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mithranqueersmusings · 4 years

Text

5 Star Man I

Chapter: 1/3

Rating: E (Smut Warning)

Summary: Dennis has been gone for a long time, Mac misses him dearly and finds himself rooting through his old sex tapes.

Tags: Smut

Pairing: Mac/Dennis

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

Mac didn't suppose he'd ever become adjusted to the newfound quietness of their apartment, or his apartment to be more accurate. Dennis leaving out of the blue like that had shocked them all, within a day or two they started to realise that it hadn't been some strange joke or scheme of some kind. As much as he didn't want to admit it, it hit Mac the hardest of all the gang. Their relationship had been complicated to say the least, never truly being defined or talked about properly, and this disappearance hadn't made things any clearer.

It was another solitary night for Mac, debating whether to actually do something productive with his evening or just slide into bed and hope for sleep to come. Most nights he'd just spent exercising, something in his mind wanted to believe that if he got into better shape somehow it would make Dennis come back. After weeks of hearing nothing, and having no way to contact Dennis after he misspelled a digit or two on the phone number he'd given to Mac, it didn't look like his best friend was ever going to return.

He was already fairly drunk, nothing too eventful was happening in the bar ever since Dennis' departure, and his head was beginning to ache. All the medication was always kept in Dennis' bedroom, Mac had questioned this a thousand times but only ever got strange and evasive answers, and even though Dennis was gone he hadn't moved any of his things around. Mac traipsed into Dennis' room, flicking on the light reluctantly and letting out a groan with the new pounding in his head. The main reason Mac thought Dennis was coming back some time soon was that he'd left all of his possessions behind; one or two things wouldn't have been suspicious but he'd left everything. Even some of his most prized possessions: his Steven Winwood CD collection, the RPG Mac had bought him for Valentine's Day and his expansive sex tape collection. The latter was definitely the most confusing, Dennis had spent years upon years creating those tapes and to leave them behind without any thought didn't sit right with Mac at all.

As he trudged over to where Dennis kept the medicine - there was so much in the drawer that Mac had never even heard of before, but he never questioned it - the tape collection caught his eye. He didn't feel like he was intruding, after all he'd sat with Dennis - and Charlie and Frank on occasion - and watched the tapes together, just like every ordinary group of guys do. Popping some pain killers into his mouth and swallowing, the dryness of his throat itched, Mac bent down and started rifling through the tapes. Even in today's world, Dennis still recorded them on VHS (something about the nostalgia of it all, he'd said), each of the title's scribbled in Sharpie alongside a star rating. Dennis took these ratings very seriously, and he rarely ever gave a girl a 5-star rating, as far as Mac knew he hadn't actually ever given one. Perhaps it was the boredom, or the alcohol, or the missing of Dennis that spurred Mac on to search through more of the tapes curiously in search for any that could boast a full rating.

Some of the names sparked memories for Mac, especially since he'd usually be in the apartment when Dennis would bring the girls home. He was careful taking them out of the box and laying them gently onto the floor, after all if Dennis did ever come back he didn't want to risk sending him off again because his tapes had gotten all smashed up. Tape after tape and not a single girl had impressed Dennis enough, which didn't surprise Mac at all, yet he continued to search as though he was somehow still connecting with Dennis through it all.

A countless number of tapes later and Mac considered giving up, he hadn't even gotten through half of them when his eyes suddenly light up; there was one! The excitement this caused Mac wasn't entirely justified, he knew that it was a little strange what he was doing, but he couldn't help it. This feeling shifted dramatically when Mac was able to bring the tape closer to read the name:

Dennis ★★★★★

Mac blinked dumbfounded. Was this some kind of strange coincidence? Surely there were no women in the world named Dennis, although Mac wasn't someone to go around judging the ridiculousness of people's names. But then what was it? Surely Dennis wouldn't have filmed one of just himself, the whole point of the tapes was to look back on his past conquests with pride, but then again he was never the most humble of people. Continuing to stare at it, Mac decided there was only one way to find out and that was to watch it.

The excitement of the whole ordeal was beginning to spread across his body, Mac told himself the erection growing in his pants was merely a side-effect of the alcohol, as he walked over to the VHS player and popped the tape in. Fumbling around for the remote desperately, Mac finally found it and settled down at the front of Dennis' untouched bed before turning the screen on.

Starting up, the video looked the same as all the other tapes with the all-too-familiar angle of the camera positioned towards the bed. Dennis was there, judging by the look of him the tape wasn't actually that old, which surprised Mac somewhat. The lighting in the room was low, a few candles lit around the space to help set a mood. Mac waited for a girl to show up as he heard Dennis saying something he couldn't quite make out, but no girl came into view. Mac shuffled uncomfortably on the bed, his pants were getting increasingly tighter, as he watched Dennis turn around to stare directly into the camera.

"Hello." He said in a low voice, one Mac had heard a thousand times before on these tapes, and even though he knew Dennis wasn't actually talking directly to him, it still felt that way.

Mac gulped as Dennis' fingers moved up to the buttons on his shirt, circling around them loosely before actually undoing them.

"I'm so glad you could join me." Dennis smirked slightly as the checked fabric slid off of his body and onto the floor fluidly "We can finally be alone together."

Mac raised an eyebrow subconsciously, this was only getting more confusing as it went on. Dennis had been known to talk to himself, even referring to himself in the third person sometimes, but making a sex tape of himself for himself was reaching a new level of narcissism, even for him. No matter how strange he thought it was, Mac couldn't deny that was completely enraptured by it and didn't think for even a second about turning it off. He'd seen Dennis naked countless times, but this felt more personal somehow, like it really was for him.

Next Dennis moved to work on his belt, slim fingers loosening the buckle and pulling the leather out until he held both ends in his hands; he gave it a quick pull and winked at the camera before tossing it carelessly onto the floor. Mac felt his mouth drying up as he eagerly watched Dennis' hands slide down to unbutton and unzip his jeans. The denim slid down his skin effortlessly, revealing that he was wearing no boxers underneath.

"You like what you see?" Dennis asked with a low chuckle, standing entirely naked in front of the camera unashamed.

Mac felt compelled to answer, as stupid as he knew that was. His own jeans were getting far too restrictive now, he had to loosen them just to relieve the pressure, that was all. Dennis took a few steps backwards then seated himself on the bed, sitting on his calves in a way which almost made him look delicate. Mac couldn't help his eyes fixating on the way Dennis' hard cock bounced as he adjusted his position. To think that Dennis was doing this on the very bed Mac was sat on now only spurred his excitement further, he idly brushed his thumb over his clothed erection and let out a quiet hiss at the much needed contact.

"God, you're so hard, aren't you?" Dennis' voice got softer as his hand slowly curled around his own erection "I think I can help with that."

"Shit..." Mac unintentionally whispered, Dennis' sultry words going straight to his cock.

"Why don't you take that hand and put it to good use?" Dennis let another quiet laugh, but his eyes were piercing "Just watch me."

Dennis began to follow his own words, slowly pumping his hand up and down his length, letting out a high-pitched moan which caused Mac to flutter his eyes shut. He wasn't exactly sure when he'd made the decision, but he'd hastily pulled out his hard cock and began touching himself too; following Dennis' rhythm closely.

"Feel good?" Dennis asked, his tongue poking out slightly to run across his top lip.

Mac found himself nodding slightly, his head was beyond hazy at this point.

"You look amazing." Dennis spoke in a whisper again as he began quickening his pace, throwing his head back gracefully as moans began to pour of his mouth.

Instantaneously, Mac followed suit and jerked himself faster, he'd awkwardly shuffled his jeans and boxers down to his ankles so that he could spread his legs more freely. His mouth was hanging open, low groans spilling uncontrollably as he watched Dennis slowly become undone. This was far from the first time he'd seen Dennis like this, but something was different this time; rather than watching Dennis dominate some random woman, instead Mac felt like he held the power this time and it was severely messing with his head. Dennis never submitted to anyone, in any situation whatsoever, so it naturally made sense that he'd only be submissive to himself. Mac knew he was never supposed to see this, that he was encroaching on Dennis' privacy, but he'd gone too far now and it felt far too good to stop.

"I feel so empty without you." Dennis moaned, his neck arched as he began thrusting into his hand "Need you to fill me up."

Mac felt himself sobering up as he watched Dennis' idle hand, that had been pressed loosely against his thigh, curl round behind him to pull his cheeks apart. His eyes widened dramatically, this certainly wasn't where he'd been expecting it to go. Mac didn't follow Dennis' actions this time, but he wasn't entirely sure why; after coming out he'd been no stranger to such activities, even though he'd never really done it himself. The sight of Dennis slowly pressing a finger into himself was incredibly mesmerising, Mac almost stopped altogether just to watch him.

"Fuck..." Dennis breathed out heavily, Mac couldn't exactly see what was going on behind him but judging from Dennis' expression he'd forced another finger inside.

Mac's hand grew more erratic and sloppy as he watched Dennis penetrate himself, he wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to last. Dennis' eyes had been shut tightly for a while now, the raising of his eyebrows and soft sounds falling from his lips was the only indicator of how he was feeling. A third finger was hastily inserted, Mac could only tell because of the pained expression that quickly spread across Dennis' face but it soon melted into bliss as he too started to lose control.

"So big..." Dennis groaned, beginning to ramble "You're so fucking big."

The volume of his own moans shocked Mac, he'd never really allowed himself to come undone so freely in the apartment before through fear that Dennis would hear. Thinking about Dennis not being there distracted from the blissful feeling, Mac tried to shut it out and focus entirely on the display before him, as though Dennis were truly here.

"Getting close..." Dennis gasped, Mac wasn't entirely sure how many fingers he was thrusting inside at this point, his tousled hair sticking to his forehead in places "I'm gonna cum... I'm gonna cum for you."

Mac was almost over the edge at this point, if this had been any other porno he would've let go long before this but something inside him wanted to wait until Dennis was ready too, so that they could finish together. His wrist was beginning to ache, his lip bleeding where he'd bit into it deeply without even thinking. Dennis snapped his head forwards, his eyes opening once more as he stared deep into the camera with longing eyes.

"Are you ready?" Dennis' voice wavered slightly "I want to you to cum inside... I know you're close too, I can feel your cock throbbing inside me."

Mac was at his breaking point, he'd slowed down ridiculously just to try to stretch himself a little bit further but he could feel the wave of pleasure beginning to wash over him. Before he closed his eyes, he savoured the image of Dennis so wrecked and desperate, throwing his own head back as he managed to catch Dennis' final words.

"I'm gonna fucking cum!" Dennis almost shrieked "Cum inside me, please. Give me your cum, Mac."

Before he could even fully register what had been said, Mac was already too far gone as he felt himself stuttering and his vision departing completely. For a moment or two images flashed in his mind of Dennis riding his cock, kissing him deeply as they came. Falling back lazily onto the bed, his hand and stomach sticky, Mac lay there for a few moments debating whether he'd actually heard what he thought he had. Surely not. It was just one of those strange moments, that was all. By the time he felt ready to sit back up again, the tape had finished and the TV continued to hum quietly with the screen a faded grey. One thing Mac certainly wasn't going to do was think about the fact that he'd just touched himself too to a video of his best friend fingering his own arsehole, what good would that do? Instead, he kicked off his jeans and boxers and waddled off into the bathroom to clean himself up.

At least his headache was gone now, he thought as he splashed his face with water. There was nothing better to get you ready for bed then a good orgasm, Mac smiled to himself as he slunk into his own room and fished around for a relatively clean pair of boxers to wear to bed. Since Dennis had left, his overall togetherness of life had doubtlessly decreased, but as long as he never descended to Charlie and Frank's level, Mac didn't see what the problem was. He threw off his shirt into a corner of the room and was able to clamber into bed before he heard a sound: the front door opening. Mac scoffed and rolled his eyes, it wasn't unlike the gang to barge in so late at night but he certainly wasn't in the mood for it right now. He debated pretending to be asleep, but it didn't take long for him to realise that it would've been pointless. Letting out a huff, he stomped over to his bedroom door and threw it open, sticking his head out in anticipation of finding some strange events unfolding in his living room, but instead the gang wasn't there at all.

"Hey, buddy!" A voice called out excitedly, it was Dennis.

Mac was flabbergasted, still grasping onto the doorknob as he stared at Dennis in alarm.

"You alright? Didn't give you a scare, did I?" Dennis asked with a grin, he'd thrown his keys onto the coffee table like everything was normal.

"Dennis?" Mac finally asked, taking a couple of steps into the living room to get a better look at him (was he dreaming again?) "What are you doing here?"

Dennis let out a hearty laugh "What am I doing in my apartment? Well, living, for a start." He gave Mac a confused look before turning to face his room "You been in here?"

Mac felt his heart sink, granted he probably should've cleaned up in there - at least turned the light off - but Dennis was the last person he'd expected to see tonight.

"Uh..." Mac hurried over to Dennis who was walking back into his room casually "No, no I-"

"Oh... I see." Dennis tutted sarcastically "Been going through my tapes, again? Can't really blame you, there's some pretty good stuff on these. So who'd you go for? Brittany, Ellie? Ooh, what about Stacey, that one's a classic!"

Mac began to panic, his brain could hardly think of a coherent thought let alone figure out some kind of excuse. This had to be a dream, a nightmare would be more accurate, as he watched Dennis eject the tape from the player and hold the VHS in his hand.

Silence.

Dennis stared at the tape, all the joy that had been on his face wiped away in an instant as Mac stood there feeling his face heating up in complete and utter shame. After what felt like a lifetime, Dennis finally looked back up to Mac and though he was trying to mask what he was truly feeling, Mac could see right through it.

"You watched this?" Dennis asked, his voice had gone cold.

Mac's eyebrows knitted together, he began biting his lip again nervously "Dennis, look-"

Dennis' eyes began to scan around the room, fixating on the bed which was ruffled and dirtied "You touched yourself, to this?"

If only he could wake up from whatever hell this was. Mac scrambled for something to say, anything, but when he opened his mouth nothing came out. Dennis' face shifted again, the anger melting away into something softer yet still somewhat sinister.

"What did you think?" Dennis began to smirk, the exact same one Mac had seen on the tape.

#its always sunny in philadelphia #its always sunny in philadelphia smut #iasip #iasip smut #macdennis #macdennis smut #mac/dennis #macxdennis #dennis/mac #dennisxmac

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palimpsessed · 4 years

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So @captain-aralias did one of these and invited other writers to do the same. And I wasn't really going to because it feels a bit late now and also I've done quite a few other year in review posts for 2020. But then I got to thinking that it would be really nice to have one of these for each year to look back on and compare, which convinced me. So, here we go!

If you’re a writer, I’d also encourage you to steal this. Tag me on your post so I can see your thoughts! 🥰

List of Complete Fics for 2020 1. At the Top of a Tower, With You- General, 900 words 2. Use Your Words- Teen, 16k 3. A Man of Letters, or Five Times Baz Retreats and the One Time He Doesn’t- Teen, 54k 4. To the Manor Borne- Teen, 43k

Total: 4 fics, 113k words

Every one of these fics was written for an event, which, realistically, is the only reason they got finished. I have so many ideas I'm working on all at once, and I came into fandom with a focus on making art, so to actually find the motivation to sit down and write/finish/post a fic was entirely deadline based. And it's a technique I'm sure I will also employ in 2021.

Best/Worst Title?

Well, I've mentioned a few times before that I usually have a title before I have much in the way of a fic concept. I don't really dislike any of the my titles, because they all did exactly what I needed them to do, which was help me focus on what I wanted to accomplish in the fic. Comparatively speaking, though, I can answer this.

Best: Use Your Words - succinct, idiomatic, a book quote/motif that also has the potential to be a spell, does what it says on the tin, is probably what all of us are constantly yelling at Baz and Simon to do throughout the books and the fic itself

(Honorable mention to A Man of Letters because that title forms a perfect heart shape when viewed on mobile on AO3. ❤️)

Worst: At the Top of a Tower, With You - this is also a quote and it fits the fic perfectly, but it is a bit of a mouthful and it has a comma in the middle of it, which, while I love commas, feels a bit off-putting in terms of a title - also, it's always kind of bothered me that it's a Baz WS quote used for a CO-era Lucy POV

Best/worst summary?

Again, I don't really dislike any of my summaries.

Best:

To the Manor Borne: The gang decides to spend Christmas together at Pitch Manor. Romance, hijinks, and holiday cheer ensue.

Anything that lets me use the word hijinks is always good! - it's short and sweet - it does a fair job of setting up the premise for the fic and giving highlights, without giving anything away

Worst: A Man of Letters

I'm not going to include this one because it's so long, I had to cut down the version I posted on tumblr to fit in the AO3 field, which is really why I rank it below my others - it effectively sets up the world of Simon and Baz in Regency England prior to where the story starts, but it is prohibitively long - and it's set up, not summary, so it also loses points for not doing what it purports to do - I could have said exactly what this fic was in one sentence: "Simon and Baz meet at several Regency-appropriate venues over the course of a London season and reflect on their acquaintance in letters", but instead I did the full book jacket version because it was more interesting to me.

Best/Worst First Line?

Oh, this is interesting. I can honestly say that I have no idea where this will go. Going to pull up my docs and find out! Okay, since I only have four fics to consider, and I'm feeling split, I'm going to do two for each. I feel good about my words, but I will say that half of my first lines actually provide information, and the other half are incomplete thoughts. Those were stylistic decisions I made, but when taken alone, it does somewhat limit the effectivness of a sentence when it can't stand without the rest of the paragraph. Perhaps that decision will lure readers in for more?

Best:

In the end, we wind up at Pitch Manor. (To the Manor Borne)

I know that you won't be surprised when I tell you that I do not like writing letters. (A Man of Letters)

Kind of interesting that these both contain key words from the titles 🤔

Worst:

I'm not sure how I'm supposed to do this. (Use Your Words)

I love how the title seems to be answering Baz's question when the two are put together like this 😂

Strange that it should end here, where it all started. (At the Top of a Tower, With You)

The title also seems to complete the first line in this one, too. I'm learning about my writing as this goes on, so that's cool!

Best/Worst Last Line?

Hmm. Okay, again, no idea. Also, a little leery of including last lines for anyone who hasn't read the fics they're from yet. (Tho I guess it's unlikely those people would be reading this😆) But let's see what we've got.

Use Your Words and A Man of Letters have very similar final lines, and both are somewhat spoilery.

Best: The ending of A Man of Letters felt risky to me, in the way that it is formatted and changes tone from the rest of the story. It was something that happened as I wrote it and I loved it. I had no idea if readers would like it, if they would feel like it worked as an ending, but I felt strongly enough about it to let the entire fic hinge on that and I think it really paid off. So, without giving you the actual last line, which is only one word, I'm going to say that one is my best ending.

Worst:

To the Manor Borne: "Carry on, Simon."

It's not bad, it's just not mine.

Looking back, did you write more fics than you thought you would this year, fewer than you thought, or about what you predicted?

I did not set out to write any fics in 2020. I was supposed to be taking a break from writing. I've been an aspiring novelist for half my life now, and have been going through major ups and downs with my writing. I decided I needed to re-evaluate and figure out if writing was something that was even going to be able to make me happy anymore. The answer is: YES! Just…not original fiction. At the moment. I'm happiest when I can write for the sake of writing and not have to DO something with that writing. Which is why discovering fan fiction was AMAZING!!!! 🥰🥰🥰

To actually answer the question, yes, I wrote more than I thought I would. I also wrote exactly as much as I thought I would, simply because these were all things I signed up for (with the exception of my Countdown fic, but I committed to it as if it were something that required a sign up).

I have a lot more ideas for 2021, but I don't know how many of them will come to fruition. I'm not putting pressure on myself to have to do anything beyond what I sign up for again, because it did work out so well for me starting off.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted last year?

I mean, the pairing and the fandom were in no way a surprise. 😆 They're my only ones, so those were both a given. The genre is also not surprising.

What's your favorite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest?

A Man of Letters, without any hesitation. I adore it so much. It's the kind of fic I know I will unabashedly sit down to read over and over, even if I'm the one who wrote it. I had one reader to please and it was ME. By far, my most self-indulgent fic.

Okay, NOW your most popular story?

That depends on the metric.

To the Manor Borne leads in Comments (107), Kudos (153), and Hits (1992), and Use Your Words leads in Bookmarks (26).

But since To the Manor Borne is top in 3 out of 4 metrics, I'll say that one.

Story most upderappreciated by the universe?

I mean, the least popular by a wide margin is At the Top of a Tower, With You, but I don't know if I'd call it underappreciated. It's short, it's angsty, it's got a very unusual style, it's Lucy POV, it's the first fic I wrote and posted. I didn't really go into it with high performance expectations. I'm proud of it, I just didn't expect it to be popular. It would be nice if more people read it, but I'm not broken up over it.

Story that could have been better?

I'm not even going to touch this one. Everything can always be improved upon, but if I go down that route, nothing will ever be done. This is one of the things I have come to appreciate about traditional art versus digital. With traditional, there is only so much you can do before something is permanent and you have to live with it. It's an exercise in letting go and acceptance. Digital is flashier and more flexible, but I could (and have) spend months on a single piece and never feel satisfied, never stop tweaking. I think that's also the reason I started to hate my novels.

Sexiest story?

Based purely on overall vibes, I find the understated tension of the Regency the most appealing, so I'm going to say A Man of Letters. I didn't actually stray into sex territory in any of my fics (though Simon and Baz have had sex by the time To the Manor Borne starts, and refer to it, and probably do it "offscreen"), but A Man of Letters is the one that feels sexiest to me. Lots of thirsting!Baz and feral!Simon and sensual hand touching (how risqué!) - and YEARNING. That, to me, is the sexiest vibe of all. So. Much. Yearning.

Saddest story?

At the Top of a Tower, With You - for this one, I tagged "angst without plot" and I stand by that. It's Lucy losing her connection to Simon at the end of CO and trying to find a way to reconcile herself to leaving him alone again. I gave it as much of a hopeful bent as I could, with the refrain of Baz's spoken "love" to cling to, but it's very sad.

Most fun?

To the Manor Borne - All of my fics have their fair share of angst, but this one also has some good, silly, holiday fluff thrown in. Since I wrote it for the Countdown, each chapter was based on a different prompt, which led to this one going in all sorts of directions no single fic probably ever should. Plus, it has the most Shepard, and Shepard always makes things more fun.

Story with the single sweetest moment?

Oh my god. I don't know. No, never mind. I do. It's To the Manor Borne, but it's split between the two gift giving scenes, the Constellations and Secret Santa/Gift Giving prompts. These were private moments between Simon and Baz, sharing themselves with each other, being vulnerable, and communicating. It's the gifts they give each other, yes, but it's more so the reasons they chose those gifts, and how they show part of themselves and share their love for each other, through those gifts, that had me in tears writing those two scenes. I'm super proud of them.

Hardest story to write?

Use Your Words - it was written for an exchange and that made it really hard to write it knowing there was this pressure of making my gift-ee happy with the fic. I'm proud of it, and they really liked it, but the anxiety was too much for me.

Easiest/most fun story to write?

A Man of Letters - if there is a fic better suited to me as a writer, I haven't met it. I started writing after reading Pride and Prejudice in high school, so I started out writing Regency and I spent years and years and years of my life obsessed. When I transferred into college, an administrator I had never met before heard my name during orientation and said, "Oh, you're the Austen scholar." (It is a small, private college, and I was a transfer, so the pool of students was even smaller. But still. Many years later, I'm clearly not over it.) I also did my senior thesis on an epistolary novel (Frances Burney’s Evelina), and my English Lit emphasis was for that time period. So, I felt like I had been preparing for this fic my entire adult life. 😂

Did any stories shift your perceptions of the characters?

I don't think so. I tend to let my writing be dictated by the characters, so I'm always following their lead. Sometimes they'll do or say something that surprises me and takes me down a route I didn't necessarily foresee, but I don't think there was ever a point where one of them did something that made me rethink who they are as a character.

Most overdue story?

I will say A Man of Letters, since that one felt like a culmination of my seventeen-year-old self's wildest writing dreams. But I should probably say the Scooby Doo AU I still haven't managed to finish, because that one has been a WIP since I joined the fandom. Oops. (I'm hoping when I look over this in a year, I can feel smug that it's finally done.)

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

Writing at all was a risk for me! And writing fan fic for the very first time! Writing an entire fic told only through letters. And then ending it in a completely different style from the rest of the fic. Doing a multi-chaptered fic for the Countdown, using a different prompt for each chapter, and publishing a chapter every single day for thirty days (with the exception of two days that had art). Signing up for fandom events in the first place!

What I learned from taking risks in my writing is the same thing I learned when I took risks in my art this year. I have a much better appreciation for what I've done when I push myself, I feel better about the end product, and I like it longer. I think it's really good for me to challenge myself creatively.

This year's theme and the story that demonstrates it most?

Oh boy. Um. Therapy! Both Use Your Words and To the Manor Borne had their big HEA moments built around sending Simon and Baz to therapy. I don't think that's likely to change for future fics, either. I feel like therapy as the theme for 2020 seems very fitting. (Also, I think I keep sending the boys to therapy because I'm trying to get myself there…)

What are your fic writing goals for next year?

Just to write what I want to write, have fun, not put any pressure on myself, and to take risks in my writing and my art because it will help me to grow.

#fan fic year in review #my fic #at the top of a tower with you #use your words #a man of letters #to the manor borne

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war-sword · 5 years

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needy

(Draco x female Hufflepuff reader)

summary: (inspired by the song 'needy' by Ariana Grande) Draco Malfoy has been made a Death Eater and given the task to murder Albus Dumbledore, something that would make any normal person have constant breakdowns. Draco is no different. In the solace of Moaning Myrtle's company, he gets attached to someone else in the process. words: 13.9k warnings: cursing, implied sex, blood (sectumsempra curse). a/n: Hi! I've had the plot for this imagine in my head since January, started writing it in February, and now in May it's finally finished :) I Hope you all enjoy. If you've never heard this song, I really recommend it! lot's of Ariana's recent music makes me think about Draco. I tried to incorporate as many lyrics as possible, and also some from her song 'ghostin'' (an alternative title I considered) p.s. to my knowledge, brushing bugs are not something in the Harry Potter universe, I just came up with them on my own. I figured pureblood witches and wizards would have found alternative, magical means to cleaning their teeth, maybe considering toothbrushes for muggles, muggleborns and halfbloods. (there will be no second part to this imagine. it’s already super long) taglist: @clockworkherondale @mayorofzillyhoo @hockeyandmarvel @mdgrdians. this fic is deadicated to @socontagiousimagines who i know has been going through a tough time, loves ari & draco, and writes amazing stories ♡

Part of him couldn’t believe he was back in this bloody bathroom again, confiding in what was possibly Hogwarts’ most annoying ghost. And yet.

Myrtle was actually… not so annoying. Maybe she thought he was cute, but then again, from most of the stories it seemed she found all boys cute. Regardless, she was one person Draco could safely vent to, seeing as A) this problem would be trivial to her in twenty years and B) the Dark Lord couldn’t exactly kill a ghost, no matter how powerful he was. Myrtle had all the time in the world, and was very willing to listen to Draco come and complain or cry. She also gave surprisingly comforting advice, even if she couldn’t give him any physical comfort.

“...not your fault, he’s always sticking his nose into others’ businesses.” Myrtle’s high pitched voice echoed around the tiled room, pulling Draco’s thoughts back to the topic at hand.

“Myrtle?” Draco heard a female voice call. Myrtle immediately shut her mouth, and Draco tensed up. The girl came walking into the bathroom and turning the corner to where the rows of toilets were. “Sorry I’m...” Her voiced faded as she finally looked down the aisle.

Draco hoped it was someone he didn’t know, but instead found himself slightly surprised. It was Y/N L/N, the only Pureblood of their year to be sorted into Hufflepuff. Draco had always been vaguely aware of her presence– she was Hufflepuff Prefect, and her father worked at the Ministry like his own father. Draco had never had any reason to talk to her though, since they were sorted into opposing houses and young Draco had seen no reason to keep up with her.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Y/N started, clutching the book she was holding to her chest. “Normally no one’s up here.” Draco averted his gaze quickly, looking down. He rubbed his sore and puffy eyes. His pale complexion did not make his panic attacks any easier to hide. Maybe if he continued to look like this all the time, people would stop noticing. Myrtle pushed her fingers together awkwardly as she looked between the two living students. Y/N gulped. “Um… are you alright?” She asked.

Draco let out a short laugh that echoed around the tiled room. “What’s it look like?” he sniffed, rolling his eyes. He still didn’t make eye contact with her.

Myrtle looked nervously back and forth between her friends as Y/N stepped closer. Y/N perched on the edge of the bench the other side of Draco, who was too tired to tell her to piss off. “Would you like a hug? You look like you could use one.”

Draco finally looked over at her with his reddened eyes. “What?”

“I know Myrtle is a good listener,” Y/N said gently, “but sometimes a hug is nice. They’re scientifically proven to help, you know. I give very good ones.”

Draco looked away again, absentmindedly rubbing his arm. This was a very strange encounter and he was quickly getting self conscious. “I think I should just go,” he said quietly, his voice catching. He jumps up, grabbing his cloak from beside him, pulling it on as he walks quickly down bathroom hall.

“Malfoy?” Y/N calls just as he’s about to turn the corner. He stops short and looks back. “I won’t tell anyone. Don’t worry.”

Draco feels a little surprised. “Thanks,” he sighs in relief, then disappears.

༄

Draco felt like he started to see more of Y/N after that. Slipping through the halls, walking through the dungeons late at night. Despite her Prefect status, she never inquired to where he was going at odd hours, or even attemptted to get him in trouble. The first few times was just awkward eye contact, but then she decided to offer him small smiles. Draco would just nod in acknowledgement, and turn away. He wondered if she was following him, or if he was just more aware of her. It was hard to say.

“What’s your deal with L/N anyway?” Draco asked Myrtle one day, trying to be casual. For once he hadn’t come to the bathroom on the first floor because he was hyperventilating, he was just bored.

Myrtle shrugged, flying in slow circles around the sinks in the middle of the bathroom. “She just likes to hang out with me.”

“What’s her tragic backstory, then?” Draco deadpanned.

“I’m not sharing yours, so obviously I can’t share hers.” Myrtle said. Draco looked over at her, and caught Myrtle’s sly smile.

“She really just comes to hang out then, huh?”

“You would be a lot more fun if you were easier to fool, Draco.” Myrtle pouted.

I might be dead if I was a fool, Draco thought to himself.

“She just knows I’m lonely, is all. Unlike most people, she likes to take time out of her week to come visit. We read books together, since I can’t enjoy them now that I’m dead.”

Draco just hummed in response. So she hadn’t been sneaking around him that day, she had just come to see Myrtle. That made him feel a little more relaxed. Hopefully Y/N would just fade back into the background and he could stay focused on his task.

༄

Draco was fuming. He’d had a tough week with classes– Snape exempted him from all assignments, but that was only a small reprieve from his other coursework. Wasn’t it enough he was only attending school this year for a murder operative, but he still had to do all the regular homework too to keep up the act? He’d been slammed all week and was unable to get to the Room of Requirement once. Tonight he was planning to catch up for lost time, but of course Filtch had to catch him on his way. His lie about Slughorn’s lame Christmas party had only gotten him so far. He would’ve been able to handle the situation just fine, he was the great Malfoy liar after all, but of course Snape had swooped in. That was enough in itself to piss Draco off, but Potter was right there– and Draco had seen the look on his face.

He continued down to the dungeons, leaving Snape in the corridor. He didn’t want his help. He could do this… couldn’t he? As he descended down the many staircases, he became more and more fretful. Maybe Snape was right.

Draco found a quiet corner in the hall and leaned against the wall. Familiar despair crawled up his spine and into his mind, and tears started to prick his eyes. If he kept crying this easily, he was just going proving Snape’s point more. Draco unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt in an effort to make it easier to breathe. He closed his eyes and tried to do the controlled breathing exercise that Myrtle had suggested he do when he felt a panic attack coming on. In, and out, very slowly as he counted to five. In….. out….. In….. out. Draco was so focused on his breathing that he didn’t notice the footsteps.

“Malfoy?”

Draco jumped. He opened his eyes and looked up to see Y/N standing around the corner of the corridor. Since it was past curfew, he expected her to be in uniform with her Prefect’s badge prominently displayed. Instead, she was dressed in casual clothes- black shorts and a big grey Hufflepuff sweatshirt, her hair up in a bun with pieces falling out all over the place. She had her feet pushed into her uniform shoes halfway, like she’d just slipped them on to walk a short ways. In her hands she was holding a small bundle. Her eyes were wide in surprise he felt mirrored on his own face.

“Are you… um….” Y/N faltered. “Would you, er, like a cookie?” She held out the bundle in front of her.

Draco paused a moment. “Why not?”

Y/N shuffled over and sat down next to him, leaving a healthy bit of space. She unwrapped the bundle of cloth to reveal five chocolate chip cookies, looking soft and warm. Draco broke off half of the one on the top. “I’m in the middle of a long herbology essay,” Y/N explained. “I have a bad habit of snacking when I take homework breaks, and I probably shouldn’t eat all five of these.”

“Well, in that case...” Draco took the other half of the cookie. Y/N smiled.

“They’re good, I promise. There always seems to be plenty of them in the kitchen, even at this hour.” Y/N re-wrapped the remaining four cookies and then took her hair out to redo her twist. Draco watched as she smoothed her hair back into a sleek new bun with no flyaways. She looked cuter with the little pieces out, he couldn’t help but think.

“Maybe I should start coming down here, too. Eat my feelings instead of talking to a dead person.” Oops. Draco closed his eyes and inwardly cringed at his own slip-up.

But Y/N didn’t seem to react at all. “Like I said, Myrtle is a good listener. I don’t blame you. She’s a pretty good secret keeper, too.” Y/N played with the edge of her sock, looking down. “Myrtle wouldn’t give me any hints. But uh… if you ever want to talk to someone who’s not dead, I’m usually not too busy.”

“Thanks, but it’s nothing really.” Draco brushed her offer away. “Just a bad day is all.”

Y/N nodded. “Are you okay right now?”

Wow, was he really getting this bad at being unreadable? “Yeah, just got kicked out of Slughorn’s stupid Christmas party.”

“Ah,” she said. “I should’ve guessed, that explains the suit. I didn’t know you were invited.”

“I wasn’t.” The edge of Draco’s mouth quirked up.

Y/N grinned. “Well, the next time you go sneaking around make sure it’s not on Wednesdays, Fridays or Mondays. That’s when I patrol.” Y/N grabbed her bundle and pushed herself into a standing position. “Hope your night gets better, Malfoy.”

“Thanks,” Draco said, genuinely.

Y/N continued down the corridor and disappeared around the corner in the direction of the Hufflepuff dorms. Draco looked back at the two halves of cookie in his hands, and took a bite. They were really good. He leaned his head back on the stone and let out a sigh. Maybe he should just go back to his dorm and sleep, for once. He could go to the Room tomorrow; he still had time.

༄

Draco’s panic attacks were becoming more and more frequent, and he found himself spending more time in Myrtle’s bathroom than the Room of Requirement. This only caused his anxiety to rise more, a vicious cycle he was desperate to escape.

Myrtle hovered nearby, helpless as Draco dry-heaved over a toilet. He was sweating and shaking from cold at the same time, his teeth chattering while he watched sweat roll off his nose and into the murky water below.

“Draco, are you listening to me? You need to breathe, try to take slower breaths.”

He tried to listen to Myrtle, and successfully managed to get his hyperventilating under control. Draco sat back against the wall of the stall he was sitting in, and pulled his cloak over him like a blanket.

“See, look, much better,” Myrtle said. “Can you tell me what happened? Was it Harry again?”

Draco nodded. “He… Slughorn never delivered the wine to Dumbledore. He gave some to Weasley on accident, and he would’ve died if Potter didn’t give him the antidote. Fucking Potter,” he spat. “Why is it always him? He knows Myrtle, he must! This is the second time he’s been there when my plans went wrong. He’s going to figure it out. Merlin, if I just had more time…” Draco could feel his knees begin to shake again. He leaned his head back against the wall, pressing into it, trying to use the pressure to ground himself.

“Draco, please be reasonable. Harry can’t know-“

“YES HE DOES!” Draco screamed. It felt good to scream. “He might as well have seen my fucking Dark Mark, Myrtle!”

In the moment after Draco’s echoing yell, there was deafening silence. Draco glanced out of the door of the stall and noticed saddle shoes peeping out from around the corner. His blood froze.

Someone was in the bathroom.

Draco stood suddenly, the cloak falling from his knees as he drew his wand. He slid around the corner and pointed his wand near the neck of the eavesdropper, using his other hand to pin their shoulder back on the wall.

“Draco, don’t!” Myrtle cried.

Y/N had her eyes squeezed shut, her arms raised up around her upper body instinctively. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“What did you hear?” Draco shouted. “What did you hear!”

Y/N cowered at Draco’s loud voice. “N-not a lot! I just… heard…” She gulped. “You said you had... a Dark Mark.” Y/N whispered the words.

Draco shrank away, putting his hands up to his face. Y/N was so nice… what would happen to her now that she knew? He felt the familiar fear grip at his chest again, and he leaned over one of the sinks to take a few steadying breaths. “I have to Obliviate you.”

“What?” Y/N said, fear in her voice.

“I have to!” Draco said, turning around to look at her. “You can’t know anything about this, anything about me. It’s dangerous— it’ll get you killed.”

“You don’t have to,” Y/N said, taking a step towards him. “I can help you, with whatever is wrong.”

“No,” Draco said. “You shouldn’t. You don’t even know what I’m talking about.”

That was the first time she touched him. Her warm hands wrapped around his clammy, shaking ones. It had been so long since another person had touched him in such a gentle and comforting way. His wand steadied in his hand as her fingers settled over his.

“Just tell me,” she said, almost a whisper. “I’ll promise.”

They were tucked up in one of the bathroom stalls, backs against opposite sides with their knees brushing. They clasped each other’s wrists and looked into each other’s eyes, Y/N’s hawthorn wood wand casting the spell that wrapped around their intertwined hands like a golden rope as Myrtle said the words.

And then Draco told her everything.

“I’m so sorry Draco,” Y/N said, putting a hand on his knee. The combination of his first name and her touch made him shiver. “I can’t imagine the pressure you’re under, to save your family.”

“I don’t know if I’m going to be able to,” Draco sighed, wiping a tear off his cheek. “The necklace has already failed, and I haven’t made any progress on the cabinet. And now the wine, another dead end.” He leaned his head back on the bathroom stall and stared off into space.

Y/N moved her hand away, and immediately Draco missed the warmth of her touch. She opened up her arms ever so slightly. “Would you like that hug now?”

Draco obliged, crawling over to lean into her chest. Y/N wrapped her arms around his shoulders and braced her leg against the toilet to support the rest of his body. It had been months since Draco had had this much physical contact and felt so safe, he immediately started to sob again. As he cried into her shoulder, Y/N gently rubbed his back. Myrtle looked down at them and wiped away a ghostly tear of her own.

When Draco had cried until he could cry no more, he felt exhausted. He became aware his left arm had fallen asleep from leaning on it, and Y/N probably was even more uncomfortable, seeing as she’d been holding him like the child he was acting like. Draco pushed himself into a sitting position, but Y/N kept hold of his wrists as he pulled away.

“Ugh,” Draco groaned, disgusted, as he spotted the tear stains he’d left on Y/N’s white uniform shirt. “That’s so gross. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Y/N shrugged. “I’ve had plenty of younger Hufflepuffs cry on me about loads of things.”

Draco pulled his right hand free of Y/N’s grip to retrieve his well-used handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. “Yes, I’m certainly acting like a bloody first-year, aren’t I?”

“Draco,” Y/N cooed. “Don’t downplay this. If I was in your position I would be crying all the time, too. This is something no one our age should ever have to do. It’s okay to feel weak sometimes.”

“But recently I feel this way all the time.”

“And that’s okay, too,” Y/N said sincerely. “If you ever want to talk or need help, I’m here. Please don’t hesitate to ask.” She squeezed his wrist gently.

Draco just nodded, wiping his nose one last time. Y/N glanced at her watch. “Come on, it’s dinner time. If we splash some cold water on your face no one will be able to tell you’ve cried by the time we get to the hall.” She stood and offered her hands to help Draco up. As they left, Y/N called goodbye to Myrtle. “I come here on Thursday afternoons and we read. You should come, if you have time to relax for a bit.”

“I’d like that,” Draco said. “Thank you, Y/N. You’re being really nice about this while I’m a mess.”

“Don’t worry about it. My lips are sealed.” She said it casually and walked off, leaving Draco in the corridor so they didn’t go in together. Her words resonated with him, though. She’d made the unbreakable vow to him, someone she barely knew. Draco would have found this suspicious if it was anyone else, but Y/N just radiated positivity, and Draco felt drawn to her like a moth to the flame. If he wasn’t more careful, he would burn.

༄

On Thursday, sure he was too late, Draco burst into the second-floor bathroom. Myrtle and Y/N we seated on the bench at the end of the room. Myrtle cocked her head to the side in interest, while Y/N smiled. “You came.”

The afternoon sun was filtering in through the old windows, causing her yellow tie to glow golden. Her hair was down today. Maybe I shouldn’t have, Draco thought. “Yeah,” he said instead.

“Come on, Draco.” Myrtle encouraged. “We’re reading The Little Prince.”

“French or English?” Draco asked as he approached.

“French,” Y/N said. “I’m learning.”

“Well, I speak French,” Draco responded. “I can help.”

From that day on, Draco joined Y/N and Myrtle in the bathrooms on Thursdays to read, and just generally enjoy each other’s company. It was a nice break from brewing deadly potions in his room and researching new hexes in the library, or doing otherwise untowardly things. He was beginning to associate the girl’s second-floor bathroom with more than just panic attacks.

Y/N was teaching him all sorts of lovely things. She could play the guitar very well. Singing, not so much, but she did her best anyway. Draco didn’t mind listening to her off-key voice, because she had a great time playing for him and Myrtle. Sometimes if they met up after later in the evening, Y/N would bring cookies from the kitchen and she and Draco would share them as they walked, finishing them before getting to the bathroom so Myrtle wouldn’t get jealous.

Y/N wore thick socks all the time, since she self diagnosed as being cold-blooded. She owned a collection of knit sweaters in earth tones. She always wore a set of small earrings of a matching moon and star that glittered mysteriously in dim light. She had perfectly shaped fingernails. She said ‘fluxweed’ with an Irish accent despite having no Irish upbringing. Every time her fingers made contact with his bare skin, he felt electrified and instantly calm all at once.

Draco was forming a terrible, terrible crush on the Hufflepuff Prefect.

He felt awful about it. Even though they only ever talking about his task to kill Dumbledore if Draco was the one who brought it up (he still panicked over it often), he couldn’t help but feel as if he was dragging her down with him. Draco was quickly becoming attached to her. His emotions were like a rollercoaster, up and down at the littlest inconvenience or kind gesture from his new friend. Draco knew he was obsessive and would easily fall hard, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. Her touch was the most intoxicating thing about her, and he needed it.

She could read him like no one else. One day, they switched robes just for fun. Draco’s emerald tie jumped out against her skin, and made his own tingle with want. His robe swallowed up her frame since she was so much shorter, and he watched as she spun around the bathroom.

Draco admired her yellow tie as he adjusted it around his neck. Her yellow-trimmed robe ended just below his knee, and he looked like an overgrown third-year. Draco looked at his reflection in the mirror. Yellow was definitely not his color, but he couldn’t help but wonder what he would be doing if he wore it every day instead of green.

Y/N almost immediately caught onto his somber mood, and joined him in looking in the mirror. She gazed at their opposite reflections. “I dunno if yellow is really your color.” She totally read his mind.

“I was thinking the same. But, maybe if I was a Hufflepuff, my life would be better,” he said honestly.

Y/N hooked her arm around his. “Maybe,” She mused. “But think about all the other great things you are that you wouldn’t be if you were a Hufflepuff. ”

“I feel like there used to be lots of things about myself I took pride in, but now I feel like they’re all a curse,” Draco mumbled.

“Think more simple,” Y/N said. “You’re a quick thinker. You’re super smart, and you learn things so fast. I think all your housemates helped you cultivate those things when you were younger, whereas in Hufflepuff it might’ve been different things.”

Draco felt floored. He’d never even considered that. He just assumed his last name and blood status would carry him no matter what house he was in. As her words still rattled around his skull, he checked his watch on instinct. They’d been here for and hour and a half– he needed to work on the vanishing cabinet today and he had to get new books from the library. “I’ve got to go,” he said to his friends apologetically.

He and Y/N switched back their robes. The collar of his now smelled faintly of her lavender shampoo. They bid their goodbyes to Myrtle and walked together down to the dungeons. “Not to like, be Snape or whatever, but are you sure you don’t want any help?”

“Oh, I’d love help, just not from him.” Draco chuckled dryly. “That doesn’t mean you should come up though, this isn’t your problem to worry about and I don’t want you to be involved in… this.” He quickly amended.

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. “Hm.”

When Draco went up to the room later that night after dinner, Y/N was waiting on him, casually doing paces in front of the wall where the door to the Room would appear. “Y/N, you need to leave.”

Y/N shifted the two thick books in her arms. “No. You said you want help, and I’m here.”

“I’m serious, Y/N.” Draco stood his ground. There was no way he was going to let her get in this deep with him. “I’m not getting you this directly involved.”

“I can see how stressed you are over this,” she argued. “I won’t let you suffer alone over fixing this dumb piece of furniture.”

As her voice echoed in the corridor, Draco heard steps coming from the opposite direction. He quickly summoned the door and yanked Y/N in with him before whoever it was could find them standing there. The door turned into wall behind them, and Draco spun around to face Y/N. “Wait five minutes and then you can leave through here again,” Draco instructed. “I’m not letting you come with me.” He turned to go find the cabinet among the towering stacks of junk, but Y/N caught his arm.

“Draco! Stop, just let me help you.”

“You already help me plenty,” Draco replied, exasperated, not turning around to look at her.

Y/N’s grip softened, and she walked around to stand in front of him. “Please, just show me where it is?”

Oh, Merlin. How the bloody Hell was he going to say no when she was looking up at him like that? Draco swallowed a lump in his throat and closed his eyes for a moment. “You’re not touching it, okay?”

Y/N followed him through the narrow paths between the piles until they came upon the cabinet. It was deep in the room, and after spending hours in this one spot Draco had moved most of the junk out of the way so he could work. In the cleared area around the cabinet, there was a ancient looking couch and a table pushed off to the side. Draco set the book he’d brought on the table and pulled the cloth off the cabinet.

Y/N set her own books down on the table and took off her cloak. She joined Draco in front of the cabinet and they peered inside at the empty interior, always gently illuminated. “So what’s exactly… wrong with it?” She asked.

“I can only transport inanimate objects. Anything living dies.” Draco closed the door back, not wanting to look in anymore.

Y/N crossed her arms and considered it a moment longer. Then she sat down on the floor next to the table, rolled up her sleeves and cracked open one of her spell books. “Have you tried checking the cabinet for external damages? Magic seeping from the inside can cause transportation to be disrupted or loss of limbs.”

I can’t believe I’m letting her help me, Draco thought as he knelt down to look for any cracks on the bottom of the cabinet.

༄

Y/N came to the Room with him often after that. On days she had Prefect patrols, she would slip pieces of parchment into his school bag that had notes or ideas she’d written down for him, or leave a book waiting for him in the library checked out in her name. On days she didn’t, Y/N would accompany him. Just as Draco had asked, she never worked on the cabinet directly. She would just add notes in Draco’s notebook, and help him with wand movements for new spells.

The more time they spent together, their friendship grew. On especially long nights, she would sit on the couch and he would sit on the floor between her legs, so she could massage his tight shoulders while he studied a new book. She would remind him not to bite the edges of his thumbnails, and he would let Y/N rest her head on his shoulder. When that happened, it was hard for Draco not to nap also. Sometimes he did, head on the table while their legs were pressed up against each other, or he would doze while she worked the tension out of his muscles. It was always peaceful sleep.

When she fell asleep, Draco always made sure he never woke her up until he was going to leave. She would drift off with her nose in a book or sprawled out on the couch, lips slightly parted. She looked so calm while she slept. Draco would sometimes brush her hair back and lay her cloak across her shoulders so she could be more comfortable.

One night, Draco sighed and flopped down on the old couch next to Y/N, laying his head in her lap. He hadn’t realized he’d done it until she rested her hand on his hair, smoothing it back ever so gently. She was still engrossed in the spellbook, and Draco allowed himself to close his eyes and enjoy her intoxicating touch. Each brush of her hand eased away his anxiety and replaced it with a sense of calm.

He snapped his eyes open, suddenly aware he’d fallen asleep. Y/N smiled down at his disoriented face.

“How long was I out?”

“Not very long, like twenty minutes or so,” she said as he sat up. “I figured you could use a bit of rest.”

Draco rubbed his face and ran a hand through his hair to shake off the grip of sleep. He was loath to leave her lap and her gentle touch. “I couldn’t help it, the way you were touching my hair just put me to sleep,” he admitted.

“I know.” She grinned. “My mum used to do it to me when I was younger, when I was too excited or nervous.” Y/N put a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “I think we should get back. You need to rest, and we can look for new spells tomorrow.”

Draco sighed, defeated. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

As the two of them walked through the empty halls, Y/N glanced at her watch. “Merlin it’s late. I’m glad I don’t have anything to do tomorrow.”

Draco looked over at her. She was holding the spellbook they’d borrowed with both arms, and her hair had begun falling loose from its bun like it usually did, short tendrils of her locks begging for him to wrap his fingers around them. The words spilled out before he could stop them. “Do you want to sleepover?”

Y/N looked over, eyes wide with surprise. “Sleepover? Like, in your dorm?”

Shit. “Er, yes. I mean, obviously you don’t have to. Sorry, it was stupid of me to–”

“It’s alright.” Y/N interrupted. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“Right.” Draco shoved his hands into his pockets and squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment for a moment. “It’s just–”

“I’ll–”

They both said at the same time. They had reached the bottom of the stairs to the dungeons, and Draco stopped and turned to her.

“You go ahead,” Y/N said, looking up at him.

“No, it’s embarrassing, just forget I asked.” Draco averted his eyes.

Y/N let out a quiet laugh. “It’s okay Draco, just tell me. You don’t have to feel sorry around me,” she reminded him again.

Draco let out a sigh and rested his hands in a fist on his forehead. The more he thought about it the more he’d wished he hasn’t said anything. He closed his eyes, too self-conscious to look at her while he said it. “I have nightmares every time I sleep. Except... when I fall asleep when I’m around you.” He cracked open his eyes to see Y/N staring up at his with a wide, expectant gaze. “You don’t have to, I could understand if that would be weird or crossing some friendship boundary, and it’s really selfish of me.”

Y/N smiled gently. “Of course it’s not. I’m… glad I can help.” She shifted on her feet. “I’d love to sleep over.”

“Really?” Draco asked, dropping his hands down in disbelief.

“Sure. But, I can’t sleep in my uniform.” Y/N gestured to her button-down and skirt that she was still dressed in.

“You can borrow something of mine.” Draco said quickly. Eager much?, he inwardly cringed.

“Alright.” Y/N nodded. “You lead the way.”

They passed the entrance to the Hufflepuff dorms and went down further, under the lake. They stopped between two columns on what looked like a blank wall. Draco whispered the password, and the bricks shifted to open up. “Fancy,” Y/N muttered.

The common room was empty and quiet, only embers left in the fireplace. Draco quickly walked over to where the boys dorms were. “I’ve got to carry you,” Draco breathed, almost inaudible. “The charms.” Y/N nodded, and pointed to his back. Draco bent down and she climbed on, and together they made their way up the steps. Draco’s heart was racing― he couldn’t imagine the trouble he would be in if Crabbe or Zabini saw him carrying a Hufflepuff girl into his dorm room at one in the morning. Draco was vaguely aware this would become a problem come morning, but he decided to focus on getting to his room first.

Draco unlocked his door with his wand nonverbally, and shuffled in the small door. Y/N slipped off his back and he closed the door behind them. He quietly reveled in their success before he turned back to Y/N. It wasn’t until then that he remembered the state of his room.

“Oh, Draco,” Y/N sighed, sounding sad. Indeed, his room looked exactly how one might expect someone in his mental state to be living in. Snape had ensured Draco had a room all to himself to work on his task, and while the privacy was nice, it just gave Draco more space to make a mess. He’d left the candle next to his desk alight all evening, and the wax filled the tray below. The two small dorm beds he had pushed together to create one big one was unmade and badly needed fresh sheets. Papers and clothes littered the floor. Books and parchment rolls filled one desk, while his second still had his cauldron on it and all the ingredients strewn about. Draco walked over to his work desk and quickly closed his diary, setting it to the side.

“I know, it’s bad,” he sighed. Y/N set their spellbook next to where he was leaning on the desk and walked over to his cauldron.

“What were you brewing?”

“Wideye potion, it keeps me awake during the day since I don’t sleep much at night,” he confessed.

“Why don’t you just brew a sleeping draught instead? You know the effects of long term Wideye use,” Y/N said, concerned.

“Believe me, I do know,” Draco said. “I tried the sleeping draught first, but it puts me in such a deep sleep I can’t wake up when I have a nightmare. Three nights of having to sleep through excruciating dreams was more tiring than sleeping four hours and drinking Wideye the next day.” He looked over at her.

Y/N looked so sad. She walked back across the room and wrapped her arms around his middle. Draco sighed as he pressed his nose into her hair. “Well, let’s see if not sleeping alone can help,” she said into his chest. She pulled away and patted him. “Can I have some pyjamas?”

Draco waved his wand and opened two drawers of his wardrobe. “You can get something clean out of there. They might be a bit big when you put them on.”

“That’s fine.” Y/N walked over to the wardrobe and began to shuffle through the clothes.

Draco picked up his own pyjamas from the last night off the bed. “Take your time, I’ll wait in the bathroom. Just tell me when I can come out.”

“Okay.”

Draco closed the bathroom door behind him and slumped against it. Merlin, he’d really done it now. Invite her to sleepover? What was he thinking? He was doing a horrible job of trying to keep her safe― in fact, it was getting worse every time they hung out. Draco threw his pyjamas on the floor and rested his head on the cool tile of the sink, and sighed. He was so, so selfish. And needy. Y/N was so nice, and didn’t deserve to be caught up in all this.

Draco changed clothes and put some Brushing Bugs in his mouth to clean his teeth. Y/N’s voice broke him out of his thoughts. “I’m ready,” she said softly from the other side of the door.

Draco opened the door and saw Y/N waving her wand, cleaning the mess of his room and putting things back in order. She’d let her hair down and put on one of his white tee shirts he wore under his uniform button-downs and a pair of his black silk pyjama pants. And her butt looked really good. His jaw went slightly slack at the sight of her, a stray Brush Bug almost escaping his lips. Y/N turned to see him staring helplessly from the door of the bathroom.

The last few parchments shuffled themselves into a stack and she walked over, the long pant legs swishing around her feet. “Do you have any toothpaste?” She asked.

Draco wordlessly held out his glass container of Brushing Bugs, and she gasped. “You have Bugs? Oh, I should've known, since you’re a Pureblood. I’m the only girl in Hufflepuff who uses them still, everyone else thinks they’re gross.” She took the tiny spoon out of the holder on the side of the jar and popped a spoonful of the small bugs in her mouth.

They waited for the Bugs to finish, standing in the bathroom in silence, taking turns making faces at each other. Draco eventually got to laughing too much and spit his Bugs out into the sink. Y/N followed suit. “ Am I shiny?” She asked, baring her teeth.

“Very shiny. Me?” Draco made a similar face.

“Squeaky clean,” she replied. “Just like your room.”

“Thanks for doing that. You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

God, Draco didn’t deserve her. He turned off the bathroom light, and they walked out. “Which side do you sleep on?” She asked.

“Well, usually the middle. But I can sleep on the right.”

“Oh good, I like sleeping on the left anyway.”

“Sorry it’s a mess. I haven’t had time to make it in a while,” Draco said as they settled into the pushed together beds.

“Remember what I said about apologizing?” Y/N chastised, laying down and looking at Draco as he extinguished the candle and carefully placed his wand on the bedside table.

“Hmm, no. Having trouble recalling it right this moment.”

“That’s more like it.”

The room was mostly dark except for the dim moonlight filtering through the water and into the window that looked out into the lake. A fish swam by, casting a gentle shadow as it passed.

They both laid on their backs and stared up at the ceiling, a distance of about eight inches between them. Draco tried to take a quiet breath, painfully aware they were both awake and aware the other was also awake and knew they were both thinking about how awkward it was. So awkward. He didn’t feel very relaxed anymore.

Y/N shifted beside him. Draco decided to just go for it.

He lifted up the covers so he could move and scooted across the space in the middle of the bed. He pressed his body up against hers, resting his head near her shoulder. Her arm that his torso was touching twitched just the smallest bit. “Is this okay?”

The second it took Y/N to respond seemed to stretch on forever. “Of course,” she whispered. “Just, do this instead.” She moved up just the slightest bit and slipped her right arm under Draco’s head, so he rested on the flat spot of her shoulder just above her breast. She pulled his right arm over across her torso.

Draco felt instantly more comfortable. He moved his left arm so it wasn’t quite so squished underneath him and pulled her closer. Y/N’s right hand came up to his head and she gently started to smooth his hair like she’d done in the room an hour ago. “Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Draco feel asleep almost immediately.

༄

The next morning, Draco woke up first. Awakening felt like he was dragging himself from the deepest most thick depths of sleep, and the second he opened his eyes he felt the need to close them again.

But oh, he would never.

Because Y/N was tangled in his arms, his legs, the tips of her fingers were settled gently against his chest, and her soft breaths were hitting the bare skin of his neck. He wished he could see her face, but what he could see of her body from his limited view of being cuddled up next to her was more than enough.

He strained his eyes to look at the clock on his desk, not wanting to move his head. It was just past nine. Draco hadn’t slept this late all school year. And he was still tired! He gently ran his fingers over Y/N’s hair, enjoying the feeling of her chest rising and falling against his own. He felt a little guilty, but not guilty enough to move.

Draco was only able to enjoy the feeling for five, precious minutes. Three sharp knocks on his bedroom door were enough to make his heart stop.

Y/N sleepily opened her eyes at the sound. “Wh-” She started, but Draco pressed a finger to her lips.

“Hide.” He whispered urgently. Y/N was instantly awake. They detached from each other and Draco went to the door. He didn’t see where Y/N hid, just heard the whoosh of the sheets being thrown.

Draco opened the door and gave his best pissed off stare to an equally disgruntled looking Snape. “What.”

“Watch your tone, Malfoy.” Snape drawled. He brushed past Draco and into the room.

“Come in, why don’t you.” Draco rolled his eyes and shut the door. “You’re the one who woke me up. What do you want?”

“Oh, have time to sleep in, do we?” Snape asked, condescendingly.

“I told you, I’ve been working on it. I’ve got it handled, alright?” Draco raised his voice. “I don’t care how much you wish this was you. Stop acting like you care about helping me.”

Snape grabbed Draco roughly by his arm. “You think the Dark Lord is patient, Draco? If you take much longer, he might decide your family doesn’t deserve any mercies, regardless whether you succeed or not.”

Draco wrenched his arm out of Snape’s grasp. “Get out of my room,” he growled.

“Good to see you’ve finally cleaned.” Snape left the room and slammed the door behind him, robes swishing.

Draco let out a sigh. He looked back at the bed, where the sheets were messed up. A small lump was in a spot where the sheets should have been smooth, so Draco walked over and pulled the covers back.

Smack in the middle of his bed was a grey and brown ferret, staring back up at him with beady eyes. No sooner had Draco processed this, the ferret grew and morphed until he was staring at Y/N, laid flat out on her back, instead.

“Um, surprise?”

Draco’s jaw was slack. “Bloody hell… you never told me you were an Animagus.”

“I dunno… it never really came up.” Y/N sat up and gave a hopeful smile and a shrug.

Draco rubbed his face. “Okay. Alright. No offense to you at all, but this would be a lot easier for my brain to handle if your animal wasn’t a ferret.”

Y/N looked back blankly for a moment, then burst out into laughter. “Merlin, I totally forgot about that!” She kept giggling, falling back into the bed. Her laugh was so intoxicating, Draco found himself laughing a little, too.

“It was actually a very traumatic experience, I’ll have you know.” Draco tried to hold down his laughter with a pout.

“I’ll tell you about traumatic! How about waking up and having Snape walk into your friend’s bedroom in the span of five seconds, and then only have a single sheet to hide under.” Y/N countered.

“Uh, last I checked,” Draco said, pointing. “I was there too, except I had to talk to Snape instead of getting to hide.”

“Fine!” Y/N groaned. She sat back up and dangled her legs over the side of the bed, poking Draco’s shins with her toes. “Maybe next time we should sleep in my dorm. Professor Sprout never checks on me.” The shock Draco felt from the invitation must’ve shown on his face because Y/N started stammering. “I-I mean, if I helped, that is. With the sleeping. With your dreams, I mean.”

“No. Yes. Yes, it definitely helped.” Draco put his hands on her shoulders. “I haven’t slept that well in months.”

“Really?” Her voice was a mix of excited and sad.

Draco nodded. “If there’s ever a day like today where you don’t have anything to do–”

“Nope,” Y/N cut him off. “We can have a sleepover anytime. I want to make sure you’re getting rest, and if it’ll get you off Wideye, even better.”

Oh, how badly Draco needed to turn her down. “Y/N, I can’t impose on your personal time like that.”

But she was shaking her head at him. “I don’t care. I sleep every night, might as well be useful while I’m at it.”

“Are you sure I wasn’t too clingy?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t crowd you?”

“Nope.”

“I didn’t bother you at all?”

“Nooooope.”

Draco threw his head back. Here I go again, he thought. “Alright. If you’re sure.”

Y/N grinned. Draco’s heart clenched. “Come sleep in Hufflepuff tonight. I’m excited for you to see my room.”

“Okay.” Draco couldn’t help but smile. The urge to kiss her was becoming almost overwhelming, so he stepped away from her and sat in his desk chair.

Y/N peeked at the clock behind him. “It’s past breakfast, but lunch will be soon. I really need to shower, so I’ll just see you there. Maybe we can go to the Room and try more spells later.”

“Don’t you have something better to do with your afternoon?” Draco tried to discourage her.

Y/N shrugged. “Not really.” She scooped her neatly folded stack of clothes off the floor and disappeared into the bathroom. She emerged dressed in her robes from the day before, and put her borrowed pyjamas on the bed. Draco handed her her wand. “Last night I was worried about how I would get you out of here without anyone noticing, but I see we’ve solved that problem.”

Y/N threw him a wink. “I still need someone to open the door.”

༄

Draco had come to another selfish dilemma. He and Y/N were now having platonic sleepovers three, and sometimes four nights a week. Y/N didn’t mind. Draco certainly didn’t. Except once he was alone in his bed back in Slytherin, he realized how attached he was to her. She was like a drug for his calmness and stability, and if he went too long he felt himself falling into his destructive habits again.

Oh no.

As much as he would scold himself when he was alone, when they were together, he couldn’t help but feel as if this was what he’d been missing all this time. Someone who cared about him, who was nice, and uplifting. Someone who found his presence just as enjoyable, instead of feeling like they needed to be friends, were expected to keep each other’s company. Y/N was a lovely girl and the perfect friend, and Draco was desperate to keep it that way, despite wanting more. He was very good at overthinking with his heart.

Draco loved hanging out with her alone in their rooms. While he appreciated Myrtle and what she’d done for him, she was mopey and cynical. Not really her fault, he supposed people just got that way when they died. Spending time in the Room was what had brought him and Y/N closer, but being in there was always a somber reminder of his horrible assignment. Her coming to his bedroom under the lake made his lonely room more bright, but it always seemed to get more depressing every time she left. Y/N’s room was Draco’s favorite place to be.

She had the wide, comfy, four poster bed all Prefects had the luxury of sleeping in. Big windows overlooked the hills behind Hogwarts facing the Forbidden Forest, making her entire room glow warmly in the fading sunlight. Above her desk were strings laden with photographs, newspaper clippings, and quotes neatly written with the book they came from below. She had plants on her window sills, even though she said she was no herbologist. She had a record player and lots of vinyls, and she would put them on and play along with her guitar sometimes.

Draco and Y/N stood in her bathroom having a staring contest in the mirror while they did their brushing bugs. They had on what Y/N had called their “matching pyjamas”. Y/N was wearing her pale blue nightgown and Draco was wearing one of her soft long-sleeve shirts that was almost the same color, and a pair of his own pyjama pants he kept in her room.

Y/N finished with her bugs first and rinsed her mouth. She glanced down at Draco’s hands resting on the counter. “Can I see it?” She asked gently.

Draco froze for a moment. Despite having slept together and sharing clothes, Y/N had never seen him without his shirt off. Y/N knew Draco had a Dark Mark, but even since that first day in the bathroom she’d never asked him more about it. Draco gave her a small nod and spit out his own bugs.

He gently pulled his left sleeve up to his elbow to expose his scar. Right now it was pale red, stamped into his skin with magic. If the Dark Lord was to call his followers, it would burn and turn black and the snake would writhe, something Draco had learned from experience. Y/N stepped closer to take hold of his arm and gently traced her finger along the Mark. Draco suppressed a shiver.

“When I look at it,” Draco said quietly, “I don’t see what other people see. I don’t think about him, I just think about my parents. Especially my mum. I just want to protect my family.”

Y/N looked up and gave him a sad smile. “That’s what I see, too.”

A knock at the door made them both jump. Y/N recoiled away from him and Draco quickly drew his sleeve down. “One second!” Y/N called.

She grabbed her cardigan off her desk chair and pulled it on. A loud sniffle could be heard outside the door and Y/N gestured that Draco could come out from hiding in the bathroom. “It’s not Sprout,” Y/N mouthed.

Standing at the door in her pyjamas was, what looked like to Draco, a first year, tears streaming down her face and a wet handkerchief clutched in her fist. “Hey, Eloise,” Y/N soothed, gently guiding her into the room. “What’s wrong?”

Eloise caught sight of Draco leaning against the bathroom door frame and looked nervous. “Oh, I’m sorry Y/N, I didn’t know your boyfriend was here.”

Y/N smiled good naturedly while Draco bit his lip to contain a chuckle. He and Y/N exchanged a glance. “It’s fine, Eloise. And Draco’s not my boyfriend, don’t worry about it.”

“Oh.” Eloise squeaked. “That’s just what Angelica told me.”

“What’s going on?” Y/N asked, sitting down in her desk chair and putting a hand on Eloise’s shoulder. “Potions work again?”

Eloise nodded. “Professor S-Snape was mean to me t-today and g-gave me extra work. B-But I already have s-so much as-stronomy homework…” Eloise sobbed again.

“Hey, hey, take a deep breath, El.” Y/N rubbed her hands up and down Eloise’s arms. “When do you have Potions tomorrow?”

“Two.” Eloise sniffed.

“What! That’s plenty of time. Tell you what,” Y/N said. “Just do your astronomy homework tonight. Tomorrow during lunch I can sit with you and help you finish your potions work, okay? I don’t care how much it is, we can get it done.”

Eloise nodded.

“Here.” Y/N unwrapped the bundle of extra cookies she and Draco hadn’t eaten earlier and handed one to Eloise. “Now go get cracking on that astronomy, I know you can do it. And make sure you get some sleep, don’t worry about Professor Snape tonight.”

Eloise fell into Y/N for a hug, and then Y/N ushered her out the door with a goodnight. She closed the door and leaned back on it to look at Draco.

“What are you making that face for?”

Draco put his hand over his heart. “That was kind of sweet, I have to admit. Is this what it’s like to be a nice Prefect?” He teased.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Yeah, believe it or not, I remember how mean you were.” She slumped into her desk chair. “Maybe I’m too nice. You wouldn’t believe how often they come up here. Even the boys! No one ever goes to ask Renie to help with herbology essays or go tell their dorm mates to stop stealing their socks!”

“Is that why you let them think I’m your boyfriend?” Draco grinned, raising an eyebrow.

Y/N wrapped her cardigan around her and tucked her legs up on the chair. “They never come up here when they see you walk in with me.” She mumbled.

Draco laughed and laid on the bed on his stomach, propping his chin on his hands. “It’s alright, I don’t blame you. Now you see why I just yelled at all of my lower-years.”

“Maybe you’re just scary,” Y/N teased. “Did you see how bad you scared her?”

“Yes,” Draco said slyly. “And I’ve never even seen her before. Must be my reputation.”

“Good thing you dispelled that cold-hearted reputation when we first met.” She shot back.

Is this flirting? “Which time? The time I cried or the time I almost hexed you and then cried?” Okay, if we were, I definitely just totally and completely ruined that. Draco tried to play it off with a smile, but Y/N just got up and joined him on the bed.

She took hold of his left forearm again and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Even if everyone else thinks you’re cold hearted, just know that I don’t.”

Draco’s pulse was racing. “It’s nice of you to think that.”

“I know it.”

Y/N liked to rub her feet against the sheets or his legs while she slept. She always let her hair spill up across the pillow because she hated the feeling of it on her neck. Draco knew Y/N was deeply asleep because she would put one arm above her head and throw one of her legs across his own. Draco only knew all this because he would fight the urge to sleep so he could have as many memories of her as he could.

It was possible Draco had more than just a crush on her.

༄

He heard it whispered in the hallways. Katie Bell. She’s back. Her name alone made Draco want to puke.

Yet he had to see her. Was she the same? Or had his awful curse he’d put on that necklace damaged her permanently? He needed to know. He booked it down the staircases towards the great hall, bumping shoulders the whole way.

Breathless, he stopped when he got into the hall, scanning the crowd. It wasn’t hard to spot the large group of girls between the Slytherin and Gryffindor tables. Standing in the middle of them was Katie herself, looking a bit pale but otherwise fine. She was talking to everyone. She was okay. Draco’s relief didn’t last long, however. He’d been too busy looking at Katie to realize Harry Potter was staring right at him. And now he was walking over. Quickly.

Draco immediately broke out in a cold sweat, turned, and started to speedwalk. Too fast to notice someone else get up and start following him, too. Hide, hide, I’ve got to hide. Where can I hide? Where does no one go? Draco was feeling dizzy, but he pushed on. He knew where he could go. He thought back to the time he had told Y/N everything, when he screamed to Myrtle that Harry knew he was a Death Eater. He knows.

Draco burst into Myrtle’s bathroom with blurry vision, gasping for air. He stripped off his uniform sweater and pulled at his tie, which felt like it was choking him. Myrtle heard his crying and flew out. “Draco? Draco, what’s wrong? Let me help…”

“No one… no one can help me Myrtle. Not you, not her…” He squeezed his eyes shut and felt his tears roll off his nose and into the sink. “He’s going to kill me… I’m going to die, Myrtle.” Draco choked out.

The bathroom door banged shut. Draco snapped his head up and looked into the dirty mirror to see Harry staring right at him. All his anxiety twisted into anger.

Barely thinking, he drew his wand and threw a hex. It narrowly missed Harry’s head, instead landing on the lamp behind him, causing it to explode. Harry was quick to return the favor and his own missed hex hit the faucet behind Draco, creating a waterfall.

“NO!” Myrtle screeched. “NO, NO!”

Draco dodged the spray and Harry ducked around to the other side of the bathroom stalls as Draco fired more curses at him. Water was quickly filling the floor of the bathroom.

“Fucking Potter,” Draco muttered, dodging another hex as it came his way. He was about to throw another curse when the bathroom door banged open again. Draco’s attention shifted, and he was horrified to see Y/N run into the bathroom.

Draco watched her face contort from confusion into fear as she took in the scene. Draco was so focused on Y/N he didn’t see Harry’s spell.

She did, though. Y/N drew her wand at the last second and flicked it, causing water to spiral up from the floor with a swoosh and intercept Harry’s curse. Water exploded across the bathroom in all directions. “Both of you, stop!” Y/N cried.

But Draco just took advantage of the momentary distraction to fire another curse at Harry. He was too angry to listen to Y/N right now. Unfortunately, Harry had the same idea, and ended up quicker than him. He screamed a curse Draco had never heard before.

“SECTUMSEMPRA!”

Immediately, Draco felt his skin open all over his body. His face, arms, chest, everywhere exploded in pain, and he could see the blood instantly. What did Potter do?

Draco staggered and fell back into the water on the floor. Y/N screamed.

“MURDER!” Myrtle screeched from above. “MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM!”

Draco grabbed weakly at his chest, already feeling himself fading from consciousness. He heard splashing and Y/N’s trembling voice.

“Draco? Draco! Oh, Merlin.” She knelt down beside him in the water, feeling a little dizzy herself as Draco’s blood seeped into the water covering the floor.

“No– I didn’t–” Harry tried to come closer, but Y/N turned on him, angrier than she’d ever been.

“What did you do! WHAT DID YOU DO!” She screeched, her voice cracking. Myrtle continued to wail overhead.

The sound of the door opening again drew everyone’s attention. Standing in the doorway looking absolutely murderous, was Snape. He strode in and pushed Harry out of the way, eyes trained on Malfoy. He didn’t have to ask Y/N to move back.

She trembled, tears rolling down her face as Snape moved his wand over Draco’s body, muttering a counter curse to Harry’s mysterious spell. Slowly, the blood subsided, she could see the cuts across Draco’s face and arms knit together and close completely.

Snape took Draco by the arm and got him standing. “Come, you need the hospital wing. There may be some scarring, but if you take dittany immediately we might avoid even that. You,” he pointed at Harry. “Do not leave until I return.” Draco’s pale blue eyes were unfocused, and he clung to Snape’s arm as they left the room.

Myrtle had finally stopped yelling and was slumped over one of the bathroom stall walls crying. Y/N lifted her wand again and pointed it at the broken sink. The parts of the faucet flew back into place and the water ceased its spray. The rest of the bloodied water was slowing going down the drain on the floor. Y/N reached down into it to retrieve Draco’s forgotten wand, not minding much. The cuffs of her uniform shirt were already covered to the wrist in Draco’s blood. She cast Harry one last burning glance and left the bathroom.

In the hallway on the way to the infirmary, Draco was regaining his senses. Halfway there he was able to walk on his own and let go of Snape’s arm. “What the bloody hell is sectumsempra,” Draco muttered, feeling his face for the cuts absentmindedly.

“A spell that was never intended to be shared with anyone,” Snape growled. “Especially someone like Potter.”

Snape swept Draco into the hospital wing and brushed past Madame Pomfrey, who did not question their haste. “Dittany,” was all Snape said as they passed.

Snape sat Draco on one of the beds. “Do it yourself.” Then he left.

When Madame Pomfrey arrived with the small bottle of dittany, Draco snatched it from her hands and drew the curtain on her, muttering a weak apology. He just heard her huff and walk away. Draco drank some dittany, then opened his soaked shirt to look for the deepest wounds. The biggest one he could see was across his chest. He slathered the dittany on anywhere he thought he saw a scar.

Draco was deeply absorbed in his dittany application, and reminiscing on the details of his almost death when he heard a familiar lilting voice carry across the empty infirmary. He held his breath to hear what she was saying.

“... just wanted return this. Will he be alright?”

“Just fine, miss L/N. It would be wise of you to not bother speaking of this again. Now, I must find out why mister Potter is instigating fights, again.”

“If it means anything to you, professor, I was only there because my responsibility as Prefect-”

“I don’t care what your intentions were, miss L/N. I said do not speak of this incident again. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Professor.”

Sharp footsteps that probably belonged to Snape faded away. He heard some more whispering, too low for him to hear, and then Y/N left as well. Draco watched his faint new scars fade away, then looked at the few drops of dittany left in the glass bottle. He wondered if it worked on Dark Marks, or hearts.

༄

It was a Monday, which meant no matter how awful Y/N was feeling, she still had Prefect rounds to do. It had been hours since Draco and Harry’s fight in the bathroom, and she’d showered and changed shirts long ago. Yet she still kept looking down at her hands and expected to see them covered in Draco’s blood. Torrential rain had started during dinner, which seemed to reflect her mood.

Her conversation with Snape had scared her, and she dared not go hovering around the entrance to the Slytherin common room for fear of being caught by him. Draco hadn’t come to dinner though, and she was getting worried.

She walked through the barrel tunnel into Hufflepuff, where Reine, her fellow Prefect, nearly jumped her. “You’ve got a visitor.” That was all he needed to say.

Y/N ran up the stairs to the Prefect dorms and saw Draco waiting in front of her door. She didn’t stop, just ran right up to him and jumped into his arms.

“Merlin’s beard Draco,” she whispered into his neck, “I thought I was going to watch you die.”

Draco wrapped his arms around her and held her close, finally feeling safe. “I didn’t, don’t worry.”

“Worry?” She pulled back and took his face into her hands. “It’s been five hours and you were all I could think about.” She whispered.

The pair were oblivious to the group of lower years crowded around the base of the stairs, craning their necks to get a good look at their Prefect and her Slytherin ‘not boyfriend’. “She’s holding his face!” Angelica hissed. “Eloise, are you sure she said they’re not dating?”

Draco put Y/N back on the ground and she grabbed his wrist, pulling him into her room. The group at the bottom of the stairs let out a collective groan of disappointment. “I thought they were going to kiss for sure that time!”

Y/N slammed the door shut and she immediately attached herself onto Draco again, wrapping her arms around his middle and clinging for dear life. Draco rested his arms around her shoulders and buried his nose in her hair. They held onto each other for a moment, until Draco felt Y/N shudder against him.

“Y/N? Y/N, are you crying?” Draco tried to pull away, but Y/N just held on tighter. “Y/N, please look at me.” He could already feel his own eyes getting misty at the thought of making her cry.

She reluctantly pulled away, but didn’t look up. Draco watched a tear roll down her face and felt his heart get tight in his chest. “No, no, Y/N,” he whispered, wiping the tear away. “Look at me. I’m here, I’m alright.”

“It’s just–” She sniffed. “There was so much blood Draco. More than I’ve ever seen in my life,” she whispered, horrified. “I should’ve disarmed Harry faster, then maybe–”

“Y/N.” Draco dipped his head down to look her in the eye. “Listen; first of all, I haven’t gotten to properly scold you yet for following us in there.” Even though she was crying, that got a chuckle out of her, like Draco knew it would. “Second, there was nothing you could’ve done in that short amount of time to changed what happened, okay? That was all Potter’s fault, Snape said he doesn’t even know where he learned that spell and… Merlin, I can’t believe I’m saying this but… I don’t think he knew what it would do.”

Y/N bit her lip and nodded, rubbing her eyes. “I just… I can’t lose you, is all.”

“You won’t.” It only took Draco half a second to realize that was probably a lie. Y/N didn’t seem to think about it too much though, because she just took up his hands.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You’re the one that got hurt, do you want to talk about it? Did the dittany work?”

“Yes, the dittany worked,” Draco said. “My face is perfect as ever.”

Y/N smiled through her tears, and ran her fingers across his forehead and down his cheek. “Yeah,” she chuckled again.

Draco took a breath. “I… I don’t know. It happened pretty fast. I just felt… open. I could hear you. And then Snape was there and I started to feel whole again. It happened very fast. I just remember it being cold and feeling heavy.” He shivered at the memory, still very fresh and vivid.

“Is there anything I can do for you? Anything you need?” She asked earnestly.

“I just want to sleepover. And feel warm.” He said, feeling like a child asking his mother when he would be allowed to go play.

“Of course,” Y/N said. “Whatever you want.”

༄

Draco woke up for the first time in a long time in the middle of the night. He was away from Y/N– maybe that was why. Their legs were still pressed together under her loose covers, but in his sleep he’d turned over and rolled away from her. Probably how it should be.

Draco carefully sat up in the bed, crossing his legs. Rain was still pouring outside, gently tapping on the glass windows. There wasn’t much moonlight out tonight with all the clouds. Rain was different up here in Y/N’s room, as opposed to under the lake where you could only hear the rain hitting the surface of the water above. Then again, everything was different when he was with her.

A raindrops rolled down the windows, Draco felt a familiar hopelessness fill his chest. Potter was onto him, badly. He’d nearly killed two of his classmates now with his less direct attempts on the Headmaster’s life, and now he’d nearly died himself. And he still wasn’t sure if the cabinet was ever going to be fixed. He was running out of time for his task.

There was also the matter of her. The girl who was currently sleeping peacefully in her bed, the only person who was the reason he wasn’t dead or insane yet. The one he so selfishly clung to, but also the one who wouldn’t leave him alone. Intrusive thoughts of all the horrible things that could happen to her at the hands of the Dark Lord began to fill his head, and he could feel the tears beginning at the corners of his eyes.

“Draco?”

He jumped a little, looking back to her spot still under the covers. She sleepily sat up, rubbing her eyes. Draco’s heart did a flip in his chest. “Are you alright?” She asked, her eyes focusing on his face as she became more awake. “Did you have nightmare?”

“No,” Draco replied, quickly wiping the moisture from his eyes with the sleeve of Y/N’s borrowed sweatshirt. He’d been unable to shake the cold feeling of the water and losing blood, but wearing the extra layer that was so deeply ingrained with the smell of her helped.

“You’re crying.” She noticed. “Tell me, what’s wrong?” She scooted over so her legs wrapped around his sitting body, resting her arms on his thigh.

“Just thinking.”

“About what?” She gently put her hand on his forearm, rubbing her thumb back and forth across his sleeve in a comforting way. Her touch, so calming, was always the thing that helped him ground himself the best.

Draco let out a deep sigh. “You.”

Y/N was quiet for a moment. “Really?”

Draco looked down into his lap, where their hands were. He nodded. Y/N moved her hand away to shift a little closer. Draco gathered his courage and straightened up to look at her.

Their faces were close. Y/N’s eyes, full of concern for him looked straight back in a way that made his breath catch. Her hair, even though messy from sleep, was still so enticing to his fingers. He made a mistake to look at her mouth.

Their lips connected in the softest, most tender kiss Draco had ever experienced. No grabbing of hair or slotting of mouths, just gently pressed against one another. The only part of them that was touching was their lips, but Draco had never felt more excited to touch her.

Until he realized what he’d just allowed to happen.

“Sorry,” Draco squeaked, pulling back just as quickly as he’d leaned in. “Oh my God, Y/N I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” He looked up at her, ready to apologize again, but the words died on his still-tingling lips when he saw how absolutely stricken she looked. “Fuck,” was all he could manage.

Her legs recoiled around him as she pulled them up to her chest. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have thought you’d want–”

“No, please don’t say that. I do want to,” he stammered. “I want you. I just…”

He couldn’t get the words out. Y/N’s face started to go blurry. He gripped the sheets of the bed in front of him to try and steady himself, but he could already feel his breathing starting to get shallow.

“Oh, Draco…”

He felt the bed move as Y/N sat in front of him, and she draped her legs over his so she was almost sitting in his lap. She took both his hands in hers, and Draco laced their fingers together with need and squeezed. He rested his head on her collarbone and tried to breathe in time with the rise and falls of her chest. “Merlin, this is so embarrassing,” he choked.

“It’s alright,” Y/N soothed. “It’s okay, Draco. Take your time.”

He managed to get his breathing back under control and he let go of her hands. He needed to focus. “We can’t… I can’t let me be with you,” Draco started. “It’s too dangerous. Do you know how bad it is already that we’re friends? That you sit with me in the Room every other night and help me with spells?”

“Of course I know,” Y/N answered.

“Yes, but look at me, Y/N. I’m going to be a murderer. And If I’m not them I’m going to be dead. And that almost already happened! I can’t do that to you. Us being together would be a doomed relationship. You deserve someone who’s so much better than I am.” Draco pushed his fingers against his chest.

“You don’t think I haven’t thought about that, too?” Y/N said breathlessly. “I can’t help myself either, Draco. The heart wants what it wants.” She put her hands up to rest on his cheeks, her thumb wiping away a stray tear he couldn’t stop from falling. “It would be nice if this was easy, Draco. But that’s life.”

“This isn’t life,” Draco mumbled, feeling too defeated to push her hands away. Instead he just leaned into her touch, wondering if it would be their last. “It’s fucked up.”

“Okay, yes, you’re right. It’s very fucked up. But it’s the fucked up life we’re living.” Y/N tilted his head up so he would look her in the eyes. “Why can’t you just let yourself enjoy this one thing, Draco? Why can’t we just enjoy each other?”

“Because I don’t deserve you,” he said. “I come with too much emotional baggage for me to feel okay with sharing it with anyone. And I notice how sad you get over me when I’m sad. I make you sad, not happy. I’m putting you through more than one ever should to another person.”

“But you make me so happy,” she countered. “Draco, I’m strong. You know this. You don’t have to protect me, you’re busy enough protecting yourself and your family. And I do get sad too, sometimes. But that’s just what happens when you care a lot about someone.”

Draco closed his eyes, trying to hold back his tears. “I care about you so much. I just want you to forget about me and not get caught up in all this.”

“I can’t, Draco.” She moved her fingers back into his hair and rested her palms on his jawline. “Can’t we just make each other happy for a little while?”

“You already make me happy.” He put one of his hands over hers.

“But we can’t just go back to the way things were.” Y/N whispered.

“No, I guess we can’t.” Draco finally looked back up at her.

“So can you please kiss me again?”

Draco could practically hear the the nails being hammered into his coffin as he whispered the word “Okay”.

Even though they’d both just been crying and Draco nearly had a full panic attack, he’d never had a better bloody kiss in his life. Her fingers were caressing his face and his neck with such love and care it made his toes curl and his breath sigh. He could finally press his fingers into her hips like he’d fantasized about for months, and the hitches in her breathing made his pulse jump.

Draco pulled Y/N further into his lap. Not a single item of clothing came off the entire time, but never had Draco ever felt so satisfied and happy after kissing than he did when they flopped back onto the pillows together.

“I’m such a mess,” Draco whispered into her hair as he smoothed it back like she did to help him sleep, pressing kisses along her hairline.

“A very smart, handsome, and caring mess.” Y/N amended.

“Your smart, handsome, and caring mess.”

“See, that’s not so hard.”

Draco gently pushed her onto her back and then hovered over her by bracing against his forearms. “I’ve had the most terrible crush on you for so long,” he said. “But I kept telling myself it wouldn’t be fair to you. I still don’t feel like it is, but please don’t ever feel like you can’t go. I want you to put yourself first.”

Y/N nodded. “I will, don’t worry.”

༄

Y/N had the most enticing collar bones Draco had ever laid eyes on, and he loved to leave his mark on the delicate skin that covered them. She was shy and liked to put her shirt back on as soon as they were done. She had thirteen stretch marks on her left hip, and seventeen on her right— he’d counted them. The sensitive spot right behind her ear was the best place to kiss her.

For the first time all school year, Draco was feeling good. He was eating more than one meal a day. Wasn’t having panic attacks every four hours. He had the best girlfriend in the whole world, and finally, the cabinet had been mended.

Draco had caught another bird that day by bewitching a bush, and when it came back from the cabinet in Knockturn Alley alive and flapping, Draco had never felt more relieved. He and Y/N hugged in momentary excitement, but for Draco was quickly replaced with a sense of doom. Now that he’d succeeded, what would happen?

Y/N, as always, sensed his mood. “It’s out of your hands now, Draco.” She got up on her tip toes and kissed his cheek. “Come on, let’s go.”

They returned their spellbooks to Y/N’s dorm, then snuck to the kitchen to get cookies. Y/N suggested they do something different other than hang out in her bedroom, and go to the astronomy tower instead.

They laid on their backs side by side, munching on the cookies, watching the stars from the open observation porch and taking in the pleasant fresh air. “Are you up there?” Y/N asks.

“No, Draco is only visible in July. Ironic, because my birthday is in June,” Draco muses.

“Aw, school will be out then. You won’t get to point it out to me.”

“I know you have an astronomy textbook, you can figure it out.” The pair lapsed into silence.

“Hey Draco?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s gonna happen now?”

Draco wasn’t sure, actually. It was scary. “I’ll have to send an owl… then he’ll plan the rest, I suppose. I’ll just sit here and wallow in anxiety in the meantime. And… well, I don’t know about after.”

Y/N turned her head to look at him, and Draco did the same. She had that sad smile on her face when she took his hand into her own. “Will I get to see you again?”

Draco was quick to squeeze her hand reassuringly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Y/N wigged so they were closer together and turned her gaze back up to the sky. “... Do you think you’ll really do it?”

Draco blew out a slow breath through his nose. “I can’t imagine myself doing it, but it’s not like I have much of a choice. I always knew I would have to.”

Y/N didn’t say anything to that for a moment. “I hope Harry can stop him.”

“Merlin, me too.” Draco sighed.

The letter with the date came from Draco’s mother. Y/N held him like she had so long ago while he cried over it. Every day, he made sure he kissed her like it was their last. They spent as much time together as they could, and Draco even surprised her by getting her a bracelet when they went to Hogsmeade.

Draco insisted she sleep alone in her room the night of. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, and while he hated to leave her alone that last night, he couldn’t imagine anything worse than leaving her to go commit the worst crime of his life. They cried together in a corner of the third floor corridor, clinging desperately to one another.

“I’m so sorry I did this to you,” Draco couldn’t help but say.

“I’m glad you did.”

“I’m the neediest person ever.”

“It’s feels good to be needed.”

They parted ways, and Draco rubbed the tears from his eyes knowing he had something equally as difficult as leaving her ahead of him.

Y/N returned to her room that night sadder than ever. When she went into the bathroom to get out her brushing bugs from her medicine cabinet, a little piece of paper fell off of the bottom. She unfolded it to see the words ‘love you always’ in looping cursive, and cried anew. She clipped it to her strings above her desk, next to the only picture she had of him— an instant photo of him in her Hufflepuff sweatshirt, his hands covering his face except for his eyes peeping in between his long fingers. It barely moved, but if you looked long enough, the Draco in the photo would blink his long beautiful lashes.

She put on the pair of his pyjama pants he’d left in her room and fell asleep without cleaning her teeth.

༄

The day after, Y/N laid on her back on the observation porch, looking up at the cloudy sky, arms and legs spread out wide. Since this was where it happened, she assumed no one would bother her up here. Footsteps on the stairs told her otherwise. She didn’t move to see who it was, but as soon as they reached the top someone spoke.

“Y/N?”

To her surprise, it was Hermione Granger. And Harry Potter, and Ron Weasley. Of course; were they ever apart? She sighed and turned away. Draco’s cold attitude towards them must have rubbed off on her. “Hello.”

Hermione came to stand over her and looked down. “Harry told us you were in the bathroom that day.”

“Just doing my job as Prefect,” Y/N answered. “Dueling is strictly prohibited.”

Hermione walked away, but the three of them didn’t leave. Instead, the moved to the other side of the telescope and looked over across the courtyard in silence.

“Did he do it, Harry?” Y/N asked, unable to hold back any longer.

“What?” Harry said, sounding surprised.

“Draco. Did he do it?” She looked over to see Harry’s face.

He looked confused, but didn’t question her knowledge of his involvement in Dumbledore’s death. “No,” Harry said finally. “It was Snape. Draco couldn’t.”

Y/N turned back to looking at the sky and let out a short exhale, not quite a laugh. “He didn’t… he didn’t do it after all.”

#draco x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy #songfic #my writing #draco imagine #x reader #socontagiousimagines #harry potter fanfic

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ablogcalledrevenge · 4 years

Text

Potential (A General Hux x Reader Insert Multi-Chapter Fic)

This chapter is rated M due to graphic depictions of violence.

Chapter Five

Dinner is absolutely delicious, you begrudgingly give them that. After months of being on a starship with limited supplies, it’s so nice to get real, extravagant food again. The wine is light and crisp, the meat juicy and tender, even the bread is perfect and flakey. You briefly contemplate sneaking some back to your room for later, or perhaps home to Hux. But it would be stale by the time it gets to him and the rich herb butter would probably send his taste buds into overdrive. As if reading your thoughts, the lady of the estate; Colonel Paru’s wife, asks about your husband.

“Oh he’s just fine Karin. I spoke to him early today. He’s hard at work as ever and apologizes again for having to miss this. But I’m sure there will be more times in the future. Goodness knows I’d come back for the food alone. I’m tempted to steal your chefs right from under you.” You tease with a pleasant smile. You note absently that this is the first time she’s asked about you. You’ve been at the estate two days already and this is the first time she’s talked about anything other than herself. That was very rude. It’s clear that while these more decorated officers may wish they were royalty, they certainly are not.

Everyone at the table has a good laugh and the talk turns to business. Admiral Ersawit spears a piece of meat, pointing it at you.

“I imagine your husband is hard at work setting up the new base. He doesn’t have time to lounge around like us old banthas.” He says with a rueful chuckle.

“Oh nonsense, you’re quite spry Admiral. Why, I could see you dancing about at 200 years old!” You grin, perhaps too sharply for response, before flushing from the joke. Colonel Paru laughs as well and drains his glass.

“Just remind your husband, when he reaches our age, to focus on the finer things in life. A man feels no stress when he’s surrounded by good food and good art.” He adds, gesturing to the beautiful paintings that surround you in the dining room. He wasn’t wrong, the art was good, but the rest of the estate’s decor left something to be desired. It seemed that Colonel Paru and his wife thought that having money meant you had to buy the most expensive things available and show them off in every way. So they had beautiful art and sculptures lining their hallways, but they had too many. The wallpaper was loud and garish and the molding was gilded, and caused glares if you walked past when sunlight came through the open windows. Each trip from room to room caused a headache and you were surprised to realize how much you missed the simple gray and black of the Finalizer.

“You do have some stunning pieces Colonel. It’s quite the collection. I’m amazed at some of the rarer paintings you have.” You agree, adjusting the napkin on your lap. Your dress was mostly white and you’d hate to stain it.

“Thank you my Lady. It takes years to acquire this kind of collection but it’s well worth it, in the end. As for the rarer pieces”, here his voice dropped and everyone subconsciously leaned in, “if you know who to talk to, you can skip some of the lengthier processes. You’d be surprised what a few extra credits will get you.”

You wag your finger and tsk playfully at him, while his wife hits his forearm with little force and a tittering laugh. You were no expert on art but you knew Old Republic Nabooian folk paintings when you saw them. The cost of an original was worth far more than a Colonel made, even one that had been a Colonel for as long as he had. Not to mention, Naboo had made a conscious effort after the destruction of the Empire to get all their art back and placed in a historical museum. This proved your husband’s claim that certain members of the Council were skimming off the top. That’s the only way he could afford such singular pieces while avoiding any legal troubles. Stealing art may not have been corrupt but preventing the people of Naboo from having a fair chance to recieve their own work was just contemptible.

You look down at your lap to avoid giving away your anger. Your fists clench in the cloth napkin while your eyes switch back and forth from one side of your gown to the other. You hadn’t questioned why you chose the dress you did, but now it felt serendipitous. Your gown was mostly white and cream with simple long sleeves and little adornment. But there was one side that was pitch black, a dark splash normally unseen on you. It wasn’t that you disliked black but you often found yourself straying away from darker colors. For some reason, you felt like they didn’t belong to you yet. Considering what you were planning to do tonight, maybe it was fate to have chosen a dress like this.

The sound of clinking glassware brings you back to the moment as droids bring out dessert. The cake was rich and chocolatey with a fine layer of cream and fruit. Oh, you were definitely finding their chef and bringing them to your home when this was all over.

“I’m glad you’ve taken such an interest in the art we have here, Lady Hux. It’s so refreshing to speak to someone cultured. Present company included,” Karin says and the other women give smug chuckles, “Perhaps if you’re good, I’ll send you a piece for your anniversary to the General. Though I can’t imagine where you’d put fine art on a starship. They’re all so dull and grey. You have my pity being surrounded by such coldness.”

“Not at all Karin, I find the aesthetics of a starship to be quite striking in their simpleness. True, most things are various shades of silver or black, but it all looks so streamlined and impressive that way. The fact that I stand out beautifully while wearing my more colorful gowns is just a coincidence.” You mention with a casual air that the other women see through quickly, as you intended.

“Well of course! Your wardrobe is known throughout the galaxy. You have such exquisite pieces.” A dark skinned woman says, her hair braiding into an odd series of loops on top of her head. She gave you her name, as did the other men and women at the table, but they were not important so you forgot them. You cover your cheeks with your hands in a fake display of bashful modesty and the conversation spins again.

When droids finally clear away all the plates, Colonel Paru stands and announces to the various other people at the table that he has after-dinner drinks prepared in his study. Your small party follows him there, chatting about the newest designers to hit Coruscant and some Captain who did remarkably well during a training exercise. As you walk you take note of any outward signs of security; cameras in the corners, panels on the walls, unusual patches of paint or suspiciously placed statues. Overall, it seems that the estate is moderately protected. There is, and will be, footage of you walking to and from your room, but that’s what you want.

The study is a circular room with high ceilings and ornate wooden bookshelves that go all the way to the top. They are filled with ancient texts and newer manuals, interspersed with knick-knacks and anthropological finds. You let your fingers dance across the spines, curving over a skull and pushing away dust from a plaque. A droid starts to prepare cocktails while the Colonel gives the other men cigars. Soon the room was full of smoke and good humor, though you desperately wish the grand fireplace was a window, as it was getting ridiculously stuffy. Still, you produce a cigarra from your purse and join everyone in smoking and drinking.

“Just a splash, I’m not as young as I used to be and I’d like to make it to my room before I fall asleep.” Admiral Ersawit says to the droid while the other men toss him knowing glances and laughter. He sips his cordial with a wink and he quickly sends a message on his data pad. You give a look of confusion to Karin but she doesn’t answer.

A minute or so pass as the group debates something trivial. Your mind is wandering so you aren’t sure. You’re thinking about your plan, going over it in your mind. It’s a good thing Kylo Ren is not here or you’d surely be caught. But as far as you know, he and his knights are the only Force users on your side of the war. You let your mind wander around Kylo Ren and his height and breadth, wonder about what his face looks like. Then it swims to your husband, stark and divine, and you imagine them on the bridge together; they must make an intimidating pair and you wish desperately to see it someday.

Then the door to the study opens and you startle back to the present. A helmeted guard enters with a truly shocking gift. Walking into the room, he leads a naked woman on a leash towards the Admiral. The old man smiles down at her and pets her head, as if she’s a simple dog. Then he lifts his feet and she shuffles on her knees to become his footrest. You are sure your face is one of horror. This is not only a show of extreme wealth but also one of power.

“I don’t blame you for wanting just a bit, what a beautiful specimen.” One of the other officers says, eyeing the kneeling woman like a luscious piece of fruit. Ersawit preens and fists the leash, accidentally choking his slave momentarily. She makes a strange gurgling noise and but otherwise says nothing. Then you notice the long scar across her neck and your meal threatens to come back up. Schooling your face, you take a long drag of your cigarra.

“Admiral, I hope you’ll forgive my ignorance, but how is it that you own a pleasure slave? The Empire dismantled most of the Hutt markets years ago. The First Order doesn’t align itself with that practice.” You say, keeping your voice unsure and confused, as opposed to righteously angry. All of the men, and a few of the women, give you pitying looks.

“Quite right Lady Hux, the Empire and Order has banned slavery throughout the galaxy. Not completely removed it, just banned it. The Hutt markets still exist if one knows where to look. I’ve served a very long time in this military and I figure I deserve a nice reward for all my hard work. Laws and morals be damned.” He explains without a hint of remorse. You tilt your head as if in concession.

“My, how clever you are. Quite right too! Why shouldn’t you enjoy all the pleasures of the galaxy? You’ve been such a monumental figure within the Empire and First Order, you deserve a sweet little thing to take care of you at night.” You say, raising your glass in a toast. Everyone joins you with hearty agreement and your hate for them makes the brandy in your hand taste sour. After a few more minutes of this you down your drink and stand, announcing you’re tired and leaving the study. All you want to do is talk to your husband and go to sleep.

Stars, but you hate them all, hate their arrogance and greed. Hate their condescension and hubris. They thought they were above everyone, above you, above your husband. They were foolish and lazy. They couldn’t see the true brilliance Hux had, the passion you had for his success. They all had so much power and they just lounged around in their ugly houses with their expensive art and mistreated servants, wasting it. You detest waste and it was about time that you clean up.

You nod at your Stormtrooper guards as you come up to your room. You enter the little antechamber; the pleasant smile you wore all through dinner dropping. Kicking off your heels, you collapse onto the luxurious bed in your gown. While you didn’t like much in this ridiculous house, the mattress under you was amazing. The mattress you had on the Finalizer was a standard one, perfectly average in every way. But your husband often complained of his back hurting, so maybe it was time you coaxed him into something new. He was the General of the fleet, he deserved a better night’s sleep.

It’s then that your datapad beeps, your husband calling you. Speak of the devil, indeed. Sitting up against a large pillow, you smooth down your hair and open the holo call, Hux’s face suddenly in front of you. The last vestige of nervous tension leaves you at the sight of his tired, but beautiful face. He’s sitting in what appears to be his office chair and based on the time difference, you’re both unsurprised and angry that he is still working.

“Hello darling. How are you?” You ask, taking in his bitten lips and dark circles. He looks annoyed and exhausted, which is pretty much his normal state of being, but you still worry.

“I’m alright my dear. Work is stressful as ever, but getting everything in place for the new base is proving more of a headache than I thought. I don’t remember Starkiller having this much red tape. Then again, I spent that time running on too much caf and stims, so perhaps there was. I also didn’t have to deal with Kylo Ren breathing down my neck the last time. He was on a mission during most of Starkiller’s construction but for some reason he’s taken to contributing now. It would be almost endearing if he weren’t so annoying. I haven’t been sleeping well either but that’s nothing to do with you.” He says, rubbing at his eyes in a rare show of weakness. It’s very touching.

“Are you sure? Are you sure it’s not because I’m not that to kiss you goodnight?” You tease, feeling your heart pound in an unusual way. You’re teasing him for his neediness while ignoring the line of pillows you’ve set up against your side to mimic his body. You don’t acknowledge the hypocrisy or the underlying affection. You and Hux may have come to a pleasant understanding but you still enjoyed spending time apart more than spending time together. That was the story you were sticking with.

Hux gives you a weak glare before a sound catches his attention and he looks away from you. He leans out of frame and returns holding Millie. Her flat face looks at you in interest, her fluffy tail swishing in front of your husband’s nose.

“Hello sweetheart. I miss you. Have you been behaving while I’m gone?” You ask your tooka, completely unapologetic in your excitement. Hux pets at a spot behind her ear and the purring is very audible. Despite Millie being a gift from him, you had been worried they wouldn’t get along. You’re relieved to see that in your absence they’ve become fast friends.

“She’s doing just well. I think she misses you too. Instead of sleeping on the couch or at the foot of the bed like she always does, she’s taken to sleeping on your side. As for her behavior; I had to send Messy in for repairs. She chased him into a wall the other day.” He explains with chagrin. As much as you feel bad for your mouse droid, you can’t help but laugh at the image that represents.

“Hopefully you punished her and she learns her lesson,” You say seriously, your lips fighting back a smile, “Try not to let Lord Ren bother you darling, I think it’s a good thing that he wants to be involved. I’m sure he has some valuable insight, in some capacity. I know you scoff at the Force, but you can’t deny that he wields power. Plus if you’re relaxed, I doubt you’ll be as annoyed by him.” Your husband nods and Millie jumps off his lap. You stretch out the kinks in your neck while he gives you a calculating stare. The mood changes and a shiver goes down your spine.

“It’s late (Y/N), you should get ready for bed. Why don’t you tell me your evening plans?” He murmurs, leaning back in his chair and resting his fingers against his lips. Your husband’s gaze has always been intense and tonight is no different. It lights a fire within you and you quietly breathe out in anticipation.

“Yes, it is late. I should probably get into my sleep clothes.” You say slowly, carefully getting off the bed and placing the datapad upright to face you. The line between you was private and encrypted but you might as well insure that anyone who could possibly be watching will turn the feed off out of modesty.

You take off your jewelry with careful hands, placing it in a dish on the vanity. His eyes track your movement and you feel a rush of heady power. Your hands reach for your silver belt and you finally speak; the poison of your plans infecting the air around you. As you remove each item of clothing, you explain your thoughts to your husband so far away. Normally you’d undress perfunctorily, but right now, for him, you put on a show. Each layer discarded is another layer of your cruelty and by the end you are naked and he is palming himself through his trousers.

You’re about to get back on the bed and join him, when a knock sounds at the outer door. You curse and grab a large towel, your husband continuing his movements lazily. You glide out of your bedroom into the small anteroom and open the door to your hostess.

“Karin, hello! You caught me just as I was about to get into the shower.” You say breathlessly, your face probably still pink. She smiles and shakes her head.

“No worries, I just wanted to say goodnight and make sure you had everything you needed before turning in. I’ll be getting into bed soon too. Jhon is still entertaining in his study but he always comes to bed after me. Don’t be alarmed if you hear rowdiness later, that’s probably him and the others.” She says with an exasperated grin. You smile in return but your eyes are bright with interest. How thoughtful of Colonel Paru to provide the perfect spot for his demise.

“I’m fine Karin, the room is lovely and as of right now, there’s nothing I need. I’ll see you in the morning. If breakfast is as delicious as dinner, I know I’ll be up early.” You joke, before Karin waves goodbye and you shut the door. Returning back to your bedroom, Hux sits poised and ready on the other side of his screen. You give him a wicked grin and get on the bed to finish what you started.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Time passes in the liquid way it always does after an orgasm and it’s only when the chronometer chimes that you get out of bed.

You grab the special garment bag from your suitcase and quickly get dressed. The black jumpsuit and boots are slightly too big but that will only aid in your story. The suit has an attached hip pack and you make sure the blaster inside is charged before zipping it up. You put your hair up and grab the small black helmet. Then you turn on the shower in the refresher, steam quickly filling the small room. Heading over the windows, you open them slowly, careful not to make a sound. You can’t hear much over the shower since you left the door open, but better safe than sorry.

It had rained earlier in the day and there was a patch of mud under your window. There was also an old fashioned trellis covered in vines. Holding your breath and praying that the thin wood could hold your weight, you descend down the side. It is dark all around you, no lights or cameras pointing towards your window.

You step down into the mud, making sure your feet are facing the right way. You need this to look like someone approached your window. Then with a sigh, you climb back up the trellis, making sure to scrape mud on a few of the gaps you stick your feet into. As you climb, you think of your husband and all the work he does. All the slights he faces and the disapproval that follows him. He could be great, he could change the galaxy for the better, and you were going to make that happen.

You climb back in and carefully walk out of your room and into the antechamber. The Troopers outside your door are quiet and you feel a little bad for what you’re going to do. But part of their duty was to give their life in service of the First Order. You were just taking it more literal as you remove the blaster from your hip pack and flick the safety off. It’s heavy in your hand as you open the door out into the hallway. The troopers turn to face you, clearly expecting to see their Lady in a nightgown. What they see is a figure in black, face obscured. You shoot them both in quick succession, one of them managing to get a shot out but it hits the wall next to you. You were a hypocrite for wasting good soldiers like this, but if you can get away with this, they will not have died in vain.

Keeping your blaster up, you sneak down the hallway as quickly and quietly as you can. You pass no droids or guards but you don’t relax, you can’t relax. More shots will be taken tonight but they can’t be at you.

There is a light spilling out from under the Colonel’s study door and you smile at the small crack left open by someone. The Colonel’s study is close to other bedrooms so you holster your blaster. You still have more to do after this and you can’t alert anyone to your presence. The open door could be seen as a sign of favor but you still hold your breath as you squeeze through the space. The colonel is in a lowbacked armchair, facing towards the fireplace and away from you. It seems he hasn’t moved since you left the study earlier. Out of your hip pack, you pull out a thick coil of rope. Colonel Paru continues to drink his wine.

You approach him slowly, your heartbeat steady and loud in your ears. For him, for me, for us, for him, for me, for us, the beats seem to say. The colonel takes another sip and lowers his drink, his other hand resting on the armrest of the chair. Quick as a viper, you loop the rope over his head and pull it tight against his neck. The effect is instantaneous. His hands come to grab at the rope and claw at your arms but you hold tight. Using your elbow, you hit a button on the side of your helmet to raise the blast shield hiding your face. It won’t make much difference but you want him to know who his murderer is.

“Just relax Colonel, this will be over soon. Your time ruling the galaxy is done. I think we’ve had enough of your lies and corruption. You will be remembered, but not for your victories. No, you will be recorded in history for your follies and inaction but don’t fret, the First Order will rise from your ashes. General Hux sends his regards.” You whisper into his ear. With the recognition of who his attacker was, he struggles anew but it does little for him. The weathered skin of his face is turning purple and he’s making gurgling, panicked noises, his grip against your wrists getting weaker and weaker. While he’s stronger than you, your position and height over him is your advantage.

He slumps finally and you hold tight a few more moments to make sure he isn’t faking. You slowly take the rope away, shaking out your fingers. Your grip had been so tight, they were shaking and sore from the exerted energy. Briefly contemplating cutting his throat to make sure he’s dead, you decide against it. The harsh red line on his neck is proof enough. His glass has fallen to the ground, cracking into pieces and spilling scotch on the carpet below.

Giving yourself a second to collect yourself, you glance around the study. Now that it was quiet, you’d love to really explore the room but you can’t dawdle. Still, a sliver of moonlight catches on an unopened bottle of Dantooine rum. It was a very old vintage; a rare and coveted bottle that was worth quite a few credits.

“I hope you don’t mind me taking this. My darling would love it and I doubt you’ll be drinking it anytime soon. Thank you Colonel, for your service.” You remark to his still body, putting the bottle into your hip pack, before switching out the rope for your blaster and exiting the room.

You’re running on adrenaline now and you can’t stop to pause. If you do, you’ll be forced to think about the blood you’re spilling in your quest for power. While you think you’re justified in your actions, the haunting sound of Colonel Paru’s last breath is better left for a different time. Or to be more specific, the lack of feeling his dying breaths gave you.

You sneak around the estate, searching for Admiral Ersawit’s room. You’re afraid you’re going to pass right by or spend the whole night wandering when you hear a groan on the left. It’s followed by a higher pitched squeaking and you grimace behind your helmet. A few more grunts and sighs, and the people inside the room finish whatever it is they were doing. You try not to picture it. Leaning up carefully against the door, you can make out the sound of the admiral’s voice. There’s the sound of shuffling sheets and the swish of something closing. Probably the refresher if his room is anything like yours.

You’re suddenly faced with a conundrum as you step back from the door. It’s locked and the control panel is coded to fingerprints. You bite back a curse and look wildly around the hallway for something to do. You can’t just stand here; a droid or Karin may find the Troopers or her husband. Turning quickly in a circle, you try not to panic at what to do next. What would Hux do? Hux would probably do something clever, or not have to deal with this at all, the jerk. You look at the panel again. You could try to hack it, but you have no tools to unscrew the panel and you don’t have the knowledge to breach the security system. You could end up setting off an alarm.

Taking a breath, you shrug and shoot at the panel, forcing it to break and open the door amid a shower of sparks. You walk through the smoke to see Admiral Ersawit lying in his bed, looking utterly surprised and reaching for the night table. He just manages to get his hand on the blaster there when you shoot twice, getting him in the head and chest. Blood is spattered against the headboard and it looks almost artistic in the pattern it takes. How anticlimactic though; he could have at least put up a fight. Silence follows and you turn towards the refresher door which is still closed.

“Come out honey, he’s dead. You’ve got nothing to fear. I won’t hurt you.” You announce through the distortion of the helmet. A moment of hesitation and then she opens the door, looking terrified. You smile at her through the helmet though she doesn’t see it. Then you shoot her too, her emaciated frame collapsing onto the floor. The more horrible you make your actions now, the more it will serve you. Besides, what kind of life could she have led, half starved and traumatized with her vocal cords ripped out? You were doing her a kindness and that’s what you were sticking to.

The sounds the door made when you forced it open were louder than you anticipated and you know that the shots of the blaster weren’t quiet. You shove the gun back into the hip pack and race back to your room, almost leaping with the speed you’re reaching. Thankfully you don’t get lost on your way back. You skid in front of your room, barely taking the time to breathe.

The Stormtroopers are still dead on the ground outside your room and you stop yourself right before you slam the door behind you. Closing it with a near silent click, you head towards the open window. You go down the trellis again, making sure to snag your suit on the edge before placing your boots in the mud the opposite way. Then you groan and climb back up. Next time you murdered someone, Hux could do the set up.

Entering the room, you carefully remove the boots before stepping down. The shower is still running and you tug your suitcase from the closet to hide the boots, helmet, and suit. You’ll bring them back to the Finalizer to be destroyed since they can’t be left here. You can put them in the incinerator and hope the fibers under the Colonel’s nails will be enough to help identify the killer.

Then you step into the refresher and jump under the spray, cleaning yourself efficiently. Your hair gets damp but not soaking which will hopefully match the time you started the shower if anyone comes to your room now. You climb into bed, body vibrating from the stress of what you just did.

You do feel bad, guilty about the necessary but innocent lives you had to take for your plan, but the feeling doesn’t linger as much as it should. Perhaps you should be more concerned that you barely feel any remorse for what you’ve done, but the universe was in chaos and sacrifices had to be made. You want to call Hux, tell him of your triumph but you hold back. It can wait until you’re alone with him in the privacy of your rooms.

The last thing you do before you fall into a pleasant and deep sleep is laugh.

Chapter Six Coming Soon...

Tagging: @babbushka, @livy1391, @renaissance-mama, @girl-next-door-writes, @peqchynero, @niniita-ah, @the-temple-pythoness, @cupofmoonlighttea, @sincerely-cronch, @potato-ren, @brujademente, @ah-callie, @rosirinoa, @lwtficrecs, @theold-ultraviolence, @mad-hatters-teapot, @firstordermariposa

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters! You can also find the fic on AO3 here!

#note the ratings change!#there's some murder here y'all #general hux #general hux x reader #reader insert fanfiction #self insert fanfiction #general hux x you #star wars fanfiction #potential #not beta'd #also some references to pleasure slaves so be aware #My writing #fanfiction

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findingniamho · 4 years

Text

New Fic!!

Hey everyone! Hope you’re having a good day! Here is a wedding fic I wrote (and what better day to post it than Simon’s birthday?). You can read it on AO3 here or below the cut. Hope you enjoy it! :)🐟

BAZ We’re going to be late. I keep checking my watch and each time I do, time seems to have jumped forwards at an unnatural rate. I half wonder whether something has somehow managed to sneak into the watch and is now pulling the hands around just to mess with me. Except that the car radio says the same thing. I check again.

“Basilton, if you check that damn watch one more time, I’m throwing it out of the window.” Fiona. She can always be relied upon to treat a situation calmly and delicately. I turn to face the driver’s seat, where she’s sitting in her black dress. She always insisted that she would wear black at my wedding. “To mourn the loss of having you all to myself to annoy. Besides, you’re going to be wearing black, aren’t you?”

I couldn’t argue with that. I’m wearing a black suit with a matching waistcoat and bowtie (as Simon would say, bowties are cool. I prefer the term sophisticated, but there you go). There’s a rose on my lapel (an actual one, the suit itself is plain this time) and, of course, the ring that Simon slipped on my finger a few months ago. The ring that made me believe that all of this was possible again.

It was inevitable, really. All through America, when we were on opposite sides the car or diner tables or motel floors, both of us were silently reaching for the other. It was a relief when we finally got there. When his hand and his gaze could find mine and we could fall in love all over again. I smile down at my hands.

I’m getting married, I say to myself.

I’m getting married to Simon Snow.

SIMON

This is perfect. We’re breezing along in Penny’s car. It’s a hot day so the window’s open and there’s a warm breeze floating though, ruffling my hair. If I close my eyes, I’m transported back to America and we’re cruising along the highway with nothing but blue skies, endless fields and an old radio to keep us company. Penny’s humming Here Comes the Bride and I’m leaning back in my seat, picturing the day ahead. We’ll arrive first and get into the chapel. It’s the same one that Baz’s parents got married in. All the Pitches have gotten married there. That’s gonna be me soon. A Pitch. Simon Grimm-Pitch. I never thought I’d see the day. I’m going to have a name with something attached to it. Sure, the things attached might be villainy and dark magic, but it’s also attached to a family. I’m going to officially be part of a family. Of course, Penny, Shepard and even Agatha feel like family to me but now I’m going to know what it’s like to have a mother and a father. Sitting around a dinner table at Christmas, small squabbles that are forgotten soon after, family jokes that no one else quite gets. All of that is just at the end of this car ride, along with Baz.

Baz, who saved me from the mage.

Baz, who saved me from myself.

Baz, with his grey eyes and sarcastic smile and not-quite-right nose. Who loves me, all of me.

I sit further back, putting my arms behind my head. My wings and tail are spelled away for now, but we’re bringing them back for the ceremony. Baz said that if he was marrying me, he wanted to marry all of me. That’s also another reason why Baz will be the one walking down the aisle towards me; I don’t want anyone unconscious at my wedding.

Here Comes the Bride stops abruptly and Penny exclaims: “Simon! You’ll crease your suit!”

“Argh! Sorry, Pen.”

“That’s okay, Simon.”

A sit back up and she glances at me for a moment before turning to face the road again. I haven’t seen her smile like that in a long time. I think she’s more excited than me about all this, really. She and I spent hours making her car clean enough so that I could sit in it in my suit. She’s wearing a yellow dress, similar to the one that Baz nicked for her when we were running out of money and time. She worried about me a lot, before. She and Baz both did. I try not to think about those times too much. I’ll take the time to unpack and deal with those memories one day, but for now, I’m content to just sit here and natter with Penny.

“Do you think you’ll ever get married?”

Penny’s eyes keep firmly fixed on the road.

“I don’t know, maybe.” She’s paying extra-close attention to her mirrors as we change lanes.

“What about Shep?”

“You’re wondering if I think that Shep would get married?”

“No! Well, yes. To you.”

A pause. Then, “Don’t be absurd! We’ve only known each other a few months. And he probably wouldn’t be interested in me anyway.”

She shakes her head as I’ve seen her shake it many times before, like she’s trying to throw an idea out of her brain. I smirk at her.

“You hesitated.”

“Because I was thinking it through!”

I raise an eyebrow, Baz style. “So, it was worth thinking about?”

She’s going red. Interesting. “You know well enough that it’s important to consider every eventuality, Simon. Anyway, this is your wedding day, not mine.”

“I would point out that you’re changing the subject, but you’re right.” I turn to look out at the window again, my thoughts turning back to the day ahead and I smile. “It is.”

AGATHA

This is probably the most exercise that I’ve done since I was at school, where I spent most of my time running with Simon from whatever happened to be chasing him that day. All day, Shepard and I have been loading things from his truck into the hall opposite the chapel and then putting them out: streamers, tablecloths that complement the napkins, speakers for the band, glasses, champagne to go in the glasses, cutlery (which Shepard kept putting out wrong), centrepieces, balloons and loads of other wedding stuff. We’ve been here all morning and we’re still nowhere near done. It makes me wish that I hadn’t left my wand at home.

I plonk yet another box of plates on the table closest to the door and survey the room. It does look pretty good, I have to admit. I reckon even mother will approve. Everything is white and gold, and the place settings look spectacular. Streamers are hanging from the ceiling and the sunlight that streams through the window glints off the glasses, making them sparkle. I smile as I look over to the table to where Simon and Baz will sit later today as a married couple, next to Penny – who’s been made “best woman” – and Baz’s parents. I expect a part of me to be sad that Simon will be sitting there next to someone who isn’t me. But instead, there’s a calm in me, a peace I haven’t felt since, well, ever. For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m truly where I belong. Not at Watford, pretending to care about being a good Mage. Not in California, pretending to care about levelling up and changing the world. But in between, actually caring about these people who now surround me.

I think deep down, I’ve known for a long time that this is how all this would end. And Merlin, aren’t I glad.

“Agatha!” calls Shepard.

“Coming!” I yell back. I take one last look at the empty, quiet room before stepping back out into the sun.

***

We’re nearly ready now. I’m changed into my bridesmaid’s dress (Baz’s siblings and I will all wear matching pale pink) and I’m standing outside the chapel, putting together confetti baskets for the children. Shepard comes around the corner to help, phone in hand. He’s changed, too. It’s a strange sight, Shepard in a suit. He holds up the phone.

“That was Simon. They’re nearly here.”

My stomach flutters nervously. “Are we ready?”

“All set! Nice job, Agatha.”

“Thanks. You too.”

We sit in silence for a moment. Shep’s restless, he keeps fidgeting, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just a bit nervous I guess.”

I look up at him, where he’s squinting into the late May sun, still not staying still.

“Why? You realize you’re not getting married, right?” He goes a bit red at that. Honestly, I’m surrounded by fools. First Simon and Baz, now Shepard and Penelope. It almost makes me wished that I’d stayed in California, just to avoid all these will-they-won't-they shenanigans. Almost.

“Well, I guess that I don’t really feel like I fit in here. I’m going to be the only Talker, the only Normal, at this wedding.”

That’s true, I guess. Some of Baz’s family were a bit funny about letting him come. Some things never change, I guess. But he has saved their lives several times, in suppose. In America, and after.

“Baz and Simon wanted you here, Shepard. They care for you, very much. As do I. And Penelope. Once you’ve survived a crisis at Watford, you’re bonded for life, I guess.”

He takes a deep breath, then smiles quietly down at me. “Yeah, you are.”

He looks back up the road, to where we parked the truck this morning, along with some of the things for the wedding. The planners have packed up and gone now, so it’s just sitting there by itself. Shepard points a thumb over his shoulder. “Hey, so there’s one more box in the back. Feeling strong?”

I flex my non-existent biceps. “Of course.”

I stand up and together we walk back to the truck.

SIMON

As we pull up to the chapel, I can sense that something’s wrong. The air is jumpy and static, and there’s a funny smell coming from somewhere. It’s too sweet, like that time that I stuffed 20 marshmallows into my mouth (Baz dared me, so it was justified). Next to me, Penny starts sneezing.

“Pen?”

When she turns to me, I see that her eyes are streaming. “Simon! It’s – achoo – it’s-.” But then she’s cut off my several more sneezes before she can speak. Her voice is hoarse, like the words are trapped in her throat. “Pixie dust.”

“Pixie dust?”

“I’d know that smell anywhere,” she wheezes, before sneezing several more times. There must be loads of it to make her react like this. Outside, I notice that several of our guests are here: some of Baz’s family, the Bunces and Agatha’s parents are all gathered outside the chapel. And all of them are sneezing.

“Stay here.” I slide out of the car to investigate. As I approach the crowd, Shepard and Agatha emerge from it. Both of them are changed for the ceremony and Agatha’s dress ripples out behind her as she runs urgently towards me.

“Simon!” Agatha exclaims.

“What’s going on?” I ask, looking between Agatha, who seems to be holding back tears and Shepard, whose face is drawn and worried.

“We were setting up,” Agatha starts, voice shaking, “when we realized that there was one more box to unpack, so we went to the truck to get it. We figured that it was for the chapel, not the hall because everything had already been set up in there. But when we opened it up, it… it…”

“It blew up,” Shepard finishes for her.

“It blew up?”

“Kaboom.” He gestures with his hands. “I think it was an invisible box that an ogre that I met in the Andes planted on me because I accidentally used his toothbrush.”

“That’s gross,” Agatha mutters. He ignores her. “They’re tricky things, come in and out of sight as they please. I thought it was just another box of wedding things.”

“So now there’s tonnes of pixie dust everywhere. It’s fine in smaller quantities but this-.” She sneezes. “It’s not good, Simon.”

Shepard puts an arm out to the sneezing guests. “We told them to wait outside. We don’t want them to get any closer but there’s nowhere else for miles where we could go to get help.”

“Is Baz here yet?”

“No, he said that he and his aunt are running late. He was super stressed out.”

Okay, at least Baz is safe. Typical him, getting so caught up about punctuality though. I would laugh about it if my wedding wasn’t on the verge of being ruined. I look around at our guests. Baz’s relatives stand in small, scattered circles. Penny’s mum has one protective arm around a girl (Priya, I think) and is sneezing into the elbow of the other. In fact, everyone is sneezing uncontrollably. Everyone, except...

I turn to Shep. “How come you’re ok?”

He shrugs. “Guess it only affects magickal folk.”

That explains me, then. I turn towards Agatha. “Get the guests into the reception hall, me and Shep will go into the chapel to try to clear up. Right?”

Shepard nods. “Right.”

Agatha sneezes again, setting off into the crowd. But then she stops and turns. “You’ll get your wedding, Simon. I promise. You’ve given so much to the world; it’s time you got something in return.”

“Thanks, Agatha.” I nod, unable to say anything more around the lump that’s just come to my throat. She smiles with quiet understanding before starting to herd the guests across the road. That’s when I notice how bad the stench is again. I cover my nose with my arm to try to block it out.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” I say to Shepard. My voice comes out muffled through the fabric. “We’ll see if Penny can do anything about this.” I flap my other arm around, trying to waft the sickly-sweet scent away. “Then we’ll try to clean up.”

“You got it, boss.”

Then we head towards Penny’s car where she is (still) sneezing.

BAZ

I knew it. We’re late. As Fiona turns down the road that leads to the chapel, I squint to look ahead to the entrance, where there are only a couple of people hanging back outside. Everyone else must already be inside, waiting for me. Brilliant. As we get closer, I see that it’s Simon and Shepard, standing by Bunce’s car.

That’s odd.

Fiona parks at the opposite side of the road, remaining silent. Fiona’s never silent. I think that she can sense that something’s wrong, too. There’s a strange smell in the air. She lets me get out by myself to see what’s going on. As I approach Bunce’s car, Simon and Shepard turn to me. They’re both dressed ready for the ceremony, Simon in a suit that complements mine. When I look at him, his eyes light up and he smiles.

“Baz!”

It’s still strange, sometimes. To hear Simon say my name with anything other than contempt or anger. To hear it with a kind of soft, private joy that warms my heart each time I hear it. All that time at Watford, I always dreamed of this day. Not my wedding day, specifically (although that daydream did sometimes sneak up on me when I wasn’t paying attention), but the day when Simon said my name and it meant something different. The day that those unremarkable blue eyes looked into mine with affection, not violence. The day that his hands unclenched from their fists and reached out to hold mine. And to see him, now, here, knowing that later that same mouth that used to yell and scream at me would be saying “I do” and kissing me? I remember when all of this was just a dream from the other side of the room. But now we’re here.

I smile back at him.

“Hello, love.”

SIMON

He looks good. He always looks good, the tosser. His hair flows freely down to his shoulders and his deep-water grey eyes are shining as his lips quirk up to smile at me. That smile’s going to be gone pretty soon. I brace myself.

“Baz, we’ve got a problem.”

As I explain the situation to him, I watch his face fall and it breaks my heart. But his eyes remain steeled with a fierce determination. I’ve seen that expression before. He’ll stop at nothing to save this.

“So Shep and I are going to go into the chapel-.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, Baz! It’s too dangerous.”

“This is my wedding too, so we’re going to save it together, okay?” He folds his arms and sets his mouth in a firm line. “I’m not changing my mind. It’ll be much quicker with the three of us.” I roll my eyes. “Okay fine. Penny?”

Penny holds out her wand. “Quickly, before I start sneezing again. Okay. You’ve gone... nose blind!”

Baz wrinkles his nose. “Febreze, Bunce?”

“The Normals quote it,” she shrugs, then sneezes again.

“How come you seem to have it worse than everyone else?” I ask.

Penny somehow manages to glare and sneeze at the same time while grounding out one word: “Trixie.”

Ah, that explains it. Penny’s roommate used to spread it all over their room. It must make her less tolerant of it than everyone else. It was never as much as this, though. Penny stops sneezing long enough to fix all three of us with a fierce look.

“Now, you three had better sort this out and have the best wedding day ever, okay?” She says it like a threat, but she means well.

“Thanks, Pen.”

“You’ll look after them, won’t you Shep?”

He grins and gives her a weird kind of salute. They look at each other for a moment, and something passes between them. Then Shepard leans on the car door. I think he’s trying to look casual, but it just looks like he’s forgotten how to stand up properly. Merlin, is that what I look like when I think I look cool? Crowley.

“Shepard,” Penny says.

“Yes?”

“Stop leaning against my car.”

“Sorry.” He straightens up, arms flapping. I can see Baz and Penny both trying desperately not to roll their eyes. “Well, we should go.”

“I’ll be waiting in the hall,” says Penny. “Good luck, and be careful.”

“Don’t worry, Pen. We’ve got this.”

We wave her off, then head towards the doors to the chapel.

“Right,” I say. “Let’s see how much of a disaster we’re dealing with this time.”

Shepard looks up at the chapel, squinting in the sun. “Here we go again.”

Baz takes my hand and squeezes it. He leads me towards the chapel. “Here we go.”

BAZ

Shepard and Wellbelove weren’t exaggerating. It’s everywhere. The smell’s worse in here, and despite it being dampened slightly by Bunce’s Febreze spell, it still makes me want to gag. Plus, there’s the sight of it, which makes my eyes water. Why does everything to do with pixies have to be so sparkly and bright? It looks a lot like tastelessly pink glitter. Shepard emerges from the alcove off the entrance with two brooms and a dustpan and brush. Simon claps his hands together, then winces like he realises how idiotic that looks. I shake my head, rolling my eyes. Honestly, I must have truly lost my marbles to still want to marry him of all people. But here we are. Maybe I’m the idiot.

“Right.” Simon clears his throat. “Shepard, if you take over there,” he gestures towards the alter, “and Baz and I start this end, then we’ll work across. You take the middle and we’ll do the sides.”

“Cool.” Shepard hands one of the brooms to Simon and the dustpan and brush to me. He starts walking down the aisle, whistling like he’s just going out to mow the lawn, not sweep up the remains of a magickally explosive box and its overly sparkly contents.

“Thanks,” I whisper to Simon. I don’t think either of us wants to walk down the aisle until the time comes. He nods in silent understanding, which is his way of saying you’re welcome. I kneel on the ground, rolling up my sleeves and wincing. This is going to ruin my very nice, very expensive suit. But my priority right now is to save our wedding.

I look up at Simon. “Let’s get to work.”

SIMON

We work in comfortable silence, me sweeping and Baz brushing dust into his dustpan and occasionally getting up to empty it into the bin. We’re both filthy, but I guess it doesn’t matter anyway. There’s a lump in my throat as I continue to sweep the dust into a pile. I look at the aisle Baz should be walking up; at the alter we should be standing at; at the doors we should be walking out of hand in hand, as husbands. I suppose I should’ve seen this coming. It just feels like this always happens when I’m around. Like I’m the one causing it, with my streak of bad luck that follows me around like a shadow. I should’ve somehow known that this would happen, I should’ve warned everyone, should’ve-.

“Simon?”

I look down at where I’ve been very aggressively sweeping pixie dust in no particular direction, causing it to fly up and float around everywhere, including all over Baz. Great.

“Sorry,” I mutter to Baz but don’t move.

He stands. “Simon, what’s wrong?”

His voice is soft, like how he used to speak to me when I would spend my days on the sofa, feeling like nothing was worth getting up for. I shake my head, feeling on the verge of tears. But I have to stay strong. This is supposed to be the happiest day of our lives. The thought makes me start stammering.

“I-it’s just. I can’t. I. It’s that...”

Baz’s face tells me to take my time. He knows that words are still a bit tricky for me.

I take a shaky breath. “This isn’t how this was supposed to go. It’s all ruined.”

I start crying proper then. “And I can’t help feeling like this is all my fault, like it is every bloody time.”

He walks slowly over to me and places both his hands lightly on my shoulders.

“Simon, did you plant an invisible box in the truck that’s been magickally rigged to explode?”

“Well, no, but-.”

“Did you then fill the said box with sickly-sweet scented pixie dust that causes a bout of sneezing fits for any mage that comes near?”

“I guess not.”

“Simon, I know that you think that you somehow caused this, but listen to me when I say that this is not your fault. Growing up, I know you were told that everything was your responsibility but the weight of the world doesn’t rest on your shoulders. You weren’t even there when the box blew up, for Crowley’s sake! This is your wedding day, Simon. When everyone’s supposed to fuss around you and help you because you are special and loved, and I’m not just talking about me.”

“But it’s your day too! We were supposed to say “I do,” and cut the cake, and have our first dance. But instead-.”

“Simon,” he says. One of his hands slides from my shoulder down my arm to take my hand. He holds our clasped hands up and steps closer to me so I have no choice but to look into his eyes. We start turning slowly on the spot, Baz humming a made-up tune as we sway in each other’s arms. Our shoes leave quiet footprints in the dust. The light streaming in from the stained-glass window splashes colour onto us as we step in and out of the darkness and the light. As it lights up half of his face, and half of mine, I remember what today is really about.

It’s his coarse, rough, fire-holder’s hand holding mine and me holding his back.

It’s his soft grey eyes looking into mine and me looking back.

And, as we slow to a stop, his lips kissing mine.

And me, with all the love I have for him, with all that I am, kissing him back.

We’ve been through it all, but we came out the other side together. We can still have perfect moments with each other, even when everything’s gone to shit. This is the beginning of a lifetime of perfect moments.

“Thank you,” I whisper, laying my head on his shoulder.

“Anytime, Simon,” he murmurs into my hair. “Anytime.”

BAZ

For a moment, there’s peace. There’s just me and Simon, and the only sound is our breathing as we hold each other and stay so, so still. Then there’s a clattering and banging from the other end of the chapel and a call of “I’m OK!” from Shepard. I step back, smiling fondly down at Simon.

“We’d better get back to work,” I say.

“Yeah,” he replies, meeting my smile with a stunning one of his own.

I kneel back down and start sweeping more dust into the dustpan. I’m glad when I look up and see Simon sweeping the dust into (much calmer, much more orderly) piles. We’re moving a lot more efficiently now; we can start doing the rest of the chapel soon.

When I next stand up to empty the dustpan, I gasp and yell “Look out!”

Simon turns sharply, startled.

Right into the lit candle behind him. It topples over and the holder cracks in two. The candle rolls across the floor, igniting the dust that still coats the edges of the room. That’s when I learn that there’s one thing that vampires and pixie dust have in common: they’re both extremely flammable.

The flame snakes its way up the walls and curls around the wooden beams in the ceiling. Ash begins to rain down and I cough as the smoke enters my lungs. I can hear a creaking above me and look up just in time to see a beam collapse and begin to hurtle its way down towards where I’m standing. I brace myself for the impact. Great, I think. I’m going to die on my wedding day. I suppose that means my corpse will be well-dressed, at least.

An arm comes around me and I’m tackled to the ground just before the flaming beam hits me. My head smacks into stone as I’m shoved against a wall. A trail of warm, sticky blood trickles from my temple down the side of my face. I don’t dare to open my eyes as I hear the destruction around me roar in my ears, the smell of burning intensifying with the heat. It’s only when I hear eerie silence, like someone’s put a blanket over me, that I open my eyes. I’m met with the sight of Simon’s face scrunched up and inches from mine and his wings spread out behind him, their edges burnt from shielding us from the flame and rubble that rained down upon us.

SIMON

“Simon, love. Open your eyes.”

Baz’s voice is soothing as I slowly blink myself back to here and now. Baz is sitting in front of me. One side of his face covered in blood. He’s sitting in my shadow, which I can see is winged. I try to move my wings but wince in pain. Burnt. I don’t remember the spell wearing off, or saving Baz. I just remember needing to move and then opening my eyes down here. I look behind me at the remains of the chapel. There are bits of rubble and shattered glass everywhere, just like there was in the White Chapel. I did it again.

I start crying, then sobbing, then howling. This is what always happens. This is how this always ends. Magic or not, I always manage to make everything explode around me and take out anyone in my path, including Baz. He’s going to want to leave, I know it. Because I’m a fuckup, as I’ve shown again and again. Because I can’t leave who I was behind. Because-.

This time, it’s Baz’s arm that comes around me to save me. To save me from myself, as he always does.

“I’m here,” is all he says.

I cry even harder into his shoulder.

BAZ

Once we’ve extracted ourselves from the wreckage and established that Shepard’s okay (he is – he heard us from the other end of the chapel and escaped through the other door), Simon and I stand side by side, looking at the burnt remains of the chapel. It’s still smoking slightly, but luckily some of our guests have managed to use It’s raining cats and dogs to put out the rest of the fire and Clear the air to get rid of most of the smoke. It’ll take a little while to repair the damage to the chapel, but it’s nothing that can’t be handled with the combined magic of everyone here.

While everyone sets to work to try to save this wreck of a day, I try to console Simon. He grew up thinking that he was nothing, then the Mage told him that he was everything. He still is everything, to me. It just makes him feel like anything that happens is his fault, like he still has the power to fight whatever gets thrown his way. Over the past few months, he was slowly coming around to the idea that he isn’t responsible for every disaster that he comes across. He was finally starting to realise that his mistakes don’t make him a disaster – they make him human. I put my arm around his shoulder and he leans his head on mine. He stopped crying a few minutes ago but still hasn’t said anything. He breathes quietly next to me and a gentle breeze comes to ruffle his hair.

“What are we gonna do now?”

His voice is tentative, like he’s afraid of the answer. I survey the wreckage again, with the groups of our friends and family gathered around it holding wands, rings and staffs aloft. The air is heavy with magic, and with shouting; the Bunces are running a tight ship. They’re working quickly, but I’m not sure if it’ll be enough. We’ll probably be done by tomorrow, but the chapel and hall are only ours for today.

There’s no way I’m postponing. I know that no matter what, I want to be married by the end of today. Crowley knows we’ve had to wait long enough.

I take Simon’s hand and squeeze it.

“I have an idea.”

SIMON

I have no idea where we’re going. I’ve already asked Baz at least 10 times, and every time he’s just raised an eyebrow and said: “You’ll see.”

He’s lucky I love him because it’s gotten more infuriating each time.

All I know is that he and his aunt went off somewhere and when they came back they were both grinning like maniacs. Then his aunt tossed him her car keys, told him not to wreck the car and we both got in and started driving. We’re going along the main road now, Baz’s eyes bright as we drive along. We’re both filthy: our clothes are ripped and bloodstained, and there are holes in the back of my suit from my wings and tail (which have been spelled away again). There’s still a trail of blood down the side of Baz’s face. I reach out to touch it and his hand gently takes mine and moves it away. He doesn’t let go, though. We stay like that until he has to change gears and he slows down to a stop in front of a gate.

And that’s when I realise where we’re getting married.

In the place where we met as enemies.

In the place where we fell in love.

In the place where I asked Baz to marry me.

Watford.

BAZ

Simon’s smile is one that I’ll never forget. As he gazes up at the gates to Watford, his lips turn up and his eyes shine. The late afternoon sun makes his hair seem to glow, as well as the constellations of freckles on his face, which has blown open into wild, unmistakable joy. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, then turns it towards mine. His cheek catches against the seat, squishing half of his face and rearranging the freckles. It’s adorable.

I mentally capture this moment of him and me, sharing this space alone before we’re going to be surrounded by people again. I capture his smile and his eyes and the feeling of his fingers intertwined with mine as he catches my hand again and the way it feels when the rings on them clink together. Unfamiliar, yet so right at the same time. As if they were always meant to be there. I capture the filth in his fair, and the dots of blood that pepper his cheeks. All of my imperfectly perfect Simon Snow.

I capture his voice as he leans in to whisper to me.

“Come on Baz.” Then he kisses me fleetingly, just once. But Crowley, if it isn’t one of the best of my life. He tugs at my hand.

“Let’s get married.”

SIMON

We walk up to the White Chapel hand in hand. Baz explains that everyone else will be on their way. Apparently, his aunt has a few people who owe her favours who can clean up the chapel. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d just called some people and scared them into helping by threatening to turn them into nine-toed trolls. But the thought’s nice.

As we walk, we talk about our memories of this place: the yew tree where he sent me to wait for Agatha all night, the football pitch where I used to watch him play, the spot where he tried to steal my voice. All of these memories, painful or not, seem so far away now. We were children then, and now we’ve grown up. We’ve changed and grown and laughed and cried alongside each other.

Whether we were fighting or learning or figuring ourselves out, it was always with each other. And now we stand with each other at the door to the White Chapel where everything changed for us. We fall silent when we reach the doors. I squeeze Baz’s hand and he squeezes back.

“I love you,” I say quietly.

“I love you too, Snow.”

Then we don’t say anything else as we sit with our backs against the wall and wait for the world to catch up with us.

BAZ

I stand outside the chapel doors with Father, waiting for everyone else to settle down inside. Wellbelove’s fussing over my siblings a few metres behind us. I can hear Mordelia kicking up a tantrum over having to wear pink. As quiet overtakes the other side of the door, Father turns to me.

“Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

And I mean it. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. Father goes to open the doors.

It was difficult, in the beginning. I knew that he always suspected that I was queer, but we’d never had a frank conversation about it. It was one of the topics that we simply had an unspoken rule to never discuss. It was that, my mother’s death and my vampirism. After returning from America, I realised that if I wanted to fix things with Simon, I needed to find peace with myself first. That involved going to therapy (I agreed that I’d go if Simon did) and telling my family, plain and simple, that I was gay. And that I was dating Simon Snow. At first, Father didn’t say much about it. He spent long hours in the library, looking over family photos and staring out of the window. Eventually, he showed me a photo of my mother.

“This is the last picture that was taken of her before she died,” he said, holding it up. Then he started talking about how much he missed her and still does, how he wished that he had been with her when it happened. How hard it was to look at me sometimes because of how much I looked like her. Then I told him about how Simon had caught me in her office looking at a picture of myself that she’d kept with her. How that had been the start of something. I told him about that Christmas and America and all that Lamb had told me about my kind. I told him how it made me unsure about many things but the only thing I was still sure about was how I felt about Simon. Little by little, day by day, Father began to come around to the idea of Simon and I being together. Sure, it took a lot of work. There were good days and bad days. But now here he is, about to walk me down the aisle towards a boy, not a girl as he probably envisioned for me one day. But there’s genuine love in his eyes as he says: “I’m proud of you, Basilton. And your mother would be too.”

“Thank you.” I’m too choked up to say anything else.

He swings open the doors and leads me down the aisle.

SIMON

It’s work not to turn around when I hear Baz approaching. I smile, knowing that I only have to be without him for a few moments more. (Also I can’t turn around for fear of knocking someone over with my wings). Baz steps up beside me glances sideways, grinning.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” I smile back.

We turn to face Penny’s mum, who agreed to officiate. As the ceremony starts, I look around at us. At our wedding. It’s not exactly how I pictured it: Baz and I are both still pretty filthy and the location is different but it’s almost better. This place holds painful memories, yes, but this chapel is where things changed for both of us. And we’re both still here, despite it all, agreeing to spend the rest of our lives together.

“Do you, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, take Simon Snow to be your husband?” Baz takes both of his hands in mine. “I do.”

“And do you, Simon Snow, take Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch to be your husband?”

And I’ve never been surer of anything than when I say: “I do.” Baz slips a ring onto my finger and I put one onto his. It’s strange how the feeling of his cold hands in mine is so familiar, yet what we’re doing is so unfamiliar at the same time. I guess everything we do now is going to be unfamiliar because it’ll be the first time that we do it as a married couple. Or maybe nothing will feel different at all. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together. We always do.

Penny’s mum spreads her arms wide. “I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss.”

In the moment before Baz and I kiss, something makes me cast a glance towards the back of the chapel. Three women are standing there: Ebb, Baz’s mum and a woman with blonde curly hair that I vaguely recognise as the girl in a photo that Agatha showed me once.

My mother.

Baz follows my gaze and I have no words for the expression on his face when he sees his mum for the first time since her death. Then I blink and they’re gone.

Baz and I kiss, the first of many kisses that we’ll have: that day as we celebrate with our family and friends, as we walk (just the two of us) by the lake after the party, tomorrow when we wake up next to each other at the beginning of our life together. And each and every day after that.

When we break apart to face our congregation, I think I see the ends of a pair of glittering green wings leaving the chapel. And a voice that follows them. A voice that sounds almost exactly like chiming bells...

I silently thank Liliana, granter of wishes, for letting those who care about us see us one more time.

Then I take Baz’s arm and we leave the chapel, smiling and waving at everyone. Penny tackles us in a tear-soaked hug, then Agatha joins, and Shep. I hear Baz’s aunt whoop and see his dad give us both a smile. It’s the start of a spectacular celebration.

A few hours later, I take Baz into my arms and flap my wings.

“Are you ready?” I ask.

My husband responds by kissing me.

And away we fly.

#happy birthday simon snow #simon snow #baz pitch #snowbaz #penny bunce #agatha wellbelove #shepard from omaha #my fic

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feverwritingandtextposts · 4 years

Text

Bad Decisions Are Always More Fun With Friends

Read it on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23730796

This is another OPM fic because im on a filthy binge :(

It starts, as all things tend to, with Garou’s bad idea.

“I heard that there’s a poltergeist lurking in the Ato High gymnasium,” Garou proclaims, one hot summer’s afternoon, leaning across the messy scramble of tables between them.

“And? What’s that gotta do with us?” Badd asks, after a short silence that indicated Garou was not about to drop the topic, or sit back down on his side of the table. Garou’s grin stretches wider, seemingly nonplussed by the lack of enthusiasm from the other two. “Of COURSE, we’re going to go check it out!”

After all, being young is about making bad choices, break-ins, and chasing ghosts, although not necessarily in that order.

It starts, as all things tend to, with Garou’s bad idea.

“I heard that there’s a poltergeist lurking in the Ato High gymnasium,” Garou proclaims, one hot summer’s afternoon, leaning across the messy scramble of tables between them. He’s grinning so wide; the afternoon sun reflects off his teeth.

Badd makes a non-committal noise in response, not even looking up from his phone. “And? What’s that gotta do with us?” he asks, after a short silence that indicated Garou was not about to drop the topic, or sit back down on his side of the table. Garou’s grin stretches wider, seemingly nonplussed by the lack of enthusiasm from the other two. “Of COURSE, we’re going to go check it out!”

Badd looks up then, eyebrow raised incredulously. “Why?” he questions. Leaning back, Garou fixes him with his own incredulous stare, as if Badd was the crazy one. “Because I want to see it, obviously.” It wasn’t the first time Garou had come up with a completely random, hare-brained scheme to while away the boredom that boycotting most of the school clubs, and most of his schoolmates, tended to bring. Since it wasn’t the first time, both Badd and Genos had enough good sense combined to realise that following through with any of his plans would end badly.

Genos closes the thick mystery novel he’d picked up from the library earlier for some ‘light reading’ with an audible snap. “We are not going ghost hunting,” Genos says, voice as serious and grave as ever. “Ghost?” Badd asks, looking between Genos and Garou quickly. “That pollyte- thing, it’s a ghost? Damn.” Badd mutters, tapping his phone against his chin in thought. “I thought it was some sort of exercise equipment or some shit.”

Garou rolls his eyes, folding his arms. “It’s not ghost hunting,” he says, resolute. “It’s ghost watching.” Behind him, the last remaining stragglers in the classroom were already heading home at the sound of the last bell, filling the room with the cacophony of scraping chairs and echoing goodbyes. The three of them had been sitting there for hours, with the innocent intent to get their homework done before the weekend. A tumultuous ordeal that they had dragged Genos into with the idea of helping them out, which only Genos had managed to succeed in. The other two had instead gotten nearly nothing done, in between snacking, gossiping, Badd being immersed in some noisy phone game, and Garou being immersed in whatever it was that potentially led to this.

Reaching forward, Garou thrusts the phone he’d been cradling in his hand into Genos’s face. Taking it gingerly from him, Genos held it delicately as if worried it might explode, or that the Cheeto crumbs that littered its surface would stain his metal fingers. Badd leaned over in spite of himself to read the article as well, squinting to catch the words written in some tiny scratchy font that the writer probably picked for the best spooky effect.

“This gymnasium isn't even in our high school,” Genos pointed out. “How do you suppose we get in there?”

Garou cocked his head at him, still looking painfully confident. “We’ll just sneak in, duh.”

At that, Genos gives him a flat impassive stare, judgement rolling off of him in waves. “Ato High is an all-girls school. If we get caught, the consequences would be far worse than sneaking into just any old high school.”

Garou smiled, seemingly completely unaffected by the threat.

“Then, let’s not get caught.”

“No way,” groans Badd, leaning back in his chair. “I ain’t gonna get caught sneakin’ around a girls school. ‘Specially not to go look for some damned ghost.”

Garou frowns at that, leaning forward, bracing his hands against the scratched plastic of the table.

“Why? You scared?” he asks. His voice is pitched low and threatening, in that raspy tone he uses when he’s trying to goad someone into a fight, intimidate train station insurance agents from pestering him, or coerce Badd into joining him in his stupid plans. His breath fans hot and wet against Badd’s face, and he resists the urge to lean back.

“I ain’t-“

“You a coward Badd? Chickening out?”

“Who the fuck are you calling a cowa-“

“You a pussy? A little bitch bab-“

“FINE!” Badd yells, half to get him to shut up, half just to stop him from breathing all over his face. “I’ll go find your fucking ghost with you,” he says, softer now, defeated. He realises almost immediately after speaking that he’d been yet again, goaded into doing something stupid. “I ain’t scared of some fucking ghost,” he mutters as an add on, although more to himself than anything.

“Good,” smirks Garou, arms folding in smug glee, clearly pleased that his friend was as easy to rile up as ever. “C’mon Genos, don’t be such a baby, come along.” He reaches over to grab his friend’s shoulder, an action that was supposed to show camaraderie. Garou realises belatedly that most social cues usually go straight over Genos’ synthetic fibre enhanced head. So instead, he pats him on the back a few times, in hopes that it will jump start his motors into saying yes. Genos continues to watch him silently, gold eyes burning with the force of his disapproval. Garou, to his credit, doesn’t even flinch under the weight of Genos’ infamously heavy glare.

Badd, realising that his pride won’t allow him to back out at this point, reaches over to start smacking Genos on the back as well. “If you don’t come and we get caught, we’ll say that you told us to do it,” threatens Badd, with all the barely concealed desperation of someone who doesn’t want to be doing something stupid alone. Or alone with Garou, which was inestimably worse.

Genos lets out a long-suffering sigh, rubbing at his temples. Cyborgs don’t seem likely to get headaches, so Garou suspected he did this mostly for show. “Fine,” Genos says finally looking slowly from each of their faces, “I’ll go just to make sure the two of you don’t do anything too idiotic. But on one condition. We go in, and we go out as quick as possible, okay?”

“Yeah-“

“And we don’t get caught.”

...

They all decided to meet up at the station nearest to Ato High at nine o’clock. Nine, because if they went in any later, they might miss the last train by the time they leave, and if they went in earlier, they might end up meeting some straggling students. As Badd had so wisely put it, “who the fuck would be in school after nine?”.

Garou was easy to spot. Even in the dim of the night, his white hair stood out, catching the streetlights in its luminescent fibers. Genos was no better, with the station’s fluorescent lights glinting off his bare metal arms. And Badd…

“Why do you have a bat with you?” Garou asked, eyeing the glossy aluminium bat Badd was carrying as he hurried past the station gantry to join them.

“Ah? This?” Badd held the bat aloft. It seemed strangely at home in his hand. “It’s for self-defense.”

“Against?” prompted Garou.

“The ghost.”

“You intend on hitting a ghost… With a bat?” asks Genos, who possessed an uncanny talent of making even the mildest inquiries sound reproachful.

“I ain’t gonna hit it with my fists, am I?” challenged Badd, tone booking no further arguments.

The notion that a physical attack of any form will likely do no damage to a ghost, is a fact that Genos graciously decides not to mention.

The three of them set off towards the towering cluster of buildings that make up Ato High, guarded as it was, by the large wrought iron gate that snakes its way around the school’s perimeter. After a quick jog around, they decided on a spot to scale the gate, obscured safely from any prying eyes by a particularly dense crop of trees.

The silence of the deserted school grounds weighed heavily on their ears. Even on the soft grassy ground, wet with dew, their footsteps seemed loud. Genos gave the area a quick scan, sending the other two a furtive nod after determining that the grounds were truly, empty.

“Alright, let’s go Mystery Hunters!” Garou says, jumping up from the crouch he’d landed in.

“Dude,” groans Badd, “don’t call us that, that’s lame as fuck.”

Immediately, Garou’s face contorts into that particular scowl he wears whenever his creative brilliance is in question.

“It is not lame,” he hisses, and it’s only from sheer force of will and a natural predilection to uphold his pride that prevents him from outright whining.

“I agree,” says Genos, from behind Garou’s shoulder. Twisting around to him, Garou’s scowl turns smug.

“You see,” he says triumphantly, “Genos a-“

“I think its lame,” Genos agrees, voice flat and gravely serious as it ever is. “Why would we even need a team name? We already have our own names.”

Garou groans loudly, putting his face in his hands.

“I know we have names, Genos. It’s just cooler if we have a team name isn’t it? Plus, its like, useful in emergencies.”

“So, you pick Mystery Hunters?” questioned Badd incredulously.

“What exactly would be an emergency that requires a team name?” questioned Genos incredulously.

“I don’t know!” snapped Garou folding his arms in annoyance. “Maybe the ghost might attack us and one of us needs to tell everyone else to run or something.” Genos seemed to consider that situation seriously for a moment, metal hand coming to rest beneath his chin.

“Wouldn’t it be more prudent then,” he says, “if we call out the names individually to better direct-“

“Alright, alright fine, forget the names,” Garou says loudly over him, pinching the bridge of his nose. They’ve only just stepped in the school grounds and he’s already reached his limit. “Lets just go find the damn ghost and go home okay?”

Armed with a startling lack of direction sense, they trudged around the school grounds idly peering into dim windows, searching for the infamous gymnasium. The warm night air beaded sweat on the back of their necks as they ducked into the shadows of buildings and trees.

They soon found that every single building in the school was indiscernible from the last, especially in the dark. Ato High was an old school, and most of its architecture seemed to stand unchanged from its original build. Unmarked and paved in dreary red brick, the buildings were spaced far apart, linked by simple grey stone pavements. Its old and borderline dilapidated structure made it seem especially primed for hauntings.

After a while of aimless wandering, punctuated by the occasional offhanded comment and Genos’ complaint of the grass staining his shoes, Badd spoke up.

“Is that the gymnasium? ‘S fuckin big. Why ain’t our gymnasium that big?” Badd asks, pointing his bat in the general direction of one of the dimly lit, nondescript school buildings. There’s no indication of why he would claim that particular building to be the gymnasium, other than the fact that there is a door, which gymnasiums need, and a seemingly high ceiling, which gymnasiums ought to have.

“Our school doesn’t have the funds for it,” Genos supplies helpfully, “considering our school is a common neighborhood school in comparison with Ato High, which is considered an upper-class high school, it can be expected that their budget would far exceed ours.”

“Huh,” Badd supplies in response, having already stopped listening to Genos after the fourth word in. Beside them Garou rolled his eyes, squinting at the building.

“That’s the main building idiots. The gymnasium’s gotta be behind the school.”

“How do you know that?” questions Badd, voice dripping in an unnecessary amount of suspicion.

“Because no school has their gymnasiums at the front?”

“That,” interjects Genos, “is statistically unproven.”

Garou taps his foot on the ground, well and truly annoyed. “Well, do you have any suggestions Genos?”

Genos nods once, sharply. “We enter the main building and check the layout of the school through the signboards. They surely have them inside the buildings.”

As much as Garou hated to admit it, it was a sensible plan. The doors in the school were locked, as expected. Although they could easily have forced it open by hand, they were doing their best to remain undetected, and any broken locks could be incriminating evidence.

Trying to get into a school furtively held all the enchanting mystery that all high school students secretly desired, even overpowered teenagers like themselves. In the end there was just something infinitely exciting about clambering through a window, into somewhere they really shouldn’t be going, rather than just busting through a door.

The three of them tumbled into a hallway, where Garou immediately leapt forward like a cat in search of his new prey. Genos and Badd brought up the rear, Badd flicking on the light on his phone to use as a torch.

The hallways inside the school seemed just as creepy as the outside, walls painted a drab grey, lined with past accolades and framed newspaper clippings. The light from Badd’s phone reflected off the dark classroom windows, briefly illuminating rows of worn tables and chairs from inside the rooms.

“Do you hear anything? Huh Genos?” questions Badd, his raspy whisper ringing clear against the stark silence of the empty school. Genos pauses mid stride, eyes darting quickly about the empty hallways. With a soft whir, Genos expands his focus, concentrating his sensors.

“No, I didn’t hear anything,” he says after a conclusive scan of the school.

“Then maybe there ain’t no ghost at all,” Badd decides.

Garou turned from where he had gone to stalk (scout) ahead, frowning back at him, one hand propped on his hip.

“How do you figure that?” he asks, the hint of a challenge already leaking into his voice.

“In like, those ghost huntin’ shows don’t they hear the ghosts through like a radio or some shit? If Genos can’t hear anything then it means there ain’t no ghost, is there?” Badd reasons, waving his hand airily.

“Genos, isn’t a radio,” says Garou.

“Well yeah but, he’s like sorta… Right?” Genos certainly was not.

“I am a cyborg, Badd,” Genos says, with all the weary countenance of a man who has had this conversation far too many times for it to be healthy. “I cannot hear anything that a normal human or cyborg is unable to.”

“Huh,” Badd says, obviously stumped. “You can’t like, change the channel or-”

“No.”

“Not even-“

“No.”

Badd considers this for a long moment. Garou considers leaving them to it and going on ahead.

“That’s kind of lame,” Badd says finally. Genos says nothing in reply. His stony face betrays no clues, but his palpable annoyance hangs in the air between them. Garou wasn’t an expert, but he’s pretty sure that if they didn’t find the ghost soon, this entire outing would end up in a night time brawl. One that would surely result in a hefty amount of collateral damage.

And that would definitely ruin the whole ‘let’s not get caught’ part of the plan.

So instead, he changes the subject.

“I found a sign for the gymnasium. It’s down that hallway.”

Their steps echo down the empty corridors, impossibly loud in the silent air. Garou had already taken the lead, striding on ahead as if he had any clue where he was going. Genos walked slower, gold eyes scanning every imperceptible mote of dust that hung in the air, looking for clues, or any sort of sign of life.

Behind them Badd strolled leisurely, content on leaving the heavy thinking to the other two.

"This way," orders Garou, pointing out the sign above a door to their left. It led out to an open-air corridor, linking it to the gymnasium. To their mild surprise, and Garou's growing enthusiasm, it wasn't even locked.

"Suspicious!" Garou proclaimed, voice a cheery sing song that contrasted oddly with the mood of the room.

Bads could reason that someone had simply forgot to lock it, but decided that he'd rather not start that argument.

The infamous gymnasium was less impressive than Badd had hoped. It was smaller than some gymnasiums he'd seen, and the floors and benches looked scuffed and aged. It looked much more... Normal, than any of them had been expecting. Large high windows bleached the room grey with moonlight, making the room far brighter than the wandering hallways they were in before. Badd felt more like he was here for a training camp, rather than to catch ghosts.

Garou, evidently, did not feel the same. The minute he stepped in, he turned to sniff around the room, climbing up on benches, and scoping out every corner, as if sure the ghost was about to jump out from behind the trashcan.

After a second, Genos pulled out his phone, tapping furiously on it. Perhaps he had already lost interest in the situation, but Badd wasn’t going to call him out on it. Badd was getting pretty bored, pretty fast.

"Do you think its a female ghost?" questioned Badd aloud, mostly to start a conversation before he fell asleep standing up.

"It’s a girls school so, I would imagine so," deduced Genos. He had started dutifully reading the edgy occult post Garou had shown them earlier that day, the light of his phone casting ominous shadows on his face. Badd watched him, tapping his bat to his side mindlessly.

"Is she hot?"

"Is she hot?" spluttered Garou. He turned from where he was perched like an over-sized gargoyle on a crate of basketballs, trying to read the text over Genos' shoulder. "It’s a ghost Badd. Of course, its hot."

Never one to miss an opportunity to be judgmental, Genos paused his reading to give Garou his most withering stare. “Really?” he asked, voice dripping with derision.

"Should’ve known better than to ask," muttered Badd, rolling his eyes, although his twitching lips betrayed his amusement.

They milled around some more, before Garou probably reached the end of his patience, and demanded that all three of them split up. The post itself had no clues on how to summon the ghost, only that it regularly made a mess of the gymnasium in the night. Any passers by outside would hear the vicious clanging of overturned crates of sports supplies, and harshly rebounding balls, bouncing around the echoey chamber. Overall, not a lot to go on.

Garou reasoned that the ghost was probably just shy, and if either of the other two had any concern for their friend’s sanity, they decided not to voice it. Instead, Genos volunteered to check out the storage shed, Badd the perimeter, and Garou on stakeout in the gymnasium.

...

Badd milled around the front door, scuffing his shoe against the pavement. If the ghost wasn't going to turn up, he doubts any amount of 'searching' is going to make them turn up. So instead, he bided his time until he was sure enough time passed for him to return without raising suspicions of slacking off.

As Badd turned to the door, a soft voice spoke up from behind him.

"What are you doing here?"

Badd jolted, body freezing in shock. That, was definitely not a male voice.

"You obviously don't go to school here. What are you doing?"

Badd felt the sweat start to bead around his collar. He can't believe they've been caught already.

Turning slowly, he met the accusatory gaze of the young girl standing behind him. Clad in the grey Ato High school uniform, the dark-haired girl stared him down, arms crossed. Badd might have considered her to be pretty, if he wasn't so worried out of his mind.

"Um," he said, intelligently. "We're here to-" and here, Badd paused. He could, simply tell the truth, but aside from her finding him extremely creepy, there was the other more pressing issue that she simply wouldn't believe him. He was well aware that he looked intimidating enough for people to start making assumptions about him, and the other two didn't have any better. Trying to move as subtly as possible, Badd hid his bat behind his back.

Before Badd could bluster through some sort of cover up, the girl cut in sharply.

"You shouldn't be here, it’s dangerous," she says, crossing her arms. From where she was standing in the shade of the balcony, Badd could barely make out her features, but he just knew she was frowning.

"Dangerous?" Badd repeated, confused.

The girl nodded her head. "Didn't you hear about the monster that lurks here?"

Was she talking about the ghost? Badd wondered.

"You mean the haunting?" Badd questioned, eyebrow raising.

The girl nodded leaning forward a bit as if excited. It was still too dark to make out her features, and Badd could only hope she wouldn't be able to identify him either.

"I heard its even killed someone before! So, you have to go home!"

Badd blinked. He certainly didn't remember Garou or Genos mentioning that little tidbit of info. But it would make sense for the story to get even more blown out of proportion the closer to the source it is.

In any case, he wasn't going to argue with her. He didn't need any more reasons to get the fuck out of this place.

"Alright man, I’m gonna go tell my friends," Badd hesitated before turning back towards the gymnasium door. "Also, uh could you… not tell anyone you saw us here?"

The girl said nothing, continuing to watch him impassively. Eh, thought Badd, it was worth a try.

...

When Badd entered, he found that Garou and Genos had already convened down by the bleachers, Garou with his head in his hands, trying and failing not to look disappointed, and Genos not even attempting not to look bored.

"Guys," Badd called out as he swaggered in, "gig's up, its time to go."

Garou didn't even look up from where he had slumped over on the bench. "We're not leaving till we find something," he snapped.

Badd rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but someone caught us. Some girl saw me and told me to get the fuck outta here."

That caught attention. Both their heads swivelled up to stare incredulously at him.

"There's someone here? At this hour?" questioned Genos, his face twisting into a grimace.

"Yeah man," said Badd, folding his arms. "Don't think she was gonna report us though. She seemed pretty weird."

"Obviously," Genos said, tone sharp. "What kind of normal person would be in school at this time of the night?"

"Nah, like, she seemed pretty worried about us?"

"Like, worried about reporting us?" asked Garou, tone flat with dread.

"No, like she really thought the fucking ghost was gonna eat us or some shit."

For a second, the both of them stared at Badd, before the implications of his words truly sunk in.

Garou leapt to his feet, bringing himself up to his full height, a renewed fire in his eyes.

"That’s amazing," he hissed out, his infamously manic grin already back on his face.

He strode past Badd towards the door, renewed jump in his step. "Where is she? I'm gonna go talk to her. Maybe she knows how to summon it."

"What?!" snapped Genos, stomping after him to grab the back of his shirt. "She told us to leave. I suggest we do what she says so we don't end up in even more trouble."

"Why?" asked Garou, twisting in Genos’ iron grip, grinning so hard he looked nearly shark-like. “We found someone who knows about the ghost! We need to get more info.”

Badd missed the rest of what Genos fired back with, instead throwing open the door and walking out. Outside, the courtyard was empty, the girl nowhere to be seen. Did she already go home? wondered Badd. At least she’d be spared from whatever Garou was going to try to wheedle from her.

Behind him, he heard plenty of shuffling and the sound of scraping metal, before Garou’s head popped up beside his own, and after a second, Genos’ popped up above his own. All three peered out into the empty courtyard, searching.

“You’d think,” piped up Garou, after a moment of wordless staring, “that if a bunch of weird guys turned up at your school to hunt a ghost, you’d at least stick around to see how it went.”

“Not everyone is as free as you,” said Genos, a little too venomously to imply that he’d escaped the scuffle unscathed.

“I thought you said we weren’t doing any hunting,” asked Badd, warily.

“We’re not,” protested Garou, clearly ignoring Genos, “but… If the opportunity arises…”

Genos clicked his tongue impatiently while Badd groaned out loud. Badd rolled his shoulder, shoving Garou and Genos away from where they had chosen to crowd around him at the doorway.

“Luckily for us then, there’s no ghost to hunt.”

“Yeah, lucky,” muttered Garou under his breath.

“Too lucky,” another voice commented, sarcastically.

Garou turned to Genos, annoyance rolling off of him in waves. “Do you ever stop rubbing it in?”

Genos’ eyes widened a fraction, his permanent scowl only growing more pronounced. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Then who the fuck-“ But the group didn’t get to hear the end of Garou’s tirade, as they turned to notice a figure standing in the middle of the gymnasium floor.

Badd slapped Genos’ arm in alarm, and Genos slapped Garou, and Garou slapped Genos back quickly as if any of them had missed the newcomer’s sudden arrival.

Tall and lanky, the figure stood stock still illuminated by the moonlight streaming in from the gymnasium’s high windows. Features completely indiscernible, it seemed nearly fuzzy around the edges as if they were peering at it through a frosted window. Although none of them made the identification out loud, all of them decided that the person was decidedly, not human.

They stood in awed, disbelieving silence for a full three seconds marveling at the apparition that, just minutes ago, was mere hearsay. Garou was trembling with either fear or excitement, Badd couldn’t tell, and approached the figure eagerly calling out as he went.

“HEY! Ghost, hey, just wanted to say, BIG fan here.”

The figure did not respond, instead, its form which seemed fuzzy at best, distorted even more the closer Garou got to it. It was starting to look like a badly rendered picture now.

Distantly Badd recalled the girl from before telling him how the ghost had caused at least one confirmed casualty, setting him with mild unease as his friend trawled ever closer to the thing.

“Dude, don’t go so close to it man,” he called out, stepping forward alongside Genos to reel Garou back.

“I doubt that that thing is safe to approach,” muttered Genos, hands clenching at his side. “I’m getting a high energy reading from it.”

As Garou turned to address his friends’ complaints, the figure behind him shuddered violently, and stopped all motion with a low beep, like a paused video.

At Badd’s frantic pointing, all of them watched as the ghost seemed to crack like an eggshell, expanding as if its previous form could contain it no longer.

“This is it? This is the ghost?” Badd asked, rather unnecessarily in Garou’s opinion, waving around his bat in the direction of the growling humanoid figure rapidly growing in size in front of them.

All three of them stood there, watching the monster swell and grow in front of them, its face ripping open to reveal rows and rows of razor-sharp teeth. Ever the one to fixate on a point completely irrelevant to the situation, Badd turns to Garou again.

“Garou… Do you really think this is hot?” questions Badd, a touch of concern in his voice.

Genos, never one to turn down the opportunity to be rude, says, “he’s always had questionable taste.”

Garou decided to grace neither of them with an answer. Truthfully, he had seen a monster on last week’s episode of Justice Man that looked pretty similar to this one. He had thought it looked pretty cool. He wisely decided upon keeping that tidbit of info to himself.

In front of them, the beast let out a terrible growl, the tremor from it sending pieces of plaster raining down from the ceiling.

“That, is definitely not a ghost,” concludes Genos decisively.

“Yeah?” asked Garou, sarcastically, “how’d you tell?”

“I am getting an analysis reading that determines it to be a ‘monster’,” informs Genos primly.

Both Garou and Badd were spared from answering as one of the monster’s hands shot out, causing them both to leap out the way to avoid it.

The monster was now large enough to block out the light from the windows, towering over the three teenagers. The monster’s cry was deafening, the very sound of its voice causing the window panes to tremble violently. “Little children!” it snarled, rearing itself up to its fullest height, head brushing the top of the gymnasium’s tall domed ceiling. “I will grind your bones and eat you whole!”

Garou nodded sagely at that. “Grinding bones is a very textbook level monster thing to do, I’m impressed.”

With dexterity uncommon to a thing of such size, it swung its arm down with surprising accuracy towards Badd, nearly flattening him, and obliterating the chaffed wooden floorboards beneath his feet. Narrowly avoiding the hit, Badd turned and smacked the offending massive hand with his bat. A dull thud rang out in the gymnasium, loud enough to still be discernible over the monster’s roars.

Behind the beast, they could hear Genos yelling something that could have been an inquiry as to their wellness, or just a plain insult. With Genos it could go either way, really. Badd’s hit seemed to cause some effect on the monster, as it snatched its hand back quickly, cradling it as if injured.

“Alright, just hitting it works!” called out Badd.

“Great,” answered Garou, sounding no less excited even as he flitted to the side to avoid another massive swing of the arm, “lets beat the shit out of it and take down this monster, Mystery Hunters!”

Even from different corners of the gymnasium, Garou could hear the other two groan.

“Fucking stop trying to call us that!”

“We are not calling ourselves that!”

The sound of the monster’s thrashings thankfully drowned out Garou’s bitter grumbles at their response. Ducking forward, he slid under an outstretched arm to deliver a few swift, powerful blows to the creature’s knee, causing it to roar loudly in pain and stumble back. All three of them converged on the creature, raining it with blows, confusing it with an onslaught of pain from all directions.

The moment of its lack of focus was all they needed. A low hissing hum filled the air before a blinding pillar of light shot out, blowing perfectly through the back of the monster’s head, and right through the ceiling. It took a while for Badd and Garou’s eyes to readjust to the dim light of the room after that incineration flash, but what awaited them made them wish halfheartedly that they never saw it.

Beyond the singed gaping hole in the now still monster’s head, was a clear view of the night sky, viewed through the giant, still smoking, gaping hole in the ceiling of the gymnasium.

“I thought you weren’t allowed to use that?!” called out Garou, over the din of hissing steam and crumbling debris.

Genos gave a non-committal grunt in response. “My mentor allowed the use of my incinerator cannons for dire occasions. This seemed like one of them.”

Badd gave an understanding grunt. Garou shook his head.

“We destroyed like, half this place!”

“Eh,” says Badd, shouldering his bat nonchalantly, “I don’t think its that bad.”

Just as those words were uttered, the winds outside picked up, causing the body of the huge, dead monster to sway, before it fell over with a ground shaking boom, taking out the entire back wall of the gymnasium.

The three of them could only stare in horrified awe at the shambled remains of what remained of the supposedly haunted room. Quietly, they turned to make their way back out of the school in total silence.

...

“So,” says Mr Saitama, rubbing his face for what had to be the fifth time in the last ten minutes, “you’re telling me that you destroyed an entire building, because you had to?”

“Yep,” says Badd taking care to pop the p.

“Yeah,” Garou agreed, shrugging.

Genos said nothing in response, instead staring down his knees with all the weary resolve of a samurai waiting for death.

Mr Saitama groaned loudly, leaning back in his chair. All three of them were sitting crowded around Mr Saitama‘s desk, after being called out of their classes. There were plenty of curious glances thrown their way from the other teachers bustling around their cubicles in the teacher’s office, the warming smell of freshly made coffee and early morning chatter contrasting oddly with the anguished expression on their homeroom teacher’s face. Unsurprisingly, the officials at Ato High had called the police after finding the carnage, who then checked the security tapes, and then somehow managed to identify them.

Perhaps the fact that this was not the first time they had been involved with the police for what Mr Saitama had coined as “various shenanigans”, had made them all the more easier to identify. Personally, Garou believed that the only reason the police found them so quickly was due to a biased belief that they were behind any and all teenager-based incidents. Of course, in this case they were right, but still.

Mr Saitama sighed dramatically, yet again. “Were you aware that the buildings in Ato High, including the one you destroyed, are all historical buildings?”

“No shit?” asked Badd.

“No shit,” repeated Mr Saitama, gravely.

“Aw c’mon man,” whined Garou, slouching in his hard-folding chair, “there was a monster there! You couldn’t just expect us to leave it there!”

“You aren’t supposed to be fighting monsters! That’s the Hero Association’s job! You’re just students! Also,” snapped Mr Saitama, hand slamming down on the table with a bang, “you’re supposed to call me Mr Saitama, not ‘man’!”

“It tried to eat us!” protested Garou.

“Then you should’ve run and called the authorities!”

Beside him Badd rolled his eyes. “As if they’d come in time,” he muttered darkly under his breath.

Saitama pressed his hand back to his face as if to calm himself. Badd wondered if he’d end up flattening his face by the end of this session.

“Why were you even in Ato High that night?”

“Ghost hunting,” answered Garou immediately.

“You,” started Mr Saitama slowly, “went to a girls school… At night… To look for ghosts?”

All three of them nodded.

Mr Saitama sighed, for the umpteenth time. “Should’ve known,” he mumbled softly.

Turning to the table, he shuffled his papers around nosily, seemingly deep in thought. As they fidgeted in their seats, Badd casting pointed glances to the clock, Mr Saitama finally paused in rearranging his table, setting out three identical forms.

Turning towards them, he leant forward, resting his chin on his clasped hands, looking the most serious he’d been since this meeting begun. Sandwiched uncomfortably between Badd and Genos, Garou squirmed uneasily under the intense stare.

“Anything else to say for yourselves?”

No answer.

Mr Saitama tried again, “Genos,” he said, singling out the only reputable student out of the three, “anything to say?”

“I,” blurted Genos, speaking for the first time since being called to the room, “was dragged into it by these two, Mr Saitama!”

Beside him, Garou scoffed. Badd narrowed his eyes, incredulous.

“You throwin’ us under the bus, Gen?”

Genos turned to him, gold eyes flashing. “I told you we shouldn’t have gone there!”

“Genos,” Mr Saitama cut in, voice weary, “it was your incinerator cannons that caused the blast wasn’t it? You’re the one on thinnest ice here, dude.”

Genos shut his mouth with an audible clack.

Under the stares of everyone at the table, he finally continued, “it was necessary to dispose of the monster, Mr Saitama. I was merely doing my job as a vigilant member of the community.”

Mr Saitama deadpanned him a look as if to say vigilant members of the community don’t break into schools at night but said nothing against it.

When Genos made no move to say anything more, Mr Saitama shook his head despairingly, handing out the forms.

“I want all three of you to fill out these. Its an apology letter, something I’m sure you three are already familiar with,” Mr Saitama said, eyeing them meaningfully, “five thousand words. No less.”

He went on, amid cries of protests from mostly Garou and Badd, “AND, one full month of detention.”

Garou choked on air. “One entire month of detention?!”

“You’re lucky they’re not suspending you.”

The three of them wilted, grumbling half hearted protests as they held tightly to their forms.

“Okay,” said Mr Saitama, waving them off, “get back to your classes you lot. I still need to call your guardians.”

The boys kicked off amidst groans and halfhearted apologies.

“I want those apologies on my desk tomorrow morning!” he called after them as the door to the office swung shut.

“Were you talking about Ato High? Ah, that brings back memories,” smiles Miss Fubuki, leaning over her desk divider to Mr Saitama’s desk.

“Hm, did you go to school there?” questions Mr Saitama, swatting her hand away as she reached to pluck the case files from the table.

“Oh yes,” replies Miss Fubuki, finally giving up and leaning back in her chair with a nostalgic smile. “I had a lot of fun there. Sadly though, we never had any camps because there used to be this terrible rumor that a monster lurked the halls at night.”

“Oh?” asked Mr Saitama, looking bored.

“Yes,” says Miss Fubuki, eyes unnaturally bright, “we all thought it was just nonsense, but one day, one of the girls in the year below me turned up missing. Everyone was so sure it was the monster that ate her.”

Mr Saitama gave a noncommittal grunt, fiddling with his fingers.

Miss Fubuki smiled knowingly. “You’re starting to feel really thankful that they came back safe, aren’t you?”

Mr Saitama sighed, sending her a rueful smile. “I’m starting to feel really thankful I never decided to teach there.”

...

“Do you know what the worst part is?” Garou asks, as they trudge back up the staircase back to their classroom, “we never did get to see the ghost.”

Genos shot him a withering glare. “That’s because there was no ghost. People just caught wind of the monster and started the rumor.”

Badd grunted in agreement, shoulders hunching as he thought about the scolding his mother was sure to dole out once he got home.

“By the way,” a familiar voice called out right as he reached the top step. “I wanted to thank you.”

Turning slowly, Badd met the smiling gaze of a girl standing a few steps behind him. Squinting, he recalled the girl’s black hair and grey uniform.

“Oh its you,” Badd said, sending her a lazy wave. After all that drama, he’d just about forgotten about the weird girl from the school. “What are you doin’ here?”

The girl’s smile widened, her brown eyes glittering with an emotion Badd couldn’t discern. “I came by to see you. I have to go really soon, but I wanted to let you know I’m thankful for what you did.”

Badd huffed. “You mean breaking one of your school’s buildings?”

“I meant killing that monster but…”

“Eh, was nothin’,” he muttered, strangely uncomfortable under her stare.

“Tell your friends I said thank you as well,” the girl said insistently, climbing another step up towards him.

Badd cocked an eyebrow. “Tell em yourself,” he said. Poking his head around the staircase landing, he was surprised to see Garou and Genos already standing still on the upper steps, staring down at him.

“Who are you talking to?” Genos asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“C’mere man,” Badd called, waving them over, “this kid wants to talk to you guys.”

Garou peeked his head over the side of the staircase railing, looking wholly confused.

“Who?” he asked, gold eyes flitting around.

Badd groaned, annoyed that they were choosing to be so blatantly rude. Turning around impatiently, he was met with a clear view of the empty stairwell, illuminated by the large windows. Confused, he ran down the steps, peering over the railings just like Garou to see where the girl had went.

Looking back up, he met the strangely concerned gazes of his two friends, peering at him with raised brows.

“Did Mr Saitama set you so much work that you already went crazy?” Garou asked, shaking his head.

“What,” Badd spluttered, face colouring in spite of himself. “Fuck off man, didn’t you hear me talking to her?”

“To who?” Genos questioned again, face pinching in exasperation. “We only heard you talking to yourself.”

Badd stared at him, mouth agape. His head whipped between his friends and down the stairwell, as if unsure who to believe.

“But I- But you-“ Badd stammered, feeling increasingly uncomfortable by the second.

Climbing back down, Garou snatched him up by the arm, half dragging him up the stairs.

“There, there,” he said, patting Badd’s back in a manner that was supposed to be consoling, but came out mildly condescending. “Let’s get you to class, and you can take a nap at your desk as usual.”

Genos sighed, positioning himself on Badd’s other side and gripping his shoulder with a bit too much force to be comforting. “Maybe after your usual illegal naps you’d feel better.”

Despite his own irritable protests, Badd allowed himself to be dragged off bodily to his classroom, secretly agreeing that maybe a good nap was exactly what he needs.

#opm #opm fanfiction #metal bat #badd #garou #genos #one punch man #this is disgustingly long and im sorry #i saw everyone's requests im just soooo slow at writing im sorry pls hang in there i love u all #i hope u r all staying safe in this difficult times now too

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wordsysayswords · 5 years

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Someone needs to put down a wet floor sign because Tucker’s pretty sure his heart has melted into a puddle around his shoes.

Or, Tucker gets to see Wash interact with children, including Junior, for the first time ever and, to quote Grif, he's so fucked.

Merry Christmas @washingtubb! I hope you enjoyed this fluffy Blue Team bonding with just a pinch of Tuckington thrown in for good measure. Thanks for being so patient with this fic getting posted. @redvsbluesecretsanta

“Have you guys seen Junior?” Tucker asks, poking his head into the common room.

Carolina, who is sat perfectly still on the couch and in the process of having her long hair braided by three children, glances Tucker’s way without turning her head.

“He was with Caboose’s group earlier,” she says, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face. “In the mess hall.”

“Yeah, apparently they got told to leave because Grif tried to organize the kids into storming the kitchen. The things that guy will do for chocolate pudding.”

“BLARG!” Cries one of the twin Sangheili infants in Carolina’s lap. She rubs the alien’s back soothingly and raises an eyebrow at Tucker in a silent question.

“She’s ready for a nap,” Tucker translates.

There haven’t been a whole lot of opportunities for Tucker to exercise his Sangheili conversation skills on Chorus. That all changed two days ago when a ship full of Sangheili and human refugees landed, fleeing their own war-ravaged planet halfway across the galaxy. They had received Epsilon’s message and come seeking help because the reported conditions on their planet made Chorus seem like an idyllic paradise. Among the refugees were an almost comical number of children, outnumbering the adults six to one. The situation became a lot less funny when you realized 80 percent of the children were orphans.

“Here,” Tucker says, pulling out his datapad and selecting a playlist of classic Sangheili nursery rhymes. “They’ll recognize these. Puts ‘em right to sleep. You’ll have the songs stuck in your head for days, though.”

“Thanks for the warning.” Carolina gives a crooked smile as she accepts the datapad. “Can’t be worse than the crap Wash listens to.”

“Speaking of Wash, any idea where he’s hiding?”

Carolina cocks her head—as much as she can considering one of the aliens curled up against her shoulder is batting at her braid like a particularly curious cat. The kids finish up on her hair, and a little boy passes Carolina a pink hand mirror. Tucker bites his lip to keep from laughing as the Freelancer turns her head this way and that, inspecting the no less than eight messy braids sticking off her head at ridiculous angles.

“Looks great,” Carolina whispers, causing the kids to giggle and blush.

She turns her attention back to Tucker. “What makes you think Wash is hiding?”

“I don’t know, have you seen what it’s like out there?” Tucker asks, gesturing towards a window overlooking the track where groups of kids are playing frisbee or jumping rope, supervised by the lieutenants. “I’m having trouble keeping up, and I’m a dad!”

“Eh,” Carolina shrugs, “you’d be surprised.” She looks around at the cluster of children, “Do you remember our deal?”

The kids nod excitedly.

“If we take a nap, you’ll show us how to punch good!” A girl with wilting daisies woven into her hair punches the air, beaming.

Carolina raises an eyebrow. “And the rule?”

“Only in s-self, um,” lisps the boy missing his two front teeth, “s-self defenssse!”

“That’s right,” Carolina says, tapping the datapad. Plucky music starts to play as the kids curl up on the couch. She looks over at Tucker.

“Try the barracks,” she tells him. “They might have gone to get Caboose’s crayons and coloring books.”

“Thanks,” Tucker says, tossing a salute her way as he backs out the door. “Let me know if you need another teacher for punching class.”

“Sure thing. Watch out for—”

“HONK BLARG!”

A dark shape shoots out from under the couch and latches on to Tucker’s leg before he has time to blink.

“Holy fu—” Tucker catches himself. “Fudgsicles. Holy fudgsicles. Definitely what I was going to say. Right, little buddy?”

The small Sangheili wrapped around his leg hoots happily and starts gnawing on his boot laces.

“I think she’s teething,” Carolina explains. “Her brother is with Caboose’s group. Mind taking her with you?”

“No problem,” Tucker says, lifting his foot to get a better look at the alien. “And what’s your name, champ?”

“Firo 'Srattin,” yawns the little girl draped over Carolina’s shoulder.

“Strattin,” muses Tucker. “Good, strong clan name. Well, come on, Firo. Let’s go find your brother.”

“Say goodbye to Captain Tucker,” Carolina tells the children. A chorus of honks and goodbyes follows the teal soldier out of the room.

In the hall, Tucker looks down at his passenger. She’s given up on his laces and is now digging through his cargo pants pocket looking for snacks.

“All right,” Tucker says. “Which way should we try first, hm?”

Firo sniffs the air for a moment before pointing down the hall. “BLARG!”

“The barracks? Good choice. Let’s roll out, soldier.”

It ends up being a long walk to the barracks—and not just because Tucker has a honking deadweight wrapped around one leg.

Passing the empty lot behind the mess hall, he and Firo walk past the Reds organizing a game of football for the kids, and the pair promptly get roped into playing referees. They leave at halftime while Donut’s group of kids performs an impromptu cheerleading routine (The man’s created surprisingly passable pompoms out of old caution tape).

Despite the rest of the base swarming with children, the barracks are oddly quiet.

“I could’ve sworn they’d be here,” Tucker tells Firo after checking Caboose’s room and finding it empty.

“BLARG,” she agrees around a mouthful of a granola bar—wrapper included.

“I mean, I guess we could check bomb disposal range. Maybe they’re playing fetch with Freckles?”

“BLARG?”

“No, fetch with Freckles basically involves vaporizing tennis balls straight out of the sky. So, there’s no real ‘fetching’ happening.”

“BLARG CHONK.”

“I know, right? That’s what I said!”

“CHONKA CHONKA.”

“Watch the language!” Tucker chides. “I don’t want the parents thinking I taught you that.”

Just then, Firo perks up, her large grey snout sniffing the air intently.

Tucker stops walking. “What is it? Did you get their scent aga—whoa, hold up!”

In the blink of an eye, Firo lets go of Tucker’s leg and tears off down the hall.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Tucker calls, sprinting after her. “Firo 'Srattin, get back here! If you had a middle name, you bet I’d be using it right now!”

Firo only stops long enough to stick her tongue out at the sim trooper before racing away down another corridor.

“Why you little,” Tucker mutters to himself and looks up at the ceiling. “Mom, if this is what I was like as a kid, I am so sorry. Firo!”

Tucker skids around a corner just in time to see Firo squeeze through an ajar door and disappear inside.

“Oh fuck,” Tucker groans, picking up speed. He hisses. “Firo! Get out here! That’s somebody’s room, and they don’t want to wake up to an alien chewing on their socks!”

The maze of two-person bunk rooms all looks the same to Tucker, so he’s halfway up the hall before he realizes the alien just escaped into his room. His and Wash’s room.

“Damn it,” Tucker mumbles, screeching to a halt outside the door, a hesitant hand on the handle.

Okay, okay. No need to panic. Maybe Firo hasn’t turned any of Wash’s meager possessions into chew toys yet. The Freelancer isn’t one for trinkets or homely touches. If it wasn’t for Tucker, the man would still be living out of his footlocker rather than the closet and chest of drawers available to him. But that means any nonessential items Wash does keep around are all the more meaningful. Like Caboose’s messy drawings or the ugly-ass cat figurine that Tucker carved him out of a bar of soap (“No, no, Tucker, I appreciate the gift. It’s a cute giraffe.” “It’s supposed to be a cat!” “Uh, cat. Right. That’s what I said.”)

“Alright, whose turn is it to turn the page?”

Tucker freezes. Fucking of course Wash is hiding out in the desolate barracks while the base is swarming with children. Tucker’s never seen him interact with someone younger than the lieutenants outside of a military setting. You don’t exactly see a whole lot of kindergarteners toddling around an active military base (Caboose doesn’t count). Long story short, Tucker has been putting off even introducing him to Junior because everything about Wash; his anxiety, his control-freak nature, his stickler-for-the-rules attitude; screams that he and children do not mix.

So who the hell is Wash talking to?

“BLARG!” A high-pitched Sangheili voice shouts.

Tucker’s brow furrows. He’s just about to push the door open when someone else speaks up.

“It’s Ure’s turn,” a young voice translates.

“Alright, Ure, you can do the honors,” Wash says. “Careful this time.”

Tucker hears the sound of a page being turned.

“Great, where were we? Right,” Wash clears his throat. “The BR55HB Service Rifle entered service in 2548 and is employed as a medium-to-long-range marksman rifle.”

The fuck?

“Though its barrel is longer than that of the BR55, the weapon performs almost identically to its predecessor,” Wash continues. “The magazine housing is built directly into the underside of the stock of the rifle and is located behind the grip. And look, here’s a picture.”

That’s it; Tucker can’t stop himself from sneaking a peek around the door.

Wash is sat on the floor, leaning back against his cot. And around him are no less than twelve children and young Sangheili, cuddled up against him, hanging off his arms, sprawled across his lap, and peering over his shoulders at the yellowed paper gun manual in his hands. After turning the book for everyone to see the battle rifle diagram, Wash goes back to reading,

“Though the BR55HB SR is a select-fire weapon, it is most often used in its three-round burst mode.”

“This is my favorite part,” whispers Caboose to the three kids comfortably sharing his lap.

“Despite firing a very powerful cartridge, the weapon is subject to little recoil, even when being fired automatically.”

Curled up in the arms of one of the Sangheili is Firo, happily sucking on her brother’s shirt as she listens to Wash read with rapt attention, along with the rest of the children. Huddled up among them sits Junior, head resting in his hands as he drowsily listens with a content smile on his face.

Someone needs to put down a wet floor sign because Tucker’s pretty sure his heart has melted into a puddle around his shoes.

“Whose turn is it to turn the page now?” Wash asks, and a tiny boy pulls his thumb out of his mouth just long enough to raise his hand.

Wash smiles, and it’s so warm and natural Tucker momentarily forgets how to breathe. “Want some help?”

Thumb back in his mouth, the boy nods, and the Freelancer helps him turn the page with his free, chubby little hand.

“Great job. Now, it fires M634 X-HP-SAP round from a 36-round magazine, which fits flush in the receiver...”

Suddenly, Grif is there next to Tucker, whispering. “You’re so fucked, dude.”

Tucker startles so hard he stumbles face-first into the door. He turns to glare at Grif who disappears into his own room next door with a little wave. Tucker turns back around to find he’s accidentally pushed the door open and the entire room staring at him.

“I, uh, just...Firo!” Tucker recovers quickly. “There you are! I’ve been, ah, looking everywhere for you. Yeah.” Hell yeah. Fucking smooth. Definitely doesn’t sound like you’ve been creeping outside the door.

Wash has gone bright red. “I, uh. There aren’t any, er, kids books on base,” he stammers and starts to stand up. “They kept asking to read this one cause it has pictures. It’s stupid, I kno—”

“What happens next?”

“I—” Wash stops. His brow furrows. “What happens what?”

“What happens next?” Tucker asks again, coming to sit cross-legged on the floor beside Junior. “Dude, you can’t leave us in suspense. I gotta know who lives happily ever after, right guys?” He winks at the kids who giggle. Junior slings a massive arm around his father’s shoulders and pulls him close.

Wash just sits there, ears and cheeks still tinged with red. “You’re sure?” he asks, narrowing his eyes in the way he does when he’s trying to figure out if Tucker’s fucking with him or not.

Tucker settled in, leaning back against his son. “Just read the story, dude,” he says, grinning.

Wash flips the manual open, laughing under his breath. “Okay then,” he concedes. “Section 1.4 Service History. The introduction of the BR55HB SR led to an immediate increase in the BR55's popularity, prompting all branches of the UNSC Armed Forces, except the Army, to replace the M392 with the newer weapon...”

#rvb #red vs blue #lavernius tucker #agent washington #agent carolina #blue team #junior #michael j caboose #fanfic #fan fic #fanfiction #fan fiction #wordsywriteswords #wordsy writes words #rvb secret santa #red vs blue secret santa

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tickleraptorss · 6 years

Text

Two Sides of the Same Coin

does the title make sense? not really. i was just thinkin of that one quote from dark pit. anyways. a kiu fic!!!! a!!! i need more lee pittoo in my life tbh so. here u go. pit has a Game Theory and tickles the life out of his twin.

word count: 1484 (kinda short compared to some of my other fics but hey! what can u do)

"Since you're, like, a mirror version of me..." Pit began, staring inquisitively at his dark twin. "Does that mean that we have different tastes in... like, food 'n stuff?" Pittoo shrugged dismissively, refusing to acknowledge that Pit's question was directed towards him. "I mean, you'll eat anything," Dark Pit mumbled. "That's true... and you don't really care about that sorta thing, huh?" Standing up from the ground the two were sitting on, Pit gazed into the clouds, pondering. He placed his hand on his chin, mimicking those detectives in that TV show he'd seen once or twice. He tapped his foot on the ground, and then looked at his twin as an imaginary lightbulb seemed to flick on in his head. "You might not know the answer to this question, but I'll ask anyway," Pit said. Dark Pit rolled his eyes as his counterpart sat back down on the ground. "If I'm ticklish, does that mean you are too?" Pittoo raised an eyebrow. "Well, if I'm a mirror version of you, that should mean I wouldn't be," He explained. "We're opposites in more ways than we're similar." "I know, I know! I'm just curious! Here, give me your hand-" "No." "Aw, come on! It'll only take two seconds!" Pit pouted as Dark Pit crossed his arms, huffing at his twin's reaction. "I just wanna know! I promise I won't tickle you afterwards." That's such a lie. Dark Pit grumbled, muttering something under his breath, before he hesitantly extended his hand to his counterpart. Pit snickered. "You've never been tickled before, right?" Pit asked, before gently grabbing Pittoo's wrist. He shook his head. "Okay, this might feel a bit weird, then. Don't punch me by accident." With that, Pit began tracing circles around the palm of Dark Pit's hand, watching his twin for any sign of a reaction. At first, there was nothing, but after a few seconds Pit noticed that Dark Pit's fingers were twitching. "Okay, you can stop now," the dark angel said, before noticing the playful glint in Pit's eyes. "H-Hey! I said you can stop now!" "Just a little bit longer..." Pit smirked at his peered over at his twin, who was biting his lip in order to keep his composure. Without warning, Pit used the rest of his free hand to gently spider over Dark Pit's palm, and that earned him the first round of snickers. "P-Pit! Stohohop that!" Trying to free his arm, Dark Pit covered his mouth with his free hand in order to try and hold back his laughs, but it was a bit late for that. His snickers only grew heavier when he felt Pit's fingers climbing up his arm. "Pit! I'm- eheh- gonna k-kill yohohou!!" "So you are ticklish after all," Pit chuckled. "I wonder if you've got the same spots, too..." Tackling his dark twin to the ground, Pit pinned one arm above Dark Pit's head and used his other hand to tickle under Pittoo's arm. The reaction was priceless. "EEEP-! PIHIHIT!! KNOHOHOCK IT OFF!" The sound Dark Pit let out was something stuck between a yelp and a squeak, before he became a giggling mess. He tried to squirm out of Pit's hold, but to no avail. His laughter sounded like a more restrained version of Pit's; high-pitched, squeaky, and undeniably adorable. "Yup, that's one of 'em!" Pit laughed, as if he was checking off some sort of list. "It's funny how this is a bad spot, I mean, considering my name... I guess it makes for a pretty good joke, though!" The angel dug his fingers into his twin's hollows, resulting in a squeal. "IT'S NOT FUNNY- AHAHAHA!!" "It's not? You're laughing pretty hard, though." Pit chuckled before giving his twin a brief break. He delighted in his twin's deep breaths, as if it was going to prepare him for what's to come next. "I hate you," Pittoo grumbled after gaining his composure. However, with how flushed his face was, and how shaky his pout was, he looked more like an angry puppy dog than anything. "That's not very nice! You're hardly in a position to be insulting me, Pittoo." Pit teased, wiggling his fingers in front of his counterpart's face. "Especially now that I've discovered your greatest weakness!~" "Cut it out! Seriously, I'm-" "Just imagine if this little secret were to come out," Dark Pit's eyes widened. No. "Don't. You. Dare!" "I bet Phosphora would be ecstatic... or what about Viridi? I think she'd have just as much fun with it!" Pit snickered, softly skittering his fingers over Dark Pit's belly, causing the other angel to fall into another giggle fit. "I think you'd probably die. Phosphora has, like, deadly nails. Seriously, there were times where I thought I was gonna die laughing!" Dark Pit just kept protesting, now adding explicative language into the mix. He squirmed to try and get away from the fingers gently scribbling at his belly, but found no relief. He couldn't believe he was giggling like a child, and at the hands of his light counterpart? This was not ideal, to say the least. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone!" Pit said, pausing his ministrations for a few seconds. "I'm not sure if Lady Palutena's gonna keep this a secret though-" "WHAT?!" "Oh well, no time to dwell on that now, we've still got some experimenting to do!" With that, Pit continued tickling Pittoo's stomach, making sure to keep his touch just light enough to be the most effective. Overwhelmed with the tickly feelings, Dark Pit's laughter raised another octave and became squeakier than before. For some odd reason, being tickled here made the dark angel flustered. "You're blushing? You really do have all the same reactions as I do," Pit said as if he was reading his twin's mind. Wait... then that probably means... Pit decided to kick it up a notch. "Tickle, tickle!~" It turns out that Dark Pit was just as weak to teasing as he was. "I'M GONNAHAHAHA FUCKING KIHIHILL YOU- AHAHAHA!" "I dunno, I think it'd be kinda hard to beat me if you can't even get past the tickle monster~" Pit decided to have some mercy on his counterpart, lightening his ministrations to light tracing along the angel's belly and sides. "W-Whahat are we, two year olds?" Dark Pit giggled, trying to sound angry. "I wanted to see if teasing worked on you like it does with me," Pit admitted. "Turns out, it does!" "Great, b-but can you stohohop?" "Mmm, for now!" Pit lifted his hands away from Pittoo's belly, allowing the other angel some respite. "There's still one more thing I gotta test." Taking advantage of the way Dark Pit was curled up, Pit rolled his twin onto his stomach and pinned him down. His counterpart complained. "Okay! I'm done! We're done! No more!" Dark Pit's tone sounded like he was begging. "What's that, Pittoo? Are you begging?" Pit teased, chuckling when his twin went silent. "Alright, well, guess I'll just have to keep tickling you!" Before Dark Pit could protest again, he felt ten fingers skittering around the bases of his wings. He let out a squeal - nearly a shriek - before he was consumed by hysterical cackling. He arched his back in an attempt to get away, and his wings flapped frantically, but nothing helped. All he could do was take in the ticklish touches until Pit decided he'd had enough. "Aww, is Pittoo too ticklish for his own good? Huh?~" Pit's sing-song tone only added to Dark Pit embarrassment. He couldn't stand baby talk in general, but in a situation like this? It was too much. "OKAY! OKAHAHAY!! I GIHIHIHIVE!" Pittoo hated that it had come to begging, but he couldn't stand the sensations anymore, given his lack of endurance (it was the first time he'd ever been tickled) and how ticklish he was. "YOU WIHIHIHIN! EEHEHEHE STAHAHAP- NOHOHO MOHORE!!" As soon as those words left his mouth, the tickling stopped. Pit climbed off of his counterpart, patiently watching as Pittoo composed himself. Although, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stifle the tiny after-giggles from the lingering sensations. "I... I'm gonna kill you," Dark Pit growled. "I dunno, that might be a bit hard now, since I know your weakness!" Pit smiled. "Didn't you mention something about me being just as ticklish as you?" When Pit's eyes widened, Dark Pit smirked. "I-I... uh..." Before Pit could get anywhere, his twin had grabbed his ankles and hoisted the angel towards him. "Please d-don't?" "Let's see how much you like it!" ---------------- "What happened to them?" Viridi asked, looking at the two exhausted angels in the distance. "I've never seen them so worn out. Did you make them exercise or something?" When the goddess turned to look at Palutena, all she saw was a slight smirk. "Let's just say that they got into a bit of a tussle."

#raptor writes #tickle fic #tickling

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theonlyjelly-iwillput-inmybelly · 7 years

Text

The Ghost of Christmas Past

Hi, nonny! I wrote prompt 13 as a separate post for my own organizational purposes; I dislike writing fics in the question format because...aesthetics. Idk, I’m weird.

Prompt 13 became a cute lil fic that I so cleverly entitled ‘Ho, Ho, Ho, Bitch’ and you can read it on Tumblr HERE or my AO3 HERE.

Hit up the My Fics page on my theme for more of my fics, or search the ‘my fics’ tag on my blog.

Thank you!

A/N: This is a sharp contrast to prompt 13, and this is also the angstiest, saddest fic I have ever written to date. I’m sorry. I also explored the idea of making the antagonist...Logan. It was an interesting exercise, to say the least (I hurt my bois and I hate it)

Sorry for spelling it’s late and I’m tired

Prompt 16: “Christmas is lame.” -“You’re lame! You, you, you grinch!” -“Oh. Ow.”

Words: 3,749

Pairings: Prinxiety (Roman/Virgil)

Warnings: Swearing, arguing, crying, emotional breakdown

READ IT ON AO3 HERE!

“Come on, Virgil! You can’t hate Christmas that much!” Roman cried out in a dramatically shocked voice, a hand splayed over his heart as he steadied the ladder for Patton, who was in the process of hanging mistletoe from apparently every nook and cranny in the entirety of the mind palace.

“Actually, Roman,” Virgil retorted from the couch, where he was surfing Tumblr on his phone, “I can hate and not hate whatever the hell I want, regardless of the pressure you idiots with your Christmas fetishes put upon me.”

“I’d like to interject with the statement that I have never had a fetish for anything in my life, all things Christmas included, and that I also am not an idiot,” Logan said calmly as he entered the living room from the kitchen, “I have reason to believe you don’t entirely understand what a fetish is, Virgil, so I shall explain. A fetish, according to the Oxford English Dictionary-”

“No, I know what a fetish is, teach, thanks,” Virgil quickly interrupted, “I was just being sarcastic about these nerds’ obsession with Christmas.”

“It is not a fetish!” Roman cried, his cheeks flushing, “I’m just enjoying the Christmas spirit-”

“Now boys, don’t fight!” Patton chided, tying the red ribbon around the mistletoe securely, “Roman, Virgil’s allowed to like or dislike whatever he wants.”

“Yeah, I’m allowed to like or dislike whatever the hell I want,” Virgil said, jutting his chin out and grinning mockingly at Roman. He flipped the creative side off when Patton’s eyes were back on the mistletoe.

Roman huffed and stuck out his tongue, but grinned triumphantly when Patton said “I saw that, Virgil.”

“Saw what?” Virgil asked, tucking his phone and hands into the pockets of his hoodie and staring at Patton with a look of complete innocence. Roman scowled.

“You gave Roman the bird! You know that’s rude,” Patton cried, climbing down from the ladder, “Please make an effort to be nice, kiddo. It’s Christmas Eve.”

“Christmas Eve, Shitscram Schmeve,” Virgil huffed, flipping up his hoodie and digging his phone out of his pocket again.

Patton breathed out a heavy sigh as Roman and Virgil began bickering again. The two had become closer friends since the disastrous foray into Virgil’s room, but they still bickered on sore topics that they both stubbornly took sides on. Patton couldn’t tell whether or not their bickering was actually the good humored sniping that came from strong friendships or whether or not they actually still felt malice towards one another based upon an old habit struggling to fade away. It was confusing; they’d argue, but then they’d grin at one another whenever they flipped each other off.

He shook his head of his thoughts in time to hear Virgil mutter “Christmas is lame.”

At this, Roman was flabbergasted. “Dude! How? You know what...Y-You’re lame! You...Y-You grinch!” he said, fumbling with his words.

Virgil looked up at Roman over the edge of his phone, his expression unimpressed. “Oh, ow. That sure hurt,” he said scornfully, flicking his gaze back into the blue glaze of his screen, “I expected a better nickname from the creative side.”

They continued to bicker, Roman even seating himself on the couch next to Virgil so that they could have an easier time at flipping each other off.

“Boys!” Patton said severely, his hands on his hips. He sighed when the other two ignored him, and looked imploringly to Logan, who was coolly reading a book on physics while seated on his armchair. “Logan, can I get some help here, please?”

Logan marked his page and closed the book, gently placing it aside. He quietly cleared his throat, and stood, looking to Roman and Virgil expectantly. Patton grinned when silence fell over the room; Logan had the stern aura of a gentle yet serious professor who would simultaneously give advice yet take no nonsense.

“Roman, I believe that it is best that you heed to Patton’s advice; not everyone in this world has to have the same opinion as you do. Do not give me that look; you should know this by now,” Logan monotoned, silencing Roman’s protest with a furrow of his eyebrows. Virgil grinned, but his smile faltered when Logan’s analytical stare fell upon him.

“Virgil, I believe what you are doing now is what they call ‘lashing out’, which is when a person has something on their mind that is deeply bothering them, so they try to ‘expel’ the negative emotions by taking physical or verbal action that can be harmful to themselves or others,” Logan murmured, taking off his glasses and polishing them on the hem of his shirt, “Naturally, this does not work nearly as well as when someone opens up about the potentially negative feelings they may be harboring. So, Virgil, do you have any negative feelings you wish to expel, or do you wish to keep bottling them and risk injury to you, Thomas, or us?”

Virgil snorted, pulling his hood down further along his bangs and rubbing his chin in mock thoughtfulness, “Well, let me think. Do I, the literal fucking embodiment of anxiety, have any negative feelings?”

“Virgil, language,” Patton scolded.

Logan placed his glasses onto the bridge of his nose. “I sense that that rhetorical question was laden with sarcasm.”

“Yeah, ya think? Man, you can be dense sometimes,” Virgil hissed, pulling his legs up closer to his chest, his lips curling and his jaw clenching.

Virgil had hit a sore spot; Logan tensed up, his arms folding and his shoulders squaring. “Falsehood!” he snapped, raising his voice, “And what you’re doing now exactly proves my point! You’re lashing out because I appear to have unearthed a sensitive topic; your feelings about Christmas, or, rather-”

“-Hey, leave him alone, Logan, you’re-!” Roman started to say, but Virgil stamped his foot, cutting him off.

“I’m not lashing out about anything!” Virgil shouted, leaping up from the couch, his hood falling back to reveal disheveled hair that only added to his threatening appearance, “Jesus, I voice one negative opinion and you all bash me down and start psychoanalyzing me! I just don't like Christmas, and you all Whos in Whoville just have to accept it!”

Logan, normally so collected, was turning bright red; he was about to open his mouth to argue further when Patton quickly hurried over and laid a hand on his forearm. Logan shut his mouth, and merely fumed as Patton looked reproachfully at Virgil.

“Kiddo…” he said quietly, “Why do you hate Christmas so much?”

Virgil gawked at Patton, blinking incredulously. His arms were stiff at his sides, his legs splayed apart and bent as if he was about to spring. He let out a high pitched, stuttering laugh, one that was heavy with sarcasm.

“Why do I hate Christmas?” he snarled, ferociously zipping up the hoodie, “I’ll let you guys resurrect the Ghost of Christmas Past to answer that question.”

And with that, he sunk out of the room.

Logan was the first to break the heavy silence. “I wasn’t aware that Virgil was a Dickens fan.”

“I don’t think he was fanboying about Charles Dickens, teach,” Roman said quietly, his disturbed expression fixed on the spot where Virgil had disappeared.

Patton furrowed his brow, and squeezed Logan’s arm tighter to draw him out of his reverie. “Who’s Charles Dickens? What did he mean, ‘Ghost?’ It’s Christmas, not Halloween!”

Logan chuckled, and pried Patton’s hand away. “He was referring to the famous British novelist and journalist that authored A Christmas Carol, a fictitious tale of a stingy and bitter old man by the name of Ebenezer Scrooge, who was visited by a series of spirits, the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Yet to Come. They all tried to show him the error of his greedy ways and tried to teach him the magical message of Christmas kindness. All nonsense of course.”

“Oh,” Patton said, his expression troubled, “Why would he mention that when I asked him why he hated Christmas?”

“Well, A Christmas Carol is a rather dark tale for Christmas, so perhaps he hates the holiday because he dislikes Dickens’s view-”

“No, shut up, Logan!” Roman said suddenly, leaping to his feet. Patton and Logan turned to look at him incredulously, but their gazes turned into ones of concern when they saw the alarm on Roman’s face. He was running his hands through his hair and turning in slow circles, a common thing he did when he was feeling guilty.

“Consider me shut,” Logan said after a few moments, prompting Roman to speak.

“...I think Virgil said ‘resurrect the Ghost of Christmas Past’ because he wants us to think back on all of our previous Christmases,” Roman began slowly, his face whitening, his throat constricting violently as he swallowed with difficulty, “So let's think about Virgil’s past Christmases.”

The three sides fell silent as they delved back into their memories.

But no matter how far back they wracked their brains, they could not see a single picture of Virgil enjoying Christmas. There were no memories of him decorating, no memories of him baking, no memories of him watching stupid Christmas TV specials.

And that was because-

“...Virgil has never had a real Christmas,” Roman whispered in a small voice.

Logan blinked rapidly, placing his palm on his forehead, his breath hitching. “Oh, my god…” he breathed.

Patton’s lip wobbled, his hands pressing against his cheeks. “Oh no, oh no…”

Roman sank back onto the couch, the sound of Patton bursting into guilty tears echoing in his ears. His heart was pounding in his ears, and he too felt intense shame and guilt wash over him, pricking at the back of his eyes in the form of tears. He thought his guilt would go away since Virgil had forgiven him all those months ago, forgiven him for believing that Virgil was a villain that Thomas wanted, needed him to vanquish or else Roman would fall out of favor, but here that guilt was again, like a scar or a flashback to a traumatic time.

Roman blinked minutes later, forcing himself to surface after submerging himself with his dark thoughts. He saw that Patton was still sobbing, but he now had a blanket around his shoulders and that the fire was roaring. Logan was awkwardly patting his back, his expression troubled and tinged with guilt.

“Why did you have to go and...and expose him like that, Logan?” Roman snapped, his tone much more vehement than he had intended.

Logan looked up sharply, his mouth a thin line. “What do you mean?” he asked, his tone defensive.

“I mean you had to go and nitpick him, saying that he’s got all these problems pent up and that’s why he was acting up!” Roman hissed, his hands wringing.

“But that is the truth, Roman, why be so frivolous when it is much more efficient to not ‘beat around the bush’, as you would say?” Logan deadpanned.

Roman opened his mouth to retort, but all that came out was a hollow, incredulous laugh. Anger seethed in his chest, and he felt himself agitatedly stand up, pacing back and forth, his hands clinging to his hair.

“Jesus, why are you so emotionally dense?!” he hissed, his eyes glinting like sword points at Logan.

Logan was upright in an instant, his eyes flashing. “Because emotions are not my forte! You should know this!”

“And you should know that feelings, especially Virgil’s, aren’t something that are to be dealt with ‘efficiently’ like they’re some puzzle!” Roman shouted, turning sharply to face Logan, his eyes blazing, “He is a person, an actual, feeling person, not some equation for you to solve!”

Logan looked like he was about to shout something scathing when the sound of Patton crying increased and they both saw Patton burying his head in his arms. Logan and Roman exchanged glances before Logan knelt down beside Patton.

“No, no, no, not on Christmas Eve, please not today!” Patton cried, his voice muffled. He shrunk away from Logan’s touch, and lifted his head.

“...Patton,” Logan said quietly, his head drooping with shame.

“I just want us all to have one holiday together with no fighting and no arguing and I just want us all to get along, is that too much to fucking ask for?!” Patton sobbed, his voice growing in volume until it ended with a completely uncharacteristic screech. Logan and Roman were stunned at the venomous tones to the moral side’s voice, and were struck completely dumb by the swear. Patton buried his head in his arms again and wept inconsolably.

Roman was completely shaken. It didn’t hit him until just then that the family was crumbling apart on Christmas Eve.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He turned to leave, trying to force the sound of Patton’s weeping out of his mind. He covered his ears, and stumbled towards his room, his stomach twisting in knots. He paused just outside of his door, his hand reaching for his door knob when he swore he heard something breaking in the far off distance.

He turned his head quickly in the direction he came, listening hard. Oh god, he thought to himself, Patton didn’t throw something, did he? But no, there came another crash, although this time Roman was certain that the noise was coming from deeper inside Thomas’s mind. He turned to peer down the shadowy hallway that lead to the darker corner of Thomas’s mind. Virgil’s old room was there, and that was where he lived before he had been welcome to a room closer to the commons. Roman swallowed, and felt himself moving down the hallway only slightly against his will; he felt an instinct deep in his gut telling him to find out what the source of the crashing was.

He padded farther and farther down the hallway, until it melted into something that wasn’t a hallway, or even an indoor structure, at all. It felt like he was in a huge, cold cavern, and all around him there rushed a cold, damp breeze. Roman shivered. He couldn’t imagine living here.

He kept walking for what felt like ages. The sounds of renewed arguing from the commons had completely disappeared. With every step, the crashing noise grew louder and louder. Roman swallowed nervously, his eyes skittering in every direction. He paused as he felt his lungs tighten and his heart begin to pound.

Suddenly, he knew where he was.

He was in the land of the Forgotten.

This was the place where all the forgotten memories were lost. This was where all the useless information that was cleaned from Thomas’s consciousness by Logan each night while Thomas dreamt was sent. In the shadows there were inklings of thoughts, faces of people Thomas had long forgotten, whispers of knowledge remembered but now lost.

Here in the Forgotten Land, there was Virgil.

Roman paused in his tracks, giving a small cry of shock when a great shattering of glass pierced his ears. The dreadful noise echoed and throbbed throughout the great cavern, the whispers and faces letting out thin moans. Roman swiveled around when he heard a faint growl.

There, on the edge of a precipice, stood Virgil.

He seemed remarkably unflustered for one who was literally feet away from entering a part of Thomas’s mind where he would well and truly be forgotten. His hood was up, the dark purple of the patches pulsating like cysts. The anxious side was conjuring plates and throwing them as hard as he could against the ground; hence was the source of the crashing noise. With every plate he threw, he heaved a grunt of rage.

Roman didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what to say. He bowed his head, the rhythmic crash of the plates ringing in his ears.

“What’s up, Ro?”

Roman jerked his head up sharply. He saw Virgil, his back turned, with his hands now thrust deep into his pockets. Roman was surprised. Virgil didn’t sound mad, or even sarcastic.

He sounded exhausted.

Roman shuffled his feet, thumbing his sash. “...Does that help?” he asked, gesturing to the scattered shards of ceramic. They looked like stark white drops of blood against the dim light and black stone.

Virgil turned around slowly. His hood was up at such an angle so hat Roman couldn’t see his face.

“...Kind of,” he whispered.

There was a thick silence as they stared at the shiny, damp cavern floor, surveying the wreckage of the plates, surveying the work of Virgil’s rage and suffering. The faint wind ruffled their hair, the whispers of the forgotten tickling their ears.

Suddenly, Virgil stamped his foot, his hands grappling at his hood.

“It’s all so fucking stupid!” he cried, grinding shards under his shoes, “We were just screwing around, you know, you and me, Ro?”

Roman blinked, reaching out so as to hold Virgil, his fingers curling into a fist that he withdrew when Virgil began to shake.

“You and I were just messing around, we fight about stupid stuff because that’s what best friends do,” Virgil cried, his voice shaking and sounding as if three people, all speaking in different octaves, were speaking over one another, “But Logan had to go and...had to go and make me remember...”

Virgil slapped his hand over his mouth, and began to shake violently. Roman felt like crying out when Virgil began to quake violently, muffled sobs fighting to escape from between his clenched teeth and suffocating hand.

“Virgil…” Roman said in a small voice, for once completely at a loss for what to say.

“Had to make me remember that you guys hated me, made me remember... remember that I never had a fucking real Christmas. Treated me like...like a t-thing again,” Virgil gasped, sucking in panicked, shaky breaths.

Roman jumped when Virgil snapped his head up, tearing his hoodie back. Roman felt the knots in his stomach constrict and felt his eyes sting when he saw that Virgil’s eyeshadow was pierced by tear stains, the anxious side’s eyes wet and red as more and more tears streamed down his face. He made searing eye contact with Roman, his stare making Roman’s heart squirm with pity and guilt.

“A thing, Roman!” he wailed, clasping his sweaterpaws over his eyes and completely breaking down. He fell to his knees, his joints cracking loudly as they hit the freezing rock below their feet. He wept openly, his body wracked by sobs.

Roman quickly knelt before him, not caring when the shards of ceramic pierced the fabric of his pants and scraped his skin. He reached his hands out, so wanting to hold Virgil, but he didn’t know whether or not he was crossing an invisible boundary he wasn't meant to cross yet. He felt his own eyes welling up with tears as Virgil sobbed brokenly.

“Virgil…” Roman squeaked, his voice cracking with the emotion that was forming a lump in his throat. He quickly cleared it, and continued, “Virgil...you’re not a thing. Logan was just being an utter asshole again. To me, you’re...you’re a friend, a wonderful friend.”

Virgil cried harder, his shoulders hunching.

“No matter what you do, no matter what you think, no matter what Logan ever says, you will never be a thing,” Roman said between gritted teeth, trying his hardest to stop himself from crying empathy tears, “And while it may not seem like it right now...you’re family.”

Virgil sniffled, pausing long enough in his crying to take a breath and look at Roman. He looked utterly defeated.

“Sure, tell that to me again when they’re not always picking me apart like I’m some fucking psych ward patient, or like I’m some corpse on a table.”

“I did say it might not seem like it right now,” Roman reminded him gently, “...We all have a lot to work to do. But just...just understand, Virgil, that I…”

Roman swallowed, and looked at his twisted hands in his lap. When he remained silent, Virgil was bereaved with another round of sobs.

“Virgil…” Roman started again, gently reaching forward to hold the anxious side’s knees, “...C-Can I give you a hug?”

Virgil stiffened noticeably under his hand.

“...Please…” Roman whimpered, “...I just want to help you feel better.”

Virgil melted, crying out but nodding. Shakily, Roman unfolded his legs from underneath himself, sat pretzel style, and gently lifted Virgil under the arms. He was much lighter than Roman had imagined; who knew what bony frame was hidden beneath that hoodie? He situated Virgil in his lap so that Virgil’s side was leaning into his chest. Virgil squirmed until he was as comfortable as he was going to get, and merely shook as he tried to suppress his tears.

But what little composure he had left broke when Roman gathered him close, wiping the tear tracks from wherever he could reach. Virgil’s head slumped against Roman’s chest, and he tilted his head so that he might hide his face in Roman’s shirt. He clung to the fabric of Roman’s sash, crying his heart out as Roman whispered him soothing platitudes and bounced him gently in his arms.

Eventually, Roman just sat in silence while letting Virgil cry, opting instead to stroke the anxious side’s back and nuzzle his nose into his hair so that the other side would be reminded of Roman’s presence when he felt Roman’s breath.

Eventually, Roman couldn't take it anymore. He trembled slightly as tears of his own slid down his cheeks. He squeezed his eyes shut, grieving for Virgil, who was going through a pain Roman had never wanted him to go through again. He squeezed Virgil even closer to his chest, letting himself gasp out one small sob before completely shutting himself off

Eventually, Virgil calmed down enough until he was only sniffling and whimpering, pawing at Roman’s chest and curling closer to the strong warmth.

“I’m sorry I...I’m sorry I forgot why you hate Christmas,” Roman whispered, his voice shaking.

“...It’s OK.”

“No it’s not.”

“...I’m too fucking sad and tired to argue with that right now, Ro. Just...you’re wrong, OK?”

“...OK.”

Thin silence.

“...I wish we could all just...get along.” Virgil whimpered into Roman’s chest.

Roman squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore visions of Patton crying, himself and Logan yelling, and Virgil smashing plates.

“...Me too.”

Alas, getting along was not to be. For that year, Virgil still did not have a real Christmas.

None of them did.

@celiawhatsherlastname @monikastec @jordandobbertin @greymane902@lostgirlgwen @kittenvirgil @iamahumanwaitnothatsalie @logan-logic @jet-black-hearted-girl @gay-ace-trash @shadowjag@thestoryoferissur @lexboydfandompanda@alyssadashrubjustanotherpurplebutterfly @sarcastic-florist

#my fics #the ghost of christmas past #prinxiety #sanders sides #thomas sanders #christmas

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