#yes i count running around and screaming as evidence of character

[morgana-ren]

Bailey, Leighton, both weak spots for me. If you wanted to share any thoughts, any lewd disgusting thoughts or random ideas you'd had about those two I'm more than willing to listen

Oho-ho, you came to the right place.

So here's the thing:

Bailey and Leighton are both absolutely repugnant, reprehensible characters. Most people in this game are abhorrent, yes, but these ones strike a special note with me for a few reasons, namely authority-- and the abuse of it.

Bailey's label is 'Caretaker.' He's the closest thing to a father that you have, presumably raising you since before you can remember. He's a dark mirror into what a parent should be. Where there should be unconditional love, affection, and trust, he provides exploitation, cruelty, and despair. He has absolutely zero qualms with quite literally selling you and your fellows to the debauched denizens of the town and subjecting you to one of the worst experiences that a human can physically go through, and he does it on a dime. Even other terrifying people in town seem petrified by him, and that should give a clue to how awful he really is.

Leighton is the 'Headmaster.' He is charged with your education and safety during the mandatory hours you attend his institution. He is arguably responsible for the success and the happy-ever-after of every student under his charge. Instead, he uses this power to sexually exploit the defenseless people under his care. There are multiple people over town with lingering trauma from his actions, including Daryll, and even Mickey, who has become a paranoid recluse largely in part to these actions, and has you get rid of the evidence of this abuse.

It makes these two particularly disturbing. Remy, Briar, all of the rest of them are disgusting, but they aren't beholden to you in any manner. I suppose it could be argued that Harper, as your GP, is also doing this, but it doesn't quite feel to the same degree to me.

Now, in reality, I can be counted on to be a thorn in the side of any authority figure. I have a real issue with it, and I do not like being controlled or told what to do.

In a sexual sense though?

Listen, something in my brain must've gotten twisted up along the way to adulthood because nothing gets my engine going quite like someone abusing authority. Fucked up to say, perhaps, but it is what it is. Maybe it's part of being the world's biggest brat, but who knows.

There is something enticing and utterly terrifying about it.

Bailey has access to you at your most vulnerable. It is only through him that you have a roof over your head, food to eat, and a bed to sleep in. He's a stern man who brooks no argument. You could say he's mostly the main antagonist; the one keeping you from any semblance of peace or happiness in this town by seeking you out and keeping you on a leash that he's got firmly wrapped around his hand. He isn't openly lustful-- quite the opposite, in fact. He probably has a 'I will not fuck my ward, I will not fuck my ward' mantra he repeats in his head.

Your presence is required at school, and Leighton will use any and all opportunities to exploit that, and he isn't shy about telling you. While not as much of an active antagonist as Bailey, he certainly is as evil. He seems to revel in using his position to meet his own.. uh.. "ends" and you aren't his only target in doing so.

Bailey is more difficult to provoke than Leighton. It requires a high ass seduction check to even get into the position of seducing him, and even higher skills to get him off. He wants to see you first and foremost as a cheque to be cashed, and he makes a point not to muddy his hands in the goods if he can help it. However, if you squint, all the signs are there that he isn't immune to your siren's call.

When you call, he comes running. Scream in the bathroom? Oh, he's fuckin' there. Disappear for a little bit too long? He seeks you out. You're a grown ass adult and his method of punishment is... bending you over his desk to spank you? If you do manage to seduce him, I think he lets a bit more slip than he actually intends to, saying things like "You've always belonged to me" and other possessive sentiments (most especially if you lose your virginity to him) that sort of give away that he's clearly thought about this more than once and is seriously going to indulge now that he finally has you.

Leighton on the other hand? Leighton wears his lust on his sleeve.

If you step foot in the brothel (whether to work there or just to get yourself a shiny fake ID,) Leighton is fuckin' quick on the draw to grab you, which tells me he's had his eye on you for a while. If you proceed to work at the brothel, he hires you the moment he sees you. Annoy him for even a second at school? It's spanking time. Be a little bit of a rascal at school? Get your tits out and lather 'em up! You're washing his car while he watches and twitches because he can't openly attack you here. Try to defend Sydney and say you'll take a part of the punishment? My man practically crawls out of his skin right then and there.

He has a high level of self-control, but it is easily possible to drive that man up a wall with the right actions, and it's pretty apparent from the get-go that he has his sights set on you in less than appropriate ways. Thing is, he really won't act outright similar to Bailey. He's more a voyeur than anything, preferring to watch and document rather than actually take part. It seems like a control thing for me, and also probably so he has dirt on everyone else while keeping his own hands relatively clean, but like with most things, I bend parts of the character in my mind to suit my tastes.

They're both difficult to outright seduce. They're both controlling, hideous fiends that abuse their vulnerable charges. They're monsters. Powerful monsters capable of foul, dastardly things.

Can you imagine being the weak point of that monster?

#Morgana and friends #Degrees of Lewdity #bailey the caretaker #leighton the headmaster #If you've got anything for me send it my way #any ideas or thoughts on it #here's the bit #I KNOW I am fucked in the head when it comes to what I'm attracted to #Like worryingly so #But it HAUNTS me #Imagine pushing Bailey to the limit #oh I bet he's utterly violent #And Leighton is just depraved #I know it #Powerful older men get me going #Especially nasty ones #You just know they're insanely possessive when you break them #and not afraid to hurt you to get what they want #see how that sounds? #That sounds mad

[thenyxsky]

Awaken.

a shikanoin heizou x gn!reader oneshot.

SUMMARY: one of you wakes up, and it’s not him.

WARNINGS: angst; major character death; mentions of violence; dead body.

WORD COUNT: 1.5k words, 8.4k chars

AUTHOR'S NOTE: been more than a damn year since i’ve posted a oneshot here (i say oneshot bc i’m excluding my a:te series) so here it is guys. ending’s lazy but i hope u guys still like it

✧ BACK TO MASTERLIST

Before you, he lies: Shikanoin Heizou.

Tufts of magenta hair press flat against his head, and this is the first warning sign. This is the first red flag, you think — no, you know. 

Heizou’s hair has always been a bit unruly. (You say ‘a bit’ because whenever you don’t and he’s there to hear it, he gives you a mock look of utmost offense and betrayal before going on to be the most dramatic you think he’s been in his entire life.) The only reason he doesn’t show up to work with bird nest hair is because every day for the past five years, once you’ve managed to drag yourself and him out of bed, you take to brushing it out. With a comb, with your fingers. 

Then every night, like the thoughtful lover he is, he greets you with his ponytail undone, a grin on his face, already reaching out so you can smooth it down all over again.

You’re not stupid, though, and neither is he. Both of you know that whenever he steps foot in your home with his hair sticking up, grinning like a lovestruck idiot, it’s just an excuse. A ridiculous excuse (you caught him once on the porch, using his Vision to mess it up, Archons give you some damn patience) and one that shouldn’t work. That shouldn’t have ever worked. Not for the first time, not for the second, and definitely not for the third time because again, you’re not stupid.

But you know, it does work. It worked the first time, and the second time, and the third time, and every time after that. Why? Because it’s Heizou. Shikanoin Heizou. Your Shikanoin Heizou.

(What you aren’t is stupid. What you are is in love.)

And so every night, with a click of your tongue and a look of disapproval, you beckon him forward and run your fingers through his hair. Every night he melts into your arms, pushes his face in the crook of your neck. As soon as he’s settled, you grumble that he should “just bring that damn comb to work.” Your love always laughs at that, grins at you. He always leans into your touch. 

Neither of you mention how in the mornings, you’re the one that tucks it in your pocket to be sure he doesn’t.

(Now it’s heavy in your hand, the comb. The teeth bite into your palm. 

You resist the urge to chuck it into the fucking wall.)

The second warning sign is the look Kujou Sara has on her face when she steps after you into the tent.

Kujou Sara is a good person. You know her from work — or rather, Heizou’s work — and have met up for a casual lunch here or there. (‘Casual’ as in one that doesn’t revolve around how irresponsible your lover’s been, his work ethic (or rather, lack thereof), or involves the words “please”, “for both our sakes”, and “keep him in line.”) She’s only ever so uptight when it comes to her duties, when she sheds the face of ‘Kujou Sara’ and becomes ‘General Kujou’, and you can respect that. You respect her. You know her, and well. Well enough that if you squinted a little, you supposed you could see yourselves as friends.

Evidently, she thinks the same. Because once you’ve managed to gather enough of yourself together to bring your gaze up to her face, Sara opens the conversation with, “I’m sorry.”

You feel a little bad when you realise you can’t speak.

It’s horrible. You feel horrible. How did he describe it again? Yes, like something’s blocking your throat. No matter how much you want it to, your voice won’t come out. Because of tears, maybe. Maybe there is a scream there. You should shout. Cry.

You don’t.

You don’t speak, either. For a minute. Or maybe it was two. Three? You really can’t tell. Your eyes are stuck on her face. You’re staring, you think. Your hands are shaking. You feel like you can’t breathe; it’s become a conscious thing.

Just don’t look at him, you tell yourself. Don’t look. You’ll be fine if you don’t.

You stare at Sara so you won’t, and aren’t sure how long that goes on for either.

It’s only when she shifts on her feet uncomfortably that you snap out of it. You look at the grass, pressed flat beneath your shoe, squeeze your eyes hard, and finally force something out your mouth.

“How?” It comes out scratchy, like you’ve swallowed a mouthful of gravel. Or sand. Or sandpaper. (You haven’t even cried yet.) “How?”

“A group of Fatui,” she tells you. Fatui. You place the comb in your pocket so you won’t break it in the tight curl your hands will be in when it hits you. “It was a case that had been going on for four days. He thought that they’d been the ones behind that string of deaths by northern Kannazuka, and —”

“But he wasn’t… It wasn’t to fight them?” you have to ask. “He’s — he was just a detective, Sara. I know that he can fight but Sara please. Tell me. He wasn’t supposed to take them in?”

Kujou Sara, with her face pinched in sorrow and guilt, shakes her head no, and suddenly breathing gets much, much harder.

Archons. You rub: at your face, your eyes, your cheeks. Archons. Heizou, you cry in your mind, like calling out his name will bring him back. Heizou. Heizou, this is so unfair. This is so fucking unfair. Heizou, please, this so fucking unfair. You weren’t even meant to — you shouldn’t have —

“Sara,” you croak. “Sara. Can you — please — I-I can’t —”

Her eyes soften. “You know where to find me,” she says, and then she’s gone. 

Now you are alone. (Are you? Look, right there: he’s with you.)

Look, you urge yourself now. Just so you know. So you’re sure. Sara said so. It’s just to check. You’ll know if it’s him, if it’s not. It might not be him. Look. Look, so you know if it’s him. It’s him. It’s him.

You look.

It’s him.

You stumble forward and catch yourself on the bed he rests on. My love, your lips spell. My love, my love. And an inch from his cheek, when you think — No.

Your hand stills in the air.

You already know. You know. Don’t touch him. You already know. Touching him won’t do you any good, you tell yourself, over and over, because you know his skin will be cold and you will feel worse. You know you will feel worse. So don’t. Don’t do it. Don’t touch him. You already know. You already know. You already know.

You step forward again. Don’t, you beg, please, don’t touch him. Don’t touch him.

But you already know. Your knuckles brush against his cheek. Bloodless, colourless. Cold. His lips do not twitch like they’re supposed to — like they do when you do this to his sleeping face. Not asleep. He’s not asleep.

Dead. 

It’s instant: you jerk back and cradle your arm to your chest, as if burned. Like the lack of warmth — his warmth, gone — has given you frostbite.

There it is, a voice says knowingly. Sorrowfully. His body, pale and cold and clammy and dead. Lifeless. Dead. He is dead.

A sob, rising from your chest. Spilling past your lips. You’re choking on them.

Dead.

Shikanoin Heizou, the person you’ve been in love with for the past seven years, unmoving on the bedcovers: dead. He’s dead. He’s lifeless. Dead. Unmoving. Dead.

That’s him, you mouth to yourself, salt on your tongue. It’s him. It’s him.

“Heizou,” you try again. “Heizou please. Heizou, wake up. If this is a prank, this isn’t — you’re not funny, Heizou. Getting Sara to go along with this too? Really? That’s not funny, Heizou, you’re not — you’re not funny.” You shake your head. “Please. Heizou, please.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Heizou,” you sob. With trembling fingers, you brush the hair from his face. One more time, softer, gentler, sweeter: “Wake up.”

Nothing.

Nothing.

Dead, you think as you crumple into the sand. Dead. 

Dead.

Dead.

He’s dead.

(The third warning sign: finding that Shikanoin Heizou, the love of your life, is dead.)

It’s hot, unbearably hot, and you can’t fucking breathe.

Why did you even use a blanket today? It’s so hot, it’s too hot — you’re so fucking stupid and so stupid, so stupid and — and —

A wisp of a thought — Heizou is dead — and it comes back to you.

No. Your breathing quickens. No.

No. 

He’s not — he — Heizou isn’t dead. He’s not. He’s not dead. He wouldn’t — he can’t — you don’t —

Heizou isn’t dead, you tell yourself, hunched over in bed. Your palm drifts into sight — the comb. Grasping for something, you think: the marks. You squint in the darkness. No marks.

Not dead.

But you saw him, didn’t you? The thought forces its way into your mind before you can stop it. You saw him, felt his cold skin against your own. He was unmoving. Still. Cold. You saw him. Felt him. You of all people should know it to be true. You know: Shikanoin Heizou is dead. Your Shikanoin Heizou is dead.

Heizou is dead.

You rip away from the bed, nearly tripping over the blanket still tangled ’round your feet, because Archons you need to get out of here. Out. Get out. Out of this room, out of this house — right now. Get out. This place, you can’t — not here. Not now. 

Get out.

You’re three steps from the front door when it swings open.

#shikanoin heizou #heizou x reader #heizou hurt/comfort #heizou angst #shikanoin heizou x reader #genshin impact hurt/comfort #genshin hurt/comfort #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #nyxlea ✧ genshin #thenyxsky

[onceuponalegendbg]

Ace Attorney Drabble (Forward)

I’ve been in such an AA mood lately. This was going to be a little different in focus but honestly I kind of like what I ended up with here. I’m not super sure on the ending but I guess that’s how it goes sometimes. Nothing super new in regards to the exploration of this character but I had fun. So enjoy.

For most of Franziska’s life the world had been made up of absolutes. People were only guilty or not. The von Karmas were to be perfect and everyone else to be crushed. Her Papa was always right, everyone else was fools. That was the truth. These were the standards.

At least, that’s how it used to be.

News of Manfred von Karma’s arrest spreads like wildfire, even in Germany. Franziska has trouble processing it and rolls into denial. Forged evidence and multiple counts of murder, one of which included one Gregory Edgeworth fifteen years ago. Surely not. This must be some sort of mistake.

But her papa’s trial ends with a guilty verdict thanks to overwhelming evidence and even Manfred’s own begrudging, remorseless confession. It’s impossible to look away from the truth at that point.

‘A von Karma is perfect in every way. We settle for nothing less than absolute perfection. It’s the very basis for our existence.’

But Papa was a criminal. Papa was a hypocrite. Papa was gone.

And not too long after that, so is Miles Edgeworth. He runs away with his tail between his legs. He doesn’t call her. He just decides to disappear. And Franziska processes this the only way she knows how.

She throws herself into her work, creates a new goal for herself. Which, incidentally, is how she finds herself in the States across the courtroom from Phoenix Wright as he tries to defend the spirit medium known as Maya Fey. She’s less than impressed with the man in the blue suit.

He’s a bumbling, bluffing buffoon. A complete and utter fool of the highest caliber. This is the man Miles Edgeworth lost to multiple times. The one that revealed her papa’s treachery. It all only increases her anger when, somehow, this idiot trounces her in court as well with his so-called truth. It’s maddening. She wants to scream. But no. She’s a von Karma. She’s better than that.

So, she settles for whipping every simpleton that has the misfortune of crossing her path.

‘This won’t bring your dad back.’

Her grip on her whip tightens on instinct before allowing a simple scoff at Phoenix Wright’s words. The assertion that this is all for her papa’s sake is unfounded. It’s cute how this man thinks he has Franziska all figured out. Of course, this has nothing to do with Papa. She’s not some child scampering around his feet, waiting for his approval. Why would she ever concern herself with that? She is Franziska von Karma, a prosecuting prodigy, perfect in every way.

More perfect than Miles.

More perfect than Papa.

Yes, she will easily surpass both.

Yet, she doesn’t. She loses to that spiky haired cretin again.

It’s not her fault! Her second trial as a prosecutor in the States is a sham and should not count. None of the events followed any logic, it was all completely ludicrous and still somehow ended up being the undeniable truth. How? How does any of this make sense?

Then Miles has the audacity to show his face again and act all high and mighty. He’s found his answer, he says, and it makes Franziska seethe. How dare he condescend to her?

‘Are you talking about the von Karma family creed? “To be perfect in every way…” Then let’s hear it, Franziska. How are things going? I hear you are having a rough time maintaining perfection in this country. You seem to be getting crushed under the weight of it all. That’s why I came back.’

All said with that superior smirk on his face while he looks down on her. Like he’s suddenly the older sibling.

It infuriates her.

He left. He ran away. Chose to quit. And he thinks he just gets to come back and steal her case, take her chance of revenge away from her? Over her dead body!

And well, that almost becomes the case.

As cliché as it sounds, it all really does happen so fast. She hears the gunshot, everyone scatters, and it takes her a moment to register the pain blossoming in her right shoulder. Because of course it would be her shoulder.

Even as blood drenches the white of her sleeve she insists she’s fine. Even as the pain starts to make her head spin, she persists that she’s needed in the courtroom.

Miles, the foolish fool that he is, practically drags her to a hospital and doesn’t leave until he’s sure the doctors have her, that she’s not in any life-threatening danger.

Ridiculous. She’s fine. She has a case to win. She’s fine.

It’s not until she’s finally alone for a moment that she notices her hands won’t stop shaking.

But she’s fine.

She maintains this stance even when Phoenix and Miles visit her in between court sessions. Wright even brings her flowers. The conversation trails from pleasantries to both trying to get her to back down from her goal by bringing up her bit of subterfuge with Ms. Adrian Andrews. They’re trying to shame her. They’re trying to say she’s in the wrong here. But she knows better. What happens to the blonde woman is no concern of hers.

Her shoulder gives a strong throb, and she fights the urge to grip at her sleeve, instead brandishing her whip before leaving the conversation entirely. She will not be made out to be the bad guy here. Just like she will not accept their pity. She is Franziska von Karma and she will not allow herself to be seen as weak.

As it turns out, and against her better judgement, she ends up helping Miles win the case. Matt Engarde chooses to plead guilty in what Franziska gathers is an attempt to save his own skin from one very betrayed assassin. After which, she finds everyone out in the lobby, Phoenix hugging both Maya and Pearl Fey with the biggest smile.

It makes something twist inside her because she can’t understand why. They lost. They failed. Phoenix Wright’s client was found guilty. They lost and they’re all smiling about it like it doesn’t even matter. Frustration wells up within her. Why does Franziska still feel like the one who lost?

Why does she always feel like she’s losing? She’s not supposed to lose. She was brought up to be the best. She was brought up to ignore useless emotions and focus on cold, hard evidence. She will not be swayed by these fools and their foolishness. Not like Miles. She refuses.

She is Franziska von Karma and she is… she is…

An absolute failure.

A hypocrite.

Because she throws down her whip, and she runs. She leaves. That’s right. This time she’s the one that gets to leave them. It’s what von Karma’s are best at, after all. So why not her? Why not just disappear? No one wants her around anyway. No one wants to stick around for her.

Except her foolish younger brother catches her at the airport before she can board her plane. Because of course. She can’t even have this, can she. How typical.

‘I have no intention of stopping. If you say you are going to quit your walk down the prosecutor’s path… Then, this is where we part ways, Franziska von Karma.’

It hits her like a train.

She’s not stupid. She’s admitted to not being a genius, but she’s far from stupid. She sees this for what it really is. It’s Miles extending an olive branch the only way either of them knows how.

The pressure that had been building in her chest lessens as she grabs hold of her whip once more. And for what feels like the very first time in her life, Franziska tries and fails to hold back tears as she promises not to let Miles Edgeworth win without a fight. She won’t back down. She’ll walk with him, farther even, as the amazing prosecutor she has always strived to be.

For she is Franziska von Karma, and she supposes for now that will more than suffice.

#ace attorney #gyatuken saiban #franziska von karma #maya fey #phoenix wright #pearl fey #manfred von karma #miles edgeworth #adrian andrews #matt engarde #writing #I really do love Franziska #She's such a fascinating character

[fritoley]

Febuwhump 2024 - Day 5: Rope Burns

Fandom: The Bad Batch (Star Wars) Characters: Kima, Emerie Karr Word Count: 709 Content Warning: Slight Bondage Previous // Next Febuwhump 2024 Masterlist

Summary: Emerie struggles to keep a patient under control.

Collaboration with @klaotaku! (Thx for letting me use your oc!)

***

Emerie’s grip tightened around her clipboard as she stopped in front of the cell. This cell wasn’t like the others, sporting a paristeel door rather than the standard ray shield. She was deep within Mt. Tantiss, where only a few authorized personnel were allowed. Flanked by two TK Troopers, she took a deep breath before opening the door.

Inside the cell sat an adult female huddled in the opposite corner, her knees to her chest. Jet black hair covered her face and arms, the ends brushing the floor. Her peach skin had turned sickly pale, her heterochromatic eyes dull and lifeless as they stared up at her. Emerie stepped into the cell and kneeled before the prisoner, gently lifting her chin. She felt for a pulse, felt her heart pounding, her breathing heavy. She continued to stare at Emerie with that wild look, not moving an inch.

She’s like an animal, Emerie thought. She stood, took a few steps back, and allowed the TK Troopers to pick the female up and carry her out of the cell.

“Be gentle with her,” Emerie reminded them. The TK Troopers followed Emerie to Hemlock’s personal testing facility, placing the prisoner on the table before standing guard at the door. Emerie tapped a few keys on her datapad before glancing at the woman.

“Kima, right?” Emerie started. The woman’s eyes closed. “We’re going to run a few tests on you, then the doctor will be with you shortly.”

Emerie approached Kima and tied the restraints, her fingers stiff with anticipation. Just as Emerie clicked the buckle into place, Kima’s eyes shot open. She jumped up from the table faster than Emerie could react, pulling against the binding on her wrist, shouting foreign words Emerie couldn’t understand. She seemed to be repeating something, the desperation in her voice becoming increasingly evident.

“Please,” Emerie started, letting out an exasperated sigh as she tried to pull Kima back onto the table. The woman was much taller than her, her arms and legs thin but strong. It was hard for Emerie to get a good grip on Kima, she was moving so erratically. “The more you struggle, the harder this is going to be. Do you want Dr. Hemlock to hurt you?”

Kima only started screaming louder. The mention of the doctor’s name seemed to send her into overdrive. She had somehow managed to manipulate herself into a crouch, glaring at Emerie and shouting alien curses at her. The strap binding her wrist to the table was digging into her skin, creating deep welts. Emerie stepped forward, calling the TK Troopers into the room in hopes to get Kima under control, but not before the prisoner thrust her free hand out and sent Emerie flying into the opposite wall, medical equipment flying. The troopers rushed in and forced Kima into the table, binding her arms, legs, and neck before one of them hurried to Emerie.

“Are you okay?” he asked, reaching out to help the scientist.

“Yes, I’m alright,” Emerie answered, glancing at Kima. The prisoner was still struggling, her bindings creating deep indents in her skin. Emerie sighed, grabbed her datapad and keyed a code in before approaching Kima and looking down at her. It was a pitiful sight, to see such a beautiful woman reduced to struggling like a wild animal, teeth bared and hair wild. Emerie placed a gentle hand on Kima’s shoulder, making her freeze for a moment. Emerie leaned down and whispered in Kima’s ear, “The doctor will be with you shortly. I would suggest you stop struggling, or else you will pay for the trouble I will be in for damaging his experiment.”

Kima’s eyes contracted as Emerie pulled away. It seemed that even though she couldn’t understand Basic, she seemed to sense Emerie’s frustrations, which was a rarity for the scientist. Emerie glared at Kima, who held her gaze, then slowly closed her eyes, weakly pulling at the restraints as though in defeat. Emerie released Kima’s shoulder, grabbed her datapad, and stepped out of the room, TK Troopers in tow.

“Give the prisoner a sedation mask so I can administer the doctor’s custom toxin,” Emerie ordered. “I will not allow her to destroy herself before she serves her full potential.”

***

Previous // Next Febuwhump 2024 Masterlist Ultimate Masterlist

🫶🏽 Like, Comment, and Reblog! 🫶🏽

#febuwhump #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhumpday5 #the bad batch #tbb #tbb oc #tbb oc kima #tbb emerie #star wars #fanfic #fandom #writing community #creative writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr

[makalaure-kanafinwe]

WIP I guess. The way it is now has a certain charm, but it could be... better. Anywho I was thinking about Jiang Cheng's Public Breakdown No. ? and thought it was pretty sad funny when they were talking about him running around asking people to unsheath the sword.

#the untamed #jiang cheng #suibian #i think i like him because he's a lot less perfect and has a lot more character than i expected #yes i count running around and screaming as evidence of character #poor dude #mine art

[inaflashimagine]

JJK Men As Dads™️

Characters: Gojo, Nanami, Geto, and Toji

Gojo Satoru

The dad who should really be the fun uncle instead.

He doesn’t care if he has a girl or boy he just wants a ton.

Even if he has the worst memory and sometimes forgets to pick up said kids from daycare or school.

Tells the worst, corniest dad jokes known to mankind. Fun puns galore.

“What did the baby corn say to the mama corn?”

“Dad, please–”

“WHERE’S POPCORN?!”

If his children were to ever get into any fights, he’s the type to ask if they won or at least made sure the other one was “looking nasty.”

Doesn’t really care how his kids do academically, he just hopes they’re happy.  

You usually end up being the bad cop, having to come up with a punishment while Satoru sides with the kids. Sometimes might even help them prank you.

You often have to hide the sweets from both Gojo and your kids so no one gets cavities. One time he even gave them high fives for eating ice cream before dinner.

In fact, much to your dismay Gojo occasionally hides the evidence so they’re not found guilty. Sometimes you fear that if your kids ever rob a bank he’d be the one driving the getaway car.

“They ate the last mochi? Nonsense, that was me! You know how bad my sweet tooth is.”

PTA moms love him. They prefer that he come to the meetings rather than you.

But he cannot cook or bake for shit. You shudder at the last time you gave him cooking duties only to see the kitchen stove on fire as he and the kids were screaming and running around. (The idiot tried to extinguish a grease fire with water.)

The dad who always says yes to his kids asking for McDonald’s, even when you remind them there’s, “Food at home.”

Thinks he’s hip but uses outdated lingo. His fashion sense is worse.

Once tried to twerk. He looked like a spazzing worm.

As his children get older they end up blocking him on social media because his posts and the comments he leaves are just so cringe-worthy.

They’re even mortified that he has thousands of followers on TikTok, his video of him dancing to WAP going viral.

But the friends of his children absolutely love him and his chaotic energy, especially when he insists that they call him, “Satoru, like one of your besties.”

His children are embarrassed when they find out he’s in a meme group chat with their friends (without his own children, sheesh). Even forms inside jokes with them...

At the end of the day, he never stops bragging about how great his kids are.

The type to get extremely competitive when attending his children’s games or events...

“THAT SWING WAS WEAK! YOU CAN DO BETTER!”

...To the point that the referee has to kick him out of the bleachers, giving him a red card.

And he’s just as competitive during family board game nights (he once flipped over the monopoly board when he was sent to jail for the umpteenth time). Which is why you’ve now switched to weekly movie nights, although he loves spoiling how the film ends...

There is no doubt that he loves his children with all his heart. You and them make up his whole universe.

But he will not remember his children’s birthdays, or age if we’re being honest. (This is why he’s grateful for Facebook.)

And if he has twins he cannot tell them apart. At all.

Nanami Kento

The responsible “tough love” dad you can count on.

Although sometimes his strict rules can be a pain in the ass. The type to pull out the “When I was your age...” or “As long as you live under my roof...”

The dad who will make his children cry at the kitchen table while they do their math homework.

“PEMDAS!” He grits his teeth when he sees confused eyes staring back at him. “Use PEMDAS!”

Probably doesn’t want too many kids. Ideally two, three at most.

But secretly he’s a teddy bear and melts around his children. Especially if he has girls (he becomes incredibly protective over them and you can bet your ass that if someone takes them out on a date he’s preparing his best murder glare for the first introduction).

When his children are growing up he prohibits them from watching Spongebob or any similar show that would cause “a loss of brain cells,” preferring they watch BBC documentaries instead. (Although he secretly watches reality TV with you right before you two head to bed.)

If his children are still on electronics or playing music loudly past a certain hour he will seriously turn off the wifi.

Because how else will he read his books? He’s the reason why there’s so many books in every room.

McDonald’s is not an option (maybe once in a blue moon). You all are eating his home-cooked meals and that is final.

Although his cooking and baking skills are immaculate (you’re not sure why he’s not a stay-at-home dad considering he always complains about working at a consulting firm).

So much so that he has a “Kiss the cook” apron and another apron that he uses during BBQs (Dad’s grillin’ so everyone’s chillin’). The annual Nanami BBQ hosted at your house is the event the neighborhood excitedly waits for every summer.

Also the father who is a health nut, running iron man marathons and is in a cross-fit group. Will be covertly overjoyed if one of his kids express similar interests.

A lover of baguettes and basically any bread. Get him a sourdough kit for Christmas and he might shed a tear.

Do not talk to him before he has had his morning coffee in his #1 Dad mug. Just...don’t.

But he is on top of everyone’s schedule (this man has the most organized GCal). If he has to make lunch for his kids he sometimes writes little notes or makes little doodles on post-it notes.

Speaking of writing, he’s the dad who writes in all caps for no reason other than it’s a dad thing to do.

Such a sap but he hates showing it. So that’s why he always looks constipated.

100% gives the best hugs and is the shoulder you want to cry on if you’re having a rough day. He just wishes he could protect his children from adult life just a bit longer.

He’s the type of dad to say, “This household will never have a dog! Over my dead body!1!!1!1”

That is until you adopt one and now they’re best friends.

He might also tear up if he sees those talent TV shows that often explains a participant’s life story. Show him an ASPCA commercial with the sad puppies and kittens and he will refuse to talk to you for a day.

The dad who switches to a mini-van as soon as he finds out he’s having kids (not to mention how he immediately baby-proofed every single corner of the house).

Always listens to his kids’ side of the story first before offering his input, which is why he gives the best advice.

Has high expectations, especially academically, but at the end of the day he just wants to make sure they’re happy and comfortable around him and you.

He keeps on dreaming about taking a family vacation to Malaysia, so please book this selfless, sweet, and tired man and his fam a ticket.

Geto Suguru

The ‘cool’ dad, who is actually cool.

Aka the dad Gojo wishes he was.

Also the type of dad to have a motorcycle.

I also don’t see him having many kids, but I feel like he would prefer girls.

He does their hair way better than you ever could so you just leave him in charge of that.  

And he always lets his children play with his hair, so long as there’s less knots or tangles than when they started.

However, Geto’s not a great cook, so take-out is usually preferred if he’s the only one taking care of the young ones for a night.

His outfits are always on point and even when his children are young he’s making sure they look fashionable.

Loves telling his kids bedtime stories each night, sometimes even making up his own.

Just a huge advocate of the arts. Though he will support his children in whatever activities or subjects they pursue, he will be psyched if one wants to play an instrument or be an artist or writer.

The dad who often talks about how life is a journey or encourages one to learn from their mistakes.

And if a teacher or adult tells his children otherwise, Geto would go full dad-mode and tell them off.

If he’s helping his children with homework he’s a huge proponent of the Socratic Method and expects to be the one taught rather than the other way around. But this often means no work gets done so usually you’re assigned homework duty.

Passes down his precious vinyl records to his kids and enjoys sharing his music tastes with them.

And as his kids get older he loves initiating philosophical and/or ethics conversations, especially if it involves discussing important “life” topics and questions.

I can even see him considering home schooling his kids if he feels that the education they’re currently getting is not adequate or holistic.

Certainly the type to organize a day where he and the kids pamper you and make it known how much they love you.

There definitely is a family hiking, beach or camping trip at least once a year as Geto firmly believes in connecting with nature and taking a break from the constant influx of electronics and news/information.

That doesn’t mean he’s not a competitive gamer. He’s beat Gojo at every game and he will not hold back even if it’s his children.

Overall he has a pretty casual, laidback attitude when it comes to rules. He isn’t completely carefree like Gojo or is as strict as Nanami but a nice in-between (so definitely won’t be setting a curfew but he’s not easily handing his kids the car keys).

But similar to Nanami, he’s so observant. He notes the little details, the things his kids like and dislike.

And this impacts the type of events he’ll do with them, what he’ll get them for a present, or how to talk to them if they need someone to vent to.

He wants to make sure that his parenting won’t restrict his kids or discourage them in approaching him for help. That’s what you and him are there for, after all.

His kids are his greatest treasure and he’s so proud of them.

Fushiguro Toji (the classic DILF)

Wait, he has children? He’s a dad?

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento #geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #fushiguro toji #fushiguro toji x reader

[amarias-yandere-blog]

The jealousy of the fox

Word count: 720 words

Warnings: character death, Character biting (blood), Kazuha you creepy fuck-, Y/n is a gang member

A/n: This was so short… I’m sorry XD. Still, I hope you enjoy. Also you’re part of Arataki Itto’s gang in this fic

Character(s): Kaedehara Kazuha, Arataki Itto

Pronouns: she/her

Summary: Someone interrupted your alone time with Kazuha… and now he must pay

Kazuha was a rather interesting kitsune. That is, he had no master. Technically speaking, he was a nogitsune.

Technically.

However, you had the fox spirit wrapped around Your fingers- at least, that’s what you thought. You didn’t even know he was a kitsune- or nogitsune, the distinction was unimportant to you. You only thought of him as a traveler that loved to take you to the most interesting places- treasure filled places.

Today, however, Kazuha seemed… more… overbearing than usual. He demanded every moment of your time, energy, and even love. Somehow you’d found yourself petting his pretty silver locks as he nuzzled into your thigh.

“Y/nnn!” You looked up to see the oni, Arataki Itto, running your way. Kazuha let out an animalistic growl, hands wrapping around your waist. “Huh? Who’s this loser?”

“His name is Kazuha, Itto. He’s a good friend.”

“Don’t like how he’s holding you. Get off my girl.”

“I’m not your girl!” You snarl, exasperated. Itto could be… ugh, so protective sometimes. Besides, something told you Kazuha hadn’t liked that… at all. Itto merely smiled, gazing at the other man.

“Leave us alone,” Kazuha snapped, moving into your lap. He forced your head into his chest, heartbeat surprisingly… calm despite the evident distaste at being interrupted. “Today is my day with her.”

“Pffft~ your day? Unfortunately I highly think that’s not the case.” Itto answered, eyes going to where his gangs emblem was etched into your shoulder. “After all, Y/n is one of mine.”

Before you could diffuse the tension, sharp fangs went into your neck. You shivered as a tongue cran over the wounds, chuckling lowly at your fear and shock.

“Kazuha, what the hell?!”

“And now she is mine. Leave us alone.” Kazuha ignored you, lifting from your neck to lick the blood from sharp fangs you’d never seen. Itto’s eyes widened. He sighed, shaking his head.

“You ok, Y/n, dear?”

“Ye-yeah,” you confirmed, rubbing at the wound.

“Good. Pick up your weapon, or leave- before I make you beg for mercy.” Itto was clearly serious, the earth was rumbling underneath you.

But the wind was now howling, threatening to pull off tree branches.

“Guys please- I’m friends with both of you! Just chill-”a katana in Itto’s throat, Kazuha off your lap, blood splattering your clothes, you weren’t sure which happened first.

“Tch,” Kazuha hissed, red eyes glowing with malice and hate. “Him? Defeat me? Yeah, sure.” That’s when he revealed himself to you in full- six fox tails, white ears, and sharp canines still stained with your blood. “Now, where were we my dear~?”

Your instincts are screaming to run. You stutter in response as the kitsune closes in, grabbing you with a clawed hand. His nails dig in, a warm smile on his face. He flicks his tongue over the new wound once more, humming at your taste. “Lovely….” The nogitsune murmurs. “Absolutely divine,” Kazuha sighs.

You are now Shaking in his grasp, looking at the body below you. “Le-let me go.” You whisper, too afraid of what’ll happen if you don't stop him. Kazuha hums, pulling back slightly. His tails are now embracing you, keeping you in place. “What did you just do…”

“Got rid of an annoyance.” Kazuha has no remorse in his voice, merely flicking one of his ears to show his thoughts on the matter. Inconsequential.

“Kazuha you just killed someone!” Your voice goes shrill with fear as you try to push away his tails. Kazuha’s chuckle, however, forces you to freeze. The wind is no longer howling, but it still caresses your shoulders as though claiming you.

“I’ve killed tons of people. Some through harmless prank- well, I suppose it was harmful… and others through battle. This isn’t my first kill, birdy.” He informs, chuckling at your fearful struggle.

“M-monster,” you whimper, wincing when his hands cup your pretty face.

“Hmmm… the shogunate will be here soon…” Kazuha mutters. With a chuckle, he pulls at your shirt, ripping the fabric just enough to drop it in Itto’s palm. “There. Now you’ll not be able to show in that gang nor to the shogunate again.” He whispers, picking you up effortlessly. “Which means I can finally claim my birthday present,”

Your mind grows dark in realization. Today… today is October 29th. Kazuha’s birthday.

#yandere content #yandere #yandere kazuha x reader #yandere kazuha #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #arataki itto #I dont know much about Itto but if you think I’m not going to use this as an excuse to have supernatural beings fight each other #you’re dead wrong #she/her reader #female reader #Arataki gang #gang member

[duckprintspress]

Ten Things We Hate About Trad Pub

Often when I say “I’ve started a small press; we publish the works of those who have trouble breaking into traditional publishing!” what people seem to hear is “me and a bunch of sad saps couldn’t sell our books in the Real World so we’ve made our own place with lower standards.” For those with minimal understanding of traditional publishing (trad pub), this reaction is perhaps understandable? But, truly, there are many things to hate about traditional publishing (and, don’t get me wrong - there are things to love about trad pub, too, but that’s not what this list is about) and it’s entirely reasonable for even highly accomplished authors to have no interest in running the gauntlet of genre restrictions, editorial control, hazing, long waits, and more, that make trad pub at best, um, challenging, and at worst, utterly inaccessible to many authors - even excellent ones.

Written in collaboration with @jhoomwrites, with input from @ramblingandpie, here is a list of ten things that we at Duck Prints Press detest about trad pub, why we hate it, and why/how we think things should be different!

(Needless to say, part of why we created Duck Prints Press was to...not do any of these things... so if you’re a writer looking for a publishing home, and you hate these things, too, and want to write with a Press that doesn’t do them...maybe come say hi?)

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1. Work lengths dictated by genre and/or author experience.

Romance novels can’t be longer than 90,000 words or they won’t sell! New authors shouldn’t try to market a novel longer than 100,000 words!

A good story is a good story is a good story. Longer genre works give authors the chance to explore their themes and develop their plots. How often an author has been published shouldn’t put a cap on the length of their work.

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2. Editors assert control of story events...except when they don’t.

If you don’t change this plot point, the book won’t market well. Oh, you’re a ten-time bestseller? Write whatever you want, even if it doesn’t make sense we know people will buy it.

Sometimes, a beta or an editor will point out that an aspect of a story doesn’t work - because it’s nonsensical, illogical, Deus ex Machina, etc. - and in those cases it’s of course reasonable for an editor to say, “This doesn’t work and we recommend changing it, for these reasons…” However, when that list of reasons begins and ends with, “...because it won’t sell…” that’s a problem, especially because this is so often applied as a double standard. We’ve all read bestsellers with major plot issues, but those authors get a “bye” because editors don’t want to exert to heavy a hand and risk a proven seller, but with a new, less experienced, or worse-selling author, the gloves come off (even though evidence suggests time and again that publishers’ ability to predict what will sell well is at best low and at worst nonexistent.)

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3. A billion rejection letters as a required rite of passage (especially when the letters aren't helpful in pinpointing why a work has been rejected or how the author can improve).

Well, my first book was rejected by a hundred Presses before it was accepted! How many rejection letters did you get before you got a bite? What, only one or two? Oh…

How often one succeeds or fails to get published shouldn’t be treated as a form of hazing, and we all know that how often someone gets rejected or accepted has essentially no bearing on how good a writer they are. Plenty of schlock goes out into the world after being accepted on the first or second try...and so does plenty of good stuff! Likewise, plenty of schlock will get rejected 100 times but due to persistence, luck, circumstances, whatever, finally find a home, and plenty of good stuff will also get rejected 100 times before being publishing. Rejections (or lack there of) as a point of pride or as a means of judging others needs to die as a rite of passage among authors.

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4. Query letters, for so many reasons.

Summarize all your hard work in a single page! Tell us who you’re like as an author and what books your story is like, so we can gauge how well it’ll sell based on two sentences about it! Format it exactly the way we say or we won’t even consider you!

For publishers, agents, and editors who have slush piles as tall as Mount Everest...we get it. There has to be a way to differentiate. We don’t blame you. Every creative writing class, NaNoWriMo pep talk, and college lit department combine to send out hundreds of thousands of people who think all they need to do to become the next Ernest Hemingway is string a sentence together. There has to be some way to sort through that pile...but God, can’t there be a better way than query letters? Especially since even with query letters being used it often takes months or years to hear back, and...

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5. "Simultaneous submissions prohibited.”

No, we don’t know when we’ll get to your query, but we’ll throw it out instantly if you have the audacity to shop around while you wait for us.

The combination of “no simultaneous submissions” with the query letter bottleneck makes success slow and arduous. It disadvantages everyone who aims to write full-time but doesn’t have another income source (their own, or a parents’, or a spouse’s, or, or or). The result is that entire classes of people are edged out of publishing solely because the process, especially for writers early in their career, moves so glacially that people have to earn a living while they wait, and it’s so hard to, for example, work two jobs and raise a family and also somehow find the time to write. Especially considering that the standard advice for dealing with “no simultaneous submissions” is “just write something else while you wait!” ...the whole system screams privilege.

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6. Genres are boxes that must be fit into and adhered to.

Your protagonist is 18? Then obviously your book is Young Adult. It doesn’t matter how smutty your book is, erotica books must have sex within the first three chapters, ideally in the first chapter. Sorry, we’re a fantasy publisher, if you have a technological element you don’t belong here…

While some genre boxes have been becoming more like mesh cages of late, with some flow of content allowed in and out, many remain stiff prisons that constrict the kinds of stories people can tell. Even basic cross-genre works often struggle to find a place, and there’s no reason for it beyond “if we can’t pigeon-hole a story, it’s harder to sell.” This edges out many innovative, creative works. It also disadvantages people who aren’t as familiar with genre rules. And don’t get me wrong - this isn’t an argument that, for example, the romance genre would be improved by opening up to stories that don’t have “happily ever afters.” Instead, it’s pointing out - there should also be a home for, say, a space opera with a side romance, an erotica scene, and a happily-for-now ending. Occasionally, works breakthrough, but for the most part stories that don’t conform never see the light of day (or, they do, but only after Point 2 - trad pub editors insist that the elements most “outside” the box be removed or revised).

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7. The lines between romance and erotica are arbitrary, random, and hetero- and cis-normative.

This modern romance novel won’t sell if it doesn’t have an explicit sex scene, but God forbid you call a penis a penis. Oh, no, this is far too explicit, even though the book only has one mlm sex scene, this is erotica.

The difference between “romance” and “erotica” might not matter so much if not for the stigmas attached to erotica and the huge difference in marketability and audience. The difference between “romance” and “erotica” also might not matter so much if not for the fact that, so often, even incredibly raunchy stories that feature cis straight male/cis straight female sex scenes are shelved as romance, but the moment the sex is between people of the same gender, and/or a trans or genderqueer person is involved, and/or the relationship is polyamorous, and/or the characters involved are literally anything other than a cis straight male pleasuring a cis straight female in a “standard” way (cunnilingus welcome, pegging need not apply)...then the story is erotica. Two identical stories will get assigned different genres based on who the people having sex are, and also based on the “skill” of the author to use ludicrous euphemisms (instead of just...calling body parts what they’re called…), and it’s insane. Non-con can be a “romance” novel, even if it’s graphically described. “50 Shades of Gray” can sell millions of copies, even containing BDSM. But the word “vagina” gets used once...bam, erotica. (Seriously, the only standard that should matter is the Envelope Analogy).

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8. Authors are expected to do a lot of their own legwork (eg advertising) but then don't reap the benefits.

Okay, so, you’re going to get an advance of $2,500 on this, your first novel, and a royalty rate of 5% if and only if your advance sells out...so you’d better get out there and market! Wait, what do you mean you don’t have a following? Guess you’re never selling out your advance…

Trad pub can generally be relied on to do some marketing - so this item is perhaps better seen as an indictment of more mid-sized Presses - but, basically, if an author has to do the majority of the work themselves, then why aren’t they getting paid more? What’s the actual benefit to going the large press/trad pub route if it’s not going to get the book into more hands? It’s especially strange that this continues to be a major issue when self-publishing (which also requires doing one’s own marketing) garners 60%+ royalty rates. Yes, the author doesn’t get an advance, and they don’t get the cache of ~well I was published by…~, but considering some Presses require parts of advances to get paid back if the initial run doesn’t sell out, and cache doesn’t put food on the table...pay models have really, really got to change.

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9. Fanfiction writing doesn't count as writing experience

Hey there Basic White Dude, we see you’ve graduated summa cum laude from A Big Fancy Expensive School. Of course we’ll set you up to publish your first novel you haven’t actually quite finished writing yet. Oh, Fanperson, you’ve written 15 novels for your favorite fandom in the last 4 years? Get to the back of the line!

Do I really need to explain this? The only way to get better at writing is to write. Placing fanfiction on official trad pub “do not interact” lists is idiotic, especially considering many of the other items on this list. (They know how to engage readers! They have existing followings! They understand genre and tropes!) Being a fanfiction writer should absolutely be a marketable “I am a writer” skill. Nuff said. (To be clear, I’m not saying publishers should publish fanfiction, I’m saying that being a fanfiction writer is relevant and important experience that should be given weight when considering an author’s qualifications, similar to, say, publishing in a university’s quarterly.)

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10. Tagging conventions (read: lack thereof).

Oh, did I trigger you? Hahahaha. Good luck with that.

We rate movies so that people can avoid content they don’t like. Same with TV shows and video games. Increasingly, those ratings aren’t just “R - adult audiences,” either; they contain information about the nature of the story elements that have led to the rating (“blood and gore,” “alcohol reference,” “cartoon violence,” “drug reference,” “sexual violence,” “use of tobacco,” and many, many more). So why is it that I can read a book and, without warning, be surprised by incest, rape, graphic violence, explicit language, glorification of drug and alcohol use, and so so much more? That it’s left to readers to look up spoilers to ensure that they’re not exposed to content that could be upsetting or inappropriate for their children or, or, or, is insane. So often, too, authors cling to “but we don’t want to give away our story,” as if video game makes and other media makers do want to give away their stories. This shouldn’t be about author egos or ~originality~ (as if that’s even a thing)...it should be about helping readers make informed purchasing decisions. It’s way, way past time that major market books include content warnings.

Thank you for joining us, this has been our extended rant about how frustrated we are with traditional publishing. Helpful? No. Cathartic? Most definitely yes. 🤣

*

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#duck prints press #original content #writing advice #sort of

[andreafmn]

I'm Not Afraid - Chapter 1

Word Count: 3,325

Characters: Female Reader Argent Character, Original Male Argent Character, Derek Hale, Allison Argent, Scott McCall, Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey, Lydia Martin, Chris Argent, Jackson Whittemore

Story Description: (Y/N) Argent arrived at Beacon Hills to put to rest her father's sister, Kate Argent. For the first time, her family has decided to settle down and sustain a life in this interesting small town. After 17 years, (Y/N) has the opportunity to establish interpersonal relationships but will she be ready to face the complications that come with relating to her cousin's, Allison, friends; especially, the infamous Derek Hale. She will face the adventure of being associated with the Derek and McCall pack as well as being faced with the discovery of certain aspects of her life she never imagined.

*DISCLAIMER* I do not own in any way Teen Wolf, all credits of the pre-established characters, script, and storyline belong to Jeff Davis and MTV Network. The only thing I own is Argent Reader insert, her immediate family, and her storyline, as well as her effects in the others' storyline.

Chapter: 1/?

Chapter Description: (Y/N) finally arrives at Beacon Hills for the funeral of her aunt and meets a certain wolf to which she feels a special connection.

A/N: Second fandom I'm writing for. I love Teen Wolf so much and the trope of hard Derek but only soft for you makes my heart sing. If you enjoy my writing I’ll also be posting them in AO3 and Wattpad along with other stories (I also hope to start taking requests if ya’ll want) Hope you enjoy and all constructive criticism is encouraged.

Next ->

Chapter 1

I hugged the black coat to my body as hard as I could whilst pushing through the sea of press. Our family's last name became quite known after the reports about my aunt, whose burial we were attending. She had allegedly burned down a house with people in it.  She killed them in cold blood. I hugged my grieving uncle and his less grieving wife, then my cousin who had a painful look on her face. I hugged her the longest. She let herself crumble on my arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Even though she was a horrible person she was still our aunt, family.

I took my seat behind Allison when my father, my mother, uncle Chris, and aunt Victoria stood up. Allison didn't lift her head and neither did I. I just tried to comfort her.

"It's been such a long time I don't expect you to call me grandpa." We both looked up to see a white-haired man who resembled the Argent features. "Don't worry about it, just call me Gerard." He hugged both of us, an overpowering aura emanating from his being. When we were engulfed, I looked to the side and saw two boys squatting behind a gravestone. If they were hiding, they were doing a horrible job at it.

"But I prefer Grandpa," Gerard said walking to his seat. I sat back down and drifted off during the whole ceremony. Once it was over, I joined my parents and we drove to our new house. I have a feeling that life here will be very interesting.

That weekend I decided that I had been putting working out off for too long. I changed into comfortable workout clothes and gave food to my dog, Brody. I headed out the door, put my earbuds on, and started to jog. I really didn't know where I was going since it was a new place for me, all I know is that I kept running until I reached the woods. The bad thing about this, I had no idea how to get back home. Even though I knew of this sidetrack and I knew I would be late to get back home, I kept running, needing a release from the mundane feeling of being new in town and having to reunite from our estranged family in a funeral.

I had gained a lot of momentum. God knows how fast I was running at this point that is until I hit something, it almost felt like a wall. When I looked up, I saw a very handsome guy. Spiked hair, green eyes, and slight stubble. If it weren't for the fact that I was already sweaty I would have started to sweat showers of how nervous I was. That is until he opened his mouth.

"Watch where you're going." He growled at me.

"How about you fucking move and not be a prick?" He looked at me with big eyes, probably in surprise, but quickly changed to his menacing look. Who was he trying to fool?

"Well, this is private property, which means that you're trespassing, meaning you should pay more attention to your surroundings."

"I'm sorry but a burnt-down house with almost no walls or roof is barely a property. So, how about you stop being an idiot and I can be on my way." I started to jog once again but he gained my attention once more.

"You're new here, aren't you?" I turned around to face him.

"What's it to you?" He raised his eyebrow.

"I'll take that as a yes." The cockiness oozed out of his pores.

"And why the hell should that matter?"

"Because no one would dare talk to me that way."

"Who would be afraid of a little sour wolf?" He tensed up. "Dude, chill. I'm just kidding. But I doubt anyone would be afraid of Mr...."

"Hale. Derek Hale." He said extending his hand to me. Gee, after screaming at me he wants us to be acquaintances. I thought about not shaking his hand, but I didn't want to be rude. Well, more than I have been already.

"(Y/N). Argent." I shook his hand. Strong grip. Suddenly I felt a rush of déjà vu; I had met him the day before. "Wait, aren't you that guy I accidentally hit with my grocery cart yesterday?"

"Yeah, that really hurt. You hit my ankle. You could've had me limping."

"But you're not, so be grateful I didn't break your ankle." He laughed. "Damn, if I had known how cocky you really were, I would've hit you harder."

"So, you admit that you hit me?"

"Oh yeah, of course, I hit you. Accidentally that is."

"Yeah, yeah."

I looked around trying to find where the hell I had come from but there wasn't even the slightest trail as to where I was to go.

"So, miss (Y/N). Do you even know your way home?"

"No, but I'm sure I can find my way back." Then, he took keys out of his pocket and pointed to his car.

"Come on, I'll drive you around and you just tell me when something seems familiar."

"And why should I go with the guy that almost ripped out my throat for bumping into him? For all I know you could be driving me to my death." I crossed my arms over my chest, and he let out a loud sigh.

"Look, I'm sorry for snapping. But I'm trying to be nice. That doesn't happen very often."

"Alright, Mr. Hale. I'll let you take me home just because you are being nice now, after being a prick, and I'm exhausted."

"See, no one can resist me." I rolled my eyes at his cockiness. Seriously does he buy cans of it on eBay?

"Don't get cocky with me. I can punch the living daylights out of you." He chuckled and started to drive.

We drove for about 20 minutes until I finally recognized the curb that led to my house. Upon arriving at my driveway, I got out of the car and walked to the driver’s side.

"Give me your hand” For some reason, I felt compelled to do so. He took a pen and wrote down a number. "Call me if you ever need a tour of the town."

Three weeks later, I walked inside the school to meet up with Allison. I moved here with my family since dad had some business taking float. Being the new kid in town is never fun. I would know. I switch schools almost every year. The pro and con about this would be not being attached to anyone. Usually, I'm the one who doesn't talk to anyone and is called a freak. A derogatory term given to people who are way too different from others, but a title I wore proudly.

"Oh my gosh, (Y/N)! How have you been?" Allison wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tightly. It was as if she hadn't seen me just three weeks ago.

"Hi, Allison. I've been good, getting acclimated to the new town. You?" You would think that because we were cousins, I would be more affectionate towards her but honestly, I wouldn't see her again for like three more years, so what's the point?

"I'm good. A little rocky at the start of coming here but good." Then, a boy with a buzz cut and one with great brown hair walked by and smiled at Alli. "Ooh, you should come meet my friends. Stiles, Scott!! Come here." The boys turned around with goofy grins on their faces.

"Hey, Allison. Who's this?" Buzzcut kid said.

"This is my cousin, (Y/N). She just moved here from Virginia."

"Pleasure to meet you. I'm Scott." The one with the great hair said.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Stiles." I shook their hands and smiled.

"Nice to meet you, too, buzzcut." Allison and Scott laughed but Stiles only ran his hand through his hair, suddenly becoming hyperaware of his lack of locks.

"Allison. Who might this sexy lady be?" I rolled my eyes. The last thing I need is a narcissist with a god-complex trying to get close.

"Oh, Jackson, this is my cousin, (Y/N)."

"Hi." He extended his hand and looked me up and down.

"Hi." I smiled sarcastically, and when I didn't extend my hand, he dropped his.

Finally, after standing awkwardly behind Allison whilst her friends talked, the bell rang. Talk about saved by the bell.

"Hey, (Y/N), what's your first class?" I checked my schedule.

"Um, chemistry."

"Oh, good, then you're coming with us to Mr. Harris' class," Scott said pointing towards him and Stiles. I smiled and walked behind them.

Once we got to the classroom everyone turned to me, the ever-present sign of being new in the class evident in the stare of my classmates.

"Um, hi, my name is (Y/N) Argent and I'm new." The teacher, whom I guess is Mr. Harris, turned around to face me.

"Oh, yes, Miss Argent. Welcome. You will be sitting next to Isaac Lahey. Lahey, raise your hand." Once Isaac raised his hand, I noticed he was sat near Stiles and Scott. Two people I was trying to avoid. As I walked past, I accidentally pushed Stiles' book on his lap, startling him, resulting in an awkward descent from his lab stool onto the floor.

"Hi, again. I guess we are gonna see a lot of each other for the rest of the school year." I nodded and he scratched the back of his neck. "So, um, what school did you come from?"

"Lancaster High," I responded whilst writing down what Mr. Harris was writing on the board. Stiles kept trying to talk to me, but I would only give him short, cold answers or just ignore him. That is until Mr. Harris called our attention, that's when he finally got the memo to shut up.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to introduce myself since we're gonna be seated next to each other all year. I'm Isaac."

"I figured." I tried giving him my best smile. The vibe he was giving off seemed like he needed it. "I'm (Y/N)."

"Well, nice to meet you, (Y/N). Now I'll leave you to the class because if I don't I know I'll be failing even more than I am."

"Oh, well, maybe I can tutor you some time. I'm actually really good at science. My mom was a chemist professor once upon a time so I'm bound to understand all this."

"Really?!" His puppy eyes seemed to light up and I nodded. "That would actually be amazing."

"Sure thing. Now let's get back to class."

After Chemistry finished, I put everything in my bag as quickly as possible and sped to my next class, Math. Thankfully, none of Allison's friends shared this class with me but I did share it with Isaac.  I didn't consider him much a friend but more an acquaintance in desperate need of help.

As the day progressed, I noticed the rest of my classes were shared with one or more of Allison's friends. They all tried to strike up a conversation but were quickly discouraged when met with my one-worded or vague answers. Especially, Stiles. He tried especially hard to get answers out of me, only being met with the occasional laugh or stare at his comical occurrences. He seemed like the kind of person you could just open up to. The same could be said about Scott. His shy nature was alluring, and he portrayed himself as a very trustworthy and loyal being.

But I would not allow myself to let them in. My whole being yearned for a real friendship, someone to share nothing and everything; never again.

At lunch, I sat outside and ate my food quietly, a book in front of my face to shield my eyes from the sun the prevalent stares of my peers. After some minutes of appreciated loneliness, the empty table was filled with conversating teenage bodies. I smiled politely but, in my mind, I was cursing them out.

"So, (Y/N), how's your day been?" Allison asked whilst munching on an apple. I swallowed what was left of my bite and answered.

"Fine, thank you." This time no one pressed on after my short answers, finally getting the hint of my disinterest. In the corner of my eye, I saw Isaac sitting under a tree munching on half a sandwich. I excused myself and went to join him, heavily enjoying his tranquil aura.

"Oh, hi, (Y/N)." He smiled sheepishly.

"Hey, Isaac. Is that all you're eating?"

"Yeah. I'm not very hungry." He looked down as if he were ashamed.

"Nonsense! Here," I gave him the other half of my burger and another bag of chips I had in my bag. "You can't tell me you're not hungry. You're a boy in peak development."

"Thanks." He smiled as he continued munching on his food. I put on some music and we continued eating in silence. No conversation required.

The day went on smoother than it started. Classes flew by fairly quickly and the incessant chit-chat seemed to diminish. During last period I was like every other student, anxiously waiting for the bell to signal the end of the school day. When my pleads were answered, I packed the necessary book into my bag and left the rest in my locker, expertly avoiding any more social encounters. Quickly, I made my way to the waiting open car door of my father's car, ignoring Allison's beckoning me t.wards the small group of friends.

"How was your first day, darling?" My father spoke up breaking my attention from the scenery.

"Like any other first day I've had." I smiled. "The towns might change but school is always the same."

Finally at home, we were greeted with the sight of my mother cooking; people were coming over.

"(Y/N), honey, Chris, Victoria, and Allison are coming over tonight. So, go do a quick workout and come back to get ready." I nodded and ran to my room to change into workout clothes.

My routine would normally consist of waking up, working out, go to school for a dreading eight hours, come back home, workout again, do my homework, eat, and go to sleep. I lead a very monotonous life and it had been this way since I could remember. One of my earliest memories was of my father teaching me archery alongside Allison, a great distraction to our always disrupted home life. As I got older, my father started training me in boxing and knife maneuvering. How would these skills help me in life were still a mystery but I felt safe knowing them.

I got changed and decided to take Brody out with me on a quick jog through the woods. "Hey, boy, ready to go?"

He jumped on me which I took as a yes and started for the woods. We ran down the same trail I had been going on for the past three weeks. Mostly, I went down this track in hopes that Derek would make an appearance, and today was not the exception. As the ruins of his house came to view so did his tall figure.

"Trespassing again?"

"It doesn't count if I know the owner." During our greeting, Brody's leash slipped out of my hand and he ran to jump on Derek, leaving slobbering licks on his cheek. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about it." He chuckled and helped me bring him down.

"I guess he likes you, even though he doesn't like anyone but me. Guess you're special."

"Maybe." He grinned.

Out of nowhere, I hit him in the shoulder. "What was that for?!"

"For trying to run me over with your shopping cart two days ago. It was uncalled for."

"No, it was revenge. You hit ME first. In the ankle."

"You're still on with that. Come on, sour wolf. That happened three weeks ago, and it was an accident."

"Whatever. Come on, I'll give you a ride home. It's getting kind of dark." This had also become part of my routine. After "bumping" into Derek he would offer to drop me off at my house, claiming it was for security.

"Okay, we're here. By the way, the offer to show you around town is still up. Just call me whenever." He said as he stopped the car in front of my house.

"Alright, will do, and thanks for the ride, Derek. I'd invite you in, but my family is coming over."

"No worries, maybe another time."

"It's a date. Anyways, thanks again. See you when I see you."

"Okay, goodnight."

"Night." He waited until I entered the house and drove away.

"Munchkin, is that you?" My father screamed from the kitchen.

"Yeah!" I screamed back.

"Okay, well, go take a shower and get ready your uncle will get here soon."

I hurried up the stairs and hopped in the shower letting the hot water stream down my body calming any aching muscle that was palpitating. In my room, I searched through my closet for an acceptable family dinner outfit, deciding a grey sweater and black jeans would be enough. I braided my hair out of my face and went downstairs to help my mother set the table.

After we put the last plate the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it!" I ran to the door and was greeted by my uncle. "Uncle Chris!" I jumped and he hugged me. There was no doubt that he was my favorite family member, his presence was always welcoming. His wife on the other hand was as cold as the winters we spent in New York. She was nice but absolutely scary. "Hi, Aunt Victoria."

"Hello, (Y/N)." I hugged her and said hi to Allison.

"Come in, guys." They walked in and I closed the door behind them.

"So, (Y/N), how have you been?" Uncle Chris asked while stuffing his mouth with mom's famous lasagna.

"I've been good. I mean, moving all the time takes a toll on you at first, but I got used to it. It's easy now to pack it all up once the school year ends."

"Oh, honey, that must be so hard on you," Victoria said. I could not read her tone, her words spoke in sympathetic notes with an underlying melody of sarcasm.  Not knowing what to answer, I bit my lip and nodded.

The whole evening was spent on us catching up and eating, laughing, playing games, but the good times came to an end when the clock hit 9:00 pm. It was stupid to set a curfew, but my mom usually had everyone in bed at this time, 10:30 as of late.

"You better come around the house more often." Uncle Chris demanded and hugged me.

"Yes, sir." I raised my hand to my eyebrow and saluted, as did he.

"Let's go, Chris. And thank you for the lovely dinner, Rebecca," Victoria said linking arms with my uncle and smiling at mom.

"No problem. Come by any time." They talked for a bit more and after they left, I went upstairs to change for bed.

"Momma, I'm gonna go to sleep."

"Okay, honey. Goodnight." I went upstairs, brushed my teeth, and put my hair in a ponytail.

Before bed, I made sure everything I would need for the next day was packed into my bag and made sure my alarm was set. I pulled all the throw pillows from my bed and set them aside, then making my way to the window to draw the curtains. Something caught my attention in the backyard, though. My eyes squinted trying to make out the figure in front of me. Blinking the confusion away, I made a double-take and looked back at an empty yard. I laughed to myself as I crept into bed. Why would Derek be in my backyard?

Next ->

#derek hale #derek hale imagine #stiles stilinski #derek hale x reader #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf smut #derek hale smut #scott mccall imagine #scott mccall #lydia martin #allison argent #chris argent #jackson whittemore #fanfiction #ao3 #wattpad #writing #isaac lahey #isaac lahey x reader #reader insert

[buckysbabygorl]

Writer’s Block

Summary: Friends help each other out, that’s just how it is. Steve doesn’t bat an eye at his and Y/N’s behaviour, but insights from Sharon make Steve rethink things between them.

Word Count: 3k

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: swearing, suggestive themes, dumbasses Bucky and Sam, an extremely chaotic turn of events

“Steve!”

Sharon nearly spilled her beer as she jumped at the voice, surprised to hear it so loudly after Y/N had been holed up in her room for days.

Steve turned nonchalantly at this voice; used to the chaotic out bursts. “Yeah?”

The young woman trotted in, dishevelled and tired but manic looking.

“I need your shirt, I’m on to something here--”

Steve stood without hesitation; as if he’d done this thousands of times before. And he had.

“On it,” he said, pulling the garment off with one hand and tossing it in her direction.

She caught it with ease, not even taking in his shirtless state as if she’d seen it a thousand times before. And she had.

Sharon however had never seen this interaction before, and stared in awe at the two’s casual exchange.

As Y/N rushed out of the lounge and back to her room, Sharon couldn’t help but gawk.

“What the hell was that?” She asked, amused.

“What?” Steve asked, now shirtless on the couch, “Oh--she’s writing.”

He sipped his beer after his statement, and Sharon was surprised at how he expected that to answer her question.

“I’m sorry?” She said confused.

He leaned further back into the couch, getting comfy. “She’s writing--she needs my shirt when she writes.”

Sharon laughed; “Why’s that?”

Finishing off the last of his bottle, he set it down on the floor as he spoke; “She says it helps her write when she gets stuck--it’s a weird process but…” he shrugged as he grabbed a new bottle.

“How romantic.” Sharon teased, sipping her own beer.

He smiled awkwardly; flustered at where the conversation was going, “Come on--” “What? We’re friends, we can talk about this stuff.” She said.

He gave her a look, “Can we?”

She shook her head at his prudence, taking another swig.

“Yes,” she said, “It’s not like we were married. We kissed like--twice, plus you’re not exactly my type anymore…”

Steve chuckled, “Oh right--how is Maria, by the way?”

“Don’t change the subject,” she said, pointing a finger in his direction, “I want to hear more about this process.”

“It’s no big deal, it’s just…” He thought, choosing his words carefully to not give Sharon any more material to tease him with, “Helping out a friend.”

“Bullshit.” She said. He cracked open the bottle with his hand, avoiding response.

It was a touchy subject around the compound; his and Y/N’s very… intimate relationship. They were friends, coworkers they’d say. At least on the surface. But it couldn’t be missed how quickly he fell in line for her; and how her first instinct with anything and everything was to go to Rogers. They refused to go on missions without the other; they were touchy, they were jokey, if you found one the other was always in close proximity. Hell, the team was surprised they weren't sharing a room yet. But apparently, for some unknown reason, they told everyone and themselves they were just friends.

Sharon looked at him, deadpan. “Steve.”

He looked back to her in playful annoyance. “What?”

She slapped her thigh with her free hand, finishing off her drink. “Come on, let’s get into this.”

He sighed, “I don’t know what to tell you--she doesn’t see me that way.”

She jumped on his choice of words immediately, “She doesn’t?”

The implication being, of course, that she didn’t but he did.

Flustered, he waved a hand at her. “No, no, no--that’s not what I meant.”

“It’s not not what you meant.” She countered, “You like her.”

“Shut up,” he said, not knowing what else to say.

“That’s not a no.” She hummed as she thought of another point; “And what’s she need your shirt for anyway? That’s cute as hell.”

He sighed again, “Well--it helps her… get in the mindset.”

“Pardon?” she asked at his cryptic explanation. “‘Mindset’?”

He didn’t want to admit the reason, running a hand over his face, flustered.

He bit his thumb, his voice coming out muffled as he spoke. “Well, she writes about… characters… in romantic settings, so--”

He spoke, drawing out his words, “She needs inspiration, for those kinds of scenes.”

“Dude, EW!” She said, way too much information coming her way for being this sober, “I don’t wanna hear that.”

“NO,” he defended, “Not in a weird way. But like--if the guy gives the girl his shirt, or he picks her up or something, I dunno, but like--she’s very sensory. So the shirt helps with getting into the moment. She can put herself in the character’s shoes, if that makes sense.”

Sharon’s eyes went wide as she cracked open a bottle for herself, “Well I don’t know how you’re not using that to your advantage.”

Steve did a double take, “Elaborate.”

She laughed through her nose, “Well, if I were in your place--”

“--Hey.” He warned.

She raised her hands in defense, “I’m just saying, you could be giving her a hell of a lot more inspiration than your shirt and your cologne.”

“You think she likes my cologne?” He asked.

“Steve, you’re a grown man. In fact you’re an old man, figure it out for yourself.”

They sat in silence as Sharon waited for Steve to ponder this.

He jolted upright as if having an epiphany; “you don’t think--”

“--really? Are you fucking kidding me?”

She laughed at his blushing cheeks, he ran a hand through his hair cursing under his breath.

“So what now?”

“Oh my god--” Sharon said through gritted teeth, “Go give her inspiration. I swear you’d never get laid if I wasn’t around.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Steve joked.

“Hey,” She said, kicking his shin lightly.

He laughed, “Hey, we’re friends, we can talk about this.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Are you gonna go in there or what?”

“Like--now?”

“Yes! You dumbass, go get your girl. I can wait, I can handle myself.” She sipped her beer as if giving an example, and patiently waited for Steve to go.

Hesitantly, Steve rose from his spot, wiping his hands along his jeans nervously. He was stalling, evidently so. Was he really gonna do this? He didn’t know what was lying on the other side of that door, metaphorically speaking. He knew she was likely frantically typing away, thinking out loud, and egging herself on. How could he even begin to approach that? The man didn’t have any moves; hell, the last time he’d kissed a girl was Sharon, and that was ages ago.

He was frozen in place; glancing back and forth between the hallway and the woman in front of him. What the fuck was he gonna do?

“What are you doing? Warming up? Just go.” Sharon complained.

Steve sighed, throwing his head back in annoyance, “Fine,” he exclaimed, “But if this goes south, it’s your fault.”

“Fine, fine, whatever, I take the blame. Just do something already.”

Fed up with her pestering, Steve forced himself to leave the room.

Okay Rogers, you got this.

As he hunkered down the hall, moving quickly before he could change his mind, Rogers continued to silently hype himself up.

You--you’re captain america. You. Are. America’s. Ass. You’re already shirtless, and that’s half the battle won.

But as he found himself in front of Y/N’s door; all his false surety had disappeared.

Steve groaned to himself, “Oh my god, what am I doing?”

“What are you doing?”

The voice of his friend made Steve jump, as he realized he wasn’t alone.

Bucky and Sam approached him from the other end of the hall.

“Steve, where’s your shirt?” Bucky asked, equally as confused as Sam. They then realized who’s door he was in front of, and immediately lit up.

“Whoa, are you coming or going Rogers?” Sam asked, assuming illicit activities were taking place.

Steve pursed his lip, looking back to the door in front of him. “Coming, at least trying to.”

“Seriously? You’re actually making a move? I never thought I’d see the day--” Bucky said.

“--Proud of you buddy, we didn’t think you’d ever go for it.” Sam added.

“Wh--” Steve stuttered, looking between the two, in both shock and embarrassment. “Does everyone know how I feel?”

“About Y/N? Uh--yeah.” Sam said.

“Come on Steve, you’re not exactly the most subtle when it comes to feelings.” Bucky explained, “You’re always together..”

Sam added on, “...whenever you’re not, you’re depressed…”

Bucky nodded, “You remember her birthday, she remembers yours--”

“--Wait, do you guys not know my birthday?” Steve asked.

The two friends shared a look, squinting as they pondered how to break the news that; no, they didn’t.

“July?” Sam asked.

“I know you’re a Leo,” Bucky said, as if that would suffice for an answer.

“Oh my god,” Steve said, “It’s July first.”

“We’re getting off track,” Sam said, “What exactly is your game plan here?”

Steve put his hands on his hips, shifting his weight to face away from her room, “Honestly, I have no idea.”

“Well lucky for you,” Bucky stated, confidence in his tone, “We’re here to help.”

Steve looked at him, disbelieving, but also slightly intrigued. “Oh yeah?” He asked, half jokingly. At this point, he’d take all the help he could get.

“Yeah,” Sam spoke, nearly offended that Rogers could ever doubt the Wilson charm. And whatever the hell Bucky thought he had going for him.

“Just go in there and be cool, flex a little, maybe be a little dismissive.” Sam said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky agreed, eagerly, “And like--act like she wanted you there.”

Sam snapped his fingers, “Exactly, make her come to you.”

Bucky and Sam stood, satisfied with themselves, as Steve stared slack jawed at the men in his presence.

“You guys are idiots, how have you ever gotten laid?” He asked.

Immediately the two jumped to their defense. As the three soldiers’ argument increased in both intensity and volume, they didn’t realize they’d attracted the attention of the woman on the other side of the door.

Y/N huffed as the sound penetrated her walls, snapping her laptop shut as she rose and charged to her door. Whipping it open, she startled the men in front of her.

Bucky screamed and nearly knocked Sam over, while Steve stared at her like a deer in headlights.

“Will you guys shut up, I’m trying to--” Her face lit up with a sudden epiphany, “Steve! Get in here.”

Before any of them could react, or argue, the young woman had grabbed Steve’s arm, and with surprising strength, pulled him into her room. The door slammed shut in Bucky and Sam’s faces, leaving them as dumbfounded as ever. They scrambled to press their ears against the door, not wanting to miss a second of whatever was going to happen next.

~

“Thank god you’re here, I need your help--”

Steve stood panicked in her doorway, unsure of what to do. She started pacing around the room, dramatically gesturing to further elaborate whatever point she was trying to make; which was completely lost on Steve. This was classic Y/N behavior; off on her own tangent and assuming Steve was with her every step of the way. Usually, he was, but this time he was too caught up in the ideas that Sharon, Bucky and Sam had put in his head.

Fuck, what did they say to do? Uh--flex. Damn it, what do I do with my body? What do I do with my hands?

Steve tried to control his expression; aiming for stoicism, cool, as Wilson described it. With his awkward smoulder, Steve moved to lean against the wall in a flattering way. He flexed, or tried to, as he braced himself in the most horrible attempt at casual standing.

He looked around the room; trying to be nonchalant while Y/N continued.

“So,” She said, “What do you think?”

“Uh--yeah, sure. Cool, whatever.” He said.

Dismissive, got it.

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she took in his stance, gesturing a hand to the wall he was placed against.

“Uh… what are you doing?” She asked.

Immediately embarrassed at whatever the hell that was, Steve stood upright.

“Nothing, nevermind,” He said in an attempt to brush off his previous actions, “What were you saying?”

She groaned, “Just get over here.”

She manhandled him, pulling him to the centre of the room, closely in front of her.

“Okay,” she said, “Try it.”

“Try what?” He asked.

“Try to kiss me!” She said.

He pushed her hands off his arms, “What?!”

She laughed stupidly, “You don’t have to actually do it. I just need to get a feel for the motion of it.”

She went to take a step forward, her arms getting ready to wrap around his shoulders. Steve took a step back and raised his hands in fear.

“What motion? What are you talking about?” Steve sputtered.

“Oh my god, were you even listening?” She teased, reaching for his forearms to pull him back. God was she strong. Or was Steve just oddly willing?

“Chris is about to kiss Hailey, or try to anyway. Sebastian and Anthony just talked to him and he’s finally gonna do it. Your shirt was working for awhile but now I’m getting stuck again. So--try to put yourself in that position. You just realized you’re in love with your best friend and you’re really gonna go for it. Act it out if it helps.”

Steve felt like he was going to throw up, lord help me.

“Y/N, I don’t think this is a good idea--”

“Come on,” she ushered, “It’s just me.”

“Exactly.” He said.

She shook her head at his ridiculousness, not aware of the real sentiment behind his words.

“Please? Do it for me.” She begged.

He looked down to the hands wrapped around his forearms; this felt like cheating. It wasn’t supposed to go like this; using the incredibly odd and specific scenario she’d laid out for him. It was hitting too close to home; how could he use this as a scapegoat to get what he wanted? Confessing his feelings and holding her in a way he’d wanted to for so long… the guilt overcame him.

But as he looked back into her eyes, as she was pleading for him to do this for her, he knew he couldn’t say no.

“Alright--can you just, can you close your eyes? It’s freaking me out.” He said.

She nodded eagerly, closing her eyes at his request.

He sighed, I guess it’s now or never.

He slipped his arms from her grip, and gingerly took her hands in his. He ran his thumbs over her knuckles, and resisted the urge to pull her closer. To press a kiss along every delicate finger in his grasp, to take her immediately how he wanted to. He inhaled, he exhaled, he had to pace himself.

“Okay,” He whispered, readying himself for what he was about to do.

“I want you, I’ve wanted you for so long that it’s driving me crazy. I--I don’t how to do this; how to do this right but I have to do this now because I know if I don’t I never will.”

He laughed at himself; the romantic honesty of it all.

“I’m crazy about you; I can’t get enough of you.”

He let his hands glide down to her wrists, bringing her to his chest and placing her hands on his shoulders. His hands fell to wrap around her waist, drifting his fingers along the shirt that he knew was his, revelling in the fact that she was in his clothing, and in some indescribable way, in his possession.

She was lost in the low timbre of his voice, completely consumed by his words. It sounded so real.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He asked, breathlessly in her ear. “I could just…”

He allowed himself to trail off, lips ghosting just over hers, taking in all the beautiful features of her face that he’d admired countless times before.

This was it; this was the moment he’d been praying for.

She broke into a smile, opening her eyes and playfully squealing.

“That was perfect!” She said, not moving from her position. “That was so good, how’d you think--”

He didn’t let her finish.

Words couldn’t describe how good her lips felt on his; how intoxicating the feeling of her bare skin was in the palms of his hands.

He clutched her tightly as he kissed her; gripping the soft flesh of her waist in a desperate hold to keep this moment as long as possible. Indulging himself in her taste, her touch.

His tongue trailed gently along her bottom lip before gently taking it between his teeth.

She gasped softly as he deepened the kiss, her hands instinctively wrapping in his blond locks.

As she tugged at his hair, eliciting a groan from Steve, he shifted his hands down to her hips and pulled her taught against him.

Her hand moved to cup his chin, lightly scraping the stubble with her finger tips. She moaned as the action made Steve’s fingers dig into the skin of her back. She arched her chest at the feeling of the possessive hold.

Why the hell hadn’t they been doing this the whole time?

She pulled back from his kiss, trying to catch her breath. Steve couldn’t read the look in her eyes; a mix of shock and confusion, and another emotion he wasn’t sure he’d seen before.

She tried to clear her mind as her hands shifted to rest on his chest; she felt his heartbeat pounding with the rise and fall of his own breath.

“Get on the bed.” She demanded.

Steve’s eyes widened at the command, stupidly ogling her as her hands moved to remove her--his shirt.

“What about your story?” He asked her.

She chuckled lightly at his naivety, reaching out to grip his biceps and pull him towards her.

In one quick motion, she pulled them on to her mattress. Steve reached out his hands to brace his fall, hovering above her.

With a lustful glint in her eye, she smiled.

“Fuck the story. We’ve got better things to do.”

~

“Sam we have to go,” Bucky said, “They’re gonna start fucking and I don’t wanna be around for that.”

~

Tags: @babyblue-07 @fandomsfallnomore @elliee1497 @lonewolf471 @babybluereads @marianas-studyblr @godspeedlover @sexwithhiddlesbatch @annestine @shower-me-with-roses @yougottalovefandoms

#marvel #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers au #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x reader

[ijustwant2write]

Bad Boy-John Shelby x Reader

(GIF credit to @markshade​)

Requested by anonymous: ‘Hi do you think u can do a John Shelby imagine where they are dating and y/n is a good innocent girl but freaky with John and her parents want to Him over for dinner John wants to piss off her dad cause he’s not a fan of the blinders and does subtle things to annoy him like touching y/n at the end of the night when they are saying goodbye at his car they have a heated make out sesh and John knows her dad is looking through the window so spices it up a bit . ❤️’

Characters: John Shelby x Reader

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

(Y/L/N)=Your last name

Warnings: Smut from the start (unsafe sex!), dirty talk, swearing, arguing, mentions of violence and death, fluff

(A/N: Amelia and Henry are made up characters)

                                        *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I clamped my hand over my mouth tightly, struggling to keep in the whimpers and moans as John continuously thrusted into me. However, the boxes I was perched on were full of bottles of beer, causing them to clang against each other.We were in the stock room of the Garrison, luckily having the music, singing and loud chatter drowning out the noise we were creating. John’s hands gripped at the skin around my hips, that cocky smirk on his face that I loved so much. For some reason, an idea popped into my head, and in the state of euphoria I was in just made me say it out loud.

“John...” was all I managed to breath out at first.

“Fuck, I love it when you say my name. Say it again.” he instructed.

“I want you to meet my parents.”

He suddenly stopped, making me realise it wasn’t the best time to bring that up.“You what?”

We were both heavily breathing.“Sorry, I don’t know why I said that just then.”

He scoffed, sighing as he slid out of me.“Well, that’s finished with.”

“I’m sorry! They want to meet you. They know who you are, but they want to try and treat this like they did with my sister.”

“You sure you want that? Remember what you told me when they first found out about us?”

I rolled my eyes, hitching up my stocking as he did up his trousers.“It was their idea, not mine.”

“You don’t want me meeting them?”

“Of course I do, I just-” I caught him trying to hide a laugh, he was winding me up.“You’re such a little shit.”

He stood in between my legs again, hands on my thighs before I could push my skirt down.“Well, if I have been summoned by the Lord (Y/L/N)-”

“Oh my god,” I threw my head back as I laughed in frustration,“would you stop calling him that! I’m the same class as you.”

“What have I always said?”

I shrugged my shoulders, but knew what he was referring to.

“You were always meant to be a fucking princess, Princess (Y/N) of Birmingham.”

I laughed at him.“Oh shut up! Are you coming to dinner or not?”

“If you ask me nicely.”

“And how do I do that?”

“By finishing what we started.”

John and I had been together for a few months now, much to my parents dismay. It had started as a drunk one night stand; we were both at the Garrison, and seemingly chose each other for the night. However, when you’re young, poor and living in Small Heath, there aren’t a lot of places to go out, so me and my friends went to the Garrison all the time. This meant I also saw John again....and again....and again, and again. We slept we each other maybe three more times before wondering if this could become a thing; from there onwards, we found out more about each other, and he brought out a side of me I had been hiding, also wanting to release.

On the day of the dinner, I wanted to see John before he arrived. I lied to my mum, saying we had no bread (which I had hidden away), and practically running out of the house to ‘buy’ some. I told John what time to be at mine, also lying to make him leave earlier so I could meet him halfway. In the bakery, I threw the money onto the counter after picking up a loaf of bread, speedily walking away as I prayed I would run into John. Luck was on my side as I spotted him, already heading in the direction of my home.

“John!” I shouted, the whole street now looking at me as I sprinted past them. 

He whipped around at the noise, hand hovering over where his gun would be. When he saw me, he didn’t relax, wondering why I was yelling his name and running like a mad man.

“I’m so glad I caught you.” I struggled to say, out of breath.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” he panicked.

“No, no I’m fine. I’m a terrible runner though.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Bread.” I said, holding up the loaf as evidence.“And also, to see you.”

“I was just leaving.”

“Yes, I can see that. I just wanted to go over some rules.”

“Rules? Oh come on (Y/N)-”

“No, listen to me.” I held up the bread instead of pointing my finger at him.“I love you. I always take your side for everything. We both know my parents don’t like this, but seeing as I am a grown woman, they don’t do anything to stop me. So just for today, we’re going to abide to their rules.”

He rolled his eyes.“Right, so I’ve got to be the uptight prat that your parents want you to be with?”

“They know what you’re like already, and even if they didn’t, they would be able to see through that act. Just let my dad be my dad.”

“If he says something fucking offensive, I’m not going to stay quiet!”

“Fine, then be political about it. Don’t shout at each other, try to make small talk, but no talking about guns, violence, killing-”

“Alright, are you going to go?”

“Sorry. I just want this to be easy. I hate seeing you stressed. I love you.”

He held my hand, starting to walk.“Yeah, yeah. Come on, I’ve got the car parked up in the garage.”

I hated that he hadn’t sent it back, but I understood why he was being like this. I was making him be someone he wasn’t. I loved John as a person, however, I couldn’t be dealing with a screaming match between him and my family.

“John, I do love you.” I said after a few minutes of walking.

“I know. I love you too.” he eventually smiled.“Just want you all to myself now, you know? We wouldn’t have to be dealing with this.”

“Soon darling. We’ll get that house soon enough. Oh, I’ve just remembered something else!”

“Rule number...I’ve lost count, maybe one hundred?”

“No inappropriate stuff. No touching, kissing, being sneaky, nothing!”

“That’s going to be incredibly hard. Especially with that dress.” 

Once we made it to my house, I gave him a quick kiss on the lips before getting out of the car. Opening the front door. I called out to my parents, hearing them reply from the front room. I told John to remove his coat whilst I rushed into the kitchen with the bread, carelessly chucking it on the side before getting back to him. I saw a hint of nerves in his eyes, though his pride covered it. Taking his hand in mine, I guided us to my family, surprised to see who was sitting with them.

“Amelia? What are you doing here? And with Henry?” I asked.

“Well, Henry would happen to be here with me because he’s my husband. I’m sure you remember being at the wedding.” she quipped.

“I don’t remember the boring days of my life. Not worth it.”

“(Y/N).” mum warned.

“Anyway,” I looked up at John,“I would like you to all meet John Shelby. We’ve been seeing each other for quite some time and-”

“We know who he is.” dad sighed, not even bothering to stand from his seat. 

“You’re the ones who invited him over. It would be nice of you to greet him properly.”

Dad stood slowly, making his way towards us, making me think he was getting up to shake John’s hand. Instead he just stopped, not looking either of us in the eye.

“I need a drink.”

He broke us apart by walking through us, mum timidly following. I felt like swearing and screaming. It was their idea. They wanted to meet him but then they were being like this. I sent an apologetic smile to John as we sat down.

“So,” I thought I would try and make conversation,“John, this is my sister Amelia and her husband Henry. She used to live here but she moved away a few years ago.”

“Had to find a better area, you know? Safer for the children we were planning for.” Amelia smugly smiled.

“Such a saint is my sister.”

“It’s like Mary and Joseph.” John chuckled, causing me to laugh.

“Well that would make you Judas and...and whoever he was with then, wouldn’t it?” Amelia desperately tried.

“Nice one Amelia. Don’t think too hard next time, yeah?”

Before she could snap back, mum called us to the dinner table. I realised we would all be squashed around it, seeing as only four people could usually fit there. I made sure John was sat beside me, Amelia and Henry opposite us and my parents at either head of the table. Our knees were almost touching we were that close. Dinner started silent, everyone tucking into the small meal. We were poor, we never had a lot to eat; which was why I was surprised that Amelia was here, there were now three more mouths to feed, not just John. But I knew why she was really here. Amelia had done what our parents wanted, found a good man who could provide her with the bare necessities and keep her out of trouble. They wanted me to reflect on who I was in love with, try to change my mind. Wasn’t going to happen.

“So what is it you actually do?” Henry asked. I was unsure if it was supposed to be malicious or whether he was actually curious.

“Work in the betting shop.” John answered.

“Yeah, but, you know, on the side.”

“Henry, we don’t want to get involved.” Amelia scolded him.

“Just because you’ve graced me with your presence, that doesn’t mean you’re on some sort of hit list.”

“No, but my sister is.”

“Amelia, shut up.” I snapped.

“No, she’s right.” John said, causing me to whip my head round to him. He went against my instructions, placing his hand on my thigh.“But I wouldn’t let anyone hurt my girl. They would be dead before they even thought about it.”

Although I had told him to not talk of such things or stoop to my families level, my heart melted at the (somewhat morbid) statement.

“Am I hearing this right?” mum laughed, but their was no humour behind it.

“Mum, try to not get upset.” Amelia held her hand.

Now it was my turn to laugh.“Oh my god.” Everyone looked at me, John was smirking whilst the others were frowning.“You’re such a hypocrite.”

“What?”

“You were sneaking out all the time, seeing different boys every weekend. What makes you so much better than me?”

“I’m not with a criminal.”

“All of you stop it!” dad exclaimed, slamming his fist down on the table.“And get your fucking hand off my daughter.”

Amelia tutted.“Henry would never-”

“You and Henry were fucking upstairs before dinner when he came round the first time!” I butted in.

“Sounds like a good time to me.” John mumbled under his breath.

“How dare you?!” mum was shocked.

“I knew this was a stupid idea. Get out, now!”

“With pleasure.” John stood, grabbing my hand.

I quickly left with him, grabbing the key off the counter and locking the door behind me. It made me laugh hearing their shouts of protest and banging on the door. We rushed to the car, scared that they would somehow break down the door. John leaned me back against it, hands sliding down the side of my body and gripping my arse. He knew what he was doing, especially since my family now had their faces pressed against the window.

“Well, that was...quick.” I giggled.

“Yeah, you’re not used to that.” John joked.

“You have to make it all about sex, don’t you?”

“(Y/N), I don’t give a fuck about what they think, and neither do you. As soon as I get this bit of business sorted with Tom and Arthur, I’m buying that house and you are moving in with me. Then we’ll get married straight away-”

“I hope this isn’t your proposal.”

“Don’t you worry, I’ve got something big planned for that.”

He leaned down to kiss me, gripping onto my arse firmly. As he deepened the kiss, adding tongues, he forced his knee between my legs, and I subconsciously started rubbing against it, only subtly. I made sure he stayed close by pulling him in by his coat. The neighbours would surely be watching, it was a small street, which would drive my parents insane. This only fuelled something in me, and I wanted to keep going. 

“I suggest we take this somewhere more private. Like, right now.” John breathlessly said.

I frantically nodded, and we both headed for opposite sides of the car, until I saw I still had the key in my hand. Hurriedly making my way back to the door, I ignored my family who had now managed to open the windows, screaming at me as I posted the key through the letter box. Running as fast as I could back to the car, I felt the adrenaline rush through me, giggling like a maniac at the thought of my parents catching me. Slamming the door shut as I jumped in the car, John floored it, and we looked like we escaped from an insane asylum as we laughed.

I stuck my head out of the car and screamed,“I fucking love you John Shelby!”

He pulled me back in by my dress, squeezing my thigh once I sat down.“I love you too, you fucking maniac.”

“I don’t think I’ll be allowed back there, you know.”

“Good thing you’re staying with me then.”

“You sure you’re ready for all of this?”

“I’ve been ready since I laid eyes on your face...and those tits, and that arse-”

“You make it seem like you’re only in it for my body.”

“Nah, that’s the ultimate bonus though. I already said it, but once you’re with me, I protect you and love you. You’re mine.”

“And you’re mine. Make sure to do your coat up before you get out the car, it’s a bit obvious down there.”

#john shelby #john shelby imagine #john shelby imagines #john shelby x reader #john shelby one shot #john shelby fanfiction #john shelby fan fiction #john shelby fanfic #john shelby fan fic #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fan fiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fan fic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders x reader

[mersuperwholocked-lowlife]

Too Late For An Apology

Word Count: 1,823

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Reader

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader; John Winchester x Daughter!Reader

Warnings: angst, slight torture, slight TW: abuse, but doesn’t go too in depth

A/N: i’m sorry my posting schedule sucks now oof

A/N 2: Thanks to my fav bitch @tragedy-of-sorts​ for reading and also for being my fav 

A/N 3: The reader’s like six years younger than Dean, two younger than Sam

Masterlist

You heard your doorbell ringing in the middle of the night, while you shot your head up, looking at the clock next to you. It was 3 in the morning. You frowned slightly, reaching for your gun before slipping out of bed, looking through the eyehole.

“Dad?” you opened the door, revealing your father showing up in front of you.

“Hey, (Y/N),” you wrapped your arms around John, still in shock.

“Dad, what are you doing here? And at this time?” he walked into your apartment before you closed the door, turning on the lights.

“I have a lead. Hunting the demon that killed your mother. I’ll need your help,” he started.

You felt chills going down your spine.

“Where are Sam and Dean?” you asked.

“Sam went away to college, and Dean’s off somewhere, on a hunt probably,” he replied.

“Wouldn't either of them be able to help you better? I haven't hunted in two years, Dad,” you kept your voice low.

“They can’t know. They’ll mess everything up, you know how your brothers are. We leave tomorrow, okay?” you nodded your head softly, before going to pack your bag, getting ready for the big hunt.

---

“That’s totally unfair! (Y/N) doesn't have to train! (Y/N) doesn’t have to do anything!” you could hear Dean yelling at John, while you hid behind the door of Bobby’s house. You held a drawing in your hands, one that you made of yourself with your siblings and father.

“She is a child!” John yelled back.

“She’s twelve! When me and Sam were twelve you would force us to hunt! You never let us rest? I hate (Y/N) and I hate how you give her special treatment all the damn time!” tears welled up in your eyes as you crumpled the paper, stuffing it into your bag before sneaking back upstairs.

---

“Do you know how long we’ve been looking for you and Dad for?” you kept your gaze on your bed sheets in your hospital room, hearing Dean yell at you.

“I tried to-”

“Not only do you abandon us, now you’re back, and with Dad, and never thought it was important to tell us?” he yelled.

You frowned slightly before realization hit you. They never knew why you left.

“I’m sorry,” you clenched your jaw.

He groaned, frustrated.

“Get ready, we’re leaving,” he slammed the door shut as he walked out of your hospital room.

---

“I saw your journal in the trash can, (Y/N),” John sat down next to you in your bed.

“I’m kind of over the whole drawing thing,” you lied, shaking your head.

“What happened?” John asked.

“Nothing happened, I just don't like it anymore,” you shrugged, turning back to your schoolwork.

“Just like that?” he questioned.

“I want to go on a hunt,” you said.

“What? (Y/N)...”

“I’m sure, Dad,” you interrupted him.

“Fine. We’ll start your training tomorrow,” he agreed.

He kissed your forehead and left, before you laid on your bed, digging your face in your pillow.

---

You held back a sob, watching John’s body burst into flames. There was silence between the three of you, while you stood a distance away from them.

“Sam,” your voice was barely above a whisper.

“Let’s go,” he walked away from you, while he and Dean headed back to the car.

Your tears fell down your face, as you let out a shaky breath.

“(Y/N)!” Sam yelled.

“I-I’m coming,” you followed them back to the car, keeping your head low.

---

Your vision was blurry as you sat in the chair, a rope tied to your hands painfully. There was blood dripping from your wounds as you cried out in pain.

“Just tell us where he is,” the vampire grabbed your hair, pulling your head up.

“No!” you screamed.

Your face was covered with dried tears, new ones forming. Your eye was bruised. 

“You’re gonna talk, kid. Sooner or later,” you felt his fangs enter the skin on your neck as you whimpered. Your body was too weak to move.

“Just let me go, please,” you begged.

You could barely keep your eyes open, crying softly.

---

“What happened to your eye?” Dean walked past you, noticing the darkened skin around your left eye.

“Don't worry about it,” you shook your head, avoiding eye contact with him.

You knew he didn't remember what he did to you last night.

“Me and Sam are going on a hunt,” he said.

“Just you and Sam?” you asked.

“(Y/N), you know you’ll just end up slowing us down. If we need you, we’ll call you,” he replied.

“Right,” you nodded your head softly.

After the two of them left, you ran to your room, stuffing all your belongings into a duffel bag.

Now was finally your chance to leave them. They always hated you, it didn't matter that you were their sister. Your black eye is the least they've done to you while drunk, and you knew you had to leave.

You stood at the door, looking down at the bunker before shaking your head. It was time to go.

---

“Dad?” you opened your eyes, scrunching them as the fluorescent hospital light blinded you.

“(Y/N),” he let out a breath of relief, wrapping his arms around you as you winced.

“You’re not hunting ever again,” your eyes watered slightly as you nodded your head.

“I’m going to set you up with an apartment. You’re leaving this life,” you frowned.

“Dad, no-”

“Yes, (Y/N). You were tortured for information. I am trying to keep you safe, do not argue with me,” he raised his voice slightly.

“How come you never treat Sam and Dean like this?” you scoffed.

“They’re not my daughter. You are,” he said.

“That’s not an excuse. They’re still my brothers. They are still your sons,” you crossed your arms together.

“Enough, (Y/N). I’ll be back in the morning to get you,” he said.

“Dad,” he closed the door, leaving your room while you sighed, slumping in your bed.

---

“Babe? Are you home? I’ve been stuck at work all day, and I know we’re late to pick up…” you dropped your bag on the floor, Sam and Dean standing in front of you while you entered your house.

“Your husband and kid are out,” Dean spoke.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you were sure to take a step back.

“We could ask you the same thing, you know,” Sam scoffed.

“You left us again. You abandoned us again,” Dean clenched his fist in anger as you tensed, feeling fear run throughout your veins.

“I don't… why are you guys here?” your voice was softer as you scratched the back of your neck.

“You can't be here, you’re a danger to my family,” you could feel the nervousness in your veins as you stood firmly. You’ve spent too long afraid of them.

“You son of a bitch. What the hell are we then?!” Dean yelled.

You flinched slightly.

“Why did you leave, (Y/N)? Why did you run away?” Sam’s voice was slightly calmer, anger still evident.

“I couldn't take both of your crap anymore,” you shook your head.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dean scoffed.

“The day I left, you asked me how I got that black eye. Because you didn't remember giving it to me that previous night,” you dug your nails into your palm, trying to hold back your tears. Dean immediately scoffed, shaking his head.

“You’re lying,” he said.

“All my life, the two of you have despised everything about me,” you started.

“(Y/N),” Sam opened his mouth.

“Shut up!” you yelled.

You saw a surprised look on both of their faces.

“I never noticed it until I was twelve. I drew a picture for you, Dean. It was a picture of all of us, Mom included. I wanted to give it to you until I overheard you talking with Dad. Y-You told him how much you hated… how much you hated me,” you let a tear fall down your face, as Dean’s softened.

“I always tried to do whatever I could to get you two to like me, or at least to not hate me. But nothing I ever did was good enough,” you sniffled.

“That doesn't change the fact that you abandoned us,” Dean tried to defend himself.

“The first time I left was because a vampire was trying to use me to get to Dad. He didn't want that for me, and so he took me out of the life, at least until he got a lead on Azazel,” you clenched your jaw, letting out a shaky breath.

“T-The… you and Sam used to get really, really drunk. You’d never remember it in the morning. You would h-hurt me. I covered up so many bruises because I didn't want to upset you two,” your voice broke slightly as you looked at Dean.

There were visible tears in his and Sam’s eyes.

“I never knew why you hated me so much. W-Was it because Dad treated me differently? Was it because I’m the youngest? Was it because I reminded you of Mom? Was it because… was it jealousy?” Dean took a step forward, while you quickly took a step back.

“(Y/N), we never meant… We never meant to hurt you,” Sam’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“That’s all you have? Really?” you scoffed.

“Sam, just… (Y/N). Listen to me,” Dean started.

“I was jealous of you. Dad always treated you differently, always treated you specially. I was stupid, and wrong. Every time I did anything for Dad, I would only get into more trouble. Whenever you disobeyed him, he would ignore it. I’ve been jealous of you my whole life. Even now. Y-You have a kid, you have a family. You got out. I’m sorry, kid. I’m so sorry for everything,” you wiped away your tears as you kept a strong face on.

“I need you both to leave,” you said.

“I’m sorry-” Dean said.

“The door. I need you both to leave. Now,” you shook your head.

“(Y/N)...”

“You’re about 34 years too late for an apology. I want you to leave. Don't come back here, stay away from me and my family,” the two of them looked at you in shock, before walking to your front door, while you held it open to them.

Dean gave you a small hug, while you remained stiff.

“Take care of yourself, kiddo,” he gave you a small smile, before walking out of your house.

You closed the door behind the two of them, immediately falling to the ground as you let out a loud sob, feeling your heart racing as you wrapped your arms around yourself. Your sobs died down as you leaned against the door, wrapping your arms around yourself. You needed to stay strong, and they needed to stay away.

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic #supernatural angst #supernatural family #supernatural imagine #SPN #spn fic #spn fanfiction #spn angst #spn fandom #john #john winchester #john winchester imagine #john winchester x daughter!reader #dean #dean winchester #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester angst #dean winchester x sister #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x sister!reader #dean winchester x sister reader #dean winchester x platonic!reader #sam #sam winchester #sam winchester angst #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester x sister reader

[theweasleysredhair]

Ask Her [G.W.]

Character: George Weasley

Word Count: 5000

Requested?: Yes/No

Summary: George gets jealous when Cedric takes an interest in Y/n.

Disclaimer: Gif isn't mine, credit to whoever made it

A/n: requested by nonnie, hope you enjoy my love! (also my first full george fic, feedback is appreciated!)

~*~

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK! REBLOGS ARE ABSOLUTELY FINE! <3

+ + + + +

“Y/n, wake up!”

“Hmm?” You mumbled as your eyes slowly opened, adjusting to the view in front of you, “What’s going on?”

“You need to get up, it’s nearly time to go!” Hermione announced loudly, before rushing up the stairs - most likely to wake everyone else up. You sat up on the couch you had fallen asleep on, stretching as much as you could before your hand hit someone.

You turned to see a familiar mop of ginger hair belonging to the younger twin and smiled. Your movement caused him to wake up, yawning as he sat up himself, in a half delirious sleepy state and looking more adorable than you’d ever seen him.

“Morning Georgie,” you grinned as you pushed the thin blanket off your legs. “Morning love,” George replied, his voice rough from sleeping.

You heard the sound of pans clanging together and stood up, heading towards the kitchen to help Molly with making breakfast.

“Good morning my darling!” Molly greeted as you entered the kitchen. “Good morning Molly, in need of any assistance?” You asked politely. “Don’t you worry, I’ve got it all under control. You couldn’t do me a favour and make sure Ron is up could you? I sent Hermione but I’m afraid it may not be enough.”

“Of course Molly!”

You made your way upstairs, finding Ron’s room and poking your head inside. Seeing that Harry and Ron were at least awake - although not yet out of bed - you headed over to Ginny’s room instead.

Finding Ginny packing and Hermione sat on her bed, holding a backpack on her knee, you smiled at them from the doorway.

Ginny looked up at you and smirked, “Any particular reason why I had the room to myself last night?”

“I found her curled up with George on the couch,” Hermione teased, grinning over at you as you sat down on what would have been your makeshift bed, rummaging through your belongings to find a brush for your hair.

You looked over at them as Ginny giggled, “We literally just fell asleep there last night. It could just as easily have been anyone else.”

“And he could’ve easily woken you up and got you in here but he chose not to, what does that say?” Ginny countered.

“Plus you woke up with a blanket around you both, who do you think did that?” Hermione added.

“Might’ve been Molly,” you mumbled, turning back to your bag and letting your hair fall into your face, hoping it was hiding the redness of your cheeks.

“It was George, don’t kid yourself!” Ginny shook her head as she went back to packing.

“Are you sure nothing happened hmm? Your cheeks are awfully red.”

“Nothing happened, nothing ever happens, you know that,” you sighed.

“But you want something to happen!” Ginny exclaimed, “You know you do!”

“I... I might,” you said lightly, pulling out your change of clothes and rolling your eyes as you heard the girls squealing and yelling, “I knew it!”

Once you’d all got changed, you headed downstairs for breakfast, shooting glares at them both to make sure they didn’t say anything, however you couldn’t stop them from wiggling their eyebrows when the twins entered the room, George taking a seat beside you.

You’d all left soon after, following Arthur who was leading the group into a field.

“Ron, where are we actually going?” Harry asked from beside you. “Don’t know,” Ron shrugged before yelling out, “Hey dad, where are we going?”

“Haven’t the foggiest, keep up!” was his reply, making you laugh.

The sun was just starting to rise, the crisp early morning air making you shiver a little as you followed Arthur’s lead across the large field, then through a group of trees. As you emerged into a clearing, you noticed a shorter man seemingly waiting under a tree for you.

“Arthur! It’s about time son!” the man called out as he walked over to meet you all.

“Sorry Amos, some of us had a sleepy start,” Arthur replied, shooting a pointed look over at Harry and Ron, making you giggle.

“This is Amos Diggory everyone! Works with me, at the ministry!” Arthur introduced you all. Suddenly, someone jumped down from the trees above you, making you jump and almost stumble back into George’s chest, who evidently was stood just behind you.

His hands automatically rested on your hips to steady you, “You alright there, love?” You turned to face him, wearing a sheepish smile, “Yep, sorry I nearly stood on you.” “If it means you’re this close to me, feel free to nearly step on me more often,” George said with a grin.

“‘Step on me more often’?” Fred laughed from beside him, “Bloody hell Georgie is that the best you could come up with?” George nudged Fred in annoyance and shot him a glare as he nodded to you. However, you were no longer paying attention as your focus laid on the extremely good looking boy who had just jumped down from the trees.

“And this strapping young lad must be Cedric, am I right?” Arthur asked the brunette boy.

“Yes sir.”

You shared a look between yourself, Hermione and Ginny, all of you thinking the same thing as you glanced between them and the good looking lad stood in front of you.

George narrowed his eyes as the group began moving on.

“Pretty boy Diggory trying to steal my girl,” he grumbled to Fred, who nudged him with a mocking laugh. “You do realise she’s not your girl because you won’t tell her how you feel, right?” Fred grinned.

“She knows how I feel,” George insisted, staring over at where you were laughing with Cedric, who had fallen in line with you whilst walking.

“You sure about that?”

As you arrived at the top of a hill, the group began to circle around an old boot, sitting in the middle of the grass.

“Why are they standing around that manky old boot?” Harry asked in confusion.

“That isn’t just any manky old boot mate!” Fred replied. “It’s a portkey,” George added.

“What’s a portkey?”

But Harry’s question went unanswered as Amos began counting down, everyone grabbing hold of the shoe. You were overly aware of the feel of George’s hand half covering your own and as you glanced up at him, he gave the back of your hand a squeeze and shot you a lazy smile, just as you started whizzing through the air.

“Let go, kids!” Arthur yelled out. “What??!” You heard Hermione screech out. “Let! Go!”

At his command, you let go of the boot, and found yourself toppling down onto the ground with a thud. You groaned in pain as you rolled onto your back, just in time to see Arthur, Amos and Cedric land gracefully on their feet.

Arthur chuckled at you all laying on the floor before joking, “I bet that cleared your sinuses, eh?”

You were about to try and stand up before a hand was offered out in front of you. You took it gratefully as Cedric easily pulled you to your feet. “Th-Thanks,” you stuttered out, his hand still in yours. He gave you a small smile and a nod, before running to catch up with his father who had already began walking off into the distance.

Unbeknownst to you, George had stopped in place as he watched Cedric help you up, glaring at the brunette boy as he ran a hand through his ginger hair, earning an amused head shake from Fred who patted his twin on the shoulder as he passed him.

You made eye contact with Hermione who grinned at you and nodded in Cedric’s direction. Shrugging, you pulled your backpack further onto your shoulders and began following after the group.

You felt an arm wrapping around your waist and you looked up in shock, before relaxing as you realised it was George pulling you towards him. His mouth was set in a straight line as he stared intensely ahead at Cedric’s back.

A few minutes later you had arrived at a busy campsite, crowds of people laughing and cheering, waving flags and sporting face paint and accessories relating to the Irish Quidditch team, due to play later on in the day.

“Well kids, welcome to the Quidditch World Cup!” Arthur announced, much to the excitement of everyone around you. You began weaving through the crowd, listening to the music playing and watching people fly on broomsticks above you.

“Parting of the waves I think old chap, see you at the match!” Amos bid his goodbyes as you arrived at a small, worn tent. “See ya later, Cedric!” Harry yelled as Cedric and his father left.

You all entered the tent, finding many rooms inside, decorated and made homely. Looking around in disbelief, you marvelled at how big the interior appeared compared to when you were stood outside.

“Girls, choose a bunk and unpack. Ron, get out of the kitchen, we're all hungry,” Arthur called out as he made his way through the tent.

“Yeah, get out of the kitchen, Ron!” The twins mocked in unison as they sat down at the wooden table at the back of the tent, making you laugh. They put their feet onto the table just as Arthur turned to them, “Feet off the table.”

“Feet off the table,” the twins repeated.

They took their feet off the table but put them back on as soon as Arthur had walked past.

***

The match was due to start any moment and you’d all taken your seats high up in the stadium. You looked around in awe at the sheer amount of people who had come out to watch Ireland vs Bulgaria.

“Come on!” Fred yelled out as the Irish team flew out into the stadium, the crowd cheering and screaming. A big, glittering leprechaun appeared in the sky and started dancing, and you cheered loudly, waving the Irish flag you had purchased previously in the day.

“Here come the Bulgarians!” George yelled from beside you. The Bulgarian team began flying around the stadium in much the same fashion as the Irish had, and the crowds started chanting the seeker’s name.

“Krum!!” The twins yelled out. George leant down to whisper in your ear, “He’s going to catch the snitch, you just watch.”

“I thought you wanted Ireland to win,” you raised an eyebrow as you looked up at him.

“Oh they will, but he’s going to catch the snitch. Me and Freddie would bet on it,” he shared a knowing look with his twin as you rolled your eyes with a smile.

***

“I can’t believe you were right!” You laughed as you all were celebrating Ireland’s win of the match.

“You should know by now that I’m always right, love,” George replied with a smug grin, “Ireland is the better team, but Krum is the best seeker in the world. We knew he’d catch the snitch.”

“There's no one like Krum. He's like a bird the way he rides the wind. He's more than an athlete, he's an artist,” Ron announced dramatically to the tent.

“Think you're in love, Ron,” Ginny joked, grinning as the twins started singing.

“Sounds like the Irish have got their pride on,” Fred laughed as the loud sounds from outside entered the tent, getting louder when suddenly Arthur rushed towards them, “It's not the Irish. We've got to get out of here. Now.”

You grabbed your bag from the floor beside you and followed the group out quickly, clutching Hermione’s arm as you stood watching the chaos unfold.

Crowds of people were rushing to get away from something, screaming and trampling tents, belongings and even others in their attempt to escape.

“Get back to the portkey everybody, and stick together. Fred, George... Ginny is your responsibility,” Arthur announced.

Fred grabbed Ginny’s arm and pulled her with him, as you and George followed. George grabbed your hand ensuring you wouldn’t be carried off with the stampede of witches and wizards, all trying to get away from the fire and danger. You fought your way through the crowds, finally finding a safe clearly to catch your breath.

“Are we all okay?” Fred asked, peering around at you. “‘Course we are Freddie. Right, Y/n?” George looked to you to make sure you weren’t hurt. “Yeah, yes, of course,” You swallowed, staring around at the burnt tents as screams filled your ears. George sensed your apprehension and reached out to take your hand in his again, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Ginny was chewing on her lip. “We need to find everyone else. C’mon,” she said as she began running off.

The twins looked at each other before beginning to run after her, “Wait up!”

***

The aftermath of what happened at the World Cup was worrying and you’d had a weird feeling about what it all meant. The school year had just started however, and Hogwarts had a great way of feeling like home, comforting your worries, at least for now.

You decided to sit with your friends at the Gryffindor table, laughing with them as Dumbledore walked up to take his place at the stand at the front of the hall.

“Now we're all settled in and sorted, I'd like to make an announcement,” he called out, “This castle will not only be your home this year but home to some very special guests as well. You see Hogwarts has been choosen to host a legendary event - the Triwizard tournament!”

There was a surge of hushed but excited whispers throughout the hall, smiles arriving on students’ faced at what this news may mean.

“Now for those of you who do not know, the triwizard tournament brings together three schools for a series of magical contests. From each school a single contestant is selected to compete. Now let me be clear, if choosen you stand alone. And trust me when I say these contests are not for the faint hearted, but more of that later. For now please join me in welcoming the lovely ladies of the Beauxbatons Academy of magic and their headmistress Madam Maxime!”

The large wooden doors at the back of the hall swung open and a group of pretty girls dressed in blue uniform danced up the aisle. As they ran between the tables, male students couldn’t help but stare - particularly, you noticed in amusement, Ron Weasley.

“And now our friends from the north, please greet the proud sons of Durmstrang and their headmaster, Igor Karkaroff.”

A group of older boys walked down the aisle, stabbing bo staffs into the ground to create spark effects.

“Blimey it's him, Viktor Krum!” You heard Ron yell out as the seeker from the World Cup followed his headmaster to the front of the hall.

You could hear the excited chatter of everyone talking about the triwizard tournament as the students from the other schools sat down and you wondered who would enter. Your eyes caught George’s and he gave you a grin, which you returned.

The twins would definitely be entering.

“Your attention please! I would like to say a few words,” Dumbledore continued, “Eternal glory, that is what awaits the student who wins the triwizard tournament. But to do this, that student must survive three tasks. Three extremely dangerous tasks.”

“Wicked,” you heard Fred and George say.

“For this reason, the ministry has seen fit to impose a new rule. To explain all this we have the head of the department of international magic cooperation - Mister Bartimus Crouch.”

The man in question - Bartimus Crouch - stood beside Dumbledore and began to speak, “After due consideration, the ministry has concluded that for their own safety, no student under the age of seventeen shall be allowed to put forth their name for the triwizard tournament. This decision is final.”

The hall erupted in yells and students began booing. “That's rubbish!” George yelled. “Come on!” Fred added, “You don't know what you're doing!”

“Silence!” Dumbledore yelled out, “Anyone wishing to submit themselves for the tournament merely write their name upon a piece of parchment and throw it in the flame of the goblet of fire before this hour on Thursday night. Do not do so lightly, if choosen there's no turning back. As from this moment the triwizard tournament has begun!”

***

You were sat with Hermione watching as students placed their names into the goblet, other students applauding as they did so.

“Go on Cedric, put it in!” You heard a student yell. Looking up, you watched as Cedric laughed, before looking over to you and smiling as he dropped his parchment into the goblet.

Hermione nudged you with a grin, “He definitely fancies you.” “I doubt that,” you blushed, “Besides... you know I like someone else.”

“Speaking of...” Hermione muttered as the room suddenly filled with cheering as the twins ran into the room.

“Thank you, thank you! Well lads we've done it!” George announced. “Cooked it up just this morning!” Fred continued.

“It's not going to work,” Hermione said in a sing-song voice, causing the twins to kneel beside you both.

“Oh yeah?” Fred asked. George grinned at you, smiling wider as he noticed the slight blush rising on your cheeks at the proximity between you both. “And why's that Granger?” He spoke, however he kept his eyes on you.

Hermione gestured to the white circle on the floor, “You see this? This is an age line. Dumbledore drew it himself.”

“So?”

You hid a smile as Hermione sighed, “So a genius like Dumbledore couldn't possibly be fooled by something pathetically dimwitted such as an age potion.”

“That's why it's so brilliant!” Fred grinned.

“Because it’s so pathetically dim-witted,” George added.

The twins stood up.

“Ready, Fred?” “Ready, George!”

“Bottoms up!” They yelled in unison.

You watched as they jumped inside the age line. They paused a moment before cheering and dropping their names into the flame.

Suddenly, the flame rose up and the twins were flung across the room. You stood up immediately and ran over to make sure they were okay, “Fred! George!”

They rolled around fighting on the floor with beards rivalling Dumbledore’s, as the crowd cheered. You shook your head with a laugh, thankful they weren’t too hurt.

***

“Sit down! Please! And now the moment you've all been waiting for - the champion’s selection!”

Dumbledore dramatically dimmed the candles around the room and approached the blue flame. It began glowing red and a piece of parchment flew out, “The Durmstrang champion is... Viktor Krum!”

The Durmstrang students cheered loudly and you clapped for him as another piece flew out.

“The champion from Beauxbatons... is Fleur Delacour!”

Students cheer again and you laughed as Ron sighed happily as he watched her walk up to the front of the room. The third piece of parchment flew out and Dumbledore caught it, “The Hogwarts champion... Cedric Diggory!”

Cedric stood up with a grin, he friends cheering and whooping and clapping him on the back. He walked up to the front of the room, choosing to pause as he passed by you. He lifted your hand carefully and pressed a kiss to the back of it, before continuing on his way.

George grit his teeth, his jaw tense, glaring at the brunette boy who just dared to kiss you. Sure, it was just the back of your hand but even so, the audacity of the Hufflepuff had George’ blood boiling. By now, he assumed everyone knew you and him had a thing. And whilst no, neither of you had put a label on it, you were balancing precariously on the line between being friends and being more, and George did not want anything - or anyone, in this case - making that balance tip more towards ‘friends’.

“Excellent! We now have our three champions! But in the end only one will go down in history. Only one will hoist this chalice of champions, this vessel of victory... the triwizard cup!”

Just as students began chattering amongst themselves, the goblet glowed red once more and a fourth piece of parchment flew out. Dumbledore caught it much like the others.

“Harry Potter?” He read out in confusion, before repeating himself with more confidence, “Harry Potter!”

“Go on Harry! Harry, for goodness sake!” Hermione pushed the boy who lived to walk up to the front. Harry seemed in shock as he reluctantly made his way towards Dumbledore, just as students began yelling out angrily in protest.

***

“It’s dragons!” Harry yelled out as he headed over to your group who were sat in the Great Hall.

You looked up, “What?” “The first task,” he said as he took the seat opposite you, “the first task is dragons!”

Hermione immediately grabbed her care for magical creatures textbook and started flicking through for information, anything that may help.

“Bloody hell, mate,” Ron said, “Our Charlie works with dragons and he’s got more scars than he can count. And he’s a professional.”

“Might come out of this task a bit crispy, eh Harry?” Fred joked, nudging him.

“I’m gonna have to tell Cedric, he won’t know! Madame Maxime knows, she’ll tell Fleur and... and Karkaroff knows so that means Krum will. He’ll be the only one who doesn’t know!” Harry said in worry.

You smiled. Trust Harry to worry about Cedric instead of how he himself would beat a dragon. “I can come with you to tell him if you want Harry,” you told him.

“You’re going with Harry?” George’s head snapped up immediately at your comment.

You shrugged, “Yeah why not, he said he had something to ask me anyway.”

“Could be about the Yule Ball, Y/n!” Hermione said excitedly, looking up from the book, “He might ask you to go with him!”

George felt his cheeks flushing with anger, his fists clenching. He wanted to ask you. He did, but he didn’t exactly know how. Or when, for that matter.

“I don’t see why we have to tell that git about the dragons, let him figure it out himself,” he grumbled with a frown.

“George! Dragons are dangerous - you should know that, what with Charlie working with them. We need to warn him,” you scolded.

***

The first task was about to start. Harry had just entered the champions tent and you were stood in the awaiting crowd, worry racking you as you sat fidgeting in your seat.

“So um, don’t think I ever ended up asking but... did pretty boy Diggory end up asking you anything in particular?” George asked casually, trying to act like he hadn’t been thinking about it constantly for the last few weeks ever since it was first mentioned.

“He actually didn’t ask me anything... he looked like he wanted to, but decided not to,” you shrugged.

George couldn’t help the relief he felt to know Cedric hasn’t asked his girl to the ball, a weight falling off his shoulders.

“I hope he’s okay,” you chewed on your bottom lip as you peered down at the champions tent, waiting for the starting announcement.

“Who, Harry or your pretty boy Diggory?”

“Well I was talking about Harry but yes, I suppose Cedric too. I don’t understand why you’re always so rude about him. He’s really not as bad as you make him out to be,” you rolled your eyes though only half seriously.

“I’m not, I just don’t really like him is all. No one can be that nice and that good looking... there’s something up,” George insisted.

“Aww Georgie, you think he’s good looking, do you?” Fred teased, earning a glare from his twin as you laughed.

“Of course not. I think he’s a git.”

“He’s actually really nice once you get to know him,” you said. George scoffed, only half playfully, “Oh and you know him, do you?”

“Maybe she’d like to,” Fred grinned, enjoying winding up his brother.

“She doesn’t! You don’t... do you?” George quickly turned to you with a frown. You leant on his arm and snuggled into it, “Nothing to worry about here, Georgie.”

***

“This is mad. At this rate we'll be the only ones in our year without dates,” Ron grumbled and he stared down at the work he wasn’t doing, “Well, us and Neville!”

Hermione leant over to him, “It might interest you to know that Neville's already got someone.”

Ron sighed, “Now I'm really depressed.”

“Now you’re depressed?” You joked. Ron shot you a mocking smile as Fred pushed a note over to Ron. You watched Ron read the note and frown before he looked up at Fred, “Who are you going with then?”

Fred smirked, before throwing a scrunched ball of parchment over at Angelina. He proceeded to ask her to the ball and she shrugged and nodded in agreement.

Fred winked at Ron, earning a few laughs.

“Well Hermione, you're a girl,” you heard Ron say as you continued doing your work.

“Oh well spotted,” came Hermione’s sarcastic reply.

“Come on. It's one thing for a bloke to show up alone. For a girl it's just sad.”

You threw a piece of parchment at Ron and shot him a glare for his rudeness. He may have been one of your closest friends but you knew that his comment would hurt Hermione’s feelings.

“I won't be going alone because believe it or not someone's asked me. And I said yes,” Hermione growled in anger as she collected her work together and stormed out.

“Bloody hell,” Ron said as you picked up your textbooks before rushing after her. He watched as you ran out before sighing again and turning to Harry, “Look. We've just got to grit our teeth and do it. Tonight when we get back to the common room, we'll both have partners. Agreed?”

Harry nodded, “Agreed.”

***

“So that plan failed miserably,” Harry groaned, “‘Grit our teeth and do it’ you said. Well Ron, I think that’s easier said than done.”

Harry collapsed onto the space between Hermione and Fred on a couch in his common room, Ron and George sat opposite.

Ron was quiet in thought for a moment, before responding, “Suppose I could ask Y/n.”

“Like hell you will,” George suddenly jumped in as he sat up.

“Why, are you planning to? She was my friend first, she’ll say yes to me if I ask before you,” Ron faced him, crossing his arms across his chest.

“She won’t,” George insisted.

“Oh yeah? What makes you so sure about that?”

“Because I’m gonna be the first to ask her,” the younger twin said determinedly, nodding in triumph.

“If that’s the case, you better ask her soon,” Hermione spoke up, “Cedric is also looking to ask her - today, from the way he was speaking”

Fred laughed, “You hear that Georgie? Better go ask out your girl... unless you want Diggory to take her instead.”

“She won’t say yes to him,” George said, but he didn’t sound certain. He didn’t feel certain either.

“She might. He’s cute, he’s a Triwizard champion and, most importantly, you haven’t asked her yet, and the ball is getting closer and closer. She won’t wait around forever for you to ask her. So yes, she absolutely might,” Hermione shrugged.

George paused for a moment before jumping up off the couch, causing Ron to nearly fall off it too with a surprised yell. He made his way towards the portrait door quickly, tugging a hand through his hair.

“Hey, where are you going?”

George looked over his shoulder, “Where do you think? I’m going to get my girl!”

If he received a reply, George didn’t hear it as he was already racing through the hallways of Hogwarts, weaving through groups of students, scanning around to see if he could spot your h/c hair.

He rounded a corner and came to an abrupt halt as his eyes fell on your frame, stood in front of Cedric.

“... so I was wondering if you’d maybe accompany me to the Yule Ball?” George heard as he stepped towards you.

“Sorry mate, she’s already going with someone,” he called out, making you turn to him in confusion.

Cedric’s eyes widened as he took in George’s dishevelled appearance from his running from the Gryffindor common room, “I-I’m sorry?”

“She’s going with me. Must be gutting I know, I’d be disheartened too if I were you, considering she’s the most beautiful girl in school but she’s mine and I’m keeping it that way,” George wrapped his arm around your waist and stared intently at Cedric.

Cedric, though thoroughly confused, nodded, “O-Of course, yes. I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I’ll um... I’ll see you later Y/n.”

“See you later,” you replied as the Hufflepuff boy retreated down the hallway.

You turned to George, raising an eyebrow, “You wanna explain what that was about?”

George swallowed, now feeling nervous, “Look, I should’ve asked you earlier. Not just to the ball but to be my girlfriend too. Because I’ve fancied you since I can remember and I don’t want anyone else to be with you except me. If you, you know, like me too. If not I’m sure you can chase down Diggory-“

“I fancy you too, Georgie.”

His breath hitched his his throat as he processed what you just said.

“You do? Brilliant,” he breathed out, his heart beating fast as you stood close to him, “That’s just- yeah that’s great I mean I- do you want to go to the ball with me?”

“Yes,” you nodded, not being able to help the smile crossing your face, “Yes of course I do!”

George grinned, his hands finding their place on your waist, your faces inches apart. You could feel his breath fanning across your lips as he whispered, “Would you be my girlfriend?” You laughed, “Nothing would make me happier.”

George started leaning forward to close the gap between your lips as he mumbled his reply,

“Wicked.”

#george #george weasley #george x reader #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley imagines #weasley twins #weasley twins imagine #weasley twins imagines #hp #harry potter #all queue have to do is follow the spiders

[another-fantasy-world]

Hi! Can I request a part 2 to your Valkyrae imagine?

GIF isn’t mine. Credits to the owner!

Title: Idol’s Inspiration Part 2 

Pairing: Valkyrae || Rae x Fem! Reader

Summary: A collection of moments involving an idol and a streamer

Warnings: Cursing?. Just pure fluffiness

Word Count: 3,043 words

I had way too much ideas on this one so this is going to be a collection of said ideas. Have fun!

Actually, I saw someone on my dashboard asking for Rae x Reader imagines, so hi to that person!

You can read Part 1 Here

➽───────────────❥ 

You took a couple of days before you gathered the courage to actually message Rae, you also spent those couple of days staring at the paper containing her number and your phone, which also has her number punched in. 

“Okay. I just have to press send...” Your fingers hovered over the icon as you chewed your lips in nervousness.

“Oh damn it.” Luna groaned before snatching your phone and pressing send, barely giving you time to retaliate

“Hey!” You complained, staring at her in disbelief

“You were taking too long” She shrugged, sipping on her milkshake as she tossed your phone back to you

You only had time to roll your eyes before phone vibrated.

‘About time you texted me, I was beginning to think you forgot. Oh and totally, I could make a lobby for you rn’

‘Sounds good! I’m free this Friday!’

You smiled, well, looks like you’re playing with your favorite streamer group this Friday then.

-

Your bandmate Jace actually owns a gaming pc, to which you borrowed to play among us, which ended you up here, in his room, on a private discord call with Rae, her helping you set up for tomorrow.

“So is this your first time, ya know? Playing among us?” Rae asks as the download bar for the proximity chat

“Oh no. Uhm, My bandmates and I play all the time, sometimes on public lobbies and sometimes we drag our crew to play, especially while on the tour bus. Plus, I watch you scream and play all the time so you don’t have to worry about me Rachel” You explain, smiling softly at the memories, trying to ignore the feeling of content and satisfaction at how easy her name rolled out of your tongue

“That’s cool.” She replies, about to say something when a bark interrupts her

“Mika! Hi! Hi baby~” You hear her coo, your smile widening

“Raeeee! Tell Mika I said hi!” You chuckled

“Y/N says hi!” She says, running her hand through Mika’s fur, the white furball now sitting in her lap

“Awee~ You’re both so cute~” You coo, laughing when Rae hid herself behind Mika

You spent the night talking about random stuff, setting up for the game and running a test run with her, but then laughing when you realized you can’t play with just the both of you, ultimately deciding to start early tomorrow for a test run. Her also adding you to their discord before sleeping.

-

“My new favorite seafood!” You furrowed your brows when you heard Sykkuno’s voice fill your ears when you joined the discord call

“Shrimp.” Brooke giggled

“OOOOOHHH. So that’s why they were saying shrimp for Rae. I was like, what does that even mean?” Rae’s sentence caught you off guard, especially since you just tweeted that exact same phrase before logging in.

“shit.” You mumbled, having dropped the lid of the water jug you were drinking from.

“Y/N! HI HI HI HI” Rae greeted

“Hello.” You replied, a little overwhelmed at being the center of attention.

“Pfft- My chat is saying shrimp for Y/N now” Sykkuno announces

“Mine too” Brooke agrees, soon followed by the rest of the lobby, making you laugh

“I’m Sorry, Sorry! Actually, I may know why that’s happening. Fun fact! I actually gave people permission to shrimp for me on an interview, since I found it funny, especially since I’m also shrimping for someone.” You explained

“Oh yeah! I saw that clip.” Rae mumbles, trying to decide which color she should be in and what hat she should wear

“I wonder who Y/N is simping for. Hmmmm. Who could that be? Hmmmm.” Toast teases

“Yeaaah. I wonder who that could be.” Poki replies, her teasing tone much more evident

-

It had been a couple weeks now since you first played with Rae and her friends, her friends who are now also your friends. You were pressured to stream on YouTube by your fans and also Rae, who you now have late night talks with.

“Y/N! Hiiiiii!” You hear Rae as you rounded, soon followed my Corpse’s voice

“Choke me-” Corpse started

“LIKE U HEYT MEH BAT U LAB MEH-” Rae continued, mispronouncing words that made you chuckle

“Lowkey wanna date me when you hmm me.” You sang, connecting the wires

“NEW SONG! NEW SONG! Corpse and Coldify! C and C!” Rae exclaimed, her little red bean circling you and Corpse

“Oh yeah, definitely, Corpse? You up to it?” You ask, doing a little wiggle to show your excitement

“Hell yeah! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA” he does that deep voice thing that made you flinch

-

“I can’t stand it. I can’t stand the sound of my voice.” Rae exclaims, talking to chat you assume.

You rolled your eyes, finding Rae’s voice beautiful. You jumped out of the vent, knowing that no one was around, making her scream

“Hi! Just wanted to pop in and let you know that your voice is actually beautiful and I would love to sing with you some time. That’s all, I’ll go back to killing now, Oh! you might want to check vitals, love.” You say, hopping back into the vent, laughing silently. Then abruptly stopping when you realized you called Rae “love”, glancing at the chat, who were now spamming your ship name with Rae

Seeing Lily alone, humming a tune, you quickly popped out of the vent, sliced him in half before a meeting was called, Ludwig finding Toast’s body.

“Before we start. I just want to say, to the person who called me “love”... You don’t get to call me that then run away!” She exclaims

“Sorry! I got embarrassed!” You pouted. You wiggled your eyebrows at your chat, smirking slightly

“Uh-huh. Oops, Sorry Lud. Carry On” Rae says, letting Lud explain his “Different Universe” theories about how Toast died.

-

“Heeeey...” Rae trailed out, her cornering you in storage

“Hiiii?” You smiled nervously. You don’t know what was happening in her mind

“Soooo... Babuska?” You immediately got what she was implying, nodding frantically, before realizing she couldn’t see you

“Yeah. Yeah let’s do this!” You both walked out, Rae on the lead while your white character trails after her

“OH LOOK! There’s Corpse! And Sykkuno! Hiiiiiii!” She greeted cheerily, somehow you could see the evil smile on her face

“oh- Oh. Hi Rae! We’re just shooting some space rocks here!” Sykkuno says, her green character circling Rae

“I see. I see... Babushka.” Rae states, you wait a couple of seconds letting Sykkuno and Corpse panic first, before slicing Corpse in half.

“OH JESUS! You killed Corpse! You killed him! You really kil-” He was cut off when Ash creeped behind him, biting his head off

“Thanks Ash.” You say, laughing as Rae gasped and laughed as well

-

“Rae~ Oh Rae~” You chuckled, looking for the brunette

“What?!” She exclaimed from her spot behind the seismic reactors

“Oh uhm, are you streaming right now?” You asked her, preparing yourself for what you are about to say.

“Uh yes? Duh?” 

“Ohkay... well, hypothetically, If I were to ask you out, is it okay if I do it on stream orrr?”

“Well, hypothetically, I would be fine with it either way, yes.”

“Oh okay!” You clear your throat

“Ms. Valkyrae, The Valkyrae, Rae, would you please grace me with your presence on this coming friday night and allow me to buy you dinner, m’lady?” You say in your best posh voice

“...Yes” She says in a small voice

“Great! I’ll pick you up at 7!” You say

“Great! Okay”

“Great. I’ll kill you now.” you say

“Wait what?!” she exclaims, her scream perfectly cut when the victory sign flashes on your screen.

“THE AUDACITY! HOW DARE YOU! I- I CAN’T EVEN” She rages

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” You apologized, laughing your ass off

-

“I’m on Y/N Protection Services! She’s been dying a lot lately!” Rae exclaims, you rolling your eyes at her dramatics, both of you were impostors.

“Well, thank you m’lady” You replied, faking gas

“Ooooooh! I have speci, come.” Rae says, her red character slicing toast nonchalantly when you passed him doing telescope

“Uhm-”

“Shh.” 

And suddenly, when the decontamination doors open, Poki emerged from it, panicking you killed her.

“Oh shit! No! Wait! I’m sorry! Pokiii!” You whined, following Rae into decontam

Finding Janet in Speci, You go to say hi, only to be interrupted by the body being found.

“OH NO! TOAST! He was just with me! OH JESUS!” Sykkuno exclaims, making you bite your lip to avoid laughing

“Where’s the body?” Jack asks

“Medbay, by the telescope” Brooke answers

“It has to be Y/N! She’s the only one who could’ve killed Toast!” Janet accused

“Hey! What?! Why me?!” you complained, 

“You came from upper decontam! Toast’s body is in medbay, That’s sus.” Janet says, you were about to defend yourself when Rae chimed in

“There is a possibility that Y/N is the impostor.” She states

“Wha?! RAE?! You- You were with me in speci!”

“What? No I wasn’t! You’re lying! I lost you when I was doing gas! I was looking for you everywhere!” Rae says making you look at chat with a pout

“I didn’t see her there either...” Janet backed her up

“Wha?! Guys?! Come on, let’s skip! There’s barely enough evidence!” You desperately say, trying to save yourself

In the end, 7 heads voted for you.

“...Y/N will remember this.” You state before being thrown off the ship, welcomed by Poki and Toast’s laughter

“Yeah. Yeah. Hmmpf.” you huffed at Poki and Toast

“My girlfriend just betrayed me. Rae betrayed me chat, she just, she pushed me off the plank. She just, watched as I burned in the lava. She kicks me out of her bed for Mika, and now she betrays me, then pushes me off the plank. Ohhh the pain” you dramatically say as you followed Rae, her returning to specimen

“Listen, chat, Y/N if you’re listening... That was payback for that one time you killed me behind reactor right after you asked me on a date! Okay!” You rolled your eyes and looked at your camera with an annoyed look in your face

But your smile slowly returns as Rae goes on a mass massacre making you both win without meetings, making you bounce in your seat, clapping

“Good Job Rae! That was so good! You successfully scared me, I might not sleep in your room now.” You teased her, making her gasp

-

“Here we go. Here we go. Here we go. Hello everyone and welcome to the streeaam! Part 2. We are starting the playthrough of little nightmares 2- Hold on, Y/N’s calling.”

“Love?” Your voice rings out through Rae’s phone

“Hiii Baby! You’re on speaker” Rae states while looking at the game settings

“Oh. Well Hi chat! Anyways, Mcdonalds? I’m 5 minutes away, don’t start little nightmares yet, come on.” You whined

“Oh you big baby, I wasn’t starting without you.” Rae laughs

“Liar, I was watching your stream.” You deadpanned

“Pshh. Pshh! But yeah, Mcdonald’s fine. And hurry up! I wanna play!”

“Okay, okay sheesh, I’ll be there with your chimkin nuggies” 

-

“Baby?” You knocked on her door, even after all the months that you have been together, you always knocked on her door before entering, incase she was doing something.

“Come in love! Perfect timing.” You open the door to see your girlfriend playing with Mika, Little Nightmares 2 plastered on the screen. You approached her and kissed her forehead

“Hi Babe. Hi chat! How are you guys doing? Hold on, let me set this down.” You say, arranging the food on Rae’s desk, careful not to spill anything

“Are we ready? Baby, grab your chair. Are we ready? Are we ready? I’m so excited!” The excitement in her eyes is making you smile

“Oh she’s excited alright, she wouldn’t shut up about it chat. Trust me” You chuckled.

“Will there be a lot of screaming? Rae?” You read chat

“Uhm. Hopefully not, I don’t know dude. Can’t control my screams.”

-

“A Shoe!” Rae gasps

“Baby, there’s literally hanging kids dangling in a net and the first thing you notice is the shoe?” You looked at her in disbelief

“Oh. What happened to you guys? Stinkyy. Oooooh. Physics!” You bit your lip and shook your head at your girlfriend’s antics

“Y/N, I feel comfort when I hold this shoe.”

“Ouch. Are you saying I’m not comforting you? Rude.”

“Stop trolling!” She says, turning to you as you held up a fry

She raises her eyebrows before biting the whole fry, along with your finger.

“Ouch! Damn it Rae! You’re like a chihuahua”

“Owa Owa.” 

-

“I’m sorry. OUWGHH?! OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, PALAMPARAMPARAMPARAMPALAMPRAMPRAMPRAM! SHE’S COMING!”

“RAE! RUN! RAE! RAE! RAE! HOOOOLY SHIT! RAE! RAE! RACHEL RUN! RACHEL! RUUUN!” You panic, gripping her thigh as the teacher neck elongated, following your little character into the vents

“SHE DOESN’T CARE! SHE DOESN’T CARE! PLEASE?!” 

A moment of silence pass the both of you as the character Rae’s controlling gets to safety. Rae slowly turns to meet your eyes, and bursts out laughing.

“You should’ve seen your face!” You laugh at her

“OH OKAY? Like you weren’t screaming for me to run.” She says then proceeds to repeat what you said while in a panic, making you laugh harder

“Sorry for screaming, it’s just really gross and unexpected.” She says sheepishly to her chat, which was now spamming ‘HAHAHA’ and ‘Damn how long is that neck’

-

“So, this question is directed to Ms. Y/N.” The interviewer moves his body to face you.

“Yes?” You smiled, guessing that this must be about you and Rae

“How are you feeling about your pictures trending on Twitter worldwide?” he asks, a smile on his face as the pictures flashed on the large screen behind you

“Ahm, it’s really great. A lot of hard work was put into that photoshoot, mostly because my girlfriend, Rae refused to put on the dress and was attached to the suit she’s wearing right there. God, she looks so beautiful. Uhm, but anyways, it took a lot of effort to get her out of that suit. ” You grinned

“Ahh. I recognize that look, Makes me remember about my wife and I. You’re so smitten. Can I just say that I ship you guys so hard.” The interviewer says

“Ah- Thank you. Hehe.” You say, embarrassed but proud

“While were on this topic of trending pictures, Can you guys explain whatever these pictures are? I’m pretty sure your fans already know what these are. But an explanation would be nice” The interviewer now addressed your whole group

“Well, considering that Y/N is dating Rae, Luna is dating Sykkuno and Jace is dating Imane, or Poki,  Okay, so there’s this AU that’s around their community where they are mafia’s and we’re all members now. We all joked about being apart of their mafia, to which they agreed. So now Rae and Y/N are now the assassin duo, Poki and Jace are their supervisors and Luna, Sykkuno and Corpse are the deadly trio” Sebastian explains

“Their community is so creative I swear. And combined with our fandom, the fanarts and fanfictions are the best.” Luna says, a smile present on her face

“And yes, we all do read fanfiction, in multiple platforms.” You laughed, the live audience gasping in surprise

“None of you are safe.” Jace says in a playful intimidating voice

-

“Okay, I’m gonna get off. Thank you for watching. I’ll see you guys later, thanks for watching, I hope you guys enjoyed the stream. Uhmm. Appreciate you guys. Byeee!” you hear Rae end her stream from your spot in her bed.

“Hunter x Hunter? or AOT?” you ask her as you put your phone in silent and set it aside, opening your arms for her.

She crawls into your side, cuddling you while groaning lightly.

“Do you wanna take a bath first? Or do you wanna eat dinner? Maybe take a nap first? You’ve been streaming for 13 hours baby, your eyes are probably tired now.” You say, running your free hand through her hair

“Naps and cuddles please.” she mumbles, her head buried in the crook of your neck

“Okay baby, I’ll just put AOT on, oh wait. Hmm, Jujutsu Kaisen sounds great right now. No, wait even better, Ouran Highschool Host Club.” You go to turn your head to ask Rae, but you see her asleep. 

You chuckle quietly, knowing Rae, she can overwork herself, sit on a chair for 13 hours, playing various video games, while you really can’t see yourself play videogames for 13 hours straight, you admire that she has the patience and energy to do that.

Smiling, you lower the volume of the Anime that you’re watching, slowly pull the blankets up as Rae shifts closer to you, clinging like a koala. Mika jumps up and settles in between the two of you, Your smile widens at the feel of things, the calmness, the silence, the tranquility and the sense of home, something that only Rae can provide. Something that you have been looking for ever since your career took off. The constant trips to the studio, the paparazzi, the world tours, the concerts, the interviews, everything, everything was worth it when you know you’re coming home to her. 

You didn’t even know how you got to where you are now, cuddled into Rae, the comfort streamer you never thought you would meet, even when you mostly stayed where she stayed... Dating her was a dream, you didn’t believe it at first, she quickly proved that dream theory wrong when she kissed you, under the rain. As cliché as it seems, that was the day you both silently agreed to never let go of each other and take care of each other even if the other is half way across the world.

Even if dating her means also dating her room mates and her chat...

You would never trade it for anything. 

Even if you knew she would scream her ears off once she knows that you have a whole album that’s inspired and dedicated to her.

#valkyrae #valkyrae imagines #valkyrae imagine #valkyrae x reader #valkyrae fanfiction #valkyrae x fem reader #valkyrae x female reader #fluff #im soft #rae x reader

[acourtofsnakes]

Ret'urcye Mhi - Rogue, Chapter 7 | The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader (F)

Summary: Can things go back to normal after the Mandalorian saw you break down? Or have walls been torn down that can’t be replaced?

Warnings: Light swearing, I don’t want to give it away but no smut but… a ‘moment’ with some certainly hot thoughts and pining but nothing heavy though, reader has a back tattoo, let me know if I forgot anything!

AN: I have brought in Cara Dune in this, and she will be a frequent character. I by no means condone what Gina Carano did, and I am pleased and relieved that she is gone. However, I do like her character, as many others do. She IS only mentioned in this one briefly but will be a main character in a few future chapters. 

Also, Readers tattoo is loosely based on this design!(link)  I’m not sure who the exact creator is, but it was posted by Urban Threads on Pinterest, but if you know, please tell me! ❤️

Word Count: 8231

As always, credit to whoever owns the gif. I usually find them on Google or Pinterest, so message me if it’s yours ♥︎

Rogue Taglist:  @snipskixandbeskar   @weirdowithnobeardo @the-bottom-of-the-abyss​ @jackgrzs

Rogue Masterlist | Introduction| 1: Solus| 2: Arir | 3: Tor | 4: Gaa'tayl | 5: Kyr’am | 6: Cabur | 7: Ret'urcye Mhi |

Mando’a Translation: Ret'urcye mhi - Goodbye

Neither of you mentioned that afternoon. 

It hadn’t come up in the 3 days since, and it hadn’t come up today. You made sure of it. 

Every time Mando looked at you, and you just felt he was going to mention it, you’d change the subject. Or just walk away. You didn’t need to have that conversation with him. You couldn’t have that conversation with him. Or anyone. 

The Mandalorian had sat there, holding you for the hours it took for you to cry yourself out. When the shuddering sobs had given way to hitched breaths and a numb stare, he’d still sat there. Rubbing your back in gentle circles, in time with Duru’s tail gently swaying over your arm. He hadn’t uttered a single word either, just letting you break down in his arms. 

When the quiet ambiance of the ship and the pressure of his hand had lulled you into sleep, he’d carried you to his bed – well, the narrow cot that jutted out from the wall in what was supposed to be the medical area. He’d given up his sleeping compartment to Grogu a long time ago, to keep the little creature warm and safe. 

He’d laid you in, covering you with the blanket and then one more that he pulled out from a unit. 

You were asleep, so you hadn’t seen the way his gloved fingers gently brushed back the hair from your tear flushed cheeks, the way they’d lingered for a moment as he’d looked down at the soft strands gliding over his fingers. You hadn’t felt the way he’d frozen when a sudden want crashed through him, to yank off his gloves and run his bare hands through your hair, feel the silkiness and the texture for himself. 

And you also wouldn’t have noticed the way his breathing went ragged for a moment and he’d lurched back, stumbling away so quickly he nearly overturned a box on his way out of the door. 

Your sleep hadn’t remained easy. Only a few hours later, you had woken up screaming, unsure of where you were, why you were on a thin cot that smelled like metal and smoke and something distinctly unique and almost like sandalwood. It was somehow comforting, soothing. You had inhaled the scent, trying to calm down your pounding heard and regain control of your breathing.  

It was only when you could suck in a full breath that you realised where you were, who’s bed this was. 

A feeling of gratefulness had crashed over you, only to be immediately wiped out by shame. You had broken down in front of him, spat such awful, awful things to his face.

And when you heard footsteps outside the compartment door, the husky baritone of his voice as he called out your name softly, you’d gone still. Like you were back on the run, mere inches away from a hunter and one move would mean disaster. 

He’d lingered, you could see by the shadows of his feet under the tiny gap at the bottom of the door. A wild thought had come to you, that he had his hand pressed to the door and you could just.. open it. Open it and let him come in, let him carry the burden of your nightmares and your feelings even If it was just for a little while. You could share some of those plaguing thoughts that you’d unleashed today. And he would listen. You didn’t know him that well, but you knew him enough to be confident he would sit there, let you talk. He knew what it was like to be alone, to have emotions and worries that you had no choice to bear yourself. 

The temptation was so strong, you craved that contact and connection so much that you were halfway across the room before your snarling argument came back in full technicolour. The things you’d said to him. The appalling way you’d acted. 

No.

You couldn’t see him. You couldn’t face him after that. After what you had said and the way you had cracked. You shook your head firmly, waiting until you heard a sigh so soft you might have imagined it and retreating footsteps. 

It was only then you that you returned to the bed, pulling the twin blankets up high over your shoulders. 

You’d deal with seeing him in the morning, but for now, all you could do was bury your face in the thin pillow and try not to notice how it smelt like him.

Something had changed between the two of you since that afternoon. He had glimpsed a part of you that you normally kept perfectly hidden, even from yourself. 

…

You were on your way to another bounty, one of the last couple of pucks that Mando had left. 

Mando had mentioned it was a hot, desert planet and he’d prefer it if you stayed in the ship with Grogu. It’d be far too hot for the little guy out there. You had obliged happily, more than fine to stay in. You didn’t like to be too hot, it made you uncomfortable and agitated. 

The cockpit was quiet, a peaceful silence had descended upon it as Mando flew the ship. 

You’d found yourself drawn to watching his hands lately. There was something… oddly soothing about it. Watching him work the controls, hold Grogu, clean his weapons. 

You wondered if he missed the sensation of touch, and then wondered if yours and the kids presence here made it harder for him. Meant he had less chances to take off his armour and be free of it. 

Of course, that had then led you onto the thought of wondering if he slept naked when he was alone. 

The thought of him lying there, nothing hiding him, separating him from the world. 

The thin blankets sliding over the body you knew was toned, yet soft enough in all the right places. 

It made your mouth a little dry, your cheeks a little pink and you struggled to find something else to think about. 

Your eyes drifted to his hands again, remembering the sound of the gloves being drawn off the other night. 

They were mesmerising, agile, and you couldn’t stop thinking about them in your hair, on your skin. 

Stars above, get a grip, girl. 

You mentally scolded yourself for these thoughts, trying to steer your damned imagination onto something more appropriate. 

Luckily, your saviour came in the form of Mando himself. He tilted his head back slightly, enough for you to know he was talking to you, “What’s your favourite planet? Or one you’d like to visit?” 

The question surprised you, you had to admit. You weren’t used to people asking about your likes and dislikes. You smiled though, perhaps this was his gentle way to break any tension left over. “Hmm… I think… I’d have to say the planet I’d like to visit most... either Hoth or Coruscant.”

Mando laughed, that gorgeous rough, honey laugh, “Okay, Coruscant I can understand, but Hoth? Really?”

You pouted at the back of his head, “Yes!! It sounds beautiful.”

The Mandalorian laughed more, “Beautiful? Sweetheart, it’s covered in ice. It’s freezing there. All you would see is ice and snow… and more ice and more snow.”

You scowled at him now, throwing the leftover wrapper of Grogu’s cookies at his helmet, “And? Snow and ice are stunning. They’re powerful and strong. I’ve only ever been in a proper snowfall once, and I fell in love. The way the flakes float down and.. dance even if there’s the faintest breeze. And then when they land on your skin or your eyelashes like little cold kisses… The sound it makes under your boots when you walk on a fresh fall. And it softens everything, makes it easier on your eyes to see across the landscape… it’s quiet, muffled… Besides, I like the cold.”

Little did you know, Mando was grinning like an idiot under his helmet, adoring the way you defend it to him, the way you describe something as simple as ice and snow. “You like the cold, huh? Then why are you always grumbling that the heating is broken?” The teasing lilt to his voice was evident, so animated and content, compared to his usual cooler, calm silence.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. “That is… completely irrelevant.” You looked at the back of his head, “What about you? If my choices are so hilarious.”

The Mandalorian made a thoughtful noise, “I wouldn’t say there’s one place in particular… But… there’s a few sanctuary planets dotted around. Places with really pretty, dense forests where you could walk for days and not spot anyone else. They’re protected and safe, no dangerous animals or anything allowed… literally sanctuaries. I’d like to take Grogu there… let him wander and have fun and eat things he shouldn’t without having to look over my shoulder.” 

It was the most you’d ever heard him speak in one go, and there was a tenderness in his voice that brought tears to your eyes. This man truly loved his little green adoptive son and would do anything for him. “That sounds... stunning. I’ve heard of those planets and always wondered what they were like...” 

He made a hum of agreement, fingers working over the control panel as he put it in autopilot. “One day…” He turned around in his chair, “What about your favourite colour?” 

You moved to sit cross-legged in the seat, defying the concept of a chair. “Blue. Darker blues, like a midnight blue.” You swayed your chair from side to side slightly, “Actually, the same colour as the cloak you got me. So well done, kudo’s for you.”

Mando leant back in his own chair, tapping the side of his helmet before resting his hands on his thighs again. “This thing lets me read minds; you know.”

You began pulling the pins from your hair, “Mmhm, and I can fly.” You raise an eyebrow at him, grinning. 

He chuckled, watching you intently behind the helmet though you wouldn’t know that, watching every pin get removed from holding up your hair, “It wouldn’t surprise me at this point, princess.” He tapped his thighs absently, “You wanna know the real secret?”

You nodded, reaching in for a pin that had become stuck deep in your hair, the last one. “Surprise me.” Got it. You yanked the pin out, letting your hair fall down and your fingers through it. You sighed a little in relief as you rubbed your fingertips against your scalp, chasing away any tightness from the day. 

Mando didn’t say anything. He was too distracted, to struck into silence by the sight of your hair. 

The light from the ship and coming in through the windows turned some of the strands to gold, igniting them with that fire that blazed within you – and that he’d been on the receiving end. 

His hands tightened over his thighs, because he was overtaken by a craving, a need to remove your hands and feel your hair for himself. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d had these thoughts. 

Fuck, he’d been having these thoughts since he first saw you. He just hadn’t realised them until that night he’d nearly lost his life and woken up to you passed out on his chest. 

He’d frozen, even his breathing stopping as he felt the warm weight of you, even though the armour. 

He couldn’t bear to move you, to take away that pressure, the closeness of another human that he had missed for so long. 

So, he hadn’t. He left you there. Spent hours watching you sleep, the warmth of your breath slightly fogging up the armour on his chest. 

“Lori? Anyone in there?” You tilted your head, watching the man before you that was staring at you intently, his breathing somewhat ragged. 

He startled slightly, coming back to himself, “Huh?”

You chuckled, “Where did you go? I was waiting for you to knock me off my feet with your revelation.”

He made a noise, “Uh… I.. actually can’t remember...” He tugged at his glove, an odd gesture so at odds with his usual confident demeanour. 

You tilted your head, still smiling a little, “Are you okay?”

Luckily, he was saved from answering by the beeping of the controls behind him. 

You’d arrived at the planet. 

~

It was hot. 

Beyond hot. 

The air was warm, the water was warm, you were warm. 

And already awake, having just calmed your breathing down from another nightmare, when you heard Grogu, his little coos and gurgled filtering down the hall to you. 

The poor little creature had probably woken up from the heat. You had been on this desert planet for a couple of days, opting to stay in and look after the Child whilst Mando hunted down the bounty. The days here were scorching, a dry heat that sucked the life from you immediately. Even the nights were hot, unlike normal freezing desert nights. 

Mando had returned this evening, panting from the heat after coming up from the carbonite chamber. “I swear it’s getting hotter out there.”

The cooling system on the Crest was just as temperamental as the heating, so it wasn’t exactly cool in here. The metal floors, which were normally always chilled, were warm underfoot. Mando had let you keep his room, and it was just as hot, being contained in with itself, so you’d been sleeping with the doors open. 

Not that it made a dent. Every single closed space was like a heat trap, especially Grogu’s little compartment. So, no wonder he had woken up. 

You stretched, then slipped from the cot and made your way to Grogu.

It didn’t take long to settle him, he was all tuckered out from the games you’d been playing today, so after patting his skin with a cool cloth, he had fallen back under. 

You were now at the small ‘kitchen’ area in the ship, washing out the cloth. You huffed, splashing some water on your wrists and pulling out the pin that was holding up your hair, and falling out. Grogu had a habit of tugging the ends of your hair in his little fist. 

You’d taken to wearing a thin floaty dress to bed, one you’d picked up in that market before it had turned into a horror show. The material was gauzy, allowing the heat to escape your body without it sticking to your clammy skin. What helped enormously was the large cut out in the back. It secured at the back of your neck, and then fell open, exposing almost your whole back before joining again at the base of your spine. 

It was probably the flimsiest, most sinful thing you’d ever worn, but it was gorgeous and hey, it did the job. 

You rolled your shoulders, pressing the cool cloth to your neck and you couldn’t help the sigh that escaped your lips and you could have sworn you heard a sizzle. 

Footsteps behind you startled you, breaking you from your reverie, and then Mando’s voice filtered through the silence, “Are you okay?”

You turned around, smiling when you saw him because he was still in all his armour… not that you were surprised. He must have been boiling though, under all those heavy layers. 

You nodded, lifting the cloth from your neck, “The kid was awake, but I settled him down, he was really warm.”  

His head was covered, naturally, so you wouldn’t have seen the way his eyes followed a bead of water rolling down your neck, and the unbidden thought of his tongue catching it “Thank you for seeing to him, I didn’t hear..” 

Weird. Normally he was so attuned to Grogu, hearing him before he even woke up if you were sitting together. Maybe he was tired, from his hunting. 

What you didn’t know, couldn’t know, was that he had been staring at the ceiling for the 3rd night in a row. Having thoughts that he should not be having, his body yearning for things it shouldn’t. 

You shook your head, still smiling and turned back to the sink area, “It’s no worries, I was awake anyway so… And you’ve been hunting. You deserve the rest.” You set down the cloth, running your hands through your hair and reaching for your pin to secure it back up. You faced him again, gathering your hair in your hands, “How was it?”

But he wasn’t listening. 

He suddenly moved forward, and then he was in front of you. “Wait.” His voice was low, almost strained. There was a husk to it that hadn’t been there before, but it ignited something within you. 

You froze, your hands still stuck in your hair. You looked up at him, raising your eyebrows slightly, “What..?” It was only now he was right in front of you that you could see his chest, rising and falling rapidly. “Mando, are you okay?”

He shook his head quickly, his helmet tilted down to you, his hands curling and uncurling at his sides, “Let your hair down.” His voice was still that rumbly order, and it was such an odd request that you did just that, letting it tumble back down again. Your own hands trembled slightly as you lowered them. 

A shudder seemed to roll through his body, and he rocked forward on his feet, lurching toward you in a movement that lacked his usual smooth elegance. It was unsteady, unsure. 

He stopped when he was a mere few inches away, the closest you’d been to each other since that afternoon. 

This close, you could practically feel the heat roiling off of him under his armour, and you tilted your head up to meet him, concern in your eyes, “Mando, you need to go and have a cold shower.. You sound like you’re burning up… do you feel flushed?” 

He shook his head jerkily, his hands raising, “Shh… please. I just.. I need to..” He broke off, a sharp intake of air cutting his words. 

Something else began to curl through the worry in your belly, like some instinct knew things you didn’t. You swallowed, your voice low when you next spoke, “You need to what..?”

The Mandalorian was shaking, his body tensing and untensing like he was fighting himself, telling himself not to do this. “I.. I need to touch your hair.” 

Stars, you could feel the flush that crept up his neck and cheeks, like it burned through his helmet but you stayed completely still. 

His words were whispered through gritted teeth, like he was physically trying to bite them back, “I just... I need to do this, please… I’m sorry, but I cant-” He sounded like he was in pain, still breathing raggedly. 

Heat flared through your blood, igniting a flame within you that was irresistible. You nodded, letting him see you, “Okay.” Like you could say no to him. 

The vocoder nearly didn’t pick up the huff of relief that escaped his lips and he curled his hands into fists again, “Turn around. And close your eyes.” That rough command was back and you were more than obliging to let him navigate this moment. 

You turned around, facing the kitchen area, looking over the darkened surroundings before shutting your eyes. It immediately threw all your other senses into overdrive, so you could hear every single rasp of his breath as you exposed your skin to him, and the pounding of your own heart. 

“You have to keep them closed. You cannot turn around or look.” There was a desperate plea in his voice, an edge to it that hurt your very soul. He was audibly torn, between his Creed… and this desire that he seemed to have given into. 

You nodded again, aching to reach back and reassure him, “I won’t. I won’t open my eyes or turn around until you tell me, I swear on it, Lori.” You let every ounce of truth and understanding seep through your words, praying that it would be enough to convince him he could trust you. 

Seemingly, it was, because the next noise that you heard could have struck you dead. 

It was the sound of leather rubbing against skin, the friction as they were pulled off, then a soft thump of the material on the floor. 

He had taken off his gloves. 

He was standing behind you… with his hands bare. 

You. A person he hasn’t known for very long at all, and he was partially bare, uncovered. 

Your head exploded, a million thoughts racing through it once, sending your heart into overdrive and your own breathing rapid and unsteady. 

There was a pause, like he was steeling himself and then… then the slightest sensation, like he was catching the ends of your hair, just brushing them. 

That simple movement sent a shiver down your spine, and it was enough to get him to move more. He lifted his hands and then you felt fingers slide into your hair at the back of your head, then slowly, slowly, drag down the length. 

You heard a sharp intake of breath behind you, and then a soft mutter, “It’s so soft..” You barely picked it up, even though the ship was silent. The fingers ghosted through your hair again, and his voice was bewildered, “How do you get it this soft in that tiny ‘fresher..” It was like he was talking to himself. 

You couldn’t help the soft laugh, a release of tension from this whole thing, “I can’t reveal my secrets, Lori. Can’t have your hair being softer than mine. There’s only room for one on this ship.”

He chuckled, and it ran over your bones like honey, dousing them in such a sweet sensation. “I’ll get it out of you one way or another, princess.” 

You rolled your eyes but didn’t get the chance to speak because then his fingers were running up your scalp from the base of your head to the crown, with a light pressure and the feeling was so unbelievably good, that you couldn’t help it. Your head leant back into his touch and the faintest sigh left your lips. “Keep doing that..” Your cheeks flushed, embarrassment crashing over you. Why did you have to say that?

The Mandalorian’s hands had paused, absorbing that soft sigh of pleasure and trying to cool his body. But you had a hold over him, he couldn’t say no. He merely did it again, with a firmer press of his fingers against your scalp, a light scrape of his nails just to get you to make that noise again, to be convinced that you were enjoying this just as much as he was.

You didn’t stop the next sigh, this one louder, more delighted. It was like you knew what the other was thinking, could read each other that well.  

He was driving you insane, rendering you speechless just from playing with your hair. 

You don’t know how long you stood there for, his hands running through the soft locks. 

He lifted it slightly, then made a soft noise. “I didn’t know you had a tattoo.”

A tattoo? Oh right. 

It was true, you did. It was a delicate piece, spanning from the top of your spine to just above your hips, lining your spine. It showed the phases of the moon, drawn in a minimalist style, with small stars and additional lines coming out of every other piece. 

You nodded quickly, “I’ve had it for years.” Fuck, could your voice sound anymore needy?

“What does it mean?” His words were murmured and then the next thing could have had you on your knees. 

You heard a sound that had haunted you since the night he nearly died, the sound of leather sliding over skin. The soft plop as it fell to the floor. 

No way. Has he just..

His fingers, his bare fingers ghosted down your spine, following the line of it with a touch so fleeting it almost made you whine. 

In fact, it did, a whimper rising from deep in your chest. 

He was touching you. 

His bare skin, skin that he had sworn by Creed to keep covered and hidden until marriage, was trailing down your spine as light as wings. 

Pleasure shot straight though you, making your nerves and blood sing, making your knees shake and your belly hot. 

A tug on your hair, a tug that was sharp enough to send a faint tinge of pain through your scalp had you moaning, you couldn’t help it. Your lips parted and the moan fell from them, soft, a little high and drawn. 

Mando swore under his breath, his whole body twitching behind yours, “I asked you a question, sweetheart.” There was a hoarseness to his voice that hadn’t been there before, a straining note like your moan had shot right through him. Which is had. 

What does it mean… what does it mean? Focus!!

“Um… right. When I was on the run, initially in the beginning, I never had a place to call home. Everything I knew had been torn away, and I could never settle anywhere. Every night, I would look up into the sky and watch the moon. No matter what planet I was on, no matter where I was, or if there two moons or 4, it was always there. I only had to look up, and there was something up there to ground me, give me some sense of comfort. It might look smaller, or be a different colour, but it was still the moon. And it made me feel… safe. Like it was a… a companion in a way. I just had to look a little closer, beneath the colours or the distance and there it was. It was always in the sky, so I wanted to get it tattooed so that it would always be with me. No matter if I was outside, as free as I could be, or inside and trapped.” You flushed a little, “That probably makes no sense and sounds so stupid.”

You could sense the Mandalorian shaking his head, his voice still low and soft, “No.. I think it’s beautiful. And I get it. I move around so much too, there’s only a few things that always remain the same. So I know the value of having something familiar.” He ghosted his fingers down it again, trailing all the way down to where the cut out portion of your dress stopped and then back up again. 

When his hand reached the top of the tattoo, he slid it up further, cupping the back of your neck in his broad, warm hand. 

It sent electricity shooting across your skin, that blazed as he wrapped his thumb and fingers around either side of your neck, just a gentle pressure there. 

You moaned again; you didn’t even try to hide it. Your head fell back, exposing your throat to him in a sign of instinctual submission, even though you knew he wouldn’t kiss you. You didn’t mind, you just needed more, more than this teasing touch, more than the faint brush of his fingertips. Your chest shuddered, knuckles white as you gripped the counter in an effort to stay still, “Lori…” You whined his name, hoping it would spark something in him, would force him to do something. 

You felt him shudder again, felt his hips draw back from your body like he was trying to hide just what these noises did to him. 

Fuck. 

It burned you, turned your belly molten and the power that washed over you was heady. You had turned him on just from your hair, your skin and your moans. 

The voice that came out was equally as tight, husky and you might have lived and died inside the low baritone “What is it, princess?”

Your fingers curled around the side of the counter in front of you, and you were glad he couldn’t see your face when you whispered, “Please..”. Your voice was low, pleading and aching. 

You felt him shudder behind you, a tiny groan echoing through the helmet.

His next words nearly undid you there and then, “Like I could say no to you.”

Then his fingers pressed into your spine, caressing down your back over the tattoo with such admiration, such warmth that it arched slightly, chasing more of that sensation. 

Your head was spinning, convinced you were dreaming, that this wasn’t real. 

This didn’t happen between you both. 

You flirted, sure. But that was harmless, playful. 

This… this was real. He was letting you feel his bare skin, uncovered and unhidden. 

And it was tearing you apart. 

The scrape of his thumbnail on your skin tore you from those thoughts, ripped you back to the present as it ran down the curve of your back. If your eyes had been open, they would have rolled into the back of your head. 

Your head fell forward, back arching completely into him and the sound that you let out was sinful. You could only concentrate on the that sharp, pleasurable hurt that you felt in your belly, the feeling of his other hand as it held your shoulder, holding you in that arch. 

Heat pooled low in your belly, and every dream, every thought you’d been trying to suppress about him came blasting into full technicolour. All because of his hands. 

Those damn hands you’d been pining over since saving his life. 

His head was so close over your shoulder that you could hear the low pant of his breath, the coolness of his armour barely brushing your shoulders as you pressed back into him. 

Fuck, did he want this as much as you did? 

By the way his hand tightened, he had to. You didn’t know how you knew it, but you did. 

You swallowed, licking your lips to say something, anything, spur him on but a harsh beeping suddenly broke through the thick tension on the room. A light was flashing, and by the time the fog of pleasure cleared in your head, he was gone. 

Gloves picked up and yanked on, boots disappearing up the ladder into the cockpit to check on the autopilot. 

The taut sensation in your body snapped, making you sink to the floor as though the strings had been cut.

You lifted shaking hands to your face, burying them in them with a low noise. Your head was a mess, you couldn’t get over it. Couldn’t stop feeling his fingers on your back, your hair. Hear the ragged pant of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest against your shoulders. 

It was just touch, just the simple act of touch but it had igniting something so fierce within you. 

Something had changed. 

What the fuck was that?

You sat there on the floor for Maker knows how long, before dragging yourself up and hurrying off in search of a very, very cold shower. 

~

You weren’t quite sure how to face him the next morning. 

You had taken your cold shower, and it had done nothing to cool the fire in your blood so you had to take the initiative, hoping the crash of the water and the fact you were biting down the back of your free hand would cover the desperate moans you made. 

Little did you know, the Mandalorian was going through the exact same thing, back arched, lips biting into his lip to stop the groans. 

You hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it, stop thinking about what had occurred between you. 

Surely it broke some kind of rules of his Creed?

He had touched you with his bare skin. You weren’t married. You weren’t together. You didn’t even know his name. 

Yet he had touched you and.. reacted to you. 

Maybe that was just instinct, his body’s natural response to such things. 

But he had carried on… until you were disturbed anyway. 

Your head went round and round in these circles until your body had calmed down enough to sleep. 

…

You rose early, wanting to be washed, dressed and ready and doing something to occupy you before you had to think too much about what you were going to say.  Maybe just… Good morning?

Sure. Good morning was fine. 

Normal. 

It totally didn’t reveal what you’d had to do in the shower, or the thoughts you were still having about it. 

You had this discussion with yourself all the way up the ladder of the cockpit, and when you rose to your height, you blurted it out in a cheery voice before you could bail, “Morning!”

Breezy. Nailed it. 

The Mandalorian was sitting in the pilot’s chair, fiddling with controls and levers, gloves firmly on. “Good morning. Did you sleep okay in the heat?” 

You nodded, sinking down into the pilots chair and feeding Duru a treat, “Yes, thank you. Finally.” You stroked under Duru’s chin, your eyes straying to those hands as he slide them over some switches. 

The same hands that had cupped the back of your neck and trailed fire down your spine. 

A flush started to creep along your cheeks, so you quickly looked away, “Did you?”

The light bounced off of his helmet as he nodded, “Yes, thank you.”

Polite. His words were polite. Almost... distant. 

Okay… Okay, so maybe he just feels awkward?

You bit your bottom lip, worried if you should say something. 

No, leave it. He no doubt feels over-exposed and maybe shy about what happened last night. Don’t bring it up. Just act normal.

You nodded faintly to yourself and returned your attention back to Duru. 

~

Mando was ignoring you. 

You had been trying to deny it, but he most certainly was. 

Yesterday, he had engaged in talking to you now and then throughout the day, but only passing comments and a few spare words. 

You had spoken more when you were beating the shit out of each other. 

You kept telling yourself that it was just lingering awkwardness from how to go back to normal after that night, but the gnawing in your gut told you otherwise. 

It had been shouting at you this morning when he had parked the ship on a planet, announced he was going hunting and he’d be back in a few hours. 

Then he’d just gone. 

You had waited for him all day, mooched around the ship, played with Grogu and Duru and tried not to worry. 

You sat up for hours, even when the little ones had gone to sleep, waiting to talk to him. 

You’d convinced yourself that you should talk about. You should tell him you didn’t expect anything from him. That you didn’t hate him, that he didn’t hurt you or anything like that. 

Just to tell him whatever you needed to stop this frostiness. 

You had it all planned, had every phrase and comment worked out to stop this atmosphere. 

About 15 minutes ago, you’d heard the ramp open. 3 minutes after that, the hiss and echo of the carbonite chamber. 

Then you’d heard him go and check on the kid, then go to his quarters. 

And now, it was his booted feet on the steps to the cockpit that held your attention. 

You took a deep breath, prayed to the Maker and spun your seat to face him as he rose up. 

The mere sight of that beskar-clad body set your heart thumping, but you coaxed an easy smile on your lips anyway. “Hey, how was the hunt? Cause you any trouble?”

Mando didn’t turn his head to look at you, just padded over to his seat and spun it to the control panel, “It was fine. Easy.” His words were clipped, not harsh, just… efficient. Straight to the point. 

You swallowed, your courage faltering a little. 

Mentally, you scolded yourself. You didn’t falter in the face of a man who’d touched you and now wouldn’t talk to you. You didn’t whimper and pander to a tense atmosphere. 

You sat up a little straighter, pulling your shoulders back and you looked over at him. 

Now or never. 

“About the other night-”

“I’m taking you to Nevarro.”

What?

You had both spoken at the same time, your eyes now bewildered as you beheld him. “What?”

He said nothing, just fiddled with some controls. 

“Mando, what do you mean?” Your voice was shocked, but steady. Did nothing to betray the shock that had just hit your chest like a punch. 

You didn’t hear him swallow, only heard his words, “I’m taking you to Nevarro. We’re on the way now.” He said them softly, evenly. 

Hearing it again only made your heart drop to somewhere around your waist. 

He was leaving you. Dumping you on some planet. And going. 

Your hand tapped your leg as sort of nervous habit, and then the words were out, “Is this because of the other night?” 

It was his turn to sound bewildered, his head just turning to the side, but you knew he couldn’t see you in his peripheral, “What? What do you mean?” 

Your heart was starting to beat uncomfortably in your chest, a sense of shame beginning to creep over you, “Because of what happened in the kitchen. I didn’t see you, I didn’t see your skin.”

Mando turned to face you, one hand still on the panel, his hair half turned but head rotated all the way to look at you, “No, no it’s not because of that-“

You cut him off, “You didn’t… you didn’t offend me. Or hurt me. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry if.. if my reaction made you feel awkward or think something. I don’t.. I don’t expect anything from you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I never have, so please don’t think that.” You flushed, the shame colouring your cheeks. You couldn’t help it. But this was the reason, right? The only reason why he would be dumping you. 

He shook his head, “Stop. Stop..” His voice softened slightly, “No. It’s not because of… that. I know you didn’t see me. And I know you don’t expect anything from me.” He took a breath, “I’m taking you to Nevarro to keep you safe. That’s all. I have friends there, Cara Dune and Greef Karga. They’ll look after you. They’ve already set up accommodation for you, so you don’t need to worry about that. 

They already knew? 

Something like hurt flashed in your eyes, colouring your tone, “They… You already planned this..?” There was no bite in your voice like you would normally have in this situation, you were too shocked by the sudden change in direction your journey was taking. 

Mando tilted his head, “I contacted them whilst I was on the hunt… I wanted it set up before we got there, so you wouldn’t stand out to anyone looking.” He still looked at you, “Is that okay?”

You sensed you wouldn’t have a choice in this. So you decided to take the high road. You wouldn’t whine about this. 

You smoothed your expression over into a mask of calm, “Yes… I was just a little surprised that’s all. But thank you, really. I’ll… set about packing my things.”

He sounded confused, his head tilting back to watch you rise from your chair, “We have a couple of days yet.”

You nodded, “Oh, I know, I just want to make sure I have everything. And all the things I want to steal from you.” You laughed, even going so far as to nudge his shoulder before escaping. 

You were gone to quickly, so you wouldn’t have seen the way he slumped in his chair, dropped his head into his hands. You wouldn’t have heard the pained sigh that escaped his lips at the thought have having to part with you. 

~

~

~

The Mandalorian stood at the top of the ramp with you, staring out across the dusty, volcanic terrain of Nevarro. Your new home for… however long. 

You said nothing, running your fingers along the edge of your cloak, observing the landscape and trying not to let any emotion show on your face. You had kept up natural conversation the past few days. Saying nothing of the wrenching pain that tore in your chest every time you remembered you were departing. 

Mando cleared his throat, one arm holding Grogu and the other hand resting on his hip in a gesture that was becoming painfully familiar, “Cara and Greef know you’re coming. They’ll be waiting in Cara’s office for you.” 

Grogu was sulking, squirming every now and then to try and get out of Mando’s grip. He had screamed the whole morning, and only calmed down when you hugged him and sung to him on the way here. 

You nodded, also trying to ignore the thoughts swirling round in your mind as to why he was leaving you here. Was it because of your argument? The way you had broken down in front of him? Or was it because of the other night? The way his fingers had run through your hair, and then trailed down your spine, mapping your tattoo. His bare fingers. The things he’d whispered to you, “I just... I need to do this, please… I’m sorry, but I cant-”

“I’ve been thinking about this for days..”

Had he known then that he was going to leave you here? Or was it after that, that he’d decided he had broken one too many rules and had to get rid of you. 

Words floated over to you, and you realised he was talking again so you hauled your attention back to the conversation at hand. 

“-safe here. No one will come looking for you. Greef has taken all the pucks that have come through with your name on them and Cara will do sweeps every couple of days to make sure.”

You looked down at your feet, a bitter feeling leeching through your veins that was getting stronger with every moment you got closer to leaving the Crest. 

“Hey… look at me..” 

It was that honey softness of the Mandalorian’s tone that finally had you looking up at him, your expression perfectly masked to hide every ounce of emotion in you aside from a calm neutrality. 

He tilted his head a little, turning his body toward you, “Please don’t think I’m dumping you here. I had planned to bring you here since I destroyed the puck and the fob.”

Like that made you feel any better. 

He must have read the flicker in your eyes, because he stepped closer, his hand lifting to your upper arm, “I want you to be safe.” You could almost feel his eyes boring into yours, “I am more than grateful for everything you’ve done for me. And the kid. More than you’ll ever know. But, travelling with me.. it only increases the target on your back. People know you’re with me. I don’t want that for you.. you deserve to be free..”

And what about what I want?

You only smiled, forcing your expression to one of a lighter one and you nudged him gently, “Hey, I get it. You have to get rid of me because I’m showing you up on hunts. Can’t have anyone destroying your infamous reputation.” You rolled your eyes, laughing even if it did send daggers into your heart. 

And his. 

He squeezed your shoulder playfully, then dropped his hand. “You’re hilarious. I told you, the day you beat me is the day the stars implode.” You could feel a line of humour in his voice though, and it softened your shoulders, made you relax. 

He was doing this to keep you safe. He had planned this for weeks so you could have a break, a chance to rest. 

So, you lifted your head a little higher, your smile becoming more real. “Thank you, Mando. For everything. I can’t ever repay you for this, for what you’ve done.” You motioned to the outside. 

He nodded, his hand resting at his sides again now, “We’ll call it even.” His head remained focused on you, lingering on you and then he reached into a pouch and held out his free hand, “Here.”

You let him drop the objects in your hand, a small stack of credits. 

“It’s not much, I know, but it’ll be enough to get you some food and supplies you need. You don’t need to worry about a place to stay, Cara will show you but… You can get what you want and need.” He withdrew his hand slowly, almost reluctantly.  

You swallowed, closing your hand around the credits and you slipped them into the pocket inside your cloak. “Thank you..”

The Mandalorian merely nodded again, leaning back against the threshold of the ramp, his thumb absently rubbing circles on Grogu’s belly.  

It seemed that there was nothing else to draw this goodbye out, so you took a breath, straightening your cloak. “Well… I guess I’ll say goodbye then.” You looked up at him, then stuck out your hand for his, realising only a few seconds later how dumb that was. 

Before you could pull your hand back, he reached out and clasped your hand in his own, wrapping his fingers around your distinctly smaller hand. “Goodbye… princess.” You heard the smirk in his voice, and you couldn’t help the chuckle and the eye roll again, not failing to notice the way his hand tightened involuntarily and then withdrew. 

You looked at Grogu in his other arm, who was still avoiding looking at the pair of you, wriggling in his father’s arms. You bent down to draw your face to his level and you stroked his ears, “I’ll miss you, little guy. Make sure to keep your dad on his toes, okay? You gotta make up for both of us now.” You pressed a kiss to the top of his head, feeling his little hand pat your cheek with a mournful noise. Tears burned the back of your eyes, so you leant back, instead picking up Duru so she could say goodbye. 

Grogu cooed sadly again, stroking Duru’s cheek, looking up at her with his glossy eyes. 

You let Duru but her head against him, chitter a goodbye and then you stepped back, allowing her to climb up your shoulders as you looked up at Mando. 

You just watched him for a moment, his armour reflecting the light on one side and then, with a soft inhale of courage, you turned and walked down the ramp, Duru padding at your feet. 

You had only just cleared the ramp, stepping onto the hard, compacted ground when Mando called out, “Wait.”

You turned quickly, hope blooming in your heart, in your expression though you tried to stop it. 

He had made a step onto the ramp, body poised like it was trying to run to you but he was holding back. He hesitated, almost as if he were torn with what to say – or what not to say, but all that came out was, “Ret'urcye mhi.”

You couldn’t help the shiver that licked down your spine, the way his voice turned into dripping honey when he spoke Mando’a. “What does that mean..?” You prayed he couldn’t hear the slight hoarseness to your tone.

He tilted his head down to look at Grogu, then lifted it back up to you, “It means goodbye…. And maybe we’ll meet again..” 

Your heart swelled a little, a flush of pain going through it but you smiled softer, your expression melting and you inclined your head slightly, “I would like that.. very much…” 

There were a million other things that threatened to roll off your tongue, pour from you but before they could, you turned around, walking toward the town and feeling his eyes on you the entire time, burning into the back of your head like a fiery brand. 

You were about 4 metres away when you heard Grogu start crying, when your own tears broke through and spilled down your cheeks. You kept walking, even when your vision began to blur and go fuzzy.

So you didn’t see the way Mando hugged Grogu closer, whispered, “I know, kid, I don’t want her to go either.”

You’d be okay. It would be fine. 

So you and the Mandalorian were parting. It was no big deal. You had helped each other; you had returned each other’s debts. You owed each other nothing. 

The sound of engines whirring filtered into your ears, and you waited until you heard the Crest lift from the ground before turning round. 

You paused, wiping your cheeks as the ship that had become a haven of sorts lifted into the sky. It hovered for a second, as if hesitating and then shot up higher, taking with it the two people that you had come to mean more to you than you realised. It felt like the Razor Crest had taken your heart with it. 

How comes you hadn’t realised before how much they meant?

Too late now.

You remained watching the sky, long after the ship had vanished into the atmosphere. 

With a shuddering breath, you wiped your cheeks. You kissed Duru’s tail, and then returned to walking toward the town. 

You’d be okay… right?

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#the mandalorian x force sensitive! reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x force sensitive! reader #din djarin x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal #the mandalorian #din djarin blurb #grogu #the force #star wars #rogue

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Late Fees // D.M.

Summary: Draco moves to a sleepy village after the war, wanting some time away. To keep himself busy and his mind occupied – away from the terrors lying in wait – he volunteers at the local library. There, he meets all sorts of characters. Mrs Taylor who has a love for trashy romance novels, Mr. Roth who is more than happy to be left alone with his books, and you.

A/N: A Librarian AU that absolutely no-one asked for.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Muggle!Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of food and drink, mentions of nightmares, flirting, pining, cuteness

Word count: 7k (this got away with me)

The sleepy Yorkshire village never changed. Perhaps that is what Draco liked so much about it. Routines established and set in stone; everyone knew everyone and what they did every day.

The decision to move to Yorkshire from Wiltshire had been made overnight. Draco had sat through another painstakingly awkward meal with his barely-keeping-it-together parents and decided that he had had enough. Draco had returned to his room; hands shaking as his mind raced through the pros and cons of his decision. He needed to leave; he had to – he was injuring himself further the longer he stayed, yet he had nowhere to go. The Malfoy name was not one to be greeted with open arms and warm smiles.

He had chosen Yorkshire for the fact that other than Neville Longbottom; he didn’t know of anyone from there. With Neville training under Professor Sprout at Hogwarts, Draco had high hopes that he would run into the Gryffindor there. He was not yet ready to confront the sea of apologies he owed Neville.

So Yorkshire it was and Yorkshire it is.

He had moved in the spring; the fields surrounding his sleepy village finally turning green after the winter’s frost, fresh blooms on the trees lending the air a floral scent. The house in which he chose was relatively smaller to that of which he was used, but that was what he wanted. He wanted a complete change from what he had grown up; from what he was accustomed to. Draco needed to shake up his life entirely and his three bedroomed cottage in the Yorkshire Dales would do just nicely.

It takes six months for Draco to become bored of the same routine. He wakes on the couch after another restless night, he makes his first coffee of the day as he cooks his breakfast and then he leaves the house. He tries to spends as much time as he can outside; believing the fresh air to be doing him the world of good as he follows the well-worn paths through fields and forests, the temptation to get truly lost almost too much as he ambles aimlessly.

It takes six months for Draco to give into the desire to find something to do. He needs a job, he tells himself. Not for the money – no, Narcissa Malfoy had ensured he would be set for life when he moved out. He needs to a job to keep his mind occupied; to keep his body busy and his mind on other topics so he doesn’t continue to focus on everything that happened before. The Second Wizarding War had destroyed so many lives, and he bitterly regrets the part he played in destroying those lives. The survivor’s guilt mixed with the guilt by association is a nauseating concoction that leaves him unable to sleep, paralysed with the fear of what his mind could conjure once his eyes slip closed.

The sighting of the job advert in the window has Draco feeling as if all his Christmases have come at once. It was on his daily walk through the centre of the village that he sees the sign hanging in the window of the small library. A place he hadn’t yet ventured for fear of the silence, but a place he would happily enter if it kept him somewhat busy.

He had rushed inside; striding quickly up the small ramp and grabbed the ‘Volunteers Needed’ sign from the window, barely stopping himself from slamming it down onto the counter.

It was almost laughable; his desperation for the job, but he didn’t know how long he could continue the same mind-numbing routine. He didn’t know how much longer he could explore the forests of Yorkshire and not want to scream; he had seen vista after vista, his breath stolen at some of the views, but he wanted something else. He needed something else.

The grey-haired lady behind the counter jumped as Draco cleared his throat. “Morning dear,” She greeted, “How can I help you?”

Draco pushed the sign across the counter, “I’d like to volunteer with the library, please.”

That had been that. Madge, the elderly librarian, was wanting to retire. She had been a volunteer with the library service for nigh on forty years; her love for books something else entirely as she dedicated her life to lending them to others. After a brief conversation over the role in which Draco would take, she had given him his start date and that was that.

Draco had left the small library feeling lighter than air. The usual pressure upon his shoulders and behind his eyes barely there as he sprinted home; wanting to write a letter to his beloved mother to tell her of his news.

-----

The library was situated in the centre of the village. On its left sat the only pub, a large building that exuded nothing but happiness as it opened at noon on the dot. On the library’s right was one of the few general stores – it held everything. In his first few weeks in the village, Draco found himself spending his money there rather than travelling to other towns and cities. It had everything he could possibly need.

From his position at the desk, Draco had the perfect view of the village green along with the sole church in the village that catered to nearly every single resident. Day in and day out, Draco sat happily at his desk, sorting through returns and library catalogues as he ambled through the aisles when he needed to stretch his legs.

It wasn’t a large library. He felt certain that the library at Malfoy Manor was twice the size of the one he finds himself standing in now, but nevertheless, he appreciated this one just as much. Books had been his solace for much of his life. The library at the manor becoming his safe space at the age ten to the age of twenty. He had never worried when he was there; he could find an escape in the pages of an ancient tome explaining the histories of spells and charms, or he could find solace in one of the risker muggle books his mother kept hidden away from his father.

He doesn’t need to spend too much time inside to know he loves it. It was an oddly shaped building; octagonal with a shoot off where Draco’s new desk sits. The shelves line the walls; each one titled clearly with its genre and then books sorted alphabetically by author. The building itself was just over a century old; having seen two world wars and survived to tell the tale like many of the residents of the small village.

As Draco wanders the library, running his fingers over the spines of much cherished books, he knew he was going to be very happy within these walls.

-----

Draco meets Mrs. Taylor on a Wednesday morning a month after he started working at the library. It had not been a very busy morning; Draco spending most of it going through the ancient catalogue system and wondering whether it would be worth it to apply for a grant with the local council to get a computer. He’s thinking of his very first day in the old library, staring at the shelves and shelves of loan records when a loud cough breaks him from his daydream.

“You must be Madge’s replacement?” A feminine voice chimes: there’s no hint of the Yorkshire accent that Draco has come accustomed too in his time up north. Her accent is southern, but whereabouts, he couldn’t place.

He smiles politely at the grey-haired lady. “That I am,” He confirms, “I’m Draco. How can I help you?”

The elderly lady doesn’t reply. Instead, she rakes her eyes from Draco’s face down his body, leaving him feeling like a piece of meat rather than a living and breathing human. She must like what she sees, Draco thinks, as she smiles broadly, stepping closer to the counter. She holds a hand out to Draco, expectant in his taking of it. Draco shakes her hand once before letting it drop as she introduces herself, “I’m Mrs. Taylor, dear. I’ve been visiting this library for nearly forty years now.”

Draco blows out a puff of air; impressed with Mrs. Taylor’s dedication to the library. “So you’ll have known Madge well then?”

“Oh yes, but I can’t help but wonder whether I’ll get to know you just as well too.”

Draco reels back at the obvious meaning to her words. He raises a single eyebrow at her tone, replying carefully, “I plan on being in the village for some time. I’m sure you will see me around.”

Mrs. Taylor nudges her rounded glasses further down her nose; resting them on the tip, “I hope I do.”

Not knowing what else to do, Draco laughs, “How can I help you today, Mrs. Taylor?”

Disappointment evident in her tone, Mrs. Taylor drops a tote bag onto the counter. The bag is full to the brim with books; all returns for Draco to sort through this afternoon. He has to resist the urge to give Mrs. Taylor hope in the form of a loud kiss on the cheek; she had just sorted out his plans for the afternoon to keep his mind deliciously numb from the panic that had started to creep in once more.

“These are all to be returned, lovie,” Mrs. Taylor states, pushing the bag closer to Draco in the effort to get their hands to brush like in the romances she adores so much.

“Thank you, Mrs. Taylor. Will you be taking anymore out while you’re here?”

She laughs; her hand on her chest as if Draco had asked the most ridiculous question known to man. “Of course, I always take out new books. I shall see you in a bit, lovie.”

Mrs. Taylor toddles off, her red polka dot skirt swishing with every step. Draco shakes his head, amused by the older lady before getting to work on her bag full of returns.

It takes three books to realise the genre Mrs. Taylor enjoys reading. He catalogues romance novel after romance novel; each with a title that leaves very little to the imagination. Seducing The Viking and Romancing The Cowboy make their way to the returned stacks as Draco continues to work on the bag of books.

The more books she returns, the more he gets an insight into Mrs. Taylor’s mind. Draco has nothing against romance novels; he’s read a fair few in his time, but he had never read books with titles such as Taming The Pirate and Teasing The God.

Hurriedly, he makes a mental note to visit the romance section of the library to get a peek at any further books with such titles. He could see exactly what the appeal was; half naked men with ripped abs on the cover promising romantic liaisons in the rudest of manners. He understood why they were so popular despite having not ventured into the genre himself, preferring classic romances like that of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy.

Mrs. Taylor returns to the desk; her arms full of new books to read. At the sight of her struggling, Draco rushes out from behind the counter, “Let me get those for you, Mrs. Taylor.”

“Oh… thank you, lovie,” She responds, smiling, breathless from the walk around the library but also from the weight of the books.

Draco leads Mrs. Taylor back to the desk where he spies the title of the first book in her large pile. Bewitched By The Billionaire stares up at him as he writes out the title and stamps the return date in the designated section of the book.

To help, he places all the newly borrowed books back into her tote bag, smiling politely at the grey-haired lady as he does so. “There you are, Mrs. Taylor, I hope to see you again soon,” Draco comments, handing her the full bag of salacious books.

“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Draco,” Mrs. Taylor croons; hoisting the tote bag full of new books onto her shoulder. She waves at him so flirtatiously that Draco cannot help but respond with a wave of his own as she leaves the library.

He feels amused long after the pensioner leaves; her overly flirtatious manner and her taste in books providing Draco his afternoon entertainment as he returns books to shelves and goes through catalogue records, trying to make some sense of the librarians that came before him.

All too soon, however, the light of the day fades behind the clouds as the sun sets. Draco releases a shuddering breath, going through his routine for closing up the library – making sure all records are locked away along with any money. He locks the door behind him, pulling down the shutter and shoving his hands into his jean pockets, setting off up the road in the direction of his home.

He dreaded this part of the day. In the daylight, he could keep himself occupied with the shelves and shelves of books, organising and recording. He could keep his mind busy, away from the terrors that lurked on the sidelines – waiting for the moment in which they could invade.

That moment is always comes. Draco tries to avoid it as much as he can; does anything he can to stave off the inevitable, but it always arrives, and it always catches him off guard.

Tonight, it’s as he’s sleeping. He’s pulled from a nightmare; scream lodged in his throat so tightly that his throat aches from the power of it. Tears trail down his cheeks as he tries to catch his breath; tries to slow his heart rate to an acceptable rhythm.

Draco looks around his bedroom; counting whatever he sees. Two bookshelves, one dresser, one wardrobe. He counts them all over and over again until his mind has cleared of the paralysing terror he had just experienced.

Nightmares came often. They started after the end of the war, and for now, it seemed like they were here to stay. It was never the same one, however. Draco had experienced so much trauma through the events of the war that his mind constantly replays them like a film; choosing a select memory and letting it play as he sleeps.

He settles his face in his hands, counting to ten as he inhales and exhales. He has to calm down; he cannot focus unless he calms down.

What feels like a lifetime later, he pulls his face from his hands, letting the inevitable wave of tiredness wash over his body. His body is tired; it’s dead tired and screams for rest, but his mind. His mind is awake and it’s restless. Draco sighs heavily, glancing at the clock on his bedside table, noting the early hour and knowing he would not be able to sleep anymore.

He flips on the light to the bathroom, turning on the shower before getting a look at himself in the mirror. skin pale save for the shadows under his eyes; whilst his sleep pattern had improved since moving away, there were still nights where Draco struggled to get more than three hours sleep. He tugs off his t-shirt, his eyes running over the pale pink scars that could not be wholly healed by Snape and Madame Pomfrey. The curse he had been hit with was brutal; only to be used on the worst of people and he understood why now. He had healed wonderfully; only a few scars remaining, but it would take longer to recover mentally from what had happened. His most common nightmare revolves around the pain he felt after the duel in the bathroom.

A shive runs through his body as he steps into the warm spray of the shower. Lavender is his body wash of choice as he squirts a large glob onto a sponge. He refuses to think as he washes himself; refuses outright to think about a thing other than what he needs to do next. Now you need to wash your hair Draco, grab the shampoo and wash your hair. Then you need to rinse off, Draco.

He talks to himself, getting himself through the aftermath of the nightmares just like he has always done. He brushes his teeth before leaving the bathroom; hoping that the spearmint of the toothpaste will overcome the acrid aftertaste of the scream that was lodged in his throat for Merlin only knows how long.

Draco dresses robotically; going through his list in his head to make it easier to cope with the fog that feels like it will be staying with him all day. He gets downstairs, only managing a cup of tea before deciding to head out.

The brisk walk to the library has Draco’s mind starting to clear. The early morning air tied with the frost has Draco startling awake even further, rejuvenating the blood in his veins and making his steps faster.

He barely looks around on his walk to the library; too used to his surroundings to be in awe of the rich landscape around him.

It’s why he freezes when he spots you.

You stand outside the library; breath nothing but white puffs in the air as you huff into your hands, trying to warm them up. You feel someone watching you; startling slightly when you catch Draco’s eyes on you.

You smile at him, “Please tell me you’re opening the library.”

Draco nods; holding up his keys as evidence, “How long have you been waiting?”

“Not long. Fifteen minutes at the most.”

“That’s not so bad if the weather wasn’t this cold,” He comments, unlocking the shutter and then the door, turning back to face you, “Are you coming in or what?”

You come back to life; dragging your eyes from the lithe figure of the man before you to meet his eyes with a sheepish glance, “Let me unfreeze and I’ll follow you.”

Draco laughs, he truly laughs. He opens the door to the library; glad to hear your footsteps following close behind him. Draco doesn’t take off his coat, he heads straight to the desk where he counts down the seconds for you to join him.

Timidly, you hand him your return. He takes it from you, automatically flipping to the record at the front of the book. “It’s two weeks late,” He comments; eyes wide, voice aghast.

You purse your lips, “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice that.”

His eyebrows raise in shock, “How could I not notice that when I have to check the return dates?”

You shrug, “I’m not sure, but is there any way I can get out of the late fee?”

“What?” Draco asks, voice loud and in shock once more.

“I’ve never returned a book late. This is the first time this has happened,” You defend, crossing your arms across your chest.  

Draco hesitates, chewing on his bottom lip. He had seen the late fees waived before; had seen Madge’s notes in the columns of the records, but he had never waived a late fee before. He watches you; noting your body language as well as the dark shadows under your eyes that reflect his.

He nods twice, “I’ll waive the late fee this time.”

“You will?” You ask, your voice breathless, your eyes wide in shock.

“Yes, I will.”

“Thank you,” You say; repeating the words over and over as you smile widely at him.

Draco waves away your thanks with a motion of his hand; he’s simply happy he could bring a smile to your face.

With another smile, this one smaller – more genuine, you gesture towards the shelves, “I’m going to find something else.”

Draco nods, “Of course. I’m here to help if you need anything.”

You nod your thanks, turning from him and heading towards the stacks of books. Draco watches you walk away, unable to truly comprehend the conversation. He should have charged you the late fee; he knows he should have, but he took one look into your eyes and knew that he wouldn’t be charging you much of anything.

Clearing your throat, you bring back Draco’s attention. He smiles at you, “Did you find something?”

“I did. I’ve had my eye on this for a while,” You reply, holding up the cover to a fantasy novel, “I’m glad it’s finally available.”

Draco smiles, taking the book from you. No words are spoken as he records the borrow along with the date it needs to be returned. On a whim, he underlines the date twice before handing it back to you. You tuck the book in your bag; smiling gratefully at the blonde haired man before a laugh escapes your mouth,  “You’ve met Mrs. Taylor, haven’t you?”

Draco averts his gaze; feeling the familiar blush creep onto his cheeks, “How did you know?”

You point towards the stack of romance novels behind him, “She’s the only one in the village to read them. Madge would order them special for her to save her travelling to the next town.”

Draco feels oddly touched on behalf of Mrs. Taylor; that Madge cared that much for her to order books to save her travelling so far. He smiles softly, “I’ll have to see if there’s any new that have been published to save her reading Seducing The Viking again.”

You snort, “From what she’s told me, that one is her favourite. She would love you very much though if you were to order some new novels for her.”

“I’ll have to have a look into it though she might love me already.”

A fond grin makes it way across your face, “She’s a regular flirt, but she means well. If you’re ever in a pickle, it’s Mrs. Taylor you need.”

“How long has she lived here?” Draco asks; curiosity getting the better of him.

“All her life. She was born here in the forties and never left. She met her husband, had her family and that was that. She was settled. She’s like the village’s grandma.”

“She sounds like she has lived a whole life,” Draco murmurs, hoping slightly that the elderly lady would pop into the library today so he could hear some of her stories. It makes him miss his parents bitterly; they had their mistakes, but they loved each other wholly with a passion entirely encompassing.

“She has,” You utter, “I have to get going, but it was nice meeting you…”

“Draco,” Draco supplies.

“It was nice meeting you, Draco. I’m (Y/N).”

“It was nice to meet you too. I hope to see you soon… minus the late fee.”

You laugh once more; promising him that there would be no more late fees. Draco watches you leave once again, shouldering the bag on your arm. You tug your coat tighter against your body, shivering against the bitter cold air.

As he watches you walk away from him, Draco briefly wonders how long it would be until he saw you again, and just how much he was looking forward to it.

-----

Three weeks later and the library is the busiest it had ever been. Not only does Draco have a slew of new orders to get ticketed and on shelves, he has three people wandering the shelves.

Mrs. Taylor returned first; her tote bag once full to the brim of her returns. She had shamelessly flirted with Draco some more, stating that it was his grey eyes that did the trick. She had never seen eyes like it. Mrs. Taylor grasped Draco by the cheeks and kissed him on the forehead when he showed her the new delivery of romance books. At one point, Draco swore he saw tears in her eyes as he let her delve into the new books.

Then entered Mr. Roth. Mr. Roth was a man he had only met twice in the whole time Draco had been working at the library. He was a man of few words; happy to keep to himself and his demeanour reminded Draco too much of his own grandfather. A man he had only met a handful of times yet knew he was happy to never meet again.

Mr. Roth nodded at Draco in greeting before making his own way to the military history section, browsing the titles silently and happily. Draco had left him too it; too nervous of Mr. Roth’s reaction should he be asked for any help.

For a time, it was those two. The both of them milling about the library, adding more books to their pile to be read.

However, they are soon joined by Madge herself. She smiles widely as she enters the library; rushing over to Draco to sing his praises for how well the whole place looks. Draco blushes something silly at her words; he hadn’t heard much praise through his life, had needed to for the perfect mould and was disciplined when didn’t. For Madge to praise Draco over the care he takes with the library, it isn’t something he’s likely to forget anytime soon.

Madge leaves Draco after that. She dawdles through the shelves, knowing the exact layout like the back of her hand. She spies Mrs. Taylor by the romances and Mr. Roth by the history section, but she herself, heads towards the classics. Having read them all multiple times, Madge was always happy to revisit her favourites whether it be Pemberley, Wuthering Heights, or Thornfield Hall.

All the while, Draco couldn’t help but hope that you would walk in through the door. He had met you once, spoken to you once but he longed to see you again. Twice now he had seen you walking past the library; earphones in and nodding your head to whatever song you were listening to. He had raised his hand both times, waving to you. You waved back, smiling gently to him.

He didn’t want to tempt fate; didn’t want to harbour feelings for someone he had only met once, but he couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling deep within his gut that you were going to mean something to him one day.

If only you would enter the library.

----

It takes another week.

It’s another week of wondering and wishing. It’s another week of nightmares and early starts.

At this point, Draco has been living in this sleepy Yorkshire village for a year. He celebrated by working late at the library; organising new stock and creating a new display depicting the best reads of the month as voted for by the residents of the village. He had unashamedly added Mrs. Taylor’s newest favourite book at the top; that alone had earned him a wet kiss on the cheek.

You enter the library on a slightly warmer day in March. The month had begun frigid and frosty, but now closer to the middle, it seems that spring had finally taken its hold of the village.

You enter with yet another sheepish smile on your face, an apology already falling from your lips as you hand Draco the late book. “I know it’s late,” You ramble, “But I really haven’t had the time to sleep never mind drop it off considering the commute to work and back and the weather.”

Draco stops you by raising his hand, “It’s okay. You don’t need to explain yourself to me.”

You chew on your bottom lip, “Are you sure? I really am sorry.”

“It’s fine. You don’t need to pay the late fee either.”

“What?” You ask; hand already reaching for your purse.

“You don’t need to pay the late fee.”

“Why?”

Draco sighs, “Can I be honest with you even if it’s only our second time talking to each other?”

You nod wordlessly; nerves beginning to settle in your stomach in response to whatever could come out of his mouth.

“You look like you have a lot going on right now. You mentioned the commute to work and back, but you also look shattered, so I get it. I get what you mean when you haven’t had the time.”

You blink, the familiar burn of tears starting at the back of your throat. “You get it?”

Draco nods, “I get it. I know what it feels like to be so tired you feel like doing nothing else. I don’t know why you’re so tired, and you don’t have to tell me, but if you need to talk, I’m here.”

He’s stretching his neck out. It’s only the second time he’s spoken to you, but he doesn’t like the way the shadows under your eyes are looking. They seem to suck any happiness out of your face, leaving you almost gaunt looking.

“Can I repay you?” You ask suddenly; voice determined.

“What? Why? How?” Draco asks in a barrage of questions. He doesn’t need repayment; he would never ask for such a thing in the first place.

“You’ve shown me kindness. Can I repay that?” You state; voice clear as it rings out across the empty library.

“How?” He repeats; still unsure as to just how you would repay his kindness.

You glance at the clock; it had barely past ten am. You smile at Draco, “Would you like a late breakfast?”

It takes him less than ten seconds to answer; of course he would join you for a late breakfast. Draco grabs his coat; scrawling a sign for the door stating that he would be back in less than an hour, but truthfully, he didn’t think anyone would be in today.

----

Breakfasts consists of a full English rounded off with a pot of Yorkshire Tea. You argue stubbornly over brands of tea; yourself choosing Yorkshire as Draco opts for another brand.

Conversation never stops flowing; any silence is filled with a question or a story that always seems to lead to laughter either from Draco or yourself. Draco sits through the whole breakfast with a smile; he hadn’t felt this good in a long time. He had spent such a long while dealing with the guilt he harboured for surviving a war he was on the wrong side of.

It’s over this breakfast that he realises he needs to tell you. He needs to explain to you who he is and why he is here. Draco could talk to you all day long about tales from his education and his childhood, but they would all continue to be half-truths if he never told you about the magic that flowed through his veins and made him capable of incredible things.

Walking back to the library after breakfast, he resolves to tell you if he sees you again. You hadn’t taken out another book so he doubted he would. However, the small voice in the back of his head and also resided in his heart hoped that you would so he could confess.

-----

Draco does see you again. You start to frequent the library; wandering the aisles in search of your next read but also to spend time with Draco. You would be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t find him fascinating and handsome, but he had an air of mystery around him that you were desperate to get to the bottom to.

A friendship forms. The both of you finding yourselves better matched for each other than anyone else; becoming close and confiding in each other when things seem darkest. You confide in him your deepest secrets, explaining the nightmares that hide behind the dark circles under your eyes. Draco confesses much of the same, but his desire to tell you about the magic he can wield remains on the tip of his tongue, turning more bitter the longer he waits to tell you about himself.

He tells himself excuse after excuse: it’s too soon, it would scare you off, he isn’t ready. In actuality, he is ready, and more than enough time has passed for the relationship to be so firmly cemented that it wouldn’t scare you off.

Yet he panics, and it keeps him up more often than his nightmares. How does he tell the one he’s closest to that he can form light with a whisper of a single word? That he can brew potions to not only heal but to incapacitate?

He hasn’t neglected his magic whilst he’s been in Yorkshire; he’s used it well enough. To dry himself off if caught in the rain, to send books back to their shelves if he’s comfy in his seat. However, he has always been wary of his talents around you, too worried about being caught out and destroying the one positive friendship he has had since he was fifteen years old.

Draco needs to tell you. He knows he does; he’s let his feelings get in the way of confessing who he really is and what he can do. His feelings for you hadn’t crept up on him; he had constantly been aware of his changing emotions. As the friendship progressed, he found himself wanting to reach out and take your hand randomly or wanted to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear and then stroke your cheek. These hadn’t been the ponderings of someone who held platonic feelings; they were entirely romantic, and Draco wanted nothing more than to pursue that option with you, but he didn’t know how you would feel after he confessed his magic.

Truthfully, he didn’t want to tell you because he didn’t want to see the fear and disgust in your eyes as he had so often seen reflected in the eyes of witches and wizards around him. To see that in your eyes, it wasn’t something Draco could ever be prepared for.

How long could it last though? How long would he have with you before you sniff out the lie and the friendship falls apart from there?

Draco ponders these questions as he tidies up the library; new books on shelves along with freshly returned ones. The two questions float in his mind as the late afternoon turns into the evening and Draco readies himself for closing.

He startles slightly as you enter the library. You look lovely this evening, and everything Draco wants to tell you sits perched on his lips, waiting to be screamed into existence.

“Are you ready?” You ask, leaning forward on the desk.

“Ready? For what?” Draco questions, confusion lacing his tone.

You frown, “We’re eating at your place tonight? You told me to meet you here and we’d walk there together?”

Draco’s eyes widen as he suddenly remembers the promise he made you last week; to cook for you one evening so you could eat something other than pasta and noodles. “Of course I remember,” He covers, laughing nervously, “I was just messing with you.”

Your frown deepens, “If you don’t want to do this Dray, it’s okay, we can reschedule or something.”

Draco shakes his head rapidly from side to side. “No!” He all but shouts, “Let me grab my coat and my keys and we can go.”

You laugh; feeling the awkwardness that had quickly settled between you, “Are you okay, Draco?”

Draco nods: gulping as he herds you out of the door so he can lock up. “I’m fine, I just have something important to tell you tonight.”

“Tonight?”

He nods once more; the words stuck in his throat. The decision had been made; he would tell you tonight and then deal with the consequences afterwards.

The walk to his home is silent; nerves settling in both your stomachs as minds run into overdrive over what could be said tonight. Draco – terrified for your reaction. You – terrified for what he has to say, wondering nervously whether your feelings for the blonde had been too obvious from the beginning and he was going to put an end to your friendship.

It didn’t matter how often you visited his home; it would always leave you breathless at the sight of it. It had been a home you had admired for years, knowing the family that had lived there before Draco. They had moved to the next village over, wanting to downsize after their children had left home.

The large cottage had always been gorgeous but seeing Draco in a domestic element added more appeal to you. He takes your coat from you, hanging it up before doing the same, toeing off his shoes as he does so.

You expect him to lead you to the kitchen where you had watched him cook so many times before. An expert chef as demanded by his mother, you loved to watch Draco cook and bake. He could create marvellously tasty dishes from just a handful of ingredient – a talent you wished you possessed.

However, he doesn’t lead you to the kitchen, he leads you into the living room where he switches on all the lamps in the room without touching a single switch.

“How did you do that?” You demand, wonder and curiosity making your tone sharper than you intended.

“This is where I need to you to not lose your mind,” Draco whispers, his hand reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a long stick.

“Why do you have a stick, Draco?”

“It’s not a stick. It’s my wand. Hawthorn with a unicorn hair centre.”

You frown, puzzled, “A wand? As in a magician’s wand?”

Draco nods, “If you need to sit down after I tell you, I understand.”

“Tell me what?”

“I’m a wizard,” He states bluntly, no room for argument.

You laugh; it’s breathless from confusion, “I don’t get what you mean.”

“I’m a wizard. I have magic. I can turn on the lights in any room without saying a word or touching a switch, I can brew potions that heal injuries, I can fly a broomstick and I’m pretty good at it too.”

“So you’re a wizard and you can do magic?”

Draco nods, “Would you like me to show you?”

You nod wildly; the action sending your hair flying into your face. You push it away, not wanting to miss a moment of this.

Draco sends you a bashful smile as he holds his wand out, pointing it at a lone book on the coffee table beside the couch. In a clear voice, he calls, “Accio!”

In a single instant, the book flies across the room and lands in his outstretched hand. He holds the book up to you as evidence. Your mouth drops open; in shock at what you have just witnessed. Draco represses a laugh at the look on your face, knowing how hard it must be to comprehend all of what has been unloaded on you.

“Then why are you here? In Yorkshire of all places?” You ask, even more curious for his life in Yorkshire.

Draco sighs, “There was a war. I found myself on the wrong side and I saw too many people I know die. In the aftermath, when everyone was healing and starting to live their lives again, I couldn’t move on. I left home so I could start to heal and find myself, find who I want to be.”

“And have you now?” You ask; hope shining in every word.

Draco nods slowly, “I think I have. I think I’ve started to heal at last.”

“I thought you wanted to end our friendship,” You confess, your voice no higher than a whisper.

Draco steps closer to you; dropping the book and taking your hands in his. “Never,” He promises, then he takes a deep breath, “If anything I want more.”

“What?” You gasp.

Draco bites his lip, feeling the all too familiar blush creep its way up his neck. “I want more,” He repeats.

He waits for your response, desperate to know what you think about everything else he has just unloaded on you. You open and close your mouth a few times; words failing you. Draco starts to panic, starts to form the words to take pressure off you when you step forward and kiss him.

It starts as a gentle brush of lips, but then the pressure becomes firmer, and Draco starts to respond. He gathers you in his arms, tugging you tight against him as his mouth memorises yours and every whimper that leaves it.

Your lips part under his and Draco takes every opportunity to deepen the kiss; relishing every second of the kiss and the way you feel pressed up against him. Your hands find themselves in his hair; carding through the blonde locks before tugging gently, smiling against his mouth at the groan the action elicits from the back of his throat. His hands start to wander; memorising the expanse of your body as he dips you slightly, wanting nothing more than to lay you out on the floor where you stand.

He doesn’t. Instead, Draco breaks the kiss. Pulling away with one, two, three pecks to your lips, grinning widely when you chase him for more. “You don’t care that I have magic?” Draco asks, gasping from the kiss.

You shake your head; tears shining with happy tears, “I couldn’t care less. I thought you were going to end our friendship because you figured out my feelings for you.”

Draco reaches up; tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, “Never, darling.”

You feel your face flush at the use of your new pet name. Draco choosing then and there to refer to you only as ‘darling’ if your response what to be that every time.

He dips his head once more; kissing you for all that he is worth. Pouring every ounce of emotion he has in his body into this kiss; hands grip you tightly as your hands start to wander, fiddling with the hem of his shirt and skirting the flat plains of his stomach.

“One condition,” Draco whispers against your mouth.

“Name it,” You whisper, tugging on his bottom lip with your teeth.

He groans; low and throaty as he kisses you deeply, barely remembering to break the kiss so he can mutter, “No more late returns.”

The laugh that leaves your body has you shaking in Draco’s arms. He swallows your laughter with his mouth; silencing you effectively as he leads you back to the couch where he politely persuades you into no more late returns.

********

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