#I think he deserves it after I haven’t drawn him in over a year

[jackobbit]

I physically cannot remember the last time I’ve drawn a non-fnaf/TSaMS related oc, but I’ve been very abnormal about my boy Tick lately

So woe, rare oc art upon ye

Click for higher quality

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XII)

Chapter 12 : Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again

Hi! Here is new chapter! This one is… interesting… Whiskey is very dangerous, indeed…

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 2527

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body        love what it loves. Tell me your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting – over and over announcing your place in the family of things.

Mary Oliver, Dream work, 1986

You ended up at your place with Andrew. After that awful dinner you both needed some emotional support.

You didn’t talk about the meal though. He didn’t mention how Frank had hurt you, you didn’t talk about how Andrew deserved better than Sam.

That was your final conclusion after the evening. Andrew deserved better than her. You didn’t know all the details that had drawn him away from a professional career in music, but you knew that it had been a tough decision to make for him. The way Sam made it sound, Andrew had simply given up. And yet, his eyes still lit up every time he talked of music.

You sat down on your couch with a bottle of whiskey, getting lost in thought as you replayed the conversation through your head. You had noticed how Sam had stopped listening the second you had started talking about your job, about music… about things Andrew loved. And perhaps you were too busy grieving for him, but was Frank the same with you? Because Andrew deserved someone who listened, someone who actually cared…

What did both Andrew and Frank saw in Sam that you didn’t? The question was relentless, spinning in your head again and again, a fly trapped under a glass trying to escape. What did you lack that she had?

You watched Andrew as he downed his first glass of whiskey. Neat. No ice or anything. He didn’t flinch, merely let out a long exhale as he let his head fall back onto the backrest of the couch.

“God… that felt good. I needed that,” he sighed, pouring himself another glass while you drank yours as well.

You winced slightly at the burn of the liquor, but silently asked for more anyway.

“What’s next on the list of things to ruin?”

Andrew chuckled at that.

“I reckon we haven’t really ruined anything yet… but… I guess not much until the New Year. You’re still coming to their party?”

“Of course,” you sighed. “We need to make a plan for this. We need to ruin something and then save the day.”

“We should ruin the champagne.”

“And replace it with another excellent one? Good idea. That could work for you.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t know… Maybe help Sam. That would impress him.”

“Hmm… a knight in shining armour? Ruin her dress and you fix it?”

“Oh…. That’s nice! You’re very good at this Andy, that’s a little scary!” you joked, nudging him. “I could give her my dress, and wear some disgusting clothes instead. The self-sacrifice will make him grow fond of me.”

“I’ll make sure to have the worst change of clothes in my car.”

“Perfect.”

“They said they wanted to organise the party in some sort of club…”

“Hmm… I bet you love the idea.”

“I’m already panicking at the mere thought.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be there.”

You thought yourself silly for offering such a useless argument, but Andrew didn’t seem to think of it that way. Instead, he gave you a grateful smile.

“Why are we doing this again?” you asked, question aimed the ceiling as you sighed, Andrew shifted by your side.

“Because we love them.”

His voice sounded like a lie. It was true though. It had to be, somehow…

You drank again, tried to think of something else, let silence settle instead. It was okay. Silence with Andrew felt comfortable, like the world shushed under a blanket of snow. Natural. Slow.

And outside the world kept on turning, as if you weren’t in pain, as if you weren’t grieving. Wasn’t that a strange truth? Frank had left, and the world hadn’t stopped with him. You wished you could feel it spinning again, look at the rest of the world and feel its beating, and be part of it once more. Maybe, if someone listened to you, and understood you, and made you feel safe again… if you could be yourself with them…

“I’m glad you listened to the record,” Andrew spoke after a while and another emptied drink.

“I loved it.”

“It’s one of my favourites. My father listened to it often when I was a child.”

“Is he the one who made you love music so much, your father?”

Andrew nodded.

“He was sick when I was a child. Bad surgery on his spine. He never recovered.”

“I’m sorry.”

“He was a drummer, back in the days. And even after everything changed he just… I don’t know. No matter what we said to each other, how angry we were, how much we argued… we’ve always had music in common. Even when we couldn’t communicate properly, we would put on a record, sit in silence and listen to it, and then we’d discuss it, and things would get better.”

You knew that he was blinking tears away, heard him sniffing. He wasn’t looking at you and you were still staring at the white ceiling. It didn’t matter. Perhaps it even made it easier.

“I just… I didn’t… I made a choice, back in the days, you know? I wasn’t being a coward or something, I just… I didn’t want to tell other people’s words; words that I didn’t care about, I wanted people to listen to me. I wanted to make something that was true and earnest. I wanted… I wanted for someone to listen to me…”

He sniffed. You reached across the couch for his hand, easily found his fingers. He held your hand so easily, like it was obvious, like your hands were meant for that gesture, for holding onto each other. His so large, yours so small in comparison…

“I thought she used to listen, but I don’t know anymore. She wasn’t listening tonight. She hasn’t listened in a while. Do you think…? Do you think she ever listened to me? I had so much to say that I couldn’t express, I didn’t know how, I still don’t know how… I wanted her to listen… God I wanted for someone to listen, just once… just once…”

You tightened your hold on his hand, and you hoped that he would understand what you meant by this simple gesture. That you were listening now. That you listened. That you understood him. That you were there…

“Thank you.”

His voice was a mere whisper, but it was enough.

You struggled with your own tears as you spoke again, your voice shaking.

“I don’t understand why Frank needed to wait for me, and not for her. What… I feel like I’m lacking something…”

“You’re not.”

You felt his stare on you now, but you kept your own gaze set on the ceiling.

“You’re not lacking anything, stop it. Frank is the one who left…”

“Because he saw something in Sam he didn’t see in me. And I don’t know what it is. And I’m scared… I’m scared that I thought he cared about me, and he didn’t. I’m scared to have built my life on that kind of lie. And the worst is… I still want it. I want the life he promised me.”

You were surprised when Andrew let go of your hand. But then you felt his palm cupping your cheek, the brush of his thumb drying your tears.

You finally turned to him, he gave you a sad but soft smile.

“Don’t cry over him. Please, don’t cry.”

You sniffed, let him caress your skin for a moment longer. It felt reassuring, anchoring. Soft and tender. Safe. You felt safe with him…

You shook yourself, moved to the bottle of whiskey again.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t cry,” you nodded, drying your face on your arm. “Let’s get hammered instead, that was the deal!”

Andrew silently agreed by handing you his empty glass for a refill.

“Tell me something silly,” he requested.

“Something silly?”

“Something about… your college days. Those are always worth a good laugh.”

“It’s good craic,” you agreed with a chuckle. “Alright… I’ll tell you a couple of stories. But you’ll have to tell me some as well!”

“Fair enough.”

You exchanged a smile, united your glasses with a cling.

And then you talked about yourself. And he listened.

Your head was spinning, you weren’t sure anymore if it was because of the alcohol or how much you were laughing.

You let yourself fall back into the sofa, holding on your painful stomach, tears in your eyes and on your cheeks. God, you hadn’t laughed so hard in… you were about to think ‘since Frank’ but you couldn’t remember ever laughing so hard with him.

“There was this one time,” Andrew went on. “I was playing with a band… Alex thought it would be hilarious to hide my guitar… I was so fucking panicked, I fell down the stairs leading to the stage and almost broke my neck…”

You doubled over with laughter, and he followed you close.

“How did you pay him back?”

“I told the girl he fancied he couldn’t read music, and she went on to teach him…”

You were hysterical at that point.

“And then…” Andrew choked on his own breath, and it took him a moment to recover and speak again. “Then, he was too afraid that she would push him away if he said anything, so he pretended he didn’t know and let her teach him all over again…”

You were both laughing too hard, the alcohol blurring your senses and making the stupid jokes and silly stories funnier than they ought to be. You looked at the bottle of whisky, admired the empty part of it, felt the burn of its effects on your cheeks.

And you looked at Andrew who was drying his cheeks, his long fingers spread across his stomach. He took off his glasses, they were wet with happy tears. He put them down on your coffee table and leaned into the couch again, slouched and comfortable, with his cheeks flushed with the liquor you had been drinking through the evening. His hair was held back in a messy bun, that had only become messier along the evening.

Damn, you couldn’t help the thought when it crossed your mind, because he was so bloody handsome…

He felt your stare on him, turned his attention fully to you. Focused and expectant, as if he knew you were about to say something incredibly interesting. And this black shirt he had on…

There were butterflies in your stomach and stutters on your tongue while your heart was pounding. You didn’t think. You didn’t think at all, you only felt, and wanted and easily yielded… and perhaps it was just the liquor, you would blame it on the whiskey in a few hours, but for now, you weren’t thinking about tomorrow morning. And for the first time in three months, you weren’t thinking about Frank at all either. Instead, you were thinking of Andrew, of how gentle and warm he looked sitting with you on your couch, how inviting his lips were, how you longed to touch his hair and his beard and him and…

… and then your lips were on his.

You felt him raising his eyebrows, but when you leaned closer and let your fingers find their way to his cheeks, the brush on your cheekbones told you he had closed his eyes too. And there you were, kissing him, and he was kissing you back, your mouths moving in perfect unison somehow, despite a first kiss and too much alcohol. He pulled you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist, while his other hand came up to cradle your face. The long fingers soon moved to your hair though, pulling you closer while he deepened the kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck in a slow, lazy movement while you kissed, gasping for air every now and then, but your lips always connected again after a mere instant. You weren’t sure for how long you kept on kissing, too long for it to be meaningless, and yet you refused to think for now.

When you at last opened your eyes again, Andrew blinked at you, seeming a little shocked, and you weren’t sure if it was a good sign or not. You felt dizzy… dizzy with his scent, something of wood and a tinge of spices. Dizzy with his taste still on your tongue, a mixture of whiskey and something that was just him. Dizzy with the burn of his beard against your skin, with the heat of his body against yours.

Dizzy with him…

“Y/N?”

The way he whispered your name, his words a little slurred because of alcohol, and yet it sounded so good, tender, like he cradled the vowels and the consonants in his mouth, with tenderness in the way he spoke it out loud…

He cleared his throat, but didn’t let go, his hands on your waist and in your hair still, and you held onto him for a moment longer, admired how your kisses had reddened his lips.

Why did it feel so good to hold him? Why did it feel so good to kiss him…

“Erm… You… you kissed me.”

“Yeah… yeah, I did,” you whispered, refusing to pull away, remaining in his arms and your lips only centimetres away from his.

“You… I mean… We…”

You felt him leaning closer again as he took a deep breath, felt the brush of his lips on yours… but just when you were about to lean in, he pulled fully away, moving further away on the couch.

“Wait… what’s going on?”

You blinked up at him, regretting his brown curls between your fingers and the warmth of his breath against your mouth. But then your brain kicked in again, and your eyes grew round as the realization of your own movements sank in.

You had kissed him. You had kissed Andrew…

Holy…

“God, I’m sorry,” you stammered. “I… I’m so sorry. I… I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. God…”

“It’s alright,” he reassured you, but it was obvious that he was shaken.

“That was so out of line, I’m sorry…”

“No, it’s okay… I… I think we’ve both had a little too much to drink.”

“Yeah… yeah, I think it went to my head.”

Why was your heart aching when you thought he regretted it. He should have regretted it. And you ought to regret it too…

“Frank and Samantha…” you mumbled under your breath, thinking out loud, but Andrew caught your words and nodded.

“Yeah… yeah, we… they are the ones we want.”

He slowly nodded, ran his hand across his face, as if to clear his head.

“You… you were just drunk. Just drunk…”

He looked at his watch.

“God…it’s almost 2 a.m. We should go to bed…”

You nodded again, but stopped him when he pulled out his phone.

“I have an extra bedroom, you can stay if you want.”

“I can take a uber.”

“It’s late. You can stay, if you want to.”

Slowly, he nodded.

You let him head to the bathroom, and hid inside your bedroom, resting your back against its wooden surface as you closed it.

What the fuck was that?

[kitty-tea]

The bad girl gets what she deserves

Read part 2 here!

UPDATE: Here’s part three aka the ending

(Link to masterlist)

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x fem!Reader

NSFW 18+ only! This is mostly filthy smut with some plot

A/N: Hi, I just had this random idea for the story pop up in my head out of nowhere about how the bad girl seduces the good boy. I thought I’d choose Cedric to write about since I haven’t seen a whole lot of fanfics about him. And since he’s already a Hufflepuff, I decided to make the reader a Slytherin, they’re my two favorite houses. This is really the filthiest one-shot I’ve ever written for now, I might write more I don’t know.

Summary: After Cedric finds a note in his bag, he makes it his mission to find out who sent it.

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings/tags: nsfw, minors DNI, smut, sexual content, porn with a hint of plot, oral sex, masturbation, rule breaking, 18+ only, p in v sex, orgasm denial, bathtub sex, nudity, reader is a bad girl, Cedric and reader are of age, Slytherin/Hufflepuff house rivalry, teasing, swearing

I probably missed some stuff, but this is what I was able to come up with for now.

Meet me in the Prefects’ bathroom after dinner.

-XOXO

There were many unanswered questions going through Cedric Diggory’s mind as he held the little note in his hand. He thought it had to be meant for someone else and it accidentally ended up in his possessions until he turned it over and there was a heart drawn around his name. He had never gotten a note of this nature in his life. He mostly stuck to hanging out with the students from his house, so it had to be one of them. A more broad and logical explanation was that it was just someone who knew the password. He concluded in his mind.

He had already come up with a list of names by the time he walked over to the Great Hall to join his friends for dinner.

The main question was, how did this person slip it into his school bag without him noticing? Of course. It was obvious. Cedric had Quidditch practice today. That’s how this person was able to put the note in his bag without him noticing.

“Hi Cedric!” One of the first year students in his house waved at him, smiling ear to ear. One of the things Cedric loved about being in Hufflepuff was how close the students from different years seemed to be compared to the other houses.

He discreetly put the note in his pocket and waved back at the younger boy. Scanning his eyes along the Hufflepuff table to catch if anyone was staring at him, he took a seat.

“How was practice today?” The younger student asked Cedric. “We all saw you out there. We all think you’re gonna win the next match!”

“Yeah go Cedric!” Another student hooted from a few seats down. He responded with a thumbs up.

“It was good.” He answered. He was about to dig into his plate when he caught what the first year said. This was his opportunity to get another clue about the identity of the person who wrote the note. “Wait. You were at practice? Did you see anyone going inside or coming out of the changing rooms besides the team?”

The student froze and then looked around in all directions as if someone was watching him. “No. I mean, not that it would be my business. We were just there to watch the team.” He laughed nervously.

Cedric thought there was something the kid wasn’t telling him, but he dismissed that thought. He was going to find out who sent the note eventually, prank or not.

“Hi Cedric.” The entire Hufflepuff table seemed to hold their breath as he heard a voice behind him. He saw the younger student’s eyes go wide. Cedric’s breath hitched in his throat as his eyes met yours. He felt his cheeks heat up as he realized his face was leveled with your chest with the way he was sitting. He knew he wasn’t the only one that noticed it as you smirked at him.

For most of his time at Hogwarts, Cedric had tried to stay out of the way of the Slytherins due to their reputation as bullies, but with you, he just couldn’t do it. Being in the same year and having the same preferences for school subjects, you had most of your classes with him.

The other kids warned him about being scared of you, so he felt nervous around you. There would be times where he’d catch you looking in his direction, and instead of looking away with a blush and a giggle like the other girls, he’d find himself taken aback by how you’d maintain eye contact and bat your lashes as if daring him to look away first.

“What are you doing here?” A student from your year asked you in a warning sort of way.

You rolled your eyes. “Can’t I just wish good luck to another team without being interrogated?”

“Why would you wish us good luck?” The same student frowned at you. “Our team is playing against yours. In case you forgot.”

“Well, it’s not against rules of friendly competition to wish good luck to the opponents. In case you forgot.” Cedric couldn’t stop the grin from popping out of his face at your wit.

“Anyways,” you said with a wave of your hand as if you got a minor inconvenience out of the way. “I came to wish Cedric good luck.”

“Me? Why me?” Cedric turned his whole body outside the bench so that his knees were almost touching you.

“Because you’re the Seeker and Captain. You’re a very important player.” You purred.

You leaned down and lightly placed your hands on his knees. If he thought you didn’t make him any more nervous, he was wrong. This was the first time he had the chance to see your face this close. He could feel his heart racing as his eyes involuntarily went to your lips.

He felt his breathing become shallower than it already was as you leaned into his ear. “I’ve seen the way your little friends look up to you. Not to put more pressure on you, but if I were them, I would want the best for my hero.”

“Th-Thanks?” Was all that could come out of his mouth. You leaned back away from his ear to take a look at his flushed face.

“Of course. Good luck. And see you later.” You winked and got up before leaving the Great Hall.

Did you just flirt with him? You had to be. You weren’t as shy and quiet as the girls in Hufflepuff. You were a Slytherin, but he could see how you embodied a bit of the traits from other houses too. You had the boldness of a Gryffindor, the wit of a Ravenclaw, and you were as hardworking as the Hufflepuffs even though you weren’t shy.

He’d seen you being flirty around the boys in your house, not that it led to anything serious. Sometimes, he wondered how your relationship would have been had you been sorted into the same house. You would’ve become good friends with him, Cedric was sure of it.

As you got older and started sharing more class with him, he noticed little things about you he never thought about. Like how when you would get into trouble with the other Prefects, you’d get into fights with them, but whenever Cedric would catch you breaking the rules, it was like you were a whole different person with the way you’d accept whatever punishment he had to give you with a smirk.

To have your attention be focused on him, had him feeling some type of way he never felt with any other girl who flirted with him. He thought you were one of the most beautiful girls in school, but your reputation for also being one of the most intimidating Slytherins was what set you apart from those other beautiful girls. In other words, he didn’t think he had a chance with you.

“Who cares what she thinks, Cedric. We’re gonna be the best team at our match!” One of his teammates exclaimed, pumping his fist in the air.

“Yeah, she’s just a big meanie.” Another first year boy said.

“Don’t worry guys. I won’t let you down.” Cedric patted him on the head and gave a reassuring smile.

—

Gripping the note inside his pocket, Cedric made his way past the other students around him, going off to the library to catch up on studying or to retire to their common rooms. He needed to find out the identity of the person who wrote the note. Had it not contained a heart with his name on it, he wouldn’t be as suspicious of someone asking to meet somewhere as private as the Prefects’ bathroom.

Cedric kept a grip on his wand with his other hand while he considered the possibility that it could just be a prank. He was wise enough to know how to handle himself.

His grip on his wand tightened as he stood in front of the door to the bathroom and muttered the password.

You were the one he should have suspected from the beginning, Cedric realized as his eyes met yours.

“Hi, Cedric. I see you got the note I sent you.” You greeted him, taking a step closer to him. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he took in your appearance. He took a seat on one of the benches next to the large bathtub. “And no, it’s not a prank.”

He couldn’t and wouldn’t stop himself from letting his eyes wander around your body, covered by nothing but a towel. Your hair was up in a messy bun and droplets of water still clung to your skin.

“But h-how did you-” Cedric couldn’t finish his sentence, so you finished it for him.

“How did I put the note in your bag? Easy. During Quidditch practice I snuck into the changing room, and your little first year friends saw me. Had to make them shut up. Don’t worry. I didn’t hurt them. How did I get in here? That was much easier. I asked the new fifth year Prefect, Malfoy, for the password in exchange for getting me to buy cigarettes and alcohol for him. He’s quite insufferable, really. Not all of us in Slytherin can stand him. Especially the older ones.”

“I know.” You said nonchalantly, pouting your lips. “I’m setting a bad example for the younger students. But wouldn’t you have done the same?” You stepped closer to him and untucked his tie from his sweater. You were standing between his legs, leaning towards him. He couldn’t stop inhaling your intoxicating scent as it overtook him, leaving him unable to answer.

“Oh that’s right.” You flicked your eyes towards him and smirked. “You’re a good boy. You wouldn’t give in. Are you gonna turn me in? For being somewhere I’m not supposed to be?”

“Why did you get me to come here then?” Cedric took a deep breath. You continued to fidget with his tie.

“Isn’t it obvious?” You gently tugged on the piece of fabric to the point of your noses almost touching. He held his breath as he saw you lick your lips.

Before you gave him time to answer, you whispered, “It’s because I want to fuck you.” He knew girls talked about him like that behind his back based on what his guy friends reported to him, but he had never had anyone say that sentence to his face.

He was shocked and taken aback by your boldness, but also turned on. The erection that had been forming in his trousers throughout the entire conversation only confirmed it.

The fact that you weren’t even touching his skin made him whimper.

“What’s wrong, Cutie?” That nickname you used unlocked a part of Cedric that wanted to rip that flimsy towel off your body and plant his lips onto every inch of your skin until you were the one who was left speechless. But he could only do so much as stay still as you led the interaction.

“You’re acting like those other shy girls who flirt with you. Speaking of other girls, sorry if I’m not the one you were expecting. I’ll go get dressed.” You said, getting up to turn around.

“No! No!” Cedric didn’t want you to leave him.

You raised your eyebrows.

“Don’t get dressed!” He pleaded. “I mean… it’s alright, you can do what you want to, you don’t have to-”

“Sure. I won’t get dressed.” You smiled coyly.

“Sorry.” He scratched the back of his neck. “You could leave if you want. I’ll just be…” he stood up.

“But you know I don’t actually want to leave.” You turned and slid your hands down his chest. He could feel how fast his heart was pounding against your palm through the layers of fabric.

“Did you really mean what you said?” Cedric asked, referring to your bold statement from earlier.

“That I want to fuck you?” You slid your palms down further along his stomach until your fingertips lightly grazed the bulge in his trousers. He groaned at the contact.

“Have you got any idea how often I touch myself while thinking about you? Wanna know where in the school I’ve touched myself?”

Cedric groaned louder as he felt your palm squeeze him a little more firmly.

“I’d love to be able to hump my mattress and pillows more often, but I share a dorm with way too many people for my taste.” You didn’t stop palming his erection. “When I know everyone else is asleep, I’ll sneak into the common room, take a seat on the couch, and spread my legs. I can’t tell you how many times I made myself cum on the same spot shared by so many people. Too bad I had to stop after I was almost caught by that brat, Malfoy.”

“You alright?” You looked up into Cedric’s eyes. No, he was not alright because you stopped your movements. He didn’t want you to stop.

“Keep going.” He commanded.

You smirked as your eyes skimmed from his flustered expression to where your hand currently rested.

“I had to get more creative.” You continued. “I like using the broom closet after classes, too. Oh yeah, and the library. It’s so easy to find a quiet place in the corner. Luckily Madam Pince never checks on me because she thinks I’m so good at being quiet. Lately, I’ve been taking longer showers and you can guess why. You’re a smart boy.” He didn’t need to ask you to know that it was because of him.

“How long does it take?” Cedric was getting curious.

“It’s different every time. Last night, I made myself cum in the shower five times in thirty minutes. Oh, the things you do to a girl without even realizing it.”

He almost choked on his spit.

“What? I’m not shy about it.” You started to unbuckle his belt.

“One of my favorite things to do to myself in the shower is let the water run along my body while I let the soap lather up on my tits. I thought about the things I’d let you do to them, like squeezing them, sucking on them. Fuck, that’d feel so good.”

“Just talking about it, it's making my pussy wetter than the shower.” In normal circumstances, he’d try to stop himself from imaging what your pussy would feel like on his fingers and his cock, but moments like that were far behind, and he didn’t give a damn.

“That’s right. You’re not the only one who’s turned on.” You admitted. You unzipped his fly, taking some of the constriction off of him. He didn’t bother holding back a whimper as you slipped your hand underneath the rest of the material and palmed him through his boxers.

“P-Please…” Cedric was at a loss for words again.

Letting go of him, you took a step back.

“Please, what?” You smirked. “Haven’t you got anything to say?” You were right, he was too flustered to form any sentences.

“Please make me feel good. Is that what you’re thinking?” You eyed his crotch and licked your lips. He nodded.

The both of you took a deep breath as you stepped towards him. You got up on your tiptoes and he lowered his neck. When your lips met, he cupped your cheeks with both hands and you planted yours against his chest.

Finally, after enduring your teasing for so long, he was able to give in.

Neither of you could not and did not want to hold back from your kiss. You let out a moan, and Cedric let his teeth graze along your bottom lip, which caused you to moan even louder.

In his hurried state, he’d already discarded his outer robe onto the bench. You tugged on his sweater, signaling him to take it off, which he did.

“Are you sure you want this?” Cedric asked.

It felt as if the air had been knocked out of him as you let your towel drop on the floor. If his face wasn’t already any more flushed, it was now.

You sat down on the same bench he was sitting on before. He was about to ask what you were doing when you placed your hands behind you for balance and spread your legs, giving him a full view of how wet your pussy was. “Is this enough to convince you that I do?” You asked.

“Fuck.” Cedric gasped and his eyes widened at the sight of your completely naked body. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Wow. I never thought I’d hear the good boy say a bad word.” You teased him.

He was admiring how the moonlight from the window made your eyes sparkle as you caught him gazing hungrily at your entire body from your breasts to your hips and thighs.

“You can touch them.” You held up your breasts and bounced them in your hands.

He reached his hand out to squeeze one of your breasts and gently graze his thumb along your nipple.

Cedric had barely touched you and you were already a panting mess in his hands. With his other hand, he mirrored the same thing he did to your other breast while you used one of your hands to trace your finger around your swollen clit.

The moment he caught onto what you were doing to yourself, he slowly got distracted enough to seize his movements, which made you stop as well.

“Let me turn on the water.” You said, gently prying his hands off your body.

“Wait-” he grabbed your hand. He couldn’t believe you had the audacity to leave him hanging after all the teasing you put him through.

“Believe me, after what I want to do to you, we’ll both be needing a bath.” You grinned mischievously. You turned to switch the faucet on.

“Does this mean you want to…” Cedric couldn’t get himself to say the words through his nervousness.

“We’ve got to do something while we wait for the water to fill up.” You said as you knelt down in front of him. “I wanna taste you, so bad, Cedric.” You ran your forefinger along the fabric of his boxers that was covering his bulge. “Don’t you think it would feel so good to have my lips wrapped around your cock? Don’t you want to make me scream and choke? See the bad girl shut up?” You had no idea he would’ve loved to see you do much more than choke on his cock. A part of him wanted to see that bad girl cry and break for him.

“Sure.” That’s all you needed to hear in order to get you to pull out his fully erect cock out of the confines of his boxers.

You gripped onto his thighs for support and licked from the bottom to the tip before sucking it between your lips.

Cedric wondered if you knew how gorgeous you looked with your pretty lips wrapped around his cock.

He threw out what very little self-control he had left as he grabbed the back of your head and pushed it further down onto his cock. He could feel the vibrations from you screaming around him. His breathing started to grow heavier as your head bobbed up and down faster.

“You look so beautiful like this!” He grunted. He was starting to get hot as he knew he was quickly getting close cumming. He discarded his school tie and started to unbutton his shirt.

“I’m gonna cum!” He gasped as he completely removed his shirt. That’s when you pulled your mouth away from him. He regretted saying that.

“No!” He grasped your jaw and forced you to look up. You stood up. You stared at each other as he gathered the saliva spilling down your chin with his thumb and ran it along your bottom lip. You used this as an opportunity to pull it between your lips and suck just as you did with his cock before you popped his thumb out of your mouth.

“The tub’s full, now.” You said, ignoring the extra protests that he threw at you.

Cedric watched as you climbed into the tub and switched the water off. He soon threw the rest of his clothes onto the bench and he followed you into the water that came up to your torso.

He saw the water droplets that clung to your breasts and made a move to lick them. He made a trail with his tongue from your collarbone to your nipple where he continued to lick and suck as you didn’t bother holding back a moan.

“Cedric, I want you to cum inside me!” He felt his boner poking your stomach at the sound of your whimpers.

You grabbed onto his shoulders and pushed him so that his back was to the edge of the tub. You let your lips hungrily devour each other’s. The feeling of your soft tits against his chest only made his desire to be inside you stronger.

He grabbed your thighs and hoisted them around his torso. You grabbed his cock in one hand, aiming it to where your entrance was while using your other hand to cling onto his shoulder to balance yourself.

He planted kisses along your neck and collarbone as you slowly sunk down onto him. You let out a string of curse words as you slowly moved up and down, your tits bouncing with you.

Besides the sounds of your bodies moving against each other, you loudly moaning, and the water splashing, it was dead silent in the room.

He grabbed both sides of your hips and began pounding into you faster and deeper. This made you scream even louder than before.

“Oh fuck, Cedric! Just like that! It feels so fucking good!”

He loved how unafraid you were to let yourself lose control in front of him.

“Cedric!” You sounded like you were sobbing.

“What is it, Sweetheart?” He rasped.

“I think I’m-fuck! Oh Cedric, fuck! It feels so… so good!” It was then that he knew you reached your orgasm. You continued screaming as you rode it out on his dick.

The feeling of your tight pussy pumping around him so vigorously in a repeated manner was what led up to him spilling himself inside you a minute later.

“Don’t stop! Keep going!” He ordered you.

“I fucking love how your cum feels inside me, Cedric!” You cried out.

He continued to hold onto you with him still inside you as he attempted to catch his breath and that’s when he pulled out. It quickly went back up as you softly dragged your nails along the goosebumps forming on the side of his neck. On the other side of his head, you planted equally as light kisses from his jaw to his earlobe. He had to check himself to see if this unreal feeling was what he was really experiencing as you started to nibble it.

“I’ve wanted to fuck you ever since the day I discovered how to pleasure myself.” You purred in his ear. “I don’t give a damn about the other boys I flirted with. It’s always been you, Cedric.”

At the mention of the other boys, he started to feel jealousy ignite in himself which was unusual for someone like him.

“Is that why you flirted with them in front of me?” He looked into your eyes for confirmation. “To make me jealous? To get me to notice you?”

“It worked.” You said. “I mean, I just got so bored of watching those girls talk about you and flirt with you I couldn’t take it anymore, so I thought I had to make you see how I felt. I shouldn’t have waited so long.”

He cupped your jaw and gently brought your lips together as soon as the both of you had calmed down. Your lips began to move along each other’s more frantically and it soon escalated into a make out session.

He quickly found himself getting addicted to the taste and feel of your plush lips which went so well with the lip balm you were wearing.

“What do you mean by waiting so long? How long exactly?” Cedric wanted to know more.

“Since our fifth year. When you became a Prefect and Captain of your Quidditch team.” You leaned your head into the crook of his neck. He absentmindedly stroked his knuckles along your bare shoulder.

“I’m just wondering, why not boys from your house’s team instead?”

You looked up into his eyes. “Because you’re so much better than them. Just because I’m in the same house as them doesn’t mean anything. They’re not as humble or as hard-working as you.”

“I don’t know what to say.” He blushed at your compliment. “Besides thank you, of course.”

You giggled.

[bubble-tea-blossom]

The Soldier and the Smuggler

7. The Buck

Joel Miller / f!reader, wc: 4.6k, 18+ ONLY

Warnings: violence (its the last of us), nasty motherfuckers getting what they deserve

Previous chapter

The man’s cervical bones crack under the violent twist of Joel’s hands. The body hits the ground with a thud, dust swirling up in the air.

Joel feels no guilt, or even disgust. The man’s death is a rung on the ladder to freedom. To getting the soldier out here, where Joel condemned you to die in.

Joel stills doesn’t know why he came back. It wasn’t really much of a thought process. One thing Joel has perfected in the years following the Outbreak is how to stop thinking. This is no different.

Joel follows instinct. Ancestral coding. Handing the only woman for miles over to a group of strange men clearly with ulterior motives was too heinous, even for Joel.

‘Bet there aren’t many lines you haven’t crossed’. You had asked him.

‘Not that one’.

These men lied to him. Used his brother’s codes to trick him, and hoped he was too stupid to notice. Only their deaths will bring safety.

‘Not that one.’

His own voice rings in his ears as he he steps through the door the dead man was guarding.

At the sound, a soldier looks up from where he’s crouched low to the ground, snapping “Who the fuck are you?”

“Joel.” Says the smuggler, stepping inside.

“Ah,” the soldier says after a moment, a confused look on his broad face. In his hands he holds a small black box that he passes to his right hand as he stands. Joel’s heart drops.

Its you, on the ground. Lying on your side. Hair matted with blood that sticks to your face.

You aren’t moving.

“Is she dead?” Joel hears himself speak like it came from someone else.

The soldier scratches the beginning of stubble under his chin, “I hope not,” he says and uses the toe of his boot to lift your face off the ground. “Cap’n wanted her alive for more questioning.”

At the move Joel sees red. Blood rushing to his fingers that twitch, begging to feel the man’s throat caged under them, crushed in justice at the audacity to touch you like a diseased animal.

You slur out something, mostly red spittle but Joel hears, “-motherfucker.”

The soldier chuckles darkly, glancing down at you with something in his eyes that makes Joel’s mouth curl in disgust.

“Feisty, ain’t you,” the soldier leers mockingly over you, “But all that shit talk and you didn’t last five minutes, huh.”

The soldier is pre-occupied with you. He doesn't even look up until the shiv in Joel’s hand is buried in his jugular. Joel shoves him so the body doesn't fall on you.

The box drops to the ground, glass breaking. Joel realizes its a camera.

Joel knows he should rush. He’s on borrowed time. Sooner or later, people are going to start finding bodies he’s left in shadowed corners throughout this warehouse.

But he can’t move. He just stares down at you, feeling panic overtake him at the sight of what they did. Every drop of blood, every inch of flesh beaten to pulp weighs on his heart and his hands as if he’s drawn them himself.

And then your fingers twitch again, searching purchase on the dusty cold floor. Seeking to struggle upright.

Joel moves, dropping to his knees. As gently as he can, he lifts you from the ground. Shivers of pain hiss through your clenched teeth, and at first you resist with clench fists.

When he starts talking, you calm. That or you’ve finally given up.

Joel makes a promise he has no right to make.

“I got you.”

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Your breaths are coming a mile a minute. Up and down your ribcage moves like a rabbit fleeing from a wolf. The muscles in your legs and arms have so much oxygenated blood pumping through them they feel stretched and swollen.

You feel like you could lift a mountain and then immediately die afterwards.

“I need you if we’re both getting out of this.” Joel tells you.

A part of you wants to shove him away. Grab the hand on your shoulder and break his fingers. Run out the door and leave him behind.

You slowly raise your hand and instead gently touch your swollen eye. Joel seems to understand, taking a step back.

The hand in front of your face is doubled, and even when you pull it further away, the doubled image only gets blurrier. You prod at the skin around your right eye, the eyelid has swollen so much you can barely see. When you drop your hand, you glance around the room and discover every other object in the room has a twin it shouldn’t.

You realize with dismay, if you want to survive, you need the bastard.

'Its only temporary.' You tell to yourself. But Joel says, “Of course.” Right after so maybe you said that out loud.

Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

“What’s the plan?”

Apparently the plan was ‘get the boat key and make a run for it.’

The boat is the best option. Your head is spinning, a sharp ringing in your right ear where you were hit one too many times. You won’t make it fast enough on foot.

“Where is the key?” You ask, rummaging through the stacks of abandoned crates in the room. You find mostly construction materials; nails, pneumatic tools. Your fingers curl around a hammer, the head red with rust. The weight of it in your grip and your knife in your pocket comforts you.

“Someone named Terrance has it,” Joel responds, keeping watch by the window, eyes darting rapidly, plotting paths to the boat launch.

“How do you know?”

“Sneaking back in, I heard someone say, ‘Terrance is gone moving the boat.’”

You’re too tired and your face is too sore, so you keep your gripe about the smuggler’s absolute unwavering evidence to yourself.

He crosses the room and cracks the door open. The hinges squeak horrendously loud, making the ringing in your ears worsen. He peeks his head, looking left then right.

“You good to go?” He whispers.

“Yes,” your grip tightens on the hammer.

“Good, cause we got company.”

Your heartbeat which had just started to slow somewhat strengthens in it's pounding, “How many?”

“One, coming up the stairs.”

You look around the dark room, at the stacks of crates scattered around, “Ok, I have an idea.

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The soldier leads with his gun, just like he was taught. With each step on the rusted metal stairs, he winces at the image of his fellow soldier stepping on the trap mine that blew his legs off.

Not everyone reported in. The remains of the skeleton crew were sent on sweeps of the overly big, empty warehouse. A priority being finding Gibson and Cooper who also hadn’t reported it.

The soldier knew unfortunately that Bruce Gibson deemed himself ‘an artist with his fists’ and often took longer than needed, especially when his canvas was young, and female. But radio silence after an explosion was unacceptable. But including Gibson and Cooper, four men where missing, making up a decent chunk of role-call. Which was why he was alone on this staircase.

Things were too quiet. The setting sun sending golden rays slanting sideways through the windows where there were any. Which wasn’t many.

Once the soldier reaches the top of the stairs, there’s a sharp clatter. He raises his gun, ready to shoot, staring at the end of the hallway where it came from. When nothing else happens after a few moments, he starts meticulously stepping his way to the room.

The soldier opens the door and sweeps the room, stopping with a jolt at the sight of the young female curled on the ground, clutching her side and looking like absolute shit.

“Wait,” she pleads, struggling to sit up, raising unarmed hands.

The soldier holsters his gun, a flare of anger in his gut. He knows Gibson likes to play games with his victims, including letting them ‘get away’ so he can hunt them down again. But an off book, highly sensitive mission that the whole QZ depends on and would see them all hanged if they were caught, was absolutely NOT the time.

The soldier goes to grab the girl, her begs to let her go falling on deaf ears. It’s not until its too late does he notice she somehow managed to untie her hands and a shadow falls over him.

The next thing the soldier notices is the arms that have pinned his head in a headlock. The forearm pressing against his throat are unflinching as a tree trunk to his nails clawing at it. The soldier is too busy struggling for breath to pay attention to the girl.

She stands up, and plucks his gun from his thigh holster while he thrashes. She checks the action, then the clip, handling the pistol with ease. Comfort even.

“Don’t kill him,” she speaks finally, her voice hoarse but insistent.

The pressure around the soldiers lessens and the soldier breathes again for the first time in almost a minute.

The girl comes much closer. She definitely has Gibson’s signature all over her face.

“Don’t let him breathe too much.” she says, tone cold and tired as she stares right into the eyes of the soldier.

The pressure tightens again and the soldier feels desperation pull at every atom of his body as he starves for air.

“I don’t want to kill you, but I will.” she says, watching with neutrality as the soldier tries to wrench forward to throw off his attacker. This ends in futility and he’s wrench back upright. She nods at the attacker behind him, and the soldier can breathe once more.

“Tell me where Terrance is, and we’ll knock you out. No one dies. Terrance won’t die either.” She lays out.

The soldier feels his guts fall at the name. He’s coughing too much to respond, he just shakes his head as much he can.

If he can waste their time, he knows someone should be radio checking any minute now. When he doesn’t answer, someone should come check his position. Then they’ll riddle these two with bullets.

The soldier hears a grunt of anger behind him and then he can’t breathe again. The pressure is right on his carotid artery this time. He will die if the pressure stays for too much longer.

“Wait,” the girl speaks to the attacker behind him this time, “we need him to tell us.”

“He’s wasting out time.” A dark voice sounds besides the soldier’s ear.

The girl speaks to the soldier this time, “Please tell us, you don’t have to die.”

The soldier lasts for five more seconds before his vision starts to black out. The ever winning fear of death trumps pride and everything else. He taps at the man’s arm.

After a moment, he breathes again.

“He’s by the boat.” The soldier croaks.

They’ll both be dead before they realize he lied. He thinks before his neck is violently twisted and he’s looking too far over his own shoulder. Then everything fades away.

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“You killed him,” you hear yourself say, watching as the smuggler drops the soldier to the ground.

“He needed to die.” Is all he says as he starts shoving his hand down every pocket on the uniform.

“He was following orders,” you mumble, the ringing in your ear increasing.

Joel stops, and looks at you sharply, “Orders to kill you.”

“I know,” you rub at your temples, your headache worsening, “but we killed a soldier, they’ll hang us if we’re caught.” Which is a somewhat redundant statement. You were doomed to die from the start. Joel doomed himself when he came back.

“Not my first dead soldier,” Joel grumbles and continues looting the body.

He does so with expert efficiency. “How many times have you done this?” Is on your lips but you keep them closed. You don’t really want to know.

“Son’a’bitch.” Joel grunts, pulling from the soldier’s vest pocket a long coil, a small metal key on the end.

Joel stands, pocketing the key and steps over the body without even looking down. He hands you another clip for the pistol, “Let’s go.”

Your vision is getting worse with every passing minute. Your aim with the pistol will be more of an act of desperation if you need to shoot. Your head is in too much pain to feel squeamish about letting the smuggler do all the work as he leads you through the confusing hallways and staircases of the warehouse.

Occasionally telling you to stay put while he goes choke out another soldier.

And then you’re standing outside. The sun is dusky orange, hovering on the horizon. Soon it’ll be dark. A good and bad thing.

The ringing in your ears gets to be too much. You fall to your knees and the pitiful contents of your stomach see daylight again.

Joel drags you away, “C’mon, we’re almost there.”

The pier is wide open. The only move is to move fast. Joel never lets go of your arm. His warmth welcome as the adrenaline he gave you is wearing off, leaving you colder than before.

The boat is in sight, its doubled outline only a few dozen feet ahead. “If I was on the crew, I’d put a guard by the boat.” You think.

And then Joel is tackling you to the ground. In the same moment gunfire explodes in your ears. Your head bounces off the wooden dock, but you have no time to react. Joel pulls you under him, your head and torso completely squished under the weight of the smuggler.

A bullet hits the tip of your boot.

There’s a lull. You know this is when you move, while they’re reloading. You and Joel get up, him much slower.

He practically shoves you at the boat.

“Start the damn boat.” He orders, pressing the boat key into your hand.

You do as he says. He covers your back as you climb in, unwinding the heavy rope anchoring it to the dock before hooking the key against the ignition.

Shots start ringing out, Joel’s return fire as he ducks behind the sailboat besides the FEDRA boat is deafening. You are all too aware that you’re taking too long starting the engine. It feels like a hundred times you pull the cord, only for the engine to sputter out each time.

With a herculean pull, your rip the cord so hard it immediately falls into a healthy purr.

“Fuck!” You yell out in release.

Looking back for Joel who’s still playing shoot-and-cover with a soldier down the pier, you see the other soldier has snuck up from behind. Joel is too pre-occupied to notice as the man gets within striking distance.

You shout some wordless sound at Joel in warning, fearing its too late. Joel hears you and barely dodges the axe swung at his neck by lurching backwards. This means he’s horribly off balance as the soldier brings the heavy axe back up high. Joel doesn’t have enough purchase to find enough balance to get completely out of the way

The hammer finds its home in your hand.

The man is sweeping the axe up over his head to bring it down onto Joel. Joel goes to slip away but you can see its a split second too late, Joel’s moving slower than what you’d expect. Good thing you’re already in motion.

Your full body weight is in the swing, which is risky, making you vulnerable to a counterattack. But it also means you bring the hammer down so hard on the man’s head, bone fragments bounce off your cheekbone.

The soldier drops to his knees, dead weight, like the lights upstairs turned off all of a sudden. You make sure of that with your second swing. Blood and brain matter spraying the dock as he falls.

The soldier lays there motionless. He’s dead.

You grab Joel as he’s getting up, a fistful of his shirt and drag him into the boat. As you do a sharp sting slices the side of your cheek.

You duck down as much as possible, taking the engine in hand to back the boat up before you crank the level full throttle in the opposite direction of the pier.

Joel is laying as flat as he can in the boat while the last few gunshots follow you. But you gain too much distance too quickly.

They give up.

You’re muscles start to shake. You want to collapse in exhaustion. Instead you drive the little boat as far as you can, down the coast leaving the wharf far behind. The fierce wind pushing against your face and hair feels like an olive wreath placed on your head.

Triumph. Shadowed by blood. Lots of it.

“Goddamn,” Joel groans, pulling himself upright. His hands leaving blood on everything thing he touches.

You slow the motor down so you can hear him easier, “Where are you hit?”

Joel just groans as he pulls himself upright.

You stop the boat and drag your shaky muscle to him, but he shoos you away.

“I’m fine,” he snarks, “just get us the hell outta here.”

You glare at each other for a second, but you give in first. You decide if he’s telling you to shove off, the soldiers you left behind are still more likely to kill the both of you before he bleeds out.

The steer the boat downriver, the sound a jackhammer against your brain that eventually makes you throw up again over the side. You’re no doctor but you can safely say you have a concussion.

After dry heaving into the waves, you slowly sit back up. You give yourself a minute to sit in silence with your eyes closed. You’ve had migraines before, but this was nothing like you’ve experienced. Your brain feels dry, shriveled. Every pulse of your heart feels like an ice pick being wedged into the seams of your skull.

You jump when something hits your lap. You look down at see a metal cylinder. You crack it open and sniff it first, out of habit.

Its water.

You look to Joel, “Thanks.”

“Don’t ration it, just drink it.” He tells you when you take only a few sips.

You leave a mouthful left in the canteen when you throw it back. Joel finishes it off, wiping his mouth before returning it to his pack.

“Lemme drive,” he tells you, standing slowly.

You scoot back as far from the motor as you can. He starts up the engine again and you plug your ears with your fingers. He steers the boat down the coast, and after a few minutes you listen to your eye’s begging and close them.

Eventually the motor finally putters and rumbles to a stop. Out of gas. The current still carrying the boat gently.

Joel’s aimed the boat towards the bank once the motor started to fail and the momentum carries it to the beach. The paddle brings it the last few feet.

You scan the edges of the bank, looking for somewhere you can hole up.

“There,” you point to a signpost for a visitor center pointing back from the slope. Down the beach a few dozen feet is a staircase that snakes up the embankment.

You slip over the side of the boat, water splashing up your legs. The pull of the tide rushes sand and tiny pebbles over your scarred boots. The tip of one has a significant dent, the other has teeth marks.

You start to worry about Joel when instead of climbing off the boat, he more or less falls.

He stands ups, slowly. Shrugging his pack on with a grimace.

“Let’s get going,” he snaps at your staring.

He makes if farther than you thought he would. He collapses again, halfway up the metal staircase.

You leer, apathetically curious at the sight.

His skin is wan, the blood smeared across it, looks almost black in the moonlight. His face looks older. The circles under his eyes look deeper. The grey in his hair more stark.

Its the first time you've seen the man vulnerable.

The smuggler doesn’t protest when you crouch, grabbing the arm he isn’t clutching to his chest to pull over your shoulders. You use it for leverage as much you can when you pull him back to his feet.

“On your feet, soldier.” You order softly.

You can tell Joel tries his best to keep as much of his weight off you. This is made apparently when he sways, his head dipping forward as a head rush takes him and two hundred pounds push against your bones.

You are nothing if not stubborn. You grit your teeth and wait for him to recover. He shakes his head slowly, and keeps walking.

‘One more step.’ You chant in your head. Over and over. Until the staircase is level and you can see up near an overgrown parking lot, is a little green building.

You hate leaving such an easy trail. Your boat on the beach is too close to the little building. The trail of blood would be easy for a human to follow much less a dog. But the both of you need rest too badly. You can only hope you aren’t worth the resources of a search mission.

You open the door with Joel still on your arm. You are too tired to clear it properly, you draw Joel’s revolver from his waistband, throw a rock deep inside the building and wait with your gun drawn.

When no Infected come racing out towards you, you enter. The building is dusty, cold, but the windows are boarded.

In the back office, someone must have held up in there in the past. A cot with a sleeping bag is left with dust and spiderwebs growing on the legs. Boxes with an oil lamp besides it.

You plop Joel onto the cot, his weight makes it dip almost to the floor.

When you finally let go, you take a step back. And then another.

You watch the man silently as he rummages through his back pack, tie the bandage around his arm with one hand and his teeth.

The click of the revolver echoes in the small room and he stills save for his eyes, which meet yours. You slowly raise Joel’s revolver, aimed at his chest.

Your heart is beating too wildly to form a coherent sentence.

“Why.” You pant.

“Gonna have t’be more specific than that, soldier.”

“Why. Did. You. Come. Back.” Each words hurts like a tooth being ripped from your skull.

Joel stares past your shoulder, eyes unfocused, “I always came back.”

This was not what you were expecting. You shake your head to keep focus.

“That’s not an answer.”

Joel shakes his head and his gaze centers, “Those fuckers lied.”

The anger is back in his eyes. You find yourself believing this answer. Spite will make you do wild things. Like facing certain death to pull a man’s toy away from him just in revenge.

Despair makes your chest sink and you lower the gun.

“I couldn’t leave you there.” His words break the silence in the room. His voice is warm, a tone you’ve never heard from him before.

His voice breaks something in you. The air whooshes from your lungs in a stuttered gasp. You let the hammer fall back into place. You lean back into Joel's space and give him back his gun. You don't want it.

Instead of taking it, he grabs your arm instead and speaks like he knows exactly what you’re about to do, “Don’t.”

You grab his hand and twist it off. He lets you go, watching as you turn your back and leave the room, leave the building.

You know he won’t survive on his own. Gunshot wounds on the back with no way to close them himself is doomed for infection if he doesn’t bleed out. But you owe him nothing. You are finally free.

Walking down the street, the full moon shining in the reflection of the streetlights that burnt out long ago.

The choking emotions make you keep walking despite your exhaustion and pain, in no particular direction. Just away. One foot after another, a pattern you are too tired to stop once you’ve started.

Alone, you finally let yourself cry. Cry dry tears as you feel your person hood slip through your grasp.

You’ve being made into nothing but a tool. Another man’s toy, your purpose laid out for you. Die a horrific death to push an agenda you couldn’t care less about.

That’s what you’ve always been. FEDRA has never seen you as anything other than another pair of hands to hold a gun. You sold your life to them to save someone else.

You touch your swollen left eye, and wonder if you’ll lose any vision once it’s healed.

You startle silently when you look up at the leggy buck walking across your path. The sight is what finally freezes your unending march to nowhere.

His rack of antler curves towards the moon in knife sharp points. The great weight of it turns as he looks at you.

It takes you a significant amount of time to determine what you're seeing, the double vision making you think you're hallucinating.

The buck sees eye to eye with the decomposing head of a rival. The two set of horns so twisted in each other you don't think even your human hands could detangle them. The detached head sits forehead to forehead with the breathing buck, the face still adorned with fur but the vertebrae extending from the skull is bare, picked clean by the wind.

You've never seen such a thing. The thought of a buck walking with a decapitated head tangled in his horns never crossed your mind. But here he was. Staring at you as best he could.

You regard each other silently. Finally he deems you unnoteworthy enough to continue his graze. The second head doesn't seem to affect his eating. But you can't imagine such a condition won't affect his lift expectancy. The weight of the dead surely will be his downfall.

And you? What will be your downfall? So many things have tried recently, and yet here you stand. With your feet planted firmly in the ground.

You think of May.

You think of all the people you’ve lost.

You think of Joel.

The invisible strings pull in your chest, connected to him when you thought you had just severed them.

Here you stand, alone, in the open. Wounded and disoriented. You carry nothing but the clothes on your back and the bile in your throat. In your pride, you left Joel's gun with him, not wanting anything of his.

So far in the long list of people trying to kill you, it seems yours is the most recent name.

You can’t do this alone.

And you already have a proved killer that owes you a lifetime.

You turn and look back where you came from. A wild, savage part of you wants to keep walking away and never come back for anyone. Lose yourself in the wild. Survive for as long as you can, worrying about only yourself.

But you aren’t a coyote. You need someone. You need him.

It’s only temporary. You tell yourself.

When you return to the building, you take the time to shove a chair under the doorknob of the front door. You stumble as you walk down the hall, a steadying hand dragging along the wall. Exhaustion can finally refuse your ignorance. It will take you in about five more steps.

You manage to make it to the cot, Joel already laid on his side, his back to you. You can’t tell if he notices your entrance, your vision is beginning to black out. You collapse onto the cot so roughly it almost collapses itself. Your outside foot still on the floor, your inside arm laid across your stomach to avoid touching him. The smuggler.

And finally, you sleep.

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Next chapter

A/N:

[cheemscakecat]

Y’know, I don’t usually talk about ships I dislike, but this is one I haven’t seen criticized.

So the Gravity Falls fandom is riddled with bad ships, ranging from “Ah yes, let’s ship the victim with the demon that abused them” to “Incest between 12 year old twins is so great”.

Which would explain why all the effort of criticizing ships is going to those infamous ones and not any others that might be less ugly by comparison.

Heck, that note to Mabel in journal 3, saying Bill would have thrown Dipper’s body off the water tower was probably the creator’s way of saying “Stop shipping Dipper with the demon Dorito.” She’s terrified of that thing from trying to get Stan over his fear of heights, and Bill ended the letter by asking if she wanted to join Dipper at the bottom.

StanChez is the lesser evil ship I’m talking about specifically. But keep in mind, I’m a Gravity Falls fan, not a Rick and Morty fan, so my knowledge of that show is from video essays and osmosis.

It’s not on the same level of awful as saying Ford and Bill should be a couple after watching the man get chained and electrocuted.

Or well drawn incest between the two main characters, who are based on the show creator and his sister.

But StanChez is toxic. And I’d like to explain why on Stan Pines’ behalf, because he deserves better. And I also don’t think they’d get along for more than a few days.

Reason 1: Rick is a different level of Criminal

People seem to gravitate towards this ship because Stan and Rick are both criminals and bad influences on those around them, but it’s more surface level than you’d think.

The most we know about Stan’s kill count is that he killed a llama and Bill. And in his words “that llama had it coming”. Other than that, his main crimes are swindling and conning, with tax evasion through false identities.

But if a state full of angry people goes after him, his response is to run away and start a new fake identity. Not attack the people he conned or the police. And even though his bad products gave people rashes, they never crossed over into something truly heinous.

He also tries to befriend other criminals and attacks them out of self defense, and not intent to kill. Stan knows how to fight, but his intention is very rarely to kill, and that’s a healthier mindset to have.

Rick is in the habit of ruining versions of earth with his experiments, and then running off to take his own place in another dimension instead of staying to try and help. That’s not running away from a minor con like Stan, that’s leaving billions of people to die, over and over again.

Rick is also in the habit of killing people who are an inconvenience to him, whether they pose a real threat or not. He’s so used to killing on sight that he doesn’t bat an eye at making Morty take someone’s life.

Stan is a different kind of bad influence than Rick that isn’t as heinous. Not by a long shot. Dipper and Mabel may have to go on a character arc where they stop swindling people, but they’ve never been taught to kill or maim. They’ve never watched Stan murder people and ignore their distress when he does it. Or been forced to bury a body.

Dipper and Mabel may become worse because of Stan, but it’s nothing so serious that they’ll never recover. But Morty? Morty is in a very toxic situation where he’s been traumatized and started to go numb inside.

Reason 2: Stan’s self esteem

Stan has a lot more in common with Morty than you’d think. He was always “the dumb twin” and “the screw up”. Sure, his Ma tried to negate his father’s terrible words, but one of his parents still made him feel hated and useless.

For goodness sakes, it was Filbrick kicking him out as a high schooler, telling him to come back when he made a fortune, that set him on the path of greed!

It’s also Filbrick’s terrible parenting that made Stan try to be tough with Dipper and favor Mabel, the way Ford was favored.

Stan’s self esteem is much lower than it looks on the surface, and prolonged exposure to Rick would only make it worse.

You see, Rick doesn’t explain what dimension they’re going to, what to look out for, and what’s safe before bringing Morty on an “adventure”. They’ll get there, Morty will start asking because he doesn’t know, and Rick will drunkenly call him an idiot and barely explain. But Morty is supposed to be the stupid one for it.

Rick also favors Summer, Morty’s sister over him. Even though he’s been dragged along on these traumatic adventures much longer.

Say what you will about Stan being a bad influence, but at least we know he does it out of generational trauma and still cares about Dipper. Instead of being harsher on him for no reason, Stan sees it as teaching him to be tougher by making him do chores.

Rick is just playing favorites. And he’s also well known for talking down to Morty’s dad Jerry for being stupid. To the point fans only recently started to see through it and respect Jerry as an embarrassing but happy normal person.

If Stan started hanging around Rick, he’d be talked down to and compared to his smarter twin once again, but this time by the “smartest man in the multiverse”. He doesn’t need another toxic influence to stomp on his self worth.

Reason 3: Think of the children

Stan never replaced anybody. Yes, he had the wax Stan, but he wasn’t calling it Ford. My theory is he was practicing what he’d do with Ford once he brought him back, and the wax funeral was him remembering that Ford might have died.

Stan is known for letting the kids go off on their own, but he also tried to convince them that the supernatural wasn’t real to protect them.

And when he saw they were in danger, he fought the undead to protect them. Most of the time, he just doesn’t see that they’re in danger because they’re off on their own.

He cares about Dipper and Mabel and Soos and Wendy. Heck, he even gave Gideon a pep talk in the shrink ray episode. Do you honestly think he’d be okay with cloning one of them if they died? Or worse, stealing some other Stan’s family in another dimension?

He was looking for his Ford, not a random one from some other timeline. If Dipper was thrown off the water tower, or Mabel snapped away by Bill, Stan wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. And he wouldn’t be able to replace them. The same goes for Ford, Soos, and Wendy.

So imagine him finding the Morty cloning facilities at Rick’s Citadel. And Rick trying to gaslight him into thinking it’s better to leave the evil Ricks to clone and kill as many Morty’s as they want, because it keeps them distracted. Or finding out about Rick replacing himself in other dimensions without telling the family?

Y’all remember that Dipper asked Ford how he knew Bill, and he said:

“I’ve encountered many dark beings in my time, Dipper.”

I bet the reason why Ford was erased with other memory tubes is because he found out about the cloning and got angry with Rick. Because despite his issues with Stan, he still remembers the little boy getting mistreated by his father.

Needless to say, Stanley wouldn’t be approving of all this either, once he knew Rick was a monster. But if Rick wouldn’t listen to “the smart” twin and erased the interaction, he’s way less likely to listen to poor Stan. Because he’s well used to talking down to people when they confront him or disagree with him. And if he’d do it to his own family, he’d sure as heck do it to Stanley.

So yeah, those are my reasons why StanChez is a bad idea/doesn't work. This isn’t going to become a series or anything, I just thought it was worth explaining.

[aristocratic-otter]

Hey y’all. It’s been a rough month, so thank you to all of you who keep tagging me in spite of my silence. And for those of you waiting for new chapters to one of my WIPs, please forgive me. The good news is, I have a week off of work, and I’ll be able to put out new chapters of at least two of my WIPs, as well as the first post from one of those below that you haven’t seen. So stay tuned!

Thank you to : @thewholelemon, @youarenevertooold, @nausikaaa, @wellbelesbian, @cutestkilla, @monbons, @artsyunderstudy, @ileadacharmedlife, @hushed-chorus, @prettygoododds, @whatevertheweather, @angelsfalling16, @noblecorgi, @ic3-que3n, @bookish-bogwitch, @thewholelemon, @alexalexinii, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe,and @blackberrysummerblog for the tags over the last several weeks. 

On to the snippets!

From Saving Simon Snow: (slightly more than six sentences)

I don’t know what I expect when I look at him. Recriminations about my family? I’d deserve them. My father and aunt have been vicious and abusive towards my now-husband. I’ll never be done making that up to him. Or maybe he wants to actually talk about the events of the day? Yesterday, I mean, since the clock has clearly ticked over into a new day.

Whatever I expected, it wasn’t Simon’s blue eyes intensely boring into mine as he says, “Can I kiss you?”

From the Heart in the Well

“You–” I start, and my voice is a croak. I swallow, despite my horror at the liquid still laying on my tongue. I try again. “How could you?”

Simon looks apologetic, but his chin is jutting up nonetheless. “Baz, you needed it—” he begins. 

“You’ve made me into a monster!” I cry. 

From Snow Fox–nothing new this week. I'm researching my next chapter at the moment.

From TikTok Dancer: 

Normally, by now I’d be giving coy glances to my chosen partner of the night. I like to have made my choice at least an hour before we quit for the day, so I can make my interest known. It’s a bit of a dance in itself, this small courtship. 

Tonight, unless I find the courage to approach Baz again—why do I even remember his name? Most of the time I forget their names minutes after they say them—I’ll be going to bed without any release. Because nobody in the crowd has drawn my eyes today, despite several pretty people making eyes at me. 

I’ve only got eyes for Baz.

I don’t understand this.

From Stars, Flowers, and Children,

One of the tools we rescued from the ship before it sank was a hand axe, and it’s honestly been worth it’s weight in gold. Half the building I’ve done in the last few years would have been impossible without it. I don’t need Davy’s voice in my head growling, “you break those tools, boy, I’ll break you.” I’m constantly aware of the fragility of the life we’ve built here. If I break an axe…no more building out of wood. If the island suffers a dry year, no fruit on our plates. If one of us gets sick…no doctors

From Cupid’s Shield:

My aunt Fiona loves recounting the time he showed up at Watford’s Valentine ball when she was a fourth year. She wasn’t old enough to attend, but she’d snuck into a secret passage that passed the ballroom to spy on her friends, who were fifteen because their birthday (they were twins apparently) was just before the deadline to attend. Reading between the lines, I think Fi was sweet on one of the pair and wanted to make sure he wasn’t making time with some other girl at the ball. 

According to my Aunt, Cupid just materialized in midair beneath the great chandelier, and, with a wicked grin, began shooting incorporeal arrows at every mage in sight. Fiona took great pleasure in recounting just who was compelled into snogging their sworn enemies or the girlfriends/ boyfriends of their best friends. Apparently the event was a source of endless drama over the next several months, and my aunt lives for that shit. 

Of course, my aunts’ maybe-boyfriend escaped unscathed, or I think she wouldn’t have found the whole thing so amusing.

From my COBB project:

“Director,” I say, “It’s good to see you.”

“And it’s wonderful to see you, my boy. In fact, your return just at this time could not have been more fortuitous.”

I know all too well what that means. My heart sinks into my shoes. I just got back…I haven’t even unpacked yet…

“Sir?” I question, directing every fibre of my being towards hoping the director is not about to say what I think he’s about to say. Of course, I’m not that lucky.

“We have a situation, Simon,” he says, letting his face fall into graver lines. 

Tagging: @chen-chen-chen-again-chen, @bazzybelle, @dragoneggos, @erzbethluna, @palimpsessed, @frjsti, @fatalfangirl, @letraspal, @martsonmars, @melodysmash, @moments-au-crayon22, @moodandmist, @mostlymaudlin, @onepintobean, @raenestee, @tea-brigade, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @upuntil6am, @whogaveyoupermission, @messofthejess, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @krisrix, @shemakesmeforget, @larkral, @confused-bi-queer, @rimeswithpurple, and @mooncello, @theearlgreymage, @j-nipper-95, @facewithoutheart, @best--dress, @nightimedreamersghost

[joonslfttiddie]

Home

Chapter 37: I Need You...

💜Fic Pairing: OT7 x OFC

💜AU/Genre: Reverse Harem/Polyfidelity/AMBW

💜Warnings: Adult content/Adult language

💜Rating: MA

💜Word Count: 3331

Hybe Lawncare and Landscaping…how may I help you?

His voice alone makes me so wet, I don’t respond immediately, a mixture of lust, love, and nervousness takes my voice.

Hello?

“H-hi, Namjoon? This is Tia.”

I can hear shuffling in the background, like fabric rubbing together, then him whispering ‘damn, bro’.

“HEY! Hey, Tia…my bad, I dropped the phone.”

I can’t help but snicker at his cuteness before saying, “Are you busy? I can call back at a better time.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m not busy at all.”

“Oh okay. What are you up to?”

The guys, satisfied that we are finally speaking, drift away from the kitchen to do their own thing, leaving me to speak in private.

“Nothing much, just took a shower, getting ready to wind down for the night. What are you up to?”

“I’m actually about to go shower myself. I’ve just been sitting around since my therapy session earlier.”

“Oh yeah, how did it go? How are you feeling?”

We speak about my session, I disclose what I’ve been struggling with, and I fill him in about the nut that was stalking me. He was surprised about my situation, yet very empathetic. Having a stalker and going through this nightmare is not something I would typically share after just meeting someone, but I feel he deserves to know what he’s getting into. And if I’m being honest, he is not like a regular ‘someone’ and speaking to him, hearing his voice dripping with a protective tone makes me feel comfortable to share. There’s something about these men, including Namjoon, that makes me want to bare my soul to them, hiding nothing. I find comfort in the concern in his voice and answer any questions he has regarding the situation. 

“But enough about that.  How was the rest of your day?”

“It was good. I was able to get all of my business cards passed out, you know, leaving some on doors or in mailboxes, conversed with some potential clients, and even lined up some jobs.”

“Nice! That is a good day, indeed. How long have you been a landscaper?”

“Uh, not too long, actually. I left my executive position at a prominent company earlier this year. It just wasn’t for me anymore, you know?”

“Yeah, that makes sense. I’m glad you created an opportunity to leave,” I encourage him and find a chance to dig a little deeper. “Does your significant other support your decision?”

“Ha, that was smooth. Ummm, no…no she didn’t. We broke up a couple of years prior. She prioritized status, reputation, and money over my happiness and mental wellness.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“No, don’t be sorry. I’m not. Things between her and I hadn’t been good for a very long time. I think even me toying with the idea of changing my career was just the last straw, you know?”

“Absolutely, I get it.”

“So, Tia…what do you do?”

We speak a bit longer, getting the basic ‘get to know you’ questions out of the way before I admit that I’m wanting to see him. 

“I’m really enjoying talking to you. I can’t wait to see you again.”

“I’m enjoying talking to you as well. So, you know that I’m single. What about you? The men that are at your house, ummm…”

“Honestly, I don’t know if I’m single. I don’t feel single, but I also don’t feel like I’m not allowed to see other people. I guess it’s like an open relationship, but none of us have made anything official. We’re just kinda going with the flow of things. They are here now, I love them, we have sex, and I want them to stay. We haven’t talked about what this is just yet but I don’t mind answering any questions you may have, though. I like you, Namjoon, and I want you to know everything upfront before we go any further… IF you even want to go further. I mean, feel drawn to you and would love to see where things go but we come as a package deal. As I said before, I love talking to you and would like to see you again soon, but I understand if you need time to think this over.”

I know that this is a bold statement to make, seeing as I’ve only known these men for a short duration of time, but I feel it, deep within my soul that this thing is real. This supernatural connection between us is strong and the pull to these men feels like destiny. I take a deep breath awaiting his response, the short pause has me on edge and I find that I’m no longer breathing until he speaks again.

“I can be there in 45?”

With a huge, yet silent sigh I reply, “REALLY?! Are you sure? I mean, this is all so strange, even for me. I would completely understand if you think this is too much.”

Of course, some things never change, as I’m trying to give him an ‘out’ even though he’s making it known that he wants to try.

“It does seem unconventional, but I don’t think I’ve been more sure of anything in my entire life. This pull to you has surpassed me wanting you, I need you. I need to see you.”

“Okay! See you soon?”

“See you soon.”

After hanging up, I scramble up the stairs, falling up the last two.

“He’s coming! He’s coming over!”

I’m yelling out to the others and run into the bedroom to find Jungkook getting ready for work. Taehyung is sitting in the chair, which seems to be his favorite seat, talking to Jungkook and Jimin while carelessly browsing through his phone. Jungkook smiles at me, then starts to laugh, scrunching his nose in the cutest way. 

Taehyung laughs a similar amused laugh and whispers, “Cute.”

Jimin, standing in the doorway of the bathroom, takes me into his arms, halting my stride.

“Are you that excited, beautiful?”

“Yes, I am,” I say, not denying it, bouncing from excitement.

“What time is he coming?”

“Now,” I turn to answer Jungkook, Jimin now hugging me from behind. “He’s on his way but he lives 45 minutes away so I’ll still have time to shower.”

When I turn to look back up to Jimin, he brushes a few strands of hair from my forehead before placing a kiss there. My features are soft and relaxed, my eyes close lazily as his hands move down my face to gently pinch my cheeks. I mimic Jungkook’s nose scrunch, causing him to laugh then place a kiss on my lips. He then lets me go, guiding me past him and through the threshold of the bathroom by my wrist.

“Go get ready,” he says after smacking a firm hand to my ass.

“Yes, sir,” seductively drips from my lips, almost instinctively. The effect that simple statement has on Jimin is evident, from the way he bites his bottom lip to his eyes rolling back before closing shut.

When I begin to undress, all eyes immediately fall on me, which doesn’t make me nervous at all, but the butterflies in my stomach take flight anyway. Jungkook grabs his watch from the side table, and begins putting it on without looking down. Taehyung has turned to rest his chin on the arm of the chair, his arms dangling over the side, his phone swinging between the fingertips of his index finger and thumb. Jimin is still leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed against his chest while eyeing me hungrily. I continue to bare myself before ending the show by stepping into the shower, and the men continue with what they are doing. Before Jimin can walk too far away, I pop my head out and call out to him, “You coming?”

There is a darkness behind his eyes, as his smile spreads across his face, that I’ve not seen before but I’m determined to figure out what I need to do to see it again. When he is undressed, I open the door to invite him, AND the monster reaching up to his belly button, inside as steam billows out. The way his eyes examine every inch of me has me dripping in anticipation. As soon as he closes the door behind him, I pull him into me, receiving his warmth to my front to combat the heat from the water on my back. My arms hang lazily around his neck and his wrap around my back while we look into each other’s eyes.

“Are you intentionally trying me? You staring into my eyes like this just does something to me.”

“Something like what?”

He doesn’t have to say anything as his dick jumps against my stomach, the feeling igniting the burn in my belly. Tilting his head slightly and closing his eyes, Jimin takes my lips, pulling me tighter against his body and I allow my body to fall into him. This kiss is electrifying, sending chills from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet.

NAMJOON’S POV

Excitedly, I get dressed in casual house clothes. I had just gotten out of the shower and was getting ready for bed when she called. Unsure of what I should bring with me, I only grab my phone, wallet, and keys before setting out on this cool, night drive. 

Zooming down the interstate, I let the windows down to allow the wind to dry my still damp hair. Comfort fills my heart as I drive, the feeling of going home after being away for too long.

What’s funny is, I knew she wasn’t alone, even before she told me the guys were still there. I can’t explain it, but I could feel them...their presence. Is it weird that I don’t find it weird… the arrangement they have? Different, sure, but I don’t mind it. Me potentially being the fourth man in her life doesn’t bother me in the slightest, and with the way the others welcomed me earlier, it felt more inviting than basic hospitality.

I’m trying to stay under the speed limit but I can’t wait to get to her, to have her in my arms, and feel my lips on hers. It’s like I already know how they feel, how they taste, but I’m wanting more of the warmth I’ve never had. I’m imagining what she likes, her favorites…from food to candy, to movies, to music, to art, to sexual positions. How would she feel under the weight of me? Does she like it fast or slow? Can she handle all of me?

“Fuck.”

I really need to cool it and concentrate on the road instead of the different ways I’d like to contort Tia’s body into.

Taehyung’s POV

“Hey, how are you feeling? Did you get enough sleep today?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m good but I’ll grab an energy drink on my way. I’m glad this is my last night shift for a little while, though. I hate having to leave you guys,” Jungkook answers.

We chat comfortably for a bit as Jungkook gathers his things to leave.

“What do you have planned for the rest of the night? Tryna jump in with Jimin?”

I chuckle for a second before responding, “Nah… not tonight unless that’s what they want. I might watch, but I think Tia spending time with Jimin is important. Plus, Namjoon is on his way, so I may just chill with Jimin when he gets here, you know? Let them get acquainted.”

“This is crazy, isn’t it?” He looks at me with the brightest smile. “This thing we have with Tia, with each other…I never want to leave…Never want it to end.”

I know where he’s coming from and I feel the same way. Now that he mentions it, I think this may be the right time to ask about last night.

“So, I know we are all trying to figure out what we want this to be, but last night…”

“Yeah, things got a little heated, huh?” 

As if the thought hit him like a ton of bricks, he says, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry! Did I overstep, bro? I wasn’t thinking and just got caught in the moment. I never meant to make you feel uncomfortable, I just…”

“Jungkook…”

He stops his rambling, my voice pulling him out of his panic.

“...no, no, no. I didn’t feel uncomfortable and you didn’t overstep. It was amazing. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually. I feel a similar connection to you and Jimin as I do with Tia. Does this make us bisexual? Pansexual? I’ve never done anything like this before.”

I take in a full breath and hold it there as Jungkook stands to look into my eyes, inches away from my face.

“Why do we have to put a label on it? Can’t we just love each other and talk about what we’re down for? Where our boundaries are? Let’s just do what makes us happy, huh?”

Jungkook’s arm snakes around the small of my back, pulling me closer to place a kiss on my lips. Then he pulls away slightly to peer at me again, making sure I was okay with the sudden contact but also awaiting my response.

“Yeah, I like that idea. We should come up with a safe word, too.”

“That sounds like a plan. Let’s discuss it with the others… tomorrow?”

“Okay,” I reply as he’s slowly releasing me. He pecks my lips again, then disappears into the bathroom for a few minutes. When he returns, he’s cheesing like a cheshire cat which has already piqued my interest, but when he shakes his head and continues down the stairs. I HAVE to know what is going on in there so I take a seat in my favorite chair after adjusting the angle just right, so that I can sit and watch, just as they close the shower door behind them.

Jungkook’s POV

After we all leave Tia to speak to Namjoon on the phone, I unfortunately have to start getting ready for work. We all may as well be living here as we rarely leave, except for work, and our clothes and other items are slowly accumulating, Tia finding a specific place for our stuff to go. Several of my uniforms are hanging in one of the guest bedrooms down the hall from the main bedroom. I'm also noticing how Tia has begun speaking, using ‘ours’ and ‘we’ a lot more often. 

I love the idea of this, of us all being in one place, but none of our places are large enough to accommodate everyone. I’m thinking of having a conversation with Tia being that I don’t want to assume anything. I want to make sure I’m not doing too much by being around everyday or having my things here. Yes, she pulled out extra toothbrushes and necessities for us and doesn’t seem to mind, but I just want to make sure.

As I’m getting dressed, Taehyung and Jimin keep me company while giving Tia her privacy to converse with Namjoon downstairs. We chat comfortably, like we’ve known each other for years… decades, even. Seated on the edge of the bed, I’m buttoning my last button when Jimin steps over to turn down my collar. Mindlessly, I place a hand on his hip, looking up into his angelic face. He is beautiful and I must admit, I am kind of attracted to him. His tenderness and care for me warms me from the inside. He licks his pillowy soft lips as he’s adjusting the last bit before stepping back to lean on the doorframe of the bathroom. My heart skips a beat and I’m wondering what this feeling could be.  

I’m lost in my thoughts when we hear our clumsy love stumbling up the stairs. We know she’s not hurt when she hops up and rushes into the room. I can’t hide the amusement on my face, watching her, so excited and childlike. I’m also not surprised at the bruises that pop up on her skin, as she’s always falling or bumping into things. If I could put her in a bubble or carry her in my pocket at all times, I would.

I wonder how long it will take to get used to this feeling of calm. With me usually being the jealous type, it’s foreign to be able to watch the woman I love snuggle up in the arms of another man, with nothing but mellowness and adoration in my heart. In a perfect world, I would be able to stay home with them, but I have to go ‘protect and serve’. I’m curious as to how things will go between Tia and Namjoon but I’m sure the guys will fill me in. I watch Jimin disappear into the bathroom behind Tia before I gather my things for work. 

Taehyung stops me, mentioning what happened between us last night, and I can completely understand why. I felt comfortable enough with him and Tia to do things I’ve never done…never thought I’d do, and things were intoxicating. I’ve never had any sexual experiences with men, but it just felt right in the moment. Honestly, it feels like I’m in a relationship with all of them, not just Tia. There is definitely a conversation we need to have, but until then, I’ve decided that, instead of searching for a category or label to place on what we have, that I will go with the flow and float along in our happiness.

Kissing Taehyung has become almost second nature. While he is older than me, there is something about him that makes him appear small. Maybe it’s the feeling of his slim waist in my arms or the way his body molds onto mine. Is it the way he looks at me or the way he melts when our lips touch? I don’t know, but I love it. 

After tossing my backpack on, I go to say goodbye to Tia and Jimin. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to guess what those two are up to in the shower, I know they are having sex. But when I walk into the bathroom and see their movements in sync, their wet bodies caressing against each other, the way they hold onto each other as if their lives depended on how close they can get, portions of their figures hidden behind the steam that has formed on the glass shower… the vision is simply breathtaking. I wait for the moment they notice me there, not wanting to interrupt and not wanting them to stop.

“JK, is it time for you to go already?” Tia pulls away from Jimin, wiping the steam with the palm of her hand.

“Sadly, yes. I just wanted to tell you guys goodbye before I left. Sorry for interrupting.”

“No! You’re not interrupting. I would have been sad when we got out to find you’d gone without saying anything,” Jimin admits.

I step closer when Tia opens the door, letting clouds of steam, the scent of her vanilla body wash, and sex to escape. She steps out onto the bath mat, water traveling down her amber brown-colored, smooth skin to drip onto the floor. Fuck! If I wasn’t on duty, I would love to lick every droplet from her flesh. With my thumb, I brush a few beads of water from her now rosy cheek and kiss her there. Using the grip I have on her, I turn her head to the side, exposing her neck to me so that I can nibble and kiss my way from her lips to her chin, across her jaw, and down her throat. 

She moans and grasps the straps of my bag, and though I’m loving the way she’s squirming and pulling me closer as I suckle at her sensitive spots, I have to let her go after kissing her lips one more time. Jimin, now standing behind her, smiles the sweetest smile which causes me to want to give him the same treatment, but I refrain from doing so, for now. I reach out to cup his face instead, allowing him to rest into my palm, his eyes closing for a moment. With a gentle pinch to his cheek and just one more kiss for Tia, I say my goodbyes before leaving the room.

[your-queer-dad]

dad! I talked to the princapal and got the right name on some papers and also he said he’d talk to all the staff

later that day a different teacher came up to me and pulled me asided and asked me if she was the one who misgendered me she was really worried and said if she did she’s sorry and she asked if I was ok and stuff she’s alright sometimes I wish it was all the time

anyway back to the shitty teacher she’s just been avoiding me I think I haven’t heard her talk about me or to me the entire while

the principal said that none of this was on purpose but like bro she’s been screaming and misgendering and she’ll be super ableist and visibly homophobic not letting boys sit near eachother and saying how like boys can’t have stuffed animals and we’re to old for itshit whenever we’d bring toys to school but she lets the girls do it! and she’ll go on rants about how boys shouldn’t to this or be this etc and how girls can’t act like this blah blah blah and it’s like hell yeah she meant it the fuck

anyway she’s either lying to him or he’s covering for her either way this is annoying he kept trying to like idk smooth it over and it’s like dude I don’t need to be best friends with her just tell her to stop being a massive pile of shit

also I got my blood drawn and they kept deadnaming me and saying how oh well when you get your name legally changed then we can call you whatever you want. And it’s like sure but you could also call me my name right now motherfucker. My mom made a comment like only a couple more months because I’ll be turning eighteen soon and I called her out cause she does this thing where she pretends to be a good mom and a ally in public but actually she’s been keeping me from transitioning and she sent me terf books and called me a demon spawn and threatens me like all the time etc and then in the car after the appointment in the car I told her she’s making excuses for the nurses and they didn’t have to deadname me and then she got mad like really fucking mad and she went all quiet and started driving crazy like dangerous crazy she does that a lot and it’s a miracle she hasn’t gotten me in a car crash I’m at home now I know she’s not safe not just from the car thing just in general she’s violent and threatens a lot and she does this thing where when she gets mad she’ll grab the back of my neck real hard and drag me around like a damn rubber chicken I started walking behind her to avoid it so it hasn’t happened in a while but idk man everything really pisses me off this is all bullshit and I’m so sick of everyone just excusing it all you feel me also some girl at school keeps coming up behind me and squeezing my neck and it keeps fucking with me cause of what my mom does that girl keeps hitting on me to she won’t leave me alone and this always fucking happens dude she’s like threatening and making jokes about sexually assaulting me and I’m like bro??? The fuck?? My parents don’t care I’ll tell the principal if it gets worse but with the way he is he’ll probably be like oh she didn’t mean it she’s so young she was just joking try to be friends she’s just a little girl blah blah blah I hate how adults justify all this shit I just want someone to call it out or get mad on my behalf for once why won’t anybody ever defend me I’ve been dealing with this for eighteen years the same shit over and over from everyone I’m just a kid to and no one ever stepped in

Hey kiddo, I am so sorry you have all of that shit to deal with, that's awful. I'm really proud of you for telling the principal and that teacher came to check that they were being okay. How your mom treats you is awful and you don't deserve any of that. I am so sorry she has been doing that. You have so much awful things happening to you and it isn't fair, not at all.

- dad x

[moons-and-mobility-aids]

The Letters

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: You and Remus decide to write home and tell your families about your relationship Warnings: N/A Series Masterlist

The silence between you two is the kind that only comes with years of shared history, an understanding deeper than words. Remus sits across from you in your room, his eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight against the stone walls. His fingers trace idle patterns on the worn armrest of his chair, a subtle testament to the turmoil within him.

You've been avoiding this conversation for weeks now—ever since James told his parents about the unconventional love story unfolding among the four of you. The news had been received with surprising acceptance from the Potters, but then again, they'd always had a soft spot for strays and outliers, and what were they if not that?

Sirius's situation was different—more complicated. He hadn't officially disowned the Blacks yet, but he might as well have. They weren't likely to find out unless someone slipped up or decided to stir the pot. But there were still two letters left unwritten, two families left untold.

You and Remus both dread the weight of those quills in your hands, the blank parchment mocking you with its innocence. It's not fear that stops you; it's something else, harder to define—a reluctance to disrupt the status quo, perhaps, or maybe the knowledge that once said, some things cannot be unsaid.

But you can't avoid it forever, not when your mothers are so close. And why wouldn't they be? Friends forged in the crucible of worry and fear, then tempered by the warmth of shared hopes and dreams.

It was the summer before fourth year. You'd been rushed a muggle hospital because your condition had worsened beyond what was usual. When Remus found out, he insisted on visiting the moment he found out.

By the time Remus arrived, you were drifting in and out of consciousness, exhaustion seeping into your bones after nearly 48 hours without proper sleep. But you remember him sitting by your bedside, gripping your hand as if he could lend you his strength through that simple connection. Your mother watched from the doorway, her features drawn tight with worry until she saw the way Remus looked at you—not with fear or repulsion, but with deep, abiding care.

From there, it was only natural for your mothers to start talking. At first, it was just an exchange of pleasantries over shared books, then tentative discussions about life at home, and finally, confessions about their fears for you both. Hours passed, and before they knew it, their chairs were pulled closer together in the small hospital room, the space between them filled not just with shared worry but also with the comfort of newfound friendship.

Remus doesn't say anything, but then again, he doesn't need to. His silence speaks volumes, more eloquent than any words could ever be. His fingers trace absent patterns on the bedsheet, every line and curve an echo of the thoughts churning within him. His gaze is fixed somewhere beyond the stone walls of your room, his expression caught somewhere between thoughtfulness and concern.

You know what he's thinking about because it’s the same thing you've been avoiding too—the letters left unwritten, the truth yet untold.

"Our parents," he begins, his voice barely above a whisper, "they deserve to know."

"I know they do," you admit, though the very thought makes your stomach churn. It isn't fear of their reaction that holds you back; it's something else entirely—a reluctance to disrupt the status quo, perhaps, or maybe the knowledge that once said, some things cannot be unsaid.

"Then why haven’t we told them?" There's no accusation in Remus's question, only a shared sense of unease. "We can't keep hiding forever."

"Who said anything about hiding?" you counter, your voice barely a whisper. "It's not like we're ashamed or anything."

Remus nods. "I know," he says softly. "But it feels... dishonest, doesn't it? To keep them in the dark when they've always been there for us."

Your gaze falls to your hands, fingers tracing patterns on the worn quilt beneath you—a testament to years of comfort, much like the support you’ve received from your parents. They’ve always stood by you, even when the world seemed determined to knock you down.

"They have," you concede. The fabric beneath your fingertips feels rough and familiar, an anchor amidst the storm of thoughts raging within. "And I think—I hope—they'll understand. It’s just..." You trail off, unable to put into words the vulnerability that comes with baring your soul, even to those who love you unconditionally.

"It's daunting," Remus finishes for you, his hand coming to rest atop yours, grounding and warm. "I feel it too."

You glance up at him, finding solace in the understanding reflected in his eyes. You don’t need to explain; he knows. He understands the fear that accompanies such revelations—the worry that something so intrinsic to your happiness could be met with confusion or, worse, disapproval.

"But it's our truth," you say, more to yourself than to him. "And if anyone can handle it—it's them."

A sigh escapes you, carrying with it some of the tension coiled tight within your chest. You imagine your mother’s face as she reads your letter, her brows furrowing in concern before giving way to comprehension. She will read each word carefully, absorbing the meaning behind them, weaving together the threads of this new reality.

"And what about my mum?" Remus asks, voicing the question that has hung heavy between you both. “She’ll call your mum straight away—you know how they are.”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, despite the gravity of the situation. “They’re a nightmare.”

You picture their conversation, a shared dance of worry and reassurance. Your mothers will dissect every sentence, parse every phrase for hidden meanings. And then, once the shock wears off, they will marvel at the extraordinary nature of it all—four hearts entwined in a bond stronger than most understand.

"Maybe," Remus murmurs, breaking the silence that has settled over your room like a blanket of snow, "maybe they've known all along."

You turn to look at him, eyebrows raised in question. "Known what?"

"That there's...more." His words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken truths. "My mum, she's been asking me about you—for years, really. She kept telling me I should ask you out."

A laugh bubbles up from your chest, surprising both of you. The idea is almost absurd—not because of any lack on either part, but because of the intensity of everything else. "Even after you started dating Sirius and James?"

Remus nods, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Especially then. She said it didn't change anything—that if anything, it made more sense."

"You're kidding."

"I wish I was." He chuckles softly, shaking his head. "She just...she saw something. Between us. Something neither of us wanted to admit."

Your heart skips a beat, and you can't help but mirror his smile. Of course Mrs. Lupin would have noticed—the subtleties of connection are not lost on her keen eyes. And while you've always adored her for her warmth and understanding, this revelation adds another dimension to your fondness: admiration for her insight.

"But we were friends," you say, though the words sound hollow even to your own ears. "I know I didn't want to ruin that."

"No," he agrees, "me neither, it was only because James and Sirius got the guts that we’re here now."

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she's thrilled," Remus says, and you can't help but laugh—a soft, nervous sound that does little to ease the tension knotted in your stomach. "She’ll probably send a howler just to tell us ‘I told you so.’"

"Sounds about right." You manage a small smile, picturing Mrs. Lupin's face alight with triumph.

"But still—" You hesitate, unsure how to voice the unease creeping along the edges of your resolve. It’s not fear, exactly—more like the trepidation of stepping off solid ground into unknown depths, knowing once you plunge, there’s no going back.

"This is it, isn’t it?" you say at last, meeting his gaze. "Once we send these letters..."

"It becomes real," he finishes for you, understanding etched into the lines of his face.

You nod, swallowing past the lump forming in your throat. Real. That word again—the one you've been grappling with ever since this all began. But now, faced with the certainty of what comes next, it takes on a weightiness that leaves you breathless.

"The question is," you begin, tracing the edge of your parchment with a trembling finger, "how do we explain it? How do we make them see what we’ve only just started to understand ourselves?"

Remus leans back, running a hand through his hair as he considers your words. "We start from the beginning," he suggests gently. "How it was always more than friendship between us—even when we didn’t realise it."

You chew on your bottom lip, mulling over his proposal. "And then we tell them about the rest."

"I won’t tell my mother everything, but I will confess that my relationship with James and Sirius kind of started because we all fancied you." His eyes meet yours again, steady and reassuring. "It's the truth. And I think my parents deserve to know."

There's a pause as you both sit with the gravity of what lies ahead, the air thick with unsaid fears and hopes. It feels strange, trying to put into words something that has become such an integral part of who you are—something that feels as natural as breathing yet defies conventional explanation.

"What if they don't understand?" The question slips out before you can stop it, revealing the undercurrent of anxiety you've tried so hard to keep at bay.

"You mean my parents or..."

"Yours too, yeah," you admit, glancing down at your hands. "But I'm thinking about my own. She loves me, I know that. But this..." You trail off, uncertain how to express the complexity of the emotions churning within you. This isn't just about love—it's about acceptance, understanding, even celebration of a relationship that might challenge everything she thought she knew.

"Let’s begin," you say, and together, you take up your quills. The parchment beneath your fingers is smooth, unblemished—a blank canvas waiting to bear the truth of your hearts.

The room falls silent save for the soft scratch of quill against parchment. It's a familiar sound, one that has marked countless hours of study and reflection, but never before has it carried such weight. With each stroke, each careful curve and line, you etch your feelings onto paper, turning abstract thought into tangible words.

This is real, a voice whispers in the back of your mind, echoing your earlier sentiment. You can't help but glance over at Remus, his brow furrowed in concentration as he pens his own letter. His presence beside you is comforting, grounding—another reminder that whatever lies ahead, you won't face it alone.

You return your focus to the task at hand, taking a deep breath before letting your pen move across the page once more. There's an odd sort of peace here, in this quiet cocoon where nothing else exists but the rhythm of your thoughts and the steady hum of creation.

It feels like forever and no time at all when you finally lift your quill, blinking at the neatly written paragraphs sprawled across the page. Each word is a testament to your journey—the confusion, the discovery, the joy—and though they're just ink on parchment, they hold a power far greater than their humble form suggests.

A soft sigh escapes your lips as you read over your letter, pausing every so often to let the reality of what you've written sink in. This isn't just your story anymore; it's about to become part of someone else's world, too.

Your gaze flickers to Remus again, finding him still engrossed in his writing. A soft smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you watch him, marveling at the strength in his steady hand, the determination etched into his features. He is resilience personified, a beacon of hope amidst uncertainty, and you feel a surge of gratitude for his unwavering support.

"Almost done," he murmurs without looking up, as if sensing your attention on him. His voice cuts through the silence, low and reassuring, anchoring you to the moment.

"Me too."

There's a finality to those two words, an acknowledgement of the precipice you now stand upon. But instead of fear, you feel a strange sense of calm washing over you, slowing your racing heart and steadying your trembling hands. This is right, you realize. No matter what comes next, this is the path you were meant to walk—together.

As you fold your completed letters, sealing them with wax, there's a shared understanding between you. These aren’t just pieces of parchment; they’re bridges to your pasts, lifelines connecting who you were to who you are becoming. And regardless of how they’re received, they represent a crucial step toward acceptance—not just from others, but from yourselves.

There's no turning back now. The ink has dried, the seals have been set, and the truth of your hearts lies bare on parchment. All that remains is to send them off and wait—for understanding or judgement, acceptance or rejection.

But even as the reality of what you've done settles around you like a cloak, there’s a sense of rightness to it all. This isn't just about revelation; it's about liberation. For too long, you’ve let others write your narratives. Now, finally, you’re reclaiming your stories, offering up your truths not as apologies but as affirmations.

[harocat]

5, Hualian

Hello. There is a cat AGAIN. CW for animal death I guess, because it's a ghost cat, but it is being loved and cherished and there's no details.

----

Hua Cheng could never begrudge Xie Lian’s kindness. It was one of the things he adored about him, that he found so special. Among all the gods in the realm of heaven, in Hua Cheng’s opinion, only Xie Lian was good enough to deserve to watch over the prayers of the common people. 

But lately, and he’d never admit this to Xie Lian, lest the other man think he’d done something wrong, which he hadn't, Xie Lian’s kindness had come at a disadvantage. 

It had only been a couple weeks since Xie Lian had come back to Paradise Manor with the tiny black and white cat in his arms. It wasn’t a normal cat, but a ghost cat that had wandered to the entrance of Ghost City. Xie Lian had found him on the way back from a meeting with the heavenly court. Hua Cheng did not know what had befallen a friendly domestic cat that would cause it to return as a wandering soul, nor was he sure he wanted to know, but Xie Lian had not been able to resist its plaintive mews. 

And so now the cat, a little girl Xie Lian had named Jiahao, had free reign of Paradise Manor. The truth was, Hua Cheng was actually very happy Xie Lian had felt comfortable enough to bring the cat home without even asking beforehand. It showed he viewed Hua Cheng’s home as just as much his home, and that he fully understood, believed, and accepted that everything that belonged to Hua Cheng also belonged to him. He knew the Xie Lian he had met again years before would not have been able to do that. 

Xie Lian doted on the creature. She was a ghost cat, he reasoned, so she could eat whatever she wanted and it wouldn’t matter. This meant that if the cat asked for it, she got it. This was also fine. Hua Cheng wanted him to be happy. He would just get more food if they ran out. 

The bigger problem was that the cat clung to him like a particularly stubborn shadow. There was no time at which the cat wasn’t by Xie Lian’s side. He couldn’t even take a bath without Jiahao coming in and reaching in to playfully splash the surface. She slept with him, she ate with him, she bathed with him, she relaxed with him, and she even went out with him, walking alongside him dutifully. He imagined if E-ming had been a cat, it might act a little bit like Jiahao (though Jiahao, to her credit, was much quieter and mellower). 

In short, Hua Cheng missed Xie Lian. He missed having his full attention and cuddling with him and Xie Lian only having eyes for him, and he also missed sex, because it was hard to have sex when there was a cat in bed with you. And he was trying to be patient, because the cat made him happy, and Xie Lian’s happiness was tantamount to everything, but it was becoming difficult.

Was he jealous of a cat? Yes. A ghost cat, even, but as he himself was a ghost, he supposed that was irrelevant.

Xie Lian, to his credit, did finally notice. It had been Hua Cheng’s fault; he’d accidentally dropped his nonchalant front and scowled when Jiahao got with them one night. The cat licked both of them on the nose (she was sweet, he couldn’t deny), then nuzzled up to Xie Lian, coaxing him to open his arms so she could snuggle in them.

The scowl was, he imagined, quite dramatic. His brows were furrowed and his lips were drawn, and to anyone else, it might be frightening to have Crimson Rain Sought Flower looking at them that way (though to be fair, he was looking at the cat, not Xie Lian). 

Xie Lian froze, and concern crossed his features. “San Lang, what’s wrong?” he asked. He was still petting the cat, but he did reach over and press his other palm to Hua Cheng’s cheek. 

“Nothing, gege.” He shook his head. “I think I’m just tired.”

Xie Lian frowned. “San Lang, you rarely get tired. Please tell me what’s wrong.” 

“We haven’t had sex for two weeks,” Hua Cheng managed after a few moments of silence. That is not what he’d meant to say. 

The other man burst out into peals of laughter, and Hua Cheng thought, as always, that it was beautiful. “Why didn’t you just say something?”

He continued, despite his embarrassment. “Well, that cat is always here. I know you love that cat, but gege… it feels like you give her so much attention and…”

Xie Lian gasped. “Sang Lang, are you jealous of Jiahao?” There was a playful edge to his voice. 

Hua Cheng sighed. Jiahao meowed. 

“I just miss spending time with you alone.”

“You miss having my eyes on just you.” Xie Lian smiled, and he placed his other hand on Hua Cheng’s cheek as well, then squeezed. “I’m sorry. You give me so much, and in return I made my San Lang feel unloved.” 

“You’ve given me more than enough.”

Xie Lian shook his head. “Poor Jiahao. She’s a lonely ghost who has clearly been through so much, and she just wants to stay by the side of someone who loves her.” He glanced down at the cat, who had already dozed off. “Maybe I like her so much because she reminds me of someone else.” 

Hua Cheng’s mouth dropped open, and then he pursed his lips. “Gege…” 

“But I hate that you’ve felt neglected, San Lang,” he continued. “I’ll try to be more conscious of this so I can take proper care of both of you.” 

The other man shook his head. “Jiahao makes you happy. I’m glad you brought her back, gege.” 

“Mhmmm,” Xie Lian replied, “but I don’t want any of my happiness to come at my San Lang’s expense. We’re married. We exist to make each other happy. It goes both ways.”

Hua Cheng nodded, then after a few seconds, spoke up again. “Can we have Yin Yu take her some nights?” 

Xie Lian laughed again, beautiful. “Yes, and we can do whatever San Lang wants on those nights.” 

“What about tonight?” he asked, and he leaned forward, attempting to ignore the cat between them so he could whisper in his husband’s ear. Xie Lian pressed a playful kiss to Hua Cheng’s cheek, interrupting his attempt at seduction.

“Not tonight. I’m not moving Jiahao when she’s already fallen asleep.” 

Hua Cheng would have to look forward to tomorrow, but, he thought, that was fine. They had endless tomorrows. 

[callmewrinkles3]

Charlie

December 2022

Em really didn’t want to be out. She was constantly tired and still felt stressed, but Blake insisted. Her cast was off and she’d finished physical therapy so “cmon Timmy, the two of you are coming out for dinner and drinks.”

So she did what he told her and got dressed, the three of them sitting at a table and chatting. It was good food and relaxing and she actually enjoyed herself. Dan spotted where Blake’s attention was being drawn, a woman standing at the bar turning down a guy. She’d glanced over at Blake a few times but kept looking away.

“Have a crush, Blake?” He asked and their friend shook his head and pushed his glasses up.

“She’s cute. But you know me.” Em looked at him and stood while pointing at their glasses.

“Same again?”

“Yeah, please.”

Going up for drinks was just the first excuse that Em could find to go up to the bar and stand beside the pretty brunette Blake kept making eyes at. She’d deal with him being annoyed at her later, her friend deserved some happiness for once. As much as he tried to hide it she could hear the sadness when he said “you know me”. He’d put his personal life on the back burner for them.

It wasn’t that Blake didn’t want to meet anyone and settle down and be happy, but he didn’t have time. And it was entirely because of her and Dan. The thin walls between her old apartment and his worked both ways and she knew he’d stopped bringing anyone home over lockdown and never did again. Between how 2021 started, the mess of that year and how it ended, and the hell that had been 2022 he didn’t stand a chance. Instead he kept an eye on them, half brother, half parent, all Blake.

Officially his job was to be Dan’s manager but after everything he became a professional third wheel to make sure they were ok. He’d spent the last year keeping his barely functioning best friends going and ignored his own happiness. So for once Em - helped by the g&ts she’d drank already - was ignoring how shy she could be and telling the girl that Blake was interested if she was too. Em couldn’t even remember the last time she’d seen Blake’s eyes light up at seeing someone. It’d be worth his annoyance to make him happy. He’d put her happiness first, it was her turn to do that for him.

“Can I get a gin and tonic, a Jack and Coke, and another pint please? And whatever her next drink is too? Thanks so much.” Em pointed to the girl beside her as she ordered once she’d stepped into a free spot before turning and holding her hand out. “Hey, I’m Em.”

She saw the surprise on the woman’s face the second Em introduced herself. If someone ever did that to Em in a bar one night she’d probably run away, and definitely run back to Dan, but the woman didn’t. She had skinny jeans and converse on with a tank top and a flannel shirt over it. The woman stood there with her nearly empty glass for a second before speaking.”

“Hi. I’m Charlotte. Can I help you?”

“This sounds insane, but yeah, you can. I mean not exactly me but my friend. See the cute one over there with glasses? His name is Blake. He thinks you’re cute.” Charlotte glanced over and back carefully, but Em saw the “oh fuck” expression on Blake’s face.

“He does?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry about his face, he’s mad at me for telling you because he wasn’t going to say anything. But I promise, he’s a sunshine. The sweetest man in the universe after my husband. So I figured if you think he’s cute you can come sit with us and say hi. And if you don’t that’s fine, enjoy the drink. We won’t bother you.”

“You actually want me to say hi to someone at Daniel Ricciardo’s table? Really?”

“Sometimes I forget my h-boyfriend is a celebrity. But seriously, don’t think of him like that. Dan’s a regular guy, and Blake’s even more normal. So if you feel like it come say hi?” The drinks were out down beside her and Em tapped her card on the machine to pay. “I haven’t touched your drink, it’s all yours. It was really nice to talk to you, Charlotte.”

Em walked away from the bar barely balancing the three glasses in her hands, dropping them down on the table in front of her two favourite men barely spilling a drop. Her favourite part about getting back was how their jaws dropped slightly. She was never the one who did those things. She was the introvert, the one who hated talking to people. Especially talking to strangers. But three gin and tonics and a margarita meant she wasn’t thinking about how uncomfortable it was to talk to people. All she was thinking about was Blake being happy, even if it was just for one night.

“What did you just do?” Blake asked, staring at her as if she was an alien and not one of his best friends and his adopted sister.

“You mean to say “thank you”, right Blakey?”

“Where’s my sweet baby girl and what have you done with her?” Dan joked, trying to keep it together and not burst out laughing at what his wife had done.

“What did you tell her?” Blake sounded frantic so Em took pity on him.

“That my very sweet, handsome bestie thinks she’s cute. And then I paid for her drink and told her to come say hi if she thinks you’re cute too. She’d just said no to that other guy and I saw her checking you out, so I think she’ll come over. You’re welcome in advance.” Em took a sip of her drink. “When you get married I get dibs on maid of honour duties and to be godmother for your first child.” She shrugged and scooted closer into Dan. It was the least her thing she had ever done, but she owed it to Blake.

“You’re never gonna drink again. Ever.” She wanted to laugh as she watched Blake blush even harder, but she didn’t want to make things worse. Instead she smiled and snuggled into Dan as he wrapped an arm around her. “Seriously. I’m never letting you drink again.

“And you’ve never seen her when she starts drinking rose. That’s when she really says the weird stuff.”

“Dan!”

“You know it’s true!”

“Weirdos,” Blake murmured under his breath and Em could see how he was beginning to regret not only coming up with the idea to go out that night, but for Em to start drinking again after a few months off alcohol.

“I might be a weirdo, but I’ll have you know Charlotte’s looking over here.” She could see how Charlotte was trying to act normal while looking at their table and checking out their friend. It was a small smile half hidden behind a glass that she was trying to finish for some extra courage. It was the table where hometown hero Daniel Ricciardo was sitting with his girl and his best friend.

“She told you her name and you weren’t even going to tell me? Seriously, Timmy?”

“Oops?”

“Sometimes you’re so annoy-shit she’s coming over.”

If Blake’s cheeks were read before, his entire face may as well have been an apple. Em couldn’t remember seeing him so nervous I’m all the years she’d known him. He was always the composed one, especially at work, so seeing him blushing like a school kid with his first crush was the most adorable thing in the world.

“Hey, Charlotte, you joined us!” Em welcomed her happily, gesturing to the free seat beside Blake when she saw her standing next to their table.

“Is that alright?”

“I invited you over for a reason, right?” She smiled and gave a wink to make the other woman feel welcome and able to relax, even if for a moment. “Introductions, this is my h-boyfriend, Dan. Ignore if he tries to impress you and be fancy.”

“Nice to meet you, don’t believe a word Em says about me.” Dan held his hand out to shake like the polite man he was.

“And this is my best friend, Blake Friend. Yes it’s his actual name, and yes I tell him regularly it’s ridiculous. Blakey, this is Charlotte.”

“Hi. Call me Charlie, Charlotte is for strangers or when my parents want to ask something. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hey Charlie, it’s nice to meet you too.” Blake smiled and offered his hand for her to grab like Dan had, but it was nothing like when Dan introduced himself to Charlie. Em could nearly see the sparks. This was the night she’d met Dan for her best friend and this new girl, she knew it.

“I need some air. Come out with me, Love?” She whispered to Dan and grabbed his hand to give the other two some privacy.

“What’s that for?” He asked when they got to a dark corner across the bar.

“Give them some privacy.” She leaned against Dan and gave him a kiss, hoping that it was going as well as it looked for the two.

[nebulablakemurphy]

Through Love And By Love (Pt. 3)

Draco Malfoy x fem!OC

Summary: Twenty-Two years ago, Draco Malfoy used the imperius curse to slow Voldemort’s rise to power. No good deed goes unpunished. Warning: this series contains mature subject matter surrounding use of the imperius curse, reader discretion advised.

Part 1 | Part 2

Draco makes the proper modifications to the obliviate charm. It won't completely alter Rosanna's memories, it will only suppress the ones where he is present. When everything is sorted, he'll be able to give them back.

Seems simple enough, and once it's done, it's done. The imperius curse however is more difficult. When Draco casts it, he has to mean it. If he half asses the spell or lets his feelings get in the way, not only will it not work; but the effects it will have on Rosanna's mind...he wants to avoid at all costs.

The duration of the curse is also up in the air, could be weeks, could be months, could be years. All the while he'll be commanding this shell of the girl he loves.

'I control you.' Draco repeats the mantra in his head, every night before bed, willing himself to mean it.

When the time finally comes, he's standing in front of Rosanna as she's sound asleep, with his wand drawn. 'She doesn't remember', Draco tells himself. 'This isn't your Rosanna, it only looks like her. You can do this, you have to.' "Imperio." Draco says, with conviction.

Nothing happens, because he hasn't given a direction. 'Wake up', he wills her. And so she does.

It takes him a few tries to get into a routine, he doesn't have to think each specific step. She still has a brain after all. He only has to think of the desired out come. For example, 'get dressed and follow me', is one simple order instead of several smaller ones.

————————————————————————

After a few weeks of having her at Malfoy manner Draco begins experimenting with more complex demands such as, 'tell me what you think.' Or, 'act like you care for me.'

For a time he can almost forget that it's all a lie. Draco sees her in the room of requirement, how she was, how she loved him. If he ignores the small discrepancies, it’s bearable.

Malfoy manor is under lock and key, however that doesn’t stop an owl from arriving, carrying a parcel with the last will and testament of Albus Dumbledore. Along with Ron, Harry and Hermione; Rosanna is a beneficiary.

‘To Rosanna Marie McVay, I leave my mirror. May you always remember who you are.’

A long ragged shard of an old broken mirror. Draco wants to get rid of it, because even the words seem to taunt, like a cruel joke. But perhaps it means something to her that he cannot comprehend. And so he files it away in his chest of drawers for safe keeping.

It takes about three months before Narcissa runs her wand over Rosanna; and finally it glows. She's expecting.

"Well done, Draco." Lucius says, putting a hand on his shoulder. He’s out of Azkaban, still he isn’t the same man he was before going in.

Draco shrugs him off, they haven’t spoken more than a few words to each other since his return.

"You should let the dark lord know, tonight." Narcissa tells her son gingerly, "he'll be pleased."

"Shouldn't we wait a while? Just to be sure." Draco is still in denial, everything's happened too fast.

"Don't be ridiculous." Lucius insists. Voldemort has been breathing down their necks for weeks.

"What about Rosanna's parents?" Draco asks. "Surely Archer and Dixie deserve to know they're expecting a grandchild."

"Draco...you must understand, we could hardly have them looking for her." Narcissa cuts in.

"What've you done to them?" He spits, angrily.

"Relax Draco, 'twas a simple memory spell. They're on holiday." Lucius informs him.

"Where?" Draco's jaw ticks.

"Just off the coast of France, it's a lovely villa. All expenses paid." His mother brushes a spec of lint from his shoulder.

"If you ever do anything to hurt her or her family-"

"Draco, darling," Narcissa stops him. "We're on the same side. We are protecting Rosanna, we are protecting her parents."

"Could've fooled me." Draco disagrees.

"Mind yourself." Lucius snaps.

"Did it ever occur to you, that perhaps forcing us to have a child was not, in fact, in our best interest? That it might, instead, be detrimental to Rosanna, who hasn't had a proper chance to finish her education? Or the fact that she is brilliant and deserves every opportunity in this world? Do you ever consider the fact you took all that away from her?" Draco is gutted, he's afraid, he is alone.

"No one’s taken a thing from her. We've given her a wealth of opportunity. Is the situation ideal? Of course not. But son, you must know, when this is over; after serving the dark lord, she can have the best tutors. If she wants to continue her studies, she will do just that. Any avenue that Rosanna wishes to venture will be readily available to her. As for you, you will want for nothing Draco. Just as you always have. You can marry, live a long and happy life here in the manor." Lucius doesn't understand, it should be an honor to both of them to restore the Malfoy name to grace.

"What about the baby?" Draco runs a hand through his hair.

"He will have the world as his finger tips, darling." Narcissa coos. "A strong Malfoy boy, a son. You will raise him right, just like you were raised. "

"So you're no longer concerned with her lack of pure blood?" The boy scoffs.

“Draco, you are my son. I care for you a great deal, I want the best for you; always. All will be right once this baby is born. Open your eyes, see it." Lucius says, in closing.

Draco can't see it, but he does see Rosanna's belly grow over the next five months. 'Be happy,' is his only requirement of her.

She has a proper bump now. After she's gone to sleep, Draco keeps his hand on her stomach. Finally feeling his son stir beneath his fingers.

He attempts to choke down the lump in his throat, but he can't. Tears slipping onto his pillow as his shoulders heave with sobs. He can't do this alone.

Rosanna gasps, springing up into a sitting position. The pleasant, floating, out of body feeling she's become accustomed to is gone. Leaving behind a terrible migraine in it's wake. "Fuck." She complains, clutching her head between her hands.

"Lie down, love." Draco tells her, without much thought.

"No, my head-" Rosanna argues, "something's wrong."

He can tell, she's not listening to him anymore.

An imperius curse can be broken, but only through extreme force of will. Few people have ever done so.

"Please, do something." Rosanna reaches for him with trembling hands. She can't recall more than a passing glance shared between them at Hogwarts, but she can remember the passed months with him here. How kind he was, patient, gentle; the way one might treat a very dear friend.

"Let me look at you." Draco insists, holding his hands on either side of her face. "You're bleeding, Ro."

Blood trickles from her left nostril. Upon truly seeing him, something within her scream. There's something right there, just beneath the surface that she can't seem to grasp, but she wants to. The harder she reaches for it, the harder her head throbs in protest.

Draco knows what he has to do, the bleeding is getting worse. Her mind has been tampered with for too long, these kind of spells aren't meant to last forever. He has to give her memories back.

When he does, the blood from her nose slows significantly. Dashing to the bathroom he retrieves a hand towel, holding it beneath her nose. Massaging her temples as she keeps the towel in place.

"Rosanna," Draco says, after a long moment.

"Are you ok?" She asks.

"Me? I should be asking you." He chuckles, he doesn't know if the spell worked. He doesn't know if she remembers, or if things were lost in translation.

"I heard you crying," she explains. "I knew I had to get up. I couldn't at first, but I just kept telling myself, you have to wake up Ro, you have to wake up.”

"An imperius curse is nearly impossible to break." Draco remarks, brushing wayward hairs from Rosanna's face. "I should have known, nearly impossible is no object for you."

"Of course not." Rosanna shrugs, teasingly.

Draco knows she's never thought of herself as anything special, clearly she is; she always has been.

"You should try to rest." He encourages.

"Yeah," She agrees, moving to lie down in the bed they've shared for months. However, this being the first time it's truly them.

They face each other on top of the dark satin sheets, their hands clasped between them. Content to simply stare into the others eyes for the rest of eternity.

"Did you miss me?" Rosanna whispers, after a long while.

"Every second." Draco confesses, in the same hushed tone.

————————————————————————-

The next few weeks are spent finding their new normal. Another adjustment, from the kids at Hogwarts, to the imperiused puppet and master, to now pregnant Rosanna and overprotective Draco.

Narcissa and Lucius can see that something is different about her, in comparison to the girl who'd arrived there all those months ago. Writing it off to hormones and never pressing the issue.

The news that Voldemort has finally requested Rosanna attend a death eater’s meeting doesn't come as a surprise to any of them. It has only ever been a question of when.

Narcissa offers to get Ro up to snuff. Draco is wary of leaving them alone together, but Rosanna assures him that she's fine. So eventually he leaves to ready himself for the evening.

"You're a beautiful girl." Narcissa remarks, running her brush through Rosanna's long strawberry blonde hair.

She sits in front of Narcissa's lavish vanity, staring blankly into the mirror as the older woman stands behind her. Rosanna doesn't look like herself, painted in dark makeup and zipped into a perfectly tapered midnight blue silken dress.

"A perfect match for my Draco." She goes on. "Any thoughts on a name for the baby?”

"Not yet." Rosanna forces a smile.

"Draco is named after a constellation; just something to think about." Narcissa knows full well that right now, she's the closest thing the girl has to a mother.

"I don't really know anything about having a baby." Rosanna thought she'd have more time to learn, when she was older, when she was ready.

"It's perfectly normal to be nervous. After all, being a mother is the most important undertaking a woman has. All Draco's life I have spoiled him, but there are things money can not buy. Namely love; your love." Narcissa moves her hair lightly into place.

Rosanna twists her hands in her lap, "Draco keeps telling me I'll be a good mother, but how does he know? I'm going to disappoint him if I don't know what to do the second that sucker is slapped into my arms."

"You'll have help," Narcissa assures her, "a nanny if you'd like."

"No, I don't want a nanny." Rosanna shakes her head.

"Draco-" Narcissa greets when she spots him.

Rosanna turns to him, blonde hair styled into an elegant updo. Makeup done to perfection, a deep red gloss that makes her full lips look truly sinful.

"Give us a moment, mother." Draco stammers at the sight of her.

Narcissa gives a tight lipped grin as she leaves the room.

Ro runs her hands over her dress as she stands.

Draco approaches her, his face a mask of indifference. And for a second, Rosanna actually wonders if he's mad. "I would not change one cell in your body, nor hair on your head. You are easily the best thing that's ever happened to me. You could never disappoint me, I need you to know that. If you're having trouble with something, never hesitate to come to me."

"You gotta stop ease-dropping." Rosanna chastises, draping her arms around him, stroking lovingly at the soft hair on the nape of his neck.

"About tonight," he changes the subject. "We're meant to be guests of honor. You know who sits head of the table, we will sit immediately to his right. Traditionally, I would be seated aside of him, because I'm the male."

"Damn it." Rosanna shakes her head. "He's sexist too?"

Draco chortles, "As I was saying, you'll be next to him. Be calm, steady; I'll be right there with you. Across the table is a seat reserved for Snape, if he shows up. He shouldn’t try to talk to you, none of them will. If they do, keep it short and simple. You're honored to be there. I know you're a decent liar, you can pull this off."

"So what happens at these meetings?" Ro asks, nervously.

"Not much, we cover any news about Potter. While we're on the subject, it's imperative to remember, the dark lord knows you and Harry were friends. When he accessed Potter's mind and memories, you were there. Don't lie about it if he asks." Draco smooths a hand along her back.

"Ok." She nods.

"He'll give assignments, if need be and tie up any loose ends. It's all straight forward really." He puts her mind at ease.

The moment they enter the dining room, everything Draco had promised is out the window; because there's a woman, suspended midair near the archway. They recognize her as one of the professors from Hogwarts. Muggle studies wasn't a class either of them had taken, they don’t really know Ms. Charity Burbage, but they'd seen each other plenty in passing.

"Breathe," Draco whispers, "just keep breathing." His hand is at the small of her back, guiding her toward their seats.

Voldemort's mouth twists into a demented grin. "Well, if it isn't the young Mr. Malfoy and his beloved Rosanna. What a pleasure it is, to finally meet you." He purrs. "Come, join me." Voldemort motions to the seats aside of him.

"Thank you for having me," Rosanna smiles as Draco pulls out the chair for her, waiting until she sits before pushing her in.

"Of course, dear one." He eyes her belly. "As I'm sure you all know, a congratulations is in order for our friends. They are to have a son, bringing them one step closer to fulfilling their destiny."

All eyes at the table are fixed on them. Rosanna isn't sure if they're meant to speak or not. So she simply nods, crossing her legs beneath the table. Draco's left hand stretches over, searching for hers. She twines their fingers together, resting their hands in her lap.

Severus arrives a few moments after the meeting has officially started. Joining them at the table, giving Draco and Rosanna a once over as he takes his seat.

He sees them third year, in detention for fraternizing after hours. He sees them fourth year, dancing the night away at the ball. He sees them fifth year, tested and divided by circumstance. He sees them sixth year, leaving together the night he'd killed Albus.

He sees their then faces, he sees their now faces; still just children, but stripped of their innocence.

When Rosanna is excused, she rushes up the stairs to their bedroom.

Draco stays with his parents to see the others out. "She's not been feeling well, terrible morning sickness." He explains, "I better go check on her." Draco closes the door behind last of the death eaters before venturing up the staircase.

He finds her, dry heaving over the sink, mascara stained teardrops falling against the porcelain. Draco knows what a panic attack looks like, from personal experience.

"Alright sweetheart, you're alright." He wets a rag with cool water from the tap, lying it on the over heated skin at the back of her neck.

"I can't breathe," Rosanna sobs, fingers twisting against the edge of the sink basin. She needs to be sick, she needs to breath, she needs to lie down, she needs to scream.

"Try, try for me." Draco murmurs, his lips at her temple. "Take a deep breath in."

She does try, but suddenly her dress is too tight, suffocating her. "Get it off, get it off me." Rosanna chokes out, clawing at the zipper behind her, but her fingers won't cooperate.

Draco moves her trembling hands aside, using his own to ease the zipper down her back. The material pooling at her feet, but it doesn't help.

All she can think about is the woman from the parlor, dropping lifeless onto the dinner table and served as a meal to Nagini.

"I'm so sorry, Ro. You have to believe me, I had no idea that was going to happen. You were never supposed to see that. It was to be a normal meeting, just as I said. I didn't know." Draco apologizes fiercely, pressing desperate kisses to her shaking shoulders.

Her breaths come in short gasps, resting her head against the cool surface of the mirror. "It's not your fault." Rosanna shakes her head. The child in her womb stirs wildly, seemingly sensing her distress. She places a hand over her belly protectively.

Draco wraps both arms around her, grounding her. One hand resting over her heart, to dull the ache that's taken root there. The other on top of hers, calming their baby. "You are strong, you are safe, and you are so loved."

Rosanna isn't sure if he's talking to her or their child, either way, it's enough to bring her back to herself. She catches her breath, standing up straight and turning to face Draco.

His features still laced with worry. "Can I get you anything?"

"No, I'm sorry. That's never happened before." Rosanna can't meet his eyes.

"There's nothing to apologize for." He tips her chin up to catch her gaze. "They aren't as awful once you're used to them. I'd like to tell you that they suck less too, but that'd be a lie; they always suck."

Rosanna smirks at him, "since when does Draco Malfoy say something sucks?"

"I've been hanging around this girl for sometime. She's an awful influence, you see, she's got quite a dodgy vocabulary." Draco teases. "I've tried to keep away, only problem is, I'm terribly in love with her and it never seems to work."

"I love you so much." Ro laughs, peppering his face with kisses. Effectively covering him in cherry red lip stick. "You look ridiculous," she tells him as they break apart.

"Yeah?" He turns her back toward the mirror.

Her hair is a bird's nest and her cheeks a mess of black streaks. "Before you take the mickey out of me, let's get that rubbish off your face."

"Screw you." She takes the cloth from her neck, rewetting it with soap; properly removing what's left of her makeup.

"What about me?" Draco protests, "you've done this." He motions to his crimson stained face.

"Don't you like my work?" Rosanna feigns hurt, softly swiping the marks off his face.

"I love your work, darling, however I'm afraid red's not my color." He smiles, it’s been so long that the feeling is foreign to the muscles in his face.

————————————————————————-

When the golden trio is dragged in, by snatchers, to Malfoy Manor, they look slightly worse for wear. Especially Harry, who is nearly unrecognizable under the swelling of his features from Hermione’s stinging jinx. A last ditch effort to conceal his identity.

When Draco cannot positively identify the boy as Harry Potter, Bellatrix utters one sickening command. “Bring me Rosanna.”

Draco nods, taking the stairs up to his bedroom. The door creaks open and Rosanna turns to him.

“What’s wrong?” She closes the book she’s been reading.

“I need you.” He chokes out. “I need you to come with me and I…Rosanna, I’m so sorry.”

Rosanna swallows hard, moving to her feet and smoothing out the front of her dress. The one with light purple daisies scattered about the material.

Draco and Rosanna know full well what will happen if they are caught lying. Still they do it anyway.

Legillimacy comes easy to her, the way occlumency does Draco. They’ve been working to teach each other, no time like the present to put those skills to the test.

“Come, Rosanna.” Bellatrix insists, giggling erratically as she does. “Right here.”

Rosanna crosses the room, joining Bellatrix near where Harry is kneeling. She is about six months along and her belly comes as a shock to her former friends.

“Good girl, come come.” Bellatrix pulls her in. Attempting to peer deep into Rosanna’s mind. “Take a good look for us.” She points down to the man in question. “Is it him? Is it Harry?”

Rosanna floods her thoughts with images of Harry from their childhood. Distracting Bellatrix, hiding what she knows to be true. This is Harry.

Bellatrix huffs out a breath, “you really don’t know, do you?”

Rosanna shakes her head, “I’m sorry. It’s too hard to tell with his face that way.”

“That’s alright, precious.” Bellatrix puts a hand to Rosanna’s belly. “You’ve done your part. Now run along, there’s work to be done.”

Rosanna nods, moving towards the stairs on shaky legs.

“Put the boys in the cellar,” Bellatrix barks her next command at Lucius and Draco, grabbing Hermione by the collar. “Me and this one need to have a little chat, girl to girl.”

The sound of Hermione's tortured cries haunt Rosanna's nightmares for years to come. But she knows the best, and only course of action is to return to her room and come up with a plan.

Tearing through the dresser, in search of her wand, she slices her finger on a shard of…glass? Even through the parchment wrapped haphazardly around it.

‘To Rosanna Marie McVay, I leave my mirror. May you always remember who you are.’

Rosanna tosses Dumbledore’s will aside, staring down at the reflection in her hand. Somehow the image staring back is not her own.

“Hello?” She whispers. The eye looking back at her could almost be her former headmaster’s. But that’s impossible. “Can you help me? My friends are being held captive in Malfoy manor-”

There is a pop from behind her, Rosanna squeals at the unexpected appearance of a house elf. Not one of the Malfoy’s, not anymore.

Dobby had been freed the year before Rosanna transferred to Hogwarts. He isn’t thrilled by the prospect of returning to Malfoy Manor, his old masters were very cruel, and Dobby is a free elf. But, “Dobby is here to help Harry Potter and his friends.”

“Harry is a good friend of mine. I need your help to get him out of here.”

“What about you, miss?”

“It’s a long story, but I can’t leave, not yet. Harry and Ron are in the cellar, I can show you how to get there.”

“Dobby knows his way to the cellar.” The elf lowers his voice.

"Thank you, Dobby." Rosanna leans down to kiss his cheek. "Tell Harry, Rosanna sent you. Tell him I'm sorry, for everything."

"I'll tell them, Ms. Rosanna." Dobby agrees, any friend of Harry's is a friend of his.

The elf disapparates into the cellar. Rosanna grabs her wand and sets off to find Draco. Harry and Ron are now free, having fought their way back up to the main floor with Dobby’s help.

Rosanna finds herself on the opposite end of Hermione’s wand. They stare at each other for a beat too long.

“Rosanna!” A voice, dueling in the distance, warns.

In a panic, Rosanna casts a healing charm.

Hermione returns the gesture.

They put on a good show, before Hermione finally disarms her. In the chaos, only she and Rosanna know that's all she's done.

"Ahh!" Rosanna howls, falling to the ground clutching her belly.

"What is it, darling? Is it the baby?" Narcissa is beside her in an instant, abandoning her post.

"Something's wrong." Rosanna lies.

"We'll call the midwife straight away." Lucius assures her, appearing only a second later.

Everyone but Draco and Bellatrix have stopped firing curses at the golden trio.

"What the hell did you do to her?" Draco demands, as he and Harry wrestle over his wand. Over powering Potter for just a second, he leans down to whisper. "Knock me off, take the wand and go."

Harry listens, they disapparate with Dobby, but not before Bellatrix throws her knife into the mix.

————————————————————————-

The midwife arrives shortly after, checking Rosanna over. Deciding that the stress might have caused a bout of false labor pains, and orders her a weeks bed rest with increased fluids.

Draco waits on her hand and foot, playing his part well. He quite enjoys doting on her and the growing baby in her belly.

As soon as Ro is cleared for regular activity, she and Draco spend the night in the kitchen. Making tacos the muggle way, the way Rosanna's grandmother had taught her when she was just a little girl.

"Why is this so bloody good?" Draco says in disbelief, diving another chip into the guacamole.

Rosanna is seated atop the cool granite island, contently swinging her feet. The platinum haired boy in the high rise chair to her left. "I told you. The baby likes tacos." Rosanna notes, feeling the infant practically doing flips in her belly.

"Course he does, he's my son." Draco grins at her, moving to his feet to have a feel.

"Everyone keeps saying boy. How do you know?" She cocks her blonde head to the side.

"The last ten generations of Malfoy have only a single male heir. Truthfully, I'd be just as happy with a girl. I do worry though, that they'll have an accent." Of course he wasn't actually concerned. Draco could listen to her speak, uninterrupted, for days on end.

"I don't have an accent." Rosanna bats at him.

"This estate will be ours someday. I'd like to fill it." Draco confesses, stealing a bite from his abandoned taco.

"You want more kids?" It isn’t something that’s ever come up.

"Not straight away. But after a while," he nods. "I want everything with you. A proper wedding, a home filled with our children, their laughter. Pets, if they please you. Holidays in America, show our children where their mother is from, why she talks funny. Send our children off to Hogwarts and take pride in whichever house they're sorted into. We can grow old together, we can be happy together."

"I'd like that." Rosanna decides.

"Can I tell you something else?" Draco asks, drumming his free hand against her knee.

"Mhm." Rosanna hums, around a mouth full of taco shell.

"I was never truly happy until I met you." He confesses.

"That’s not true.” Rosanna rolls her brown eyes.

"I know you hate me going on about it." Draco grins, looking down at his hands. "But being with you, eating tacos that we made, on a stove, which I hadn't the slightest idea how to work... You make me feel like I can do anything. You never make me feel daft for having to learn. No one's ever done that for me. Only you."

It still startles him, the depth of his love for her, the way it never seemed to bottom out. How he would look at her with absolutely certainty that he couldn't love her anymore than he did at that moment and then somehow he always did.

"That's because I love you," Rosanna says, before bursting into tears, "dumbass." She adds for good measure.

Part 4

[cuteniarose]

what happens to summiya's kids??

That’s… a very good question, actually. We haven’t really figured out anything too specific or extensive yet, but the basic gist is that when Liba and Abyan are close to 15 and 14 respectively, they run away, thus exacerbating their mother’s breakdown. They’re sheltered spoiled rich kids who have no idea how the world works, with all their good intentions and sympathy for the lower classes, so having to rough it out for a while is definitely extremely hard for them. They soon make it to the only place they can stay without too many questions being asked – one of the Air Temples, the same one Aiza/Emran considers their home, but they don’t meet immediately because not long before they showed up, Emran set off on a year-long self discovery journey.

The kids meanwhile try their best to help in the Temple and surrounding villages, learning everything they can. Abyan is more eager, with fire in his eyes and a deep desire to help people, though he believes that he’s automatically a better person that his parents or grandparents because he discarded the rich life and ran away and thus struggles for quite a while to understand that he actively has to put in effort to be good. But he’s still a kid, one raised to believe that he essentially owns the world, so him struggling to see the perspectives of other people and failing at household chores is understandable. He’ll get better with time, I can promise that much. Liba is a lot more quiet and demure, very self conscious of her birth mark and believes that no matter how hard she tries, she can never be good enough (thanks a lot, Summiya…). She too struggles with chores and often fails to see the value of money, but she’s more grounded than Abyan and is more meticulous and careful with her work. But most of all she absolutely thrives on praise, lighting up whenever someone thanks her or calls her pretty. She deserves to be appreciated more often :)

After a while they do meet Emran and find out that he’s their mother’s sibling (it’s not too hard, really, given that Liba looks scarily like him, but it still takes hearing his female name to realise) and it’s where opinions start splitting. To Abyan, he’s the cool uncle who said “fuck you” to the system and is now free to do whatever he wants, he becomes an almost idolised figure for the kid, though not to the level Zaheer is. Liba, though, is a bit more drawn to Aiza when she’s female presenting, not out of bigotry if any kind (though given how they were raised, it takes a while for the two of them to understand what being genderfluid means and that it’s perfectly okay) but because she sees a parallel to herself, a girl always second to Summiya who ran away from home to avoid a marriage, and Aiza is the only person she can be honest with about missing her mother despite everything she’s done. Abyan has seemingly discarded all hope that his parents could change and thinks Liba is weird for still loving Mother when that woman made her hate herself. It’s something they’ll have to get over eventually, and it sure won’t be easy, unfortunately

As for what happens on the next fifteen or so years before the events of the canon show… I don’t know, honestly. I like to think they stay at the Air Temple until they’re of age and then move on somewhere else to figure out what it is they want from life and to see more of the world. And at some point in those years they do reunite with their mother, as does Aiza, and it takes A LOT of time and effort to build a better relationship with her, but they manage eventually. Their father can go fuck himself, though (not like he can still afford to pay anyone else to do it…)

[lassieposting]

(Long ask im really sorry) I know you don’t intend on reading the Dead Men prequel but I had a few questions. In the leaked chapter a character describes Dexter as “the killer of women and children” and Saracen as “the man who killed his brothers and sisters in a blind rage”. Do you think this is in character? What kind of personal development do you think all of the Dead Men had to do after the war? Like they grew up around racism, homophobia and sexism. Do you think at any point they were those things? Because most of them haven’t had much character build they’ve been given the 2D good guy template but I’d be really interested to hear your thoughts on their ruthlessness and having to overcome internal bigotry

Okay so this ask got lost for months but like. Based on my personal headcanons?

Do you think this is in character?

Yes.

These men are soldiers. They are soldiers who were born into a country at war in an era where there was no Human Rights Act, where torture was (and still is, honestly) commonplace, and they survived centuries of bloody, all-out warfare, doing one of the most dangerous jobs imaginable.

I guarantee there is not a single man among them who has not, at some point, done something fucking heinous in the name of survival, or trauma, or sheer fucking sanity slippage.

Dexter would not be anywhere near the first soldier to snap and massacre innocents. Saracen would not be the first soldier to turn on his own squad. War is ugly and violent. Men who are drawn to war, in my experience, virtually always have a side to them that is also ugly and violent, and there is a catharsis for them in being able to let that side out, to vent it on people who "deserve it", because they're on the other side.

Now, I have no context for these descriptions, and everything done in war causes unforgivable, life-destroying trauma to someone. What is "good" and "heroic" to one side is "evil" and "cowardly" to the other. It could well be that Saracen found fellow Sanctuary soldiers engaging in behaviour he found morally reprehensible - assaulting a woman in an occupied village, for example - and killed the lot of them in retaliation. It could be that the women and children Dexter killed were combatants - the Sanctuaries used adolescent sorcerers in the 2013 conflict, and the Dead Men disagreed over whether to treat them as children or enemy soldiers. And China fought in the 500 Year War, so women have been allowed on the front lines in sorcerer society since at least the 1600s. But even if the women and children were innocent bystanders, and Saracen's attack was unprovoked...no one in that squad is an Honourable Man. Honourable Men don't survive doing the Dead Men's job in wars like Mevolent's; they die in them. These guys are trained killers and consummate survivors. Every one of them has blood on his hands. Every one of them has done unforgivable things. Every one of them has a monster inside him.

The only reason they seem like generic good guys is because up to this point, the only monster we've ever seen is Skug's. Doesn't mean the others aren't there. We just haven't been looking for them.

[nathanbatemanfucker]

The Sun Also Rises Pt. 2

summary: He doesn’t deserve you. He’s never felt like he has, but this conversation throws it in his face, and it burns hot like lava all over his skin.

pairing: f!reader x javier peña

contents: 18+/NSFW/MINORS DNI, eventual smut, best friends to lovers, mentions of the drug war, pining, angst, kissing

word count: 2.3k

AN: if there’s one thing that i love its mutual pining and angst between bestiesssss. let me know if i missed any warnings and i hope y’all enjoy these two <3

part 1 | part 3 | series masterlist | writing masterlist | requests are open

After some delicious sandwiches, you and Javier headed to the stables, got out the horses you both rode years ago, Salt and Pepper, named after their white and black coats. Chucho assigned them to you because the horses were drawn to each other, the best of friends. He’d said that just like the horses, you and Javi would always choose each other. He’s been proven right all these years.

The two of you are up on a ridge on the edge of the ranch. You’ve hitched the horses up to the fence, and now lean against it, overlooking the river. Javi’s collected a handful of stones, and you take turns chucking them into the water once a set of far off boats pass.

“Do you know them?” You gesture to the boats before taking a stone out of his hand and throwing it. It just barely hits the water.

“Not personally.” His words hang in the air and you wait for him to continue, “They’re drug runners.”

“Coke?”

“The one and only.” He gets his hand around one of the larger stones and throws it so hard that he lets out a grunt. “They come by here at least twice a day. It makes my fucking blood boil.”

“You did what you could.”

“And somehow it wasn’t enough.”

You scoff at him, “It’s not your job to end the drug war Javier.”

“Wasn’t it?”

It was, and he felt like he did everything but. It’s contradictory, he knows his contributions were valuable but they pale in comparison to everything else. The compromising of his heart and honor. The blood on his hands. The blood not on his hands. The terror. The loss. He’d done enough for his brain to blow up, but not enough at all. If he went back, if he tried again he’d just mess it up even more. He’d change and kill and suffer more.

“You’re one man.”

“I know.”

“Tell me about it.”

He lets out an exasperated sigh, “What is there to tell?”

“Months and months of your silence. That’s what’s to tell.”

He gives you the long and short of it, “I broke a lot of rules. I did a lot of things I shouldn’t have to try and get the job done. It was all for nothing.”

“It wasn’t all for nothing, Javi, things are different.”

“Are they? Look at those fucking boats. I check the numbers. The DEA calls me. It’s all the fucking same.”

“It’s not, your actions mattered,” You challenge, forgetting your game of throwing rocks as you glare at him.

“But they weren’t all good.”

You shrug dramatically, “And? Who in this world is all good, Javi?”

“You,” He whispers so softly that you think you’ve mistaken what he’s said. But he says it again, louder this time, no doubt in voice. “You are.”

He doesn’t deserve you. He’s never felt like he has, but this conversation throws it in his face, and it burns hot like lava all over his skin.

“That’s bullshit, I’m not. I make mistakes, I’m not perfect. I’m not…”

If that were true he would want you.

The thought punches you in the gut and you quickly thrust it out of your headspace, confused about where it came from. You haven’t thought of that…well you hadn’t thought of that since your mother was alive.

You reach over, and knock the remaining rocks out of his hands so you can lace your fingers together, “It’s not true. And you’re the perfect amount of good. Believe me when I say that, okay?”

He looks down at your fingers and then back up at you, “Okay.”

—

When you and Javier walk into a restaurant a week later, he almost grabs your hand and walks you out immediately. He’d recognized that crown of curly, dirty blonde in front of him anywhere, and when you feel him stiffen you realize who she is.

You lean over to whisper to him. “Do you want to leave?”

“No, it’s okay. Gotta face some demons don’t I?” He tries to joke, but there’s an undercurrent of uncertainty in his tone.

Lorraine must notice his voice because she turns around immediately, her mouth turning down into a grimace before it pulls into a rehearsed polite smile.

“Javi. And look who you have with you, good to see you (Y/N),” The words grate out of her, all 3 of you know it’s a lie.

She could never be happy to see the woman that drove her soon to be husband hundreds of miles away the morning of their wedding. She’s forgiven Javi, he mentioned that in one of his letters, but she never forgave you.

You pull your arm out of Javi’s to shake her hand. Javi goes in for a full hug, brushing his lips against her cheek as he asks her how she’s been.

“Good, I’m just here visiting my sister. What about you Javi?”

“I’m making it.”

Your skin is crawling, and your palms are growing sweatier by the minute. You’ve got to get out of here.

“You know what, I think I left my purse in your truck Javi. Can I have the keys?”

He turns to you, face screwed up in confusion. He’d made you leave it, locked in his glove compartment since he’d offered to pay. But when his eyes meet yours he sees your anxiety, nods gently before handing you the keys.

“It was great to see you Lorraine,” You say quickly, hardly letting her answer as you walk towards the door.

“Likewise,” She calls after you.

Your plan as you walk to the car is to sit for a few minutes, hoping that Lorraine will get called to a table, making it safe for you to go back in. But when you make it to his truck, you hop inside, your mind racing a million miles per minute. You aren’t sure why it bothers you so much to see her, she’d almost married your best friend for god's sakes. She’d almost become a permanent fixture in your life, and sometimes you feel like she has.

Javier’s decision will always haunt him, and because you’d been there it’ll haunt you too. You don’t regret it and neither does he but there’s something strangely intimate— even by you and Javi’s standards— about all the moments that followed once your tires hit the highway. It almost felt like you were taking the honeymoon he was supposed to have with her. Nice hotels, yummy restaurants, and sight seeing. Holding him as he struggled with his decision, sleeping tucked into his side.

“Hey, you okay?” Javier’s voice jolts you forward, and you glare over at him, realizing he’s getting into the driver’s seat next to you.

When had he gotten here?

“Fucking hell.”

He puts his hand on your knee, squeezing it in a comforting manner, “I didn’t mean to scare you were just staring at nothing. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry we had to run into her.”

You place your hand over his, “It’s not your fault, Javi.”

“Do you want to go home? We can pick something up, watch a movie?”

“Yeah. Please? Is that okay?”

“It’s perfect, querida, let’s go,” It slips off his tongue so easily, and you melt into it, enjoying the warm caress of the term of endearment.

How has he gone all these years without calling you that?

Chucho’s heading back to his room when the two of you step into the house, giving you both a goodnight. You’re quieter than usual as you and Javi eat on the couch, watching some random western you’ve seen a thousand times. The air is heavy with your thoughts, and he can practically hear you ruminating.

You aren’t really sure what you’re thinking about but you can’t stop thinking about him. About those days together on the coast. About the way it almost felt like you were his.

“Hey.”

“Hmm?” You look over at him with hazy eyes.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

He rolls his eyes, moving across the couch to sit flush against you, “You aren’t letting me in.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m just…I’m not sure what’s happening in my head right now.”

“There’s no reason for you to feel guilty, I made that choice,” He reassures you.

“I know.”

“Then just be here with me.”

What does that even mean to you anymore?

“I’m trying,” You whisper desperately.

Javi’s trying to keep his head on straight. You smell so good, and you look like you need someone to cling to. He’s always been that person, is happy to be, but he wants more. He wants to kiss away every negative thought that’s swirling through your mind. He wants you soft and supple in his arms. Before he can think better of it, he’s leaning closer, his nose brushing against yours.

Your eyes widen, heart beating loudly in your chest as you realize that he’s so close, and how intoxicating his proximity is. You watch as his tongue sweeps over his bottom lip, instinctively pressing your body closer to his. And then he’s kissing you, warm and gentle, his hand coming up to tilt your head back for better access.

For a moment you let yourself kiss him back, relishing the rich taste of his mouth. Bourbon, salty french fries, and Javi. When you list those things off in your head an alarm goes off.

Javi.

You now know the taste of Javi, your best friend. You’re kissing Javier Peña, your best friend. That’s not okay. It’s wrong. It breaks the boundary you’ve put up since that conversation with your mother.

“Javi,” You breathe, pulling away. Your hands find his chest to push him back further. You can’t think clearly when he’s this close to you.

He blinks a few times, looking down at your hands on his chest and then back up at you. The shock in his eyes says it all, and you feel a little better knowing you’re not alone in it.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep, I just thought-“

“Don’t be sorry, Javier, it’s alright.”

He scoots further away, his hands falling into his lap. All you can do is look at him, curling into a ball on the other side of the couch as you wipe your mouth. It’s already colder without his body pressed against you, without his tongue licking into your mouth. It had been so good, felt so good, even as you try to rationalize with yourself that it’s wrong.

That he’s just Javi.

“Is there…is there someone?” He asks softly, pulling you from your thoughts.

“No, there’s no one.”

Nobody but him, the man sitting in front you. There’s never been anyone but him.

“Do you want there to be?”

No. Yes. You don’t know.

“I…I don’t know.”

“Do you feel it?”

“Yes.”

Javier let’s out the breath he sucked in immediately after asking that question, but his relief is short lived as he asked a harder one.

“Do you want it?”

“Javier…I don’t know. This always worked because you didn’t want me. Because I convinced myself I didn’t want you.”

“I convinced myself I didn’t want you either, but I do. I need you.”

He can’t help but wonder how the two of you have gotten yourself into this.

“Can I have some time?”

“Of course,” He concedes quickly, ready to give you whatever you want or need to make this work.

“I’ll call my dad to pick me up.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, querida, I can take you home.”

“I could use the time away.”

His face falls, and you find that you just want to scoop him up in your arms, to reassure him. But you need to think, to really get your head around all of this before anything can go further.

“Already?”

“The faster I figure it out, the faster we can be together again, right?” You give him a half-hearted smile.

He swallows hard, nods in agreement though you see nothing but doubt in his eyes, “Right.”

You and Javi sit on the porch, a healthy distance away from each other and in silence until your dad pulls up in the driveway. You’d told him not to get out of the car to ask any questions and thankfully he’d listened. You lean over and give Javi’s hand a squeeze, promising to call him before you quickly make your way to your dad’s truck.

Your dad is quiet for some time, but about halfway home he gives out that sigh that indicates he’s about to speak his mind.

“You two kids figure out that you’re in love with each other?” He asks, no preamble and it knocks the wind out of you.

Has everyone known?

“We’re not kids. And maybe. He…” You hesitate momentarily, “he kissed me.”

“And now what?”

“I call him when I’m ready.”

“Mmm,” He hums, staying silent for a beat before glancing over at you. “I know your mom was the one you talked to about these things, but we can talk. If it’ll help you figure it out, we can talk.”

“Thank you, Dad,” Your voice is thick with affection as you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

“Can we talk tomorrow? I think I just need to sleep.”

“Whatever you need.”

When you get home you head to your bedroom immediately. You curl into bed, wishing for a lot of things. For the thoughts to quiet. For your mother’s smile. For the warm kiss Javier always brushes across your knuckles. For the courage to wade through everything you feel for him. You’re grateful when sleep takes you, mind blank and itching for rest.

javi taglist: @honeybrowne @lesbianhotch, @hotchs-bitch, @jazzelsaur, @bubblybubbubs, @sheresh0y, @midnightwolf04, @mccn-bcys, @jxvipike, @beggarsnotchoosey

[causeimasinger]

wip wednesday

no one tagged me but fuck the rules i’m doing it anyway. here’s a lil snippet from my big bang fic!

It wasn’t until after the last school bell had rung that Steve saw Eddie again, standing at his locker leafing through a full-to-the-brim binder.

“Hey, uh, Munson,” he called, laughing a little at the confused face Eddie gave him.

“Hey, Just Steve,” Eddie greeted, looking around as if Steve might be talking to someone else despite calling him by name.

“So uh… this morning. Do you usually –“ Steve started awkwardly, but Eddie cut him off with a little chuckle.

“Tuesdays and Thursdays, half an hour before the first bell.” He bit his lip, then after a moment of what looked like contemplation, said, “hey, by the way. Now that you’re a peasant like the rest of us does that mean I don’t need to bow –“

“Oh shut the fuck up,” Steve laughed. “I’ll see you next Tuesday.”

“You haven’t even tried it and you already know you’ll be a repeat customer?” Eddie said with a raised eyebrow.

Steve leveled him with a look. “You think I’ve never had your weed?”

Eddie snorted. “Ah, right. The aforementioned not-friends. Well, if… nah. I’ll see you later, Harrington.”

“No, wait,” he said. “What were you going to say?”

Eddie bit his lip again and Steve found his eyes drawn to it. When Eddie began speaking, he looked away. “Just that me and a couple friends are starting a club - uh, it’s called Hellfire. We play D&D - that’s Dungeons and Dragons –“

“I know was D&D is,” Steve cut in, just to see the look on Eddie’s face. The shocked expression didn’t disappoint. He grinned. “I’m full of surprises. But I don’t actually play, sorry.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think it was your style, but uh… You know. It’s open to everyone who doesn’t fit anywhere. You seem a little lost without your posse of assholes.”

Steve grimaced, trying to think of anything particularly rude he had said to Eddie over the years but coming up blank – mostly he’d stood by while Tommy threw insults. “Uh yeah, sorry for ever - if I –“

“Don’t worry about it,” Eddie interrupted him. Then he smirked. “I’ve talked enough shit about you behind your back that it’s probably even. You were never the worst of them anyway.”

“Well. You still deserve an apology,” Steve said, his voice closer to a mumble.

“Apology accepted, Harrington. And the invite to Hellfire still stands, even as just a spectator.” He threw his hair over his shoulder and pulled on his backpack, and Steve watched the action with a strange intrigue. He snapped himself out of it, looking back at Eddie’s face. Eddie hadn’t noticed anything, if his neutral facial expression was anything to go by, but Steve shook his own head as if to get rid of the thought – the thought that Eddie’s hair reminded him of Nancy’s, and how he used to love when she threw it over her shoulder like that.

He cleared his throat. “Thanks, Munson. I’ll see you around.”

“Next Tuesday, I hear.”

“Yeah. Next Tuesday.”

Eddie offered him a little wave before turning on his heel and walking down the hallway to the double doors that led outside. Steve watched him go, staring after him until he was out of sight, then he shook himself again.

“What the fuck was that?” He muttered under his breath, before turning around to head to his own locker.

not tagging anyone because again, fuck the rules. also idk who to tag so.