#Oh look a Community Chest! [ Dash Games ]
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magatsunohana · 1 month ago
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In what subtle way do you say 'I love you'?
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"You're the Exception"
your emotional walls have walls. seriously, you've guarded yourself so well, you sometimes forget how to look over your own walls and see the beauty of the world outside the safety of the protection you've set up. you forget how to escape the confines you built for yourself, that is, but some people (some incredibly rare people) somehow know their way through that intricate maze of walls and thorns around you. they're the exception, and terrifying as it might be at first, you'll let them know eventually. you smile at them where you'd scowl at another. you crack a joke where you'd usually stay quiet. you find yourself opening up more than you'd ever imagined. don't tear your fortress down if you don't want to, but maybe try to build your loved ones a little home inside it instead. you don't have to be alone. you deserve better than being alone in there.
Stolen from: @muraenide Tagged by: @tsundeoku Tagging: Anyone who wants to do it
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uns4lted · 25 days ago
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↬ ᴍɪꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇꜱ, ꜱᴛᴏʟᴇɴ ɢʟᴀɴᴄᴇꜱ.
ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ: ʀᴇᴏ ᴍɪᴋᴀɢᴇ (ʙʟᴜᴇ ʟᴏᴄᴋ) ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢꜱ: ʀᴇᴏ ᴍɪᴋᴀɢᴇ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ɴᴀɢɪ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: ʜɪɢʜ ꜱᴄʜᴏᴏʟ!ᴀᴜ, ꜱʟɪᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ʟɪꜰᴇ, ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀɴᴏɴ ᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ʙʟᴜᴇ ʟᴏᴄᴋ, ʀᴏᴍᴄᴏᴍ, ᴄʀᴀᴄᴋ, ꜱʟᴏᴡʙᴜʀɴ ᴛᴀɢꜱ/ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: - ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴀɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ - ꜱʟᴏᴡʙᴜʀɴ (ᴀɢᴀɪɴ) - ʀɪᴅɪᴄᴜʟᴏᴜꜱ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴀʀɪᴏꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʙʀɪᴇꜰ ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ-ʀᴇʟᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ (ᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛɪɴɢ ꜱᴍᴀʟʟ ɪᴛᴇᴍꜱ ʀᴇᴏ ᴜꜱᴇᴅ) - ᴍᴏꜱᴛʟʏ ꜰᴏᴄᴜꜱᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ'ꜱ ᴘᴏᴠ - ʀᴇᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴀɢɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʜᴇʀᴇ - ᴀ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴄʟɪꜰꜰʜᴀɴɢᴇʀ ᴡ/ ᴀ ᴘʟᴏᴛ ᴛᴡɪꜱᴛ ᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ!
a/n: credits to @/chachachannah for the divider! also, here's my reference to keep you guided from the story! <33
word count: 4k+
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You woke up to the sound of your alarm clock blaring at full volume, jolting you from the last shred of sleep you were trying to hold onto. With a groan, you slammed your hand down on the loud thing, desperately wishing for five more minutes—until the realization hit you like a truck.
Late. For the third time.
"Ugh, not again!" you moaned, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. There was no getting out of it now, so you stretched your arms above your head with a yawn, trying to shake off the sleepiness still clinging to your bones. You grabbed your alarm clock, and your eyes went wide—7:56 AM.
“Oh, come on!” you yelped, tossing the clock back onto your nightstand. With your class starting at 8:30 AM, and knowing how your track record was with morning rushes, you were in trouble. A third tardy meant community service, and you were so not looking forward to that.
You scrambled out of bed, taking a quick shower, threw on your school uniform, grabbing socks you could find and barely caring if they matched—then ran through your usual morning routine like you were on fast forward. A quick glance at the clock told you it was already 8:12 AM as you dashed out the door, backpack slung over one shoulder, a half-buttered slice of toast hanging from your mouth like some sort of bad cliché.
By the time you made it to school, your lungs were burning, and you half-jogged, half-limped down the hall to your class. You practically threw yourself into your seat, heart hammering in your chest, only to hear the dreaded words that made your stomach sink.
“You're late again. Ms. (L/N),” your teacher announced, staring at you over the rim of her glasses.
You let out a defeated sigh, sinking deeper into your chair. There was no point arguing. With a heavy heart, you accepted the inevitable. Five minutes later, a bucket and mop were shoved into your hands, and you were sent to clean the basketball court, which looked as massive as it felt unfair.
The gym was buzzing with noise, and you immediately noticed a group of guys playing basketball at the far end. Thankfully, they were mostly sticking to the main court, so you shuffled to the sidelines, hoping to stay out of the way. Grumbling under your breath, you dipped the mop into the soapy water, determined to get this over with as quickly as possible.
Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.
Lost in the monotonous rhythm, you almost forgot you were surrounded by other students. That is, until something, or rather, someone—caught your attention.
You looked up, pausing mid-scrub, your eyes widening at the sight of a boy with lavender-colored hair tied back into a small, messy bun. A few loose strands framed his face, swaying as he moved with ease across the court. He was laughing with his friends, clearly enjoying the game, and for a moment, you were completely starstruck.
He was… handsome. No, stunning. Actually, more like gorgeous in that “doesn’t even try” kind of way. The sight of him had you frozen, mop still in hand, staring like a deer caught in headlights. It was only when something hard smacked against your forehead that you snapped back to reality.
"Oof!" You yelped, stumbling backward and landing square on your butt. Your mop clattered to the floor, and you clutched your forehead in shock, rubbing the sore spot where the ball had hit you.
A shadow fell over you, and you looked up—right into those same lavender eyes. The boy was standing over you, a look of concern creasing his features as he crouched down to your level.
“Oh no, are you okay?” he asked, his voice a mix of worry and relief. Your heart did a weird little flip in your chest, and you could only manage to stutter a response.
“Y-y-yeah, I’m… I’m fine!” you blurted, flushing a shade of pink that was, frankly, so embarrassing. He gave you a quick once-over, clearly skeptical, before his expression softened into a smile that made your insides go warm and fuzzy.
“Alright,” he said, “but you might want to avoid cleaning while there are people playing. Wouldn’t want to get hit again, yes?” He chuckled, offering you his hand. You took it. Mind absolutely blank and he helped you to your feet like it was no big deal.
"Thanks," you managed, still rubbing your sore head. He raised an eyebrow.
"You sure you're okay?"
"Yes, yes!" you insisted, probably a little too loudly. "Thank you… for, um, helping." You had never been so aware of your own voice cracking.
He nodded and gave a lighthearted laugh, shaking his head, then jogged back to his friends who were already teasing him for playing like a “hero”. You watched him go, feeling like a complete idiot for forgetting how words worked.
Your mop was dripping onto your shoes by the time you remembered what you were supposed to be doing. With a sigh, you picked it up, threw a last glance over your shoulder at the boy with the lavender hair, and dragged yourself out of the gym.
As soon as you were out of sight, you burst into giggles, replaying the moment over and over in your head. It was only then that you smacked your forehead with your palm.
“How could I forget to ask his name?” you muttered to yourself, feeling both giddy and frustrated. You just hoped, hoped, you’d see him again. It was a big school, sure, but fate had to be on your side.
With that thought, you headed to the storage closet to return the cleaning supplies, barely noticing the goofy grin that refused to leave your face.
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You made your way back to your locker, still buzzing from the unexpected (and embarrassing) encounter in the gym. The dull clang of locker doors and the chatter of students filled the hallway as you spun the combination on your lock, half-distracted by your own thoughts. You couldn’t get that lavender-haired boy out of your mind, the way he’d smiled and laughed after the incident that happened earlier.
With a quiet hum, you opened the locker, grabbing the textbooks you’d need for the rest of the day. You were just about to shut it when, out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him—the lavender-haired guy. He was coming down the hall, heading straight for the lockers like you weren’t even there.
Your heart skipped a beat, and in a panic, you ducked behind your locker door, holding your breath like he might somehow hear your rapid heartbeat from a distance. Peeking through the narrow gap between the door and its hinge, you watched him walk closer, your curiosity getting the better of you. He was focused on his own locker, not sparing a glance in your direction. You could feel your face heating up, but you couldn't look away—he was even more handsome up close, and the way the sunlight from the hallway windows caught the loose strands of his hair made him look… almost unreal.
You bit your lip to stifle a smile, hiding your face behind the door as you stole a few more glances. God, he is so handsome, you thought with a quiet huff, shaking your head at yourself. He rummaged around his locker for a few moments, grabbed a few things, then slammed it shut and turned to leave. You let out the breath you were holding, watching him go, when suddenly, you noticed something fall from the stack of books he was carrying - a small, thin card fluttered to the floor.
Before you even thought about it, you were moving. You stepped out of hiding, heart thumping in your chest, and picked it up. It was some sort of ID card. When you turned it over, your eyes widened, and you almost squealed right there in the hallway.
Reo Mikage.
His name is Reo, you slightly gasped, barely able to contain your excitement. Your face split into a grin, and you quickly slipped the ID into the pocket of your skirt, your fingers tingling with glee. You didn’t even care if this technically counted as snooping—you finally had a name to put to the face, and for some reason, that made everything feel a little more real.
With your new discovery tucked away like a secret treasure, you closed your locker and hurried off to class, making it just in time. You slid into your seat at the back of the room, right next to the window, and exhaled a sigh of relief. The teacher was already droning on about something boring and unrelated to your current fascination, but you barely paid attention. Your mind was spinning with possibilities.
I can’t believe I know his name now! Reo Mikage… The words rolled around in your mind like a song you couldn’t stop humming, and before you knew it, you were sneaking out your little diary and a puffy, glittery pen from your backpack. Thankfully, you were tucked away behind a sea of students who were actually taking notes, so you didn’t think the teacher would catch you.
As quietly as you could, you opened your diary to a fresh page, the paper crinkling slightly under your excited fingers. You pulled the ID card out of your pocket, glancing down at Reo’s photo. He looked just as charming on the plastic card as he did in person, and you couldn’t help but smile. It was so stupid, but the idea of returning his ID made your heart race. Maybe it would give you a chance to talk to him again—properly this time, without a ball bouncing off your head.
Giggling softly to yourself, you started writing in the diary, the puffy pen making little sparkly loops and swirls as you jotted down the morning’s events:
| August 4th: - I MET HIM!!! Well… kind of. I don’t even know if “met” is the right word, but it counts anyway :P His name is Reo Mikage, and he’s… honestly, he’s even more handsome up close than I thought he’d be. I can’t believe I got hit in the head with a ball in front of him (that was so fucking embarrassing), but he was so nice about it. I found his ID in the hallway, and I think… I think I’m going to return it after class. I just hope I don’t mess it up this time…
You underlined his name three times, adding a little heart next to it before you even realized what you were doing. Your face burned, but you were too silly to care. You closed the diary with a soft snap and hid it away in your bag, casting a quick glance at the teacher to make sure you hadn’t been caught. Luckily, they were still focused on whatever dull topic they were rambling about.
For the rest of the class, you kept sneaking glances at the ID card, memorizing every detail—his name, the small school emblem, even the tiny scratch near the corner of the plastic. Your fingers twitched with excitement at the thought of returning it, imagining how he’d look at you, hopefully with that same warm smile.
Okay, you got this. You cheered to yourself, your eyes drifting to the clock. Only a few more minutes, and you’d have your chance. You tapped your foot against the floor, anticipation bubbling up inside you like soda fizz.
Finally, the bell rang, and you shot out of your seat with a grin, feeling a rush of adrenaline as you tucked the ID safely back into your skirt pocket. You were going to find Reo Mikage, return his ID, and maybe - start getting to know him a little better.
It felt like the start of something, and you couldn’t wait to see what would happen next.
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The day was finally over, and you found yourself lingering in the hallway, practically glued to the spot near the lockers where you’d last seen Reo. His ID card felt like it was burning a hole in your pocket, and you fidgeted with the hem of your skirt, glancing around nervously. You told yourself it was no big deal. just return the ID, thank him again, and that’s it. But your heart wouldn’t stop hammering in your chest.
Minutes felt like hours, and you wondered if you should just give up and head home when you saw him. There he was, Reo Mikage, walking down the hallway with that same easygoing smile, chatting on his phone as he approached. You ducked to the side, behind a pillar, and pulled out your lip balm, hurriedly applying it. You checked your reflection in the glass of the trophy case, making sure your hair wasn’t doing anything weird, then smoothed your uniform blouse for good measure and even adjusted the necktie.
Okay, this is it. You took a deep breath, steeled yourself, and stepped out into the hallway, ready to walk right up to him and hand back the ID like a normal person.
But the universe had other plans.
Just as you were about to call out his name, a group of his friends suddenly appeared, coming out of a classroom like they’d been waiting for him. They crowded around him, all loud laughter and friendly teasing, and you felt your stomach drop. Your confidence crumbled, and you spun on your heel, turning sharply back the way you’d come before any of them could spot you.
“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, hurrying back down the hallway. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, and you didn’t dare look back to see if he’d noticed. There was no way you could approach him with his friends around. It’d be too awkward, and you’d probably just fumble your words again.
You went back to your classroom, feeling a mix of frustration and disappointment. Your backpack was still slung over the back of your chair, and you grabbed it without a second thought, not even bothering to check if you’d left anything behind. You just wanted to get out of there, away from the humiliation of your failed plan.
The bus ride home was a blur. You barely remembered the walk from the stop to your house, and before you knew it, you were in your bedroom, collapsing face-first onto your bed with a groan.
“Why does this have to be so hard?” you mumbled into your pillow, rolling onto your back. You pulled out Reo’s ID, holding it up above you and staring at his name. A part of you wanted to laugh at how dramatic you were being, but it was hard to shake off the sting of disappointment.
That was my chance, you sighed, flipping the ID over in your hand. And I totally blew it.
You dropped the ID onto your nightstand, feeling a wave of frustration. This was not how you imagined it going. You wanted to say something to him, to make a real connection, but instead, you ended up hiding like a coward just because his friends were there. You sighed, but this time - it was a heavy sigh, staring up at the ceiling and feeling sorry for yourself.
But you weren’t about to give up. There were plenty of school days left to try again, right? You had to believe that. Reo didn’t seem like a jerk, and the way he’d helped you earlier made you feel like he was approachable. At least, when he wasn’t surrounded by his friends.
Rolling off your bed, you grabbed your bag and fished out your diary. Sitting cross-legged on your bed, you opened it to a new page, twirling your puffy pen between your fingers as you thought about how to start. The pen’s tip hovered over the paper before you began to write, feeling a little better with every word.
| August 4th: - Today was supposed to be the day I gave Reo his ID back, but of course, things didn’t go the way I planned. I saw him!! He looked even cuter though, but his friends showed up before I could say anything. I had to bail. I just couldn’t do it with all of them around… It felt too awkward. Maybe I’m overthinking it? Ugh, why is talking to a cute guy so hard?!!!
You paused, doodling a small frustrated face in the corner of the page, then continued:
- I brought his ID home with me. I know it’s weird, but I guess it’s a good excuse to talk to him again. I just have to get the timing right. There’s always tomorrow… Or the day after… There’s no rush. I mean, we’re in the same school!!!
You underlined the last sentence twice, trying to convince yourself that you still had plenty of opportunities. With a sigh, you closed the diary and put it back in your bag, feeling a little more determined than you had earlier. It wasn’t the end of the world—just a minor setback.
You stood up and stretched, glancing at Reo’s ID one last time before carefully tucking it back to the small pockets of your bag. Tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow, you’d have a plan. A real plan.
For now, you decided it was enough to just dream a little.
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The library was quieter than usual, the kind of silence that made you aware of every little sound. You stepped lightly between the towering bookshelves, scanning the spines until you found the ones you needed. Your teacher’s assignment had been boring at best, but at least it gave you an excuse to slip away from the noisy hallways. After gathering a few books, you finally spotted an empty table tucked away in the corner and made your way over, dropping your books down with a soft thud.
Settling in, you opened the first book and absentmindedly flipped through the pages. It wasn’t long before you felt the hair on the back of your neck prickle, a strange sensation that made you look up.
There he was. Reo.
Sitting just a few tables away, with his back to you. He was hunched slightly, absorbed in whatever he was reading, and his purple hair was the first thing you noticed, pulled back loosely but with a few rebellious strands framing his face. You froze, your breath catching in your throat. You’d hoped for another chance to see him today, but you hadn’t expected it to happen here, so soon.
Quickly, you dug into your pocket, fingers brushing against the cool plastic of his ID. Your first thought was to return it, but then an idea struck—what if you didn’t just return it? What if you confessed when you did? Your heart skipped a beat at the thought, and you couldn’t help but smile, a warmth spreading through your chest.
If I’m going to give it back, I might as well tell him how I feel.
You got so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t realize how long you’d been staring at him until, suddenly, he shifted in his seat. Before you could react, Reo turned halfway around, his eyes scanning the room—almost like he’d sensed you looking. Your heart practically jumped to your throat, and you ducked your head, burying your face in the pages of your book and scribbling down random words to look busy.
Oh my God. Did he just catch me staring?!
Your fingers gripped the pen a little too tightly, the ink smudging on the paper as you tried to steady your nerves. You snuck another glance upward, just to see if he was still looking. Thankfully, he’d turned back to whatever he was doing, completely unaware of your panic. You let out a shaky breath, slumping back in your chair and trying to calm your racing heart.
You felt ridiculous, sitting there like some kind of lovesick cliché, but you couldn’t help it. The way his hair caught the light, the curve of his shoulders, the calm focus on his face as he read. It was impossible not to stare. You watched him for a little while longer, but this time you were more careful, only daring quick glances between turning the pages of your book.
When it seemed safe again, you allowed yourself a tiny, relieved smile. Not today, you told yourself. But soon. You tucked his ID back into your pocket, making a promise to yourself that the next time, the next time for sure—you’d say something. For now, you were content just being close, even if it was only from the other side of a library table.
But little did you know, Reo had actually noticed. He’d caught you staring, and a small chuckle slipped from his lips as he looked away, amused by your flustered attempt to hide.
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It was lunchtime, and the cafeteria buzzed with the familiar sounds of laughter and chatter. You sat at a table with your friends, enjoying your meal while they talked about everything from weekend plans to the latest gossip. You joined in, trying to keep your focus, but your gaze kept drifting toward Reo.
There he was, sitting a few tables away with his friends, their laughter contagious. It was hard not to admire the way he carried himself, he's so charming and full of life. Your friends were busy chatting, but you couldn’t help but steal glances at Reo, your heart fluttering each time he laughed.
As luck would have it, Reo and his friends soon finished their lunch. They got up, trays in hand, and made their way toward the exit. Just then, your eyes caught something shiny on the table. An opened sachet of ketchup, likely left by Reo himself!
A wild idea popped into your head. Without a second thought, you excused yourself from your friends. “I’ll be right back!” you said, trying to sound casual. You tiptoed over to the table, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. After all, you were about to commit a minor act of ketchup theft. With a quick, triumphant swipe, you grabbed the sachet and tucked it into the pocket of your skirt, feeling like a secret agent on a mission.
When you returned to your friends, you played it cool, sliding back into the conversation as if nothing had happened. They didn’t suspect a thing, and you could barely contain your glee.
After school, you hurried home, a bubbling excitement within you. The first thing you did was pull out your diary, feeling like this was a moment worth documenting. You took the now-cleaned sachet of ketchup from your pocket, holding it up like it was a rare artifact.
“Okay, time to unleash my inner artist!” you declared to no one in particular, grinning at your reflection in the mirror.
August 7th -Today, I officially became a ketchup thief! I might have stolen a piece of Reo’s lunch, and I have the evidence!!!!
Carefully, you took out some tape and stuck the sachet onto the page, making sure it was secure. You then drew little hearts around it, writing beneath it:
-This ketchup once belonged to the coolest guy in school! It's none other than Reo <333
With each word, you felt a sense of joy and silliness wash over you. You couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous this all was. You added some doodles of ketchup bottles and even a little Reo caricature, complete with his lavender hair.
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Days had slipped by, and you still hadn’t made a single move towards talking to Reo. Tennis practice for your PE project had completely taken over, leaving you barely any time to catch a glimpse of him. You hadn’t seen him in what felt like forever, and each day without a Reo sighting only added to your restlessness.
But today was different. It was the day of the tennis match, and this one was graded, so you had to give it your all. The gym was buzzing with energy as both your section and another were joining together for the event, and as luck would have it, that other section was Reo’s. You could barely hold back a smile at the thought of finally seeing him after days of missed chances.
The first match got underway with the initial groups, followed by the second group—your group. When it was your turn, you felt an extra surge of energy, mostly from the thought that Reo might be watching. You were surprisingly good at tennis today, maybe because every time you looked up, you caught sight of Reo, and it pushed you to play your best. Sure enough, during a break in the game, you found him in the crowd, watching intently, which only made you play harder, maybe even a little showy, if you were being honest with yourself.
After your match wrapped up, you sat on the gym benches, catching your breath and taking a long sip from your tumbler as you watched the third group—the one with Reo. And wow, he was good, really good. Every swing, every serve, was effortless. Your heart was practically doing somersaults just watching him, and you found yourself leaning forward, totally captivated.
Once his match finished, you sat back, sipping from your tumbler, mind still hazy from both your own match and his. As you were trying to play it cool, Reo unexpectedly plopped down beside you on the bench. He had his drink in one hand, scrolling through his phone with the other. He took a long sip through his straw, eyes on his screen, but then, out of nowhere, he glanced up, catching your eye. And just like that, he gave you a small, casual smile. It was nothing—just a friendly look, really, but your heart skipped like it was the first time anyone had ever looked at you.
You managed a smile back, trying to keep your cool, but inside you were a mess of fluttering feelings. He stood up, almost immediately, his phone pressed to his ear as he answered a call and began pacing a little ways off. And just then, a ridiculous, maybe even bold, idea crept into your mind.
Carefully, you glanced at his drink. There it was, the straw, just sitting there in his cup, practically calling your name. With one last look to make sure he was still focused on his call, you reached out, holding your breath, and snatched the straw from his drink in one swift, stealthy motion. You stuffed it into the pocket of your polo shirt and slipped away as quietly as you could manage.
As you exited the gym, you couldn’t help but look back. Reo had returned to his seat, reached for his drink, and paused, looking down with a confused expression. “What in the…?” Reo murmured, staring at his drink with the now missing straw.
Suppressing a giggle, you made your way out of the gym, heart racing, hands practically shaking as you patted your pocket, feeling the slim outline of the straw. It was the most random, ridiculous souvenir of your little crush, and you couldn’t wait to tape it into your diary as a memento of today’s small funny victory.
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As soon as you got home, you plopped right down at your work desk, feeling that restless excitement still bubbling up. You dug into your bag, pulling out your diary and—of course—the straw. Reo’s straw. You giggled to yourself as you taped it to a new page and started writing down all the moments from today, from the match to that tiny, electric smile he gave you. Every little detail went in, making you smile even more as you remembered it all.
But as you wrote, an idea crept up on you, a mix of nerves and courage. Maybe you should just go ahead and confess to Reo. You were getting crazier about him every day, so why not? With a new burst of energy, you grabbed a fresh piece of paper, writing a short but sweet confession. It was simple: you told him you liked him, mentioned that you’d found his ID, and said you wanted to give it back to him with a little something extra—your true feelings.
Once the note was done, you slipped it into a small pink envelope along with his ID. To make it special, you sprayed a touch of sweet vanilla perfume onto the envelope, then sealed it with a shy smile. Before slipping it into your bag for tomorrow, you gave the envelope a tiny kiss, hoping that would add just the right touch. With a mix of excitement and jitters, you spent the rest of the evening in a daze, waiting for tomorrow.
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The next day, as soon as you got to school, you felt that familiar mix of butterflies and determination. Today was the day. Clutching the envelope, you scanned the hallway until you spotted him—Reo, standing at his locker, skimming through his notes. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself as you made your way toward him.
But just as you got closer, fate threw in a twist. From around the corner, a tall, white-haired guy appeared, eyes glued to something he was playing on his phone. Before you could stop yourself, your gaze locked with his for the briefest second. His eyes were striking, intense, and something about him seemed to pull you in, leaving you momentarily stunned. But he was the first to look away, walking on like he hadn’t even noticed.
Caught off guard, you looked back over your shoulder, watching the white-haired guy disappear down the hall, and for a second, you couldn’t help but feel a strange flutter in your chest. You didn’t even notice when your hand loosened, and the pink envelope slipped quietly from your grip, falling to the ground.
By the time you snapped out of it, the white-haired guy had vanished, leaving you standing there with an odd sense of curiosity and excitement. You didn’t even realize the envelope was gone as you slowly wandered down the hall, following where he’d disappeared.
Meanwhile, back at the lockers, Reo had glanced up, looking around like he’d sensed something. He spotted the little pink envelope lying on the floor, curiosity piquing as he crouched down to pick it up. As he turned it over, he caught sight of your name written in neat handwriting: “From: (Y/N) (L/N), To: Reo Mikage”.
For a moment, he scanned the hallway, his eyes searching, looking for you…but you were already gone. He held the envelope in his hand, unsure of what it might mean, the hint of a smile just barely tugging at his lips as he wondered what you’d left for him.
You’d never even know if he’d read it at all.
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a/n: proofread this for like 10 times now.
likes, reblogs, comments are appreciated!
118 notes · View notes
derekhighwaytf · 1 year ago
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Vanity, Oh Vanity
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With a chiseled jawline and sculpted muscles that are the result of countless hours in the gym, you must think you’re the spitting image of youth and physical perfection. You exude a confidence that's almost intoxicating. Your hair, a glossy waterfall of golden locks, is your crowning glory, accentuating your overly self-assured smile.
And if life is a game to you, "HookedUp" is your playground. Every day, hundreds of messages fill your inbox from men who would do anything just to get a response back from you. Your fingers dance across the screen, teasing and toying with these horny bastards who seek your attention. The thrill of the chase, the art of seduction—it's a game you play so masterfully. You revel in the attention, basking in your control of the chase, always one step ahead, relishing the power your beauty affords you.
But then, out of the blue, here comes a message from "Need2SuckNow." The profile picture stops you in your tracks—a chubby, bald man with a browless face and a ridiculous mustache. What a fucking loser! You laugh aloud, feeling a mixture of contempt and amusement. He is everything you are not, a stark contrast to your own graceful elegance. These are the guys that make you ashamed of the gay community. Horny, desperate fuckers who are so ugly that they shouldn’t be allowed to see the light of day.
That is, until he messages you. "Too good for me, huh? Well let's see about that.” Your laughter freezes in your throat. A chill runs down your spine, something about the message seeming too unusual just to ignore. You quickly try to block the account, but your app freezes up until you receive another chilling message.
"It must be easy to keep a clean face when you only have to shave once every week. But a mustache would look nice on your upper lip. Must suck that you can't get rid of it."
Your heart pounds as a sudden tingling sensation dances across your upper lip. You dash to the bathroom mirror, terror gripping you as you find a thick, bushy mustache sprouting uncontrollably. You can feel each hair pushing through your skin, an alien sensation that makes your stomach churn. In a panic, you grab your razor and try shave it off, but it grows back instantly, each hair thicker and coarser than before. Your face, once the epitome of smooth perfection, is now marred, the mustache making you appear like some kind of seventies porn actor.
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Then a new message pops up: "Hmmm, even with that worm on your face, you're still undeniably sexy. Well, you were, until you lost your hair.”
Your heart hammers in your chest as a foreign sensation begins to crawl across your scalp. Your hair—once your golden crown, each strand lovingly styled and nurtured—begins to wither, shriveling up into thin strings of dull brown. You watch in the mirror, helpless, as each luxurious strand shrivels and falls like brittle leaves from a dying tree. Your scalp tingles with a sensation akin to thousands of tiny ants marching in unison, each step another hair lost, another cruel reminder of what you're losing. In mere moments, you go from a thick, glossy mane to completely and utterly bald, your scalp laid bare, smooth, and cold. The beautiful image you've spent you’re entire life crafting has shattered within mere minutes.
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“Well look who went from twink to daddy! You would get to enjoy this if only you weren’t two cheeseburgers away from becoming a bear."
The words echo in your ears as you feel a strange bloating sensation work up your stomach. It starts subtly, a softness in the muscles you've worked so hard to sculpt. Your reflection warps as your once well-defined muscles begin to transform into flabby, gut-like masses. Each ripple and curve you've proudly displayed becomes obscured by an unwelcome softness. Your pecs, once firm and strong, sag into the unrecognizable shape of man boobs. Your abs dissolve into a paunch, like you’ve just drank four kegs of beer, and your arms have now become hefty wind sails.
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You strain to move as your body expands, each part becoming softer and more unmanageable. The grace and ease with which you once moved are replaced by a sluggish, heavy feeling. You reach out, touching the body that was once your pride, feeling it jiggle back, unable to reconcile the stranger staring back at you.
A new message chills you to the bone: “And if that wasn’t enough, you might’ve still been able to get laid if you hadn’t shaved your eyebrows off, you nasty punk!”
Your heart lurches, and you instinctively reach up, touching the place where your eyebrows once framed your alluring eyes. They're gone. You feel the bare skin, smooth and empty, the absence more profound than mere hair. Your eyes, once highlighted by well-groomed brows, now stare back at you freakishly, wide and vulnerable, framed by a void that seems to laugh at your former vanity.
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“And don’t think you can hide the new you from the world. It’s too bad that you have an insatiable need to get fucked in the kinkiest ways possible. Now that you’re the town whore, everyone knows that you will do anything to get filled.”
A shiver runs through you as a new sensation takes hold—an intense, overpowering craving for cock. It's not just a desire; it's a need, a hunger that gnaws at your very core. Your body aches with it, every fiber of your being consumed by a lust you've never known. You find yourself feverishly messaging guys on the app, the very desperation you mocked replacing the playful teasing that once defined your game. The desire to be filled with cum overshadows everything else, even as your transformed appearance continues to haunt your every move. It doesn’t matter who, you need cock, and you need it now.
The transformation is complete, the new you solidified, your username now the mocking reminder of what you once laughed at: Need2SuckNow. Your vanity, your grace, your confidence—all of it is gone, replaced by an insatiable hunger for cock that will not be denied.
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You are Need2SuckNow, and the world will never let you forget it.
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babytaes · 3 years ago
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the originals (you belong)
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summary: The Mikaelsons family stumbles across a plot to assassinate the Prince. Despite Klaus’ judgement, you are determined to take on that challenge with the help of some magic. You demonstrate to them and to yourself that you BELONG!
paring: jake x female reader
genre: angst, slight fluff, slight smut/suggestive
word count: 7k
warnings: suggestive scene
𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖙𝖘: click me before reading!
➳ part of the drunk & dazed series
a/n: i’m not a big fan of this work, i don’t know what it is but i feel like it could be better. I didn’t do my routine thorough read so forgive me for any mistakes. thank you for waiting for this member. enjoy and much love from babytaes. :)
☆ ҉ ◢▅◣
"This is not allowed, Your Majesty. This is not something I believe we should be doing, "You began to walk out of Jake's regal room, shaking your head.
Hearing footsteps behind you, a hand touches your shoulder as he turns you around, shutting the door behind you as he gently pushes you up against the wall.
"Don't pretend you haven't been keeping an eye on me for the past few weeks. I'm sure you want it as much as I do, y/n.”
Licking your lips, you slap his hands off of you and make your way to his massive bed as you fall back.
"It's not like I don't want to do it. It's just your royalty, and I'm not the Mikaelson type."
Jake snickers as he approaches you and raises you up by your hands, bringing you face to face with him. He touches your cheek in his palm and caresses it as he moves closer to your face.
"Well, we're notorious for occasionally breaching the rules. Why don't you give it a shot?" As you yanked his hand away from you and dashed to the door, you snapped back to reality.
Your heart ached as you turned back to see a befuddled Jake, and you cried out to him before closing the door.
“Jake, please stop. You and I both know I'll never be good enough for your family"
It wasn't the finest decision to leave him standing there, but it was necessary for your protection. You wouldn't want to jeopardize the next person in line.
Even if something might have worked with him, the risk was too high.
Everyone should be cautious when they're among the Milkasons, including the youngest.
It wasn't all bad being with the Mikaelsons. They were like a second family to you, despite the fact that you had only met them millennium before. It was strange to find them on that fateful day.
You never know when the all-powerful Originals will appear on your doorstep and request to look after their brother.
It seemed strange. Right?
"Calm down, brother; we'll find a place." We wouldn't be in this situation if you quit yelling and spreading mayhem all over the place."
Klaus ignores his brother and knocks on a cottage door, rolling his eyes at him.
"Oh, Elijah, just shut up; you're just trying to prove me wrong."
Elijah straightens himself as he hears light footsteps approaching the door and approaches the madam who opens it.
"Hello-, your mother bowed down to them and swiftly looked down."
Elijah takes a step in front of his sibling, who is rambling to your mother. Nothing is audible to you. Even so, you see a boy from behind the corner. He appears to be your age and is hidden behind the towering man.
As he moves from behind the man and toward the back, you snicker and watch him through the windows as he approaches the back door.
As you walk through it, you come face to face with the curious boy.
"Hello, my name is Jake; how about you?" He extends his hand, and you eagerly examine it.
"My name is y/n."  Do you want to join me in my game? "I don't have anyone to play with." As you drag him to your makeshift playhouse, you grasp his hand in yours and shake it hard.
You and he hit it off right away when you were outside. You didn't have many friends, so having someone to play house with was very entertaining at your young age
"Hey, come back," He said as he snatched your toy vehicle, making you and him giggle. "Give it back," you insist  
The two men and your mother were standing by the rear door, staring at you two. 
"I believe he will be a perfect fit. Don't worry, I'll do my best." Before summoning Jake over, Klaus and Elijah thanked your mother one again.
They said their goodbyes and walked away, and your memories were about to start.
---
You and Jake have been inseparable since then; it's always been you two against the world. Despite the fact that you and he come from two different worlds, you manage to make it work on occasion.
You stood far away from the commotion, watching the royal family squabble over royal matters. Jake had just been summoned, and you took a step back, not wanting to cause any disruption.
Despite the fact that they could clearly hear and see you, you continued to stand there.
"Brother, we wouldn't be in this stupid situation if it weren't for your inconvenient behavior once more."
Life is always tumultuous when you basically grow up with a group of originals. I don't think there has ever been a moment when someone wasn't screamed at, killed, or cursed.
It's always something with them.
Jake looks at you, rolling his eyes and making a variety of facial expressions. He loved his life except for this part.
His family 
Your mother took him in and practically raised him when you were younger. You never understood why his family always left him behind. It seems like just because his family was on the run at the time they couldn't or didn't have time to look after him.
As a result, when he reached adulthood, he was able to take his rightful place in the kingdom, and because your family took on that responsibility, you were granted permission to remain in the kingdom.
I mean, the enormous rooms and countless bathrooms never get old, noo. Even though everything appeared to be all in good humor, you felt a sinking feeling in your stomach.
Feeling as if you've never belonged there 
You were a vampire with most of their powers, but you lacked the "royal," and no matter how hard you tried, you could never fit into their mold.
You take one last look at the family, shake your head, and then walk away. You still have a lot of work ahead of you.
You arrive at your mother's room slowly and open it to see her folding laundry. As you approached her and sat down on her, her demeanor brightened.
"You do know you're pretty heavy, sweetie?"
"Mmh," you mutter under your breath as you roll away from her and to the ground. To pass the time, you take a shirt and begin folding it.
"Mom?"
As she continued to fold, she hummed a quiet yes.
"What made you decide to take on such a difficult duty as raising Prince Jake?" She let go of the blouse in her hand as she came to a halt and stared at you. She sighs as she takes a seat next to you and tells you about that fateful day.
Your mother was inside talking to the royal family as you played in the backyard with your new friend.
She dropped her head and gazed up at Elijah and Klaus, saying, "It is such an honor to have you both in my company."
Making their way over to the table, they all sat down and discussed ways of how you could best protect him.
"We don't know when or for how long we'll be on the run, but we're prepared to pay any charge if that time comes."
As Klaus' voice boomed over the table, she shook her head at them, her hand trembling.
"We have to get out of here; I sense them." Elijah gave his troubled brother a stern look and motioned him to leave. He was in a hurry and dashed out of the house.
Elijah reached into his back pocket and placed a bag of coins on the table. He swiftly thanked you after scouting the front entrance.
"I apologize for the inconvenience, but forgive our ill-timed intrusion. I'll make arrangements for payments to come from the castle every week. I'd like to thank you in advance for everything you've done for us."
Elijah nodded before sprinting into the woods in pursuit of his brother. She smiles as you take it all in and grab the bag of coins from the table.
"This is for you, love, Rest in peace, my dear."
As she make her way to the back, she calls over the two rowdy children and embrace them in a hug. As she looked at them both, they both smiled. You watched as she squatted down and spoke, holding them in her hands.
"So those two lovely gentlemen who just came by were members of the royal family, as you may know y/n, and they have entrusted us to watch and maintain track of this handsome little boy," Jake squirmed around as his face reddened as you pinched his cheek.
"For the time being, we'll do our best to make this the best time for him." Before embracing Jake in an embrace, your daughter cast a glance at him. As you gazed at the scene in front of you, a warm flush spread across your chest as you imagined the days you three would spend together..
"So it was difficult at the time, and due to your father's death and financial difficulties, it was only a matter of time before we were thrown out on the street. So, aside from the age-old law of not disobeying the royal family, it was now or never."
Your smile crept across your face as you shook your head up and down. Your mother was your role model, the woman who always wore a grin on her face and never let the world bring her down. She was daring, loving, and brave, and she did it all despite the fact that she had recently become a single mother. Moms have a lot of strength.
"Ahh, I see. Dad would be incredibly proud of you and all of your efforts."
She grinned as she threw her shirt in your direction.
"Ahh- stop"
*Knock Knock*
As you and your mother stood up to tell them to come in, a guard approached you both and communicated a message.
"You are required in the Prince chambers, Ms. Y/n." You bowed down and pecked your mum on the cheek before taking your place behind the guard.
---
You thanked the guard as you entered inside the familiar area after arriving at the enormous set of bronzed yet golden doors. When you peek inside, you notice him lying on the floor; as you carefully approached his side, you smiled and hovered over him.
"You asked for me, right? I'm going to leave if this isn't something significant." Jake gently rises, his head resting on his gigantic bed.
"It's nothing major, but I do have a request," he says. As you faced him, your eyes widened. As he turned to face you, he exuded a princely radiance. He leaned forward and lingered near your lips, his gaze fixed on you.
You leapt to your feet, terrified and intrigued, and shoved him back as you took a step back.
"Excuse my language, Jake, but what the hell was that?"  As he got up and approached you, he cocked his head to the side.
"My request?" He snatched your hands and held them in his. You'd never been caressed with such gentleness before. It was an unfamiliar sensation that made you feel warm but strange.
"This is not permitted, Your Majesty. This is not something I believe we should be doing, "You began to walk out of Jake's regal room, shaking your head.
A hand touches your shoulder as he turns you around, shuts the door behind you and gently pushes you up against the wall, hearing footsteps behind you.
"Don't act like you weren't eyeing me these past weeks. I know you want this just as much as I do y/n."
You smack his hands off of you and make your way to his large bed as you fall back, licking your lips.
"It's not like I don't want to do it. It's simply your royalty, and I'm not the Mikaelson type."
Jake snickers as he approaches you and raises you up by your hands, bringing you face to face with him. He touches your cheek in his palm and caresses it as he moves closer to your face.
"Well, we're notorious for occasionally breaking the rules. Why don't you give it a shot?" As you shoved his hand away from you and opened the door, you snapped back to reality.
Your heart ached as you turned back to see a befuddled Jake, and you cried out to him before closing the door.
"Jake, please stop. You and I both know I'll never be good enough for your family."
As you turned the corner and ran down the corridor, you left him stunned and in disarray. You didn't stop running until you were outdoors, far away from the castle, in the fabled garden.
As you fall on top of the fountain, the tears won't stop flowing. The day was slipping away as your sobs drew the attention of a curious woman. It wasn't until she sat next to you and spoke to you that you realized it.
"One of those days, huh?"
As she stretched her hand to you, you shrieked and fell back on your hands, frightened and terrified.
"Sorry for scaring you, hun; I didn't intend to. Haven't we all had awful days? My name is Davina, by the way." As she helped you up to the edge of the fountain, you took her hand in yours.
"Thanks for asking, today is one of these days." "So, may I ask what the problem is?" she asked, smiling as she moved closer to you.
"I miss my father and all that made up his eccentric character. He would know what to do." you sniffled as you glanced up at the girl with a welcome atmosphere.
She leapt to her feet and squealed, extending her hand "I enjoy helping others. In this area, I do have the upper hand. Allow me to demonstrate." You took her hand in yours after a brief moment of hesitation.
You had never expected a witch to be able to assist you, but you were willing to try. She waved to her neighbor across the street as she unlocked her door. As she arranged her stuff, she turned on the lamp and signaled for you to come sit at her table.
"Please take a seat; I won't bite. Maybe" You chuckled as you sat in the wooden chair, having forgotten that the witches lived in this neighborhood. It's not like they were exiled, but you hardly had time to check in on them and the rest of the group.
Everyone looked to be so comfortable in their own little world. Why couldn't you seem to fit in anywhere?
"All right, all right, we're ready; don't worry, it won't hurt."
"What might hur-'' As the knife quickly passed across your palm, you felt a searing feeling.
'What the hell, Davina,' you exclaimed." She chuckled as she put yout palm over a stone bowl and watched the blood drip into it.
"Sorry"
As the blood began to bubble up in the stone bowl, you pouted. As her hands swiveled around the bowl, Davine began to speak phrases you couldn't comprehend. As your eyes blinked quicker, your head began to spin.
"What's going on?" you exclaim. When she opened her eyes, you could see white orbs replacing her natural ones.
"We're ready."
---
You passed out as you receded back into your chair. Awoken Davina took your hand in hers and escorted you outside. This time, though, things were different; the day had turned to darkness, and everything appeared to be dissimilar. The town has turned completely around.
"Where are we?" As she turned to face you, she laughed.
"A better question is when are we. The spell I casted transported us to a time when I hoped you would learn something new and put things into perspective." For the 23rd time today, she began to tug you. Your heart began to drop as you arrived at your house, well, the one in the past, as you beamed at that. As you let her hand fall from yours, your nerves were heightened. As you took a step back, you began to feel panicked.
"Noo-nooo wait, how did you do this?" you say as you fall to your knees and cover your eyes. You could feel her hands on your back as she gently caressed it.
"I know, it's crazy, y/n. I just pulled some old memories back to life. I won't leave your side if you're afraid." As you saw the familiar image in front of you, you slowly pushed forward.
"Just don't leave." As you walked through the front door, you held her hand in yours. Everything seems so blurry at this point; you were just a small child, and your life was about to alter dramatically.
"Hey sweetie, go tell your father to go get some firewood. Okay?" As you crawled down off the stool and out the door, you smiled. As he turned to face you, your little feet found their way to your father's side.
"There's my little princess. What exactly do you need?" He massaged your backside as he hauled you onto his lap.
"Mommy said to get wood, and I wanna come too, daddy. May I, pretty please." He sighed as he looked at his watch, it was fairly dark, but the wood wasn't far away.
"Yes, you are welcome to join me. You're a big girl now. So you gotta help daddy out, okay?"
As you and Davina stood on the sidelines watching everyone make their way to the woodpile, you wished you had done more for him.
"All right, sweetie, you can carry one and I'll take care of the rest." You squealed as you clutched a small, almost insignificant log in your arms. As he placed a twig in your batch, he gazed down at his girl.
"Daddy, I think that's all I can carry." As he and you both began heading back to the home, you both laughed.
As the horror grew, you turned around and began crying on Davina's shoulder. You knew what was going to happen, but you couldn't bear the thought of having to go through it again. As Davina turned to face you, you felt her hands on your shoulders.
"You must see for yourself. It is the only option."
As tears flood down your cheeks, you slowly open your eyes and look at the scene.
"Thanks for helping daddy, sweetheart." "Mommy would be so proud of you." He kissed you on the head as he knelt down to you.
"You're welcome, Daddy. "Now that I'm a big girl, I can do huge things." He smiled as he took another glance around. " As your mouth enlarged, you dropped your logs. Your father's life vanished before your eyes in an instant.
As his body went slack, he fell to the ground, and you began to scream. As words slurred from your mouth, he began to shiver.
"What's the matter, Daddy?" HELP, MOMMY." As he held you in his hug, your small body slumped forward into your father's chest.
Your mother's footsteps were quick to arrive as she knelt down and took up your father, holding him in her arms.
"Honey, I'm right here," she says. A tear streamed down his cheek as he glanced up at his beautiful girls.
"Never forget that I love you all." And then, as he fell limp on your mother's lap, life left his eyes. As you gazed up at your mother, the screams resonated across the forest. Her eyes were welling up with tears.
You had no idea what was going on, but you knew something had changed.
"What's wrong with daddy, Mommy?" She slowly turns to you, pulling you closer to her breast and kissing you on the head with moist lips.
"He's gone, daddy's gone."
----
"NOo, noo stop this. I don't want to remember this." As Davina chases you down, shouting out to you, you begin to flee the scene. You come to a halt and turn to face her, yelling at her.
"Is this a joke or something? Your spells, you witches." As you fall to the ground grasping your arms and gently rock back and forth, tears begin to flow from your eyes.
Davina finally reaches you and attempts to calm you down by wrapping her arms over your shaking body. Your heart felt like it was racing at 100 miles per hour and you couldn't stop it. Everything seemed a little too real. You didn't want to think about it.
It's not that you didn't believe it; it's just that you didn't want that memory to resurface in your life.
"Just wait and listen to me, y/n. I know it's horrible, but something good came out of it." You push her away from you as you leap to your feet, tears streaming down your cheeks.
"How did something wonderful emerge from my father's death, who died in my arms? DAVINA, HOW DAVINA." Davina frowns as she walks around, taking your hand in hers and leading you somewhere.
"You weren't the only one whose loved one was taken from them." You look up at her and stare blankly at her as she comes to a halt at a familiar location.
"How did we end up in front of the castle?" As inaudible sounds flow from her mouth, she begins to swirl her hands around. You stand there in astonishment as you are whisked away to someone's private quarters.
You and Davina both walk into a room where a young boy is crying into the chest of someone. As you recovered consciousness, you noticed that you were surrounded by the Original family, or at least some of them.
"We couldn't get the remedy to her in time." You stood there watching Klaus thrash around as he collided with a vase that shattered on the ground.
You shifted closer to the young kid as you observed him as his brother shouted out to him, "Niklaus." As the rest of the family walked out in tears and small sniffles, you shifted closer to the young child.
Jake was there; you had no idea his mother had died. It had never been mentioned before, so you were taken aback.
The little boy crawled onto his mother's chest as he sobbed into her chest.
"Mommy, come back to me, please."
"I'm ready to leave right now." You took her hand in yours and gripped it strongly. You were prepared for anything the world could throw at you now that you had this new knowledge. Although it was painful to revisit that memory, you chose to use it to your advantage.
Your father raised a fighter, not a wimp. You wanted to honor his memory rather than mourn it, and I feel Jake should as well.
"This is for you, Dad,"
With that, you were transported back to reality, and you found yourself back where you started. You instantly stood up and exited her room.
"Hey, where are you going?" 
You came to a halt, raised your head, and shook your head, saying, "Acceptance."
She waved you off with a smile on her face. You brushed yourself off as you walked out of her house, mentally preparing yourself for the road ahead.
----
You felt more alive when you woke up in this house. Although the work was endless, you earned something greater than it all, A friend. Your mother groaned as you rolled over and landed flat against her backside.
"Mmmh, mom, I think it's time for you to get up." "Mmmh, five more minutes," she mumbles as she yawns on your shoulder. As your body moved up off the bed and towards the blinds, you giggled. You chuckled as you let the blinding light move into the room as you heard your mother's nasty shrieks.
"Sweetie, it's Saturday; it's a free day today. Go hang out with your friends." As you fall to the floor, she kicks your body off the bed. You giggle as you walk towards the shower, scoffing at her acts and mumbling words to her.
"Have you noticed, Mom, that I only have one friend?" You chuckle as you take a step into the shower and let the suds run down your body. As you wash slowly, your thoughts begin to wander.
You were reminded of your previous outburst with Jake as the water flowed over your body.
"Shit"
You felt the chilly air hiss against your body as you stepped out of the shower and hastily wrapped a towel over your body from the shelf. You noticed that the girl in the mirror had a different smile. She felt happier and more grateful.
You cried out to your mother as you opened the door and entered the frame.
"Yes, darling?"
"Get ready. I'd like to take you out for a picnic." She grinned and drew you in for a hug while cocking her head to the side.
"That would be fantastic. I'll take care of everything. You don't worry, okay?" You grinned as you shut the door behind her and returned to your self-pampering.
"It's going to be a terrific day today."
As you rested your head on your mother's shoulder, you held the picnic basket tightly in one hand and your mother's hand in the other. It was moments like these that made you long for your small family. You spread the blanket on the ground and placed the goods on it as you chuckled.
"My two lovely ladies are here."  When you raced towards your father, he stretched his arms open wide for you. Your mother took out her little camera and snapped a candid shot of you two.
"Don't forget about me," as she made her way over, your father pressed a kiss on her lips as you all sat down on the grass.
As you stumbled towards the basket, your little fingers pointed to it, saying, "Mommy, open". Before you saw the glorious fruit in front of you, a small pebble made its way in your path as you trip on it.
As a result, your father gracefully caught your small body in his grip while you giggled.
"My princess, you need to be more cautious. I can't have my pretty girl all beaten up."
You chuckled as you kissed his forehead and said, "OK, daddy, me be careful." You dashed over to your mother's side as he let you go, and she handed you a strawberry.
Your smile widened as you jumped up and did a small dance as you bit into it. Your parents stood there in astonishment as they watched you eat some more fruit.
"Is it good y/n?" You giggled as you ran around them, shaking your head up and down, as they simply watched their exuberant kid spout forth incoherent words. They smiled.
'I love you, honey,' she said. Light kisses on her temples were exchanged by your father while your mother rested her head on his lap.
"I will always love you."
Finally, with everything in place, you sniffle and wipe a stray tear from your eyes. Your mother immediately turned to you and rubbed your arm as she drew you closer to her.
"Hey, sweetheart, what's the matter?"
"I miss him," you said as you drew closer to her.
She smiled as she rocked you back and forth, kissing you on the head.
"I miss him as well. This brings back memories of our picnics with him." As you reached for the basket, you shook your head. Before removing the famed strawberries, you smiled. You chuckled as tears streamed down her cheeks after delivering them to your mother.
"Thanks for this, y/n." You were both crying as you rested your head in your mother's lap before entwining your hands.
"Anytime mom, but I do have to get going. I need to speak with someone, and I'd prefer to do so now before the situation escalates."
Before biting on a plump strawberry, she laughs and smirks.
"Tell Jake I said hi." "Wait, how did you know?" you start to stand up as you freeze in place.
As she pushes you toward the gate exit, she shakes her head at you. You blow a kiss to her, embarrassed and honestly surprised, as she yells at you.
"Use protection."
You cringe as you race towards the gate, not even looking back. You came upon a guard at the entrance who winked at you as you stared at him.
"Oh, Mark, shut up." After saluting you, he chuckles and returns to his former stance. Making your way to his chamber, you slowly knock as you hear his voice on the other side of the door.
As you slowly come in, you notice him at his desk, working, and you move your glance in his direction.
"Oh, look who it is?" As your lips fell, his eyes rolled at you.
"Hey," you say as you approach him and take a seat in one of his sofas. They felt like marshmallows, and you spent your days and some nights in them.
"Let me explain before you go all pouty and stirred up." He doesn't even move as he goes about his business. You kick his chair while rolling your eyes at him, eliciting a yelp from him.
"Fine, I'm listening, what?" he says, smiling as he scoots over to you and places his hand on his lap.
Not only did the close proximity make your heart race, but his position didn't help matters either.
"So, for starters, I'd like to apologize for my outburst. We both know if they're a problem we can freely discuss it. That's something that's been on my mind for a while and has now exploded, but it's not your fault. I just don't think I belong."
He approached you with a puzzled expression on his face as he moved forward. You look around, worried, as you cough.
"What?"
"What you just said made me pause because you and this family know how important you and your mother are to all of us, especially to me. I'm sorry you feel that way. My family can be difficult at times."
As you push past him and land on his colossal king-sized bed, you scoff "Yeah, tough how about, protective, vengeful, murderous, and hot-headed? That's a lot better." He laughs as he pushes you over and lays down next to you, a little closer this time.
"I can't argue with that, but you still love us. Right?"
"Yeah, I do love yo-" As you rolled over and smacked your hands in your face, your eyes widened.
"Yeah, go ahead and spill your secret y/n."
You kicked him as you rolled back on your side, facing him, rolling your eyes. As his hand landed on your leg, the newfound electricity between you two shifted.
Before his hand lightly moved up your leg, he grinned at you. He came to a halt and stared at you, waiting for a response. You softly shook your head as he continued as his hand came to rest on your chin.
"You must have been waiting a long time for this one, dude, ain't I so attractive," you chuckled before scooting closer to him. Before extending his delicate hands towards your lips, he reddened.
"Shh, also what happened yesterday? You said this wasn't right, didn't you?" As your desire overtook you, you became irritable.
"Oh, shut up and kiss me, people change Jake." you said as you drew him closer to you and your lips smashed together furiously. As he pushed you over, you both synced up quickly, and he was on top of you in no time.
"Oh how the tables have turned," says Jake. You had definitely changed as your body craved for his touch even more. As you threw your arms around his neck, pressing him closer to you, his lips never left yours.
His shirt was ripped off and dropped to the ground in a flash as he touched yours, hoping for a response.
"Yes, you may remove it." He stopped and peered at you, chuckling, as he slowly pulled it above your head. You subconsciously flew your hands to your chest, concealing your body.
This was the first time a boy, much less a Mikaelson, had seen you half-naked. Jake's mouth falls open as he rushes to unlatch your hands.
"Hey, don't hide your beauty, because I love each and every part." That made you grin as you approached him and kissed him on the lips.
"You haven't even asked me to be your girlfriend yet, and already you're behaving cringy. Maybe this was a mistake." As you begin to rise, you smirk. Jake grabs you and pins you down before you can even get a foot off the bed.
"Wait- stop, wait, don't go" You chuckle as he kisses your frigid body while you squirm under his touch.
"Ahhh, please stop tickling me...ahh." He comes to a halt in his actions to look at you for a little moment.
"I can't believe we've reached the point where we've gone from friends to lovers. It feels like some teenage drama."
(Am I right readers, don't we all love a trope like this... I know I do.)
This isn't a book; it's real life, and can we please get back to making love? Jake, the readers are waiting." He continues to laugh as he gently removes your bra as he completes the last clip.
He didn't have time to marvel at the beauty in front of him as you placed your hand on his hardening spot. This elicited a tiny moan as he swirled his lips around your soft nips.
"Mmmh, wow, don't stop, that feels great." You quickly remove your jeans and underwear while his tongue works its magic, placing his hand within your folds.
"This is my first time; wow, I'm not sure whether I'm doing it correctly." Wow!" As a moan explodes from your throat, you laugh.
"Stop playing me; you're making me laugh. I'll show you the way." He finds a groove in your folds as he pushes faster and deeper, striking a familiar area, while your eyelids roll back.
"AHHHH, Jake, right there."  As your back arches off the bed, thrusting deeper into his finger, your body reacts perfectly.
A knock on the door is heard just as your high reaches you, and you both pause and look behind you.
"Prince Jake, you have been summoned to the royal room to receive a message." Before Jake speaks to him, you both remain silent for a few moments.
"Thank you very much; I'll be out for a minute."
Before he turns to face you, you cover your lips with your hand. Before pulling away, he bends forward and kisses you on the forehead.
"You're not going to finish me off, are you? You can't stick and dip; it doesn't work like that." You start arguing with him before he bends in and kisses your folds.
"I have to get going, and if I'm late, I'm toast. You did mention that my family is what now-" You shake your head as you push him off your body and start putting your clothing on.
Another knock is heard as the door slowly begins to open and a familiar face appears. Jake rushes to conceal your half-naked body as Elijah walks in.
As you lowered your head and snickered, it felt like a million pairs of eyes were on you. Jake covers your body with a blanket before pulling up his pants and walking towards the door.
He flashes a big grin at Elijah before crossing his arms and stepping closer to him. "My dear brother, keep your indiscretions to yourself," he yanked his handkerchief from his pocket before handing it to Jake. Another familiar figure arrived in front of the entrance as he saw the chaos unfold before his eyes.
Kol appeared behind Elijah before chuckling as he crossed his arms, "well, well, well looks like someone having fun." He gave you a wave as he walked out of the room, smiling to himself. You turned away and mentally slapped yourself as soon as he said it.
"We'll be out in a second. Please visit us again." Before turning around, Jake slammed the door shut. While yelling under his breath, his reddened face brought you your garments.
"Please forgive them; they enjoy barging in here unannounced. I'm sorry if they saw anything." You're hauled up by him before you can secure the button on your jeans. He kissed your lips as he assisted you in putting on your shirt.
"Okay, I'm definitely not going to get tired of those." You kiss his lips once more as you pull his shirt closer to you.
"Mmh, your lips are soft. As you approach the door, you take Jake's hands in yours before gently pushing it open.
“We will definitely finish this later.” As he plants a kiss on your hand, he smirks. Before enlarging your gaze, you licked your lips.
You moan under your breath, "Oh, I can't wait," as Jake discreetly lays his palm over your mouth.
“You’re already a mess for me, aren't you?” He comes to a halt in front of the door and cups your face in his hands, kissing your hungry lips.
“As much as I would love to kiss you,” you say as you rest your palm on his chest and giggle. "Let's hurry up because I don't want them to come back and dagger you." He took your hand in his and led you to the throne room.
---
Jake strides over to his family's gathering and excuses himself, letting go of your hand. You took a step back and stood next to Mark, who was looking at you with a curious expression.
"So...how did it go?" Then, after a brief scan of the area, you struck him across the shoulder with your fist.
"Aren't you guards supposed to be quiet? You do know we all have vamp hearing." After chuckling at your remark, he returned to his job.
Besides Jake and I, Mark was the only person around our age with whom we both became close as we basically all grew up in the castle. Although being the only female in the group, they made up for it.
We all had our own ways of having fun in those late evenings, so there were many nights of loud laughter and sticky fingers. Those were the days, but now Jake had his royal duties, they were a thing of the past. Everyone seems to be set in their ways.
When your name was called, you were swiftly brought out of your thoughts. They didn't seem to know you were there, but you knew it was true when Mark bumped your arm.
"Uh.. yes. I'm here, your majesty."
Walking over to the gathering, you stood next to Jake as you heard his booming voice; still to this day, you could never get over that.
"So, y/n, you and your family have been so kind to not only the Mikaelson family, but the entire kingdom. And we thank you for your service, but we've heard rumors that my father is planning to travel to our country to assassinate our future heir."
You exhale, your body trembling as you clasp your hands behind your back. You weren't old enough to recall certain details of the attacks.
This was how horrible it was 
As he gazed down at you and winked at you, he entwined his fingers behind your back and whispered, "It's going to be okay."
As he stepped up from his throne, Klaus began again, "So, once again, I'd like you to protect and guard him while we're out; you've had plenty of training for this, so I'm confident you'll do fine. Finally, you are responsible for whatever happens to him."
He was now directly in front of your eyes as he kept a wary eye on your flimsy frame.
Thanks for the extra pressure. 
Jake gave him a gentle push back as he walked in front of you and coughed "Okay, don't scare her. We've got a lot of security in place, and I'm an original here who can take care of myself. I don't want to put anyone at risk, especially y/n."
As he acknowledged you specifically, it warmed your heart. He squeezed your hand not only to show that he was paying attention, but also to make you feel comfortable and secure.
Klaus grinned as he walked away from you, both of you speaking in a condescending manner.
"Our father has not and will not stop if we are alive in the past centuries, and now that you are of legal age, he is coming to take advantage of that opportunity. Our father's reign is far from done. After all, it's more for y/n than for you. Take a look at her. Do you believe she'll be able to defend YOU?" 
Your heart stung as you gasped in pain as you yanked your hands from his grasp. As you took a step forward, tears welled up in your eyes. You coughed as you drew Klaus' attention, enraged and honestly taken aback.
"No one has the right to treat me like an outsider just because I'm not a member of this family. Instead of making trouble and fleeing, why not stay and fight like a brother once in a while?I've done more for Jake than YOU could possibly do.
You turned and walked away from the family, tears streaming down your cheeks. A hand grabbed your wrist as you flung it off of you. Before exiting the room, Elijah caught Klaus just as he was ready to explode with wrath.
"This meeting is over. After 30 minutes, we'll be on our way." As you raced away from Jake, he called your name.
You heard shouts of anger from Jake as he yelled at Klaus.
However, he has never been able to see what you and your family went through to safeguard his prized heir. They were going to get a guard if they wanted one, and a good one at that.
You vowed to prove to them, and particularly to Klaus, that you belonged here.
You got to a familiar area and pounded on the door, enraged, as she approached the door.
You hurried by her and sat down, your hand outstretched as you glared angrily at her. "Oh hey—," she said. As she sat down gently across from you, she rubbed her chin and arched her brows.
"Okay, no hello or nothing. That's awesome, what's up?"
"I'd like to see him; please, show him to me right now." She chuckled, as if she'd read your mind. You wanted to prove yourself to someone. And he was the only one who had a clear idea of what needed to be done.
She sliced your hand and poured the liquid into the stone bowl as she spoke. You sat up straight and became ready. As soon as you closed your eyes, you were transported somewhere else.
---
Davine touched you on the shoulder as you sat up straight and followed her instructions by moving forward.
"You just have a few minutes, so work quickly. This is a difficult spell that becomes weaker by the second."
You stood up, shook your head, and walked over to the man perched precariously on the ledge, his feet dangling dangerously in the air. After a few minutes of sitting next to him, you began to become worked up.
"I was curious as to when you planned to pay me a visit. Princess, how are you?" As tears welled up in your eyes, you turned around in astonishment. He looked exactly the same as he did that night. His black slacks matched his stained white collared shirt.
He was perfect, still 
"I miss you, dad." Upon entering his embrace and taking in his smell, he extended his arms and welcomed you in. The lingering woody smell filled your nostril as you held onto him tighter.
"Hey, love. Whatever you're going through right now, I have complete faith in your ability to get through it. I didn't raise a wimp; instead, I raised a powerful warrior. Don't allow them get to the point where they're controlling your thoughts. What is it that I usually say?"
"Life struggles are necessary for growth."
You continued his sentence with the words "life struggles are necessary for growth." He pecked your head and held on for a little bit more.
"Y/n we have to go; the spell is slipping."
When your father saw you, he got to his feet and stood up. His hand went to your face as he noticed all your new features. He seemed intent on studying you, as if he wanted to make up for the time he had lost by not seeing you.
"I'm very proud of the women you've grown to be. I'm so proud of you, y/n. Remember that and know that I am always here for you." As a tear rolled down his cheek, he pointed to your chest.
You gave him one more hug as you raised your eyes to see his face.
"I love you, dad."
"Princess, you have my undying love. Now go out there and confront the world. Fighting for you always."
Davine held your hand as she guided you back to the present moment in time. You observed his disappearance as you bid him farewell by waving.
As soon as you regained consciousness, you hugged Davine and thanked her for her time. Afterwards, you left.
"Don't worry, y/n you got it. I've had my fair share of the Mikaelson family, so don't fret. I'm here for you."
You took a deep breath and then made your way back to the castle, smiling as you did so.
You already knew who you were on the inside; you didn't need an all-powerful family to confirm it for you. You only needed a little nudge to remember who you truly were on the inside.
The princess in your father's eyes.
"Thanks, Dad, this one for you."
137 notes · View notes
ura-writes · 3 years ago
Text
Trampolinist
Summary - You’re a player who jumps from server to server, often revisiting several and always trying to find access to new ones. When a victorious game of duos Skywars on Hypixel wins you an invitation to one of the most famous yet exclusive servers in the community, you find a world you never knew existed, allies you’re not certain you can trust, and enemies that may not be just that. Oh, yeah, and an anarchist piglin hybrid.
(c!technoblade/server jumper!reader)
Basic warnings: minor blood, swearing, light threats
A/N - hello! I decided to start this series as a result of a sporadic idea at midnight after quite an odd dream. Some information you might need:
A few select people can jump servers without using portals, and you (the reader) are one of them.
Some servers are public and some require invites. Hypixel and a lot of the other bigger servers are public, while SMPs such as the Dream SMP are private and require an invite.
Jumpers, as they are commonly referred to throughout the series, still require an invite to private servers, though some have figured out loopholes to this process and actively exploit it, earning the title of “Crashers”. You have figured it out but don’t use the ability.
The rating for this series is 14-15+, most likely including minor to graphic descriptions of blood/injuries, violence, swearing, minor manipulation and death.
There are select groups of people who hate Jumpers and actively try to perma-kill them or get them source-banned from servers, leaving them stuck in single player and isolation.
From the author:
This will be in second person.
There will be no use of Y/N or (Y/N) or anything along those lines. I understand some people use them as a descriptor, but in my opinion, it looks a bit messy/choppy.
Feel free to criticize, though don’t be super harsh.
Also gl free to point out spelling mistakes.
I love love LOVE feedback! Gimme it! Please! /lh /gen
Anyway, those are the basics that you need to know! For now, at least… hehe.
Enjoy the first part!
-ura
——
The familiar particles signalling a personal portal opening in the lobby sends a few people scattering, but most just move to the side, though there are a fair few that stay to watch the person step out of the rip in reality.
The person stumbles out, cursing the deities to high heaven, brushing dirt and sweat and even a bug off of their face, certainly looking a bit worse for wear.
This was certainly not what the audience was expecting. They were expecting a prim, proper or at least somewhat distinguished person to step out of the actively sparking spiral, as most Jumpers are that way, even just a bit.
Nope.
“What are you looking at?”
The people step back a bit, noticing the sword the person clutches in their hand.
That person is you.
“Fuck off, would you? You probably see Jumpers on the daily! Fuckin’ annoying.” you grumble, sheathing the sword at your side. “Fuck… is this Hypixel?”
With a cursory sweep of the attire of the people surrounding you and buildings towering over everyone, you determine that yes, it is, in fact, Hypixel.
Of course, that may have also been the big-ass sign in the sky with the server’s name on it. That too.
With a sigh and a wave of your hand, you pull your inventory up. The typical “please place your personal belongings in a safe place before playing a match, otherwise they may be wiped.” message pops up when you do. You huff, wave your fingers to dismiss the text. Not like you’ve been here a hundred thousand times or anything like that.
The Netherite blade at your side, your armor and any sentimental belongings you have on you go straight into your enderchest, categorized in one of the shulker boxes designated specifically for this purpose.
As you walk along, trying to sort your inventory out (fortunately the server provides a free repair and replace to anyone’s clothing, as yours are beaten pretty much beyond self-help), deciding what match you might want to play, the crowd that was surrounding you quickly scurries off with a few screams.
A quick glance upwards catches your gaze on a red and white nametag.
Huh. Don’t see those often.
Whispers of the name you can’t quite see from where you stand rapidly reach your ears, ringing with slight familiarity.
Dream.
Odd. The masked man doesn’t often come onto public servers, mainly sticking to his own private server, named after him. The Dream SMP. How egotistical.
Without another glance towards the fan-people, you select a game idly. The blue text pops up in front of you, confirming your want to play the match.
Skywars Duos.
Before you know it, you’re whisked off to the arena, a bit dizzy from your landing, but fine nonetheless. The timer for the start slowly counts down, ticking slowly as people pop into existence with increasing frequency.
A presence behind you alerts you to your teammate. You nod at them just as the beeping of the final ten seconds counts down.
After a few repeated sessions, most being losses, you decide on one more match before you head to a tavern for the night, preferably one with a view.
This time you’re the second one to arrive. And for once, you take a longer look at your teammate.
He’s the guy everyone was freaking out about a few hours earlier… what was his name again? Dr-something. Or was it a Tr-something? Ah, who knows. It doesn’t matter as long as he’s good. You don’t bother to look at his nametag; he’s probably just some hotshot who thinks he’s all that.
“Not going to freak out?” he asks you. You snort at the question, shaking your head with a glance at the timer.
“Just here to kick ass.”
“Fair enough,” he replies. “You any good?”
A laugh from you echoes as the beeping of the countdown starts.
“We’ll see.”
The barrier below you drops, sending you hurtling to the floating island below. You quickly hit the ground, rolling into a crouch while your teammate raids the chest beside you, tossing a few bits of armor and a stone axe as well as a golden apple, which you catch and nod gratefully.
The hood on his head drops when another player attempts to take him out of the game. He ducks, barely avoiding the glimmer of the enchanted sword, sweeping her legs out from under her. The enemy player narrowly rolls out of the way with her shield being knocked out of her hands into the dark blue void below the floating island.
She curses loudly as his axe lands beside her head, kicking it to the side.
In that moment, you shove her hard off of the crumbling stone, jabbing your axe in her shoulder for final measure. Her falling figure flashes red with the loss of hearts, and eventually, she disintegrates into dust, the announcement of her tag being eliminated in the chat making you smirk.
“Well, you are good.”
You send him a smirk and collect the spoils of your kill, mostly a few potions and the iron blade, tossing a few of the former to your teammate and splashing a speed potion on yourself.
With practiced movements you begin to build to the middle islands, your teammate throwing the occasional snowball at any approaching enemy players, even knocking one off their bridge. The message of their death rings in the chat, being the fifth elimination.
The chests there contain better loot, even a diamond sword and chestplate, a strength II potion and a Power I bow with fifteen arrows. You take the bow and chestplate (with permission from your teammate, who gladly takes the sword and potion) and book it to the center chests, almost laughing at the amount of snowballs and arrows lying there.
“Well, I’m not complaining,” you muse.
You hear a yell of your tag, quickly spinning around to block the swing of an enchanted axe, their teammate quickly turning to gang up on you after finishing off another person.
Great. You’re fighting two people now.
Swing, duck, dodge, swipe, duck, swipe, block—shit, you got stabbed! Two hearts disappear from your health bar, sending a flurry of curses flying from your lips.
But luckily, your teammate is fast enough to eliminate the weaker of the two.
The tables turn.
The clash of blades, splash of potions and grunts of pain quickly move to the edge of the center island. It’s two verses one now, and the three of you are the last competitors in the match.
Block the swing, return the blow, duck, block, dodge—
A sudden stab in your shoulder alerts you to an arrow stuck in the skin there, slowly depleting your health.
It’s merely a distraction.
The enemy player barrels into you, sending you stumbling backwards right at the edge of crumbling gravel.
Poison becomes your downfall.
The smack of another half heart.
As one last resort, you grip onto the block with one hand, the other dangling with your bow into the void. Gritting your teeth, you do your damndest to drag yourself up, the poison wreaking havoc through your body and strength.
Shit. I’m not going to survive this, am I?
The one-handed grip on your bow tightens, nocked arrow slipping between your dirt-covered fingers.
You make a decision.
Just as the enemy player comes over, smirking but low on health, you let go of the block, drawing your arrow back as you fall into the void.
The broadhead meets its mark just in time, signalling a victory with a dragon appearing underneath you right before you hit the death line. A sigh of relief escapes your lips; you direct the dragon upwards with a rush of gratefulness soaring through your body. Respawning isn’t a pleasant process.
Twenty or so seconds later, you appear back in the lobby with your teammate at your side. The lobby is nearly empty, only a few people milling around, most having traveled elsewhere or checked into a tavern or hotel.
“You’re good. We could use you on our side.”
“ ‘We’?”
Two other figures appear out of seemingly nowhere, one wearing white-rimmed black sunglasses with a blue hoodie, the other a bandana and a white hoodie with flames on the front of it.
Your fingers twitch at your sides, calling up a portal in your mind, ready to dash through it at the slightest hint of a threat. Sparks form by your palms, their signature color drawing the leader’s attention.
“Calm down. I have no interest in killing you.”
“Doesn’t seem like it,” you retort. “Three versus one isn’t exactly fair y’know.” The sparks grow brighter; though they are primarily used to call up portals, they can deal quite a blow to anyone who forcefully comes into contact with them.
Dream (you now read off his nametag, getting sick of referring to him by random aliases) extends a hand in front of his body. Something hovers in it, glowing a soft white and reading something you can’t quite make out.
“It’s not going to kill you.”
Bandanna laughs at that.
“Reassuring,” you snap, taking a closer look at it.
Invitation: Dream SMP
Active?: Yes
Expires: Never
Taken aback, you sputter out a few jumbled sentences before asking why they’d invite you of all people. Sure, you may be okay at Skywars, but that doesn’t warrant an invitation to literally the most exclusive server in the network.
“Uh—what?”
You take a quick glance at the two others, noting their tags are red and white as well, reading Sapnap and Georgenotfound.
“You don’t have to accept.” Dream steps forward to set the glowing orb in your hands. “Just know that we picked you for a very good reason.
How… interesting.
“Is it ‘cause I’m an inactive Crasher?”
The three stiffen at the moniker used for the infamous Jumpers, the ones who figure out ways around the system, the lines of fate that make up the different servers, finding loopholes that not even the best Mender can. They exploit them, gaining almost god-like abilities on the server only to wreak absolute anarchy on the infrastructure until the admin can step in, if they haven’t been eliminated from the system or perma-killed already.
From what little you know about the Dream SMP, you know the admin is a god of sorts, mostly staying out of the way but occasionally fixing matters that need it. Otherwise they stay… wherever gods stay.
“No,” George pipes up. You note his accent, odd and slightly out of place, but not unpleasant. “You being a Jumper does help, however.”
You’ve heard of elusive servers where Jumpers have access to a lot of power and near-unlimited resources, though no one can quite figure out why. Those servers are typically entirely anarchy.
“Yeah, sure.” But you clutch the invitation closer to your person anyway. It glows a bit brighter at the increased contact.
“Think on it.”
Those words echo through your mind throughout the rest of the night, in your bed, subconsciously in your dreams and into the next morning.
It’s no easy decision. You know you’ll be dragged into all sorts of politics, conflict and battles unlike the Skywars ones you usually find yourself dealing with.
Your hand grips the glowing ball a bit tighter, reading the same three statements engraved on it repeatedly until the words are branded into your mind.
And then it disappears.
“Invitation accepted.”
205 notes · View notes
bokutoslittlebird · 4 years ago
Text
His Turn
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Atsumu x reader x Bokuto
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Author’s Note : smutty little drabble. Mostly Bokuto fucking the reader while Atsumu enjoys the show ; IM SORRY IM VV BIASED ; “Surprise shawty!” is what inspired this. You’ll understand.
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Warnings: threesome, communication is not established beforehand, dash of dubcon (maybe? I don’t know), high school sweethearts Atsumu and reader-chan, size kink, dirty talk, spitroasting, face fucking, blowjob, praise [from Bokuto], degradation [from Atsumu], use of “bunny”, creampie, no condoms sorry, Bokuto licks you one (1) time
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Sounds of sneakers squeaking on the gym floor is the first thing that welcomes you upon entering through the metal doors. The packaged lunch in your hand has Atsumu’s name on it, the poor guy forgetting it in his rush. The MSBY Black Jackals had a team meeting early that morning, only to then go into a practice match between them and the Schweiden Adlers. The ball slamming against the floor broke you from the awe upon entering, eyes focusing on the man who was currently cheering. If memory serves right, that would be Bokuto Kōtarō. A clap on the back from Atsumu and the affectionate name of ‘Bokkun’ tells you you’re correct. Finding them all busy, you go over to the coach and explain what you’re doing there.
Once approved to stay until lunch break, you seat yourself next to Atsumu’s and Bokuto’s towels and bottles, watching the match. You knew your boyfriend was an excellent setter, as well as a server, but watching him in action was new to you. Yet, you found your eyes constantly drawn to the boisterous boy on the court who seemingly infected everyone around him with energy. Watching him be excited made you excited, the obvious lingering gaze on him instead of Atsumu. Even so, the boys didn’t notice you. Too focused on the game, they are honed into the ball and where it’s going.
The whistle blowing has your own thoughts stopping, looking at the referee who tells them it’s time for a break. Everyone seems to relax more at that, moving towards the benches for their lunches and water. Atsumu finally notices you, a pep in his step as he bounces over. “Ya made it!”
“You act like you didn’t have faith in me. It’s just a small delivery,” you smile, holding out the bag of lunch. Atsumu thanks you, sitting on the floor between your legs. “I can get up, you know,”
“Nah, I’m fine down here. I like the view,” he winks, your foot nudging his thigh. Rolling your eyes, you turn to the rest of his team, confusion etched across their faces as they stare.
“‘Tsumu, I think your team doesn’t know who I am,”
“Oh, shit, of course,” his jumbled mess of words come out around a mouth full of his sandwich. After swallowing, he turns to his teammates and smiles, chest puffed proudly. “This is my wonderful, adorable, and lovely girlfriend, [Y/N],”
“You have a girlfriend?” Sakusa asks, disgust on his face. You giggle at that while Atsumu pouts.
“Wow, you’re really pretty!” Hinata’s compliment has your face heating up, waving your hand in front of your face as you turn to see Bokuto staring at you.
“You really are,” he agrees with Hinata, a bright smile blooming across his face. The genuine smile has your face on fire, not so used to so much attention. Atsumu seems to focus his attention on you, raising an eyebrow.
“I’ve never been the center of attention before,” your murmur is low, but Atsumu hears it over the conversation of everyone else. Bokuto seats himself next to you, your reaction is immediately to straighten your back and look at your hands. Every now and then, your eyes glance up to Atsumu and over to Bokuto before they go back down. It doesn’t take long for Atsumu to understand why you keep looking at Bokuto, a grin stretching across his face that he hides by taking a sip of water.
When the coach calls for practice to start back up, you take it upon yourself to leave. You don’t want to interfere with their playing and you find yourself liking the energetic player with the number 12 a little bit more than you want to. Atsumu gives you a peck on the cheek goodbye, telling you he’ll be home for dinner before jogging back to his position on the court. You wave goodbye to everyone, getting an energetic wave from Bokuto that has your chest fluttering.
You just hope Atsumu didn’t notice.
You love Atsumu, you really do. He’s your high school sweetheart and you’ve been through thick and thin together. Bokuto is very attractive, you can admit that to yourself, but he’s not Atsumu. You don’t actually know him like you know Atsumu and he doesn’t actually know you. Still, his genuine smile and that simple sentence— your chest warms at the memory.
That evening goes as every evening does. Before dinner finishes up, Atsumu comes through the door and gives you a nice, big, sweaty hug. It’s kind of gross, but you still love him anyways. You tell at him to wash up and by the time he’s finished, dinner is ready to serve and plated. After dinner, you both watch some TV. By the time the clock is striking 9:00 pm, you’re tired and so Atsumu, but he seems excited.
That’s new.
It isn’t until you get into the bedroom do you understand why he’s excited. He tells you to strip down to your underwear and then leaves. The creaking of the door opening confuses you, but then Atsumu is back.. with Bokuto. The man who seemed to work his way into your heart with a smile and a sentence is suddenly in your bedroom doorframe.
“Uh, ‘Tsumu? What’s— what’s going on?” you chuckle, eyes flitting from your boyfriend and Bokuto, who seems excited at the sight. You have a feeling he’d have jumped you if Atsumu wasn’t in front of him.
“It was a surprise. You seem to like him after meeting him,” he continues before you can stop him, “so, here he is! He’s full of energy, plus I’ve always wondered what it looked like to see you get fucked looked like,”
“Atsumu! That’s crude!” But you’re smiling. Atsumu then gestures from Bokuto to you.
“Please, enjoy your stay,” he grins. Bokuto nods, moving into the room. His joggers don’t hide the erection beneath them, the mere size of it has you clenching around nothing. A smirk paints across your lips as you look to Atsumu, who’s settling himself against the closed door.
“Shall I assume I’m in the classic position?”
“Please,” he smirks back, watching as you move from your sitting position to have your hands and knees on the bed. The shuffling of clothing behind you suddenly stops, so you turn your head and wiggle your butt to entice Bokuto.
“C’mon, big boy. Show me what you got,” you grin, watching his face bloom a sweet shade of pink as he gets on the bed. But he doesn’t touch you quite yet.
“Are you sure I’m allowed?”
“I could show you, if you prefer it that way,” Atsumu’s offer is almost immediately declined. Bokuto’s rapid shake of the head has Atsumu relaxing against the wall, an evident erection in his pants. “Then go on. Show me how well you can fuck my girlfriend, Bokkun,”
It’s the last thing Bokuto needs.
Large hands practically shred your panties, ripping them down to your knees that are firmly planted against the bed. A murmur of “sweet pussy,” comes from behind you, followed by Bokuto’s tongue flicking against your folds. Even his tongue is thick and wide, delving between the skin and swiping at the bit of juices leaking from your cunt. The obscene sounds of slurping comes from behind you, hands grasping at the sheets as your eyes roll. The feeling is more intense than when Atsumu does it, the ministrations having a bit of hurried fervor to them, licking and slurping as if it’s his last meal on earth. Moans spill from your lips, mouth continuously open as they do.
The common feeling of an orgasm rises in your gut, the knot twisting as your toes curl. Light headedness follows, a strained mewl as your body twitches coming soon after and Bokuto groans, the vibrations causing more slick to slip out. When he removes his face from between your legs, you can barely lift your head up. “How does she taste?”
“Absolutely delicious. As sweet as I thought she would,” Bokuto coos, pressing kisses against your skin, trailing them up your back until his lips run against your throat, stopping at your cheek. His tongue flicks out against the sweaty skin, leaving a sticky trail of his saliva. “You’re just so beautiful,”
With his head next to yours, his arms caging you in, it suddenly hits hot big he is compared to you. The simple act of him over you making you feel so small that has you practically creaming. Bokuto’s cock brushes against your folds, the tip rubbing in the slick as coating it. “She’s a beautiful slut, aren’t you?” Atsumu says, voice low and tinged with lust. Instead of a proper response, you whine at the feeling of Bokuto rubbing his cock past your folds, teasing the entrance. Feeling his cock just brushing against you, your folds parting to encompass him has you whining at the anticipation. You know he’s bigger than Atsumu, thicker at least.
You’re right.
The scream that comes from your throat once Bokuto plunges into your tiny cunt has his groaning, eyes rolling as he’s only 1/3 of the way in you. Squeezing him so tightly, you’re practically gushing around his girth. But Bokuto doesn’t move, gentle shushes as he runs his large hand up and down your sides, occasionally dipping over your ass and down your thighs.
“It’s okay, pretty girl. I got you, I got you,” he coos, lips brushing against your spine as you grit your teeth and attempt to move back. Large hands grip your sides, growling. “Don’t hurt yourself,”
“More! I wan’ more, Bokkun,” your whines have him pushing in, listening to your request. No more screams, but you do happen to mewl, mixed with whimpers as he continues to split you open farther than Atsumu ever has. It’s a horrible thing, wishing Bokuto could fuck you everyday with the way he stretches you out. He’s so big, body completely encompassing yours as his weight keeps you pinned down with your ass in the air.
“God, you’re so beautiful. Can’t believe I get to wreck this pussy, all while your boyfriend watches from the sidelines,” Bokuto grunts, hips slapping against your ass as he starts a rhythm. Eyes rolling once more, you moan as you grin, lost in pleasure. The feeling is just so good, your walls fluttering around him as drool drips from your lips, muffled mewl that goes into the sheets as a second orgasm comes on, the feeling of bliss and euphoria filling your body as the liquid drips down Bokuto’s cock. Curling and sticking to his hair, it has strands of the slick connecting his hips to your ass as he fails into you.
So lost in the pleasure of Bokuto’s cock in you, you don’t even notice Atsumu has moved from his original position against the door. Suddenly, his hard cock is thrusted in front of your face as he pulls on your hair, dark eyes lidded as they look down at you. “You’re having too much fun, slut. Now open your fucking mouth,”
“Don’t be so mean, Tsum-Tsum. A cute little bunny like her needs praise, don’t you, pretty girl?” When Bokuto calls you ‘bunny’ and ‘pretty girl’, you find yourself clenching around him, moaning in agreement. “She likes that,”
“Slutty little bunnies just like being fucked, that’s all she is,” Atsumu grunts, hand tugging on your hair to keep your mouth on his cock. “Fuck, both your holes are good,” his moans come out more as you focus on utilizing your tongue, pressing it against the underside and flicking it against the slit. He keeps his hand in your hair, but he doesn’t tug hard as Bokuto’s pace picks up, your body bouncing with each thrust.
“Fuck, you’re so good. So fucking good,” Bokuto’s voice gets higher with each smack of his hips against you. His heavy balls are dripping with your cum, slick and smacking against your clit as the burning sensation of overstimulation set in. Your walls burn, the stretch becoming uncomfortable as Bokuto’s cock rubs against them. Atsumu’s cock goes farther in your mouth each time Bokuto thrusts up into you, cock bumping against the roof of your mouth. It isn’t until Bokuto lets out a whine of his own, burying himself to the hilt as his strong arms press you close to him. Atsumu pulls you all the way down on his cock, head thrown back as he groans, his hot load shooting down your throat. The feeling of Bokuto’s cum filling you up has your eyes widening, but you suck him dry. Feeling his cock rub against your walls and his balls tending against your clit as he finishes has your walls squeezing him tightly, like a vice.
Eventually, both of them finish shooting their loads into your holes. Bokuto’s arms release you as Atsumu’s hand lets your hair go. Your body falls against the bed, laying on your side as your legs spread. Bokuto’s cum spurts out of your cunt, oozing down your thigh and over your ass. In the afterglow of everything, the only sound filling the room now is heavy breathing.
Bokuto breaks the silence first, his cock still hard and covered in cum. “Can I go again?” He whines. You smile at him before looking to Atsumu, who runs a hand through his hair.
“Have at it, big boy. It’s your turn, after all,”
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redwinterroses · 3 years ago
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for requests how about: impulse, encountering some or all of the day one crew and getting Very Uneasy because oh shit, the 3rdlife memories are coming back hard
Hey! Sorry this took me SO long to finish. It was a hard one to write because between you asking this (I think?) and now, Impulse had that whole encounter with Bdubs on the path and I was like "Well I don't want to just write that" and then Cleo showed up? And I haven't ever written her before (except for a few lines in another hero, another mindless crime) so I had to go watch a ton of vids and streams and--
okay. Excuses over. Please enjoy this little "Impulse has a bad time but Friends Are Good" drabble. <3
~~~
Sweet Dreams
The Crastle was bigger than he remembered. Had this hallway always been here? This doorway? This arch that led to another hall…which branched and spiraled and led up stairs and down Escherian ramps in a labyrinth of stone walls and a floor dotted with pressure plates?
Impulse found himself running, breath coming in short, panicked gasps as he dashed down the halls, throwing open doors and darting around corners, leaping over the pressure plates—someone was chasing him.
They were coming for him, glowing red eyes and white teeth—fangs—glinting in the shadows. And over all, the ever-louder beat:
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
It pounded in his ears, deafening, and he stumbled to cower against a wall, hunching with his arms over his head, trying in vain to drown it out. But no—no, it was even louder now, thumping so close it rattled his teeth, and he looked down to see blood spreading across his shirt and at the center where his heart should be: a golden clock embedded in his chest.
“They gave me a clock, Impulse.”
His head snapped up. Bdubs, eyes blank and red like two burning embers, stared down at him, no expression on his grey face.
“Ride or die?” Cleo’s voice came from behind him, and Impulse spun to see her glaring down the length of a crossbow, her eyes as scarlet and expressionless as Bdubs’. “How about… die.”
She fired the crossbow, the bolt exploding into flames that swarmed toward Impulse’s face—
He shot upright in bed, gasping for air. He swallowed hard, rubbing his chest as he gradually caught his breath. His heart pounded so loudly that for one horrible moment he thought it might really have been replaced with a bloody golden clock.
But no. Around him, the night was cool and dark, the silence of the Boatem village broken only by the faint rattling of a distant skeleton and the lowing of cows.
Just a dream. Just a nightmare.
Just another nightmare.
Impulse slumped back against his pillows, flopping one arm over his eyes and letting out a long, shuddering sigh in the darkness. It had been months since they’d moved on from the 3rd Life server, months of good times and laughter and the excitement of new projects and builds… and yet at night, when the voices of his friends faded away and Impulse was left alone with himself—he found himself back. Time and again, his sleeping mind returned to the Crastle, or to Dogwarts, or to the sandy dunes of the Red Desert. And inevitably, he found himself face to face with nightmare versions of his day-one crew: Bdubs and ZombieCleo, red-eyed and vengeful.
“I never betrayed them,” he muttered to the darkness. “Never.”
So why did he feel guilty?
Well. If he was honest with himself… it wasn’t really guilt. Or it was, but not because of anything he’d done in 3rdLife—no, the guilt he felt was because the primary emotion associated with Bdubs and Cleo in his dreams was fear.
These were his friends! Being afraid of them went against every instinct he had, every good memory and inside joke and shared experience. And that was a different world anyway—different rules, different lives. It didn’t change anything here on Hermitcraft.
And yet…
And yet when he saw that clock on Bdubs’ belt the other day, or when he’d come up out of the mines that first morning in Boatem and Cleo had been standing right there, Impulse hadn’t been able to suppress the rising wave of panic that swept over him. Panic over being caught in his web of lies, panic that he might hurt the only people he trusted, panic that they didn’t trust him—
Enough was enough. He needed to get past this; he couldn’t spend the rest of the season (the rest of his life?) having anxiety attacks whenever he encountered any of the other Crastle crew members. Talking with Bdubs on the trail had helped, but… he hadn’t seen Cleo since the first days of the server.
That needed to change.
Impulse threw off the covers and pushed himself out of bed, padding down the stairs to the main level of his house. Grabbing his communicator from where he’d left it atop the crafting bench, he tapped out two quick messages:
<impulseSV> you whisper to ZombieCleo: hey, can we meet up and chat? Spawn egg, around noon?
He set down the communicator and turned to go to bed, but to his surprise, it buzzed with an immediate reply.
<ZombieCleo> ZombieCleo whispered to you: everything alright?
<impulseSV> you whisper to ZombieCleo: yeah sure, I just |
Impulse stared at the blinking cursor for a moment, then backspaced and started again:
<impulseSV> you whisper to ZombieCleo: not really. but it’s nothing major. just want to chat a few things over with you.
<ZombieCleo> ZombieCleo whispered to you: Impulse it’s 3 in the morning. you wouldn’t be messaging if it wasn’t major. want to talk now?
He blinked. That… wasn’t the response he’d expected. He hesitated, finger hovering over the touch screen.
<impulseSV> you whisper to ZombieCleo: sure.
<ZombieCleo> ZombieCleo whispered to you: i'll come to you.
.
///
.
Impulse was waiting on the roof when Cleo arrived, swooping in with the dry rustle of elytra wings to land on the cobble-and-slabs rooftop.
He looked up at her with an automatic smile, but she didn’t even wait for a “hey” before plopping down beside him.
“Alright, Impulse,” she said, her brisk tone ordering, rather than inviting him to speak. “What’s going on?”
Pulling his knees into his chest, Impulse wrapped his arms around his legs, the cobblestone beneath him still radiating a bit of warmth from the day’s sun.
“I…” he let his voice trail off, not sure where to begin.
“Out with it.” Cleo held out her hand, palm up, as if waiting for him to drop something into it. “Spit it out. It’s not gonna get any better for stewing on it.”
This was a dumb idea. Impulse closed his eyes and, before he could talk himself out of it, let the words spill out in a rush:
“I keep having dreams. Nightmares. About being back… back there. At the Crastle, mainly. And, ah—” he chuckled nervously and opened his eyes, looking sideways at Cleo. “You and Bdubs are there. And you’re… mad. Yeah, you’re really mad. And you don’t trust me. And—" he took a deep breath. “I keep dreaming that you’re so mad you kill me.”
Cleo tilted her head, raising an eyebrow. “But we didn’t. Well,” she corrected herself. “I didn’t.”
“I know, I know—it’s stupid. It doesn’t make sense, and I know that, but…” he swallowed, and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I need to get it off my chest. Because even thought I know it’s not real, and I know this is an entirely different world, and I know that nothing from that server really changes anything, I can’t just… turn off what my brain does when I’m not paying attention to it. You guys are my friends and I’m getting real tired of feeling like I need to start running every time I see one of you. To be honest, sitting here right now even is making me antsy.”
Overhead, the stars continued on their paths in silence, and somewhere in the village a couple of sheep baa-ed at each other plaintively.
“Well. That’s… something. That’s certainly something, isn’t it.” Cleo was quiet for a moment, examining him. Impulse looked away, suddenly finding his fingernails deeply interesting.
“Impulse.”
She reached out and laid a hand on his arm, and he instinctively flinched away. Cleo raised both eyebrows at him this time, pulling her hand back—then deliberately replacing it, her fingers cool and firm through the thin fabric of his sleeve. “Impulse,” she repeated, her tone gentle but brooking no argument. “You… you know I’m not good at this stuff. But at the risk of getting in way over my pay-grade: we’re good. We’re your friends.” She gave him a shake. “We love you, you idiot. No amount of murdery games on another server gonna change that.”
Impulse gave a little laugh, pretending neither of them could hear the emotion that made his voice catch in his throat. “Wow, Cleo,” he said. “Love. Big word.”
“Bah.” She shoved him away, throwing her hands in the air. “I love everybody, you’re not special.” But there was a grin in her voice. “And anyway—why me? You’ve got a lotta nerve, Impulse, having nightmares about me killin’ you.”
“Hey, you were scary with that crossbow.”
“I was, wasn’t I.” Cleo sounded satisfied about that.
The knot in Impulse’s chest was slowly loosening, and he glanced over to see Cleo leaning back on her hands, staring up at the sky. The faintest tinge of pinkish-grey was starting to appear on the eastern horizon. The Boatem crew would be up and about soon—Grian in particular had a tendency to be up at an ungodly hour of the morning.
“Hey—” Impulse said, lowering his voice again. “Um. Thanks. For swinging by. Sorry for being weird about all this.”
“Impulse if you start apologizing for being weird you’re never going to stop.” She made a face at him. “Because you’re very weird.”
“Thaaaanks.”
Cleo gave him an easy punch on the shoulder. “You know you adore me,” she said. “And if it makes you feel any better, I can promise you this: I will kill you again at some point, I’m sure. And it’ll have nothing at all, whatsoever, to do with Third Life: it’ll be because you deserve it.” She paused. “Or because I just want to.”
Somehow, out of all the things she could have said, a casual threat of violence was the thing that did the trick. Impulse laughed—out loud, for real, a genuine laugh that shook loose the tension in his shoulders and chased away the phantom of Cleo standing over him with a crossbow.
“Thanks, Cleo.”
Cleo stood, and patted him on the head, ruffling up his hair. “There’s the obnoxiously-cheerful Impulse I know and loath,” she teased. “Can’t have you being all maudlin over here—I’m the gloomy one on this server.”
“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Impulse asked, smoothing down his hair and also standing.
She waved a hand dismissively. “Nah. You know me—I don’t do the sleeping thing much. Too much work to do: graves to dig, bodies to—” she grinned darkly “—find. ‘S a lot for an entrepreneuring zombie like myself.”
“Well, I guess I’ll let you get back to it.” Impulse tried to stifle a yawn. He wasn’t entirely successful.
“Go to bed, Impulse,” Cleo laughed, activating her elytra. “And try to only have normal nightmares about me for a while. Ya know—ones where I’m properly zombie-terrifying, not this Crastle nonsense.”
“I’ll do my best.” He watched her fly off, and yawned again, this time wide enough to pop his jaw.
Alright. Let’s try this one more time. Sleep.
He left the roof and reentered his house, which suddenly felt much more cozy and far less empty and cold than it had when he’d first awakened. Sliding back under his blankets, he tugged them up around his ears and closed his eyes with a sigh.
Something exploded outside, and his eyes popped back open.
Maniacal laughter echoed over the hills of Boatem, and Impulse deliberately rolled over, burying his head under the pillow.
Tomorrow’s insanity would come soon enough. For now: sleep.
((sweet dreams, Impulse.))
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It's been a while, but the Undertaker role on Friday night among us got me thinking!
The glitch where a player doesn't die instantly after being injured happens again, this time to Etho. He's in shock at first and can't communicate what's going on, and the Undertaker imposter (pick who might go best with Etho) starts to drag him away. The Imposter quickly realises that somehow, horribly, this guy isn't actually dead, and makes a snap decision to drag him to the medbay and try to save him rather than hiding the body, knowing they'll probably get seen on the way and have their cover blown. Whether or not the Imposter succeeds in their first aid attempt is up to you!
(Also gives room to explain Etho's absense that night with him having to recover from the glitch! Fluffy recovery opportunities!)
yay for the return of the long-and-painful-death glitch! lol
technically a sequel to this one
...
  It’s the first match of the session and the tension is palpable. The newest role has everyone quietly excited: the Undertaker role, allowing an imposter to move a body from one place to another. It’s such a simple thing and yet, as with all the special roles, it could be a game-changer. 
  Crewmate Etho is on his own again, monitoring the cameras in security. There’s six people left and even though they’ve already ejected Impulse, Etho isn’t completely convinced it was him. He has two suspects in mind, and he wants to make sure he knows where they are. 
  But all of a sudden, he hears the vent flap open and he spins around…
  ...just in time to see a flash of green and feel a sharp pain in his stomach. 
  Etho sinks to his knees, pressing his hand against the wound to try and help the pain. He lets himself collapse to the floor, the agony dulling his senses and threatening to pull him under. He’s not even attempting to stem the blood flow; he knows he’ll be dead in seconds. 
  But seconds go by.
  A minute.
  He doesn’t die.
  His mind is fuzzy. But he knows something is wrong. He just can’t do anything about it except lie on the ground and slowly bleed out.
  Eventually, something takes hold of him under the arms and starts to drag him away. Even though he’s seconds from death, he feels a bolt of panic and he lets out a groan.
  Immediately, the grip on him is released and at the same time, he hears a quiet yelp: “HOLY fu-!”
  A very brief pause.
  “E-Etho…? Are you… alive…?”
  This time, Etho can’t muster another noise. But as he attempts to move his hand, arm, leg, anything, his chest spasms and he lets out an involuntary cough.
  “Oh my actual god, you ARE alive…!”
  Etho is able to identify the voice now, and it’s one of the people he suspected of being the imposter. 
  But before he can make another attempt to speak or move, Brody takes hold of him again and continues dragging him. More panic hits him; Brody must be the Undertaker but he knows Etho’s not dead, so where is he taking him? He wishes he could look but when he opens his eyes, the world around him is still too fuzzy for him to register where he is.
  Finally, Brody stops dragging him and heaves him up. Etho can’t work out what Brody is trying to do until he registers a soft surface below him and he realises.
  Brody has brought him to medbay.
  “Stay with me, Etho,” Brody murmurs, hurriedly collecting up first aid supplies. The benefit of being an imposter here is the fact that he’s able to shut the medbay doors to ensure he’s not disturbed. 
  But he realises there are two people who need to know about this. 
  Thankfully, one of them vents into the room just as Brody is cutting open Etho’s shirt to access the wound. 
  “Brody, what on earth are you doing?” Astro demands. “What is this?”
  Brody fixes him with such a serious look that a chill runs down Astro’s spine. “Astro, there’s been a glitch. When you stabbed Etho, he didn’t quite die.”
  Astro stares at him in shock. “Wh-What?”
  “He’s still alive and suffering horrible pain. Astro, I need you to go get Evil.”
  Astro, frozen in horror at what he’s caused, doesn’t move.
  “Go get Evil!” snaps Brody, giving him a quick push. “Just GO!”
  Managing to shake himself into action, Astro jumps back into the vent.
  Brody turns back to Etho and finishes cleaning up the wound. Unfortunately, the majority of the machinery in medbay is just for show, so he can’t assess any internal injuries Etho has. But all he really needs to do is keep Etho alive until the game ends. 
  As Brody is patching up the wound, the medbay doors slide open and Astro reappears, followed by Evil. Astro closes the medbay doors again while Evil dashes over to the bed, his worried eyes asking a silent question.
  “It happened again,” Brody confirms. 
  “Again?!” Astro bursts out. “This has happened before?”
  Evil nods slowly, ignoring Astro. “You two are the imposters, then?” 
  “Yeah. But I don’t care about that now. I just need to keep Etho alive until the game ends. The post-game process will heal him.”
  “Guys, WHAT are you talking about?” Astro demands. “What’s going on?”
  Brody huffs annoyedly. “Evil, catch him up.”
  As Evil explains, Brody finishes patching up Etho’s injury and starts to wrap a bandage around his body. Throughout all of this, Etho has remained pale and still, prompting Brody to continually check his pulse. He’s still alive, but barely. Brody’s treatment is helping him cling onto life. 
  Evil appears back at Etho’s side. “How is he?”
  “Hanging in there. Where’s Astro?”
  Evil points over at the corner near the vent, where Astro is sitting against the wall with his knees drawn to his chest, his face buried in his hands.
  “What’s wrong with him?” 
  As a response, Evil simply gestures to Etho.
  After a moment, Brody sighs and hands the tail end of the bandage to Evil. “Finish this off for me quickly.”
  He joins Astro in the corner and crouches down next to him, awkwardly placing his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “This isn’t your fault, Astro,” he says.
  “How is this not my fault?” Astro responds despondently, his voice muffled through his hands. “I caused this.”
  “You were playing the game. There’s no way you could’ve known this would happen.”
  He doesn’t get a response to this, so he gently pulls Astro’s hands away from his face, forcing his friend to look him in the eye. “Astro. You can’t blame yourself for this, okay? Etho is gonna be fine. And going by what happened last time, he won’t even remember that this happened.”
  “But I will, won’t I?” asks Astro quietly. 
  “Actually, I’m not sure,” Brody admits. “Impulse was the imposter in this situation last time and as far as I know, he never found out what happened.”
  “Oh. So even though Etho won’t remember me stabbing him and leaving him to bleed out very slowly, I actually might?”
  Brody nods reluctantly. “You might.”
  Astro lets put a low groan. “I feel sick…” 
  “Brody?” calls Evil at that moment, his voice low and shaky.
  Brody turns his head. “What?”
  “He- He’s not breathing.” 
  Brody’s stomach drops and he shoots forward so fast he almost trips over. He rushes back to Etho’s side and checks his friend’s pulse using both his wrist and his neck. 
  He finds nothing. 
  Touching Etho’s hand, he finds his friend’s skin cold already, confirming what he already knows to be true. 
  A muted noise comes from Astro as he turns away. 
  As Brody hangs his head, Evil reaches over and gently touches his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. 
  “We need to end this game,” says Brody, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. “Now.”
  With almost no hesitation, Evil says, “One of you kill me.”
  Brody glances sharply at him. “What?”
  “There’s five of us left, right? Etho was the sixth. So there’s five left now. Kill me and end the game.”
  “Are you sure?” asks Brody hesitantly. “The glitch might happen again.” 
  “I’m sure,” Evil responds firmly. “Like you said, we need to end it. It’ll take too long to just vote you guys out; I’m standing right here so you may as well end it by killing me.” He glances over at his friend. “Astro?”
  “No,” says Astro shakily. 
  “Astro, it’s okay.”
  “No it’s NOT!” Astro’s voice rises. “You think I can bear causing so much pain and suffering to two of my friends in the same game?! I’m NOT killing you!” 
  Evil quickly nods. “Okay, I understand. Brody?”
  “Aren’t I in the same boat?” Brody says. “Do you really trust me to do it properly?”
  “Yeah, I do.” Evil gives a brave smile. “I trust you, Brody. With my life.”
  Ignoring the twinge in his chest, Brody draws his gun and aims it directly at Evil. “Okay. Good luck.”
  Taking a deep breath, Brody fires. 
  BANG.
  And luckily this time, the game acts as it’s supposed to. 
  As soon as Brody respawns in the lobby, he rushes over to his friend. “Etho, hey. You good?”
  “Me?” Etho blinks. “Yeah, why?”
  Brody gives a slow nod. “Nothing. Just checking.”
  He draws Evil aside to a corner of the lobby. “Okay, Etho definitely doesn’t remember,” he confirms.”
  “Does Astro?” asks Evil.
  Brody glances over at their green-clad friend, who’s leaning against the wall, arms folded and eyes staring blankly out into space.
  “...I think he might.”
  Evil and Brody approach Astro, who glances numbly at them as they get closer. “I remember,” is all he says. 
  “So the crewmate in the situation won’t remember what happened but the imposter will,” says Brody thoughtfully. “Interesting. I wonder why that is?”
  “I don’t really care,” Astro responds bluntly. “I just want to forget that whole thing ever happened.”
  “No, this is good. Kinda. It means you’re now part of our little trifecta of people who know about the glitch. Evil and I promised each other last time that if we experience this again as imposter, we’ll go find each other and let them know, even if we’re the imposter.” He fixes his friends with a serious look. “This is a dangerous glitch. Astro, promise me that if this does happen to you again, you’ll come find one of us.”
  Astro watches him for a moment, before slowly nodding. “Okay. I- Hey, Etho’s leaving.”
  Brody turns just in time to see Etho leave the lobby. Frowning, he quickly follows Etho out and catches him just going down the corridor. “Etho, wait!”
  Etho pauses and glances back. “Oh, hey. I just let Tango know I had to leave; I’m suddenly not feeling too great.”
  “O-Oh.” Brody stares at him. “I’m sorry to hear that. Feel better.”
  “Thanks. See you.”
  Brody watches his friend disappear round the corner, his mind racing. This has NEVER happened before. Etho has never felt unwell this early in a session before — or really ever. Surely it’s no coincidence considering what happened last round? Even though his brain doesn’t remember what happened, maybe his body does. 
  Or maybe his code does. 
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wendimydarling · 4 years ago
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The Thirst is Real
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Summary: Little Freya might not be who she says she is...
Pairing: Henry Cavill x Little Freya 
Word Count: 1965
Warnings: uhhh.... slow burn; dirty thoughts; erotic thoughts; mentions of arousal, daddy kink, spanking, oral, masturbation, and thigh riding; size kink; slight manhandling; dom/sub kink if you squint.
A/N: So it’s been buzzing around The Cavillry that @littlefreya​ is either a mole in the community or Henry himself... @agniavateira​ (my beautiful goddess of a beta who also beta’d this fic for me) and I had a sensational conversation about what Freya and Henry’s weekly meet-ups would entail, and this beautiful birthday present was born! It’s also a little different that what I’ve done before, as I might have used some real life thirst examples in the fic. 
Did I call you out? I guess you’ll just have to read. 😈
You’ll get another gift on your actual birthday my love, but for now, please enjoy!!
~~~~~
Freya adjusted her curls in the mirror, adding one last dash of eyeliner. She was preparing for her weekly meeting with Henry, but this time her stomach was twisting itself in a spiral like a shirt ready to be dyed. 
When Henry first suggested the idea of her going on Tumblr to spy for him, she was hesitant at first. What if she couldn’t make friends? What if they didn’t trust her? But now, with a solid 6k followers under her belt, she knew she could say just about anything and people would flock to the thirst.
With a nervous look at her reflection, Freya gathered her things and headed out the door, sending a quick couple of texts to Henry.
I’m on my way. You should post on your IG stories… they’re wondering what you’re up to this morning. 
Perfect, thanks. I’ll send you what I’m about to upload.
A couple of seconds later Freya received his text, quickly setting up a post and waiting for Henry to update his Instagram. She smiled to herself; Tumblr would be buzzing in a matter of seconds once she posted, and what better way to show Henry what went on in the torrential world of social media than to show him live? Freya’s phone chimed again, indicating Henry had done as she’d suggested. 
She couldn’t help but grin like a demon as she hit the small blue button.
Pocketing her phone, Freya enjoyed the scenery on the short walk to Henry’s place. He was in London briefly as was she, so they were meeting at his home instead of Skyping like usual. Why she was so nervous, she didn’t know… Henry had been a friend for quite a few years now, even becoming one of her closest companions. He confided in her and she in him, and it was always a joy to see him. Every day she looked forward to their flirty banter. But that was easier when it was over the phone; doing so in person was an entirely different matter.
Freya reached Henry’s small home and knocked on the door. She’d only been there a couple of times, but the tiny house never ceased to give her a wonderful sense of charm and sensibility. A loud bark and clack of nails on the floor signaled that Kal was ready and waiting to greet her, which meant Henry wouldn’t be far behind. Freya fidgeted with her fingers and chewed on her lip in taut anticipation.
The door swung wide and there was Henry, sporting a puppy dog grin on his face and his large frame filling the entire entryway. His muscular chest was practically bursting from the snug grey shirt he wore, and his dark blue jeans couldn’t have looked more sinful. He had Kal by the collar as if the dog weighed nothing, and Freya couldn’t help but feel incredibly small. Henry reached out his hand, softly tugged her bottom lip from her teeth, then swooped her up for a one-armed squeeze.
“It’s so good to see you,” he murmured against her ear, sending chills down Freya’s spine. Her feet dangled helplessly as she wrapped her own arms around his neck, inhaling the sharp scent that had long since faded from the hoodie he’d let her “steal”. The fact that he was holding her petite stature in one arm and still controlling Kal with the other wasn’t lost to Freya, and the images it provoked in her mind of what exactly he could do to her with that kind of strength made her tingle. 
Oh, the positions he could put her in...
All too soon Henry set Freya down, shaking her from her sudden daydream. 
“Come on in,” he said, maneuvering Kal and ordering him to sit. Freya crossed the threshold, imagining what it would be like if she was in a long, white gown…
“I’m making a smoothie, would you like one?” Henry broke into her thoughts again and Freya flushed, hurriedly setting her bag on the table and pulling out her laptop. 
“Just some water please,” she replied, swallowing thickly as she realized how dry her throat was. She logged into Tumblr as Henry bustled about in the kitchen and quickly reblogged a few thirsty comments, scrolling through to find some good ones while she waited for Henry.
“Go ahead and start, tell me what ‘The Cavillry’ has been up to this week,” he stated, not quite a command but it thrilled Freya nonetheless. Stupid filthy gutter brain. She pulled out her notes and dove straight in.
“Well, a few of them like Lisa and Berry have a theory that there’s a mole in the community,” she laughed. “Some of them even like to surmise that I’m you!”
“Do they really?” Henry’s deep chuckle resonated throughout the living space and Freya closed her eyes momentarily, picturing that chuckle after a rather exhilarating round of cardio between soft, silken sheets…
“What else are they saying?” Henry’s voice was in Freya’s ear and she jumped, startled yet again from her indecorous thoughts. Henry set her water down next to the laptop and placed his hands on the table, caging her in his warmth as he leaned over her shoulder to read. Freya felt the familiar flush of arousal start to creep its way up her thighs but she did her best to ignore it, continuing on with her notes. 
“Marta made some really funny memes,” she stammered, “And Demi excels at clipping audios, where it sounds like…”
“How does it sound?” Henry’s hot breath ghosted over her ear, and his exhale came out nearly a growl. Freya felt lucky she was sitting down, positive her knees would have given out on her if she hadn’t been. 
“Like you just had a--an orgasm,” she faltered, grabbing her glass of water for a big gulp. Henry hummed, and Freya nearly choked on the clear liquid. 
“What else do they say? I want you to read it… out loud.”
Freya was shocked for a moment. What was he playing at? Wait a minute... this is a game; Henry is playing a game. Emboldened by her sudden epiphany, Freya switched personalities from timid bird to devilish vixen, determined to win whatever it was that Henry had set in motion. She arched her back and leaned her head against Henry’s shoulder, pointing at the screen.
“Well look, see what your post this morning has done? We descend into a thirsting frenzy every time.” 
She scrolled through a couple of posts, landing upon one that would give her what she needed.  
“For example, Miya writes: 
‘I guess good to know he’s on a morning run instead of fapping off… 
But good sir, you will have to shower after that no? And unless he’s a never nude, he’s going to be naked very very soon ladies. KEEP THAT IN MIND! IN A SHORT FEW MINUTES, HENRY WILL BE NAKED AND RUBBING HIMSELF IN THE SHOWER.’ ”
 Freya emphasized the last sentence and was rewarded with a small hitching of Henry’s breath. He recovered quickly.
“However did they know,” he quipped in a low rumble, reaching over Freya’s hand to do some scrolling of his own. Her hand was trapped in his but her thoughts were elsewhere, immediately flooded with the image of Henry getting off in the shower, water cascading over his hairy torso down the line of his abs and through the rabbit trail on his groin to the surely insurmountable…
“This one next,” he stated, drawing her back to the present. His thumb brushed softly over her skin before landing just out of reach of her touch. Freya focused her attention on the screen and a small groan escaped her lips. He’d chosen one of Wendi’s Smutbombs.
“...My eyes were instantly drawn back to his fierce gaze.
“You wanted to use that mouth,” he snarled, staring at me with lewd concentration.
“So use it.”
Freya’s palms grew clammy at the thought of using her mouth around Henry, in exactly the way the raucous words depicted. The way he would stretch her tiny lips until they burned, the way he’d fuck her throat without a care, the way he’d…
Henry grabbed Freya’s hand and abruptly slapped his phone on her palm, severing the thought. 
“Read this one,” Henry commanded her again, his voice now clear and authoritative. This time his tone left no room for argument; he was doing it on purpose. His arms still pinned her to the table with no way to escape, and she could feel the dominance that was dripping off of him tingling down her spine. 
Freya looked at the small screen, recognition of the words dawning on her face. She faltered, and cleared her throat.
“Yes, my bottom is always bare, Sherlock. Bare and ready for you to spank me and take me any which way you want.”
“Who wrote that?” he questioned sternly. Freya took a deep breath.
“I did.”
“Read the next one.”
Freya whimpered, clenching her thighs together tightly. 
“Fuck this shit I want to die on this man’s thighs.”
“Who wrote that?”
“I did.”
“Keep going.”
Freya’s chest was heaving. Her head was swimming with lust and need. Her arousal had long since wet her panties to the point of extreme discomfort. She was certain Henry could smell it too, as she certainly could and his head was still right next to hers. She watched his fists tighten on the table, the veins in his arms becoming more prominent with every passing second. Freya imagined what his hands would look like with one wrapped around her throat and the other buried knuckle deep inside her…
“I said keep going; you’ve got one more.”
It wasn’t just Henry’s voice this time that dragged Freya back to reality; he wrapped his hand firmly around her nape and pointed her toward his phone. 
She blinked rapidly and scrolled to the last quote. 
“...They share a mutual smile and she forces herself to look away.
They have always liked each other, he has always been kind to her.
Sometimes he would touch her as they sat with friends, a feverish stroke, innocent or by mistake, but that would be enough to make her heart flutter like a huge butterfly in the cage of her chest. 
To see him physically hurts sometimes. Especially on a night like this when she is supposed to be happy, yet her heart feels sorrowful.”
The moment her lips finished moving Freya was pulled off the bench and thrust against the wall. Henry pressed his thigh between her legs, his own arousal evident as it strained against the ridged fabric of his jeans. His face was gentle and sincere but his eyes were as dark with lust as she was certain hers were, and the tremor of his voice left no room to imagine anything but desire.
“Who wrote that?” he whispered softly.
“I did,” Freya whispered back.
“Did you mean it?” Henry searched her face, looking for any scrap of evidence that would present him with permission. Freya brought a hand up to his curls, brushing the one out of his eyes that always seemed to disobey.
“Every word.”
Henry slammed his mouth against Freya’s, probing her deep and hard. She kissed him back with just as much fervor, tugging on his curls and wrapping her legs around his waist as he hoisted her in the air. Never in her life had she ever thought this moment would happen, that he would want her this way. But now, here in his arms with his lips on hers and on their way to his bedroom, she couldn’t picture anything else. 
The man had ruined her for anyone else over a decade ago, and she’d been thirsty for far, far too long.
~~~~~
@wolvesandhoundshowltogether​ @killjoy-assbutt-1112​ @achaoticaugust​ @demivampirew​ @raspberrydreamclouds​ I hope you don’t mind that I used your thirst! I though it might be fun, but if you don’t like it just let me know, I’ll remove it. 😊
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everlarkficexchange · 4 years ago
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Written by: @alliswell21
Title: One of Us
Prompt 145: She moves in with her aunt and uncle when her parents dies in a small town. After suffering through trama, Katniss slowly starts to get better with the help of her family (aunt, uncle, cousin) and the Mellark brothers. But when things starts happening to her and the people around her, it’s revealed that she and almost everyone in the towns are apart of the werewolf pack and that one of the Mellark brothers is her mate. #werewolves [submitted by @animekpopxx]
Rated: G for general audiences.
Tags: Canon Divergent!AU; Modern with a dash of Supernatural; Grief/Mourning; Feeding as a Language of Love.
Note: This is my final submission to this year's EFE challenge! Yay! I really am grateful to @xerxia31 and @javistg for their continued support of this fandom and for hosting once again this event. You are such amazing people, and I’m absolutely honored to be part of a community with people as amazing as you two are! Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for keeping EFE alive!
@animekpopxx, thank you too! You feed my muse! And you give me Werewolves!!!!
This story was a bit of rushed job, though, and there’s more of it, I mean... we haven’t seen them turn into wolves yet!!! 🤣 I just didn’t have time to edit the complete fic before the deadline, but if you’d like to read the finished product, keep an eye out for it on AO3. I’m fairly sure the rating will keep, but we will see.
 Kpkpkpk
There’s nothing but the sound of crickets and frogs filling the vast darkness of the night.
It’s another moonless night out here in Panem… or is I like to call it ‘the middle of nowhere’. It’s weird, how dark nights feel here, there’s barely a start peeking tonight, but in a strange way, I like it.
Sitting on my aunt and uncle’s porch to watch the infinite dark ahead while listening to the nocturnal critters it’s about my favorite thing to do… it’s what did used to do when we came here for long summer stays, anyway. He used to say he felt at peace and relaxed, connected with nature. Too bad it took him to be gone, for me to appreciate what he meant by that. So every night I come out here and sit in the steps hugging my knees, staring at nothing but the deep, black night surrounding the cabin, whisking my dad was sitting next to me.
Tonight is different than usual, though. It was raining until recently, and the smell of wet earth is so familiar my chest feels tight and my throat is knotted.
“Petrichor, Katniss,” I mumble the words noiselessly, “is the smell of rain, hun. It smells the same everywhere in the world.”
I lean my chin on my knees, wishing I could go back to feeling numb like when my parents just died. But thinking of the word petrichor, while smelling the thing, is bring forth a plethora feelings and memories I don’t know how to handle.
Dad used to love Scrabble, crossword puzzles and trivia challenges. He tried to get me interested in those games, teaching me words and their meanings, every time he had a chance.
I wish I had been more enthusiastic about learning the darned stuff; it would’ve meant an extra moment spent with Dad, and less regret to feel right now.
An involuntary whine leaves my chest. It hurts to think about it, and not for the first time, I dig my nails into my skin to keep myself rooted in place, and not tear running into the void.
I feel like I’m spiraling out of control, I fear this time something will break in my head and I’ll do something crazy, like scratch my skin away and run wild into the woods, like a beast… but the overwhelming thoughts gets halted when I hear soft noises from out in the distance.
It’s like the crunching of footsteps on the gravel at the mouth of my aunt and uncle’s property. It’s too dark and isolated here, deep into the country. I’ve seen big wildlife roaming around: deer, raccoons, coyotes and even a lynx. But the longer I hear the noises, the more certain I am I’m being stalked by something big and fast.
My heart beats erratically in my chest; every hair in my body stands on point, fear is clawing its way up my chest and into my throat, my eyes feel about to pop from my skull, and then I’m disentangling my knees from my arms, standing up as tall as I can— which isn’t saying much—and then I call into the night, “Who’s there?!”
I hear a faint disturbance of air, and then…
“Good evening, Katniss!”
Slowly, from the shadows, a blonde head pops, eerie for a second. Broad shoulders follow, and then a torso. Before the rest of his body comes visible into the light of the porch, two more blonde heads come into view, flank the first person on either side: Shoulders, torsos, Jean covered legs… The three Mellark brothers make their way leisurely towards me.
I nearly faint from relief after the rush of adrenaline pumping in my veins. Going through so many emotions: grief, sorrow, dread and relief, so fast in such a short amount of time has left me winded and unsteady.
I lose my balance, but one of the boys— Peeta, the youngest— breaks ranks, and rushes to hold me upright.
“Are you okay?” He asks softly, helping me sit back down on the porch steps. I lean my head against the main post.
“I’m okay. Just a little lightheaded,” I try not to glare. They gave me a fright, but I doubt they did it on purpose.
It’s something I’ve learn over the years. People in Panem are kind of quirky.
“Sorry we scared you,” Peeta offers, sheepishly. “We wanted to check up on you, and bring you something…” he looks up at his two older brothers and Rye — the middle one— steps forward, holding up a brown, paper bag, with little greasy spots on the sides.
I can guess what’s inside. They’ve been bringing me cheese buns almost daily, since Peeta found out they’re my favorites.
Rey hands the baggie to Peeta, and the latter offers it to me with a soft smile.
“Thanks,” I mumble, gratefully. I can smell the cheesy, yeasty treat through the bag; I can feel the warmth of the buns too! “While I love freshly baked cheese buns, you guys didn’t have to make this trek just to bring me a treat… on a dark, moonless night no less,” I fix them with a glare. “How did you even get here anyway? You couldn’t have walked and I never saw a car coming?”
My aunt and uncle’s cabin is at least 4 miles from town, and surrounded by woods; but then again, most houses in this weird little place are built in similar locations. It seems the townsfolk take their privacy extremely seriously.
“We rode our dirt bikes,” chimes Rye in, cheerily. “Not much light on those bulbs, though, but it’s okay. Our night vision is prime!” He gives me the A-Okay gesture.
“Rye,” the eldest, Bannock, warns lowly. Baring his teeth.
Rye shrugs and slips his hands on his Jean pockets.
I swear Rye hisses something like “it’s true” under his breath, but Peeta has been rubbing my back with the tip of his fingers all this time, and I’m getting drowsy, so I may have imagined the whole exchange.
“You should eat those while they’re still warm,” Peeta murmurs close by my shoulder.
I nod, and open the bag, releasing all the delicious smells of the buns, while Peeta massages my shoulders, encouragingly.
I must be really out if it tonight, because outside of my family, I’ve never been comfortable with people touching me… but, my family is all gone now, and I can’t go through the rest of my life without human touch, can I?
Grief stricken me out of nowhere, and barrels through me. I gasp at the acute pain in my soul at the loss of my parents. But in an instant, I’m enveloped in strong, thick arms, warm and steady. I’m sobbing into a hot, solid chest, covered in the softest cotton I’ve ever felt.
“Shush… I’ve got you, Katniss. I’m here for you,” Peeta whispers soothingly into the crown of my head.
He smells so good; like cinnamon and dill, from the bread he must’ve made this afternoon at his family’s bakery.
It takes a few minutes for me to get a hold of myself, and embarrassedly push out of his embrace, “I’m sorry,” I mumble, mortified.
Bannock presents me with a handkerchief, and I take it gratefully to wipe off my face and nose, before returning the soiled square of fabric to him.
I’m not sure why the Mellark brothers are being so nice to me. I’ve never been around them more than a handful of days over the past few years, when we came to see Dad’s remaining family outside mom and I, his half brother, his wife and their child.
I don’t know the Mellarks all that well, but in the handful of weeks since my parents’ funeral, the three brothers have been incredibly attentive and generous to me. Peeta more than the other two, but I don’t mind… I like him best anyway.
“It’s okay to cry and be devastated, Katniss.” Says Bannock, sagely. “You’re going through the worst time of your life, and we care for you… like family.”
“Oh,” I sit straighter, blowing my nose. I feel a little strange hearing him say that, “thank you? I appreciate your kindness,”
He nods, “Peeta’s right, though. You should eat the cheese buns before they go cold.”
“A full stomach always helps me feel better,” Rye adds, patting his belly, and smiling at me.
My stomach growls, as if to show agreement. I am hungry. I didn’t touch my supper earlier. I pick up the bakery gingerly, and pretty much shove my nose into it. The steam curls out of the baggie, filling my nostrils with the delicious smells. I pluck out a bun and practically inhale it in a second; quickly followed by another one. My third cheese bun, I decide to savor, slowly.
The Mellark siblings just hang around while I devour my treats.
The front door opens just as I’m wiping my hands on my leggings. My aunt’s head peeks out of the door.
“Oh, why hello everyone!” She greets, as bubbly as always. She’s wearing a dark purple wig, to match her dark purple outfit.
“Good evening, Effie,” says Peeta, standing from his squatting position next to me. “We brought Katniss a gift,” he points at the now empty bag in his hand.
“How sweet of you, Peeta!” my aunt gushes, “thank you for checking on our girl, and making sure she’s put something in her tummy before bedtime!”
I roll my eyes. Aunt Effie keeps treating me like a kid. I hate it. I’m 17 and mourning, not a freaking baby!
“It’s no problem at all, Effie! We were just on our way home anyway.”
“Well, it’s always nice having you boys over,” she offers, “but it’s getting late, and Primrose is already in bed, which is why I came out here to begin with, to let Katniss know that her sister was already asleep, so she’d know to tip toe back inside when she was ready to go to bed herself,” my aunt smiles.
I feel a slight pang of guilt; I’ve been wallowing in my own sadness this evening, and missed tucking my sister in to sleep. She’s the only person I’m sure I love, yet tonight I’ve let my own misery drown me.
“Don’t mind us, Effie,” Says Bannock, “We were about to leave…” he pauses and then calls a meaningful, “Peeta?”
“I’m going to wish Katniss a good night, and then we’ll go,” he says.
Not for the first time, I wonder if Peeta has a crush on me? I wouldn’t know he did, even if I wasn’t feeling so rotten inside. I’m not very good at flirting… but with Peeta it is different I think. He’s so nice to me, he’s taken up asking if I’ve eaten that day and if I haven’t, he feeds me something from his family’s bakery without charging me… it’s like he actually cares for me and my well-being, and his brothers care, because he does. It’s mesmerizing at times.
Peeta looks me in the eyes, “Are you ready to go inside?” He asks, offering his two open palms to me. He helps me up from the floor, and then smiles sweetly. He doesn’t let go of my hands while we stand facing each other.
Then something strange happens. Peeta doesn’t blink, as his clear-blue eyes bore into mine, and then his pupils blow out full, until only a ring of deep, glowing azure remains for his irises, “Sleep well, Katniss,” his voice sounds deeper and warmer than usual, “Rest and have a relaxing, dreamless night. Remember what I said: we are all here for you, to help through this hard time… alright?”
I feel groggy, “Yes, Peeta,” I mumble feeling my eyelids getting heavier.
“Oh dear, can you please instruct her to walk herself to bed? She might look lithe, but I promise, her little body is as heavy as any of us,”
Huh? What’s aunt Effie going on about? I don’t understand.
Peeta chuckles, squeezing my hands warmly in his, “You heard Effie… don’t fall asleep until you’ve gone into your bedroom and change into comfy pajamas.”
I nod, “Okay,”
“Good night, Katniss, I’ll be back tomorrow. Try to eat something on your own, I know you’re sad, but you need your strength for when the solstice comes.”
What a weird thing to say! Everything is strange here though… so I nod and march inside the house, mumbling my good nights to everyone and rubbing my very sleepy eyes. Once I’m in my sleep clothes, I lay in bed, and try to ignore the yearning of having Peeta rubbing my back like he was doing while I ate my cheese buns.
I sigh and go to sleep, a weird thought pops into my mind: “I’m so lucky to have such a sweet, caring mate. Peeta Mellark. Can’t wait to be bonded with him,”
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nugnthopkns · 4 years ago
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take the sadness out of saturday night
word count: 2.8k 
warnings: insinuated fem!reader, a couple of curse words, alcohol consumption, vaguely described feelings of inadequacy 
recommended listening: chinatown | bleachers featuring bruce springsteen
a/n: will i ever write anything more than 3k? probs not. also this baby is completely self indulgent but i don’t even care
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All you want to do is sleep. Or drink an entire bottle of wine. Maybe both. 
Graduate school is a lot harder than you expected it to be. You obviously weren’t naïve enough to think it be as easy as your undergrad, but you didn’t think it would be like this. It’s competitive; with people doing whatever it takes to get ahead. You’ve almost had your thesis topic stolen twice. The workload is also incredibly different. Gone are the days of small tests and assignments: everything relies on your thesis paper being of the utmost quality. You feel like you’re drowning in the middle of the ocean.
Today was the worst in a succession of terrible days. On the way to campus you dropped your coffee but didn’t have enough time to get another one. The conditions didn’t get any better once you reached school. Your lunch got left behind on the kitchen island and your advisor didn’t show up for your meeting, putting you another two weeks behind schedule. To top it off, you left campus later than usual and caught in the horrendous Philadelphia traffic. By the time you reach your apartment complex you’re thoroughly exhausted and two seconds away from crying. 
How you can afford your current lodging is beyond you. Tuition is waived by the university, which certainly helps, but you’re mostly relying on loans. It will be a bitch to pay off in a few years, but you don’t have any other option. The building isn’t ridiculously flashy, with semi-outdated furnishing, but it’s in a central location that anyone in Philly would kill for. Every day you wake up grateful there isn’t an eviction notice on your door; though you’re very careful to pay rent on time. Only the small lamp in the entryway is on when you unlock the door, but you keep it that way. Kicking off your sneakers and haphazardly hanging up your jacket, you shuffle into the bedroom portion of the studio. The pyjamas tucked under the pillow are calling your name, and it feels so good to free yourself of business casual clothing. 
The next stop on your mad-dash around in order to plant yourself on the couch as quickly as possible is the bathroom. You scrub your face vigorously, knowing you’ll pay for it in a few days when a breakout appears, but you can’t find it within you to care. It feels so good to be clean and in control of a situation. The kitchen is where you meander to next, filling the largest glass you can find with rosé. A bag of candy is grabbed as well, and then you’re tucking yourself into the corner of the couch and piling on the blankets. You open Netflix and briefly debate what to watch before deciding on something you’ve seen a million times before that won’t require your full attention.
Half an hour into the film you get hungry, but with no ambition to cook for yourself. Take out it is. You place an order at your favourite sushi joint and lazily return your gaze to the T.V. The scene on the screen no longer appeals to you, so you dig around the cushions to find your phone. It’s been a while since you’ve called your mom and you know she’s been missing you; truth be told you miss her a resounding amount. Philadelphia is a long ways from home and you can’t afford to travel often. Not being near your pillar of support is definitely wearing on you. She picks up on the fifth ring. 
“Hello?”
A tear slips out at the sound of her voice. Yours catches in your throat slightly, and your response is garbled. “Mom,” it breaks at the end, and the tears quickly turn into a waterfall. 
“Oh honey,” she sighs, chest filling with pain at your apparent despair. “What’s the matter?”
You sob for a minute or two before it subsides enough for you to actually speak. Through hiccups and sniffles you detail your horrible week, and the one before that for good measure. Your mom stays silent, listening with intent, and the one sided conversation eventually turns into you fretting about how you feel inadequate in your academic community and how you can’t picture a future. Only once you’ve ran out of words does she speak, negating the argument put in place by your imposter syndrome and doing her best to inflate your ego. 
“You’ve earned your seat at the table Y/N,” she says with conviction. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you deserve to be there. You’re cut out for this; no one is more passionate about their work than you.”
Another hiccup slips past your lips as you respond. “Thanks Mom.”
You don’t have to see her to know she’s sporting a smile. “We’re so proud of you honey, and always will be. No matter what you decide to do. Hell, you could move to Peru to become an alpaca farmer and your dad and I would be the happiest parents on Earth.”
The comment is meant to make you laugh, citing the time you called her during your undergrad to inform her you were dropping out and moving to the Andes. It works. You can’t help it, and have to admit it feels good after days of negative feelings. She distracts you further, recounting a story about your youngest brother’s recent baseball game that ended with a trip to the hospital after an unfortunate sliding incident. You wince at the mention of the basemen’s cleat colliding with his ankle, and chuckle when she talks about Connor singing showtunes in the recovery room. The story swapping continues, and it brings comfort. If you close your eyes you can envision yourself sitting on your mom’s bed, hiding your face in a pillow when anything embarrassing happens. 
A knock at your door ends your conversation, and the sadness slowly trickles back into your bones. “Mom, I’ve gotta go. The delivery person is here.”
“Okay sweetie. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
Having lost track of time, you’re wildly unprepared to pay for your food. “One minute,” you yell in the direction of the front door, praying the person on the other side heard you. You root around your wallet for the appropriate amount of cash before sliding across the floor and unlocking the door handle. The person standing there is not in fact a food delivery service worker, but your neighbour from across the hall, holding what you presume to be your dinner. 
“Nolan?” 
To say you’re shocked is an understatement. Though you’d go as far to say the two of you are casual acquaintances, he’s never shown up unannounced on your doorstep. Most of your interactions take place in the elevator or hallway, and you’ve only been inside his apartment once when you left your keys in your advisor’s office. Being a professional hockey player means he typically isn’t around a lot, but you had learned from a friend he’s spending the season sidelined by an injury. He still hasn’t been around a lot from what you could tell. 
His low rumble catches you off guard for a millisecond but it doesn’t take long to adjust. “They, uh, sent it to the wrong door,” he mumbles, holding out the bag to illustrate his point. 
“Fuck,” you swear. “Sorry. How much do I owe you?” A ballpark figure is in your brain, but you aren’t above throwing in a few extra dollars for the inconvenience. No one wants to receive their neighbour’s food. 
Nolan shakes his head profusely and shoves his hands in his pockets when you try to slip the money into them. “It’s on the house,” he shrugs. “Think of it as an apology for being a shit neighbour these past couple of months.”
“You’re a great neighbour Nolan. I have no complaints.” He returns your smile but doesn’t speak. An awkward tension fills the air between you, almost as if each of you is waiting for the other to talk. 
“Well I’ll let you –”
“Would you like some company?”
The question stops you dead in your tracks. A look of bewilderment must appear on your face because Nolan starts blabbering. “It’s just that you looked upset when you came to the door, like you’ve been crying. I can also see the nearly empty bottle of wine on the counter and that’s never a good sign.” He pauses for a second to take a breath before blurting out a final sentence. “And there’s a game tonight and if I don’t distract myself from it I think I might die.” Ragged breathing punctuates the sudden stoppage, and when you look up to meet his eyes you feel a sense of desperation. 
Without saying anything you open the door wider and retreat into the unit, hoping he gets the hint. It takes him all of two seconds to follow you, quickly darting across the hall to lock his door. You’re at the fridge when he returns, and turn around to ask him what he’d like to drink. 
“It seems like an alcohol kind of night,” you chuckle. “What are you having?”
He looks at you sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck. “Could I have a glass of that rosé?” 
You nod and gesture for him to pass you the bottle. “Never pegged you as a wine drinker,” you comment as you fill his cup. 
“Travis teases me relentlessly so I don’t keep it at the house anymore. Can only drink it in private.”
At the mention of his teammate’s name you understand. It’s exhausting to fit into someone’s mould of you. “Your secret is safe with me.”
The two of you migrate to the couch and once again become shrouded in silence. It’s comfortable this time, as you nurse your glasses and watch the skyline. Just having someone by your side is enough to quell the upset you’ve felt all day. You wonder why you hadn’t sought Nolan out sooner. It seems he’s been in a similar situation; having terrible days and feeling alone. Conversation only comes once he realizes both your drinks are empty. Nolan opens the fridge to find one more bottle of wine; a cheap, fruity one that’s meant to taste like a cooler. It’s strawberry flavoured, which equal parts thrills and disgusts him. He’s thrown back to his first high school party, when this was the only alcohol he could get his friends’ older sisters to buy him.
“I feel like I’m sixteen again,” he laughs, not bothering to fill his glass. Instead, he swigs from the bottle before reaching over the back of the couch and placing in your lap. You follow his lead, drinking directly from the vessel.
“Don’t judge me,” you huff. “I like the way it tastes.”
Nolan gazes sideways at you before dropping his voice to a near whisper. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
In a streak of boldness that came from god knows where, you place a hand on top of his. He doesn’t retract but doesn’t push forward either. You’re too scared to do anything else, and soon retract your hand and place it in your lap. “So,” you cough. “You need a distraction?”
☀☀☀☀
One comedy special turned into three, and it’s safe to say both you and Nolan are feeling exponentially better than when he knocked on your door. The alcohol flowed until you ran out, but neither of you are drunk. Perhaps tipsy; most definitely content. It’s so nice to enjoy someone’s company without the pressure of maintaining a perfect appearance. Nolan must feel it too, because he slowly begins to open up, talking about his career and ambitions for a life after hockey. You sit quietly, much like your mother had done hours before, as he describes his frustration with the migraines and how he yearns to bond with his teammates.
“I’m just so scared this is it, that I’m done,” he hiccups. 
You tentatively shuffle closer to him, looking for signs that he’s uncomfortable. Once you’re squished beside him, shoulder to shoulder, you take yet another page from your mother’s book. “If tonight is a good indicator of who you are, then you, Nolan Patrick, are going to be just fine. Seems to me that this is nothing but a bump in the road. You’re destined for greatness.”
He smiles, possibly the first completely real one he’s given you all night, and it reaches his eyes. “You really think that?”
“Absolutely. Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t believe it to be true. You see, in my line of work, truth is of the utmost importance.”
At Nolan’s incessant prodding you talk about school, your thesis, and what you hope to achieve. It doesn’t sting the way you thought it would, possibly because you’re speaking to someone who’s completely enamored with the topic. Academia clearly fascinates Nolan, though he makes it clear he has no interest in joining the community. The only way you can describe the feeling of explaining everything to him is refreshing; he asks insightful questions about your research and isn’t bogged down by the technicalities like so many of your fellow scholars. When you’ve exhausted all you can say and Nolan’s ‘poked’ holes in all of your theories, he gets a serious look and turns so your body is framed by his. 
In this position there’s no denying how attractive he is. Of course you’ve always found him easy to look at when you passed in the halls, but knowing him as intimately as you now do makes you realize how much you like him. “Come to a game with me?” he asks. 
Your rhythm is once again thrown off by the man in front of you. “A game?”
Nolan nods enthusiastically. “A game. I’ve been meaning to go to one for a while, but I can’t find the courage to go alone. The next home game is on Tuesday, but we can obviously go to another one when it fits your schedule. If you want to come, that is.”
He’s yet to be this excited about hockey all night, and who are you to deny your newfound friend something he wants so badly? “Tuesday’s perfect Nolan.” He pumps his fist in happiness and you giggle at his antics. 
“I’m so happy I could kiss you.” It slips out before he realizes, and the shock on his face lets you know it was an accident. 
“You can if you want.”
You’re surprised at your own boldness, but don’t have much time to read into what the statement could mean because Nolan’s leaning in to rest his forehead against yours. 
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The moment his lips touch yours it feels like a homecoming. He’s gentle but firm, letting you know he doesn’t want this to be a one time thing without saying anything at all. Nolan brings to you a sort of warmth that settles in your chest that makes you truly content with how life is going. You lose yourself in him, letting your heart steer the ship. He never waivers from you, only pulling back slightly to card his fingers through your hair. They settle at the nape of your neck and make shivers tingle your spine. You’re impossibly close, but you wish it would never end. After what feels like a millennia you break apart, chests heaving slightly from the lack of oxygen. 
You can’t find the words, but you know you never want to be without Nolan again. All the anguish you experienced earlier feels light years away after a few short hours of truly knowing him. It seems that he’s on the same page, because Nolan makes no effort to remove himself from the situation. In fact, he seems perfect content to never move again: arm comfortably around your shoulder as he places a chaste kiss to the crown of your head. 
“So is Tuesday a date now?” You squeak, voice small. You’re worried you’ve ruined the moment, but he cuts off your overthinking with a squeeze your bicep. 
“It’s whatever you want it to be,” he replies, and you know he means it. 
You can’t help yourself and slot your lips against his once again. “I’d like that a lot. There’s one condition though: I want to meet Gritty.”
Nolan’s laugh echoes off the walls and sounds like the sweetest melody you’ve ever heard. “Think I can manage to pencil you in to the schedule. It has a soft spot for me.”
As he reaches for the remote to put on highlights of the game that’s well over, you shuffle to rest your head comfortably in his lap. Your fingers find his and lazily combine. Nolan mumbles something you don’t quite catch, something about a play Travis made, but you hum in agreement anyways. He’s most likely right. Your eyes begin to droop, and as you fall asleep you forget why you were even sad in the first place. 
☀☀☀☀
taglist: @jamiedrysdales​ if you want to be added shoot me an ask :)
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magatsunohana · 3 years ago
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What is you true role in the story?
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the fallen prodigy
Hello old friend, it's been a while hasn't it?
I remember when you were just a child, gape-smiled and beaming like the sun. where have you laid your youth to rest my love? Is it buried beside your heart perhaps? I know how deeply life has wounded you, it took away everything, didn't it? Oh poor soul, you held onto happiness with bloody, shaking hands but still fate ripped even that away from you. Your past lovers are dead or did some betray you? Turning away in fear of what they once admired. your comrades have been slain, or their priorities shifted.
I've heard you too have changed your way of thought. the people fear you now, do they normally cower at the sound of your name? Ah don't fret, that makes two of us. The masses tend to despise the things they do not have the will to comprehend. The villain finds sympathy for you don't they? Well I could have seen that from a mile away. You two are the oldest friends, you made a deal with them correct? To save your late love, they tried to hold their end of the bargain, really, but I fear you are cursed to forever be despondent.
Oh what a sad and miserable life without love.
Is that why you chase loneliness? For is it truly a life of sorrow if you yourself has chosen it? But don't become bitter from the pain. Trust when I say I have seen wounds unfold a man, turning the gentlest spirits into seething beasts. Please, keep seeking love, even if it seems you are forbidden from it. You are the master of your own fate, I see how tired you are. The scars never healed, they twist and wrap around your entire person. Your eyes are dark and lifeless. Rest, but keep fighting, not with the sword you have forsaken so long ago, but with your heart.
I'll be rooting for you my friend.
Tagged by: @underaseaofmuses (Thank you! Once again, these two prove why they are siblings.)
Tagging: @muraenide, @ignifiore (for Idia), @aesthetiquement, @twisted-legacies, @torikkusutas, and y'all.
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crystalninjaphoenix · 3 years ago
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The Winter Solstice
Fantasy Masks AU: Chapter Seven
A JSE Fanfic
Well after last week’s brief foray into writing for a different fandom, we return to the septics once again. The FM!septics to be exact. It’s the winter solstice, meaning there are holidays to celebrate! Chase, Jackie, and Henrik have a great day that totally doesn’t become suddenly serious near the end haha nope just fun times all around with some world building and character development :) Enjoy :)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 
The day dawned cold and snowy, but nobody at Wyvernlair cared. Not when today was the winter solstice. This was a time for celebration! And with all the people in the camp, there was bound to be a big party. Preparations had been ongoing for the past few weeks. Food was made, games were planned, and time was set aside for those honoring the various holy days. When the day itself dawned, normal duties were put on hold so that everyone could join in. 
Chase woke up at sunrise. He had a quick breakfast—light, since there would be a lot of food at the feast planned for that night—and strolled about, taking in the changes. Everyone was bustling about as usual, but now they chattered with excitement. Some people had hung decorations outside their tents: replicas of snowflakes made from white-painted sticks, candles with carved designs set on the ground, pine branches and snippets of other winter-blooming plants scattered about. Combined with the white layer of snow, it was quite beautiful.
Yet, Chase felt a pang somewhere deep in his chest. Last year, he’d spent Longest Night with his family and the rest of the village. There’d been town celebrations in the square. He helped Quentin carve his first candle. And now? Now, he didn’t know where his family was.
“Chase!”
He was snapped out of his melancholy thoughts when he heard someone call his name. In the middle of turning to see who it was, that ‘someone’ barrelled straight into him. “Oof!” He was about to respond, but found he couldn’t, because he’d been wrapped in a tight bear hug.
“Sorry, did I knock the wind out of you? Sorry!” Jackie was too full of energy to notice he apologized twice. He gave Chase one last squeeze before breaking off the hug.
“It’s okay, just give me more warning next time.” Chase took a minute to catch his breath. “Well. Happy Longest Night, then?”
“Happy Longest Night, then!” Jackie repeated. He whirled his cloak around dramatically. It was still red, but slightly nicer, with a fur lining. His wolf mask was pushed back, sitting on his forehead. “You know the plan, right? We’re having games all day. War games, dice games, card games—a few strategy games, too, the ones we have the boards for in storage. Then there’s the feast later, and the Dark Vigil tonight.”
“Yea, I understand,” Chase said, a faint smile on his face. He couldn’t help it; Jackie was contagious. “How many people will be at the Vigil?”
“A fair share. Schneep won’t; he does something at moonrise instead.” Jackie shrugged. “Are you planning to do any of the games? What about archery?!”
Chase laughed. “No, no, I’m not good enough to compete in a war game. I’ll probably just drift around and join in where I can. Do you think anyone will be playing Luck of the Deal? I’m very good at that.”
Jackie rolled his eyes. “Everyone’s good at Luck of the Deal. That’s the whole thing about it, it’s luck.”
“You don’t know that. There’s skill involved, too,” Chase insisted.
Jackie patted his shoulder. “Whatever you say, Hunter. It’ll be some time before everything really gets going. Anything you want to do before that?”
“Umm...” Chase thought about it. “Well, is there anything I can do to help with the feast preparations? That’s usually a community thing, isn’t it?”
“Well we already have a lot of volunteers for cooking. They’ve already gotten started, in fact.” Jackie thought about it. “But if you want to help, you could put your hunting skills to the test in the surrounding woods. Always good to have more food than less, on these occasions. People would eat their plates, if it was possible.”
Chase laughed. “Oh, I know that. Amabel would eat us out of home on Longest Night. She must’ve gotten her appetite from Stacia’s side of the family.” Saying their names, the melancholy threatened to return.
“Honestly? I have a confession.” Jackie leaned closer. “I’m one of those types, too.”
“Oh? Somehow, that makes sense.”
“And somehow I’m offended.” Jackie gave him a playful shove. “If you want to go ahead, you know where the shortbows and arrows are. Oh!” His eyes widened as he remembered something. “But try not to shoot any pigeons. Those are important.”
“Important?” Chase put the pieces together. “You mean...messenger birds?”
Jackie nodded. “I don’t expect anyone to send messages on the solstice except for an emergency, but there might be some arriving that were sent a fews days, or even a week, ago. It takes a while to fly across the island.”
“Got it. I won’t shoot any pigeons.” Chase shook his head, a bit in awe. “Messenger birds.” He’d heard of them, but never seen them in use. Somehow, they seemed almost as magical as actual magic. Getting letters sent across the kingdom in a matter of days? That was amazing. “I’ll just head out, then.”
“Good luck, Chase!” Jackie said cheerfully, waving as he turned to leave. “Be back before noon, that’s when the fun will start!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 
If possible, it was even colder out in the forest, away from the magic heat of the dragon bones. Chase clutched his jacket tighter and made sure his hat was securely on his head. He doubted that he’d find any animals out here. By Longest Night, most of them were hibernating. But it was worth a shot.
Snow crunched under his feet, so he slowed down, carefully placing every step so it wouldn’t make too much noise. There wasn’t a lot of foliage to hide behind in the winter, but he had made sure to grab a white jacket from storage to help him blend in. He’d also turned his hat inside out so that the red ribbon around it didn’t show. After a while, he found what he thought was a good spot to wait. So he settled down, nocking an arrow so it would be ready to fly at any moment.
The world became very still. The only sound he heard was his breath, accompanied by the small puffs of mist that breath caused in the cold. He made sure not to move a muscle.
Until there was a sudden sound. Footsteps, very light, being pursued by much heavier ones. His eyes darted towards the sound. The bare branches of a bush rustled, and suddenly a streak of brown fur dashed out in front of him followed by something much larger—
Chase reacted, letting go of the bow string and loosing the arrow. It shot through the air and landed solidly in the brown furry something. Shocked, he laughed in the rush of actually shooting something moving that fast. But then a voice cried, “I knew it!”
“Wh...?” And Chase finally noticed what the large something pursuing the small animal actually was. He looked up from his position near the ground to see...Lukas. It took him a moment to recognize him without his usual fox mask, but once the brown-auburn hair and tall longbow registered, his heart immediately sank with dread. “What are you doing—”
Lukas took an arrow out of the quiver on his back and nocked it, aiming at Chase. “Did you think you could take me out when nobody was looking?! Claim it was an accident?!”
“What in the world?!” Chase stood up. Slowly, of course, he didn’t want to get skewered by that massive arrow. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t try to play dumb, you just tried to kill me!”
“I was shooting the rabbit!” He pointed at the small animal, which was, in fact, a rabbit.
“A likely cover story.”
All of a sudden, Chase felt hot rage rise up his throat. “I know you hate me but you don’t have to be an idiot about it!” he burst out.
That seemed to take Lukas by surprise. He blinked, and lowered his bow slightly.
“I don’t know what kind of trust issues you have or where they come from, but I’m sick of you always acting this way! I’ve been here for almost a full season now, and you still act like I’m about to stab you in the back the first opportunity I get! I know, you’re probably thinking something like ‘he’s playing a long game to get everyone to trust him,’ but let’s be honest, you’re just looking for any justification to be like this. I wouldn’t trust someone like me in your position either, but I wouldn’t be so obvious about it. You don’t have to like me, you don’t have to trust me, but elders be damned, you don’t have to stir up this much trouble for Jackie and Henrik and everyone else here!” Chase ran out of breath and was forced to stop. He waited silently for Lukas’s reaction.
For a while, there wasn’t one. Lukas just...stared at him. Then he lowered his bow fully, putting the arrow back in its quiver. “What are you doing out here?” he asked in a carefully-neutral tone.
“We have some time before the real celebrations start, so I thought I’d help out by trying to find more food for the feast,” Chase explained. He walked past Lukas and picked up the rabbit, trying not to feel sad. Something about shooting rabbits made him feel guilty. Maybe he respected how hard they worked to stay alive, running so swiftly. Or maybe he thought they were cute. “What are you doing out here?”
“The same thing,” Lukas answered.
Chase snorted. “And you decided to bring that monster of a bow for hunting?”
“It’s more powerful than yours,” Lukas retorted.
“Yes, but it’s also heavier and more cumbersome. I remember my second day here, Holly said that big bows like that were more suited for long range, while shortbows—” Chase waved his bow as an example. “—are better for mobility. Look at all these trees. Do you think you’re able to shoot long range in a forest? Not to mention if you miss, you’ll end up burying your arrow in a tree with all the force you need to fire it. That’ll just be a pain to pull out.”
“I know all this,” Lukas said irritably. “But I’m most familiar with this style of bow. I can make it work.”
“Maybe if you weren’t stomping around the woods,” Chase muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“You were running after the rabbit. Bad idea; you’ll never catch up with them. It’s better to wait and let the animals come to you. If you have to move, be quieter about it. And slow. Conserve your energy; animals get tired faster than humans.” Chase glanced downwards. “You’re wearing heavy boots, I see. Those will make a lot of sound no matter how much you try to be quiet. And your clothes stand out, too. Especially that red band on your wrist. It’s bright and you have to hide it. Like I did.” He turns his cap right-side out again, letting the red ribbon show.
“Hmm.” Lukas eyed him. He did that quite a lot, but somehow, it felt different this time. More...respectful. “Well. I’ll keep that in mind.” He turned away.
“Um...right.” Now that Lukas was leaving, Chase felt the sudden energy that had filled him starting to fade away. “I’ll...see you at the celebrations, then.”
Lukas didn’t say anything, but he raised his hand in acknowledgement, not stopping as he headed back to camp.
Well...that wasn’t too bad, all things considered. Lukas clearly didn’t think worse of him. And he had managed to shoot a rabbit, something he’d rarely done in all his years as a hunter. Though he’d only done that because the rabbit was too busy running from Lukas to notice him crouching nearby. So really, he should thank him.
Maybe later. For now, Chase headed back to camp, ready to join in on the festivities.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
By the time Chase returned to Wyvernlair, the festivities were starting to get underway. Games, mostly. People gathered in circles playing cards, or in threes playing dice, or in pairs playing board games. Others clustered around the players, watching the game and shouting encouragement. Some food was already prepared. Plates of sweet buns and meat pies were passed around. Chase grabbed a couple buns as he looked around.
But though the camp inside the circle of dragon bones was crowded, most people were out on the combat field. That was where the war games were set up. Chase decided to stop by for a moment. Even if he wasn’t going to participate, he wanted to see how things were going.
Targets were set up for archers to test their skill. People had grabbed close-quarters training weapons and were sparring, onlookers cheering on their favored winner. Someone had dragged over a rock and a large branch, setting up a makeshift see-saw that people were standing on top of, trying to knife-fight without losing their balance. Chase shook his head at that particular event. He himself had some scars on his hands from knife-fights as a young man; they really weren’t worth the bragging rights. 
There was an especially large crowd gathered around one particular sparring match. Chase stopped, edging his way into the mass of people as he tried to see what was going on. Wait a minute...was that Jackie?
Indeed, Jackie was one of the sparring participants. And he was easily outclassing his opponent. He easily danced around jabs and swipes, not striking for a while, then jumped forward and hit his opponent on the side with his wooden practice sword. The crowd cheered, and the two participants backed away, shaking hands as they parted. Chase could’ve sworn he saw money change hands among the watchers.
“Anyone want to go for another round?” Jackie called to the crowd. “Doesn’t have to be to the first contact. What about to the ground?”
At that, a tall man grabbed a practice sword from a nearby rack, stepped forward, and announced, “I accept the challenge!” The crowd cheered again. “To the ground!”
Jackie grinned. “To the ground! Someone give us a count!”
In unison, the crowd started chanting, counting down from five as Jackie and his opponent started circling each other. Chase joined in. “Five!...Four!...Three!...Two!...One!...Clash!”
The two men immediately started going at each other with the practice swords, jabbing and backing up, swiping and dodging. The new opponent tried to make use of his height advantage, but Jackie was just too fast. The sparring lasted a few minutes and the crowd was enthralled for every second. Until Jackie managed to get behind his opponent and knock out his legs, making him fall to the ground. The crowd cheered. The opponent got up, looking no worse for wear and in good spirits. He shook hands with Jackie before leaving. Now Chase was sure he saw people exchanging money.
“He’s got skill, doesn’t he?”
Chase looked up, and saw Holly standing beside him. “Oh. Yea, he’s really good.”
Holly laughed. “That’s an understatement. You know he trained at Fíornear Field?” Chase nodded. “Well, so did I. But he could beat me in a fight nine times out of ten.”
“Really?” Chase asked, interested. “That many times? I thought it would’ve been closer between you two.”
“Everyone does. I say it’s the size difference. But what Jackie lacks in height, he makes up for in practice and sheer determination.” Holly watched as Jackie started sparring with another opponent. “Anyway, Chase. Come to watch or try your hand?”
Chase laughed. “No, no, just watching.”
“Well. In that case.” Holly leaned closer. “Care to try for chance?”
“You mean betting? Don’t tempt me.” Chase shook his head. “Besides, I can tell that betting against Jackie is a waste of time and money.”
“Doesn’t have to be at this spar. There’s many more war games to be had. I hear there’s axe throwing.”
“Axe throwing?” Chase perked up. “Alright, I have to see that. Lead the way.”
Holly laughed, and the two of them left, heading towards a set of targets. Indeed, some people had taken up throwing axes at these targets. Not competing against each other at the moment, only themselves, and also showing off for the passersby. Chase watched as one of the axe-throwers hit the center of her target. Then, surprisingly, he recognized the axe-thrower. “Nemet!” he called.
Nemet turned around, smiling at him. “Hello, Chase! How are you?”
“I’m doing fine. What are you...uh...I didn’t know you threw axes.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Is it so unexpected?”
Chase shrugged. “Well, you’re a doctor.”
“I am. I am a doctor who likes to throw axes.” Nemet picked up a throwing axe on the ground beside her. She held it back, paused to aim, and threw. It landed right next to the last one she threw. Holly and Chase clapped, impressed.
“Wanna shoot something, Brodyson?”
Chase yelped in surprise at the voice that came from behind him. He spun around to see Tripp grinning up at him. “You did that on purpose,” he accused.
“Maybe,” Tripp said. He was tossing a rock back and forth between his hands. Getting bored of that, he threw it to the side. Magically, the rock curved around, shooting for the target, where it bounced off the handle of one of Nemet’s axes. “Ah, almost a bull’s eye. Anyway, wanna shoot something, Brodyson? We could have a triple competition, axes versus arrows versus sorcery.”
“Hmm.” Chase considered it. “You know I had only planned to watch, but...that doesn’t sound too bad.”
“Don’t let him pressure you if you don’t want to, Chase,” Nemet said.
“No, do let him pressure you, I want to see this!” Holly insisted.
Chase laughed. “Alright, fine. Just a few rounds.”
Though as the afternoon passed, those few rounds stretched out into many. Chase had never been one for war games, but somehow, he didn’t mind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Eventually, of course, came the main draw of the winter celebrations: the feast. The people who’d volunteered to cook had been preparing food all day, and shortly before sunset, declared it ready. Instantly, a good half of everyone dropped what they were doing and headed over to the cooking fires.
Chase wasn’t sure what to expect from the feast. Wyvernlair didn’t use tables for food, so would everyone be standing around with plates? But it seemed as though they’d found tables, if just for today. Probably borrowed from storage. Some of the meat stayed on the skewer, roasting over the fires to keep it hot until someone wanted it. But most food was lined up on the tables, free to take. Sweet buns and meat pies, of course, but also preserved fruits that had been kept for a special occasion like this, and tarts covered in sugar, and pumpkin pie, and roasted potatoes, and more than could be counted.
Everyone ate until they couldn’t anymore, washing down the food with water, juice, and ale. Chase savored it, mingling and talking with the other Phantoms. And for once, he didn’t feel out of place here.
Time passed. The sun set. And as the feast died down, most people began talking about the Dark Vigil, the ceremony used to honor the Elder of Dark and thank them for protecting humankind from the shadows. Chase yawned. They’d be holding that in the center of camp, where a spot had been cleared specifically for that purpose. But it would be some time before everyone was ready. So, Chase decided to slip out. He headed towards the outside of the skeleton, away from the noise and bustle.
The stars were beautiful tonight. It was clear, without any clouds fogging the view, and the moon was nearly full. Chase leaned back against the bone and stared upward. He hadn’t really had the opportunity to appreciate the world lately. It was all busy, working with the Masked Phantoms. But it was nice to slow down for a moment.
Some minutes passed in silence. Then, he heard footsteps approaching. And then, a small thud, the sound of stumbling, and a muttered “Shiesse!”
Chase looked over towards the sounds, already grinning. “You doing alright there, Henrik?”
With a huff, Henrik emerged from the darkness. “I would be better if I know no one heard that,” he muttered.
Chase laughed. “Anyway, how’re you doing? I haven’t seen you all day.”
“Ah, I am fine.” Henrik leaned against the bone next to Chase. “I have been stuck in a dice game for most of the evening. I almost missed the moonrise.”
“I see. Jackie told me you had to do something around then. Is it like the Dark Vigil?” Chase asked.
“Similar, in ways. Different, in others.” Henrik looked up at the sky. He pointed upwards, at the moon. “She is beautiful tonight, yes? I never understood why your Elders never come from the sky.”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“Well, I understand there is the Winged Elder One, but they are for more weather, yes?” Henrik kept his eyes fixed skywards. “None of them are for the heavens.”
“Well why would they be?” Chase shrugged. “The sky’s beautiful and wonderful. But it’s so far away. We live on the earth. Shouldn’t we be more concerned with what’s down here?”
“Hmm. Perhaps.” Henrik sighed. He reached down his belt, removing his flask and taking a drink.
“Oh—” Chase started to say something, then stopped. It would probably be rude to ask, wouldn’t it?
Henrik looked over at him, and guessed what he was about to say. “Yes, I am still taking the medicine. It is...not something that goes away.”
“Sorry,” Chase mumbled. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Is okay,” Henrik said, giving him a small smile. “You are polite about it, so I do not mind.” He returned the flask to his belt. “Ah, though I am afraid I must change the subject now. I just remembered. We managed to get the materials for more plaster this week. So you can finally have a mask of your own!”
“I can?” Chase repeated.
“No need to sound so surprised,” Henrik chuckled.
“I did? I didn’t mean to. It just seems a bit...unreal.” Chase had left his borrowed mask, the hedgehog one, back in his tent. Most people had—or at least he assumed they had, since most of them were walking around without them.
“Yes, I understand.” Henrik nodded thoughtfully. “Do you want to wait?”
“Wait no, I didn’t say that—”
“I am just making sure.” Henrik playfully nudged his shoulder. “You will need to choose an animal, you know. Do you have anything in mind?”
“Oh right. I forgot about that part.” Chase thought about it for a moment. “What about...a deer?”
Henrik raised an eyebrow. “A deer?”
“Is that not allowed? I mean, Tripp’s mask has those ram horns so I figured antlers would—”
“No, is not that, I just suppose I did not expect that.”
Chase shrugged. “I like deer. They’re good animals. Um...do I have to make the mask myself, or...?”
“You can if you want, but if you’re not artistically inclined, someone else could do it easily enough. It’s not that difficult if you are...” Henrik trailed off. He was staring out into the trees, eyes fixed on a point. “Chase. Is something moving there?” And he pointed.
“Hm?” Chase peered into the darkness. Indeed, he could see the faint movement of shadows. “Oh, yea. It’s probably just an animal.” He paused. “That’s...getting closer?”
They looked at each other, but unsure what to do with this information, just turned back to watch the animal get closer. And closer. It was too small to be a threat, but Chase felt Henrik tense anyway. Eventually, the animal got close enough to make out what it was. “A...cat?” Chase asked, confused.
“A cat,” Henrik agreed.
“What’s a cat doing all the way out here?”
“I am not sure...” Henrik said slowly, brows lowered as he thought through the possibilities.
The cat continued its course, walking in a straight line up to the two of them. Chase crouched down and held out his hand. “Here, kitty.” Once it was close enough, the cat sniffed his hand. Then, satisfied, butted its head against it. Chase laughed. “Y’know I haven’t met that many cats. When I was young, maybe about twelve, Pastor Cait had a cat. We joked about that, since her name was so similar, ha. But it’s gone now. I don’t think the town had another cat since then. A couple dogs, but no cats.” He reached out and petted it. And after a few seconds of that, scooped up the cat and stood. “Does someone here have a cat?”
“No, there are no animals in camp,” Henrik said, still puzzled. “Does it have a collar?”
Chase checked. Difficult, given that the cat clearly didn’t like being held and was wriggling a bit. “Yea, right here.” He pointed to a braided leather collar around the cat’s neck. “No name, though. For the cat or its person.”
“Well. It is cold and snowy, and even with that fur, I don’t think the cat enjoys being out here,” Henrik stated. “Maybe we should take it into camp? We have that fire set up in the skull now, that could warm it up.”
“Good idea.”
The two of them headed back, passing between the dragon bones and into the main body of Wyvernlair. By now, the festivities were starting to die down. Games were ending, and a lot of people were getting ready to attend the Dark Vigil. Chase and Henrik walked quickly by, since the cat was really struggling against being held by this point. Luckily, it hadn’t used its claws yet, but Chase could already feel them digging into the fabric of his jacket.
They reached the skull soon, passing through the gap where it joined the rest of the bones and ending up inside. It was almost empty here. Except for two people and several birds. Chase blinked a bit at the surprising sight, but then remembered what Jackie had told him that morning. So these must be messenger birds, then. There were about seven of them, pigeons in a variety of colors; white, gray, brown, spotted. Actually, Jackie was here, too. Along with Ana, who Chase had figured out by now was the head of organization at Wyvernlair. They both seemed rather impatient, quickly putting away documents. Probably heading to the Vigil like most others.
Ana looked up, noticed Chase and Henrik, then turned to Jackie and said, “It’s your best friend and his best friend. They have a cat.”
“They have a what?” Jackie spun to look at them. “Oh elders, you have a cat. Where’d you get a cat?”
“It just wandered up,” Chase said. “We thought it might like to get out of the cold—ow!” The cat dug its claws into his skin, managing to pierce the jacket, and Chase instinctively opened his arms. Of course, the cat landed on its feet, and trotted over to the side of the fire, which was slowly dying but still giving off a lot of heat.
“I’ve never seen a cat like that before,” Jackie muttered. “That’s a really unique pattern, isn’t it?” The cat was mostly a brownish off-white, but its ears and tails were dark gray, almost black, and the tail had rings of lighter gray. Its legs were striped with light brown, and it had markings on its face of the same color. Big blue eyes stared up at the strange people.
“Oh!” Henrik’s eyes lit up. “I had not noticed outside! It was fairly dark. Oh, you are a pretty kitty, aren’t you?” He slowly approached the cat, and when it didn’t run away, bent over and started petting it.
Meanwhile, Ana was bored, and anxious to leave. She looked at Chase, and her eyes lit up with a strangely sly expression. “Hey, it’s Chase, isn’t it? Do you mind helping me open this?” She held out a small tube made of metal and leather. “I’ve been trying for a while, I think it’s stuck.”
“Um..sure,” Chase said warily. Was this going to be a joke of some kind? He took the small tube and turned it over in his hands. There was a door on the side of it, and after some effort, he figured out how to open it. Out fell three items. Two folded pieces of paper, made of pressed wood pulp and therefore pale brown, and a rolled-up piece of vellum tied with twine. “What’s this?”
“Messages,” Ana said, grinning. “Can you see names written on them?”
Chase looked down at the items, sorting through them. There was writing on the folded papers, but...well, it could just be his lack of reading skills, but it looked like absolute nonsense. “These are names?” he asked doubtfully.
Jackie and Henrik looked away from the cat, noticing the exchange between Chase and Ana. “What do you mean?” Jackie asked.
“These words written here, these are...names?” Chase shook his head. “I’ve just never heard names like this before. Um...here, I-I’ll try to read them. Uh...” He squinted at the writing in ink on the two papers. “This one is ‘Ee-uh-oo-koh’ and this one is...um...‘Ffssehffmuh.’ I think? The handwriting could be—”
Henrik’s eyes widened. Suddenly, he was right next to Chase, grabbing his arm and squeezing it tightly. “What is it?! The two papers?! Which one is—that one, can I see that one?”
“Whoa, hey, calm down!” Chase leaned back. “You mean this one?” He held out the paper with the ‘Fsefma’ name on it.
“Yes!” Henrik snatched it up, then retreated, unfolding it.
Jackie leaned over his shoulder, then grinned. “Oh, I see. Vsevna sent you a little letter, didn’t he? What’s it say? Is he confessing his love?”
“Shut up, Jackie,” Henrik said, holding the letter far away from him so he couldn’t read it. “Is just another report.”
Jackie laughed. “Yea, with your name on it. Come on, Henrik.”
“That does not mean anything.”
Chase, listening, raised an eyebrow. “So...I don’t know everything that’s going on, but I think I can figure out that this Fsefna person—”
“Vsevna,” Henrik corrected.
“...Vsefna—”
“Vsevna. It is important that you voice those sounds.”
“He’s the person you’re pining for, huh, Henrik?” Chase pressed on.
Henrik was slowly turning red. “I say nothing.”
“Right,” Chase said, grinning. “So, who is he?”
“He’s another one of the Phantoms,” Jackie said, sensing that Henrik wasn’t going to answer. “He and Yuko—that’s the other name on that second paper. Last we heard, they were in the Southern Moors with the rest of their crew. They said they’d scout it out for a bit more, then move on. These are probably their reports. Or...Yuko’s is a report, at least.”
“Shush,” Henrik muttered. He retreated a few steps away from the others, clutching the letter. As he passed Ana, he shot her a glare. “You make Chase open that on purpose.”
Ana just smiled. “Same results, right? Anyway, that’s the last capsule. Do you mind if I head out now?”
“No, go ahead, Ana. Send Harrison to take care of the birds,” Jackie said. She nodded, and left the skull. He then looked at Chase. “Uh...can I have the other two things?”
“Oh right.” Chase forgot he was still holding the other paper and the vellum scroll. He handed them over to Jackie, and the metal tube as well. “I’m surprised. That’s a lot for a bird to carry.”
“Well these guys are trained for it.” Jackie gestured at the pigeons, now strutting around the table. “Especially Mokin here, who had this stuff.” He patted the wings of a particular pigeon, mostly white but with brown wings, which had strangely curly feathers. “They all deserve the best seeds before we send them out again. Anyway.” Jackie unfolded the paper with Yuko’s name on it, scanning the words written there. At first, he looked excited to get a letter from this person. But the more he read, the more serious his expression became. “Henrik.”
Henrik looked away from his own letter, picking up on the tone in Jackie’s voice. “What is it?”
“I...read this while I open this scroll.” Jackie passed Henrik the letter, then began working on the twine knot holding the vellum shut.
Henrik read the letter quickly, and soon his expression matched Jackie’s. “Oh. Oh, Schwestern. Oh, no.”
Chase started to back up, feeling he shouldn’t listen to something like this. But Jackie noticed him leaving and said, “No, it’s fine, Chase. We should tell everyone this, anyway. Tomorrow, maybe.”
“What is it?” Chase asked anxiously.
“Well...you remember we told you about Marvin, right?” Jackie said slowly. “About how he went out on his own and we sometimes get reports of him?” He waited for Chase to nod before continuing. “This...was a report about him. Apparently, he was in the Moors. But...he didn’t just cause chaos and leave. He’s been...caught.”
“Caught?” Chase repeated numbly.
Jackie managed to untie the twine, and unrolled the vellum, scanning what was written there. He nodded grimly. “Yep. You know what this is?” He turned it around so Chase could see.
“That’s...a royal declaration, isn’t it?” Chase asked slowly. He recognized the format, and the royal seal in the corner. “Um...‘The King...announces a...mighty...triumph.’”
“You do not have to keep going, Chase,” Henrik said bitterly. “There are better words to read than that.” He took the declaration from Jackie, glancing at it for just a moment. “I see. Marvin is accused of attempting to kill the King and some other nobility. They caught him in the act, and now...they plan to execute him. Four weeks from now.”
Jackie looked over at the cat, now sitting and licking its paws, and gasped. “Henrik. You don’t think that’s his cat, do you?!”
“What? I suppose perhaps. But if it is, how did it get all the way up here?” Henrik sounded puzzled. “It takes a week or two to get to the Moors from here, and that is for humans on horseback. For a cat...”
“Wizardry?” Jackie guessed. “I don’t know, it was just a thought, since he likes cats so much.”
Everyone fell silent. Henrik looked back at the royal declaration, reading it slowly, taking in the information. “So...how are we going to do this?”
“Do what?” Jackie asked.
Henrik stared at him in surprise. “Well, we have to rescue him, of course.” Jackie didn’t say anything. “Do not tell me that you’re going to let your grudge stand in the way!”
“No, it’s not that!” Jackie protested. “It’s just—you read the letter, right? Yuko said that these declarations were sent everywhere. Since when has the King announced his next move like this? Everything he does, he does in secret. I mean, damn, the Phantoms are just rumors, and we’ve been taking serious action for years now. He’s hushed up so much, why wouldn’t he just make Marvin...you know, disappear? Why a public execution?”
“You think it is a trap,” Henrik stated.
“Well...yes,” Jackie admitted.
“That is fair, but if it’s a trap, who is he planning to catch? If he wants information about us, he could get it from Marvin.”
“But Marvin hasn’t been part of the group for a year now! His information would be out of date.”
“This does not change the fact that there is no guarantee it’s a trap in the first place. Perhaps he wants to strike fear into the population. Given his actions, it seems likely.”
“If it does turn out to be a trap, though, we can’t afford to lose anyone!”
Chase coughed awkwardly. Jackie and Henrik jumped, then turned to him, looking embarrassed to be fighting while he was still there. “You know...I don’t know if I have any place in this. I mean, you two are in charge, after all. But...I think you should try to get him back.”
Henrik and Jackie looked at each other, then back to Chase. “Are you trying to say something?” Jackie asked.
“I just...” Chase paused for a moment, searching for the words. “I don’t think...you should leave someone behind. He was still part of the Phantoms, right? Didn’t he help create it? A-and weren’t you three...Well. You don’t have to talk to him after we rescue him, but it just doesn’t seem right to leave someone behind in this situation. I know you had your fight and all, but maybe...this could be...you know.” He paused. “Also, I want to know if this cat is his or if some random cat just wandered by.”
Jackie laughed. “Yea, that would be good to know, wouldn’t it?” He sighed, and his expression fell, becoming serious as he was lost in thought.
Henrik leaned closer to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Jackie. Chase is right, this does not mean he is rejoining the group. You do not even have to go. But...we should do it. Marvin does not deserve this.”
After a moment, Jackie nodded. “You’re both right. Of course. Even though he was an ass last time we talked, that doesn’t mean I want Marvin dead.” He took a deep breath. “But we should prepare for the possibility of a trap. Just in case.”
“Of course we will,” Henrik assured him.
“...Hey. Chase.” Jackie gave him a smile. “Thank you. I-I don’t know what it is about you, but you know what to say. It’s really easy to talk to you about stuff like this.”
“It’s not a problem,” Chase said, returning the smile. “But, um...I think the Vigil is happening soon, so if we want to go—”
“Shit, I almost forgot about that!” Jackie gasped. “Henrik, I don’t want to leave the cat alone, can you look after it or something?”
“Don’t worry, I will take it to my tent,” Henrik said. “You two go and...is it alright to wish you fun? In a ceremony like this?”
“Come on, Schneep, you’ve lived here for over a decade, don’t talk like it’s so strange to you,” Jackie chuckled.
“I think it’s fun,” Chase said.
“Well, you two go have fun, then,” Henrik said. “I will see you later. Tomorrow, if not tonight.”
“Thanks, Schneep.” Jackie gave him a quick one-armed hug, then headed towards the skull entrance. “Let’s go, Chase. We don’t want to be late.”
They almost were. The Dark Vigil was about to start when they arrived, shuffling into the crowd. Everyone stood in a circle around a set of candles, one blue and the rest black, which were in turn set in a circle around several smooth, round pieces of black onyx. Three people stood inside, lighting the candles.
After the candles were alight, everyone sat on the ground, clashing a bit as they all tried to make room. Then once everyone was sitting with their legs crossed, the three in the center started the Vigil. They spoke the traditional lines, describing the Elder of Dark—their vague appearance, their actions, their history with the other Elders—and finished it by thanking them for their guardianship. Everyone joined in on the final part: “As you stand and watch vigil, so shall we this night.” And then silence fell.
During the silence of the Dark Vigil, each individual offered their thoughts about those who needed protection. In the past, Chase had asked for his family to be alright. For them all to stay healthy and happy. Today, he asked for that again. He wished, silently, desperately, for them to be safe. And not just them, but everyone else who had disappeared from his town, as well as all the other mountain towns that had been destroyed. He thought about Henrik and Jackie and all the other Phantoms he’d met here, and wished for them to have luck in this fight against the King. He thought about Marvin, someone who he’d never met but who was dear to his friends, and wished for them to be able to rescue him.
As Chase stared at the candle flames, he thought he saw...something. He wasn’t sure what. A shape in the smoke. The shape of a four-legged animal, with...antlers. A deer.
Then as was the tradition, the candles were extinguished, and the night was left in darkness.
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pitch-pearl-void · 4 years ago
Note
Hi! I love your work! Do you take requests? If so, would you mind doing something like maybe Skulker is looking for Phantom so in the middle of the day he comes to find Fenton to use him as bait while he's in the middle of class? And the class' reaction, because holy crap Fenton knows a ghost, and Phantom coming to save him? If not, that's totally fine, too!
I love the idea! I may have gotten a little carried away...whoops ^-^’ I focused more on Fenton and his classmates than on the romance, but I hope you’ll like it!
A paper football smacked directly into Fenton’s neck. Fenton cringed and gritted his teeth. In the desk behind him, he heard Dash snicker and the dull smack of two hands connecting as he high-fived Kwan. Mr. Lancer continued droning on about Shakespeare’s career, too passionate to notice Dash’s behavior—assuming he would care. He would probably just see it as another form of punishment for Fenton’s actions.
Not punishment for taking too many bathroom breaks or arriving late to class, though. No, Fenton’s days as a misbehaved student were supposed to be over, brought to an end by his and Phantom’s separation. He no longer needed to escape class to fight ghosts. He no longer needed to think about ghosts at all.
In theory…
Avoiding ghosts might have worked if Fenton could just stop thinking about his other half. 
For weeks after they had separated, they had barely spoken, but then Fenton had to go and open his big mouth, invite Phantom to play a round on his video game, driven by some instinct or by some longing he couldn’t put a name to. Phantom was just…he was his missing half. Being around him felt right. It wasn’t that crazy that Fenton had missed him, right? That they had stayed up nearly all night talking, playing, and joking? That Phantom visited almost every night, that they were rebuilding something new between them?
There was just so much to talk about, so many things to share, so many things to experience together in ways they never had as one. A month had passed with the two of them growing closer, and Fenton was losing his mind, he was sure of it.
What else but madness would have made him meet Phantom’s kiss with one of his own?
He had gotten caught texting Phantom. There was just so much they needed to figure out about what they were feeling… Lancer had confiscated his phone and moved Fenton to the front of the class where Lancer could “keep an eye on him.”
A fourth football landed without Lancer’s eye seeing a thing.
Fenton groaned and dropped his forehead onto the desk.
“Head up, Mr. Fenton,” Mr. Lancer ordered without looking.
Amazing, Fenton thought irritably as he lifted his head. He knows and sees everything except—
An invisible hand seized Fenton’s wrist, cold metal plates painfully squeezing his arm. He drew in a sharp breath. Before he could call out a warning, the ghost flew above his desk, lifting Fenton by his arm until they were at eye-level several feet from the ground.
Skulker, fully visible now, grinned viciously at Fenton’s stunned face.
“Crime and Punishment!” Mr. Lancer yelped.
The other students jumped from their seats, screaming. They ran for the door, but Skulker activated something by flicking the fingers of his free hand, and green electric bars sprang up in front of the door and the windows. The students cried out in fear and backed away from the bars. Fenton grabbed the arm holding his wrist and tried to pull himself up or at least relieve the strain on his shoulder and wrist. He grunted, kicked his feet, but he couldn’t manage a chin-up one-handed. He could barely do them with two.
“A bit overkill,” Skulker mused aloud, staring at Fenton’s classmates, “I have my bait, I don’t need hostages, but perhaps one of you lot can perform a service for me.”
“Skulker,” Fenton growled under his breath, trying to slip his voice underneath the fearful screams and yelling so he would only be heard by Skulker, “what the heck are you doing? You know I’m not half-ghost anymore, let me go.”
Skulker laughed, a cruel, creepy sound due to the robotic speakers and the natural echo in his voice. Fenton’s classmates shrank back from him. “You now serve a new purpose for me, whelp.” He swung Fenton by his wrist, Fenton’s legs swinging freely, and then, before Fenton could squeak a protest, he tossed him.
Fenton cried out and tried uselessly to activate powers that were no longer there. It took five seconds. Five seconds of falling before he landed on the cement floor. 
Air burst from his lungs. Pain and shock exploded from his back. He tried gasping in a breath, but his lungs didn’t seem to be working. He choked before managing a ragged inhale.
Skulker’s boot pressed down on his chest before he could roll over and curl into a ball. Fenton groaned, his back screaming, but he wrapped his fingers around the boot and tried to shove it off. He couldn’t. Without ghost powers, he was too weak. He was too disoriented. Had he hit his head? He thought his back took the full brunt of his fall, but his head might have bounced back.
Add super healing to the list of powers I wish I had right now, he thought woozily.
He had never hurt so much during a ghost fight, not even when he had been thrown through buildings. He had made craters in pavement and climbed out of the pit with only a sore shoulder. If this was the sort of dangers full humans faced during every ghost attack…
No wonder they always ran away.
Except Sam and Tucker… Fenton pried his eyes open and turned his head toward his classmates, desperately searching for the friends he knew wouldn’t be there. They shared a math class with Valerie during final period. Skulker must have waited until Fenton was isolated from any other ghost hunter who could help. But why?
“Where is your communications device?” Skulker asked him.
Fenton turned his head and blinked stupidly up at him. “What?”
“Your…” Skulker snapped his fingers together as he searched for the word he needed, “rectangular device. Phone. Phone! Yes, that was it. Where is your phone, whelp?”
Fenton tipped his head back and looked toward Lancer’s desk. It was probably there somewhere, but…he could see Mr. Lancer and a few of his classmates huddling behind the desk. He lowered his chin and looked incredulously up at Skulker again. “That’s why you’re attacking me? My phone? What the hell do you need my phone for?”
“Dude,” one of the jocks, Brad, hissed. “What the fuck are you doing, Fenton? Shut up and do what he says!”
Skulker snorted—or mimicked one, anyway. “Better do as the other whelps advise, child. You’re a great deal more delicate without your powers.”
Fenton hissed in a breath, but his classmates would hopefully miss the implication—if he spoke fast enough and gave them something else to think about. “Tell me what you want my phone for, first.”
Brad groaned.
“He’s a dead man,” Kwan whispered.
“To contact your ghost half, why else?” Skulker said disdainfully.
Fenton wanted to scream. “I don’t have one!” he said, the words almost tripping over each other as they rushed from his mouth.
“What?” Skulker’s menacing tone softened into something almost civil. “A phone? You don’t have a phone? Perhaps I can make one for you. I understand these devices are important to human development. And it would serve my purposes to be able to reach one ghost child through the other.”
“Stop—Damn it, Skulker! I don’t have a ghost half!” Fenton tipped his chin up and raised his voice. “I am one hundred percent human!”
“Oh yes, now,” Skulker grumbled bitterly. “You two have cheated me of a unique specimen.”
“Wow, sorry,” Fenton deadpanned.
“What the fuck are they talking about?” Dash demanded. He tried to whisper it, but his high-pitched voice easily carried his words to Fenton and Skulker. “What the hell is a ghost half? Why is that robot ghost after Fenton?”
Fenton glared pointedly up at Skulker, trying to communicate a silent “look what you did” reprimand, but Skulker only moved his head in a way that made Fenton think the tiny ghost inside it was rolling his eyes. A blade shot out of the armor’s wrist. Skulker touched the flat side to Fenton’s cheek, and Fenton drew in a breath, the cold touch of the blade spreading throughout his body.
“Your phone, whelp,” Skulker said, once again sounding menacing. A few of Danny’s classmates wailed in terror.
Fenton snapped, “I don’t have it!”
Skulker twisted the blade, the edge pressing into Fenton’s cheek. “Last chance, whelp.”
“Wait!” Lancer stood from behind his desk. Paulina and a couple other students stood with him, looking petrified. “Stop, stop!” He lifted Fenton’s phone above his head. “I have it! You can have it if you release him.”
“No, I don’t think I will.” Skulker blade moved away from Fenton’s cheek, however, allowing Fenton to breathe a little easier. “Awaken it for me.” Skulker’s false lips spread into a wicked grin. “We shall be making a little phone call…”
Fenton narrowed his eyes.
“Uhh…” Lancer began, uncertainly. “It’s, uh, it’s asking for some sort of password?”
“His password is numerical!” Mikey called from within the crowd of students clustered around the door. “A pin! Seven-eight-nine-zero.”
“Hey!” Fenton cried. “How do you know that?”
“You have other things to worry about, Fenton!” Kwan reminded him pointedly.
Lancer typed in the pin number and then stared down at the phone like he was facing down a complex puzzle. “How, uh, do I make a phone call on this thing?”
“Oh here!” Paulina snatched the phone from Lancer’s hands. “You just press the little phone icon, see?” She glanced up at Skulker and seemed to shrink in on herself, her confidence faltering. Fenton couldn’t really blame her. He remembered being terrified of Skulker the first few times he had met him too. “Um, what’s the phone number?”
“Child?” Skulker nudged Fenton’s cheek with the flat of his blade again.
Fenton kept his head turned toward Paulina and glared at Skulker from the corner of his eyes. “What?”
“The phone number, human child.”
Fenton snorted. “You haven’t said what you want to call him for yet.”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Spell it out for me.”
“In my efforts to study my prey’s habits, I have noticed the two of you getting…” Skulker tilted his head, “closer, shall we say? You have been spending a great deal of time together, lately. I don’t know how far things have gotten, but the signs of a ghost in love are fairly obvious. That is a weakness I can use. You are a weakness. Once he knows I have you, my prey will come to me.”
“You should change your name to Stalker,” Fenton grumbled, blushing.
The blush worsened as his classmates made little “ohhh” sounds of dawning understanding.
“Fenton has a ghost boyfriend,” Mikey said, his laugh too strained to be natural. “That must be what they mean by ghost half!!”
“Idiot,” Kwan groaned. “If this ghost doesn’t kill him, his parents are going to.”
Dash cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted, “Hey, Fenton, maybe you should dump your kinky ghost boyfriend before you get the rest of us killed over it!”
“Oh, fuck you!” Fenton shouted back, turning into the blade in order to glare at his classmates. “We’re not dating! We just kind of—He just…it’s complicated!"
Skulker snapped, “Whelp!” and turned Fenton’s head with the blade until Fenton’s glare had resettled on the ghost. “His phone number. Now!”
“No!” Fenton snapped back. “Forget it! I’m not going to let you use me as bait so you can—”
He cut off with a shriek of pain as the point of Skulker’s blade sliced across his cheek. Hot blood gushed from the wound and spilled toward his ear. He writhed under Skulkers boot and reached up to cover the wound, but Skulker’s blade slapped his hands away. Fenton’s classmates were screaming again, the tentative calm Fenton’s behavior had inspired shattered by the sight of so much blood. Tears streamed from Fenton’s eyes. Skulker slapped his hands away again before he could touch his face.
“You!” the hunter pointed at Paulina who quailed and shrank into Lancer. He protectively wrapped his arms around her. “Those devices can capture photos, can they not? Take a picture of this and send it to my prey as well.”
Paulina, trembling, shrieked, “I don’t know the number!”
Skulker looked down pointedly at Fenton. “Shall I give you a matching gash on your other cheek or will you cooperate for once, whelp?”
Fenton glared up at him and gritted his teeth against the pain.
“Look through his contacts!” Mikey shouted.
“Stop—” Fenton gasped in pain as speaking stretched the wound in his cheek. “—Stop helping him!”
“We’re not helping him we’re helping you, you suicidal maniac!” Dash shouted back.
Paulina’s hands shook as she maneuvered through Fenton’s phone. “What would the contact be? What—what do—h-how will I know which one is…?”
“He was texting someone during class,” Lancer said quickly. “That may be your best bet.”
“Mr. Lancer!” Fenton protested.
“Alright!” Paulina nearly sobbed. “Alright, I got it!” She pressed the phone to her ear, and Fenton squirmed under Skulker’s boot.
“Paulina, don’t!” he pleaded. “He’s just going to spring Skulker’s trap!”
“Hello?” Paulina gasped into Fenton’s phone, apparently ignoring Fenton. “Are you Danny’s ghost boyfriend, er ghost half? Yes, my name is Paulina, you have to come quick, there’s a ghost here!” Fresh tears escaped her eyes. “I don’t know his name!”
Skulker grinned. “He’ll know me once you take our picture.” He nudged Fenton’s chin with his blade, forcing his head to turn toward Paulina so his right cheek rested on the floor and the wound on his left cheek was exposed to the air. “Behave, child. Let him see the injury.”
“Uh, hold on,” Paulina told Phantom, “he wants me to take a picture…I don’t know! I’m just doing what I’m told!”
Fenton glared at Skulker from the corner of his eyes as best he could. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”
“I know.” Skulker grinned viciously down at him. “It’s part of the fun.”
Fenton heard the camera on his phone make an artificial shutter sound and clenched his jaw, the wound on his cheek shrieking.
“O-okay,” Paulina stuttered. “I’m sending it.” She pressed the phone to her ear again. “Did you get it yet? Danny’s bleeding really bad. If you can find Danny Phantom, tell him we need his help!”
Skulker tipped back his head and laughed. “Yes! Tell Phantom to come at once!”
“Oh!” Paulina exclaimed. “You got it? Yeah, it’s a lot of blood, but—” Her expression froze. Her eyebrows furrowed and she pulled the phone away from her ear so she could glare at it. “He hung up on me!”
Skulker chortled. “Excellent! He will rush over here at his fastest speed, don’t you think, human whelp?”
“Probably,” Fenton bit out through his clenched teeth.
Skulker removed his boot from Fenton’s chest, and Fenton didn’t waste any time rolling onto his stomach. He frantically pushed himself onto his hands and feet and scrambled toward his classmates huddled by the door. They backed away from him like he had some sort of disease. Skulker fired something at him—a net—and Fenton crashed to the ground again. He screamed his frustration and struggled against the ropes. Kicking. Pulling. Twisting.
“Damn it!” he howled.
Skulker laughed delightedly at his efforts. He stomped toward Fenton, his mechanical boots making hissing, clicking noises as he approached. “I see you are as fierce as ever, whelp.” He grabbed ahold of the net and lifted Fenton into the air. Fenton hissed as his weight caused the thin ropes to bite into his skin. “But woefully weak. I wonder…if I tied to you to your other half, would you slow him down?” His grin grew more vicious. “That would make for an interesting game.”
Fenton wiggled in the net, trying to get comfortable as he glared at Skulker. “You’ll have to catch him first.”
“It’s only a matter of time, now. His protective instincts and weakness for you shall be his downfall this day.”
Fenton growled through his teeth and kicked Skulker’s chest as best he could through the net.
Skulker snorted. “That tickled…”
“Are you guys sure this was a good idea?” Nathan asked anxiously. “I mean, inviting another ghost here? Isn’t that just going to result in this classroom turning into a battlefield?”
Fenton’s classmates murmured uneasily to each other.
“Not if Phantom gets here first,” Dash declared, his voice only trembling slightly. “He beat this ghost before! He can do it again, no problem!”
“Would you like to tell them, or shall I?” Skulker asked Fenton in an almost conversational tone.
Fenton scowled at him and slumped in his unwelcome hammock. All of his and Phantom’s efforts to keep whatever was building between them secret until they could figure things out for themselves had just been shattered by Skulker’s attack. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Go ahead. They’ll find out when he gets here, anyway…”
Skulker threw his arms outward, Fenton and his net swinging from his fist. Fenton hissed his name in complaint, but Skulker ignored him. “I am Skulker!” Skulker declared in a ringing voice they probably heard from several classrooms down. “The greatest hunter in all the realms! I have vowed to capture the ghost child known as Danny Phantom, and now thanks to all of you and Phantom’s other half…” Skulker raised the net and grinned victoriously at Fenton’s scowling face, “my prey is at this moment speeding toward my trap…”
The quiet that fell over Fenton’s classmates was deafening, tension adding an oppressive pressure to the air so that it felt like Fenton was suffocating.
It was broken by Paulina.
“No!” she screamed. Fenton flinched, assuming her reaction had to do with him and Phantom’s feelings for each other, but Paulina proved him wrong as she fumbled with Fenton’s phone. “No, no, no!” She pressed the phone to her ear. “Pick up, pick up, pick up! Don’t come here, Ghost Boy! Don’t come!”
Skulker laughed. “It’s far too late for that! I have studied my prey well. His temper is always at its most irrational when one he cares for has been harmed.”
Fenton pushed against the confines of his net again. “You bastard,” he growled.
“It’s just Fenton,” Dash said weakly. “Phantom wouldn’t risk everything just for Fenton, would he?”
“But Danny is his ‘other half,’” Mikey pointed out. “That’s what the robot called them. It might be a ghost thing? Danny could be special to him.”
“What, like soulmates?” Kwan asked, sounding almost intrigued.
“It’s Fenton!” Dash gestured at Fenton’s hunched form inside the net. “Just look at him! There’s no way he could be Phantom’s…other half. Soulmate. Thing. No!”
Others murmured their assent.
Fenton groaned. “I can’t decide if being called Phantom’s soulmate is better or worse than the alternative,” he whispered.
“Better,” Skulker whispered back. He lifted his other arm and stared at the screen on his wrist, only partially listening to the humans. “It’s far more amusing.”
“Yeah, for you.”
“Excuse me?” Amanda shoved Dash’s shoulder and pointed at Fenton. “Danny can’t be Phantom’s soulmate?’ Who here has been acting like a total badass? Who just bantered with a ghost while they were threatening him? Who got his cheek slashed because he was trying to be a hero? Like, uh, hello? Are you guys blind? They’re practically the same person!”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Fenton groaned.
Skulker chortled.
“Fenton is nothing like Phantom!” Dash objected, sounding offended.
Fenton struggled in his net and searched the classroom for signs of Skulker’s trap. The only thing Skulker had activated were the glowing bars in front of the door and windows, but that was just to keep the humans trapped in the room, wasn’t it? That was why they only blocked physical exits and not the walls or ceiling.
Fenton narrowed his eyes. None of his classmates had actually touched the bars, they had only backed away from them. Skulker might have used the bars for the fear factor, not as a true barrier, and if that were the case, it made sense for them to only block the door and windows. He only needed to stop the humans from getting or receiving help.
“Hey!” Fenton shouted. “Someone run through those bars and get Sam and Tucker!”
His classmates stared incredulously at him. None of them moved an inch.
“It’s far too late for that as well,” Skulker said gleefully. “My prize shall be here in five, four, three, two…” he paused dramatically, “one.”
Phantom flew through the ceiling, his hands already coated with green energy. His head jerked left and right as his eyes searched the room, coming to a stop on Fenton in his net. His eyes widened and his jaw clenched. Fenton swore. His classmates shouted, some cheering Phantom’s name, others screaming for him to run, but Phantom’s eyes narrowed and he looked too pissed to think about running.
“Skulker,” he growled, his glare moving toward Skulker, “let him go.”
“That would be counterproductive.” Skulker lifted Fenton in his net and gave it a little wiggle. Fenton grimaced as he swayed. Phantom’s gaze jerked back to him. Something dropped to the floor, but Phantom’s eyes had become fixated on Fenton again. “If you want him, Ghost Child, come and get him.”
Phantom bared his teeth.
“Don’t do it!” Dash shouted.
Phantom shot forward, one fist pulled back for a truly epic punch. Skulker floated back a few steps, and as soon as Phantom flew over the space where they had been standing, a beam of light shot up from a small cube on the floor. Phantom’s eyes widened. Fenton didn’t understand until a vortex began to pull Phantom down into the cube.
“The Fenton Thermos,” Fenton gasped.
“Inspired by it,” Skulker corrected. “I have endured the indignity often enough to replicate its effects.”
Phantom fought against the pull, struggling to fly out of its range, but the cube floated off the ground and followed his movements. The tip of his spectral tail touched the cube, and in moments it sucked him in completely.
“Phantom!” Fenton and his classmates shouted. He struggled against his net, pulling on the ropes and kicking his feet outward.
Skulker laughed his triumph as he walked toward the cube. Fenton stared in horror at the little black box, his chest aching. Phantom had been captured because of him. It wasn’t over, not by a long shot, but…it wasn’t looking good. Skulker bent down and picked up the cube. He looked between it and Fenton, a wide, vicious grin splitting his face.
Fenton glared at him. “What?”
“How long has it been, human child?” Skulker asked him. “Two years?”
“Just about,” Fenton mumbled.
“It has been a long hunt…”
It’s not over yet, Fenton thought. He tried fitting his fist through the gaps between ropes, but it was no good. The holes were too small. “You cheated!”
Skulker’s eyes narrowed. “Cheated?”
“Cheated!” Fenton repeated.
“I baited and set a trap!”
“You cheated!” Fenton looked at his classmates. They were muttering and staring at the black cube in Skulker’s hands like they had just witnessed something impossible. “Right, guys? He cheated!”
They stared back at Danny with haunted eyes until Dash surged forward, pointing angrily at Skulker, and shouted, “Cheater!”
Starr gasped and exclaimed. “Yes! Cheater!” Her voice took on a practiced tone, and she chanted, “Cheat-er, cheat-er!” until the rest of the class caught on and began to chant it with her.
“I did not cheat!” Skulker yelled, offended, but the class continued chanting. He growled viciously, growing increasingly infuriated by the witnesses to his victory calling foul. It was exactly the kind of pride snatching maneuver Fenton had hoped for, and he waited anxiously to see if Skulker would take the bait.
He did.
“FINE!” Skulker roared. He lifted his arm higher and glared at Fenton as the other students quieted and shrank back from him. “I shall give you and your other half one last chance, whelp.” Slowly, he spread his metal lips apart in an angry grin. “I believe you know how this game is played. Let’s see how well Phantom can keep you alive when he’s tethered to you.”
Fenton sucked in a breath. It wasn’t unexpected, given Skulker’s previous comments, but all the same it was frightening, being hunted. He looked at his classmates. They were his only chance to leave a message, and he shouted, frantic, “Tell Valerie!” before electricity arced through the net into his body. He screamed, arching his back, before everything went mercifully black.
 I would absolutely love to continue this as an actual short story. Like, you’ve all heard of “Danny’s classmates taking a field trip into the Ghost Zone,” now get ready for “Danny’s classmates leading a rescue attempt into the Ghost Zone to free Phantom and his other half/boyfriend Danny!” Ahh it would be so much fun. Valerie would place herself in charge (because she’s actually been through this before, and because she won’t say why they all assume its because she once dated Phantom too which pisses her off) and she and Sam would butt heads a bit on what to do. Tucker would 100% brag about how much he knows about the GZ to Dash and friends like “yeah, that’s right, I’m a badass” but they’re all still reeling over the idea Phantom is 1) gay 2) dating Fento-loser.
Phantom and Fenton, meanwhile, are doing their best to stay alive on Skulker’s island while also dealing with the romantic tension between them.
I would absolutely love it. I have no idea how I would pull it off. Action scenes are my weak point, and I’m not entirely sure how I would sneak all these kids past the Fenton parents, if Jack and Maddie should even be told, if Lancer should go with the kids, or even if they could all fit in the Specter Speeder. RIP my idea lol. I think I might put it up on Ao3 just as a potential story some day? I’m not sure. It needs work, but I made leavemyelevator-alone wait long enough for this prompt lol
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thatslikely · 4 years ago
Text
Mill Boy - F.W.
Mill Boy- Fred Weasley x fem!reader [1800s muggle!au]
warnings: mentions of child labor
word count: 3.4k 
a/n: probably part one of a minseries? y/n and fred are about 10-11 in this so part ii could possibly be a timeskip
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“Mum, can I go play? Please?” you pleaded, doe eyes shiny and prominent. Your mother, a hard working housewife, was bent over the sturdy kitchen table, dousing dirty dishes in scalding water, preparing them to be piled with the beef warming in the flames of the stove across the airy kitchen.
“Fine, Y/N, just please don’t get your dress dirty. Your father worked hard to afford such a fine cotton. He wouldn’t be pleased to see it ruined, now would he?” You eagerly nodded in agreement, ready to go enjoy the meadows lying across the walls of your humble residence. It was a beautiful spring day, most enticing one yet. Birds fluttered through the lush, brilliant cedar trees, enjoying the tranquil air that comes with the season. Ox-eye daisies dotted the expansive hills, all the way down to the slowly trickling creek. 
You slipped your muddied boots over the clean, cotton socks adorning your feet, grabbing your hat to shield your youthful eyes from the golden star above right after. You slipped it over your locks, which were neatly tied into pig-tails with silky, baby pink ribbons Mother bought you for your birthday. 
You skipped through the propped back door, little giggles of delight humming through your throat. Any traces of the harsh winter that stormed the land only a few months prior were washed away with the glimmering sunlight, which coerced the wildflowers to bloom from buds to petaled cups of sweetness.
With a smile, you followed a path of vibrant, woolly blue violets, carefully plucking their stems for a nice arrangement to become the perfect centerpiece for dinner. The colour, in your opinion, complimented the pastel pinks of your dress perfectly, filling you with even more glee. How you wished that you could spend all your time out of the confines of buildings, having fun and being free of responsibility.
It was most unladylike to go splashing in the cool water of the stream, and you would surely be scolded for it if you chose to do so. You had attempted to conceal your submersion in the winding brook once before, but the liquidy footprints you left on the floors of your house quickly outed your escapade. Fearing another stern talk, which was not pleasant in the slightest, you simply skipped to its edge, astutely observing its reflective surface with admiration. 
The crystalline liquid glossed over smooth stones adorned with moss so peacefully, its pace never wavering, not even for a second. The mere idea of something perpetually in motion, never having to stop and take a break, as you did many times after a long day of running in the fields, chasing butterflies, astounded you. 
Everyone had to go to sleep, or stop for a breath every once in a while, right? Scampers, the stray which adored your family’s covered porch, went to bed at odd times, most often at noon. And yet, he still slept. The grocer down the lane kept his shop attended every time you’d visit, but the windows would soon be curtained and dim when the moon came out to rule the seemingly never ending sky.
You prodded the cool creek with your finger, letting the water continue to flow past it unbothered, as if it were nothing but another stray twig. The thirst for answers dripped down from your mind, enveloping your body in a sensation that couldn’t be mended by simply drinking the water. You were amazed, and you had to see more, know more. You followed the bends of the stream, far beyond the view of your house.
Nobody had ever outright stated that you shan’t see where it goes, where the water ends, so naturally you had to discover it yourself. Maybe you’d be met with a secret alcove, your own private pocket of the boundless world. Alternatively, maybe you would stumble across a small house entangled high up in the branches of a tree, and fly up to its entrance like a fairy from a tale recited before bed. Or even, most enticing of all, maybe there was a prince waiting for you where the water ends; a prince who’d sweep you off your feet, offering you a chance to live in a magnificent castle situated in a far away land. 
You hummed songs that your frilly-dressed peers would chime in unison during recess, filling the still air. The toes of your boots leaped from one large rock to another, balancing on their flat surfaces like a game of hopscotch. 
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The soft, sweet humming echoing through his cove from a ways down the creek instantly perked Fred’s curiosity, luring him in like a siren’s song. He halted his stick-poking of the ants inching up the burly trunk of the ancient tree, swinging his gingered-head down, so his vision lay unobscured by the low-hanging branches. 
No one ever came to visit Fred when he lay slouched in the safe, knotted branches of his tree; whether it was because his family couldn’t locate him or the fact that they were aware that he needed a break, he didn’t know. Days spent in the mill were painful and excruciatingly long, so during the few spare moments he had to himself, he’d spend it talking to the lush wildlife surrounding him. He’d never be talked over by the weeds or birds, they’d just sit and listen, exactly what he needed. 
He nearly fell to the grassy ground trying to find the source of the melodic songs, curious to see who dare disturb the previously hidden Fort Fred. He imagined himself as a skillful militiaman, like his brothers, ready to charge and overtake the enemy, even if the music-maker was nothing near a threat.
Just as he was about to jump down to investigate on his own two feet, the source was finally revealed. An absolutely beautiful girl- a princess, rather, approached the tree. She was dressed in a light pink gown, as if she had just come back from a royal ball. Her singing brought serenity all around, as if she were somehow communicating with the birds and butterflies, allowing them to chirp and flutter along. At the same time, however, her well-loved boots and hat altered her look to something of a daring adventurer, exploring the unknown paths of thicket.
“Hello,” you said angelically, clasping your hands together across your waist. You were completely surprised to meet a companion on your previously solo expedition, and a dashing, amiable one at that.
You’d never seen this particular boy at school before; he seemed different than all your icky male peers. The boys at school would tug on your pigtails during tests, claim you were infested with disgusting germs at recess, and chase you around the yard tauntingly. But this boy’s features resonated nothing but kindness: the crinkles around his eyes from smiling, light orange freckles all across his nose, his shaggy, fiery red hair topped with a patched-up flat cap.
Maybe there was a prince at the end of the brook after all.
The friendly-appearing boy hopped down from his perch in the tree, smoothing out the wrinkles and leaves in his suspendered trousers and white button up with a suspicious look. “And who would you be, miss?” 
“Erm- my name’s Y/N. What’s your’s?” You couldn’t help but smile, and your cheeks prickled as if a ladybug were crawling across them.
He stepped closer to you, his composure open and honest. “I’m Fred, Fred Weasley. I live down the way, near the mill.”
“Nice to meet you, Fred Weasley.” You did a proper courtesy, just as you had been taught so many times before, then adding, “what’s a mill?”
Fred’s jaw dropped, as if it had no hinges. “You’re joking, right? You don’t know about the mill? I work there just about every day of the week.” He pointed further down the creek, opposite the direction of your house, astonishment swimming in his mahogany brown eyes. 
“I’ve never heard anything of the sort. What do you do in a mill, exactly?” 
“Well, there’re these big, loud machines that're always moving. They get power from this huge wooden wheel upstream that’s always spinning. They make tons of pieces of fabric out of wool. Maybe I even weaved some of the cloth used to make that very dress you’re wearing right now.”
You marvelled at his descriptions, even the simple way he spoke, articulated his words. Those utterly despicable boys at school would’ve just stuck their tongues out at you disrespectfully, not giving you the time of day, but Fred couldn’t be more different. He spoke to you as if you two were something of equals.
“Oh wow.” You were barely able to suppress a flustered giggle. Why were you feeling so, mushy around Fred, the sensation comparable only to the consistency of porridge? “I didn’t know you were so talented to do that.”
“Aww,” -he blushed, scratching the nape of his neck- “I mean, it’s not too difficult, you could probably do it if you tried. After a while ‘course.”
“Nonsense.” You not-so-nonchalantly rubbed your palms up and down your dress, noticing beads of perspiration accumulating on them. While doing so, the bushel of hooded violets resting in your pocket became evident. You pulled one from your stash, saying, “do you want one of my flowers? I picked them down near my house.”
Fred swore at any moment, if anything were so much as to touch him, he would burst. He’d never experienced these, admittedly strange, feelings before. It felt like his last meal wouldn’t settle in his stomach, or as if he’d just run a horse’s distance by the way his heart was pounding out of his chest. Was he sick? Should he go tell mum?
“I, erm, of course,” he stuttered, barely capable of moving his lips to form coherent words. “You have e-excellent taste in flowers, miss Y/N.”
“Thanks. I picked plenty, for a nice centerpiece at home. Mum always loves flowers.” You fiddled with the frills and layers of your dress, doing something to occupy your energetic fingers. Fred studied the flower intently with his brows furrowed, tugging on its petals and anthers. 
After Fred was satisfied with his examination of the violet, he said, “you know, there’s some really pretty yellow flowers growing down by the mill. They’d go perfectly with these here.”
“Will you take me?” 
“Of course I will. We’d best get going, though. Don’t wanna miss dinner.” Fred gestured for you to follow his lead, walking through the knee-high blades of grass as if he were wading through a river. When he quickly noticed your look of apprehension, not wanting to dirty your dress or have an unwanted animal encounter, he grabbed your palm with a grin, forcing you to trail behind him.
You two distantly followed the path of the creek, adventure flowing through both of your veins. Fred’s grip on your hand was gentle, despite the calloused patches scattered over his skin, no doubt a result of the ‘large machines’ he described working on in the mill.  
After a while of giggling and jogging, the distant outline of a building across the stream was visible. Its four walls were composed of rough, grey stones used as bricks; it’s roof was sealed with jagged pieces of slate, some out of place. But the biggest surprise came not with the building itself, but to the right of it. A humongous, wooden wheel spun through the rill, rhythmically splashing the previously tranquil water as it continued flowing. It was as if everything today was out of a fairy tale, but this was the most outlandish of them all. A giant wheel, spinning in pace through the water? 
“Well, we’re here.” While Fred usually dreaded returning back to the mill, as his time within the confines were never pleasant, tolerable at best, he was glad to be here with company and a different mission. He wasn’t going to be making fabric today, no, he was on the search for bundles of corn-yellow flowers, with the prettiest girl he’d ever laid eyes on. True royalty, a princess through and through.
“Wow. That wheel’s ginormous! How does it work?” This time, it was your mind that curiosity flooded, and it ceased to relent. 
“Erm, I don’t exactly know. All I know is that the creek pushes the wheel, for some reason. I’ll ask Dad about it sometime, he’ll know.” You nodded appreciatively, satisfied at the promise of an answer. 
 “Now what do you say we go find some of those flowers?”
“Yes please!” You started peering around the water’s edge, attempting to spot any signs of cheerful, yellow flowers.
While you continued digging through ferns and bushes, searching for gold, Fred enchanted you from a distance across the shaded meadow. “I think my brother Percy said that the flowers are called Golden Alexanders. He’s one to always go a bit heavy on books during his breaks.” 
‘You’ll have to ask your brother how they got their name. The first part’s fairly obvious, the Alexander portion not so much.”
“I’m gonna have to ask everyone in my family questions if I keep showing you new things by the looks of it,” he giggled, walking around the grassy plateau with his hand shielding his eyes from the setting sun. 
“Teacher always tells me during lessons, ‘curiosity killed the cat’-” 
“Poor kitty,” Fred muttered.
“-But satisfaction brought it back. So you best bring me back some answers tomorrow, because I don’t exactly fancy dying.” Fred’s eyes widened with his new, highly-important mission. “I’d at least wish to go out in a heroic way, not at the hands of my own unquenched curiosity.”
“That’s quite the big word.”
“I know, I learned it the other day!” you giggled, covering your toothy grin with your hand. “Isn’t it cool?” Fred responded with a handsome, wide smile and concurring nod. His eyes were filled to the brim with joy; they reminded you of warm evenings sitting around the crackling fire charring logs and embers. 
You scourged through the brush for a while longer until the soothing trickling of water was interrupted by Fred’s distinct voice, shouting, “Oh, I think I found some o’er here!”
You skipped to Fred’s direction, the toes of your boots patting the grass lightly. Fred was leaning down over a small patch of Golden Alexanders, watching a few bumblebees buzz between the central stigmas protected in the wreaths of small petals.
Without thinking, you swiftly wrapped your arms around Fred, his back pressed to your chest tightly. “Thank you, Fred. These’ll look great. You’ve got quite the eagle eye.” Your cheeks burned, and your soft arms were swept with tiny goosebumps.
“It’s no problem, really. I’m just glad you’re happy.” You unleashed Fred from your grasp, nearly tumbling to the ground with flusteredness. The porridge-ish feeling was back, and your now-wobbly legs weren’t exempt. “Your smile’s contagious, you know.” 
Fred’s reaction to your hug was slightly different, but equal in magnitude. His chest puffed as if it were fluttering with butterflies that would glide low near the grass, his neck, which tingled after your every exhale, was burning like brush, and his breath all but stopped, which he paid no mind to. 
To distract himself from the foreign sensations racking his body, he pointed to the revolving wheel sputtering the crystalline, flowing water, saying, “Do you think it's possible for me to climb the wheel? I’d wager I could.”
“You’d be a madman if you did.” You daintily trailed behind him like a curious cat, spying on his actions from afar.
“Then I guess I’ve got to do it.” He stepped one foot on one of the damp wooden beams, which proved successful until the churning of the wheel shook off his balance. He stumped to the group with an ‘ow’, groaning, “Princess, you were supposed to catch me.”
“Sorry,” you cheekily giggled, suppressing your smile with your cupped palm. You looked in all directions but Fred’s to avoid an assumed scornful glare, but instead you were met with a chuckling redhead, his umber eyes screwed shut with laughter.
Childish titter occupied the still Spring air, blending in with the trickling water and occasional melody chirped by a lone sparrow or two. Your fingers intertwined with Fred’s to prevent you from falling backwards into the puddles of sludge strewn through the sunset-soaked blades of grass.
Eventually, Fred could be your stabilizing tether no longer, and you both fell backwards, hands still locked playfully. You started to get up from the soft cushion composed of a plethora of plants before the flat-capped ginger motioned for you to remain relaxed on the ground, the large tufts of your gown and all. 
You complied, and before you knew it, you were making out the shapes of pink-hued clouds, improvising tales and fables to enchant Fred with.
“That one looks like a rabbit, doesn’t it?” you would say, or “that one looks like a mule-”
“-riding on a carriage!” Fred finished, giggling in unison with you. As your throat erupted with chuckles, you and the prince beside you clutched your stomachs which were rattling with joy.
After a while of staring up at the deepening sky, you said, “I think I’ve got to go back for dinner, Mum’ll be expecting me.” Fred immediately stood up, quick as a soldier, and he outstretched his arm chivalrously to help you sit up as well.
“I’ll walk you back, don’t worry. Who would I be to let a princess such as yourself brave the wilderness alone?”
“How kind of you, good sir,” you replied with a joking curtsy and exaggerated accent dripping with poshness. Your fingers intertwined with Fred’s again for the second time that day, and this time they felt more familiar, as if you could pinpoint every sun-owing freckle or crease in his pale skin.
Your connected arms swung rhythmically as you both relaxedly walked towards the direction of your humble residence, careful to avoid stepping on dotted ladybugs that scurried through the grass. Occasionally, you or Fred would release a clever wisecrack or randomly twirl, basking in the pink rays of sunshine that gradually depleted, but for most of the trek home, you stayed quiet, simply enjoying each other’s company: a luxury that was hard to come by in Fred’s house of nine.
When your house was finally visible on the thin line of the horizon, Fred’s eyes couldn’t help but light up. Your home didn’t look much different than the Weasley’s, save for its size being half as big. Your chimney wasn’t as crooked and worn by the elements as the gingered clan’s was either, but the young boy didn’t seem to notice. All he could see was an elegant castle suited for no one but the best.
At long last, you arrived on your back porch. The door was wide open, where your mother leaned her aproned hips against the frame with a smile. Wonderful aromas wafted from the kitchen to you and Fred’s nostrils, beckoning you to take a seat at the dinner table and dig in. “Now who might this be, Y/N?”
“My name’s Fredrick Weasley ma’am.” Youthfulness glinted his eyes as he reached his hand to shake your mother’s. “I go by Fred.”
“You’ve got quite the firm shake,” she said, suppressing a chuckle, “I hope you and Y/N had fun today? By the look of her dress, she did.”
Your cheeks burned like a tin fresh out of the oven as you looked down in horror to see brown splotches of dirt strewn across the fluff and frills. “Mum, I-”
“Shh, Y/N, don’t worry about it,” you mother cooed in a whisper, eyeing the oblivious redheaded boy next to you, who was equally smudged with mud but complemented with a sweet, wide-mouthed smile.
“Well, Y/N dear, it’s dinner time. Does your guest Mister Weasley care to join us?”
“No thank you, Miss Y/L/N, I’ve got to be on my way back to my home as well.” Fred pulled you closer to him, so that your chest was mere inches away from his’. A sudden burst of confidence pumped through his veins, and with that, he gave a light pack to your cheek. 
Your eyes widened with shock; his lips left a tingly imprint on your nerves as he turned back around towards the creek. I’ll never wash my face again, you thought, cupping your cheek with your palm. 
“Bye princess, I’ll see you tomorrow, promise?” he shouted, giving you a final wave. 
“Promise. Bye, Mill Boy. See you then!” And with that, he was off following towards the water in which he came, the orange sunlight turning his figure into a fading silhouette. 
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fallingoverharrypotter · 3 years ago
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Torn a New One
This is based on the @drarrymicrofic​ prompt for pretend, and got very long. Heres the ao3 link :).
The shirt is supposed to make Harry look like that one Bratz doll meme; you know the one. 
Thanks for reading <3 <3
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Harry is a stoic man. That’s what Hermione calls him.
He’s sitting on Ron’s plush carpeted floors in his shiny new flat. Ron himself is passed out on a couch that costs more galleons than a year of Hermione’s tuition, with Hermione herself teetering on the edge of both her couch and hers and Ron’s refusal to bring up that they’re still fucking on the side of their tumultuous breakup. She brings up Harry’s problems to distract herself, and Harry tells her not to bother. Harry also tells her that she and Ron should just own up to their idiocy and sort their crap out sooner rather than later, and then Hermione yells loud enough to wake Ron with: Harry James Potter, you’re a complete and utter hypocrite. Ron does wake up when their voices raise like this, and then cordons Hermione off to the main bedroom leaving Harry to pretend that he’ll floo home, before the three of them end up eating cereal whilst sitting at/on Ron’s granite countertops the next morning.
All three look a right picture. Hermione is staunchly refusing to acknowledge that she’s wearing a t-shirt of Ron’s – old Canon’s merch that she’s absolutely swimming in. Harry, in solidarity, is also wearing one of Ron’s shirts without pants – the newest Wheezes rollout collection, classic stylized lettering (Ron’s got this beautiful flat because every single Witch and Wizard between the ages of 14 and 37 owns Wheezes now). And Ron himself is shirtless and in nothing but underwear.
They’ve seen more of each other than is completely normal over the last 15 years, but they’re still indulgent enough not to bring up any of the shit they refuse to talk about. They need a balancing force, Harry often thinks, someone who is outrightly honest and refuses the stupid little games that the golden trio fall into to avoid talking about their true feelings. That’s what Harry thinks inside his head, but his body ends up groaning and bending forward so his forehead smacks the countertops none too gently. His consciousness sounds more and more like someone he refuses to think about whenever he’s been drinking. Merlin save him.
“Oi,” Ron admonishes without looking up from his bowl. He’s leaning atop the counter on forearms and staring into his cereal, swirling the spoon around the stodgy mess and eating no longer.
Harry grunts first, and then says “gonna sick up, Ronnykins?” and gets glared at by Hermione who is onto her third bowl of cereal at this point. Right. Can’t joke about Lavender either, apparently. That fling definitely didn’t help the dynamic, Harry reminds himself.
“Jus’ don’t wan’ you bruising my bench with your fat head.”
Harry kicks out at Ron with his closest foot and makes contact, gets an immediate groan for his efforts, before Ron’s pulling up from his slouch and getting Harry into a pretty tight headlock. Harry resorts to elbowing Ron in the gut over and over. Ron groans and releases, making a mad dash for the fancy powder room into which he projectiles.
Hermione, for all she looks dazed and noncommittal this early into a hangover, manages to give off an air of created aloofness about the violent noises coming from down the hall. Harry smirks at her, and gets his own kick in response that makes him exclaim “ow, fuck. You two are so bloody violent.”
Before she responds, there’s a tapping at the window. Owl. Hermione stares at Harry to let him know that there’s no way she’s moving from her lounging for the bloody post, so Harry straightens up to open the window for the tawny. Efficient things these post owls are this morning; just drops the paper on the countertop near Harry’s bowl before flying right out the window without even waiting for a treat.
Harry’s shaking his head to brush away the last fuzz of the evening with the assistance of the scent of fresh air. Hermione gasps out loud. That makes Harry turn around quick enough for whiplash, and then he wishes fervently for death by sustained head trauma when the figure on the front of the paper, unfurled and sepia, winks right at him.
“Fuck,” Harry says. His gut churns, and then he’s running down the hall, past the occupied powder room to Ron’s master bath, and vomits up his guts.
 ***
Ron’s back in the kitchen by the time that Harry stumbles back in. Three strong cups of tea are quick-brewing under Hermione’s wand, even though both her and Ron’s attention is maintained by the Prophet’s front page. Because that is Draco Malfoy wearing a Wheezes “I shagged Harry Potter and all I got was this stupid shirt” collectable.
“It’s ironic!” Ron and George had insisted on its’ inception 4 years back. Only 100 had been made, a necessity: scarcity is key. They resell for a lot of money these days. Harry would rather die than see another in person. His face, a terrible photo of him caught by photographers during a pretty brutal night out, is plastered right on the middle along with stylized fireworks that go off every couple of minutes. He’d been convinced into making them, to try and control the narrative or whatever bullshit the Weasley’s had spouted just a couple of days beforehand when Harry had started stomping around the burrow or the floor of the joke shop or Hermione and Ron’s old shoebox apartment in anguish. It worked, he guesses, and he doesn’t see many of them anymore, as they’re kept in the strongest of imperturbable charms and modified protegos by anyone lucky enough to get one. But this one. This one he didn’t know about.
Hermione’s been muttering to herself as she read the accompanying story, when her voice perks up. “Merlin, listen to this: ‘this intrepid reporter asked what I’m certain all our readership will be most curious to uncover now that we are sitting down with the one and only Draco Malfoy. When we had sat down in Mr. Malfoy’s beautifully appointed drawing room, I too was especially shocked at his choice of attire,’” Hermione pauses here to roll her eyes and mutter “oh here we go,” before continuing in a higher and haughtier voice. “‘We all know the poise that Mr. Malfoy holds, one of Wizarding Britain’s most darling Stars, his performance in Wizarding Wireless serials having taken our world by storm the past 6 years. I must myself mention the serialisation of the modern take on the Wizarding classic story of Millicent Mimbletonia’s Marvelous Manor; captured this reporter’s heart, it did.’ What a load of absolute nonsense.”
“Oh, come on, Herm,” Ron says and knocks into her arm to get her to continue the story.
“Fine, but this is all absolute tripe. What was Draco thinking! Okay. Blah blah blah, you can’t believe how long this person goes on about Draco’s drawing room, blah. Okay here. ‘On questioning Mr. Malfoy’s choice to wear the now famously collectible Wheezes’ Harry Potter shirt, the gentleman seems to look slightly pensive.’
“‘‘Monsieur,’ our Star addresses me, ‘when you have been in the business of telling stories for as long as I, you start to have a great fondness for truth. I must now admit to you, and all of your lovely readers, that I bought this shirt on release and whilst under Polyjuice’. Now readers, you must bear with Mr. Malfoy here. Yours truly was very shocked-’ Good God, can this man obfuscate. Okay, then Draco says, ‘‘I’ve kept my ownership of such an item close to my chest, and away from my closest relationships. I have found over the years that true mutual affection, friendship, and love, have foundations built on beds of uncertainty and trust simultaneously, and thus I was afraid to expose myself.’ I but in here and ask what we must all be thinking at this admission: is he such a big fan of our Saviour that he is ashamed? But Mr. Malfoy continues: ‘No, monsieur. In all honesty, I am the man’s biggest critic.’’” Harry ducks his head, his hands shaking as he reaches for the now over-brewed tea.
Hermione looks up at Harry and Ron with wide eyes. Ron looks back at her wide eyed too, glancing small looks at Harry every now and again when he finds something particularly salacious, but he says nothing. Harry is hiding his trembling hands and trembling mouth behind a blisteringly hot cup of tea. She receives no objections, and continues. “‘‘I am livid that he’s been out of the public eye for so long regardless of his exceptional ability to bring about change in those around him; Potter has worked the same archival job in the Ministry for 5 years, with no end in sight, I fear. He refuses to allow those outside of his closest friends and family to know him in any sense, and I would argue that this is truly detrimental to his relationship with the Wizarding community. Although I disagree with the man on many things, I will be the first to say here and now that if any person deserves privacy, it is him. But the relationships we build with those we love-’’” and Harry snatches the paper out of Hermione’s hands.
“Harry,” Ron starts, reaching out a hand and grasping his upper arm. Hermione too has hopped down off the counter and is crowding Harry’s other side. He wants to shake them off, but he can’t. He can’t stop looking at the paper in his hands with Draco’s figure. Draco’s white blond head of hair turned beige on paper, his eyes sharp and flirty to readers, his hands restlessly gripping at his shirt. The shirt with Harry’s face.
Harry is a stoic man. Hermione tells him that exactly, Ron tells him that adjacently, and Draco. Draco has said the same thing in so many ways and at so many times that Harry has had it drilled into his head. His eyes are watering now, a little. And he can’t read much more of the article, but he doesn’t really need to. Because Draco will skate around enough of his personal life that it seems as though he’s come clean about something when he’s actually just marketing his next serial; it’s what he does.
This time, though, he’s wearing one of those terrible shirts that almost single-handedly sparked the Wheezes fashion line and bought Ron this apartment, and he’s saying things here that Harry knows are true. Knows are directed right at Harry. Knows because a week ago Harry had walked right out of Draco’s “well-appointed” drawing room, slamming the door and not answering the following owls. Harry hasn’t slept at his own sparse flat for a week. He’s spent time at Ron’s, spent time at Hermione’s, spent time at the Burrow. He’s even spent time in the dark halls of Grimmauld, which he hasn’t wanted to touch for years, no matter how many people around him shared their opinions on it being the perfect. Home. One day.
They’re standing there, the three of them, when a knock sounds on Ron’s front door. Harry freezes, but Ron staggers out into the hallway, still in nothing but underwear.
“Sweet Merlin, Weasley, could you put on some bloody pants? You do know it’s ten o’clock?” Says the visitor, and Harry just lets his back go limp, setting out to truly bruise Ron’s beautiful granite countertops with his forehead once again. He can hear Ron sarcastically mumble something along the lines of ‘yes Malfoy, of course you can come in’. Hermione grips his arm slightly in sympathy, but turns to face the entrance to the kitchen anyway. Like a traitor.
“Hermione, lovely as always. I see the three of you are in similar states of distressed undress this morning. Have you finally succumbed to your polyamorous destiny?”
“Nice to see you too, Draco. Lovely article.”
“Thank you. Do you like the shirt, too? Catches a sweet mint in resale these days.”
“You don’t say…”
“Yes, yes. Now, Harry, please pick yourself up off of the place we civilised people prepare our food.”
Harry groans into the cool surface, but can’t stop himself from responding. It’s a natural reaction to the bullshit that comes out of Draco’s mouth most times. “If you’ve ever made a meal by yourself in your life, I’ll eat the countertop.”
“Harry,” his voice is menacing, and his footsteps are getting closer, “I’m not civilised.” And at that Draco grabs Harry by the shoulder and turns up around and back up against the counter top with not a small amount of force.
Harry’s reply comes out breathless from the impact. “You said ‘we’.”
“It was a universal ‘we’.” Draco says this through gritted teeth. His blond eyebrows are sitting right on top of his grey eyes and they scream murder louder than they’ve ever done before, which is saying something since Draco was once a Death Eater, no matter what the admiring general Wizarding public would like to remember.  
Harry doesn’t have a retort prepared, per se. It would be a more concise comment on how Draco hadn’t taken a single English language course his entire life, and what would he know about the universal ‘we’, but Harry meets Draco’s eyes and he’s a bit lost. A week of blanket non-communication. A bit extreme. Not gone longer than a couple of days without talking for years, have they.
“Cuppa, Draco?” That’s from Ron.
“Yes. Two sugars. Level.”
Ron scoffs, but Draco beats him to it. “Weasley it’s two-level sugars, please, for once, reorient your sense of balance before you spill the entire sugar pot into the cup.”
“Just don’t give him any sugar, Ron. He’s obviously already mental, we don’t want him to go into cardiac arrest.” This from Hermione.
“Uh-”
Draco scoffs before Ron can respond. “Settle down Granger. I’m not going to pretend to like black tea for some sense of superiority like some of us.”
“It’s better for your-”
“You know what’s good for your health?” Draco all but yells and spins around to face Ron and Hermione. Ron, still next to naked, and Hermione drowning in Ron’s clothes. She’s back to sitting on the counter, Ron leaning back next to her. They look like they’ve looked for the past 10 years – drawn to each other, allies, et cetera. Draco huffs. “What’s good for your health is you two sitting down and talking about your absolutely bloody insane coupling. What’s good for your health is not getting blackout drunk every Friday night and ending up sleeping with each other, and then not talking about it, until the next week when you can do it again.”
Ron and Hermione are shifting where they sit, Hermione, looking as though she’s getting herself ready to argue back, and Ron in a more protected position behind his ex-girlfriend. Harry feels a little sorry for them, getting the third degree from Draco when he looks as unhinged as he does now. The Harry on his chest, a mess when the photo was taken, is now looking at them disappointedly like he’s on Draco’s side. Like a magical recreation of a Harry who was in quite an intense meltdown at the time has any right to be “on Draco’s side” about any issues of wellbeing.
Hermione does get the strength to pipe up. “Don’t take that tone with us, Draco Malfoy.” But that’s all she can get out. Harry’s pretty sure she’s stumped. Doesn’t have an argument. Draco, Harry knows, has refused to get involved in this situation. Has watched from the side-lines and stewed. Harry’s been all for letting the two of them work their shit out in their own time, but he’s a stoic man, what does he know about all that?
“Don’t take that tone with us, Draco Malfoy,” is Draco’s retort, mocking back in a high-pitched squeak that Harry winces at. Hermione was about to hop off the counter, he could see, but Ron’s sudden arm around her waist kept her down. “You two just have to talk about it. So what if Hermione slept with Lavender? You guys weren’t together at the time!”
Hermione splutters, eyes wide, all thoughts of advancing physically on Draco gone. Ron sat eyes wide too, flicking between Draco and Hermione as if waiting for more.
“Wait-” he starts.
Hermione wails “Ron I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I know. It was such a bad thing to do-”
“No wait! You’ve been acting weird because of that?” And Ron looks incredulously at Harry. Harry sends him an incredulous look back, equally as surprised that Draco hit the nail on the head.
“What! You knew?” Hermione is still wailing.
Ron turns fully to face her and wails himself: “Of course I knew! How could I not know! Harry told me! Draco told me! Lavender told me! Hell, a month ago you got so drunk you told me.”
Hermione’s eyes are so wide that Harry’s afraid she’s going to start crying, and he grabs Draco’s arm in shock. Draco tenses all of a sudden and then Harry consciously remembers why he’s not doing that and shrinks back again. Ron and Hermione aren’t really focusing on anything but themselves now, so they don’t notice how Draco turns slowly back to face Harry, backed against the kitchen’s island like he has been since Draco arrived.
“And you, Harry Potter.” Draco pauses, and Harry has time to do a quick pass over. Draco on the front page of the Daily Prophet and Draco in the middle of Ron’s stylish London flat are two very different Draco’s. Quiet, pensive, charming and loveable Draco in the papers. Thoughtful. Friendly. A bloody myth.
This Draco. Angry, flustered, dishevelled, loud. This is the same Draco who, when Harry slipped up the other week – the week when everything changed – went red, went silent, went unresponsive in so many ways. Harry, fresh off the first love confession he’d ever given, so incredibly off the cuff that it had shocked him and scared him, had had to storm out of the apartment, slam the doors behind him, and apparate away to his own flat he barely spends any time in.
He’d slipped up. They’d never even suggested anything romantic between the two of them. They’d been close for a long time at this point and. Feelings. His feelings. They were supposed to be unspoken. He’d been nursing the growing beast of his feelings behind his stupid chest, which was okay as long as they were unspoken. Pretending every day that they weren’t eating at him alive.
Eating at him when he woke up in Draco’s spare room on more mornings than he’d liked to count, early enough before work that they could sit for breakfasts in Draco’s kitchen. And then Harry’s co-workers at the Ministry archives asking him questions about Draco’s new shows or his schedule or his favourite foods. Draco and Harry having dinner with Ron and Hermione at hole in the wall restaurants in the muggle world. Birthdays together; dinners at Draco’s or Ron’s nicer flats; bickering over anything and everything they could get their minds on.
“You hate my job.”
Harry’s eyes bulge open. Did he mean to say that? Sweet Merlin. It was definitely him, and now Draco is staring at him in confused consternation, as if he has to come to terms now that Harry’s gone insane.
Harry doubles down, though. Trusts his subconscious decisions. “Yeah, you hate my job!” he repeats.
“Are,” Draco starts, slowly, “you kidding me.”
He could respond, but Harry just shakes his head instead.
Harry’s thought Draco’s been properly angry this whole time. He was wrong. “I hate your job? Who doesn’t hate your job!” Draco’s arms reach out and grab tightly around Harry’s upper arms. Harry’s not above flexing, just a little. He tells himself it’s to test the grip, but honestly, he’s hoping to distract Draco from the rage.
“It’s not that bad!” Harry repeats, and Draco groans loudly.
“Not that bad? Are you trying to give me a stress induced ulcer?”
“What do you know about stress induced ulcers?” comes a faint response from Hermione.
Draco turns his head, hands still tight around Harry’s biceps, and says “don’t you two have make-up sex to attend to?”
Harry responds. “Ron’s sick.”
Draco glares back at Harry for a second, and then turns back to where Ron and Hermione haven’t moved. “Get out, you’re distracting him from the fight.”
“We’re the emotional support,” and “lame fight” come respectively from Hermione and Ron.
“Oh, that’s rich!” Draco yells in their direction, but Harry’s sure that he’s ignoring Ron’s comment. “Emotional support! You two have let this wanker,” a thumb thrown at Harry from over Draco’s shoulder, “probably crash on your couches rather than forcing him to face me. You’re all as bad as each other.”
“Draco,” Harry feels he has to say, and draws Draco’s attention from his two best friends who definitely have been letting him crash on their couches and had not once tried to force Harry to face his problems. He loves them a hell of a lot.
“Don’t you try to lessen this, Harry Potter.” Harry’s been on the receiving edge of worse glares from Draco, so this one isn’t that bad. Harry’s actually feeling a lot better now that Draco is in the same room as him. Feels his terrible, traitorous heart almost relax. “I’m sick of you three. You’re the worst bloody enablers for each other.”
Harry scoffs. Sure, they’d never force him to do something he didn’t want to, but it’s not like they agree with his decisions all the time.
Draco hears the scoff of course, and gives up on trying to chase the others out of the kitchen. He turns around towards the entrance, faces away from all of them and talks to himself at top volume. “This is what my life has become. The sole source of constructive criticism for the bloody Golden Trio.”
Ron snorts to cover up a laugh.
“I survive working for a fascist dictator, successfully rebuild my image, forge a new path for myself in the world, but I’m here. An overworked, under-rewarded, glorified therapist!”  
Harry, Hermione, and Ron exchange glances. The other two look at Harry in commiseration, but Harry is starting to think that Draco has a bit of a point when he realises that Ron’s arm is still around Hermione’s waist who is leaning right into his side.
“Okay.” Draco takes a deep breath and turns around to face Harry. “Since they’re not leaving, you all get to hear this.” He steps closer. “I hate your job. I hate your flat. I hate that you won’t face up to hard things, and I refuse to be okay with any of that.”
Harry swallows hard.
“People are letting you get away with anything at the moment, and when you told me you loved me, I got scared. Because I thought that I’d become one of those people to you too.”
“That’s not-”
“No.” Draco stops Harry for butting in. “No. We’re not pretending any longer. I love you-” thump goes Harry’s heart in his chest, eyes bulging and smile unable to be stopped “-but sometimes I seriously don’t like you.”
Harry’s smile does dim at that, but only slightly.
Draco looks away at last, his hands on his hips, and starts pacing. “I couldn’t believe-” sharp glance at Harry through the pacing, “-you just left after you said that. I couldn’t believe you’d actually not answer my owls. You’re an absolute coward sometimes.”
“You didn’t say anything…” Harry mumbles.
“Oh,” Draco responds with an eyeroll, still pacing, “so you get to freak out for a week, but I’m not allowed longer than a couple of minutes to compose myself?”
Harry ducks his eyes, ashamed.
Draco hmphs, and pauses in his pacing to look down his nose at Harry. “That’s right. You should feel bad.”
Shirt-Harry shakes his head at real-Har- “God Draco, take the shirt off!”
“What?” Draco is shocked into pausing his restless movement. “Take my shirt off? You haven’t even apologised and want to get me half naked like the rest of you? I think not!”
“That’s not- ugh, forget this.” Harry reaches forward and grabs Draco mid-pace. “Draco.” Deep breath. Harry meets Draco’s eyes. Draco looks like he’s been through his paces. He doesn’t even look angry anymore, he just looks like the culmination of a week of stress. Ron and Hermione are eating dry cereal right out of the box from their perch as they watch, and they both give Harry nods and a thumbs up in encouragement when his eyes stray to them.
He’s a stoic man: Draco and Hermione are right. He hasn’t had to be brave in a long while. This is a moment that’s worth it though, even if he has to fake it at first.
“I’m sorry.” He has to pause at that, because he can feel the emotions bubbling up a bit too high. He takes a deep breath, and makes sure that Draco’s eyes don’t stray. “You’re… you’re right. About a lot of that-”
Draco buts in with “I’m right about all of it, actua-”
“Shut up, do you want me to get this out?”
Draco concedes.
Harry takes another breath, but the nerves have disappeared in the face of Draco’s unfiltered verve. “I shouldn’t have left. I was-”
“A coward.”
“Draco.”
“…sorry.”
“I was. I was a coward. I was scared. You didn’t respond, which never happens. You’re so good with your words.” He has to take a minute to collect his thoughts, but finds the right thread. “I love you, and have done for a while. I ran because I kind of didn’t mean to say it then. We were already fighting about something, and it just came out, which wasn’t right, and sometimes I’m so afraid that things will change, because you’re my best friend-” “Hey!” “-my best friend and I didn’t want to lose that.”
“You should have said that then.”
Harry closes his eyes. God, feelings are so bloody hard. “Yeah, yeah I know.”
“Oh well, as long as you know.”
“Draco. Shut up.” He swallows. “I like my job.”
“No, you don’t. You come home-” a sharp breath “-you come to mine, I mean. You come to mine after work and you can’t stop complaining. We like our jobs. I’m sure when Hermione finishes her ChP and becomes the Minister she’ll love her job too.” (“It’s a PhD, Draco, I’ve told you a million times.” “Maybe another time, Herm.”)
Harry has to breath deeper, because his blood is pumping a bit too fast in his ears. He drops his hands from Draco and takes a couple of steps back. A retreat. “I think,” and he has to swallow a couple of times before he can force the words out of his throat. He looks up and meets all of their eyes. “I don’t think I can do important things anymore. I. I don’t want to- I.”
“Merlin sakes, Harry.” Draco says. “I think it may be time we force you into therapy.” And Draco just looks impatient. “You can’t keep pretending it’s not a problem, and we can’t keep letting you!”
Harry. Harry nods. He thinks he nods. It’s what he wants to do, but he’s not really looking at anyone anymore, eyes to the ground, heart a bit too fast in his chest for comfort. He wishes that he was still eating soggy cereal in the kitchen before the post arrived this morning. He’s a stoic coward.
Draco seems to take a deep breath, and then he turns around to face the others. “Okay, get up. I’m sick of standing in Weasley’s kitchen.”
Harry takes a pause and looks at Draco’s face. He’s perfectly serious, and so is the Harry on his shirt.  Harry’s heart is still racing, but Draco just looks resigned and present. He can’t help himself from smiling a little when his eyes catch on Draco’s. He gets a pretty severe glare in response, before Draco just walks right out of the kitchen and into the living room.
Harry follows, and hears the small grunt from Hermione hitting the ground behind him. Two sets of feet follow his own.
“Don’t forget my tea, Weasley!”
Ron scoffs, but still walks back into the kitchen to make a tea he’d promised about 20 minutes earlier.
Harry sits down on the floor in the same place he sat last night. Draco’s chosen the armchair near the fire; where he usually sits. Hermione stomps over to take the seat on the couch closest to the armchair, and Ron can be heard pottering around the kitchen.
“PhD.”
Draco looks to Hermione with a frown. “What?”
Hermione looks haughty yet contrite. Like she actually can’t help herself from making sure that Draco knows he was wrong, and feels a little bit sorry about it. “It’s a PhD, not a ChP or whatever you called it.”
“Honestly Granger, what does it matter?”
A harrumph from Hermione as she settles back into Ron’s expensive couch cushions. “It’s a very important thing.”
Harry chucks her a grin, and she smiles back proudly.
Draco rolls his eyes. “Why do you all insist on patting yourselves on the back constantly. You don’t see me singing my own praises.”
Ron let’s out a violent laugh from the kitchen, and Draco flushes a little bit, his eyes flicking to Harry who grins at him too.
Mugs float out from the kitchen, Ron trailing behind. Harry grabs his out of the air and cherishes the sent of the strong tea. He can’t help but laugh when Hermione grimaces at the taste of her milkless cup, and Draco looks at her as if he’s won something.
Harry’s won something. He’s won Draco sitting here in Ron’s expensive apartment, Draco rolling his eyes when Hermione chides him about his too sweet tea, then Draco chiding Ron when he argues that Ron made it too sweet anyway, and that if he has to have teeth work done it’ll be Ron’s fault.
“You can make your own tea, you know, you’re not that famous.”
“Actually, Weasley, I’m more famous than all three of you, currently. The only thing getting you through is dumb luck and a gullible consumer base. I get by on pure talent.”
“Sure, Draco.”
“Also, I expect thanks when Wheezes gets the significant boost in sales it’s sure to this week, what with the Prophet this morning.”
“Sure, Draco.”
Harry smiles. His arse will probably start hurting before his mug is drained, and the sounds of arguing will get tiring soon after that. He’s smiling so hard his cheeks hurt a little. He takes a deep breath. “Okay, fine. Therapy. I’ll do it.”
Ron and Hermione smile at him like they knew it was coming all along, pressed up against each other on the expensive couches. Draco just looks at him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for who knows what. Probably an oral manifesto of Harry’s recognised faults and his plans to change them. Harry just smiles right back at Draco, wide and unashamed. Draco shakes his head a little bit, lips pulling up too.
Harry’s worried that if Draco keeps looking at him at all that he’ll have to walk over there and kiss him without warning. He picks his mug up and keeps sipping though, pretends he doesn’t absolutely need to do just that. Because there’s going to be time. Lots of it.
His stoicism has its uses sometimes, maybe.
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