okay, okay! You win!” He yelled, holding his hands in front of me while struggling not to touch the ground with his head. “I’m not risking more surface area of contact with the ground to fight you.”

“(Y/n) emerges victorious!” I grabbed hold of both of his hands, shaking his arms with all my leftover adrenaline while I cheered myself on.

“Dork,” he muttered under his breath before he grabbed my sides, laughing at the way I instinctually jerked. I threw myself off of him to avoid the potential tickles, landing clumsily next to him. And Spencer, being the genius, recognized it as the perfect opportunity to pin me against the ground.

Wasting no time, he pressed the same instruments which had begun the great tickle war against my own lips. My hands found their way to his cheeks, pulling him closer as his tongue easily found mine. Just like it always did with us, it felt like the world was disappearing around us.

All I could feel, smell, taste, think, was Spencer Reid. His love and admiration flowed from him with ease, and I was happy to take it in. After a few minutes, we had to break apart. We might like a little bit of exhibitionism, but I was pretty sure neither of us actually wanted to tear the other’s clothes off in a park.

Could you imagine if people knew he was an FBI Agent? I was sure they already thought our age gap strange. But I didn’t care what they thought. Because right now, we were happy.

“I’m the dork you love, though.” I whispered against his lips.

“Indubitably,” he mumbled back, starting to laugh at the way the word sounded in our teenage love-like delirium.

“Now who’s the dork.” I teased as I smoothed my hands over his shoulders.

“Hm. Still you. And a little bit me, too.”

Laughter was bursting from me again.

“You have grass in your hair, idiot.” Before he could do anything about it, my hands were all over it, ruffling his hair wildly out of place. He just squeezed his eyes shut, letting me ruin any semblance of maturity or control from his appearance.

“Wow. Thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome.” I chirped, accepting the small peck he gave me before he started to retreat from his spot above me.

“You ready to head home?”

“Yeah, just about,” he sighed like it was a terrible thing to do. He hadn’t even wanted to come on this picnic!

“I promised to check you for ticks, after all.”

Ah, the real thing we were both looking forward to. Although, I was sure he was going to take it way too seriously for a few minutes before we devolve into sex on the bathroom floor.

“Mmm. I’m thrilled.” I replied honestly, struggling to sit up now that my body had already slipped into Spencer Reid is on Top of You mode. It was one of those rare moments when I wondered if there really was a female version of blue balls, because I was almost certain I had it.

“I have to stop at the bank first, though. I’ll go throw this stuff in the car and we can just walk over.”

“Sure thing, old man.” I huffed as I stood up, holding the much lighter basket while he collected the blanket. Once he took it all from me, I glanced over at the nearby bench with a pout.

“I’m going to miss you.”

“You’re cute,” he smiled, kissing my cheek like it were a more serious goodbye, “I’ll be right back.”

While I waited for him, I cautiously watched the large, dark clouds rolling over the horizon. They threatened to swallow the sunshine that we’d basked in less than hour before. I tried not to think anything of it.

It wasn’t a metaphor; it wasn’t an omen. It was just the weather.

Spencer must have seen the anxiety, because when he came back, he gingerly placed his arms around me from behind, resting his head on my chin.

“I guess we have good timing. It looks like it’s about to storm.” I absently spoke, my eyes still fixed on the sky.

“Yeah, typical finicky Virginia weather, I guess.”

I wasn’t sure if I actually heard it in his voice or made it up, but I swore Spencer was also trying to stop himself from thinking something of the rain. I was probably just being paranoid. It was just a storm. They happened.

“Well, let’s get going so you can cash your check in person like an eighty year old man.” I joked, grabbing his hand and dragging him back towards the exit to the park.

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration. There are other people my age who don’t trust cell phone banking transactions.”

“Are there, though?”

He just shook his head, deciding it wasn’t worth it to get into it with me. Typical young kids, he must have thought, so irresponsible. But he didn’t say it, just held my hand on the short, quiet walk to the ornate building on the corner of two busy streets.

I swung our hands dramatically back and forth, earning an unamused, but still playful, glare from him.

“Your age is showing,” he pointed out before licking his lips and avoiding my eyes. I glared right back before responding, “Your stick-in-the-mud-ness is showing.”

“Not a word. Not a phrase. Not a thing.”

He stopped our hands dead in their tracks as he crossed the threshold, and for a second, I thought he was going to seriously be a spoilsport. But right when I least expected it, he swung our hands again and I nearly smacked into another person.

We both laughed, with me blurting out a frantic, “I’m sorry!”

“So immature,” he chastised, shaking his head with disapproval.

“I can’t believe you. You are such an asshole!”  

The familiar hum and beeping of the metal detectors threatened to dislodge memories from the back of my mind, and I shook my head to try to get rid of them again. Spencer glanced over with concern but didn’t mention it.

I was grateful. I didn’t want to talk about it. Once we had passed security, he settled into the line like he’d done it a million times before. But me, being a normal person who used my banking app to cash checks, felt strangely out of place.

Figuring it might be a minute, and that the ride home would be significantly longer, I decided to go get any residual dirt and grass out of my hair. After all, it would get in the way of our tick searching activities.

“Hey, I’m gonna run to the bathroom. Don’t go anywhere.” I pointed an accusing finger at him as my arm slipped from around his. His hand followed me until he couldn’t hold on any longer, an innocent, lovesick smile on his face.

“You know I could never leave you behind.”

As cheesy as it was, it still made me smile. My heart ached with the saccharine sweetness of his affections. I’d gotten so used to them so fast; I couldn’t even imagine a world without them anymore.

“Don’t miss me too much, Dr. Reid.”

“You know I will, little girl.”

That storm cloud feeling was brewing in my chest again as I pressed a kiss to my fingers, blowing it across the ever-growing distance between us. Why did he feel so far away so suddenly?

I tried not to pay it any mind, humming You Are My Sunshine and imagining Spencer’s terrible singing voice instead. Looking at my reflection, I realized why my cheeks had been getting sore. Because there, staring back at me, was a smile on a neutral face.

I don’t even know when it happened, but it hit me in that bathroom of a bank at 12:47pm on a Saturday that I had fallen madly in love with Spencer Reid. And it suddenly made sense, why he didn’t want me to say it yet. Because I hadn’t realized it yet.

But now I had, and it filled every cell in my body. The blush on my cheeks was evidence of just how much I needed to let it out, to scream it from the rooftops, or at least in the lobby of this old bank.

There were so few things that could overwhelm the emotions I was feeling and rob me of this moment. My brain rioted against any sign of darkness or despair, clinging to the hope that I would be able to tell him soon.

So, when explosive booms rang through the bank, for a long second, I tried to convince myself they were thunder.

But they weren’t. The storm had indeed come, but it wasn’t responsible for the sounds that caused my heart to tear in two and shatter against the floor. The people outside the room were not screaming at the wrath of God, displayed with lightwork in the sky.

It was not thunder.

They were gunshots.

 —————————————————

| Part 14 |

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid series #Criminal Minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #spence reid #reid request #spencer reid request #fluff #h2m

[fukurokoma]

I said I was going to start working on the tendo x reader x semi shit I’ve got kicking around in my head.. but I’m a fucking liar lol so have a 2.8k preview of bokuto x reader x akaashi smut that I ended up working on instead. warnings: contains mxm oral sex, references to drinking, use of a blindfold, and I think that’s all for now

It’s sticky and warm, sweet liquor lacing your tongue and two light eyed boys peering at you in mirrored cunning. The haze of warmth that dusts across your cheeks stains moonlight and sun in kind, fingers caressing glass rims and condensation coating fingertips. Outside you are sure you departed glumly oncoming rain and grey skies but you feel the warmth of mid-June saturate your skin with a light sheen of sweat at the nape of your neck despite the late December day.

Beneath your fingertips, slick with water that has too quickly grown warm, your skin feels heated, warm blood burning beneath the surface. You lick your lips absently, throat parched no matter how many sips you seem to take of the whiskey lemonade mix that Bokuto continues to pour.

He appraises you with a jovial smile, a gesture so natural on him though it would seem obscene, amplified on anyone else. To his side Akaashi is considerably more restrained, the expression he wears tempered docile yet deceitfully sweet. Affection burns in his eyes, but unsurprisingly there is something more behind it, a low simmering foreshadowing.

Akaashi wears a great many of his intentions on his face like a warning.

You regard them with caution shadowing your expression, a wry and curious smile twisting your lips.

“What are you two planning?” you ask and though you aim for lofty and offhand you miss the mark by some ways, landing within anticipatory and eager. Shame threatens to burn your cheeks hotter still and teeth bite into the plush measure of your mouth to restrain a broad smile.

Akaashi’s lips twitch into an almost shade of his own and he lifts one deft brow, glancing to Bokuto. Fans and flutters of tousled silver sway with the playful tilt of Bokuto’s head and the deep neckline of his shirt slips along his shoulder, exposing more of his sunshine skin. The loose cotton rests temptingly along the slope of his collar, the shadowed line quietly begging for lips and teeth and tongues to adore it.

Your eyes are not the only ones to appraise the artistic sweep of skin pulled taut all the way up his elegant neck. But Akaashi is closer, the orchestrater in most proceedings. As Bokuto sweetly murmurs, “It’s a surprise,” his skin is touched by Akaashi’s mouth of galaxies, his tease of teeth that leave constellations in their wake. When minutes have passed and Bokuto’s fingers are twisted in silken strands of midnight sky the rosy bloom of Akaashi’s mouth will reveal a milky way in lilac and gold, brilliant and branded.

But before such artistry is applied to Bokuto’s throat Akaashi spares a moment to infer low and roguish, “Don’t look away, don’t touch.”

You swallow the last of your drink thickly, a loud gulp that’s distinct and clear in the tense silence of the room.

The hiss of a sharp breath being drawn through gritted teeth cushions the clatter of your glass meeting the cluttered bedside drawer and Bokuto’s eyelashes flutter, resting in soft feathers upon his cheeks, closed. You can see the pearly white point of Akaashi’s teeth dragging across Bokuto’s skin, the wet pink of his tongue soothing red streaks and points. His talented fingers slip beneath striped cotton and map designs of undiscovered universes in the spaces between Bokuto’s ribs, low between his hips.

Bokuto croons hums of content in quiet, dulcet tones.

He is subdued under Akaashi’s careful ministrations, an orchestration that slowly builds, lost in whatever plays behind the shadows of his eyes. He’s all sensation and music, his pulse thrumming in a steady tempo his body already knows the steps to. But Bokuto is pliant, almost entirely still and unequivocally patient but for the hand he slips into Akaashi’s hair. The thread of midnight locks between his golden fingers is tentative, fingertips pressing tight when stardust fingers slip past his button and zipper to delve inside.

You cannot discern Akaashi’s precise actions through the stretch of denim that conceals his hand but Bokuto’s whimpers and groans do little to leave you wondering. His initial gasp, filtering from previously bitten lips at first touch sounds sharp in the silence, piercing through the thickening haze of mounting tension in the atmosphere only to lend itself as accelerando, the first of many small notes and vocal nuances, not all his own.

The softest whimper slips past your teeth and where you had initially not considered the gravity of Akaashi’s instruction earlier the itch you feel in your fingers now to touch has you slipping your hands beneath your thighs to prevent yourself from unintentionally doing so, hoping, hoping, hoping, that the telling sound managed to slip past unnoticed. From where he was once tucked into the crook of Bokuto’s neck Akaashi’s eyes are dark mischief when he smiles saccharine sweet at your reposition.

He does not say a word on the matter, though the angle of his mouth speaks loudly enough in lieu. It is Bokuto who remarks upon your delicate sensibilities, pleasantly singing in a way almost mocking, “You’re in for a long night, baby.” And he does as much with a lopsided smile dripping across his lips, his eyes already heavy. “We’ve barely even started.”

The soft pant of his breaths is a delightful distraction from the increasing thrum of your pulse and you drown in it, focusing on all the little noises that Bokuto makes and suppressing the groan his warning had thus prompted. Each sound Bokuto makes is familiar and evocative, reminding you of times before, enticing you until you realize you are already perching so far forward that it comes as no surprise when Akaashi’s smug chuckle bleeds into the room.

Though with him the small gesture alone says enough the distinct twist of his wrist that has Bokuto whimpering into Akaashi’s hair is a warning. You do not misunderstand the implications of his timing in the slightest though you do not straighten your spine either. Akaashi meets your defiance with an angled frame to his mouth and catches his teeth against the lobe of Bokuto’s ear.

After his tongue has soothed the initial sting Akaashi plays idle with the hair at the nape of his neck, continues to stroke him languidly as he comments, “You like listening to our ace, don’t you?” He keeps his eyes on Bokuto as he speaks, a low simmering affection searing across his features while he grazes his nose along the side of Bokuto’s neck

But then as if to prove his point Akaashi lures a weak moan from Bokuto’s throat, has his hips twitching in their seat with a sly smile. The lazy arch of his brow when he finally does cast his gaze back to you is damning, charmingly so. The blush you had so narrowly avoided earlier takes cue, illustrating your cheeks with a sting of heat, and the warmth adorns Bokuto, too, crawling up his neck in a pretty, pretty pink.

Words momentarily escape you and Akaashi does not wait long for a response before he deems it too late, chuckling darkly to himself. Bokuto joins him with a vaguely looming smile, inadvertently admitting that he is in on the plan and you are not all that surprised when he gathers the presence of mind to untangle his fingers from Akaashi’s hair and retrieve the silk tie in his pocket.

He hands it over with a small smile, the curve of his lips implicit amusement, mirrored in kind in the lazy half stretch of Akaashi’s own. Satisfaction in double doses is tucked away in the solitary quirked corner of his mouth, Akaashi’s hands abandoning Bokuto who pouts in brief dismay, and you nervously pressing teeth into already bruised flesh, waiting for the silk to be drawn over your eyes.

Presumption proven true, once Akaashi approaches he gathers the blind over your eyes, tying a neat and efficient knot in the back. There is a kiss lain atop the crown of your head and then his presence is gone once again, the room little more than peeks of setting sun streaking beneath the smallest gaps of silk and skin.

But then Bokuto’s broken voice fills the room once more and you can see as clearly as if your eyes were open.

You cannot ascertain whether the illustrious plays that come to mind as you tune specifically into each and every nuance of sound are true, but the potential of them does wonders. Every airy little noise Bokuto makes spurs fanciful possibilities behind your eyes and you imagine just how Akaashi might be touching him in order to lure such sounds from his mouth.

It becomes only somewhat easier to discern their actions by the rustle of clothing and the hushing that Akaashi infers after what feels like much, much later. Bokuto does not fall silent, and you acknowledge somewhere in the back of your mind that silence is not what Akaashi would have wanted anyway, but he restrains any pleas or sugar coated requests where he might otherwise not have.

What breaks him is a noise distinctly wet and you realize it to be Akaashi’s mouth as Bokuto’s voice breaks on the most satisfied moan you’ve likely ever heard. It’s not hard to imagine the relief etched into his features, eyes shut and his face blissful while Akaashi works pink lips down his cock in that slow, fluid, manner that he likes to start off with.

This you know for certain, particularly when you hear the pleased rumble that sounds in Akaashi’s chest. You are sure then that Bokuto’s fingers have taken solace in his night sky once more, the sun adoring the stars and the stars doing the same in kind, the push and pull of gravity at its finest in play.

Although your world is limited to darkness as you listen to the ascension of Bokuto’s breathing, from shallow barely audible breaths to short, fast pants and low whines as you hear Akaashi’s execution grow sloppier, wetter, slick, and surely so well paced his jaw must be absolutely aching; the darkness that enshrouds you burns red.

You feel along with it your skin beginning to burn, so gradually at first it’s barely noticeable but fastly becoming a heat you long to cool that scorches along your cheeks, chest, the back of your neck. Beneath your thighs your fingers twitch, teeth worrying your bottom lip as you feel the restlessness crawl into your limbs and unfurl.

Your teeth bite down unashamedly, hard, blunt enamel that is sure to bruise and leave you a reminder of your devil may care boys, but you don’t care for the pain that’s bound to come; you could listen to Bokuto for days.

There’s a stutter in Bokuto’s breath, a low whistle as he exhales and you hear the distinct pop of Akaashi’s lips, the ragged inhale he greedily takes. Even if you can’t see it all unfolding, the sweet torture of it all is damning enough that you can’t quite stop the curse that befalls you, the way it lends itself to further speech, a sweet lilting inquiry of, “Is he taking good care of you, Bo?” escaping before you think better of it.

Bokuto releases an affirming groan and you can just imagine the way Akaashi’s mouth is sliding back down his length as he does so, as he shakily replies, “the best,” in a voice that’s entirely wrecked and breathless. You picture the haze of arousal that Bokuto must have in his eyes, the liquid honey that would be visible only in glimpses between his thick lashes, his eyelids oh so heavy the more Akaashi set to work, coaxing each luxuriant sound from his swollen, needing lips. Bokuto just loves to be kissed, loves making out like he’s still a horny teenager, with his hands grasping everywhere and his god forsaken hips rolling in sinful, tempting teases.

And Akaashi, Akaashi, your sweet, selfless lover, lavishing affection on your shared boyfriend, his lips just must be the richest shade of red, stark contrast to his pretty, golden moonlight skin. Just the thought of his swollen, pouty mouth makes you want to kiss him, lick into his mouth and taste Bokuto on his tongue. But you are under no false illusions here, aren’t about to push your own luck.

Instead you venture a push for Bokuto’s, softly inferring, “I bet you wish you could kiss him right now, hm?” You swallow thickly, envisioning it for yourself, narrating it for the both of them to picture what you’re picturing. “You’d just love to taste yourself on his lips, in his mouth.”

“I can imagine it so clearly, Bo: the way you’d trace our moody boy’s lips with your tongue, the way your fingers would curl into his hair… the way you’d tug it ever so softly so you could get your mouth on his neck. And he’s so sensitive there, isn’t he? He would just melt underneath you, you and your eager hands, stroking, pulling at clothes, drawing him against you, drawing him against your hips. Those hips of yours Bo...”

The quietest of moans escapes you at the thought, you know what sins his hips are capable of and you can hear them, him, getting restless now. You can hear his breathing scatter, the tempo uneven, staccato. Everything sounds frantic now, low whines and rustling fabric, and the wet, wet, sound of Akaashi’s mouth slipping, the muffled sound of him groaning. You realize Bokuto must have tugged on his hair.

A little gleefully your back arches forward even more, longing to be closer to the both of them as you entreat, “You’re close aren’t you, Bo?” You wonder if he’s watching you when you lick your lips, teeth pulling the lower momentarily into your mouth. It doesn’t matter if he is or not ultimately. Even from your place on the sidelines you don’t mind being an inactive player. You just want, want, want. You want so much that you don’t hesitate to ask for it. “Go on Bo, please, I wanna hear you cum. I want to listen to you fall apart.”

Perhaps they’re feeling merciful, or perhaps Bokuto couldn’t hold off any longer. It takes only a handful of moments more for you to hear Bokuto’s downright offensive vocal assault crescendo, the guttural pitch of his voice teetering your flimsy acquiescence. It would be only too easy to work yourself to orgasm after listening to Bokuto moan and groan, and swear, swear so filthily your only regret is not being able to have seen just how Akaashi got him so good that he expels an emphatic ‘fuck.’

He sounds so good, sounds so absolutely ruined that for just a moment going against your orders crosses your mind. But Akaashi catches you just in time, a shift on the mattress alerting you to the approach of one of them, though it's not apparent which of them until there are coarse fingertips along your jaw, Akaashi’s velvet tone instructing, “Open your mouth, kitten.”

Before a smile can fully shape your lips they part acquiescently, your deference subdued effectively, and rewarded with the feeling of Akaashi’s mouth shaping to yours succinctly. His tongue touches your own, the taste salty, inherently Bokuto, and his fingers glide along your jaw, the nape of your neck, to sweep into your hair.

He kisses you breathless, absolutely stupid, tearing his mouth from your greedy own far too soon. He’s gracious enough to expend, “What a good girl you’re being, still sitting pretty on those naughty little hands of yours.”

Bokuto is quick to point out, “Her mouth is worse.” His voice has a playful edge to it, but lacks no audacity.

You smile saccharine sweet, counter, ‘Mine?’ with all the trappings of innocence, spare the contrary arch of your brow, only just visible above the silk blindfold.

Bokuto scoffs, as if he takes offense to your claims. Yet not a moment later do you feel Akaashi’s fingers depart your hair to traverse down your body.

Though he attempts to take his time there is no preamble in the way he traverses the length of your torso, skipping pointed detours he would normally favor to slip his fingers past your waistband.There is no hesitation in the way that Akaashi spreads you open, running his fingers against your dripping cunt while he infers lowly, “Our wee kitten may have a point Bokuto-san.”

#haikyuu smut #bokuto smut #akaashi smut #bokuaka x reader #why am I such trash for poly ships?! #i started working on the most random suna x reader x terushima thing yesterday as well 😩 #hq smut

[jbbuckybarnes]

Scared & Sacred - Ch. 7

Pairing: Din Djarin x pregnant!Reader Description: The Mandalorian had helped you while you were hunted for your family name and you had grown a little closer over the months, but you didn’t expect THIS. How was this possible after just three times of getting so close  to him. You had to find a nurse as fast as possible. Warnings: pregnancy / labor, fluff, helmetless Din, canon divergent, not proofread, probably inaccurate pregnancy and labor stuff, the force, emotional Din, just Din having feelings.

M A S T E R L I S T

Chapter 7 - Brown Eyes

„Princess? You will be ready soon.“ Your favorite elder in the Sorgan village smiled at you. You sighed deeply, „Finally.“ You back had been killing you for the last 6 weeks of pregnancy and you were starting to get really cranky towards your adoptive son and husband. „I‘ll start preparing a couple things that will ease the pain.“ She nodded before she slowly left the hut. Din was sitting next to you by the head end of the bed, his legs bouncing nervously. „Stop that.“ You mumbled and he stilled in an instant. Too terrified of an angry pregnant wife. You had developed the strength of a mother recently and he felt like you could crush him with your bare hands if you wanted to. „Sorry, don‘t wanna stress you out.“ He murmured and leaned above you to place a kiss on your forehead. „Dank ferrik!“ You inhaled fast and he stilled again, „Breathe, darling.“ „What do I look like I‘m doing.“ You grumbled beneath him and saw him smile wider. „Why the smile, huh?“ „You‘re hot when you‘re mad. I‘m just trying my best to...help?“ He didn‘t quite help. How could he? You were about to just bring life into the world. „I know and I love you but I just want it to be over with,“ you whined and felt his hand run over your cheek. „It‘ll be worth it, cyar‘ika.“ He placed a gentle kiss onto your lips.

You heard a fuzzing child coming closer before Omera entered with Grogu on her arm. „He made it very clear that he won‘t stop until he‘s here.“ She frowned apologetically. „It‘s alright. He can stay until I‘m actually delivering.“ You smiled at her exhausted. Din took the green little bean onto his lap and heard him babble. „Yes, your baby sister is almost here.“ His little ears rose and he squealed and looked over to you. His little hands landed on your cheek and forehead where he continued making his typical Grogu noises. „I think he wants to comfort you.“ Din chuckled and scratched his little head. „You‘re doing a great job, little one.“ You chuckled and watched him smile wide. After a while he laid down next to your face and nuzzled his head against the side of your face. „Thank the maker for you two.“ An exhale escaped from your chest.

Not too many hours later your contractions became more and more frequent and sweat started forming on your face. The uncomfortable noises made Grogu perk up and put his hands on you again, but this time he closed his eyes. You felt relaxation wash over you, a feeling of being one with nature. It was powerful and replenished your energy in weird ways. „Mama.“ You heard his tiny and cute voice when you came out of this little trance. „You‘re such a good boy.“ You whispered and went over his right ear. You noticed wetness around your legs and your eyes widened, the little boy smiling with such a genuine calmness that you knew that he knew. Must be something with the force. „Din, can you get the nurse. I think I‘ll need her help soon.“ You mumbled while looking at your calming son. The man hurried out of the hut, „Thank you, Grogu.“ „Ba.“ You scrunched your nose smiling at him holding his arms up before another wave of pain hit you. It didn‘t really hurt as much as it was all consuming in a weird sense. It felt less daunting and more purposeful. Definitely something your little boy did with the force. You felt more connected to your body. „You sure that you want to stay for this?“ You asked him once you calmed down. He sat down next to your head with a calm and soft smile. You believed that he was 50 now. A 3-year-old 50-year-old. Din and the elder nurse came in, your husband picking up Grogu, „Let‘s get you to Om-“ He was interrupted by what sounded like a protective growl, „He wants to be here and I need his mental support. My delivery room, my decisions.“ A slightly terrified Din set his son back down and watched your harmonious smile form on your lips again. Yes, probably better to keep Grogu there.

„I‘ll give you about an hour, princess.“ The woman spoke after checking up on you. Now Din‘s heart rate definitely picked up. He wasn‘t ready, he was everything but not ready. Sure, he had parented Grogu, but Grogu could walk, communicate, even defend himself. But you were about to give him the most precious and delicate thing in the world. How was he supposed to protect his princess? How was he supposed to not get scared for her at night and every waking hour? How was he supposed to hold her? He felt a hand grab his and snapped out of it, seeing your smile and a calm Grogu next to you. „We‘re gonna be okay. Just a couple minutes of crushing your hands and maybe even screaming at you, but then we‘re gonna be okay.“ He huffed at that and brought your hand to his lips for a kiss. The elder nurse had prepared several medical mixtures for you. One to drink, one to put on your lower back and one to put on your belly. You didn‘t quite know what these did, but you trusted her decades of experience.

You felt another contraction not too long after she finished with the eternally long but calming procedure to apply all of the mixtures, but it felt different this time. The elder looked at your body and behavior and smiled gently, „You‘re ready.“ Your brain short circuited for a second at those words. Now? NOW? She checked up on you again, Grogu becoming more cheerful next to you. „You can start with the next one. Your body will naturally tell you. Close your eyes if it helps you.“ She smiled up at you happily. You nervously grabbed for your husband's hand and felt your son‘s hand on your cheek. It took a couple minutes for you to feel what she meant, but your body automatically told you what you needed to do and it was a different level of overwhelm, but it was also filled with those weird hormones making your pain more bearable. You pushed, sweat building on your whole body, squishing Din‘s hand. „Good.“ You faintly heard through the pain and felt your body wanting you to do it one more time. C‘mon, just how you learned it from Omera and her. Breathe out and push. Your body gave you a pause for a moment and you tried to stay calm, feeling your son climb to the side where Din wasn‘t holding your hand and pushed one of his plushies the kids had made him into your hand. You gave him a motherly smile before this all encompassing feeling hit you again. „You better make this worth it, Din.“ You grumbled and heard a nervous huff as you pushed again with a whimpering deep sound escaping you. He didn‘t really register your hand crushing his, too mesmerized by the absolute calmness in the room while you did one of the most powerful and feminine things in the world. This is why you were more warrior than him. You looked ethereal to him, even with the deep frown and the pain written all over your face. He only noticed the pure power you were emitting. He would pray to his new goddess soon.

A loud cry cut through the room, snapping both him and you out of your trances. „Good job, darling.“ She checked her up for a second before getting up with her. You both were in awe, you made that tiny fleshy, cutely proportioned, crying being. She laid the baby onto your chest, the crying calming down and turning into whimpering. Your hand wandered to your little girl‘s back, „Welcome, baby girl.“ Deep brown eyes looked back at you, like her dad‘s. „Well, aren‘t you pretty.“ You cooed and booped her nose. „My princess and my queen.“ He whispered and kissed your forehead and then his daughter's head for the first time. His daughter! „Dodie!“ You heard a very distinct Grogu sound and saw him waddle over to gently touch her tiny little arm. „That sounds like a name.“ Grogu looked up at you and raised his ears. „Dodie. Dodie Djarin. Princess of Mandalore, Lady of Karaku...well, what‘s left of it.“ You smiled at her and then at Din. „Sounds good to me.“ He grinned before he was interrupted by the elder nurse to cut the cord and help her clean the baby and your chest up.

You had fallen asleep in exhaustion while he had put Dodie on his chest, gently going through the little bit of brown fluffy hair she already had on her head. The big brown eyes were directed at him and he wanted to cry at how innocent they were. How this little human depended on him for safety and trusted and loved him without any restrictions. „Princess Djarin.“ He chuckled, still not believing it. „I‘m gonna do the best job in the world at protecting you and making you into a fierce little girl.“ He whispered and kissed the crown of her head. He put his finger under her hand, feeling like a giant all of a sudden. Her hand grasped onto it as her eyes became heavy. In a soft voice he hummed a little Mandalorian melody to help her fall asleep until he could watch her tiny chest rise and sink on his. That was his tiny wonder and his future. „You‘re the best thing to ever happen to me.“ You heard waking up across the room and smiled to yourself in overwhelm, thinking back to how this all started.

___

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#Din Djarin #Din Djarin x Reader #Din Djarin x y/n #The Mandalorian #pedro pascal #the mandalorian x reader #Din Djarin x you #Din x Reader #sw #star wars #mando #Din x you #Din x y/n #Mando x Reader #Mandalorian fanfic #Din Djarin fanfiction #Mandoa #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x y/n #mine #text #pedro pascal cinematic universe

[dranza]

16th December

Draco x Reader

Slow burn babyyyy!

Word count: 2703

Warnings: talk about shitty parents.

Please let me know if you notice any.

I shake snow out of my hair as I enter the Great Hall, weaving through the kids to locate my usual seat on the slytherin table. Sat comfortably, already tucking into his toast, Draco looks up at me with a cocked eyebrow, “Punctual as ever.”

“Morning.” I groan at him, nudging his arm. 

“Morning Y/N” he returns with a side smile. “What took you so long?”

“Ginny and Ron were having a snowball fight in the courtyard, I got roped into it.” I shrug. 

I’d grown quite close to the Weasley siblings since I moved here and I quickly learned that, as much as they love each other, they are almost always ready to jump at each other's throats. I normally like to stay out of the way but when Ginny used me as a human shield, it meant war. If it wasn’t for Hagrid splitting us up, we would probably still be out there. 

“My hands feel like they're going to drop off, feel this.” I place the back of my icy hand against the pale-haired boy’s neck. 

“What... are you crazy?” He flings his hand up to my wrist and pulls it away. “You’re freezing!” Once he is over the initial shock, he balls his fingers around my hands, gently whispering a charm over them. A rush of goosebumps flow up my arms. The temperature from his hands transfers into mine and in a few seconds my entire body is filled with a pleasant warmth. He finishes the last charm and looks up. His gentle grip lingers around my hands for a few seconds before he suddenly drops them and averts his eyes. An awkward cough escapes him “better?” 

I let out a single breathy giggle and lean my head on his shoulder, “Thanks Dray.”

“Not a problem.” Draco hands me a bowl for my cereal and then reaches over the table for an apple, careful not to move the arm I’m resting on. 

“Y/N” a distinct voice calls out to me from a few feet away.

“Uncle Filius?” I look over, confused, at the short man walking towards me (He rarely leaves the teachers table at meal times). Then I notice the cupcake in his hand, a small flame over the icing. The confusion escapes me instantly. Is he seriously doing this? 

“Happy Birthday Kiddo.” He reaches me with an ear to ear grin. 

I try my best to hide my shock and not get too excited, blowing out the candle gently. “Thanks Uncle Filly.” I can’t quite believe he even knew. It's just that I’ve never actually had a good birthday since my father passed. My mother was always “too busy at work” or had “just received a new lead” so she never had time to find me a gift, most years I didn't even receive a card. My friends at school never realised they missed it. I’ve learned to never have any expectations now. To be completely honest, I’d been so caught up in the christmas festivities, I’d forgotten myself. 

“I must rush back but do have a lovely day Y/N!” Professor Flitwick gives me an awkward side hug and continues back towards the teachers table.

I turn my eyes back to my breakfast to notice Hermione sitting opposite me. “I can’t believe you never told us it's your birthday?” Ginny and Harry stand behind her, matching shocked expressions on their faces. 

“We have to celebrate!” Ginny states gleefully.

“I’m sure we could go out for butterbeer?” Harry suggests with enthusiasm.

“I don't know… would you guys really be up for it?” I ask sheepishly.

“Are you kidding me? We’re always up for a celebration!” Ron pops up on the other side of Hermione, chocolate muffin in hand. “The Three Broomsticks has this brilliant crumble pudding this time of the year, it's the perfect birthday treat.”

I let out a soft laugh and agree to their plans, touched by their friendship.

“You're not going to Hogsmeade today, are you?” A soft voice calls out from the table next to us and we all turn to the pretty girl perching next to Neville. “I read there would be a snow storm, quite inconvenient.”

Harry runs his fingers through his dark hair “Please! The sun is blazing and it's a clear sky. Any snow that set last night will even melt by midday.” 

“We’ll leave at midday then.” Ron bounces his hand off the table. “That's if we don’t get snowed in, right Luna?” he leaves the table laughing to himself.

“I’ll send out an owl to Madame Rosmerta to save us a table for eight.” Hermione pulls out some parchment from her robe and begins writing the note. 

“Eight?” I ask, unsure how she can so confidently say so many people would want to come out to celebrate my birthday. 

“The six of us…” she signals to herself and the small group around her, “And you two.” 

To this Draco’s head shoots up, “Me?” his grey eyes flick left to right to make sure he heard correctly. “I…” he stares at the bitten apple in his hands, “I’m not exactly welcome there anymore.”

Hermione lets out a sharp breath, trying her best to not let the memory of Draco’s darker days show on her face. “Okay, well I’ll sort out someplace else. Let’s just meet in the courtyard in 2 and a half hours.” Her eyes cheekily dart towards Harry and Ginny “Don’t be late.”

“We promise.” Harry dramatically places a hand on his chest.

“We’ll be there.” Ginny nudges him playfully. “In exactly 3 hours, right?” she winks at Hermione and pulls Harry away, the both of them chuckling at Hermione’s exasperated sigh.

I wait for Draco in the Slytherin common room, ready for our day out. I have been to Hogsmeade a few times in the last three and a half months but I can’t hold in my excitement for today. This is going to be so much fun. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I’m really thrilled that it's my birthday. I feel so lucky to finally have people that care to make my day special. It's so foreign to me. I’m basically pacing around the chamber (chewing on mint leaf, after mint leaf) and suddenly I hear a voice coming from the fireplace. 

“Y/N? Are you there?” Hermione pokes her head through the fire. “I can’t believe this is happening, but Luna was right. A snow-storm has literally blocked everything.” 

“I’m suggesting we just apparate but  apparently it’s too dangerous.” A fiery red head pokes next to Hermione’s. 

“Eugh,” she shoves him to the side and continues “It is too dangerous in this weather! And anyway, no one can apparate in or out of Hogwarts. I’m sorry.” She gives me such a genuinely sad smile, I can’t help but feel the need to comfort her.

“It's ok, we can’t control the weather.” I tilt my head like I’m convincing a child. “Don’t worry about it.” 

Harry’s voice shouts from behind her “Ginny is bringing the flu powder from her room and we’ll all be there…” 

“Unfortunately that will not be permissible. All students will have to remain in their own respected dormitories until the storm has passed.” Professor Snape interrupts in a low voice from behind me. 

“But…”��

“No ‘buts’! You must remain in your own dormitory until further notice.” and with that, the head of Slytherin house leaves to inform the rest of the students of the new restrictions.

“This is such a bother.” Hermione frowns deeply, a calculating look on her face, trying to figure out some way she can get around it.

“Don't worry about it . Seriously, it's no bother at all.” I attempt to sound as convincing as I can.

“We’ll make this up to you. I promise.” and with a sweet smile she leaves and human/fire returns to being just a fire.

I sigh, annoyed that I let myself get so carried away. Obviously it wasn’t going to be a good day. It never is for goodness sake. I know this. I decide I’m going to spend a lazy day in bed and get away from the rush that is now forming in the dungeon common room. I mindlessly walk through the corridors and turn a corner only to crash into someone’s chest. I take in a sharp, startled breath and a woody scent accompanies the oxygen through my nose. With a lean arm clasped around my waist and a hand gripping my forearm the man stops me from falling. I look up to meet a familiar cheeky smirk. 

“Careful Y/L/N!” Draco lazily unravels himself from me. “Where are you rushing off to?” 

“My birthday is cancelled. The Universe can’t give me one good day. The weather hates me. So I’m going to lay in my bed and stare into nothing for the rest of the day.” I dramatically hold my arms up into the air and try to continue on my way but Draco takes a side step and obstructs me.

He lets out a soft chuckle. “Ok, The weather doesn't have emotions (You know that!)...” He raises his eyebrows and brings his head down to my eye level. “I will be personally having a word with ‘The Universe’ to get its act in check for you later tonight, and as for your Birthday. It is not cancelled. That… is actually kind of impossible. Only your plans have changed.” He fixes his back and shrugs nonchalantly. “You and I could still do something?” 

“What could we possibly do, stuck in this bloody dungeon?” 

“Just follow me.” and with that he carries on down the corridor and turns a few corners into places I have never even thought about going down. “Alohomora.” Draco turns back at me with a side smile as he unlocks the door and walks through it. I follow him into a small chamber, confused as it is nothing special until I notice the window. The top half of the glass reveals a beautiful view of the snow and the bottom half is submerged under the lake. Although not many creatures are coming up to the surface because of the storm, I spot a little horn-backed squid and a group of silvery fish. I look over to Draco, my face beaming in delight. “This is amazing! I can’t believe you’re only just showing me this.”

He scratches at the back of his head and points towards the top of the window. “It’s obviously a much better view in spring and summer, you can see all the way to the moorlands and there are so many different creatures in the water. It’s alright, isn't it?” He does his classic impressed, upside down smile. 

“It's perfect.” I whisper as I climb onto the window sill. I notice Draco open a cupboard on the other side of the room and pull out a small bag, from it he pulls out a chocolate frog and holds it up as an offer. I cock a brow at him. “Are you serious? Who knows how long that's been there.”

“About 2 weeks.” He states flippantly as he comes up to sit next to me. “My father told me about this place, I usually come here to study when I want to be on my own.” He hands me the chocolate frog and pulls out a liquorice wand for himself. Chewing it, he leans his head back against the cold window and turns to me. “So, why is it you never actually told us it’s your Birthday today?” 

“Err, honestly I didn’t really remember myself.” I continue to look out into the lake and quieter I add. “Also, I guess when for the last however many years, the 16th of December is just a day that emphasises how much people don’t actually care about me, it can be easy not to talk about.” I try to give a convincing smile (like it doesn’t bother me) but it doesn't work. 

“I recognize that. Although people around me always give me gifts and letters on my birthday, it's clear it's never for ‘me’. They do it to prove a point to my parents or to make themselves look impressive. It's more a statement about themselves.” He looks down and wipes some dust off the bag. 

“We’re a sad pair, aren’t we?” I let out a deflated laugh and slip a mint leaf out of my pocket into my mouth. 

“We should change that. You can carry on from today, a new, happy, 17 year old woman.” he lifts his liquorice as if he is holding a drink and making a toast.

“Might be a little difficult as I’m only 16.” 

“What? That doesn't make sense at all!” He leans his head away from me, trying to get the whole of my body in his view, as if I had some clear visual way of telling my exact age. 

I giggle at his confusion. “McGonagall put me forward a year at Hogwarts because I had already done the 6th year spectrum at Durmstrang. I’m sorry, I thought you knew.” 

“I didn’t.” An impressed smirk takes over his face. “Graduating a year early? You're not just a pretty face then, are you?” 

I playfully slap his arm, distracting from the blood I felt rushing into my face. “Oh shut up Dray!”

We continue in comfortable conversation for the next few hours. Only sometimes stopping to point out something in the window or picking out another snack from the bag. At one point we fall to the ground laughing because Draco is demonstrating a new quidditch move he’s learning and ended up looking like he was doing some strange animal mating ritual. We don't realise how much time has passed until Professor Snape walks into the room. 

“Dinner is being served in the common room if you wish to eat. I also inform you, should you wish to sneak off into one of the unauthorised rooms again please let someone know, it would save me having to search every room in the Slytherin House.” with a flick of his robes he left the room as quietly as he entered it. 

Draco and I stand in silence for a few seconds and then burst into laughter. “We should go.” I say when we calm down and start exiting the room. 

“Wait…” Draco’s voice pulls me back. “I kind of have a present for you. It’s not anything special because… well… I didn’t have much notice. But, I remembered I had this from years ago.” He goes back to the window sill where he had removed his outer robes and from the pocket he reveals a small pot. 

Taking it from his hand I read the label.

‘Sensuale Pingunt Nigrum’ 

I look up at Draco in disbelief, “What? How?” Shaking my head I push it back into his hands. “I can’t take this.”

“You don't like it.” He mutters the statement, barely audible.

“No… I… It’s beautiful but it’s so rare and expensive, I can't take this from you.”

“Please, it's getting wasted just sitting in my old stuff. I know it's cheeky re-gifting (my Aunt got it for me when I turned 12) but it just reminded me of you.” He holds my hand tight around the pot of paint.

“Draco…” I’m speechless. This paint is so rare, it changes consistency and shade based on how the painter feels. 

“I don’t know. If you don’t like it you can j…”

I cut him off by leaning in and planting a delicate kiss on his cheek, his skin warm against mine. A few strands of his blond hair brush against my eyebrow. “I love it. Thank you Draco.” I stand on my tiptoes and wrap my arms around him, I feel the tension release from his body and his long arms fold around my waist. We stand like this for a few seconds and break away in an awkward giggle. 

“Dinner?” I suggest, pointing my eyes to the door. 

“Yes! Err, after you.” He nods.

I smile as I walk towards the common room holding the paint tight against my chest. This is definitely a day I will remember.

Thankyou so much for the support recently, it has been really suprising! Hope you liked this little snippet. 

Here is a link to my masterlist if you want to read anything else I’ve written. 

#draco #malfoy #imagine #hogwarts #winter #tom felton #hermione #harry potter #ron weasley #ginny weasley #luna lovegood #neville longbottom #draco x reader #birthday #date #snape #cheek kiss #mine

[creative-type]

wake from death (and return to life) ix

AO3 first summary:  Zoro had always been told Kuina died falling down a flight of stairs. But she didn’t fall, and she wasn’t dead.

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It took Kuina almost five minutes of dangling over the rails of the ship to realize there was no wind. She was punch-drunk and giddy, the weight of uncertainty rolled off of her shoulders now that she had a clear path forward. She was a Revolutionary. She was going to be the greatest swordsman in the world.

Kuina allowed herself those five minutes. With everything she’d gone through in the last week and a half she’d more than earned them, and it had been so long since she’d felt any real excitement for her future. But no swordsman worth their blade would let themselves get lost in childish emotionalism. Kuina steadied herself with a few deep breaths, mentally drawing in the flights of fancy that had momentarily escaped from her imagination—daydreams of facing Dracule Mihawk at the behest of the Revolution, of proving once and for all that she could do what so many thought impossible, of reuniting with her father and Zoro proudly bearing the title Greatest.  

It was like trying to wrangle a gaggle of unruly children. The more Kuina struggled to contain herself the more her imagination tried to run free, but she managed to settle back into the state of tranquil serenity that was more befitting of her training. The practical side of her, the part that quietly disapproved of this most recent turn of events, knew that now that she’d painted the broad strokes of her future it was high time to figure out what the hell Aria de Gris was doing now. It was then, and only then, that she noticed that the air was unnaturally still.

The sailors around her were not perturbed even as the Valor’s sails hung limp from their moorings. Kuina could feel that they were moving on the clear, mirror-flat sea. Slowly, but that was better than being dead in the water. Kuina wandered to the ship’s bow, noting that the Valor was sailing almost due south. If the Revolution had followed the same heading since leaving Tolouse, and Kuina had been unconscious for two full days, that meant…

“Don’t worry, we should be out of the Calm Belt by the end of the week.”

Kuina flinched, sword half-drawn before realizing it was only Dara using what had to be the most annoying Devil Fruit ability in the history of the world. Dara laughed as she popped out of the deck, hooking her thumbs in her pockets as Kuina shot her a glare.

But most of Kuina’s irritation was at herself for letting herself be caught by surprise, and she returned her attention back to the water. It was impossible to sail through the Calm Belt without some sort of engine, which the Valor lacked, to say nothing of the danger presented by the innumerable nests of sea kings that buffeted the Grand Line from the Four Blues.

Even as Kuina tried to wrap her mind around it, a dark shadow emerged from the depths directly in front of the ship. A high-pitched, eerie wail, almost like a siren’s song, reverberated through the air and deep into Kuina’s chest.

A monstrous head breached the surface so close to the Valor it sent rippling waves across its hull. Sprays of water jettisoned thirty feet into the air, exposing only part of a stripped, misshapen body before submerging once more. Great flukes, as large as a whale, but covered with algae-like strands of hair, slapped against the surface of the sea and sent sprays of salty water against the deck. Someone in the crow’s nest above whooped out a cry of encouragement.

Thoroughly confused, Kuina looked at Dara, whose grin only widened as she pointed to a tiny speck bobbing to the space recently vacated by the leviathan. “Oh look, there’s Cam. Someone should send a boat after her.”

“As if she’d take it!” a Revolutionary Kuina didn’t recognize shouted from across the deck.

“True,” Dara said contemplatively. Beckoning Kuina to follow, she meandered to the starboard side of the deck and loosened a rope ladder into the sea. “It’s probably faster to just let her swim.”

If Kuina hadn’t been so amazed by the fact Camille hadn’t gotten herself eaten, she would have marveled at the speed with which she cut through the unnaturally-still sea. Kuina considered herself a good enough swimmer, but Camille looked like she’d been born for the water. She moved like she was part fish, each stroke strong and graceful, returning to the Valor in moments. When she climbed back onto the decks she seemed sad to be there, looking back longingly at the water.

“So, how’s Fin?” Dara asked.

“Good, good. I adjusted the harness to fit more comfortably.” Camille arched an eyebrow at her friend while adjusting a leather thong around her neck, from which hung the biggest tooth Kuina had ever seen. “And his name isn’t Fin.”

“Well since you haven’t said what his name is, you’ve left me no choice but to improvise,” Dara retorted. She nudged Kuina in the ribs. “Can you believe she went through the effort of taming a sea king and then didn’t name it? ”

“You tamed a sea king?” Kuina said. “ How? ”

Camille rolled her eyes. “I didn’t tame anything. We’ve just...reached an understanding.” She gave Kuina an appraising look. “I’m surprised the doctor let you out of her grasp so soon.”

“She almost didn’t,” Kuina admitted.

Dara wrapped an arm around Kuina’s neck, ignoring the choked yelp of alarm and Kuina’s efforts to squirm free. “Forget about that! Did you hear, Kuina joined up. She’s officially one of the team!”

“I thought that was a given.” Camille said, utterly disinterested as she wrung the excess water from her shirt.

“When did you hear that?” Kuina said at the same time.

“Pfft, Dara knows pretty much everything on this ship,” Camille said. “You get used to it.”

Kuina frowned. She didn’t like the idea of someone with Dara’s ability nosing her way into business that wasn’t her own. If there was anything she’d learned since sailing with the Revolution, it was that there was very little in the way of privacy while at sea. Ships crowded everyone together, crewmates eating, sleeping, and working in close proximity. While the forced closeness had its advantages, Kuina was used to spending great blocks of time alone. It was something to get used to, and to be wary of.

“Don’t worry, your secrets are safe with me,” Dara said, tweaking the end of Kuina’s nose. “You saved me from losing five hundred berries, and to Lizard of all people. I am at your service.”

It took Kuina a moment to remember Dara’s ill-thought wager with Elizabeth, and before she could voice her protest Dara had taken her by the arm to make official introductions to the crew, Camille laughing a half-step behind.

There was John the cooper, and James the blacksmith. Among the deckhands Kuina was introduced to rapid-fire were Kojo, Zhao, Lin, Char, Sean, Jen, and Tiva, and by the end of it she had gotten them so thoroughly confused with one another she had no idea which one was which. Others were working belowdecks, or off-shift and resting.

Elizabeth was still regretfully in charge of cooking duties, while Lyudmila was the ship’s quartermaster and second in command. Kuina was surprised to hear that in addition to taming sea kings in her spare time, Camille was the crew’s navigator.

“And what is it you do?” Kuina asked as Dara dragged her back below decks for the grand tour.

“Get newbs like you up to speed. Now here’s Trini’s room—try not to get stuck in here unless you want to spend the afternoon feeding lettuce to snails.”

Kuina blinked in amazement. The communications room was packed full of terrariums housing snail phones of every size and color. At its center was an enormous machine that looked vaguely like what the marines used to send their faxes, with thin cords attached to half a dozen den den mushi. Behind the machine sat Trini wearing an oversized pair of headphones, deep in concentration.

“She’s scanning the airwaves,” Dara said in an exaggerated whisper, carefully closing the door once more. “Not that there’s much to intercept in the Calm Belt, but you never know with the marines these days.”

“The marines can cross the Calm Belt?” Kuina said. “I can barely believe we’re crossing the Calm Belt!”

“It’s all thanks to Fin. Sea king bulls don’t typically fight with one another unless it’s mating season, so even if he’s pulling along a tasty treat we should be all right. I think his song has something to do with it, too.” She made an exaggerated gesture. “As for the marines, I have no freaking clue, but it must be a pretty new development since Boss doesn’t know about it, and the Valor isn’t sea-king proofed either.”

“That’s right, this was a marine ship,” Kuina murmured, looking up at the planks with fresh eyes. It was funny, without the marine’s distinctive painted hulls, she’d never would have been able to tell the difference.

“Oh, yeah. Came with all the amenities, which is how Trini got her state of the art snail room.”

“So if you guys had a sea king snuck up your sleeve this whole time, why didn’t you use it during the battle?” Kuina asked. “A monster that size would have been useful on Tolouse.”

“Ach, must everything be about fighting with you?” Dara said. “You must never have seen a real sea king, but Fin’s practically a baby, not even half-grown. And it’s surprisingly smart—for all my teasing, Cam was right. The thing has a mind of its own and acknowledges no master. I don’t think we could get him to attack a ship if we wanted to.”  

“But he’ll pull a ship through the Calm Belt?” Kuina said.

“It’s better than going the long way around, eh?” Dara said with a shrug. “Come on, I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.”

At the barracks, Kuina had her choice of seven open bunks. One, which happened to be closest to the door, had a small crate propped on top of the thin mattress. Inside was stuffed with clothes and basic belongings. When Kuina looked askance at Dara the light in her eyes dimmed.

“That’s Danny’s stuff,” Dara said. “The rest who died already have their things stowed for when we get back to base, but as far as any of us know she doesn’t have any family so we’re not really sure what to do with hers. I’d say for you to take the clothes since you don’t have any, but I don’t think they’d fit.”

Kuina drew her fingers over the box, trying to think if she’d said anything about any family in their short time together, but all she remembered her mentioning was an apprenticeship under a cruel master. Kuina’s throat tightened as the memory of Danny screaming hysterically echoed in her mind unbidden.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Dara rubbed her neck uncomfortably. “It happens. I already told Boss when I bite it to sell all my stuff and use the money to have a party. If you all can’t be happy, at least you’ll be drunk.”

“I don’t drink,” Kuina said.

“Then you and Mila can be mopey together,” Dara said with determined cheerfulness. “It won’t matter to me, I’ll be dead. Now, where do you want to be? I’d be careful about that middle one there, it’s next to Lizard, and she snores terribly. ”

Kuina took the hint, and changed the subject, trying not to wonder how many of the bunks available to her had only emptied after the battle of Tolouse.

After the tour came lunch, and with two solid, if not especially tasty, meals under her belt, Kuina was beginning to feel more like herself again. The itch to train was back, and Kuina wanted nothing more to test the limits she’d recently expanded and chase after the high of battle, but much like her time on Belo Betty’s ship she was first subjected to the humiliation of being the newest and lowest-ranking sailor on a large and understaffed warship.

“You’re kind of shit at this, aren’t you?” Camille observed from her perch at the ship’s bow, watching as Kuina ran her mop over the deck for what felt like the hundredth time.

“You could help,” Kuina said.

“And deprive you of the opportunity to learn? Never.” She gave a long, catlike stretch. “By the way, you missed a spot.”

Kuina muttered an oath as she stabbed the mop into the bucket. “It isn’t as if it’s dirty.”

“Water expands and seals the wood, salt protects against rot.” Camille yawned, as if bored by the conversation, and wandered back to their useless rudder. As she passed Kuina, she said, “If you want to live in a drippy, softwooded ship, be my guest. As for me, I’d prefer not to die the first time a Grand Line squall hits.”

She left Kuina with her head bowed and cheeks burning. But the words had their intended effect and Kuina redoubled her efforts, determined from that point on that no one could in good conscience reprimand her sailcraft ever again.

It was nearing dark when de Gris and Lyudmila emerged from the captain’s quarters to call a meeting with the crew. After a long day of labor, Kuina’s muscles ached and she yearned for the sweet respite of bed. And it wasn’t as if the work had been taxing, especially after Clara Cross emerged from the infirmary like an avenging angel to tell off the entire crew, but especially Kuina, for overexerting herself.

There were some things not even Devil Fruit magic couldn’t sweep under the rug, and apparently the exhaustion of a near-death experience was one of them.

“All right everyone, gather round!” de Gris yelled. “Watchmen too! There aren’t any ships out here, and if the sea kings come after us we’re fucked anyway. I want everyone to hear this. Where’s Trini? She can leave the damn snails for ten minutes.”

The crew scrambled to obey the order. Kojo (or maybe Sean) went to gather those who were still belowdecks. Minutes later everyone was assembled in a loose circle around the main mast, with de Gris at the center. She paused a moment to ensure everyone was paying close attention, and under her stern gaze the idle chatter vanished into deathly silence.

Rays of dying light cast against de Gris’s back and framed her face in deep shadow. “I know you all have been wondering lately why the hell we were called to the East Blue so suddenly, and why we’re leaving just as quickly. I’ve heard you lot asking where our next destination was and wonder why I’ve not said where we’re going once we hit the Grand Line. Well, the answer’s simple. Until today, I didn’t know.”

From the folds of her coat, she pulled out an old and crumpled sheet of paper. Kuina squinted her eyes and was just able to make out the blurry picture of a masked figure. The bounty underneath, however, was clear as the sky above. Master-at-Arms Gemini, Wanted Dead or Alive. Bounty: B48,000,000.

Beside her, Dara snorted. “Oh, I bet the marine who thought up that name thought he was very clever.”

It was difficult to tell much from the photograph, but the one detail that was absolutely clear was Gemini’s strange, double-segmented arms, too long for an ordinary human and vaguely insectile. Kuina, who’d never seen anything like it before in her life, wondered what it would be like to fight someone who essentially had two elbows.

She brushed the thought away and turned to Gemini’s face. Their mask, fittingly enough, was divided vertically into halves, one dark and one light. The side that was dark was completely bereft of ornamentation; Kuina couldn’t even make out an eyehole to see out of. The side that was light, however, was painted with a garish grin. A shock of wiry black hair fell past their shoulders, but beyond that it was impossible to discern any identifying features. Baggy clothing and the poor quality of the photograph obscured anything else, even gender, and after spending this much time under de Gris's command, Kuina knew better than to assume.

“Gemini is a prominent figure in the criminal underground,” de Gris continued. “Arms dealing, drug trade, slavery, the whole lot. Removing them from the equation will make the world a safer place.”

“What’s an arms dealer got to do with the Revolution?” someone to Kuina’s right called. “And what have they got to do with the East Blue?” A murmur of agreement rippled through the crew.

“Enough!” de Gris bellowed, silencing them once more. “Tolouse's government were slavers, that much is now clear. They called it political exile to a labor camp, but the end result is the same—the World Government gave the king kickbacks for human chattel, using the Callihan Trading Company as a middleman. And we now now that the CTC was taking orders from Gemini. If Gemini is willing to go through so much effort to set up a scheme in some East Blue backwater, who knows what other fingers they have stuck into various pies around the world.”

“So we’re going after them,” Camille said, crossing her arms across her chest.

“That's right. So far Gemini has been able to stay one step ahead of us, but with the intel gathered on Tolouse we have the upper hand.” De Gris marched to the mast. In one smooth motion she drew a dagger hidden in her boot, and stabbed the bounty deep into the wood.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to Kyuka Island. In the days ahead I’ll be divvying out assignments. Any questions are to be directed toward Lyudmila or myself—out of an abundance of caution, you’re not to discuss your orders with anyone else on this ship. I’ll keelhaul anyone who tries.” At this her gaze went directly to Kuina, who got the impression these instructions were given strictly for her benefit. "Kyuka is marine territory through and through. I pray none of us fall into Government hands, but if we do, it's safest for the Revolution that each individual knows as little as possible about our plans."

After a pause, and hearing no objections, de Gris lit a cigarette for herself. “I’ll pay anyone who finds any intelligence on Gemini that leads to their capture or death the full value of their bounty. I’ll pay double to anyone who brings me their head. This chase has gone on long enough, I want this bastard dead. ” She flicked a bit of ash off the end of her cigarette and added, almost as an afterthought, “Dismissed.”

A gap in the circle opened to let de Gris through. As she passed, she grabbed Kuina by the shoulder. “Come on, greenhorn. It’s time we sort out your position on this ship.”

For the second time that day Kuina was led to the captain’s quarters. De Gris’s desk had been cleared away, the sea charts rolled back into their proper places and ashtrays emptied. Kuina slid back into a chair that smelled like tobacco. “What is it? Does the Revolution have Articles of Enlistment for me to sign? Is there a manifesto I’m supposed to study?”

“Don’t be stupid.” The sun had almost dipped below the horizon, and de Gris found a box of matches to light a kerosene lamp. The orange flame danced on its wick and flickered with the natural roll of the ship. “I’m told Dara gave you the runaround today.”

Kuina nodded.

“Clara never came screaming at me, so I have to assume you’re not feeling too poorly,” she mused, taking the time to light another cigarette.

“I’m fine,” Kuina said, rolling back her shoulders so de Gris couldn’t see the weariness in them.  

“And have you taken that sword out of its sheath even once today?”

“Uh...no?” Kuina said.

“Unacceptable.” De Gris leaned back in her chair and let out a long stream of smoke. “You’re not some swabby or rigging monkey, you’re here because of your blade.” She looked at Kuina as if she were an idiot for not realizing this sooner.

“I’m willing to work just as hard as anyone else on this ship,” Kuina said stiffly.

“And you will. Harder, even, since you’re so far behind. But a ship is like…” She gesticulated, trying to find the right word. “It’s like a person. A crew is its own organism, and every one of us has to fit into their part. You don’t expect a heart to do the same work as a kidney, and no matter how hard you try, you’re not going to be half the sailor as the people who’ve spent their whole lives on the water. It’s ridiculous to think otherwise.”

Kuina nodded. What she said made sense, and in many ways Kuina agreed with her. But there was something about agreeing with Aria de Gris that didn’t sit right with her, so she said, “I have to learn sometime.”

“Obviously. I’m not about to let you be a liability once we hit the Grand Line, but there has to be balance. You’re no good to me if you get yourself killed because you spent too much time studying the different types of sails instead of your swordsmanship.” De Gris was pensive for a moment. “I’ll have Mila set up a schedule for you in the morning. Half the day working chores, the rest training. A few of my men use katana, but you’re better than all of them. Most of what you’ll do will have to be self study.”

“That’s fine. I haven’t had a master in years.”

De Gris looked surprised to hear this, but didn’t comment. “We have regular sparing times as well, to help our less practiced fighters build their skill, and to give the mainliners a chance to get used to each other's styles. Depending on how this all shakes out, you might be pairing with Dara or Camille for the upcoming mission. Do you know how to use a gun?”

“Of course not,” Kuina said, caught off-guard by the question.

“Then you’ll learn.” De Gris cut off Kuina’s protests before they could begin. “Can you kill someone at twenty yards with your sword?”

“No,” Kuina said mulishly.

“Then you need to know how to fire a gun, and probably keep one on you as a backup weapon. I have no use for senseless pride on this ship, girl,” she said as Kuina scrunched her nose in distaste. It’s your job to listen to what I say, and it’s my job to try and put you in a position to not die. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Kuina said, still unhappy at the prospect of sullying her hands with a firearm.

Without warning, de Gris pounded her fist on her desk. The kerosine lamp tottered and threatened to fall, but her eyes never left Kuina’s, the scar on her cheek pulled taunt with her scowl.

“I said. Do. You. Understand ?”

“And I said yes, ” Kuina snapped. “I’ll learn to use you’re stupid gun, and when I figure out how to kill someone at fifty yards with my sword I’ll drop kick it into the ocean where it belongs." She crossed her arms across her chest. "I already told you I’ll do what you say so long as you don’t interfere with my ambition, so there’s no need to treat me like a child.”  

They glared at one another for a long while, hackles raised, but this time Kuina refused to let herself be intimidated into backing down. Slowly, still without breaking eye contact, de Gris eased back into her chair and doused her cigarette. “I have put too many people’s belongings into boxes because they wouldn’t listen. For your own sake, I hope you’re not one of them.”

For the second time that day, memory of Danny's last words echoed in her mind. “You’re in luck, because right now I don’t own enough stuff to fit into a box, let alone anyone to send it to.”

“No one at all?” de Gris said, eyebrows raising.

Kuina’s breath hitched as she thought of her father back at Shimotsuki village. Would the Revolutionary Army be able to return her meager belongings home without the marines knowing? Would he be able to stand knowing she’d joined Dragon’s cause despite all his warnings? What about Ipponmatsu? He at least wasn’t under suspicion by the World Government...Or was he, now that she’d attacked Tashigi?

Of everyone she knew, it was probably safest to give her belongings to Zoro , but gods only knew what part of the Grand Line he’d found himself in. She almost laughed at the thought of him using two of her swords for himself.

“No one,” Kuina said. Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging crescent moons into her palms, but she kept her voice calm and her tone even.

After another heartbeat of painful silence, de Gris said, “Well, you’re not the only one." The words were probably meant to be reassuring, but Kuina felt they were anything but. “If you think of anybody, make sure someone knows.”

“I don’t plan on dying,” Kuina said.

De Gris snorted and lit another cigarette. “None of us do. Now get some grub and get to bed. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.”

Kuina rose to her feet. After a moment’s hesitation, she bowed slightly. “Thank you...Captain.”

De Gris waved her away with a dismissive flick of the wrist. “You don’t have to break your teeth saying it. I don’t give a damn what you call me so long as you follow orders. Just know I take discipline on this ship very seriously. Cross me, and keelhauling is the least you’ll have to worry about.”

Kuina didn’t doubt it for a second. Murmuring her goodbyes, she left de Gris to her cigarettes and her musings, grateful to be able to swallow the clean sea air once more.

#wake from death (and return to life) #creative-type writes #holy crap it's been forever since I updated this #I think I missed several chapters on tumblr #I apologize in advance for being bad at promoting my own work #one piece #kuina #One Piece Fanfiction

[kitkat1003]

On the Issue of Mortality

Chapter 3: Duplicity

“Pretty good, pretty good?!  That’s not good enough!”

AO3 Link

Monkey King doesn’t tell Kid to come and see him, nor does he actively make Flower Fruit Mountain uninviting, but it takes longer than he expects to hear his staff slam onto sand.  He supposes he should have expected that, as just a cursory look of the Kid tells him that his successor is the type to do absolutely everything on his own.

He purposely doesn’t go to check on Kid, purposefully holds back, because he’s been getting too close.  Watching the Kid from afar at all hours of the day—he’s Sun Wukong!  He has better things to do than to just semi-stalk a full grown mortal adult.  

Kid’s an adult, he can decide whether or not he wants Monkey King’s help.  Even when Monkey King feels those little flares that mean Kid is using his powers, even when his stupid brain worries for some reason, even then he stays back at Flower Fruit Mountain and takes it easy.  If Kid needs help, he’ll ask.

Won’t he?

He should be concerned by how long it takes for Kid to reach out, but he’s made it absolutely clear to himself that he won’t be getting attached to his successor.  It’s really the best for the both of them.  Kid looks at Monkey King as if he’s God and Monkey King doesn’t see that hero worship fading anytime soon.  On top of that, he just doesn’t need a mortal hanging around.  It’s just asking for one of them to get hurt.

By one of them, he means he.  Because Monkey King, despite his best efforts, has a soft spot for mortals.  Triptaka was bad enough, he misses his master daily, but to add more to that roster?  Never.

He knows he’s been getting too close, too protective, so he pulls back, stops people-watching, stays away from the mortal world, lets Kid handle it.

A few weeks pass before he feels his staff hit sand and he waits patiently for Kid to come rushing in.  And he does, practically tripping over himself as he heads into Monkey King’s inner sanctum, and the first thing Monkey King smells is blood.

He jumps off of his cloud and watches Kid run over as something like terror tremors up his spine, because he hasn’t smelt blood in years.  It brings back too many memories, memories of his master stolen by demons and threatened with death over and over and Monkey King coming in just in time, but this time he didn’t even do anything and Kid comes over smelling of blood and Monkey King worries.

Kid has a bandage on his face and a once-over reveals a quite few injuries on the Kid, as if he’d been in a fight a few days prior.  That deep seated fear settles in his chest like a weight, and he slaps on a grin and waves lazily, bag of peach chips in hand.

“Hey!  What’s up?” he calls out.

Kid holds the staff like it’s a shield.  Monkey King wonders if Kid’s scared of him.  The thought bothers him.

“Um, hey, uhh...I was wondering about, um, training?  I guess?  You-um-you never said that we would-but you know more about how to use this than me, so—” Monkey King stops listening after the third stumbling sentence, because yawn, he gets the point, whatever.

“Sure,” he interrupts.

He turns around before he sees the look on Kid’s face.  He doesn’t see Kid go quiet and look down at his feet, as if ashamed to think he could speak.

“We’ll start with some katas.  C’mon.” He waves a hand, and Kid follows.

The first katas are a mix of easy and hard ones, because he needs to gauge the Kid’s current martial skills.  Once he establishes a baseline, he can figure out where to start Kid from.

Kid is clumsy, unfocused, and not at all sure-footed.  He stumbles through the easy katas and looks lost when shown the hard ones.  Monkey King barely bites back sighs of frustration, because he can’t get mad when learning was the point of the exercise.  He just wishes his successor had some semblance of martial arts training.  It would make things a little easier.

He’s about to tell Kid to take a breather, ‘cause no point in continuing when nothing is getting done, but then he watches a little longer and sees something...interesting.  Concerning?  Interesting.

Kid is determined.  Monkey King watches him take a deep breath—he sees young eyes glance his way, and Monkey King forces his gaze to drop from interested to bored—and reset his stance, stumbling and fumbling with the same kata over and over and over and over until something snaps.

It’s not a triumphant moment, when Kid gets the kata right.  Instead of bending like bamboo and finding his groove, Monkey King watches his successor push through like a hand through a wall, sharp and frustrated instead of excited and relieved.

“Good work,” he says, because you should reward success, right?  

Kid brightens like the sun under the praise, soaking it up like a sponge, and Monkey King watches, and wonders.

Kid goes through the next kata with that same grit and determination, occasionally glancing at Monkey King for something like approval, and Monkey King throws up some lazy thumbs up, leaning back on his cloud and munching on peach chips.  He does throw out a suggestion or two when Kid looks like he’ll snap again, but it seems inevitable, as if failure is a non option.

At this point, Monkey King doesn’t have it in him to tell Kid the point of the exercise, to tell him that some katas weren’t meant for beginners and some were, and that he was just testing Kid’s skills.  And, hey, if Kid gets the easy and hard katas down on his own, less work for him, right?  Why teach someone something if they can teach themselves?  That’s how he learned things, after all.

Again, he thinks he can hear his master screaming, off in the distance.  He shrugs to himself.

“Done!” Kid shouts from below, and Monkey King watches him perform the eight katas he’d shown Kid earlier in perfect form.  Well, not perfect, but close enough.

“Nice!  We can do more whenever you show up next, but, uh, that should be good for today.”  No point in overwhelming the Kid, after all.  Plus, eight katas ain’t too bad for a first day.  “Hey, do you got a schedule?  I kinda have a life, you know.  Would be good to know when to expect you.”

He doesn’t mean to let it come out as biting as it is, but Kid hunches down on himself and looks so terribly guilty that Monkey King immediately regrets asking.  He opens his mouth to say something that could soften the blow, lighten the mood, but Kid speaks up before he can.

“Um, I talked to Pigsy, and he doesn’t mind me taking half shifts on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays.  We’re not as busy then, and some Sundays, Pigsy goes out shopping, so I won’t be missing work then,” he shrugs.

Monkey King nods.  Three days a week doesn’t seem too bad, all things considered.  Gives him some free time, 4 days where he doesn’t have to worry about watching out for the Kid.

“Sounds good.” He grins, eyes closed with his arms back behind his head.  He expects Kid to leave, but the shuffling of feet do not turn into footsteps moving away from him, and Kid doesn’t say goodbye or move for a good few seconds.

Right before he opens an eye to see what the issue is, Kid speaks.

“Um, how do your clones work?”

Well, now, isn’t that a change of subject.

“Figured you would know, considering your story chronicle thing.” Monkey King sits up and stretches, eyeing Kid with a half curious, half pensive glance.  

Kid fidgets, and something flickers on his face.  Guilt, fear?  Kid isn’t good at lying, but he’s very good at hiding.  “Yeah, but I’ve-uh-I mean not all the stories are a hundred percent accurate, right?  And, like, I was just wondering how you use them, so when-so if I need to use them I know how, you know?  Extra me’s are pretty useful, right?” 

Kid doesn’t seem to notice the slip ups, but Monkey King does.  He’d wondered if Kid would get all of his powers right off the bat or just the basics.  Makes him wonder if he should try for transformations, see if Kid can shapeshift.

One thing at a time.  He hops off of his cloud, picks a strand from his hair and blows on it.  An identical copy of himself appears and Kid’s eyes sparkle with interest.

“Let’s see yours,” Monkey King gestures for Kid to try, and he gets that same flicker of something.  Guilt is definitely there, and nervousness.  He doesn’t know why.  Shame, he thinks he’s getting?

He glances at the few wounds on Kid’s body with a new perspective.

Kid eventually plucks out a strand and blows, and an identical copy of Kid appears.  Monkey King raises a brow.  

“Nice,” he says with a grin, and his clone leans in to take a closer look.

Kid’s clone hunches down on himself, anxious, and Kid quickly dispels the clone, nervous.  Monkey King dispels his own with a shrug.  

“Um, how do you use your clones?” Kid asks, voice hiking up into a panicked lilt that seems to be expecting Monkey King’s response to be hard and mean.

“I mean, I use ‘em a lot as cannon fodder in battle.  Bullets I guess?  They can’t take as much of a beating as I can, but they pack enough of a punch or can be enough of a distraction that they help me get the upper hand in battle.  Not that I need them often.” He’s pretty good at fighting villains without them, thank you very much.

“Do you ever have them...stick around?” Kid asks, and Monkey King raises a brow.

“No?  The world only needs one of me.  I’m pretty great, no need for a second one stealing my spotlight.” He glances at the bandages on Kid, and a distinct lesser amount of hair on the left side of his head.  “Why?”

Kid almost full on flinches at the question, gripping the staff like a shield again, as if one wrong thing said would lead Monkey King to attack.  It puts Monkey King on edge.  What’s got the Kid so antsy?  It’s not like Monkey King tries to be scary around him.  He’d like to think his laid back persona would give off a less threatening vibe.

“Uh-I-no reason!” Monkey King bites back a sigh at the obvious lie.  “A-anyway, I promised Mei we’d go to the arcade, and I’m gonna be late.  Bye!”

Kid runs off, and Monkey King fights the urge to shake the story out of him.  

Something happened, and the Kid got hurt.  Even with Kid being vulnerable, he’s still got a bit more durability than most mortals, so it would take something big to damage him.  Why wouldn’t he talk about it?  Is Monkey King really that unapproachable?

He wrestles with that and takes a deep breath.  No.  He’s not going to be that close to the Kid.  Kid’s got an entire other family to talk to about his problems.  If it’s important, if it’s Monkey King related, he’ll hear about it.  If not, not his problem.

Surely the Kid will talk to someone about the issue.  He’s got the chef—Pigsy?—and the scholar, and that dragon girl.  He has people.  Monkey King isn’t in charge of the well being of his successor, he’s just making sure Kid doesn’t die, and Kid’s fine.  Just a few scratches and bruises.

But he’s mortal, and vulnerable, and a bit thick, Monkey King knows. So he wonders.  And sits back.  If Kid needs help, he’ll ask.

Won’t he?

The question still has no definitive answer.

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